bore off in a northeasterly direction,
and after traveling for three days came to the river at a point above
where we lost our flat-boat. He struggled on up the river without road
or trail, and nothing to guide him except the little compass which he
still carried in his pocket.

Two days more and his last bit of jerk was gone, starvation began to
stare him in the face once more. He saw signs of Indians having crossed
his pathless course which gave him renewed courage. Soon after starting
out next morning he was delighted to see a pony in the distance grazing,
and on coming up to it found one of its front legs broken. This, he said
was another God-send. The poor pony seemed to fear him. It was probably
an Indian pony, had its leg broken and was left to die. He followed it
for some time and finally got close to it and fired his revolver at its
chest and wounded it, but it then left him with the blood flowing from
its wound. After resting for a time he followed on and soon found it
lying down, but not dead. He told me how innocent and helpless it
appeared, and looked at him as if pleading with him not to inflict any
more pain; but he felt that his life was in a balance with its, and
after a little meditation he put the revolver to its forehead and ended
its life and suffering. Then came the usual process of skinning, cutting
up and jerking which took the balance of that day and part of the next.

Eight days more and he was again starving. On the ninth he arrived at
the spot where we had dug up the little ferry-boat which carried the
seven adventurers far down the river more than three very long dreary
months before. Snow now covered the entire country, and all emigrants
had long since gone by. His strength was failing fast but it would not
do to linger there, so he arose and was about to start when he saw a
poor old ox slowly coming towards him, and when it had come up near to
him he discovered a wolf not far behind which seemed to be following the
ox, but it soon turned and went away. Night was coming on and he was
very hungry. Something must be done. The last cartridge had been
exploded in killing the poor, broken legged Indian pony, and the
revolver was no longer of use. The ox, though feeble, was probably yet
stronger than the starving man.

Field feared that he was not able to catch the ox by the horns and hold
it until he could cut its throat, so the next plan was to get hold of
the animal's tail with one hand, and