“Now I wonder,” mused William New, “what that ’ere lieutenant’s planning next. S’pose you jest take a little walk over to t’other camp an’ see.”

“Why?” asked Oliver.

It was noon, and only a short distance from the camp at the Beer Springs, on the day before, the expedition had again halted.

“’Cause this air the jumping-off place. If we follow the trail, we go on northwest for Fort Hall, ’bout fifty miles down the Portneuf to the Snake. If we follow the B’ar, we turn sharp south, for the lake, which air more’n two hundred miles. An’ I ’xpect that’s what we do,” he exclaimed. “Yon goes that fellow Lee, lickity. Bet you he’s an express to Fort Hall, to tell Kit.”

A horseman had dashed away from the FrÉmont quarters, to disappear down the trail. His own curiosity aroused, Oliver obediently strode across to the FrÉmont camp. He met FranÇois Lajeunesse, who was visibly excited.

“What’s up, FranÇois?”

“We go to the Great Salty Lake,” informed FranÇois, who was brother to Basil. “The lieutenant, he would explore the Great Salty Lake—perhaps sail on it. He has sent Henri Lee to tell Kit Carson to come back quick from Fort Hall, with provisions.”

“Have you ever been there, FranÇois?”

“I? Never! Nor Basil, either. No, not anybody in the whole company. But I have heard of it. It is true—a great salty lake, with not an outlet and with fresh water flowing into it!”

Oliver hastened back to spread the news.

“Wagh!” murmured William New, satisfied. “That lake air thar, but it’s pore beaver country, an’ I never cared to fool with it. It war discovered in winter o’ Twenty-four an’ Five by old Jim Bridger, to settle a dispute as to whar the B’ar emptied. Jim set out in a skin canoe from trapper winter-camp in Cache Valley, below hyar, an’ he went fur ’nough to see the lake an’ taste it too. He said it war part o’ the Pacific Ocean; an’ trappers believed that till in spring o’ Twenty-six four o’ Cap’n Bill Sublette’s men found it ag’in an’ paddled ’round its edge looking for beaver streams. Didn’t discover any, an’ so the lake warn’t any use. Don’t believe even Kit’s paid much attention to it.”

During the rest of this day, and through the evening, there was constant talk of the Great Salty Lake. Everybody, French and American, was highly interested in reaching it. Provisions were so low that Henry Lee had been despatched to hasten Kit Carson from Fort Hall; however, the little cow and her calf were still on hand, for emergency, and this very day two more calves were picked up, where they had strayed from some emigrant outfit.

The emigrant trail left the Bear, and continued on to the northwest; but the Bear itself turned short, at right angle, and flowed for the south. It was to be the guide to the Great Salty Lake, and the march of the expedition turned with it.

Only some 200 miles before awaited the lake—a mysterious, desolate place, according to reports; as large as a sea, connecting with the ocean by means of a tremendous whirl-pool in its centre that sucked all creatures down, and containing islands inhabited by giants with enormous clubs. Indians said that such clubs had been found, on the shore, after storms!

Cranes were seen flying, as if the lake might be close; but they evidently were only seeking a slough which bordered the river a few miles beyond. Here were quantities of geese and ducks, but very wild and unaccommodating. The arrival of Kit Carson, with supplies, was eagerly looked for.

The lieutenant and Basil Lajeunesse, exploring ahead, following an Indian trail which turned west from the Bear came upon more Snake Indians, who by sign talk said that this trail would lead to a fine broad valley running north and south. As the route along the Bear was hilly and swampy, the march was changed to this trail. It conducted through a beautiful little pass, where between twain huge gates of solid rock, amidst flowers and shrubs and many tender trees rippled merrily a pure mountain stream—civilly leaving space for guests to enter and depart.

The pass formed a little valley, long and narrow; adown it came riding a gaily bedecked squaw, with half a dozen dogs; thrown into sudden terror by the spectacle of this white man’s cavalcade she raced away as fast as her horse could carry her. Because of a singular rock column, planted almost in the centre of the little valley, the place was named the Pass of the Standing Rock.

Beyond the Pass of the Standing Rock was encountered another village of the Snakes. When the lieutenant wished to trade for roots, the Indians opened their blankets and showed him how bony were their bodies.

“If we sell to you, we shall starve; see, how thin we are, already!”

So that night there was nothing left to do but to kill the faithful little cow; and this was ordered.

The Shoshonies or Snakes of the village said that the great salty water was only two sleeps south. The next day the march arrived at the Roseaux or Reed River, which is separated from the Bear by a mountain ridge; and down the Roseaux they turned. In the midst of the cold rain, this night, entered their camp a cringing, starved dog with a bullet-wound in his side. Oliver made much of him, and fed him some scraps and let him sleep on the foot of the buffalo-robe.

The water of the River of Weeds, which is known also as the Malade, or Sick River, tasted salty, as if in token that the lake was near. Through a canyon in the divide the Bear River broke through into the valley, and presently the two rivers joined, with the expedition caught in the angle between them. The country was growing more and more mysterious, with much reeds and cane growth and willow thickets, and flight of water-fowl. In the distance ahead the valley opened wide; above the level line of the swamps rose several hazy outcrops, like enchanted islands floating upon the horizon. And islands they indeed were: for the level line was the basin of the great lake.

Now the rubber boat was unpacked. It was not so ill-smelling as the rubber boat of last summer, and was in the shape of a canoe about eighteen feet long. The gunwales and the bows must be inflated, to stiffen the boat. Although Ike and William New and other Carson men, and some of the FrÉmont men also, viewed the craft askance, and poked fun at it, right here it came in very handy, for by it was all the camp baggage ferried across the mouth of the Roseaux; even the cannon was thus carried. The men and the horses swam.

Taking the bold Basil Lajeunesse as companion, the lieutenant re-embarked in the boat, for a voyage down the Bear. He thought it possible that in this way he would reach the lake. His company were to continue on, by land.

As the lieutenant and Basil, in the frail boat, disappeared around the first bend of the reedy channel there was grave shaking of heads over the venture.

“The seams are only pasted when they should have been sewed. It is a weaker boat than that of last year.”

“Thar air critters in the swamps lower down that’ll swallow boat an’ all, ’cording to Injun say.”

“Sech doin’s don’t shine with this coon. He wishes he war back at old Touse, he does.”

“Ma foi! Suppose they two come to the place where the river runs from under them so that they sink in the mud! And then the people with web feet like ducks will get them!”

The march proceeded, down along the course of the Bear. All day, by horse and foot, tugging the spring-wagon and the gun-carriage, they plodded. Gradually the country changed, becoming more and more desolate and forbidding. In places the river seemed to be higher than the surface upon either side: sluggishly rolling between banks like welts it spread out into salt marshes harboring thousands of water fowl—ducks, geese, cranes, herons, pelicans, gulls, curlew, plover. Where the water had evaporated under the sun the bare soil gleamed white, and was covered with small shells. Only a few twisted shrubs and short blackened willows rose above the drear, dead expanse.

Late in the afternoon the camp was pitched among willow clumps. The lieutenant and Basil had not appeared, and nothing had been seen of the boat. Many were the dire predictions, and FranÇois, Basil’s brother, was well-nigh frantic. Over the wide salt swamps the sun set strangely yellow, his glow casting a ghastly light upon all objects. But a cheer rang forth, for trudging along the river came the lieutenant and Basil.

They were wet and tired and hungry. The boat had moved slowly upon the heavy current which swept along in a winding course of many curves and doublings; so finally they had left the craft behind cached in some willows, and clambering out upon the bank had trailed the company afoot, for three hours.

At three o’clock in the morning Basil started back, with a small party, all on horseback, to get the boat; they returned in the afternoon, bringing not only the boat but some roots and bear-meat for which they had traded with the Diggers.

“Shoshonies and Shoshokies—they air same Injuns made different by the way they live,” declared William New to Oliver. “You see, when they air rich an’ have hosses, like the Snakes, they call themselves Shoshonies; an’ when they air pore an’ miser’ble an’ go afoot, they air called Shoshokies. Out on the desert, west o’ hyar, these Root Diggers air so pore they wear a rabbit-skin for winter blanket, an’ they eat beetles an’ grass-hoppers an’ rats. Wagh! But they use p’isened arrows, an’ they’re wuss in a fight than bigger Injuns.”

As the march proceeded the water-fowl increased, until when disturbed they arose with fast flutter of wings that boomed like thunder. Soon the blind trail was cut by an impassible morass through which drained the water of the river. Here camp must be made. They decided that this was the mouth of the Bear, and that now the great lake began; but they could not see over the willows and rushes, they could not advance, and therefore they must turn back and seek better approach.

Ten days had passed since Henry Lee had left on the emigrant trail for Fort Hall, to carry word to Kit Carson. Kit had not come, and some of the men were beginning to grumble over the lack of provisions. To be sure, for the last two or three days there had been plenty of ducks and geese and plover; but the birds were wild and to hunt them down, in the marshes, was hard work. Why didn’t Carson get in, with grub? Maybe he wasn’t coming at all; maybe he was lost, or the Injuns had stampeded him.

“You fellows don’t know Kit,” reproved Ike. “He’ll come, straight an’ quick, if he got the word.”

“With me, Carson and truth are the same thing,” asserted Lieutenant FrÉmont. “I have found that you can depend on him absolutely.”

And hurrah! This very morning, as the camp was packing to turn back, in rode Kit, with a pack-animal.

He had done the best that he could, but he had brought only a little flour, and a moderate quantity of lesser provisions.

“Fitzpatrick hadn’t come in, yet,” announced Kit; “but the fort’s alive with emigrants. They’ve all collected thar, holding a pow-wow, whether to go on with their wagons an’ cattle, or with packs. Jest as I left, that man Whitman arrived, from down the trail, an’ he war making a speech, telling ’em he’d take ’em through, wagons an’ all, or bust. Anyway, they’ve stripped the post o’ supplies.”

All were glad to see Kit again; and he was eager to see the lake. The new trail wound along the bases of the range of hills on the east, until it turned into a gorge or canyon from which issued a river—the Weber River, with sparkling current flowing rapidly between high wooded banks. The cavalcade left the trail, and followed the river, for the mystic lake.

Camp must be made before the lake was sighted. The next morning the march was resumed, this time straight for a shoulder or butte which rose plain in view across the open, brushy flat. And on this morning of September 6, 1843, climbing the butte the breathless company—Boy Oliver no more excited than Lieutenant FrÉmont or Kit Carson themselves—gazed out over the Great Salty Lake, at last.

Silent it lay, sluggishly heaving, its shores uninhabited and bare. No city of Ogden anear floated upon the clear air the smoke plumes of man’s supremacy; no Mormon plough had yet stirred the soil by the River Jordan, nor had Mormon trowel laid a single brick of the capital of the State of Utah. The lonely waves washed heavily the whitened lonely beach; the wide lonely surface was broken by but two or three high rocky islands, blue in distance. Beyond, at the far extremity of this inland sea, lifted vague peaks; eyries from whose lofty crags as from a watch-tower peered abroad the couchant genie of the place.

Kit Carson, his weather-beaten face sober, from the saddle scanned intently. As he stood leaning upon his rifle, Lieutenant FrÉmont’s bold blue eyes flashed with triumph, and his hawk-nose jutted the more dominantly. Scarcely a word was spoken. All were too excited and too absorbed to cheer.

Then, as they gazed, down from those eyries beyond swooped in guise of big black clouds (as in the Arabian Nights) the guardians of this secret spot. They poured from the distant mountain-tops across the darkening water, and with furiously swirling draperies covered islands and everything.

“Wagh!” muttered William New. “Better be getting out o’ hyar! Spirits air angry.”

“We’ll make camp in that first grove, up the river,” said Lieutenant FrÉmont. “And to-morrow we’ll put things in shape for a trip on the lake. There’s a lot of work to be done, in the way of surveying it.”

Driven backward by the thunder-storm, they retired to a grove of great poplars, about nine miles inland from the butte.