“That’s a pretty question to ask, I should think! I swow I won’t stand any such work as this.” And giving his horse the rein, he shot rapidly ahead. “I guess we mought as well,” remarked Biddon, letting his horse have free rein. The race was now decided. At such speed as we went, of course the pursuers were soon left behind, and in an hour not one was visible, all of them being either distanced or having voluntarily withdrawn. Our course was southwest; so that we had lost considerable ground, and were obliged to make a long _detour_ to regain the trail. We camped at night about as far south as the previous camp, but farther west. In the morning we struck due north, and continued in this direction for several days. It is not necessary to give the particulars of our journey to the northwest. We continued traveling onward for three days, when we reached the region where it was intended we should remain until spring. This was much further northward than I suspected; in fact, it was but a few miles distant from the Hudson Bay Territory, and upon one of the remote tributaries of the Missouri. We had entered a climate that even now, was like the winter of the one we had left. We had entered a mighty wilderness, where, ere we left it, we were doomed to pass through some strange experiences, and of which I now shall speak. We had detected signs of beavers at several streams which we crossed during the last day or two of our journey, but Biddon paid no attention to them until about the middle of the afternoon, when we reached a small river, flowing nearly due south, and passing through the Hudson Bay Territory in its course. This stream we forded, and, as we reached the opposite side, he remarked: “Yer’ the spot whar we’re goin’ to squat.” It is perhaps worth remarking that the section was a wooded country. We had passed over no clear prairie during the day, and were in the midst of a deep wood. The trees were of nearly every conceivable kind--the cottonwood predominating, with oak, elm, ash, walnut, and such as are common in our own forests. After crossing, the trapper headed directly up-stream for a short distance, when he turned to the left and descended into a valley. Here he dismounted. “Take yer fixins’,” said he, “and turn the hosses loose.” “Won’t they wander away?” I asked. “_Yourn_ may, but mine _won’t_; you’ve got to take your chances, though. ’Tain’t likely they’ll be ’sturbed, ’cept by grizzlys and reds.” The spot selected was a broad bottom of rich grass, inclosed by thick walls of undergrowth upon every side. Here we left our horses, and, taking our saddles and trappings, moved away. “Have you ever been here before?” I asked of the trapper. “I stayed yer last season, but didn’t ’spect to come back. Howsumever, I changed my mind, and yer we is. Move keerful and don’t make a big trail.” We followed nearly a quarter of a mile directly up-stream, when he halted, and looked carefully about him.