Quite a large band of the Crow Indians joined the trappers, and conducted them to one of their most sheltered valleys. Here they reared their huts and lodges. The mountain ridges broke the force of the cold north wind. They had water and fuel in abundance. Game was not scarce and they had also an ample supply of dried meat in store. But as the season advanced, the cold became increasingly severe, until at last it was more intense than the trappers had ever before experienced. Still the trappers, with their rousing fires and abundant clothing, found no difficulty in keeping warm. But the animals suffered terribly. Snow covered the valleys to such a depth, that they could obtain no food by grazing. It was with the utmost difficulty they kept the animals alive. They cut down cottonwood trees and thawed the bark and small branches by their fires. This bark was then torn into shreds, sufficiently small for the animal to chew. The rough outside bark was thrown aside, and the tender inner bark, which comes next the body of the tree, was carefully peeled off for food. There is sufficient nutrition in this barely to keep the animals alive for a time, but they can by no means thrive under it. Quite a company of Indians reared their lodges in the same valley with the trappers. In the pleasant days they vied with each other, in various athletic games, and particularly in their skill in hunting. Both parties were very happy in this truly paternal intercourse. There were no quarrels, for there was no whiskey there. One barrel of intoxicating drink would have changed kindly greetings into hateful brawls, and would have crimsoned many knives. Independently of the anxiety, the trappers felt for their suffering animals, the six or eight weeks of wintry cold passed away very pleasantly. The returning sun of spring poured its warmth into the sheltered valley, melting the snows and releasing the streams. With wonderful rapidity the swelling bud gave place to leaves and blossoms. The green grass sprang up on the mounds, the animals rejoiced and began even to prance in their new-found vigor. The winter had gone and the time for the singing of birds had come. The trappers were in need of certain supplies, before they could advantageously set out on their spring hunting tour. They therefore sent two of their party to obtain these supplies at Fort Laramie, which was one or two hundred miles south of them, on the Platte river. They did not return. They were never heard from. It is probable that they fell into the hands of hostile Indians, who killed them and took possession of all their effects. This was another of those innumerable tragedies, ever occurring in this wicked world, which are only recorded in God's book of remembrance.