Thus equipped, the party set forth on the 28th day of November. The dogs were unaccustomed to hauling anything. Snapping and barking, they dashed hither and thither in all directions, hardly restrained by the loud _sacrés_ of the Frenchmen, reinforced by lashes freely administered with their stout rawhide whips. The motley procession crossed the Assiniboine on the ice, and camped that evening in a wood by the side of the Souris river, hardly six miles from the point from which they had set out. Meanwhile, the temperature was falling. At eight that night Thompson observed that it was 20° below zero. By the following morning it had dropped seven degrees more, and a stinging west wind had sprung up which kept them in camp. Here they remained for five days, in a temperature that sank as low as 40° below zero; while the high wind whistled through their canvas, and filled the tent with smoke from their fire. During this time, they devoured the flesh of three bison which the Frenchmen had brought into camp, while the dogs rejoiced in the offal. The wind had by this time shifted to the north-west, and the weather turned milder with snow. When the storm was over, they renewed their journey, keeping close to the river in order that they might not lose sight of the familiar landmarks, for the men neither knew the compass nor would trust it to guide them. After making eleven miles, they came to a grove of hardwood, in which they found five tents of Assiniboine Indians. These gave them a hospitable welcome, but warned them that the Sioux were on the warpath. Nevertheless, they pressed forward, and by the following morning had reached the point where the trail led away from the river across the wind-swept plain to Turtle Mountain on the international frontier. Jussomme now announced that they must prepare for an early start, as they faced a long journey across country before they could reach the shelter of the wooded heights. At seven the following morning they were on their way. Mile after mile they trudged over the boundless plain until one o'clock in the afternoon, and still no Turtle hill was in sight. The weather had now turned threatening, and anxiety was in every face. At this point Jussomme threw up his hands and confessed that he had lost his way.