A fine commentary on the foolish extravagance and thoughtless waste of money involved in the fitting out of this disastrous campaign was furnished by the opening of the few supply wagons left them by their relentless pursuers. The wagons loaded with provisions had been burned; the wagons that survived were filled with bedticks and camp kettles. For two thousand six hundred men, wintering in a region seven thousand feet above the sea level, where at night the thermometer always sank below zero, there were three thousand one hundred and fifty bedticks, and only seven hundred and twenty-three blankets; there were one thousand five hundred pairs of epaulettes and metallic scales, but only nine hundred coats and six hundred overcoats; there were three hundred and seven cap-covers, and only one hundred and ninety caps; there were one thousand and ninety military stocks; some of the men were already barefooted and others had no covering for their feet but moccasins, while there were only eight hundred and twenty-three pairs of boots and six hundred pairs of stockings. One wagon was entirely freighted with camp-kettles; with nothing to cook, and no salt with which to season their nothingness. An extract from Colonel St. George Cooke's report gives quite a dismal picture of his own division. He says: "The north wind and drifting snow became severe; the air seemed turned to frozen fog, nothing could be seen; we were struggling in a freezing cloud. The lofty wall of Three Crossings was a happy relief; but the guide who had lately passed there was relentless in pronouncing that there was no grass at that point. As he promised grass and shelter two miles further, we marched on, crossing twice more the rocky stream, half-choked with snow and ice; finally he led us behind a great granite rock, but all too small for the promised shelter. Only a part of the regiment could huddle there in the deep snow; whilst the long night through the storm continued, and fearful eddies, above, below and behind, drove the falling and drifting snow. Meanwhile the animals were driven once more across the stream, to the base of the granite ridge, which faced the storm, but where there was grass. They refused to eat; the mules huddled together, moaning piteously, while some of the horses broke from the guard and went back to the ford. The next day, better camping ground was reached ten miles farther on. On the morning of the eighth, the thermometer marked 44 degrees below the freezing point; but in this weather and through deep snow, the men made eighteen miles, and the following day nineteen miles, to the next camping ground on Bitter Creek, on the Sweetwater. On the 10th, matters were still worse. Herders, left to bring up the rear, with the stray mules, could not force them from the valley, and they were left to perish. Nine horses were also abandoned. At night the