This ever-flowing stream receives its yellow hue from the Powder River waters, of which it is a branch. The country is scarred by countless trails of buffalo, so that what is often called the Indian trail is merely the hoof-print of these animals. Leaving Powder River, we passed through large pine forests, and through valleys rich with beautiful grasses, with limpid springs and seemingly eternal verdure. I continued to drop papers by the way, hoping they might lead to my discovery, which would have proved fatal had any one attempted a rescue, as the Indians prefer to kill their captives rather than be forced to give them up. It was the fifth night of my sojourn with the Indians that I found myself under the weeping willows of Clear Creek. The men, weary with travel, and glad to find so good a camping ground, lay down to sleep, leaving a sufficient guard over their captive and at the outposts. Their journey hither had been a perilous one to me, unused as I was to the rocky paths between narrow gorges and over masses of broken stone, which their Indian ponies climbed with readiness and ease. I was led to remark the difference between these ponies and American horses, who could only struggle to find their foothold over such craggy ground, while the ponies led the way, picking their steps up almost perpendicular steeps with burdens on their backs. Their travel after the rest at Clear Creek partook of the difficult nature of the mountain passes, and was wearisome in the extreme, and the duties imposed upon me made life almost too burdensome to be borne. I was always glad of a respite at the camping ground. On the sixth night, I lay on a rock, under the shade of some bushes, meditating on the possibility of escape. The way was far beyond my reckoning, and the woods where they now were might be infested with wild beasts; but the prospect of getting away, and being free from the savages, closed my eyes to the terrors of starvation and ravenous animals. Softly I rose and attempted to steal toward some growing timber; but the watchful chief did not risk his prey so carelessly, his keen eye was on me, and his iron hand grasped my wrist and drew me back. Throwing me fiercely on the ground, he hissed a threat through his clenched teeth, which I momentarily expected him to put into execution, as I lay trembling at his feet. I felt from this time that my captivity was for life, and a dull despair took possession of me. Sleep, that balm for happier souls, brought only horrid dreams, in which a dreadful future pictured itself; and then the voices of my husband and child seemed calling me to their side, alas! in vain, for when I awoke it was to find myself in the grass of the savage camping ground, watched over by the relentless guard, and shut out from hope of home or civilized life.