The guide had to be left with his tribe and the white men to shift for themselves crossing the desert. Knowing vaguely that Snake River was northeast, Ogden struck across the northwest corner of the Nevada desert, Desert of Death it was called among the trappers. Each night a call was made for volunteers, and two men set out by moonlight to go ahead and hunt water for the next camp. The water was often only a lava sink, into which horses and men would dash, coming out, as Ogden describes it, “looking blistered and as if they had been pickled.” Sometimes, the trail seekers came back at day-dawn with word there was _no_ water ahead. Then Ogden sat still beside his mud lakes, or stagnant pools whose stench sickened man and beast, and sent out fresh men by twos in another direction till water was found. Again and again he repeats the words: “It is critical, but the country must be explored if we can find water to advance.... We can’t go on without water, but the country must not remain unknown any longer. There are Snake huts ahead. There must be muddy lakes somewhere. June 2nd--I sent two men to proceed southeast and try that direction. They will march all night to escape the heat. If we do not succeed in that direction, our starvation is certain. Sunday, June 3rd--8 A. M., the two men arrived and report nothing but barren plains--no water. No hope in that direction. I at once ordered the men off again northeast. They left at 9 A. M. All in camp very sick owing to stagnant water. If I escape this year, I will not be doomed to come again. June 4th, at dawn of day, men came back. They found water, where we camped last fall (on the Snake). At 9 A. M. we started quick pace, _sauve qui peut_ over dreary, desolate, sandy country, horses panting from thirst. At 6 A. M., June 6th, we reached water to the joy of all.” They were really on the upper forks of Sandwich and Malheur rivers. The end of July saw the horses of the brigade pasturing in the flowery meadows at Walla Walla and the happy trappers forgetful of all past miseries, sweeping down the swift current of the Columbia for Fort Vancouver, where Doctor McLoughlin awaited with a blessing for each man.