Watt had succeeded in securing employment as driver for a well-to-do emigrant, but fell out with his employer before they had gone far. With a job here and there, and a trade to his advantage, he managed to reach Burnt River with a cow and a rifle to his credit. As the journey neared the end however provisions grew scarcer, and those who possessed them were less able or willing to share with others. Finding that he was not welcome at the camps of the emigrants, and obedient to vigorous hints, he started ahead with a single companion and began the dangerous and difficult journey over the Blue Mountains. The snow lay from twelve to eighteen inches deep, and the trail could only be followed by scratches made on the trees by wagons that had passed over before. Watt's moccasins had given out and were mended with leather cut from his buckskin pants. For provisions they had but a loaf of bread between them. The rifle was useless because there was no game in the mountains. His cow had been left in the charge of a friend in a party behind. All difficulties were surmounted however and the valley of the Umatilla was reached. Here they were in the region of game. A number of prairie chickens were shot, powder was traded to the Indians for a few potatoes, a kettle was borrowed and the weary travelers gave themselves over to a feast, which, at intervals, was prolonged through the night. Their spirits rose when hunger was appeased, and they knew that soon they would be at the mission station at Waiilatpu. Ragged and disreputable in appearance they were not cordially received, and the independent nature of Watt ever cherished a dislike for missions and missionaries. Remaining at the station until the party having charge of his cow arrived he effected a trade by which he secured a supply of provisions for the last part of the journey to the Dalles, where he expected to take a boat down the river. Various experiences were yet to be met. Fate decided that he should partake of but a single meal from the supply of provisions which he had earned so dearly. He escaped death by the arrival of unexpected help when he was grappling with an Indian in which encounter the expectoration of tobacco juice figured as a peculiar weapon of defense. Finally, however, he reached the Dalles where boats belonging to the Hudson Bay Company were at anchor. Those who had money to pay their passage were packing their goods on board and going themselves, but the chances for a passage for a penniless and ragged traveler were small. It was Watt's purpose to work for his passage and he made application to the boatman. "You are like one of those worn out oxen," was the reply, "you haven't strength enough to hold yourself up, let alone work;" and the boatman went on with his loading. Sitting on a rock by the river Watt was a despondent figure. But the boatman, turning back with the exclamation that "it was too bad to leave the poor devil to starve"