In the morning the wind had lulled and a thick fog hung like night over the face of the plain. We could not see each other fifty yards away. We thought it necessary, under the circumstances, to make for head-quarters, and leave to the _wolves_ the six buffaloes that we had not _skinned_, and which were now like stones. Having broken our compass in bed, and the two buttes in southern Colorado--which guide the hunters and herders of the country--being hidden in the mist, we were left with our unaided ability to steer our way. We took the Indian way of _ranging objects_ on ahead; but the snow was deep and the objects few, and about _nine o’clock_ we came across the track of an outfit which, from the number of _horse-tracks_ and the _dog’s trail_, we knew to be our own. Well, we followed it back, and soon came into the old camp and stopped for the night. In the morning it was clear, and the sun shone out brightly; and the reflection almost blinded us as we went along. The team was very lank, and worried slowly through the snow. About noon we came into the Cimaron valley, and after watering, plodded on without unhitching. At sundown we saw smoke coming from the hill-side away up the valley, but in spite of our efforts it was dark when we came in. There were plenty of provisions and lots of fuel, and we had a social that night. It took Charles a long time to relate his experience with the _buffalo_, and the boys plagued him a great deal about trying to kill a bull with its own tail. The next morning the sun again arose in a cloudless sky and darted his warm rays upon the face of the snow-covered plain, and the white veil soon melted away. It took the horses several days to recruit, and the short, green grass in the valley filled them out slowly. We pegged our green hides in the sun to dry; and having a load of saddles, humps, and tongues, we prepared to take a trip to the _Arkansas_.