A ride of several days brought them to the Grand Ronde River. During that time they had become sufficiently acquainted with each other to banish all those feelings of distrust natural among strangers in a new country. Helm, who to his criminal qualities added the usual concomitant of being a loud-mouthed braggart, while narrating his exploits said in a boastful tone to McGranigan: “Many’s the poor devil I’ve killed, at one time or another,—and the time has been that I’ve been obliged to feed on some of ’em.” “Yes,” replied McGranigan, casting a sinister glance at Groves, “and we’ll have more of that feasting yet.” The cold sincerity with which these words were uttered struck a chill to the heart of Groves, which experienced no relief when a few moments afterwards Helm proposed a plan for organizing a band of Snake Indians, and returning with them on a predatory excursion against the Walla Wallas. “The Walla Wallas,” said he, “own about four thousand horses. With such a band of Snakes as we can easily organize for the enterprise, we can run off two thousand of the best of those animals, and after dividing with the Indians, take ours to Salt Lake and dispose of them to advantage.” Groves, who had heard enough to satisfy him that a longer stay with this company would be accompanied by risks for which he had neither inclination nor fitness, mounted his horse at a late hour that night, and spurred back to the Dalles as rapidly as possible. On his arrival he sent intelligence to the chief of the Walla Wallas of Helm’s contemplated foray, warning them to keep a careful watch upon their horses. His plans being frustrated, Helm remained in the vicinity till Autumn, when, in company with his five companions, he continued his journey to Camp Floyd. Five hundred miles of this route lay through a wilderness of mountains, unmarked by a trail and filled with hostile Indians. It was late in October when the party left Grand Ronde River. The mountains were covered with snow. Cold weather had set in for a season whose only changes for the next six months would be a steady increase of severities. The thermometer, seldom above, often marked a temperature thirty or forty degrees below zero in the mountains. The passes were snowed up to the depths of twenty and thirty feet. Wild game, however abundant in Summer, had retreated to the forests and fastnesses for food and shelter. Snow-storms and sharp winds were blinding and incessant. Deep ravines, lofty mountains, beetling crags, and dismal cañons, alternated with impenetrable pine forests, inaccessible lava beds, and impassable torrents, encumbered every inch of the way. Death on the scaffold or escape through this terrible labyrinth gave the alternative small advantage of the penalty. Small as it was, Helm and his companions took the risk and plunged into the mountain wilderness. He alone escaped.