In the absence of other narratives of this remarkable adventure, I record his own, as detailed to John W. Powell in April of the following year. Mr. Powell says: “N. P. LANGFORD, “DEAR SIR: On the tenth of April, 1859, I was on my way from Fort Owen, Bitter Root Valley, to Salt Lake City. My party consisted of one American named James Misinger, a Frenchman called ‘Grand Maison,’ a French half-breed named Antoine, and three Indians. “I had crossed the Snake River just above Fort Hall, pitched my lodge, and was entering to indulge in a brief sleep, when I heard some one outside ask in a loud tone of voice, ‘Who owns this shebang?’ Stepping to the door and looking out, I saw a tall, cadaverous, sunken-eyed man standing over me, dressed in a dirty, dilapidated coat and shirt and drawers, and moccasins so worn that they could scarcely be tied to his feet. Having invited him in and inquired his business, he told me substantially the following: “His name was Boone Helm. In company with five others he had left Dalles City, Oregon, in October, 1858, intending to go to Camp Floyd, Utah Territory. Having reached the Raft River, they were attacked by a party of Digger Indians, with whom they maintained a running fight for several miles, but none of the party was killed or severely wounded. Late in the evening they reached the Bannack River, where they camped, picketed their horses near by, and stationed two sentinels. During the night one of the sentinels was killed, the savage who committed the deed escaping on a horse belonging to the party. “Upon consultation, it was decided that they had better leave that place as soon as possible. The sky at the time was overcast with storm-clouds, and soon after they got into their saddles the weather culminated in a snowstorm, which increased in violence until it became terrific. Finally, being unable to see anything but sheets of snow, they became bewildered, and knew not in what direction they were proceeding. Morning brought no relief. In the midst of an ocean of snow, they were as oblivious of locality in daylight as if total darkness had encompassed them. They knew they were somewhere between Ross’s Fork and the Bear River, and this was their most definite knowledge. “At last they reached Soda Springs on Bear River, where familiar landmarks came in view. They then travelled up that river until they reached Thomas’s Fork, where they were forced to stop, from the lean and exhausted condition of their horses and the depth of the snow. Here they found a very comfortable cabin, and perforce went into winter quarters.