company of half-starved, destitute men from massacre, starvation, and freezing, under circumstances like these, to luck or chance or accident, are either destitute of gratitude or have never been overtaken by calamity. Yet these men all survived to tell the tale of their bitter experience. [Illustration: CAPTAIN JAMES L. FISK _Commander of Northern Overland Expedition_ ] My recollection of those gloomy days, all the more vivid, perhaps, because I was among the indigent ones, was emphasized by a little incident I can never recall without a devout feeling of thankfulness. Intelligence was brought us that a company of miners was working the bottom of a creek in Pike’s Peak Gulch, a distance of sixty miles from the Prickly Pear camp over the Rocky Mountain range. Cornelius Bray, Patrick Dougherty, and I started immediately on a horseback trip to the new camp in search of employment for the winter. One pack-horse served to transport our blankets and provisions. Our intention was to cross the main range on the first day and camp at the head of Summit Creek, where there was good grass and water. In following the Mullen road through the cañon, when about two miles from the ridge, Bray’s horse gave out and resisted all our efforts to urge him farther. There was no alternative but to camp. The spot was unpromising enough. There was no feed for our horses, and our camp by the roadside could not escape the notice of any band of Indians that might chance to be crossing the range. It was the custom in this Indian country for packers and others to seek some secluded spot half a mile or more from the trail for camping purposes; but here we were cooped up in a cañon not ten rods wide, and the only practicable pass over the range running directly through it. Of course we all mentally hoped that no Indians would appear.