I had, while at Fort Benton, held frequent conversations with Mr. Dawson, the factor at that post, who had spent many years in the country, and was perfectly familiar with the manners and tactics of the Indians. He had warned me against just such an exposure as that to which we were now liable, and when night came, knowing that the country was full of roving bands of Bloods and Piegans, I felt no little solicitude for a happy issue out of danger. Evening was just setting in, when snow began to fall in damp, heavy flakes, giving promise of a most uncomfortable night. Our only shelter was a clump of bushes on the summit of a knoll, where we spread our blankets, first carefully picketing the four horses with long lariats to a single pin, so that in case of difficulty they could all be controlled by one person. Dougherty proposed to stand guard until midnight, when I was to relieve him and remain until we resumed our trip at early dawn. Bray and I crept into our blankets, they and the bushes being our only protection against a very heavy mountain snowstorm. Strange as it may seem to those unfamiliar with border life, we soon fell asleep and slept soundly until I was aroused by Dougherty to take my turn at the watch. I crawled from under the blankets, which were covered to the depth of five inches with “the beautiful snow,” and Dougherty fairly burrowed into the warm place I had left. About three o’clock in the morning the horses became uneasy for want of food. Preparatory to an early departure I gathered in a large heap a number of small, fallen pines and soon had an immense fire. It lighted up the cañon with a lurid gloom and mantled the snow-covered trees with a ghastly radiance. The black smoke of the burning pitch rolled in clouds through the atmosphere, which seemed to be choked with the myriad snowflakes. So dense was the storm I could scarcely discern the horses, which stood but a few rods distant. Wading through the snow to the spot where my companions slept, I roused them from their slumbers. I could liken them to nothing but spectres as they burst through their snowy covering and stood half-revealed in the bushes by the light of the blazing pines. It was a scene for an artist. Despite the gloomy forebodings which had filled my mind, at this scene I burst into a fit of loud and irrepressible laughter.