’Twas near noon of the fifth day after the adventure with the first of the Indians. Other Indians, mainly Sioux, had been met, in small parties, as the Frémont company had travelled on up the Platte. This morning the trail finally had intercepted the road to Oregon, which here crossed the river, and four miles beyond more Indians were met. The obliging Mr. Bissonette had come far enough; by the Oregon Trail he was going back to Fort Platte at the mouth of the Laramie Creek, but he lingered to have an interview with these latest of the Sioux. “They say that the country ahead is very bad,” he reported. “Their main village has made a wide detour from the river to the south, looking for game. There are no buffalo in this whole region, because on account of the drought and the grasshoppers there is no grass. The trail of the village is marked by lodges thrown away in flight, and by the skeletons of the horses that the people must eat for food, or that have starved to death. The best advice that I can give you, is to turn back at once.” “No, sir; I am under instructions to go on to the South Pass, and on I go,” replied Lieutenant Frémont, loudly enough for all the men to hear. “But if anybody wishes to turn back with you, now that there is the opportunity, he has my permission.” Ensued a moment of expectancy, as man looked upon man; no one made the move or said the word. “Ma foi! (My goodness!)” exclaimed Basil Lajeunesse, breaking the spell. “We’ll eat the mules!” At this they all laughed. Mr. Bissonette shook hands around, and so did the Indian whom the chiefs had sent along; and they rode away, down the Oregon road, for the post――the Indian with his squaw and his horse-present. Henceforth Kit Carson was to be the guide, for he knew the country from the Platte up the Sweetwater. Ere proceeding, first they must get rid of their cumbersome baggage and their carts, so as to be able to travel light and fast. The Kit Carson party already were travelling light, trapper style; but for plains work the Frémont party had their carts and the several tents. However, here, after the discouraging report, through Mr. Bissonette, from the Sioux, all turned to and made a cache or hiding place for the discarded stuff. The carts were taken apart――hoods and frames and wheels――and these pieces were stowed out of sight among thick willows growing near. A hole ten feet square and six feet deep was dug in a sandy opening in the midst of the same willows, and lined with brush, and tarpaulins; and in this were stowed the other things not absolutely necessary. They were covered with an old buffalo robe; the sand was thrown in, the top was levelled and any suspicious “sign” smoothed away or disfigured; and with pack-mules laden the company were prepared for the long hard trail awaiting.