Here in the grove of beech-trees amidst which the camp was located the lieutenant fortified by raising a breastwork of logs; in charge of this camp and corral he and Kit Carson left about half the company, under Baptiste Bernier of the Frémont party; and with the other half, provisioned by dried meat, maccaroni and coffee for two days, they set out. “Wall, boy,” said Kit, in telling off his own party, to the expectant Oliver, “what do you think? Can you make a climb like that, into the snow? You’ll freeze yore moccasins.” The Carson tanned, sandy face was solemn, but the keen gray eyes were twinkling; for he read Oliver through and through. He knew how hard Oliver _wanted_. “I think I could do it,” answered Oliver, hopefully. “I’m not afraid to try.” “Better come along then,” bade Kit; and proceeded with his duties. Oliver went. One snowy peak of the heavily-wooded, white-crested, sharp-toothed ridge to the northward seemed to stand up above all others. This was accepted by the camp below as being the highest peak of the Wind River Mountains. Some of the men thought it to be one mile, some two miles, some three miles high; and all declared it to be higher than the great James’ or Pike’s Peak which was the landmark northwest of Bent’s Fort. The South Pass had been crossed during August 8; now early in the morning of August 12 the little party left Camp Bernier (as it was christened, in honor of Baptiste its commander), and upon the best of the hardy mules, with pack animal for the coffeepot and the meat kettle and a few tin cups and the provisions, each member carrying at his saddle a blanket for bedding, headed forth for the great feat. The first day’s travel conducted amidst a richly verdured country of trees and grass and flowers, secret valleys, rushing streams and gem-like lakes――a constant surprise to Kit Carson and all, who never had penetrated here before. In late afternoon were passed wonderful lakes which poured one into another by cataracts; and through a silent level forest, grassed like a city lawn, the explorers, riding on, camped in a dark, rock-and-pine surrounded little gulch――“the heart,” as William New expressed, “o’ nowhere.” “Never white nor Injun war in this region before,” he asserted, with wag of his shaggy head. “This chile ain’t afraid; but if these hyar mountains air ha’nted an’ the spirits air up to trap, they got a chance to get us, sure!” However, Oliver saw Kit Carson wink at the lieutenant and Lucien Maxwell, as the speech reached them, and it was evident that these three leaders did not believe the Indian tales. Consequently he himself decided that the reports of “evil spirits” awaiting were all bosh. Kit Carson pointed through the little gulch. “Thar’s our peak,” he said. In the gulch defile dusk had gathered; but outside still lingered the twilight, and beyond the end of the gulch lifted, massy in the near distance, a snow summit.