He knew which way was west by the sun, but the western horizon was a mighty big stretch to aim at. He also knew the river was somewhere on his right, and that later it would bar his path where it flowed from the south and before swinging east to make the Missouri. But whether he was abreast of the company or had gone ahead of it he had no idea. He knew he had made excellent time as he had munched his hardtack rations and bacon as he walked. That night he camped alone from necessity.
There followed several days of lonely wanderings. His food, consisting of hardtack, was soon consumed. He managed to shoot a prairie hen but had traveled so wide of the river that he depended on buffalo wallows for water. He was hungry, but he suffered more from loneliness than from lack of food.
At last he came to a stream which he followed until it merged with another. He was at the junction of the Sweetwater and the north fork of the Platte, only he did not know it. In the south-east were the Laramie Mountains and in the north the Rattlesnake Hills. These were unnamed so far as his knowledge of them went. It was in the middle of the afternoon when he threw himself
