In this predicament, Captain Sublette found them, in a manner becalmed, or rather run aground, at the little frontier town of Independence, in Missouri, and kindly took them in tow.  The two parties travelled amicably together; the frontier men of Sublette’s party gave their Yankee comrades some lessons in hunting, and some insight into the art and mystery of dealing with the Indians, and they all arrived without accident at the upper branches of the Nebraska or Platte River.

In the course of their march, Mr. Fitzpatrick, the partner of the company who was resident at that time beyond the mountains, came down from the rendezvous at Pierre’s Hole to meet them and hurry them forward.  He travelled in company with them until they reached the Sweet Water; then taking a couple of horses, one for the saddle, and the other as a pack-horse, he started off express for Pierre’s Hole, to make arrangements against their arrival, that he might commence his hunting campaign before the rival company.

Fitzpatrick was a hardy and experienced mountaineer, and knew all the passes and defiles.  As he was pursuing his lonely course up the Green River valley, he described several horsemen at a distance, and came to a halt to reconnoitre.  He supposed them to be some detachment from the rendezvous, or a party of friendly Indians.  They perceived him, and setting up the war-whoop, dashed forward at full speed:  he saw at once his mistake and his peril—­they were Blackfeet.  Springing upon his fleetest horse, and abandoning the other to the enemy, he made for the mountains, and succeeded in escaping up one of the most dangerous defiles.  Here he concealed himself until he thought the Indians had gone off, when he returned into the valley.  He was again pursued, lost his remaining horse, and only escaped by scrambling up among the cliffs.  For several days he remained lurking among rocks and precipices, and almost famished, having but one remaining charge in his rifle, which he kept for self-defence.

In the meantime, Sublette and Campbell, with their fellow traveller, Wyeth, had pursued their march unmolested, and arrived in the Green River valley, totally unconscious that there was any lurking enemy at hand.  They had encamped one night on the banks of a small stream, which came down from the Wind River Mountains, when about midnight, a band of Indians burst upon their camp, with horrible yells and whoops, and a discharge of guns and arrows.  Happily no other harm was done than wounding one mule, and causing several horses to break loose from their pickets.  The camp was instantly in arms; but the Indians retreated with yells of exultation, carrying off several of the horses under cover of the night.

This was somewhat of a disagreeable foretaste of mountain life to some of Wyeth’s band, accustomed only to the regular and peaceful life of New England; nor was it altogether to the taste of Captain Sublette’s men, who were chiefly creoles and townsmen from St. Louis.  They continued their march the next morning, keeping scouts ahead and upon their flanks, and arrived without further molestation at Pierre’s Hole.