Fremont’s company consisted of twenty-two men, and they were, beyond doubt, the worst looking set of men I ever saw.  Many of them were scarcely able to walk from the effects of scurvy and they were generally knocked out.

We had taken with us from Taos a pack-train loaded with vegetables, such as potatoes, onions and the like, and after Freemont’s men had associated with those vegetables for a few days, they came out fresh and smiling and were able to travel.

It was about the Middle of May, 1848, that we left Bent’s Fort to hunt a new route to the golden shores of California.

The first night out we camped at Fountain Qui Bouille—­pronounced Koh-boo-yah—­and here a little incident occurred that created much fun for all the party except one—­that was me.

As soon as we went into camp, Carson told Johnnie West and me to let Juan take our horses and for us to go out and kill some meat.

We started out in opposite directions, and I had not gone more than a quarter of a mile when I saw a small deer, which I shot, threw on my shoulder and pulled for camp.  Only a few rods on the way I came to a little mound of rock about three feet high, and from it flowed a spring of the nicest looking, sparkling water I thought I had ever seen.  Being very thirsty, I made a cup of my hat by pinching the rim together, dipped up some of the water and gulped it down, not waiting to see whether it was hot or cold, wet or dry.  But a sudden change came over me.  I felt a forthwith swelling under the waistband of my buckskin breeches, and I seemed to have an internal and infernal hurricane of gas, which in a second more came rushing through my mouth and nostrils like an eruption from Cotopaxi or Popocatapel.  To say that I was frightened would be putting it mild.  I rushed down the hill like mad, and fairly flew to camp and up to Uncle Kit, exclaiming as best I could, “I’m poisoned!”

“Pizened?” said Uncle Kit.

“Yes, poisoned;” and just then another rush of gas came through my nostrils.

When the men saw me running so fast they grabbed their guns, thinking the Indians were after me, and quickly surrounded me to hear what was the matter.

Uncle Kit asked me how I got poisoned, and I told him of the spring water I had drank, and asked him if he could do anything to save my life.  Then there was another eruption.

Uncle Kit laughed harder than I had ever seen him, but he told me, as fast as he could, that I had drank from a soda spring and that it would not hurt me.  Everybody laughed and then all went to the spring to get some of the “poisoned water,” which was very good when taken in reasonable quantities and in a reasonable way.

My gun, deer and hat were all lying near the spring, and I secured them, but it was many a day before I heard the last of the “pizen-spring.”

Johnnie West came in soon after, having missed all the fun, and Juan and I went with him, taking each a horse, and packed the game into camp.