I will now go back to the place where Field and I separated on the mountain top and give you a short statement as he gave it to me, and while some things may border on the miraculous, and seem somewhat incredible, I do not question the truth of his statements.  When we parted so unexpectedly he had about half of the jerked wolf and mule combined.  I went north while he bore off in a northeasterly direction, and after traveling for three days came to the river at a point above where we lost our flat-boat.  He struggled on up the river without road or trail, and nothing to guide him except the little compass which he still carried in his pocket.

Two days more and his last bit of jerk was gone, starvation began to stare him in the face once more.  He saw signs of Indians having crossed his pathless course which gave him renewed courage.  Soon after starting out next morning he was delighted to see a pony in the distance grazing, and on coming up to it found one of its front legs broken.  This, he said was another God-send.  The poor pony seemed to fear him.  It was probably an Indian pony, had its leg broken and was left to die.  He followed it for some time and finally got close to it and fired his revolver at its chest and wounded it, but it then left him with the blood flowing from its wound.  After resting for a time he followed on and soon found it lying down, but not dead.  He told me how innocent and helpless it appeared, and looked at him as if pleading with him not to inflict any more pain; but he felt that his life was in a balance with its, and after a little meditation he put the revolver to its forehead and ended its life and suffering.  Then came the usual process of skinning, cutting up and jerking which took the balance of that day and part of the next.

Eight days more and he was again starving.  On the ninth he arrived at the spot where we had dug up the little ferry-boat which carried the seven adventurers far down the river more than three very long dreary months before.  Snow now covered the entire country, and all emigrants had long since gone by.  His strength was failing fast but it would not do to linger there, so he arose and was about to start when he saw a poor old ox slowly coming towards him, and when it had come up near to him he discovered a wolf not far behind which seemed to be following the ox, but it soon turned and went away.  Night was coming on and he was very hungry.  Something must be done.  The last cartridge had been exploded in killing the poor, broken legged Indian pony, and the revolver was no longer of use.  The ox, though feeble, was probably yet stronger than the starving man.

Field feared that he was not able to catch the ox by the horns and hold it until he could cut its throat, so the next plan was to get hold of the animal’s tail with one hand, and with the big knife in the other cut his hamstrings so as to disable him, and then cut his throat.  The ox seemed fond of being rubbed and petted, so after a little time a firm hold on the tail was secured, and the big knife vigorously applied, but it was so very dull that he could not sever the tough old tendons.  After sawing with the dull knife and being literally dragged for some distance, he became so much exhausted that he was obliged to relinquish his hold and see the excited old ox disappear.