On the 17th they met with several Indians, one of whom had a horse.  Mr. Hunt was extremely desirous of obtaining it as a pack-horse; for the men, worn down by fatigue and hunger, found the loads of twenty pounds’ weight which they had to carry, daily growing heavier and more galling.  The Indians, however, along this river, were never willing to part with their horses, having none to spare.  The owner of the steed in question seemed proof against all temptation; article after article of great value in Indian eyes was offered and refused.  The charms of an old tin-kettle, however, were irresistible, and a bargain was concluded.

A great part of the following morning was consumed in lightening the packages of the men and arranging the load for the horse.  At this encampment there was no wood for fuel, even the wormwood on which they had frequently depended having disappeared.  For the two last days they had made thirty miles to the northwest.

On the 19th of November, Mr. Hunt was lucky enough to purchase another horse for his own use, giving in exchange a tomahawk, a knife, a fire steel, and some beads and gartering.  In an evil hour, however, he took the advice of the Indians to abandon the river, and follow a road or trail leading into the prairies.  He soon had cause to regret the change.  The road led across a dreary waste, without verdure; and where there was neither fountain, nor pool, nor running stream.  The men now began to experience the torments of thirst, aggravated by their diet of dried fish.  The thirst of the Canadian voyageurs became so insupportable as to drive them to the most revolting means of allaying it.  For twenty-five miles did they toll on across this dismal desert, and laid themselves down at night, parched and disconsolate, beside their wormwood fires; looking forward to still greater sufferings on the following day.  Fortunately it began to rain in the night, to their infinite relief; the water soon collected in puddles and afforded them delicious draughts.

Refreshed in this manner, they resumed their wayfaring as soon as the first streaks of dawn gave light enough for them to see their path.  The rain continued all day, so that they no longer suffered from thirst, but hunger took its place, for after travelling thirty-three miles they had nothing to sup on but a little parched corn.

The next day brought them to the banks of a beautiful little stream, running to the west, and fringed with groves of cottonwood and willow.  On its borders was an Indian camp, with a great many horses grazing around it.  The inhabitants, too, appeared to be better clad than usual.  The scene was altogether a cheering one to the poor half-famished wanderers.  They hastened to their lodges, but on arriving at them met with a check that at first dampened their cheerfulness.  An Indian immediately laid claim to the horse of Mr. Hunt, saying that it had been stolen from him.  There was no disproving a fact supported by numerous bystanders, and which the horse stealing habits of the Indians rendered but too probable; so Mr. Hunt relinquished his steed to the claimant; not being able to retain him by a second purchase.