The next morning ushered in the new year (1812).  Mr. Hunt was about to resume his march, when his men requested permission to celebrate the day.  This was particularly urged by the Canadian voyageurs, with whom New-Year’s day is a favorite festival; and who never willingly give up a holiday, under any circumstances.  There was no resisting such an application; so the day was passed in repose and revelry; the poor Canadians contrived to sing and dance in defiance of all their hardships; and there was a sumptuous New-Year’s banquet of dog’s meat and horse flesh.

After two days of welcome rest, the travellers addressed themselves once more to the painful journey.  The Indians of the lodges pointed out a distant gap through which they must pass in traversing the ridge of mountains.  They assured them that they would be but little incommoded by snow, and in three days would arrive among the Sciatogas.  Mr. Hunt, however, had been so frequently deceived by Indian accounts of routes and distances, that he gave but little faith to this information.

The travellers continued their course due west for five days, crossing the valley and entering the mountains.  Here the travelling became excessively toilsome, across rough stony ridges, and amidst fallen trees.  They were often knee deep in snow, and sometimes in the hollows between the ridges sank up to their waists.  The weather was extremely cold; the sky covered with clouds so that for days they had not a glimpse of the sun.  In traversing the highest ridge they had a wide but chilling prospect over a wilderness of snowy mountains.

On the 6th of January, however, they had crossed the dividing summit of the chain, and were evidently under the influence of a milder climate.  The snow began to decrease; the sun once more emerged from the thick canopy of clouds, and shone cheeringly upon them, and they caught a sight of what appeared to be a plain, stretching out in the west.  They hailed it as the poor Israelites hailed the first glimpse of the promised land, for they flattered themselves that this might be the great plain of the Columbia, and that their painful pilgrimage might be drawing to a close.

It was now five days since they had left the lodges of the Shoshonies, during which they had come about sixty miles, and their guide assured them that in the course of the next day they would see the Sciatogas.

On the following morning, therefore, they pushed forward with eagerness, and soon fell upon a stream which led them through a deep narrow defile, between stupendous ridges.  Here among the rocks and precipices they saw gangs of that mountain-loving animal, the black-tailed deer, and came to where great tracks of horses were to be seen in all directions, made by the Indian hunters.

The snow had entirely disappeared, and the hopes of soon coming upon some Indian encampment induced Mr. Hunt to press on.  Many of the men, however, were so enfeebled that they could not keep up with the main body, but lagged at intervals behind; and some of them did not arrive at the night encampment.  In the course of this day’s march the recently-born child of Pierre Dorion died.