oversight, only six matches.  When he left the =N=-bar camp, instead of going due east toward the =LU=-bar ranch, he swung around and went southwest, clear around the head of the Little Dry, and finally struck the Porcupine south of our camp.  The first night out he made a fire with sage-brush, and kept it going all night.  The second night he also had a fire, but it took his last match to make it.  During the first three days he had no food, but on the fourth he shot a sage-cock with his revolver, and ate it raw.  This effort, however, cost him his last cartridge.  Through hard work and lack of food his pony presently gave out, and necessitated long and frequent stops for rest.  West’s feet threatened to freeze, and he cut off the skirts of his overcoat to wrap them with, in place of the gunny sacking, that had been worn to rags.  Being afraid to go to sleep at night, he slept by snatches in the warmest part of the day, while resting his horse.

On the 5th day he began to despair of succor, although he still toiled southward through the bad lands toward the Yellowstone, where people lived.  On the envelopes which contained my letters he kept a diary of his wanderings, which could tell his story when the cowboys would find his body on the spring round-up.

On the afternoon of the sixth day he found a trail and followed it until nearly night, when he came to Cree’s sheep ranch, and found the solitary ranchman at home.  The warm-hearted frontiersman gave the starving wanderers, man and horse, such a welcome as they stood in need of.  West solemnly declares that in twenty-four hours he ate a whole sheep.  After two or three days of rest and feeding both horse and rider were able to go on, and in course of time reached Fort Keogh.

Without the loss of a single day Colonel Gibson started three teams and an escort up to us, and notwithstanding his terrible experience, West had the pluck to accompany them as guide.  His arrival among us once more was like the dead coming to life again.  The train reached our camp on the 13th, and on the 15th we pulled out for Miles City, loaded to the wagon-bows with specimens, forage, and camp plunder.

From our camp down to the =HV= ranch, at the mouth of Sand Creek, the trail was in a terrible condition.  But, thanks to the skill and judgment of the train-master, Mr. Ed. Haskins, and his two drivers, who also knew their business well, we got safely and in good time over the dangerous part of our road.  Whenever our own tired and overloaded team got stuck in the mud, or gave out, there was always a pair of mules ready to hitch on and help us out.  As a train-master, Mr. Haskins was a perfect model, skillful, pushing, good-tempered, and very obliging.