By the fifth or sixth morning the waters had subsided from the land, but the stream in the old river bed was still high and swift and there was no possibility of crossing it.  On the eighth it was still too high for an entirely safe passage, but life in the inn had become next to insupportable by reason of the dirt, drunkenness, fighting, etc., and so we made an effort to get away.  In the midst of a heavy snow-storm we embarked in a canoe, taking our saddles aboard and towing our horses after us by their halters.  The Prussian, Ollendorff, was in the bow, with a paddle, Ballou paddled in the middle, and I sat in the stern holding the halters.  When the horses lost their footing and began to swim, Ollendorff got frightened, for there was great danger that the horses would make our aim uncertain, and it was plain that if we failed to land at a certain spot the current would throw us off and almost surely cast us into the main Carson, which was a boiling torrent, now.  Such a catastrophe would be death, in all probability, for we would be swept to sea in the “Sink” or overturned and drowned.  We warned Ollendorff to keep his wits about him and handle himself carefully, but it was useless; the moment the bow touched the bank, he made a spring and the canoe whirled upside down in ten-foot water.

Ollendorff seized some brush and dragged himself ashore, but Ballou and I had to swim for it, encumbered with our overcoats.  But we held on to the canoe, and although we were washed down nearly to the Carson, we managed to push the boat ashore and make a safe landing.  We were cold and water-soaked, but safe.  The horses made a landing, too, but our saddles were gone, of course.  We tied the animals in the sage-brush and there they had to stay for twenty-four hours.  We baled out the canoe and ferried over some food and blankets for them, but we slept one more night in the inn before making another venture on our journey.

The next morning it was still snowing furiously when we got away with our new stock of saddles and accoutrements.  We mounted and started.  The snow lay so deep on the ground that there was no sign of a road perceptible, and the snow-fall was so thick that we could not see more than a hundred yards ahead, else we could have guided our course by the mountain ranges.  The case looked dubious, but Ollendorff said his instinct was as sensitive as any compass, and that he could “strike a bee-line” for Carson city and never diverge from it.  He said that if he were to straggle a single point out of the true line his instinct would assail him like an outraged conscience.  Consequently we dropped into his wake happy and content.  For half an hour we poked along warily enough, but at the end of that time we came upon a fresh trail, and Ollendorff shouted proudly: 

“I knew I was as dead certain as a compass, boys!  Here we are, right in somebody’s tracks that will hunt the way for us without any trouble.  Let’s hurry up and join company with the party.”