It was now late in the season and they were convinced it would be suicidal to continue their journey on foot, as still many hundred miles lay before them to the Missouri River.  The absorbing question now was where to choose a suitable wintering place; they happened the next day to come upon a bend of the river which appeared to be just the spot they were seeking.  Here was a beautiful low point of land, covered by cottonwood, and surrounded by a thick growth of willow, which yielded both shelter and fuel, as well as material for building.  The river swept by in a strong current about a hundred and fifty yards wide.  To the southeast were mountains of moderate height, the nearest about two miles off, but the whole chain ranging to the east, south, and southwest, as far as the eye could reach.  Their summits were crowned with extensive tracts of pitch-pine, checkered with small patches of the quivering aspen.  Lower down were thick forests of firs and red cedars, growing out in many places from the very fissures of the rocks.  The mountains were broken and precipitous, with huge bluffs protruding from among the forests.  Their rocky recesses and beetling cliffs afforded retreats to innumerable flocks of the bighorn, while their woody summits and ravines abounded with bears and black-tailed deer.  These, with the numerous herds of buffalo that ranged the lower grounds along the river, promised the travellers abundant cheer in their winter quarters.

On the 2d of November, they pitched their camp for the winter on the woody point, and their first thought was to obtain a supply of provisions.  Ben Jones and the two Canadians accordingly sallied forth, accompanied by two other members of the party, leaving but one to watch the camp.  Their hunting was uncommonly successful.  In the course of two days they killed thirty-two buffaloes, and collected their meat on the margin of a small brook, about a mile distant.  Fortunately the river was frozen over, so that the meat was easily transported to the encampment.  On a succeeding day a herd of buffalo came trampling through the woody bottom on the river banks, and fifteen more were killed.

It was soon discovered, however, that there was game of a more dangerous nature in their neighbourhood.  On one occasion Mr. Crooks wandered about a mile from camp, and had ascended a small hill commanding a view of the river; he was without his rifle, a rare circumstance, for in these wild regions, where one may at any moment meet a wild animal or a hostile Indian, it is customary never to stir out from the camp unarmed.  The hill where he stood overlooked the spot where the killing of the buffalo had taken place.  As he was gazing around, his eye was caught by an object below, moving directly toward him.  To his dismay he discovered it to be a she grizzly with two cubs.  There was no tree at hand into which he could climb, and to run would only be to invite pursuit, as he would soon be overtaken.