twenty-five men (the same who had come with him from the United
States) and a hundred horses were his equipment; and the commencement
of winter the time of starting--all without a guide, relying
upon their guns for support; and, in the last resort, upon their
horses--such as should give out! for one that could carry a man, or a
pack, could not be spared for food.

"All the maps up to that time had shown this region traversed from
east to west--from the base of the Rocky Mountains to the Bay of San
Francisco--by a great river called the _Buena Ventura_: which may be
translated, the _Good Chance_. Governor McLaughlin believed in the
existence of this river, and made out a conjectural manuscript map to
show its place and course. Fremont believed in it, and his plan was to
reach it before the dead of winter, and then hybernate upon it. As a
great river he knew that it must have some rich bottoms, covered with
wood and grass, where the wild animals would collect and shelter,
when the snows and freezing winds drove them from the plains; and
with these animals to live on, and grass for the horses, and wood for
fires, he expected to avoid suffering, if not to enjoy comfort, during
his solitary sojourn in that remote and profound wilderness.

"He proceeded--soon encountered deep snows which impeded progress upon
the highlands--descended into a low country to the left (afterwards
known to be the Great Basin, from which no water issues to any
sea)--skirted an enormous chain of mountain on the right, luminous
with glittering white snow--saw strange Indians, who mostly
fled--found a desert--no Buena Ventura; and death from cold and famine
staring him in the face. The failure to find the river, or tidings of
it, and the possibility of its existence seeming to be forbid by the
structure of the country, and hybernation in the inhospitable desert