Not even a superannuated bull was to be seen; the whole region was
deserted. They kept on for several miles farther, following the
bank of the stream and eagerly looking for beaver sign. Upon finding
some they camped, and Ben Jones set his trap. They were hardly
settled in camp when they perceived a large column of smoke rising
in the clear air some distance to the southwest. They regarded it
joyously, for they hoped it might be an Indian camp where they could
get something to eat, as their pangs of hunger had now overcome
their dread of the terrible Blackfeet.

Le Clerc, one of the Canadians, was instantly despatched by Mr. Stuart
to reconnoitre; and the travellers sat up till a late hour, watching
and listening for his return, hoping he might bring them food.
Midnight arrived, but Le Clerc did not make his appearance, and they
lay down once more supperless to sleep, hoping that their old
beaver-trap might furnish them with a breakfast.

At daybreak they hastened, eager and famishing, to the trap, but
found in it only the forepaw of a beaver, the sight of which
tantalized their hunger and added to their dejection. They resumed
their journey with flagging spirits, but had not gone far when they
perceived Le Clerc approaching at a distance. They hastened to meet
him, in hope of tidings of good cheer. He had nothing to give them
but news of that strange wanderer, M'Lellan. The smoke had arisen
from his encampment which took fire while he was fishing at some
little distance from it. Le Clerc found him in a forlorn condition.
His fishing had been unsuccessful, and during twelve days that he had
been wandering alone through the savage mountains he had found
scarcely anything to eat. He had been ill, sick at heart, and still
had pressed forward; but now his strength and his stubbornness