By the time two or three hours had elapsed we began to feel
partially dry, and decided to start on, relying on exercise to
keep ourselves warm. We had had breakfast in the meantime, and,
on the whole, were feeling rather cheerful again. We opened the
cover and spread out the bedding, inside and outside, and hung
some of it on a long pole which we stuck into the wagon from the
rear. Altogether we presented a rather funny appearance as we
started out along the trail, but no one paid much attention to
us. The freighters were already astir, and we were constantly
passing or meeting their long trains. Among others we passed
Eugene Brooks, the man with whom we had taken dinner. We told him
of our mishap, and he laughed and said:
"That's nothing in this country. Something's always happening
here which would kill folks anywhere else. You stay here awhile
and you'll be as tough as your old black horse."
Brooks had an outfit of five spans of mules and two wagons.
We stayed with him a half-hour, and then went on. As we could not
reach Deadwood that day, he advised us to camp that night where
the trail crossed Thunder Butte Creek, a branch of La Belle
Fourche.
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