They had camped here and had dug holes in the sand in search of water, but had found none.
We staid all night here and dug around in some other places in the bottom of the canon, in the hope to have better luck than they did, but we got no water anywhere.
We seemed almost perishing for want of water, the hard exercise made us perspire so freely.

In the morning we started on, and near the summit we came to the dead body of Mr.Fish, laying in the hot sun, as there was no material near here with which his friends could cover the remains.
This Mr.Fish was the man who left camp some two weeks before in company with another and who carried the long whiplash wound about his body, in hope he could somewhere be able to trade it for bread.

No doubt in this very place where he breathed his last, his bones still lie.
As we came in sight of the next valley, we could see a lake of water some distance south of our western course.
We had followed the Jayhawkers trail thus far, but as we found no water in small holes in the rocks as we were likely to do when we were the first to pass, we decided to take a new route in the hope to find a little water in this way, for we had no hope of finding it in any other.
This valley we now crossed seemed to come to an end about ten miles to the north of us.

To the south it widened out, enclosing the lake spoken of.

This valley was very sandy and hard to walk over.