He offered a quart or more of coarse corn meal, and Rogers made the trade.
We tried to inquire where we were or where ought to go, but could get no satisfactory answer from the man, although when we spoke San Francisco he pointed to the north.

This was not very satisfactory to us and we seemed as badly lost as ever, and where or which way to go we did not seem very successful in finding out.

So we concluded to go on a little way at least, and I hobbled off in the direction he pointed, which was down the hill and past a small, poorly fenced field which was sometimes cultivated, and across the stream which followed down the valley.
Passing on a mile or two we stopped on a big patch of sand to rest.
I told Rogers I did not think this course would lead us to any place in a month, and just now a delay was ruinous to us and to those who were waiting for us, and it would not do for us to go off to the north to find a settlement.

While I was expressing my opinion on matters and things, Rogers had wet up a part of his meal with water and put it to bake on the cover of his camp kettle.

There was a fair sized cake for each of us, and it was the first bread of any kind we had eaten for months, being a very acceptable change from an exclusively meat diet.
Looking up the valley we could see a cloud of dust, thick and high, and soon several men on horseback who came at a rushing gallop.