Near the Eastern edge of the valley we turned aside to visit the grave of Mr.Isham, which they had told us of.
They had covered his remains with their hands as best they could, piling up a little mound of sand over it.

Our next camp was to be on the summit of the range just before us, and we passed the dead body of Mr.Fish, we had seen before, and go on a little to a level sandy spot in the ravine just large enough to sleep on.

This whole range is a black mass rocky piece of earth, so barren that not a spear of grass can grow, and not a drop of water in any place.

We tied our horses to rocks and there they staid all night, for if turned loose there was not a mouthful of food for them to get.
In the morning an important question was to be decided, and that was whether we should continue to follow the Jayhawker's trail which led far to the north to cross the mountain, which stood before us, a mass of piled-up rocks so steep that it seemed as if a dog could hardly climb it.

Our wagons were nearly due east from this point over the range, and not more than fifty miles away, while to go around to the north was fully a hundred miles, and would take us four or five days to make.