He would reach if possible, some solitary stream which no white man's eye had ever beheld.

He has no road, no trail to guide him.

He rides his pony and leads his mule.

Over the prairie, through the forest, across the streams, in silence and in a solitude which to him is not lonely, he passes on his way.
Night comes.

If pleasant, he unburdens his horse and mule; drives his iron pickets into the ground, to which his animals are attached by ropes about thirty feet long, generally in pastures of rich grass or wild oats; builds a fire, cooks his supper, rolls himself in his blanket and sleeps soundly till morning.