He must then have walked on and on, over rugged hills and across deep
ravines, until his horse came to a standstill; he took off its saddle
and picketed it to a dwarfed ash. Its frozen carcass was found with
the saddle near by, two months later. He now evidently recognized some
landmark, and realized that he had passed the road, and was far to the
north of the round-up wagons; but he was a resolute, self-confident man,
and he determined to strike out for a line camp, which he knew lay about
due east of him, two or three miles out on the prairie, on one of the
head branches of Knife River. Night must have fallen by this time, and
he missed the camp, probably passing it within less than a mile; but he
did pass it, and with it all hopes of life, and walked wearily on to
his doom, through the thick darkness and the driving snow. At last his
strength failed, and he lay down in the tall grass of a little hollow.
Five months later, in the early spring, the riders from the line camp
found his body, resting, face downwards, with the forehead on the folded
arms.
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