To Their Great Concern, Mr. Crooks, Who Had Been
Indisposed For The Two Preceding Days, Had A Violent Fever In The
Night.
Shortly after daybreak they resumed their march.
On emerging from
the glen, a consultation was held as to their course. Should they
continue round the skirt of the mountain, they would be in danger
of falling in with the scattered parties of Blackfeet, who were
probably hunting in the plain. It was thought most advisable,
therefore, to strike directly across the mountain, since the
route, though rugged and difficult, would be most secure. This
counsel was indignantly derided by M'Lellan as pusillanimous.
Hot-headed and impatient at all times, he had been rendered
irascible by the fatigues of the journey, and the condition of
his feet, which were chafed and sore. He could not endure the
idea of encountering the difficulties of the mountain, and swore
he would rather face all the Blackfeet in the country. He was
overruled, however, and the party began to ascend the mountain,
striving, with the ardor and emulation of young men, who should
be first up. M'Lellan, who was double the age of some of his
companions, soon began to lose breath, and fall in the rear. In
the distribution of burdens, it was his turn to carry the old
beaver trap. Piqued and irritated, he suddenly came to a halt,
swore he would carry it no further, and jerked it half-way down
the hill. He was offered in place of it a package of dried meat,
but this he scornfully threw upon the ground.
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