My
position, as guide, was the advance guard. About two o'clock General
Carr overtook me and asked me how far I supposed it was to water. I
replied that I thought it was about eight miles, although we could see
no sign of a stream ahead.
"Pepoon's scouts say you are traveling in the wrong direction," said
the general. "They say, the way you are bearing, it will be fifteen
miles before we strike any branches of the Beaver, and that when you do
you will find no water, for they are dry at this season of the year in
this locality."
"I think the scouts are mistaken, General," I said. "The Beaver has
more water near its head than it has below. At the place where we will
strike the stream we will find immense beaver dams, big and strong
enough to cross your whole command if you wish."
"Well, go ahead," he said. "I leave it to you. But, remember, I don't
want a dry camp."
"No danger of that," I returned and rode on. As I predicted, we found
water seven or eight miles further on. Hidden in the hills was a
beautiful little tributary of the Beaver. We had no trouble in
selecting a fine camp with good spring water and excellent grass.
Learning that the stream, which was but eight miles long, was without a
name, the general took out his map, and, locating it, christened it
Cody's Creek, which name it still bears.
Early the next morning we pulled out for the Beaver.
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