On to Monterey

American Trail! In trail, defended in blood! On to Monterey! August 25th, 1843, Utah Territory.

Red, yellow, blue, cliffs rise up on all sides. Sunset, fierce, barbaric, hot, blue. The man is Captain John Fremont. The government wants a route survey that will connect the United States with the Oregon country.

Three Montas the man for the job. Four months ago he left Kansas. He is west of the Rocky Mountains now. Fifteen men with him. One how it's her gun. And a hunter named Carson. You're working on that, Darry Kevin?

Yes, I'll need these notes and I get back to Washington. I sort of keep thinking about broken hand-fit battery. He's all right, Carson. Maybe we should all stay together. By the time we get to the Oregon country broken hand will be there waiting for us.

You most likely get to Fort Hall before we do. That was no coyote captain. Indians? Dadsen, what is it? I ain't sure, sir. You see something? I just ain't sure captain, Fremont. I'll take a look around captain.

I get some sleep. Indians won't attack if they know we're on the watch for them. One week south of Soty Springs, searching for the great salt lake. Something else, something I can't even talk to Carson about. Not yet. Our final destination should be the Columbia River.

The job will be done yet. Yet I know I must go on from there. That can wait. Our party's even smaller. I've sent some men on the Fort Hall for supplies. The rest Most of us are in marshlands, surrounded by mountains.

Were you solely around here, Kevin? Yeah, I'm breathing it. I feel it in my stomach. Aren't you kind of thirsty? Hey, guys, your face is covered with salt. You better wipe it off. Marshlands glisten with salt. We've ridden the higher ground.