tered in the mountains. The others belonged to Nathaniel J. Wyeth's New England outfit, or were free trappers with small outfits.
A small tent was speedily erected for a saloon and Lander was appointed to handle the liquor trade, both whites and Indians being furious for drink. Lander was kept busy as long as he could stand on his feet, peddling out whisky at five dollars a pint. Then Papa Clair took his place.
There ensued the usual amount of fighting and gambling. Beaver pelts were the only medium of exchange, and as these were dumped on the buffalo robes of the gamblers, small fortunes quickly changed hands. Jim Baker, overfond of drink, set the pace for three days. Then Bridger went to him and suggested:
"'Bout enough for this time, eh, Jim?"
"I'm a derned fool. Lemme snooze an' I'll wake up sober's a b'iled owl."
He was as good as his word and reported for active duty. He was desirous of getting clear of the camp and Bridger sent him to raise a cache of beaver near the mouth of Horse Creek.
The big spree ended and the wounds were dressed. The trappers began buying their outfits of blankets, red shirts, tobacco and trade trin-
