Then we three pushed the wagon seven miles, and Oliver moved ahead and pulled the horses after him by the bits.

We complained, but Oliver did not.

The ground was frozen, and it froze our backs while we slept; the wind swept across our faces and froze our noses.

Oliver did not complain.

Five days of pushing the wagon by day and freezing by night brought us to the bad part of the journey--the Forty Mile Desert, or the Great American Desert, if you please.