They trapped successfully until the inclement weather forced them into winter quarters.
Nothing occurred of any moment, until mid-winter.

Daily parties went out for game and they always returned with an ample supply.

In their snug lodges, gathered around their blazing fires, telling stories of past adventures, preparing clothing for the summer, feasting upon fat turkeys, and the choicest cuts of buffalo-meat and venison, a few weeks passed very pleasantly away.

Being free from that most terrible of all earthly curses, intoxicating drinks, there was no discord, and this little community of mountaineers, in the solitudes of a Rocky mountain valley, were perhaps as happy as any other equal community amidst the highest conveniences of civilization.
One winter's day a little band of hunters, in their pursuit of game, were lured to a greater distance than usual from the camp.

Their attention was arrested by certain signs which indicated that a band of Indians had passed by, and had endeavored carefully to conceal their trail.