I'm traveling the U.S. in the late 1800's. I meet up with Burt Lancaster, another woman, and her young son. We travel together. It's winter. The woman asks me to take a huge ice knife and cut blocks of ice (we're on a lake). I say, "I'm afraid to. I'll slip and fall in or it will crack and go out from under us." She does it herself. Burt falls in love with her. She is married already to some disagreeable wimp. He doesn't like having Burt around but accepts it because Burt is strong and will save the family from disaster. The woman learns ways of survival in the wilderness from Burt. He puts an animal on a rock. A huge bird swoops down and kills it. I cry (I'm a daughter, I think). I think that's cruel. Burt says, "He had every chance for survival. He had to fight. He lost." I feel awful. Then Burt is talking to a young, pudgy boy who is really a squirrel. His eyes are squirrel's eyes. He tells the boy he's a squirrel and will be left on his own to survive. The boy listens and then changes physically into a squirrel. He runs and is safe. I'm glad he's safe. Now Burt's in San Francisco on a sailing boat. I'm the first mate. We decide to sail back to our starting point. I start to cast off. Burt asks me if I have my cigarettes. I look. I'm lighting the wrong end and it's smoking wrong. I say, "Hey, let's sail overland." We do. We're going on a dirt road. We meet up with that family again. I hear someone saying to the woman, "Oh Mr. XXX is here. Have you ever met him?" She and her son run to see Burt. He's in a tavern. A woman sort of pretty, shy, and he are hugging. Another woman, sophisticated, wearing black and red (saucy) cuts in. He likes them both. The first one feels put out but hangs in there.