Crossing the plains, days of '57; a narrative of early emigrant travel to California by the ox-team method

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CROSSING THE PLAINS
DAYS OF '57

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Crossing the Plains
Days of '57

A NARRATIVE OF EARLY EMIGRANT TRAVEL

TO CALIFORNIA BY THE

OX-TEAM METHOD

ja^^

BY. . ,

WM. AUDLEY MAXWELL

BOOKSELLERS

f593

COPYRIGHT. 1915, BY
WM AUDLEY MAXWELL

SUNSET PUBUSHING HOXJSB
SAN FRANCISCO MCMrV'

itOADeMY OF
►ACIF»C eOAST

CONTENTS

PAGE

List of Illustrations VI

Foreword VII

Chapter I. Forsaking the Old, in Quest of the

New. First Camp. Fording the

Platte 1

Chapter II. Laramie Fashions and Sioux Eti-
quette. A Trophy. Chimney
Eock. A Solitary Emigrant.

Jests and Jingles 13

Chapter III. Lost in the Black Hills. Devirs
i™^ Gate. Why a Mountain Sheep

Hv Did Not Wink. Green Kiver

liF Ferry 31

Chapter IV. Disquieting Rumors of Redmen.

■ Consolidation for Safety. The

[. Poisonous Humboldt .... 49

HAPTER V. The Holloway Massacre ... 62
Chapter VL Origin of Piker. ^ ^ Before the Era
of Canned Good and Kodaks.
Morning Routine. Typical Biv-
ouac. Sociability Entrained. The
Flooded Camp. Hope Sustains

Patience 76

Chapter VII. Tangled by a Tornado. Lost the
Pace but Kept the Cow. Human
Oddities. Night Guards. Wolf
Serenades. Awe of the Wilder-
ness. A Stampede .... 97
Chapter VIII. Disaster Overtakes the Wood Family 116
Chapter IX. Mysterious Visitors. Extra Senti-
nels. An Anxious Night . . 123

Chapter X. Challenge to Battle 133

Chapter XL Sagebrush Justice 144

Chapter XII. Night Travel. Arid Wastes to

Limpid Waters 160

Chapter XIIL Into the Settlements. Halt. . .170

ILLUSTRATIONS

PAGE

^^They started flight^' Frontispiece

** Fording the Platte consumed one entire day" . 11

^'Wo-haw-Buck" 14

*'From our coign of vantage we continued to

shoot" 21

Chimney Eock 22

* ^ One melody that he sang from the heart " . .27

** Hauled the delinquent out" 30

"The wagons were lowered through the crevice" 38

Bone-writing 57

'^With hand upraised in supplication, yielded to

the impulse to flee " 67

Jerry Bush, 1914 72

Nancy Holloway, 1857 ......... 74

The Author, twenty years after 100

A Coyote Serenade 109

^ * Van Diveer ^s advantage was slight but

sufficient" 136

"A sip from the barrel cost fifty cents" . . . 146
" ^Stop,' shouted the Judge" . . . . . .156

*^ ^Melican man dig gold" 173

Pack-mule route to placer diggings 175

FOREWORD

Diligent inquiry has failed to disclose
the existence of an authentic and
comprehensive narrative of a pioneer
journey across the plains. With the
exception of some improbable yarns
and disconnected incidents relating to
the earlier experiences, the subject has
been treated mainly from the stand-
point of people who traveled westward
at a time when the real hardships and
perils of the trip were much less than
those encountered in the fifties.

A very large proportion of the peo-
ple now residing in the Far West are
descendants of emigrants who came by
the precarious means afforded by ox-
team conveyances. For some three-
score years the younger generations

have heard from the lips of their ances-
tors enough of that wonderful pil-
grimage to create among them a wide-
spread demand for a complete and
typical narrative.

This story consists of facts, with the
real names of the actors in the drama.
The events, gay, grave and tragic, are
according to indelible recollections of
eye-witnesses, including those of

The Author.
W. A. M.,

Ukiah, California, 1915.

CROSSING THE PLAINS
DAYS OF '57

CHAPTER I.

FORSAKING THE OLD IN QUEST OF
■» THE NEW. FIRST CAMP.

K FORDING THE PLATTE.

I We left the west bank of the Mis-
"souri River on May 17, 1857. Our
objective point was Sonoma County,
California.

The company consisted of thirty-
seven persons, including several fam-
ilies, and some others; the individuals
ranging in years from middle age to
babies: eleven men, ten women and
sixteen minors ; the eldest of the party
forty-nine, the most youthful, a boy
two months old the day we started.
Most of these were persons who had
resided for a time at least not far
[1]

Crossing the Plains

from the starting point, but not all
were natives of that section, some hav-
ing emigrated from Indiana, Kentucky,
Tennessee and Virginia.

We were outfitted with eight wag-
ons, about thirty yoke of oxen, fifty
head of extra steers and cows, and ten
or twelve saddle ponies and mules.

The vehicles were light, well-built'
farm wagons, arranged and fitted for
economy of space and weight. Most
of the wagons were without brakes,
seats or springs. The axles were of
wood, which, in case of their breaking,
could be repaired en route. Chains
were used for deadlocking the wheels
while moving down steep places.

No lines or halters of any kind
were used on the oxen for guiding
them, these animals being managed en-
tirely by use of the ox-whip and the
"ox- word." The whip was a braided
leathern lash, six to eight feet long,
the most approved stock for which was
a hickory sapling, as long as the lash,

[2]

The Outfit

and on the extremity of the lash was
a strip of buckskin, for a "cracker/^
which, when snapped by a practiced
driver, produced a sound like the re-
port of a pistol. The purpose of the
whip was well understood by the
trained oxen, and that implement en-
abled a skillful driver to regulate the
course of a wagon almost as accurately
as if the team were of horses, with the
reins in the hands of an expert jehu.

An emigrant wagon such as de-
scribed, provided with an oval top
cover of white ducking, with "flaps'' in
front and a "puckering-string'' at the
rear, came to be known in those days
as a '^prairie schooner;" and a string
of them, drawn out in single file in the
daily travel, was a "train." Trains
following one another along the same
new pathway were sometimes strung
out for hundreds of miles, with spaces
of a few hundred yards to several
miles between, and were many weeks
passing a given point

[3]

Crossing the Plains

Our commissary wagon was supplied
with flour, bacon, coffee, tea, sugar,
rice, salt, and so forth; rations esti-
mated to last for five or six months, if
necessary; also medical supplies, and
whatever else we could carry to meet
the probable necessities and the pos-
sible casualties of the journey; with
the view of traveling tediously but
patiently over a country of roadless
plains and mountains, crossing deserts
and fording rivers ; meanwhile cooking,
eating and sleeping on the ground as
we should find it from day to day.

The culinary implements occupied a
compartment of their own in a wagon,
consisting of such kettles, long-handled
frying-pans and sheet-iron coffee pots
as could be used on a camp-fire, with
table articles almost all of tin. Those
who attempted to carry the more
friable articles, owing to the thumps
and falls to which these were subjected,
found themselves short in supply of
utensils long before the journey ended.

[4]

The Start

I have seen a man and wife drinking
coffee from one small tin pan, their
china and delftware having been left
in fragments to decorate the desert
wayside.

We had some tents, but they were
little used, after we learned how to do
without them, excepting in cases of
inclement weather, of which there was
very little, especially in the latter part
of the trip.

During the great rush of immigra-
tion into California subsequent to
1849, from soon after the discovery of
gold until this time, the usual date at
which the annual emigrants started
from the settlement borders along the
Missouri River was April 15th to May
1st. The Spring of 1857 was late, and
we did not pull out until May 17th,
when the prairie grass was grown
sufficiently to afford feed for the stock,
and summer weather was assured.

At that time the boundary line be-
tween the "States'^ and the ^Tlains''

[5]

Crossing the Plains

was the Missouri River. We crossed
that river at a point about half-way
between St. Joseph and Council Bluffs,
where the village of Brownville was
the nucleus of a first settlement of
white people on the Nebraska side.
There the river was a half-mile wide.
The crossing was effected by means of
an old-fashioned ferryboat or scow,
propelled by a small, stern-wheeled
steamer. Two days were consumed in
transporting our party and equipment
across the stream; but one wagon and
a few of the people and animals being
taken at each trip of the ferryboat and
steamer.

From the landing we passed up the
west shore twenty miles, seeing occa-
sionally a rude cabin or a foundation
of logs, indicating the intention of
pre-empters. This brought us to the
town of Nebraska City, then a begin-
ning of a dozen or twenty houses, on
the west bank. Omaha was not yet on
the map ; although where that thriving

[6]

Leaving Civilization

city now stands there existed then a
settlement of something over one hun-
dred persons.

From Nebraska City we bore off
northwesterly, separating ourselves
from civilization, and thereafter saw
no more evidence of the white man's
purpose to occupy the country over
which we traveled.

There was before us the sky-bound
stretch of undulating prairie, spread-
ing far and wide, like a vast field of
young, growing grain, its monotony
relieved only by occasional clumps of
small trees, indicating the presence of
springs or small water-courses.

Other companies or trains, from
many parts of the country, especially
the Middle States, were crossing the
Missouri at various points between St.
Louis and Council Bluffs ; most of them
converging eventually into one general
route, as they got out on the journey.

It is perhaps impossible to convey a
clear understanding of the emotions

[7]

Crossing the Plains

experienced by one starting on such a
trip; leaving friends and the familiar
surroundings of what had been home,
to face a siege of travel over thousands
of miles of wilderness, so little known
and fraught with so much of hardship
and peril.

The earlier emigrants, gold-hunters,
men only — men of such stuff as pio-
neers usually are made of — carried
visions of picking up fortunes in the
California gold mines and soon return-
ing to their former haunts. But those
who were going now felt that they
were burning all bridges behind them;
that all they had was with them, and
they were going to stay.

Formerly we had heard that Cali-
fornia was good only for its gold
mines; that it was a country of rocks,
crags and deserts; where it rained
ceaselessly during half of the year
and not at all in the other half.* But
later we had been told that in the val-
leys there was land on which crops of

[8]

Anticipations

wheat could be grown, and that cattle
raising was good, on the broad acres
of wild oats everywhere in the ^^cow
counties." It was told us also that
there were strips of redwood forest
along the coast, and these trees, a hun-
dred to several hundred feet in height,
could be split into boards ten to twenty
feet long, for building purposes; and
that this material was to be had by
anybody for the taking. Some said
that the Spanish padres, at their mis-
sions in several localities near the
Pacific shore, had planted small vine-
yards of what had come to be known
as the ^^Mission" grape, which pro-
duced enormous crops. Another report
told us that other fruits, including the
orange and lemon varieties, so far as
tried, gave promise of being valuable

*As late as March, 1850, Daniel Webster said in
the United States Senate: ** California is Asiatic in
formation and scenery; composed of vast mountains
of enormous height, with broken ridges and deep
valleys. The sides of these mountains are barren —
entirely barren — their tops capped by perennial
snow. ' '

[9]

Crossing the Plains

products of the valley and foothill soils.
Such stories gave rise to a malady
called ^^California fever." It was con-
tagious, and carried off many people.

Our first camp was on the open
prairie, where grass grew about four
inches high, and a small spring fur-
nished an ample supply of water.
Firewood we had brought with us for
that night. The weather was very fine,
and all were joyous at the novelty of
'^camping out."

On or about the eighth day we came
to the Platte River; broad, muddy
stream, at some points a mile or more
in width ; shallow, but running rapidly,
between low banks; its many small
islands wholly covered by growths of
Cottonwood trees and small willows.
From these islands we obtained from
time to time the fuel needed for the
camp, as we took our course along the
river's southerly shore; and occasion-
ally added to the contents of the ^^grub"
wagon by capturing an elk or deer

[10]

The Platte

that had sought covert in the cool shade
of these island groves. Antelope also
were there, but too wary for our
huntsmen.

"Fording the Platte consumed one entire day"

We forded the Platte at a point
something like one hundred and fifty
miles westward from its confluence
with the Missouri. There was no road
leading into the river, nor any evidence
of its having been crossed by any one,
[11]

Crossing the Plains

at that place. We were informed that
the bottom was of quicksand, and ford-
ing, therefore, dangerous. We tested
it, by riding horses across. Contrary
to our expectations, the bottom was
found to be a surface of smooth sand,
packed hard enough to bear up the
wagons, when the movement was quick
and continuous. A cut was made in
the bank, to form a runway for pas- ■
sage of the wagons to the water's edge ;
and the whole train crossed the stream
safely, with no further mishap than
the wetting of a driver and the dipping
of a wagon into a place deep enough
to let water into the box. Fording the
Platte consumed one entire day. We
camped that night on the north shore.
The train continued along the gen-
eral course of the river about four hun-
dred miles, as far as Fort Laramie,
through open country, in which there
was an abundance of feed for the
animals, but where wood for fuel was
scarce.

[121

CHAPTER 11.

LARAMIE FASHIONS AND SIOUX ETI-
QUETTE. A TROPHY. CHIMNEY
ROCK. A SOLITARY EMIGRANT.
JESTS AND JINGLES

The Laramie and Sioux Indians were
in those days the lords of that portion
of the plains over which we traveled
during the first several weeks.

They were fine specimens of physical
manhood. Tall, erect, well propor-
tioned, they carried themselves with a
distinct air of personal importance and
dignity. They had not taken to the
white man's mode of dress. Each had,
in addition to his buckskin breeches
and moccasins, a five-point Mackinaw
blanket, these comprising for him a
complete suit. The blanket he used as
an outer garment, when needed, and
for his cover at night. Many of the

[13]

Crossing the Plains

more important "big injins'' owned also
a buffalo robe. This was the whole
hide of the buffalo, with the hair on it,

"Wo-haw-Buck"

the inner side tanned to a soft, pliable
leather, and the irregularities of its
natural shape neatly cut away. It
furnished the owner an excellent storm

[14]

Animal Life

robe, sufficient protection, head to foot,
in the severest weather.

The Indians of these tribes that we
met were friendly, even to familiarity.
One of them would approach an emi-
grant with a ^^glad-to-meet-you'' air,
extending a hand in what was intended
to be 'Vhite-man" fashion. But "Mr.
Lo" was a novice in the art of hand-
shaking, and his awkardness and mim-
icking attempts in the effort were as
amusing to us as satisfactory, appar-
ently, to him. His vocal greeting, with
slight variation from time to time,
was in such words — with little regard
for their meaning — as he had caught
from the ox-driving dialect of the
passing emigrants : "Wo-haw-buck,''
"Hello, John, got tobac?'' If he added
"Gimme biskit," and "Pappoose heap
sick," he had about reached the limit of
his English vocabulary.

Large game was common along some
parts of the way : buffalo, elk, antelope,
deer, on the plains and hills; bear,

[15]

Crossing the Plains

mountain lions, wildcats and other
species in the mountainous sections.
They were shy and not easy to take,
but we captured a few of some vari-
eties. Some members of the party dem-
onstrated that fishing was good in the
Rocky Mountain streams. Naturally
the men were hopeful of securing speci-
mens of the larger game, but our lack
of experience and scarcity of proper
equipment for the purpose were against
the chance, though not to the extent of
our entire disappointment.

Only persons of much experience on
the plains could form even an approx-
imate estimate of the great number of
buffaloes sometimes seen together. It
has been stated that there were herds
numbering more than fifty thousand.
Such an aggregation would consume
days in passing a given point, and in
case of a. stampede, all other animals
in its path were doomed to destruction.
A herd of buffaloes quietly grazing was
sometimes difficult to distinguish, when

[16]

A Buffalo Hunt

viewed from a considerable distance,
from a low forest ; their rounded bodies
and the neutral tint of their shaggy
coats giving them the appearance of
bushes.

When the train was nearing the fork
of the Platte River a herd of buffaloes
was seen, quietly grazing on the plain,
a mile or more to the right, beyond a
small water-course.

Deciding we would try our prowess.
Captain Maxwell and this narrator
rode to the creek, at a point some dis-
tance below the position of the herd,
where we tied our horses, then crept
along, under cover of the creek bank,
till we had gone as near as possible,
without being seen by the herd, distant
from us not much more than a hundred
yards.

Cautiously peering above the edge of
the bank, we selected a choice buffalo
among those nearest us, and both fired.
The entire herd galloped wildly away,
continuing till all passed from view

[17]

Crossing the Plains

over a hill some miles northward. Not
one showed sign of having been hit.

As we were about to leave the place,
what should we see but a lonely buffalo,
coming down the slope toward where
we were, moving with leisurely tread
and manner perfectly unconcerned.
Notwithstanding our recent firing, this
animal evidently had no suspicion
of our presence. We remained and
awaited his coming.

He walked a few steps, then browsed
a little, as if in no hurry about any-
thing. Captain John and I felt our
hope rise; we laid our plans and
waited patiently.

Just where the buffalo trail led down
the bank of the creek, there were, as
in many places near the stream, some
scattered cottonwood and other trees.
One of these that once stood on the
brink had fallen till its top caught in
the fork of another tree, and rested at
a gentle incline upward from where it
had grown. At the roots of this fallen

[18]

Effective Shots

tree we concealed ourselves, to wait,
hoping that the big animal would come
down to the water, but a few yards
from us; for we guessed that he was
one that had not yet had his drink from
the brook that day, and was determined
not to leave until he slaked his thirst.

It was an anxious while of waiting,
but not long. I was fearful that my
hard-thumping heart-beats would be
audible and frighten him away. Could
it be true that I had an attack of
^^buck-ague''? Perish the thought.

Finally his bovine majesty came
lazily over the top of the bank, with a
heavy, slow motion ; grunting and puff-
ing, as if he were almost too heavy for
his legs. When he got to the bottom of
the bank and was about to drink. Cap-
tain John whispered our agreed signal :
"One, two, three;'' we fired, simultane-
ously, and repeated. The big fellow
stood still for a moment after the shots
and looked about, with a slow move-
ment and stolid gaze, turning his head

[19]

Crossing the Plains

questioningly from side to side, as if he
would say, ^^I thought I heard some-
thing pop."

Somehow we knew we had hit him,
and we wondered why he did not fall.
His little, black eyes rolled and glinted
under his shaggy foretop. Then he
seemed to swell; crouching slightly, as
does a beast of prey when about to
spring; lowered his head, pawed the
earth and shook his mane. His whole
body became vibrant with the obvious
desire to fight, — and no antagonist in
sight. Uttering a tremendous grunt,
he arched his back again, stamping
with all four feet, somewhat like the
capers of a Mexican "broncho'' when
preparing to buck''; then he snorted
once more, with such explosive force as
seemed to shake the tree beside which
we were hidden, as he looked about for
something to pitch into.

By this time we thought we under-
stood why a kind Providence had

[20]

A Prize Captured

caused that cottonwood tree to lodge at
such an angle that a buffalo could not
climb it, but we could — and we did.
Getting ourselves safely into the fork

"From our coign of vantage we continued to shoot"

of the tree, we continued to shoot from
our coign of vantage till the big fellow
dropped. When he ceased to kick or
give any sign of belligerency, we came

[21]

Crossing the Plains

down and approached him, carefully.
Then we dressed him, or as much of
him as we could carry in two bags that
we had strapped behind our saddles,
and rejoined the train after our people
had gone into camp for the night.

^

Irs

Chimney Rock

We had our first buffalo steak for
supper that night. We also nad the
satisfaction of observing signs of jeal-
ousy on the part of the other men who
had never killed a buffalo.

One of the first natural curiosities
we saw was Chimney Rock; a vertical

[22]

Pike's Peak Afar

column of sandstone something like
forty feet high, with a rugged stone
bluff rising abruptly near it. Its ap-
pearance, from our distant view, re-
sembled a stone chimney from which
the building had been burned away, as
it stood, solitary on the flat earth at
the south side of the Platte River, we
traveling up the north shore. Such a
time-chiseled monument was a novelty
to us then. To the early emigrants it
was the first notable landmark.

While some distance farther west, as
we scaled the higher slopes, we could
see to the southward the snow-capped
peaks of that region which long after-
ward was taken from western Ne-
braska to become the Territory of
Colorado, and later still, the State of
that name. Looking over and past the
locality where, more than a year there-
after, the town of Denver was laid out,
we saw, during several weeks, the
summit of Pike's Peak, hundreds of
miles away.

[23]

Crossing the Plains

One evening when we were going
into camp we were overtaken by a man
trundling a push-cart. This vehicle
had between its wheels a box containing
the man's supplies of food and camp
articles, with the blankets, which were
in a roll, placed on top; all strapped
down under an oilcloth cover.

With this simple outfit, pushed in
front of him, this man was making
his way from one of the Eastern
States to California, a distance of more
than three thousand miles. He was of
medium size, athletic appearance, with
a cheerful face. He visited us over-
night. The next morning he was in-
vited to tie his cart behind one of our
wagons and ride with us. He replied
that he would be pleased to do so, but
was anxious to make all possible speed,
and felt that he could not wait on the
progress of our train, which was some-
what slower than the pace he main-
tained. It was said that he was the
first man who made the entire trip on

[24]

Youthful Exuberance

foot and alone, from coast to coast, as
we were afterwards informed he suc-
ceeded in doing.

From time to time the tedium was
dispelled by varied incidents; many
that were entertaining and instructive,
some ludicrous, some pathetic, and
others profoundly tragic. Agreeable
happenings predominated largely dur-
ing the early stages, and those involv-
ing difficulties and of grave import
were mainly a part of our experiences
toward the close of the long pilgrimage.
Such an order of events might be pre-
sumed as a natural sequence, as the
route led first over a territory not
generally difficult to travel, but farther
and farther from established civiliza-
tion, into rougher lands, and toward
those regions where outlawry, common
to all pioneer conditions, was prevalent.

With our company were four or
five boys and young men, eighteen to
twenty-one years of age, also a kindly
and unpretentious but droll young fel-

[25]

Crossing the Plains

low, named John C. Aston, whose age
was about twenty-five. This younger
element was responsible for most of
the occurrences of lighter vein, which
became a feature of our daily progress.
Aston's intimate friends called him
^^Jack,'' and some of the more face-
tious ones shortened the cognomen
''Jack Aston'' by dropping the "ton,"
inconsiderately declaring that the
briefer appellation fitted the man, even
better than did his coat, which always
was loose about the shoulders and too
long in the sleeves. But all knew
''Jack'' to be an excellent fellow. His
principal fault, if it could be so termed,
was a superabundance of good-nature,
a willingness at all times to joke and
be joked. He had a fund of stories —
in some of which he pictured himself
the hero — with which he was wont to
relieve the tedium of the evening
hours. A violin was among his effects,
which he played to accompany his
singing of entertaining countryside

[26]

Songs and Stories

songs. Most of these were melodious,
and highly descriptive. ^^Jack'* had
much music in his soul, and sang with
good effect.

There was one melody that he sang
oftenest, and sang from the heart —

"One melody that he sang from the heart"

one that was rendered nightly, regard-
less of any variation in the program;
a composition that embraced seventeen
verses, each followed by a soothing
lullaby refrain; a song which, every
time he sang it, carried ''Jack'' again
to his old home in the Sunny South,

[27]

Crossing the Plains

and seemed to give him surcease from
all the ills of life. Of that song a
single verse is here reproduced, with
deep regret that the other sixteen are
lost, with all except a small fraction of
the tune. Yet, cold, inanimate music
notes on the paper would convey, to
one who never heard him sing them,
only the skeleton; the life, sympathy
and soul of the song would be lacking.
We needed no other soporific. Here
it is:

Oh, the days of bygone joys,

They never will come back to me;

When I was with the girls and boys,
A-courting, down in Tennessee.

Ulee, ilee, aloo, ee —
Courting, down in Tennessee.

It was ''Jack's" habit to allow his
head to hang to the left, due, pre-
sumably, to much practice in holding
down the large end of his violin with
his chin. He was prone to sleep a
great deal, and even as he sat in the
driver's seat of a ''prairie-schoner,"
or astride a mule, the attitude de-

[28]

JokeSy Highly Practical

scribed often resulted in his being ac-
cused of napping while on duty. The
climatic conditions peculiar to the
plains, and the slow, steady movement
of the conveyances, were conducive to
drowsiness, in consequence of which
everybody was all the time sleepy.
But '^Jack'' was born that way, and
the very frequent evidences of it in
his case led to a general understand-
ing that, whenever he was not in sight,
he was hidden away somewhere asleep.

"Jack's'' amiability, too, was a per-
manent condition. Apparently no one
could make him angry or resentful.
For this reason, he was the target for
many pranks perpetrated by the boys.
Like this:

One evening "Jack" took his blan-
ket and located for the night at a spot
apart from the others of the company,
under a convenient sage bush. The
next morning he was overlooked until
after breakfast. When the time came
for hitching the teams, he was not at

[29]

Crossing the Plains

his post. A search finally revealed
him, still rolled in his bedding, fast
asleep. When several calls failed to

"Hauled the delinquent out"

arouse him, one of the boys tied an
end of a rope around "Jack's" feet,
hitched a pair of oxen to the other
end, and hauled the delinquent out
some distance on the sand. "Jack"
sat up, unconcernedly rubbed his eyes,
then began untying the rope that
bound his feet, his only comment
being —

"Ulee, ilee, aloo, ee;

Courting, down in Tennessee."

[30]

CHAPTER III.

LOST IN THE BLACK HILLS. DEVIL'S

GATE. WHY A MOUNTAIN SHEEP

DID NOT WINK. GREEN

RIVER FERRY.

At Fort Laramie we left the Platte
River, and, bearing northwesterly, en-
tered the Black Hills, a region of low,
rolling uplands, sparsely grown with
scrubby pine trees; the soil black, very
dry; where little animal life was vis-
ible, excepting prairie dogs.

There may be readers who, at the
mention of prairie dogs, see mentally
a wolf or other specimen of the gemts
canis, of ordinary kind and size. The
prairie dog, however, is not of the
dog species. It bears some resem-
blance to a squirrel and a rat, but is
larger than either. It may be likened
to the canine only in that it barks,

[31]

Crossing the Plains

somewhat as do small dogs. Prairie
dogs live in holes, dug by themselves.
Twenty to fifty of these holes may be
seen within a radius of a few yards,
and such communities are known to
plains people as ^'towns." On the ap-
proach of anything they fear the little
fellows sit erect, look defiant and chat-
ter saucily. If the intruder comes
too near, the commanding individual
of the group, the mayor of the town,
so to speak, gives an alarm, plainly
interpreted as, ''Beware; make safe;
each man for himself;" and instantly
each one turns an exquisite somersault
and disappears, as he drops, head
downward, into the hole beside him.

John L. Maxwell had made the trip
over the plains from the Missouri
River to California in 1854, returning,
via Panama, in 1856, to take his family
to the West, accompanying the train
of his elder brother. Dr. Kennedy
Maxwell. He was of great service to
us now, by reason of his experience

[32]

Off the Trail

and consequent knowledge of the coun-
try traversed. He was therefore
elected to act as pilot of the company,
with the title ^'Captain John/' which
clung to him for many years.

The emigrant trail in some parts of
the way was well marked. In other
places there was none, and we had to
find our way as best we could, not
always without difficulty. Often Cap-
tain John and others would ride ahead
of the train a considerable distance,
select routes for passage through
places where travel was hard or risky,
choose camp-sites, and, returning, pilot
the train accordingly.

At various times, despite every care
in selecting the route, the train went
on a wrong course, and at least once
was completely astray. This was one
morning as the company was passing
out of the Black Hills country. Infor-
mation had been received that at this
place a short-cut could be made which
would save fifteen or twenty miles.

Crossing the Plains

There were no marks on the ground
indicating that any train ahead had
gone that way, but the leaders decided
to try it This venture led the com-
pany into a situation not unlike the
proverbial ^^jumping-off place."

Directly in our course was a decliv-
ity which dropped an estimated depth
of sixty to one hundred feet below the
narrow, stony flat on which we stood,
down into a depressed valley. Abrupt
ridges of broken stone formation were
on our right and left, inclosing us in
a small space of barren, waste earth.
The elements had crumbled the rocks
down for ages, until what perhaps had
been once a deep canyon was now a
narrow flat, a mass of debris, termi-
nating at the top of the steep, ragged
cliff that pitched downward before us.
The high, rocky ridges on both sides
were wholly impassable, at least for
the teams. A search finally disclosed,
at the base of the ridge on our right,
a single possible passage. It was nar-

[34]

Passage Barred

row, slightly wider than a wagon, and
led downward at a steep incline, into
the valley below, with rocks protrud-
ing from both its side walls, its bottom
strewn with stones such as our vehicles
could not pass over in an ordinary
way.

We were confronted with the prob-
lem how to get the wagons down that
yawning fissure; the alternative being
to retrace our steps many miles.

At the bottom of this cliff or wall
that barred our way could be seen a
beautiful valley, stretching far and
wide away to the northwest; a scene
of enchanting loveliness, a refreshing
contrast to the dry and nearly barren
hills over which we had traveled dur-
ing the many days last past. A short
distance from the foot of the wall was
a small stream of clear water, running
over the meadow-flat. Rich pasture
extended along the line of trees that
marked the serpentine course of the
brook which zigzagged its way toward

[35]

Crossing the Plains

the southwest. Every man, woman
and child of our company expressed in
some way the declaration, ^^We must
get into that beautiful oasis/' It
looked like field, park and orchard, in
one landscape; all fenced off from the
desolate surroundings by this wall
of stone. Like Moses viewing Canaan
from Nebo's top, we looked down and
yearned to be amidst its freshness.

It was not decreed that we should
not enter in. A little distance to the
south, near the other ridge, we discov-
ered another opening, through which
the animals could be driven down, but
through which the wagons could not
pass. This was a narrow, crooked
ravine, and very steep; running diag-
onally down through the cliff; a sort
of dry water-way, entirely bridged
over in one part by an arch of stone,
making it there a natural tunnel or
open-ended cave; terminating at the
base of the cliff in an immense door-
way, opening into the valley.

[36]

Overcoming Obstacles

The teams were unhitched from the
wagons, the yokes taken off the oxen,
and all the cattle, horses and mules
were driven through the inclined tun-
nel into the coveted valley. The women
and children clambered down, taking
with them what they could of the camp
things, for immediate use, and soon
were quite "at home'' in the valley,
making free use of the little creek, for
whatever purposes a little creek of
pure, cold, fresh water is good, for a
lot of thirsty, dust-covered wayfarers.

The puzzle of getting the wagons
down next engrossed the attention of
our best engineers. The proposition to
unpack the lading, take the wagons
apart, and carry all down by hand,
appeared for a time to be the only
feasible plan. Captain John, however,
suggested procuring rope or chain
about one hundred feet in length, for
use in lowering the wagons, one at a
time, through the first-mentioned pas-
sage. Sufficient rope was brought, one

[37]

Crossing the Plains

end fastened to the rear axle of a
wagon, the other end turned around a
dwarf pine tree at the top of the bluff ;
two men managed the rope, preventing

"The wagons were lowered through the crevice"

too rapid descent at the steeper places,
while others guided the wheels over
the stones, and the wagon was low-
ered through the crevice, with little
damage. Thus, one by one, all the

[38]

Descending the Steep

wagons were taken into the valley be-
fore the sun set.

It was a happy camp we had that
night; though every man was tired.
There was wood for fire, and a supply
of good water and pasture sufficient
for dozens of camps. Some one ven-
tured the opinion that the Mormon
pioneers had overlooked that spot when
seeking a new location for Zion.

Except that it was very pleasant to
inhabit, we knew little of the place we
had ventured into, or its location. How
we were to get out did not appear, nor
for the time being did this greatly con-
cern us; and soon after supper the
camp was wrapped in slumber, undis-
turbed by any coyote duet, or, on this
occasion, even the twitter of a night
bird.

We did not hurry the next morning,
the inclination being to linger awhile
in the shady grove by the brookside.
With a late start, the day's travel took
us some twelve miles, through and

[39]

Crossing the Plains

out of the valley, to a point where we
made the best of a poor camping place,
on a rough, rocky hillside. The fol-
lowing day there was no road to follow,
nor even a buffalo trail or bear path;
but by evening we somehow found our
way back into the course usually fol-
lowed by emigrants, not knowing
whether the recent detour had lessened
or increased the miles of travel, but
delighted with the comfort and diver-
sion afforded by the side-ride. Think-
ing that others, seeing our tracks,
might be led into similar difficulties,
and be less fortunate perhaps in over-
coming them, two of our young men
rode back to the place of divergence,
and erected a notice to all comers, ad-
vising them to ^^Keep to the right."

Another freak of Nature in which
we were much interested was the
"Devil's Gate," or '^Independence
Rock," where we first came to the
Sweetwater River, in Wyoming. This
is a granite ridge, some two hundred

[40]

Independence Rock

feet in length, irregular in formation
and height, resembling a huge mole-
hill, extending down from the Rocky
Mountain heights and being across the
river's course; the "Gate" being a ver-
tical section, the width of the stream,
cut out of a spur of Rattlesnake Moun-
tain. If his Satanic majesty, whose
name it bears, had charge of the con-
struction, apparently he intended it
only as a passage-way for the river,
the cut being the exact width of the
river as it flows through. The greater
part of the two walls stand two hun-
dred and fifty feet high, above the
river level, perpendicular to the earth's
plane, facing each other, the river
between them at the base. Many
names had been cut in the surface of
the rock, by passing emigrants.

We stopped for half a day to view
this extraordinary scene. Some of the
boys went to the apex, to see if the
downward view made the rock walls
appear as high as did the upward

[41]

Crossing the Plains

view: and naturally they found the
distance viewed downward seemed
much greater. Our intention was to
stand on the brink and experience the
sensation of looking down from that
great height at the river. The face
of the wall where it terminates at the
top forms an almost square corner, as
if hewn stone. A few bushes grew a
short distance from the edge, and as
we approached the brink there was a
sense of greater safety in holding onto
these bushes. But while holding on we
could not see quite over to the water
below. We formed a chain of three
persons, by joining hands, one grasp-
ing a large bush, that the outer man
might look over the edge — if he would.
But he felt shaky. He was not quite
sure that the bush would not pull up
by the roots, or one of the other fellows
let go. For sometime no one was wil-
ling to make a real effort to look over
the edge, but finally ^^Jack" said he
would save the party's reputation for

[42]

Viewing DeviVs Gate

bravery, by assuming the role of end-
man. He made several bold approaches
toward the edge, but each time re-
coiled, and soon admitted defeat.
^^Boys," said he, ^Tm dizzy, I know
that 'distance lends enchantment'; Til
get back farther, take the best view
I can get, and preserve the enchant-
ment." To cover his discomfiture, he
started for camp, whistling:
^'Ulee, ilee, aloo, ee."
The next excursion off the route in
search of novelty was on a clear after-
noon a few days after passing the
"Devil's Gate," when three young fel-
lows decided to take a tramp to the
rock ridge lying to our right. We
hoped to find some mountain sheep.
From the Sweetwater River to the
ridge was apparently half a mile,
across a grassy fiat. We knew that
the rare atmosphere of that high alti-
tude often made distances deceiving,
and determined to make due allow-
ances. Having crossed the river and

[43]

Crossing the Plains

being ready for a sprint, each made a
guess of the distance to the foot of the
rock ridge. The estimates varied from
two hundred yards to three hundred.
Off we went, counting paces. At the
end of three hundred we appeared to
be no nearer the goal than when we
started. The guesses were repeated,
and when we were about completing
the second course of stepping, making
nearly six hundred yards in all, one of
the boys espied a mountain sheep on
the top of the ridge, keeping lookout,
probably, for the benefit of his fellows,
feeding on the other side, as is the
habit of these wary creatures.

With head and great horns clearly
outlined on the background of blue
sky, he was a tempting target. With-
out a word, the three of us leveled
guns and fired. Mr. Mountain Sheep
stood perfectly still, looking down at
us. We could not see so much as the
winking of an eye. Making ready for
another volley, we though best to get

[44]

A Tempting Target

nearer; but as we started the head
and horns and sheep disappeared be-
hind the top of the ridge. Further
stepping proved that we had shot at
the animal from a distance of at least
half a mile. Our guns were good for
a range of two hundred yards, at most.
Much of the time, especially while
in the higher mountains, we were in
possession of little knowldege of our
position. There were no marks that
we observed to indicate geographical
divisions, and we had no means for
determining many exact locations,
though some important rivers and
prominent mountain peaks and ridges
were identified. We knew little, if
anything, then of territorial bounda-
ries, and thought of the country tra-
versed as being so remote from cen-
ters of civilization — at that time but
little explored, even — that we could
not conceive any object in attempting
to determine our location with refer-
ence to geographical lines; nor could

[45]

Crossing the Plains

we have done so except on rare occa-
sions. Our chief concern was to know
that we were on the best route to
California.

Vv^e crossed the summit of the Rocky
Mountains by the South Pass. Though
it was July, the jagged peaks of the
Wind River Mountains bore a thick
blanket of snow. Sometime after leav-
ing the ''Devil's Gate" we passed
Pacific Springs. There we gained first
knowledge that we had passed the
summit, on observing that the streams
flowed westerly. Patient plodding had
now taken us a distance of actual
travel amounting to much more than
one thousand miles and, from time to
time, into very high altitudes. About
four miles west of Pacific Springs we
passed the junction of the California
and Oregon trails, at the Big Bend of
the Bear River.

Green River, where we first came
to it, was in a level bit of country.
There this stream was about sixty

[46]

The Log Raft

yards wide; the water clear and deep,
flowing in a gentle current. For the
accommodation of emigrants, three
men were there, operating a ferry.
Whence they came I do not remember,
if they told us. We saw no signs of a
habitation in which they might have
lived. The ferrying was done with
what was really a raft of logs, rather
than a boat. It was sustained against
the current by means of a tackle at-
tached to a block, rove on a large rope
that was drawn taut, from bank to
bank, and was propelled by a wind-
lass on each bank. When a wagon had
been taken aboard this cable ferry, the
windlass on the farther side was
turned by one of the men, drawing the
raft across. After unloading, the raft
was drawn back, by operation of the
windlass on the opposite shore, where
it took on another load. The third
man acted as conductor, collecting a
toll of three dollars per wagon. All
the horses, mules and cattle were

[47]

Crossing the Plains

driven into the river, and swam across.
The company passed along the shore
of the Green River, down the Big
Sandy River and Slate Creek, over
Bear River Divide, then southwest-
ward into Utah Territory.

f4«]

CHAPTER IV.

DISQUIETING RUMORS OF REDMEN. CON-
SOLIDATION FOR SAFETY. THE
POISONOUS HUMBOLDT.

Soon after passing the summit of
the Rocky Mountains there were ru-
mors of a hostile attitude toward emi-
grants on the part of certain Indian
tribes farther west. For a time such
information seemed vague as to origin
and reliability, but in time the rumors
became persistent, and there developed
a feeling of much concern, first for
the safety of our stock, later for our
own protection.

Measures of precaution were dis-
cussed. Men of our train visited those
of others, ahead and behind us, and
exchanged views regarding the prob-
ability of danger and the best means
for protection and defense. We were

[49]

Crossing the Plains

forced to the conclusion that the situa-
tion was grave; and the interests of
the several trains were mutual. As
the members of the different parties,
most of whom previously had been
strangers to one another, met and
talked of the peril which all believed
to be imminent, they became as broth-
ers; and mutual protection was the
theme that came up often est and was
listened to with the most absorbing
interest.

By the time we had crossed the
Green River these consultations had
matured into a plan for consolidation
of trains, for greater concentration of
strength. A. J. Drennan's company
of four or five wagons, immediately,
ahead of us, and the Dr. Kidd train,
of three wagons, next behind us, closed
up the space between, and all three
traveled as one train. Thus combined,
a considerable number of able-bodied
men were brought together, making a
rather formidable array for an ordi-

[50]

SeriO'Comic

nary band of Indians to attack. Every
man primed his gun and thenceforth
took care to see that his powder was
dry.

Still the youthful element occasion-
ally managed to extract some humor
out of the very circumstances which
the older and more serious members
held to be grounds for forebodings of
evil. One morning after we had left
camp, a favorite cow was missing
from the drove. ^^Jack'' Aston and
Major Crewdson, both young fellov/s,
rode back in search of the stray. From
a little hill-top they saw, in a ravine
below, some half dozen Indians busily
engaged in skinning the cow. ^^Jack"
and the Major returned and merely
reported what they had seen. They
were asked why they had not de-
manded of those ^^rascally'' Indians
that they explain why they were skin-
ning a cow that did not belong to
them. ^^Jack" promptly answered
that, as for himself, he had never been

[51]

Crossing the Plains

introduced to this particular party of
Indians, and was not on speaking
terms with them; furthermore, neither
he nor the Major had sufficient knowl-
edge of the Indian language properly
to discuss the matter with them.

The route pursued led to the north
of Great Salt Lake, thence northwest-
erly. Our line of travel did not there-
fore bring us within view of the Mor-
mon settlements which had already
been established at the southerly end
of the great inland sea.

We camped one night approximately
where the city of Ogden now stands,
then a desolate expanse of sand-dunes.
A group of our men sat around the
camp-fire that evening, discussing the
probability of a railroad ever being
constructed over the route we were
traveling. All of them were natives
or recent residents of the Middle West,
and it is probable that not one had
ever seen a railroad. The unanimous
opinion was that such a project as the

[ 52 ]

Railroad Here? Never!

building of a railroad through terri-
tory like that over which we had thus
far traveled would be a task so stu-
pendous as to baffle all human ingenu-
ity and skill. Yet, some twelve years
later, the ceremony of driving the
famous ''last spike," completing the
railroad connection between the At-
lantic and Pacific, was performed on a
sand flat very near the spot where we
camped that night. The intervening
period saw the establishment of the
''pony express,'' which greatly facili-
tated the mail service (incidentally re-
ducing letter postage to Pacific Coast
points from twenty-five to ten cents).
That service continued from the early
sixties until through railroad connec-
tion was made.

After the consolidation of trains as
described, our next neighbor to the
rear was Smith Holloway, whose "out-
fit'' consisted of three wagons, with a
complement of yokewise oxen and some
horses and mules; also a large drove

[531

Crossing the Plains

of stock cattle, intended for the mar-
ket in California, where it was known
they would be salable at high prices.
He had with him his wife, a little
daughter, and Jerry Bush, Mrs. Hol-
loway's brother, a young man of
twenty-one years; also two hired men,
Joe Elevens and Bird Lawles. Hollo-
way kept his party some distance be-
hind us, he having declined to join the
consolidation of trains in order to
avoid the inconvenience that the min-
gling of his stock with ours would
entail, with reference to pasture, and
camping facilities.

A mile or two behind Holloway were
the trains of Captain Rountree, the
Giles company, Simpson Fennell, Mr.
Russell, and others, equipped with sev-
eral wagons each, and accompanied by
some loose stock.

All these were traveling along, a
sort of moving neighborhood; inci-
dentally getting acquainted with one
another, visiting on the road by day

[541

Plans for Defence

and in the camp at evening time ; talk-
ing of the journey, of the country for
which we were en route, and our hopes
of prosperity and happiness in the new
El Dorado — ^but most of all, just then,
of the probable danger of attack by
savage tribes.

More than ever rumors of impend-
ing trouble were flying from train to
train. Some of these were to the effect
that white bandits were in league with
Indians in robbing and murdering
emigrants. The well-known treachery
of the savages, and the stories we
heard of emigrants having been
slaughtered also by whites — the real
facts of which we knew little of — were
quite enough to beget fear and suggest
the need of plans for the best pos-
sible resistance.

Up to this time there was frequent
communication between trains, a con-
siderable distance ahead and behind.
As at home, neighbor . would visit
neighbor, and discuss the topics of the

[55]

Crossing the Plains

day; so, from time to time we met
persons in other trains who gave out
information obtained before leaving
home, or from mountaineers, trappers
or explorers, occasionally met while |
we were yet on the eastern slope of
the Rockies; men who were familiar
with Indian dialects and at peace with
the tribes, enabling them to learn
much that was of importance to the
emigrants.

Dissemination of news among the
people of the various trains near us
was accomplished not only during
visits by members of one train to those
of another, but sometimes by other
methods. One of these, which was
frequently employed in communicat-
ing generally or in signaling individ-
uals known to be somewhere in the
line behind us, was by a system of
* 'bone-writing J ^

There were along the line of travel
many bare, bleached bones of animals
that had died in previous years, many

[56]

Messages in Unique Form

of them doubtless the animals of ear-
lier emigrants. Some of these, as for
example, the frontal or the jaw-bone,

Bone-writing

whitened by the elements, and having
some plain, smooth surface, were excel-
lent tablets for pencil writing. An
emigrant desiring to communicate with
another, or with a company, to the

[57]

Crossing the Plains

rear, would write the message on one of
these bones and place the relic on a
heap of stones by the roadside, or
suspend it in the branches of a sage
bush, so conspicuously displayed that
all coming after would see it and read.
Those for general information, in-
tended for all comers, were allowed
to remain; others, after being read by
the person addressed, were usually re-
moved. Sometimes when passing such
messages, placed by those ahead of us,
we added postscripts to the bulletins,
giving names and dates, for the edifi-
cation of whomever might care to read
them. It was in this way that some
of the developments regarding the
Indian situation were made known by
one train to another.

Thus we progressed, counting off
the average of about eighteen miles a
day from the long part of the journey
that still lay before us, when we
reached Thousand Springs, adjacent to
the present boundary line between

[58]

A Dreaded Locality

Utah and Nevada. This, we were told,
was the source of the Humboldt River.
We were told, too, that the four hun-
dred miles down the course of that
peculiar stream — which we could not
hope to traverse in much less than one
month — we would find to be the most
desert-like portion of the entire trip,
the most disagreeable and arduous, for
man and beast. Such was to be ex-
pected by reason of the character of
that region and the greater danger
there of Indian depredations; also be-
cause the passage through that section
was to be undertaken after our teams
had become greatly worn, therefore
more likely to fail under hard condi-
tions. Furthermore, scarcity of feed
for the stock was predicted, and, along
much of the way, uncertainty as to
water supply, other than that from
the Humboldt River, which was, espe-
cially at that time of the year, so
strongly impregnated with alkali as
to be dangerous to life.

[59]

Crossing the Plains

Nearly all the face of the country
was covered with alkali dust, which,
in a light, pulverulent state, rose and
filled the air at the slightest breeze or
other disturbance. It was impossible
to avoid inhaling this powder to some
extent, and it created intense thirst,
tending toward exhaustion and great
suffering. We knew that sometimes
delirium was induced by this cause,
and even death resulted from it in
cases of very long exposure under the
worst conditions.

Sometimes for miles the only vege-
table growth we found along the river
was a string of willow bushes, fring-
ing its course, and scattered, stunted
sagebrush, growing feebly in gravel
and dry sand, the leaves of which were
partly withered and of a pale, ashy
tint. Feed for the animals was very
scarce. It was not possible, over much
of the way, to get sufficient fresh
water for the stock, therefore difficult
to restrain them from drinking the

[60]

Desolation

river water. Some did drink from
that stream, despite all efforts to pre-
vent it, the result being that many of
them died while we made our way
along the sluggish Humboldt.

[61]

CHAPTER V,

THE HOLLOW AY MASSACRE.

It was decided that while in this
region we would, whenever possible,
make our camp some distance from the
river, in order that the stock might be
prevented from drinking the danger-
ous river water, also for the reason
that the clumps of willows by the
stream could be used as a cover by
Indians bent on mischief: and they,
we now believed, were watching for a
favorable opportunity to surprise us.

It transpired that the Holloway
party neglected this precaution, at
least on one occasion, sometime after
passing the head of the Humboldt
River. Their train was next behind
ours when, on the evening of August
13th, after rounding up their stock for
the night, a short distance from the

[62]

A Fatal Morning

wagons, they stopped near the willows
by the river and made what proved to
be their last camp.

Behind them, but not within sight,
were several emigrant camps at points
varying from a few rods to half a mile
apart.

The Holloway party retired as usual
for the night; Mr. and Mrs. Holloway
and their child, a girl of two years, in
a small tent near the wagons; Jerry
Bush, Mrs. Holloway's brother, and
one of the hired men, Joe Blevens, in
their blankets on the ground; while
Bird Lawles, the other hired man, be-
ing ill with a fever, slept in a wagon.

There were others with this party
that night; Mr. and Mrs. Galium, Mr.
Hattlebaugh, and a man whose name
is now unknown. These four had been
traveling near the Holloway party,
and joined it for camping on that
occasion.

The following morning Mr. Hollo-
way was the first to arise. While

[63]

Crossing the Plains

making the camp-fire, he called to the
others to get up, saying cheerfully:

"Well, we've got through one more
night without a call from the Red-
skins/'

"Bang, bang," rang out a volley of
rifle shots, fired from the willows
along the river, less than a hundred
yards away.

Mr. Holloway fell, fatally shot, and
died without a word or a struggle.
As other members of the emigrant
party sprang to their feet and came
within view of the assailants, the fir-
ing continued, killing Joe Elevens,
Mrs. Galium, and the man whose name
is not recalled; while Bird Lawles,
being discovered on his sick bed in a
wagon, was instantly put to death.

Meanwhile Jerry Bush grasped his
rifle and joined battle against the as-
sassins. Thus far the savages re-
mained hidden in the bushes, and
Jerry's shots were fired merely at
places where he saw the tall weeds and

[64]

Almost Despairing

willows shaken by the motions of the
Indians, therefore he has never known
whether his bullets struck one of the
enemy.

While thus fighting alone, for his
life and that of his people, he received
a gunshot in his side and fell. Know-
ing that he was unable to continue the
fight, and, though doubting that he
could rise, he endeavored to shield him-
self from the bullets and arrows of the
Indian band. He succeeded in drag-
ging himself to the river bank, when,
seizing a willow branch, he lowered
himself to the foot of the steep cliff,
some ten feet, reaching the water's
edge. He then attempted to swim to
the opposite shore. The effort caused
him to lose his gun, in deep water.
Owing to weakness due to his wound,
he was unable to cross the stream.

Jerry Bush's parting view of the
camp had revealed the apparent de-
struction of his entire party, except
himself. Observing the body of at

[65]

Crossing the Plains

least one woman, among the victims
on the ground, he believed that his
sister also had been slain.

But Mrs. Holloway and the little
girl were still in the tent, for the
time unhurt, and just awakened from
their morning slumber. Having real-
ized that the camp was being attacked,
Mrs. Holloway emerged from the tent
to find no living member of her party
in sight, other than herself and her
child. For a moment she was par-
tially shielded by the wagons. The
first object that drew her attention
was her husband's form, lying still in
death, near the fire he had just kin-
dled. Next beyond was the dead body
of Elevens, and a little farther away
were the remains of the others who
had been slain. Her brother she did
not see, but supposed he had met the
same fate as the others whom she saw
on the ground. Jerry was an experi-
enced hunter ; she knew that he always
owned a fine gun, and had full confi-

[66]

Torture

dence that, if he were alive and not
disabled, he would defend his people
to the last.

She saw some of the Indians coming
from their ambush by the river. They
approached for a time with caution,
looking furtively about, as if to be
sure there was no man left to defend
the camp. As they drew nearer Mrs.
Holloway realized that she and her
child were facing an awful fate —
death or captivity. On came the sav-
ages, now more boldly, and in greater
numbers.

The terrified woman, clothed only in
her night robe, barefooted; not know-
ing whether to take flight or stand and
plead for mercy; with the child on one
arm, one hand raised in supplication,
yielded finally to the impulse to flee.
As she started the attacking band re-
sumed firing; she was struck, by
arrows and at least one bullet, and
dropped headlong to the ground.

Though conscious, she remained mo-

[671

Crossing the Plains

tionless, in the hope that, by feigning
death she might escape further wounds
and torture. But the Indians came,
and taking the arrows from her body,
punctured her flesh with the jagged
instruments, as a test whether physi-
cal sensation would disclose a sign of
life remaining. She lay with eyes
closed; not a muscle twitched nor a
finger moved, while those demons pro-
ceeded, in no delicate maner, to cut
the skin around the head at the edge
of the hair, then tear the scalp from
the skull, leaving the bare and bleed-
ing head on the ground.

Horrible as all this was, it did not
prove to be the last nor the most revolt-
ing exhibition of wanton lust for
blood.

The little girl, who it is hoped had
been rendered insensible at sight of
the cruelties perpetrated upon her
mother, was taken by the feet and her
brains dashed out on the wheels of a
wagon. To this last act in the fiend-

[68]

One Spark of Life

ish drama there was probably no wit-
ness other than the actors in it; but
the child's body, mangled too terribly
for description, and the bloody marks
on the wagon, gave evidence so con-
vincing that there could not be a mo-
ment's doubt of what had occurred.

The marauders now began a general
looting of the wagons. Some of their
number were rounding up the stock,
preparing to drive the cattle away,
when the trains of emigrants next in
the rear appeared, less than half a
mile distant. This caused the Indian
band to retreat. They crossed the
river, and then placing themselves be-
hind the willows, hurried away, mak-
ing their escape into the mountain
fastnesses. Owing to their precipitous
departure, much of the plunder they
were preparing to take was left be-
hind them. Among the articles thus
dropped by them was the scalp of Mrs.
Holloway, and the rescuing party
found and took possession of it.

[691

Crossing the Plains

Those emigrants who first came
upon the scene found Mrs. Holloway
apparently dead; but, on taking her
up, they saw that she was alive.
Though returning to semi-conscious-
ness some time later, her condition
was such that she was unable to tell
the story then; but there were evi-
dences showing plainer than words
could have told of the awful events of
that morning, which had converted the
quiet camp of this happy, hopeful com-
pany into a scene of death and
destruction.

Before noon a large number of peo-
ple of the great emigrant procession
had arrived. They united in giving to
the dead the best interment that the
circumstances permitted. Then the
broken and scattered effects of the
Holloway company were gathered up,
and the now mournful trains took
position in the line of pilgrimage and
again moved forward towards the

Pacific.

[70] ,1.

Good Samaritans

Mr. Fennell, aided by Captain Roun-
tree's company and others, attempted
to save such of the Holloway property
as had not been carried off or de-
stroyed. They were successful in re-
covering about one hundred of the
one hundred and fifty head of stock
which the Indians had endeavored to
drive away. Two mules that were be-
ing led off by ropes broke away from
the savage band and returned, but the
emigrants did not recover any of the
stolen horses.

Jerry Bush found his way back
to the scene. His injury, though ap-
parently of a dangerous character, did
not delay the relief parties more than
a day after the attack, and the wound
healed within a few weeks. It was
reported that Galium and Hattlebaugh
had escaped, but their further where-
abouts was not known.

Captain Rountree took charge of
Mrs. Holloway and her brother and
brought them, with such of their stock

[71]

Crossing the Plains

and other belongings as remained, to
The Meadows, on the Feather River.
After partially recuperating there, an
uncle, Mr. Perry Durban, came to
their aid, and they were taken to
Suisun. After full recovery from his
wound, Jerry Bush located in Ukiah,
and resided there some years. He still
survives, now a resident of Hulett,
Wyoming, at the ripe age of eighty
years.

The slaughter of the Holloway
party occurred at a point on the Hum-
boldt River some thirty miles east of
where Winnemucca is located, a few
miles west of Battle Mountain. This
becomes apparent by careful estimates
of distance traveled per day, rather
than by landmarks noted at the time,
there being no settlements there, nor
elsewhere along the route, at that time.

It was perhaps a year later when I
went to a camp-meeting one Sunday, at
Mark West Creek, in Sonoma County,
California. The people attending a

[72]

Jerry Bush, 1914

After Effects

service were in a small opening among
trees. Standing back of those who
were seated, I saw among them a
woman whose profile seemed familiar,
and later I recognized her as Mrs.
Holloway.

My interest in her career, due to
her extraordinary part in the Indian
massacre on the plains, was height-
ened by the fact that I had known her
previously, as the daughter of Mr.
Bush, a prosperous farmer, and had
been present when she married Mr.
Holloway, in a little schoolhouse, near
Rockport, Atchison County, Missouri.
It seemed a natural impulse which
prompted m.e to ask her for partic-
ulars of the tragedy, so disastrous to
herself and her family; though later
there were misgivings regarding the
propriety of doing so.

Mrs. Holloway appeared at that
time to be in good health, and was
cheerful, possessing perfect control of
her faculties. Her head was covered

[73]

Crossing the Plains

by a wig, made of her own hair, taken
from the scalp that was recovered at
the scene of the massacre.

All the heartrending experiences
that she had endured were imprinted
upon her mind in minutest detail, and
she related them in the exact order of
their occurrence. The recalling of the
terrible ordeal, however, so wrought
upon her emotions that she wept, to
the limit of mild hysteria, v/hich
brought our conversation to a close,
and soon thereafter she left the place.

I saw her no more; but learned
sometime afterwards that her health
failed, then of the giving away of her
mental powers, and still later of her
death, at Napa City; caused primarily
by shock, and brooding over the mis-
fortunes she had met on the bank of
the Humboldt River.

It is difficult to believe that a wo-
man, any woman — or any man — could,
in a state of consciousnes, endure such
torture as was inflicted upon Mrs.

[74]

Mrs. Nancy Holloway, 1857

Fortitude

Holloway, and refrain from disclosing
to her tormentors that she was alive.
But that she did so endure was her posi-
tive statement, and this was indisput-
ably corroborated by evidences found by
those who arrived at the scene less
than an hour after the event.

Through the kindness of Mr. Wil-
liam Holloway, of Fairfax, Missouri,
there is presented here a picture of
Mrs. Nancy Holloway, wife of Smith
Holloway. The photograph was taken
in California, shortly after the attack
described.

[75]

CHAPTER VI.

ORIGIN OF ''PIKER." BEFORE THE ERA
OF CANNED GOODS AND KODAKS. MORN-
ING ROUTINE. TYPICAL BIVOUAC.
SOCIABILITY ENTRAINED. THE
FLOODED CAMP. HOPE SUS-
TAINS PATIENCE.

The appellation 'Tiker/' much used
in the West in early days, synony-
mous of ''Missourian/' had its origin
on these plains. At first it was ap-
plied to a particular type of Missou-
rian, but later came to be used
generally.

There was among the emigrants a
considerable number of persons from
Pike County, Missouri. Some of these
had the sign, 'Trom Pike Co., Mo.,''
painted on their wagon covers.
Others, when asked whence they came,
promptly answered, ^Trom Pike

[76]

^'Pike County y by Gosh^'

County, Missouri, by gosh, sir;" often
said with a shrug implying that the
speaker arrogated to himself much
superiority by reason of the fact
stated. The display of such signs, and
announcements like that just men-
tioned, were of such frequent occur-
rence that the substance was soon ab-
breviated to 'Tiker,'' and became a
by-word. It was often, perhaps al-
ways, spoken with a tinge of odium.
Possibly this was due to the fact that
many of the people referred to were
of a ^^backwoods" class, rather short
in culture, and in personal makeup,
manner and language, bearing a gen-
eral air of the extremely rural.

Though only persons of that descrip-
tion hailing from Pike County were
those who at first had to bear the
opprobrium generally implied by
'Tiker,'' later it was applied to all
persons of that type in the Far West,
regardless of their origin. Many
years' of mingling of California's cos-

[77]

Crossing the Plains

mopolitan population has changed all
that; producing her present homo-
geneous, sterling, virile, and somewhat
distinct type of ^^Californian" ; so the
*Tiker," as such, is no longer in the
land. A later application of the same
word, descriptive of a person who does
business in a small way, has nothing
in common with the 'Tiker" of early
days.

Fifty-eight years ago, the time of
the events here narrated, was before
the era of canned goods. Nearly all of
the foodstuffs carried by the emigrants
were in crude form, and bulky; but
substantial, pure, and such as would
keep in any climate.

During the first few weeks of the
trip we milked some of the cows, and
also made butter, the churning opera-
tion being effected mainly by the mo-
tion of the wagons, in the regular
course. That this did not last long
was due to reduction of milk supply.
After a time there was not sufficient

[78]

A Kodak Wanted

even for use in the coffee, or for mak-
ing gravy, that convenient substitute
for butter.

Such delicacies as may now be found
in first-class canned meats, vegetables
and milk would have filled an often-
felt want. The occasional supply that
we had en route of fresh meat and fish
were obtained largely by chance; we
having no knowledge of localities
where hunting and fishing were likely
to be successful, and it being deemed
unsafe for members of the party to
wander far or remain long away from
the train. It seems regrettable that the
invention of hermetically-sealed and
easily portable foods, and the induce-
ment to cross the plains to California,
did not occur in reversed sequence.

Neither had the kodak arrived. Had
it been with us then, this narrative
might be illustrated with snap-shots
of camp scenes, characteristic roadside
views, and incidents of travel gener-
ally, which would do more for realism

[79]

Crossing the Plains

than can any word-picture. We often
see specimens of artists' work pur-
porting to represent a '^ '49er" emi-
grant train on the overland journey —
some of them very clever; but seldom
are they at all realistic to the man who
was there.

The man with a camera could have
perpetuated, for example, the striking
scene presented to us one day of a
party, consisting of two men and their
wives, with two or three children, sit-
ting on a rocky hillside, woefully scan-
ning their team of done-out oxen and
one wagon with a broken axle; no
means at hand for recuperation and
repair. In the scorching sun of a July
day they waited, utterly helpless, hope-
less, forlorn, confused; and a thousand
miles from ^ ^anywhere." Such a
grouping would not have made a cheer-
ful picture, but would have assisted
immensely in recording a historical
fact.

But no emigrant ever found another

[80]

Travel Routine

in distress and "passed by on the other
side."

We were early risers, and the camp
was each morning a scene of life with
the rising of the sun. By sunset all were
sufficiently fatigued to wish for mak-
ing camp again. Therefore, from the
morning start till the evening stop was
usually about twelve hours, with varia-
tions from time to time, according to
necessity or exceptional conditions.

Breaking camp in the morning be-
came routine, and proceeded like clock-
work. Each patient ox voluntarily
drew near, and stood, waiting to be
yoked with his fellow and chained to
his daily task. So well did each know
his place by the side of his mate that
the driver had only to place one end of
the yoke on the neck of the "off'' ox,
known, for example, as "Bright," and
hold the other end toward the "nigh"
ox, saying, "Come under here. Buck,"
and the obedient fellow placed himself
in position. Then the bows were

[81]

Crossing the Plains

placed and keyed, and ^'Bright^* and
"Buck'' were hitched for duty. It re-
quired but a few minutes to put three
or four yoke of oxen in working order.

As the result of much repetition, the
packing of the camp articles onto the
wagons was done dexterously and
quickly. Each box, roll and bundle
had a designated place; all being ar-
ranged usually to facilitate sitting or
reclining positions for those who rode
in the "schooners," that they might be
as comfortable as possible, and read,
sleep, or, as the women often did, sew
and knit, or play games. During some
parts of the trip such means of whiling
away the hours was very desirable, if
not a necessity. If there ever was a
tim.e or condition in which it could be
pardonable to "kill time,'' these cir-
cumstances were there, during many
long days.

The bivouac was always a scene of
bustle and orderly disorder, especially
if the camp-site was a good one : wood,

[82]

Healthy Appetites

water and grass being the desiderata.
Obedient to habit, every person and
animal dropped into place and action.
With the wagons drawn to position for
the night's sojourn, teams were quickly-
unhitched, the yokes, chains, harness
and saddles falling to the ground
where the animals stood.

Relieved of their trappings, the oxen,
horses and mules were turned to pas-
ture, plentiful or scant. Cooking uten-
sils came rattling from boxes; rolls of
bedding tumbled out and were spread
on the smoothest spots of sand or
grass. Eager hands gathered such
fuel as was available, and the camp-
fire blazed. Buckets of water were
brought from the spring or stream;
and in an incredibly short time the
scene of animation had wrought full
preparation for the night, while the
odor of steaming coffee and fry-
ing bacon rendered the astonished
air redolent of appetizing cookery.

Some families used a folding table,

[83]

Crossing the Plains

on which to serve meals; but more
spread an oilcloth on the ground and
gathered around that; or individuals,
taking a plate and a portion, sat on a
wagon-tongue or a convenient stone.
Camp-stools and ' ^split-bottomed"
chairs were among the luxuries that
some carried, in limited numbers; but
these were not useful especially as
seats while partaking of a meal spread
on the ground.

Appetites were seldom at fault; and
the meals, though plain and of little
variety, were never slighted. It is
hardly necessary to add that bacon and
coffee were easy staples. Bread was
mainly in the form of quick-fire bis-
cuits, baked in a skillet or similar
utensil, or the ever-ready and always-
welcome ^^flap-jack," sometimes supple-
mented with soda-crackers, as a
delicacy.

Nearly all the nights were pleasant —
mild temperature, and very little dew.
This gave much relief, the daytime

[84]

Lasting Friendships

heat being generally irksome and
often distressingly hot. Many of the
men came to prefer sleeping wholly in
the open, with the heavens unobscured;
often requiring no more than a pair of
blankets and a small pillow.

Early evening was devoted to social
gatherings. If the night was pleasant
groups would assemble, for conversa-
tion, singing and story-telling; varied
with dancing by the young people of
some companies. The more religious
sang hymns and read the Bible some-
times, in lieu of attendance at any
church service. When wood was plen-
tiful, a bonfire added to the cheerful-
ness and comfort of the occasion. Often
neighboring trains camped quite near,
when much enjoyment was found in
visits by the members of one company
among those of another. In such ways
many agreeable acquaintances were
met and even lasting friendships
formed, some of which have endured
throughout the nearly three-score years
since passed.

[85]

Crossing the Plains

But we were not always favored
with clear and pleasant weather. No
one who was there can have forgotten
one night at the Platte River, when we
had a most dismal experience. Rain
began falling in the afternoon, and for
that reason we made camp early.

The tents were set up on a bit of
flat ground near the river bank. There
were some large trees, but little dry
wood available for fuel for the camp
fire except on an island, which was
separated from us by a branch of the
river, about twenty yards wide and a
foot deep. Some of us waded over,
getting our clothes soaked; others
crossed on horseback, and carried back
from the island enough wood to make
a fire. But, time after time, the fire
was quenched by the rain, which now
was falling in torrents; so we had
much difficulty in preparing our
supper.

The people huddled into the tents
and wagons, half hungry, more than

[86]

Deluged

half wet, and uncomfortable alto-
gether. With the exception of one or
two cots, the bedding was spread on the
ground in the tents, and all turned
in — but not for long. Some one said,
'Vater is running under my bed.''
Then another and another made the
same complaint. Soon we learned the
deplorable fact that the large tent had
been pitched in a basin-like place, and
that the water, as the rain increased,
was coming in from all sides, the vol-
ume growing rapidly greater.

We succeeded then in lighting one
lantern, when the water was found to
be something like two inches deep over
nearly all parts of the large tent's
floor. The beds were taken up and
placed in soaked heaps, on camp stools
and boxes; and the rain continued
pouring in steady, relentless disregard
of our misery. Except where lighted
by the single lantern the darkness was,
of course, absolute. Relief was impos-
sible. There appearing to be nothing

[87]

Crossing the Plains

else to do, everybody abandoned the
tents and huddled in the wagons; the
lantern was blown out, and there was
little sleep, while we waited and wished
for daylight.

Some of the days were warm and
some hot. Some were very hot. Dis-
comforts were common; and yet not
much was said, and apparently little
thought, of them. Having become
inured to the conditions as we found
them from time to time, discomforts,
such as under other circumstances
would have been considered intolerable,
were passed without comment. There
were times and situations in which
hardships were unavoidable, some of
them almost unendurable; but these,
having been anticipated, were perhaps
less poignant in the enduring than in
the expectation.

Let us for a moment raise the cur-
tain of more than half a century, while
we look back on one of those ox-drawn
trains of "prairie-schooners," as it ap-

[88]

Monotony

peared to an observer on the ground
at the time; about the middle of Au-
gust, and beyond the middle of the
journey. Permit the imagination to
place the scene alongside that of the
present-day modes of traversing the
same territory, when the distance is
covered in a less number of days than
it required of months then. Perhaps
such a comparison may help to form
some faint conception of what the
overland pioneers did, and what they
felt, and saw, and were.

There they are as we see them, on a
long stretch of sage-brush plateau.
The surface of the plain is only sand
and gravel, as far as the eye can reach.
The atmosphere is hazy, with dust and
vibrating waves of heat arising from
the ground. Far away to the north-
west is the outline of some mountains,
just visible in the dim distance. In
the opposite direction, whence we have
come, there is nothing above the
ground but hot space, and dust. Not a

[89]

Crossing the Plains

living thing in sight but ourselves and
ours.

The animals appear fatigued, jaded.
The people appear — well, as to physi-
cal condition, like the animals: gen-
erally all look alike. Yet the people
seem hopeful. And why hopeful? The
inherent and indomitable trait of the
race which makes it possible for hu-
manity to look over and past present
difficulties, however great, and see
some good beyond. That is why the
world ''do move." Often, as it was
with us, progress may be slow, but
every day counts for a little.

Just here twelve or fifteen miles a
day is doing well — very well. From a
slight eminence at one side of the way
we may stand and see the slowly creep-
ing line of wagons and stock, for many
m.iles fore and aft, as they bend their
way in and out, around and over the
surface of knolls and flats, hillocks and
gullies. From a distant view they
seem not to be moving at all.

[90]

The hour of mid-day arrives, and
they stop for the ^'nooning." There
is nothing growing in the vicinity that
the horses and cattle can eat, and no
water except the little in the keg and
canteens; so the carrying animals
stand in their yokes and harness, or
under saddles, and the loose stock wait
in groups, their thirst unslaked.

As the people come out of the wag-
ons and go about the business of the
hour we see the marks of the elements
upon them. The women wear ^^poke"
bonnets and gingham dresses. The
men are unshaven. All are sunburnt
to a rich, leathern brown. Some are
thin, and at this particular time, wear-
ing a serious expression. They are
not as unhappy as they look, their
principal trouble of the moment being
merely anxiety to satisfy prodigious
and healthy appetites.

There, under the stress of the mid-
summer sun, now in the zenith, no
shade, no protection from the flying

[91]

Crossing the Plains

dust, they proceed cheerfully to build a
fire, of sticks and dry weeds; they fry
bacon and bake biscuits, prepare large
pots of coffee, and they eat, from tin
plates, and drink from tin cups.

No one says, "This is awful!" They
laugh as they eat, saying, "Good; ain't
it?''

This is not a cheerful view alto-
gether of the retrospective; but a
sketch true to life, as life was there.
It was not all like that. A good deal
of it was.

Some will say that these overland
travelers were over-zealous, even fool-
hardy. One of the earliest pioneers,
Mr. Daniel B. Miller, who reached
Oregon by the plains route in 1852,
wrote later to relatives in Illinois, "I
would not bring a family across for
all that is contained in Oregon and
California." Himself single, he had
come with a train composed almost
wholly of men, but learned incidentally
what risks there were in escorting

[92]

Why We Came

women and children through the wilds.
But the enduring of all this toil,
exposure and hardship had for its in-
spiration the buoyant hope of some-
thing good just beyond, something that
was believed to be worthy of the pri-
vation and effort it was costing. The
ardor of that hope was too intense to
be discouraged by anything that hu-
man strength could overcome. The
memories of those strenuous experi-
ences are held as all but sacred, and
you never meet one of these early over-
land emigrants who does not like to
sit by your fireside and tell you about
it. He forgets, for the moment, how
hard it was, and dwells upon it, telling
it over and over again, with the same
pride and sense of noble achievement
that the old soldier feels when recount-
ing the battles and the camp life and
the hard marches of the war, when he
was young, away back in the sixties.
One crossing this country by present-
day conveyances, in richly appointed

[93]

Crossing the Plains

railroad trains, with all the comforts
obtainable in modern sleeping, dining
and parlor cars, can hardly be expected
to conceive what it was to cover the
same course under the conditions de-
scribed; when there was not even a
poor wagon road, and the utmost speed
did not equal in a day the distance
traveled in half an hour by the pres-
ent mode. Any person who rides in
a cumbrous and heavily laden wagon,
behind a team whose pace never ex-
ceeds a slow walk; over dusty ground,
in hot weather, will, before one day is
passed, feel that endurance requires
utmost fortitude. Consider what pa-
tience must be his if the journey
continues for four, five or six long
months !

It is worthy of mention that there
was no dissension among our people,
nor even unpleasantness, during the
entire trip, nor did we observe any
among others. We were fortunate in
having no ^'grouches'' among us. Har-

[94]

No Grouches

mony, cheerfulness, a disposition to be
jolly, even to the degree of hilarity,
was the prevailing spirit. That, too,
under circumstances often so trying
that they might have thrown a sensi-
tive disposition out of balance. All
this in the wilds of an unorganized
territory, where there was no law to
govern, other than the character and
natural bent of individuals. Such lack
of established authority we had
thought might lead to recklessness or
aggressive conduct, but it did not.

Present residents in the fields and
valleys, and the prosperous towns along
much of the line of travel described,
will find it difficult to reconcile the
accounts here given with conditions as
they see them now. Leagues of terri-
tory now bearing a network of rail-
roads and splendid highways, which
carry rich harvests from the well-
tilled farms, and connect numerous
cities, was thought of ordinarily by the
emigrants in early days only as it ap-

[95]

Crossing the Plains

peared to them, and then was, the
stamping ground of savage tribes and
the home of wild beasts, untouched by
the transforming hand of civilization.
To the keen observer, however, it was
evident that we were passing through a
great deal of fine country. On the
other hand, it cannot be denied that
part of that journey was through lands
naturally barren, some desert wastes,
much of which is still unreclaimed,
some unreclaimable.

[96]

CHAPTER VII.

TANGLED BY A TORNADO. LOST THE PACE

BUT KEPT THE COW. HUMAN ODDITIES.

NIGHT-GUARDS. WOLF SERENADES.

AWE OF THE WILDERNESS.

A STAMPEDE.

Few readers need peruse these pages
to learn what a thunder-storm is
like, but many may not know what it
is to encounter a fierce electrical dis-
turbance while surrounded by a herd
of uncontrollable cattle on the prairie.

On an occasion after having stopped
for a "nooning/' there loomed up sud-
denly in the northwest a black, omi-
nous cloud, revolving swiftly and
threateningly, as might the vapors
from some gigantic cauldron; varie-
gated in black, blue and green, be-
spangled with red streaks of lightning.

This display of the angry elements

[97]

Crossing the Plains

was making a broadening sweep on-
ward directly towards where we were.
The air turned black and murky, and
was vibrant with electric tension.
Flocks of buzzards flew low to the
earth about us, as if to be ready for
the carrion of the impending catas-
trophe. The fear instinct of the brute
seized the cattle, and they hovered to-
gether, bellowing, distraught with ap-
prehension of evil.

The whirlpool of atmospheric chaos
grew more intense and rapidly larger
as it approached. Globules of water
began to '^spat! spat!" on the ground,
here and there, as the storm-cloud
opened its batteries of liquid balls.
There was only such protection as the
wagons afforded. Whatever prepara-
tion we could make must be effected at
once.

Knowing that if the cattle should
take fright and run, it would be better
that they leave the wagons, I dropped
the wagon-tongue to which I was

[98]

Meeting the Storm

hitching a team, and called to a boy
who was hooking up the next wagon,
telling him not to do so. He had, how-
ever, already attached to that wagon
the team consisting of three yoke of
oxen.

The big drops of water were in a
moment followed by hailstones, at first
very large and scattering, striking the
ground each with a vicious thud — a
subdued ''whack"; growing more fre-
quent and presently mingled with
lesser ones; until, in the shortest mo-
ment, there was a cloud-burst of hail
and rain pouring upon us, a storm such
as none of us had ever witnessed.

The oxen, chained together in strings
of three and four pairs, pelted by the
hail, were mutinous and altogether un-
controllable. My own string, having
turned crosswise of the front end of
the wagon, were pushing it backward,
dowm the hillside. The team in charge
of the boy, being attached to their
wagon and heading away from the

[99]

Crossing the Plains

storm, were turning the wagon over.
Knowing that the boy's mother was in
the "schooner," on a sick bed, I left
my wagon and ran to that. As the
oxen, in trying to shield themselves
from the hail, were forcing the front
wheels around under the wagon-box, I
was fortunate enough to get a shoulder
under one corner of the box and exert
sufficient force to prevent the wagon
upsetting. All this took little more
than a minute. The storm passed
away as suddenly as it had come.
Then I saw the wagon which was my
special charge lying on its side, at the
bottom of the slope; the bows of the
cover fitting snugly into a sort of
natural gutter, with a swift current
of muddy water and hailstones flow-
ing through the cover, as if it were a
sluice-pipe. Everything in the wagon
was topsy-turvy; and, half buried in
the heap were two little girls, who had
been riding in the vehicle. They were
more frightened than hurt, but com-

[100]

The Author — Twenty years after

Breaking a Stampede

plained loudly at being placed in a
cold-storage of hailstones.

Meantime, the sun beamed again,
clear and hot, and we saw the storm-
cloud pursuing its course over the
plain to the southeast, leaving in its
wake a wet path a few rods wide.

The other men had their hands full
in caring for endangered members of
the party and the equipment. The
loose stock had stampeded and were
far away, with some of the mounted
men in desperate pursuit. They even-
tually brought the cattle to a halt,
about five miles away, where the
wagons overtook them when it was
time to make camp.

Continuous travel over rough ground
and through deep sand, and ascending
steep mountains, proved too great a
strain for the endurance of some out-
fits. From time to time we were
obliged to witness instances of extreme
privation and hardship, usually the
result of inadequate preparation for

[101]

Crossing the Plains

the arduous journey. Some started
with only enough oxen to carry them
in case all should remain serviceable;
and carried provisions for no more
than the shortest limit of time esti-
mated ; so that the mishap of losing an
ox or two, or any delay, worked a
calamity. Some trains started so late,
or were so much delayed, that they
were compelled to negotiate passage of
the higher mountains after the time
when enormous snow-drifts had to be
encountered; further delay resulting,
with exhaustion of strength and deple-
tion of supplies, in consequence of
which many members of some trains
failed to reach their destination. A
notable experience of this kind was
that of the Donner party, in 1846.

It was in one of the higher mountain
regions that we overtook one Eben
Darby and his family. Darby had
been with one of the trains in advance
of us, but being unable to keep the
pace, he was obliged to fall behind.

[102]

Darby^s Predicament

He had one small wagon, two yoke of
oxen, and a cow; the latter led by a
rope behind the wagon. His wife, with
a young baby, and the wife's brother,
Danny Worley, were the only persons
with Darby. The wife was a weak,
inexperienced girl; the child sickly.
Mrs. Darby's brother was a large, fat
youth of nineteen, whose distinguish-
ing and inconvenient characteristc was
an abnormal appetite. Their provi-
sions were nearly exhausted. The cow
was to them the real fountain of life.
She was doing nobly — supplying them
a quart of milk a day, which was won-
derful, considering the circumstances.
This milk fed the baby, and afforded a
good substitute for butter, in the form
of milk gravy — on which Danny fared
sumptuously every day.

Later their oxen drank of the alkali
water of the Humboldt River, and
three of the four died in one night.
Then the cow was yoked with the re-
maining ox, two steers were loaned

[103]

Crossing the Plains

them by ''good Samaritans" in our
company, and they were with us to the
Sink of the Humboldt.

Meantime the milk supply grew less,
and Mrs. Darby was compelled to sub-
stitute water for milk in the gravy.
This sop was not satisfactory to
Danny. One evening at meal time he
was overheard by some of our boys,
saying, '1 want milk in my gravy."
Though reminded there was only
enough milk for the baby, he of the
phenomenal appetite reiterated, ''I
don't care, I want milk in my gravy."
Thereafter ''Gravy" was the name by
which he was known, so long as he
traveled with us.

This narrative would not do justice
to the variety of individuals and events
without mention of another singular
personage, a young fellow who was
"working his passage"; a sort of dis-
connected unit, whose place became
everywhere in the train, and who be-
longed to nobody. How he got smug-

[104]

A Desert Stowaway

gled into the company no one has since
been able to recall. He was a sort of
desert stowaway; tolerated because,
though eccentric and quite alarming in
appearance, he was always in good
humor, and often useful, having a
willingness to do as many of the chores
as others would trust him to perform.
He was notable as a physical curiosity,
though not actually deformed. Low of
stature, he came to be known as
^'Shorty," the only name we ever had
for him. As he stood, his abnormally
long arms enabled him to take his
hat from the ground without stooping.
His legs were not mates in length,
causing him as he moved, with a quick,
rocking gait, to create the impression
that he might topple backward; but
somehow the longer leg always got
underneath at the critical instant, and
restored the balance. His head was
large, and perfectly round; hair por-
cupinesque, each bristle standing
nearly perpendicular to the plane on

[105]

Crossing the Plains

which it grew. He had no neck. Mouth
small, and so round that it opened not
unlike a bored hole in a flesh-colored
pumpkin.

"Shorty'' asserted that he was a
singer. He and ''Jack" never sang
together, however — that is, they never
did so any more, after trying it once.
''Shorty" and "Gravy" Worley became
chums inseparable, except on one occa-
sion, when their friendship was tem-
porarily ruptured by a dispute over
the ownership of a fishing hook. Anger
grew hot, but when they were about to
come to blows, "Shorty" suddenly
dropped on "all-fours" and essayed to
butt his adversary with his head, which
surprising mode of combat so discon-
certed "Gravy" that he ran for his
quarters, wildly yelling, "Take him off,
take him off."

For a time during the early part of
the journey the horses and mules were
picketed at night, on the best pasture
available; and before we retired, all

[106]

Brute Instinct

the animals were brought near the
wagons, the loose cattle bunched with
them, and guards were placed, to pre-
vent straying of the stock or surprise
by Indians. Later, for awhile, these
precautions were deemed unnecessary,
though still later they had to be re-
sumed. The stock became accustomed
to the daily routine, and after the all-
day travel, were quite willing, when
they had finished their evening grazing,
to assemble near the camp and lie
down for the night, usually remaining
comparatively quiet till morning. As
if having some realization of the lonely
nature of the surroundings, the ani-
mals were not disposed to stray off,
except on rare occasions; but rather to
keep within sight of the people and
the wagons.

There was proof of the theory that
in some circumstances domestic ani-
mals acquire some of that feeling that
human creatures know, when far from
the habitations of man. There is a

[107]

Crossing the Plains

peculiar sensation in the great and
boundless contiguity of empty silence
which works the senses up to a feeling
that is somewhat alike in man and
beast — that there is most comfort and
protection near the center of the set-
tlement or camp. In this stillness of
the night — and night on these plains
was often very still — any slight noise
outside the camp startled and thrilled
the taut nerves. Not only was the
night still ; usually it was silent, too.

But occasionally, when the silence
was absolute, a couple or more of prai-
rie-wolves lurking in the vicinity,
without the faintest note of prelude,
would startle the calm of night with
their peculiar commingling of barks,
howls and wails, — a racket all their
own. It was the habit of these night
prowlers of the desert to come as near
to the camp as their acute sense of
safety permitted, and there, sitting on
their haunches, their noses pointed to
the moon, render a serenade that was

[108]

Chattering Coyotes

truly thrilling. Two prairie-wolves, in
a fugued duet, can emit more dis-
quieting noise, with a less proportion of
harmony, than any aggregation of sev-
eral times their equal in numbers, not

A coyote serenade

excepting Indians on the war-path or
a ^'gutter'' band.

That awe of the wilderness to which
reference has been made, and its effect
on the nerves, may explain the stam-
pede of cattle, often not otherwise ac-
counted for; which occurs sometimes
in these hollow solitudes. It occurs
nowhere else that I have known.

[109]

Crossing the Plains

Several times we experienced this
strange exhibition of sudden panic ; the
snapping, as it were, of the nerves,
from undue tension, when, instantly,
from cause then to us unknown and
unguessed, the whole band of cattle,
teams as well as loose stock, made a
sudden, wild, furious dash, in a com-
pact mass; seeming instinctively to
follow in whatever direction the lead-
er's impulse led him; drifting together
and forward as naturally as water
flows to the current; with heads and
tails high in air; blindly trampling to
the earth whatever chanced to be in
their path.

These were not in any sense wild
stock. The cattle, horses and mules
were all animals that had been raised
on the quiet farms of the Middle West,
well domesticated.

In the light of certain modern the-
ories it might be said by some that
these otherwise docile animals stam-
peded on the unpeopled plains because

[110]

Cattle Unrestrained

they heard the "call of the wild."
There were, however, occasions when
the cause could be readily assigned for
this temporary casting off of restraint

In one instance, already mentioned,
a sudden, pelting hailstorm was the
undoubted cause; when, taking the
stampede temper, they ran five or six
miles before the man, mounted on one
of our fleetest saddle-horses, got in
front of the foremost of them and
checked their running.

On all such occasions control could
be regained in only one way. Speed-
ing his horse till he overtook and
passed the leader of the drove the rider
made his horse the leader ; and as each
loose animal always followed whatever
was in front, the horseman, by making
a circuit and gradually slackening the
pace, led the drove around and back to
place in the line of travel.

Naturally one source of uneasiness
was the thought of what our situation
would be if, on one of these occasions,
[111]

Crossing the Plains

we should fail to regain control of these
animals, so necessary to us in continu-
ing the westward journey. A stam-
pede when some of the oxen were
yoked to the wagons was, of course,
more serious in its immediate conse-
quences than when it happened while
all were detached from the equipment.
A stampede occurred one day in a
level stretch of country, open in every
direction; nothing in sight to cause
alarm. There the emigrant road
showed plainly before us. The wagons
were in open single file, the loose stock
drawn out in line at the rear. Men on
horseback, hats over their eyes, some
of them with one leg curled over the
pommel of the saddle; lazily droning
away the slow hours and the humdrum
miles. The women and children were
stowed away on bundles of baggage
and camp stuff in the wagons, some
of them asleep perhaps, rocked in their
"schooner" cradles. A few of the
men and boys perchance were strolling

[112]

First Death

off the way, in the hope of starting a
sage grouse or rabbit from some shel-
tering clump of brush. During a spe-
cially quiet routine like this ; the cattle
lolling behind the wagons, mostly un-
attended, keeping the snail pace set by
the patient teams; a steer now and
again turning aside to appropriate a
tuft of bunch-grass; their white horns
rising and falling in the brilliant sun-
light, with the swaying motion of their
bodies as they walked, shimmered like
waves of a lake at noonday before a
gentle breeze: quickly as a clap of the
hands, every loose beast in the band, in
the wildest fashion of terror, started,
straight in the course of the moving
line — ^pell-mell, they went, veering for
nothing that they could run over;
sweeping on, with a roaring tramp,
like muffled thunder, they passed along
both sides of the train. The teams,
catching the frenzy, took up the race,
as best they could with their heavy
impedimenta; all beyond control of

[113]

Crossing the Plains

their drivers or the herders, who, star-
tled from the reverie of the moment,
could do no better than dodge to such
place of safety as they found, and
stand aghast at the spectacle. Fortu-
nately the draft oxen usually were
forced to stop running before they
went far, owing to the weight of the
wagons they hauled and their inability
to break the yokes.

In this particular instance the most
serious casualty was the death of a
boy, about eight years of age, the son
of Dr. Kidd. The child was probably
asleep in a wagon, and being aroused
by the unusal commotion, may have
attempted to look out, when a jolt of
the wagon threw him to the ground,
and he was trampled to death. The
body was kept in camp overnight, and
the next morning wrapped in a sheet
and buried by the roadside.

This was in a vast stretch of lonely
plain. As we journeyed through it,
viewing the trackless hills and rock-

[114]

Then and Now

ribbed mountains not far away on
either side, mostly barren and uninvit-
ing, it was difficult to conceive of that
territory ever becoming the permanent
homes of men. Yet it is possible, and
probable, that the grave of Dr. Kidd's
little boy is today within the limits of
a populous community, or even be-
neath a noisy thoroughfare of some
busy town.

[lis;

CHAPTER VIII.

DISASTER OVERTAKES THE WOOD
FAMILY.

Our consolidated train continued its
creeping pace down the meandering
Humboldt; crossing the stream occa-
sionally, to gain the advantage of a
shorter or better road.

Soon again there were other proofs
of the wisdom we had shown in tak-
ing every possible precaution against
attack.

Next ahead of us was a family from
England, a Mr. Wood, his wife and
one child, with two men employed as
drivers. They were outfitted with
three vehicles, two of them drawn by
ox teams, in charge of the hired men,
and a lighter, spring-wagon, drawn by

[116]

Danger Near

four mules, the family conveyance,
driven by Mr. Wood. We had not
known them before.

One very hot day in the latter part
of August, after having moved along
for a time with no train in sight ahead
of us, we came upon Mr. Wood in a
most pitiable plight, the result of an
attack and slaughter, not differing
greatly from the Holloway case, and
its parallel in atrocity.

Mr. Wood's party had spent the pre-
ceding night undisturbed, and were up
early in the morning, preparing to
resume their journey. The ox teams
had been made ready and moved on,
while Mr. Wood proceeded in a leis-
urely way with harnessing the four
mules and attaching them to the
smaller wagon. All the articles of
their equipment had been gathered up
and placed in proper order in the
wagon.

When Mr. Wood had nearly com-
pleted hitching the team, Mrs. Wood

[117]

Crossing the Plains

and the baby being already in the
wagon, some men, apparently all
Indians, twenty or more of them, were
seen coming on horseback, galloping
rapidly from the hills to the northward,
about half a mile away.

Mr. Wood, fearing that he and his
family were about to be attacked, in
this lonely situation, hurriedly sprang
to the wagon seat and whipped up the
mules, hoping that before the attack
they could come within sight of the ox
v/agons, which had rounded the point
of a hill but a few minutes before, and
have such aid as his hired men could
give.

He had no more than got the team
under way when a wheel came off the
wagon — he having probably overlooked
replacing the nut after oiling the axle.
Notwithstanding this he lost no time
in making the best of the circum-
stances. Jumping to the ground, he
hurriedly placed Mrs. Wood on one
of the mules, cutting the harness to

[118]

The Attack

release the animal from the wagon;
then, with the baby in his arms, he
mounted another mule, and they
started flight.

But the Indians had by this time
come within gun-shot range and fired
upon them. Mrs. Wood fell from the
mule, fatally shot. Mr. Wood's mule
was shot under him, and dropped ; next
Mr. Wood received a bullet in the right
arm, that opened the flesh from wrist
to elbow. That or another shot killed
the child. Amidst a shower of bullets,
Mr. Wood ran in the direction taken
by his ox wagons. Getting past the
point of the low hill that lay just be-
fore him without being struck again,
he was then beyond range of the firing,
and soon overtook his wagons. His
men, with all the guns they had, re-
turned, to find the woman and child
dead on the ground. One of the mules
was dead, one wounded, the other two
gone. The wagon had been ransacked
of its contents, and the band of assas-

[119]

Crossing the Plains

sins were making their way back into
the hills whence they had come.

This small wagon, Mr. Wood said,
had contained the family effects; and
among them were several articles of
considerable value, all of which had
been taken. Among his property were
pieces of English gold coin, the equiv-
alent of fifteen hundred dollars. It
had been concealed in the bottom of
the wagon-box, and he had supposed
the band would overlook it; but that,
too, was gone.

Such was the plight in which our
company found the man, soon after
this tragedy was so swiftly enacted,
and which so effectually bereft him
of all, his family and his property,
leaving him wounded, and dependent
on the mercy of strangers.

The dead were placed in mummy-
form wrappings and buried, mother
and child in one, unmarked grave.

When the manuscript of this narra-
tive was first made ready for the

[120]

A Gruesome Detail

printer, the description of the calamity
which befell Mr. Wood and his family
ended here. There were other details,
as clearly recalled as those already
recited, but so atrocious and devoid of
motive, that it was a matter of grave
doubt whether the facts should be
given. It seemed too deplorable that
such an occurrence could be recorded
as the act of human beings; further-
more, would it be credible? It has
been intimated that the present en-
deavor is to give a complete history of
events as they occurred: no material
item suppressed, nothing imaginary
included; therefore the remaining
details are given.

Incredible as it may sound to civil-
ized ears, after the bodies of Mrs.
Wood and her child had been interred,
hardly had those who performed this
service gone from the spot when a part
of the savage band that had murdered
those innocent victims, rushed wildly
back to the place, disinterred the bodies

[121]

Crossing the Plains

from the shallow grave, taking the
sheets in which the bodies had been
wrapped, and which were their only
covering, and carrying those articles
away. When the Indians had gone a
second time, the grief-stricken Mr.
Wood returned and reinterred the
remains of his wife and child.

Mr. Wood's wounded arm was
dressed by Dr. Maxwell and Dr. Kidd,
his wagons were placed in the lead of
our train, and again we moved west-
ward.

122]

CHAPTER IX.

MYSTERIOUS VISITORS. EXTRA SENTRIES.
AN ANXIOUS NIGHT.

The next following day, as we
wended our way among the sand
dunes, alkali flats and faded sage-
brush, there came to us — whence we
knew not — three men, equipped with a
small wagon, covered with white duck-
ing, arched over bows, similar to the
covering on most of the emigrant wag-
ons; drawn by two large, handsome,
well-harnessed horses; all having a
well-to-do appearance, that made our
dusty, travel-worn outfits look very
cheap and inferior.

They told us that they were moun-
taineers, of long experience on the
plains; well acquainted with the In-
dians and familiar with their habits
and savage proclivities. They said

[123]

Crossing the Plains

that the Shoshone Indians were very
angry at the white people who were
passing through their lands; that this
hostility recently had been further
aroused by certain alleged acts of the
whites along the emigrant road; and
that the feeling was now so intense
that even they, our informants, were
alarmed, notwithstanding their long,
intimate and friendly intercourse with
these Indians; and, believing them-
selves no longer safe among the tribe,
they were anxious to get out of the
Shoshone country; therefore they re-
quested the privilege of placing them-
selves under the protection of our large
train until we should have passed out
of the Shoshone lands and into those of
the Pah-Utes, which tribe they said
was known to be friendly toward the
white race.

One of these men was a specially
picturesque figure ; weighty, with large,
square shoulders; well-formed head;
full, brown beard, cropped short. He

[ 124 ]

Our Proteges

wore a deer-skin blouse, leathern
breeches ; broad, stiff -brimmed hat, low
crown, flat top, decorated with a tas-
seled leather band; a fully-loaded am-
munition belt — a combination make-up
of cowboy, mountaineer and highway-
man.

The three men spoke plain English,
with a free use of ''frontier adjectives/'

Having received permission to take
temporary protection by traveling near
us, they placed themselves at the rear
of our train, and that night pitched
camp slightly apart from our circle of
wagons.

Some of our men visited them dur-
ing the evening, eager to hear their
tales of adventure; and listened, open-
mouthed, to descriptions of life among
savage associations, in the mountain
wilds, jungles and the desert plains.

The visitors dwelt with emphasis on
the threatening attitude of the Sho-
shone Indians towards the emigrants;
warning us that our position was

[125]

Crossing the Plains

hazardous, with caution that there was
special risk incurred by individuals
who wandered away from the train,
thus inviting a chance of being shot
by Redskins, ambushed among the
bunches of sagebrush. They were
especially earnest as they assured us of
the peril there would be in loitering
away from the body of the company,
as they had noticed some of our boys
doing, that day, while hunting for
sage fowls.

After awhile, he of the big hat in-
quired— and seemed almost to tremble
with solicitude as he spoke :

^^Are you prepared to defend your-
selves, in case of an attack?"

Here unpleasant surmises gave place
to distinct suspicions in the minds of
some of our older men. They regarded
that question as a ^^Give-away." All
the day, since these three joined us, we
had felt that they might be spies, and
in league with the Indians. So now
not a few of us were giving closest

[126]

Awaiting Encounter

attention, both with ears and eyes.

An answer was ready: That we
were prepared, and waiting for the en-
counter; with a hundred and twenty-
five shots for the first round; that we
could reload as rapidly as could the
Indians; and had ammunition in store
for a long siege.

The actual fact was that, although
every man of us had some sort of a
'^shooting-iron,'' they were not for-
midable. In kind, these varied well
through the entire range of infantry,
from a four-inch six-shooter to a four-
foot muzzle-loader, and from a single-
barreled shotgun on up to a Sharp's
repeating rifle. The weapon last men-
tioned carried a rotating cylinder, for
five shells, and was the latest thing in
quick-fire repeating arms of that time :
but there was only one of that class in
the train. Had we been seen on mus-
ter, standing at "present arms," the
array would have been less terrifying
than comical.

[127]

Crossing the Plains

Just how our visitors received our
bluff with reference to preparedness
for battle we could not know. The
next morning these mysterious stran-
gers took position in the rear of our
train once more, carrying a small white
flag, mounted on a pole fastened to
their wagon. Upon being asked the
purpose of the flag they replied that it
served as a signal to any one of their
number who might go beyond view,
enabling him to determine the location
of the wagon.

Captain John reminded them that,
according to their statements, wander-
ing out of sight was too hazardous to
be done or considered; adding that
therefore there did not seem to be any
need of the flag, and he wanted it to
be taken down.

It came down.

During the noon-hour stop that day,
while the doctors were dressing Mr.
Wood's wounded arm, he obtained a
first look at our three proteges. He at

[128]

A Grave Charge

once indicated the man wearing the
big, brown hat, and stated, excitedly
but confidentially, to those of our
company who were near him :

'^I believe that man was with the
Indians who killed my wife and child/'

That statement naturally created a
much greater feeling of uneasiness
among us. The assertion was whis-
pered around; and every man of us
became a detective. The leading men
of our party put their heads together
in council. The situation was more
than ever grave and the suspense dis-
tinctly painful. We feared something
tragic would happen any hour.

Mr. Wood was asked to obtain an-
other view of the man and endeavor to
make his statement more definite, if he
could. His wound, and the terrible
shock he had sustained two days pre-
viously, had so prostrated him that he
was unable to make haste. Arrange-
ments were made to disguise him and
have him go where he could obtain a

[129]

Crossing the Plains

good view of the three men, but his
condition prevented it.

Later in the afternoon the three-
men-afraid-of-Indians announced that
we had passed out of the territory of
the savage Shoshones; they felt it
would be safe for them to dispense
with our kind escort, therefore, after
camping near us that night, they would
withdraw and bid us a thankful good-
bye.

We camped that night on a level
place, where there was sage-brush
three or four feet high, and thick
enough to make good cover for an
enemy. Our people, having become
thoroughly distrustful of the three men
who had made themselves appendages
of our train, feared an attack would
be made on our camp that night. Sus-
picion had developed into a fixed belief
that the trio were confederates of the
Shoshones, and had come to us under
a pretense of fear on their part, in
order to spy out the fighting strength
of our company.

[130]

The Night-watch

The place where they halted their
wagon and prepared to spend the night
was not more than a hundred yards
from where our vehicles were ar-
ranged, in the usual hollow circle, with
the camp-fire and the people inclosed.

When darkness set in, guards of our
best men, armed with the most effective
guns we had, were quietly distributed
about the camp, the chosen men crawl-
ing on their hands and knees to their
allotted positions, in order that the
three strangers should not know our
arrangements. There was an under-
standing that, if there should be an
attack during the night, the first thing
to do was, if possible, to shoot those
three men; for, under the circum-
stances, any attack occurring that
night would be deemed completion of
proof that they were responsible for it
and for any atrocity that might follow
or be attempted.

The night passed without notable
happening — except that at the break of

[131]

Crossing the Plains

day the three men and their wagon
silently stole away.

There was a feeling of great relief
on being rid of them; but there re-
mained some apprehension of their
turning up at some unguarded moment
and unpleasant place, to make us trou-
ble; for their absence did not remove
the impression that they had come
among us to gauge our desirability as
prey and the feasibility of overpow-
ering our entire train.

[132]

CHAPTER X.

CHALLENGE TO BATTLE.

We divided our long train into two
parts, leaving a short space between
the sections. Mr. Wood's two wagons
headed the forward part. Toward the
close of the day on which this change
of arrangement was made, the forward
section turned off the road a short
distance before stopping to make camp,
and the rear section passed slightly
beyond the first, left the road and
halted, so that a double camp was
formed, with the two sections thus
placed for the night in relative posi-
tions the reverse of the order they had
maintained during the day.

At night-fall, when supper was over
and everything at rest, we saw three
horsemen going westward on the emi-
grant road. When they were opposite
the Maxwell, or forward, camp, as the

[133]

Crossing the Plains

train sections had been placed, these
men turned from the road and came
toward us. We soon recognized them
as our late guests on the way: he of
the big hat and his two companions.

Riding into our camp, one of them
remarked that they now observed the
change made in arrangement of our
train, explaining that they had in-
tended to call on the Englishman, whose
place had been in the lead. They apol-
ogized for their mistake. The first
speaker added that they had heard it
stated that this English gentleman had
charged one of their number with being
in company with the Indians who killed
his wife, at the time of the tragedy, a
few days before.

He of the big, brown hat then as-
sumed the role of spokesman, and said :

'1 understand that he indicated me,
by description ; and if that man says I
was with the Indians who killed his
wife, I will kill him. Let him say it,
and I will shoot him down like a dog,

[134]

Tooly's Threat

that he is. I am here to demand of
him if he said it.'^

Another of the three said, in a tone
of conciliation :

''We are honest men. We came out
here from Stockton, California, where
we live, to meet the emigrants as they
come over from the States. We buy
their weak and disabled stock, such as
cannot finish the trip to the Coast;
take the animals onto range that we
know of, and in the fall, when they are
recuperated, we drive them in for the
California market."

The man under the large hat re-
sumed :

"My name is James Tooly. My part-
ners here, are two brothers, named
Hawes. And now, if that Englishman,
or any one among you, says I was with
the Indians who killed his wife, I will
shoot him who says it, right here
before you all."

This was said with much vehemence,
and punctuated with many oaths.

[135]

Crossing the Plains

Van Diveer's advantage was slight, hut sufficient

Mr. Drennan, of our combined com-
pany, replied:

'If you want to talk like that, go
where the man is. We don't want that

[136]

The Challenge Met

kind of language used here, in the
presence of our women and children.'^

Tooly, standing erect, high in his
stirrups, drew a large pistol from its
holster and swung it above his head.

^'I will say what I please, where I
please; and I don't care who likes it,'^
roared Tooly, waving his pistol in air.

W. J. Van Diveer, a young man of
the Drennan company, who had been
sitting on a wagon-tongue near the
speaker, leaped to his feet, with a
pistol leveled at the big horseman's
head, and with a manner that left no
doubt that he meant what he said,
shouted :

^^'11 be damned if you can do that
here. Now, you put down your gun,
and go.''

The muzzle of Van Diveer's pistol
was within an arm's-length of Tooly,
aiming steadily at his head. Tooly was
yet with pistol in hand but not quite in
position for use of it on his adversary.
Van Diveer's advantage was slight, but

[137]

Crossing the Plains

sufficient for the occasion. Tooly's
companions did not act, appearing to
await his orders, and, in the sudden-
ness of this phase of the scene, Tooly
found no voice for commands. Others
of our men made ready on the instant,
believing that a battle vi^as on.

It v^^as averted, however. Tooly
replaced his pistol in the holster,
saying :

"Well, of course — as you say, my
pie is over yonder. I don't want to
kill you fellows.''

And he didn't. The three rode over
to the other group of our men, among
whom was Mr. Wood. All of these
had overheard what had just been said,
and felt sure they knew what was
coming.

Mr. Wood, grief-stricken, disabled,
stood, pale and fearful, amongst the
party of timid emigrants, all strangers
to him.; he the only man probably in
the camp without a weapon on his

[138]

The Enemy Retreats

person, his torn arm in a sling across
his chest.

The big fellow made his statement
again, as he had made it to us; with
the same emphatic threat to kill, if he
could induce Wood or any one to speak
out and affirm the charge of Tooly's
complicity with the Indians.

Tooly got off his horse and, pistol in
hand, walked among the party; many
of whom surely did tremble in. their
boots. He declared again, as he
stalked about, that he would shoot the
hapless Wood, "like a dog'', or any
one who would repeat the charge.

There were but a few men in that
part of the camp when Tooly com-
menced this second tirade, in the pres-
ence of Wood; but soon more came
from the other part of the train.

Mr. Wood, in a condition as helpless
as if with hands and feet bound, real-
izing his situation, and his responsi-
bility, maintained silence: a silence

[ 139 ]

Crossing the Plains

more eloquent than speech, since a
single word from him in confirmation
of the charge he had made would have
precipitated a battle, in which he, most
certainly, and probably others, includ-
ing some of his benefactors, would
have been killed.

Then Tooly saw that a goodly num-
ber of men had arrived from the other
section of the camp, and were watch-
ing to see what would happen ; some of
these viewing the scene with attitude
and looks that boded no good for the
man who held the center of the arena.

Tooly's threatening talk ceased.
Still Wood said nothing. In silence,
Tooly mounted his horse, and with his
fellows rode away, leaving the party
of emigrants — most of them terror-
stricken, some angry — standing dumb,
looking at one another, and at the
retreating three until they went out of
sight, in the dusk of the desert night-
fall: stood there on the sage-brush
sward, a tableau of silent dumbfound-

[140]

Intrigue Sitspicioned

edness; for how long none knew; each
waiting for something to break the
spell.

'1 feel like a fool," exclaimed Van
Diveer.

'^But/' spoke Drennan, the older and
more conservative leader of their party,
'Ve couldn't start an open battle with
those fellows without some of us being
killed. They are gone; we should be
glad that they are. It is better to bear
the insult than have even one of our
people shot."

'Tm glad they left no bullets

in me —
Ulee, ilee, aloo, ee;
Courting, down in Tennessee."

This paraphrasing of his favorite
ditty was, of course, perpetrated by
^^Jack."

But we all wished we knew. Was it
true that these men were conspirators
with the Indians who had been rav-
aging the emigrant trains? If so,
doubtless they would be concerned in

[141]

Crossing the Plains

other and possibly much more disas-
trous assaults, and perhaps soon. If
so, who would be the next victims?

But Mr. Wood was still too indefinite
in his identification of the man Tooly —
at least in his statement of it — to clear
away all doubt, or even, as yet, to
induce the majority of our men to act
on the judgment of some: that we
should follow these plainsmen, learn
more, and have it out with them.

There were many circumstances
pointing not only to the connection of
these men with the assault on Mr.
Wood's family, but to the probability of
their having been responsible for the
slaughter of the Holloway party. It
seemed improbable that there were two
bands of Indians operating along that
part of the Humboldt River in the
looting of emigrant trains. If it could
be proved that white men co-operated
with the savages in the Wood case,
the inference would be strong that the
same white men had been accessories

[ 142 ]

Accusing Circumstances

in the Holloway massacre. The use of
guns in those attacks, and the evident
abundance of ammunition in the hands
of the Indians, went far toward prov-
ing the connection of white men with
both these cases.

[143]

CHAPTER XL

SAGEBRUSH JUSTICE.

The Sink of the Humboldt is a lake
of strong, brackish water, where the
river empties into the natural basin,
formed by the slant of the surrounding
district of mountains, plain and desert,
and where some of the water sinks into
the ground and much of it evaporates,
there being no surface outlet. In the
latter part of the summer the water is
at a very low stage, and stronger in
mineral constituents. There we found
the daytime heat most intense.

The land that is exposed by the re-
ceding water during the hottest period
of the fall season becomes a dry, crack-
ling waste of incrusted slime, curling
up in the fierce sunshine, and readily
crushed under foot, like frozen snow.
The yellowish-white scales reflect the

[144]

The Trading Post

sunlight, producing a painful effect on
the eyes. Not many feet wander to
this forbidding sea of desolation.

At the border of this desert lake, a
few feet higher than the water, is a
plateau of sand, covered with sage-
brush and stones. We were there in
the last week of August. Fresh water
was not to be had except at a place a
half-mile from our camp, where there
was a seepage spring. There we filled
our canteens and buckets with enough
for supper and breakfast. The animals
had to endure the night without water.

Not far from the spring was situated
a rude shack, known as ^^Black's Trad-
ing Post." This establishment was
constructed of scraps of rough lumber,
sticks, stones and cow-hides. With
Mr. Black were two men, said to be his
helpers — helpers in what, did not ap-
pear. The principal stock in trade was
a barrel of whisky — reported to be of
very bad quality — some plug tobacco,
and — not much else. Black's prices

[145]

Crossing the Plains

were high. A sip from the barrel cost
fifty cents. It was said to be an
antidote for alkali poisoning.

Some of our men visited this empo-
rium of the desert, and there they

"A sip from the barrel cost fifty cents"

found "Jim'' Tooly. The barrel had
been tapped in his behalf, and he was
loquacious; appearing also to be quite
"at home" about the Post. His two
companions of our recent acquaintance
VN^ere not there. The "antidote" was
working; Tooly was in good spirits,
and eloquent. He did not appear to

[146]

An Improvised Court

recognize those of our people who were
visiting the place; but they knew him.
There were other persons present from
the camps of two or three companies of
emigrants, but strangers to us, who
were also stopping for the night at
the margin of the Sink.

Tooly assumed an air of comrade-
ship toward all, addressing various in-
dividuals as "Partner" and ''Neigh-
bor''; but his obvious willingness to
hold the center of the stage made it
clear that he deemed himself the
important personage of the community.

Some things he said were self-in-
criminating. He boasted of having
''done up a lot of Pikers, up the creek,''
declaring his intention to "look up
another lot of suckers" the following
day.

When our men thought that they had
heard enough they returned to camp
and reported.

Recollections of the last time we
had seen Mr. Tooly made the present

[147]

Crossing the Plains

occasion seem opportune. An im-
promptu ''court" was organized: judge,
sheriff and deputies; and these, with a
few chosen men of the company, went
to the trading post to convene an after-
noon session. The members of this
''court" dropped in quietly, one or two
at a time, looked over the place, asked
questions — about the country; the
prices of Mr. Black's "goods" ; how far
it might be to Sacramento ; anything to
be sociable : but none offered to tap the
barrel.

The stranger emigrants had heard of
the Indian raids up the river. Seem-
ing to have inferred something of
pending events, they had gone to the
trading post in considerable numbers.
Tooly was still there. Black and his
two men seemed to be persons who
ordinarily would be classed as honest.
Still, they appeared to listen to Tooly's
tales of prowess in the looting of emi-
grant trains as if they regarded such
proceedings as acts of exceptional

[148]

Without Technicalities

valor; exhibiting as much interest in
the recital as did the '^tenderfoot' emi-
grants— who held a different opinion
regarding those adventures.

When enough had been heard to
warrant the finding of an indictment,
the newly-appointed judge issued a
verbal order of arrest, and the sheriff
and his deputies quickly surrounded
the accused, before he suspected any-
thing inimical to his personal welfare.
With revolver in hand, the sheriff com-
manded, ''Hands up, 'Jim' Tooly!" To
the astonishment of all, the big man
raised both hands, without protest;
this, however, in mock obedience, as
was evident by his laughing at the
supposed fun.

"This is not a joke, sir," came in
harsh tones from the judge. "When
we saw you last, about sixteen days
ago> you came to our camp to deny a
charge made against you by a man of
our company. You overawed, brow-
beat and insulted the man and those

[149]

Crossing the Plains

who were assisting and protecting him
in his distress. You denied the accusa-
tion made against you, with vehemence
and much profanity. Giving you the
benefit of a doubt, we permitted you
to go. Now we are here to take the
full statement of the prosecuting wit-
ness, and examine such other evidence
as there may be. We will clear you
if we can, or find you guilty if we
must.''

In whatever direction the culprit
looked he gazed into the open end of
a gun or pistol. The sheriff said :

''Now, Tooly, any motion of resist-
ance will cost you your life."

A disinterested onlooker at the mo-
ment would have cringed, lest the un-
accustomed duty of some deputy should
so unnerve his hand that he would
inadvertently and prematurely pull the
trigger of his weapon. But all held
sufficiently steady, as they looked
through the sights.

The prisoner slowly grasped the sit-

[150]

Search Warrant

uation, and knew that temporary
safety lay in obedience. The sheriff's
demand for Tooly's weapons created
more surprise, when it was revealed
that, in his feeling of security while
at the Post, he had relieved himself of
those encumbering articles and depos-
ited them with the landlord, that he
might have freedom from their weight
while enjoying the hospitality of the
place.

Thus his captors had him as a tiger
with teeth and claws drawn. His
weapons, when brought out from the
hut for examination, were found to be
two pistols, of the largest size and most
dangerous appearance, in a leathern
holster, the latter made to carry on the
pommel of a saddle, in front of the
rider. These, also his saddle and other
trappings, were searched for evidence;
but, except the pistols, nothing was
found that tended to throw any further
light on the question of his guilt or
innocence.

[151]

Crossing the Plains

Tooly was then taken, under a heavy
guard, to a spot some distance from
the Post, where the court reconvened,
for the purpose of completing the trial.

His captors had, with good reason,
reckoned Tooly as like a beast of the
jungle, who, when put at bay, would
resort to desperate fighting; but, hav-
ing been caught thus unawares and
unarmed, violence on his part or re-
sistance of any kind, was useless. He
was doubtless feigning meekness, hop-
ing for an opportunity to escape.

A jury was selected, mostly from the
stranger emigrants.

The improvised court sat on an
alkali flat near the margin of the lake,
where there were some large stones
and clumps of sage-brush. There
Tooly was confronted by Mr. Wood,
still with bandaged arm. Tooly de-
clared he had never before seen the
Englishman, but Wood said he had
seen Tooly, and now reaffirmed his
belief that the prisoner was one of the

[152]

Final Evidence

persons who, some weeks previously,
had ridden with the Indians who killed
Mrs. Wood and the child, also wounded
and robbed the witness.

Still the evidence was not deemed
sufficiently positive or complete, the
identity being in some doubt. The jury
would not convict without conclusive
proof. With the view of procuring fur-
ther evidence, the judge ordered that
the person of the prisoner be searched.

Hearing this mandate, Tooly first
made some sign of an intention to re-
sist— only a slight start, as if possibly
contemplating an effort to break
through the cordon of untrained
guards.

^^Gentlemen," ordered the sheriff,
"keep, every man, his eye on this fel-
low, and his finger on the trigger."
Then to the prisoner,

"Stand, sir, or you will be reduced
to the condition of a "good Indian'!''

Escape as yet appeared impossible,
and Tooly must have finally come to a

[153]

Crossing the Plains

definite realization that he was in the
hands of men who meant business,
most earnestly. Bravado had ceased
to figure in his conduct. It was ap-
parent that the search for evidence
was narrowing its field; the erstwhile
minions of frontier justice were on the
right scent. Tooly grew pallid of fea-
ture and his cheeks hollowed percept-
ibly, in a moment. There was a wild
glare in his eyes, as they turned from
side to side; fear, hatred, viciousness,
mingled in every glance. He crouched,
not designedly, but as if an involuntary
action of the muscles drew him to-
gether. His fists were clenched; his
mouth partly opened, as if he would
speak, but could not.

Thus he stood, half erect, while the
officer searched his clothing. The ex-
amination disclosed that, secured in a
buckskin belt, worn under his outer
garments, there was English gold coin,
to the value of five hundred dollars;
just one-third of the amount that Mr.

[154]

Wood declared he had lost at the time
of the robbery. What became of the
other two-thirds of Mr. Wood's money
was readily inferred, but full proof of
it was not necessary to this case.

Tooly's trial was closed. The only
instruction the court gave the jury
was, "Gentlemen, you have heard the
testimony and seen the evidence; what
is your verdict?"

The answer came, as the voice of
one man, "Guilty."

During the entire proceeding, at the
post and down by the lake, the judge
sat astride his mule. Addressing the
prisoner once more from his elevated
"bench," he said :

"Mr. Tooly, you are found guilty of
the murder of Mrs. Wood and her
child, the wounding of Mr. Wood, and
robbery of his wagon. Mr. Wood has
from the first stated his belief that
you were with, and the leader of, the
band of Indians which attacked his
party. You afterwards denied it; but

[155]

Crossing the Plains

now, in addition to his almost positive
identification, and many circumstances
pointing to your guilt, you are found
with the fruits of that robbery on your
person. Have you anything to say?"

" 'Stop,' shouted the Judge"

Tooly was ashy pale, and speechless.
Absolute silence reigned for a time, as
the court awaited the prisoner's reply,
if by any means he could offer some
explanation, some possible extenuating
circumstance, that might affect the
judgment to be pronounced. None
came, and the judge continued :

[1561

Exit Tooly

"You can have your choice, to be
shot, or hanged to the uplifted tongue
of a wagon. Which do you choose?''

Tooly took the risk of immediate
death, in seeking one last, desperate
chance for life. Instantly he turned
half around, crouched for a spring,
and, seemingly by one single leap, went
nearly past the rock-pile, so that it
partly covered his retreat. Quick as
his movements were, they were not
swifter than those of the men whose
duty was to prevent his escape.

'^Stop, Tooly," shouted the judge,
sitting astride his mule, as his long
right arm went out to a level, aiming
his big Colt's revolver at the fleeing
man.

"Shoot, boys," commanded the sheriff
at the same instant; a chorus of shots
sounded, and the court's sentence was
executed.

Complying with the request of the
judge, the sheriff had a hole dug near

[ 157 ]

Crossing the Plains

where the body lay, and the dead man
was buried, sans ceremonie.

The court returned to the trading
post and requested the proprietor to
state what he knew of Tooly. Mr.
Black declared he only knew that the
accused plainsman came to the post
that day; that he bought and drank a
considerable quantity of whisky, and
offered to treat several passing emi-
grants, all of whom declined.

The English gold found upon the
prisoner was returned to Mr. Wood,
and the incident was closed.

The trial had been as orderly and
impartial as the proceedings in any
court established by constitutional
authority. All those concerned in it
realized that they were performing a
duty of grave importance. There was
nothing of vindictiveness, nothing of
rashness. It was without '^due pro-
cess," and it was swift; a proceeding
without the delays commonly due to
technicalities observed in a legal tri-

[158]

Deplorable Necessity

bunal ; but it was justice conscientiously
administered, without law — an action
necessary under the circumstances.
Its justification was fully equal to that
of similar services performed by the
Vigilance Committee, in San Fran-
cisco, within a year preceding. It was
a matter the necessity of which was
deplorable, but the execution of which
was imposed upon those who were on
the spot and uncovered the convincing
facts.

[159]

CHAPTER XIL

NIGHT TRAVEL, FROM ARID WASTES TO
LIMPID WATERS.

From the Sink of the Humboldt the
little Darby party wished to complete
the trip by the Carson Route, thus sep-
arating from the majority, but their
supplies were exhausted and they had
now but one ox and one cow to draw
their wagon. A suggestion, that those
who could spare articles of food should
divide with the needy, was no sooner
made than acted upon. Sides of bacon,
sacks of flour and other substantials
were piled into their little vehicle, and
the owners of the two oxen which had
been loaned Darby simply said, ^Take
them along; you need them more than
we do." Danny, alias ''Gravy" Wor-
ley, being of that party, showed his
delight, by sparkling eyes and beaming

[.160 ]

Helping the Needy

fat face, when he saw the abundance
of edibles turned over to his people.
Mr. Darby shed genuine tears of grati-
tude, as we bade them good-bye and
drove away by another route.

The combination train was further
divided, each party shaping its farther
course according to the location of its
final stop. The Drennans took the
Carson Route, the Maxwell train pro-
ceeding by the more northerly, Truckee,
trail. The associations of the plains,
closer cemented by the sharing of many
hardships and some pleasures, had
created feelings almost equal to kin-
ship, more binding than those of many
a life-long neighborhood relation. So
there were deep regrets at parting.

On leaving the Sink of the Humboldt
there was before us a wholly desert
section, forty miles wide. The course
led southwesterly, over flat, barren
lands, with a line of low hills, abso-
lutely devoid of vegetation, on our
right. This was known to be one of

[161]

Crossing the Plains

the hard drives of our long journey;
but hearsay knowledge was also to the
effect that, at its farther border, we
would reach the Truckee River, and
soon thereafter ascend the Sierra
Nevada Mountains. The prospect of
seeing again a river of pure water, and
fresh, green trees, had a buoyant effect
on our lagging hopes; and these were
further stimulated by the information
that not long after entering these forest
shades we would cross the State line
into California.

While crossing the forty miles of
desert, the sun-baked silt, at the be-
ginning, and later the deep, dry sand,
made heavy going. To avoid the al-
most intolerable heat of day as much
as possible, and it being known that
water was not obtainable, during this
much-dreaded bit of travel, we deferred
the start until mid-afternoon, and
traveled all night.

The impressions of that night ride
were most extraordinary. As the sun

[162]

Weird Impressions

sank, aPxd twilight shaded into night,
the atmosphere was filled with a hazy
dimness; not merely fog, nor smoke,
nor yet a pall of suspended dust, but
rather v/hat one might expect in a
blending of those three. Only a tinge
of moonlight from above softened the
dull hue. It was not darkness as night
usually is dark. It was an impene-
trable, opaque narrowing of the hori-
zon, and closing in of the heavens
above us; which, as we advanced, con-
stantly shifted its boundary, retaining
us still in the center of the great
amphitheater of half-night. We could
see one another, but beyond or above
the encompassing veil all was mystery,
even greater mystery than mere dark-
ness. No moon nor stars visible;
nothing visible but just part of our-
selves, and ours.

As the night merged into morning,
the sunlight gradually dispelled the
mantle of gloom from our immediate
presence ; but still we could not see out.

[163 1

Crossing the Plains

As if inclosed in a great moving pavil-
ion, on we went, guided only by the
tracks of those who had gone before.

In the after part of the night the
loose cattle, having been for two nights
and a day without water, and instinc-
tively expecting an opportunity to
drink, quickened their pace, passing the
wagons; the stronger ones outgoing
the weaker, till the drove was strung
out two or three miles in length along
the sandy trail.

Some of the wise-heads in the com-
pany were fearful that the cattle, on
reaching the Truckee River, would
drink too much. They detailed Luke
Kidd and me to ride on our mules
ahead of the foremost of the stock, and
on reaching the river, permit none of
the animals to drink more than a little
water at a time.

We went ahead during all that long
morning, following what was surely, to
us, the longest night that ever hap-
pened, before or since. Most of the

[164]

Sighting the Sierras

other members of our party were in
the wagons, and they, except the
drivers, slept soundly; rocked gently,
very gently, by the slow grinding of
the wheels in the soft, deep sand. But
Luke and I, on our little mules, must
keep awake, and alert as possible, in
readiness to hold back the cattle from
taking too much water.

From midnight to daybreak seemed
a period amounting to entire days and
nights; from dawn till sunrise, an
epoch; and from sunrise to the time
of reaching the river, as a period that
would have no end.

As the sun finally rose behind us, the
faintest adumbration of the nearest
ridges of the Sierras was discerned, in
a dim, blue scroll across the western
horizon, far ahead — how far it was
useless to guess; and later, patches of
snow about the peaks.

The minutes were as hours ; and their
passing tantalized us: noting how the
dim view grew so very slowly into

[165]

Crossing the Plains

hazy outlines of mountains, and finally
of tree-tops.

On we labored, overcoming distance
inch by inch; nodding in our saddles;
occasionally dismounting, to shake off
the almost overpowering grasp of sleep.

Half awake, we dreamed of water,
green trees, and fragrant flowers. Ris-
ing hope, anon, took the place of long-
deferred fruition, and we forgot for a
moment how hard the pull was; till,
with returning consciousness of thirst
and painful drowsiness, we saw the
landscape ahead presented still another,
and another line of sand-dunes yet to
be overcome.

Luke and I reached the Truckee at
nine o'clock in the forenoon, just ahead
of the vanguard of cattle, and about
three miles in advance of the foremost
wagon.

We tried to regulate the cattle's con-
sumption of water, but did not prevent
their drinking all they could hold. Ten
men, on ten mules, could not have

[166]

The Truckee

stopped one cow from plunging into
that river, once she got sight of it, and
remaining as long as she desired. We
could not even prevent the mules we
rode from rushing into it — that cold,
rippling Truckee. Yet our elders had
sent us two boys to hold back a hundred
cattle, and make them drink in install-
ments— in homeopathic doses, for their
stomachs' sake.

They dashed into the stream en
masse ; and seeing the futility of inter-
fering, we gladly joined the cattle, in
the first good, long, cool swallow of
clear, clean water, within a period of
six weeks.

Our little mules did not stop till
they reached the middle of the river,
and stuck their heads, ears and all,
under the water. Luke's diminutive,
snuff -colored beast was so overcome by
the sight and feel of water that she lay
down in it, with him astride, giving
herself and her master the first real
bath since the time that she did the

[167]

Crossing the Plains

same thing, in the Platte River, some
three months previously.

To us, the long-time sun-dried,
thirsty emigrants; covered from head
to foot with dust from the Black Hills,
overlaid with alkali powder from the
Humboldt, veneered with ashes of the
desert; all ingrained by weeks of der-
matic absorption, rubbed in by the
wear of travel, polished by the friction
of the wind — to us said the Truckee,
flowing a hundred feet wide, trans-
parent, deep, cool ; rattling and singing
and splashing over the rocks; and the
sparkle of its crystal purity, the music
of its flow and the joy of its song, re-
peated, "Come and take a drink.''

We filled our canteens and went back
to meet the others. We found them in
a line three miles long; and it was well
into the afternoon when the last wagon
reached the river.

The train crossed to the farther
shore, into the grateful shade of the
pine forest and there made camp.

[168]

The Happiest Camp

What an enchanting spectacle was
that scene of wooded hills, with its
varying lights and shades, all about us !
From as far as we could see, up the
heights and down to the river bank,
where their roots were washed in the
cool water, the great trees grew.

We were still within the confines of
Nevada, but two men were there with
a wagon-load of fresh garden stuff,
brought over from the foothills of Cali-
fornia to sell to the emigrants: pota-
toes, at fifty cents a pound, pickles,
eight dollars a keg, and so on. We
bought, and feasted.

The camp that night by the Truckee
River was the happiest of all. We
had reached a place where green things
grew in limitless profusion, where
water flowed pure and free; and we
were out of the desert and beyond the
reach of the savage Redman.

[169]

CHAPTER XIII.

INTO THE SETTLEMENTS.
HALT.

Having begun the ascent of the lofty
and precipitous east slope of the Sierra
Nevada Mountains, one night about
the first of September the camp-site
selected was at a spot said to be directly
on the boundary line between Nevada
and California.

Lounging after supper about a huge
bonfire of balsam pine, the travelers
debated the question whether we were
really at last within the limits of the
Mecca toward which we had journeyed
so patiently throughout the summer.
While so engaged, the stillness, thereto-
fore disturbed only by the murmur of
our voices and occasional popping of
the burning logs, was further dispelled

[1701

Yuba Dam

for a few seconds by sounds as of
shifting pebbles on the adjacent banks,
accompanied by rustling of the foliage,
waving of tall branches and tree-tops,
and a gentle oscillation of the ground
on which we rested. These manifesta-
tions were new to our experience; but
we had heard and read enough about
the western country to hazard a
guess as to the significance of the
disturbance.

^'Jack,'' aroused from his first early
slumber of that particular evening,
raised himself on an elbow, and as-
serted, confidently:

'^That settles it; we are in Cali-
fornia: that was an earthquake."

Appearing already to have caught
the universal feeling of western people
regarding the matter of ' 'quakes," he
chuckled, in contemplation of his own
perspicacity, and calmly resumed his
recumbent attitude, and his nap.

The summit of the Sierras was
reached within about two days from

[1711

Crossing the Plains

the commencement of the ascent. We
met no people in these mountains until
we had proceeded some distance down
the westerly slope, and reached a min-
ing camp, near a small, gushing stream,
that poured itself over and between
rocks in a tortuous gorge.

The camp was a small cluster of
rough shacks, built of logs, split boards
and shakes. As if dropped there by
accident, they were located without re-
gard for any sort of uniformity. These
were the bunk cabins of the miners;
some of the diminutive structures being
only of size sufficient to accommodate
a cot, a camp-stool and a wash-basin.
A larger cabin stood at about the center
of the group, the joint kitchen and
dining-room.

As we drove into the ^^town," the
only person within view was a China-
man, standing at the door. For most
of us this was a first introduction to
one of the yellow race. He was evi-
dently the camp cook.

[172]

The Celestial Cook

Major Crewdson approached the
Celestial with the salutation: ''Hello,

John/'

''Belly good,'^ was the reply.

'Melican man dig gold"

Having already heard it said that
the invariable result of an untutored
Chinaman's effort to pronounce any
word containing an "r" produced the
sound of "1" instead, we thought little
of that error in the attempt of this
one to say "Very,'' but believed that

[173]

Crossing the Plains

his substitution for the initial letter of
that word was inexcusable.

"What is the name of this place?''
continued Crewdson.

" 'Melican man dig gold.''

"Yes, I know that ; but, this town,
what do you call it?"

"Yu-ba Dam," the Chinaman
answered.

This response was intended to be
civil. Near by the Yuba River was
spanned by a dam, for mining pur-
poses, known as Yuba Dam, which gave
the mining camp its name.

Further on we came to the first
house that we saw in California; and
it was the first real house within our
view since the few primitive structures
at Nebraska City, on the west shore of
the Missouri River, faded from our
sight, the preceding spring. During
a period of about four months our com-
pany had traveled thousands of miles,
through varying wilds, in all of which
not one habitation, in form common to

[174]

The First House

civilization, had been encountered.
Seldom has civilized man journeyed a
greater distance elsev^here, even in
darkest Africa, v^ithout passing the
conventional domicile of some member

Pack-mule route to placer diggings

of his own race. Long ago such an ex-
perience became impossible in the
United States.

This house v^as a small wayside inn,
situated where a miners' trail crossed
the emigrant route; a roughly-made,
two-story, frame building, with a

[175]

Crossing the Plains

corral adjoining; at which mule pack-
trains stopped overnight, when carry-
ing supplies from Sacramento and
Marysville for miners working the gold
placer diggings along the American and
Yuba rivers. We camped beside the
little hotel, and the next morning were
for the first time permitted to enjoy a
sample of the proverbially generous
California hospitality, when the land-
lord invited our entire company into
his hostelry for breakfast.

Our entrance into California was in
Nevada County, thence through Placer,
Sacramento, Solano and Napa, and
into Sonoma.

Over the last one hundred miles we
saw evidences that the valleys, great
and small, were rapidly filling with
settlers.

The last stream forded was the Rus-
sian River, flowing southwesterly
through Alexander Valley, to the sea.
Having crossed to the western shore,
our motley throng found itself in the

[176]

Final Unyoking

settlement embracing the village of
Healdsburg, an aggregation of perhaps
a dozen or twenty houses. There our
worn and weather-stained troop made
its final halt; and the jaded oxen, on
whose endurance and patient service so
much — even our lives — ^had depended,
were unyoked the last time, on Septem-
ber seventeenth, just four months after
the departure from the Missouri River.
Considering all the circumstances of
the journey, through two thousand
miles of diversified wilderness, during
which we rested each night in a dif-
ferent spot; it seems providential that,
on every occasion when the time came
for making camp, a supply of water
and fuel was obtainable. Without
these essentials there would have been
much additional suffering. Sometimes
the supply was limited or inferior,
sometimes both; especially during
those trying times in the westerly por-
tion of the Humboldt region; but we
were never without potable water nor

[177]

Crossing the Plains

fire, at least for the preparation of our
evening meal. Nature had prepared
the country for this great overland
exodus from the populous East; a most
important factor in the upbuilding of
the rich v^estern empire, theretofore so
little known, but whose development of
resources and accession of inhabitants
since have been the world's greatest
marvel for more than half a hundred
years.

As I look back, through the lapse of
nearly sixty years, upon that toilsome
and perilous journey, notwithstanding
its numerous harrowing events,
memory presents it to me as an itiner-
ary of almost continuous excitement
and wholesome enjoyment; a panorama
that never grows stale; many of the
incidents standing out to view on recol-
lection's landscape as clear and sharp
as the things of yesterday. That which
was worst seems to have softened and
lapsed into the half-forgotten, while
the good and happy features have

[178]

Retrospect

grown brighter and better with the
passing of the years.

Whether pioneers in the most techni-
cal sense, we were early Californians,
who learned full well what was meant
by "Crossing the Plains."

END.

[179]