The Awakening of the Desert

A few rods west of the springs we observed two or three small ponds of water, which were exceedingly bitter to the taste. The surrounding soil was covered thickly with a saline efflorescence. Beyond the springs, we reached a creek that was strongly impregnated with sulphur. On the dry plain adjacent I discovered the finest specimens of petrifaction I have ever seen. They were evidently sections of red cedar and were nearly transparent. Here and there lying upon the ground were carcasses of buffaloes, which, though they had doubtless lain there for many weeks under the direct rays of a midsummer sun, gave no evidence of decomposition, but such portions as had not been removed by the wolves were preserved and dried solid in the pure air, in which there were no germs of decay. Availing themselves of this property, the Indians and trappers preserve meat by hanging it up to dry in the sun.

During the day, members of the party despatched an antelope, two jack rabbits, and a few healthy rattlesnakes; and they reported that they saw Indians sneaking up a distant ravine.

Truly interesting was this land of wonders, which we are hardly justified in calling "Wyoming" in this description, because there was no territory having that name until 1886.

One of those bright days, when the train had 'laid by' to give the stock a rest, Ben and I strolled out on foot for a hunt. After wandering a few hours over treeless hills and into dry valleys, we began to suffer severely from thirst. We changed our course from time to time, allured by indications of any distant ravine along the bottom of which might creep a rivulet. We were invariably disappointed. As our travel had at all times carried us away from the trail, we soon realized that many hours must pass before we could again find relief in our camp. One little diversion temporarily turned our thoughts from our personal discomforts. We were standing above a narrow ravine counseling together as to our future course when we heard the report of a rifle shot coming from an unseen point up the valley, possibly a mile distant. We were not previously aware of the presence of any other person in that vicinity nor did we learn who fired the shot. It was evidently directed toward a herd of antelopes, for in a few seconds about a dozen of the graceful beasts came sweeping toward us along the bottom of the ravine. I had seen many herds of antelopes skimming over the plains, usually in the distance, but never before nor since that time have I beheld such poetry of motion or such remarkable speed in an animal as was exhibited by those frightened creatures. Along the valley were numerous dense clumps of sage brush six or seven feet in height and in some cases covering rather a large area. These obstacles did not seem to retard the flight of the airy creatures in the slightest degree. Bunched closely together, the antelopes fairly sailed over one obstruction after another with wonderful ease and grace, never touching a twig and always alighting upon all four feet; and again springing from all fours they bounded swiftly onward, glancing like arrows over the next patch of sage brush. One quick and seemingly light touch now and then upon the earth was all that was needed to send them onward. As they approached the point where we stood, each of us fired a shot at them, but we were too slow for their movements. Much has been written concerning the gazelle, the springbok, the chamois, and other congeners of this beautiful animal, but there appears to be no definite information concerning the maximum speed of the antelope of our plains, which is known by zoologists as the pronghorn antelope. The opportunity was afforded us to witness from a favorable position but a few rods distant a wonderful burst of speed, which in our judgment would have left the swiftest race horse quickly out of sight. When this swiftly moving picture had vanished we shouldered our rifles for the long tramp toward the train.

Hardly a day had passed during the few preceding weeks in which we had not seen herds of antelopes and black-tailed deer, but our approach toward antelopes was usually discovered by them very quickly and a few rapid bounds put them beyond reach of our rifles, where they would sometimes suddenly turn, and with long, sleek ears tipped forward and large eyes turned toward the source of danger often remain to watch the closer approach of the hunter. Paul Beemer was our most accomplished sportsman and his patience was occasionally rewarded.

When we started upon our return from the long wanderings of the day to which I have referred, we realized that a drink of cool water would have been more welcome than an antelope would have been. As our course outward had been tortuous, without any objective point in view, and had carried us possibly eight miles from camp, our knowledge of plainscraft was fully tested, for the camp was pitched in a little valley invisible from any point forty rods distant. Many of the ravines were dry runs, down which the water evidently had flowed in time of storms, but in the sides of many of them were exposed strata of alkali several feet in thickness. We finally observed in the distance the glistening of water in a broad, sandy valley and changed our course to reach it. It proved to be one of those remarkable water courses common in parts of that country, where a stream filters along beneath the dry quicksand and here and there appears for a short distance at the surface, but it would have been impossible to dip the tiniest cup of water from it, for the sand instantly refilled the slightest depression made in it. A strainer of fine cloth might possibly have prevented one from drinking sand. There was, indeed, an opportunity to moisten our lips, but wet sand is an unsatisfactory beverage at best. The water was found to be strongly alkaline, therefore unfit to quench thirst – an unpleasant disappointment on a hot day in the midst of a hot, arid plain.

"Traverse the desert, and then ye can tell
What treasures exist in the cold, deep well.
Sink in despair on the red, parched earth,
And then we may reckon what water is worth."

This water famine of only eight or nine hours was comparatively a small matter, but it impressed us with the fact of our constant dependence upon the simple things of life. When we had found our camp and satisfied our thirst from the old water keg we discovered with pleasure that Paul, who went out as usual alone on horseback, had brought in an antelope, which, of course, furnished us steak for supper.

Paul's success, however, was eclipsed on the following day. It was July 29th. Driving Pete's fine four-horse team in advance of the train, and while passing along the summit of an elevated ridge commanding an extended view over a broad valley on our left, I discovered a dark, moving object three or four miles distant, toward the furthest limit of that depression. The field-glass disclosed the fact that it was a solitary buffalo. The train was halted. Although tens of thousands of these magnificent animals were at close range later on my return, this was the first buffalo thus far seen on our trip that was near enough to justify the hunt. Fresh meat was needed, and every one was eager for any excitement. It was therefore determined that Ben, Fred, and Mr. Alsop, the Captain of Creighton's train, should enter the chase. Hasty preparations to that end were accordingly made.

Intense excitement was manifested not only by the spectators but by our chosen representatives while the trio belted their waists, tightened their saddle girths, examined their firearms, discarded their waistcoats, slung aside their hats, and otherwise prepared for the coming encounter – in all of which they received willing assistance. At the last moment Dan Trippe, the Nestor of our group on all such occasions, stood beside his wagon with uncovered head and in an earnest manner from his unfailing knowledge gave the boys some parting words of advice and admonition. He briefly instructed them in the habits of the American Bison, (Bos Americanus) its mode of defense and its sudden attacks. He carefully informed them in what part of the body the leaden missile would be most likely to prove effective and where it would strike as harmlessly as a feather. Thus duly prepared for the chase, the boys, as had been arranged, rode rapidly round the valley to the right. Captain Alsop turned to the left and soon disappeared from sight. The plan agreed upon was to out-flank the buffalo from both sides and start the chase toward the train. Nothing could have been planned to produce a more spectacular contest. The affair was to occur in a magnificent natural amphitheater the floor of which was comparatively level, and the spectators occupied a remarkably favorable position upon the elevated ridge at one end of the ellipse, commanding a fine view of the entire field. Stretched along in the distance at our right were the snow-clad peaks of the Wind River Range. In scenic effect it was hardly inferior to the site of the amphitheater in Taormina, where Mount Etna at the south and the Snow Mountains across the straits of Messina once added to the interest of the sports in the arena. All agreed that such opportunities were very uncommon. In about thirty minutes nearly every watcher at the same moment observed the boys emerging from a ravine along which they had entered the valley and about one-third of a mile beyond their game. Every spectator was as intent on witnessing what was to follow as if in the ring at a bull fight in Old Madrid. At the same moment the buffalo also caught his first glimpse of his pursuers. Then followed a demonstration which some of the older hunters declared that they had never before witnessed. The animal, which proved to be an unusually large bull buffalo, turned toward the horsemen and as if in defiance gave an angry shake of his massive head; then dropping upon the ground rolled entirely over three times as if to warm himself to the approaching combat, and all as nimbly as would a kitten and with a celerity of movement marvelous in so large an animal. With one angry bellow he started toward the hills. At that moment Captain Alsop rode rapidly into the arena and would soon have met the bull but the animal instantly turned directly toward the train and the chase was on. For about two miles the boys, yelling like Cheyenne Indians, and with hair flying in the wind, pursued the monster, now and then sending a bullet in advance from their repeating rifles. Though directed somewhat at random, some of the shots took effect. The animal's big red tongue, covered with foam, soon began to protrude from the mass of shaggy hair, which enveloped the bison's head. His speed slackened, and soon two of the riders were at his side. Here for convenience the boys used their Colt's revolvers. The animal gave a desperate and vicious plunge at one of the riders, fell upon his knees, and rolled heavily upon the ground. Prolonged cheers arose from the excited spectators. A few of us ran out to inspect the game and congratulate the sportsmen. A bullet from Ben's rifle had reached the animal's heart, but to our surprise we found fragments of two bullets which had struck his head, but had not penetrated through the shaggy mass of hair. Each bullet had separated into fragments of lead, appearing as if melted by the impact against the cushion of hair, which was filled with sand. When the animal was turned upon his back, his fore hoofs rose to a height of more than six feet. About four hundred pounds of meat was cut (chiefly from the hump, which is the choicest part of the animal) and was taken in a wagon to camp. Deacon Cobb and Noah Gillespie did not come down to greet the hunters, therefore Ben and Fred practiced upon them a bit of deception. They stained the nostrils of their horses with the fresh blood of the victim of the chase, and then the weary animals were led to camp, which it was necessary to pitch nearby on account of the delay. Both the Deacon and Noah were careful observers of horses, and a glance at the returning steeds revealed evidence of severe treatment. The blood, coming apparently from the nostrils, was, however, something extraordinary. Noah called our attention to the proofs of over-driving, which he regarded as criminal. Deacon Cobb was summoned and with Noah gave the animals a careful inspection. A driver from the big train was also brought in and the limbs of the horses were examined, the chest was tested, and the driver gave it as his expert opinion that some blood vessel had "busted," an opinion in which Noah seemed to concur.

Noah was kept in ignorance of the deception practiced, and so seriously did he regard the offense that Dan said, "When Noah passes to the other side he will immediately ask to see the books and ascertain how the crime in question had been passed upon by the higher courts." Neither Fred nor Ben was ever disposed to be irreverent, but Fred added that if Noah should ever be permitted to see the books he would doubtless find that judgment was entered with a full knowledge of the facts in the case, a plan not always adopted in decisions rendered on the plains.

Since leaving the Missouri River, each day had seen us at a little higher altitude than that of the preceding day. The nights were chill, the cold being doubtless intensified somewhat by proximity of the snowy range. A trapper stated that it had snowed daily on the East slope from the 7th to the 14th of July. On the 30th of the month we suddenly encountered immense swarms of Rocky Mountain locusts, with which for two days we were surrounded. All of them were moving eastward, and many of them, sailing along blindly, struck us squarely in the face.

Some of the horses with the train became affected by drinking water that was strongly impregnated with alkali. The remedy adopted was to force down the animal's throat a piece of fat bacon; the stomach, becoming a sort of chemical laboratory, converted the bacon and alkali into soap, which was considered less harmful than pure soda.

On the night before reaching the pass, the peaks of the Wind River Range rose grandly in the northwest. Their dip is toward the west. The eastern faces are abrupt and the peaks are sharp, appearing from the south as if the strata on that slope had been rent asunder and the edge to the west of the fissure had been lifted toward the sky, leaving the ragged fault exposed toward the east, with the surface sloping more gradually toward the west. A magnificent range, and a most inspiring mountain view to us camping in sight of the pass.

It had been half a century since Robert Stuart and his party, in carrying despatches to John Jacob Astor, discovered this pass after suffering great privations. From the distance it seemed now as bleak and desolate as it ever could have been. The night being cold with a heavy frost, we secured enough sage brush for a moderate camp fire. As we were quietly warming ourselves by the flickering blaze, a voice from outside the circle broke in unexpectedly with the words, "I hear'n your boy Fred say after they killed the buffalo and they were twittin' him about bustin' his horse's blood-vessels that mebbe they wanted to hang him before they knowed much about it." After this introduction the speaker roared out with a hearty laugh.

"Well, what were you going to say about it?" said Dan.

"Well, I'll tell you," he replied. "It's like a case down on Poison Spider Creek. There was some fellows down there that they thought were stealin' horses. A train was coming along there and the captain of it lost two horses and he jest made up his mind who got 'em, and there wasn't no guessing about it neither, so he and his crowd made up their minds that they was the law. They went down to the fellow's camp and before the thieves could get out their guns the train men got 'em tight and run 'em off and got 'em up the creek where there was a tree, and hung 'em both. After awhile one of the herders found the horses off in the hills and brought 'em in and they were sure they hadn't been run off by the fellows either. Then they found that one of the fellows had a wife that they hadn't known about, and that she had heard that her man had been hung for stealing horses that he hadn't stole at all, so the captain who hung the fellows went over to where the woman was to fix things right with her and make her feel better. They didn't want to do a dirty trick."

"You mean," said Dan, "that they went to sympathize with the widow and give her consolation."

"Yes, that's it. And the captain said to her, 'Missis, it is our mistake, and the joke is on us.' They found the woman couldn't take a joke, but she went for her gun and put a bullet in the captain. Now, I thought that this fellow that you call Noah oughtn't to kill these boys for hurting the horses in that chase until he knows the horses are hurt. I guess the joke is on Noah." Then he laughed a big "ha! ha!" at the same time punching a nearby driver in the ribs. "Noah, Noah," he pronounced, in a slow, drawling tone as he moved onward, "seems to me I've heard of him before."

"That's a good-natured fellow," said Tom, as he drifted up toward the little fire, "and the story he told is pretty nearly true, but it does not match the experiences of Jack Slade, who managed the stage route this side of Julesburg."

"We have heard so much of Slade," said Ben, "that we should like to know more about him."

"Oh! everybody in this country knows about Slade. There are said to be fully a hundred graves near Julesburg in which are buried the worst characters in the country, and Jack killed a great many of them. Jules Reni for whom Julesburg was named, was one of his first victims. Reni was as hard a character as Slade. The fact is that along this road there have been here and there for several years the headquarters of desperadoes who are worse than the Indians. The story which Bob has told you concerning the horse thief's wife reminds me of an experience with Jack Slade's wife. Jack had become a terror to the country, and everybody was afraid of him because he was a quick, dead shot, and his revolver was his usual argument in case of any difference. A lot of men finally laid for Jack and decided to lynch him. Watching patiently for their opportunity, they caught him asleep and secured his guns. Instead of stringing him up at once, they locked him up in a log room and stood guard around it until they could bring others to participate in the ceremonies. Jack assumed that everything was all up with him, so he urged that they send for his wife that he might see her once more and make his dying confessions. In the goodness of their hearts this one last wish was granted, for they were satisfied that Jack would die game. He was a bold and brave though a bad man in life, and would surely be square in his last hour. The wife was notified and coming quickly, mounted upon a fine horse, without being searched she was admitted to the room where Jack was confined. Before the door had been closed she whipped out revolvers for two, and defying the crowd the woman marched Slade to the horse she had brought, upon which both of them quickly mounted, keeping their guns at all times leveled with the threat that the first one of his captors that moved was a dead man. The business was done so quickly that Slade and his helpmate were soon out of reach. The party was afraid of Slade with a gun. This occurred on the Rocky Ridge division which you came over and where the stages ran last year until they were taken off on account of the Indian troubles. Jack for a time had charge of that run for the Overland. He came from Clinton County, Illinois."

Noah had been poking the sage brush fire into renewed life; then crossing his hands behind his coat tails and backing close to the reviving embers he said, "That story that Bob told a few minutes ago brings to mind the remark which some of us heard made by one of that gang back on the road who sold to Dan the corn, which was to be delivered to him on arrival at Julesburg. I guess some of you know that Dan isn't much afraid of anybody, so when he found that the rascals were trying to swindle him on the corn, Dan, holding a club in his hand said to their boss, 'You are a horse thief and a liar.' 'Well,' said the fellow, 'may be that's all right, but do you know anything against my reputation for honesty?'"

"Our party remembers that very well," said Fred. "Dan told the truth and got his corn."

A number of incidents of border life were related by the little fire, but the night was cold and the ground was freezing. Taking our army overcoats and blankets, Paul and I found a protected spot and retired beneath the open sky. If such a brilliant starlight night should come but once in one's life, it would thenceforth be a matter of constant remembrance as a scene of beauty and grandeur. Until the morning sun shone in our faces, we slept undisturbed.

CHAPTER XXI

The Parting of the Ways

THE picturesque red-sandstone cliffs of Red Buttes and the granite-ribbed range of the Sweetwater Mountains were left behind us. Slowly our train climbed up the gentle grade to South Pass. But this thoroughfare over the backbone of the continent proved to be a disappointment, as it failed to present the striking characteristics of a mountain pass. In one respect, at least, its top is not unlike the North Pole, for it is admitted by Arctic explorers (Cook and Peary of course, always excepted) that they find it impossible to locate the Boreal end of the earth with exactness. Similarly the transient through South Pass is unable to determine within several miles where his pathway is actually at its highest point. An expansive though shallow depression is found where the summit ought to be, both east and west of which, as we follow the trail, lies a broad, level plateau, and it would be impossible without an instrument to ascertain which side is the higher. On both sides the approaches to the Pass are very easy grades, each merging almost imperceptibly into the table land of the broad summit. To the south, along this great divide, the surface rises step by step and many miles further away in the distance it continues on in smoothly rounded mountain billows. To the north the ascent is also gradual, until twenty-five miles from the trail there rises the base of Atlantic Peak, which is the great southern spur of the bold and rugged Wind River Range. From the slopes of this range issue the remotest tributaries of the Sweetwater River, the stream we had been following. We saw not even a rivulet upon the highland known as South Pass, the flow of which would mark the watershed. Finally we reached Pacific Spring, a diminutive fountain whence a scanty flow of water, oozing from the mud, crept along for a time slowly to the westward. We then knew that we had crossed the great Continental Divide. Here we pitched our tent, and further down the brook the other outfits camped. Although the altitude is but seventy-six hundred feet, the ground froze at night. Some of the snow from the recent storm, which was said to have lain fourteen inches in depth a few days before, still remained on all the lands above the pass. The country for miles around was bleak and destitute even of sage bush. From a small cedar log which we had transported a long distance to meet such an emergency, we chipped a few splinters to build our fire. Each member of our party being provided with a soldier's overcoat, we wrapped ourselves in those garments and were soon to be found standing, very close together around the little blaze. A blue veil of smoke rose also from similar fires at each of the other camps, bearing through the clear air the sweet incense of burning cedar, which was quickly followed by the appetizing fragrance of coffee and bacon.

We were to make a long drive on the following day, for we had learned that after leaving the Pacific Spring no water would be found on our course within a distance of twenty-eight miles. As a start was to be made at three o'clock in the morning, the boys began early to pull out their blankets and find a warm spot for the night. But where is the man with soul so dead, so devoid of all appreciation of nature when she is in one of her rarest moods, who would not wish to watch a remarkable sunset? The sun was sinking behind the mountains of the Bear River Range which, white with the recent snows and extending from north to south, lay one hundred and fifty miles distant to the westward. Far, far away to the south and extending from east to west, rose the white-topped Uinta Range, which south of us seemed to merge into the high lands of the great divide, crossed by the pass and extending westward until it closed in with the western range, forming the base of an immense triangle of mountains, the eastern side of which was the Continental Divide, upon which we stood. Extending northward from our camp, this dividing ridge rises gradually until it meets the foothills of what is now known as Atlantic Peak, which is the southern buttress of the lofty Wind River Range and is twenty-five miles away. Continuing northward, beyond two high intervening summits, this range culminates in Fremont Peak, the monarch of that range, and, as later surveys show, still one hundred miles from our trail. The apex of this triangle of mountains lies north of Fremont Peak, beyond which rise the grand Tetons, one of the most imposing ranges in our country. From the Tetons I have also seen these peaks of the Wind River Range. Within this visible area of mountains lies the highest watershed of North America, whence, from an area of fifty miles square, flow tributaries to the Atlantic, the Pacific, the Gulf of California, and the Salt Lake basin.

The triangular disposition of the mountain ranges as they lay before us, at this time outlined by their snow-capped summits, is not clearly shown upon the maps, but of such a form was the impression made upon our eyes. Away down below us and between the sides of that great triangle, thus walled in by mountains, lay the broad basin into which converge the upper tributaries of Green River, a stream which in turn breaking through the Uinta Range rushes southward to join the Colorado, and thence onward through its titanic canyons to the Gulf of California. And now, while the western mountains were casting their far-reaching shadows across this broad basin beneath us, the cold, snow-mantled sides of the Wind River Range were dazzling and glittering in the level beams of the setting sun. From our point of view and at that time they were seen at their best. It was not like an Alpine scene, diversified by mountain lakes, waterfalls, and picturesque chalets, but it had a suggestion of wonderful breadth and vastness and afforded a range of vision rarely to be seen, except when one looks upward to the stars; but the whole of that landscape of mountains, and the deep, broad desert which they enveloped, was bleak and desolate, with never sign of animal life nor trace of vegetation visible. Though to us it was a new country, everything appeared to be old, as if through countless ages it had remained unchanged. With this impression stamped upon our minds, many members of our party wrapped their blankets round them and slept under the open sky.

It happened on that night, one or two nights after the full of the moon, to be my duty to stand guard until midnight. Hence it fell to my lot to watch a dazzling, winter-like sunset in midsummer, which, because of the prevailing whiteness, imparted hardly a tint as the daylight faded, except what was seen in the star-studded azure above. After a brief period of declining light there was a wondrous change when the clear, cold, and pearly moonlight broke over the eastern highlands and lighted up the vast, white, frosty landscape, for the moon was now in her glory and, and thus in harmony with the earth upon which she shone, for the distant landscape was spotless white, and the vast stretches of mountain ranges which, along many hundreds of miles, pinnacled the distant horizon with towers and minarets, were covered with crystals of frost and snow.

"Chaste as the icicle
That's curdled by the frost from purest snow,"

It was at the break of the coming day when our little outfit closely followed by Mr. Warne's party rolled out in advance of the long train, and by sunrise we were following the very gentle descent of the western slope, across sandy and gravelly wastes, which were relieved here and there by barren, flat-topped clay buttes, for the sun had done rapid work with the snow in the lowlands. The night found us at Little Sandy, an unruly stream six or eight yards wide, which was doing its best in an unceasing endeavor to make the dreary desert interesting. According to the old Mormon diaries, (to which reference has already been made) it was near this ford, June 28, 1847, that Brigham Young and his party first met Jim Bridger. Jim was a famous mountaineer and guide, an almost constant wanderer through those wilds, and might be encountered at almost any out of the way place in the Rockies. On summing up the meager records in the diaries, and my personal interviews with some of those first pioneers, it appears that Bridger, with two of his men, had come over from his fort on their way toward the Pass and had struck this Oregon trail, probably at Green River. Fortunately for the Saints they met toward evening near this stream. Learning that the traveler was Bridger, the Mormons prevailed upon him to camp with them over night, because he, above all others, was the man they most desired then to meet, because of his familiarity with the Salt Lake Valley, concerning which the Saints had no definite knowledge.

To reach Salt Lake they must soon leave the well defined Oregon trail. The remainder of their course was to be guided, if at all, by the narrow trails of the trappers. It was up and down these tributaries of Green River and into the wilds of Pierre's Hole and Jackson's Hole, between which lie the majestic Tetons, that the fur traders and hunters found the most profitable game in greatest abundance. From among the men engaged in this pursuit was organized the Rocky Mountain Fur Company – Jackson, Green, Biddle and others, whose names are still familiar in St. Louis, being interested in the venture. In later years LaBarge, Sarpy, Picott, Pratte, Cabanne and other St. Louis men entered the business. Many of the men occupied in these operations were Creoles, the name applied to French or Spanish people born in America.

In memory of David E. Jackson, the magnificent valley on the east slope of the Tetons was named Jackson's Hole and the beautiful lake resting within its bosom was named Jackson's Lake. Thus in those valleys were scattered several hundred pioneers of another type than men who have carried civilization into our now older territory, with possibly the exception of the upper lake districts. Some of them were French Canadians or half-breeds, trained in the service of the Hudson Bay Company. A few were expert marksmen from Kentucky, and with them were many hardy Missourians, with St. Louis men as leaders. In addition to those turbulent and apparently heterogeneous groups of nomadic pioneers, there appear to have been many independent trappers and traders, who also were restrained by no ties and subject to no written laws. Although these latter were pioneer explorers and accumulated great wealth for the companies that employed them, they were not the men who discovered and developed the resources of the great West. Though confronted by many perils and hardships, they loved their vocation and the wild and wandering life along the mountain streams. Their passion for the hunt was well expressed in the lines:

"Give me the lure of the long, white trail,
With the wind blowing strong in my face as I go;
Give me the song of the wolf dog's wail
And the crunch of the moccasin in the snow."

Of this type was Jim Bridger, a hero and a chief among the mountaineers. In the interview that night on the banks of the Little Sandy, surrounded by the exiled leaders of the Mormon Church, he directed the Mormons where they should leave the Oregon trail, and then follow chiefly along trappers' paths, and through the mountain canyons to Salt Lake Valley. Those narrow paths, as far as they should be used, would be simply for guidance. Along and beyond these they must blaze and clear their own roadway for wagons, and must ford many mountain streams.

"But tell us about the valley itself," asked Brigham Young, after the mountaineer had outlined the most practicable route to reach it.

"Well, Mr. Young," replied Bridger, "I wouldn't go into that alkali valley to raise crops. I'll give you one thousand dollars for the first ear of corn you raise there." He then proceeded to describe the desert which surrounded the saline waters of the lake, in which no life could exist. The substance of this conversation was recited to me one afternoon at Bridger's home. At the time it occurred the Mormons had not learned that the Salt Lake country had been ceded by Mexico to the United States.

This interview between Bridger and the Mormons and the subsequent turning of the Saints from the old trail, as there recommended by Bridger, brings us to the point where, leaving the scene of that conference, a small detachment of our party were also soon to turn from the same trail and follow in the tortuous mountain paths taken by the first Mormon emigrants, as mapped out for them by Bridger. Dan and Noah and also the Warne family and others who had been our traveling companions across hundreds of miles of desert and on excursions up the mountains, were to continue with the big train on the Oregon trail. The information that this separation would be made at Green River crossing, then but a few miles before us, came to us unexpectedly. We knew nothing of those western trails except those which we had already traversed. None of these paths were shown upon our maps. The recent days had been gliding by, as days sometimes do when brightened by the mystic influence of congenial companionship.

It is needless to state that the boys deeply regretted the necessity of so soon parting from their old friends Dan and Noah, and from Mr. and Mrs. Warne and their obliging driver, Bill Swope. In this list we should not forget also to mention the daughters of Mr. and Mrs. Warne, who, being bright, cultured, and refined, seemed like exotics in that barren wilderness. One evening, when Miss Margaret Warne was sitting upon a rude box while others completed the circle around a sage bush fire, and her soft voice was being listened to with rapt attention, one of the boys whispered to his neighbor and said, "That soap box is now a throne, for that girl upon it is a queen." The young man who whispered the words was dead in earnest. Old Deacon Cobb, who owned many horses and whose observations concerning men and women were of course made from his own peculiar standpoint, often remarked the daring, freedom, and grace with which the girls mounted and rode their horses. Dan had said that they were fine conversers and well informed on general topics. These attractive, winsome girls were going into some part of Montana that was unpeopled by civilized beings, where it seemed that their light and influence would be wasted, as would the sparkle of a gem in the desert sands. The boys lamented this sacrifice of personal worth. They thought little, cared less, and in fact did not then know, as no one then knew, of the hundreds of emigrants who were to follow later and settle around the home of this family and receive from it that uplift which, in the establishment of a new colony, one family may exert upon the moral and social life of the community.

As already indicated, the boys were hardly ready to say good-bye to the young ladies, but it was impossible for them to present some reason why they also should see Montana.

It is difficult for the present day traveler to comprehend the peculiar situations and emergencies that sometimes confronted the western emigrant in the early days, when they were as effectually removed from the restraints, conveniences, and conventionalities of civilized life as if they had been transported to an uninhabited island. An example of such a crisis, even more striking than that in which our young men found themselves when nearing that fork of the roads, was related to me by a member of a family who shared in a strange episode, which culminated at the parting of the ways which we were soon to reach.

It was in the summer of 1849, when a wagon train of emigrants captained by George Scofield, the head of the family last mentioned, was slowly crawling over this same road on its long way to the newly discovered gold fields near Sacramento. Among the emigrants who had been traveling under the protection of the Scofield outfit were a few who were bound for Oregon. With the travelers who were destined for California was a young and vigorous farmer from one of the Middle States, whose name was Pratt and who was accompanied by his wife and six young children, the youngest being an infant and the oldest hardly ten years of age. Mr. Pratt, like the majority of the pioneers, had embarked his all, when he started to cast his fortune in what was then an almost unknown territory. The long line of covered wagons crossed the Mississippi River and rolled out over the plains. In a few weeks the stock of provisions was practically exhausted. Many of the horses were run off by the Indians, leaving a heavy burden upon the animals which were left. While the men were toiling by day and watching against the savages by night, the women also had their work to perform and their vigils to maintain, for the children had their weary hours.

While traversing the desert, Mrs. Pratt became a helpless invalid, and in spite of her husband's efforts she and the children were suffering from neglect. With her parents, bound for Oregon and accompanying the train, was Miss Huldah Thompson, a strong, kind-hearted, young woman, who became deeply interested in the unhappy condition of Mrs. Pratt and her children, and with the noble impulses of a Florence Nightingale, she voluntarily served them to the limit of her strength.

Weeks passed by, and one blistering hot day, while the train was dragging along beyond the stream, Little Sandy, Mrs. Pratt died. The train was ordered to halt while men and women held a council near the dusty, covered wagon in which lay the remains of the young mother. Nothing could be done except what always had been done when one of such a company dies, where there is no cemetery except the broad bosom of Mother Earth and no person within reach fitted to conduct funeral rites. Therefore, while the train stood still, as stop the engines of the ocean steamer while the body of the dead is consigned to the sea, the sympathetic emigrants circled around the hastily dug grave by the roadside in the desert, while the body from which the spirit had taken its flight hardly an hour before, was lowered into its solitary tomb.

Then again the line moved slowly on the long drive toward the ford of the Big Sandy, before reaching which no water would be found, and there they camped.