Pioneer Stories (P. Nibley)

compiled by Preston Nibley

Deseret Book Company
Salt Lake City, Utah


1940 Deseret Book Company
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without permission in writing from the publisher, Deseret Book Company,
P.O. Box 30178, Salt Lake City, Utah 84130. This work is not an official publication of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The views expressed herein
are the responsibility of the author and do not necessarily represent the position of the Church or of Deseret Book Company.

Deseret Book is a registered trademark of Deseret Book Company.

Foreword

THIS book of PIONEER STORIES has been prepared at the request of the Presiding Bishopric of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It is their desire
that the young people of the Church shall acquire and retain a more active interest in the heroic deeds and daring accomplishments of their pioneer forefathers who
settled and subdued this desert country and founded a prosperous empire.

All the stories printed in this volume have been taken from books and magazines on file in the Church Historian's Office, and, as far as the compiler knows, they are all
the record of true experiences.

It has been a pleasant task to prepare these stories for publication. One lives again in the days of "the old West," when a noble and God-fearing people, guided by a
sublime faith, endured the trials and difficulties of pioneer life, that we, their descendants, might enjoy the comforts of civilization and peace.

The Compiler.

The Prophet's Youthful Courage

By His Mother, LUCY MACK SMITH

(Few people are aware that Joseph Smith, Jr.,-the future Prophet-in his sixth year, suffered a tragic illness and endured the terrible pain of a primitive operation. The
story is touchingly told by his mother in her "History of the Prophet Joseph."-P. N.)

JOSEPH, our third son, having recovered from the typhus fever, after something like two weeks' sickness, one day screamed out while sitting in a chair, with a pain in
his shoulder, and, in a very short time, he appeared to be in such agony, that we feared the consequence would prove to be something very serious. We immediately
sent for a doctor. When he arrived, and had examined the patient, he said that it was his opinion that this pain was occasioned by a sprain. But the child declared this
could not be the case, as he had received no injury in any way whatever, but that a severe pain had seized him all at once, the cause of which he was entirely ignorant.

Notwithstanding the child's protestations, still the physician insisted that it must be a sprain, and consequently, he anointed his shoulder with some bone liniment, but this
was of no advantage to him, for the pain continued the same after the anointing as before.

When two weeks of extreme suffering had elapsed, the attendant physician concluded to make closer examination; whereupon he found that a large fever sore had
gathered between his breast and shoulder. He immediately lanced it, upon which it discharged fully a quart of matter.

As soon as the sore had discharged itself, the pain left it, and shot like lightning (using his own terms) down his side into the marrow of the bone of his leg, and soon
became very severe. My poor boy, at this, was almost in despair, and he cried out, "Oh, father! the pain is so severe, how can I bear it!"

His leg soon began to swell, and he continued to suffer the greatest agony for the space of two weeks longer. During this period, I carried him much of the time in my
arms, in order to mitigate his suffering as much as possible; in consequence of which I was taken very ill myself. The anxiety of mind that I experienced, together with
physical over-exertion, was too much for my constitution, and my nature sank under it.

Hyrum, who was rather remarkable for his tenderness and sympathy, now desired that he might take my place. As he was a good, trusty boy, we let him do so; and, in
order to make the task as easy for him as possible, we laid Joseph upon a low bed, and Hyrum sat beside him, almost day and night, for some considerable length of
time, holding the affected part of his leg in his hands, and pressing it between them, so that his afflicted brother might be enabled to endure the pain, which was so
excruciating that he was scarcely able to bear it.

At the end of three weeks, we thought it advisable to send again for the surgeon. When he came, he made an incision of eight inches, on the front side of the leg,
between the knee and ankle. This relieved the pain in a great measure, and the patient was quite comfortable until the wound began to heal, when the pain became as
violent as ever.

The surgeon was called again, and he this time enlarged the wound, cutting the leg even to the bone. It commenced healing the second time, and as soon as it began to
heal, it also began to swell again, which swelling continued to rise till we deemed it wisdom to call a council of surgeons; and when they met in consultation, they
decided that amputation was the only remedy.

Soon after coming to this conclusion, they rode up to the door, and were invited into a room, apart from the one in which Joseph lay. They being seated, I addressed
them thus: "Gentlemen, what can you do to save my boy's leg?" They answered, "We can do nothing; we have cut it open to the bone, and find it so affected that we
consider his leg incurable, and that amputation is absolutely necessary in order to save his life."

This was like a thunderbolt to me. I appealed to the principal surgeon, saying, "Dr. Stone, can you not make another trial? Can you not, by cutting around the bone,
take out the diseased part, and perhaps that which is sound will heal over, and by this means you will save his leg? You will not, you must not, take off his leg, until you
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try once more. I will not consent to let you enter his room until you make me this promise."

After consulting a short time with each other, they agreed to do as I had requested, then went to see my suffering son. One of the doctors, on approaching his bed said,
consider his leg incurable, and that amputation is absolutely necessary in order to save his life."

This was like a thunderbolt to me. I appealed to the principal surgeon, saying, "Dr. Stone, can you not make another trial? Can you not, by cutting around the bone,
take out the diseased part, and perhaps that which is sound will heal over, and by this means you will save his leg? You will not, you must not, take off his leg, until you
try once more. I will not consent to let you enter his room until you make me this promise."

After consulting a short time with each other, they agreed to do as I had requested, then went to see my suffering son. One of the doctors, on approaching his bed said,
"My poor boy, we have come again." "Yes," said Joseph, "I see you have; but you have not come to take off my leg, have you sir?" "No," replied the surgeon, "it is
your mother's request that we make one more effort, and that is what we have now come for."

The principal surgeon, after a moment's conversation, ordered cords to be brought to bind Joseph fast to a bedstead; but to this Joseph objected. The doctor,
however, insisted that he must be confined, upon which Joseph said very decidedly, "No, doctor, I will not be bound, for I can bear the operation much better if I have
my liberty." "Then," said Dr. Stone, "will you drink some brandy?"

"No," said Joseph, "not one drop."

"Will you take some wine?" rejoined the doctor. "You must take something, or you can never endure the severe operation to which you must be subjected."

"No," exclaimed Joseph; "I will not touch one particle of liquor, neither will I be tied down; but I will tell you what I will do-I will have my father sit on the bed and hold
me in his arms, and then I will do whatever is necessary in order to have the bone taken out." Looking at me, he said, "Mother, I want you to leave the room, for I
know you cannot bear to see me suffer so; father can stand it, but you have carried me so much, and watched over me so long, you are almost worn out." Then looking
up into my face, his eyes swimming in tears, he continued, "Now, mother, promise me that you will not stay, will you? The Lord will help me, and I shall get through
with it."

To this request I consented, and getting a number of folded sheets, and laying them under his leg, I retired, going several hundred yards from the house in order to be
out of hearing.

The surgeons commenced operating by boring into the bone of his leg first on one side of the bone where it was affected, then on the other side, after which they broke
it off with a pair of forceps or pincers. They thus took away large pieces of the bone. When they broke off the first piece, Joseph screamed out so loudly, that I could
not forbear running to him. On my entering the room, he cried out, "Oh, mother, go back, go back; I do not want you to come in-I will try to tough it out, if you will go
away."

When the third piece was taken away, I burst into the room again-and oh, my God; what a spectacle for a mothers' eye! The wound torn open, the blood still gushing
from it, and the bed literally covered with blood. Joseph was pale as a corpse, and large drops of sweat were rolling down his face, whilst upon every feature was
depicted the utmost agony!

I was immediately forced from the room, and detained until the operation was completed; but when the act was accomplished, Joseph put upon a clean bed, the room
cleared of every appearance of blood, and the instruments which were used in the operation removed, I was permitted to enter.

Joseph immediately commenced getting better, and from this onward, continued to mend until he became strong and healthy. When he had so far recovered as to be
able to travel, he went with his uncle, Jesse Smith, to Salem, for the benefit of his health, hoping the sea-breezes would be of service to him, and in this he was not
disappointed.

Having passed through about a year of sickness and distress, health again returned to our family, and we most assuredly realized the blessing; and indeed, we felt to
acknowledge the hand of God, more in preserving our lives through such a tremendous scene of affliction than if we had, during this time, seen nothing but health and
prosperity.

How Widow Smith Found Her Oxen

By PRESIDENT JOSEPH F. SMITH

(President Joseph F. Smith was the son of the martyred Hyrum. He went through the Pioneer experiences as a boy at the side of his widowed mother, whom he loved
and adored. It was from her that he learned the lessons of life-lessons which made him a great man.-P. N.)

IN the fall of 1847 my mother and her brother, Joseph Fielding, made a trip down the Missouri river to St. Joseph, Mo., about fifty miles, for the purpose of obtaining
provisions and clothing for the family for the coming winter, and for the journey across the plains the following spring. They took two wagons with two yokes of oxen
on each. I was almost nine years of age at this time, and accompanied my mother and uncle on this journey as a teamster. The weather was unpropitious, the roads
were bad, and it rained a great deal during the journey, so that the trip was a very hard, trying and unpleasant one. At St. Joseph we purchased our groceries and dry
goods, and at Savannah we laid in our store of flour, meal, corn, bacon and other provisions. Returning to Winter Quarters, we camped one evening in an open prairie
on the Missouri river bottoms, by the side of a small spring creek, which emptied into the river about three-quarters of a mile from us. We were in plain sight of the
river, and could apparently see over every foot of the little open prairie where we were camped, to the river on the southwest, to the bluffs on the northeast, and to the
timber which skirted the prairie on the right and left. Camping near by, on the other side of the creek, were some men with a herd of beef cattle, which they were
driving to Savannah and St. Joseph for market. We usually unyoked our oxen and turned them loose to feed during our encampments at night, but this time, on account
of the proximity of this herd of cattle, fearing that they might get mixed up and driven off with them, we turned our oxen out to feed in their yokes. Next morning when
we came to look for them, to our great disappointment our best yoke of oxen was not to be found. Uncle Fielding and I spent all the morning, well nigh until noon,
hunting for them, but without avail. The grass was tall, and in the morning was wet with heavy dew. Tramping through this grass and through the woods and over the
bluffs, we were soaked to the skin, fatigued, disheartened and almost exhausted. In this pitiable plight I was the first to return to our wagons, and as I approached I saw
my mother kneeling down in prayer. I halted for a moment and then drew gently near enough to hear her pleading with the Lord not to suffer us to be left in this helpless
condition, but to lead us to recover our lost team, that we might continue our travels in safety. When she arose from her knees I was standing near by. The first
expression I caught upon her precious face was a lovely smile, which, discouraged as I was, gave me renewed hope and assurance I had not felt before. A few
moments later Uncle Fielding came to the camp, wet with the dews, faint, fatigued and thoroughly disheartened. His first words were: 'Well, Mary, the cattle are gone!'
Mother replied in a voice which fairly rang with cheerfulness, 'Never mind, your breakfast has been waiting for hours, and now, while you and Joseph are eating, I will
just take a walk out and see if I can find the cattle.' My uncle held up his hands in blank astonishment, and if the Missouri river had suddenly turned to run up stream,
neither of us could have been much more surprised. 'Why, Mary,' he exclaimed, 'what do you mean? We have been all over this country, all through the timber and
through the herd of cattle, and our oxen are gone-they are not to be found. I believe they have been driven off, and it is useless for you to attempt to do such a thing as
to hunt for them.' 'Never mind me,' said mother, 'get your breakfast and I will see,' and she started toward the river, following down, proceeded out of speaking
distance. The man in charge of the herd of beef cattle rode up from the opposite side of the creek and called out: 'Madam, I saw your oxen over yonder in that
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                                           pointing in the opposite direction from that in which mother was going. We heard plainly what he said, but motherPage
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paid no attention to his remark and did not even turn her head to look at him. A moment later the man rode off rapidly toward his herd, which had been gathered in the
opening near the edge of the woods, and they were soon under full drive for the road leading toward Savannah, and soon disappeared from view. My mother
neither of us could have been much more surprised. 'Why, Mary,' he exclaimed, 'what do you mean? We have been all over this country, all through the timber and
through the herd of cattle, and our oxen are gone-they are not to be found. I believe they have been driven off, and it is useless for you to attempt to do such a thing as
to hunt for them.' 'Never mind me,' said mother, 'get your breakfast and I will see,' and she started toward the river, following down, proceeded out of speaking
distance. The man in charge of the herd of beef cattle rode up from the opposite side of the creek and called out: 'Madam, I saw your oxen over yonder in that
direction this morning about daybreak,' pointing in the opposite direction from that in which mother was going. We heard plainly what he said, but mother went right on,
paid no attention to his remark and did not even turn her head to look at him. A moment later the man rode off rapidly toward his herd, which had been gathered in the
opening near the edge of the woods, and they were soon under full drive for the road leading toward Savannah, and soon disappeared from view. My mother
continued straight down the little stream of water, until she stood almost on the bank of the river, and then she beckoned to us. (I was watching her every moment and
was determined that she should not get out of my sight.) Instantly we rose from the 'mess-chest,' on which our breakfast had been spread, and started toward her, and,
like John, who outran the other disciple to the sepulchre, I outran my uncle and came first to the spot where my mother stood. There I saw our oxen fastened to a
clump of willows growing in the bottom of a deep gulch which had been washed out of the sandy banks of the river by the little spring creek, perfectly concealed from
view. We were not long in releasing them from bondage and getting back to our camp, where the other cattle had been fastened to the wagon wheels all the morning,
and we were soon on our way homeward bound, rejoicing. This circumstance was one of the first practical and positive demonstrations of the efficacy of prayer I had
ever witnessed. It made an indelible impression upon my mind, and has been a source of comfort, assurance and guidance to me throughout all my life."

The Herd Boy of the Plains

By PRESIDENT JOSEPH F. SMITH

(This is another delightful narrative in the life of President Smith-a real experience for a boy nine years of age. The scene was the herd-grounds near Winter Quarters.-
P. N.)

ONE bright morning in company with my companions, namely, Alden Burdick, almost a young man grown, and very sober, steady boy, Thomas Burdick, about my
own age, but a little older, and Isaac Blocksome, a little younger than myself, I started out with my cattle, comprising the cows, the young stock, and several yoke of
oxen which were unemployed that day, to go to the herd grounds about one and a half or two miles from the town (Winter Quarters). We had two horses, both
belonging to the Burdicks, and a young pet jack belonging to me. Alden proposed to take it afoot through the hazel and some small woods by a side road, and gather
some hazel nuts for the crowd, while we took out the cattle and we could meet at the spring on the herd ground. This arrangement just suited us, for we felt when Alden
was away we were free from all restraint; his presence, he being the oldest, restrained us, for he was very sedate and operated as an extinguisher upon our exuberance
of youthful feelings. I was riding Alden's bay mare; Thomas his father's black pony, and Isaac, my jack. On the way we had some sport with "Ike" and the jack, which
plagued "Ike" so badly that he left us with disgust, turning the jack loose with the bridle on, and went home. When Thomas and I arrived at the spring we set down our
dinner pails, mounted our horses and amused ourselves by running short races, and jumping the horses across ditches, Alden not having arrived as yet. While we were
thus amusing ourselves, our cattle were feeding along down the little spring creek towards a rolling point about half a mile distant. The leaders of the herd had stretched
out about half way to this point, when all of a sudden a gang of Indians, stripped to the breachclout, painted and daubed and on horse-back, came charging at full
speed from behind this point, towards us.

Thomas Burdick immediately started for home, crying "Indians!" "Indians!" Before he reached the top of the hill, however, for some cause he abandoned his pony,
turning it loose with bridle and rope, or lariat attached. My first impression, or impulse was to save the cattle from being driven off, for in a most incredibly short time, I
thought of going to the valley; of our dependence upon our cattle, and the horror of being compelled to remain at Winter Quarters. I suited the action to the thought,
and at full speed dashed out to head the cattle and if posible turn them towards home. I reached the van of the herd just as the greater number of Indians did. Two
Indians had passed me, in pursuit of Thomas. I wheeled my horse in almost one bound and shouted at the cattle which, mingled with the whoops frightened the cattle
and started them on the keen run towards the head of the spring, in the direction of home. As I wheeled I saw the first Indian I met, whom I shall never forget. He was
a tall, thin man, riding a light roan horse, very fleet; he had his hair daubed up with stiff white clay. He leaped from his horse and caught Thomas Burdick's, then he
jumped on his horse again and started back in the direction he had come. While this was going on the whole gang surrounded me, trying to head me off, but they did
not succeed until I reached the head of the spring, with the whole herd under full stampede ahead of me, taking the lower road to town, the road that Alden had taken
in the morning. Here my horse was turned around at the head of the spring and down the stream I went full speed till I reached a point opposite the hill, where other
Indians had concentrated and I was met at this point by this number of Indians who had crossed the stream to head me off. This turned my horse, and once more I got
the lead in the direction of home. I could outrun them, but my horse was getting tired or out of wind and the Indians kept doubling on me, coming in ahead of me and
checking my speed, till finally, reaching the head of the spring again, I met, or overtook, a platoon which kept their horses so close together and veering to right and left
as I endeavored to dodge them, that I could not force my horse through. I was thus compelled to slacken speed and the Indians behind overtook me; one Indian rode
upon the left side and one on the ride side of me, and each took me by an arm and leg and lifted me from my horse; they then slackened their speed until my horse ran
from under me, then they chucked me down with great violence to the ground. Several horses from behind jumped over me, but did not hurt me. My horse was
secured by the Indians and without slacking speed they rode on in the direction from whence they had come. About this moment a number of men appeared on the hill
with pitchforks in hand, whom Thomas had alarmed with the cry of "Indians!" These men were on their way to the hay field, and at this juncture, as the men appeared
on the hill, an Indian who had been trying to catch the jack with corn, made a desperate lunge to catch the animal and was kicked over, spilling his corn, which in his
great haste to get away before the men could catch him, he left on the ground. The jack coolly turned and ate the corn, to the amusement of the men on the hill as well
as my own.

At this point I thought I better start after Thomas, and as I reached the top of the hill I saw him just going down into the town. The Indians having departed, the men
returned with the pitchforks to their wagons and I continued on to the town. When I arrived a large assembly was counseling in the bowery, Thomas having told them
of our trouble. My folks were glad to see me, you may be sure. A company was formed and on horses started in pursuit of the Indians, and a second company on foot
with Thomas and myself to pilot them, went in pursuit of the cattle. We took the road we had traveled in the morning and went to the spring. In the meantime Alden had
arrived at the spring, found nobody there, dinner pails standing as we had left them, became alarmed, took the herd by the lower road and drove them home. We who
did not know this, hunted most of the day and not finding our cattle we returned home disheartened, and I was filled with fears that we would not now be able to
journey to the valley. When we returned home we learned that Alden had found the cattle and they were all home, safely cared for, and so this trouble was soon
forgotten. Thomas' horse was recovered, but the one I was riding was not found. It cost the Indians too much for them ever to part with it. I was at this time about nine
years of age.

Widow Smith's Journey to the Valley

By E. W. TULLIDGE

(Mary Fielding Smith was an exceptional woman. It was only her indomitable pluck and energy and devotion that enabled her to bring her little family safely across the
plains to the Salt Lake Valley.-P. N.)

"I WILL beat you to the Valley, and ask no help from you either!"

At the death of the Patriarch, Hyrum Smith, the care of the family fell upon his widow, Mary Fielding Smith. Besides the children there were several helpless and infirm
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"I WILL beat you to the Valley, and ask no help from you either!"

At the death of the Patriarch, Hyrum Smith, the care of the family fell upon his widow, Mary Fielding Smith. Besides the children there were several helpless and infirm
people, whom, for various charitable reasons, the patriarch had maintained; and these also she cared for, and brought through to the valley, the major part of them,
under unusually trying circumstances.

Passing over the incidents of her journey to Winter Quarters, after the expulsion from Nauvoo, we come at once to her heroic effort from Winter Quarters westward.
In the spring of 1848 a tremendous effort was made by the Saints to emigrate to the valley on a grand scale. No one was more anxious than Widow Smith; but to
accomplish it seemed an impossibility, for although a portion of her household had emigrated in 1847, she still had a large and, comparatively helpless family-her sons
John and Joseph, mere boys, being her only support. Without teams sufficient to draw the number of wagons necessary to haul provisions and outfit for the family, and
without means to purchase, or friends who were in circumstances to assist, she determined to make the attempt, and trust in the Lord for the issue. Accordingly every
nerve was strained, and every available object was brought into requisition. Cows and calves were yoked up, two wagons lashed together and a team barely sufficient
to draw one was hitched on to them, and in this manner they rolled out from Winter Quarters some time in May. After a series of the most amusing and trying
circumstances, such as sticking in the mud, doubling teams up all the little hills, and crashing at ungovernable speed down the opposite sides, breaking wagon-tongues
and reaches, upsetting, and vainly trying to control wild steers, heifers, and unbroken cows, they finally succeeded in reaching the Elk Horn, where the companies were
being organized for the plains.

Here Widow Smith reported herself to President Kimball as having "started for the valley." Meantime, she had left no stone unturned or problem untried, which
promised assistance in effecting the necessary preparations for the journey. She had done to her utmost, and still the way looked dark and impossible.

President Kimball assigned her to Captain-'s fifty. The captain was present. Said he:

"Widow Smith, how many wagons have you?"

"Seven."

"How many yokes of oxen have you?"

"Four," and so many cows and calves.

"Well," said the captain, "it is folly for you to start in this manner; you never can make the journey, and if you try it you will be a burden upon the company the whole
way. My advice to you is, to go back to Winter Quarters and wait till you can get help."

Widow Smith calmly replied: "Father-" (he was an aged man), "I will beat you to the valley, and will ask no help from you either!"

This seemed to nettle the old gentleman, and it doubtless influenced his conduct toward her during the journey.

While lying at Elk Horn she sent back and succeeded in buying on credit, and hiring for the journey, several yoke of oxen from brethren who were not able to emigrate
that year, and when the companies were ready to start, she and her family were somewhat better prepared for the journey, and rolled out with lighter hearts and better
prospects than favored their egress from Winter Quarters.

As they journeyed on, the captain lost no opportunity to vent his spleen on the widow and her family; but she prayerfully maintained her integrity of purpose, and
pushed vigorously on, despite several discouraging circumstances.

One day, as they were moving slowly through the hot sand and dust, in the neighborhood of the Sweetwater, the sun pouring down with excessive heat, towards noon,
one of Widow Smith's best oxen laid down in the yoke, rolled over on his side, and stiffened out his legs spasmodically, evidently in the throes of death. The unanimous
opinion was that he was poisoned. All the hindmost teams of course stopped, the people coming forward to know what was the matter. In a short time the captain,
who was in advance of the company, perceiving that something was wrong, came to the spot. Probably no one supposed for a moment that the ox would recover, and
the captain's first words on seeing him were:

"He is dead, there is no use working with him; we'll have to fix up some way to take the widow along; I told her she would be a burden upon the company."

Meantime Widow Smith had been searching for a bottle of consecrated oil in one of the wagons, and now came forward with it, and asked her brother, Joseph
Fielding, and the other brethren, to administer to the ox, thinking that the Lord would raise him up. They did so, pouring a portion of oil on the top of his head, between
and back of the horns, and all laid hands on him, and one prayed, administering the ordinance as they would have done to a human being that was sick. In a moment he
gathered up his legs, and at the first word arose to his feet, and traveled right off as well as ever. He was not even unyoked from his mate.

On the 22nd of September the company crossed over "Big Mountain," when they had the first glimpse of Salt Lake Valley. Every heart rejoiced, and with lingering
fondness they gazed upon the goal of their wearisome journey. The descent of the western side of "Big Mountain" was precipitous and abrupt, and they were obliged to
rough-lock the hind wheels of the wagons, and, as they were not needed, the forward cattle were turned loose to be driven to camp, the "wheelers" only being retained
on the wagons. Desirous of shortening the next day's journey as much as possible, they drove on till a late hour in the night, and finally camped near the eastern foot of
the "Little Mountain." During this night's drive several of Widow Smith's cows, that had been turned loose from the teams, were lost in the brush. Early next morning her
son John returned to hunt for them, their service in the teams being necessary to proceed.

At an earlier hour than usual the captain gave orders for the company to start, knowing well the circumstances of the widow, and that she would be obliged to remain
till John returned with the lost cattle. Accordingly the company rolled out, leaving her and her family alone. Hours passed by ere John returned with the lost cattle, and
the company could be seen toiling along far up the mountain. And to human ken it seemed probable that the widow's prediction would ingloriously fail. But as the
company was nearing the summit of the mountain, a cloud burst over their heads, sending down the rain in torrents, and throwing them into utter confusion. The cattle
refused to pull, and to save the wagons from crashing down the mountain side, they were obliged to unhitch, and block the wheels. While the teamsters sought shelter,
the storm drove the cattle in every direction, so that when it subsided it was a day's work to find them and to get them together. Meantime, as noted, John had returned
with the stray cattle, and they were hitched up, and the widow and family rolled up the mountain, passing the company and continuing on to the valley, where she
arrived fully twenty hours in advance of the captain. And thus was her prophecy fulfilled.

She kept her husband's family together after her arrival in the valley, and her prosperity was unparalleled. At her death, which occurred September 21st, 1852, she left
them comfortably provided for, and in possession of every educational endowment that the facilities of the times would permit.

Father
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By JOB SMITH
She kept her husband's family together after her arrival in the valley, and her prosperity was unparalleled. At her death, which occurred September 21st, 1852, she left
them comfortably provided for, and in possession of every educational endowment that the facilities of the times would permit.

Father Bundy and His All Wood Wagon

By JOB SMITH

(The faith of the Pioneers inspired them to accomplish almost unheard of tasks. Think of Father Bundy attempting a thirteen hundred mile journey in an all-wood
wagon. But he arrived at his destination.-P. N.)

AFTER the authorities of the Church and many of its members had left Nauvoo, in 1846, for their journey across the plains, the mobs became active again, not only
against Nauvoo, but they threatened the small 'Mormon' settlements in the vicinity. Father Bundy lived about five miles from Nauvoo in a small settlement of English
converts. No actual mob violence was offered them, but a cool threat was made that if they were not moved out before a certain day, they would be burned out as had
been some others, more distant from Nauvoo.

Most of the families in this settlement had teams of some sort; but Father Bundy had none-no team nor wagon nor money to purchase these things. Even his little home
could not be sold or traded-it simply had to be abandoned if he did not wish to be 'burned out.' There remained only three weeks before they would have to go.
Renounce 'Mormonism' and they could stay, and all would be well; but no such thought could, of course, be entertained; they had taken hold of the Gospel plow and
could not look back, come what may. God was relied upon for help, and help came.

A man by the name of Brownlee, across the river in Iowa, wanted some ditching done and he would give for the work a pair of three-year-old steers. Two hundred
rods of ditch, to be made with sod bank, were the terms, which were gladly accepted. The time being short, Brother Smith, then a boy of seventeen, and a Brother
Harris offered to help him. They crossed the river and walked twenty miles to the place where the work was to be done. In about ten days, half of it was finished.
Having gained consent of the owner, the steers were brought back across the river to help fetch the family away, with the understanding that the men were to stop on
their way westward and finish the ditching.

Only one more week of the allotted time remained, and still Father Bundy had no wagon. But a report came that a man named Slater (the same after whom Slaterville
in Weber County, Utah, is named) had an old wagon that had no tires upon it, and which the owner did not think at all available for an emigrant wagon. It was an only
hope. The family was small, only Father and Mother Bundy, the boy, Job, and his younger sister. It might carry them some distance, at least away from the immediate
vicinity of the threatening mobs. So Father Bundy and Job, taking the steers with them, went to inspect the vehicle. Surely enough, it had no tires, the felloes were
clumsy looking and already considerably worn by use, hickory pins for bolts, a split pole for a tongue pinned to the axle, no body-and the price was three dollars.
Brother Bundy did not have three dollars, so Brother Slater kindly accepted a vest pattern and some other small articles to pay for the wagon. The steers were hitched
to this contrivance and they drew it back home.

The remaining time was spent in building a wagon-box out of lumber from the soon-to-be-deserted home. They split and shaved hickory wagon-bows for the covering;
and so with bed sheets for a wagon cover, they were ready for the start. A sack or two of corn meal, a few tools, all their clothing, cooking utensils, and all other
worldly possessions (excepting furniture, farm tools and home) were carefully packed into the wagon, and they were ready to start with the other members of the
settlement on the day appointed. Crossing the river, they reached Mr. Brownlee's where they remained and finished the ditching until the steers were paid for.

The westward journey was now commenced. Of course, there was very little riding for the travelers. The all-wood wagon held up remarkably well, and they arrived in
due time at Winter Quarters, where they in common with hundreds of others passed a hard winter. I need not tell you of the suffering they endured there, for it is the
story of the wagon I am now telling.

In the spring of 1848, Father Bundy and his little company prepared for the journey farther on across the plains to the Valley. And now the wagon question again came
to the front. It was thought impossible to take an all-wood wagon over this thousand-mile route. No effort of the family was equal to the task of securing either a new
or second-hand wagon, ironed in the usual manner; neither had they the means to purchase iron to bind the wheels of their old friend. So nothing was left but to mend
up the old wagon and try it again. A big-hearted mechanic took the job of repairs in hand and made every part as 'good as new,' except, of course, the wear and tear
of the wheels and axles; so once more all the wordly goods of the family were stored therein, together with the required quantity of a year and a half's bread-stuff for
the members of the family.

Father Bundy and his wife started in Zera Pulsipher's company for Salt Lake Valley. The road, the first five hundred miles, lay chiefly along the Platte and other river
bottoms; and though new, rough and lumpy, was not rocky or gravelly, so the felloes, having been made of the best white oak and about double the width of the
common two-horse-wagon felloes, suffered but little wear that far. The spokes also were large, and were said to have been driven in hot rosin into the ample hubs. The
latter half of the journey, being over hills and mountains, where rocks and gravel formed the principal roadbed, the abrasion of the felloes began gradually to become
serious, so that the expedient of using buffalo rawhide to wrap around them became necessary, and was used with considerable success. But the hard condition of the
roads toward the latter part of the journey reduced at last the straight-grained part of each felloe to such thickness that in the last canyon one of them is said to have
broken, but the wheel held out to convey its load safely to the place of destination-Salt Lake Valley.

Missionary Experiences of Jedediah M. Grant

By T. B. LEWIS

(President Heber J. Grant's father Jedediah M. Grant, was a remarkable man. Before he came to Utah he served as a missionary in the Southern States. Many stories
have been told illustrative of his ability as a preacher of the Gospel. "The Blank Text," is one that will live for a long time to come.-P. N.)

WHEN on a mission to the State of Virginia, a few years since, it fell to my lot to labor in that portion of the State which had been visited some twenty-five or thirty
years previous by the late President Jedediah M. Grant.

From what I could learn of him then, he certainly was a most remarkable man. He seemed to live fresh in the memories of all classes; and they never grew tired of
relating to me many reminiscences connected with his fruitful labors in their midst; and I never became weary of listening to these most interesting narrations. His career
there, as elsewhere, was marked with abundant evidences in proof of his claim to be "a servant of God, with a divine commission." Through the power of God existing
with him, and the inspiration of the Holy Ghost, he was not only prepared to promulgate the principles of the gospel, as restored, but also to meet the powerful enemies
of the truth that arrayed themselves against him and the Church, as they were wont to do in the early history of the work.

Thinking the young Latter-day Saints would be interested in a narration of some of these events, I will give them as they were given me, as near as I can recall them
after a lapse of ten years.
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                                                 in that country, he gained quite a reputation as a ready speaker, frequently responding to invitations to preach from5such
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subjects or texts as might be selected at the time of commencing his sermon, by those inviting him.
Thinking the young Latter-day Saints would be interested in a narration of some of these events, I will give them as they were given me, as near as I can recall them
after a lapse of ten years.

In the early part of President Grant's ministry in that country, he gained quite a reputation as a ready speaker, frequently responding to invitations to preach from such
subjects or texts as might be selected at the time of commencing his sermon, by those inviting him.

In time it became a matter of wonder with many as to how and when he prepared his wonderful sermons. In reply to their queries he informed them that he never
prepared his sermons as other ministers did. He said, "Of course, I read and store my mind with a knowledge of gospel truths, but I never study up a sermon."

Well, they did not believe he told the truth, for, as they thought, it was impossible for a man to preach such sermons without careful preparation. So, in order to prove
it, a number of persons decided to put him to the test, and asked him if he would preach at a certain time and place, and from a text selected by them. They proposed
to give him the text on his arrival at the place of meeting, thus giving him no time to prepare.

To gratify them he consented.

The place selected was Jeffersonville, the seat of Tazewell County, at that time the home of the late John B. Floyd (who subsequently became secretary of war), and
many other prominent men.

The room chosen was in the court house. At the hour appointed the house was packed to its utmost capacity.

Mr. Floyd and a number of lawyers and ministers were present, and occupied front seats.

Elder Grant came in, walked to the stand and opened the meeting as usual. At the close of the second hymn, a clerk, appointed for the occasion, stepped forward and
handed a paper (the text) to Elder Grant.

Brother Grant unfolded the paper and found it to be blank. Without any mark of surprise, he held the paper up before the audience, and said:

"My friends, I am here today according to agreement, to preach from such a text as these gentlemen might select for me. I have it here in my hand. I don't wish you to
become offended at me, for I am under promise to preach from the text selected; and if anyone is to blame, you must blame those who selected it. I knew nothing of
what text they would choose, but of all texts this is my favorite one.

"You see the paper is blank" (at the same time holding it up to view).

"You sectarians down there believe that out of nothing God created all things, and now you wish me to create a sermon from nothing, for this paper is blank.

"Now, you sectarians believe in a God that has neither body, parts nor passions. Such a God I conceive to be a perfect blank, just as you find my text is.

"You believe in a church without prophets, apostles, evengelists, etc. Such a church would be a perfect blank, as compared with the church of Christ, and this agrees
with my text.

"You have located your heaven beyond the bounds of time and space. It exists nowhere, and consequently your heaven is blank, like unto my text."

Thus he went on until he had torn to pieces all the tenets of faith professed by his hearers; and then he proclaimed the principles of the gospel in great power.

He wound up by asking, "Have I stuck to the text, and does that satisfy you?"

As soon as he sat down, Mr. Floyd jumped up and said: "Mr. Grant, if you are not a lawyer, you ought to be one." Then turning to the people, he added: "Gentlemen,
you have listened to a wonderful discourse, and with amazement. Now take a look at Mr. Grant's clothes. Look at his coat! his elbows are almost out; and his knees
are almost through his pants. Let us take up a collection."

As he sat down, another eminent lawyer, Joseph Stras, Esq., still living in Jeffersonville, arose and said:

"I am good for one sleeve in a coat and one leg in a pair of pants, for Mr. Grant."

The presiding elder of the M. E. church, South, was requested to pass the hat around but replied that he would not take up a collection for a "Mormon" preacher.

"Yes you will!" said Mr. Floyd.

"Pass it around!" said Mr. Stras, and the cry was taken up and repeated by the audience, until, for the sake of peace, the minister had to yield. He accordingly marched
around with a hat in his hand, receiving contributions, which resulted in a collection sufficient to purchase a fine suit of clothes, a horse, saddle and bridle for Brother
Grant, and not one contributor a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, though some joined subsequently. And this from a sermon produced from
a blank text.

This Is the Place

By ERASTUS SNOW

(We are fortunate indeed in having from Erastus Snow, one of the first of the Pioneers to enter Salt Lake valley, an account of his interesting experiences. Erastus Snow
and Orson Pratt viewed the valley three days before the arrival of President Brigham Young.-P. N.)

WHILE in Echo canyon, President Young being unable to travel, and as the season was advancing, he felt moved upon to direct Elder Orson Pratt to take that portion
of the camp, or most of them, that were able to travel and labor with their axes, picks, and shovels, to make roads and bridges, to commence the work of cutting their
way through the mountains and canyons into this valley. By the time they had succeeded in reaching what is called the Big Mountain, most of the rest of the company
started in their trail, still leaving President Young and a few to nurse and care for him, and also a few feeble individuals to follow as soon as they were able. I well
remember, as we called at the wagon to bid the President good-bye, Brother Willard Richards, who had charge of those about to leave, asking if he had any counsel to
give to guide our movements after we should emerge from the mountains into the open country on the west. He was barely able to support his head with his elbow
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                                                    while he spoke feebly, in a low tone: "My impressions are," said he, "that when you emerge from the mountains     6 /the
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open country, you bear to the northward and stop at the first convenient place for putting in your seeds." Some of the seeds we had brought with us should by this time
have been put in the ground, such as the potatoes and other vegetables. This last suggestion from President Young controlled our movements.
way through the mountains and canyons into this valley. By the time they had succeeded in reaching what is called the Big Mountain, most of the rest of the company
started in their trail, still leaving President Young and a few to nurse and care for him, and also a few feeble individuals to follow as soon as they were able. I well
remember, as we called at the wagon to bid the President good-bye, Brother Willard Richards, who had charge of those about to leave, asking if he had any counsel to
give to guide our movements after we should emerge from the mountains into the open country on the west. He was barely able to support his head with his elbow
resting on the pillow, and his head in his hand while he spoke feebly, in a low tone: "My impressions are," said he, "that when you emerge from the mountains into the
open country, you bear to the northward and stop at the first convenient place for putting in your seeds." Some of the seeds we had brought with us should by this time
have been put in the ground, such as the potatoes and other vegetables. This last suggestion from President Young controlled our movements.

It fell to the lot of Elder Orson Pratt and myself to penetrate through the thickets and emerge into this valley and get a view of the Great Salt Lake, as was said
yesterday by Brother Woodruff, on the 21st day of July. The thicket down through the Narrows, at the mouth of the canyon, was so dense that we could not penetrate
through it. I crawled for some distance on my hands and knees through this thicket, until I was compelled to return, admonished, too, by the rattle of a snake which lay
coiled up a little under my nose, having almost put my hand on him; but as he gave me the friendly warning, I thanked him and retreated. And I will here say that from
that day to this, I have never waged war upon the serpent when he has kindly given me notice of his presence. We raised on to a high point of the Narrows, where we
got a view of the Great Salt Lake and this valley and each of us, without saying a word to the other, instinctively as if by inspiration, raised our hats from our heads and
then swinging our hats shouted, "Hosanna to God and the Lamb!"

We could see the canes down in the valley on what is now called Mill Creek, south of the lower grist mill, which looked like inviting grain; and thitherward we directed
our course. But when we reached it and ascertained what it really was, and remembering then the injunction of President Young, we turned northward and crossed Mill
Creek on to City Creek, which appeared to us the point of our destination as indicated by the President. From this point we turned back and crossed the bench on the
north side of Canyon Creek, going in on the side of the mountains, and made our way back to our working party, who by this time-ten o'clock at night-had come over
the Little Mountain and formed camp near its western base. The next day our working party cut their way through the underbrush down to Mill Creek, south of the
present mill, and camped at night. At noon on the 23rd we made our camp on Emigration Street, or the street where the street railroad runs east from the Clift House,
and just below that on the old channel of the creek; the creek divided just below this Temple Block, one branch running west and the other south. It was on the south
branch of the creek we formed our camp on the noon of the 23rd; and here we bowed ourselves down in humble prayer to Almighty God with hearts full of
thanksgiving to Him, and dedicated this land unto Him for the dwelling place of His people.

And then we organized various working parties to get out the plows and other implements and tools, appointing some to go and plow the lands, and others to turn the
water on the land to irrigate it. We found the land so dry that to plow it was impossible, and in attempting to do so some of the plows were broken. We therefore had
to distribute the water over the land before it could be worked; this being done, the ground was got ready by the following day, when President Young arrived and, as
Brother Woodruff told you yesterday, he was able to plant the potatoes he had in his wagon. The 24th of July of that year was on a Saturday, and President Young
arrived at about 2 p.m. of that day; and on that Saturday night we had about six acres of potatoes and other vegetables planted, the field extending southward from
about where the City Hall now stands. This was thirty-three years ago, yesterday.

On the Sunday all work was suspended as usual, for we always observed the Sabbath day in all our journeyings. We held our meeting and offered up our thanksgiving
and prayers and sacraments before the Lord; and President Young for the first time was able to get out of his wagon, and sit in his rocking chair, and requested that we
organize ourselves into exploring parties and explore the country north, south and west; "for," said he, "It is necessary that we should learn the facilities of the country
and be able to report to our brethren whose eyes are turned toward us." "But," he said, "I can tell you,"-this was after we had organized three exploring parties and
made every necessary preparation to start out on the morning following,-"but I can tell you before you start, you will find many good places and many facilities for
settlement all around us, and you will all return feeling satisfied that this is the most suitable place and THE place for us to make our commencement. And here is the
place to build our city." And I may add, that from that time not only did these three exploring parties bring back word confirming what the President had said with
regard to this place, but I believe it has been the universal judgment of all the people of the mountains that this was the place, and that around here were the greatest
facilities, when climate, soil, timber, water and everything are taken into consideration, that it was the most suitable for our central location. Brother Woodruff informed
the people yesterday how President Young, as he emerged from the mouth of Emigration Canyon, lifted himself up in his bed and peered out of his wagon, which
overlooked the valley, the cotton-woods on the creek, and the camp on the east side of the creek in fair view, and as Brother Woodruff told you yesterday, that
President Young said then, and afterwards to all the camp, that this was the place he had seen long since in vision; it was here he had seen the tent settling down from
heaven and resting, and a voice said unto him, "Here is the place where my people Israel shall pitch their tents." The same Providence that directed the Pioneers, led by
our late honored president, has encouraged and directed the labors of the people from that time to the present.

President Young's Predictions

By JAMES BROWN

(President Brigham Young had a difficult time to keep some of the Latter-day Saints in the barren Salt Lake valley when they learned of the delightful climate in
California and the fact that gold had been discovered there. James Brown, one of the Pioneers who was here the second winter gives a graphic account of President
Young's inspired words of counsel to the discouraged Saints.-P. N.)

THE winter of 1848-49 in Salt Lake Valley was quite cold. Many people had their feet badly frozen. For one, the writer suffered so severely from this cause that he
lost every nail from the toes of both feet. In February and March there began to be some uneasiness over the prospects, and as the days grew warmer, the gold fever
attacked many so that they prepared to go to California. Some said they would go only to have a place for the rest of us; for they thought Brigham Young too smart a
man to try to establish a civilized colony in such a "God-forsaken country," as they called the valley. They further said that California was the natural country for the
Saints; some had brought choice fruit pips and seed, but said they would not waste them by planting in a country like the Great Salt Lake Valley; others stated that they
would not build a house in the valley, but would remain in their wagons, for certainly our leaders knew better than to attempt to make a stand in such a dry, worthless
locality, and would be going on to California, Oregon or Vancouver's Island; still others said they would wait awhile before planting choice fruits, as it would not be
long before they would return to Jackson county, Missouri.

This discouraging talk was not only by persons who had no experience in farming and manufacturing, but by men who had made a success at their various avocations
where they had been permitted to work in peace, before coming west. Good farmers said: "Why the wheat we grew last year was so short that we had to pull it; the
straws were not more than two inches long. Frost falls here every month in the year-enough to cut down all tender vegetation. More, James Bridger and Gudger, who
have been in this country ten years or more, say that corn cannot be raised anywhere in these mountains. In fact, Bridger has told President Young that he will give a
thousand dollars for the first bushel of corn raised in the open air here, for he says it cannot be done.

It was at this time of gloom that President Young stood before the whole people, and said, in substance, that some people had misgivings, and some were murmuring,
and had not faith to go to work and make their families comfortable; they had got the gold fever and were going to California. Said he: "Some have asked me about
going. I have told them that God has appointed this place for the gathering of his Saints, and you will do better right here than you will by going to the gold mines. Some
have thought they would go there and get fitted out and come back, but I told them to stop here and get fitted out. Those who stop here and are faithful to God and his
people will make more money and get richer than you that run after the god of this world; and I promise you in the name of the Lord that many of you that go, thinking
you will get rich and come back, will wish you had never gone away from here, and will long to come back, but will not be able to do so. Some of you will come back,
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                                                help you; and the rest of you who are spared to return will not make as much money as your brethren doPage          7 here
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and help build up the Church and the kingdom of God; they will prosper and be able to buy you twice over. Here is the place God has appointed for his people. We
have been kicked out of the frying pan into the fire, out of the fire into the middle of the floor, and here we are and here will we stay. God had shown me that this is the
going. I have told them that God has appointed this place for the gathering of his Saints, and you will do better right here than you will by going to the gold mines. Some
have thought they would go there and get fitted out and come back, but I told them to stop here and get fitted out. Those who stop here and are faithful to God and his
people will make more money and get richer than you that run after the god of this world; and I promise you in the name of the Lord that many of you that go, thinking
you will get rich and come back, will wish you had never gone away from here, and will long to come back, but will not be able to do so. Some of you will come back,
but your friends who remain here will have to help you; and the rest of you who are spared to return will not make as much money as your brethren do who stay here
and help build up the Church and the kingdom of God; they will prosper and be able to buy you twice over. Here is the place God has appointed for his people. We
have been kicked out of the frying pan into the fire, out of the fire into the middle of the floor, and here we are and here will we stay. God had shown me that this is the
spot to locate his people, and here is where they will prosper; he will temper the elements for the good of his Saints; he will rebuke the frost and the sterility of the soil,
and the land shall become fruitful. Brethren, go to, now, and plant out your fruit seeds."

Stretching his arms to the east and to the west, with his hands spread out, he said: "For in these elements are not only all the cereals common to this latitude, but the
apple, peach and plum; yea, and the more delicate fruits, the strawberry and raspberry; and we will raise the grapes here and manufacture wine; and as the Saints
gather here and get strong enough to possess the land, God will temper the climate, and we shall build a city and a temple to the Most High God in this place. We will
extend our settlements to the east and west, to the north and to the south, and we will build towns and cities by the hundreds, and thousands of the Saints will gather in
from the nations of the earth. This will become the great highway of the nations. Kings and emperors and the noble and wise of the earth will visit us here, while the
wicked and ungodly will envy us our comfortable homes and possessions. Take courage, brethren; I can stand in my door and can see where there are untold millions
of the rich treasures of the earth-gold and silver. But the time has not come for the Saints to dig gold. It is our duty first to develop the agricultural resources of this
country, for there is no country on the earth that is more productive than this. We have the finest climate, the best water, and the purest air that can be found on the
earth; there is no healthier climate anywhere. As for gold and silver, and the rich minerals of the earth, there is no other country that equals this; but let them alone; let
others seek them, and we will cultivate the soil; for if the mines are opened first, we are a thousand miles from any base of supplies, and the people would rush in here
in such great numbers that they would breed a famine; and gold would not do us or them any good if there were no provisions in the land. People would starve to death
with barrels of gold; they would be willing to give a barrel of gold for a barrel of flour rather than starve to death. Then, brethren, plow your land and sow wheat, plant
your potatoes; let the mines alone until the time comes for you to hunt gold, though I do not think this people ever will become a mining people. It is our duty to preach
the Gospel, gather Israel, pay our tithing, and build temples. The worst fear that I have about this people is that they will get rich in this country, forget God and his
people, wax fat, and kick themselves out of the church and go to hell. This people will stand mobbing, robbing, poverty, and all manner of persecution, and be true. But
my greater fear for them is that they cannot stand wealth; and yet they have to be tried with riches, for they will become the richest people on this earth."

My dear reader, the writer stood on the Sixth ward square, Salt Lake City, in the year 1849, fiftyone years ago, and heard the foregoing spoken by President Brigham
Young. Now it is 1900, and I bear testimony to the literal fulfilment of most of those sayings, and that portion which has not yet come to pass, I most assuredly believe
will do so. I entreat the reader of this to pause and reflect. Was there divine inspiration in this matter, or not?

Payment of Tithing

By PRESIDENT JOSEPH F. SMITH

(This is another story told by President Joseph F. Smith illustrative of the character of his loved mother and her devotion to the principles of the Gospel.-P. N.)

I RECOLLECT very vividly a circumstance that occurred in the days of my childhood. My mother was a widow, with a large family to provide for. One spring when
we opened our potato pits she had her boys get a load of the best potatoes, and she took them to the tithing office; potatoes were scarce that season. I was a little boy
at the time, and drove the team. When we drove up to the steps of the tithing office ready to unload the potatoes, one of the clerks came out and said to my mother:
"Widow Smith, it's a shame that you should have to pay tithing." He said a number of other things that I remember well, but they are not necessary for me to repeat
here. The first two letters of the name of that tithing clerk was William Thompson and he chided my mother for paying her tithing, called her anything but wise and
prudent; and said there were others able to work that were supported from the tithing office. My mother turned upon him and said: "William, you ought to be ashamed
of yourself. Would you deny me a blessing? If I did not pay my tithing I should expect the Lord to withhold His blessings from me; I pay my tithing, not only because it
is a law of God but because I expect a blessing by doing it. By keeping this and other laws, I expect to prosper and to be able to provide for my family." Though she
was a widow, you may turn to the records of the Church from the beginning unto the day of her death, and you will find that she never received a farthing from the
Church to help her support herself and her family; but she paid in thousands of dollars in wheat, potatoes, corn, vegetables, meat, etc. The tithes of her sheep the tenth
of her eggs, the tenth pig, the tenth calf, the tenth colt-a tenth of everything she raised was paid. Here sits my brother, who can bear testimony to the truth of what I say,
as can others who knew her. She prospered because she obeyed the laws of God. She had abundance to sustain her family. We never lacked so much as many others
did; for while we have found nettle greens most acceptable when we first came to the valley, and while we enjoyed thistle roots, segoes and all that kind of thing, we
were no worse off than thousands of others, and not so bad off as many, for we were never without cornmeal and milk and butter, to my knowledge. Then that widow
had her name recorded in the book of the law of the Lord. That widow was entitled to the privileges of the House of God. No ordinance of the Gospel could be denied
her, for she was obedient to the laws of God, and she would not fail in her duty or become discouraged when observing one in an official position failing to keep the
commandments of God. This may be said to be personal. By some it may be considered egotistical. But I do not speak of it in this light. When William Thompson told
my mother that she ought not to pay tithing, I thought he was one of the finest fellows in the world. I believed every word he said. I had to work to dig and toil myself. I
had to help plow the ground, plant the potatoes, hoe the potatoes, dig the potatoes, and all that sort of thing, and then to load up a big wagonbox full of the very best
we had, leaving out the poor ones, and bringing the load to the tithing office. I thought in my childish way that it looked a little hard, especially when I saw certain of my
playmates and early associates of childhood, playing, riding horses and having good times, and who scarcely ever did a lick of work in their lives, and yet were being
fed from the public crib. Where are those boys today? Are they known in the Church? Are they prominent among the people of God? Are they or were they ever
valiant in the testimony of Jesus? Have they a clear testimony of the truth in their hearts? Are they diligent members of the Church? No, and never have been-as a rule-
and most of them are dead or vanished out of sight. Well, after I got a few years of experience, I was converted, I found that my mother was right and that William
Thompson was wrong. He denied the faith, apostatized, left the country and led away as many of his family as would go with him. I do not want you to deny me the
privilege of being numbered with those who have the interests of Zion at heart and who desire to contribute their proportion to the upbuilding of Zion and for the
maintenance of the work of the Lord in the earth. It is a blessing that I enjoy, and I do not propose that anybody shall deprive me of that pleasure.

A Remarkable Experience

By MARRINER W. MERRILL

(The following story of a pioneer experience was told by one of the great men of the Church-M. W. Merrill. For many years he was a resident of Richmond, Cache
County. He presided over the Logan Temple and served as a member of the Quorum of Twelve Apostles. The compiler of this book once heard Brother Merrill relate
this story.-P. N.)

IN the winter of 1855, I worked in what was then called North Mill Creek canyon. The only team I had at that time was one yoke of oxen; with this I kept myself busy
during the latter part of the fall of 1854 and the beginning of the winter of 1855, in hauling wood from the canyon to Salt Lake City, where I sold it for what I could. In
January, 1855, the snow in the mountains was so deep that I was unable to procure firewood; and I decided to haul some pine house and stable logs. Myself and some
brethren therefore shoveled and broke the road to a small red pine patch of timber on the side mountain, and when this road was completed, for two days we together
 Copyright
hauled logs (c)
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                  timber to theInfobase
                                city. JustMedia   Corp.the weather became extremely cold and a dense winter fog hung over the valley, but high up in the mountains
                                          at this time                                                                                                      Page 8one / 58
could overlook the cloud of fog. This condition prevailed for several days, but exactly how cold it was I cannot say, as thermometers were very scarce in those days. It
was during one of the early days of this cold spell that the following incident occurred: I left home very early in the morning to obtain a load of logs. My wife
IN the winter of 1855, I worked in what was then called North Mill Creek canyon. The only team I had at that time was one yoke of oxen; with this I kept myself busy
during the latter part of the fall of 1854 and the beginning of the winter of 1855, in hauling wood from the canyon to Salt Lake City, where I sold it for what I could. In
January, 1855, the snow in the mountains was so deep that I was unable to procure firewood; and I decided to haul some pine house and stable logs. Myself and some
brethren therefore shoveled and broke the road to a small red pine patch of timber on the side mountain, and when this road was completed, for two days we together
hauled logs and timber to the city. Just at this time the weather became extremely cold and a dense winter fog hung over the valley, but high up in the mountains one
could overlook the cloud of fog. This condition prevailed for several days, but exactly how cold it was I cannot say, as thermometers were very scarce in those days. It
was during one of the early days of this cold spell that the following incident occurred: I left home very early in the morning to obtain a load of logs. My wife
remonstrated with me and tried to prevail upon me not to go, as the weather was so very cold. I did not, however, heed her kind entreaties, but started upon my
journey; and on arriving at the timber, was surprised to find that I was the only one who had come for a load. I worked very rapidly for two reasons: one was that I
might keep warm, and the other that I might return home early. I cut, trimmed and prepared five nice, red pine logs, about thirty feet long and ten inches thick at the
butt-end, and about six inches at the top. These I succeeded in getting down to the place where I had left my bobsled and camp outfit, about a half mile distant. The
place of loading was very slippery, it being rather on a side hill. I had my five logs arranged side by side below the sled, my oxen being chained to a stump where they
were quietly eating their hay. I proceeded to load the logs, designing to place three on the bottom and two on the top of the three, which was my usual way of hauling
timber of that kind. I succeeded in getting the first log on the sled without much difficulty. The bunk (canyon men will know what a bunk is, especially if they were born
in New Brunswick) being icy, it was with some difficulty that I could make the log stay where I had placed it on the sled; but I finally succeeded in blocking it up, and
thought it secure. Then I turned around to load the second log, and as I did so, the blocking gave way and the first log slid rapidly from the sled, catching me in the
hollow of my legs and throwing me forward on my face across the logs lying there. In falling the hand-spike in my hand which I had been using in loading the logs, fell
far from my reach; and I was thus pinioned completely across the timber. The log that had slipped from the sled lay across my legs, which were on the hard ice, and my
body was lying across the four logs. I began to think that I was thus doomed to perish in the canyon. I struggled desperately to release myself, but every effort seemed
to bind me the more firmly beneath the terrible load which seemed crushing my very bones. While thus struggling for relief I also prayed earnestly to the Lord for
assistance, and while doing so I lost consciousness. When I next regained my senses I was a half a mile down the canyon from the place where I began to load, and
was seated upon the logs, which were loaded in the exact position that I had designed to put them-three on the bottom and two on the top of the three. All were nicely
bound in chains; I was sitting upon my sheepskin with the woolly side up; my whip was placed on the load carefully so it could not lose; my overcoat, homemade jeans,
lay across the load in front of me, but within my reach. As I aroused from my stupor, I spoke to my oxen and they stopped; and I viewed my surroundings with feelings
that cannot be described. I quickly took my bearings, as I was familiar with every point in the canyon. Being quite cold, I essayed to jump from the load, and put on my
overcoat; but to my surprise my limbs refused to do my bidding, they were so sore and my body was so badly bruised. I sat there and reflected for a few moments
upon my peculiar situation; looked around my load and found everything in place just as I would have put things myself: my ax was firmly bedded in the butt-end of one
of the logs, and everything else was in first-class condition. After making another unsuccessful effort to get from the load, I reached my coat, put it on as best I could in
a sitting posture, and started my oxen for home. I arrived safely about an hour later than my usual time. My wife was very uneasy about me on account of the lateness
of my arrival, and because of the fear ever present with her during the whole day, that something would happen to my injury. She met me at the corral and carried me in
her arms to the house, which she was then quite able to do, I weighing but a little over a hundred pounds. I was placed in a comfortable position on the bed, and she
then cared for my team. For some days she carefully nursed me before I was able to move around the house. I have hesitated to narrate this incident because of the
skepticism which is so common at the present day, even among some who profess to be Saints, concerning things somewhat supernatural; but I can truthfully testify in
all soberness, that some power which I did not see assisted me from the position which doubtless would have speedily cost me my life. As I was preserved for some
purpose known to my Heavenly Father, so do I also believe that God will bless and preserve the lives of His faithful children, just as long as it is necessary for them to
live to accomplish their missions upon the earth.

Jacob Hamblin and the Indians

As Told by HIMSELF

(In 1855, Jacob Hamblin, a remarkable and pious man was sent to teach the Gospel to the Indians in Southern Utah. He was promised by President Brigham Young
that he would never die by the hand of an Indian if he did not seek his blood. There is no more thrilling chapter in our pioneer history than the narrative of Jacob
Hamblin.-P. N.)

IN the autumn of 1855, I returned to Tooele Valley, and removed my family to the Santa Clara. My brother Oscar, also Brother Dudley Leavitt and their families,
accompanied me.

In the winter of 1855-6, we were instructed to build a fort for our protection. There were at that time on the Santa Clara ten missionaries, and four stonemasons from
Cedar City. We employed Indian help, and everything we put our hands to prospered, so that in less than ten days, we built a fort one hundred feet square, of hammer-
faced rock, the wall two feet thick and twelve feet high. It was afterwards said by President Young to be the best fort then in the Territory.

We invited the Indians to assist us to construct a strong, high dam to take the water out of the Santa Clara to a choice piece of land. For this purpose they gathered into
the settlement to the number of about thirty lodges, but rather reluctantly, for they believed that the "Tonaquint," their name for Santa Clara, would dry up the coming
season, as there was but little snow in the mountains.

With much hard labor we completed our dam, and watered our crops once in the spring of 1856. The water then failed, and our growing crops began to wither. The
Indians then came to me and said, "You promised us water if we would help build a dam and plant corn. What about the promise, now the creek is dry? What will we
do for something to eat next winter?"

The chief saw that I was troubled in my mind over the matter, and said, "We have one medicine man; I will send him to the great mountain to make rain medicine, and
you do the best you can, and maybe the rain will come; but it will take strong medicine, as I never knew it to rain this moon." I went up the creek, and found it dry for
twelve miles.

The following morning at daylight, I saw the smoke of the medicine man ascending from the side of the Big Mountain, as the Indians called what is now known as the
Pine Valley Mountain. Being among some Indians, I went aside by myself, and prayed to the God of Abraham to forgive me if I had been unwise in promising the
Indians water for their crops if they would plant; and that the heavens might give rain, that we might not lose the influence we had over them.

It was a clear, cloudless morning, but, while still on my knees, heavy drops of rain fell on my back for about three seconds. I knew it to be a sign that my prayers were
answered. I told the Indians that the rain would come. When I returned to the settlement, I told the brethren that we would have all the water we wanted.

The next morning, a gentle rain commenced falling. The water rose to its ordinary stage in the creek, and, what was unusual, it was clear. We watered our crops all that
we wished, and both whites and Indians acknowledged the event to be a special providence.

I think more corn and squash were grown that year by us, than I ever saw before or since, on the same number of acres. The Indians gathered and stored up a large
amount of corn, beans and dried squash.

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                                              having great influence with the clouds. They also believed that we could cause sickness to come upon anyPage
                                                                                                                                                       of them9if/we
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wished. We labored to have them understand these things in their true light, but this was difficult on account of their ignorance and superstitions.
I think more corn and squash were grown that year by us, than I ever saw before or since, on the same number of acres. The Indians gathered and stored up a large
amount of corn, beans and dried squash.

From that time they began to look upon us as having great influence with the clouds. They also believed that we could cause sickness to come upon any of them if we
wished. We labored to have them understand these things in their true light, but this was difficult on account of their ignorance and superstitions.

About this time an Indian came in from another small band east of the Santa Clara. The Indians who worked with us told him how matters were going with them. He
ridiculed them for their faith in us and what we taught them, and told them that they were fools for living without meat, when there was plenty of cattle in sight. To more
fully exemplify his views and set an example of self-assurance, he killed one of our oxen.

Four or five of the brethren went to him, armed. I felt impressed that a peaceful policy would be the best, and, for that reason, I requested them to let me manage the
matter. I went into his lodge and sat down by him. I told him that he had done a great wrong, for we were working to do the Indians good. He talked insultingly, and
wanted to know if I wished to kill him, or if I could make medicine strong enough to kill him. I told him that he had made his own medicine, and that some evil would
befall him before he got home.

About this time, the president of the mission received a letter from President Brigham Young, requiring us to say to the Indians that if they would live cleanly and
observe certain things pertaining to the gospel, they should grow and increase in the land. Also, that we should require them to wash the sick before we administered to
them. An Indian wished us to administer to his sick boy. We required him to wash his child; he refused to do so, and the boy died. The man burnt his lodge, went to the
mountains, and called on others to follow him. Some did so, and before leaving, burned a log storehouse which they had filled with supplies. The angry man's name was
Ag-ara-poots.

The chief of the band came to me and said, "Old Ag-ara-poots will never be satisfied until he has killed you or someone who is with you. You know that he has killed
two Piutes since you came here. The Piutes are all afraid of him. I am going away." I asked him if he would not go to Ag-ara-poots with me. "No," he replied, "he
thinks that you let his boy die, and he will never be satisfied until he has blood. There are many with him, and you must not go where he is."

As I felt like seeing him, I invited all the missionary brethren, one by one, to go with me, but they all refused except Brother Thales Haskell. One of the brethren
remarked that he would as soon go into a den of grizzly bears.

When I went to the house of Brother Haskell and opened the door, he said, "I know what you want. You wish me to go with you to see Ag-ara-poots. I am just the
man you want." The difference between me and my brethren in this instance did not arise from superior personal courage in myself, but in the fact that I have mentioned
before; that I had received from the Lord an assurance that I should never fall by the hands of the Indians, if I did not thirst for their blood. That assurance has been,
and is still with me, in all my intercourse with them.

Brother Haskell seemed inspired to go with me on this occasion. We started in the morning, and followed the trail of Ag-ara-poots until afternoon, when we found him
and his band.

His face was blackened, and he sat with his head down, apparently in rather a surly mood. I told him I had heard that he intended to kill me the first opportunity. Said
he: "Who told you that I wanted to kill you?" I answered that the Piutes had told me so. He declared that it was a lie; but he had been mad and was then, because I had
let his boy die.

I told him that he let his boy die, because he did not think enough of him to wash him so that the Lord would heal him, and now he was mad at someone else.

I told him we were hungry, and were going to eat with a man who was not mad, and that he had better go with us. As we left his lodge, he arose to go with us, but
trembled and sat down in the sand.

All the Indians but Ag-ara-poots gathered around us. We told them they had been foolish in burning up their food, going into the mountains, and leaving their friends;
that the women and children had better go back to the settlement where there was something to eat, and let the men who wished to hunt, remain. The most of them
started for the settlement the same night.

The following day Titse-gavats, the chief, came to me and said, "The band have all come on to the Clara except Ag-ara-poots, and he came on to the bluff in sight of it,
and his heart hardened. You cannot soften his heart again. He has gone off alone. You had better pray for him to die, then there will be no bloodshed. Do not tell him
what I have said to you."

I did ask the Lord that, if it would be for the glory of His name, Ag-ara-poots might not have strength to shed the blood of any of us. In a few days the Piutes told me
that he was not able to walk nor help himself to a drink of water. He lingered until spring and died.

Experiences of a Pioneer

By JAMES BROWN

(With the gold which he and other members of the Mormon Battalion picked up in California, James Brown purchased Ogden Valley from Miles Goodyear, a trapper,
and located a settlement there in 1848 called Brownsville. The name was later changed to Ogden. James Brown had many thrilling experiences similar to those related
in this story.-P. N.)

THE writer left Fort Supply December 14, 1855, and started for his home in Ogden City on horseback and alone, having placed Isaac Bullock in charge of affairs at
the fort. The first night out I camped at a place called Needle Rock, just east of Yellow Creek. There I selected a spot where the feed was good, picketed out my
horse, set my saddle over the picket pin, and spread my blankets so as to lay my head on the saddle, lest the coyotes should cut my riata and turn loose the horse.

As I was alone and yet in an Indian country, I did not make a fire, but ate a cold lunch, rolled up in my blankets, and soon dropped to sleep, to be awakened by my
horse snorting and kicking. The animal brushed his nose on my head before I was sufficiently awake to understand what he meant by his actions; but no sooner was I
aroused than I found that he was surrounded by a pack of large, grey wolves which were growling and snapping at his heels and at each other. The night was so dark
that I could plainly see the fierce eyes of my ravenous enemies shining in the darkness all around me.

I had a good Colt's revolver, but having heard that if wolves smelled blood when they were gathered in such a pack they would attack man or beast, I reserved my fire.
I remembered having heard that these wild beasts were afraid of the flash and smell of burning powder, so I spread some gunpowder on the leathers of my saddle, and
with flint and steel struck fire, and in that way flashed powder by intervals all night. The wolves would run off, but return in a short time, as determined to have flesh. My
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horse was too(c)weak
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                       to attempt  to flee, Media  Corp.
                                            and as for myself I had become so chilled and benumbed that it was with some difficulty that I could keep up thePage    10till/ 58
                                                                                                                                                               flashes
daylight, at which time the pack of wolves went away, leaving horse and rider to resume their sufficiently hazardous journey without such unwelcome company.
I had a good Colt's revolver, but having heard that if wolves smelled blood when they were gathered in such a pack they would attack man or beast, I reserved my fire.
I remembered having heard that these wild beasts were afraid of the flash and smell of burning powder, so I spread some gunpowder on the leathers of my saddle, and
with flint and steel struck fire, and in that way flashed powder by intervals all night. The wolves would run off, but return in a short time, as determined to have flesh. My
horse was too weak to attempt to flee, and as for myself I had become so chilled and benumbed that it was with some difficulty that I could keep up the flashes till
daylight, at which time the pack of wolves went away, leaving horse and rider to resume their sufficiently hazardous journey without such unwelcome company.

I crossed over to the head of Echo Canyon, where I found a yoke of oxen that some emigrants had left to die. As the animals had got rested up, I thought I could drive
them in and save their lives, but had to abandon them in Round Valley, Weber Canyon. Then on a poor, jaded horse, I pursued my way, arriving at home about 9 p. m.
on December 20th.

I found all well, but winter supplies of food so short that I sold the only respectable suit of clothes I had for breadstuffs. I had about worn out all the rest of my clothing
when I was in the Indian country, so that I had but one old flannel shirt left, and that I had made out of two old ones. I had one pair of buckskin pants, a rough beaver
cap and a pair of moccasins.

It will be remembered by the early residents of Utah that the year 1855 was a grasshopper year, as well as a season of great drought, and therefore one of the hardest
years that many of the people had ever experienced, both for man and beast. Hundreds of horses and cattle starved to death, and many of the people barely escaped
the same sad fate. I could do no better than to let my horses go out on the range to die of starvation and cold, and turn my hand to anything I could get to do to earn a
honest dollar.

Soon after arriving home I was called to devote a portion of my time in traveling from settlement to settlement, and preaching to the people; also in visiting the Indian
camps along the Weber River and preaching and talking to them, for it was a terrible winter for the Indians. Before entering upon these duties, however, I returned to
where I had left my cattle to rest for a few days, and where the feed was tolerably good. When I started out it commenced to storm and by the time I reached the cattle
the snow was eighteen inches deep.

Before I could get out of the canyon with the animals the snow was two and a half feet deep. My horse gave out, and I had to travel on foot, breaking the trail and
leading the horse a few rods, then going back and driving up the cattle. I continued these efforts until myself and stock were exhausted. When I tried to start a fire, my
matches were all wet. I had left my rifle and shotpouch at home, and in the pouch were my faithful flint and steel, which had never failed me. But for the snow, the night
was total darkness. At last I reached a clump of cottonwood trees, and for a time I thought I would die of exhaustion and thirst. I knew that if I ceased to exert myself I
would chill to death. Finally it occurred to my mind to tear off a piece of my shirt, roll it up, hold it in one hand, and with my revolver shoot through it and start a fire. I
found a large sagebrush, and from it gathered the dry bark. This I wrapped around the roll of shirt, then fired a shot through it, and in that way succeeded in starting a
flame. As there was plenty of wood handy, I built and kept up a large fire during the night. The river banks were so steep that it was impossible in the darkness to get
water to drink. I was driven almost frantic by thirst, but finally thought to take off my heavy leggings, place them in a position so that they would form a kind of basin,
and cover them with snow, so the fire would melt it to water in the leather bowl. In that way I obtained water and quenched my terrible thirst. My blankets and
everything I had on had been soaked thoroughly with the melting snow, but I succeeded in drying all during the night.

The dawn of day was welcome indeed, but my troubles were not yet over, for I found my animals standing in snow to their necks, and they would not move out of their
tracks only as I broke an opening around and urged them on. The snow was so wet and heavy that it was an awful task to break a road and get those animals through
for the first five miles. After that the snow was not so deep, and with a very great effort and hazard of life I succeeded in reaching Ogden, as thankful as I ever was in
my life to get home-to "home, sweet home."

Being once more with my family and friends, I got up my winter wood and visited the people as a teacher. In the spring I finished a two-roomed house that I had under
way on Main Street. I then moved into it, preparatory to going to Fort Supply again, but was honorably released by President Young from further missionary labors in
that part. I rented land, put in corn and potatoes, and spent the fore part of the summer at farm labor. Having acquired a fourth interest in three ferries on Green River, I
arranged with my three partners, Isaac Bullock, Louis Robinson and W. Hickman, so that I did not have to go there, as my health was not very good; hence I remained
at Ogden.

An Indian Scare

By D. C. JOHNSON

(This thrilling adventure of two pioneer boys is interestingly told by D. C. Johnson. It was first published in one of the early issues of the "Contributor."-P. N.)

EARLY in the autumn of 1855, two boys were sitting alone by a roaring campfire, in a wild, wooded canyon, leading out of Utah Valley, in Utah Territory. They had
left their home in the valley, fifteen miles distant, that morning, for the purpose of procuring a load of wood for fuel. Getting firewood was an arduous task at that early
day in Utah. No timber grew in the valley, but only in the wild mountain canyons, where roads had to be constructed at great cost, by digging dugways on the mountain
sides, blasting rock, and bridging the wild streams that dashed and foamed down their rocky channels. Added to the natural difficulties of wood getting, additional
dangers attended the pioneer. The Indians were on the warpath, necessitating extra precautions. Large wood parties, going to the canyons three times every week,
were obliged to go well armed, and keep a strict watch at night, that they might not be surprised by their savage foes. Our little boys, at the lonely campfire, we will call
Karl and Billy; the former twelve, the latter eight years old. They had been sent to the canyon that morning by their father, for a load of wood. It was their first trip
alone. They were to have joined the regular wood party at the mouth of the canyon and have proceeded with them to the timber; but by some misunderstanding, they
had taken the wrong road, thus missing the camp, and being compelled to camp alone in the dismal forest, surrounded by wild and ferocious beasts, and still more
savage red men. When the veil of darkness began lowering over the camp, the oxen were driven up, chained to the wagon wheel, and fed for the night. A large fire had
been kindled, which lighted their surroundings to a considerable distance; but the darkness, which stood up like a wall in the distance, seemed only more dark and
gloomy. Old "Dick and Bally" stood at some distance eating their provender, blinking at the fire, affording our little campers no slight companionship. Billy proposed
that their bed be made by the side of the oxen, thinking that a greater place of safety. Karl objected, fearing that the oxen might tread on them in the darkness. More
wood was heaped on the fire, and the flames shot twenty feet in the air. Supper was at length spread on the blankets and partaken of in gloomy silence, each young
bosom being filled with vague forebodings of coming harm. Eight o'clock had come. The sky was obscured by clouds, making the darkness more intense, and the
melancholy howl of the coyote on the hillside did not add to their feelings of security. The forest was filled with strange sounds to which their ears were unaccustomed.

The hooting of the night birds; the melancholy sighing of the wind; the cracking of the dry twigs, as some nocturnal animal made its way through the wood; the rush of
the water over its pebbly way-all combined to fill the minds of the lonely campers with a secret dread of coming harm. After a painful silence of some minutes' duration,
Billy said: "Karl, don't you wish pa was with us?" "Don't I though?" was the reply. "Do you think there are any bears up this fork?" asked Billy, after a slight pause, and
Karl added reassuringly, "No, I think not," though he hardly felt the truth of his reply.

"Do you think we could kill a bear if one should come to our camp?" "Yes, I think we could," was the reply, inspired no doubt by the thought that they were well
armed, with a Colt's rifle, firing six shots, and an old pair of horse pistols in a holster; though Karl really hoped they would have no occasion to try their battery on so
 Copyright an
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                                                  stop howling, it makes me so lonesome," again ventured the younger boy, as a howl of unusual dolefulness      Pagewas 11  / 58
                                                                                                                                                                        borne  to
their ears on the night wind. "Oh, never mind that; the coyotes are too cowardly to hurt anyone," said Karl in a tone of assumed boldness. "Yes, but I don't like to hear
it," persisted Billy, petulantly-"It makes me feel so lonely." "Well, I guess we'll have to listen to it, or go to sleep," was all the consolation the older brother could offer.
Karl added reassuringly, "No, I think not," though he hardly felt the truth of his reply.

"Do you think we could kill a bear if one should come to our camp?" "Yes, I think we could," was the reply, inspired no doubt by the thought that they were well
armed, with a Colt's rifle, firing six shots, and an old pair of horse pistols in a holster; though Karl really hoped they would have no occasion to try their battery on so
formidable an animal. "I wish that wolf would stop howling, it makes me so lonesome," again ventured the younger boy, as a howl of unusual dolefulness was borne to
their ears on the night wind. "Oh, never mind that; the coyotes are too cowardly to hurt anyone," said Karl in a tone of assumed boldness. "Yes, but I don't like to hear
it," persisted Billy, petulantly-"It makes me feel so lonely." "Well, I guess we'll have to listen to it, or go to sleep," was all the consolation the older brother could offer.

As they were preparing for bed, Billy again broke the silence; "Do you think pa will pray for us tonight, and ask God to keep us from harm?" "Of course, he will," said
Karl.

"Do you think the Lord would hear us, if we were to ask him?"

"Yes, I believe He would."

"Then let's do it," said Billy, with a look of childlike confidence beaming from his eyes.

"All right," Karl rejoined-"But who shall ask Him?"

"Let's both do so; you say what you can think of, then I'll begin," proposed Billy. And there in the wild mountains with darkness and danger surrounding them, the little
pioneers knelt in faith, asking protection of their heavenly Father, who, they had been taught would guard and protect His children, if they would only rely on Him. After
the final amen, all fear and awe had subsided; and in a few minutes they were in the sound, refreshing slumber of childhood, entirely oblivious to the approaching danger
awaiting them.

After some hours, Karl was suddenly awakened by the rattling of chains, and the snorting of the oxen. The first objects that met his startled gaze, were the towering
forms of two stalwart Indians in full war-paint. The frightened boy reached instinctively for his gun, but found it had been removed. By this time Billy was fairly aroused,
and began to cry; whereupon one of the warriors drew an arrow to its head on the little fellow, and said in harsh guttural: "Papoose shut up, or kill 'um." This savage
admonition had the desired effect. The frightened lad subsided-only stifled sobs being now heard. "Get up, heap quick, pappoose go to Injuns' wick-i-up; no try to get
away, or me kill'um sure." These words were accompanied by a cruel leer, and a significant motion of drawing his hunting knife across the throat. Karl, who had read
something of Indian character, concluded to comply at once with his captor's demands, trusting to the future for chance of escape. It appeared that captivity, and not
death, was to be their immediate fate, and Karl tried the best he could to make his frightened, sobbing brother understand the situation. In the meantime, the marauders
were gathering up the plunder, preparatory for a departure. One of the stalwarts went up to unfasten the oxen, when old Dick, who evidently didn't like the smell of
war-paint, and had been manifesting decided feelings of hostility, suddenly sprang toward the approaching native, and would have undoubtedly thrust the copper
skinned rascal through with his horns, but for the chain being too short; as it was, the animal was thrown around, and in its struggle and kicking, struck the painted
heathen in the stomach, sending him sprawling on the ground. The discomfitted savage sprang to his feet, drew an arrow to its full head, with the evident intention of
ending Dick's usefulness there and then; but probably realizing that he would lose a good beef, he paused and finally put his arrow away. The boys could hardly restrain
their mirth, when they saw the way in which their favorite had sent the red man to the ground. The crestfallen brave savagely commanded Karl to "tie ox loose d-quick,"
which was done, after pacifying the old bovine with a few kind words. Then the oxen were headed up the canyon, the boys following, and the warriors bringing up the
rear with the plunder from the camp. Silently and swiftly they followed the old Indian trail, winding tortuously up toward the divide, the path growing narrower and
steeper as they neared the summit.

It was about 1 a.m. when they left their camp, and as they toiled painfully up the steep trail, their hearts almost sank within their bosoms, as they realized that each step
took them farther and farther into the mountains and increased the distance from home. As the trail got narrower they traveled in file; the oxen ahead, an Indian
following, the boys next, and the other savage bringing up the rear. The oxen gave the thieves considerable trouble by attempting to run back on the mountain side, but
all their maneuvers were frustrated by the agile hunters, who headed them off by swinging their blankets, throwing large stones, and whooping at them. Thus they
trudged on for several miles; the boys stumbling frequently over the fallen trees which encumbered the rocky way. Several times Billy had fallen in the darkness, and
had been brutally kicked to a standing position by the heartless rear guard. The hurried march at last so exhausted the poor boy that he could hardly keep his feet, and
the warrior behind became more fierce, threatening several times to "kill papoose" if he didn't hurry up. Karl being fearful that the threat would be carried out, took his
little brother by the hand, though he was himself almost exhausted. At this juncture, the storm which had been brooding on the mountain peaks for hours, broke upon
the lonely trail with great fury. The flashing lightning illuminated the surrounding peaks; the thunder filled the defiles with strange reverberations; the rain descended in a
flood, rushing and roaring down the gullies like an avalanche. It was the most terrible, yet sublime picture, the frightened boys had even witnessed, but their awe, at the
elemental warfare, was subdued by their greater fear of their savage captors. The party reached the summit just at sunrise, when a halt was made, and after some
difficulty a fire started. Breakfast was prepared from their own supplies, brought from home. They were thirty miles from home, on what is now known as the
"Strawberry Ridge," and the beautiful "Strawberry Valley," filled with the golden beams of the morning sun, spread out before them. After eating, the boys were
permitted to fall asleep, and remained in that blissful state for two or three hours, when they were rudely awakened from dreams of home by a kick, from the
moccasined foot of an Indian. The sun was over three hours high, when they again took the trail, leading down the opposite side of the mountain through a deep ravine,
following a little stream for ten miles where a short halt was made for one of the redmen to fix his moccasin. The boys went out on the green where the oxen were
cropping the grass, some rods from their captors; and sat down. Karl in a subdued voice told his brother that if they were not tied up very securely on the following
night, it might be possible for them to steal quietly away, take the back trail, and encounter some party, that would surely be in search of them. The plan of escape must
be put into execution on the following night; for if they traveled much farther into the mountains, the immediate chance for their escape would be lessened; and even
should they succeed, later, in eluding their captors, they would never be able to find their way back, but get lost in the interminable winding of the mountain passes, and
starve or perhaps, worse, be devoured by wild beasts.

Though Billy hardly understood what was desired, he had the greatest confidence in his brother's sagacity, and he determined to do all that lay in his power to further
their plan of escape. The party was soon again in motion, old Dick and Billy in the lead, proceeding without further halt until after dark. At a place where the canyon
widened out into a grassy plot, a halt was made for the night, a campfire started, some "jerked" meat eaten for supper, and preparation made for passing the night.
Karl's wrists were tied behind his back with a short lasso, made of tanned deer skin, one end of which was fastened to one of the Indian's ankles. Billy was left at
liberty. After some time spent by the Indians in smoking, and gutteral chat, they wrapped their blankets about their heads and bodies, then laying down with their feet to
the fire, were to all appearances soon fast asleep. The gun and pistols had been deposited near their heads, and were covered with a piece of deerskin to keep them
from dampness. Now came a period of dreadful suspense to Karl. He was fearful that Billy, fatigued as he was, would fall asleep, in which case their hope of an
immediate escape was at an end. Billy was a sound sleeper, and should he doze off, he would never awaken before morning. Karl tugged away quietly at his fastenings,
but only succeeded in drawing them tighter; and his wrists were already swelling and becoming quite painful. He constantly made signs to his brother to keep him
awake.

Another hour of dreadful suspense passed. Billy stuggled manfully to keep awake. Several times his head drooped, causing Karl's heart to stand still in very terror; but
the little head would come up again, and the blue eyes open wide with a look which said, "I'll not go to sleep, never you fear." The time had now come for action. Karl,
who had the utmost faith in the efficacy of prayer, breathed a silent but soulful appeal to the Almighty Father, for the success of their undertaking.
Copyright (c) 2005-2009, Infobase Media Corp.                                                                                                                 Page 12 / 58
Billy, who had been on the alert, saw his brother's signal, crept quietly to his side, and was told in a breath to unfasten the cruel thongs. Fortunately, Billy was in
possession of an old razor blade, which he had found some weeks previously, and carried in his pocket ever since, which was now the speedy means of their
deliverance. Silently and well the bonds were cut and Karl's hands freed. He arose rubbing his wrists to restore the circulation, at the same time gazing upon the
Another hour of dreadful suspense passed. Billy stuggled manfully to keep awake. Several times his head drooped, causing Karl's heart to stand still in very terror; but
the little head would come up again, and the blue eyes open wide with a look which said, "I'll not go to sleep, never you fear." The time had now come for action. Karl,
who had the utmost faith in the efficacy of prayer, breathed a silent but soulful appeal to the Almighty Father, for the success of their undertaking.

Billy, who had been on the alert, saw his brother's signal, crept quietly to his side, and was told in a breath to unfasten the cruel thongs. Fortunately, Billy was in
possession of an old razor blade, which he had found some weeks previously, and carried in his pocket ever since, which was now the speedy means of their
deliverance. Silently and well the bonds were cut and Karl's hands freed. He arose rubbing his wrists to restore the circulation, at the same time gazing upon the
sleeping foe, trying to decide what was best to do. Should they awake within four hours, the superior strength of the enemy would enable them to overtake and capture
the boys, in which case they would probably be cruelly murdered. Karl decided to attempt the removal of the fire arms, and should the sleepers awake while doing so,
shoot them on the spot; and should the removal be successful, and they be pursued and overtaken, sell his life as dearly as possible. Crawling stealthily near the coveted
rifle, it was removed without alarming the enemy and handed to Billy. The pistols were removed in the same manner, and the boys stole like spectres away, not looking
back until they were one hundred yards distant. Here the oxen were encountered, lying down for the night. The boys decided at once to drive their old servants back
with them, although fully realizing the extreme danger in the attempt to get the oxen upon their feet. Billy was instructed, in case the Indians should be alarmed, to use
the horse pistols with telling effect, waiting until the enemy should come close, then giving them a "centre shot!" The boys had both been used to firearms ever since they
were able to shoulder a gun. Old "Dick" was patted on the neck and told cautiously to "get up;" but the old fellow was down for the night and Karl had to employ the
old ruse of twisting his tail, before he could bring him up standing. His fellow by the same proceeding was brought to a traveling position and each boy, fully realizing the
force of the old saying, "a tail hold is a good hold," seized a tail firmly with the left hand, and were soon a mile from that terrible camp-fire, and not hearing any hostile
demonstration from that quarter, their courage returned; but the oxen were kept on a brisk walk, maintaining this gait for two hours. Billy now began to complain sorely
of fatigue, and the thought now occurred to Karl that they could ride old "Dick," as they had done hundreds of times before. Billy was helped upon his back, the
holsters hung across his neck, and after handing Billy the rifle, Karl climbed up behind and on they pressed. It was now beyond the midnight hour and the old ox still
plodded on. Billy commenced nodding, and presently laid down on the animal's neck, and was soon asleep, being held in place by his brother. Karl urged the faithful
animal to his best gait, but after a couple of hours more, the ox, being loaded, began to go more slowly. Karl began to get painfully sleepy, napping and very nearly
falling off several times. He could only keep awake by the greatest exertion. The hours dragged wearily on; old "Dick's" step became more labored; the boys more
tired and sleepy. Finally he dropped over on his brother and was lost in profound slumber.

The boys were awakened by a violent concussion. Opening their startled eyes, they found themselves in a heap on the ground. They had fallen off as the old ox jumped
over a fallen tree. It was broad daylight.

They glanced fearfully back on the trail, expecting to see their pursuers upon their track. They concluded they were within about five miles of the summit, where the first
halt was made after their capture, and all of thirty-five miles from home. Realizing that there was no time to lose, each secured a "tail hold," and the journey continued.
The oxen could hardly be urged forward, stopping continually to crop the luxuriant grass beside the trail. Just after sunrise, when they had proceeded up the trail not
more than a half mile from where they had fallen off, their blood was almost curdled by hearing from back upon the trail, the exultant yell of their savage pursuers, who
had evidently just discovered the boys' tracks. Boy-like, their first impulse was to run; but after a few steps this plan was abandoned, realizing that they would soon be
overtaken. Looking hurriedly about they saw near by an overhanging cliff, with some large pieces of rock that had split off and stood two or three feet high in front,
making a natural breastwork. "Quick Billy, here's our place!" said Karl. "We'll get behind these rocks and shoot them when they come in sight!" "But they'll kill us if we
stop," objected Billy. "Well, they will soon catch us if we run! We may just as well be killed here as farther on!" Billy was quickly forced behind the barricade where
they crouched down and waited with fluttering hearts for the appearance of the Indians. Both pistols were cocked, one in Billy's hand, the other on a rock just in front.
The rifle was cocked and both were ready to pour a broadside upon the advancing foe.

"Now Billy, just as soon as the Indians come in sight, around that big tree, point straight at the head one and pull the trigger. Remember they haven't any guns-only
bows and arrows." This fact made the boys feel quite confident of their ability to withstand their red foemen. The anxious watchers had not long to wait, for the enemy
was soon in sight, within fifty paces of the breast-work; their tufted heads bent low, carefully scrutinizing the ground. They were within thirty steps of the masked battery
when the command came in quick aspirate: "Now let them have it Billy-fire!" Two shots rang out, and one of the trailers came to the ground, the other bounding nimbly
into the thicket.

"Keep your head down, Billy, or the Indian will shoot you with his arrow," said Karl, as Billy peeped over anxiously waiting for further development.

"Where's the one we hit?" excitedly whispered Billy. "He's crawled off out of sight," was the reply. "Look out!" said Karl, as an arrow whizzed within a few inches of
Billy's head, which he had cautiously elevated above the rock. Bang! rang out the rifle in Karl's hand, as he caught a glimpse of an Indian crest above the brush, which
helped the sable warrior to beat a hasty retreat. After another interval Karl peeped over the works, when instantly an arrow struck the rock very near him, coming from
the vicinity of the wounded brave. Billy seized the remaining pistol and fired point blank into the brush, the only result being a rustling of the bushes as the wounded
Indian crawled away.

"I can't shoot any more," said Billy, "for my pistols are empty, and the Indians have our powder and balls. I wish we had the cannon here they shoot off on the Fourth
of July, I'd make that Indian hop!" The beleaguered boys lay very close for an hour, when faintly they heard from toward the summit, the tramping of horses' feet.
Nearer and nearer they came; when suddenly there burst into view a band of horsemen, and foremost among them rode their father. A glad shout burst from the
exhausted boys and they were soon in their father's arms. The surrounding thicket was searched for the wounded Indian, but no trace of him was found, excepting a
pool of blood where he had fallen. The story is soon closed. The boys, not returning in proper time, their father rode up the canyon to their camp, and finding it
plundered, rode quickly home, where the alarm was spread and a party organized, with the result above narrated. Two years afterwards, when peace had been
restored, a party of natives came to the town, and among them were the two Indians who had captured our boys at the lonely camp-fire. The recognition was mutual.
One of the Indians still limped from the effects of the shot received at the rocky fort. He came up to the boys and patting them on the head, said in a tone of admiration:
"Brave boys, heap brave!"

Early Days in Cache Valley

By CHARLES W. NIBLEY

(Charles W. Nibley was the son of a poor Scotch coal miner, who, with his family, emigrated to Utah in 1860 and settled at Wellsville, in Cache Valley. In this
delightful account of his youthful experiences President Nibley has left a clear picture of the trials and tribulations of his family in establishing themselves at Wellsville.-P.
N.)

ON Monday, September 3rd, 1860, we came out of Emigration canyon and onto the bench near Fort Douglas, and I can very well remember with what joy and
pleasure each one of our company, and even I, myself, looked upon the little growing city in the wilderness. We felt that all of our troubles and trials were practically at
an end, when, as a matter of fact, they had only begun. For all the changing vicissitudes of pioneer life had to be undertaken and gone through with. Many things were
difficult to learn and carry on.

 Copyright
We camped(c)   2005-2009,
            in the          Infobase
                   city on what        Media
                                was later     Corp. Ward Square, where the City and County Building now stands. My parents had known and had ministered
                                          the Eighth                                                                                              Page 13to/ 58
many of the traveling Elders in the old country, and some of them like Robert L. Campbell, the father of Rob Campbell, came and hunted us up, took us to their homes,
gave us food to eat, and looked after us as well as they could.
pleasure each one of our company, and even I, myself, looked upon the little growing city in the wilderness. We felt that all of our troubles and trials were practically at
an end, when, as a matter of fact, they had only begun. For all the changing vicissitudes of pioneer life had to be undertaken and gone through with. Many things were
difficult to learn and carry on.

We camped in the city on what was later the Eighth Ward Square, where the City and County Building now stands. My parents had known and had ministered to
many of the traveling Elders in the old country, and some of them like Robert L. Campbell, the father of Rob Campbell, came and hunted us up, took us to their homes,
gave us food to eat, and looked after us as well as they could.

The great question now was, where shall we go? What shall we do? There were no mills or factories where the family could secure work such as they had been
accustomed to in the east. Neither was there any coal mining, which my father would have been glad to work at. An entirely new mode of working and living had to be
undertaken. But where to locate? That was the question. On inquiring concerning different Scotch families that had preceded us to this country, we were told that
among others, the Stoddard family who had joined the Church and lived near our folks in the old country, had just recently gone to a new pioneer valley called Cache
Valley. Of course we did not know whether Cache Valley was east or west or north or south. We did not know the elevation of the country or whether it would raise
anything or raise nothing, or whether the land was all alkali or was good land, but we were told there was land and water to be had in abundance, and that timber and
wood to burn could be had in the mountains nearby. And as the Stoddards and others had gone to Cache why should not we go? We only knew that it was about
another one hundred miles' travel which would take us five days. So after we had rested two or three days in the city we hooked up our three oxen and two cows and
were off for Cache Valley.

The lake was very low that year and the wagon road from Salt Lake City to Farmington was considerably west of any green fields, right out on the alkali lake bottom,
as dry as a bone. The road was so level and easily traveled that we made the twenty miles to Farmington in a very short day. We camped for the night at Hector
Haight's place and our oxen broke into his field and ate up some of his melons. I remember that in the morning he demanded pay for the damage done, which, of
course, he was rightly entitled to. I have no recollection of any other camping place until we arrived at Wellsville. I remember going down Box Elder Canyon, before
we came to Wellsville, that the road was full of stumps and was not much of a road at all, just a trail cut through the brush and not very many wagons had gone up and
down that road. It was so rough that it impressed me. I recollect that part of the trip distinctly, but have no recollection of Ogden or Brigham City or other settlements.

When we got to Wellsville, which was a village of perhaps 20 or 25 log houses, we drove at once to Granny Stoddard's dugout. She had been baking her bread in a
skillet and in the fire under the skillet she had a lot of the finest kind of large new potatoes, for it was now about the 11th of September. She was very hospitable to us,
gave us everything she had in the way of something to eat, but I recollect that those fine baked potatoes and the fresh buttermilk which she had churned that morning
was about the finest combination of food that I had ever tasted. We were all so hungry for vegetables, having had scarcely a taste of anything in the line of vegetables all
the way across the plains. It makes my mouth water yet to think of Granny Stoddard's potatoes and buttermilk.

The Bishop of the ward was William H. Maughan, a young man of about twenty-five years, a son of Peter Maughan who was the President of the organizations of the
Church in Cache Valley. He was very kind to us in helping us to get located, advising us how to proceed to get some logs out of the canyons and build some kind of
shelter for the winter, both for ourselves and for our cattle. We had money enough to buy some wheat which we had made into flour at Hill's mill, at which there was no
way of separating the smut and chaff from the wheat, but was all ground together and made a black or brown bread.

We located at the end of what was called the new fort, for the town was not laid out as it is now, but was merely a fort of houses all huddled together for the protection
from Indian raids. It was a new and hard experience getting out logs from the canyons and getting out our winter's wood. And also securing hay from the hay fields
down below Mendon, with which to feed our cattle for the winter. All these new experiences were difficult and of the worst kind, but we did manage to get a dugout
roofed in and a little yard made with quaking aspen poles and a shed covered with hay where we could keep our cattle for the winter.

I recollect that the very first day after we arrived and got our camp permanently pitched, my mother, with her characteristic energy, started out and took me with her
into the adjoining field to glean wheat. That was my very first work in Utah-gleaning wheat. And walking in the wheat stubble gleaning wheat all day, barefooted, was
not altogether a picnic, but we would gather up the heads of wheat, tie them in little bundles and carry them to our camp. We two gleaned close to one-half bushel of
wheat a day. We would take the little bundles of heads and use a washboard which we had brought with us to rub out the heads of wheat or thresh them out as we
would say. Then we would put this wheat in a pile on our wagon cover and I would have to take a plate or something of that kind and throw the wheat up in the air to
let the chaff and smut and straw blow away with the wind, and keep on so throwing it in the air until the wheat was as clean as we could get it, ready for the gristmill. If
we bought a load of wheat, which we did once or twice, in bundles from the field, we would take and lay those bundles in our wagon cover on the ground and drive a
yoke of oxen around and around over the bundles until the oxen had tramped out the wheat. This, of course, was done where there was no threshing machine, and I
don't think there was a threshing machine in all Cache Valley that fall. Wellsville was the oldest and largest town in the valley at that time. Logan had merely started with
about half the number of houses that Wellsville had, and a little start was being made at Hyrum, Millville, Smithfield, Richmond and Franklin; but Wellsville and Logan
were the two prominent places.

After we were through gleaning wheat I had to look after the two cows and see that they were brought in from the range every night. In fact, I was expected to herd
them during the day and bring them home at night. Our breakfasts were of the scantiest kind, a little wheat porridge without much milk and a little of the brown or black
bread without butter. In the morning I was furnished a piece of bread for my dinner, as I would start off on the hills with the cows, but my dinner was devoured before I
got half a mile away from our camp and I had to go hungry until evening. About the only clothing I had at that time was a pair of pants made from the tent which we
used in crossing the plains, and which had grown so stiff and hard, being weather-beaten in so many storms, and a shirt made of the same material, that when it touched
my back or sides, nearly took the skin off, but it was the best I had and all I had. A rope tied around my waist to hold my pants up and my shirt down. I can remember
that when I was very hungry at dinner time, about the only thing I could do to help my stomach was to tighten my rope.

It was probably about the middle of November, or a little later when we completed a little one-room, part dugout and part log house. We dug a square hole in the
ground about 3 feet deep and then built logs around that hole, 3 logs high. We built up the two gables with logs then put a center roof log and one on each side of that,
half way down to the wall. On top of these logs we laid small quaking aspen poles not any larger than my wrist. On the top of these we put straw and then covered that
with a thick coat of dirt. My father built a cobble stone chimney in the opposite end from the entrance or door. The chimney was simply built of cobble stones and mud
for plaster, as we had no lime or any other kind of plaster that would hold. The chimney never knew enough to draw the smoke up but spewed it out and filled the
room. We had many a sorry time of it with that chimney.

What cooking was done we did on that fire for we had sold our stove to John Stoddard, who was the father of George Stoddard, for a piece of land over in the east
field. I can remember that one day Brother James A. Leishman (who at this date, 1915, is still living) asked me if we had sold our stove and for what. I told him and he
intimated that we had rather been imposed upon in the deal as he said he would not give that stove for the whole of the east field. That east field land is now worth
more than $100.00 an acre.

There was no window of any kind whatever in our house. Neither was there a door. My mother hung up an old quilt or piece of an old quilt, which served as a door for
the first winter. This was our bedroom, our parlor, our sitting room, our kitchen, our sleeping room, everything in this room of about 12 x 16. How in the world we all
got along in it I do not in the least remember, but we did manage somehow. Of course when you mention comfort or anything like comfort, there could have been none
of it there, but I do recollect that my dear old mother has stated on many occasions that no queen who ever entered her palace was ever more happy or proud of
shelter  and the
 Copyright    (c) blessings
                  2005-2009,of the Lord than
                                Infobase     she Corp.
                                          Media  was when she entered that completed dugout.                                                           Page 14 / 58
We completed about the same time a little stockyard or corral with a small shed that would protect our cattle from the storm. And we succeeded in getting up a few
loads of hay from the bottoms north and east of Wellsville, that our cattle might subsist on for the winter. It was a long dreary winter. That winter and the winter
There was no window of any kind whatever in our house. Neither was there a door. My mother hung up an old quilt or piece of an old quilt, which served as a door for
the first winter. This was our bedroom, our parlor, our sitting room, our kitchen, our sleeping room, everything in this room of about 12 x 16. How in the world we all
got along in it I do not in the least remember, but we did manage somehow. Of course when you mention comfort or anything like comfort, there could have been none
of it there, but I do recollect that my dear old mother has stated on many occasions that no queen who ever entered her palace was ever more happy or proud of
shelter and the blessings of the Lord than she was when she entered that completed dugout.

We completed about the same time a little stockyard or corral with a small shed that would protect our cattle from the storm. And we succeeded in getting up a few
loads of hay from the bottoms north and east of Wellsville, that our cattle might subsist on for the winter. It was a long dreary winter. That winter and the winter
following we still lived in the dugout. It was a scramble of the severest kind for a mere existence. How to begin at the very beginning of things and make the earth
produce you food and shelter was such a new experience and such a severe one that the older folks never forgot it.

Somehow we managed to trade for some wheat and we built a little bin with some boards in one corner of the dugout and put our wheat in this bin and on the wheat
made our beds. Wheat is about the hardest stuff to sleep on that I have ever experienced.

After we had been in Wellsville about thirty days and I had been gleaning wheat and herding cows during that time, old Brother John H. Bankhead hired me to herd his
sheep on the hills southeast of Wellsville. We did not dare to go very far from the fort as there was too much danger from the Indians during the first settlement of the
valley and indeed we did not need to go far because feed was abundant. This was my second job of work in Wellsville.

Winter came on, however, soon, and put an end to that. My mother used to go out and do a day's washing here and there and take flour for her pay. Usually 12
pounds of flour was payment in full for a hard day's washing. Poor old mother, how she struggled and worked and slaved to bring us all up. She did more or less
washing for the Bankheads all that winter as I remember. It helped to keep us eating and that was the main struggle just at that time-to get something to eat. I had an
old pair of homemade shoes that winter, but how I got them I do not in the least remember. It was years after before I ever had a coat. I think I was 16 years old when
I had my first coat. Previous to that I had had nothing but a shirt and a pair of pants or overalls. My sisters, Mary and Margaret, hired out to different people in the
village and got their board and very little else beside.

Brother James A. Leishman taught school in the log meeting house that stood in the street not far north of where Bishop Maughan's old home stands, (where Aunt
Margaret lives at this time). The only books I had were a Webster spelling book and a Greenleaf arithmetic, which we had brought from the states. Our reading lessons
were from the Book of Mormon and I had to borrow the privilege of reading from one of the boys of the class or school. I could spell the whole school down when we
had spelling bees and somehow I could work examples, or sums, as we used to call them, which Brother Leishman himself could not quite master.

We did not have sufficient hay to feed all our cattle so we sent one yoke with a herd of cattle that was going onto the promontory. It seemed like bad luck was
determined to follow us, for in bringing the cattle home from the promontory in the spring, there was one ox drowned in Bear River and out of all the big herd of cattle
that happened to be our ox. That same winter one of our cows had laid down in her little narrow stall and although she was securely tied with a rope by the horns, yet
somehow she had got her neck twisted so that her head was under her body in some shape and there she died. So that by spring we were considerably poorer than we
were when we landed in the fall. But we were gaining experience and were a little more able to hold our own and wrest from the earth some kind of a scanty livelihood.

The long winter nights and without any amusement and without books to read, made life seem quite dreary. There was, however, some kind of amusements going on,
chiefly dances in the log meeting house. There was a brother who could play the fiddle a little bit (Samuel Ames) and he was kept pretty busy furnishing music for the
dances. Then there would be little gatherings at this hut or house, or the other, a few families called in to spend the evening which would help to while away the time.

But I can remember how, long before daylight would come, my father was up, tired of lying on his hard bed and moving the quilt to one side, peering out into the
darkness, I have heard him exclaim, "It's eternal darkness here."

That winter everybody in Wellsville had the itch. Of course, we were included in the number. There were no vegetables except potatoes; there were no lemons or acids
to counteract the acid in the blood, so it broke out in hives or itch. Old Davy Moffat who crossed the plains in the handcart company that same summer that we came,
left his home in Salt Lake and somehow or other landed in Wellsville as he had no work to do, merely came up to visit us. We entertained him of course the best we
could in our dugout-fancy entertaining anybody in a place like that-and while we did not have any Christmas present to give him, we did manage to give him the itch. He
went home after a short visit and a little later Johnny McCarty was making a trip to Salt Lake for something or other and I begged the privilege of going with him and
seeing if I could not get work. We got to Salt Lake City in due time and I went down and stayed at Moffats, down in the Third Ward. I remember going to Walker
Brothers Store and asking one of the Walker brothers if they would not hire a boy to help do chores or help do clerking in the store, but they said they were not in
need of any help just at that time. At Moffats in the evening old Davy would be scratching his back, and I remember very well him saying to me, "Mon, when you gang
hame tell your faather (and this while he was scratching away at his back) tell your faather to send me down a muckle hawthorne stick."

I do not recall how I worked my way back home to Wellsville. The second winter we spent in our dugout was much like the first, although there were many more
settlers in the village the second year. The first year there were the Stoddards, Leishmans and Williamsons and one or two other Scotch families, and the second year
there were added the Murrays and Kerrs and Jardines and others, so that Wellsville was really the Scotch town of the north country.

As soon as spring came we were busily engaged trying to plow some ground and plant a field of wheat. This was in the spring of 1861. Lincoln had been elected in
November, 1860, and in the spring of 1861 all the news we got from the states was of the coming great war between the north and the south. We had no newspapers
of any kind. Indeed during the first year or perhaps two, of our existence in Wellsville, I don't remember that we ever received or wrote a single letter. There were no
mail routes established during that first season and letters were carried by anybody going or coming.

I got a job doing chores at Bankheads. It gave me my board and I suppose I must have earned a little flour or perhaps I was able to earn a couple of head of sheep,
which he paid me for my work. I was engaged in helping milk the cows, churn the butter, keep the calves herded or away from the cows and helping to look after the
sheep. Bankheads were the rich family of the valley at that time. Among other property, they owned two men negroes, Nate and Sam. It seems like harking a long way
back to the days of slavery, but negro slavery was actually the law of the land and practiced to a small extent in 1860 and 1861 and 1862 in Cache Valley. I felt quite
elated when I could sleep with big Nate, the big black negro that Bankhead owned. Old Sam used to ask me if I had read any news of "de wah," and I can remember
very well him saying at one time, "My God, I hope de Souf get licked."

Only once did I see Brother Bankhead get angry at his slaves, and at that time he tore around pretty lively and threatened to horsewhip them to death if they didn't
mend their ways. Once I was careless enough to let the calves, a dozen or so of them, get out of their pens and into the yard with the cows, and of course they got all
the milk. And milk was money in those days. The old gentleman Bankhead was so wrathy at me that, "If this should ever happen again," he said, "I am damned if I don't
want you to leave the plantation."

Along in July in 1861 we began to get some new potatoes and green peas in the little garden that my father had, which was well cultivated. It seemed like I never could
get enough of green peas. I would lie out in the patch on the ground and eat peas until I nearly burst.

During that (c)
 Copyright  summer     we wereInfobase
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                                                more or less on the Hyrum and Wellsville Canal that brings the water from the Muddy or little Bear River
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Wellsville east field, which the country road runs through. The man who could shovel out the most dirt or cut the most hay or grain, or bring the largest load of logs or
wood from the canyon was the hero of the community in those times. It was not brain or intellect or any great attainments, it was just who could do the most work. At
12 years of age, as I was then, I was small even for my age and was not equal to hard work. But I can remember working on that water ditch and being a good mimic I
Along in July in 1861 we began to get some new potatoes and green peas in the little garden that my father had, which was well cultivated. It seemed like I never could
get enough of green peas. I would lie out in the patch on the ground and eat peas until I nearly burst.

During that summer we were engaged at work more or less on the Hyrum and Wellsville Canal that brings the water from the Muddy or little Bear River onto the
Wellsville east field, which the country road runs through. The man who could shovel out the most dirt or cut the most hay or grain, or bring the largest load of logs or
wood from the canyon was the hero of the community in those times. It was not brain or intellect or any great attainments, it was just who could do the most work. At
12 years of age, as I was then, I was small even for my age and was not equal to hard work. But I can remember working on that water ditch and being a good mimic I
had all the men rolling with laughter at my mimicry of this man or the other who would brag about the amount of shoveling he could do. I was better at mimicking that I
was at working.

By this time we began to gather around us a few chickens and a pig or two. Eggs and butter were the chief currency of the country. There was no such thing as money.
I don't think we saw a dollar in money in the first two years we were in Cache Valley. Wheat was $2.00 a bushel and it was considered that a bushel of wheat was
payment for a good day's work.

We traded around and got some hay land and we had the farm land from Stoddard so that we were just beginning to understand what it took to get a livelihood right
from the very elements. It was a good experience all that, even if it was hard. There was not much butter for us to eat, and rarely indeed did we ever have an egg to
eat. Mother was extra thrifty and the eggs and most of what little butter was made, had to be kept to exchange for a little thread or a little calico or perhaps a pair of
shoes when some peddler wagon should come along.

A Squaw Fight

By JOHN R. YOUNG

(The habits and customs of the Indians of this intermountain country have been made known to us through the journals and writings of the Pioneers. The following
account of "A Squaw Fight" by John R. Young is well and interestingly told.-P.N.)

THE coming of our people to Utah in 1847 brought us into contact with the powerful intermountain tribe of Utes. Up till then, these Indians had had but little association
with the white man; consequently in their social life, they were following exclusively the customs and traditions of their savage ancestors. Many of their practices were
horrifying. The law of "an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth" was born and bred in them; hence, if a white man killed an Indian the tribe took revenge by killing the
first white man who chanced to fall into their hands, though he might have been perfectly innocent, having never harmed them. They also took great delight in torturing
helpless victims.

At our coming, the notorious Chief Walker was at the zenith of his power. Not only was he a scourge to the Spaniards in California, but he remained also a terror to
the weaker bands of Indians inhabiting the intermountain country, from whom he exacted a yearly tribute of children, to sell into slavery to the Spaniards. It was
Governor Brigham Young's prohibiting of this child-slave traffic in the territory that led to the Walker war.

Next in brutality to child-slavery was what we termed "squaw fights." They came about in this way: If a brave saw a maiden that he desired, he would go to her father,
who, according to their laws, had a right to sell her, usually paying from one to five ponies for her. If it happened that the girl had a lover, and he would put up as much
purchase money as had the first applicant, then the lovers would settle it by a fist fight.

Sometimes conditions would be such that every warrior in the tribe would be allowed, nay, would be honor-bound-to take part in the melee, and aid his tribesman to
win his wife. It would then be a national war, and would be conducted on long-established rules and ceremonies which the Indians hold in deep reverence.

In 1861, at the frontier town of Santa Clara, in southern Utah, I witnessed one of these tribal fights. A young, slender, delicate-looking girl, evidently the belle of
Tutsegovett's band, was purchased by a brave of Coal Creek John's band; but a brave of the Santa Clara tribe was the girl's accepted lover.

The aspirants were men of influence in their respective bands, though they were unequal in physical ability. The man from Cedar, whom I will call Ankawakeets, was a
large, muscular, well-matured man of commanding personality-a warrior tried and proven, while Panimeto, the Clara man, was only a stripling; a youth of fine features
and an eagle eye, bespeaking pride and ambition, but fifty pounds lighter in weight than Ankawakeets.

By the rules of the contest, this physical difference made it impossible for the lovers to settle it by a single combat; hence, it was arranged by tribal agreement, that
twenty warriors on each side should participate in the struggle. The ground selected was a flat just west of the old Clara fort. A square was marked off, the creek being
chosen for the south line; a line drawn in the sand marked the east, west, and north boundaries.

East of the east line was Ankawakeets' goal, which, if he could reach with the girl, she was his; contra, west of the west line was Panimeto's goal, claiming the same
concessions. On opposite sides of a line running north and south through the center of this square were the braves, lined up, stripped to the skin save for the
indispensable gee-string.

At a tap of the Indian drum, with bowed heads, and arms wildly beating the air, the two files rushed like angry bullocks upon each other. The air-hitting was fierce and
rapid for a few minutes, until a second tap of the drum, when the warriors clinched, and the mass became a seething, whirling, cyclone of dark figures, cheered on by
the squaw, and by an occasional war-whoop from some interested, on-looking warrior.

To vanquish an opponent you had to throw him and hold him flat on his back for the supposed time it would take to scalp an actual enemy. At the end of an hour's
exciting struggle, a few warriors on each side had been vanquished; but the forces remaining were equal in number, so neither party had gained any advantage.

They now changed the procedure. The father led the maiden to the central line. She looked terrified; and well she might, for the ordeal through which she was to pass
was a fearful one; one of brutal pain that would test her powers of endurance to the uttermost. The champions ran to the girl, and seizing her by the wrists, undertook to
force her to their respective goals. Soon it became a "tug-of-war" with fifteen strapping warriors on each side. The flesh of the trembling maiden quivered under the
strain of thirty brutal demons struggling and yelling to accomplish their aims.

Gyrating from one side of the field to the other they came, in one of their wild swirls, to the banks of the creek and fell into the water pell-mell up to their necks. The girl
evidently in a swoon, was entirely submerged, only her mass of glossy tresses floating on the surface of the water.

Andrew Gibbons, one of the Indian missionaries, flung himself on the bank; and seizing the girl's hair, he raised her head above the water. Instantly every brave broke
his hold, and scrambled on to the bank; and Ankawakeets angrily demanded that Gibbons should fight him for having interfered.

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                                                 flung aside his hat, and stepped into the ring. Tutse gave the signal, and Ankawakeets sprang to the fray,    16to / 58
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measure his length backward on the sand. Three times in succession his stalwart body kissed the earth. Then, moving with more caution, the Indian dodged a blow, and
succeeded in grappling with Gibbons, but again the white man's skill was superior to the savage's strength. Ankawakeets was flung to the ground and held until the
Andrew Gibbons, one of the Indian missionaries, flung himself on the bank; and seizing the girl's hair, he raised her head above the water. Instantly every brave broke
his hold, and scrambled on to the bank; and Ankawakeets angrily demanded that Gibbons should fight him for having interfered.

To my surprise, Gibbons accepted the challenge, flung aside his hat, and stepped into the ring. Tutse gave the signal, and Ankawakeets sprang to the fray, only to
measure his length backward on the sand. Three times in succession his stalwart body kissed the earth. Then, moving with more caution, the Indian dodged a blow, and
succeeded in grappling with Gibbons, but again the white man's skill was superior to the savage's strength. Ankawakeets was flung to the ground and held until the
imagined scalping was performed. Then Gibbons stepped back and folded his arms. His vanquished opponent arose, and with a majestic air, that a white man could
not imitate, he stepped to the maiden, spoke a few low words that seemed to have a magical effect, and taking the unresisting hand, led her to the victor and presented
her as a bridal trophy for the white man's valor and skill.

Gibbons, with a face glowing with satisfaction at the happy turn of the combat, accepted the maiden, and leading her to Panimeto, gave her to him-a mistake wherein
the white man's sympathy for the weak overruled his judgment. The presentation was followed by a war-whoop from Ankawakeets and his braves. Rushing to their
camps they returned with guns in hand, and forming a circle around the girl, ordered her to march.

This fight gave me a deeper insight into the nobility and sterling character of our Indian missionary boys. What fearless men they were, ready for any emergency!

At this crisis it looked as if Ankawakeets would triumph by armed force; yet the whites felt that his cause was not just; but an unsuspected champion, a veritable lion,
stood in the path. This time it was Thales Haskell, another Indian missionary, of whom it was said, "His cheeks never paled, and his voice never trembled." He sprang in
front of Ankawakeets and said.

"I called you a chief, but I see you are a boy, and a coward at that. Put up your gun, and be a man."

Then Tutsegavit's voice was heard, commanding the father to lead the girl to the center of the field, and told the warriors that they might go on with the fight until the sun
should hide its face behind the mountain. If neither party won by that time, the girl should be released from the father's vows.

Each band of warriors withdrew by themselves for a few minutes' consultation; then, with firmness depicted on every countenance, they took their places, the
champions grasping again the wrists of the trembling young squaw. A look of despair deepened the pallor of her face, as if the terror of death was resting upon her; and
a death-like silence reigned as both sides waited the signal to begin the encounter.

At this critical moment, the girl's young brother, who had stood aloof with folded arms and clouded brow during all the struggle, bounded to his sister's side and,
drawing his knife from its sheath, he buried it in her bosom. She fell lifeless into her father's arms. The brother, holding the bloody knife on high, said:

"I loved my sister too well to see her suffer more. You call me a boy; but if there is a brave who thinks I have done wrong, let him take the knife and plunge it into my
heart; so will I join my sister and lead her to the red man's happy hunting ground. I am not afraid to die."

Every warrior bowed his head, and turning, walked in silence to his camp.

On the morrow, our people aided in giving fitting burial to the lovely Indian girl, whose life had been sacrificed to the demands of a brutal custom. I will only add that
shortly after this tragedy, Jacob Hamblin, the man whom the prophet Brigham Young ordained to be the "first apostle to the Lamanites," gathered the Indians in a
council and talked to them until they promised to give up the squaw fights. It was a step which marked an epoch in the life of the Indians; and incidentally it serves to
illustrate the influence for good that this wonderful peace-maker held over our fallen brethren, the Lamanites.

A Prophetic Incident

By HERBER Q. HALE

(Who is there to say that Brigham Young was not an inspired leader? The event here related is another proof of "the whisperings of the Spirit" to this great man.-P. N.)

WHEN Captain Lot Smith had his company of volunteers with their teams lined up in front of the Lion House, in Salt Lake City, to be reviewed by President Brigham
Young, before embarking on the perilous expedition of the spring of 1862, it was discovered that his organization was not complete-he lacked a wagon-master.

When questioned by the President as to whom he would like for the position, the captain replied, "I want Sol Hale." A man from the line spoke up, stating that he had
just seen Mr. Hale drive into town. J. Q. Knowlton was immediately dispatched to bring him before the President, in his office.

When Mr. Hale entered, President Young informed him that he was organizing a company to go east and set in order the stage lines and stations which had been much
interfered with and, in many instances, burned by the Indians, and to protect incoming immigrant trains, and that he was wanted to go with the company as its wagon-
master. "Now can you go?" interrogated the President.

The young man replied, "President Young, I have given my promise to old Father and Mother Austin that I would go in search of their son, Ed, who is reported by
parties who arrived yesterday as having been killed by the Indians, near Beaver, on his return from San Bernardino with a band of horses, and his brother and I have
our wagon and horses in readiness to leave in search for the body and to recover the horses, if possible. We were just in buying a few supplies when Quince came for
me."

"Well," said the President, "if you are ready to go south, you are certainly ready to go east."

"Yes, but what can I tell Father and Mother Austin?" inquired Sol, upon whom rested a responsibility which he dared not shirk.

President Young's mind was in deep thought, and before the last words of the closing question were spoken, he bowed his head and rested it upon his hand, with his
elbow upon the railing enclosing the desk in the general office. Nearly a minute elapsed before he raised his head to speak. Fixing his eyes squarely upon those of the
anxious face before him, President Young made this extraordinary statement:

"Sol, you can tell Brother and Sister Austin that I say their son is still living, and is safe, and will return to them in a few days."

"Then I will go with the company," responded the ever-ready young man.

Sol mounted his horse and rode back to the store where he had left "Nute" with the team and wagon. He related the incident that he was called to go east with Lot
 Copyright
Smith's    (c) 2005-2009,
        company,           Infobase
                 and told him        Media
                               the words     Corp. Young to his parents. Whereupon young Austin began crying, and begged Sol to yet go with him
                                         of President                                                                                              Page     17 of
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"Then I will go with the company," responded the ever-ready young man.

Sol mounted his horse and rode back to the store where he had left "Nute" with the team and wagon. He related the incident that he was called to go east with Lot
Smith's company, and told him the words of President Young to his parents. Whereupon young Austin began crying, and begged Sol to yet go with him in search of his
brother.

Sol answered in about these words: "No; I have now promised to go out with the volunteers, and my faith in President Young's word tells me that Ed is all right and will
soon be home. He then bade his friend goodbye and joined the ranks, and the company began its march.

The third day out the company reached a station in Echo Canyon, and Captain Smith sent back to President Young a statement of their progress. The last words of the
President's return message were: "Tell Sol, Ed Austin just arrived with horses O. K."

The foregoing was related to the writer by his father, Solomon H. Hale, of the Oneida Stake, residing in Preston, Idaho.

Saved From Drowning

By W. W. CLUFF

(President Lorenzo Snow was one of the great men of the Church. In this instance his life was saved by a miraculous and divine power for a purpose. He lived to
become the fifth President of the Church.-P. N.)

PRESIDENT LORENZO SNOW went on a mission to the Hawaiian Islands in March, 1864. It was while trying to land by means of a small boat on the island of
Maui that the following accident and rescue took place. Elder W. W. Cluff, one of the party tells the story:

The entrance to the harbor is a very narrow passage between coral reefs, and when the sea is rough, it is very dangerous, on account of the breakers.

As we approached the reef it was evident to me that the surf was running higher than we anticipated. I called the captain's attention to the fact. We were running
quartering against the waves, and I suggested that we change our course so as to run at right angles with them. He replied that he did not think there was any danger,
and our course was not changed. We went but a little farther, when a heavy swell struck the boat and carried it before us for about fifty yards. When the swell passed,
it left us in a trough between two huge waves. It was too late to retrieve our error, and we must run our chances. When the second swell struck the boat, it raised the
stern so high that the steersman's oar was out of the water, and he lost control of the boat. It rode on the swell a short distance and swung around just as the wave
began to break up. We were almost instantly capsized into the dashing, foaming sea.

I felt no concern about myself about drowning, for on my former mission I had learned to swim and sport in the surf of those shores.

The last I remember of Brother Snow, as the boat was going over, I saw him seize the upper edge of it with both hands. Fearing that the upper edge of the boat, or the
barrels of it might hit and injure me, as the boat was going over, I plunged foremost into the water. After swimming a short distance, I came to the surface without being
strangled or injured.

The boat was bottom upward, and barrels, hats and umbrellas were floating in every direction. I swam to the boat, and as there was nothing to cling to on the bottom, I
reached under and seized the edge of it.

About the same time Brother Benson came up near me and readily got hold of the boat. Brother Alma L. Smith came up on the other side of the boat from Brother
Benson and myself. He was consider ably strangled, but succeeded in securing a hold on the boat.

A short time afterward the captain was discovered about fifty yards from us. Two sailors, one on each side, succeeded in keeping him on the surface, although life was
apparently extinct.

Nothing yet had been seen of Brother Snow, although the natives had been swimming and diving in every direction in search of him. We were only about one-fourth of
a mile from shore. The people, as soon as they discovered our circumstances, manned a life boat and hurried to our rescue. We were taken into the boat, when the
crew wanted to row for the shore and pick up the captain on the way. We told them that one of our friends was still missing, and we did not want to leave. We
discovered that a second boat had left the shore, and could reach the captain as soon as the one we were in. Seeing this, the crew of our boat consented to remain and
assist us.

The captain was brought to shore, and by working over him some time, was brought to life. Probably his life would not have been much endangered but for a sack of
four or five hundred silver dollars which he held in his hand, the weight of which took him at once to the bottom. The natives dove and brought him up, still clinging to
the sack. When his vitality was restored, the first thing he inquired about was the money, intimating to the natives, with peculiar emphasis, that it would not have been
healthy for them to have lost it.

Brother Snow had not yet been discovered, and the anxiety was intense. The natives were, evidently, doing all in their power.

Finally, one of them, in edging himself around the capsized boat, must have felt Brother Snow with his feet, and pulled him, at least, partly from under it, as the first I
saw of Brother Snow was his hair floating upon the water around one end of the capsized boat. As soon as we got him into our boat, we told the boatman to pull for
the shore with all possible speed. His body was stiff, and life apparently extinct.

Brother A. L. Smith and I were sitting side by side. We laid Brother Snow across our laps, and, on the way to shore, we quietly administered to him, and asked the
Lord to spare his life, that he might return to his family and home.

On reaching the shore, we carried him a little way to some large empty barrels that were lying on the sandy beach. We laid him face downward on one of them, and
rolled him back and forth until we succeeded in getting the water he had swallowed out of him.

During this time a number of persons came down from the town; among them were Mr. E. P. Adams, a merchant. All were willing to do what they could. We washed
Brother Snow's face with camphor, furnished by Mr. Adams. We did not only what was customary in such cases, but also what the Spirit whispered to us.

After we had been working over him for some time without any indications of returning life, the bystanders said that nothing more could be done with him. But we did
not feel like giving him up, and still prayed and worked over him, with an assurance that the Lord would hear and answer our prayers.
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Finally, we were impressed to place our mouth over his, and make an effort to inflate his lungs, alternately blowing in and drawing out the air, imitating, as far as
possible the natural process of breathing. This we persevered in until we succeeded in inflating his lungs. After a little, we perceived very faint indications of returning
life. A slight wink of the eye, which until then, had been open and deathlike, and a faint rattle in the throat, were the first symptoms of returning vitality. These grew more
After we had been working over him for some time without any indications of returning life, the bystanders said that nothing more could be done with him. But we did
not feel like giving him up, and still prayed and worked over him, with an assurance that the Lord would hear and answer our prayers.

Finally, we were impressed to place our mouth over his, and make an effort to inflate his lungs, alternately blowing in and drawing out the air, imitating, as far as
possible the natural process of breathing. This we persevered in until we succeeded in inflating his lungs. After a little, we perceived very faint indications of returning
life. A slight wink of the eye, which until then, had been open and deathlike, and a faint rattle in the throat, were the first symptoms of returning vitality. These grew more
and more distinct, until consciousness was fully restored.

When this result was reached, it must have been fully one hour after the upsetting of the boat. Brother Snow was taken to a nearby house to rest, and he soon regained
his strength.

On awakening to consciousness, and realizing what had happened, Brother Snow asked, "Are you brethren all safe?"

"Yes, Brother Snow, we are all safe," was the reply.

That answer, Brother Snow said when telling about the experience, awakened in his bosom an emotion which "will remain with me as long as life continues."

Brigham Young's First Trip to Bear Lake Valley

By SOLOMON F. KIMBALL

(As we roll along the smooth highways of Utah and Idaho, in closed automobiles, we think or know little of the difficulties experienced by the early pioneers who
"broke" and made the first roads through these canyons and valleys. In the following story Solomon F. Kimball gives us an excellent account of the manner in which the
Pioneers traveled eighty years ago.-P. N.)

THE rising generation know but little of the hardships endured in early days by the leading men of this Church, while they were helping the poor Saints to establish
themselves in these valleys. In order to make plain to them at least one phase of this subject it will only be necessary to give a brief account of President Young and
party's first visit to the Bear Lake country.

On Monday morning, May 16, 1864, at 8:30 o'clock, this little company drove out of Salt Lake City on its journey. It consisted of six light vehicles and a baggage
wagon, occupied by the following persons: Brigham Young, Heber C. Kimball, John Taylor, Geo. A. Smith, Wilford Woodruff, Joseph Young, Jesse W. Fox, Utah's
surveyor, Professor Thomas Ellerbeck, George D. Watt, reporter, and seven teamsters. They reached Franklin, Idaho, on the afternoon of the third day, and by that
time had increased their number to one hundred and fifty-three men, eighty-six of whom were riding in vehicles, the balance being picked men, mounted on good horses
for assisting the company on the way. There were no houses between Franklin and Paris, Idaho, consequently the program was to drive directly through to Paris in one
day if possible.

The fourth morning they got an early start, and drove almost to Mink Creek without accident. Here Brother George A. Smith's carriage broke down, but as good luck
would have it, the brethren from Cache Valley had brought a light wagon along in case of such an emergency. The company was soon on the way again, as though
nothing had happened.

They reached the foot of the big mountain which divides Cache Valley from Bear Lake Valley, and here is where the tug of war began. The mountain was so steep that
all were compelled to walk except Apostle Smith who was so heavy that it would have been dangerous for him to undertake it, as he weighed not less than three
hundred pounds. The mounted men soon had extra horses harnessed and hitched to singletrees, and President Young and others, who were too heavy to help
themselves, took hold of these singletrees with both hands and were helped up the mountain in this way.

Apostle Charles C. Rich and others, who had settled in the Bear Lake Valley the fall before, came to their assistance with all the ox teams that could be mustered.
Several yokes were hitched to Brother George A. Smith's wagon, and he was hauled up the mountain, but before he reached the summit his wagon was so badly
broken that he was compelled to abandon it. Everybody had a good laugh over the incident, it being the second vehicle broken down under his weight that day. With
careful management under the supervision of President Young and council, the brethren managed to get him onto the largest saddle horse that could be found, and
another start was made.

The company descended the mountain on the Bear Lake side and soon reached the head of Pioneer Canyon, where they struck mud, mud, mud, and then some more
mud. It had been raining all day and everybody was wet through to the skin, except those who were riding in covered vehicles. Four horses were hitched to President
Young's carriage, and several yoke of oxen to the baggage wagon. The majority of those who were riding in vehicles were compelled to walk on account of the trail
being in such a fearful condition; and to see that presidential procession waddling through the deep mud was enough to make any living thing smile. It was the muddiest
outfit ever seen in that part of the country.

Professor Ellerbeck undertook to cross the creek on a pole, and slipped off into the mud and water, and was a sad looking sight after he had been pulled out. Many
others passed through a similar experience that day. It was a case of every fellow for himself, some going one way and some another, the majority of them taking to the
sidehills. Several times President Young's horses mired down to their sides, but with careful driving they got through all right.

President Kimball, who was handling his own team this afternoon, undertook to drive around one of these bad places, and had not gone far when his horses struck a
soft spot and sank almost out of sight in the mud. Here is where the mounted men were of service again. They soon had Brother Kimball's horses unhitched from the
carriage, and long ropes fastened around their necks. Then about thirty men got hold of the ropes and pulled the horses out bodily, dragging them several rods before
they could get upon their feet. The carriage was then pulled out.

President Young, who was in the lead, made another start, and had not gone far when one of the horsemen brought word that Brother George A. Smith's horse had
given out, and that they were obliged to build a scaffold in order to get him onto another one. This amusing story caused the authorities to have another laughing spell at
Brother Smith's expense.

This canyon is about four miles long, and it was a mud hole from beginning to end. The party reached the mouth of it at nine o'clock at night, and remained there long
enough to rest and feed their animals. It was a cold night and the men made bonfires to keep themselves warm and dry their clothing.

About ten o'clock the company continued their journey. They drove down in the valley until they came to a small stream called Canal Creek. It was so narrow and
deep that they had to jump their horses across it, and then get their vehicles over the best way they could.

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                                                  next morning, but were unable to see it until they had reached the top of a small hill in the center of town.       19 / 58
                                                                                                                                                                It consisted of
thirty-four log huts with dirt roofs, but they looked good just the same.
About ten o'clock the company continued their journey. They drove down in the valley until they came to a small stream called Canal Creek. It was so narrow and
deep that they had to jump their horses across it, and then get their vehicles over the best way they could.

They reached the city of Paris at 3 o'clock the next morning, but were unable to see it until they had reached the top of a small hill in the center of town. It consisted of
thirty-four log huts with dirt roofs, but they looked good just the same.

The Bear Lakers had caught a wagon load of beautiful trout in honor of the occasion, and had plenty of good fresh butter to fry them in; and what a feast the brethren
did have after living on hope and mud for twenty-four hours! Sister Stocks and daughter did the cooking for the authorities, and it kept them busy as long as the party
remained there.

The next twenty-four hours were spent in resting, as everybody was worn out; although Professor Ellerbeck took some scientific observations that day, probably the
first that had ever been taken in the valley. The next day the company drove over to the lake, and spent several hours at a point where Fish Haven is now located. They
returned to Paris that evening. The next day, being Sunday, they held an outdoor meeting in the forenoon. The speakers were President Young, Elders Kimball, John
Taylor and Geo. A. Smith.

Considerable merriment was afterwards had over the question of whether Brother Smith should return home with the company or remain at Paris until the mud had
dried up. However, the decision was that he return home with the company on condition that Brother Rich furnish ox teams to haul him through the mud, and to the
summit of the mountain. This Elder Rich, who was the pioneer of Bear Lake Valley, consented to do, and at 3 p.m. the presidential party started for home. In the
meantime, Canal Creek had been bridged over, and good time was made through the valley. They reached the mouth of Pioneer Canyon at dark, and camped for the
night.

The next morning at 5 o'clock they continued their journey homeward. Brother Rich had more than kept his promise. He furnished two yoke of oxen for President
Young's carriage, and four yoke for the baggage wagon, the latter being solely occupied by Brother George A. Smith, who had a smile on his countenance that made
all who beheld it feel good through and through. These were the only vehicles drawn by ox teams. They followed the road through the mud, while the lighter vehicles,
drawn by horses, hugged the side hills, which were so steep that the brethren had to lash poles to the carriage beds, and bear down on the upper end of the poles to
prevent the carriages from tipping over. This plan worked like a charm, and by nine o'clock the company had reached the summit of the mountain. Notwithstanding it
rained hard all that day, the party reached Franklin about five o'clock that evening, and three days later they arrived home. They had been absent from home eleven
days, and within that time had traveled four hundred miles, besides holding meetings at all the principal settlements along the route, both going and coming. They also
selected several townsites.

Recovering the Lost Ox

By JOHN R. YOUNG

(The pioneer boys were daring and unafraid. They were made of tough fibre-otherwise they could not have accomplished the hardy tasks that were daily before them.
John R. Young did great service for the Church in early pioneer days as a scout and frontiersman.-P. N.)

IN 1862, I was living in southern Utah. It was believed the "Mormon" immigration would be unusually heavy that year, hence great exertions were put forth by the
people to bring the season's gathering to a successful termination; cooperation was the power that, under the wise guidance of Brigham Young, made is possible to
build up a prosperous commonwealth in the isolated desert. Teams were raised in all parts of the territory and organized into companies of 50 wagons each, four yoke
of cattle to each wagon. These, under the care of an experienced man, were sent to the Missouri river-1400 miles-to haul back the luggage of the emigrants; the people
were required to walk. Rules of government were established in each camp, and firmly carried out; no swearing was allowed.

All assembled for prayers at the call of the chaplain, morning and night; at 9 o'clock all retired to rest; and at 5 o'clock all arose. These camps were practical training
schools of great value. It fell to my lot to drive a team in Captain John R. Murdock's train. Upon arriving at Omaha I was selected to take charge of an independent
company, people who had means to emigrate themselves to Utah. On the 8th of August, I commenced the task, (mission we called it, for we all served without pay) of
leading these people, who were Danes, from Omaha to Salt Lake City. When it is remembered that these people spoke a language that I did not understand, that they
were not accustomed to driving teams, that I had to teach them even how to yoke their cattle, and hitch them to their wagons, it will be easy to imagine the magnitude of
the task I had undertaken to perform.

For the first week we only made from five to ten miles a day, but at the end of two weeks we could make twenty-five. At Wood River Center, the western line of
civilization, and the last telegraph station, I received a dispatch from our immigration agent telling me that the Sioux were on the war path, and I must be careful, and
watchful, or they would run off our stock. And as a word of encouragement, he added that Captain P-would overtake me in a few days, and he would give me four
mounted Utah men to aid me as scouts and night-guards. Thus cheered I pushed boldly out into the hunting grounds of the Sioux; but day after day passed and Captain
P-did not overtake me. At last I reached Ash Hollow where there was a stockade and five Utah men guarding supplies left by down-going trains. Leaving Ash Hollow
early the next morning we made a drive of 25 miles across the Big Bend of the Platte. In the evening a squad of U. S. troops camped on the opposite side of the river,
and holloed across to us to look out, for the "Devil was let loose."

In the morning they were gone, and when we brought up our cattle one of our best oxen was missing. It belonged to a Swede who had a light wagon, and only one
yoke of oxen. Selecting a large cow from the herd, I yoked her in and started the train in charge of the interpreter. I then circled the night herd ground; and, being a
good trailer, I soon found the oxen's tracks, in the road going back, and caught him at ash hollow 25 miles from camp. Giving my horse a feed of grain and taking lunch
with the men, I started with the ox to overtake my train. The long, weary day passed, the sun was near setting, and I had just passed the night camp-ground I had left in
the morning, when a small cloud of dust coming from the foothills attracted my attention. Just as I was entering a deep gorge, I drove the ox into the wash, then turned
back up the hill, until I could see the dust again. With the aid of my telescope I could see four Indians rapidly driving a herd of horses toward a patch of timber on the
river. A careful inspection convinced me that the loose animals were American horses, and I soon recognized them as Captain P's. It now flashed through my mind why
he had not overtaken me. The Indians had stolen his horses and crippled his movements.

Well, there I was twenty miles from camp, alone, with no weapon but my revolver, and almost face to face with the robbers who had stolen my friends' horses. I stood
and watched until they reached the timber. Selecting a large tree for a camping place, they threw down their traps, and three of them bunched the horses while the
fourth caught and hobbled them. Then they cut poles and started down the river evidently to catch fish for their supper. I saw that the arroyo that I was in emptied into
the river near their camp, and knowing that the moon would not rise until a few minutes after dark, I instantly formed a plan, and went to work to put it into execution. I
was adverse to shedding blood, having always been taught to avoid it, except in self-defense. I resolved to start the horses, and, then if followed I would fight. Leaving
the ox I moved cautiously down the ravine, and reached the mouth of it just as the gloom of night settled over the plain. The Indians had returned and built a large fire.
One of them walked out and bunched the horses, and their movements attracted the attention of my mare; she threw up her head and started to neigh. I gave the bit a
jerk in time to check her; but the movement, slight as it was, showed me how dangerous was the enterprise I had undertaken. The Indian soon returned to camp and
threw some more wood on the fire, which in the still night flamed high in the air, rendering objects visible for some distance round and greatly assisted my movements. I
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                              act. Approaching                                                                                                           Page
                                                carefully the outer circle of horses, and dropping my bridle rein, I moved quietly from horse to horse cutting    20 / 58
                                                                                                                                                               their
hobbles; then, regaining my own horse, moved the band slowly until they found they were unfettered, when I leaped into my saddle and started them on a run. The wild
yell that rang out on the night air curdled my blood and made my hair stand on end, and for a moment I was quite unnerved, but soon recovered and lashed the horses
the ox I moved cautiously down the ravine, and reached the mouth of it just as the gloom of night settled over the plain. The Indians had returned and built a large fire.
One of them walked out and bunched the horses, and their movements attracted the attention of my mare; she threw up her head and started to neigh. I gave the bit a
jerk in time to check her; but the movement, slight as it was, showed me how dangerous was the enterprise I had undertaken. The Indian soon returned to camp and
threw some more wood on the fire, which in the still night flamed high in the air, rendering objects visible for some distance round and greatly assisted my movements. I
felt that now was my time to act. Approaching carefully the outer circle of horses, and dropping my bridle rein, I moved quietly from horse to horse cutting their
hobbles; then, regaining my own horse, moved the band slowly until they found they were unfettered, when I leaped into my saddle and started them on a run. The wild
yell that rang out on the night air curdled my blood and made my hair stand on end, and for a moment I was quite unnerved, but soon recovered and lashed the horses
at a wild rate across the plain.

By the time I reached the ox, the moon had risen, and it seemed as light as day. I drove the horses and ox across the gully, and then wheeled back and stood in the
darkness at the bottom of it waiting for my pursuers. Soon the pattering of feet reached my ears, and holding my breath until two dark forms came into view, I opened
fire. The quick somersault and rapid retreat, convinced me that Mr. Indian had been twice surprised by the white man. Emptying my revolver to give the idea that there
were several of us, I sent the stock hurrying toward my camp. The road was tolerably straight and free from hills, and hollows, so I was not much afraid of being
ambushed, yet was keenly alert. The fluttering of a bird, or starting of a hare would startle me.

But, as several hours passed without interruption, I concluded that my shots had taken effect, at least so far as to discourage the Indians from following me. But I was
suddenly aroused from this feeling of security by another danger I had not counted on. It was the low, distant howl of a wolf! Soon an answer came, then another, and
another! I smiled, for I had a contempt for the whole wolf tribe, believing them to be cunning and cruel, but cowardly. I turned the cylinder of my pistol to see if it was
properly reloaded, and finding it all right, calmly awaited the gathering of the howling pack. With lolling tongues, and fiery, hungry eyes they came galloping up, falling
into small groups, snapping, snarling and fighting. I hesitated to shoot for fear the smell of blood would whet their ferocious appetites. My hesitation ceased as a large,
grey wolf trotted up to my side and crouched to spring at me, instantly I put a bullet through his shoulder, he fell backwards with a yell, and in an instant a score of
hungry brutes sprang on to him, and tore him to pieces. At the same moment a fresh pack came sweeping across the road in front, enclosing us in a circle. The
frightened horses recoiled back upon me, and I began shooting right and left. One of the excited ponies suddenly bolted from the herd and ran wildly across the plain.
Instantly every wolf joined in the pursuit; for a moment there was a rushing sound, then all was still, and I was left alone with my trembling ponies, and my heart wildly
beating.

At 4 a. m. I reached camp in safety. The emigrants had put the children to bed, but the men and women were sitting around a fire in the center of a horse-shoe corral
formed of the wagons. When I rode up they greeted me with loud hurrahs, and strong hands lifted me from my saddle, and bore me triumphantly to the watch fire.
When the joy had somewhat subsided, I said, "Brethren, that ox has traveled a hundred miles, and I have ridden seventy-five; these horses are Captain P's; I took them
from the Indians who had stolen them; now double the guard around the camp and the cattle, put out your fires, and let me sleep until sunrise."

The Pioneer Trail

By ANTHONY W. IVINS

(Anthony W. Ivins was the prince of story tellers among the pioneers who came to the valleys. As a youth of nine years he went with his parents to St. George, among
the first settlers, and there he grew to manhood, amidst the wild, romantic grandeur of the Southland. His well told stories have given us an imperishable picture of many
of the stirring events of pioneer days. I shall reproduce a number of them in this volume.-P. N.)

THE Pioneer Trail, from the Wyoming border to the Salt Lake Valley, will never be forgotten. Each year people travel it, and say, "Over this trail passed the men who
laid the foundation of a western empire. Here they struggled up the mountain; here, crossed the stream; here they cut away the trees and removed the rocks to make
possible passage through the canyon, and on this spot they established camp after a weary day's journey."

Other trails, trodden by the feet of men and women as devoted as those who first entered the Salt Lake Valley, are forgotten. No monuments will ever be built to mark
their course. The trails are obliterated. The men who made them have passed away. Lest the children forget the sacrifices of the fathers, come and travel with me over
some of these forgotten trails.

Since the events here chronicled took place, more than fifty years ago, conditions, social, religious, political and industrial, have so changed that if met by the younger
generation of today, they would be scarcely recognizable. Journeys made by mule and ox trains, which required months to accomplish, are now made in a day. The
conveniences and comforts of home-life were meager, compared with the present. Communication between settlements was difficult and slow, agricultural, industrial
and commercial pursuits were prosecuted under the most disadvantageous circumstances; and, worst of all, the pioneers who blazed the way and established outlying
settlements were constantly exposed to the danger of attack by roving bands of Indians who opposed the invasion of their country by the white men.

Eternal vigilance was the price of safety; constant industry and rigid economy the price of substance.

In the fall of 1861, the writer passed his ninth birthday. He resided, at the time, with his parents, in the Fifteenth Ward, Salt Lake City. On the same block lived John
M. Moody and family, consisting of his wife, Margaret, and her children, Robert, Samuel, William and Mary, the three first being the sons of a former husband whose
name was McIntire. They had identified themselves with the Church in Texas; and, like many others, had gathered to Utah to participate in its activities, and share its
destinies.

James M. Whitmore and family were also Texas people who had gathered with the Church, and were friends and neighbors of the Moodys. They were people of
refinement, and had brought with them to the Valley property which, by comparison at that time, entitled them to be regarded as possessed of wealth.

One afternoon in October, 1861, the writer was at the home of John M. Moody, playing with other children, when a messenger came with the announcement that the
Moody family had been called by the presiding authorities of the Church, to go to Dixie to raise cotton and develop the resources of that part of the territory.
Frightened by the thought of such a move, he ran through the block to the home of his parents, and bursting into the house exclaimed to his mother and sister, who were
in the room,

"Brother Moody is called to go to Dixie."

"So are we," said his sister, between sobs.

His mother said nothing, but tears filled her eyes as she thought of leaving a good home and comfortable surroundings, and of facing the hardships and dangers of
frontier life, in the barren country known as Utah's Dixie.

Several hundred families had been so called to go upon this mission. It was the manner in which the affairs of the Church were conducted, at that time-one of the
forgotten trails.
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Some offered excuses. Some were too poor to go, some were too rich. Some would send substitutes, but the great majority, with that devotion which has
characterized the members of the Church from the beginning, silently but resolutely made preparations for the accomplishment of the task assigned them.
frontier life, in the barren country known as Utah's Dixie.

Several hundred families had been so called to go upon this mission. It was the manner in which the affairs of the Church were conducted, at that time-one of the
forgotten trails.

Some offered excuses. Some were too poor to go, some were too rich. Some would send substitutes, but the great majority, with that devotion which has
characterized the members of the Church from the beginning, silently but resolutely made preparations for the accomplishment of the task assigned them.

Valuable homes were disposed of for but a small part of their real value. Farms were exchanged for teams or live stock which could be driven through to their
destination; and the late fall and early winter of 1861 found hundreds of teams on the rough and dreary road to the South, among them the families of John M. Moody
and James M. Whitmore.

The road from Salt Lake to the Rio Virgin passed through the country of the Ute, or Utah Indians, a powerful tribe whose territory was bounded on the north by the
Shoshones and Cheyennes; on the east by the Cheyennes, Arrapahos and Comanches; and the west by the Pah-utes, who occupied a strip of country lying between
the Rio Virgin, Santa Clara, and Colorado rivers, extending as far east as the San Juan, and separating the Utes proper from the Navajos, Apaches, and Moquis, on
the south.

While Wah-ker, Arapeen, Black Hawk and Kanosh were recognized, each in his time, as chief of the Utes, the Pah-utes, in the south, were broken up into fragmentary
bands, each with its own chief, but recognizing no general leadership. The Moapas, occupying the Muddy Valley and lower Rio Virgin, were led by To-sho; the
Tonaquint and Pa-rusche Indians, on the Santa Clara and Upper Virgin, by Tutse-gavit; the Kaibab (Mountain That Lies Down) Indians, by the father of Kanab Frank,
whose name the writer has forgotten, while a branch of this same tribe, which extended to the San Juan river, and across the Colorado to the borders of the Navajos,
was led by the renegade Ute Pah-nish, a bad man, who was responsible for a great part of the trouble which later developed between the settlers of Southern Utah and
the Navajos and their Pah-ute neighbors.

In an article published by one of the Salt Lake dailies at the time of the recent uprising of the Indians in San Juan County, which resulted from the attempt to arrest Tse-
nah-gaht (The Mountain Sheep), who was accused of the murder of a Mexican, it stated that the word Pah-ute meant renegade, and that it had been applied to the
tribe occupying the country between the Utes and Navajos, because of their bad character. The Indians themselves say this is not the case. All they know is that it is the
name by which they have always been known, and is applied to all of their people. Pah, in the Indian language, is water, and is frequently used by them in the names
applied to places and things, for example: Pah-ra-gon, the Indian word for Parowan, means a lake or long body of shallow water, the Little Salt Lake. We have
Anglicised it, and call it Parowan, while we apply the Indian word, Pah-ra-gon, to Paragoona which, in the Indian tongue, is Uncoppa, or Red-Red Creek; Pah-rusche,
Water That Tastes of Salt, (the Rio Virgin); Pah-reah, Elk Water; Pah-rah-shont, Much Water; Pah-coon, Water Which Keeps Boiling Up. Following this rule, Pah-
ute would be Water Ute, or the Utes living along the rivers which constituted the southern boundaries of the tribe.

These Pah-utes intermarried with the tribes adjacent to them until they became a kind of mongrel race, recognized neither by the Utes on the north, or the Navajos and
Apaches on the south. They were greatly inferior to their neighbors in intelligence.

The trail of the Dixie pioneers passed, as stated, through the country of the Utes, and into the country of the Pah-utes. While peaceful relations existed between the
whites and Indians at this time, the latter were jealous and suspicious, and it was only by careful diplomacy, and following the wise course outlined by Brigham Young,
that it was cheaper to feed than to fight them, that peaceful relations were maintained.

The Whitmore and Moody families, with others, located at St. George, and immediately applied their means and energy to the development of the resources of the
country.

In order to provide grazing facilities for his herds of cattle, bands of horses and flocks of sheep, which were noted for their excellent quality, James M. Whitmore
located and improved the Pipe Springs ranch, which lies about fifty-five miles east from St. George, and twenty miles west from Kanab. At this ranch, Whitmore
passed a portion of his time, and had employed Robert McIntire to assist him in caring for his flocks and herds.

One evening, about the 10th of January, 1866, the people of St. George were gathered at the Social Hall, where a party was to be given. The Whitmore and Moody
families were there, with the exception of the head of the former and Robert McIntire, who were at the ranch. The cotillions had been formed, the musicians were
tuning their instruments, the people were in a happy mood, when they were unexpectedly called to order. What had occurred to mar the pleasure of the occasion? The
writer well remembers the death-like silence which ensued, the suppressed excitement, the deep apprehension manifested by the merry-makers. The manager
announced that a messenger had just arrived with dispatches stating that a traveler, passing Pipe Springs, had observed that there was no one at the ranch house, and
that signs indicating the recent presence of Indians were plainly visible.

A call was made for men, armed and equipped, to start at once for Pipe Springs. Silently, hurriedly, the people went to their homes. The remainder of the night was
spent in preparation, and the following morning a company of sixty men, a part of the local militia, was ready to start on one of the most trying expeditions ever
undertaken by men. They were armed and mounted, that was indispensable, but there were no shelter-tents. The equipment was primitive and inadequate, the
commissary scanty. At least one man now living, at the time a mere boy, was mounted on a mule without a saddle, and had no coat. With a few quilts which served as
saddle, cloak and bed, in his shirt sleeves, he did a soldier's full duty on the trying campaign.

As stated, the expedition was made up of a part of the local militia, and was commanded by Colonel Daniel D. McArthur, Lieutenant Colonel Angus M. Cannon,
Major John D. L. Pierce, and Captains James Andrus and David H. Cannon. Of these men David H. Cannon is the only survivor.

The weather was intensely cold. Snow had fallen, and on the high plateau, at Pipe Springs, it was three feet deep, with the mercury below zero. When Pipe Springs
was reached no trace could be found of either the ranchers or Indians. Tracks and signs which ordinarily guide the scout were obliterated by the heavy fall of snow.
Finally, after several days of scouting, James Andrus found two Indians, an elderly man and a boy, engaged in dressing a beef which they had killed, and brought them
to camp. They refused to talk until the following morning, when they admitted that Whitmore and McIntire had been shot by Navajo and Pah-ute Indians, and offered
to conduct the soldiers to the place where the bodies were, and to the camp of the hostiles.

Dividing into two companies, one under command of Colonel McArthur, and the other under command of Captain Andrus, the troops left camp, the older Indian
leading Colonel McArthur out of the plains, east of Pipe Springs, the boy leading Captain Andrus in a southerly direction to the vicinity of the Kanab Gulch. Captain
Andrus encountered the hostiles in their camp, and nine Indians were killed. While the cavalry rode over the plain, searching for the murdered men, a horse's hoof
brushed away the snow exposing the hand of a man. It was the body of Whitmore!

"Is it the man with a beard, or the one without?" asked the Indian.

"The one with a beard," was the answer.
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The Indian walked some distance and, pointing, said,

"The other is there."
"Is it the man with a beard, or the one without?" asked the Indian.

"The one with a beard," was the answer.

The Indian walked some distance and, pointing, said,

"The other is there."

The snow was removed, and the body of McIntire found, as stated. Each man had been shot with bullets and arrows, the body of McIntire having received many
wounds, the Indian said, because he had carried a pistol, and had fought desperately for his life.

The remains of the two men were packed in snow and taken to St. George, where impressive funeral services were held.

The details of the tragedy were never known. The Indians admitted that they had attacked the men while they were riding on the range, and had killed them after a short
fight. A large number of horses and sheep were driven off by the Navajos, the Pah-utes retaining the personal effects of the murdered men. It was the first depredation
in the Dixie country in which white men lost their lives, but they were not the victims of the long war waged by the Navajos and Pah-utes against the white settlers of
southern Utah.

James M. Whitmore was the father of Hon. George C. Whitmore of Nephi, James M. Whitmore of Price, and Brigham Whitmore of Davis county; and Robert
McIntire was the elder brother of our former fellow townsmen, Samuel and William McIntire.

Courage

By ANTHONY W. IVINS

(About 1924, President Anthony W. Ivins introduced to the compiler of this book an elderly man who sat visiting with him in the office of the First Presidency in Salt
Lake City. It was Ammon M. Tenny, the hero of this story.-P. N.)

DURING the year of 1865 the Navajo Indians were at war with the Government. Hard pressed in their own country, the Northeastern part of Arizona and
Northwestern New Mexico, small parties of Indians came across the Colorado River and made raids upon the white settlers who had located in the extreme
southeastern part of Utah.

In the early part of January, 1866, the people of St. George were startled by the report that Dr. James M. Whitmore, father of Hon. George C. Whitmore, of Nephi,
and Robert McIntire, a brother of our fellow townsmen Samuel and William H. McIntire, had been killed by Indians, at Pipe Springs, where they were engaged in
ranching.

In April of the same year Joseph and Robert Berry, with the wife of the latter, were killed near Short Creek, about twenty-five miles west from Pipe Springs.

Because of these and other depredations, the people were called in from outlying settlements and exposed ranches, to places of safety.

Nathan C. Tenney had established a ranch at Short Creek where he built a house, but in common with others had abandoned it, and moved to Toquerville, about
twenty-five miles distant.

In December, 1866, three horsemen rode out from Toquerville, their destination being the Short Creek Ranch. They were fairly well mounted, and in those early days
would have been considered well armed. Nathan C. Tenney carried an old-fashioned cap-and-ball pistol. Enoch Dodge was armed with a light, muzzle-loading rifle.
The third member of the party, Ammon M. Tenney, was a mere boy, with black hair, dark eyes and a slender body. He carried an old style six-shooter, and was going
with his father to look for horses which had strayed from Toquerville back to the ranch.

The party reached Short Creek without incident, and spent the night at the ranch house. The following morning they rode out on the Pipe Spring trail to the place where
the Berry Brothers had been killed, and after looking over the ground, went on and soon found the horses for which they were hunting.

Not far from them was one of those peculiar hills, or ridges, so common on the Short Creek range. By some convulsion of nature these ridges have been forced up,
leaving an abrupt face of rock, often impossible of ascent, on the east or north, while on the west or south they gradually dip to the plains below so that approach to the
top of the cliffs from that side is easy.

At the foot of one of these bluffs, a corral had been constructed to which the horses, eight in number, were driven and hurriedly caught and necked together. Signs
indicating to the trained eyes of these experienced frontiersmen that Indians were in the neighborhood had been observed and commented upon, and that feeling of
anxiety which comes to men who sense impending danger that cannot be seen was intense.

The horses were driven from the corral and headed toward home, when the white men found themselves face to face with eight Navajos. The Indians, spread out in a
semi-circle, occupied the plain, while the white men retired to the protection of the cliffs to which reference has been made. What was to be done? That the Indians
meant to kill them was plain to the two men. Their weapons, consisting of bows and arrows and a few guns, were made ready as they taunted and denounced the white
men.

To Nathan C. Tenney, a man who had many times looked death in the face, the situation appeared desperate, hopeless. With the impassable cliffs behind, and Indians
in front, what chance had they to escape? The boy proposed that all of the horses be killed and used as a breastwork, and that they fight. The father urged that their
ammunition would soon be exhausted and they slaughtered. They thought it possible to compromise by giving up their horses.

The boy spoke to the Indians in Spanish, which language he had learned in California, and found that he was understood. A parley ensued, and one of the Indians, a
stalwart man, leaving his arms, came out into the circle and invited the boy to meet him there and arrange terms of capitulation. Removing his pistol, the boy was about
ready to comply when his father restrained him, "My son," he said, "that powerful man, will pick you up and carry you away, and then they will kill us."

At this juncture the cliffs echoed with war whoops, and to their dismay the men saw eight additional Indians riding furiously down the plain toward them, their long hair
streaming behind as they unslung their guns and quivers.

"Resistance is now useless," said the elder Tenney. "What hope have we against sixteen well armed and mounted men?" It was at this juncture that the courage and
leadership of the boy asserted itself. Drawing his pistol, he turned down the trail at the base of the bluff, and, striking the spurs deep into his horse's sides, and crying
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"Follow Me!", rode straight on the Indians, who confronted him, firing as he went. The two men followed. Against this intrepid charge, the Indians gave          way, 23
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race for life began. Thus, for more than a mile they rode, the three on the trail, sheltered to the west by the bluff, while the Indians, who were in front of them, behind
them, and on the plain to the east, kept up a constant fusilade of shots as they ran.
streaming behind as they unslung their guns and quivers.

"Resistance is now useless," said the elder Tenney. "What hope have we against sixteen well armed and mounted men?" It was at this juncture that the courage and
leadership of the boy asserted itself. Drawing his pistol, he turned down the trail at the base of the bluff, and, striking the spurs deep into his horse's sides, and crying
"Follow Me!", rode straight on the Indians, who confronted him, firing as he went. The two men followed. Against this intrepid charge, the Indians gave way, and the
race for life began. Thus, for more than a mile they rode, the three on the trail, sheltered to the west by the bluff, while the Indians, who were in front of them, behind
them, and on the plain to the east, kept up a constant fusilade of shots as they ran.

Several times the boy, who was a superb horseman, and better mounted, had opportunity to outstrip his pursuers and escape, and often he returned to encourage his
father and Dodge to be brave and come on. He was thus riding in advance when a sharp cry from his father caused him to look back to see both horse and rider rolling
in the dust. The Indians, with bows bent to the arrow-heads, were bearing down on his father in a body. Without a moment's hesitation the boy turned and spurred his
horse between his father and the on-rushing savages, discharging his pistol in the very faces of the men nearest him. The Indians wavered, scattered, and, falling on the
opposite side of their horses, discharged a volley at the boy.

His father declared that he had been shot; and Dodge, also having been wounded, they implored the boy to escape and go to his mother. Instead of doing this, he
assisted his father to his feet, and turning the horses loose, with the saddles on, urged the men to climb to the rocks above. For a few moments the attention of the
Indians was attracted to the loose horses and during this time the boy succeeded in getting the men up into the rocks, where he covered their retreat, while the Indians,
riding by at the foot of the bluff, in single file, kept up a constant fire on him.

When the upper ledge was reached, the situation again looked hopeless; the cliff presented an obstacle which the men declared it would be impossible to pass, but the
boy, undismayed, made the effort and succeeded. He then took hold of the gun, and while his father held on, he pulled, and Dodge pushed until the father reached the
top where he fell unconscious. With the gun, he then pulled Dodge to the summit.

A hasty examination showed that the father had not been shot, as he thought, but that the fall from the horse had dislocated and badly bruised his shoulder. Dodge had
been shot in the leg. The boy lay down on his back, took his father's hand in his, and placing one foot on the neck, the other in the arm pit, with a quick jerk and strong
twist, brought the dislocated joint back into place. He then placed his hands upon the head of his father, and in a few wellchosen words, laid their condition before the
Lord, and prayed that his father might be restored. The man arose and they retreated a short distance to the west where they concealed themselves in some loose
rocks. They had scarcely done so when they heard the patter of the feet of the Indians, on the very rocks under which they had taken refuge.

Darkness came on and with it the Indians left them, thinking, undoubtedly that they had made good their escape and were far away. When it appeared safe, they came
out from their hiding place, and guided by the boy, slowly made their way to Duncan's Retreat, from which they were taken to their home by friends.

The boy still lives, a courageous, devoted man, but never since, and probably never again, will a crisis arise demanding the inspiring exhibition of courage here
recounted.

The Fruits of Disobedience

By SOLOMON F. KIMBALL

(In this story Solomon F. Kimball gives us a vivid picture of a distressing accident and the pious conclusions of his honored father, Heber C. Kimball.-P. N.)

IT is difficult for some of the younger members of our Church to understand what the Saints have had to pass through since they first began to settle in these valleys. In
early days all had to work who were able. We had no railroads, then, to bring trainloads of coal right to our doors, but were compelled to burn wood. It took a strong
man two days to go to the canyon and get a load of wood. Then it took him two days more to chop it into firewood. This would last a small family probably three
weeks or a month. It was nothing unusual to see a boy twelve or thirteen years of age driving a team to the canyon, in company with his father or brother, who also had
teams to look after. Like conditions prevailed in the different avocations of life.

About the last of May, 1865, our father, Heber C. Kimball, purchased quite a valuable work horse from the Knowlton family, paying them three hundred and fifty
dollars, cash down. That evening he instructed David H. and myself to hitch up our teams the next morning and go to North Mill Creek canyon, east of Bountiful, after
wood. He entrusted the new horse to the care of David, who was but fifteen years of age, at the time, I being three years older. Every morning father had family
prayers, and he never allowed us boys to go to work until this was attended to. He would not only pray for us, but for the horses and wagons, and even the harness.
The next morning David and I hitched up our teams bright and early and drove them out of the yard very quietly, so as not to wake our father. We well knew that we
were disobeying orders, and that if he should happen to hear us driving out, he would call us back and have us put our horses back into the stable and remain until after
prayers. This was not our first offense, and we were quite successful that morning in getting away. Nothing unusual happened until after we had reached the head of the
canyon, which is about seventeen miles from Salt Lake City. We loaded our wagons with wood, which had already been gotten out for us, and started for home,
myself being in the lead. We had not gone far before the Knowlton horse began to jump about so frantically that my brother could not manage him. I stopped my team
and ran back to where he was, and finally got the horse quieted down. I then told David that he would better drive my team, and that I would take charge of his. We
then drove on until we came to a very steep and narrow dugway, which was quite sidling in places. This was the most dangerous piece of road in the canyon. Not long
before this, Father Kinney's son met with a terrible death in this same place. The wagon that he was driving tipped over into the creek, and fell on him. In those days we
had no brakes on our wagons, and when we came to a hill that was too steep for the horses to hold the loaded wagon back, we locked one of the hind wheels and
drove down in that way.

When David reached the top of this hill, he stopped his team as usual, locked the wheel, and then drove on down. I then drove my team to the brink of the hill, but
before I could get it stopped, the Knowlton horse began to pitch and lunge ahead so frantically, that it was impossible for me to stop him. I fully realized the awful
position that I was in. Like a flash of lightning, the death of Father Kinney's son came before my mind. David, by this time, was about fifty yards on ahead of me. I
yelled to him, at the top of my voice, telling him to whip up, and get out of my way as quickly as possible. By this time my team was running. I had dropped one of the
lines, and could do nothing but hold on to my load of wood as best I could. I was satisfied that if my team ran into his wagon, in such a narrow and sidling place, it
would not only knock his outfit off into the raging torrent below, but that we would all go down together. The dugway next to the creek was probably twenty-five or
thirty feet high, and almost perpendicular. The stream below was quite high and the bottom of it was strewn with huge boulders. The water rushing and beating against
them on its downward course, made it appear as white as snow. This also made such a roaring that we could hardly hear. David looked back and saw my team coming
at full speed. For the first time he sensed the danger that we were in, and immediately began to put the whip to his horses, letting them go as fast as he dared. By so
doing he took his life in his own hands in order to try and save me, as well as himself. My binding chain began to loosen, and my wood commenced to bound about.
Something had to be done immediately, as it was impossible for me to hold on much longer. At the foot of this dugway was a narrow and dangerous pole-bridge, that
crossed this treacherous stream. On crossing this bridge with loaded wagons, under ordinary circumstances, we had our teams walk across it as slowly as possible. In
a miraculous manner, David had managed to get his team across safely, and had reached a little flat on the other side, and was out of danger a few seconds before I
overtook him. But what was to become of me? I still held the right hand line in my hands. As my team was headed, my left wheels would miss the bridge, on the upper
side, at least three feet. There was just one chance left for me. If I could steer my horses a little to the right and strike the bridge squarely, I believed that I would be
 Copyright
able  to cross(c)
               it. 2005-2009,   Infobase
                   If I should happen     Media
                                      to miss     Corp.one-eighth of an inch, it meant certain destruction for myself and team. This was the danger spot ofPage
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                                                                                                                                                                the whole
canyon. I made a superhuman effort. I pulled on the line as hard as I could under the circumstances, and managed to get my team turned a little to the right and came
within two inches of running off the bridge, on the upper side, but went across all right. By this time I had completely lost my balance, and was just falling onto the heels
crossed this treacherous stream. On crossing this bridge with loaded wagons, under ordinary circumstances, we had our teams walk across it as slowly as possible. In
a miraculous manner, David had managed to get his team across safely, and had reached a little flat on the other side, and was out of danger a few seconds before I
overtook him. But what was to become of me? I still held the right hand line in my hands. As my team was headed, my left wheels would miss the bridge, on the upper
side, at least three feet. There was just one chance left for me. If I could steer my horses a little to the right and strike the bridge squarely, I believed that I would be
able to cross it. If I should happen to miss it, even one-eighth of an inch, it meant certain destruction for myself and team. This was the danger spot of the whole
canyon. I made a superhuman effort. I pulled on the line as hard as I could under the circumstances, and managed to get my team turned a little to the right and came
within two inches of running off the bridge, on the upper side, but went across all right. By this time I had completely lost my balance, and was just falling onto the heels
of this crazy horse, when my team crashed into my brother David's wagon with such tremendous force, that it drove a pole almost through the body of the Knowlton
horse, killing him almost instantly.

So far we had not seen a human being in the canyon, and the lonely and dismal feeling that took possession of us nearly drove us wild. We began to realize the danger
that we had just passed through, and our faces were as white as chalk, while our hearts were beating sledge-hammer blows. We were speechless, as well as
powerless, and it took us some time before we could collect our thoughts. The first words that were spoken were by David, who said that he would never run away
from prayers again, as long as he lived. I felt a little more that way than he did, but said nothing. I offered up a silent prayer, thanking God, my Heavenly Father, for
saving our lives in such a miraculous manner.

The next thing we did was to get the wagons and dead horse out of the road. We then tied faithful old "Nig" horse behind our wagon and drove homeward. We arrived
at the Warm Springs about 7 p.m., being two hours late. We there met our mothers, Sarah Ann and Vilate. My mother had had a terrible presentiment of what had
happened, just at the very time that we were passing through this terrible ordeal, and had been almost frantic up to this time. They never expected to see either of us
home alive. We finally got them pacified, and drove on home. It seemed that father, also, had been forewarned of our trouble. When we met him at the gate, his face
was flushed, and he was unable to speak a word, while big tears were running down his cheeks. The next morning we were called into the prayer room with the rest of
the family. Before prayers he made a few remarks as he usually did. Among the things he said were these words, that Satan had laid his plans to destroy us two boys,
and that the death of that horse saved our lives. Nothing but the power of God, he said, could have saved us, as that horse was possessed with an evil spirit. He
thought that if we had obeyed his counsel and remained at home until after prayers, Satan would not have had the power to endanger our lives. He hoped that it would
be a lesson that we would always remember. Then we all kneeled down, and before he prayed many minutes, we could begin to feel the blood tingling in our veins; the
Spirit of God rested down upon us in mighty power. Before he was through, there was not a person in the room who was not weeping. I had never heard such a prayer
before, and what I heard on that occasion will remain with me as long as I live.

A Stolen Child

(The author of this story is unknown, but is thought to be Orson F. Whitney. Old settlers in Cache Valley still remember the tragic disappearance of the Thurston child.-
P. N.)

THE incidents of this sad story occurred about twenty-five years ago, not far from the little village of Mendon, in Cache County, Utah; and the writer, accidentally in
that neighborhood, was a witness of the tragic drama then enacted, and will endeavor to narrate it from memory. About three miles south of Mendon was the home of a
Mr. Thurston, who owned a grist mill, operated by the waters of a large spring, not far away, and impounded in a millpond of no great superficial area, but of
considerable depth. His family consisted of a wife-daughter of our beloved brother, Erastus Snow, and four or five children, the youngest of whom was a beautiful little
girl, not quite three years old. She was a veritable little rosebud, the pride and pet of the family, and her name, eminently appropriate, was Rosa. Beautiful as a cherub,
her loveliness was daintily enhanced, by the care and good taste bestowed upon her attire, by her idolizing mother. Her disposition was as lovable as her person, and
was always as bright and sunny as a balmy day in June-full of good nature and of little sayings wise and cute. Poor child! Sad in extreme was her fate and long
shrouded in deep mystery.

One afternoon about two o'clock, as all the children were out at play, a sudden burst of wind and rain drove them into the house for refuge. But in a few moments, the
watchful eye of the mother missed the youngest of her flock, and "Where's Rosa?" she asked. "Why," said the children, "she was playing with us just now, and came in
with us." But no, she was not there. Hastily stepping to the door, Mrs. Thurston called her darling, but no answer greeted her ear. Alarmed a little, she went outside,
looking and calling, her steps growing quicker and her voice taking a ring of dire alarm in its tones. Her husband heard her voice, and came to see what was the matter.
Quickly the mill-wheel ceased to turn, and the father joined in the anxious search, with all the children, visiting each spot frequented by them in their play; but nowhere
could their pet be seen, nor could any answering cry be heard to their anxious calls. Alas! they were never to hear that mirthful bird-like voice again.

As the minutes flew swiftly by, wonder changed to anxiety and that into an indefinable dread. Where could she be? How could she so suddenly disappear and leave no
trace behind, vanishing, apparently, from the earth, in the short space of not more than five minutes, at the most! Swiftly they flew about, searching and calling in vain.
The muddy edge of the mill-pond disclosed no little footprints, and they remembered she had always avoided it through fear. Could she have fallen into the mill-race
from the foot-bridge that spanned it? No; a thorough search down the mill-race revealed not her body in its shallow course; they knew she could not have fallen into it.
Then they thought perhaps the sudden gust of wind had dazed her, and that she had fled in fright from the house, instead of towards it, and thus had wandered away.

While the rest of the family ran hither and thither among the sage brush, wildly calling the lost one, the father wild with anxiety for his pet, hurriedly flew to Mendon, for
help to find her, before the chill night should fall, and still more effectually hide the little one. The men of Mendon responded on the instant, and soon more than a score
of them with lanterns had joined in the search, every now and then calling little Rosa's name, then stopping to listen,-every sense at its utmost tension, then searching and
calling again,-listening in vain for the little, tearful voice.

And so passed the dreary, chilly night. And all this time-what of the mother? She could not leave the home to join in the search, she must remain to watch over those
left her, though sorely against her will. Could she have done so, she would have flown upon the wings of mother-love, over that dark and cheerless prairie, nor stop
until her strength should utterly give way. So all night long she stands at her door waiting, watching-listening for the distant, joyful shout that should ring through the
black night and tell her trembling heart that her little darling was found. And who may know or tell the agonizing thoughts which sped through that mother's brain that
long and fearful night?-of her little one alone, terrified in the dark, chilled and stiffened with cold; and-fearful thought!-of coyotes prowling about, or the big gray wolves,
from the towering mountains, only a mile or so away! What if even now her darling Rosa lay mangled, torn, or devoured by their cruel teeth-her cries of pain and terror,
all unheard by any one who could save! Oh, it was dreadful!

When morning came, and it became known that little Rosa had not been found, many others joined in the search. It was thought she must have wandered towards the
mountains. A more systematic form of search was adopted; the men placing themselves in a line facing the mountain and a few yards apart, so that in their forward
march not a foot of ground should be unscanned. Thus the line slowly moved forward, until the base of the mountain was reached, without the slightest sign of her
presence being discovered, and it was conceded, she could not have gone that way. With dejected steps they returned to the house to devise other plans.

It was now determined to examine the mill-pond thoroughly; a raft was built and men with long poles felt the entire bottom of the pond unsuccessfully. Then skilful
divers explored its dark but clear waters in vain, and at last, to make assurance more sure, the pond was drained, but its water found guiltless.

And so this day passed, and the following night, in a search careful and untiring, and all that willing hearts and tireless feet could do was done. And the next day it was
 Copyright
kept        (c)it2005-2009,
     up, until              Infobase
                 became a certainty thatMedia Corp.
                                         she was not to be found; then the long search was discontinued and men returned to their homes, wondering atPage         25 / 58
                                                                                                                                                            so complete  a
disappearance-one that seemed almost a miracle.
divers explored its dark but clear waters in vain, and at last, to make assurance more sure, the pond was drained, but its water found guiltless.

And so this day passed, and the following night, in a search careful and untiring, and all that willing hearts and tireless feet could do was done. And the next day it was
kept up, until it became a certainty that she was not to be found; then the long search was discontinued and men returned to their homes, wondering at so complete a
disappearance-one that seemed almost a miracle.

Who may know the agony of that fond mother. Day and night she stood silent at her door. Not a word passed her lips, not a tear dimmed her eye, she ate or drank
nothing-she seemed turned to stone, as thus she stood day and night at her door waiting-waiting-for news that never came. Never can the writer forget the look of
stony despair upon that mother's countenance, as thus she stood waiting-hoping-despairing, every faculty concentrated into those of sight and hearing.

Not less distressed was the father; by night and by day he rode, followed up every possible and impossible rumor, and lavishing his little wealth in vain efforts to obtain
tidings of his darling child.

What had become of little Rosa? How was it possible for her to be so utterly lost in the space of five minutes, without leaving some clue? It seemed inconceivable-it
was a mystery no one could fathom. She seemed to have suddenly vanished from the earth.

At length a man was found, who said, that on the day when Rosa disappeared, he was traveling upon the road, and saw two Indians riding upon one horse
approaching; that they turned out of the road a considerable distance before meeting him, and made a wide detour in passing, returning to the road behind him a quarter
of a mile away; and that as they passed by, he noticed that the two men sat some little distance apart, on the horse, and that a single blanket was wrapped around both.
He had thought nothing of this at the time, not knowing of the little girl's loss. But since he had heard of it, he thought those Indians might have had her between them,
the blanket being so disposed as to keep her from view.

Here was an idea, and Thurston did his best to follow it up, offering a large reward to any Indians, who would restore his child, or give him tidings of her-offering what
would beggar him and make an Indian rich. But this too failed. From time to time rumors would float through the air that a white child had been seen with a band of
Shoshones in Wyoming, or of Bannocks in Idaho, or with some wandering Utes; but each long and tedious hunt for the band spoken of only resulted in disappointment.
He never saw his little Rosebud again.

But the belief grew with the people that thus had she been stolen, and in revenge for the alleged killing of an Indian, a few months previous, by a white man. This belief
afterwards became a certainty. About four years after the disappearance of the child, an Indian revealed the sad truth as follows: He said a squaw was near the mill on
that day gathering berries in a clump of bushes. When the children ran to the house, to escape the storm, little Rosa lingered behind the others a moment; was seized by
the squaw, who darted into the bushes, with her hands over the child's mouth, and delivered her to the two Indians, afterwards seen upon the road. They had placed
her between them, hid her from view by the blanket, and had thus carried her away to their band, and left the Territory. But she became sick; the squaws stripped her
warm clothing off and put it upon their pappooses; the other children beat and abused her, and she cried incessantly for "Mamma! Mamma! Oh, Papa! Papa!" They
thought she would die, and so started to take her to her father and obtain the reward, of which they had heard; but on the way home, death, her best friend, relieved
her sufferings, and they left her body beside the trail.

He said the Indians had stolen her in revenge for the murder of the Indian, and that Pocatello, the chief, had vowed to steal nine more children from the whites to pay
the debt.

Ere this reached their ears, the Thurston family had left the place. Heart broken as they were, they could not endure the scene of so much sorrow, and of such an
agonizing uncertainty. Could they have known she was dead, peace would have come to their souls; but the thought that she might still be alive and suffering from Indian
barbarity, was always present with them. The family removed to southern California, and made a home not far from San Diego, and near the seashore, where the grand
melody of old Ocean rises unceasingly to heaven, as the waves, with gentle ripple or thundering roar, fall upon the beach. Here the writer, in company with Apostles
Snow and Thatcher, visited them, a few years ago; but even then, after the lapse of so many years, the father could not speak of his loss with resignation.

Indian Attack on Lee's Ranch

By L. L. DALTON

(This fascinating story was gleaned from "Indian Depredations in Utah," by Peter Gottfredson. All the facts of the story have been substantiated.-P. N.)

IN THE FALL of 1866, Mr. John Percival Lee, with most of his family, was on his dairy farm (called Hawthorne Dell, situated about eight miles southeast of Beaver
on a bright little stream called South Creek), busily pushing preparations to return to town for the winter.

He usually spent the winters in town, employed in teaching school, and the summers at Hawthorne Dell, farming and dairying. Already he had turned out some thirty
milch cows with their calves along with the dry stock, to forage on the good bunch grass until spring. The grain was standing in stacks ready for the thresher, and Mr.
Lee and his young hired man, Joseph Lillywhite, were gathering potatoes with the help of several children who assisted to pick up the tubers. The plan was to fill the
doublebedded wagon full, and early next morning take that load to town and there make ready for storing the whole crop. This was the 22nd of October, and Mr. Lee
intended to take his helper with him, and rather thought they could not return on the same day, having so much to do there.

It was sunset before the load was completed, and all the busy workers noticed that the wolves were very noisy, and seemed to answer each other from many
directions. They took no hint, however, even when a neighbor from town, Mr. Elliott Willden, who had been out on the range, and who tarried to take supper with the
Lees, remarked that Indians often used wolf howls to signal to each other and to drive cattle together.

After the guest went on his way, Mr. Lee said to his helper: "Joe, it does seem foolhardy to live on a lonely place like this and pay so little attention to our firearms. Say,
we clean them all up tonight and get our ammunition all ready. Then, if we do stay in town tomorrow night, Mrs. Lee will not be quite defenseless you know." Lightly
spoken words and long remembered!

The firearms consisted of one large double-barrelled shotgun (Mr. Lee's favorite weapon), one new, excellent repeating rifle, and one good six-shot revolver. The
stock of ammunition was found to be pitiably smaller and Mr. Lee resolved to buy some on the morrow while in town. The magazine of the rifle contained the whole of
its stock of cartridges. The shotgun and revolver were both loaded up with revolver balls, with plenty of powder behind them. Mrs. Lee assisted in the loading to be
sure of understanding all about it. With this preparation the family retired to rest in blissful unconsciousness of the danger that was even then hanging over them. All
night, however, the wolf howls continued and two dogs barked and fretted.

Before light next morning, the family was astir and as soon as the back (west) door was opened the dogs barked so furiously toward a low ridge only a few rods away
on the north that the two men took their guns when they stepped out to reconnoiter. There was still no daylight, but the sky line showed faintly the ragged crest of brush
crowned
 Copyrightbench.  "Mr. Lee," said
             (c) 2005-2009,       Lillywhite,
                              Infobase  Media "ICorp.
                                                see something move. Shall I fire?" "Hail first, Joe," answered Mr. Lee, "for if it should be Indians, and we fire first, it will
be said that we brought trouble on ourselves."
                                                                                                                                                           Page 26 / 58

Accordingly, the young man hailed; and for reply received a volley of bullets, one of which went through his right shoulder. He reeled and the gun fell from his helpless
Before light next morning, the family was astir and as soon as the back (west) door was opened the dogs barked so furiously toward a low ridge only a few rods away
on the north that the two men took their guns when they stepped out to reconnoiter. There was still no daylight, but the sky line showed faintly the ragged crest of brush
crowned bench. "Mr. Lee," said Lillywhite, "I see something move. Shall I fire?" "Hail first, Joe," answered Mr. Lee, "for if it should be Indians, and we fire first, it will
be said that we brought trouble on ourselves."

Accordingly, the young man hailed; and for reply received a volley of bullets, one of which went through his right shoulder. He reeled and the gun fell from his helpless
hand; but he staggered into the house before he fell. Mr. Lee, with other bullets singing past him, watched the young man till he gained cover; then fired one barrel of his
shotgun at the place where he saw the flashes, and sprang into the house, forgetting to recover the rifle.

The doors and windows had not yet all been opened. Such as were open were now hastily closed, just barely in time to prevent the entrance of the Indians as they
rushed yelling down the hill.

The front or east door had only a wooden button on a screw for a fastening, and the west one had a broken gimlet stuck nail fashion into a small hole; so that it was
necessary to reinforce these frail fastenings with furniture.

For the first few minutes the whoops and yells of the Indians, punctuated as they were with heavy blows on the doors and with shots through both doors and windows,
were something terrific. The windows, fortunately, had strong wooden shutters, secured with iron hooks on the inside. When these were all closed, the house would
have been very dim had the sun been shining; but now, just at the break of day, it was quite dark and a tallow candle had to be lighted to enable Mr. Lee to reload the
empty barrel of his shotgun.

After raising such a hideous storm around the house for what seemed an age, the Indians grew quiet and one advanced to parley. During this lull in the strife, it may be
well to introduce to the readers the remaining members of the household.

Besides Mr. and Mrs. Lee and Mr. Lillywhite, there was a young daughter not quite sixteen years old, who lived to become Mrs. Mary C. Black, now (A. D. 1914) a
skillful apiarist resident in Fruita, Calif. Another daughter, twelve years old, who afterward became the wife of Judge J. G. Sutherland, an eminent jurist in Salt Lake
City. Before her marriage, this lady had studied law, passed a successful examination and been admitted to practice before the bar. She was then Miss Emma Lee.

Next was a son, Chas. A. Lee, an enterprising lad of nearly ten years, who is now an apiarist and orchardist in Fresno Country, Calif.

Next was a little daughter between seven and eight years old, now Mrs. Ellen L. Sanders, living in Nacozari, Sonora, Mexico.

Last was Baby Rosamond, only fifteen months old. Besides these five children of their own, there was a little English girl named Jane Hall, whose father had left her
temporarily with the Lees while he went in search of a home and employment. She was about thirteen years old. These six children would have made a costly sacrifice
to be offered up on the altar of redhanded violence.

The Indian spokesman who hailed Mr. Lee by name, said, that he was Too-witch-ee Tick-a-boo, a very good friend, who was hungry. Would his friend John open the
door and give him bread, milk, matches, etc. Mr. Lee, after some talk, said to his wife, "We have always been such good friends with the Indians, can it be possible
that all this is a mistake?" "Not possible," she replied, "that all this shooting is any mistake." The Indian continued to plead and protest until Mr. Lee said again to his
wife, "I have so little ammunition that I cannot fight long; and when it is all gone, we should be at their mercy, and they would be still more angry than they are now.
What do you think?"

"I think just this: They are not hungry at all-have no occasion to be so. They have simply made up their minds to kill us. We will fight as long as there is one shot left,
and trust to God. Let me answer once. "No," she called to the Indian, "you are not Tick-a-boo! We will not open the door! If you come in here, we will shoot you!"

The Indian laughed, and said, "Oh! Squaw shoot! Now me scared! Yes, now me scared!"

Mr. Lee hastened to speak again lest the enemy suppose that the woman had spoken because he was disabled.

Now the defenders learned the real reason for the stay of proceedings and the parley; for little puffs and lines of smoke began to come in between the roof and the
walls of the unceiled rooms. The Indians had brought sagebrush and pushed bundles of it with poles up under the eaves, and fired them.

Providentially, there had been snow sometime lately, and although the most of it was gone from sight, the roof of boards and slabs was so damp it would not blaze. The
underside, with the burning brush against it, took fire but only smouldered, and poured into the rooms clouds of bitter smoke. It floated high for awhile, and then settled
down like doom upon the defenseless inmates. It grew so dense that strangulation threatened; and Baby Rose gasped and struggled so that she seemed about to die. At
one time some one discovered that under the best bed was better air, and Mary was appointed to take the child there and tend her. The other children stuck their
heads into cupboards and even the Dutch oven, and wherever they could find a little air. There was still a little water in the house, which was hoarded carefully. The
wounded man continuously moaned for water, the baby drank eagerly, the others must have a few sips, and there was very little to spare for the fire, but that was
cautiously applied so as not to waste one precious drop.

Emma had used some to make a warm drink for her father who dared not be off his guard for a single munute; and she had also given the children drinks of milk and
bits of bread; but the parents had no time for eating.

The smoke thickened till the wounded man groaned in distress; and Charless, Emma and Janey Hall took turns in fanning him while they breathed through damp
handkerchief, and coughed in a way that must have been music to the ears of the would be murderers. Charles could even lift the head of the fallen youth to give him
water, and did so until he was nearly as bloody as the patient. As the din increased, and more shots flew through the stifling smoke, Charles and Janey went together to
the mother to ask what they could do to help.

"You poor children," she answered, "there is nothing you can do with your hands; but you might pray with all your might for God in heaven to help us-He only can;" and
those two children knelt down amidst all that blood and smoke and uproar, and prayed with all the unstudied earnestness of trusting childhood; and who shall say they
were not heard?

About this time some Indian inserted the tines of a pitchfork into the closing of the east door, and burst off the frail wooden button, but the cupboard barricade did not
allow the door to open more than an inch or two. Here the darkness within gave Mr. Lee his first real advantage over his assailants. He saw, without pressing near
enough to be seen, an Indian raising his gun to fire through the crevice; and he turned loose with the old shotgun at point blank range.

A wild yell, followed by dreadful shrieks, groans and howls, was the result of this, the second shot from the gun, which fairly tore away the right shoulder of the Indian.
Almost immediately,
 Copyright            Mr. Lee
            (c) 2005-2009,     saw another
                             Infobase  MediaIndian
                                              Corp.at a few rods distance ramming a load into his gun. He sent the load from the other barrel after his besieger,
                                                                                                                                                         Page 27  and/ 58
handed the gun to his wife to be reloaded; while with his revolver in hand, he continued his watch through that dangerous but convenient opening.

The Indian who received that last shot, had seemed to think he was out of range; for when the charge struck him, he dropped his gun and sprang straight upward with a
enough to be seen, an Indian raising his gun to fire through the crevice; and he turned loose with the old shotgun at point blank range.

A wild yell, followed by dreadful shrieks, groans and howls, was the result of this, the second shot from the gun, which fairly tore away the right shoulder of the Indian.
Almost immediately, Mr. Lee saw another Indian at a few rods distance ramming a load into his gun. He sent the load from the other barrel after his besieger, and
handed the gun to his wife to be reloaded; while with his revolver in hand, he continued his watch through that dangerous but convenient opening.

The Indian who received that last shot, had seemed to think he was out of range; for when the charge struck him, he dropped his gun and sprang straight upward with a
suppressed, guttural cry that seemed to express as much surprise as pain. By this time the Indians decided that they had no use for that narrow opening in the door, for
the pitchfork was cautiously removed; and the besieged hastened to drive in a stout nail.

During this part of the action, Emma had found an ax in the kitchen, and stationed herself by the west door, saying grimly that she would do her best to chop off a leg
from the first Indian who came in there. Had the occasion and the moment been less tragic and desperate, this might have been amusing; for she was a delicate girl and
small for her age; but she meant it.

Her mother smiled drearily at such training for a dainty girl, but her keenest anxiety in this terrible situation was for her daughter Mary. She found and gave to Mary a
small dagger in a sheath attached to a narrow leather belt, and directed her to buckle it around her waist.

The uproar on the outside gradually subsided; and the smoke on the inside thinned a little, probably being drawn up through the two chimneys.

The besieged waited with straining ears to learn what new deviltry was to be practiced on them, while the slow minutes dragged along. The baby, pale and gasping,
grew so weak and faint, that the mother in desperation took her to a west window which she opened enough to give the child a few breaths of outside air. The father
ran in alarm to see what had happened; and on seeing the condition of the child, took up his guard there as long as they both dared. Then he said, "I will rush out and
get water to drink and to throw on the fire."

The wife protested earnestly, against this, so did the children. Mrs. Lee believed that the treacherous foe had only pretended to go away, hoping to entice him, the only
fighting man, to go on this very errand, so they might pick him off easily. "If he were killed," she urged, "the others very soon would be."

He yielded to their entreaties; and Mrs. Lee, who was never known to flinch in the face of duty, and Mary, who had already concluded that an Indian bullet would be
far better than a dagger in her own hand, took buckets, and when the barricade had been removed from the back door, while the husband and father stood at guard for
them, they ran to the stream, only a rod or two from the south end of the house, and secured water.

The opening of the door (which was hastily barricaded again) released a volume of smoke, the water relieved their aching throats and smarting eyes, and with it they
finally extinguished the fire. There had been no demonstration whatever from the enemy for nearly an hour; and hope that the Indians were really gone began to struggle
with the fear of an ambuscade when Charles came to his parents with a grave proposal that they allow him to run to town and ask for help.

They were horrified at the bare thought of sending out a young child to go eight miles on foot, more probably, to be shot down before their eyes by their lurking foes.
But the boy had the look of one inspired while he urged, "I know I can go and not be shot;" and said he would not follow the wagon road which wound among the
ridges, but would take a straight shoot across the country, which would shorten the way two miles or more.

The parents then looked into each other's eyes and agreed without words. "God is with the child," said the father, and laying his hands on the head of his brave little
son, he solemnly blessed him. The mother kissed him just as solemnly, with all the dust and blood upon him. Then they opened the west window looking toward town
and the boy sprang through and ran like a deer until lost to sight among the stunted cedars and sagebrush on the hillside.

His father remained by the open window watching for signs of an enemy until the flying figure disappeared. Then he closed the window and with his tired wife and
weary children, prepared to face another interval of inaction and suspense. But just here, Janey raised a diversion by requesting Mr. and Mrs. Lee to let her also run
away to Beaver. This they assured her they would never do. She was a girl-nearly thirteen years old-not even their own-oh! no! that was not to be thought of-not for
one moment!

But the more they explained these things to Janey, the more persistent she grew, and the more fiercely she accused them of allowing one of their own to escape and
save his life, while they kept her to be killed. After fifteen minutes to half an hour of screams and tears, and alternate entreaties and upbraidings from Janey, Mr. and
Mrs. Lee decided that only God in heaven knew whether it were less dangerous to go or to stay; and they let her go.

Mr. Lee stood at the window as before to keep his futile watch over the child until she went out of his sight around the bend in the road.

The sequel proved that at this very time the Indians were really gone to join their companions who were passing with droves of cattle; and happy would the Lees have
been could they have known it.

When Charles set out, he felt, as he said afterwards, as if he could fly. He fixed his eyes on a landmark and never went around a rock or a bush, but leaped over them.
He had no sense of fatigue until he reached the little suburb of Beaver, which had been named Pleasant Point, but nicknamed Jackson Country. Here he saw Mr.
Anderson, just about to mount a horse to ride over to Beaver, about a mile distant.

Seeing the boy all bloody and wild, he paused to make inquiry; and the boy panted out, "The Indians-fighting-Hawthorne Dell."

"Poor boy," said Mr. Anderson, "Sit down here and rest and I'll stir up Beaver in a hurry."

He mounted and galloped away, and the boy sat down on some timbers and felt like he never could move again. He had lost hat and shoes, scratched his flesh and torn
his clothing to rags; but he had accomplished his errand in a marvelously short time.

So did Mr. Anderson; for the boy was still sitting in the same place when a band of mounted men whom he had "scared up" passed on their way to Hawthorne Dell.
They shouted "Hello Bub," but never drew rein. Near Birch Creek, about half the distance to the ranch, they met Janey Hall, who, to their surprise, did not seem
frightened nor excited, but was walking leisurely along the road, and chewing gum that she had picked up by the way. They greeted her and passed on, and she finished
her long walk alone but safely.

When the horsemen reached the ranch, sometime before noon, they found no Indians, but scouted about and found plenty of signs. Patches of frothy blood on the top
of the ridge whence came the shot that brought down young Lillywhite before he had a chance to fire once; other blood on the ground east of the house, and indoors
too. The dropped rifle was found and utterly ruined, and with its magazine quite empty. Harness, saddles, tools and many other things were destroyed; all the horse and
cattle enclosures were left empty, and untold damage done; but of the nine persons besieged, only one had been hurt, and the grain stacks were safely standing. For
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these       (c)Mr.
       mercies  2005-2009,
                   Lee was aInfobase   Media Corp.
                              thankful man.                                                                                                         Page 28 / 58

A few of the men remained to assist the family while the others pushed on after the Indians.
When the horsemen reached the ranch, sometime before noon, they found no Indians, but scouted about and found plenty of signs. Patches of frothy blood on the top
of the ridge whence came the shot that brought down young Lillywhite before he had a chance to fire once; other blood on the ground east of the house, and indoors
too. The dropped rifle was found and utterly ruined, and with its magazine quite empty. Harness, saddles, tools and many other things were destroyed; all the horse and
cattle enclosures were left empty, and untold damage done; but of the nine persons besieged, only one had been hurt, and the grain stacks were safely standing. For
these mercies Mr. Lee was a thankful man.

A few of the men remained to assist the family while the others pushed on after the Indians.

It did not take these on the trail very long to understand the situation. The range was silent and empty, and the fat young cattle found shot along the trail, told them the
whole story. They knew that the relations between this family and their Indian neighbors had always been friendly, therefore, it was highly improbable that this attack
had any personal ill will behind it; but was made solely because the little ranch lay in the track the Indians wanted to use in a great cattle raid. Although they must have
known that the family was hurrying to get away for the winter, they could not postpone the raid because they also knew the white men were preparing for an extensive
roundup, and they, the Indians, wished to be beforehand.

These men followed the Indians and cattle sixty or more miles without overtaking them, swift as they had been to follow. Then they were forced to turn back because
their fast preparations were so inadequate to a long march or for a hard fight.

At the farm the great concern was to get the wounded man and the family away before night. The team was gone, the harness demolished, the wagon heaped up with
potatoes; and the only vehicle that had come from town was a very light buggy belonging to Bishop J. R. Murdock. This could not even convey the wounded man, who
was too weak from loss of blood to sit erect. Just here the memory of Mrs. Lee (84 years old) under whose sanction and promptings this chronicle is made, fails her;
and the pen woman, who was not an eyewitness, supplies from impressions received at the time this one statement, believed, but not guaranteed, to be true.

A good brother named Alonzo Colton, from Minersville, was on his way to a sawmill farther up in the mountains to get a load of lumber. He arrived at Hawthorne Dell
when it began to look as if there was nothing to do but to send to Beaver for conveyance and await its coming, a most dreaded alternative. On hearing of the dilemma,
Mr. Colton promptly unhitched his team, and leaving his "running gear" standing, hitched on to Mr. Lee's wagon, from which the potatoes were hastily "dumped." The
sick man in his bed and the wife and children were then loaded in, and Mr. Colton himself drove them down the mountain road to their home, where they arrived at
about five o'clock p. m.

Now, if this statement is not right, Mr. Colton or any surviving member of his family is at liberty to correct it; and she who makes this declaration stands ready to
apologize amply. One thing, however, that she knows to be a fact, is that when, some days later, threshing was done, this same Mr. Colton with his own wagon and
team brought down one or more loads of the crop, and never would accept one cent of pay. For this kindness to fellow-creatures in distress, he is gratefully
remembered to this day; also others who freely rendered assistance at a time of need.

This murderous and unprovoked attack took place on the 23rd of October, A. D., 1866. Mr. Lee, who is not now living, always considered it a divine intervention that
prompted him to put his fire-arms into good condition just on the eve of such dire need. He fired only three shots (having no ammunition to waste), but every one
reached its mark. The Indians at the time made themselves scarce, and knew absolutely nothing; but in after years they said Mr. Lee was a Big Chief-a Brave-and that
he had killed three bad Indians who had tried to kill him. These were the Piutes, whose home was in Beaver County, and who knew every member of Mr. Lee's family
well, and often visited them at the farm. It is even probable that the very matches used to fire the dwelling had been begged from the intended victims. One queer thing
not yet mentioned is that when the east door of the house was finally opened, it was found piled high with sagebrush that had not been fired; and after much wonder
why this dry door was left unburned, while the wet roof had so much effort spent on it in vain, the conclusion was finally reached that after the brush was heaped against
the door, the Indians found they had used all their matches. If so, it was certainly an error of judgment on their part, because the door would have burned readily.

Joseph Lillywhite recovered from his wound; but it is said that he never became the strong man that his robust youth promised, and did not live to reach middle age.

Such were the experiences of the early settlers of Utah.

Navajo Depredations in Southern Utah

By ANTHONY W. IVINS

(Following in succession are five stories by President A. W. Ivins; all in his clear and interesting style.-P.N.)

AMONG the many spots which are to be found in the mountains of Utah there is none which surpasses Pine Valley, in Washington County.

Situated in a basin, in the very tops of the Pine Valley mountains, the extreme southern end of the Wasatch range, surrounded by timber covered peaks, one who, on
an autumn day, looks down upon its fields of ripening grain, meadows of red top and timothy, with the stream, the head waters of the Santa Clara, winding through the
valley, and the village of comfortable homes in the center, never forgets nature's canvas which is spread out before him.

About three miles southwest from the town, on a high plateau, near the base of the mountain, where the ground is covered with great granite boulders, which have
rolled down from the mountain above, there is a place called the Mahoganies, because of the heavy growth of these trees with which the mesa is covered. Running off
to the north there is a depression known as Indian Hollow. The name is suggestive, and an "old settler" if asked why this spot of ground is so named would relate the
following incident:

On the afternoon of December 27, 1866, Cyrus Hancock, a young man of 27 years, and a resident of Pine Valley, saddled his little mare Nell and rode out to the
Mahoganies to look for a horse which was ranging in that neighborhood. He reached the flat, and was riding among the boulders, many of which are of immense size,
and heavy growth of trees, when he was suddenly confronted by three Indians. The latter were on foot, but had chosen positions which made his escape on his slow,
tender footed mare, impossible. He spoke to them, and they replied with signs of friendship, made him understand that they wanted tobacco. He showed them that he
had none. One of the Indians, under pretense of looking for tobacco, searched him, and discovering that he had no arms became insolent. One of them took hold of his
bridle, another stood in the trail which led in the direction in which he was going, while a third stood by the side of his horse with an arrow fixed to his bow. The man
who appeared to be the spokesman gave him to understand that it was the intention to kill him, take his horse, and cover his body with dry leaves which were piled in
the hollow.

Finally the chief spoke to the young man who stood on the side, and the latter, aiming his arrow at Hancock, drew his bow, but when the man made a gesture, and
shouted to him to desist, he lowered his weapon. An angry command from the chief and the boy again drew his bow, this time to the head of the arrow. As the
bowstring twanged, Hancock threw himself from the saddle, and the arrow passed over him. Dashing into the underbrush, the man ran toward Pine Valley, the Indians
in hot pursuit, and sending a shower of arrows after him, one of which passed through his arm, above the wrist, and another through his beard. A full mile the race
continued, when the Indians, as they approached the wagon road, upon which a team could be seen, gave up the chase.
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Exhausted and suffering from his wound, Hancock reached the road, the arrow still in his arm. Fearing that it was poisoned he tried to draw it out, but only succeeded
in breaking it off. At the road he met a Mr. Coachee with an ox team which was hurried on to Pine Valley with the wounded man, where through the efforts of a strong
shouted to him to desist, he lowered his weapon. An angry command from the chief and the boy again drew his bow, this time to the head of the arrow. As the
bowstring twanged, Hancock threw himself from the saddle, and the arrow passed over him. Dashing into the underbrush, the man ran toward Pine Valley, the Indians
in hot pursuit, and sending a shower of arrows after him, one of which passed through his arm, above the wrist, and another through his beard. A full mile the race
continued, when the Indians, as they approached the wagon road, upon which a team could be seen, gave up the chase.

Exhausted and suffering from his wound, Hancock reached the road, the arrow still in his arm. Fearing that it was poisoned he tried to draw it out, but only succeeded
in breaking it off. At the road he met a Mr. Coachee with an ox team which was hurried on to Pine Valley with the wounded man, where through the efforts of a strong
man with a pair of bullet moulds, the arrow was extracted, and under the primitive treatment which those early days afforded, the wound soon healed.

In 1866 there were no telegraph or telephone lines, no railroads, the quickest way to transmit a message was by an expressman, mounted on a good horse. Soon after
the return of Hancock to his home such a messenger started for St. George, and the following day there was a great activity among the local militia. Captain Copeland
hurriedly mobilized a small force to take up and follow the trail of the marauders, while Captain Freeman, with a detachment of men from Washington hurried on to
Virgin City, on the upper Rio Virgin, to join Captain James Andrus, who had collected a force at the latter place, the combined strength of the two detachments
numbering about eighty men.

This force hurried forward hoping to cut off the retreat of the Navajos toward their own country, and night found them camped on the Cedar Ridge, about eight miles
west from Pipe Springs, where J. M. Whitmore and Robert McIntire had previously been killed, with Ammon M. Tenney standing the last guard. About 4 o'clock
a.m., Tenney saw, away off across the plains, near Bull Rush, on the west side of the Kanab Gulch, a light which he thought was reflected from a fire. He awoke Sixtus
E. Johnson, the corporal of the guard, and after consultation they called captain Andrus. The latter unhesitating declared that the light was reflected from a fire and that
there were Indians, he could smell them.

Orders were immediately issued, and in a few minutes the men were mounted and moving noiselessly toward the light which shone in the darkness, several miles away.
A convenient wash, or gully, made it possible for the militia to approach to within one hundred and fifty yards of the unsuspecting Navajos, who were busily occupied
with their breakfast of broiled beef.

Dismounting his men, Captain Andrus, to whom the direct command had been entrusted, left a detail to hold the horses and with the remainder of his force attacked the
camp. At the first fire the Navajos scattered, but as the commands of their chief rang out they came together and faced their assailants, notwithstanding the great odds
arrayed against them. Slowly they retreated to the top of a neighboring ridge, where they made a stand, returning shot for shot. Captain Andrus now ordered his men to
remount and take the position which the Indians were holding, by assault. Charging straight up the bluff the captain rode, leading his men. As he rushed up the slope
toward the rocks above, Ammon Tenney, who was at a different angle saw an Indian on the crest of the ridge, one knee on the ground, his bow bent to the arrow
head, waiting for the captain to appear. Frantically Tenney shouted-"Look out, Captain, that Indian will kill you-." Instantly Captain Andrus reined his horse, a high
spirited animal, which threw up its head and received the arrow intended for the rider in its forehead. The arrow head was so deeply imbedded in the skull of the horse
that it could not be removed until the settlements were reached, when it was extracted with a pair of blacksmith's shoeing pincers.

As Charley Hilton, from Virgin City, dashed between Tenney and the Indians, the latter shouted-"Charley, dismount and take shelter under your mare-" Hilton instantly
threw himself from his horse, and as he did so an arrow struck, quivering in the saddle.

The battle was soon over. The Indians were either killed or scattered, and when Captain Andrus called his men together only three were missing, notwithstanding the
stubborn resistance of the enemy, and many hairbreadth escapes.

What shall we say of the Indians? At the time that treaties were made with them at a later date, it was learned that thirteen Navajos participated in the battle, against
sixty well armed militia. Thirteen against sixty, and they fought until but one man remained to carry the sad news of the battle back to his home and people.

Indian Revenge and a Brother's Devotion

By ANTHONY W. IVINS

ONE of the great problems presented to the early settlers of Utah's Dixie was how to obtain merchandise to provide for their necessities, after the meager supply which
they were able to take with them from the north had been exhausted. They were far from any base where goods could be obtained, with roads which were well-nigh
impassable intervening, and very little money with which to buy. It was about three hundred fifty miles to Salt Lake City, and when that point was reached, the price of
merchandise, all of which was brought from either the Missouri river or from California, by freight teams, was well-nigh prohibitive.

During the summer, the trip to St. Joseph, or to Kansas City, Mo., could be made; but when winter came, this route was no longer practicable, so that in the fall and
winter months it was not unusual for the mule trains, which had made the journey to the Missouri during the summer, to occupy the time with a trip to California.

The road led along the chain of early settlements from Salt Lake City to Nephi, at that time called Salt Creek. From the latter point to Fillmore, Beaver and Cedar,
where it forked, going either by way of Pinto, Mountain Meadows, Magotsa and Camp Spring to Beaver Dams, or to Kanarra, Black Ridge, Grape Vine Sand, and
St. George, from which latter point it either led up the Santa Clara to Camp Spring, or across Miller's Cut-off to the Beaver Dams.

The overland freight train usually consisted of a sufficient number of teams to assure safety from attack by Indians, each team consisting of from eight to twelve mules
hitched to one heavy wagon. The mules were driven with a single line, attached to the bit of the near leader, the driver riding on the near wheeler. Months were
consumed by these trains in making the trip from Utah to California and return, a distance now covered by the fast freight in a few days.

Merchandise obtained in California was brought via Cape Horn from New York, or other eastern ports, and by the time it reached Utah was sold at extravagant
prices. For example, flour sold at St. George for $25 per cwt., sugar $1 per pound, tea $6 per pound, coal oil $8 per gallon, common domestic $1 per yard, calico 75
cents per yard, nails $1.50 per pound, glass $1 per 10x12 light, lumber $110 per thousand feet.

In November, 1868, the Southern Utah Co-operative Mercantile Association was formed, under the direction of Erastus Snow, the purpose of the organization being
to purchase merchandise in California, and bring it to southern Utah, to supply the necessities of the people. A train was fitted out and started for San Bernardino about
February 1, 1869.

Franklin B. Woolley was appointed purchasing agent for this company, and after the train had left St. George, he went to Salt Lake, and from there to San Francisco,
where he made his purchases and ordered the merchandise shipped to Wilmington, a sea port near San Diego, where it was to be loaded on the wagons and freighted
to St. George.

Among those who were to freight the goods to their destination was Edwin D. Woolley, a younger brother of Frank, who at the time was but twenty-three years of
age.
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The train reached Wilmington about March 1, where it was met by the agent. The merchandise was loaded, and the return trip commenced. In addition to the teams
which had come from Utah, Franklin B. Woolley had purchased another at San Bernardino, and employed a man to drive it through to St. George. The journey was
to St. George.

Among those who were to freight the goods to their destination was Edwin D. Woolley, a younger brother of Frank, who at the time was but twenty-three years of
age.

The train reached Wilmington about March 1, where it was met by the agent. The merchandise was loaded, and the return trip commenced. In addition to the teams
which had come from Utah, Franklin B. Woolley had purchased another at San Bernardino, and employed a man to drive it through to St. George. The journey was
made without incident to San Bernardino, through the Cajon Pass, and over the divide to the Mojave River, where the train camped for the night.

When you go to California over the Salt Lake Route, if you will look out to the east, after passing the El Oro station and before reaching the summit, near Victorville,
you will see the Mojave river bottom, and know that you are passing the spot where the train camped on that memorable night, probably March 16, and where the
combination of circumstances which culminated in the death of one of the foremost citizens of southern Utah had their beginning.

The following morning, when the teams were brought in, three of the horses, which had been purchased at San Bernardino, were missing. The greater part of the day
was spent in hunting for them, but they could not be found, and the conclusion was reached that they had gone back on the road toward their old home. The freighters
were anxious to move on, and finally did so, while Frank Woolley, mounted on one of his brother's mules, started back toward San Bernardino, the extra wagon being
trailed down the Mojave to a point where the road to Camp Cady, in Arizona, branched off to the east. There was a station at the forks of these roads kept by a half-
breed and his wife. At this station E. D. Woolley was left with his wagon load of merchandise, and the train went on.

Here he remained several days, and as his brother did not return, he became exceedingly anxious for his welfare. It had rained heavily, the river was swollen, and the
mail carrier who passed reported that he had seen a hat floating down the stream, which greatly added to the anxiety, as it was feared that in attempting to cross the
river, Frank had been drowned. At this time a train passed, going from Camp Cady to San Bernardino, and the young man, unable to bear the suspense longer, and
certain that his brother had met with disaster, went back with them, leaving his wagon and merchandise with the station keeper. When he reached the place where the
horses had been lost, he found them grazing on the river bottom, caught one of them, borrowed a saddle, and leaving the freighters, hurried on to the upper station on
the Mojave River, which at that time was kept by Charles Burton, a brother of the late Robert T. Burton, of Salt Lake City. As he neared the station, he observed that
there was a large freight train there, headed north, the teamsters, with Mr. Burton and his wife standing in groups watching his approach. He rode up to the man who
appeared to be the owner of the train and, addressing him, said: "I am looking for my brother who, several days ago, came back on the road in search of some horses
which we had lost, and feel certain that you can give me information regarding him." Mrs. Burton burst into tears and went into the house, and the man, whose name
was Aiken, told him the following story:

His brother, after leaving the camp on the Mojave, where the horses were lost, had ridden back to Martin's Station, in the Cajon Pass, where he spent the night, and
the following day went on to San Bernardino and interviewed the party from whom the horses had been purchased, but could get no trace of them. The man, however,
told him that the previous summer they had been pastured at a hay ranch, at the head of the Mojave river, and he thought they had probably gone there. With this
information, Frank returned to Martin's Station, where he passed the second night. Mr. Martin directed him to the hay ranch, which was about twenty miles off the main
road, and the following morning he started for that point.

Several days later the mail carrier from the north passed the station and told Mr. Martin there was a man up at the forks on the road, with a load of merchandise, and
no team, waiting for the return of his brother who had gone to look for their horses, which had strayed away. Just at this time Mr. Aiken arrived at Martin's Station with
his train, consisting of ten ten-mule teams. Mr. Martin recounted to him the facts set forth above, and said that he felt certain the man who was looking for the lost
horses had met with an accident, or foul play, at the hay ranch, and asked Mr. Aiken to take his teamsters and go with him to investigate. To this the owner of the train
at first demurred; he had one hundred mules and ten drivers, expenses were heavy, his supply of grain limited, and he could not replenish it until he reached his
destination at Camp Cady. The station keeper replied that he would feed the teams both hay and grain while the investigation was being made, provided his request
were granted, and with this understanding the party hurried to the hay ranch, where their worst fears were realized, for there they found the remains of Franklin B.
Woolley.

It was evident that he reached his objective point the day he left Martin's Station, and, as it was raining, had taken a door from the cabin, and, standing it against the
stack for a shelter, had pulled out some hay, which served as a bed, and slept there. The following morning fifteen or twenty Indians came to the ranch, and,
surrounding him, engaged in a war dance, but either permitted him to go out from the circle, or he had broken through it, as his tracks passed over the moccasin tracks,
and he was killed with arrows some distance away. After stripping the clothing from the body, the Indains cut the throat of his mule which was tied to the fence, tore the
leather from the saddle, and, killing nine head of horses which were at the ranch, fled to the mountains.

The year before a party of men who were employed to put up hay at the ranch killed three Indians and, decapitating them, placed their heads on the fence posts.
Because of this barbarous act the tribe had declared that white men should never again occupy the place, and had made Franklin B. Woolley the innocent victim of
their revenge. The remains had been taken to Martin's Station and interred.

Without hesitation, the young man resolved to recover the remains of his brother, take them to San Bernardino and, after having them properly prepared, carry them
across the desert to the waiting wife, children, relatives and friends; but how was this to be accomplished? He was entirely without funds, and among strangers. Calling
Mr. Aiken aside, he explained the unfortunate situation, the necessity for immediate action, and asked for assistance. The latter replied that he, too, was without money,
that there was no place to use it on the road, but there were at that time three teams at Martin's Station which were going through on the Utah road, and that a Mr.
Durkee, who was traveling with them, had $1,500 with him, although he had published that the money had been sent via San Francisco by express, as he feared
robbery. "But," he added, "I know he has it with him."

With this information, the boy pressed on to Martin's Station, where he found sympathetic friends, prominent among them an old Italian, who was the owner of the
horses which had been killed at the hay ranch. Asking the bystanders to disinter the remains of his brother, the young man looked at the different groups of men who
had collected as he approached, and observed two who were sitting apart from the others, on a wagon tongue, approached them and said, "I understand there is a man
in this party who has $1,500 with him." He watched the faces of the men, and one of them turned ashy white. In a lower tone of voice he said, "Your name is Durkee;
you know my circumstances, I must have some money; will you lend it to me?"

"I did have some money," the other replied, "but sent it by express, via San Francisco."

"Perhaps you kept back a little for expenses," was the rejoinder.

They walked into the house, where Mr. Durkee said, "My sympathies are with you," and the money was handed to the boy, who gave his I. O. U. for it.

In the meantime, the remains had been disinterred, the Italian had hitched his team to a light wagon, and they hurried on to San Bernardino, where a hermetically sealed
casket was provided, and the return trip to Martin's Station made. When the station was reached it was found that the people who were traveling north had gone. Mr.
Martin pleaded with them to wait, offering to feed their teams, if they would do so, but there were women in the party who insisted that they would not cross the desert
inCopyright
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                                       Media   Corp.and they had hurried on. Again the Christian spirit of the old Italian asserted itself, he would go on,Page
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necessary. A fresh team was provided, the party ahead overtaken and passed, and by the time they reached the forks of the road, the boy was ready to go on with
them.
In the meantime, the remains had been disinterred, the Italian had hitched his team to a light wagon, and they hurried on to San Bernardino, where a hermetically sealed
casket was provided, and the return trip to Martin's Station made. When the station was reached it was found that the people who were traveling north had gone. Mr.
Martin pleaded with them to wait, offering to feed their teams, if they would do so, but there were women in the party who insisted that they would not cross the desert
in company with a wagon which carried a corpse, and they had hurried on. Again the Christian spirit of the old Italian asserted itself, he would go on, he said, as far as
necessary. A fresh team was provided, the party ahead overtaken and passed, and by the time they reached the forks of the road, the boy was ready to go on with
them.

Only those who have traveled from Utah to San Bernardino over the southern route to California can appreciate the difficulties of the journey. From the Mojave river to
the Muddy valley, a distance of 265 miles, the road led over a treeless desert of rocks and burning sand, with only the stunted desert vegetation, and but few places
where water could be obtained, and that frequently brackish and unpalatable. There were but six of these watering places, Bitter Springs, Kingston Springs, Stump
Spring, Mountain Spring, Cottonwood and Las Vegas. The longest stretch without water was fifty miles.

This was the condition which confronted E. D. Woolley when he reached the forks of the road, where he had left his wagon. He was alone, without money, the total
amount loaned him by Mr. Durkee having been spent in preparing the remains of his brother for shipment, with a heavy load and a balky team, the desert between him
and his destination. But he did not hesitate. He put his trust in a Power higher than that of man, and was not left without succor. An old prospector, a "Forty-niner,"
came up the road, on his way to White Pine, Nevada, where the latest mining rush was on. He was riding a small mule and leading another which was packed. A
harness was improvised, the mules hitched on the lead of the horses, the pack put in the wagon, and thus the long journey over the desert to the Muddy Valley was
made. Here the prospector, whose company and assistance had been of such great value, left his companion and went to seek his fortune in the hills of Nevada, while
the young man continued his lonely journey.

In the meantime, the freight train had reached St. George. The teamsters knew nothing of the whereabouts of the Woolley brothers. They only knew that Frank had
gone back from the Mojave to look for his lost horses, and that his brother had been left at the last camping place on the river, alone, with his wagon-load of
merchandise and no team, to await his return. They had gone on, supposing that the horses would soon be found and the brothers overtake them.

Telegrams were sent to Salt Lake and from there to San Francisco, asking for information regarding the missing men, but none was obtainable.

As time passed, the feeling of apprehension increased to such an extent that it was decided to send out a relief expedition, with instructions to follow back on the road,
as far as California, if necessary, but at all hazards to find the missing men. The expedition started, and fifteen miles out from St. George met E.D. Woolley.

True to his pledge, he had brought the remains of his brother home, where they were interred with impressive services, by his sorrowing family and friends. The load of
precious freight he had also brought safely through.

No man had ever before crossed the desert under similar conditions; none has since done so; no other one ever will. The devotion, faith and courage of the younger
brother, furnish an example of duty performed under adverse conditions which has few parallels.

The Old Time Round-Up

By ANTHONYW.IVINS

ONLY by contrast can the great changes which have occurred in human affairs during the lives of men now living be appreciated.

I well remember that my father mowed with a scythe the grass which grew on his meadow; cut the grain which grew in his field, with a cradle, and threshed it with a
flail. I have worn clothing made by my mother from cotton and wool which she carded, spun and wove, and have studied by the light of a tallow dip, or a pine knot,
because there was nothing better to be obtained.

A man now sits on a machine and cuts ten acres of grass with less fatigue than he formerly mowed one; at one operation he cuts, threshes, and sacks his grain. The
cards, spinning-wheel, and loom have disappeared, and when one needs light, he presses a button, and the electric current does the rest.

In nothing is this contrast more sharply drawn than between the old-time round-up and the new. The word is derived from the Spanish verb rodear, to collect together,
rodeo signifying the time and place where flocks and herds are to be gathered, in order that they may be inspected, classified, and counted.

Notice is given that a new round-up is to be held at Logan, or Provo, that trains arrive and depart every two hours, that hotel accommodation is ample, charges
reasonable, and the admission fee to the lectures only one dollar. We arrive with a rattling of car wheels, blowing of locomotive whistles, and the ringing of bells. The
reception committee bids us welcome, while the band plays, "It's a long long way to Tipperary." We go to our hotel, brush the dust from our clothing, put on a clean
collar; and, taking from our grip the equipment which we have brought, a note book and several newly sharpened lead pencils, take our place in the lecture room,
where a spectacled professor tells us how to make our land produce greater crops of potatoes, corn and wheat; which are the best breeds of cattle, horses and swine;
how to cure roup in chickens, and prevent scabbies in sheep. In the evening, we attend a grand ball. It is storming outside, but we do not mind it, for within the
ballroom it is dry and warm.

The place designated for the old-time round-up was at some spring, on the plains, or on the bank of a mountain stream. There was no rattling of car wheels nor
screeching of whistles, no reception committee, no brass band. The gathering of the clans was heralded by the neighing of horses, the champing of bits, the jingle of
spurs, and the shouting of orders, as the round-up boss assigned to each contingent its proper camping place. The boots and clothing were strong and serviceable. A
linen collar, or spectacles, would have created a sensation greater than a sombrero, chaps, and jingling spurs would at Logan, and the wearer would have taken the
chance of rough but good natured handling by his companions.

The evening was spent in adjusting equipment. A good horse, a strong saddle; instead of a note book, a lariat; for sharpened pencils, sharpened spurs. These were the
indispensables. If it rained, we got wet; and after the storm was over, we dried ourselves by the fire. Each man or party of men carried his own commissary and
cooked his own food-not always according to the latest methods taught in domestic science. After the horses had been hobbled and turned out to graze, the camp was
soon asleep, with the possible exception of a cowboy who drummed a jews-harp, played a harmonica or hummed Annie Rooney, to the accompaniment of the
mocking-bird which sang from the top of a nearby tree, or to the distant howl of a coyote. Not many audible prayers were said. The old-time cowboy was not a
Pharisee who prayed on the corners to be heard of men, but many silent petitions went up to the Throne of Grace in thanksgiving for favors received and blessings
desired. The cowboy told the Lord he'd never lived where churches grow. He loved creation better as it stood on the day He finished it, so long ago, and looked upon
His work and called it good. He knew that others found the Lord in light that's sifted down through tinted window panes, and that he, too, had often found Him near in
the dim, quiet starlight on the plains.

He thanked the Lord that he'd been placed so well, that he had made his freedom so complete, that he was not a slave of whistle, clock or bell, or weakeyed prisoner
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not ask a place that's soft or high; to make him square and generous with all; he knew that he was careless sometimes, when in town, but never let them call him mean
or small. He asked the Lord to make him big and open, like the plains on which he rode, to make him honest, like the horse he loved so well; clean like the wind which
the dim, quiet starlight on the plains.

He thanked the Lord that he'd been placed so well, that he had made his freedom so complete, that he was not a slave of whistle, clock or bell, or weakeyed prisoner
in a walled up street. He prayed that he might live his life as he'd begun, that work be given open to the sky, that he might be a pardner of the wind and sun, and he'd
not ask a place that's soft or high; to make him square and generous with all; he knew that he was careless sometimes, when in town, but never let them call him mean
or small. He asked the Lord to make him big and open, like the plains on which he rode, to make him honest, like the horse he loved so well; clean like the wind which
blows behind the rain, free as the hawk that circles down the breeze. He prayed to be forgiven when sometimes he forgot; the Lord knew the reasons which were hid;
he knew about the things that gall and fret, he knew him better than his mother did. "Just keep an eye on all that's done and said," he prayed, "just right me always when
I turn aside, and guide me on the long, dim trail ahead, which stretches upward toward the Great Divide."

Such was the old-time cowboy. Not all alike, there were good and bad among them, as there are among merchants and bankers, doctors and lawyers, preachers and
politicians.

We were camped at Green Spring, on a high, volcanic plateau covered with thick forests of cedar and scattering pine trees. Our plans for the following day included a
drive from Pen's Pockets and Kelly's Spring, which would take us to the rim of the Grand Canyon of the Colorado. We knew that it would be a day of action, for the
cattle were wild and the country rough. The boys were my own employees, as trustworthy, brave and competent as ever rode the range. Al, Eph, Andrew, Jimmie,
Johnnie, George, Dave, Jode, Charley and Henry, each one a worker and an expert in his line.

The morning star was still shining, the first streaks of day showed in the east, when Charley called, "Chuck." Soon after, Jode and Johnnie came in with the horses, and
by the time it was fairly light we were mounted on the trail. The country was covered with grass, and appeared comparatively smooth, but we knew that underneath the
grass were treacherous reefs of volcanic rocks, which made fast riding dangerous, and in some places impossible.

Below Pen's Pockets we came out on one of those open parks, so common in the mountains, covered with grass and a few scattering trees, and bordered by a heavy
growth of cedars. As we entered it, a herd of wild cattle broke from the timber and went thundering down the slope. We knew them well, the old white cow and her
red companion, neither of which had ever been marked nor branded, and each with several generations of her own offspring, as wild as the antelope of the plains. With
heads down and tails flying they dashed down the flat, while we, separating into two parties, started in pursuit.

A dozen quirts were flying, a dozen horses, each as eager as his rider to be the first to cut those cattle off from the timber, swept down the park. I was riding on the
east side, and by me rode Jode, on Sorrel Johnnie, one of my best horses. As he gradually drew away from me, Jode smiled; he would be the first to head the herd,
but just then I saw one of those hidden piles of rocks in the grass, and reined my horse to the left. Jode saw it, Johnnie saw it, but too late. With a mighty bound he tried
to clear it, but failed; his horse stumbled and fell with such force that his neck was broken as his head struck the rocks. Jode, with the dexterity characteristic of the real
cowboy, freed himself from the saddle and was but slightly hurt. I called to him to return to camp and get another horse, and rode on.

As we neared the herd, ropes were untied from the forks of saddles, and loops prepared. Dave, who was mounted on Mark, dashed before the onrushing herd, and
the red cow, with a vicious lunge, drove her horn into the horse's shoulder. As Henry, on Chug, rode in from the opposite side, his horse fell in a pile of rocks, rolling
him a number of yards, fortunately in the direction of a small tree, for the white cow, with horns set, was after him, and he only avoided her by scrambling behind the
cedar.

By this time we were all there. Ropes hissed through the air and settled with unerring accuracy over the heads and feet of the leaders of the herd. In less time than it has
taken to tell the story, the worst of the cattle were hog-tied on the ground, and the remainder running in a circle on the flat.

Henry, looking from behind the Cedar tree, said: "Boss, if you don't knock that white cow's horns off before you let her up, I want my time; I'm going home."

One horse killed, two injured, two men somewhat damaged, but still on the job, a number of wild cattle tied down, and the remainder of the herd under control, the
boys declared it to have been twenty minutes of life worth living.

That was the real, old-time round-up.

It is gone forever. The evolution of the age has brought other conditions; we have learned better ways of accomplishing the things we have to do. The Shorthorn and
Hereford have taken the place of the Longhorn; the Saddler, of the Cow Pony. The homesteader and dry-farmer have driven the big cattle man from the ranges, and
the college graduate has taken the place of the picturesque, old-time cow-boy, but we must admit that the cattleman and cow-boy, with the old-time round-up, had
their place with honor!

A Mystery of the Grand Canyon Solved

By ANTHONY W.IVINS

PRIOR to the year 1869 the Grand Canyon of the Colorado was a place of mystery. To the Indians who occupied the country on the North and South rims, it was
well known, but no effort was made by them to penetrate its depths; to them it was the abode of evil spirits, awaiting opportunity to seize the unfortunate who might
venture within the shadows of its massive walls, and drawing them in to the whirlpools of the great river, bear them away to the home of departed spirits, from which
none returned.

The Colorado River was never approached by the Indians, except at certain places where the country was open, and the water could be reached without entering the
recesses of the Mysterious Canyon. So far as the writer is aware the first Indians to cross the river were a party of Oribas, who came to the settlement in Southern
Utah with Jacob Hamblin, on the return from one of his visits to the Hopis. Two men, members of Jacob's party, were left at the Oriba village, as hostages for the safe
return of the Indians.

Jacob relates the following incident, which occured at Lee's Ferry, while he was returning to Utah, after having visited the Hopis. Tuba, the chief of the Oribas, and his
wife, after much persuasion, consented to accompany Jacob to the settlements. Upon arrival at the Colorado, Tuba said to Jacob: "I have worshipped the Great Spirit,
the Father of us all, in the way that you believe to be right, now I would like you to worship with me, as the Hopis think is right, before we cross this great river."

When Jacob assented, Tuba took his medicine bag from under his shirt, and taking from it a small portion of the sacred meal which it contained, asked Jacob to do
likewise. Jacob extended his left hand, but the Indian said, "No, you must take it with the right hand," which he did.

Tuba sprinkled a small portion of the meal on the ground, in the air, and on the surface of the river, after which he knelt, with his face to the East, and prayed to the
Great Spirit, the Father of us all, to preserve the party while they crossed to the opposite shore. He told the Great Spirit that he and his wife had many relatives and
friends at home,
 Copyright        and that if they
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them might lose their lives, while crossing. He prayed that the animals might be preserved, because they were needed for the long journey, that the food might not be
lost, because there was no more to be had, and the clothing, which was needed to keep them warm. When the party was safely over, Tuba gave thanks, that his prayer
had been answered.
Tuba sprinkled a small portion of the meal on the ground, in the air, and on the surface of the river, after which he knelt, with his face to the East, and prayed to the
Great Spirit, the Father of us all, to preserve the party while they crossed to the opposite shore. He told the Great Spirit that he and his wife had many relatives and
friends at home, and that if they were drowned, and did not return, there would be much weeping and sorrow. He prayed for his friends the "Mormons," that none of
them might lose their lives, while crossing. He prayed that the animals might be preserved, because they were needed for the long journey, that the food might not be
lost, because there was no more to be had, and the clothing, which was needed to keep them warm. When the party was safely over, Tuba gave thanks, that his prayer
had been answered.

The tragedies of the Grand Canyon will never be told. Once caught in the swirling rapids, the victim never returns to tell his story. That the river has claimed many
victims we know; how many, no one can tell. In 1869, Theodore Hook was carried away, and lost. In June, 1876, the writer was at Lee's Ferry when the river was in
flood, only a few days after Lorenzo W. Roundy had been caught in the whirlpools and drowned. His body was never recovered. Frank M. Brown who was surveying
the canyon with the view of constructing a railroad through it, lost his life at the Soap Creek Rapids just below Lee's Ferry, in July, 1889, and five days later, Peter
Hansborough a member of the Brown party, was drowned a little farther down the river. More recently the skeleton of a man was found in the Grand Canyon, below
the Bright Angel Trail, lodged on a ledge, far above the water. Remnants of a newspaper, found in his clothing, had been published in the spring of 1900.

Major John Wesley Powell was the first person, so far as we are aware, to pass through the Grand Canyon and reveal its mysteries and dangers to the world. It was a
hazardous enterprize, and only men of supreme courage would have undertaken its accomplishment. Whether it was possible to pass through the canyon under any
circumstances was uncertain, for up to that time no one had done so. The personnel of the party, which started from Green River, in Wyoming, was as follows: Major
John Wesley Powell, commander, John C. Sumner, William H. Dunn, Walter H. Powell, G. Y. Bradley, O. G. Howland, Seneca Howland, Frank Goodman, William
R. Hawkins and Andrew Hall.

With boats especially planned and constructed, this party of intrepid men plunged into the unknown recesses of the greatest chasm that mars the face of mother earth.
The dangers and difficulties encountered and overcome, as the party felt their way slowly down the canyon were well nigh insurmountable, but they passed all of them
in safety until they reached a point almost due south from St. George, Utah, where the Shevwits Plateau pushes out, forcing the Colorado off to the south, in what is
locally known as the Horse Shoe Bend. At this point a rapid was encountered which appeared to some members of the party to be impassible. O. G. Howland, the
older of the two brothers, was pronounced in his determination to go no farther. He regarded any further progress impossible, and urged that the expedition be
abandoned, and an attempt made to reach the settlements to the north, by scaling the canyon walls and traveling overland. A council was held, at which Major Powell
urged that the expendition proceed; they were so near the end of the hazardous undertaking, he was determined to finish the task which the Government had assigned
to him. There was division in the party, some of the men desiring to abandon the undertaking; others, while doubtful of the result, were willing to follow the Major
wherever he would lead.

All night Major Powell paced up and down the sandy bank of the river where camp had been established, and when morning came announced his determination to
proceed.

The Howland brothers and Dunn declined to go farther. Supplies were very low, and the Howlands refused to accept any food. They took two rifles, and a shot gun,
believing that with these they could kill game sufficient to provide food until they reached the settlements.

As the boats pushed off and drifted slowly down toward the dangerous rapid, the Howland brothers and Dunn stood on a ledge of rock far above the water, and
waved adieu to their comrades. A few days later the Major reached the mouth of the Rio Virgin, his task finished. The Howland brothers and Dunn were never seen
again by people of their own race. Their experiences can only be surmised from the following somewhat obscure facts.

Soon after the events recounted, a party of Shevwit Indians came to St. George, having in their possession a number of articles, among them a watch, which had
evidently been the property of white men, which they offered to trade for clothing, food, or powder and balls. Questioned in regard to ownership they stated that the
articles had been found at an abandoned camp. It later became known that three of Major Powell's men had left him, in the Grand Canyon, and that they had been
killed by Shevwits, as they journeyed toward the settlements.

The following year Major Powell, with Jacob Hamblin as guide and interpreter, visited the Indians at Mount Trumbull, and endeavored to get from them the story of the
tragedy. The Indians admitted that the year before, their people, who lived on the Shevwit Mountain, had killed three white men, the reason assigned being that Indians
on the south side of the river had told them they were bad men who were looking for mines, and that they would bring other men in who would take their country.

The Major explained that he had come to them as a friend, and not an enemy, that he desired to explore their country and become acquainted with them, that he might
report to the Government at Washington their condition and the character of the land in which they lived. After the Major had made his statement the man who acted as
spokesman said:

"Your talk is good, and we believe what you say. We believe in Jacob, and look upon you as a father. When you are hungry you can have our game. You may gather
our sweet fruits. We will give you food when you come to our land. We will show you the springs, and you may drink; the water is good. We will be friends, and when
you come we will be glad. We will tell the Indians who live on the other side of the river that we have seen Ka-pu-rats (One Arm: the Major had lost one of his arms),
and that he is the friend of the Indians. We will tell them he is Jacob's friend. We are very poor. Look at our women and children, they are naked. We have no horses;
we climb the rocks, and our feet are sore. We live among the rocks, and they yield little food, but many thorns. When the cold moons come our children are hungry.
We have little to give, you must not think us mean. You are wise, we have heard you tell strange things. We are ignorant. Last year our people killed three white men.
Bad men said they were our enemies, they told great lies. We thought them true, we were mad, it made us big fools. We are very sorry. Do not think of them; it is
done, let us be friends. We are ignorant like little children, compared with you. When we do wrong, do not get mad, and be like children, too. When white men kill us,
we kill them, too, then they kill more of us. It is not good. We hear that the white men are a great number; when they stop killing us, there will be no Indians left to bury
the dead. We love our country, we know no other lands. We hear that other lands are better, we do not know. The pines sing to us, and we are glad. Our children play
in the warm sand, we hear them sing, and are happy. We do not want their good lands, we want our rocks, and the great mountains, where our fathers lived. We are
very poor, but very honest. You have horses and many things, you are very wise, you have a good heart. We will be friends. I have nothing more to say."

Some years after the visit of Major Powell referred to above, a company was incorporated at the town of Washington, in Southern Utah, known as the Mojave Land
and Cattle Company. This company bought from the Indians the right to use various springs and water holes which were on the Shevwit Mountain, stocked the range
with cattle, and commenced a general ranching business.

The writer, soon after, acquired the interests of the Mojave Company, and added to the number of company cattle his own herd, which he had grazed on the Trumbul
Mountain. It at once became evident that ranching could not be successfully carried on, while the Shevwits remained on the land, the right to which they had sold to
others. They became insolent, frequently killed cattle for food, and when remonstrated with replied that the country was theirs, and that the white man, with his flocks
and herds, should move away, and leave them in peaceful possession.

Representation was made to the Indian Department, at Washington, and the suggestion offered that the Shevwits be removed to a reservation on the Santa Clara River,
where  they would
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and improvement of the land, and the writer was appointed to establish an agency, and place the Shevwits upon it. The Indians were reluctant to leave their old home,
and a few, in the beginning, refused to come in, but when they discovered that no force was to be applied, and that those on the reservation were well treated, one by
one they came straggling in until they were all there.
and herds, should move away, and leave them in peaceful possession.

Representation was made to the Indian Department, at Washington, and the suggestion offered that the Shevwits be removed to a reservation on the Santa Clara River,
where they would be among civilized people, and subject to proper Government supervision. The suggestion was approved, funds were appropriated for the purchase
and improvement of the land, and the writer was appointed to establish an agency, and place the Shevwits upon it. The Indians were reluctant to leave their old home,
and a few, in the beginning, refused to come in, but when they discovered that no force was to be applied, and that those on the reservation were well treated, one by
one they came straggling in until they were all there.

Among these Indians there was one man who was a constant source of trouble. He was obstinate, uncontrollable, a constant mischief maker. He pretended to be
possessed of supernatural power, was a medicine man, and pretended to see, in dreams and visions, the past, present and future. His name was Toab; we called him
John.

One day, while To-ab was irrigating his watermellons and squash, another Indian took the water from him, claiming that it was his turn to use it. To-ab went to the
camp of his friend, where a quarrel ensued, and the man who had taken the water reached for his gun, which stood against the wigwam, and as he did so, To-ab struck
him with a hoe, which he carried, and killed him.

To-ab was sent to the District court at Beaver, and a charge of murder preferred against him. The court appointed an attorney to defend him, and To-ab had made out
a good case of self-defense, when his attorney made a fatal mistake, which shattered the theory which he had built up. In summing up the evidence, before the jury, the
attorney called attention to the fact that To-ab, when the other man seized his rifle, acting under mortal fear that his life would be taken, struck the fatal blow. To-ab,
who had acquired a limited knowledge of the English language, at this point sprang up, and shaking his fist at the attorney shouted-"No! No! Me no scart. Gun hain't
got any bullets." He was not afraid, because he knew the gun was not loaded. To-ab was sent to the State Prison, where he soon became ill, and was placed in a
hospital, where he rapidly recovered. After this he was ill while in his cell, but immediately recovered when sent to the hospital. The warden finally sent for me and
begged that I take him back to the reservation, which I did, and thus removed from the prison an intolerable nuisance.

From the time this Indian, To-ab came to the reservation I had suspected that he was connected with, if not entirely responsible for, the murder of the Howland
Brothers and Dunn, but neither by persuasion, nor offer of reward or threats, could the Indians be induced to give a word that would incriminate him.

More than twenty years after the Howlands and Dunn were killed, the writer was one day riding alone on the range, a short distance east, and little north of the
Parashont Ranch House. A heavy growth of cedars covered the mesa, it was an ideal place for an ambuscade. Passing through a dense growth of cedars the horse
emerged into a small clearing, and stopped. It was evident that someone had long before camped on the spot, dead cedars had been pulled down, a temporary shelter
improvised, and a fire built. Like a bolt from the blue the thought came-This is the spot where Powell's men were killed.

In 1923 the writer made a trip to the southern part of the state. Knowing that To-ab had died, and that there was but one living who would be able to give the
information desired, he went to the agency for the purpose of interviewing Old Simon, the only man remaining, who would have personal knowledge of the details of
the tragedy. Simon had gone to the mountains to gather pine nuts, so the matter was left with George Brooks, ex-sheriff of Washington County, to acquire if possible,
the desired information.

Upon his return from the mountain, Simon said: He remembered that when he was a big boy three white men came up from the river which flows through the Grand
Canyon, and were killed by the Indians on the Shevwit Mountain. Quetoose, who at the time was chief of the Shevwits tribe, was away at a spring, raising corn, and
knew nothing of the killing until after it had occurred.

From the story told by Simon, and from other information gleaned from the Indians it appears that the men, after leaving the Major, at the river, followed an Old Indian
trail, known to the writer, which reaches the north rim of the Grand Canyon at a point on the east side of Green Spring Canyon, where there is a small dripping spring,
known as Kelly's Spring. From this point the trail bears north to Pen's Pockets and Green Spring. From there it passed north-west, on the north side of the
"Butte" (Mount Dellenbaugh), goes over Lake Flat, and turns north, down a canyon, to Pine and Duke Springs, and from there down the Para-shont Wash to the head
of Hidden Canyon, across Poverty Mountain to Wolf Hole, and on to St. George. Had Powell's men been left unmolested they undoubtedly would have followed this
trail, and reached the settlements in safety.

It appears that when they first met the Shevwit Indians the white men were received with protestations of friendship. After they had passed, a council was held to
determine whether they should be permitted to proceed in peace, or should be attacked and killed. The majority of the Indians were in favor of treating the strangers as
friends, but To-ab insisted that they be dealt with as enemies. Persuading two young Indians to go with him, he followed the men a short distance north east of the
Para-shont Ranch House, which was built many years after, where they attacked them from ambush, and killed them.

It is interesting to know that the point marked by Simon as the spot where the tragedy occurred, is the exact locality where some invisible influence caused the writer to
stop his horse and reflect, as before stated, and it was at that time that the resolve came to him some day to fix the responsibility for this needless and unjustifiable
murder, where he always believed it belonged, on John To-ab.

A Desert Tragedy

By ANTHONY W. IVINS

ATTACK by hostile Indians was not the only danger which confronted the early pioneers of Southern Utah and southeastern Nevada. The country which they were
sent to reclaim was a desert, roads were well nigh impassable, and feed for live stock and teams was exceedingly scarce. Medicine and proper medical attention were
not obtainable and consequently many lives were lost from accident and disease which, under present conditions, might have been saved.

In no part of the south did this condition prevail to a greater extent than in the Muddy valley. It was a country of rocks and sand, ninety miles from St. George, the
nearest settlement, and that only an outpost of civilization, and could be reached only over one of the most difficult roads on the continent.

The southern route to California bore southwest from Cedar City to the Mountain Meadows and from there six miles southeast to Cane Springs, from which point it
passed on to the Magotsa and Santa Clara, which it followed to the present site of the copper smelter at Shem, where it turned south to Camp Spring, the only water
between the Santa Clara and Beaver Dams, on the Rio Virgin, twenty-five miles away. From the Beaver Dams the road followed the Rio Virgin, sixty miles to the
present site of St. Thomas on the Muddy, crossing the river as many as forty times.

It was a dangerous road, and often impassable, because of the treacherous quicksands which prevailed in the river bed. To reach the Muddy Valley by any other than
the river route, it was necessary to leave the main road twelve miles north of the Beaver Dams and strike off to the west, over a desert country, to the Upper Muddy, at
West Point, a distance of sixty miles without water, except at certain seasons of the year when the scant rain fall filled shallow pockets in the rocks, at the To-quop
(Tobacco) Wash, about half way across the desert.
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In order to avoid the difficult river route, and make the desert road passable, Erastus Snow, who was in charge of the southern settlements at the time, sent men to sink
a well at a point on the Beaver Dam Wash, which would reduce the distance between water to fifty miles, over a desert where, in the summer, the heat was almost
It was a dangerous road, and often impassable, because of the treacherous quicksands which prevailed in the river bed. To reach the Muddy Valley by any other than
the river route, it was necessary to leave the main road twelve miles north of the Beaver Dams and strike off to the west, over a desert country, to the Upper Muddy, at
West Point, a distance of sixty miles without water, except at certain seasons of the year when the scant rain fall filled shallow pockets in the rocks, at the To-quop
(Tobacco) Wash, about half way across the desert.

In order to avoid the difficult river route, and make the desert road passable, Erastus Snow, who was in charge of the southern settlements at the time, sent men to sink
a well at a point on the Beaver Dam Wash, which would reduce the distance between water to fifty miles, over a desert where, in the summer, the heat was almost
unbearable.

Among the people who went from Salt Lake to assist in the reclamation of the Muddy valley, and who located at St Thomas, at the junction of the Muddy with the Rio
Virgin, were James Davidson, his wife, daughter Maggie, and son, a boy twelve years of age. They were from Scotland, without experience in pioneer life, but with that
faith which characterized the members of the Chruch in those early days of its history, willingly undertook the task assigned them.

On the 9th of June, 1869, James Davidson, his wife and son, left St. Thomas, in company with other travelers, to go to St. George. Their conveyance consisted of a
light spring wagon, drawn by a single horse. The vehicle was so shrunken by the arid atmosphere that before the family reached St. Joseph, twelve miles up the valley, a
tire "ran off" one of the wheels; and they were obliged to stop until it could be reset. This was done by their son-in-law, B. F. Paddock, and they started to overtake
their traveling companions, who had left them and gone on. Paddock, who was an experienced frontiersman, warned them not to attempt to cross the desert alone, but
to return home, or wait at St. Joseph for other company, unless they overtook the party in advance. They did not reach St. Joseph until the following day, and remained
there Thursday night, one day behind the people with whom they had expected to travel. On Friday morning, heedless of the warning received, they started on alone.

In June and July, the heat on the deserts of Nevada and Arizona is almost unbearable. During the day the sand and rocks, exposed as they are to the scorching sun,
become so hot that the heat can be seen rising in waves. Nor does the night bring relief. The unfortunate traveler who is caught in one of these desert wastes without
water has little chance to survive. With the exception of an occasional lizard, which scuttles over the burning sand from one cactus bush to another, there is no sign of
living thing. The birds, even the crow and coyote, those scavengers of the desert, seek the few water courses in order to sustain life.

During the night, on the 12th of June, a horse, famishing for water, came staggering in to camp on the Beaver Dam Wash, where a party of men were at work on the
well referred to. He was watered and fed by the men at the camp, and the following morning William Webb, one of the well-diggers, went back on the road, in the
direction from which the horse had come, and there, only half a mile from the camp, with a canteen and one gallon keg lying near, found the body of a boy, so swollen
and distorted by the heat that recognition was impossible. A grave was dug, and there on the desert the body was interred, a headboard, without inscription, marking
the spot.

The following Thursday morning, four days after the interment of the body, Lorenzo Young, traveling from St. George to the Muddy, arrived at the well, and hearing the
story of the boy and horse, pressed on over the desert road, his knowledge of frontier life suggesting that a tragedy had been enacted. Upon arriving at the rock
pockets he found that the boy had passed near them, but being ignorant of their existence had gone on toward the well. Five miles farther west, he found the bodies of
the parents, lying together on a bed they had made under a desert palm, over which a blanket had been spread to shield them from the sun which had slowly burned out
their lives. To Lorenzo Young the whole tragedy was revealed. Leaving St. Joseph alone, they had traveled to within five miles of water where the tire had again "run
off" the wheel which had then broken down. Helpless, alone, with their meager supply of water exhausted, the boy had mounted the horse, and with the keg and
canteen, gone to seek a fresh supply; he had missed the water in the pockets, and had heroically struggled on to fall exhausted within sight of his goal.

The suffering from thirst, the anguish of the parents for the welfare of their son, the despair of the boy as he struggled on, knowing that the lives of his parents depended
upon his effort, will never be told.

No beast or bird had disturbed the bodies, but their condition precluded the possibility of their removal with the means at hand, so men were sent out to bury them
where they died.

The road is never traveled now; it is one of the forgotten trails, but the two graves, on opposite sides of the desert, one covering the remains of the parents, the other
the boy, are mute witnesses of the dangers to which the pioneers of the Muddy valley were constantly exposed.

A Victory for Peace

By WILL DOBSON

(This well written story appeared in one of the early issues of the "Improvement Era."-P.N.)

THE Navajo is the Arab of the Painted Desert. He roams from oasis to oasis as the need for new pasturage or his hunger for new sights and sounds may urge. Like the
Arab, too, the Navajo used to raid his more peaceful neighbors, the Hopi, the Moqui and the Piute. In Pioneer days the white settler suffered, too. Bands of these
restless robbers often ventured across the Colorado river and gathered up for themselves the cattle and horses belonging to the scattered "Mormon" settlements of
southern Utah.

This custom caused the killing of many men, both red and white and fostered a hatred between "Mormon" and Navajo that grew from year to year. Finally Jacob
Hamblin was sent by his chief, Brigham Young, to make a treaty of peace with the Navajo chiefs. Jacob Hamblin's plea for peace and friendship was the first sincere
offer of fellowship the Navajo leaders had ever heard from a white man, and its simple, honest earnestness so appealed to Barbenceta, the principal chief, that tears
came to his eyes and he came forward and put his arm around Hamblin, saying: 'My friend and brother, I will do all I can to bring about what you have advised."

This visit put an end to the raiding, and "Mormon" and Navajo mingled and traded in mutual trust and friendship as the days went by. There came a day, however,
when it seemed that this peace would be destroyed. The Navajo nation declared war on the "Mormon" people, and gathered their scattered bands to move against the
"Mormon" settlements. This, is the story of the tragedy that roused their anger, and of the calm courage that averted the impending slaughter.

Late in the fall of 1874, four young Navajo braves, two of them nephews of a subchief of the tribe, brought north a band of wiry Spanish ponies loaded with blankets
to trade with the Utes for other ponies. These were all lank, graceful fellows who stood in their beaded moccasins erect as young pines and walked with the fearless
grace of untamed lions. The trail was new to them and the trip was taken eagerly as a great adventure.

With what pride their fathers watched them sweep away through the desert silence to disappear in the gorge of the Little Colorado, we can only imagine. What maiden
hearts were made desolate by their absence, we can only guess. White or red, in palace or in camp, man is man and woman is woman, and wherever young hearts beat
there will be magic in the air.

Emerging at last from the depths of the Little Colorado, they turned eastward across the broken mesa and made their way down another rugged canyon to the Crossing
 Copyright
of          (c) Swimming
   the Fathers. 2005-2009,the
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                              ponies across,  Corp.                                                                                                      Page
                                                  coaxed them up a steep trail to the Escalante bench, following still the trail Escalante had taken nearly      36 / 58
                                                                                                                                                            one hundred
years before.
there will be magic in the air.

Emerging at last from the depths of the Little Colorado, they turned eastward across the broken mesa and made their way down another rugged canyon to the Crossing
of the Fathers. Swimming the ponies across, they coaxed them up a steep trail to the Escalante bench, following still the trail Escalante had taken nearly one hundred
years before.

From the headwaters of Escalante creek they made their way into the valley of the Sevier, and in the green meadows of Grass Valley found the Ute camp they sought.

A week of bartering found the Utes well supplied with the warm and brilliant blankets of the desert, while the young visitors rejoiced in the care of such a band of
ponies as would make their clan rich. Storm threatening, the Utes broke camp to move to winter quarters.

Perhaps the boys would have taken warning from the clouds had not the plentiful deer centered their minds on hunting. Perhaps, being from the desert, they did not
realize what winter meant in these altitudes. At any rate, they lingered among the aspens, firs and spruce of the East Fork mountain to load their ponies with meat, until
snow blocked all the divides.

Three days the snow fell, and when the clouds finally broke camp and began their drift northeast, five feet of snow held the Navajos and their horses prisoners.

The strange whiteness, absolutely new to their lives, dazed and confused them. They could not decide what to do. The ponies were starving and helpless. Their fire had
been quenched in the storm and they could not start it again. Like all trapped creatures, they began a struggle to get out, anywhere to get away from the sight of their
freezing starving stock. Leaving meat and all, they wallowed their way to the stream, thence down stream a few miles to a deserted ranch. Here they found wood dry
enough to make a fire, and a calf which they killed to satisfy their hunger. Feeling secure in the land of their friends, the "Mormons," they waited here until the snow
should see fit to set them free again.

This ranch, however, belonged, not to a "Mormon," but to a non-"Mormon" named McCarty. As soon as the snow crusted sufficiently he made his way from a nearby
settlement to his ranch to see how his stock had stood the storm. Seeing the Indian occupants of his cabin from a distance, he turned, panicstricken, and hurried back
for help to drive the supposed raiders away. Gathering a posse of men like himself, he hurried them to the ranch, where they met the friendly arm-waving of the young
braves with a volley of lead that killed three in their tracks and ripped open the right arm of the fourth from elbow to shoulder-blade.

Swiftwind, the wounded boy, dropped as did his murdered mates. But while the enemy was hesitating to watch for more Indians, he crawled to cover and made his
way over the crusted snow into the more friendly forest. The whites, finally taking possession of the ranch, and seeing Swiftwind's bloody trail, were satisfied to hope
the cold would do for the Indian what the bullet failed to do. They were not especially cruel, only afraid of all Indians and determined to teach them a lesson that would
put an end of raiding.

How this bleeding redskin with the chill of winter in his marrow made his way afoot out of that bewildering forest and worked his fever-scorched body a few miles a
day into the southland; how, coming to the Colorado, he lashed himself to a log and let it carry him downstream over rapids and through whirlpools for miles before an
eddy finally drew the log to the other side and lodged it, is not for me to tell. The fact remains that late spring brought home to the waiting and wondering Navajos a
skeleton that claimed the name of Swiftwind, that bared to them a mangled and meatless remnant of an arm and with eyes that flashed blackest hatred told them of the
fate of their boys in the land of the "Mormons."

This sight and this story aroused a storm of fury against the "Mormons" that swept over the nation like a forest fire. Swiftwind went from camp to camp demanding
vengeance for his comrades who lay dead on "Mormon" soil, and reparation for his own sufferings. In their bitterness at what they deemed "Mormon" treachery, the
chiefs vowed to smear the blood of the "Mormons" over the desert rocks. Their bitterness was especially strong against Jacob Hamblin, on whose word they had relied
in sending their traders across the Colorado.

When Piutes brought word of the preparations of the aroused Navajos to destroy the settlements, there began a hurried gathering of scattered settlers to bigger towns.
A messenger rode night and day using relays of ponies to carry the fateful news to President Young. The President commissioned Jacob Hamblin to meet with the
chiefs, explain the facts of the killing of their young men, and persuade them from their bloody determination.

Bishop Stewart of Kanab, in delivering the President's message to Hamblin, told him not to attempt the mission as President Young would not have asked it of him had
he known of the Navajo threats against his life. But Hamblin felt that a command from his loved chief was the will of God, and that in fulfilling it he would be protected
from harm.

So he set out at once, against the earnest protests of his neighbors and the tearful entreaties of his family. Fifteen miles from Kanab, Hamblin's son, Joseph, overtook
him with a note from Bishop Stewart, this time ordering him to return. This had no effect on his determination. At Mawabby, he found two brothers named Smith
preparing to defend the place until soldiers could be brought from Fort Defiance. These men were not "Mormons," but they were so impressed with the steadfast
purpose of Hamblin to meet the chiefs that they gave up trying to persuade him to go back, and went along to pilot him to the hostile camps.

Arriving at the Navajo camp after sundown, they found great bands of horses and many herds of sheep and goats. Two or three grey-haired men came out to meet
them, giving them a cold, dignified welcome devoid of either friendship or hate. When the young men appeared, their scowls, fierce mutterings and open threats gave
the white men a most discouraging welcome. Only the most stern rebukes of the older heads restrained the others from killing the visitors at once. They were kept
prisoners until messengers could gather all the chiefs for a council. The old men present refused to listen to Jacob Hamblin's story, saying they were not ready.

The night passed, and it was noon of the next day before the gathering was ready to hear the "Mormon" messenger. Then the white prisoners were escorted to another,
larger lodge and seated in the end farthest from the door. The lodge was built of posts fitted together at the top in the shape of a great cone, then covered with bark and
earth. The fire in the center helped make the stale air almost overpowering.

A champion for the wounded buck opened the crude court with a fiery speech against Jacob Hamblin, condemning him as a man who spoke with "a forked tongue,"
and blaming him as having caused the death of their sons by advising them to cross the great river and trade with the "Mormons." As a result, he declared, three of their
finest young men lay in the land of the "Mormons," for the wolves to eat and another came home after many days of suffering without a blanket and with a wasted,
useless arm. Turning dramatically to the whites, he announced that Jacob Hamblin need not think of going home, but that his American friends might if they would start
immediately. As soon as the Piute interpreter translated this for Hamblin he asked the Smith brothers to leave, as he did not want to cause them to lose their lives. But
they refused to go without Hamblin, whose courage they so admired.

The Smith boys carried revolvers, but Jacob Hamblin would not wear his as he wanted the chiefs to understand that he was not afraid. The Navajos talked among
themselves some time, then told Hamblin his turn had come. In his slow, quiet way, which always inspired awe and admiration among Indians, he told them of all his
years of effort to keep peace between the red men and his people. He told them the facts of the killing of their braves, emphasizing the fact that the "Mormons" had no
part in it. He appealed to them not to kill him and his brethren for a crime they had not committed. This speech, in a voice calm and frank, seemed to influence the grey
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heads in his favor. Seeing this, the young men were roused to greater efforts to enrage their elders.

A fierce young orator, in full war regalia, led in the wounded boy and with burning words that stirred the Indian nature to its very depths, bared the blasted arm and
The Smith boys carried revolvers, but Jacob Hamblin would not wear his as he wanted the chiefs to understand that he was not afraid. The Navajos talked among
themselves some time, then told Hamblin his turn had come. In his slow, quiet way, which always inspired awe and admiration among Indians, he told them of all his
years of effort to keep peace between the red men and his people. He told them the facts of the killing of their braves, emphasizing the fact that the "Mormons" had no
part in it. He appealed to them not to kill him and his brethren for a crime they had not committed. This speech, in a voice calm and frank, seemed to influence the grey
heads in his favor. Seeing this, the young men were roused to greater efforts to enrage their elders.

A fierce young orator, in full war regalia, led in the wounded boy and with burning words that stirred the Indian nature to its very depths, bared the blasted arm and
repeated the bloody story of the shooting. His words, backed by the sight of the sullen cripple, brought the council to its feet with a glare of silent menace on every
swarthy face. The tense silence was disturbed only by the hushed movements of the Smiths freeing their guns from their scabbards. At this Hamblin commanded them,
still in that calm, fearless voice to "Hold still: do not make the first move, and there will be no move made."

He then began an answer to the Piute interpreter, but fear made the fellow dumb. He could speak neither to Hamblin nor the Navajos. He was a sort of slave to one of
the chiefs, and when their slaves displeased them the Navajos did not hesitate to put them to death. Another Piute was brought in, but after a few words fear made him
as dumb as the first. This delay helped to ease the strain of the situation, and by the time a Navajo interpreter could be found the crisis had passed. After listening to
more talk from the white man, they felt more forgiving, and in lieu of blood they offered to take cattle and horses for the injury done them. They demanded a
promissory note for the payment of one hundred head of cattle for each of the dead braves and fifty head for the wounded lad.

This left the peacemaker in as difficult a position as at first. By signing he could go free. But he had no such herd of cattle, nor any authority to bind the "Mormon"
Church to pay such an indemnity. Besides which, payment would be a tacit admission that he had lied to them and that the "Mormons" were guilty after all. He had to
answer that he would not sign such a promise. At this refusal of what they considered a generous concession, their wrath blazed up again. With deadly menace in eye
and voice a stern old warrior pointed to the heap of live coals in their midst and asserted: "You will, by the time you have been stretched over that bed of coals awhile."
But Hamblin's firm answer was that he had never lied to them, and that he would not pay for the wrong another had committed. "Let the guilty men pay for their own
mischief, I will not sign for one hoof."

In the wrathful hush of this deadlock, a Piute chief asked Hamblin if he were not afraid.

"What is there to scare me?" was the reply.

"The Navajos."

"I am not afraid of my friends," was the staunch answer.

"Friends!" the Piute exclaimed, "you have not one friend in all the Navajo nation. Navajo blood has been spilled on your land. You have caused a whole nation to
mourn. Your friend, Kechine, who gave you meat when you were hungry, and blankets when you were cold, has gone to mourn for his murdered sons. You have
caused the bread he eats to be like coals of fire in his mouth, and the water he drinks like hot ashes. Are you not afraid?"

"No," Hamblin assured him, "my heart never knew fear."

The Navajos were curious and questioned the Piute. He repeated the talk to them. This fearlessness appealed to their ideals of manliness, and roused anew the
admiration they had always felt for Hamblin. A long discussion among themselves followed, Hamblin finally having opportunity to propose that the chiefs send Hasteyl,
a chief whom all trusted to the scene of the killing with a party of warriors and an interpreter, to find out the actual facts of the crime. Further discussion ensued, when
Hamblin was rejoiced to hear from the interpreter:

"They are talking good about you now."

It was then agreed that Hamblin should come to Mawabby after twenty-five days, meet the chief's party, and escort them through the "Mormon" country to the
McCarty ranch. So ended well what seemed likely to be a bloody war.

Jacob Hamblin-a Missionary Among the Indians

By HIMSELF

(There is some overlapping in this story and the one preceding, but I have thought it best to let Jacob Hamblin, that remarkable missionary to the Indians, tell the story
of this stirring event in his own sincere and humble way.-P. N.)

THE Navajoes carried on a peaceful trade with our people, until the winter of 1874-75, when a circumstance occurred which greatly endangered our peaceful relations
with that people.

A party of four young Navajoes went to the east fork of the Sevier River, to trade with some Utes in the neighborhood. In Grass Valley, they encountered a severe
snowstorm, which lasted for three days. They found shelter in a vacant house belonging to one McCarty. He did not belong to the Church, and had that animosity
towards Indians, to savages, as they are called, on the most trifling pretenses.

The Navajoes, becoming hungry during the delay, killed a small animal belonging to Mr. McCarty. In some way he learned of the presence of the party on his ranch,
gathered up some men of like spirit with himself, came suddenly upon the Navajoes, and without giving them an opportunity of explaining their circumstances, killed
three of them and wounded the fourth.

The wounded man, after enduring excessive hardships, made his way across the river, and arrived among his own people.

Telling the story of his wrongs, it aroused all the bitter spirit of retaliation so characteristic of the Indians from tradition and custom. The affair taking place in the
"Mormon" country, where the Navajoes naturally supposed they were among friends, and not distinguishing McCarty as an outsider, the murder was laid to the
"Mormons."

The outrage created considerable excitement among both whites and Indians. When President Young heard of it, he requested me to visit the Navajoes, and satisfy
them that our people were not concerned in it.

Feeling that the affair, without great care might bring on a war, I started at once for their country to fill my mission.

ICopyright
  left Kanab(c) 2005-2009,
             alone.         Infobase
                    My son Joseph    Mediame
                                  overtook Corp.                                                                                                   Page
                                             about fifteen miles out, with a note from Bishop Levi Stewart, advising my return, as he had learned from the38 / 58
                                                                                                                                                          Piutes
that the Navajoes were much exasperated and threatened to retaliate the first opportunity.
them that our people were not concerned in it.

Feeling that the affair, without great care might bring on a war, I started at once for their country to fill my mission.

I left Kanab alone. My son Joseph overtook me about fifteen miles out, with a note from Bishop Levi Stewart, advising my return, as he had learned from the Piutes
that the Navajoes were much exasperated and threatened to retaliate the first opportunity.

I had been appointed to a mission by the highest authority of God on the earth. My life was of but small moment compared with the lives of the Saints and the interests
of the kingdom of God. I determined to trust in the Lord and go on. I directed my son to return to Kanab, and tell Bishop Stewart that I could not make up my mind to
return.

Arriving at the settlement of Pahreah, I found Lehi Smithson and another man preparing to start for Mowabby. We remained over night to procure animals for the
journey. That night, my son Joseph came to me again with a note from Bishop Stewart, advising my return, and stating that if I went on I would surely be killed by the
Navajoes.

When we arrived at the Mowabby, we found that the store house of two rooms which had been built there, had been fitted up in the best possible manner for defense.
This had been done by three or four miners who had remained there, on account of the excitement, for which there appeared to be considerable reason.

I feel that I had no time to lose. It was important to get an interview with the Navajoes before the outbreak.

My horse was jaded, and wishing to go to Moencoppy, ten or twelve miles farther, that night, two brothers by the name of Smith brought in three of their riding horses,
offered me one, and they mounted the others to accompany me.

At Moencoppy I hoped to find some Oribas who could give me correct information about the temper of the Navajoes. Arriving there, we found only a Piute family and
one Oriba woman. From them I learned that the young relatives of the Navajoes killed in Grass Valley were much exasperated, but the older men expressed a desire to
see me before anything was done or anyone hurt.

This news was encouraging to me. It being now evening, we lay down and slept until morning.

Tuba had been living at Moencoppy, and had left on account of the excitement. Some of his effects were lying around in a way that indicated that he left in a hurry.

I was informed that Mush-ah, a Navajo with whom I was somewhat acquainted, and in whom I had some confidence, was camped at a watering place twelve miles
east of Moencoppy. I hoped to be able to see and have a talk with him, and get up a conciliatory feeling without exposing myself too much to the ire of the Indians.

Arriving at the water where we expected to find Mush-ah, we were disappointed. The place was vacated. We met a Navajo messenger, riding fast on his way to
Mowabby, to learn of affairs at that place. He appeared much pleased to see me.

After a little talk, he pointed in the distance to a high mesa, and said the Navajoes were camped at that point, and wished to see me.

We arrived at the lodges after sundown; in the neighborhood were gathered a large number of horses, sheep and goats.

Two or three gray-headed men came out to meet us good-naturedly, but did not appear as friendly as they had formerly. I told them my business. Soon afterwards
some young men put in an appearance, whose looks bespoke no good.

There being a good moon, a messenger was soon on his way to inform those at a distance of my arrival.

I inquired for Hastele, who had been shown to me by the principal chief in our final peace talk, three years before, and for whom I was directed to inquire in case of
difficulty.

I got no answer, which indicated to me that they did not wish for his assistance. I communiciated to the old men the circumstances connected with the killing of the
Navajoes in Grass Valley, as I understood them. They replied that they were not ready for a talk or council, and said, "When the relatives are all in we will talk."

My spirit was weighed down with gloomy forebodings, and I would gladly have left the place could I have felt justified in doing so. Unless the Lord was with us, what
were we to do with all these against us?

The night passed, and a part of the forenoon of the following day, when the Navajoes who had been sent for began to gather in.

About noon, they informed me they were ready for talk. A lodge had been emptied of its contents for a council room. It was about twenty feet long by twelve feet
wide. It was constructed of logs, with one end set in the ground, and the top ends leaning to the center of the lodge, and fitted together. The logs were covered with
about six inches of dirt.

A fire occupied the center of the lodge, the smoke escaping through a hole in the roof. There was but one entrance, and that was in the end.

Into this lodge were crowded some twenty-four Navajoes, four of whom were councilors of the nation. A few Indians were gathered about the entrance.

The two Smiths and I were at the farther end from the entrance with apparently not one chance in a hundred of reaching the outside, should it be necessary to make an
effort to save our lives.

The council opened by the Navajo spokesman asserting that what I had said about the murder of their relatives was false. He stated that I had advised their people to
cross the great river and trade with my people, and in doing so they had lost three good young men, who lay on our land for the wolves to eat. The fourth, he said,
came home with a bullet hole through him, and without a blanket, and he had been thirteen days in that situation, cold and hungry.

He also stated that I need not think of going home, but my American friends might if they would start immediately.

I informed the two Smiths of the intention of the Navajoes concerning the disposal of myself. I told them they had been obliging to me, and I would not deceive them;
the way was open for them to go if they desired to do so.

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Our three revolvers were hanging over my head. It was desirable to have them as well in hand as possible. I took hold of them, at the same time saying to our Piute
interpreter, "These are in my way; what shall I do with them?"
I informed the two Smiths of the intention of the Navajoes concerning the disposal of myself. I told them they had been obliging to me, and I would not deceive them;
the way was open for them to go if they desired to do so.

They replied that they would not go until I went.

Our three revolvers were hanging over my head. It was desirable to have them as well in hand as possible. I took hold of them, at the same time saying to our Piute
interpreter, "These are in my way; what shall I do with them?"

As I spoke I passed them behind me to the Smiths, not wishing to give any cause for suspicion that I had any fears, or expected to use the weapons. I told the Smiths
not to make any move until we were obliged to.

The Navajoes continued to talk for some time, when I was given to understand that my turn had come.

I told them of my long acquaintance with their people, and of my labors to maintain peace. I hoped they would not think of killing me for a wrong with which neither
myself nor my people had anything to do; and that strangers had done the deed.

I discovered that what I had said the day before had some influence with the gray haired men. None but gray haired men belonged to the council, but others were
allowed to speak.

The young men evidently feared that the council would oppose their desire for revenge. They evinced great intensity of feeling. The wounded man was brought in, his
wounds exposed to the council, and a stirring appeal was made for retaliation by a young warrior. It stirred up the Indian blood from its very depths. He closed by
asserting that they could do no less than put me to death.

For a few minutes I felt that if I was ever permitted to see friends and home again, I should appreciate the privilege. I thought I felt one of the Smiths at my back grip his
revolver. I said to him quietly, "Hold still! Do not make the first move, and there will be no move made. They never will get ready to do anything."

This assurance came by the whisperings of the Spirit within me.

When the excitement had died away a little, I spoke to the Piute interpreter. He either could not or would not answer me, neither would he answer the Navajoes, but
sat trembling, apparently with fear.

The Navajoes brought in another Piute, and recommended him as a man of much courage, and said he would not falter; but he was soon in the same dilemma as the
other.

After some further conversation they appeared a little modified, and in lieu of blood revenge, they proposed to take cattle and horses for the injury done them. They
required me to give them a writing, obligating me to pay one hundred head of cattle for each of the three Navajoes killed, and fifty for the wounded one.

This was a close place for me. I could go home by simply putting my name to the obligation. I reflected: Shall I acknowledge by my act, that my people are guilty of a
crime of which I know they are innocent; and neutralize all the good results of our labors among this people for fifteen years? Shall I obligate the Church to pay three
hundred and fifty head of cattle for a crime committed by others? It is perhaps more than I should be able to earn the rest of my life.

The sacrifice looked to me more than my life was worth. I replied that I would not sign the obligation.

One of them remarked that he thought I would by the time I had been stretched over that bed of coals awhile, pointing to the fire in the middle of the lodge.

I answered that I had never lied to them, and that I would not pay for the wrong that other people had done. "Let the Americans pay for their own mischief, I will not
sign a writing to pay you one hoof."

Here the new Piute interpreter would not say anything more.

A Piute chief standing in the door of the lodge, spoke to him in an angry tone, and accused him of having a very small heart and little courage.

The chief then asked if I was not scared.

I asked, "What is there to scare me?"

He replied, "The Navajoes."

I told him I was not afraid of my friends.

"Friends!" said he, "You have not a friend in the Navajo nation. Navajo blood has been spilled on your land. You have caused a whole nation to mourn. Your friend
Ketche-ne, that used to give you meat when you were hungry, and blankets when you were cold, has gone to mourn for his murdered sons. You have caused the
bread he eats to be like coals of fire in his mouth, and the water he drinks like hot ashes. Are you not afraid?"

"No;" I replied, "my heart never knew fear."

The Navajoes wished to know what the Piute chief and myself were talking about. The Piute repeated the conversation in their language. They then conversed among
themselves; at times they manifested considerable warmth. I was asked if I knew Hastele.

Replying in the affirmative, they asked, "What do you know about him?"

I answered, "I know that Barben-ce-ta and others of your leading me said, at the great peace talk, that he was an honest man, and that all important difficulties between
you and our people should be settled before him. I knew this affair should be settled before him, and have known it all the time we have been talking. I came here on a
peace mission. If you will send Hastele into our country to learn the truth concerning what I have told you, let as many more come along as you like. I wish you would
send the best interpreter you have along with him."

"It is no use(c)
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as our people come into your country-not to prowl around your lodges to steal and kill. I came to do as I agreed to at the good talk at Fort Defiance."

I felt that the last I said had the desired effect. Their feeling began to soften.
you and our people should be settled before him. I knew this affair should be settled before him, and have known it all the time we have been talking. I came here on a
peace mission. If you will send Hastele into our country to learn the truth concerning what I have told you, let as many more come along as you like. I wish you would
send the best interpreter you have along with him."

"It is no use to ask me about pay. In the meantime your people can trade among the 'Mormons' in safety. They will be glad to see you if you will come in the daytime,
as our people come into your country-not to prowl around your lodges to steal and kill. I came to do as I agreed to at the good talk at Fort Defiance."

I felt that the last I said had the desired effect. Their feeling began to soften.

After some further conversation among themselves, the interpreter said, "They are talking good about you now."

I replied, "I am glad; it is time they talked good. What have they said about me?"

"They say you have a good heart. They think they will wait and see their greater chiefs, and believed that the matter will be settled before Hastele."

It was then agreed that I should come to Mowabby, in twenty-five days, and they would see if it was not advisable to send someone over, and satisfy themselves of the
truth of my statement. Twenty-five notches were cut in a stick, and when they were all gone by cutting off one notch each morning, I was to be at Mowabby.

The history of my intercourse with the Indians on the east side of the Colorado, for fifteen years, had all been talked over. In fact, I had been on trial before them for all
my sayings and doings that had come within their knowledge. I was able to answer all their questions, and give good reasons for all my acts.

My mind had been taxed to the utmost all this time. I had been in the farther end of a crowded lodge, with no reasonable probability of getting out of it if I wished to,
and without the privilege of inhaling a breath of fresh air.

Some roasted mutton was brought in and presented to me to take the first rib.

The sight of the roasted meat, the sudden change of affairs, together with the recollection of the threats of a very different roast to the one I had on hand, turned my
stomach. I said to those around me, "I am sick."

I went to the door of the lodge. It was refreshing to breathe in the open air, and look out into the glorious moonlight. I thought it was midnight; if so, the council had
lasted about twelve hours.

A woman's heart seems kindlier than man's among all people. A Navajo woman, seeming to comprehend my situation, came to me and asked me if she could not get
me something I would like to eat.

She mentioned several varieties of food she had on hand, none of which I desired. She said she had been at my house in Kanab, and she saw I liked milk, and she
would get me some. With a dish in her hand she went about among the goats stripping them by moonlight.

She brought me about a pint of milk, which I drank, went into the lodge, and lay down and slept until some of the party said it was light enough to see to get our horses.

I asked the Navajoes to bring up our horses. I felt it was safer for me to remain in the lodge, than to be out hunting horses, and liable to meet some of the angry spirits
who had been about the council.

The horses were brought, and the Smiths and I were soon in our saddles, and leaving behind us the locality of the trying scenes of the past night.

Again was the promise verified, which was given me by the Spirit many years before, that if I would not thirst for the blood of the Lamanites, I should never die by their
hands.

The Wily Chief

By LE ROI C. SNOW

(The author of this story is a son of President Lorenzo Snow, and now an employee of the Church Historian's Office. He is well known for his historical writings.-P.N.)

THE first work done by the Church in Arizona was among the Indians. Jacob Hamblin, Ammon M. Tenny, Ira Hatch, Thales Haskell, Andrew R. Gibbons, John S.
Brown, George Adair, Samuel U. Adair, Fred Hamblin, and James Pierce, were among the early missionaries to the Lamanites. The first crossing of the Colorado river
was El Vado de los Padres, (The Crossing of the Fathers) in 1858. Soon thereafter, they visited all the Hopi and Moqui Indian villages, including the noted "Seven
cities of Sebola." Moenkopi was made missionary headquarters.

Moenkopi is an ancient Indian village, built in a mesa above the Moenkopi wash. In the spring of 1876 a large number of missionaries, some with their wives and
families, were located here. One day late in May, 1876, they were greatly aroused by an Indian runner who came with the news that a "Mormon" party had met
disaster by the overturn of a ferry boat while crossing the Colorado river at the mouth of the Paria, and that the "great 'Mormon' Chief" was drowned. At first it was
feared that this might have been President Brigham Young, and there was much anxiety for several weeks, when finally definite news was received of the drowning of
Lorenzo W. Roundy, of the Daniel H. Wells party.

A few weeks later elaborate preparations were made for proper celebration of the 24th of July, Utah's Pioneer Day. On the morning of the 24th, all the women folks
were busily engaged preparing the great feast. Most of the men were working in the gardens, down in the wash below the mesa. Sister Elvira Martineau Johnson called
attention to a cloud of dust many miles out in the sandy desert. The women were fearful of danger and asked Brother James S. Brown if it might be a band of Indians.
At first Brother Brown said it was perhaps simply a wind storm out in the desert. Sister Johnson was not satisfied with the answer, and approached Brother Brown and
asked, "Is it not a band of Indians? Tell us, we shall try to keep calm, but we want to know whether it is Indians or not." Brother Brown then answered that he feared it
was Indians, but he hoped they might be friendly. He then went to the edge of the mesa and called the brethren from the gardens below. The people were all gathered
in Moenkopi, when a large band of hostile Navajos came up. They were led by Chief Piecon, who dramatically thrust forth a youth, saying, "Here he is, take him and
do as you please." Brother Brown was astonished, as were the others, and asked, "What do you mean? What has the boy done?" "Punish him," replied the Indian
chief, "be as severe as you wish, although he is my son, he deserves severe punishment, and we wish you to use him as an example, even though it may mean his death."
"But," asked Brother Brown, "What has the boy done?" It was then explained that the boy had stolen and killed three cattle belonging to the Saints at the settlement of
Sunset on the little Colorado river, that there had been considerable stealing and killing of cattle. The Indian wanted the practice stopped and thought the case serious
enough for most drastic punishment.
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Brother Brown explained that the act was not so serious, that he would accompany the chief and his party to the Sunset settlement where he believed adjustment could
be made by the Indians paying for the three cattle or replacing them. He thought the Saints would require no more. The band of Navajos was accompanied by a band
chief, "be as severe as you wish, although he is my son, he deserves severe punishment, and we wish you to use him as an example, even though it may mean his death."
"But," asked Brother Brown, "What has the boy done?" It was then explained that the boy had stolen and killed three cattle belonging to the Saints at the settlement of
Sunset on the little Colorado river, that there had been considerable stealing and killing of cattle. The Indian wanted the practice stopped and thought the case serious
enough for most drastic punishment.

Brother Brown explained that the act was not so serious, that he would accompany the chief and his party to the Sunset settlement where he believed adjustment could
be made by the Indians paying for the three cattle or replacing them. He thought the Saints would require no more. The band of Navajos was accompanied by a band
of Piutes, who usually did the dirty work for the Navajos. They were armed with bows and arrows, painted and bedecked with war paraphernalia. They strutted about,
drawing their bows and threatening the people. They were seeking trouble. Just at this time, word was given that the big feast was ready. The chief and others of the
Indians were invited to the tables, while food was distributed among all others of both bands. The great feast was enjoyed by all, especially the Indians, for whom it
was a great treat. After the meal all felt much better, and the council was resumed. It was then that the truth was made known by Chief Piecon, who explained that it
was not his boy who had killed steers belonging to the Sunset people, but that the "Mormon" settlers of Sunset had killed three animals belonging to the Indians, and the
wily Chief had hoped to have Brother Brown pronounce punishment on his son, which he in turn would mete out upon the "Mormon" people. Brother Brown
expressed regret that the "Mormons" had been guilty of killing the cattle, and at his suggestion a visit was made to Sunset where it was learned that the almost starving
settlers had run across the stray cattle on the range and not believing that they would be claimed, killed them for food. The Saints were very willing to make reparation
for the damage, and the Indians returned to their home perfectly satisfied with the adjustment. This incident undoubtedly proved to the Lamanites the honesty and good
intentions of the "Mormon" people, and welded the friendship that was growing between them.

A Providential Escape

By MILES A. ROMNEY

(The Romney family was one of the first of the Mormon families to pioneer in Old Mexico. The boys had many thrilling experiences, and Miles A. Romney had the
ability to tell them well. Two of his stories are included in this volume.-P.N.)

WHILE confined to my room with a badly bruised foot my mind wanders in many directions, and revels in various moods. Tonight it dwells, especially, upon a
"Providential" incident of the past, from which may be gleaned a thought that may cause other youths to stop in the rush of life and listen. Perchance they, as I, may
detect the influence of Providence, and hear the "invisible voice" in the incidents that come and go in this wonderful life of ours.

In the year 1887 my father and Helaman Pratt and their families moved into the mountaines of Chihuahua, Old Mexico. The little valley in which we found ourselves,
nestled closely between high, mountainous cliffs. We named it "Cliff Ranch."

One afternoon, "Bill," from Williams Ranch, drew up his horse outside our corral. "Better watch your stock pretty close," he said, "One of our best cows was killed last
night by a bear, not more than three miles from here."

Boy-like, I determined to "get the bear." Shouldering my small 44-Winchester rifle, which I thought the most deadly weapon yet devised by man, since I had killed
several turkeys and deer with it, I took the trail which led directly north. I scaled the shingly cliffs lying in that direction, and gradually descended the slopes and low-
lying hills until I came to the spot in the edge of the first basin where the remains of the dead cow were lying.

By this time the sun had set and the shadows were deepening. I had recently listened to the tales of old trappers, who declared that wild animals usually return in the
night to feed. Undoubtedly, then, "Bruin" would be along soon.

Entirely surrounding the small opening where the cow had been killed, was a thick growth of both large and small oak brush and timber. I selected the largest oak tree
near the carcass, climbed into the branches and waited. The moon was shining for awhile, and I felt as brave as a lion so long as I could look into its companionable
face. When it set, as all moons will, I began to shiver, but of course, not from fear! I attributed the condition to my hasty walk to the scene of action-or inaction. The
cool March breeze, whistling through the branches of the sturdy oak and my scanty covering, caused me to think of the home fireside where good "Aunt Catherine"
dozed in the old chair by its side.

Hist! A twig had snapped! My heart pounded audibly. Straining my eyes in the direction of the sound I saw two large moving objects, just a shade blacker than the
now dark night. The tree in which I was perched was on a steep incline. This brought the moving objects about on a level with me. I raised my self just a little to get
more accurate aim. In doing so the small dry branch on which my right foot rested, broke. The "lead" bear raised to his full height on his legs, whirled, and both made a
hasty retreat through the underbrush. The crashing ceased.

The night was just as black and full of fears as before. I was left to keep my solitary watch over the cow. I knew that the bears would not make another visit there that
night. I was afraid to stay up in the tree in my cramped position, but more afraid to get down. The intensity of the cold, however, brought me to a final decision.
Stiffened by the mountainous "damps" I scrambled down the oak, passed the cow cautiously, and took the trail for home in a direction opposite to that in which the
bears had fled. I was ready to sign a contract with Mr. Bruin to the effect that if he could guarantee me "safe conduct" home I would guarantee that, so far as I was
concerned, he should live forever.

With the next day's sunshine, courage was again established in my boyish constitution. I took another "vuelta" in the afternoon to see if I could run on to game of some
kind. I climbed the high ridges immediately west of "Cliff Ranch" and about four miles up, dropped into the left fork of Spring Creek, which I followed in a homeward
direction, thinking my afternoon's quest for game had been fruitless.

About one mile below, as I was passing the forks of this same creek on its right prong, I saw what I thought was a black mare and her yearling colt, feeding along the
shore. "What a heavy-set mare and colt!" was my first thought. Since the sun had set, the shadows from the overhanging crags in the west, settled sooner on that side
than on my side of the canyon. Cautiously, I crept closer, keeping between me and the animals a large Juniper tree. Peering between the branches, I suddenly became
aware of the fact that I was face to face with my friends of the preceding night. My rifle flashed over the trunk of the old Juniper, and I had fired at the larger of the two
beasts. Immediately the blasts of the infernal regions were let loose. The roaring and bellowing of the wounded male bear struck the high cliffs, echoed and re-echoed
again, and still again in that darkening box-canyon. The smaller of the two made a straight line for my location. I fired as it came toward me. It swerved a little to the
left. As it passed, I gave it one broadside shot, but it continued its flight for its life. I kept up my fire at its departing end. A few hundred yards up the mountainside I
found it lying square on its back. I fired one shot into its head to make sure that Mrs. Bruin was dead.

I now retraced my steps past the old Juniper stronghold and on to the edge of the slough to the spot where I had wounded the head of this bear family. The old chap
had crawled away. I then foolishly plunged into the willows and undergrowth along the bottom of the creek, up and then down, crossed it and recrossed it, and taking a
dim trail around the mountainside, which I could follow by the "moonbeams' misty light," I came out on the point of a jutting ledge. I looked below and shuddered at the
hundred feet of perpendicular cliff below me. Above at my right, the mountain lifted itself fifty feet in broken crags. "Just around this ledge, I thought, "I'll go, and then
turn back."
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A few steps to the right brought me in full view of the moon, the sight of which seemed to change my plans entirely. I thought of supper and home. If I did not start
immediately I could not get home before the moon set.
had crawled away. I then foolishly plunged into the willows and undergrowth along the bottom of the creek, up and then down, crossed it and recrossed it, and taking a
dim trail around the mountainside, which I could follow by the "moonbeams' misty light," I came out on the point of a jutting ledge. I looked below and shuddered at the
hundred feet of perpendicular cliff below me. Above at my right, the mountain lifted itself fifty feet in broken crags. "Just around this ledge, I thought, "I'll go, and then
turn back."

A few steps to the right brought me in full view of the moon, the sight of which seemed to change my plans entirely. I thought of supper and home. If I did not start
immediately I could not get home before the moon set.

The developments of the following day proved to me that either the sight of the moon and its suggestions of other thoughts, an "Invisible Voice," or inspiration pure and
simple gave me a lease on life. A few more steps in the direction I was pursuing, and I would have-

As I was saying, if I were to get home before the moon set I must start at once.

As my footsteps sounded on the little back porch, Aunt Catherine's hand lifted the home-made latch.

"Why, my boy," she said, "this kind of 'night- hawking' will wear us all out with suspense. If your mother were here she would go wild."

"But," said I, "I've got the bear!"

She told me then, that when prayers were said, that night, she felt impressed to ask the Lord to preserve the absent boy in the hills.

All was excitement on the following morning. We were up before the day. Everybody wanted to be the chap to help bring in the "kill" so we lined up for the march to
the canyon-Gaskell, George, Thomas, Junius and Ernest, the last two little chaps on the back of "Old Kate," the family mare.

When we arrived upon the battleground of the night before, Old Kate decided that the odor didn't quite agree with her, and that she would leave for other parts, so
breaking all restrains in the shape of ropes and wires, she switched her tail and fled. We dissected the bear and started for home.

Looking again for the trail of the wounded bear I found that he had left the canyon up that same small trail I had followed the night before. Had I gone two rods farther
from the spot at which I turned back twelve hours before, I would have come face to face with a wounded bear, as all signs showed that he had only left his den under
a shelving rock a few hours before.

Talk not to me of an unmindful Providence! The assurance has been with me constantly through the passing years, since that night in 1887, when I stood on the cliff in
the moonlight. By some method known to Him alone, I was directed to change my plans, and to take the backward trail to home and safety.

Was It Retribution?

By ANTHONY W. IVINS

(For a number of years Anthony W. Ivins resided in Chihuahua, Mexico. He was well acquainted with the scene of the killing of the Thompson family, and it was here
also that he viewed the remains of the Apache Kid.-P. N.)

COLONIA JUAREZ is on the Piedras Verdes river, in the state of Chihuahua, Mexico.

Following the course of the river toward its source, in the Sierra Madre mountains, up the stream from Juarez, at the junction of Pratt creek with the river, is Pratt's
ranch. One and one-half miles in a southwesterly direction from Pratt's ranch, on a little creek which flows down from the Sierra and empties into the river, is Williams'
ranch. One and one-half miles southeasterly, Thatcher's ranch is situated, on the river, and eight miles south, still up the river, we come to Colonia Pacheco.

In the heart of the Sierra, the little valley surrounded by cliffs, with mountain peaks towering above, covered with timber, with a salubrious climate, productive soil, and
fine grazing for flocks and herds, Pratt's ranch is an attractive place. That it attracted civilization of prehistoric ages, as well as our own, is made plain by the ruined
buildings and evidences of cultivation which are everywhere visible.

The place was acquired by Helaman Pratt, who occupied it with his family until 1891, when he moved from the mountains to the valley below, leasing the ranch to Hans
A. Thompson, a resident of Colonia Juarez, who moved there with his family to follow his vocation of farming and stock raising.

The family consisted of the father, his wife, and three children, Hyrum, a boy eighteen years old, Elmer, aged fourteen, and a little granddaughter, Annie, aged six years.

In August, 1892, a small band of Apaches unexpectedly appeared on the bluffs which overlook Colonia Juarez, on the east of the town.

They passed on, crossing the Piedras Verdes, near its junction with the San Miguel river, and went into the San Miguel mountains east of, and near, the Mexican town
of Ancon Rusia. The alarm was given, and Mexican soldiers came with the intention of surrounding the Indians in the mountains, but the latter escaped, crossed the
valley south of Colonia Juarez, passing in sight of Whipple's ranch, and going on west, into the fastnesses of the Sierra Madre, where for ages they had found safe
retreat.

Sunday, September 18, passed as usual at Pratt's ranch. In the evening, Hans A. Thompson did what he had often done before, left his family and drove to Colonia
Pacheco, little dreaming that a dreadful tragedy was to be enacted the following day.

On Monday morning, the two boys went out to work in the field, as usual, taking with them a pail of feed for the pigs. Annie went with them, and after the pigs had
been fed, took the pail and started back to the house. As she turned, she screamed, and looking toward the house the boys saw an Indian standing at the corner with
his gun leveled. He fired, the bullet taking effect in Hyrum's body. Elmer, thinking of his mother started toward the house, when the Indian fired a second shot which
struck him below, and a little to the left of the left nipple, and passed out of his back near the spine. The spot where he fell was overgrown with weeds, and, concealing
himself in these, he called to Hyrum that the pistol was in the stable on his saddle. Hyrum started toward the stable when an Indian came from behind a wheat stack,
and fired a second shot through his body. The boy dodged down behind the pig pen, where he died. Annie ran to the house and entered. The Indians broke into the
kitchen. Mrs. Thompson and the little girl came out from an opposite door, and, as they did so, a shot was fired which passed through the woman's arm and body. She
sank down by a box which stood beside the house, and, putting the child behind her, covered her with an apron, in the hope that she might thus hide her from the
Indians. While thus engaged an Indian crushed her skull with a rock from the effect of which she died.

The Indians who were at the stacks, taking the saddles and other things from the stable, passed very near where Elmer was lying, but did not see him, and he then crept
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After rifling the house of its contents, the Indians started to where their horses were being held, a short distance away, one of them dragging the little girl, and seemingly
Indians. While thus engaged an Indian crushed her skull with a rock from the effect of which she died.

The Indians who were at the stacks, taking the saddles and other things from the stable, passed very near where Elmer was lying, but did not see him, and he then crept
into a chicken coop which was near, and from where he could watch their operations.

After rifling the house of its contents, the Indians started to where their horses were being held, a short distance away, one of them dragging the little girl, and seemingly
greatly amused at her efforts to harm him, she constantly fighting him with her sunbonnet.

When near the place where Elmer was concealed, an Indian who was with the horses called to the one with Annie, whereupon he left her and returned to the house.
The child ran toward the spot where Hyrum had fallen, and in doing so passed so near the chicken coop, which gave Elmer an opportunity to beckon her to him; this he
did, and concealing her, the boy took up a position at the door, armed with rocks determined to defend her as best he could. The Indian who had gone into the house
returned with a cheese, which he threw to one of his companions, then looking around where he had left the child, and apparently noticing that Elmer was not where he
had fallen, he hastily joined his companions, and they mounted their horses and rode away toward the north. The party consisted of five bucks, one squaw and one
papoose.

As soon as the Indians had disappeared, the two children crept from the chicken coop and started for Williams' ranch. Elmer soon fell from exhaustion, and the little
girl, taking the dog with her, for she said if the dog would go, too, she was not afraid, went on through the timber alone. Before reaching the ranch, she met S. C.
Richardson who returned with her, and a posse of five men was raised who hurried to Pratt's ranch where they found the mother and elder boy dead, and Elmer in a
very precarious condition. Applying the simple remedies which were available, James Mortensen dressed the wound, and the boy is now a robust man. An effort was
made to follow the Indians, but they disappeared as mysteriously as they had come, leaving neither tracks nor signs behind them.

Who Were These Marauding Apaches?

From 1875 to 1886, there was almost constant war between the people of Arizona and the Government troops on one side, and the Apaches on the other. During this
period Al Sieber was chief of scouts for the Government. This man Sieber had adopted an Apache boy, a son of Chief Tog-de-chuz, whom he called "The Kid." The
boy was sent to school, where he acquired some education, and, when old enough, was enlisted as a scout, and later was promoted and made First Sergeant of
Agency Scouts.

In a drunken brawl, at an Indian dance on the Gila, the Kid's father, Toga-de-chuz was killed, it was said, by an Indian called Old Rip. According to the Apache code
of honor, it became the duty of the Kid, who was the oldest son of Toga-de-chuz, to avenge his father's death. Sieber warned the Kid not to harm Rip, but the boy
answered never a word. Shortly after the killing, Sieber and Captain Pierce, the agent at the San Carlos reservation, went up to Camp Apache, leaving the Kid in
charge of the scouts to maintain order at the agency while they were away. No sooner were they gone than the boy took five of his men, went to the camp of Rip, and
shot him, and then went to the part of the country where his own tribe was, instead of returning to the agency.

When Sieber returned, he ordered the Kid to come to the agency, which he did, accompanied by eleven warriors. Sieber had them drawn up in line before his tent, and
then told the Kid to take the guns and cartridge belts from the five who had government rifles. This he did. He then told him to take his own belt and lay it on the ground
with his rifle. The Kid complied. Sieber then told him to take the five men and go to the guard house. At this, some of the Indians showed resistance, and Sieber, seizing
his rifle shot and killed one of them.

In the fight which followed, Sieber was wounded, and the Indians escaped. They went on the war path, and committed several murders before they were finally run
down by the troops. The Kid was tried for desertion, and sentenced to a long term in prison; but, after being confined for a short time, was pardoned by President
Cleveland. After being released from jail, he was arrested by the civil authorities of Gila county, charged with murder committed while he was on the war path. In July,
1888, the Kid with five of his companions was tried and sentenced to life imprisonment at Yuma, for the crime of murder.

The sheriff of Yuma county, whose name was Reynolds, and deputy Holmes, started with the Indians for Yuma by stage. The Indians were handcuffed together, three
in each party. At a point on the road where the sand was heavy, the prisoners were asked to walk, to which request they readily assented, the sheriff and deputy
walking with them. They suddenly assaulted their guards, killed Reynolds and Holmes, shot, and tried to kill, and supposed they had killed, the driver, and taking the
four stage horses, made their escape to Mexico.

Since that time, the Apache Kid, has been the one terror of the Sierra Madres.

Retribution

The killing of the Thompson family at Pratt's ranch was almost forgotten. Settlements had been established in the Sierra Madre; people traveled the roads without
precaution; cattle roamed over the hills, and cowboys attended to their herds, as indifferent to danger as if they were in Arizona or Utah.

Occasionally a camp was robbed, a horse stolen, a beef killed, or a corn or potato patch raided by thieves who disappeared as mysteriously as they had come. From
time to time, a prospector went into the Sierra Madre boasting of his courage, and contempt for Indians, to return without supplies or accoutrements, but with greatly
increased respect for Indians in general and the Apache Kid in particular.

Lone prospectors went into the mountains who were never known to return; and, on one occasion, two men were attacked in the open, one of whom was killed; the
other, reaching Colonia Chuichupa in an exhausted condition, recounted how he and his partner had been attacked while preparing to break camp, after a mid-day
meal, by men dressed in buckskin, and who, yelling like Indians, had killed his companion, and that he had barely escaped with his life. All of these acts were so
mysteriously carried out that it was impossible to determine whether the perpetrators were Indians or renegade Mexicans.

In 1900, Williams' ranch was rented to Martin Harris and Thomas Allen, who, with their families, lived there during the year. The crop had been good, the corn was cut
and shocked; some of the potatoes were dug and piled in the field. On Sunday morning, November 11, they went out to the field to find that twelve shocks of corn had
been husked, and the corn carried away, and that a part of the potatoes which had been dug were also gone. Further investigation revealed the fact that twelve yards of
domestic, which had been hung out to bleach the day before, and a blanket, were also missing.

The tracks indicated that the thieves entered from the west, cutting the wire fence, had loaded the plunder on the backs of horses, and had gone in a westerly direction
into the Sierra.

Supposing that the theft was the work of Mexicans from the Dos Cabezas mines, about fifty miles west, the two men took their guns-Allen, a double-barrel shotgun,
and Harris a Winchester rifle-and started in pursuit. The trail led up a ridge west of the ranch, which was followed for several miles, when it turned north, down to the
bottom of the deep canyon into which the left hand fork of Pratt creek flows, crossed the creek, and went out to the north, up a steep ridge which terminated at the top
of one of the highest peaks in that part of the Sierra.
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Instead of following the trail up this ridge (they would almost certainly have been killed had they done so), the two men followed up the creek until they reached a side
canyon which led out to the north; this they followed, and it brought them to the top of the canyon on the north side of the peak toward which the trail led.
Supposing that the theft was the work of Mexicans from the Dos Cabezas mines, about fifty miles west, the two men took their guns-Allen, a double-barrel shotgun,
and Harris a Winchester rifle-and started in pursuit. The trail led up a ridge west of the ranch, which was followed for several miles, when it turned north, down to the
bottom of the deep canyon into which the left hand fork of Pratt creek flows, crossed the creek, and went out to the north, up a steep ridge which terminated at the top
of one of the highest peaks in that part of the Sierra.

Instead of following the trail up this ridge (they would almost certainly have been killed had they done so), the two men followed up the creek until they reached a side
canyon which led out to the north; this they followed, and it brought them to the top of the canyon on the north side of the peak toward which the trail led.

The spot was comparatively clear from timber, and covered with a luxuriant growth of grass. Striking east, to determine whether the trail went on north, they ran right
into a camp of Indians. The latter, after reaching a point near the top of the peak, and from which they could watch their back trail, had turned out their horses and
prepared a meal. Fortunately they were so busily occupied, watching for pursuit from behind but not anticipating danger from the north, that they did not see the two
men, who quickly retreated until they were out of sight. On the east side of the peak, near the top, and protruding from comparatively clear ground, were two large
rocks, about as large as a common cooking stove, and pushing around to that point, and taking refuge behind these rocks, the men could see the Indians as they
saddled their horses and made preparations to break up camp.

What were they to do? They could not determine how many Indians were in the party, and it was difficult to either advance or retreat, without being seen. The trail
which the Indians appeared to be following, and which was the logical road from the point where they were camped, led around the west side of the peak, entirely
away from the point where the two men were concealed. They finally decided to remain where they were, thinking that if the Indians followed the trail on the west, they
would not attack them, and if they came east, there was nothing to do but stand their ground. The Indians mounted, and, turning east from the trail, rode straight to the
spot where the two men sat behind the rocks. Riding first was a young woman, and immediately behind her a man, then came two young men, both mounted on one
horse.

The two men were only a few yards away and in plain sight, when the woman saw them. She spoke to the Indian, and, as the latter drew his gun from the scabbard,
both men fired on him. Without a tremor or change of countenance, he looked his enemies in the face and continued to work with his gun, which had evidently caught
fast in some way, until, his strength failing, he fell forward from his horse to the ground.

The woman, shouting the alarm, dashed back over the brow of the hill in the direction from which she had come, followed by the two young Indians. As she did so,
another Indian appeared, coming up from the direction of the camp toward where the men sat. Both fired at this Indian, and then, backing off to the north, returned to
Williams' ranch.

In the afternoon of November 13, 1900, A. O. Woodruff, Helaman Pratt, George W. Hardy and the writer, drove up to Thatcher's ranch for a visit with L. C. Farr
and family, Mr. Farr being manager of the ranch. We met Thomas Allen there, who told of the theft from his field, the pursuit, and subsequent encounter. No one had
been on the ground since, and the result was not definitely known. The following morning the persons referred to above went to Williams' ranch, where we were joined
by Allen and Harris. We proceeded to Pratt's ranch, from there up Pratt creek to the forks, where we climbed out of the canyon, and went on about four miles up the
creek from the ranch, to the scene of the encounter.

Lying on the ground, where the first shots were fired was the body of a man, and at the point where the second Indian had appeared we found the body of a woman.
At the place where the young woman had jumped her horse over the rocks and disappeared, we found a quiver with a bow and forty arrows of elegant workmanship.
The woman who had been killed was masculine in appearance, armed to the teeth, rode astride, and from the point where the shots had been fired, could not be
distinguished from a man.

The man wore a skull cap made from heavy buckskin, with a strip under the chin, on each side of which, at the top, were small horn-like projections to which tufts of
eagle feathers were attached. A silver crescent, which he had made himself, with a piece of polished turquoise in the center, adorned the front, while at the sides and
behind were ornaments of polished stone and silver. Around his neck, attached to a string of beads, were a small Catholic cross and a Free Mason's cross. The latter
had contained an inscription, but the letters had been carefully picked out until they were obliterated. He wore a tight-fitting shirt, underneath which strapped to his
body, were a pair of French field-glasses. Belt, knife case, pouches, moccasins and other accoutrements, were all Indian made, and showed excellent workmanship.
He appeared to be about forty-five years old.

Was it the Apache Kid? Were they the same parties that killed the Thompson family? As I looked at them, I felt that they were, and that retribution had been visited
upon them in this unexpected manner, upon the ground where their atrocious crime had been committed, years before.

An Experience on Long's Peak

By S. DILWORTH YOUNG

(The fact that he was the grandson of a pioneer gave the writer of this story courage to face a difficult situation.-P. N.)

LONG'S Peak rears it's craggy head 14,256 feet into the heavens. One of the highest peaks in the Colorado Rockies, for years it has challenged the skill and fortitude
of even the most experienced mountain climbers. Only in recent years has a practicable trail been marked to its summit, and even then, the last five hundred feet is like
climbing up a steep shingled roof. Small wonder then that our excitement grew hourly, as our party camped for the night in the timber at its magnificent base.

That night we lay in our sleeping bags and debated the rigors of the climb of the morrow. We were glad that we had Vanguard Packs to carry, for that would insure us
perfect balance under heavy load when climbing on some rock needle, or over a dizzy precipice. We looked up at the peak. There it stood massive, aloof in the
moonlight. Facing us was a three hundred foot cliff, part of a great glacial cirque. We knew that on three sides the peak had sheer walls rising for thousands of feet, but
on the fourth side, there could be made an ascent. It was that side on which we proposed to make our attack.

I shall skip over the details of the climb, our trip up the seven miles of easy trail, our walk across the boulder field, our climb to the keyhole, and our skirting of the
precipices which we had seen from far below. A false step and we might have dashed into a thousand pieces, but we took no false steps. Our greatest difficulty was
breathing. Four steps and we would have to stop to catch our breath. Our legs were numb and felt like lead. Such are the effects of altitude. Gradually we overcame
these obstacles and, with a last push over a jutting ledge, carefully climbed the shingle-like dome and gained the summit.

What magnificent distances met our gaze as we looked in all directions. This granite dome was the mightiest of peaks around. Far to the south Pike's Peak reared its
head, but Long's peak was even higher than Pike's.

Somewhere in one of Enos A. Mills' books I had read of his experience descending the precipice on the east face of the mountain. We had gazed at the east face the
night before the climb, and had marveled that he had ever lived to tell the tale. It did look easy however, to go down by way of the north face. And then, to succeed in
a trip down the north face would save hours of dizzy trails in the descent. An idea struck me-why not return by way of the north face? No sooner said than done. Deaf
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Two of the great cirques on opposite sides of the mountain curved together on the north side and met in a saddle which looked to be about three feet wide. This saddle
Somewhere in one of Enos A. Mills' books I had read of his experience descending the precipice on the east face of the mountain. We had gazed at the east face the
night before the climb, and had marveled that he had ever lived to tell the tale. It did look easy however, to go down by way of the north face. And then, to succeed in
a trip down the north face would save hours of dizzy trails in the descent. An idea struck me-why not return by way of the north face? No sooner said than done. Deaf
to the protests of my companions, I started down.

Two of the great cirques on opposite sides of the mountain curved together on the north side and met in a saddle which looked to be about three feet wide. This saddle
led to a ridge descent of which would insure arrival at the boulder field-the homeward trail. It all looked easy from the top.

Going down was easy. The north face for one thousand feet was broken into an irregular granite staircase, rather steeper than normal, the steps of which were huge
granite blocks varying in height from two to seven feet. I was down over that thousand feet in less than fifteen minutes. Just ahead another thousand feet, I could see the
saddle for which I was heading. These cirques were now within two hundred feet on either side. Ten more minutes and I experienced a slight thrill-my foot slipped.
Panic stricken, I looked close to see what had caused this dangerous act. Imagine my consternation to discover that I had let myself down into a field of ice. Every rock
as far as I could see was covered with a scum-a coat-not more than a half inch thick of ice from a sleet storm the night before. I don't know why I hadn't slipped when
I first struck the ice, but I had descended nearly five hundred feet without realizing I was walking on ice.

I had in my last one thousand feet descent, got down nearly to the saddle. Here the walls of the two cirques came together. Their sheer sides were thousands of feet
high. With ice on the rocks it would be impossible to crawl across the saddle to the ridge beyond. Carefully I crawled to the edge of the precipice and looked over.
The sight sickened me. Three thousand feet below I could dimly see in the afternoon twilight the rocky floor of the boulder field.

I lay back against a large boulder and thought of my predicament. I was in the midst of ice covered rocks; I could not go down; I doubted very much if I could climb
again that two thousand feet to the top. I looked along the cliff to the west. Could I believe my eyes? There, not a half mile away, was the keyhole, through which I had
climbed earlier in the day. I would carefully crawl over to it. What if it did take an hour, I was safe if I could reach it. I crawled at a snail's pace over the ice covered
rocks. Finally I reached the keyhole and looked through. Consternation! Continuing for another mile was a larger cirque and higher cliffs with greater depths, while
dancing before my eyes, on the far side of the valley, two miles away, was the real keyhole, inaccessible, mocking. Dimly I could make out the figures of the rest of the
party I had left, as they crawled down from the keyhole. I had been deceived by a break which resembled the real keyhole.

I got hysterical-I started to laugh, then to cry. Caught twelve thousand feet high on the north side of a mountain, with icy rocks all around, three thousand feet of
precipice below, and night coming on. The night would be cold-September was always cold.

Suddenly I thought of my grandfather, one of the sturdy old Pioneers; he had been in many a pinch. He hadn't quit. Well, I wouldn't quit! I'd live true to my blood and
training. I prayed for strength.

I turned, gritted my teeth, and started to climb. Step by step, over ice I toiled. Three hundred feet! Five hundred feet! Hurrah! I reached the end of the ice field. Now I
could go slowly to the top. But no. The mountain had played another trick. In my traverse toward the keyhole, I had passed under a jutting cliff. Now I looked up to
one hundred feet of sheer granite.

I could scale the cliff, or I could retrace a half mile of ice to the place where I descended. I chose to scale the cliff. A few hand holds helped me. Ten more feet, and I'd
be over, and then the mountain laughed. Eight feet three inches above me was the next projection, a ledge ten feet long and sloping back. Oh, if I could only make that
ledge! But try as I might, one foot on a rock knob and the other in space; I could reach only eight feet. Three inches-lives are often won or lost by that margin. I
decided to jump. I did jump. The fingers of one hand caught the projecting ledge. Then the other hand grabbed and held. I pulled myself up, hooked one leg over the
edge and "inched" the rest of my body over. I lay there too exhausted to move for several minutes.

From there the ascent was not difficult, and just as the sun went down, I crawled over the last granite block onto the top of Long's Peak. Thirty minutes later, I donned
my Vanguard Pack and followed my friends down the mountain by the regular trail.

Treed By a Bear

By H. ALLAN CLARK

(This interesting story first appeared in one of the early numbers of the "Juvenile Instructor."-P. N.)

BUD FRASER, Lew Blevins and I, had been hunting near the head of Beaver Creek for a week before the adventure I am about to relate, which came within a hair's
breadth of cutting short my hunting forever.

We three were prospectors, and we were not hunting for the fun of the thing, but to procure a stock of meat to jerk for the winter. Deer were abundant in the hills,
antelope were equally numerous on the plains below us; and the "jerking" lines, stretched from tree to tree of the little grove in which our camp was pitched, already
bore witness to our skill as marksmen.

"Three or four more days of this kind of luck, boys, and we'll have as much meat as the horses can pack," said Lew, as we sat around the camp-fire one evening.

"Yes, we've done pretty well," I responded; "but there's one kind of game we haven't got yet, and I think I'll make a trial for it in the morning."

"What kind of game do you mean?" asked Fraser.

"Mutton."

"Mutton! I'd like to know where you'd get any mutton around here?"

"Big-horns-mountain sheep," Lew tersely explained.

"Isn't that what you mean, Frank?"

"Yes. I came across some fresh 'signs' this afternoon, and I don't think it will be a hard matter to locate the bunch that made it."

"You're a darn sight more likely to locate a bunch of grizzly bears or silver tips," Fraser remarked. "If you run up against some of those ugly customers that I saw the
tracks of up in the hills yesterday, they'll be mighty apt to make mutton out of you."
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"Mutton goes!" I replied, with a careless laugh. "That Winchester express of mine is just as good for a bear as for deer."
"Yes. I came across some fresh 'signs' this afternoon, and I don't think it will be a hard matter to locate the bunch that made it."

"You're a darn sight more likely to locate a bunch of grizzly bears or silver tips," Fraser remarked. "If you run up against some of those ugly customers that I saw the
tracks of up in the hills yesterday, they'll be mighty apt to make mutton out of you."

"Mutton goes!" I replied, with a careless laugh. "That Winchester express of mine is just as good for a bear as for deer."

"Did either of you fellows ever hear of that fight between a grizzly and the Lone Star Gulch mail-carrier?" said Lew.

"I haven't. Tell us about it," I replied, settling into a comfortable position by the fire.

"Well, there ain't much to tell, except that he got chewed up, after fighting that grizzly at long range with all the cartridges he had in his magazine.

"You see, it was this way. Cy was hired to carry the mail between the gulch and the railroad, and he made the round trip once a week. The road, or trail, rather, was
too rough and narrow for a buckboard, so he always went horseback, carrying the one mailsack tied behind his saddle.

"There was one place in particular, where the trail ran through a narrow canyon that was awful bad to pass. The path, which was just wide enough for a horse to walk
on, ran along the base of a perpendicular bluff, and on the other hand there was a 'jump-off' of about twenty feet into a sandy creek bottom.

"Well, sir, Cy was going up to the gulch one day, and he met a grizzly right in the narrowest part of the trail. There was no room to turn his horse. The grizzly sat up on
his hind legs and showed fight, and Cy made up his mind that he had some minutes of a rough time ahead of him. He thought a good deal of the horse, however, and he
determined that that grizzly shouldn't chew him up, if he could help it.

"Slipping out of the saddle on the side next to the bluff, he got around in front of the horse and commenced to pump lead into the bear, which wasn't more than fifty feet
away. Cy carried a forty-four 'Winchester,' and he might as well have attempted to stop that bear by throwing rocks at him. He had eleven cartridges in the magazine
when he commenced to shoot, and every bullet told, but the grizzley just shook his head and growled, and came on as though the lead pills agreed with him.

"Cy threw down his gun when the magazine was empty, and he pulled his knife just as the bear reared up and struck at him, and drove the long blade clean to the hilt in
the grizzly's side. Then they clinched, wrestled a minute, lost their footing and rolled twenty feet, down to the bed of the creek.

"Cy don't remember what happened after the fall; but the horse came galloping into town about sundown, and we made up a party to go out and investigate. Three
hours' hard riding brought us to the scene of the fight, where we found Cy and the bear lying side by side-the bear dead, and the man wasn't in much better fix.

"We made a stretcher with a couple of saplings and some saddle-blankets, and we carried Cy to town. It took three doctors six months to fix him up so he could get
out of bed, and even then he was a cripple for life. The bear had chewed and clawed the muscles of his left arm and leg so badly that he has never been able to use
them since. So that's what a man gets for insulting a grizzly by shooting at him with a forty-four Winchester."

"That was a rough deal, sure; but my gun throws a pretty heavy ball, and I'm not going to let the chance of my meeting with a grizzly bluff me out of an attempt to get a
big horn," I said.

"There's very small chance that you'll meet a grizzly," Lew concluded, "but if you do, and he wants the road, give it to him, and climb a tree till he gets out of sight. A
grizzly's like a good many folks I've run across-the only way to get along with him is to keep him at a distance."

We were up with the dawn next morning, and after a hearty breakfast of venison steaks and flap jacks, I shouldered my riflle and struck out for the place where I had
seen the "sign" of mountain sheep the day before. My two companions had agreed to hunt down the creek in company, leaving me to "go it alone," though they strongly
urged me to give up my attempt on the big-horns and accompany them.

A spur of the Big Horn Mountains lay about five miles to the west of our camp, and it was there that I intended to seek my game. My way lay up a wide, grassy valley,
dotted with rambling thickets of wild plum-bushes and compact clumps of mountain pines. At intervals a jack-rabbit sprang up before me and scurried off in a zigzag
fashion, with long, uneven leaps calculated to disturb the aim of an expert rifleman; and once, a noble buck leaped from his couch in the thicket, gave one quick glance
of startled surprise and bounded away, jerking his stumpy white tail at me in a derisive way that strongly tempted me to take a shot at him.

Three hours later found me cautiously crawling among the rocky pinnacles of the mountain spur, in an eager pursuit of a small bunch of big-horns-doubtless the ones
whose tracks I had seen-which I had the good fortune to locate a short time after reaching the hills. They were extremely wary, but the wind was in my favor and I felt
convinced a proper amount of caution would finally place me within range of them.

An hour more of snake-like progress on my part, and several annoying changes of position on the part of the game, and I at last peered around the corner of a
sheltering boulder to find a patriarchal-looking ram standing upon a point of rock within easy rifle range and gazing straight at my position.

I would have preferred mutton a little more tender than what he gave promise of, but he was evidently suspicious of danger and I might not get another chance for a
shot. Tough chops were better than no chops at all, so I worked my rifle cautiously to a level and tumbled him over with a bullet through his head.

A few minutes sufficed to dress the carcass, and throwing it over my shoulder, I started back to camp. It was rather rough ground over which to travel with a load of
mutton, but I managed to scramble safely down the steep hillsides, indulging the while in a series of audible smiles at the prospective surprise of my comrades when they
should learn that I had concluded a successful hunt for mountain sheep before dinner. A tramp of an hour brought me out of the mountains and into a valley running
parallel with the one up which I had passed some hours before. I was beginning to feel a little tired by this time, and I deposited my burden at the foot of a tall pine and
stretched myself on the ground for a rest. The sun was quite warm for October, my previous exertions had made me somewhat drowsy, and I soon dropped into a
doze. I could not have slept more than ten minutes when I was recalled to a sense of things mundane by a succession of peculiar sounds, somewhat resembling that of a
hog when frightened or suddenly startled. Springing to my feet I looked in the direction from which the noise came, and the first glance set my hair to lifting under my hat
and raised little pimples of apprehension all over me. I have omitted to state that the pine trees under which I had been taking my siesta grew twenty feet or so from the
edge of a "bullberry" thicket, whose crimson fruit, slightly withered from an early frost, hung in thick clusters from the slender shrubs.

Near the border of this berry patch, and not more than forty feet from where I stood, an enormous bear sat upreared on his haunches, and I caught his glance of
questioning enmity the moment I turned. He was slowly turning his wicked-looking head from side to side, sniffing the air with every movement, and the hair rose into a
perfect ridge along his back and short ears as he at last caught my scent.

For the next twenty seconds I stood as though I had taken root. I found myself unable to do anything but stare at him in an idiotic way and wonder what he was going
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Bruin broke the spell by curling back his lips from his long, white teeth, and emitting a snarling growl that sounded like a note from hades. Fight was clearly to be the
order of the day, and, without taking my eyes off him, I stooped quickly down and picked up my gun.
perfect ridge along his back and short ears as he at last caught my scent.

For the next twenty seconds I stood as though I had taken root. I found myself unable to do anything but stare at him in an idiotic way and wonder what he was going
to do.

Bruin broke the spell by curling back his lips from his long, white teeth, and emitting a snarling growl that sounded like a note from hades. Fight was clearly to be the
order of the day, and, without taking my eyes off him, I stooped quickly down and picked up my gun.

The next moment he dropped on all fours and rushed at me with open mouth and a growling roar that jarred every nerve in me. I had no time to take sight, and my
hands shook so that I could not have kept the muzzle of the gun in line with any one spot an instant.

I took one wild shot at his head, threw down the gun and commenced to climb the tree with the expedition of a wildcat evading a pack of hounds. As I grasped a
substantial branch and swung myself onto it, Bruin reared up, flashed one armed paw through the air and almost raked the moccasin from my right foot. In a moment
more I was six feet higher and out of his reach for the present.

My enemy's next move was an endeavor to climb up the tree; but the grizzly is not a climbing bear, as I well knew. Had it been otherwise, I would have fought it out on
the ground.

Finding my retreat impregnable, Bruin solaced himself by emitting a volley of hoarse growls and taking up a recumbent position at the foot of the tree, where he lay
watching me for the better part of an hour, occasionally getting up and encircling my refuge with inquisitive glances, as though he thought there might be some means of
ascent that he had overlooked.

Feeling temporarily secure on my lofty perch, I tried to show him how much I despised him by breaking off the ends of dried branches within my reach and throwing
them at his head.

At first he merely snapped at the ones that struck him, but when a particularly heavy piece finally saluted him in the region of the eye, his rage was frightful to see. He
made a desperate attempt to climb the tree, and almost succeeded in reaching the lower branches.

Three or four hours passed without any change in the situation. The sun had crept well over into the west, and it began to look as though I was destined to spend at
least one night of my life on a roost. Bruin had strolled over to the bull-berry patch two or three times, but a slight movement on my part served to bring him charging
back.

The gun was still lying at the foot of the tree, where I had dropped it, and I looked at it longingly a hundred times without being able to devise a feasible plan for getting
possession of it. Still cogitating, I stuck my hands in the pockets of my overalls, as though I expected to find a solution of the problem at the bottom of those useful
receptacles-and I did.

Some weeks before I had picked up and dropped into my pocket a harness-snap with a broken spring, and a bright idea flashed through my mind the moment my
fingers touched it. Balancing myself astride of a limb, I drew off my buckskin shirt and commenced to cut the garment into long strips with my hunting-knife. Knotting
the pieces together into a rope of sufficient length, I tied the harness-snap to one end, and was ready to fish for my gun.

While not a devotee of the rod and line, I have in my time angled for most of the worldly prizes on which the average man is wont to find his heart set; but that was the
most exasperating fishing I ever undertook. It was my purpose to catch the lever of the Winchester with the hook in such a way that I could draw it up to me. For two
hours I labored, and perspired, and indulged in adjectives not recognized in polite society, before a lucky cast finally put me in possession of my heart's desire.

As the gun rose swiftly into the air, Bruin made a wild dash for it, voicing his indignation at the ruse in a roar that almost shook me off my perch. His hour had come,
however, in the shape of a three-hundred grain bullet, which I planted between his eyes a minute later as he rose on his hind legs and made another vain attempt to claw
me down.

Lowering the gun with my impromptu elevator, I descended to the ground, and, ignoring the fragments of the bighorn, with which the grizzly had tried to assuage his
angry mood by scattering it over a half-acre of ground, I took the shortest route to camp. My companions had already returned, and when I explained matters, they
readily undertook to help me skin the bear. The meat we had no particular relish for, seeing that the grizzly is carnivorous; but since that adventure I have passed many
a cold night in the mountains snugly wrapped in the robe for which I sacrificed my old hunting shirt.

Providential

ByMILES A.ROMNEY

(This is a splendid and well-told story of a faithful dog.-P. N.)

SO many incidents have happened during my life which indicate to me clearly that Providence has been mindful of my existence, and has taken special interest in my
affairs, that I with pleasure accede to request, and submit the following, which may be of interest to some of the readers of the Improvement Era.

In the fall of 1896, I, in company with O. P. Brown, went into the state of Sonora, Mexico, to purchase a herd of Sonora cattle. Traveling through the pineclad valleys
and over the lofty peaks of the Sierra Madre mountains, we stood on the continental divide above Dos Cabezas (Two Heads), from whence we could follow the
narrow trail which winds its way to the depths below, through crags and peaks along the sides of cliffs. One step to right or left would hurl rider and beast into space.
Afar off we could see a straggling streak of silver winding its way towards the Pacific ocean. This we knew to be the Bavispe river.

Starting at sunrise from our camp in the clouds, by the setting of the sun we stood on the banks of the river, along which, a little lower down, tropical fruits were
ripening. Crossing this river, we climbed the winding trail to the village above. The mud-colored adobe houses, relieved occasionally by one with whitewashed front,
squatted in box-like fashion upon the village mound. In the center of this little town of Bavispe was the plaza, or public park. Disposing of our animals, we were
crossing the plaza to a little restaurant, when towards us came bounding a large white dog with a black spot besmattering one eye, his tail beating the appeal which his
eyes bespoke. Passing my companion, he instantly claimed me as his master, and turned to follow me back to our eating house, evidencing his joy in finding me, with
frequent bounds and barks. His admittance was contested but with determined growl he evaded his assailants and crept beneath my table where he looked up gratefully
as I slipped him bits of chili and tortillas. That night he slept close by. When I awakened, old "Spot" sat looking at me, eager to obey every command.

With an early start we were off to the south. The dog followed determinedly behind. A day or two later my companion parted from me, but the dog paid no attention.
Copyright (c) 2005-2009, Infobase Media Corp.
Arriving at the little town of Guaseguas I went into the patio of Don Binancio Durrazo to make a contract for some cattle. As I came out, I perceived Page   48 / 58
                                                                                                                                                      a rough-looking
peon slinking away from my outfit. With a hoarse growl the dog crept after him, the hair rising stiffly on his neck.
as I slipped him bits of chili and tortillas. That night he slept close by. When I awakened, old "Spot" sat looking at me, eager to obey every command.

With an early start we were off to the south. The dog followed determinedly behind. A day or two later my companion parted from me, but the dog paid no attention.

Arriving at the little town of Guaseguas I went into the patio of Don Binancio Durrazo to make a contract for some cattle. As I came out, I perceived a rough-looking
peon slinking away from my outfit. With a hoarse growl the dog crept after him, the hair rising stiffly on his neck.

As the sun had not yet set, I continued my ride toward a town over the mountain, about twenty-five miles distant. Soon the moon shone forth clear and bright, as only
southern moons can shine, and I found myself riding on and on, mile after mile into the fastness of the mountains. I came on my way, to a little hill. In the trail up this
slope a number of rattlesnakes had taken possession of the way and seemed to be enjoying the moonlight. At the approach of my horse they rattled warningly. Giving
them the trail, I found my way up to the hillside through the brush. Reaching the top, I decided that man and beast had traveled far enough for that night. Unpacking my
mule and horse I crept in between the blankets. The footsore dog kept silent watch at the foot of the bed.

Out of the heaviness of sleep I was suddenly awakened by the dog, as with a growl of rage he sprang upon something bent menacingly above me! That picture has so
inscribed itself upon my mind that, though twenty-five years have intervened, I can see it now just as vividly as I did that moonlit night on the Sonora mountain! It was
the peon I had seen loitering about in the plaza of the town behind. The moccasins on his feet, the white, loose-fitting trousers, with the red sash lashed tightly about his
waist, a red cotton handkerchief loosely tied around his neck, a huge sombrero pushed well back on his head, and held in place with a black cowhide string about his
throat, a gaunt black face, every feature of which was distorted with a lust for blood and gold, his body leaning forward, and a huge knife grasped in his back-drawn
hand, glinting back the moonlight, pointed at me, and dangerously near-all this was the impression of a second's time. I sprang backwards, rifle in hand, just as he gave
the last lunge and brought the knife downward to take my life!

It was almost unbelievable, the rapidity with which thoughts can pass through one's mind in supreme moments such as this, and reason safeguards one's acts from rash
impulse. My first thought was to shoot in self preservation. Reason said, "hometies, friends, all your interests in Mexico, will have to be abandoned if you pull the
trigger. A human life you are about to take."

The cut-throat vented forth a screech of pain. Calling off the dog, I pointed the way down the mountain. "Vayese!" I commanded, adding in no uncertain words, that if I
should see him again that night I would not spare him as I had this time. Eager for the opportunity to retreat, the native backed off. I could hear the echo of his hurried
tread down the trail as I kneeled by the side of this most strangely faithful dog.

"Well Spot, old fellow," I said, "you have saved my life. Henceforth we are pals." His tail beat a joyous tattoo as I laid a hand affectionately on his head. During the
remainder of the night man and dog kept silent vigil together.

After a week's rest in Opposuri we started on the homeward trail which led over most precipitous ground. I found the dog weakening and falling behind. Lifting him on
to the pack mule I tied him there, where he rode day after day.

Arriving at the Williams ranch, in the mountains near home, I left the travel-weary mule and horse, taking a fresh mount. As I rode up to Sister Dora Lunt's residence at
Carales I noticed that the dog was not trailing behind, so I rode back the next morning, not only to the ranch, but miles beyond, but could find no trace of him. He had
gone out of my life as mysteriously and as suddenly as he had come, but not in vain!

I was left with a more abiding faith, an additional testimony of the Father's watchfulness over his children.

From Alfalfa to Venison

By DR. THOMAS C. ROMNEY

(This story, and the one following, are taken from Dr. Romney's excellent book, "The Mormon Colonies in Mexico." It seems to us that venison meat was a real
improvement over alfalfa greens.-P. N.)

THE year had been a hard one. The crops had practically failed and there was little work to be had. Our family was an unusually large one and to feed and clothe them
was a problem not easy to solve. My father was a hard worker and possessed considerable financial ability, and all members of the family had been trained to industry
and economy, otherwise our lot would have been a pitiable one. Under the most favorable conditions possible, the living was scant, consisting merely of the bare
necessities and at times it was a matter of deep concern lest the supply of food would not be sufficient to go around.

The different branches of the family were considerably scattered. My mother and her children were located in the tops of the Sierras at a picturesque spot bearing the
designation "Cliff Ranch." Our only means of sustenance was a small patch of irrigable land and a few head of range cattle. The other branches of the family were
having a similar struggle in the Casas Grandes Valley forty miles below.

For months not a pound of white flour had been known to enter our door. Our only bread was made from the corn, home grown and ground into meal on a hand mill in
the house. In the summer time when the rain was abundant our food supply was measurably increased by the luxurious growth of red roots and pig weeds that sprang
up as if by magic on every hand. These made delicious greens and served to break the monotony of our simple and meager diet. When the weeds became toughened
with age rendering them unfit for use and the meal in the bin was running low, mother cast about for something to supplement the decreasing store of food. Her
woman's instinct finally suggested to mother that the tender alfalfa plant must be nutritious since animals and fowls thrive on it, and so, for the next meal, we had as the
principal article of our menu, alfalfa greens. Truly, mother was forty years ahead of her time for in those days who ever heard of alfalfa being good for man? But today
the best authorities in the field of dietetics have confirmed my mother's judgment as evidenced in the fact that alfalfa is recommended as being one of the best salads. I
had always been fond of red roots and pig weeds, but to my dying day I shall never forget that mess of alfalfa greens. In an effort to please mother, I struggled hard to
gulp them down but each attempt proved futile. Finally in desperation I blurted out that I had no objection to competing with pigs in the consumption of weeds, but in
the eating of alfalfa I must draw the line. I regretted greatly this expletive when I later glanced across the table and saw the pained look in my mother's face. My
ingratitude had nearly broken her heart and no more alfalfa greens were ever seen on our table while I was present.

A short time after this painful incident mother approached my brother and me about going hunting for wild game. Strange we hadn't thought of it before for the
mountains were full of wild animal life of nearly all varieties. Likely we had not considered hunting before because of our youthfulness. I was but twelve years old and
my brother only a year and five months my senior, and as I recall, neither of us had ever so much as fired a gun. Under these conditions I am certain mother would
never have suggested such a thing were not starvation right at our door. With light hearts and filled with the spirit of adventure, we set out in quest of food.

It was a matter of small moment which direction we should take, for game was as likely to be found in one place as another, but we had chosen to try our luck up
Spring Creek, a rugged canyon that entered Cliff Ranch from the north. Having but one gun, a 44 Winchester rifle, the question must be decided relative to the order of
firing, and since George was my senior, we agreed that he should have the first opportunity to shoot and that I should have the second shot. As a mere lad I recall
 Copyright
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         the feeling            Infobase
                     of exaltation       MediaasCorp.
                                   experienced   we made our way up the winding canyon lined with jagged cliffs and forest of pine and other varieties ofPage
                                                                                                                                                          timber.49
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turn in the canyon our emotions would soar in anticipation of seeing something to shoot at, but each time we were disappointed until we had branched off into the north
fork of Spring Creek, distant from home about three miles. At this point as we emerged into a fairly open space among the pines we sighted a large buck deer standing
It was a matter of small moment which direction we should take, for game was as likely to be found in one place as another, but we had chosen to try our luck up
Spring Creek, a rugged canyon that entered Cliff Ranch from the north. Having but one gun, a 44 Winchester rifle, the question must be decided relative to the order of
firing, and since George was my senior, we agreed that he should have the first opportunity to shoot and that I should have the second shot. As a mere lad I recall
vividly the feeling of exaltation experienced as we made our way up the winding canyon lined with jagged cliffs and forest of pine and other varieties of timber. At each
turn in the canyon our emotions would soar in anticipation of seeing something to shoot at, but each time we were disappointed until we had branched off into the north
fork of Spring Creek, distant from home about three miles. At this point as we emerged into a fairly open space among the pines we sighted a large buck deer standing
broadside to us and not more than seventy-five yards away. Feverish with excitement, my brother drew the bead on the animal and pulled the trigger, but with no
apparent results but a loud report that echoed and reechoed far up and down the canyon. The animal did not budge but stood looking at us after a quizzical fashion as if
trying to discover what the racket was all about. It was my turn to shoot but George pleaded so hard to be given an opportunity to retrieve his ill fortune that I finally
consented to let him try again. The second shot took effect, the bullet centering the forehead between the eyes and the giant of the forest, as he appeared to us, came
down in a heap. I have always felt that Providence guided that bullet to its destination or that the killing was accidental, for my brother undoubtedly would not have
taken chances on losing the deer by shooting at its head when its whole body was exposed to his view. As I recall, however, the matter did not come up for debate.
Perhaps it was because I felt it would be unethical to argue such a delicate question with an older brother. Be that as it may, both of us thrilled at the sight before us and
down deep in our hearts was a feeling of deep gratitude, for we had a happy vision of changing our diet from alfalfa to venison.

We rushed to the deer lest he recover from the shock and escape in the forest of pines, but when we reached him he was dead. Imagine our feelings when we reached
for a knife to sever his jugular and remembered we had left it at home. A moment's consultation and it was decided that George should run home for the knife which
would leave me to stand guard over the deer. My job would not have been a disagreeable one but for the fact that the day was cold and the gray clouds overhead
portended a snow storm, and there I was with feet as bare as they were the day I was born. Soon the snow began to fall in great flakes and my feet would have frozen
had I not kept them in motion. Presently over my head I heard the flutter of wings and looking up I saw a big flock of wild turkeys winging their way across the canyon.
When they hit the ground they were within fifty yards of me. Full of excitement, I leveled my gun on a huge gobbler, but before I could pull the trigger he had
disappeared behind a bush. I tried it on another and still another but each time with the same results. Not a shot did I get and when finally the flock had disappeared
and I was left alone with my emotions and the deer, I fell down in a heap and literally bawled. How long my brother was gone I had no way of knowing but to me the
time seemed almost interminable. When he did arrive he was accompanied by my mother and a younger brother who had come to assist in transporting the buck to our
home. When the animal had been prepared each of us seized a leg and began our homeward journey, but our progress was slow as it was all some of us could do to
manage our load. With difficulty we would carry it a few rods when some one would call time out. We were all but exhausted when to our joy we were met by our
neighbor, Helaman Pratt, who, having heard of our success, had come with his pack mule to give us a lift.

That evening there was a happy group of children while mother was preparing the evening meal as they inhaled the odor from the frying venison and a still happier group
when they sat down to the table and had a real fill of the sweetest meat any of us had ever eaten. Once or twice during the repast I thought I saw a tear drop glistening
in her eyes and once I fancied I heard her mutter a praise to God for his bounteous gift.

The Savior of Nacozari

By DR. THOMAS C. ROMNEY

ONE HUNDRED and fifty miles from Douglas, Arizona, in the state of Sonora, nestles deep in a canyon the city of Nacozari, one of the important mining camps in
northern Mexico. It was built by the Montezuma Copper Company, a branch of the Phelps-Dodge Company, as a center for their extensive mining interests throughout
a large area in northern Sonora. Here they built one of the finest concentrating plants in the world to process the ore from several mines, conveyed there by the
company's system of railroads. When I was there more than thirty years ago there were about two thousand inhabitants, made up chiefly of Mexicans and Americans,
most of whom were in the employ of the company. Like many others, I went there to retrieve a small fortune lost in mine speculations and found employment in the
building line. The majority of the houses at Nacozari were company built and company owned, and to the credit of the company, be it said, they paid their employees
well.

In 1908 I was acting foreman for the company in the construction of their buildings and as such was on my way from a row of tenement houses under construction to
the planing mill when I observed a train of cars winding its way over the circuitous route leading up the steep acclivity east of town. There was nothing unusual about
such an event, for trains were constantly going back and forth from the mines, except that in this instance, the train seemed to be on fire. I watched it with interest and
with considerable curiosity until the last car had passed over the summit of the hill when almost immediately there occurred the most terrific explosion that I had ever
witnessed. The force of the concussion was so violent that it seemed to me my head would be blown from my shoulders and as if by instinct I found my hands locked
over the top of my head to keep it from being blown into space. After the shock was over I went at top speed to the summit of the hill to discover if I might, what had
happened. The sight I beheld beggars description and like Banquo's ghost, it haunts me still. The first tragic scene in the picture was a dead man lying on his back with
the warm blood from his body flowing down the hill in a small rivulet. Passing on I observed that the warehouse which had stood by the side of the track had been so
completely demolished that not one particle of evidence remained to confirm the fact that such a building had ever existed. Even the solid shelf of rock on which the
building once stood had received a scar fully three feet deep. Off to the left three hundred yards from the track had stood a tenement house that had sheltered several
families. To my astonishment the structure had been blown to atoms. Not one stick of timber was in its original position. Several of its occupants had been blown into
eternity but worst of all, my eyes fell upon the forms and features of two women, a mother and daughter, who had been gazing out of the window at the approaching
train when the explosion occurred. The glass from the window was hurled with such terrific force into their eyes that they were literally torn from their sockets, and
nothing was left but great gaping, hideous cavities, where once the eyes had been. And those sightless women could not die but were destined to live on in a world of
total darkness, subjects of charity until a kind Providence should see fit to end their sufferings. I then looked about to ascertain the damage to the train, and saw that the
engine had been dismantled, and learned that the body of the engineer had been blown from the cab and was lying horribly mangled by the side of the track.

Anxious to learn the cause of the disaster, I interviewed a group of men standing nearby and received from them a detailed account of the accident, the essential
features of which I now pass on to my readers.

The train had come from the mine loaded with ore and was to return laden with an assortment of merchandise for those employed at the mines. On one car was loaded
six thousand pounds of giant powder taken from a great stone magazine situated at the foot of the hill and in another car several tons of baled hay had been placed.
When all was in readiness the engineer gave the signal, the engine began to puff and the train started to climb the hill. When less than half the distance had been reached
the engineer cast a backward glance and to his consternation he saw the sparks from the engine had set aflame the bales of hay and that the burning hay, in turn, was
being blown into the midst of the tons of powder contained in the open car immediately in the rear.

"Run for your lives!" shouted the youthful Mexican engineer to the train crew and a dozen passengers on their way to the mines. No second command was needed, and
in a moment Juan was left alone. His Gethsemane had come. He, too, might escape but what of the thousands in the town below? Should the powder explode at this
point the jar would be sufficient to set off the hundreds of tons in the magazine below and then what? Not one of the thousands would live to tell the tale. Great beads
of perspiration protruded from every pore and with a heavy groan he opened wide the throttle and the train sped on. Scarcely had the summit been reached when the
powder exploded, but the courage of the engineer had saved the town.

 Copyright
Six months (c)
           had2005-2009,
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                             sun was about                                                                                                       Page
                                             sink from view behind a serrated peak when a train of cars was seen coming down the steep declivity east     50 / It58
                                                                                                                                                      of town.
was crowded with men, women and children on their way from the mines. They had come to witness a solemn event, the unveiling of a monument to the memory of
Juan Garcia, the youthful Mexican engineer. Multitudes had assembled-Mexicans and Americans-social differences were cast aside and all were blended into one great
point the jar would be sufficient to set off the hundreds of tons in the magazine below and then what? Not one of the thousands would live to tell the tale. Great beads
of perspiration protruded from every pore and with a heavy groan he opened wide the throttle and the train sped on. Scarcely had the summit been reached when the
powder exploded, but the courage of the engineer had saved the town.

Six months had passed. The sun was about to sink from view behind a serrated peak when a train of cars was seen coming down the steep declivity east of town. It
was crowded with men, women and children on their way from the mines. They had come to witness a solemn event, the unveiling of a monument to the memory of
Juan Garcia, the youthful Mexican engineer. Multitudes had assembled-Mexicans and Americans-social differences were cast aside and all were blended into one great
throng to pay homage at the shrine of the hero who died that they might live.

Words of eulogy appropriate for the occasion were spoken and strains of soft-toned music floated out on the evening air in heart-breaking loveliness only as a well-
trained and emotional Mexican orchestra can produce it. Then as a hush came over the assembled multitude, a veil was parted disclosing to view a polished granite
shaft on whose base was inscribed a glowing tribute, the spirit of which was as follows: "To the memory of Juan Garcia, the courageous youthful engineer, the savior of
Nacozari, who died that we might live. No greater love hath any man than this, that he should lay down his life for his friends."

Years have passed since then but those intervening years have not dimmed the memory of that courageous deed nor the sorrow of that widowed mother and orphaned
sister as we tenderly placed in the casket the broken body of that heroic youth to whom honor and service were dearer than life.

A Summer Outing and What Came of It

By ANTHONY W. IVINS

(The final story in this volume is a delightful and interesting account of a trip taken by Frank Anderson and George Reasoner into the Sierra Madre Mountains of Old
Mexico. It is easy to see that George Reasoner is none other than the author himself, Anthony W. Ivins. In this story President Ivins is at his best. He found complete
relaxation and enjoyment in a trip to the mountains; in the wild life and the plant growth as nature formed them.-P. N.)

IT was the first week in September. In the southland, at this season of the year, nature is at her best; just a tinge of autumn in the leaves, the flowers passing from
perfection of bloom to seed, the gathering of nature's harvest.

Preparations for the outing were completed, and Frank Anderson and George Reasoner were ready to start into the mountains.

The outfit consisted of the usual personal effects, food, clothing, etc., two folding cots, with warm blankets, for it will be cold in the Sierra, a small tent of ten-ounce
duck, two 30-30 Winchester rifles, a shot gun, plenty of ammunition, split bamboo fishing rods, automatic reels, silk lines, leaders, and a large assortment of artificial
flies; hobbles and bells for the horses, chains for the dogs, pick, shovel and ax; cooking utensils, dishes, and an assortment of books.

All of this was loaded on a white top to which a medium span of horses was hitched, while a third horse, with a saddle on, was tied behind, and an extra saddle was
lashed on the pack, to be used on one of the team horses, when the two men wished to ride together.

Three dogs watched every movement while preparations for the start were being made: Fleete, a liver and white pointer, eager, alert, her finely chiseled head and
symmetrical body, the product of generations of careful breeding, showed great animation; Trailer, a spotted hound, with grave face and halfclosed eyes, appeared to
pay little attention to his surroundings, but a close observer would note that nothing escaped him; it was dignity and not indifference which restrained him. The third dog
was entirely different from his companions: they were both spotted, he was brown with regular white markings on his neck and breast; their hair was short and smooth,
his long and shaggy; their heads were long with massive jaws and square nose, his broad between the ears and pointed at the nose; their ears were long and broad, his
erect, with the ends slightly pendant. He was Laddie, the Scotch collie. Intelligent, alert, docile, but would never assume that which is not his own nor fail you in an
emergency.

The first five miles of the journey, across the comparatively level plains, was devoid of interest. The mountain, as Frank had said, was just a blue mass of rocks and
earth. As they drew nearer its aspect gradually changed; new forms appeared, the smooth outline became rugged, and what in the distance appeared to have been
small bushes gradually developed into forests of pine and cedar.

The face of the mountain was rough, with no place where ascent appeared to be possible, but the road suddenly turned into a canyon, entirely invisible from the
distance, and the long climb toward the summit began. Up, up they went, the road winding along the canyon side, here crossing a narrow culvert over a ravine, there
cut through solid rock around a perpendicular cliff, with barely room for the wagon to pass, and again through the backbone of an obtrusive ridge, but always up, up.

At intervals the road had been widened making it possible for two wagons to pass. On one of these, George turned out and stopped. As he did so a team came round
a bend above them and slowly down the road. Three span of horses were attached to two wagons on which four thousand feet of lumber was piled. The driver, a mere
boy, sat upon the front load, which was the larger, carefully manipulating both the lines and brake, as the wagons rocked and swayed over the dangerous road. A
cheery "hello" greeted the friends as the wagons rattled on down the canyon, two single teams, with lighter loads, following after.

"I would not have thought it possible," said Frank, "for loaded teams to pass over these roads either up or down, but those boys appeared to be quite at home."

"Yes, they are mountain boys," replied his companion, "accustomed to the dangers and hardships of frontier life, they do not know what fear is, you will become better
acquainted with them before we return."

"How magnificent!" exclaimed Frank. They were nearing the summit and the sides of the mountain were covered with giant pines. On the South, perpendicular cliffs
shot their pinnacles heavenward, great boulders were scattered over the mountain side, in the shade of which beds of vari-colored flowers blended with the eternal
green of the trees, among the leaves of which a tint of yellow was beginning to show, harbinger of the autumn frost which was soon to come.

After reaching the summit, the descent to the west was gradual. They had proceeded but a short distance when the sound of a steam whistle roused Frank from his
reverie. "What is it?" he asked. "I did not expect to find a steam engine in this remote region."

"It is at the saw mill which supplies the settlers in the valleys below with lumber," replied his companion.

As they neared the mill, a four-horse team came out from a side canyon, drawing a wagon unlike any that Frank had ever before seen. The wheels were low and
massive, and there were no standards on the heavy bolsters, but notwithstanding this fact, a tremendous log rode steadily on them, the driver sitting on its top.

"How did they manage to get that log on the wagon?" exclaimed Frank. "It must weigh tons."

 Copyright
"It          (c)George,
    does," said 2005-2009,
                        "and Infobase
                              was loadedMedia
                                         by theCorp.
                                                man who drives the team, you will see him unload it when we reach the mill. He is a logger by occupation, Page and51   / 58
                                                                                                                                                                   handles
these mammoth trees with as much ease as the teamster who furnishes you your coal does his scoop and chutes. The logs, after being cut, are sawed into the desired
lengths, the logger drives his team to where they lie, on the mountain side, adjusts skids to his wagon, which is called a logging truck, attaches a chain, which has been
massive, and there were no standards on the heavy bolsters, but notwithstanding this fact, a tremendous log rode steadily on them, the driver sitting on its top.

"How did they manage to get that log on the wagon?" exclaimed Frank. "It must weigh tons."

"It does," said George, "and was loaded by the man who drives the team, you will see him unload it when we reach the mill. He is a logger by occupation, and handles
these mammoth trees with as much ease as the teamster who furnishes you your coal does his scoop and chutes. The logs, after being cut, are sawed into the desired
lengths, the logger drives his team to where they lie, on the mountain side, adjusts skids to his wagon, which is called a logging truck, attaches a chain, which has been
wound around the log, to the reach, and to the other end of the chain hitches his team; as the horses pull, the log is rolled slowly up the skids onto the truck, where it is
held in place by blocks placed on the bolsters. In this way a single man will load the largest log in the forest."

The mill was in full operation. On the sloping side of the hill a great pile of logs was constantly being added to by teams which came with loads, and after having
deposited them, moved slowly back up the slopes and canyons for others.

A single man, with a cant-hook, moved the huge tree trunks to the carriage, they were quickly placed in position, the sawyer stood at his post, the ratchet tender
moved the ratchet to the desired width and thickness, with a bewildering whir-r-r the saw passed through the log, and off-bearers rolled away the planks and boards as
they fell upon the truck, and what a few moments before had been but an unwieldy tree trunk, was ready to go into the habitation of man, the frame of a ship, or to
support the bands of steel which bear the commerce of nations.

It was all new to Frank; he had never before been in a lumbering camp, and was intensely interested in what he saw.

The whistle blew, the mill stopped, the logging teams were fed grain and turned out to graze until morning, and the men gathered for the evening meal, of which the
visitors were invited to partake.

They were a stalwart lot, those men of the woods; rough in appearance and garb, but companionable, modest and sensitive, unobtrusive, but surprisingly well informed
when engaged in conversation, obviously men to whom the world and its affairs were not strangers.

The beds had been made up for the night, the moon shone brightly, the rare atmosphere was laden with that peculiar aroma of balsam and pine which pervades the saw
mill. Frank Anderson was to pass his first night on a camp-bed in the Sierra.

"It has been a delightful day," he said. "The canyon, the cliffs, the trees, the flowers, but more than all the boy on that load of lumber, and these men here at the mill, they
have all impressed me deeply. Do you know, before I left home I had thought of the people who live away from the great centers of trade and commerce as of very
little consequence. The great cities have been my world; their captains of industry, my ideal. I am astonished that these men discuss with intelligence, not only the things
which belong to their own environment, but with a perfect understanding, the commerce, politics, and religion of the world. My ideals are already beginning to be
shattered."

"They are all worthy of our admiration, provided each is true to the trust reposed in him," replied George. "Governments must exist for the protection of society. There
must be legislators to frame the laws, and capable men to execute them. Great financiers are necessary to transact the world's business, but you must not overlook the
fact that these men of the mountains and plains, these men who toil, who take the rough elements as they are found in nature and convert them into that which man
requires-these men from the workshops, the mills, and the farms, have in them the elements for the making of legislators, executors of the law, and financiers. They do
the world's work, they fight the world's battles; so long as we have them with us we are safe. Is it not possible that it was the backwoods which gave Lincoln the
character that made him the greatest man of his time? The struggles of early life which gave us Garfield? Life on the farm which laid the foundation for the conquests of
Grant? And the part he took in the winning of the West which made Roosevelt loved and trusted by the American People? Goldsmith was right when he said:

"Princes or kings may flourish or may fade,
A breath may make them, as a breath hath made,
But a bold peasantry, a country's pride,
If once destroyed can never be supplied."

The dogs barked, the belated cows came lowing home to their calves, the fire gradually died out, the sound of human voices ceased, the camp was asleep; and as he
slept, Frank Anderson dreamed of other pine clad hills, of lowing herds and bleating flocks, of peculiar ships, on whose decks were crowded ranks of fair-haired,
bearded men with the lust of conquest in their hearts. Unconsciously, environment had awakened within him the spirit of the past. The voice of his ancestors was calling;
there was something within him which responded to the call; he had been born to a new life.

II

"Forests were ever the cradles of men;
Manhood is born of a kinship with trees.
Whence shall come brave hearts and strong,
When woods have made way for our cities of ease?"

With the first apearance of light in the east, the lumber camp was awake and active. Breakfast was eaten before sunrise, the logging teams toiled up the slopes, the
whistle called the mill men to their places, and the work of another busy day began.

Frank Anderson arose, refreshed by a delightful night's repose, and packed up the load, while George brought in the horses. Breakfast was eaten with the mill hands,
and after hearty handshakes and wishes of good luck and pleasure, the friends drove down the canyon toward their destination.

Everywhere there were pines. Pines near them on the hillsides, pines on the most remote ridges and peaks, pines in the bottom of the canyons. The road wound around
through the timber, here following a ridge, there, the side of a canyon; and again along the bank of a mountain stream. In the canyons the luxurious growth of vegetation
showed greater variety. There were trees of ash, oak, sycamore, beautiful cedars, and an occasional quaking asp or maple, the leaves of the latter showing the first tints
of autumn.

Grass and flowers grew in profusion everywhere. As they proceeded, the variety of flowers became greater. Rounding a point in the canyon the dogs startled a flock of
wild turkeys, which were scratching on the creek bottom. They scrambled up the rocky mountain-side and disappeared over the crest of a ridge. Frank wanted to stop
the team and follow them, but George explained that because of the character of the country it would be useless. "The wild turkey," he said, "is a wary bird, and once
disturbed in a place like this, is not easily approached. When they reach the top of the ridge there, they will fly across that canyon which you see, and would thus leave
us far behind, with a very rough country intervening."

"What are those?"
 Copyright        asked Frank,
           (c) 2005-2009,      as a great
                          Infobase   Mediaflock of birds flew from a grove of oaks near the road.
                                             Corp.                                                                                                          Page 52 / 58
"They are wild pigeons," replied his companion, "the American Band-Tailed Pigeon; there are great numbers of them in the Sierra, and they afford rare sport to the
hunter. They are fully as large as the tame pigeon, and excellent in flavor."
the team and follow them, but George explained that because of the character of the country it would be useless. "The wild turkey," he said, "is a wary bird, and once
disturbed in a place like this, is not easily approached. When they reach the top of the ridge there, they will fly across that canyon which you see, and would thus leave
us far behind, with a very rough country intervening."

"What are those?" asked Frank, as a great flock of birds flew from a grove of oaks near the road.

"They are wild pigeons," replied his companion, "the American Band-Tailed Pigeon; there are great numbers of them in the Sierra, and they afford rare sport to the
hunter. They are fully as large as the tame pigeon, and excellent in flavor."

A flock of birds passed over the heads of the travelers, high in the air, and keeping up a constant chatter as they flew.

"Those are parrots," said George. "They are lighting in the tops of the pines there. Observe closely, as we pass, and you will see that they are very beautiful birds. It is
difficult to see them while they are in the trees, the green of their bodies is so much like the green of the pines. They eat the seeds from the pine cones, and are rarely
seen on the ground."

As they drew near, Frank's admiration was unbounded. The green bodies of the birds were plainly visible, and the splashes of red and yellow were reflected by the
morning sun, like burnished gold. As the buckboard rattled under the trees where they were feeding, away they went, with a great chattering and flapping of wings.

"I have seen parrots before," said Frank, "but always in captivity. How glorious to see them here, without restraint, at home with the environment for which they were
created."

"You will discover, before we return," replied his friend, "that to appreciate the works of the Creator they must be seen in their natural state, unchanged by the hand of
man."

The dogs were in their element. Trailer frequently left the road, as his sensitive nose detected the trail of a deer which had crossed during the night, but a word from
George restrained him; a little later, however, when a doe and two fawns dashed across the road and up the mountain side, he broke from all restraint and followed
them, the cliffs echoing to his musical cry.

"What will become of him?" exclaimed Frank.

"He will not follow far," replied his companion. "The instinct of his race prompts him to take the trail, and never leave it so long as he has strength to follow, but I have
trained him to understand that he must not follow far unless I am with him."

A little farther down the canyon, Fleete became greatly excited. "Watch her," said George, as he handed the lines to his companion, and taking his gun from the case
put it together. "The cartridges are in the case, on the seat by you; hand me two, No. 8."

The dog was coursing rapidly about a hundred yards from the road. Suddenly she turned to windward, bounded forward a short distance, stopped, then advanced
cautiously toward a bunch of willows, where she stood immovable as a statue, her neck extended, tail rigid, her whole body quivering.

"What will become of her?" exclaimed Frank.

"There is a flock of quails in that bunch of willows. The dog does not see them, but her keen nose tells her they are there, and instinct and training tell her that it is not
safe to approach nearer until her master comes, with his gun.

"Dogs have been known to stand, pointing a bird for hours, without moving. Here, take the gun, and as they rise bring down a pair; we need them for dinner."

"No," replied Frank, "I have never fired a gun except in a shooting gallery. I fear we shall go hungry if you depend on me to keep the larder supplied."

George got off the buckboard, walked to where the dog stood, and in a low voice told her to go on. She approached the willows cautiously, there was a confusing
whir-r-r-r of wings; bang! bang! went the gun, a wisp of feathers floated off in the air, and two brown objects, from a confusion of others which moved rapidly away,
came down into the grass with a thud.

The dog did not move until told to do so, then she ran forward, picked the birds up, and brought them, one by one to her master.

"We call them fool hens," said George. "They belong to the quail family, are larger than the ordinary quail, and the quality of their flesh is unsurpassed."

The road led from the canyon and wound up towards the top of a steep mountain ridge. Near the top two birds flew from a juniper tree near the road, and lit on the
top of a nearby oak.

"Those are very rare birds," said George. "They are always found in pairs, and are rarely seen in the mountains. Their color is green, as you see, and their long tails, and
the crest upon their heads are very much like the bird of paradise."

It was noon when the top of the ridge was reached, and turning out the horses to graze, George prepared the noon-day meal. The quails were dressed and fried,
potatoes sliced and stewed, bottled fruit, with condensed cream, bread and butter. It was a bill of fare to please an epicure.

The meal was finished, the load re-packed, the horses fed a little grain, and hitched up, and the journey resumed.

Just as they were starting, Trailer came in, tired and footsore, glad to eat the dinner which Frank had reserved for him, and jump into the buckboard and ride when
asked to do so.

The topography of the country gradually changed. There were fewer canyons, the ridges were not so high, occasionally small valleys were passed, treeless, but covered
with grass and skirted with pines.

There were flowers everywhere; acres of blue, purple, pink, crimson, yellow and variegated, all in one indiscriminate mass, but with a remarkably harmonious blending
of colors, nature's flower garden, untouched by the hand of man.

"I have been trying to classify these flowers," said Frank. "What is that beautiful one there by that dead log? We have passed several of them since noon; it looks like a
tulip, but the(c)
 Copyright     stalk is different."
                  2005-2009,    Infobase Media Corp.                                                                                                   Page 53 / 58
"It is a native of the Sierra," George replied. "We call it a tiger lily, and regard it as one of the most beautiful flowers of the mountains."
of colors, nature's flower garden, untouched by the hand of man.

"I have been trying to classify these flowers," said Frank. "What is that beautiful one there by that dead log? We have passed several of them since noon; it looks like a
tulip, but the stalk is different."

"It is a native of the Sierra," George replied. "We call it a tiger lily, and regard it as one of the most beautiful flowers of the mountains."

"This afternoon," said Frank, "we have passed rare specimens of begonias, columbines, dahlias, four-o'clocks, honeysuckles, a flower which greatly resembles our
calla, verbena, larkspurs, some beautiful Canterbury bells, and look at that bleeding heart, and those poppies!"

"If you were here in the morning," said George, "you would find the country covered with morning glories; there are many other varieties of flowers which have already
gone to seed."

The road suddenly brought them out into a mountain valley in which nestled a group of houses. A stream of water flowed through the valley to the north. Following this
for about two miles it dropped into a deep canyon. There was no road and the descent was steep and rough, but by careful driving they reached the bottom in safety,
at a point where the canyon widened out and two streams came together. In the forks of these creeks, on a high spot of ground, covered with grass, and shaded by
scattering pine trees, camp was established. The stream was fringed with willows, and there were meadows on either side upon which cattle were grazing, while the
mountain sides were covered with grass and flowers. The horses were unhitched, bells and hobbles put on them, and they were turned out to graze. The tent was
pitched, some wood gathered, a fire started, and by the time darkness set in, they were ready for the night.

It was a beautiful night. The full moon arose over the ridges to the east, and looked down through the pines like a great search-light, illuminating the canyon until it was
almost as light as day. The night air, laden with the fragrance of spruce, cedar and wild flowers, was like the boudoir of a princess. Trout splashed in the stream, frogs
croaked and crickets chirped incessantly. Night hawks drummed as they passed swiftly through the air in pursuit of the insects on which they feed. From a branch of a
giant dead pine, which stood just across the creek, a horned owl hooted, and away off on the mountain side a coyote howled dismally. Myriads of insects fluttered
round the camp fire, many of them to be caught in the flames and destroyed. From the top of a juniper tree, near the camp, a mocking-bird sang as only a mocking-bird
sings on a moonlight night. Changing rapidly he imitated all of the notes peculiar to his feathered companions, and many known only to himself, his song was like a
medley of old melodies. A whippoorwill called from the bushes, near camp, and was answered by another, farther away, while from down the canyon they heard the
bark of a gray wolf.

"Tonight," said Frank, "in the great cities, the electric lights are converting night into day, as the moon is doing in the canyon here. There is music, beauty, happiness and
innocence there, as there is here. The human moths are there, fluttering round the light, as they are here, many of them to be caught in the flames and destroyed. The
human beasts of prey are there, too, and steal out from their hiding place in the darkness, seeking whom they may devour. How alike we are, after all, how like man
nature is, and man like nature, with this exception, that there, in the great city, it is all the result of studied design; while here, in the wilds it is the spontaneous response
of every living thing to the call of nature."

III

"There's nothing that builds up a toil-weary soul
Like a day on a stream
Out there where the greed and the strife are forgot,
To revel once more in the depths of a joy
That's as real as it seems."

The following morning the two friends were early astir. Before the sun had risen, rods were unpacked, jointed together, and reels placed in position. A fine, transparent
leader was attached to each line, and then the fly books were opened.

"There are a great many different kinds of flies here," said Frank. "Which do you use, and how are they attached to the leader?"

"It is difficult to determine which fly the trout will best rise to," replied George. "We must experiment. It all depends upon the class of food which is most abundant in the
neighborhood, at this season of the year; the trout will rise best to an artificial fly resembling that which he is now eating. Here, this is a Silver Doctor. You observe that
the end of the snell to which the hook is attached has a loop in it, also that there is a loop on the leader; put the loop on the snell over the one on the leader, then run the
hook through the latter, draw the two tightly together and the fly will be properly attached. Now take this other fly, it is a Royal Coachman, and fasten it on in the same
way, to the other loop, higher up on your leader. We will try two flies to begin with. Cast your line into the creek there and look out for the result."

"I have never caught a fish," said Frank. "You will have to show me how to make the cast."

"It is simple," explained George. "Flies, as they attempt to cross the streams, frequently fall into the water. They immediately strike out for the shore. Their struggles
attract the trout, which take them from the surface of the water. To be a successful angler your fly should drop upon the water naturally, and be drawn along the surface
so that it will resemble, as nearly as possible, a living fly, in this way," and with a dexterous movement of the wrist he threw out his line, the fly dropping on the water
several yards away.

A few trials, and Frank found that it was not difficult to make a cast.

The two men walked down the stream a short distance to where a willow grew from the bank, near the roots of which the still water indicated a deep pool.

"Cast there," said George, "in the still water under that willow."

The cast was made without result.

"Try again, a little nearer the bank."

The fly fell true, there was a commotion, a silvery streak shot above the surface of the water, the reel clicked as the line was drawn out, and a moment later a beautiful
trout was lying on the pebbly shore, to be eagerly secured, and after comments as to weight placed in the creel.

So they fished down the stream, taking a trout from a riffle here, from behind a rock there, or under a willow yonder, until reminded by their appetites that it was time
for breakfast. And what a breakfast it was! Hot bread of their own making, with butter from the near-by town, postum with condensed cream, trout fresh from the
stream, rolled in flour and fried in butter, potatoes hashed and fried, and with it all that mountain water of which it seemed impossible to drink enough.
Copyright (c) 2005-2009, Infobase Media Corp.                                                                                                                  Page 54 / 58
After the breakfast things had been cleared away and dishes washed, the two friends walked up the creek a short distance above the camp to a small juniper tree upon
which a mocking-bird was perched, occasionally breaking forth in song. Carefully separating the inner branches, they found a nest with the mother bird upon it; she did
So they fished down the stream, taking a trout from a riffle here, from behind a rock there, or under a willow yonder, until reminded by their appetites that it was time
for breakfast. And what a breakfast it was! Hot bread of their own making, with butter from the near-by town, postum with condensed cream, trout fresh from the
stream, rolled in flour and fried in butter, potatoes hashed and fried, and with it all that mountain water of which it seemed impossible to drink enough.

After the breakfast things had been cleared away and dishes washed, the two friends walked up the creek a short distance above the camp to a small juniper tree upon
which a mocking-bird was perched, occasionally breaking forth in song. Carefully separating the inner branches, they found a nest with the mother bird upon it; she did
not fly until almost touched, and then only to a branch of the dead pine, just across the creek, from which she scolded them for their intrusion. There were five bluish-
brown eggs in the nest, and upon one of them there was just the suspicion of a crack.

"The eggs are about to hatch," said George. "We must retire and permit the bird to return." This they did, and the mother bird at once came back to the nest, while the
male, from his perch on the dead pine, sang as if his throat would split.

The middle of the day was spent in reading and rest. There is something in the mountain atmosphere, in the stillness, which invites repose and brings refreshing sleep.

In the afternoon, after taking some pictures with the kodak, the rods and reels were again taken up, and the two friends fished down the creek until a sufficient number
of trout had been taken for immediate use.

The sun was setting as they returned to camp, its rays throwing great shadows across their path, from the peaks and pines above. How enchanting the view as they
neared their camp. The stream fringed with willows, the meadows, the horses fed a little grain, and after an hour spent in recounting the incidents of the day the men
retired for the night.

There were four young mocking-birds in the nest the following morning, little fuzzy things, with big heads and wide open mouths. The male bird was busily pursuing
butterflies and grasshoppers. He was the head of a family now and must provide for it. There was no more singing during the day, but when night came he sang more
joyously than ever, happy that there was work to do for those he loved.

As they fished down the creek that morning the dogs, as usual, were interested spectators, watching every cast, and manifesting as much pleasure when a trout was
landed as the anglers themselves. On a spot of open ground Fleete suddenly stopped and turned toward a small bush which grew among the grass. She pointed,
approached, and retreated as if in doubt, then moved forward again and carefully extended her paw. The act was fatal. Like a flash a dark body shot out from the
bush, and the fangs of a rattlesnake were fastened in her foot. With a cry of pain and fear, as if thoroughly comprehending the danger, she limped away.

Such simple remedies as were available were applied, but without effect. In half an hour she was dead.

A grave was dug at the foot of a pine-tree, near camp, and the dog buried. A mound of large stones was formed, and on one side of the tree, which was blazed, the
word Fleete was marked by driving nails into the trunk, the heads only being visible.

The conversation around the camp fire that night was serious. George and the dog had been companions for years, and he deeply mourned her loss. Frank admitted
that he had not thought it possible to become so attached to anything not human as he had to the dogs and horses.

It was the first favorable opportunity to introduce the subject of religion, and George took advantage of it. Earnestly he expounded the great plan of human redemption
and the assurance which had come to him that there was a life beyond the grave, that all men would be redeemed and brought back into the presence of the Lord,
through faith in the redemption wrought out by Jesus Christ.

"I know," he said, "that I cannot prove the truth of what I have said by external evidence which would satisfy you, and I do not expect that my conviction will be
sufficient for one who is not conscious of the invisible force by which I have reached these conclusions, but I assure you that any man who will do the will of the Father
shall know that these doctrines are true. Ask God, who hears all who appeal to him, and you shall receive. That was the key which unlocked this gospel dispensation.

The following morning they fished with such satisfactory results that in the afternoon George suggested that they go for a ride through the timber, and possibly get a deer
or turkey.

The horses were saddled, the dogs unchained, the two 30-30 rifles placed in the cases which were attached to the saddles, a new roll of films placed in the kodak, and
with the dogs eagerly leading the way, the party was off.

They rode up the stream to where a side canyon came in from the west, which was followed to the head, where it came out on a mesa above. There was so much to
admire and discuss that little attention was paid to the dogs until Laddie's shrill bark startled them. There, not more than a hundred yards away, was a large flock of
wild turkeys, running swiftly down the mesa, with Laddie and Trailer in full pursuit.

As Laddie dashed among them the great birds rose, with a tremendous flapping of wings, and took refuge in a pine tree. Their attention was so completely absorbed in
watching the dogs, which were barking at the foot of the tree, that they did not notice the approaching men.

"Now," said George, "is your opportunity to bring down one of the greatest of all game birds. The turkeys are watching the dogs, and knowing that they have nothing to
fear from them while in the tree, will permit us to approach within easy range."

The men dismounted and advanced to within fifty yards of the tree where the birds had taken refuge. "There," said George, "you see that gobbler at the right, on one of
the lower branches of the tree; take him."

Frank raised his rifle and fired. The bird did not move.

"You fired too hurriedly," said George, "and overshot; a very common error. Be more careful and hold a little lower."

Another cartridge was thrown into the barrel, the aim was more deliberate, and with a flutter of wings the turkey fell to the ground, the remainder of the flock soaring
away into an adjacent canyon.

"What a magnificent bird!" said Frank. "He is equal in size to any tame turkey I have ever seen."

"Yes," said George, "they are fully equal to the tame turkey, both in size and quality, and they abound in the mountains, notwithstanding the fact that they have many
natural enemies. They build their nests on the ground, and are consequently an easy prey to wild animals, many are also destroyed by forest fires which sweep through
the mountains."
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"Why did you not fire at them?" asked Frank.
"What a magnificent bird!" said Frank. "He is equal in size to any tame turkey I have ever seen."

"Yes," said George, "they are fully equal to the tame turkey, both in size and quality, and they abound in the mountains, notwithstanding the fact that they have many
natural enemies. They build their nests on the ground, and are consequently an easy prey to wild animals, many are also destroyed by forest fires which sweep through
the mountains."

"Why did you not fire at them?" asked Frank.

"I felt certain that you would get this fellow," replied his companion, "and one is all we shall be able to use. It would be unsportsmanlike to kill more."

As they rounded a rocky point, on the return to camp, looking across a box canyon, several hundred yards away, they saw a bear climbing clumsily up the side hill. In a
moment George was down from his horse and rapidly firing shot after shot as the bear scrambled up the slope. The dogs were in full pursuit, but before they reached
the opposite side of the canyon a well-directed shot had done its work, and the ungainly beast came rolling down the mountain-side. The skin, an unusually fine one,
was removed, and the men proceeded on to camp.

"Each day is more interesting than the preceding one," said Frank, as preparations were made for the night. "The fishing this morning, the delightful ride through the
timber, the turkeys and the bear, why, I never before knew what real life is. Tell me, are these bears dangerous? Do they ever attack man?"

"I have never known an instance," replied George, "where a bear has deliberately and without provocation attacked a man, but when surprised, or wounded, or in
defense of their young, bears are formidable foes."

IV

"Cheek that is tanned to the wind of the north,
Limbs that are eager and strong to go forth
Strength of the forests and health of the plains,
Yearly to hark to the listening oaks-
These are the splendors the hunter invokes."

The morning was beautiful; the sun rose warm and radiant; there was not a cloud in the sky. The mocking-birds sang as they flew to and fro, carrying food to their
young. The trout took the fly as they had never done before.

As they fished down the stream, the friends disturbed a wild turkey hen and her brood which were scratching on the river bottom, and they went scurrying up the
mountain side, and took refuge in the rocks. A little farther on a flock of parrots flew from where they were feeding on the cones, in the top of a pine tree, and were
away with a great chattering and flapping of wings. A doe and two fawns ran out from the willows, and stopping on the mountain side looked back, their great hazel
eyes staring in wonder at the intruders.

As the day advanced the heat became oppressive. The trout ceased to bite, the birds to sing. The cattle left the river bottom and hastily trailed off into the side canyons.
A flock of crows passed silently overhead and took refuge under a projecting cliff on the mountain side. All nature had suddenly become hushed and oppressed.

"What does it all mean?" asked Frank.

'It is the calm which precedes the summer storm," replied George. "We must hurry back to camp and prepare for it. See, there is the proof of what I say!"

As they turned back toward camp, clouds were rolling up from behind the ridges to the south, like great piles of popcorn, and a breeze was blowing from that
direction.

When they reached camp the horses were already there, backed up on the windward side of a grove of trees. They were hastily tied, and blankets thrown on them.
The dogs whined and crept into the tent. The male mocking bird flew from his perch on the juniper tree and took refuge under a shelving rock near by. There was
hardly time to collect the camp equipage, put it in the tent, and securely tie the door, when the storm broke in all its fury. The wind had increased to a gale, the clouds
were black and ominous; the lightning flashed, the thunder rolled; rain came down in torrents; great hailstones fell, beating down the grass and flowers, and tearing the
tender branches from the trees; a shaft of lightning struck the giant dead pine across the creek and tore it into a thousand pieces, scattering them all around the tent, and
leaving the trunk, which was strongly impregnated with pitch, burning brightly as the storm raged.

The creek, which a few moments before had been a clear mountain stream, was a raging torrent. Trees, torn up by the roots, floated past, and great boulders, loosened
from the mountain sides by the rivulets which flowed everywhere came rolling down into the canyon, with a sound like thunder.

Fortunately the storm was of short duration. It passed as unexpectedly as it had come. The clouds rolled away, the sun came out and looked complacently down upon
the havoc wrought as if it had been an uneventful autumn day.

As the two friends stepped out into the sunshine the mocking-bird flew from his shelter under the projecting rock and hopped among the branches of the juniper tree,
uttering notes of alarm. The men approached the tree, and George carefully drew back the branches. There, upon the nest, was the mother bird-dead! True to the
instinct of all flesh, she had protected her young while the storm beat out her life. The little birds were safe. They took the tiny body and, digging a grave near where
Fleete rested, carefully buried it. The friends then returned sorrowfully to the camp to discuss this last tragedy of the woods, so much like the sorrows which come to
human kind.

On several occasions, as they fished down the creek, deer had been seen on the mountain slopes, feeding, or, startled from their beds in the willows, had dashed away
as the men approached.

Frank had waited impatiently for the promised hunt and was up early on the morning when it had been arranged to take it.

The horses were saddled, cartridge belts and hunting knives buckled on, the dogs unchained, and, mounting, they started down the canyon.

"We will kill a buck today," said George. "There are plenty of deer; it will not be necessary to shoot at a doe or fawn should we see one."

His companion urged that the chance of failure was too great if one confined his shooting to buck alone; besides he had never killed a deer, and was not inclined to
discriminate.
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Trees grew along the river bottom. The ground was soft and covered with grass, and the feet of the horses made scarcely a sound. As they passed through a thicket
two deer came out, into an open space below and walked directly toward them. "It is a doe and fawn," whispered George, "watch them." The deer came on, stopping
occasionally to crop the tender grass which grew along the shore of the stream. They were conscious of danger, but could not tell where it was. They sniffed the air,
"We will kill a buck today," said George. "There are plenty of deer; it will not be necessary to shoot at a doe or fawn should we see one."

His companion urged that the chance of failure was too great if one confined his shooting to buck alone; besides he had never killed a deer, and was not inclined to
discriminate.

Trees grew along the river bottom. The ground was soft and covered with grass, and the feet of the horses made scarcely a sound. As they passed through a thicket
two deer came out, into an open space below and walked directly toward them. "It is a doe and fawn," whispered George, "watch them." The deer came on, stopping
occasionally to crop the tender grass which grew along the shore of the stream. They were conscious of danger, but could not tell where it was. They sniffed the air,
stamped their front feet, listened, with their long ears erect and necks extended, but continued to come on until they were only a few yards from where the men sat on
their horses, when one of the horses shook his head, the bridle rattled, and away the deer went up the mountain side, where they stopped and looked back at the men
below. It was a splendid chance for a shot, and Frank wanted to take it, but his companion restrained him.

"We shall find others, soon," he said; "besides, it would seem cruel to shoot them under such circumstances. I have never known a deer to approach so near a man
before. You will observe that there is a breeze blowing up the canyon; were it not for this, they would have smelled us and gone before we had even seen them. The
nose of the deer is exceedingly sensitive. He usually scents an enemy before he sees him."

They climbed out from the canyon and started up a long ridge which terminated in the highest peaks in the neighborhood.

As they neared the summit off to the right, on the side of another ridge, a deer arose from the grass and stood looking at them.

"What a beauty," said Frank, as he hurriedly dismounted and raised his gun to fire.

"Remember," remonstrated his companion, "no does today; she is a beauty, but we must not shoot her."

"But," urged Frank, "the day is far advanced and we are not likely to get another such chance. I do not want to return without a deer. Let me try her."

As he spoke, just below the doe, and a little to the right, another deer got up from the grass. His great horns appeared, and then his entire body, as he stood broadside,
looking across the canyon.

"Now you can shoot," said George. "Hold behind the shoulder and be steady."

The rifle cracked, and both deer bounded off up the mountain.

"As usual, you shot too high," said George. "Go on, you can get in several shots before he reaches the top of the ridge."

Bang! bang! bang! went the Winchester, but the deer did not stop.

"Do not hurry," said George. "Wait until he reaches the top of the ridge. He will stop a moment before passing out of sight to see what it is all about."

With rifle raised, Frank waited. When the deer reached the top of the ridge he stopped, broadside on, and looked back. Frank fired, the deer lurched forward and
disappeared, the doe bounded over the ridge.

"A splendid shot," said George. "He was fully three hundred yards away."

"But he has gone," said Frank. "I missed him again."

"No, you hit him, and hit him hard. He will not go far," said George.

They found him near where he had stood, a magnificent specimen of his kind. The deer was dressed, tied behind one of the saddles, and the men rode on.

The following day was Sunday, and the friends had planned to visit the people at the settlement. George knew that a fat deer was always a welcome present, so the
hunt was continued. There was no danger that the larder would be overstocked.

They were nearly back to camp, and the sun was just setting when they saw a lone deer feeding upon the mountain side to their right. It was a long shot, but at the
crack of George's rifle he came down and was carried on to camp.

Both men and horses were tired when camp was reached, and after supper, which consisted of deer's liver and bacon, fried trout, potatoes, a little cheese placed on a
tin plate and fried over the coals, with canned peaches and cream for desert, they retired early to bed.

It was the first Sunday in October, and the last the friends would spend together in the mountains.

Through the devoted care of the male bird the young mocking-birds were grown. They hopped among the branches of the juniper, and tried their wings by short flights
from tree to tree. Silently the old bird looked on. He had fed them by day, and kept them warm at night, but there had been no more singing; he had done his duty with
a heavy heart, and would soon lead his brood away to their winter home in the south, where he would perhaps find another mate to take the place of her who had given
her life that his offspring might live. As the friends said: "How alike we are. The joys and sorrows and tragedies of life come to the wild things of the woods as they do
to us. How much they sense and suffer by them, who can tell?"

The drive to the settlement, past the fields of harvested hay and grain, was delightful. As they entered the town and saw troops of children, in their plain but neat attire,
hurrying toward the meeting house, Frank Anderson thought of his own childhood, how solicitous his mother had been, when Sunday came, that he should attend
Sunday School, and how she tried to impress him with the truth of the things taught there.

As the two friends drove up to the building where the people were congregating, the children crowded around George, delighted to see and greet him, as were the
older people who were present.

An old couple from Scandinavia were particularly pleased to meet Frank. They had known his parents, in fact his father had been the means of bringing them into the
Church, and the pleasure they manifested at meeting his son was delightful in its earnestness and simplicity.

The interval(c)
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                2005-2009,   School and Sacrament
                                     Media Corp. meeting was spent at the home of this old couple, after which all returned to the Church.                  Page 57 / 58
The afternoon service was simple, but impressive. The Sacrament was administered, the entire congregation partaking. Fellowship was universal in the settlement. Brief
remarks were made by many of those present, both men and women, each of whom bore testimony to the truth of the doctrines of the gospel and the divinity of the
An old couple from Scandinavia were particularly pleased to meet Frank. They had known his parents, in fact his father had been the means of bringing them into the
Church, and the pleasure they manifested at meeting his son was delightful in its earnestness and simplicity.

The interval between Sunday School and Sacrament meeting was spent at the home of this old couple, after which all returned to the Church.

The afternoon service was simple, but impressive. The Sacrament was administered, the entire congregation partaking. Fellowship was universal in the settlement. Brief
remarks were made by many of those present, both men and women, each of whom bore testimony to the truth of the doctrines of the gospel and the divinity of the
mission of the youthful prophet who had been instrumental in its re-establishment.

Frank Anderson was an interested listener, and when the old Scandinavian arose and bore testimony to the sterling qualities of his parents, and recounted the
circumstances under which they were converted to the truth, and their devotion to it, he was visibly affected.

The services were about to close. There was a pause, a few moments of unoccupied time, the stillness was oppressive when Frank Anderson arose and began to
speak.

He referred to his parents with deep emotion, how they had taught him, when a boy, the doctrines of the gospel and he had believed. As he grew older, close
application to business, constant contact with men, many of them not over-scrupulous in their business methods, had almost destroyed his faith; he had sought pleasure
in the cities among men of like tastes, until he had become an unbeliever. Then came this trip to the mountains, to a new world, to meet new people, to be in an
environment which he had never dreamed existed. He had gone into many churches, had visited the cathedrals of the old world, had hoped to find there the fraternal
love and fellowship which he felt should exist among people professing faith in Christ, but had never found it, until he met these simple people of the mountains. Never
had he felt near to the Lord until that night at the saw mill.

Every day since, his faith and hope had increased. The grandeur of the mountains, the beauty of the flowers, the streams of pure water, the terrible grandeur of the
storm, the tragedy of the dog and the mocking-bird-in it all he had seen the majesty and glory of the Creator, and his heart had been turned to him. He had often
looked at the mountains from afar, but had conceived nothing of their beauty and mystery. It was so with the gospel; he knew now that its blessings had always been
within his reach, that the Lord is in temples built with hands, as he is here in the wilds, in the solitude, under the stars, but it had required their experience to awaken the
latent spark of faith which was in his heart. Here, in the solitude, for the first time since he had been a man, he had humbled himself before the Lord, and his prayer had
been heard and answered. He knew that his Redeemer lived. As he had found a new world here in the mountains, so had he found in the gospel a world which he had
never dreamed existed; henceforth his first duty should be to the Lord and his work. As he closed, tears filled his eyes as they did the eyes of many in the congregation.




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