PREMONITIONS OF DANGER—LEARN OF AN ATTEMPT TO KILL US—AN INDIAN'S ADVICE—UNDECIDED ABOUT WHAT COURSE TO TAKE—APPEAL TO THE LORD—PRAYER ANSWERED—REACH HOME IN SAFETY.

Early in the morning of the 19th we were in motion, fearing that that day might bring the greatest trial of our lives. Right on the divide we met about fifteen old men, women and children, but none that could draw the bow in battle were there. The interpreter, who was well versed in Indian policies and tactics, said:

"There, boys, that tells the story—not a warrior here and these are sent off out of danger."

We came out into the valley about 2 o'clock very still, slow and cautious, but saw no signs of life near. We had to ride hard so that, if possible, we might get across the valley unobserved. We succeeded, and just as the sun was setting we reached a little basin or valley among low hills on our old trail, where there was a fine spring of water. We looked carefully all over the country behind us as we left the valley, but saw no signs of life except many smokes.

Our hearts nearly came to a standstill as we turned the ridge down into the little basin, at the sight of seven Indians on the run for the water. We had to have the right of water even if necessary to fight for it; and we started on the run. The ground was so open that we could see no point of advantage the Indians could gain by getting to water first, so we rode more leisurely and we came together at the spring.

As they appeared in every motion to be friendly, we dismounted, threw off our saddles and packs as though we were at home, never forgetting to keep our eyes open and revolvers handy. The first thing to test their friendship was to smoke—if they would smoke with us they would talk, and if they would talk we could be friends and learn something.

When the oldest man had smoked, he asked in astonishment how we got there.

The interpreter said: "We rode here on our horses."

"Yes," said the old man, "I saw you do that; but what road did you come?"

He was told, and replied:

"That is the only way you could come."

"Why?"

Then he went on to tell us that the Indian, Natsab, who ran away in Carson, had passed there telling when he thought we would be along. The Bloody Chief we saw in the valley going out came all through the valley, calling the men to the rocky canyon that leads out of the valley and there they thought to kill us all and divide the spoils, expecting the whole seventeen men to return.

"Why didn't you go?" was asked.

The old man fumbled among his rags and pulled out a piece of tobacco about one and one-half inches square and said, "I showed him that tobacco and told him you gave me it, and I could not fight you as long as that lasted."

"What it that had all been gone?" was asked.

The old man had as mild and pleasant eyes as I ever saw in an Indian's head, and he raised them with as much honesty and simplicity as a child, after looking in the fire a minute, and said:

"I don't know what I would have done."

His heart seemed to correspond with his eye.

The six men with him were his sons and sons-in-law. He kept them from going to fight us. His camp was about a mile from the spring. After talking awhile we tried the "long shot" game on them and found the paper shot through the center as before. We wanted to impress all Indians with the belief that when they fought us, the farther off they could get the safer they would be.

Then we smoked again and all had lunch. The Indians got lots of gifts, the whites none. Then came the good old man's last advice and council:

"I do not know whether they will get track of you before morning or not; but they will get on your track," said the mild-eyed man. "You must not let the sun see you here. To-morrow when the sun looks down from behind the top of that mountain you must be a long way from here. Ride hard all day; and when night comes, don't stop riding, but ride hard all night, and in the morning you will be in the Goshute land and they will not follow you there. They have long been wanting your meat, and when they find only your tracks they will ride like the wind."

When he had done talking, they all arose with a mild dignity, wrapped their remnants of blankets around them, turned their faces towards their home among the cedars and none looked around, except the mild-eyed man, who gave us a look of mingled pity and hope, then nodded his head towards their home, gave a motion of the hand and a prolonged sigh, as much as to say, "I'm going home to sleep."

The old man's advice to us was carefully followed. I examined my journal and notes of the country before we started. The whole day's travel was over a level country from one valley to another, with no high divide or hardly a separating hill; but at noon I found myself lost, in spite of all my care and even extra caution preparatory for such an important day. I could not find any lack of attention in myself and no responsibility was upon any other person in the matter—the route was very plain, and yet I had gone to the left of a mountain instead of to the right. I knew where we were, although there was no trail on either route, yet I knew we had taken the wrong side of the mountain. I was afraid of the result and questioned whether it would give our pursuers any advantage. Should we turn back or go ahead? was another question.

Our lives was the game we were playing for that day, and the responsibility of correct moves was upon me. The thought made me sweat like rain. I told all the men and asked them to ride slowly, very slowly, while I rode up the mountain to see if I could make any discovery. I rode to a good, secure place and there knelt upon the ground and, with my whole soul, asked God to show me what to do in this trying time of uncertainty.

I arose and mounted my horse, fully satisfied. I knew how it would terminate. An impression a feeling, some would call it, made me understand this: "Go on; you will come out all right;" that is, keep going as you are going, and you will come around to the right place, was what it meant.

Some might ask, How did you get that information? I can only tell you that it was spoken in those words to my soul. It was planted instantly in my understanding by the power of God. It was revealed to my spirit independent of the body.

I rode down and overtook my fellow-travelers in perfect cheer and told them that we would go on, we were going just right.

Just before sunset we came to the very water I had intended, in the morning, to reach, which was in a nice, grassy vale close by a large cedar grove, and on looking back on the route I designed to come, we saw, on a point of the mountain, three smokes near to each other, which among Indians means to rally to some appointed place. We all, Gentiles though two of the company were, acknowledged the hand of God in guiding us, as we thought, the wrong way.

Water, grass and rest our animals must have in order to carry us safely through the night. We could see the Indian smokes; they could see ours and very likely see us. We must make them think we were going to stay all night, so we drove the horses away from camp quite a distance and towards the Indians, gathered a good lot of wood, ate supper and waited impatiently for the mantle of night to be thrown over our movements.

As soon as I felt sure the Indians' keen eyes could not see our moves through the darkness, two men ran for the horses and drove them around so the fire would not show their forms. The other two men carried the saddles far back from the fire, where we hastily saddled and left the horses in care of one man while the other three went to the fire, put on all the wood and lazily passed and re-passed between the distant Indians and the fire, then mounted and rode with good speed from our comfortable fire and beautiful Antelope Spring. This place received its name, Antelope Spring, as follows: On approaching this place, as we went west, we saw a drove of antelope feeding just in the edge of the scattering cedars, and one antelope quite a little behind the rest, which one of our men prepared to shoot; but all the animals seeing us ran away. The one behind was thrown into a dreadful fright, and could not run with the others, while the man prepared to shoot. He resolved to be an antelope no longer, and with magical power threw off his antelope skin, and in the twinkling of an eye, stood up a tall Indian with bow and arrows in hand. He followed us to camp and there showed us all about the transformation.

We rode all night as fast as we could and at dawn came into a little gulch, where water was found. Here we turned our animals loose and all but two of us laid down and slept until sunrise. That morning was beautiful to us. We now felt ourselves out of danger and quietly pursues our journey homeward, without any other important event occurring. We reached home on the 25th of November, 1854.

This was an important event to us and our families and friends. One thing that made it more important to my wife and relatives was a report from a man who undertook to overtake us a day or two after we left Salt Lake City for Carson. He was a relic of the army, and failing to overtake us as soon as he expected, became faint-hearted from the forbidding and uninviting surroundings of a lone man among Indians and deserts, and turned back. He arrived safely in Salt Lake City and undoubtedly thought himself very fortunate in so doing; and to excuse himself beyond the possibility of reproach among his associates, he made up an inexcusable falsehood and told that he came to the place where the Indians had massacred every one of our party. The deed had just been done and the bodies lay mangled and stripped of clothing. He was obliged to make a hasty retreat to avoid being discovered and served the same.

On arriving in Salt Lake I delivered all U. S. property in my possession to Colonel Steptoe and as soon as possible made my official report in writing and got my release. In my report was given an outline of the road, which, however, he did not think practicable for his army in the following Spring. From my journal of the trip and the map, I formed what was called in those days a guide book, which was a minute account of the road, by which a stranger to the country could safely travel it without danger of being lost.

Our Delegate to Congress then was acquainted with this book, and as he was about to start for Washington by way of San Francisco, he offered to take the guide book and if he could sell it to Congress he would give me half the proceeds. In San Francisco he was offered $1000 for it, but would not let it go for that amount. I think he did not sell it, for I never received any money for it.