FRED, who one afternoon had been riding in advance, was observed toward the close of the day waving his old hat and shouting, "Hurrah, here is water!" We had been traveling many hours across a desolate, barren country that lay silent and apparently lifeless beneath a bright sun, and the announcement that water was in sight was received with great satisfaction. We soon descended toward a swift-running stream, along which there strolled a solitary man, the only person we had seen during the day. He paused at the ford, awaiting our arrival.

"What stream is this?" we asked the stranger.

"Smith Fork," was the reply.

"This appears to be a good place to camp," remarked Fred.

"You'll go a long way before you find another," said the stranger as he drew nigh to our horsemen.

"Do you live in these parts?"

"Yes, I have a ranch down below here, and I'd like to have you come and see me."

We promised to respond to his invitation, as soon as our stock could be properly picketed on the range. An hour later Ben, Fred, and I sauntered down the stream and were soon at the door of a good-sized cabin, in which stood our new acquaintance ready to receive us. He was a strong, fine-looking fellow, with a genial face, and he welcomed us most cordially. The room into which we were immediately ushered, although simple in its appointments, as was to be expected in the cabin of a frontiersman in such a wilderness, nevertheless had an air of comfort. The attractive arrangement of various little articles indicated that woman was the presiding genius; for there is an indescribable something that is imparted even to the rudest cabin by a woman's hands.

In a short time a young lady of engaging appearance entered the room, whom our host introduced to us as his wife, Clara. The boys all rose instantly to take the hand of this Queen of the valley of Smith Fork. When we resumed our seats, the rancher asked the usual questions concerning our destination. Learning in addition to other facts that one of our party, Paul Beemer, had with him in his wagon a stock of jewelry which he was taking West to sell, the mountaineer requested that some of the articles be brought over to the cabin, so that the women might see them.

All is not gold that glitters, and this was true of the treasures that Paul possessed, which had been packed away in attractive packages in his wagon. He was perfectly willing to present for inspection a few choice samples, which he believed would interest the ladies of Smith Fork, whoever they might be. The society of that entire valley as far as we could learn, was centered in this one cabin, but we knew nothing of the character of the household.

In response to the rancher's request, Paul soon appeared bearing a few packages containing his choicest jewels, which were soon opened upon a table in the room where we had been received.

In anticipation of the pleasure in store for them, two other young women soon came rushing into the room in high glee. To our surprise, these also were introduced as wives of the host.

They were all certainly very attractive in personal appearance, and none of the three seemed to be more than twenty-three years of age. The husband was a comparatively young man.

"With such a fine family we may safely conclude that you are a Mormon," said Ben.

"You are correct," replied the rancher. "We are of the church of Latter Day Saints, and I think I have a fine family."

This sentiment met our cordial endorsement. Being thus introduced for the first time into a Mormon home, and having read much concerning the doctrines and practices of this people, I was very curious, as other persons have been, to observe something of their religious life and the manner in which their complex domestic affairs are managed. In later years I have been received in many Mohammedan homes in Turkey and other parts of the Orient, but among those people, as is well known, the women of the household are required to retire from the room before a guest may enter, however intimate that guest may be with the host. These young women of Utah were apparently as free to converse with guests as would be the wife of an Illinois farmer. They were also refined and modest in deportment.

As soon as Paul had spread out upon the table several trays of his most attractive jewelry, imported as I believed from Connecticut, the ladies proceeded to examine the articles. There were so-called amethyst pins and earrings, the jewels of which were of an excellent quality of exquisitely colored glass, and necklaces that might please a queen, if she did not know how little they cost. The young women were delighted, and when one of them espied a pin that had the appearance of an emerald set with diamonds she made a dive for it and, holding it to her neck, asked the husband, in whom she had a one-third interest, if it was not beautiful. He seemed favorably impressed with the combination, and asked the price of the treasure. It was a good opportunity for Paul to ask about nine thousand dollars, but he was square, and informed the admiring husband that as he, Paul, was not regularly in business he would make the price to him ten dollars, because he was anxious to realize on a few articles and ready to make a sacrifice to obtain a little money. The pin was immediately presented to the young wife by the husband, who said that the other girls must have something equally fine. It will be readily understood that in a home with three young wives, the principle of the square deal must be fundamental, otherwise there will be jealousies and heart-burnings.

The Mormon rancher stood a little distance back from the enthusiastic group in the Smith Fork cabin, and with a broad smile upon his face watched his wives while they reveled freely in the assortment of cheap jewelry. Paul did not hand the treasures out article by article with the watchful care that is practiced by the trained diamond salesmen in the great New York shops, but allowed free access to his goods. When the young women had satisfied their hearts' desire, the husband was apparently the happiest person in the group and promptly paid cash for the articles selected. Thus the lord of this frontier manor with a free and easy air scanned with an eye to equity the articles with which his several wives were adorning themselves and (as we believed) was conscious of the fact that there would be an hereafter, in case one of them should believe herself to be the subject of unfavorable discrimination.

Our visit to this new Mormon home far out in the mountains became the subject of much discussion in the evening, and in fact made a lasting impression on us. What were to be the experiences of this family as the months should go by, and the responsibilities of later years should rest upon the father and mothers? Could the husband under this system religiously preserve the principle of the square deal, and not find among the three who were pledged to share his joys and sorrows one who, because of some peculiar attraction, should become a favorite, and for that cause rouse the green-eyed monster in the breasts of her sisters? Would they all welcome the fourth wife, if another should be escorted to the door?

On the morning after our arrival at Smith Fork I was called at 12.30 a. m., it being my duty that morning to stand guard until the breakfast hour, which was to be at daybreak. We soon discovered that our course had led us to the thoroughfare pursued by the Holliday mail coaches. The trail was stony, and many steep hills were ascended and descended. At noon we reached Fort Bridger, established by James Bridger, to whom Bancroft and other high authorities have accorded the honor of the first discovery of Great Salt Lake, whose waters he reached when in the service of Henry and Ashley of the Rocky Mountain Fur Company. Bancroft also states that Franciscan friars, who explored in the southern country, had evidently learned of this lake through the Yutah Indians inhabiting that region.

Fort Bridger was beautifully situated near one of the tributaries of Black Fork, 124 miles northeast of Salt Lake, at an elevation of about seven thousand feet above the sea. Some incidents in the history of this Fort in its relation to the Mormons, as given to me personally, may be more properly mentioned in another chapter. At Fort Bridger we found many Snake and Bannock Indians, who were then at peace with all the world, except the Sioux. It was reported that three thousand Snakes had left this post the week preceding our arrival.

The scenery between Fort Bridger and the entrance to Salt Lake valley, as observed from our pathway, is grand and interesting. Having passed over the divide and thence down to the swift waters of Bear River, we again ascended to another summit and thence into the upper entrance to Echo Canyon, a wild gorge hemmed in by sandstone cliffs. Toward the close of the day we overtook a Mormon farmer having a wagonload of garden truck and other produce. We had not tasted a fresh vegetable since leaving Nebraska City in May, and it was now the eighth of August. We were in a frame of mind similar to that of the Israelites in the wilderness of Sin, when they sighed for the good things back in Egypt. Paul was delegated to interview the farmer in a diplomatic manner and if possible negotiate for something to eat, but under no circumstances to divulge the fact that we were famishing for a change of diet, which if known might cause the farmer to establish high prices, for he certainly had an effective corner on the green goods market. Paul reported that the best prices he could obtain were six bits, or seventy-five cents, per pound for butter; eight cents per pound for potatoes; ten cents for onions.

"Did he say six bits?" asked Uncle Simeon Cobb.

"He did," replied Paul.

"Then he is from Missouri," continued the deacon.

The order finally was to buy potatoes and onions. "They are a good buy," said the deacon, whereupon we instantly went into camp. In fact, it was near the close of the day, and the clear, bright waters of Echo Creek rushing down the narrow gorge, and the little patches of grass on which our horses might revel, presented every inducement needed for pitching our tent, but the supreme reason was onions and potatoes.

Soon the delicate fragrance of frying onions, as all pervasive as the aroma of an orange grove, was diffusing itself throughout that beautiful and magnificent valley. The party watched around the campfire, as if in fear that something might be wasted in the air. The potatoes, carefully counted, were placed beneath the ashes, where for one long hour they must lie unseen and untasted. How long and how many its sixty minutes!

Much has been written by would-be purveyors on the art of cooking various mixtures. To many of these concoctions, some of which are unfit to be introduced into the human stomach, there have been ascribed names usually of French coinage, the purpose of which is both to disguise the commonplace ingredients used and to compensate in some measure for lack of attractiveness to the palate, by spicing the compound with a mysterious name of foreign derivation.

On the other hand it may be interesting to the fastidious epicure to glance at some instructions for properly cooking one simple article in plain American style, al fresco, the recipe for which is prepared by an intelligent expert as the precipitate of personal experience.

How to roast potatoes in camp. First secure the potatoes. Wrap them separately in wet paper or something of a similar nature that may be available. Bury them in the hot ashes of the campfire and cover with hot embers. Let them remain an hour. Then call the boys. In serving they should not be cut open with a knife, but should be divided by breaking.

This artless method of cooking this well-known tuber imparts to it a wholesomeness and palatableness that surpass all the countless À la's with which caterers have deluded the public in its preparation. One such example of Wild West cooking may suffice in this connection.

Possibly the chef-d'oeuvre of our supper in Echo Canyon was the onions and bacon, the pleasant savor of which was doubtless heightened by our thirty-mile ride and tramp in an exhilarating atmosphere after a ten weeks' total abstinence from vegetable diet.

The well-fed epicure may fail to grasp the full significance of these conditions, but it was expressed with unction at a banquet given by a venerable and wealthy bachelor, an acquaintance of the writer. Favorable comments were passing round the board concerning the excellence of various articles that were being served. One of the guests, who had been an intimate friend of the host for nearly a half century, facetiously said; "Gentlemen, even the excellent cook for this occasion, and, in fact, all of the modern caterers fail to impart to the viands they serve the peculiar and appetizing flavor that was given by the old mothers, when I was a boy, to all their domestic cookery." "Is that so, George? And how old was your palate then?" was the host's prompt repartee. All of which throws light on the vagaries of a man's appetite.

Under favorable conditions Echo Canyon is a charming ravine. While our evening campfire was lighting up the deep gorge, Ben, Fred and I wandered down the banks of Echo Creek, the bright waters of which glide along the base of overhanging sandstone cliffs, and we soon guessed why the canyon had received its present name. To the focus of the vast concaves that have been scooped from some of the cliffs the sound of our voices came back with redoubled power, and to other points with softer reverberations startling in effect. It is an unobservant traveler whose attention has not often been arrested by weird echoes coming to his ears from some mountain cliffs, but in the shadows of this canyon we discussed the phenomena of echoes while interesting demonstrations were being made. We endeavored to calculate the distance of the unseen cliffs that sent back the sound, and then speculated upon the effect such phenomena would produce upon the minds of an imaginative people like the Greeks of the older period, who were ready at any time to pay homage to any deity previously unrecognized. It was not strange that they should conceive the fiction of the Nymph Echo, who because of her babbling was made to pine away into a bodiless voice. Nights leisurely spent in these canyons would lead the untutored mind to let loose its fancy, if it possessed any, and people this mountain valley with beings more than human.

As we looked westward down the canyon we noticed a little grove of quaking aspen trees which had sent some of their slender branches above the lines of the cliffs beyond, so that they were silhouetted against the evening sky. Although the air seemed to be perfectly still in the valley, the leaves of the aspen trees were vigorously shaking, as if some invisible sprites were using them to wave signals across the gorge.

From the ravines now and then there came the dismal howl of a timber wolf, and the cry, hurled back from the echoing rocks, was repeated after a little delay, as if the wolf had been awaiting the returning sound, like enough to his own to be the voice of his hungry brother. The little stream continued to flow down the valley over its stony bed, rushing under overhanging willows, singing its own peculiar music, in which there was any melody that one's fancy might conceive.

Amidst these startling sounds we wandered through the gloom nearly a mile down the dark, rocky road where we decided that it was time to return. Before retracing our steps up the canyon we gave a short whoop, which as before was echoed back from the other side. To our astonishment the first echo was quickly followed by a soft, suppressed whoop and echo, evidently the voice of a girl. We repeated our call, but no voice then came back except our own. Renewed curiosity impelled us to follow the pathway farther down stream. The light of a campfire soon broke through the foliage, and it became evident that another party was in the valley. Approaching the group, we discovered to our great surprise and pleasure that it was the family of Dr. Brown from whom we had separated at Julesburg and who intended to remain in Denver. On their arrival at that mining camp, letters were received by the doctor urging him to proceed at once to Oregon where a friend had located at a place offering an excellent opportunity for a physician to practice his profession.

Echo Canyon, which proved to be so interesting to us and in which several days and nights were again spent later in the season, is twenty-three miles in length and increases in depth as it narrows down to its outlet into the valley of the Weber River. At a few points, narrow, steep ravines radiate from the main canyon, and in their walls a few small caves are found. From the summits above the valley the views obtained were superb.

At the break of day after our first night in Echo Canyon, we heard the approaching mail coach rattling along the stony road, making its best possible speed down the rapidly descending grade, turning short curves on the dizzy edge of cliffs over which a slight deviation would have hurled it upon the rocks below. A glimpse into the open windows, as the coach rolled by, revealed the passengers within half-reclining in various attitudes, doubtless weary with their long ride and evidently unconscious of the grand scenery through which they were plunging.

On the ninth of August we reached the station at the mouth of the canyon, and a general rush was made for the establishment in which we learned there was a telegraph office, the wires having been strung to Salt Lake several months previous to our visit. Many weeks had passed since we had received any intelligence from the busy world.

"What's the news from America?" asked Ben after we had entered the door.

"Here's the last Salt Lake paper," said the genial proprietor, as he laid the welcome sheet upon the counter.

We gathered closely around the journal, and all read the first headlines: "The Success of the Prussians Attributed to the Needle Gun."

"What have the Prussians been doing with Needle guns?" was asked.

"Fighting, of course," said the man behind the counter. "You probably haven't heard of the European war. Here are other papers," he added, as he laid them before us.

These disclosed the fact that on the third day of the preceding month (July,) a great decisive battle had been fought between the Prussians and the Austrians at KÖniggrÄtz in Bohemia, now called the battle of Sadowa, in which the Austrians had lost 40,000 men. But why had we not learned before leaving the states that war existed between those nations? Further investigation showed that the first message through the Atlantic cable, which had been quietly laid, was received on July 29th, and it announced that a treaty of peace had been concluded between Austria and Prussia, a surprise in that day of slow-going even in New York. On the same day telegrams of congratulation passed between Queen Victoria and President Johnson on the successful completion of the link between the two countries, and these were also quoted in the Salt Lake papers. News from Europe at the close of the Prussian war reached Salt Lake two weeks more quickly than was possible at the beginning of that conflict, which lasted only seven weeks. Thus it seemed that although we were ten weeks in travel farther from Europe than we were when we moved out from Nebraska City, we were twelve weeks nearer to it in time of communication than we would have been without the telegraph. As we passed along on the following days in sight of the cold, silent wires strung across that wild country, we were conscious that signals were probably flying through them that others could read, yet for us there was no message from home that we could see or hear. It was, therefore, remarked that if we could read the signals which then might be passing through space where there were no wires, or could understand even the call of the birds that nested in those rocks, and would soon migrate, we should be wiser than other men.

Our trail through the Wasatch Mountains zigzagged at acute angles to reach the canyons through which it must pass and in a manner which sometimes leaves the observant traveler bewildered concerning the direction in which he is going. The average immigrant simply follows such a trail in the abiding faith that it will come out somewhere.

From Echo our trail bore sharply to east of south, thence westward into Silver Creek Canyon, thence southward through that gorge, thence westward through Parley's Canyon, at all times following the sinuosities of mountain streams and crooked valleys.

Beyond a little flouring mill on the Weber River we pitched an attractive camp, where Fred found water on a mountain side.

Some experiences in Silver Creek and Parley's Canyon will be mentioned in connection with another trip through these ranges of mountains. On the morning of August 11th I stood guard from midnight on the western limits of the beautiful Parley's Park. At 2.45 a. m. as prearranged, the camp was roused that we might make an early start. At noon we lunched on a high cliff near the west end of Parley's Canyon, a point not reached by the present road. In the distance, the waters of Great Salt Lake sparkled in the sunlight and between it and us was spread that interesting valley, which once was an alkaline desert soon to be made to blossom as the rose. In its bosom was the new City of the Saints, which we entered near the close of the day.