IT was long after the time of which we are writing that Conan Doyle led his readers into some of the secrets of detecting crime by the observance of circumstances devoid of significance to the ordinary searcher for clues. It is also true that the legal devices by which the guilty are now-a-days generally enabled to escape punishment had not been brought to their present high state of perfection.

In the corral in Salt Lake City where our wagons and stock were temporarily cared for, there were also other outfits having drivers concerning whose character our captain had little knowledge, but the conduct and general appearance of some of them led him to believe that they were not quite incapable of disregarding on occasion the artificial distinction between mine and thine.

One morning three mule trains said to be bound for Montana pulled out from the corral, and on the same day it was discovered that several articles were missing from our wagons. This interesting synchronism led our men generally to believe that our property had accompanied one of those trains, which were soon beyond the jurisdiction of Salt Lake officers. A Sherlock Holmes might have discerned some further hint pointing to the authors of the larceny, but we could find none. We decided to rely upon general suspicion as sufficient ground for action and to proceed accordingly.

In the Western territories, and especially outside any of the few settlements, according to the unwritten law, horse stealing was treated as a capital offense. Therefore, if it had been a horse that was stolen from us, a posse comitatus would doubtless have been at once put upon the trail, fully equipped to execute the conventional punishment, but the saddles, bridles, and blankets that formed a portion of our loss, though equine accoutrements and exceeding in value an average horse, still left the crime in the rank of mild offenses, along with other misdemeanors forbidden by the decalogue. For some reason that no one could ever even guess, it was urged that I, even I, should pursue the trains and ascertain, if possible, if the stuff was under their care. I consented, perhaps foolishly, to make the venture. A search warrant was secured, which purported to invest me with authority to detain and examine the trains in question, in other words assigning to me the duties of deputy sheriff or detective, I hardly knew which; but I was well aware of the fact that the instrument given me really had no legal force beyond the city limits, and I doubted if it had much value anywhere, but it was quite a good-looking and impressive piece of paper, and with it I started very early the next morning for the North.

As my duties had seldom brought me to the corral, I expected to be a stranger to all the freighters whom I was pursuing, but had seen enough of them on one brief visit to be convinced that among them were a number of tough characters, yet I saw no reason why, as an officer of the law, I should not receive permission to examine the wagons, if the wagon master himself should be innocent.

It was sometime after noon when a mule train was observed in the distance, and on reaching it I learned from one of the drivers that the name of the owners was upon the search warrant. The captain of the train, on horseback in the lead, stopped as requested, and the paper was read to him. After a little consideration the captain said "Do you intend, young man, to stop my train here and go through all these wagons?" I replied, "That is what I came all the way from Salt Lake City to do," but I would be as expeditious as possible and desired his personal assistance. "Well," he replied, "if there is any stolen property in this outfit I don't know it, but suppose you can look through the wagons." He ordered the train to halt. Calling an assistant, he said, "Hold this officer's horse." Accompanying me to the head wagon I made as thorough a search there as possible, repeating the process through each wagon, the captain, who appeared to be a fair man, keeping in close company. Some of the men seemed somewhat averse to an examination of their private effects under such peculiar circumstances, but a regard for the dignity of the law, and the presence of the captain of the train who had assented to the search, doubtless prevented any serious opposition.

Having completed the examination which required little more than an hour, and thanking the captain for his assistance, I announced that the property did not appear to be in the possession of any of his men and that all was satisfactory.

By proceeding again more rapidly, another train was reached quite late in the afternoon, and a thorough search was made through the merchandise in each wagon, all of which was accomplished without serious opposition, but none of the missing property was found. It was evident that the third train could not be overtaken and searched that evening, but I pressed on Northward and darkness came on quite early.

At the right near by to the East, the Wasatch range of mountains paralleled the old Montana road and the shore of Great Salt Lake, which lay to the West. Snow storms had been falling in the mountains for several days, and the white mantle extended well out over the foothills and upon the higher slopes of the valley through which the road led. The night was chilly, and I hastened on rapidly, hoping soon to find some cabin in which to spend the night, but for many miles no habitation was visible. The road traversed a long stretch of arid land, which then offered no attraction to a settler, although it is now well cultivated. It had become quite dark and from the direction of the mountains there came the frequent yelping of wolves. This brought to mind the information that had come to Captain Whitmore the preceding day, that a herd of our cattle which had been pasturing in the mountains had since the first snowfall been stampeded by wolves and driven for many miles. Four of the oxen had been bitten by the sharp teeth of the pursuing wolves until they were unable to go further. The term used by the herders in these cases is that the cattle were "hamstrung," the tendons of the legs being severed. One of the weaker oxen was killed and partly eaten before the herders were able to come to the rescue. It was evident that the wolves were now becoming hungry and were coming down to the lower land away from the snow for food. For a time I gave little attention to the howling, as it was not unusual in many parts of the West, but as I jogged along I observed that the noises were becoming much more distinct and continuous, and it soon became evident that the wolves were gathering in considerable numbers and were following closely. My horse was becoming disturbed and started off at good speed, but the wolves had no difficulty in keeping the pace. I had with me two Colt revolvers, one in the holster of the saddle and one in my belt. The principal danger was that if the wolves came nearer, they might nip the legs of the horse and cripple him. It was impossible to see them distinctly, but on catching the first outline of their forms a few feet behind the horse I issued a warning in the form of a flash from the pistol and a bullet to suggest that some of them were liable to get hurt. Their noises were then so frequent that I was not certain if one had been hit. Startled somewhat perhaps by the report of the pistol, they dropped back for a moment but again renewed the chase and continued their disagreeable yelps. It appeared evident that the safest plan was to keep going. My horse seemed fully to concur in this opinion. The ammunition must be used only in emergencies, when the persistent creatures crowded too close on the horse's heels. The firing was repeated a number of times as they closed in upon me. The chase was continued for several miles, until the pursuers, which may have scented some accessible carrion, after one of the pistol shots abandoned the chase to the eminent satisfaction of both horse and rider.

It was nearly nine o'clock when there appeared the welcome light of a candle shining through the little window of a cabin on the west side of the road. To my call from outside the gate, as I rode up, a man soon answered by coming to the door. Having announced the fact I had suspected for several hours, that I was very hungry and that my horse must be in a similar condition, I asked permission to enjoy the hospitalities of his cabin for the night, to which he promptly replied, "Sartain! you go right in, and wife will get you some supper, and I'll take care of your horse," which by that time I had led through the gate. Turning to the woman who stood near him, and who had been an interested observer, he asked her to prepare a supper. While this work was proceeding in the room where I was sitting by the fire, I quietly and expectantly enjoyed the fragrance of coffee and fried bacon. I was about to take seat at the table, when the head of the household again entered and reported that he had waited a little for the horse to cool off, and then had watered and fed him. As I was transferring the first slices of bacon to my plate, the gentleman opened the conversation by the question, "Where are you from?"

"I just came up from Salt Lake City to-day. I left there this morning. Your wife tells me that your name is Childs," I added, and then gave him my name.

"Yes," he replied, "my name is Childs, but I presumed that you were from the States. Is Salt Lake your home?"

"No. I have spent three or four months there. My home is in Wisconsin."

"I had a brother once who lived in Wisconsin," said Mr. Childs.

"Oh, yes. I know him very well."

"You know him?" exclaimed my host. "Why do you think you know him? I haven't even told you his name or where he lived."

"His name is John Childs," said I, starting in on a second cup of coffee.

The man and his wife gazed at each other with expressions of surprise. The fact was that I did well know a prominent farmer, an old and esteemed settler in Wisconsin, whose name was John Childs, and as he was the only man I did know who bore that family name, I took a flyer in jest, and it happened to hit the mark.

"Where did the John Childs that you know live?" asked my host. "In Lima, Wisconsin," was my prompt answer.

"Then he is probably not my brother. My brother went to Whitewater."

"Oh, that's all right," said I, "but you are mistaken in the supposition that your brother lives in Whitewater. He lives in the town of Lima, but the villages are only six miles apart. The railroad station is known as Child's Station."

This statement on my part was not so remarkable as it would appear to be, because I was familiar with the situation.

"Do you mean to say that he is now living?" asked Mr. Childs, as he drew very close to me at the table, while his wife also took a seat and listened intently.

"Living? He was living six months ago and weighs fully 200 pounds. I know nearly every man in all that country."

Mr. Childs of Utah paused a moment and then said to his wife, "Send over to the boys to come here at once, and we will wait until they arrive, for I wish them to hear all about this matter." Turning to me he added, "I have two brothers who live in the two houses beyond here, and I wish them to hear all that you will say." I then turned the subject to the purpose of my trip North. I told him of the lost property and of the improper conduct of the wolves back in the desert. He then informed me that one of his brothers was the constable for that township.

The brothers having arrived, Mr. Childs introduced them and then narrated to them the conversation which had passed between us concerning their brother, John, to which they listened with profound interest. Turning to me he said "We all lived in St. Lawrence County, New York. We three brothers who are here became converted to the Mormon doctrines while we lived in New York state and soon came to Utah with others of our faith, but John and other relatives were not reconciled to our action. John, as we understood, went to Wisconsin and settled in Whitewater. We wrote him a letter but he never made reply, and since that time no tidings from him have reached us."

"Your communication doubtless went to the Dead Letter office," said I. "Although John is well known and is perhaps thirty years older than I am, a letter addressed to the wrong post-office might not have reached him if written before he was as well known as he is now. How long is it since you heard concerning him?"

"About twenty years. We supposed that even if living he was still unwilling to renew friendly relations with us, and all because of the fact that he did not agree with us in our religious belief."

Thus had the Scripture been fulfilled, and families and peoples been divided, all the way down through generations. That evening by the big open fire was an occasion of great interest. The family was told of their brother's prosperity and high social position, and that he was a man of recognized honor. We separated at a late hour, and I retired leaving the brothers still conversing. In the morning, having learned that I would soon return to Wisconsin they asked me to send for the brother on my arrival there and tell him of my meeting with his Mormon brethren and that the information given might be full and definite they showed me their farms, stock and harvested grains. Mr. Childs declined to accept anything for my entertainment. The sequel of this incident may as well be related here before pursuing further the events of this horseback ride. Several weeks after spending the night with the Childs brothers in Utah, and after again reaching Wisconsin, I addressed a note to John Childs, of Lima, requesting an interview. The request was promptly granted, the meeting to take place in a quiet business office with which we were both familiar. Mr. Childs, who was perhaps the most prosperous and honored man in his neighborhood, was usually addressed even by many of his younger friends as John, so that after we had met as arranged, and he had anchored his large frame in an easy chair, and I was comfortably adjusted in another, I said, "John, did you not have some brothers back in York state?"

He replied in the single word "Yes," with a rising inflection, as if about to ask, "Why do you wish to know?" but he did not continue.

"Well, John, do you know what became of them?"

After a little hesitation he told briefly of the belief that prevailed with other members of the family, that they enlisted for the Mexican war, but their friends had failed to obtain any definite trace of their movements and all trace of them was lost in that campaign.

"Could you not secure information concerning them through the records of the war department?" I asked.

"Nothing definite, except that there was a suspicion at one time that they might have gone up into Utah, but we tried to locate them, and have never heard a word from them, or of them, to this day, and I suppose they were lost in some adventure."

It was evident that while John had not yet told all that he knew of his brothers, his belief was that they were not living, as he had never been able to obtain any tidings concerning them. When, however, I recited the full names of his brothers, also the date and place of their birth, and some other data of family interest and asked if they fitted the case, it was then that John Childs awoke to the fact that I had some information to impart, that might be of interest. Without further delay I stated to him that all his brothers were living and prosperous. The word came to him as a voice from the long ago, and was seemingly as startling and unexpected to him as if coming from another world. I told him of my night spent with the brothers in Utah, of their story of the family separation and of their effort to effect a reconcilation by a letter addressed to the wrong post-office. John stated that he had never received a line from them, but suspecting that they might be in Utah he had addressed them at Salt Lake, which was quite natural, though that city, it appears, was forty miles from their home. That letter also failed to reach its destination, and all parties believed that the old bitterness was still alive. The situation was now perfectly clear, whereupon John at once wrote letters that brought friendly replies as promptly as the overland stage mail could transmit them, bringing the first direct word that had passed in twenty years.

As already stated, one of the Childs brothers was constable. In discussing the matter of my search for stolen property he was emphatic in his advice that the pursuit of the other train would involve a great hazard. It was traveling with light loads, evidently going North to winter on some of those ranges, and before it could be overtaken it would be outside the limits of Utah. If the property was with it, the men would certainly resist the intrusion of an unaccompanied searcher, and an unequal fight would be the result. It was a lonely, wild, and tough country at best, they all declared, with a "don't try it" as their final word of admonition.

"All right, fellows," said I, "and possibly you are right. I have seen some of this country and will return South."

After breakfast and some pleasant farewell words I started on my return to Salt Lake. Some distance in advance, I noticed a solitary horseman riding in the same direction I was going. As the country was unsettled, the prospect of companionship led me to hasten until he was overtaken. He proved to be a Mormon pioneer, and after some preliminary conversation as we rode along side by side he informed me that his name was James S. Brown.

"Are you the James S. Brown who first discovered gold in California, at Sutter's Mill?" I asked.

"I was there," he replied. "There were James Marshall, H. W. Bigler, and James Berger who were with me. We had been with the Mormon Battalion sent to the Mexican war, and having been discharged we came up to Captain J. A. Sutter's ranch on the American River."

"I have read much of that ranch in John C. Fremont's records," I replied.

Continuing he said, "We were out of money and needed horses for our return trip to the Missouri River, therefore we engaged to help Sutter build a saw mill on the stream at the point where the City of Sacramento now stands. Sutter went to California from Missouri, and acquired a principality in size and value, and was the first settler. It was during that work that in January, 1848, we found gold. It had not been seen there before. As a fact we brought the first news of the discovery East, which resulted in the rush of 1849." Mr. Brown was somewhat above the average in size but at the time of our meeting was lame as the result of some accident in his early days. His description of the hardships of his brigade in the Arizona desert, which through questioning was elicited from him, was thrilling in the highest degree.

Continuing his story from time to time after occasional digressions he told of the return of their party over the Sierras Eastward, of their troubles with the Indians and of other hardships. Although in Mr. Brown's interesting volume on the Life of a Pioneer, written in later years, he makes no mention of the circumstances, yet he told me that when his little party had arrived at the north end of Great Salt Lake in the autumn of 1848, and had determined that it would be much safer to spend the winter in that valley than to cross the mountains so late in the season, they were led by friendly Indians to understand that good forage for their horses could be found at the southern end of the Lake; whereupon, as he told me, the party traveled the same course that we were then following, along the western base of the Wasatch Mountains. At a point several miles north of the present site of Salt Lake City they unexpectedly met two of their Mormon friends, whom they had neither seen nor heard from since leaving the Missouri River two years before. They were informed for the first time that Brigham Young and many Mormons had crossed the plains and the mountains in the preceding year, and had erected a stockade and settled at the south end of the lake. One member of Mr. Brown's party was astounded to learn that his mother, having crossed with one of the trains, was at that moment but 12 miles away and that she had driven a yoke of oxen the greater part of that long, tedious course, a duty made necessary by the heavy burdens which fell upon others. This was certainly a remarkable revelation to the weary travelers, who had supposed that they were alone in the middle of the continent.

Near the close of the day Brown and I reached the ranch of Peregrine Sessions, a pioneer Mormon and a man conspicuous in Mormon history, from whom the place was known as Sessions' settlement. As we rode up to the door, Mr. Brown said to me: "It was right here that we met our Mormon brothers who informed us concerning the new Salt Lake settlement." It was arranged that we should spend the night with Mr. Sessions, who during the evening gave a brief account of the perils and privations to which they were subjected on their journey and some incidents connected with the early days in Utah. During our evening's interview Mr. Brown described his first arrival at Salt Lake settlement, where he and his party found their friends living in brush sheds and dugouts, a few only having log cabins, their general condition being most discouraging. Such was the beginning of Salt Lake City.

We may now recall the fact that the settlement of Salt Lake City by the Mormons in 1847, and the discovery of gold in California in 1848, were the prime factors in the awakening of the Far West. Salt Lake Valley was an alkali desert declared to be absolutely hopeless by the early trappers and explorers. Its reclamation and cultivation by those religious exiles made it the only supply point for provisions on the long road to the newly discovered Sacramento gold fields, and saved many from starvation, to the profit of all concerned.

Mr. Sessions arrived in Salt Lake Valley in the middle of September, 1847, having conducted a company of fifty wagons, which closely followed the first train of Mormon pioneers conducted by Brigham Young. The Deseret News is authority for the statement that "Peregrine Sessions was the father of fifty-six children,"—a patriarch indeed.

It is true that the graphic yet ingenuously told story related by one of the discoverers of gold in California, one who carried to the States the first intelligence of that discovery, gave added interest to the visit that I soon made to those gold diggings, the fame of which had incited the first tide of transcontinental migration composed of hardy and reckless adventurers willing to undergo the trials and perils incident to such an expedition. These, with the Argonauts who sailed around by the Isthmus or Cape Horn, were the ones who first roused the latent energies of our Pacific coast territory.

There were a very few, however, who were attracted not by gold but by admiration for the sublime and beautiful in nature, especially through companionship with the noble trees and towering cliffs of the Sierras; and these men aided in revealing to the world the previously unwritten history of these formations. Among them were John Muir, the shepherd, naturalist, and author, and Galen Clark, the pioneer and discoverer of the Mariposa Grove. I appreciated Galen Clark's homage for nature when, after spending a night at his cabin, built in 1857, he personally led me among those monarchs of the forest, stating the heights of various trees, and for my satisfaction assisted in measuring the trunks of many; one of them was 101 feet in circumference. He referred to them in affectionate terms, expressing the hope that they might be spared from the lumberman's axe.

It was still later when I first visited Muir's haunts in the Yosemite; George Anderson, a Scotch ship-carpenter, had spent the summer in drilling holes into the granite face of the upper cliff of the great South Dome, driving in it iron pins with ropes attached. Two or three persons were tempted to scale with the aid of these ropes the heights, which are nearly a perpendicular mile above the valley. I, too, was inclined to make the venture. I proceeded in advance, followed by Anderson, who had in tow a young San Franciscan with a connecting rope around the young man's waist. It was a dizzy but inspiring ascent and I was pleased to reach the top twenty minutes in advance of my pursuers. While spending an hour upon the summit, I discovered on its barren surface, a lady's bracelet. On showing it to Anderson, he said: "You are the third party who has made this ascent. I pulled up a young woman recently but she never mentioned any loss except from nausea." Returning to Merced, I observed a vigorous young woman wearing a bracelet similar to the one I had found. The lady proved to be Miss Sally Dutcher of San Francisco, who admitted the loss and thankfully accepted the missing ornament. A letter to me from Galen Clark states that he assisted in Miss Dutcher's ascent, Anderson preceding with a rope around his waist connecting with Miss Dutcher; also that she was certainly the first and possibly the last woman who made the ascent. These ascents are now forbidden, but the natural attractions of the State of California have drawn to it a vast revenue from transient nature lovers.

But to return to the hospitable home in Utah.

After spending the night with Mr. Sessions and his varied household, Mr. Brown and I on the following morning proceeded on our way to the City.

Experienced detectives have spent years in their efforts to apprehend a single criminal and then failed; moreover a discreet officer will sometimes avoid being shot, as that is a high price to pay for success. Experts sometimes accomplish no more and have a less enjoyable ride than I did; and being but a novice I had no grounds for regret. Cool reflection convinced us all that the lost property was of little value and not worth bringing back at best, while some optimists maintained that it was really very good riddance.