Late in the year 1848 or early in '49, we began to hear wonderful stories about gold in California. News traveled very slowly in those days, and we could depend very little upon its accuracy, but the reports that came convinced us that the discovery had actually been made and we readily pictured in our own minds the fortunes to be had in that country. Difficult as the methods of travel were in those days, we were not without information as to the route and character of the country intervening between us and California. Robert Gilmore, a neighbor of ours, had been overland to Oregon and back, and could tell us very definitely about the country out to a point beyond the Rocky Mountains. The talk of gold, and of an expedition to the country where it had been found, soon became general and it was not long until a party of men was made up to try their fortunes in California. Brother William, brother James and myself agreed to become members of the party, and we rigged up a wagon and four yoke of oxen, laid in a year's provisions, provided ourselves with guns and plenty of ammunition and joined others of a company who had made like provision. I must not neglect to mention that as an important part of our commissary we added a half barrel of good whiskey. We started on the first day of May and stopped over night at St. Joseph. The next day, everything being ready, we crossed the river on the ferry boat and pitched our tents the first night out on Peter's Creek. Our party consisted of twenty men and boys, all from Buchanan County. They were Robert Gilmore and his son Mat, James Gilmore and his son Dave, Ben Poteet, a man by the name of Spires and his son, Milt Gilmore, Lum Perkins, a man by the name of Fish, Charles McCray, Henry McCray, Liel Hulett, Mitch Hulett, old man Greenwood and his two sons, Brother William, Brother James, and myself. We had seven wagons, fifty-eight head of cattle and seven horses.

Robert Gilmore was our pilot. His previous journey over the road as well as his peculiar fitness for the task made the selection of any other person out of the question. He had an accurate memory concerning every point along the road. He knew the courses of the rivers and how to cross the desert divides at the narrowest places to avoid long distances without grazing and water for our cattle. He also knew better than any of us the habits of the Indians, and his experience with them often avoided trouble and saved our property and most likely our lives. He was cool-headed and prudent and as brave a man as I ever knew. It must be remembered that we made no provision whatever to feed our cattle and horses. We expected to move slowly and allow them time to graze for subsistence. During the first part of the journey at the season of the year in which it was made, we experienced no trouble whatever, as grass was very plentiful, but later on, as I shall relate, we often felt sorry for the poor dumb beasts that we had taken from the fine pastures of Buchanan County and driven out into that arid country.

Our second day's journey brought us to Wolf River. During the next few days our journey led us by gradual ascent up on to a high prairie, which must have been the water shed upon which the town of Sabetha is now situated. The whole earth was covered by abundant verdure, and I recall very distinctly the expansive view which presented itself in every direction from the crests of the ridges as we passed over them. There was not a single human habitation in sight and no evidences that human foot had ever been set upon this land, except the dim outline of the trail we were following. Only one or two companies were ahead of us and the tracks of their wagons and oxen made but little impression upon the fresh grown grass. Farther out the almost total absence of trees made the most vivid impression upon my mind, accustomed as I had been for so many years to a timbered country, and though I could see no evidences that the soil was not productive, I could hardly believe this place would ever be a fit habitation for men. We traveled some days over such country as I have described and no doubt passed over the sites of many present flourishing towns. The sixth or seventh day out, if I remember correctly, we reached the Big Blue. In our journey thus far, we had occasionally seen deer and antelope, but when we began to descend into the valley of the Big Blue we saw great numbers of these animals. On the banks of the river we found in camp a party of eastern emigrants who had left St. Joseph a few days in advance of our train. Their teams were all horses and they had camped for a time in order to lay in a supply of venison. Their horses were then in fine condition and they were riding them out on the prairies chasing the deer and antelope. We camped for the night and next morning, as usual, plodded on. Later in the day we were overtaken by these emigrants who trotted by us with their faster teams and made fun of our equipment. They told us, as they passed, that they would have the gold in California all mined out before we got there. Some of us, the younger members at least, who had had no experience on the plains, felt that they might be telling us the truth; but Gilmore assured us that we had taken the safer course and that we would reach California long in advance of those men, and that it was doubtful if they would ever get there at all. Weeks later Gilmore had the satisfaction of verifying what he had told us, for we overtook and passed these very trains. Their horses were thin and poor, starved out on the short grass, and famished for water.

From Big Blue we crossed a rolling divide to Little Blue and followed that stream a long distance, then across a high prairie, that seemed to be almost perfectly level. It was on this part of the journey that we had our first disagreeable experience. Up to that time, the boys of the party at least, had looked upon crossing the plains as a great frolic. The weather had been fine. The company was congenial and the novelty of the whole thing kept us well entertained. Shortly after we broke camp one morning and started on a twenty mile drive, it began to rain and continued all day long a steady downpour. We had found no wood with which to cook dinner and had eaten cold victuals, with some relish, believing we would find plenty of firewood at night. We traveled until quite late and finally stopped at a small creek, where other emigrants had camped, but there was no wood, not a stick to be found. The only thing in sight was a tough old log which had been hacked and hewed by preceding emigrants until scarcely a splinter could be chopped from it. The buffalo chips were all wet and it was still raining. The boys were not so gay that night. They managed, after hard work, to get splinters enough off the old log to heat up the coffee and that was the only warm article of diet we had for supper. We made the best of it and after supper prepared to crawl into wet tents to sleep if we could. Bad as the prospect was, I was happy that it was not my turn to stand guard. It rained all night and next morning the boys who had been on guard were sorry-looking fellows and the cattle and horses little better. I do not remember how we managed to get breakfast, but I do recall that we started early and pushed on still through the rain. The moving warmed us up and we were much better off traveling than in camp.

We reached Platte River late the same day at a point which must have been some miles above the location of the present city of Grand Island, probably about the site of the City of Kearney. The river was running bank full and the only fire wood in sight was on an island out in the stream. The stream, though wide, was not deep, and we rode our horses over and carried back wood enough to make a fire, though it was a very bad one. It stopped raining about night, but remained cloudy and cold and we passed the night with less comfort, I believe, than the night before. Next day we made only twenty miles but stopped long before night at the mouth of a little stream or gulch that descended down into Platte River which we knew as Plum Creek. The wind had blown from the north all day and had chilled us through and through in our wet clothing. The principal inducement to the halt was the canyon through which Plum Creek emptied into the river. It afforded a sheltered camping place and its sides were covered with red cedar which made splendid firewood. We pitched our tents in behind a high bluff and immediately built a blazing fire. Everybody was busy. Blankets were stretched upon poles before the fire and the wet extra clothing was hung out to dry in like manner. We cooked the best meal the stores would afford and prepared plenty of it. Before night we were all dry and warm, had had plenty to eat, and were again in a happy frame of mind. There was but one thing to prevent complete satisfaction with the situation and that was that at this very point in years gone by several vicious attacks had been made upon emigrants by the Indians. It was a fine place for the Indians to ambush the unwary traveler. Gilmore had learned the story of these attacks on his previous trip and immediately after we had supper he started the members of the company out in various directions to look for Indians. It was an hour or more until sundown, as I recollect, so we climbed to the tops of the hills and inspected the country for miles around. There was not a single sign of Indians anywhere to be seen. He told us to look particularly for smoke as we would probably not see the Indians but would discover the smoke from their fires coming up out of the valleys. The favorable report made to Gilmore did not satisfy him. Weary as we all were, he ordered a double guard that night. I stood with the boys the first half of the night. At sundown the sky had cleared of clouds and the wind had ceased to blow. The whole earth was as still as death. The only sound that broke the silence was the howl of a wolf now and then away off in the distance.

The next morning the camp was astir bright and early. The oxen and horses were rounded up and hitched to the wagons and after a good breakfast we packed the camp outfit and started on our journey up Platte River, following the south bank. The clear sky and bright sunshine soon made us forget the hardships of the two previous days, and our company was again in good spirits. I have not been able to locate the exact position of Plum Creek. It was out some distance beyond the Grand Island and almost at the beginning of what we called the sand bluffs. I do not recall any incident worth mentioning on the journey up this stream except that in a few days after we left Plum Creek we passed the junction of the North and South Platte. The trail followed the South Platte and we followed the trail. About fifty miles beyond the junction we crossed the South Platte and went over a high ridge and down a steep canyon about five miles in length into the valley of the North Platte. I have never known why this early trail led up the South Platte instead of crossing the main stream at the junction and moving directly up the North Platte, as was done later by all the emigrant trains.

We reached North Platte about night and found a large tribe of Indians in camp. It was no very pleasing prospect to most of us to go into camp so near the Indians, but Gilmore told us that we would not likely have any trouble as Indians were always peaceable when their squaws and pappooses were with them. I never forgot this remark by Gilmore and had occasion many times afterwards, as I shall relate, to observe the truth of his statement. We put a strong guard around the cattle. We did not fear for ourselves, but were alarmed somewhat on account of the cattle, as we expected that the Indians were probably scarce of food and might try to get one or two of them. The Indians seemed to be astir most all night and we imagined that they were watching to catch us off guard, or probably to catch a stray horse or ox that might wander away from the herd. Morning brought us great relief, and we soon packed up and moved on up the North Platte as fast as we could.

Some seventy-five miles or more up the North Platte we passed those strange looking elevations which had the appearance at a distance of immense buildings in ruins and which have been mentioned by so many of the early emigrants. Two of these formations which stood side by side were especially noticeable. They both rose abruptly from the level table land to a height of two hundred feet or more. The larger and taller of the two was not so well proportioned as the smaller, but both of them easily gave the impression, viewed from the path of our trail, of great castles with wings and turrets, all tumbling down and wasting away. Gilmore told us that the earlier travelers on the Oregon trail had called these formations the "court houses." Some distance beyond these curiosities we came to Chimney Rock, which I am sure every one who passed over the trail remembers. It stood out in the valley of the Platte several hundred feet from the main bluff of the river and rose to a height of nearly three hundred feet, as we estimated. The base covered a considerable area of ground and the top was probably fifty feet across. It was a mixture of sand, clay and stones, and the action of the weather had crumbled much of the upper portions about the base.

A little beyond Chimney Rock we came to Scott's Bluffs, which we reached late in the afternoon. We drove into a beautiful little valley and camped for the night. Just about dark the most terrific thunder storm I ever experienced in my life broke upon us. The whole valley seemed to be lit up in a blaze of fire and the thunder was deafening. Some three or four emigrant trains which we had overtaken were camped in this valley and next morning we counted fifteen cattle that had been killed by bolts of lightning. Fortunately none of them belonged to us. Scott's Bluffs is a single row of hills or perpendicular cliffs standing out in the valley between the main table land and the channel of the river. They are much like Chimney Rock in formation and are of various forms and moulds and present a strange appearance from the path of the trail. We passed for miles between these bluffs and the table land with the river over beyond the bluffs.

Fort Laramie was our next point, some sixty miles farther on. The fort is situated on Laramie River about a mile above its union with the North Platte. Here we saw the first white man, except the emigrants who were outward bound with us, since leaving home. We were given a very hearty welcome by the soldiers and the few others who lived there. They asked us many questions and told us they had had no news from home all winter until the emigrant trains began to arrive. The Indians were constantly about them and they had to be very careful to avoid trouble with them. Their greatest difficulty was to procure firewood, which they found some considerable distance from the fort and over the river. They told us they always sent a guard of soldiers out with the wagons when they went after wood. We camped there over night and I was on picket. Next morning at daylight I saw a beautiful mound not far away, and as I was anxious to investigate everything, I walked over to it. I found it was an Indian burying ground, and was literally covered with human and animal bones which had been placed around, apparently in an effort to decorate, and human skulls seemed to be a particular favorite. Hundreds of them it seemed to me lay grinning at me. I am sure had I known this grewsome sight was so close to me I could never have been induced to stand guard all night in the darkness. I was but a boy then and this scene horrified me. I soon learned, however, not to be afraid of dead Indians.

After a rest of a day or two under the protection of the Fort, we started forward, moving across a high, mountainous country which occupied the wide bend in the North Platte River. As I recall, the distance across this strip of country is probably one hundred and fifty miles or more. Many places were very rugged and we experienced much difficulty in making our way. On this portion of the road we had great difficulty also with the Indians—that is we continually feared trouble. We were not attacked at any time nor did we lose any of our horses or cattle, but we lived in continual fear both of our lives and of our property. The Crow and Sioux tribes occupied this land and they were war-like and troublesome savages. Scarcely a man in the company dared go to sleep during the whole journey from Fort Laramie to the point where we reached Platte River again, opposite the mouth of Sweetwater. It was in this very country, as I shall relate hereafter, that these Indians tried to kill and rob my brothers and myself in '51, and in '55, while my brother James and my youngest brother Robert were bringing a drove of cattle across, my brother Robert, only seventeen years old, was killed. I think all the early travelers across the plains dreaded the Indians on this portion of the road more than any other obstacle to be found on the entire journey, not excepting the alkali deserts of Utah and Nevada. When we again reached Platte River it was very high and the current very swift. It was out of the question to attempt fording it, and it looked for a time as if our progress would be retarded perhaps for many days. It would serve no purpose to attempt to find a better place to cross, for from the amount of water in the river, we felt quite certain we could find no place within one hundred miles where the wagons could be driven over. We had one satisfaction left to us and that was that we had plenty of water and plenty of grass, and if we had to stay on this side of the river any considerable time we were in no danger of losing our stock. We camped and rested a day and thought about the situation. Finally we decided to try rafting the wagons over and herding the cattle across. We cut four good sized cottonwood logs from the timber which grew near to the stream, fastened ropes to them and pushed them in the water. They were then tied firmly together and anchored to the shore. We then unloaded the wagons, took off the boxes or beds, and set one upon these logs. We then reloaded this bed and four men with long poles got upon the raft and some one on the bank untied the rope. I thought from the way this rude ship started down stream that it would reach St. Joseph in about three days if it kept up that rate of speed. The current caught it and dashed it along at a great rate and I was considerably alarmed, I remember, for a good portion of our provisions had been placed in the wagon box. The boys on the raft, however, kept their heads and though none of them were much accustomed to the water, they understood enough about it to avoid upsetting the craft. Little by little they pushed and paddled toward the middle of the stream and finally brought it up to shore probably a mile down stream. After anchoring the raft the articles loaded into the wagon bed were removed, placed upon the bank and finally the wagon bed was taken off and likewise placed on high ground. The boys then with great difficulty towed the raft along the shore up stream to a point far enough above the camp on the opposite bank to enable them to pilot it back to the desired landing place. They finally brought it up when, after anchoring it firmly, the running gears of the wagon were rolled down and pushed out upon the raft, the axles resting on the logs and the wheels extending down into the water. This cargo was ferried across in the same manner. In this way after much labor, paddling and poling this raft back and forth, our entire outfit was landed safely on the opposite side of the stream. Our belongings were, however, pretty widely scattered, because the boys always unloaded at the place they were able to land. It took much time to again rig up the wagons and collect the provisions and camp equipment and get it all together again.

We had allowed our cattle to remain on the east side of the river during this operation, and after everything was ready on the opposite side we rounded them up and pushed them into the water. They swam across in fine shape, the men swimming their horses after them. It was a great relief to all of us to feel that we were safely across and to realize that we had saved a good many days, perhaps, by the effort we had made. We were especially desirous of keeping well in front of the emigrant trains that we knew to be upon the road in order that our oxen and horses might have better grazing and we felt that by the accomplishment of the task which had just been finished we had probably set ourselves in advance of many of the trains.

After a good rest we moved on and soon entered the valley of Sweetwater River which we followed for many miles. Toward the head waters of this stream we passed Independence Rock, which, even in that day, was a marked natural curiosity much spoken of by travelers. There were many names cut in the smooth face of this immense boulder and we added our own to the list. A long toilsome climb after leaving Independence Rock brought us to the crest of the continental divide from which we descended into the valley of Green River. This is an extensive basin and we were a good many days passing through it, but met with no occurrences worthy of special mention. As we passed out of the valley, our road led us over a high range of mountains and I shall always remember the view which presented itself in front of us as we reached the top. The valley of Bear River lay before us for many miles. The view was obstructed only by the fact that the eye had not the power to see all that was spread before it. In all my experience in the mountains, I can at this moment recall no place that presents so striking a picture as the one which remains in my memory of this scene. I cannot locate the place upon the map, except approximately, though I have often tried to do so. In those days we had few names. There were no county lines and no towns by which to locate natural objects so they might be pointed out to others. Even the mountain ranges and many of the smaller streams had either not received names or we had not heard them. The place I have been attempting to describe was near the extreme western border of Wyoming and must have been about opposite Bear Lake in Idaho, perhaps a little north.

An incident occurred at this place which served to impress it upon my mind independent of its natural beauties. Shortly before we approached the crest of the mountain we began to see emigrant wagons ahead. Finally we noticed what appeared to be an immense train stretching out in front of us. On nearer approach we discovered that some forty or fifty wagons which had fallen into the Oregon trail at various places along the line were blocked, apparently by the difficulties attending a descent of the opposite side of the mountain. We halted our teams and went forward on foot and discovered that there was but one place where the descent could be made at all and that was along a steep, rough canyon at one place in which the wagons had to be let down by hand. We approached and watched the operation for an hour or two. The teams and wagons in proper turn passed down to this abrupt place where the oxen were taken off and driven down. The wagons, rough-locked with chains, were then let down by long ropes, a great many men holding to the ropes to prevent the wagon from running away. It was very slow work and we immediately saw that a delay of three or four days at least was ahead of us if we waited to take our turn down this embankment. A conference was called as soon as our men got back to the wagons. Gilmore said he was not willing to believe that the point these emigrants had selected was the only place where the teams could get down, so he and a few more of our company started to the left of the trail to seek a new place. After about two hours, Gilmore and his men came back and said they thought they had found a place and directed the teams to move forward. A long winding drive down a spur or ridge that led off to the left of the canyon brought us to the place Gilmore had discovered. I went up and took a look and I confess that I was very much afraid we could not make it. There was not a tree, nor a log, nor anything else out of which we could make a drag to tie behind the wagons and thus retard them as they moved down the slope. I saw that Gilmore had some plan in his mind, however, and waited to see it develop. He ordered the three front yoke of oxen off the front wagon and directed that they be taken to the rear of the wagon leaving the wheel yoke hitched to the tongue. These three yoke of oxen were tied by a chain to the rear axle. The wheels were all four rough-locked with chains made fast and tight. When this was done we gathered our whips and told the oxen to move on. As the wheel yoke started forward the wagon pitched down upon them. They set their feet forward and laid back upon the tongue. When the chain tightened on the three yoke tied to the rear, they, like the yoke in front, set their feet and laid back upon the chain. Then the whole—wagon and oxen—went plowing down the mountain side more than one hundred yards before the ground became level enough to release the wheels. It was a great relief to be able to unlock the wheels and release the oxen and know that all was safe. The six other wagons repeated this experience in turn. The whole descent had required but little more than two hours and we found ourselves well down into the valley of Bear River two days ahead of time, and best of all, in the lead of those emigrants who were waiting to let their wagons down by hand over on the other road.

Soda Springs on Bear River was our next point. We reached it after a two days' journey from the point where we had descended the mountain. Here I saw another wonder—to me. Water, almost boiling, spurted right up out of the ground. One spring in particular which they told us had been named Steamboat Spring was especially noticeable. Every three or four minutes it would throw a jet of water up four or five feet high, then subside. Just about the time every thing seemed to be getting settled, the water would gush out again. This continued at regular intervals night and day and may, for all I know, still be going on. There were a number of hot springs, besides several other springs, the water of which was strongly impregnated with soda. We halted a little while here to rest and to inspect this great wonder and then pushed on in a north-westerly direction toward Fort Hall, which is located on Snake River. This required about a three days' drive, as I remember. We knew at the time that this course took us considerably out of the way, but we had no information as to the barriers to be encountered by an attempt to shorten the route, so we were content to follow the beaten trail.

I remember an incident which occurred at Fort Hall. We had fallen in with a train from Jackson County which was known as Hayes' train, and we all journeyed together to Fort Hall. A government fort was located there and Hayes found in the fort, a negro man who had run off from his Jackson County plantation six years before. Hayes instead of asserting ownership over this negro and compelling him to go back into servitude, made a contract with him to drive one of his teams through to California and work one year for him in California, after which the negro was to have his freedom. This seemed to suit the negro exactly and he picked up his long gad and started after the oxen. We all moved together down Snake River to the mouth of Raft River, and on this part of the journey an incident occurred which caused all of us a good deal of uneasiness. Hayes had a bright lad with him about sixteen years old who was always playing pranks. He also had a driver who was dreadfully afraid of Indians. One night after we had camped, the lad took a red blanket and slipped away from the camp around near to where the driver was standing guard. He threw the blanket over his shoulders after the fashion of the Indians and secreted himself behind an obstruction, and at the proper time, slipped out of his place of concealment and started toward the driver. The driver ran just as the boy had anticipated, but when the boy started to follow, playing Indian all the time, the driver halted long enough to put a load of shot into the boy. Fortunately the shot was not fatal, but the boy was dreadfully wounded and had to be hauled in one of the wagons clear on to California. We had little or no means of giving him attention and the poor boy suffered a great deal, but he finally got well.

When we reached the mouth of Raft River, a small stream which flows into the Snake River from the south, we halted for a conference. Hayes with his train was accompanying us, but he knew no more about the country than we. It was clear that we must break away from the Oregon trail at some point in that immediate vicinity and it occurred to us that this little river would afford the most likely passage to the crest of the divide from which we could descend into the valley of the Humboldt. Accordingly our oxen were turned out of the beaten path and headed over an unknown stretch of country. We experienced very little difficulty that I now recall so long as we were able to follow the river, but by and by the stream became very small and led us into a rugged, mountainous country. After much climbing and wandering about we reached the crest of a divide which is now called the Raft River Mountains; passing down the farther slope of these mountains we encountered a dreadful alkali desert before reaching the main stem of the Humboldt River. The men, horses and cattle suffered greatly. The alkali dust raised by the moving teams parched the throat and nostrils and lack of water denied either to man or beast any relief. Fortunately for us, this did not last many days. Whether by accident or from good judgment, we soon located a good sized stream of water which eventually proved to be one of the main prongs of Humboldt River. We followed this stream probably two hundred miles or more, and while the grazing was very short, we had plenty of water and were able to get along.

One night just before we reached Big Meadow, while we were camped alongside the Humboldt River, a band of Digger Indians slipped into our herd and drove two of the cattle away. Next morning after rounding up the cattle these oxen were missed and search was immediately instituted. Bob and James Gilmore, Charles McCray and brother William got on their horses and made a wide circle about the camp. They discovered tracks leading toward the mountains and followed them. After they had gone several miles and could still see nothing of the cattle, they became convinced that the Indians had taken them into the mountains, and as McCray and Gibson had gone away without their guns, McCray was sent back to get them. McCray reached camp, got the guns and started out to overtake the boys, but soon returned saying he could not find them. The company remained in camp waiting continually for their return and when, late in the afternoon, they had not returned, we began to feel quite uneasy. When night came and they had still not returned, we piled sage brush on our camp fire and kept it burning very bright to light them in. No one in the camp slept and as the hours passed, uneasiness increased. Finally, late in the night they came in, all safe, but very tired and without the cattle, and gave us the following account of their experience.

They had followed the tracks of the cattle through the sand fifteen miles and traced them into a steep, rough gorge or canyon that opened into the valley from the mountain. They entered this gorge with great caution and had not gone far when they found the carcasses of the cattle warm and bleeding, but no Indians in sight. They were convinced that Indians could not be far away, and momentarily expected an attack from ambush. The Indians had evidently posted a watch on some high point on the mountain, who, when the men were seen approaching, gave the alarm, upon which the cattle were immediately killed and the Indians fled to cover.

It was then nearly night. The horses were poor and weak, and neither the horses nor the men had tasted food or water throughout the day, and there was no relief except in camp. Delay was useless, so they turned immediately and started back. After reaching the plain they noticed far out in the distance a cloud of dust on the horizon and supposed at first it was a small whirlwind, as whirlwinds were very common on those sandy deserts. The dust continued to rise and apparently to approach toward them, and in a little while they were able to make out objects moving through it. They then knew that the Indians, having been warned of their approach and having seen them enter the canyon, had made a wide circle to the rear, and that their purpose was to cut them off from camp. Only a few minutes were required to reveal the fact that the Indians, about thirty in number, were coming toward them as fast as their ponies could gallop, and a brief counsel of war was held. To attempt to out-run them on the poor jaded horses was out of the question, and the situation looked rather desperate. Their lack of guns and ammunition and their inferior numbers made the result of a fight very doubtful. They had no choice but to make the best of it, and the only thing in their favor was the well known cowardice of the Indians in an open face to face fight. Each of the Gilmores had a double barrel shot gun and Gibson had his bowie knife and these were the weapons with which the fight had to be made. The boys dismounted and as the Indians came within easy view of them they stepped out in front of their horses and waited. The men with the guns held them in position to fire and Gibson drew his bowie knife and held it steadily in his hand. The Indians came on furiously, screaming and yelling, but the boys did not stir a step. The plan was to let them come and get as many of them as possible with the four loads that were in the guns, then with the knife and the guns as clubs, fight it out.

The boys said that for two or three minutes there was every indication that the Indians really meant to fight. They showed no disposition to halt, but came yelling and dashing forward until they were almost in range of the guns. Even though the boys were not equal to the task they had to keep their nerve. If they had shown the least disposition to waver or to change positions the Indians would have been encouraged to come upon them. They stood as firm and steady as though they were made of stone. Not a word was spoken, except that Bob Gilmore quietly counselled the boys to stand perfectly still. This attitude was too much for the Indians. They became convinced that they really had a fight on their hands, and when within seventy-five yards they came to a sudden halt and all danger was past. The bluff had worked and the Indians were going to pretend they never had any hostile intentions. The boys continued to stand perfectly firm and wait. After a moment or two, three or four Indians came forward bowing, making every demonstration of friendship, saying, "How, How," and asking for tobacco. Gibson in return bowed to them and said "How, How." He also indicated they could have tobacco if they would approach, but the Gilmores kept their guns steadily raised in the same position. When within twenty or thirty feet, the Indians stopped and Gibson approached a little nearer to them and put on an appearance of great friendship. He had no tobacco, but the Gilmores had, so Gibson went back for it, the others remaining in position to fire, and took it from their pockets. The Indians then bowed and the boys bowed and the Indians turned and went back to their companions. The four emissaries who had come out for the tobacco mounted their ponies and the whole thirty of them rode away. The boys kept their positions until the Indians were far out on the plain. They could see them as they rode away, turn on their ponies and watch them, and they proposed to give them to understand that there was a fight ready for them if they desired it, and thus probably prevent an attack farther on in their journey to camp and after night.

When the Indians were well out of the way, the party journeyed on. It was then nearly sundown and fifteen miles to camp. The boys had taken note of the natural objects along the road out, and before it grew entirely dark they located these objects with reference to certain stars that would lead them after night, and in this way managed to get along until they came to where they could see the reflection of the burning sage brush upon the sky. We were greatly rejoiced to see them, and even though they did not bring the cattle back, we felt after our hours of anxiety that the loss of the cattle was but a trivial matter.

A few days' drive after our encounter with the Indians brought us to Big Meadow, a name given to a sort of oasis which was covered with abundant grass and where our cattle could get the finest water. We took a good rest here and it was a delight to see the cattle and horses, after their long drive over the sand and through the sage brush, wade belly deep in the finest of grass. During our stay at this place we cut and cured a large quantity of hay and loaded it on our wagons. We had heard that there was a desert ahead and wanted to be prepared for it. We must have spent four or five days at this place, and when we set forward both men and cattle were much refreshed. A day's journey, as I remember, brought us to the lower end of Humboldt Lake, where, so far as we could see, Humboldt River stopped, that is the river ran into this lake and there was apparently no outlet. We could see a barren country ahead, and rightly judged that we were approaching the desert we had heard of.

Next morning everything was prepared for a long drive without grazing or water. We left early and all day long traveled over a hot, dry plain without once finding a drop of water, and where there was no vegetation upon which our cattle could feed. When night came a conference was held. To attempt to camp in that arid place without food or water would weaken our stock and exhaust our men, so we decided not to camp at all. Accordingly the weary oxen and horses were pushed on at increased speed. We traveled all night long and when daylight came there was still no prospect of relief. To stop, however, was more likely to bring disaster than to go on, so we kept moving. About noon we began to see some evidences of a change. Off in the distance we thought we could see that the land had a green appearance, and this raised our hopes. On nearer approach we found that our first impressions were correct and that we were really approaching food and water. In a little while we came to a prong of what I learned afterwards was Carson River, which came down from the mountains and ran in an opposite direction from the Humboldt River. The water was clear and had hardly a tinge of alkali in it. When our cattle and horses saw the water, we could not hold them and we did not try very much, for we were almost as nearly famished as they. We took the yokes off of them and let them go. They ran pell-mell down to the water and plunged into it. The men did scarcely better. Many of them jumped right into the water with their clothes on and drank and splashed by turns until they had slaked their thirst and relieved their parched throats. As soon as food could be prepared, and eaten, everybody went to sleep except those who were detailed to stand guard the first two hours. We remained there, the guard being relieved every two hours, until the following morning, when both men and cattle were sufficiently refreshed to proceed.

Thenceforward our journey led us up Carson River. This was not a hard journey. The grass was fine and the water clear. There was no occasion for hurry. It was then growing toward the end of July and the worst of our journey was over.

We moved only fifteen or twenty miles a day and allowed our cattle and horses to browse along and fill themselves as they went. Nearly a hundred miles up the river we came to Carson Valley, where Carson City is now situated. As I recall my whole journey, I can think of no place that so impressed me with its beauty. Six miles across this valley, we came to the mouth of Carson River Canyon where the river flows out of the mountain. Six miles farther on and after crossing the river a dozen times or more, we passed out of the canyon and found ourselves at the foot of what we named "The Two-Mile Mountain." This mountain had to be climbed. It was so steep that ten yoke of oxen were required to draw each wagon up. This made slow work, as some of the wagons had to be left at the bottom and the oxen brought back to get them. After reaching the top, we journeyed on and came to Red Lake. This was a beautiful body of water. I am not sure whether it is what is now called Lake Tahoe or not, though I feel sure it is. After passing beyond this lake, we came to the "Six-Mile Mountain." This was not so steep as the "Two-Mile Mountain," but it was a much longer pull. As we approached the top we came to snow. This was the 5th day of August, 1849. Before we reached the very crest of the range our oxen had to pass over great drifts of frozen snow which, for all we knew, may have been hundreds of feet deep. At the top of the mountain we were on the crest of the Sierra Nevada Range, and it was a great relief to start down hill. One of the men went forward and picked out a route and twelve miles down the mountain we came to Rock Creek. Beyond this we encountered a descent which was almost as abrupt as our descent into Bear River Valley, but in the present place, we had plenty of timber, so we cut large trees and tied them by chains to the rear of the wagons and allowed them to drag behind. This put a very effective brake upon the wagons and enabled them to go down safely.

I remember an occurrence which took place shortly before we made this descent. Our road led along the edge of a steep declivity which seemed to be a thousand feet above the valley below. Mitch Hulett and I found it great sport to roll rocks off this precipice and watch them bound away down along the mountain-side. Sometimes we would pry a rock loose that would weigh two or three tons and watch it plunge down, tearing through the timber with frightful noise, scaring grouse, pheasants and wild animals out of the brush in great numbers. Some of the huge rocks would occasionally strike a jutting portion of the mountain and bound a hundred yards downward without striking a single obstruction. We had not noticed the lapse of time and the train got far ahead of us. By and by, we heard a great noise to the rear and in another moment a band of Indians dashed around a curve in the road and were right upon us. There was nothing we could do but run. The road ahead was down hill, and I have always thought we made a pretty good job of it. We broke away at full speed, never stopping to look back, and expecting every moment to feel the arrows in our backs or to see or hear them whiz past us. Every step gave us hope, and after a long run and when completely exhausted, we ventured to halt and look and listen, we discovered that we were not being followed at all. The Indians must have been greatly amused at our fright, but we were still unwilling to take chances and made the best haste we could to overtake the wagons. It required more than two hours, so rapidly had the time passed in our sport. That was the last time our pranks ever induced us to let the teams get so far ahead.

A place which afterwards came to be called Leake Springs is the next point I remember. We camped there for the night and on subsequent journeys I grew familiar with it. Twenty miles beyond this we came to Grass Valley and emerged from the high mountains. Fifteen miles farther we came to Weaver Creek, August 12th, 1849, where we first saw the gold glitter.

We thought our train was first over the trail, but somehow a few had beaten us in. When we got down to Weaver Creek, three emigrants were at work panning out the gold. We stopped and camped and watched them for a long time. That night I was taken sick with the flux. It was a bad place to be sick and I was dreadfully sick, too. They fixed me sort of a pallet under the shade of a big tree, and I lay there night and day for a week and they didn't know whether I would live or die. Trains were constantly arriving and in one of them there was a doctor. He came down to see me and told the boys they must hunt up a cow and give me fresh warm milk. They told me afterwards they found a train in which somebody had foresight enough to bring a cow along, and they got the milk and brought it to me. I drank it and soon recovered.