Early in the autumn of 1859, I again visited Salt Lake City, when President Brigham Young called upon me to make another visit to the Moquis, and take with me Brother Marion J. Shelton, whom we had called to labor with that people, to learn their language and teach them.

He directed me to leave with him one of the brethren who had been with me for some time among the Indians. President Young also put in my charge sixty dollars worth of goods, consisting of wool-cards, spades, shovels and other articles which would be of value to the Indians, with instructions to dispense them in the best manner to create a good influence among them.

I returned home, and immediately made arrangements to carry out these instructions.

Our company consisted of Marion J. Shelton, Thales Haskell, Taylor Crosby, Benjamin Knell, Ira Hatch, John W. Young and myself.

We left the Santa Clara settlement on the 20th of October. Nothing of special interest occurred on our journey, except that at one time we did not find water where we expected, and were suffering with thirst, when some Piutes saw our fire and came to us. They informed us where water was located and in the morning piloted us to it.

We arrived among the Moquis on the 6th of November. We visited and talked with them three days.

I was at a loss to know who to leave with Brother Shelton, and was desirous that it might be made manifest to me. My mind rested upon Brother Thales Haskell. I went to him and told him that he was the only one I could think of to remain with Brother Shelton, but he had been out so much that I disliked to mention the subject to him.

He replied that he was the man, for it had been made known to him that he would be asked to remain before leaving home, but he had said nothing about it.

We left our Moqui friends and Brothers Shelton and Haskell on the 10th of November, and arrived home on the 25th. Brothers Shelton and Haskell remained on their mission until early spring, when they returned home and reported that the Moquis were kind to them, but they could not make much progress in the object of their mission. The fathers of the people told them, very emphatically, that they still believed that the "Mormons" who had visited them were the men prophesied of by their fathers, that would come among them from the west to do them good. But they could make no move until the re-appearance of the three prophets who led their fathers to that land, and told them to remain on those rocks until they should come again and tell them what to do.

Under these circumstances the brethren thought best to return home.

In the fall of 1860, I was directed to make another effort to establish a mission in some of the Moqui towns, and take with me George A. Smith, Jr., son of the late President George A. Smith.

I left the Santa Clara in October with a company of nine men: Thales Haskell, George A. Smith, Jr., Jehiel McConnell, Ira Hatch, Isaac Riddle, Amos Thornton, Francis M. Hamblin, James Pierce, and an Indian we called Enos. We took sufficient to sustain us in the Moqui country for one year.

In speaking at a public meeting the day before leaving, I said I felt different from what I had ever previously done on leaving home; that something unusual would happen. What it would be I did not know. Whether we should ever see home again or not I did not know, but I knew we were told to go among the Moquis and stay for one year, and that I should do so if I could get there.

When we arrived at the crossing of the Colorado River, I again felt the same gloomy forebodings I spoke of before leaving home.

On the morning before crossing, the brethren said I had spoken discouragingly several times, and they wished to know if there was any one in the company that I did not wish to go on.

I assured them that there was no one that I did not wish to go along, but I knew there would be something happen that would be very unpleasant, and that there would be very hard times for some of us.

Young George A. Smith said: "You will see one thing, that is, I will stick to it to the last. That is what I came for."

We all crossed the Colorado River with a firm determination to do the best we could to fill our mission.

The second day's travel from the river we found no water, as we had expected, and what little we had brought with us was exhausted.

About two o'clock in the afternoon, four Navajos came to us, and told us that if we went on to the next watering place we would all be killed. They invited us to go with them to Spaneshanks' camp, where they assured us we would find protection.

We counseled about the matter, and concluded that the animals were too nearly famished for want of water to reach Spaneshanks' camp. If what the four Navajos told us about danger ahead was true, we were in danger from enemies if we went on to water and of perishing with thirst if we attempted to reach Spaneshanks' camp.

As the water was but a short distance ahead on our route, we concluded to push on to it and risk the consequences.

I requested Brother Thales Haskell to go on with the company and water the animals, he having been there before, and being, for this reason, acquainted with the ground. I directed him, for security, to take our animals on to the top of a table rock where there were about forty acres of grass, and which could be reached only through a narrow pass in the rocks, which would enable us to easily defend ourselves in case of attack.

The Navajos were gathering around us from different directions, and the Indian interpreter we had brought with us informed me that they were evidently bent on mischief. I determined to remain behind with them for awhile, and learn what I could by the interpreter and by observation. The interpreter learned from their conversation, that they were determined we should not go on to the Moqui towns, but they appeared undecided whether to kill us or let us go home.

We had taken two Indian women with us, thinking that they might be a great help in introducing something like cleanliness in cooking, among the people we were going to visit. The Navajos said we might go home if we would leave them.

I directed the interpreter to tell them that one of the women was Brother Hatch's wife, and the other was mine. They replied that they would not kill the men who had married them.

Two of the Navajos then hurried on to our camp, which was by the narrow pass, on to the table rock. There the Navajos made a treaty with us that if we would trade them the goods we had brought along, and especially the ammunition, we might go home.

As it seemed impossible to fill our mission, we felt justified in concluding to return.

The following morning we commenced to exchange articles of trade for blankets. While thus engaged, our animals were taken off the rock to water. When returning from the water, Brother George A. Smith's horse turned back on a trail, which, in a short distance, led over a hill and out of sight.

As he started after it, I told him that he had better not go alone, to which he made an indifferent reply. Something else immediately attracted my attention, and he was forgotten until the Navajos in our camp suddenly left, when I learned that he was after his horse, alone and out of sight. I sent two men after him.

They went about a mile, and found him lying by the trail, with three bullet wounds through the lower part of his body, and four arrow wounds between the shoulders.

I mounted a horse and rode to the spot, and learned that Brother George A. had found a mounted Indian leading off his horse, and that he took the Indian's horse by the bit, when the stolen horse was readily given up, with which the owner started for camp.

The Indian who had taken the horse and a companion then rode a short distance together, when one came up by the side of Brother George A., and asked him for his revolver. Not suspecting any treachery, he passed it to the Indian, who handed it to his companion a little in the rear. The latter then fired three shots into him, with the revolver only a few feet from his body.

Brother Smith was paralyzed, and soon fell from his horse. The two Indians then dismounted, and one threw his buckskin shirt over his head, and the other shot the arrows between his shoulders.

We took the dying man on a blanket near to the camp, when he earnestly requested us to lay him down and let him die in peace.

During this time about forty Navajos had gathered at a difficult place on the trail leading to the Moqui towns, probably anticipating that we would make an effort to go in that direction.

I sent our interpreter to ask them what they meant by shooting a man after they had agreed with us that if we would trade with them we might go in peace.

He returned with a message to the effect that three relatives of the Indians had been killed by pale faces like us, and, to avenge their death they had shot one of our men. They said: "Tell Jacob that he need not bury him, for we will eat him, and the women and children will help do it. We want to kill two more; and if Jacob will give them up or let us quietly kill them, the rest of the company may go in peace."

The question was asked me, "What are you going to do?"

Under the trying circumstances, it was a serious question; and the query was an earnest one with us all, "What can we do?" The heavens seemed like brass over our heads, and the earth as iron beneath our feet. It seemed utterly impossible to reach the Moqui towns, which were almost in sight, and like certain death to attempt to escape in the night with our jaded animals.

Our interpreter thought it would be better for two of the company to die, than for all to be killed.

I told him to go and tell the Navajos that there were only a few of us, but we were well armed, and should fight as long as there was one left.

He turned to go, rather reluctantly, saying again that he thought it better for only two to die than all.

I replied that I did not think so; that I would not give a cent to live after I had given up two men to be murdered; that I would rather die like a man than live like a dog.

As the interpreter turned to go, the two Indian women we had brought with us wept aloud, and accused me of bringing them along to be murdered. I went a little way off by myself and asked the Lord to be merciful, and pity us in our miserable and apparently helpless condition, and to make known to me what to do and say to extricate us from our difficulties.

I returned to camp and told the company that we would leave as soon as possible.

Some thought it was certain death whether we went or remained where we were.

I told them, however, that there would not be another one of us injured.

Our four Navajo friends who had come to us the day before, had remained, and now helped to gather our animals and pack up.

We were soon on our way.

I told Brother George A. that we must return home to save our lives, for we could not go any farther, as the Navajos were guarding the pass.

"Well," said he, "leave me; it will make but very little difference with me; it may make much with you. You cannot go very fast if you take me."

We put him in a saddle upon a mule, with Brother Jehiel McConnell behind him, to hold him on.

We left our camp kettles over the fire containing our breakfast, untouched, and all our camp outfit that we could possibly do without.

The Navajos who had been guarding our trail beyond the camp, started after us, coming down like a whirlwind.

Some of our party predicted that in ten minutes there would not be one of us left, but there was no flinching, no wilting in the emergency.

I again predicted that there would not be one of us hurt, for so the Spirit whispered to me.

The Navajos came almost within range of our rifles, and then turned suddenly to the right.

As they passed, the mule that carried our supplies went after them; but, to our surprise, it was brought back to us by a friendly Navajo.

We traveled as fast as possible, while the four old gray-headed Navajo friends guarded our front and rear. They often asked us to leave the dying man, as he was no longer of any use; that the one who shot him would follow to obtain his scalp, and that if we stopped to bury him they would leave, for our enemies would have his scalp if they had to dig his body up.

About sun-down George A. asked me to stop, and said that everything looked dark to him, and he was dying.

Our Navajo friends again said if we stopped they would go on. I said to Brother George A., "It will not do to stop now."

He asked, "Why?"

When I told him, he said, "Oh, well, go on then; but I wish I could die in peace." These were the last words that he said.

A few minutes afterwards, the Navajo friends said, "The man is dead. If you will leave him, we will take you to Spaneshanks' camp, where you will have friends."

Our last ray of hope for getting the body of George A. where we could lay it safely away in the rocks, was now gone. I said to the company, "What shall we do?" The answer was, "What can we do, only lay the body on the ground and leave it?"

I replied that such was my mind, for we would only risk our lives by making an effort to bury the dead, in which we would probably be unsuccessful.

We wrapped the body in a blanket, and laid it in a hollow place by the side of the trail, and then rode on as fast as our jaded animals could well carry us, until late in the night.

We halted on a patch of grass, held our animals by the lariats, and also put out a guard.

I sat down and leaned over on my saddle, but could not sleep. The scenes of the past two days were before me in vivid reality. The thought of carrying the wounded man with his life's blood dripping out of him along the trail, without his having the privilege of dying in peace, combined with the leaving of his body to be devoured by wolves and vultures, seemed almost too much to bear.

My imagination pictured another scene. South of us, in the distance, we could see a large fire, around which we presumed the Navajos were having a war dance over the scalp of our brother.

Then the thought of conveying the sad news to his father and mother and affectionate sister, all old and valued acquaintances of mine, pierced me like barbed arrows, and caused me the most bitter reflections that I have ever experienced in my life.