A Tempest—The Brute with no Rheumatic Pity—An Impromptu Gallows—Hanging a Rascal—My Stage Wardrobe—Under Water with a Water-tight Wagon—The Keg of Whiskey—Its Unforeseen Results—A Mountain Cannon—Natural Soda-water—An Indian Attack—Raising my First Hair—Taking a Lesson from the Red Man—British Criticism—The Valley of a Thousand Springs.

The rest which had been given the horses partially restored them, and on the following day the train was again in motion.

After reaching what is known by the old Emigrants as the last crossing of the Sweet Water, Captain Crim decided to take a road farther north than the usual one. He had crossed the plains several times before. Knowing that the Sublett's route and Headspath Cut-off, as well as the Salt Lake line of travel, were peculiarly hard upon stock, he determined this time, to try a track of his own.

We therefore followed up the Sweet Water, crossing it repeatedly, and at length passed the Rocky Mountains. Thence we went to Green River.

This river presented us with great difficulties to find a place for passing it. The current is, at all times, swift and strong. On this occasion it was greatly swollen, in consequence of the heavy snows of the preceding winter, higher in the mountains. After hunting for an available ford more than half a day, one was at last discovered, and the horses were brought over without the slightest loss.

That night, however, we experienced a fearful storm, or rather a hurricane.

It was indeed such a tempest as I had never yet experienced. Neither has it had its parallel since in the whole records of the Storm Bureau established in Washington. The rain and hail descended in literal sheets of water and ice. The camp-fires were extinguished by their fury. Tents were torn down and the wagons containing our stores were flooded. The lightning blazed incessantly, and the thunder seemed to roll in one continuous peal.

Luckily for us, it was not of long duration. In some three hours it had spent its fury. Yet its effects were felt by some of us, for a length of time. Poor Pigeon especially was taken down by it with a severe attack of inflammatory rheumatism. Since his name was first mentioned, it has not again recurred. However, his sickness here forces him upon my notice in connection with another member of our party.

The next morning, all damage having been repaired, the train was again in motion.

Having passed the three Tetons, gigantic sentinels projected from the main range of mountains, we followed a little stream which Crim christened Pine Creek. Beyond this, we unexpectedly came upon a vast belt of snow, extending through the Wind River Range. With three companions, I went over it as far as Salt Creek. It was found to be completely impassable for the horses, averaging from six to twenty feet in depth.

After holding a council, Captain Crim decided upon striking directly south until we should reach Sublett's Cut-off. Consequently we had to retrace our steps, and encamped some twenty miles down Pine Creek, for the purpose of doing that class of reconnoitering which is nothing else than exploring.

Here it is, that we have once more to do with Pigeon.

There was a man who had some interest in a small portion of the stock. For want of a better and less appropriate name, I may as well call him Rascall. While delayed in our enforced encampment, some of us were occupied in grazing the stock. Others were exploring in every direction for a means of crossing the belt of snow which hedged us in from our westerly route. Rascall had nothing to do. Poor Pigeon was lying in his wagon, as helpless from rheumatic pain as the train was in presence of its blockading impediment. Rascall, having no rheumatic pity, took advantage of the solitary and forlorn Pigeon, by ordering him out of the wagon. In vain did the poor devil remonstrate with him. He was utterly unable to move. Rascall determined upon proving this, and being alone with Pigeon in the camp, tried the common experiment of brutes, by thrashing him in the most unmerciful manner possible.

Like many other brutes, he did this without counting the possible consequences.

On the return of the boys to the camp, they heard of this from Pigeon, who was, from his harmless good temper, a general if somewhat despised favorite. Naturally enough, their contempt was forgotten in their pity. They determined upon a queer revenge for his treatment of poor Pigeon. They, consequently, rigged up an impromptu gallows by joining two wagon poles together. From this they suspended a full-length portrait of the offender, although, at first, serious thoughts had been entertained of suspending himself.

It would be needless to say that the likeness was scarcely of sufficient academic correctness to have justified its limner in claiming any position as a portrait-painter.

Seeing this, in order to avoid any mistakes, with the artist's permission, I inscribed beneath it "Rascal," in very unmistakable letters.

Either the portrait or the name had an immediate effect. Captain Crim, who certainly had an artistic eye for painting or printing, one or both, as well as an unmistakable love of justice, saw it. He immediately inquired into the matter, and then visited Pigeon. The poor fellow's statement was enough. As has been seen, Crim was not a man of many words, but of very decisive temper. He expelled Rascall from the camp, and it was only after some four or five days' wandering in its vicinity, and imploring any of us he chanced to meet for pardon, that on consultation with his boys the Captain finally allowed him to re-enter it.

At length, a way out of our difficulty was found. Through deep gorges and caÑons we reached Lambert Creek, and after following it for some distance, crossed it, finding ourselves once more in the Green River region. Thence, striking across a lower range of mountains, we came to Sublett's Cut-off.

Shortly after this, above Ham's Fork an accident occurred to one of the wagons, which, although of slight account to the train, was of serious moment to myself.

In passing this stream, the wagon containing, with other property, the whole of my wardrobe, stage and otherwise, sprung a leak. It should be mentioned that wagons for crossing the Plains, are, for obvious reasons, generally made water-tight. Being struck by an undercurrent which rendered it impossible to move it rapidly, it foundered with all its contents. Seeing the mishap from the shore, our Captain sung out to the boys to save whatever of the unlive stock in it they could. However, without waiting for orders, I and Brighton Bill, whose personal property had gone under the water with mine, had both rushed to the scene of our loss, and entering the stream, were hard at work.

We remained in that wretched Fork for five hours, fishing out of it, as it seemed, everything but our own property. Necessarily, much besides this was lost. The infernal undertow of the stream carried all it could bear with it, away. Not only had it plundered me of my stage-wardrobe, but of the whole of my wearing apparel, exclusive of that I then stood upright in. Not even a single shirt was left me. At length, when it was evident no hope remained of finding it, sulkily angry, wet and chilled not only to the bone, but to my very marrow, I struggled, with the well-nigh as miserable Bill, to the farther bank. Here we found Captain Crim awaiting us. At his side, stood a consolatory keg of whiskey, and in his hand was the immortal tin-cup, so lovingly identified with daily life on the Plains, and the early history of our nation upon the Pacific coast. He was a sagaciously provident leader. Praiseworthily interested in our health, he supplied both of us with a liberal cupful of the fortifying elixir. Hungry, as well as cold, for it was now three o'clock in the afternoon, and I had eaten nothing since morning, I forgot my usual prudence, and asked him for another cupful of the inspiring fluid.

"Do you think you can stand it, Mose?" was his far from unnatural inquiry.

The whiskey had not yet sufficient time to put an end to the shivering produced by my protracted cold bath. My teeth were actually chattering in my head, with a castanet accompaniment to my discomfort.

"Certainly-a-a-a, I can-n-n-n, Cap!"

"The cup holds a good half-pint."

"And I have been-n-n-n in the water ha-a-a-lf a day, Captain!"

"Very well!" he replied, with a commiserating look at my drowned-rat-like appearance, "you shall have it."

He very certainly would never have allowed me to soak so much inwardly, had it not been for my thorough outward soaking. Nor, indeed, but for my tribulation under my recent loss, should I have desired such an inward soaking. As I swallowed the whiskey, I felt my whole frame bursting into a tingling and generous glow. However, nothing more is remembered by me until the following morning.

Then I awoke in Captain Crim's tent. I had been stripped to the skin and wrapped in a blanket.

My clothes, now, alas! my only suit, had been removed from my person by his orders, and dried at a large fire, whose smouldering embers were in the last stage of inanition without the tent. They were lying beside me. It was with a somewhat sheepish look, I imagine, that I got into them, for the Captain was already out and about. What blowing up might be in store for me from such a rigid disciplinarian as he was, I could scarcely imagine.

As I went, or to speak more truly, sneaked out into the sharp morning air, what was my surprise to hear him say, in a cheery voice:

"Well, Mose! You are all right now, are you not? To work, my lad! I wish all my boys were like you and Bill! You worked yesterday, like a couple of heroes."

It was an agreeable reception, and so widely different from the one I had anticipated, that for the moment I forgot my loss. Straightening myself up, with a modest disclaimer of his praise, I resolved to keep my intended apology under the lock and key of a silent tongue.

It was, I think, about noon, some two weeks after this, we reached Bear River. Following its course until we came to Soda Springs, our camp was pitched for the night, between them and the silenced volcanic crater beyond.

This has been so often described, that to do so again would be a waste of words. But on a hunting trip some ten miles more or less North, I discovered another natural curiosity, to which I was the first to call attention. On entering a small valley, I heard a continuous whizzing and grumbling noise, which was unlike anything I had before listened to. Looking around, I saw in the scarped face of an almost perpendicular mountain a cavity some twenty-five or thirty feet above the level on which I was standing. From this cavity came a broad and persistent jet of steam. This evidently caused the sound which had startled me. It was the result of volcanic action of some description, although I was scarcely scientific enough, even in a small way, to reason this out.

Suddenly, without the slightest note of preparation, a huge ball of hot mud and fragments of stone was projected across the valley from this opening in the precipice. It was followed by a sharp roar, like the report from some heavy piece of artillery.

As I stood watching the orifice from which the jet of steam poured for some twelve or thirteen minutes, this phenomenon was repeated, and in something more than an hour I counted some five repetitions of it.

Farther up the valley, which was about a hundred and fifty yards in width, according to a rough guess, I came to another curious phenomenon. Opposite this natural cannon, the valley formed a broad semicircle, and on the extreme side of this was a tolerably large plateau of hard and sandy soil, from the summit of which I heard a singular hissing sound. Hobbling my horse below, I climbed to the summit of this, and my curiosity was rewarded by the discovery of another freak of Nature. The summit of the plateau was surrounded with a number of funnel-shaped apertures, from which water constantly rose and fell again, bubbling and sparkling like the contents of a soda-water bottle after the cork has been removed. The taste of this water, which was warm, was, however, scarcely so agreeable as the temperance beverage to which I have compared it.

Slightly behind me, the natural cannon still continued to belch forth its projectiles from the scarp of the rocky fortalice in which they were stored. Here, perhaps, were a number of relief-valves which prevented its destruction by a wider and more devastating explosion.

There is naturally small marvel that on this day I killed no game. My time had been too much occupied in the examination of these singular exhibitions of created oddity, for me to track deer or buffalo, if indeed any were in the neighborhood.

For what reason I can scarcely say, the name I gave this place was Death's Head Valley. It retains it to the present day.

Our camp was broken up on the next morning, and we continued, in an almost westerly line, our course. We were advancing into a thickly inhabited Indian country. From time to time what we believed signals were given and answered from either side of the train. No Indians were, however, visible.

It became clear, when we encamped for the night by Raft River, that if the natives put in any show at all, it would be a hostile one.

The result of this was, that after our brief supper was over, Captain Crim detailed me to make a reconnoissance of the country round our camping-place. We had long since begun to employ military terms. The reconnoissance proved him to have been right. Low and partially smothered Indian fires were detected by me, through the smoke rising from them, upon every side, and on my report being made, our guards for the night were doubled.

Next day, by its events, amply proved the advisability of this vigilance.

We had reached the City of Rocks, some seven or eight miles from the point at which we had crossed the last-mentioned stream. The advanced guard under me were moving cautiously along, exploring, almost, I had said, every inch of the road, and occasionally throwing a quick and marvellous glance at the springing spires, stretching battlements, cupolas and towers which bore witness to the plentiful imagination of the great Primal Architect and Supreme Master Mason of the earth, when we began to discover visible traces of Indian life. Some ten minutes after, the whole of this strange city of the unliving was literally blackened by live and threatening red-skins. The word, inappropriate as it may be to their color, must be pardoned. There was, and consequently is, no more time to pick phrases than to indulge in any descriptive power I may possess.

Giving the alarm, we fell back on the main body of our party.

Never before had I so much occasion afforded me to admire the natural nerve and military capacity of our leader, in a position of emergency.

The wagons of the train were formed in a close circle, with the horses hobbled inside, so as to prevent the chance of a stampede.

As for ourselves, we were posted under cover of our improvised fortification, to await the attack, which was not long before it burst upon us.

These preparations had been as speedily made, as the orders had been readily given.

They did not take the boys more than ten minutes. Nor had we been any too rapid in perfecting them.

A description of the fight would be impossible for me, as I only could detail that portion of it in which I was bodily concerned. It may be sufficient to say, that the first pitched battle with the red man, in which I was concerned, lasted for perhaps some fifteen minutes. The savages then seemed to have enough of it, and retired in admirable disorder. The right term would possibly be this—they ran away.

Dashing out after them, we followed the flying red-skins for some distance, and I had the satisfaction of raising my first hair, or in the language of the East, taking my first scalp.

An Indian, who concealed himself behind a large rock, discharged four arrows at me almost with the continuous rapidity of the lightning in the tempest we had so recently experienced. But what might be good for the goose might be equally good for the gander. Rocks were at a fairly large discount in that city of them. Taking advantage of one of these, I seized the opportunity afforded me by an unguarded movement of the enemy and dropped him with a bullet through his brain.

Some three more dead Indians lay scattered round the wagons, while only one of our men had received any hurt. He was an Irishman, who had received a shot in the right side. It had been made with a ragged ball, which had torn his flesh frightfully. However, the wound did not prove fatal.

The City of Rocks was now quiet enough, and shortly after Captain Crim gave orders for again starting.

Very necessarily, we were too fully employed in discussing our first Indian fight (or more properly perhaps I was, as several of my companions had crossed the Plains before) to indulge in a prolonged examination of the quaint, natural architecture through which we were moving.

On arriving at sundown near Goose Creek, our captain decided upon an extended examination of the country round, before entering the caÑon. His reason for this was, that, on two previous occasions, the Indians had in this locality robbed him of all his horses, leaving him to find his way to California on foot. Little wisdom exceeds that which is taught us by past misfortune. At least, I may safely swear that I have generally found this to be the case.

Our men were accordingly divided into three parties, of tolerably equal numbers.

One had the care of the train and horses. Another had to pass across the mountains on the right, and the last, those on the left of the caÑon. Crim did me the honor of detailing me in command of the second party, because his past experience had convinced him this was the side from which most danger might be expected, and as he was pleased to observe, I "had not only pluck enough for anything, but plenty of prudence." In the first part of this compliment, I completely justify his eulogy. The second portion of it may be subject to more question, especially when my youth is remembered.

My party consisted of twenty-eight of the best men connected with the train, amongst whom were Brighton Bill.

Some three miles along the side of the caÑon we began to move in regular Indian fashion, singly and as quietly as we could, availing ourselves of every cover possible. Neither was this one whit too soon. As we crept over a small hill, we discovered, not more than six hundred yards from us, a party of red-skins. These were some fifty in number.

Luckily, perhaps, I had been the first of my party. Dropping as if I had been picked off by a bullet, I motioned my men to imitate me.

Then, placing my linger on my lips with a warning movement, we began crawling to the right, behind a number of huge rocks, and managed to advance to within some two hundred yards of them, without giving them the slightest alarm. The red devils were watching the movement of the train as, below them, it wound slowly up the caÑon. More than probably, if they could count the number of boys we had left with it, they were congratulating themselves on the way, in which they must have supposed, they had thinned us out.

Raising my rifle I took deliberate aim, in which I was imitated by the rest of my party. Each of us had selected his own man.

The report of my weapon was followed simultaneously almost by the whole of those of my fellows, ringing out sharply and clearly.

As the smoke cleared away immediately after, we saw the whole of the Indians, who had not been slain, flying at the top of their speed across the mountain.

Twenty-three of them were on the ground, dying or dead, of which five were undoubtedly white men. Brighton Bill gazed upon the dead bodies reflectively.

"You're as good as an Injin, Mose!" he said. "But look 'ere. Wouldn't it 'ave been better to give 'em the lead, face to face."

"D' yer think the skulking beasts would ha' given yer a fair chance?"

This was said by one of the most silent men, and best shots, who had enlisted with Captain Crim.

"That's so, for sartain!" cried one of my boys, with an oath.

"I jist tell yer, Cap!" said the man who had replied to Brighton Bill, as he kicked over one of the dead bodies in which a ball had perforated the skull—probably it was that of the Indian he had drawn a bead on, "this was a darned square bit of Injin cunning. Yer've shown 'em, two can play their game. I'm proud to sarve under yer."

Brighton Bill said no more.

He was evidently thinking profoundly upon the different style in which matters were managed in crossing the Plains, to that in which they might have been, in case of necessity, in his own country.

On rejoining the train at the head of the caÑon, and reporting the affair to our Captain, he was pleased to say, I had proved the justice of what he had said, when he appointed me to the command of the party. The congratulations on my success, however, which I received from my companions, were considerably warmer and more gratifying. For some twenty-four hours, I actually found myself promoted by general acclamation to the position of a hero. A little pluck and caution count heavily on the Plains.

Bill, however, did not change his opinions. Although still as warmly as ever attached to me, he said on the same evening, while sitting round our camp-fire:

"I don't care, Mose! It would 'ave been more square to give 'em the lead, face to face."

Late on the following day we reached Thousand Spring Valley, where the head-waters of the Humboldt River take their rise. Here water and game were good and abundant, and the train remained two days to rest the stock, while I and some others scoured the adjacent country in quest of fresh meat.

A lovelier spot than this valley, it would, perhaps, be impossible to find in the whole continent, and I could, while I wandered through it, scarcely avoid reflecting on the change which a hundred, or in all probability no more than fifty, years might produce here. Then, it will be thoroughly peopled. Possibly, a great inland city may have been reared by the bustling and intelligent life of my country. The red man will have been effaced by the onward march of civilization, or compelled by sheer necessity to accept a settled life. A Sharp's rifle or a colt will no longer be possessions of paramount necessity to him who travels thitherward. The buffalo will have been cleared out from this section of the States, and an antelope steak will be a rarity. At that period a man of my, at this time, nomadic instincts will be compelled to search for fresh ground in which to develop and enjoy them. The interior of Africa or South America will be the only parts of the world in which he can follow the life of a wanderer, unchecked and unhindered.