Several oxen had died during the night,
and it was with a caress of pity that the surviving were relieved of
their yokes for the day. The next sunrise saw us on our way over a
range of hills sloping down to a valley luxuriant with grass and
springs of delicious water, where antelope and mountain sheep were
grazing, and where we saw Indians who seemed never to have met white
men before. We were three days in crossing this magnificent stretch of
country, which we called, "Valley of Fifty Springs." In it, several
wagons and large cases of goods were cached by our company, and secret
marks were put on trees near by, so that they could be recovered,
should their owners return for them.
While on the desert, my father's wagons had travelled last in the
train, in order that no one should stray, or be left to die alone. But
as soon as we reached the mountainous country, he took the lead to open
the way. Uncle Jacob's wagons were always close to ours, for the two
brothers worked together, one responding when the other called for
help; and with the assistance of their teamsters, they were able to
free the trail of many obstructions and prevent unnecessary delays.
From the Valley of Fifty Springs, we pursued a southerly course over
more hills, and through fertile valleys, where we saw Indians in a
state of nudity, who looked at us from a distance, but never approached
our wagons, nor molested any one.
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