Three yoke of
oxen had died from exhaustion within a week, and several of those
remaining were not in condition to ascend the heavy grades before them.
On the twentieth, Mr. Pike met death in his own tent by the accidental
discharge of a six-shooter in the hands of Mr. Foster, his
brother-in-law. He left a young wife, and two small children, Naomi,
three years of age, and Catherine, a babe in arms. His loss was keenly
felt by the company, for he was highly esteemed.
We broke camp on the twenty-second, and my father and uncle took our
wagons to the rear of the train in order to favor our cattle, and also
to be near families whose teams might need help in getting up the
mountains. That day we crossed the Truckee River for the forty-ninth
and last time in eighty miles, and encamped for the night at the top
of a high hill, where we received our last experience of Indian
cruelty. The perpetrator was concealed behind a willow, and with savage
vim and well trained hand, sent nineteen arrows whizzing through the
air, and each arrow struck a different ox. Mr. Eddy caught him in the
act; and as he turned to flee, the white man's rifle ball struck him
between the shoulders and pierced his body. With a spring into the air
and an agonizing shriek, he dropped lifeless into the bushes below.
Strange, but true, not an ox was seriously hurt!
The train took the trail early next morning, expecting to cross the
summit of the Sierras and reach California in less than two weeks.
Pages:
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77