When I went among them I found my little cousin Mary sitting on a
blanket near Mr. Oakley, who had carried her thither, and who was
gently trying to engage her thoughts. Her wan face was wet with tears,
and her hands were clasped around her knee as she rocked from side to
side in great pain. A large woollen stocking covered her swollen leg
and frozen foot which had become numb and fallen into the fire one
night at Starved Camp and been badly maimed before she awakened to
feel the pain. I wanted to speak to her, but when I saw how lonesome
and ill she looked, something like pain choked off my words.
Her brother Isaac had died at that awful camp and she herself would not
have lived had Mr. Oakley not been so good to her. He was now
comforting her with the assurance that he would have the foot cared for
by a doctor as soon as they should reach the settlement; and she,
believing him, was trying to be brave and patient.
We all resumed travel on horseback and reached Johnson's Ranch about
the same hour in the day. As we approached, the little colony of
emigrants which had settled in the neighborhood the previous Autumn
crowded in and about the two-roomed adobe house which Mr. Johnson had
kindly set apart as a stopping place for the several relief parties on
their way to and from the mountains. All were anxious to see the
sufferers for whose rescue they had helped to provide.
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