We were yet within sight of the Great Salt Lake when, one evening,
three Indian men and two squaws, miserably clad and very ugly, came
into camp bringing for sale or barter something that looked much like
preserves.
Even though these people were so wretchedly dirty, I was hoping mother
might be induced to buy some of their wares, so keenly did I hunger
for something sweet; but I speedily lost all desire for anything of
the kind, when one of the men in the company explained what it was the
Indians had for sale.
It seems impossible human beings could eat such things, and yet this
man told me it was true that the Indians gathered a fruit called
service berries, crushed them into jam and mixed the pulp with
grasshoppers that had been dried over the fire and then pounded to a
powder.
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He called the stuff "Indian fruit cake," and, much to my disgust, not
only bought a generous portion, paying for it with needles, powder, and
bullets, but actually ate the mixture. I could not bring myself even to
look upon it, after knowing what it really was.
Once more we came upon the mountains after leaving the shores of Great
Salt Lake, and again we climbed up the steep ascents, with all the oxen
toiling at a single wagon, and then slipped down on the opposite side,
until it seemed certain some terrible accident must befall.