It seems hardly possible that any liquid could come out of the earth so
warm, and if I had never left Pike County I would have set down such a
tale as a fable; but we did find boiling water, so hot that when Eben
Jordan let down into one of those springs a slice of bacon tied to a
string, it was well boiled in less than fifteen minutes.
However, we were not to be deprived of water even though it was hot,
for father proposed that we fill some of our cups, declaring it would
be sweet to the taste once it was cool.
This we did not only once, but three or four times, during the
continuation of the march, for we came upon many of those hot springs
on the trail after we left the banks of Mary's River.
Then came a day in August when, after an unusually wearisome march, we
suddenly overtook two emigrant wagons in which were fourteen people who
had come from Missouri.
Verily it seemed as if old friends were meeting, for as our train
came in sight, some of the strangers began to sing, "My name it is Joe
Bowers," and however weary I had once been of hearing that tune, it now
sounded in my ears like music.
That evening we spent visiting; those people, like ourselves, were
traveling toward the land of California, and only those who have been
journeying in the desert and through the wilderness, without meeting
any human beings save Indians, can understand how intent was the
pleasure we experienced in being with our own kind again.
The emigrants decided to join our train, and we were right glad to have
them with us, although their store of provisions was no greater than
ours; but all were put on what father called "short allowance," which
was to each person two slices of bacon and two pieces of bread during
one entire day. All our men who had guns were continually searching for
game; but while we could see antelope and even wild fowl, both beasts
and birds were so shy that the best hunters among us could not get
within gunshot.