It is supposed the Indians killed the driver, took the horses, and
it is not known yet whether there were passengers or not, the coach
being so riddled with bullets; it is feared there were passengers. A
guard of soldiers go with the coaches we meet, or that pass us now. We
crossed Rock Creek on a toll-bridge, and had to pay fifty cents toll
for each wagon.
Just after we crossed the bridge, and where there is a sudden turn in
the road, as it winds around the mountain, we saw where two men had
been killed and two wagons burned last week. The tire became loose on a
wheel of the next to the last wagon in a freight train, the men stopped
to tighten it, while the rest of the train moved on, not thinking of
danger, and was out of sight in a few minutes. An hour later some of
the men came back to see what kept them. There they were--dead and
scalped--the horses gone, and wagons on fire. The Indians had taken all
the freight they could use, piled wood under the wagons, and set it on
fire. We saw quantities of white beans scattered over the ground, also
the irons from the wagons.
We are within sight of Elk Mountain and seemingly quite near it. Sim
and Hillhouse picked a nice lot of gooseberries while stopping at noon.
I have been sitting in the wagon, picking off stems all afternoon;
they also brought a bucket of snow. It is really refreshing, and such
a novelty to have a snow-ball to eat in July. The gooseberries are
quite plentiful around here. Cash and I went with Hillhouse and Sim
to pick some this evening, but a shower drove us to camp; the boys
stayed and picked as long as they could see. If we had time, we could
gather gooseberries enough to supply the train for a month. They are
very fine and large; they are certainly an acceptable addition to our
bill-of-fare, where a sameness of diet is unavoidable. I shall always
consider them a fine fruit hereafter.
About an hour after we drove into corral the McMahan train came, and
their corral is quite near. We are so glad they are here; we feel safe
when they are near.
* * * * *
Monday, July 17.
Such a cold, rainy, dismal day as this has been. It has rained without
stopping from early morn until now, and it is almost sundown. This is
the first all-day rain we have had this Summer. It has rained all night
several times, but that is not so bad.
Since we have been in this Indian country the tents have not been put
up; every one seems to think it safer in the wagons than in tents
outside the corral, so we have had to sit in the wagons all day. I have
read, sewed, written, picked over gooseberries and ran through the rain
and visited some, yet the day has seemed long. The herders have to take
the stock two miles away to find feed, so we are consumed with anxiety,
notwithstanding we know our Father’s care is round and about us, and He
can and will protect us. When we came here we could see Elk Mountain,
but now it is enveloped in clouds, entirely hidden from view. It is not
pleasant camping when it rains all day long.
* * * * *
Tuesday, July 18.
The wagons started soon after daylight, before we were out of bed. We
had been on the road a little while when I heard Hillhouse call to
Brother Winthrop--who was driving our wagon--“Oh, just look, Wint.
Isn’t that a grand sight?”
I knew there was something to see, so I was soon up and dressed and
sitting with Winthrop. I shivered with cold until my teeth chattered,
but was well repaid for any inconvenience by the grandeur of the sight
I looked upon. Why try to describe or picture anything so entirely
impossible? The masses of fleecy white clouds, with the brightness of
the morning sun shining upon them as they floated around and over the
top of the mountain, made an ever-changing, beauteous panorama that I
cannot describe. As the clouds rose higher and higher, they seemed to
mass over the top of the mountain, as in benediction, glittering in
the sunshine until they seemed to melt away. I waited until the sun
had warmed the air, then mounted Dick for my morning ride. The McMahan
train broke corral and drove into line just behind our wagons. I had
only just started when Dr. Howard rode up on his pony Joe and requested
the pleasure of riding with me. The doctor is a very pleasant, cultured
gentleman, and is very fond of his pony, yet Joe cannot be compared
with Dick for beauty, neither for easy gait. Why, Dick is the most
beautiful pony on this road. He is a bright bay with long and heavy
black mane and tail, and his gait is as easy as a cradle. I can ride
all day and not be tired at all. While his horse--well, I will not
describe him. It might hurt the doctor’s feelings.
We came to the foot of Elk Mountain, on the Medicine Bow, about nine
o’clock. We find plentiful and excellent feed for the stock, so the
captains have announced, “We will stay here until to-morrow.”