Saturday, August 19.
We left the Chilicothe train this morning. As it will take all day to
get the wagons mended, they cannot start to-day. We came on to Bear
River, reached here a little after noon, and will stay here until
to-morrow.
We crossed a toll bridge on Smith’s Fork, and met Captain
Hardinbrooke’s brother at the bridge. He is going to meet the
train. He did not know of Mrs. Hardinbrooke’s illness. He asked very
especially and with some confusion, “Is Miss Walker well?”
Ah, I think I know who he is going to meet, and understand some things
that have not been very clear to me before. “Ah, ha, Miss Lyde, you
have guarded your secret well, but see if I have not guessed it now?”
Well, he is very nice looking, and if he makes as good a husband as his
brother, he will no doubt be worth coming to Montana for. I wish you
joy, and that I may be present at the wedding festivities.
The boys have gone fishing, all but Sim. Poor boy he is too sick again.
I feel very much out of patience with Mr. Curry, because of the tramp
he led Sim when in so weak a condition.
* * * * *
Sunday, August 20.
We passed a grave this morning that was made yesterday for a young
mother and her new-born babe. Oh, how sad. With what an aching heart
must that husband and father go on his weary way, leaving his loved
ones by the roadside.
We crossed another toll bridge. It seems to me that emigrants are
greatly imposed upon by these men who claim toll. They throw a very
poor excuse of a bridge across a stream that could be easily forded if
let alone, but they spoil the crossing by digging ditches and throwing
in bush and timbers to obstruct the fording, then build a cabin, close
to the bridge, and squat to make a fortune by extorting large toll from
emigrants, who have not the time to stop and contend for their rights.
It seems a shameful business.
While stopping at noon we saw a company of Indians coming down the road
toward our wagons. My first sensation was fear, but upon reflection I
knew that is not the way they go on the warpath, and by the time they
reached camp I was ready to say “How,” and try to talk to them. There
was one that could understand English and talked quite well.
They are Bannocks, the tribe that was conquered in Idaho some years
ago. Their chief was with them. He held a stiff neck and tried to look
dignified, and only looked ridiculous. They are going on a buffalo
hunt. It seems that the whole tribe are going, squaws, pappooses and
all.
We have been meeting them all afternoon and are camping with them all
around us to-night. They all seem to want my pony. I have been asked
at least twenty times this afternoon to “Swap.” I gave all the same
answer, “No swap.” Why, I would not give my Dick for twenty of their
ponies.
The squaws and pappooses are around our camp to-night begging biscuit.
They are the greatest beggars I ever saw. I do wonder if they are
hungry?
We crossed the steepest, straight up and down mountain to-day that we
have crossed yet. It seemed that the wagons would turn a somersault as
we were making the descent.
Sim was too sick to sit up, and he would slide down in a heap, bed,
bedclothes and all, against the seat and grub-box. We stopped twice to
have him helped back into place. When we reached level ground he was
all piled up again. Poor Sim, he is very sick. I do wish we could come
across a physician. We have administered simple remedies, but seemingly
without effect.
There is an old lady ninety-three years old in a train camping near
us to-night. She is cheerful as a lark, sings sometimes, and is an
incessant talker.
She says she is going to Oregon, where she expects to renew her youth.
She looks very old and wrinkled in the face, but is very active in her
movements, and not at all stooped. The people she is with are not at
all refined or cultured, but I do like to talk to the old lady, she is
so quaint. It makes mother seem quite a young woman to see her with an
old lady more than forty years older than she is. Why, she seems just
in the prime of life, and we had thought her growing old.