9th. Traveled down the Spring branch about six miles, when we crossed
it, and traveled fourteen miles over a barren, burning sage plain,
without water--to Raft river, which is the nastiest stream that we have
had to cross, since leaving the Missouri. Deep, narrow and muddy, we
had to pack all of our load across it, on our backs. One wagon that
crossed whilst we were there, tipped end-wise over the forward wheels,
as it entered the stream, throwing the two men who were in it, into the
water, frightening them awfully. They caught hold of their mules'
tails, and were drawn out; the king bolt of the wagon preventing its
coming down upon them. We had four more, smaller streams to cross,
within two miles of the Raft river, equally muddy; at one of which, we
broke our hindmost evener, leaving our wagon in the water, and getting
our load wet. After getting out of the scrape, we drove four miles, and
crossing another branch of the Raft river, camped for the night, at the
junction of the Cut-Off and Ft. Hall roads.
We are now at the end of the Soda Springs cut-off. I like this route
much, with the exception of descending two bad hills; it is a good
route, along which may be found abundance of grass and water, the two
great desideratums on this long journey. It is somewhat infested with
Indians, excepting the first 45 miles; they are the Shemook or Root
Digger Indians, a thievish, rascally race. It is well for the emigrant
to keep good guard over his stock on this cut-off, for they are always
on the watch for an opportunity to steal. We have good grass and water
to-night, and an abundance of it.