January 1, 2008

Nevada's Online State News Journal

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[From (ed.) Howard R. Egan, Pioneering the West 1846 to 1878: Major Howard Egan's Diary (1917), pp. 183-225.]

Nevada History:

28. "TECUMSEE."

            I will now try to tell you how Father got the Indian, named by him, Tecumsee. But first I will say that Father was employed by some Salt Lake merchants to travel through the settlements both north and south in the winter time, buying up all the extra animals, cows and steers, that the people would sell. They were to keep these animals till spring brought the grass up, so he could collect them as he came along on his start for California.

            He had been very successful in buying, and when he had gone as far north as Malad river, where he camped for a few days, he had a bunch of about fifteen hundred head and a train of fifteen wagons, a hundred horses and mules, and thirty-five men, all to be looked after and taken care of till they arrived in California.

            It used to be Father's plan, after he had got the camp under way in the morning, and when the stock were well strung out, he would select a good position and count the whole bunch, and if there were any missing he would send men out to hunt them up and bring them in, and sometimes they were not successful in finding them. If the lost animals were very few, it

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would not pay to lay over to hunt them, but if there was a bunch lost, the train would camp at the first water until the stock was found or accounted for.

            They had traveled past Promontory Point and camped near Sage, or Indian creek, about sundown. There is a narrow, sharp, rocky ridge makes down from the mountains on the north of the road, and the camp was made just after rounding this rocky point. Father had been, with some others, back to look for missing: animals, and as they were nearing the camp he gave his horse to one of the men to lead to camp and take care of, as he wished to take a little foot exercise.

            He climbed the steep ridge a few hundred yards from the point near the road, and he knew that the camp was close to the opposite side of where he was climbing up, and when he reached the top would have a fine view of the surrounding country. When he readied the top he saw the camp as he expected and the stock spreading out to feed.

            On looking down the ridge the way he expected to go to camp, he saw what lie first thought to be the tail feathers of a bird, but in looking a little closer with his field glass he saw that there was an Indian under those feathers, who seemed to be trying to keep out of sight of anyone in the camp, and at the same time get close enough to some of the animals that were grazing near to stick an arrow in them (an Indian trick to get the carcass after the train had moved on).

            Father was directly above the Indian, and the Indian between him and the camp. Father lost no time in getting within a few yards of the fellow, and just as the Indian was preparing to shoot the nearest steer, Father gave a "Hugh!" The Indian turned round and faced a sixshooter, dropped his arrows and said "Hugh! Hugh!" Father placed his sixshooter in his scabbard and motioned the Indian to pick up his arrows; then motioned him to go down to camp, where Father had him sit down by a campfire and placed a guard over him, gave him a good supper, and then blankets to sleep on, and made to understand that he must stay there till sunrise next morning or the guard would shoot him. The next morning the Indian was given all he could eat. and some flour and bacon for his squaw (if he had one) and told to go.

            Just before 12 o'clock noon, as Father was counting the animals as they passed along by a certain point of the road, he chanced to look around and saw the Indian of the night before, with two others, standing near watching Father. Father went on with his count till all the cattle had passed. After summing up his count he found that there were five or six animals missing. He turned to the Indians and held up six fingers,

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then pointed to the cattle, then motioned his hands over the country; the Indians uttered a sigh and soon disappeared.

            Father, contrary to his usual practice, did not send any men to find the lost animals. He made camp about 3 or 4 o'clock.

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            About sundown there could be seen a cloud of dust coming down the road. It might be a pack train, for it was coming pretty fast. It was only Father's Indians bringing in the lost animals, but instead of only five or six, they had brought in fifteen head. Some of them did not have the company brand, but were animals that had been lost by other trains or immigrants.

            The three Indians did not leave again until they had passed over the line of their country, which was along the Humboldt river, and Father placed no white men to herd and guard the stock, the Indians doing this from sundown to sunrise. Father had killed three head for beef, giving one to the Indians, and there had been two or three poisoned, and two or three drowned in the spring holes in Thousand Spring Valley, and at his last count in California he had one animal more than he left Malad Valley with. (So much for being kind to Indians.)

            The next year as Father was making another trip with stock for the California market, about the same place, the Indians came again and did the same as the year before, leaving as usual, except Tecumsee (as Father called him). (That was the Indian Father held up on the rocky ridge.) He did not leave when the rest did, but kept as close to Father as he could day and night.

            In California he had to do a good deal of traveling, and when stopping at a hotel it was always understood that Tecumsee slept on the floor by his bedroom door. One night when they were thus fixed, Father heard a slight sound of someone walking in the room. The moon made it light enough to see farely well. He saw the Indian come to the chair on which Father had placed his clothes, and proceeded to go through his pockets. Father said nothing about it, and next morning found that the Indian had only taken a few dimes, leaving all money larger than that. After that Father would only leave a dime or two, which were sure to be gone in the morning.

            As he had never seen or heard of the Indian buying anything, he wondered why he would steal money and not spend it. So one day Father went to a store with the Indian and gave him to understand that he was going to buy a hat and a shirt for him. After the things were fitted on, Father in paying for them pretended he did not have money enough. The Indian went down in his own pockets and brought out a rag in which were tied up two or three dollars in dimes. He untied the bunch and slid it along the counter to Father to take out what was needed to fill the bill.

            One day, in Sacramento, Father wanted the Indian to wear shoes while in the city, so took him to a shop and got a pair

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fitted to him; then when they came to pay for them it took money from both of them. An hour after that they were walking down the street, the Indian trailing behind. Father chanced to look back; the Indian was there all right, hat in hand, shoes slung across his arms, eating candy and taking in all the sights that were to be seen from the sidewalk.

            As a general thing he tried to imitate Father's walk and actions, which caused many a smile among spectators and many a hearty laugh from Father 's acquaintances. He could not bear to wear shoes long at a time, when they were new, and off they would come, no matter where he was ; the same with his hat.

            Well, the old fellow was at one time the "war chief" of the "To-So-Witch Band" of the " Sho-Sho-nees Indians." He came with Father to Salt Lake and never went back to his tribe.

            NOTE. To Wm. M. Egan: Probably you know what be- came of him. I don't remember. He was sometimes at Mother's, and at other times I have seen him at different mail stations. H. R. Egan.

            *I remember him well. He used to sleep in our back kitchen, and do chores, and was quite an old man then, but I do not remember about his death. W. M. Egan.

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SEC. II. STORIES OF TRAVEL AND HAPPENINGS.

29. "INDIAN SNAKE EATING."

            When Father was returning from one of his trips to California by the southern route, my brother Erastus was in the company, and from some of them I got this: We were in the desert and had made camp near a small spring. We had nothing to make a fire with but scrub greasewood. We had our fire made and were getting our supper about ready, when there appeared a couple of the Desert Indians, clad in their Sunday attire, which consisted of a grass string around their loins. A kind of fringe about eight or ten inches long hung from the string clear around them. This was all of their covering except a mass of coal black hair on their heads about the size of a bushel basket.

            They came up close to the fire and stood like posts, but watching every move of the whites. One of them had a live rattlesnake which he held by the tail, letting the snake hang down very close to his leg, but paying no attention to the squirming reptile whatever. This put the spectators on their nerves. They said nothing, but expected to see the snake at any moment bury his fangs in the Indian's leg. After the whites had removed their cooked supper from the fire, the Indian that held the snake kicked, with his bare feet, the embers together, and then laid the snake on the coals. It crawled off. He picked it up and put it on again. This was repeated several times before the snake died; and when it was roasted enough to satisfy the Indian, he took it off the fire and pinched its head off with his fingers and threw it away: then broke off a section of the body and commenced eating it like a boy would a carrot. The two made short work of the snake and licked their fingers as if they liked it, and I suppose they did.

            At another camp, while they were cooking a meal, three or four of the same kind of Indians came up and stood watching the cooking arrangements. Father told Erastus not to notice them or they might take too much liberty. When the meal was all ready and spread on the blanket, all but the frying pan of gravy, Erastus was told to get it off the fire and bring it to the table. He lifted it off the fire. The handle was hot and burned his fingers, so he laid it down to get a better hold. As he did so he looked at one of the Indians and grinned. That

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was enough. They all jumped at once around the pan, and bending their forefingers like a fishhook, dived into that gravy, and as hot as it was they soon cleaned it all up, and the white people had no sop that meal just on account of the grin on the boy's face.

30. THE SLEEPING MULE (FATHER'S).

            On Father's quick trip to California, straight across the great American desert, his rule was to stop but four hours out of every twenty-four, which soon made men and mules suffer for the want of sleep as well as rest.

            One day, after crossing about a thirty-mile desert, they came to the bench or foothills of the next range of mountains, that appeared to be very dry. Father told his partner to ride a little ways off in that direction and he would go the opposite, and if either found any water to shoot his pistol off, that the other might come to him, and if neither of them found any water they must return and climb the mountain and search the other side.

            After going as far as he thought advisable. Father took the back track, and when he got to the place where they had parted, not meeting his man, he followed his tracks as fast as he could. After going about one-half of a mile, and just over a small ridge, he saw the man and mule both standing up. The man had his hands on the horn of the saddle as if about to mount. The mule's head was down close to the bunch grass, but both man and beast were fast asleep.

            The mule was the first to awake, but merely raised his head a little. The man slept till Father had dismounted and gave him a shaking up, and asked him why he had not fired the shot to let him know that he had found water. He said he was going to ride back to the top of the little ridge and do so, as the shot could be heard farther, but had lost himself just as he was about to mount. There was plenty of water there, so they rested for four full hours.

            At another time on this trip they were suffering very severely for water, but fortunately came to a small stream of clear mountain water. Father's partner jumped off his mule and threw himself flat down with his lips to the water, sucking in huge mouthfuls. Father grabbed him by the legs and pushed him heels over head into the creek. Of course, when he scrambled out, he was ready to fight, but when Father said, "Now you can drink without killing yourself, and I hope you have learned a good lesson about drinking when thirsty.

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            Father said, at one time on his fast trip across the country, as he was traveling through a narrow, steep side canyon, it appeared to him that he was going through the street of a very large city. The buildings on each side appeared to be of many shapes, and some of many stories high, and occasionally a bridge would span the street, and so low down that he would duck his head to ride under them. Some of the houses seemed to be lighted up. He could see the lights in many windows, but there was no sound.

            Then he knew that he was suffering for the want of sleep. That made the transformation. He had often when on the desert seen the mirage take the form of buildings, bridges, forests and lakes (the writer has seen the same things), but he knew this was not a mirage, but lack of sleep.

            Father was of the opinion that man can go longer without sleep than the animals he rode, but he felt sure that the animals often slept while traveling slow. I don't know as to that, but I do know that I have ridden horseback for five or six miles while I was fast asleep, and only awakened by the pony changing his gait.

            This was at the place where the two riders passed each other and reported that they had not met. Both had been fast asleep and the ponies had not changed their pace in passing, so the boys slept on till they did, which would be at some incline or decline, as if to receive further orders, which they generally got by a gentle touch of the spurs or a lifting of the bridle reins.

            Suffering for Sleep.-- When Father arrived in Sacramento, at the end of his ten-day mule trip, his first duty was to take a bath and then a good sleep, both of which he stood very much in need of. So, after engaging his room at the hotel, he turned the water on and did not wait for the tub to fill, but got in and sat down and leaned back and well, the first he knew the bellboy was in the room trying to wake him up, and the water still running at full force. The first thing the bellboy knew was a battery of boots directed at him, which caused his hasty retreat. But he had broken the first real comfortable sleep Father had enjoyed for over ten days. As there were only two of them on the last trip, and as they only rested four out of every twenty-four hours, and as both could not sleep at the same time, on account of the danger of being attacked by man or beast, there were only two hours out of each twenty- four for each to sleep. Too little to be much enjoyed, for the awakening was the hardest part of the job, for sleep came quickly but awakening came with a grudge and a surprise at the shortness of the length of two hours.

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31. A FEARFUL FALL.

            In early days, when Father was at home for a brief time, they used to have a sociable evening at home with friends, at one home or another. As Father put in most all his time in going or coming, or in California, the good folks, especially the women folks, were always urging him to tell them some of his thrilling experiences, as they knew he must have had many of them. So, on one evening after much persuasion, he told this to the very attentive listeners:

            "I was selling beef to the placer miners and had to do a great deal of horseback riding to visit the different camps to get their orders for beef. On going to one camp I found the trail so steep that I thought I would walk the balance of the way, about one-fourth of a mile. So I tied my horse close to the trail and footed it on up to the camp. On the way up I noticed a good many prospect holes that had been abandoned. Some of them with large dumps and some with their windlasses still over them. I remember of thinking how dangerous it was to leave such places uncovered, as men or animals that might fall in one of them, if not killed, could not be heard by anyone, and so die of starvation or thirst.

            But to go on, I arrived in the camp early in the afternoon and was much pleased, as I had made contracts for a good amount of beef for each week for a couple of months, which meant ten or twelve head of beef sold. Well, they were a jolly crew of miners, and more so on account of their success. All of which meant money for me.

            By the time I had made the round of the camp and finished up my business it was dark. Some of the miners wanted me to stay with them all night, but I would not, for I had left my horse tied so he could not feed, and I also thought I could find my way back down the gulch, although it had grown extremely dark.

            "I followed a well-beaten trail and was making very good time, when all at once I felt that I was falling. Throwing out my hands I struck what I supposed was a windlass frame, and clung to it for dear life. But the thing was so rotten that it broke almost in two, and the least move I made it would crack, and was already pinching my hands. Now, if you can just imagine the horrible thoughts that ran riot through my head. How I should lie mangled at the bottom, or if dead, how long before I would he found. What would my wife and friends say as to the cause of my disappearance. Great beads of sweat

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came out all over me. All my life's doing, good, bad and indifferent, rushed through my mind at lightning speed, and the terror and agony of it all ! My strength was going away, and I knew that the last moment had come, so commended my soul to the powers above, I closed my eyes and let go my hold and dropped (Oh, my! Dreadful! Horrible! And so on, from the ladies) about six inches. Needless to say, after resting a few moments I soon found my horse and rode home."

DIARY.

          *To show some of Father's activities selling beef in California we here insert some of his Diary of 1855, as follows: January 1.-- At the ranch on the San Joaquin; cloudy. 12^th.-- Left the ranch with O. R. Stibbins and the Indian.  13^th.-- At Stockton ; stopped at the Slough House. 14^th.-- Stopped at Sacramento. 15^th.-- Stopped at Putah. 16^th.-- Started with forty-four head of cattle. 17^th.-- Stopped at the Slough House; commenced boarding at $9 per week. 20^th.-- Found an ox on the east side of Cosmines river branded L K. 21^st.-- Mexican Joseph came from San Joaquin. 25^th.-- Sold ten head of cattle. 26^th.-- Went to Sacramento and returned. 28^th.-- J. H. Kinkead arrived this evening. 29^th.-- Mr. Kinkead left this morning. February 2.-- Sold five head of cattle to Mr. Tudsbury. 4^th.-- Mr. Livingston paid us a visit. 7^th.-- Sold fifteen head of cattle to Bill Williams of Diamond Springs, 11^th.-- Received let-

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ter from home. 12^th.-- C. Stibbins started north. 14^th.-- Sold seven head of cattle to Mr. Spensir. Received a package of letters from Captain Hunt, (*This was another message from the Mormon Battalion.) 22^nd.-- Sold twelve head of cattle. Started for Sacramento. 23^rd.-- At Sacramento. 24^th.-- Went out to Putah and got fifty-one head of cattle. 25^th.-- Arrived at the Cosmines. March 1.-- Sold ten head of cattle to Mr. Crocker. 6^th.-- Started to Sacramento. 8^th.-- Went to Putah after cattle. Got fifty-one head. 9^th.-- Arrived at the Slough House. 14^th.-- Sold twelve head of cattle. 15^th.-- Subscribed $5 for the Mormon Herald to P. P. Pratt. 19^th.-- Sold fifteen head of cattle to Windall. 20^th.-- Mr. Charles Warner got killed. 21^st.-- Went to Sacramento; sent $2000 to Livingston & Kinkead. 22^nd.-- Returned to the Slough House. 29^th.-- Sold three head of cattle. April 1.-- Sold twenty-five head of cattle to Mr. Tudsbury. 2^nd.-- At Sacramento: went to Five Mile house with a friend. 3^rd.-- Went to Putah and got fifty-two head of cattle and stopped at Washington. 4^th.-- Crossed the cattle and arrived at the Slough House. 6^th.-- Started to Sacramento. 9^th.-- E. C. Blodgett brought fifty cows from the San Joaquin. 10^th.-- Sold a cow. 20^th.-- Sold seven steers to Zimmerman. 22^nd.-- Sold four steers and one cow to Donnely & Moffett. 26^th.-- Sold four cows and four steers to Oliver Joyet. May 2.-- Went to Sacramento and sold thirty-eight head of cattle to Frank Tudsbury. 4^th.-- Went to Putah and got fifty head of cattle. 8^th.-- A man by the name of Bohler was murdered one mile from Dayton's ranch. Sold two cows to B. Hamenell. 14^th.-- A man was executed at Dayton's ranch. (*Perhaps the murderer lynched.) 19^th.-- Sold twenty-five head of cattle to Mines & Co. 21^st.-- Sold twenty-five steers and seven cows. 27^th.-- Sold fifty-seven head of cows and steers to Soseen. 28^th.- Started to Auburn and crossed the American river. Lost a cow and calf. 30^th.-- Took stage for Sacramento. 31^st.-- Went to Putah creek and drove thirty-one head of cows and steers to Sacramento. June 5^th.-- Started W. Nash with fourteen head of cattle to Auburn. 6^th.-- Sold nineteen head of cattle to King & Co. of Grass Valley. 11^th.-- Started for Georgetown. Sold Frank Hereford fifteen cows. 18^th.-- Stopper five miles from Rough and Ready. 20^th.-- At Jordan Spring House. Sold to Mr. Morgan fifty-four head of steers. 28^th.-- Received of H. Mudy & Warner $2500 for Mr. Brown. 30^th.-- E. C. Blodgett arrived with the mules. July 1.-- Started the boys for Salt Lake.

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SEC. II.-- THE CENTRAL ROUTE TO CALIFORNIA.

32.-- A TEN DAYS' TRIP TO CALIFORNIA MADE BY HOWARD EGAN IN 1855.

From Salt Lake City, Utah, to Sacramento, Cal., in Ten Days on Mule Back, Through a Trackless and Desert Country.  A Time Never Equaled Before or Since by Such a Mode of Traveling.

            Wednesday, September 19, 1855.-- We started from Salt Lake City to go to Sacramento, Cal. early this morning, and stopped at Tooele to breakfast. Then went on and stopped in Lone Rock Valley about 1 o'clock p. m. We started on again at 3 o'clock and stopped at a brackish spring to get supper r about two hours, and then went on again.

            Thursday, 20th.-- We stopped at the eastern edge of the desert about 2 o'clock in the morning and started at 5 o'clock, stopping to breakfast at the Granite mountain, where there are fine springs and good feed for a small company. We started from there at 11 a. m. and crossed the desert, stopping on the west side of the desert at Willow Springs at 7 p. m. We started again and at o'clock the same evening we passed Peter Haws and company, who were camped about ten miles from the spring.

            Friday, 21st.-- We camped about 4 a. m. and started on at 5 o'clock, stopping to breakfast at o'clock. We started again at 10 a. m. and stopped to bate about 3 p. m. for an hour, and started on again at 5 o'clock. Mr. J. Redding, who accompanied us as far as Redding 's Springs, returned home.

            Saturday, 22nd.-- We stopped at 3 o'clock in the morning for two hours, and started on again at 5 o'clock, traveled two miles and stopped for breakfast. The morning was cold and cloudy. We started at 8 a. m. and stopped to feed at 2 p. m., starting on at 3 o'clock. We saw a large Indian camp in the valley. It commenced raining about dark. We went up a canyon and camped for the night.

            Sunday, 23rd.-- We started at 6 o'clock in the morning and met the Indians coming up the canyon on our trail. We stopped in the Humboldt valley at 2 p. m. to feed for an hour, and then started at 3 o'clock and traveled until 4 o'clock the next morning without water.

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            Monday, 24th.-- We started at 6 a. m. and found a spring of water about 10 o'clock on the top of a mountain, and stopped to feed. We started again at 12 o'clock and stopped at 1 p. m. for an hour and left at 2 p. m., traveling all the evening.

            Tuesday, 25th. -- We stopped about 1 hour and 30 minutes to feed, and started at 3:30 p. m.

            Wednesday, 26th. -- We camped at 2 o'clock this morning and started at 6:30 a. m. and arrived at the Humboldt river, ninety miles from the sink.

            Thursday, 27th. -- We arrived at the Trading Post, at the Sink, about 11 p. m., and started at 2 o'clock to cross the Big Desert, arriving at Rag Town at 11:30 p. m.

            Friday, 28th. -- We started at 2:30 a. m. from Rag Town and stopped at Gold Canyon at 11:30 a. m. We started from there at 2 p. m. and arrived at Jack Valley at 7 o'clock; changed mules and started at 9 o'clock and went on.

            Saturday, 29th. -- We traveled all night and stopped at Slippery Ford to breakfast. We changed mules at Silver Creek and traveled all night, arriving at Placerville at 5 o'clock in the morning and at Sacramento at 6 p. m., making the trip in ten days.

33. *FINDING THE EGAN TRAIL.

OVERLAND MAIL LINE. NOW LINCOLN HIGHWAY.

            Original Trails.-- Many original trails were blazed through the western country by early travelers. The trappers, as early as 1810, one year after the birth of America's immortal Lincoln, in whose memory this and subsequent trails were forged into this ocean-to-ocean highway, and if we include the present California (it was all California at that time, as far north as the north line of that state now and east to the Rocky mountains) much earlier than that. Peter Skeene was on the Weber river, near Great Salt Lake, in 1825, and W. M. Ashley on the shores of Utah Lake in 1826. In 1842 General John C. Fremont visited Great Salt Lake, and the trail to Oregon through the South Pass and down the Columbia river began to be traveled yearly. Mr. Sutter went down the coast, located in California, and then some travelers went by way of Fort Hall, Idaho, and up the Humboldt, through what is now Truckee pass, through the Sierra Nevada mountains.

            In 1844 Hastings followed the Indian trail through the Rocky mountains and blazed a cutoff trail south of Great Salt Lake, which is the present link of the Lincoln Highway which during the last year has caused the most apprehension of any

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point on the route between New York and the Pacific coast, intersecting the north trail on the Humboldt. Walker, with ten men, followed this trail into Salt Lake Valley, and the

Donner party in 1846 followed the Hastings cutoff, most of the company perishing 1 in the Sierra Nevada mountains from cold and hunger on account of the impassable snow. In 1847 the ''Mormon'' pioneers followed this same trail to the Great Salt Lake Valley and began to make their home there. This trail and the Oregon trail they followed to South Pass, in Wyoming is part of the Lincoln Highway. There still were many trails to be blazed throughout the intermountain country.

            Egan Trail.-- Quoting from Bancroft's History of Utah, pages 751-2: ''Between Utah and California there were three principal lines of travel the northern, the central and southern. The first skirted the northern edge of Great Salt Lake and thence after crossing an intervening stretch of desert, followed the valley of the Humboldt and Carson rivers, being, in fact, almost identical with Fremont's route of 1845. Notwithstanding its length, it was still preferred by travelers, as grass and water were fairly plentiful, with only two small tracts of desert land to contend with. (The southern route has been fully given in Father's Diary of 1849-50, in preceding article No. 27.)

            ''The central route, better known to the settlers of Utah by the name of Egan's Trail, and to California-bound emigrants as the Simpson route, though the two were by no means coincident, varied but a few miles from 40 degrees north latitude, until reaching Hastings pass in the Humboldt mountains where it branched off in a southwesterly direction toward Carson lake and river, and from Carson City south to Genoa. The South route was by way of the Sevier, Santa Clara, Virgin, Las Vegas, Indian rivers to San Bernardino.

            "In 1859 J. H. Simpson, of the topographical engineers, received instructions from Gen. Johnson to explore the great basin, with a view to find a desert route from Camp Floyd to Genoa, in Carson valley. An account of the expedition will be found in his 'Exploring Great Basin.' For about 300 miles his route was identical with Egan's, except for a few unimportant deviations, but soon after reaching Ruby Valley it tended more toward the south. Egan's line was preferred, however, as on the one taken by Simpson grass and water were scarce."

            "Howard Egan, a Major in the Nauvoo Legion and a well- known guide and mountaineer, was for some years engaged in driving stock to California in the service of Livingston & Kin-

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kead and afterward became a mail agent." Burton's City of the Saints, page 550.

            In 1855 he was engaged in this business and in his diary, which I now have in nay possession, he writes the following about his searching out the Egan Trail :

            "July 4^th.-- Started in the stage to Placerville on the way to Salt Lake; stopped at South Fork of American river. July 5^th.-- stopped at Lake Valley, ate supper at Gold Canyon, traveled all night and stopped at Savin's to breakfast. July 6.-- crossed the twenty-six-mile desert, stopped near Rag Town and started over the forty-mile desert at 7:30. July 7^th. -- traveled over the desert. July 8^th. -- arrived at the sink of the Humboldt. Started at 11 a. in. and came thirty-five miles and stopped for supper. Started at 10 p. m. and traveled all night. July 9^th.--. about 4 a. m., stopped to feed. Started at 8 a. m. and arrived at the trading post about .11 a. m. Left the Indian Tecumsee at this point. Camped at 9 p. m. July 10^th. -- started about 4 a. m. and spent the day in hunting the Beckwith trail. This evening three of the mules ran off. Spent the night hunting them. July 11^th.-- This morning I found the mules and started at 7:30 a. m., stopped to bait at 4:30 p. m. Started about 8 p. m. and camped about 12:30 a. m. and started at 3 a. m. July 12^th. -- stopped to bait about 7 a. m. and started about 9:30 a. m. We had the pleasure of having some Indians to breakfast with us. Stopped about 5 p. m. July 13^th. -- started at 3 this morning. Stopped to breakfast at 5:30 a. in. and camped at 4 p. m. Started to hunt a pass through the Humboldt range and got lost. Got to camp next morning, July 14^th. -- Spent this day by all to find a pass through the mountains. July 15^th. -- started at 5 a. m. and stopped at Peter Haw's and took dinner. Started at 2:30 p. m. and camped at 8 p. m. July 16^th. -- started at 3 a. m., came fifteen miles and stopped at C. Munvey's to bait. Started a south course through a pass in the Humboldt mountains, traveled through a beautiful valley and stopped at 3 p. m. Traveled ten miles and camped. July 17^th.-- started at 4 this morning and, traveling a south course, about 7 a. m. intersected Hastings trail, bearing east. Stopped to feed at 11 a. m. at Sulphur Springs. John R. Addams, traveling in company with horses, camped about 8 p. m. ; no water. July 18^th. -- started at 3:30 a. m., bearing north. Traveled about five miles and came to a large slough and stopped to feed. Started at 8 o'clock and stopped about 4 p. in., where there is a host of springs (no doubt Thousand Spring valley) : feed good. Started at 7 p. m. and stopped on the desert about 12:30 a. m. ; no grass nor water. July 19^th.-- started at 3 o'clock this morning, traveled over a rough, barren country mid stopped at a spring

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on the right of the road about 3 p. m. Started at 6 o'clock and stopped at 11:30 p. m. July 20^th. -- started this morning about 4 o'clock and stopped to feed about 11 o'clock."

            From this on his diary contains little or nothing until after he arrived in Salt Lake City and had made a wager that he could ride to Sacramento in ten days a mule-back. He then gives an account of the trip commencing September 19th, 1855, and arrived at Sacramento at 6 p. m., September 29th ; making the trip in ten days, as given in Article 32.

            In the back of his diary for this year (1855) he makes the following memorandum: "Commencement of trail," which, he says, "was ninety miles to the right (or south) of the sink of Humboldt. Across a valley twelve miles little water in canyon over a mountain five miles ; little water to the right in the creek across a valley one mile from the road at foot of mountain, good grass and water. Thirty miles to summit of mountain. Ten miles to left, one mile over small mountain creek. Fifteen miles to Ruby Valley. Twenty miles down to valley; forty miles in same valley, creek fifteen miles (perhaps Shell Creek) on the side of a small mountain is a large spring. Twenty miles over mountain five or six springs (Spring Valley). Twelve miles to summit of a little mountain; twenty-five miles to Deep Creek: thirty miles to desert; twenty miles over summit of mountain: forty-five miles to Salt Spring. To creek sixteen miles."

            These wove his notes in laying out the trail, and he also had a map, but as it is only a rude drawing, with no names of places, no one but him could make much out of it. He had also a list of figures, perhaps distances.

STATIONS AND DISTANCES

On the Egan Trail or Overland Mail Line as Finally Selected.

            Names of Stations.                              Names of Stations.

Miles                                                    Miles

0 Salt Lake City.                                  12 Black Rock.

9 Traveler's Rest.                                 11 Fish Springs.

11 Rockwell's.                                      10 Boyd's.

9 Dug Out.                                          10 Willow Springs.

10 Fort Crittenden.                             15 Canyon Station.

10 Pass.                                                12 Deep Creek,

10 Rush Valley.                                   8 Prairie Gate or Eight Mile.

11 Point Lookout.                               18 Antelope Springs.

15 Simpson's Springs.                          13 Spring Valley.

8 River Bed.                                        12 Schell Creek.

10 Dug Way.                                       12 Egan Canyon.

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15 Butte.                                             15 Fair View.

11 Mountain Springs.                         13 Mountain Well.

9 Ruby Valley.                                     15 Still Water.

12 Jacob's Wells.                                  14 Old River.

12 Diamond Springs.                          14 Bisby's.

12 Sulphur Springs.                             11 Nevada.

13 Robert's Creek.                              12 Desert Wells.

13 Camp Station.                                13 Dayton.

15 Dry Creek.                                      13 Carson.

10 Cape Horn.                                    14 Genoa.

11 Simpson's Park.                              11 Friday's.

15 Reese River.                                   10 Yonk's.

12 Mount Airey.                                  12 Strawberry.

14 Castle Rock.                                   12 Webster's!

12 Edward's Creek.                             12 Moss.

11 Cold Spring.                                   12 Sportsman's Hall.

10 Middle Gate.                                  12 Placerville.

Total 658 miles.

            Overland Mail Line. No doubt he was hunting this line out with the object of a mail line, for soon after he was in partnership, or more or less associated with W. G. Chorpening in carrying the mail. In "The Overland Stage to California," we read that W. G. Chorpening. in the 50 's was proprietor of the mail line from Sacramento east to the Utah capital, there connecting with the route from St. Joseph. Mo. In the spring of 1858 Chorpening purchased ten stage coaches, with all the necessary supplies for the route, and the vehicles were received at Atchison, Kansas, in August. 1858. shipped by Missouri river steamboat." Page 40.

            This was not a daily mail service, but was made daily in July, 1861, and was succeeded by Holladay Overland Mail and Express Co., and later Wells Fargo and Co.

34. *PONY EXPRESS.

            The first "Pony Express" from the west arrived at Salt Lake City. April 7^th, 1860, having left Sacramento. California, on the evening of April 3rd. 1860, and on the 9th it arrived from the east, having left St. Joseph. Mo., on the same evening April 3^rd, 1860." Brother Howard writes:

            "Father's First Express Ride. When all was supposed to be ready and the time figured out when the first Express should arrive in Salt Lake City from the east, they thought that, on account of the level country to run over, that they would be

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able to make better time on the eastern division than on the western from Salt Lake to California. Therefore, the two riders that were to run between Salt Lake and Rush Valley were kept at the city.

            Father alone of all the officers of the line thought his boys would make as good a record as the best and, if they did, there would be no rider at Rush Valley to carry the Express on to the city. So to be on the safe side Father went himself to Rush Valley. And sure enough his boys delivered the goods as he expected, and he started on his first ride. It was a stormy afternoon, but all went well with him till on the "home stretch."

            The pony on this run was a very swift, fiery and fractious animal. The night was so dark that it was impossible to see the road, and there was a strong wind blowing from the north, carrying a sleet that cut the face while trying to look ahead. But as long as he could hear the pony's feet pounding the road, he sent him ahead at full speed.

            All went well, but when he got to Mill Creek, that was

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covered by a plank bridge, he heard the pony's feet strike the bridge and the next instant pony and rider landed in the creek, which wet Father above the knees, but the next instant, with one spring, the little brute was out and pounding the road again and very soon put the surprise on the knowing ones. And here let me say, it was a very long time before the regular riders came up to the time made on this first trip, if they ever did."

            This Pony Express continued in operation until the Overland Telegraph line was completed, October 18, 1861, from the east to Salt Lake, and October 24th from the west. All the fast messages, of course, went by telegraph, and there was no more need for the Pony Express, as there was at that time a daily mail coach, the Overland Mail, running regularly and continued for many years.

            *Indian Raids. The Indians attacked the mail station at Deep Creek, stole a band of horses, and shot a man May 28, 1860. They made a raid on Egan Canyon station August 12th, and the following day on Schell Creek. A company of soldiers came to the rescue and killed seventeen Indians.

            The Overland Mail coach, with four passengers, was attacked by Indians at Eight Mile Station, near Deep Creek. The station men were killed, also Henry Harper, the driver, and one passenger wounded. Judge Mott, delegate to Congress from 'Nevada, climbed out of the stage, got the lines and made their escape to Deep Creek. (See details of this in later article, Indian Outbreak.) This was on March 22nd, 1863. Near Canyon Station. May 19th, the driver, W. R. Simson was shot while Father was riding by his side, who pulled him into the boot, got the reins, stopped the coach and ordered out the soldiers to return the fire, one of whom was shot between the toes. On the 8th of July. 1863, the Indians attacked Canyon Station near Deep Creek, killing four soldiers and Bill Riley, the water wagon driver, the latter of whom was thrown on the wood pile by the Indians and burned. One of the soldiers, being bald and having a heavy beard, the heard was cut off by the Indians instead of the scalp. This happened the day after we arrived at Deep Creek with our freight train, at the station we had passed, and I saw the dead soldiers who were brought down there for burial, and noted the bald soldier with his chin whiskers cut off.

            The writer was then a boy of twelve and was traveling with Brother Erastus, who had charge of three six-mule teams. I and another boy were night herders and we were on our way with grain, freighting from Salt Lake for the mail stations and continued on to Carson, where we bought goods to

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stock Father's stores at Ruby Valley and Deep Creek. At this same time my brother Howard had charge of about ten big government wagons with four yoke of oxen to each wagon with freight for the stations, and he went as far as Dimond Springs with it. The mule and ox trains were owned by Father. Before we left Deep Creek with these trains, Eight Mile Station, next one west, was burned by Indians.

*35 DEEP CREEK.

            Before the Deep Creek ranch was purchased by Father the old trail ran south from Willow Springs around Deep Creek (now called by its Indian name of I-ba-pah), but after that ranch was bought, it was made a station on the Overland Mail Line and our principal home. Deep Creek was headquarters for many years, where Father and his sons were quite successful in raising hay and grain for the mail stations and in ranching. The home station eating house was also kept and the stations along the road supplied with beef and mutton. About twenty cows were kept for milking, which chore fell to the lot of the waiter and brother Hyrum, as well as the cowboy job of riding the range for beef cattle, hunting horses and herding sheep, as well as helping on the farm, plowing, planting and irrigating, hauling hay, etc.

            Father was superintendent on the Overland Mail Line and all these activities were carried on successfully until May 10th, 1869, when the railroad was completed on the northern route, north of Salt Lake, leaving Deep Creek almost entirely out of the general line of traffic, until of recent years the Lincoln Highway has been established and this old route now again becomes re-established, especially for auto travel, it being well selected for this purpose as it is the shortest and best route to the Pacific coast. We are proud to say that Father spent many a hard day and many a hard trip in searching it out

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SEC. III STORIES OF WESTERN ROUTE, ETC.

36 GETTING RID OF AN INDIAN.

            The articles and stories of thrilling experiences, to the end of the book, were written by Brother H. R. Egan and speak for themselves.

            When Father was very busy trying to get things in shape to put a line of mail coaches on the Western Route across the desert to California, on one occasion I was his driver of a little spring wagon or ambulance. The pack trail at that time ran through Pleasant Valley, which is about thirty miles south of Deep Creek the present through route.

            We were going west from the Pleasant Valley camp and had made about ten miles when we saw an Indian trotting along back of the wagon. When he noticed that we had seen him he ran alongside of the front wheel. Father stood this as long as his nerves could stand it, for he expected to see the man get tangled in the wheel at any moment, for he had to keep dodging around the sage brush and was doing this on the run r all the time looking at Father. So to get rid of him, Father asked me if I had any loose powder with me, a flask of which I always carried for pistol loading.

            He held out his hand and I gave him a few loads; the Indian saw this and was all grinning with pleasure. The team at this time was trotting on a down grade, and in handing the powder out to the Buck's outstretched hand Father pretended to be jolted so, by the swaying of the wagon, that he missed the Indian's hand, and the powder fell to the ground in a scattered condition in dust and sage leaves. The Indian dropped like he had been shot, to his knees, and as far as we could see him, was working to pick up the powder.

            Father said, "Well, I thought of that plan to get rid of him and I guess that will hold him back till we have time to bait the animals and get our supper in Spring Valley (about eight miles further on). We lost no time, and arrived at our camp just before sundown, staked the team on good grass, and got our grub nearly ready to eat when Mr. Indian walked up to our fire. Father looked up to me as much as to say "fooled."

            After a while Father said, "I should like to know how

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much of that powder he saved." I said, "Every grain, or he would have been there yet." "Ask him," said Father. I did, and the Indian showed us that he had tied it up in one corner of his shirt tail, which was all the clothing he had on. The bunch looked to be about the bulk of clean powder that had been dropped for him. Father said he would like to see it. I told the Indian to untie it and let us see it ; he did, and to our surprise we could not detect a particle of dirt. It was as clean as that in my flask. How did he do it ?

            I learned afterwards that he had taken off his shirt, spread it down near the powder, and was very careful to -coop up all the powder together with dirt dust and leaves, putting it all on the shirt. When this had been done he removed to another corner of the shirt all the coarse dirt and leaves which were there, searched and then cast it off. Then the process was simply to shake and blow out the dust and pick out gravel or lumps of dirt that would not crumble. We had traveled at about eight miles an hour. The Indian had appeared at our camp in less than one hour after we had stopped to feed. He must have done the job pretty quick and then run like a race horse every step of the way from where the powder was dropped to camp, yet he did not seem to be the least bit tired, not even sweating. Well, he earned his supper, and got it.

37. A RUN FOR LIFE.

            Bolly and two others of the mail boys were building the first log cabin at Dry Creek, and had the log's laid up and the roof on, but the spaces between the logs had not .yet been chinked or plastered. The road ran in front of the door, and just across it they had placed the covered top wagon-bed to serve as store room until the house was ready to use. The cooking stove had been put in place and the cook this morning had just started to make a fire to get breakfast.

            Bolly had just crawled out of bed and gone back of the wagon, and was only partly dressed, but having his belt that carried his pistol, in his hand. The other man was still in the wagon ready to come out, when there was a gun shot, and the cook came running out of the house crying, "Indians! I am shot. Boys, run for your life! They are back of the house trying to shoot at us through the cracks."

            The boys by this time were close together and soon saw that they must set farther from the wagon or be killed, without returning the compliment. So they ran down the road about one hundred yards, where they stopped to council as to

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their next move. Should they try to hunt up the team, or endeavor to stand the Indians off?

            Each of the boys had his pistol and a pouch of ammunition on his belt. They did not get much time to consider, for the Indians showed up in a larger band than was expected and were trying to surround the boys to prevent any from escaping. Seeing this move, the boys agreed that their only chance for life was to run for the next station east, twenty-five or thirty miles away, and at once, as the Indians were almost abreast of them and had to be kept back by pointing revolvers at them.

            The boys started on the run, when the cook told them to take his pistol and leave him and save themselves, as lie could not run any more, and was dying anyhow. The boys would not consent to that, but one on each side took hold of him to help him along, but very soon he said, "If you won't leave me, cave me my pistol so I can help to fight them."

            They gave him the gun and as the Indians had to keep their heads out of sight while they were running down a crooked ravine, the boys could walk a few steps once in a while, and still keep ahead. They were doing this when the cook, who had fallen back tAvo or three steps, shot his own brains out and fell in the middle of the road.

            "We cannot help him now," said Bolly and, taking the pistol and belt off the man, the two went off on the run to keep out of the trap the Indians were trying to get them in.

After going some three or four miles, the country was getting so smooth and level there was no chance for the Indians to spring a surprise on them, and the Indians were afraid to attack them on open ground.

            So after they got well down in the valley to a place where they had a good view of the country for a few miles in all directions, they made a halt to rest and to deliberate as to what to do to get out of their scrape. The station they were going to had probably been treated the same as the one they had left, and no knowing how many more. How far would they have to travel before they could get a square meal ?

            They at last agreed to save their strength by traveling slowly so as to reach the station after dark, and from some other direction than the road and, if there were Indians there, to try a surprise on them, if there was any chance of success whatever. They approached the station at the time and, as agreed, pistols in hand. They tip-toed around the house to the door and listened for some signs of life before kicking at the door. Just then some one inside said, "I heard something outside, did you?" "Yes," yelled Bolly, "there is something

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out here and darn hungry, too. Open the door for the children," which was done at once, and when the boys had eaten their breakfast, dinner and supper and told their story, it was decided to hold the fort. As they expected the pack train with the mail at any old time, and then they would be strong enough to be the attacking- party. They prepared for emergencies, and sure enough the next evening the mail arrived with three carriers, which made their force seven well armed men, who had no scare in their make-up and all ready for any skirmish that might turn up.

            Their animals had to have a rest and feed, so it was decided to stay there till 10 or 12 o'clock that night before starting west, which they did, and arrived to where the dead man lay in the road, about 10 a. m. The Indians had stripped him of all clothing and then left him. He had been shot right through the body, and it is a wonder that he lived and traveled so far after being shot that way. They buried him just to one side of the road.

            There had been left two men at the station, so there were five to go with the mail. They found, that the Indians had burned up the wagon bed and tried to burn the house, but it was built of green logs and would not burn. The team that was left there was never recovered or even heard of. There, had not been any other station on the line attacked at this time and Bolly was soon back on his old stamping ground.

38. "TRACKING STOLEN MULES."

            It was while we were bringing back from Ruby Valley four mules we were to leave at Deep Creek. The "we" was my companion (Lafayette Ball -- Bolly, as he was called for short) and myself. We had reached a point near the south end of Spring Valley, eight or ten miles east of Shell Creek, when there came up a violent rain storm, wetting our clothes through. So we concluded to camp for the night in a bunch of cedars that was close to the trail we were traveling. We staked two of the mules on good feed and let the two we had ridden all day run loose, thinking they would not ramble very far away. We made a good big fire, and stripping, dried our clothes and blankets, and went to bed.

            Just as day was breaking, Bolly awoke and said. "You make a fire while I get the mules." The two not picketed were not in sight. He was gone till nearly sunrise -- no mules. He said he had circled their tracks and found they were going in a southwest direction for Shell Creek mountains, and one going directly behind the other. He said, "They are stolen.

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What shall we do?'' "You say first." "Well, I say, mules or hair." "Good, the same here." We were not long; in saddling- up and getting to the place where Bolly had found the trail.

            From this place to where the trail would reach the mountains, if it ran straight, would be about five or six miles. Where the trail was plain we would ride side by side as fast as possible, the trail between us. But when it was not plain and hard to locate, we would one of us keep to the trail going as fast as he could pick out the tracks, the other would rush ahead for half a mile or so in the direction the tracks were leading, and as soon as he saw the tracks would motion back to the other, who would then drop the trail and run as fast as possible up ahead of the other to find the trail.

            So we were making' pretty fast time and were not long in reaching the mountains, and here our really hard work was found, for the tracks led along the side of the mountain, over and across ledges of rock, where only a little iron mark was made by the mules' shoes. We were also careful not to fall into an ambush. But by one riding ahead as far as he could, yet keeping in sight of the other, we were still making pretty good time.

            Bolly, in crossing one of these ledges could not find the trail, and therefore was circling back towards me, but below the rocks. He motioned that he was right; I was soon at his side. Here the trail was very plain, going in a southeast direction as if to cross the valley diagonally. When we got out of the timber line there was nothing- to do but keep a watch ahead and follow the trail as fast as we could go.

            After doing this for about three miles we came to within a hundred yards of a large, rocky knoll or mound covering about one acre, and about twenty-five feet high near the center. Bolly (who was ahead at this point) said "Keep a watch on that hill, for the mules have been turned loose and the thieves may take a shot at us." We could tell by the wav the tracks criss-crossed back and forth that the mules were left to ramble as they wished. Bolly said, "Shall we get them, or the mules first?" I said, "We were hunting mules and I think we had better find them first, and then if we come across the thieves we can have a deal with them."

            Before we started on the trail again we circled that mound, keeping off at what we thought a safe distance, and far enough apart that one or the other could see the opposite side of the mound, but no Indian showed up. Still we were sure they were there yet, and if we half wanted them we would have found a way to get them.

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            The mules had turned west, going towards the foothills, which we soon reached, and when we sighted the mules, they were feeding along as they went up a ravine, probably hunting water. When we caught them we noticed that one of the mules had not been ridden, the other had carried both Indians. The one they had led still had the rope dragging from his neck. Bolly said that mule would not be ridden bare-back. All this compelled the Indians to travel more slowly.

            As we started back on a straight line for where we had camped, we passed about half way between the timber line and the mound where the mules had been turned loose. "Shall we investigate?" said I. "No use," said Bolly, "for look there," pointing towards the timber. And sure enough, there they were, running at their best speed for taller ground. We let them go.

            A couple of years later I got the names of the two young bucks who did the stealing. Their excuse was that they thought us immigrants who had two animals apiece while they had none. But they began to be afraid they had made a mistake when they saw how they were being trailed, and when we were circling the mound, on which they were, one said, "If I get a chance I will take a shot at one." The other said, "Don't you shoot, for if you do we will both be killed, for don't you know who it is that wears that antelope skin shirt? He never misses. Lay down and maybe they won't bother us, for they surely know we are here. '

            We got to our camp about dark, this time picketing the four mules, and they were all right next morning, but we were one day late at our destination.

39. CHANGING A CAMP AFTER DARK.

            In the times of Indian trouble we were very careful where we located our camp at night, but sometimes there was not much room to choose from. It so happened to a party of three. They had a choice of a camp up the flat a few rods, or down about the same distance, but stopped about the middle, picketed their horses on the best feed in sight, got their supper and made their bed down while yet light. One of the men noticed that across the hollow and about thirty yards distant was a ledge of rocks that made this a poor camping place for safety.

            There was nothing doing till it got quite dark, then the animals were moved back down the hollow, and the camp moved down, and the bed remade, but no fire kindled. The first fire had been left burning. In the morning all was found to be all right and they started on their way up the hollow,

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and, as they were passing the place of their first camp fire, one of them saw an arrow sticking in the around close to where their bed had first been laid down, and looking, found two or three more, and no two pointed alike, proving that there were three or four of the Indians that fired them from the ledge.

            One of the boys said, "A happy move; a miss is as good as a mile." An Indian generally has his own arrows all marked one way and all the same. This is done by small rings or stripes of different colors around the feathered end of the arrow, no dispute as to whose arrow killed the game, the arrow would show that.

40. MY THREE DAYS' FAST.

            It came about in this way. Ben Holladay, who had a large interest in the Overland Mail Line, was to make a quick trip across the continent, and Father, who was the boss of the road from Salt Lake to Carson City, made all preparations for a fast run. The time was set when Holladay should start from New York, and figured out by the road agents, as we called them, when he would arrive on their division.

            Father, as I suppose as did all the other agents sent relays or stage teams back east of their station, half way to the next station, thus giving each driver a fresh team half way between stations, which would enable him to greatly increase his speed. This was carried out all along the line, but lather had merely said in his note: "Send a relay back to such a point, and at such a time, and wait for me till I come."

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            I was stationed at Butte and, on the date set, with I, Ball and the four mules, went back some eighteen or twenty miles to Egan Canyon, where we arrived about noon and had just got settled down to prepare our dinner when two of the Shell Creek boys came in and said they had lost the relay mules and had come this way in search of them. They were fourteen miles from their home station and as many more from their relay camp. They had started to get the mules at daylight and without any breakfast, had ridden a good many miles. They were hungry as wolves.

            We had brought enough grub with us for three meals, dinner, supper and breakfast, if we needed it, for the stage 'was to come anywhere between sundown and midnight. So we all turned loose on the "grub pile," and it was but a few minutes before all the eatables had vanished, also the mule hunters.

            Bolly (as we called my chum) and I had no supper that night and, in fact, nothing till we reached our home station three days later. Well, the time dragged along slowly. The second day brought up the hunger to such a pitch that we held a joint debate as to whether we go back home or not, for we did not dare to separate and one go back for grub, as a band of strange Indians had come and made their camp less than a half mile from us. We decided to stay at our post at least another twenty-four hours.

            That evening one of the Indians, a very big fellow, came to our fire. When I asked him what he wanted, he replied by asking if we were hungry. I told him no, and after looking all around to see how we were fixed, he pulled out from under his blanket a piece of fresh antelope meat about the size of your two hands, and said he wanted to trade that for powder and bullets. I asked him, "How much?" He said, "Twenty charges powder, twenty bullets, twenty caps." I said to Bolly, "What do you think about that?"' "Well," said Bolly, "if he gets that much from me I would not give much for his hide. It would be so full of holes as to be quite unsaleable. "

            The Indian, after hearing my refusal to trade, and a gentle nod towards his camp, turned and went to his friends, who, we could see, were all watching what was going on at our camp. Just as dark set in we moved our saddles and traps to another place, but close to the road, changed the mules to another place on the opposite side of our camp from the Indians, and thus, by sleeping one at a time, we passed the night, and still no stage.

            In the morning we found that the Indians had moved about a fourth of a mile further away. For what purpose we did not know or care much. About noon Bolly came to me,

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where I was on guard, and asked me for some smoking paper, as he had used up all the paper he had brought with him but had quite a bunch of tobacco. Well, I had used up the last slip of paper I could rake up about two hours before, intending to get some from Bolly. There we were, two smokers up against it, plenty of tobacco with no pipe or paper.

            Bolly tried a cigarette made of tobacco and a piece of cotton shirt tail, but it was no good. We must find something better, but how and where? Bolly said if he could find some clay he could make a pipe and bake it in the fire, and started off to find the clay along the creek, and in the meantime I was hard at work splitting a small willow, cutting out the center and wrapping the two halves together to make a stem for the pipe. After he had made the pipe and cooked it a while, he removed it from the fire, when it broke and crumbled to fine dirt. "Good-bye," says Bolly, "for, like the 'Fox and the Grapes,' I don't want to smoke anyhow," so went back to his perch on the point of the rocks, close to the road and to the mules, and where he could view the Indian camp, also the road a short distance down the canyon in the direction the stage was to come from. While there he saw a half dozen Indian hunters return to their camp with two or three dead antelope they had run down and shot that forenoon.

            After Bolly had made a mess of the pipe business I, merely to pass off the time some way, hunted along the creek for a willow large enough to be whittled into a pipe form. Not finding one, I returned to camp and sat down on the wire grass sod to await events. Seeing my crude pipe stem, I picked it up and had a new thought at the same time. I cut the grass off a small piece of ground and, after pounding it down to make it solid, I proceeded to cut down in it the shape of a pipe bowl, then a long slanting trench from the bottom of the bowl to the surface of the ground, about a foot from the bowl. Then I placed my pipe stem in this trench, tamping the dirt down over it, and when I had got through, T found I could blow through it, so I filled it with tobacco, put a coal of fire on, and had a very cool and pleasant smoke. I called to Bolly to come, and that I had made a pipe, but it was not portable. "Nothing doing," said Bolly, till I drew a long whiff of smoke from the pipe, then stood up and blew the smoke up in the air. That brought him on the run, and looking at the thing, he said, "By Heck! and how simple." I imagine I can see him now. laying down on his side, and one elbow on the ground (in a comfortable position) to reach the pipe stem, which stuck up about six inches. Well, no more trouble about smoking while there.

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            On the third day of our stay there, we had just put the mules on fresh grass, just as day was breaking in the east and while standing there at the side of the road, we heard the welcome rumble of the coach, and by the time we brought our saddles to the road, the stage, with Father and Holladay drew up, and immediately the team was unharnessed, and our fresh team put on. As the harness was taken off the wheelers, Father said, "You boys put your saddles on these, as they are not the least tired, and be ready to start as soon as the team is hitched up, and you keep close behind us, understand." We said, "Yes."

            When he had got on the stage beside the driver, he reached under the seat and brought out some bread that had been baked in a skillet and was dry and very hard. Breaking the cake in two, he gave one part to Bolly and, the other to me. Bolly looked towards the creek. Father saw him and said, "No, there is not time for that. Come and we'll start for the station." The boys that had lost their mules had reported to Father that they had eaten all of our grub, and that we must have gone back to our station, therefore he would not get the change of animals he had planned for.

            "Who were the boys that were there?" said he. On being told that they were Bolly and Howard, he said, "Give me a loaf of bread for them, for I will find them at their post if alive." Well, when we got within sight of the station, about one-half mile from it, we got down to a walk, and when we arrived Father had already gone on his way, but had left directions to the cook how and what to prepare for us to eat, being afraid we might overfeed ourselves if we had our own way about it. He also knew that we could not eat much of the bread he had given us without water, which we did not have, and in fact did not get down more than a couple of bites on the whole sixteen miles to the station.

            Here let me say at the very place and spot where I had invented the importable pipe, were, a few years later, built by Judge Dougherty, a forty-stamp quartz mill, which was in operation the last time I visited the canyon.

41. MAIL CARRIER.

            Father was George Chorpening's agent, or partner, when he had the contract to carry the mail from Salt Lake to California. I don't know whether he had the contract to the east or not, but I know Father's division was from Salt Lake to Placerville, California, and, as the time came that money failed

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to come to pay off the men or other expenses, Father was forced to dig up and use every resource to keep the Mail going, expecting every day to receive the money  that he had been told by letter from the boss had been sent by a trusty agent by way of California.

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            * About the year 1856, after Father had selected the route for the mail line to California, Howard R. Egan, then sixteen years of age, drove the first mail coach from Salt Lake City to California. As the stations were not then stocked, it is probable that the same team and coach went clear through, camping on the way.

            Father afterwards learned that this trusty agent was a connection of the boss, and when he arrived in San Francisco he was either robbed of the whole amount or had gambled it away. It was supposed it melted by the latter process. Chorpening had written that he would soon have another payment from the government and for Father to keep the mails running as long as possible, but after a few months there came a change of the contractors.

            Ben Holliday and associates re-stocked the line with men, teams and coaches. I was at Willow Springs at the time and, not wishing to work as hostler, went to Ruby Valley, where Father and his partner, W. H. Sherman, had a good-sized supply store. Besides, they owned the station and were doing a good business, especially in the season when emigrants were traveling through. I had not received a dollar for thirteen months, and when I next saw Father he offered to give me an outfit and furnish the necessary supplies if I would go down the valley and pick out a good place and start a farm, and he would wait till I raised the grain to pay him back. That sounded good enough to me, so I went down about twenty miles and took up the first farm in Ruby Valley.

            It was a fine location, a mountain stream coming out of a heavy timbered canyon ran through the land down to the lake in the valley below, with an immense strip of meadow land all around it. I built a log house and did some plowing, trying to get ready for fall planting, when I received word from Father to pull up stakes and come to Deep Creek and to start at once, not to wait another day, as he had learned through Dimmick Huntington that the Indians were going to make a raid on that country. I did not believe it, but then, Father must be obeyed. So as soon as the ox teams could travel there I arrived at Deep Creek.

            It was understood I was to be a partner with Father and brother Erastus, but after some time something at Ruby Station did not suit Father so he had Erastus move out there and take charge of the business, with the understanding, as I take it, of being a partner with Father in that concern.

            But after some time there seems to have been a different plan mapped out. For one day I received a list of animals,

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wagons, chains, plows, harrow teeth, milk pans, twelve cows, and in fact about everything; that would be useful on a farm. The cat was out of the bag. My brother was going to farming the place I had started to. I don't remember how long he worked the farm before he received a notice that he was called on a mission to England. I know that he immediately stopped the plowing, made arrangements to lease or sell the farm, started for Bountiful, where he left his wife in the care of her people, and went on his mission.

            *Although we are not giving a biography of each member of the family, it is considered advisable to add here to what Howard R. has said above: that Erastus, or R. E. Egan, became President of the Birmingham, Conference in England during his mission, and after he returned he went again to the Ruby Farm for a short time, but sold out and moved to

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Bountiful, where he was Bishop of South Bountiful for very many years. He was among: the first Pony Express riders, riding from Salt Lake to Rush Valley. He took a special mission to hunt up the genealogy of the family. He went to the old home in Tulemore, Kings county, Ireland, which was built by our Great Grandfather Bernard Egan some time in the eighteenth century, for Grandfather Howard Egan was born in it in 1782 and Father, Major Howard Egan was born in it in 1815. (See page 10.) He obtained all he could of the genealogy of relatives there, finding that Bernard had two sons, Howard and William, and that all that was left of William's descendants was Edward, a bachelor living in the old home, as shown in the picture, as he stood in the doorway.

            After returning from there he went to Montreal, Canada, where Grandfather removed the family to, after the death of Grandmother Ann Meade Egan. There he found a considerable number of the family which he has faithfully recorded, but which we do not have access to at the present time. He also visited Massachusetts and New Hampshire and obtained a considerable genealogy of Mother's relations, the Parsleys and Caverlys, and has done what temple work could be done at that time for them. A few years ago he moved from Bountiful to Byron, Wyo., in the Big Horn Basin, where he now lives. His posterity is given in the Appendix. The family organization may some day give his biography more fully, as well as some other members of the family.

            To show that Father was agent for the eastern division of the Overland Mail Line, in answer to Howard's inquiry in a preceding paragraph and to show the nature of some of his business we submit a couple of letters, as follows :

Superintendent's Office, Indian Affairs, Utah.

            Great Salt Lake City, June 17, 1859.

                        Howard Egan, Esq.. General Mail Agent,

            Sir: Please inform me in writing, as soon as convenient, of Indian depredations committed on the United States mail property under your charge, as communicated to me verbally this day. I remain.

Very respectfully your obt. servant,

(Signed) J. FOURNEY, Supt. Ind. Affairs. U. T.

Salt Lake City, March 14, 1861.

            Col. Benj'n. Davis, Supt. Indian Affairs. U. T.

            Dear Sir: Mr. W. H. Shearman informed me that during an interview* with you yesterday, you stated that you had in-

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formation of foul play having been used towards an Indian who was missing at Willow Springs, on the C. & S. L. M. Line, by one or more of the employees of said line. As I have no knowledge whatever of any person or persons, in my employ, having been engaged in any such nefarious transaction, you will confer a favor upon me by referring me to your informant.

            My position, sir, entitles me to demand this information, or else that the subject be never again mentioned either in private or public connection with my name.

            You will oblige me by replying at your earliest convenience. Very respectfully,

(Signed') HOWARD EGAN,

Agent Eastern Division, C. & S. L. Mail Line.

42. FATHER'S INDIAN DOCTOR.

            While Father was out west on the mail line one hot spring- like day before the snow had melted, he had his eyes burned so bad that he was completely blinded and could not stand the least bit of light, and although he kept them bandaged with dead tea leaves, they did not seem to get any better.

            After a couple of days of misery, two Indians came to the station where he was. One of them asked one of the men, "Egan sick?" The man said, "Yes, eye sick. No see. Snow no good." "Me see Egan."

            The man told Father that there was an Indian there that wanted to see him. "Well, let him come in." He did so. The Buck came up, close to Father and said, "Big sick?"

Father said, pointing to his eyes, "Eyes big sick; you savey fix them." He had hardly got the words out of his mouth when the Indian jumped and caught Father's head in both hands, and at the same time pushing the bandage out of the way, placed his mouth over one eye and set to sucking with all his strength.

            Father said he thought the buck would suck his eye out, if not his brains too. He tried his best to push the Indian off, but he only stayed and sucked the faster. But just before Father had made up his mind to choke him off, the Indian stepped back a little and spit up as much or more than a tablespoonful of blood. After a little rest he said, "Fix more?" Father said, "Fix little, eye big sick." "Alright, little fix." But when he got fastened to the other eve he worked just as hard as before, with the same result, Father trying to push him off, but no go, he was after the blood and he would not let go till he got it.

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            After about one hour the buck said, "A little, more fix eye?" Father said as his eyes felt to be considerable better, he thought he could stand a small dose of the same medicine, and told the fellow, "Fix little bit." Well, he did, but with just about the same force. When he got through he said, "Big Chief see all right two days," which proved true. In two days after the operation Father joined the pack train and went to Salt Lake, his eyes perfectly cured of snow blindness. He says he would sooner stand the Indian treatment than to suffer any length of time without it. There was no pain after the dose, but plenty and very severe before.

43. A TRIP TO RUBY WITH BEEF CATTLE.

            In the fall of 1862, Father wanted to send fifty or sixty head of beef cattle from Salt Lake to Ruby Valley, and as I was at home on a furlough, he did not ask me if I would drive them out, but said, "I want you to take these animals out to Ruby, and you must start tomorrow, for they need them there now. Everything is ready, a wagon loaded with about a ton of supplies, three yoke of broken oxen, two ponies for the two Indian night herders, and an ox driver or teamster." Myself and riding pony made up the whole outfit. 1 was told to make as good time as I could, but get the beef through in the best shape possible, and keep a good watch on the animals, as there was a good deal of stealing going on about that time.

            All went well, although there was a sleet storm when we started from a ranch just south of the city, where the cattle had been pastured while the outfit was got ready. The second day out we had, by noon, crossed the Jordan and made our dinner camp on the west side of the divide that separates Utah and Cedar valleys. While we were eating dinner, Lot Huntington rode into camp, ate dinner with us, and during the conversation I learned that he was going put west and might join us later on, and travel with us as far as Ruby Valley. That was the last 1 ever saw of Lot.

            The next night we camped in Rush Valley about ten or twelve miles east of the Faust Mail Station. We were camped close to the road and in the night heard a stage, going west, pass by. I thought, it strange, for it was not a mail day, as they were only running tri-weekly at that time. And I was more puzzled when, next morning, as we were about to move camp, another stage came from the west and stopped opposite our camp fire and Porter Rockwell, the sheriff, or deputy,

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sang out: "Hello kids, all right?" "Yes, all right so far." "Good! Your Father told me to tell you -- whose ox is that?" (pointing to an animal standing a couple of rods away). "You had better ask Father when you see him. These cattle at present are every one of them mine. What did Father say?" "Oh, all right. He said for you to be very careful and keep a good watch on the cattle and guard them well."

            I noticed that those on the coach, I could see, were all heavily armed. I supposed there had been a rabbit hunt, as there were on frequent occasions in the fall. When we reached Faust Station we found there had been a hunt, not a rabbit hunt, but a man hunt, and the men that were hunted were in that stage coach with the sheriff. One, Lot Huntington, being dead, and the other a prisoner. The latter was killed while trying to escape after arriving in Salt Lake City.

            I could give more details of the affair as I heard it at the station but, as I did not see it, will only say that it was afterwards reported that a certain gang had planned to capture my herd of beef before I could get them to Ruby, drive them south to the Simpson's, and trail them west to California, where they would sell for a hundred dollars a head. Quite a tempting bate for the speculating trio of saloon bums. Well, they could have taken the whole outfit very easily by coming and joining us and taking their choice of time and place for the coup, as I was well acquainted with them and supposed they were good friends, although I never had any deal with them, or played with them as boys. Though some were neighbors, they were a class older than my chums or T. If there was a plot laid for me, old Porter burst the bubble and I got through safe.

            When we arrived at Simpson Springs the pony rider told us we could not cross the river bed (seven miles west) until the road was repaired, as there had been a big flood that had torn the whole bottom out, road and all. The rider on the previous trip, going west, as he started down the bank, heard a sound like a very heavy wind among trees. He stopped to listen; the sound was coming from the east and increasing rapidly. He put spurs to the pony and, just as he made the opposite side of the bed, he could see a wall of water, brush and other debris, twelve or fifteen feet high, spread from bank to bank, rolling down the bed at race horse speed. If he had been one-fourth of the distance back across the bed, when he first saw the flood, he could not have escaped with his life.

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            When we arrived there, by a little exploring and zig-zaging, we made across with not much loss of time. But what a wreck of country! The whole bottom of the old river bed had been covered with a thick growth of very large sagebrush; all had been torn out root and branch, and the level bottom that had been, was now gulled and gouged in a terrible fashion. There had been no storm at this place, but there had been seen, that morning, a heavy storm on the mountains about seven or eight miles to the east, and there was perhaps a cloudburst, for a common rain over a sandy country could not- have done the job.

            That river bed was no place for a station, but they built one there and dug a well that furnished very good, but a little brackish, water, which they hauled to the Dugway Station, where there were three men and a change of horses for the mail coach. One man tended the horses and acted as cook. The other two were digging a well for water. I was let down that well when they had reached a depth of one hundred and thirteen feet. I have never seen anything like that before or since. The surface soil at this place is a white clay that is very sticky when wet. The walls of this well are of the same material from top to bottom and about the same dampness from three feet down to the bottom, where I cut my name in the side about two feet above. The wall was very smooth and plumb, no need of curbing and no danger of ever caving in. Some time after men were put to work boring with a well auger in the bottom. They bored some forty feet and found no change. Then the job of trying more to find water there was given up and it made a nice place to dump the stable cleanings.

            When I reached the desert just east of Fish Springs, the road was very bad, mud hub deep, and my work oxen gave out when I was about four or five miles from the Springs and could not budge the wagon another foot. I had the driver unhitch from the wagon, take some grub for himself and the Indians, who had gone ahead with the cattle, and also take my pony and drive the team to water and feed, and come back next morning with one of the Indians to help get the wagon over to hard ground.

            When they came back next day we moved the wagon about one-half a mile, where the road was still worse than before. There were three empty coaches stuck in the mud within a half mile of us. Well, I simply had to get out of there some way. There was a part of the load I must not leave alone. So this is the way I managed it: We had a double cover on the wagon. We took them off and spread them out

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on the mud alongside the wagon and loaded the most of the valuables on it and folded the sides and ends tight over all, hitched the oxen to the end and away we went as easy as pulling a sleigh over a good snow road.

            It was easy after that. All was over but the wagon by night. Next day I sent the driver and one Indian back to get the wagon if they had to take it all apart and haul it on the wagon cover, which did not appear to be damaged at all after about ten- miles ' drag with a load over the creamy alkali, sandless but sticky mud. The inside of the wagon wheels had the appearance of an old-fashioned wooden butter bowl, in this case turned by contact with the bolster of the wag-on. On the outside there would be no hub or spoke in sight, and mud would pile on till of its own weight a portion would fall off, but at next turn of the wheel would be on the job again.

            Well, we made it across all right and had no more trouble 'till we passed Butte Station about a mile, where there is a very steep pull going west and, as the snow had drifted very heavily over the crest, our team gave out jus't about a couple of rods below the summit and, as there was not expected a mail stage for at least ten or twelve hours, we left the wagon right in the center of the road where there was no passing around it with a wagon or sleigh. So when the stage that night came up to that point, the driver unhitched his leaders, hooked on the back of our wagon and dragged it back down the hill to near the bottom. This we did not know till next morning, when the driver and one of the Indians went back after the wagon, as we were camped some distance off the road and had not heard the Mail pass. My driver made some bad talk, so the Indian said, when he found the wagon down at the bottom, but he hooked on and did not have the least bit of trouble getting over, and when he came to camp was in good spirits and seemed to think it had all worked out for the

            I haven't the time or space to tell of how we lassoed and snubbed up and yoked up a couple of the beef steers just before we got to Mountain Springs, the last station between us and Ruby. The road through this little valley was all staked out as the snow was very deep and only traveled by sleighs, but thanks to our extra team and with frequent digging out, we got through, the beef helping to break the road. Ruby, at last but beef not as fat as when we started, but all there.

44. SHORT LINE CUT OFF.

            I was at Rush Valley Station (H. J. Faust, station keeper). This was the end of the first express ride from Salt

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Lake City. The next ride was from here to Willow Springs across the desert. The stations at this time were only half as many as they were later, being some twenty-five or thirty miles apart and at some places more than that. Well, the express came in from the east, the next rider was not well and was afraid he could not stand the ride. I volunteered to go in his place, and arrived at Simpson Springs at the edge of the desert all right.

            From here the road runs in a southwesterly direction seven miles, to River Bed, then keeping the same direction to the Dug-way, then over the mountain, taking many turns to the salt wells, then west around the point of mountain where the road ran nearly west across the worst part of the desert. Nothing but mud grows there and that seems to get taller the more you sink in it, and the harder it is to get out. It then goes north past Fish Springs, around the point of the mountain and back to the south, about opposite of Fish Springs to where Boyd Station was afterwards built. From here the road ran in a westerly straight line to the Willow Spring Station, thus making a large semi-circle, the points of which were many miles closer together straight across than by the road.

            After leaving Simpson's about three miles I thought (as I had many times thought before), it was a shame we had to go so many miles around to get a little ways to the west. At any rate, boy fashion, I left the road and took a straight line for Willow Springs. The first half of the distance I was able to make very good time, then the desert began to get softer as I went till finally about one inch of water was standing all over the surface as far as I could see in any direction. The pony sank to his fetlocks in the mud, that made it slow traveling.

            After about five miles of this kind I came to a little higher ground where I could make better time. In looking back I could see the little knobs of mud sticking up above the water. It seemed to me I could see them for miles. Well, I made Willow Springs all right and had saved a good many hours' time. I expected to get considerable praise for this exploit, but nix.

            This is what I got: The next time I saw Father it was for only a few moments; he asked me what kind of traveling I found it to be across the way I took with that express. After telling him, he said, "Well, don't ever do anything like that again without orders." That was all, and plenty. I never did, for that was a cold bath for me. I would like to cross that route again and measure it.

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45. IRRIGATION.

            When Father and his partner (Mr. Severe) had got some land cleared, plowed and seeded to wheat on their new location at Deep Creek, Mr. Severe running the place while Father tended to his mail business, Father, in passing that way, stopped over long enough to ride over the place with the boss to see what had been done and lay plans for the future.

            In going along a small field of grain Father said, "This looks fine, but don't it need irrigating?" "Yes," said the boss, "I sent a couple of hands early this morning with their dinners to turn the creek and water it. I wonder where they are." This was about the middle of the afternoon.

            In going around a clump of willows they found the two men lying on their backs, on the west side of the willows, both sound asleep, paying no heed to the sting of flies or mosquitos. After they had been awakened Father said, "Boys, if you had wanted to take a little rest why didn't you get in the shade?" "Why," said one, "it was shady here when we laid down." They must have been very tired, for they had lain there at least six or eight hours.

            Live Irrigating Machine. It was this same field, a few years later, I sent a couple of green hands to work putting a dam in a creek 1;o turn the water and irrigate. They were gone about half a day, came back and said "there could not be a dam made there without lumber." "I'll see about that and prove different."

            Calling my Indian (Ned) I told him what I wanted done and sent one of the m-en with him to help him put in the dam and irrigate that field. Just before sundown the white man came back and said the Indian had motioned for him to leave. He didn't know what for. I told him I would know when the Indian came in. The Indian said, "Keep that white man out of the wheat or he will dig it all up," so I let Ned have his way about it.

            Next day I was going to take a ride down the valley, and told Mr. Muncey, the operator, if he wanted to go there was a horse in the stable that he could ride. Much pleased, he accepted the invitation, and enjoyed a long ride. In returning, I thought I would see how Ned was getting along with the irrigating, so we came up through the fields that way. We came to where Ned was at work. He had stuck his shovel where he could see it, and with pants and shoes off was stooping over and with his fingers spread out, was going

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backwards, making little drills for the water to reach the dry places. When Muncey saw that, he said, "Well, I'll be d----d if that ain't the first live irrigating 1 machine I ever saw," and it did look comical.

            Coyote in Chicken House. At Deep Creek we had a large chicken house built of logs, the door of which faced the kitchen door, and about forty feet from it, and on the west side of the yard that was formed, which was about sixty feet square. The stables were on the south side, the bunk-house on the east, the row of buildings (double row), the whole length of the north line. The west room was the telegraph office, and in which the operator slept. About sixteen feet west of the office was the northeast corner of a field, and in this corner was our garden fenced off along the road, and from the corner down back of the hen house.

            It was just at dusk as Father came out of the stable, he saw a coyote enter the hen house, the door of which had not yet been closed for the night. He ran as fast as he could and pulled the door shut; he then ran to the telegraph office for the shotgun that most always could be found there. "Ed (the operator's name), hand me the shotgun, quick!" "What is it?" "Oh, only a coyote in the hen house."

            In place of handing out the gun he came out with it, and excited, ran for the hen house, but seeing the door shut, he said, "Where is the coyote?" "Inside," said Father; "give me the gun and I will get him." "No, let me shoot him. Open the door." The door was opened, but it was so dark inside that they could not see very plain. But finally Ed said, "I see him" and he fired. There was a terrible commotion in that hen house, for there were about one hundred chickens and a coyote very badly scared.

            The coyote was trying to escape by way of the roosts, knocking the chickens to the floor, but it was not chicken he wanted just then. Father said, "No use to shoot again till we get a lantern so we can see the thief. Stay in the door till I get a light." "Alright, hurry up." When a light was finally turned into that house, there squatted the coyote in one comer watching for a chance to spring out of the door, and the chickens fairly climbing all over him.

            After getting the light in the best position to show up the coyote, Ed fired again, causing another outburst of squacks and cacklings. When the smoke cleared away, Father dragged the coyote outside and then picked up five or six large chickens that Ed had shot. He said, "See here, young man, what you have done, and on purpose, too. I believe."

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            The next morning Father was up early. He took the coyote that had frozen stiff during the night and set it up about thirty yards from the house in the garden and propped it up with some sticks to appear as if alive. Then going to the office, he called Ed to hand out the gun. "What for?" "A coyote in the garden -- the gun quick before he goes." The gun comes and Ed with it. "Where is he?" and turning around the corner of the house, said, "I see him; that's my hide," and he fired. The coyote seemed to squat a little. Father said, "You missed him." Ed fired again. This time the coyote fell down.

            "I got him this time," he said, and stood the gun up against the house while he climbed over the fence to get the coyote to place beside the one he killed last night. When he took hold of it he found that it was frozen stiff. He then knew that he had been sold, and turning around to accuse Father, he found that there was no Father to be seen, for he was in the messroom telling the boys how Ed had killed a dead coyote, and when breakfast was called, every one Ed met had a grin on his face.

            "At dinner when all were seated around the table, the cook brought in the final dish, which was the cooked chickens. Placing it on the table he looked at Ed and nodded. Ed said, "Is this the chickens the coyote killed ?"  "I guess so, for they were plumb full of shot." Then the "Ha! Ha! Ha!" all around.

            While we are talking of coyotes, and just to prove that there were a few out there, let me tell you that one night one of the men that slept in the bunk-house went outside and left the door open, and the blacksmith, whose bunk faced the door, saw a coyote come into the room. He kept still till the men came back, then he said, "Close the door quick! There is a coyote in here."

            The man was frightened and feared the coyote would bite his bare legs, and attempted to go out again, when the blacksmith said, "Stand still a minute while I light the candle. Then we can get him." The man obeyed, and when the light was made, there in one corner, and under the bunks crouched the coyote, which was soon made ready for skinning.

            Another dark evening one of the men was passing along by the hog pen with a lantern. He heard the old sow making a terrible fuss. He went to the side of the pen and swung the lantern over into the pen, then he could see the oil sow harked up in a corner with her six or eight young pigs behind her, her bristles sticking straight up and her mouth open. In

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the opposite corner crouched the cause of all that commotion, a large coyote, who was either after a young pig or a supper out of the hog trough. Well, his hide was worth one dollar.