Packs slipped
or kicked off eighteen times before halt. Men grumbling.
Nelson and Jim both too ill to work. When adjusting pack,
Nelson and Louis had a desperate quarrel. Nelson drew his
knife and nearly stabbed Louis. I snatched a pistol out of
my holster, and threatened to shoot Nelson unless he shut up.
Fred, of course, laughed obstreperously at the notion of my
committing murder, which spoilt the dramatic effect.
'Oh! these devils of mules! After repacking, they rolled,
they kicked and bucked, they screamed and bit, as though we
were all in Hell, and didn't know it. It took four men to
pack each one; and the moment their heads were loosed, away
they went into the river, over the hills, and across country
as hard as they could lay legs to ground. It was a cheerful
sight! - the flour and biscuit stuff swimming about in the
stream, the hams in a ditch full of mud, the trailed pots and
pans bumping and rattling on the ground until they were as
shapeless as old wide-awakes. And, worst of all, the pack-
saddles, which had delayed us a week to make - nothing now
but a bundle of splinters.
'25TH. - What a night! A fearful storm broke over us. All
round was like a lake. Fred and I sat, back to back, perched
on a flour bag till daylight, with no covering but our
shooting jackets, our feet in a pool, and bodies streaming
like cascades. Repeated lightning seemed to strike the
ground within a few yards of us. The animals, wild with
terror, stampeded in all directions. In the morning, lo and
behold! Samson on his back in the water, insensibly drunk.
At first I thought he was dead; but he was only dead drunk.
We can't move till he can, unless we bequeath him to the
wolves, which are plentiful. This is the third time he has
served us the same trick. I took the liberty to ram my heel
through the whisky keg (we have kept a small one for
emergencies) and put it empty under his head for a pillow.'
There were plenty of days and nights to match these, but
there were worse in store for us.
One evening, travelling along the North Platte river, before
reaching Laramie, we overtook a Mormon family on their way to
Salt Lake city. They had a light covered wagon with hardly
anything in it but a small supply of flour and bacon. It was
drawn by four oxen and two cows. Four milch cows were
driven. The man's name was Blazzard - a Yorkshireman from
the Wolds, whose speech was that of Learoyd. He had only his
wife and a very pretty daughter of sixteen or seventeen with
him. We asked him how he became a Mormon. He answered:
'From conviction,' and entreated us to be baptized in the
true faith at his hands. The offer was tempting, for the
pretty little milkmaid might have become one of one's wives
on the spot.
