Chapter VIII

THE START FOR THE ROCKIES; RE-DISCOVERY OF THE OLD TRAIL; RECOLLECTIONS OF BURNT RIVER; ALL SIGNS OF BEN'S GRAVE OBLITERATED; A GRANITE MONUMENT ERECTED NEAR THE LONE PINE AND WAGON TIRE AT THE GRAVE OF CATHERINE MULHALL; CLOSING SCENES.

At last the eventful day for the start arrived amid auspicious circumstances. The maple leaves were full size, pastures green and the grains were coming up with promises of a bounteous yield. Silver tips of new growth ornamented the evergreen trees. Many of the hardier varieties of rose were in bloom, some for more than a month; the crocus peeped out in March, followed by numerous other early flowers. Birds had nested, and the mates were busily occupied in securing food for the ones that kept the little eggs warm, and for themselves.

The barn on the Pelton homestead reflected the sunlight from its new coat of paint, but the residence needed no further attention, as a heavy film of sand had been blown in with each previous application. The garden fence was given a fresh cover of whitewash, and everything was looking in the best of condition. Catherine, now a widow with a large family, arrived to care for the residence and garden {208} during the absence of the household; and the tenant for the year had moved into the old dwelling, the first one built, near-by.

At the hour set for the start, all the travelers were in their places when Adam said that Sarah, whose arms were resting on the steering wheel of the automobile she was to drive, should take the lead. Sarah replied, "No"--that Adam ought to have the honor. The neighbors who had gathered into a group along the roadside to see them off wondered what they could be waiting for.

Finally mother Pelton asked, "Will you leave it to me?" Both almost in one breath exclaimed "Yes." "Go ahead with father, Sarah," was Kate's quick answer; and the start was made amidst a flutter of handkerchiefs in the assemblage of neighbors, the tooting of horns on both automobiles and waving of small American flags.

Adam had displayed real genius in providing a convenient outfit. The automobile with large wagon-size top and high canvas cover was turned into a living room, with electric lights and a small heater for the electric iron or to boil water for tea even while they traveled. Sarah never tired praising Adam for the very convenient arrangement, and he in turn gave full credit to her for suggesting the wagon-box that made it possible.

Pelton soon began to recognize the route traveled on his first trip to Puget Sound, and also when he visited Linda Hardy and returned home with little {209} Sarah and Bess. Where Sarah had pitched headlong off the pony's back into the mud, there was now a thriving village with brick buildings, a fine Court House, two modest but neat appearing churches and a commodious hotel. They passed through five such villages on long stretches of road paved like the main highways of the eastern States.

On the bank of a large river he found an enterprising city with thousands of busy inhabitants, where at the time of his earlier visits there was only a scattered village with temporary shanties, and stumps obstructing the streets. Now there were brick blocks several stories high in the central business district, and fine residences in the outlying sections.

No member of the party had ever seen the rift through which this stream flows between the mountains, and all were astonished at the wonderful scenery on both sides of it. There were numerous waterfalls, one with a perpendicular drop of nearly a thousand feet, and patches of snow on a background of green, making a vista of surpassing beauty.

A few days later they came upon the track followed by the Mulhall outfit half a century before; and Kate quickly recognized the locality as they approached a second range of mountains. Where only roving bands of Indians were seen as they journeyed slowly toward the west on the first trip, vast fields of grain were now growing; and instead of a few tepees, the dwellings of civilized people dotted {210} the landscape. A flourishing village with substantial and well-kept surroundings evidenced the thrift and comfortable environment of the inhabitants.

The party had just passed through what seemed a desert land, bordering on and paralleling the great river. Shifting sands had formed small dunes, which disappeared and formed elsewhere as the wind changed in direction or velocity. Not a living thing was in sight, except here and there a clump of stunted sage-brush or greasewood.

Following the stream through this cleft in the mountain range, they were soon overtaken by a sand-storm driven by the force of the prevailing winds, occasionally encountered by travelers now as by the pioneers--at first dimming the rays of the sun, and soon entirely obscuring it. The haze of sand and fine dust hung low on the horizon like a fog, and darkened one's view of objects even in the near vicinity. Kate called ahead to Sarah to turn out of the road, which she quickly did and was followed by Adam.

The two younger members of the party had never before gone through such an experience, but mother Pelton said it reminded her of scenes along the Oregon Trail in 185-. She had forgotten that they were on the branch of the Trail which follows the river, instead of the one crossing the mountain range, as the Mulhalls had done on the first trip. Before Adam and Sarah could place their automobiles with the rear ends to windward and close the front covers, {211} the sand and dust penetrated their ears and eyes, covered their faces, filled their hair and as Sarah remarked afterwards, "left us in a woeful condition."

The electric light was turned on, but the dust that had worked into the space inside the cover prevented cleaning up until the storm abated; this it did late in the afternoon, when the journey was resumed with the people in the car laughing at the appearance of each other, and the surprise of a lifetime before all of them. About sunset a modest farmhouse was sighted; as they approached nearer an orchard of thrifty fruit trees was observed, and soon a large expanse of growing crops spread out before them in a panorama of living green.

"Neighbor, you have a fine home here so close to the desert we have just crossed," Pelton said addressing the middle-aged man who, as soon as he saw the two automobiles approaching from the west, came out through the gate of the front yard to offer a friendly greeting.

"You are still in the 'desert,' if that is what you call the section you have just passed through," the stranger responded. "What you see here is the same, or was when we first came four years ago. Won't you come in?" The ladies at first objected, saying they were not presentable. "Oh, that's nothing," continued the homesteader, "it's clean dirt; we're used to it here. Jane (referring to his wife) I know will be delighted to have you come in and have supper with us."

{212}

By this time the mistress of the house appeared and seconded her husband's invitation. Observing the sincerity of the good dame, mother Pelton was the first to assent, quickly followed by the others; and in they went--"Dirty faces and all," as Aunt Sarah said later.

While preparations were being made for the appetizing meal that followed Pelton expressed surprise that it was possible to have such a property in the midst of a desert. "I'll tell you all about that later," said the homesteader, as he repeated his wife's invitation, "Come to supper." After a bounteous meal of fresh vegetables, fruits and other farm products, accompanied with a bumper of hard cider, the travelers were anxious to hear the story of how their host came to make his residence in that locality.

"You see," he began, "I saw a small patch of reclaimed land with such fine crops that I at once felt encouraged to try it on a larger scale. So we bought this tract of 640 acres--a mile square--for a dollar and a quarter an acre, and in addition took up a desert claim, making in all nearly a thousand acres of land--or sand, as you probably think of it. Fortunately the river comes in from the south with a strong current; my son and I went up far enough to tap the water, and dug a ditch from it on our land--now you see the result."

"Do you mean to say that when you came here, the land covered by the orchard, and where your crops are growing was like the desert we've just {213} crossed?" mother Pelton asked. "Just that," the host replied.

"Well, it seems to me like a miracle," Pelton responded; "and so it does to the others." There were many other surprises in store for the pilgrims as they progressed eastward.

"Yes, I remember this place," mother Pelton said as they descended the second mountain range. "Father said it seemed like a big hole in the landscape as we looked down upon it from the other side; but such a beautiful valley--the Grand Ronde--you never saw." A few days later, as their automobile ran along a narrow cut in a hillside parallel to a small river, she commented, "This was the worst road[1] on all the old Trail--right down in the stream and half the time over slippery boulders, some of them as big as a wagon wheel; two of the oxen were down at one time."

"Oh, I remember this," Aunt Sarah[2] said as they came to a crossing; "here's where we ferried over on top of two wagon-boxes. I thought every minute we were going to sink, and to this day cannot see why we didn't."

"Here's where we left one of the wagons, and Ben went ahead to get something to eat," mother Pelton {214} said with a sigh, as they were approaching the locality where Hardy was killed by the Indians. Would they be able to identify the spot where the massacre occurred; and if they did, could they find his grave? For some time before that, the tragedy of nearly a half century before had been crowded out of their minds by the diverting incidents of the trip; but now it was their uppermost thought, and the older members of the party lapsed into silence.

Linda Hardy had so minutely described the river crossing and the natural objects in the vicinity of it, that all were sanguine of being able to find and mark the spot. They were convinced that the crossing had been located, for the approaches on either side fitted the description; the unmistakable mark of the Oregon Trail was there--worn deep on both sides of the river, as Linda had said. But all the ground from river to bluff was now covered by a field of waving grain, without any trace of the sorrowful interment which took place there at the height of the overland emigration to Oregon.

Before leaving home, Sarah read a statement to her mother that the graves of only a few among the twenty thousand who had died along the Trail could be identified, and wondered if they would be able to find her grandmother's burial place if they made the trip. Mrs. Pelton thought they could; but looking over the ground beneath which she felt sure that the remains of Ben Hardy, who had saved her life, had been placed after the massacre, she continued {215} in silence as Adam started across the river to resume the journey along the old Trail.

They were now traveling up a fertile valley divided into farms, extensive green alfalfa and grain fields and highly productive orchards, with evidences of a happy and thriving people living in peace and security. Several prosperous villages and the capital of a State were passed where only sage-brush, grasshoppers and jack-rabbits (some of the more destitute emigrants subsisting on the rabbits) were seen on the first trip of the older people in the party.

Recrossing to the south side of the Snake River, the travelers were again in a region of shifting sands and desolation--part of what was once commonly referred to as the "Great American Desert," and considered practically worthless by some of the so-called "statesmen" of two generations before. Meanwhile vast irrigation projects had been undertaken, and in part completed, with a sure prospect of developing many rich agricultural areas extending as far as the eye can see. All of these scenes were new but immensely interesting to father Pelton.

Three falls, rivaling Niagara in beauty and grandeur, were passed in quick succession as they continued along that great river; and mother Pelton recognized the place where she had taken the thirsty oxen down into the canyon and came so near failing to get them back, as related in an earlier chapter. Sarah's arms became stronger as she drove the automobile, and she seemed to be thriving on the dust of {216} the plains, the smell of the sage-brush, or both. All doubts of her ability to extend the trip across the Continent if need be, were dispelled; and the whole party was in good health and spirits.

Ascending to a higher altitude and cooler atmosphere, they left behind the beet fields and sugar factories, the extensive farms, alfalfa stacks and well-fed cattle which have taken the place of the now almost extinct buffalo. Farther up the Rocky Mountain slope, they entered a region where crops cannot be profitably grown; farms and buildings gradually disappeared, and the continuous Trail appeared in all its primitiveness. Now and then an antelope would cross the track and turn to scan the stranger as with a jealous eye, arousing in mother Pelton a wish for her rifle, forgetting she might not be able to draw a bead as in her younger days.

So moderate was the upgrade that the drivers of the two cars scarcely realized that they were ascending the slope of the Rocky Mountains; and except for the granite monument in the South Pass, they would probably not have recognized the actual crossing of the Great Divide. Another day's run would bring them to the spot they had come so far to revisit. Mother Pelton felt confident that they could find it; and Aunt Sarah, though a little girl when the grave was made a half century before, was sure of being able to do so.

Yet the road did not look at all familiar, or seem natural. Afternoon came, and there was no sign {217} by which it could be recognized--nor anything at sunset. It was then necessary to camp, as darkness would soon make it impossible to follow the Trail; and a sleepless night for all followed.

Mother Pelton thought they might have passed the four tracks worn in the ledge of rocks that was to be the principal guide in reaching it. Another sign, the North Star, was obscured; and the third help in the search, the rift in the mountains so well remembered and described by Aunt Sarah, was not visible. In the morning it was considered best to drive back over part of the Trail they had traversed the afternoon before.

"Hold on," suddenly exclaimed Aunt Sarah after a few miles of back tracking; "I know we're wrong for I remember that rock." She pointed to a conical pile--almost a mountain--and continued, "See, it looks almost like a man's head; we passed that the next day after we buried mother." Then the party turned right-about, and again started eastward along the Trail; after traveling a few miles, Sarah drew off to the side of the road and waited for Adam to come up.

He arrived a moment later, wondering why she had stopped, and called out, "What's the matter?" "Nothing is the matter," Sarah answered; "but, mother, do you see that old Trail going up the hill? Maybe that's the one you traveled when you were here before!"

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Photograph from J. L. McIntosh, Split Rock, Wyoming

Over these four parallel tracks (only two of which show in the photograph), worn nearly hub deep in places, all the emigrant travel to Oregon, Great Salt Lake and California passed during the period covered by this story; and they remain to this day a sight of great historical interest across a sandstone ledge near Split Rock P. O., in the Sweetwater Valley, Wyoming. The early trappers, traders, explorers and missionaries--Benjamin L. E. Bonneville, Nathaniel J. Wyeth, Jason Lee, Marcus Whitman, John C. Fremont and many others--helped to deepen these enduring markers in stone, now chiefly interesting as evidences of the great westward movement over the Oregon Trail. Inset: a miniature view of the split in the mountain rock from which the name of the locality is derived; see also Douglas Craig's promise to little Sarah, pages 72-73.

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The track to which she thus called attention was {218} dim, showed no signs of recent travel, and had been overlooked as they passed it the previous day. At several places there were parallel trails, one along the river with frequent crossings of the stream, the other across table-lands high above it, and either over or around projecting edges of the adjacent hills. Neither Aunt Sarah nor mother Pelton was sure which one they had gone over before, but all agreed that they should drive out on the abandoned roadway.

This proved not only a tedious but a really dangerous task, as the elements had destroyed parts of it and cut deep gullies in and across what was left. Nevertheless Adam believed they were on the right track; mother Pelton thought the same, and said that the trail looked more natural to her than the one they had traveled the day before.

Father Pelton took off his coat and joined Adam in some repairs made necessary by the rough going, and Sarah appeared on the scene ready to help. Pelton was surprised at how well he was able to do the unaccustomed work, and greatly relished the dinner mother Pelton and Aunt Sarah prepared. Hearing the tinkling of a bell over the near-by ridge during the early afternoon, he strolled off toward the sound; and soon came upon the bell-wether of a flock of sheep, then the flock and herder--each equally surprised at the presence of the other.

"Where'd ye come from?" the man asked somewhat abruptly, and yet in a friendly tone; and {219} almost at the same instant Pelton remarked, "I didn't expect to find anyone here." After mutual explanations and cordial greetings--for each was glad to see the other--Pelton mentioned that he was one of an automobile party trying to reach the four track ruts in the ledge of rock on the old Oregon Trail.

"I know where it is," the herder responded, "down the river opposite the lone pine tree." The reader may well imagine the relief and joy of father Pelton upon hearing the three magic words "lone pine tree," as he believed they contained definite information of the lost grave, which soon afterward proved true.

"You can see the tree for miles around, as it stands out by itself; everybody wonders how it came to be there," continued the stranger.

"Would you come to our camp a short way over the ridge?" Pelton asked.

"Sure," the man replied and then spoke in a low tone to his dog, which immediately headed off some of the flock just starting to cross the ridge.

"Wonderful, isn't it?" asked Pelton, half to himself. To this the herder made no reply but again spoke to the dog, which he left on watch while the two men started off toward the camp. On their arrival, work ceased and all assembled to listen eagerly to what the stranger had to say.

"Yes, this runs to the four tracks on the Oregon Trail," were his first words; "you can reach them {220} another way that's open to travel, but can't get through here in a month's work. Go back about five miles till you come to the first river crossing," the herder continued, "turn short around on the river trail about eight miles till you cross the river twice. Then turn to the right on the old Trail about half a mile, I should judge, and you will come to the tracks."[3]

"You can see the lone pine tree from there, and I think from the last river crossing," the man responded to an eager question from mother Pelton. After declining an invitation to stop long enough to share with them in the meal then almost ready to serve, but accepting a quarter of the pie Aunt Sarah had just baked, the stranger started up the slope and soon disappeared over the ridge to his flock and faithful dog.

"What a life!" sighed mother Pelton--"with only his dog for a companion, no comfort but his frugal meal in a lonely cabin and cold lunch on the range." The day was too far spent to move their camp, and although impatient to see the lone pine, which all believed was the landmark for which they were searching, every member of the party was anxiously anticipating what the morrow might bring forth.

Following carefully the directions given by the herder, they approached the second crossing of the {221} river early the next forenoon. At the first point from which a comprehensive view of the locality could be had, Sarah unexpectedly held out her hand as a signal for Adam to stop; and exclaimed in her excitement, "There it is, mother!" In the far distance a lone pine tree was sighted; and no one in the party doubted that it had grown from the small tree planted by Kate Mulhall, Ben Hardy and little Sarah half a century before.

A short drive brought the two automobiles to where the wagon tracks had worn deep in the ledge of rock on the old Oregon Trail; but the lone pine, still a half mile or so away, was the center of all attraction. Coming nearer, it was discovered that they were on the wrong side of the ravine; and although not more than a stone's throw from where they stopped, no road led across to it.

There in lonesome grandeur stood the evergreen sentinel over the object of their long search, the grave of Catherine Mulhall, mother of two of the pilgrims and grandmother of the younger ones who drove the cars. Now a hundred feet high, rising above and throwing its shadows over the grave, the tree was a thing of beauty, observed by all who passed in the vicinity; and had given the very appropriate name--Lone Pine--to the surrounding country.

Retracing their steps to the four tracks and then traveling another mile or so, they reached the other side of the ravine. After making several detours and {222} removing a number of obstructions, they arrived quite late in the day within a hundred yards or so of the spot. As the nature of the ground prevented the automobiles from going any farther, they were left in the track, and all proceeded on foot to the lone pine.

The sun was just sinking behind the horizon in a halo of glory as the silent and solemn members of the party reached the hallowed spot. After so long a period of time, the mound of earth had disappeared; but wild roses were blooming where Kate and little Sarah had planted the roots when the grave was made. Though corroded and rusty, the wagon tire which kind-hearted Douglas Craig had placed as a marker was still there, but the lettering he chiseled upon it had been completely obliterated.

Kate and the older Sarah, both now well past the meridian of life, stood in mute contemplation of that which had been uppermost in their minds for so many long years. Although the poignancy of the grief then experienced had been mollified by time, yet as darkness came and they turned to leave the grave, tears coursed down their furrowed cheeks. Camp for the night was made on the nearest suitable ground, while a spirit of sadness mingled with a feeling of satisfaction that the cherished plan had at last been realized, pervaded the little company.

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{223}

Marking the spot where Catherine Mulhall was buried a half century before the scene depicted in the illustration; see pages 73-74 and 119-125

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Now that the grave had been found, the question uppermost with all was what should be done about it. Kate had often expressed a wish that the {224} remains be interred alongside her father in the beautiful cemetery of a village in the Oregon Country; but Pelton formerly considered this impractical, if not almost impossible. However, since the railroad had been built within sixty miles of the burial place in the mountains, the removal could be made without much difficulty.

Aunt Sarah said "No"---the spot where her mother had died was too sacred to be abandoned; and what could ever be more appropriate than the one under the shadow of this beautiful lone pine? Then tender memories of the planting of the tree, of Ben Hardy's unselfish life and Craig's consoling words, came uppermost in her mind.

All agreed that the decision should be made by the two sisters who had been present at the burial of their mother on the first trip to Oregon. Adam and his sister Sarah looked on in silent awe as the situation was discussed; their father also refrained from speaking, though he held a definite opinion concerning it.

The fatigue of the day, with its exciting incidents and long hours, finally prevailed and left the momentous question unsettled in physical exhaustion and finally restful slumber. No further decision took place, as Kate had been convinced that it would not be advisable to disturb the remains, and joined with her sister and children in formulating a definite plan to care for and commemorate the spot. Pelton said that he would heartily agree to whatever the daughters {225} and grandchildren should decide--which was to leave the grave in its solitary grandeur, but to mark it in a permanent and appropriate way.

Camp was removed to a more convenient location, while the work of transporting a large granite boulder from where Pelton had found it in the course of a morning walk through the vicinity, to the head of the grave progressed for several days, as it was necessary to secure additional men and teams from a distance. After the huge stone had been set in place to the satisfaction of all, Adam and the younger Sarah chiseled upon it in deep sunken letters a brief record of the revered grandmother, the planting of a small pine tree and beautiful rose vine that adorned the last resting place of Catherine Mulhall, the date of her burial in 185-, and also of this visit.

Two weeks passed from the day the pilgrims first sighted the lone pine tree in the distance to the inscription of the last letter on the boulder; every member of the party felt that the long journey had been fully justified, and left the spot with an enduring memory of the occasion. Father and mother Pelton and Aunt Sarah concluded to return home by rail[4]; and a drive of about sixty miles brought them all to the nearest railroad station. Meanwhile Adam and Sarah decided to tour the eastern part of {226} the United States, and possibly cross the ocean before returning to the Pacific Northwest.

One of the automobiles was loaded as freight and way-billed to a small city that had grown up in what was once the Oregon Country; and the "old folks" were comfortably settled in a westbound Pullman. Adam and Sarah waited in their automobile near-by the open car window until the train bearing father and mother Pelton and Aunt Sarah started westward. All of them waved signals of mutual endearment; and as the train passed out of sight, the young people began their journey eastward.

"A fine boy--Adam," Kate murmured half-audibly to herself; "and a dear girl." Pelton at her side added, "If ever parents were blessed with dutiful children, we have been." At the same time Sarah, speeding east in the automobile which Adam was driving, could hardly restrain her tears from the recurrence of many tender memories of her childhood, and the kindnesses of the parents from whom they had just parted.

In a tremulous voice she said, "I almost feel that we ought not to have left them;" Adam felt much the same way, but hesitating to trust his voice, made no reply. Thus the party separated, the parents homeward bound and the young people starting east to see more of what was to them a new world, and possibly to have some adventures thrown in for good measure.

Soon after the train started, the three elderly {227} people went forward to the dining car. As the meal progressed, Kate fell into a reminiscent mood, and looking out of the window, opened conversation with Aunt Sarah by asking, "Don't you remember that sand-storm in this vicinity as we passed through in 185-?"

"Indeed I do," was the prompt response, although Sarah had been at the time a child of only seven years. "The sand blown through the tent into the dough fairly gritted my teeth when eating the bread made from it. We had no water in the camp that night, and slept with dirty hands and faces; my hair, ears and eyes were filled with sand--but let's talk of something else." By the time the first meal was finished, they had progressed on their return journey about as far as in a whole day on the early trip.

As night followed, and while comfortable berths were being made up for them, Sarah--notwithstanding her admonition to "talk of something else"--broke into oral expression of the thoughts surging through her mind. "I guess there will be no 'ticks' in the bed to-night, as we found them when sleeping on the ground." "Or snakes and other creeping things," Kate added--"you of course remember the rattler," to which Sarah simply nodded to indicate that while she understood, she was not disposed to pursue the subject any farther. Soon all the three travelers fell into restful slumber and awoke, greatly refreshed, beyond the eastern boundary of what was once known indefinitely as the "Oregon Country," {228} out of which the present States of the Pacific Northwest had been created within their own recollections of it.

At breakfast the next morning, while the train was speeding by a recognized object, Kate exclaimed, "It took us four weeks to travel over the same ground that we have now passed through in a single night." Strive as much as they could to banish thoughts of the hardships encountered on the early trip, the memories of it would not leave them. Within three days they had covered as much distance as in the same number of months on the first overland journey.

Alighting from the automobile into which they transferred at the station nearest their home, Pelton held open the gate for his "sweetheart" (as he often spoke of Kate); and she paused just long enough while passing in to say, "God bless you, Isaac; you did the same when I first came fifty years ago." "And God bless you, Kate," he replied as they re-entered their happy home--lovers as in the early days; and here we must leave them to the enjoyment of well-spent lives.

CLOSING SCENES

Adam and Sarah continued their travels over the eastern half of the grand old and historic route which their parents had traversed with ox-teams more than a half century before. Then the tracks of the Oregon Trail passed through an Indian country for more than a thousand miles from the west bank of the {229} Missouri River, where the last vestige of civilized life except a few widely scattered trading posts or Government forts, were left behind. Various tribes of red men possessed whatever claim there was to that vast region; millions of buffalo roamed in great herds without restriction over the Plains, while the grizzly bear was a source of danger to man and of terror to wild beasts in the higher altitudes of the Rocky Mountains.

From certain points of vantage deer, elk and antelope could be seen in large numbers. Except for the wild animals, and an occasional passing throng of emigrants, the country was a solitude, generally considered unfit for habitation by a civilized race. But on this motor trip the young people saw evidences of changes and developments which their parents in the slow, westward moving column of the early 50s, would have considered beyond the range of possibilities.

Soon after leaving the Sweetwater River, traveling east, they passed through pretentious cities and prosperous villages with church spires and schools, trading centers, paved streets and large numbers of comfortable residences--civilization personified in western enterprise along or near-by the old Trail. Coal, oil, gas and other natural resources--unknown either to the passing throng of pioneers, or for many years afterward to the outside world--came gradually to the knowledge of adventurers and enterprising business men who laid the foundations for a great {230} commercial prosperity in addition to the returns from the soil and ranges; and through subsequent developments on a large scale have made that region a very important national asset.

The waters of the various streams gathered, controlled and drawn upon as needed by agriculture, wrought the great miracle of irrigation by which land formerly believed sterile had been transformed into a "garden spot" of the United States, many times the area of Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, or the State of New Jersey, to both of which that term has been generally applied. Even the rich Valley of the Mississippi and its tributaries does not exceed in fertility that once thought to be barren and worthless Plains, when supplied with water and placed under scientific cultivation.

Adam and Sarah saw vast areas of grain, immense beet fields with towering sugar factories, extensive orchards and alfalfa lands unexcelled in the entire country. The world seemed larger and the nation greater as our young adventurers continued along the valley of the Platte River on an excellent modern highway of imperceptible downgrade toward the Missouri River. Toward evening of the fifth day after parting from their parents in the Sweetwater Valley, they entered the suburbs of Omaha, Nebraska, and soon reached the center of its business activities, surrounded by skyscrapers of many stories.

Sarah, who had never been in a city of that size, {231} was amazed and thoroughly enjoyed the sights. After an evening walk through the brilliantly lighted streets, and a couple of hours at the theatre, both were ready to rest in the luxurious apartments of the hotel, and slept until late the following morning. At breakfast, the question of their future movements was discussed, for they were then at the eastern end of the Oregon Trail[5]--or would be as soon as they reached the great river now in sight about two miles ahead.

Adam again fell into a reminiscent mood, talking as much to himself as to Sarah, "When grandfather passed through here half a century ago on the way to Oregon, all on this side of the Missouri was Indian country; there was no city--not even a cabin."

"But they didn't cross the river here," Sarah responded. "Mother said it was several miles farther down; and I would like to see the place where she was thrown into the water when the scow upset." "And Ben Hardy saved her life," Adam continued, but added, "it's no use going there; last evening a man told me that the channel of the river is now more than a mile away from where it was when grandfather crossed."

So they concluded to drive over the Missouri to the site of the old Mormon camp of Kanesville, which they did on a fine modern bridge to Council Bluffs, Iowa, occupying the location of the log cabin {232} town that their grandparents saw. "We must stay here to-night," said Sarah, to which Adam readily assented, though they had traveled only four miles during the day.

A two-mile walk brought them to a short portion--then still visible--of the trail over which their grandparents passed when coming into Kanesville a half century before, though all vestiges of it within the city had been eliminated. Sarah was reluctant to leave the spot, and followed along the abandoned track as far as it could be identified.

Talking more to herself than to Adam, Sarah said, "Oh, if grandfather could only have come with us"--apparently forgetting that, as the reader knows, Squire Mulhall had long since been called to his reward; and then said, "Adam, I want to go on to the old homestead where mother was born." To this Adam replied, "We will go there if you want to." So they planned an early start on the morrow for the old cabin site in Missouri.

Two days sufficed for the trip, which was part of the time over hard-surfaced highways, and some dirt roads a little rough, but all the way through a fine agricultural region with evidences of great crops and abounding prosperity. As they rode along, both wondered why their grandparents should have left such a country and traveled two thousand miles over dusty plains and rough mountains to Oregon.

On the morning of the second day out from the "Bluffs," it became reasonably sure that they would {233} reach the old homestead before nightfall. Try as much as he could, Adam failed to interest Sarah in further conversation, for she was in a mood to commune only with herself.

"Yes, suh, I knows where the Squire's cabin stood; it's all gone now. The well is there, but the sweep is gone too. Yes, suh, I played the banjo at the farewell party the Squire gave before he started for Oregon. Me? Well, they called me 'Stinson's man' then, because I was a slave; but when Massa Lincoln made us all free, I stayed with Massa Stinson till he died, and never took another name."

Adam had been advised that this negro, whose hair was white as snow and who was reputed to be a hundred years of age, could show them the old cabin site. He lived in a near-by village, was yet able to do light chores for the white people of the neighborhood, and thus continued to earn his own living.

"Stinson's man" was regarded the sole survivor of the old slaves of La Fayette County; in fact no one else, white or black, could be found who knew David Mulhall. The generation living when the Squire left his home for Oregon had passed away, except for this aged old negro who still enjoyed good health and played the banjo for parties, or for his own amusement.

"Right here was the front door; I knows it for I often stepped it from the well. Yes, the water is good yet, and there's the fire-place."

"Here's a piece of broken plate," exclaimed Sarah, {234} as she picked up a precious relic, which she believed had once belonged to their grandmother.

The old barn site was located, and the barn-yard where her mother had climbed the fence when "gentle" old Star, with the yoke on for the first time, broke away from them and ran about with tongue out, bellowing like a mad bull. Sarah's mother had often told the story with a hearty laugh, which brought merriment as the incident was recalled fifty years later, on the spot where it occurred. Adam believed that he had located the old barbecue pit in a depression near the spot his mother had described. Both were reluctant to leave the grounds, and did not until approaching darkness warned them to seek accommodations for the night.

"Adam!" "What is it, Sarah?" Adam asked, thinking that his sister had something on her mind she hesitated to mention. Gathering courage, she exclaimed, "Adam, I don't want to go any farther, for I ought to be at home taking care of mother. You know as well as I do that she is not strong as even last summer; and I should be with her."

"God bless you, my dear! We will start for home to-morrow if you say so," he replied, throwing his arms around her and imprinting a kiss upon her cheek in love of his sister, and of the revered parents in the far West. So our story closes with the sacrifice of a trip they had expected to extend to Washington City and the Atlantic Coast for the greater pleasure of returning home sooner as a filial duty.

[1] Along the Burnt River in northeastern Oregon--the subject of "Westward Ho!" the painting by Emanuel Leutze in the Capitol, Washington, D.C. While somewhat exaggerated in details, it is a fair representation of the difficulties encountered by the pioneers on that part of the overland trip in the early 60s. E.M.

[2] One of the little twins in the early chapters of this story.

[3] Those four parallel wagon tracks, worn nearly hub deep across a ledge of rock on the Oregon Trail, may be seen to this day in the Sweetwater Valley near Split Rock, Fremont County, Wyoming; see photograph opposite page 217. E.M.

[4] Which they did at from thirty to forty miles an hour, almost continuously day and night, over substantially the same ground they had traversed half a century before by ox-teams at two miles an hour for an average of about eight hours a day, with frequent stops to rest the stock, or on account of bad roads, river crossings or other hazards of early emigration. E.M.

[5] The beginning of the old Trail to the west-bound traveler crossing from the Iowa side into the "Indian Country" of the 60s.--E.M.

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