On the side there stood what seemed to be one
half of a butte, with the perpendicular face toward the canon. Away on
the summit of the butte I saw an Indian, so far away he looked no taller
than my finger, and when he went out of sight I knew pretty well he was
the very fellow who grew the squashes. I thought it might be he, at any
rate.
I now turned back to meet the teams and found them seven or eight miles
up the canon, and although it was a down grade the oxen were barely able
to walk slowly with their loads which were light, as wagons were almost
empty except the women and children. When night came on it seemed to be
cloudy and we could hear the cries of the wild geese passing east. We
regarded this as a very good sign and no doubt Owen's Lake, which we
expected to pass on this route, was not very far off. Around in those
small hills and damp places was some coarse grass and other growths, but
those who had gone before devoured the best, so our oxen had a hard time
to get anything to eat.
Next morning I shouldered my gun and followed down the canon keeping the
wagon road, and when half a mile down, at the sink of the sickly stream,
I killed a wild goose. This had undoubtedly been attracted here the
night before by the light of our camp fire. When I got near the lower
end of the canon, there was a cliff on the north or right hand side
which was perpendicular or perhaps a little overhanging, and at the base
a cave which had the appearance of being continuously occupied by
Indians.
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