It was the work of a little while to transfer the load up the precipice,
and pack the mule again, when we proceeded. Around behind some rocks
only a little distance beyond this place we found a small willow bush
and enough good water for a camp. This was a strange canon. The sun
never shown down to the bottom in the fearful place where the little
mule climbed up, and the rocks had a peculiar yellow color. In getting
our provisions up the precipice, Rogers went below and fastened the rope
while I pulled them up. Rogers wished many times we had the horses up
safely where the mule was, but a dog could hardly cross the narrow path
and there was no hope. Poor brutes, they had been faithful servants, and
we felt sorrowful enough at their terrible fate.
We had walked two days without water, and we were wonderfully refreshed
as we found it here. The way up this canon was very rough and the bed
full of sharp broken rocks in loose pieces which cut through the bottoms
of our moccasins and left us with bare feet upon the acute points and
edges. I took off one of my buckskin leggins, and gave it to Rogers, and
with the other one for myself we fixed the moccasins with them as well
as we could, which enabled us to go ahead, but I think if our feet had
been shod with steel those sharp rocks would have cut through.
Starting early we made the summit about noon, and from here we could see
the place where we found a water hole and camped the first night after
we left the wagons.
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