Rogers and I had the kettle boiling early, and put in the last of the
meat, and nearly all that was left of the flour. At the next camp an ox
must be killed. Just as it was fairly light I went about 200 yards south
where the dead body of Mr. Fish lay, just as he died more than a month
before. The body had not been disturbed and looked quite natural. He was
from Oscaloosa, Iowa.
The folks arose very reluctantly this morning, and appeared with swollen
eyes and uncombed hair, for there was no means of making a toilet,
without a drop of water, except what we had used in getting breakfast.
We set the soup kettle near the foot of the bed so the women could feed
the children and themselves. Now as we loaded the oxen, it was agreed
that Rogers and I should go ahead with all but Old Crump, and get in
camp as soon as possible, and they were to follow on as best they could.
There was a little water left in the canteens of Bennett and Arcane, to
be given only to the children, who would cry when thirsty, the very
thing to make them feel the worst.
We were to kill an ox when we reached camp, and as each of the men had
an equal number on the start each was to furnish one alternately and no
disputing about whose were better or stronger, in any emergency.
Our road now led down the western slope of the mountain, and loose,
hard, broken rocks were harder on the feet of our animals than coming
up, and our own moccasins were wearing through. The cattle needed shoes
as well as we.
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