This was the way to do, for if there were any differences, there
was no tribunal to settle them by.
In all this desert travel I did not hear any discontent and serious
complaint, except in one case, and that was at the Jayhawker's camp,
where they burned their wagons at the end of the wagon road, in Death
Valley. Some could not say words bad enough to express their contempt,
and laid all the trouble of salt water to Lot's wife. Perhaps she was in
a better position to stand the cursing than any of the party present.
The next day we reached the water holes at the place where Rogers and I
stole up to camp fire in the evening, supposing it to be Indians, but
finding there Capt. Doty and his mess, a part of the Jayhawker's band.
By dipping carefully from these holes they filled again, and thus,
although there was no flow from them we gradually secured what water we
needed for the camp, which was a small amount after so long a time
without. There was some low brush here called greasewood, which grew
about as high as currant bushes, and some distance up the mountain the
oxen could find some scattery bunch grass, which, on the whole, made
this camp a pretty good one. The women, however, were pretty nearly
exhausted, and little Charley Arcane cried bitterly all day and almost
all night. All began to talk more and feel more hopeful of getting
through. The women began to say that every step brought them so much
nearer to the house we had told them about on the other side and often
said the work was not so very hard after all.
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