In surprise and consternation, the emigrants gazed at its blank face, then toward the dreary waste beyond.  Presently, my mother knelt before it and began searching for fragments of paper, which she believed crows had wantonly pecked off and dropped to the ground.

Spurred by her zeal, others also were soon on their knees, scratching among the grasses and sifting the loose soil through their fingers.  What they found, they brought to her, and after the search ended she took the guide board, laid it across her lap, and thoughtfully, began fitting the ragged edges of paper together and matching the scraps to marks on the board.  The tedious process was watched with spell-bound interest by the anxious group around her.

The writing was that of Hastings, and her patchwork brought out the following words: 

“2 days—­2 nights—­hard driving—­cross—­desert—­reach water.”

This would be a heavy strain on our cattle, and to fit them for the ordeal they were granted thirty-six hours’ indulgence near the bubbling waters, amid good pasturage.  Meanwhile, grass was cut and stored, water casks were filled, and rations were prepared for desert use.

We left camp on the morning of September 9, following dimly marked wagon-tracks courageously, and entered upon the “dry drive,” which Hastings and his agent at Fort Bridger had represented as being thirty-five miles, or forty at most.  After two days and two nights of continuous travel, over a waste of alkali and sand, we were still surrounded as far as eye could see by a region of fearful desolation.  The supply of feed for our cattle was gone, the water casks were empty, and a pitiless sun was turning its burning rays upon the glaring earth over which we still had to go.

Mr. Reed now rode ahead to prospect for water, while the rest followed with the teams.  All who could walk did so, mothers carrying their babes in their arms, and fathers with weaklings across their shoulders moved slowly as they urged the famishing cattle forward.  Suddenly an outcry of joy gave hope to those whose courage waned.  A lake of shimmering water appeared before us in the near distance, we could see the wavy grasses and a caravan of people moving toward it.

“It may be Hastings!” was the eager shout.  Alas, as we advanced, the scene vanished!  A cruel mirage, in its mysterious way, had outlined the lake and cast our shadows near its shore.

Disappointment intensified our burning thirst, and my good mother gave her own and other suffering children wee lumps of sugar, moistened with a drop of peppermint, and later put a flattened bullet in each child’s mouth to engage its attention and help keep the salivary glands in action.