Then followed soul-trying hours.  Oxen, footsore and weary, stumbled under their yokes.  Women, heartsick and exhausted, could walk no farther.  As a last resort, the men hung the water pails on their arms, unhooked the oxen from the wagons, and by persuasion and force, drove them onward, leaving the women and children to await their return.  Messrs. Eddy and Graves got their animals to water on the night of the twelfth, and the others later.  As soon as the poor beasts were refreshed, they were brought back with water for the suffering, and also that they might draw the wagons on to camp.  My father’s wagons were the last taken out.  They reached camp the morning of the fifteenth.

Thirty-six head of cattle were left on that desert, some dead, some lost.  Among the lost were all Mr. Reed’s herd, except an ox and a cow.  His poor beasts had become frenzied in the night, as they were being driven toward water, and with the strength that comes with madness, had rushed away in the darkness.  Meanwhile, Mr. Reed, unconscious of his misfortune, was returning to his family, which he found by his wagon, some distance in the rear.  At daylight, he, with his wife and children, on foot, overtook my Uncle Jacob’s wagons and were carried forward in them until their own were brought up.

After hurriedly making camp, all the men turned out to hunt the Reed cattle.  In every direction they searched, but found no clue.  Those who rode onward, however, discovered that we had reached only an oasis in the desert, and that six miles ahead of us lay another pitiless barren stretch.

Anguish and dismay now filled all hearts.  Husbands bowed their heads, appalled at the situation of their families.  Some cursed Hastings for the false statements in his open letter and for his broken pledge at Fort Bridger.  They cursed him also for his misrepresentation of the distance across this cruel desert, traversing which had wrought such suffering and loss.  Mothers in tearless agony clasped their children to their bosoms, with the old, old cry, “Father, Thy will, not mine, be done.”

It was plain that, try as we might, we could not get back to Fort Bridger.  We must proceed regardless of the fearful outlook.

After earnest consultation, it was deemed best to dig a trench and cache all Mr. Reed’s effects, except such as could be packed into one wagon, and were essential for daily use.  This accomplished, Messrs. Graves and Breen each loaned him an ox, and these in addition to his own ox and cow yoked together, formed his team.  Upon examination, it was found that the woodwork of all the wagons had been shrunk and cracked by the dry atmosphere.  One of Mr. Keseberg’s and one of my father’s were in such bad condition that they were abandoned, left standing near those of Mr. Reed, as we passed out of camp.

The first snow of the season fell as we were crossing the narrow strip of land upon which we had rested and when we encamped for the night on its boundary, the waste before us was as cheerless, cold, and white as the winding sheet which enfolds the dead.