At dawn we resumed our toilful march, and travelled until four o’clock the following morning, when we reached an extensive valley, where grass and water were plentiful.  Several oxen had died during the night, and it was with a caress of pity that the surviving were relieved of their yokes for the day.  The next sunrise saw us on our way over a range of hills sloping down to a valley luxuriant with grass and springs of delicious water, where antelope and mountain sheep were grazing, and where we saw Indians who seemed never to have met white men before.  We were three days in crossing this magnificent stretch of country, which we called, “Valley of Fifty Springs.”  In it, several wagons and large cases of goods were cached by our company, and secret marks were put on trees near by, so that they could be recovered, should their owners return for them.

While on the desert, my father’s wagons had travelled last in the train, in order that no one should stray, or be left to die alone.  But as soon as we reached the mountainous country, he took the lead to open the way.  Uncle Jacob’s wagons were always close to ours, for the two brothers worked together, one responding when the other called for help; and with the assistance of their teamsters, they were able to free the trail of many obstructions and prevent unnecessary delays.

From the Valley of Fifty Springs, we pursued a southerly course over more hills, and through fertile valleys, where we saw Indians in a state of nudity, who looked at us from a distance, but never approached our wagons, nor molested any one.  On the twenty-fourth of September, we turned due north and found the tracks of wagon wheels, which guided us to the valley of “Mary’s River,” or “Ogden’s River,” and on the thirtieth, put us on the old emigrant road leading from Fort Hall.  This welcome landmark inspired us with renewed trust; and the energizing hope that Stanton and McCutchen would soon appear, strengthened our sorely tried courage.  This day was also memorable, because it brought us a number of Indians who must have been Fremont’s guides, for they could give information, and understand a little English.  They went into camp with us, and by word and sign explained that we were still far from the sink of Mary’s River, but on the right trail to it.

After another long day’s drive, we stopped on a mountain-side close to a spring of cold, sweet water.  While supper was being prepared, one of the fires crept beyond bounds, spread rapidly, and threatened destruction to part of our train.  At the critical moment two strange Indians rushed upon the scene and rendered good service.  After the fire was extinguished, the Indians were rewarded, and were also given a generous meal at the tent of Mr. Graves.  Later, they settled themselves in friendly fashion beside his fire and were soon fast asleep.  Next morning, the Indians were gone, and had taken with them a new shirt and a yoke of good oxen belonging to their host.