Notwithstanding these plans for our well-being, unaccountable delays followed, making our situation daily more trying.

Elitha was not yet fifteen years of age, and Leanna was two years younger.  They had not fully recovered from the effects of their long privations and physical sufferings in the mountains; and the loss of parents and means of support placed upon them responsibilities greater than they could carry, no matter how bravely they strove to meet the situation.  “How can we provide for ourselves and these little sisters?” was a question which haunted them by night and perplexed them by day.

They had no way of communicating with our friends in Eastern States, and the women at the Fort could ill afford to provide longer for us, since their bread winners were still with Fremont, and their own supplies were limited.  Finally, my two eldest sisters were given employment by different families in exchange for food, which they shared with us; but it was often insufficient, and we little ones drifted along forlornly.  Sometimes home was where night overtook us.

Often, we trudged to the rancheria beyond the pond, made by the adobe-moulders who had built the houses and wall surrounding the fort.  There the Indian mothers were good to us.  They gave us shreds of smoked fish and dried acorns to eat; lowered from their backs the queer little baby-beds, called “bickooses,” and made the chubby faces in them laugh for our amusement.  They also let us pet the dogs that perked up their ears and wagged their tails as our own Uno used to do when he wanted to frolic.  Sometimes they stroked our hair and rubbed the locks between their fingers, then felt their own as if to note the difference.  They seemed sorry because we could not understand their speech.

The pond also, with its banks of flowers, winding path, and dimpling waters, had charms for us until one day’s experience drove us from it forever.  We three were playing near it when a joyous Indian girl with a bundle of clothes on her head ran down the bank to the water’s edge.  We, following, watched her drop her bundle near a board that sloped from a rock into nature’s tub, then kneel upon the upper end and souse the clothes merrily up and down in the clear water.  She lathered them with a freshly gathered soap-root and cleansed them according to the ways of the Spanish mission teachers.  As she tied the wet garments in a bundle and turned to carry them to the drying ground, Frances espied some loose yellow poppies floating near the end of the board and lay down upon it for the purpose of catching them.

Georgia and I saw her lean over and stretch out her hand as far as she could reach; saw the poppies drift just beyond her finger tips; saw her lean a little farther, then slip, head first, into the deep water.  Such shrieks as terrified children give, brought the Indian girl quickly to our aid.  Like a flash, she tossed the bundle from her head, sprang into the water, snatched Frances as she rose to the surface, and restored her to us without a word.  Before we had recovered sufficiently to speak, she was gone.