Snake river was finally reached, and here the real trials of the journey began.  From some cause, not then understood, our oxen began to die.  The best and fattest died first, often two and three in one camp.  Cows were drawn into the yoke and the journey resumed.  But it soon became evident that loads must be lightened.  Wagons loaded with stores and provisions were driven to the side of the road and an invitation written with charcoal for all to help themselves.  To add to the difficulties of our situation, the Snake Indians were surly and insolent to a degree.  Gradually a gloom settled over all.  No more of laughter, of dancing and song.  And faster and faster the oxen died.  Camping places were almost unbearable on account of the dead and decaying cattle.  And then the terrible mountains of which we had heard so much were before us.  Would we ever reach the settlements?  This was a question that began to prey upon the minds of many.  A few of the young men shouldered a blanket and some provisions and started on foot to reach the valley.  Others began to despair of ever reaching the promised land.  If those who cross the continent now in palace cars and complain of the tediousness of the journey could take one look at the wreck and desolation that lined the poisoned banks of Snake river, they would hide their heads in very shame.

As our situation became more desperate it appeared the Indians became more sullen and mean.  Guards were kept night and day, the women and children driving the teams and loose cattle and horses in order that the men might get some rest.  At one point the danger seemed imminent.  The men on night guard reported that the horses were snorting and acting as if Indians were about.  Mr. Fathergill’s mule appeared especially uneasy.  The cattle and horses were then all driven to camp, the horses tied up and the oxen chained to the wagons.  The next morning moccasin tracks were discovered within a hundred yards of our camp, showing plainly that only extreme caution and foresight had saved us all from massacre.  After that camps were selected with a view to defense.  A point was finally reached where we were to bid farewell to the dread Snake river.  Several trains camped there that night.  Among them was a man named Wilson, a brother of ex-Senator Henry Wilson of Colusa county.  Cattle had been rounded up and oxen placed under the yoke.  Wilson became involved in a quarrel with a young man in his employ.  Suddenly both drew revolvers and began firing at each other.  The duel ended by Wilson falling from his mule, a dead man.  The young man rode away and was seen no more.  A grave was dug, the dead man buried and within two hours the train was in motion.  There was no time for tears or ceremonies.  Winter was coming on, and the terrible mountains must be crossed.  Besides the dread of an Indian attack was ever present.