Father came in from the trench during a lull in the firing.  He sat for a few minutes alongside mother and me without speaking.  He seemed to be listening to all the moaning and crying for water that was going up.  Once he climbed out of the rifle pit and went over to investigate the well.  He brought back only damp sand, which he plastered thick on the chest and shoulders of Robert Carr.  Then he went to where Jed Dunham and his mother were, and sent for Jed’s father to come in from the trench.  So closely packed were we that when anybody moved about inside the rifle pit he had to crawl carefully over the bodies of those lying down.

After a time father came crawling back to us.

“Jesse,” he asked, “are you afraid of the Indians?”

I shook my head emphatically, guessing that I was to be seat on another proud mission.

“Are you afraid of the damned Mormons?”

“Not of any damned Mormon,” I answered, taking advantage of the opportunity to curse our enemies without fear of the avenging back of mother’s hand.

I noted the little smile that curled his tired lips for the moment when he heard my reply.

“Well, then, Jesse,” he said, “will you go with Jed to the spring for water?”

I was all eagerness.

“We’re going to dress the two of you up as girls,” he continued, “so that maybe they won’t fire on you.”

I insisted on going as I was, as a male human that wore pants; but I surrendered quickly enough when father suggested that he would find some other boy to dress up and go along with Jed.

A chest was fetched in from the Chattox wagon.  The Chattox girls were twins and of about a size with Jed and me.  Several of the women got around to help.  They were the Sunday dresses of the Chattox twins, and had come in the chest all the way from Arkansas.

In her anxiety mother left the baby with Sarah Dunlap, and came as far as the trench with me.  There, under a wagon and behind the little breastwork of sand, Jed and I received our last instructions.  Then we crawled out and stood up in the open.  We were dressed precisely alike—­white stockings, white dresses, with big blue sashes, and white sunbonnets.  Jed’s right and my left hand were clasped together.  In each of our free hands we carried two small pails.

“Take it easy,” father cautioned, as we began our advance.  “Go slow.  Walk like girls.”

Not a shot was fired.  We made the spring safely, filled our pails, and lay down and took a good drink ourselves.  With a full pail in each hand we made the return trip.  And still not a shot was fired.

I cannot remember how many journeys we made—­fully fifteen or twenty.  We walked slowly, always going out with hands clasped, always coming back slowly with four pails of water.  It was astonishing how thirsty we were.  We lay down several times and took long drinks.

But it was too much for our enemies.  I cannot imagine that the Indians would have withheld their fire for so long, girls or no girls, had they not obeyed instructions from the whites who were with them.  At any rate Jed and I were just starting on another trip when a rifle went off from the Indian hill, and then another.