He was sitting, droop-shouldered and dejected, on a wagon-tongue.

“But what if they intend treachery?” mother asked.

He shrugged his shoulders.

“We’ve got to take the chance that they don’t,” he said.  “Our ammunition is gone.”

Some of our men were unchaining one of our wagons and rolling it out of the way.  I ran across to see what was happening.  In came Lee himself, followed by two empty wagons, each driven by one man.  Everybody crowded around Lee.  He said that they had had a hard time with the Indians keeping them off of us, and that Major Higbee, with fifty of the Mormon militia, were ready to take us under their charge.

But what made father and Laban and some of the men suspicious was when Lee said that we must put all our rifles into one of the wagons so as not to arouse the animosity of the Indians.  By so doing we would appear to be the prisoners of the Mormon militia.

Father straightened up and was about to refuse when he glanced to Laban, who replied in an undertone.  “They ain’t no more use in our hands than in the wagon, seein’ as the powder’s gone.”

Two of our wounded men who could not walk were put into the wagons, and along with them were put all the little children.  Lee seemed to be picking them out over eight and under eight.  Jed and I were large for our age, and we were nine besides; so Lee put us with the older bunch and told us we were to march with the women on foot.

When he took our baby from mother and put it in a wagon she started to object.  Then I saw her lips draw tightly together, and she gave in.  She was a gray-eyed, strong-featured, middle-aged woman, large-boned and fairly stout.  But the long journey and hardship had told on her, so that she was hollow-cheeked and gaunt, and like all the women in the company she wore an expression of brooding, never-ceasing anxiety.

It was when Lee described the order of march that Laban came to me.  Lee said that the women and the children that walked should go first in the line, following behind the two wagons.  Then the men, in single file, should follow the women.  When Laban heard this he came to me, untied the scalps from his belt, and fastened them to my waist.

“But you ain’t killed yet,” I protested.

“You bet your life I ain’t,” he answered lightly.

“I’ve just reformed, that’s all.  This scalp-wearin’ is a vain thing and heathen.”  He stopped a moment as if he had forgotten something, then, as he turned abruptly on his heel to regain the men of our company, he called over his shoulder, “Well, so long, Jesse.”

I was wondering why he should say good-bye when a white man came riding into the corral.  He said Major Higbee had sent him to tell us to hurry up, because the Indians might attack at any moment.