Above the rough bed of the canon the bottom was gravelly and narrow, and the walls on each side nearly perpendicular.  Our horses now poked slowly along and as we passed the steep wall of the canon the white animal left the trail and walked with full force, head first, against the solid rock.  She seemed to be blind, and though we went quickly to her and took off the load she carried, she had stopped breathing by the time we had it done.  Not knowing how far it was to water, nor how soon some of our other horses might fall, we did not tarry, but pushed on as well as we could, finding no water.  We reached the summit and turned down a ravine, following the trail, and about dark came to the water they had told us about, a faint running stream which came out of a rocky ravine and sank almost immediately in the dry sand.  There was water enough for us, but no grass.  It seemed as if the horses were not strong enough to carry a load, and as we wanted to get them through if possible, we concluded to bury the wheat and get it on our return.  We dug a hole and lined it with fine sticks, then put in the little bag and covered it with dry brush, and sand making the surface as smooth as if it had never been touched, then made our bed on it.  The whole work was done after dark so the deposit could not be seen by the red men and we thought we had done it pretty carefully.

Next morning the little mule carried all the remaining load, the horses bearing only their saddles, and seemed hardly strong enough for that.  There was now seven or eight miles of clean loose sand to go over, across a little valley which came to an end about ten miles north of us, and extended south to the lake where we went for water on our outward journey and found it red alkali.  Near the Eastern edge of the valley we turned aside to visit the grave of Mr. Isham, which they had told us of.  They had covered his remains with their hands as best they could, piling up a little mound of sand over it.  Our next camp was to be on the summit of the range just before us, and we passed the dead body of Mr. Fish, we had seen before, and go on a little to a level sandy spot in the ravine just large enough to sleep on.  This whole range is a black mass rocky piece of earth, so barren that not a spear of grass can grow, and not a drop of water in any place.  We tied our horses to rocks and there they staid all night, for if turned loose there was not a mouthful of food for them to get.

In the morning an important question was to be decided, and that was whether we should continue to follow the Jayhawker’s trail which led far to the north to cross the mountain, which stood before us, a mass of piled-up rocks so steep that it seemed as if a dog could hardly climb it.  Our wagons were nearly due east from this point over the range, and not more than fifty miles away, while to go around to the north was fully a hundred miles, and would take us four or five days to make.  As we had already gone so long we expected to meet them any day trying to get out, and if we went around we might miss them.  They might have all been killed by Indians or they might have already gone.  We had great fears on their account.  If they had gone north they might have perished in the snow.