He helped Mrs. Arcane on her horse, then gave Charlie to her, and, amid waving hands and many adios from our new-found friends, with repeated “good byes” from the old ones, they rode away.  Mrs. Arcane could hardly speak when she bade us farewell, she was so much affected.  They had about sixty miles to ride to reach the sea, and as she rode on a man’s saddle, and was unused to riding, I knew she would be sadly wearied before she reached the coast.

Our little train now seemed much smaller.  Three oxen and a mule were all our animals, and the adults must still walk, as they had done on our desert route.  But we were comparatively happy, for we had plenty of good meat to eat, plenty of sweet water to drink, and our animals were contented and improving every day; grass and water seemed plenty everywhere.  We put our luggage on the oxen and the mule, loaded the children on Old Crump as we had done before, and were ready to move again.  Our good friends stood around and smiled good-naturedly at our queer arrangements, and we, not knowing how to say what our hearts would prompt us to, shook their hands and said good bye in answer to their “adios amigos” as we moved away, waving hands to each other.

The men then detained me a little while to ask me more about the road we had come over, how far it was, and how bad the Indians were, and other particulars.  I told him by signs that we had been twenty-two days on the road, and that the Indianos, as they called them, had not troubled us, but that there was very little grass or water in all that land.  He made a sort of map on the ground and made me understand he would like to go back and try to bring out the wagons we had left behind, and he wanted me to go back with him and help him.  I explained to him by the map he had made, and one which I made myself, that I considered it impossible to bring them over.  He seemed much disappointed, and with a shrug of his shoulders said “mucho malo” (very bad) and seemed to abandon the idea of getting a Yankee wagon.  They very much admired an American wagon, for their own vehicles were rude affairs, as I shall bye-and-bye describe.  We bade each other many adios, and I went on my way, soon catching up with the little party.  We had been informed that it was ten leagues, or thirty miles to Los Angeles, whither we were now headed.

We had now been a whole year on the road between Wisconsin and California, much of the time with the ground for a bed, and though our meals had been sometimes scanty and long between, very few of us had missed one on account of sickness.  Some, less strong than we, had lain down to perish, and had been left behind, without coffin or grave; but we were here, and so far had found food to nourish us in some degree with prospects now of game in the future if nothing better offered.  We still talked of going to the gold mines on foot, for with good food and rest our courage had returned, and we wanted to succeed.