I turned to Jim Bridger and said, “Jim, what do you think of this proposition?”

Jim said he thought it a good thing for me to do; the responsibility would give me more confidence in myself.  “You know, Will, you have always depended on Carson or me at all times, and this trip will teach you to depend on yourself.”

I saddled my horse and went with Beckwith back to the emigrants’ camp.  It was arranged that I was to take charge of the scouts and Simson to take charge of the other train, and Beckwith would go on and overtake the other train, and the train that reached the mouth of Long Canyon where it empties into Truckey river first must wait for the other train.

At this point the two trails divided, one going up the Truckey by the Donna lake route and the other up Long Canyon by Honey lake, the latter being considered the best route.

The next morning we pulled out.  I had good luck all the way through, having no trouble with the Indians, arriving at Long Canyon three days ahead of Jim Beckwith.

In my train there was an old man with his wife and a son and daughter; they seemed to be very peculiar dispositioned people, always wanting to camp by themselves and having nothing to say to any one.  When we reached Long Canyon, Simson told the emigrants that we would wait until the other train arrived, which news greatly pleased the most of them, but the old man and his family seemed to be all upset at the idea of laying over, and the next morning they harnessed up their horses.  While they were doing this, Simson called my attention to them and said, “Let’s go and see what they mean.”

I asked the man what he was going to do with his team.  He replied that he was going to hook them to the wagon and was going to California.  I said, “You certainly are not going to start on such a journey alone, are you?  You are liable to be all killed by the Indians before you get twenty miles from here.”

The old man shrugged his shoulders and said, “Why, gol darn it, we hain’t seen an Injin in the last three hundred miles, and I don’t believe there is one this side of them mountains,” and he pointed towards the Sierra Nevada mountains.  “And if we did meet any they wouldn’t bother us for we hain’t got much grub, and our horses is too poor for them to want.”

I told him, he must not go alone, the road was too dangerous, and besides the other train might come at any moment, and then we could all pull out in safety.  He said, “I own that wagon and them horses, and I own pretty much every thing in that wagon and I think I will do just as I please with them.”  I insisted on his waiting until the other train came up, he said, he would not wait any longer, that he was going to go right now.  I left him and walked back to the camp; I asked the men if any of them had any influence with that old man out there.

“If you have for god’s sake use it and persuade him to not leave us, for if he starts out alone he, nor any of his family will reach Honey lake alive.”