The Indians yelled
and whooped at us all night long. We could not sleep, for they were
the troublesome Piutes. We did not know how to act as they kept
concealed and were in great numbers. Two of them, more bold than the
others, being also curious, crawled through the willows. We
immediately shot at them. In the morning the oxen were rounded up and
one was missing. He was driven away by the Indians and killed. We
found him several miles further along, with seven arrows piercing his
body. Our next camping place was at the foot of the Sierra Nevada
mountains. The snow was eighteen inches deep and there was no food for
the cattle. After going a mile further the cow gave out. That left us
without any means to haul the wagons. Father left his wagon and we
packed our goods on a horse, this being the only animal remaining in
father's possession. We were compelled to leave many useful things
behind. Father's feet were frozen at this place and we were obliged to
cut off his boots to assist him out of his misery. Our sufferings were
great and we nearly froze on the trail. We kept going at a slow pace
and with great difficulty until we passed the snow belt, and when we
came to the green fields or plains our joy knew no bounds. But
misfortune overtook us here, for we turned our horse out with the
cattle and that was the last we ever saw of him. We came at last to
Cottonwood Springs and we camped there for two days to let the
remaining cattle rest and eat of herbage.
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