or message which had recently been pasted and tacked thereon had since
been stripped off in irregular bits.

In surprise and consternation, the emigrants gazed at its blank face,
then toward the dreary waste beyond. Presently, my mother knelt before
it and began searching for fragments of paper, which she believed crows
had wantonly pecked off and dropped to the ground.

Spurred by her zeal, others also were soon on their knees, scratching
among the grasses and sifting the loose soil through their fingers.
What they found, they brought to her, and after the search ended she
took the guide board, laid it across her lap, and thoughtfully, began
fitting the ragged edges of paper together and matching the scraps to
marks on the board. The tedious process was watched with spell-bound
interest by the anxious group around her.

The writing was that of Hastings, and her patchwork brought out the
following words:

"2 days--2 nights--hard driving--cross--desert--reach water."

This would be a heavy strain on our cattle, and to fit them for the
ordeal they were granted thirty-six hours' indulgence near the bubbling
waters, amid good pasturage. Meanwhile, grass was cut and stored, water
casks were filled, and rations were prepared for desert use.

We left camp on the morning of September 9, following dimly marked
wagon-tracks courageously, and entered upon the "dry drive," which
Hastings and his agent at Fort Bridger had represented as being
thirty-five miles, or forty at most. After two days and two nights of