twelfth, and the others later. As soon as the poor beasts were
refreshed, they were brought back with water for the suffering, and
also that they might draw the wagons on to camp. My father's wagons
were the last taken out. They reached camp the morning of the
fifteenth.

Thirty-six head of cattle were left on that desert, some dead, some
lost. Among the lost were all Mr. Reed's herd, except an ox and a cow.
His poor beasts had become frenzied in the night, as they were being
driven toward water, and with the strength that comes with madness, had
rushed away in the darkness. Meanwhile, Mr. Reed, unconscious of his
misfortune, was returning to his family, which he found by his wagon,
some distance in the rear. At daylight, he, with his wife and children,
on foot, overtook my Uncle Jacob's wagons and were carried forward in
them until their own were brought up.

After hurriedly making camp, all the men turned out to hunt the Reed
cattle. In every direction they searched, but found no clue. Those who
rode onward, however, discovered that we had reached only an oasis in
the desert, and that six miles ahead of us lay another pitiless barren
stretch.

Anguish and dismay now filled all hearts. Husbands bowed their heads,
appalled at the situation of their families. Some cursed Hastings for
the false statements in his open letter and for his broken pledge at
Fort Bridger. They cursed him also for his misrepresentation of the
distance across this cruel desert, traversing which had wrought such
suffering and loss. Mothers in tearless agony clasped their children to
their bosoms, with the old, old cry, "Father, Thy will, not mine, be
done."