marks were put on trees near by, so that they could be recovered,
should their owners return for them.

While on the desert, my father's wagons had travelled last in the
train, in order that no one should stray, or be left to die alone. But
as soon as we reached the mountainous country, he took the lead to open
the way. Uncle Jacob's wagons were always close to ours, for the two
brothers worked together, one responding when the other called for
help; and with the assistance of their teamsters, they were able to
free the trail of many obstructions and prevent unnecessary delays.

From the Valley of Fifty Springs, we pursued a southerly course over
more hills, and through fertile valleys, where we saw Indians in a
state of nudity, who looked at us from a distance, but never approached
our wagons, nor molested any one. On the twenty-fourth of September,
we turned due north and found the tracks of wagon wheels, which guided
us to the valley of "Mary's River," or "Ogden's River," and on the
thirtieth, put us on the old emigrant road leading from Fort Hall. This
welcome landmark inspired us with renewed trust; and the energizing
hope that Stanton and McCutchen would soon appear, strengthened our
sorely tried courage. This day was also memorable, because it brought
us a number of Indians who must have been Frémont's guides, for they
could give information, and understand a little English. They went into
camp with us, and by word and sign explained that we were still far
from the sink of Mary's River, but on the right trail to it.

After another long day's drive, we stopped on a mountain-side close to
a spring of cold, sweet water. While supper was being prepared, one of
the fires crept beyond bounds, spread rapidly, and threatened
destruction to part of our train. At the critical moment two strange