At last all was in readiness for the start. Spring with all its beauty
and glory was with us, and friends from the country round and about had
come to bid us a final farewell--friends, alas, we were destined never
to meet again. The parting I remember as the first real sorrow of a life
that has experienced most of the hardships, dangers, privations and
sufferings of a wild frontier life. It was a beautiful morning early in
April, 1852, that the leaders were pointed to the west and a start was
made. Four wagons were drawn by five yoke of oxen each, while the fifth,
the family wagon, was drawn by three yoke.

The first weeks of our journey were passed without anything happening
worthy of note. At Caw river we were detained several days by high
water. Here we began falling in with others, who, like, ourselves, were
bound for the golden shores of the Pacific. And it was here that we made
the acquaintance of families, and friendships formed that were to
survive not only the privations of the plains but were to last a life
time. Men were drawn together on the plains as in the everyday walks of
life, only the bonds were closer and far more enduring. The very dangers
through which they passed together rendered the ties more lasting. "Our
train" henceforth consisted of my father's, Littleton Younger, John
Gant, "Uncle" Johnny Thompson and a party of five Welsh gentlemen, under
the leadership of a gentleman named Fathergill, and a prince of a
gentleman he was. At that time there was not a cabin in what is now the
great and populous State of Kansas. Only vast undulating plains, waving
with grass, traversed here and there with timberskirted streams. Game
was abundant, consisting mostly of antelope and prairie chickens. Our
Welsh friends, being bachelors and having no loose stock, were the
hunters for the train, and supplied us with an abundance of fresh meat.

As we proceeded westward more immigrants were met, and often our camp