In my train there was an old man with his wife and a son and daughter;
they seemed to be very peculiar dispositioned people, always wanting to
camp by themselves and having nothing to say to any one. When we reached
Long Canyon, Simson told the emigrants that we would wait until the
other train arrived, which news greatly pleased the most of them, but
the old man and his family seemed to be all upset at the idea of laying
over, and the next morning they harnessed up their horses. While they
were doing this, Simson called my attention to them and said, "Let's go
and see what they mean."

I asked the man what he was going to do with his team. He replied that
he was going to hook them to the wagon and was going to California. I
said, "You certainly are not going to start on such a journey alone,
are you? You are liable to be all killed by the Indians before you get
twenty miles from here."

The old man shrugged his shoulders and said, "Why, gol darn it, we
hain't seen an Injin in the last three hundred miles, and I don't
believe there is one this side of them mountains," and he pointed
towards the Sierra Nevada mountains. "And if we did meet any they
wouldn't bother us for we hain't got much grub, and our horses is too
poor for them to want."

I told him, he must not go alone, the road was too dangerous, and
besides the other train might come at any moment, and then we could all
pull out in safety. He said, "I own that wagon and them horses, and I
own pretty much every thing in that wagon and I think I will do just as
I please with them." I insisted on his waiting until the other train
came up, he said, he would not wait any longer, that he was going to go