and succeeding parties found each of the bodies unearthed, and were
compelled to repeat the last sad rites of burial.

Before the Donner Party started from the Desert camp, an inventory of
the provisions on hand was accurately taken, and an estimate was made of
the quantity required for each family, and it was found that there was
not enough to carry the emigrants through to California. As if to render
more emphatic the terrible situation of the party, a storm came during
their last night at the camp, and in the morning the hill-tops were
white with snow. It was a dreadful reminder of the lateness of the
season, and the bravest hearts quailed before the horrors they knew must
await them. A solemn council was held. It was decided that some one must
leave the train, press eagerly forward to California, and obtaining a
supply of provisions, return and meet the party as far back on the route
as possible. It was a difficult undertaking, and perilous in the
extreme. A call was made for volunteers, and after a little reflection
two men offered their services. One was Wm. McCutchen, who had joined
the train from Missouri, and the other was C. T. Stanton, of Chicago, a
man who afterwards proved himself possessed of the sublimest heroism.
Taking each a horse, they received the tearful, prayerful farewells of
the doomed company, and set out upon their solitary journey.

Would they return? If they reached the peaceful, golden valleys of
California, would they turn back to meet danger, and storms, and death,
in order to bring succor to those on the dreary desert? McCutchen might
come, because he left dear ones with the train, but would Stanton
return? Stanton was young and unmarried. There were no ties or
obligations to prompt his return, save his plighted word and the
dictates of honor and humanity.