I told them that he had no need to fear Washakie’s tribe, but that old Pocatello had drawn away some of Washakie’s Indians, and that they were bad Indians, who were doing everything against the whites they could. Washakie had told me they were killing the emigrants and stealing their horses and burning their wagons.
Well, this bishop talked and talked, and asked me ten thousand questions, it seemed to me. Finally the woman took pity on me and said, “Do let the poor boy rest.”
I told them I had always been in bed by dark and that I felt pretty tired.
“Well,” said the bishop, “you may go to bed now, and I will see you in the morning. You had better come down to my house and stay all day. I should like very much to have Brother Snow talk with you.”
I didn’t say anything, but I thought that neither Snow nor rain would catch me in that place another day, so I was up by the peep of day and away I went. I traveled seven or eight miles and stopped by some hot springs, unpacked my horses, and got me something to eat. I thought that I would not stop in any more houses where bishops could get hold of me and talk me to death.
After my horses had fed, I started on my way again, and after traveling about ten miles more, I came to a place called Ogden. As I was going along the main street, a man standing by a store stopped me and began talking Indian to me. He asked me where I had been. I told him. While we were talking, several more men came up and one of them asked me where I was going to camp that night. I told him that I did not know, but that I would go on down the road a piece until I found grass and water. He asked me to put my horses in his corral and give them all the hay they could eat.
“No,” I said, “I would rather go on.”
“No,” he said, “you must stop here tonight.” With that he took the rope out of my hands and let my horses into his corral. I followed him, and when I had unpacked I asked him if he was a bishop. He said he was. I told him I thought so.
“Why?” he asked.
“Because you talk so much.”