Here, as everywhere since leaving Independence, we heard that song which by this time had grown threadbare,—
"My name it is Joe Bowers."
The Negroes and the Spaniards, the trappers and the hunters, were all singing it, and the wonder to Ellen and me was where so many people could have heard it.
WITH OUR FACES TOWARD CALIFORNIA
After spending one day at Fort Bridger we set off early in the morning with our faces turned toward California, and our hearts beating furiously. For the first time since leaving home it seemed as if we were really on the journey.
The trail ran up hill or down, all the way, but there was very little difference, so far as hardships were concerned, from that which we had already experienced.
During the first three or four days our fathers had no difficulty in finding grass and water in plenty for the cattle, although there were times, of course, when for mile after mile we passed through nothing but sage grass, which even the oxen would not eat. Every night during this time, we came upon a pleasant place in which to camp, and, best of all, so Eben Jordan thought, the game was abundant everywhere. When he had shot a small bear and brought it into camp, it seemed as if his cup of happiness was full. One might have thought the lad had performed some wondrous deed, from the way he strutted to and fro, repeating marvelous accounts of his battle with the beast.