We arranged a bed in the wagon, and placed her on it, then drove till after midnight before we reached a habitation. We finally got into a school-house and spent the rest of the night in administering to, and nursing my wife. Her breast bone was crushed in, and her hand badly lacerated; and I feared the nervous shock and the bruise would bring on premature child-birth and perhaps death. In the morning she felt so much better, however, that we moved on to Hanksville, about fifteen miles.
On the west side of town was a store, in care of Mrs. Dr. Jorgensen, an old acquaintance of ours. At the store the public road shot to the north and south. The latter led to Hall's Ferry, on the Colorado; the former crossed the Dirty Devil and went to Blake, on Green River. As we drove up, Sister Jorgensen ran out to see Tamar. I jumped from the wagon and stopped her, telling her she must not see her, as it would get her into trouble. She prepared some liniment, and told me how to nurse her; then I bade her good-bye.
We crossed the road, pulled through the town, down the river two miles, and stopped with William Bacon. They gave us their best room and bed, and Tamar rested comfortably for two days. Again in the night, an unseen power said to me, "Move on." Tamar's body was sore; but I knew the road was sandy and free from rocks, and she said she would rather go than be arrested. We crossed the river in Brother Bacon's field, and followed an old wood road up a sandy hollow, until we struck the main road.
Just before reaching it, we saw the tops of three wagons passing. They drove to the ford near the store, and camped. They had scarcely unharnessed when Armstrong and McGary drove up. The freighters assured them we were not on the road, as they were direct from Green River and had met no one.
The officers then wheeled and took the road for Hall's Ferry. Twenty miles out they met Dan Dalton, who assured them we were not on that road. They then returned to the store and questioned Sister Jorgensen, threatening to arrest her unless she would tell them where we were; but she maintained stoutly that she had not seen Mrs. Young, and knew nothing of her whereabouts.
When the marshals first reached the store, twenty minutes' drive would have taken them to us; but when they came back from a forty-mile run, their team was exhausted. They offered fifty dollars for the use of a fresh team; but no one in. Hanksville wanted the money, and to this day I have a warm spot in my heart for those good people.
The day we left Brother Bacon's was full of painful anxiety to Bishop Wright and myself. The sand was deep, and our loads heavy; we had to move slowly, walking by the side of our teams and resting every few rods. These, however, were minor troubles; the atmosphere was full of apprehension and danger. From the top of every ridge we looked back, expecting to see our enemy coming; and I had determined that Tamar should not be dragged into court if I had power to prevent it.
Our wives were innocent of crime; they were virtuous, honest, bashful girls, unused to public life. In their innocence and spiritual devotion, they had trusted us for guidance and protection; and I was not going to see my wife slurred and brow-beaten by a profligate lawyer, nor humiliated by a missionary judge. We might suffer by flight—and we did suffer more than my pen can tell; as a matter of fact, Tamar suffered for years from the effect of the accident she met with—but we escaped arrest, and there was comfort in that. I had never felt that the road to exaltation was through the Utah penitentiary; I did not owe Uncle Sam a cent; and I certainly did not want to be honored by wearing the uniform of his boarding house. One more incident and then I am done with the marshals.
By appointment, I met my cousin Brigham in Rabbit Valley, and accompanied him across the desert to New Mexico. Below Hanksville, we met Dan Dalton, who was freighting from the Henry Mountain. He told us there were two marshals at the ferry evidently waiting for someone. We passed on, and when by ourselves, Brigham asked, "What shall we do?" I replied, "You are the captain; as you direct, I shall act." "Well," he said, "I'll tell you: if you will drive the team I will do the fighting, and there are no two deputy marshals living that can take me back to Utah."
When we reached the Colorado, we met Platte D. Lyman and L. H. Redd, the supposed marshals. They took our carriage apart and ferried us over the river in a small boat, swimming our horses. I went to Fruitland, New Mexico, with Brigham, then bought two scrub ponies and went back alone.