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Friday, August 25.
We were up at the first peep of dawn, had breakfast, and were hitching up to start, when the folks in the eight wagons began to emerge and light their camp fires, so we have left them some distance behind. We have been meeting men all day returning from the mines. They give a doleful account of the hard times in Montana. They say: “There are a few fortunate ones who are making money like dirt, but they are the exception, about one in a hundred.”
One man was very anxious to buy Dick. I told him: “This pony is not for sale,” and rode away before he could say anything more. The boys say we have met as many as two hundred men to-day returning from the mines. I believe we are all somewhat discouraged this evening. We have always heard such flattering reports from Alder Gulch and Virginia City.
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Friday, August 26.
We have overtaken Mr. Grier, Mr. Bower and Mr. Kennedy. Some of Mr. Bower’s cattle have eaten a poisonous herb—wild larkspur, I believe it is. One ox has died and several are poisoned, but will not die. They got the poison weed the day before yesterday, when they stopped at noon. I am glad we have overtaken them, but sorry for their misfortune. Hillhouse has just now come in, and says Joe, one of our big white oxen, is poisoned. He came for remedies and to sharpen his knife to bleed him. No doubt he got the poison the same place Mr. Bower’s cattle did when we stopped for noon. Sim, Hillhouse and Winthrop have gone to his relief.
MOTHER AND I SAVE JOE’S LIFE.
Later.—The boys came back very much discouraged after working an hour, and said: “The blood will not flow, and he is swelling frightfully. I fear he will die, for when the blood will not run and the animal begins to swell, they cannot be saved.”
Mother said: “We will not let him die without further effort, at least. Come on, Sarah, let us try what we can do for him.”