The party’s organization broke. The march became a rout. Everybody pushed on with what strength he had. No man, woman, or child could ride; the wagons were emptied of everything but the barest necessities. At every stop some animal fell in the traces, and was cut out of the yoke. When a wagon came to a stop, it was abandoned, the animals detached and driven forward.
Those who were still afoot were constantly besought by those who had been forced to a standstill.
“I saw one old man, his wife and his daughter, all walking along on foot,” said the immigrant bitterly. “They were half knee deep in alkali, the sun was broiling hot, they had absolutely nothing. We couldn’t help them. What earthly chance had they? I saw a wagon stalled, the animals lying dead in their yokes, all except one old ox. A woman and three children sat inside the wagon. She called to me that they hadn’t had anything to eat for three days, and begged me to take the children. I couldn’t. I could have stopped and died there with her, but I couldn’t put another pound on my wagon and hope to get through. We were all walking alongside; even Sue, here.”
The woman raised her tragic face.
“We left our baby there,” she said; and stared back again into the coals of the fire.
“We made it,” resumed the immigrant. “We got to the Truckee River somehow, and we rested there three days. I don’t know what became of the rest of our train; dead perhaps.”
318We told him of the immigrant register or bulletin board at Morton’s.
“I must look that over,” said he. “I don’t know how long it took us to cross the mountains. Those roads are terrible; and our cattle were weak. We were pretty near out of grub too. Most of the people have no food at all. Well, here we are! But there are thousands back of us. What are they going to do? And when the mountains fill with snow─”
After the trio, well fed for the first time in months, had turned in, we sat talking about our fire. We were considerably subdued and sobered; for this was the first coherent account we had heard at first hand. Two things impressed us–the tragedy, the futility. The former aspect hit us all; the latter struck strongly at Old and Cal. Those youngsters, wise in the ways of the plains, were filled with sad surprise over the incompetence of it all.
“But thar ain’t no manner of use in it!” cried Old. “They are just bullin’ at it plumb regardless! They ain’t handled their cattle right! They ain’t picked their route right–why, the old Mormon trail down by the Carson Sink is better’n that death-trap across the Humboldt. And cut-offs! What license they all got chasin’ every fool cut-off reported in? Most of ’em is all right fer pack-trains and all wrong fer wagons! Oh, Lord!”