The Indian chiefs were frequent visitors at our cabin, calling soon after we came. Timothy and Lawyer and their friends sometimes sent messengers on ahead to tell us they were coming to dine with us. We would hasten to get ready a good meal for we thought it best to keep them friendly.
Many times we expected trouble from them. Once they rode up the trail shouting and firing off their guns. That night they burned the house of Mr. Stubbs. Sometimes they would imitate wolves howling and slip up near the house to see if there was a man there to know whether to scare the white woman or not.
Several times they would run a beef into the woods and kill it, carrying home the meat. One night when the Indians had been drinking and were giving us a great scare, two men hunting cattle and Reverend Berry, who preached at our cabin once a month, happened to be there. We were certainly glad to have company.
One day Mr. Gilbreath was plowing rye grass with oxen when Reverend Berry came riding up. He stopped his work and waited for Mr. Berry to come up to him, then said, looking at his clothes and general appearance, "A Methodist preacher, I suppose." "Yes, I am," was the reply. "Well, go on to the house. My wife is a Methodist and will be glad to see you." Reverend Berry preached in our cabin all that fall and winter of 1859 and 1860. His congregation consisted of Mr. and Mrs. Herren, Mr. Stubbs and his dusky wife, Mr. Gilbreath and I, and men who happened to be in the neighborhood. Mr. Berry afterward made his home in Walla Walla for some years.
Whiskey Creek was so named because a band of outlaws made this region their rendezvous, selling whiskey and stealing cattle. Their names were Bill Bunting, John Cooper, Bill Skinner, George Ives and several others who were later hanged in Montana for crimes. The authorities there evidently knew their business, for these were the men who caused the Vigilantes to organize against them. Many prominent men took part in ridding the new country of these undesirables, among them Anderson Cox and J. W. McGhee. It was said that in dealing with the thieves Mr. McGhee said to George Ives who was up for trial: "George, we want you to leave, and we want it to be a long time before you come back." Mr. McGhee's deliberate way of speaking evidently carried weight, for George left.
The first crop of wheat in the Touchet Valley was raised on the land of Israel Davis on Whiskey Creek. He was leaving for the Willamette to buy sheep and Mr. Gilbreath harvested the wheat by cradling, and threshed it out by horses tramping on it. One night a wind came up and Mr. Gilbreath and hired man got up out of bed and began the work of cleaning the eat by pouring pails full of it from a scaffold to the ground. In this manner over a thousand bushels were cleaned. This was intended for seed for the coming year, but the hard winter of 1861 and 1862 followed when food for man and beast became so scarce that most of it was sold to the needy for food, and to keep the teams from starving. Some of the settlers ground the wheat in coffee mills and used it as porridge. We sold our wheat for $2 a bushel. We could have sold at any price but Mr. Gilbreath would not take advantage of their great need.
This was the most terrible winter ever experienced in the valley. The snow drifted so deep that many of the cattle were frozen standing up. Out of 300 of ours two cows and a calf, which we fed, were left. The timber wolves killed a good many cattle that winter. One day a wolf attacked a calf and the mother heard the cry of distress coming from some distance. When she reached it, the wolf was starting to devour the body. The cow fought it from the calf for a day or two, making the most piteous cries. Other cattle smelled the blood and came bawling for miles around. The sound of hundreds of frenzied cattle bawling will not soon be forgotten.
We were fortunate in having plenty of supplies that winter, as we had prepared to send a small pack train to the mines at Elk City. The deep snow made it impossible to get supplies, so the neighbors called on us, and our stores were opened to feed them. Our stock of food was divided among thirteen families. The snow was so deep that only a narrow trail could be kept open to Walla Walla by miners coming to and from the Idaho mines. The snow lay on the ground until March, and in shady places until June. We had to go to Walla Walla in the spring and buy barley for seed.
Miller and Mossman who ran a pony express to the mines, stopped at our cabin for meals, and for exchange of horses. Their saddle-bags were often loaded with gold dust. Joaquin Miller, who is now known as one of our best western poets, was then a rough frontiersman, dressed in buckskin.
Having moved to a new log house, school was held in our cabin in the spring of 1862. Five or six children attended. Mr. Harlin, an Englishman, was the teacher, and he stayed with us.