ch were in a roll, placed on top; all strapped down under
an oilcloth cover.

With this simple outfit, pushed in front of him, this man was making
his way from one of the Eastern States to California, a distance of
more than three thousand miles. He was of medium size, athletic
appearance, with a cheerful face. He visited us overnight. The next
morning he was invited to tie his cart behind one of our wagons and
ride with us. He replied that he would be pleased to do so, but was
anxious to make all possible speed, and felt that he could not wait on
the progress of our train, which was somewhat slower than the pace he
maintained. It was said that he was the first man who made the entire
trip on foot and alone, from coast to coast, as we were afterwards
informed he succeeded in doing.

From time to time the tedium was dispelled by varied incidents; many
that were entertaining and instructive, some ludicrous, some pathetic,
and others profoundly tragic. Agreeable happenings predominated
largely during the early stages, and those involving difficulties and
of grave import were mainly a part of our experiences toward the close
of the long pilgrimage. Such an order of events might be presumed as a
natural sequence, as the route led first over a territory not
generally difficult to travel, but farther and farther from
established civilization, into rougher lands, and toward those regions
where outlawry, common to all pioneer conditions, was prevalent.

With our company were four or five boys and young men, eighteen to
twenty-one years of age, also a kindly and unpretentious but droll
young fellow, named John C. Aston, whose age was about twenty-five.
This younger element was responsible for most of the occurrences of
lighter vein, which became a feature of our daily progress.

Aston's intimate friends called him "Jack," and some of the more
facetious ones shortened the cognomen "Jack Aston" by dropping the
"ton," inconsiderately declaring that the briefer appellation fitted
the man, even better than did his coat, which always was loose about
the shoulders and too long in the sleeves. But all knew "Jack" to be
an excellent fellow. His principal fault, if it could be so termed,
was a superabundance of good-nature, a willingness at all times to
joke and be joked. He had a fund of stories--in some of which he
pictured himself the hero--with which he was wont to relieve the
tedium of the evening hours. A violin was among his eff