called for the use of tar and the tar bucket instead of axle
grease. Why? Because if grease were used, the spokes would work loose,
and soon the whole wheel would collapse. The bed was of the old
prairie-schooner style, with the bottom boat-shaped and the ribs on the
outside.

My first camp for the return journey over the old trail was made in my
own dooryard at Puyallup. This was maintained for several days to give
the wagon and team a trial. After the weak points had been strengthened
and everything pronounced to be in order, I left home for the long
trip.

[Illustration: _Brown Bros._

Great changes had taken place along the old trail through
Washington and Oregon; here are strawberries growing where the forest
stood in 1852.]

The first drive was to Seattle through the towns of Sumner, Auburn, and
Kent. In Seattle I had a host of friends and acquaintances, and I
thought that there I could arouse interest in my plan and secure some
aid for it. Nothing came of the effort. My closest friends, on the
contrary, tried to dissuade me from going; and, I may say, actually
tried to convince others that it would be an act of friendship not to
lend any aid to the enterprise. I knew, or thought I knew, that my
strength would warrant undertaking the ordeal; I felt sure I could make
the trip successfully. But my friends remained unconvinced; so after
spending two weeks in Seattle I shipped my outfit by steamer to Tacoma,
only to meet the same spirit there.

One pleasant incident broke the monotony. Henry Hewitt, of Tacoma,
drove up alongside my team and said, "Meeker, if you get broke out there
on the Plains, just telegraph me for money to come back on."

"No," I said, "I'd rather hear you say to telegraph for money to go on
with."

"All right," came the response, "have it that way, then."

Henry drove off, perhaps not giving the conversation a second thought
until he received my telegram two months later, telling him that I had
lost an ox and wanted him to send me two hundred dollars. The money was
immediately wired to me.

Somehow no serious thought of turning back ever entered my mind. When I
had once resolved to make the trip, nothing but utter physical
disability could deter me. I felt on this point just as I did when I
first crossed the Plains in 1852.

From Tacoma I shipped again by steamer to Olympia. The end of the old
trail is but two miles distant from Olympia at Tumwater, the extreme
southern point of Pug