to find the river, and found I was right, and
about night was so fortunate as to find the ballance of the train, who
had succeeded in reaching the river ahead of me. Emigrants, that is the
Fools Meadow. When you get down below the point of the mountain which I
spoke of before this, and come to a great basin, surrounded on all
sides, but a gap far to the right, don't you pay any attention to that
gap, nor come to the conclusion that the river takes a turn and runs
through it, for it don't do it, but you keep the extreme left hand
road, and you will find that the river runs right through the mountains
as high as they look. The right hand roads are all camping roads, and
extend some of them 12 miles to some clover patches, and the old Lawson
cut-off leads through that gap on the right, where an Oregon party went
two or three years ago and nearly all perished. Many stopped and made
hay at these clover patches, thinking they were at the desert, but
don't trouble yourself here, for you have got a long dreary march of a
week's duration before you get to the Great Desert. We traveled hard
all day to get 14 miles on our journey, but I think the emigrant who
reads this will remember the Fools Meadow, and avoid the same mistake.
The emigrants now begin to experience a want of provisions. Flour, pork
and sugar are one dollar per lb.; coffee 50 cts., fresh beef 25, and
not much to be got at those prices.

14 miles.

24th. About four miles from last night's camp ground we came to a
watering place near where the river passes through the mountains. The
road leaves the river here and crosses the mountains eight miles, rough
road and dusty, no water. Swam the river for grass to bait our horses
at noon. Passed the grave of a man who was drowned whilst getting grass
across the river. Camped at night on the river; had to wade three
sloughs to find grass.

20 miles.

25th. A few miles from where we camped had a bad deep creek to cross,
where we found plenty of dead stock. Immediately after crossing passed
over a rough stony ridge for about two miles, between two cone shaped
hills or mammelles. This point is about 110 miles from the meadows at
the sink of the Humboldt, and there is but little grass on the route.
Litwiler cut his wagon in two and made a cart of it, we then drove
about eight miles and camped. Roads sandy, weather hot. This river
beginning to lose itself and grow smaller. I killed three sage hens
this morning, which we