son would
accompany me to camp. I thanked him and assured him that I felt a
mother could not have done more for her own son than his wife had for
me--they had all shown me every consideration possible--and that I
should always remember them, which I have. At this juncture the mother
spoke up gently, but firmly, and addressing her husband, said, "If you
have no objection, daughter will accompany Mr. Young. She is a sure
shot, a good horsewoman, and the horses are fleet of foot. We have not
heard of any Indians in the neighborhood for some time, and besides
she wants to go and the ride will do her good."

He replied, "My good woman, you cannot tell where the Indians are,
they may be miles away today, but here this very night."

"That is true," she said, "but the stage driver told me that he had
not seen a redskin since crossing the Nebraska line."

"That may be," he replied, "still they may have been in the bluffs, or
sand hills watching their opportunity to surprise one of the many
small trains of pilgrims, thinking to overpower them, run off their
cattle and massacre all."

"Yes, that is all true, but I'll wager they could not catch our girl."

After thinking silently for a few moments, he said, "Well, if you
wish, she may go; but if anything happens to our little one, you alone
will be blamed."

That settled it. We talked long after father and brother had bade us
good night. Mother and daughter finally retired; but, as for myself, I
was nervous and restless, sleeping little, thinking of home and loved
ones; not, however, forgetting the little "Wild Rose" that was
separated from me only by a curtain partition.

The following morning we were up at break of day, and at just 5:30 on
a lovely August morning the horses were brought to the door and both
quickly mounted. Her riding habit of buckskin, trimmed with colored
beads, was the most becoming costume I had ever seen on her during my
stay, and for the first time I wished that I were not going, but it
was for a moment only.

WITH THE WAGON TRAIN AGAIN

My destination was Denver, and nothing could change my plans except
death in the natural way, or being cut down by those treacherous
plains roamers. After a pleasant ride which lasted till noon, we came
in sight of the corral. When within a quarter of a mile of it, she
informed me she was going no farther. Both quickly dismounted. Our
conversation would not interest you. Suffice to say, the parting was
painfu