ng alone, half a mile from camp, in the
darkness, often not a sound to be heard except the howling of the
wolves, and nothing visible but the sky above and the ground below, one
felt as if his only friends and companions were his knife and his
pistol.

In the early part of September violent thunderstorms came up every
evening or night, with the appearance of an approaching deluge. Very
little rain fell, however, but the lightning and thunder were the most
terrific I ever saw or heard. There being no trees or other high objects
around, we were as likely to be struck as any thing. For a few wet
nights I crawled into one of the covered wagons to sleep, where some
provisions had been taken out, and right on top of twelve kegs of
powder. I sometimes mused over the probable results, in case lightning
were to strike that wagon. We passed one grave of three men who had been
killed by a single stroke of lightning. Graves of those who had given up
the struggle of life on the way, were seen quite frequently along the
route. They were often marked by inscriptions, made by the companions of
the dead ones on pieces of board planted in the graves.

Now we came to extensive alkali plains, covered with soda, white as new
fallen snow, glittering in the sunshine. No vegetation grew and all was
desolation. An occasional shower left little pools of water here and
there, strongly impregnated with alkali, and from them the oxen would
occasionally take a drink. From that cause, or some other unknown one,
they began to die off rapidly, and within three days one-third of them
were gone. The remainder were too few to pull the heavy train. The
situation was such that it gave us great anxiety.

What was to be done? Either leave part behind and go on to Denver with
what we could take, or else keep things together by taking some of the
wagons on for a few miles and then go back for the rest. The conclusion
was to leave four loads of heavy machinery on the plains and go on with
the other wagons as fast as possible. I asked the drivers if any of them
would stay and guard those to be left. Tobias and the German volunteered
to stay.

We selected a camping spot a mile away from the usually traveled road so
as to avoid the scrutiny of other pilgrims and look like a small party
camping to rest. Then we left them provisions for two or three weeks and
went ahead. We guessed that we were then about 150 miles from Denver.
The two left behind had no mishaps,