Ben the Wagon Boy

One of the stories I have heard over the years was the stories from a book written by Howard Driggs. Have any of you heard of the stories from Ben the Wagon boy?

Ben Ch 14

A ROYAL welcome awaited the caravan when it rolled into that new town in southern California. Like most of the other settlements developed in those early days by Mormon pioneers, it had a fort wall round it for better protection from Indians. As the train, piloted by some horsemen that had ridden out to meet it, rolled through the gate into the public square, someone called out, "Why, hello, Ben!"

Imagine his joyful surprise when he saw Joe Phelps, his boy pal from old Nauvoo. Off Buckskin he leaped, and a moment later the two were giving each other a "bear hug," and asking questions.

"How in the world did you get here, Joe?"

"We came a year ago over the same trail that brought you," was the reply. "Oh, I'm glad you're here! We'll have the best time of our lives."

Ben surely did have a joyous time all the days he spent in and around San Bernardino. The frontier town was vibrant with forward-looking activities. It was filled with young pioneers, too, boys and girls of about Ben's age.

With his pal, Joe, one of the popular boys of the place, to introduce him, he was soon one of the group. Such good fun as they all did have at "home parties," and enjoying dances with old and young. There were "home dramatics" too, with Mary Rollins, daughter of the teacher, starring in the plays.

Horseback rides with Mary and Joe and their pals was another delight. The mountains around San Bernardino had many trails and picturesque spots for picnics. For Ben it was a series of new and thrilling experiences.

Of course it wasn't all play and no work. There were duties to be done. Ben had to take a man's part; and he did it - first on a ranch, where there were hundreds of cattle to herd, calves to brand, and mustangs to break into good "cow ponies." His experience with Buckskin came in handy here. Towser, too, gave good help at times with unruly cows; he soon learned to nip their heels, and make them keep on the trail.

Garza, one of the Mexican vaqueros, seemed to take a fancy to Ben and Joe. He showed the boys how to use the lariat and gave them practical advice in handling bronchos. But these young cowboys had to learn how to stay on a bucking horse all by themselves. It was not until they had been thrown several times that they became expert in mastering the mustangs.

They learned a good deal of Spanish, too, with their ranching. It was pioneer Spaniards, we should remember, who developed the cattle industry in the Southwest. Many of the words linked with that industry as: ranch, rodeo, lasso, chaps, corral, broncho, are of Spanish origin.

Round San Bernardino many people then used that language. It was only natural that Ben and his pals should weave many Spanish words into their everyday speech. They took delight in doing so.

Another enriching experience Ben had while there, was hauling lumber from a sawmill in the nearby mountains down to San Pedro Bay. Uncle Starling had contracted to deliver a good many thousands of feet to one of the big sailing vessels, and Ben was needed to drive one of the mule teams. This was a trip of about 90 miles to the ocean. It meant some hard work and skill as a teamster; but, helped by his experience on the California Trail, he rose to the requirements. This new work brought some good fun and also some pocket money. He saw Los Angeles and the Pacific Ocean and the big ships in the harbor. It was a glimpse of other worlds to watch sailors from everywhere bringing their vessels into port. San Pedro Harbor, even in those early days, was a busy place.

It was on one of his trips to the lively port that Ben had an experience he never forgot. While staying for a day in Los Angeles, he and Uncle Starling saw Olive Oatman and heard her tell a strange story.

Some years before, this American girl, with her parents and brother, were going to California. Out in the wilds of what is now Southern Arizona, the emigrant family was attacked by Indians. Her father and mother were killed. Her brother, though wounded, managed to escape. Olive was carried into captivity.

Recovering his health, the brother took up the search for his sister. Finally, aided by soldiers, he found and rescued her. He had just brought Olive on to California. In her colorful Indian dress, and with her face tattooed by her red captors, she was a center of interest. Hundreds gathered to hear her story.

Days sped by. With good work and pleasant pastimes, a fine home to live in, and wholesome boy and girl companions, the time raced along joyously for nearly a year and a half. Then came a change - rather suddenly, as changes often will.

One of the teamsters, who had just returned from Utah, handed Ben a letter. Not a word was in it suggesting his return; but he read between the lines that his mother and father needed him. A sweet little sister, Eliza, had been born.

Ben's father had been given a job as foreman in a large wagon-shop in Salt Lake City. This left the work in the home shop and on the little farm to Paul, Isaac and Parley, who were helping the best they could. All were well.

They hoped that Ben and Uncle Starling and Aunt Sarah were in good health and prospering. "It would be fine to see all of you and have a real visit. Everyone sends love" - the letter ended.

Next morning at breakfasts Ben said quietly, "Uncle and Auntie, I feel that I ought to go back home."

"You're not homesick, are you?" asked Uncle Starling. "Not a bit; but I'd like to see the folks; and something in the letter makes me think they need my help.

"You're right, Ben," said Aunt Sarah; "I can sense that they're overworked just now. Of course we don't like to let you go. You seem just like a part of us. But maybe you will soon be coming back."

"But I haven't gone yet, Aunt Sarah -, and I don't exactly know how I can."

"Perhaps you can go with the mail carrier," suggested Uncle Starling; "you know that a 'mule mail' goes next week. That carrier will be mighty glad to have you along for company and protection. You've been getting pretty handy with horses and 'shootin' irons' since you left Utah."

So it was all arranged, just three days before the mail was to leave. Besides Buckskin and Towser, there was another animal to take along, a fine California pinto pony which Ben had been given as part pay for his work at the ranch. It would make a good pack animal to take the various things he had bought for his folk back home. Besides, he had some new clothing and other articles he had procured for himself. He would need food, too, for the trip. Aunt Sarah was making sure he had a goodly supply.

"I just don't know how to thank you and Uncle Starling for all you have done for me," said Ben.

"Don't try," returned his Uncle; “you half belong to Sarah and me anyway."

When word was passed that Ben was to leave, his pals had to have a farewell party. Mary Rollins insisted that it be at her home; so there it was given, with good things to eat, games and songs and dancing. That pleasant evening made it harder than ever for him to leave. Next morning Mary and Joe and other young folk rode out a few miles with him.

At the place of parting, Ben said fervently, "You have all been so kind to me, I can't find words to thank you."

"Just promise you will come back very soon," returned Mary.

"Oh, I can do that easily. You'll see me before you know it."

"Well; good luck, old pal," said Joe. "Same to all of you. Goodbye."

At the bend in the Canyon he turned and saw Mary waving her hand.

"Adios!" she called.

"Adios!" came his echoing call.

Ben Ch 13

EIGHTEEN hundred and fifty-five brought new adventures for Ben. At last one of his boyhood dreams - a long trip with his Uncle Starling - came true. Some time in early spring this beloved uncle, driving a mule team with a huge covered wagon, arrived in Pleasant Grove. He was with a freight train from California, carrying goods from that far-away state for the pioneers in the "valleys of the mountains."

What a joyous reunion they had while the train camped overnight in the fort. Ben and his brother Paul were all excitement as they helped take care of the mules. They stayed up late, too, that night listening to stories their uncle had to tell of sunny California. As soon as he had delivered his load in Salt Lake he would be going back there to help build up the colony at San Bernardino.

"Let me go with you, Uncle Starling," begged Ben.

"I'II be glad to take you if your father and mother are willing," was the reply. "There will be plenty of work for a husky boy like you, with pretty good pay, too." Then, turning to the parents, he asked, "What do you say?"

"Well, Ben, we can use you round here, and it will be rather lonesome without you," returned the fathers "but it might be a good experience for you to get out on your own for a little while. How do you feel about it, Eliza?"

Ben's mother was silent a moment; then she said, "It's a little hard for me to say yes, Ben; but I know you will be all right with Uncle Starling; and I'm ready to let you enjoy the trip. Paul and Hannah, Isaac and Parley will help us out till you get back home again."

"Oh, thanks, Father and Mother, and you, too, Uncle Starling," was all Ben could say. He was too happy for words.

"Your Aunt Sarah will be glad I'm taking you with us. She likes wide-awake boys," said the uncle with a twinkle in his eyes.

"Aunt Sarah?" echoed Ben's mother.

"Yes, Eliza, I've brought the good news along with me. Mail is so slow these days. Sarah Rogers and I were married in Parowan just two weeks ago. She's staying with her folks there to get ready for the trip to the new home we plan to make."

There were congratulations and good wishes with questions about the new Auntie. Of course, Uncle Starling thought that she was the best and prettiest girl in the world, and "with a heart as good as gold." Ben was to learn through the years that followed that his uncle had not over-praised this girl. Aunt Sarah became a real mother to the boy.

As Ben was going to bed that night be asked, "Will you let me take Buckskin and Towser, Uncle Starling?"

"That's all right with me," was the reply. "It might be a good thing to have your pony and dog along."

On the morrow as the train pulled out of the town for Salt Lake, the Uncle called out, "I'll be back in about a week; get ready."

Those were, dragging days for the eager youth, in spite of being crowded with preparations for the trip. Work in the shop and field, sewing and mending and getting food to last through the journey filled the time to the full.

"Reminds me of the busy days we had in Nauvoo and Pigeon Creek fixin' things to come west," said Grandmother White.

Finally the mule train came rolling back into the fort. After a night's stay there, it was ready to roll on again over the trail to California. Ben on Buckskin, with Towser barking his delight, was the envy of his pals. There were goodbyes and plenty of good wishes, with just a few tears, too, as the folk of the town watched the caravan depart.

Ben's folk were a bit lonely that night and full of talk about where their boy was, when they would hear from him, and how long he would stay. Ben himself had just a touch of homesickness the first night out, as he snuggled under the cosy quilt his mother had given him. But, weary from the excitement and traveling, he was soon asleep with his uncle beneath the stars.

Days that followed brought new scenes and enriching experiences. Their first drive had taken them through Provo, Springville, Spanish Fork to Payson, all with their protecting forts, built when Chief Walker went on the warpath. While they camped on Peteetneet Creek that night, they heard from one of the settlers there how the Utes had touched off the war two years before by killing one of the guards right on that creek. Ben was reminded vividly of his own boyhood experiences as a sentinel, and he was set wondering whether there might be more Indian dangers to face on this journey; but Uncle Starling joked away such thoughts.

Next night they camped on the Sevier River, away from all the settlements. It had been a rather exciting day for Towser. Jackrabbits were so thick that they had kept him on the chase most of the time. It was a coyote, however, that gave the eager dog his hardest run, all for nothing, except to give Ben and the teamsters some fun watching the seared coyote streak through the sagebrush and over the hill.

Sage hens also added interest. As the boy rode Buckskin out through the brush, he seared flocks of them. One of the good shots brought down several of the birds, so they had some fried chicken for supper that night.

About eight days after the train had left Pleasant Grove it rolled into Parowan, a frontier town in Iron County. There was a happy reunion, of course, for Uncle Starling and his bride; and a warm welcome for Ben by his Aunt Sarah and her parents. His stay in their home was prolonged to give time for the newlyweds to get ready for the trip.

These few days of waiting were interesting ones for the young traveler. The settlement was having an unusual bit of excitement at this time because of a visit of haughty Chief Walker and some of his tribe. The Indians had pitched their tepees near the town, and were carrying on a kind of "swapping bee" with the settlers. Among other things they had a good many ponies and a few mules to trade.

"Looks to me as if the old Chief has been on another of his raids into California," said Uncle Starling; "I've seen animals like those on the ranches there."

"Just what I've been thinking too," said another of the freighters; "hope his deviltry won't bring any trouble for us along the trail we're taking."

The Ute Chieftain and his band were friendly enough during this visit; but they evidently wanted to impress the settlers with their power. One day they came into town, marching in stately single file, and all in their beaded buckskin, feathers and paint. It reminded Ben vividly of the time when some Sauk and Fox Indians had come to Nauvoo; but what happened this day in Parowan was decidedly different.

As the leaders of the town came forth to greet the Ute Chieftain, be said, "Me hear Mormonee dance; you show me."

Immediately pioneer fiddlers were called into action, and a number of the men and women were brought together to entertain the red visitors. To a lively tune and calls, a "square dance" was carried through on the ground, with "how-hows" and "ki-yis" from the Indians.

Suddenly their Chief checked the merriment with a shout, "Kawino (no good) I See Injun dance."

At a word of command his feathered braves bounded from the ground and took their places. Then to beating of tom-toms and Indian song they went through their dance with impressive unison and rhythm.

All ended joyously. After the dancing came a pioneer feast; then an exchange of simple gifts, bright trinkets from the settlers, some beaded buckskin articles from the Indians. Finally, just before sundown, the redmen left the fort for their encampment. It all helped to foster better feelings, yet despite the show of friendliness, the settlers were relieved when next morning they found that Walker and his band had struck their tepees and trailed northward.

That same day the covered wagon train bound for California bade goodbye to the kindly folk of Parowan. Besides Aunt Sarah, several other wives of the teamsters, with a few young folk, were in the caravan. Ben was glad to have the company of two boys about his age for the rest of the journey. They, too, had Indian ponies.

Just before nightfall the train reached Cedar City, then only a frontier village. Ben always remembered the colorful cliffs to the east of the town, which were lighted beautifully by the setting sun. He kept in his heart, too, the good bread and butter and creamy milk, friends of Aunt Sarah brought to enrich their supper; nor did they forget plenty of hay and grain for the mules and Buckskin.

Next day the travelers nooned at Fort Harmony. It was their good fortune to meet Jacob Hamblin there, a "peace-maker" among the Indians. Leaders of the train welcomed the sound advice he had for them as to their dealings with redmen they might meet along the way.

"Have your guns and ammunition ready," he said, "but use them only as a last resort. Some of the Indians are a bit ugly right now, due to wrongs they have suffered from the reckless whites rushing to the goldfields. Their savage natures tell them it is right to steal from any train that comes along or to kill to get even."

"How can we best avoid trouble?" asked one of the leaders.

"Just treat them fairly. Gain their confidence if you can. Some of the Indians will probably come begging. Well, give them a little food, telling them it is to pay for the grass your stock will eat while crossing their land. Another thing," the peacemaker continued, "let them help you take care of your animals. Just keep one of them as a hostage; and when the stock is brought back, pay them with a shirt or two, or whatever else you may have to spare. Then they will be 'wino" Indians. It pays better than to get their ill will."

That night this wise counsel was given a first test. As the caravan went into camp at Mountain Meadows, the scouts sighted several Piutes off on the hillside. Riding towards the lurking Indians, the whites made signs of friendship. Finally they induced the redmen to come to them.

An interpreter with signs and some Piute words, learned something about how the Indians felt. "White men kill and scare away game. Horses eat all the grass. Injuns heap poor - hungry," one said. They did look half starved.

Food given the red visitors made them friendlier. Then the scouts arranged to have some of the Piutes herd the cattle and horses that night. One of them - Ticaboo, they called him - offered to stay in camp as a hostage.

"I'm not sure we ought to trust them with our animals," said one of the men.

"My faith is that we'd better trust and feed them," said the Captain; "then we won't have to fight them."

Next morning at daybreak the redmen were back with every one of the animals. They were given some gifts of food and clothing, and went away happy. It was a promise of peace for the rest of the long trip over the untamed desert region that lay between there and sunny California.

On the caravan went to Santa Clara Creek, then down the Rio Virgin to Muddy River, Las Vegas and "Resting Springs." Here it was necessary to fill the water barrels before crossing the Mojave Desert. Traveling over this burning and stretch was done mostly by night, when it was even a bit chilly. But, for Ben and his boy pals, this night-traveling had fun in it. The bright stars seemed to come half way down to meet them, and the moon lighted up the trail. On their brisk ponies they were usually at the head of the teams.

"That's all right, boys," said the Captain, "so long as you don't get too far ahead or lose the road."

"Don't you mistake a bunch of cactus for Injuns, either," added Uncle Starling, "and start a stampede."

Days grew into weeks - six of them as Ben remembered - before they finally rolled through the famed Cajon Pass and down the slopes into Southern California. What a different land it was, so unlike the level prairies of Illinois, the green, rolling hills of Pigeon Creek, or the "valleys of the mountains" in Utah.

Yet California had its scenic beauties and wonders. The mysteries of the Mojave Desert, with its strange vegetation, its faraway mountains, its sand dunes constantly shifting with the wandering winds, had charmed the boy. The Giant Joshua, lifting its spiny arms to the sky, and new kinds of trees were full of interest. There were new flowers, too, blooming under a pleasant sky. Somehow he felt that he was going to like California.

One day the train stopped for noon near a deserted mission. Neglected grapevines and fruit trees were about it. Of course Ben and his pals, with some others of the caravan, had to look over the old structure. They came back for lunch full of questions.

As they ate, one of the men told the story of Father Junipero, who had led a group of missionaries into California in the long ago days. To promote their work of teaching Christianity among the native tribes, these devoted men founded mission homes, and gathered round them all the Indians that would come. There they taught these red folk the story of Mary and her son Jesus. And to help in practical ways, they trained these Indians in raising grains and fruits, in sheep and cattle raising. "From this good start, California is becoming now a land of ranches and vineyards and orchards," he concluded.

"That's right," spoke up Uncle Starling, "let's get on to San Bernardino, and help the fine work along."

Ben Ch 12

SOMETHING happened during the summer of 1853 that set Battle Creek folk and all the other settlers through the territory in a fever of excitement. It was the Walker War. Over on the edge of Springville, about eighteen miles to the south, trouble had arisen between a white man and an Indian.

A Ute squaw, who had caught some fine trout out of Hobble Creek, traded them to a passing teamster for a few pounds of flour. Just then her husband appeared. Feeling she had made a poor trade, he began to beat her. At this the white man, who couldn't stand seeing a woman mistreated, interfered. Then both the squaw and her husband turned on him. He grabbed a stick of firewood and struck the Indian on the head a blow that felled him.

A scream from the squaw brought the whole camp to the scene. The white man had fled to the nearby town. That night the Indian died.

Fiery Chief Walker, to whose tribe he belonged, demanded that the man who did the killing be turned over to the Indian leaders. The town refused. Beef and other gifts were offered to quiet the angered redmen. They spurned these.

That night the Indians broke camp and disappeared. At Payson, a few miles to the south, some of them killed Alex Steele, a young man, who was standing guard. Then the band went up Peteetneet Canyon and over into Sanpete Valley where other killings occurred. The Walker War was on.

There was a hurried gathering of the scattered settlers and united action towards building forts for protection.

Within a few weeks, Battle Creek was changed from a "string town" to a compact community. Around this a fort wall was being built; houses for each of the families were being hastily erected ten rods from the wall on assigned lots, and these were being connected with an inner wall. Right in the middle of the fort, too, was a big corral for the cattle and horses. Later each family was given its separate corral. Even the school house of adobe was taken down and rebuilt within the fort.

Men and women, boys and girls all bad to play real parts in this hurried work of making safer quarters. While the building was in progress, guards were kept day and night watching for the Indians. Ben was called with other boys of his age to perform this sentinel duty.

One night, before patrolling his beat, he began to load his musket. A charge of powder was poured into the barrel; then a wad was added. Bad luck I As he was ramming this, the ramrod stuck. Suddenly Ben sighted something moving out through the sagebrush. Naturally his first thought was of sneaking Indians. He cocked his gun, and kept a watchful eye on the object. Finally it came into an open space. It was no Indian, but a gray wolf. In excitement the boy fired the ramrod at the animal. Next moment he was in the midst of other guards, all ready to help fight redmen. Ben had forgotten what a shot from a sentinel meant. He was promptly taken over by his captain, and given such a "scotching," as he afterwards put it, that he never did such a foolish trick again.

Next night Indians really came. How they ever did it no one of the guards could tell, but out of the big corral, the wily redskins managed to get every horse that belonged to the settlers of Battle Creek. Of all the stolen animals, only one a little white mare which Ben's father had traded for about a month before--was recovered. Some days after the daring raid, this little animal wandered back into town. She became a family pet.

Chief Walker did not keep up the war very long. Leaders of the people finally brought him and the other Ute chieftains to a peace council, and settled the troubles without further fighting. Only a few bits of Indian excitement followed. Battle Creek came in for its share of these.

One day some of the town herd boys happened to see two Indians on foot coming down an old trail towards the fort. Without giving the peaceful redmen a chance to explain, these reckless boys immediately started their ponies after them. Of course the Indians turned with all speed back to the hills, and one of them managed to get away. The other was captured and taken into the fort, where he was held in chains during the night.

Bishop Walker and other leaders, feeling a wrong had been committed, managed, through sign language, to learn from the prisoner that his family was up in the hills. He promised, if let free, to bring his wife and children to the town. As a result, some of the boys took "Curly," as he was afterwards called, back up the mountain trail to a spring where the Indians had camped. But the family and friends of Curly had left. He begged, however, to be permitted to go and bring them back, and his request was granted. The spot ever since has been called Curly's Spring.

True to his word, he returned in a few days with his wife and two children. They made winter camp just south of the fort among the willows and oakbrush. During their stay in what had evidently been an old haunt for them, Curly's wife gave birth to a boy. One Maytime morning the Indian father brought his family into the fort to bid his white friends goodbye. He was taking his wife and children up in the higher valleys for the summer time.

"Heap game there," he said, "Deer, mountain sheep, sage hens, rabbits, fish."

Many of the white children with some of the grown folk gathered round the Indian family to see the little papoose hanging in its basket on its mother's back.

"He's the prettiest Indian baby I've ever seen," said Ben's mother, "but I'm going to make him prettier."

With that she went back into the house. Very soon she returned with a red ribbon. As she made a bow of it and pinned it on the baby's tiny buckskin jacket, the Indian mother smiled.

Other mothers came with gifts for the Indian family. Finally away they went up the trail that led past Curly's Spring and on to the northward around Mount Timpanogos to the upper valleys.

Autumn time found them back again and with them about ten more Ute families. They had come to trade buckskins and buffalo robes, moccasins, gloves, and other things with the white settlers. For over a week there was an Indian village of picturesque tepees pitched on the meadows near town. Ben and other boys spent some time visiting these red folk. They were especially interested in the herd of ponies, and in watching the Indian boys ride and race the little animals.

"Oh, I wish I had one of them," Ben said to his father. "I could take better care of the oxen and cows with a pony to ride. Won't you trade for one for me, Father?" he pleaded. "I'll work ever so much harder to help you pay for it."

"We'll think about it, Ben," replied the father.

The parents did think about it, and talk it over that night. As they did, memories came of a little lad who had given his treasured wagon for the temple. They thought, too, of his help for them through the years. Finally the father said, "I'd like to give him what he wants, Eliza, but I can't yet see how we can manage it."

Next morning after breakfast he remarked quietly, "Ben, I wish you would go with me to the Indian camp. Curly has a fine buffalo robe I'd like to get, and maybe we can swap for some Indian fixin's for you and your brothers and sisters."

No second invitation was needed. They were soon among the Indians. With the help of Uncle Sam, who knew enough Ute language to do the trading, the buffalo robe with some buckskin and pairs of moccasins were procured. Then came a surprise. As a band of Indian ponies was being driven up for catching and riding, the father said, "Pick out the one you'd like to have, Ben."

"Do you really mean I may have a pony?"

"Yes, if it doesn't take too much to get one," was the reply.

"Well, I'd like that large buckskin colored one, with a black stripe along his back, and down his legs," said the boy.

"Good choice," spoke up Uncle Sam. "That's a real mustang. He'll make a fine saddle pony."

"Next thing is to get him," said the father. Curly was called on to help in the trading. It happened that the pony belonged to a friend of his. At first the owner didn't want to trade, but finally, tempted by a brass bucket, a butcher knife, and some bright calico for his wife, the Indian made the "swap." Ben rode back home on his mustang, the proudest boy in Battle Creek.

During the winter that followed the town felt the glow of a real community spirit. Working together to build the fort, meeting and school houses, and their homes, the settlers grew in unity and strength.

"What we need now is an easier way to get this good mountain water into every home," said one of the leaders.

The suggestion sounded good. Some of the men with inventive Yankee genius straightway went to work to solve the problem. Very soon they bad, devised a system of pioneer waterworks. Square pipes with a hole two by two inches were laid in the ground below frost depth along the front of all the houses in the fort. At each house a water box was built with a lid over it. Pure mountain spring water and plenty of it, was thus to be had just for the dipping.

Recreation was not forgotten. There was a music school, in which William Frampton gave to young folk fine training in the "do-ra-me" system of singing. As a leader in home dramatics, he also gathered around him some of the talented, and helped to provide wholesome, plays. Besides this good entertainment, there would often be a town party, in which young and old mingled to enjoy square dances," Virginia reels, and other pastimes. Hen Brown or some other pioneer fiddler would play the tunes and call the changes.

Frequently there were visits from leaders of the Church. One such visit was long to be remembered by the Battle Creek folk. Shortly after they had built their fort, Apostle George A. Smith came there to hold conference. As this leader was speaking out in the bowery that then served as a meeting place during the summer months, he looked about on the beautiful surrounding scenes - mountains, meadows, lake and streams. For a moment his eyes rested on a grove of green cottonwoods that stood just to the east of the fort.

Finally he said, "Brethren and Sisters, this town you call Battle Creek is not well named. Why don't you call it Pleasant Grove?"

The people approved the suggestion and from that day forth, the delightful place under picturesque Mount Timpanogos, where Ben and his folk had made their first home in the West, was called Pleasant Grove.

Ben Ch 11

WHERE to build the new home in the valleys of the mountains was the first pressing problem. October's bright colors were beginning to fade, and frosty days warned that winter was not far away. A cosy cabin with plenty of food and firewood must be had to last through the snowy months.

"Better come with me into Utah Valley," suggested Uncle Sam White. "I've found a piece of good land there near Battle Creek. That place is beginning to build up. You could get some wagon mending to do, Shad; and find some fertile ground on which to raise your food stuffs."

"That's good advice," agreed Uncle Starling. "Utah Valley is one of the best I've seen in the West. I'd settle there myself, but Apostles Rich and Lyman want me to go on with them to Southern California."

No more urging was needed. After a few days visiting with friends and relatives around Salt Lake, the families were again on the move. This time it was southward along the base of the towering Wasatch Mountains. Mill Creek and Cottonwood Creek were crossed, and on they went until they came to the Willow Creek village, since named Draper.

An Indian trail led from this place up through a canyon and over the ridge into Utah Valley. This was too steep and rough for ox-teams and wagons, so they had to turn westward and take the pioneer road that went along the high shore line of the ancient lake Bonneville. It was a hard pull to get up the slope to this level, which still may plainly be seen along the mountain side. Yet old Buck and Brindle with their mates managed to draw the wagons to the top and to the end of the mountain.

There the pioneer party rested a little while and looked over the splendid scenes spread before them. To the southward lay a beautiful valley, with stately mountains around it. A few miles away was Utah Lake, shining under the autumn sun. Out of it came the Jordan River to wind its way like a silvery ribbon northward until it reached the Great Salt Lake. From where they stood the stream could be plainly seen curving through a green dell right at the foot of a steep gravel slide that then made the "Point of the Mountain."

"I can see why the pioneers named that the Jordan River," said Ben's father; "it runs out of a fresh water lake like the Sea of Galilee, into a salt lake like the Dead Sea in the Holy land."

"You're right, Shad, about that," said Uncle Sam. "You can understand, too, why we had to pull our wagons way up here to get above that big gravel slide," he added. "This is the only road we now have to get from Salt Lake to Utah Valley."

"It's not a bit like the country around Pigeon Creek," said Ben. "My, what high mountains!"

"They're a good deal higher than the Green Mountains in Vermont I knew as a girl," said Grandmother White, "but they don't have as many trees on them as those Vermont mountains had."

"Well, it's a pretty valley," spoke up Ben's mother, "I believe we are going to like it."

"We'd better be movin' on," said Uncle Sam. "It's a good twelve miles farther to Battle Creek."

That place was not reached until about noon the next day. When the little wagon train finally did come to it, after plodding along a rather bumpy road past Lehi and American Fork, what was found was hardly a village. It was more of a "string-town," as Ben's father called it. Cabins had been built at intervals along the road for about three miles. The pioneers, to be close to the land they had selected, were scattered about on their little farms.

Fortunately for Ben's folk, one family of these settlers was just ready to move away, so Ben's father traded a yoke of oxen for their cabin and a small piece of uncultivated land on which it stood. This rude home gave them quick shelter from the autumn storms that were not long coming. Ben's mother, with the good help of Grandmother White, who stayed with them that winter, soon had the place clean and as cosy as they could make it.

For fuel, Ben and his father, with the help of Uncle Sam, gathered dry sagebrush, and some cedar trees. A big load of pitch pine was also brought in to help keep the fireplace aglow on the cold nights. A few quilts carried across the Plains, together with some buffalo robes procured from the Indians they met, added to the comfort.

Food? Well, they did not have a great store of it, but they managed to get along by rationing what flour and corn meal, hams and bacon and beans were still in the covered wagon. Some of the beans and corn and wheat were jealously guarded as seed for the coming spring. Ben's mother had carefully saved a little of the molasses, a tiny bag of popcorn, and some nuts for a Christmas surprise. Happily the neighbors were ready to share with the newcomers, so it was only a "pinching," not a starving winter for these folk from Pigeon Creek.

As to feed for their animals, the men and boys pitched in and mowed grass from the Battle Creek meadows. Bossy cows, which had helped draw the wagons across the plains, responded to this good food by giving more milk than they had while on the trail. During the winter also, two of the oxen which had fattened enough were sacrificed to make some good beef for the families.

There first "springtime in the Rockies" brought new hope and cheer. The March sun warmed the grounds so that gardens could be started. April rains set the young plants sprouting with promise. But before these could yield much, mothers were out with their children on the hillsides gathering food that nature provided. In some places there were dandelions which made good early day spinach, and "pig weed" was also good for "greens."

Yet another plant that brought to pioneer children both good food and good fun was the sego lily. Friendly Indians had shown the settlers how to find this helpful plant. Along in late April or early May, its slender, green stem would appear to show where to dig for the tasty bulb. With sharp sticks the boys and girls would go down about six inches and bring up what looked like small onions, though they did not bite the tongue and were sweeter. Because the sego lily helped to save the pioneers, and because it yielded not only good food but a beautiful wild blossom, it was afterwards chosen as the state flower of Utah.

One Battle Creek story links with the digging of segos. Two small boys of the town, Leslie and Stanley, being a bit hungry, decided to get some of the tasty little bulbs, all by themselves. Off they put with their sharp sticks to the hills near their cabin home.

As they were digging here and there and eating what they found, Leslie looked up. Not far way were two horsemen.

"It's Injuns, Stan!" he exclaimed. "Run!" Down the hill the frightened youngsters fled. Leslie, being about two years the older, was soon way ahead. In his fright, he failed to look behind to see how his chubby little brother was getting on.

At last, panting for breath, he reached his home.

"Why, what's the matter, Leslie?" asked his mother. "Injuns!" he cried. "Up in the hills! We had to run for our lives!" Then, bursting into tears, he added, "I don't care for myself, just so Stanley gets home all right."

A few moments later little brother came puffing up. The two horsemen who had given the "Injun scare," it was afterwards learned, were herd boys of the town.

Ben had little time during the spring of 1858 to go gathering segos with his younger brothers and sisters. He was kept busy helping his father build a wagon shop, and working on their little farm. Even while they were getting the shop ready, another kind of work came to the boy; he was taken up the steep Mountainside to help his father get some hard wood to make "single trees," "double trees," bolsters and other parts for wagons. "Lando" Herron, one of Louis Robinson's herd boys, had discovered a grove of fine maple just below the "Bald Mountain" when he was out after deer, and had told Ben's father about it.

In early March the stout lad and his father, with old Buck and Brindle, made the hard climb. Their zeal was rewarded by getting into what the wagon-maker said was "the best patch of hard timber this side of the 'Old Muddy'!" What pleased Ben even more was an added remark, "I really believe these maple trees will give us sap enough to make some sugar."

"Let's try, father," was Ben's response.

That afternoon, with a goodly number of the trees chained together, the two started down the steep hill for their cabin home. This was the beginning of what became a "drag road" that ever since has borne their name. Two days later they were at the grove again with intent of getting more than maple trees. They had brought along some pails, "spiles" and an auger.

"Here's the way we used to get maple sap from the groves in old Ohio," said Ben's father. With that he began to bore a hole in one of the trees. This done, he inserted a spile, which was just a round piece of wood shaped to let the sap drip into a pail that he next hung below.

"I don't know whether these small mountain trees will yield much," he added, "but maybe they will give us a taste of sweets."

After tapping, the two set to work briskly to get another "drag" of the trees for Buck and Brindle to take down the Mountainside. A third trip to the grove, two days afterwards, brought double results. They returned this time with not only a number more of the hardwood trees, but with two pails almost full of sap. You may be sure that Ben was careful getting that promise of sweets safely to their home. It made about two pounds of sugar - enough at least for a treat for all the happy children and for each of the older ones.

Through the years immediately following, the pioneers turned for sweets to raising "sorghum cane," which yielded more abundantly. When the crushing and boiling time came, boys and girls would run to "Uncle" Sam Parks' molasses mill to get their little pails filled with "skimmins." Then, on winter evenings there would be "molasses pulls" in many of the homes. But this is getting a bit ahead of Ben's story.

Ben Ch 10

WE'LL be in sight of old Chimney Rock to- morrow, I believe," said Joe; "see what the guide book says. We are only thirty miles from it, and they say it can be seen on clear days for about twenty miles."

Finally Joe caught a first glimpse of the famed spire, off in the dim distance. For several days it was in sight of these travelers. Scotts Bluff, a great cliff bordering the Platte River, was another landmark full of interest.

While the train was encamped one night, a few miles east of this bluff, all were deeply touched by a discovery made by one of the mothers. Out among the grasses not far from the camp, she found a grave, marked by a wagon tire.

On this tire someone had cut the words REBECCA WINTERS--AGE 50. As word was spread around the groups, others gathered at the grave. Then someone said, "She was the wife of Hiram Winters; I'm sure of it. They were neighbors of ours in Illinois."

That evening around a fire in the middle of the camp someone led the folk in singing the song, "Come, Come ye Saints," created by William Clayton to cheer the pioneers on their westward journey. After their experience at the grave of a mother who had passed away on the trail, they found deeper meaning in the last lines:

"And should we die before our journey's through, Happy day, all is well.

We then are free from toil and sorrow too;

With the just we shall dwell;

But if our lives are spared again,

To see the Saints, their rest obtain,

Oh, how we'll make this chorus swell, All is well! All is well!"

Fort Laramie was the next place of intense interest. The boys watched there the soldiers on parade, saw some buckskin-clad mountain men, and Indians in their picturesque costumes. Not far from the fort was an Indian village with its tepees, a herd of ponies grazing near, while Indian boys and girls played about with a host of wolfish looking dogs.

On up the North Platte River the pioneers journeyed, camping night after night under the stars, which in this mountain land seemed more friendly. Finally the Platte was forded and across a wide plain they went on towards a pleasant smaller river called the Sweetwater.

"We are surely getting up in the mountains now," said Ben's mother. "It takes twice as much bedding to keep us warm these clear, cold nights."

Few buffalo were to be seen on these high lands; but antelope were along the trail by hundreds.

Hunters of the train found the lithe little animals not easy to get. They usually kept out of gunshot; and one of them was ever on top of a hill to guard the band.

"Why don't you try the Indian way?" suggested Captain Curtis to some men who had failed to bring back any of this game.

"What's that?" asked Joe's father.

"Well, you notice that antelope are full of curiosity, don't you?"

"Yes; they are always watching us -- seem to want to know what it is all about."

"That's right," said Ben's father. "Some of them even followed us at a safe distance this morning."

"Injuns take advantage of this curiosity," said the Captain. "I've seen a red hunter slip o ff into the sage- brush and lie down. Then he would put up a fluttering thing like a piece of red cloth on a stick. Before long some of the inquisitive antelope would come circling slowly round, getting closer and closer. Suddenly an arrow or a bullet would find its mark and the Redskin would have some good meat for his tepee."

"Let us boys try that trick, Captain Curtis," said Ben.

"Well, if your fathers are willing, I don't mind. But be mighty careful with your guns; and if you get a shot, don't aim towards the train."

Both fathers gave consent; and off started Joe and Ben in eagerness.

"Now, keep down your excitement," cautioned Ben's father. "Wait till the antelope get close enough before you fire."

"Yes, and don't shoot at their heads," advised Joe's father. "That target is too small; aim at their hearts."

"We will," the eager boys called back as away they went towards a hill where some antelope had been sighted.

"I don't know whether you're doing right to let them go off hunting alone," said Grandmother White.

"Now, quit your fretting, Mother," said Ben's father. "They will be all right. It's time they learned to get bigger game than rabbits."

Ben and Joe had soon disappeared in a hollow and were stealing up a low hill. When they were about to the top, they got down on hands and knees and crawled through the brush to peep at what was beyond.

"There they are I" whispered Joe.

Ben had caught sight of the band at the same instant; about twenty of them, young and old feeding on the grasses. On a hill above was a proud young buck acting as sentinel.

"We'll have to be careful," said Ben, drawing a red handkerchief from his pocket.

Joe had brought a stick. On this the bandanna was quickly tied and raised to flutter in the breeze. In an instant the alert sentinel had sighted the strange flag and passed some antelope signal to the band below. Up came every head.

Then, under the sentinel's lead, the animals began to investigate. True to the Captain's word, they started to come closer, moving warily towards the strange object. It was hard for the young hunters to bide their time. They managed to hold their fire, however, until the buck and two or three others were less than a hundred yards away.

"Let me get the leader," whispered Joe; "you shoot the one next to him."

"All right," said Ben.

"Ping! Ping!" went their rifles.

Away bounded the antelope - all but one. "I've hit him! I've hit him!" yelled Joe.

Sure enough, the sentinel was badly hurt. Ben, disappointed at having missed, had hastily reloaded his gun. Both began to run towards the wounded buck. As they got closer, they saw his front leg was broken.

"Let me end his suffering," said Ben. "All right, shoot," said his pal.

Ben took careful aim and put a bullet just behind the shoulder. Down went the antelope.

"Seems a shame to kill the pretty thing," said the young hunter.

"Yes; but we need the meat," returned Joe.

A moment later, the boys were at the top of a hill waving their hats and shouting. Very soon two scouts of the train were with them. The fallen antelope was lifted to a saddle of one of their horses; and they went jubilantly back with their first big game.

It wasn't their last good hunting by any means. Now they had proved their skill at stalking antelope, they were given other chances. Next day, while the train was in camp at Independence Rock, Ben brought down a fat young buck, all by himself; and Joe got another.

There were sage hens too, thousands of them along the Sweetwater. The two boys, with the help of Paul and other youngsters, armed with bows and arrows, managed to keep a supply of these game bird on hand. In the late summer and early fall they are tasty food.

"I like antelope better than buffalo," said Grandmother White, when Ben brought in his first big game.

Ben's father could not quite agree with her, but he did make a hearty meal of the antelope roast the mother had prepared in the "Dutch Oven." As for Ben, Paul, and Hannah, and little Ike, they found it "good eating." All the children, including baby Parley, born a few months before they left Pigeon Creek, seemed to thrive on the life of the trail. They grew stronger and happier day by day.

Autumn had come by the time they reached the Sweetwater. On past Independence Rock the train journeyed, then came "Devil's Gate," a craggy cleft in the rnountain through which flows the upland river. Finally they went over the crest of the continent to make camp at Pacific Springs.

"Good thing we did not have a snow storm before we rolled over South Pass," said Captain Curtis. "The weather can get pretty mean up there sometimes. It looks now as if we shall make the trip clear into the Valley without too much trouble."

"The Lord has blessed us all the way," said Grandmother White.

He continued to bless the little band of fathers and mothers and children who had heeded the call to gather in the new homeland. By October, when the mountains seemed clothed with "Joseph's coat of many colors," the caravan from Pigeon Creek had made its way for a thousand miles or more to roll out of the Emigration Canyon gateway. At last they looked upon the scene that met the eyes of President Young, when rising from his sick bed, he said, "This is the place."

With hearts filled with gratitude they went into camp down in the valley. A final thrill came to Ben and his own family when both Uncle Starling and Uncle Sam rode up to greet them. Other joyous reunions came that night to various members of the train. Their hearts echoed the line from the song that had cheered them across the great plains. It was a "happy day," and "all was well."

Ben Ch 9

SEVERAL days after that first buffalo hunt, Captain Curtis halted his train for the night near the Platte. Very soon another covered wagon caravan drove up and made camp not far away. As Ben and Joe were helping drive their tired oxen down to the river, they met two boys who looked familiar.

"Why hello!" exclaimed Joe. "It's Fred and Will!"

"Well, here we are again," returned Fred, "watering our cattle the way we did in the old Mississippi."

"And crossing the plains together," added Ben. "Had any buffalo hunts?" asked Joe.

"Yes -- a few days ago our men killed six," said Fred. "Have you?"

"We got five 'bout the same time," said Ben.

"Seen any Injuns yet?" asked Will.

"No; have you?"

"Not one; but Father says we might see some any day now. I'm glad I didn't run into any the other night, when I was bringing lazy old Spot there into camp."

"What happened?" asked Joe.

"Oh, the trifling old ox just hid from us," said Fred. "Will was left behind to find and fetch him along."

"Tell us 'bout it, Will," urged Ben.

"Well, all day I noticed he was shirking in my team, not pulling as he should. I felt sure he was up to some trick. When I told the night herders to keep close watch on him they said they would; but they didn't.

"Next morning Spot was missing. Father wanted one of the herders to hunt him; but Captain said I'd better do it. So Mother put up a lunch for me, and I took the herder's saddle pony to find the lost ox.

" 'He's probably somewhere on that island in the Platte,' said the herder; 'That's where we grazed the cattle last night.'

"I crossed a shallow part of the river and began to ride slowly round the island. It was covered with tall grass and willows, with some trees. For all I knew there might have been Injuns, too," said Will.

"Weren't you seared?" asked Joe.

"'Course I was; but I was thinking about Spot. We needed him.

"Noon came and no ox. I ate my lunch and gave the pony a chance to graze.

"Then I started to hunt again, going round and round the island in smaller and smaller circles. At last, just before sundown, up came old Spot out of some tall grass and willows."

"I'll bet you were glad " said Joe.

"Yes - glad and mad," returned Will. "I got to him quick as I could and started the old truant across the river. When we got on the wagon trail again, I kept prodding him fast as he would go along; but it took nearly all night to catch up with the train."

"You must'a been nervous 'bout Injuns, in the dark," said Ben.

"Yes - and wolves. When they howled, it didn't sound good."

"Did you have a gun?"

"No, just my blackwhip. I had to keep using that on old Spot to keep him moving."

"He deserved a whipping all right for trying to trick you," added Joe.

What about your folks?"

"Mother worried herself ill. Father and the Captain were on their horses before daylight starting to find me. Then, over the hill I came with old Spot."

"What did they say?"

"Oh, the Captain praised me for staying with it. Father just said, 'I'd rather you had left the old ox to the wolves, my boy, than take that risk.'

"'But we need Spot, Father', I said. "It was surely good luck no Injuns were prowling round that time," added Ben.

Indians did appear - a good many of them - as the pioneer caravans rolled on up the North Platte. None of the redmen molested the travelers, however, so long as they were given no cause. Occasionally a few of the Indians came to the white folks' camp to "swap" buck-skins, moccasins or other articles for flour, knives, kettles, or whatever else the pioneers might have to spare.

"Be careful," cautioned Captain Curtis. "Treat them fairly. And, parents keep close watch over your children. Let them do no trading."

This good advice, for the most part, was heeded. One failure to follow it, however, brought on some serious difficulty, almost a tragedy.

Just for smartness, a certain boy of the train, called Dick, tried a silly trick. Pointing to his pretty ten-year old sister Rachel, he said to an Indian, "How much you give?"

"Ponies," said the Indian, holding up an outspread hand. This meant five.

"No," said Dick, "too little."

The Indian held up both hands outspread.

"Ten ponies - all right," said Dick laughing.

With that the redman rode away.

"That silly stuff might bring trouble," said Ben's father. "Injuns don't understand our jokes."

Next morning the Indian and several companions, all armed, came with the ten ponies to trade. Excitement swept over the camp. Frightened little Rachel was quickly hidden in one of the wagons. Dick was seared white at the serious turn of his folly.

Captain Curtis quietly took command of the situation. He told women and children to keep within the wagons, parked in a circle for protection. Word was passed for the men to have their guns ready. Then calmly the pioneer leader began to talk with the Indians through an interpreter.

"The boy was foolish," said the Captain; "he had no right to trade way his sister. Her parents would not give her for a hundred ponies."

Anger was in the faces of the Indians. They came to trade. "White men double tongues," said the owner of the ponies.

To settle the matter, Captain Curtis finally told him he would make them some presents. This promise brought friendlier looks from the redmen. Gifts were brought from the various wagons. Then Dick, pale and trembling, was made to pass the kettles, knives and other articles to each of the Indians. This was to help cure him of smartness.

After that the Captain shook hands with them; and with some friendly "how-bows" they rode away along the trail. It was with real relief that the pioneers drove on that morning.

Ben Ch 8

MAYTIME of 1852 found the Pigeon Creek caravan ready to leave the little village. It was not without many heartaches that the parting came. Up on the hilltop one of Ben's grandmothers and his Aunt Ruth lay in their graves. Friends and relatives who had chosen not to go must be left behind. Uncle Lorenzo and Aunt Melinda were among those who decided to stay in Iowa.

"I do wish we all could go together," said Grandmother White with trembling voice. "But maybe you'll come next year. Anyway, God bless you."

Ben's mother found it hard to face the parting--and the long trip ahead. She had five children now to care for. Two more boys, Isaac and Parley, had been born in the Pigeon Creek home.

"Don't cry, Mother," spoke up Hannah; "I'll help you all I can." Ten years old, she felt quite grownup; and she did give her mother fine help every day on that long journey.

Ben and Paul were too full of excitement about the trip to do any crying. They were boys in their teens and ready to do their share of the work. Towser was, like them, eager to go.

"I just wish we had Bones to help you keep the Injuns and wolves away," said Paul, patting Towser's curly head. Poor old Bones, however, had died two years before, and was buried in the hills of Pigeon Creek.

Scenes of that pleasant homeland could be taken only in memory. Yet there was new hope' and cheer over the prospect of a more beautiful place among the mountains. Best of all, there would be reunions with the friends and relatives who had led the way.

Ben's thoughts of seeing his Uncles Starling and Sam kept down any sadness he might have felt. Besides, he had new responsibilities now. He was to drive one of the ox teams with old Buck and Brindle as "wheelers." Joe Phelps, too, was to have his own ox team, and they were to be in the same caravan. No wonder they had spent hours talking over the trip. Each of them had his own rifle, too, but only to be used in case of real need.

A resounding crack from the big whip of the captain of the train was the signal to start the journey. With cheers and tears, the pioneers wended their way with loaded wagons, along the road toward the Winter Quarters ferry. It took several hours there to get all the wagons across the Missouri River and on through the almost deserted town.

A first camp-ground was made in the hills, by a pleasant creek. The two young teamsters were ready for supper that night and for bed, too. It had been a hard and exciting day.

Hardly had they dropped asleep, so it seemed to them, when around came one of the night herders with his call, "Roll out! roll out! the oxen are coming!" Then came the bugle call as a signal for all to rise for prayer. Another day of the long journey had dawned.

Two days later the caravan reached the Elkhorn River. Their camp was made near the spot where the pioneer vanguard under President Young had assembled for the path finding company.

A guide book, printed for the help of the pioneers who would follow, proved most helpful. Ben and Joe and other young folk in the company used it to get more joy out of the trip. At night around the campfire, or at noon, the boys would read this little booklet as many read automobile folders today, to keep track of the road. It was fun also to be on the lookout for interesting spots mentioned in the guidebook.

"In about three days we shall be crossing the Loup Fork," said Joe. I'll bet it is a wide river."

It was rather wide and the water, though shallow, flowed over a good deal of quicksand. The oxen had to be hurried a bit while fording the stream to keep the wagons from sinking down hub deep. Ben and Joe were happy young teamsters when they got their wagons through without mishap.

"The Lord is blessing us all on this journey," said Grandmother White. She often rode with Ben. All the while she kept her knitting needles busy making socks. A comfortable chair had been taken along for her.

"When are we going to see buffalo?" Ben asked Captain Curtis one morning.

"Most any time now, my boy," replied the captain.

"Will you let me shoot one?" came the next question.

"I believe we had better let your father do that, Ben" returned the leader. "Buffalo, you know, are easily stampeded. We must do our killing not too close to the

wagon train, and let the men do the buffalo hunting. You and Joe and the rest of the boys with guns may try your luck on prairie chickens and rabbits sometime if you will be mighty careful."

Day after day they journeyed on. Captain Curtis, kindly, yet firmly, kept the wagon train rolling steadily westward. Rules were. Up at 5.00; breakfast over by 6.30; on the road by 7:00; 12.00 to 2.00, stop for lunch, giving the oxen a chance to feed; then away again until, 5:00; supper over by 7:00; all in bed but the night herders and the sentinels, by 8:30. At first it seemed a bit difficult, especially for the "sleepy heads," to keep these rules; but before the journey was one-third done, the caravan was moving along close to schedule.

“Oh, there's a herd of buffalo!" someone shouted one afternoon.

The train was halted for a few moments to give all a chance to see the animals. Off in the distance they appeared, like big brown cattle.

“Yes, it's buffalo, sure enough," said the captain calmly. "And they are moving closer to us." Then calling Ben's father and the two other men, he said to them, "Better have your rifles ready. It may be a good chance for us to get some fresh meat for the train."

A little later the captain and those chosen hunters mounted some horses and rode away. Meantime the caravan, under the lead of Joe's father, went into camp, near a stream. Wagons, as usual, were parked in a circle, with two openings on opposite sides. This made a fort-like protection; and a corral into which the cattle might be driven for yoking, or in case of attack.

Naturally there was some quiet excitement as the evening meal was prepared. Joe and Ben and other boys, as soon as the unyoking was done, and the tired oxen turned over to some watchful herders, climbed on top of the wagons to try to see some buffalo hunting.

"They're chasing them!" Joe called out excitedly.

Ben looked sharply and saw the men on their horses right among the buffalo, so it seemed. Then as the frightened animals came running madly down the slope nearer the encampment, he sighted two men after one of the herd. There were rifle shots, and down fells first buffalo. Other shots brought down another. When three more had been killed the hunting was stopped.

"We don't want more buffalo than we need," said the captain as he returned with his men to the train.

A wagon was driven over the hills to bring in the game. Ben and Joe and two other boys were permitted to go along this time, to watch the process of taking off the buffalo skins and cutting up the animals. Captain Curtis, who had crossed the plains before, and had also watched the Indians take care of buffalo meat, instructed the men how it should be done. It was a "happy hunting" day with some good food for everyone in the train.

"Why, it tastes something like good beef," said Ben's mother.

"I believe I like it better," remarked the father. "Boy, that was exciting," said Ben. He could hardly get to sleep that night.

Ben Ch 7

FOR six years Ben lived on Pigeon Creek. Peaceful years they were for the folk of the little village that grew up among the bluffs that border the wide Missouri Valley. As Grandmother White had said, the "mobbers" were left behind, so the settlers could plant and reap and build and worship without being molested. A thrifty, happy community was being developed with cosy homes, shops, school and meeting house.

In common with other settlements made by the pioneers when they came to western Iowa, the Pigeon Creek families found the first winter a rather hungry one. But by the next fall, corn and wheat fields had been spread over the rich, level lowlands, with patches of pumpkins and melons to add other good things for boys and girls. Among the surrounding hills, wild berries and "Potawatomi plums" and hazel nuts grew in abundance. There were deer and rabbits, prairie chickens, wild turkeys, and water fowl, too, for the hunting.

Ben and Joe, with little San Peter to guide and teach them, were often out with their bows and arrows. The Indian boy had helped to feather and tip these with sharp points. He trained the boys also at shooting.

"Now, you come after me," he would say, "and keep still. Bones and Towser, you no bark."

Through hills and over fields the young hunters would go. Often San Peter's bright eyes would spy some bird or animal. Up would go his little brown hand in warning, and the boys would get their chance to shoot. If they missed, whiz! would go his arrow, generally straight to the mark.

"No yell now," he would caution the white boys. "Scare game."

A few hours of this exciting fun usually brought prairie hens, quad, cottontails or even wild turkeys, enough to feed the families. When the laden young hunters came back they could shout their' success to heart's content.

Other youngsters would join in. It meant something of a feast for them. As for sweets to round it out, these pioneer children had very few. Maple sugar was scarce in western Iowa. "New Orleans molasses" might be bought at towns on the "Old Muddy" to which steamboats came; but it took a good deal of time to go even to the nearest of these with slow ox teams.

One adventure Ben kept in treasured memory was his first trip to that twisting river, and across the old ferry to the frontier town on its west bank. It was in the early spring of 1847, when the pioneer vanguard was being organized at Winter Quarters. Again his 'Uncle Starling was among those chosen to go with that band under President Young to seek out a homeland in the farther West.

Ben begged to be taken along. Since this wish could not he granted, his father took the happy boy across the river to see his uncle and the other pioneers off. He never forgot how the groups of covered wagons, after the "goodbyes and good lucks" were said, would wind their way into the hills towards the west.

That night, while he and his father stayed with the Brackens, friends from Nauvoo, the boy listened to a stirring Indian story.

"Winter Quarters is on Indian land, isn't it?" asked Ben's father.

"Yes, this is part of the Omaha tribe's reservation," replied Brother Bracken.

"You see," he continued, "when the Mormon Battalion was enlisted, the government officials promised our leaders that we might stay here as long as was necessary to move our people farther west."

"Have you had any trouble with the tribe?"

"Not much. Some of them have done a little stealing; but no outbreaks have come, or killing. My son, Eddie, and other boys did have a bit of real excitement, however, the other day when they were out with the cattle."

"Tell us about it, Eddie," said Ben's father.

“Well," began the twelve-year-old lad, "Billy Riter and Fielding Smith and some of us other boys were out with the cowherd just about a mile from town, in the hills. Fielding was on his pony; the rest of us on foot. The cows were feeding out on a kind of open space, when suddenly we noticed that they were getting nervous. Then some of them started to run as if they were seared. Fielding dashed after them on his pony and the rest of us were following, when we saw a band of young Omaha 'Injuns' on their ponies coming over the hill.

"First thing we knew they were right after Fielding on the dead run. We saw two of the bucks race along side of him, grab him under the arms and when his pony jumped ahead of him, they let him drop. Some of us put off for town to tell the men.

"When the scouts rode to the spot, Fielding was not there. They dashed on over the hill and found him with the cows. He had stayed with the herd even though he was on foot."

"Wasn't that young Joseph Fielding Smith, the son of Hyrum?" asked Ben's father.

"Yes," replied Brother Bracken. "He is here with his widowed mother getting ready to go west with another pioneer train."

"What about his pony?" asked Ben. "Did he get it back?"

"I believe the old chief made his young bucks return it," was the reply.

Another interesting trip Ben took about two years later was down the Missouri River road to St. Joseph. This time their wagon was laden with half bushel baskets. Not having so much wagon work to do on Pigeon Creek, Ben's father had invented a simple machine for turning out these baskets. It was just a log roller of the right size,, around which pliable wood could be shaped into the measures. With Ben's good help, they soon had a wagon full of these.

For about one hundred fifty miles they journeyed until they came to St. Joseph in Missouri. One thing that interested Ben was the plantation along the way with the Negro slaves working in the cornfields, and Negro cabins with many little piccaninnies playing around them.

At night, when they camped near a plantation, they would hear the darkies singing,

"Swing low, sweet chariot,

Cornin' fer to carry me home";

or some other song. Ben never forgot that strange, sweet music coming out of the Missouri woodlands.

Nor did he forget Saint Joseph, the frontier town on the "Old Muddy," where the trip ended. It was a busy trading post filled with mountain men, Indians, Mexicans, plantation owners and some of their slaves. Many caravans of covered wagons of pioneers going west were outfitted at this point; so the stores were full of things to buy.

No trouble was met in selling the baskets. Ben's father used the money to buy some chains and other articles needed for the trip he knew was soon coming. Ben was given a new pair of boots and a woolen jacket with some "hickory shirts." There were dress goods for mother and presents for the two grandmothers. For Paul it was a cap and a coat and a ball, and for baby Hannah, a dress and a doll. Another thing that Ben always remembered was some "store candy" for all the family. What a happy homecoming it was from that first trading trip.

Others were later made by various pioneers. Returning from the second one, Ben met Fred and Will, the boys who had come to Nauvoo when their home in the Morley settlement was burned by a mob.

There were "hellos" and handshakes and questions.

"Where do you live?" asked Ben.

"We've settled on Silver Creek," said Will. "Where's your home?"

"Up on Pigeon Creek, just north of Council Bluffs." "Is that far from us?" Fred asked.

"'Bout twenty miles as the crow flies," replied Ben's father.

Fred and Will were on their way to Saint Joseph with their father and Uncle Edwin. Their wagon was heaped high with hickory chairs they had made at their shop on Silver Creek.

"Good luck!" Ben's father called as they parted. "Same to you!" came back a cheery response.

Back and forth along the river road, wagons of the pioneers were kept going. By making and selling various articles, these settlers in western Iowa helped keep their families in needed goods through the struggling years. All the while they were building up their outfits for a longer journey just ahead.

Another source of income came from the men that were rushing out to the California gold fields. They would buy flour and other supplies from the settlers. Some mothers also made money by cooking, washing and mending for these gold seekers.

Stirred by the news of that great discovery, some of the pioneers themselves were ready to rush for riches; but their leaders advised them to keep down their excitement. Letters from their friends who had gone to the "Valleys of the Mountains" also added to their desire to go on West.

At last, in the autumn of 1851, the call came, "On to the Valleys." Apostles Orson Hyde and Ezra Benson brought the word from President Young that the Saints along the Missouri should delay no longer, but join in the onward march to the new homeland that had been established among the mountains. Most of the settlers were eager for this new adventure.