<h3>TRAILING ON TO THE SOUTH PASS</h3>
<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">The</span> Snake River was crossed just below the mouth of the
Boise, about where, almost fifty-four years before, we had
made our second crossing of the river.</div>
<p>We were landed on the historic site of old Fort Boise,
established by the Hudson's Bay Company in September,
1834. This fort was established for the purpose of preventing
the success of the American venture at Fort Hall,
a post established earlier in 1834 by Nathaniel J. Wyeth.
Wyeth's venture proved a failure, and the fort soon
passed to his rival, the Hudson's Bay Company. Thus for
the time being the British had rule of the whole of that vast
region known as the Inland Empire, then the Oregon
Country.</p>
<p>Some relics of the old fort at Boise were secured. Arrangements
were made for planting a doubly inscribed stone to
mark the trail and the site of the fort, and afterwards,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_186" id="Page_186"></SPAN></span>
through the liberality of the citizens of Boise City, a stone
was ordered and put in place.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus-196.jpg" width-obs="500" height-obs="303" alt="Sheep ready for shipment at Caldwell, Idaho." title="" /> <div class="attrib">Brown Bros.</div>
<span class="caption">Sheep ready for shipment at Caldwell, Idaho.</span></div>
<p>At Boise, the capital of Idaho, there were nearly twelve
hundred contributions to the monument fund by the pupils
of the public schools. The monument stands on the State
House grounds and is inscribed as the children's offering to
the memory of the pioneers. More than three thousand
people attended the dedication service.</p>
<p>The spirit of coöperation and good will towards the enterprise
that was manifested at the capital city prevailed
all through Idaho. From Parma, the first town we came
to on the western edge, to Montpelier, near the eastern
boundary, the people of Idaho seemed anxious to do their
part in marking the old trail. Besides the places already
named, Twin Falls, American Falls, Pocatello, and Soda
Springs all responded to the appeal by erecting monuments
to mark the Old Trail.</p>
<p>One rather exciting incident happened near Montpelier.
A vicious bull attacked my ox team, first from one side<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_187" id="Page_187"></SPAN></span>
and then the other. Then he
got in between the oxen and
caused them nearly to upset
the wagon. I was thrown
down in the mix-up, but
fortunately escaped unharmed.</p>
<div class="figright"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus-197.jpg" width-obs="203" height-obs="325" alt="The monument to the trail at Boise, Idaho." title="" /> <span class="caption">The monument to the trail at Boise, Idaho.</span></div>
<p>This incident reminded me
of a scrape one of our neighboring
trains got into on the
Platte in 1852, with a wounded
buffalo. The train had encountered
a large herd of
these animals, feeding and
traveling at right angles to the
road. The older heads of the
party, fearing a stampede of
their teams, had ordered the
men not to molest the buffaloes, but to give their whole
attention to the care of the teams. One impulsive young
fellow would not be restrained; he fired into the herd
and wounded a large bull. The maddened bull charged
upon a wagon filled with women and children and
drawn by a team of mules. He became entangled in
the harness and was caught on the wagon-tongue between
the mules. The air was full of excitement for a while. The
women screamed, the children cried, and the men began to
shout. But the practical question was how to dispatch the
bull without shooting the mules as well. Trainmen forgot
their own teams and rushed to the wagon in trouble. The
guns began to pop and the buffalo was finally killed. The
wonder is that nobody was harmed.</p>
<p>From Cokeville to Pacific Springs, just west of the summit
of the Rocky Mountains at South Pass, by the road<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_188" id="Page_188"></SPAN></span>
and trail we traveled, is one
hundred and fifty-eight miles.
Ninety miles of this stretch is
away from the sound of the
locomotive, the click of the
telegraph, or the voice of the
"hello girl." The mountains
here are from six to seven
thousand feet above sea level,
with scanty vegetable growth.
The country is still almost a
solitude, save as here and there
a sheep herder or his wagon
may be discerned. The sly
coyote, the simple antelope,
and the cunning sage hen still
hold sway as they did when
I first traversed the country. The old trail is there in all
its grandeur.</p>
<div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus-198.jpg" width-obs="204" height-obs="325" alt="Monument at Pocatello, Idaho." title="" /> <span class="caption">Monument at Pocatello, Idaho.</span></div>
<p>"Why mark that trail!" I exclaimed. Miles and miles of
it are worn so deep that centuries of storm will not efface
it; generations may pass and the origin of the trail may
become a legend, but these marks will remain.</p>
<p>We wondered to see the trail worn fifty feet wide and
three feet deep, and we hastened to photograph it. But
after we were over the crest of the mountain, we saw it a
hundred feet wide and fifteen feet deep. The tramp of
thousands upon thousands of men and women, the hoofs of
millions of animals, and the wheels of untold numbers of
vehicles had loosened the soil, and the fierce winds had
carried it away. In one place we found ruts worn a foot
deep into the solid rock.</p>
<p>The mountain region was as wild as it had been when I
first saw it. One day, while we were still west of the Rocky<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_189" id="Page_189"></SPAN></span>
Mountains, in Wyoming, two antelopes crossed the
road about a hundred yards ahead of us, a buck and a
doe. The doe soon disappeared, but the buck came near
the road and stood gazing at us in wonderment, as if to
ask, "Who the mischief are you?"</p>
<div class="figright"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus-199.png" width-obs="362" height-obs="500" alt="Deep ruts had been worn in the solid rock of the trail through the mountain country." title="" /> <span class="caption">Deep ruts had been worn in the solid rock of the trail through the mountain country.</span></div>
<p>Our dog Jim soon scented him, and away they went up<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_190" id="Page_190"></SPAN></span>
the mountain side until Jim got tired and came back to the
wagon. Then the antelope stopped on a little eminence on
the mountain, and for a long distance we could see him
plainly against a background of sky.</p>
<p>At another time we actually got near enough to get a
shot with our kodaks at two antelopes; but they were too
far off to make good pictures. Our road was leading us
obliquely up a gentle hill, gradually approaching nearer to
one of the antelopes. I noticed that he would come toward
us for a while and then turn around and look the other way
for a while. Then we saw what at first we took to be a kid,
or young antelope; but soon we discovered that it was a
coyote wolf, prowling on the track of the antelope, and
watching both of us. Just after the wagon had stopped, I
saw six big, fat sage hens feeding not more than twice the
length of the wagon away, just as I had seen them in 1852.</p>
<div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus-200.png" width-obs="300" height-obs="171" alt="Jim, the collie that made the journey from Washington to Washington." title="" /> <span class="caption">Jim, the collie that made the journey from Washington to Washington.</span></div>
<p>The dog, Jim, had several other adventures with animals
on the way. First of all, he and Dave did not get along very
well. Once Dave caught Jim under the ribs with his right
horn, which was bent forward and stood out nearly straight,
and tossed him over some sage brush near by. Sometimes,
if the yoke prevented him from getting a chance at Jim
with his horn, he would throw out his nose and snort, just
like a horse that has been running at play and stops for a
moment's rest. But
Jim would manage to
get even with him.
Sometimes we put
loose hay under the
wagon to keep it out
of the storm, and Jim
would make a bed on
it. Then woe betide
Dave if he tried to<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_191" id="Page_191"></SPAN></span>
get any of that hay! I saw Jim one day catch the ox by the
nose and draw blood. You may readily imagine that the
war was renewed between them with greater rancor than
ever. They never did become friends.</p>
<p>One day Jim got his foot under the wheel of our wagon,
and I was sure it was broken, but it was not; yet he
nursed it for a week by riding in the wagon. He never
liked to ride in the wagon except during a thunderstorm.
Once a sharp clap of thunder frightened Jim so that he
jumped from the ground clear into the wagon while it was
in motion and landed at my feet. How in the world he
could do it I never could tell.</p>
<p>Jim had some exciting experiences with wild animals,
too. He was always chasing birds, jack rabbits, squirrels,
or anything in the world that could get into motion. One
day a coyote crossed the road just a few rods behind
the wagon, and Jim took after him. It looked as if Jim
would overtake him, and, being dubious of the result of a
tussle between them, I called Jim back. No sooner had he
turned than the coyote turned, too, and made chase, and
there they came, nip and tuck, to see who could run the
faster. I think the coyote could, but he did not catch up
until they got so near the wagon that he became frightened
and scampered away up the slope of a hill.</p>
<p>At another time a young coyote came along, and Jim
played with him awhile. But by and by the little fellow
snapped at Jim and made Jim angry, and he bounced on
the coyote and gave him a good trouncing.</p>
<p>Before we sheared him, Jim would get very warm when
the weather was hot. Whenever the wagon stopped he
would dig off the top earth or sand that was hot, to
have a cool bed to lie in; but he was always ready to go
when the wagon started.</p>
<p>Cokeville was the first town reached in Wyoming. It<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_192" id="Page_192"></SPAN></span>
stands on Smith's Fork, near where that stream empties
into Bear River. It is also at the western end of the
Sublette Cut-off Trail from Bear River to Big Sandy
Creek, the cut-off that we had taken in 1852.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus-202.jpg" width-obs="500" height-obs="268" alt="Coal mining is one of the industries that have grown up in Wyoming." title="" /> <div class="attrib">Brown Bros.</div>
<span class="caption">Coal mining is one of the industries that have grown up in Wyoming.</span></div>
<p>The people of the locality resolved to have a monument
at this fork in the old trail, and arrangements were made to
erect one out of stone from a local quarry. This good
beginning made in the state, we went on, climbing first
over the rim of the Great Basin, then up and across the
Rockies.</p>
<p>I quote again from my journal: "Pacific Springs,
Wyoming, Camp No. 79, June 20, 1906. Odometer, 958.
[Miles registered from The Dalles, Oregon.] Arrived at
6 <span class="smcap">p.m.</span>, and camped near Halter's store and the post
office. Ice found in camp during the night."</p>
<p>On June 22 we were still camped at Pacific Springs.
I had searched for a suitable stone for a monument to be
placed on the summit of the range, and, after almost
despairing of finding one, had come upon exactly what
was wanted. The stone lay alone on the mountain side;<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_193" id="Page_193"></SPAN></span>
it is granite, I think, but mixed with quartz, and is a
monument hewed by the hand of Nature.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus-203.jpg" width-obs="500" height-obs="279" alt="Wyoming oil wells." title="" /> <div class="attrib">Chas. S. Hill</div>
<span class="caption">Wyoming oil wells.</span></div>
<p>Immediately after dinner we hitched the oxen to Mr.
Halter's wagon. With the help of four men we loaded
the stone, after having dragged it on the ground and
over the rocks a hundred yards or so down the mountain
side. We estimated its weight at a thousand pounds.</p>
<p>There being no stonecutter at Pacific Springs to inscribe
the monument, the clerk at the store formed the letters on
stiff pasteboard. He then cut them out to make a paper
stencil, through which the shape of the letters was transferred
to the stone by crayon marks. The letters were
then cut out with a cold chisel, deep enough to make a
permanent inscription. The stone was so hard that it
required steady work all day to cut the twenty letters and
figures: THE OREGON TRAIL, 1843-57.</p>
<p>We drove out of Pacific Springs at a little after noon
and stopped at the summit to dedicate the monument.
Then we left the summit and drove twelve miles to the point
called Oregon Slough, where we put up the tent after dark.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_194" id="Page_194"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>The reader may think of the South Pass of the Rocky
Mountains as a precipitous defile through narrow canyons
and deep gorges. Nothing is farther from the fact. One
can drive through this Pass for several miles without
realizing that the dividing line between the waters of
the Pacific and those of the Atlantic has been passed. The
road is over a broad, open, undulating prairie, the approach
is by easy grades, and the descent, going east, is
scarcely noticeable.</p>
<p>All who were toiling west in the old days looked upon
this spot as the turning point of their journey. There
they felt that they had left the worst of the trip behind
them. Poor souls that we were! We did not know that
our worst mountain climbing lay beyond the summit of
the Rockies, over the rugged Western ranges.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus-204.jpg" width-obs="250" height-obs="167" alt="Beside a monument" title="" /></div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_195" id="Page_195"></SPAN></span></p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus-205.jpg" width-obs="500" height-obs="322" alt="Nooning beside the prairie schooner." title="" /> <span class="caption">Nooning beside the prairie schooner.</span></div>
<h2>CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX</h2>
<div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />