traveler. He wore a broadcloth suit, silk hat and carried a gold headed
cane. His son was also well dressed.

Again following the old Nez Perce trails, which everyone who has
traveled over that country during the early days will remember, we
proceeded to the John Day River. Here I met some old Lane county
friends, a Mr. Driskol and his son, a young man of about 21 years of
age. They had driven over the mountains a band of cattle and turned them
on the range at John Day and Rock Creek. Two brothers named John and Zim
Smith, from Douglas county, had also driven out cattle and turned them
loose on the same range. The Smiths had returned to the valley, but were
expected back in a week or such a matter.

Driskol and his son now asked me to remain with them and assist in
rounding up the cattle preparatory to leaving them for the winter. They
would pay me good wages and then, the Smiths returning, we would all go
home together. The free wild life of the prairie having an almost
irresistible charm for me, it did not require much persuasion to induce
me to remain.

Our task consisted in riding the river and tributary streams and driving
the cattle back on the range. The men at the ferry told us that the
Columbias were friendly and to be trusted. They cautioned us that the
country further up the river and Rock Creek was frequently raided by
roving bands of Snake Indians. These savages were hostile at all times,
and this was one reason it was desirable to prevent the cattle straying
too far and thus falling an easy prey to the Snakes. They also said it
would be prudent to keep a sharp lookout when riding too far south. We
continued riding and driving in the cattle for a couple of weeks, hoping
for the return of the Smiths before venturing too far. But they not
returning, we decided to go up Rock Creek above the cattle and drive
them down.

The first day we traveled leisurely along and made about twenty miles.
That night we camped and made our beds in a rye grass bottom, having
previously cooked our supper and riding until after dark. This was done
to prevent any roving band of Snakes that might be in the country from
discovering our camp and attacking us at disadvantage. The old gentlemen
Driskol was uneasy and he and his son watched our camp time about. I
offered to take my turn, but the old gentleman said "the boy will go to
sleep," an arrangement very satisfactory to a tired, sleepy-headed boy.
The next morning we packed