y cared
for. We used to clear away a space in the wagon bed for them to take a
nap together. The slow swaying of the wagon over smooth, sandy stretches
made a rock-a-by movement that would lull them off to dreamland and make
them forget the weary way.

When we left the lower crossing, the mother and baby were placed in a
small wagon. A sprightly yoke of oxen was hitched to it that they might
get an early start and keep out of the dust. What few delicacies the
pioneers had were given to them. By this tender care the mother and
child were enabled to continue to the end of the long journey, though
the brave little mother was frail and weak from the wearisome struggle
before we reached a resting place at last.

[Illustration: A nap in the wagon.]

What became of that baby? He thrived and grew to manhood and he is now
living, sixty-nine years of age, in California. Some of his
grandchildren are almost grown to manhood and womanhood.

[Illustration: _Myers, Boise, Idaho_

Thousand Springs of the Snake River, Idaho.]

[Illustration: The travel-worn wanderers sing "Home, Sweet Home."]

CHAPTER NINE

REACHING THE END OF THE TRAIL

AFTER leaving the Snake River we had one of the worst stretches of the
trying journey. From the lower crossing of the Snake River at old Fort
Boise to The Dalles is approximately three hundred and fifty miles over
mountains and deserts. It became a serious question with many travelers
whether there would be enough provisions left to keep them from
starvation and whether their teams could muster strength to take the
wagons in. Many wagons were left by the wayside. Everything that could
possibly be spared shared the same fate. Provisions, and provisions
only, were religiously cared for. Considering the weakened condition of
both man and beast, it was small wonder that some ill-advised persons
should take to the river in their wagon beds, many thus going to their
death.

[Illustration: _Benj. A. Gifford_

The cataract of the Columbia.]

The dust got deeper every day. Going through it was like wading in water
as to resistance. Often it would lie in the road fully six inches deep,
so fine that a person wading through it would scarcely leave a track.
And when disturbed, such clouds! No words can describe it.

[Illustration: _Benj. A. Gifford_

Shifting sands of eastern Oregon.]

At length, after we had endured five long months of soul-trying travel
and had covered about eigh