ts name from the saline properties of the
little stream that rushed along its pebbly bed to empty its clear waters
into the muddy Missouri. From the vantage-ground of our location Salt
Creek looked like a silver thread, winding its way through the rich
verdure of the valley. The region was dotted with fertile farms; from
east to west ran the government road, known as the Old Salt Lake Trail,
and back of us was Cody Hill, named for my father. Our house stood on
the side hill, just above the military road, and between us and the
hilltop lay the grove that gave the hotel its name. Government hill,
which broke the eastern sky-line, hid Leavenworth and the Missouri
River, culminating to the south in Pilot Knob, the eminence on which my
father was buried, also beyond our view.

Mother's business sagacity was justified in the hotel venture. The trail
began its half-mile ascent of Cody Hill just below our house, and at
this point the expedient known as "doubling" was employed. Two teams
hauled a wagon up the steep incline, the double team returning for the
wagon left behind. Thus the progress of a wagon train, always slow,
became a very snail's pace, and the hotel was insured a full quota of
hungry trainmen.

Will found that his wages were of considerable aid to mother in the
large expense incurred by the building of the hotel; and the winter
drawing on, forbidding further freighting trips, he planned an
expedition with a party of trappers. More money was to be made at this
business during the winter than at any other time.

The trip was successful, and contained only one adventure spiced
with danger, which, as was so often the case, Will twisted to his own
advantage by coolness and presence of mind.

One morning, as he was making the round of his traps, three Indians
appeared on the trail, each leading a pony laden with pelts. One had a
gun; the others carried bows and arrows. The odds were three to one, and
the brave with the gun was the most to be feared.

This Indian dropped his bridle-rein and threw up his rifle; but before
it was at his shoulder Will had fired, and he fell forward on his face.
His companions bent their bows, one arrow passing through Will's hat and
another piercing his arm--the first wound he ever received. Will swung
his cap about his head.

"This way! Here they are!" he shouted to an imaginary party of friends
at his back. Then with his revolver he wounded another of the Indians,
who, believing r