lled "Steamboat
Spring." It recedes and spouts about once in two minutes. All of these
are within a hundred steps of each other.

Now, our canteens, and every available vessel is to be filled with
water, for use in crossing forty-five miles of lava bed, where there is
neither water nor grass to be found and must be accomplished by
traveling day and night. This was called "Subletts' Cutoff," leaving
Salt Lake to the south of us, and brings us to the base of the mountains
at the source of the Humboldt River.

On the west side, in crossing over, we encountered a place in a gorge of
the mountain called "Slippery Ford," now called the "Devil's Half-Acre."
It was a smooth inclined surface of the rock and it was impossible for
the mules to keep their footing. We had great difficulty in getting over
it.

Now we are at the headwaters of the Humboldt River, along which we
traveled for three hundred miles, over an alkali and sandy soil until we
came to a place where it disappeared. This was called the "Sink of the
Humboldt." This valley is twenty miles wide by about three hundred long.
During this part of our journey there was nothing of interest to note.
The water of this river is strongly impregnated with alkali.

About forty miles in a southerly direction from the sink of the Humboldt
(now called the Lake) is old "Ragtown" on the banks of the Carson River,
not far from Fort Churchill. In traveling from one river to the other
there was no water for man or beast. When we were about half way we
found a well that was as salt as the ocean. We reached this well
sometime in the night of the first day and our mules were completely
fagged out, so we left the wagons, turned the mules loose, and drove
them through to the Carson, arriving there on the night of the second
day. Here was good grass and fine water, and bathing was appreciated to
its fullest extent.

We remained for several days to let our animals recruit, as well as
ourselves, then we went back and got the wagons. We traveled westward
through Carson Valley until we entered the Six Mile Canon, the roughest
piece of road that we found between Missouri and California. There were
great boulders from the size of a barrel to that of a stage coach,
promiscuously piled in the bed of this tributary to the Carson, and over
which we were obliged to haul our wagons. It took us two days to make
the six miles.

Arrival In California.

Now we see Silver Lake, at the base of the