from Central Route to the Pacific by Gwinn Harris Heap
We encamped at noon on a fork of Sahwatch Creek, running to the eastward through a broad grassy valley, and after a rest of two hours resumed our journey. We had not proceeded far when we noticed at a short distance to our right a singular-looking object, which appeared to be rolling rather than walking over the ground. On approaching it, it proved to be a decrepit Utah squaw, bending under the weight of two packs of buffalo robes, one of which she bore on her shoulders, whilst the other was suspended in front. She was much terrified when we galloped towards her, and, although she made a feeble attempt to fly, her shaking limbs bent under her, and she sank to the ground paralyzed with fear. We, however, reassured her, and got her to explain to us the cause of her being in this lonely region by herself, Archilete being interpreter. She told us that, three moons previous, a party of her people going to hunt buffaloes, had left her and another old woman in the mountains; as neither had horses, and they were unable to keep up with the band on foot. She said that they had subsisted on meat left them by their tribe, and ended by telling us that she had just buried her companion, who had died the previous night, and that she was now on her way to the summer rendezvous of her people, ladened with her own and her companion's packs. We informed her that she would probably overtake a band of Utahs that night or the next day, and placed her on their trail. She seemed glad to receive this news, and still more so when we turned our mules' heads to leave her, though we had shown her all possible kindness—so hard is it in them to believe in the sincerity of white people.
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