through before winter. They knew, too, that having passed the Rocky Mountain barrier, a vast desert plain hundreds of miles across extended from the western slope of the Rockies, only to bring them to another mountain barrier—the Cascade Range, which, if not higher, was at least steeper in its approaches. And, inasmuch as this second barrier would be reached late in the season, oxen and horses would be so weak and worn by their long journey as to add fearfully to dangers which -they of all people knew how to appreciate. Let it be remembered, too, that all this fearful risk was to be borne by women and children. We have called the routes of travel bridgeless (and often fordless), look as to how much this implies: Suppose our train to have reached what was at their route a fordless stream. The ferry was soon prepared by selecting one of the best of their wagon boxes, caulking its chinks and joints as best they could, and using this as a boat. A rope fastened to it was passed over the river, and this extemporized ferry was ready for its work.
In naming over the principal forms of danger that went to make up the outlook of the road to Oregon in the early forties, one must be named—one more dreaded than all the rest—the continued exposure to Indian attack. For, if after a long toilsome climbing over rocky declivities a pleasanter part of the way is reached, and the weary toilers are led to hope for easier travel, just here, at any turn in the road, the dreadful savage might suddenly make his appearance. Such was the dark picture the journey overland to Oregon presented to the men and women of the frontier, who yet restlessly waited for their own chance to try it. Now, in spite of all these dangers of the way, the wagon trains were organized; were loaded with their precious burden of life and hope; did cross these mountain ranges and the long stretches
