But alarm was in the air and fear prompted William Barlow and J. M. Bacon to push on to Foster's for more supplies. In the morning bright and early we started on ahead for the valley with a little coffee and four small biscuits as our share of the provisions. We took only a dull chopping ax and a pair of blankets as our outfit. We went down Laurel Hill like shot off of a shovel. In less than two hours we had to look back to see any snow. We soon struck the Big Sandy trail where thousands of cattle and horses had passed along. There was no trouble to follow the trail now; at this point the new Barlow road ended. The only trouble was in crossing the stream that ran like water from a floodgate, and the number of crossings were too numerous to keep any account of. The water was very nearly as cold as ice, but at most of the crossings we found drifts or boulders that we managed to cross on without getting wet. I carried the ax and coffee, Bacon carried the biscuit. But when we got down to the last crossing of the Big Sandy, it was getting late in the evening. The river was wide and still rising; there was no way to cross without swimming or cutting a tree down that stood on the bank about one hundred yards above the ford. There was a rock island right in the middle of the river, and I saw that all the water was running on our side of the stream. It was quite narrow from bank to rock, not over forty feet. I said to Bacon, "If we can get that tree down and lodged on the rock, unless it breaks it two it will make a good crossing." "Yes," he said, "but we have nothing but that old dull ax and I can't chop." I knew that without his telling me, for he was a sailor by trade. So I went at it, and in about an hour the tree fell, but broke in two and went sailing down the river. All I could say was, "Well, John, we will make a big fire under that cedar tree and make a pot of coffee and our four biscuits will make us a good meal. But in the morning I am going to cross that stream." John drew a long breath, then said, "Well, I am sorry and ashamed to tell you, but I lost those biscuits in the river, in jumping from one boulder to another. I tripped and fell and away went the bread, and you know no human being could catch them."
Page:Oregon Historical Quarterly volume 13.djvu/274
