That day and the next one, crossing the Bannock Mountains, we experienced the hardest traveling that we found on that long trip from Iowa to Oregon. Even the lava desert had been easier, for there the road had been comparatively level. Here, though the wagons were lightened every pound that could be removed, the horses struggled with difficulty up the bed of a mountain stream.

As far as possible, the captain had ordered, we were to make no noise. Slipping along the mountain road, guards ahead, guards behind, guards in the woods on either side of us, all that day we walked. We children were afraid to speak above whispers. Night came on before we reached the summit of the mountains.

In the darkness not a fire was built, nor a match lighted, and we made our camp for a second time in the wagons. From that mountaintop fires could be seen from a great distance. Someone gave us food; someone brought us water, and we crept into bed, all the women and children. Not a man, I think, in the whole train but stood guard that night. So silent were we that we did not know were the nearest wagon was stationed. Not a child whimpered and, strangely enough, not a horse neighed.

The next morning, since we were still without fires, whatever food was available was passed around, and just as the black of night was changing to gray, the teams were hitched to the wagons and we started down the mountain.

We had crossed the higher Rockies with only distant peaks to tell us we had reached the dividing of the waters. That day, however, we found mountain travel of a kind of which we had not dreamed. For several hours we wound along a nearly level road, the descent being very gradual. About ten o'clock we reached a place where the road abruptly leaves the mountain, "the jumping-off place," we children called it, a fearful piece of road to traverse.

We stopped on the brow of the hill to prepare for the descent. Four-horse teams were divided, as the leaders can not hold back. Long ropes were tied to the axles of the wagons. Trees were cut and tied by the tops to drag on the ground behind.

"My team can hold this wagon," one man told the others. "These trees are enough, I don't need a rope."

"They can't do it. No team can hold a wagon on that last pitch," I heard an answer.

"They'll make it all right. I'm going on." Though others tried to dissuade him, he started down the hill.

"We'll pick you up when we get there," someone called after him.

Other wagons followed, their wheels locked, weighted by the cumbersome trees, and held in addition by long lines of braced and straining men. In spite of the efforts of the men at the ropes, it looked as if the wagons would surely pitch over onto the horses. Wagon after wagon was lowered in this way to the foot of the incline. A full half day was required to move the train a short half mile.

When after watching numbers of wagons pass we ran on down the hill, we found at the bottom the man who had scorned the ropes. He was at the bottom; there was no doubt of that, but that last and steepest pitch had a turn that must be followed to avoid disaster. It led to a level valley floor and solid ground. If it were not followed, a marshy quagmire made a soft landing place. Hopelessly mired in the swamp rested the wagon and horses, right side up and uninjured, but there for all time unless helped to dry land.

I did not envy the man the chaffing he received as outfit after outfit reached the foot of the incline and added its trees to the huge pile already there.

After the last wagon was down someone asked the man, "Do you want a rope now? Perhaps you'd rather swim a while longer, though!"

"Good place you chose to land," another said, "There's nothing like mud for cushions."

Unmercifully they guyed him. It did not pay a man to be too independent and knowing. He had little to say as they fastened ropes to his outfit, hitched horses to the ropes and pulled him out of the mire.

Greatly relieved that the strain was over, we drove around the foot of the mountain a short distance to a good camping spot. The day was not spent, but the captain said we had traveled enough for one day, and I'm sure there were many in the train who agreed with him.