. Ox-team days on the Oregon Trail /by Ezra Meeker ; revised and edited by Howard R. Driggs. aveling at right angles to theroad. The older heads of theparty, fearing a stampede oftheir teams, had ordered the men not to molest the buffaloes, but to give their wholeattention to the care of the teams. One impulsive youngfellow would not be restrained; he fired into the herdand wounded a large bull. The maddened bull chargedupon a wagon filled with women and children anddrawn by a team of mules. He became entangled inthe harness and was caught on the wagon-tongue betweenthe mules. The air was full
. Ox-team days on the Oregon Trail /by Ezra Meeker ; revised and edited by Howard R. Driggs. aveling at right angles to theroad. The older heads of theparty, fearing a stampede oftheir teams, had ordered the men not to molest the buffaloes, but to give their wholeattention to the care of the teams. One impulsive youngfellow would not be restrained; he fired into the herdand wounded a large bull. The maddened bull chargedupon a wagon filled with women and children anddrawn by a team of mules. He became entangled inthe harness and was caught on the wagon-tongue betweenthe mules. The air was full of excitement for a while. Thewomen screamed, the children cried, and the men began toshout. But the practical question was how to dispatch thebull without shooting the mules as well. Trainmen forgottheir own teams and rushed to the wagon in trouble. Theguns began to pop and the buffalo was finally killed. Thewonder is that nobody was harmed. From Cokeville to Pacific Springs, just west of the sum-mit of the Rocky Mountains at South Pass, by the road 188 Ox-Team Days on the Oregon Trail. Monument at Pocatello,Idaho. and trail wo traveled, is onehundred and fifty-eight miles of this stretch isaway from the sound of thelocomotive, the click of thetelegraph, or the voice of thehello girl. The mountainshere are from six to seventhousand feet above sea level,with scanty vegetable country is still almost asolitude, save as here and therea sheep herder or his wagonmay be discerned. The slycoyote, the simple antelope,and the cuiming sage hen stillhold sway as they did whenI first traversed the country. The old trail is there in allits grandeur. Why mark that trail! I exclaimed. Miles and miles ofit are worn so deep that centuries of storm will not effaceit; generations may pass and the origin of the trail maybecome a legend, but these marks will remain. We wondered to see the trail worn fifty feet wide andthree feet deep, and we hastened to photograph it. Butaf
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1920, booksubjectoverlan, bookyear1922
