dry and dusty as a desert. To the surprised and indignant inquiries of the fellow travelers for water Watt only said, "I have struck the rock and water will soon be here." Doubt and despondency, however, were clearly seen on the faces of the emigrants, and many thought that they had trusted too far. Those who were fortunate enough to have kegs of water in possession for such an emergency now brought them out and began the preparation of supper. Those less fortunate gathered in groups where grumbling could be heard in undertones; but Watt was calm and unconcerned through all. Without warning, when darkness came on, a thread of ice cold water that the midday sun had released in the snow-capped mountains, came trickling down. It grew larger and larger and shouts on every side arose "Here's water! Water for all! Moses still lives." The thirsty cattle rushed in without questioning the source of supply, but the emigrants touched it reverently, half doubting the reality of their senses.
The usual vicissitudes of the long but somewhat monotonous journey across the plains were enlivened one night by the sudden arrival in camp of a messenger, on horseback, from the West. He had been riding hard and seemed anxious to proceed as fast as possible. It was Joseph Meek, messenger of the Oregon colonists, on his way to Washington to announce to the government the Whitman massacre and the Cayuse war. "The Cayuse Indians have broken out," he said, "and are murdering far and near, sparing neither man, woman, nor children. Men are all up from the valley fighting them hand to hand. Our boys charge and the Indians charge back, death and destruction at ever charge." The effect of the vivid account, that none could give better than Meek, was great. Women and children were frightened and crying. Even the men questioned the wisdom of pro-
