From Youth to Age as an American. 151 Cascade Mountains. I heard a few months ago that it was told by a man who published one of the best histories of early Oregon, and who undoubtedly believed it. Yet the hero was no bigger than me and there were six good neighbors and eleven hounds present, and the greatest risk was run by the man who prevented the dogs from tearing the skin to pieces. I had at this time no personal knowledge of the climatic and timber conditions of Eastern Oregon, but events were hastening which were to change the pleasant routine of my life and make me more intimately acquainted with the Cas- cade Mountains than any other Willamette Valley farmer I have known. On the last of May, 1867, my twenty years of home-building seemed a success beyond anything I had conceived of before my marriage. Seven healthy children had been born to us without serious trouble : the eighth birth was impending and occurred on June 4th, without cause for apprehension. But the infant was not right and became cause of distress to the mother, and of agony to me, because of my utter helplessness. We were four and a half miles from Salem and no house be- tween from which we could get help. Indeed, there were yet few physicians, and no nurses. Women assisted each other, and my wife had inherited from her mother traits which made her conspicuous in such service during those years. On the eighth distressful day the baby died in my arms and for two months it was a question of life or death to my wife. She got up slowly, but an ailment or seat of weakness in her breathing made living in a house a burden to her. We lived one summer in the partial shade of our home lot, but she gained very slowly. One of the best physicians we had, in evident per- plexity, said: "Mr. Minto, take her out of the heat of this valley, but not to the dusty atmosphere of Eastern Oregon." I suggested the foothills of the Cascades. "The very place; shade and pure water and rest, ' ' said he ; and we went to the Cascades as a health resort. The result proved the wisdom of the advice ; nothing but the necessity of school for our children prevented me from making a complete change, though I loved
