Out of Death Valley we surely were.

To Rogers and I, the case seemed hopeful, for we had confidence in the road and believed all would have power to weather difficulties, but the poor women--it is hard to say what complaints and sorrows were not theirs.

They seemed to think they stood at death's door, and would about as soon enter, as to take up a farther march over the black, desolate mountains and dry plains before them, which they considered only a dreary vestibule to the dark door after all.

They even had an idea that the road was longer than we told them, and they never could live to march so far over the sandy, rocky roads.

The first day nearly satisfied them that it was no use to try, Rogers and I counted up the camps we ought to reach each day and in this way could pretty near convince them of time that would be consumed in the trip.