'' Our talks with the despairing drivers of
these wagons are among my most tragic memories.
They had lost everything except what they had with
them, and they were going East to leave ``the wom-
an'' with her father and try to find work. Usually,
with a look of disgust at his wife, the man would
say: ``I wanted to leave two years ago, but the
woman kept saying, `Hold on a little longer.' ''
Both Miss Anthony and I gloried in the spirit of
these pioneer women, and lost no opportunity to
tell them so; for we realized what our nation owes
to the patience and courage of such as they were.
We often asked them what was the hardest thing to
bear in their pioneer life, and we usually received
the same reply:
``To sit in our little adobe or sod houses at night
and listen to the wolves howl over the graves of our
babies. For the howl of the wolf is like the cry of
a child from the grave.''
Many days, and in all kinds of weather, we rode
forty and fifty miles in uncovered wagons. Many
nights we shared a one-room cabin with all the mem-
bers of the family. But the greatest hardship we
suffered was the lack of water. There was very
little good water in the state, and the purest water
was so brackish that we could hardly drink it. The
more we drank the thirstier we became, and when
the water was made into tea it tasted worse than
when it was clear. A bath was the rarest of luxuries.
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