BYRON HARVEY ALLRED, JR.

 

Written by his own hand as taken from records of his father and Diary of his own kept from time to time, Church records, and Memory proven true.

 

A trivial incident, yet no doubt one having most direct effect on my earthly probation, was my Birth.  Inasmuch as I cannot recall the occurrence, I must rely for the facts on the brief mention my father makes of the matter in his Diary on page 85, and for the reason that he previously records the fact that he was married to PHOEBE IRENE COOK in the Salt Lake City, October 5, 1867, the woman whom I after knew as MOTHER, and father says that they commenced keeping house together under very moderate circumstances.  Then says:

 

On the 31^st day of March, 1870, our hearts were comforted by my wife giving birth to a son whom we called Byron Harvey, and that He was blessed April 17^th, 1870, by his Grandfather, William M. Allred.

 

From the above I am convinced that mother also witnessed these facts.  Hence my name must be BYRON HARVEY ALLRED, JR., my father being Byron Harvey Allred before me, and my Grandfather's name was William Moore Allred.  He was the son of Isaac Allred.

 

I was born at St. Charles, Bear Lake Co., Idaho.  The first incident of memory in my life was the Christmas morning before I was two years old.  I remember distinctly my little trundle bed near my parents' bed and close to the fireplace, from the mantle of which I took my little stocking holding my first Christmas gift.  It was a man seated on a beautiful horse, all of white china trimmed in gold.

 

Is it possible that the childish joy experienced on such occasions is the foretaste of that sublime Joy that comes to fallen man when he lays hold on Eternal Life, the Gift of God through His Son, of whose birth Christmas is meant to be commemorative?

 

The next incident I recall, not so pleasant, was when about five years old my parents were spending the day with my uncle C.A. Merkley's father's family in our home town of St. Charles.  I was placed on the back of a spirited horse, behind one of the older boys and sent to drive the horses to the creek for water.  On returning from the creek, the horse became unmanageable and ran away with us, passing at full speed under the top bar of the corral gate.  The boy riding in front of me laid down on the horse's neck, and the pole caught me across the chest, and I was hurled many feet distant, head foremost on the frozen ground. Since that time my skull has developed a thickness.

I recall the infancy of my dear sister, Myra, before the happening of the above accident.  It was on the visit, in company with my parents, to the home of my birth after we had moved on the hill in St. Charles.  My Father produced from the cellar beneath the floor a string of large Indian beads, very attractive to me.  As I admired them, I remember my little sister held in Mother's arms.  She was in long white clothes and wore a little lace cap.  She was born on the Tenth of April, 1872, at St. Charles, only a few months before this accident related.

I recall many incidents connected with a trip in company with my parents and sister Myra and Alta Matilda Rolph Allred, whom my father had taken in marriage on the 31^st day of May, 1875.  This journey was commenced in the fall of 1876.  We visited Sanpete, Millard and Washington Counties in Utah.  And on the 6^th day of April, we attended the Dedication for the St. George Temple in Washington County.  Here I saw President Brigham Young for the first and only time.  He was a noble man to look upon.

While on this trip I received a Patriarchal Blessing under the hands of patriarch James Works.  This has not been seen by me since boyhood.  But my mother has quoted from it so often that I believe it is yet in existence, and if found I will give it in full on special page inserted here following.  If not, I shall have occasion to refer to it a few times, as the subject matter is mentioned by my parents and has a bearing on incidents of my life.

I remember our arrival at the home of my Grandfather Allred on our return to St. Charles.  And on the 29^th day of the January following (1878) the sudden sickness and death of my Grandmother Orissa Angelia Bates Allred.  I recall the great sorrow of my uncle Orson, her youngest child, and the frequent earnest expression made by many friends of my Grandmother's goodness.

May 5^th, 1878, my parents moved from St. Charles to Garden City, then in the making, a nameless town on the beautiful shores of Bear Lake in Rich County, Utah, distant from St. Charles but 12 miles, yet a long and wonderful road to me.

Here I was baptized on the 30^th day of June, 1878, by Elder Robert Pope, and Confirmed a member of the Church of Jesus Christ the same day by Elder Wright A. Moore.

When nine years old, I met the beautiful, black-eyed Charlotte, a girl of eight years that was afterward to become my dear wife.  We were always companions in party and play and thought, until our warm friendship of childhood grew into a love stronger that death.  Her good parents, William and Susan Pead, moved to Garden City from Randolph, Utah, the summer or spring following our settlement there.  The first time I remember seeing her she walked a short distance ahead of me with a little plaid cape over her slight, pretty shoulders.  I can never forget.

My father engaged in the mercantile business, but in a few years failed through the credit system of the country.  He then sold his home in the town and moved up on The Farm in the mouth of Garden City Canyon, about one-half mile from the town proper.  It was a beautiful place, commanding an excellent view of the valley for miles around.  Here he owned 20 acres of land, and we farmed it for a living.  He here again engaged in merchandising, this time in the selling of implements and wagons.  These we hauled by team from Salt Lake City and Ogden, there being no railroads in the Bear Lake Valley then.

While my father did the main part of the freighting of the summer of 1883, I, at the age of 13 years, planted and cared for crops in the greater part alone.  During the haying season of this year, my father took a contract for putting up hay for my Uncles, Alonzo and William Cook, on Bear River and my Uncle Marvin Allred on the Church Island below Montpelier.  During this contract I think I performed the hardest work of my life.  Constantly loading and stacking hay to two pitchers, my father and brother Jos. Dean.  I will always remember the aches and pains and tired muscles and the urging to constant work.  At times I felt like dropping.  This killing labor taught me a lesson - that I would never put a child of mine to such tasks.  While I have been compelled to ask them to work hard for a living, I believe they will say that I have ever been willing to carry the greatest burden, according to the strength we each possessed.

On the 19^th day of November, 1882, I had the Aaronic Priesthood conferred on me and was ordained to the office of a Deacon, under the hands of Bishop Robert Calder.  I was set apart as Secretary of the Deacon's Quorum, which office I held until ordained a Teacher.  We have so far been unable to trace this ordination to the office of teacher, but I so distinctly remember that certain members of the Deacon=s Quorum were at the same time ordained to the office of Priest, and I felt very bad, knowing that I had tried to perform my every duty in the calling of Deacon, and some of those advanced to an office higher than that of Deacon, to my knowledge, had not been faithful to the charge and yet they were honored with a higher office in the Priesthood than was conferred on me and two or three others of my faithful companions.  I really felt that we had been slighted and that faithful service was not duly rewarded. I felt so bad about it that I went to my good father and, I think, to the Bishop, with my disappointment.  I will never forget the advice given me and consolation received from it.  It was in substance this: The bishop well understood the great responsibilities resting on a Teacher, and said that only faithful men would ever discharge that duty.  For that reason those who had honored their calling as Deacons could be trusted to honor any other calling made of them, and he purposely reserved the most faithful members of his Deacon's Quorum to confer this greater responsibility upon.  And further, that it was blessing seldom received and more seldom appreciated for a man to be advanced one degree at a time, that he might have experience in every office of the Priesthood of God and be better qualified to know and perform his duty well.  I have lived to know the worth of this counsel and experience.

While I was engaged as a Teacher in the Garden City Ward, I enjoyed the labors to such an extent that whenever my mind now turns to the past and dwells on moments of real satisfaction and happiness, it always reverts to my labors as a Teacher in company with my Uncle, William Cook, a good and faithful man.

About this time I was called on by my Bishop, Robert Calder, to speak in our Sacrament meeting, a request he frequently made of the young men.  I had only spoken a very few moments in much fear and trembling when the Spirit of God rested heavily upon me and I commenced, under its inspiration, to prophecy.  It was in substance to the effect that if the Saints would keep the commandments of God and attend their meetings and other duties, the Lord would bless them with the Gift of speaking in tongues and interpretations of tongues and the gift of healing of the sick, as  a testimony of His good work and pleasure in well doing.

The Saints present were so impressed that the news became common property and many of the Saints of our little town became very desirous of witnessing such a manifestation, and in this hope for many weeks were quite diligent in their attendance at meetings.  But they eventually became tired, having little beside their desire to see such a miracle to move them to observance of this duty.  They were a good-hearted people, but were very careless in many respects of Church duties.  For this reason they soon drifted back into the same old rut, and the few faithful observers as of the past were the only constant attendants at meeting.  It was at such a time, in Fast meeting then held on the first Thursday of each month, that the people assembled were earnestly engaged in testimony bearing and prayer for a very sick child of my uncle, David Cook, then the Bishop's Counselor.  While thus in humble devotion, an old gentleman by the name of Saxton arose and spoke with great power in an unknown tongue.  The audience was thrilled in every fiber, and tears rolled down their cheeks, though few understood a word that was said.  Finally after some moments silence following  the closing of his talk, he arose and gave the interpretations himself, and following this interpretation, two you men present arose and bore testimony to the truthfulness of the interpretations given, saying they too had received the same understanding.  It was in substance that the sick child should be healed through the faith of the Saints and power of the Priesthood.  At the close of the meeting Elders went to my uncle David's home and administered to the child.  It was so nearly dead that mortification had set in between the shoulders and on the finger tips, bowels and various parts of the body.  The Lord blessed them and inspired those in charge to do certain things, the killing of a calf and placing of the fresh meat on the mortified parts and lungs of the sick boy which with the prayer of faith and laying on of hands, healed the dying child almost instantly.  I have related this from my memory of the occurrence having witnessed as a boy much of the proceedings.

Before we moved to the farm, I was called to part with one of the dearest things in life to a boy, my pretty riding horse.  My father had given this little pony when I was about seven years old, just before we left St. Charles.  It was a very little fellow.  A dapple iron-grey named Pomp.  On this little horse I first learned to ride, and to fall off without crying.  It was my daily companion, my best Pal.

I used to turn him out to graze just north of the town.  One day he was either stolen or strayed away, and I mourned long the loss of this little dumb companion.  But this sorrow was light compared to one I suffered in connection with this little pony the year before.  Could he have died or strayed away before this sorrow came to me I should have spent a happier childhood.  It was on this wise closely connected with the great love I bore my dear father.

To me, no man lived so good, so grand and noble as my father.  I could neither see or believe he had a fault.  He was above reproach.  The only being I could think of when I tried to form in my child's mind a conception of God.  He loved me with a love that only a good and pure father can know for a child of is own.  I relate this incident because of the effect it had on my afterlife, and with a hope that its telling may aid some who are, or may become, parents that chance to read this story.  I may have made just such mistakes, or even worse since I became a father, and not have realized it.  But it has been a cause of resolution and great effort on my part to guard against such a calamity in the life of my child or myself.

Father had previously given me certain instructions about caring for the cows and calves at a stipulated time.  I had afterward become so absorbed in my play that I completely forgot the charge.  He scolded me severely and in his anger told me that if I disobeyed him again in this particular he would sell my pony.  He did not stop then to weigh the possible consequences of the carrying out of this threat, but saw only in it the means of creating a lasting impression in my mind of the necessity of implicit obedience.

Not many days elapsed until I again forgot the charge, to be confronted by my father with the reminder of my former disobedience and his warning.  The seriousness of my loss just then dawned on me and I was almost broken-hearted.  My disobedience would now be the cause of my losing the dearest thing I could think of on earth.  Father would sell my horse  I could not find anyone but myself to blame.  Father was justified.  I had proven untrue to the trust he placed in me.  Consequently I was not expecting anything but that which I rightly deserved.

The first, then the second day passed.  Father did not sell my pony.  I hoped he had forgotten.  But from his averted face when I tried to read my pony's destiny in his eyes, I knew he had not forgotten.  The days grew into weeks, then the weeks into months, and each morning I awoke with the horrible thought that "This is the day Pa will sell Pomp. "  But as time grew and I slowly began to doubt my father's intention to sell the horse, another sorrow I had never before experienced commenced to eat into my soul.  Not a sorrow for my disobedience, not a fearful sorrow that father would at last remember and sell my horse, but a sorrow because I had lost something a thousand times more precious than my pony.  Something that had been the mainstay of my little life had slowly and consciously slipped out of grasp.  The greatest thing that mortal man or child can lose - Confidence in my father's word.  Confidence in my hitherto perfect father.  My god had proven to be clay like other men.  The bitterness of it can never be told.  Only those who have felt can know.

If I could have offered my pony on a burning altar to atone for this error and restore my former faith and implicit confidence, the sacrifice would have been a gracious opportunity to buy a priceless gift with dross in comparison.

I paid an awful price for a lesson.  I have tired hard to profit by the experience.  And as I look back over my life since I became a father, I see my many mistakes and wonder if I have possibly brought such sorrow to one of my children and lost what my dear father lost.  As I analyze the cause leading up to such a consequence, I am able in my mature years to now better understand its various stages and here give them for the reader's consideration.

The charge my father placed on me was a common one, the neglect of which was of no serious consequence except in the fact of my disobedience.  My father became angry because of my neglect, and in his moment of anger promised a punishment not at all commensurate with the natural consequences of my neglect. He did not stop to weigh the full consequences of the enforcement of the promised punishment.  In his sober reflection he saw the injustice of the proposed punishment.  He loved me so that he sympathized with me in my sorrow at thought of losing my horse.  He repented of his haste and decision, but failed to confess his wrong to the injured child and himself.  Repentance, true repentance, consists in more than sorrow for wrong. I have learned it includes restitution and forgiveness.  For this reason I have ever sought to remove the serious consequences of my wrong and hasty acts toward my children by explaining my error when seen and understood, then confessing my fault and asking forgiveness; In this humility I hope to have atoned for many of the wrongs I have done my children and fellow man and witness my desire to do right,

I do not feel to blame my father.  We all have to learn, and I have reason to believe the seriousness of the act was not realized by him, for he was always kind and loving, gracious to a fault in others and ever striving to be a man of God, worth the love and confidence of his family and fellow men.

While we lived on the farm above Garden City, some of the most happy days of my childhood and young manhood were experienced.

We made little money in the implement business, although we labored hard.  The profits were so little and the expense so great that we could realize very little from the business, and some buyers would fail to pay their notes, leaving us responsible to the Consolidated Wagon and Machine Co., of which was purchased the implement and when we had satisfied our creditors, little was left for our profit or living.

During this time I did much of the Freighting alone from Ogden City, Utah, by team, through Logan Canyon, there being no railroads at the time in the Bear Lake Valley.  This was very dangerous and lonely work for me, a boy of only thirteen years when we began, and continued each year until I was sixteen years old.  I well remember my fear because of the wild animals, especially bear, that frequented the Logan Canyon in which I would camp alone at times.  I would tie my horses to graze near my bedside and place my six-shooter under my head, there laying for hours before I could go to sleep.  Though many bears were seen by others and frequently entered camps doing much damage, I was never molested or even frightened by actual sight of one.

Some of this freighting was done over the Black Smith's fork route through Hyrum of Cache Valley.  Here we had to cross the "Danish Dug Way, " a very difficult road near the divide between Bear Lake Valley and Cache Valley.  This road was built through great ledges of rock without any soil to level it. It was extremely rough and dangerous, especially trailing wagons as I had to do.  I well remember one trip I was making alone through this route and my father came to meet me with hope to meet me on the road before I reached this bad dug way. But I had crossed it successfully when he met me at the foot of the mountain just east of it.  I was indeed glad to see my dear father and could well appreciate his protection and care. On this trip father killed a large deer just the evening before he met me on the road.  He packed it in snow and when we came to the place he had hid it, we loaded the beautiful animal in and took it home.

I remember that it was while we lived on "The Farm" here that I had my first happy and excitable experience as a hunter of deer.  While hunting for the horses one early morning in the hills above our home, I saw six head of deer pass quietly into a patch of quaking asp.  I hurried back home, all hope and excitement for my rifle.  My father always permitted me to use and carry firearms when alone or in careful company.  In fact he taught me when but eight and nine years of age how to handle a gun, and I then frequently hunted small game in the hills above Garden City.  But this was my first time to have the wonderful experience of being a big hunter for big game, and I was so elated that I could hardly contain myself.  I returned with my Winchester rifle the several miles, making the distance, the greater part at least, running.  I soon saw the deer in the edge of the small quaking asps about four hundred yards away, and it was then that I had my first experience with a severe attack of "buck fever " and I had it bad.  I threw the gun to my shoulder, but for the life of me I could not see the end of the barrel or locate a sight on it.  All I could do was to throw the lever and pull the trigger and see the smoke from my big 45-70.  I kept shooting as long as the deer were in sight, which was not many minutes, then sat down on the grass and cried for disappointment.  I could not account for not having killed them all, unless it was that the sights of my gun had been moved or that I was trembling from my long run.  I was a good shot for a boy of my years, and to lose out on this my first opportunity, was disappointing in the extreme.

But the next year I had better luck.  There lived a good English brother in our town named Herbert L. James, of a noble English family and one who had known in his past life many of life's pleasures and its luxuries.  He lost it all for the Gospel's sake.  He became a convert to the Gospel in England, and his good wife, the daughter of a Duke, as I remember it, were disowned by their families and cast off with very little of this world's goods, the objects of much abuse and hatred. He was fond of hunting and equally fond of me, frequently seeking my society, though I was but a boy in years.  He said he loved to be with me, and he wished me to go hunting with him in the mountains above the valley for deer.  Father gave his consent, and we packed our horses and started up the Garden City Canyon with the intention of going to a small lake at the head of the Canyon.

The first evening while going up the rough canyon road leading our horses, a large buck deer with immense antlers jumped from his feeding a few hundred feet above us on the mountain side.  As the deer ran across and up the steep mountain side, Brother James got the first shot, as I remember it, and broke his front leg at the fetlock.  It then ran behind a large ledge of rock and passed along the side of the mountain. In keeping its course it would have to pass between two large points of the cleft.  I watched for him to come in sight at this opening, holding my gun in readiness for his appearance, there being but a few feet space in which he would be exposed to view as he passed.  When he came in sight I was ready for him and fired, breaking his neck.  The beautiful creature came rolling down the steep mountain side toward us.  I had DONE it!  Had any other living man done such a thing, just that way?  Do you think you can count the number of times I told and retold of this achievement, of just how I held the gun and just how every part seen, unseen and imagined came about?  I don't think you can.  But you can best understand "If you were ever there" - that's the only way.  We returned the next morning to our homes with our Abag@.  It dressed 196 lbs.  Can't forget!

On December 20, 1886, I was ordained a Priest in the Aaronic Priesthood under the hands of Bishop Joseph Kimball, of the Meadowville Ward.  Clothed with this Office I continued my labors as a Ward Teacher in the Garden City Ward.  In this work I experienced some of the greatest pleasures and satisfaction of my Church labors.

My father took the contract to carry the U. S. Mail from Lake Town to Fish Haven, as I now remember it.  Then later he took it for the carrying on to Montpelier. We had in this labor some very serious and also some very pleasant experiences. The winters at that time were very severe and the cold was intense. The winds were of such velocity and strength during the winter season that the snow would be drifted in great ridges and heaps like small hills, and our roads would be filled so often that it was with great difficulty that we kept them open at all. The snow often fell three and four feet in depth and would then crust so that at times we could even drive our horses on the frozen snow. We were to receive as pay for our contract work first taken, a sum per mile that equaled about nine dollars a day. This work required two men and four teams with necessary vehicles. You will know our assurance of worldly wealth was not great, yet to add to this stipend we would charge a small fee for carrying parcel and we frequently had passengers which were carried for a very reasonable price. These things would bring sufficient, generally, to pay for the up-keep of our rigs.

It was during this time that the great persecution was brought on the Church members because of the practice of plural marriage. 

During the session of Idaho's Territorial legislative body held in the winter of 1884 and 1885, as I remember it, that the legislature passed a most vicious Act known as the "Test Oath" which disfranchised all Latter-day Saints if they dared claim allegiance to the Church then teaching plural marriage. This "Test Oath" became a matter of much concern and litigation.  In fact, was carried to the Supreme Court of the State and there by Judge Hays in October 1886, declared constitutional.

It deprived all loyal Church members of holding civil office, and prevented their acting as jurors on cases in which their brethren were tried for this practice, then made a crime. Men and women who were observing this law of God were hunted like criminals from city to city, and from place to place. It was during this period of persecution while men and women were "On the Under Ground R. R.," as hiding was then called, that I had the privilege of associating with some of the best souls on earth - Apostles, Presidents of Stakes and High Priests, with their good wives. I often carried these people by night and by day from point to point for safety. They slept and ate under my father's roof for days at a time, and it was here that I learned more fully the wonderful love and fortitude the Spirit  of God gave to those who obeyed Him.

Their presence and influence was a source of Inspiration to me, and in it I obtained some wonderful testimonies of the Gospel work.

My father has given a detailed account of these troublesome times in his journal, so I will not try to add more here, regardless of the fact that they were days of the greatest happiness and true joy, not only to me as a boy who was privileged to listen to their inspired teachings and enjoy their noble presence and influence, but even to those who patiently suffered these persecutions.  I will relate one instance that occurred in the spring of 1887, which is a sample of the tactics the Marshals resorted to, to catch the Saints, and the counter-tactics we used to thwart them through the friendship of many good souls who were not members of the Church.

As I was driving mail from Garden City to Lake Town in a small black covered buggy, on approaching Meadowville I met a large team drawing two men in a substantial rig at a lively gait, going toward Garden City.  I at once took these men to be two U. S. Marshals by the name of Steel and Whetstone. Soon as I passed out of their sight I started my good driving team at fast pace, hurried into Meadowville station and changed teams, as I always did here and asked for quick delivery of my mail bags.  Then on to Lake Town as fast as my fresh horses could well carry me.  On reaching this Post Office, I was informed that Steel and Whetstone were in the valley and had been seen that morning.  I then knew that these were the men I had met.  The mail  was quickly changed, and I turned back on my fast trip homeward with hope of passing those men before they could reach Garden City, then the home of many plural families, my father's among them.  Returning by way of Meadowville, I again changed teams and it seemed the horses were just as anxious as I to thwart those officials.  They carried me over that country and mountain road at a rate I had never ridden with horses before.  On reaching Bisbing's ranch, a property three miles south of Garden City owned by a friendly non-member by name, Bisbing, I saw a carriage at the horse barns.  I alighted and went inside, and I saw it housed the same team I met drawing these men.  As I left the door,   Mr. Bisbing met me and in hurried whisper said, "For God's sake go quick for Garden City and tell your father and the other polygamists that Steel and Whetstone are coming.  They have just stopped for dinner and are now in the house.  I sent a man over the hills on foot, but I fear he can never make it in time.  Go! "  And I went.  Soon as I had passed the house in rapid drive, these men suspected my errand and hurriedly hitched their team.  But I beat them to it, and by the time they reached the little peaceful town nestled among the trees, there were no polygamists in it.  I will never forget the scene as some of those good, fearful souls ran for safety through the streets and lanes.  While it was exciting, it was not devoid of amusing incidents for which I was always looking. One good man by the name of Putman was so excited that he ran for four miles, nearly all the time right in the public highway toward the Idaho line and was passed by these Marshals, they little suspecting that this hatless man in the main road was one for which they were searching.

About this time I met with a very serious accident that came near costing my life.  We worked in the canyons during the winter, hauling wood from the mountains on our "bob sleds" -home made sleds.  On a single bob we would frequently place a long, large log, perhaps thirty or forty feet in length and two feet or more through the butt.  We would place the butt of the tree up on the bob and drag the long tree behind.  The canyon being quite steep, this would prevent the load crowding the teams beyond their capacity to hold.  But as the snow roads would become hard and slick these long, heavy loads would glide over them at a very rapid rate, sometimes as fast as the horses could run.  I was somewhat of a venturesome lad, and this was great sport, to sit perched high on the butt end of a large log with my feet near the horses' rumps and sail down the steep canyon and around the sharp curves.

One night as I was thus riding an unusually large log and the team was going at full speed, I was kicking and shouting as my sleigh followed fast after others in head of me.  I was sitting astride of the log and about even with my horses' backs.  Just as we turned a sharp curve, the long log was too great in length to make the turn in the road, and the great speed and force with which it struck the side threw my sled over so quick and with such force that I had no time to gather myself for a jump.  As it flew through space, I tried to free myself from the log, and in jumping my leg ran down between the rave and runner of the sleigh so that it threw me with great force a distance, striking my head on the frozen ground and ice.  I can remember nothing from the time my leg passed through the sleigh, except that for one moment I found myself standing at my horses' heads holding them to prevent their running in fright.  I do not know how I came there nor do the men who were with me on other loads.  They saw me thrown and expected that I would be killed, but remember seeing nothing more of me until they saw me standing at my teams' head.  I was all the time unconscious, and did not recover consciousness until the next morning, with the exception of the moments I was conscious of standing at my teams' heads. My uncle, Hyrum Cook, said that I walked about as a crazy man all the time, insisting that I could take my team home and was not hurt.  They hauled me home on my sled after it had been unloaded and righted up.

Just a short time after this I cut my foot very badly with the axe as I was chopping wood.  It was cut through the arteries and muscles into the bone near the hollow of the foot. The wound has always caused a soreness and weakness in that part, and the scar is a heavy one that will be carried through life.

Following close on this mishap was another, caused through folly of my own, and companions.  At a party in which the crowd of young and old were playing games, we were whirling in a circle hold of hands and I was one of the smallest in the group or circle.  They were whirling at a rapid rate when the man hold of one of my hands let go and the man holding the other held my hand fast.  The run was being made so fast that this break in the line made of me a "whip popper, " and I was carried round in the air, the circle growing larger as I gained momentum, until I came in contact with a large bench, striking my back with such force that I was laid up for some time.

These were only the beginning of my accidents, small and great, by which the evil powers seemed bent on taking my life.

In the spring of 1887, my father sold the Home on the Farm and purchased a home again in the main part of the little town. Here we built and occupied a very comfortable home for some of the happiest years of my younger life, and I believe the happiest time of my dear parents' life.  Here the young would gather to our home from the entire neighborhood for all occasions of innocent pleasure and game.  Our home was the gathering point for all the best our limited society afforded.

My dear parents made every effort to make of our home a place to be loved, not only by their own children, but by the entire community.

Here, too, we enjoyed the visit and companionship of some of the world's best men and women, especially those actively engaged in Church work who frequently made our home their resting place and resort as they passed to and fro through the valley on missionary tours and for vacation.

Here I enjoyed the continued companionship of some of the best and dearest childhood companions earth ever allotted to a young man.  No sin and almost no thought of sin ever came into our innocent mirthful lives.  Here I was granted the continued love and society of my dear sweetheart Charlotte, which had begun with our childhood at nine years of age and lasted almost without intermission or allay until the culmination in our happy union later.  My sister, Myra, had formed a similar tie of companionship and courtship with my chum and bosom companion, Warren Longhurst.  The days we spent together in our boat rides on the clear waters of beautiful Bear Lake, or that we spent on its shining ice on our skates were days of joy akin to Heaven.

My father and I continued with the U. S. Mail contract, which we had taken while living on the Farm.  This aided us in earning a livelihood and gave some opportunity for associating with and studying types of mankind with whom I came in contact constantly as passengers.  I had some interesting experiences while engaged in this duty that may be of service to those who read.

For several winters I carried the mail from town to town on the ice on the lake.  Sometimes the ice was so thin, and I was so venturesome that when the ice was not strong enough to carry my teams I would hitch a single mule to a sledge or toboggan and take straight through the lake from cape to cape, running many serious risks and having some very narrow escapes with my life.  On one occasion I passed in early morning from point to point and at a distance of about two miles from shore, the ice was unusually thin.  I returned in the afternoon following the tracks made in the morning.  When I was about midway from cape to cape and over water hundreds of feet deep, I came to an air hole which I had passed near, safely in the morning, then covered with a thin ice, frozen no doubt the night before.  The hole was about fifteen or twenty feet across and had no ice whatever on it on my return trip.  But I had passed within two feet of its edge, little suspecting that death lurked so near.  The ice was all covered with heavy frost and snow, and it would be very hard to detect such a hole on the cold hours of a winter's morning.  But as the day would warm a little, the warm spring underneath would thaw the ice away and leave an opening, visible for distances.

On another trip with my team, as I neared the shore at Garden City, my team and sleighs broke through the ice.  But fortunately for me the horses could touch the bottom, and although my sleigh box floated off and the riding sleighs sunk to the bottom, I was quite safe until I could call help from the town above on the hill.  Father and other men came to my assistance and cut the ice away so my team could get to shore. I was none the worse off except a cold ducking, and this was more than paid for in the lesson I learned.

On one of these regular trips I was making with a small mule team, drawing these same riding sleighs, my uncle, Mosiah Booth, and his wife. Aunt Adaline, had been visiting with us at Garden City and were returning with me to St. Charles, their home.  I made this trip, too, on the ice, for the greater part of the distance.  At the mouth of Swan Creek the ice was very thin and broken for miles out in the lake, and rather than go round this thin ice and run the dangers unnecessarily, I went on shore just before reaching the creeks mouth and forded the creek, just where it emptied in the lake.  Uncle Mosiah was a very heavy, short and somewhat inactive man, yet always full of "dry mirth" that made his society very pleasant.  In crossing the creek he wanted to get a drink, and for that purpose got out.  On getting in the sleighs, he climbed in at the rear end, sat up on the end gate, exclaiming, "All right, let her go."  My mules always started off with a jump, and as I gave them the signal the usual quick start was made, and out my Uncle tumbled, backward, .with his heels in the air.  I stopped the team soon as possible, and while the cold air rang with our laughter, we waited for him to gather himself and overtake us.  He then, laughing and rubbing the back of his head, climbed in again at the same place saying, "They can't do it again:  Let her go."  I did, with the usual jump from the start, and out he tumbled again.  This time he struck his head on the ice with considerable force.  He finally gathered himself together by the time I had brought the mules to a standstill and whirled them about to where he sat on the ice. Without smiling, he climbed carefully in over the end gate on his belly, drawing himself at full length along the bottom of the box with his feet against the end gate and soberly said, "Try it gently, please."  So our troubles were always well seasoned with much pleasure and mirth not despisable.  

On one occasion I and my Cousin, A. R. Teeples, went to the canyon together.  We stopped our teams just below a big slide in the canyon and began our climb up the steep mountain toward the top where the best standing dry timber was to be found. It was perhaps a mile to the top of the mountain, and we would have to make our way up the back-bone or the ridges, avoiding the gullies and hollows that we might not be the cause of starting a snow slide.  I went up one ridge and my cousin up another.  As I neared the timber I wished to cut, I had to pass over the head of a hollow in which it stood, just above a precipice about seventy-five feet high.  This desired timber stood about fifty feet directly up the hollow above this ridge.  As I neared the trees in the deep snow, I heard a heavy pop like the dull, heavy sound of a gun above me.  I looked up and above me in the open wide hollow, and there saw the snow had broken away in a long semi-circle about five feet in depth and three hundred yards across.  I soon felt, as it seemed, the whole mountain moving beneath me, and I began to slowly move toward this ledge.  It very quickly gained momentum, so quickly that it was in much less time than it requires to tell it.  I tried to struggle back toward the backbone and away from a direct line to this precipice.  But I could not make it.  I prayed for deliverance from this, an almost sure death.  I could only stand and brace myself against its crowding force, with my face upward toward the mountain top.  I threw my axe behind me and braced the handle against my back and the harder snow and ground below me, and the heavy snow was fast overcoming me and bending me backward over my braced axe handle, nearly covering my head.  Oh how I prayed for deliverance.  And God heard and answered my prayer.  The snow slide parted where I stood, one part of it passing down the hollow on the edge of which I stood and the other passing down the hollow between me and my cousin on the next ridge.

As the snow passed and my cousin saw me standing safe, he let out a shout of joy and thanksgiving that echoed from side to side of that great mountain, yet was only for a moment audible above the roar of that mighty avalanche, as it swept trees and huge rock in clouds of dust and sulphur fumes toward the canyon bottom thousands of feet below.

We waited together where he had joined me for perhaps half an hour before the dust and smoke cleared away so we could see the bottom of the canyon where our teams had been left.  By the blessing of a God who watches over us, we had placed our teams a few hundred feet down the canyon from where the slide struck the bottom.  When we had overcome our excitement and been able to control our voices for gratitude, my cousin told how he saw the slide start, how it popped and moved with me in its toils toward the great precipice, how he dropped on his knees and prayed God to deliver me from this almost certain death.  Then we knew what gratitude was, and in our humble way tried to express it.

     That you may have never seen such things and yet may know a little something of their dangers, I will say that we then went to the trees that were left standing of the group I started for, and cut what we required for our loads.  Then we started them down in the wake of the snow slide, which they followed at lightning speed, almost, to the bottom, or nearly so, of the canyon.  The snow had packed so hard that we brought our horses up over the slide and they would not sink to their fetlocks.  It piled across the canyon and up the other or opposite mountain side, for hundreds of feet and was perhaps 200 feet deep in the bottom of the canyon, packed hard almost like ice.  

That day my father had driven the mail to St. Charles, and on his return home almost at once inquired what had happened to me that day in the canyon.  He said that he had an awful depressing feeling come over him at about a certain hour in the day and was convinced that my life was in great danger.  So strong was this feeling with him that he began to pray that God would deliver me.  On finishing his prayer he felt comforted and went his way.  On making comparison of the time at which he had this impression and that I was carried by the slide, we found that they were as nearly identical as it was possible for us to determine.  Do you think God's Spirit or Holy messengers ever convey messages and aid his servants? I do, and other incidents of my life will testify to this fact.

This same winter I again walked close to death's door and was only turned back by the power of God.  This, also, while in the same canyon a little later, in company with Brother William Pead  afterward my father-in-law, and Warren Longhurst afterward my brother- in- law, and John Farner.  We were all sliding logs down the mountainside and working together, because the snow was soft and sticky, so it was very hard to get the logs to slide this day.  It was also cold and freezing.  We were all four working at one large log about 20 feet long, trying to wiggle and get it starting to slide.  I was at the end, up the mountain.  Brother Pead and Warren were in the center, with their axes stuck in the log, and Brother Farner was at the front end down the mountain.  He had a heavy thick axe which he could not make stick in the end of the log with sufficient firmness to afford a good hold.  He had wet buckskin gloves on which also hampered him.  He became angry because the axe would not stick, and he brought it back with all his might, at the same time saying, "d--- you, I'll make you stick, " then struck at the end of the log.  But because of his wet gloves he missed the square end of the log and the axe struck the upper edge with a glancing blow and passed from his hands with great force through the air, striking me with the eye end first across the nose and forehead.  The force was so great that it lifted me up from the snow and I lit on my head and shoulders some feet back.  It cut my nose off and cracked my skull from the eyebrow, the bone of which it broke in, to the center of the top of my head.  For a moment I was unconscious, but soon came to and the blood was spurting in a large curved stream from my nose for some distance from my body as the men held me up.  I requested them to administer to me. They laid their hands on my head. Brother Pead being mouth, and asked God to save me from bleeding to death and spare my life.  They had not finished their prayer until every bit of the blood had ceased flowing and from that time it never bled one table spoon full of blood.  Brother Pead testified that he had stuck many hogs that never bled so profusely as I did.  Do you believe, or do you wonder how it happened?  I know who it was that again gave me a lease on life.