LEE NELSON'S it led to the loss of half the stock. "I thought we had learned a lesson les-son about piety and practicality. But then the buffalo stampede ran off the rest of our stock, and we got caught in the snow. Brother McConklin began to get some listening lis-tening ears when he started preaching how the Lord is punishing us." He paused for a moment, looking look-ing down into the little sagebrush fire. "I suppose I began to believe it myself." "Ebenezer McConklin, is he the one you are talking about?" "He's the one," replied the weary we-ary bishop. "I embarrassed him over the buffalo chip rules and refused re-fused to let him talk me into leaving Caroline and Sarah behind at Fort Laramie. He's been fighting me ever since. Wish I could quote scriptures like that pious old goat. He's got a lot of people listening to him." I told the bishop about my Indian bride Red Leaf, about the carefree life we enjoyed the summer of our marriage. How happy we were, two people in love, living together in a wild, beautiful land. No concerns con-cerns for the future. I told him how I had left my bride behind in our wickiup as I climbed the great mountain Timpanogos, seeking a religious experience with the Great Spirit, and how from the ' side of that mountain I had spotted the smoke from my burning wickiup wick-iup and helplessly watched the Commanches carry off Red Leaf. I paused, looking down into the fire. "What happened to her?" asked the bishop, compassion in his voice. "They raped her!" I said. "They tortured her! They burned her eyes out with flaming sticks! She died in my arms inside a cold, muddy beaver lodge!" 1 apologized for the outburst, tears in my eyes. "It's alright to be pious," I continued, con-tinued, my voice now under control. con-trol. "But a man has responsibilities responsibili-ties that can't be neglected. You've got some dead children in that pile of snow out there. How many more will there be before McConklin and his friends roll up their sleeves and do something? It's November! You can assume the snow and cold are not going to go away until spring." "Thanks," said Bishop Hill, standing up, a determined look on his face. "I knew what to do all along, but I guess I got confused, needed a second opinion. Glad you came along. Those couriers will be on their way at daybreak, two east, two west." The snow had covered the Hill Company trail, but I knew the general gen-eral direction they were headed and the streams they would be following, fol-lowing, so I didn't figure there would be any problem staying on their trail. Not finding them at Pacific Springs, I crossed the continental divide and headed towards the Big Sandy, a tributary to the Green River. I was entering familiar country, coun-try, the place where I had met the young Ute chief Neuwafe nine years earlier. This was the country where I had hunted buffalo with the Ute band, the land where I had fallen fal-len in love with the beautiful Red Leaf, my Indian bride of nearly a decade ago. The memories flooded back. Old wounds I thought had healed were reopened. Sometimes when I thought about Caroline, I felt a tinge of guilt, like she didn't belong here in this wild land, not with me. I was haunted with the feeling that I was somehow some-how betraying Red Leaf by following follow-ing another woman into the land of the Utes. Even though I kept telling tell-ing myself that Red Leaf had been dead for nearly five years, the feelings feel-ings of betrayal would not go away. The memories that had been dulled boys were seated on top of the mound, sticks in hand, keeping some magpies away. The rest of the people were out of sight, in the tents and wagons I supposed, trying to keep warm. As I headed down the hill I wondered why the snow pile was so attractive to the birds. I hadn't gone far when one of the boys spotted me and shouted the news to the camp. People began crawling out of the tents-hungry, ragged, dirty people-their hands and faces gray and black from huddling hud-dling around tiny, smoky fires in an effort to stay warm. Some had rags wrapped around their feet and hands. Some started waving to me, while others cheered at what they thought was a rescue party. I wished I had brought food with me. The jerky and corn in my possibles bag wouldn't go very far in feeding so many people. I recognized the first man to come out to greet me. He recognized recog-nized me too. It was Ebenezer McConklin. "You bring food?" he asked, without any kind of greeting. "No, ".I said, responding in kind. He turned and walked away. Then I was among the rest of the put my arm around her. When she looked up into my face, I could see the beginnings of tears in both of her beautiful eyes. I held her close, repeating my earlier words, "Caroline, "Caro-line, it's so good to see you," followed fol-lowed by a long pause. It felt so good to hold her, to touch her, to be with her again. Things would work out. It was Caroline who was the first to break the silence. She had con-trole con-trole of herself. "Would you like to join us for a bowl of soup?" "Sure," I said cheerfully. Then, "Where's Sarah and little Pat?" "Over this way, at .the tent." She took me by the hand and led me to their tent. The soup didn't taste like soup. The flavor could best be described as salty barnyard. "Glue soup," said Caroline, noticing no-ticing my dislike for the contents of her kettle. She explained the simple sim-ple recipe-boiling a chunk of rawhide ra-whide for a few hours. The last of the meat from the oxen had been eaten the day before. I reached into my possibles bag and tossed a handful of buffalo jerky into the kettle. She smiled. I tossed one more chunk to the back of the tent ... "People began crawling out of the tent hungry, ragged, dirty people... their hands and faces gray and black from huddling around tiny, smoky fires in an effort to stay warm." v A. shovels are broken. Those who've died are buried in that pile of snow until they can receive a proper burial. bu-rial. I don't know why they stink so." I didn't respond to her remark, though I knew the answer. I was surprised the men in the camp didn't. One or more of the bodies had apparently been packed in the snow before they'd had time to cool. I knew that when snow was packed around a warm body, man or animal, it acted as insulation. Instead In-stead of cooling the body off and slowing the decaying process, the snow held in the warmth and sped up decay. That's why the Utes would leave a body out in the open for a night before burying it in a snowbank. A frozen body packed in snow would remain in its frozen condition until the spring thaw. "I'll be back in a little while," I said in parting, "to fix you a snow cave. Tonight you'll be as warm as toast." When I reached Bishop Hill's tent, I suggested he assign a detail to drag the bodies out in the open as soon as it was dark so they could freeze solid. He seemed to appreciate appreci-ate my suggestion. "Keep think'n the snow will melt and we'll be able to get on," he said, a worried look on his face. "But it just keeps gett'n deeper, and no break in the cold. Food's about gone. Have any suggestions on what we ought to do?" "Might start by sending a couple of men back to the wagons for supplies. sup-plies. They've got lots of seed grain and a fair amount of buffalo meat. ' ' "I tried that yesterday, but couldn't get any volunteers You can understand why none of the men want to leave their families. All the single men were left behind with the wagons. Besides, the people peo-ple think a rescue party is coming-at coming-at least they did until you came along." "Tell 'm there's no rescue party unless they go get one," I advised. "I was at the wagons three days ago, and nobody was talk'n about comin' after you. They figured you were further along than this, possibly poss-ibly far enough down the west side of the divide to be out of the snow." "Ought to send a couple of men the other direction, too," I continued. con-tinued. "Get word to President Young that we've been caught by the snows. He'll send help from that direction. I'll give each man enough jerky and corn to keep him a week, and I'll get some game to feed their families while they're gone." "The game is gone," added the worried bishop. "We've sent out hunters every day, but the buffalo are gone. So are the deer and elk." ,Tell 'm I'll do my best, but remind re-mind 'em there are no rescue parties. par-ties. If they don't go, the whole company'll starve. Can't just sit here and die. We've got to do something while we're still able." "I'll ask for volunteers when we gather for prayer this evening," responded re-sponded the bishop. "Hopefully this time we'll get some." "I'm curious as to why you haven't ha-ven't insisted on sending men out earlier," I added, not wanting to sound critical, but really wanting to know why a group of intelligent adults would wait until I came along to adopt such an obvious course of action. The bishop was silent for a while. I could tell by the look on his face that he received my question not as a challenge, but as a sincere inquiry to find the heart of a problem prob-lem that needed to be solved. "I suppose the problem is one of piety," he said, a thoughtful expression ex-pression on his whiskered face. "I don't understand." "Seems every time we get together in a council meeting to decide de-cide what to do, some of the more pious brethren get all excited over how the Lord is punishing us for not keeping the commandments. We spend hours arguing repentance, repent-ance, fasting, prayer, cursing, reading scriptures. I don't know why, but we never seem to get around to selecting couriers." The bishop explained the problem prob-lem with the buffalo chips and how with tir . suddenly very real again, ctuly those concerning Red Leaf s abduction and death-me death-me leaving her alone to face the raiding Commanches, her being tied like a dog to a post in the Com-manche Com-manche village, the tortures and cruelties, the escape on the roan stallion, hiding in the huge beaver lodge-and her death. Sometimes I felt like turning back, leaving this land of so many painful memories, but I didn't. Another woman, one still alive, had helped heal my wounds, had helped me forget the painful past and find hope in a better future. Caroline was different than Red Leaf; she was an educated woman, a writer. A rare woman with unusual un-usual courage, who infiltrated the Mormon stronghold at Nauvoo to gather material for a book. A woman who was now crossing a continent in winter to find me. I had to continue. I couldn't just turn -my back on her. She was alive and needed me. Red Leaf was buried under a sandy ledge near the big beaver lodge. I would have to figure fi-gure out a way to handle those painful memories, find a way to live with them. Trudging along through the deep snow, day after day, followed by long dark nights in snow caves, I had plenty of time to think about Red Leaf, to remember the past, to try to concentrate on the future. But my inward thoughts suddenly ended one clear morning when I spotted smoke far away to the west. I shuffled ahead on my snow-shoes, snow-shoes, almost at a trot, a pace I could maintain for hours, especially especial-ly on the gentle downhill slope. About Ab-out noon I reached a hill overlooking overlook-ing the encampment. With a brisk breeze sweeping down from the ; North, the sun offered little I warmth. The two wagons and a I dozen or so tents were scattered I among snowdrifts next to a rushing 1 stream, not yet frozen over. There were no oxen or horses. There was a large manmade pile I of snow just outside the camp. Two people, who milled about asking almost all at once about an imagined im-agined rescue party from Fort Laramie. I hated telling them that none was coming, and when I did, many returned to their tents, heads down, feet dragging. "I'm Glenn Hill," said a strong-looking strong-looking man, who stepped forward and offered his hand. "You look at home in this God-forsaken country. coun-try. Sure like to pick your brain for a little while." "Sure," I said, "but first there are a few people I want to..." "Dan!" shouted a familiar voice, a female voice. Caroline. - For months I had imagined what our meeting would be like, wondering wonder-ing whether it would be awkward. Would she reach out to me and come into my arms? Upon seeing her, would my feelings for her remain re-main the same? Caroline was wrapped in a green wool blanket, her face gray and charcoal-smudged like the rest of her companions. Her long hair was tied behind her head, not matted like that of many of the women, but just as dirty from many days without with-out bathing. Her legs were covered by a pair of baggy trousers, and her feet were wrapped in rags to protect pro-tect them from the cold. Her initial call to me had been one of surprise, a spontaneous reaction to my unexpected arrival. Instead of coming to me, however, as I thought she might, she began to back away, realizing how awful she looked. Her expectations, like mine, hadn't included this kind of a meeting. She had anticipated a more romantic setting, both of us on our best footing for what could be a very important event in both of our lives. I wasn't sure how to respond to her when I first recognized her voice. I was even less sure when I saw her, knowing she would want to look her best for me. But when she started to back away, fear of rejection on her face, I knew exactly exact-ly what to do. "Caroline!" I called, "It's so good to see you." I ran to her and for little Pat to chew on. We were crouched over a smoky sagebrush fire in front of the little canvas tent occupied by Caroline, Sarah and little Pat. Sarah was in the back of the tent keeping the baby warm. The little boy had a deep, raspy cough; the women called cal-led it croup. Half a dozen people had died of this croup. Except for one pregnant woman, the victims were children and old people. The cold was taking its toll on the Hill Company. "What have you got to eat when the rawhide's gone?" I asked. "Bishop Hill says the rawhide will last until reinforcements arrive," ar-rive," Caroline responded. I didn't remind her that no reinforcements were coming from the Fort Laramie Lara-mie direction, and I doubted any were coming from the other direction, direc-tion, either. "Got to have a chat with the bishop," I said, standing up. Caroline Caro-line and I had not discussed our future together, the subject that had occupied a large share of our waking moments for many months. I felt relieved she didn't bring up the subject, and she probably felt that way, too. The time wasn't right. I was beginning to wonder if there would ever be a right time. There was a brisk breeze coming out of the North, and the afternoon was gray. It appeared another storm was brewing. The food was almost gone, and the snow was going to get deeper. Few of the people had good enough footwear to travel through the snow without freezing their feet. Up to now the people had kept their hopes up by talking about reinforcements, but I knew better. As I stepped away from the fire, my nostrils filled with the smell of rotting flesh. I looked directly into the wind to see where the stench was coming from and spotted the big manmade pile of snow I had seen on the way in. "What's the big pile of snow?" I asked, turning back to Caroline. "The dead," she said. "The ground is frozen and our only two