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Show LEE NELSON'S , lishing of the rules had given importance im-portance to McConklin's silly notions no-tions about buffalo chips. The bishop supposed there were those who agreed with him that the rules had blown the whole thing out of proportion, but not wanting to fight the strong-willed McConklin, they had gone along with the pious elder. McCONKLIN was a forceful debater, de-bater, a fiery preacher who always had a lot of scriptures to back up getting the chores and cooking done before the storm hit that nobody no-body saw the Indians until it was too late. They came from the North, out of the hills, seven or eight of them, galloping their ponies quietly across the soft meadow until they formed a half circle around the grazing livestock. Then, upon a signal from their leader, they turned their horses toward to-ward the grazing livestock, every Indian whopping a shrill war cry. Instantly the cattle, mules and less than a third of the animals had been recovered. The next morning the search and the storm continued. Less than half of the animals were recovered by , evening, and a camp meeting was , called by Bishop Hill to discuss the situation. IT WAS a sober meeting. Spirits 0 were dampened not so much by the incessant rain as by the knowledge that half of the livestock had been lost. Bishop Hill began by asking "Bishop Hi!! turned and walked to his ; wagon. There was a weariness in his step..." horses were stampeding northward. north-ward. A few saddle horses tied to wagons were the only animals not involved in the stampede. FORTUNATELY, several of the white riders were able to break up the stampeding herd before it had gone more than just a few miles. The rest of the men went out on foot, in small armed bands, rounding round-ing up the stray livestock. The thunder and lightning from the storm, helped keep the frightened animals on the run. By nightfall, questions. He asked some of the , boys in charge of herding why they had not been with the stock. He 7 didn't react when they said they -n were helping the other boys gather prairie logs. He asked the assigned night ' ' guards why they were not at their posts. Each responded with the same answer: they had been help- ' ; ing gather prairie logs before taking their posts. Had the Indians waited Continued on next pg. Bishop Glenn Hill was getting sick and tired of ail trie fuss over buffalo chips. He was leading a small group of Mormon emigrants west to the Great Basin late in the summer of I848. His party hadn't left Council Bluffs, Iowa Territory, until August, but with a mild fall, similar to that of 1 847, no problem was anticipated in reaching the Great Salt Lake. THE PROBLEM with the buffalo buffa-lo chips began just a few weeks after crossing the Missouri River. Trees became scarce, and it was necessary to burn chips in the camp cook fires. Actually, the buffalo buf-falo droppings were a good hot fuel-except when damp or soggy after a rain. Bishop Hill had been a farmer all his life and didn't see anything wrong with burning buffalo chips. But others did! Several of the women began serving cold food to the r families, refusing to cook with dung. One of the young ladies had been teased to tears by some young men as she gathered buffalo chips in the hem of her skirt. BUT THE problem didn't get really serious until a pious elder by the name of Ebenezer McConklin got involved. It was McConklin who called a special meeting of the elders to discuss the buffalo chip problem. McConklin feltand many seemed to agree with his emotional ranting and raving-that " there was something bad or at least a little obscene about having to gather and burn buffalo chips. Much to the displeasure of Bishop Hill, McConklin persuaded the elders to establish a number of rules to govern the handling of buffalo buf-falo chips. The first was a name change; from henceforth, buffalo chips would be called prairie logs. SECOND, only males, specifically specific-ally boys, would be allowed to gather prairie logs. And they would gather on one side of the camp only, while the women did their evening cooking on the other side. Third, the prairie logs would be stored in covered containers, out of sight of women and young ladies. Bishop Hill couldn't understand how a group of otherwise sensible men could adopt a set of such ridiculous ridi-culous rules. Especially men like Pat O'Riley , the hard-headed Irishman Irish-man who had been a stone mason on the Nauvoo Temple. PAT HAD a pretty little wife to care for', a new baby, and a young woman named Caroline Logan he was taking west to meet her fiance, who had been drafted in the Mormon Mor-mon Battalion. Men like Pat had a lot more to be concerned about than embarrassing women with prairie logs. The bishop's biggest concern, however, was the late departure of the wagon train. Unexpected delays, de-lays, combined with early winter storms near the continental divide, could spell disaster for the party. THERE WAS always the threat of Indians, though few had been seen so far, and sometimes thun-dershowers thun-dershowers could make enough mud to slow travel for days. There were injuries, unexpected deaths, broken wagons, prairie fires, and lame horses and oxen. The last thing Bishop Hill wanted to worry about was buffalo chips or prairie logs. He couldn't understand how McConklin could get other men to agree with him on those stupid rules. But if the rules would settle the prairie log problem, prob-lem, allowing the people to get their minds back on more important impor-tant matters, he would go along with the rules. That's what he told the men when they asked for his opinion. BISHOP HILL was a practical man. He was in his late forties, partly bald, and a little too broad around the middle. But his looks were deceiving. He was a man accustomed to hard work. His shoulders were broad, his back strong, his hands hard and calloused. cal-loused. And he liked to use his hands. He would rather fix or tinker tink-er with something than read a book, any day. He didn't willingly admit it to his peers, but he had never read the Book of Mormon. He had read enough to believe it was true, and he thought that was enough. He figured he had been made a bishop more for his ability to get things done than for his knowledge of eternal principles. THE BIGGEST thing before him now was to get these people safely to the Rocky Mountains. He would not permit anything to get in his way--especially not a lot of nonsense non-sense about the handling of buffalo dung. If the silly rules would solve the problem and eliminate the conflict, con-flict, he would allow the rules. But he was wrong about the rules. They did not eliminate the prairie log problem. A few days after af-ter the rules were established, Ebenezer McConklin climbed onto his wagon seat one morning to find himself greeted by a friendly smile. SOMEONE had fingered two eyes and a smiling mouth in a fresh buffalo pie resting in the middle of McConklin's wagon seat. McConklin was furious and demanded de-manded an immediate inquisition of all the young men who might do such an offensive thing. Bishop Hill refused. There was no way he would hold up the wagon train for something like that. A few days later, one of. McConklin's wives discovered; another smiling buffalo chip in a Dutch oven. Again the furious McConklin called for an inquisition. inquisi-tion. Again the bishop refused. BISHOP HILL wasn't much of an idea man, but he wrestled with the buffalo chip problem. The best he could figure was that the estab- his arguments. As for the buffalo pies on the wagon seat and in the Dutch oven, Bishop Hill figured that one or two of those who would not dare stand up to McConklin in public were expressing their protest pro-test in secret. He wondered if McConklin would learn anything from the pranks. The bishop wouldn't admit it to anyone, but he thoroughly enjoyed en-joyed the pranks and their effect on McConklin, even though he didn't know who the practical jokers were. The bishop knew one thing for sure, though. He would not let this nonsense over buffalo chips slow down his wagon train. . BUT IT did. Late one afternoon, camp was made early in anticipation anticipa-tion of an approaching storm. The wagons stopped in the middle of a huge meadow located between the Platte River on the South and gentle gen-tle rolling hills on the North. A strong wind was blowing from the river, so the women began their cook fires on the uphill side of the wagons, thinking the wagons would offer some protection from 1 the wind. The cattle, horses, and oxen--all hungry from the day's travelwere grazing eagerly on the uphill side of the train. THE approaching storm looked like a big one, so every available boy was sent out to help gather a two-or-three-day supply of prairie logs. Since prairie log gathering was not allowed on the same side of the wagons where the women were cooking, the boys headed down towards to-wards the river. Those boys who had been tending tend-ing the stock joined in the gather-j gather-j ing. There was plenty of grass in f the uppci meadow, and there was iio worry of the stock wandering, at least not for several hours. EVERYONE WAS so intent on O HI! itl ujy tA PLANNING TO PARTICIPATE in the WalkAmerica jaunt April 26 are left to right Tricia Eggett, Nanette Burns and Nettie Pinner. i Cont. from previous pg. just a little longer, the sentries would have been in their assigned positions. . THERE IS one thing I am thankful for," said the bishop, after af-ter finishing his questioning. "1 thank the Lord nobody was killed or scalped." He paused for a moment, then continued, "I suppose they were so busy with half our livestock herd that they just didn't have time to kill anybody." Nobody laughed. THEN THE bishop surprised everyone by walking over to the nearest wagon and reaching underneath under-neath for a prairie log1, a big one. He held it high for everyone to see as he walked back to his place at the head of the crowd. "What is this?" he shouted, an-ger an-ger in his voice. PEOPLE WERE confused; nobody no-body said anything. "What is this?" he demanded, his voice louder. EBENEZER McConklin was the first to speak. "Prairie log," he offered. "WHAT?" roared the bishop. Several others repeated McConklin's words. 'AIN'T NO log," bellowed the bishop, his face getting red. "I'm not an educated man," he continued, "and I don't have no dictionary, but I do know this ain't no log!" He shook the buffalo chip at McConklin. There was a brief pause before the bishop continued. I "IT'S A piece of dried buffalo shit!" The bishop waited a few moments mo-ments for his words to sink in, then continued. "IT COMES out of the back end of a buffalo, wet and green and smelly. After drying in the sun, it doesn't smell anymore." He held the buffalo chip to his nose. Then he bit off a chunk. "It doesn't even taste that bad." He spit the piece he had chewed off onto the ground. The crowd was stunned. Some of the children were laughing, but none of the adults. "THE NICE thing about buffalo shit is that it burns. We couldn't cook our bread and beans and bacon without it. We're darn lucky to have it." The bishop looked directly at Ebenezer McConklin and tossed the buffalo chip in Ebenezer's direction, asking, "Ain't that right. Ebenezer?" "UN HUH," mumbled the startled star-tled pilgrim as he caught it. "Furthermore," continued Bishop Hill, "the rules against swearing continue, and I'll see that any man who uses the Lord's name in vain gets a whipping. But if any man or woman... or child... wants to call shit shit, he has my permission permis-sion to do it, because that's what it is!" BISHOP HILL turned and walked to his wagon. There was a weariness in his step, but a determined deter-mined scowl on his face as he contemplated con-templated the hardships ahead. |