After we got back on the Freemont and Carson route and were making for the headwaters of the Humbolt River, we found some fair grass land for the stock. We followed the Humbolt River for many miles until we came to the Humbolt Sink. At first it was as smooth as a rock for some distance, but later we dropped off into sand and it was the worst travelling I ever saw. The sand was so light and fine, that one foot would go down until I would set the other foot on top of the sand and pull that foot out, before I could step one foot ahead of the other. It was about the same sort of motion and as slow as treading water. We were three days and nights crossing that desert. After getting across this desert stretch, we came to the banks of the Carson River, which we were to follow for many miles to the borders of California. When we reached Carson River, we came to a trader's pound, constructed of wagon tires and log chains. It was about the size of an ordinary city lot. There were tires lengthwise and crosswise, hind wheel tires, front wheel tires and log chains, bound together in all kinds of shapes. There were tons of steel in that fence. We came across another pound on the Carson River, near the Sierra Nevada Mountains, built of logs. The logs were 100 feet or over in length and had notches cut in them. These logs were placed in two rows and were crossed by small logs resting in the notches. It was built high enough so that stock could not jump over. One night when we were afraid the Indians would come in on us, a double guard was put on duty. Four men stood guard in the fore part of the night and four in the after part. The eight men to do duty were all the men in my mess. Uncle said that the bacon was getting low and that he wanted some one of our mess, to get up early and help kill a beef. I told him to have some of the men in the other mess to help, as we would be on guard duty all night. Uncle said, "All right." The men of my mess had killed all the beeves and mutton up to that time. We did not care, nor did we think much about it, as one of our men was a butcher. The next morning uncle called for some one to get up and help him kill a beef. He called the second and third time, and no one got up and he said, "If no one will get up and help, you will do without meat." Two of the men in my mess said, "If the other fellows will not help, we will." I did not help as I was willing to do without meat rather than help after being on guard about all night. When I got up, I went over to the other camp to see what was the matter and why they would not help to kill the beef. They had all gone to look after the stock except John and Tom Brooks. Tom, the cook, did not have to help with the other work. I asked, "John, why did not you fellows get up this morning and help uncle?" He looked at me, wrinkled up his face, swore and said as hateful as he could, "You will be a good deal prettier than you are, before I will help kill a beef."