We visited a few days with the Moquis, who received us very kindly. After taking into consideration our instructions to visit Salt River valley, we tried to hire an Indian to pilot us across the country to the Little Colorado river, wishing to strike it at the nearest point. We were told that there was no water on the route. No one seemed to want the job to guide us. Finally an Indian was found who said he would go for a certain number of silver dollars. We agreed to give him his price. We packed up, filled our water kegs and started out in the afternoon. The guide was to come on in the morning and overtake us. We traveled a few miles and camped. Next morning the guide came up, but demanded more pay. Finally we consented. We had traveled but a short distance when he demanded another advance. This we did not feel inclined to make, so Brother Tenney told him we could get along without him. He then turned back. There was no trail. We took a southerly direction trusting to our own judgment to get through. After traveling a few hours we approached near some hills where the country looked like there might be water. We turned off from our direction, went up into the hills and found a spring of good, fresh water. We re-filled our kegs and watered our stock. It was somewhat difficult as the banks were steep and the water was a foot or more below the surface. All our stock drank except a little Mexican burro that would not approach the spring. We all got around him and pushed him up to the brink several times but he would slip away from us. We knew he was thirsty, but, donkey-like, he would not drink. At length we grabbed hold of him, lifted him clear from the ground and put him in the middle of the spring, where he stood quite still but would not drink; so he beat us after all. We named the spring Tussle Jack. I doubt if anyone has been there since.