The army agreed to fix their quarters not less than forty miles of Salt Lake City. This agreement was kept. During the winter Col. Marcy went through to New Mexico to buy mules and such supplies as could be obtained sooner than from the east. Quite a number of my old acquaintances from New Mexico came through in the spring. One Lewis Simmons, son-in-law of Kit Carson, came in charge of several thousand head of sheep. I obtained permission, of him to shear the wool from as many as I wished. This was quite a privilege, as wool was valuable. My old friends and acquaintances were much surprised to find me in Utah and a "Mormon" but they all treated me kindly, and as often as I have met them do so to this day. Not many are now alive. I went to New Mexico when quite young, and most of my early acquaintances were older than myself; few of them but lived differently to what I have, so at the present day I am almost the only one living of the pioneers of New Mexico. While the standing army, formerly spoken of, was fitting up, I commenced working at the saddler's trade. This I had partly learned in St. Louis before going to Mexico; had worked in the city of Chihuahua, learning something of the Mexican style of work. Sortie of my friends from Santa Fe wanted saddles of my make, as they had seen some good work of mine in Mexico. I made and sold quite a number of saddles to them. I now commenced to make this my business. And as "Dan Jones, the saddler," is well known, I will let this answer on that subject. The coming of Johnston's army has generally been considered a money-making affair to this community. To me it has always been a question, for it cost a great deal to bring them. However, we made the most we could of a bad bargain, and got what we could out of the forced speculation. There is one circumstance connected with my experience while in Echo Canyon service which I wish to put on record--the killing of Yates by Bill Hickman. This Mr. Yates was a personal friend of mine, a kindhearted, liberal man of whom I had received many kindnesses, and his being murdered did not agree with my feelings, but I knew of no way to mend the matter, for I knew nothing of the killing till he was buried. I was camped with a small party about four miles west of the Weber valley and ten or twelve miles from Echo. One very cold morning about sunrise, Hickman and two others came to my camp. They seemed almost frozen, shaking and trembling in an unusual manner. Hickman asked me if I had any whisky. I told him I had not. He then asked if we had coffee. I replied that we had. "Then make us a good strong cup." While the coffee was being made, he took me outside and asked me if I knew Yates. I told him I did. "Well, we have just buried him." He then told about Yates being taken prisoner for tampering with Indians. And after talking quite excitedly, he said, "We have got away with him. What do you think the Old Boss," (meaning Brigham) "will say?"