The usual vicissitudes of the long but somewhat monotonous journey across the plains were enlivened one night by the sudden arrival in camp of a messenger, on horseback, from the West. He had been riding hard and seemed anxious to proceed as fast as possible. It was Joseph Meek, messenger of the Oregon colonists, on his way to Washington to announce to the government the Whitman massacre and the Cayuse war. "The Cayuse Indians have broken out," he said, "and are murdering far and near, sparing neither man, woman, nor children. Men are all up from the valley fighting them hand to hand. Our boys charge and the Indians charge back, death and destruction at ever charge." The effect of the vivid account, that none could give better than Meek, was great. Women and children were frightened and crying. Even the men questioned the wisdom of proceeding. Watt, however, being well acquainted with Meek knew his proclivities for exaggeration when striving for effect. Gradually the facts were brought out and the situation, though still serious, was not sufficient to turn back the emigration. For the rest of the journey Watt was the most cautious of the party. No Indians appeared and the fear of the emigrants wore off; but, like the water from the mountains, the Indians might come unannounced into camp at any time, as the experienced traveler across the prairies well knew. Even the seriousness of this occasion furnished Watt material for his practical jokes. When the party had exceeded the usual limit of carelessness in sitting late and burning the camp fires in the enjoyment of social intercourse, Watt arranged with the guards of that night a plot. The alarm for Indians was to be sounded at early dawn. The plan worked to a charm. The emigrants, who had retired to rest with a feeling of security, now crept out in confusion or hid themselves away in ridiculous positions. The bully of the crowd who had boasted that he "would like to eat an Injin for breakfast every morning," was now pushed from the wagon by his delicate wife, with a rifle in one hand and his pantaloons in the other. The heroine of the hour was a young girl, Mary Greenwood, the daughter of one of the reliable men of the party. She was seen amidst all the confusion kindling a fire and beginning to mold bullets for the men to use. The journey was made without mishap to the sheep until Snake River was reached. Here the current was strong and they were carried down the stream. The dreamer of Oregon's new industry stood on the bank, helpless, and awaited the issue. The enterprise might easily have terminated at that point; but fate decided otherwise. One fellow in the flock, with all the qualities of a leader, struck out for shore with a strong stroke and soon the larger part of the flock reached the land and the wool industry for Oregon was safe.