Early in October the companies, one after another, reached the valley. The next year many of the pioneers made their second journey to the mountains, and with them now came Daniel H. Wells, the story of whose wife, Louisa, shall close these journeys of the pioneers. Although exceedingly desirous of crossing the plains with the first company of that year, her father was unable to do more than barely provide the two wagons necessary to carry his family and provisions, and the requisite number of oxen to draw them. The luxury of an extra teamster to care for the second wagon was out of the question; and so Louisa, although but twenty-two years of age, and although she had never driven an ox in her life, heroically undertook the task of driving one of the outfits, and caring for a younger brother and sister. The picture of her starting is somewhat amusing. After seeing that her allotment of baggage and provisions, along with her little brother and sister, had been stowed in the wagon; with a capacious old-fashioned sun-bonnet on her head, a parasol in one hand and an ox-whip in the other, she placed herself by the side of her leading yoke of oxen and bravely set her face westward. Matters went well enough for a short distance, considering her inexperience with oxen; but the rain began to pour, and shortly her parasol was found to be utterly inadequate, so in disgust she threw it into the wagon, and traveled on in the wet grass amid the pouring rain. Presently the paste-board stiffeners of her sun-bonnet began to succumb to the persuasive moisture, and before night, draggled and muddy, and thoroughly wet to the skin, her appearance was fully as forlorn as her condition was pitiable. This was truly a discouraging start, but nothing daunted she pressed on with the company, and never allowed her spirits to flag. Arrived at the Sweetwater, her best yoke of oxen died from drinking the alkali water, and for a substitute she was obliged to yoke up a couple of cows. Then came the tug of war; for so irregular a proceeding was not to be tolerated for a moment by the cows, except under extreme compulsion. More unwilling and refractory laborers were probably never found, and from that point onward Louisa proceeded only by dint of the constant and vigorous persuasions of her whip. During the journey a Mrs. McCarthy was confined; and it was considered necessary that Louisa should nurse her. But it was impossible for her to leave her team during the day; so it was arranged that she should attend the sick woman at night. For three weeks she dropped her whip each night when the column halted, and leaving her team to be cared for by the brethren, repaired to Mrs. McCarthy's wagon, nursing her through the night, and then seizing her whip again as the company moved forward in the morning. However, she maintained good health throughout the journey, and safely piloted her heterodox outfit into the valley along with the rest of the company.