When they arrived in Salt Lake Valley, they decided to go over west of the Jordan River which had the advantage of being apart from the bulk of the people and with few neighbors, but near enough for protection from the Indians.

The first intercourse they had with the neighbors was when a neighbor invited them to come over to their house for supper. They were fearful of offending the neighbor by refusing to go and were fearful that their host might get offended at persons professing another than the Mormon religion, and might murder them. However at the least of two evils, the invitation was accepted and it twas to them noteworthy as the first time in their lives that they had ever tasted flour "mush." They had always supposed it must be made of cornmeal or buckwheat in order to be eatable.

In a few days another invitation followed, acquaintance having removed some of their fear they accepted an invitation to a Mormon meeting. That was the beginning of the end, because as soon as they heard the preaching of the true gospel they lost all wish to go on to Oregon. As there was then a call for settlers to go to build a home, and it was there five and seven years later than I and my brother were born.

I have heard people tell of an incident that happened in early days at Manti. My mother at that time lived in the outskirts of the town where the Indians came first to beg or ask for food. There had been some dissatisfaction on the part of the Indians and an outbreak of hostilities threatened. One day an Indian all painted up suddenly presented himself at her door and insolently demanded bread. My mother had an oven full of biscuits just baked, setting on the hearth. She opened it and taking out some of them, gave them to the painted brave. He received them, but demanded more. When she refused, he strode up to the hearth and stooped to take out more. My mother stopped him and he immediately drew from his belt a large knife to strike her, raised it in the air, clutching the hilt. My mother sprang back and seized a long-handled heavy-bladed fire shovel, raised it in the air to strike him. As the Indian saw determination blazing in her eyes and that she could reach him with the long shovel before he could reach her with the knife he decided that discretion was the better part of valor; he suddenly exclaimed in very good English, "Brave squaw," lowered his knife and departed. But the sight of the threatened encounter which she could see plainly from the door of a house directly across the street, so agitated a neighbor woman that she fainted dead away. The neighbor was the person who told the story.

One day mother dropped a flat-iron on her toe, causing a very bad sore where the iron bruised the bone. Proud flesh formed in the sore and it refused to heal, or yield to any treatment she could bestow. She went to the doctor and he wanted a hundred dollars to amputate it. She told him she would give him twenty-five or fifty, but she would never give him a hundred. He thought he was sure of his point and told her to go home, but that she would be in back. She became irritated with its soreness and taking a carpenter's chisel from my father's chest, she placed the toe on a block of wood with the chisel on the toe. She struck the chisel a smart blow with a flat iron, which of course amputated the toe. I have often seen the amputated remains of the toe. The doctor later asked about it and was very incredulous of her story of it.

My earliest remembrance in Springerville [Springville, Utah] is of hearing the clang of my mother's loom. She wove constantly, unless something unusual interfered. She would not quit the loom seat at night unless she had earned three dollars that day. When anyone wanting to learn to weave came, she always taught them all she could, but I do not think anyone ever learned to weave the fine blue and white coverlets that were her specialty, though she always showed the different steps necessary to make them whenever asked. But many a person in that early day learned from her all kinds of plain weaving. All our clothing was made from cloth woven by her hands and it was so well woven we were proud to wear it. My father, being a first class mechanic had built her an excellent loom, which of course had helped her to produce a finished product. People came from far and near to buy her beautiful coverlets and bed spreads.

Another incident will illustrate my mother's presence of mind. She went in company with my sister, with my father and brother to the obtain their pails and berries, while my father obtained a load of logs for a school house that was being built. While she and my sister were busy picking the berries, some Indians who probably thought to enjoy their fright and obtain their pails and berries, sneaked into the bushes around them, and when all was ready set up an unearthly yelling. As it came as an unexpected surprise with all the blood curdling effect of an Indian whooping it up in a forest, my sister dropped her pail and started to run. My mother called her back, chiding her, telling her that if the Indians wanted to catch them, running would not save them as they were no match for the Indians in a race. So they kept quietly picking berries. Their coolness discomfited the Indians who soon left them in peace.