We beat off the attacks, but lost two men.
It was white men, however, not Indians, who were to prove our most dangerous enemies.

Arriving near Green River we were nooning on a ridge about a mile and a half from a little creek, Halm's Fork, where the stock were driven to water.

This was a hundred and fifteen miles east of Salt Lake City, and well within the limits of the Mormon country.
Most of the outfit had driven the cattle to the creek, a mile and a half distant, and were returning slowly, while the animals grazed along the way back to camp.

I was with them.

We were out of sight of the wagons.
As we rose the hill a big bearded man, mounted and surrounded by a party of armed followers, rode up to our wagon-master.
"Throw up your hands, Simpson!" said the leader, who knew Simpson's name and his position.
Simpson was a brave man, but the strangers had the drop and up went his hands.