Pioneer Sketch

Stories From the Life of John Warren Pickett

Compiled in July, 1927

Captain John Warren Pickett is Blaine's maternal great-grandfather. As an eleven-year old boy he traveled across the plains with his parents. Later, in his teenage and young adult years he crossed the plains multiple times, as a teamster and captain guiding emigrants and hauling freight. Most of his trips back and forth across the plains occurred between 1861 and 1869. After the railroad reached Ogden in 1869 the long trips across the plains in wagons were no longer necessary. Captain Pickett was a friend and associate with other renowned wagon masters and captains of the time, such as John R. Murdock, Thomas E. Ricks, Henry Chipman and Peter Nebeker. Captain Pickett fought Indians, chased and brought outlaws to justice and helped colonize Bear Lake. A few of his experiences are shared here. More information on John Warren Pickett and the Pickett family can be obtained from Richard Pickett of Idaho Falls, Idaho.

By John Warren Pickett

I was born in England August 2, 1846. My parents joined the Church before I was born. I came to America with my parents, when I was a small boy. We lived in Winter Quarters for a short time, where my mother buried her youngest boy. He lies in the old Mormon cemetery there. We crossed the plains in Niel and Canfield's Independent Company. Father had two yoke of cattle and one yoke of cows, and a wagon with a jack-knife brake above the reach.

Nothing out of the ordinary occurred until we reached the Raw-hide Creek where the Pawnee tribe of Indians lived. The creek took its name from an event, which occurred there some time before our time. A man from the East declared he would kill the first Indian he ran across, which he did. The Indians demanded the man who did the killing or they would massacre the entire company. The man was given into their hands and they skinned him alive.

When we were making camp that night and the right wing of the train had formed the usual hollow circle and had unyoked the cattle, the cattle in the left wing stampeded. Cattle and wagons went pell-mell in all directions, women screamed, men shouted and children cried from fright. Fortunately, the men succeeded in rounding up the cattle and calming them down without any serious accident.

We encountered some fierce tornados while in Nebraska. The thunder and lightening were so fierce that the cattle were frightened and ran bellowing in all directions, tents were blown down and the rain came down in torrents wetting everything.

Packs of big prairie wolves as large as yearling calves hung about our camp at night. Game of all kind was abundant, buffalo, deer, elk, and antelope could be seen at almost any time. The Indians were very troublesome that year, killing people in trains before us and behind us, burning the wagons and running off the cattle.

We arrive in Salt Lake Valley in October having been eleven weeks on the journey from Winter Quarters.

We located in Tooele, a small town about thirty-five miles west of Salt Lake. Father built a small log cabin that fall. We had no hay so father had to turn his oxen and cows out on the range. In the spring Father went to look for his animals. The first day he found the oxen and one cow all dead. The second day he found the other cow lying quiet and peaceful in death. He skinned her and brought the skin home. My mother sat down and wept. We practically had nothing left.

My uncle, William Pickett, had come to Utah in 1848 and I went to live with him and herded his sheep and did chores for my keep until the spring of 1863. Peter Allen and myself did the plowing. You could not tell which piece of the plow, as they were made out of old wagon tires, by our blacksmith. We wonder how the farmers ever broke up the hard baked sod with such flimsy tools.

One of our neighbors was in the habit of beating his wife, which caused Allen and I considerable worry. We resented that kind of treatment, and planned to take a hand and administer justice. We watched for an opportunity to catch the man away from home.

One morning his wife came to our house on an errand and Allen asked her when her husband planned to go to the mill with grist, and added, “I understand he thrashed you the other day.” This seemed to anger her for she grabbed up a stick and came at us saying, “You two damned fools.” We got out in a hurry. I learned that your efforts to help are not always appreciated.

I worked for this man later, and was in his employ when the bishop asked me to take seven yoke of oxen and go back on the plains and help belated emigrants. John Anderson, a boy of my own age was to go with two yoke of oxen and a wagon. We were to be ready in two days. All of my belongings except the clothes I wore were tied up in a red bandana handkerchief.

We left Tooele with two yoke of broke oxen, the others were wild steers. We got a yoke of steers in E.T. City from an old couple named Moss. When all was ready we discovered we were short a chain. I saw one on a fence and appropriated it. The woman refused to let us have it. I told John to attract her attention while I secured the chain. I returned it to her when I came back. We managed to get the yokes on those steers and never took them off until we reached Green River.

We took some potatoes and onions along and sold them at Fort Bridger for nine dollars a bushel, and like the Jew, we were worry we didn't ask more.

We took turns driving the two yoke on the wagon the driving the other seven yoke behind. We traveled twenty miles a day. We would meet people who would ask, “Where are you two kids going to? Don't you know the Indians are bad, they will kill you.” We were scared enough without that suggestion. We lived on bacon and flapjacks, cooked in a frying pan over a campfire. At Green River we overtook the rest of the rescue party, who were going east on the same mission. We were mighty glad to come up with them as we had traveled entirely alone through an Indian country. We did not dare to make any fire at night for fear of the Indians, although the weather was very cold. John R. Wimmer was in charge of the company. We began to meet the emigrants near the North Platte. They were in a very bad shape. Their wagons were heavily loaded and their oxen weak and poor. Food was scarce.

I was asked to hook on to a Newton wagon, which was loaded to the bows. Among other things in the wagon was a piano, bales of factory, and sets of blacksmith tools for Oscar Young, a son of Brigham Young. The emigrants were dying through exposure and cold. We buried two, a man by the name of Collins, and a woman, and elderly lady, in one grave on the Muddy opposite Fort Bridger. This was my first experience as a gravedigger. But, afterwards, I became quite expert at it, on succeeding trips. From Fort Bridger to Salt Lake, we buried some one nearly every day. The early winter storms had set in, the ground was frozen and we could only travel from eight to ten miles a day.

There were sixteen men in our mess. H.H. Lee and myself were the cooks. There were several returned missionaries in our crowd, among them being Henry A. Dickson, whose descendents still live in Providence. William A. Fortheringham, who later went on a mission to India, was along. He located in Beaver and died there.

The hard work and poor feed was fatal to our cattle, and some of them just quietly laid down and died by the wayside nearly every day. One ox broke his neck just as we got into the pass in Parley's Canyon.

We reached Salt Lake November 11th. It was a very cold day. I drove my wagon up to President Young's yard and left it, and started for Tooele returning the yoke of oxen and the chain to the Moss people. When the old lady Moss saw the chain she was as delighted as if she had found a gold mine. I stayed at home two days and visited with the folks, and then walked back to Salt Lake where I got work with Joseph W. Young, a son of Lorenzo D. Young. I hauled wood for him from City Creek Canyon. Lorenzo and Joseph Young were brothers of President Young, and in those days were active missionaries among the people and I often accompanied them on these trips to the settlements, taking care of their team. In this way I met many of the older Saints who had passed through the trying times in Missouri and Illinois, and thus gained a great deal of information of early Church history.

In the spring of 1865 there was scarcely any work for boys outside of freighting, or driving team in some outfit going to Montana or back to the Missouri river. I was given charge of a four-mule team. We loaded our wagons with grain, and provisions, oats for horse feed, etc., which was to be distributed to the various stage stations for the Overland Stage companies. At this time I was in my nineteenth year. We found the roads in fairly good condition and we made splendid time.

We could travel much faster with mules than with oxen. Nothing of importance happened until we reached Bitter Creek. While camped on day at noon four Indians made their appearance. We had a train of about forty wagons and about fifty men in the outfit. Joe Sharp was the wagon master. Two men were on guard at the time, a young man named Jensen and a man we called Dad Kirkham. When the Indians came in sight the alarm was given and we all got our guns. The sagebrush was pretty high. The Indians came toward our teams with the evident intention of stealing some of the animals. The Jensen boy started to run and the Indians opened fire on him and killed him. We then turned loose on the Indians and they made off as fast as they could. We followed some distance, firing when the opportunity offered, but they got away. We did not get any of them. We made a grave and buried the Jensen boy there by the roadside. We now traveled as fast as we could to get out of the Indian country, and maintained a heavy guard at night about our teams. We were on the outlook for Indians at all times.

We reached Fort Leavenworth in due time and loaded our freight as quickly as possible. Our wagon master took personal charge and worked so hard he got sick and died on the return journey. While at Leavenworth, we were eating dinner at the restaurant one day when some tough said he would like to se a “d______d Mormon”. Joe was not afraid of any one and jumped up and grabbed a chair and said, “D___n you, you can see three or four of them mighty quick.” He made for the gang knocking them right and left. The room was cleared in short order.

We made the return trip on record time. The Indians were bad, and there was trouble ahead and behind us, but we escaped without serious loss. We returned by what was then known as the “Sweetwater Route”. Somewhere near the Three Crossings, our wagon master died. We made him a grave by the roadside as we had done with the Jensen boy. Later his body was taken up and brought to Salt Lake and buried. We reached Salt Lake in September.

Early in October we loaded our wagons with flour, at Salt Lake and Farmington, for Virginia City, Montana. Virginia city at that time was a great gold mining camp. Our flour sold for $30 per hundred. We returned to Salt Lake in October loading Church grain at Logan for Salt Lake.

Joseph A. Young wanted some good mule drivers to haul lumber out of City Creek Canyon for the big tabernacle. I hired out to him. It was a very severe winter, and the snow fell to an unusual depth in the mountains and we had to make our own roads through it to the timber. I worked for him until late in February, when in the company with another young man, we walked back to Tooele. There were two young ladies there in whom we were interested, so we braved the snow, mud and slush to go and see them.

While in Tooele a call came for ten trains of from fifty to seventy-five wagons each, to go back to Missouri for emigrants, as the Church had arranged for unusually large emigration this year (1866). The bishop called me to go back again, telling me that I knew the road. He gave me the pick of the teams. They were all ox teams and if any were choice I could not detect it. I had three 'broke' oxen out of four yoke. The others were as wild as deer, never had had a yoke on. There were four and five years old. Our bishop was asked to furnish eight teams of four yoke each and eight teamsters and a night guard, all to be exemplary young men. The teams, wagons, etc. were all to be donated, also the food, to the cause, to enable Saints in Europe to come to Zion. To illustrate, one man would furnish a wagon, another an ox, another a yoke, and other chains, flour, potatoes, meat, etc.

My wagon was a lynchpin iron axle wagon that had come to the country with Johnson's army ten years before and was a pretty rickety old relic. Two wheels would be running northwest and the other two southeast at the same time. I promised myself that if I could ever obtain forgiveness for starting out on a twenty-two hundred mile journey with a wagon like that I would never do it again. It devoured wagon dope like a sow takes to swill. I had to grease it three or four times a day, especially on the sandy road along the Platte River, to keep it from running hot, like a car box.

We started up Emigration Canyon on the first day of May 1866. There were 45 wagons in our train. We had all kinds of trouble. Many of the oxen were wild and hard to handle, and the result was that tongues and reaches were broken, wagons toppled over daily. There were snow banks to be dug through, road to be repaired, streams to be bridged, and a hundred other difficulties to be encountered. We were a whole month going to Fort Bridger, 113 miles.

The remainder of our train overtook us at Silver Creek in Summit County, and we were organized into a company, with Henry Chipman of American Fork as wagon master, and A.G. Driggs as assistant. We made very slow progress on account of the poor condition of our cattle. Some of them were so thin that you could see daylight through them when they were between you and the sun.

When going up Blacks Fork we saw the bones of about 500 oxen and mules lying in a heap where the animals had been frozen to death on the night of November 14th, 1857, when Johnson's Army was caught in the blizzard while trying to reach Fort Bridger. They went no further that winter.

We found in Ham's Fork a swift running stream and rising rapidly. In fact, it raised a foot while our train was crossing it. We had to tie a long rope to the yoke of the leaders, and one of the night guards would ride ahead, with the rope around the horn of his saddle and pull the oxen along to keep them from being carried down by the swift current. At Green River we had to swim our cattle across, and ferry our wagons over on a boat. Cattle do not like to take to water, and we had to force some into the stream and compel them to head for the opposite shore, and the others would follow if the pressure were great enough.

The company cook has no friends, so no one desires that job. I was young and inexperienced, so in an evil moment, the responsibility was forced upon me. There was an understanding that the first man to kick against the grub had to take the job as cook. I determined to get rid of the job so I mixed a batch of bread, two parts flour and one part salt, which I hoped would produce results. They all ate it without a blink, except one fellow who blurted out, “This is the damndest,” then a pause, when he added slowly, “best bread that I ever ate.” So I had to continue the job.

While the outfit was crossing Green River, I went over on the first boat and began preparations to cook dinner. I had a sack of beans along and decided to cook some. I was innocent of the ways of beans, so I filled the kettle full to the brim. Some one told me to put in some saleratus, which I did, and they turned as yellow as saffron. When they began to swell, I took out some. This operation was continued every few minutes until I had several pans full of beans. In fact, about every utensil I had was requisitioned to take care of the overflow and still they came.

From the Green River the roads were good and we made good progress, until we reached the Sweetwater River. We saw the spot where the ill-fated Martin Company camped in 1856, and where 17 people died from exposure and cold in one night. The river was high and the weather cold and one of the men bet five dollars that not a man could swim over and back. Parley Driggs won the bet. He swam over and back without a whimper.

After leaving Goose Creek, a tributary of the Sweetwater, we made our way to the North Platte River. We had a number of oxen with sore necks and feet; two of the men took turns driving them close to the train. One morning the train moved out as usual, and the boys were supposed to follow closely with their loose cattle, but they lingered around the fire smoking, when two Indians came out of the brush, stole two of the best steers and stripped the boys of their pants and told them to “Pike Away”. They were pretty badly frightened, and when they came into camp, looked more like ghosts or the 'missing link' than ox drivers.

At Deer Creek Station the mountaineer keepers kept a stock of moccasins and buffalo robes to sell. We all laid in a stock of them to sell at the river. The road now was bad and very rocky. We crossed the bridge over the North Platte and left there all of our sore footed cattle, and part of our provisions, intending to pick them up on our return. There was a military post here and a company of soldiers.

From the Platte east we passed graves of people who had died on the road or been killed by Indians, every day. Sometimes we saw graves where the wolves had dug out the body and left the bones bleaching in the sun.

At Fort Laramie we found a great gathering of Indians, who had assembled to hold a pow-wow with government officials. There were 500 lodges. The Indians had some fine horses and mules with them with they had stolen from passing trains. We were now on the prairies between the two forks of the Platte. Beautiful waving grass could be seen in all direction, some of it two feet high. Droves of antelopes could be seen in all directions. Buffalo were scarce. One of the boys shot into a drove of antelope and killed two with one shot.

On June 8 I found a pistol and belt someone had lost, also an ox that had strayed from some company the year before. We are now 35 miles east of Fort Laramie. We are to make a dry camp today so we all fill our canteens and kegs with water. The Rawlins and Chipman trains had traveled together since leaving home. A very sad accident occurred today. While a young man in the Rawlins train by the name of George Cook was filling his keg, a teamster named Gos was fooling with his pistol and it was accidentally discharged, the ball hitting Cook in the fleshy part of his thigh. We gave him every attention we could, but, owing to lack of proper medicines and the hot weather, blood poison set in and after three or four days he died. The young man was going down the river to meet his mother who was coming over from England. His death cast a gloom over the entire camp. A shelf grave was dug, into which we lowered the body. Short services were held and we laid sticks across the grave and then filled it with earth. There was not a dry eye in the company, as he was a favorite with all of us.

When we reached the river his mother came to our train to inquire of her son. She had with her three or four small children. She said her son George Cook was to be with the Rawlins train and was to meet her there. Maybe it wasn't a task to have to tell her that her son would never meet her again this side of the grave, but it had to be done.

When we reached the Platte River crossing twelve miles above Fort Kearney, and 213 miles from the Missouri, we found the water very deep and the river a half a mile wide. We had to tie ropes across the tops of the wagon boxes and put our provisions and bedding on there to keep them from getting wet, as the water filled the boxes. From now on we made forced marches of from 25 to 33 miles a day, one wagon crowding closely on the other. The reason was that all the trains were hurrying to get in first so they could load first and get on the lead for the return trip. If memory serves me right we made the 213 miles in five days. We kept a night guard out every night to see that the other wagon trains did not pass us in the night. We reached a little landing place on the river called Wyoming six miles above Nebraska City and 56 miles below Omaha.

We had traveled so fast since leaving Kearny that we had done little or no cooking, so when we reached the river we were all half-starved. We took possession of a small restaurant the morning after we reached Wyoming. The meals were 50 cents, but we asked him he would charge to fill us up. He said one dollar each. Well, we ate him out of house and home before we got satisfied. I never saw such a wolfish bunch.

The night before we reached the river we encountered one of the worst storms I ever saw. Lightning and thunder were something terrific. The lightning lit up the heavens so that we could plainly see the trees on the river bottoms four miles away.

While at Wyoming I made several trips down to Nebraska City, which, even at that early date, was quite a town. We there sold our moccasins, buffalo robes, etc., and invested in cook-stove, dishes, etc.

Soon after our arrival the emigrants commenced to arrive, coming up the river on steamboats. There were under the direction of Isaac Bullock and Thomas Taylor.

There were two mule trains arrived and loaded before we arrived. One of them should have crossed the Platte at Kearney, but thought they could cross lower down, which they could not because of high water, so they went to Omaha and crossed on a ferry and came down the east side of the river to Wyoming where they crossed back. We got our loading done early in July and started back. It took six or eight days to load up.

Many of the wagons had twelve passengers and their baggage to a wagon. Appolis Driggs, assistant wagon-master, told me there was two large boxes almost enough to fill a wagon, down at the landing. They contained plate glass to be taken to Salt Lake City. In addition to these I was to have two of the night guard sleep in my wagon during the day. I also had two passengers, Samuel Pike, and his wife, Emma, and their luggage. Then I had to find room for the provisions for the return journey.

We started back on the 11th of July. The weather was terribly hot. We took the same course back that we had followed coming. I celebrated my 20th birthday crossing the Platte River at Julesburg. We were two days getting our train across the river. We had to double twelve yoke of cattle to a wagon. The quicksand was so bad that it was impossible to stop in the river. One wagon got stuck in the river on the second day and it took twenty-five yoke of cattle to pull it out. The water was pretty deep, and all the freight in the bottom of the wagon got wet. All stuff like gingham, calico, factory, candy, boots and shoes, etc. had to be unloaded and dried.

Our route ran between the two forks of the Platte until we reached Ash Hollow, where occurred a big massacre in 1851. We now passed Chimney Rock, and Scott's Bluffs. The sand was very deep and we made slow progress. The poor old oxen would tug at their yokes all day, with their tongues hanging out. We saw lots of skulls, which had been dug, out of shallow graves by the wolves and left to bleach in the sun.

On Sunday the 19th of August, we reached La Bontie Creek, in the Black Hills. We had strict orders when we left Fort Laramie, from the officer in command, not to camp near timber at night, and to put a double guard over our stock, as the Indians were killing people and burning trains ahead of us. We camped at noon, and the right wing of our train turned their cattle up the creek and the left wing turned theirs down the stream.

The Indians made an attack upon our animals during the noon hour and got away with a great many of them. Most of them from the herd, which went upstream, although we all lost some cattle. We had a running fight with the Indians up a ravine. When it was all over we returned to camp and counted our loss. We found they had secured 93 head of cattle and three horses. We immediately yoked up and pulled out on a hill, where we camped out on a hill for the night. Three soldiers who had deserted from Fort Kearney caught up with us that night. One of the young men by the name of Forbes was a telegraph operator, and he climbed a pole and sent a message to President Young telling him of our loss, and asked him to send us help and provisions as the Indians had sorely crippled us. It was Sunday and the President was in meetings when the message came, but steps were taken to send relief at once.

A young woman named Garner died about this time and was buried by the roadside. I think this was my last experience as a gravedigger. A great many difficulties came up in camp, which had to be settled, so we maintained a “Kangaroo Court” with Charlie Green of American Fork as judge. All cases were tried at noon. Any of the teamsters found “sitting up” on ox yokes with the girls of an evening were duly tried, found guilty and were sentenced to be “bumped”. The judge wore a stovepipe hat and an old pair of spectacles with lenses, and like the Medes and Persians, there was no appeal from his decisions.

Twenty years afterward, while traveling in southern Utah, I came to a town where Judge Green lived, and after supper I hunted him up. A grey-haired man answered the door. I knew him at once. I said, “Is this the place where Judge Green lives?” He said, “My name is Green but I am not a judge.” I said, “Perhaps not now, but you surely were judge of the Kangaroo Court in 1866.” We spent a very pleasant evening recalling old times and companions. Often on this trip I would go up into the cemetery and look up their graves.

On August 20th we yoked up our remaining oxen and made shift the best we could to continue our journey. We wanted to get out of Indian country as soon as possible. We made 20 miles this day. The Indians had cut the telegraph wires and burned the stations from there to Deer Creek. When we reached there we found the station in flames and all the fine buffalo robes still smoking. We hurried on to the Platte, where we had left our lame oxen and supplies on the down trip. We gathered up all of the cattle belonging to all of the trains and took them along until we should find help. Between the Platte and Sweetwater is a stretch of country without water. We carried water and made dry camp that night. There were always bad Indians there but they kept in hiding. A man in Captain White's train went out hunting and was captured by the Indians, and was held a prisoner for two or three years, but finally made his way into Salt Lake City.

There was a train for Fort Reno ahead of us, and in the night the Indians ran off all of their cattle, and came in our direction. Before they knew it they ran right into us and we got out and recaptured all of the stolen cattle. We yoked them up and drove them until noon when we met the captain of the Reno train, who claimed his stock, and we gave them to him.

Nothing else of importance occurred until we reached Sage Creek, where a train was snowed in the year before. The train was loaded with whiskey for the Sweetwater mines. It was customary in those days to bury unnecessary things to lighten the loads and finding a grave at this point Charley Green and I wondered what had been cashed there. We dug into it only to find it was a body.

Our provisions were now beginning to get short, on account of the loss of our cattle. We had stopped for dinner one day at a point on the Big Sandy where Lot had burned the government wagon trains belonging to Johnston's army in 1857. While resting and eating our dinner we saw someone coming towards us from the west. It proved to be Captain Hinckley, who had been sent with a supply train to our relief. We were very glad for the relief, both of food and additional teams as our cattle were very poor and loads were too heavy for them. Every passenger that was able to walk had to do so. We now made better progress and reached Salt Lake City about the middle of October. We now unloaded our freight, bid adieu to our passengers and departed our several ways, I for Tooele. Before reaching home one of my oxen laid down and died within three miles of home, after having stood the journey of 2,200 miles.

To be a teamster on the plains in those days was no holiday picnic — it was a man's job. It was a long, hard, wearisome labor first to last. Still, there were compensating advantages. We formed acquaintances with the incoming emigrants, which have lasted all our lives, and also came in contact with men who have become the leaders of our States since that time. It was worth something to know those men. They have all crossed the “Great Divide” since then. There is scarcely one to be found today.

There were ten Church trains cross the plains that year, seven ox trains and three mule trains. The following men were captains: John R. Murdock of Beaver; Bishop Holliday of Santaquin; Scott of Provo; Lowrey of Manti; Henry Chipman of American Fork; Joseph R. Rawlins of South Cottonwood; Peter Nebeker of Box Elder; Thomas E. Ricks of Logan; Samuel White of Beaver, and one more whose name I have forgotten. They were men worth knowing.

I omitted to mention that while going back year, out on the Sweetwater, we found a place where a train had been burned by the Indians the fall before. The iron from the wagons was lying about, and as iron was valuable in those days, we gathered it all up and buried it, to be picked up on our return. The Indians were in evidence as we passed through, and we could see their signal smokes and fires for days.

Nearly every person who has crossed the plains remembers there is no firewood to be had for hundreds of miles, so we had to collect buffalo chips to cook our food with. We who had crossed before knew just how to meet an emergency, and would hang a sack on the back of the wagon, and every buffalo chip we saw as we journeyed during the day we picked it up and put it in the sack, thus we always were provided with fuel for our meals.

After returning to Tooele that fall, I went into the canyon and got our logs and built me a little cabin, with the usual dirt floor and roof and then I went to a certain young lady and asked her to share it with me. She agreed, and on December 22, 1866 I married Charlotte R. White. Her people were old time Mormons at Nauvoo. Her father died at Council Bluffs in May 1849, and Charlotte was born while her mother was crossing the plains at Pacific Springs, Wyoming, six months after her father's death.

When the Union Pacific Railroad was building I worked with David P. Kimball, so when the work was done he selected me with about 50 other young men to go with him and settle Laketown in Bear Lake Valley. We went and built a cabin and tried to make a living there, but finally returned to Tooele. In the meantime mining had taken quite a boom at Bingham and in the Cottonwoods and I got a job hauling ore to the smelter at Stockton and bullion to Salt Lake.

Religious prejudice against the Mormons ran pretty high in those days and the Liberal Party was organized. They outvoted us in Tooele and took the county. They ran things with a high hand and soon the county scrip was reduced to ten cents on the dollar. Many of the better liberals were disgusted with their own party, and, at the next election, under the leadership of Francis M. Lyman, whom I had helped to move up from Fillmore, to preside in Tooele, we beat the Liberals, but they would not give up the records, but stayed in the courthouse day and night. I was elected clerk and recorder. We tried various ways to get possession but without success until one night two of us went to the courthouse, while in there talking with the Liberals, a man rushed in and said something was wrong with the moon, there was a peculiar formation around it.

Everybody rushed out to see the moon and some of us lingered behind and closed and bolted the door, and we were now in possession.

I had the fight of my life as sheriff of Tooele County. There were at that time organized bands of horse and cattle thieves, operating from western Idaho to the Colorado River. Their stations were located at convenient points and were run as systematically as the stage line stations. Some of them would drive the stock to a certain place where others would take them and deliver in exchange stock from the southern counties.

One day, Heber P. Kimball, a son of Heber C., came to me and said thieves had just stolen a band of his best brood mares from his ranch near Grantsville. My deputy and I started immediately in pursuit, and crowded them so close that they were forced to abandon the horses near Goshen, but we followed the thieves as far as Manti, where we lost track of them.

One of the thieves by the name of Biddlecome, traded a mare to Charley Jensen of Tooele for a saddle, and asked Jensen to go with him up into the Cedars and would deliver the mare to him. Jensen went, and when they reached the secluded spot Biddlecome shot Jensen in the back and dug a shallow grave and buried him there.

Jensen was reported missing but no one could say what had become of him. Finally, it was reported that Biddlecome and others of the gang had killed a cow belonging to a farmer, and I got out a warrant for their arrest. They were in the mouth of a dry canyon. Snow was on the ground and I crept up close to their cabin and listened to their conversation. I learned that Biddlecome had left that day on horseback for Milford. There were three men in the cabin, and I arrested two of them, and the other made his escape. I brought the prisoners to Slag Town, where they were guarded through the night by my deputy. Next day I went to the house of the man who had escaped, and he saw me coming and ran up into the cedars on the mountain. I followed his tracks and he would jump from rock to rock where there was no snow, but I kept on his trail, and he crossed into Soldier's Canyon, and went down the canyon and hid under a lot of willows that had been cut the previous summer. I knew he was there and ordered him to come out or I would fire the brush. He came out and I held my pistol on him and told him to march. He begged me not to tell how I caught him.

I learned that the gang had some saddle horses fenced in a little pasture. I went up and cut the wire and turned the animals loose. They had made arrangements to meet Biddlecome in the south. I took them to the penitentiary.

When I came back for Salt Lake, I started immediately in pursuit of Biddlecome. I passed through Mercur, and learned afterwards that there were bets made that I would never catch Biddlecome, as some of his gang would head me off and notify him I was on his trail. I passed through the Tintic District and down Boulder Creek in the south mountains, and one night stayed at a lonely cabin with a man who belonged to the gang. He slept with his pistol and boots on, but did not know who I was as I claimed to be hunting cattle. Finally I reached Deseret. The station agent knew me and told me he dreamed last night that a sheriff arrested a man here. While waiting at the station I saw a man on a horse coming up the road. The station agent said, “Who is that man coming up the road on a horse?” I said, “It's my man, but it's not the horse he went away on.” When he came up I stepped out, and held my pistol on him and I said, “Joe Biddlecome, you are my man.” I took his pistol, and got my horse and we started back on our 90-mile ride through the mountains, he and I alone. His horse gave out and we met a band of Indians and I had him trade his horse for an Indian pony. The storms of winter kept raging around us but we kept to the trail and finally reached Stockton. The man who bet $25 that I would not get him lost it.

I took him to the pen, and while he was serving his time I never gave up on the case of Charlie Jensen. A Mrs. Johnson in Slag Town sent for me and said she had seen Jensen and Biddlecome going up the bench towards the cedars with a pair of horses. I worked on this clue. A little more than fifteen months after Jensen's disappearance I found and dug up his body. Biddlecome was convicted and sent to prison for life, but got pardoned on ground of ill health. He went to Bingham where he cleaned out a miner's cabin in a drunken row, and then skipped the country. He went to eastern Utah and took up a ranch on the Dirty Devil River near Hanksville. The last I heard of him he had all the ranchers in that country afraid of him.

He was probably one of the Robber's Roost gang that was cleaned up in that region thirty years ago, when several were killed and the others left the country.

“Wonderful Journey Started”, News Clipping From Logan Journal, 1829

Along in the early sixties, J.W. Pickett, 83-year old custodian of the courthouse and grounds, made several trips across the plains to bring emigrants to Utah; a long and arduous journey, and a dangerous one because of Indians. Of late years he has had one great desire. That has been to travel over the route once more before he dies. Not long since he expressed that desire to John H. Shaw, a commercial traveler, brother of Sheriff W.H. Shaw. This gentleman sympathized with Mr. Pickett and offered to take him upon his next trip over that territory, and offer that was gratefully accepted, and this morning they started on an auto tour, which will enable the aged veteran to travel over the old trails while enjoying his vacation. Either going or returning they will visit the old starting points of both the later and earlier emigrant days, including Laramie and Cheyenne, Wyoming, Omaha, Nebraska, and Council Bluffs, Iowa. During his absence Hyrum Bunce is taking his place.

“Captain Pickett Leading Over Old Trails”, Story From Logan Journal, Aug. 7, 1929

Recalls many incidents of hardships and sorrows encountered by pioneers of the west on emigrant trails.

From the Hotel Fremont at Big Springs, Nebraska, we have received word of the continuation of the journey of the Pickett-Shaw-James journey eastward, which for pioneer J.W. Pickett who crossed the plains so many times for emigrants in the old days, is filled with reminiscences.

Leaving Lander, Wyoming they followed the old emigrant trail along the Sweetwater River to the crossing, where in 1856, Joseph A. Young, William Kimball, George Grant, and Finley Free, carried women across the river, which was that time full of mush ice. They belonged to that ill-fated handcart company, so many of whom died. They were snowed in and the men named above were members of the relief party sent to their aid by President Brigham Young.

The next place of note was Devil's Gate, where Captain Pickett camped in 1863. He picked out the place where Henry Hancock's wife was buried, leaving five children. The spot is now part of a lucern patch.

Continuing on they came to Independence Rock, which covers fourteen acres. The State of Wyoming has made this historic rock a memorable monument by inscribing upon it: “Erected by the State of Wyoming 1914 on the old emigrant trail. Independence Rock was discovered in 1812 and given its name by emigrants who celebrated Independence Day there July 4, 1825. Captain Bonneville passed there with the first wagons to cover this route in 1832. Whitman and Spalding, missionaries enroute to the great northwest, with their wives, stopped there in 1836. General John C. Fremont camped there with his U.S. soldiers August 2,1842. 50,000 emigrants passed there in 1853.

From there the Pickett-Shaw-James party followed the trail to the Buttes, where Captain Pickett told of an incident wherein Indians, driving seventy-five head of cattle, inadvertently drove them directly into the emigrants wagon corral at daybreak, and finding what they had done retreated. Government teamsters came at noon and drove the cattle back.

The trail was followed to where the emigrants crossed the North Platte, where the town of Casper now stands, and on to Glendo on the back of Deer Creek, where in 1866, Indians burned the stage station. They continued to Douglas, where they spent the night. This was Captain Pickett's 83rd anniversary, and the evening was spent hearing him relate some of his most interesting experiences.

Big Springs, Nebraska, was reached just 63 years to the day from the time Captain Pickett and his company forded the South Platte River. As early as 3 a.m. Dr. J.H. Shaw awakened the party, had breakfast and started for Florence, the old Winter Quarters where a group of Saints driven Missouri, wintered in the year 1846.

Later communication will bring further interesting reminiscences.

“In Olden Days, Another Installment” Story From Logan Journal, 1829

Continuation of our trip to Florence, Nebraska

We arrived in Omaha. The farmlands are the most beautiful of anything on this trip; there are cornfield for miles and miles. Lucern in the next to mention. We counted 54 stacks on one field. The third crop is growing nicely and wonderful beet fields ? never saw such fields of beets before. The sand in Scott's Bluff when the emigrants passed through in early days was so deep they had to double teams to get through. Captain Pickett says this place now comprises the finest farms you want to set your eyes on.

We passed the monument erected by the people of Lincoln County last year on the site of the site of the old Fort McPherson and the old Emigrant Trail. This was erected about eight miles out of South Platte. We passed Fort Kearney, a beautiful city of 11,000 inhabitants. We landed in Omaha at 7:30 p.m. and put up at the Hotel Congress. Population of Omaha, 200,000, nice place. On August 5 we went on to Florence where the emigrants landed off the boats on the old Missouri. Some of the old landmarks are visible today. This is the place where the wagons and handcarts were pressed into action to cross the plains in the year 1847 to 1863.

Captain Pickett discovered his old home site where now stands a pump station for Omaha which pumps the water from the Missouri River over 18 miles. They every 24 hours, 50,000,000 gallons. It is pumped into a large pool. It then goes through large vats to be filtered. We discovered the old mill, which is still in operation. From there we went to Florence Park where we saw the willow tree Brigham Young planted in March, 1847 and from there to the pioneer cemetery. Inscribed on the sign board is the following:

“This is where 600 of Nebraska's first white settlers were buried in 1846 and 1847”

Captain Pickett estimates there are 2000 people buried there, one of them being his brother. A.C. Cubley, keeper of the grounds informs us that the State of Nebraska appropriates the expense it takes to keep the grounds in good condition. Mr. Cubley is paid 50 cents per hour for his time.

Captain Pickett, Dr. Shaw, Mr. James

“Home From Trip” News Clip From Logan Journal, 1929

Captain J.W. Pickett, custodian at the courthouse grounds, Dr. J.H. Shaw, and R.W. James arrived home last night from a most interesting tour of the old Mormon trail, which took them as far east as Florence, Nebraska. Captain Pickett was simply thrilled with the trip. He could spend hours relating stories of the wonderful farms, homes and crops encountered on the trip, contrasting present day conditions with what one had to put up with during pioneer days.

“Travels and Homecoming of the Three Wanderers”, Story From Logan Journal, 1929

Scenes and notes of interest gathered while journeying over old western trails used by the sturdy pioneers.

The three wanderers over the trails of long ago, when the West was still in its infancy, Captain J.W. Pickett, Dr. J.H. Shaw, and Trainmaster R.W. James have, as previously announced, returned home; not only fully satisfied, but delighted with their trip and the romantic memories it evoked. On his trips back for emigrants in the early sixties, Captain Pickett observed many matters connected with emigrant travel into the West, and learned many more. It has been the dream of his later life to travel the route again and observe present conditions as compared with the past as he recalled them. In locating the most famous points he was greatly aided by Mr. Shaw, whose mother was one of the handcart pioneers. No one is more deeply interested in the subject of pioneering of the West than is he; and having traveled the route three times on tours of investigation, he could direct the attention to many scenes of interest that Mr. Pickett would have been unable to locate on account of changed conditions. Mr. James, himself also of pioneer stock, was also deeply interested.

Captain Pickett discovered and brought back with him several souvenirs of old days on the plains. At old Fort Bridger he secured a buffalo horn and a pair of ox shoes. At Florence, Nebraska, he secured a piece of chain of the kind with which oxen used to pull wagons, the chain being hooked to their yokes. He recognized the former site of a combined flour and sawmill, and also noted the spots where boats used to land. At Devil's Gate, Wyoming, on the Sweetwater, he picked up a very old horseshoe. This spot is five miles from Independence Rock on which as described in their letters, they found so many interesting descriptions.

On the return journey they stopped at the site of Jackson's Fort on Ham's Fork, where Johnson's army encamped enroute to Utah, and also noted the place where the Mormon defenders, guarders of the outposts, burned two of the army supply wagons and drove the cattle away. The army finally reached Echo Canyon, but on the high cliffs on the sides of the canyon the Mormons had piled great stacks of big rocks to be hurled down to destroy any force attempting to pass. The winter, too, was most severe. Many limbs were frozen and the army was compelled to return to Fort Bridger, where they also suffered, and because of the scarcity of draft animals, men had to pull in their own firewood.

When the Logan party left the old route at Laramie they traveled through Centennial Pass and crossed the Snowy Range at an elevation of 11,060 feet above sea level. It was on this summit that the elevation proved too much for Captain Pickett, who passed out for a time. They then descended to Saratoga, Wyoming, where they spent the night, then on to Rawlins and following the old route to Bitter Creek. At Point of the Rocks they saw the old Pony Express quarters, where, in 1864 a young girl, Nellie Bailey, enroute it is believe to California, was buried. Thirty years later, Elder Pickett, when on a mission in England, met her parents and was able to inform them to her death and place of burial.

From Point of the Rocks the party went on to Salt Wells, and old overland stage station, then on to Green River. The river ford used to be two miles below where the City of Green River now stands. They intersected the '47 trail again at Ham's Fork, followed it to Church Butte and on to Fort Bridger. Mr. Shaw has a fine photograph of the old Pony Express stables at Fort Bridger, also one of an old stagecoach that was taken to Fort Bridger in 1867.

An incident of the trip while in Nebraska was a visit to Ash Hollow and a very steep descent on an old pioneer trail called Windlass Hill, as windlasses or block and tackle were used by some to lower wagons; but Captain Pickett says the Mormons used only roughlocks. The old tracks are still distinct on the steep slope. In 1851 a trainload of emigrants killed by Indians at this point, and here the State of Nebraska has erected a monument. That an emigrant had died there two years earlier, was evident from the fact that a marker or stone on the grave bore the inscription: “Sarah Patterson. Born in Missouri. Died 1849.”

Mr. Shaw has brought back copious notes which he is going to compile into a complete record of the trip, both going and returning, including a number of pictures he secured with which to illustrate it. It is safe to assume that it will be of the most intense interest of students and lovers of the old “Wild and Woolly West,” in the days when “Men were Men”.

That good old veteran pioneer, John W. Pickett, today attained his eighty-second year, which seems unbelievable to those who witness his still energetic work on the grounds of the county courthouse. This morning he recalled that just sixty-two years ago today he was busily engaged in helping ninety-six wagons carrying five hundred emigrants to Utah, in fording the treacherous Platte River. The work required two days, during which he was working in water up to his armpits. He made a number of such trips, and between times shared all the labors and hardships that were the accompaniment of pioneer life in Utah. He is indeed a wonderful man for his advanced age.

“Utah Pioneer Dies in Logan”, Obituary In Logan Journal, 1936

John Warren Pickett, 89, died at his home at 137 West Fifth South, Sunday at 1:30 p.m. from ailments incident to old age.

Mr. Pickett was born August 2, 1846, at Chievely, England, the son of Mathew and Harriet Pocock Pickett. He came to the United States 78 years ago, and had lived in Logan for the past 17 years. He had lived in Providence for several years before moving to Logan. Prior to that time he was a resident of Salt Lake City where he had served as a police officer and Tooele where he was at one time sheriff of Tooele County.

He had been an active L.D.S. church worker and had served two missions, one in California and the other in England. He had crossed the plains several times in the early days. Last summer, he and his son, George Pickett of Providence, built a model of a covered wagon for the Daughters of the Utah Pioneers, which was presented to the government of Denmark, and is now in a park near Aarchus. A few years ago he aided the church authorities in placing markers on the old Mormon trail.

As a young man Mr. Pickett was sent to aid in colonizing the Bear Lake section.

Surviving Mr. Pickett are seven sons and three daughters: George M. Pickett and Nellie P. Merrill, Providence; Lucy Campbell, Preston; Ray Pickett, Spencer, Idaho; T.R. Pickett, Idaho Falls; Lyman Pickett, Ammon, Idaho; Wade H. Pickett, Provo; Newell K. Pickett, Harlow W. Pickett and Fern F. Christensen, Salt Lake City.

Funeral services will be held Wednesday at 2:00 p.m. in the Logan Sixth Ward chapel. Internment will be in the Providence cemetery, under the direction of the Richard's Mortuary.