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The day we started on our journey to Oregon, I do not remember, but before we reached the Caw River I can call to mind Harmony Mission, and Grand River, as being the name of a place and river on or near our route. But I do not remember seeing any mission or river. We came up on the south side of the Caw River and camped below and near an Indian town of the Caw tribe. There were huts and cabins ranging along the river on either side of a street. It was said those Indians grew corn, beans, and pumpkins. I admired several of the Indian men I saw here. They were more than six feet tall, straight, and moved with a proud step; wore blankets drawn around their shoulders, and leggins. Their hair was shorn to the scalp, except something like a rooster's comb on top of the head, colored red. I remember standing and gazing up into the face of one of those tall Indians, probably to see if he were a good or bad Indian. I was not afraid of them. I had lived near the Osage River and I saw that the Caw River looked to be hardly half as wide. The current was slow and the water I thought was very deep. The men in some way made the wagon boxes water tight and used them as boats. In crossing the river the Indians assisted our people in swimming our cattle and horses. I noticed that the Indians did not