To the modern traveler who reaches Los Angeles tired at the end of a
three or four day trip across the continent in the up-to-date vestibule
"limited" it would doubtless seem a long step backward to the method
of travel forty years ago, when the journey across the plains was an
undertaking requiring months of travel, to which danger and privation
were almost daily incidents.

There are those still living in Los Angeles, however, to whom the experience
of that journey is a vivid recollection, and whose recital of the risks and
hardships endured is full of interest to the younger generation, native-born
or coming to California by the safer and more comfortable present-day mode
of travel.

A few evenings ago this writer met Mrs. Kate Medlin, who resides on West
Forty Fifth street in this city, and heard from her lips a thrilling story of the
trip made by her with others from Texas to California by wagon in 1868.
Mrs. Medlin was one of a company numbering forty one men, women, and
children who spent more than eight months upon the journey across the plains,
and was induced to give her story of the trip.
 
 

"Well, as you would like to hear of my trip from Texas to California", said
Mrs. Medlin, "I will endeavor to give you some idea of what it means to
attempt the journey by wagon.  But I am sorry that I cannot remember the
names of the towns and places, also many dates which would make it more
interesting."

"It was a long and hard journey from Hayes County, Texas to Los Angeles,
with oxen, for our teams consisted of three and five yoke of these oxen to a
wagon.  Our train was made up of seven of these strong canvas covered
wagons, and we started April 15, 1868.  Once out into the frontier of Texas
amid the cattle range, we stayed there long enough to gather enough stock to
bring with us, which took till the 3rd of May.  Then we started for California
with our string of seven wagons."

"We were all, I think, in good spirits, and with the prospect of making money
at the end of our trip, for stock was high-priced further on, where we intended
to sell some and secure mule teams to finish the trip, as the mules travel at a
much more rapid rate than the slow oxen."

 
  WITH HERD AND FLOCKS

  
 

"We started with 1800 head of cattle and 150 head of horses. We knew we
would not have enough men, arms or ammunition to last, but intended to go
by an old fort and get supplies to protect ourselves from any danger that was
likely to arise.  But when we got to the forks of the road, our captain - for trains
in those days always had a captain, whose duty it was to decide all matters of
this kind - said we would not go by the fort, for he had traveled the road a
number of times and had never seen an Indian, he did not think it necessary
to bother about the guns, and the other road was better for out stock, also for
wood and water, which we always had to look out for."

 

"We did as our captain advised, and did not equip ourselves for the dangers ahead of us.  We traveled over lots of country at this time that seemed like a dream to me, as I had never traveled any in my life before.  I often wish I had taken a diary of the trip as we progressed, but I was a widow, my husband having been killed in the Civil War, and I had lots of work to do, having four children to take care of, and cook for several men, who helped care for our stock.  I gathered most of  my own wood by walking along by the wagon, gathering what I could find and placing it in a cowhide we had fastened under the wagon to carry wood and cooking vessels, so you see I was always very tired when the stops were made."

 

"When we would stop where there was plenty of water we would wash some clothes out and with all the work we were not idle at any time during the long trip.  I was small, weighing only 98 pounds, but was strong and was able to work hard
all day, and all night, if necessary.  I had done all kinds of hard work all my life.
I tell you, the women of California don't know what hard work is.  We women of Texas had worked both indoors and out, also, if need required."

 
 

"I made the start to California with great hopes.  It was like starting to
fairyland and I thought I had counted the cost and could see what the
hardships and trouble would be, but I soon found I had no idea what was
coming, but still braved the storm.  I thought when I would arrive in California
with my money and get to my relatives it would be all right with me."

"My father, Perry Malone, is still living in Santa Ana.  He is 93 years old, is
feeble, but retains his mental faculties.  Many will know him as an old-timer
here in California.  I thought when I reached the "Land of Gold" among my relatives I would be independent for I would have enough to make an
independent living.  I was disappointed again."

"I will now go back to where I crossed the Stoped Plains in Texas.  There
we had to travel 80 miles without any water.  All wagons had large barrels
attached to the rear to carry water.  Mine held forty gallons.  We traveled
mostly at night as it was cooler and the stock could endure it better.  We
were three days and nights until we reached the Pecos River.  Stock was
giving out by the hundred and we gave what water we could spare from
family use to the horses."

"Four miles before we come to the river we came to mud holes.  There
had been some water here a few days before, but there was another train
ahead of us whose stock had drank it dry, and the water was so full of
alkali it poisoned such a large number of animals you could almost step
from one dead one to another, they had died in such large numbers, some
before getting out of the water.   When our cattle reached the mud holes
they plunged into the mud and got enough to kill many of them.  They were
by this time uncontrollable for want of water, and were close enough to
smell it.  Our men rode ahead in order to hold them back from the river as
the bank was very steep and high, and they would crowd one another off
into the water which was full of quick sands, but at last the men had to give
the road to the cattle as they were so wild that they ran over anything in
their way."

"We found another train of wagons and people here, resting their teams,
and part of our train crossed the river, there to go with other teams, but
our captain would not cross, he said we should travel up the river as it was
so much better for stock and it was so much better for wood and water, so
we split up, but there came another herd of cattle which was also headed
up the river.  The herders had no families with them so we make an agreement with them to travel with or near enough to us to be of help to each other in
time of need, so we felt we could protect ourselves."

 

"We realized that our part of the train was going through dangerous country.
Well, we traveled up the river for miles and days.  One day when time to start came, one man said it was such a good place for the stock to feed and drink
that he thought it best to stay until the morning, but our captain said he would
go on and this raised quite a controversy.  Then our captain remarked we would wait for the other train, which was several days behind us before we crossed the river, but upon reaching the river again, he would cross over.  It was three miles then to the forks of the road one road led through the Hondo Country, the other road through a range of mountains."

"When we reached the forks of the road we wanted to wait for the other train
we had left behind but by this time we did not know how far behind they were,
but we they would reach us, as there was no other way to go.  But after we left
the forks of the road we could not keep track of them,  as we would not have known which of these two roads they may choose.  But here the captain again
gave the orders to go ahead as expenses were large and he was going on.  Here
two of our men left us.  They took their guns and pistols with them and went up the Hondo alone.  They were the best armed men we had, and that only left us with thirteen men, one only 15 years old."

"So we started out to our doom, and I felt as though we were going into trouble
as we had heard that the indians had taken a large herd of cattle only three days before.  This, however, our captain did not believe, but I did, as we could see
fine beef cattle along the road ride.  The Indians had secured them from the train ahead and had let them scatter out on the range to feed."

"It was the third night after we had left the forks of the road that we saw the
Indian big lights start up high in the mountains right where we were compelled
to travel.  Some of us wanted to turn back, but the contrary captain said he
would take his family and go alone, and of course we all went with him.  It
gives me the shivers to think back over it now.  When we saw those fires we
knew it was their sign for all Indians to gather."

"I do not remember just how many days we traveled after we saw the fires
in the mountains till we came to a nice place to camp.  Here we stopped early
in the afternoon and all the women washed some clothes.  My brother-in-law (Joseph Bradford), at this time took suddenly very sick so the captain gave
orders to remain here until evening, and travel at night, as it was a long drive
to the next water.  My brother-in-law not being able to drive his team, they
gave him my driver, and gave me a Spanish man to drive for me.  e could not
guide the team well with only one line, which was used for ten oxen.  I went to
the captain and told him I wanted to be with my sister, Ann Eliza, as her husband was growing worse very fast and was ot expected to live.  The captain sent on ahead to stop our herd of cattle, so we ade a dry camp that night.  The sick man grew worse and we stayed up all night ith him and made an early start the next morning."

"We traveled until noon, when we came to the conclusion that my brother-in-law would die before we reached water.  Some of the men went on to the water and come back and told all of the men to tie their horses for the Indians had been there hat day, as fresh moccasin tracks were seen in the mud.  The name of this angerous stopping place was Independent Springs, a low place with high ountains all around, a beautiful place to camp with running water."
 
 

"Now you can't imagine, neither can I tell you my feelings at that time.  My children were my first thought and my heart sank as I could see no help, no
one near and so few men, short of guns and ammunition, but I said I would
fight till they killed me.  Some of the women began to wring their hands and cry.
I said, "What is the use of crying?  It will not help matters any."  But they said, "Oh, they will kill us!"  I told them that crying would not keep them from killing us.  So I quickly placed my children in my wagon and put my feather beds around them, as I had heard that bullets would not go through feathers.  The Indians possessed a few guns and plenty of bows and arrows."

"Then I saw one of our women trying to catch some of her oxen to tie them
to her wagon, so I went and helped her catch them.  Afterwards I caught my
trusty old leaders and tied them to my wagon.  The men tied some others.  I
had three yoke for my wagon.  This we did so as to keep enough teams to pull
the wagons to California.  The Indians were trying to get all our stock away from us.  We were compelled to leave two wagons and a number of saddles that we could not bring in for the want of sufficient teams and riding horses."

"I got an old Enfield rifle and was going to guard my wagon, but one of our men come and wanted it.  He said he just had a little single barrel pistol.  So I parted with my only firearm.  The men said for me to mold bullets for their guns and pistols.  I kept busy melting the lead and molding three kinds of bullets for the different varieties of guns, as our bullets were giving out, one pointed kind for six-shooters and the other two round."

"All this time the arrows fell thick around me, but I could see them before they
got to me and would step back under the shelter of my wagon.  The firing of
guns was fast and loud."

"It seemed to me by this time that the Indians had taken about half of our herd
of cattle.  Out men still held the rest.  At sundown the Indians began to go back
into the mountains for the night.  We did not know what to do.  We thought of sending some of our men back to see if the other train of cattle was coming our way, but we were afraid if we divided up the Indians might cut off our men and
kill them and then return to us women and kill us."
 
 

"Everyone was tired out by morning as they kept close guard all night, and
about daybreak the Indians began to whoop their war cry and by sunrise they
were thickly gathered on all sides of us.  I cooked breakfast for my men and children and also my sister's children, as she was compelled to remain by her husband dying amid this terrible battle."

"There was little eating done, as the Indians were gathering fast.  We could see three or four at a time coming well armed on ponies, so the men said it was no
use to hold the cattle.  We would let them go and maybe they would go away
and let us go on, but not so.  They took all of our cattle away but still remained around us."
 
 
 

 
 
"About noon they put a young squaw on  our captains horse, with a long
spear lying cross-wise before her.  She came riding direct for the wagons,
singing an Indian war song.  When twenty feet from our wagons a Mexican
raised his gun to shoot her, but one of our men cried "Don't shoot her."
The Mexican then danced and began singing the same song, and said it was
a dare to us.  If we had killed the young squaw that would have opened the
war.  But thank God, who was protecting us, no one shot her.  Then the
Indians came closer and closer, I could stand on my wagon wheel and
count 60.  I did count that many, but later more came."
 
 
 

"Then the men came to me and wanted me to load guns for them while
they shot for we were sure we would have to fight for our lives.  I told
them that I could not, as I was almost exhausted and for two nights I had
not slept a wink, and during this fight my brother-in-law died.  Some of
the men dug his grave inside the wagon corral and buried him there within
two hours after death."

"We waited there all day in terrible suspense and when evening came the
Indians said for us to go on now, that they were friends to us, but at the
next watering place the Apaches would be there and kill us all."

"The Indians wanted to make friends with us and buy tobacco, but we knew
it was to get the advantage of us and get in nearer the wagons and families.
So we kept them back.  At sundown they went again into the mountains,
as they never fought at night."

"We waited till about 8 o'clock and started again on our journey.  We did
not stop at the first watering place, as they told us that they would be there
and murder us.  It was off the road quite a way, but on the mountain side.
We traveled all night over the worst road I ever saw, over rocks as large
as big barrels."
 
 

 

"Just at daybreak we came out of the canyon on a mesa and stopped to get a
bite to eat and also to let the oxen rest.  We stayed there until about 3 o'clock
then started and traveled all night again.  Just before daybreak we missed one
of the wagons.  We had put my load into my sister's wagon and put hers in my wagon, which was leading then put her wagon behind and got three men in it to drive and mind it.  They had fallen asleep.  We did not know whether the Indians had cut them off from us or that they had gone to sleep, so we circle the wagons and some men went back and found the team lying down and the men all asleep.  They made good time back to us."

"We traveled on till just daybreak.  This was July 4, 1868.  We got near the old fort, its old adobe walls all tumbled down.  Here we corralled the wagons again
and some of the men went to the fort. But found no Indians there, and we began
to feel happy and think perhaps we could get away.  We stayed a week to let our teams rest and also rest ourselves."

"The other train behind us came to the place on July 4, where the Indians attacked us, and found my brother-in-laws body taken up from where we had buried it.
The Indians had scalped him and run a spear through his body.  They saw the saddles and wagons there which we had left, and also our cattle, which were standing there as the Indians after securing the stock turned them loose to feed."

"The train thought we had all been taken prisoner by the Indians.  This was a
train of twenty-two men, well armed with no families, but the Indians got half
of their cattle.  They also had a fight with those Apache Indians and killed their chief.  This caused the Indians to take his body and leave.  So this train got the remaining cattle together and came right along."

"We got into Franklin ahead of this train.  We had a hard trip.  Our teams gave
out, and we all were compelled to walk most of the way.  Now we were out of everything to eat, as we started with just enough, just what we thought would
last us, just bacon and beans with dried fruit as a diet."

"We thought we could sell enough stock when we reached Franklin but when
we reached there were beggers.  We asked for food, but they investigated our
case first and gave sparingly.  We stayed there 14 days and tried to get help,
to get back and get our steak.  They told us that there were 700 Indian warriors
in the Gaudalupe Mountains which we had just passed through, and we were
lucky to be living."

"We stayed there until the herd which we had traveled the same road with
came up to us.  We then got enough cattle of ours that had gotten in with
their herd to sell and buy enough beans and bacon to bring us into California.
We kept dividing up until we reached Yuma.  We had only three wagons, and
it was such hot weather we were compelled to travel nights most of the time."
 
 
 

"The children always wanted to walk a short distance, but the side-winder rattlesnakes were so numerous we were afraid for them to walk, but told
them to walk a little way, but when it got dark to get in the wagon.  The team always went so slow we never stopped to get in and out.  My little girl who
was 6 years old stopped to get in the wagon.  She made a grab for the front
of the wagon, missed her hold and fell, the front wheel ran over her thigh and fractured it.  Of course we had to stop and send back to Yuma and secure a
doctor which cost $25.00.  The rest of the crowd went on, but we stopped
six days with the injured girl.  We had to sell one yoke of our team to pay
the doctor bill."

"Well, I am still living, and my four other children are also still living.  The
oldest, J.L. Medlin is Constable of Needles and a successful mining man.
My other son P.H. Medlin is residing here in Los Angeles.  One daughter,
Mrs. Leggett, lives at Waco, Ariz., and the other daughter, Mrs. Delameer,
lives at Searchlight."
 
 

 
 

Mrs. Medlin is 67 years old and just the same plucky little lady, without a
gray hair in her head.  She was just 14 years old when her mother was
murdered and died in her arms.
 
 
 

 
 
From page 22
"Story as told by Ann Eliza Bradford SCOTT later to her children -
"Your father Joseph BRADFORD was injured, perhaps suffered a rupture
when one of the wagons sunk deeply into the mud and he lifted the wagon
as high as he could so that the other men could slip wood and etc. under the
wheel to prevent it from going deeper.  He was injured which caused peritonitis
and his death."

From page 23
Re the Indian attack:
"About noon they put a young squaw on our Captain's horse with a long spear
lying cross-wise before her.  She came riding directly for the wagons, singing
an Indian war song.  When twenty feet from our wagons a Mexican raised his
gun to shoot her, but one of our men cried, "don't shoot".  The Mexican then danced and began singing the same song and he said it was a dare to us.  (The person who started to kill the squaw was the 15 year old boy and the statement
that the Mexican was the one was an error in reporting - according to later family statements.)"

From page 24
Re Franklin, TX:
"We stayed there 14 days and tried to get help to go back and get our stock.
They told us there were 700 Indian Warriors in the Guadalupe Mountains
where we had just passed through and we were lucky to be living."

From page 24
"Well I am still living and my four children are still living also.  The oldest, J.L. Medlin is Constable at Needles and a successful mining man.  My other son,
P.H. Medlin, is residing here in Los Angeles.  One daughter, Mrs. Alice Delameter lives at Searchlight.  One daughter Mrs. Sarah Leggett lives at Naco, Arizona."

From page 25:
"Mary Ellen "Harris" Malone, mother of Kate Medlin, was shot by a German
man in Denton County, Texas when she refused to let him have her daughter
Kate "Malone" Medlin to marry.  Her husband, Perry Malone, father of Kate,
took the gun away from him and beat him on the head with it until his neck was broken and the German died."