Catherine C. Greer reminiscences, 1921, 3-5.
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On the trip across the plains we had one of the funniest couples with us, from England. They had a little two-wheeled cart, and one little bull to pull it. They called him "Bullie," and whenever we would start out in the morning, he would start to "boo" like a bull, and when they came to a creek he would wade all around in the water with them. They had a tent and everything they wanted, and all done up in that cart. One day we had a stampede, and this little fellow ran right after them, going "Boo-oo, boo-oo;" he did not get scared, just followed them around over the sod, and that old couple couldn't do a thing with him. He was dark red color. We had cattle, and all of them ran in every direction, and one little girl was killed. This old couple kept saying, "keep still; old Bullie," but they could not hold him. When they got to Salt Lake City they built them a nice house. They had carried money enough in the cart all the way across the plains to build them a nice house. When we would come to a creek, that little bull would wade around until he got cool, and when he got cool, he would come out. I never saw anything so good to mis-behave sometimes, as "Bullie."
There were so many buffalo that we had to go right along between wagons, and herd them away from the wagons. We had sacks and sacks of buffalo meat. We would take it and cut it up in 5 and 10 pound pieces. Then we would salt it down, and put it on racks made of wood and stakes laid across the top of them; then smoke and dry them just like ham, and it was fresh and nice. We did the buffalo tongues and everything the same way. The hump of the buffalo is just as tender as a young calf; the men would kill the cows and yearlings, but not the bulls. When we wanted a buffalo, they would go right into the herd and on their fast horses they roped the animal they wanted and dragged it into Camp, so the women could help care for the fat of the meat. After we had cut the meat all off the bones, they would build a big log fire and put the bones in and scrape the coals all over them and cover them with ashes until they were roasted. You have no idea how much marrow would be contained in the larger leg bones; sometimes almost a pint, and we used this for butter. We would just dig a hole, and drive down two stakes, and put iron bars across them and hang the meat up and cook it. I tell you it was good meat. We did not have anything like lard. It would always give out because we would divide it. So when we struck some buffalo, we would get all the tallow, etc., we wanted. We tried to get enough to do all winter.
You do not have any idea how many buffalo there were those days. As far as the eye could see there were buffalo. We could not sleep at night for the noise they made. There would be five or six toros to a herd. They would just circle around the herd at night, keeping guard over the cows and calves. It does not seem possible they could ever have all been killed. If any of the horses got in with the cows (buffalo) and calves, those bulls would herd them in, we could not get them sometimes. When our horses saw the buffalo, they wanted to go right in with them, and we had to herd them to keep them away from the buffalo.
We got through the buffalo and Indians, going to Utah, all right, and we had our supply of meat. We had a few cows, but most of them in other companies had to pull loads, but we did not work our cows, but used them for milk. Brother Roundy told father he ought to be captain of the company, because he had put on so much style with his linen napkins, etc. I don't suppose if I would tell everything I went through Brother Farr would be able to write it all.
After we left the buffalos, one morning we were hitched up, driving, and were by the company, and we saw a wagon by the side of the road, and it seemed there was a woman and child there, and we had a carriage, and we drove out to see what was the matter with this outfit. The man was not there. He had gone off for something. Father asked why she [Ann Carrigan] was out there alone. She belonged to [Warren] Foot's company of fifty wagons, and they had gone off and left them. One of their oxen had died, and they had only one steer left. Father said, "I will go over and have the boys bring you back an ox," and we hitched on to them and brought them to Salt Lake City. It was an English family by the name of Carrigan. She was the finest dress-maker I ever saw. She had a diploma from England, and I learned to make dresses from her. Her husband was sent off to England soon after they got to Salt Lake. After she arrived at the Salt Lake Valley, she made her a good living, and built her a nice home on the money she made by dress making. She also made men's clothes. She appreciated us helping her, so that she never got tired of helping us by sewing. I could never find out why the company went off and left them alone. It was through some mistake that this was done, but it has always remained a mystery with me until this day.