But, in doing so, I would have to cross the
Pottawatomie Indian Reserve, on which for forty miles there was not
the habitation of a white man. Stopping over night with Bro. J. W.
Williams, on the eastern border of the Reserve, I started betimes to
St. George, traveling to the west. But night came on, and I had not
reached the line of white settlements. I picketed my horse on the
prairie, made a pillow of my saddle, and slept until morning. The
night was warm and pleasant, and I did not suffer with the cold, and
in the morning I was ready betimes to ride on to the residence of Bro.
Gillespie. He was so glad to see me. It was worth a journey of one
hundred miles to get such a welcome. And then there was Sister
Gillespie, and a house full of young Gillespies, and they were all
so glad to see me.
"Have you had your breakfast?"
"No."
"Well, where did you lodge?"
This was a poser. I attempted to pass the question by; but nothing
would do, and I had to confess I slept under the canopy of heaven.
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