When we last checked in with Mr. Johnson, he had just reached Carlin.

“On the morning of the tenth [of September 1882], I left Carlin for Elko, a distance of twenty-three miles. Leaving Carlin I crossed the railroad and traveled on its left for a distance of ten miles, when I recrossed the railroad to my right, down on to a flat plat of mowing land, which brings me to the river that I had to ford. It is now a fine trail. I came to a house, which was a poor shanty and knocked at the door but no one answered. I then went to the barn, which was much better than the house, but could see no one around. I stopped and made a fire, fed the cattle, and got myself a breakfast of boiled eggs and coffee. After breakfast I traveled about a half mile but could not find a trail. I was on the right of the river, close to its bank, but could see no place to ford, on the right was a high bluff rising from the river. I was completely shut in. I returned to the house again but could find no one around, then I retraced my way back to the railroad. On crossing the railroad I saw some men at work a short distance away.

“I looked around for a place to hitch my horse, but could see no tree or shrub, so I took the horse from the carriage and fastened her to the wheel. I then left them and was just getting on the track to go to the men, when I saw a band of Indians coming down the bluff on horseback; there were eighteen of them, and they were about twenty rods away from me. I called out to them to stop; two of them rode up to me and I saluted them, which they returned. I told them that I had come from Carlin and was going to Elko, but had lost my trail; I had been to that shanty but could not find the trail. ‘Here is the trail to Elko,’ said the Indian. I should not have crossed the railroad, but [should] have followed it a short distance further and then crossed. I put the horse into the shafts again and went on, traveling on the left to a dry canyon. …

“… I am now journeying where it is necessary and we are commanded to open and shut gates in crossing the railroads. This command I always comply with. I am traveling on the river running between Carlin and Elko. I have to open and shut gates as the trail runs from pasture to pasture. I am passing through fields of clover, of which I allow my cattle to eat as they go, it is such a change from the dry, barren canyons and roads I have just left. Those that journey on wheels have to make their own trail, which was bad for me as my carriage was light and was very trying to myself and horse. I arrived at Elko just as the freight train came in at half-past five o’clock. I went for the hotel at once and sought out the proprietor, whom I found and telling him my story, said, ‘My cow is a fine animal, gives good milk and a large quantity. I am short of money and obliged to make what little I have go a long way. Will you take milk in exchange for food?’ ‘I will, sir, with pleasure. You are the man for whom I have been looking for some days. I read in a Reno paper and also in a Battle Mountain paper, that a man from California with a horse, carriage, cow, and dog was on his way east, and you are the man, I suppose?’ ‘I am, sir.’ ‘You are a plucky man. You ought to be following a band of music.'”