by J. A. Crook
***
July 21, 1847
Poor mister Vickers has seen better days then this one. The man has laserashuns all over his body from his scufel with the saveges. Floyd and I were able to find us some sheets and some alcohol to pour over the wound. Vickers he screemed like no man Id ever herd. None of the cuts are so deep that we cant get movin in the morning. We beried Hank today near the cabin. I know hes with God now but Im fraid for our lives. Those savages are mean as any Id ever herd of and I bet they are as mad as a kicked hornets nest by now since all there frends died at the camp. I trust Floyd and mister Vickers. I think the will get us somewhere safe. The indian with us will know what plants we can eat if we need to. If anyone was left with a grupe, this is the one to be left with. This may be my last entry for a while but it aint gonna be my last entry forever.
