Private Lewis Simpson was small, only five feet five inches tall, with a light complexion, gray eyes, and-in spite of his young age-white hair. He was almost albino in appearance. Now he was a member of the Union Army—a private in Company K of the Eighty-ninth New York Volunteers. The Eighty-ninth formally joined together at the barracks in Elmira, New York late in November. They became known as the Dickinson Guard and left for Washington, D.C., on December 6, 1861. [His sister] Mary Jane worried about him—a lot.

"Dear Sister, . . . He [Stonewall Jackson] will wake up some morning to find his stonewall all gone to thunder and his soul singing rebel anthems with the Devil and his Angels in Hell. May God arrest him in his mad and reckless career and convert his guilty soul over to taking the oath of allegiance to our dear good old Uncle Sam before it will be everlasting too late for him to repent." (Letter from Lewis to sister Mary Jane Beardsley written on August 18, 1862 from the front lines near Fredericksburg, Virginia.)

Moving [from Wells Bridge, New York] must have been the last thing on the minds of Frankie and Eva, now nine and fifteen years old, in that summer of 1877. Did they know that their idyllic world was about to change forever? Frankie may have spent many summer afternoons on the pair of sloping wooden doors over the outside cellar entrance. They were perfect for sliding and reclining, which automatically became the home base for young children's games and idleness. Eva may have been caught up in the croquet craze, a game of wickets and pegs, gaily-striped mallets and round wooden balls. It was the first popular outdoor game designed for equal participation by both sexes. Victorian Americans saw croquet as an avenue to the heart.

"They had been here four months now; to her it seemed like so many generations . . . People had never dwelt here, people would never come; never could they find home in this vast, wind-swept void . . . Yes, they had been bewitched into straying out here!" (Ole E. Rölvaag, Giants in the Earth.)

His plan of battle was clear in his mind. He would not make the mistakes of Nez Perce Joseph and Sitting Bull. He had little respect for the tactics of the Army's commanders. Buffalo Horn's mind was made up. The injustices of the white man would be tolerated no longer.

"Princess" Sarah Winnemucca

The Malheur Paiutes under Chief Egan departed from the reservation with forty-six Bannocks. Their trail led southeast. Rinehart wrote that they went east "in the direction of Boise, claiming to be going to their fish traps on Main Malheur River." But they had planned to rendezvous with the [over 700] Bannocks at Steens Mountain, about a hundred miles south. At around this same time, Chief Eagle Eye and about forty-five members of his Weiser tribe arrived at the agency, drew their rations, and left immediately, heading east.

For the Beardsley party there was no going forward or backward without passing through Indian territory. It was a time of resolve that required courage. All the members of the wagon train had to rally together under their captain at this turning point. The ultimate goal was to make it to Walla Walla alive. Maybe the Indians had been defeated and maybe not, but the company had to stick together and keep a wary eye out for trouble. Their odyssey was no longer just a journey; it was an escape from certain death at the hands of the Bannocks. Were they being pursued? Were they being watched, even now? They were still alive. The Bannocks wanted them dead.

Frankie's wedding reception was like a gathering of eagles. . . . They had survived all the ordeals and had lived through death. Their new lives in the west would be forever different because of the roads they had traveled. Her new father-in-law was William S. Frazier, an old Confederate soldier from Texas, born in North Carolina.

William, who had just turned sixty-one, was dressed well for his namesake's wedding: white shirt, bow tie and dark, tailor-made suit. His full head of still-dark hair swept straight back like a lion's mane and a light beard and mustache covered his lower face. He even looked like the founder of a town [Milton] that he was! He was tall, with piercing eyes that read people like a book. And his own face told a story of hardship, grief, and joy shared by far too many in those times. The day's events had brought back many memories of his own wedding—to the love of his life, Rachel. She had passed on barely thirty-one months before, at age fifty-five.

What had begun as my feeble attempt to settle an estate in 1960 had now grown into a full-blown search of my past. I had lost much of my old family but had discovered a new family. We had headed west in search of them, and now we would meet them head on. . . . we headed directly to the Frazier Farmstead Museum.