That Fall, after harvest, my horses were gathered and put into a field having probably seventy-five acres, which had not been cultivated, and bore the finest of grass. One morning my hired boy came in and told my Frenchy was gone, one of the finest little French horses I ever saw; his mane hanging to his knees, and his foretop to the end of his nose; a horse I had got the year before, and given a big price for him. I found him very gentle, and made my wife a present of him--that samegood woman whom I have told you I courted and married when but a boy. He paced finely; she loved horseback riding, and with him could make a showing among a hundred horses.

We found where the fence had been let down and the horse let out, and a man's tracks. I sent for my horse, which was the best in the Territory, and put one of my hired men on the next best, and started. About noon we got his track, and were satisfied which way he had gone. We traveled at the rate of eight miles an hour, and just before sundown I saw my horse coming out of the swamps of Utah Lake, sixty miles from where we started. I was both mad and tired. The man on him hailed me and wanted to know if he could have our company South. I felt too indignant to speak. I rode up by his side and shot him through the head, took my horse and went home. I did not get off my horse to examine him. I never heard from him after. Whether he was found or buried I do not know.

I was in the city a few days after, and, as in duty bound, made report to Brigham Young, who held the right of life-taking in his own hands, and nobody else, as we had often been told. He said I had done just right. . . .

That Winter a new county was granted by the Legislature, taking in Green River Ferry, called Green River County. W. I. Appleby was appointed Probate Judge, with power to organize said county and appoint all necessary officers, who were to hold office until the next election. From the time that those mountain men had had their property taken by the sheriff and his posse, very ill feelings had existed. Threats were made that they would have as much property out of the Mormons as they had lost by them. Some fears were entertained that they might bother the emigration next Fall, and Brigham Young wanted me to go and stay on Green River that Summer, and, if possible, quiet them down in some way or other; and if I could not make peace with them any other way, to pitch in and kill those that would not come to terms without, and especially Ryan, (he was with the Indians, and would do us much harm, and must go up). This being my charge, I set out with Judge Appleby and Rev. Orson Hyde, who had charge of the new settlement, Fort Supply, twelve miles South of Fort Bridger. Our company consisted of fifteen, this being about the first of May, '54, as soon as we could get across the mountains for snow.

Orson Hyde being the head of The Twelve, obedience was required to his commands, in the absence of Brigham Young, in all things, whether spiritual or temporal; and, in fact, the man who did not obey had better leave when he could, especially those who might refuse, or give any intimation of a dislike to things that elsewhere would be an open violation of law. But the satisfied point and undoubted fact that God has established His kingdom in the mountains, and Brigham Young was conversant with the Almighty, was a settled question. In all candor I say I do not think there was then in Utah one in fifty, or, I might say, one in a hundred, who did not believe it. This man Orson Hyde was sanguine in this belief, although there were some points in Brigham Young's conduct he could not see through, but attributed it all, he said, to his inability to comprehend the ways of the Almighty. I have traveled with and talked to him on all these subjects.

When we had got across what was known as the Big Mountain, and into East Canyon, some three or four miles, one Mr. Hartley came to us from Provo City. This Hartley was a young lawyer who had come to Salt Lake from Oregon the Fall before, and had marrried a Miss Bullock, of Provo, a respectable lady of a good family. But word had come to Salt Lake (so said, I never knew whether it did or not,) that he had been engaged in some counterfeiting affair. He was a fine looking, intelligent young man. He told me he had never worked any in his life, and was going to Fort Bridger or Green River to see if he could not get a job of clerking, or something else that he could do. But previous to this, at the April Conference, Brigham Young, before the congregation, gave him a tremendous blowing up, calling him all sorts of bad names, and saying he ought to have his throat cut, which made him feel very bad. He declared he was not guilty of the charges.

I saw Orson Hyde looking very sour at him, and after he had been in camp an hour or two, Hyde told me that he had orders from Brigham Young, if he came to Fort Supply to have him used up. "Now," said he, "I want you and George Boyd to do it." I saw him and Boyd talking together; then Boyd came to me and said, "It's all right, Bill; I will help you to kill that fellow." One of our teams was two or three miles behind, and Orson Hyde wished me to go back and see if anything had happened to it. Boyd saddled his horse to go with me, but Hartley stepped up and said he would go if Boyd would let him have his horse. Orson Hyde said, "Let him have your horse," which Boyd did. Orson Hyde then whispered to me, "Now is your time; don't let him come back." We started, and about half a mile on had to cross the canyon stream, which was midsides to our horses. While crossing Hartley got a shot and fell dead in the creek. His horse took fright and ran back to camp.

WINTER came on, times were lively, and money plenty. One McNeal, who was arrested in the Winter of '57, when he came from Bridger to Salt Lake City, for the purpose of making a living, and kept in custody some three or four months by order of Gov. Brigham Young, instituted a suit before the United States District Court against Brigham to the amount of, I think, ten thousand dollars. McNeal came to the city from Camp Floyd during the Winter, and word was sent to the boys, as the killers were called, to give him a using up. The word was sent around after dark, but McNeal could not be found that night, and the next morning he was off to camp again, and did not return until the next Summer. I came to town one afternoon, and heard he was up stairs at Sterritt's tavern, drunk. Darkness came on and we got the chamber-pot taken out of his room, so that he would in all probability come down when he awoke with whisky dead in him. Some five or six were on the look-out for him, and among the number was one Joe Rhodes, not a Mormon, but a cut-throat and a thief, who had had some serious difficulty with McNeal, and was sworn to shoot him, and I thought it best to let him do it. Some three or four were sitting along side the tavern when he came down, it being dark and no lights in front. Rhodes followed him around the house and shot him in the alley. McNeal shot at Rhodes once, but missed him. McNeal lived until the next day, and died, not knowing who shot him; neither did any other person, except those who sat by the side of the tavern. It made considerable stir, but no detection could be made as to who did it. All passed off, and one day when at Brigham Young's office, he asked me who killed McNeal. I told him, and he said that was a good thing; that dead men tell no tales. The lawsuit was not prosecuted any further.