I was born 1846 in Kanesville, Iowa. I grew up there to the age of 5 when my father Calvin C. Pendleton and step mother made preparations to push on in that vast country between civilization and Utah. I was invited by a childless couple in Kanesville to stay on to be their own boy and live by their rosy promises. I wished very much that my father would consent to my staying; but, no, I would be needed for this or that, or the other. As I was left no choice in the matter and either prospect looking very attractive, I remained with my parents.

Our trip by ox-teams was tiresome as all such were. I was too young to feel the fear and dread with which my elders regarded every coming swell and every hidden turn of the road before and behind us, for we must be constantly on the alert for savage foes.
For five years now a steady stream of immigrants had followed the trail from east to west. With increasing alarm the Indians saw our steady advance into his territory. The Indians were prepared to fight without any provocation, and so were we although not unless forced to do it. Treacherous as were our savage foes, they were not more treacherous than some of the sluggish and innocent looking streams lying in our path, for only by experience did we learn the deadly pull of the quick sand lying on the stream bottoms. However, father always used a measure of caution.
It seemed to be my job to ride the spare ox or cow day after day until I almost become a part of the animal. As we crossed a shallow stream one day, we could see fine fish in it. One longer than the rest swam across the pond several times with a briskness that said "Catch me if you can". You may know how each one who saw him wished he could. Father drew his pistol and took careful aim, the big fish was shot and we did not have to after him, for he just leaped out on the bank. You may guess what a welcome change it made to our monotonous diet. We experienced an excitable time one day when a great buffalo stampede [divided] our trains. We could see in the distance a wall of dust and hear a roar which came directly toward our wagon trains, and it seemed that everything in its path would go down. The leader of the herd made for the opening and no one was hurt. Our company experienced a stampede of our own animals, after lugging heavy loaded wagons they apparently went mad. President Young told the people that these stampedes occurred on old battle fields. At Green river, we lost a cow and an ox but pushed on into Salt Lake without them.

At age 20 I served as one of the "minutemen" organized for the protection of the people from the Indians operating under the direction of Chief Walker and doing all sorts of devilry. I was involved in several skirmishes one of which I mention here. 70 head of our horses and 75 cattle had been stampeded and driven into the canyon. We knew that it was sure death to venture into the narrow opening of the canyon which afforded them opportunity to ambush our little company. So Ed Dalton leading 16men rode away. The Indians watching us thought they had the best of us, but under cover of dusk we rode north to Cottonwood then East then back south to catch the Indians off guard. We had a short skirmish and were left in possession of the horses and cattle. One Indian as he ran, crouched low up a hillside and when he thought he was out of rifle range, flourished a sword taken from the scabbard tied to Nils Rasmussen's stolen horse. He told us to come on we were all the same as squaws. A sharp shooter among our men fired and dust flew at the Indian's feet as he turned and kept on running. We were sure they would try to waylay us in the mouth of the canyon and we were not disappointed. As we approached the mouth we began to get pretty nervous. The Indians bunched behind the cliffs and rocks on the south side. They seemed to have few guns, or this story might have a different ending. It seemed all the shots were directed at me, but we had all the animals on the run, and the volleys of arrows flew wild. We fired four or five times but they were well protected. We were never sure we killed any, but once or twice we saw one fall, but we thought it meant to coax us into their power. We all came through it alive. Alan Miller's revolver at his hip took the impact of a bullet which dented his gun into uselessness but saved his life.

In the Spring of 1870 my bride to be and I started for Salt Lake to be married. With the help of a boy I drove a bunch of steers while my fiancé, Margaret Benson
drove the team and wagon. In 13 and a half days we were in Salt Lake on the 4th of July. We were sealed in the Endowment House on the fifth. We had five children. Margaret Died in our 13th year of marriage. She was an invalid for many months before her death. My family needed care, so another good woman became my wife and also the mother of seven.

I have tried to make my efforts count for good, knowing well, in many places, I could have done better, but firm in the knowledge that my parents did right in joining themselves to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints and of bringing me to the Rocky Mountains to help pioneer the way for others.

I am the father of Daniel Seavey Pendleton, Jr.