Ogden, Utah, Feb. 1, 1921.

Dear Old Journal:

   Your "S.O.S." call was duly received, just in the excitement of the arrival of "Jim Gates and Kate" after their 35 years' intenment in the moutians of Colorado. They have made their pile, raised a family of children and grandchildren numbering, all told 13, all with from $1,000 to $5,000 each in Liberty bonds, and with some 1,500 acres of fine land, plenty of range, plenty of irrigation water, and, although somewhat isolated, plenty of friends, large herds of horses and cattle, all of the best blood. We think they will spend the ballance of their years trying to enjoy their income.

   After this desultory history of one of our old Hebron families, we will say that the Hebron continget at Ogden is a clannish as ever, and that while O.P. Hendershot lives in Idaho and is very much in evidence in the public affairs of that wonderful state, he often calls here on his trips. He and Mrs. H. were here yesterday, on a return trip to Boise. We were glad to say "hello" and "goodbye" to them, even if we had to do it on the run. He was at Salt Lake attending a meeting of the Intermountain Fair and Racing Association, combining all the fairs of the western states, and was elected president of the whole "cheese".

   You asked me to recount some recollections about the origin, and experienmce "of the JOURNAL". Well, it originated in the ever fertile brain of E. M. Correll, before or shortly after they "dug the Little Blue." At least I helped to dig the rock out of the channel at or just below the old crossing at the mill-ford, "E.M., as we called him, asked me to assist on his staff, and the first thing was a "head" that would announce who "is here,". After long consultation, we decided on a Nebraska lithograph headline. We got a pick and went to the river; I waded in and after great care brought to shore a fine sample of calcium. We took it to "the city" and he spent the better part of three days getting it squared and "type high". Then I designed the words "Herbron Journal" on the surfaces with some scrollwork to embellish the job. The paper was already on the press, and the "head" was soon reproducing its face rapidly.

   With a "paid" subscription list of about 25, and a "comp-list" of some 200, she was launched on the sea of jounalism, and with tenacity of a cat it lived "anyway" and today has a welcome memory in the homes of thousands who have "flewed the coop" and scattered all over the world.

   In this connection I beg to recount one or two high spots in the early settlement of Nebraska. We were all dependent on the other fellow, and when trouble came to one, the sting hit everybody.

   The Correll homestead joined min, and the rod-wide hedgerow was all that supplied a boundary; no other was needed. "The day of this occurence was in the fall of '71. The sun shone brightly and the wind, oh, but it howled!

   A smoke scree hid the oncoming prairie fire up Spring Cree, but for only a short time. Mrs. H. and I busied ourselves back-firing to save our home and hay.

   The flames were now visible, leaping to the sky and running as fast as the wind, when a scream from Mrs. H. and a cry of "O, Lutie," called my attendtion to a pyramid of grey, moving rapidly toward us. But too late, as the flames already were passing our house. All was silent, but our grieving. But only for a minute. When the flames had leaped the hedgerow, as would a deer, we looked to locate our friend, and behold! she was coming to us unharmed. She had fallen on the plowed hedgerow, and the woollen shawl, drawn over her head, had sheltered her as she sank down on the plowed ground, and as soon as it was all over (perhaps half a minute), she rose and came on. WE ran to her, and no more grateful bunch has ever thanked God than did there.

   It is too bad that this is just part of the story I could tell of early days, but I realize it cannot all be told, so will submit a later edition, with stories of King Fisher, Carmichael Miller, Si Alexander, Cap. Brown, C.J. Rhodes, etc.

With very sincere best wishes, dear Journal, I remain,
Your old chum,
F. J. HENDERSHOT.

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