This story comes from three sources: History of Byram Levi Bybee by Pearl Bybee Rollins, and two versions of Robert Bybee’s autobiography.
Version 1, copied from a History of Byram Levi Bybee by Pearl Bybee Rollins:
In early days father and his brother Robert were riding through Weber Canyon on a load of hay when they met a band of Indians. The Indians surrounded them and lowered their arrows to shoot. The Indian Chief “Old Soldier” recognized my father and Robert and stopped the Indians. He said: “Don’t shoot,” Bybees had given him bread and biscuits to eat.
Version 2, copied from one edition of Robert Lee Bybee’s autobiography:
[In the fall of 1860] As soon as the harvest was taken care of we were off to the mountains for our winter wood. The wood that was best and easiest to get had been made use of, so we joined with Bishop Osborn and went up on Strawberry Creek in the lower end of Weber Valley. There the wood was of good quality and near the base of the hills. It was necessary to spend one night in making the trip. Our first trip, as we were returning with our loads, about where the road reaches the level land above East Weber, we were surprised to hear the Indians in the foot hills below us, firing their guns and shouting. They came directly to us and stopped us. Bishop Osborn was in the lead, and the leader of the Indians was called “Little Soldier.” He had thirteen in his band, and they were all under the influence of liquor, almost drunk. Little Soldier was not drinking. They were very hard to satisfy, and when they came to deal with Bishop Osborn they were almost cruel. Little Soldier said he did not keep his promise to them. And at one time we were all told to go, but Osborn must stay. I am sure that all that saved our lives at this time was the love they had for my Father. Father was always a friend to the Indians, and when he made them a promise he kept it faithfully, and was honest with them.
Little Soldier always called father “Toas Pompa,” which to them meant White Hair. He knew all of our family as well as nearly all of the settlers of East Weber, and on this occasion he came to me and put his arm around me, and proceeded to tell the rest what a good man “Toas Pompa” was, and what good boys he had, that when he promised an Indian a shirt, he got a shirt. Then he said when Osborn promise a shirt, we no get em.
We were all greatly relieved when they went on their way, but we were mindful, lest they change their minds and return to finish their job. On subsequent trips we were unmolested by them. They obtained their liquor from a man by the name of Park, who operated a “still.” Between East Weber and Salt Lake City there were two roads that were used most of the time. One was down through the open valley and was known as the Sand Ridge Road, and the other followed the foot of the mountain and was known as the Mountain Road. About two miles out on the Mountain Road a man by the name of Park lived and this was the man who made the “mule” and sold it to the Indians.
Version 3, copied from another edition of Robert Lee Bybee’s autobiography:
[Fall of 1860] We had been to Strawberry and got our wood and were returning home when we had a little experience with some Indians. Between East Weber and Salt Lake there were two roads that were used mostly those days. One was down thru the open valley and was known as Sand Ridge road, and the other followed very closely the foot of the mountain and was known as the mountain road. About two miles out on this mountain road, a man had located by the name of Park. He operated a distillery and cared none in the least to whom he sold his product. As a result the Indians had become some of his best customers, and it was a bunch of Indians returning from visiting his place that we encountered. We had just come around a little hill in the road to a place where the valley on the south side of the river opened up a little, and there was a very pretty little place consisting perhaps of fifty acres. We were just well out into the little flat when I heard the Indians below us in the canyon. They were shouting and firing their guns occasionally and riding quite fast. There were thirteen of them and all were intoxicated except their chief, Little Soldier.
Another thing peculiar to the nature of an Indian was shown here. My father was always a friend to the Indians and in his dealings with them he was always fair and square and honest. If he made them a promise he always kept it, and as a result they were his friends under all conditions. Now, as a matter of fact, Bishop Osborn had made some promises to them that he had not kept, and was held in a very unfriendly mood by them, even with Little Soldier. Bishop Osborn’s team was leading when they rode up and with an oath stopped his team. If I felt the same now as I did then I would say they kept us there about a week, but a more correct calculation would be about thirty minutes. I am convinced the only thing that saved our lives was the love and respect those Indians held for my father. Little Soldier was their spokesman. He always called my father “tosa pompa” which to them meant white hair. Little Soldier approached me, and putting his arm around my shoulders proceeded to tell them all about what a good man “tosa pompa” was, and what good boys “tosa pompa” had, and that when “tosa pompa” promised an Indian a shirt he got a shirt. Then he told them when Osborn promised an Indian a shirt “Indian no get ‘um.” I was very friendly with Little Soldier, and I acted as our spokesman. They didn’t want “tosa pompa’s” boys, but it took considerable arguing to get them to leave Bishop Osborn alone. Once they told Byram and I to go on but for Osborn to stay, but they finally rode on, and we were certainly a very much relieved trio when they disappeared around the hill, and you would be right in guessing we hurried right on home about half expecting them to change their minds and come to us again at any moment. We made several other trips for wood and never encountered the Indians any more.