It was November 18, 1901.  What a time of the year to move a family, but if his father and mother wanted to move, it was O.K. by him.  Matt shoved the dresser across the floor and stopped to admire himself.  He was 19 years old and he was handsome.  The mirror told him so and so did a lot of girls.   Matt liked girls, they liked him.  His mother said it was time he settled down, but he couldn’t think of a girl he wanted to spend his life with, not just yet anyway.  Not with all this moving to do.  By nightfall everything that could be packed into wagons was ready to go the next morning.  Father’s health wasn’t good, and his mother looked so tired.  Moving sure had a way of upsetting a family.

Early the next morning everyone was ready and the little caravan began its trek to a new home in Idaho.  Matt’s job was to drive the stock and his brother Gene was to help him.  Gene was nine and a good kid, and they always got along well.  He kind of looked out for Gene more than the others.  It was a long slow drive, and Matt was glad they were staying in Tremonton that night.  He knew this girl who lived there, and as soon as he could get away from the family, he went to visit her.

The next morning, when the family was ready to move on, there was still no Matt.  Gene drove the stock alone that day, and Matt finally showed up towards evening, sporting a red face and a happy smile.  That night the family stayed with the Wells family just south of the Utah-Idaho state line.  The next day they arrived at the Willow Springs Ranch, five miles south of Malad, Idaho.  What a lot of people!  The Mifflin family had not yet moved and both families would have to live there all winter.  Matt helped them get unloaded, and the next day headed his horse north, and back to the Woodland ranch in Marsh Valley, 20 miles north of Malad.  He had been working there for several years, and liked the work.

The next spring Matt decided he had better spend the summer helping his parents break up more land and plant some crops.  Matt was that way, he was a kind man, thoughtful, and good to the other kids.  This wasn’t such a bad place, already he had his eye on a real pretty girl who lived about a mile or so up the road towards Malad.  Her name was Eliza Richards, she was 17, and by the next summer, Matt had decided she would be a fine lady to settle down with.

There was a nice orchard growing about a half mile east of the ranch and right by the orchard an abandoned house stood. With father’s permission, Matt and Liza began fixing it up for their home.  On October 7, 1903 they were married and moved into their new (old) home.  That winter, Matt decided married life was the best way in the world to spend the rest of his life.

Then right-away-quick Matt and Liza had a family.  On January 16, 1904, Matt’s mother helped Eliza deliver a fine baby girl, whom they named Elizabeth Zula.  How snug and happy they were in their own little home.

A year passed and spring came to the valley.  Spring was a good time, as it was warm and the snow had gone, yet it was too early to begin the summer work.  Spring was a good time to break horses, fix fences, prune the orchard, and have Spring Fever.  Matt’s good friend, Bob Davis, had come to help him that April 10th, 1905 and all the boys were out working off winter by doing as little as possible except just having fun.  In the stack yard were two haystacks, one higher than the other.  Matt climbed on top of the tallest one and when Bob, who was on the next lower one, wasn’t prepared at all, Matt made a wild leap for him, but must have over-shot his mark.  He went off the stack head first and landed on a post, which was laying on the ground.  In a matter of minutes, the fun was over, and the whole family was gathered around.  Matt was hurt badly, and unconscious.  Carefully they carried him to the house, and one of the boys rode to Malad to get Dr. D.C. Ray, who came as fast as his horse would carry him.

There seemed little to do for Matt.  Possibly his back was broken, and he was paralyzed from his waist down.  Love, tears, prayers and tender care were not enough, and four days later, on April 14, 1905, Matt died and was buried in the Malad Cemetary on April 16, 1905.

Matt, the hardest worker of all the Dalton family, the one who thought of others first and was always kind and tender, was gone.  The glow of spring was gone with him.

Eliza and Elizabeth stayed on the ranch and lived the lonely days with the rest of the Daltons.

(Newspaper article on death of Matt, taken from Malad Enterprise. April 1905)

(Matthew Dalton and Eliza Richards Dalton)