Days on the road : crossing the plains in 1865

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DAYS ON THE ROAD

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DAYS ON THE
ROAD

Crossing the Plains in 1865

BY

SARAH RAYMOND HERNDON

New Yo r k

BURR PRINTING HOUSE

1902

y . -'m. -V.^

Copyright, 1902,
By Sarah Raymond Herndon.

4=1-3 4^

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DEDICATED TO

THE PIONEERS OF MONTANA AND

THE "GREAT WEST,"

Who Crossed the Plains in Wagons.

PREFACE.

I do not expect to gain fame or fortune by
the publication of this Httle book. I have
prepared it for publication, because a num-
ber of the pioneers who read my journal
twenty years ago, when published in The
Husbandman, have asked me to.

At that time I was a busy wife, mother
and housekeeper, and could only write when
my baby boy was taking his daily nap, to
supply the copy for each week. No one
knows better than I how very imperfect it
was, yet many seemed to enjoy it, and the
press that noticed it at all spoke very kindly
of it. ;

S. R. H.

REMINISCENCES OF THE PLAINS

BY DR. HOWARD.

Editor Husbandman. — Through your
kindness to Mrs. Howard, we are a reader
of your excellent journal. Hence a few
months ago our eyes fell upon "Reminis-
ences of Pilgrimage Across the Plains in
1865," by S. R. H., and at once recognized
the writer as the "lady who rode the gallant
bay.** And now, sir, as we were an humble
member of the gallant McMahan train, fre-
quently referred to in her interesting jour-
nal, permit me through the columns of your
paper to tender her the thanks and gratitude,
not only of ourselves, but every surviving
member of that train, for affording us the
pleasure of again traveling that eventful
road without the fatigue and hardships of a

X DAYS ON THE ROAD.

long and tiresome journey. And even now,
after the lapse of fifteen years, to be so pleas-
antly reminded of our "Gallant Bearing"
and the confidence reposed in us for protec-
tion, while passing through the Indian coun-
try, we almost regret that the savages did
not give us a striking opportunity of dis-
playing our prowess. It was our pleasure
to form the acquaintance of the writer, as
correctly stated, on the north bank of the
South Platte, near the foot of Fremont's Or-
chard. The present editor of the Husband-
man, then a beardless youth, had been suf-
fering with typho-malarial fever from the
time we left Nebraska City, and we visited
her camp (ostensibly) begging bread, and
obtained as good as was ever baked upon the
plains. From this time on, at least for some
hundreds of miles, it was our pleasure to
meet her on the road and in camp. We were
in different trains, but camped near each
other every night for protection from the
Indians. Very soon, somehow or other,

DAYS ON THE ROAD. xi

when our trains were preparing to drive out
every morning, and Miss R. was mounting
Dick, Ave were in the act of mounting our
pony Jo, and even at this day, in thinking
over the matter, I am induced to beHeve that
our ponies became somewhat attached to
each other, as they would instinctively fall
into each other's company. This was the
state of affairs existing at Elk Mountain,
where the bouquet was gathered and pre-
sented, and where, it is frankly admitted,
we became somewhat partial.

Well do we recollect the crossing of
North Platte, that turbulent stream on the
Fort Halleck route. Train after train was
crossing all day long. We were standing on
the bank , with Captain McMahan, when
the Hardinbrooke train, the one in which
she was traveling, approached the crossing,
and we discovered Miss Raymond on the
front seat of the wagon, with lines in hand,
in the attitude of driving. We remarked,
"Good gracious, look yonder, is it possible

xii DAYS ON THE ROAD.

Miss Raymond is going to drive that team
across this terrible stream alone?"

''Now/' said Captain McMahan, "is~ the
time to show your gallantry."

And before we could think twice, she
drove bravely in. Of course we mounted Jo
and followed after her, and here on a little
island in the middle of the river is where
we rode up and congratulated her on her
skill as a driver. As we approached the
place of our destination our trains became
separated. Miss R. preceded us a few days
to the Golden City. It was our pleasure,
however, to visit her in the little domicile
mentioned in her narrative, and

Talk our troubles over, our journey through at last,
And in her happy presence we forgot the gloomy
past

We sojourned in Virginia City but a short
time, then crossed a tributary of the Mis-
souri near their confluence, and wintered
at Diamond City Confederate Gulch. The

DAYS ON THE ROAD. xiii

June following we returned to our native
State.

A year after our return Captain Mc-
Mahan and myself received cards announc-
ing the nuptials of Miss Raymond and
Mr. Herndon, which cards now occupy re-
ceivers on our center tables, for which we
were ever thankful, and at which time, of
course, the bouquet crumbled to dust. And
now wishing the 'lady who rode the gallant
bay'* and the lucky gentleman whose home
she makes happy, long life and the enjoy-
ment of a Montana home ; I am,
Truly yours,

W. Howard.

PRESS NOTICES.

"Crossing the Plains in 1865," is the title under
which a lady in the Rocky Mountain Husbandman,
is publishing a series of letters. The story of every-
day life on the plains is so prettily written, that these
papers repay perusal. We have been charmed by
the native grace of the author, and we send her our
cojnpliments whoever she may be. We crossed the
plains the same year, also, six years before, and we
can fully appreciate the experience of our unknown
friend who writes so charmingly. — Stock, Farm and
Home Weekly.

In this issue we close our narrative of pleasure,
trials, etc., of a trip across the great American plains
in 1865. It has been a plain, simple story and true
to life and full of interest to Montana's oldtimers,
and all who made the journey of the plains in
wagons. To the editor of this paper it has been a
story of particular interest, for he, a beardless boy
then, crossed the plains, was a member of the Mc-
Mahan train, the sick man for whom Dr. Howard
often went foraging for bread. — Rocky Mountain
Husbandman.

"Crossing the Plains in 1865," is the title of a
story which was written by a well-known lady of
Virginia City, for the Rocky Mountain Husband-
man, and came to a conclusion in the last number
of that paper.

It was a plain, unvarnished recital of the experi-
ences of the journey across the plains when ox-

xvi DAYS ON THE ROAD.

trains were the favorite conveyances, and the voy-
agers were subjected to many vicissitudes unknown
to travelers of the present day. Though quite un-
pretentious as to literary merit, it has been interest-
ing in recalling to the minds of the pioneers, who
have read it, the eventful scenes of their own pil-
grimage, and to them, it has been pleasant reading. —
Madisonian.

"I have felt a deep interest in S. R. H.'s, 'Crossing
the Plains in 1865,' all through these long series of
letters, and many a familiar spot has been brouglit
back to me that had long been forgotten. And as
some of the actors in the play live in Challis, I will
say to S. R. H., that Mrs. Hardinbrooke is still loved
by a large circle of friends, and that little Annie is
now a blooming young lady, and ever worthy the
good-bye kiss; that the Captain has never disgraced
the title bestowed in 1865.

"I am, Mr. Editor, respectfully yours,

^'O. E. Penwell.''

DAYS ON THE ROAD

WE START.

May I.

As I sit here in the shade of our prairie-
schooner, with this blank book ready to
record the events of this our first day on the
road, the thought comes to me :

"Why are we here? Why have we left
home, friends, relatives, associates, and
loved ones, who have made so large a part
of our lives and added so much to our hap-
piness ?"

"Echo answers Why?'"

"The chief aim in life is the pursuit of life,
liberty, and happiness." Are we not taking
great risks, in thus venturing into the wilder-
ness ? When devoted men and women leave
home, friends and the enjoyments of life to

2 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

go to some far heathen land, obeying the
command : **Go, preach my Gospel, to every
creature," we look on and applaud and de-
sire to emulate them. There is something
so sublime, so noble in the act that elevates
the missionary above the common order of
human beings that we are not surprised that
they make the sacrifice, and we silently wish
that w^e, too, had been called to do mission-
ary work.

But when people who are comfortably and
pleasantly situated pull up stakes and leave
all, or nearly all, that makes life worth the
living, start on a long, tedious, and perhaps
dangerous journey, to seek a home in a
strange land among strangers, with no other
motive than that of bettering their circum-
stances, by gaining wealth, and heaping to-
gether riches, that perish with the using, it
does seem strange that so many people do it.

The motive does not seem to justify the
inconvenience, the anxiety, the suspense that
must be endured. Yet how would the great

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 3

West be peopled were it not so ? God knows
best. It is, without doubt, this spirit of rest-
lessness, and unsatisfied longing, or ambi-
tion— if you please — which is implanted in
our nature by an all- wise Creator that has
peopled the whole earth.

This has been a glorious May-day. The
sky most beautifully blue, the atmosphere
delightfully pure, the birds twittering joy-
ously, the earth seems filled with joy and
gladness. God has given us this auspicious
day to inspire our hearts with hope and joy-
ful anticipation, this our first day's journey
on the road across the plains and mountains.

It was hard to say good-bye to our loved
and loving friends, knowing that we were
not at all likely to meet again in this life. I
felt very much like indulging in a good cry,
but refrained, and Dick and I were soon
speeding over the beautiful prairie, overtak-
ing Cash, who had lingered behind the
others, waiting for me.

"A penny for your thoughts, Cash ?'*

4 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

"I was wondering if we will ever tread
Missouri soil again?"

''Quite likely we shall, we are young in
years, with a long life before us, no doubt
we will come on a visit to Missouri when we
get rich."

We were passing a very comfortable look-
ing farmhouse, men, women, and children
were in the yard, gazing after us, as we can-
tered past.

"Don't you believe they envy us and wish
they were going, too ?"

"No, why should they?"

"Oh, because it is so jolly to be going
across the continent; it is like a picnic every
day for months; I was always sorry picnic
days were so short, and now it will be an all
Summer picnic."

"I wish I felt that way; aren't you sorry
to leave your friends?"

"Of course I am, but then I shall write
long letters to them, and they will write to

DAYS ON THE ROAD. $

me, and I will make new friends wherever I
go, and somehow I am glad I am going."

After we came within sight of our cara-
van we walked our ponies, and talked of
many things, past, present, and future.
When within a mile or two of Memphis our
first camp was made. Our six wagons, with
their snow-white covers, and Mr. Ker foot's
big tent, make a very respectable looking
camp.

OUR FIRST CAMP.

As we were provided with fresh bread,
cake, cold chicken, boiled ham, pickles, pre-
serves, etc., supper was quickly prepared for
our small family of four, and we enjoyed it
immensely. Then comes my time to write,
as I have promised friends that I will keep a
journal on this trip. Mr. Kerfoot thinks the
Government is going to smash and green-
backs will not be worth one cent on the dol-
lar, so he has turned all his money into gold
coin, and stowed it into a small leather

6 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

satchel — it seems quite heavy to Hft or
carry.

As Mrs. Kerfoot was sitting on a camp-
chair near our wagons, Mr. Kerfoot came
toward her, saying, ''Here, mother, I want
you to take care of this satchel, it is all we
will ask you to do, the girls will cook and
wash dishes, the boys take care of the stock,
and I will oversee things generally, and we
will do nicely." She accepted the responsi-
bility without a word, and as he walked away
she turned to me, and said, "I wish it was in
some good bank, I expect nothing else but
that it will be stolen, and then what will be-
come of us ?"

While I have been writing Neelie (Cor-
nelia) and Sittie (Henrietta) have been get-
ting supper for a family of twelve, no small
undertaking for them, as they have been
used to servants and know very little about
cooking.

When everything was ready, Neelie came
to her mother exclaiming, "Come, mamma,

DAYS ON THE ROAD. i

to supper, the first ever prepared by your
own little girl, but not the last I hope, see
how nicely the table looks, Emma and Delia
picked those wild flowers for you, how
brightly the new tinware shines, let us imag-
ine it is silver and it will answer the same
purpose as if it were."

Her mother smiles cheerfully, as she takes
her arm. Cash sneers at Neelie's nonsense —
as she calls it. Mr. Kerfoot nods approval, as
Neelie escorts her mother to the table. When
all are seated Mr. Kerfoot bows his head and
asks God's blessing on the meal.

Every one seems to enjoy this picnic style
of taking supper out of doors, and linger so
long at the table, that Neelie has to hint that
other work will have to be done before dark.
When at last the table is cleared, she says
to Emma and Delia, "Don't you want to help
me wash these nice, bright dishes and put
them away?"

' They are always ready to help Neelie, and
the work is soon done. Amid laughter and

8 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

fun they hardly realize they have been at
work. Mr. Kerfoot insists that we women
and the children must sleep in houses as long
as there are houses to sleep in. Mother and
I would greatly prefer sleeping in our spring-
wagon, to making a bed on the floor in a
room with so many, but as he has hired the
room we do not want to seem contrary, so
have offered no objection. The boys have
carried the mattresses and bedding into the
house, and Neelie has come for me to go with
her to arrange our sleeping-room. So good-
night.

THROUGH MEMPHIS.

May 2.
We were up with the sun this morning
after a night of refreshing and restful sleep.
Neelie and I commenced folding the bed-
clothes, ready to be sent to the wagons, when
she startled me with a merry peal of laugh-
ter, "Look here. Miss Sallie, see ma's treas-
ure, she has left it on the floor under the
head of her bed. Don't say anything, and I

DAYS ON THE ROAD. g

will put it in the bottom of a trunk, where it
ought to be, and we will see how long it will
be before she misses it."

She thought of it while at breakfast, and
started up excitedly, "Neelie daughter, did
you see that precious satchel ?"

"Yes, ma, I have taken care of it, and put
it where it will not be left lying around loose
any. more."

"Thank you, my dear, I am glad you have
taken care of it."

"Why, mother, I did not expect you to
carry that burden around on your arm by
day, and sleep with it at night. I only in-
tend for you to have entire charge of it, and
put it where the rest of us do not know the
hiding place, so that when we are obliged to
have some, we will have to come to you to
get it. And then give it sparingly, for much,
very much depends upon what is in that
satchel."

10 DA YS ON THE ROAD.

I MEET AN ACQUAINTANCE.

We came to Memphis about nine a.m.
Court is in session, several friends and ac-
quaintances, who are attending court, came
to the wagons to say good-bye. Mother's
brother. Uncle Zack, was among them, he
said, "Remember, when you wish yourselves
back here, that / told you not to go."

"Yes, we will when that times comes and
send you a vote of thanks for your good ad-
vice," I replied.

Cash, Neelie and I have been riding our
ponies all day. We are stopping in a beau-
tiful place for camping, near the farmhouse
of a Mr. and Mrs. Fifer. They are very
pleasant elderly people, who have raised a
family of six children, who are all married,
and gone to homes of their own. It is a de-
lightfully homey home, yet it seems sad that
they should be left alone in their old age.
We will sleep in the house again to-night, I
shall be glad when we get to where there are

DAYS ON THE ROAD. ii

no houses to sleep in, for it does not seem
like camping out when we sleep in houses.
Cash and Neelie want to sleep in the tent,
but their father says no, and his word is law
in this camp.

Wednesday, May 3.

Brother Hillhouse discovered very early
this morning that the tire on one of the
wheels of the ox-wagon was broken. He
started off ahead of the rest of the wagons to
find a blacksmith shop and get it mended by
the time we would overtake him. It was ten
o'clock when we came to the shop, near a
flour-mill. There was a very bad piece of
road before we crossed the creek, a deep
ditch had been washed out by the Spring
rains. I waited to see the wagons safely
over, when some one came beside my pony
with outstretched hand saying, "Good-morn-
ing, Miss Raymond, I see you are in earnest
about crossing the plains."

"Why, how do you do, Mr. Smith ? Am

12 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

glad to see you, of course I am in earnest
about crossing the plains, but where did you
come from? I supposed you would be at
the Missouri River before this time, have you
turned back?"

"Oh, no, we are waiting for better roads
and good company."

"Come, go with us, I will promise you
good company, and the roads will improve."

"Where are Cash and Neelie? I have not
seen them."

"They did not stop, when I waited to see
the wagons over the difficulties."

"Then I have missed seeing them; was in
the mill when they passed. Remember me
to them. We will start again to-morrow,
and will overtake you in a few days, per-
haps."

"Hope you will, good-bye until we meet
again."

"Farewell, may you enjoy as pleasant a
trip as you anticipate."

"Thank you," and waving him good-bye,

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 13

I Spoke to Dick, and he cantered up the hill

past the mill and the wagons. I soon caught

up with Cash and Neelie.

"Guess who I saw at the mill ?"

"Did you see any one we know ?"

"Yes, an especial friend of yours. Cash,

Bob Smith, of Liberty."

"Oh, dear, I wish I had seen him. Was

Thad Harper with him? Are they going

back home?"

"No ; they are waiting for better roads and

good company. I did not see Thad Harper.

Bob said they will overtake us in a few

days."

"I hope they will, they would be quite an

addition to our party."

AN ADDITION TO OUR PARTY.

"Yes, but they won't ; do you suppose they
are going to let us see them cooking and
washing dishes? Not if they know them-
selves. Then they would have to play the

14 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

agreeable once in a while, and that is what
they are not going to do on a trip of this
kind. I do not expect to see them, they
would rather stay where they are another
week than join our party."

"I believe you are right, Neelie, for he did
not say good-bye as if he expected to see me
very soon."

When it was time to stop for lunch, we
found a very nice place and waited for the
wagons. While at lunch we saw an emigrant
wagon, drawn by three yoke of oxen, coming
up the road, and were somewhat surprised
to see it turn from the road and come toward
our camp. It proved to be Mr. John Mil-
burn, of Etna, and his sister Augusta. They
have traveled in one day and a half the dis-
tance we have been two and a half days com-
ing.

Miss Milburn is a very intelligent, well-
educated young lady, some two or three
years my senior. We are not very well ac-
quainted with her, but have met her fre-

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 15

quently, and have known of her several
years. She is an active member of the Pres-
byterian Church at Etna. She has her little
nephew, Ernest Talbot, with her. He is
seven years old, her sister's dying gift, a very
bright child and considerably spoiled, but
dear to his auntie's heart as her own life.
They have started to Montana to get rich in
the gold mines. Mr. Milburn leaves a wife
and two small children with his widowed
mother, to watch, and wait, and pray for his
success and safe return home.

We crossed the dividing line — though we
did not see it — between Missouri and Iowa
soon after noon, and it is very probable some
of us will never tread Missouri soil again.
As we were coming through Stilesville, a
small town this side the line, there were sev-
eral loafers in front of a saloon who acted
very rudely, to say the least.

We distinctly heard such remarks as the
following, "Whew, what pretty girls, and
how well they ride — Missourians I'll bet."

i6 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

"Say, boys, let's try our luck; maybe we
can each hook a pony to-night?"

Mr. Milburn's team is so tired out with
such fast driving that we have stopped earlier
than usual, and I have had more time to
write. We are only two or three miles from
Stilesville. The weather is perfect; we will
sleep in the wagons to-night. Mr. Kerfoot
thinks it necessary to guard the camp. I be-
lieve it an unnecessary precaution, for if
those loafers at Stilesville had meant mis-
chief they would not have expressed them-
selves so freely. However, Ezra and Frank
Kerfoot (Mr. Kerfoot's nephews), Sim Bu-
ford, and Brother Hillhouse, will take turns
standing guard, each one for two hours.

Thursday, May 4.
Oh, how we did sleep last night, dreamless
and sound. Our first night in the wagons
was undisturbed and sweet. We were up
with the birds making ready for an early
start. Mother prepares breakfast, while I
roll up the beds and cover closely to protect

DAYS ON THE ROAD. i?

them from the dust; one of the boys milks
the cows, while I assist mother, and when
breakfast of hot biscuit, ham and eggs, apple-
sauce, coffee, and breakfast-food (which I
should have mentioned first), is over, I strain
the milk into an old-fashioned churn that is
big at the bottom and little at the top, cover
closely and fix it in the front of the freight
wagon, where it will be churned by the mo-
tion of the wagon, and we have a pat of the
sweetest, most delicious butter when we stop
in the evening that any one ever tasted.
Mother washes the dishes, we prepare lunch
for our noon meal, I stow it in the grub-box
under the seat in the spring-wagon, the boys
take the pipe off the little sheet-iron stove,
empty the fire out and leave it to cool, while
I am putting things away in the places where
they belong. It is wonderful how soon we
have learned to live in a wagon, and we seem
to have an abundance of room.

When horses are harnessed, oxen yoked
— and everything ready to start, we girls

IS DAYS ON THE ROAD.

proceed to saddle our ponies; some of the
boys usually come and offer assistance, which
is politely declined, as we are going to wait
upon ourselves on this trip.

The wagons start, leaving us to follow at
our leisure. We don our riding-habits, made
of dark-brown denim, that completely cover,
and protect us from mud and dust, tie on our
sun-bonnets, mount our ponies unassisted,
and soon overtake and pass the wagons.

We started this morning at seven o'clock.
It is delightful riding horseback in the early
morning.

BLOOMFIELD, IOWA.

We were on the lookout for Bloomfield,
about ten o'clock we could see the spires and
steeples glittering in the sunshine. When
we reached the suburbs we stopped to wait
for the wagons.

When we reached the business part of the
city, I dismounted and made ready to do
some shopping, as a few necessary articles

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 19

had been forgotten when purchasing our out-
fit.

"Aren't you going with me, girls ?"

"Oh, dear, no; not in these togs, short
dresses, thick shoes, sun-bonnets, etc."

"I think we appear much better in our
short dresses, thick shoes, and sun-bonnets
than we would in trailing skirts, French kid
shoes, and hats of the latest style, especially
as we are emigrants, and not ladies at home.
However, I do not wish you to suffer morti-
fication on my account, some one of the boys
will go with me."

"May I go. Miss Sallie?" Ezra asked.

"Certainly, and thank you to."

We called at two drug stores, one grocery
and several dry-goods establishments, and
made several small purchases. The clerks
seemed quite interested, and asked numerous
questions. Some wished they were going,
too ; others thought we had a long, hard jour-
ney before us.

20 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

When we came back, they were waiting
for us. I gave the satchel containing the
purchases into mother's care, mounted Dick,
and we were soon on the way. About a
mile from Bloomfield we stopped for lunch
of sandwiches, ginger-bread, cheese, fruit
and milk.

We all have such ravenous appetites, the
plainest food is relished and enjoyed, as we
never enjoyed food before. If any one suf-
fering from loss of appetite, or insomnia,
would take a trip of this kind, they would
soon find their appetite, and sleep the night
through without waking.

Brother Winthrop wanted to ride Dick
this afternoon, so I took passage with mother
and drove the horses until I began to nod,
when I gave the lines to her and climbed
back into the wagon for an afternoon nap.
I waked up as we were driving into Drakes-
ville, a small but very pretty town. Mother
and I talked the rest of the afternoon, she
enjoys this life as much as I do; we built

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 21

air-castles for our future habitation; I trust
there was not enough selfishness in the build-
ing material to hurt us if they tumble about
our ears.

Mother seems happier than she has since
the war commenced, and our eldest brother,
Mac, went into the army. We stopped for
the night earlier than usual, about five
o'clock. We are camping in a lane near a
farmhouse.

Our little sheet-iron stove is taken down
from its place on a shelf at the back of the
freight wagon. Mother gets dinner and pre-
pares something for lunch to-morrow, at the
same time. The boys buy feed from the
farmers, as the grass is not long enough to
satisfy the horses and cattle. I write as long
as it is light enough to see.

The young people complain about my tak-
ing so much time to write, but since I have
commenced I cannot stop. I am thinking all
the time about what things are worth re-
cording.

(A call to dinner.)

22 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

BEAUTIFUL APPLES.

After dinner mother washes the dishes and
makes all the arrangements she can for an
early breakfast. She thinks I am another
"Harriet Beecher Stowe," so she is perfectly-
willing to do the work in the evening and
let me write. Oh, the unselfishness of
mothers. I do my share, of course, morn-
ings, and at noon, but evenings I only make
the beds in both wagons.

We have white sheets and pillow-cases,
with a pair of blankets, and light comforts
on both beds, just the same as at home, and
they do not soil any more or any quicker, as
we have them carefully protected from dust.

I had been writing a little while after din-
ner, when Frank stepped up with a basket of
beautiful red-cheeked apples in his hand, not
a wilted one among them.

"Where shall I put them?"

"Oh, Frank, how lovely they are. Where
did you get them? Thank you so much;

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 23

they are not all for me?" — ^as he emptied the
last one into the pan. "Are all the others
supplied ? This seems more than my share."

"Yes; they are for you, we bought the
farmer's entire stock ; the others are supplied,
or will be without you giving them yours."

He had just gone, when Sim Buford came
and threw half a dozen especially beautiful
ones into my lap.

"Thank you, Sim, but I am bountifully
supplied, don't you see?"

"So you are, but keep mine, too; I can
guess who it was that forestalled me."
Laughing as he walked off.

So we are feasting on luscious apples this
evening, thanks to the generosity of our
young gentlemen.

Friday, May 5.

We came through Unionville and Moravia

to-day. Have traveled farther and later than

any day yet. It was almost dark when we

stopped, and raining, too; to make a bad

24 DAYS ON THE ROAD,

matter worse, we are camping in a disagree-
able muddy place, and have to use lanterns
to cook by.

We were obliged to come so far to get a
lot large enough to hold the stock. We will
be glad to sleep in the house to-night.

Mrs. Kerfoot is homesick, blue and de-
spondent this evening; she has always had
such an easy life that anything disagreeable
discourages her. Perhaps when the sun
shines again she will feel all right.

Saturday, May 6.

This morning dawned clear and bright ; all
nature seemed refreshed by yesterday's rain,
and we started joyfully on our journey once
more. We came through Iconium early in
the day, are camping in Lucas County, near
a beautiful farmhouse. We expect to stay
here until Monday, as we do not intend to
travel on Sundays.

It is a beautiful moonlight night, some one
proposes a walk. As Cash is giving Win-

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 25

throp his first lessons in flirtation, they, of
course, go together; Sim and Neelie, Miss
Milburn and Ezra are the next to start, and
Frank is waiting to go with me. Hill stays
in camp, in conversation with Mr. Kerfoot
and Mr. Milburn.

He is more like an old man than the boy
that he is, not twenty yet. After we had
gone a short distance. Miss Milburn asked to
be excused, and returned to camp; Ezra, of
course, going with her.

We walked on for a mile or more, enjoy-
ing the beautiful moonlight, and having lots
of fun, as happy young people will have.
When we returned and I had said good-night
to the others, I climbed into the wagon to
finish my writing for the day by the light of
the lantern.

The front of Mr. Milburn's wagon almost
touches the back of ours, forming an angle.
I had been writing a few moments when I
heard sobbing. I was out in a jiffy, and had
gone to the front of their wagon without

26 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

stopping to think whether I was intruding.
"May I come in?" I asked, as I stepped upon
the wagon-tongue.

"Oh, yes, come in, Miss Sallie, but I am
ashamed to let you see me crying, somehow
I could not help it. I felt so lonely and home-
sick."

"I am sorry you feel lonely and home-
sick. Did any of us say, or do anything this
evening that could have hurt you?"

"Oh, no ; not at all, only I always feel that
I am one too many, when I am with you all ;
you seem so light-hearted and happy, so free
from care, so full of life and fun, that I feel
that I am a damper to your joyousness, for
I cannot get over feeling homesick and sad,
especially when night comes."

"How sweetly Ernest sleeps, and how
much he seems to enjoy this manner of life."

"Yes ; he is a great comfort to me, as well
as a great care. He is dearer to me than to
any one else in the world; his father seems
to be weaned from him, since they have been

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 27

separated so long. He has not seen him
more than half a dozen times since his mother
died. I feel that he is altogether mine. May
God help me to train him for Heaven. He
will never know what I have sacrificed for
him. I have a mind to tell you, if you care
to hear, why I am here, and why I am not
happy."

"It may perhaps relieve you, and lighten
the burden, to share it."

And then she told me what I will record
to-morrow, for it is almost midnight, and
mother has been asleep for two hours, and I
must hie me to bed.

MISS milburn's love story.

"Of course you have heard about my en-
gagement to Jim Miller. I know it has been
talked about."

"Yes ; I have heard the matter discussed."

"We have been engaged two years, and

were to be married next month. He insisted

28 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

that I must give up Ernest to mother. I felt
that I would be violating a sacred trust, and
that mother is too old to have the care of such
a child, and I told him so. We quarreled,
and while I was feeling hurt and indignant,
I told Brother John I would go with him to
Montana. He gladly accepted my offer, and
his wife was so glad John would have some
one to take care of him if he got sick. So
here I am and I know I ought not to have
come, for Jim Miller is dearer to me than
my own life."

"I am so sorry for you, yet I believe that
in some way it will be for the best, you know
the promise, 'All things work together for
good, to those who love the Lord.' "

"I will try to believe it. You have done
me good. Miss Sallie. I am glad you came.
Come again."

Sunday, May 7.
"Remember the Sabbath Day to keep it
holy." Have we obeyed this command to-

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 29

day? I fear not. We are all, or very nearly
all, professing Christians, yet we have had
no public worship in our camp to-day, but
we have all, to some extent, desecrated the
day by work.

Deeds of mercy and necessity may be done
on the Sabbath Day without sin, and mother
says, "It is very necessary that our soiled
clothes, sheets and pillow-cases should be
washed, and that cleanliness is next to god-
liness.'*

The question comes to me, Why is it that
Christians are so loath to talk of the things
that pertain to their spiritual life, and eternal
welfare? Why so backward about introdu-
cing a service of worship, when so well
aware it would meet with the approval of
all?

I felt that Mr. Kerfoot was the one to sug-
gest a service of prayer and praise, and read-
ing the Scriptures. Perhaps he thought some
of the ladies would mention it, so all were
silent, and it is numbered with the lost op-

30 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

portunities for doing something for our Lord
and Master. May he pardon our sins of
omission, and may we be permitted to atone
for the manner in which we spent our first
Sabbath on this trip.

We have not traveled, so our teams have
rested and done no labor, if we have violated
the commandment ourselves.

The weather is perfect; this is another
beautiful moonlight night. The young ladies
and gentlemen have gone for another walk
in the same order as last night, except Frank
went with Miss Milburn, and Ezra is wait-
ing for me.

A LETTER TO BROTHER MAC.

Monday, May 8.
I left camp very early, and walked on
alone, that I may write to Brother Mac be-
fore the wagons overtake me. I am seated
in a comfortable fence corner, and here goes
for my letter :

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 31

Lucas County, Iowa, May 8, 1865.
Dear Brother: We were delayed sev-
eral days after the time set for starting, when
we wrote you to meet us at Council Bluffs
by the loth. We thought I would better
write, that you may know we are on the way,
and hope to meet you by the 1 5th or the i6th.
You must possess your soul with patience,
if you get there before we do, and have to
wait. I could write a long letter, I have so
much to tell you, but will wait until we meet.
Mother seems in better health and spirits
than she has since you went into the army.
We are enjoying the trip very much, and I
find piyself feeling sorry for the people that
have to stay at home, and cannot travel and
camp out. Good-bye until next week. With
sincerest love. Your sister,

Sarah.

The wagons are coming in sight, just as
my letter is finished and addressed, and ready
to mail at the next post-office. My pony is

32 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

t

in harness to-day, as one of the work horses
is a little lame, so I will have to ride in the
wagon or walk. As the morning is so fine
I will walk until I begin to tire.

Evening.

Cash joined me in my walk, and we
walked until noon. How wisely planned are
these physical bodies of ours, how easily in-
ured to the burdens they must bear. Before
we started on this trip, such a walk as we
took this morning would have completely
prostrated us; now, we did not feel any in-
convenience from the unusual exercise.

Frank invited us. Cash and I, to ride in
his wagon this afternoon. We accepted the
invitation, and made an emigrant visit. He
had arranged his wagon for our convenience
and comfort, and we spent a very pleasant
afternoon. Frank mailed my letter at Chara-
ton, and on his way back bought candy and
nuts for a treat for his visitors, which we, of
course, enjoyed exceedingly.

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 33

I should not care to ride in an ox-wagon
all the way across the plains, but for half a
day, once in a while, it is a pleasant change,
especially when so delightfully entertained.
The afternoon passed quickly. We are
camping near a large party of emigrants,
some of the men came to our camp. They
look tough; they are from Pike County,
Missouri, on their way to Oregon.

Tuesday, May 9.
A beautiful day for horseback riding, un-
til late this afternoon, when it commenced
blowing a perfect gale, too severe to travel,
so we drove into camp early. We came
through Ottawa and Osceola, are camping in
Clark County.

Wednesday, May 10.

A very cold day for this time of year, too

cold to think of riding horseback, so we all

took passage in the wagons. As we have

plenty to read, and lots of visiting to do, it is

34 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

no hardship to ride in the wagon for a
day.

The boys have made a splendid camp-fire,
and we are getting thawed out, cheered, and
ready for a jolly evening. There was just
one stunted oak left standing, away out here
in this great expanse of prairie — for our
especial benefit, it seems. The boys cut it
down, and taking the trunk for a back-log,
the top and branches to build the fire, we
have a glorious camp-fire away out here in
Union County, Iowa. It is surprising to
find Iowa so sparsely settled, we travel some-
times half a day and do not see a home.
There are always a few farms near the
towns. The settlements are the only breaks
in the monotonous landscape.

Oh, the tedious, tiresome monotony of
these vast extended prairies: To look out
and away, over these seemingly endless
levels, as far as the eye can reach, and see
only grass, grass everywhere, with beauti-
ful prairie flowers, of course, but the flowers

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 35

cannot be seen in the distance. No earthly
consideration would induce me to make a
home on any of these immense prairie levels.
How my eyes long for a sight of beautiful
trees, and running streams of water; how
delightful to stroll in the woods once more.

Thursday, May ii.
The wish expressed last evening is real-
ized in a manner. We are camping in a strip
of timber along the banks of a creek — or
branch, rather. But then it is such a slow-
going stream, not at all limpid, clear, or
sparkling as a brook ought to be. It can
hardly be called a running stream, for it goes
too slowly. I think creeping or crawling
would be more appropriate. We came
through Afton to-day.

THE ICARIAN COMMUNITY.

Friday, May 12.
Brother Hillhouse's birthday. He is
twenty years old. We made a birthday cake

Z6 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

for him last night. We divided it into
twenty pieces at lunch to-day, and there was
just enough to go around and leave two
pieces for himself. The girls say we must
have some kind of a jollification to-night. I
hope they will leave me out, for I want to
write about the "Icarian Community." We
came through Queen City this morning, and
this afternoon came to a town of French
people, called ''The Icarian Community."

(Call to dinner.)

Later : They have excused me.

But why Icarian? I cannot understand,
for certainly they did not impress me as high
flyers, neither as flyers at all. They seemed
the most humdrum, slow-going, even-tenor,
all-dressed-alike folks I have ever seen.
Every dwelling is exactly alike, log-cabins of
one room, with one door, one window, a fire-
place with stick chimney. I rode close by
the open doors of some of the houses, and
tried to talk with the women, but we could
not understand each other at all. The floors,

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 37

windows and everything in the houses were
scrupulously clean, but not one bit of bright-
ness or color, not a thread of carpet, or a rug,
and all the women's and girls' dresses made
of heavy blue denim, with white kerchiefs
around the shoulders and pinned across the
front of the waist, the skirt above the ankles,
and very narrow and heavy thick-soled shoes.
The men and boys all looked alike too, but I
did not observe them closely enough to de-
scribe them.

There are several large, long buildings,
one with a large bell in belfry on top of
building. They are dining-hall, town-hall,
school-house and two others. I did not learn
what they are used for. All the buildings
are one story, of the plainest architecture,
for the one purpose of shelter from sun and
storm. There is not a thing to ornament or
beautify, not a shade-tree or flower, yet
everything — men, women, children, houses,
yards and streets — are as clean as they can be
made.

38 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

They are peaceable, law-abiding citizens,
live entirely independent of the people of ad-
joining neighborhoods. They are supposed
to be wealthy ; the town is the center of well-
cultivated and well-stocked farms.

The principle upon which the community
is founded is "Brotherly Love," a sort of co-
operative communism, in which all things
are the common property of all. They live
upon what their farms produce, have vast
herds of cattle and sheep, a fine site for their
town, and seem the picture of contentment,
which is better than riches.

We stopped within sight of Quincy, and
another camping outfit. We soon learned
they are Mr. Harding and Mr. Morrison and
family, from Lewis County. We are ac-
quainted with Mr. Harding and have often
heard of the Morrisons.

Mr. Morrison and Mr. Harding came
over, and the men have had a sociable, gos-
siping time this evening; the men can sur-
pass the women gossiping any time, notwith-

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 39

standing the general belief to the contrary.
The young folks have been playing games
to celebrate Hillhouse's birthday. They had
hard work to get him to join them.

A SWING AMONG THE TREES.

Saturday, May 13.
We drove only until noon, and stopped to
stay over Sunday, so that we can do our
washing and baking, without violating the
Sabbath. We do not have collars and cuffs,
and fine starched things to do up, but we
have a great many pocket handkerchiefs,
aprons, stockings, etc. We have pretty bead
collars made of black and white beads, tied
with a ribbon, that always look nice and do
not get soiled. We are in a beautiful grove
of trees. The boys have put up a swing.
There is nothing in the way of play that I
enjoy as I do a good high swing. There
are plenty of boys to swing us as high as we
want to go. I fear the Sabbath will be dese-

40 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

crated with play to-morrow, if not with
work, for the temptation to swing will be
hard to resist.

Sunday, May 14.

The horses went off two or three miles last
night, the men were all off bright and early
this morning hunting them. Mr. Kerfoot
found them, and came back about nine
o'clock. By the time they were all here the
morning's work was finished and we were
ready — for what ?

A day to spend in rest and service for the
Master ? Oh, no. A day spent in swinging,
frivolous conversation, and fun. I am
ashamed to tell it, but it is nevertheless true,
and I believe we all thought less about a
service of worship than we did last Sunday.
It is so hard to get right, if we do not start
right.

We have visitors in camp to-night, two
gentlemen from Clark County, neighbors of
the Kerfoots — Mr. Suitor and Mr. Rain.

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 41

They started for the gold mines in Montana
two or three weeks ago. After reaching the
Missouri River they heard such frightful
stories of Indian depredations being com-
mitted on the plains that they sold their out-
fit for what they could get, and are returning
home on horseback. Poor fellows, how I
pity any man that has so little grit. I should
think they would be ashamed to show their
faces to their neighbors, and say, "We were
afraid, so we came back home."

I believe Mrs. Kerfoot is the only one of
our party who would be willing to turn back,
and perhaps she would not if it were put to
the test. We would not like to be scalped
and butchered by the Indians, but it does
seem so cowardly to run away from a possi-
ble danger. 'The everlasting arms are un-
derneath." God can, and will, take care of
us as well on the plains as anywhere. He is
leading us through unknown paths. We can
trust Him. Heaven is as near one place as
another.

42 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

Our second Sunday has not been much of
an improvement on our first. The first we
worked, to-day we have played. The boys
swung us all morning, until we were ready to
"holler nuff." We had Sunday dinner
between two and three o'clock, then we wrote
letters to friends at home, read until sleepy,
took a nap of an hour, then Mr. Suitor and
Mr. Rain came, and we listened to their
frightful stories of what the Indians are do-
ing to emigrants.

I left them in disgust, to come and record
our misdoings of this, our second, Sunday
on the road. It is almost bedtime, and I
must make the beds, for we are early to bed
and early to rise while on this trip.

A FATAL ACCIDENT.

• Monday, May 15.
Alas, alas! How can I write the disas-
trous happenings of this day? My hand
trembles and my pencil refuses to write in-

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 43

telligibly when I attempt to record the sad,
oh, so sad, accident that has befallen us. We
parted from our visitors this morning, and
started on our way, feeling rested and glad
to be journeying on again. How little we
knew of what a day would bring forth. We
stopped for lunch at noon in a little vale, or
depression, on the prairie, but where there
was no water. Just as we had finished our
lunch, Neelie came, she said, to see if we
could make an exchange for the afternoon,
her mother riding with mine, and I with the
young folks in the family wagon. Of course
it was soon arranged, and I told her I would
come as soon as I helped mother put things
away. (We sometimes visit in this way.)
Mrs. Kerfoot soon came around, and when
everything was ready I started to go to their
wagon. It was the last one in the train. As
I was passing Mr. Milburn's wagon he called
to me to "Come and get a drink of water."
He had taken a long walk, and found clear,
pure water, not very cold, but much better

44 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

than none at all. I gratefully accepted a cup.
He and his sister then invited me to ride with
them. I told them of my engagement with
Neelie, and, of course, they excused me. Oh,
that I had accepted their invitation ; just such
a little thing as that might have prevented
this dreadful accident. Such great events
turn on such little hinges sometimes. About
three o'clock in the afternoon, as we were
plodding along after the fashion of emigrant
teams, we young people in the last wagon,
having a jolly sociable time, with song and
laughter, fun and merriment, the front
wagons stopped. Ezra, who was driving,
turned out of the road and passed some of
the wagons to see what the trouble was. Mr.
Kerfoot came running toward us, calling to
Neelie, "Get the camphor, daughter, Mr.
Milburn has shot himself somehow, and has
fainted."

Ezra got out to go with him and Neelie
asked, ''Shall we come, too, papa?"

"No, my daughter, you girls would better

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 45

Stay here, your ma and Mrs. Raymond are
with Gus, and they will know what to do."

Before he had finished what he was saying
they were running to the place of the acci-
dent. We could only wait, hoping and pray-
ing, oh, so earnestly, that it might not prove
so serious as Mr. Ker foot's manner and tone
caused us to fear. Afterward, Winthrop
came to us; he was pale, with compressed
lips, and sad eyes ; he came up close, leaned
upon the wagon wheel, and said in a low
tone, "He is dead." Oh, how dreadful. We
all left the wagon and went to the front as
fast as we could.

I have gathered from witnesses the follow-
ing account of how it happened. There was
a flock of prairie chickens ahead of the
wagons to the left of the road. Mr. Milburn
and several of the boys took their guns and
were going to try to thin their number. The
wagons had not halted, but were moving
slowly on, the hunters had gone on a little
in advance of the wagons, they tried to fire

46 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

all together, one of the boys snapped two
caps on his gun, it failed to go off, so he
threw the gun into the front wagon, and
took his whip, in disgust. The wagon had
moved on to where Mr. Milburn was stand-
ing with his gun raised; there was a shot,
Mr. Milburn dropped to his knees, turned
and looked at his sister, saying, "Gus. I am
shot." And fell forward on his face. She
was in the next wagon.

BEREAVEMENT.

Gus screamed, jumped from the wagon,
ran to her brother, and raised his head in her
arms. All who were near enough to hear
her scream ran to them and she said, "John
has hurt himself with his gun and has
fainted, bring restoratives quick."

In a few seconds, there were half a dozen
bottles, with brandy, camphor, ammonia
there, and every effort was made to restore
him, but all in vain. He died instantly and
without a struggle.

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 47

When Mr. Kerfoot knew he was dead, he
looked for the wound and found a bullet-hole
between his shoulders. Just then one of the
boys picked up his gun where he had dropped
it and exclaimed, "It was not this gun that
did the mischief, for it is cold, and the load
is in it."

On looking around to find where the
deadly shot had come from, some one took
hold of the gun in the front wagon. "Why,
this gun is warm. It must have been
this gun went off."

"Oh, no; it could not have been that gun,
for there was no cap on it," said the boy who
had thrown the gun there.

Circumstances proved that it was the gun
without a cap that did the fatal shooting. I
would have supposed, as the boy did, that it
was perfectly harmless without a cap. I
have heard it said, "It is the unloaded gun,
or the one that is supposed to be unloaded,
that generally does the mischief." No doubt
the hammer was thrown back when he threw

48 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

it in the wagon. On investigating we found
a rut in the wheel-track just where he fell.
It is possible that when the front wheel
dropped into the rut with a jolt the hammer
fell, igniting the powder, either by the com-
bustible matter that stuck, or by the flash
occasioned by the metal striking together.
Mr. Milburn was not opposite the wagon
when he raised his gun to shoot, but the
wagons were moving slowly and the front
one came up with him as he was taking aim,
and that was why Gus thought it was his
own gun. She saw the smoke rise, he
stumbled and fell to his knees, she called to
him. "Why, John, what made you fall ?"

He looked around at her and said, "Oh,
Gus, I am shot." The last words he spoke.

How hard to be reconciled to such a dis-
pensation when such a little thing could have
prevented it, only one step in either direc-
tion, or the gun pointed the other way. Why,
oh, why, has this awful thing happened ?

The poor boy seems to be as heart-stricken

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 49

as Gus. In her unselfish grief she has been
trying to comfort him.

I have read of a minister of the Grospel
"who dreamed that he died; after entering
the gates of Heaven he was led into a large
empty room, on the walls of which his whole
life was spread out as a panorama. He saw
all the events of his life, and many that had
been hard to understand in his lifetime were
here made clear, and through it all the guid-
ing, protecting hand of God had been over
him/* Perhaps Mr. Milburn is saved from
a worse fate.

We were about three miles from Frank-
fort when the accident happened. We came
on here as soon as possible — a sorrowing,
and oh, so sorrowful, procession now. It
does not seem that we can ever be the merry
party that we have been. Winthrop had
been riding Dick; he stood there, ready,
saddled and bridled when Mr. Milburn fell ;
Frank mounted my pony and rode as fast as
he could go to Frankfort to get a doctor.

50 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

Mr. Milburn was dead before he was out of
sight. We met them as we came. A room
has been rented and Mr. Milburn prepared
for his last long sleep. The people of Frank-
fort are very kind, and sympathetic.

A Funeral.

Tuesday, May i6.
The boys sat up with the corpse last night.
I stayed with Gus. We had only just shut
ourselves in when a terrific storm came upon
us; the wind blew, and the rain fell in tor-
rents. Before eleven o'clock it had passed;
soon after Gus slept heavily. It seemed
hours before I slept. Very early this morn-
ing Gus awakened me praying. How surely
do the sorrows of this life drive us to the
mercy-seat for comfort, refuge and strength.

"Had earth no thorns among its flowers,
And life no fount of tears,
We might forget our better home
Beyond this vale of tears."

What a precious, what a comforting, sat-

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 51

isfying faith the Presbyterian faith must be,
if one can really and conscientiously accept
it. According to their belief one never dies,
nothing ever happens without God's provi-
dence, approval, and foreknowledge that it
will happen in just that way.

I wish I could accept such a faith, and be-
lieve it, but I cannot. I do not believe it was
ordained that Mr. Milburn should die in that
way and at that time. I believe it was an
accident that might have been prevented by
the most trivial circumstance. The laws of
nature are inexorable. If a bullet is shot into
a vital part of the body it kills. Yet God is
able to bring good out of this seemingly
great and grievous evil. I do not know
which suffers most — the poor boy whose gun
did the deed or Gus. They seem to take
comfort in each other's society, and are to-
gether the most of the time to-day. I am so
sorry for both of them.

The funeral services of the Presbyterian
Church were held at two o'clock this after-

52 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

noon, a resident minister officiating. Mr.
Milburn was very nicely laid away, and his
grave marked and enclosed with a neat,
strong fence before Gus and I left the ceme-
tery. The people have been so very kind.
The funeral was largely attended for a
stanger in a strange place. There is no tele-
graph office here, so we have had to write
letters instead of sending telegrams.

I believe Gus's plans are to go on with us
to the Missouri River, sell her outfit, and re-
turn home by steamboat down the Missouri
River, up the Mississippi to Canton, where
friends will meet her and go with her to
Etna.

Wednesday, May 17.
Another night with Gus. She wakes in the
morning to weep. We started once more on
our now sad journey. I have ridden with Gus
all day. We do not hear the sound of song
and laughter as we did last week; we all
seem to be under a pall. We came through

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 53

Redoak this morning, are camping in a beau-
tiful place, near a pleasant, homelike farm-
house. The weather is perfect.

Thursday, May i8.

The friends that stayed with us Sunday
night told us that the authorities are not al-
lowing emigrants to take the northern route,
because of the Indian depredations that have
been committed on that route. That if we
went to Council Bluffs we would have to
come down the river to Platsmouth to get on
the southern route. So we changed our
course accordingly.

We came through Whitecloud, Glenwood
and Pacific City to-day. At Whitecloud I
made a few purchases, traded with a little
German merchant who crossed the plains a
year ago; he says we have a delightful trip
before us. He expects to go again to the
Rocky Mountains, and make his home there,
as soon as he can sell out and settle up his
business here.

54 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

Just before we came to Glenwood, as the
girls passed on their ponies, Gus said to me,
"Sallie, go ride your pony, too ; you have not
had a ride for several days. Pardon me if I
have been selfish in my great sorrow."

"No, Gus, I would rather stay with you
than to ride Dick, as long as you need me."

"Thank you, dear ; your company has been
very grateful to me, but now I would really
enjoy seeing you ride through Glenwood."

To please her, and myself, too, I soon had
saddled and mounted Dick and overtaken the
girls. As we were riding through Glenwood
a photographer sent a messenger to request
us to "Please stop five minutes and let him
take our picture." We rode to the position
indicated, doffed our sun-bonnets, and looked
as pleasant as we could. We did not wait to
see the proof, and I expect he was disap-
pointed.

Pacific City is on the Missouri bottom, or
lowlands. Above the town are the highest
bluffs I have ever seen. We hitched our

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 55

ponies and climbed to the top. The view
was magnificently grand, the sun sinking in
the west, the river could be seen in the dis-
tance, with large trees on the banks, the low-
land between the bluffs and the trees was
dotted with cattle and horses grazing, here
and there a pond or small lake with its wa-
ters shining and sparkling in the glimmer-
ing sunset, the city below us in the shadow of
the bluffs. Everything was so sweet and
peaceful, we were more than paid for our
climb. The wagons had passed before we
came down, so we mounted and hastened to
overtake them before driving into camp.

ON THE BANKS 01^ THE BIG MUDDY.

Our journey across Iowa at an end, we
are on the banks of the Big Muddy, opposite
Platsmouth. We will stay here until Gus's
things are sold, and we have seen her off on
the steamboat. I stay with her nights, and
this afternoon is the first time I have left her
since the 15th.

56 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

Friday, May 19.
I went over to Platsmouth on the ferry-
boat this morning with some friends that are
camping near us, to do some shopping for
Gus. I bought a black bonnet, crepe veil and
collar, and material for black suit, which we
will make up in camp, as there is a dress-
maker with us. I was away about five hours
and came back tired and hungry. The
weather is perfect. We have a very pleasant
place to camp, and pleasant people camping
near us. We are surrounded on all sides by
emigrants' camps, and still they come. It
seems like a young town, only the houses are
built of canvas instead of lumber, brick or
stone. The boys have put up a swing, but
I have no time for swinging to-day.

Saturday, May 20.

We have had a very, very busy day. Mr.

Kerfoot has sold Gus's wagon and team

(three yoke of oxen) for $550, a good price

every one says. More than they cost them,

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 57

I believe. The freight will be sold at auction.
We have all helped with Gus's suit and it is
almost finished. Hillhouse went up to Coun-
cil Bluffs this morning, expecting to bring
Brother Mac back with him. Instead of find-
ing him he got a letter — also the one I wrote
a week ago — saying he was not coming. He
has decided to study medicine and will come
west when he is an M.D. We are disap-
poiftted, of course, yet perhaps it is for the
best — we must try and believe so anyway.
Most perfect weather.

The Morrison and Harding outfit have
come, also several other families from Lewis
and Clark counties. The Kerfoots are ac-
quainted with some of them. They had
heard of the sad accident. Some of them
were friends of Mr. Milburn.

OUR LAST DAY WITH MISS MILBURN.

Sunday, May 21.
Mr. Thatcher and his wife came to call
upon Gus this afternoon, and invited her to

58 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

their home in Platsmouth to stay until she
takes the steamboat for home. Mr. That-
cher and Mr. Milburn have been friends for
years. She accepted their invitation and will
go there to-morrow.

As the people from different camps were
sitting around an immense camp-fire, not far
from our wagons, someone proposed music.
Some of the men in Mr. Clark's camp are
fine musicians, they brought their violin and
flute, and gave several instrumental pieces,
then some familiar songs were sung and
someone started ^'J^st Before the Battle,
Mother." They had sung two verses when I
heard a shriek from Gus's wagon. I has-
tened to see what was the matter. "Oh, Sal-
lie, tell them to please not sing that, I can-
not bear it. Dear Brother John used to sing
it so much. It breaks my heart to hear it
now."

I sent Winthrop, who had followed me, to
ask them to stop singing. Poor Gus, she was

DAYS ON THE ROAD. $9

more overcome than I have seen her since her
bereavement.

Monday, May 22.

Mr. Kerfoot, Cash, Neelie, Ezra and I
came with Gus to Platsmouth. She said
good-bye to mother, Mrs. Kerfoot and the
others this morning. All were sorry to part
with her. She has become very dear to us
all. Gus's freight was brought over in the
wagon and sold at public auction and
brought good figures, thanks to Mr. That-
cher, who, when he saw anything going be-
low its real value, bid it in himself. He has
a grocery store. He and Mr. Kerfoot have
attended to all business transactions for Gus,
so that she has not been bothered at all, and
have done better for her than they could have
done for themselves.

We have had a quiet, pleasant day with
Gus at Mrs. Thatcher's home. She is very
kind, and has invited us girls to stay with
Gus until she takes the boat for home, and
Gus begged us to stay with her as long as

6o DAYS ON THE ROAD.

possible ; so Cash and I are staying all night,
and will see her on board the boat to-morrow
morning. Neelie has returned to camp with
her father and Ezra.

Ernest is a great care and worries his
auntie. He will not stay in the house, and she
cannot bear to have him out of her sight for
fear something will happen to him; she has
just now undressed him, heard his little
prayer, and put him to bed in the next room.
So I hope we can have uninterrupted quiet
for awhile.

Tuesday, May 23.
Mr. and Mrs. Thatcher, Cash and I came
with Gus and Ernest to the steamboat. We
parted with them about nine o'clock on board
the "Sioux City." Dear friend, I have be-
come greatly attached to her, in the three
weeks we have been so intimately associated.
May God grant her a quick and safe journey

Note. — Miss Milburn and her lover were married
about six months after her return, and have lived
happily, etc.

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 6i

home. We cannot hope it will be a happy
one.

Cash and I came directly to camp, after
saying good-bye to Gus; found every one
busy getting ready for an early start to-mor-
row. We have been here almost a week, yet
I have not had time to try the fine swing the
boys put up the next day after we came here
until this afternoon. The camps that were
here over Sunday are all gone except those
that will travel with us. It is probable there
will be half a dozen more camps here before
night. It is surprising to see what a great
number of people are going west this
Spring.

We hope to start very early to-morrow
morning. I trust our party will not be so
much like a funeral procession as it has been
since the 15th. Vain regrets cannot remedy
the past, and I believe it is our duty to be as
cheerful and happy as possible in this life.

62 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

WE HAVE OUR PICTURES TAKEN.

Wednesday, May 24.

We were up with the earliest dawn, and
our own individual outfit ready for a very
early start, yet it was the middle of the fore-
noon before all the wagons were landed on
the west bank of the Missouri. It takes a
long while to ferry fifteen, wagons across the
river. We girls rode our ponies onto the
ferryboat. They behaved as if they had been
used to ferryboats all their lives. As we
were waiting near the landing a stranger*
came, apologized for speaking to us, and
asked, "Are you going to Montana?"

"No, sir, our destination is California, or
Oregon ; we are not fully decided which."

"Oh, you ought to go to Montana; that is
the place to get rich."

He told of his marvelous success in that

♦This man is mentioned here because of what hap-
pened him before he reached his journey's end.

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 63

country since 1863; the Indians were men-
tioned. He spoke of them with such con-
tempt; said he would rather kill an Indian
than a good dog. Says he left a wife and six
children in Iowa, the oldest boy about four-
teen who wanted very much to go with his
father, but his mother needed him. Last
night he came into his father's camp. He
had run away from home; says he is going
to Montana, too. His father told it as if he
thought it smart, and a good joke. What
sorrow and anxiety his poor mother is no
doubt suffering.

Cash, Neelie, Sim Buford, Ezra, Frank,
Winthrop and I while waiting in Platsmouth
went to a photographer's and had our pic-
tures taken; tintype, of course, all in one
group, then each one alone, then Sim and
Neelie together and Cash and I on our po-
nies. We only came five miles after our rush
to get an early start. There are nine fami-
lies and fifteen wagons in our train now.
Miss Mary Gatewood has a pony for her

64 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

especial use, .so there will be four of us to
ride horseback. There are enough wagons
now to make quite a respectable corral. I
did suppose, as we had been resting so long,
we would make a long drive. Feed for the
stock is very good here, and as it is fifteen
miles to the next good camping place, where
there is plenty of water and feed, it has been
decided that we stay here until to-morrow.
The boys have put up the inevitable swing,
and we have concluded "that what cannot be
cured must be endured." So we will make
the best of it, but certainly at this rate we
will not reach our destination before it is
cold weather.

Thursday, May 25.
Oh, dear ; here we are yet, only five miles
from Platsmouth. Morrison and Harding
have lost two fine cows, half a dozen men
have been hunting them all day, but without
success. There is not a doubt but that they
have been stolen. Our stock will have to be

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 65

herded, hereafter, to guard against thieves.
We have spent the day reading, writing,
sleeping, swinging, and getting acquainted
with our neighbors. The Morrison family-
wagon is just in front of us, and the Ker-
foot's just behind, so we are to have the most
pleasant neighbors possible to camp next to
us. Mrs. Morrison is almost as pretty as
Cash, although the mother of four children ;
she is so bright and cheerful, so full of life
and fun, she will be great on a trip lik*e this.
Mr. Morrison has an impediment in his
speech, and when he is excited — like he is
this evening, because they cannot find their
cows — he stutters dreadfully, and will say,
"Or sir, or sir, or sir," until it is hard to
keep from laughing. In ordinary conversa-
tion and when not excited, he talks as
straight as any one. He seems so fond and
proud of his wife and children I like him.
Neelie and Sim, and Frank and I took a
stroll this afternoon in search of wild flow-
ers. They are few and far between, yet we

(^ DAYS ON THE ROAD.

enjoyed the walk through the woods in this
lovely springtime weather.

A YANKEE HOMESTEAD.

Friday, May 26.
We came fifteen miles, are camping on a
high rolling prairie, not a tree or shrub with-
in sight ; we are near a neat white farmhouse.
Everything seems to be very new, but does
not have that "lick and a promise" appear-
ance that so many farmhouses in Nebraska
have. Things seem to be shipshape, the
house completed and nicely painted, a new
picket-fence, and everything on the place —
barns, hen-house, etc., all seem well built, as
if the owners are expecting to make a per-
manent home. I would prefer a home not
quite so isolated and far away from any-
where. There do not seem to be any women
about the place, perhaps they are coming
when everything is ready for their comfort.

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 0;

Saturday, May 27.

We came to Ashland, on Salt River, only
a fifteen-mile drive, got here soon after noon
and will stay over Sunday. Several of us
young folks went fishing this afternoon. I
have often gone fishing but do not remember
ever catching anything of any consequence,
or having any luck, as the boys say, so im-
agine my excitement and surprise when the
fish began to bite, and I drew them out al-
most as fast as I could get my hook baited.
Frank baited my hook and strung the fish on
a forked willow switch. After I had caught
six or eight they seem so dry and miserable
I thought they would feel better in the water,
so stuck the willow in the bank, so that the
fish were in shallow water. I caught another
fish and went to put it with the others, when
lo, they were all gone. I could have cried,
and the rest all laughed — well, I shall try
again.

After securing the one I had — and leav-
ing it on dry ground, I threw in my hook,

68 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

and almost immediately I had caught some-
thing so large and heavy I could not draw it
out and had to call for assistance. I was
fearful it was a mud-turtle or something else
than a fish, but it proved to be a fine, large
fish, larger than all the small fish I had lost
put together. When Frank had taken it
from the hook, and strung it with the little
one, I said, "Now I am going, before this
fish gets away." All had fairly good catches,
but none that compared with my big fish.
There are about twenty corrals within sight,
each of from twelve to twenty wagons. Ash-
land is a miserable looking place, the houses
log-cabins with dirt roofs. One store, where
dry-goods, groceries, and whiskey are sold,
and a blacksmith shop are all the business
houses. I do not see anything that would
pass muster as a hotel.

Sunday, May 28.
All the trains that camped near us last
night, except one, have gone on their way,

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 69

Sunday though it is. I am glad there are
some people going West who regard the
Sabbath day. Some of our young people
went fishing, and some went rowing on the
river in a canoe or small boat the boys hired.
It has been a day of sweet rest, a quiet peace-
ful Sabbath.

Monday, May 29.

Traveled all day, and made a long drive
without meeting anyone or passing a single
habitation. We are camping near — what the
people west of the Missouri River call — a
ranch. There is a long, low log-cabin, with
dirt roof, a corral, or inclosure for stock,
with very high fence, and two or three wells
of water in the vicinity, and that is all. No
vegetable garden, no fields of grain, nor any-
thing to make it look like farming. I think
it is a stage-station, and the people who oc-
cupy do not expect to stay very long.

There are three other camps near, the
people of the other trains are having an emi-

70 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

grant ball, or dance, in a room they have
hired. They sent a committee with a polite
invitation to our camp for us to join them,
which was as politely declined. They are
strangers, and the conduct of some of the
women is not ladylike, to say the least.

WE MEET A ERIEND.

Tuesday, May 30.

We girls were riding in advance of the
wagons when we saw a long freight train
coming. We stopped to let our ponies graze
until they would pass. I glanced at the
driver on the second wagon and recognized
an acquaintance. *'Why, girls, that is Kid
Short," I exclaimed.

He looked at me so funny, and began to
scramble down from his high perch.

''Why, Miss Sallie, I could not believe my
eyes at first. Where did you drop from?"
shaking hands with each of us.

"Didn't drop from anywhere; have been

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 71

thirty days getting here by the slow pace of
an ox-train. Sim Buford and some more
boys that you know are with the train you
see coming."

He soon said good-bye to us, spoke to a
man on horseback, who dismounted, gave
him his horse and climbed to the seat Mr.
Short had vacated in the front of the freight
wagon, drawn by eight mules, while Kid
hurried off to see the boys. He and Sim
have been neighbors, schoolmates, and inti-
mate friends all their lives. Sim says Kid
is homesick and expects to go home as soon
as he can after reaching Omaha. He has
been freighting from Omaha to Kearney,
and has been away from home since last Fall.
We are camping near another station, with
the same trains we camped near last night
not far off.

Wednesday, May 31.

We are camping in the valley of the Platte.
We are obliged to stop at the stage-stations
to get water for ourselves and the stock from

n DAYS ON THE ROAD.

the wells. The water is very good, clear and
cold. The same trains that have been camp-
ing near us since we left Ashland are here
again to-night. Two of the women called
upon us awhile ago. We were not favorably
impressed. They are loud, boisterous and
unladylike; they speak to strange gentlemen
with all the familiarity of old acquaintances.
According to Thackeray, they are "Becky
Sharp" kind of women.

Thursday, June i.
Our little village on wheels has stopped
near a large two-story log-house that was
built in the early fifties for a wayside tavern ;
there are fifteen rooms; there are frightful
stories told of dark deeds having been com-
mitted under that roof, of unwary travelers
homeward bound from California that never
reached home, but whether true or not I can-
not say. The people of the other trains are
having a dance in the large dining-room of
the old house.

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 73

Friday, June 2.
As Ezra and I were riding in front of the
train we came to where a man was sitting on
the ground hugging his knees, two men were
standing near trying to talk to him, seem-
ingly. As w.e rode up one of them came to-
ward us, saying, "That is an Indian, over
there." We rode close to him, and Ezra
said, "How ;" but he did not even grunt. He
was very disappointing as the "Noble Red
Man" we read about. He wore an old
ragged federal suit, cap and all. There were
no feathers, beads nor blankets. He was not
black like a negro, more of a brown, and a
different shade from the mulatto. He was
ugly as sin.

ON THE BANKS OF THE PLATTE.

Saturday, June 3.
Here we are on the Platte with about two
hundred wagons in sight. We are now on
what is known as "The Plains." My idea of

74 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

the plains has been very erroneous, for I
thought they were one continuous level or
plain as far as the eye could reach, no hills
nor hollows, but it is nothing else than the
Platte River Valley with high bluffs on either
side. There is some timber on the banks,
but the timber of any consequence is on the
islands in the middle of the river, out of reach
of the axe of the emigrant. This is the junc-
tion of the roads from St. Joe and Platts-
mouth, and that is why there are so many
wagons here to-night. Surely, among all
these people there must be a minister of the
Gospel, so perhaps we will have public wor-
ship to-morrow. Our trip grows more in-
teresting, even Mrs. Kerfoot seems inter-
ested, as so many people are going West, it
must be the thing to do.

Sunday, June 4.
We are organized irito a company of forty-
five wagons, a captain and orderly sergeant
have been elected, and hereafter we will

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 75

travel by system. Mr. Hardinbrooke is our
captain. He has gone on this trip before; he
is taking his wife and Httle girl with him to
Montana. A Mr. Davis is our orderly ser-
geant.

We are now coming into a country in-
fested with Indians, so it is required by Gov-
ernment officials that all emigrants must or-
ganize into companies of from forty to sixty
wagons, elect captains and try to camp near
each other for mutual protection. The grass
for stock is unlimited. About twenty of the
wagons in our train are freight wagons, be-
longing to the Walker Brothers, Joe and
Milt. Joe has his wife with him. Milt is
a bachelor; their sister, Miss Lyde, and a
younger brother, De, are with them. They
are going to Montana. We have been in-
troduced to Mr. and Mrs. Hardinbrooke, and
to the Walkers and their ladies. They are
pleasant, intelligent people, and will add
much to the pleasure of our party, no doubt.
Frank and I went horseback riding this after-

'j^y DAYS ON THE ROAD.

noon to the station to get some good water
from the well. I cannot drink the river
water.

No public worship to-day, although there
were so many of us here.

Monday, June 5.
We were awakened at an early hour this
morning with a bugle call. Three com-
panies were organized yesterday ; there were
about twenty wagons that were not asked to
join either party, so they pulled up stakes and
left while Frank and I were away. The
strange women were of the party ; they must
be some miles ahead by this time, and I hope
they will stay ahead. When our long train
of wagons are stretched out upon the road,
we make a formidable looking outfit for the
Indians to attack. As far as the eye can
reach, before us and behind us, there are
wagons, wagons, wagons; some drawn by
oxen, some by mules, and some by horses.
All fall into the slow, sure gait of the oxen.

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 77

There are whole freight trains drawn by
oxen; there are more ox teams than all
others.

After our evening meal, a number of us
started for a stroll along the bank of the
river. Before we reached the river, we were
met by a perfect cloud of mosquitoes that
literally drove us back. I never came so near
being eaten up. There is a strong breeze
blowing toward the river, which keeps them
from invading the camps, for which I am
thankful, otherwise there would be little rest
or sleep for us to-night. They are the first
mosquitoes we have seen on the road.

Tuesday, June 6.
It is sweet to be awakened with music, if
it is only a bugle. Our bugle certainly makes
sweet music. The road is becoming very
dry and dusty, which makes riding in the
wagon rather disagreeable sometimes.
Mother and I take turns driving the horses
and riding Dick. Rather the most of the

78 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

time I ride Dick. One of our boys goes out
with the herders at night, so one of them is
generally sleepy, and sleeps during the day,
while the other drives the ox-team.

THE ORDER OE OUR GOING.

Wednesday, June 7.

There is such a sameness in our surround-
ings that we seem to be stopping in the same
place every night, with the same neighbors
in front and back of us, and across the cor-
ral. When we organized, Mr. Ker foot's
wagons were driven just in front of ours and
Mr. Morrison's just behind ours, so we have
the same next-door neighbors, only they have
changed places. We are in the central part
of the left-hand side of the corral. The
wagons occupied by the Walkers and Har-
dinbrookes are just opposite in the right-hand
side of the corral.

We always stop in just this way, if only
for an hour at noon — which we do every day
for lunch, and to water the stock.

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 79

When we halted to-day, the rain began to
pour, the stock scattered in every direction.
When it stopped raining, the cattle could not
all be found in time to start again this after-
noon, so we only made half a day's drive.
It has commenced raining again, and prom-
ises a rainy night. It is not very pleasant
camping when it rains, yet it would be much
more unpleasant if it did not rain — to lay the
dust, refresh the atmosphere, and make the
grass grow.

When the captain finds a place for the
corral, he rides out where all can see him,
and gives the signal, the first and central
wagons leave the road; the first to drive to
where the captain stands, the other and all
behind it cross over a sufficient distance to
form the corral by the wagons stopping, so
as to form a gateway, for the stock to pass
through, turned so that they will not inter-
fere with each other when hitching. The
next wagon drives to position, with the right-
hand side of cover almost touching the left-

8o DAYS ON THE ROAD.

hand or back, outer edge of the wagon in
front, with tongues of wagons turned out,
so that all can be hitched to at one time. In
this way the entire corral is formed, meeting
at the back an oblong circle, forming a wall
or barrier, the cattle cannot break through.
The horses are caught and harnessed outside
the corral, but the cattle have to be driven
inside to be yoked.

Thursday, June 8.
It rained all night, seemingly without ces-
sation; the wind did not blow, so there was
no harm, but lots of good done. I am glad
when the rain comes in the night-time,
instead of day-time. Where the beds touched
the covers they were quite wet this morning.

Friday, June 9.
We came through a little town — Valley
City. There is a very pretty attractive look-
ing house near the road. Cash and I had
come on ahead of wagons. Our inclination

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 8i

to enter that pretty home was irresistible, so
we dismounted, took off our habits, hitched
our ponies, and knocked at the door. A very
pleasant lady opened the door and gave us
hearty welcome. We told her frankly why
we came. She laughed, and said, "I have
had callers before, with the same excuse, but
you need not apologize, I am glad my home
is attractive to strangers."

The gentleman of the house is postmaster,
and has his office in the room across the hall
from the parlor. While we were there the
coach arrived, and the mail was brought in.
He did not know we were there, and called to
his wife to "Come see this mail." We went
with her, and oh, such a mess. They had
emptied the mail-sack on some papers that
had been spread upon the floor, and such a
lot of dilapidated letters and papers I never
saw before. I picked up a photograph of an
elderly lady, but we could not find the en-
velope from which it had escaped.

Perhaps some anxious son, away out in

82 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

the mineSj far from home and friends and
mother, will look in vain for mother's pic-
tured face, and be so sadly disappointed. I
am so sorry for the boy that will miss getting
his mother's photograph. She looks like
such a sweet, motherly mother. A great
many of the letters were past saving ; if the
owners had been there they could not have
deciphered either the address or the written
contents, for they were only a mass of pulp ;
the postmaster said it was ''Because they send
such old leaky mail-bags on this route ; those
post-office folk seem to think any old thing
will do for the West, when we ought to have
the very best and strongest, because of the
long distances they must be carried." All
that could be, were carefully handled and
spread out to dry; still, they would reach
their destination in a very dilapidated con-
dition.

We have made a long drive, are within
four miles of Fort Kearney. There are a
great many wagons within sight besides our

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 83

own long train, whichever way we look we
can see wagons. The road from Kansas City
comes into this road not far from Valley
City, and there are as many, or more, com-
ing that way as the way we came. People
leaving war-stricken Missouri, no doubt. I
have never seen a fort. I do hope Kearney
will come up to my expectations.

FORT KEARNEY.

Saturday, June 10.

I was disappointed in Fort Kearney, as I
so often am in things I have formed an idea
about. There are very comfortable quarters
for the soldiers ; they have set out trees, and
made it quite a pretty place, away out here
in the wilderness, but there is no stockade,
or place of defense, with mounted cannon, as
I had expected.

Sim and I rode horseback through the fort
while the wagons kept the road half a mile
north of the fort. Only a few of us came by

84 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

the way of the fort. A soldier gave us a
drink of water from a well by the wayside.
He seemed a perfect gentleman, but had such
a sad expression. We were told that these
soldiers were in the Confederate service,
were taken prisoners, confined at Rock
Island, and enlisted in the Government serv-
ice to come out here and fight Indians. They
are from Georgia and Alabama.

Two families have joined our train and
come into corral on the opposite side, just
behind the Walkers: Mr. and Mrs. Ken-
nedy— a newly-married couple — and Mr.
and Mrs. Bower, with a daughter fourteen
and a son five. We only came one and a half
miles west of the fort near Kearney City. I
do not understand why we have made such
a short drive, for the boys say the feed is not
good, it has been eaten off so close.

Sunday, June ii.
We were obliged to leave camp and travel
to-day, the first Sunday we have hitched up

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 85

since we started. It was a case of necessity,
as there was not feed for our large herds of
cattle and horses. We made only a short
drive, just to get good feed for the stock.

We are camping near a station that must
seem like a military post, there are so many
soldiers. Several soldiers came to our camp
this afternoon; they confirmed what we
heard yesterday. They are Confederate sol-
diers, they were prisoners, and their homes
are in far-away Georgia and Alabama, and
they are desperately homesick. It is a dis-
tressing sickness. I have been so homesick
that I could not eat or sleep, and a cure was
not effected until I was at home again. Then
how nice it did seem to be home, and how
good everything tasted. I do hope this
cruel, homicidal war will soon be over, and
these fine-looking Southern gentlemen will be
permitted to go to their homes and loved
ones, who, no doubt, are waiting and long-
ing for their return. My heart aches for
them.

86 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

ELEVEN GRAVES.

Monday, June 12.

We stood by the graves of eleven men that
were killed last August by the Indians.
There was a sort of bulletin-board about
midway and at the foot of the graves stating
the circumstances of the frightful tragedy.
They were a party of fourteen, twelve men
and two women, wives of two of the men.
They were camped on Plum Creek, a short
distance from where the graves are. They
were all at breakfast except one man who had
gone to the creek for water, he hid in the
brush, or there would have been none to tell
the tale of the massacre.

There had been no depredations committed
on this road all Summer, and emigrants had
become careless and traveled in small par-
ties. They did not suspect that an Indian
was near until they were surrounded, and
the slaughter had commenced. All the men
were killed and scalped, and the women taken

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 87

prisoners. They took what they wanted of
the provisions, burned the wagons and ran
off with the horses.

The one man that escaped went with all
haste to the nearest station for help. The
soldiers pursued the Indians, had a fight with
them and rescued the women. One of them
had seen her husband killed and scalped and
was insane when rescued, and died at the
station. The other woman was the wife of
the man that escaped. They were from St.
Joe, Missouri.

Ezra met with quite an accident to-day;
he went to sleep while driving the family
wagon — he was on guard last night — the
horses brought the wheel against a telegraph
pole with a sudden jerk that threw him out
of his seat and down at the horses' heels —
a sudden awakening — with a badly-bruised
ankle.

We are in the worst place for Indians on
all this road. The bluffs come within half a
mile on our left, and hundreds of savages

88 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

could hide in the hollows; the underbrush
and willows are dense along the river banks.
There is an island, about a mile in length,
that comes so near this side in many places
that a man could leap from bank to bank.
The island is a thick wood, a place where
any number of the dreaded savages could
hide, and shoot down the unwary traveler
with the guns and ammunition furnished
them by the United States Government.

How I would like to climb to the top of
those bluffs, and see what is on the other
side, but the captain says, ''Stay within sight
of camp." And I must obey.

A NARROW ESCAPE.

Tuesday, June 13.
Cash, Neelie and I created quite a sensa-
tion this morning. We waited, after the
train had started, to mount our ponies as we
usually do. Cash and I had mounted, but
Neelie led her pony, and we went down to the

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 89

river to water them, Neelie found some beau-
tiful wild flowers, and she insisted upon
gathering them. Of course we waited for
her. The train was winding round a bend
in the road, and the last wagons would soon
be out of sight. We insisted that she must
come. "The train will be out of sight in
five minutes, and we may be cut off by sav-
ages in ambush."

She did not scare worth a cent. She led
her pony into a little hollow to mount when
we saw two men coming toward us as fast as
they could ride. Cash rode at an easy canter
to meet them, while I waited for Neelie, who
was deliberately arranging her flowers so
that she would not crush them.

"Those men are coming after us, perhaps
there are Indians around." She took her
time, just the same.

When the captain saw that the train would
soon be out of our sight, he went to Mr.
Morrison, who was on horseback, and said,
"Rid? quietly back and warn those girls of

90 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

their danger, there are Indians around. They
have been seen by the guard, on the island,
and by the herders, in the hollows of the
bluffs this morning. They would not be safe
one minute after the train is out of sight."

They had kept it quiet, as they did not
wish to cause unnecessary alarm, for they
knew there was no danger, for the Indians
knew they were being watched, and besides
we are too many for them. Mr. Morrison
started, but not quietly; he snatched off his
hat, whipping his horse with it, passed Mr.
Ker foot's wagon as fast as his horse could
go. Mr. Kerfoot asked, "What is the mat-
ter?" Some one said, "Indians!"

He wound the lines round the brake-
handle, leaped from his high seat on the front
of the wagon, grabbed the first horse in
reach, snatched Mr. Gatewood's boy out of
the saddle, jumped on the horse and came
tearing toward us, lashing the horse with
his long whip — his hat flew off soon after he
started, but he did not know it. He passed

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 91

Mr. Morrison, and meeting Cash, he stopped
long enough to bring his whip over her
horse's haunches with all his might, and sent
her flying toward the train. He next met me
— for I started, when I saw them coming,
and was perhaps a hundreds yards ahead of
Neelie — and stopped and said, '*Miss Sallie,
do you know that we are in the very worst
Indian country there is on this road ?"

He did not wait for a reply, but went on
to Neelie, who was looking all about to see
the Indians. He gave her pony a cut with
his whip, as he had Cash's, and we went fly-
ing over the ground, Neelie' s merry laugh-
ter pealing forth. Mr. Kerfoot did not
speak to either of us. Mr. Morrison had
turned back with Cash, and scolded all the
way, she said he stuttered and stuttered, un-
til she had hard work to keep from laughing.
The captain had stopped the train, and we
were greeted with loud cheering and hurrahs.

There was considerable joking about our
being anxious for an adventure, and the

92 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

young men were profuse in their declarations
about what they would have done if we had
been captured by the Indians. Every one
laughed about our "narrow escape," as they
called it, except Mr. Kerfoot; he was pale
and trembling. It is a shame that he should
have been so unnecessarily frightened by our
thoughtlessness, and I believe he thinks it
was my fault. I wonder what he would have
thought if I had left Neelie to come alone ?

Wednesday, June 14.
One of the men found the skull of a human
being to-day while we were stopping at noon.
It seems horrible to think of one's bones be-
ing scattered about in such manner. There
is a storm coming; a storm on the plains is
something to be dreaded, especially a wind-
storm. Old men who have been freighting
across the plains for years, say they have
seen wagons upset with three tons of freight
in a wind-storm. I am more afraid of a

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 93

wind-storm than of Indians. The boys say
I am not afraid of Indians at all.

Thursday, June 15.
The storm came with great violence last
evening ; we saw it coming in time to be pre-
pared for it, so there was no damage done.
The rain came down in torrents, and made
the roads as hard and smooth as a floor, not
any mud. It has been fine for horseback rid-
ing, everything seems so fresh and clean and
pure, and not too warm. Mr. Milt Walker
joined us about an hour before camping time.
He seems a very pleasant gentleman.

Friday, June 16.
We had a storm last night, much more
terrific than the night of the 14th, yet there
was no harm done, more than to frighten
some of the women and children. For my
part I enjoyed the coming of the storm ex-
ceedingly. I never witnessed a storm-scene
so sublimely grand. Oh, for the pen of an

94 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

artist, that I might picture the majesty and
grandeur of the coming of that storm.

BEAUX.

Nellie Bower has a pony, and rides with
us sometimes. She is a very mature young
lady for her age, and very pleasant company.
Neelie and I were riding together this morn-
ing, while Cash and Nellie Bower rode a
short distance ahead. We had been on the
road about half an hour when Dr. Fletcher
and Milt Walker rode up, requesting the
pleasure of our company, in a very formal
manner. Of course we smilingly bowed as-
sent, and the doctor rode with Neelie, and
Milt with me. It is the first time there has
been any formality in our pairing off while
riding. The boys sometimes ride with us,
but they come informally, we ride as we
please, and stop and climb into the wagon
when we please, without saying by your
leave.

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 95

I am sorry any such formality has been
commenced, for when I want to lope off, and
be by myself, I want to feel free to do so,
rather than to be constrained to entertain a
beau, as we did this morning. Of course.
Dr. Fletcher and Mr. Walker have not gone
with us thus informally. I presume we
succeeded in entertaining them, for when the
train turned out for noon, each gentleman
looked at his watch and wondered "If it
could be possible it is noon?"

Dr. Fletcher is stepbrother of the Walkers
— his mother and their father being married.
He is physician for our train ; an intelligent,
handsome man, below medium in size. I
think he must be dyspeptic, for he is always
finding fault with everything. He seems to
admire Neelie very much. We came through
Cottonwood this morning. Stopped at noon
where the feed is fine, so it has been decided
that we stay here until to-morrow. The sky
has the appearance of another storm this
evening. We have had a busy afternoon.

96 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

Saturday, June 17.

There was a brisk shower last evening
about dark, only lasted about half an hour,
there was no wind. About midnight the
cattle stampeded, the herders do not know
what frightened them, but the first thing
thought of was Indians, yet there were none
visible. Some of the cattle were not found
until this afternoon, so here we will have to
stay another night.

The bluffs near here are quite high and
abrupt. I climbed to the top this morning.
I seemed to be away up yonder, when look-
ing down at our corral the people looked
like midgets. The bluffs are 150 feet high.
I received a beautiful bouquet of wild flow-
ers this evening, but do not know who sent
it. The boy said, "A gentleman sent it."
But he either could not, or would not, tell
what gentleman. Perhaps the one that sent
it thought I would know instinctively, but I
am certainly in the dark.

Two gentlemen took lunch at our table

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 97

this afternoon ; they are father and son. Hill-
house met them out on the road ; they asked
him, "Do you know where we can get some-
thing to eat ? We have had nothing since a
very early breakfast."

He brought them to our wagons, and we
soon had a lunch ready for them. Their
name is Reade, the father's hair and whiskers
are as white as snow, otherwise he is not an
aged-looking man. They asked questions,
and when they found we had not fully de-
cided upon our destination, they insisted that
Montana is the place for us. They have been
there and are going again with freight. They
belong with the Irvine train. Each train
goes by the name of its captain, ours is
known as "The Hardinbrooke train." Then
there is the McMahan train, and the Dicker-
son train, that always camp within sight of
us, for mutual protection. We have not met
any of the people from the other trains. The
Irvine train — which is very large — are some
miles ahead of us. The Reades were hunting

98 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

cattle, had been as far back as Cottonwood,
but without success. The son had a long
talk with the boys before leaving camp.
After he had gone, Hillhouse came around
and took a seat on the wagon-tongue, near
where I was engaged in the interesting occu-
pation of the week's mending. I said, ''Mr.
Read thinks Montana the place for us."

WE DECIDE TO GO TO MONTANA.

"Yes, so do the Walkers, and Mr. Hardin-
brooke, and Mr. Morrison, and everyone else
that are going to Montana."

"Well, why not go there?"

"I do not like for you and mother to go
there, for it will be rough living I expect,
but I intend to go as soon as you are settled
somewhere near Mr. Kerfoofs folks."

"Just listen to the boy. Mother come here
for five minutes, do. What do you think this
boy is saying? That he is going to Mon-
tana when we are settled in California, or
some other place."

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 99

"Well, if he is going to Montana, we are
going, too. How many women are on their
way there in these trains? I reckon it will
not be any worse for us than it will be for
them."

"All right, if you are both willing to go to
Montana, we will change our plans accor-
dingly. It is not as far as California."

And I know he is glad. So it was settled
then and there that Montana will be our
destination.

Sunday, June i8.

We started very early this morning, as
soon as light, about four o'clock. I think
the most of the women were yet in bed. It
was a glorious morning, and I did so enjoy
my early ride on Dick. We had not been on
the road very long when Frank joined me.
I told him, "We had decided to go to Mon-
tana."

He was silent a moment, then said, "It is
the place to go. I do hope we can persuade
Uncle Ezra to go there, too."

100 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

"I hope he will decide to go with us, for it
would be hard to part with all of you now.
It would seem almost like leaving home
again."

We halted at nine o'clock, had breakfast
at ten, started again at twelve. Stopped
again at four, and are camping on Fremont's
Slough.

Monday, June 19.
We passed two graves this morning that
have been made within a month. The first
a man who shot himself accidentally three
weeks ago. The other a woman, forty years
old, who died one month ago to-day. As I
stood beside the lonely graves, I thought of
the tears that had been shed, the prayers that
had been uttered, the desolation of heart that
had been endured by those who had been
obliged to go on and leave their loved ones
here in this wilderness. How my heart
ached for them. My heart went out in
thanksgiving and praise to our Heavenly

DAYS ON THE ROAD. loi

Father that there has been no serious sick-
ness in all these trains with so many people.
It is marvelous.

We are camped on the banks of the South
Platte. The men have driven the stock
across to an island. I do not know if it is
because they are afraid of the Indians stam-
peding them, or that the grass is better. If
there should be danger, I presume they
would not tell us. There is a town of prairie
dogs near ; several of us went to make them
a visit, but the boys had been there with their
guns shooting at the little things, and fright-
ened them so they would not come out, al-
though we waited in silence until almost
dark. I shall make another effort to see
them very early in the morning before the
boys are awake. I have heard they are early
risers, that they come out to greet the rising
sun. We met an acquaintance to-day — Will
Musgrove — he is on his way to Central City,
Colorado. He is night herder for a freight
train. The most casual acquaintance seems

102 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

like an especial friend, when we meet, away
out here, so far from home, or anywhere else.

PRAIRIE DOGS.

Tuesday, June 20.
Winthrop was quite sick last night with
cramp colic. I was up with him the latter
part of the night, so was dressed and ready
for my visit to Prairie Dog Town at an early
hour. The little fellows were up, standing at
their doors, and greeted me with a welcom-
ing bark. Some of them turned and darted
away, no doubt to tell others we had come,
for they immediately came back to peep out
at us and bark and chatter, as if carrying on
a lively discussion. They seemed perfectly
fearless as long as we kept our distance, but
if we tried to get a nearer view, they whisked
away, and were gone in an instant ; then they
would send out two or three scouts, and if
we had gone far enough away, they would
come again to their doors. They have been

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 103

well described by many writers. Cash and
Frank joined me, while at Prairie Dog
Town.

I rode horseback this morning, and Milt
Walker rode with me. Winthrop is about
well this evening. His was the first sickness
we have had. Will Musgrove came up with
us while we were halted for noon — his train
is a short distance behind — he rode with me
in the wagon all afternoon, and drove the
horses, and mother rode Dick. We had a
long talk about friends at home. He took
dinner with us, and then said good-bye, and
we will see him no more, for we will travel
faster than the freight train.

Wednesday, June 21.
Mr. and Mrs. Morrison are large-hearted,
cheerful people, who seem to be always happy
and trying to make others happy. Mrs. Mor-
rison learned that Miss Lyde Walker has her
guitar, and sings beautifully, so she invited
her to come to their tent and help to enter-

104 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

tain a few friends. It was a very pleasant
diversion. While Lyde was singing, the
men and boys from all over the corral came
near to listen. . When she sang 'The Cottage
by the Sea," both inside and outside the tent,
there was great applause that terminated in
an encore. But no, she would not sing any
more; she murmured something about the
rabble, and laid her guitar away.

If I was gifted with a talent, with which I
could give pleasure to people, I would cer-
tainly do so whenever opportunity was af-
forded. I would be glad to promote the
happiness, and dispel as much sorrow as pos-
sible, in this sorrowful world.

Thursday, June 22.
We came through a place called Star
Ranch, or Old California Crossing. We are
camped twelve miles below Julesburgh. Mr.
Reade called this evening; we told him we
had decided to go to Montana. He seemed
as pleased as though personally interested.

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 105

Says the Irvine train is only half a mile ahead
to-night, and invited us to go v^ith him to
call upon the young ladies. We, w^ith one
accord, asked to be excused. We all felt
that we are not in calling costume.

Friday, June 2^.

We are camping in Colorado. Came
through Julesburgh, a rather insignificant-
looking place, to have such notoriety as it
has in the newspapers. We met a company
of soldiers with about twenty Indian prison-
ers. They were captured at Fort Laramie,
and they are taking. them to Fort Kearney.
The soldiers had a fight with about one thou-
sand Indians three weeks ago. There were
no soldiers killed, though a number were
seriously wounded, and they lost a good
many horses. There were squaws and
papooses with the prisoners, though not cap-
tives.

The Indians in the fight were Sioux and
Cheyennes ; they all look alike to me. They

io6 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

were the most wretched-looking human crea-
tures I ever saw, nothing majestic, dignified,
or noble-looking about any of the Indians I
have seen. An ex-Confederate soldier gave
me my information about the fight. There
are a great many Southern soldiers on this
route. We passed another newly-made
grave this afternoon. Mr. Reade called this
evening.

Saturday, June 24.

I was caught in a hail-storm this morn-
ing. I was half a mile from the wagons, on
a high bluff, looking over the river, watching
the storm coming. I did not realize that it
was so near, but all at once it came down
pell-mell and gave me some pretty hard
knocks. Dick seemed in a hurry to get to the
train, and I let him go. We seemed to fly
over the ground through the storm, but we
had the benefit of it all, for it stopped just
when we reached the wagons.

I unsaddled Dick and turned him out,
while I took passage in the wagon, changed

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 107

my wet clothes for dry ones and wrapped in
a shawl to keep from taking cold. When the
teams were being hitched up at noon, Hill-
house said to me, ''Dick has not had water;
you would better ride to the river and give
him a drink."

The river was half a mile from the road,
but in sight all the way. Dick cantered to
the watering place, drank all he wanted, and
we started back when I saw someone coming
toward me. I will not say who it was be-
cause of what followed.

'*I thought you were getting too far be-
hind for safety."

"Oh, there isn't any danger ; you need not
bother about me."

"Bother? Oh, no." And then came a
declaration that about took my breath. At
first I felt that I would like to box the pre-
sumptuous boy's ears. Then I wanted so
much to laugh. But when I saw how des-
perately in earnest he was I thought, per-
haps, I have been to blame for not seeing

io8 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

how things were tending. I was perfectly
amazed; such a thought never occurred to
me.

Our ride back to the train was rather em-
barrassing to me. I tried to make him see
the comicality of the whole business, but he
would not see it. We passed a station where
the Indians had burned all that would burn,
but these adobe, dirt-roof houses, or cabins
rather, would not make much of a blaze I
imagine. Inside one of the cabins — or what
was left of it — were two dead Indians that
had been killed in the fray.

Sunday, June 25.
Mr. Reade came with six young ladies to
call upon us this morning, also one gentle-
man from the Irvine train. They had gone
down into their trunks and were dressed in
civilization costumes. They were Misses
Nannie and Maggie Irvine — sisters — their
brother, Tom Irvine, Miss Mollie Irvine, a
cousin — Miss Forbes, and two other young

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 109

ladies, whose names I have forgotten. They
are all very pleasant, intelligent young
people.

The trains are keeping as close together as
possible, for protection, for the Indians are
on the warpath. Every station and ranch-
building that we are passing these days have
been destroyed.

PREACHING SERVICES.

We have had a preaching service this
afternoon. Rev. Mr. Austin, of the Metho-
dist-Episcopal Church South — the church
that I am a member of — was the preacher.
The services were well attended, and the ser-
mon was fine. He compared our situation
with that of ''The Children of Israel" in the
wilderness. He spoke of God's care for
them, and that He careth for us, spoke in an
earnest manner of our dependence upon God,
and our inability to take care of ourselves, or
to accomplish anything without God's help
and co-operation, and of the necessity of

no DAYS ON THE ROAD.

earnest prayer and faith in all circumstances
of life, and always to remember that "The
Everlasting Arms are underneath."

When the people were gathered, at the
call of the bugle, some sat on chairs in the
shade of wagons, some under umbrellas,
some in carriages and light wagons. Mother
and I stood near a carriage, before the serv-
ice commenced, when a lady invited us to
sit with her and her children — a little boy of
five and a girl of three. We accepted and
were introduced to Mrs. Yager, wife of the
physician for the Chilicothe train, Mr. Dick-
erson captain. The services were held at
their camp. Mrs. Yager is a Southern
Methodist, too. Rev. Austin is a member of
the Chilicothe train. I am glad there is at
least one preacher among us.

MUSIC IN CAMP.

Monday, June 26.
Mr. and Mrs. May — a newly-married
couple that came into our train at the junc-

DAYS ON THE ROAD. in

tion of the roads — are both musicians; sev-
eral of our young men have fine voices, and
with Lyde's guitar, and Mr. May's vioHn we
have had an enjoyable musicale away out
here in the wilderness. If the Indians had
been within listening distance it would be in-
teresting to know what impression the music
made upon their minds, as "Music hath
charms, etc." The music this evening has
been the happiest feature of the day, for I
have had to ride in the wagon all day. One
of the big horses went lame this morning, so
Dick was put in harness and the dear little
fellow has worked all day. He looks funny
beside the big horse; the harness had to be
taken up to the last holes to make it fit him.
I would not enjoy taking this trip without a
saddle-horse or pony to ride. I must be
more generous hereafter and let Lyde and
Mrs. Kennedy and other ladies that have no
horse ride Dick oftener than I have been do-
ing. I have not fully realized how very tire-

112 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

some it is to ride in the wagon all day, and
day after day.

I have always supposed that good water
would be very scarce on this road; we have
not found it so, there are always from one
to three wells at the stage-stations, with ex-
cellent water, free for all — thanks to Uncle
Sam for this provision for our welfare. In
some places wood is very scarce and must
be hauled long distances; we cooked dinner
this evening with wood hauled from near
Cottonwood. Cedar logs are fastened under
the wagons, lengthwise between the wheels ;
as there are no stumps or rocks in the road
they carry all right, when there is no wood
to pick up the log is taken down, a piece cut
off and split up for use. It is surprising with
what a little bit of wood one can cook a meal
on these sheet-iron stoves.

Tuesday, June 27.
Among the men who are driving for the
Walkers is an eccentric old bachelor named

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 113

Fogy; he is very bashful when in the pres-
ence of ladies. I have often heard it said
that men cannot drive oxen without swear-
ing; it is a mistake. I have seen a whole lot
of ox-driving on this trip, and to-day I heard
the first profane oath since we left the Mis-
souri River. It would have been funny if it
had not been shocking. We have traveled
all day where the bluffs come close to the
river, the road is very uneven, little hills and
hollows, in some of the hollows there is mud.
Mr. Fogy admires Neelie very much (at a
distance, of course), we often hear the ex-
travagant compliments he pays her, and his
regrets about that troublesome "if."

Soon after the start this morning, Neelie
and I rode to the front to escape the dust and
sand that were flying; as we came near the
front wagon we were startled by hearing a
terrific oath. The wagon had stuck in the
mud and would, of course, stop the entire
train. Mr. Fogy was the driver. He was
greatly embarrassed and distressed when he

114 DAYS ON THE ROAD,

knew we had heard him swear, and stopped
stock still and let the wheels sink into the
mud so that they had to double teams to get
them out. He afterward told some of the
boys he was effectually cured of swearing;
that he never felt so cheap in his life, and if
he is ever tempted to swear he knows the
remembrance of that moment will check him.
We had a refreshing shower about two
o'clock, that laid the dust, cooled the air, and
made everything sweet and fresh. We hoped
and expected to have a pleasant afternoon,
after the rain there was a calm — not a little
tiny breeze or breath of air — it was just suf-
focating, and then came a cloud of buffalo-
gnats that almost devoured us, so that horse-
back riding was an impossibility.

Wednesday, June 28.
Cash is on the sick-list to-day. I trust it
will not prove to be anything serious. I
greatly fear Mr. Ker foot's family are des-
tined to have considerable sickness before

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 115

this trip is ended. They have such a same-
ness of diet, and it is so poorly cooked I fear
the result.

When we started on this trip not one
member of the family had ever prepared an
entire meal ; they had always had a houseful
of servants to cook and do everything else
for them. The first two or three weeks Nee-
lie and her mother tried to learn to cook, and
mother and I tried to teach them. It takes
great patience to learn to bake in stoves out
of doors; they heat red-hot so quickly, and
cool just as suddenly; they must have care-
ful attention all the time.

They made several failures baking light
bread, and, giving it up in disgust, settled
down to biscuit, that are hard as brick-bats,
when cold, bacon, coffee, and beans — when
we stop long enough to cook them. They
were well supplied with fruit at first; the
canned fruit was so easily served that it is
all gone. They have dried fruit, but think
it too much trouble to cook. Neelie does the

Ii6 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

cooking with some assistance from her fa-
ther, such as getting wood, making fires,
bringing water, grinding the coffee, etc.
Henrietta and Emma — the next younger
sisters — wash the dishes. It is no small un-
dertaking to cook for a family of twelve; I
do not blame Neelie for getting tired, she
says they have such appetites it is not worth
while to tempt them with extras.

Neelie is the dearest, sweetest, most unsel-
fish daughter and sister; it seems they all
depend upon her, the children go to her in
their troubles and perplexities, her father and
mother rely upon her, and she is always
ready to do what she can for any and every-
body that needs her help ; she is unselfishness
personified.

The wind blew so all afternoon that we
could not ride horseback. The roads are
smooth and hard as asphalt, result of rain
yesterday and the wind to-day. Dr. Fletcher
who was called to prescribe for Cash says
she will be all right in a day or two.

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 117

THE MOUNTAINS IN SIGHT.

Thursday, June 29.

We could see the mountains, as the sun
was sinking behind them ; they were plainly
visible though one hundred miles away. It
does not seem possible they are so far away.
Long's Peak and others near it are the points
in sight. They look very much as I have
imagined mountains would appear in the
distance.

Mr. Walker is my informant as to names
of places, distances, etc. He has been over
the road and seems to know all about it. We
usually ride some hours in company each
day, so I have fine opportunities for asking
questions, and he seems a willing instructor.
He never broaches the sentimental, has never
paid me a compliment in words I am glad to
say, for since my late experience I would
hesitate to ride with him were he not the sen-
sible man that he is. We crossed a small
stream to-day that was bridged and had to

ii8 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

pay fifty cents toll for each wagon ; the ford
had been spoiled, or we could have crossed
without the bridge.

Friday, June 30.

We stopped at noon where the road forks,
the left-hand road goes to Denver. Mr. and
Mrs. May, and Mr. and Mrs. Kirkland and
children took the left-hand road, as they are
going to Denver. Mr. May's brother,
George, goes on to Montana on horseback;
he wull leave us in the morning and depend
upon reaching stations, or emigrant camps,
for food and shelter nights. I do hope the
Indians will not get his scalp.

We have been feasting on antelope, the
first that any of our party have killed. It
is fine, much better than venison — but then I
never ate venison when I was so hungry for
fresh meat — we do get so tired of cured
meat. We see no game except antelope and
jack rabbits. The great herds of bufTalo —

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 119

that we read about — have not been in sight
as yet.

Mr. Morrison's four-horse team ran away
this afternoon with Mrs. Morrison and the
children in the wagon. I had been riding
with them since noon, had just left the
wagon. When all the horse teams were
driven out of ranks and down to the river
for water, the lead horses took fright at an
ant-hill — the ant-hills are big as a chicken-
house — and started to run. There were sev-
eral men near who caught and stopped them
just as the forewheel went over the bank of
the river. Mr. Harding was driving; he
tried to rein them away from the river but
they were right on the verge when stopped,
one moment more and there would have been
a serious accident. Mrs. Morrison did not
scream nor try to jump out, neither did she
allow the children to, but sat quite still and
acted like the sensible woman that she is.

We are only six miles below the crossing
of the South Platte.

120 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

Saturday, July i.
We were awakened this morning at the
first peep of dawn by the sound of the bugle
call. Soon the teams were hitched, corral
broken, and we were journeying to the cross-
ing of the river, where we were driven into
corral again. While we were getting break-
fast the men were raising the wagon-beds
and fixing them upon blocks as high as the
wheels, and binding them tight with ropes to
the coupling poles and lower parts of the
wagons, ready to ford the river. They had
a top-heavy appearance, as if the least jolt
would topple them over. Some of the
women were very nervous about riding in
wagons set up on stilts, and felt quite certain
somebody would be drowned. Wagons were
crossing when we drove into corral, of
course we had to wait our turn — first come,
first served. Some enterprising young men
have the blocks and ropes there to rent, at a
very reasonable hire, too, for they might

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 121

have asked what they would^ we had no
choice but to use them.

The river is half a mile or more wide,
about half way over there is a large freight
wagon stuck in the quicksand, just below the
track of the wagons ; it has been there since
yesterday; it is slowly, slowly sinking, and
cannot be gotten out. It has been unloaded
and left to its fate, it seems a signal of dis-
tress to warn drivers to keep farther up the
river and avoid the quicksands.

I drove the horse team over, and Hillhouse
rode Dick and directed our going. The
wagons of our train were all over and in cor-
ral by two o'clock without accident or mis-
hap. Wagons have been crossing all day,
and this evening we are a considerable town
of tents and wagons ; more than two hundred
wagons within sight on the north side of the
South Platte, at the eastern extremity of Fre-
mont's Orchard — though why it is called an
orchard I cannot understand, for there is cer-
tainly no fruit, neither promise of fruit about

122 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

it, mostly quaking-asp and Cottonwood, I
think. Our corral is just to the left of where
the wagons drive out, and near the bank of
the river. Hillhouse has crossed the river
on Dick at least twenty times to-day; he
seemed to know just how to help and has
been in constant demand, so he and Dick are
thoroughly tired out to-night. We will stay
here over Sunday, and hope to have religious
services to-morrow as there are several
preachers with us. I have not met any of
them except Brother Austin who preached
for us last Sunday.

Cash is much better, able to be out, though
quite pale and weak. The mountains loom-
ing up in the distance seem to be the goal to
which we are tending, and now we seem to
make some progress every day for we are
certainly nearer than when we first saw them
on the twenty-ninth of June. Before they
came in sight we did not seem to make any
progress, but traveled day after day, and
seemed to camp at night always in the same

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 123

place ; there was such a sameness in the land-
scape. In the early morning when the sun
shines upon the snow-capped mountains the
effect is thrilling; they seem to be the great
altars of earth raised up to Heaven for the
morning sacrifice.

A TOWN OF TENTS AND WAGONS.

Sunday, July 2.

It is wonderful, wonderful to behold how
this town of tents and wagons has sprung up
since yesterday morning when there was no
sign of life on this north bank of the South
Platte, and now there are more than one
thousand men, women and children, and I
cannot guess how many wagons and tents.
The wagons have been crossing all day, the
last one has just been driven into corral at
sunset.

I was sitting on the bank of the river
watching with anxiety the wagons as they
ploughed through the deep waters — for the

124 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

ford has washed out and the wagons go in
much deeper than when we crossed yester-
day— when a gentleman came and introduced
himself as Dr. Howard, physician for the
McMahan train. He said, "Miss Raymond,
I have known you by sight since we camped
at Kearney, and now as I have an errand for
an excuse I hope to become better ac-
quainted."

I could not imagine what his errand could
be, for he talked of other matters for fifteen
minutes or more, then said, "Miss Raymond,
I have been directed to your wagons for the
best and most wholesome bread that is baked
on this road. Captain McMahan's nephew,
Robert Southerland, has been very sick but
is now convalescing and needs nutritious and
wholesome food to help him gain strength.
I came to ask you for a piece of good bread."

Of course I gave him a loaf, and said,
"Come get more when that is gone." He
thanked me profusely.

There has been no serious accident nor

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 125

any lives lost, although thousands of cattle,
hundreds of horses, and more than a thou-
sand human beings have crossed the river
since yesterday morning.

Oh, for the pen of a Dickens to describe
this wonderful scene, which no one ever has
or ever will see again, just as it is. The
moon is at the full and shining brightly as
there is not a cloud in the sky, the camp-fires
do not glow as they do dark nights. The
men are building a great bonfire in the middle
of our extemporaneous town.

WE WORSHIP IN THE WILDERNESS.

There is to be a praise and thanksgiving
service for our safe conduct through the deep
waters and our protection from the Indians.
The people are beginning to gather near the
bonfire and I must go, too.

Later.

Our service is over ; it was grand, the sing-
ing of the old familiar hymns by so many

126 DAYS ON THE ROAD,

voices spontaneously was inspiring, the talks
by five or six ministers of different denomi-
nations v^ere full of love for the Master, and
brotherly love for every one.

An invitation was then given for all who
had enlisted in the service of the Master to
come forward and shake hands with the
preachers, thus testifying for Christ. Nee-
lie was the first one in that long procession
to give her hand. Precious girl, she is al-
ways first in every good work. I noticed
Dr. Howard in line^ and I also noticed that
Mr. Reade and Milt Walker were not among
the soldiers of the cross.

The feed for stock is abundant, if it were
not so, all these cattle and horses could not
find pasture.

Monday, July 3.

The scenes in this great expanse of low,

level land on the north side of the Platte in

the early hours of this morning is hard to

describe. Corrals and camps here, there and

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 127

everywhere. Cattle and horses being driven
into corrals to be harnessed and yoked, men
and women cooking by camp-fires and on
stoves, everybody seemed to be in a great
hurry, all was animation and life, men riding
after horses, oxen and mules; yelling, hal-
looing and calling, but not a profane oath did
I hear. Among so many children, we rarely
ever hear a child cry, and never hear a
woman scold.

Our train was the third to break camp and
file into the road this morning. The place
that knew us yesterday will know us no more
forever. Our town of tents and wagons that
was teeming with life this morning is this
evening deserted, silent, and uninhabited.
We have folded our tents and driven or rode
away. I did not mount immediately, but
led Dick by the bridle, and gathered a mag-
nificent bouquet of the most beautiful wild
flowers. I had loitered by the way and did
not notice that I was getting far behind our
train, when I looked up and saw only stran-

128 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

gers in the train that was passing. I thought
it was time to mount, threw the bridle over
Dick's head, while arranging my flowers, so
that I would not crush them. I saw a gentle-
man in the train throw down his whip and
start toward me, as if to assist me in mount-
ing. I waited until he was quite near, then
placing a hand on either horn I sprang lightly
into the saddle, turned and waved my bou-
quet toward him as Dick galloped off. Such
a cheer as the men in the train did raise, and
then such merry laughter ; it was fun to hear
them.

Dr. Howard says it was Colonel Wool folk
— a gallant young widower — and the men
that witnessed it guyed him unmercifully on
having been snubbed. We came to the west-
ern extremity of Fremont's Orchard, ten
miles, and stopped for lunch. Then came the
Sand Hills, where all the heaviest wagons
had to double teams to get through. The
captain came on four miles and selected a
camping ground, and we drove to our places,

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 129

to wait for the heavy wagons to get through
the sand.

Hillhouse, and several others, who came
on with us, went hunting for antelope. We
have been feasting on antelope for several
days ; it is fine, but if I could have my choice
I would rather live on ham and bacon all the
while than to have our men go hunting in
this Indian country. Since we have crossed
the Platte we have no protection from the
soldiers, as there are no stations on this side
the river.

We suffer agony when our boys are away
from camp guarding stock or hunting. I
have no fears for myself nor any of us while
we are all together in corral ; but just a few
away by themselves, how easily they might
be cut off. There were Indians seen this
morning by men looking for feed for the
stock. It is almost dark and the boys have
not come. I think the captain is getting
anxious; he keeps looking in the direction
the boys have gone. Ten p.m. The boys

130 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

have just come with one antelope. They lost
their bearings and came to the river, one
mile or more above camp, and that was what
kept them so late. When we scolded, they
said they were obliged to stay to get at least
one antelope for our Fourth of July dinner
to-morrow.

WE CELEBRATE THE EOURTH.

Tuesday, July 4.

We made corral at eleven a.m., the cap-
tain announcing, *'That we will stay four
hours." I do not know if we stopped so
soon, because it is the Fourth, or because it
is so intensely warm, and the sun beams so
hot, or because it was such a delightful camp-
ing-place. Whatever the cause, there we
rested beneath the shade of large cottonwood
trees, and it was so pleasant.

We had dinner at two. Our bill-of-fare
— oyster soup, roast antelope with oyster-
dressing, cold beans warmed over, dried

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 131

fruit sauce, and our last cake and custard for
desert. We used the last of our eggs, which
were packed in salt; it is surprising how
nicely they have kept. I believe they would
have kept another month. We had a very
enjoyable feast, with an abundance of
lemonade without ice. The boys put up a
large swing on two large cottonwood trees;
two could swing at once, with lots of strong
arms to send us away up high. We began
to file into the road at three p.m. Our fun
was all too short. Dr. Fletcher rode with
Neelie, and Milt Walker with me.

Wednesday, July 5.

Here is where we would have crossed the
South Platte — if we had not forded it at the
east end of Fremont's Orchard — on Lathan's
Ferry. If all those wagons had crossed on
the ferry it would have been a big pile of
money for the ferrymen, for they charge one
dollar a team.

We passed a squalid-looking Indian vil-

132 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

lage to-day; it was just teepees and huts.
Oh, dear, but they do look so uncomfortable.
We are at the mouth of the Cache la Poudre
— where somebody cached their powder.
The water is so very clear and cold ; it seems
so nice after the muddy Platte. As there
are no stations on the north side of the river,
there are no wells. The Cache la Poudre is
supplied by springs that flow from the snow-
capped mountains that seem to be right over
there.

Thursday, July 6.
As we were passing another Indian town
I peeped into two or three of their dwelling-
places. They are desolate-looking homes;
no sleeping-places, no tables, chairs nor any
furniture, just some rolls of blankets and
buffalo robes, some camp-kettles, and that
was all. There were squaws and pappooses
innumerable squatted around on the outside
of their teepees, the squaws making mocca-
sins, or decorating them with beads. When

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 133

we said "How," they grinned and held up
two fingers, indicating they wanted two dol-
lars for a pair. We did not purchase.

THE BLACK HILLS.

Friday, July 7.

We are camped at the foot of the Black
Hills. They seem like immense mountains
to me. There are four large corrals near the
little village of La Porte. We rushed through
with dinner, then Mrs. Hardinbrooke and I
started for the top, taking our note-books
with us. Before we had gone far, Winthrop
and Frank joined us. Frank brought his
gun; I do not know if he expected to find
Indians or antelope up here. After much
puffing and blowing, climbing and clamber-
ing, we reached the top. Oh, it is magnifi-
cently grand. If only I could make a pen-
picture of this scene that others might realize
it, as I do.

The mount upon which we stand is shaped

134 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

like the quarter of a ball or globe miles and
miles in diameter and circumference ; we hav-
ing climbed up the outside of the quarter to
the top edge are looking down a steep preci-
pice— the perpendicular side of the quarter.
When a stone is thrown over, it takes it
twenty-five seconds to reach the bottom,
where the Cache la Poudre River runs at the
base of the precipice.

How easy to step off into eternity from
this place. I would not like to live near here,
lest I might be tempted to do it some time.
The valley over there looks as if — away back
in the ages past — another quarter of the
great ball that had been separated from this
quarter, had been lifted by giant hands and
carried away, leaving the most picturesque
valley that I have ever beheld. There are
three prosperous-looking farms in sight, a
large herd of cattle grazing, and a beautiful
grove or park at the northern end of the vale.
West of the valley, and opposite where we
stand, are peaks much higher than this; be-

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 135

hind which the sun is sinking. The setting
sun has crowned the mountain-tops with a
crown of glory and brightness. The moon
is rising out of beautiful, white fleecy clouds
in the east. It is lovely beyond description.

How beauteous is this earth.

How bright the sky,
How wisely planned by him
Who reigns on high.

The sun is gone, night is coming; we must
go, for we are at least one and a half miles
from camp. I fired Frank's gun before start-
ing; I aimed at the river, and hit the mark.
How weak and insignificant these words
seem when compared with the reality.

WE VISIT A BEAUTIFUL SPRING.

Saturday, July 8.

The scenic beauty of the route we have

come over to-day was ever changing. We

were either coming through a narrow canon,

across a beautiful vale, climbing or descend-

136 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

ing a steep hill or mountain. Nellie Bower
and I had started on horseback to have the
morning to ourselves, when Mr. Walker
rode up and asked us to go with him to a
lovely spring of delightfully cold, clear
water he knew of, some two or three miles
ahead. We consented, of course, and had
soon left the wagons behind us. Mr. W. has
been over the road before and seems to know
the landmarks and places of interest. We
found the spring, as described, in a beautiful
dell, where the loveliest wild flowers I ever
saw are growing luxuriantly. We were soon
off our horses, enjoying the cool, delicious
spring water. We gave our horses a drink,
and then we each gathered a large bouquet
of beautiful, fragrant wild flowers. They
certainly are ''wasting their sweetness on the
desert air."

I believe we were almost an hour ahead of
the train. Mother scolded, and so did Mr.
Bower, because we had gone so far ahead of
the wagons, for it is said these hills are full

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 137

of Indians. I am all the time forgetting
about the Indians. Mr. Kerfoot will not al-
low his girls to get out of sight. I am glad
mother is not so exacting as that, but I ought
not to impose upon her good nature, and
cause her to worry. I never do intentionally,
but sometimes I forget.

We are camping in a beautiful basin sur-
rounded on all sides by high hills, and where
the grass is plentiful. There is only one
other train with us, but then it is the Mc-
Mahan train, and they are all such fine-look-
ing young men — and of course they are brave
—that I always feel safe when they are near.
Our captain has forbidden our going out of
sight of camp. There are canons in all di-
rections; how I would like to explore.

Hillhouse and Sim Buford gathered some
wild currants while herding; they will pass
for fruit, but they look better than they
taste. We have made sauce of them; with
lots of sugar and cream they look inviting,
and the boys seem to like them; very few

138 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

will satisfy me. We can always have cream
for breakfast, as the milk stands over night,
and a pat of the sweetest, most delicious but-
ter every evening, when we travel, as the
milk is churned by the motion of the wagon.
Fruit is very necessary on this trip, because
of the alkali in the water, dust, and air we
breathe, to keep us in health.

Sunday, July 9.

I was up very early this morning; I can-
not spend precious time in bed after daylight
while we are camping in this delightful place
and have this perfect weather. I led Dick
to the spring for a drink, bathed my face and
hands in the cool water, picked a bouquet for
the breakfast-table, and returned to camp to
find the girls in bed. They missed a glorious
sight by not seeing the sun rise.

Mother and Mrs. Hardinbrooke went with
me to the top of the hill nearest camp this
afternoon. They picked flowers and enjoyed
the view for a while, then returned to camp,

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 139

leaving me to come later. I sat on a large
flat rock, just below the top, as mother said,
*The Indians could see me so much farther
if on the very top." I promised her I would
not go out of sight ; that if an Indian carried
me off they could see him and know where
I had gone. I did so enjoy the quiet of this
Sunday afternoon ; I had Mrs. Prentiss's de-
lightful book, "Stepping Heavenward," to
read, and time passed so quickly the sun was
setting before I thought of going back to
camp. Some of the boys laughed and said,
"We were watching, and if an Indian had
put in an appearance we'd have settled him ;
we knew you would not see him until he had
'you." I thanked them for their watchful-
ness.

WE CUT OUR NAMES IN STONE.

Monday, July 10.
Just when we had mounted our ponies for
our morning ride, Mr. Walker came and

140 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

asked us to go with him to the top pi a
mountain we could see far ahead and to the
right of the road. He said, "The prospect
is very fine, indeed, from that mountain-top.
I was there two years ago."

Cash and Neelie were included in the in-
vitation, also Mary Gatewood, but their fa-
thers would not let them go. So Nellie
Bower and I were the only ones who were
allowed to accept his invitation. We rode
our ponies until the ascent became too steep,
and then dismounted and climbed. It was a
hard climb, but we were amply paid. The
view was magnificently grand. We found
Mr. Walker's name where he had cut it in
the soft stone two years ago, and we left our
names, with date and former place of resi-
dence, cut in the stone. There were hun-
dreds of names there, but I looked in vain
for a familiar one. I wonder if any one that
we know will find ours? We passed the
graves of two men this morning who had
been killed by the Indians. What a sad

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 141

fate; God forbid that any of our men or boys
should die such a death.

We are camping near a mihtary post —
Virginia Dale. It is just as beautiful as the
name would imply. There are soldiers here
for the protection of emigrants passing
through these hills and mountains. Cash
and I were riding with the captain when we
came to the station. The officer in charge
came out to speak to the captain and asked
some significant questions, "How long have
you been in the hills ?"

"Two days and nights."

"Where have you camped ?"

"In that basin about eighteen miles back.
We stayed over Sunday."

"Have the Indians troubled you?"

"We have seen no Indians."

He seemed greatly surprised, and said,
"There has been no train come over that road
within the last month without trouble, espe-
cially where you stayed over Sunday. Did
not you notice those caiions in every direc-

142 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

tion? The Indians could surround you be-
fore you could know there was one near.
The hills are full of Indians."

He told the captain where to camp, and
where to send the stock for safety and pro-
tection. The captain thanked him, and we
were starting on when the McMahan train
came in sight.

"Ah, ha !" he exclaimed, "I see now why
you have not been molested. Just keep that
train in sight, and you need have no fear of
Indians." And he just doubled up laughing
until it was embarrassing to us.

"But why ? Why will that train be a pro-
tection more than another?"

"Don't you see that portable engine lifted
away up there, and all those iron pipes ? The
Indians think it is cannon_, or some sort of
machinery invented for their destruction ; no
doubt they believe it could kill them by the
hundreds, though the mountains stood be-
tween it and them."

So that is why we have not been mo-

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 143

lested. We have heard of depredations be-
fore and behind us, but we have not seen an
Indian. Blessings on the McMahan train ; I
hope we will not lose sight of it while we are
in this Indian country.

We have passed through some very nar-
row canons to-day, where there was barely
room for one wagon to pass. Great rocks
were hanging overhead on one side, with a
rushing stream beside and just below the
road on the other. There are beautiful
waterfalls in the cafions. I was standing
watching one of the highest, waiting for the
wagons to pass. The last one had gone
when Mr. Morrison came and peremptorily
commanded me to "Come on. Miss Sallie.
The I-I-I-Indians will c-c-c-carry you off
some of these days," he stuttered. Of course
I went.

The captain's orders are, "Do not leave
camp this evening." We were only just cor-
ralled when I saw Lyde Walker climbing a

144 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

near-by mountain. It is the first time I have
known her to leave camp since we came into
the Black Hills; she is very much afraid of
Indians. When she came back I asked,
"Why, Lyde, did you not hear the captain's
order that we were not to leave camp this
evening ?'*

"Oh, there is no danger when the men are
on guard and watching. It is when they
feel secure and are not looking out for them
that I am afraid. Indians do not molest
people when they are expecting them."

LARAMIE PLAINS.

Tuesday, July ii.
The sounding of the bugle and the echo
that reverberated through the mountain
gorges this morning was enchantingly
sweet, and must have driven slumber from
every eyelid. We left the hills at noon and
are camping on Laramie Plains. We came
over some very steep, rocky roads before we
reached the plains. I watched the wagons

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 145

anxiously as they descended the steep, rocky
mountain-side, bounding and bumping
against the big rocks, expecting and dread-
ing an upset, but all landed safely on level
ground at last, and I gave a sigh of relief and
thanksgiving. We have not had an uncom-
fortably warm night all Summer, but while
we have been coming through the hills the
nights have been really cold, so that we have
slept under blankets and comforts, like Win-
ter-time. There is no sickness in camp at
all ; it is marvelous how very well we are. I
hope it will continue so.

Wednesday, July 12.
We crossed the Big Laramie River just
before noon. Had a good crossing ; the wa-
ter is clear, the bed of the river is covered
with gravel, the banks are low, and the water
is not very deep. I rode across on Dick ; the
water just came to my stirrup. We will stay
here until to-morrow, as there is no water for
fifteen or twenty miles, and we cannot go so

14^ DAYS ON THE ROAD.

far in half a day. We young people planned
a fishing expedition for this evening, but the
mosquitoes are so thick on the bank of the
river we had to give it up. Some of the boys
went seining ; Brother Winthrop was among
them, so we will have fish for breakfast to-
morrow morning.

The mosquitoes have not disturbed our
rest at night, yet they have several times
been very thick on the banks of the rivers,
but have not been troublesome in camp. Per-
haps the smoke keeps them away. The Mc-
Mahan train keeps with us, so we are safe.
Dr. Howard rode with us this morning; he
is a widower.

Thursday, July 13.

We passed two large ponds of alkali this
morning. The water had dried up, and the
alkali was two or three inches thick all over
the pond; it looked like ice, until we came
very near.

Mrs. Hardinbrooke had a sick headache
this afternoon; I took care of little Annie

DAYS ON THE ROAD, ^ 147

that she might not disturb her mother. She
is a dear, sweet child and seems fond of me.

There was a rather serious accident as we
were driving into corral. Mr. Hazel wood's
horses were frightened and ran away, upset-
ting the wagon and smashing it up consider-
ably. Mrs. Hazelwood, her sister, and two
children were in the wagon; Mrs. H. was
considerably bruised, the others were not
hurt.

Dick drank alkali water this evening. I
have been feeding him fat bacon; no doubt
the grease and alkali have turned to soap
before now in his stomach, and soap is not
poison, so he will not die this time, and I will
take better care of him the next time we are
near alkali.

IN THE RAIN.

Friday, July 14.
The men were until almost noon repairing
the broken wagon. An accident that hap-

148 • DAYS ON THE ROAD.

pens to one is assumed by all until results
are overcome. As we were ready for the
start, a little girl ran among the oxen to
catch her pet crow ; an ox kicked her on the
forehead and cut a gash that had to have a
few stitches and be bandaged, so we were
delayed again. When order reigned once
more we crossed the Little Laramie. It is
very much like the Big Laramie, only not so
wide nor deep; I rode Dick over, and then
came on ahead of the train, keeping within
sight. When we had traveled about an hour
the rain came down. I was likely to get very
wet before our wagons came, for they were
among the last in the train ; I took the saddle
and bridle off Dick, sat down on the saddle
to keep it dry, and to wait for the wagon. I
was resigning myself to a drenching when
Mr. Grier, driver of the front wagon, came
and spread a great big rubber coat over me,
so that I was completely sheltered and was
hardly damp when our wagons came.

Then mother drove the horses close up

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 149

to the wagon in front I tossed my saddle and
bridle in, hopped up on the tongue of the
wagon before the wagon behind got close
up, and we started without stopping but the
one wagon. We could not stop until we
came to feed for stock, so we were obliged .
to travel in the rain. We drove into corral
about four p.m., and are again quite near the
mountains. There are more pleasant things
than camping in the rain. The water is so
impregnated with alkali I fear it will cause
sickness ; the stock are in greater danger than
we, for we can guard against it.

»

Saturday, July 15.
As I climbed out of the wagon this morn-
ing I saw the most beautiful rainbow I ever
looked at. The bow was complete, the colors
dazzlingly bright and just as vivid in the
center as at the ends. It was not raining in
camp, but raining hard on the mountain-side.
The rainbow was so near we might easily
have reached the end and "found the pot of

ISO DAYS ON THE ROAD.

gold." The rain came down all morning;
we did not break camp until ten o'clock and
then made only a short drive. We are camp-
ing among the hills once more, with not an-
other train in sight. The McMahan train is
behind us, but we do not know how far away
they are, so we are glad to wait until they
catch up. There is a mountain near that I
would like to climb, but it is against orders.

Sunday, July i6.
We are all here; although some of the
women last night seemed to think there was
small chance of our seeing the light of this
morning's sun. Had we known that the
McMahan train was within calling distance
— just a hill intervening — perhaps we would
have rested easier and slept more soundly.
It is considered a very dangerous place
where we were last night and where we have
traveled to-day. Although it is Sunday, I
am sure there is not one in camp that would
have voted to stay there to rest. We have

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 151

heard horrible stories of the depredations
that have been committed along this road
and in these mountains within the last month.
We saw with our own eyes — ^just before we
came to Rock Creek — a station that had been
burned and all the inmates killed or taken
prisoners; there were none to tell the story
of the fight, although the bodies of all who
were known to be there were not found. The
buildings wei*e not all burned, the fire either
went out, or was put out by the rain, after
the Indians left. They have been repaired,
and soldiers stationed there now. We saw
at the same station a coach that had been
riddled with bullets; it was found on the
road about a mile from the station, without
horses, driver or passengers.

INDIANS.

It is supposed the Indians killed the driver,
took the horses, and it is not known yet
whether there were passengers or not, the
coach being so riddled with bullets; it is

152 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

feared there were passengers. A guard of
soldiers go with the coaches we meet, or that
pass us now. We crossed Rock Creek on a
toll-bridge, and had to pay fifty cents toll for
each wagon.

Just after we crossed the bridge, and
where there is a sudden turn in the road, as
it winds around the mountain, we saw where
two men had been killed and two wagons
burned last week. The tire became loose on
a wheel of the next to the last wagon in a
freight train, the men stopped to tighten it,
while the rest of the train moved on, not
thinking of danger, and was out of sight in
a few minutes. An hour later some of the
men came back to see what kept them. There
they were — dead and scalped — the horses
gone, and wagons on fire. The Indians had
taken all the freight they could use, piled
wood under the wagons, and set it on fire.
We saw quantities of white beans scattered
over the ground, also the irons from the
wagons.

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 153

We are within sight of Elk Mountain and
seemingly quite near it. Sim and Hillhouse
picked a nice lot of gooseberries while stop-
ping at noon. I have been sitting in the
wagon, picking off stems all afternoon ; they
also brought a bucket of snow. It is really
refreshing, and such a novelty to have a
snow-ball to eat in July. The gooseberries
are quite plentiful around here. Cash and I
went with Hillhouse and Sirti to pick some
this evening, but a shower drove us to camp ;
the boys stayed and picked as long as they
could see. If we had time, we could gather
gooseberries enough to supply the train for a
month. They are very fine and large; they
are certainly an acceptable addition to our
bill-of-fare, where a sameness of diet is un-
avoidable. I shall always consider them a
fine fruit hereafter.

About an hour after we drove into corral
the McMahan train came, and their corral is
quite near. We are so glad they are here;
we feel safe when they are near.

154 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

Monday, July 17.

Such a cold, rainy, dismal day as this has
been. It has rained without stopping from
early morn until now, and it is almost sun-
down. This is the first all-day rain we have
had this Summer. It has rained all night
several times, but that is not so bad.

Since we have been in this Indian country
the tents have not been put up; every one
seems to think it safer in the wagons than in
tents outside the corral, so we have had to
sit in the wagons all day. I have read,
sewed, written, picked over gooseberries and
ran through the rain and visited some, yet
the day has seemed long. The herders have
to take the stock two miles away to find feed,
so we are consumed with anxiety, notwith-
standing we know our Father's care is round
and about us, and He can and will protect us.
When we came here we could see Elk Moun-
tain, but now it is enveloped in clouds, en-
tirely hidden from view. It is not pleasant
camping when it rains all day long.

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 155

Tuesday, July 18.

The wagons started soon after daylight,
before we were out of bed. We had been
on the road a little while when I heard Hill-
house call to Brother Winthrop — who was
driving our wagon — "Oh, just look, Wint.
Isn't that a grand sight?"

I knew there was something to see, so I
was soon up and dressed and sitting with
Winthrop. I shivered with cold until my
teeth chattered, but was well repaid for any
inconvenience by the grandeur of the sight I
looked upon. Why try to describe or picture
anything so entirely impossible? The masses
of fleecy white clouds, with the brightness of
the morning sun shining upon them as they
floated around and over the top of the moun-
tain, made an ever-changing, beauteous
panorama that I cannot describe. As the
clouds rose higher and higher, they seemed
to mass over the top of the mountain, as in
benediction, glittering in the sunshine until
they seemed to melt away.

156 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

I waited until the sun had warmed the air,
then mounted Dick for my morning ride.
The McMahan train broke corral and drove
into line just behind our wagons. I had only
just started when Dr. Howard rode up on
his pony Joe and requested the pleasure of
riding with me. The doctor is a very pleas-
ant, cultured gentleman, and is very fond of
his pony, yet Joe cannot be compared with
Dick for beauty, neither for easy gait. Why,
Dick is the most beautiful pony on this road.
He is a bright bay with long and heavy black
mane and tail, and his gait is as easy as a
cradle. I can ride all day and not be tired at
all. While his horse^— well, I will not de-
scribe him. It might hurt the doctor's feel-
ings.

We came to the foot of Elk Mountain, on
the Medicine Bow, about nine o'clock. We
find plentiful and excellent feed for the stock,
so the captains have announced, ''We will
stay here until to-morrow."

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 157

WE CLIMB ELK MOUNTAIN.

The doctor thanked me for the pleasure
our morning ride had afforded him, and
asked, "Can we not make up a party to cHmb
Elk Mountain after breakfast?"

"I hope so. I will ask some of the young
people."

About ten o'clock a few of us commenced
the climb. Lyde Walker, Nellie Bower,
Cash and Neelie, Sim Buford, Brother Hill-
house, Dr. Howard and myself. We were
well paid for the effort; we found beautiful
wild flowers, and some wild strawberries not
five feet from a snow-bank. The snow is
in a ravine on the north side where the sun
does not shine. The berries and flowers are
on the bank of the ravine, high enough to
catch the rays of the sun, facing the south.
The view was fine ; we could see a large white
lake far away to the west. Dr. Howard said
it was alkali.

158 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

Wednesday, July 19.

We passed the alkali lake this afternoon.
It was a strangely beautiful sight — the water
as white as milk, the grass on the border in-
tensely green. I always thought grass would
not grow where there is alkali, but it is cer-
tainly growing there; the contrast of white
and green was vivid. The wind was blowing
the water into little glittering, dancing skip-
ping wavelets ; the sight was so unusual that
it was fascinating, though the water is so
dreadfully poisonous.

There are several musicians in the Mc-
Mahan train; Lyde says they serenaded me
last night. She says they stood between our
two wagons. I think she is trying to tease
me.

"Ask Dr. Howard, if you do not believe
me. He was one of them."

"Oh, no. I would be ashamed to acknowl-
edge I did not hear them, and would feel like
a dunce if they had not been there."

Dr. Howard gave me the bouquet he

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 159

gathered on Elk Mountain, which was most
beautifully arranged, and asked me 'To keep
it until it falls to dust." I have put it be-
tween the leaves of a book and will perhaps
never think of it again.

We came through Fort Halleck to-day.
There were eight wigwams, or teepees, at the
east end of the town ; the squaws wore calico
dresses and hoops. I believe they were more
comical-looking than in their blankets. I fail
as yet to recognize "The noble red man."
They are anything else than dignified; they
seem lazy, dirty, obnoxious-looking crea-
tures.

Cash and I made a few purchases at Fort
Halleck. I paid eighty cents for a quire of
writing paper, and Cash paid fifty cents for
a can of peaches. Mrs. Morrison is on the
sick-list to-day, and Delia Kerfoot has a very
sore mouth — scurvy, the doctor says, caused
by the alkali in the dust and air. NeeUe and
Frank are both complaining.

i6o DAYS ON THE ROAD.

WE CROSS THE NORTH PLATTE.

Thursday, July 20.

The ground was covered with a white
frost this morning, and it is freezing cold.
Mrs. Morrison and Frank are better; Delia's
mouth is healing. Neelie continues to drag
around ; she will not acknowledge that she is
sick enough to go to bed, but she certainly
looks sick. I wish they would call Dr.
Howard; somehow, I have more faith in
him; perhaps because he is older and more
experienced.

We are on the banks of the North Platte ;
arrived about three o'clock, did not stop for
lunch at noon. We came ahead of the other
trains, which will be here to-night. We will
have the privilege of crossing first in the
morning.

The men have taken the herds five miles
away to get good feed. They are in danger
from Indians. The captain called for volun-
teers. My brothers both offered to go, but

DAYS ON THE ROAD. i6i

the captain said, "Only one of Mrs. Ray-
mond's boys must go."

Hillhouse said he would be the one. He
was on guard last night, too.

We are in no danger here, for there are
several trains here now and there will be
more to-night. Oh, the anxious watching,
the prayerful longing for day that we must
endure this night, because of loved ones ex-
posed to danger. What a precious privilege
that we can go to the Mercy-seat with the
assurance that if we ask aright our petitions
will be granted. How do people live with-
out Christ and a Mercy-seat? What can
they do, when suffering anxiety, grief, or
bereavement, if they cannot go to Jesus with
their sorrows? Precious Saviour, what a
refuge in time of trouble, what a joy to carry
everything to God in prayer.

The McMahan train is near. Dr. Howard
has been here; he begged me to let him see
my diary. I asked to be excused.

l62 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

Friday, July 21.

The night passed without alarm, and we
are all here; I am thankful. Some of the
men in our train were afraid to risk fording
the river, and paid four dollars per wagon
to be ferried over on a rickety old ferry-
boat that looked more dangerous than driv-
ing over.

Hillhouse and Winthrop were both en-
gaged with the ox-team, Winthrop on the
seat and Hillhouse riding Dick. When they
drove into the river I motioned to mother to
keep quiet and drove the horse-team right in
behind them. The current is very swift;
they had all they could do to keep the oxen
from going with the current, and did not
know I had followed them until they came
out on an island in the middle of the river.
Hillhouse smiled a sickly little smile, and
said, "You should not have tried that."

Dr. Howard stood near, holding his pony
by the bridle. He complimented me on my
skill in driving, and said, "I saw you drive

DAYS ON THE ROAD. " 163

in that swift and treacherous river with
bated breath, but soon saw that you knew
what you were doing, yet I rode Joe in just
behind you to be ready for emergencies."

''Thank you for your thoughtfulness. I
will not *halloo until I am out of the woods'
— the other side is to be crossed yet."

Hillhouse said, "You would better wait on
the island, and I will come back and drive
your wagon over."

But of course I could not do that, after all
the complimenting I had received. I drove
in — with fear and trembling — for there lay
a big freight wagon upset in the middle of
the stream. It was more difficult than the
first side, the banks higher and steeper, and
the water deeper. We got over without mis-
hap; the doctor came on his pony just be-
hind us. I wandered off alone after lunch
and climbed to the top of a near-by moun-
tain. I found there a large pyramid of loose
stones that looked as if they had been piled

i64 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

there by travelers, each one contributing a
stone.

I selected a snow-white stone from the
mountain-side and added to the pile. There
is another town of wagons being made on
the west side of the North Platte. The
wagons have been crossing all day, and are
crossing yet. Hundreds of wagons have
been driven over that turbulent and rushing
river, and not a serious accident occurred.

I have been on the lookout for the Irvine
train, but it is not here. I think it is ahead
of us, and we will not see the young ladies or
Mr. Reade again on this trip, yet as we are
all going to Montana we may perhaps meet
again.

NEELIE IS SICK.

Saturday, July 22.

We are within sight of Pine Grove in
Wyoming Territory.

Neelie was very much better this morn-
ing; almost well, she said at noon, and rode

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 165

her pony this afternoon. I was riding with
her when I noticed a heavy rain-storm com-
ing. I begged her to come on and not risk
getting wet.

"Oh no, Miss SalHe; I don't want to ride
fast. This air is so dehcious, and I think I
want to ride alone for a while; you go on,
and I will come very soon."

I saw it was useless to urge her. I am al-
ways careful not to expose myself unneces-
sarily to a drenching, so I raced on to our
own wagons and had barely time to unsaddle
Dick and turn him loose when down came
the rain in torrents. I was so anxious about
Neelie and expected her to come tearing
through the rain. I looked from the back of
the wagon and saw her coming — plodding
along at the same slow gait, as if she did
not know it was raining. When the rain
was almost over she came along — drenched,
of course. She laughed at my look of dis-
may and paid no heed to my scolding.
Mother and I both urged her to go quickly

i66 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

and change her wet garments for dry and
warm ones. She got off her horse and
dimbed into the wagon. When we stopped
I went around to see how she fared. She sat
in the wagon with a blanket-shawl around
her, and the wet clothes had not been changed
for dry ones. She was shivering with cold.

"Oh, Neelie, my precious girl, I am afraid
you have killed yourself."

"Oh, no, Miss Sallie; I am not so easily
killed as all that."

"But, Neelie, you have been sick for a
week, and now to get this drenching. I fear
the consequences."

The family do not appear at all anxious,
so there is nothing I can do but hope and
trust that her naturally strong constitution
may bear even this strain. I advised her to
go to bed, drink hot tea, and get into a per-
spiration. I doubt very much if she will
doit.

Milt Walker is on the sick list, too. Hill-
house went to bed with a severe headache

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 167

last night, but a night's rest has entirely re-
stored him.

We crossed three very muddy streams to-
day, the first muddy water we have seen
since leaving the South Platte. Since com-
ing to the mountains, the water has been
as clear as crystal until to-day; perhaps we
are coming into mining country. We stopped
quite early this afternoon; the McMahan
train has passed and gone out of sight. I
hope they will not go too far, and that they
will lend us protection with their portable
engine and other machinery.

Sunday, July 23.
We are resting to-day. I went with Mrs.
Hardinbrooke, Lyde and a gentleman friend
of Lyde's, for a long ramble over the moun-
tains this afternoon. We found a most de-
lightful spring where the water seemingly
gushes out of the rock. Just below this
spring was a patch of the finest wild onions
I ever saw. We brought a good supply to

i68, DAYS ON THE ROAD.

camp. We are so starved .for green vege-
tables that everyone seems to enjoy the
onions, though some had never eaten onions
before, they said. For my part I always did
like onions.

THE SUMMIT O^ THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS.

Monday, July 24.
We passed the summit of the Rockies to-
day, and are camping on the western or Pa-
cific slope to-night. The ascent has been so
gradual we should not have known when we
reached the top but for the little rivulets run-
ning in different directions. Quite on the
summit and very near to each other we saw
two little rivulets starting on their way ; one
to meander toward the Pacific, while the
other will empty its confluence into the Mis-
sissippi, and thence on to the Gulf. Just a
scoopful of earth could change the course of
either where they started — from the same
spring really. As it is, how widely differ-

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 169

ent the scenes through which they will pass.
So it is with human lives — a crisis is
reached, a decision is made, and in one short
hour the Avhole trend of our life is changed
with regard to our surroundings, associates,
environments, etc.

We came through Bridger's Pass to-day,
crossed a toll bridge near Sulphur Springs,
and had to pay fifty cents toll for each
wagon. The streams are all muddy that we
have crossed to-day. We saw two beaver
dams; they look like the work of man with
shovel and trowel. We are camping two
miles west of Sulphur Springs.

Tuesday, July 25.

We are camping near another muddy
creek near a station that was attacked by
Indians ten days ago ; they wounded one sol-
dier very severely and ran off with nine
horses.

After we were in corral, while waiting for
the stove to be set up and the fire to be made,

170 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

I was sitting in mother's camp-chair idling
and thinking, when NeeHe came to me. She
dropped upon the grass beside me and, lay-
ing her head in my lap, said, "Oh, Miss Sal-
lie, I am afraid I am going to be sick in spite
of everything, and I have tried so hard to get
well without sending for the doctor."

Dr. Fletcher is desperately in love with
her and tried to tell her so one day not long
ago, catching her hands while talking, which
she resented as a familiarity, and has not
spoken to him since. She told me about it
the evening after. It happened at noon. I
told her I believed he was sincerely in earnest
and that she had wounded him deeply.

She told me what she had done to try to
cure herself; the medicine she has taken is
enough to kill her. I called mother and told
her what Neelie had told me. Mother said,
"You poor child, you do look sick, indeed;
you must go to bed and send for the doctor
right away." I went with her to the wagon,
helped her to get ready for bed, and told

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 171

Cash to send for Dr. Fletcher. She said she
would as soon as Bush — her brother — came.

After dinner I went again to see Neelie;
the doctor had not yet come, but Bush had
gone for him. I stepped upon the tongue of
the wagon and could, with difficulty, restrain
an exclamation of disgust. Neelie inter-
preted my expression and said, "Cash just
would do it; said I was looking so like a
fright."

Cash had powdered and painted Neelie' s
pale face and crimped and curled her hair —
and made her look ridiculous — trying to hide
the sick look from the doctor. I did not
answer Neelie, but went and scolded Cash;
in a low tone she said, "She was so dark
around the eyes, her lips blue, and her cheeks
so pale I could not bear to have Dr. Fletcher
see her looking so homely. She has told
you about their little love-tiff?"

"Yes, but don't you suppose he can see
through that paint and powder ? I am afraid
he will think Neelie did it, and she will ap-

172 DA YS ON THE ROAD.

pear ridiculous in his eyes." I saw the doc-
tor coming, so came away. As I was sitting
here writing, he came a while ago and said,
"Miss Raymond, will you sit with Miss Ker-
foot to-night and see that she has her medi-
cine strictly at the right time?"

^'Certainly I will. Is she very sick, doc-
tor?"

"She is in a much more serious condition
than she or the family realize. It would not
be wise to alarm her, but the family ought
to know she will need very careful attention.
I will tell them to-morrow. You need not
sit up after the last dose of medicine is given,
which will be at midnight. I think she will
rest better if everything is quiet, and the
lights out."

I know from the doctor's tone and man-
ner he thinks Neelie dangerously ill. The
doctor gave me directions about her medi-
cine, and I went immediately to her wagon.

DAYS ON THE ROAD, 173

SIM BUFORD SICK.

Wednesday, July 26.

Last evening as I was on my way to sit
with Neelie I met Ezra. He said, "Miss
Sallie, Sim is quite sick; very much like
Cousin Neelie is, I think. I wonder if we
are all going to be sick?"

"Oh, no ; I hope not. I am very sorry Sim
is sick."

When I left Neelie — a little after mid-
night— sleeping quietly, to come home, I no-
ticed a light in the wagon that Sim and
Frank occupy. I did not awake this morn-
ing until everything was ready for a very
early start. Mother had kept my breakfast
warm by keeping the stove until the last
minute. I sat in the wagon and ate my
breakfast after the train had started. When
through I climbed out and went to see how
Neelie was. I found her feverish and rest-
less; her symptoms unfavorable.

Oh, the dust, the dust; it is terrible. I

174 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

have never seen it half as bad ; it seems to be
almost knee-deep in places. We came twenty
miles without stopping, and then camped for
the night. We are near a fine spring of most
excellent water — Barrel Spring it is called.
I do not know why; there are no barrels
there. When we stopped, the boys' faces
were a sight ; they were covered with all the
dust that could stick on. One could just see
the apertures where eyes, nose and mouth
were through the dust ; their appearance was
frightful. How glad we all are to have
plenty of clear, cold water to wash away the
dust.

Neelie is no better. Such a long drive
without rest and through such dust was
enough to make a well person sick. I fear
the consequences for both Neelie and Sim,
for Sim is a very sick boy. Hillhouse told
Sim last night that we would take him with
us and take care of him, if he wanted to come
and Mr. Kerfoot would let him. He wants
to come, of course; so he sent for Mr. Ker-

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 175

foot this morning to come to his wagon, as
he wished to see him on business.

Mr. Kerfoot came, and Sim asked to be
released from his contract to drive through
to CaHfornia. Mr. Kerfoot asked, "Why do
you want to leave us ?"

"I believe Montana is the place for a
young man to go, and besides I am very sick
and can have better care with the Raymonds
than I can here, for Neelie needs all your
attention."

"I reckon your chances are as good as the
rest of us have." And walked off.

Frank came for me, and I went to see Sim ;
he is very sick, has a high fever and coated
tongue. He asked me to see Mr. Kerfoot.
Frank went with me. Mr. K. seemed to
know what we came for; he was scarcely
civil. I put the case plainly, and said, "We
must take care of Sim, either with or with-
out your consent; we owe it to his father
and mother, and to himself, to see that he is

176 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

taken care of. He cannot be taken care of
where he is."

After re-arranging the boys' wagon and
making room for Sim's bed and other be-
longings ; Ezra, Frank and Hillhouse helped
him to the wagon and put him to bed, while
I went to the McMahan train, which was
quite near, and asked Dr. Howard to come
and prescribe for him. The doctor came,
bringing the medicine with him. He says
it is mountain fever. •

OUR TRAIN DIVIDED.

The separation of the train is being talked
of, and is no doubt absolutely necessary, for
the herd is so large it is hard to find pasture
for them all together. When the division is
made, those going to California will form
one corral, and those bound for Montana will
form another. This will separate us from
Mr. Ker foot's family; I do hope we will not
have to part while Neelie is so sick. I do so
want to help take care of her.

DAYS ON THE ROAD, 177

Thursday, July 2y.

Among the families that came into our
train at Kearney was a family of four young
ladies and their father — a widower — named
Ryan. Sue, Kate, Mary and Maggie are
their names. Mr. Ryan told some of the
young men that he was taking his daughters
to the west, where there are more men and
fewer women, so they could have a better
chance to get good husbands than in Mis-
souri. It has been a good joke among the
boys, and some of them have tried to be very
gallant to the young ladies — as they are on
the market.

George Carpenter, a driver for Hardin-
brooke and Walker, when the train separated
this morning, pretended to go into hysterics.
He had a fit on the inside of the corral when
Mr. Ryan drove off with the other half of
the train. Mr. Kerfoot did not know he was
fooling, and ran to his assistance; the cap-
tain passed, took in the situation and smiled.
Mr. Kerfoot knew then it was a hoax, and it

178 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

made him so mad he declared he would not
stay in a train where the captain would smile
at such conduct.

The doctor had said to him, 'It is neces-
sary that I see Neelie several times during
the day, and you will be taking great risk if
you leave the train until she is much better."
He had decided to stay, and join the others
any time before they came to the California
road, west of Green River. He was so mad
at the captain for smiling at Carpenter's non-
sense, and because he did not rebuke him,
that he made the boys bring in the horses
and cattle and hitch up as quickly as possible.
In an hour after the others started they had
followed. Mr. Kerfoot did not say good-
bye to any one. I do hope Neelie will not
suffer for his crankiness.

We are now a corral of twenty wagons,
the greater number freight wagons ; they are
in corral on the opposite side, while the fami-
lies are all on our side. The Hardinbrookes,
Walkers, Bowers, Kennedys, Morrisons,

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 179

Currys — a family of five — Mr. and Mrs.
Baily and their daughter, about ten years old,
and a widowed sister of Mrs. Baily and her
little girl, about the same age as her cousin,
are with us at the back end of the corral. I
do not know these people, only just to speak
when we meet, but they now help to form
our corral.

We came only two or three miles after the
train separated, just far enough to get out of
the dust. Mr. Ker foot's family and ours
have been almost as one family since we
have been on the road, and I have become
greatly attached to all of them and especially
to Neelie. She is the dearest, sweetest girl,
so very unselfish, and always ready to help
any and every one that needs help. There is
not one in the family but could be spared
better than Neelie except, of course, her fa-
ther. They all love her so, and depend upon
her for everything. She is a precious daugh-
ter, a darling sister, and a true friend.

Sim is very much better; he has some

i8o DAYS ON THE ROAD.

fever, but not so high a temperature as
yesterday. Dr. Howard is very attentive.
He says it is mountain fever that Sim and
NeeHe both have. Dr. Fletcher called him
to see Neelie ; he says she is a very sick girl,
but not v^rorse than Sim was when he first
saw him. Her temperature is not so high.

I wonder if mountain fever is contagious,
or what it is that causes it? It seems the
air is so pure and invigorating one could not
get sick at all. I never felt better in my life,
and mother seems so well. I am afraid it is
the sameness of diet and poor cooking that
is making Mr. Kerfoot's folk sick. The
bread they make is hard as brick-bats when
cold.

WE OVERTAKE THE CALIFORNIA TRAIN.

Friday, July 28.
We came up with the other half of the
train about ten o'clock, and have traveled in
company the rest of the day. We have sepa-

DAYS ON THE ROAD. i8i

rate corrals about two hundred yards apart;
the stock is not herded together.

Neelie has been restless with high fever
and flighty when she dozes; with eyes half
open, poor girl she is certainly very, very
sick.

We are near a delightful spring, cold as
ice, and clear as crystal. I went to the spring
to bathe my face and hands, and brush my
hair. Mr. Kerfoot and Frank came for wa-
ter. Mr. Kerfoot said, "Miss Sallie, why
don't you and your folks come and go to
California, where you started to go ?"

"Why, Uncle Ezra, you know the reason.
We think Montana the better place for the
boys to get a start, and we want to do the
best we can for them."

"Tut, tut ; wealth is not the chief thing in
life. You can make a living anywhere, and
Montana is an awful place. Why, the only
law they have is mob law, and if a man is
accused of crime he is hung without judge
or jury."

i82 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

"Notwithstanding, there seems to be a
great many nice people going there, and I
am not in the least afraid of my brothers be-
ing accused of crime.'*

"I do believe you will regret going to
Montana, and I also believe it is all your
doing that you are going. I think it is very
unkind of you to leave us now when Neelie
is so sick and needs you so much."

"We are not leaving you, Mr. Kerfoot ; it
is you leaving us against the doctor's orders,
too."

I made a great mistake saying that, he
fairly raved ; he was so angry, actually be-
side himself with rage. He said very unkind
things without the least foundation or truth
in them, and which I will try to forget. I
am so sorry for him. I did not answer a
single angry word, and I am glad I did not.
But Frank did ; he was about as angry as his
uncle was, and talked manfully in my de-
fense. He gave his uncle the lie, and
clenched his fists and seemed ready to fight.

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 183

I ended the embarrassing scene by walking
away. Mrs. Hardinbrooke was waiting for
me ; we climbed to the top of a very steep
point, which was hard to climb, and we were
out of breath when we reached the top and
were glad to sit and rest. The view was
fine, the evening pleasant, and we were glad
of each other's companionship, but we did
not talk. I think Mrs. Hardinbrooke at-
tributed my silence to anxiety about Neelie,
and she was not far from the truth.

Saturday, July 29.

Neelie was very much better this morning;
her fever gone, she was very weak, but was
free from pain. Her medicine had the de-
sired effect. She had rested quite well last
night — better than since she has been sick —
and all her symptoms are favorable.

The doctor seemed greatly encouraged
and told Mr. Kerfoot that if they would stay
here until Monday he felt sure Neelie would
be out of danger and they could move on

i84 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

without any risk of doing her harm. He did
not dream that Mr. Kerfoot would again
disregard his advice. Neelie continued bet-
ter until noon, then some one proposed mov-
ing on a half day's drive, thought it would
not hurt her if they made only short drives
at a time.

Mr. Kerfoot listened, and finally con-
sented. He is very much afraid of Indians,
and in a few days we will be out of the In-
dian-infested country. The doctor is very
much out of patience with him, told me he
gave Mr. Kerfoot a piece of his mind.

You must make big allowance for the poor
man. He does not realize that he is endan-
gering Neelie's life; he cannot believe it pos-
sible that such a calamity as Neelie's death
can befall them while he is trusting in a mer-
ciful Father above. Yet I do wish someone
might have exercised authority and pre-
vented their going.

Sim is very much better, improving rap-

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 185

idly. Mr. Walker is able to be around once
more. I wonder if he had mountain fever ?

I have been trying to get the dust out of
our wagon this afternoon ; it was hard work
taking everything out and cleaning off the
dust. Lyde Walker pleasantly entertained
us this evening with songs accompanied with
guitar. The wagon the Walkers occupy is
just in front of ours since the separation.

ON EMITTER CREEK.

Sunday, July 30.

We came fifteen miles to-day, but have
not overtaken the California train. It must
be that Neelie is no worse, and their travel-
ing yesterday did her no harm, or they would
have waited over to-day; we shall hope so
anyway.

Dr. Howard rode with me this morning.
We are traveling on Bitter Creek, which is
considered the very worst part of all the
road. I had heard so much about the deso-
lateness of this part of the country that I

i86 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

expected to find a barren waste. It is not so
bad as represented. There are long distances
where there is not sufficient pasture for the
stock, but in places the feed is plentiful. The
captain and two or three men are off the
road the greater part of the day hunting pas-
ture; we stop when they find it at whatever
hour it may be.

Monday, July 31.
We came twelve miles, passed one station ;
it was built of stone and seemed a very com-
fortable place. Mrs. Hardinbrooke has been
quite sick to-day. I have taken care of little
Annie. We have not had any word from
Neelie. I trust that no news means good
news. Sim was able to sit up in the wagon
for a while this afternoon. I think with care
he will be well in a few days. We have had
delightful weather, since we passed the sum-
mit. The roads are quite dusty, but not like
they were before we came to Barrel Springs.
The water in Bitter Creek is not so nice as

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 187

the mountain streams and springs, but it is
not bitter, as I thought it would be from its
name.

Tuesday, August i.
We are at Point of Rocks, the place is
rightly named; one who never saw them
could hardly imagine such enormous piles
of rock; they are high as mountains, with
scarcely any dirt among them, the sides are
smooth and even, the stone is soft like slate
or sandstone, and the whole face of the
enormous pile, as high as man can reach, is
literally covered with names, dates, and
places of former residence from all over the
United States. I looked in vain for some
familiar name. I left my name in a conspicu-
ous place, so if any of my friends look for
my name they will not be disappointed.
There are springs flowing from the clefts in
the rock; and oh, with what pleasurable an-
ticipation did I hasten to partake of the pure
water, as I, of course, supposed it was.

i88 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

I had been riding with the captain as he
came ahead to find a camping place when
the train came. I rode to our wagon, got a
cup and crossed Bitter Creek to get a drink
of nice, cold spring water. I took one swal-
low. Oh, oh, oh; the horrid stuff. I was
glad there was no one with me to see the
face I made. I think I never swallowed a
more disagreeable dose. It was the strong-
est sulphur-water I ever tasted. In my haste
and eagerness I did not notice that the at-
mosphere was impregnated with sulphur,
and the sulphur formations around the
springs, because they were covered with dust.

The wind is blowing as cold as Green-
land. I expect we will have to go to bed to
keep from freezing. Mrs. Hardinbrooke is
no better; her symptoms are the same as
Sim's and Neelie's were at first, and we fear
she is taking the fever. Dr. Fletcher thinks
Neelie must be better, or we would have
heard, as Mr. Kerfoot said he would send
back for him if she got any worse.

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 189

DELAYED ANOTHER DAY.

Wednesday, August 2.
We had a very cold night; there was ice
a quarter of an inch thick this morning.
Several head of Hardinbrooke's and Walk-
er's cattle were missing this morning; the
men have been hunting them all day, they
were found this evening in a canon four
miles from camp; there were the tracks of
two horses, with shoes, that had driven them
there. The Indians do not shoe their horses,
so there must be thieves besides Indians in
this country. And here we are another whole
day's drive behind the other half of our
train. Oh, I wonder if it will be possible to
overtake them now, before our roads sepa-
rate entirely. They must be at least two days
ahead of us, if they have not been delayed.

Thursday, August 3.
The mountains in this region are very bar-
ren, composed of sand and rock, principally.

190 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

It comes nearer being desert than anywhere
on the road. We have traveled all day, and
have come only thirteen miles. The road
has been very rough indeed. I rode in the
wagon the greater part of the day, so I could
take care of little Annie Hardinbrooke ; her
mother is very sick. I have thought so much
about Neelie, whenever the wheels would
strike a rock, or jolt down into a rut; how
she must have suffered, if in pain or fever;
how hard it must have been for her.

Lyde says Dr. Fletcher is very impatient
and cross, because of the delay; he threat-
ened to take a horse and go horseback yes-
terday, when he found the train would not
move. She thinks he is very anxious about
Neelie, and very much in love.

Friday, August 4.

The wolves howled around our camp all

last night and kept Caesar — our watch-dog

— barking; so we could not sleep. Have

made only a short drive, and are camping at

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 191

Rock Springs, where the road forks. The
men are not agreed as to which road to take ;
the upper — or right-hand road — is the
shortest, but the lower is best supplied with
pasture and water. If we take the upper
road we cannot hope to see our friends again,
so Dr. Fletcher and I want to take the lower
road, for we still hope that we may overtake
them.

Mrs. Hardinbrooke is very sick ; I fear we
are going to have another case of serious
sickness in our camp, I have taken care of
Annie again to-day, which seems to be the
most efficient service I can render, as Lyde
and Mrs. Joe Walker take care of Mrs. Har-
dinbrooke when her husband cannot be with
her. He takes all the care of her at night,
and a most excellent nurse he seems to be.
Sim is quite well, only pale and weak.

Saturday, August 5.
The decision was made in favor of the
lower road. As the train was rolling out I

192 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

had just mounted my pony, when Dr. Flet-
cher came and asked me to ride with him.
He has never seemed to care for my com-
pany, nor I for his until since we have been
so anxious about Neelie. Our anxiety has
been a bond of sympathy, and we have rather
enjoyed each other's society. We had gone
a short distance ahead of the train when we
saw someone coming horseback. I soon saw
that it was Frank. We hurried on to meet
him. He shook hands without speaking. I
asked, "How is Neelie?"

"She is very low. I came after you, doc-
tor. Our camp is about four miles from
here; we have waited two days for you, and
thought you would certainly come yesterday.
When you did not come, we thought you
must have gone the upper road, and I was
going back as far as the first station to in-
quire if you had passed. I am glad, indeed,
to meet you, but greatly fear you will not be
in time to save Neelie."

The doctor asked two or three questions,

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 193

excused himself and rode away at a gallop,
leaving Frank and I to follow, while I plied
him with questions, which he answered pa-
tiently. He then said, "Neelie was much
better for a day or two after we left you ; we
all thought she was getting well; she spoke
of you every time I saw her, and wondered
why you did not come. Since the fever came
back I have not talked to her at all. Part of
the time she has been delirious, and when
conscious she was too weak to talk."

Oh, dear. I do so want to see her and
help take care of her.

A FATAL SHOOTING.

We rode a while in silence, then Frank
said, "That is not all the bad news I have to
tell. Miss Sallie,"

I looked up quickly and asked, "What else
has happened, Frank?"

"Frasier was shot and killed day before
yesterday evening."

194 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

"Oh, Frank; how did it happen?"

*'Hosstetter did it, but I think he was not
much to blame."

Frasier is the man who spoke to Casfi,
NeeHe and I, as we were watching the
wagons ferried across the Missouri River,
whose son ran away from his mother, and
home, to come to his father, and go with him
to Montana. Frasier had teams and wagons
for freighting, and Hosstetter some capital
to invest in freight, to take to Montana.
Frasier advised the purchase of flour, and
he would freight it to Virginia City for fif-
teen dollars per cwt. He said flour was
worth fifty and sixty dollars per hundred in
Virginia City. (So it was in the Spring of
1864, and as high as seventy-five and one
hundred dollars per hundred, which was the
cause of a bread riot in Virginia City.)

No doubt Frasier was honest in his ad-
vice, and would have invested in flour for
himself. He charged more freight than was
right, for ten and twelve cents is the prevail-

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 19S

ing price; but then Hosstetter should have
found that out for himself.

When he found he had been imposed upon
and learned that flour is retailing at Vir-
ginia City for $15 per hundred, he was
angry, dissatisfied, and perhaps quarrelsome.
Frasier was no doubt very aggravating.
They had quarreled several times, and the
evening of the 3d, Frasier was heard to say
to Hosstetter in a threatening tone:

"You may consider yourself lucky if you
ever see Montana. You need not expect to
get any of this flour. It will take it all to
pay the freight."

It was getting dark, and Frasier stood
with one hand on a wheel as he talked.
He then got into the wagon and out again,
with something in his hand, which Hosstet-
ter thought was a revolver in the gathering
darkness. He came back to the wheel where
he had been standing when he made the
threat, and Hosstetter thought he had come
to shoot him, and fired twice, as he thought,

196 DAYS ON THE ROAD,

to save his own life. Frasier fell, shot
through the brain, and died instantly.

Then it was found he had a hatchet in his
hand, and had come to tighten a tire on the
wheel, which he had found loose when he
laid his hand on it. Frasier's eldest son of
fourteen years is here. There are five chil-
dren and their mother at home. Hosstetter
has three children and a wife. Eleven in-
nocent persons to suffer, no one knows how
intensely, for that rash act.

Frasier's son knelt beside his father's
dead body, and placing his hand on his
breast, he swore a fearful oath that he would
have but one purpose in life until his father's
death is avenged. Oh, what a shocking am-
bition for so young a boy.

Frasier and Hosstetter have traveled and
camped near us all the way from Platts-
mouth. When the train was organized they
came into it ; when it was divided they went
with the others as there were not so many
of them, and the herd was smaller.

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 197

By the time Frank and I had discussed the
direful circumstances connected with Fra-
sier's death, in the presence of this greater
calamity Neelie's sickness did not seem so
sad an affliction as it had before, for she is
not dead, and while there is life there is hope.

We came in sight of three corrals about
eight o'clock, camping near together.

TRIED FOR MURDER.

Everything had a funereal appearance.
Men stood around in small groups talking
earnestly in a low voice, whittling sticks, the
incessant occupation of most men when try-
ing to think.

Those with whom we are acquainted bowed
as we passed them, without speaking. I was
soon off my horse and ready to see Neelie,
while Frank took Dick to hitch him for me.

As I approached the tent where Neelie is,
Mrs. Kerfoot came to meet me.

"How is she, Aunt Mildred?" I asked
anxiously.

198 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

"We think perhaps she is better now. She
is quiet and resting easy, but she has had a
very restless night, and the doctor says she
must be kept perfectly quiet; not the least
excitement."

She had led me away from the tent while
talking. I saw in a flash what she meant. I
was not to see Neelie.

"After we left you she kept asking about
you, and when you did not come, we thought
perhaps you had gone the short cut, and so
we told her you had gone the short cut to
Montana, and we would not see you any
more. She seemed grieved at first, but be-
came reconciled to what could not be helped,
and now, if she should see you of course it
would excite her, and I know you would not
do anything that might harm her, or make
her worse."

"Oh, no; of course not."

Emma, Delia and Juddie had come to
where we were talking. I kissed them all,

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 199

said good-bye, and came away, with a heavy
heart.

I unhitched Dick and, leading him by the
bridle, went on in advance of the trains, se-
lected a place for the corral, unsaddled Dick,
and waited for the wagons. I did not have
long to wait, and the captain was so good
as to corral on the place I had selected.

I had a motive in being in advance of the
other trains. I hoped to get Hillhouse and
mother to consent to pull out of corral and
go on if the train did not move. We are
not in any danger from Indians now, and
we can go alone if no others choose to go
with us. I cannot bear to stay here and not
see Neelie.

We could not move to-day, but Hillhouse
says we will to-morrow morning. The men
from these four trains elected judge, jury,
prosecuting attorney and lawyer for the de-
fense, and have tried Hosstetter for murder.
The jury brought in a verdict of "Not

200 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

guilty." He shot in self-defense, as Frasier
had threatened to kill him.

Hillhouse served on a jury, the first time
in his life. He is only twenty. They buried
Frasier yesterday. Lyde and I visited his
grave this afternoon. Hosstetter seems very
remorseful; blames himself for being so
hasty.

Sunday, August 6.

We were up bright and early this morn-
ing. By the time other camps were at break-
fast we were ready to start, one other fam-
ily with us, Mr. Curry, his wife and four
boys. When Hillhouse spoke to the captain
about our going on, he said he thought it
advisable, as our teams are in good con-
dition, the cattle not at all lame. We can
make much better time than the train can, as
so many of the cattle are lame, they will be
obliged to travel slowly. There is no danger
from Indians, and after we reach Green
River pasture will be plentiful, without go-
ing away from camp to find it.

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 201

I climbed into Mrs. Hardinbrooke's
wagon to tell her good-bye, kissed little An-
nie as she was sweetly sleeping. Mrs. H.
seemed sorry to have us go. I met Dr.
Fletcher as I was leaving Mrs. Hardin-
brooke and asked about Neelie.

"She is very low, indeed. Of course,
while there is life we may hope; but if she
lives they will have to stay here a week or
ten days."

I did not tell him we were leaving, but
said good morning, and went to find Lyde.
She was worried and anxious about Milt.
He has been staying behind the train to drive
lame oxen almost every day since he has
been well enough. He is usually in camp by
10 p. M. Last night he did not come. She
said, "Brother Joe is quite sick, too. I won-
der what will happen next ?"

"Oh, Lyde, no very serious calamity has
happened to you or yours, nor me or mine.
Let us not borrow trouble, but hope for the
best. Milt will be here in a little while. I

202 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

know he is able to take care of himself, and
he is going to do it."

WE LEAVE THE TRAIN.

The wagons had started, so I mounted
Dick and was off. As I came into the road
I looked back, and saw Milt coming in sight,
driving his lame oxen. I left the road once
more and went to Frasier's grave. His son
has set it with prickly pears, so closely that
it will make a pretty mound if it grows, and
will be a protection from wolves, unless their
hides are thick and tough. Poor boy, he
must have been seriously scratched while
transplanting the prickly things, but perhaps
it was a relief to his mental suffering, to bear
physical pain while trying to do a last some-
thing for his poor father.

I spent a dreary morning. I feel the
parting with our friends so distressingly. It
is not likely we will meet again in this life.
I think Sim is feeling blue over it, too.

We met a squad of soldiers from Green

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 203

River going to arrest Hosstetter, and take
him to P'ort Bridger for trial. They say his
trial was not legal. He and all the wit-
nesses will have to go by the way of Fort
Bridger, and will perhaps be detained for
some time. I do hope for his own and his
family's sake he will be cleared. The upper
road from Rock Springs goes by the way of
Fort Bridger, I think, for the soldiers spoke
as if it was not on this road.

We arrived at Green River about three
o'clock. The river is about as wide, deep
and swift as the North Platte, yet I have not
dreaded any of the rivers we have crossed
as I did dread to ford this one. Perhaps it
was because there are so few of us, for in
numbers there is a feeling of security, even
in crossing deep and dangerous streams.
We crossed without accident or loss, and are
camping on the west bank of Green River.
When we first came to the river, one of Mr.
Curry's boys exclaimed:

"Well, this river is named right. If I had

204 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

been going to name it, I believe I would
have named it Green River, too, for it is
green."

The water is very clear, yet the river has a
bluish-green appearance. I do not under-
stand why.

There are several corrals along the river,
but the people are strangers, so we feel very
much alone. There is a station here and
soldiers' tents within sight. We are camp-
ing on blue grass, with the mountains very
close. They are the highest I have seen. I
would like to climb to the top, but mother
says there are too many soldiers and strang-
ers around.

At the foot of the mountain, a little way
from our camp, there is a graveyard with
about a dozen graves. It is a beautiful spot,
with the mountain for an enduring monu-
ment. Several of the graves have been made
this year, with names and dates quite dis-
tinct on the plain pine headboards. Others
are entirely worn or washed off by the re-

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 205

lentless hand of time and storm. It seems
that Bitter Creek was too much for the weak
or frail constitutions. Like Moses, they
were permitted to look upon the better land
before they died.

Monday, August 7.

The soldiers brought Hosstetter here in
the night, and I suppose the witnesses came
too. I wanted to go to the station to see if
I could hear anything from Neelie, and the
rest of the sick folks, but mother did not
want me to go where there are so many
soldiers, so I did not go. We started very
early this morning and have driven about
twenty miles. Are camping on Black Fork,
where the horses and cattle are just wading
in fine pasture right around camp.

We ascended a mountain this morning
that was seven miles from base to summit,
the way the road is. We had toilsome climb-
ing, and I guess the teams found it a hard
road to travel before we reached the top. I

2o6 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

came on in advance of the wagons, some-
times riding and sometimes leading Dick
where it was very steep, and had time to en-
joy the magnificent scenery that lay spread
out on all sides. The snowy range could be
seen in the distance, glittering in the morn-
ing sunshine. The wild currants are here in
abundance. I am going fishing with the
boys, so I must be off.

WILD CURRANTS GALORE.

Tuesday, August 8.

We caught fish enough for breakfast last
evening, and gathered currants enough for
sauce, but I spoilt the sauce by putting the
sugar in, when I put them on to cook, they
hardened and were not fit to eat. I have
been experimenting to-day and have suc-
ceeded in making a nice cobbler.

I did not sweeten at all before baking, but
made the sauce sweet enough to sweeten all.
I also made a fine sauce by cooking the cur-

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 207

rants only a very few minutes, and putting
in the sugar after they were cooked. We
will have currant dumplings for dinner to-
morrow. We have picked a lot, enough to
make sauce and pies and other good things
for a week. The currants are a beautiful
fruit, and some are as large as small cher-
ries. We are waiting at Camp Plentiful, in
the hope that some of the wagons from the
train will drive in before night.

There are three wigwams within sight of
our camp. Sim and Hillhouse went hunting
to-day. On their way back they stopped at
the wigwams and found them occupied by
white men with squaws for wives. Ugh !

Wednesday, August 9.
Somehow I felt a little suspicious of those
white men living with squaws, and feared
some of our horses might be missing this
morning, but my suspicions were groundless.
Our horses and cattle were all here, well fed
and ready for a long drive. We were off

2o8 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

bright and early, without seeing any one
from the train.

We passed the Bridger Road, where our
friends going to California will turn off, so
we are not likely to see them again, perhaps
for years, perhaps never again in this life.

There is a very fine ranch at the junction
of the roads, where we stopped at noon. Two
men from this ranch visited our camp this
evening. They were rather fine looking,
genteel in appearance, dressed in civilization
style, but for some unexplainable reason, I
was afraid of them. They tried to be very
cordial and polite. They engaged Sim in
conversation, and plied him with pertinent
questions, such as:

**Who owns those big American mares ?"
(referring to our horse team).

"They are the property of a widow."

"Whose bay pony is that?"

"It belongs to the widow's daughter."

"Who is the owner of that chestnut sor-
rel?"

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 209

"Mr. Curry, father of those boys playing
over there."

They asked many more questions. Where
we came from? Where we are going?
What we expect to do, etc.

Sim answered them patiently and civilly.
He thinks they are horse thieves, but hopes
they will not be mean enough to steal from
a widow. As if horse thieves care who they
steal from. No doubt, their ranch is stocked
with stolen horses and cattle, for they have
things as they choose away out here, where
there is no law, except the law of might.

God's Word says, "As the partridge sit-
teth on eggs, and hatcheth them not; so he
that getteth riches, and not by right, shall
leave them in the midst of his days, and at
his end shall be a fool" (Jer. 17: 11).

We are camping on Ham's Fork, where
the currants and fish are very plentiful, and
the pasture very fine. We had our currant
dumplings for dinner. They were lovely.
No one can imagine how we appreciate this

210 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

fruit by the wayside, except those who have
been deprived of the strawberries, raspber-
ries, blackberries and cherries, each in their
season, and confined to the sameness and
tameness of diet, which people making this
trip are necessarily confined to. This fruit
would seem inferior among other cultivated
fruits, but where it is, it seems a luxury pro-
vided for our benefit.

Thursday, August lo.
We went fishing at noon. It is such fun
to fish in water so clear that we can see
the fish biting at the hook. They do not
seem at all afraid, and sometimes there will
be two, three, or four grabbing at the hook
at the same time. Such shoving, pushing
and crowding as they all try to get the tempt-
ing bait. How eager and unsuspecting they
are. Soon the strongest or fleetest, or rather
the most unfortunate one seizes it. Away
goes bait, hook and all, and then out comes
a fish on dry land. I give a shiver of pity

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 211

for the unlucky fish, as I call to the boys:
**I have another."

It does seem such a cruel thing to take
them from their pleasant home in the deep,
clear, cool water. But then, "Life is sus-
tained by death." And thousands upon
thousands of lives are taken daily to nourish
and sustain human life. We are in a beau-
tiful place, where all things necessary for
camping are plentiful, and we are all alone,
no corral within sight ; the first time we have
been entirely alone.

Friday, August 11.
One or other of the boys stood guard last
night. It proved an unnecessary precaution.
There was no disturbance either from
horse thieves, Indians, or wild beasts. We
are living fine since we crossed Green River.
We have fresh fish for breakfast and some-
times for dinner. Wild game of some kind
for dinner, with currant pudding, cobbler, or
dumplings, with rich cream for dessert. We

212 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

may possibly go hungry next Winter at Vir-
ginia City, but there is no danger of starving
while we stay on Ham's Fork.

The weather is perfect. I have been rid-
ing my pony the greater part of the day,
sometimes one of Mr. Curry's little boys
with me, and sometimes alone. I have en-
joyed the delightful atmosphere — it seems
so pure and invigorating; the scenery is
beautiful, and it has been a glorious day.

MR. curry's horse STOLEN.

Saturday, August 12.
It was considered unnecessary for any one
to stand guard last night, as we had come
two days' travel from where the suspicious
characters live. So all went to bed, retired
early, slept soundly, and even neglected to
put Caesar's rug in its usual place — under
our wagon— so he went into the tent with
Mr. Curry's boys to find a comfortable bed,
leaving the camp entirely unguarded. One of
our big horses wears a bell. I was awakened

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 213

in the night by hearing an unusual ratthng,
and the horses came galloping up to the
wagons. Dick whinnied. I raised the
wagon cover and spoke to him, and he com-
menced cropping the grass. The other horses
were in sight, but not eating. They seemed
frightened, and just then Caesar came tear-
ing out of the tent and ran toward the road
barking fiercely. The moon was shining
brightly. I looked out at the back of the
wagon, but could not discover anything
wrong, but evidently there was something
wrong, for Mr. Curry's horse was gone this
morning.

Mr. Curry, Sim and Hillhouse have been
hunting the horse all day, but without suc-
cess, except to find certain evidence that it
had been stolen. They found the camp-fire,
where three horses had been tied for some
time. They then found where four horses
had traveled, so they concluded there were
three men after the horses.

The bovs think it was the merest accident

214 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

that our horses are not gone too, but I be-
lieve it was providential care that kept them
for us. Mr. Curry is anxious to stay and try
to recover his horse. I believe, as the boys
do, that it will be a waste of effort, for if
men are mean enough to steal a horse they
will manage to keep it. But we do not like
to offer too many objections, as it might
seem like selfishness on our part, as we are
not the losers.

Oh, dear, why don't people be good, and
do as they would be done by? How much
happier this world would be if there were no
thieves nor wicked people in it. I know
it is hard for Mr. Curry to give up his fine
horse without making an effort to get it
back. Yet I feel sure he will not get it. For
if he found it he could not force the thieves
to give it to him.

ANXIOUSLY WAITING AT HAm's FORK.

Sunday, August 13.
It was decided this morning that Hill-

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 215

house, Sim and Mr. Curry would go in pur-
suit of the horse thieves. Sim is just recov-
ering from a severe sickness, and is not able
to go on such a trip, but he positively refused
to stay in camp and let Hillhouse and Mr.
Curry go without him. I believe it will
prove a wild goose chase, so mother and I
exacted a promise from Hillhouse that he
will not stay away to-night. We are look-
ing for him. It is getting dark. Surely
they will not leave us here in this wilderness
with only two boys and Caesar for protec-
tion. If we are left alone, I shall take my
turn, with Winthrop and Alex. Curry stand-
ing guard in camp. Sim rode Dick this
morning, the others walked. What they ex-
pect to do if they find the thieves (which
they are not likely to do) I do not know.

Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy, Mr. and Mrs.
Bower, Nellie and Alton, and Mr. Grier's
teams passed here to-day. They left the
train the next morning after we did. The
train had not started then. They said Neelie

2i6 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

was about as when we left, and Mrs. Har-
dinbrooke was no worse.

Monday, August 14.

Hillhouse came in about an hour after
dark. He was very tired and hungry; had
walked since early morning until he started
back at three o'clock. He tried to prevail
upon Sim to return, and let him go on with
Mr. Curry if he must go. But Sim would
not listen to such a proposition, although he
is still weak from his late sickness. Mr.
Curry thinks he will find his horse at the
ranch near the junction, although the trail
they were following led away from, instead
of toward it. If he finds it, he will go back
to the train and get the men to help him get
it either by fair means or by force.

He then proposed that they keep Dick, but
they said he would not reach camp before
midnight on foot and he might lose his way,
but Dick would take him the shortest route
if he w^ould just let him go his own way.

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 217

which he did, and he brought him safe about
an hour after dark.

I am so sorry for Mrs. Curry. She tries
to be brave for her children's sake, but any
one can see she suffers, and Alex says she
does not eat at all, just takes a cup of tea
once in a while.

Tuesday, August 15.

Another day has come and gone, and the
wanderers have not returned. Hillhouse
said he did not expect them to-day, but
would look for them to-morrow, for they
will not have anything to eat after to-day,
and will be obliged to leave the foot hills and
come to the road, whether they find the horse
or not, to get something to eat.

A party of emigrants stopped near us to-
day at noon, and one of the men came to our
camp. We, of course, asked if they had
seen the Hardinbrooke train. They passed
the train Sunday. They were still where we
left them at the west end of Bitter Creek.
He saw and talked to the captain, who told

2i8 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

him to tell us, if he caught up with us, "The
sick folks are all better, and they expect to
come to Green River Monday." They may
catch up with us yet.

I do not know what we would do with
ourselves if it were not for the currants. We
are making jelly, and as it takes lots of cur-
rants to make a little jelly, we have not suf-
fered from enforced idleness, with our sus-
pense and anxiety.

Wednesday, August i6.

There are three varieties of currants here.
The yellow ones are not very plentiful.
They are the largest and best. I have made
a pickle jar full of the loveliest jelly. It is
the color of gold and as clear as crystal.
The red currants are very plentiful and more
like the tame currants, though they do not
yield as much juice.

We gather the bushes by the armful, and
carry them to camp, and sitting near each
other, we pick off the currants.

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 219

Though we do not talk much, we like to
be near each other. Another day and they
have not come, and another night of anxiety
before us.

THE WANDERERS RETURN.

Thursday, August 17.

I was awakened very early this morning,
as soon as it was light, by hearing Hillhouse
bustling about making a fire in the stove, as
if in a hurry for his breakfast. I dressed as
quickly as possible, and hastened out to see
what it meant — for it was only four o'clock.
When I asked for an explanation, he said :

*T am going to hunt those men. I can't
stand this any longer. I have laid awake
almost all night thinking about them."

"What can you do? You will be lost
yourself."

*'No danger of that. I will go back on the
road as far as Green River, get some of the

220 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

soldiers and some of the boys that know
them, and we will hunt until we find them, or
know what has become of them. I may meet
them on the. road and return to-night, but I
will not come until I bring them with me, or
know their fate."

I could not object to his going, but oh,
how my heart sank at the thought.

We made all haste to get breakfast, and
Hillhouse was all ready to start when Mrs.
Curry and the boys came out. Mrs. Curry
seemed both glad and sorry he was going,
said she hardly knew which. I had supplied
him with pencil and paper, and he promised
to send us word every opportunity. He
mounted Dick and rode away without saying
good-bye.

He had gone almost out of sight. One
moment more and a bend in the road would
hide him from our view. When, lo, there is
a gun fired not far oflf.

My thought was Indians, and I looked to
see if Hillhouse was hurt. He was waving

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 221

his hat furiously and came tearing back to
camp. Then I heard Mrs. Curry cry out :

"Oh, it is my husband." And she dropped
in a heap on the ground, and cried out loud.

They were plainly visible by that time,
coming over the hill and down to the creek
and through it, before any one could show
them where they could cross without getting
wet.

All was excitement for a while. The
meeting between Mr. Curry and his family
was very touching, indeed. I think Mrs.
Curry had about lost all hope of ever seeing
him again.

How famished and worn out they did
seem to be. Sim was utterly exhausted. I
do not believe he could have gone another
half mile. We gave Sim a bowl of bread
and milk, and a cup of coffee. Then the
boys helped him to bed in our wagon, be-
cause it is on springs and we expected
to start before he waked. Within one hour
after they reached camp Sim was sleeping

222 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

the sleep of exhaustion. We did not ask any
questions, nor let him talk at all, before he
went to sleep.

Mrs. Curry prepared the best breakfast
the camp could afford for her husband, and
as the family had not breakfasted, they all
sat down together. She came for Sim to
take breakfast with them, but he was sound
asleep, and I would not have had him awak-
ened for the best breakfast ever prepared.
Perhaps Mr. Curry can stand eating such a
meal after starving so long, but I believe it
would kill Sim in his weak condition, for he
is not fully recovered from his recent ill-
ness.

We made all haste to start once more, and
by eight o'clock were on the way. We had
left the camp where we spent five such
anxious, distressful days. Sim did not
awaken until after ten o'clock. We gave
him some fish and bread and milk, which
we had ready for him. When he had eaten,
he lay in bed and told mother and I the fol-

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 223

lowing narrative of what had befallen them
since they left camp:

sim's story of their wanderings.

"After Hill left us that first afternoon, we
walked on as fast as we could, as long as we
could follow the trail. Then made a fire,
ate some supper without anything to drink.
We had not seen water since noon.

"We rolled up in our blankets and lay
down with our feet to the fire and tried to
sleep. I am sure I did not sleep an hour, I
was so tired and nervous. As soon as it was
light enough to see, we were up and ate a
dry breakfast, for we could find no water in
the vicinity. We were soon following the
trail. Before night we had eaten all our
grub, and found no water. Oh, what would
I have given for a cup of cold water? It
seemed that we must find water or perish.
We dragged on as long as we could see;
then lay down and slept from exhaustion.
When we awoke it was light.

224 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

"I was SO weak that Mr. Curry had to
help me to get on my feet. I declared I could
go no further. Mr. Curry prevailed on me
to try, for we must be near Green River. I
made a desperate effort, and dragged on for
half a mile perhaps, Mr. Curry carrying my
blanket, when I positively could go no
further, and told Mr. Curry to go on and
leave me and try to save himself. Mr.
Curry was desperate. He said : 'I must find
something to eat.' He covered me with the
blankets and went to look for some kind of
game.

**When he had gone about a hundred
yards he saw a bird about the size of a par-
tridge sitting on a limb ready to be shot. He
took careful aim and shot its head off. He
hastened back to where I lay, made a fire,
skinned the bird, and held it on a sharpened
stick before the fire and roasted it thorough-
ly. I would have eaten it when half done,
but Mr. Curry would not let me have it until

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 225

well cooked, for fear it would make me
sick.

"I never tasted fowl that tasted so good as
that did, although we ate it without salt.
After eating I felt better, and made another
effort to move on. We had gone only a little
way when Mr. Curry stopped, listened a
moment, and exclaimed: 'There, hear the
rushing of the river?'

"I could not hear it at first, but soon I
heard the glad sound too. It gave us cour-
age, and with renewed energy we pushed on,
and before eleven o'clock we reached the
river. We slacked our thirst, cautiously, at
first, then had a bath and were refreshed.

"While I rested on the bank, Mr. Curry
looked up and down the river for the trail,
which had gone into the river. He did not
find it. W^e then started for the road, which
we came into in about an hour, just below
the ranch at the junction.

"A party of emigrants had stopped for
noon, who gladly gave food and refreshment

2si^ DAYS ON THE ROAD.

to us weary wanderers. While I was rest-
ing, Mr. Curry investigated the ranch,
looked among the horses in the pasture,
peeped in stables, but did not find his horse.*

"After Mr. Curry had given up getting
his horse he was all eagerness to get back to
his family, but considering how very weak I
was, he consented to stay with the kind peo-
ple we had fallen in with until morning, so
we traveled with them, and I rested in a
wagon all afternoon.

"At the first peep of dawn Mr. Curry was
up and awakened me. I felt refreshed and
ready for our early walk. Mr. Curry ex-
plored the grub-box, found some bread and
meat, which he appropriated, leaving green-
backs to pay for our entertainment.

"We expected to reach camp by ten
o'clock p. M.^ but I gave completely out, and

♦Those men at the junction did steal Mr. Curry's
horse. The men in the Hardinbrooke train saw
them in their corral, and asked, "Where did you get
that horse?'* They answered, "From a man by the
name of Curry. Paid $150 for him."

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 227

we were obliged to lie down and rest when
about five miles from camp. I slept until
awakened this morning before it was light by
Mr. Curry, who was so anxious to be on the
way I wondered that he let me sleep so long.

"We came over the foot-hills, instead of
by the road, and saved about a mile in dis-
tance. We saw Hill riding away from camp
and felt sure he was starting to try and find
us. Mr. Curry fired his gun to attract his
attention, and you know the rest."

He turned over and went to sleep again,
and slept until we stopped for noon. We
made a long drive to-day and are camping
at the foot of Bear River mountain.

We had a hard rain and hail storm this af-
ternoon. It was very violent while it lasted,
and we halted by the roadside until it was
over. It was over in half an hour.

Mr. Curry has suffered with a severe
headache and high fever all day, the result
of that hearty breakfast this morning after
fasting so long.

228 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

BEAR RIVER MOUNTAIN.

Friday, at noon, August i8.

I am on the summit of Bear River Moun-
tain, in the border of a beautiful grove of
pine and quaking-asp, near a spring of the
most deHcious ice-cold water. I must be
some miles ahead of the wagons that I left
toiling up the steep mountain side. Yet I
do not feel that I am alone. Oh, no. I feel
that God is here in his might, majesty,
power and glory. I feel His nearness now,
and as I gaze from these dizzy heights upon
the country spread out beneath my feet, I am
lost in admiration, the scene is so grand, so
magnificent, that I forget my own vanity
and nothingness. I feel that I am standing
upon an altar raised by Nature's grateful
hand up to Nature's God, and that I could
offer myself a willing sacrifice.

This is emphatically one of the high and
sacred spots of earth. How manifold, how
wonderful are the works of Nature : Every-
where something worthy of our highest ad-

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 229

miration is presented to view; everywhere
do we see the manifestation of an invisible
and omnipotent Creator. The terrific storm,
the broad prairies, the majestic forest, excite
within our bosoms emotions of awe and ad-
miration, yet there are no places on earth
that I have seen which have a tendency to
inspire me with such tender feelings, such
elevated, pure, holy thoughts as mountains.

Oh, it seems that one could never sin, or
have an evil thought, in such a place as this.
Behold the mountains as they stand upon
their broad bases, contemplate them as they
rear their snowy tops in awful, majestic
grandeur above the clouds, view them as
you will, and they ever present the same un-
tiring pleasure to the mind.

Men and women will travel thousands of
miles and make the greatest exertion to
climb the rugged steeps of mountains, to en-
joy for one short hour the charming pros-
pect. I have wondered at this sometimes, as
I have read of their hazardous exploits in

230 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

trying to obtain a point where they could
have the finest view, but I never shall again.

A country destitute of mountains may be
fertile and productive of all that conduces
to human happiness, yet it will lack the es-
sential of attractive moral grandeur.

It may enchant the imagination for a mo-
ment to look over prairies and plains as far
as the eye can reach, still such a view is
tedious and monotonous. It can in no wise
produce that rapturing delight, that pleasing
variety of the sublime and beautiful of land-
scape scenery which mountains afford.

Let those whose tastes are on a level with
the ground they tread feel proud of and ad-
mire their prairie fields, but give to me a
mountain home.

The wagons are almost at the top, and as
mother has driven up the steep ascent, I will
drive down the western slope, and have
mother ride Dick, and enjoy the delight-
some scenery as we descend the mountain-
side, which looks very steep from here.

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 231

We were all the evening crossing the
mountain, and it was a hard drive. We
are camping at the foot of the mountain
near a spring in Bear River Valley, within
calling distance of the Chilicothe train.

We passed two freight wagons on the
mountain-side that were rather badly
smashed up. One had upset, and crackers in
a broken-up condition, and other debris from
family groceries were scattered about.

We learned that the wagons are Dr.
Yager's, and he has gone somewhere to get
the wheels mended. We are quite disap-
pointed that he is away, for Sim is not so
well as he was yesterday, has had fever and
been flighty and in a stupor this afternoon.
He needs medical treatment, and we hoped
to have Dr. Yager prescribe for him.

We passed eight graves on the mountain,
one a young lady twenty years old from
Monroe County, Missouri. A beautiful
resting place for the dead. Mrs. Yager is
quite sick, and seems sadly disheartened.

232 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

Thinks crossing the plains and mountains in
a wagon (they have a very comfortable car-
riage) is a sad, discouraging, never-to-be-
repeated experiment. I am sorry she could
not enjoy the fine prospect on the mountain-
top, for she is a lady who would appreciate
such grandeur to the fullest under favorable
circumstances.

We reached level ground without acci-
dent, and were glad to come up with friends
we had met before on the road.

WE MEET CAPTAIN HARDINBROOKE's
BROTHER.

Saturday, August 19.

We left the Chilicothe train this morning.
As it will take all day to get the wagons
mended, they cannot start to-day. We came
on to Bear River, reached here a little after
noon, and will stay here until to-morrow.

We crossed a toll bridge on Smith's Fork,
and met Captain Hardinbrooke^s brother at

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 233

the bridge. He is going to meet the train.
He did not know of Mrs. Hardinbrooke's
illness. He asked very especially and with
some confusion, *'Is Miss Walker well?'*

Ah, I think I know who he is going to
meet, and understand some things that have
not been very clear to me before. "Ah, ha,
Miss Lyde, you have guarded your secret
well, but see if I have not guessed it now?"
Well, he is very nice looking, and if he
makes as good a husband as his brother, he
will no doubt be worth coming to Montana
for. I wish you joy, and that I may be pres-
ent at the wedding festivities.

The boys have gone fishing, all but Sim.
Poor boy he is too sick again. I feel very
much out of patience with Mr. Curry, be-
cause of the tramp he led Sim when in so
weak a condition.

Sunday, August 20.
We passed a grave this morning that was
made yesterday for a young mother and her

234 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

new-born babe. Oh, how sad. With what
an aching heart must that husband and
father go on his weary way, leaving his
loved ones by the roadside.

We crossed another toll bridge. It seems
to me that emigrants are greatly imposed
upon by these men who claim toll. They
throw a very poor excuse of a bridge across
a stream that could be easily forded if let
alone, but they spoil the crossing by digging
ditches and throwing in bush and timbers
to obstruct the fording, then build a cabin,
close to the bridge, and squat to make a for-
tune by extorting large toll from emigrants,
who have not the time to stop and contend
for, their rights. It seems a shameful busi-
ness.

While stopping at noon we saw a com-
pany of Indians coming down the road
toward our wagons. My first sensation was
fear, but upon reflection I knew that is not
the way they go on the warpath, and by the
time they reached camp I was ready to say

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 235

"How," and try to talk to them. There was
one that could understand English and
talked quite well.

They are Bannocks, the tribe that was
conquered in Idaho some years ago. Their
chief was with them. He held a stiff neck
and tried to look dignified, and only looked
ridiculous. They are going on a buffalo
hunt. It seems that the whole tribe are go-
ing, squaws, pappooses and all.

We have been meeting them all afternoon
and are camping with them all around us
to-night. They all seem to want my pony.
I have been asked at least twenty times this
afternoon to "Swap." I gave all the same
answer, "No swap." Why, I would not
give my Dick for twenty of their ponies.

The squaws and pappooses are around our
camp to-night begging biscuit. They are
the greatest beggars. I ever saw. I do won-
der if they are hungry ?

We crossed the steepest, straight up and
down mountain to-day that we have crossed

236 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

yet. It seemed that the wagons would turn
a somersault as we were making the descent.

Sim was too sick to sit up, and he would
slide down in a heap, bed, bedclothes and
all, against the seat and grub-box. We
stopped twice to have him helped back into
place. When we reached level ground he
was all piled up again. Poor Sim, he is very
sick. I do wish we could come across a
physician. We have administered simple
remedies, but seemingly without effect.

There is an old lady ninety-three years
old in a train camping near us to-night. She
is cheerful as a lark, sings sometimes, and is
an incessant talker.

She says she is going to Oregon, where
she expects to renew her youth. She looks
very old and wrinkled in the face, but is very
active in her movements, and not at all
stooped. The people she is with are not at
all refined or cultured, but I do like to talk
to the old lady, she is so quaint. It makes
mother seem quite a young woman to see

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 237

her with an old lady more than forty years
older than she is. Why, she seems just in
the prime of life, and we had thought her
growing old.

MORMON TOWNS IN IDAHO.

Monday, August 21.

Since we crossed the last steep mountain
the horse flies have been very troublesome,
the first that have bothered us all summer.
I wonder if the Indians brought them ?

We came through two villages to-day;
they are about five miles apart. The first
Bennington, the last Montpelier — pretty
large names for such small places. They are
Mormon towns, although this is Idaho Ter-
ritory. The women appeared sad and sor-
rowful enough to be the wives of Mormons.
I did not see one of them smile. Our
wagons were thronged with women and
children selling butter, eggs, cheese and
vegetables. They sold eggs at seventy-five

238 . DAYS ON THE ROAD.

cents per dozen, butter seventy cents per
pound, cheese fifty cents, potatoes twenty-
five cents, and everything else in proportion.
The prices seemed enormous to us, but I pre-
sume we would have purchased if they had
been double what they were, for we are
about starved for such things. Just think
of spending a whole summer without garden
productions.

This is a beautiful valley. Too good to
be possessed by a community of bigamists.
What a stigma upon the Government of
these United States that whole communities
are allowed to live criminal lives with im-
punity. I wonder how many are paying the
penalty for bigamy in the penitentiaries of
the United States? What is crime in one
place, under the same Government, I would
think, would be crime in all other places, if
the one did happen to be an isolated case,
while the other is in large numbers, or
wholesale. I suppose I am not well enough
versed in law and politics to understand why

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 239

it is crime in one place and not in the other.
We are camping eight miles from Mont-
pelier. Sim is much better to-day.

Tuesday, August 22.

Here we are at Soda Springs. I am sur-
prised to see so small a town, for it is quite
an old place for this western country, at least
ten or fifteen years old, and does not have a
post-office. The town is beautifully situ-
ated, the landscape views are glorious. The
soda springs are bubbling up out of the
ground in many places in this vicinity, and
I expect there will be a city here some day.
There are medicinal springs here that pos-
sess wonderful curative properties, or people
think they do. We wanted Sim to test them,
but he said :

"I am getting well as fast as possible, and
I don't care to drink that nauseous water. I
prefer the pure, unadulterated snow water
from the mountain springs."

This is the junction of the Oregon and

240 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

Montana roads. There are three camps
within sight of us.

Wednesday, August 23.

As we drove into the road this morning
there was a train of eight wagons came into
line just behind our wagons, and have trav-
eled with us all day, stopping at noon when
we did, and they are camping near us to-
night, though we have separate camps.
They are from Missouri, and are going to
Virginia City. They seem to think as we
all came from the same State, and our des-
tination is the same place, that of course
there is a bond of fellowship that is mu-
tual, but to be frank, I must confess I do
not care to go into a strange place in their
company, for I fear we would be judged by
the company we keep, and I think it would
not be very favorable, so we will try to get
away from them as soon as possible.

The weather is perfect. This is a beauti-
ful valley. The men say the land is ex-

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 241

tremely rich. We are camping on the
Blackfoot. We have not been able to shake
our Missouri friends.

WE MEET MEN RETURNING TO THE STATES.

Thursday, August 24.

We came to a toll bridge over the Black-
foot this morning, where the toll was one
dollar per team, and fifty cents for horseback
riders. There had been an excellent ford
just below the bridge. The men collecting
the toll had spoiled it by digging ditches on
both sides near the bank. The water was
clear, and they were plainly visible. Hill-
house mounted Dick to see if we could ford
it. One of the men screamed out at him:
"You will mire your horse if you try that."

"I'll risk it." And he rode in below where
the ditches were dug. The pony's feet were
not muddy. Hillhouse found we could
easily ford the creek below the ditches, which
we did without accident.

It does seem a shame that we should have

:242 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

to pay toll for crossing a stream like that,
after fording South Platte, North Platte
and Green River.

The Missourians refused to pay the ex-
orbitant price, and offered them fifty cents
per wagon. They swore they would not take
a cent less than one dollar. But the travelers
were too many for them, and they drove
over and did not pay a cent. The toll men
were fearfully angry, and made great
threats, but the men dared them to do their
worst and laughed at them.

I do hope we will get ahead of these people
to-morrow. They are not the kind of people
I like to travel with.

We have met as many as twenty men to-
day going back to the States from the Vir-
ginia City mines. George Mays was with
them. I mentioned about his leaving the
train to go through on horseback, expecting
to get his meals at stations and emigrant
trains, when his brother with his bride went
to Colorado. Says he worked just one day

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 243

and got five dollars for it, and took the back
track the next day.

"Mining is the only work a man can get
to do, and it would kill an ordinary man in
less than a week."

He is distressingly homesick. He is go-
ing to Denver to his brother.

Friday, August 25.

We were up at the first peep of dawn, had
breakfast, and were hitching up to start,
when the folks in the eight wagons began
to emerge and light their camp fires, so we
have left them some, distance behind. We
have been meeting men all day returning
from the mines. They give a doleful ac-
count of the hard times in Montana. They
say : "There are a few fortunate ones who
are making money like dirt, but they are the
exception, about one in a hundred."

One man was very anxious to buy Dick.
I told him : "This pony is not for sale," and
rode away before he could say anything

244 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

more. The boys say we have met as many
as two hundred men to-day returning from
the mines. I beheve we are all somewhat
discouraged this evening. We have always
heard such flattering reports from Alder
Gulch and Virginia City.

Friday, August 26.
We have overtaken Mr. Grier, Mr. Bower
and Mr. Kennedy. Some of Mr. Bower's
cattle have eaten a poisonous herb — wild
larkspur, I believe it is. One ox has died
and several are poisoned, but will not die.
They got the poison weed the day before yes-
terday, when they stopped at noon. I am
glad we have overtaken them, but sorry for
their misfortune. Hillhouse has just now
come in, and says Joe, one of our big white
oxen, is poisoned. He came for remedies
and to sharpen his knife to bleed him. No
doubt he got the poison the same place Mr.
Bower's cattle did when we stopped for
noon. Sim, Hillhouse and Winthrop have
gone to his relief.

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 245

MOTHER AND I SAVE JOE^S LIFE.

Later. — The boys came back very much
discouraged after working an hour, and
said: "The blood will not flow, and he is
swelling frightfully. I fear he will die, for
when the blood will not run and the animal
begins to swell, they cannot be saved.'*

Mother said: "We will not let him die
without further effort, at least. Come on,
Sarah, let us try what we can do for him."

We melted a quart of lard and put it in
a long-necked bottle (that we had brought
for the purpose of drenching horses or cat-
tle), cut up a lot of fat bacon into strips,
put on our big aprons, and taking a bucket
of cold water, we were ready. Hillhouse
said : "Don't give him water." I answered,
"You never mind, who is doing this?"

We were not long finding poor Joe. He
seemed to be suffering dreadfully. His nose
was as hot as fire. It actually burned my
hands when I took hold of it to drench him

246 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

with the lard. He seemed to know we were
trying to help him, and did not resist at all
when I put the bottle in the side of his mouth
to pour the lard down his throat. He looked
at us with his great, soft, patient eyes in
such a docile, knowing manner, I felt sure he
would not bite me, so I put my hand away
down his throat to make him swallow the
strips of fat bacon. He swallowed them as
patiently as if he knew what they were for.
We then bathed his nose with the cold water,
without letting him drink any, and before
we came away he seemed relieved, and the
swelling had stopped and he breathed much
better. I believe he will live.

Saturday, August 2y.

Joe did not die. This morning when Hill-
house went to see about him, expecting to
find him dead, he was grazing, and seemed
as well as ever, except his nose, which looks
as if it had been scalded.

We came to Snake River ferry this morn-

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 247

ing, six miles from where we caniped last
night. We paid eight dollars for our outfit
crossing on the ferry. As Nellie Bower and I
were standing on the bank of the river watch-
ing the wagons being ferried over, holding
our ponies by their bridles, a gentleman came
near. Lifting his hat and bowing politely,
he said to me: "I will give one hundred
dollars in clean gold dust for that pony."
"This pony is not for sale, sir, at any price."

We came from the ferry about two miles,
and stopped for lunch. I told Hillhouse
what the man said.

"If I were 3^ou, I would certainly sell him,
so many seem to want him. He will very
likely be stolen."

"Oh, I can't sell my pony."

After lunch the men folks went to fish in
Snake River. They had been gone but a few
minutes, when the man that wanted Dick
rode into camp. He rode straight to our
wagons, and said:

248 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

"I Will give you one hundred and ten dol-
lars for that pony."

I had begun to relent somewhat. I felt
that it would not do to be sentimental under
existing circumstances. We had spent al-
most all our money for toll, ferrying and
other expenses on the road. It might prove
to be a serious matter to be in a strange place
without money, and if we fail to get em-
ployment we will be obliged to sell some-
thing, and there is nothing we can spare so
well as Dick. I knew the man had offered
all and more than I could expect to get for
him.

But as Hillhouse was gone fishing and I
could not think of selling my pony myself, I
said to the man :

"My brother is not here, and I cannot let
him go."

"Tell your brother to bring him to the
ferry, and I will send you the pay for him."

"I think you need not expect him, for I
am sure he will not come."

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 249

He went away without Dick, and Hill-
house did not take him back, so I have my
pony yet. We came five miles and camped,
as too long a drive is not good for the pois-
oned cattle. I wish there was a longer dis-
tance between us and the man that wants my
pony.

Mr. Grier sold his riding horse at the
ferry. He says:

"There is a party of half a dozen gentle-
men going to the States horseback. They
are all supplied, except the man that wants
your pony. He has waited, trying to find a
horse with an easy gait, and Dick is the only
one that has suited him. Oh, he will be back
again, Miss Raymond, and make another
offer, and if you do not let him have him,
I don't know what he will do, for he seems
determined to get him."

If he does come I will not dare to refuse
him, but I do hope we are out of reach of
temptation. Dick is as fat as when we
started. I comb and brush him every day,

250 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

and he shows his keeping. He always looks
nice and sleek. He is a bright bay, with
heavy black mane and tail.

DICK IS SOLD. OH, DEAR.

Sunday, August 28.

It was scarcely daylight when that hateful
man was here again after Dick. I had just
finished dressing when Hillhouse came to
the wagon and said :

"Shall I let Dick go?"

"Do as you think best." And I threw my-
self on the bed for a good cry. I had not
stopped crying when he came back, and
throwing a buckskin purse into my lap, said :

"There is your pony." There was one
hundred and twenty-five dollars in gold dust
in it. I sobbed out loud. Hillhouse looked
at me with contempt in his expression, but
said nothing. I could not help crying.

I know he would never sell anything that
he loved, and I love that pony. I let the
purse roll out of my lap down into the bot-

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 251

torn of the wagon, and have not touched it
yet. Of course, I knew the wagon-bed was
tight, and there is no danger of its being lost.
We came to Silver Lake to-day. We are
having a fine shower of rain, which we were
needing very much. It was some time com-
ing, so we had dinner over and were ready
for it when it reached us.

Monday, August 29.

We have traveled to-day over Snake
River desert, nothing but sand and sage-
brush. We watered at noon at a toll well,
called Hole-in-the-sand, and paid ten cents
a head for watering stock. I wonder what
we will have to pay toll for next ?

We are camping on Camel's Creek. There
is a family camping near us from Bannack,
going to the States. The lady is a sister of
Mr. Esler, one of the quartz kings of Mon-
tana, so she says; I presume everybody
knows about him, but I must confess I never
heard of him until now.

252 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

His sister is taking his motherless babe
back to its grandmother. Mr. Esler's wife
died more than a month ago. The babe is
about four months old, and as sweet as can
be. I could not keep my hands off it, and
that is how I came to get acquainted with its
auntie. She is a great talker, seems to think
I am going to Montana husband-hunting,
and volunteered a deal of advice on the sub-
ject, especially I must not tell that I am
from Missouri, as Missourians are below par
in Montana. She is from New York. Oh,
dear, it makes one tired to see a full-grown
woman so frivolous.

Tuesday, August 30.

We watered the stock at noon at Hole-in-
the-rock. Didn't turn them out to graze, as
there was nothing for them to graze on.

Mr. Bower has lost another ox, and was
obliged to buy a yoke of oxen to get his
wagons over the ranges. There are two
mountains to cross before he reaches his

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 253

home in the Madison Valley, fifteen or
twenty miles the other side of Virginia City.
Of course, he had to pay a most exorbitant
price. Joe, our ox that was poisoned, seems
as well as ever, except his nose has peeled off
as if scalded into a blister.

We are camping at the foot of the last
range we will cross before we reach our des-
tination.

Mrs. Kennedy and I have become quite
well acquainted the last few days. She was
a bride of only a few days when they started
to the West. Her husband drives one of Mr.
Bower's teams. They are going among
strangers, to make them a home and fortune.
She is a very inteUigent and well-educated
young woman. I do not know her husband
very much.

mother's birthday.

Wednesday, August 31.
Mother's birthday. She is fifty-three
years old. We have not been able to cele-

254 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

brate it especially, yet she is not likely to
forget it, though spent in climbing a Rocky
Mountain range. We have been now four
months on this journey. Have lived out of
doors, in all sorts of weather. It has been
very beneficial to mother. She was looking
frail and delicate when we started, but seems
to be in perfect health now, and looks at least
ten years younger.

I have not heard her utter one word of
complaint, either of physical suffering or
outward discomfort, such as the heat or cold,
mud, dust, rain, nor any of the things that
make camping out disagreeable, and so
many people grumble about. "What can't
be cured, must be endured," is her motto,
and the one care has been that we all keep in
good health, and she would ask nothing
more.

We are camping in Pleasant Valley, a de-
pression right on top of the mountain, just
large enough for a good-sized ranch. It is a
beautiful place, the scenery is magnificently

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 255

grand. There is a fine grove of beautiful
trees at the lower end of the vale. The sides
and upper end are hedged in by straight up
and down hills or mountain-sides, about fif-
teen feet high. The grass is a luxuriant
green and very plentiful.

There is a station here, occupied by a fam-
ily that used to live in Virginia City. They
have two very bright little girls, who have
spent the early evening hours with us. They
are perfect little chatterboxes to talk. They
have a married sister living in Virginia City,
the wife of a Mr. Wheeler, who is a candi-
date for some office. The little girls had
forgotten whether for sherifif or Member of
Congress.

Thursday, September i.
This is brother Mac's birthday. He is
twenty-seven years old. I wonder if he has
thought of it, and remembered us. I pre-
sume he has. It has been some weeks since
we have had an opportunity to post a letter

2S6 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

to him. There have been depredations by the
Indians, which have no doubt been largely
reported in the newspapers, and he cannot
know that we have escaped. His anxiety
and suspense must be hard to bear. I know
I should suffer agonies' were our circum-
stances reversed.

As we were descending the mountain we
met a freight train loaded with people re-
turning to the States. After we had passed
them about half a mile, Hillhouse was walk-
ing in front of the wagons, and found a min-
er's shovel. It is bright and shining, but not
new. It is worn off some. The men tell
Hillhouse it is a good omen, that he will
make money by the shovelful. He laughed,
and said : 'T reckon I'd better keep it, then,
to shovel it up with."

Friday, September 2.
When I awoke in the night I heard the
rain pattering on the wagon-cover. This
morning the mountains were all covered

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 257

with snow, and presented a magnificent pic-
ture. Those nearest our camp are covered
with pine trees of an intensely dark green.
The snow on the boughs and beneath the
trees gHttered in the sunshine. The scene
was constantly changing, as the warm sun
melted the snow from the boughs, and before
night it was all gone except on the highest
peaks, where it stays all summer.

The roads have been sloppy and muddy to-
day, though the water has all run off or evap-
orated, so that it is comparatively dry where
we are camping, notwithstanding there was
so much snow and water on the ground this
morning. It is too cold for comfort .this
evening. We are hovering around the stove
with our shawls on.

SWEET WATER CANON.

Saturday, September 3.
We came through a deep, dark canon this
morning, and passed the grave of a man that
was robbed and murdered last week. It is

258 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

the deepest and darkest canon we have trav-
eled through. Ten men have been robbed
and murdered in it in the last two years.
We were in no danger of being molested.
Only men who have their fortunes in gold
about their person are intercepted, robbed
and killed. How awful it seems. Why will
men be so wicked ?

In several places in the canon the road has
been widened with pick and shovel, perhaps
two or three days' work done, and we had
to pay ten dollars toll for our two wagons
passing over it. We stopped at noon on
Black Tail Deer Creek. Are camping on
the- Sweet Water, about twenty-five miles
from Virginia City. This is a beautiful
place. There are fine large trees along the
creek, high mountains around a lovely dale.
It is just large enough for a fine farm. There
is a deserted cabin here, where some one
commenced improving a farm, became
home-sick and discouraged, and left it for
some one else.

DAYS ON THE ROAD. aS9

Sunday, September 4.

We are camping within seven miles of
Virginia City, near a freight train of about
fifty wagons, with from seventy-five to one
hundred people all together, men, women
and children, returning to the States.

To hear these people talk of the disad-
vantages and disagreeable things with re-
gard to life in Montana, would have a ten-
dency to discourage one, if it were not so
palpable that they are homesick, and every-
one knows that when that disease is fairly
developed, everything is colored with a
deep dark blue, and even pleasant things
seem extremely disagreeable to the afflicted
person. The ladies seem to have the disease
in its worst form, and of course they make
the gentlemen do as they wish, which is to
take them home to mother and other dear
ones.

We have had a very pleasant day, about as
pleasant as the day we started on this jour-
ney, the first day of May. It is cheering

26o DAYS ON THE ROAD,

that the first and last days of our journeying
should be so lovely. After four months and
four days of living outdoors we are all in
the most robust health. Yet we shall be glad
to have a roof over our heads once more,
even if it is a dirt roof.

Monday, September 5.
Noon. — Here we are camping in the sub-
urbs of the city, in Alder Gulch, where the
miners are at work. How I wish my de-
scriptive powers were adequate to making
those who have never seen gulch-mining see
as I see, and realize the impression made
upon me as I first looked into the gulch at
the miners at work. There is a temporary
bridge (very shaky) across the gulch that
wagons may pass over. Standing on this
bridge, in the middle of the gulch, looking
up and down, and even beneath my feet, the
scene is a lively one. So many men, it seems
they would be in each other's way. They re-
mind one of bees around a hive. And such

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 261

active work.. It seemed that not one of that
great multitude stopped for one instant shov-
eling and wheeling dirt, passing and re-
passing each other without a hitch. It made
me tired to look at them. The ground is lit-
erally turned inside out; great deep holes
and high heaps of dirt. The mines are said
to be very rich.

2 p. M. — We dined at noon to-day. Had
beefsteak at fifty cents per pound and pota-
toes at twenty-five cents. I do not know
if the price had anything to do with it, but it
certainly tasted better than any I ever ate
before.

I interviewed a woman — or rather she in-
terviewed me — that lives near where we are
camping. She said her name is Neihart.
Her husband is a miner and earns seven dol-
lars per day. • Judging from the manner in
which they seem to live, they ought to save
at least five of it. I presume I did not make
a very favorable impression, for after I came
TDack to camp she called across the street to

263 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

her neighbor — so we could hear what she
said:

"Some more aristocrats. They didn't
come here to work. Going to teach school
and play lady," with great contempt in her
voice.

I laughed at the first impression made,
and tried to realize that teaching is not work.

THE END 0& OUR JOURNEY.

Mrs. Curry, Sim, Hillhouse and I are go-
ing to town as soon as Mrs. Curry is ready.
We held a council whether we should get out
our street suits and last summer's hats, or go
in our emigrant outfits, sunbonnets and
short dresses, thick shoes and all. Decided
in favor of the latter. No doubt the people
of Virginia are used to seeing emigrants in
emigrant outfits, and we will not astonish
them.

Evening. — We were not very favorably
impressed with Virginia City. It is the
shabbiest town I ever saw, not a really good

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 263

house in it. Hillhouse and I, after hunting
up and down the two most respectable look-
ing streets, found a log cabin with two
rooms that we rented for eight dollars per
month. Mrs. Curry did not find a house at
all. We thought as so many were leaving
there would be an abundance of vacant
houses, but there were enough living in tents
to fill all the houses that were vacated.

Mr. Curry's folks and Mr. Kennedy's will
go to Helena. Mr. Bower has a ranch on
the Madison Valley. Mr. Grier will stay
here for a time, anyway. liMM

The cabin is on the corner of Wallace and
Hamilton Streets, next door to the city
butcher. The cabin has a dirt roof. There
is a floor in it, and that is better than some
have. It is neat and clean, which is a com-
fort. Men have not bached in it.

We found quite a budget of letters at the
post-office, the most important of which are
from brother Mac and Frank Kerfoot.
Mac's letter :

264 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

Cincinnati, August lo, 1865.
Dear Mother, Sister and Brothers:

It is with fear and trembling that I pen
this letter. I have not heard from you for
more than a month, telling me you had de-
cided to go to Montana. The papers are
full of accounts of Indian depredations. I
have realized to the fullest extent that ''Hope
deferred maketh the heart sick." In your
last letter you had decided to go to Vir-
ginia City, so I will direct this letter to be
held until called for. I am glad you are not
going any farther West. I cannot conceive
why you wanted to go to that far off wild
Western country. I do wish you had stopped
at Omaha, or St. Jo, or even Denver. It
would have been better than Montana.
With sincerest love to all,

Your son and brother, Mac.

But oh, the sad, sad news comes in
Frank's letter. Neelie is dead. Oh, the
anguish of soul, the desolateness of heart.

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 265

that one sentence gives expression to.
Frank's letter :

Green River, Wyoming Ter., Aug. 18.

Dear Miss Sallie — I write to tell you of
our very great sorrow. Precious Neelie is
gone. We are all sorely bereaved, but how
Uncle Ezra's family can ever get along with-
out her, I cannot see. Any member of the
family, except uncle, could be spared better
than Neelie. She got very much better, and
the doctor said if uncle would stay there an-
other week, he was sure Neelie would be well
enough to travel without danger of a relapse,
but if she had another relapse she could not
be saved.

The Hardinbrooke train left Monday
morning. Mrs. Hardinbrooke was much
better. The Gatewoods and Ryans stayed
with us. Neelie was much better. She sat
up in bed some. That night Uncle Ezra did
not sleep at all, he was so afraid of Indians.
The next morning, as Neelie had a good

266i DAYS ON THE ROAD.

night's rest, and was feeling stronger, noth-
ing else would do but we must move on to
Green River, where the soldiers are. We
started about nine o'clock, and drove twen-
ty-five miles without stopping. It was very
hot and dusty. Uncle drove the family
wagon and watched Neelie carefully. After
a time she seemed to be sleeping quietly, so
he thought she was all right. But it was the
sleep from which there is no waking in thi§
life.

Dr. Howard and Dr. Fletcher were both
at Green River, and they both worked all
night trying to arouse her, but without suc-
cess. At early dawn Neelie' s sweet spirit
took its flight, and we are left desolate.

Miss Sallie, do you remember Carpenter?
the young man that made Uncle Ezra so mad
by pretending to go into hysterics when the
Ryan girls were leaving the train? When
he heard that Neelie was gone, he went out
on the mountain and found a large, smooth,
flat stone, white as marble, but not so hard.

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 267

and engraved Neelie's name, age, and date
of her death on it, to mark her resting place.
He worked all day upon it, and at the funeral
he placed it at the head of her grave, and if
you ever go over this road it will not be hard
to find Neelie's grave. We gathered wild
flowers and literally covered her grave with
them.

Darling Neelie, our loss is her gain, for
we all know that she was an earnest, de-
voted Christian. We will start on our now
sorrowful journey to-morrow. I wish you
were here to go with us, but hope you will be
successful where you are, and happy too.

Mrs. Hardinbrooke was much worse after
they came here. That hot, dusty drive was
hard on well people; for sick people it was
terrible. When Neelie died she was very
low, but she has rallied, and the rest of the
train will move on to-morrow. But Mr.
Hardinbrooke will stay here with his wife
until she is entirely restored, and they will
go to Virginia City on the coach. All send

268 DAYS ON THE ROAD.

love to you all. Aunt Mildred asked me to
write you.

Very sincerely your friend,

Frank.

I believe I am homesick this evening. It
is so dreary to go into a strange place and
meet so many people, and not one familiar
face. But I must not complain, for we are
all here, not even Caesar missing. My heart
aches so for the Kerfoots. I do not know
how they can bear this terrible bereavement
under such trying circumstances.

Tuesday, September 6.

Mr. Curry's folks have started to Helena.
Mr. Bower's to the Madison Valley, and Mr.
Kennedy with them, to drive his team, leav-
ing Mrs. Kennedy with us until to-morrow,
when they will take the coach for Helena.

We moved into our cabin this morning.
It does not seem as much like home as the
wagons did, and I believe we are all home-
sick if we would acknowledge it.

DAYS ON THE ROAD. 269

The boys found a checkerboard nailed on
the window where a pane of glass was
broken out. We pasted paper over the place.
They made checkermen out of pasteboard,
and Sim and Winthrop are having a game.
Hillhouse is reading the Montana Post.
Mother is making bread, and initiating Mrs.
Kennedy into the mysteries of yeast and
bread-making.

As Hillhouse was on his way to the
butcher shop, he passed an auction sale of
household goods. The auctioneer was cry-
ing a beautiful porcelain lamp. He stopped
to make the first bid. "One dollar" he called.
There were no other bids and he got the
lamp — his first purchase in Virginia City.
(He has it yet.)

When he brought it home, with the meat
he went to get, mother said : "What is the
use of the lamp without the chimney?"

So he went to purchase a chimney after
dinner and coal oil to burn in the lamp. He
had to pay two dollars and fifty cents for a

270. DAYS ON THE ROAD.

chimney, and five dollars for a gallon of coal
oil, so our light is rather expensive after all.
And thus ends our first day in Virginia City,
and brings "Crossing the Plains and Moun-
tains in 1865" to an end.

By S. R. H.

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