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[Illustration: Sketch of author George W. Romspert & signature]




                           THE WESTERN ECHO:

                             A DESCRIPTION

                                OF THE

                    Western States and Territories

                        _OF THE UNITED STATES_.

                    AS GATHERED IN A TOUR BY WAGON.

                                  BY

                          GEORGE W. ROMSPERT.

                       [Illustration: colophon]

                             DAYTON, OHIO:
                   United Brethren Publishing House.
                                 1881.

        Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1881,
                          By G. W. ROMSPERT,
   In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C.




ILLUSTRATIONS.



                                                                    PAGE.
FRONTISPIECE.

THE PRAIRIE FIRE                                                     111

INDIAN CRUELTY                                                       131

THE MOUNTAIN LAKE                                                    282

SCENE IN THE SIERRA NEVADA MOUNTAINS                                 361

SAN FRANCISCO BAY                                                    386




CONTENTS


                                                                    PAGE.

PREFACE                                                               11

INTRODUCTION                                                          13


PART I.

CHAPTER I.

Start from Dayton--Coal-Mine--Indianapolis--Illinois
Roads--Springfield--Crops--Poor Water--Missouri River--Enter Iowa--Enter
Missouri--Kansas City--Des Moines Valley and City--Western Iowa--Fourth
of July at Lewis--Council Bluffs                                      17


CHAPTER II.

Omaha--Homestead Land--Coming Onto the Plains--Cold Winds--Platte
Valley--Republican Forks--Fort Wallace--Big Sandy--Old
Battle-Ground--Arkansas Valley--Irrigation Farming                    41


CHAPTER III.

Arrival of Lesher and Wonderly--Our Start South--First Buffalo
Herd--Cimaron River--Strayed Team--Old Hunters--How to Hunt
Buffaloes--Wolf Hunt--Prairie Fire--Herd at Ten-Mile
Creek--Blizzard--Find a Frozen Man--Hide Season Ends                  73


CHAPTER IV.

Summer Trip Through the South--Indian Agencies--Canadian River--Lion
Fight--Red River--Double Mountain--Staked Plains--Pecos River--Indian
Skirmish--Santa Fe, New Mexico--Return to the Arkansas
Valley--Description of the Plains--Mirage--Dangers of the Prairie--Wild
Horses and How Captured--Creasing Animals                            128


CHAPTER V.

Cattle-Business Explained--Branding
Stock--Round-Up--Mavorick--Beef-Gathering--Stampedes--Tender-Feet--Stock-Raising
in Texas--Cattle-Trail--Buying Cattle from Trail--How to Enter Stock
Business--Sheep-Raising--Greasers--Texas Cattle-Fever                168


CHAPTER VI.

Cow-Boy History--Mustangs and Broncos--Cow-Boys with Six-Shooters--Dodge
City--Boot Grave-yard--Prairie Mysteries--Dance-Halls--Sketch of Buffalo
Bill--Theory of the Plains--Trading-House--Antelope Chase--We Prepare
for a Mountain Tour                                                  201


PART II.


CHAPTER I.

We Start for the Mountains--Las Animas--Pueblo--Colorado
Springs--Manitou--Mineral Springs--We Ascend Pike’s Peak--Balancing
Rock--Garden of the Gods--Devil’s Hole--Return to Manitou            241


CHAPTER II.

Start for South Park--Ute Pass--Rainbow Falls--South Park--Bear
Fight--Leadville--Sallie Ray--Chimney
Gulch--Trout-Fishing--Denver--Cheyenne--Black Bitter Creek--Antelope
Springs--Wolf Adventure--Green River--Old Emigrant Road--Echo
Canon--Utah--Park City--Ontario Mine--Quartz-Mill--Kinds of
Mines--Prospecting--Start for Salt Lake                              274


CHAPTER III.

View of Salt Lake Valley and City--Tabernacle--History of the
Mormons--Joe Smith--Came to Kirtland, Ohio--Brigham Young
Converted--Located at Independence, Missouri--Located at Nauvoo,
Illinois--Joe and Hiram Smith Killed--Emigrated to Council Bluffs--Came
to Salt Lake--Trouble with the Government--Mormon Theology           329


CHAPTER IV.

We Leave Salt Lake--Reach the Sierra Nevada Slopes--Tunnels, Gorges,
etc.--Reach California--Sacramento--San Francisco--Hotel
Runners--Fruits--Palace Hotel--Chinese--Dennis Kearney and Party--De
Young-Kalloch Tragedy--Chinese Bakers--California Climate--Ships--Golden
Gate--Woodward Garden--Portland, Oregon--Washington Territory--Sail for
Santa Barbara and Los Angeles--Prescott, Arizona--Meet General
Fremont--Big Trees--Return to Ohio                                   356




PREFACE.


It is the object of the author, by this volume, to place before the
people a brief history of the western states and territories through
which he traveled in a late long overland tour, together with a sketch
of the customs and occupations of the people in all the parts described.
A journey by wagon through so much territory, by so many _unknown_, has
furnished the author with knowledge that will be of so much value to
persons who think of going West, and more especially to those who intend
trying their _fortunes_ in the regions of the setting sun, that he feels
himself somewhat in duty bound to reduce it to print. Many fabulous and
speculative histories have been written of the same country; and, with
prejudiced pens, they have been deceitful records. Far from this is the
motive of the present writer. And he hopes the fruits of his labor will
prove valuable to persons who intend relying upon the merits of the
West for a future livelihood as well as those who intend journeying
thither merely for health, speculation, or pleasure; for to all such
this work is respectfully dedicated.

Dayton, Ohio, May 1, 1881.




INTRODUCTION.


Ever since there was an _East_ there was a _West_, and from the fact
that the great race of humanity had its birth upon the highlands of
_Asia_, the latter has always been a land of _discovery_, into which the
boldest of an overpopulated country must make the first strides, contend
with the greatest dangers and exposures, and break the first soil. The
great pair of Eden have wonderfully multiplied; and their posterity,
like a mighty wave, is fast flowing toward the western horizon. This
great emigration has been a continuous seige of adventure; and many a
worthy life has been lost while opening the road that must soon bear the
broad marks of civilization. Many volumes contain the records of
humanity; and the most interesting and touching part of man’s career is
the frontier life, which has been a continuous battle in the wilderness
ever since the first back was turned against the eastern sky. What a
glorious thing it has ever been that for every difficulty there has been
a _surmounter_, and for every wave a _rider_! What a treasure to the
world was he who first plowed the foaming Atlantic and moored his bark
upon the shores of the great America! The event has proved one of
necessity for the support of the growing millions, and is a lesson that
for every _creature_ there is a _home_. The mighty rivers that flowed so
long in vain through the East of this golden land now bear upon their
bosoms mighty ships, laded with the produce of the soil. The little
streams that rippled so long unheard upon their pebble beds, have all
kissed the ruby lips of civilization; and the splendid soil that yielded
so long to the savage tread, has at last found a husbandman, and fields
of golden grain wave proudly where the roots of the mighty forests have
long since decayed. But, like every other country, the first part found
has been the first overdone. One half of the world knows not how the
other half lives; and, likewise, thousands who live in the civilized and
improved East are perfectly ignorant of the great country lying west of
them. True, the land has been crossed and the history written; but the
accounts have been so varied that many who have a _desire_ to find _new
homes_ and breathe _purer air_, feel quite a delicacy in putting
everything they have to so uncertain an adventure. Many examples of
families seeking their fortunes in a land of which they have not even
the most limited knowledge,--or into which they have been betrayed by
the misrepresentations of those who value money in their own pocket
higher than comfort in the poor man’s family,--and returning in
perfectly destitute circumstances, have proved this fear to be well
founded. Nearly all the histories that have been written of the land now
in view were got up by _land-sharks_, or by persons who took a single
tour through the country, often on the train, and not seeing one eighth
of the country of which they write, nor stopping long enough in a place
to learn the ways and customs of the inhabitants, nor testing the soil,
climate, and general prospects of the country upon which the emigrant
must rely. Far from this method has been the means of this author’s
information, which he wishes to place before the people in the present
volume. With a deep conviction of common duty, every line is marked; and
the many facts gathered by so much peril and exposure will _certainly_
be a _valuable fountain_ to all those to whom this work is dedicated.

                                                               G. W. R.




THE WESTERN ECHO.




PART I.




CHAPTER I.

     Start from Dayton--Coal-Mine--Indianapolis--Illinois
     Roads--Springfield--Crops--Poor Water--Missouri River--Enter
     Iowa--Enter Missouri--Kansas City--Des Moines Valley and
     City--Western Iowa--Fourth of July at Lewis--Council Bluffs.


A back turned upon the State of _Ohio_ is a back turned against the
_Eden of the Union_! And to a person whose lot it has been to be born in
this beautiful land, and whose borders he has never crossed, to think of
quitting a civilized and happy home to wander in the land where the
savage screams and the growl of the wild beast may be heard is certainly
somewhat embarrassing. Nevertheless, being more than ordinarily
interested in the narratives of the frontier, the author, with two
comrades, John Routsong and Johnny Lair,--being stout, robust young men
of the vicinity of Dayton,--resolved to test the truth of what we had
heard and read by seeing for _ourselves_, even if it had to be done at
the price of a hair or two. Accordingly, a topped spring-wagon and a
good team were procured, and lightly we tripped along, eager to prove
ourselves Davids, and anxious to wrap ourselves in the robes of the wild
buffaloes of the prairie, the giants of our own slaying. The first part
of our journey, from its _novelty_, was the merriest; and sweeter dreams
than we dreamed while lying upon the hard ground, with nothing but a
tent to shelter us from the dews of heaven, were never dreamed by a king
in his palace. Wishing to fully experience the effect of camp-life, we
did our own cooking from the start; and never having graduated in the
_pastry art_, we were obliged to forsake _knickknacks_. And how natural
it was that we grew more and more hardy from our new diet, which we eat
in the pure, open air. Being in the month of June, the weather was warm
and the roads were delightful, and we merrily passed along until we
found ourselves treading Hoosier soil. As we wended our way toward the
interior of the state, equestrianism became quite common; and in some of
the back parts of the country we were amused at seeing the people
finding their way to church in two-horse farm-wagons. Many other little
novelties and changes attracted our attention; and we musingly passed
along until we stood upon the bank of the Wabash River, where stands the
pleasant little village of Montezuma. The stream is about two hundred
yards wide; and being very deep, we found it necessary to take the
ferry. This was something new to us; and as we floated across the stream
we imagined ourselves in the _Mayflower_, plowing the foamy Atlantic,
and carrying with us the seeds of life and death. The _former_ we
calculated for all who wished us no harm; but the _latter_ we fully
meant to spring up in the path of the wild buffalo and the bear. Our
imaginary ocean, however, was soon crossed; and having been told by the
ferryman that there was a coal-mine up the river a-piece, we determined
to visit what we had never before had the opportunity of seeing.

There lay the dark fuel, and here ran the tunnel into the foot of the
hill whence came the coal. Of course, wanting to see it all, we
determined to explore the thing to our satisfaction. The tunnel being
but three feet wide by three and a half high, we were obliged to stoop
very low. Onward we went, bold as the lion in his cave, lightly talking
of the great dampness and the little car-track that wound its way so far
into the bowels of the earth, etc., etc., until we found ourselves about
fifty yards from the daylight door. Here a slight caving from the side
of the passage caused a panic in a party of three, and for some minutes
the bowels of Vesuvius never knew a greater rumbling than was heard in
the tunnel of that coal-mine. When the weakest,--who had been trampled
into the mud by the stampede,--had once more dragged himself into
daylight, we concluded that we knew _all about_ coal-mines, and thought
it not necessary to penetrate any more hills to inform ourselves better.
Betaking ourselves to the wagon, we once more resumed our journey.

Coming into the splendid city of Indianapolis one bright morning, we
were greatly struck with its great life and beauty, and concluded to
camp in a pretty grove just back of the great asylum and spend a few
days in surveying and acquainting ourselves with the Hoosier capital.
The first was reception-day for the horse-traders, who swarmed to us
from all directions. They were all good, clever fellows, and offered us
a chance to make fifty dollars in a single swap. The boys wanted to
trade, but I had conscientious _scruples_ against taking the advantage
of such good-hearted, honest fellows, and prevailed on the boys to deal
gently with the innocent.

The great clouds of dark smoke that curl from the engines of the
thirteen railroads, the deafening sound of the car-bells at train-time,
together with a depot that is surpassed in size and magnificence by but
one or two in the United States, speak the advantages of this thriving
and lovely city. Its court-house is also a model, being one of the
finest in the land. Having informed ourselves to our satisfaction, we
again pulled out.

The roads having been good and the weather fine, our trip through
Indiana was a pleasant one, indeed; but upon our approaching Illinois we
found the character of the country materially changed. The large
beach-forests began to fade away, and before us, like a great ocean,
spread a broad and fertile prairie all covered with richest vegetation.
Here, too, the _prairie-chickens_ began to fly, and small game became
abundant. This was sport for us, and, with guns in hand, we some days
almost veiled the sun with smoke and feathers--especially smoke. From
the want of timber, fences became very few and the fields contained many
acres. We were compelled to haul our wood, for cooking purposes, for
many miles, upon different occasions. In case we forgot to take wood
along when we left where it could be had, I shall not attempt to tell
you where we got our fuel, but will simply remark that he who passes
through Illinois by wagon without pulling middle rails from the fences
or tearing down barn-yard gates must certainly have a mighty conscience
dictating for him.

There is no _gravel_ here, and the loose, black soil, dampened by the
almost incessant rains of this region, render the highways rivers of
mud. There were a great many emigrants along the road, bound for a home
beyond the Mississippi; and to see them turning their honest faces in
all earnestness toward the heavens as if wondering if something had not
burst, was truly an affecting sight. Instead of good hard pikes leading
into the cities, there are nothing but graded mud-roads; and we saw four
horses to a hearse stall in the middle of one of Springfield’s main
streets, and in the center of town. A _gravel-bank_ in central Illinois
would be a fortune indeed, and by its aid Springfield could be made a
most beautiful city. The state-house situated here is an immense
structure, covering a great area, and supporting a flag five hundred and
thirty-one feet in the air. Flags and military relics of several
nations, together with many other curiosities, are kept here for the
public view; and persons going this way and having an _opportunity_,
should by all means spend a half-day in going through this great museum.
The cost of the building is about ten millions. It is built of stone and
is fire-proof. Being rainy, and wood very scarce, we concluded to pitch
our tent on the common for the night, and go to the Central Hotel for
supper. This was our first meal inside of a house since we started, and
dressing ourselves in our long hunting-coats, with great deep pockets in
the sides, we were the center of attraction and comment; and we
naturally felt inclined to have as much sport upon our side as the
landlord and guests were having upon theirs. Accordingly, we sat at a
table to ourselves; and having caught the eyes of one of the fair
waitresses, we politely marked the bill of fare and began relating some
of our great adventures, and Indian and lion fights through which we
had dragged our lives by a single hair. And this, with our peculiar
expressions and appearances, aroused great curiosity, and whisperings
could be heard, “Which is Buffalo Bill?” “They are fierce-looking
fellows, ar’n’t they?” After we were served, taking advantage of the
good lady as she turned away, with a sort of sleight of hand the roasted
potatoes and biscuits found their way to the bottom of the great side
pockets, and we called out, “_Potatoes and biscuits, please!_”
Apologizing, and having the good lady believe that we had eaten nothing
for some time, we stayed at the table and played our game until the lady
grew pale and the great pockets were pulling heavily at our sides. We
now remarked that we thought we could wait until morning, and, seizing
our great broad-brims, started for camp. The lady, with a sigh of
relief, looked after us as if to say, “They must be powerful fellows! A
biscuit or potato is no more than a pill to them!” The next day there
was a long article in the Springfield paper about three hunters and
their mighty capacities.

The street-car track is laid in the center of the street, and between
the railing it is planked. Taking this we succeeded in getting through
the muddiest city in the world, and arrived in camp safely, well
pleased with our supper and the faithful lady. When the city was dead in
slumber, and deep darkness hung o’er it, not wishing to disturb any one,
we innocently seized a couple of chicken-coops that we found in the back
yards, and then did our own cooking. When we were breaking up the coops
into firewood down at camp, we were surprised to find a couple of
chickens fast in the laths. This made me so mad that I jerked their
heads off right then and there. John stood looking on with a troubled
gaze, and as they lay there fat and motionless, he said, “Boys, it is
too bad to waste those fowls that way; I think we had better cook them.”
Well, after considering the _hell_ we might raise by throwing dead
chickens over the common in that way, we decided to make a stew.
Feathers make very good pillows, you know; and we were very careful to
pick up every one. We stored the wood in the wagon, very carefully out
of the way, and of course had breakfast very early--for you know how
curious people are when persons are going through the country, and how
they hang around their camp, especially if they have chickens. To avoid
all this we had everything cleaned up at daylight, and then and there
made a rule that no person should be permitted to fool around the wagon.
That wood and those feathers were hard to get; and one does not know
what thieves might be lurking around. In a few days we pulled out,
striking north-west for Iowa.

Illinois is a level, rich state, and but for its great rains it would
certainly be one of the best as well as the prettiest states in the
Union. There is a great deal of corn, and some spring wheat and barley,
etc., raised here; but because of the little snow that falls, and the
great freezing and thawing of the black, loose soil of this region, fall
sowing is not successful. Stock-raising is the principal business of the
people, however, and for this the state is particularly adapted. Land
back from the cities being usually cheap (from $20 to $40 per acre),
most farms are large and improvements limited. Barns and cribs are often
but rail-pens, and thousands of bushels of corn lie exposed to the sun,
only rounded on top to turn the mighty rains. What a contrast between
this careless method of storing away corn, and the careful cribbing and
covering by Ohio farmers! The cobs are most all more or less musty, and
the grain damaged at the kernel, and we could hardly get corn that our
horses would eat. They feed most of it to hogs and cattle. Hedge fences
are fast coming in use, and ere long the whole state promises to be thus
inclosed.

With a great deal of effort we at length reached the western border of
the state. And were I to tell you the true condition of the roads during
the greater part of our journey in the state, it would appear
incredible; for sometimes the ground, in low places, would shake for ten
feet upon either side of the wagon. The surface is often dry, and
cracked by the sun, and when you break through _that_ you are _stuck_;
and that is just as _sure_ as the _wrath to come_. Several times we were
in to the axle, and not a rail within five miles. There would have been
the place to try old Job; for if he did not curse God and deny all
creation after viewing the situation, well might he be called “Job, the
patient man.” Being most of the time sick, from the poor water we found
in the state, and utterly discouraged with the bottomless roads, it is
needless to say that we were glad to get through. The people told us
that some winters they found it necessary to take the wheels off and
tie soap-kegs to the spindles to skim over the mud. Spring-vehicles are
very scarce in the country, and the most delicate society move round in
two-horse wagons and on horseback. Roads that we thought were almost
impassable they considered good. It is amusing to see a party of young
folks out riding, with sometimes four and five couples in one wagon, and
boards across the bed for seats. On they go, merry as larks. The wheel
runs into a chuck-hole, the board breaks, and like magic the scene is
changed, and number ten shoes and striped hose are cutting the air like
muskets at the battle of Bull Run. Notwithstanding our good times in
hunting and the great hospitality of the people, we had enough of
Illinois, and one glorious day we had the pleasure of standing for our
first time upon the banks of the mighty Mississippi. Of course, the
_northern_ and _southern_ parts of the state are not as low and muddy as
the _central_ part herein described; but what has been _said_ will be
verified by like experience.

The Mississippi River is a quarter of a mile in width at this place
(Keokuk), and is spanned by a powerful iron bridge. We had never seen
steamboats, and were much amused by observing them here, moving up and
down like ducks upon the water. Like old Daniel Boone, we looked at the
blue waters of the rolling stream and longed to tread the beyond. There
we once more found ourselves out of the mud, where the hills were
covered with beautiful trees, and pure, cool water flowed from the
crystal springs.

Traveling only for _information_, we had no particular route, and for
the novelty we crossed the Des Moines River into Missouri, thus eating
breakfast in Illinois, dinner in Iowa, and supper in Missouri.

Being told that there were many turkeys and deer in Missouri, we
concluded to go south as far as the Missouri River. The northern part of
the state is very rough, and well timbered; but as you go south the
surface flattens, and many acres are still covered with the same sod and
forests that accommodated the wild beast and the savage years ago. It is
fast settling up, however, and rude huts are reared in all directions.
We were cleverly received in the back country, and never failed to be
saluted at every shanty by four or five great hounds. Peeping into the
house you will see one lying upon the table, one licking the pots, one
washing the baby’s face, and the rest stretched out by the stove,--quite
a pleasant sight, indeed.

Visiting Kansas City, the great western emporium, situated at the
junction of the Kansas and Missouri rivers, we were much surprised to
see the amount of business carried on in what but a few years ago was a
vacant plain. There are several large wholesale houses here. Everything
is lively, and the business-din can be heard a long way off.

Northern Missouri and Iowa are certainly the best _cherry countries_ in
the world; for every little cherry-sprout was bending with the largest
and finest fruit. Now, we were all very fond of cherries; and knowing
our cherry-capacity better than any other persons,--whom we had not yet
visited,--we concluded to buy our fruit on the following terms: Driving
up to a place where the trees were red and bending, we tried our best to
look like gentlemen,--I mean fellows who look as though they would take
a cherry between thumb and finger, and, after rubbing it with a silk
handkerchief, put it in the mouth, squeeze it with the tongue, spit out
the seed, etc. We then asked the owner what he would charge us apiece
for permission to eat a few cherries from the trees. I suppose we must
have succeeded pretty well in our trial to appear delicate, for we
bargained generally for five cents apiece; and, mighty Lord! when we
perched ourselves in the branches and began, the money did not pay the
cherry-man for the time he and his family wasted in watching us, besides
the cherries that _our sort of gentlemen could_ and _did_ eat. We never
went over the _same road_ twice; but I suppose they do not sell cherries
on the tree along there any more.

Going north from Kansas City, we again took the Des Moines River Valley,
and went for the capital of Iowa. We were _raised_ in a pretty country,
and we passed through some on our journey; but this lovely valley, about
two miles wide and of the very richest soil, spreading out level as a
floor and covered with rich, golden grain, the dwellings here and there
all surrounded with trees loaded with beautiful fruit, divided by the
Des Moines, rolling between banks all skirted with mighty sycamores, is
certainly an Eden to behold.

Coming into Des Moines, we found a pretty city, with nice, broad
streets, but no gravel. It is situated on both sides of the stream, and
all the water is forced from Coon River. There is not a well in the
town. The new state-house had been worked at six years, and it would
require about four or five more to finish it. It is seven hundred feet
long, and when finished will certainly be a grand structure. It is being
built of stone, and its cost is approximated at five millions of
dollars.

Leaving the valley and striking west for Council Bluffs, we opened into
a wild country, and for the first time realized that we were leaving
civilization behind. The broad forest had entirely faded away, and the
surface that had begun to wave at the great river-bank had now become
very rough, and the steel of the husbandman had not yet pierced the aged
sod. A broad, open land stretched out before us, like a sea whose waters
were tossed by a mighty wind, and marked only by the dim trails that led
from one to the other of the distant little sod domiciles. Great herds
of cattle may be seen upon the hill-sides of this rich pasture-land, and
large flocks of sheep are bleating in the valleys. The country being
_very_ rough, there is very little _farming_ done; and a fence is a
novelty. Herders are employed upon these conditions: They are to take
care of the cattle on the prairie for four months, salt them, and stand
all losses,--unless the brand of the missing animal can be
produced,--and while _boarding themselves_ they receive one dollar and
twenty-five cents per head; and often having five and six hundred head
together, there is money in it; and a number of young men find
employment here.

It was only with _great effort_ that we found our way over the rough
prairie and unbridged streams, in which we often stuck. The country
looks as if God had carefully made the hills to order, and then fitted
them together as closely as he could; and heavy rains falling here all
run down the hills into the valleys, which are usually very soft, and
many times the water stands very deep in them. There was one time (and
which I shall not soon forget) that we came to a slough about fifty
yards wide. We could tell by its _look_ that it was a _bad crossing_,
and as far as we could see either way, it appeared the same. So, seeing
several old wagon tracks through it, we pushed in. Starting in _lively_,
we managed to get about half way, when the wagon was in to the hub and
the mud so stiff that the horses could get no further. There we were in
the middle of a slough between the hills of Iowa, and the prospect of
our being anywhere else for some time about as limited as a boy’s show
for victory in a fight with a red-headed school-marm. You may all talk
of wisdom, but I will bet a million if Solomon _himself_ had been there,
he would have stood out upon the bank and said, “Boys, you are in a
worse fix than five hundred wives have ever been able to put me.” But
after about exhausting our ingenuity, we at length unhitched our horses
and took them across. Tying a long rope to the end of the tongue, we
hitched the team to it and pulled the wagon on a lock. Unluckily for me,
I had the appearance of being the best wheel-horse in the crowd; and
though I coughed and told the boys that getting into the mud and over
exerting myself would certainly be the cause of my _death_, they still
insisted. Just then finding that they too were consumptive, and limping
with pain in every joint, I consented to take my _chances_; and after
preparing for the occasion like any person would in such circumstances,
where clothes were scarce and no one near, I waded into the doughy sea.
I held the wheel from going _back_, while Johnny pulled the wagon on a
lock on my side. I would then draw myself up out of the mud, take a few
long breaths, and after touching up my will-power with a little Iowa
bog-sirup that we had along, go to the other side. We worked thus from
left to right, moving a foot at a time; and at length, when the bottle
could have been broken without wasting much sirup, we once more stood
upon _terra firma_. We had often heard of _the valley of the shadow of
death_, and right then and there concluded that if that was not it, it
must be a fork of it, and if we found that it reached from the north to
the south, we would go by the way of the _gulf_ on our return. However,
after washing our horses all over, and trimming ourselves up to once
more look like white men, we felt a little more experienced and none the
worse. We were about ready to start again when we caught sight of a
middle-aged Dutch-woman, with two little mules to a spring-wagon, and a
great coop of chickens, bearing down the hill-side to the same mud-hole.
Willing to lend our experience, especially to a _lady_, we most politely
spoke to her; but she paid no more attention than if a _prairie-dog_
had barked at the road-side. Well, thought we, it is a nice thing to be
_independent_; but that mud-hole may bother you some, and may be the
means of our becoming intimately acquainted. Sure enough, when she got
to about where _we_ stuck, the little mules gave out and one of them lay
down. You may all talk of whoops and halloos, but the yell of the
rebels, the groans of the dying, and the thundering of the cannon at the
battle of _Stone River_, were not to be compared to the shouts of that
_Dutch-woman_ in the midst of the Iowa bog. Nevertheless, neither the
angry countenance nor the force of the brawny arm had any effect upon
the little mule, which, like Job, had determined to take it patiently.
If you could have seen the unearthly smile upon her face as she looked
back to us and yelled, “_Coom_,” you would have been _surprised_ at the
great change one mud-hole and one Dutch-woman can bring about. Wading in
to where the little Job lay prostrate, I took hold of his bridle and
gave him a kick in the ribs and an English yell; and doubtless never
having heard an _English word_ in his _life_, it apparently frightened
him so that he forgot all about the _mud-hole_. The last we saw of the
_Dutch-woman_ she was going over the brow of a hill, sitting upon the
back of her neck, screaming in the key of E, the old chicken-coop
tossing, the chickens squalling, and the little mules down to a mile a
minute. If it had not been for that ugly _bog_ to cross we would have
_looked after_ that outfit; for the way that _coop_ was bobbing it might
have fallen out, and the poor chickens would have starved, for _she_
never _could_ stop the mules; and you know if _we_ had found them we
would have _fed_ them. This was one more lesson of _experience_, and we
started on.

A few hours’ travel brought us into the little village of Lewis; and the
next day being the Fourth of July, we concluded to stay _over_ and have
some fun. We enjoyed ourselves very well; and as the end of the gala day
drew nigh, people found that we were _travelers_ and gathered around us
to trade _horses_. Well, we had one horse that wanted to _stop_ very
often when we were in a great _hurry_, and having given us a great deal
of trouble, we concluded to cheat somebody to get _even_ with Iowa any
how. Of course we showed quite an unwillingness to trade; but when a
fellow brought a fine young-looking horse around and warranted him safe
and sound, and to work any place, we traded, thinking there was no harm
in cheating a man when _he_ proposed the trade. We swapped even, and he
throwing a saddle upon his new horse was soon out of sight. Proudly we
buckled the harness upon ours, and everything being ready I drew up the
lines to start, when behold! like the wife of Lot, his action had all
vanished and he stood as immovable as Pike’s Peak. He was worse than the
_other one_, for _she would go_ when the wagon was _started_, but _this_
one refused to go if you just stood him before the wagon without
_harness on_. Then we pulled the wagon out of town with one horse and
camped for the night. Of course we got him with a _warranty_, but where
in the thunder was the warrantor? All had vanished. Many persons came
around with old plugs, thinking that of course we would trade for
anything that would _pull_. We told them he was the kind of a horse we
wanted, and in the morning we would show them something.

Morning came, and putting the harness on him we put up the traces and
tied his tail to the single-tree, when, to the surprise of all, he
started off, pulling the whole wagon, the other horse, and all. The
horse-traders swore the like was never seen in _Iowa_; and they looked
after us with wonder until we were over the hill. We were delighted with
our success, and all went along smoothly until we got about five miles
from town and came to a bridge where the dirt was washed away from each
side; and the wheel striking this, he balked on the tail. We knew he had
_good shoulders_, and he had shown us that he had a _noble tail_; and to
refuse to use _either_ was an _insult_ to us, and we set about to use
compulsion. It was not long, however, before the tongue was cracked and
both single-trees broken, and the battle just begun. John went back to
town to get the breaks mended, and Johnny and myself set to work in
earnest. We had used kind words and coaxed him, all to no purpose; for
as long as you were _friendly_ he was as gentle as a lamb, but as soon
as you wanted to make him _work_ he considered our friendship at an end.
So we took him from the wagon and tied up one foot and put on
throw-ropes and hitched him to a bush. Of course he refused to go, and
every time he refused we pulled him down. When he pulled one bush, we
put on another. We had seen _bad horses_, and we had heard of the
_devil_, and we concluded that he was one fourth _bad horse_ and _three
fourths devil_. We worked hard until late in the afternoon before he
would pull his part of the spring-wagon. Just as he was beginning to
work two men came along, going east. They had a good two-horse wagon,
and we traded. We now had a good, stout wagon, and the next morning,
after a little squabble, we had no more trouble, and the buckskin
mustang was conquered. Our experience was such as to make us tired of
Iowa, and after determining never to cheat another _western man_ out of
a horse, even if he did name his own terms, we rapidly pushed on until
we stood in the streets of Council Bluffs. This is a neat, pretty little
town, located near the bank of the great Missouri, and among the bluffs
that rise mountain high. It received its name from the council held
there in the year 1804 by Lewis and Clark, United States explorers, to
decide upon the best method of avoiding the Indian dangers. Having
wended our way down to the river-side, we stood upon the bank of the
muddiest stream that washes the soil of the Union. There being no
wagon-bridge here, we were obliged to take passage to the opposite bank
upon the train and over the great railroad bridge, which the Indian
chief said looked like a “much big spider-web.”




CHAPTER II.

     Omaha--Homestead Land--Coming Onto the Plains--Cold Winds--Platte
     Valley--Republican Forks--Fort Wallace--Big Sandy--Old
     Battle-Ground--Arkansas Valley--Irrigation Farming.


The great _emigrant land_ of which we had heard so much had at last been
reached, and the din from the streets of the great _western exchange_
was borne to our ears upon the evening breeze. Omaha is built upon the
side of a large hill, and is quite a pretty place; and being the
wholesale city for many miles of the surrounding country, business is
lively, and the people say _hard times_ never reach them. We could but
wonder, as we gazed upon these two cities, perched as they are upon
hill-sides upon opposite sides of the river, and covering the surface
which was so _lately_ the rich pasture-land of the wild _prairie
animal_. Truly, said we to ourselves, there must be some virtue in the
surrounding country which supports these rapidly-growing cities.

Eager to learn the true merits of the _homestead land_, we pushed boldly
into the country, with eyes keen to see the advantages and
disadvantages of the great, historical, _poor man’s home_. Proceeding
but a few miles from the river-banks we opened into the _land of
promise_. Here lay a broad, rolling, and fertile prairie, all covered
with richest vegetation and well watered in all directions. Timber had
entirely disappeared, except the pretty little _cotton-woods_ which
gilded the banks of most all the little streams. Many homesteads have
been taken up here, and the little sod-houses which dot the country in
all directions mark the abodes of the settlers. Timber being very dear,
the country is not incumbered with fences, and the dark, rich surface
being as beautiful as any the sun ever shone upon, the scene, upon the
whole, was truly _impressive_. A great deal of the sod has been broken,
and the rich, golden grain that waves in the western wind speaks the
great strength of the soil. All the latest improved farming implements
are used here, and tilling and sowing those large, clear fields is
perfectly delightful. Lands along the railroads are being rapidly
improved, and ere long the eastern and southern parts of Kansas and
eastern Nebraska will find a place upon the first pages of the
agricultural history of America.

Many poor families from the _overthronged_ East have found themselves
fine homes here, and from the rapid growth of the country they are
promised great wealth. The eastern part of Kansas being of the same
nature as that just described, we simply remark that the voice of the
pen is too feeble to do justice to so beautiful a country.

Kansas and Nebraska are included in what Fremont termed the “Great
American Desert,” in the year 1842; and the settlers say that even as
late as ten years ago places that are now productive were barren and
sandy. It appears that the more farming there is done there the greater
the dampness becomes; and they now have plenty of rain where everything
used to parch. Some think the whole western plains will at some day
become productive; but more of that hereafter.

Game is quite abundant here, and the prairie-chickens often fly up in
such great flocks that the hum of their wings sounds like thunder. They
fly _very_ swiftly. Here the first _jack rabbit_ showed himself to us,
and upon our giving chase we were greatly surprised at his sudden
disappearance with only a light streak through the air to mark the
course he had taken. They are about four times as large as the
_cotton-tails_, and have ears about five inches long. We had a great
deal of sport at hunting, and spent many days wandering up and down this
beautiful country, visiting the settlers in their humble homes, and
conversing with them of olden times and their experiences in the
settling of a new country. They were very hospitable, and though a
little sod-house and stable, with grass growing green upon every part
but the doors and windows, sitting out alone upon the wide prairie,
without a fence and often without a tree to shelter them from the
broiling summer’s sun, usually constitute their homes, they are
nevertheless happy, and say that though their accommodations and
conveniences are very limited, and they do not get a high price for
their produce, their crops are usually abundant, and they can live off
of this until things can develop. It has been discovered by trial that
timber grows very rapidly, and whole acres of little walnut and
cotton-wood sprouts lately planted promise that at some time in the
future there will be some pretty forests here. When this is the case,
the birds will immigrate here, the insect tribe--_such a pest to the
country_--will diminish, and the settlers will sit in their doors in the
thick, beautiful shade, and listen to the songs that are sung in the
green foliage. As it is, the flies are very troublesome through the day,
and at night you are compelled to build a smudge and sit in the smoke to
keep the mosquitoes from carrying you off.

Thinking that perhaps this part has been _sufficiently_ described, I
will refer the reader to the letters which close this work for
_unmentioned_ particulars, and again turn our faces toward the west. We
had not traveled many days, however, until settlements had dwindled to
lonely domicils upon the wide prairie; the dark, rich soil began to fade
to a lighter and more sandy, and great herds of cattle tramped the
unbroken surface. A few weeks more and all vegetation had faded away,
and we were upon the Fremont desert. The grass, instead of being long,
slender _prairie-grass_, was short, thickly-set buffalo-grass. The soil
was dry and scarcely ever knew a rain; and then it was that we found
ourselves upon the great western plains. The surface is usually smooth,
and perfectly delightful to travel over, and we could sometimes see for
many miles around us. But the _danger_ of traveling in this dry, barren
wilderness, where scarcely any one lives, and of which we had been
_warned_, we now began to realize. True, there were old, deeply-worn
_emigrant_ roads, one via Kansas City, and one via Omaha and Cheyenne,
which we could have traveled with comparatively little danger or
difficulty; but it was our purpose to see and experience something
_new_, and accordingly we chose the wild prairie. We had purchased a
_barrel_ at Lincoln, Nebraska, which we always filled when leaving
water, and with no guide but the compass we boldly sped onward, not
knowing what each day would bring forth. The scene, however, was
materially the same--one broad, open plain, stretching out like an ocean
as far as the eye could reach. Our camp at night was truly a lonely one,
with no company but the shy antelope that sniffed the air at a distance,
and nothing to break the deep, death-like stillness that reigned around
us but the howl of the _grey wolf_, whose keen eye was upon our every
move. Stretching ourselves upon a blanket, with nothing but the starry
heavens above us, we lay dreaming of killing buffaloes, scalping Sitting
Bull, and other adventures too numerous to mention.

We had often heard of the _cold winds_ and sudden changes in the
atmosphere that all the western country was subject to, but our first
_experience_ on this score was while traveling in western Nebraska, on
the seventh day of September. The morn was a bright and glorious one,
and as we steered our way over the dry desert we remarked that a more
beautiful day we had never seen. But about three o’clock the atmosphere
began to change and the wind to blow a hurricane. In the course of an
hour the soft, warm wind had changed to a howling, wintry storm, and we
were compelled to unhitch and picket our horses, and make our bed in the
wagon as a retreat from the piercing winds which almost lifted us from
the ground. It was almost _impossible_ to keep _warm_ with our light
covering, and only after we had torn up every spare cloth we had to stop
the cracks in the wagon-bed, we succeeded in rendering ourselves
tolerably comfortable. A peep at the horses showed their shivering, and
the big blood-hound under the wagon lending his tones to the winds that
hurried by, spoke the necessity of sharing our comfort with him. This he
gladly accepted, and without anything to eat or drink we lay covered
over head and ears until the next day at noon. We then stepped from our
asylum to hear the last roar of the hurricane dying away in the
distance, and warm ourselves in the sun which had burst its stormy veil.
This little fast had keened our appetites, and we eat our dinners with a
relish. After turning our horses to graze for awhile, and watering them
from the barrel, we resumed our journey over the dry desert, and at
length reached the valley of the Platte. This valley is _wide_ and
_level_, and is carpeted with the richest pasture. With its cool, purple
waters rolling through the thick shade of the little branching
cotton-wood trees, piercing the dry, barren plain, bereft of bush or
weed, it appears a perfect paradise. Great herds of cattle feed upon the
green grass, and every ten or fifteen miles there is a little
pole-shanty and picket _corral_ built upon the river-side among the
trees; and here stay the cow-men, one at a place, to watch over the
cattle. They make a trip after _provisions_ once a year, and of course
do their own cooking. They always have the best of _meat_; and this,
with biscuits, is about all they eat. It is very often that they do not
see a man for several months; and, strange to say, they are used to
that way of living and enjoy themselves better than many who live in a
land of luxuries, surrounded by mankind, where the din of business is
noisy and loud. They have five and six ponies apiece, and their buffalo
and antelope chases over the river-hills are as pleasant and exciting to
them as though viewed by thousands of people. We had many pleasant chats
with them, and many a feast did we have together.

I had seen many heavy storms, but I assure you I thought we had entered
the store-house of thunder-storms when we came into this valley; for
such terrible rumbling and glaring I had never heard nor seen. I tell
you, when the thunder bursts forth with an earthquake shock and
reverberates among the river-hills, and the lightning begins to play
upon the cattle’s horns, these old hunters and herders, who have been
hardened in the wilds for many years and who have seen the bloodiest of
frontier life, come to their knees.

Leaving this valley we steered south-west and struck the valley of the
_Republican_, at the forks of the river, one beautiful evening just as
the sun was tinging with gold the western sky. Who can imagine the
_beauty_ of this valley,--as it appeared to us,--all decked with little
branching cotton-wood trees and carpeted with velvet green, winding its
way through the midst of the broad and silent wilderness. The great
herds of cattle reclining beneath the trees, the voices of the little
calves borne to our ears upon the evening zephyrs, and the rude shanty
upon the bank of the stream, all spoke of comfort and content, and we
could not help recognizing this as a _happy home_, though far in the
western wilds. The lone man who lived there appeared to be glad to see
us, and we were not a little delighted to converse with one who had
lived with his herds for many years upon the frontier. He told us how
comfortably he could live there and how rapid were his gains with so
little outlay. He told us that we could find cow-ranches upon almost
every _stream in the West_, and explained to us the way the business was
carried on. Upon his telling us there were many buffaloes a few days’
journey to the north-west, among the _sand-hills_, we became very
impatient and could hardly wait for the morning to start upon a buffalo
expedition. When we were ready to start, he said we should be a little
_careful_, for the _Cheyennes_ had broken from the agency, and while on
the war-path were scalping hunters and cattle-men in all directions.
Johnny having stopped for a _home_ in _eastern Nebraska_, we were but
two in number, but--in our estimation--a more precious two never died in
any country. There was as much danger upon one side as upon the other,
however, and we were going for the buffaloes, Indians or no Indians. It
was part of our _mission_ to kill Sitting Bull and Spotted Tail, and
this might prove to be a favorable opportunity.

We had not left the valley far when we came among the great sand-hills,
which grew higher and softer until they were almost untraversable.
Keeping in the vicinity of a small stream called Rock Creek, which
courses its way among the bluffs, we traveled several days, keenly
watching for anything that looked like meat. We never became careless,
however, and the fire was always deadened before dark, while the wagon
was placed upon some high spot for the night, in order to avoid the
treachery that might be lurking behind the hills.

Breaking our way through the soft, deep sand, we were compelled to
travel very slowly. Sighting a single _buffalo_, upon one occasion, we
fully expected to find a great herd behind every hill. That was the only
one, however, that we got a glimpse of; and not having killed even a
_rabbit_ since we left the river, and our horses becoming very much
worried, we concluded to turn back. The many _skeletons_ that were
scattered over the face of the country showed that the soft surface was
not _always_ trackless, and that we were not the first hunters who had
plowed the sands of that region. However, the great herds that we had
expected to find had sought another range, and not even a wolf howled in
the deep silence. We could but feel a little discouraged at so great a
disappointment; and as we journeyed back toward the river, each mile was
an effort.

We reached the river again after a circuit in the sand-hills of just
fourteen days; and during this time we had eaten nothing but flap-jacks.
It is needless to say that we were hungry for _meat_, and there being
many _cattle_ in the valley, we imagined the little calves to be
buffaloes; and it was not long after sight, nor with much ceremony, that
we were eating something that had not stuck in our teeth for two long
weeks.

After learning from an old hunter, whom we met on the prairie, that
buffaloes journeyed north in the spring and south in the fall, we
determined to follow them if they went to _South America_.

In an unsettled country there are, of course, no bridges over the
streams and chasms, and not many good crossings. So, choosing what we
thought to be a good place to cross, we splashed into the waters of the
Republican. The stream is about one hundred yards wide, and in some
places is real deep. This was our first experience in _quicksand_; and
we managed to get to about the middle of the stream, when, in about two
feet of water, the wagon dropped to the axle in the sand. The longer it
stood the deeper it sunk, until there was not much wagon above the
water. Being lightly loaded we jumped into the water, and after lifting
the wheels to let the sand wash under them, John lifted while I tried to
start the team. But the wind was blowing and the water waving, and the
horses being in about as deeply as the wagon, it was no go, and we were
the worst stuck outfit that river ever knew. This was the first time
that we had ever yielded that _hell_ was _upon earth_; and I will bet
that if old Father Moses and his followers had been stuck in the
quicksand when crossing the channel of the Red Sea, and had felt as we
did at that time, Pharaoh and all his hosts would have been nothing to
whip. However, after struggling for some time the horses became as
impatient as ourselves, and we began to yell desperately. The water
began to splash. The cattle of the vicinity becoming excited, curled
their tails up over their backs and began to run and bawl. The wagon
began to move, and we were soon safely landed on the other side. Not
taking the Irishman’s advice, we had omitted laughing before we started
in, and being now too much fatigued we concluded that there was no fun
about the affair, and only looked back to think what a job to cross a
_Republican_ and to sympathize for one moment with the poor Democrats.

It had been some time since we had been where we could buy anything, and
our supplies running short, we steered south for Fort Wallace, Kansas.
This was several days’ travel--and lonely ones they were to us, too,
seeing but two men until we arrived within a few miles of the fort. We
found most of the ranchmen of the vicinity centered there for protection
from the savages, who had been scalping within sight of the government
fort. We were heartily congratulated upon our safe arrival through the
very heart of dangers; but we had been told this too often to appreciate
it, and partly concluded that it was not alone _luck_ and _chance_ that
took us through, but that there must be something bold or daring in our
appearance.

How like home it appeared to us when we saw the blue smoke curling from
the chimneys, the children playing around their homes, and heard the
shrill whistle of the engine which pierced the deep silence of the open
plain.

This little town is comparatively an insignificant place of fifteen or
twenty houses, and is situated in the midst of a dry and barren prairie,
far from the beauties of civilization and cultivation. Nevertheless,
here were houses whose walls echoed the cheerful din of several
families. Domestic animals were feeding in the vicinity, and here were
the United States wagons, passing back and forth to the fort which stood
in the distance. All this spoke _home_ and _comfort_ to us; and it is
needless to say that after a journey of many days in the solitude of the
wilderness, during which time we saw but few persons and scarcely a
trace of human mechanism, we were deeply impressed and let our
reflections carry us back to the land from whence we came. After
enjoying the novelty of the place, which is but a star in the
prairie-world and connected with civilization by naught but the iron
rail, we prepared for further adventure.

There is not the least plant cultivated here, and the most exorbitant
prices were charged us for our little necessaries. I recollect I wanted
to buy a funnel here to use with our water-barrel. I had never bought a
_funnel_, but I supposed a small one would cost about twenty-five cents.
So I picked out one to suit me and threw down fifty cents to the
store-keeper, and looked for change. Now, what do you think? Why, he
stood there looking at me until I asked him what he wanted. “I want the
rest of the price of that funnel.” “Why, what is the price of it?” said
I. “Six bits; the usual price is a dollar,” said he. I felt a little
surprised at being asked seventy-five cents for a little funnel; so I
said to him, “Is it silver?” “No.” “Is there any virtue in it that would
be conveyed to the water upon running through it?” “No.” “Well, then, is
it a legacy from your grandmother? or what the thunder makes it so
valuable?” said I, appearing somewhat curious. “Well,” said he, “I will
give you five minutes to settle up.” “Well,” said I, “this is too
valuable a thing to take out on the prairie and run the risk of its
being stolen, so I will give you just five minutes to hand over that
half dollar.” He said I had bought the funnel and must pay for it. At
this I grabbed four funnels, and told him that I considered I was in
hell anyhow, and if he thought he could better or worse my condition any
to just draw his brakes; and we started for the door. He came running
after us and said he would let us have the funnel for fifty cents. We
told him we did not need any funnels. “Well,” said he, “here’s your half
dollar.” “Well,” said I, “you owe me more than that.” “Why, how can that
be?” said he. “Why,” said I, “if everything else is worth so much, money
is worth something too, and that half dollar has drawn twenty-five cents
interest.” “Well,” said he, “this is hell!” We told him that was what we
took it for, and went on. He came running into the prairie and paid us
the fifty cents, with interest, and took his funnels. If we could have
got him a little farther from the fort we would have charged him
_compound_ interest and all the funnels; but under the circumstances we
concluded to settle reasonably. We then picked up an old oyster-can and
set it over the hole in the barrel, and with a picket-pin and the ax we
drove a hole through the bottom of the can, and then had a funnel and a
quarter for our trouble.

We now steered for Colorado, due west. Stopping at the _Smoky Hill Fork_
to fill our barrel, we were told by a ranchman that the next water in
that direction was the _Barrel Springs_,--so called from the barrels
sunk there by hunters years ago,--thirty-five miles distant. We had not
had any _trouble_ about water _yet_, and did not think it necessary to
ask many questions. So we marched as true to the direction pointed out
to us as possible, and wended our way slowly along, killing jack-rabbits
and antelopes for supplies, and conversing upon such subjects as would
best pass away the time. Our barrel held seven bucketfuls of water, and
the drive being but thirty-five miles, we were in no hurry and not as
saving with the water as we might have been.

The first night out was a pleasant camp, and a little chase afforded us
great sport. Directly after striking camp upon a spot whence we could
see several miles in any direction, so level was the surrounding
country. A deer was seen watching us in the distance. “Ah,” said John,
“now for a race.” So, with carbine in hand, he mounted the gray mare;
and the deer was soon seen bounding away with head erect, and John in
close pursuit. Luckily for _me_, the chase was around camp; and the fun
of viewing that race was all to myself. The _deer_ at first appeared to
think it all sport; but seeing the gray mare gaining upon him, and
John’s long hair streaming in the wind while hurling lead from the old
carbine, he appeared to realize his situation, and started off as if in
a race for life, only touching the high places. John slowly returned
from the chase, and riding into camp asked me if we needed any meat. “If
we do,” said he, “I can get that deer very easily.” “Oh,” said I, “that
meat is like the funnel, it is too _dear_ entirely. I suppose we can do
without it.”

The next morning, after taking our breakfast, we moved on, expecting to
reach the Barrel Springs about noon, having but one bucket of water
left. Noon came, and no water was left in the barrel; and the springs
were not yet in sight. Twilight began to curtain the light of day, and
our suspicions were aroused lest we had passed the looked-for spot. The
weather was warm, the air dry, and our horses that night looked in vain
at the empty barrel that lay drying in its hoops, and from which they
had quenched their thirst so often. Our sleep that night was haunted
with the thought of our probably serious condition; and the next day at
early dawn, without breakfast, we hastened in the prescribed direction,
knowing that if we had passed the springs, which was the most probable,
it might be many miles before we could again find the cooling fluid so
essential to life. To turn back to find it was equally as uncertain, so
we determined to go forward. The plain grew very sandy, and the sun,
without one cloud to veil its brightness, darted its torrid rays upon us
with mighty power. Each hour of that long day was an anxious year, and
greater pains than we took at every little green spot and hollow to find
water by digging deep into the soil could not be taken by any one
searching for a morsel upon which hung the last hope of mortal life. Our
_horses_, too, by their tardy gait, showed their great weariness; and
the whole was truly a thirsty outfit. Night came and no water. That
night there was not one cloud in the sky; but the moon did not seem
bright to our eyes, and the stars did not seem to twinkle. We were alone
in the desert, deserted by all animation, and without one single thing
to whisper to us a word of encouragement. To see those poor perishing
horses licking that empty barrel, and then gaze at us with their ears
dropped to the side of their heads, as if to say, “We are dying of
thirst,” was enough to sadden any human, and to call up before our minds
the terrible accounts of which we had read of whole outfits of men,
women, and little children, whose bones were found withering upon the
burning sands. O God! what must be the agony of a parent whose little
infants are fast gathering in their innocent countenances the picture of
death, and without one drop of water to give them in their last appeal!
Softly the night melted into day, and the morn brought no relief. But
without showing one spark of discouragement, we pushed on with parched
lips. About noon one of the horses became so weak that he could do his
part no longer. We unhitched him and put the other one at the end of the
tongue; and while I led the fore horse, John whipped the hind one
along, followed by the big blood-hound with his great red tongue lolling
from his mouth. I imagine many of the most sorrowful sights are only
seen by their unfortunate presenters. We would have given five dollars
for a cup of water as freely as we ever gave five cents for a glass of
soda. Toward evening John became so weak that he was obliged to ride,
and I could see that his heart had sunk far into his bosom. I wore just
as brisk an appearance as the circumstances would permit of, and trudged
along leading the gray mare and whistling as much comfort to my
perishing comrade as could be done with swelled lips. I will never
forget that effort! I never _could_ whistle a single tune in God’s
world, and I imagine that tune I got off then was rather killing John
than amusing him. Nevertheless, it was my best.

About nine o’clock we made another dry camp. The country had grown
rough, showing signs of water; and seeing a cow-track by the bright
light of the moon, we were assured that water was near. But we were
tired; and the first pangs of thirst having somewhat subsided, we
concluded to wait for the morn. That night John did a great deal of
_dreaming_, and said so many funny things that I am sure if there had
been a shorthand reporter there he could have written an _interesting
volume_, and might have had love-letters that would have been models for
the most affectionate writers. In the morning I arose early and mounted
the gray mare that had been so gallant, and then over the hills for
water. I followed the cow-track that I had seen in the evening; and the
tracks became more and more numerous, until deep paths were seen,
winding among the hills. After traveling about four miles from camp I
came upon an elevated spot, whence I viewed such beauties that the
occasion shall never be forgotten, though time shall find me aged and
gray, and my faithful companion far away. There in front of me, and at
my feet, lay a most beautiful valley, carpeted with richest green, and
tenderly holding upon its bosom little pools of the liquid for which we
had so long searched. The little sprouting cotton-wood trees that decked
the slopes of that treasured spot seemed to call out to us to come and
see the beauties so rarely seen by aught else but the wild herds that
trampled beneath their green foliage. Without the least ceremony, a
gray mare and thirsty rider might have been seen dashing down the
hill-side toward the fountain of life. The cattle that were standing in
the water lashing the flies, with great astonishment at the sight of
their new visitors, readily yielded their rights to us, and in we went.

    Oh give me not a golden cup,
      My parching lips to cool;
    But, like the _wild beast_, I will sip
      The water from the pool.

As soon as we had all we wished we pushed off with all speed for camp.
There, among the barren hills, lay the bay horse stretched out upon the
sand, and apparently resigned to his fate, while John was sitting under
the wagon, viewing the surroundings as though wishing the power to bring
water from the barren bluffs. Though I did not bring water from the
_rocks_, I brought it in a tin bucket; and it was quite natural that I
should imagine myself the Moses of old, watering the perishing in the
midst of the desert. After drinking of the water John was greatly
refreshed, and there was enough left to take the dimness from the eyes
of the perishing horse. We now prepared to move down to the water. It
was only with great difficulty that we succeeded in getting our
fainting horse to the valley; and it was an affecting scene when the
pool met his eye to see him prick up his ears and stagger into the
water. After we were all refreshed, we turned the horses to graze, and
set about getting something to eat. We had often been warned of the
great peril of traveling over the unmarked prairie without a guide, and
had read of many outfits dying of thirst, but this was our first
experience. We had come from a land of plenty, and relished the many
knickknacks and rarities of a civilized country; but the most pleasant
draught we had ever taken in our lives, was that from the beautiful
little lake in the green valley of Big Sand Creek. Some may relish
_liquors_, while others will choose milder and more delicate drinks; but
when your system is racked with a thirsty fever, and the blood is drying
in your veins, then is naught half so delicious as the unadulterated
fluid that flows so freely from the fountain of nature. There were many
antelopes here; and we camped for several days in this beautiful valley,
recruiting our weary team upon the rich pasture, and killing antelopes
and drying their meat.

One clear evening, while sitting in our lonely camp watching the sun as
it sunk low in the far horison, we saw an object moving in the dim
distance. Quickly the glass was sighted and the focus told the person of
a man on horseback moving toward us. We were overjoyed at this sight,
and were glad to meet one who could tell us where we were and explain
the surrounding. We received him most cordially, and after feasting him
to the best we had, we all felt refreshed and seated ourselves for a
chat. He told us that we were upon the Big Sandy, forty miles above the
Arkansas River, into which it flows, and that we would find cow-ranches
all the way down. He said he lived at the mouth of the creek, and gave
us the history of the country through the many years that he had been
breathing pure western air. New-comers on the plains are called _tender
feet_; and having been called that before, we concluded to take
advantage of this occasion and be as big an Indian-killing outfit as any
he could tell of, though of course we were strangers in that _part_ of
the country. After he had narrated some interesting events, we began
telling some of _our_ experiences, and among other things incidentally
mentioned our coming across from Wallace. Upon his asking us if we had
struck the _Barrel Springs_, we told him that we had not, and he was
very much astonished and wondered how we got across. “Oh,” said John,
“it only took a couple of days to come across; and any outfit that could
not travel two or three days without food or drink, were what we called
_tender feet_ in our country.” I then took the opportunity to inquire
what kind of a place the springs was. He told us that they were at the
end of a gravel-ridge, where stood quite a little bush; and at that
season of the year you would have to dig about two or three feet into
the earth to find water. This was a sufficient description to fully
convince us that this was not the place we were looking for; and it was
no wonder that we had passed them in looking for a stream of water
springing from the ground with a flow of a hundred gallons per minute.
We made no reply, but looked at each other as much as to say, “Springs
in this country are not such as we are _used to_.” Twilight was
gathering, and after telling us the old battle-ground where General
Chivington and his followers massacred five hundred Indians one morning
before breakfast, several years ago, was but a few miles above us, he
said that he would go, as he wanted to stop at a ranch two miles below
for the night. Bidding us good-night, and asking us to call upon him as
we passed, we parted.

We could not rest until we went to see this spot so well known to every
person throughout that whole country, and survey the ground where so
many eyes were closed in death in one short hour. We found the spot
marked by many old pieces of camp-equipments, bows, and saddles, etc.,
all pierced with bullets, while the many skeletons that lay bleaching in
the sun told the number of ponies that fell in that great struggle. The
same barren hills that re-echoed the screams of the squaws and papooses,
and the whoop of the warriors, are still overlooking the spot; the same
little trees that spread their tender branches over a slumbering nation
upon that last night, though all filled with lead, were still waving in
the breeze. But where, oh, where is the _warrior and his family_! They
are sleeping in the little green mounds beneath the same trees under
which they fell, and their _war-cries_ are no more to be heard. The
war-dance is over and the gory hatchet lies rusting in the earth. The
wild herds are unconsciously cropping the rich grass from the graves,
and in a few years the fate and memory of a whole nation will be buried
in the solitude of Sand Creek Valley. The scene made an impression upon
my mind that time can not obliterate, and in silence we turned away.

We had now spent several days in this beautiful valley; and our team
with ourselves having become thoroughly recruited, we again broke camp
and wound slowly down the creek toward the river. Cattle became very
numerous as we advanced, and we had many a good chat with the cow-boys
who stayed in the little pole-cabins to watch over the cattle.

In a few days we were in sight of the Arkansas Valley, and heard the
roar of the great stream. The river rolls through a most lovely valley
about two miles wide; and thousands of cattle are pasturing upon the
rich grass. Thick groves of _cotton-wood_ skirted the banks, and a
merrier party than we while reclining in the green shade of the little
trees never pegged a tent to the soil.

It was now the latter part of _August_; and the weather being very warm,
we concluded to wander up and down the river, fishing and hunting to
pass away the time until _October_, when we intended to go south for a
winter’s hunt. There is much of this valley homesteaded and pre-empted,
and many little pole and adobe-shanties deck this pretty level bank.
Here we could hear the voice of the merry housewife, and the din of the
playing children was borne to our ears upon the evening breeze. It had
been some time,--aside from Wallace,--since we had seen settlements of
this kind; and cultivating their acquaintances, we found them quite
hospitable, and spent many a happy evening in their modest little homes.

It was here for the first time that we saw farming done by
_irrigation_--this being the only way anything whatever can be raised in
these parts where there is not a sprinkle for sometimes nine months at a
period. Upon the principle of a mill-race, they go away up the river,
and at some good place lead the water from the stream into a ditch which
winds along the edge of the plain, according to the fall, until it is
higher than the valley, which is usually very level, as though designed
by the great Creator to be thus used. This ditch is sometimes owned by
the _landowners_, and sometimes by companies, who charge the settlers so
much per annum for the water to irrigate. The channel ofttimes is very
long, and it there are many farmers along its borders, stock in this is
well invested. When the water is at hand, the land is plowed and the
seed is sown or planted in the loose, sandy soil. The gates at the ditch
are then lifted, and with hoe and shovel they watch and see that the
surface is all covered with water. If corn or potatoes are planted, a
furrow is drawn along each side of the row, and the water is let to
course through these until the soil is thoroughly saturated. This
irrigation must be done usually once or twice a week, depending somewhat
upon the temperature of the atmosphere and the nature and condition of
the soil. We have seen some good crops thus raised; and strange to say,
some persons who have lived here for several years say they would farm
in no other country; “for,” they say, “we do our own raining, and never
have droughts or floods.” Of course we were very glad to see them so
well satisfied with their fortunes; but as for us, we preferred living
in _God’s country_, where the water falls from the _clouds_.

Following the river east, claims became more and more numerous until we
arrived at Wichita, when we found the whole valley settled up, and were
surprised to see the great buffalo-range of so few years ago bearing
upon its bosom great fields of rich, golden grain. Going west toward
the mountains, the farmers became fewer and fewer, and the valley and
plain are left to the stock-men. About sunset thousands of cattle may be
seen coming in to water from all directions, until the whole valley is a
moving mass. The plain is high and dry, covered with a thick growth of
buffalo-grass, and perfectly destitute of all else. Not even a _bush_
can be seen except along the streams or little lakes, which are often
forty and fifty miles apart. The cattle and all wild animals range along
the water, feeding five and six miles out upon the plain. The waters on
the plains stand in pools, in long, deep arrowas; and in the spring,
when the snow melts in the mountains, the water courses its way through
these gulches toward the rivers. The _rest_ of the year they are but
_pools_; and these seldom dry up. Crossing over the dry plain from one
water to another, a journey of often a couple of days, without seeing so
much as a wolf to break the monotony, it is needless to say that upon
coming into one of the valleys it appears like entering a paradise.
Having spent several weeks hunting over these parts, it was now the
latter part of September, and we prepared to start south for a buffalo
hunt.




CHAPTER III.

     Arrival of Lesher and Wonderly--Our Start South--First Buffalo
     Herd--Cimaron River--Strayed Team--Old Hunters--How to Hunt
     Buffaloes--Wolf Hunt--Prairie Fire--Herd at Ten-Mile
     Creek--Blizzard--Find a Frozen Man--Hide Season Ends.


When the October sun was creeping from the horizon and the melancholy
winds were roaring over the dry, brown prairie, two young men of
Montgomery County, Ohio,--Charles Wonderly and David Lesher,--came out
on the train and met us at Granada. Being now a party of four, we were
well prepared, and went to Las Animas to lay in supplies for a buffalo
campaign. We bought flour, meal, salt, pepper, tobacco, etc., and a few
sacks of _corn_ to feed our horses when the winter’s snow had come. We
also took a keg of brandy, for _snake-bites_, and enough ammunition to
kill everything in Texas. We then came east, into the Arkansas Valley,
intending to strike south from Granada.

When we got within fifteen miles of Granada some cow-boys came riding up
the valley, spurring their ponies to their utmost, and warning settlers
that a band of _Cheyennes_ had been seen down the river. Great
excitement prevailed for the safety of the wives and children,
who--there being but a few families--were hurried to the ranche of
Captain Irwin. We brought our ponies under the cover of our guns, and
took quarters in the same _adobe_ hut.

John and myself had seen a little skirmishing before, and by this time
were pretty well acclimated; but Dave and Charles!--boys just from
protected homes and the quietude of civilization,--imagine their
feelings after reading of the bloody deeds of the red-man, and now that
their yells were in their very ears.

The windows and port-holes were thrown open, and with Sharpe’s rifles in
our hands we keenly watched for a red devil upon whom to try our skill.

There was a _school-marm_ staying there, to teach the children of Mr.
Irwin, and with her I had previously become acquainted. After waiting
for some time for _Indians_, I concluded to take advantage of the
occasion, and to beat my sword into a pruning-hook and try to hook a
little _love_ out of the _school-marm_. She was late from the East,
and, it is needless to say, was much excited. This made her quite
gentle; and by assuming a brave appearance, with my big gun in hand and
telling her there was no danger, I gained her confidence, and she hung
to my arm like a squirrel to a hickory sapling when hunters are thick.
You may all talk about Indians being good marksmen, but I will venture
to say that there is not an Indian in the whole Cheyenne nation that
could shoot me nearer the heart than did that school-marm in the little
_adobe_ ranche.

Hours flew by like leaves before the wind, and at length a man came
riding up and stated that he was the person who gave the alarm. He was a
tender-foot cow-boy. He stated that one of their boys had started upon
his pony to cross the plain to another range about twenty miles distant;
that just as he was going over the raise he saw four or five Indians on
horseback cut him off from camp and chase him out of sight, quirting
their ponies to their utmost speed. He had also heard a shot fired, and
which he supposed had told his death. We questioned him very closely,
and told him how he might have been deceived; but he was very positive,
and said he would swear to his statement. At this, four of us, well
mounted and with each a brace of six-shooters and a Sharpe’s rifle,
started out to trace up our friend. We went to the raise where he said
he had seen them pass over, and by a careful examination could discover
but one horse-track in the sand, and this showed that the horse had been
running. After scouring the country for several miles and seeing but the
single track, all began to theorize how he might have been deceived; and
although he expressed himself very positive, we concluded to go back and
wait until morning, when the young man was to come back.

It was an anxious night for the settlers, who expected a general
slaughter in the valley; and the bloody outrages committed in the
neighboring ranges, of which reports had been coming in daily from all
directions, lent terror to those who had infants to protect. As for me,
Indians or no Indians, what cared I so the school-marm came off safely!

At last the darkness began to give way to the light of the morn; and
about nine o’clock, through a field-glass, from a house-top, an object
was sighted in the distance. Nearer and nearer and plainer and plainer
it became, until we were all satisfied that the lost was found and the
dead had come to life. He was much surprised at the excitement his
little chase had caused. He said that just as he was going over the
raise he chased four great sand-hill cranes, and shot at them over the
hill. The scene was now explained and the mystery solved. These cranes
are large, and in flying along close to the ground our friend had
imagined the long, slender wings whipping the air, to be Indian arms
whipping their ponies; and knowing them to be in the country still
colored the imagination. The young man was much mortified at his
deception; and they all laughed at him so much that he peered toward the
hills as though wishing the Indians would come and ally with him to kill
the whole valley. This little incident taught us to always be on our
guard and to never run until we saw the elephant.

The school-marm thanked me for my kindness, and gave me an affectionate
good-by; and as we pulled out she looked after us, and Dave and Charles
drew long breaths, as though envying me my affectionate relations with
the Birdie of the prairie.

Leaving the valley and going south, we came upon a broad, level plain,
where the horizon looked like a great wagon-wheel and we could see many
miles in all directions. The first water was _Plum Creek_, in nine
miles. This is a dry gulch running through the prairie, with pools every
mile or two. In very dry summers they become dry. The next water was
Butte Creek, in six miles; and here we camped for the night. This is
like Plum Creek, only the gulch is very deep and the country is
extremely rough upon either side. The valley is full of cotton-wood
trees and brier-bushes; and the hungry wolves howled loudly behind every
hill. Dave and Charles had heard _too much_ about wolves to rest easily
where they were so numerous; and the roar of their rifles and
six-shooters made the night a lively one. In the morning several big
grays lay dead in the valley as the result of the late lead-storm. I
told them that they would have to be saving with the ammunition; but
they said ammunition would be of no use when they were devoured by
wolves, and we would have been eaten up alive that very night had they
not fought so hard; “for,” said they, “as we sat by the fire their eyes
glittered among the hills like stars in the heavens, and every now and
then a big fellow would howl out at our very sides, as much as to say,
‘I got him.’”

We took an early start, and traveled over the dry country until the sun
was hiding himself in the west, when, having traveled full thirty miles,
we again came among the hills and caught sight of the tops of some
little trees that grew in a deep gulch, and we knew we were now near
water.

We had advanced but a short distance after sighting the trees when we
also saw some dark objects just beyond. “Buffaloes!” was the first flash
through our minds; and our field-glass told us that we were right.
Buffaloes were what we were hunting; and, mounting my pony, with my big
Sharpe in hand, I was soon wending my way down the deep, dry gulch until
I was just opposite the herd; and, tying the pony to a cotton-wood, I
crawled up to survey. There were thirty-eight in the herd, and they were
leisurely feeding up a green ravine that lay parallel with Bear Creek
and led into it some distance below. They were several hundred yards
south of me, but by crawling cautiously along I succeeded in getting
into the ravine about four hundred yards above them without being
noticed, and impatiently awaited the oncome. When they got within about
three hundred yards of me some of the old bulls appeared to see me, and,
with heads erect, on they came, stopping at intervals to paw the earth
and ring my ears with their bellowing. The whole herd at length saw me,
and curiously started to inspect the dark object stretched out upon the
plain before them. I thought about _shooting_ until they were within two
hundred yards of me, when my giant strength failed me and I lay like the
slain Goliath, helplessly stretched upon the earth. I had often heard of
_buck-ague_, but if that was _my_ attack I am sure its effects were
never fully described; for I felt as though a bucketful of blood jumped
through my heart at a time, and every time my pulse beat I believe I
jumped four inches from the sod. This was the first wild herd I had ever
seen; and having my first experience upon the open plain all by myself,
without a tree to climb or a stump to hide behind in case of immersion,
I must say somewhat _terrified_ me; and while thinking of all the danger
I _might_ be in, they suddenly started off in a lope, as though scenting
me, and certainly to my very great relief. This was now my opportunity
to try my hand; and, running to the top of a little knoll, I took aim
from my knee at an old bull that had stopped to look back, and pulled. I
did not _consider_ that I was firing a _one-hundred-grain gun_, and
having my nose entirely too close it was some time before I was
conscious of what had taken place. When the blood had stopped running
and the smoke had cleared away, and I found that I had not shot myself,
I looked up to see the last buffalo disappear behind the raise.
Sheepishly I retired, amid the shouts from the boys; and though we had
no success _this time_ we knew that we were now in the buffalo region at
last, and supposed ourselves more _able_ to tackle the next gang, be it
great or small.

The water of which we just spoke we learned to be Bear Creek; and a
pretty ravine it was, too. The water stood in little pools like _Butte
Creek_, and these were fed by springs. There were a great many cattle
and rich pasture there, and old cow-camps were to be seen all up and
down the creek. Stopping here for several days, we enjoyed ourselves
very much in the thick shade of the little trees through the heat of the
day; and though we saw no more _buffalo_, antelopes were numerous, and
we had much sport shooting these shy creatures as they came down
unconsciously from the plain to quench their thirst from the pools among
the mighty Bear Creek bluffs. Charles had never shot an antelope; and to
describe the maneuvering of his first experience would fill a volume.
One morning he came running into camp and said that a flock of antelopes
were coming in to water just below, and grabbing a rifle he dashed away.
I followed him closely, and when he crawled up behind a rock to shoot I
was near him behind another and could see it all. Down came a big buck
to the pool, and after looking slyly around began to drink. This was
Charley’s opportunity; and after going through all the motions of a
monkey in a show-pen, whang went the rifle, and down came the buck.
“Right through the heart, by thunder!” said he, and throwing down his
rifle he dashed upon his prey. He had caught him through the loins; and
though the buck struggled hard, Charley hung to him like a Dutch
butcher, and at last cut off his wind. I made off for camp, and Charley
never knew that I was near. Soon he came in whistling, with the buck
across his back; and though it weighed at least one hundred and
twenty-five pounds, he stood in camp full five minutes with the buck
upon his back, explaining how he did it. We all laughed a great deal at
Charley’s shooting antelope through the heart, and he often asked us how
the devil we knew where he aimed.

We at length grew eager for another trial at the kings of the prairie,
and pulled out for the Cimaron River, where we expected to make a
head-quarter camp and put in the winter hunting over the South. We
reached the river after a march of about thirty miles, and were now
about seventy-five miles south of the A., T., & S. F. R. R., and all
civilization. Skirting the banks of every water we had yet passed were
little trees; but here there was not even a twig the size of a finger.

We had learned before to burn _buffalo-chips_, and as far as _fuel_ was
concerned we were all right; but the next question, and the most
_perplexing_, was how to make a house in which to store our supplies,
and for our protection in winter, as well as a retreat from danger. Here
lay the spade and there stuck the pick, but the only material we could
see for a _house_ was the dry earth. Dave was a carpenter, and we told
him he should begin the frame. But he said he was not used to working in
that kind of timber. We found a deep dry gulch leading to the river, and
going to work we soon had a chamber dug in the bank, eighteen feet long
and twelve feet wide, four feet deep on the lower side, and seven feet
deep on the high side, with a narrow pass-way into the gulch. We then
dug a fireplace in the high side, and worked from top and bottom until
we finished the flue. All was then completed but the roof; and using our
tent-poles for supporters, we stretched a couple of wagon-sheets from
the high to the low side, and pegged them to the ground at each end. We
had thus a tolerably safe retreat from the wind and sun; and moving all
our things in there, we concluded to wait for a few days and then go to
Bear Creek for poles to put on a _good roof_. The weather being very
fine, and not having seen a sprinkle for many days, we put the work off
from time to time; and one evening of the first week in our new abode,
when least expecting it, we were much surprised to see the sky suddenly
veil itself with dark clouds, and empty its flood upon us. I had read
about the _windows of heaven_ being opened, but, my God! I thought the
whole side of the house had fallen out upon this occasion. The floor of
our house was sticky clay, and not having seen a sprinkle for so long,
while our muslin roof carried off the dampness, we enjoyed the occasion
very much. Soon, however, the ground began to soften, the pins to pull
out, and the fun was then at an end. The water falling upon the loose
canvas, it bagged down, and directly out came a peg, and splash came two
or three buckets of water into our new house. Seeing that we might as
well have no cover at all, we piled our things upon boxes and covered
them with oilcloth, and took it as it came. Our _tent_ was ripped to
pieces, and this was our only scheme. Soon the mud was ankle-deep all
over our new floor, and the last smoke slowly curled from the few damp
buffalo-chips that lay frying upon the hearth. Our condition about that
time was not at all _enviable_; and we looked in every direction and
contemplated every scheme. But we at last concluded that foxes have _dry
holes_, and the birds of the air have _sheltered nests_; but greenhorn
_buffalo-hunters_ must stand in mud up to their knees and be baptized in
a way that God knows is not agreeable to anybody’s belief. Charles and
myself figured on the wagon, and throwing a lot of wolf-hides and our
harness upon the ground, we crawled under the wagon upon them; and
wrapping ourselves in our wet blankets, we took the collars for pillows
and tried to think ourselves comfortable. But the wind was blowing
fiercely and the rain falling at an incredible rate. We were soon
completely drenched; and the water gurgled good, good, good, down
through the horse-collars. The water was rushing in torrents down the
hill-sides, and stood in sheets upon the level. We saw clearly that it
was _immersion_ or get out of there, and we chose the _latter_. Our wits
were then at an end, and we concluded that if we owned _hell_ and _that
country_, we would rent out the _latter_ and live in the _former_. A
chicken sitting out upon the naked limb of an apple-tree in a cold
_winter’s storm_ is not to be compared to a boy standing in mud
knee-deep, with water dashing about his ears like a water-wheel, and
pouring from his nose like a house-spout, and not even a pin to hang
himself up on. Dave was all the while silent, and seated upon a box in
the dug-out, wrapped in a blanket, and looking into the fireplace as
though comparing the place with _hell_, and _rebel prisons_, and all
other noted places in his dreams. John had learned some of the western
dialect, and was seated upon the wagon, with a blanket over him,
rehearsing what he had learned; and I thought from what little I knew of
it he succeeded very well, and learned fast, and remembered first-rate.

We, however, were living, though not in the best of humor, when about
three o’clock in the morning it suddenly turned cold and began to sleet.
Now if any _painter_ can picture the scene of that camp, or any writer
describe the condition and feeling of that party who groped in the
darkness of that cave on the banks of the Cimaron on that cold, dreary
morn, he must have been there himself. Every blanket that we had, and
every thread of clothing that wrapped our forms was wet and dripping.
There was not a dry piece of fur; and we raced over the prairie and
rubbed ourselves to keep the blood in circulation. I tell you the sharp
wind that whistled by and roared among the hills soon aroused Dave from
his slumbers, and he was the most frantic racer I ever saw. He could run
over a jack-rabbit in one hundred yards. When we were tired of running,
with pick and spade we set to work digging in the earth at the mouth of
the dug-out to keep warm and to lower it so as to drain out the water
and mud. Morning came and we were still alive, but redder noses than
ours never roamed a Colorado dram-shop. Our horses, too, were covered
with ice, and must have felt pretty uncomfortable. At length the sun
slowly rolled from the horizon and sent his sparkling beams upon the
dismal plain, and drew all animation to the eastern slopes. By great
exercise we managed to dry our clothes upon us, and felt pretty
comfortable again.

We had now escaped the _cold_, but the _hunger part_ was yet to come.
_John_ and _myself_ had had an experience of fourteen days upon
_flap-jacks_, and two days and a half without _eating or drinking_, and
of course _we_ did not figure quite as closely as _Dave_ and _Charles_,
who had been but a few weeks from the land of plenty and comfort.
Nevertheless, we had to fast that day until toward evening, when we
found some small rushes upon the banks of the river, which were dried in
the sun. Placing some bones together, we built a fire upon them with the
rushes and kept it up until the bones were heated. Then slicing some
meat real fine, we put it in a thin sheet-iron skillet, and placing it
upon the heated bones, and continually applying rushes, we were enabled
to fry ourselves a little repast. This was a new scheme, and while
delighted with our ingenuity we _forgot_ that we had nothing but _meat_,
and thought it the best meat we had eaten for many days. We were very
glad to see the face of the plain once more dry, and determined to
prepare for the next immersion.

The next day Charles and myself started for Bear Creek for poles, and
John and Dave stayed with the camp. We got to Bear Creek that day and
cut the poles in the evening, and the next morning started back. About
sunset we were at home; and the next day we placed the poles over the
hole or cave, and after covering them with rushes, applied a coat of
dirt. Our house was then completed, and we were prepared for future
contingencies.

Here was the tender-foot outfit, our home a dark cave in the bluff of
the Cimaron, seventy-five miles from the smallest settlement, and our
only neighbors the wild animals of the plain. Our long-hunted range was
at last reached, and the buffalo could be seen upon the distant
hill-sides, and their lowing could be distinctly heard. The gray wolf,
of which we had heard so much, was here too in such numbers as to be
very bold; and their piercing howls, which would make the boldest
inexperienced man shudder, could be heard at night at our very door.

Being now in the _happy hunting-ground_, we prepared for a big hunt. We
had the Sharpe rifle,--forty-five caliber, one hundred grains,--and
forty-five caliber _Colt_, and _Smith & Wesson_ six-shooters. Having the
best of fire-arms, and loads of ammunition, we felt ourselves a match
for anything that chose a daylight battle; and now for the hunt.

By having our camp so well concealed, the game at first came close
around the dug-out, entirely unconscious of an enemy; but from the daily
explosions in that ravine they soon learned to be shy, and appeared to
regard the little hole in the ground as a dangerous place.

We saw our first antelope in western Nebraska, where they were so wild
that the most experienced hunter could scarcely ever succeed in killing
one. They had become more and more numerous, however, until we were now
in their very homes, and little bands could be seen upon every hill.
This animal is some larger than a sheep, and is white-and-brown spotted.
The bucks are the larger, and have horns about eight inches long. They
are the most vigilant animal of the prairie; and in their most quiet
state usually take one bite and two looks, and upon the least alarm
start off at such speed as to almost baffle the eye. We had exhausted
our ingenuity and had many days’ experience before we could successfully
make our bullets tell in the vigilant herds. The following are some of
the successful schemes: In cold, stormy weather they take shelter in the
ravines and behind the bluffs, and of course can then be readily shot,
in a rough country; but in ordinary weather they usually keep upon _high
places_, so that you can scarcely ever get near enough to shoot them
without being detected. In this case, take a horse and start off
obliquely toward them; be upon the leeward side, and never look directly
at them. Keep sidling toward the flock, and going round, but be
_cautious_ that you never go directly toward them. In this way one can
often get within shooting distance, which is fair at four hundred
yards. If you have no _horse_, go as closely as you can without being
detected, and then crawl,--always keeping the wind of them, as they will
scare quicker at scent than at sight. When they look toward you, do not
move a finger, and look down; but when they are not looking, crawl
quickly. They usually become very curious, and come toward you, snuffing
the air and stamping their feet. Then watch your chance; for when they
are once satisfied that you are an enemy, and start to run, you might as
well try to shoot the lightning’s glare. A _red flag_ is a very good
thing to tie on your _hat_, and then get in some conspicuous place and
lie still. It will not be long before they will come to see you. They
are very sharp, and use great cunning in investigating the dangers that
lurk in their vicinity. They can often be deceived by getting some one
to drive a wagon obliquely toward them, and at some place near, where
there is a little raise or bunch of weeds or grass, jump off while the
wagon is moving. Be careful that you are not detected. They will watch
the team very closely, and as the wagon circles to the other side of
them and their backs are turned to you, you can often crawl upon them
without being discovered. If they start to run, just throw a ball in
the sand ahead of them. Several balls will often so excite them that
they are as apt to run toward you as any other way. Always shoot behind
the shoulder, if possible; for they are animals of such great spirit
that anything but a mortal shot does not appear to disable them; and I
have heard of an antelope with three legs broken and both eyes shot out,
outrunning a horse in a fair race. I shall not vouch for the truth of
this, but there is _more_ truth about it than any person who has never
seen an antelope would be willing to believe. Any person who can hunt
this animal with success is truly an ingenious sportsman.

We took advantage of the buffaloes that came among the river-hills near
our camp, and in a couple of days we had a load of meat, consisting of
shoulder-clods, saddles, humps, and tongues; and Dave and myself started
north to the Arkansas Valley to sell out, while John and Charles stayed
in camp. We made it to _Bear Creek_ in one day, Butte Creek the _next_,
and the third day about noon we came to the railroad. There were many
emigrants going up the valley to the mountains, and to these and the
settlers we had no trouble in disposing of our load at five cents per
pound. The load brought us just fifty dollars.

We found it a little unhandy to have our grub and cooking outfit
scattered promiscuously through the wagon, and I thought it would be
nice and convenient to have a mess-box. So, the morning that we started
back for camp we passed by a neat little _adobe_ house, and we stopped
to ask the man for his doors, to make a mess-box. There was no one
about, so we took off the only two doors and drove on. Dave, with all
his Methodist Episcopal modesty,--which he had forgotten to leave at
home,--said it was not _right_ to take the doors; but I told him that I
was a member of the Colorado State Board of Equalization; and a house
without doors was still better than doors without a house. This was
downright hunter’s logic.

We camped at Butte Creek for the night, and in the evening we worked up
the doors. We made a cupboard three feet high, as _wide_ as the
wagon-bed, and fourteen inches deep; and then boxed and shelved it to
suit our needs, leaving a space to the right large enough for a
fifty-pound sack of flour, and in the bottom of the cupboard a space for
the bread-pan, oven, frying-pan, etc. The rest was partitioned off in
smaller spaces for pepper, salt, baking-powder, etc. Then, taking out
the end-gate, we set the cupboard in the back part of the wagon and
passed the bed-rods through it, and it was fastened. We then made a door
large enough to cover the face of the cupboard, and with the hinges that
we had saved from the doors hinged it to the bottom of the wagon-bed;
and making a latch to the top of the cupboard, with a piece of calf-hide
and a pin, the box was neatly finished. I then cut off a stick the
height of the bottom of the wagon-bed, and wiring it to the door where
it was latched, the thing was completed. The lid could be unlatched,
and, coming down, it would rest upon the stake, and there was a table,
and everything in the mess-chest was clean and handy. This arrangement
was so splendid that a broad grin came over Dave’s face in _spite_ of
his _conscience_.

The next morning we arose and started for Bear Creek, reaching it just
at sunset. Wishing to give our team as much range as possible without
leaving them entirely free (and having no hobbles), we took a
picket-rope about thirty feet long and tied one end around each horse’s
neck. We thought they would hardly stray far from camp; and after
watching them for a while, and discovering that they never both took a
notion to go the same way, we felt that they were secure, and after
supper lay down for the night. The weather was warm, the evening was
beautiful, and our sleep was sweet. At daylight I arose to look for the
horses. I went among the hills and upon the highest bluffs, and peered
in every direction; but there was not a horse in sight. We tried to
track them, but they had no _shoes_ on, and their tracks could not be
distinguished from those of the wild herds. After hunting among the
hills and down the ravines until noon, we concluded that they must have
gone back to the railroad to tell the fellow who took his doors. We had
left the riding ponies at the camp upon the Cimaron, and we were now
left afoot. We had turned them upon the north side of the creek, and not
being able to find where they had crossed over to the south, our
suspicion was strengthened; and taking a few biscuits in our pockets,
with compass in hand, we struck northward across the thirty-mile stretch
of dry plains for Butte Creek. We had nothing to carry water in, and a
pint of brandy was all we took to drink.

The afternoon was very warm, and the sand was burning hot. The brandy
tasted like _sugar-water_, and was gone before we had traveled five
miles. We became very dry when we were about midway; but the dwellings
and shade trees were very scarce in that country, and we were compelled
to stand it. One of my boots rubbed a great blister upon my heel, and I
pulled the boot off and went barefooted. The foot soon became sore upon
the scorching sand, and tearing a sleeve from my hunting-coat I tied it
around my foot for a moccasin. All animals range along the _water_,
feeding out from five to eight miles; and there were several miles of
our journey upon which there was not an animal or insect, and the
country was level as a floor. We sat down now and then to rest; but it
was a rather _uncomfortable_ rest. We were compelled to walk very
_rapidly_ to reach water that night; and as we rushed along, the bright
sun and the heat that curled from the hot sand almost blinded us.

Once, while we were sitting down, we saw something that looked like
horses far to the north, and taking our glass we fully convinced
ourselves that we were right; for we could plainly see them walking
along tied together. We kept our eyes upon them, and in two hundred
yards we came upon two old _buffalo bones_, which the _mirage_ had
loomed up into large objects. We then saw how mirage could deceive,
especially when aided by imagination.

The _walk_ would have been nothing if we could have had _water;_ but I
tell you we were pretty well dried out when a little after _sunset_ we
came among the Bear Creek hills. A little stream came crystalling down
from a spring away up in the bluff; and after drinking of its beautiful
waters and taking a good wash, we looked around for the horses, knowing
that if they had struck the creek they would not leave the water for
_several hours_ at least. Anxious to intercept their further travel to
the north, we went up and down the creek by the moonlight for several
miles; but no horses.

We came upon an old picket _cow-ranch_ among the hills, and concluded to
stop there until morning. We were met at the door by three or four
skunks, which in spite cf our friendly salute opened a double-barrel
fire upon us with their heads the other way. They were very obstinate,
and we were compelled to kill them. We then had control of the shanty,
which smelled like a reservoir of cologne for the rest of the night.
There was a little stone fireplace in one end of the house, and we built
a fire to keep away the wolves and skunks. We had no _blankets_, but
were doing very well, when about eleven o’clock the wind arose and it
turned cold. We then needed a fire; but the little trees were mostly
_green_, and there was no _loose wood_, and we had no _ax_. There were
two holes for windows and a big place for a door, and these being open
the cold wind went howling through our house like a breeze from the
north pole. The house was made with poles put in the ground close
together, and we began at the door to tear out the posts for fuel. The
wind blew colder and colder, and toward morning a light snow fell. There
was very little of the _house left_ when the morning dawned, and we
could not help thinking of the man along the Arkansas who was living in
the house that belonged to our doors. We had not seen any _game_, so a
biscuit was our breakfast. We felt _first-rate_, but one of my feet
being one blister from heel to toe, and the other terribly _rubbed_, a
long walk was to me a little disagreeable; and I determined to patronize
the first shoe-maker I crossed.

The morning was very cool, and we thought it best for Dave to return to
the wagon at Bear Creek, and I would go to the _river_; and if our team
had not come up there I was to buy another and return. I had torn the
sleeves from my coat, and Dave had given me a large handkerchief. With
these I wrapped my feet; but they were so terribly sore and swelled that
I could scarcely stand. Dave dashed to the south with his compass in one
hand and his rifle in the other, and I hobbled to the north. I broke
myself two _canes_; and after I got warmed up I flew rapidly along, and
came into Granada at nine o’clock. I found out that _day_ that our
horses had not _been seen_; so in the evening I bought two good ponies,
and in the morning started for Bear Creek. A little before sunset I came
among the hills, and struck the creek a mile below the wagon. On my way
up I came upon Dave in a deep ravine, roasting a piece of a deer he had
killed. I brought a quart of _pepper-sauce_ along down from Granada, and
this, with a good square mess of roast venison, made us feel first-rate.
We sat around the fire talking and chatting and broiling venison most of
the night; and there was not much of the deer-saddle left in the
morning. We then hooked up our ponies; and though they were a little
_wild_, we went prancing along for the Cimaron. We came into camp at
sunset and found the boys well, but very _uneasy_ lest we had lost our
compass and become bewildered, or had been cut off by the Indians. We
had exchanged teams, and had a great deal of promiscuous experience
since we parted; and this, with the story of the cupboard, furnished
enough narrative with which to interest John and Charles the greater
part of the night. Charles said it was all right to take the _doors_ if
there were no _ready-made cupboard_ in the house; otherwise, it was a
sin (in Colorado). We spread our blankets and lay down late in the
night, and slept sweetly. We arose at the dawning of the morn, and after
a good mess of buffalo-meat, with nice warm biscuits, we went out in the
soft morning air. As we stood upon the hill-side at the river’s edge,
the zephyrs fanned us like the breath of heaven; and the sun, as it
rolled from the eastern sky, appeared to us more majestic than ever
before. Away down the valley we could see the buffaloes feeding upon the
rich pasture; and upon the brow of a hill to the south were two large
wolves, feasting upon an antelope they had just killed. In our native
Ohio we had seen the buffalo behind the strong high fence, and the wolf
in the iron cage; but here they were with their wild neighbors in the
garden of nature, ruminating in the free, open air. The scene was
_striking_; and it was all _natural_; the hand of man had not figured
there; and though far from civilization, we felt happy, and the Cimaron
waters appeared to smile upon us as they hurried by.

We spent a few days in exploring the surrounding country, and went far
up and down the river acquainting ourselves with the hills and valleys.

The _hide_ season was now here, and being well _prepared_, we expected
to take many a pelt, and have lots of sport. We had prepared ourselves
with a great many little pegs, and with these we pinned to the ground,
flesh side up, the hides that we gathered, until the hill-side in front
of our door was pretty well covered. Every now and then we met a
_brother hunter_ upon the plains; and with him we had many a pleasant
chat, and learned the history of the country from the present back
through many years. It is interesting to listen to the tales of the old
hunters who roamed the wild prairie thirty years ago, and who have ever
since neighbored with wild animals and savages, and reaped a livelihood
from the western wilds. They say that many years ago, when they first
came to the country, if a person were upon a slight elevation when the
herd was passing by, the valley would be covered with buffaloes as far
as the eye could reach, rendering the whole country a dark, moving mass,
and compelling the Forty-niners _en-route_ for California to stop over
for whole days, until the herd crossed over. Though there were small
herds of _thirty_ and _forty_ moving in _all directions_, the _main
herd_ moved in a body, and unlike cattle, kept closely together. Before
the time of _railroads_ through the West, they used to hunt all winter
and dry the hides, and haul them east in the _spring_, making large
profits. But when the Kansas Pacific, Union Pacific, and Atchison,
Topeka & Santa Fe railroads were built, the buffaloes were very plenty;
and meat being in good demand, and having an outlet for the shipment of
hides, great numbers of hunters swarmed the prairie, and the slaughter
of the animal was wholesale. Good robe hides then being worth four and
five dollars, the animal, rich and delicious, and for which many a poor
eastern family would be thankful, after being stripped of its
winding-sheet, was left to decay in the sun or be devoured by the
howling wolves. They say they used to lie down upon the prairie and
_shoot_; and the longer they shot, and the more they killed, the thicker
they came around; and they often found it necessary to get out of the
way to keep themselves from being trampled into the earth. In this way
they were slaughtered by thousands. The number became rapidly reduced,
until to-day the main herd consists of but a few thousands, and small
herds of twenty and thirty wander here and there, reclining upon the
soft plain and nipping the rich grass from the hills that once echoed
the bellowings of the innumerable herd. The great numbers spoken of
somewhat startled us, and sounded more like a _fable_ than a _pleasant
story_; but when we traveled over the plains and saw sometimes fifty and
sixty skeletons almost on a _heap_, and whole _acres_ almost _covered_
with _bones_ whitening in the sun, and sometimes being able to jump from
one buffalo-head to another for several hundred yards (especially in
the Republican Valley), we were persuaded to believe what we were told.

Upon reflection, it seems a _sin_ that these animals were shot down in
such great numbers only for the _pelts_, and so much of the best meat in
the world left to waste in the sun or be devoured by the wild,
carnivorous animals of the prairie; but the _truth is_, no cattle or
sheep could be raised or any use made of the country so long as these
mighty herds continued to trample it. The hunters say they used to start
out in the morning without a cent in their pockets, and at night they
would often have pelts enough, together with the meat they found sale
for along the railroad, to pay them seventy-five or one hundred dollars,
which they would gamble and drink away before morning, very often. “Ah!”
say they, “we have been here _many years_, and have spent many a fortune
in the vile dens so numerous in the West; but the great herds have now
almost faded away, and instead of having plenty, as we might have, we
are now poor men, wandering over the plains for a living.”

It used to be very dangerous to be in the way when they were upon a
stampede, for they were as irresistible as the ocean wave; and it is
said that more than one outfit, _horses and all_, has been trod into
the dust by the trampling thousands that made the valleys roar. But
stampedes have for some years ceased to be very dangerous, and
buffalo-hunting has for some time been a _science_, and is practiced as
follows: A person or company, with teams, saddle-ponies, ammunition, and
provisions, go out to where the buffaloes range, and there make a
head-quarter camp,--usually a dug-out, for timber is scarce,--and there
unload. When the herd is killed and frightened away from camp, one or
two stay in camp to watch over what is left there and the rest start out
with wagons in the following order: The hunter has a big
cartridge-rifle,--usually a one-hundred-grain Sharpe, or one hundred and
twenty grains, which is called a big fifty,--fifty caliber. These guns
weigh from twelve to eighteen pounds, and carry from a mile and a half
to two miles. He also has a large belt, with loops to hold forty or
fifty cartridges, and a good knife. One man usually does the _shooting_
for the outfit, though two sometimes go together. The skinner or
skinners, with ammunition, beds, and provisions, follow with the wagon
or wagons, and keep just in sight of the hunter. When he sees a herd he
crawls and creeps until he is within shooting distance, and fires down
the leader. The herd will not fly without a leader; and until they have
a new one selected he is again _ready_, and downs _him_. Watching his
chances, and being a _good shot_, in this way he sometimes succeeds in
getting down fifty or sixty buffaloes. One man said he one time shot
down one hundred and sixty in one stand. When the blood begins to flow
freely the herd becomes very much _excited_; and while horning the
wounded ones and pawing in the blood, with tails lashing the air, and
almost deafening you with their bellowing, it is enough to terrify an
inexperienced hunter. And any person who has _been there_, I assure you,
will make himself just as scarce as possible on such occasions; for a
wounded buffalo is very dangerous. When the herd leaves,--from the
hunter ceasing to fire, or making a mis-shot,--the _skinners_ come up
and go to work, and the hunter follows up the herd on foot and takes
down one here and there, and tries for another stand, which depends very
much upon his skill as a hunter. Sometimes this chase is kept up all
day, and the hunter has no success until about _sundown_, when they
have become somewhat used to the crack of the rifle, and being tired and
hungry they slacken up; and while fighting the wounded ones the hunter
gets in a few good shots, and right there loads his wagons. When the
wagons are well loaded they start for camp to unload the hides and
stretch them out to dry. Several hundred hides being sometimes stretched
out at one camp, it presents quite an attractive scene. When the hides
are _dry_, they are put in piles of ten apiece, and staked and tied
down. In the spring they are hauled to market.

Sometimes the meat is jerked, which is done as follows: The hump,
shoulder-clods, and saddles are the only parts used. This meat is cut in
strips as thick as a man’s wrist, and after being seasoned is hung upon
wooden racks in the sun, and a slow fire built under it to smoke; and in
about two days it is jerked. This meat can be taken to the _mountains_
in the spring and sold readily for fifteen and twenty cents per pound.
This is the way it is done; and when the herd changes its range, as it
often does, you must then pull up and follow, and again locate; though
you can hunt from one hundred to one hundred and fifty miles around one
camp.

There is now another hunt; and that is the wolf-hunt. This is done with
strychnine. When you first come into a country (before there are so many
carcasses), just kill an antelope or buffalo, and while the meat is warm
cut out several hundred baits, an inch square, perforate them and put in
a little of the poison, and give the meat a little rubbing. Now put the
baits in a sack, and after tying one end of your picket-rope to the horn
of your saddle and the other end round a large piece of the meat, start
upon a six or eight mile circle around the carcass, dragging the fresh
meat, and dropping a bait every one hundred yards. In _some parts_ of
the plains, especially along little waters, the wolves and skunks are
very numerous; and after sunset they can be heard howling in every
direction, and they hurry to the newly-spilled blood. When they strike
the circle where the meat has been dragged they will start around upon
it, picking up the baits, and dropping at about the second. In the
morning the hunter mounts his pony and starts round his circle, skinning
the wolves and skunks, and often has a pony-load of pelts from wolves,
skunks, badgers, swifts, etc. The wolf-hides are worth two dollars and
fifty cents apiece, and the bounty is from fifty cents to five dollars
a head--according to the county. Skunks are worth forty-five cents, and
badger and swift hides are worth forty cents apiece. There is much to be
made at this business; and being well prepared for the full catalogue of
prairie sports, we cast our baits and shot our game.

We had very _comfortable quarters_ upon the Cimaron, and the game was
also plenty here. The country upon either side of the river, for a half
mile to the north and south, was very rough; and in these deep gulches
and pretty ravines many a buffalo, deer, and antelope breathed out his
last.

Just after twilight one night in December we were all in camp at
head-quarters when a great light to the north attracted our attention.
The whole northern sky suddenly turned red, and the heavens were lighted
up as with the lightning’s glare. Brighter and brighter it grew until
the sight was grand beyond all description. The very air began to turn
warm, and the gale that blew from the north brought with it great clouds
of smoke. At length the forked tongues of the flames began to dart up
from behind the

[Illustration: THE PRAIRIE FIRE.]

Bear Creek bluffs, thirty miles away, and soon the whole country, as far
as the eye could reach to the west and far to the east, was in a flame.
The grass was thick and tolerably high, and the flames rolled over the
level prairie like a tide upon the ocean and with mighty velocity. We
set fire to the grass upon the south side of the river, and with a roar
it disappeared over the hills. We then rushed our teams and wagons
across the stream upon the burned space and watched the oncome. The
thirty miles were skimmed in a short time, and buffaloes, deer,
antelopes, and wolves came in a tumultuous throng, howling and
bellowing, with the fire close in the rear. On came the conflagration,
leaping, whizzing, and roaring like thunder; and it was a sight to see
the animals plunge precipitately into the stream. Now and then an old,
shaggy wolf would be outrun by the flames, and when the _hair_ began to
singe such howling was never heard. The heat was so intense that but
_few_ animals got through the blaze alive, and _they_ were left in the
hot ashes, and came out pretty well singed and sore. The cattle of the
vicinity ran frantic in every direction, and some were suffocated. Our
rich, golden range was now blackened; and there was no pasture in the
surrounding country except the short, green grass in the valley. We were
now compelled to follow the animals to the land of pasture. The cow-men
and hunters turned out, and the fire was extinguished in the sand-hills
of New Mexico, but a few miles to the south of us. This was the first
real prairie-fire we had yet seen, and it being at night added greatly
to its splendor.

It is a penitentiary offense in that country to _willfully_ fire the
prairie, and the stock-men seldom make much court expense when the
scoundrel is found. Their proceedings are very summary, and the prisoner
is never again guilty of the same offense--in this world. The _Indians_
often do it to destroy the _pasture_ in other quarters and drive the
game to _their grounds_; and for it many a red-skin has soared to the
happy hunting-ground upon the wings of death.

It is unlawful for white men to kill more meat in the Indian Territory
than just what is needed for _immediate use_, under penalty of the
confiscation of all they have. This is watched over by the _government
authorities_ stationed there. However, the fire had not reached the
territory, and there were great herds of _buffaloes_ upon their rich
pasture; and we cautiously made this part our range.

Our first trip after the fire was to the east. So, fixing that cupboard
in the wagon, and taking enough flour for biscuits for several days, we
left Dave and John in camp, and Charles and myself wound down the green
valley for the unburned regions. In about five miles we came upon
pasture, and camped for the night upon the river-bank, full twenty-five
miles from head-quarters. This brought us about to the Kansas line. It
was a beautiful night, and almost as light as day. The wolves were so
numerous and bold that we were compelled to sleep by the fire, and about
twelve o’clock they came _into_ the very camp and tackled the big
blood-hound that we always had with the wagon. Unfortunately for _one_
of the trespassers, old Lee sunk his fangs into his neck and never
loosed his hold until he was dead. The horses were frightened _all
night_; and Charles said he expected we were just upon the spot where
the whole d----n pack slept every night. We stripped off several pelts
in the morning; and when the sun was high we started north for the
ten-mile arroyo of which we had heard old hunters speak. We had only
gone a little way when we met an old bull coming quietly down a ravine
toward the river; and after riding to the top of a hill and finding no
herd to be near, I concluded to give him a chase. I got within a quarter
of a mile of him, when he saw me and started back north. This was a sign
of a herd; and knowing that if he would reach it he would stampede the
whole herd, I rode upon him with all the speed that my mustang could
summon. He was a _perfect racer_; but in spite of his efforts I came
alongside of him, and the second ball from my Smith & Wesson stretched
him struggling upon the earth with a bullet through his lungs. When the
wagon came up we skinned him and took the meat we wanted and drove on,
expecting soon to come upon a herd. The breaks of Ten-Mile Creek began
to ruffle the smooth surface, and we saw a small bunch of buffaloes
feeding in a gulch. We came into a narrow, deep ravine, and through this
we drove the _team_, cautiously circling to the north. I crawled to the
top of the ravine among the high grass, and there, not more than three
hundred yards from me, was a herd of at least two thousand, some
ruminating, and some feeding upon a high table-land about half a mile in
diameter, and which was nearly surrounded by the deep ravine we were in.
It was now near _sundown_, and after carefully circling the herd, we
camped upon the west and to the leeward of them. After carefully
fastening the horses, and commanding _Lee_ to stay with the wagon, we
crawled up among the grass for action. They were just two hundred yards
off and we were ready, and the battle opened with the roar of two
_one-hundred-grain_ guns. My animal came to its knees with a broken
shoulder, and Charley’s dropped in its tracks without a struggle. After
a few rounds we had the blood started freely, and the cracking of the
rifles was drowned in the mighty bellowing. We crept up closer and
closer, until Charles darted behind the bull that he had first shot,
intending to use him for a rest. We were fifty yards apart, and at the
first shot that Charles took from his new fort, he was surprised to see
the bull spring to his feet and make fight. His gun was empty and the
bull was loaded; and seeing his chances in this unequal combat, he
grabbed the bull by the tail and held on for dear life. They flew around
the circle at the rate of ninety revolutions per minute; the bull
bellowing and frothing, and Charles flying around with his bare head,
calling out to me to shoot the bull. It was so darned _funny_ to see a
buffalo and a man waltz together that I could not do anything for
laughing. I knew very well that the hind end of a buffalo was not
_dangerous_, and I was just as sure that Charley would never let go of
the tail. So I stood there for several minutes enjoying the circus.
Charles drew out his big knife and tried to strike him in the heart; but
he was at the wrong end for that, and his gouging only made the bull the
more furious. At length Charley began to swing his partner a little
slower, and having worked down into the ravine, the bull spied the wagon
and made toward it with great fury. Charles called out for _Lee_, and
with a dash and a snap he had his teeth firmly fastened in the nose of
the bull. Charles was now relieved; and quickly thrusting a cartridge
into his gun he lay the bull bleeding upon the ground. All this time I
had been rolling upon the grass _laughing_; and at this moment I heard a
bellow and a loud snort, and looking around I saw a wounded buffalo
within a few jumps of me. The tail was the _other way_, and knowing my
chances to be few, I grabbed my rifle, and resting upon my knee, I let
him come so close that I could see his eyes bat,--knowing the skull to
be very thick,--and fired. The ball pierced the mighty skull, and the
blood spurted as he plunged forward dead. I looked out from behind the
hill to see if Charley was preparing to shoot me when I came in; and
when I saw him sitting upon the wagon fanning himself with his hat, I
ventured up. He commenced on me in the Colorado dialect; but he was
_puffing_ and _blowing_, and having the _advantage_ of him I did the
talking to suit myself. I told him I thought any person who had the
power to _raise the dead_ ought to be able to _kill it_ again; and
besides, he slung the bull around so darned fast that I could not shoot
with safety.

Well, the darkness began to thicken all over the country, and we
concluded not to shoot any more that night. We found an old _well_ in
the ravine, and dug it several feet deeper, but found no water. From
what we had heard _hunters_ say, we expected to find _water_ here, and
had brought none along, so that ours that night was a dry camp. We
skinned and cut up four of the buffaloes that night, and taking some of
the fresh meat we heated it up a little in the frying-pan, leaving the
juice in it; and a supper of this did _very well_, so we retired for the
night. The wolves were howling in every direction, and hurrying to the
fresh blood; and the snorting and bellowing of the buffaloes could be
heard away in the night. Up to twelve o’clock there was not a cloud in
the sky; but at that time a purple veil was drawn across the heavens
almost as quick as thought, and the wind began to blow cold. We had a
_good bed_, and placing two of our green hides upon the ground flesh
sides together, we built upon them, and in spite of the cold kept
comfortable.

Toward morning the gale _increased_, and at daylight we were in the
midst of a _blizzard_. This is a _heavy gale_ in which sharp ice, as
fine as salt, falls so thickly that you can not see two feet ahead; and
it is not safe to leave camp twenty steps without a rope around the
waist. We were in a deep ravine; and having tied the horses to the wagon
they were somewhat sheltered; then throwing a robe over the _dog_, we
lay quietly in our snug bed. The tempest raged and roared over the plain
all that day, and the snow fell, more or less, continually. Twilight
began to gather, and the storm was still howling. We had nothing to eat
that day, but we had quenched our thirst with snow and felt very well.
Morning came, and it was yet too cold to live; and the blizzard had
renewed its fury. We had brought a little _corn_ along, to feed in a
_pinch_; but this was a bigger pinch than we had _bargained for_, and
our horses began to look pretty hollow. About noon the snow ceased
falling; but the wind was as cold as ice and past all endurance. At
sundown we crawled from our retreat, and found the snow a foot in depth
over all the prairie. We shoveled it away from the side of a ledge, and
trimming down a few hackberry bushes that grew upon the side of a bluff,
we started a fire. They were green, and burned very _poorly_; but the
_buffalo-chips_ were all covered, and it was the best we had. Our meat
was like stone; and for supper we chopped it off with the ax. We did not
_fry_ it much, but it was good any how. We also melted a little _snow_
for the _horses_, and after giving them the last corn we had, we crept
into bed.

In the morning the wind had lulled and a thick fog hung like night over
the face of the plain. We could not see each other fifty yards away. We
thought it necessary, under the circumstances, to make for
head-quarters, and leave to the _wolves_ the six buffaloes that we had
not _skinned_, and which were now like stones.

Having broken our compass in bed, and the two buttes in southern
Colorado--which guide the hunters and herders of the country--being
hidden in the mist, we were left with our unaided ability to steer our
way. We took the Indian way of _ranging objects_ on ahead; but the snow
was deep and the objects few, and about _nine o’clock_ we came across
the track of an outfit which, from the number of _horse-tracks_ and the
_dog’s trail_, we knew to be our own. Well, we followed it back, and
soon came into the old camp and stopped for the night.

In the morning it was clear, and the sun shone out brightly; and the
reflection almost blinded us as we went along. The team was very lank,
and worried slowly through the snow. About noon we came into the Cimaron
valley, and after watering, plodded on without unhitching. At sundown we
saw smoke coming from the hill-side away up the valley, but in spite of
our efforts it was dark when we came in. There were plenty of provisions
and lots of fuel, and we had a social that night. It took Charles a long
time to relate his experience with the _buffalo_, and the boys plagued
him a great deal about trying to kill a bull with its own tail.

The next morning the sun again arose in a cloudless sky and darted his
warm rays upon the face of the snow-covered plain, and the white veil
soon melted away. It took the horses several days to recruit, and the
short, green grass in the valley filled them out slowly. We pegged our
green hides in the sun to dry; and having a load of saddles, humps, and
tongues, we prepared to take a trip to the _Arkansas_.

One pretty morning John and myself started with the load, and left
_Dave_ and _Charles_ in camp. We stopped at Bear Creek for the night;
and directly after striking camp we had our attention attracted to a
singular-looking object upon the side of the bluff away down the creek.
We took out the glass, and it looked like a roll of buffalo-hides. After
supper we picketed the horses, and taking our rifles, we strolled down
the creek to investigate the curious object. Coming up to it we found it
to be a buffalo-hide rolled up; and peeping in at one end we saw a man.
The hide was taken from an old bull, and was almost an _inch thick_; and
being frozen, it was as much as we could do to cut him from his narrow
prison-walls. He was a _middle-aged_ man, and was almost exhausted; but
we took him to the fire and gave him to eat, and then heard his story.
He said he was a cow-man from _Texas_, and had been to Granada and was
returning when he was ingulfed in a furious blizzard a few miles north
of Bear Creek. He said he had but two blankets, and having no _matches_,
he knew he must perish; and happening to see a stray _bull_ among the
hills, he rode on to him and shot him, and concluded to take the hide to
_wrap_ himself in. His horse broke loose while he was skinning the bull,
and he was left alone; so, spreading the hide upon the ground, fur side
down, he spread the two blankets upon it, and then lay himself upon them
and rolled up tightly. The green hide _froze_, and he was as securely
incased as though he were within a steel boiler. He had been there _five
days_; and being behind the bluff the sun had not reached and softened
the hide. He said he had kept _comfortable_, with the exception of his
_feet_, and with them he had suffered a great deal. Upon investigation,
they were both found to be _frozen_; and we took him to Las Animas to
the _doctor_, who amputated them both at the instep. He often said that
a man without toes was better than _no man_, that he surely would have
perished had he not captured the buffalo, and that, if we had not found
him, a few days later the hide would have been his grave.

We found ready sale for our meat, and were soon steering again for the
Cimaron. We came across _several_ outfits, each of which had been more
or less frozen in the late blizzard. Some had lost fingers, and others
toes; and we heard of one _whole outfit of three men_, north of the
Arkansas, freezing to death. _We_ were not in the _least_ injured, and
we congratulated ourselves upon our being prepared with a _good bed_.

We came in sight of camp about _sundown_, and riding ahead and seeing no
one about the camp, I concluded to _try_ the boys; so, riding up over
the hill, I came down upon the dug-out with a _whoop_, and fired several
shots from my six-shooter as I circled to the east, and lying flat upon
the pony I shot down a ravine just in front of the dug-out, my back
being all that could be seen. Whiz! went a bullet just over my
_backbone_; and I was satisfied that the boys were not _asleep_, and
that they could _shoot_ pretty well too. So I dismounted at a place in
the gulch where my horse was hidden, and taking a white handkerchief I
raised it to view to try the boys; but white flag or no white flag, the
two old black gun-barrels lay up alongside of the cave door and there
was no such thing as a _flag of truce_ taking them down. I was a hundred
yards off, and I swear I was afraid to put up my head to make myself
known. At length they saw the _team_ coming, and knowing my
_disposition_, they then mistrusted that it was me in the ravine. When I
was sure that the boys knew who I _was_, I mounted my poney and rode
into camp. The boys acknowledged that I had completely _deceived_ them,
and that they took me for an _Indian_ riding down there to draw them
out, and then a whole band would fire upon them from every hill. Dave
said he had done his finest to hit me on the wing, but he could see
nothing but my _back_, and that went down the ravine as swift as a cork
over the cataract of Niagara, and he supposed he shot wild. I told him
that he did very well, and I would not like him to do better upon like
occasions. Charley said he would like to have cut a _suspender_ off
anyhow, just to give me some caution.

We hunted for many miles around, including north-eastern New Mexico and
the “pan-handle” of Texas. We had the hill-side covered with hides for
some distance; and game becoming scarce, we concluded to pile up our
hides and load up our outfit and start for other quarters. We followed
the Cimaron down into _Kansas_; and just before we went into the
_territory_ we came on to a large herd of buffaloes, and killed enough
to load our wagon with _hides_, leaving the rich, delicious meat to the
wolves. We followed the river into the territory, and one evening a
government officer with three men came out from Salt Springs to our
camp; for we had been reported killing buffaloes in the territory. The
officer rode up insultingly, and without any questions began to abuse us
and call us _trespassers_ and _thieves_, and said he had a great mind to
upset the wagon and burn every hide we had. We told him we had not
killed the buffaloes in the _territory_. But he continued his abuse; and
thinking it about _our time_ to talk, and being four against four, we
told him we had _enough talk_ now, and we wanted to see him burn the
hides. We were well prepared; and seeing his position, he rode off with
his men--I suppose partially convinced that a star upon the breast of an
abusive scoundrel does not enable him to ride over honest men.

It was now getting late in the season, and we concluded to haul our
hides to market and travel over the south during the summer. We left the
outfit at the _dug-out_, and two stayed with it and the other two hauled
hides. We took up two fall loads, and had as many more as we could haul
with the outfit the third trip. We shipped them to Kansas City and sold
them well, and struck a rich dividend. We camped up and down the
Arkansas, fishing and occasionally shooting a deer among the brush along
the river, and spending some time moving in the refined society of the
valley, and now and then staying a little late conversing with the
cultured daughters of the ranchmen. We spent many pleasant days and
evenings thus; and after trimming up the outfit carefully, and laying in
a good supply of ammunition and such eatables as we supposed would be
needed on our trip, we were ready to start again for southern sights.




CHAPTER IV.

     Summer Trip Through the South--Indian Agencies--Canadian
     River--Lion Fight--Red River--Double Mountain--Staked Plains--Pecos
     River--Indian Skirmish--Santa Fe, New Mexico--Return to the
     Arkansas Valley--Description of the Plains--Mirage--Dangers of the
     Prairie--Wild Horses and How Captured--Creasing Animals.


When the April sun of 1878 was high in the heavens, we bid farewell to
our valley friends and wound merrily down the river. The _green grass_
had begun to show itself, and the valley was _lovely_; and the little
birds sported and sung in the bushes and little trees along the
river-banks. As the houses became more and more numerous, we began to
realize that we were going _east_ to where _somebody lived_. Following
the river on down, we passed through the _Creek_ and _Cherokee_
agencies, and also the _Chocktaw_ country, and were very much interested
in our Indian observations. The _Cherokees_ are far advanced in
civilization, and are _by far_ the most intelligent tribe.

They have _school-houses_, and _churches_, and pretty villages; and some
have carpet upon their floors. They appear to _enjoy_ their new mode of
living, and take pride in their pretty homes. I may also state that
there are some very _pretty girls_ among them. All the agency lands that
we passed through were the best that the sun ever warmed. Though Uncle
Sam reaches forth his bountiful hand whenever the weakest red man asks,
most of the tribes appear restless; and though there is much game in the
territory, and notwithstanding that they are let out of the agency once
a year to hunt over the wide wild country, their eyes are restless,
their faces itch for the war-paint, and they long to sally forth beneath
the white-eagle plume, to ring the valleys with their wild war-whoop,
and wash the hatchet in the white man’s blood. The farming implements
furnished them are left to rust, and they indolently exist upon the
nation’s bounty.

Every Indian nation in the United States to-day, who will _receive_
them, have _beautiful_ reservations, which are the very _gardens of the
Union_; and their every want is most _bounteously_ supplied. The only
tribes that are to-day _suffering_ are those who will not _receive_ from
the hand of plenty. But in _spite_ of all this, there are some of the
tribes breaking from their agencies every few months and committing
their bloody outrages, which boil a human’s blood; and the _clemency_ of
the Government is exhibited by its capturing the murderers and placing
them back upon their homes, giving them new blankets and rifles, and
telling them not to do so again,--_sometimes_ giving them a _trial_, but
rarely giving them the _deserved penalty_. Persons seated in their
comfortable _mansions_ in the land from whence savagedom has long since
been driven, and where the protecting arm of _civilization_ is thrown
around them, are prone to speak of the _poor Indian_ eking out a
miserable livelihood from the western deserts and barren mountains, and
continually persecuted and provoked by the cruel _white man_, only
waiting for an opportunity to kill them off. _Oh, fie!_ Go see what _I_
have seen, and learn the _truth_, and your sympathies will be banished
by _bitter scorn_. Go see the poor emigrant, who has taken his little
family to a new home in the sundown land, shot down at his labor and
scalped in the furrow, his dear wife and innocent babes _crushed with
the hatchet_, their blood spilled upon the cabin floor, and their brains
spattered against the wall. Go

[Illustration: THEIR CRUELTY.]

experience realities, and have your all and dearest on earth torn from
you, and hear their heart-rending cries as they are carried off by
savage demons, and see how the red devils can _mock mercy_ and torture
_helpless innocence_; and if the fire within your bosom does not kindle
and you do not say that the devils _have it only too good_, there must
be little soul within. God knows that _I_ would be the last to mention
_violence_; but I have seen decency outraged and sweet infancy tortured,
and have witnessed _so many sickening sights_ that my blood boils
whenever I think of them and my right arm twitches for vengeance. The
first tribe that starts a war should be made _an example_ of, and the
last wretch laid low; then outbreaks would be fewer. As it is, there is
continually trouble all along the frontier, and no man is safe. If the
Government would only empower a company of _cow-boys_ and _hunters_ to
pursue them when out on the war-path, there would be less damage and
severer _reprimands_; but until the soldiers capture them, with their
blue ribbon and military maneuvers, the devils have done all the
mischief they want to do and are ready to surrender.

The Indians all _appear friendly_; but a chance is all that is wanted to
place your scalp bleeding upon a pole while they sing their bloody songs
around it. It is their nature.

    “And as long as his skin is rough and red,
     His cruel heart is the devil’s bed.”

We followed the river to its junction with the Canadian. This is a most
splendid country. Here God again does the raining, and no irrigation is
needed. The agencies are the same. We then concluded to go up the
Canadian to the west. It was not long, however, until we had left the
rich farming country and were again upon the dry, sandy wilderness. The
country for some distance upon either side of the river is intensely
rough, rocky, barren, and sandy. Great herds of cattle range along the
river and up and down all its tributaries. As we went to the west trees
grew few and scrubby and dwarf-bushes grew among the rocks and bluffs,
and little streams of clear water came tumbling down over the rocks from
the springs away under the barren hills. We often thought of the
mountains as we wound along, and we thought we must be near the
jumping-off place. We killed several deer and antelopes among the hills,
and saw some strange-looking tracks in the sand at the water.

Early one pretty morning, as we were strolling up the ravines in search
of game, I noticed Charles stop suddenly, and dropping behind a rock he
beckoned me to him. He pointed up the river to where some bushes were
shaking; and crawling closer, by the aid of our glass we found it to be
a large lion feasting upon the carcass of a deer. We crept away, and
after gathering the other boys we held a council and determined to
_tackle_ him, let come what would. We cautiously crept along under rocks
and brush until we were within one hundred and fifty yards of him, when
he _spied_ us, and uttering a loud roar, crouched low upon his prey. Now
was our time; so, resting my rifle upon a rock, I deliberately fired. He
was almost hidden in the brush, and I struck him in the shoulder. He
uttered a terrible roar, and bounded toward us with his shattered blade.
We had shrunk from the lion _behind the bars_; but, my Lord, here we
were in the same _cage_ with him, and no chance to shrink. I tell you, a
lion can jump like _thunder_ with _three legs_; and he came directly at
_me_. The boys were flanked upon either side, and they were to reserve
their loads until he was near enough to be sure. I waited until I could
see his eyes bat, and he was about to make his last spring, and then
pulled; but, great God! the cartridge failed. I dodged behind a large
rock, and as he sprung down over my head, with his powerful paws
extended and his great claws protruding like bayonets, his low growl
sounded like the voice of hell; and though things looked a little
_cloudy_, I never conceded for _one moment_ that I was ever created for
lion-meat. The blood-hound sprung forward and sunk his huge teeth into
his hind leg; but he was no more to the infuriated animal than a gad-fly
would be to a buffalo, and before I could shove a new cartridge home he
was again crouched to spring, when the boys rushed forward, and, with
the muzzles of their rifles so close that the hair was singed, sent
three well-directed balls grinding through his body. The shots all went
near the heart, and he never arose from the earth, but rolled over upon
his side, and with a low, gurgling groan, trembled and died. It was
_sport_, _all through_; but I enjoyed _this stage_ of the proceedings
better than any other. As he lay there, with his nine feet of power
stretched upon the sand so closely to me that I could feel his
dying-breath and touch his shaggy mane, I felt happy that he was dead.
He was nine feet in length, and was the most powerful lion we had ever
seen. Some of his teeth were two inches long; and after looking
carefully at the huge mouth and powerful jaws, I concluded that I was at
one time nearer being lion-meat than I had before believed. The
blood-hound stood proudly by, wagging his tail as though waiting for the
praise for killing him. Poor fool! He was not as much as a gray-back in
the folds of the shirt of a professional tramp. I felt very glad that I
did not tackle the animal alone. We carefully examined every cartridge
we had. Charles said if I could have caught the tail I might have gone
to thunder and fought my own battle, like he did with the buffalo. We
looked carefully around that day, expecting to find the mate; but we saw
no more, and the next morning journeyed on.

When we were about the center of the territory we struck south for the
Red River, which bounds the territory on the south. We struck the
Washita River, Wild Horse Creek, and many other small streams, finding
many cattle along every water, and game in all directions. Great herds
of buffaloes were daily seen heading to the north. There being plenty of
good water all along the route from the Canadian to the Red River, the
journey was a _pleasant_ one. The country of the Red River was rough as
the Canadian, and was good for naught but raising stock. We left the
Red River and went down the Big Washita; and then on to the Brazos, and
down its head-waters to the Double Mountain, Texas, which we had been
told was the range of the main buffalo-herd of the south. The story was
certainly correct, for they were here by the thousands; and not being
nearly so wild as where we had hunted, it was no more to shoot a buffalo
here than to kill a cow. The country was rough, and destitute of all but
short grass; and though there were _cattle here_, they were not nearly
so numerous as at _other places_ where we had been. There was a little
ranch now and then stuck in among the rocks--and one man stays in each;
but they carry their lives in a _holy pocket_ every day and night. They
have become somewhat _reconciled_ to this hermit-life, and do not give
the danger its full weight. This is about as _wild_ a country as lies
within the borders of our _Union_; and if a person had the material, and
were prepared, he could make crooked whisky here without molestation by
the authorities.

We were now prepared to cross the _staked plains_, which had been
reported to us as a broad, dry, and barren country; that it required
several days’ journey to cross, upon which many persons had perished,
and where, several years ago, a whole company of soldiers had been led
by the Indians whom they were pursuing, and there became bewildered and
died in this waterless region. We filled our barrel and three skins with
water from a cool, crystal spring that bubbled from beneath a rock and
headed the Colorado River, and steered due west for the Rio Pecos in New
Mexico. The first night out we camped upon a dry, barren plain, level as
a floor, and almost destitute of grass, all animation having
disappeared. We traveled beneath the burning sun; and resting at night
upon the broad couch of nature, we breathed the light, warm air. It was
all the same in any direction, with no object to obstruct the vision,
and not one cloud to dim the splendor of the setting sun. On the eve of
the third day out our attention was attracted to some white objects upon
the prairie ahead, and which, upon coming up, we found to be the
skeletons of four men bleaching in the sun. The _thirsty reptile_ had
doubtless _strangled_ them; and as we stood gazing upon the whitened
forms, we thought of the agonies of that last hour. They must have lain
there for some years, for there was not even a vestige of else but the
bones. They had undoubtedly cast away everything to hurry on; and when
the weakest fainted, the others in their delirium sunk by his side, all
determined to soar upon the same wings to the land beyond, where the
crystal fountains are flowing freely.

The weather being so warm and the air so dry, our horses required _much
water_; and though we could somewhat gauge _ourselves_, we were
compelled to give them what they wanted. We were just as saving,
however, as we _dared_ be, and upon the morning of the fifth day out we
tapped the last skin and the last water. This was just like mother’s
bread. When the flour is all gone and the horses have the epizooty so
that no one can go to the mill, and the _boys_ once find out the _facts_
in the case, the last loaf is saturated with _honey_, and every one can
make a meal upon _bread_ and _coffee_. We stretched this out until noon
on the _sixth day_, when there was but one gallon left, and that almost
warm enough to cook eggs. Morning dawned, and the sun rolling from the
horizon in all its grandeur had to us little attraction. Things began
to look badly. Six days upon a plain level as a floor and dry as the
internal regions, and not an object yet in sight, I tell you is a bad
report. We had long been out of _corn_; and the grass being so scarce
our horses were pretty well gaunted, and now no water. How long would
they hold out? Just before we hooked up I took the field-glass and from
the wagon surveyed the surroundings. Looking carefully to the west I saw
broken country. Oh, joy! And when I spoke the boys shouted aloud. We
knew that we were now safe, and we would sleep that night by the purple
stream. The hills were a great way off, and if the horses could have
known, as we did, that just ahead gurgled the life-giving stream, we
would have spanned the journey in half the time. However, when within
about a mile of the hills they appeared to smell water, and pointing
their ears they sped hastily along. But in spite of our eagerness we
came among the hills by the moonbeam’s misty light. There was the
stream, rippling clear and cool; and it is needless to say that was to
us a merry night. We sat up all night talking of the dangers of the
country, and contrasting the might of the _roaring lion_ with the power
of the _quiet monster_, _thirst_.

In the morning we took our rifles and started among the hills to get
some _meat_ for breakfast. We were not out long before Dave’s rifle rung
out sharply in the still morning air. Going to him, we found him with a
large buck deer; and we had a splendid venison roast for breakfast. The
country was very rough, and hung upon the edge of the plain like a great
ruffle, and to the west tossing higher and higher. There were a few
_buffaloes_ here also. We stayed in this camp several days, living upon
the best of meat, and recruiting our horses upon the rich grass of the
valley. There were also a few _cattle_ straggling along the river; and
they were wilder than the _buffaloes_. We at length moved up the river
and came among some dwarf timber; and to sit in the shade of these
little trees was more pleasant to us than any other period of our lives.
The _wolves_ were very _numerous_ here; and we were compelled to sleep
by the fire every night to keep our clothes from being torn by these
foul-mouthed creatures, who would howl within the very limits of our
camp, and terrify our horses so that we had to tie them to trees with
double ropes.

It is somewhat amusing to see them capture their game--sometimes taking
down a large buffalo bull or even a wild horse. If the game is in a
flock or herd, they cautiously surround it, and gradually round them up
to close quarters. If they are antelope or deer, as they break through
the guard several are usually captured; but if they are buffaloes, they
watch for a calf to come to the outside of the bunch, and pop! they have
him. Sometimes as many as twenty wolves surround a herd; and to see with
what cuteness and tact they execute their work is interesting in the
extreme. When they are very hungry they will tackle most any animal.
They sport carelessly around until he is off his guard, and then dash
upon him; and while some run at the head, the main aim is to cut the
ham-string. I have seen large bulls disabled in this way and at the
entire mercy of a pack of hungry wolves, who sometimes tear their
satisfaction from the living animal and leave him struggling in his
agonies. Their teeth are sharp and their jaws are like vices; and they
sometimes snap a large piece out of an animal, and then let him run
away.

New Mexico is noted for its _poisonous reptiles_ and _insects_, such as
rattlesnakes, scorpions, centipedes, tarantulas, etc., and finding them
creeping upon most every hill-side, we were compelled to be very
_careful_ lest we should tramp, sit, or lie upon some destructive
stinger.

We had _two beds_, and John and myself slept together. One lovely
moonlight night, after we had all retired, and my mind was resting upon
the border of slumber, I was startled by John uttering a war-whoop and
leaving the bed in a single leap. Being about half asleep, and thinking
that perhaps the _devil_ was under the cover, I did not take _time_ to
_rise_, but started to _roll_; and being near the bank of a little
stream that emptied into the river, I never stopped rolling until I
splashed into the water. I was then thoroughly awakened, and felt as
though I was not afraid of the devil if he were there. The rest of the
boys came to the rescue with their colors flying, and pulling off the
covers we found two large _rattlesnakes_ on John’s side of the bed. They
were swelled with rage and rattled furiously. We had never known them to
crawl into a _bed_. After killing them, we moved the bed and found a
hole in the ground under it. We then concluded that they were out when
we lay down, and in trying to find the way back they got into the bed;
and John hearing the rattle left the bed just as the reptile was ready
to strike. We were always careful after that never to build upon
another’s homestead.

The _centipede_ is a brown-colored worm of about the thickness of a
lead-pencil, and three inches in length when _full grown_. It has a
great number of legs, and at the end of each a little black needle which
is worked in and out at pleasure like a cat’s claw. _These_ are the
_stings_, and whenever the worm is _crossed_ it sinks them. The venom
from the rattlesnake is not to be compared with its effect. When they
are found upon the body, the only _safe_ way is to be _perfectly
motionless_, and not _disturb_ them, and they will often crawl
harmlessly away; but should the person _move_ or _excite_ them, they
will sink their deadly claws and run across the person rapidly, and
beyond all remedy the flesh will rot to the bone in a short time. I
_once_ saw the _effect_ of a _sting_. We were one sunny day sitting with
some greasers upon the shady side of an _adobe_ house near Santa Fe,
when a large _centipede_ dropped from the roof of the house down upon
the naked breast of one of them. He struck at it and tried to knock it
off quickly as possible; but in spite of his efforts it ran clear across
his body, and in a few hours he died with his body terribly swelled.
They are regarded the most deadly of all animals or insects in the West;
and for the benefit of my _readers_ who may sometime journey in their
land, I would advise and pray that should one of these stingers get upon
your body, be careful to not disturb it, for the _danger_ is utter ruin.

The _tarantula_ is a very large _spider_, with large, strong legs, and
can jump four or five feet. It _bites_ instead of _stings_; and though
its bite is not _deadly_ like the centipede’s, it is nevertheless very
_painful_, and swells the parts fearfully, _sometimes_ resulting in
death. They are a _peaceful_ insect; but when _tormented_ they become
very angry, and will jump at their enemy in great fury. These two
insects are very numerous in New Mexico, and it is very dangerous to
sleep on the ground; and citizens are all the time cautious.

While speaking of poisonous _animals_ and _insects_, I might also
mention that the _skunk_ out here is _also_ very dangerous. They will
come to your _bed_ at _night_ and bite you; and the bite has never been
known to fail to produce _hydrophobia_. It is a question much discussed
whether it is the effect of the _general_ skunk-bite, or whether there
are just _certain ones_ which are _themselves_ afflicted with
hydrophobia. The general _opinion_ is, however, that any skunk’s bite
will produce the effect. The subject acts just as though bitten by a
mad-dog, and it is said that there is no remedy when once bitten. I saw
a man by the name of Jones, in Texas, die in the most horrible agony
from a skunk-bite he had received away up in Nebraska eighteen months
before. These skunks are in appearance like our eastern skunks; but
whether they are equally _poisonous_ I do not know. The cow-boys are
always on the alert for skunks.

We moved on up the river; and one evening as I rode down a deep ravine a
half mile north of camp I discovered smoke arising out of a deep gulch
just below. I recognized it as an _Indian_ fire. I tied my pony to a
bush in a deep hollow and cautiously crawled down upon the camp. I got
within about three hundred yards of them, and peeping out from behind a
bluff I saw four Indians, who, from their dress, I recognized to be
_Kiawas_, from the pan-handle country. Two were smoking their pipes, and
the other two were broiling meat upon a stick before a little fire; and
just below them were twelve good ponies grazing in the ravine. Knowing
the _Kiawas_ to be _horse-thieves_, and finding them here under such
_suspicious circumstances_, I concluded that they had been out
_stealing_ and were just returning with their booty. Creeping cautiously
away, I got my pony and rode off to camp; and after informing the boys
of what I had seen, we concluded to rescue the ponies from their red
captors. So, just after twilight we moved quietly upon the camp--John
and myself upon ponies, and Dave and Charles on foot. When we were
within a hundred yards of the camp and, unnoticed, we halted and took a
careful survey of the ground. A cool wind had sprung up that evening,
and by a bright little fire lay the four bodies in blankets, while fifty
yards below grazed the twelve hobbled ponies in the bright moonlight.
Their front feet were tied closely together with ropes, and they were
compelled to step very short. Our plans were formed as follows: We would
open upon them with four rifle shots; and while the footmen kept up the
fire, the horsemen were to leave with them their rifles, and with
six-shooters in hand dash between the camp and the ponies, and with
wild whoops run off the horses. Whang! went the rifles, and away we flew
toward the camp. Two of the Indians did not appear to wake up; but the
other two sprung from the fire like _wild deer_. We ran upon the herd
shouting and yelling, and the boys keeping a brisk fire all the while.
The horses were so frightened that they jumped with both front feet
together, and moved off down the ravine pretty rapidly. After running
them about a half mile we ceased our noise, and the ponies slackened.
Then we rode among them and dismounted to cut the hobbles, knowing the
necessity of taking all or run the risk of being overtaken. It was to be
quick work, for the two Indians who woke up were sure to come for the
horses as quickly as possible. We had cut the hobbles of _eleven_, and
had them roped together; but one pretty dark horse had run off down a
gulch. John held the captives and I ran off to get the other. He was
pretty wild, and I followed him about a quarter of a mile before I could
get to him. At length he became quiet, and going up to him I cut the
hobbles, and had just fastened it on his head when an Indian rushed from
behind the bluff at my very side. Seeing me alone, I suppose he took me
to be his comrade; and running up muttering something in the Kiawa
tongue, he sprung upon the pony’s back. This was my opportunity, and
seizing my six-shooter I struck him a furious blow in the face; and as
he fell to the ground I mounted and rode off for John. I do not suppose
the horse was ever _backed_ before; and instead of going _toward John_,
he went in the other direction full bent. I had a rope through his
mouth; but finding him unmanageable, and not having _time_ to _break
colts_, I succeeded in checking him; and springing to the ground I shot
him through the body and cut off his artery, and ran off on foot. As I
went up the ravine I saw a person coming down, and springing to one side
I crouched behind a rock. As he went by I saw it was the _Indian_ with
his rifle in his hand. He passed within six feet of me; but I only
wanted the _ponies_, and did not want to kill an Indian unless it was
absolutely necessary for my own safety. After he had passed I ran on. I
soon met Dave and Charles, who having heard the shot, supposed that I
was in trouble and were coming to my assistance. We all went back to
where I left John, but he was gone; and going on, we found him in camp,
with the horses. We then moved out, and never halted until the sun was
darting his bright rays upon us. We had been moving as rapidly and
quietly as _possible_; but knowing that we would be _trailed_, we kept a
mounted guard among the hills upon either side of the wagon, to keep
from being surprised by the enemy, who might head us off.

The next evening we came to a trading-post called Alamo, on the Pecos
bank; and about eight o’clock, as we were seated upon a bench in the
post, four cow-boys rode up, and dismounting, walked in to the bar, with
the bells jingling upon their spurs and their six-shooters dangling at
their sides. They set their broad hats back upon their heads, and one
big fellow, with his shirt open and his breast naked, called us all up
and we drank together. They were not satisfied until we had taken
several rounds; and though the drinks were _two bits_ apiece, they were
as free as though they were but three cents. Knowing that it would not
do to refuse to drink with _cow-boys_, when they ask, we drank with
them, but touched it lightly. We talked and laughed together as though
we were old friends; and at length they said they were out on a
horse-hunt. They said that a few days before, as they were camped upon
Salt Lake, fifty miles to the west, some Kiawa Indians had dashed into
their camp, and, killing the cook, ran off twelve good ponies. They
_described_ them and told the _brand_, and we were sure that we had the
horses. We told them of our capture, and they recognized the ponies at
sight. We told them that we had left two thieves sleeping by a little
fire in a ravine fifty miles below, and had killed one stubborn pony.
They said what we had done was well done; but it must be finished. They
said they had been bothered a great deal with these Kiawa and Comanche
devils, who constantly hung upon their range, shooting down every lone
cow-boy and running off every horse they could get, and they had made up
their minds to give them some of their own medicine. The next morning
they rode off, bright and early, swearing that if they could be found
the _other two_ would be sleeping by the fire _that night_. They
insisted upon our going along; but it was not our _mission_ to _kill
Indians_, and we refused. We were satisfied that if the story had been
rightly told, our work had been rightly done; and we moved on up the
river.

The country was very _rough_; but we kept along the river, and in a few
days were in _Santa Fe_, the capital of New Mexico, and the terminus of
the Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe Railroad. The town is located among the
hills, and stage-roads are worn deep in several directions. The old,
abandoned Santa Fe trail, which we had crossed so many times in our
hunts, wound like a serpent down the hill-side into the town. It had
been _some time_ since we had seen _frame houses_, and they appeared to
us as grand as Roman cathedrals; and for several days we enjoyed the
novelty of civilization very much. There were large _stock-yards_ here,
and many thousand head are annually shipped from this place.
Stock-raising and mining are all that can be done among these hills and
bluffs.

We now steered due north and came into the valley of the Rio Grande del
Norte. We found great herds of cattle here, feeding over this pretty,
rich range; and there were many little ranches upon the banks of the
river.

We then struck _north-east_, passing by the Fishery Peak and going up
the Purgatory River to the Arkansas. We felt as though we were at _home_
when we stood upon the green bank of this river; and the
settlers--especially the girls--with whom we had become acquainted prior
to our going south, were apparently glad to see us back, and welcomed us
to their little _adobe_ homes and rustic hospitalities.

It was now late in the month of September, and we concluded to go into
some kind of business and stay in the valley that winter. We had now
gone over a great territory of prairie; and the brief history of our
travels has perhaps given the reader a faint idea of the nature of the
country and the occupations of the people. But the _whole country_,--the
climate, the inhabitants, and their occupations,--is so different from
the states--as called by western men--that it is difficult, even with
the most _minute description_, to conceive of the great country of the
plains as it really _is_ without _visiting_ this curious land.

We have stated that we left the agricultural land in east Nebraska and
Kansas, and that then before us stretched the historical plains--the
fountain of mysteries and the land of secrets. Imagine a great country,
consisting of many states and territories, and containing millions of
acres, with not even the smallest tree or bush, but covered with
_buffalo-grass_, which grows about six inches high and then curls up,
forming a mattress about three inches thick. Through this mighty dry
domain course the rivers as marked upon the map. The banks are
_usually_--though not _always_--skirted with a light growth of
cotton-wood trees; and the valleys are narrow, and fringed upon either
side by great bluffs whose foot-hills usually roll some distance into
the plain. Now, between these rivers there is very often a stretch of
several hundred miles, and sometimes not a drop of water; but usually
there is water to be found in drives of fifty and one hundred
miles--sometimes closer and sometimes much farther. These little waters
are very seldom _running streams_, but are small pools standing in deep
gulches, and sometimes a little lake resting in a small bowl at the foot
of a bluff. The country is always _rough_ where there is _water_; and
old plainers can always tell when they are near it. The gulches that
have water standing in them, like the rivers, usually have small _trees_
also. Now, between these waters the plain is generally almost as level
as a floor; and standing there, the horizon looks perfectly round. Along
the _waters_ the grass is thick and luxuriant, but gradually grows
shorter as you leave; and the long, dry stretches are often very lightly
covered. As you travel along over the level plains it appears as though
there is a raise just ahead all the time; and where it looks level as a
floor there are often great gulches which can not be seen until coming
almost upon their very banks. Sometimes you will come into several miles
of very soft sand, with hardly a spire of _grass_ upon it. Now, persons
who _understand_ this country know just where the waters lie, and
_prepare_ for the trip; and very often where another person would
_perish_ they could find water in a few hundred yards under a rock at
the foot of a hill.

There is much _mirage_ upon the plains, and it is much worse some days
than others. It looks as though there were a pretty, _rolling river_, or
sometimes a _large lake_, but a mile or so off. Nothing is _plainer_;
and the imitation is so complete that old plainers are sometimes
deceived in a country they do not know. It is caused from an unequal
refraction of the lower stratums of the atmosphere; and when _animals_
are in it they are loomed up to twice their _natural_ height. An
_antelope_ is often taken for a _buffalo_, and sometimes a bone or a
buffalo-chip looks like an animal. Objects often appear inverted. To a
tender-foot the deception is often so complete that many a poor,
perishing person, in whose eyes were fast gathering the shades of death,
exhausted his last efforts in trying to reach the _imaginary river_, and
his last breaths were drawn in the belief that he was dying within sight
of the cool, flowing waters. I had read many stirring stories of this
country, and had often heard of the strange peculiarities to be
witnessed and experienced here; but, though my _imaginings_ were
_extensive_, I had never indulged in delusion sufficient to think of the
country in anything near its reality. Ah! many a skeleton lies bleaching
upon the hill-side, with no tomb-stone to tell its name or age nor any
one to tell the secret of his death. I have often thought that if the
Angel of Death would read to the world his _prairie record_ some of the
accounts would swell the heart of the most calloused desperado and wring
a tear from the wickedest eye.

The _legends_ of the plains are _numerous_, and persons who have never
been here would naturally consider them _fabulous_, and the most gross
_exaggerations_; but I know now, from experience, that the worst is
reasonable. From the country being _all alike_, and no objects to guide
the way,--no, not even a weed, or the smallest bush, or distinguishable
hill or valley,--when persons once lose their way they are as completely
lost as though they were as blind as a granite monument fifty miles from
living man. It is somewhat _singular_, but it is a fact many times
verified, that usually when persons lose their way in this country their
_minds_ wander, and they do not even recognize their own camps when they
come in sight of them. It appears that the average person is so
_horrified_ at the thought of being lost and alone in a broad wild
country, where the wild beast growls among the hills, and where the dry
sands reflect perishment into their very eyes, and no one to direct
their course, that the effect is natural.

A story is told of an outfit crossing over a dry prairie in the
pan-handle country. The first night out from water a young man who had
lately come from the states went out among the hills with his rifle to
look for deer. He did not _know_ the _danger_, and unconsciously
wandered a mile away. When the sun was getting low he turned for camp.
It appeared to him as plainly as the hills before him, that to turn back
was to go toward camp. So, turning to his left, he took down a ravine,
still looking for game, and sure that he was near camp. On he went, and
the sun sunk low in the horizon. Soon darkness veiled the day, and he
was still out, and had walked many miles. He drew out his _compass_; but
he did not know whether he was north, south, east, or west from camp,
and thrilled with the thought of his probable condition, he became
completely bewildered and walked rapidly all night. The camp was in a
_deep ravine_, and the boys supposing their tender-foot companion to be
_lost_, went to the top of a hill and built a large fire with
buffalo-chips, and fired their guns and loudly hallooed; but all to no
purpose. In the morning _search_ was made. The country was sandy and
_lightly_ covered with _grass_, and he could be trailed. Two of the
boys, well mounted, started in pursuit. They followed to the east about
a mile, and then winding to the south about a mile and a half he made a
complete circle of about two miles, and went around three times almost
in the same tracks, and then started off zigzag to the west. About noon
an object was seen seated upon the side of a hill in the distance, and
hurrying up the lost John was found. He had become completely deranged,
and had torn every vestige of clothing from his body, and was holding
the compass in his hand. He was so completely bewildered that he did not
even recognize his _own comrades_, and it was _several hours_ before his
mind regained its equilibrium and he fully comprehended his position. He
then said that it seemed as though camp must be near and could be
readily found; but when he once became convinced that he was lost, he
became so completely bewildered that the compass was no more use to him
than a box without a needle. He said the hills and valleys all looked
_alike_, and there was not a bush, or weed, or anything whatever to mark
his course, much less a _neighbor to direct the way_.

This is only _one_ of _hundreds_ of cases; and I have heard of persons
horribly _mutilating_ themselves in their mad agonies. The facts given
are perfectly _credible_, for I have felt their force by experience. I
recollect that one warm spring morning in south Colorado, the fog hung
over the prairie like the mist upon the ocean, and a horse could be
distinguished but a few hundred yards. I had stayed all night with some
cow-boys on Bear Creek, and saddling my pony I started out among the
bluffs to steer my way over the plain to our camp upon the Cimaron,
thirty miles below. I had no _compass_ with me, but I had crossed the
country so often that I thought it would be no trouble, even in the
midst of the mighty fog, to grope my way. I had scarcely left the
cotton-wood tops in the mist when I came to another creek. This seemed
very strange, for I only knew of _one creek_ in the country; but not
willing to believe that I was _again_ crossing _Bear Creek_, I kept
pushing on. I saw some men camped in a ravine just below, and saw their
_horses_ grazing among the hills; but I thought they must be _hunters_,
and the creek must be one that I had not seen. I went on until I had
crossed _six creeks_; and I made up my mind that there was something
_wrong_, and that I must be circling my own camp on Bear Creek. I had
lost the location of the _boys_ I saw awhile ago, and I rode down to the
stream, and to _save my life_ I could not tell which way the _water_
ran. I dismounted and set my rifle on the ground, and before my left
foot was removed from the stirrup the pony became frightened and dashed
away. Losing my grip upon the horn I was jerked down, and the horse
started off kicking down the creek. He dragged me about fifty yards,
and I began to think it did not make much difference which way the water
ran, when I succeeded in getting a square kick at the stirrup with my
right foot, and _luckily_ out it came. The pony, now free, ran off down
the creek. After following him about three miles, I came into the camp
of an old hunter (Barney Gowe), whom I had not met for some months. My
_pony_ stopped with _his_ horses and was easily captured. I then asked
Barney where I _was_, and he thought I was codding him; but becoming
_convinced_ of my situation he laughed heartily and told me to stay for
dinner and the world would turn _right side up again_ after awhile. It
was full two hours before all was _right_, and all at once the whole
valley appeared natural. There were the little stone monuments upon the
bluffs above to guide the hunter and cow-men, and which had _directed
me_ many a time. The little trees, whose _very limbs_ I now recognized,
looked as of old, and the little stream, as it rippled along, seemed to
laugh at the strange conduct of its _old friend_. I was three miles
below where I stayed _all night_; and I had been rounding my own camp
four or five times, and did not recognize _it_ nor the _boys_. They
said they _saw_ me going around and did not know what I meant. The next
morning the fog had _cleared away_ and the trip was made without
difficulty. I only mention these facts to more _fully picture_ in the
imagination of the reader the country with its attending circumstances
and peculiarities as it _really is_, and to warn those who read these
lines that should they ever become bewildered and lost in this desert
land to be calm, keep possession of their mind, and sit down until the
country turns _around again_.

After explaining the nature of the country, the reader can now perhaps
better understand the _sports_ and _occupations_ as they are hereinafter
explained. There are often car-loads of _mustang ponies_ shipped to the
states; and people wonder how they are captured--some supposing that
they are caught with the _lasso_. I can say that there are _few_ wild
horses caught with the _lariat_, and _they_ are only captured by the
hunter hiding himself at the water and catching them as they come down
to drink, or by taking advantage of the ground and making an angling run
upon the herd and cutting them off. _Blooded horses_ have been brought
to this country for this sport, and it has been found that the
_fleetest horse_ can seldom succeed in bringing his rider to the side of
a fully grown mustang. These animals are found in several of the western
states and territories, along the waters of the wild lands. There are
usually between _twenty_ and _fifty_ in a herd, but I have known _one
hundred_ to be in a single herd. Each herd has a distinct range, usually
about ten miles across, and which they can seldom be forced to leave.
There are some very fine-looking animals in these wild gangs, and as
they dash over the range their manes waive back over their rumps, and
their tails spread gracefully after them. I saw a _Mexican_ capture a
fine iron-gray stallion that (perhaps in scratching his head) had caught
his hind foot in his long entangled mane.

Now they are _captured_ as _follows_: Of course, in each range there is
_water_, and usually--as I have already said--where there is water there
is some small timber; but should there be none upon the range of the
herd you wish to _capture_, go some place _else_ and get it, and after
picking out a good location somewhere upon the range, build up a high,
strong _corral_ large enough to hold the herd you wish to capture. Leave
an entrance at one side, and run a lane from the entrance divergingly
into the prairie, until the lane is about one hundred yards wide at the
mouth. Now for the _chase_. Get four horses, well shod, and put two to a
light wagon, and put in feed and provisions for several days; and get a
man to drive. Have two good riding-ponies, and tie one behind the wagon
and _mount_ the _other_. Now start after the herd in a _walk_, and let
the _wagon_ follow just in sight of you. Of course, the first day the
mustangs will burn the prairie, and you will not be in sight of them
_half the time_; but just keep on, and never break the _walk_. The
wagon, of course, will not travel nearly as far as _you_ do, for, as the
herd circles, the driver can cut across. Choose a moonlight season, and
at first go all night, keeping them excited so that they neither eat nor
drink. The second day you can keep in sight all day; but they become
very much _excited_ at seeing themselves _pursued_, and will run frantic
here and there, and by _cutting across_ you need not go half their
distance. You can get to the wagon to _change ponies_ and get a _bite_
when you wish. Go this way, _night_ and _day_, for about _three days_,
when they will become hungry and weak, and you can get close. You can
now sleep at night and chase during the day. If any of the range has
been burned over, or the ground is otherwise rough, their _feet_ become
sore and they can be captured _sooner_; but _usually_ about the _tenth
day_ you can ride up to the herd and drive them along. When _this_ is
the case, take a _whip_ and _force_ them along until they are so worried
that you can ride among them and handle them any way. Now drive them to
the _corral_ and fasten them in. Now rope them together closely with
strong ropes, and drive them to the railroad for _shipment_ or to the
_ranch_ to break _for use_. While they are _weak_ they are easily
broken. _Large herds_ are often captured in this way; and there are men
who, _every spring_ when the grass is short and the ponies are poor,
make this a _business_, and from it realize large profits.

There are many fine, large, branded horses, which have escaped from the
_hunters_, _cow-men_, _emigrants_, and the _Government_, now running
with the wild herds, and, of course, belong to whoever captures them.
When there are several _large mules_ or _fine horses_ in a bunch, it
tickles the hunter mightily; and not having forgotten their _former_
lives, they render the herd easier to be caught, and are not much
trouble to re-break.

Now this is the way the _herds_ are captured; but of course there are
captures made now and then in _different ways_. The hunter sometimes
conceals himself near the water where the herd comes down to drink, and,
watching his opportunity, _creases_ his animal; that is, he shoots him
through the neck about an inch from the top and just in front of the
shoulders. This will _stun_ the animal so that he will fall and not
recover for some minutes, in which time you can bind him fast. _This_
is, though, _scientific_ work, and none but a _fine shot_ need
_undertake it_; for a little _too high_ does _no_ good, and the least
_too low_ does _too much_ good entirely.

Now, there yet remains to be explained the _stock_ business, which is so
extensively carried on in this country, and to which nearly the whole
prairie country is so peculiarly adapted. Were I to tell to persons who
had never been here of the millions of cattle and sheep that are
pastured here, and of the thousands that are annually shipped to the
states, it would be incredibly received. As before said, the prairie is
covered with _buffalo-grass_, which is next to _mountain bunch-grass_,
which is said to be the strongest grass in the world. It usually grows
_thickly_ and about six inches long, and curls up--though of course
_this_ depends upon the range. It usually _rains_ and _snows_ some in
the _winter_ and _spring_ seasons, but during the _summer_ season it
never sprinkles; and you can be just as sure of it as of the wrath to
come. I have often thought that this would be a fine place to make hay.
The snows and rains dampen the earth, and in the spring, when the grass
springs forth and the prairie world is wrapped in its green mantle,
there is no part of the earth more beautiful. About the first of May the
grass is usually _grown up_, and it stays green until about _August_,
when--except in the valleys--it all dries up in the hot sun and dry air,
and cattle eat it like hay. It is then the _strongest_. And stock-men
hate to see the fall rains come; for they say it takes the _strength_
out of the _grass_.




CHAPTER V.

     Cattle-Business Explained--Branding
     Stock--Round-Up--Mavorick--Beef-Gathering--Stampedes--Tender-Feet--
     Stock-Raising     in Texas--Cattle-Trail--Buying Cattle from
     Trail--How to Enter Stock Business--Sheep-Raising--Greasers--Texas
     Cattle-Fever.


The country has now perhaps been _sufficiently described_; and though I
have doubtless been a little _tiresome_ in _minutiæ_, I _hope_ at least
to have succeeded in giving my readers a _good idea_ of the great
_prairie-land_, and can now perhaps _successfully_ explain the subject
of _stock-raising_ which is so extensively carried on there, and a
business that leads in occidental occupations. It has already been said
that the rivers and streams and little lakes that dampen the sands of
this great wilderness are nearly all watering-places for the herds that
range along their banks. It now yet remains to explain how the business
is _conducted_, as any person can see the positive necessity of some
_system_ where the country is so large and unfenced, and where there are
so many owners and such great herds. Sometimes a herd is owned by one
_individual_, but _usually_ there are _companies_; and often one firm
owns forty and fifty thousand cattle. It would of course be impossible
to stable or feed these vast numbers, and they are left upon the prairie
the year round, and never even get salt. They _usually_ keep in pretty
good _order_ during the winter; but when much snow falls and the grass
is covered for some time, and the weather is very cold, thousands of
them die. Poor and weak, they stand upon the railroad-track and are
knocked off in great numbers. Of course these winters are _unusual_; and
the profits are so large that a few cattle dying now and then is but a
momentary break in the financial stream.

Now, each firm has a home ranch, and this is built by some pure, cool
water, and nearly as practicable to a railroad or good trail. This
consists of a substantial and commodious ranch,--usually built of stone
or _adobe_,--also a good store-house in which to store feed and
provisions,--which are bought at wholesale and then given out to the men
as needed, a good stable,--and a large, strong _corral_. Hay is then cut
from the sloughs, and quantities of it stacked in the _corral_ for the
stock that is kept stabled. Though often in wild places, these home
ranches are usually pretty places, and stock-men often have their
families here with them. They have good, stylish buggies and carriages,
and riding and driving horses; and every pleasant morning and evening
the women and children go out to ride. They have a good track around the
ranch over the level plain; and while it is altogether delightful to
ride through the pure air of this healthy clime, the glitter of the
splendid vehicle in the morning sun attracts very little attention from
the neighbors. The girls can ride like rangers; and to see them dashing
over the prairie, the pony fall into a prairie-dog hole and send the
fair one somersaulting over the head upon the sand, is as funny a sight
as one could wish. Each firm has its own brand, and has it recorded in
the county of the home ranch. This brand is a piece of iron, wrought
into the shape wished. There is also a peculiar ear-mark accompanying
each brand. The branding-irons have long iron handles with which to use
them. They are made red-hot and then held against the animal until
burned sore, and often until the hide is burned through. Of course the
hair never grows out here again, and it is a perpetual mark. The home
ranch is located upon some good, rich pasture-range, and by a good
water. Thus, many cattle can be pastured in the vicinity of the ranch;
but when the herd is _large_ it is divided up and driven to sometimes
several other ranges that are not yet taken up--each firm having its
particular ranges, which it holds against all others, except
homesteaders or buyers. Upon each sub-range there is built one or more
little picket-ranches, with good _corrals_ in which to brand cattle. In
each of these little houses stays a cow-boy to watch over the cattle and
see that they are not killed or driven off by Indians, Mexicans, or
hunters. The cattle usually stay upon the range very well during
_summer_; but when winter comes, and storms set in they are drifted many
miles, and scattered over many ranges. Cattle drift from the Platte
country, Nebraska, all the way down to the pan-handle country every
winter. When the winter winds are severe, great numbers drift to ranges
where the country is very broken, or where there is timber; and they
often become so thick that it is necessary to drive part of them to
other ranges to keep them from starving. This is part of the cow-boys’
work.

Every spring each firm has about as many other brands upon its range as
of its own; and after a long, _stormy_ season one brand is distributed
along the waters of several states or territories. In order that each
firm may know how it stands, and to brand the calves and gather up such
as are fit for market, each spring the commissioners of each county
appoint a captain for the _round-up_ or _rodere_. The counties here are
very large. There is a place and day set for the meeting, and all the
cattle-men of the county are informed. The time of meeting is about the
last of April; but the time varies according to the grass and the
strength of the cattle. Some springs the grass comes on early, and some
quite late. Each firm sends men to this _round-up_ in proportion to its
herd--usually four or five to each county where it is expected that
there are cattle--sometimes more, and often but one. Each boy has from
four to eight horses; and when there are two or more from a company they
have a wagon along. The beds, feed, provisions, ropes, branding-irons,
etc., are hauled in it; and the driver of this wagon does the cooking
for the boys of that firm. Where there is but one, he usually makes
arrangements to go with some other firm.

The average cow-boy saddle weighs forty pounds, and _some_ weigh
_sixty-five_ pounds. They are made with large, strong horns, and the
back of the seat is very high. The skirt is leather, and comes back over
the pony’s hips. Upon either side of the saddle there is firmly fastened
two large, strong rings, and to each a strong strap, two feet long, and
one inch and a half wide. The girths (sinches) are about three feet
long, with a strong ring in each end. These sinches are generally made
of hair, twisted into ropes, and about ten ropes to a sinch, making it
three or four inches wide--two girths to each saddle. The straps to the
rings upon the right side of the saddle are each passed through the
rings at the end of a sinch, and run from one ring to the other and then
fastened. Two good blankets are then placed upon the horse, and the
saddle lifted to its place. The front sinch is then brought up and the
strap to the front ring is passed through the ring of the sinch, and
from one ring to the other three or four times, and then drawn up
tightly and fastened with a ranger’s loop. The back sinch is then
brought around behind the bulge of the belly and fastened as the other.
By this fastening a saddle can be drawn up very tightly, and fastened
upon the animal so firmly that the pony can be jerked down and pulled
away by the saddle-horn. There is not a buckle about the saddle. The
stirrups are wooden, and are covered with leathers which hang in two
large strips nearly to the ground. These leathers are called
_tapidares_. The bridles are strong, with raw-hide reins. Each boy has a
half-inch catch-rope, about forty feet long, and made out of sea-grass,
leather, or raw-hide. This is made fast to the saddle-horn at one end,
and then coiled and tied up to the saddle. Each boy has also a large
pair of spurs with rowels two inches long, and little bells to them, so
that when the boy walks the spurs roll along upon the ground or floor,
and the little bells make quite a noise. Now, with a belt around his
waist, and two six-shooters and a large knife upon it, he is rigged. The
clothing is made of California duck, lined with blanket, the shirt a
double-breasted blue, and the hat a large white broad-brim. In an
ordinary stock county, between two and three hundred cow-boys usually
come together for the round-up. And you bet this is a big day for the
hot coffee-houses of the place of meeting; for the boys usually draw
their wages for the occasion, and usually succeed in getting things
pretty well warmed up. The bosses try to keep their boys down; but
toward evening, when the boys gather in from far and near, there are
many social glasses drank. Often old feuds are stirred up; and when once
a fight is begun each boy sides one way or the other, and there are
seldom less than four or five killed. If a stranger comes in and gives
the least occasion, the boys will then have their fun. They will make
him stand still and hold out his hand, and then try to shoot between his
fingers, or shoot a hole through his ears, or see how closely they can
shoot to the top of his head by shooting through his hat. They can do
this very well; and there is not much danger until they get pretty full
and want to make _too fine_ a shot, such as shooting between the flesh
and skin, and then the thing is too fine to be pleasant. Persons coming
out here to learn this business find it necessary to keep lip and
braggadocio to themselves, or else the initiation is pretty heavy. The
boys generally get pretty well gathered in the first day, and the next
morning they pull out.

The captain commands the men like an army officer. The loose ponies are
all turned together, and the herd often has several hundred heads. The
captain is a man who understands the country and knows every stream and
pool in the range. He lays his plans and arranges his route, and,
beginning at one side of the county, he takes a range; and dividing up
his men, he sends them here and there, up and down the forks of the
creeks and across to the little lakes over the range, and directs them
to bring in all the cattle of the range and round them up at a certain
place. In a week or ten days they generally come in with the cattle; and
they often round up a mighty herd. Each brand now has one or more
representatives, and they watch closely after the interests of their
employers. They then prepare to take out of the round-up all the brands
that belong to that particular range, brand the calves, and let them go.
The herd is surrounded and held by cow-boys; and fires are built around,
and all the different brands of that range are heated for action.

One man from each firm that pastures upon this range then goes into the
herd to get the calves that they find following their cows. When one is
found the noose is thrown, and whether it gets the calf round the body,
neck, leg, or tail it is all the same; the pony is whirled and loped
off to the fire, the little fellow rolling, tumbling, kicking, and
bawling, but all to no purpose. He is then held by the boys, and the
red-hot branding-iron is held against its tender skin until the hair is
all singed off and the hide burned sore. The little fellow rolls his
eyes in their sockets and bellows piteously as the smoke curls upward
from his own body; but the operation is soon over, and he is sent loping
into the free air upon the range. When all the _calves_ are out, the
cows and steers are then cut out as follows: Each firm has particular
horses trained for this business, and they are called “cutting horses.”
The boy goes among the herd, and when he sees his brand he needs follow
it but a little way until the pony knows what animal is wanted; and all
the rider has then to do is to stay on. The pony walks after the animal,
dodging from one side to the other, and when he has him driven to the
edge he lunges upon the cow with great fury. The cow, with fright, leaps
from the herd; and in spite of her efforts to get back, that pony keeps
her out. A rider has to be _experienced_ before he can stick a _cutting
horse_; for they sometimes go after a cow upon a dead run, and stop in
two jumps, whirl upon the hind feet, and go off the other way.

When the cattle of this range are all cut out and the calves branded,
the rest of the herd are then driven to another range. They are held
here by some boys and left graze, while the captain divides up the rest
of his men and sends them out over that range to gather in all the
cattle. They are then all rounded up together, and, as _before_, the
calves are branded, and all the stock belonging to the owners of that
range is turned loose upon it. In this way they go from range to range
until the whole county is gone over and each firm has its cattle upon
its own range or ranges, and the calves of that year are branded. It is
usually about three months before the boys all get in from the different
counties, bringing the cattle upon their own ranges and making their
reports to head-quarters.

A strict account is kept, by the boys of each firm, of all the cows and
steers and calves that are gathered from _each county_; and when the
round-up is over each company knows just how it stands. Sometimes the
boys are a little careless and do not brand _deep_ enough, and forget to
mark the ear. In a year the brand becomes so indistinct that many a
quarrel has arisen among the boys as to their identity; and I have seen
some bitter consequences.

A calf that is following no cow, and is unbranded, is called a
_mavorick_; and though by law these now belong to the state in some
places, they used to belong to the man who first put his brand there.
There are many calves _missed_ every year; and before the next round-up
they are weaned, and no one knows to whom they belong. There are men who
have made themselves good herds by gathering up _mavoricks_, and often
stealing calves from the mother, putting their brands upon them, and
taking them off to another range. Sometimes, however, the mother and
offspring get together again before they have entirely forgotten their
_relations_; and then a calf of one brand is following a cow of another.
This is very undesirable to the calf-brander; and if he can not destroy
that mother’s affection, or in some way arrange that mixed-up family
before other cow-men get to see it, from what I have seen I would advise
him to let the darned calf go to thunder and get out of that unhealthy
prairie atmosphere.

When the round-up is all over and the cattle are fat,--usually about the
latter part of the month of September,--the beef season begins. They
then go upon their respective ranges, round up the cattle, and cut out
such as are fit for beeves. _Four years_ is the sale age; and seldom is
one sold under this. Each firm has a foreman, who does the picking of
the beeves; and he who is able to tell when a cow or steer is fat is
considered a good cow-man. The beeves are then driven to the railroad,
where there are stock-pens; and after the cars are bedded with about six
inches of sand, the cattle are loaded up, making every other one face
one side of the car, and the others the other side. Twenty is the
average car-load, though this number varies with the size of the cattle.
I have seen cars crowded with sixteen large steers, and know of one firm
bringing in a thousand beeves at a time. The shipping-rates to St. Louis
and Chicago are usually twenty dollars per car, making one dollar per
head. The cattle are generally well fattened; and though they do not
command quite as high prices as eastern _grain-fed stock_, the profits
are nevertheless very large. One man is allowed to each car of stock, to
keep them up and arrange them should they get fast or become mixed up in
the car. In this way, during the shipping season, many persons are
furnished free transportation to the East.

Beef-gathering does not generally end until the snow flies and the
weather becomes severe. It is then very rough for the boys; for, good or
bad, they must take it, with no shelter but a gum-coat, called a
_slicker_. When they have a herd to hold they have to stand guard all
night, the same as day. Now, when the clouds suddenly roll from the
horizon and dash their contents upon the plain, when the thunder begins
to bellow and the lightning to dart its fiery tongues through the air,
then the cattle become perfectly frenzied and rush madly here and there;
and then comes what they call a stampede. Then there _is_ a time. Often
but five or six boys are holding a herd of several hundred large
beef-steers when the storm comes on, and as they rush madly to and fro
the boys dash their ponies here and there in front of them, and usually
hold them; but when the storm is furious and the cattle become frantic
and rush in all directions, they often break the circle, and then the
work begins for certain. The ponies understand their business, and with
all power they get to the front; and if the herd is not too badly
scattered, and (if it be at night) if it be not too dark, the herd may
again be rallied. Otherwise, they are gone, and the prairie fairly
trembles beneath them as they, bellowing, rush over the plain. When once
thoroughly stampeded they usually run a long way before checking, and it
takes several days to gather them in again; and if it be a strange herd
going through the country, the prospect is that many will never be
recaptured. It is a sight to see a large herd of big Texas steers in a
storm, with heads erect, racing here and there, clashing their great
horns together, and loudly snorting. There is _danger_, also; for when
once they are under full headway they are as irresistible as the
hurricane, and everything crumbles before them.

Sometimes when the tired, relieved guards are sleeping with their ponies
at their sides, the herd stampedes, and before they can get into the
saddle the pony escapes and the cattle rush madly over them, trampling
them into the sand. I recollect of camping close to a large herd of
Texas steers one cold November night, when the rain fell fast, and the
lightning played upon the cattle’s horns like morning sunbeams upon the
mountain-top, and lighted up the plain almost like day. The boys held
them for some time; but at length the ponies became worried, and away
went the steers, their trampling sounding like distant thunder. The boys
all rushed for the front, and after about a mile chase, in which I
joined, one of the boys dashed in front of the herd. In the darkness of
the night and the excitement of the occasion he had forgotten a
dangerous slough that lay in that direction, and his excited pony sprung
into the mire. Of course the first jump the horse sunk deeply into the
mud and could not extricate himself, nor could the rider get away before
the maddened herd plunged in upon him. The pony with its rider was
crushed into the mud and buried alive before our eyes, and the cattle
struggling in the mud above them. The next morning we took ropes and
pulled some of the steers from the bog with the saddle-horn; but some
were smothered in the mire with the good pony and gallant rider, whom we
left in their novel graves, knowing that they were dead anyhow, and
thinking that perhaps their self-made tombs were as respectable as any
we could hew.

As was said before, each firm sends a wagon with each squad of men that
goes out upon the prairie. The wagons all have nice large cupboards
(called mess-boxes) fixed in the back end, and when going out they take
provisions, feed, clothes, beds, ropes, etc., and a good set of camp
implements. This, then, is what is called a cow-outfit. The horses are
not fed any grain unless worked hard and having no time to graze. In
this case it is also necessary that they should be shod. Each company
has on hand a large number of pressed shoes of all sizes, and before the
boys go out they always fit their ponies with a couple pairs of shoes
apiece; and taking also a shoeing outfit, they shoe their own ponies.
When the boys are on a cow or horse hunt, they tell the cook where they
will be for the next meal, and he goes immediately there and has grub
prepared for them as they come in. From the cook being alone so much of
the time, he is exposed to great dangers; and many an outfit has
gathered to their wagon to find their cook lying murdered by the
dinner-fire. It is necessary that the cook should be thoroughly
acquainted with the country, for he is sent across the prairie in every
direction from one range to the other. He is sometimes called upon to
get up a meal for ten, fifteen, or twenty men at very short
notice--often in twenty or twenty-five minutes; and you may imagine the
skill that these fellows have acquired when this can be done, especially
when the buffalo-chips are damp. The boys will run a dirty cook out of
camp; but they think nothing of seeing the cook gather up buffalo-chips
with his hands and then make up bread without washing. There is a great
difference in camp-cooks; and some make nice doughnuts and puddings for
the boys, while others get nothing but bread and meat, and sometimes
beans and potatoes. Imagine an eastern girl scolding the boys for not
procuring sound, dry hickory wood, or grumbling because the stove is not
a good baker, and spreading paper over the bread, or flavoring here and
seasoning there, touching up her delicate tidbits for an hour before the
table is prepared. Ha, ha, ha! The cow-boys’ dinner is twice as good;
and it is gotten without wood (and often wet at that), without a stove,
and without any of the delicious flavorings, and is forgotten in half an
hour. Why, if a cow-boy had to wait an hour for dinner he would go into
camp and kick over the pots and skillets, and then step off and see how
close he could shoot to the cook’s ear, just to hurry him up a little.
Whenever they are out of meat, they shoot down a nice fat calf, and
always have the best. It is seldom that they kill their own brands; but
when there is no mavorick, they slide a ball into another man’s calf. Of
course they always cut out the brand and destroy it. It is quite
pleasing to see a cow-outfit taking dinner upon the wide, level prairie,
with their ponies grazing by the camp-side. They all get around the
hash, which sits in pans and skillets, and then crossing their legs they
sit down upon their feet. This is the cow-boys’ seat; and when they come
into a house where there are plenty of chairs they squat to the floor
upon their own seats. Hot or cold, sunshine or storm, the greater part
of the year they sleep and dine upon the wild, unsheltered plain. They
are so used to it, though, that they think nothing of it, and stand out
in the storm eating their biscuit and broiled beef with unqualified
relish. They move their loose ponies from place to place in a herd--each
boy having his own particular riding-horses. When camped they hobble the
leaders, and the rest will not leave. The hobble is made by taking a
piece of cow-hide about three feet long and two inches wide, tying a
knot in one end, and cutting a loop in the other. This is put around one
leg, above the pasture-joint, and then twisted and looped around the
other. The twist keeps the hobble from working down, and the horse does
not get around fast nor leave camp far unless stampeded by Indians or
wild horses; and even in this case they are easily captured. Some of the
ponies are very shy, and when the boys want fresh horses they tie a rope
to a wagon-wheel, and a boy holds the other end. The others then drive
the herd up to this and throw the noose over the heads of the wanted
ones. They are so used to this rope that they will not attempt to cross
one if it is but knee high. All idle mules are always hobbled; for the
cow-boys say “a mule is hell in a stampede.” The boys of course do their
own washing; and they usually keep pretty clean, with the exception of a
few gray-backs, which are their warmest bosom and inseparable friends.
Some companies have as high as seventy-five or a hundred men employed
during the work-season; and about the first of December they discharge
about half of them until spring, keeping the best men over winter, and
_they_ are scattered over the ranges among the little lonely shanties
to watch over the cows during winter. They are compelled to keep some
men who understand the business and the country, and then they can make
use of _some_ greenhorns. But oh! how those cow-boys curse the
tender-feet. They usually try to get them upon a pony that understands
bucking, to get their necks broken or disable them in some way or other
to get them out of the way. There is no better fun than to get a big,
clumsy tender-foot upon a well-trained cow-pony. He goes dodging along
like a monkey, holding to the saddle-horn, with his stirrups shortened
up and his knees under his chin, gaping in every direction. Pretty soon
a steer dashes from the herd; the pony, quick as a flash, springs after
him to round him in. The steer dodges; the pony braces, whirls upon his
hind feet, and starts off in another direction, with the tender-foot
hanging upon his side with one foot fast in the stirrup, the other leg
wrapped around the saddle-horn, and holding to the mane with both hands.
With a loud bellow the steer makes another whirl; the pony follows in a
twinkle; and this time the grip gives way, the leg slips over, the horn
ripping the cloth and bruising the skin, and with a heavy thud
tender-foot comes to the ground, and after rolling over fifteen or
twenty times he lies upon his belly and raises his head to see if the
steer had run over the pony too. The boys are usually slow about going
to help a walloped tender-foot, for fear he will not die if he is
helped.

Cow-boys are ranked in the business something like officers in the army.
There are foremen, bosses, and sub-bosses, down to privates; and they
are paid according to their experience and ability. Some of them have
been cow-punching--as it is called--for many years, and know every water
for hundreds of miles around; and, of course, they command high wages.
The common boy gets twenty-five and thirty dollars per month; and the
wages range from this up to one hundred and twenty-five dollars. Of
course, one has to be highly experienced to command the latter.

Ponies, riding-outfits, beds, etc., are furnished by the companies; but
nearly all the boys have ponies and riding-rigs of their own. The object
of this will be explained hereafter. They all furnish their own
_fire-arms_, and are usually pretty well belted.

There are large, wealthy firms in Texas--such as Hunter & Evans, and
others,--who make it a business to breed cattle; and they sell to the
ranchmen thousands upon thousands of stock-cattle every year. They
usually cross the short-horn with the long-horn; for the _Texican_,
while he is a good rustler and will find enough to live on where an
American will die, does not fill out well, besides being usually very
fierce and wild, while, on the other hand, the _American_ has the set,
and is tame; but when the pasture is poor or the weather severe he will
not rustle as hard nor feed as far out upon the range as the other.

The trail comes over the prairie, from Texas, by Dodge City, Kansas, and
goes on up into the Platte country, Nebraska. This trail is several
hundred miles long, and is divided up into regular drives; and some of
the stretches between waters are very long. It has been used for many
years, and is worn wide and deep. Every spring and fall these
stock-breeders send great herds up this trail. Sometimes as many as
twenty-five thousand are strung out in one herd. At these seasons,
persons wanting cattle gather along the trail and wait for a herd. The
herds are composed of from one to three yearlings; and for first choice
the usual price is twelve dollars, and ranging down to seven dollars.

There are large _horse_ companies in the South, and great herds of
ponies are also driven up the trail each fall and spring. They sell for
from twenty to fifty dollars per head.

Many cattle give out on the long march, and numerous riding-ponies get
their backs scalded and rubbed and are worn down weak and thin, and can
be bought for a song; and after a month or two of rest they are all
right.

Many new wagons are brought up with the herds to haul the necessary
supplies, and, not being needed for the return, they can be bought very
cheap, from the inconvenience of running them back so far. There are
persons ranched along this trail who buy the worn-out cattle and ponies
and the wagons; and there have been fortunes made at it.

When a man wants to go into the cattle-business and does not know the
country well, he finds out from the cow-boys some place that is
unoccupied and that would make a good cattle-range. He then goes there,
and at some good place builds a good ranch and strong _corral_, then
gets a branding-iron made and procures a wagon and camp outfit, ponies,
etc., and then, hiring an experienced man to manage the business, he
goes to the trail during one of the aforesaid seasons and buys what he
wants. By paying twelve dollars per head he gets his choice from the
mighty herd, and can make up his herd of good cattle nearly three years
old. Buying half steers and half heifers, he will have the heifers to
immediately breed from, and thereby have some steers ready for market in
one year. This will pay his expenses. The next year he will have more to
sell, and the _calves_ will be coming on. By selling every marketable
steer each fall and investing the money in young cattle, it is not long
until the herd is numerous and the shipments can be great. When he has
his herd he drives them upon his range, and hires some boys to help him
brand them. Two strong posts are firmly planted in the _corral_, about
twelve feet apart, and part of the herd is driven in at a time. A boy
rides in, throws his rope over the horns of an animal, and, all
understanding their business, the cow is soon pulled upon her side. A
rope is put around the hind feet and wrapped around one of the posts and
held by a boy, and another rope is put around the front feet and wrapped
around the other post and held by another boy, while the brander applies
the iron.

This branding business is fine sport for persons who are not accustomed
to seeing it; and when I first came to the country I was present on all
such occasions when possible. The boys used to let me lasso the cattle,
and took great pains in showing me how it was done; and at length it was
a small job to catch a cow, still or running. I recollect very well the
first branding I ever attended. The boys caught a two-year-old steer and
threw him down, and, putting a rope around the hind feet, they gave it
to me to hold. They told me to wrap the rope three or four times around
my body and then turn my back to the steer and pull as hard as I could,
and I could hold him easily. Well, I had seen steers enough to know that
they could kick like thunder. But I thought that perhaps by having his
legs pulled straight out behind I could manage him; and I was pulling
like a _wheel-horse_, when something happened. There was a sudden jerk
from back toward the steer, and a loud snort. Then I whirled round so
fast that it looked as though there were steers all around me; and I
made a jump backward that beats the best on record. When I recovered I
had a little pain in the stomach, and half the buttons were torn off my
clothes; and I was altogether changed about. I tell you, boys, you can
have your own opinion about it, but I believe that steer would have
jerked the hind end of the world out if he had been fastened to it. I
wish it distinctly understood that whenever there is a red-hot iron to
be poked against a steer’s skin I want to be on the side where there are
no legs.

It is not _usually_ much of a job to catch and throw an animal; but
sometimes there is a large, powerful, wild Texican in the bunch, and the
boys have some fun. In this case they throw two or three ropes upon the
animal, and the ponies hold him fast. When the herd is all branded they
are turned upon the range; and having prepared it, he takes up his abode
in his humble little ranch. If his herd is not large, he and his little
help can ride out every day to look after the cattle and keep them upon
the range, and his herd will not be much scattered in the spring.

In choosing a range it is best, if possible, to take up a rough part, or
where there is timber; for being thus sheltered from the fierce winter
blasts, the cattle are not apt to drift. Of course if he or they want
to go into the business very largely, it will be necessary, perhaps, to
hunt _several ranges_, and build cabins there for the boys.

It is interesting to see a well-trained pony play his part in the roping
process. He watches the lariat, and as the rider throws it he makes two
or three rapid jumps to give the rope slack, and if it catches, he then
stops, plants his feet in the sand, and turns to suit the cow. A small
pony, if well trained, can hold a good steer by the horns or foot. The
rider can dismount and go to the captive, and the pony will do the
holding. Sometimes the animal is too much, however, and in spite of his
greatest efforts, the pony is jerked heavily to the ground. I have seen
the saddle jerked from the pony and taken across the prairie by the
horns of a steer. This mostly happens when there is a bad throw, and the
animal is caught around the neck or body. The saddles, as has been said,
are large and very heavy, with big blankets under them, so that the back
of the pony is never injured by the surges of any captive. I have often
thought of the pieces that one of the eastern turtle-shell saddles would
be jerked into should one of these powerful wild steers be tied to the
horn. The catch-rope has a knot in one end of it, and when thrown in a
certain way it will lap around the foot and tie. This is a good catch,
and can be done at a dead run; but it requires much more skill than the
regular noose-catch. The foot is sometimes caught in chase with the
noose; but this requires superior skill, and the Mexican _only_ can
practice this successfully. In case a steer gets cross, or is wild and
mean about going into a _corral_ or stock-pen, several boys dash upon
him, some throwing their ropes around his horns, others around his feet,
and others around his neck and tail, and with a whoop they drag him in.
I have seen fifteen-hundred-pound steers dragged in this way. These
ponies would pull nothing by a _collar_; but they are trained to pull by
the _saddle_, and can draw a big load that way. Cow-boys often pull
emigrant wagons out of streams and sloughs, where good teams have left
them stand. Of course this roping all requires practice, and the skill
that may be acquired at it would astonish one who had never seen the
performance here upon the prairie. Sometime a single and lone cow-boy is
crossing the prairie, and happens to run across a two or three year old
that in some way has been missed. Riding upon it he ropes it; and while
the pony holds it he takes his knife and marks the ear, and brands it by
cutting the hair to the skin in the brand shape. This will stay until
branding season, and then it can be done over.

Great flocks of sheep are also raised out here, and it is said that
there is much more profit in them than in cattle, _ordinarily_. But the
risk is much greater, as in case of a severe winter, like sometimes
visit the prairie, many of them die; for there is no chance to shelter
or feed them like in the East among barns and stocks. Experienced
stock-men say that sheep usually pay from seventy-five to one hundred
per cent upon the investment, and cattle from forty to sixty per cent.
But of course this varies a good deal according to the season. There is
an amalgam here called the _greaser_, who is part Mexican, Indian, and
negro, and _they_ do most of the sheep-raising. They have straight black
hair, very dark complexion, and are extremely wicked and cruel. They are
very filthy, and hence the name greaser. They use the donkey, or burro,
and pack from place to place. To see them with their flocks and asses
upon the hill-side is suggestive of ancient times, and causes one to
think of flocks and herds upon the plains of historical Europe and Asia.
In order that all my readers may know the nature of these vile and
odious specimens of humanity, I will describe them as the ugliest,
meanest, most slovenly, cruel, treacherous, and quarrelsome beings I
ever saw. Each greaser carries a large knife; and you bet he knows how
to use it. He can _throw_ it into a man’s body at the distance of ten
feet every time; and upon the least provocation, if close enough, he
will cut your jugular-vein the first whack. They sometimes move their
flocks upon the stock-ranges, and any one acquainted with sheep knows
the condition in which pasture is left after several thousand sheep have
ranged over it. This enrages the cattle-men, and they send cow-boys to
move them off. There have been many bitter battles fought between these
parties for this cause, and many a Mexican has bitten the dust and had
his flock scattered and destroyed. When cow-boys start out to do
anything that can be done with six-shooters, they usually do it; and
could the bleaching Mexican skeletons but speak, the truth of the
assertion would only be too well evidenced.

Most persons have heard of the _Texas cattle-fever_ and its terrible
ravages. It is almost entirely confined to the regions along the trail;
and though not often the case, it is some years very destructive, and
hundreds of cattle are stretched out dead upon either side of the trail,
and stock-men are afraid to buy. Stock can then be bought cheap. There
is much speculation as to what this disease is; and many theories have
been advanced by scientific men as to its cause, and whether it is
contagious. The following is one of the theories; and to me it seems the
most plausible: In driving the cattle so far through the hot sand, their
feet become sore and fester; and when they are halted by the drivers and
left graze out upon the range the matter from their feet is imparted and
deposited on the grass, and this grass being eaten by the cattle causes
the affection. Others say that it is a regular disease, that it
originated in Texas, and that it is contagious. But I have observed that
the disease is not prevalent in Texas or any other country except the
ranges along the trail. I have also observed that the disease is not
contagious if cattle are not left graze upon the same range too soon
after coming off the trail. The cattle that are once badly affected
with the disease seldom do much good afterward.

The stock-business being the almost exclusive occupation of the people
upon the vast western prairie world, which to this is so particularly
adapted, I hope I have been justified in treating of this subject at so
great length. I have tried to picture the country in the imagination of
persons (who have never been here) as it really is, and to satisfy the
curiosity of those who have heard so much of the great western herds, as
well as to inform those who would wish to engage in the business upon
the vast free domain. Thinking that perhaps the subject has been
sufficiently spoken of I shall conclude, and refer the reader to the
closing letters of this work for further information.




CHAPTER VI.

     Cow-Boy History--Mustangs and Broncos--Cow-Boys with
     Six-Shooters--Dodge City--Boot Grave-yard--Prairie
     Mysteries--Dance-Halls--Sketch of Buffalo Bill--Theory of the
     Plains--Trading-House--Antelope Chase--We Prepare for a Mountain
     Tour.


Most persons of ordinary information have heard something of the
character of the population of the great American plains, and have
observed that the _cow-boys_ have had their share of attention and
comment. From actual observations made during my long roam upon the
prairies I feel able to contribute a few lines that will no doubt be
interesting to persons who have read such speculative and varied
accounts, and who wish to be well and truly informed.

The great country that has been described as adapted to no other purpose
than stock-raising is necessarily almost exclusively populated with
cow-men; and, without legal restraint, the prairie fairly trembles with
their power. I am personally acquainted with many of the boys; and while
I have many _warm friends_ among them, I also have some _deadly
enemies_. I have studied their dispositions, and, by the instrument of
warmest confidence, have drawn from their bosoms many dark and hidden
secrets. When a person takes into consideration the _position_ and
_surroundings_ of these boys, he is not astonished at the almost
unexceptionably bold, bestial, and immoral character of these creatures
of the broad western wilds. In _civilized_ and _Christianized_ regions,
if a person be disposed to be rough and immoral--though he often meets
those of like disposition and is _encouraged_,--he _must_ and _will_,
from time to time, come in contact with those whom the faintest
throbbings of natural manhood will move him to respect; for instance,
the sweet smile or the soft, silver-toned word from the lips of a kind
female or the address of a noble man. As he walks the streets by the dim
light of the gas-lamp, profaning the Sabbath or planning dark vices, the
sweet strains from the lips of the worshipers away up in the tabernacle
will waft out of the open window upon the soft evening zephyrs and
irresistibly appeal to his faint sensibilities. The voice of the good
minister is heard; and though the heart be mailed with a coat of evil
and the spark of celestial fire called conscience be almost smothered,
these soft influences are felt and are fuel to the fire of man’s natural
sensibilities. And back of all this is the strong hand of the law,
backed by public sentiment, with which the latitude of man’s privileges
is measured out. The checks are so many and so great that it is some
time before the conscience of man can be overcome by the rolling waves
of immoral and iniquitous temptations. But it is quite otherwise in the
unsettled country where the musical strains do not reach nor the words
of the gospel sound, and where the sweet influence of womanhood is not
shed, and worst of all, where the _law_ is the _will_ and the might
makes the right. There is nothing to stay the degeneration into which
mankind is naturally so prone to drift; and in several years’ life with
such surroundings the sensibilities of man become as callous as a stone.
The very atmosphere is impregnated with profanity, and new-comers can
seldom resist the epidemic. Many of these boys stay alone away out upon
distant ranges for several months at a stretch without seeing a human
being, with the howl of the wolf and the angry growl of the wild beasts
constantly floating upon the prairie breeze, and the monotony broken
now and then by the war-whoop of the treacherous red-man, who cruises
upon the plain beneath his white plume, seeking the lives and scalps of
the lone boys. The effect of a life in the open air, and a diet of wild
meats, together with the influences of an unsettled country, I have
already felt by actual experience; and he who has described the
wickedness and boldness of the cow-boy in the strongest language I will
assure you is not guilty of exaggeration, for indeed they are savages.
They do most all their work upon horseback; and being in the saddle
every day, they are so expert at equestrianism that it is amusing to see
them ride. They walk so little that the muscles of their legs are very
weak, and on foot they can do very little. They always keep a pony
picketed close by, and if they want to go a quarter of a mile the pony
is saddled.

The bronco is a California pony, and the mustang is a pony that was
found upon the plains of Mexico. Both these breeds are used by cow-men;
and they are, with few exceptions, very hard to break. They are natural
_buckers_; and some of them never forget it, and take a heat at it after
being rode for several years; that is, they put their head between
their knees, stick out their tails, and then begin to jump stiff-legged.
The first lunge will perhaps be four or five feet forward, the next
several feet backward, then from side to side, and all the while bawling
like an ox. They sometimes begin as soon as the sinch is drawn and
before it is fastened, and tearing furiously from the boy they buck over
the plain until the saddle comes off or until they are entirely
exhausted. It is a curious habit, but it appears to be natural with
them; and if any person takes it to be an agreeable exercise to back one
of these professional buckers, he should try it on once, and I will
assure him that one fall upon the back of the neck will be sufficient to
convince him that he was mistaken. It takes _practice_ to be able to
ride one of these fellows; and men considered good riders in the East
are tipped by these ponies as easily as a stone from a slippery log. To
see a big tender-foot back a bucker is about as funny a thing as I ever
witnessed. The first jump the boy pops up about six inches, the next a
foot, and so on. Soon he pops up so high that the pony gets one pop
ahead of him, and when he comes down the pony is gone; and with a thud
he comes to the ground, usually upon the back of his shoulders, with
his feet gesticulating wildly in the direction he came from. These boys
are so well up to them, however, that they do not think much about it,
_ordinarily_, though there is one sometimes that it takes the best rider
to stick. I saw a boy mount a pony that it was said could not be rode,
while he said he could not be thrown. The pony began his wickedest; and
such bucking I never saw. He bucked for full fifteen minutes, and was
worried down. The blood was gushing from the mouth and nose of the
rider. The powerful jerking had almost _ruined_ him; and of the effects
of that ride he said he never expected to be cured. “But,” said he, “in
all my riding-experiences in fifteen years upon the prairie, I never
backed the like.” Now, when a little _mule_ once learns to buck, he is
what the cow-boys call double-geared lightning; for this, with the
natural-born ability of the mule, enables him to come as near _playing
hell_ as is possible without using the real material; and a person who
did not see him begin would swear it was a _herd_ of mules dashing
around, so numerous and violent are his maneuvers. When a wild pony is
to be broken he is roped, a saddle strapped upon him, and the rider
takes his seat. He is then turned loose upon the prairie to cut capers,
while the other boys ride after him to keep from going too far, or from
jumping into bogs or gutters. As they come dashing over the prairie
whooping and hallooing, the pony bucking and bawling, and the rider
applying his big spurs, the sight is grand; and it is seldom one of
these boys is moved from his seat. When the pony is worried out, he then
puts a bridle on him and drills him. Of course it would be impossible to
ride these fellows with the saddles that are used in the states. But, as
has been said, these saddles are large, the horn is high, and when
mounting a bad pony a roll of blankets is tied upon the saddle-skirt,
and it is difficult to get a rider from his seat. Some of these boys
have been almost _born_ in the saddle; and riding _so much_, they are so
bow-legged they can hardly walk. I have seen these boys ride along on a
dead run and grab up in succession four and five silver dollars that
were laid upon the ground fifty yards apart. They become very
_venturesome_ and _mischievous_, and sometimes catch the big-horned
Texas steers, jump upon their backs, pull their tail up over the
shoulder, and my, oh! what a time! The steer bounds away snorting,
bucking, and bellowing; but in spite of his efforts the boy holds on to
the tail and keeps his seat. When they want some milk they ride out and
rope a cow; and while the pony holds the cow they milk what they want.
From so much _practice_, these boys are as expert with the six-shooter
as with the pony; and persons considering themselves good shots should
not brand themselves superior until once shooting a round or two with a
cow-boy. I have seen boys ride over the river bridge at Granada, and at
a dead run shoot two and three glass telegraph insulators from the
railing in one round from the six-shooter. They practice this so much
that they can shoot better from a pony than from the ground. Some have
the cells filed out, so that the firing can be done more rapidly. There
are saloons all along the railroads and cattle-trails, and when the boys
are out alone upon the range for some time they feel like having a
_picnic_ when getting to where somebody lives. They are usually very
liberal when they have money, and everybody present is called on to
“come up and represent.” Whisky is considered the _grace of God_ in this
country, and of course it is very seldom refused. Now, if there are
several together, a few drinks about makes happiness full; and the ball
then opens. The boys all draw good wages, their expenses are light, and
most of them aim to spend in saloons every dollar that is not needed for
actual necessaries. They often draw from fifty to one hundred dollars at
once, and spend every dollar of it before leaving a saloon. There are
men making fortunes off the cow-boys to-day. There are professional
gamblers lurking around most of these frontier saloons, and they watch
to _intoxicate_ the boys and then play them out of their money. Though
the game be begun in the best of humor, it is usual for each man to lay
his six-shooter at his side; and the _maxim_ is, _mind your eye_. As
long as everything is done squarely there is no trouble; but the first
man that is caught tricking is in hot quarters; and I have seen some
deadly battles without one word spoken. Sometimes the gamblers entirely
strip the boys, and with an understanding, when there is a large pot,
they point the six-shooters at the gamblers’ heads and pull in the pile.

Some years ago Dodge City, Kansas, was given up to be the roughest and
most wicked place in the United States. It is situated right where the
Texas trail crosses the railroad, and was a regular stock-center.
Numbers of cow-boys were constantly going in and out, and whole dens of
gamblers and prostitutes were quartered here for lucre. The population
being composed of _such beings_, and the clash of the six-shooter being
the voice of the law, the vilest consequences are but natural. Ah! many
a man played his last game here, and mingled his dying-breath with the
lurid smoke of the six-shooters. Men were shot down like dogs, and
buried as they fell, red with gore and horribly mangled.

There is at this place a yard called the _Boot Grave-yard_, a place well
known to all western men, and called thus from the fact that
thirty-eight men have been buried here with their boots on. There was
scarcely a day that there was not a riot in town among the cow-boys, or
between the cow-boys and gamblers; and of course _shooting_ and
_cutting_ was the consequence. Emigrants passing through with wagons,
and not knowing the place, were decoyed into dark places and robbed.
Passengers from the trains, on going in for refreshments and showing
any amount of money, were trapped and robbed, and were killed upon
resistance. You are a stranger in the country, and they are all cliqued
together; and what are you to do? If you go to making much trouble, or
get to shooting off your mouth, the consequences can be imagined. Even
when there are _officers_, they are not able to command order; for the
first day they try it a ball from some unknown villain will strike him.
Hence the officers are usually cliqued with the desperadoes. The easier
a person can get out of these places the better; for the officers
themselves will put you into a dungeon for the gamblers to rob you.

Fully one half the gamblers and cow-boys of the West are persons who
have committed dark crimes and fled thither to escape _justice_; and
wickedness, when once _launched_, will find in this country easy
sailing.

As has been said, almost every cow-boy has one pony and riding-rig of
his own. In case he should come into a place and _kill_ somebody, this
pony is calculated to skip with to another part, thereby avoiding the
necessity of riding off one of the company’s horses.

The regular initiation to the cow-boys’ society is three murders; and
when they find that you are good stuff, and will shoot without
ceremony, you are one of the _boys_; and you may depend upon it that you
have friends who will stand by you in the hours of darkest danger. But
if you prove to be a _brag_ and a _coward_, your misfortunes are laughed
at.

If a criminal is pursued, and he can reach the banks of the Arkansas
River anywhere west of Dodge City, and then understands the plains, he
is as safe as though he were in an uninhabited land. Or if he does not
understand the prairie, and goes to a cow-camp and tells the boys what
is up, if he has the right appearance one of them will mount a _pony_
and give _him_ one, and lope across to another range. Persons who do not
know the country can not _follow_ a person here; and if it is tried, and
you do not perish from _thirst_, death will meet you in _some way_--you
can rest assured of that. Telegraph-wires and officers of the law are of
little avail here in running down a felon; and if a person keeps on his
guard, and stays upon the range away from the towns, there is no danger
of ever being taken.

Many of the boys are _never_ caught off their guard, and the belt is
upon them at the board and in the bed. They are _ever_ prepared. Every
stranger is watched with an eagle eye, and the least suspicion is nipped
in the bud.

There was one boy who had been upon the plains for several years, and
who had proved himself a hero. He had committed murder in Alabama and
fled from justice, and a New York _detective_ had been employed to hunt
him down; but it was some years before a clue could be found. He one
night came to the home of the widowed mother, and passing himself off as
a peddler not long from Germany, in a long, cunning conversation he
obtained a slight trace of the felon son; and at length he trailed him
to the Colorado plains. He learned that he was cow-punching; and the
only way to get him was to cow-punch too. So, rigging himself out in a
cow-boy’s dress, he hired to a company and went to work. He was at the
business several weeks, and at length came across his man. He had been
very careful about every word and motion, and, assuming a careless
appearance, he was not in the least suspicioned. He knew he was in a
dangerous position; for if the cow-boys even mistrusted him he would be
shot. But with great cunning and ingenuity he had avoided all suspicion;
and after awhile he became quite intimate, and was taken into the
cow-boy’s confidence. He watched his opportunity, and was alone with his
man upon the Tepee, in Texas, one beautiful summer’s eve; and they both
stooped to drink from the little stream. The detective was careful to
arise first, and drawing his six-shooter he leveled it upon his man, and
as he rose said, “Surrender, and be quiet; for you are my prisoner.”
Quick as a flash the cow-boy saw his position, and resolved to make the
most of it. Maintaining his presence of mind he coolly remarked, “Well,
I suppose you want my arms.” The detective, not realizing his real
danger, and not considering the cow-boy’s dexterity with a pistol,
assented to the boy handing him the pistol, but kept his aim. The
six-shooter was drawn from the scabbard, the fore-finger was slipped
into the guard in front of the trigger, and, taking the pistol by the
barrel, he reached it to the detective; and as he let down his own arm
and reached for the extended weapon the cow-boy whirled the six-shooter,
caught the handle, and in a twinkling a ball was sent whizzing through
the body of the detective; and he lay pouring his life-blood upon the
green bank of the Tepee, at the very feet of his intended victim.

It was only by long acquaintance and the most perfect confidence that I
was intrusted with these secrets. I passed by the dead body before the
color had quite left the cheeks. He was a fine-looking man, with an
intellectual appearance; but, lest he should give himself away, he had
cleaned out his pockets, and there was not even a paper by which his
name could be ascertained. There may be a good woman and loving family
somewhere in New York to-day waiting for the return of a long-absented
loved one; but God forbid that it should be he whose bones lie bleaching
on the banks of the Tepee. There are many such cases; and could the
ghastly skulls but tell their tales, great volumes could be written of
what will ever remain a deep secret.

Persons traveling over the plains will from time to time come upon human
remains, some but partially decomposed and others disarticulated
skeletons. A few miles north of the Arkansas River, in eastern Colorado,
there is a long, deep hollow that from the great number of skeletons
found therein is called _Dead Man’s Arroyo_. They appear to have been
there for many years; but there is not a mark upon the valley rocks or
spirit-whisper in the soft air to tell the sad tale. It is _supposed_
that a hunting outfit was surprised at night and murdered by the
Indians.

While hunting in the pan-handle country, we found the skeletons of four
ponies lying in a circle, and a human skeleton (apparently a negro)
lying among them. There were seventy-two Winchester cartridge-shells by
his side; and it is thought that he was attacked by Indians, and for
shelter shot down all his ponies, then fought off his enemies until his
ammunition was exhausted, and died by a cruel hand. I have spent many
interesting hours in the careful investigation of these mysteries, and
surmising the causes and means by which these results were effected.
From the fact that crime can be committed in the silence of the lonely
plain, with so little _danger_ of ever being discovered (the body often
wasting to a skeleton before being discovered), there are many
cold-blooded killings. When the least difficulty occurs among persons
here, the arbitrator is almost invariably the six-shooter.

There are _dance-halls_ in many of the _little towns_ within the
cow-boy’s range. They are usually built of sod or _adobe_, and are
about fifty feet long and thirty feet wide. In one corner there is a
bar; and in the back end of the building are several small rooms in
which stay the female dancers. They are usually Mexican girls. Musicians
are employed to stay here all the time; and every night some of the
cow-boys, Mexicans, or miners come in,--often from twenty and thirty
miles,--for a dance. At the end of each set each boy must take his
partner to the bar. Drinks and cigars are usually two bits apiece, and
the lowest is fifteen cents apiece or two for two bits. If it is found
out that there are boys in who have much money, the bar-keeper posts the
musicians and the sets are cut very short. As long as the boys will
spend money the dance is kept up, if it is all night; but so soon as the
money stops the dance stops. The profits are large, and among these
reckless boys a shrewd hall-man often clears from one hundred and fifty
to two hundred dollars in a single night. Knowing the character and
disposition of the persons who attend these balls, and considering the
attending circumstances upon these occasions, the scenes can be readily
imagined. Desperadoes gather in from all directions, boys meet here to
settle quarrels, and cow-boys and Mexicans being _natural_ enemies,
there are often mighty lively times. Each boy is ambitious to be a _bad
man_; and after they get pretty well fired with liquor the recklessness
commences and the wild spirit begins to glitter. Six-shooters are
jerked, knives are drawn, and with wild yells bottles and glasses are
shot from the bar, lights are fired down, and the basest profanity
floats out of the appertures of the earthly hell upon the prairie
breeze. Old grudges are stirred up, bullies try to pick a quarrel from
others and then strike them down and try to run the house. One boy will
imagine himself insulted by some other, and getting his friends together
a fight is begun. Boys are shot down upon the dancing-floor, and each
man tries to be the bloodiest. The consequences of these wicked balls
are often very bitter, and there are some sickening scenes to be viewed
in the morning light. I recollect being at Las Animas, Colorado, one
night when there was a dance at the old Alhambra (a Mexican dance-hall),
and I went to the ball to see how things were carried on and to learn
the Colorado styles. I got there early in the evening, and the Mexicans
were having a big fandango in six-eight time. About nine o’clock the
cow-boys began to gather in, when things began to warm up and the scene
put on a new aspect. The cow-boys got wild with liquor, and riding
around the hall yelling and shooting, they made the old _adobe_ dust fly
like sand in a hurricane. Bullets whistled in every direction, and when
one cut through my beard I concluded things were getting a little
_warm_; but wanting to see it _all_, I got behind the bar with the
tender. There were a good many _Mexicans_ in the hall, and the two
parties began to contend for the house. There were two doors in _front_,
and three boys arranged themselves in a line at either door. The doors
were then thrown open by others, and leaning low upon the ponies, the
six boys plunged their spurs into the sides of their animals and like a
flash rushed into the house. They rode up to the lights and struck them
down with their six-shooters; and then in the darkness the bloody
contest was hand-to-hand. The women screamed, the horses snorted, the
cow-boys shot, and the Mexicans cut. I knew the contest was bloody, and
I was anxious to know how the thing was coming on; but the horses were
prancing around so furiously, and it was too dark to dodge the bullets
that were flying like rocks in an earthquake, so I kept behind the bar
and waited for the curtain to rise. In about five minutes the noise
abated; and when the lamps were lighted a horrible spectacle met my
view. The ponies were all out; but three of the riders were horribly
mutilated and bleeding upon the floor. Two Mexicans (greasers) were also
riddled with bullets and gasping in death, while others were badly
wounded. I went out among the cow-boys and found that some of them were
also deeply gashed and bleeding. They had got the _worst_ of the battle;
and being late in the night they concluded to disperse and come in
_some_ other night for some more fun. There was not a boy in the crowd
that appeared to be in the _least affected_ with the loss of his
comrades, and with wild whoops they rushed off like the wind. Going into
the hall I found the band playing, and the Mexicans were preparing to
continue the ball. The five bodies were dragged up in the corner and a
blanket thrown over them, and in the blood of the expired men the
fandango was carried on till the morn began to dawn. This was a regular
_dance-hall_ scene, and not in any way an unusual one. I attended balls
at a number of different halls, and witnessed many bloody riots.

Of course, these halls are not allowed near towns of much _size_ or
_importance_, where men live with their _families_, but are mostly in
small places, and in many cases are far out upon the range. They are
built in all shapes. The very air is contaminated with the vicious venom
that arises from their walls like the odor from hell. Some are built by
digging into the _ground_ a few feet and then putting a few feet of
_adobes_ on top, making the ceiling just high enough for a man to _walk_
under; and when the fiends gather in the nights are made hideous and the
noise of the riots sounds like the rumbling of the infernal regions.
These houses are the manufactories of evil and the polluted fountains
from which untold misery and wickedness have been drunk by the
unfortunate ones who traveled thither. Many a noble though _ambitious_
young man, the pride of a happy family and the delight of his
fellow-comrades, has gone west to seek his fortune, like his forefathers
in years gone by. The location is often made in these wild places, and
when the cultivated delicacy and human timidity are once a little
numbed, he walks with his _comrades_ and is soon led to their venomous
dens. Though it may be a little _shocking_ at first, there is nothing
but his own lonely conscience to discourage him and warn him of the
enormity and danger; and under the circumstances the _ordinary_ man is
tempted and will go down. When he visits these houses the seeds are sown
in his breast that the oxygen of prairie air will hasten to maturity.

Every man who visits these places has his life in his hand; and it is as
easily dropped as though it were the most insignificant article. Often
when a fond family is daily looking for a loved one to return, his
spirit is winging the subtile air and his bones are bleaching upon the
prairie, the secret, like the body, melting into clay. Of course, as was
said, these vile places and extremely wicked inhabitants are principally
found in small towns in the midst of the unsettled _country_ or where
these earthly hells are pitched in the midst of the plain; for there are
some _pretty_ little towns and _good_ people. It appears somewhat
strange that man--and not only man--will so degenerate, and become so
extremely wicked and beastly; but it appears that the average person,
when living in a wild, unsettled country, surrounded with so much evil,
loses all his refinement and develops into a new creature.

While picturing western life and relating frontier adventures it may be
_proper_ and perhaps _interesting_ to many to give a sketch of the life
of Hon. Wm. F. Cody,--“Buffalo Bill,”--a man known the world over as a
border hero, of whom too much can not be said in the way of praise for
valuable services rendered the Government as an army-scout, guide, and
Indian-fighter.

Born in Iowa in 1843, at a time when that state was a border, and at an
early age going with his father to Kansas, in the midst of the troubles
there that “tried men’s souls,” William F. Cody was reared amid scenes
of danger, and met with many thrilling adventures ere he reached his
thirteenth year, becoming a “boy hero” when killing his first Indian
before he entered his teens.

The death of his father, from the result of wounds received in the
Kansas war, left the boy the support of his mother and sisters, and,
precocious for his years, he joined an emigrant-train as teamster, and
rapidly rose from that position to hunter and guide over the overland
trails to the far West.

Of his numerous adventures, narrow escapes, Indian battles, and
hardships volumes could be written--for he made his name famous along
the border from Utah to Texas; and though a mere boy in years, few men
were his superior in strength and endurance, while the cunning of the
red-man he matched with equal cunning, and, in fact, won the name of
being able to “out-Injun, Injun.”

Of Mr. Cody’s gaining the title of “Buffalo Bill” several stories are
told, one of which is that when a boy-hunter to one of Russell, Major &
Waddell’s trains, carrying Government supplies west to the forts, he was
alone on the prairie one day, hunting, when he espied a tremendous herd
of buffaloes coming toward him at full speed. The train-encampment was
miles away, the boy was on foot, and there was but one chance to escape
being trampled to death, and that was to reach a lone cotton-wood tree
some distance off. A fleet runner, he gained the tree and drew himself
up into the branches just as the herd of thousands of buffaloes came
tearing along beneath him. Scarcely had he mentally congratulated
himself upon his lucky escape when he espied behind the herd half a
hundred Sioux warriors in full pursuit; and he knew that they would make
short work of him, for they would also pass under the tree. To remain
was certain death; and his fertile mind saw a chance,--one in a
thousand,--and he seized upon it at once. He would drop down on the back
of a huge buffalo-bull, and thus ride out of danger. This he did,
landing astride of the back of an animal that, frightened fearfully,
endeavored to throw him off, but in vain. Fortunately the herd headed in
the direction of the train-encampment, and as the men ran out to secure
fresh buffalo meat they saw that one of the bulls had a rider, and a
crack shot bringing the animal down, it was found to be Bill Cody, who
was then and there christened “Buffalo Bill.”

Another account is that when hunting for the hands on the Kansas Pacific
Railroad he, in one season, killed four thousand two hundred and eighty
buffaloes, and thereby won the title that he is known by the world over.

As a pony-express rider, when fifteen years of age, under the famous
Alf. Slade, Buffalo Bill won a name as being a rider of marvelous skill
and endurance, making, on one occasion, a continuous ride of three
hundred and thirty-two miles, and accomplishing the whole distance in
twenty-two hours,--truly a wonderful feat.

But it was when he became a scout in the army that he made his greatest
name; and the general officers under whom he has served, and those who
have served with him, give him the credit of being a man of unimpaired
skill in prairie craft, indomitable courage, a miraculous marksman with
rifle and revolver, and at all times a gentleman.

Receiving only a common-school education, Buffalo Bill has since
educated himself; for, a thorough reader of human nature and close
observer of men and things, he falls naturally into the ways of polite
society, while, a great reader, he has a fund of general information one
would not believe possible to be attained by a person who had led his
arduous, busy, and adventurous life.

Over six feet in height, formed like an Apollo, and as handsome as a
picture, he is a man to attract universal attention wherever he goes, to
which, however, he seems utterly indifferent.

At the time of the visit of the Grand Duke Alexis to the United States,
General Sheridan selected Buffalo Bill as his guide, and he received
from the duke a magnificent diamond ring in return for his services, and
an invitation to visit him in Russia, which Mr. Cody says he will one
day accept.

Acting also as guide and hunter for numerous parties of English noblemen
hunting on the plains, and also for Mr. James Gordon Bennett, J. G.
Hecksher, Leonard and Lawrence Jerome, Colonel Schuyler Crosby, and
other noted Americans, he soon became known as a _bona fide_
frontiersman.

When the late Mr. Frank Leslie made his memorable trip to the Pacific
coast, Buffalo Bill was his invited guest through the Sierra Nevada
Mountains.

Thus becoming famous through his own deeds, Mr. Cody was seized upon as
the hero of many an “o’er true tale” in the weekly papers, and was urged
to come to the East and engage in a dramatic enterprise, in which he has
been successful as an actor, and made a snug fortune.

As a pistol and rifle shot Mr. Cody has no superior; and his deeds with
fire-arms are simply miraculous, and must be seen to be believed.

At present Mr. Cody resides at North Platte, Nebraska, where he has a
large cattle-ranch, which yields him a handsome sum annually, and where
he is known as a “cattle-king.”

The cause of this great region of the plains spreading out treeless and
devoid of vegetation has been the subject of extravagant _conjecture_,
and some queer _theories_ have been advanced. Some persons think that it
was once covered with trees and plants, but was swept over by fire,
which so thoroughly destroyed all seed and roots that there was nothing
left to sprout; hence the broad, clear range. All persons who have
_been_ upon the plains will scout all such theories, for nothing will
grow there if planted. The physical condition of this great track is but
the reasonable effect of the working of natural laws. _Rain_ is all that
is required to make the desert beam and blossom like the beautiful
valleys of the _states_, though of course it would take some years to
turn the dry sands into soil. No well-informed person wonders why
_Sahara_ is a desert; and though the region of the plains is visited
with a few more little showers, and the surface is not so sandy, yet the
_principle_ is the _same_. What falls from the clouds is but that which
arises by the process of evaporation from the waters below. The
evaporation from our little _inland_ waters is very _limited_, that as
_rain_ it would amount to very few and feeble showers. The great oceans,
seas, and gulfs that fringe the continent are the mighty reservoirs from
which rise our dews and refreshing showers; and wherever their moisture
is not carried, the effect is invariably that of which the great deserts
of the world, and the mighty plains of America, bear testimony to-day.
In this case, the distance is so great from the waters north and east
that all the moisture is lost before it reaches the prairie-land. It is
also a great way from the gulf, and to the west the _mountain ranges_
rear their cold summits aloof to extract the dampness from the Pacific
breeze. Hence, so long as the broad, open waters roll in their present
channels, and the hills and valleys remain, the American plains will
divide the East from the West, and their dry surface will glitter in the
bright, burning sun. It is, nevertheless, an excellent stock-range; and
judging from the mighty herds annually shipped from this great field, it
appears a _necessary_ pasture-land for the _world_. It appears that the
all-designing Providence, in the creation, prepared for the
contingencies of mankind, and adapted this region to its present use, as
well as the mountain-sides to the glittering diamonds and rusty ores.

There being so little rain here, there are no stagnant waters to poison
the air; and the atmosphere being so dry substances do not _rot_, but
simply wither, dry up, and blow away. Carcasses will sometimes lie for
_several years_ before the hide is broken. There are, consequently, no
noxious substances to impart their impurities, and the air is left
perfectly wholesome. The buzzard and blow-fly have no putrefying masses
to hover over, and are consequently not known here. Fresh meat can be
hung up in the open air, without salt, and it will dry out sweet and
beautiful; hence, the West for health. For pulmonary troubles, this
pure, dry atmosphere is the balm of life; and there are numbers of
healthy and happy persons in the West to-day, rejoicing and praising the
western angel who snatched them from the brink of eastern graves.

But to go back. I said we calculated to go into _business_ in the valley
for the winter; and so we did. Charles turned cow-boy, and stayed at the
home ranch during the winter; Dave and John were employed at the
round-house; and, seeing a chance to make money yet _another_ way, I
built a trading-house upon the prairie at the end of the railway-section
at Granada, where stand a few little houses. I stocked with blankets,
rough clothing, hats, boots, flour, corn, tobacco, cigars, etc. A small
space was partitioned off at one end for a bar-room, and I hired a
well-known and influential cow-boy to attend to this, not thinking the
latter an _honorable_ part of my business, to _Ohio_ eyes, but aware
that if a person wants to sell in any country he must keep what the
people want to buy; for _otherwise_ he is not patronized. My customers
were cow-boys, Mexicans, Indians, emigrants, and the few settlers in the
valley. Of course, one would naturally expect lively times once in
awhile, under such circumstances; but I could smell the money in the
air.

Myself and my hands were largely acquainted with the boys; and they came
in from all directions, saying that they wanted to spend their money
with us. The bar-keeper was _admired_ by all the boys; and having great
influence over them, he seldom had much trouble. I bought furs from the
Indians and hunters, and realized large profits. Taking strips of
bright-colored calicoes, I tied them in bunches; and the Indian being
great for dashing _colors_, a few cents’ worth of calico bought many an
Indian fur. They are also slaves to _tobacco_ and _whisky_; and it was
seldom they took _money_ away, no matter how many furs they brought in.
They never _wanted_ to _sell_, but to _trade_.

The boys here are very _curious_ about _luxuries_ and _oddities_; and I
used to have much sport with them. One time I sent to Kansas City for a
keg of pickled pig’s-feet; and when there were a good many _boys_ in I
opened it. After the boys found that they were good, I sold half a keg,
at fifteen cents apiece, before I stopped. It was amusing to see them
running round, each with a pig’s-foot in his hand. At another time I
bought a number of large silk _neck-ties_; and after selling _one_, I
sold the whole lot the same day for one dollar and seventy-five cents
apiece. They tied them round their necks, and used them for hat-bands.
Of course the _profits_ were large upon all sales, and I made money
fast. This was in the winter of 1878-9,--the time of the great
excitement and emigration to Leadville,--and being right on the route,
from fifty to seventy-five wagons daily passed my place for a couple of
months. The weather was usually bad and the traveling hard; and most
every one of the outfits needing something in my line, my sales ran from
seventy-five to one hundred and fifty dollars per day for several weeks.
I shall leave the reader to _guess_ at the _margins_, and only say that
we did not _deal_ in nickels. We were all now located at the same place,
and were making money; and many a fine old time we had together in that
old Arkansas valley.

We and several other persons kept a pack of greyhounds, and we often
went out for a chase. When wanting a chase, each boy going would saddle
a good pony, and, with the hounds trained to stay close in the rear, we
would ride out over the plain, looking cautiously for a flock of
antelopes, deer, a jack-rabbit, or a wolf. When a flock of antelopes or
deer is seen, the riders take advantage of the hills and ravines and get
just as close as possible without being discovered; then, turning the
hounds _loose_, away they go with the speed of the wind. If the hounds
are well bred, and can be gotten within a _quarter_ before beginning the
chase, they will usually be successful; otherwise the fleet animals are
likely to escape.

The _antelope_, as has been said, is a very vigilant and spirited
animal; and as they bound away in the chase they almost baffle the eye.
They always try to run down hill; and as they seldom run straight very
far, the riders can cut across and keep _near_ all the time, and often
run into the flock without going half as far as the hounds. A flock of
antelopes flying over the plain, with a pack of hounds close in the
rear, and followed by excited horsemen hallooing and flying their hats,
is truly a grand _sight_ as well as an agreeable sport. The chase is
sometimes _short_, and sometimes ten miles long; and I have rode among a
flock when they were trotting slowly along, with mouths wide open, and
the hounds within ten steps coming slowly along, with their great red
tongues lolling out. A well-bred buck antelope is a little more than the
average greyhound can overtake. The antelope is swifter than the deer.
Sometimes a large, well-developed _jack-rabbit_ jumps up; and when he
lays his long ears back upon his neck and gets down to his best he goes
like the news upon a telegraph-wire--only touching the high places--and
appears like a row of jack-rabbits. He can outrun the _antelope_ for a
short _distance_, but can not hold out so long. When a large _gray
wolf_ is started up there is fun. The dogs soon overtake him; but to
kill him is another thing. I have seen one wolf whip six hounds, and get
away. Hunters do not like to have their hounds tackle a _large_ one, for
he cuts them up so.

The cow-men and homesteaders are often visited by their _eastern
friends_, and these chases are grand sport for them. I recollect that
one time two young fellows came out to visit their brother in his little
_adobe_ in the valley; and learning of the sport, they were overanxious
for a chase. They asked us to take them out; and finding that they were
plug-hatted, nickel-plated fellows, with lots of _conceit_, we concluded
to have some fun. They bragged of their _riding_ ability, and being thus
relieved of the responsibility of breaking a couple of tender-foot
necks, we brought up two spirited ponies used to the chase,--and one a
professional _bucker_ when he took a _notion_,--and he would often take
a notion in the heat of the chase. The silk-hats, broadcloth, and
kid-gloves glistened in the sunlight, and their heads stuck up through
the glazed standing-collars; and as we pranced out upon the range I
could hardly conceal my _laughter_ when I thought of the fun to come.
All at once a powerful jack-rabbit jumped from a bunch of grass and sped
away like the wind. The hounds flashed by and were gone, and the ponies
needed no urging. In a few hundred yards the man on the bucker touched
his pony too far back with his foot; and _Jerusalem!_ to see that pony
buck was a caution. The first jump the old plug-hat rolled off over the
sand like a cannon-ball upon Lookout Mountain, the collar flew open, and
the breeches burst; the next he was popping a foot above the saddle with
his coat-tail playing in the air like the national flag; and the next he
was picking himself out of the sand, limping around on one leg, pulling
up his breeches, wiping the blood from his nose, and speaking the
Colorado dialect as nearly as possible, while the pony ran off in the
chase. The _other_ kiddy, finding that he could not _hold_ his pony, had
let go the rein and was holding to the saddle-horn with his legs spread
out like the holy cross, and his horse just flying. He ran among the
hounds; and the rabbit turning short, the pony gave one stiff jump,
whirled upon his hind feet, and ran on. The plug-hat flew, the rider
scooted forward, tearing open his vest and pants upon the saddle-horn,
and holding around the horse’s neck with a death-grip. The next turn the
_second_ kid-glove went scooting his nose in the sand and his heels in
the air. We saw that they were not _killed_, and ran on. After we had
the _rabbit_ we took a hearty laugh, and then caught the ponies and went
back for the good riders, who had stopped to rest. The _classic_
language had flown, and they were together brushing off their plugs and
knocking the sand from their ears, and talking in such language that any
_Colorado boy_ could understand every word they said. Well, there was no
_fun_ in the chase for them, so we went back and the boys “set ’em up.”
The stiffening was from their collars, and the conceit from their minds;
and I’ll bet if an eastern man tells _them_ that he can ride _any
Colorado pony_, they will say to themselves, “_He’s a liar._” The _ways_
of the _people_ and even the _horses_ of Colorado have to be _learned_;
and to a fresh eastern man it is a big lesson.

A man and wife by the name of Mills, passing here _en route_ for
Leadville, being a little short in finance, and finding that employment
could be had at the round-house, concluded to put up in a little board
shanty that stood near my place, and _work_ a few days. That very night
several cow-boys came in, and, as usual, did considerable yelling and
shooting. In the morning, finding six bullet-holes through his house, he
related his night’s adventure, and told how he and his wife had propped
the doors and then lay behind the stove, and said he would not stay in
that house and run his chances for the whole d----n round-house. So,
taking his outfit, he moved across the railroad a half mile down the
river, and there put up a _tent_ for his house. That afternoon a few
cow-boys came in, and the sheriff and two deputies from Las Animas
happening to be there, a trouble arose and the boys rode out and charged
upon the house. _Firing_ commenced, and the sheriff, with a large
needle-gun, shot dead one of the _ponies_, leaving its rider dismounted.
He ran right down the railroad toward the _tent_; and in firing after
him a bullet went through the tent, and several others buzzed by. This
was too much for the man in the _tent_, and he started back East that
very night by the light of the moon. He said if a man could not even
live in a tent out on the _prairie_ without being shot at every day and
night, _he_ had enough of the _West_.

Well, things went on, and toward spring my brother came out from Ohio
for his _health_. When the fur-season was going out, and the Leadville
travelers began to drop off, I sold out and began to prepare for a trip
into the mountains. My brother enjoyed the light, pure air and western
novelties, and decided to go along. Another young man named William
Gray, from Sutton, Nebraska, also decided to go. My old camp-outfit was
trimmed up, and everything was prepared to make the trip a pleasant as
well as an instructive one. Friend Charles had been called home to Ohio
by the illness of his father, and Dave and John decided to stay in
Colorado, and not go any farther west. It was quite _shocking_ to me to
think of going on and leaving behind my old comrades, with whom I had
traveled so many days, and eaten so many meals in our little camp up and
down through the broad, wild West; and especially _John_, who started
with me from Ohio, and sat with me upon the lonely plains in the bleak
winds of winter, and sultry breath of summer; whose tongue parched with
mine upon the desert, and who fought the same hungry pangs--one who had
proved himself a _noble_ and _gallant_ companion, and _brave_ in the
hour of _trial_. But it must be done; and after giving each other our
best advice, we took a long good-bye--perhaps forever.


    That parting I shall not forget,
      Though I live to be aged and gray;
    For comrade ties did _scarcely_ let
      Me tear from them away.




PART II.

CHAPTER I.

     We Start for the Mountains--Las Animas--Pueblo--Colorado
     Springs--Manitou--Mineral Springs--We Ascend Pike’s Peak--Balancing
     Rock--Garden of the Gods--Devil’s Hole--Return to Manitou.


At two o’clock P.M. of June 5th, 1879, everything being in readiness,
our little party of three bid farewell to our Granada friends and the
pleasant old tramping-ground and steered our course _westward_,
expecting to traverse the beautiful snow-capped mountains and to gratify
our long-cherished desires. There could not have been a more jolly
outfit than ours as we wound up the pretty green valley of the Arkansas,
waving our hats and flirting farewell to our acquaintances who stood in
the narrow doors of their little _adobe_ homes. To me it appeared like
leaving home; and, though cheered by pleasant anticipations, I have no
doubt that there was more solemnity in the occasion for me than for the
rest of the party, who rejoiced while thinking of the scenery that yet
lay before us.

We were now traveling upon what is known in Fremont’s travels as the
“Great American Desert;” yet the description given of this country by
General Fremont nearly half a century ago fails to compare with the
reality of to-day. Though I shall not stop here to question the
credibility of our able explorer, yet permit me to say, by way of
explanation, that great physical changes often take place, and more
especially in new countries; and notwithstanding Mr. Fremont’s
description of this part of Colorado is not correct as of the present,
it may have been _nearer_ so when _he_, with his daring followers, faced
the dangers of the savage land and matched strength with the red
warrior. As said before, this is now the home of the stock-raiser; and
thousands of cattle may be constantly seen grazing on this so-called
American desert. Here they remain during the twelve months of the year,
without shelter or any unnatural protection, and are compelled to “root,
hog, or die.” If the winter is severe, many of them fall victims to the
freezing blasts. But this being in the month of _June_, the cattle were
in fine condition; and while passing along our attention was often
attracted by their fine _appearance_, which drew forth many suggestions
and some interesting remarks concerning the subject of stock-raising, of
which the following is an example: “See that fine cow yonder; and look
what a fine calf she has. That cow and calf would be worth seventy-five
dollars in Dayton, Ohio. What do you think, Will?” “Well,” said Will,
who was always jealous over his native state, “we have lots of finer
cows than _that_ in _Nebraska_; and there are calves where I came from
that are but six weeks old which beat those all to pieces.”

Thus passed away the first day of our journey; and when the faint beams
of the sinking sun were playing upon the tops of the river cotton-woods
we halted for the night on the green banks of the Arkansas. After
watering the horses and picketing them in the most favorable spot for
grazing, the new party took its first supper in its own camp.

Our facilities for _cooking_ were somewhat limited to those
_inexperienced_ in camp-life; so, of course, the duty of getting supper
devolved on me. Though the boys felt a little adverse to a rough
hunter’s hands going into the dough, the little cloud was soon lifted
from their delicacies by the sight of an ovenful of large, light,
brown-topped biscuits, which Will said looked as though a Nebraska baker
had made them. Our fare, in addition to this, consisted of roast
potatoes with the hides on,--as cow-boys say,--meat, and sirup. The boys
ate with a relish; and after washing the dishes,--consisting of a
tin-pan and a knife apiece,--and considerable boasting as to who had
eaten the most supper, and remarks as to how well it _tasted_, the
blankets were stretched beneath the green-spreading foliage of a little
cotton-wood tree, and the little party, with but a single blanket
between them and the earth and a similar _covering_, lay down to dream
of the peculiarities of western life. There we lay, gazing at the
bright, twinkling stars and listening to the music of the purple waters
of the Arkansas as they rolled over a rocky riffle just above, until
slumber closed our eyes and shut our thoughts from the fields of nature.

We awoke at the first note of the curious little songster among the
branches above us; and after the boys had related their dreams, we all
went down to the river. The boys said it was the first time they had
ever used an Arkansas wash-basin. Biscuits were then made without any
_objection_ on the part of the boys. Breakfast being ready, we all eat
heartily; and it was not long before we were ready to roll up the valley
to the west.

But, lo! one of our horses, which had already become tired of the
_trip_, refused to go with us any _farther_; and this caused the
necessity of drafting a few resolutions, among which was the following:
“_Resolved_, That no Colorado pony can stop three boys bound for the
Rocky Mountains.” This resolution was at length unanimously adopted by
us; and the pony being in the minority, the force of the resolution was
brought to bear upon the only adverse party in the shape of a
cotton-wood sapling; and after a short debate we once more pushed
forward.

We had not gone far, however, before we came to a prairie-dog town; and
the little animals, seeing us trespassing within their corporate limits,
set up such a howling as to attract our attention. The little animals
would run from one burrow to another, stand erect upon their hind feet,
shake themselves, and dart into a hole in the earth, only to return and
repeat the same performance. We had just bought several new
six-shooters, and Doc.--a name given to my brother--thought that here
would be a fine place to try them. I advised the boys that I thought
they could not be hit, as I had often seen it _tried_, and never saw one
killed; and after several fruitless attempts Doc. concluded they were
too quick for powder. Turning to Will,--who sat upon the wagon during
the skirmish, like a Roman senator at an amphitheater,--and resolved to
save his credit as a marksman, he said: “Well, Will, what do you think
about this?” “Oh,” said he, “I have shot lots of them in Nebraska.”

As noon was nearing and the sun shining with unveiled splendor upon the
sandy plain, the heat was intense; and seeing a small _adobe_ house in
the distance we at once determined to go there, that we might procure
some cool, fresh water, and stop for dinner.

The road was smooth and the team fresh, and we glided merrily along and
came to the little town of Las Animas just as the sun was tinging with
gold the western horizon. There is a government fort here called Fort
Lyon; and after conversing awhile with the soldiers we entered the town
and at once proceeded to the post-office, expecting letters from our
homes and eastern friends. But unfortunately the mail had not yet
arrived, and we were compelled to stay the next day for the expected
news. As this little town, consisting of about five hundred inhabitants,
proved to be quite a lively place, we had no trouble in passing away the
time. During the day we conversed with various citizens; and the boys
were anxious to hear everything that could be learned about the country
and inhabitants. These conversations proved to be very interesting and
instructive. We were told that we were in Bent County, and that forty
years ago Mr. Bent lived here alone among the little trees upon the
river-bank, surrounded by wild beasts and savages. They told us of some
of his daring exploits with the Indians, and pointed to the place where
once stood his lonely hut, which is now mingled with the dust at the
side of his grave. As he was the first white man there the county took
his name.

The latter days of Kit Carson were spent here; and his remains are
buried near the river-bank, about five miles east of Las Animas. We went
to see the spot, and stood at the grave of him who was perhaps more than
a peer--in boldness and endurance--of any other who ever reaped his
livelihood in a wild, savage land. His little hut has almost returned to
dust, and a little mound of _debris_ among the trees tells where the
daring hunter lived. His grave is near by, and naught but a rude, rough
rock marks the spot where the gallant hero lies.

Here lives John Prowers, one of the wealthiest stock-men in the state.
Upon inquiry as to his great financial success, we were informed that he
came to Colorado a poor man; that he married the daughter of an Indian
chief; that at the birth of his first issue he received a donation of
five thousand dollars from his father-in-law, and continues to receive
this singular gift whenever a new member is added to his family. Mr.
Prowers has at present thirteen children. He says he believes in large
families and generous fathers-in-law. I might here remark that two of
his children are at present attending college; and it is said that they
are apt scholars, and intelligent and promising young ladies,
notwithstanding their Indian mother (who is so wretchedly stupid and
homely that nothing but the most glittering prospects for a large family
at five thousand dollars apiece could induce a man with the least taste
to love). It is said that when she and Mr. Prowers were first married,
she used to leave his home and be gone among the wild Indians for some
weeks at a time before returning.

Well, the day was an interesting one for us, and as the darkness
gathered we sought our camp and retired for the night.

The next day the mail arrived and brought the expected news. We at once
read our letters; and after some comment as to what our eastern friends
would think could they see us in camp, and what they would do under like
circumstances, etc., etc., we left Las Animas to take care of itself,
and resumed our journey. Nothing deserving of comment occurred during
the day. Suffice it to say that our team had a good rest, and we glided
along over the plain at a good speed, occupying the time by singing
songs and telling stories.

The next day three antelopes appeared at the distance of half a mile,
and we aimed our big rifles at them. The distance was so great, however,
that it could not be _judged_ by the _eye_; and before we could get the
range by _experiment_ (watching where the balls struck in the sand),
the animals dashed away. Will did not try his skill, but said that he
had killed antelopes at more than a mile distant in Nebraska.

We were now in sight of the long looked-for mountains; and although yet
nearly one hundred miles distant, their beautiful snow-caps shone
plainly in the bright sunlight. As this was in the heat of June, and the
scorching sun was beating heavily upon us, we felt delighted to see
_snow_, and imagined how cool and splendid it would be to sit upon the
mountain-top, and what fun it would be to snow-ball in the month of
June.

A few days later and we came into the city of Pueblo. This is a place of
about three thousand inhabitants, and situated at the western terminus
of the Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe Railway. We found out that there was
to be a good theater at the hall that night; so we made haste to get
supper, after which we changed our suits and at once repaired to the
scene of action. The play was “Ten Nights in a Bar Room.” I tell you it
was a real play, too,--there was no fiction about it,--for the hall was
a perfect bar room; and I am sure the actors had been there at least ten
nights, and not long absent in the _day-time_. Well, I had seen so much
of this that it was to me an old thing; but to the _boys_ it was rather
_exciting_. This place is situated among the hills and low mountains;
and while it is not large, and does not promise to _be so_, it is very
enterprising, and everything is lively. And there are some very good
citizens living here. Of course everything is high; though a very good
meal can be had for fifty cents. It is a wholesale place for many
mining-camps and stock-firms, as well as a supply-camp for the many
emigrants who are constantly going into the mountains. In the winter
season, when the mines are blocked with snow, many of the miners come
down here to board until the season comes round again. They usually have
considerable money; and though a great deal of it is _gambled_ away, the
hotel men do very well,--for they are the gamblers,--and there are
several fine houses here.

To stand upon a high bluff north of town just before sunrise on a clear,
bright morning in the summer-season, when the breath of the town is
warm, and look out in the distance upon Pike’s Peak, which rears its
snow-summit among the little cumuli, looking like the crowned king of
the _greenhorns_ with his white mantle upon him, and see the long range
extending far to the north and south upon either side, with a trail of
snow upon its crest, the beauty of mountain scenery appears in all its
perfection. When the wind comes from that direction, the breeze brings
with it the mountain breath; and oh, how lovely! Persons taking their
_first view_ of the mountains from this place are, without exception,
greatly struck with the grandeur, and are anxious to rove among the
snow-limbed pines. We were not _exceptions_, either; and after supplying
ourselves with the necessaries, we pushed off toward the beautiful and
attractive scenery. We were told before leaving Pueblo that the distance
to the peak was sixty-five miles; but before we had completed our first
day’s journey we concluded that we were misinformed. The distance
appeared very short; and we fully expected that at an early hour the
next day we could be ascending the mountain-side. The next morning we
arose early, and casting our eyes westward we beheld the towering,
silver-tipped mount in such grandeur as to far surpass our first view;
and we saw the power and beauty of nature in a single scene. We then for
the first time fully realized that to view mountain scenery in its
superlative aspect, it must be done from the eastern side, and just
before sunrise. We all began to estimate as to how far we had to travel
before reaching the object of our attraction. I--though used to the
_prairie_--thought the distance about five miles, Will about ten, while
Doc. offered to bet any amount that it was not over _three_ miles, and
that he could walk over there in an hour. Soon after we journeyed on,
_each_ feeling confident that a few hours’ travel would prove his
judgment as to distance. Presently, however, a man came riding by; and
each of us being eager to know who had guessed the nearest to the
distance, I inquired of the rider, whom we expected would know the
distance to a _certainty_. To our great disappointment and surprise, he
responded, “Just forty-five miles.” Certainly this appeared very
unreasonable; for nothing was plainer than that the peak was just by our
very side; and we could plainly see the little pines and cedars upon its
side. We were asked to not believe _our own eyes_. We found, however,
that we were rightly informed. Such is the deception which the
inexperienced are often bound to meet in this strange country. This
deception arises partly from the _immensity_ of the _object_, but more
especially from the _atmosphere_, which in this country is very dry and
clear; for the less dense the atmosphere, the greater the distance of
vision.

The next day we came into the beautiful little town of Colorado Springs.
The reader would naturally infer that from the name given to the place
we were now really at the springs so often mentioned by the tourist; but
really they are situated five miles west of here, and I shall have
occasion to speak of them hereafter.

It was now the _Sabbath-day_, and we concluded to remain here until the
morrow. After selecting a suitable spot upon which to camp, we changed
our suits and were soon wending our way through the streets toward the
little Presbyterian church. Here, although _entire strangers_, we were
at once directed to the most comfortable seats, and were regarded with
so much respect by the citizens that we again made a similar visit in
the evening.

We were now within five miles of the base of the mountain already
referred to; and as morning came and twilight dawned upon our little
camp, all were busy preparing to complete the distance to the object
which stood so majestically towering before us, with our minds fully
absorbed with thoughts of climbing its rocky sides and standing upon its
cool, snowy summit.

Before leaving here I desire to say a few words by way of description of
this pretty little place. The town--the population of which is about six
thousand souls--is situated on the Denver & Rio Grande Railway. It is
neatly laid off in perfect squares, the streets all being of the same
width. Along either side of each street are rows of beautiful, thrifty
trees, which almost meet their heads over the pass-way, rendering them
cool and delightful; while the water rolls in cool, crystal streamlets
at either side of every street. The buildings are all remarkably neat;
and there are two or three very large and magnificent hotels, with all
modern improvements and conveniences. Take it all in all, Colorado
Springs is certainly the most beautiful place we had ever seen. But as I
do not wish to weary the reader with long and tedious _descriptions_, I
must hasten to future events.

When we arrived within half a mile of the famous springs we camped among
the bushes on the bank of a little stream that flowed down from among
the mountains, in order that our team might have _water_ and good
pasture. We then proceeded the rest of the way on foot.

Our attention was attracted by the many vehicles passing to and
fro,--some very fine _carriages_ drawn by beautiful matched teams. On
closer observation we found that the passengers were usually lying in
beds prepared for the purpose, and apparently sleeping. On inquiry, we
learned that these were _invalids_; and as they were unable to occupy
any other posture, on account of physical weakness, they were taking
their exercise in that way. Here might be seen numbers of such invalids
from all parts of the Union. They are usually affected with _pulmonary_
disease, and consequently come here to breathe the pure mountain-air and
to drink of nature’s healing fountains.

The springs are situated in a deep hollow near the base of the peak; and
three splendid hotels, with a few dwellings, a livery-stable, a grocery,
etc., constitute the town of Manitou, the asylum of the _afflicted_,
with whom the large hotels are often crowded.

Well, we first came to the _sulphur_ spring; but after tasting its
water--which proved to be not very palatable--we proceeded to the next,
which we found to be soda-water. There is a beautiful polished rock,
about six feet square and quite thick, carved out like a basin and
placed over this spring, to receive the clear, cool waters that
constantly bubble up through the silver-sand. We had yet one spring to
visit, and this was the iron-spring; so, after seeing it and tasting of
its waters, I told the boys that I had now tasted _all_ of them, and
that I preferred water without mineral. Will suggested that it might be
like beer--it does not taste so well at first, but it does not take long
to get used to it. Doc. thought that the greatest objection was, the
springs were half a mile from camp, and a mile would be a long way to go
every time a fellow wanted a drink. So he accordingly procured a little
brown jug; and after it was filled we started back for camp. We had not
gone far when of a sudden the cork flew forcibly from the jug; and
striking Will on the most prominent feature of his face, it brought
forth a few strains of Colorado eloquence. Here Will set the jug down
and positively refused to carry it farther; “for,” said he, “if the rest
of you want to run the risk of drinking that water, all right. But I
don’t calculate to take any chances; for who knows but what the blamed
stuff might blow a fellow up?”

We spent some days wandering up and down the lovely passes and sitting
beneath the little trees on the brinks of the clear springs from whose
waters we daily drew. To attempt to describe this place as it really is
would be undertaking an impossibility; for the beautiful green slopes of
the surrounding mountains, upon which the tasteful hand of Providence
has planted her most lovely pines, the great silver-topped monument to
the west that rears its head far above the clouds as if to call down the
blessing of Heaven upon the pools below and guiding the afflicted to the
fountain of life, the little springs away up in the bluffs that send
their clear, icy waters rippling down the mountain-sides among the
pretty trees, are all too _perfect_ and _beautiful_ for the human hand
to imitate or the mind to imagine.

The _medicinal_ qualities of the springs, too, are very great; for many
persons who reached their green brinks exhausted, emaciated, and pale as
death have felt new strength at the first draught, and in a few weeks
the thin form, with the slow, faint pulse, is as a new person, and the
color is seen coming to the cheek.

The cool breath of the mountain, which constantly kisses this little
paradise during even the sultry months of summer, together with the
beautiful surrounding scenery, are _alone_ enough to delight the heart,
banish the dull feeling of affliction, and tune the aching heart with
health and happiness.

The large, fine _hotels_ at _this place_ and at _Colorado Springs_ are
principally occupied by _invalids_ who come with _fortunes_; while there
are hundreds of _wagons_ standing among the trees, with _tents_ by their
sides, in which _they_ stay who come with spare frames and sparer
fortunes. I have gone among these many wagons; and while I found some
comfortably located, with all necessaries and conveniences, I also found
some wretched families, with scarcely enough to eat and not sufficient
clothing to hide their wasted frames. Some are stretched upon miserable
couches, with the shades of death upon their countenances. Medical skill
has broken the feeble means, but life continues to waste; and now, with
the last few cents, they come to drink of the _free_ fountain of
_Nature_. I have often thought, as I saw so many afflicted gathered
round these wells, of the healing waters of which the _Bible_ speaks,
which the angel came down to trouble. While there are deaths _now_ and
_then_, a greater portion of the invalids go away mended.

Besides _afflicted_ persons, there are many wealthy families who come
here to recuperate and spend the summer-season. They usually lodge at
Colorado Springs, and take their daily rides down to Manitou
fountains,--often in the finest vehicles, with beautifully matched
teams, which are kept for this purpose. What a _contrast_ between these
hale, hardy persons, who are rolling in luxury and happiness, and those
fever-racked invalids in the little tents on the hill-side.

The water is very _unpalatable_; and though a person can not drink more
than a swallow or two at _first_, by sipping at it daily it will at
length taste very well, and can be drank freely. The _soda-spring_ is
used the _most_, though the others are best in many cases--according to
the complaint.

    Here is the place, sick friends, to drink;
    For the angel of life stands on the brink.

We were all very anxious to ascend _Pike’s Peak_; but upon inquiry we
found it to be thirteen miles from Manitou to the summit, and was
usually ascended by burroes (donkeys), which were kept there for that
purpose. Accordingly, arrangements were made for starting the next day.
Before the appointed time we went among the long-eared herd which was
soon to take us up the mountain-side, each one wondering which one would
be selected for his seat, and how the ugly things would ride anyhow.
Here we learned that four other tourists were to accompany us--this
increasing our number to eight, including the driver. At the appointed
hour the saddles were placed upon these little _samsons_, and without
halter or bridle we mounted for the trip. Will remarked as he mounted
that the people in Nebraska always rode with bridles, and that he
thought it a very poor way anyhow to place your life within the power of
a d----d jackass. A loud yell from the driver, and the herd started
forward. As the road was not unusually rough for a mountainous country,
nor the ascent very steep, we got along very well the first mile; but
then the road became very rough. And so steep was the ascent that often
the little creatures that carried us stood almost perpendicular upon
their hind feet, and the path was so narrow that we had to go single
file. Thus we went on, the driver remaining in the rear, applying a
great whip to the burroes without mercy whenever necessity required it.
At the expiration of about three hours we came to the half-way house,
and halted to partake of some refreshments and to warm by the fire, as
the air was getting _cool_. Soon the driver announced the time to start
on, and we remounted. We were now above _timber-line_; and nothing
appeared before us but the bald and rugged mountain. On we went, winding
our course among the huge rocks and up the gorges until we arrived at
such an elevation that breathing became difficult, and one of our
companions began bleeding at the nose. Here our new companions announced
their inability to go any farther; and they proceeded at once upon the
return. After bidding them good-by, we, together with the guide, pushed
forward, determined to stand upon Pike’s Peak, or find that it was
_impossible_ to do so. As we ascended the air continued to grow lighter,
and affected our breathing considerably; but we were now nearing the
summit, and being so absorbed with glowing thoughts of standing upon the
great peak, we still went on, uttering no word of complaint. At length
we arrived upon the summit. The dutiful little creatures swung their
long ears back and forth as though they felt as glad as we. Here we
were, fourteen thousand feet above the level of the sea, far above all
surrounding objects, and naught but the horizon to bound our vision.
There is here a United States signal-station; and the officer lives in a
little stone house. He says that he stays here the year round, going
down to the valley now and then; and Indians never bother him. He says
that the elevation does not affect him much, as he had become somewhat
_used_ to the light air. Upon inquiry concerning the weather, he told us
that he was sometimes visited by violent thunder-storms; and the
lightning played upon the mountain-top, at times ingulfing him in
electric fire and rocking his little house. Dense clouds of vapor hung
around the mountain far below, and we fully realized that we were indeed
above the clouds. After descending we learned that while we were upon
the summit, with the sun brightly shining above our heads and the snow
glittering beneath our feet, a fine _warm_ shower was falling from the
clouds into the valley below. After having enjoyed the novelty of wading
snow-banks in the summer-season to our satisfaction, we were ready to
descend. So, with many happy wishes for our mountain friend, we began to
go down. This, however, was not very _pleasant_; for every step the
burro made he jerked his rider severely. Will remarked that he did not
mind riding donkeys as long as they stood on their hind feet; but he
could not go it when they stood on their heads. It is certainly
_remarkable_ to see these small animals carrying more than their own
weight upon their backs; and, notwithstanding the steepness and
roughness of the road, they seldom lose their footing,--though I once
saw one descending a steep bluff with a load upon his back that made him
groan, and losing his footing, he tumbled down the mountain and dashed
his life out upon the rocks in the gully below. They have proved to be
of great _service_ in mountain regions; and hundreds of them are daily
climbing and descending their rocky sides.

In due time our party arrived safely at Manitou--the trip having cost us
just five dollars apiece. We had now _seen_ and _experienced_ the
changes in the atmosphere from the lovely valley below, to the
mountain-top far above the clouds. We had gone in one day from where the
air was perfumed with the odor of sweet, tinted blossoms and flowers, to
the land of snow-banks where vegetation did not grow. We had seen the
tall, graceful pines dwindle to low, dwarfy shrubbery, and then give way
to the cold, bare mountain. It was a _lesson_--a practical and
instructive one. We now felt considerably exhausted, which we manifested
by retiring an hour earlier than usual. We felt a little sore the next
morning, but were soon as nimble as ever. It usually takes between five
and six hours to ascend, and between four and five to descend; and many
persons can not stand it to go up at all. The trip should not be made in
one day.

We had now been here some days; and though it seemed to us a life-time
could be spent in this beautiful valley, we were compelled to leave for
other scenes.

The Garden of the Gods, so often spoken of by the tourist as a pretty
place, we learned was but two miles off; and we concluded to visit this
natural curiosity. The road to the garden wound like a serpent among the
rugged, rocky mountains, and with much difficulty we passed along. It
was not long before we came to a curious object. It was the wonderful
balancing rock. This huge stone, weighing many tons, rests upon another
stone with a foundation of but about a foot. It is apparently just
balanced, and looks as though it could be tilted by little power. It is
a wonder; and we gazed upon it with interest. The road ran by its side,
and it appeared to be somewhat risky to drive by. Will said he would go
and throw it over; and he was soon seen with his shoulder against the
mountain of stone, fully believing himself able to overbalance the rock.
But his strength was not a _mite_ to what was _required_, and he gave it
up. I found that there was no _danger_, and drove by in safety. Another
mile among the brush and rocks, where the trail of the mountain-goat was
fresh, and we passed between two gigantic natural pillars of stone, and
opened into a level, lovely valley, about six hundred yards in length
and two hundred in breadth, richly carpeted with soft, green grass.
Surrounding it were towering rocks of red granite some three hundred
and thirty-seven feet high, and of all shapes,--some of them presenting
a grotesque though beautiful appearance. Occasionally there might be
seen a little grass-spot, with here and there a bush, away up in the
mountain crevices, among which sported the birds of gaudy plumage,
singing their sweet songs of glee. The little conies sported here and
there from rock to rock, and the mountain-sheep, with their long snowy
coats, stood far up among the bluffs looking shyly upon us; and we sat
viewing the surrounding curiosities. How appropriate the name “Garden of
the Gods!” We camped here for the night at the foot of what is known to
the tourist as the perpendicular rocks. Up in the mountain just outside
the garden was a pretty little lake of clear water, and taking a bucket
I started up with the team to water them and bring some to camp. Will,
being much attracted by the _scenery_, at once began climbing the rocks,
expecting to arrive at an elevation from which to obtain a more
extensive view of the surroundings, while Doc. remained at the wagon
loading shells for our rifles. Scarcely had I arrived at the lake when I
became startled by the cries of Will, who was now rushing, rolling, and
tumbling down the mountain toward the wagon, yelling out, “Bear, bear!”
I hastened to the wagon, and, seizing my big rifle, started to the
rescue. Doc. had already _arrived_; but the terrified Will rushed down
the gorge like an arrow, with his hat in one hand and his gun in the
other, not noticing us nor slackening his speed until he was safely in
the wagon-bed; and he did not stop his noise until he was tired out. We
struck bruin’s trail in the sand and followed it for some distance, and
at length caught sight of him; but before I could salute him with a
rifle-ball he entered a dark cave among the mighty rocks. We went to the
mouth and dared him out; but he did not come, and we had _good reasons_
for not going in. He was a medium-sized black bear, and looked as though
he might be a pretty good squeezer. The chase was now ended, and after
procuring a few specimens of rock we went to camp. Will had quieted
down, and upon our making fun of him and asking him why he did not shoot
the bear, he said that it was so rough up among the rocks to skin an
animal, and so far down to the wagon to carry the meat, that he thought
the bear would follow him right into camp, where he would kill him and
have it handy. The scheme would have appeared very plausible could he
have explained that infernal _yelling_. Presently, upon looking upward,
we saw a mountain-squirrel skipping about among the rocky ledges; and as
the sharp report of a six-shooter rang out upon the evening breeze, we
were delighted to know that we were to have rich squirrel-soup for
supper. Night soon came on, and the blankets were spread for retiring.
But Will was excited, and said that he did not calculate to take his
_chances_ of going to sleep in a place where the bears were sticking
among the rocks, and panthers and wild cats were working their
scratchers out and in, practicing for a grab, while rattlesnakes were
looking out at us from every little bunch of grass; “for,” said he, “the
devil knows what may happen, and no one be awake to see it.” I felt very
sure that Will would not sleep much that night; and knowing that if he
saw danger he would make noise enough to awaken us and alarm even bruin
himself,--as he did before,--we concluded to retire as usual, taking the
precaution, however, to picket the horses close to camp, as they readily
scent strange animals and snort; and this was also a guard.

In the morning after breakfast we took a short ramble, looking at the
many curiosities and natural beauties in and around this lovely green
pass. Hundreds of names are carved or written upon the rocks here; and
the names of Miller and Llewellen are painted in large letters upon the
very crest of a rock several hundred feet high. The side upon which the
_names_ are written is as perpendicular as though it had been hewed down
by human design; and it is also very steep on the other side, where the
parties must have climbed up and then leaned over in the swimming space
to write. It must have required great labor to get there; and nothing
but a burning, ambitious desire to be where man had never been,--and
where so few could go,--could have led these men to climb so far in the
air and register their names upon the very margin of the death-register;
for if, in climbing, the foot or hand hold had given way, the body would
have been precipitated to the level without hope.

    Glory is sought in curious places,
      Over land and on the sea;
    But these were its _faintest traces_--
      So at least it seemed to _me_.

We were not as full of adventure as _they_; so _we_ cut our names in the
base of a smooth, red rock that towered far above us and came to a
point like a spire.

While working here we noticed a small hole at the bottom of the same
rock, just large enough for a man to crawl through; and upon examination
we found that it was the entrance to a cave. The hole was smooth, and
looked as though it had been used. It took some time to convince Will
that the _bear_ he had seen could not get in there. But at length we all
concluded to enter the dark dungeon; so, after _arming_ ourselves, we
took a lantern and a few tallow candles and crawled in. After going but
a few feet we could stand erect; and then, each with a light in his
hand, we penetrated the cavern, which ran into the body of the solid
rock. It was twenty feet high and ten feet wide, and so _ascending_ that
we were obliged to crawl upon our hands and knees as we proceeded. The
floor was covered with dust from the rocks; and in this we could see
many tracks, some imitating the wild cat and the panther. We did not
know what we might come in contact with; but being full of _curiosity_
we crawled on until we came to the end, which was fully twenty yards
from the entrance. Here a small stream of water gushed forth from the
side of the cavern, and, after running a short way, terminated in a
small pool worn in the rocky floor, from which it sunk unperceived away.
We tasted the water, and found it cool and pure; and in the lamplight it
glittered like crystal. We now descended to the entrance, and looking
carefully at the wall we found several names cut there, apparently some
years since; and we registered there also, and then made our exit.

We had now seen all the curiosities of this beautiful garden, and
prepared to leave. It is only possible to travel through the rugged
mountains by way of the natural passes; and we were compelled to go out
by the _balancing rock_--the way we entered. The road was rough and
narrow; but we passed along, conversing of the great beauties of nature,
and at sunset we stopped for the night upon our old camping-ground near
Manitou.

During the evening we had conversations with several persons familiar
with the surrounding country; and they gave a glowing account of the
South Park, representing it to be a beautiful, open country, lying just
over the Green Horn range, about forty-five miles from Manitou, and
that it abounded with deer, antelope, elk, etc., and that a large _bear_
had been killed but a few days before among the South Park pines. We
were also informed that this was a favorite hunting-ground, and that
small bands of _Indians_, who claimed the ground, were constantly
wandering through the park in search of game; and considering white
hunters _trespassers_, they often gave them much _trouble_. I had
already seen many of the red race, could speak many words in their own
tongue, and had become so used to their appearance that the quills and
plumes did not scare me much; and the boys being delighted to hear of a
country which afforded an opportunity to try their new guns, we
_determined_ to visit the place, notwithstanding a little danger.




CHAPTER II.

     Start for South Park--Ute Pass--Rainbow Falls--South Park--Bear
     Fight--Leadville--Sallie Ray--Chimney
     Gulch--Trout-Fishing--Denver--Cheyenne--Black Hills--Bitter
     Creek--Antelope Springs--Wolf Adventure--Green River--Old Emigrant
     Road--Echo Canon--Utah--Park City--Ontario Mine--Quartz-Mill--Kinds
     of Mines--Prospecting--Start for Salt Lake.


The next morning we rose at the dawn of day, and after breakfast we
filled our jug with soda-water and journeyed for South Park. There was
but one accessible route from this place in that direction, and that was
up through the famous Ute Pass.

We had gone about a mile up the pass when we came to the Rainbow Falls,
to the left of the narrow road. The waters of a mountain stream roll
over a precipice one hundred feet high; and as it dashes over the rough,
projecting crags and is lashed into foam against the rocky sides, its
roaring can be heard far up and down the pass. During the forenoon in
summer the sun reaches this place, and, striking the crystal waters as
they roll over a certain large rock, a most perfect and beautiful
rainbow, with brightest tints, is reflected upon the rocks at the side
of the chasm. Hence the name, “Rainbow Falls.” Tourists to Manitou are
usually taken up here on burros.

The walls on either side of the pass were a couple of hundred feet high,
and at some places almost met over our heads; and the gorge was so
narrow that there were but few places where wagons could pass. It
appears as though an all-wise Hand had hewed out this pass with an
express design; for there would be no other possible way by which these
rugged and towering mountains could be crossed. Though the way was yet
rough and steep, we greatly appreciated our privilege.

It was now necessary for one of us to go on ahead to give the proper
warning to outfits coming down the pass; and though we had traveled but
about fifteen miles it was dark when we came to the top of the range,
and our horses were much fatigued; and having walked all the way
ourselves to lighten the load, we also felt much worried, not being used
to mountain travel. So as soon as the horses were properly cared for
and supper was over, we at once prepared our couches and lay down to
sleep on the cold crest of the Green Horn range, at an elevation of ten
thousand feet above the sea. The night was very cool; but we were among
the pines, and building a good, warm fire, we slept quite comfortably.

We had just laid down when the horses set up such a snorting as to
plainly indicate that something strange was nearing our camp. Quickly
buckling on our belts and snatching our rifles we ran into the darkness,
and crawling cautiously in the direction indicated by the frightened
animals, we lay flat, awaiting the approach of some wild animal, or
thinking that perhaps Indians were lurking around the camp watching for
our team. Presently the rustle of a chain was heard, and Will excitedly
growled out: “Boys, the devil’s got us this time; he has his chain
along.” Soon the object could be seen slowly moving toward us, and from
its appearance I was slow to contradict Will’s assertion. However, as it
came nearer we found it to be a burro, with a chain to its neck. This
little creature had probably strayed from its owner, or perhaps escaped
from a massacred outfit, and not wishing to be alone had come to our
camp by the fire-light. After scouting around camp a short distance, we
again lay down.

The next morning, though in the heart of summer, the water that we had
left in a bucket was frozen so hard that it could hardly be broken with
the hand. Taking an early start we renewed our journey.

We were yet about thirty miles from the park; but being now upon the top
of the ridge, and the rest of the road descending all the way, we
expected to camp in sight of the park that night. Instead of walking all
the way, as the day before, we could now have the satisfaction of riding
at least part of the way. We were not used to such hills; and we soon
concluded that it was easier to go up-hill than down. The road was in
some places so steep that we had to lock all the wheels and tie a log in
front of the hind wheels, and then tie ropes to the wagon and hold back
besides, to assist the horses in their descent. It was very tiresome;
but we went down pretty rapidly, and at sunset we camped by a little
spring that nestled beneath a large rock in sight of the great South
Park.

The next morning we went down into the park in search of a good place to
camp. In a mile or two we came to a little stream, and after following
its meanderings a few hundred yards we found it bubbling from a
beautiful spring at the foot of a high bluff. The whole surrounding was
carpeted with richest pasturage; and now having the two most necessary
elements for the forming of a first-class camp, namely, water and
pasture, we concluded to stop here while hunting through the park.

The description given us of this valley was not in the least
exaggerated; for it would be difficult to imagine a more delightful
place. One does not appreciate a pretty valley until he has climbed
around awhile among the rough, barren mountains where the wild goat
harbors; and then when he comes from the rocky cliff into an opening
like this, several miles in length and a _half mile broad_, the floor
almost level and richly carpeted, dotted here and there with little
quakenasp groves, among which the fountains head and send their crystal
streams down the pretty green slopes, he sees it in its fullness, and
justifies the name “park,” or even paradise.

We looked upon the surroundings and were delighted; and we congratulated
ourselves upon our good fortune in having the opportunity to behold this
beautiful garden of nature.

Having been warned of the Indians, our first work was to prepare a
little fort for a retreat, should it be necessary. There were several
trees that had been blown up by the roots lying close to camp; and
cutting these into logs we rolled them in shape and made quite a fort.
Will was now left here while Doc. and myself started out through the
park in search of meat for supper.

After roving around for some time, viewing the pretty valley and looking
for game, we caught sight of a herd of deer; but being too far off we
did not shoot, and disappearing in a quakenasp grove they were not seen
again.

We were already quite a distance from camp; and as the sun was fast
disappearing behind the mountains, we now felt the necessity of
retracing our steps. On nearing camp, Doc. succeeded in killing a large
jack-rabbit; and this, with some nice biscuits, was our supper.

The shades of night had now gathered, and we prepared to retire. The
horses were brought near camp, and driving the large iron picket-pins
deeply into the earth, they were firmly fastened, lest they should break
loose and escape should anything extraordinary occur. The fire was now
extinguished, that no enemy would be directed by it to our camp; and we
lay down within our little fort to sleep. Nature could not have formed a
more beautiful night. The sky was thickly studded with stars, and not a
cloud was to be seen. The zephyrs softly and noiselessly fanned the
valley, and but one noise could be heard--that was the sweet murmur of
the little brook which rippled among the roots and pebbles by the very
side of our bed. We for the first time felt lonely, and realized that
the music of nature is sweet. Soon our eyes were closed in slumber; and
without even a dream to disturb us, we slept sweetly until morn.

We ate a hearty breakfast,--which was chiefly the rich, delicious flesh
of the antelope,--and then concluded to make another hunting-expedition,
similar to the one the day before. Our belts were filled with
cartridges, and our six-shooters and knives were buckled about us; and
taking our big rifles, we left Will in camp as usual, and went off down
the park. We came to a stream that rolled down the mountain-side among
the thick pines; and knowing that deer kept in the thickets during the
day, coming out night and morning to eat in the clear valleys, we
concluded to follow this stream up the mountain. We caught sight of
game on several occasions; but the timber was so dense that we could not
see it until frightened, and we arrived at the mountain-top at twelve
o’clock without making a successful shot. I now sought a clear place;
and climbing upon a huge rock I placed the field-glass to my eyes, and
looking down over the tree-tops into the valley below I could plainly
see our camp. The horses were quietly grazing near by, and Will, from
his position at the fire, was probably getting dinner. As everything
seemed quiet, we felt no uneasiness concerning camp; and being but about
four or five miles therefrom, we started over the opposite side of the
mountain. We soon came to a small crystal lake; and for the first time
since entering the park we saw Indian signs. There were many tracks upon
the brink of the lake; and some being quite fresh, we were convinced
that we came but a little too late for company. Several small canoes
were floating loosely upon the water, and we supposed them to be used
merely as pleasure-boats; for as the lake was about one hundred yards in
diameter, they could be of but little use in travel. A boat-ride in the
wild mountains is a rarity, and Indian or no Indian,

[Illustration: THE MOUNTAIN LAKE.]

we concluded to have a boat-ride right there. So stepping aboard, I
plied the rude oars, and we shot over the lake. It was fine sport, and
we felt pretty good over a free boat-ride. After the first excitement
had worn off, we began to consider our position. We were rowing the
Indian’s canoe upon his own waters, and if seen by him would be
considered trespassers; and at that very moment the eagle-eyes might be
watching us from the surrounding pine-thickets. Though we did not care a
darn for the trespass, we fully realized our helpless position in case
of an attack, so we pulled for the shore.

Half of the afternoon had already passed away, and feeling pretty good
over the boat-ride, we started for camp. About an hour before sunset we
came to a very rugged part of the mountain, and feeling considerably
wearied we sat down upon a log to rest. While looking around at the
pretty scenery, we saw a small woolly animal lying in the leaves at the
foot of the tree upon which we sat. It was apparently asleep; and
approaching it cautiously we got within a few steps of it, when it
discovered us and sprung to its feet. It was a cub bear. We rushed upon
it, captured it, and concluded to take it to camp alive. The little
fellow kept up a continuous growling and snapping; and after finding
itself completely overpowered it uttered a loud, piercing cry, which was
answered by a terrific roar just behind us in the bushes. Doc. said we
had played h----l now; and turning around we beheld two large grizzly
bears, with roach up and froth on their lips, rush out of the bushes but
a few rods away, and with angry snarls were coming upon us. The grizzly
bear is the most ferocious of the bear tribe, and will attack the hunter
with the most desperate and persevering fierceness, especially in the
defense of its young. The brutes were closely upon us, and not a moment
was to be lost. Raising our large rifles to our shoulders, we both fired
at the same instant; but, unfortunately, both shots were fired at the
same bear, which for a moment stood paralyzed and then fell over dead.
The other one was already standing upon his hind feet within a few feet
of Doc., extending his affectionate arms for a hug, and from the looks
of his mouth, a kiss too. In attempting to reload his rifle he found
that the shell had stuck in the chamber, so dropping the rifle he drew
his six-shooter; but before he could fire it was knocked from his hand
by the powerful paw. Again Doc. grabbed up his gun, and by repeated
blows with the heavy barrel over the nose, which is the most tender part
of the bear, he succeeded for a few minutes in keeping bruin at bay. All
this was the work of an instant, and I saw the necessity of a shot from
my big rifle to stop the infuriated beast. So, having shoved a cartridge
into the chamber, I took deliberate aim at the heart and fired. The bear
shifted just as I pulled, and instead of the ball striking the heart, it
entered a few inches above the intended mark, crushing the
shoulder-bone. This completely disabled the left fore leg, and the
animal fell at the report of the gun; but after rolling over two or
three times upon the ground, he again reared upon his hind feet and
renewed the contest with apparently increased fury. We now used the
six-shooters,--known as forty-fives,--and which were also deadly
weapons. Nine shots were fired, when the frenzied beast became subdued
and fell dead at our feet. Upon examination, eight of these shots were
found to be simply flesh-wounds, yet a solitary ball, having penetrated
the heart, would necessarily have produced death. The conflict was now
over, and we looked about for the pet cub. Just around the edge of the
cliff we saw an entrance, leading, as we supposed, into a cave among the
rocks. Here was doubtless the abode of the bruin family; and we supposed
that the cub had gone in, but had no particular desire to go in to see.

We were soon on our way to camp, each carrying a bear-hide and a chunck
of the meat. The hides were dried, and proved to be of much service.
During the day they served as cushions for seats, and when the nights
were cold they were our warmest covering. As we had often heard of
bear-flesh being the most delicious of all meats, we were anxious for a
taste. Accordingly, a quantity was at once placed upon the fire for
supper. We were a little disappointed; but having exercised considerable
during the day, it nevertheless tasted very well.

The next morning we set out to cross the park. About 3:00 P.M. we
arrived at the opposite side, and concluded to camp until the morrow. We
had scarcely halted when a single Indian came out of the pines, and
manifesting friendliness, came up to our camp. He could speak a few
words in English; and we soon found that he wanted a shooting-match. We
disregarded his solicitations for a little while; but he still
presisted. Doc. then took his rifle in his hand, and making him
understand that he was the poorest shot in the party, showed him that he
would shoot. The Indian appeared delighted; and walking away three
hundred yards, he cut a notch in a tree with his tomahawk, and with
utmost satisfaction came back to shoot. He expressed his desire that
Doc. should shoot first; and without ceremony he fired, striking the
center of the white chip. The red-man gave his shoulders a shrug, and
with an “ugh” of surprise he refused to make a shot, and was soon gone
away disgusted into the pines. There were doubtless many others among
the surrounding hills, and this one had perhaps come out to test our
ability with the rifle. They are cautious about approaching the unerring
ball, but at the same time entertain comparatively little fear from the
awkward marksman. They have entertained this dreadful fear of the big
rifle in the hand of a good marksman ever since the year 1860, when a
party down in Texas were rounded up by buffalo-hunters and the most of
them picked off at a very long range. This information is in every
tribe, and will doubtless become proverbial. “Why,” they say, “the big
bullets are whizzing down in Texas yet, hunting Indians.”

The next morning, while preparing breakfast, two other Indians appeared
and asked for something to eat. We did not hesitate to share with them,
and they eat greedily. I might here remark that during the whole of our
extended journey, notwithstanding that we were often approached by the
hungry Indian as well as white man, we never refused to share eat and
drink, no matter how scanty our supply.

Having heard so much about Leadville for the last few months, and seeing
such vast numbers of emigrants daily winding their way to the mountain
of wealth, we concluded to give it a visit also. We could hear the
whistles blow, and see great columns of smoke rising from between the
hills when we were yet fully fifteen miles away. We began to see dead
horses and mules by the way; and as we proceeded the numbers increased
until within a mile or so of the place the way was literally strewed
with dead animals; and there was not a spear of grass left for our
horses to graze. We at length arrived at the great center of excitement;
but the scene I can not describe. The place lies between two ridges,
and is nine thousand feet above the level of the sea. No costly
mansions, built with time and care, adorn the place, and no spacious
business blocks, with their beautiful polished fronts, are seen; but the
great mining metropolis of the Union stands with her hastily-reared
cabins among the green stumps of the late forest, and her hundreds of
tents glitter upon the hill-sides that have been left rugged by the
spade of the hungry miner. Snow glistens upon the crests of the high
mountains in every direction. Its cold breath brings chill to the camp,
and the nights are very cold.

The population is estimated at twenty thousand; and with fully one half
of these miserably located in wagons, and insufficient coverings, there
is much misery. Like unto the finding of gold at the discovery of
America, the populace had been excited far and near, and the greedy
seekers of the precious metal came rushing to this find in the cold,
bleak mountains like perishing cattle to the pool. West-bound trains
were every day behind time with their terrible loads of people, who did
not consider that there could be no accommodations in a place so
rapidly sprung, and the consequences were hunger and exposure. This
resulted in disease; and at one time many were daily swept away by
pneumonia. The horses, too, standing unsheltered upon the
mountain-slopes by the hundreds, with no pasture but the green twigs of
the fallen trees, and the little feed that some of their owners could
afford to buy, contracted diseases; and the town was literally
surrounded with dead animals. Many poor men, depending upon their teams
for support, were entirely broken up. Persons coming by wagons usually
had a small stock of provisions and beds along; but the thousands who
came from the East by rail were at the mercy of those who were prepared
to board and lodge. There were boarding-tents stuck upon the hill-sides,
and, though all could not be accommodated, meals were from one to two
dollars apiece. There were other lodging-cabins, and this was from fifty
to one dollar per night. I have seen persons who just came from the
East, and not wishing to peril their health by exposure in the cold
night-air of the mountain, offer five dollars for a comfortable night’s
lodging. They had plenty of money, but the accommodation was not to be
had; and many a person from a good, warm bed lay here shivering in the
folds of a single thin blanket, and paid an exorbitant price for the
privilege. There was one large hall, which was built at the beginning of
the excitement, and which now rented at seventeen hundred dollars per
month. It was used as a saloon, and had two bars, with two tenders and a
cashier behind each; and day and night the drinks were issued as fast as
these men could tend. The spare part of the hall was let out to lodgers;
and persons paid fifty cents per night to wrap themselves in their own
blankets and sleep spoon-fashion upon the floor. The floor was covered
every night. It would be difficult to even imagine the amount this firm
daily realized. There being no railroad here, everything had to be
freighted in over rough mountain-roads, and of course was very high.
There was but one route by which a railroad could reach the place, and
that was up the grand canon of the Arkansas; and this was just wide
enough for one track. The Denver & Rio Grande and Atchison, Topeka &
Santa Fe companies both saw the great prospect for a road to Leadville,
and they both began to extend their tracks. They came to the canon at
the same time, and a quarrel arose as to which should enter. Each
company employed squads of men to guard its workmen, and gave them five
dollars per day; but great bowlders would tumble down the canon from
several hundred feet above, and thud heavily in the waters below
whenever work was begun. This war was waged for some time, during which
several men were killed. At length United States troops were called to
the scene, and General Sherman came out to quell the war. The matter was
taken to court, and after a decision in favor of the Denver & Rio Grande
Railroad the little narrow-gauge wound up the gorge to the town.

Persons who bought property here at the early stage of the excitement
suddenly rose to men of wealth; for a lot in the heart of town was worth
far more than a lot in the center of Dayton, Ohio. Many shrewd persons
made fortunes here, in various ways; and some lost all they had. I will
venture that there are many returned to the East with Leadville
experience to-day who will consider before they rush wildly to another
find in the cold, bleak mountain in the winter-season.

In connection with this sketch of Leadville I feel constrained also to
add something that will doubtless be interesting to many, as showing
the physical and financial ability of woman as well as Leadville
opportunities. Mrs. Sallie Ray, known as the Leadville washer-woman, has
to-day an income of thirty thousand dollars per annum, owning property
in Leadville that rents for two thousand dollars per month. The
following is a brief history of this wonderful woman: She was born in
the north of Ireland in the year 1830, and came to New York when she was
fifteen years of age. She there married a book-keeper named Joseph
Ordway. He soon died, and she went west to Leavenworth, Kansas. From
there she went to Denver, and finally, in 1867, to Leadville. In Denver
she married a man named Frank Hay; but he died soon after, leaving to
her a daughter, Cora, now a pretty girl of about seventeen years. Her
career has been a peculiarly eventful and exciting one, and would
doubtless make an interesting little volume. She has dug in mines,
fought in Indian wars by the side of her husband, scoured the plains on
horseback as a scout, and became an expert at the business. She braved
the dangers and storms of winter, where Leadville now stands, before
there were houses to inhabit; and she says she used to keep Cora
wrapped up in warm blankets, day and night, to keep her from freezing.
She helped found the city of Leadville, mapped roads, built houses, and
took in washing from the miners. When the place became settled, the land
she had taken up turned into a fortune; and as the silver rattled down
the wash-board she felt herself growing rich. She weighs about one
hundred and forty pounds. Having her property all in the hands of good
agents, she is taking her ease.

There are constantly finds being made that create a great excitement at
first; but in most cases they prove inferior to expectation, and soon
die away. On the contrary, _this_ has proved a good camp; and from the
rich finds that are being made every once in awhile the whole town and
its surroundings appear to be threaded with rich veins of silver-quartz.
We were not greedy or in any wise excited, however, and concluded to
leave the place and steer for Denver, the queen city of the West.

We passed down Chimney Gulch, the great natural pass through the
towering Rocky Mountains, and in which roll the clear waters of a
beautiful mountain-stream.

We camped one evening in this gulch, fifteen miles from Denver, and
thought to try our hands at fishing. We never had _success_ in fishing
in _clear_ waters, where the fish could _see_ us; so, of course, we
sought a place where the water was _shaded_. After finding a place where
the water whirled into foam round a rock, and grass floated on the eddy,
we cast our hooks; but in spite of the soft, delicious fat meat that we
suspended there was nary a bite.

There were some fellows out from the city, also; and they, too, were
fishing, but with better success. They came up to where we were; and
seeing the place in which we were fishing and the bait we used, they
burst into a hearty laugh, and asked us if we were not cat-fishers from
Arkansas. Will was a little insulted at this remark, and told them that
the fishers were all right but the darned _fish_ were just like the
_people_ out west here--used to _eating_ nothing but mud and
grasshoppers, and did not know what meat was.

I was willing to be called anything, so I could catch fish; so I went to
their wagon, and, finding that they had a nice bucket of trout, I
decided to take a little piscatorial information. I learned that trout
stayed only in clear water, and were from six inches to a foot in
length. The fishing is usually done with a fly; that is, a little red
feather tied just over the hook. When _baiting_ is used, grasshoppers
are the _best_; and _meat_ will not do at all. Will was right. The hook
is cast into the water where trout are seen, or where there are rocks or
logs under which they are likely to be, and then dragged up and down to
attract attention. The hook is sometimes drawn past the fish several
times without notice, and of a sudden a dart is made at the fly or bait;
and in either case he usually sticks.

We had better success in our fishing after this lesson; but we also
learned that it took ingenuity and lots of experience to catch speckled
trout. Finding the grasshoppers few, and the best jumpers we ever saw,
we concluded that the fish we could catch would not satisfy the hunger
engendered in capturing the baits; so we gave up the sport to look at
the mountain curiosities.

The walls upon either side of the gulch tower several hundred feet high,
and in some places are almost perpendicular. The gulch is very narrow
here and there, and the stream takes up nearly the whole pass. In these
places the way has been worked and walls of stone have been built. We
thought the people of Denver had done this through _necessity_, and
never even _dreamed_ of a toll-gate. But in the morning, as we came near
the mouth of the gulch, we found a fair tree suspended in the way; and
were asked one dollar, or ten cents per mile, for the privilege of
passing under. Well, there was but one thing to do, for even the
best-trained burro could not climb round the gate, and the man who stood
in the door of his little cabin with his belt of six-shooters on, looked
as though he meant to collect his toll, so we paid the bill and drove
out from the mighty walls upon the pretty level prairie.

It was Sabbath morning, and the sun shone brightly. The tolling of the
church-bells could be distinctly heard, while the spires rose high and
glittered in the sunlight. It was a delightful morning, and we passed
merrily along, anxious to stand in the beautiful streets of the western
Jerusalem. We soon met the folks from the city riding out in their fine
carriages, enjoying the soft, pure, morning air, and we thought of home.
We had a white cover upon our wagon, and as the little ones passed by
they would excitedly call out to pa and ma to look at the gypsies. When
near the city we met two young men on horseback who were disagreeing as
to the distance of the mountains that hung upon the edge of the prairie
in the direction from whence we came. One was acquainted with the
country and _knew_ the distance; but his comrade was insisting that it
was but three miles at most. So, standing as he was between the great
confidence he had in his friend, and his own judgment, based upon real
observation, he came to us acknowledging his fresh arrival from the East
and inexperience in the country, and asked for the truth. We had been in
his fix at Pike’s Peak, and though realizing his position, we told him
it was full fifteen miles, and drove on.

We at length came to the city and camped in a pretty grove upon the
banks of the South Platte that rolls along the edge of the corporation.
It was a cool, delightful spot, and there was a wagon beneath almost
every tree, while great numbers of children were playing in the cool
shade. Some had come here to spend the summer and had large tents up,
and cooking-stoves, and other household furniture. They live
comfortably in the pure, soft, open air. We went into the city, and were
greatly pleased with its fine, large buildings, and pretty, dry streets.
The principal hotels are the American, Interocean, and Grand Central.
These are very fine houses, and are usually crowded to their utmost
during the summer by persons who come here to spend their vacations for
their health. There are persons in Denver who say they came here
hopeless invalids, and to-day they are stout and hearty. The population
is said to be forty thousand; but from the fact that there are so many
transient persons, it is hard to estimate. The post-office is large, and
has three general deliveries, each taking charge of the mail under
certain letters of the alphabet. These deliveries are opened for a short
time whenever a mail arrives; and persons looking for mail have to be on
time. There are so many persons here from the East, and who have no
boxes, that to avoid rushing and confusion they are made to form rows
and march up in regular order--the little one standing an equal show.
These rows sometimes reach clear out of the house and far down the
sidewalk, and persons often stand at the delivery fifteen minutes before
it opens so as to be first; for sometimes the window is closed before
all are served. The city is very thrifty; and at the time we were there
fifteen hundred houses were said to be in process of erection. All kinds
of business is flourishing, and workmen appear to be encouraged. Law is
excepted, for there are more lawyers here than would be necessary to do
three times Denver’s legal business. Just south of the city is located
the largest gold and silver smelter (it is said) in the world. By
miners, farmers, stock-raisers, and tourists the city is supported.
North and east of the city there are several hundred acres of good
farming-land; and the very best crops of wheat, potatoes, oats, etc.,
and some splendid fruit also, are raised. Of course it is all done by
irrigation; but the mountain-streams are near, and the broad, level
fields are easily flooded.

Our next place was Cheyenne, Wyoming, which lay about one hundred and
ten miles to the north; so taking a last look we left the beautiful city
behind and journeyed up the Kansas Pacific Railway. There was a
well-broken road all the way, and we glided smoothly along, crossing
over the Little Thompson Creek, and near by Fort Collins, and soon
entered the city. It is situated upon the north bank of a branch of the
South Platte, called Crow Creek, and is surrounded by barren hills. The
great Union Pacific Railroad runs through the place, and the Colorado
Central and Kansas Pacific roads terminate here. There is a great deal
of mining-machinery manufactured here, and this, with the railroad
shops, stock-raising, and the government fort near by, is what supports
the town. The town is somewhat scattered, and the buildings are mostly
old and very common. There are many saloons and gambling-houses; and
though there are undoubtedly some _good_ citizens here, the people
generally are pretty rough characters--the female portion not excepted.
However, the place is not nearly so notorious as years ago, when it is
said they used to have a man every morning for breakfast. We paid here
four cents per pound for potatoes, three cents for corn, five cents for
flour, and for other things in proportion.

Our young friend William Gray here concluded that things were not like
they were in old native Nebraska,--to which he was fervently attached;
and not wishing to experience any more changes, see any more Indians, or
get any farther from home, he concluded to go back where father’s
chimney helped make the morning fog. So, mounting his pony, he bid us
good-by, and loped out of sight down the railroad with a light heart,
and the determination to live and die and be buried in blessed old
Nebraska.

Will had hardly gone when two young men named June and Hugh Goodrich
came to our camp; and finding that we were on our way to California, and
that we wanted company, they made application, and we concluded to go
together. They were brothers, and were then on their way from Missouri
to Oregon. We were in camp together but a few days until we found that
though they were _inexperienced_, they were nevertheless good, honest
boys; and we were proud of our new companions.

We now started for the notorious Black Hills that lay along both sides
of the line between Wyoming and Dakota, and one hundred miles to the
north. There was a wagon-road leading from Cheyenne directly to the
hills, and taking this we crossed over the Platte River. In a few days
we were in sight of the hills. They are high, rugged, and perfectly
barren, and the surface is so dark as to have the appearance of burnt
prairie. Hence, the name Black Hills. We pushed on up to Camp Bradley,
and then visited some of the mines. The miners say that this is
undoubtedly the richest mining-district in the West; but for mining
there is much water needed, and this they lack. The artesian experiment
is being tried, but thus far with poor success. But should this
eventually succeed, mining-stock in the Black Hills will be at a
premium. Work is going on, however, but the pannings are light.

The Indians have been a reigning terror to the miners here, and whole
outfits have been murdered on the way, while men were every day shot
down with picks in their hands by the hidden foe. The little camps that
stick here and there among the hills are made up of men who care not for
man or devil; and a rougher set I never saw. They beat cow-boys badly.
There is a saloon and gambling-house in every camp; and could the hills
but speak, they would tell of crimes as black as the sands upon their
slopes. The hills can be seen from one or two points on the Union
Pacific Railroad. There is a branch railroad being now built from the
Union Pacific a little west of Cheyenne to the hills.

We now came down the north fork of the Cheyenne, then over on the
Powder, and then down the Platte to the Union Pacific Railroad again,
and started west. We soon came to Rawlings, a place spoken of in
connection with the White River agency massacre as where the troops left
the railroad to go to the scene. We now opened into a dry, sandy desert,
and were compelled to make forty and fifty mile drives, with the wheels
rolling deep in the soft surface, to reach water.

In one of these big drives we came to a little stream called Bitter
Creek, that flowed noiselessly down a ravine; and the first impulse was
joy. But when we got to the bank we found a notice stuck up warning us
to not let stock drink for the water was poisonous. It was as white as
milk with alkali; and we wondered if we had not struck the land that
flows with milk and honey--however, we saw no honey around. The horses
wanted to drink, but we carefully kept them from it. Taking a cup, I
resolved to taste the stuff, poison or no poison. I took but a little
sip, and was satisfied; for it was so strong that the skin came off my
lips and tongue wherever the water touched.

We came to the mountains at dark, and following a road that branched off
down a deep gulch to the right we traveled about two miles and opened
into a little basin covered with rich, green grass, and where the pure,
cool water bubbled from the foot of the mountain and ran off down the
hollow, glittering in the bright moonlight. Having just come out of the
scorching sands, and not having had a drink of good water for several
days, the camp was to us delightful; and the ponies, after quenching
their thirst from the crystal stream, rolled themselves upon the soft
lawn and went to grazing the tender grass as though well contented.

There were several other outfits there also; and by one of the wagons a
splendid, large, dark-bay stallion lay dead. The horse was very dry when
he came to Bitter Creek, and in spite of all warning his owner let him
drink; and though he took but a few swallows of the ugly water it did
the work.

We stayed here the next day to recruit our team, and killed a fine large
deer that came to drink at the water below; and the following morning
we took our last draught from the cool waters, and rather reluctantly
left the beautiful Antelope Springs to climb up the side of the mighty
mountain to the west. We wound slowly up the steep side, and it was
nearly night before we reached the top. When once there we could see for
miles around over the rugged, barren peaks and the dry, sandy plains of
Bitter Creek. The timber was but dwarfy bushes; the air was light and
cool, and the clouds swept by our feet along the crest of the mountain,
being sometimes so thick as to hide objects but a few yards away. We
looked down the other side, and it appeared to be miles to the bottom;
for the pines in the valley below looked like little twigs on a
hazel-brush. We descended but a short way when we came to a pretty
spring and stopped for the night; for our horses were very tired. The
next day at noon we reached the bottom; and as we looked back it seemed
as though we had come directly down from the heavens.

Here stood what is called Quakenasp Mountain; and from a cliff away up
in its side sprung a stream of clear water which came tumbling down over
the rocks like a cataract. We had heard this mountain spoken of as
being a great place for game; so, being remarkably fond of hunting, we
concluded to stop and try our hand. There were great chasms in the
mountain-side, and these were filled with thick growths of
quakenasp-trees and bushes, down among which the water flowed and where
the game harbored.

Leaving the Goodrich brothers in camp, Doc. and myself each strapped a
blanket upon his back, and, taking our big rifles, we started up the
mountain. We saw some sign, but no game until we reached the top.
Looking down the other side we saw a little branch running down a deep
hollow, and we descended. Here the banks were all cut up with the sharp
hoofs of the deer and elk, and the print of a single Indian moccasin
could be seen in the soft sand at the brink. The slopes were all covered
with sage-brush as thick as a man’s leg and as high as his breast, with
here and there a little pine-tree. I often think of it to-day as the
wildest-looking place I saw in all my travels.

Our camp lay just over the mountain, about four miles away; and as the
darkness was already gathering we concluded to stay here till morning
and shoot the game as it came to the water. So, wrapping ourselves in
our blankets, we lay down among the sage-brush at the roots of a little
pine sapling that stood on the bank of the stream and were dozing
sweetly when the piercing howl of a wolf, that appeared to be trailing
us down the mountain-side, broke the deep silence and roused us from our
slumbers. Almost instantly howling began in every glen and on every
hill-side; and the shrill notes echoed down the valley in which we lay.
We had always kept a fire when in bad wolf-countries before; but
thinking that there was no danger here we had avoided fire on account of
the game. And it was even dangerous to start a fire here among the dry
sage-brush without first carefully clearing a place; for, should the
fire break out, we would surely perish in the flames. What was to be
done must be done quickly, for the brush was crashing at our very sides
and the deafening cries rang in our ears. Fire-arms against such numbers
was a feeble defense; and there being no other tree that could be
reached in time, we both sprung into the slender sapling that we knew
was too weak to bear us up, just getting out of the way when several
large wolves reached the tree. Doc. being the lightest went up first,
and I stayed as close to the bottom as I could to take off as much
weight as possible. But, just as we had anticipated, the tree was too
weak; and, bending over, Doc. was left within six feet of the ground, so
that we were both almost within reach of our hungry foes. Thicker and
thicker they came and louder and louder they howled until they looked
like a large flock of sheep, and we could not hear each other speak.
They became so ravenous that they would spring up and clash their
foaming jaws together, sometimes within a few inches of us, and now and
then catching parts of our clothing, and blowing their warm breath in
our faces. It was a critical moment; and had that tree been high enough
I would have climbed up to the moon. But it was the best we could do;
and with our knives in our hands we struck them in the head as they
jumped up. The prey was so near that they lost themselves in anxiety and
rage, and would spring at the tree and gnaw like mad maniacs. This I was
careful to stop with a shot or two from my six-shooter; for should the
tree be weakened in the least we knew very well that it would make but
little difference to us who got to be president of the United States.
We fought them off in this way for several hours, and until there were
many killed and great numbers wounded. All of a sudden--as though their
attention had been attracted by something else--they ran off, howling,
down the stream. This was our opportunity; and leaping quickly to the
ground we grabbed our rifles and ran for another and larger tree that
stood two hundred yards away. We got about half way when we found that
they were coming back; and then there was a race for life. We thought
that the sage-brush were thicker than we had ever seen them; and it
appeared as though the tree were a mile off. On we went, lunging,
leaping, and falling, and the howling became too near to sound nice. The
tree is but a few yards away, yet the brush are rattling at our very
heels and the angry growl is plain to our ears.

The tree is reached, and we each spring for a limb and draw ourselves up
out of the very mouths of our enemies. For a moment we are safe. But,
great horror! Just at that moment Doc.’s limb broke, and he fell back
among the enraged throng. He alighted upon his feet, however, and
leaving his rifle fall and throwing his blanket from his shoulder the
attention of the wolves was slightly diverted, and, quick as a cat, he
sprung for another limb; but before he could draw himself out of the way
several large fellows firmly fastened their fangs in the legs of his
pants, and I thought the show was about over with him. They howled and
raged and tore, with their game in their very jaws; but Doc. held to the
limb with a death-grip, until I shot the wolves that held him down, and,
drawing himself safely up, he heaved a long sigh of relief and appeared
to be surprised to find that his legs and feet were all there, with but
a few light scars.

We were now safe; but the wind turning cold about midnight, our couch in
the tree was very unpleasant, indeed. The pack appeared to be bound to
have meat, and stayed round the tree, howling and gnawing, until near
daylight, when they began to disperse, and the noise died away among the
rifts and gorges. When all was quiet and the night was done we stepped
to the ground much relieved. The tree was terribly torn, and the ground
and brush all around were smeared with blood and foam. We found twenty
large wolves lying dead among the sage-brush, with wounds from knife
and bullet. Great pools of blood stood here and there, and the blankets
were hanging in shreds on the brush. We had had wolf-calls several
times; but that was the most disagreeable call we had ever experienced.

We did not think it worth our while to look for game in that part after
such a night of carousing, so taking our rifles we started up over the
mountain for camp. We got near the top, when hearing a racket among the
crags and bushes near by, we dodged behind a large rock and prepared for
the oncome. Soon a large elk dashed from a deep gorge, and started off
down the mountain-side, closely pursued by several great wolves. Quickly
resting our rifles against the rock, we sent our lead upon the elk; and
with a jerk of the head and a high leap in the air, he fell dead among
the rocks, and the wolves ran off in fright. It was the largest of the
species that I had ever seen, and the tips of its great horns were five
feet apart. Taking the tongue and saddle, we went down into camp and
found everything all right. We then had breakfast; and the soft flesh
was delicious. I shall never forget that night, and shall ever feel
thankful that our new comrades were left at camp; for otherwise, with
their inexperience, the result would certainly have been bitter to our
little camp.

Well, we were now ready, and again rolled on, crossing over a dry,
barren belt of country, and at length arrived at Green River, a little
town situated on the banks of a stream from which it takes its name. At
this place the stream is one hundred and fifty yards wide, and the
water, as indicated by the name, is really of a light-green color. It is
also very clear and deceiving, and rolls so rapidly that it is
considered a very dangerous stream. The evening that we arrived there
was a man upon the opposite shore with a large herd of horses that he
had raised in Idaho, and which he was driving East. They persistently
refused to enter the water; but after repeated attempts they were
started in. Seeing them drifting far down the stream, he swam his horse
in below, intending to keep them up. He was known to be an expert
swimmer; but the herd drifted against him, and in some way getting
dismounted, he was borne down beneath the surface; and the fishes that
sport beneath the green waters are probably to-day playing around his
white frame. His wife and two children witnessed the terrible sight from
the bank, and were almost distracted with grief; but the mad waters
rolled on, and they were widow and fatherless.

There was a whole gang of miserable-looking Arkansas emigrants, with
their ox-teams, and old wagons with tops patched with dish-rags, old
hats, etc., stopping upon the bank, and thinking themselves unable to
pay the ferryman’s bill of three dollars per wagon, were debating what
to do to get beyond. The price _was_ exorbitant; and finding the
ferryman a very independent gentleman, I jumped on a pony and rode into
the stream to try its depth. The waters were very clear, and I found the
depth to be very irregular,--some places being very deep, and others but
three and four feet. I was very careful in picking my route and marking
it by objects upon the bank, and at length went back for the wagon. We
passed ropes under the bed and lifted it up to the top rings in the
standards, and after putting the stoutest horse on the upper side, and
tying a couple of stones to the axles, we drove in. This was an anxious
moment for the Arkansas emigrants, who lined themselves upon the bank
like a lot of mud-turtles in a morning-sun, and watched every turn. We
got off the route a little a few times, and the horses could hardly keep
their feet in the deep water, but we arrived safely beyond. A loud cheer
went up from the Arkansas side just as we landed; and though the
ferryman became very clever, and offered his services very reasonably,
the oxen were yoked, the little ones loaded up, and in they came in our
course. It was an interesting sight, and we stayed to see it. The oxen
refused obedience, and were hard to manage in the deep waters, and
several times some of the wagons drifted into deep places and the water
came up in the bed, driving the big fat corn-fed girls to the
side-boards to cry for help; and the number of little fellows, as they
stuck their unkempt heads out from under the cover of many colors,
looked like eagles’-nests floating on the water. The old he-Arkansaws,
however, stayed by the teams, and one by one they wound up on the bank.
When they were all safely landed, it was amusing to see the old fellows
going around their wagons as though looking if any were missing, while
the little ones jumped out in the sand and sported around in the sun
like little wet dogs.

We then moved on, and the next day camped at the edge of a pretty
forest. The following notice was stuck up on a tree: “Warning! Three
hundred Indians in this vicinity.” We kept a sharp lookout; and though
we saw some of them, we had no trouble.

We were now traveling on the old California emigrant-road; and every few
miles we would find stones or boards stuck up at the road-side with
almost obliterated inscriptions of “Dora Sires, killed by Indians,” or,
died of fever, etc., etc.,--some of the dates being as far back as 1850.
We chatted with several old Forty-niners in our rounds, and they told us
many interesting incidents in their journey through the wide, wild
regions. They say they used to go in large companies for their
protection against savages and wild beasts. And to maintain order among
themselves, they took their judges and lawyers along, and summary
justice was meted out to the offenders as they went along. Sometimes the
sentence was death; and in this case the prisoner dangled from the limb
of a tree by the road-side.

Passing along we came to Evanston, a little town on the Union Pacific
Railroad, and near the Utah line. Here we entered Echo Canon, down
through which ran the railway--in fact this being the only way the
insurmountable heights can be crossed. This canon is far noted for its
grandeur, which in no case has been exaggerated. After we had gone down
into it a few miles, we found the walls almost perpendicular, and from
eight hundred to one thousand feet high; and the great eagles that flew
from crag to crag above our heads looked as small as swallows. Upon
speaking here the volume was greatly increased, and an ordinary
conversation echoed far down the canon. Hence the name, “Echo Canon.”
There is a little stream running in at the mouth of the canon, and being
fed all the way down by springs that roll their waters from the cliffs
above, it increases to quite a creek. At some places the canon is very
narrow, and the stream taking up nearly the whole way, the rail and
wagon roads are forced to wind along the side of the mountains, often
several hundred feet above. The road at these places has required a
great deal of labor to make it passable, and is so narrow that should a
wheel get six inches out of the way, team, wagon and all would roll down
the steep side and be dashed to pieces against the crags and pines, and
finally thud in the waters far below. There are places all along, a mile
or two apart, where teams can pass, and it is the duty of each outfit to
keep a guard ahead; but in case outfits _do_ meet, one wagon has to be
taken apart to let the other pass. Fierce contests sometimes arise as to
who shall undo. At these places look out for the toll.

There are many of these great gulches and canons in the mountains, and
much of mountain-travel is done over lofty, dangerous roads. Sometimes
the track winds around the mountain several times, and then runs along
the crest for several miles; and to look down into the swimming space,
the dark, deep passes appear like ways into the center of the earth. I
have often--through curiosity--climbed above timber-line upon the side
of the mountain, where all was bleak and rocky, and looked down the
steep, pine-decked slopes. There are often rocks weighing many tons just
hanging on the steep sides, and can be pried loose with little effort;
and it is amusing to start them down the mountain-side and see them mow
the pines as though they were straw, leaving a swath like a reaper, and
thudding heavily in the grassy hollows below. At lonely places in some
of the roads that run through dark, deep canons, there are bridges built
over streams and gorges by private individuals, who live in little forts
by the way and extort the most exorbitant rates for crossing over. They
are always well armed, and travelers are forced to pay; for there is no
way to get around, and to travel back over the steep, rocky road they
can not think of. There is, however, once in a while a person who
understands the mountain tricks; and when _they_ come this way there are
some lively times in the narrow passes; and doubtless many a man has
sent up his soul from the rifts among the rocks by these lonely
mountain-bridges.

All persons _en route_ for the Pacific by way of the Union Pacific
should keep a sharp lookout for Echo Canon and view its grandeur, as the
train winds slowly down between its towering walls.

Coming to Echo City, a little mining-town in the canon, we branched off
up Weber Canon, then up Silver Creek Canon toward Park City, where the
Ontario Mine, the largest and richest silver-mine in Utah, is situated.
When we were yet twelve miles off, the stream that comes down from the
mines through the canon was so impregnated with rubbish from the mines
and quartz-mill, as to be unfit for use and to have a silver cast. Hence
the name, “Silver Creek.” Winding up the steep, rough canon, we at
length came to Park City,--which is but a few little log and board
shanties stuck among the rocks against the mountain,--and learned that
it was just a half mile up to the main mine. The way was up a gorge that
was so steep and rough as to be almost inaccessible; and when we arrived
we were tired and our team was well jaded. We did not like to leave them
below. Here stood a large frame building; and in this the shaft was
sunk. The shaft is about six feet square, and there was a large engine
to work the windlass to let the miners up and down to and from work, and
also to haul up the quartz. We found the superintendent to be a very
clever gentleman; and he promised us that if we would wait till noon,
when the miners had gone to dinner, he would let us down the shaft. This
we gladly assented to, and we were accordingly let down into the bowels
of the earth, five hundred feet. Here we found several chambers
branching out, each high as a man’s head, and ten or twelve feet square.
Four large engines were standing here for the purpose of pumping out the
water should a vein be struck. Engineers stand ready at their posts; for
they say water often bursts in the mine in such quantities as to cut off
the escape of the miners should there be no pumps. This, then, is what
is called flooding the mines. The metal is in hard rocks, called quartz;
and these rocks run in veins through the earth, usually two or three
feet square. Sometimes the veins run near the surface, and at other
times, as in this case, far below. Old experienced miners can generally
tell when there is metal below. The ceiling is very heavily timbered up,
and torches were hung all around. The miners have torches fixed on their
caps. The leads in this step had run out, but there was another shaft
running down still a hundred feet deeper, where the miners were working;
but we were not permitted to go there. After the foreman had shown us
all around, he gave each of us a piece of quartz as big as a fist, and
we all stepped upon the elevator to go up. The light at the top of the
shaft looked like a star. All ready, and the foreman pulled a rope
which rang a bell up by the engineer, and away we shot up the dark
shaft, and soon stood in daylight. There is a saw-mill here, and the
engines are fired with wood. There are several other shafts in the
surrounding hills; but this is the main one. Four bars of silver, worth
two millions of dollars, were sent to the mint at one time from this
place.

We now went down to the quartz-mill that stood at the foot of the
mountain. This is an immense structure; and the pounding and roaring of
the ponderous machinery can be heard a long way off. We were permitted
to go all through this mill; and though the dust and noise were very
disagreeable, we took a careful look at everything. The quartz is thrown
into a huge, long trough, and is mashed by powerful iron stampers that
are worked up and down by machinery. It is then thrown in at the top of
a big furnace; and at a certain time an iron-cart is run under the
furnace-grate, and the red metal is stirred down. It is dumped out close
by to cool. This is very hot work; and the men doing it wear sponges
over their mouths and nostrils to save their lungs. There is then an
apartment with a platform about four feet high upon either side, with
steps leading up. Upon either platform there are six tubs, two feet high
and four feet in diameter. A small stream of water runs from pipes into
each tub, in which some kind of machinery whirls round. The dust, as it
comes from the furnace, is thrown into these tubs, and the clean metal
comes out below, looking like quicksilver, and floats in pans upon a
strong fluid solution. When the pans are full it is skimmed off, and
then melted and run into bars. This process of melting is called
smelting.

There are different _kinds_ of mines. The _quartz_-mine, already spoken
of, where the metal, like fine sand, is mixed all through hard rock; the
_placer_-mine, where the metal is found among gravel and sand; and the
_sluice_-mine, where the metal is in the bed and on the banks of a
stream. Of course, some are very rich, while others are so poor that it
does not pay to work them.

The sand and gravel from the placer-mine are hauled to water, and there
the metal is washed out. This is called panning, and is spoken of as
panning out “rich” or “poor.”

In the _sluice_ or _gulch_ mine the men dig the dirt into the water and
mash up the clods, throw out the stones, etc., and the dirt all washes
down while the metal sinks to the bottom. When there is considerable on
the bottom, the stream is turned and the gold is taken up, put in
troughs, and washed out as in placer-mines.

There is great gold and silver excitement in the mountains all the time,
and many fortunes have been made, while, on the other hand, many have
been lost.

There are companies in the mountains who employ miners who wish to
prospect--and have nothing to go on--upon these conditions: They will
furnish picks and shovels and grub stakes, and if the miners strike
anything they are to give half to the company. The expenses of the
company in these bargains are not very heavy; and many of them have made
large fortunes from a pick and shovel and the little sack of provisions
that they hung upon the back of an old, crippled miner.

It takes a great deal of money to work a mine payingly, especially a
_quartz_-mine; and often a poor miner is compelled to sell a rich find
for very little. Rich companies watch these opportunities, to take the
advantage.

In the summer-season, when the snows are melted down, parties of one,
two, and three persons, with tools and provisions packed on
burros,--and sometimes on cattle,--are roaming all through the
mountains,--down the slopes and up the gorges, from the pine-forests
below to the barren, snow-capped peaks above,--toiling in the day-time
and by moonlight, greedy and anxious for gold.

There are many inexperienced persons going into the mountains every year
to prospect; and though the old miners have many tests and a great
knowledge as to the sign of ore, a greenhorn often makes a find in his
very tracks; for the old miner passes over, depending greatly on his
ability to tell almost at sight, while the greenhorn comes along turning
every curious-looking stone and digging wherever anything glitters. The
following are a few such instances: In the year 1878 two brothers named
Sisson, living at Granada, were at Pueblo court as witnesses. They
testified in the forenoon, and taking a pick and shovel, in the
afternoon, they started out among the hills toward Pike’s Peak to
prospect. When they were four or five miles from town their attention
was attracted by the peculiar color of the rocks and gravel on the slope
of a little hill; and though they knew nothing whatever about _mining_,
they thought there must be metal there. So with pick and shovel they dug
away, and by the moonlight they still worked. In the morning they were
satisfied that they had struck rich ore, though they had dug but eight
feet deep. One of them stayed there and the other went to town to
report. That very evening the boys were offered twenty thousand dollars
for their find. This place had been trod over many times, and the pick
and spade had turned the soil on all the surrounding slopes.

One of the best mines at _Leadville_, also, was discovered by a poor,
ignorant Swiss, who took his tools on his back, to make or break. Some
miners, while prospecting among the hills, were attracted by fresh dirt,
and going to the place they found the old Swiss sitting in the bottom of
a hole seven or eight feet deep, with his head upon his hands, and so
weak that he could hardly stand. He had run out of grub, and, knowing
that he had made a find, he was afraid to leave it lest some other
person should get _possession_; and thus he was starving to death. This
proved to be an immense fortune for the old fellow; and, wiser than
_most_ miners, he was content to take good and let better alone; and he
sailed for his motherland, where the crystal lakes nestle in the Alpine
folds, there to rest and enjoy his treasure.

Finds are continually being made; but the fortune comes so suddenly that
the miner, like the gambler, usually spends freely, and is anxious to
try his luck still further. Claims are often jumped by other parties,
and some bitter fighting is sometimes done; for if there is one thing
besides a man’s own life that he will shed his blood for, it is the
glittering gold.

Miners receive from five to seven dollars per day, and furnish their own
tools. It is certainly hard and dangerous work to dig in the mine so far
below, and thus seeing but little sunlight the whole season through;
but, strange to say, there are men who have crippled and ruined
themselves in the dark gold-dens, and though hobbling on crutches are
not yet content to live anywhere _but_ where the pick rings against the
rocks, and the exciting cry of gold is heard.

Whenever the cry of a rich find is raised, it goes like wild-fire
through the mountain-towns, and often far out, and people rush like
maniacs to the scene--some to mine, some to haul, etc. Whether the alarm
is true or false, numbers arrive at the scene. There are persons having
good teams watching these breaks, and as soon as the first cry is raised
they load their wagons with tobaccos, liquors, flour, feed, shoes,
blankets, etc., etc., and hastening to the ground they cut down some
pines and stake off a claim, and build a little store-house. They get
their own prices for goods; and should the cry be _false_, he can easily
sell out to persons who come to _see_; but should the find be _rich_, he
has his store-house where he can make his _fortune_. Besides, the vein
might run under his very claim. Persons are making _fortunes_ at this
to-day; and Leadville is an example. Persons who staked off their little
claims among the trees on the mountain-side when the discovery was first
made, can to-day count their wealth in large pieces of silver and gold.

Park City is forty miles from Salt Lake; and anxious to see the great
historical valley, as well as the home of a people who are the world’s
curiosity, we pulled out in that direction.




CHAPTER III.

     View of Salt Lake Valley and City--Tabernacle--History of the
     Mormons--Joe Smith--Came to Kirtland, Ohio--Brigham Young
     Converted--Located at Independence, Missouri--Located at Nauvoo,
     Illinois--Joe and Hiram Smith Killed--Emigrated to Council
     Bluffs--Came to Salt Lake--Trouble with the Government--Mormon
     Theology.


Winding down a deep gulch, through which runs a mountain-stream, we came
out upon the plateau that overlooks the great Salt Lake Valley from the
south. It is a scene of rare natural beauty. Beyond and across, the
plain spreads out from five to ten miles, with pretty farm-houses and
herds of cattle. To the north it was lost in the dim distance,--the
whole flat almost as a floor and sparkling with irrigating canals, and
walled upon either side by hills that mount to the snow-line, and out
from which flow the cool, sparkling waters that make this once-desert
valley blossom under the hand of industry.

The city, but a short way to the north, is regularly and handsomely laid
out, with many fine buildings, and is filled with thick gardens of
trees and flowers that give it a fairy-land aspect. No internal city of
the continent lies in such a field of beauty.

Water is conveyed from a mountain-stream down to the city by a canal;
and bright, sparkling pools course freely and constantly down its paved
gutters upon either side of every street, keeping the shade-trees alive
and growing, supplying drink for animals and water for household
purposes, and delightfully cooling the summer-air.

The trees, at the proper season, are almost always loaded with the
finest fruit; and the soil is favorable to the small grains. Forty and
fifty bushels of wheat to the acre is an ordinary crop; and it is said
that over _ninety_ bushels have been raised.

No one seems poor. No beggar is seen in the streets. No prostitute lives
here; and there are but few saloons in town. When a drunken man is seen,
he is almost invariably a miner or a soldier. The people are far more
civil and quiet than is usual in these western parts.

Great Salt Lake is a very great curiosity. It is about one hundred and
forty miles long and from seventy to eighty wide, and is a vast
collection of brine. The water seems to be saturated with salt to its
utmost capacity of holding it in solution, indicating the neighborhood
of great deposits of mineral salt. Where the wind dashes the water upon
the beach the salt collects in such quantities as to be conveniently
shoveled into carts for domestic use. It is also procured by
evaporation--five bucketfuls of water leaving one of salt.

The lake encompasses several islands, with high, mountainous peaks,
among the largest of which is Church Island, situated so near the
eastern shore as to be accessible for grazing purposes, for which it is
extensively used. The air is wonderfully pure and bright. Rain seldom
falls in the valley, though storms occur in the mountains almost daily.
A cloud comes up in the western hills, rolls along the crest and
threatens the city with a deluge, but then breaks into wind and showers,
and seems to run along the hill-tops and sail away eastward into the
snowy range.

While delighted to find the people all apparently so well circumstanced,
we were also amused at their many curious peculiarities. There is one
block in the city called “Temple Block.” This is surrounded by a high
and powerful stone wall. Inside of this wall stands the mighty granite
temple (yet unfinished), and also the tabernacle. The tabernacle is
built of _adobes_ made from the blue clay from the mountain-foot. It is
round, about eighty feet in diameter, with walls about thirty feet high.
It is splendidly seated, and has a large gallery. There are large double
doors all around, leaving columns of wall about ten feet between the
doors. In warm weather these doors are all thrown open, and the building
is a cool, delightful place. At one end stands the next to the largest
pipe-organ in the world; next is a beautiful platform, which the band
and choir of about seventy-five persons occupy; then comes the large,
decorated, and comfortable chair in which the president sits; then the
long sofa for the twelve apostles; then the pulpit for the ministers;
and then comes the congregation, who usually throng the house. The choir
is composed of cultured and beautiful singers; and sweeter music than I
heard in that old tabernacle never met my ears. After the preaching is
done and the songs are sung, the president arises and prophesies, and
the apostles cry out, “Amen.” The fictitious Mormon Bible that they
claim was found by Joe Smith in Mormon Hill has been changed and
modified from time to time, and to-day they preach from nearly the same
Bible as ours. They have services every Sabbath; and all finding it
possible, from the tottering infant to the aged and gray, gather in to
hear the word and listen to the prophecies. They take sacrament every
Sabbath; but water is used instead of wine. I was in one of their
thronged congregations when the cup went around, and when it reached me
my delight at the thought of getting a good big swallow of old Mormon
wine was blighted by a cup of something that I had been drinking ever
since I was a drinker. Nevertheless, it went pretty well in warm
weather. We happened to be there when the body of Rev. Joseph Stanley--a
Mormon missionary who was killed in Georgia--arrived for interment, and
we had the pleasure of hearing the services. The sixth chapter of the
Revelation of St. John was read, and the text was taken from the
thirty-fourth verse of the twenty-third chapter of St. Matthew. The
remarks were all tinged with vindication; and the prophet indulged
freely in threatening wrath upon their opposers. There were about
fourteen thousand people present, and the strong language of the
dignitaries excited them to such a degree that I tried to look just as
much like a Mormon as possible.

There is a large church-building in which to store away the property
belonging to the church; and from the poorest maiden at the wash-tub to
the wealthiest merchant of the city, one tenth of everything that is
made must be surrendered to the church. It is amusing to see how
cheerfully the farmers trot off to the store-house with every tenth
bushel of apples, or load of hay, or grain. This store is managed and
run by the dignitaries, who dispose of the grains and fruits, and handle
the silver and gold. And not being compelled to ever produce a
balance-sheet, nor any account whatever, they have the funds entirely in
their own fingers; and hence their fine mansions and flowery beds of
ease. The poor ignorant dupes submit to all this, and appear to think
that they are paving their way into heaven by lavishing luxuries upon
their priesthood.

At the other end of the valley stands the city of Ogden, which is about
half as large as Salt Lake City, and not nearly so beautiful. About one
fifth of the persons here are not Mormons, while at the other end there
are very few who do not nestle in the folds of the church. The Central
Pacific Railroad passes through Ogden, and sends off a branch called the
Utah Central down to Salt Lake City.

The lake lies several miles from the city, and there are several fine
bathing-houses on its shores. These are reached by narrow-gauge
railroads; and during the bathing-season great loads of gleeful boys and
girls can be seen most every evening riding down to the beach to bathe.

The rise of Mormondom has been so miraculous, and their superstitions
are so curious and numerous, that a brief sketch of their career from
the finding of the Bible by Joe Smith, together with a part of their
theology, may be in place here, and will doubtless be interesting to
many of my readers. The following is what, with care and pains, I have
been able to collect from interviews, records, and other sources:

Joe Smith, jr., the putative father of Mormonism and the Church of
Latter-day Saints, was born in Sharon, Windsor County, Vermont, December
13, 1805. When he was seventeen years old he found a curious stone in
the dirt thrown from a well. It was the shape of a child’s foot, of a
whitish, glassy appearance, though opaque, and resembling quartz. He
thought a great deal of the stone, and asserted the gift and power with
it at his eyes of revealing things past and things to come. The
discoveries soon became too dazzling for his eyes in daylight, and he
had to shade his vision by looking at the stone in his hat. There are
fools in all ages; and Joe had his believers, who often came to him to
find out where lost or stolen property was. He always charged; and
though there was no reality in his pretentions, he succeeded in keeping
the eyes of certain dupes covered. He would tell them where there was a
large chest of money buried, and get them to digging, and _he_ would
stand by with his stone; but every time, just as they were almost to the
treasure, the enchantment would be broken by some one speaking, or
otherwise, and though he never found any money, they still believed. He
made his dupes believe that while he was engaged in secret prayer in the
wilderness an angel appeared and told him that all his sins had been
forgiven, and proclaiming further that all the religious denominations
were believing false doctrines; that none of them were acceptable of God
as of his church and kingdom; and also promising him that the true
doctrine and fullness of the gospel should at some future time be
revealed to him. He was told that the American Indians were a remnant of
the Israelites; that their prophetic records regarding the last days
were buried at a certain spot; that this spot was made known him, and
him only, and that if he kept faithful he should be the chosen prophet
to translate them to the world. A short time afterward he had another
astonishing vision; and he was commanded, upon a secretly-fixed day and
hour, to go alone to a certain spot revealed to him by an _angel_, and
there take out of the earth a metallic book of great antiquity, which
was of immortal importance to the world, and which he said was a record
of mystic letters of the long-lost tribes of Israel; that no human being
besides himself could see it and live, and that the power to translate
it to the nations of the earth was given to him only as the chosen
servant of God.

Smith’s dupes and relations gave the report a wide circulation; and
accordingly, when the appointed hour came, assuming his practical air of
mystery, he took in his hand his money-digging spade and a large napkin,
and went off alone into the solitude of the forest. In three hours he
returned with his sacred charge concealed within the folds of the
napkin. He again warned his friends of the fatal consequences of looking
at it, and a strong chest was procured and the charge kept under lock
and key. He said that as he was digging for the treasure, he was
confronted by ten thousand devils, gathered there with their menacing,
sulphurous flame and smoke, to deter him from his purpose. The sacred
treasure was never seen by mortal eyes save those of the anointed.

About the year 1826 it became expedient to have a new revelation. The
veritable existence of the book was certified to by eleven witnesses of
Smith’s own choosing; and wonderful stories and predictions followed in
regard to the future light and destiny of the world. The spot from
whence the book is said to have been taken is on the summit of a hill at
Manchester, New York, which has ever since been called Mormon Hill. The
book, after the new revelation, was represented by Smith and his echoes
as consisting of metallic leaves or plates resembling gold, bound
together by three rings running through one edge of them and opening
like a book. Smith translated the book and a certain school-master did
the writing; and the new Bible went to print in the summer of 1830.

Here was the organization of the first Mormon Church. Though great
efforts and impositions had been practiced upon the people, the scheme
was generally ridiculed and the converts were few and of the most
ignorant of the race; and Smith coming to realize that a prophet was
without honor in his own country, he, with his most fanatic followers,
began to talk of going on a mission into the western country to convert
the Lamanites (meaning the Indians). In the year 1830 or 1831 they
started on their western expedition, stopping at Mentor, Ohio, where
lived a few Mormon converts.

Near this place is _Kirtland_, where they began a series of meetings;
and one hundred persons were added to the fold in a short time.
Kirtland, from about this period, became the head-quarters of the
Mormons, where their church and colony were thoroughly organized and
temporarily established.

The next interest was to disseminate to the people the newly-revealed
latter-day religion. The system of missionary labor was put in active
requisition. The cause was pressed with zeal and effect. The trumpet of
“the true gospel” was sounded to the gentiles. The superstitious and
ignorant were captivated, and respectable men and women quaked amid the
scenes. Conversions were multiplied and multitudes rushed into the new
Zion as if believing the last days were at hand in sober verity. Thus
was the Mormon Church matured and the colony of the saints speedily
enlarged.

At length, finding himself surrounded and sustained by large and
increasing numbers,--including some persons of ample pecuniary
means,--Smith tried a bold venture upon their credulity in his own
behalf. This was a revelation which he communicated to his disciples, to
the effect that they should “immediately build a house for the prophet,
in which he might live and translate.” It was in 1832 or 1833; and the
command was cheerfully accepted and obeyed.

Another revelation, alike successful, shortly followed, commanding that
“my chosen Joseph shall not labor for a living.” Though the impostor was
scorned by intelligent people, his followers regarded him as almost
deserving of adoration; and he was enabled to revel in whatever luxury
was most agreeable to his vulgar taste and ambition. His power was now
next to omnipotent in Mormondom.

Brigham Young was converted and joined the Mormons at Kirtland in the
year 1833. Like Smith, he was a native of Vermont, being his senior by
four years. Brigham was shrewd, bold, and resolute, possessing an almost
intuitive knowledge of men. He soon attracted the attention of his
brethren, whom he swayed by his strong, electric will, and was
recognized as a man born to rule. He was soon ordained one of the quorum
of twelve apostles that had been organized. He preached with success;
and from that day till his death his influence and power among the
Mormons was resistless.

Smith was constantly receiving new revelations; and at length he
discovered that those who had property were to pay all their surplus
money into the hands of the bishop for the building of Zion, for the
benefit of the priesthood, and to pay the debts of the presidency of the
church. “And ever _after_ those who shall thus tithe shall pay one tenth
of all their interests annually; and this shall be a standing law unto
them forever for my holy priesthood, saith the Lord.” This revelation
was also received and cheerfully obeyed. A temple was erected at
Kirtland at a cost of fifty thousand dollars, by contributions in money
and labor obtained from the saints through the resistless power of
Smith’s revelation process.

Mormonism, however, became distasteful to the unconverted people of
Ohio, and particularly disgusting to the inhabitants near Kirtland.
People were familiar with the source and history of the golden-bible
scheme, and scorned the impostor Smith beyond public tolerance. Smith
now saw the necessity of another shift, and Jackson County, Missouri,
was chosen for the new abode. A large tract of land was purchased here,
and a town-site was laid out and called Independence. A division of the
Mormons moved here, and the work of up-building was vigorously
prosecuted in the year 1834. In 1836 the Mormon population consisted of
about fifteen hundred, and the town was well advanced and business and
printing-houses were established.

Trouble arose here again with the citizens outside of the church, and
the saints were accused of stealing cattle and other property and of
being connected with counterfeiting gangs and various other criminal
offenses. A meeting of the surrounding citizens was called to consider
the subject of ridding themselves of the source of their annoyance, and
it was resolved to expel the Mormons from the state. Riotous scenes
followed, and several persons were killed. The state militia was called
out. Smith armed his followers and determined to resist any reprimand
whatever. But they were too weak; and the Prophet Joseph and his brother
Hiram, with some forty others of the party, were imprisoned in the
county jail. This ended the struggle; and the Mormons finally agreed
with the state authorities that they would permanently leave the state.

General Clark, commanding the militia in this affair, dispatched to
Governor Boggs, in 1838, as follows: “There is no crime, from treason
down to petit larceny, but these people, or a majority of them, have
been guilty of; all, too, under the counsel of Joe Smith, jr., the
prophet. They have societies formed under the most binding covenants and
horrid oaths to plunder, burn, and murder, and divide the spoils for the
use of the church.”

The governor answered that the ringleaders of the rebellion should be
made an example of; and, if necessary to the public peace, the Mormons
should be exterminated or expelled from the state.

The Mormons could no longer withstand the tide of opposition, and they
concluded to quit Missouri with all haste. Their condition was now equal
to the scattered tribes of their Babylonish ancestors, and before the
close of the year 1839 they had all left Missouri,--some returning to
Ohio; but the body, crossing the river into Illinois, established
themselves in Hancock County, at a place which they called Nauvoo. In
1840 Nauvoo became the chief seat of Mormonism; and they were generally
welcomed by the people of the surrounding country as persecuted exiles.
Smith, seeing the sympathy in their behalf, took advantage of the
situation and urged his doctrine; and vast numbers were converted.

Meantime Young and others had been sent as foreign missionaries to
spread the gospel, and had received vivid encouragement in the East. In
the year 1841 Young shipped several hundred of the faithful from
Liverpool to New York, for the promised land; and organizations were
left in England, Scotland, and Wales.

Nauvoo sprung up; Mormonism was more than itself again; and things went
on smoothly. Smith had another vision, and was told that the saints
should build for him a fine house. This command, like all other
communications from the same source, was accepted as of heavenly
authenticity. By his tithing process he had amassed a fortune estimated
at a million of dollars; and he now reveled in luxury, played the
gentleman, weighed two hundred and twenty pounds, had forty wives, and
his children could not be enumerated with any accuracy.

The revelation in favor of polygamy, however, was for years withheld as
a secret from all but the _dignitaries_ of the church. This
interpolation of polygamy into what had been received by the disciples
of Mormonism as their established religious system caused great
embarrassment in the church--for it was repugnant to the teachings of
Smith’s own Bible; and being also by the law of Illinois declared
bigamy, and punishable by heavy fine and imprisonment in the
penitentiary, the trouble was still augmented. The Illinois people were
intolerant and restive in view of the vices and criminalities in various
forms ascribed to the latter-day hypocrites. They were necessarily the
sources of ill feeling and bitter hate between the communities, and from
this time forward there was found no peace for the wicked. Charges of
licentiousness, adultery, seduction, theft, dishonesty, and crimes in
greater variety than ever were brought against the doomed leaders and
their bigoted followers. Slander suits were commenced on one side and
criminal proceedings were instituted on the other; and litigation
followed litigation _pro_ and _con_.

Attempts to arrest Smith and other dignitaries of the church were
resisted by military power. The charge of treason was brought against
the offending saints. Mormon defense against the Illinois authority was
persisted in, and General Joe Smith, and his brother Hiram, at the head
of the Nauvoo legion, opposed the state militia which had been called
out to enforce obedience to the law. The aspect was threatening; and the
governor, anxious to avoid the terrible slaughter impending, proposed to
the Smiths a surrender as prisoners to the sheriff and the disbandment
of the legion, as their only course of safety for their own lives and
for their city. This proposal was at length acceded to--the governor
promising them protection against violence from the excited populace on
their way to the jail and during their imprisonment. Accordingly, the
legal arrests were made; and the Smiths, with Elder John Taylor and Dr.
Richards, were conveyed to the Carthage jail. Pursuant to the governor’s
stipulation, the jail was placed under a military guard to protect the
prisoners against the known existence of an avengeful feeling,
particularly existing on the part of those whose domestic sanctums were
alleged to have been invaded by the cruel doctrine of polygamy. The
prisoners were in the jail but a few days when the guard was reduced by
desertion, and in the afternoon of the 24th of June, 1844, the remnant
of the guard were overpowered by a mob two hundred disguised and armed
men, bent upon summary vengeance for their wrongs. The doors were burst
open, the inmates were fired upon, and the Smiths were killed, Elder
Taylor severely wounded, and Dr. Richards escaped to tell the tale.

Great excitement prevailed, and Nauvoo was in commotion. The governor
hastened to the scene, and measures were taken to prevent a general
attack. He was incensed because the pledge he gave to the prisoners had
been violated, and told the Mormons to defend themselves in the best way
until he could send them protection. But further violence was happily
averted. The immediate effect upon the Mormons of this appalling
assassination, was to throw a halo of glory around his character as a
martyr who had sealed with his blood the truth of his divine
pretensions. The soil of Mormonism had been fertilized by the blood of
the Smiths, and a church founded in falsehood and hypocrisy has been
strengthened, if not perpetuated, by its supporting influence. Indeed,
it is rational to believe that but for the opportunity thus afforded to
fasten in enslaved, superstitious minds the impression of “martyrdom” of
their patron saint, Mormonism would ere this have had its everlasting
fall.

Brigham Young was ambitious and very shrewd; and standing very high in
the estimation of his people, he was now unanimously elected to the
presidency of the church, and maintained a despotic sway. In the course
of a year or two, the people of Illinois determined to drive the whole
tribe from the state; and seeing the necessity, Young and his counsel
decided to send a company to seek a new home in the West. The
emigration commenced in February, 1846, and in August they arrived at a
selected place upon the unoccupied prairies near Council Bluffs. Here
they remained in tents during the next winter. Here the news of the
Mexican War reached them; and Young apprehending ultimate conflict with
the Mexican authorities, deemed it essential to be on good terms with
the United States. Quick to perceive his opportunity, he sent an agent
to Washington to tender a battalion to the Government. It was accepted,
and Young received twenty thousand dollars from the Government for his
services.

Young, with a company of followers, then went upon another exploring
expedition; and selecting Salt Lake valley for the location of their
future Zion, the saints were all informed, and in the year 1847 four
thousand Mormons arrived in the valley.

Young had not yet been accepted by the church as prophet, seer, and
revelator, in the full celestial sense, as was the martyr Smith; and as
soon as re-organization was secured, he called a meeting to consider the
matter. He arose and solemnly professed communication with the spirit
of Prophet Joseph; and going through with a series of impressive
mimicries of his predecessor in his peculiar style of adroitness, he
completely convinced his audience, and ever since this successful
experiment it is believed that the mantle of Joseph fell upon Brigham;
and by a vote he was declared the “Prophet of the Lord.”

Utah Territory was organized by act of Congress in the year 1850, and
Young received the United States appointment of territorial governor for
Utah. Large accessions of emigrants, sent forward by missionaries,
rapidly increased the Mormon numbers in Salt Lake; and in the year 1853,
the corner-stone of the temple at Salt Lake City was laid. About two
thousand people were present, and the ceremonies were in the highest
style of Mormon grandeur. Governor Young made the leading address on the
occasion, saying that the saints were about to make their third attempt
to build a temple to the Lord, and asking his followers to pay their
tithes in cheerful promptitude, promising God’s blessing on them who do
his will. He declared that the very ground where he stood had been
revealed to him for seven years past as the place where the temple
should stand. The building is an immense structure, and is calculated to
seat eighteen thousand people. It is being built of granite taken from
the mountain at the side of the valley, and is yet unfinished. It is a
magnificent structure, of which the saints are very proud.

Soon anti-Mormons began to settle in the valleys east of the Sierra
Nevada for the purposes of mining and stock-raising; and the Mormons
becoming alarmed, determined to expel them _vi et armis_. Both parties
armed and fortified themselves; but the Mormons soon saw their folly and
gave up the scheme. Trouble is, however, continually brewing between the
Mormons and anti-Mormons wherever they meet; and that they will never
and can never live together in peace under one government is inevitable.
The conflict that took place between them in Ohio, Missouri, Illinois,
and Iowa, and is now going on in Utah, ought to be enough to convince
any intelligent man of this fact. The Mormons _themselves_ acknowledge
it; and so long as they adhere to their present belief,--that an
absolute theocracy is the only government under which they _can_ and
_should_ live,--they never will be loyal to our government and
countrymen; and hence their hostility to our institutions and people,
and their inflexible devotion to their own. Their settlements lie in the
great pathway which leads to the Pacific country, and they have been
standing a lion in the path,--_encouraging_ the savages, if not _aiding_
them, in immigrant massacres. The Mormons had become so insolent that it
was thought best in 1857 to send troops to Utah with the civil officers
appointed to that territory.

In 1863, Stephen H. Harding was appointed governor of Utah. Congress
passed an act to punish and prevent the practice of polygamy in the
territories; and they, considering the act unconstitutional, refused to
obey it as law. Governor Harding declaring in favor of the act, the
pent-up fires of saintly wrath now broke forth. A meeting was again
called, and in his enthusiastic way Young denounced Governor Harding as
a black-hearted abolitionist, and asking his people if they would
recognize him as their _governor_. And being answered no, that _he_ was
their governor, he said, “Yes, I am your governor; and if he attempt to
interfere in my business, woe, woe be unto him.” A committee was
appointed to wait upon the governor and request him to resign his office
and leave the territory. In reply, Harding said that as this was a land
of prophecy, he too would prophesy. “If, while in the discharge of my
duties, one drop of my blood be shed by your ministers of vengeance, it
will be _avenged_; and not one stone nor _adobe_ in this city will be
left upon another, I have now done, and you understand me.”

No acts of violence followed, and terms of mutual conciliation were
effected. This is Utah, and these are the Mormons. From year to year
there is trouble; and at the _present_--Brigham Young having died
several years ago--there is contention between the Government and the
Nauvoo legion.

The theology of the saints is subject to change, by revelation, at the
caprice of the prophet. The following is part of what they believe:
There are many gods of both sexes; but to us there is but one God--the
Father of mankind and Creator of the earth. God is in the form of man.
He has a body of spiritual matter. He resides in the center of the
earth, near the planet Kolob. This planet revolves on its axis once in a
thousand of our years, and one revolution of the Kolob is a day to the
Almighty. The Holy Spirit is a subtile fluid like electricity, and
pervades all space. By its agency all miracles--which are simply the
effects of the operation of natural laws--are performed. The Holy Spirit
is communicated by the laying on of hands of one of the authorized
priesthood, and the recipient is then enabled to perform wonders
according to his gift,--some having the gift of prophecy, some of
healing, some of speaking in unknown tongues, etc. There are three
heavens--the telestial, the terrestrial, and the celestial. The
telestial and terrestrial heavens are to be occupied by the various
classes of persons who have neither obeyed nor rejected the gospel. The
celestial or highest heaven is reserved for those who received the
testimony of Jesus and were baptized. The earth, as purified and refined
after the second coming of Christ, is to be the final habitation of
those entitled to the glories of the celestial kingdom. Jerusalem is to
be rebuilt; and Zion, or the New Jerusalem, is to be built in Jackson
County, Missouri, from whence the saints were expelled in 1833. There is
a fourth class of persons, who shall go into everlasting punishment with
the devil and his angels. They are those who sin against the Holy
Ghost. The gospel that all people must obey to gain a place in the
celestial heaven is: First, they must believe in Jesus Christ as the Son
of God and in his authorized priesthood; second, they must repent of
their sins; third, they must be baptized by immersion for the remission
of their sins; and fourth, they must receive the laying on of hands for
the gift of the Holy Ghost. “God, having become nearly lost to man,
revived his work by revealing himself to Joe Smith and conferring upon
him the keys of everlasting priesthood, thus making him the mediator of
the new dispensation, which is immediately to precede the second coming
of Christ.” All those who recognize the divine authority of Smith and
are baptized are the chosen people of God, who are to introduce the
millennium and to reign with Christ a thousand years.

There are many secrets in the organization which the saints are sworn to
keep under heavy penalty, it is said; but this is a sketch of them, and
is as good and full an account as I am able to give to be consistent
with my purpose.




CHAPTER IV.

     We Leave Salt Lake--Reach the Sierra Nevada Slopes--Tunnels,
     Gorges, etc.--Reach California--Sacramento--San Francisco--Hotel
     Runners--Fruits--Palace Hotel--Chinese--Dennis Kearney and
     Party--De Young-Kalloch Tragedy--Chinese Bakers--California
     Climate--Ships--Golden Gate--Woodward Garden--Portland,
     Oregon--Washington Territory--Sail for Santa Barbara and Los
     Angeles--Prescott, Arizona--Meet General Fremont--Big Trees--Return
     to Ohio.


We camped in Salt Lake valley nearly three weeks, and our stay had been
so agreeable that it appeared to us but a day. We now concluded to sell
our outfit and take passage on the train for California, the land of
gold. The property was soon sold and tickets were purchased, and we
stepped aboard. Our new team snorted and its breath curled gracefully
upward, and we moved smoothly up the valley near the beach of the great
salt sea. We had been toiling up the rocky sides and rolling down the
barren slopes so long that we had become somewhat used to slow, plodding
travel, and were delighted with the ease and speed with which we were
now winding our way toward the Pacific shores.

We soon passed out from between the towering, snow-capped walls, and
crawling along the hill-sides we soon came upon a dry, sandy desert
where ofttimes a spire of grass could not be seen for several miles. The
little lakes and streamlets lay miles apart, and their brinks were all
powdered with alkali while their waters were as bitter as the essence of
gall. The whole face of the plain was covered with thick, spraddling
sage-brush, which stood in the sands like saplings in a new forest; but
not even the smallest animal or insect nestled or sung among the limbs.
A strong puff of wind roars over the desert, and the sand rises in the
air and looks like a great column of light colored smoke. Where the
brush stand in thick clumps the sand lodges; and the brush sprouting out
every year, the drift grows to a large mound. As we passed along they
glistened in the bright sunlight on either side of the way.

There are section-houses built at the end of every division of the road,
and large, powerful wind-pumps roll the water into the tanks from far
below the burning sand. The section-hands stay in these houses; and
their necessaries are brought them by the company. These hands are
usually Chinamen; and passing them at noon they will be found seated in
the sand around a pot of rice, greedily eating their _only_ food.

Near many of these tanks small parties of Indian squaws, girls,
papooses, and some old men, of the Shoshone and Winnemucca tribes, were
wallowing in the sand, with nothing but a few skins stretched over the
tops of the brush to shelter them from the blazing orb; and when the
engine stopped to take water these filthy creatures would run along each
side of the train and ask for biscuits. Many travelers have their lunch
along; and the beggars seldom fail to get their arms filled from the
open windows.

When the train was in motion there was a breeze; but in every direction
the heat curled and dangled upward from the scorching sands like rays
from a fiery furnace. It was a dreary, lonesome ride; and we sat by the
windows peering out over the little sand-mounds that rose in the
distance until the pine-covered slopes of the Sierra Nevadas broke the
monotony, and the breath of the mountain wafted through the open car.
How delightful to be among the pretty green trees again, and to get a
draught from the clear, cool waters that roll out from the
mountain-rocks where the little conies sport among the crags.

We had often heard of the great tunnels and snow-sheds, and the mighty
fills along the Central Pacific line. We were now actually _observing_
the famous pass-way; and there was no part of our journey that presented
such a vast amount of interesting and beautiful scenery. Sometimes we
would wind along the steep side of the mountain, far above the tops of
the trees in the valley below; and to look out and see the crystal
waters gush from the bluff and dash down over the rocky precipices and
lash into foam among the pines is grand beyond mention.

Soon the conductor comes through the car, ordering all heads and arms to
be drawn in and the windows and doors closed, and warning the passengers
not to get frightened. Then a flutter goes through the car, and the
timid breathe short and quick. What is to happen? All of a sudden the
light is eclipsed, the timid females shriek wildly, and we are winding
through the dark, narrow tunnel, far into the mountain. It is dark as
midnight. The rolling of the car-wheels roars like thunder, and the
smoke from the engine pours in through every crevice. At length we
suddenly dart into the light again. A din of relief goes through the
car, the windows are thrown up, and everybody is anxious to look back at
the dismal tunnel. As the front cars are winding around the valleys and
over the gorges, and the rear cars are coming out of the mountain, the
train looks like a huge serpent crawling from its gloomy den. Now we
come into a mighty cut, where the prints of the pick and shovel are seen
in the hard earth, and the great walls on either side are left rough
with the blast; and now we run over a fill, and the steady heads look
out into the swimming space. These are the scenes for many miles; and
when considering the immense amount of labor it must have required to
pierce the mountains of rock and fill up the almost bottomless gorges, a
person is forced to exclaim, “Wonderful, wonderful man!”

There are the most beautiful trees growing upon the slopes; and in spite
of the efforts of the Government to save the timber upon its vacant
lands, saw-mills are buzzing in almost every

[Illustration]

gorge, and the finest lumber is shipped to the East and West. Fortunes
have been made at this, and they are being made to-day in spite of the
penalty. There are also numerous mines along the way. At some places the
whole mountain appears to have been turned upside down, and the muddy
waters slush down the rocky rifts.

Our train was heavily loaded, and two engines were required at some
places to haul us up the mighty grades; and the puffing of the powerful,
six-wheel drivers echoed loudly down the canons. Trains are compelled to
run very slow here; and bands of robbers sometimes board them, and,
under cover of revolvers and guns, rob the crew.

We at length left the Sierra Nevadas to the east and ran out upon the
plains of California--the beautiful, level land of gold. We had now
reached the famous wheat country,--where it is said single farmers
sometimes raise ten and fifteen thousand acres,--and were sailing
through the renowned delightful and healthy climate. As we rolled over
the level plain, where we could see for many miles in any direction, the
platforms and windows were crowded with persons all anxious to view the
great California, whose veins are gold, and whose influence has lain
many human bodies among the rifts and gulches of the bleak and lonely
mountains. Much of the country is unfenced; and when otherwise, the
fields usually contain many hundred acres. At many places along the
track there are large uncovered platforms built up, and thousands of
bushels of grain lay there in sacks ready for shipment. They say they
never put their grain in barns, but thrash it in the fields and haul it
to the platforms, sometimes leaving it there for several weeks and
months before shipping; for there is no danger of rain until the wet
season sets in. The grain is all headed.

The road being so level and straight, the train flew swiftly along; and
we soon saw the spires and steeples of the capital city glittering in
the distance. Coming into Sacramento the train stopped for refreshments;
and before the wheels stopped rolling the cars were boarded by swarms of
hotel-runners, who almost tried to force the passengers to go with them
to their different hotels. Some of our comrades went along; but we had
heard of the great numbers and extreme insolence of the runners of
Sacramento and San Francisco, and from the looks of them they were but a
gang of thieves, so we concluded to hunt our own hotels and tend to our
own _business_.

Sacramento is a lovely place, with pretty, wide streets, many of which
are made cool and delightful by large willows standing along either
side, and whose green, limber branches meet above and droop over the
way. The capitol is a large building, and in shape and color resembles
the White House.

From here we again renewed our journey, and at last entered the city of
Oakland, on the shore of the briny bay. The dry deserts and rugged
mountains had been crossed, and we were finally looking upon the home of
the tide, where the sea-gull sports upon the waves.

Frisco (San Francisco) lies across the bay--a distance of about eight
miles--from Oakland, and there are large steam-ferries continually
passing back and forth. We went aboard the ferry; and the trip was so
pleasant that we thought we would like to cross the ocean. Several
runners came over to Oakland to talk with the passengers as they crossed
the bay; but on reaching the Frisco shore, I swear I never saw the like,
and it would be impossible to describe the scene. There must have been
seventy-five runners there from the different hotels, all anxious to
take you to a good house. There were sometimes several from one house,
and their busses were all backed up in a row. As soon as the ferry
touched the wharf these fellows rushed wildly on board, crying out the
name of their hotels and grabbing the luggage from the hands of the
passengers, and endeavoring to drag them to their hacks. Sometimes a
couple get hold of the person, and a couple get hold of his luggage,
each wanting to take him and his property in different directions; and
then there is a time. His clothes are sometimes torn almost off him, his
satchel is torn to pieces, and he finds himself perfectly helpless in
the hands of the mob; for if he lets go and goes to strike, some one
will run off with his property. There is always a great crowd of people;
and in the surging and crowding, and high excitement, many pockets are
picked, and much luggage is lost by the owner not following the snatcher
as he runs off for the hack. The boys run down each others hotels, one
saying, “They don’t have anything but rotten fish to eat at that house;”
another saying, “They have lousy beds at that house;” and another
warning all persons not to go to either for they are robbers, and they
will charge five dollars per day when they have you fast. Now, to see
several of these fellows all pleading earnestly with a plain old
conscientious farmer who takes everything for the truth is entirely too
funny. He first looks at one and then at the other, not knowing which
one to trust. We were well fixed; for some of us could carry the luggage
while the others knocked down the runners. The better way is to get the
name of some good hotel before you get there, and then look for the ’bus
and make for it. In any case, persons should securely fasten their
luggage to them with ropes.

The surface is level for a couple of hundred yards back from the bay,
and it then ascends sharply to the top of a high ridge running parallel
with the bay. The surface is barren, and the sand is deep and soft. On
this level strip and against this steep, sandy hill stands the great
city of San Francisco. The house-foundations are all laid deeply, to get
below the sand; and the streets are all paved with several layers of
round rocks, with nothing to smooth the surface. There is nearly always
a pretty strong wind stirring, and the streets have to be kept perfectly
clean. For this purpose large street-sweepers are drawn over the road by
horses every day, and sprinkling is done besides. The riding and
driving over these rocks is very disagreeable; and the horses do not
usually last very long. To see them drawing their great loads up the
steep hill-side, slipping, sliding, and straining every nerve, and
sometimes falling upon their knees on the stones, is an ugly sight
indeed. The large wholesale houses all have heavy trucks; and many of
the finest teams I ever saw were hauling these trucks.

There is an immense quantity of the very largest and finest fruits
raised in California every year. I believe I have seen as many grapes,
pears, peaches, and melons in the streets of San Francisco in one day as
there are raised in the State of Ohio in a whole year. I have seen
several millions of fine melons lying in a single heap. There are
several mammoth fruit-stores here, and hundreds of bushels, during the
season, are daily loaded upon the ships for other countries. I might
also add that, though California fruits are large and beautiful, much of
it lacks the flavor of eastern fruits,--perhaps from the fact that
during its growth it gets no rain but depends solely on the heavy dew
for its nourishment.

There are street-cars on almost every street; and they are run up and
down the incline by engines stationed at the top of the hill. It is very
pleasant riding up and down here, and the cars are full on almost every
trip.

Though there are some very large, fine buildings, the city is very
ordinary on this score, there being also many little old shanties stuck
here and there all through the place. The Palace Hotel is the finest
building in the city, and is said to be the largest hotel in the world.
It is built of beautiful polished stone, is seven stories high, contains
seven hundred and twenty-five rooms, and takes up a whole square,
fronting upon every side. In the center of the building there is a round
space of about twenty yards in diameter running from the bottom to the
top; and there are walks all around this from each story. Persons are
let up and down here by elevators. There is a large, beautiful rockery
all decorated with lovely flowers in the center of this space; and the
clear, cool water from a pretty fountain is thrown high in the air and
descends softly and refreshingly upon the tender roses and mossy rocks.
There is a grand archway leading into this area from one of the
streets, and carriages are driven through this and around the beautiful
rockery where the air is fragrant with the sweet breath of the flowers.
Guests are thus lifted into and out of their carriages always in the
dry. The house is in all respects a _perfect_ structure, and is
furnished with the finest and most costly furniture. The rates are from
five to ten dollars per day; though good boarding can be had in the city
for from four to six dollars per week. Here is where General Grant and
party put up when they reached San Francisco in their trip round the
world. The other principal houses are the Baldwin, Franklin, Central
Pacific, and Hotel Rhein.

There are great numbers of saloons, gambling-houses, and variety-shows,
and whole gangs of the very lowest prostitutes in the city. A large
proportion of the inhabitants are the rakings of many nations; and I
feel very sure that there is not another city sitting upon the shores of
the Pacific Ocean of more notorious lewdness and low vices than this
place.

We heard much about the Chinese, and had seen a few; but here were
thousands of them, of every shape and size. The business-houses on each
side of one of the streets for a half mile through the city are almost
exclusively occupied by them. Their business ranges from the theater
down to the poultry-pen. This street is called China Street.

Very few of the Chinamen have brought their wives over with them, and
the females who _are_ here are nearly all prostitutes; so the men do
their own cooking and washing. They are nearly all good at this,
however; and I have learned that they are taught to do this in their
native land. It appears that none of them come to this country with the
intention of staying, but intend only to make little fortunes and then
take it back to China; and it is said that the bones of every deceased
one are sent home for interment. They are therefore very economical, and
live almost exclusively on rice and cooked fish. The former they have
shipped from China by the wholesale, and the latter they catch
themselves; so that grub costs them very little.

At meal-time groups of from six to twelve gather round a large pot of
rice and a great dish of cooked fish and take their meals. Each person
is provided with a cup, and two little sticks, about the size of a
lead-pencil, which they hold in their fingers like a bone-rattler holds
his bones. The rice is dipped into the cup and the cup is placed to the
lips; and as they rake the rice into their mouths with the sticks it
makes an observer think of playing the jew’s-harp. Now and then they
reach over and clamp a piece of fish between the sticks. And they appear
to relish this food as much as though it were the richest delicacy.

At night they gather in squads and crouch together upon the floor like
hogs. They have but a few blankets for beds. By living in this way their
expenses are consequently very light; and the poor, laboring white man
is underbidden in his labor, while the slaving washer-woman is driven
from her tub by this heathen competition.

The sorrowful consequences of Chinese competition can never be realized
until once observed. Some say it is right,--that what one human lives
on, another should be able to. But I say shame on the person who would
ask, or even wish to see his fellow-man live as do these vile, filthy,
heathen competitors. We boast of our land and Government as being the
pride of the world, the asylum of the oppressed, the home for the weary,
where labor is fairly rewarded, and where human happiness is not all
drowned by the necessary cares of life. To ask this competition is to
ask our laboring brothers to live as the subjects of the most wicked
tyrant on the earth, and our poor sisters as she who comes down the
foreign hill-side with a great load upon her head, knitting on the way.
There are about fifty thousand in the city; and every ship from China
brings more to the shore. It is needless to say that the laboring
classes are indignant at the outrage, and that the city is constantly in
the wildest commotion. In their part of the town they have dark secret
excavations in the earth, entered by trap-doors and narrow passes, and
in here are their opium-dens, and gambling-hells, and prostitution
apartments. No ray of sunlight ever reaches these cells; and the fumes
of filth and crime ooze out of the crevices like smoke from a kiln.
There are some back streets in which it is not safe to travel after
dark; and the air is contaminated with the most loathsome, contagious,
and dangerous diseases. Some of these low places have been broken up by
the police; but they have never been able to find half of them.

There are three political parties in California--the Republican,
Democratic, and the Workingmen’s Party of California (W. P. C.)--the
latter led by Dennis Kearney. We were there during the campaign of 1879,
and more excitement I never saw. The only issue was the Chinese
question; and each candidate would hop upon a wagon or store-box every
night, and cry out, “Elect me, and the Chinese with their leprosy shall
be driven from the state. Vote for me, and I will make hell a paradise,”
etc., etc. The W. P. C. is composed of the vile dregs of almost every
nation; and decency and manhood are not to be found in its ranks. Dennis
Kearney is a rash, illiterate, blood-thirsty fiend, whose regular
business is draying--an occupation he is only calculated for; and to see
this mob parading the streets, with Chinamen stamped upon their banners
in all horrible positions, shouting, profaning, and declaring open
violence to the Chinese and all persons who speak for them, is enough to
disgust man with his fellow-kindred. The question is worthy of
agitation; but violence is not the instrument with which to cure the
evils of a civilized world. Kearney is bold, rash, and ambitious; and
these are the qualities admired by such people as belong to the W. P. C.
It is wonderful, the influence this man has over his followers.

Most persons know about the DeYoung-Kalloch tragedy; and the _truth_ is
as follows, for I was there and saw the shooting: DeYoung was the editor
of the _Chronicle_ (a Republican paper), and I. M. Kalloch was a
minister--a smart man, but one whose religion was as transient as the
morning dew, and who, wishing a political benefit, stepped from the
sacred altar into the polluted ranks of Kearney’s howling mob. He was
nominated for mayor of the city, and went about agitating and
encouraging his party to violence in the strongest language. He abused
the leaders of other parties in bitter phrases; and upon one occasion
referred to DeYoung as a lousy bastard, nursed and reared in the lap of
a prostitute, and whose life was poison to San Francisco. DeYoung got to
hear of the infamous charges made against his poor old mother, whose
body was laid in the grave, and, unable to control his temper, he hired
a _coupe_ and negro to drive him to Kalloch’s house, and sent in for him
to come out, saying that a lady wished to see him. As he came near the
_coupe_, DeYoung flung open the door and fired upon him, one ball
passing into his body and another into his groins. He fell. But before
DeYoung could finish his work a mob turned over the _coupe_ and jerked
him out; and but for the brave police, he would have been mangled beyond
recognition in a few minutes. DeYoung was bound over in bail of twenty
thousand dollars, to answer the charge of shooting with intent to kill;
but before he was tried he was killed by his victim’s son. I. M. Kalloch
recovered from his wounds, and, having been elected, served the city as
mayor.

DeYoung was murdered by young I. S. Kalloch as follows: One evening, a
little after twilight,--after I. M. Kalloch was sound and well, and was
tilling his office,--DeYoung came from his home and entered his office;
but before he got behind the desk, I. S. Kalloch, who had been prowling
around the building watching his opportunity, rushed through the door
and fired upon his victim. His first two shots took slight effect; and
DeYoung was behind his desk and had his own pistol raised when a third
ball from his assailant entered his mouth and laid him dying upon the
floor at the feet of his brother Michael. The murderer was seized and
put in jail, and the Workingmen’s Party called a meeting at the Sand
Lots and had a grand jollification over the result; and extravagant
eulogiums were heaped upon young Kalloch, who was so brave and who
served his party so well. He had his trial; and though clearly guilty of
murder in the first degree, and deserving of blackest torture known to
the law, he was acquitted on the ground of self-defense. His party was
overjoyed at the result, and loading him in a carriage they pulled him
by hand all over the city.

Charles DeYoung was a bitter partisan, and made use of extravagant
language from the stump, but I. M. Kalloch was infinitely worse; and
though the latter made a low, cowardly assault upon a poor old woman
whose body was returning to the dust from whence it came, and should
have been stoned from the stand, DeYoung was certainly not justified in
his shooting at the time he did it, and should have been punished; but
it was clearly not the part of the Kallochs, who came down out of the
pulpit and placed themselves at the head of the ranks of an indecent
mob, to administer it. Excitement was running high at the time DeYoung
shot Kalloch, and the Chinese, knowing that they were the cause of the
trouble, were daily expecting an outbreak. When the report of the pistol
was heard, and people rushed to and fro, Chinatown was in a stir; and
every little old back shed and kitchen-roof was covered with Chinamen
with shot-guns and big rocks, fully expecting an attack, and determined
to fight it out. Such jabbering one never heard. Terror reigned supreme,
and mobs of indecent, beastly wretches ran through the streets crying
for violence and mob-law. A meeting of the party was called to determine
what to do; and in the afternoon several thousand people assembled at
the Sand Lots--a couple of lots just outside the corporation, where the
sand is very deep, and where the W. P. C.’s held their meetings. The
assembly was addressed by several of the leaders. Whenever a man would
get up and did not talk straight “hang,” he was jerked down and the mob
would yell like tigers; but when a speaker would cry for blood, and
pollute the very air with profanity, the hearts would beat quick and the
eyes glisten. There were several guns and pistols glistening in the
crowd, and for awhile things looked a little like hanging; and the party
being in a majority in the city, it could have been accomplished. But
about the time the resolution was to be adopted a dispatch was received
from Kearney (who was away), asking them to wait until he arrived. By
this time the jail was surrounded by a strong military guard, and the
violence was not attempted.

Such is W. P. C., and such is the true history of the DeYoung-Kalloch
troubles. I have, perhaps, dwelt longer upon this subject than I have
been justified in doing; but I was so utterly disgusted with the beastly
actions of these villains, and so fully impressed with the violence
threatened to justice, and the danger into which a government is plunged
where illiteracy takes the throne, that I could not refrain.

When it was known that the Grant party were to stop in the city, the
citizens began to prepare for a grand reception. But Kearney called a
meeting of his followers and denounced the Republican party in severest
epithets. He called General Grant its leader, and denounced him as a
tyrant who was seeking the power of the nation, and told his men not to
turn out in the parade, but while they were marching through the streets
they would meet at the Sand Lots and burn General Grant in effigy. The
speech took great effect on the party, and it looked as though it would
be hardly safe for the general to come to the city. Several of the
good, resolute citizens waited upon Kearney and told him that if he ever
attempted to carry out his threats his body would be pierced with a
thousand bullets. The warning was sufficient; and on the arrival of the
party, Kearney and his minions were quiet; and the Republican party
fired thirty salutes from the Sand Lots in honor of the greatest general
on earth.

We were in the city on election-day; and such a time I never saw. The
Ohio boys who talk of political excitement ought to have been there.
There were eighty special police appointed, and on nearly every corner
there was a fight. Three men were shot, several were wounded, and the
station-houses were crowded. The W. P. C.’s carried the city, but the
state went Republican.

The Chinese question is a cloud hanging over California; and what the
result will be can not be told. Surely some modification of the
Burlingame treaty is needed as badly as a protection tariff. There are
about fifty thousand in the city of Frisco, and they are scattered in
almost every city in the state. Large societies are organized, and all
joiners pledge themselves not to employ Chinese labor; and though many
join, some of the big employers work to their own interests, and employ
those who can be got the cheapest, be they Chinamen or not. Many of the
large hotels and bakeries employ Chinese; and more beautiful bread,
biscuits, and pies than they turn out were never seen. The secret of
their success has been discovered, however, and they have been driven
off in some places. They fill their mouth with warm water, and with a
peculiar _whist_ they blow it out in sprays as fine as the morning mist,
over the dough while kneading. In this way the dough is worked and
rolled in good order, and then placed in the oven. When it is of a
delicate brown it is drawn out, a lump of butter is melted in the mouth
and then blown over it, and the crust becomes soft as sponge. To persons
with calloused stomachs, or to those who are ignorant of the process, it
is perfectly delicious. As for us, we did not choose to eat spit, be it
native or imported. The laundry-men dampen their clothes in the same
way; and when several are at work in the same house they make almost as
much noise as the cylinder-cocks on a steam-engine, and you can hear
them clear out on the street.

California is noted for its beautiful, even climate. There are two
seasons--the wet and the dry. The former sets in about November first
and continues until about April first. During this season it rains
almost every day, and the sun is hidden sometimes for several weeks at a
time; and except in the mountains, it seldom gets cold. During the dry
season there is no rain, and crops are nourished by the heavy dews. This
is the reason corn does no good here. The summers are usually warm. The
temperature has been known to reach 120°, and little birds have been
seen to drop suffocated from the trees. The mornings and evenings of the
warmest days are usually so cool, from the sea-breeze, that fire is
comfortable and persons can sleep under a pair of blankets. It is
usually about ten o’clock before fog clears away sufficient to let
through the rays of the sun. Of course there is some difference between
the climate of the northern and the southern parts of the state.

The ocean, to us, was the subject of great attraction; and we loved to
sit upon a bluff at the beach and see the tide come rolling in and hear
it roar as the briny spray was lashed up against the rocky shores and
tossed back into foam, and see the multitudes of ships anchored in the
bay, whose rigging looked like a vast net-work.

We saw ships here nearly five hundred feet long, which drew twenty-three
feet of water and were twenty feet out of the water. To see these great
ships going out and coming in is a grand sight indeed. As they plow
through the water the brine is churned into foam and the waves roll
several feet high behind them, and the surface is left disturbed far in
the rear. It is pleasant to see a ship from a foreign port draw up to
the wharf and hear the warm greetings of friends. The wharf is all lined
with persons,--many anxious to see some one,--and when the planks are
thrown out they rush on board; and to see the warm embraces and
affectionate salutes of dear friends whom the briny waves rolled between
for perhaps several years is enough to hurry the blood in one’s veins
and lift his heart high in his bosom. But, on the other hand, oh! how
sorrowful to see friends part. The ship is loaded and the time is set
for starting; and persons taking passage gather on board; and their
friends sit by their sides talking and telling messages to carry to
friends beyond. The minutes fly like seconds, and the time comes nearer
and nearer; and at length the order is given to draw in the planks.
Quivering lips are then touched and trembling hands are shaken, and with
a sorrowful “Good-by” those not going rush ashore. The planks are drawn
in, the moorings are cut loose, the great ship is hauled out into the
open bay by a tug-boat, and when she is whirled about and her bow
pointed toward the Golden Gate the cannon is fired, the great wheel
begins to roll, and the great monster, looking like a planet upon the
waves, moves gracefully away. Then comes the affecting scene. Friends
stand upon the beach waving their handkerchiefs, and as they see the
dearest on earth glide out of sight upon the treacherous waves vent is
given to strongest grief, and heart-rending sighs waft out upon the
ocean breeze.

I have witnessed some touching scenes, one of which I shall not soon
forget. I was at the wharf when the great ship Australia was whirled
about, her cannon discharged, and she started for the island from which
she took her name; and I saw the scene. There was one aged woman whose
only son was on board; and she stood upon the shore and sobbed as if her
heart would break as he rode away. When the ship faded in the distance
she fainted away and was carried off. Oh! what great necessity must
have forced that son abroad, or what a hard and cruel heart he must have
had to grieve his poor old mother’s heart and drown her cries in the
briny waves. How I thought of the great Washington, who gave up his
voyage because of his good mother’s grief.

We were not satisfied with looking over the waters, but we were anxious
to ride the waves. Accordingly we hired a plunger, about twenty feet
long, with a mast about twelve feet high and a single sail; and though
we were all greenhorns upon the waters, we pushed into the bay. We
thought we would take a fish; so we got tackling, bought three
fish-worms for twenty cents, and dragged our lines behind the boat. We
started early in the morning when the wind was low and the tide was
running out; and we sailed merrily away.

The Golden Gate is about six miles up the bay; and we glided among the
tugs and schooners and around the great anchored steamers, and at length
reached the gate. Here the bay narrows, and the entrance to the open sea
is about half a mile wide. On either side the rough, barren bluffs rise
several hundred feet high; and numbers of big government guns planted
upon the crests look down over the gateway.

We launched out into the sea and for our first time rode upon the king
of waters. The breeze was favorable, and we shot along until the beach
was left in the dim distance. We then concluded we were far enough. As
far as the eye could reach the waters idly tossed; and the mist hung
over the sea like smoke over a burning prairie. The sea-gulls rocked
upon the waves, the spirt-whales rose to the surface and blew the brine
far into the air, and the dark sea-lions rose to utter their loud roars
and then disappear again among the waves.

Our sail out was very pleasant; but the wind had now grown strong, and
being directly against us on our return--with our little knowledge of
sailing--we were in bad quarters. We tossed about, and several times
came near upsetting. We had to jerk down the sail, and at length learned
to manage the rudder and to zigzag the boat; and about twilight we
glided back through the gate into the bay. The wind was now roaring over
the sea, and the waves rolled and tossed and churned it into foam; and
it seemed to me that every time we came down we were going clear under.
We here turned with the breeze again, and shot down through

[Illustration: SAN FRANCISCO BAY.]

the bay, with the tide, like an arrow. We ran down among the other
vessels at the harbor and were lashed up against their sides and tossed
helplessly about until eight o’clock, when we came up to the shore. We
had not caught a fish, and boat-riding had ceased to be pleasant. The
owner was very anxious about his boat; for he said he had lost several
boats by greenhorns taking them out and getting capsized and sinking
them. God knows we were as anxious to bring the boat in safely as he
was.

We had often thought and talked about swimming to the shore from wrecks
on the ocean; but since we saw the waters we think swimming is but a
faint hope; for when the breeze is so light that it is hardly noticeable
the waters toss a foot high, and when the wind blows a little they roll
several feet high, and at no time is the surface still and smooth.

The tide goes out every morning and comes in every evening; and it is
delightful to sit upon the beach when the pale beams of the sinking sun
are kissing the waves, and see it come rolling in. Ridges of water about
three feet high, reaching from right to left as far as the eye can reach
and about one hundred yards apart, chase each other to the shore; and as
they strike upon the breakers the spray is lashed high against the rocky
beach and roars like a forest hurricane. I have sat here for hours, lost
in reflection; and the spell was only broken by the falling of the
twilight veil.

There are persons here who make their living by fishing; and almost
every day they set out for the mouth of the Sacramento River or the
southern neck of the bay, and at night come back with their boats loaded
with the most beautiful fish. I have seen sturgeon four feet long, and
with heads as large as a man’s.

There is yet another place of which I must speak in connection with
Frisco, and that is Woodward’s Garden, a place noted for its beauty and
known by everybody for miles around. It is situated on a hill about a
mile south of the city, and is surrounded by a high, strong fence and a
thick growth of tall cedars. It contains about four acres, and is
decorated with the most beautiful firs, cedars, and drooping willows;
and great fountains toss their cool, sparkling waters high in the air
and fall it into nice, large ponds, where sport almost all kinds of
aquatic animals and fowls.

There are several pretty passes under the hills and some lovely caves
through which course streamlets of clear, cool water. In the walls of
these caves are arranged large glass cases through which the water
bubbles and in which nestle, among pretty pieces of coral, the most
beautiful fishes of all shapes and colors. Some have no eyes; and others
have such curious shapes that it takes close observation to find the
head or even to tell whether they are animate objects.

There are several fine, large buildings in the garden, and one of the
finest museums I ever passed through. Birds of the most gaudy plumage,
from every climate of the earth, sing and croak among the little trees
in their fine, large cages, and the air was laded with their sweet,
merry songs.

There is also an elegant theater, and lunchrooms; and there are several
entertainments given here each week. On the whole, I suppose there is
not a more beautiful, interesting, and instructive place on the
continent. All persons visiting California should by all means go to see
this great museum. Great crowds gather into the garden almost every
day,--especially Sunday,--and the admission being twenty-five cents
there must be thousands of dollars taken in every year; though it must
also take a vast amount to keep up the place. There are so many
subterranean passages and high, curious galleries that it takes a half
day to examine all the beauties and curiosities; and strangers will
miss half them unless they hire a guide to take them through.

We had now traveled every street and fully acquainted ourselves with the
great city of San Francisco, and had made excursions out through the
country for miles around, so we determined to take a trip up to Oregon
and Washington Territory to see the brag countries of the north-west.

There is great competition between these points; and though the regular
fare is ten dollars, there was just then a big war between the
ship-lines. While one was charging no fare, the other was transporting
passengers free and boarding them besides. This was a very good time to
go to Portland; so we boarded the steamer Oregon, which glided out upon
the waters and steered for the north.

The distance is five hundred miles; and in four days we sailed into the
mouth of the Columbia River. The river is very wide and deep here, and
the current is very strong; but we steamed up to where the Willamette
empties in from the south, and then cast anchor and in boats sailed down
to Portland, and to Salem, the capital of the state.

The Willamette valley is a rich and beautiful country, and, I suppose,
the greatest wheat-field on the continent. Much other grain is also
raised. Low mountains hem the valley on either side, and the slopes are
covered with the most beautiful large timber.

Portland and Salem are both pretty cities; and though small now, the
rich Willamette soil promises to make them large and active cities in
the future.

We now sailed back to the Columbia and up to Walla Walla, a little town
on the Columbia shore in the eastern part of Washington Territory, where
the Snake River brings in its waters. Here is also a beautiful, level,
valley country, and settlers are rearing their cabins in every
direction. Walla Walla has as glittering a prospect as any other upon
the Pacific slope, though its day may be far in the future.

We had seen heavy forests, but Washington Territory beats anything on
this score that we ever saw. The very richest soil is covered with trees
from three to six feet over, and standing so closely together that a ray
of sunshine scarcely ever gets through the tangled branches. What has
been cleared proves to be very productive; but, oh, my! the clearing.
Why, it would take a man nearly a life-time to clear himself a farm; for
even when the trees are felled and burned, the great rooty stumps are so
thick that no farming can be done until they are grubbed and blasted
out. This will necessarily be slow work; but I prophesy for this country
a bright future. There are numbers of saw-mills buzzing in the forests,
and much of the finest lumber is shipped down to the coast cities; but
timber being also good all along the Pacific slopes, the lumber business
is not very profitable. There are many of the straightest, smoothest,
and tallest saplings here that were ever seen, and great numbers are cut
down every year for ship-masts.

Imported stock is bred here in great herds; and numbers of the very
largest and finest horses are sold and sent out from here every year.
The climate is the greatest drawback to the country. Like in California,
there is a wet and a dry season; but the former lasts about six months
or more, during which time it rains almost constantly, and settlers say
the sun is hidden sometimes for several months. The streams then
overflow, and persons can fish all over their farms--and some fine white
salmon and other varieties are caught. Moss grows all over the roofs of
the buildings, and hangs from the forest-limbs clear down to the ground.
During this season persons do not pretend to do much but fish and float
logs; but when the dry season sets in the weather is delightful, and it
is as pretty a country to live in as lies between the oceans.

When we were ready to go south again we found that the Republican (one
of the competitors between Portland and Frisco) had been wrecked, and
the Oregon line was now charging its own rates; and the fare for our
return was sufficient to make up for our free ride.

We ran out of the mouth of the Columbia, and had not gone far when we
hove in sight of the stranded Republican, reeling upon the rocks. The
wind was high, and the waves were lashing up against her sides; and she
was heaving and groaning, while most of her rigging had been torn away
by the gale. She proved a total wreck; and several lives were lost.
There was great excitement about the matter, and the captain was
strongly accused of being bought off by the other line, and purposely
driving her awreck; for it was shown that on the night of the accident
the wind was very high and the sea was rolling terribly, and the sailors
pleaded with the captain to go ashore before dark, or else ran out
farther on the ocean out of danger from the breakers. But he was
heedless, and the consequence was that in the darkness of the night they
were driven upon the bars.

Well, we ran down to the south, most of the time in sight of land, until
we again reached Frisco, and from there we again embarked for Santa
Barbara, on the southern coast of California, a distance of about two
hundred miles.

We now reached the most delightful spot on earth, where winter never
comes, but where the bright summer lasts the whole year round. The cool
fall winds were now blowing in the central and northern states, and the
bitter frosts were clipping the leaves from the forest-trees; but here
the soft zephyrs were breathing calmly, and the tender foliage of the
trees and plants was green and fresh as in the month of May, while the
air was laded with the breath of the lovely flowers and delicious
fruits. The rich oranges, lemons, and figs, which are considered such
delicacies in the East, were here hanging upon the native bush, and we
went forth and plucked them in all their natural beauty. How lovely!
What a paragon of beauty! A life here would be but a continuous summer’s
day.

The country around Los Angeles, which lies a little to the south, is a
perfect Eden, and the city is a perfect gem; and persons seeking a peer
for paradise, where December is pleasant as May, should journey to
California and anchor in the sweet, sunny South, where the breath of
heaven fans the shore.

From here we went down the Southern Pacific Railroad, and branched off
to Prescott, the capital of Arizona. Here we met the great General John
C. Fremont, the daring explorer who served the Government so nobly
between the years 1842-8, by his exploits through the bleak, lonely
mountains and wild lands of the savage, and whose talent the nation has
felt and acknowledged. He was born in South Carolina in the year 1813,
and though his great name was once in every mouth on the Atlantic slope,
and even sung in the national campaign of 1856, the orient has almost
forgotten her son and servant, whose lips have touched the waters of
every river between the shores, and whose hairs have grown gray in her
service; and far beyond the Mississippi he is to-day governing the
dismal, desert territory of Arizona, his youth gone, glory flown, and
naught but his insignificant gubernatorial salary to guard poverty from
his door.

The climate here is intensely hot, and the surface is dry and sandy.
General Fremont thinks that a portion of the territory could be flooded
from the Pacific, and thereby be made productive; and his scheme has
been presented to congress.

They were just building the Southern Pacific Railroad through here when
we were there, and, from the intense heat and burning sands, it was
found impossible to work at it except about three or four months in the
year. The road is, however, now finished, and the Union Pacific has a
rival in the route across the continent.

On our return back to Frisco we went up a branch of the Central Pacific,
and ran out on the stage to the big trees upon the Sierra Nevada slopes.
We had stood in the forests in Ohio, and looked up at the great oaks and
called them mammoths; but great glory! here was a whole forest in a
single tree. The trunks are from ten to fifteen feet in diameter, with
summits reared so high that they appear to sweep the sky as they are
swayed to and fro by the upper currents; and away up among the spreading
boughs nestle and scream the great eagles, looking like sparrows. The
stage-route runs clear through the forest, and right by the largest
trees, which rear their heads to the enormous height of three and four
hundred feet, and right through the hollow trunk of the king of the
forest, which fell in a storm some years ago. Some idea can be formed of
the immensity of this tree when I tell you that the driver keeps his
seat and a four-horse stage-coach runs lengthwise through its body with
perfect ease. People are living in some of the trees, and have doors and
windows cut out; and some very fair-looking two-story houses are made
with these natural walls. Many of the trees have been felled, and it is
found that all the largest are but shells. One was cut down, divided
into sections, and taken to the Centennial. The most interesting part of
our journey was the curling route among these towering Pacific
monuments; and all tourists to the West, wishing to see the curiosities
of the world, should not fail to ride out among the wonders upon the
Sierra Nevada slopes.

We now returned to Frisco and prepared to return to Ohio. We sailed
across the bay, and, taking a last long look over the tossing sea, we
bid the waves good-by, and then rattled along over the iron trail of the
Union Pacific, reaching home safe and sound, when the snow-flakes were
flying in the wintry air of 1879. How unnatural all things appeared!
Where are the great hills which used to almost barrier the public way?
Why, the roads are almost smooth as a floor. Where are the big fields
that it used to take days to plow, and the great forests through which
we used to hunt? All appear but garden-spots, and fit for the spade
instead of the plow; and the woods are too small for a home for even the
squirrel or wood-chuck. All efforts to see the old homestead as in years
gone by are vain. The towering peaks of the Rockies, and the steep,
stony slopes of the Green Horns can not be banished from my mind, and
the great world of level prairie is too fresh in my memory.

I have been home now some time; and to this day farms are but gardens
and the hills are as clods. Like experience can only prove the effect. I
have roamed through twenty states and territories, and have in a measure
satisfied that desire which was the source of my boyish dreams. The
adventure is but familiar talk, and the wild chase is but common
exercise. But how much better am I off than he who is content without
travel? I now only _realize_ how wonderful is the world and its
workings, and how much there is that I never _shall_ see. Travel is
prone to disturb content; and discontent is the greatest enemy to the
human mind. Of course, this is directed to persons who travel to satisfy
the mind; for they whom circumstances crowd from home show pluck and
shrewdness in careful prospecting. I can assure you that I have seen a
great deal, and much that I never wish to see again. And if in this
brief work I have succeeded in giving my readers even a limited idea of
the country through which I passed, I feel sure that they will relieve
me of my responsible undertaking; for it is by far too much for these
few pages.




WHO SHOULD GO WEST.


Since I arrived from my tour through the West scarcely a day passes that
there are not some persons, from almost every occupation and position in
life, interrogating me as to the chances and prospects in the West. A
general answer can not be given, for circumstances vary. Though I can
not be as general and emphatic in my advice as was the great Horace
Greeley when he said, “Young man, go west and grow up with the country,”
I _can_ say from real experience and practical observations that for
_some_ toward the Pacific there is wealth. I emphasize the word
“_some_;” for there are dispositions that will never prosper in this
noted, novel land.

It should be remembered that going west from Ohio is not going west from
New York; for the splendid forests, the beautiful, rich valleys, and the
great commercial advantages fade quickly before the emigrant when he
leaves the Mississippi and marches toward the western sea. When the
Missouri is once crossed, the great American stage is then entered upon,
where the plays are different and numerous and where the shrewdest men
are actors. Instead of the honest peasant, grubbing and planting by his
little cabin in the dense forest, there are the trickster, the knave,
the thief, each playing his faithful part. Business is all swept along
by the wave of excitement,--as can be collected from the present
work,--and under such circumstances there are very many who can not
stand prosperity. Wages are always good. Money is usually made easy; and
the result of such conditions is only too well known. Fine dress is not
required, and money is plenty. For him who has enough control over
himself to take advantage of the situation there is a glittering
prospect. There are persons on the prairies and in the mountains to-day
who are gathering money like leaves in autumn.

I have tried to describe the country as it is; and my readers of
different occupations can draw conclusions and choose localities for
themselves. But my advice to those who are comfortably nestling in the
folds of civilization, where the church-bell strikes, where the
school-houses dot the land, and where utter want is ever barred, is,
Stay where you are; educate your children and be content with good. To
those who have no money,--especially those who have families,--I will
say, For God’s sake stay where help is near and charity abounds; for I
assure you that I have _seen_ the _destitute_ in a strange land.

Of course, there are beautiful lands in parts of several states and
territories, where good farms can be had, and where, some time in the
future, the steeples of great cities will glitter in the sunlight. There
is, undoubtedly, an opening here for the agriculturist; but emigrants
must expect to find the country new, the facilities and accommodations
scarce, and the neighbors poor. To be safe, they should always have
sufficient capital to run them a year or two. I have known persons to
drift west with the excitement and arrive in a splendid land without a
cent, as though expecting to find bread upon the bushes, crops ready to
harvest, and wealthy neighbors. The first year’s crop failed because of
insects, drought, or some other peculiarity of the western prairie, and
their condition was then more deplorable than the poorest from whence
they came.

There are persons who make it a business to accommodate the unfortunate
settlers with money; but the security is mortgage on property, and the
interest is usually two per cent per month, or twenty-four per cent per
year, and some are obliged to pay fifty per cent. Borrowed money never
fails to produce a crop; but the _soil_ may _fail_, and produce is also
of poor sale. From this hint warning consultations can be drawn, and
persons with families should take heed.

To the agriculturalist I can speak favorably of Kansas, Nebraska (page
40), and eastern Dakota; but should the _Indian Territory_ be opened to
settlement (as it will soon be), _there_ is the place to fly, for it is
acknowledged the hot-bed of the West. Emigrants will find it convenient
if prepared with a mess-box as described (page 94). For cattle and sheep
business on a big scale, go to Kansas, Colorado, and New Mexico (page
168). For health-giving and delightful summer-resorts (and I might here
add that there are thousands dying in the East to-day who would be hale
and hearty in the West), I can speak highly of Manitou Springs,
Colorado (page 258-264), and also Las Vegas Hot Springs, New Mexico. The
latter are twenty-two in number, and beautifully located about four
miles above the pretty city of Las Vegas. They have an altitude of six
thousand four hundred feet--the elevation which has made Colorado such a
favorite resort for those affected with pulmonary complaints--with a
decided advantage over some of the northern resorts as to latitude and
health-giving climate. The character of the water is similar to that of
the famous Hot Springs of Arkansas, as shown by the following chemical
analysis made by Prof. Hayden, United States geologist:

---------------------+-------------+-------------+--------------
    CONSTITUENTS.    |SPRING NO. 1.|     NO. 2   |    NO. 3
---------------------+-------------+-------------+--------------
Sodium carbonate     |         1.72|         1.17|         5.00
Calcium carbonate   }|         1.08|        10.63|        11.43
Magnesium carbon’te }|             |             |
Sodium sulphate      |        14.12|        15.43|        16.21
Sodium chloride      |        27.26|        24.37|        27-34
Potassium            |        Trace|        Trace|        Trace
Litheium             | Strong trace| Strong trace| Strong trace
Silicid acid         |         1.04|        Trace|         2.15
Sodium               |        Trace|        Trace|        Trace
Bromine              |        Trace|        Trace|        Trace
Temperature          |        130°F|        123°F|        123°F
---------------------+-------------+-------------+--------------

This showing speaks volumes to those familiar with thermal springs.
Their waters are of a superior medicinal character. The climate is not
bleak nor harsh in winter, and is very bracing and pleasant in summer.
The plateau upon which they are located may be considered the great
sanitarium in this country for lung-diseases. Prominent Boston gentlemen
have purchased and improved the property; and every visitor is
delighted.

Now, in conclusion, I will again assert that there are splendid
opportunities for persons of most classes and occupations. But I almost
hesitate to advise young men to go there (page 221); for, as was said,
all is excitement. The society is bad, and vices are so numerous (202)
that many persons will fall under such circumstances; and such a fall is
grieving many a good parent to-day.

Work can be had on the prairie or in the mountains at any time in the
summer-season; and wages are always good. But to succeed, you must be
firm, resolve to resist the evils, and be not led astray. Take care of
your earnings, and you can save money.

I have been as elaborate in my description as space will permit, and
upon facts stated my readers may rely and base their actions. Whatever
my ideas taken from this volume may be, I assure you that my chosen
profession and peculiar situation are all that keep me from following
the sun in his course to-morrow.

    For I know full well
    That the future will tell
    The advantages hidden
    In the now rude West.


THE END.