The Awakening of the Desert

In addition to one company of the 18th regulars, there were stationed at the post under O'Brien two companies of the 5th U. S. Volunteers, and a company of the 2nd U. S. Cavalry. We learned that on the occasion of the burning of the post at Julesburg, about two thousand savages, with yells and whoops, suddenly closed in upon the town, but were met by a detail of troops from the fort. The Indians used chiefly bows and arrows. The surviving soldiers were relieved after twenty-two comrades had been killed and scalped by the Indians. The town was pillaged and burned to the ground with heavy loss of supplies to the stage company. Fifty thousand dollars in money was captured from a single coach. The estimated loss in Julesburg as the result of this attack, which occurred on February 2, 1865, was $115,100. The additional losses sustained by Ben Holliday in the raids occurring at that time, including losses of horses and stages, and the various stage stations destroyed by the Indians along the Platte River, were finally placed at $375,839, for the recovery of which amount a bill was introduced in Congress. The loss to emigrants would not be reported as would that of stage companies that transport the U. S. Mail. The stage lines in those days were frequently put entirely out of service for a time by Indian depredations.

If there had ever been any timber along the Platte near Julesburg, it had now disappeared. A small pine log six feet in length which, it was stated, had been brought sixty miles, was purchased by Paul Beemer for one dollar, for fire wood. That price, however, was less than its original cost, for Captain O'Brien stated that wood cost the Government $625 per cord.

In a yard nearby, adobe or sun-dried bricks were being made, the size being about 8x12 inches. They were to be used in the rebuilding of Julesburg. None had yet been used in new construction. To be exact, Julesburg at the time of our visit consisted of six widely separated framed houses, on the old ruins, one being a blacksmith shop. The most imposing of the buildings was a billiard parlor, as indicated by the sign on its front. As a detachment from our party were sauntering by the wide-open door of the last named palace of amusement, an altercation had just commenced, the casus belli being the price of two bags of shelled corn. Two men who had just entered the room of the saloon at once approached a stalwart man who was pushing ivory balls across a billiard table, and demanded more money for the corn. "Not another cent; I paid all I agreed to pay," was the sharp reply of the player, who for a moment discontinued his game. "It's a damn lie and you know it, and if you don't shell out damn quick, we'll take it out of you," was the call to combat delivered by one of the newly arrived pair who, like all others there except the proprietor, were transients. The big end of a billiard cue, swung with terrific force, instantly crashed against the head of the corn seller, and swiftly whirling again in the air it grazed the disappearing form of the silent partner, who escaped through the door. The prostrate spokesman of the pair was lifted to his feet by bystanders and assisted to the open air, and the game proceeded.

We had previously learned that arrangements had been in progress for several months, with the view of holding an important council at Fort Laramie with several Indian tribes then on unfriendly terms with the whites. It was hoped that a treaty might settle the issues which for a considerable time had been the cause of continued dissension. At Julesburg we learned that according to the latest advices received there, no treaty had been concluded, although the tribes had assembled. It was further reported that Indian warriors to the number of 15,000 had disappeared from their customary haunts and were apparently removing their families to safer places, preparatory to taking the war-path, unless a satisfactory settlement should be made. The question for us now to determine was, should we take the Bitter Creek route through Bridger's Pass and thus keep as far south and west of the disputed territory as possible, or proceed by Fort Laramie and "the new cut off" by Fort Reno, the route which the Indians were demanding must be closed to white travel.

A feeling of despondency prevailed among the few whites remaining at Julesburg, mingled with a bitter sentiment toward the Government for the manner in which the negotiations had thus far been conducted, it being the belief that the interests of sutlers and Indian agents had been treated as paramount. It seemed impossible for us at this time to obtain definite information as we desired, but the almost universal impression was that the Indians were being fed, armed, and otherwise put into favorable condition to prosecute war upon the settlers and emigrants whenever they should decide to turn their backs upon the unsatisfactory terms demanded from them.

As is well known, Indians lack the faculty of organization on a large scale. Tecumseh, Pontiac, and other tribal leaders finally failed because of this fact. The tribes that were involved in the controversy to which we have referred were chiefly the Sioux or Dakotas, the Mountain Crows, the Cheyennes, and the Arapahoes. Each of these tribes was divided into numerous independent bands, each recognizing no authority beyond its own chief. A common language, and the tribal superstitions and customs, are the only bond that was calculated to unite them, otherwise, so far as can be learned from observation and from various writings, they were as independent one of another as the Anglo-Saxon stock of Minnesota is independent of the same stock in Manitoba. A common cause might unite them for a time, but each would still be under its own leadership. There is no great head to the tribe as a whole. As the tribes are divided into bands, so each band is divided into villages, each having its own chief. Parkman states that the chiefs are "honored and obeyed only so far as their personal qualities may command respect or fear." Some chiefs have attained much power and are recognized in the histories of our country. Such were Sogoyewatha, the orator of the Senecas, Blackhawk of the Sacs, Red Cloud, to whom we shall refer later, and several other chiefs of national reputation. The Western Dakotas, of late years known as Sioux, had no fixed place of abode. They were incessantly wandering both in summer and winter, and the buffalo furnished them most of the necessities of life. Its flesh, which was usually sun-dried, or jerked, as the process is termed, furnished food; its skin their habitations and beds; its fat was fuel; other parts supplied powerful strings for their bows, also glue, thread, cordage, and boats. Was it strange, then, that the unnecessary slaughter of these valuable animals upon which they had learned to depend, and their slaughter on the best of the remaining hunting grounds, should arouse the earnest protest of the redskins?

In view of the general conditions, we held a council in the evening, and as arguments are easily forthcoming to sustain any personal desire or predilection, we, as many young men would have done, decided to go by the Laramie route. This was on the theory or pretext that we were likely to get over the mountains before the Indians could inaugurate a general warfare, and before the treaty gathering at Laramie could be concluded. As a fact, we were disposed to go by that route because we believed that more of interest promised to happen along that trail; besides, the natural attractions appeared more inviting than on the Bridger route. The rapid rise in the river, indeed, brought rather a serious obstacle to confront us, but we determined to attempt the crossing in the morning. For a time in the year 1864, prior to the diversion of the stage line to the Bridger route, a ferry was maintained at this crossing, but in the following year it was permanently abandoned.

We had not forgotten to inquire after the condition of the wounded young driver who had preceded us. The post surgeon reported that he was progressing favorably and that the doctor who had dressed the wound had done it as well as could be expected of an amateur; in other words, he had done nothing except to bandage it. We were permitted to congratulate the young man on his safe trip to that point.

On our way back to the camp we were surprised to come upon Dr. Brown's driver, John, who informed us that his party had just arrived. He conducted us to the doctor's camp, where we received a cordial southern welcome. When we informed Dr. Brown that we had decided to undertake the northern route, he requested us to be seated for awhile. Occupying such boxes and other objects as were the most available, we were soon in comfortable positions. Ben and Fred made it convenient to sit one on either side of the girls, who were as usual side by side. I was pleasantly grouped with the doctor and his wife. John, after having stimulated the camp fire, found a seat upon the front of one of the wagons. The doctor was much older than we were, and we had observed that the loss of many friends during the recent war and the abandonment of his old Kentucky home, had filled his mind with sad and haunting recollections. However, he and his family were fine examples of the best and most cultured stock that went out from his state to make up the permanent citizenship that entered into the building of the West.

For several minutes after we were all seated but few words were spoken. The camp fire, which had been revived for light rather than for heat, had begun to flash some flickering rays upon the faces of the little company gathered around it. Finally the doctor said: "I much regret that our paths must separate, and though our own plans are somewhat uncertain, I hope that we may meet again."

In travel of the kind we have been describing, acquaintance often ripens more rapidly than in ordinary life. Without preliminaries, we proceeded to recite the incidents of our journey since our first separation from their party, though Ben and Fred joined in the conversation but incidentally, finding much more of interest in the subdued conversation they contrived to carry on with the young ladies. The fact that Ben (then hardly twenty-one years of age) had been a first-lieutenant in a Wisconsin regiment in active service, did not seem to lessen his admiration for the southern girl with dark hair, and possibly not for the dignified father, who may have faced him on some southern battlefield. Ben was a noble fellow of sterling worth and character. His sincerity and good sense were sure to make their impression upon any one whom he might meet. Fred was quite as true, and there was charm in his presence. There they sat beside those bright but serious young ladies, quietly making the best of the fleeting moments.

"Boys," I said, "don't you think it is time to leave our friends and return to camp, – for we must try that ford early in the morning, you know?"

My admonition roused the boys to a realization of the fact that the hour was late. We rose from our seats, exchanged a hearty goodbye with the Browns, and after lingering a moment with the young ladies on the edge of the shadow of the wagons made by the camp fire, we tore ourselves away and started through the darkness towards our own camp. We separated, not expecting to meet the Browns again, but we met them once more on this strange and interesting highway.

CHAPTER XI

Fording the Platte in High Water

EARLY on the following morning, as a sufficient number of men and teams to conform to the requirements of the War Department had been reported as ready to proceed, we were at the river's edge prepared to attempt the ford. During low water many of the numerous sand bars in the river cover wide areas. But now the swiftly surging waters which had risen perceptibly during the night swept over all the island bars, leaving the depressions between them of uncertain depth, because the water loaded with clay and sand was opaque as flowing mud can be. A number of teams belonging to different parties were hurriedly prepared to make the crossing, as the river was still rising. Many drivers removed their boots, and a few whose wardrobes were limited went even farther and hung the greater part of their garments in wagons. The general course taken through the stream by the last preceding travelers might now be more unsafe than some other route, because of the constant shifting of the quicksands.

As a preliminary step, it was decided that mounted men from the several outfits that were to cross should test various parts of the river by different routes. Stripping the saddles from their horses, those who were willing to attempt the passage started in from as many different points. For two or three rods in each course tested, the water was found to be rather shallow, but further on it varied greatly along the different routes. The water being muddy, there was no visible indication of its depth in advance of the rider, except that at the deepest points the current, being less impeded, was much swifter and was also indicated by broad, undulating swells. When about one-fourth of the way over, my horse dropped into a very deep channel, where he could obtain no footing. In all such places, the horse and rider swiftly drifted down the river, swimming in the direction of the objective point on the opposite shore. Nearly all of those who participated in this preliminary trip seemed to doubt the practicability of a safe crossing. The rider, however, who had kept the furthest up the stream had found a footing for his horse through nearly the entire course, there being but one place where for a moment he seemed to lose his hold on the bottom; and that was approximately the route adopted.

The tendency of all who crossed, was to be carried down the stream, and all came out on the north bank a long distance below the point which they aimed to reach. A trigonometrical measurement of the river, taken with a sextant, gave the width as 792 yards; Root gives the width as being one-half mile. But our proposed course, being serpentine and quite in the form of the letter S, was about seven-eighths of a mile in length. The general course having been agreed upon, the final preparations were quickly made for the start. As oxen are the safest animals to use in this kind of work, it was arranged that the ox team wagons should move in advance. Eighteen yoke of oxen – in other words, the teams from three wagons – were hitched to a single wagon, each making a combined team more than 200 feet in length. Four such teams were made ready. The heaviest men were assigned to ride on the backs of all the lead oxen, to bear them down as low as possible into the water, so that they would be less inclined to float in deep water and lose their footing. Oxen in swimming do not sink as low in the water as either mules or horses. The instructions to the drivers of all teams were to direct them constantly somewhat up stream, that they might eventually reach the opposite shore as nearly as possible directly opposite the place of starting, for they would be sure to drift more or less.

The importance of a very long team in fording such a turbulent river of varying depth is that when the lead teams find water so deep that it lifts their feet from the bottom, and they are compelled to float and swing down stream, then the middle teams, urged on by their riders and the horsemen who ride alongside, may keep the wagon moving and somewhere near its true course; but it must be kept moving. When the lead oxen have again secured a footing in shallow water, they must again be turned up stream, to straighten out the whole line and aid in pulling intermediate teams over the deep places. A minute halt of a loaded wagon in the soft quicksand is likely to be very serious, as the rushing current will quickly undermine it and it will rapidly settle to the wagon bed.

All these points having been forcefully impressed upon the men, the ox drivers vaulted to their positions, each astride of an ox. Horsemen were in waiting at the right, or down stream side, to assist in keeping the cattle from drifting. No saddles were used on the animals, and the men were barefooted, for when the horses should sink with their backs below the water, saddles and shoes would become encumbrances.

The captain having mounted on his horse, both being divested of unnecessary trappings, galloped down the line shouting to the men of each team, "Come right along in line quick. Follow me and keep 'er moving!" The first of the four long teams filed behind the Captain and with some urging splashed down into the muddy swirling waters, and the others followed in their wake. We who knew that our time was soon to come stood upon the bank and earnestly watched every movement in their progress. We saw the Captain's horse suddenly sink over his flanks into the first deep unseen channel and plunge madly until he reached footing on a sand bar beyond, over which only two feet of water flowed. There the Captain turned and halted to direct the drivers who were urging their teams onward through the soft quicksand. It was a dangerous place, but there could be no retreat for the long teams and heavy wagons. The men were shouting at the top of their voices, but above the shouts of the men and the grumbling swash of the waters, we heard the Captain call, "Come on, keep 'er moving! Keep 'er moving; keep up stream!" But when the first oxen dropped into the deep channel they floated swiftly down with the resistless current in a tangled mass, and then the horsemen and ox-riders directed their efforts to turn the swimming leaders toward the Captain. As I learned later, the drivers while in the broad swift stream hardly knew where they were, or in what direction they were going. Everything in sight was going down, down, and the eye having no fixed object near-by on which to rest, was continually led astray by the flotsam rushing by. For a time the whole team from our view-point seemed to be an inextricable mix-up, but finally the lead oxen reached a footing in shallower water and were turned up stream toward the Captain. After being urged forward, they partially straightened out the long line and the heavy wagon slowly continued to move, but soon it also sank down into the deep channel where the swift waters swept its sides.

"It's going over!" shouted more than one who stood on the shore, as the wagon reeled from one side to another on the soft, uneven, sandy bottom.

"Keep 'er going, keep 'er moving!" was then yelled continuously by the drivers and Captain, as they urged the teams to pull harder, and this continued until the wagon slowly rose in shallower water. But they must not stop even there in these quicksands, nor until they had reached the other shore. There was still much more of the deep rushing water farther on in the river. A like experience was shared by each team, as it went through the deep places.

The four wagons were finally pulled out upon the farther bank, and the oxen were returned to repeat the struggle with other loads. Our time had now come and delay would be dangerous, for the river was rising. Therefore, as soon as the first ox team had accomplished the first deep channel, Pete Wintermute started into the river with his wagon and four horses. Pete was a superb horseman and managed his team with discretion, but it seemed almost certain at times that his wagon was capsizing. The remainder of our party could not long delay to watch his uncertain progress, for each had his own difficult responsibility.

My attention was chiefly directed to Deacon Cobb and Ben and Fred, whose wagons had each but one span of horses. The Deacon, after progressing swimmingly for a time, became hopelessly stuck on a sand bar where the water was not more than two feet in depth. Ben and Fred were also stuck down stream about twenty rods below the Deacon. It was imperative that their teams should be combined. It was clearly impossible to get a team up stream to the Deacon. I dismounted and unhitched the Deacon's horses, and with whiffletrees in hand turned them floating down toward the boys' wagon. At times I passed through deep water in which the horses swam, always knowing that I was likely soon to strike another sand bar. Before reaching Ben's wagon, one of the whiffletrees became detached, a pin having come out in the deep water. The harness generally was out of order. The boys were in the water and were soon busy, tying parts together and doubling up the teams, using any straps and ropes that were available. In time they were as ready as could be, under the circumstances, to move onward, and were soon breasting the current, while I rode beside them on horseback.

At this juncture there arose great commotion in advance of us. Among the parties who were making this watery transit were two brothers, each driving a two-mule team, their wagons being loaded with fancy groceries with which they intended to start a business in Montana. They were driving nearly side by side. I observed both their mules and wagons sink into a deep channel, almost simultaneously and both wagons rolled completely over being caught in a powerful current. The mules of both teams, entangled in their harness, were soon kicking and floundering in their efforts to escape, while the frantic young men, at the peril of their lives, were trying each to release his own mules by cutting their harness. Two of the mules were drowned, the wagons were a hopeless wreck, and I saw many of the lighter boxes and packages from their cargo floating down the stream. The stock was a total loss. Ben and Fred had no time to watch these collateral occurrences, for they were endeavoring to manage a four-horse team that had never been driven in that form, and might have been found difficult at first to control even on a solid highway.

The evening was well advanced when Ben and the drivers of two other of our wagons pulled out from the northern bank. Dan Trippe was two or three hours in advance of any of our party. We had been in the water the entire day, and laboring every moment to the extent of our ability. Several animals had been drowned, but our sympathy went out especially toward the young men who had lost their all and were now stranded with two mules.

And how about Deacon Cobb? He was sitting alone in his wagon in absolute serenity when I, who had seen him last, had parted from him. His wagon had then settled to the axles in the quicksand, and the muddy waters were swiftly sweeping by it and through it. He had piled boxes and other articles in the center of the wagon box and had surmounted the pile with his little mattress, which he had rolled into a bundle. I saw him perched upon the summit patiently awaiting developments. In the meantime the waters had filled the box. He was near the middle of the river. The rest of his party now being safely across, we shouted to him through the gathering darkness of the evening, to assure him that we would come to him as soon as possible. If he responded to our call it was not heard above the sound of the running waters. The wagon was so deeply imbedded in the mud that it seemed a dubious task to pull him out with our weary and hungry horses.

We endeavored to negotiate with the captain of the ox-team wagons for assistance, but he replied that he would not have his weary men and stock undertake the hazardous task for five hundred dollars at that late hour. The point was urged that a good man's life was involved, and that our teams were absolutely unequal to the undertaking, as he well knew. He finally consented to send three men with four yoke of oxen to make the attempt, upon the payment of forty dollars, to which terms we cheerfully agreed. The oxen were sent for and yoked in the darkness, and soon were in the river on the way to the rescue. The men stated on their return that after a time their course was directed by the Deacon's voice, which was finally heard in the distance and approximately indicated his location. After a long period of comparative silence the approach of the rescuing party to the shore was announced by cheers from the drivers. The Deacon when pulled up to the shore was the calmest and most comfortable man in the party, although he had been fully aware of his critical situation. He was moreover the only dry object in the wagon.

The bacon in our mess wagon was not seriously injured by its baptism, and at 9 p. m., we regaled our empty stomachs with such of it as could be readily found. My own trunk, containing garments and papers, had suffered little. Like Homer's horses, we had to await the throned dawn before drying ourselves. In the early morning the caravan moved onward five miles to where sage brush was found for fuel and some grass for the horses, there being practically none near the place of crossing. There we took an inventory of our effects, and all were unloaded that we might dry them out. We had received on our arrival at Nebraska City a box of ginger snaps and some other delicacies, also some dried fruit, sent by friends at home. These had been carefully retained for use in an emergency, perhaps in case of illness, when some change of diet from rough camp fare might be welcome. The box was now for the first time re-opened, as the hour had come to test it, but all those dainty tributes of good-will were blended into a common mass, of the consistency of thin pudding, and no one article could be separated from another. The box had been filled with sand and water for nearly twenty-four hours, and in the meantime had been thoroughly shaken up. It was gratifying, however, to find that a bag of dried apples, also reserved for some state occasion, had about doubled its bulk since leaving Nebraska City. In this case the high water might seem to have been a blessing, in disguise, but the disguise was perfect, for when we again dried them out in the hot sun and gave them a little time to re-adjust themselves to the environment, they gradually resumed their original modest proportions. The pudding left as the residue of the cookies was re-cooked, but for dietary purposes it was hardly satisfactory, as it yielded only a gritty, earthy-tasting food.

The final consensus of opinion was that we would never again ford the Platte during high water.

CHAPTER XII

The Phantom Liar of Grease Wood Desert

A portion of the compound constituting the waters of the Platte, with which many of our effects were saturated, passed into the air by evaporation in the sun, but a residuum of clay and sand long remained as a reminder of the day spent in the muddy flood of that river. We were happy to find that our ammunition was uninjured. We waited three days for the arrival of Phillip's mule train, which was at Julesburg and with which we expected to proceed, but finally learned that it would not hazard an attempt to ford a river that had proved so disastrous to others. In the meantime we hunted sage hens and jack rabbits, which were numerous in that sage brush country.

It has often been said of Yankee mechanics that they are "Jacks of all trades and masters of none." Necessity has made them self-reliant. Such were we, and the delay afforded us an opportunity to put everything in good order. Although there were no harness makers, blacksmiths, or carpenters, to repair harness or wagons, no horseshoers to shoe the horses, and no shoemakers or tailors to mend boots or garments, nearly every member of our company showed himself fully qualified to do very satisfactory work and with few tools in each of these lines of industry. The valuable miscellaneous training in the primitive days in our country, when the trades were not specialized as they are now, fitted the young men of that time for such emergencies.

Deciding that our present situation justified a violation of army regulations, we moved forward alone to the crossing of Lodge Pole Creek, a milky-colored stream about fifteen feet in width. They told us at Julesburg that the Indians were accustomed to obtain lodge poles from a place near the distant sources of this stream, a fact to which it owed its euphonious name.

We had camped some distance from the trail, and having taken our horses over the ridge into another ravine, had picketed them on the best grass that could be found. It was my duty to stand guard and watch the horses until midnight. The night was clear and still, and although it was bright starlight, it seemed to be very dark in the ravine. I took a position slightly up the hillside and reclined with ear near the ground. About midnight there came seemingly from some very distant source, a low, deep, rumbling roar. For a time it was impossible even to surmise the cause. It seemed to be subterranean and yet it was not an earthquake, for the sound was continuous and gradually increased in depth and power. In a few minutes I became convinced that it was caused by the hoofs of a great number of running horses approaching through the ravine. As a measure of precaution I thought it best to move a little out of the valley to a position behind a growth of sage brush near-by, and there await developments. An Indian raid at midnight was hardly to be suspected, nor had we heard of any large body of cavalry in those parts. The sound increased in power like the roar of an approaching tornado, and an onrushing mass finally swept round the nearest curve in the ravine. Our horses, frightened by the approaching herd, suddenly started in advance, as could be inferred from their snorting and the rattle of the iron picket pins, some of which were pulled from the ground. All were soon in flight. Those which failed at once to escape were carried along the next moment with a solid, resistless tide of oncoming mules which leaped one upon another. As the drove swept by I caught glimpses here and there of the moving forms, which showed that the mules were riderless; being stampeded, their fright was communicated to one another – those in the rear crowding upon those in front; and some of them, I believe, stumbled and were run over by the compact mass that followed. In a moment all had passed; but for a long time in the direction of a range of hills to the west, could be heard the roar of hundreds of hoofs and the ring of the picket pins as they were dragged over the stony ground. The sound did not die away entirely in its slow diminuendo until the mules had passed the range six miles to the west. On visiting the spot where our horses had been picketed, we found that every one of them had been carried away in the mad rush, and unless we could recover them the inconveniences would be most serious. The natural conclusion then was that the large herd had been stampeded by mounted Indians, who would soon follow.

When about to return to camp to report the situation to our party, I became conscious of the approach of mounted men from the same direction as that from which the stampede came.

I soon heard their voices. They proved to be four men on horseback, who (I then suspected) might have caused the rush. Myself a party to the loss of stock, and believing it to be my duty quickly to summon our party, I fired my rifle in advance of the riders. Wishing to make myself appear as numerous as possible, I repeated the challenge with two or three additional shots in rapid succession, and with as firm a voice as I could command called to the riders to halt. To my surprise they did halt. One of the men gruffly asked, "Who are you?" Another shouted what seemed rather an incoherent declaration, the tenor of which as I caught it, was in effect that I was shooting at the United States Government. Perhaps it was the darkness and the fact that I was out of their reach that inspired me with sufficient confidence to order them not to proceed further until we could ascertain who they were. The pronoun "we" was used not only to emphasize the authority of the speaker and thereby command respect, but also on the theory that the more numerous I could make myself appear the safer I was likely to be until our boys should arrive in response to the rifle call. As was expected, our men rounded up very quickly, for our campers were not compelled to dress and make an elaborate toilet on receiving a call. A mutual investigation followed, through which we learned that a Government train of which we had no previous knowledge had camped three miles northwest of our trail, and their stock, about 240 in number, had been stampeded through the carelessness or folly of one their own drivers; and the animals were away before their men were prepared to start in pursuit. They had been able to find a few saddle horses which had been picketed and had not escaped in the panic. On being informed very definitely concerning the direction which the flying herd had taken, the riders, after giving the assurance that all of our horses would in time doubtless be returned, started on their hunt. After daybreak they encountered no difficulty in following their course, which was well marked by hoof tracks; and in the forenoon all of our horses were once more at our command, but none the better for their escapade.

This Lodge Pole Creek ford became of some interest to overland travelers by reason of the fact that some years later the old Oregon trail, which we were still pursuing, was here crossed by the Union Pacific Railroad, which up to this point along much of its course was built exactly upon the trail marked by the first Mormon emigrants in 1847, following many of its windings. This fact suggests a striking comparison between the early and the later modes of travel. Our party, moving as steadily as possible, had consumed twenty-five days in reaching this point from the Missouri River. Ben Holliday's stages, when they followed the route that we were taking, reached Lodge Pole on the fifth day, being driven continuously night and day with relays of horses every ten or fifteen miles. It is now reached in twelve hours by express trains.

Our next day's journey after leaving Pole Creek was over a series of ridges along an excellent roadway the great part of the distance. The highest points disclosed fine views of the rocky cliffs along the North Platte. There is a marked change in the general features of the country as compared with those seen along the Platte valley east of Julesburg. The road showed that it had been traveled but little. We were able to make a drive of twenty-eight miles, reaching Mud Spring in the evening. Why this tiny fountain should be so denominated is unknown and unknowable; it was the first clear, living water that we had seen west of the Missouri River, except in a few wells at stage stations. In February of the preceding year this spot was the scene of some sharp fights with the Indians.

And now there lay immediately before us the longest and most difficult drive of the trip, concerning which we had secured much information. It would conduct us across a wide stretch of sandy desert in which there was no pasturage; and forty long miles must be laid behind in order to reach a camp ground where there was any grazing whatever for horses. The preceding day had been intensely hot, and there were no indications of any immediate change in the temperature. To secure the benefit of the cooler early hours we were off at exactly three o'clock in the morning. Near where we entered the dreary waste of sand we parallelled for a short distance a small stream, concerning which we had been advised that it was the only desirable place for lunch. We had prepared some cold boiled beans, bacon and coffee, which we pulled from the mess box, and as the rays of the sun had now become very oppressive, we prepared to drop down upon the hot sand in the shade of a wagon. The Deacon protected himself somewhat from the sands by sitting upon a rolled-up blanket. Others remained standing or dropped upon their knees, but Pete remarked that as the tallest and largest man in the party he was fairly entitled to a certain high mound of sand of convenient shape, which he found well in the shade. These piles were formed by some little clumps of grease wood, or similar growth, which the sand had drifted round and in many cases entirely covered, as a little obstruction will sometimes collect a small snow drift.

Pete, who was a tall, powerful, but rather slow-moving individual, dropped wearily and heavily upon the sand heap which he proposed to occupy by right of squatter sovereignty. Although it was a long distance from the seat of Pete's "pants" to the seat of his intelligence, yet the information was quickly transmitted to his brain that something was under him that was not all sand. With a sudden yell, as if stung by a serpent, he leaped into the air with agility and enthusiasm of which he had hitherto been deemed altogether incapable. Peter swore. He then inspected the sand pile, while we watched him with dismay, being ignorant of the cause of his frenzy. Reaching out at arm's length, he cautiously poked the mound with his whip stock and found, not a rattlesnake, but only an oval-shaped cactus slightly concealed beneath the sand. Its long spines as sharp as needles and almost uncountable in number, under the weight of Pete's body had penetrated his flesh no one yet knows how far. As the punctured parts could not easily be examined by the sufferer, his companion, Noah, performed the operation of removing such of the needles as were visible. Many without doubt remained, for during the next two or three days Peter walked with short steps, staccato, and rarely indulged in a sitting posture.

The stream near which we had halted afforded the last opportunity to obtain water until we should complete the long drive across the sands. Our horses were fed with fine wheat flour, the only nourishment which we could secure to stay them through the day. After having filled the water kegs and canteens from the stream, the difficult march was continued. The day was so intensely hot that nearly all members of the party walked to relieve the perspiring horses. The country we were traversing was an area of loose, dry sand. Its surface was marked by small mounds and ridges of sand, the ridges all trending in one direction and evidently drifted with the prevailing wind behind a clump of stunted grease wood, a small shrub which grows on alkaline soils and, like other desert growths, is stiff and stubby, – possibly a provision of nature to preserve its scant foliage from being browsed; shrubs so protected remained, a survival of the fittest. Some such provision is certainly necessary to protect the plant life of the desert in its struggle for existence. The surface of the sand was slightly hardened by a thin scale, possibly due to solidification in drying, after a passing shower had moistened the salts in the sand. The scale in many places prevented the wheels from sinking deeply. The wagons were, therefore, scattered along side by side, because a track once followed was deeply cut in the ruts. Numerous lizards (swifts) glided along the parched surface of the Sahara and were the only specimens of animal life that I observed there with any interest.

An experience on this grease wood desert may have prompted the inquiry ascribed to one of our statesmen, who is alleged to have asked in 1843 concerning this western territory, "What do we want with the vast worthless area, this region of savages and wild beasts, of deserts of shifting sands and whirlwinds of dust, of cactus and prairie dogs?"

In spite of the oppressive heat of the day and the long tramp still before us, Ben, who was tough and untiring, proposed a little side tramp by way of diversion. For many miles we had observed the majestic outlines of the conspicuous landmark well known as Court House Rock. As our course finally approached within two miles of its cliffs, Ben and I determined to secure a view from its summit. That remarkable monument stands in solitary grandeur upon the barren plain; it has, however, a worthy associate not far away, another prominence known as the Jail; these high bluffs are appropriately named. From a distance Court House Rock has the appearance of some vast, ancient ruin. The grandeur and beauty of its outlines and the majesty of its proportions have made it a notable landmark for all travelers who pass that way. We found its ascent comparatively easy, but the descent was somewhat difficult because of the projecting terraces which, though of hard material, were cracked, leaving projections that could not be depended upon for support. Although we might well have saved our energies for the hot tramp through the sands which lay before us, we obtained views of the "bad lands" to the west, which were very impressive.

It seemed as if in the Creation there had been a vast amount of crude material left over, which had been dumped into that waste, but the essential elements of life were wholly absent. As far as could be seen through the clear, hot, and quivering air of noonday everything was silent and dead. On reaching the trail Ben and I followed the track of our wagons in the white sand, which glowed like a furnace, and finally overtook our party, which was slowly dragging along with occasional pauses for rest.

We had seen no person during the day except members of our own party. Beyond the border of the sandy waste I dropped back again, but this time with Noah, who was also wearily trudging along now over a more hilly and broken country toward the north Platte. We were surprised to see approaching us from the north, as if about to cross our course, a long-haired individual, rather tough in appearance, with whom we exchanged a few commonplace words, with the usual question as to what he was "driving at" in that country, but obtained no definite information. Having been informed that there were numerous rattlesnakes in the hilly country, I aimed a question concerning snakes at the presence that stood before us. Something in his appearance led me to believe that he, if anyone, would be informed on the subject. "Yes," he replied, "there's right smart of rattlesnakes around here." Simply to continue the conversation, we asked if he had killed many. Before making any reply he slowly hauled from deep down in his "pants" pocket a plug of tobacco, and inserting it between his big teeth chewed off a section that proved to be large enough to interfere somewhat with his articulation. He then stood silent for a moment, while he transferred the tobacco from one cheek to another. The cynical expression upon his face impressed us with the idea that he had all the qualities required to make a first class stranger. He then related an alleged experience with a rattlesnake. Although not inclined to accept it as exactly true in all particulars, we offer it here not quite in ipsissimis verbis but substantially as given, simply for what it may be worth as a problematic contribution to natural history. His thesis at the outset was, that if one gains the affection of a rattlesnake through some special act of kindness the serpent may on some occasions afterward express its profound gratitude.

He said that his "pardner" Jim, once upon a time, discovered a six-foot rattler lying fastened under a rock which had rolled upon it while it was lying torpid in the sun. Instead of taking advantage of the reptile while it was in this helpless condition, he carefully released it, and thereafter the snake on many occasions manifested indications of its gratitude, and became a veritable pet, following the man wherever it was permitted to go, and guarding him faithfully. Jim, therefore, called it Annie, because he came from Indiana.

On being awakened one night, Jim, observing that Annie was missing from her usual place near his bed, hastily arose to discover the cause of her absence. Lighting a candle, he opened an outside door of the ranch house and soon heard Annie rattling her tail. He then discovered that the snake had run a skulking Indian into the other room, and was holding him there a prisoner, while her tail, which was sticking out of the window, was rattling like a dinner bell, calling Jim to come in and help kill the "cuss."