. 
 
Ifi- 
 
 / 
 
FROM 
 
 THE 
 
 PACIFIC TO THE ATLANTIC, 
 
 BEING AN 
 
 ACCOUNT OF A JOURNEY OVERLAND FROM 
 
 EUREKA, HUMBOLDT CO., CALIFORNIA, 
 
 TO WEBSTER, WORCESTER 
 
 CO,, MASS., 
 
 WITH 
 
 A HORSE, CARRIAGE, COW AND DOG, 
 
 BY 
 
 WAKREJST B. JOHNSON. 
 
 WEBSTER, MASS., 
 JOHN CORT, PRINTER AND BOOKBINDER, 
 
 OVER POST OFFICE, MAIN STREET. 
 
 1887. 
 
04. 
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1887, by 
 
 WARREN B. JOHNSON, 
 in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. 
 
/ oZIZ 
 
 Bancroft Library 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 The world is full of books of travel, adventure and romance, 
 which have covered almost every conceivable portion of the 
 known world ; most of which have been written by men of cul 
 ture, leisure and wealth. Every land has been visited, every tribe 
 and kindred of people have been portrayed, and the people made 
 richer in the stores of knowledge derived from their perusal. 
 In the accompanying pages will be found a detail of travel, 
 novel in its character, performed by a common man, of but or 
 dinary schooling, of a journey across the American continent, 
 overland and on foot, accompanied by a horse, wagon, cow and 
 dog. Perhaps, such a journey will never be taken again; 
 especially, with a prospect of meeting with such impediments as 
 beset his path from the nature of the roads, the means of cross 
 ing unbridged rivers, and the prospect of violence from the 
 beasts of the forest, and the untamed nature of the Indian. In 
 this volume, no attempt has been made to give a full description 
 of the various States passed through, or an elaborate account of 
 the products of agriculture, mining or manufacturing accom 
 plished in the western wilds of the American nation. Nor has 
 an attempt been made to eloquently describe the habits and cus 
 toms of the people. The story of his travels is told in his own 
 language, as near as possible, to make a continuous narrative. 
 Some of his descriptions of scenes passed through are unique, 
 told in as few common-place words as possible. Particular 
 stress has been given to the conversations with those whom he 
 came in contact while on his journey, and with whom he stop- 
 
it PREFACE. 
 
 ped over night. At the same time, he from time to time gives 
 the reader much insight of the country passed through, that 
 most travellers fail to get in their passage through a country 
 while on a more fleeting excursion. He received many courte 
 sies and attention from the people, whose hospitality was always 
 freely given him. Some of the characters with whom he came 
 in contact were quite original. Nowhere did he receive any in 
 sult, nor did he meet with such obstructions as might have been 
 expected in some of the less populous districts through which 
 he passed. As his journey drew to a close and he came into the 
 more civilized States, he was every where welcomed and the 
 people flocked round him in curiosity ; as his mode of travel 
 ling, with such companions, was new and original and looked 
 upon with wonderment. In fact, it was considered by some as 
 the work of a monomaniac at least; it may be questioned if any 
 other man would have had the courage to make the journey, 
 under such circumstances. It required a determined will, a 
 patient plodding along, and a constant care for the well-being of 
 his companions. Part of his journey was a travel in solitude, 
 and he had a chance to commune with himself quite frequently. 
 Much interest was taken in his progress as he went along on his 
 way, and he was the recipient of many kind wishes, and a re 
 quest to send them a book if he should write such an one ; to all 
 such, he dedicates this book, with the hope that it will prove of 
 interest, if not a scholarly production, at least a source of in 
 struction, as well as an acknowledgement of the many courtesies 
 received from those mentioned in the narrative. 
 
 Mr. Johnson, the traveller and writer, is an American by birth, 
 is sixty-eight years of age, stands about six feet high, weighs 
 one hundred and seventy pounds, is of a florid complexion, and 
 looks what he is, a true type of the Eastern Yankee. He is a 
 native of Connecticut, born in Woodstock, and lived there until 
 he was nine years of age. At that time he moved with his 
 parents to that portion of the present town of Webster, which 
 was then called Oxford South Gore. Webster was not then m- 
 
PREFACE. Hi 
 
 corporated as a town. Webster was incorporated in the year 
 1832. From that time until the outbreak of the Rebellion, he 
 was an inhabitant of the town. In August of that year he en 
 listed in the 2ist Regiment, Massachusetts Volunteers. In 1864, 
 he re-enlisted in the First Brigade Band, of the First Division of 
 the 2oth Army Corps, being with General Sherman in his march 
 from Atlanta to the Sea. He left Sherman's Army at Fayette- 
 ville, N. C., and went into the hospital at New York for treat 
 ment, where he was transferred to Dale Hospital in Massachu 
 setts, and soon afterwards mustered out. For his disability 
 incurred in the army, he has since received a small pension, 
 He went to California in 1880 at the solicitation of friends 
 and relatives, and took this means of getting back to Massa 
 chusetts, as he did not like California, and was short of means 
 to bring himself, horse and cow back to Massachusetts by rail 
 road, which journey he successfully made, and practically 
 walked from the Pacific to the Atlantic, without any serious mo 
 lestation. To all who helped him, in whatever shape, is this 
 humble volume dedicated. 
 
 W. B. JOHNSON. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER i. The start, from Eureka to San Fran 
 cisco 2 
 
 CHAPTER n. From San Francisco to San Jose 
 
 and Sacramento 28 
 
 CHAPTER in. From Sacramento to Reno, Nevada 61 
 
 CHAPTER iv. From Reno, Battle Mountain, Wells 
 
 to Ogden in Utah 105 
 
 CHAPTER v. The City of Ogden 180 
 
 CHAPTER vi. From Ogden City to Laramie, Wy 
 oming 189 
 
 CHAPTER vii. From Laramie, Cheyenne to Om 
 aha, Nebraska 253 
 
 CHAPTER vm. From Omaha, Des Moines, Daven 
 port to Cleveland, Ohio 298 
 
 CHAPTER ix. From Cleveland, Buffalo, Albany to 
 
 Marlow, New Hampshire 321 
 
 CHAPTER x. From Marlow to Webster and Lynn, 360 
 
IR, o 
 
 THE PACIFIC TO THE jlTLjlNTIC. 
 
 CHAPTER I. . 
 
 THE START FROM EUREKA TO SAN FRANCISCO. 
 
 On the morning of the first of June, 1882. I started on 
 my proposed journey from Eureka City, Humboldt Bay, 
 California, for Massachusetts, with my outfit, comprising 
 myself, horse, wagon, dog and cow, with all necessary 
 articles for the long journey making the first day the town 
 of Hydesville, distance twenty-five miles. In reaching 
 Efydesville, I passed through Humboldt, Salmon Creek, 
 Hookton, Table Bluff, Springville, Rohnersville to Hydes 
 ville. 
 
 Eureka is situated on Humboldt bay, and was first lo 
 cated two miles from the mouth, but this was abandoned 
 on account of its nearness to the ocean, and afterwards 
 located on its present site, five miles from the mouth of 
 the bay. Eureka was planted in good soil, came up and 
 has grown to be a fine city, not large, but enter 
 prising, and has now a population of about 7,000. It is 
 the shire town of Humboldt county. It has some three 
 thousand feet of wharfage, is beautifully laid out in 
 squares, running south to the forest, named alphabeti 
 cally, and east numerically. It has five hotels. The 
 Vance House is the leading hotel of the city, a fine house 
 
EUREKA. 
 
 inside as well as outside. The Bay Hotel comes next, 
 this also is a fine house. The Occidental next, and so on. 
 There are many first-class stores in the place. Recenil}- 
 Eureka has been made a port of entry. She has a cus 
 tom-house and port collector. Large amounts of mer 
 chandise are imported from abroad and distributed 
 throughout the county. Many kinds of business are 
 carried on, from the making of leather to the finest boots, 
 and from the i urness to the boot and shoe scraper. But 
 its main business is lumber. More lumber is cut in this 
 place than any other town on the continent, and is dis 
 tributed long distances, in fact all over the world. There 
 are seven mills for cutting lumber, five single and two 
 double mills. They are capable of cutting from 40 to 80 
 thousand feet per day. Logs are cut that measure from 
 three to twelve feet in diameter. Not many small logs 
 are cut. It is the large ones that count. Railroads have 
 been constructed from tide-water up into the mountains, 
 to bring these logs and dump them into the sloughs. 
 Then the small steamers take them down to the mills. 
 There they lay in the mud or water until needed. 
 
 Humboldt is situated on the ba} r , near its entrance to 
 the Pacific ocean, and is the oldest town on the bay. 
 Formerly there was a fortification here, which was com 
 manded by General U. S. Grant. Its barracks are still 
 standing. The entrance to this bay is one of the most 
 difficult for vessels to enter on the Pacific coast, owing to 
 the .changing character of its channel. As you enter the 
 bay, two miles to the right, there is a high bluff. From 
 that bluff to the neck of land which forms the bay, is a 
 sand-bar. There was a time when the waters did not 
 break over this bar, but time has changed things materi 
 ally, for now there is a large channel, making a good in 
 let to the bay. It is enlarging from day to day. Over 
 nearly one-half of this bar the waters are constantly 
 dashing. In full tide the waters are not confined to this 
 
SALMON CREEK. 3 
 
 channel by the bar, if they were it would soon be washed 
 away, but is covered by the waters. Its surface water 
 passes over the bar, not through the channel as it should. 
 Salmon Creek takes its name from that noble fish the 
 salmon. In years past they were very plentiful, but of 
 late the3 T are not so plent}', owing to the great navigation. 
 Its waters have become a great thoroughfare. Steamers 
 are constantly passing up and down this creek, and 
 make havoc among the fish. Since this time they have 
 not troubled these parts of the bay. This town has be 
 come a great place for cutting lumber. It is one of the 
 many places where great trees are felled. Their diame 
 ters vary from four to twelve feet. As } T OU leave this 
 place you leave Hookton to your right. 
 
 Hookton is situated on the southern part of the bay, 
 and is noted for exportation. Large quantities of mer 
 chandise are brought into this place from long distances, 
 including the southern part of the county as well as from 
 the northern part of Mendocino count} T , over the rough 
 est of rough roads that I ever traveled. This road is 
 called the "Humboldt and Mendocino Overland Road to 
 California." 
 
 Table Bluff" is situated on a high bluff. Reaching its 
 summit you are delighted with its surroundings. North, 
 south and west, are the waters of the Pacific. The bluff 
 is not large, but level and handsome. There are three 
 ranches on the summit. On the north side, next the bay, 
 there is an Indian settlement. They are frequent visi 
 tors to the city, are intelligent, partly civilized, and en 
 lightened, and make good citizens. 
 
 JSpringville is a small place, but enterprise stands out 
 plainly. Indications are that this village will become one 
 of the most delightful places in the valley. 
 
 Roknersville. This is a fine village. It is small but 
 handsome. All good modern buildings, constructed of 
 good material, one of the finest in the valley. 
 
HYDESVILLE. 
 
 Hydesville. This place is second to none in the valley. 
 It is the termination of a line of stages to the city. All 
 of the above villages are situated on Eel river valley, one 
 of, the richest in the state. There is more grain grown to 
 the acre in this valley than any other in the state. 
 
 Left Hydesville June 2d and made Bridgeville the 
 same day, having traveled twenty-five miles. On making 
 this place, I found that there was a vast difference in 
 roads. To Hydesville it had been good traveling. This 
 day I found my journey had been over rough, hard and 
 dangerous roads. After leaving H}^desville, I came to a 
 canyon , turning short to the left, descending about four 
 hundred feet in less than eighty rods, then turning short 
 to the right, ascending the same distance on the opposite 
 side. This is one way of traveling in California. Going 
 on, I came to a large, broad river, and meeting a man 
 with a team asked him if it was Eel river. "Oh no, it is 
 not" said the man, "it is the Vandozen." "How is it 
 about fording?" "Oh, it is a good ford, but the water is 
 rather deep now, with a good hard bottom." Went on, 
 and came to the ford ; stopped, looked at it, and continued 
 to look at it. All of this time I was thinking. My 
 thoughts were covering a large space from the Pacific to 
 the Atlantic. "Can this be done?" I had struck out on 
 a long, rough and dangerous journe} 7 from the Pacific to 
 the Atlantic, with a horse and wagon, cow and dog. Can 
 it be done, can this be accomplished, all alone, no one 
 with me ? Let happen what will, I decided to try it. I ap 
 proached the ford ; the water was deep ; I was not able to 
 see the bottom, with a strong, swift current. There I 
 must decide, go on or go back. If I return back I should 
 never be satisfied. If I go on and make a success, then 
 I have accomplished a wonderful undertaking. I there 
 decided to go on, and did. I put my little dog on the 
 wagon, got on myself, drove down into the river and got 
 
HYDESVILLE. 
 
 across all right. Went on again, coming to the same 
 river, which I had again to ford. I did not stop but drove 
 down into the river and across all right. Ascended the 
 bluff, leaving the river to my right, and soon came once 
 more in sight of the river. I am now ascending a bluff; 
 on my right down hundreds of feet is the river ; the road 
 is just wide enough for one team only. There is a pre 
 cedent established for those traveling these bluffs. It is 
 this : on ascending a bluff, mountain or canyon, you are 
 required to carry a horn or a bell. On arriving at any 
 turnout, stop, blow your horn or ring your bell. Should 
 you hear no bell or horn in answer, go on to the next 
 turnout and stop, ring bell or blow horn, and no answer, 
 go on as before. Should you meet a team, the one as 
 cending is required to back down to the turnout. This 
 mode of proceeding has become a law, and so understood 
 by those who travel. About half-past six o'clock, I was 
 overtaken by a team on its wa} r from Hookton, it had 
 been there with a load of wood. I asked the driver the 
 distance to Bridgeville. He replied about three miles. I 
 told him I was from Eureka city, had left there yesterday 
 morning and * was going east. Had found a good road 
 from Hydesville, but from there to here, it was the rough 
 est I ever traveled or had ever heard of being traveled. 
 4 'Yes, "he replied, "from Hydesville to Bridgeville is rough, 
 very rough and dangerous to those who are not accus 
 tomed to such roads." Soon I came in sight of a house, 
 then a little further on two more. I stopped, inquired 
 how far to Bridgeville. ''This is Bridgeville," said a 
 man. "This Bridgeville?" "Yes," said the stranger. I 
 went on, soon came in sight of a bridge, a little farther on 
 several houses. "What place is this? " "Bridgeville," 
 responded several men. "I was told a short distance back 
 that that was Bridgeville." "You are not the only one they 
 tell so. They wanted your dollar, that was what they 
 wanted, stranger." 
 
BRIDGEVILLE. 
 
 Bridgeville is but a small place, comprising a hotel, 
 store, blacksmith shop and one other house. This hotel 
 is unlike other hotels, but it is a place where } T OU can stop 
 over night, or get out of a rain or snow storm, and find 
 something to eat and drink. The building is cheap, but 
 still it has many things for the comfort of travelers. If 
 you arrive late in the afternoon, you have got to stop or 
 go on to the next village, a distance of twenty-five miles. 
 You ask the hotel-keeper if 3-011 can stop over. He sa}-s 
 yes, and leads your horse to a shed, takes him from the 
 carriage, hitching him to a post. The traveler may have 
 some things in his carriage that he would like to take into 
 the house with him. He takes them in and asks for a 
 room. The landlord says: "We have no room for you, 
 you can lie there," pointing to a lounge. "We can give 
 you something to eat and all the whisky 3-011 want," I 
 was introduced to a traveler by the landlord, who informed 
 me that the stranger was from the city of San Francisco, 
 who comes to Cloverdale by railroad, then takes a team 
 for Ukiah, count3 r seat of Mendocino count3~, from there 
 to Eureka count3 T seat of Humboldt count3 r . 
 
 Left Bridgeville on the 3d and made Blocksberg the 
 same day ; distance twent3'-five miles. On leaving this 
 place we cross the Vandozen river again. Here we cross 
 a fine bridge built by the county of Humboldt. About 9 
 a. m., came to a fine plat of grass. I stopped and gave 
 my cattle a chance to nibble it cooked some coffee and 
 ate my breakfast ; rather a late breakfast. About 10 :30 
 a. m., we moved on, a very warm morning; indeed the 
 warmest I had ever witnessed while in the state. It was 
 telling on my horse and I was afraid she would blister her 
 shoulder. I am now working inland from the ocean, 
 awa3 r from its cool breezes. Soon I shall be east of the 
 coast range of mountains. To-da3 r 1113' road has improved, 
 hope it will continue. About 5 :30 I made Blocksberg. 
 
BLOCKSBERG. 
 
 On my arrival, I found that my horse had blistered both 
 shoulders. I thought best to remain a while and heal 
 them up before going any further. I remained five days. 
 My treatment was cold water. I bathed them continually 
 for thirty-six hours, with good success. Had I continued 
 on they might have become sore and troublesome. While 
 here I tried to get my cow shod with iron shoes, but 
 could not. The blacksmith said : "He could shoe her as 
 the Spaniards shoe them." "How do they shoe them? " 
 I asked. "They sear their feet,'* he said. I concluded 
 to do so, and had her shod that way. It proved a wise 
 precaution. I traveled more than six hundred miles be 
 fore I could get her shod with iron shoes. 
 
 Blocksberg is a small town comprised of a hotel, two 
 stores, blacksmith, wheelright shop, two saloons and a few 
 houses. Saloons are well patronized, I counted twenty- 
 two horses at one. Their riders were inside drinking and 
 gambling. " I asked what business they followed?" I 
 was told that they "were wool growers, but their main 
 business was drinking and gambling." Those that follow 
 this business, and they are many, have nothing but gold. 
 I have seen piles of gold on the tables. They do not ap 
 pear to be afraid of each other. They do not count out 
 their money ; it is laid in piles ; they go by the height. 
 Their money consists of five, ten and twenty dollar pieces, 
 I have seen heaps four inches high of twenties. Their 
 money lays on the table until they get through, with their 
 revolvers beside them. 
 
 Left Blocksberg on the 9th and made Alder Point the 
 same day, distance thirteen miles. 
 
 Alder Point. From Blocksberg to this place proved a 
 very hard day's journey, the road being very rough, 
 hard and hilly. It was hard on the cattle, wagon and my 
 self. The road had been sideling very much so. It was 
 bluffs, mountains and canyons. Travelers do not go 
 
8 ALDER POINT. 
 
 over the bluffs or mountains, but around them. In laying 
 out this road, if it ever was laid out, which I suppose it 
 must have been, as it is a county road, their work was 
 crudely done. If you desire to reach a given point on 
 mountain or bluff, say Alder Point, you start at the base 
 and go on following the same until you have made a half 
 circle, keeping to the right till you come to a point or 
 plateau, you have made a mile ; 3'ou then turn to the right, 
 cross the end of the canyon, this places you on the 
 right of another bluff, following its base you travel until 
 you reach the point opposite where }*ou started, thus mak 
 ing a second mile, and so on, until the summit of the bluff 
 is reached. Could you have crossed the canyon at the 
 first point two miles of travelling would have been saved. 
 The foregoing gives an idea of the roads and the mode of 
 crossing the bluffs, mountains or canyons in northern and 
 eastern California, outside of the vallej^s. I have said 
 the roads were sideling and they are. Over the road on 
 which I am travelling the mail from San Francisco is car 
 ried three hundred and three miles in 3(5 hours, nearly 9 
 miles to the hour, by two horses in a wagon that weighs 
 800 pounds ; as this team tears round the bluff it is no 
 wonder that one rut is lower than the other. There is no 
 money expended on the roads, only the bridges are kept 
 in repair. I am still but a short distance from Eel river. 
 This river is a terror to those who have it to ford. No 
 bridge no ferry it must be forded. Had it not been 
 for this river I should have started on my journey east the 
 first of May. The rainy season had been longer in dura 
 tion than in past seasons. 
 
 When I arrived at the river there was a man, with a 
 wagon and four horses ladened with goods. He was in 
 conversation with another person. The teamster came to 
 me and said: "We had better get this man to pilot us 
 across, it is dangerous for us to ford." "What does he 
 ask to help us across?" "Two dollars each," said the 
 
ALDER POINT. 
 
 teamster. "Where is the ford, I would like to look at 
 it." "It is a few rods, just below the bluffs," replied the 
 teamster. I went down the bluff, to the river, looked 
 at it a short time. I then took Fanny, my horse, from 
 the wagon, got upon her back and rode into the water, and 
 finding it much better than I expected, continued across. 
 Returning, dismounted, put Fanny back into the carnage, 
 got on and drove down the bank into the river and cross 
 ed over all right. The man with the team had just got to 
 the river. I sang out : "Teamster, come across and save 
 your mone} r ." He dared not do it, but gave the man two 
 dollars needlessly, to guide him across. He might have 
 known that if I could cross with my light load he could 
 with his heavy wagon. 
 
 I began the ascending of the mountain feeling jubilant, 
 as the fording of this river had been a terror to me ever 
 since leaving Eureka. About two miles from the river I 
 met the mail stage, a heavy two-horse wagon. I was as 
 cending. It was not a bad place to pass and I gave him 
 right of way. The driver sang out for the road and stop 
 ped. I told him he had ample room to pass. He had 
 but two passengers aboard. The driver said: "That he 
 would teach me to get out of the way for the mail driver." 
 With that he started up and came down on the rear wheel 
 of my carriage, crushing it down. He did not stop to see 
 what damage he had done, but went on his own way. I 
 was vexed and felt badly, being all alone. Soon after, the . 
 man I left at the river came up ; and seeing what a fix I was 
 in, assisted me in placing my wheel back into shape, and 
 then put my things on his wagon ; we went on until we came 
 to a sheep ranche. Here I remained two days to make 
 necessary repairs. There was no wheelwright shop for six 
 teen miles. Having some tools with me, such as an axe, 
 saw and square, I got some timber, sawing it into splints, 
 length of the diameter of my wheel, and lashing them to 
 the spokes of the wheel , tied them down so as to keep the 
 
10 ALDER POINT. 
 
 disc of the wheel in its proper place. Next day I was 
 again ready to resume 1113^ journey. 
 
 On the morning of the 10th I was up early making 
 ready to go onward. I carry a lariet for staking out my 
 cow. An iron pin, one and a half foot long, one end 
 shaped to a point and the other a small ring for the rope ; 
 the rope thirty feet long. This gives the cow a circle of 
 sixty feet in which to feed. I fastened the cow to the 
 lariet turning the horse loose. This morning I went 10 my 
 breakfast and while eating I heard a horse neigh. I 
 thought nothing about it and kept on eating. I heard 
 another neigh and thought all was not right. I went out, 
 saw that the cow was quite uneasy and tr} T ing to get loose. 
 I then thought that the horse might have slipped and 
 returned back to Blocksberg. I left my breakfast and 
 went in search of the horse. Looking around; I could see 
 nothing of her. A grove of timber was between me and 
 the house. I went in and around this grove but could 
 see nothing of the horse. The cow had become frantic. 
 I made up my mind that the horse had strayed back to 
 Blocksberg. I went for the river, distance three miles. 
 I could find no tracks on the way, yet still I was sure she 
 had gone this way. On the river bank I found tracks of 
 her, and was sure she had crossed over. I concluded to 
 return back and get the man at the ranche to go after her. 
 On returning and while on high ground, I called out : 
 "Stop horse, stop horse, stop horse," but got no satis 
 faction. I engaged the man at the ranche to go after the 
 horse, who did so. He crossed the river and went to the 
 barn were the mail horses are kept and-inquired if they had 
 seen a stray horse? The man replied : "That early that 
 morning he heard a man across the river hallo 'stop 
 horse,' and at that time a horse was going by. He tried 
 to stop it but could not, the horse starting on a good trot. 
 He took one of his horses and drove after her. After 
 
ALDER POINT. 11 
 
 quite a chase he overtook and caught her and led her back 
 to his barn. She is here in the barn now." When the 
 ranche man brought the horse back I asked him, "How 
 much for his trouble?" He replied, "I gave the man 
 across the river for his trouble, one dollar, I ought to 
 have as much." I gave him two dollars. This man who 
 went for the horse was the owner of the ranche. "How 
 large a ranche have you, sir?" I asked. "One hundred 
 and sixty acres," he replied. "How many sheep have 
 you?" Four thousand or more." "And only one hun 
 dred and sixty acres?" "That is all the land I own." 
 'Who does own all the land around here?" "Uncle 
 Sam." "You feed your sheep on them?" "Yes." "I 
 should suppose that these lands would be taken up by 
 many persons, the}' look so handsome and good mowings." 
 "There has been many to look at them, but I have the 
 only spring around. South of me there is a creek, which 
 is on my land. West there is no water, north is the 
 river, three miles away, east is the spring which is on my 
 ranche. Between me and the river there is feed enough 
 for ten thousand sheep, and only four thousand to feed 
 from it." "Are } T OU contented to live here ? I suppose so, or 
 I should not find yon here." "Yes, I have been here so 
 long, I am contented. I do not care to leave. My father 
 came and settled here twenty years ago. I was then ten 
 years old. My father has been dead nearly five years. I 
 have had charge of the ranche since his death." "How 
 much help does it require to look after four thousand 
 sheep ?" "There are four of us ; those two boys and the 
 boy I hire." "How much do you pay that boy?" "Fifty 
 dollars a year, board and clothes. I have three dogs. 
 They are worth more than the boys. I leave the sheep in 
 charge of the dogs for hours. I shall go where the sheep 
 are pasturing soon, you may go with me and see the dogs 
 bring them in. If you have never seen them among sheep 
 it will be interesting for you to see them." "Do you bring 
 
12 ALDER POINT. 
 
 in the sheep at night?" "We do every night. We don't 
 allow them to remain out nights. The wolf and the 
 k}'Ote make great havoc among them when the}*" have a 
 chance." "You say that you have some four thousand 
 sheep, can you get them into those four carrolls?" "Yes, 
 there is plenty of room." "When they are in }*ou think 
 they are safe, do you ?" "Yes, no wolf or kyote can get 
 over that fence." "How is it about the wild cat? I hear 
 they are 'the most active of all wild animals." "They 
 are the smartest of them all. They are very wild, but we 
 keep them at a distance. We hunt them. Do not care 
 to kill them, but prefer to wound them. The wolves are 
 the most troublesome when the grass begins to dry up ; 
 then the sheep take to the can}*ons and the wild animals 
 have mutton for a change. Then the sheep owners have 
 to double the number of their shepherds or they will be 
 heavy losers of sheep." 
 
 Wool growing has become a great business. There is 
 more money made by it than by any other business with 
 the same amount of capital. The owner of this ranche 
 has four thousand sheep, which feed on two thousand 
 acres of land, while the owner of the sheep only owns one 
 hundred and sixty acres of land. He has no neighbors, 
 all the land is his for use. You can see at a glance that 
 there is money in the business. 
 
 I left Alder Point on the llth and made the next stop 
 at Belle Springs in the evening ; distance twenty miles. 
 
 Belle Springs. In travelling to this place I found it a 
 fair road, some parts of it being very good, a decided im 
 provement on the previous day's journe} T . After travel 
 ling about eight miles I came to a station called Spruce 
 Grove, a place for changing horses in the transportation 
 of the mails. About six miles farther is a dark canyon, a 
 noted place to stop a stage for plunder. About three 
 miles farther I came to a mountain, which I was obliged 
 
BELLE SPRINGS. 13 
 
 to travel around in order to reach the summit, as before 
 described, keeping on our right or left the canyons. Some 
 are deep, very deep, and awful to look down them. The 
 roads are narrow, no place wide enough for two teams. 
 Turnouts are made at distances varying from a quarter 
 to half a mile. These occur when a change of direction 
 is to be made. On arriving at a turnout, we are instruc 
 ted to stop and look ahead, and seing no one coming we 
 sound our horn or ring a bell and hearing no answer, go 
 on to the next turnout. Should we meet a team, the 
 one ascending has to back down to the turnout just 
 left, giving the right of way to the team descending. I 
 have had to back, or rather take the horse from the 
 wagon, bring it around and drive back to the turnout. 
 This is much safer than attempting to back down. This 
 requires care, as the room for turning is very meagre. 
 About three miles from Belle Springs I began the ascent 
 of a mountain, the can3 r on and turnouts being on my left. 
 Before reaching its summit, I saw two men sitting at a 
 turnout ; I did not like their appearance. Just below 
 them I came to a stop in the shade, thinking it was about 
 the time for the stage to make its appearance and let it 
 pass. The men came down to where I was. They were 
 Indians, half-breeds. I was uneasy and started up to the 
 turnout and again stopped, they following me. Their at 
 tention was attracted to my dog, Bertie, in the carriage. 
 They were talking to him. I was anxious to see the mail 
 stage come along ; after a little while it came and I spoke 
 and said: "It is time for the stage." I got aboard my 
 wagon, the dog beside me. One of the Indians said : "Give 
 me that dog." I made no reply, judging what was to fol 
 low. At that moment the mail stage came along. They 
 saw it also ; one of them caught the dog by its head and 
 was pulling him out of the carriage. At that moment I 
 grabbed a long knife that lay beside me and made a 
 lounge at the man holding the dog and told him to let go 
 
14 BELLE SPRINGS. 
 
 of the dog. Both left and plunged into the canyon. The 
 stage had got within a few hundred feet of me, and as it 
 came along I called to the driver to stop. He did so and 
 asked what I would have. "Did you notice those two 
 men as you. came up?" I asked. He replied, "3 T es." 
 "I came near losing my little dog. They were Indians, 
 half-breeds, I thought, by their looks." "Yes, I think 
 they were," answered the driver, "you would have lost 
 your dog had I been out of sight ; they are now, no doubt, 
 in the brush." "How far is it to Belle Springs?" I 
 asked. "About a mile or a little more." "Will you walk 
 your horses so that I can keep with you, I am afraid of 
 those fellows?" "Yes, fall in, I will help you out of 
 this." I fell in his rear and went on to the next station 
 where I arrived all right. Hud I not had his company I 
 should have lost my dog and perhaps more. On my ar 
 rival at Belle Springs I found that my horse had wrenched 
 off one of her front shoes, tearing the hoof of the foot 
 badly on both sides. This seemed to put me in another 
 bad fix ; I became blue and despondent. What can I do, 
 what can be done ? 
 
 First three days traveled, horse blistered her shoulders, 
 stopped five days ; next, journeyed one da}^, carriage-wheel 
 crushed and horse ran away, two days lost. Next, horse 
 wrenched her shoe off, tearing both sides of hoof. In 
 eleven days' journey, only one hundred and eight miles. 
 Here I am, cannot travel while horse is in this condition 
 and no blacksmith within twenty-six miles. Doubtful if 
 a shoe can be put on of any service. Is not this enough 
 to discourage a younger man than I ? I told the land 
 lord, when putting up, that I should be obliged to stay a 
 short time with him. He replied, "Stay as long as you 
 wish." I talked the accident over with the host, told him 
 where I belonged when at home, and where I proposed to 
 go. "You are from the East, it seems," he said. "What 
 State?" "Massachusetts," I replied. "I come from 
 
BELLE SPRINGS. 15 
 
 Connecticut," said the landlord: "what town in Massa 
 chusetts." I replied "From Webster." "Oh," he said ; "I 
 know Webster very well, I am from Pomfret, Conn., you 
 are from Webster, Mass. ; what may I call 3~our name?" 
 ^ My name is Johnson. Allow me to ask your name?" 
 "My name is Aldrich. You from Webster, Mr. Johnson? 
 make yourself at home and stay as long as }'ou can con 
 sistently with the comfort of }*our horse. It shan't cost 
 you a cent, not a cent, Mr. Johnson," said the landlord. 
 
 I made myself at home, but I could not content my 
 self. I was troubled, thinking what could be done. I 
 looked over my project, thinking of what I had alread}^ 
 encountered and what was before me before reaching 
 home, if ever, and concluded to return to Eureka. I 
 talked the subject over with Mr. Aldrich, the landlord. 
 He said that he would buy the horse and carriage, but not 
 the cow. He made me an offer for the horse, carriage 
 and harness a fair offer. The horse I raised from a colt, 
 and when coming out here to California, I brought her 
 with me and have become ve^ much attached to her, my 
 wife also. It will be hard to part with her, I had 
 thought enough of my horse to pay a large sum of money 
 to get her to California, and I concluded that I would not 
 sell her, but see if it were not possible to put a shoe on her 
 foot. I was informed that the best horse-shoer known/ 
 resided at Latonville, 26 miles from that place. I made 
 a boot for the horse's foot, put it on, and put on her a 
 saddle and on the morning of the 23d of June took road 
 for the above place, and walked the distance on foot, ex 
 cept when fording the rivers. Arrived at Latonville at 4 
 p. m., one hour was passed in shoeing the horse and one 
 more for rest, and at 6 p. m., started back for Belle 
 Springs, reaching there the next morning at 4 a. m., 
 travelling the fifty-two miles in twenty-two hours. Go 
 ing, I led the horse, coming back I rode her for the first 
 time. From Belle Springs to Latonville the~road is the 
 
16 BELLE SPRINGS. 
 
 worst I had travelled. It was very hilly and rocky ; one 
 place is named Blue rock and it looked blue from top to 
 bottom. One other place was called Rattle Snake Canyon. 
 Here 3*011 can find rattle snakes in plent} 7 . I did not stop 
 to hunt them, but saw several ; thought it best to keep 
 them at a distance. Fifty-two miles was travelled in 
 twenty' hours. Twenty-six by day and the same by Eight. 
 I passed through the can}"on between ten and 12 a. m., 
 and at about the same hours at night. It is a fearfu^ 
 looking can}*on, thickly wooded, narrow roads, on each side 
 heavy bushes. On my right going was a beautiful creek. 
 I was told that there were more wild animals in this 
 canyon than in any other in the State. They come to this 
 creek for water day and night. This I was told after I 
 had travelled this road three times. Had I known it at 
 first, it might have made me quail. As it was, it only 
 made me a little nervous. On the morning of my return 
 from Latonville, I was considerably frightened between 
 the hours of 10 and 12 p. m. I was on my horse, it was 
 very dark, so much so that I could not see the head of my 
 horse at times. All at once the horse stopped at some 
 sound in the bushes. I listened, heard some rattling 
 among the bushes. I be-thought me of my dog which I 
 had for the moment forgot. Dismounting from m}'' horse 
 quickly, I struck a light so I could see, and found the dog 
 under the horse trembling with fear. It is doubtful if 
 ever my comrades in the cavalry dismounted more 
 quickly than I did. I knew that there must be some ani 
 mal in the bush or the horse would not have stopped, or 
 the dog become frightened. I grabbed the dog by the 
 neck and re-mounted my horse "right sharp, you bet," and 
 urged her on her journey. Travelling on I came near the 
 station house, or stable, where the mail horses are chang 
 ed, I sang out "ho, ho-a." A voice from the inside an 
 swered "Who's there, and what do you want at this time 
 of night?" I replied that "I was on my way back to 
 
BELLE SPRINGS. 1 7 
 
 Belle Springs, and will you let me have some oats for my 
 horse?" "Are you the man that stopped here in the 
 morning?" "I am." "Then I will get up and give your 
 horse the oats, and I suppose you will pay for them." 
 "Yes, I will pay," I replied. "If you don't I will blow 
 your brains out," he remarked, "how many do you 
 want?" "About a peck." "A peck, h 11, I can't spare 
 so many, we are most out of grain." "Can you let me 
 have a quarter?" I told him I would pa} r well and give 
 him something else. "Something else, give me that first." 
 I pulled a small flask from my pocket and handed it to 
 him, and said "this will get me the oats." He replied, 
 "It was pay enough, and all I ask, and when you come 
 this way again bring the flask full, }^ou might want some 
 more oats." I told him that I expected to be along the 
 day after that, if I did not get eaten up by the wild ani 
 mals, the can} r on appeared to be full of them. He said, 
 I was right ; he did not see how I dared to be riding at 
 night. It was not safe either day or night, and that part 
 of the canyon was the most dangerous. He hoped that I 
 might get through all right. Thanking him for his 
 good wishes^ I journeyed on. Nearing Blue Rock, a stage 
 house, between Belle Springs and Latonville, which is 
 anything but a house, I found the building brightly illum 
 inated. Had it not been so, I should not have known 
 that I had nearly reached the house. I wondered why the 
 house was so brilliantty illuminate4 and what was going 
 on and who were within the house. Just before reaching 
 the house I stopped and gave my horse a drink. There 
 was loud and boisterous talk heard from the house. I 
 drove on, going on the opposite side of the road from the 
 house, and had got a distance beyond, when a voice called 
 out, "I want to ride." I passed on, paying no attention, 
 keeping out of sight of the house as much as possible. I 
 had gone some little distance all right, when I noticed my 
 horse acted strangely, looking on one side and then on 
 
18 BELLE SPRINGS. 
 
 the other. It was getting near daylight. The horse stop 
 ped and I urged her to go on, but she would not. A few 
 rods in front of us stood a man right in the road. I sang 
 out "Stranger, get out of my way, the horse will not go 
 by you, step one side and then she will pass." The man 
 came down the road towards me and said all was right. 
 " Stranger, what has brought you here so early this morn 
 ing?" I asked. "Friend, I have been here all night. I 
 have a flock of sheep just below here, which I am obliged 
 to look after at night, or else they will be a feast of mut 
 ton for the wolves," he replied. "Then you have wolves 
 in this neighborhood?" I asked. "Plenty of them," he 
 answered: "they are getting a little shy. We put cold 
 lead into them, but try not to kill, but wound them, so 
 that they will keep the rest away." "Are you not afraid 
 of them?" "We do not go out among them without our 
 guns," he said. "You have dogs to hunt them, do you 
 not?" "Yes, but the dogs can do nothing unless we are 
 there with them to shoot them. We set the dogs on them, 
 and giving them some cold lead make them afraid of us." 
 I left this man and made the remainder of my journey 
 back to Belle Springs without any further molestation or 
 incident, and arrived at the house about 4 a. m., putting 
 up my horse and giving her the usual feed. I went to 
 bed very fatigued and slept until 10 o'clock in the fore 
 noon. That day I made all arrangements to commence 
 my journey eastward. 
 
 Belle Springs is a half-way station between Eureka and 
 Cloverdale. Stages from both ways meet and return 
 from this place at the same hours. There is a good hotel 
 with ample accommodations. There are seven sleeping 
 rooms, kitchen, dining room and others on the ground 
 floor. This is kept by a Mr. Aldrich, formerly from Ab- 
 ington, Windham County, Conn., who proved himself a 
 gentleman in ever} r sense of the word. 
 
LATONVILLE. 19 
 
 On the morning of June 26th, after a long rest I left 
 Belle Springs, on resuming my journey for Latonville, dis 
 tant twent3 r -six miles, travelling over the same road I had 
 gone to get my horse shod. Being satisfied with the man 
 ner the blacksmith had put on the one shoe^I determined 
 to have shoes put on the other feet. The shoes were 
 made of steel, with corks nailed at the toe, clipped back 
 to the quarter, only four nails in a shoe. Very simple and 
 good. I travelled nearly five hundred miles before they 
 were removed. 
 
 Latonville is a small place, contains a hotel, blacksmith 
 shop, store, carriage shop and several houses, all built of 
 good material. This village is located in Long Valley, 
 on the north side about mid-way. The valley is about 
 fourteen miles long and one mile wide, nearly surrounded 
 by mountains good and fertile land, a fine river running 
 through the valley. 
 
 Left Latonville on the 27th and reached Little Lake, 
 my next point, the distance travelled being twent} 7 -three 
 miles, travelling through the valley. After leaving the 
 valley, for about two miles the road was very rough, until 
 I made connection with the stage road again at Sherwood 
 valle}'. From there onward the road was good travelling. 
 A short distance before reaching Little Lake, I carne to a 
 wheat field ; here I thought it best to camp. I took some 
 of the wheat, as if it were my own, and fed my cattle. 
 There was no one around % I could not see a hous9 and had 
 not passed one since leaving Latonville. I tied my cattle 
 fast to my wagon after their supper, and got my own sup 
 per, eating some cold roast Elk venison, after which I 
 prepared my bed for the night. Retiring, I soon fell 
 asleep, but was awakened about midnight by the snorting 
 of my horse. I got up, could see nothing, but my horse's 
 ears were perched straight over her head as if in fear. I 
 looked down the road and became convinced that there 
 
20 LITTLE LAKE. 
 
 was some of those fellows around who are known as "In- 
 fernals." I went to bed but could not sleep again, so I 
 got up, fed my cattle and made ready to go on, and 
 started as soon as day began to break, and light enough 
 to travel. Coming to the station I inquired of a man I 
 saw who was the owner of the wheat field, back about a 
 mile, saying "I went into camp there, and made use of 
 some of the wheat and would like to pay the owner for the 
 same." He replied "That is all right, the owner would 
 not take anything if you offered it to him." "I would not 
 like to have the man follow and trouble me, and am will 
 ing to pay," I remarked. "That is all right, you need 
 not trouble yourself about it in the least," said the station 
 man. 
 
 Left Little Lake on the 28th and made the town of Uki- 
 ah the same day, having made twenty- three miles. 
 
 Little Lake is simply a station for the changing of horses 
 for the mail coaches, and for drivers and chance passen 
 gers to eat and drink, the thirst being the greatest every 
 time. 
 
 About noon I was travelling a really good road, equal 
 to a fair eastern road. I stopped, fed my cattle, made a 
 fire, cooked some dinner and ate it all alone, no one 
 around, not a house for miles, and had not seen one since 
 leaving Latonville. Rested till half-past one o'clock, and 
 then resumed the. journe} T , passing what is known as 
 Sherwood valle}' coming to a cross-road I read on a 
 board, "To Bartlett's Spring and over the mountain to 
 Sacramento." So far to-day have seen but one man. I 
 do not have a chance to ask where does this road go, or 
 how far is it to this place or that, yet I must soon come 
 in sight of Ukiah. Presently I came in sight of a house, 
 and then another, and I found myself in comparatively a 
 large town. I urged Fanny along and soon we were in 
 the city. I call it a city, not being positive it is, but it is 
 
URIAH. 21 
 
 one of the large towns in this part of California. On ar 
 riving in Ukiah, I made for a wheelright's shop to have 
 my broken wheel repaired. If I knew the name of that 
 rascally driver, I would give it to show his meanness, yet 
 doubtless he is telling the story to some of his boon com 
 panions as a good joke served on that eastern chap. I 
 found a carriage shop and asked the proprietor if he could 
 repair my wheel : I told him that I had, soon after cross 
 ing Eel river been run into by the stage driver, crushing 
 one of my wheels. "Where is your carriage, let me look 
 at it? " "It is in front of } r our shop, sir* I have come all 
 the way from Eel river with those splints on the wheel, as 
 you see." "Those splints make a strong wheel." "Yes, 
 but what can you do to make them stronger?" I asked. "I 
 shall have to take the wheel to pieces and glue the spokes 
 anew." "How much will }'ou charge me?" "I will do 
 it for 62. 50." "Can you do it this afternoon ?" "Yes, 
 this afternoon." It was then four o'clock. 
 
 Left Ukiah at mid-night of the 29th and made as far 
 as Cloverdale that day about thirty miles. 
 
 Ukiah is the county town of Mendocino county. It 
 has two hotels, several stores and a variety of workshops, 
 blacksmith, carriage and livery, which give employment 
 to many hands. Saloons and dance houses, where both 
 immoral men and women are congregated, are to 
 be found in abundance, where the wildest scenes of 
 debasement can be seen at all times. Drinking, gambling 
 and lewdness are so prevalent that I became more dis 
 gusted with the saloon than ever before or since. The women 
 are imported from distant large cities for the pleasure and 
 profit of those places, travelling in the same stages as the 
 more respectable passengers. Of course, there are some 
 good people here, but the reckless seem to predominate. 
 The wheelright who repaired my carriage, appeared to be 
 a very fair man, he had done me a good job at a fair 
 
22 URIAH. 
 
 price. I called at a livery and bought a sack of grain, for 
 which the proprietor charged me three cents a pound for 
 ground barley, a big price. What do you think of it? 
 Did he have to pay so much for his whisky that he had 
 to charge so exhorbitantly for his grain ? 
 
 I left Ukiah about half-past seven in the evening, and 
 travelled until I came to a good grass spot and camped for 
 the night. I fastened my cow, Bessie, with the lariet, 
 and the horse, Fanny, I secured by the halter ; I 
 dared not leave her loose to give her a chance to lead me 
 another chase alter her, as she did at Alder Point. While 
 feeding my cattle, a team with two men in it came along. 
 One of them said, "Friend, what are you doing there?" 
 "Stranger, giving my cattle a little grass." "What, are 
 you travelling? " "Yes sir, I am." "Where are 3 r ou go 
 ing? " "I am going to Cloverdale." "Here go with me, 
 I will do better than that, I will give your cattle both hay 
 and grain, so come back with me only a short distance." 
 I thanked them kindly, and they insisted on my going 
 back with them. I told them I did not think of stopping 
 long, would travel some during the night so I could reach 
 Cloverdale the next day and would it be safe for me to 
 travel, being all alone. They answered it would, and no 
 one would molest me, and they again urged me to go with 
 them and have something to eat and drink with them. I 
 told them I felt grateful but they must excuse me. So 
 they went, but shortly after returned with hay and grain 
 for my cattle, cold roast beef and whisk} r for myself, and 
 I was obliged to eat and drink witli them. I thought it 
 best not to decline their good will. Thanking them for 
 their hospitalit3 r , I made ready to resume my journey. 
 They told me I was welcome and wished me good night 
 and success on my journey. 
 
 In journe}'ing to Cloverdale the roads had been much 
 better, although the travelling had been hard for the cattle 
 as the day had been very warm. I did not make this 
 
CLOVERDALE. 23 
 
 place until late in the evening. Passing now through a 
 new county I found the weather, atmosphere and general 
 appearance of the country was much changed, this being 
 one of the finest counties, Sonoma, in the State ; the two 
 others being the roughest. I felt and it looked as if I were 
 in a new world. On entering the town about 9 p. m., 
 there was a light a-head of us. It was the head-light of a 
 locomotive. The horse was looking at it, her ears stand 
 ing erect; coming to a halt, I asked, "Fann} T , what is 
 that?" She knew as well as I, no doubt. At that mo 
 ment the whistle blew and Bessie, the cow, became 
 frightened and almost upset my wagon, but the horse 
 stood firm. I continued onward and drew near the engine, 
 the cow became uneasy, and I fancied the horse said to the 
 cow, "Bessie, be not afraid, it will not hurt you." This 
 was what Fann} r said, as I understood her, and from that 
 time I have thought that the horse and cow conversed in 
 this fashion during our long journey. As we were stand 
 ing waiting for the engine to go, the people began to 
 gather around us, until more than a hundred people had 
 assembled. They asked where I was from, where going, 
 and how long I had been on the road, and many other 
 questions. I answered them civilly and to their satisfac 
 tion, not one of them offering any insult or molestation. 
 I asked one man where I could camp. He replied, "Come 
 with me and I will show 3^011 where." I followed the man, 
 who led me to a barn and told me to put my cattle in 
 there or turn them loose yonder as suits myself. It was 
 so warm that I thought it best to turn them loose and let 
 them eat the grass. Having done so and given them 
 water and grain, being very weary I made up my bed and 
 went to rest for the night. I was soon asleep, but about 
 midnight my horse came around where I was sleeping, her 
 breath awoke me. "What is the matter, Fanny?" I 
 asked. She made no answer, but went away satisfied 
 that I was near at hand. After, a while she came again, 
 
24 CLOVERDALE. 
 
 and I told her to get away as it was not time to be off yet. 
 Daylight came ; rolling up my blankets I went into 
 the town and looked it over and returned to my camp, 
 found all right, fed and watered my cattle, went and laid 
 down again for awhile. Shortly the man of the house 
 came out and came up to me where I was laying, says he, 
 "Well, stranger, how did you rest during the night?" I 
 answered, "Very well, as I was veiy tired, and now I am 
 feeling very well." "Our breakfast is ready, come in 
 and take some with us." I took breakfast with him ; after 
 breakfast I asked my host if I could stop there over the 
 day, as I thought my cattle needed a rest. "Yes, I have 
 no objections. Where* are you going, if it is a proper 
 question to ask?" "I am going to San Francisco." 
 "How many miles do you travel a day?" I answered 
 "About twenty-five miles." "It will take you about four 
 days to get to the city," he replied. 
 
 Left Cloverdale July 1st and travelled as far as Healds- 
 burg, distance eighteen miles. 
 
 Cloverdale is a fine town, beautifully laid out, and is 
 destined to be one of the most prominent in the Stare. 
 It is situated in the northern part of Sonoma county, per 
 haps the richest agriculturally in the State. It is the termi 
 nus of a railroad known as the San Francisco and North 
 Pacific Railroad, owned by one man named Donahue. 
 The distance from Cloverdale to San Francisco is eighty- 
 three and a half miles. 
 
 My passage now is through a rich and fertile county. 
 What a change, everything looks beautiful and enchant 
 ing. Coming from Humboldt and Mcndocino counties 
 where everything was rough, to Sonoma county, what a 
 change. Such a contrast can scarcely be conceived. The 
 air is bracing and healthful and gives spirit and vigor to 
 both man and beast. I have a long journey before me, 
 and having lost too much time already I must push on. 
 
IIKALDSBUKG. 25 
 
 This has been a large grain growing county, but at this 
 day the agriculturalists are changing to the culture 
 of the grape. It is said that the grape crops }*ield more 
 money than does the grain, and the crops are surer and 
 more to be depended upon. To me, there is nothing 
 more beautiful than the vineyards in this section of the 
 golden State. See the large bunches of this beautiful 
 fruit, look at it, think of it and taste of its delicious 
 flavor. Is there anything more beautiful ? I would like 
 to see it. About live in the afternoon I entered the town 
 of Healdsburg, and passing through, I camp on the banks 
 of the Russian river for the night, just below the bridge. 
 
 Left Healdsburg on the 2nd and made Santa Rosa the 
 same day, distant eighteen miles. 
 
 Healdsburg. Leaving this place I cross the Russian 
 river, over which there is an excellent bridge and also a good 
 ford. Instead of crossing the bridge, I preferred to ford 
 the river. The water was about two and a half feet in 
 depth with a sandy bottom. The morning was bright and 
 warm. My cattle seemed to enjoy it, and I know I did, 
 after coming down from a God-forsaken world, as we had, 
 and finding such a change. No wonder that we felt so 
 well. We are travelling the Russian valley, one of the 
 most fertile and beautiful in the State. What fields of 
 wheat ! what large vineyards of grapes ! they excel| all. 
 The only draw-back, the farmers have too much land. 
 There is not the population there should be or could be 
 supported. No neighbors ; houses are too remote from 
 each other. Should a fire occur, there are no neighbors 
 to help put it out. East, the man that owns five, six or 
 eight hundred or a thousand acres, cuts it up into small 
 farms with houses here and there ; has ten houses to one 
 in this section, and has plenty of neighbors to help in 
 case of fire. But here they would burn down and all 
 be destroyed. 
 
26 SANTA ROSA. 
 
 Left Santa Rosa on the 3rd and made Petaluma my 
 next stopping place, travelling twenty miles this day. 
 
 Santa Rosa, the capital of Sonoma county, is a fine 
 thriving town. Here there appears evidence of more en 
 terprise than in any other place I have passed through 
 since leaving Eureka. In this as well as other places, 
 there are many drinking houses and many men and boys 
 that pass their time and spend their money at the gamb 
 ling tables, which to me seems foolish. I suppose to 
 them it does not look so bad, but to me it does, as I have 
 not been out here long enough to get over my New Eng 
 land education. 
 
 San Raphael. I left Petaluma on the morning of the 
 4th and journeyed that day to San Raphael, a distance of 
 twenty miles. I left about two o'clock in the morning, 
 being anxious to reach San Raphael early in the day, 
 there to remain till the next morning. I reached the city 
 about ten o'clock and on my arrival I found the place 
 crowded with people who were celebrating the national 
 holiday. In reaching the city I was obliged to enter 
 about the centre, coming in contact with the multitude. 
 Guns, pistols, fire crackers were being used in no small 
 quantities. My horse is not afraid of anything except a 
 simple swing, and that she does not admire. As I was 
 going around the plaza, the boys though tthey would have 
 some sport. They opened fire upon me with their fire 
 crackers. The horse stood it well, but the cow broke two 
 parts of her halter and fled. The horse, seeing "Bessie" 
 a-far off made for her. I was holding on to the horse with 
 all my might. A man on horseback saw the cow break 
 away and galloped after her and caught her, bringing her 
 back to me ; she was wild. On her return she came up 
 to my horse, standing until she again became quiet. The 
 people gathered about us by hundreds, I in their midst. 
 A police officer came up to me saying "Stranger, what 
 
SAN RAPHAEL. 27 
 
 can I do for you?" I answered "please request the peo 
 ple to keep quiet and fire no more crackers." My request 
 was granted. A man in the crowd came to me and said, 
 "Take your cattle to my barn and give them some hay, 
 they will all be safe there." "Thank you, stranger, go 
 ahead and I will follow you." The officer went with us, 
 and we arrived at the barn without further hindrance. The 
 gentleman who requested me to take my cattle to his barn 
 was formerly a resident of the state of Maine. 
 
 San Francisco. Started on the morning of the 5th for 
 San Francisco, distant fourteen miles. Passed on my 
 way through St. Quentin, by the state prison to the feny, 
 and at half-past two I was on board the steamer for San 
 Francisco. On passing down the ba} T , its entrance was 
 on our right from the ocean through the Golden Gate. 
 On our left is Oakland, that beautiful city of the west. 
 On entering the city^I was charmed by its beauty and the 
 scenery around. We entered the city about four in the 
 afternoon. On the right is a high bluff, and on this bluff 
 are four residences of noted men of the city Stanford, 
 Huntington, Hopkins and Crocker. I leave the boat 
 about four o'clock, pass up Market street, down Fourth 
 street across the track of the Central Pacific Railroad, at 
 their freight depot, and drive opposite on the west, where 
 I made my camp while in the city two years previous to 
 this visit. 
 
28 SAN FRANCISCO. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 FROM SAN FRANCISCO, SAN JOSE TO SACRAMENTO. 
 
 My stay in the city of San Francisco was much longer 
 than I intended when I arrived, but there was so much of 
 interest in the place that day by day passed almost imper 
 ceptibly. I was also anxious to see as much of the State 
 as my circumstances would admit, especially was I de 
 sirous of visiting the renowned San Jose. Having heard so 
 much about the place* I thought that if I did not visit this 
 place it would always be a source of regret. So I con 
 cluded to do so, and travel ninety miles directly out of 
 my way in order to see the city of San Jose. 
 
 Decoto. On the morning of July 16th I left San Fran 
 cisco for San Jose, stopping at Decoto. I left the city 
 about 4 a. m., travelled up Fourth and Market streets 
 to the ferry, passing through Oakland and taking the 
 direct road for San Jose, through the counties of Alme- 
 da and Santa Clara. The latter is a very fertile one and 
 perhaps the richest in the State ; San Jose is the county 
 town. On my way to Decoto I passed through the town 
 of Haywards, where I made a short halt. While conver 
 sing with several persons, I found that one of the num 
 ber was formerly from Hartford, Conn. Many questions 
 were asked by both parties. About 4 p. m., I arrived at 
 Decoto, and camped for the night. 
 
 The morning of the 17th I was up early and began 
 preparations for another day's journe3 T . I did not break 
 fast, so anxious was I to reach my object point that day, 
 so by five o'clock I was on the move and travelled until 
 seven ; at this time I came to a farm-house where there 
 
DECOTO. 29 
 
 was a fountain, from which I watered my cattle and then 
 proceeded to the barn, and while feeding, a gentleman 
 came and said, "Good morning, stranger." "Good 
 morning," I answered. "Travelling, are you?" "Yes, 
 sir, a short distance I have heard so much of your city 
 of San Jose, that I am going there to visit. I thought 
 it would pay me to visit the place while so near it." "But 
 where are you from, travelling with that outfit?" he 
 asked. "Yesterday I left San Francisco, and thought 1 
 would visit this city before leaving the State/' "Before 
 you leave the State, what do you mean loy that?" he ask 
 ed. "Well, sir, I will be short* I am on my way East, 
 as far as Massachusetts. I know that I am not on the 
 direct road, but shall be as soon as this present visit is 
 made. I intend to return by way of Niles and on 
 through Livermore valley to Stockton." "How long have 
 you been in the State and in what part have you been 
 staying, stranger?" "I have been in the State two years 
 and more, and resided at Eureka, Humboldt county." 
 "And you are from Eureka? I know the place well, 
 stranger." "How far is it from here to San Jose?" "It 
 is seventeen miles. Come in and take some breakfast 
 with us." I went into the house with him. Turning to 
 his wife, the man said, "This man says he is from Eureka 
 and thinks he must see our city of San Jose, 1 * it is the fin 
 est in California. How did } T on get down to San Fran 
 cisco, stranger? You must have noticed a vast differ 
 ence in the roads through Humboldt, Mendocino and this 
 county." "Yes, sir,* I noticed there was a great differ 
 ence." "You are now travelling the best in the State. 
 Wife, I suppose the breakfast is now ready and waiting. 
 Stranger, take a seat and eat. Did } T OU give your cattle 
 all the grain they could eat?" "I think they would eat 
 more if it were before them." "I will give them some of 
 mine. It is very fine, as good as can be raised in the 
 State." So they were given an extra feed that time. 
 
30 SAN JOSE. 
 
 After breakfast I got ready to proceed on my way to the 
 city. As I started my host said, "Stranger, on your re 
 turn, come here and stay over night with us. It is not 
 a half mile out of your way ; yonder is your road to Liv- 
 ermore," you will have to return to that road. Come here 
 and tell us how you like San Jose. You will be welcome 
 to our hospitalit} 7 . How long do you. intend to stay?" 
 u But one day," I answered. About eight o'clock I left 
 them. 
 
 San Jose. The morning was warm, the road good, but 
 very dusty. I arrived at San Jose about four in the af 
 ternoon, and rambled about the principle streets until I 
 thought of a camping place. On entering the city I had 
 noticed a place that would make a good camping spot 
 for the night^and returned thereto, about a half mile 
 from the city. On arriving at the spot I went to the house 
 and rang the bell, which was answered by the lady of the 
 house, of whom I requested permission to camp in a yard 
 near by. I told her my story, and was on my way East, 
 but being desirous of seeing this place had rambled thus 
 far out of my way. She gave me permission to camp 
 as I desired. I then asked her if she would sell me some 
 hay,' grain I carried with me. "Yes," she said, "there is 
 hay in the barn, go help yourself." Giving my cattle 
 water, hay and grain for their supper, and seeing they 
 were cared for, I spread out my blankets on the ground 
 and laid me down, being very tired from my day's jour 
 ney. After a while the lady came to me and asked if "I 
 would like to go in the house and have a dish of tea?" 
 "I would, thank you." I went in, sat down, to a good sup 
 per. The lady asked, "How did I like the city?" 
 "Madam, you have a fine town here; Its surroundings 
 are good/ 1 have seen nothing equal to it so far in my 
 travels." You remarked that you were on your way for 
 the Eastern States. "How far East do you go?" "As far 
 
NILES. 31 
 
 as Massachusetts ; that State is my home." "Do you in 
 tend to take that cow all that distance,'' inquired the Iad3 r . 
 "I do,* that is m}- intention. When I came out here two 
 years ago I brought that horse with me,' she is a native of 
 Massachusetts, so also is that little dog. The cow is a 
 native of California. I will pay you now for the hay that 
 I gave to my cattle, as I shall leave early in the morning, 
 perhaps before you are about. I like to travel in the early 
 part of the day, and rest during the hot part of the day." 
 She replied, "You are welcome to the hay and if you will 
 stay to breakfast you are welcome also." I thanked her 
 and bade her good night. 
 
 Niles. On the morning of the 18th I was up early, and 
 soon ready to start on my return. I left San Jose about 
 five o'clock intending to reach Stockton for my next stop 
 ping place. As usual with horses, she travelled faster than 
 usual, probably thinking that she was making for her 
 old home. It was hard for the cow to keep up to her 
 gait. I fell back and travelled beside the cow. My 
 presence appeared to stimulate her as she kept pretty 
 well with the team. She travelled lead with a slack 
 rope. At one o'clock we reached Niles, where we halt 
 ed for our mid-day meal, taking up about an hour's 
 time. My equipage was an object of interes^and many 
 were the questions put to me, answering all that I was 
 on my way overland from California to Massachusetts. I 
 travelled till half-past six and pitched our camp for the 
 night near a wheat field, on which I fed the cattle. 
 
 Livermore. Next morning, the 19th, I arose early, fed 
 the cattle with wheat and as soon as it was daylight re 
 sumed my journey and travelled until 7 a. m. ,when reach 
 ing a creek I thought I would stop and partake of break 
 fast and |?ive us all a slight rest. I gave grain to the 
 cattle and made a fire and boiled eggs and made coffee 
 
32 LIVERMORE. 
 
 for myself, and at 9 a. m., went on. It was a very warm 
 morning, the road good but rolling. At six in the after- 
 noon r l reached Livermore, stopping for the night near a 
 saloon. Gave the cattle their feed and made coffee and 
 ate my supper. I did not like my surroundings and 
 thought I would go into the town, about half a mile away, 
 but concluded to stay in camp. I spread out my blanket 
 and went to bed, running my chances of being allowed to 
 sleep quietly ; I had not been at rest long before I was 
 surrounded with callers overlooking my camp and ask 
 ing innumerable questions. Some were hard toanswer, 
 still I answered all civilly. I stood this bantering for a 
 long while, in fact, until I was completely tired out. 
 "Gentlemen," I said, "I have come a long distance to 
 day and am very weary, 'will you allow me to rest here in 
 peace?" "How far have yon come to-day, stranger?" "I 
 have come from Niles^eft there early this morning." 
 "You have done well to travel that distance, stranger." 
 "It has been a very warm day ; I hope you will allow me 
 to get some rest." "We will ask }^ou but one more question, 
 where are you travelling to, stranger?" I answered "I 
 am bound for Stockton* I want to get there to-morrow, to 
 cross the river so that my cattle can once more get some 
 grass." "We don't think }*ou can travel that distance in 
 a day, old man. We will leave you so that you can go 
 to sleep ; come boys, come away and let the old man go 
 to sleep." They left, but I got no sleep. 
 
 I awoke on the morning of the 20th about one o'clock, 
 there being so much noise around that it was impossible 
 for me to sleep. I put the horse in the wagon and quietly 
 departed from my camp and went on my journey. It was 
 dark, in fact, too dark for safe travelling. I lit my lan 
 tern and used it for a head-light. At three o'clock we 
 came to a house, known as the "Midway House," located 
 in a dreary looking canyon. Here I stopped, gave my 
 
MIDWAY HOUSE. 33 
 
 cattle water and a light feed of grain. About this time 
 daylight began to break and we moved on, passing through 
 "Livermore Pass" and on up the bluff until we came to 
 a store. Here we took breakfast, rather late, but still our 
 morning's meal. After eating, we again pushed on our 
 journey, crossing the railroad and entering the valley of 
 San Joaquin. We travelled this valley for several miles, 
 until I thought it about time to look for a camping place 
 for the night. I left the railroad a long distance on my 
 right and had not passed a house since breakfast, nor 
 could I see one in sight. Still travelling on, after going 
 some distance I sighted a house which "we made for; I 
 urging on my horse, Fanny, as she travelled as if she were 
 very weary. We reached this house about six o'clock 
 and stopped. I went to the door and rang the bell ; a 
 lady came in answer. I asked her if the gentleman of the 
 house was in. "No," she answered, "he is not,* I am ex 
 pecting him soon : he has gone to look after some horses 
 at pasture over the river. It is time for him to be back." 
 "I am travelling, madam, and have come from Livermore 
 to-day, and being tired and weary would like to stay over 
 night. All I desire is, hay or grass for my cattle ; I have 
 not seen an} r grass since entering this valley." "No, sir, 
 you will find no grass except near the river. Our last 
 rainfall was very light and did the crops but little good. 
 You may lead your horse into the yard, and can find hay 
 in the barn." I took the horse into the } r ard, unharnessed 
 her and gave her a chance to roll ; she enjoyed her free 
 dom very much. I went to the barn for hay, feeding it to 
 the cattle, who greedily ate it up and then I went for 
 more. I asked the lady for the privilege of making some 
 coffee. She offered to make it for me, but I told her I 
 would do it as I carry a lunch box for myself and dog as 
 well as grain for the horse and cow I gave the latter hay 
 for the third time after the supper. Spreading my blanket 
 on the grounc^ I laid myself down to rest. Soon after, the 
 
34 SAN JOAQUIN. 
 
 husband came home and coming into the } r ard saw a 
 strange company around and inquired of his wife, "What 
 have you got here?" "This man came along, said he was 
 travelling and had come from Livermore that morning ; 
 he wanted to stop over night and I told him he might." 
 "Who is he, where is he from, and where is he going?" 
 asked the man. "I asked him no questions, as I was ex 
 pecting 3 T ou before this," she replied. I heard the con 
 versation and told him his wife had related the facts. "Now 
 you may ask any questions you please of me." I had 
 risen from my couch and was standing before him. It was 
 not yet dark. "Stranger, who are you, where are you 
 from, and where are you going to?" he at once asked. 
 Answering said, "I left Eureka the first of June, came to 
 San Francisco, from there to San Jose, and from there to 
 this place. I am on my way home to Massachusetts 
 where I belong." "You have answered my questions^ 
 can I believe you ? When did you leave Massachusetts ?" 
 "I left in the spring of 1880, arrived in California in the 
 month of May, the same year. Have been in this State a 
 little more than two years." "And now you are return 
 ing home to Massachusetts?" "Yes, sir, I am." "Stran 
 ger, I am satisfied, but, O God, what a journey you have 
 before 3*ou. I am from Ohio ; came out here in 1876 and 
 am trying to get rich by raising horses. I had a good 
 farm in Ohio ; it was small but good. I sold it, came here 
 and here is my money. I own this house and all the 
 lands you can see around. Two years ago I went back 
 to Ohio, made a wife of this woman and came back and 
 here we are, both of us home-sick and anxious to return 
 to Ohio. Here, however, is our capital ; we would sell if 
 we could, but can not. So far, we have been unable to 
 get a crop of wheat, owing to the drouth. We plough 
 and sow, but no grain to harvest. When we see that 
 the wheat is not likely to mature, which is the rule rather 
 than the exception, we cut it for grass, and it makes ex- 
 
SAN JOAQUIN. 35 
 
 cellent hay. But it is not all hay that is wanted ; we need 
 grain. Stranger, you say you are on your way east, with 
 that outfit horse, carriage, cow and dog. Now, I do 
 not say that it can not be done, but I think the chances 
 are against you nine to one. The horse you can get 
 through, but the cow impossible, unless you get her shod 
 with iron shoes ; then you stand a fair show. The horse 
 you can get shod any where on the road, but the cow few 
 can shoe. In shoeing her she will have to be confined in 
 a brake that will hold her secure. Now, friend stranger, 
 as soon as you come to a blacksmith that knows how to 
 make an ox-shoe, you should get her shod if you have to 
 build a brake on purpose, and don't you forget it. Stran 
 ger, I see you are the man for the journey. Well, wife, I 
 want some soipper. Have you been to supper, stranger?" 
 "Yes, sir, I have", I ate my supper more than an hour 
 ago." "Sit up and eat another with us ; how is it about 
 your cattle^ have they had their supper?" "Yes, sir; I 
 fed them with your hay, they ate it up clean and I gave 
 them more, and they ate that up and again I gave them 
 more." "We will go out and see if they have eaten that 
 upland rf so, will give them more. What time do you in 
 tend to leave in the morning?" I wish to start early so 
 as to reach Stockton." "You can't make Stockton in 
 one day's travel ; it will take you nearly two days. You 
 will have to cross the river at the ferry, on the boat. You 
 can not cross the river over the bridge owing to the 
 sloughs ; should you get in them, it will not be easy get 
 ting you out. Go by the ferry, it is farther, but more 
 sure." At this, I told him that I would like to retire as 
 last night I got no rest, having camped near to a saloon 
 and was so disturbed that I could not sleep, so harnessed 
 up about one in the morning and left them. So I must 
 have some sleep to-night or I can't make Stockton to 
 morrow. "Wife, give me a light and I will show the 
 traveller to a room." "Friend stranger, I sleep with my 
 
36 SAN JOAQUIN. 
 
 cattle every night,* I will take no bed in the house. I 
 have been advised to stay with them night and day." 
 u You are right; you will have to look sharp at times after 
 them." 
 
 I was up bright and early on the morning of the 21st, 
 making read3 r to resume m} T journey, feeding, greasing 
 my wagon and so on. About five o'clock my kind host 
 was up and came out to my camp and bade me good 
 morning, which I acknowledged. "I see you mean busi 
 ness," said he* "you have fed your companions it seems." 
 "Yes, sir, I intend to look out for them." "You are 
 right ; our breakfast is ready, my wife intends you should 
 partake of it with us before you leave." After breakfast, 
 (that was about half- past six) I was ready to ^nove on, and 
 turning to my host said : "Friend, how much shall I pay 
 you for the hay I have used and for my accommodations ?" 
 "Nothing, sir,' not a dime will I take, I hope you will 
 succeed in your undertaking. You have a long road be 
 fore you. Good morning, success to you." I thanked 
 them and moved on. At one o'clock we arrived at the 
 river and crossed over, and followed the river to Stockton. 
 What a contrast, every thing so green and lively and the 
 grass luxuriant. As far down the valley as the eye can 
 reach, are many cattle feeding. I stopped, turned the 
 cattle loose to graze and had our mid-day meal. Re 
 sumed our journey at three o'clock anql at six came to a 
 large farm-house, and proposed to sta}ithere for the night. 
 All around the house it was neat and trim ; in front a large 
 yard with many noble trees, most of which were fruit 
 trees, of many kinds. I went up to the gate and seeing 
 several persons I halloed and made signs to them to 
 come towards me at the gate. Two lads came," I asked 
 permission to camp near the house. They went back and 
 soon the lady of the house returned with the boys. After 
 passing compliments of the day I told her of my journey, 
 
THE RANCHE. 37 
 
 and asked if I could camp on their grounds for the night. 
 "You say } T OU are travelling East ; how far East?" "To 
 Massachusetts, that is my home when there." Massachu 
 setts is a long distance from here," said the lady. "Yes, 
 ma'am, I am aware of it." "Yes, yon can camp here." 
 "You have any quantity of grass,* would you allow me to 
 turn my cattle loose so that they might eat grass for their 
 supper?" "Yes, indeed, it will do them good. Stranger, 
 I have some interest in this interview. When you said 
 your home was in Massachusetts, I felt anxious to learn 
 your where-a-bouts." "My home is in the town of Web 
 ster and county of Worcester." "Will }^ou allow me to 
 ask your name?" said the lady. "Yes, certainly ; my 
 name is W. B. Johnson." "The reason I am so anxious 
 to learn about Massachusetts is this, my eldest son, John, 
 is going to school at Cambridge, Harvard College, this 
 fall. How far is Cambridge from j'our town ?" "Cam 
 bridge is about fifty miles from Webster." The lady then 
 said: "Mr. Johnson, our tea is ready, come in and sit 
 with us." "Madam, I carry tea, coffee, sugar, milk and 
 other things." "That is all right, but you will not need 
 them,* you must make yourself at home while here," she 
 answered. After we had finished supper,! went down to 
 my camp, turning the horse and cow loose in the grass. 
 I spread nry blankets and laid myself down. It was not 
 long before the whole house was around me, asking a 
 great many questions in regard to Massachusetts, and es 
 pecially about Cambridge. I told them it was a fine citj', 
 about three miles from Boston and one of the handsomest 
 in America. About nine o'clock I secured the horse and 
 cow for the night and said to the lady : "I will show you 
 my manner of camping at night ; my horse I secure to the 
 wheel of my wagon, and the cow opposite. I lay between 
 them ; if any one comes around I soon should know it,, 
 my little dog is good for sleeping with one eye open." 
 "But you are not going to sleep here with your cattle?" 
 
THE RANCHE. 
 
 said the lady. "Oh, yes* I dare not leave them. I have 
 been advised to look sharp after them." "Mr. Johnson, 
 there is no danger here ; no one will take them." "Mad 
 am, I have a fine horse, she is a Morgan. I was offered 
 three hundred dollars for her, but refused it." "You will 
 stop over to-morrow?" asked the lady. "I think I will ; 
 my cattle need rest and this fine grass is tempting for 
 them." "Mr. Johnson, you are a stranger to us; we 
 never saw you or heard of you before. I have no reason 
 to think you are a fraud, "my sympathies are with you." 
 "Wh} T ?" "Because you say your home is in Massachu 
 setts and 3 r ou are on your way there, also my son, John, 
 is going to that State. He will make his home there for 
 a time ; perhaps, you will make his acquaintance there; I 
 wish you might. Who knows what will come out of this 
 interview.' Mr. Johnson, I wish 3 r ou would take a bed in 
 the house,* your cattle will be safe,' I will be responsible 
 for them. We own all the land as far as you can see ; 
 there was a time when we owned thirty thousand acres." 
 "Lady, please excuse me,* I prefer to sleep outside. Cali 
 fornia has no rainy nights this time of the 3 r ear." "John, 
 you and Charlie go into the house and bring the mattress 
 off mj r bed. I will sleep in the front room to-night," 
 said the lady. The boys fetched the mattress. "Where 
 will 3 r ou have it?" she asked. "In the rear of the wagon, 
 madam ; I see that you are determined to have me sleep 
 on a bed." "Mr. Johnson, these grounds are quite 
 moist, of the grass would not be so green. That river 
 3 r onder makes things green ; if it were not for that, evety- 
 thing would be dried up as 3*ou found on coming here. 
 Well, bo3 r s, we will leave Mr. Johnson for the night ; 
 good night." "Good night, and thank you, lady." 
 
 On the morning of the 22nd I was awakened by the 
 bellowing of a bull in the meadows. My cow, Bessie, 
 heard him and answered. I do not know what she said 
 
THE RANCHE. 39 
 
 to him, but I know she was very uneasy. I bade her be 
 quiet and go to rest ; I continued in bed some time long 
 er when I heard the rumbling of a carriage. Soon it was 
 opposite to my camp and there stopped. "Mr., what are 
 you doing there?" asked one. "Doing, can't you see 
 what I am doing. It is not time to get up yet? they are 
 not stirring in the house," I answered. "Who gave you 
 permission to camp there?" another asked. "Go on, 
 don't ask me such a question, 'go on." "Yes, go on, 
 don't stop here so early in the morning," said a voice 
 from the window. They went on, but I had got so thor 
 oughly awakened, that soon after I arose and turned loose 
 the horse and cow, so that they could make a hearty re 
 past of the fine grass. Soon after, the inmates of the 
 house were up and all hands at work. The lady and her 
 son, John, came down to my camp and bade me good 
 morning. "Mr. Johnson, how are you this morning ; did 
 you have a good night's rest?" she asked. "I did ; that 
 mattress was a big improvement to the ground," I replied. 
 "Mr. Johnson, our breakfast is about ready ,*come and 
 take a dish of coffee, a bit of steak, and perhaps a bciled 
 egg. We will go and see what we have." "Thank you, 
 I will ; I am not afraid to leave my cattle for a good 
 breakfast." "Had }*ou taken a bed inside last night, you 
 would have fared better than in the breakfast," said the 
 lady. "I doubt that ; I had a good bed* the mattress was 
 an improvement, I found." "But still it was on the 
 ground and no springs under it," replied the lady. "That 
 no doubt would make some difference. I will stay over 
 another night and reverse it." "Yes, that will decide it. 
 You can stay as long as you like. There is plenty of grass ; 
 should 3'ou prefer hay or grain, there is plenty in the 
 barn, and what is more, you can put your cattle in as 
 well and turn the key on them, then you can sleep with 
 both eyes shut ; you could have done so last night." "It 
 was as well as it was." After breakfast I returned to 
 
40 THE RANCHE. 
 
 camp and cleaned my harness and other traps. Soon I 
 had company who staid with me until the dinner-bell rang. 
 "Mr. Johnson, the bell tells me the dinner is. ready," let 
 us go see what Kate has for dinner," remarked my host 
 ess. We went up and seven of us sat down to a good 
 dinner of roast beef, pudding and pies. 
 
 After dinner and the household attended to, rny hostess 
 said, "John, harness up the horses and we will take Mr. 
 Johnson around the farm." It did not take long to get 
 the horses out and hitched in the carriage, and mother, 
 son and daughter and myself were seated in the carriage, 
 when on we went upon a tour round the farm. Riding 
 about a mile, the team was halted and we got out. "Mr. 
 Johnson, yonder is the river," pointing in the direction, 
 "where you crossed on the boat. From that point to 
 yonder barn, and as far as the eye can reach, extend our 
 lands. Now we will get in the carriage and go on to the 
 ranche." After riding about two miles the ranche was 
 reached. The lady/pointing, said, "From that ranche to 
 3 T onder fence is the dividing line, running down to the 
 river * where you cross the ferry are. the boundaries of our 
 farm. The land is divided into four parts or ranches. I 
 live about the center ; there are no better lands in the state 
 than these of ours. Those meadows running parallel with 
 the river, you can see how rich and green they look. 
 They feed thousands of cattle every year." John turned 
 the horses heads homeward^ where we arrived having en 
 joyed a very pleasant ride ; as we drove into the yard, my 
 horse and cow saluted me. "Why, Mr. Johnson, your 
 cattle know 3~ou better than I do," said the lacty. "They 
 know me as well as I know them, I am sure," I remark 
 ed. When we got back it was almost supper time. In 
 about half an hour my hostess called me to partake of tea 
 again with her family. "Mr. Johnson, will you stop an 
 other day with us?" asked the lady. "Madam, I would 
 like to, but I can't," I have a long journey before me." 
 
THE RANCHE. 41 
 
 "Yes, indeed, you have. Do you think you can reach 
 that distance." "Yes, I can, if I do not find many 
 places like this. If I do it will take me a long time to 
 reach my home." "Mr. Johnson, mother seems to mani 
 fest a deep interest in your welfare," said John. "Yes, 
 indeed, I do, Mr. Johnson. It is because my son is to 
 go to school in your State. How far did you say you were 
 from Cambridge?" the lady remarked. "About fifty miles 
 from Webster." "Mr. Johnson, I hope you will hunt 
 him up and make his acquaintance ; call on him as he 
 may become home-sick and wish to return home, I hope 
 not, however ; what time will you leave us in the morn 
 ing?" "I intend to begin my journey about six o'clock. 
 I would like to stop a short time at Stockton. That is a 
 fine place, I suppose?" "We call Stockton a smart city, 
 with a population of 15,000 ; our best flour in the State is 
 made there," replied the lady. 
 
 On the morning of the 23rd I was up early, as usual, 
 and about my preparations for the day's tramp, when a 
 voice called from one of the windows of the house, "Mr. 
 Johnson, are you about ready to leave, won't you stop and 
 have breakfast with us ?" I took the mattress in my arms 
 and went to the house with it ; on entering I met the lady, 
 who bade me good morning. "You are about to leave us, 
 I did not wish yon to go so soon. Kate is a little late 
 with the breakfast, but the coffee is ready,and it will but 
 take a moment to broil a steak. Take a seat at the table," 
 I will soon be with you." Having partaken of a good 
 meal^ said to the lady, "We met as strangers, but as 
 such we do not part ; allow me to thank you for your 
 kindness and generous hospitality, 'it has been a strange 
 meeting." "It has," she answered. "I do not know 
 what to think about it. John is at the bottom of it," I 
 replied. "I bid you a reluctant good-by." "Good -by* I 
 hope you will succeed in making your long journey. Can 
 
42 STOCKTON. 
 
 it be possible } 7 ou have to travel four thousand miles to 
 reach jour home commented ? " the lady. 
 
 Stockton. Left Mansion Ranche at seven o'clock and 
 I reached Stockton about 10 o'clock. On my arrival, I 
 gave my cattle water and grain and while they were eat 
 ing I rambled about the city. It is not a large city, but 
 is solid and compact, with a population of 15,000, and is 
 pleasantly laid out. About five o'clock in the afternoon, 
 I left Stockton on my way to Sacramento. Travelling 
 about a mile I came to a fine patch of grass where I stop 
 ped for the night, turning the animals loose and giving 
 them a chance to select their own feeding. I gathered 
 some fuel, made a fire, cocked some coffee, made my sup 
 per and made ready for the night. The cow had eaten 
 her fill and was quietly at rest. It was not so with the 
 horse, she continued to eat the grass. I secured the cow 
 and went for the horse but she would not be caught,* I was 
 unable to get near her. Went back to my camp* the 
 horse continuing to eat, I took no notice of her. Soon 
 she came around and I got up to secure her, but no, she 
 would not let me. I got some grain and gave it to the 
 cow, and quickly she came for her share. I said to her : 
 "Fanny, 3^011 know about as much as your master." 
 
 I arose quite early on the morning of the 24th. It was 
 not yet da} T -light# I turned the cattle loose for grass and 
 returned to my couch on the ground. In about an hour 
 after I called them in and fed them with grain. While 
 they were eating^ I packed up my bedding, greased the 
 wagon and made all ready for continuing the journey. It 
 was about five o'clock when we left camp. On my left 
 went the road, and still further to the left flowed the Sac 
 ramento river. We travelled until nine o'clock when we 
 halted for water and a light feed. For myself, I had some 
 cold milk and crackers. At noon we reached a store, 
 stopped and watered the horse and cow, and I inquired 
 the distance to Gait. "It is about fourteen -miles ; are 
 
GALT. 43 
 
 you going to Gait?" asked the stranger. I answered in 
 the affirmative. "Where are you from?" "Stockton." 
 "You have come past the road to Gait ; you should have 
 taken the right-hand road about five miles back," said the 
 man. "Must I return back to that road?" I asked. "You 
 must." "That is too bad ; why do you not put out a 
 shingle so that a stranger can't miss but take the right 
 road. This makes me ten miles extra travel, on such a 
 hot day as this, too." I turned back to the road indicated, 
 and then travelled until I came to a fine-looking ranche. 
 I stopped, went up to the house and as I was about to knock, 
 a man came out. I passed the compliments of the day, 
 told him my story and asked permission to camp on his 
 premises, telling him that I had grain and hay for my 
 cattle and some grub for myself. He asked, "Where was 
 I from and where are you going to?" I answered, "From 
 Eureka to Sacramento." "Yes, you can stop if you like. 
 Turn into the corral ; you can sleep on that straw,* it will 
 make you a first-rate bed," said the man. "Now, for 
 some hay, if you please, sir?" He went to the barn and 
 commenced throwing down some hay. "Is this for me?" 
 I asked. "Yes, how much do you want?" he asked. 
 "You have thrown down twice as much as the cattle will 
 eat," I replied. "Give it to them; let them have as 
 much as they like,' it won't hurt them," he answered. I 
 then asked permission to make a dish of tea. The man 
 took me to the house and remarked to his wife, "This 
 man is a traveller ; has come from Humboldt county 
 and wants to make some tea, if you have no objection. 
 I told him to come in ; did I say right?" "Yes, of course. 
 We have travelled too much ourselves to object to such 
 a thing. You have come from Eureka ; how far are you 
 going?" she asked. "To Sacramento," I replied. "You 
 need not make any tea ; ours is about ready and we have 
 plenty of it, you will sup with us," said the wife "When 
 did you leave Eureka, stranger?" "The first of June 
 
44 GALT. 
 
 last. "You have been a long time on your waj r , strang 
 er." "Yes, I have ; I stopped in San Francisco nearly 
 two weeks ; I came down the overland road to the city. I 
 had travelled only one hundred and eight miles, when I 
 was obliged to stop fifteen days on account of my horse 
 having wrenched one of her feet, which caused me an ex 
 tra tramp of fifty-two miles to get her shod." "Well, 
 stranger, you are a plucky old fellow. There is scarcely 
 a young man who would have undertaken such a journey,* 
 you must come to the table and have a dish of tea." Hav 
 ing done justice to the supper^I retired to my camp, 
 looked to ni}' sleeping quarters and arranged my bed and 
 laid me down. I had scarcely got settled when a voice 
 said: "Hello, traveller, have you retired for the night? 
 My wife bade me to tell }*ou to have a bed in the house." 
 "Please say to your wife that I thank her very much, and 
 that I have a better bed here than she has inside. How 
 ever, friend, I will pay you for the hay I have used, as I 
 shall start on ray journey early in the morning, and per 
 haps before you are around." "I charge you nothing for 
 your supper nor for that of your cattle, and the same if 
 you will stop and have breakfast with us in the morning ; 
 which I think you will do if you dream of it over night. 
 
 On the morning of the '25th I was not as anxious to be 
 travelling as usual. My good fare and that of the cattle 
 no doubt made me feel indolent^so that I slept longer than 
 I intended. I was watering my cattle and giving them 
 some hay when the man of the house came along saying, 
 "Good morning j stranger ; did you sleep well during the 
 night ? I did not expect to find }'ou here ; I thought you 
 would have been half way to Gait by this time." "The 
 last words you said to me last night, were the first that 
 came to me this morning, and having over-slept through 
 weariness, here I am." 'Come in, our breakfast is ready." 
 We went in and turning to his wife he said: "I found 
 
GALT. 45 
 
 him in bed,* he seemed to care but little whether school 
 kept or not." In answer to her greetings, "I told her 
 that I had rested well, and over-slept,or should have been 
 eating breakfast in Gait instead of there. I thanked 
 them for their hospitality, and asked them to show the 
 same hospitality to the next traveller like me." "I was 
 welcome," they said, "but thought they would have to 
 wait a long time for such another traveller." Good-byes 
 were uttered and I drove off on my journey. 
 
 Travelling along, presently we came to a field of 
 melons ; I stopped, went into the field and appropriated 
 four of the best I could find, and then continued on our 
 journey. The morning was fine and very warm,* about 
 eleven o'clock we arrived at Gait. Here we crossed the 
 railroad ; after crossing, I stopped for dinner. We rested 
 two hours and then resumed our journey,* at this time I 
 passed through several wheat fields. They are about two 
 miles long ; several machines were at work cutting the 
 wheat. I stopped to watch the working of one of the 
 machines ; it was drawn by six horses. As they came 
 round near where I was I inquired, "How many bushels 
 to the acre do you thrash?" "About eight bushels," was 
 the answer. Only eight bushels. I passed on ; I was very 
 hot, not a shade to be had, the full burst of the sun on 
 our heads. Travelling further, I noticed to my left a 
 ranche, for which I made. I went to the house, in front 
 of which was a fine, large, live oak. Two ladies were 
 sitting under its shade. I bade them good day, which 
 they politely returned. "Ladies, I have been travelling 
 since early this morning ; it has been a hot day* would 
 3 T ou allow me to stop awhile under this tree/it makes a 
 fine shade, I have seen nothing like it to-day." They an 
 swered, "I might with pleasure." I got permission to 
 use water from the well with which I refreshed both man 
 and beast and then spread out my blanket and laid down. 
 The ladies soon retired and I continued to lay under the 
 
46 GALT. 
 
 tree in the shade. After a while one of the ladies canie 
 up to me and said, "Stranger, will you excuse me for of 
 fering you some refreshment* }'ou must be weary travel 
 ling on so warm a day. Here is a dish of tea and some 
 refreshments' please accept them." "Thank } r ou, madam, 
 It has been a very warm day." Before eating I asked 
 the lady, "If she could accommodate me with some hay 
 for my horse and cow." She answered "Yes, I think so. 
 My husband will be home soon' you can have some y 
 whether he comes or not." "Shall I wait until he comes 
 or not?" I asked. "No, it is not necessary, "you can help 
 yourself,'it is in the barn," she replied. I went for some 
 and gave it them, and they ate it as if they were starved. 
 When it was done, the lady said, "Your cattle were hun- 
 gryf you may get them more* give them all they can eat; 
 the hay is good and cheap." "I think it is wheat hay," I 
 said. She answered in the affirmative. "Madam, th;s is 
 a good place to camp,' if }X>u have no objection I will re 
 main over night ; I always travel early in the morning and 
 will try and reach Sacramento to-morrow," I remarked. 
 "Mister, you are a stranger to us ; we like } T our appear 
 ance and think you are all right. But should my husband 
 come home as he does some times, you might be roughly 
 handled ; if you will run your chances, we will ours. I am 
 satisfied that you are what you appear to be ; we don't go 
 to bed without our doors being all bolted," said the 
 lady. I asked the lady for more hay which she allowed 
 and I gave it all to the cattle. I milked the cow and gave 
 it to the lady / who was pleased to accept it, as she said at 
 that time they had no cow ; the cow yielded about four 
 quarts. "How much a quart do you ask for the milk?" 
 she asked. I answered, "Nothing, to you. But how 
 much for the hay I have used for my cattle ?" She an 
 swered, "Nothing, to you." About eight o'clock the 
 owner of the ranche came home and put up his horse and 
 went directly into the house. Shortly after he came out 
 
LIVE OAK RANCHE. 47 
 
 and made directly for my camp, and said : "Good even 
 ing. Are you the man who stopped about three miles 
 from here and inquired how much wheat to the acre ?" 
 "Yes, sir; I am." "I thought you were. Where are 
 you travelling to?" "I am going to Sacramento ; it has 
 been so warm through the day that when I got here I 
 thought I could go no further, and seeing this fine shade- 
 tree I asked permission to stop and am still here and have 
 fed my cattle on your hay and given the milk from my 
 cow to your lady. Have I done right or wrong?" "You 
 look like a man that would do right every time," you have 
 done as I should have done ; any-how, I will let you pass. 
 Won't you go in the house and take a bed, stranger?" "I 
 prefer to sleep under this tree, 'I think no harm will come 
 to me,* good night." "Good night, sir." 
 
 Live Oak Ranche. The morning of the 26th was 
 bright, so I arose early and attended to my travelling 
 companions. As I was watering them the proprietor of 
 the house halloed, "Stranger, do you think your cow 
 would give us some milk for coffee this morning. There 
 is plenty of hay and grain in the barn,'give them all they 
 need." "Friend, my cattle have been well cared for since 
 camping here." "What I was driving at was to give my 
 wife time to get the breakfast ready and have you par 
 take of it. It is not the milk but the joke I am after," 
 said my host. "I see it ; give me a pail and I will get 
 you the milk." After milking the cow and giving it to 
 the lady of the house, I was invited in to breakfast, which 
 I accepted. After the meal I got ready for my day's 
 journey ; on doing so I bade them good-b} r e and thanked 
 them for their hospitality. I left them amid wishes for 
 my success. It was about six o'clock when we started on 
 our way for Live Oak Ranche, and travelled until nine, 
 when we halted from over-heat and weariness. Not a 
 shade tree to protect us from the rays of the sun. "Well, 
 
48 ELK GROVE STATION. 
 
 Fanny, we must go on, it will not do to stop here in this 
 blazing sun." We passed on until we came in sight of a line 
 of railroad ; when near the crossing we came to a swamp 
 of timber. Here we succeeded in getting from under the 
 burning sun and remained here the remainder of the day. 
 The cattle had but a sparse feeding ground for grass. 
 Grain and food for myself I had always with me. 
 
 Elk Grove Station. The morning of the 27th we start 
 ed on our day's work as soon as it was light enough to 
 see our way, crossing the railroad at Elk Grove station. 
 The sun was getting high, not a breath of air, very hot 
 and sultry ; a good road, however, but dusty. "Well," 
 addressing my horse, "where is our shade tree for the 
 day, we shall need one soon, it is too hot to travel." Af 
 ter tramping on a while longer we sighted a ranche, with 
 a house built in a modern style and in the rear was a fine 
 shade tree. There did not appear to be any thing to" pre 
 vent my use of it for rest ; so I went to the house and rang 
 the bel^ which was answered by a lady. I said to her, 
 "Madam, I am travelling with a horse and carriage, lead 
 ing a cow. It is very warm ; I would like to stop for a 
 while in the shade, that myself and cattle might get from 
 under the rays of the scorching sun. I see you have a 
 fine shade in the rear of the house,* would you allow me to 
 use it for a time ?" "Where are you from?" she asked. 
 "I am from Euieka city." "What, with that cow from 
 that distance?" she questioned. "Yes, ma'am ; just as I 
 am, with that horse, carriage and cow." "Yes, sir; } f ou 
 can give your cattle the benefit of the shade,* it will be a 
 luxury to them this hot day," answered the lady. I le|d 
 my cattle around to the rear and hitched them there, 
 giving them water. I spread my blankets on the ground 
 and laid myself down on them ; it was delightful. While 
 lying down I fell asleep ; I do not know how long I had 
 slept, but the lady of the house awoke me and said: 
 
SACRAMENTO. 49 
 
 "Stranger, would you like some dinner ; it is now ready,* 
 come and sit down and have a dish of teaf you are cordi 
 ally welcome." I accepted her offer and went in and sat 
 down to an excellent dinner. After we were through with 
 dinner I asked the lady to sell me some hay for the cattle. 
 She told me they had plenty in the barn and go and help 
 myself to all I wished. I did so and fed to them a good 
 quantity of wheat hay, which my animals ate with a 
 keen relish. "Madam," I said, "It seems as though I 
 was providentially cared for ; coming here this hot day 
 and finding such a pleasant shade and sharing }-our hos 
 pitality. I appreciate your kindness and I know that my 
 cattle do ; I thank you, and as the sun is getting low I 
 will resume m}' journey, as now it will be much more com 
 fortable travelling and I can reach the city this evening." 
 The lady said she would like to know my name. "My 
 name is W. B. Johnson, of Webster, Mass." "You are 
 an Eastern man, from Massachusetts, it seems. I thought 
 you used New England language ; we were formerly of 
 Springfield in that State. How long have you been in 
 this State?" "Two years and over." "You are not re 
 turning back to Massachusetts?" "I am." "What, with 
 that horse and carriage, leading that cow?" "Yes, just 
 as I am." "My husband is in the city attending court as 
 a juryman. He would be glad to see you or any one from 
 Massachusetts. How long do you intend to stop in the 
 city?" asked the lady. "Two or three d&ys only." 
 "Where will you stop?" "I shall camp out in some con 
 venient place, but, Madam, I must be going,* it is four 
 o'clock. Good bye." "Good-bye ; I hope you will arrive 
 safely in old Massachusetts." 
 
 Sacramento. About seven o'clock I reached the city. 
 On my way I noticed a fine patch of grass, and at the 
 time thought that I had better stop there and camp for 
 the night. However, I travelled on to the city and then 
 
50 SACRAMENTO. 
 
 thought it best to turn back and camp on this green spot. 
 I did, and turned my cattle loose to graze for themselves. 
 There was a house a short distance away and I went there 
 for water. As I came near to it I noticed a gentleman 
 and two ladies standing in front of the house ; I stepped 
 up to them and addressing the gentleman bade him "Good 
 morning," which he acknowledged. "Sir, I am travelling, 
 and in passing here to the city I noticed }'our fine grass 
 and have returned to camp and rest for a while. Can I 
 have your permission so to do, also water from 3 r our cis 
 tern?" He answered, that I might have all I wanted, 
 he had no objection. I took water and gave it to the 
 horse and cow, they were very dry and needed an extra 
 watering. After seeing their wants supplied I spread out 
 my blankets and tried to sleep. The cow I had fastened 
 with her lariat, the horse I allowed to ramble about, as I 
 knew she would not leave the cow. 
 
 On the morning of the 28th, I passed into the city of 
 Sacramento, and upon reaching a fountain I stopped to 
 water my cattle ; while doing so, a man came out of one 
 of the stores near by and said: "Stranger, is that cow 
 for sale?" "No, sir; she is not," I replied. "I would 
 like to own that cow ; I like the looks of her. Stranger, I 
 will give you a good-price for her," "She is not for sale," 
 I answered. "How far have you come with her, strang 
 er?" "I started from Eureka, came down the overland 
 route to San Francisco, and from there to here." "Where 
 are you going with her, stranger?" "I am on my way 
 East." "How far East, stranger?" "Well, sir; my in 
 tentions are to cross the continent to Massachusetts." 
 "Massachusetts, the devil you are, stranger?" "Yes, 
 devil or no devil, I am." "Are you going to take that 
 cow with you? she won't travel half that distance,,! will 
 give you a big price for her, stranger." "What do you 
 mean by a big price?" "I mean that I will give you one 
 
SACRAMENTO. 51 
 
 hundred dollars for the cow, stranger." "Sir, I do not 
 want to sell her this morning. I would like to stop some 
 where in this vicinity where I can turn my cattle out 
 among some good green grass." I had noticed a little way 
 back some fine green fields. I had seen no such grass 
 before reaching Stockton, since leaving San Francisco. 
 "What is the cause of this change?" "Stranger, I will 
 tell you the cause. Yonder is the American river, point 
 ing east ; yonder is the Sacramento river, pointing west ; 
 the American river flows into the Sacramento at the north. 
 The city is about three-quarters encompassed by these 
 two rivers. The American river is not so large as the Sac 
 ramento, but has more fall. It empties into the Sacra 
 mento. The Sacramento has been badly used. Before 
 hydraulic mining was known, it was a very fine and navi 
 gable river. Large steamers could then come up to the 
 city and some distance above. Now it is hard work for 
 steamers to sail up, owing to the mud deposited on the bed 
 of the river from the mining on its banks. There is but 
 thirty feet fall to the ocean. Since the introduction of 
 hydraulic mining, the river bed has gradually filled up, 
 until now there is only a depth of about fourteen feet. 
 This became a source of alarm to the cit} r . Not only to 
 the city, but to the land-owners in the valley as well. 
 The river banks do not confine its water, but at times are 
 overflowed and the low lands are submerged and continue 
 so for some time, which the farmers do not like. I have 
 said that the city is nearly surrounded by these rivers. 
 The earth is so saturated with these waters, it gives us 
 green grass the }'ear round. Now, what we fear is this ; 
 some day the American river will cut through and spoil 
 our city and us too." "I would rather have it come in 
 the da}' than in the night," I remarked. "Oh, well, you 
 are a Yankee, I will bet the beer," answered the stranger. 
 "You are right, I am a Yankee," I replied. "Now, 
 stranger, just see what those d d hydraulic miners have 
 
52 SACRAMENTO. 
 
 done with our city. I wish they were obliged to dredge 
 the river ; we have already expended tens of thousands of 
 dollars with but little good. There is but thirty feet fall 
 from here to San Francisco, about one hundred miles, 
 only think of it. We have a fine city, but those d d 
 miners are fast spoiling it. Think of it : they have com 
 pelled us to commence filling some portions of our low 
 lands, and now we have to fill some sections from 
 five to fifteen feet. Look yonder, and see how that house 
 sets up from the ground ; a new house just built. That 
 yard has to be filled up eleven feet. Go up to our State 
 House and see what has been done there. It is one of 
 the finest buildings on the continent ; alread} T its first story 
 has been buried, which laj's now underground. The time 
 is not far distant when we shall have to fill up our 
 streets ; when that is done our first stories will be under 
 ground, all owing to those hydraulic miners. Just think 
 of it, 3'ou Yankee." Turning to my good-natured inform 
 ant, I said to him, "I would like to stop here two or 
 three days, r can 3*011 tell me where I could get grass for my 
 cattle?" "I can give your cattle grass. That lot }'onder, 
 or the other adjoining, take your choice, stranger." I 
 went to look at both lots ; there was no difference in them, 
 except one had a large shade tree on it. I concluded to 
 take the lot with the tree, as it would make a fine shade 
 for myself and companions. I asked the man how much 
 he would charge me per day for the use of the west lot, 
 as I preferred that on account of the shade it affords ? He 
 answered, "Stranger, turn in jour cattle into either lot,* I 
 will not charge you anything, not a dime, either one or 
 more days. Stranger, come in and get all the beer you 
 wish, "it will cost }*ou nothing." I thanked him^but I re 
 fused the beer ; turned my cattle loose into the field and 
 camped under the tree. Remember, that it was the last 
 day of July, the mercury up to 127 in the shade, and you 
 can imagine what a luxuty a good shade tree would be in 
 
SACRAMENTO. 53 
 
 that part of the State. It was now about eight o'clock in 
 the morning.and as yet I had had no breakfast. About 
 six rods from my camp was a house made with hands, to 
 which I went with my coffee-pot in hand, to see if I could 
 get some coffee made, telling her that I was camping for a 
 few days in the lot opposite her house. She answered, 
 "Yes, sir ; I will make it for you. I saw you drive into 
 the lot with a horse, carriage and cow, and I think you 
 are the man." The coffee was soon ready and I returned 
 with it to my quarters. As I sat eating my breakfast, 
 the lady accompanied b} 7 two others, came out to my 
 camp, and said: "Stranger, bring }~our basket in the 
 house and eat at our table. How long do you intend to 
 remain here?" "But two or three days ; I was permitted 
 to come in here one or ten days free of charge." "Was it 
 the man that lives in yonder block ?" she asked. I an 
 swered in the affirmative. The next question was, "Where 
 are you from, and are you going to remain in the city?" 
 I answered, "I am from Eureka, and am passing through 
 this State on my way East, to Massachusetts.'* "Do you 
 mean me to understand that you are travelling to Massa 
 chusetts?" said the lady in astonishment. "I do." 
 "Wiry, Mister; that is a great way from here." I told 
 her I was aware of it. As she left me she said, "As long 
 as you are here, come in to make your tea or coffee or 
 anything else you need, you will be welcome." After 
 breakfast I went into the town, looking for a blacksmith's 
 shop, as my horse needed shoeing. Finding one, I re 
 turned for the horse and had her shod on all her feet. It 
 was a good job ; the cow I could not get shod. The jour 
 ney through Humboldt and Mendocino counties was very 
 trying to my carriage, the wheels were light and the tires 
 were of iron and also light ; I thought it was best to get the 
 tires reset and make the wheels more dishing, in order to 
 make them stronger. I took the carriage to the black 
 smith and had the tires reset at a cost of four dollars. 
 
54 SACRAMENTO. 
 
 The blacksmith remarked that the tires were not fit to be 
 put on, they were so much worn. I told him to put them 
 on and afterwards took the carriage back to the camp. 
 
 On the morning of the 29th, as I was going down town 
 I called on the blacksmith, when he said, "Stranger, you 
 made a mistake in putting on those old tires on your car 
 riage wheels,* you ought not to have done so, 3*011 should 
 have put on good steel tires. They would have made a 
 good strong wheel and do you good service." "Black 
 smith, they are on and paid for. How much will 3*011 
 charge to put on steel tiresj make your figures small. I 
 have just paid 3*ou four dollars, that must be partially 
 thrown in?" "I will put on good steel tires for ten dol 
 lars." "Those are your best figures? I will give 3*011 
 eight dollars for new steel tires, which with the setting of 
 the old ones will make twelve dollars. If 3*011 will do it, 
 I will bring the wagon down after dinner, that is if 3*ou 
 will put them on this afternoon ,* will 3*011 do it?" "1 will 
 put them on for nine dollars, that is as low as I can 
 afford," answered the blacksmith. "No, I will only* give 
 3*ou eight dollars." I stopped for a moment, not a word 
 was said, I then started from the shop and was on the 
 sidewalk when he said : "Bring 3*0111' wagon down, I will 
 give you the dollar." I went back to the camp and was 
 about to take the wagon to the blacksmith, when m3 r lady 
 neighbor came out and invited me in to her house for din 
 ner. I excused myself on the plea of taking the wagon 
 to the blacksmith's, but she pressed me so that I took din 
 ner with her. While eating, many questions were asked 
 around the table. They learned that my home was in 
 Massachusetts, and I learned that their former home was 
 also in that State. After dinner I took the carriage to 
 the blacksmith's and about five in the afternoon he had 
 re- tired my vehicle and I returned to camp all ready to 
 leave early on Monda3 r morning. 
 
SACRAMENTO. 55 
 
 On the morning of the 30th, Sunday, a milkman came 
 along and stopped in front of my camp and said : 
 ''Stranger, you have a fine looking cow there. Where is 
 that cow from?" "From Eureka," I answered. "Where 
 are you going with her?" he inquired. "I am going East, 
 to Massachusetts." "You don't say you are ; are } r ou go 
 ing to old Massachusetts ?" he asked, incredulously. "I 
 do ; do you belong there, Mr. Milkman?" "I do, when I 
 am at home, and I have a mother there. I come from 
 there, or just over the line, in New Hampshire." "What 
 part of Massachusetts are } r ou from?" asked the milkman. 
 "From Worcester county, the town of Webster." "I 
 know all about the State. I have been to Worcester many 
 times. Are } T OU honest about going to Massachusetts?" 
 he asked. "Yes, sir; I am." "And going to take that 
 cow along with you? Friend, you can't do that much ; 
 such a thing is impossible. Why, sir ; neither she nor 
 any other cow could live to travel that distance." "Milk 
 man, I propose to try it ; I may fail in the attempt." 
 "You have a fine looking horse,' she looks as though she 
 could stand the test," said the milkman. "I brought that 
 horse from Massachusetts two years ago ; now I am re 
 turning back in this manner. I came out by rail." 
 "You are from Worcester, you say?" "No, from 
 Webster. Friend, what do you think of that cow?" I 
 asked. "Friend, stranger, I think she is a fine looking 
 animal, so handsome ; she is a beauty. I wish my wife 
 could see her, and you too. She would like to go East 
 with 3'ou,*she does not like here; I think I shall return 
 East next Spring, if we can sell out and not lose what 
 little we have made. We don't like ; never have done / and 
 I do not think we ever shall." "How far from here do 
 you live?" I asked. "About three miles," answered the 
 milkman. "Go home and bring } r our wife here, perhaps^ 
 she would like to see us all." "It would make her more 
 discontented, she- is so anxious to return East and would 
 
56 SACRAMENTO. 
 
 start to-morrow if she could." "Do you think the cow 
 will come in soon?" I asked. "She does not look as if 
 she would come for some time," said the milkman. "If 
 I mistake not her time is now out. This morning's milk 
 ing yielded two quarts." "I think she will not come in 
 for four weeks, sure. When do you leave here?" inquired 
 the milkman. "I intend to leave in the morning. To 
 morrow is the first of August,*! left Eureka the first of 
 June. I have travelled but five hundred miles in that 
 time. It won't do to kill time in this way." "Should I 
 not see you again, I hope you will succeed in making }*our 
 long journey. Yes, 3-011 will find it a long journey before 
 you reach old Massachusetts ; good morning," said the 
 milkman. "Good morning; give my regards to your 
 lady,*I would like to see her," I said in parting. About 
 sixty rods from my camp, on the other side of the rail 
 road, there is a very large grove that will accommodate a 
 large number of people, who are at this time, assembling 
 in the grove. A band has just commenced playing, so I 
 thought I would go that way to see what was going on. 
 The music was very fine, I stood in the road or its limits, 
 near the entrance to the grove. I saw a carriage coming 
 irom the south towards the grove, a gentleman with two 
 ladies drove up to where I was standing ; of course I did 
 not know them. I was not thinking about the milkman 
 that I invited to call en me. No, rny attention was 
 wholly taken up with the music,' it was very good. The 
 gentleman reined up his horse and stopped near me. 
 This I noticed, but still I did not know the man, but he 
 knew me. He got out of the carriage and coming up to 
 me said : "Stranger, I know you very well,* perhaps you 
 don't recognize me. I am the man who was talking to 
 you this morning about going East. I judged you did 
 not know me. You asked me to bring my wife to visit 
 you and the horse and cow. She is in the carriage }'on- 
 der." We went to the carriage. "This is my wife and 
 
SACRAMENTO. 57 
 
 daughter, Mrs. Wood ; I do not know your name, so will 
 call you, stranger," said the milkman. "You have 
 called me stranger, but hereafter call me W. B. Johnson." 
 The lady said, "When my husband, Mr. Wood, returned 
 home he told me that he had had a long talk with a man 
 who was going to Massaclmsetts, with a horse and carriage, 
 leading a cow ; I said that I must see him. He told me 
 to get ready and they would go and find you ; I hastily 
 made ready, did not even stop to crimp my hair, so 
 anxious was I to see the man who was courageous enough 
 to cross the continent with such an outfit as yours. I wish 
 Mr. Wood would sell his farm to-morrow and go with 
 you. We have a farm about three miles from the city. 
 We call it a farm, others call it a ranche. I am anxious 
 to see your horse and cow." I requested Mr. Wood to 
 drive his lady to my camp and I would follow him across 
 the railroad and be at the camp as soon as they. I made 
 the camp first and opened the gate that they might drive 
 into the field under the tree for shade. As they arrived 
 the cattle were at rest under its shade ; they quietly gave 
 it up for the visitors, but soon returned and took up a 
 part of the shade. "Mr. Johnson, what a fine cow you 
 have here, how handsome, how beautifully she is marked. 
 Has she a name?" queried the wife. "She has, I call her 
 Bessie." "Does she know her name?" "She does." 
 "What a fine looking horse,* what is her name?" asked 
 the lady. "Fanny." "And here is the dog, what is his 
 name?" inquired the wife. "Albert, I call him 'Bert' for 
 short." Here } T OU are, horse, cow, dog and self, all going 
 to Massachusetts. Oh, that we were going with you, Mr. 
 Johnson ; I have been so sick of living here and I am 
 so to da} T , that I am afraid I shall not live to see the East 
 again. It troubles me very much, I wish I were going 
 along with 3'ou. Mr. Johnson, do you think 3'ou can 
 make this long journey?" spoke the wife. "Yes, I do." 
 "I hope you will succeed, but that cow, I think you will 
 
58 SACRAMENTO. 
 
 never succeed in getting her through," said the wife. "If 
 I can get iron shoes on her feet, I have no fear in the 
 least, but what I can get through ; if she falls on the way, 
 I can't do more than leave her. Perhaps^ I may have to 
 stop awhile on my way." "When do you leave?" was the 
 next question. "To morrow morning." "I wish I was go 
 ing with 3'ou." "You ma} 1 ," said the husband. "I want to 
 get back to my old home, once more ; I hope to see that 
 time. When a person gets the California fever, they 
 will never be satisfied until they know it from ex 
 perience. I am satisfied that there is more solid liv 
 ing in Massachusetts than in California. Here it is 
 all climate and nothing but climate ; but I think it 
 is all drouth and nothing but drouth," the wife remark 
 ed. "I am feeding my cattle to-day just the same as I 
 would in winter, and only the first of August. But a 
 short distance this side my ranche, the grass is green ; if 
 my farm was one mile nearer the city it would be worth 
 three times as much as it is where now located," said the 
 milkman. "What is the cause of this change?" I asked. 
 "It is owing to the two rivers, American and Sacramento. 
 You can readily see how low and flat the lands are ; we 
 are almost surrounded by these rivers. The American 
 river is a powerful one ; when its waters get down to the 
 Sacramento, its banks being low, it overflows and the 
 land becomes thoroughly saturated, and holds the moisture 
 for a long time," said the milkman. "Mr. Johnson, you 
 leave to-morrow ; I sincerely hope you will arrive safely 
 in old Massachusetts," said the woman. "Thank you, 
 both of you ; I hope I shall accomplish the journey. 
 Friends x should you come East, hunt me up and make me 
 a call/it will pay all of us." We bade each other good 
 bye. It had got five o'clock in the afternoon, supper 
 time. While I was eating supper, the man who gave me 
 permission to use the lot came to the camp, says he, 
 "Stranger, do you leave us in the morning?" "Yes, sir ; 
 
SACRAMENTO. 69 
 
 I intend to do so," I answered. "You had better sell me 
 that cow ; I will give j'ou one hundred dollars in gold for 
 her. Here it is, stranger ; you will be obliged to sell her 
 where you will not get so much for her." "Friend, that 
 may truly happen ; she may die on the road and my horse 
 also, but I must take the chances." U I hope you will 
 succeed in your undertaking ; should you, truly it will be 
 the greatest thing on record. You will have attained a round 
 on the ladder of fame." "Will you not take pay for what 
 my cattle have subsisted upon?" I asked. "Not a dime ; 
 I said the other day you might turn } T our cattle in for one 
 day or ten, I would not charge you a cent, stranger." 
 "Friend, I am greatly obliged to you, and would like to 
 pay you in some way for your kindness." "Good-bye, 
 friend." "Good-bye," I replied, 
 
 On the morning of the first of August, I was up early 
 getting ready for an early start. As I sat eating my 
 breakfast, I saw a man coming across the lot and when 
 near my cow he started on a sharp run, as for dear life, 
 the cow after him. At once I left my breakfast and went 
 for the cow. The cow ran but a short distance and 
 turned back. I went directly up to the cow ; what did I 
 find? In the tall grass I found a little "Bessie." It was 
 not the man the cow was after, but his dog. I went back 
 and finished my breakfast but did not leave the city as I 
 intended ; I informed the man the cause of the delay and 
 told him why the cow ran after him. "It was not you 
 she was after, but 3'our dog," I said. "I thought she was 
 after me, I did not know that my dog was with me, 
 stranger." "That is not all, the cow had occasion to run 
 for the dog, she had a little calf in the grass and did not 
 care to have dogs around at that time in the morning." 
 "Is that so ; then she has a calf. I did not think she 
 would come in so soon,' did you, stranger?" "No, I did 
 not ; I shall have to remain here longer,*! can't move at 
 
60 SACRAMENTO. 
 
 present," I said. "Stay as long as you wish, 'you are 
 welcome, stranger." "Friend, I will sell 3*011 the calf 
 when it is six days old." "I would like to have the cow 
 with the calf,*it will bring the cow to her milk. Friend, 
 I am going to make you a big offer ; I will give you one 
 hundred and twenty- five dollars in gold for that cow and 
 calf." "Friend, I do not want to sell the cow ; your offer 
 is more than she is worth. I will sell you the calf for ten 
 dollars when it is six days old. That will be on Monday 
 the seventh." "I will give it you, here is the money, 
 stranger." "I do not want the money now." "I will 
 pay }'ou now, you won't run away with the calf ; I will 
 take my chances," said the stranger. "On the morning 
 of the 7th I will leave the city and the calf also. I prefer 
 to leave the calf rather than have }*ou take it from its 
 mother. I think it will be best," I remarked. "Suit 
 yourself and you will suit me," he answered. 
 
 Sacramento is situated on the river of the same name. 
 The American and Sacramento rivers make a junction 
 with the city between them. It is about one hundred and 
 twenty miles from San Francisco. When that golden 
 gong sounded in 1848 there was no Sacramento cit} r . 
 Eastern immigration made the place. Navigation up this 
 river to the present city was good for large steamers, and 
 smaller ones could sail up a much greater distance. High 
 in the mountain valk^'S are the mining camps, some of 
 which have become towns, such as Auburn, Maiysville, 
 Grass Valley, Nevada city and many others, all of which 
 sprang into existance at the time of the gold craze. Man}' 
 kinds of merchandize were taken there, even lumber from 
 the State of Maine was imported to Sacramento. While 
 this was going on, the city was growing and now is the 
 second in size and commercial value in the State ; her 
 population is nearly 30,000. It is a fine city, beautifully 
 laid out with fine streets and boulevards, well shaded. 
 
SACRAMENTO. 61 
 
 Shaded, did I say ; yes, Sacramento is a warm city and 
 those shades were made for her. She does not get the 
 cool breezes that prevail in San Francisco. Neither does 
 she get the storms that other cities get on the Pacific 
 coast. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 FROM SACRAMENTO TO RENO, NEVADA. 
 
 On leaving Sacramento, it was my intention to follow 
 the Central Pacific railroad to Ogden, so that should any 
 thing of a serious nature happen to me, I should have 
 ready access to the railroad. 
 
 
 I was up early on the morning of the 7th and made 
 ready to continue my journey. Several times I left rny 
 camping ground on pretense of leaving and left the calf, 
 so as to get the cow used to the absence of her calf. By 
 so doing, on my last departure the cow would not miss 
 her calf so badly. When all preparations were ready I 
 started and travelled until I came to the bridge that cros 
 ses the American river, which is about a mile from the 
 city. Here I stopped and looking around I found my 
 cow missing, she having broken her fastening to the 
 wagon and had probably returned back to her calf. I 
 was sure of this, so retraced my steps to the camp I had 
 so recently left. On my arrival I found the calf had been 
 taken away, nor did I see the cow. I secured my horse 
 to the tree and returned back in search of the cow. I 
 called "Bessie," but no answer. Then the horse would 
 neigh ; very soon I heard the answer from the cow, the 
 horse answered back and then the cow came running down 
 the road, making for the lot where she had left her calf 
 in the tall grass. There was no calf. Oh, how I felt for 
 
62 ROCKLIN. 
 
 the cow, and how must she have felt. I took the horse 
 from the carriage and turned her loose, when she immedi 
 ately went to the cow. Reader, I verily believe that the 
 horse understood the matter, as well as the cow. I con 
 cluded to stop here and have my breakfast and then try 
 to make a start once more. I gave my cattle some grain 
 and made a dish of coffee which I drank, but I could not 
 eat anything. When all had been eaten up, I again made 
 ready to start on my journey afresh, and travelled over 
 the same road to the bridge. This bridge is made of very 
 heavy timber and some day its great weight will carry it 
 down in one of the freshets. As I leave the city I take 
 the road that puts the railroad on my right. On crossing 
 the bridge I enter on a fine and extensive valley ; on my 
 right was a vast plain. In front, a long distance a-head, 
 was the Sierra mountains ; to my left are the mining hiJJs 
 of California. I am now travelling in the Eastern valley. 
 On my right and left are many trails, no doubt leading to 
 many ranches. There is no main road ; when you come 
 to a trail, there is not anything to tell you the way to this 
 or that town. Knowing that the railroad was on my 
 right, I could take the right trail every time. When the 
 trail took me across the railroad, then I would bear to the 
 left. About one o'clock I came to a ranche ; here I stop 
 ped, giving my cattle grain and water and eating a lunch 
 myself. About half-past two I went on and came to a 
 creek, I drove down into it and stopped for a short time, 
 the horse and the cow enjoyed it very much, on account 
 of the day being very hot. I travelled until near six 
 o'clock in the evening, when I came to the village of 
 Rocklin. Here I was permitted to turn my cattle into a 
 field of wild oats, which gave a satisfactory pasturage for 
 them. I remarked to the owner of the field, that I should 
 leave early in the morning and desired to pay him for my 
 cattle's supper then. "I shall not charge you a dime," 
 he replied. "You are welcome, stranger." I thanked him. 
 
CLIPPER GAP. 63 
 
 On the morning of the 8th I left Rocklin. It was a 
 very fine morning, bat extremely hot ; I passed through 
 the town of Auburn and reached Clipper Gap, where I 
 rested. Just before entering Auburn I had the pleasure 
 of witnessing a scene that I had often heard off, but 
 never before had a chance to see. Coming down the 
 mountain, I saw three men on horseback, driving a herd 
 of cattle ; they were on a dead run, and were driven into 
 a corral opposite to which I then stood. In this herd 
 were two wild bulls, which the men had made many at 
 tempts to lasso, but up to this time had failed. This 
 corral was about eight rods square, with a large rock in 
 the centre. The herd was driven into the corral followed 
 by the men, on a keen run, who at every chance threw 
 their lassos at the bulls. I was an onlooker, watching 
 the mano3uvre with the lassos, as they scampered around 
 the carrol several times without success. One of the men 
 rode up to me and said: " Stranger, you are in great 
 danger, standing there, as the herd is liable to go through 
 the corral and come for.}'ou." I at once started on and 
 went some distance with my cattle from the corral. After 
 securing them, I returned to see the fun. After many 
 attempts they at last succeeded in capturing one of the 
 bulls. As soon as the bull was thrown, the cattle were 
 driven out of the corral. The bull commenced to bellow 
 and kept it up for some time. The cattle returned back 
 and commenced battering the corral down. The bull was 
 still lying on the ground ; they took a stick of timber, 
 about seven feet long and four inches thick and fastened 
 it to the bull's head, in front. I asked why they did that, 
 and the answer was, "That timber is to prevent the bull 
 from going through the corral. Now we will give him a 
 chance to get up and show himself." All this time the 
 bull kept up a great bellowing. "What is your next 
 operation?" I asked. "Our next operation will be to cut 
 his throat after he gets cooled off." "This is something 
 
64 AUBURN. 
 
 new to me, I never saw the like before," I remarked. I 
 left the carrol and reached Auburn, as it was called in 
 1848, and now known as West Auburn. There is also 
 another village situated on the railroad and called East 
 Auburn. It is a place of considerable enterprise, has 
 handsome modern buildings, finished and in course of 
 erection. Between the two villages are good roads and 
 some fine residences ; none such have I seen on my 
 journe}', so far. I passed through until I came to a fine 
 patch of grass, where I stopped for the night, allowing 
 my cattle to roam for their supper ; after giving them 
 grain I spread my blankets and retired for the night. 
 
 I arose early on the morning of the 9th, turned my 
 cattle loose so as they could get their breakfast of the 
 grass, and while they were feeding, I went up to a house 
 a little ways off to see if I could make some coffee, but I 
 found no one around and returned back. I had not been 
 back long when a man came out of the house down to 
 where I was. We passed the compliments of the day. 
 He went up to my carriage and looked into it, I watched 
 him but said not a word, but was thinking. "Stranger,'' 
 said I, "Can I assist you in looking into my wagon?" 
 "I have a peach orchard over there, and thought you 
 might have found it and filled your wagon ; but it seems 
 I sold myself this time," he answered. "Stranger, I 
 came here last night, saw this grass and concluded to stop 
 for the night. I am travelling and came down from 
 Eureka, going East," I said. "How far East?" he 
 questioned. "To the Atlantic ; I started from the Pacific 
 and intend to- reach the Atlantic ocean, or Massachusetts," 
 I said. "Excuse me, stranger, for being so impertinent. 
 Go up to the house and get some breakfast with me, you 
 will be welcome," he said. I went to breakfast with the 
 stranger. On returning to my camp my host came down 
 .to the orchard and stopped ; as I was about to move on 
 
COLFAX STATION. 65 
 
 he called out, "Stop, stranger, I will be there soon with a 
 basket of peaches." He was not long before he came 
 along with a strong half bushel of fine peaches. "Here, 
 friend stranger, take them for my insulting you ; I was 
 mistaken for once. If you come this way again I will fill 
 your wagon," he said. "Thank you, it is doubtful if 
 ever I pass this way again, good morning," I replied. 
 "Good morning, success to you," was the reply as I left 
 him. In order to reach Gold-run, I passed by several 
 stations Applegate, N. E. Mills, Lander and Colfax 
 stations. Colfax station is a first-class station, and a fine 
 town for this part of the world. A hand railroad comes 
 in here from Grass Valley and Nevado city. Here I 
 had an interview with the postmaster and others in regard 
 to getting through the mountain passes. I was told that 
 it was impossible to get over with my wagon. The}' ad 
 vised me to go to Grass Valley, then take the old Marys- 
 vine and Virginia city turnpike^overllenness Pass, coming 
 out at Reno. I did not know what to do ; keep on, go 
 back or around as advised. I thought, perhaps, I could 
 get through where others might think it impossible to do 
 so. I further reasoned, that I had already accomplished 
 what others would not attempt. Well, here I am, is it to 
 go on or go back, I can't stay here long, it won't do. I 
 concluded to press on and did so, reaching Gold-run all 
 right. Here, I again made inquiries as to the possibility 
 of going over the mountains, or some other way of reach 
 ing Reno, telling them that so far I had followed the rail 
 road. "Stranger, when you were at Clipper Gap, you 
 should have gone on to Emigrant Gap ; there they would 
 tell you whether you could get over the mountains or not. 
 It is very doubtful if you could with your wagon, the 
 snow is so deep in many places where you would be 
 obliged to travel with your carriage. Last week, a 
 party made the attempt, but could not get through and 
 were obliged to return, and go the way you had better go. 
 
66 GOLD -RUN. 
 
 Stranger, you had better return to Colfax, from there to 
 Grass Valley, aid take the Hermess trail to Verdi. "Mr. 
 Teamster, where can I get grass for my cattle, I 
 would like to stop here to-night. My cow has recently 
 come in, I would like to sell her milk being short of 
 money," I remarked. "Stranger, where are you from 
 and where going, perhaps I can assist you a little ?" I 
 answered, "I left Eureka, Humboldt county, California, 
 the first day of June, for the East." "Stranger, are you 
 insane ; such an idea, travelling across the continent with 
 a horse and carriage and a cow. Across the continent, 
 you must be insane. Come along with your cattle, which 
 do you prefer, hay or grass, you can have either if you 
 wish. I have some tip-top hay, try some, if they won't 
 cat that we will turn them out to grass," said the teamster. 
 I gave them hay and they ate it right greedily, being very 
 hungry. "Now, stranger, come with me and we will try 
 some hay too. You going to Massachusetts ; what a man 
 you are. Well, stranger, when you get there, drop me a 
 line, will you?" I toid him I would. "Come in, stranger, 
 we will take something on this occasion, what shall it be?" 
 "Mr. Teamster, what have 3 T ou, sir?" I queried. "I 
 have some good California brandy and wine, and also 
 some good, old bourbon whisky, made down East some 
 where," he said. "Friend, I will iry some of } r our Cali 
 fornia brandy." I knew nothing about the brandy, I took 
 the decanter and a small tumbler, poured out about two 
 teaspoonfuls and drank it. "I thought you were insane, 
 now I am quite sure you are, stranger." "Well, now, 
 what makes you think so ?" I asked. "Your taking such 
 a heavy drink, stranger." "It was enough to test it, that 
 was all I wished, merely to test it. Now I will taste your 
 wine." I took the decanter, pouring the tumbler about 
 half full, putting it to my lips and tasting it. It was 
 good, I filled the tumbler and drank it all, filling again, 
 drank all of it and filled again several times until the 
 
GOLD-RUN. 67 
 
 decanter was emptied. "There, stranger, I thought you 
 was insane, but now have changed my mind, I will risk 
 you on your journey East, don't 3 r ou forget it. Well, 
 stranger, our supper is about ready, after partaking of it 
 I can tell whether you are good for a long journey or 
 not." After supper I asked the man for a pail to milk in. 
 Said he, "We will go down and see if the cattle like 
 the hay." We found that they had eaten it up, so gave 
 them more. I milked the cow and when through had 
 filled the pail to the brim. "Stranger, you have a good 
 cow, tip-top ; too good to lose on your journey. I will 
 buy her from you and will give a good price for her. She 
 is worth one hundred dollars in gold ; stranger, what do you 
 say will you sell her for those figures?" "I can't sell her 
 to-night ; I know you offer large figures for her, but I pre 
 fer her milk and company rather than the gold." 
 
 I rose early on the morning of the 10th, fed the cattle 
 and got ready for an early start. Went to the house of 
 the teamster and asked for a pail in which to milk the 
 cow, after milking I gave it to him sa} T ing, "You are en 
 titled to it for your kindness to me. It is the best I can 
 do, I am short of money, having been obliged to pay out 
 much more than I expected." "Friend traveller, how 
 much money have you ?" I took out my portemonnaie and 
 counted the money I had, and found that there were just 
 twenty dollars and twenty-eight cents, which must last 
 me until I got to Ogden. "Your cow will support you on 
 your way ; after 3 r ou leave Reno you can get fifty cents a 
 gallon for your milk and when you get to the cars you 
 can get double that amount for it," said the teamster. 
 "Friend, you talk as you think and I think as you do, and 
 the cow will almost support us on our way ; I will do the 
 best to get her East and think I shall succeed." "Stran 
 ger, breakfast is ready, come in and get some hot coffee ; 
 will you take something before you eat?" " No, thank 
 
GRASS VALLEY. 
 
 you ; coffee will do me more good than wine." It is 
 about six o'clock and I am ready to retrace my steps back 
 to Colfax. I bade the teamster good-bye and thanked him 
 for his kindness and interest in me and started on my 
 day's journey. Returning, my horse travelled much 
 faster than usual, which troubled my cow to keep up with 
 her. "We reached Colfax at about ten o'clock, having 
 come a distance of eleven and a half miles in four hours. 
 We rested until one o'clock and then took the road to 
 Grass Valley. This road was a good one but very hard. 
 The material of which they are composed is about the 
 color of bricks and about as hard. On my right and left 
 millions of yards of dirt have been handled by the gold 
 diggers. This st}'le of mining is called surface mining. 
 About four o'clock in the afternoon we came to a fine 
 creek, about two rods across ; the water about a foot and 
 a half deep, with a bottom as red as burnt brick. As I 
 sat in my carriage, mid-way of the creek, a short distance 
 on my left, I spied a fine plat of grass. My first thought 
 was to stop here over night ; my second, that it was yet 
 too early to do so, and thirdly, it was a good chance for 
 my cattle to partake of a good feed of grass and the rest 
 was essential to the cow, so I crossed the creek and went 
 into camp for the night. Turning the animals loose, I 
 gathered some fuel and made a fire, made and ate my 
 supper, after which I spread out my blankets and went to 
 rest myself. 
 
 On the morning of the llth I was up before da} T light, 
 being very restless, having omitted to wind up my watch, 
 which had run down ; I thought, however, it must be near 
 morning. I gave the cattle liberty to graze among the 
 grass ; made a fire, boiled me some eggs and coffee and 
 ate a hearty breakfast. It was a good early meal, you 
 bet. By this time day was beginning to break. My cow 
 I milked twice a day, getting my can full at each milking. 
 
GRASS VALLEY. 69 
 
 I am fond of milk, but it does not agree with me so I sell 
 it when I can, when I cannot, I give it or throw it away. 
 This I have done very many times. It is about four a. 
 m., when I start on this day's tramp, and I will make the 
 next town at about seven o'clock. I travel around the 
 hills, bluffs and mountains. My road is good but very 
 crooked, the road-bed ver} r hard ; so hard that the rains 
 do not penetrate, make gullies or washouts. I am in 
 sight of the town, the sun is up about one hour. It must 
 be nearly six o'clock, a little later I am in the town and 
 making my way to a pump at which I stopped to water 
 my cattle. Leaving them, I went around the town until 
 I came to a house with the sign "Hotel." I did not like 
 the looks of it so went on and inquired for a first-class 
 hotel. I was told to keep on down this street, turn to 
 my first right, go on, turn to my left and keep on and I will 
 come to the best hotel in town. I went as directed, and 
 on reaching the hotel inquired for the proprietor. A lady 
 came in answer. "Madam, I inquired for the proprietor,* 
 are you the proprietor?" "I am, sir,-what can I do for 
 you?" "I am travelling with a horse, carriage and cow ; 
 she is a fine looking cow and fresh in milk. She has not 
 been milked this morning and I would like to exchange the 
 milk for something to eat." "Where is }'our cow/ 1 
 would like to look at her?" said she. "Just around the 
 hotel, will } 7 ou step there or shall I bring her here?" I 
 asked. "I will step around with }'ou," said the landlady. 
 She went with me and saw the cow. "My dear sir, what 
 a fine looking cow ! Where have you and that cow come 
 from?" said the landlady. "I have come from Eureka, 
 Humboldt county," I answered. "I know that place very 
 well ; have been there. Have you come from there with 
 that cow?" asked the landlady. I replied in the affirmative. 
 She commanded me to take the horse and cow to the barn 
 and give them what hay and grain they needed, and in 
 vited me in to breakfast as it was waiting. She seated 
 
70 GRASS VALLEY. 
 
 me at table and said: "We have beefsteak, pork steak, 
 sausage and boiled eggs, with tea and coffee." I took 
 some beef and pork steak with fried potatoes. As I was 
 eating she questioned me. "You said that you came from 
 Eureka city ; which way did you come?" "I came over 
 land, down through Humboldt and Mendocino counties to 
 Cloverdale ; from there to San Francisco, from there to 
 San Jose, back through Livermore pass to Stockton, Sac 
 ramento ; from there following the Central Pacific railroad 
 to Gold-Run, back to Colfax and from there to this 
 place." "Why, stranger, has that cow come all that dis 
 tance. Where are you going to ?" said the lady. "You 
 see I started from the Pacific and am going to the Atlan 
 tic Ocean." Having answered many questions, I left the 
 table and went to feed and milk the cow. Having done 
 so I carried it in, together with the last night's milking, 
 which she tested and pronounced good, and I gave it to 
 her. "How long do you intend to st&y here?" she asked. 
 "I would like to stay to-day and to-morrow; the cow 
 needs rest and I don't care to crowd her along too fast as 
 she is not strong." "Will you sell me the cow; I will 
 give j'ou a good price?" said the lady. "How much is a 
 good price?" I asked. "You have got me now," she an 
 swered. "Madam, I do not want to sell her, it will take 
 more than five of those twenties to buy her ; in fact, I 
 don't care to sell her. I may be obliged to do so before 
 I can get through my journey." "How long have you 
 been in the State of California?" she asked. "A little 
 more than two years." "Where did you come from, 
 what State?" "From Massachusetts." "I am from the 
 State of New York, you are from Massachusetts and are 
 returning home, it seems," said the lady. "I am, I prefer 
 the East to the West every time." "We are strangers to 
 each other ; now, sir, I wish to say a few words with good 
 and pure motives. They are these : I think you will be 
 unable to get your cattle East ; you will lose your horse 
 
GRAPS VALLEY. 71 
 
 or cow, or both. They will be taken from you ; being 
 alone, you can't help yourself; two men can take from 
 you all you have in spite of your resistance, and should 
 3'ou resist your life will be the cost. I have heard and 
 seen so much of this kind, that I feel anxious for you. 
 For instance, you. have a fine looking horse, you meet two 
 men on horseback, they stop, saying, 'Hello, friend, do 
 you want to trade horses?' 'No, I do not,' and you start 
 on. 'But stop, hold on, I want that horse, you can take 
 mine,' he says. Now, suppose you come in contact with 
 two such men, what would you do?" said the landlady. 
 "I will tell you what I would do in such a case ; before I 
 would trade horses in that way I would talk to them, and 
 would say, strangers, here I am three thousand miles 
 away from home, nvyself, horse, cow and little dog. I 
 have a tip-top horse, one that I thought so much of as to 
 bring her from Massachusetts to California. I do not 
 like California^ and am now returning back to my home. 
 To accomplish this it will require nerve and some consid 
 erable time. I have it and the horse has it,* she will take 
 me through, when no other will. Now, gentlemen, please 
 consider the matter a little and under these circumstances 
 will you insist on my trading horses with }'ou ; I believe 
 you will not?" I answered. "Stranger, that is all very 
 well, but I think } r our preaching would do no good with 
 that class of heroes. I sincerely hope you will succeed 
 in your undertaking ; make yourself at home as long as 
 you stay and take good care of your cattle. Give them 
 all they can eat ; I wish you would sell me the cow. If 
 you should lose her } T OU will remember my offer," said 
 the landlady. "I will remember you whether I lose the 
 cow or not." "Will } T OU excuse me if I ask your name?" 
 said the lady. "Yes, indeed I will. My name is John 
 son, Warren B., of Webster, Mass." She invited me 
 in to dinner but I declined, having breakfasted so late I 
 was not hungry. When evening came I milked the cow 
 
72 GRASS VALLEY. 
 
 and carried the milk to the landlady, when she seeing the 
 large quantity said, "I do not blame you for not selling 
 the cow, what a large mess of good milk she gives." 
 She invited me to supper and I sat down at table as the 
 bell summoned the others for supper. The table was 
 soon filled with visitors, having taken my seat the land 
 lady said : "Mr. Johnson, let me make you acquainted 
 with Mr. and Mrs. Jones and family, of San Francisco." 
 "Mr. Johnson, our landlady informs me that you are 
 travelling East, and came down from the north-western 
 part of the State. Eureka I know very well ; I have been 
 there many times, know all the leading men of the town, 
 such as Vance, Carson, Jones and many others. I learn 
 that yo\i are going East with a horse and carriage, lead 
 ing a cow ; is that so, Mr. Johnson?" "Yes, sir ; it is." 
 "How long have you been in the State, Mr. Johnson?" 
 "Two years and more." "When 3*011 came out, how did 
 you come, Mr. Johnson?" "I came by railroad." "You 
 will find a vast difference in the time of travelling ; 3 r ou 
 think you can make that distance, do 3 T ou, Mr. Johnson?" 
 "Yes, sir ; I do, and know that it is going to take a long 
 time to perform it, but think it can be done." "I am in 
 clined to think if the thing is possible, you are the man to 
 do it ; how long do you intend to stop here, Mr. Johnson?" 
 "I will stay over another day as the cow needs rest. 
 While in Sacramento the cow gave birth to a fine calf and 
 I left there too soon. She was not as strong as she 
 should have been." "Well, Mr. Johnson , I hope 3 T ou 
 will succeed, should 3 T ou do so, we shall have to make a 
 President of 3^ou some day." When we were through 
 supper, I went to the barn and fed my cattle, made up a 
 bed beside them and went to rest. About nine o'clock 
 the lady of the house came out and called, "John, John, 
 where is Mr. Johnson ?" "I don't know who 3 T ou mean 
 by that name," answered John. "Why, the man with 
 that horse and cow, his name is Johnson," said the lady. 
 
GRASS VALLEY. 73 
 
 I heard them and answered, when the lady and John came 
 to where I was lying. "Are you here, Mr. Johnson ?" 
 she queried. "I am, and have retired for the night." 
 4 'Come into the house and take a bed ; don't lay out there 
 when you can have a bed inside," said the lady. I told 
 her that I preferred to sleep with my cattle, that being my 
 custom^ and begged her to excuse me. She answered 
 she would, but it did not seem right to sleep with the 
 cattle as there were plenty of beds inside. 
 
 On the morning of the 12th I was up early as usual, I 
 gave my companions hay and water and went back to bed 
 again. I intended to stop over another da} r , therefore, I 
 would make it a day of rest. About six in the morning 
 they were stirring in the house. John was up and around 
 feeding the horses. He came where I was lying, sa}dng, 
 "You are in bed yet,* shall I feed your cattle ?" I told him 
 they had been fed, but he might give them some hay if 
 they bad none before them. John said the landlady had 
 told him to look well to my cattle aud let them have all 
 they could eat. About seven o'clock the bell for break 
 fast rang, I thought I would wait and take the second 
 table ; the lady came out, asked where I was and came to 
 me saj^ing, "Our breakfast is ready, come in, I will give 
 you a fine dish of coffee, it will be good and we have 
 some fine cream taken from }~our milk," said the landlady. 
 I went and sat down to a fine breakfast ; when through, I 
 remarked that I was going to make the day one of rest. 
 "You are as well as usual, I suppose," said the lady. 
 "Yes, I am as well as usual, but we all need rest ; I know 
 that the cow does." I returned to the barn to my cattle 
 and went to bed. At noon the bell rang for dinner. I 
 went in and said, "Madam, excuse me from the dinner 
 table, I am not fit to appear at the table." "Mr Johnson, 
 we know you are travelling and furthermore, will be more 
 or less dirty ; it can't be otherwise, but we will excuse 
 
74 GRASS VALLEY. 
 
 you," she said. I did not care for any one that might be 
 at the table, except Mr. and Mrs. Jones. They I hoped 
 would be late for dinner. I was through before they came 
 in. After dinner I went straight to the barn, fed the 
 cattle and went to bed. About four o'clock I got up, ran 
 out ray wagon and looked it over to see if it needed any 
 repairing. As I was looking it over the landlady came 
 along and said, "I think you are preparing to leave us, 
 are you not?" "No, ma'am ; not to-day, but think it 
 well to look things over to see if any weak places can be 
 found and make them strong when yon are where you can. 
 I think I will leave you in the morning. I am giving my 
 cattle a good rest,* it is what they needed. To-morrow 
 about five o'clock I intend to leave you." About six 
 o'clock I milked the cow and took the milk into the 
 house for the landlady. "Why, Mr. Johnson, what a 
 large mess of milk you have taken from your cow. Ah, 
 that is too fine a beast to be taken from you when you 
 can't help 3 r ourself," said she. "Madam, please keep 
 track of me, you will learn my whereabouts through the 
 papers, no doubt," I answered. "Tea is ready, you need 
 not fear about your looks, if you only behave yourself." 
 The tea bell rang and I took my seat as before. After 
 supper I returned to my place with the cattle and gave 
 them a good feed, made up my bed and retired for the 
 night. About nine o'clock the landlad} 7 , with Mr. and 
 Mrs. Jones, called on me. "It is rather late to make 
 calls," said Mr. Jones, "but our landlady tells us you are 
 going to leave us early in the morning. I have come to 
 give a good-bye and wish you success with it. I hope 
 and pray that you will make a success of your journey." 
 "Mr. Jones and lady, I believe I have your sympathies 
 and thank you kindly. Should I succeed in reaching 
 home in Massachusetts, I should like to meet you on my 
 arrival." "You will not leave in the morning until you 
 have eaten your breakfast?" asked the landlady. "Thank 
 
GRASS VALLEY. 75 
 
 you, but I expect to breakfast in Nevada city. It is my 
 custom to start early in the morning, and I can thus make 
 a day long or short, as I choose. 
 
 On the morning of the 14th I was up earl}', had fed my 
 cattle and was getting ready to leave, when I heard a 
 voice say, "Kate, get up, Mr. Johnson is leaving." 
 I knew from whom the command came, the others were 
 already around. I went in and asked Kate for a pail in 
 which to milk the cow before I left. Having milked, I 
 carried it to the kitchen for the landlady. " Mr. John 
 son," said she, "you are doing more for me than I have 
 for you, and we are up earlier to give you a good break 
 fast before you go ; come in and have some beefsteak, 
 boiled eggs, fried potatoes and coffee, come and be 
 seated." I accepted the pressing offer and did justice to 
 it. After eating I said to the landlady, "Madam, I re 
 luctantly leave you, and thank you for your hospitality 
 and the interest manifested in my behalf, I thank you and 
 bid you a long good-bye." "Mr. Johnson, if I have said 
 or done anything that has made your stay with me a 
 pleasant one, I am glad. You are cordially welcome to 
 the hospitality given you, and I pray that you may suc 
 cessfully travel your long journey; good-bye." "Good 
 bye," said two voices from the window above. "Good 
 bye," I answered and left. 
 
 On the morning of the 14th I left Grass Valley for 
 Reno, travelling the old trail known as Henness Pass, 
 which passes through Nevada city, North Bloomfield, 
 Graniteville, Jackson's Ranche, Webbers Lake, Sardin 
 ian Village and comes out on the old turnpike, by Silver 
 Peak mountain to Reno. About six o'clock I reached 
 Nevada city, a distance of four miles. I passed directly 
 through making no stop. 
 
 Nevada city is the count}" town of Nevada county. It 
 
76 NEVADA CITY. 
 
 is not a large town ; I well recollect the court house, "it is 
 situated on a high bluff. I was directed to take the 
 right-hand road, and leave the court house to my left- 
 After ascending a hill, I turned sharp to the right and 
 went on. About ten o'clock I came to a house and stop 
 ped, I gave my cattle water and grain ; while eating, a 
 man came up to me, who after passing the compliments 
 of the day remarked, "You seem to be travelling. You 
 have a fine-looking cow there, and horse also ; w r here are 
 you from? Excuse me from asking that question." "I 
 am from Eureka," I answered. "I know that place very 
 well ; that is, I have been there ; it is a great place for 
 lumber. You say that you have come from there?" "I 
 have," I said. "I think you know something about the 
 East by your talk, you speak as I did when I was at 
 home; where is your home?" "M} T home is in Massa 
 chusetts." "I knew as soon as I heard you speak that 
 you was a yankee ; I am from Connecticut," said the man. 
 "Stranger, how long have you been out here?" I asked. 
 "I came to this State in 1852, and was in the mining 
 business for several years, but could not get rich at it. I 
 have a mine on this place, but it's all work and no pay. 
 Friend, go into the house, my wife would like to see you, 
 as 3 T ou are from Massachusetts." We went into the 
 house and he introduced me to bis wife, saying, "Wife, 
 this man says he belongs to Massachusetts, and is now 
 on his way there." "Do }*ou belong in Massachusetts 
 when you are at home?" she inquired. "I do, when at 
 home," I answered. "How came you out here?" "I 
 had heard so much about California that I thought I 
 would come and see it." "How do you like the coun 
 try?" "Very well ; it is a large empire, and will hold all 
 China." "I am afraid all China will be here ; but what 
 brought you out, have you relatives here?" "I have,* my 
 family are all in the State." "You are going back East,' 
 don't you like this State?'' "I do not like well enough to 
 
NEVADA CITY. 77 
 
 live and die here, but still, I might before I get out of 
 the State ; I hope not, however. What part of Connecti 
 cut are you from?" "We came from New London," she 
 answered. '-You like here, do you not?'' "Yes, we like 
 here the best of any part of the State, and have lived 
 many years at this place. During all this time we have 
 intended to return East, but have now given it up. Do 
 you want to sell the cow?" "No, I do not." "What 
 are you going to do with her?" "I am taking her along 
 for her milk." "Will that pay?" I was asked. "It does 
 pay ; I have the milk and her company, that pays well. I 
 must go on, I am making too long a stop, I have so many 
 miles to make per day." "How many miles a day do 
 you travel?" "When I travel ten hours, I make twenty- 
 five miles ; when but eight hours, only twenty miles ; in 
 this wa} T I know the number of miles." "Stop and have 
 some dinner with us." "Thank you ; it will make a small 
 day's journey, I dare not travel in the night it is so hilly, 
 I have no brake on my carriage. When I have a hill to 
 descend, I block the wheels with a rope." "You have 
 one hill to go dewn, about six miles from here, that will 
 make you shake. You have got to get down into a 
 canyon ; don't miss tying both wheels, should your har 
 ness break you would go where we don't know ; going 
 down is worse than coming up." "Our dinner is ready, it 
 is earty, but some hot coffee will do you good," said the 
 wife. I sat down and ate with these good people of Con 
 necticut. It was eleven o'clock when good-bye was said 
 on both sides. About three in the afternoon I met the 
 stage, with six horses ; it was a strong double-brake Con 
 cord coach. The driver stopped and said, "Stranger, 
 chain your wheels before you go down the mountain, and 
 be careful, you are a stranger to these parts, I think." 
 "I am, sir." In descending the hill to the first turn, I 
 did not chain my wheels ; at the turn I chained both and 
 continued down to the bridge. I paid my toll and went 
 
78 NORTH BLOOMFIELD. 
 
 on, up the opposite side of the canyon, which has but one 
 turn. A faint description of this canyon is about as fol 
 lows : From the water at the bottom, at the bridge, to 
 the summit of the mountain, is twelve hundred and sixty- 
 two feet* In descending, } r ou have to make four turns. 
 This elevation is inside of one mile of travel ; from the 
 first turn to the second, is about one-third of a mile ; 
 from the second to the third, about one-quarter of a mile ; 
 from the third to the fourth, is nearly a half mile. In 
 travelling this canyon the road is wide and good ; two 
 teams can pass at any point. When you have made the 
 descension, and stand on the bridge looking east, to a 
 stranger, the sight is most wonderful. My toll for cross 
 ing the bridge was thirty cents, for horse, carriage and 
 cow. In ascending, after leaving the bridge, you have 
 but one turn and this is to the left. I think this part is 
 the most dangerous. The road is much travelled as there 
 are many mines in the vicinity. This county is noted 
 for its extensive mines. I have seen sixteen horses at 
 tached to one wagon. To this wagon three others were 
 attached. These are eastern built wagons, made of the 
 best of timber and have double brakes. All the large 
 teams have iron shoes made expressly for travelling these 
 canyons. Even the stages are provided with them ; they 
 dare not depend on the brakes. You will remember the 
 stage driver cautioned me not to go down the canyon 
 without chaining my. wheels. He knew I was a stranger 
 and it was thoughtful of him in giving me the warning ; I 
 shall ever remember him for his kindness, and should he 
 by chance ever get this book, he will remember me by my 
 cow. About six o'clock I reached North Bloomfield. 
 Just beyond the hotel, to the left, I pitched my camp by 
 permission of the landlord and gave my cattle water and 
 hay. There was no grass for "Bessie." It is hard, but 
 cannot be helped grass one day, hay next, does not give 
 good satisfaction to the cow. 
 
NORTH BLOOMFIELD. 79 
 
 North Bloomfield is situated on a high elevation. It is 
 not much of a town for business or population ; it is a 
 stop-over place for the teamsters, and about mid-way 
 from Grass Valley to Graniteville. The hotel is about 
 sixty by fifty feet, two stories high and fronts the east. 
 Its proprietor is a gentleman about sixty-five years old- 
 In front of the building is a store, saloon and one other 
 building. I think there is also a blacksmith's 'shop, 
 which constitutes the town. Standing in front of the 
 hotel, looking east and south, you can see nothing but 
 hills, bluffs and mountains. To my left, in full view, are 
 the Sierra mountains ; to my right are numerous mining 
 districts ; in fact, they lay all around. There is an 
 immense amount of freight brought here from around the 
 country, which requires a good road, and they have them. 
 But the way they transport merchandise is a surprise. 
 Sixteen horses harnessed to one wagon and three other 
 wagons attached, making a long train. To me, this was 
 something new, but I found it a common mode of trans 
 portation. 
 
 The morning of the 15th found me up early, making 
 ready for my day's travel. I went to the hotel and found 
 only the lady of the house up ; I asked for a pail in which 
 to milk, promising her the milk. I gave it to her, saying 
 she was welcome to it, on which she said, "Stranger, 
 please sit down and I will broil you a bit of steak." In 
 about five minutes she brought in steak, potatoes, hot bis 
 cuit and coffee. This I did not expect, but did ample 
 justice to the repast and thanked her for the same. 
 I left on my journey about half-past five o'clock ; on leav 
 ing this place I took the road to my right, by so doing I 
 saved about four miles of travel, and came into the same 
 highway. The road to my left would have taken me to a 
 large mining town ; at half-past eleven I came to the main 
 road. Here was a small pond, of which my cattle drank 
 
80 GRANITEVILLE. 
 
 heartily, I gave them grain and had a lunch myself; I 
 rested a little over an hour and at one o'clock resumed 
 my journey. The road we are now travelling is tip-top, 
 during the rest of the afternoon I crossed several bridges 
 over small rivers. In crossing one, off to my right, I no 
 ticed one stream rushing along with great power. Here I 
 met a four-horse team and asked the driver how far it was 
 to Graniteville. He answered, "Not quite three miles." 
 "Where does this water come from and where does it 
 go?" I asked. "It comes a great distance, some twenty- 
 five miles, and goes on below North Bloomfield. Where 
 are you from?" "I am from Grass Valley." "You 
 came through the canyon, did you?" "I did." "This 
 water goes to South Eureka through the canyon, and on 
 until it is used up. This is a great water for hydraulic 
 mining, one of the greatest in this State." "I thought 
 hydraulic mining was not allowed in this State." "It is not 
 in some sections. Near the American and Sacramento 
 rivers no dirt is allowed to get into those rivers, within 
 so man} 7 miles of Sacramento city ; it has spoiled naviga 
 tion on those rivers." About six o'clock I reached 
 Graniteville, I stopped opposite the hotel and inquired 
 for the proprietor. "I am the man that stops here ; what 
 can I do for you?" "I am travelling East, just as I am, 
 horse, cow, dog and myself, I would like to go into camp 
 near here and would like hay for my cattle. I have grain 
 and a lunch-basket which contains my own grub." "I 
 can accommodate you with hay, I suppose 3 r ou have 
 plenty of gold." "I am not cold," I remarked. "I said 
 gold, you understand. That cow is a fine one, I see she 
 has a noble bag; but where in h 11 have you come 
 from, that's what I want to know?" "I started three 
 hundred miles north of the city of San Francisco, Eureka, 
 came down to the city and from there here." "Where 
 are you going to haul up, I would like to know that?" 
 "I don't like to tell the whole of it." "Why not?" "Be- 
 
GRANITE VILLE. 81 
 
 cause you will think that I have a lot of gold to carry me 
 that distance. Now show me a good place to camp with 
 my cattle to-night, give them some good hay and I will 
 milk the cow to pay for the hay ; will you do it?" "Yes, 
 I will, and better than that by you ; come on with your 
 cattle and follow me. I will give you a good camping 
 place." I followed him, when coming to a lot he said : 
 "How do you like this place for sleeping to-night.'' 
 "First best. Lend me a pail in which to milk." He 
 found me a pail and I milked the cow and handed him the 
 pail with its contents. "Come to the house and get your 
 pay for this," he said. I went in and took a seat on be 
 ing told to do so. "Wife, what do you think of this from 
 a cow that has travelled most a thousand miles, eh?" 
 "That is good, where have you come from?" asked the 
 wife. I told her. "Get this man a supper, he is worthy 
 of it ; I told him to come in and get his pay for the milk. 
 Now pay, and well too, don't be stingy. Take a seat." 
 I sat down to a good supper and enjo}~ed it much. After 
 supper I went to look at my cattle and found them all 
 right. I returned to the hotel and inquired for the Post 
 Office, and on being directed went thereto. I accosted 
 the postmaster, saying, "Do } T OU know a man b} 7 " the 
 name of Sherwood, a miner, who owns his own mine, if I 
 mistake not?" "I do, sir." "Where does he live?" 
 "He lives about three miles west of this place, down in 
 the canyon, on the road to North Bloomfield. Follow the 
 road about a mile and }'ou will come to a small creek. A 
 few rods this side the creek, on your right, you will find a 
 trail follow this trail to the creek, on crossing the creek 
 you will find yourself in the canyon ; continue along this 
 trail and you will come to some tall grass, go on and soon 
 you will reach his cabin. For a stranger, this is the sim 
 plest and easiest way to the canyon. There is a trail 
 much nearer, but a stranger would be troubled to keep 
 the right one, as there are more than one," said the post- 
 
82 GRANITE VILLE. 
 
 master. "I belong in Massachusetts and am on my way 
 East. Before leaving home a lady called on me and said, 
 "Johnson, I have a brother in California, by the name of 
 Sherwood, he came to this State before my recollection ; I 
 have never seen him, but have corresponded with him 
 ever since he left home. His address is Granite ville, Ne 
 vada county, Cal.' " 
 
 On the morning of the 16th I was up as usual, feeding 
 the cattle, milking the cow, greasing the wagon, doing 
 this and that, looking here and there, and I came to the 
 conclusion that Graniteville was a smart, livel} 7 , business 
 town. It has a hotel, two stores, livery stable, two sa 
 loons, two blacksmith shops, a market and man} r houses. 
 When the right time came I carried in the milk, present 
 ing it to the lady. She looked at it and said, "You must 
 have a good cow that gave such a quantity, and good at 
 that. Our breakfast will soon be ready, come in and take 
 breakfast with us ; make yourself at home as long as you 
 are here." The bell rang, I went in and the lady gave 
 me a seat at the table and was n^ waiter. I remarked to 
 her that I was going west about three miles, to the can} T on 
 in search of a man named Sherwood, and asked would my 
 outfit be safe with them. "I will keep a lookout myself, 
 I think the}^ will not be disturbed ; how long would you 
 be gone?" queried the lady. "I hope to return by noon, 
 and think I will." I started for the canyon, taking the 
 road for the creek and finding the trail as directed, cross 
 ing the creek and on towards the cabin. Going up to the 
 cabin door I knocked and listened, but did not hear any 
 thing ; knocked again, listened and heard a noise inside. 
 I gave a louder knock, when a voice answered, "Who is 
 there?" "No one who will harm you," I answered, 
 "I want to see Mr. Sherwood, is he not at home?" "He 
 is not, he is up at the mines." "Where is the mine?" 
 "Up in the canyon." "My home is in the far East and I 
 
GRANITE VILLE. 83 
 
 am on my way back to Webster, Mass. I have come a 
 long distance to see Mr. Sherwood, and don't want to go 
 away without seeing him. I have a message from his 
 sister, whom he never saw, that lives in the town I come 
 from. Now dare you open the door?" "Yes, when I 
 hear the name of Webster." The person came and 
 opened the door and said, "You from Webster?" "lam, 
 and know those whom neither you nor 3'our husband ever 
 saw. Mr. and Mrs. B , by me send their most sin 
 cere love to you and yours ; this is why I was anxious to 
 see you." She sounded a horn, and soon after a young 
 man came in, to whom she said : "Go up the canyon and 
 tell your father a man wishes to see him." It was not 
 long before a man came to the cabin, when the woman 
 said, "This man came to the door and knocked three 
 times before I dared to open it. Had he not said he was 
 from Webster, Mass. , and had a message from Mr. and 
 
 Mrs. B , I should not have dared to let him in.' 
 
 "You are from Webster, Mass?" "I am, sir." "You 
 
 know my brother and sister, B ?" "I do." "When 
 
 did you leave Massachusetts?" "In April, 1880." 
 "How long have you been in California ?" "Two years, 
 I arrived at Eureka on the 28th of May, 1880, and have 
 been here ever since that time." "You are on your way 
 back to that State ?" "I am." "I think you do not like 
 California by returning so soon* is that so?" "I think 
 this, that there are those who are responsible for the de 
 ception that has been sent abroad in regard to California. 
 So much has been said on paper that brought out thous 
 ands who are not able to get back, who would if they 
 could. I have heard many say that much. Oh, such a 
 climate, so warm and pleasant and so beautiful. I will 
 admit that the months of December, January and Febru 
 ary, to Eastern people are most agreeable, that is, in re 
 gard to heat and cold. But in April and the summer 
 months, till December, everything is dried up, except 
 
 
84 GRANITEVILLE. 
 
 what irrigation has kept green. If you are located on 
 the river valleys you are all right, but these are scarce. 
 I have seen the sands blow like our eastern snows. I 
 prefer snow to sand every time, when the wind blows. No 
 rain is expected until the month of December. In the 
 northern sections you may get some rain in November, 
 but seldom. After the first ram things change y when the 
 second rain comes, should it prove a good substantial one, 
 say, so many inches, you put in your seeds and in order 
 to get back the value of your seed and labor, you must 
 have so much rain, or so many inches of rain-fall in order 
 to warrant a crop. Now during the months of December 
 and January, these two months, the rains come. The 
 best months are the first four. In April, things begin to 
 dry up ; May is dry, June is very dry, in July you are 
 trying to get your sheep to the mountains. Can wait 
 no longer, and you have to be smart to get them there or 
 they will perish on the way. It is not yet August and 
 don't expect rain for several months. August, Septem 
 ber, October, November ; four months, all dried up. 
 Think of it ; ten months out of twelve, no rain. You get 
 up in the morning, say five o'clock, the sun is just up, not 
 a.cloud to be seen. The day advances ; nine o'clock, hot ; 
 twelve at noon, very hot, not a cloud to be seen. No, no 
 rain to-day no showers to lay the dust all dried up. I 
 prefer living where it is cold, warm, hot, with showers 
 occasionally, to lying down in the hot burning sands, to 
 bring out the rich colors of the shrubbery and make 
 nature grand and sublime. A smart thunder-storm that 
 will burn up the nitrogen and gives us in place a healthy 
 oxygen, "that is what I admire." 
 
 Graniteville I left on the morning of the 1 7th and trav 
 elled to Jackson's Ranche that day, distance, twenty-five 
 miles. On this morning I arose early as usual, and got 
 ready for my day's journey, having had a short rest which 
 
GRA.NITEVILLE. 85 
 
 had done myself and the cattle much good, all of us being 
 well cared for. Before leaving, I went to the house and 
 called out, "Landlord, get up, I am ready to leave you." 
 He came out and up to my camp. "Well, friend, are 
 you going to leave us this morning?" "Yes, sir ; I am 
 now ready to start, give me a pail that I may milk the 
 cow. He went and got me a pail. Having milked, I 
 handed the pail to him and he took it into the house, sa}'- 
 ing to his wife, "How is this for high, good ain't it? 
 This man is going right off, how soon before he can have 
 breakfast?" "As soon as I can broil a steak ; not more 
 than ten minutes," answered the landlady. "How much 
 must I pay you for your kindness?" I asked. "Kindness, 
 what have we done that we should charge you for?" 
 said the landlord. "You have fed my cattle with hay 
 and myself with good steak. I have given you in return 
 only the milk." That is enough, I am satisfied if you 
 are ; the breakfast is ready, sit there," answered the 
 landlord. I seated myself at the table, before me was a 
 good breakfast of which I partook heartity ; after break 
 fast I prepared to make a start, and said to the landlord, 
 "Friend, I feel gratified to you and your lady for your 
 hospitality, you have shown it in its fulness." "Stranger, 
 when I first set my eyes on you, I said that you are an 
 honest, old man, and fully qualified to travel any where 
 among men that are civilized. No man will harm you. 
 As you leave here your road will be a rough and hard one 
 for about seventy-five miles, which will be through a wild 
 mountainous country. You will have a chance to see 
 some wild game, and big ones at that ; so you must be 
 ready for them. What kind of a gun have j^ou, shot or 
 rifle?" "My dear sir, I have no firearms whatever, 
 neither shot, ball or revolver, nothing but an axe, hatchet, 
 knife and that hay fork you see there ; those are the only 
 weapons I carry and no others." "Do you expect to get 
 through this long journey without fighting something. If 
 
86 JACKSON'S RANCHE. 
 
 you do you will be the first man, and a lucky one you will 
 be." "Good morning," I answered. "Good morning, I 
 hope you will get along all right, but look out for your 
 self,* you are getting into a wild country, with wild 
 animals on every side. You may reach Jackson's Ranche 
 to-day if you have luck ; make it if you can, for there 
 you will be safe." We bade each other good-bye. 
 
 It was six o'clock when I left Graniteville ; could I 
 have taken the left road I should have had a good high 
 way to travel, but being obliged to travel to the right, I 
 had wild mountainous roads, with timber in abundance on 
 every side. On my right I hear the roar of a waterfall. 
 About nine o'clock I met two men with guns. Passed 
 the compliments of the day with them and said, "Stran 
 gers, I hear the roar of water on my right, what does it 
 mean?" "Soon you will come to a lake or pond; the 
 roar is from the water taken to supply the canal and car 
 ried many miles for mining purposes," they answered. "I 
 must have crossed this canal in coming from North 
 Bloomfield to Graniteville, did I not?" "You did." I 
 had noticed with what a rush the water ran in this canal. 
 "Strangers, what time is it?" (I carry the time, but al 
 ways ask when I have a chance, I do this for a blind.) 
 They answered about ten o'clock. I left them and in a 
 little while came to the lake and taking the left-hand road 
 followed it close to the water. A large amount of money 
 has been expended in and around this lake ; the road 
 having been set back to the mountain-side. I was in 
 formed that twenty-five years ago, this lake was a deep 
 canyon, with a small creek running through it. On the 
 right, looking east, is a heavy mountain with snow still 
 on its summit ; on the left is the road. It is said that 
 this canyon was very deep. At its outlet on the west, it 
 is almost surrounded by solid rocks, with only space to 
 let the water pass through. The mining companies have 
 
JACKSON'S RANCHE. 87 
 
 taken in the situation and built a dam to store the waters. 
 This dam makes a deep lake, in some places nearly three 
 hundred feet deep, and covering a large surface of land. 
 About half-past eleven I came to a nice patch of grass, 
 here I halted, unharnessed the horse and let her and the 
 cow loose to pick a feed for themselves. 1 gathered some 
 fuel and made a fire and got hot coffee for my dinner. 
 About one o'clock we moved on until four, when coming 
 to another grass lot I made another stop ; our rest here 
 was short but sweet. I have still six miles to travel to 
 reach the ranche. Coming to a creek I crossed over and 
 a short distance further came to a field of excellent 
 clover grass and was tempted to stop there for the night, 
 but having been advised to get to Jackson's Ranche 
 pushed on towards that place. In a little while I came to 
 a house, from which two men issued with pails, evidently 
 for milking. I called out. "Strangers, is this Jackson's 
 Ranche?" "It is, sir." "Can I camp here for the night. 
 I was told at Granite ville to reach Jackson's Ranche, and 
 suppose this is the place, as I have seen no other house." 
 'You can stop anywhere you choose; you can feed on 
 grass or hay, either will not cost you anything." "After 
 fording the creek I noticed some fine grass ; would it 
 have been safe for me to camp there, I would like to, as 
 there is some fine feeding? I ask this because at Gran- 
 iteville I was told that there was large game both sides of 
 the creek and was told to be on the look-out." "Well, 
 stranger, there are some wild game on this road ; there 
 is not enough of travel to make them afraid. All who 
 have guns, should they see any game will blaze at 
 them, hit or miss." "Well, I will try my cattle on hay, 
 but I do not think they will eat it as they have had grass, 
 unless they are very hungry." I gave them some hay but 
 they refused it, so I returned to the plat near the creek 
 and camped. I turned the horse loose and fastened the 
 cow by the lariat and allowed them thus to eat at will. I 
 
88 JACKSON'S RANCHE. 
 
 gathered fuel and made a big fire, got my supper and 
 went to bed. About nine o'clock in the evening, two men 
 and a boy came along with guns. "Friend, don't be 
 afraid of us, we have come to see how you are getting 
 along and always carry our guns with us, so that we are 
 ready should we come across any sjame. This is a great 
 place for deer, they feed near here at all times of the day. 
 There being but little travel in this trail they are very 
 tame. No doubt, should we go down to the creek, but 
 that we should find some grazing." "How is it about the 
 wolf and wild cat, and that kind of game, are there many 
 of them?" "Well, I suppose there are many of them. 
 You came past one place that is noted for that kind of 
 game ; it is a good place for camping, but a wild spot for 
 all kinds of game." "Think I stopped there and fed my 
 cattle on the grass, I thought that was a good place for 
 deer; they are great on feeding." "Will you go up to 
 the house and stay over night with us?" "I prefer to 
 stop here, if it is safe to do so." "You will be safe here, 
 but more so at the house." "If I remain here my cattle 
 will be fed for the morning, and will enable me to make 
 an early start, so I will stay here." "You may have one 
 of our guns if you wish, and think you had better take 
 one of them ; you. can stop at the house in the morning, 
 leave the gun and take breakfast with us." "I will, 
 thank you." "Good night, you had better keep your 
 camp fire burning, it will keep the animals away, they 
 will not come very near you." About midnight I was 
 awakened by a loud talking that did not come from any 
 two-legged animals, there appeared to be many of them 
 by the noise. The cow was lying down and the horse 
 was standing near her. The horse left the cow and came 
 up to me, the cow could not come as she was fastened by 
 the lariat. I arose at once, renewed my fire and then 
 went and drew the pinion and brought the cow nearer the 
 camp, my dog was in the carnage, so that we all were 
 
JACKSON'S RANCHE. 89 
 
 now together, ready for any emergency. Our disturbers 
 were to the left of us, and were evidently quarreling 
 among themselves, or they would not have made so much 
 noise. I put the horse in the carriage and made for the 
 ranche, thinking that would be more satisfactory to all of 
 us, and it was, "you bet." It was just half-past twelve 
 as I fastened my horse to a post ; I ma le up iny bed again 
 and laid down but not to sleep. At half-past three 
 o'clock I returned to the creek to give my cattle an oppor 
 tunity again at the grass, and on my arrival found a herd 
 of deer feeding there ; they left as soon as they saw me. 
 As it was breaking day I was surrounded by many 
 coyottes, who were sending forth their melodies. They 
 were not very near us, say about forty rods away. I am 
 not afraid of this kind of game, as they do no harm but 
 to the sheep. At five o'clock I again left for the ranche, 
 on my arrival I found them still in bed ; and called out, 
 "Friends, if you want me to breakfast with you, for my 
 sake get up. It is now half-past five and the sun is up." 
 "John, get up and make some good strong coffee." It did 
 not take long to get the breakfast ready and all hands 
 partaking thereof. I related to them my experience of 
 the night and my disturbance, sa}Mng that the landlord at 
 the hotel told me that I should find plenty of game and 
 big at that, and as^ed what weapons I carried. I told him 
 I had neither ball, shot, or gun. "Stranger," says my 
 present host, "have you no firearms with you, not even a 
 revolver?" -"Not anything of the kind," I replied. 
 "What are you thinking about, travelling in this wild part 
 of California without a weapon of any kind. No one 
 here thinks of going out without a revolver ; here you are 
 in the midst of a wild country, without anything of the 
 kind,' you can never get as far as Reno, if you do I would 
 like to know of it." "If I do you shall be informed of 
 the fact ; you of course, read the papers?" "I do when I 
 can get them." '-Get them and keep track of me," I 
 
90 WEBBER'S LAKE. 
 
 said. "I will, you bet." ''Stranger, your hospitality to 
 me is such as I have received daily on my journey. It 
 seems as if people could not do too much for me ; I ap 
 preciate it, but I must leave you and make Webber's 
 Lake to-day, how is the road thereto?" "From here it is 
 a much better road than from Graniteville." " Friends, 
 good morning." u Good morning, I hope you will suc 
 ceed in getting through, such an undertaking is not to be 
 read of in books ; success to you." Thanking them I left 
 on rny journey. 
 
 August 18th, I left Jackson's Ranche for Webber's 
 Lake, which I made the same day, travelling a distance 
 of twenty-five miles. Having been disturbed in my rest 
 I did not feel so fresh as on the previous days. 
 
 Webber's Lake. In reaching this place, about mid- way 
 is an old log cabin, built of handsome timber, the logs of 
 which it is composed are dove-tailed at the corners, mak 
 ing a very strong and durable building. When the stages 
 formerly ran over this road from Virginia city to Marys- 
 ville, before the Central Pacific Railroad was built, this 
 trail was a good road, but since the building of the rail 
 road this, as well as many another good road, has been 
 neglected, especially that part running through the Sar 
 dinian Valley, a distance of seventy miles. About two 
 miles distant from this log cabin is the summit of the 
 mountain, which rises from the lake to a height of two 
 thousand feet. The scenery from the summit is lovely, 
 in fact everything around was beautiful, while on my 
 right are the Sierras covered with snow. In travelling 
 along, the lake is on my right going east, on my left were 
 many buildings, one was large, and evidently an hotel, 
 situated directly in front of the lake. The road passed 
 between the lake and the buildings ; from the hotel to the 
 water was only about four rods. The length of the lake 
 
WEBBER'S LAKE. 91 
 
 is one mile ; the width about a half mile, many boats were 
 on the shore. On my arrival, I asked for "Dr. Webber." 
 A tall man, about seventy-five years of age, answered 
 me, saying, u My name is Webber, I answer to Doctor 
 Webber." "I stopped at a hotel about four miles from 
 Grass Valley, and the .proprietor gave me this note to 
 give you on my arrival,* here it is." The doctor read 
 aloud : 
 
 "This traveller called at my hotel and said that he was 
 from Eureka, with horse, carriage and cow going East, 
 to Massachusetts. I told him to follow the old Fermis 
 trail to Reno, and on reaching Webber's Lake, to stop 
 and give this note to Doctor Webber* 
 
 From, JOHN CLARK." 
 
 "Stranger, walk into my office; sit down. You are 
 from Eureka and going East, to Massachusetts, your old 
 home, and with that outfit; it will take some grit." "I 
 am." "Don't you like California?" "I like the East 
 much better." "How long have you been in the State?" 
 "About two years, or a little more." "Have you been 
 in Eureka all that time?" "I have, sir." "I do not 
 wonder that you do not like that part of California, where 
 the sands blow like the snows of the east. No wonder 
 you are anxious to get back to old Massachusetts ; I know 
 all about this State, having travelled it all over. I think 
 I am situated here the best of any one. Look at my sur 
 roundings ; look at that beautiful sheet of water ; look at 
 the green grass ; we do not have to pump water on our 
 lands to keep them from drying up. No, not a bit of it. 
 Look on 3'onder mountain ; see those white caps, they are 
 white by night as well as day ; they are white from the 
 first of August to the first August the next year." 
 "Doctor, you have here a delightful situation,.! would 
 like to stop with you over night ; here is good grass to 
 which my cattle will testif} r , I shall soon be where there is 
 none ; am I not right?" "You are ; when you get into 
 Nevada you will often think of me ; what can I do for 
 
92 WEBBER'S LAKE. 
 
 you?" "I would like to picket my cattle where the grass 
 is short and sweet, not where you intend to cut for ha}'. 
 I suppose you make hay of that tall grass?" "I do ; yon 
 der is a good white clover patch, take your cattle there, 
 turn them loose if you dare do so ; they will do no harm. 
 Our tea will soon be ready and come in, perhaps you will 
 find something you do not carry. Do not refuse when 
 one asks you ; travelling as you are, accept the invitation, 
 you are right welcome." I went to see that my cattle 
 were all right and having their supper and returned to the 
 hotel for m} T own. After supper I got a pail and milked 
 the cow, and carried it to the doctor saying, "My cow 
 sends this pail of milk to you in return for the grass she 
 has and is now devouring ; please accept it." We sat in 
 front of the house talking on every subject, when two 
 hacks with four ladies and gentlemen drove up from 
 Reno, who were coming to make a visit of three or four 
 days at this pleasant resort. The doctor turned to his 
 visitors and said, "Gentlemen, this man is from the north 
 western part of the State, Eureka city, and is going to 
 Massachusetts with a horse, carriage, cow and dog ; a long 
 journey." "Yes, a very long journey ; do }*ou think you 
 can make it?" "I do." "You will never be able to take 
 that cow all that distance ; if you do, 3*011 will stand on 
 the top ladder of fame." "Sirs, if I can get the cow shod 
 with iron shoes, I shall succeed ; but if not I am afraid I 
 shall not succeed. I have not been able to get her shod 
 as yet. I have had her feet seared four times and they 
 are getting small." "What do you mean by getting 
 her feet seared?" "Take a flat piece of hoop iron, heat 
 it red hot, then take up the foot and rub the red hot iron 
 over the bottom of the hoof; that is the way the Spani 
 ards shoe their cattle." "Now, friend, I will tell you 
 where you will get your cow shod. But a few daj's 
 ago, when passing a blacksmith's shop in Reno, I saw the 
 blacksmith shoeing an ox ; this I know, for I saw it done. 
 
WEBBKR'S LAKE. 93 
 
 When you get there you can have your cow shod with 
 iron shoes." "How far is it to Reno?" "It is about 
 forty-five miles." "It will take me two da}*s to travel 
 thereto ; what kind of a road is it?" "It is a good road. 
 When 3 T ou get to the four corners, take your left 
 and you will have a good road to the valley. Do not 
 keep straight on as that is the old trail ; when you 
 get there 3*011 will come into the turnpike that leads to 
 Truckee, as you strike this road turn sharp to } T our left." 
 "Doctor, are } T ou troubled with wild game at night?" 
 "There are some around, but seldom come near here. If 
 we kept sheep we should have them around continually ; 
 the coyotte and welfare terrors for sheep." "How is the 
 wild-cat?" "The wild-cat is the smartest animal we have ; 
 the}' will drive the wolf away every time, the}' are not as 
 heavy but very quick and active ; I have seen the wolf 
 and cat fight. The cat will jump on and off the wolf and 
 the wolf does not care to be scratched to pieces by the 
 cat." I now left the doctor, went to camp and made 
 ready for the night, securing my cattle and went to bed. 
 
 Webber's Lake I left on the 19th and travelled twenty- 
 eight miles to Silver Peak. This morning I got up early 
 as usual and made ready to move another stage on my 
 journey. Having had a good night's rest, I feel tip-top 
 and am anxious to reach Reno to-morrow. There I hope 
 to be able to shoe my cow, if not, I do not know when it 
 can be done. It is just half-past five and all ready to 
 start. I went to the hotel to see if the doctor was up and 
 told him I was ready to start but he would not let me till 
 I had had some breakfast. "I do not wish to offend you, 
 but am very anxious to cover as many miles to-day as 
 possible," I said. "You stop and get a good breakfast 
 and you will make more miles," he replied. I reluctantly 
 stopped and requested a pail and went and milked my cow 
 and handed him the milking. "You have a fine cow, she 
 
94 SILVER PEAK. 
 
 will more than pay her way," said the doctgr. I sat down 
 to a breakfast of beef and veal steak, boiled eggs, fried 
 potatoes, biscuit and hot coffee, which I thought was well 
 worth stopping for, and turning to the doctor I said, 
 "Doctor, I have been well paid for the stopping, good 
 morning." "I knew you would be ; good morning. I 
 hope you will make a success of your undertaking." It 
 was just half-past six o'clock as I left the hotel. My road 
 was a good one, on a down grade. Travelling a little 
 ways I came to where four roads crossed and took the left- 
 hand road. About eleven o'clock I came to a ranche 
 where I stopped, giving my cattle a ration of water and 
 grain. I then went on and after travelling about two 
 miles came to another ranche, where I again halted for a 
 short rest. Travelling still further, I came to a valley 
 and passed through a timber lot which had been felled and 
 the logs were scattered in the road and all around. This 
 timber was handsome, not large but a good size for use 
 say, about two to four feet in diameter. I am still but a 
 short distance from the Central Pacific Railroad, not more 
 than two miles. It was with great difficulty I got through 
 the timber lot, and when through I emerged into the turn 
 pike for Reno. This is a very good road, I have had 
 none like it so far on my journe}'. I am travelling in the 
 rear of a large flock of sheep and can not get by them. 
 On my left is a deep canyon, and on my right is a high 
 bluff or mountain. I asked the herdsman where they in 
 tended to camp ? He said, just this side of Silver Peak, 
 but a short distance further. At six o'clock we came to a 
 saw mill. At the left of this mill the herdsman turned in 
 and drove down into the canyon. I was informed that 
 there was good feeding, but did not go down to see. I 
 pitched my camp opposite the mill where there was a good 
 feeding of wild oats, which my cattle readily devoured. 
 They were the first wild oats on which they had fed. I 
 made a fire, wood being around in abundance ; made a dish 
 
SILVER PEAK. 95 
 
 of tea and ate my supper and laid down for a while. 
 About nine o'clock I got up and after securing the cattle 
 for the night I again laid down, but could not go to sleep, 
 on account of the sheep bleating for their young, there 
 being about six thousand of them in the canyon. About 
 half-past ten o'clock I heard the report of a gun, then an 
 other, and another. I called out, "What is the matter 
 down there?" "Matter enough, the wolves are after our 
 mutton, the canyon is full of them. We dare not set our 
 dogs on them as they will be killed, so we blaze at them." 
 "Come up here and get some milk, I have some and you 
 can have all you wish." The man was soon at my camp 
 who said, "I have come for that milk, thinking it must 
 be worth coming after." "But what have you to carry it 
 in?" "Oh, the d 1. I did not think to bring anything. 
 Can't I take the can, I will bring it back ; what is it 
 worth?" "I paid a dollar for it in Sacramento." "Will 
 you sell it, I will give what it cost 3^011 and more if } r ou 
 say so." I let him have the can at cost and he gave me a 
 dollar. He wished to pay me for the milk also but I de 
 clined to take it. "What is the matter among your 
 sheep?" I asked. "The wolves want mutton ; they were 
 as thick as rabbits when I came up, I could hear them in 
 the brush after the sheep ; they can smell a sheep a long 
 way off. Our sheep are hungr}^, still we dare not let them 
 feed at nights ; they must wait till morning and then the 
 dogs can take care of them," said the shepherd. "In 
 what kind of a place are your sheep to-night?" "They 
 are in a kind of oblong square, and there are six thousand 
 of them ; they will cover about two acres. On one side 
 we have three camp fires, on the other are six dogs and 
 four men with guns." "Do you fear the coyotte?" "No, 
 we do not, we set our dogs on them, but the wolf would 
 kill a dog mighty quick. When the wolves show them 
 selves we quickly blaze at them, we try not to kill but to 
 wound them. If a wolf is badly wounded we are not 
 
96 SILVER PEAK. 
 
 troubled with others for some time." "You was not 
 afraid to come for the milk?" "I should not have dared 
 to come had I not had this lantern, it is enough to keep 
 any wolf away from me." "Do you think they will make 
 an attack on me?" "They will not trouble you as long 
 as the sheep are there, if they were not around they might 
 attack your cattle ; but you need not fear." Bang, 
 bang, bang, went three guns. "I must go back, there 
 may be something for me to do ; they may have a strong 
 army and if they attack us would make a clean sweep of 
 the sheep. Stranger, you have been passing through a 
 wild country ; have you not been troubled by these in- 
 fernals during the night, if not, } T OU are remarkabty 
 lucky?" "At Graniteville I was told that I was entering 
 a wild region and should be ready to meet them. Since 
 then I have been on the look-out, and to-night the varmins 
 are plentiful around and should be handled with firm 
 ness." 
 
 I left Silver Peak mountain on the 20th and reached 
 Reno that day ; journeying fourteen miles. It was about 
 midnight when I left my camp ; I concluded it would be 
 safer to move on than stay there with all those wolves 
 around me. I filled my lantern with oil and moved on ; 
 after travelling about a half mile I found that I had a big 
 hill to descend, it was very dark and could scarce see my 
 way. I roped my wheels and descended the hill with 
 bated breath, not knowing what might happen ; I could 
 see on my left a deep can3 r on, the road was apparently 
 wide and good. Having made the descent safely I 
 breathed more freely ; on going some further distance I 
 c5me to a house, which I approached and knocking at the 
 door a voice answered, "Who is there?" "Get up, friend, 
 I would like to ask a few questions." "Go on, I can hear 
 you without coming there," was answered. "I won't 
 harm you/I am travelling and from Eureka, three hun- 
 
VERDI. 97 
 
 dred miles from San Francisco." "You from Eureka?" 
 4 'I am, sir." "You talk as I used to do at home ; I left 
 Maine for Eureka, in 1868. I am a Yankee as evidently 
 you are by your talk?" "You are right ; I am. I came 
 by way of Grass Valley, on the Henness trail, by Webber's 
 Lake. When I reached the turnpike I was in the rear of 
 a herd of sheep and could not pass them and was obliged 
 to travel in their rear until we came to the old saw mill on 
 the hill where they turn into the canyon, while I camped 
 opposite the mill. There seems to be any quantity of 
 wild animals in that canyon ; the herdsmen kept firing 
 away all the first part of the night, I went to bed but 
 dared not sleep, and became so much excited that I broke 
 camp and came on here, running my chances of safely 
 reaching Reno early in the day. How is the road thereto, 
 is it safe to travel at night and is there much timber on 
 the road?" "From here to Reno is twelve miles and the 
 road is both good and safe either night or day ; there is 
 no timber on the way." "How far am I from the rail 
 road?" "Not more than a half mile. This is Verdi, you 
 will not pass the depot, as it is to your right a few rods. 
 Stranger, you have been passing through the most dan 
 gerous part of California ; no part being so dangerous as 
 the last hundred miles you have come so far unharmed, 
 and so far you are a very lucky man, I hope you will suc 
 ceed as well on your longer journe3 r , good morning." It 
 is two a. m., as I leave this house and travel on until sun 
 rise when I came in sight of Reno. At six o'clock I came 
 to a good grass patch where I stopped for my companions 
 to get a nibble. At seven I journeyed on and entered the 
 town of Reno at half-past eight o'clock, passing through 
 and halting about eighty rods west of the town . Having 
 secured my cattle I went in search of a blacksmith to shoe 
 my cow ; I inquired of several but did not find the right 
 one, but was told that such a man could shoe her ; I went 
 there and inquired for the proprietor, of whom I asked, 
 
98 RENO. 
 
 4 'Can you shoe a cow for me ; I am travelling East with a 
 horse and carriage, leading a cow. I have travelled about 
 seven hundred miles and have not been able to get her 
 iron shoes ; I have had her feet smeared three times which 
 have worn very small." "I have never shod a cow, 
 but have shod a great many oxen and think I can shoe 
 her." "How much will you ask me to put iron shoes on 
 her?" "My price for oxen is four dollars ; if you and I 
 can do it, I will charge you but two dollars." "When will 
 jxm shoe her?" "After dinner ; where is she?" "But a 
 short distance from here." "Lead her down after dinner 
 and I will see what we can do," said the blacksmith. 
 About one o'clock I drove down to the shop with my 
 horse, carriage and cow. I had not said a word to any 
 one but the blacksmith, but on my arrival there were 
 scores of people to see the cow shod. Many were the 
 questions levelled at me, which I patiently answered with 
 as little show as possible. "Stranger," said the black 
 smith, "lead your cow around into the brake, we will see 
 what can be done." I untied the cow from the carriage 
 and led her around the shop to the brake. The horse was 
 very much troubled at seeing her led away, but on coming 
 in sight of the horse she was all right again. I am in the 
 habit of talking to my cattle and think they understand 
 much more than we give them credit for. "Come, 
 Bessie," I said, "get into that brake, it will not harm 
 you." I went into the brake ahead of her and she fol 
 lowed me without any further trouble. A strap was put 
 under her belly and she was raised from her feet ; this was 
 more than she would stand, so I asked the blacksmith to 
 let her down again, which he did. I then went to my 
 carriage and got some rope ; putting a rope around each 
 hind-leg, and bringing her feet back under her rear parts, 
 I took up her forward foot, telling the blacksmith to make 
 it fast, which he did. She tried to get loose but could 
 not ; in the meantime, I had taken the horse out of the 
 
RENO. 99 
 
 carriage and fastened her beside the cow, telling the 
 blacksmith to make a good job. He answered, "That he 
 would do his best," About this time the whole town had 
 assembled to witness the shoeing ; many questions were 
 asked and answered at leisure. The blacksmith had com 
 menced nailing on the shoes ; he would strike on the nail, 
 driving it in about one-third of its length, or until bend, 
 ing, then drawing it out and taking another, drive that in 
 further, and so on, until the whole were driven and the 
 shoes securely put on ; the hardness of the hoof causing 
 many of the nails to bend. Her feet having been seared 
 three times, made them hard and flinty. While all this 
 was being clone, "Bessie" behaved herself bravely. Two 
 nails were driven that made her flinch ; these nails were 
 marked, so that should they trouble the cow they could be 
 removed. On taking her from the brake she could scarcely 
 travel ; we got her back into the brake and had those two 
 nails drawn and replaced which made quite a difference. 
 The blacksmith said that the soreness would wear awa} 7 . 
 He charged me not to take the shoes off, but keep them 
 on and remain here for a few days until she could travel 
 again. Should I take them off I should be in a very bad 
 fix. Without shoes, I could not get her along, and now 
 they are on good ; wait until she can travel. It may be 
 three days, perhaps five or more, but be contented ; I am 
 sure you will be the gainer by so doing. Turning to the 
 crowd I said: "Gentlemen, you see the condition in 
 which I am placed ; being obliged to stop a few days, 
 where can I get grass for my cattle, I prefer grass to hay 
 as they have been fed mostly on grass during my jour 
 ney?" "Stranger, I have grass and a grass cutter, and 
 you may have all } r our cattle can eat as long as you stay 
 and I won't charge you a dime." "Friend, where is your 
 grass?" "One house this side of where you stopped 
 this morning ; I will show you." I led the cow by the 
 halter, but it was no use, she could scarce walk, and she 
 
100 RENO. 
 
 laid down ; I got a pail of cold water and poured it upon 
 her hoofs continuously for several hours. About six 
 o'clock, I took my horse and carriage and went to the 
 man's lot for grass, but had not been there very long be 
 fore the cow came into the yard. "Well, Bessie, you 
 have done finely ; did you think that we had left yon ? 
 No, we only came for grass for you and you shall have 
 some," I said to the cow. I gave her the grass, which 
 she ate greedily as she lay down. I continued to pour 
 cold water on her feet, rubbing her ankles and legs occa 
 sionally. The whole town knew where I was and in what 
 condition ; many came to see me and learn my intentions. 
 Ten thousand questions were asked and answered. The 
 time had arrived for milking, her bag was hard-full, I got 
 a pail and went to the cow, and said "Bessie, you. must 
 be milked, then you will feel more comfortable ; get up 
 and let me milk you." She got up and I milked her, fill 
 ing the pail "Good, Bessie ; you have done well, lay down 
 and I will bathe your feet." She lay down and I bathed 
 her feet. All I said to her she understood, she could not 
 talk but made motions that I understood. I carried the 
 milk into the house and offered it to the lad} r ; she was re 
 luctant to take it, saying that she did not know what to 
 do with so much milk. Just then the gentleman came in 
 and the wife said, "Frank, come here ; .here is the milk 
 that this man traveller has brought to me iu return for 
 the kindness he has received from us." "Stranger," he 
 answered, "it is about time for the express train from the 
 East, it will be here in about ten minutes, take this pail 
 of milk to the depot and when the train arrives, go and 
 sell 3 T our milk. Wife, have you a tin dish that will hold 
 a little more than a pint." She got such a dish. Taking 
 the cup from his wife he continued, saying "This cup full 
 is worth ten cents, even change every time, the value of a 
 dime. It is now ten minutes after eight o'clock, I will go 
 with you and we will see the depot master, he may have ob- 
 
RENO. 101 
 
 jections, if so, yon can sell it on the highway, don't stand 
 on the platform and call out milk." We went to the de 
 pot and saw the depot master, my friend saying: "Mr. 
 Chamberlain, this man is from Eureka, Humboldt county, 
 on his way East, to Massachusetts, he stopped here to get 
 his cow shod. In doing this the shoes are put on so 
 tight she can't travel, and so this man is obliged to stop 
 here a short time. The cow is a fine one, and here is her 
 milk. I told him to bring it here to sell ; will you allow 
 him to do so on the trains?" "How long do you intend 
 to stop here?" asked the depot master. "But a short 
 time, I hope to be able to travel in three or four days at 
 the longest," I answered. "It is strictly against our 
 rules to allow peddling in or around the depots, but situ 
 ated as you are, I will allow you to sell any where around 
 the depot." When the train arrived I went aboard the 
 cars and sang out, "I have better milk than any of you 
 have had since leaving Omaha, don't take my word for it, 
 but try it." One man said, "Bring some here, pour it 
 into this cup." I filled it, he tasted, saw it was good and 
 had it refilled. Then the man said, "Ladies and gentle 
 men, it is the best milk I have tasted since leaving Mas 
 sachusetts." "Are you from there?" "I am." "So 
 am I and now on my way back ; I belong in Webster 
 when at home. This milk I have got from a cow that I 
 have led from California to this place, more than seven 
 hundred miles and which I intend to take to Massachu 
 setts, I may fail, but intend to try." "Stranger, we hope 
 you will succeed," was answered. I entered the cars 
 with two gallons of milk and came out with one dollar 
 and thirty-five cents in return. I went back to my camp 
 and commenced to bathe the cow's feet. About half-past 
 ten I went to bed and slept till about midnight, when I 
 awoke and gave her another wetting and more grass. I 
 went back to bed but could not sleep, so soon got up 
 again ; I examined the cow's feet and found them very hot 
 
102 RENO. 
 
 and feverish, so I bathed them most of the remainder of 
 the night. 
 
 On the morning of the 21st I felt very anxious about 
 Bessie's feet, as they were very hot and feverish, and 
 thought there must be inflammation or the} 7 would not be so 
 hot. I mowed down some grass and gave the cow a large 
 quantity, throwing water on It so that it would be cold 
 for her to stand on. This morning, there were two trains 
 from the west an emigrant at half-past five and an ex 
 press train at seven. My camp is but a short distance 
 from the railroad track, less than five rods, and about 
 thirty rods from the depot. I was milking at half-past 
 six, when the emigrant train came along, due here at 
 half-past five. Being late, it had to stop until the express 
 had passed, due at seven o'clock. Many of the passen 
 gers came where I was milking, and bought the fluid as 
 fast as I got it from the cow ; this time I did not have to 
 take it to the depot. It was all gone before the other 
 train arrived. I got ten cents a cup, a little more than a 
 pint ; for this milking I got one dollar and five cents. My 
 milk being disposed of, my breakfast also, and the cattle 
 well cared for I went into the town and called on the 
 blacksmith and told what I had and was doing. He said 
 I was doing the right thing, he was afraid that I would 
 take off the shoes. Yon must make her travel and get 
 used to them, she would soon be all right. About twelve 
 o'clock I went back to my camp and found all right and 
 gave them their mid-day meal. At three o'clock I took 
 the cow by the halter leading her around where it was 
 soft, that she might walk as comfortable as possible. I 
 noticed that there was improvement so took her down 
 town to the blacksmith and said, "How is this for high?'' 
 "Ah, friend ; I see you understand things, keep on doing 
 as 3 r ou have and 3*011 will soon leave us. I have adopted 
 a new plan, that is, while the cow is in camp she stands 
 
RENO. 103 
 
 on grass well wet with cold water, this softens up her 
 hard hoofs. I returned to my camp and prepared to meet 
 the train so as to sell my milk. I sold fourteen cups 
 which brought me one dollar and forty cents. The three 
 next days were a repetition of the two first. The incidents 
 were, the meeting of the trains, selling the milk and the 
 care and exercise of the cow ; the overhauling of my 
 wagon and seeing that everything was ready for a move. 
 While here, the people were kind to me. I wanted the 
 blacksmith to reset my wheels, but on examination he ad 
 vised me not to have them touched. I had him make me 
 several bolts as my whiffle-tree and transient-pin were 
 well worn, so that I should have others when they gave out. 
 While I was here, I was interviewed by the local reporter 
 who said, "Stranger, I wish to ask you a few questions, 
 if you have no objections?" "I have no objections ; go 
 on, sir," I replied. ''Where are you from with this out 
 fit, horse, carriage, cow and dog?" asked the reporter. 
 "I am from Eureka city, Humboldt county, California." 
 "About how many miles have you travelled?" "About 
 seven hundred and fifty, to reach this place. From 
 Eureka to San Francisco, is three hundred and eighteen 
 miles ; from San Francisco to San Jose, is forty-seven 
 miles, and from there through Stockton, Sacramento, Gold 
 Run, back to Colfax, Grass Valle3 r , Nevada city, Granite- 
 ville, Webber's Lake to this place." "But you have been 
 nearly three months in getting here," said the reporter. 
 "Yes, but I have not travelled half the time,*I have 
 sta3*ed over more days than I have travelled." "About 
 how long will it take to accomplish this great undertak 
 ing?" asked the reporter. "About six months." "You 
 think 3'ou can make this long journey, do you?" "I do, 
 sir ; and time will tell." "You are the man to do it, if 
 any one can," said the reporter. "How soon will you 
 leave this place ?" "I intend to leave to-morrow morn 
 ing, early." "Will your cow be able to travel so soon?" 
 
104 RENO. 
 
 ''Well, I am going to try it ; if I see that it is too 
 much for her I shall rest again. From here to Wadsworth 
 is about thirty-four miles and I will take two days to 
 travel there." "I suppose }'ou have your road marked 
 out before you ?" said the reporter. "1 have ; I intend 
 to follow the Central Pacific Railroad to Ogden. I do not 
 intend to leave it any distance, in case any serious acci 
 dent should occur to me, I shall have the railroad to fall 
 back upon." "Well, stranger, I hope you will succeed,* if 
 you do, you will stand on the top ladder of fame. Good 
 bye," said the reporter. "Good-bye, sir," I replied. I re 
 turned to my camp, fed my cattle, got my dinner ready 
 and ate it ; I put the wagon together, tried the bolts and 
 found everything in good order, ready for my start next 
 da}^. In the evening I allowed the cattle their liberty, 
 but they did not wander far, and kept their eyes on the 
 picture ; by which, I mean my wagon. About 6 p. m., 
 there were a large number of the citizens of the town 
 around, asking me many questions, all appeared anxious 
 about our journey. One said, "Friend traveller, when do 
 you leave us?" "I propose to leave to-morrow morning, 
 early." "Since your arrival, and knowing your intentions, 
 being obliged to remain here on account of your cow, you 
 have s;iven us something to think and talk about when you 
 have gone. This is a new and wonderful undertaking ; a 
 man of your age, journeying from ocean to ocean, from 
 California to Massachusetts, with a horse, carriage, cow 
 in the rear, and dog jumping in and out of carriage at 
 pleasure, and yourself a man of sixty-five years, or there 
 abouts ; I repeat, it is a most wonderful undertaking. I, 
 for one, will daily look in the papers to learn of your 
 whereabouts ; I hope and pray that you may be safely 
 carried through, you will need a strong arm of protection, 
 and hope you will be protected night and day. Stranger, 
 you appear to be a man of strong nerve ; if you falter in 
 the least you certainly will fail in this undertaking." A 
 
RENO. 105 
 
 man in the crowd sang out, "Three cheers for the man 
 from California going East to Massachusetts," which 
 were given with a will. "Strangers to me you all were, 
 but now friends. On my arrival I at once made for a 
 blacksmith's shop, so anxious was I to get shoes on the 
 feet of my cow. On my way I had tried to get her shod, 
 but could not. I was told at Webber's Lake, that here I 
 could get her shod. Therefore, I was anxious to reach 
 this place. Now she has iron shoes on all her feet, I hope 
 she will be able to wear them out ; to-morrow morning I 
 intend to leave you. Ladies and gentlemen, I believe 
 your sympathies are with me. I believe this, for you have 
 been kind to me and befriended me in many ways. To 
 you, stranger, in particular I feel grateful, and I am sure 
 my cattle are, for the grass you so kindly offered me for 
 them, so accept this small token of my regard. There is 
 another person to whom I wish to express my gratitude, 
 but I do not see him here, I mean the depot master, for 
 allowing me to sell my milk to passengers on the passing 
 trains, to him I give my thanks and thanks also to you 
 all, farewell." 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 FROM RENO, BATTLE MOUNTAIN, WELLS TO OGDEN, 
 
 IN UTAH. 
 
 I left Reno the 24th of August, and reached Wads- 
 worth on the 2oth, a distance of thirty-four, miles. It 
 was about four o'clock in the morning when I left. In 
 journeying to Wads worth, we follow the railroad and the 
 Truckee river river on your right and railroad on your 
 left, with carriage road on both sides of railroad right and 
 left. The river is very crooked, especially as it winds 
 
106 RENO. 
 
 through the canyon. Both rail and carriage roads are on 
 the north side of the river. The railroad crowds the 
 highway in many places. The river here takes a heavy 
 bend to the left close up to the bluff. The old trail used 
 to be between the river and the bluff ; the railroad took 
 possession of the bluff, throwing the carriage road more 
 on the mountain ; at another place, where the river ran 
 close to the bluffs the railroad was obliged to cut back 
 into the bluff to make room for the highway. This cost 
 the railway company a large sum of money, and it may 
 3'et cost them much more. This is a dangerous place and 
 should there ever be a collision in this narrow pass, the 
 cars would surely be thrown into the river and prove a 
 complete wreck. 
 
 Reno is one of the most promising towns in the county. 
 It is situated on a high elevation, on the Central Pacific 
 railroad, in the county of Washoe, State of Nevada. As 
 you enter the town from the west, you pass through a 
 broad street ; on your right is the railroad and on your 
 left are many fine houses. In front is the depot, a large 
 fine building, comprising both depot and hotel. About 
 twenty rods from the depot there is a sharp bend in the 
 road to the right, which carries you over the railroad and 
 then it bends again sharply to the left. On the right of 
 this road are two long brick blocks, which contain a num 
 ber of stores in which all kinds of merchandise can be 
 found for sale dry goods or wet, hardware or soft, 
 whiskies and lemons, etc. All teams have to pass this 
 point and in passing I stopped, there was plenty of room 
 to give others the right of way. Having a time table in 
 my pocket I looked at it, and found that the morning 
 trains had all passed and the trains in the afternoon were 
 late. There are but four trains per day over this road 
 two from the west and two from the east, one express and 
 one freight each wuy. You are able to see but a short 
 
WADSWORTH. 107 
 
 distance up or down the road, the roads being so winding. 
 The road lies between the railroad and the river mostly, 
 especially in the canyon. In front, is a bend in the river, 
 there I am obliged to cross the railroad to my left. I 
 went on but a short distance before I re-crossed being 
 now between the railroad and river. Going further, I 
 came to another sharp bend in the river to my left ; here 
 I crossed the railroad and my route then lay over the 
 mountain. Having crossed over I went into camp and 
 fed my cattle with grain, I made up my bed and lay down 
 to rest but could not sleep as there were too many wild 
 animals around for comfort. I kept a good fire burning 
 all night. 
 
 On the morning of the 25th I broke camp early, and 
 travelled until I came to some grass where I stopped and 
 gave the cattle a good feed from it, after which I made 
 
 for Wads worth. 
 
 
 
 Wadsworth is an old town, and when the emigrants 
 used to come overland through this great American 
 desert, the sight of this place was most cheeiy after weeks 
 of hard travelling. Since the building of the railroad the 
 town has considerably improved ; there is a depot on a 
 large scale and the town has a population of twelve hun 
 dred. The railroad corporation has established a machine 
 shop here for the repair of their rolling stock, which gives 
 employment to many hands. It has two hotels, several 
 stores and many saloons ; drinking and gambling are very 
 common in this place. In an interview with the superin 
 tendent of the railroad about my route, he advised me to 
 buy two ten gallon cans, fill them with water and carry 
 them with me, also giving me introductions to the station 
 agents on the road, asking for water for my cattle. This 
 was magnanimous ; for hundreds of miles water is trans 
 ported by the railroad and deposited in tanks at the sev- 
 
108 MIRAGE. 
 
 eral stations from Wadsworth to Ogden for drinking and 
 cooking purposes. 
 
 I left Wadsworth on the 25th and made Mirage the 
 same day, a distance of twent} T -five miles. After leaving 
 Wadsworth, the first six miles was through deep, heavy 
 sand, the wheels sank into it about six inches, which 
 made hard pulling for the horse. I also had a heavier 
 load than usual ; there was a sack of barley for the horse, 
 and a sack of bran for the cow, each lOOlbs. ; ten gallons 
 of water, 851bs. ; in all 2851bs. ; besides my common out 
 fit, such as clothing, bedding, provisions and other things 
 say about 2001bs. more. My carriage is- light, about 
 3001bs. ; making a total of about 8G01bs. Fanny had to 
 haul through this six miles of sand. I had been informed 
 of this heavy road before starting. About nine o'clock I 
 reached the desert ; just as I was reaching the bottom of 
 the bluff on the desert, the express train from the west 
 passed me. I stopped and gave*the horse a can of water, 
 but did not give any to the cow although she wanted some. 
 About two miles further we came to a second station, I 
 stopped and looked around but saw no one ; I looked for 
 the water tank and soon found it below the surface of the 
 ground, I lifted the lid and found there was water, I got 
 a pail and tested it and found it fair. I gave both horse 
 and cow as much as the3 T would drink and filled my empty 
 can and then went on ; it was about ten in the forenoon. 
 I had not gone much further, when on looking round saw 
 the freight train from the west approaching. All hands 
 on the train knew me, as they had bought my milk. 
 At this time I was travelling on the great desert, a better 
 road I never saw ; a hard smooth surface, rather too hard 
 for Bessie's feet. I am now on the left of the railroad, 
 my direction is to the east. In front of me are some 
 buildings, which proved to be salt works. About three 
 o'clock I met the freight train from the east, and at four 
 
MIRAGE. 109 
 
 reached Hot Springs. Here I made a stop and intro 
 duced myself to the agent, showing him my card in re 
 gard to water. He told me that I could have all I wished. 
 I gave the cattle water and grain and refilled my cans, 
 intending to do so at every station. It was fair water, 
 brought from Wads worth from the Truckee river. "Where 
 are the Hot Springs?" I asked of the depot master. 
 Pointing, he answered, "They are j'onder, you will see 
 where to turn in at the trail,- it is only a short distance to 
 your right." I went to see the springs and found a wet, 
 dirty, nasty, mud-hole. The water was warm, not hot as 
 I had supposed. I thought myself sold, as others before 
 had been on this place. I travelled further and about six 
 o'clock met another train from the east, but could not see 
 much express about it, as stops were made at every 
 station, running at the rate of a mile in three minutes. 
 It was about half-past eight o'clock when I reached Mir 
 age. I took Fanny from the carriage and fastened her to 
 the left rear wheel, the. cow opposite and gave them water 
 and grain, made up my bed between them and laid down 
 and was soon asleep. Some time in the night I awoke, 
 my watch having run down I could not tell the time ; all 
 around was still, On my left at a long distance, I heard 
 the cry of a coyotte. I thought it was morning, still I 
 could not see any signs of the sun having risen. I laid 
 down and thought to sleep but could not. I spoke to my 
 horse, "Fanny, are you asleep?" she at once got up and I 
 gave her some grain, this brought up Bessie, she wanted 
 some too, so I gave her some and both were busily eating. 
 Looking eastward, I was sure I saw a light and thought 
 it must be morning and so made ready for moving for 
 ward. The light I saw was only about the width 
 of my hand. 
 
 I left Mirage very early on the 27th and made Granite 
 Point that day, a distance of twenty-eight miles. It was 
 
110 GRANITE POINT. 
 
 one of the finest mornings I ever saw, and my road was a 
 good one and I journeyed with good cheer. About half- 
 past six o'clock I saw smoke in our front, and spoke to 
 my horse, saying "Fannie, go on, we will soon have 
 breakfast." We shortly came to a station called White 
 Plains. Here was a good house not painted brown like 
 others, but white ; there were several men around and as I 
 came up bade them good morning. One of the men an 
 swered, "Where in h 1 are you from, and where are you 
 going ; you must have come from the East some time ?" 
 "Yes, I came from the East" "But where are you now 
 from?" "I am from California and going East." "Yes, 
 I know you are travelling East, but where do you intend 
 to haul up?" "In Massachusetts." "The d 1 }'ou are, 
 with that outfit ; that cow will never see Massachusetts." 
 "But where are }*ou from, and what are you doing with 
 that derrick ?" I asked. "I am from New York and came 
 here to make an artesian well," was answered. "I want 
 a pail so that I can milk my cow ; you can have the milk. 
 By the way, I don't suppose that you have any hay that I 
 can get for my cattle?" "Yes, I have some hay, you can 
 have some of it for your cattle. Perhaps they would not 
 eat it, but we will try them." The hay was placed 
 before them and they seemed to relish it very much from 
 the greediness with which they ate it. I got a pail and 
 milked the cow and giving it to the stranger, said "Will 
 this pay for the hay?" He answered, "Yes, and more ; go 
 into the house and get some breakfast." So I partook of 
 breakfast with him. "How far have you come this morn 
 ing?" he asked. "From Mirage," I answered. "How 
 far did you travel yesterday?" "From Wadsworth, about 
 twenty-five miles." "Now, stranger, you say you belong 
 in Massachusetts and going home ; do 3*ou honestly think 
 you can make that distance with that cow?" "I do, why 
 not ; 3'ou see she has iron shoes on her feet, and I think 
 she will stand the journey as well as the horse. She has 
 
GRANITE POINT. Ill 
 
 nothing to do but walk ; I think she will make the journey." 
 "Stranger, I hope you will ; if you do succeed, just make 
 a book of 3'our journey." "I will, and you may get hold 
 of one of them." "I should like to meet you somewhere 
 down East ; I would give more to see you tha^ Barnum's 
 big show." "Well, friend, I must be going on, I have 
 got to tramp every day, and make big days at that before 
 I reach the Eastern States." "Well, stranger, I hope you 
 will get safely through ; good-bye." It was about seven 
 o'clock when I left him ; I kept the railroad on my left. 
 At eleven o'clock I came to another station, called 
 Brown's Station. I made but a short stop at this place, 
 just long enough to water and feed. This is a telegraph 
 station ; only two buildings, the depot and a house. At 
 half-past twelve I left and journeyed with the railroad on 
 my left, and as I travel the desert is left behind me, my 
 course now lying through Humboldt valley, the river of 
 that name being on my right. I intended to reach Love 
 lock's, but my trail led me so far to the right that I was 
 obliged to return to the railroad, so made Granite Point 
 instead. This station is nothing but a house for the Boss 
 of repairs and a shanty for his Chinamen. I took the 
 horse from the carriage and fastened her as usual, with 
 the cow opposite, after feeding I made my bed and laid 
 down, being only disturbed that night by a passing train. 
 
 It was four o'clock when I left Granite Point on the 
 morning of the 28th, and made thirty miles in reaching 
 Rye Patch. I was at Lovelock's Station at seven-thirty. 
 On leaving Granite Point I found that I was travelling as 
 it were in a new world ; such a change? Fields that had j 
 once been cut were again ready for the scythe ; wheat, 
 oats, barley, were in the fields ready for thrashing. What 
 is the cause of this sudden change^ I have stated that I 
 had got through the desert and was travelling the Hum 
 boldt valley near the river. The change is caused by the 
 
112 LOVELOCK STATION. 
 
 system of irrigation. A short distance above the station, 
 the owners of the land adjoining have built a dam across 
 the river ; ditches about three feet wide t are also con 
 structed to riin on each side of the road, which are kept 
 full from the dam ; other ditches are constructed at right 
 angles, dividing the flat lands into plats about twenty 
 rods long by sixteen wide, from this dam and ditches the 
 land is thoroughly saturated with water and is preferred 
 to overflowing as practiced at Reno and other places. I 
 remember when crossing the Savannah river, at Savan 
 nah, S. C., that the lands for miles were level and cut 
 up with ditches, filled with water, which made the best 
 rice grounds in the States. 
 
 Lovelock's is quite a place, two hotels, two stores, a 
 post-office and many houses, such as they are. The sur 
 roundings look rough. There are many Indians. I 
 went into the post-office and had an interview with the 
 Postmaster, telling him where I was from, where going, 
 and asked him if it was safe to travel among such 
 people as were there Indians in particular. He said I 
 need not fear their people or the Indians ; I need only 
 fear the tramps and those who are put off the trains at 
 such stations as this, who travel to the next to steal a 
 ride and be put off again. "Had I met any of them?" he 
 asked. I answered, "That I had met many of them ; 
 they ask for something to eat or drink and I have often 
 given them bread and milk. Some have offered to pay, 
 but as yet I have taken nothing from them." "You had 
 better feed them, it will be the best way to get along 
 with them." "But I am afraid they will want something 
 that I should not care to give them." "That will be the 
 trouble, but look sharp at them. If you want anything 
 that I have, sugar, tea, coffee, bread or cheese, take it 
 along with you," said the Postmaster. "I would like a 
 small piece of cheese and some crackers,'!! have plenty of 
 
RYE PATCH. 113 
 
 sugar, tea and coffee." "You have a wagon and a good 
 looking horse, who will draw a good large load." A large 
 piece of cheese, about 51bs., a large box of crackers, four 
 cans of salmon, a bottle of vinegar and a small bottle of 
 bourbon, all for nothing. "He that giveth, lendeth, 
 etc." I think of this proverb many times ; it is good to 
 think of, but better to practice. I thanked the Post 
 master and we bade each other good-bye, he expressing a 
 wish to hear from me. At twelve o'clock the express 
 train passed me from the west. At one o'clock I crossed 
 the Humboldt river over a bridge, about a mile from 
 Oreana Station. The river is on my left, the railroad on 
 the right. I stopped here and gave my cattle water from 
 the river and a feed of grain. At two p. m., I resumed 
 my journey and did not stop at the station, but left it to 
 my right, as I was anxious to get to Rye Patch this night. 
 The good road has left me and I am now travelling a road 
 of sand, sage and ravines. At three o'clock the freight 
 from the west passed and at four the express from the 
 east passed) I signalled for them to stop, but they kept 
 on as thougfl I was nothing. At half-past seven I reached 
 Rye Patch ; on arriving I inquired for the station agent. 
 A large noble-looking man answered my inquiry. "Are 
 you the agent of this station?" I inquired. "I am^ what 
 can I do for you?" "I am a traveller, come a long dis 
 tance and have a great distance still before me! this cow is 
 anxious to have her milk taken out of her bag, will you 
 find me a pail in which to milk her." He brought me 
 one and I sat down and milked her in the presence of 
 several persons, and then gave it to the depot master, 
 saying, "I would like some hay for my cattle, if you have 
 any?" "I have both hay and grain, and }-ou can have a 
 dish of tea also if you wish." Myself and cattle were 
 then well cared for. The Depot master then said, 
 "Come in, stranger, take a seat and tell me all about you, 
 where you are from and where going: I am anxious to 
 
114 RYE PATCH. 
 
 know." "Landlord, I will call you, } r ouhave a fine com 
 modious hotel building here. When the railroad corpor 
 ation erected this building they must have had something 
 large in view for such a building in a desert." "Yes, 
 they had ; it was intended for a hotel, where the cars 
 should stop and time be allowed for passengers to take 
 meals here, which was done for a time, but it was chang 
 ed so as to stop at Humboldt station, eleven miles above 
 this place, the change made Humboldt a busy place every 
 day in the week. When you reach this place and see the 
 handsome trees planted in the grove you will be delighted 
 and will want to stop over a day or two. But, stranger, 
 tell me where you are from and where going to?" "Well, 
 landlord, I belong in Massachusetts, I went to California 
 in 1880 and resided in Eureka, I left that place the first 
 day of June on my way back to Massachusetts, and have 
 got so far." "Well, stranger, I think you are a man of 
 great nerve. It will take all you have got to cover that 
 distance ; you surely cannot do it with that outfit. The 
 cow will not go half the distance. It is a fine looking 
 cow, too good and handsome to throw away ; you had 
 better sell her at the first chance." "Now landlord, let 
 us reason together ; here I am with horse and carriage, 
 cow and dog ; both horse and cow are females ; you say 
 the horse may go through, but the cow ma} 7 fail. Sir, my 
 observation is that a mare is worth more than a horse in 
 the market, so what reason can you show that the cow 
 will fail before the horse ; she has on iron shoes, so has 
 the cow, both are well shod. The horse has the load to 
 haul, the cow none ; there is the difference in the two. 
 Now, I really think the cow will come out the best of the 
 two ; time will tell, however." After supper I said to 
 the landlord, "I shall start in the morning before you are 
 up, shall I feed my cattle before starting?" "Yes, look 
 well after them, there is hay and grain, give thef all they 
 can eat." 
 
HUMBOLDT. 115 
 
 Rye Patch I left early on the morning of the 29th and 
 made Humboldt, a distance of only eleven miles. I 
 arose early as was my custom, got a pail and milked my 
 cow and left the milk with the landlord, .who wished 
 me to stop for breakfast, but I declined, and took "some 
 thing else," after which we shook hands on parting. It 
 was four o'clock as I left the place. I was directed to 
 cross the railroad above the water tank and follow the 
 river to the second right hand trail, as it was the harder 
 and better road to Humboldt station, and no sand for 
 nine miles. I left this morning in high glee, every thing 
 bright and cheerful. Travelling on the river bank, on 
 my left is large quantities of grass, but I have no time to 
 stop, so about nine o'clock I reached Humboldt Station. 
 On approaching the station I met the freight from the 
 East ; all the hands knew me and passed signals of recog 
 nition. Driving up in front of the station, there was not 
 a person in sight. I sang out for the proprietor, and a 
 man came at my call saying, "What is wanting, sir?'* 
 t' I want to turn my cattle into that grass and let them 
 feed all day, how much will 3^011 charge me?" "You may 
 turn in your cattle for two dollars." "That is a thunder 
 ing big price, as big as that hill yonder." "You are aYan- 
 kee, I'll bet." "Yes, I am a Yankee." "Where are you 
 from?" "California." "Where are you going?" "Go 
 ing East, to Massachusetts." "What part of California 
 are you from?" "From Humboldt Bay, Eureka city." 
 "And going to Massachusetts?" "Yes, that is where I 
 belong when at home." "Take your horse out of the car 
 riage, turn into that mowing, the cow also," he com 
 manded. I did so with a will. When the time came 
 around to milk, I did so and carried the milk to him, giv 
 ing it to him, who on seeing the large mess, said "Come 
 with me." I went with him into the house, when he said 
 to the steward, "Give this man a good supper." W^hen 
 morning came, I again milked, giving him the milk, and 
 
116 HUMBOLDT. 
 
 getting my breakfast in return for the same. After break 
 fast I spoke to the proprietor, telling him I would like to 
 stop another day as my cattle and myself were faring 
 sumptuously and it would do us all much good. "You 
 can stay if you desire. I will not charge you anything." 
 I remained there a day longer than I intended. 
 
 Humboldt is the station of stations ; all trains stop here. 
 The express train from the west arrives at 12: 50 p. m. ; 
 freight and emigrant at 4 :45 p. m. ; express from the 
 east arrives at 3 :15 p. m. ; freight and emigrant at 8 : 15 
 a. m. A fine dinner is furnished for one dollar. A pas 
 senger from the east said to one conductor, "How long 
 do we stop here?" "Thirty minutes," answered the con 
 ductor. "Thirty minutes, who can eat a dollar's worth 
 in that time ; I want more time than that. Say, conductor, 
 can't you give us a little more time, I am not in the habit 
 of taking my dinner in my hands?'' "Yes, I will give you 
 ten minutes more, as 3~ou are a down-east Yankee," an 
 swered the conductor. This station is situated between 
 two mountains, one on the right and one on the left. The 
 one south, is but a little distance awa} T , and is a splendid 
 looking fellow, so noble, so grand, scarcely such another 
 to be found between the Pacific and the Atlantic. 
 There has been more money laid out on this station than 
 on any other on the road. From whatever point 3*011 ap 
 proach this station you will think you are entering a fine 
 grove. The buildings are completely hidden by the trees. 
 As you stand on the platform and look around, } T OU must 
 be pleased with the surrounding landscape. 
 
 It was midnight of the morning of September first, as 
 I left Humboldt station and at six I reached Mills City 
 station, a journey of thirteen miles by railroad and four 
 teen by trail. This morning's walk was very invigorating, 
 a good road and fine weathen even the coyottcs' call was 
 
MILLS CITY. 117 
 
 melodious. My thoughts were interesting and spread over 
 the continent from the Pacific to the Atlantic. 
 
 Mills City is a station on the Central Pacific Railroad, 
 consists of a hotel and store in one, house for the boss of 
 repairs and one for his Chinamen in all, four buildings, 
 making the city. My stop was short, just one hour in 
 feeding the cattle and nryself. As I was leaving, the 
 morning's freight and emigrant train passed me. At this 
 place I was advised to take the left hand trail to the river, 
 as it was the better road and more travelled, and freer 
 from sand, which I did. I was still but a short distance 
 from the railroad ; on the left the river and on each bank 
 an' abundance of grass, but now, nearly all were fenced 
 with barbed wire. About eleven o'clock I came near the 
 river, and at this place there was a break in the fence ; I 
 went in and gave my cattle water from the river and fed 
 them with grain and the grass. I detached the horse 
 from my carriage^ giving her liberty, which she enjoyed by 
 a series of rollings ; she did enjoy it. The cow luxuria 
 ted on the grass. About half-past one o'clock I resumed 
 my journey, returning to the road through the break in 
 the fence. During the afternoon the expresses from the 
 east and the west passed me. About five o'clock I saw 
 some men hauling hay. I spoke to my horse, as I fre 
 quently do, saying "Fanny, we will soon turn in for the 
 night." I travelled on until we came around a knoll of 
 land on which was a stack of hay, along side of which I 
 drove, giving my cattle a chance to eat as much as they 
 wished ; presently some men came with another load, when 
 I said to them, "Gentlemen, excuse me, and I think you 
 will when }'ou know my story." There were four of them, 
 and the elder, a man about sixty-five, who replied : 
 "Stranger, what is your story, you look as if you had 
 one?" "Well, sir ; we are both strangers, I am a travel 
 ler and have come a long distance, three hundred miles 
 
118 ROSE CREEK. 
 
 north of San Francisco." "What place, so far north?" 
 "Eureka city, Humboldt Bay." "What, with that cow?" 
 "Yes, just as you see." "Well, stranger, where do 3'ou 
 intend to fetch up?" "I intend to fetch up in Massachu 
 setts ; I may fail, there is abundance of room for that." 
 "Yes, I think your chances of slipping up are very good, 
 but you look the man to perform the journey if it can be 
 done by any one, and you are about the right age too. 
 Will you allow me to ask your age?" "Sir, I was 63 
 years of age the llth of July." "I was 68 on the 4th of 
 May last." "I came from Humboldt station this morn 
 ing, and I want to stay over night here, as it looks a fine 
 place for my cattle, I have to look well after them, so that 
 I can have a chance to accomplish my great undertaking. 
 I carry grain and feed them three times a day ; hay is 
 something I can not alwa}*s get." "You can stay here 
 and welcome. I live in Winnemucca, and am going 
 there to-night." "How far is it to there?" "About ten 
 miles." "It will take me four hours to reach that place, 
 I shall start early in the morning and get there at six 
 o'clock." I gave the cattle water and grain, greased my 
 carriage and got everything ready to start in the morning. 
 
 I left Rose Creek early and reached Golconda, a dis 
 tance of twenty-seven miles. It was two o'clock when I 
 broke camp to resume my journey ; it was a fine and 
 lovely morning. The road was very sandy, especially the 
 last two miles in reaching Winnemucca, which place I 
 reached at six o'clock. Here I rested, giving the cattle 
 water and grain and took a bite myself. At this place I 
 replenished rations both for myself and cattle ; my stop 
 here was just two hours. 
 
 Winnemucca is an old town for this section of the 
 country ; settled long before the railroad was thought 
 about, since it has become quite a business centre. Large 
 
WINNEMUCCA. 119 
 
 amounts of merchandise are brought to and left at this 
 station. It has extensive connections with Boise Cit} r , 
 Carter ville, Idaho City, Silver City, Washington and 
 many others. I left this station at eight o'clock, sharp, 
 and at nine o'clock fell in with a band of Indians, sixteen 
 in number, most of whom were young and well-mounted on 
 fine horses. I travelled about six miles in their company^ 
 they could talk good English. The elder Indians kept in 
 the advance, while the } r ounger kept near me. I conver 
 sed with them on the road, asking where they lived, what 
 kind of labor they did and how much they got a day. 
 They said they had been cutting hay for some weeks, and 
 were paid a dollar per day and board. "I asked them if 
 they were satisfied with.the white people ?" "Oh, 3 r es, no 
 trouble with the white folks." "How do the older Indians 
 like them?" "Some of them no like, no good, some very 
 good," was the answer. Two of the Indians, with their 
 wives kept with me, the others kept ahead of us. One 
 of the Indians I asked if he had any whisky ; he said he 
 had would I like some. He stopped and took out a pint 
 bottle, which was full and handed it to me ; I took a 
 small drink and passed it back to the Indian. He took 
 a drink and then gave it back to me, I again tasted and 
 then went to my basket and got my flask, took a small 
 drink and passed it to the Indian, calling his attention to 
 the quality of the two ; he noticed the difference. "How 
 far is it to Golconda?" I asked. "About eight miles," 
 he answered. "What is the time of the day?" "About 
 noon," he answered. I stopped and took out my water 
 can and gave the horse and cow its contents to drink. 
 The Indian said, "You carry water?" "Yes, I have two 
 cans, I keep them full all the time." "You good travel 
 ler, you carry water." After a while they left me with 
 their good-b} T es, and were soon out of sight. About four 
 in the afternoon I arrived at Golconda ; here I got some 
 hay for my cattle. I asked the landlord if he would take 
 
120 GOLCONDA. 
 
 milk in exchange for the hay. "Yes," he answered. 
 After milking. I carried it to the house and gave it to the 
 landlady, saying, "This milk is for the hay my cattle have 
 had." She replied, "My husband won't take anything 
 for the hay." "Please take the milk, I would like some 
 thing for my supper that I do not carry." "You can 
 have supper with us, } T OU will be welcome." At this time 
 the landlord came in and she said, "This man has 
 brought in a can of milk to pay for the hay ; I told him 
 you would not charge for the hay, did I say right?" 
 "Well, I don't know about that." "Well, there is the 
 milk, he sa} r s he can not do anything with it, we can. I 
 told him to come in to supper." "Well, stranger, you 
 seem to be a traveller, where aye you from?" "I am 
 from California and going to Massachusetts." "Massa 
 chusetts, you are a fraud." "Do not say that; how do 
 you know but that he speaks the truth. He appears and 
 talks well," said the landlad} 7 . "Yes, he appears well 
 and talks well, and that makes me think he is a fraud." 
 "Well, landlord, come with me and see my cattle, 3'ou, 
 landlady, come too. I will try and convince you I am not 
 a fraud. Landlord that horse, carriage, cow, dog and 
 myself left Eureka cit} T , Humboldt Bay, the first of June 
 last, and have made all that distance ; this is true and no 
 fraud." "I will take back the fraud, but you are crazy." 
 "Well, I can stand that much better, but I can stand 
 both." "Stranger, I think you are a Yankee." "I am, 
 and I think you are also." "Yes, I am from the State 
 of Maine, and you from Massachusetts, you say. Wife, 
 go in and get supper ready and we will be in soon." Af 
 ter a little while the bell rang for supper and I went in 
 and sat down to a hearty meal. After supper I got every 
 thing ready for an early start and went to bed. About 
 ten o'clock I was awoke b} r two men who were passing 
 near my camp. "Hello, stranger, what will you have?" 
 I asked. "Nothing, we are only passing to a herd 
 
STONEHOUSE. 121 
 
 of sheep. You are from the west ; we saw you when 
 near the river some three miles back, as we were 
 feeding our sheep. Where are you going?" "I am 
 bound east; where are you going?" "We are going 
 down to the south part of Utah," was answered 
 
 I left Golconda on the morning of the 3d at four 
 o'clock, and journeyed as far as Stonehouse, a distance of 
 twenty-eight miles. In travelling to this station, I was 
 advised to take the left-hand trail for some six miles, 
 crossing the river when I came to a bridge, by so 
 doing leave the mountain pass and Iron Point, then follow 
 the river until coming to a carroll on my right ; then take 
 the right-hand trail until I came to a house, there they 
 would give me the trail to Stonehouse station. In travel 
 ling this trail you pass around the mountain, instead of 
 going over, and it is about three miles further, but an 
 easier road. It is as good a country road as you can 
 find. I followed the road as advised. Since leaving 
 Lovelock's I have travelled near the river Humboldt to 
 this place, but here I have to cross and follow it to my 
 right for two miles, to Iron Point. About eight o'clock I 
 halted, took my cans and filled them with water, but it 
 was a difficult job as the bank was rather steep, yet I 
 always keep a full supply. I watered my cattle and 
 gave them grain and took a lunch myself, eating my 
 breakfast on the bank of the river. My dog was beside 
 me, the dog growled and on looking around I saw a man 
 on horseback coming towards me. As he came up he 
 said, "How do, sir?" I replied, "How are you, my 
 friend." He was an Indian, with a gun and game on his 
 back, I offered him a bite of some bread and cheese. He 
 took it and thanked me. I found he could speak good 
 English and I asked him many qeustions. I requested 
 him to show me the trail to Stonehouse station. As soon 
 as I was ready we started, he leading, passing the house 
 
122 STONEHOUSE. 
 
 I had been directed to take. Keeping on the right of the 
 river, and shortly turning directly down a heavy bank on 
 to a flat mowing, and running at a right flank, till coming 
 to the river, which we forded, still bearing to the right un 
 til coming to the railroad. Here he left us. I got the 
 flask of whisky and after tasting myself, handed it to him. 
 He looked at it and tasted, but the drink being so small I 
 handed it back to him again, and then we bade each other 
 good-bj'e. At this point I was twelve miles from Stone- 
 house station ; and after making five miles more I stopped 
 and milked the cow, giving both the horse and cow their 
 grain. As I was milking, the horse started along 
 and the cow would follow. This provoked me so, that I 
 stepped forward to the horse and took hold of the bridle, 
 and then gave it a jerk, causing her to back ; the cow be 
 ing directly in the rear and being fastened to the wheel, 
 and the horse backing crushed in the wheel completely. 
 This was done about half-past five o'clock and seven 
 miles from Stonehouse station. I had nothing to fix 
 it with. I got a short piece of board that I use when 
 greasing the axles of my carriage to raise it up. I 
 lifted up the axle and put the board under, thus keeping 
 the carriage in its proper position and left it for the night. 
 I secured my cattle to the sage bush, made up my bed on 
 the ground as usual and laid down, but could not go to 
 sleep. In this way I passed several hours ; about half- 
 past ten, the train from the west came in sight. I was 
 about a mile to the west of the railroad. All around was 
 quiet, except the call of the coyotte. Morning came, 
 there was no light to be seen and the sun had not yet 
 risen, but it was at least three o'clock. I left my all and 
 went to the next station, Stonehouse. On arriving about 
 five o'clock, there was no one to be seen around. I went 
 to the station and called out at the top of my voice, when 
 a man appeared at the window and asked, "What did I 
 want at this time in the morning?" u Want, I want many 
 
STONBHOUSE. 123 
 
 things, but at this time more particularly, I want a piece 
 of timber 2x4, fourteen feet long. I am in trouble, my 
 carriage broke down about eight miles back, one of my 
 rear wheels being crushed. I want this timber so that I 
 can bring my wagon here ; come out and see if you can 
 find something that will answer my purpose." He came 
 out and after looking around, said "Stranger, there ap 
 pears nothing suitable around the station. Over there is 
 a corral, I think you may find something there." I went 
 to the corral, saw what I wanted and went back for a 
 saw, and then returned and cut out a piece of timber that 
 I thought just the thing for my purpose and went back to 
 the station. I said to the man, "This timber I took out 
 of the corral, and I purpose to make one end fast to the 
 rocker, letting the timber run under the axle to take 
 the place of the wheel,' I would like you to come and as 
 sist me." "How far are you from Iron Point station?" 
 "I think about half way. I will get the bo} r s up and 
 we will go and help you." "How far are you from the 
 railroad?" "About a mile, perhaps not so far." "Stop 
 and get some breakfast before returning." "Thank you, 
 I am anxious to get back to my cattle ; some one may 
 borrow something I do not care to lend." "You" need 
 not fear that, there is scarcely any one passes by." I 
 would not stop, so I took the scantling on my shoulder 
 and returned to my outfit ; but the road back seemed long 
 and on my arrival I found everything about as I had left 
 it. For more than a mile I could see the horse, and when 
 within less than a half mile I called her and she came 
 scampering towards me ; I had been five hours away 
 from them. I gave them all the water I had in my cans, 
 and fed them with grain. I fixed my wagon, as best I 
 could, the way I have already intimated, and had travel 
 led some distance to my right when I saw three men on a 
 hand-car, coming in rny direction, who proved to be the 
 station, master and two others when opposite they struck 
 
124 STONEHOUSE. 
 
 across the lots and came up to me. The station master 
 returned with me and the others went back with the car ; 
 we got to the station all right, where I remained all the 
 rest of the day. The station master and his wife were 
 from New York State. They made my stay with them 
 most agreeable. I asked at what time the freight and ex 
 press trains would arrive, and could I ship the heaviest 
 part of my outfit to Battle Mountain. I thought I would 
 do this as it would be a very hard job for my horse to pull 
 the wag n with only three wheels and a shoe for the 
 fourth. I found that the freight was due at 11 :15 p. m., 
 and stops for water and put off freight. I got the articles 
 ready and sent them by the freight. I then made ready 
 for rest, gave the cattle their rations and went to bed. I 
 rested all night only being disturbed by a passing train 
 in the night. 
 
 Stonehouse I left early on the morning of the 5th and 
 travelled to Battle Mountain, a distance of nineteen 
 miles that day. The lady of the house was up getting 
 the breakfast ready, I milked the cow and took it into the 
 house. "This milk is a great luxury to us,'* said the 
 lady. "It will make the coffee much better ; we have to 
 use condensed milk, but there is a taste about it that I 
 dislike very much." She called her husband up, telling 
 him that I wished to start off early, and saying, "John, 
 get up, I have some extra good coffee." He got up, say 
 ing "I am in for some good coffee." We sat down to a 
 good breakfast, very good to me, and as I start I thank 
 them for their hospitality. They replied, "You are wel 
 come, would like to do it again. Good morning, we hope 
 you will get along when your wagon is repaired, without 
 any further difficulty." It was just half-past five when I 
 left and reached Battle Mountain at half-past twelve 
 o'clock. In reaching this place my road has been good, 
 being hard and solid, the day very fine and hot. On 
 
BATTLE MOUNTAIN. 125 
 
 my arrival I went direct to the depot, where I found the 
 freight I had shipped from Stonehouse. I then went to a 
 carriage shop where I found two men at work, one at the 
 forge and the other at the bench. I asked for the pro 
 prietor and the man at the bench was pointed out as the 
 person, so I went up to him sa} T ing, "Are you the pro 
 prietor?" "I am, sir." "I am in a bad fix and would 
 like to be helped out of it. I am travelling and come 
 from California on my way East, and have broken one of 
 my wheels and not able to go any further until it is re 
 paired." He asked where my wagon was, I told him and 
 fetched it so that he could see what was needed. Then I 
 asked him what it would cost to repair it. "There has 
 got to be fourteen new spokes, seven dollars ; setting tire, 
 two dollars ; painting, one dollar ; the job will cost you 
 ten dollars," he replied. "I am in a tight place, all the 
 money I have is eleven dollars and forty cents ; you want 
 ten dollars, will you do the job for nine, under the circum 
 stances?" "No sir, not a cent less." "Will you repair 
 the wheel without painting for nine dollars?" "Yes." 
 "When can I have it?" "To-morrow morning," was the 
 reply. The morrow came, I was feeling anxious, blue, 
 and everything looked discouraging. I did not like the 
 place, nor its surroundings ; I passed up and down the 
 street, stopping in front of the shop. At noon he had 
 not touched the wagon, but I thought best under the cir 
 cumstances to keep mum. About four o'clock he com 
 menced work and finished the wood part, the setting of 
 the tire was not done, so I could not start on my journey 
 as I intended and was obliged to remain. I held my tem 
 per said not a word my horse and cow I kept continu 
 ally in my sight. While obliged to stop, a reporter came 
 up to me asking many questions, where I was from 
 and where going, which I answered most respectfully. 
 After he had got through with his questions, I thought, 
 perhaps he might befriend me ; so I told him how I was 
 
126 BATTLE MOUNSAIN. 
 
 situated and the amount I was t^> pay f >r repairing my 
 carriage. He answered, saying, "He is a mean, con 
 temptible scoundrel, in taking advantage of a man in this 
 manner ; why, he ought not to charge you half that 
 amount." I told him I had but eleven dollars and forty 
 cents, and could not get more until I arrived in Ogden, 
 where I expected to get a check that I had ordered to be 
 sent and retained until my arrival. "Having given you 
 the full particulars I would like your consideration?" He 
 answered, "Come with me." I went with him and he in 
 troduced me to a person who he said was a Deputy 
 Sheriff of the county, aud related my circumstances to 
 him and how I was being treated by the man who was re 
 pairing my carriage. "When does he say it will be 
 done?" asked the sheriff. "He agreed to do it yesterday, 
 but it is not done } r et, the tire is not set." "What does 
 he say about it?" "I have not said anything about it, I 
 dare not." "When he gets it done, do not pay Kim, let 
 me know and I will go down with you ; we will talk this 
 matter over with* him, I think he will make a reduction ; 
 at any rate, we will see what he has to say about it." "It 
 is now about half-past nine o'clock, I will go down and 
 report soon," I said. I went to the shop and asked him 
 if the carriage was done, he said not, but would be soon. 
 About this time there was considerable excitement among 
 the people ; the reporter had told it around that there was 
 a man in town who had come from Eureka, California, 
 with a horse, cow, carriage and dog, on his way East, to 
 Massachusetts, which caused the people to gather around, 
 Indians as well. This town is a great place for Indians. 
 (There was another railway running through this place, 
 and the Indians ride free on all the roads.) At this 
 junction they gather in large numbers ; I saw more here 
 than in any place on my journey. You remember I have 
 told of an Indian lunching with me on the banks of the 
 river two days ago. This same Indian came to me while 
 
BATTLE MOUNTAIN. 127 
 
 here, saying he had seen me at Iron Point. I did not 
 recognize him, he being dressed up in such a fine suit of 
 clothes. He wanted me to get him a pint of whisky, 
 saying for an excuse, "They would not sell an Indian 
 an}'." He gave me the wink to follow him, which I did ; 
 on getting out of sight he handed me a pint flask with a 
 dollar in silver, telling me to go to such a place and there 
 I could get it. I did not let any one know about this at 
 the time ; after I had purchased and delivered the whisky 
 to him, he told me that there was a heavy fine for any 
 person who should sell or deliver whisky to an Indian ; so 
 you see how shrewd the Indian was, while I was ignorant 
 of the law. After this I went to see if the carriage was 
 done, and finding it ready I went to the printing office 
 and informed the reporter. He, with several others, went 
 to the shop with me. The reporter went tip to the man 
 and said : "I want to speak to you. You have been do 
 ing a job for this man and are charging him ten dollars 
 for it ; if I were having the same done you would not 
 have charged me more than half that price or less, 
 you are doing very wrong with this man. He says he has 
 but eleven dollars and forty cents, and he told } T OU the 
 same. It is all he has or can get until he arrives at 
 Ogden. Now, let us come to the point ; will you rob that 
 man and take his money, or half it with him?" The 
 wheelwright turning to me said, "Give me five dollars, 
 that will do for this time ; when you come again bring 
 more money ; further, if you will stay until to-mor 
 row morning I will paint the wheel for } T OU and charge 
 nothing for it." I agreed to stop-over and returned with 
 the reporter; on the way I had to "smile" with him and 
 others. I was pressed with a thousand questions, which 
 I answered and became quite familiar with the people and 
 was frequently pressed to "smile" with them. I expres 
 sed anxiety to be with my cattle, or some one might want 
 to borrow and forget to return them. I was told I need 
 
128 SHOSHONE. 
 
 not fear, I was too old, too honest, for any one to harm 
 me. I was a noble man, and a man of great courage 
 to undertake such a journey as I was on. They hoped I 
 would get through all safe, and if I did, to let them know. 
 A hat was passed around and the contents given me, 
 nine dollars and fifty cents were counted out. Some one 
 in the crowd put in fifty cents more, making ten dollars. 
 I think the above incident is worth recording and give the 
 credit to the boys of Battle Mountain. 
 
 On the morning of the 8th I left Battle Mountain, 
 about three o'clock, intending to reach Beowawe the same 
 day, travelling a distance of thirty-three miles. On leav 
 ing Battle Mountain I followed the railroad to my right 
 for over a mile, then following the river for some ten 
 miles, when I agaiu came to the right of the railroad to 
 Shoshone station. In making Beowawe I pass two 
 stations, Argenta and Shoshone. I travelled twenty- 
 three miles in nine hours, making only one stop, the road 
 being one of the best. On arriving at Shoshone, twelve 
 miles, I introduced myself to the station agent, who was a 
 boss of repairs, as a traveller from California on my way 
 home. "Where is your home?" "My home is down 
 East." "Where in the name of all that is good is down 
 East?" "Why, way down to Massachusetts, that is 
 down East." "I should think it was; you are one of 
 our Eastern Yankees, are you?" "Yes, I am." "And 
 going to take that cow with you?" "Yes, I intend to." 
 "But you can not do that much, she can not stand it." 
 "But she has, much better than the horse, and will I 
 think." "I am from New York and have been here three 
 years." "You like here, do you?" "It is a good place 
 to save your money, no way to spend it. I get seventy- 
 five dollars a month and board, and no where to spend 
 my money. Stranger, take }*our horse and cow and turn 
 them into the grass, give them their dinner and come in 
 
BEOWAWE. 129 
 
 and take dinner with me, and when you get home, you 
 can say that you dined with John Briggs, of Shoshone, 
 formerly of New York city." I did not wait for a second 
 invitation. Our dinner consisted of bacon and eggs, 
 bread, butter and coffee ; you will remember I have always 
 milk with me. After dinner we talked awhile, his China 
 men went to work. I inquired the distance to the next 
 station. He replied, "It is ten miles to Beowawe. 
 About a mile from here take the right trail, leading you 
 over the mountain, it is a less distance, and you will not 
 have to ford the river, which is more mud than water." I 
 left him with good wishes and went on. On coming to 
 the trail I hesitated whether to go over the mountain or 
 ford the river, but concluded to cross the mountain. 
 When about half way up I stopped, I left my horse and 
 went to the top, came back and said to the horse, "Fanny, 
 can }'ou get up this hill with your load ; it is a hard pull, 
 but let us try." We went about four rods further, then 
 halted, and then made one more pull for the top which we 
 accomplished. This saved some three miles and we ran 
 no chances in fording the river. The descending was 
 much easier ; making the descent we cross the rail 
 road, and from this crossing to the station the road is 
 good. The course of the railroad from Wadsworth to 
 this mountain is north by east. Then turning to the 
 right, making three-quarters of a circle, in reaching 
 Beowawe, a distance of ten miles, where I arrived about 
 six o'clock in the evening. 
 
 Beowawe I found on arrival consisted of a depot, sec 
 tion house for the boss of repairs and a Chinaman's house 
 or shant}*, and a very respectable house for the entertain 
 ment of any travellers. I called on the proprietor of this 
 house, introducing: myself as a traveller from the west, 
 bound east, saying "I would like some hay for my cattle 
 and the privilege of camping near by, will you grant my 
 
130 BEOWAWE. 
 
 request?" "I will, sir, with pleasure." "That cow I am 
 obliged to milk twice a day, will you take the milk in ex 
 change for something I can eat ; I have plenty of milk, 
 tea, coffee, sugar and bread, but crave for something dif 
 ferent. I want some cold meat and potatoes, or grub of 
 that kind?" "Follow me with your cattle, I will give 
 you a good place for the night, or you may have a 
 bed in the house if you like." "I prefer to sleep with my 
 cattle, should any one come around in the night my horse 
 and dog tell me of it, sure." After securing the cattle we 
 returned to the house, and after a wash we sat down to 
 supper. On being bade to take a seat at the table, the 
 landlady said, "We have no cold meats, but some hot 
 meats." "This is better ; I asked for cold meat as it is 
 much less work to get than hot." Our supper consisted 
 of ham and eggs, hot biscuits, butter and coffee, a first- 
 class supper. After supper the landlord said, "Well, 
 stranger, I am anxious to learn your story, you must 
 have something interesting to relate." "Yes, I have, and 
 I will tell you it if you desire." "I do, very much." 
 "Well, where shall I begin ; I am from Eureka cit}', 
 Humboldt Bay, California, three hundred and thirteen 
 miles north of San Francisco, which I left June 1st, 1882, 
 with a horse, carriage, cow and dog. We came down to 
 San Jose, from there hereto, following the railroad 
 most of the way, nearly 900 miles. I belong in Massa 
 chusetts, when at home, and have no other." "That 
 cow ; have you come that distance with her?" "I have." 
 "That is ahead of anything of which I ever heard, and 
 going to Massachusetts ; you must be crazy, or something 
 else." "You are right, we will call it something else." 
 "But how can the cow travel that distance, I should sup 
 pose she would have worn out her feet several times ?" 
 "My dear, sir, I have iron shoes on her feet, I could not 
 have got her along so far had it not been for her shoes." 
 "But how have you got along all alone. I should think 
 
BEOWAWE. 131 
 
 you would have been torn to pieces by the wild beasts. 
 Have you not been troubled with the wolves?" "They 
 have troubled me at nights, but not seriousl}'. I have had 
 to break camp several times lo get rid of them. So far 
 all right. In the future I shall know more about them. 
 How is the road from here to Carlin?" "There are two 
 roads thereto ; one way is to follow the railroad, the 
 other is to take the old emigrant road over the mountain, 
 through the canyon, over the divide, down into Carlin. 
 The emigrant trail is much the nearest, and a good road 
 except the canyon, that you will find rough, as all can- 
 yons are. I thins you can get through all right, how- 
 ever." "I make a practice of starting early in the 
 mornings, so that I can camp early in the evening ; how 
 much shall I pay you for the hay for my cattle?" "Hay, 
 for your cattle, I would not be guilty of charging you for 
 hay or anything else. A man that has set out on such a 
 journey ; why, I feel that all on your road ought to feed 
 you and your cattle ; such an undertaking. I will go 
 down with } r ou and look at your cattle ; come, wife, go 
 with us. You have a fine looking cow, and so is your 
 horse. I hope you will be able to get home all safe and 
 sound ; as yet you have but just started. Do you ever 
 take anything strong?" "Yes, I like good strong coffee." 
 "Yes, so do I, but I mean something else." "So do I." 
 "Go back to the house with me." I went with him. 
 "Here, stranger, take this ; it is good bourbon, there will 
 be times when it will do you good, at any rate you will 
 think of us." "Yes, I shall often think of you." On 
 leaving me he said, "The freight train from the east is 
 due soon, and often tramps are put off the train who are 
 stealing a ride. If they trouble you, call out and we will 
 come to your help. Good-night, stranger." "Good 
 night, landlord." 
 
 I left Beowawe on the morning of the 9th. I was 
 
132 CARLTN. 
 
 awakened by a passing train from the west, and on get 
 ting up I found it was a little past three o'clock. I fed 
 my cattle and got ready for an onward move ; it was four 
 when I started for Carlin. The first part of the road was 
 on the river side, which soon I had to ford, a good grav 
 elly bottom. After journeying about a mile I came to a 
 fine Eastern built house. A half mile beyond there were 
 many horses feeding by the road. After passing them, 
 they fell in my rear and continued to follow me ; I at 
 tempted to drive them back, but they took no notice 
 either of me or my dog, whom I set on them. They kept 
 following close behind the cow, which annoj'ed her. I 
 thought it best to turn back to the house, this being the 
 best way to get rid of them. I returned, they following 
 me, and drove up to the house, but could not see any one 
 around, so I called out loud and strong. This brought 
 a man to the door. I told the man I was travelling East 
 and in passing nearly two hours ago, those horses fell in 
 my rear, I tried to drive them back but could not, so I had 
 returned with them as I did not know how far they would 
 go with me, thinking best to get rid of them. "Well, 
 stranger, I am sorry they have given you this trouble. 
 How far are } T OU travelling?" U I belong East, in Massa 
 chusetts." "That is my home also." "What part of 
 Massachusetts is your home?" Tasked. "Fall River was 
 my home ; where are } T ou from with this outfit?" "I am 
 from California, more than three hundred miles north of 
 San Francisco." "You have come a long distance, and 
 led that cow all that way?" "Yes, sir." "That beats 
 the d 1 all hollow." "How is the road from here to 
 Carlin?" "Most of the way is good you will find it 
 rough through the canyon. I came through a few days 
 ago on horseback, there is no trouble travelling that way. 
 You have a wagon, it will be hard for you to get through 
 with it. There are some washouts, but you will be able 
 to get over them. Stop and get some breakfast with us, 
 
CARLIN. 133 
 
 I 
 
 we are late this morning, but it will be reacty soon. I will 
 give your horse some oats/' "I will stop for the grain 
 for my cattle as they need it. I think a great deal of the 
 cattle and have to take great care of them, or I shall not 
 be able to get them through this tramp." "Go in and 
 get a dish of coffee. By the way, will }~ou take something 
 that will help you along?" "Yes, I will, there is nothing- 
 better than a good cup of coffee, and I want nothing 
 more. It is just what I need this morning, anything else 
 would be out of place." I had breakfast with them, it was 
 a good one, and with strangers from my own State of 
 Massachusetts. It was seven o'clock as we bade each 
 other good-bye, he hoping that I would get through my 
 journey all right. It was not very long before I was at 
 the top of the mountain ; there was a fine landscape be 
 fore me. To my right I could see a long distance, a vast 
 plain, nothing to hinder or obstruct my view. Some 
 smoke in the distance attracted my attention ; it was from 
 an engine and was travelling from me, as it gradually 
 went out of sight. I pulled from my box a map of the 
 Central Pacific Railroad, and found that it was the express 
 train from Palisade to Eureka. I drove down the moun 
 tain to its base and came to a trail that led to my right. 
 I concluded this trail took me to Palisade, while my left 
 led to Carlin, which I took. I travelled up grade about 
 a mile to the canyon ; the first of the mile was good, but 
 the latter hard and rough. I was obliged to stop on com 
 ing to a bad washout and said to the horse, "Fanny, 
 what do 3 T ou think of this, we can't get over this ditch, it 
 is too big !" I left my team and went on to see in what 
 condition was the remainder of the canyon. Should it 
 prove as bad or worse, I would not attempt its passage, 
 but return and go to Palisade. I did not find anything 
 worse ; on my left I found water that evidently came 
 from the Emigrant Springs, which are situated at the head 
 of the canyon, which was as far as I went. I turned 
 
134 CARLIN. 
 
 back to were I had left my outfit, and found that they had 
 got other company. They had been joined by a band of 
 gj'psies, with two large covered wagons, drawn by four 
 horses each. They saluted me as I came up, saying 
 "Stranger, you all alone?" "I am not all alone, I have 
 just received company from the west; two teams of 
 g}'psies." I remember passing these teams at Reno, 
 some two weeks ago. "Well, stranger, how does it look 
 to you?" "To me, it looks rough and tough ; when I 
 came to this ditch I stopped and then made an inspection 
 of the road to the springs, and find this the worst part." 
 "Can we get through, or shall we have to go back and go 
 by the way of Palisade?" "Here is the worst place 
 to get over, especially with } T our wagons, as they are 
 much larger than mine. We can get across, but it will 
 take some engineering ; there are five of us, beside the 
 women and children." My plan was to take out the 
 horses and lead them across the gulch, then slide the 
 wagons into the gulch, running them up the opposite side 
 of the bank as high as we could, then by putting all the 
 power we could and lifting in the rear, drag the wagons 
 out of the washout, which we did after considerable 
 engineering, hard labor and patience. Having done this 
 successful!} 7 , the remainder of the canyon was only rough 
 and stony. The gypsies said, "I had done them a great 
 kindness, and that I understood this kind of business and 
 must be a Yankee, and where was I from?" I answered, 
 "That I was a Yankee, from California and was going to 
 Massachusetts." "We have heard often of the Yankees, 
 but never saw one before ; we are from California, but 
 our home is in Salt Lake city." "Then you are Mormons, 
 I have often heard of that people ; what horrid people 
 they are. If you are Mormons, I would risk itself with 
 them at any time." "You need not be afraid of us, and 
 we shall remember you as long as we remember this can 
 yon. We have some good whisky in our wagon, which I 
 
CARLIN. 135 
 
 think was made for this time and occasion, will you have 
 a taste?" "Well, I seldom ever take any, but if you 
 wish me, I will at this time and occasion. Should I ever 
 make a record of this, which I think I shall at some 
 future time, and }'ou happen to see it, you will remember 
 the whole story. It is getting late, we must be going on 
 further." So we moved on, I leading the van ; with my 
 light team I could travel faster than they with their large, 
 top-heavy wagons, which would rock to and fro like a 
 ship at sea. It was about half-past ten o'clock when we 
 got to the washout and it was three o'clock as we left. 
 When we reached the springs just out of the can}*on, we 
 camped for dinner. After eating and resting we again 
 moved on and gained the top of the mountain. We were 
 delighted with the view, the surroundings were grand and 
 imposing. We reached Carlin just as the sun was setting 
 from our view. I at once made for the hotel and inquired 
 for the proprietor. A person answered, "I am the man 
 of the house." I requested him to go to the stable and 
 see my outfit, and said "I am a traveller, just from Cali 
 fornia, with the outfit you see. The cow is a fresh cow 
 and I milk her twice a day ; she is a fine cow and gives 
 good milk, and I think so much of her that I am taking 
 her along with me. She supplies much more milk than I 
 can use, so will you take the milk in exchange for some 
 thing that I have not got. This is my way of introduc 
 tion, will you excuse me, landlord?" "Yes, sir ; with 
 pleasure. I saw an account of } T OU in the Reno papers, a 
 few days ago. Then you are the man that is going to 
 Massachusetts?" "I am, sir." "Come in and take sup 
 per with us, it shall not cost 3^011 anything. Milk your 
 cow and bring the milk in, she looks as though she gave 
 good milk, and we will try it." "Where can I camp, I 
 sleep with my cattle?" "Take them into the yard where 
 those stacks of hay are and let them eat all they can. If 
 you prefer to sleep with } r our cattle, you can ; it is a good 
 
136 CARLIN. 
 
 place and you will be safe there." I drove into the yard, 
 gave the cattle water and allowed them to eat as much 
 hay as they would. I milked the cow and gave the milk 
 'to the landlord, he in return gave me a good supper. 
 "You say that you are going East; you have a long 
 journey before you, do you think } T OU can make that jour 
 ney as old as 3*011 are?" "Why not ; I am not loo old. 
 It takes a man so old to accomplish it." "I see you are 
 the man for it. A young man would back out before he 
 got half the distance }'ou have alread} r made. What little 
 1 have learned of you, unless sickness or accident hap 
 pens, you are the man to make it a success." I told him 
 that I should leave him early in the morning and thanked 
 him for his hospitality, and that should he ever come to 
 Massachusetts, to remember me and my horse, carriage 
 and cow and come to Webster, and we bade each other 
 good-night, he wishing me success. 
 
 On the morning of the 10th I left Carlin for Elko, a 
 distance of twenty-three miles. Leaving Carlin I crossed 
 the railroad and travelled on its left for a distance of ten 
 miles, when I recross the railroad to my right, down on to 
 a flat plat of mowing land, which brings me to the river 
 that I had to ford. . It is now a fine trail. I came to a 
 house, which was a poor, shanty and knocked at the door 
 but no one answered. I then went to the barn, which 
 was much better than the house, but could see no one 
 around. I stopped and made a fire, fed the cattle, and 
 got myself a breakfast of boiled eggs and coffee. After 
 breakfast I travelled about a half mile but could not find 
 a trail. I was on the right of the river, close to its bank, 
 but could see no place to ford, on the right was a high 
 bluff rising from the river. I was completely shut in. 
 I returned to the house again but could find no one 
 around, then I retraced my way back to the railroad. On 
 crossing the railroad I saw some men at work a short 
 
ELKO. 137 
 
 distance away. I looked around for a place to hitch my 
 horse, but could see no tree or shrub, so I took the horse 
 from the carriage and fastened her to the wheel. I then 
 left them and was just getting on the track to go to the 
 men, when I saw a band of Indians coming down the 
 bluff on horseback ; there were eighteen of them, and were 
 about twenty rods away from me. I called out to them to 
 stop ; two of them rode up to me and I saluted them, 
 which they returned. I told them that I had come from 
 Carlin and was going to Elko, but had lost my trail ; I 
 had been to that shanty but could not find the trail. 
 "Here is the trail to Elko," said the Indian. I should 
 not have crossed the railroad, but have followed it a 
 short distance further and then crossed. I put the horse 
 into the shafts again and went on, travelling on the left 
 of both river and railroad. About a mile further I came 
 to a dry canyon. In passing through, I counted twenty- 
 two dead animals, no doubt frozen and starved to death. 
 When in Elko I spoke of this fact, and was told that it 
 was nothing ; thousands of cattle were frozen every win 
 ter. Go into the canyons in the months of June and 
 July, you could not bear the stench from these dead 
 creatures. I am now journeying where it is necessary 
 and we are commanded to open and shut gates in cross 
 ing the railroads. This command I always comply with. 
 I am travelling on the river, running between Carlin and 
 Elko. I have to open and shut gates as the trail runs 
 from pasture to pasture. Many times I am tempted to 
 cut the wires which fence them in, but I dare not, as I 
 might be followed and made to smart for so doing. I am 
 passing through fine fields of clover, of which I allow my 
 cattle to eat as the}^ go, it is such a change from the dr} 7 , 
 barren canyons and roads I have just left. Those that 
 journey on wheels have to make their own trail, which 
 was bad for me as my carriage was light and was very 
 trying to myself and horse. I arrived at Elko just as the 
 
138 ELKO. 
 
 freight train came in at half-past five o'clock. I went for 
 the hotel at once and sought out the proprietor, whom I 
 found and telling him my story, said, "My cow is a fine 
 animal, gives good milk and a large quantity. I ain 
 short of money and obliged to make what little I have go 
 a long way, will you take milk in exchange for food?" 
 "I will, sir, with pleasure. You are the man for whom I 
 have been looking for some days. I read in a Reno paper 
 and also in a Battle Mountain paper, that a man from 
 California with a horse, carriage, cow and dog was on his 
 way east, and you are the man, I suppose?" "I am, sir." 
 "You are a pluck}?- man, you ought to be following a band 
 of music, with all the people in your rear. Why, stran 
 ger, 3 r ou do not look like a crazy man, you do not, surety. 
 The world moves on, and we read that there is nothing 
 new under the sun, but that is a mistake. They did not 
 have such men as you in those days, -you bet. Well, 
 stranger, I am going to give your cattle a good supper, 
 write that down." "I will, sir, with pleasure." Supper 
 was soon ready and he conducted me to the table and told 
 me to take a seat. "But, landlord, I do not care to take 
 this seat, it is too conspicuous." "Not so, I propose to 
 introduce you to my family and guests." The bell rang 
 for supper and when all had come in and taken their seats, 
 the landlord introduced me as follows : "Ladies and gen 
 tlemen, it is with pleasure I introduce you to a gentleman 
 from California, travelling with a horse, carriage, cow and 
 dog East, to Massachusetts." After enjoying a hearty 
 supper I was questioned by his family and guests, asking 
 what part of California I was from, which way did I come 
 and how did I get along with the Indians and the wild an 
 imals and so on. The landlord commanded his man to 
 take the cattle to the barn and feed them with all the 
 hay and grain they could eat. By this time quite a crowd 
 had gathered -about me and many were the questions put 
 to me. I made excuse to the man of sickness and would 
 
ELKO. 139 
 
 like to lay down. He told me to take some hay and make 
 a bed for myself, which I did and laid down for a while. 
 I then got up and milked and when about finishing milk 
 ing the landlord came to me and I handed him the pail, 
 saying, "Here is the milk that I have just taken from this 
 California cow, that I think so much of." He told John, 
 his man, to take it to his wife and put it on ice and when 
 cool he would have a drink of it. "Stranger, won't you 
 go in the house and sta} r to-night, it will cost 3^011 no more 
 and give you a good rest?" "Landlord, I thank you 
 kindly ; but prefer to sleep with my cattle." "All right, 
 suit yourself." "I want to leave about sunrise to-mor 
 row morning." He turned to John, his man, and told 
 him to get up early and feed the cattle and give them a 
 heavy feed that night. I thanked him for his great hos 
 pitality, had received much on my journey, but his exceed 
 ed all others. He replied, "I was welcome, and if he was 
 in my place he would like the same treatment. You had 
 better stop and get a good breakfast before leaving, it 
 will help you along wonderfully. Come in the house 
 about four o'clock and we'll have something hot for you, 
 a bit of steak and a dish of hot coffee, it will do 
 you good." 
 
 Elko I left about five o'clock in the morning and jour 
 neyed to Halleck station, a distance of twenty-four miles. 
 I arose early, as was my custom, and made all the pre 
 parations for the day before any one was up. I called 
 John, the man, to feed my cattle and to get the cook to 
 make breakfast while I was milking. This being done I 
 carried the milk into the kitchen and then breakfast was 
 ready. While I was eating, the landlord came in and 
 bade me good morning and said, "You are about to 
 leave us. I am glad you have made so much of }~our 
 journey safely, but you have a long distance to make yet." 
 "Yes, sir, I am aware of the fact." "Cook, put this man up 
 
140 PEKO. 
 
 something for dinner, and here is something that will 
 help you along." "Landlord, please give me your name?" 
 "My name is landlord, that is enough. I do not want to 
 see my name in print, it will not look well. Stranger, 
 success to you. Good morning." I made ready and 
 started for the day's journey, feeling in excellent spirits ; 
 but learned the landlord's name before I left, as I thought 
 I might want to write to him after getting home. It was 
 a bright, lovely morning. About half-past eight o'clock 
 the freight train for the west passed me, and at nine 
 o'clock we came to Osino station. I made a short stop, 
 giving the cattle water and grain ; after feeding I contin 
 ued on my journey, our road being heavy and sandy with 
 sage bushes on either side. At noon I stopped for a 
 short rest and rations for the cattle and then journeyed 
 on until three, when I arrived at Peko station. Here I 
 stopped, giving the cattle the remainder of the water in 
 my cans and feeding them, and to make a dinner for my 
 self made a fire to do my cooking. As I was leaving, the 
 freight train from the east passed and at six o'clock I 
 reached Hallocks station. The surroundings at this 
 station I did not like. I gave my cattle water and went 
 on, taking the trail that led to the right and. followed it 
 until I came to a house, which I found untenanted, so I 
 journeyed on still further and came to another house 
 where I found the people at home, and asked "If I could 
 stop there for the night, I having come from Elko and 
 myself and cattle were very tired?" "Yes, stranger, 3 T ou 
 can, I like the sound of your voice. It is Eastern, if I 
 am not mistaken ; }*ou are or have been an Eastern man.'' 
 "I am. Will my cattle do any harm to let them in to 
 those stacks of hay and let them eat all they want?" 
 "You can let them in there and they can have all they 
 need." I led them into the } 7 ard and turned them loose ; 
 the horse took to rolling and the cow to the grass. The 
 man of the house asked me in, saying he had a wife and 
 
HALLECKS. 141 
 
 two children and had many questions to ask me. So I 
 went into the house and he said, "Wife, this stranger is 
 going to stop with us to-night, get him some supper while 
 I ask him some questions." "No Sam, wait till he has 
 had his supper, then we all will listen," answered the 
 wife. So as soon as the supper was ready we all gathered 
 around the table and partook of a hearty meal. The 
 man of the house asked for my story, where I was from 
 and where going. I answered, sa}'ing, "WelLfriend, I 
 have come from California, more than three hundred miles 
 north of San Francisco, having left Eureka city, June 1st, 
 following the railroad most of the way and have travelled 
 more than a thousand miles already." "What, and 
 brought that cow that distance?" "Yes, just as I am, 
 horse, carriage, cow and dog." "And where are you go 
 ing to, I would like to know?" "Well, friend, I belong 
 in Massachusetts, and am going there ; that is my inten 
 tion." "Well, stranger, ain't you a little crazy?" "You 
 are not the first that has thought me so, but as yet I am 
 all right." "Well, well ; what a long journey before you, 
 and 3'ou think } 7 ou can make this journey ; how many 
 miles will you have to travel to make it?" "About four 
 thousand, perhaps a little more." "Why, that cow can't 
 stand it; she will wear off her feet and legs." "But, 
 friend, she has on her feet iron shoes, and so has the 
 horse. So far, the cow has stood the journey the best." 
 "I did not think she was shod, and should not wonder 
 that the cow did stand it best; does she give milk?" 
 "Yes, I milk her twice a day ; I have milked her three, 
 and once four times a day, and have sold milk all along 
 for fifty cents a gallon to the station agents. When I 
 have sold on the trains I have got twenty cents a quart. 
 When I came through Reno, where I got the cow shod, I 
 was obliged to stop four days, as she was lame from the 
 shoeing. This was her first shoeing and as she had trav 
 elled more than seven hundred miles her feet were very 
 
142 HALLECKS. 
 
 much worn, and putting on the iron shoes contracted her 
 feet, causing the lameness. The blacksmith told me not to 
 take off her shoes, and the soreness would wear away ; 
 she could not have travelled much further without shoe 
 ing, so I stopped over. The four da} T s I was at Reno I 
 sold over seven dollars' worth of milk, so you can easily 
 see that she is worth something on the road." "What 
 part of Massachusetts are you going to?" "The town of 
 Webster, Worcester county." "I am from the State of 
 New York, so you see I also come from the East." 
 "What brought you out here?" "Oh, I came out here to 
 get rich by raising cattle." "You have got rich, I sup 
 pose?" "Well, I am not rich, but I can make more 
 money by raising cattle than I could by raising corn in 
 Nebraska. We can grow potatoes and small grain, but 
 no corn ; we can cut an}' quantity of hay. You see those 
 four stacks, there are eighty tons of hay in them." "How 
 many cattle have you?" "I have thirty-six head on my 
 own ranche. There are three of us, each having a ranche, 
 about one hundred head of cattle in all." "Do you feed 
 your cattle in the winter?" "Oh, yes ; we do not intend 
 to have them freeze to death. We give them shelter and 
 feed with hay. We do not have such barns as you have 
 down East, as lumber is too costly. We have long sheds 
 fronting to the south, boarded on the north side and ends, 
 about twelve feet wide and seven feet high, covered with 
 straw. This gives our cattle a good, comfortable shelter 
 in a storm and breaks the cold wind. This mode is an 
 improvement of our own, and there are but few in the 
 State like ours." "Friend, it is now about time to milk 
 my cow, can you let me have a pail and I will go and 
 milk her and give them some water and grain." "I will 
 go with you, we have plenty of good water." While I was 
 milking my host came with two pails of grain for my 
 cattle. This was wholly unexpected. I gave the grain 
 to the cattle and then carried the milk into the house, giv- 
 
HALLECKS. 143 
 
 ing it to the wife, when she remarked : "Sammy, what a 
 lot of milk his cow gives, more than all ours put together. 
 Well, stranger, I suppose you would like to go to bed 
 soon?" "Yes, I feel as though I would like some rest." 
 "Any time when you are ready I will show you your 
 room." "But, friends, I always sleep with my cattle ; I 
 have had good beds offered me, but I always decline them. 
 I dare not leave my, cattle ; should some one borrow them 
 I fear they would not return them in season. I carry my 
 bedding, make the cow fast to one wheel and the horse to 
 the opposite and myself and dog lay between them. 
 Many nights I have been awakened by the snorting of my 
 horse. I always keep my lantern burning. Many times 
 I have been awakened by the wolves around me, but as 
 yet have come to no harm. To-morrow I would like to 
 reach Wells, what is the distance?" "Wells is about 
 thirty miles from here ; 3^011 can not travel to Wells in one 
 day, can you?" "I travel about two and a half miles an 
 hour, day and night if I wish ; sometimes I crowd three 
 miles into an hour and some times only two, but I aver 
 age the two and a half miles. I suppose I am not far 
 from the river?" "The river is north of us, about a half 
 mile, and a half mile from here } T OU ford the river, then 
 there is a good road to Wells." "I must reach Wells to 
 morrow. I can travel that distance in fifteen hours, with 
 stops, and should like to start at six o'clock. If you 
 make a good fire I will take advantage of it and make my 
 self some coffee. I have some good, that I brought with 
 me from San Francisco, so you see what I carry with me. 
 Well, friends, I will go to bed with my cattle." "Stran 
 ger, you had better sleep in the house, it looks like a cold, 
 frosty night; your cattle will be safe." "You do not 
 know that. When coining through Hallecks I intended to 
 have stopped there over night, but things did not suit me, 
 so I came on here. Perhaps some of those I saw ma} T 
 follow me ; I have been advised to look sharp after my 
 
144 HALLECKS. 
 
 cattle." So lighting my lantern I left them for the night 
 and went to my quarters, securing the cattle for the night 
 and laid down for sleep. 
 
 I left the ranche at Hallecks on the 12th and reached 
 Wells on the 13th, a distance of about thirty miles. It 
 was about break of day as I awoke from my sleep and 
 got up and gave the cattle their liberty to eat hay or grass 
 as they choose, and then went back to bed again. It was 
 a cold and frosty morning. After a little while the owner 
 of the ranche came out to me saying. "Well, stranger, 
 did 3*ou sleep well, and could you keep warm during the 
 night?" "I did, sir." 'It is a cold, frosty morning, come 
 into the house, I have a good fire ; your cattle are all right 
 and doing well, go in." I took my lunch basket and went 
 into the house ; the lady was making the breakfast ready. 
 While this was g-ing on, I went out and greased my 
 wagon, which I do every other day. As I was returning 
 t > the house I met my friend with two pails of grain which 
 he gave me for my cattle. After breakfast I prepared t> 
 leave and turning to them, said "Friends, what can I 
 say to 3*ou for your hospitality ; I shall ever gratefully re 
 member you : good morning." "Good morning ; success 
 to you, I trust you will get along all right. I should like 
 to hear how } r ou get along on your journey." It was just 
 half- past five o'clock as I left the ranche. After travel 
 ling about a mile I came to the river which I successfully 
 forded. My road now lies between the railroad and the 
 river, the latter on my right. It is a fine morning, a fine 
 trail and we are all feeling finely. Shortly we shall leave 
 this long alkalic desert. About half-past six the express 
 train we met and at eleven o'clock we came to a stop. It 
 was where I could get down to the river to water my 
 catttle. Here I made my dinner ; while we were resting 
 the emigrant train from the west passed by, the hands 
 on the train saluting us, as they still remembered me and 
 
WELLS. 145 
 
 my outfit, and at one o'clock resumed the journey towards 
 Wells, and at half-past two we came to the river once 
 more, that had to be forded again and for the last time^ I 
 had been informed. I have followed this river, right and 
 left, for more than three hundred miles, crossing and re- 
 crossing many times, and only once on a bridge. This 
 ford looked a nast} r one, with only about thirty feet of 
 water to cross, the rest appeared to be all mud. I got on 
 to the carriage and spoke to the horse, saying, ' 'Fanny, 
 this is a nasty, muddy hole, but we have got to cross, 
 so let us try it." We went down the bank into the mud, 
 the horse sinking up to her knees at every step and on 
 getting to the water there was good stepping, as we 
 were then on a sunken bridge. Here I stopped to let the 
 cattle drink all they needed, and having drank all they 
 would, I spoke to the horse saying, "Fanny t go on." 
 After stepping about eight or ten feet she left the bridge, 
 got into the mud and floundered over, breaking both of 
 her thugs, and bringing me and the dashboard face down 
 wards into the mud and water, leaving the carriage, cow 
 and dog in the creek. I was a muddj^ fellow, you bet. 
 My thoughts quickly comprehended my situation ; here I 
 was, far from any help and nothing to get my carriage 
 out of the creek with. What to do, was the question ; I 
 want two ropes about thirty feet long. First, I detached 
 the cow and the dog from the carriage, then unloaded my 
 goods and secured my horse to Ji alder tree, let the cow 
 loose to graze for herself and then started for Wells for 
 some means of extricating the wagon out of the creek. 
 I knew that Wells was a large town for that part of the 
 world. The railroad was about fifteen rods to my left. 
 I took the railroad and went on travelling, I think about 
 four miles an hour. About five o'clock I saw a man with 
 two horses about a quarter of a mils from the railroad and 
 went to him ; he was travelling West, where he did not 
 just know. He had made a fire and was cooking beans 
 
146 WELLS. 
 
 for his supper. I told him the fix I had got in, in cross 
 ing the river and was on my way to Wells for two ropes, 
 so that I could hitch them on the forward axles and make 
 them fast to the tug-buckles, then I thought my horse 
 would drag the carriage out of the creek. He replied, 
 "Stranger, if I had not these beans cooking, I would 
 break camp and go back to help you. But I can let you 
 have the ropes, the3 r are on my horses, take them. I can 
 hobble one of them, the other will not then go away and 
 you need go no further." I took the ropes and went back, 
 finding all right but the cow, she was no where to be seen. 
 It was dark, so that I was not able to see any distance. 
 For a few moments I had some peculiar feelings. Where 
 can she be and where gone ? On going for the ropes I re 
 membered seeing a herd of cattle, so I thought that she 
 might have stra}*ed off with them. I called for her, "Bes 
 sie, Bessie," and the horse would call after me, for a time 
 without success. I continued calling for the cow, when 
 after a time she came scampering back into camp with a 
 large herd of cattle after her. I had been feeling pretty 
 blue, but her appearance cheered me up. I caught and 
 made her fast, giving her some grain. My wagon was 
 still in the creek and in the wagon was a box made to fit 
 the body of the wagon. In this box I kept all needful 
 articles, and now I wanted my lantern and some kerosene 
 oil. I took off my boots, stockings, pants and drawers, 
 put on my overcoat, fastening the skirt tight around my 
 waist and went into the creek and got my lantern and oil, 
 and made the ropes fast to the front axles of the carriage. 
 With the oil I filled my lamp and the balance I poured 
 on the ground and set it on fire. The water I used to 
 wash me. After this I re-dressed and ate a cold supper, 
 not being able to find wood for a fire. Then I fed the 
 cattle and went to bed to rest as I was very tired. Dur 
 ing the night I was awakened by the passing express train 
 and the herd of cows that my cow had become acquainted 
 
WELLS. 147 
 
 with, kept around tbe camp all night and disturbed me 
 some. 
 
 Early on the morning of the 1 3th I was up and connec 
 ted the ropes with the tug-buckles, and then hitched my 
 horse to the ropes and it was not much trouble to drag 
 the carriage out of the creek. I put my things back in 
 the carriage and got all ready for moving on. Just at 
 six o'clock I left Humboldt river and have not seen it 
 since. Reader, should you ever go west by the Central 
 Pacific railroad, nine miles west of Wells, you pass with 
 in twenty rods of this ford ; so do not forget to look into 
 this ford. I started for Wells about half-past eight o'clock 
 and met the man from whom I had borrowed the ropes. 
 "Good morning, friend ; I intended to have started sooner 
 to help you, but my horses had hobbled off some distance 
 and have made me late." "Stranger, all the same, I 
 came out all right; have } r ou any whisky?" "I have 
 some, I got my flask filled when I came through Wells. 
 Let us take a smile. I would rather take a drink with 
 you than any one in this part of the world ; how have you 
 got along, I would like to know?" "Stranger, I have 
 got along so far, about twelve hundred miles." "From 
 where, what part of the world, I would like to know?" 
 "Stranger, I am from California, three hundred miles 
 north of San Francisco, and going to Massachusetts." 
 "You never can make that much." "I don't know that, 
 time will tell." "My friend, I hope you will go through 
 all safe and sound, it will be a big feather in your cap, 
 you bet. Well, good-bye to you and I hope } r ou may get 
 along all right." "Stranger, thank }'ou for the loan of 
 those ropes, good-bye." I left him and about nine o'clock 
 entered the town of Wells ; as I passed along Main street, 
 a number of men stood in front of the Post Office and 
 one of them sang out, "Here he comes." I was then in 
 their midst and said, "Who comes?" "The man from 
 
148 WELLS. 
 
 California with his horse, carriage, cow and dog and 3-011 
 must be the man, I read about it in the papers. The en 
 gineer of 3'esterday's noon train said he passed } r ou and 
 thought you would arrive here last night." "Gentlemen, 
 here I am, but look at my wagon !" "I see it looks as if 
 3'ou had been in the mud, 3*ou must have crossed on the 
 railroad trail on the sunken bridge?" "I did, sir." 
 "You ought to have come b3 r the old emigrant trail, 3 r our 
 ford would have been good ; how did 3'ou get across ?" 
 "I drove down the bank into the rnud and I found that 
 sometime there had been a bridge, which was now under 
 water. I stopped on this sunken bridge and allowed my 
 cattle to drink all the3 r needed and then spoke to Fanny to 
 go on, when down she went into the mud as quick as 
 electricity ; she gave one big flounder, breaking her tugs, 
 I holding on to the lines was dragged over the dash-board 
 into the creek ; this accounts for the mud 3'ou see on us. 
 I fastened my horse to an alder, went into the creek and 
 detached n^ cow from the carriage and turned her loose 
 to eat as she choose and then went back for my dog, then 
 I unloaded the wagon and started for this place for some 
 thing to draw my wagon from the creek ; I came within a 
 mile of this place when I saw to nr}* right a man with two 
 horses camping. I went to him telling him in what a fix 
 I was, and wanted the use of two ropes about thirty feet 
 long. He had the ropes and I could have them, he would 
 hobble his horses and I need go no further. I took the 
 ropes and turned back ; this morning I made them fast to 
 the wagon and the hame tugs, then the horse dragged the 
 wagon from the creek, then I reloaded m3 r things and here 
 I am." "Stranger, we are glad to see 3 r ou, come in and 
 have a lunch, you must be faint b3 T this time." "I am, 
 and so are 1113' cattle." "Come in and get some refresh 
 ments, and when dinner-time comes around you will not 
 be so hungry." I went in and had a lunch with the stran 
 ger and soon became acquainted with many of them. 
 
WELLS. 149 
 
 "Take your cattle down to the stable and give them a 
 good dinner, I will go down with you. John, take this 
 horse and cow, give them all they will eat, hay and grain. 
 This man will give }~ou directions how to feed them. The}' 
 have come from California and have got still a longer 
 road before them." I went into the hotel and asked for a 
 pail in which to milk, the cow not having been milked 
 since the previous morning ; her bag is full and it must be 
 painful. I returned to the barn, milked and took the milk 
 to the hotel ; the pail was full, but the cow had not been 
 fully milked. I returned and finished milking and took 
 the remainder to the hotel, saying to the landlord, "What 
 do you thinfc of a cow that gives such a quantity of 
 milk, travelling more then twelve hundred miles?" "I 
 think she is a fine cow and I would like to buy her, but 
 suppose 3 r ou would not sell. I would not if I was in your 
 place. I would do the best to get her through. When 
 the train arrives from the west, take this milk to the de 
 pot and sell it, you can, at ten cents a pint." "Landlord, 
 I would like you to have it for your trouble." "Never 
 mind that, there must be fourteen quarts, it will make you 
 two dollars and seventy-five cents. I will find you a dish 
 that holds just a pint, fill it for ten cents, no one will ob 
 ject paying that price for milk." When the train arrived 
 they ran past the depot and backed on a siding opposite 
 the barn where my cattle were. My wagon was in sight 
 of the train. I went down with the milk and the con 
 ductor of the train said, "Well, friend traveller, you are 
 here, I thought you would be along about this time. I 
 have passed you man}" times, we all know you now, when 
 did you arrive?" "This morning, I intended to have been 
 here last evening, but did not. I have just milked the 
 cow, perhaps some of your passengers would like some, 
 call out to them." He did so, saying "Here is a man from 
 California, going East to Massachusetts, with horse, car 
 riage, cow and dog. There is the carriage and his cattle 
 
150 WELLS. 
 
 are in the barn ; he has just milked, who wants milk?" 
 The passengers flocked around, also many citizens. I 
 commenced pouring out the milk and was asked, "How 
 much for the dish-full?" '-Ten cents," I answered. It 
 was quickly sold. Having disposed of the milk, the pas 
 sengers asked me a thousand and one questions, which I 
 cheerfully answered. The conductor called all aboard, 
 and after the train had gone I found two dollars and sixt} 7 - 
 five cents, the result of the sale of the milk. At this 
 time the gong sounded for dinner and the landlord bade 
 me go in, I saying that the lunch had taken away my ap 
 petite. He said, "I am glad of that, you will not eat as 
 much." After dinner I inquired for a harness shop, and 
 was told there was one down street, two doors this side 
 the barn. I went to the shop taking my harness with me 
 and said that I wanted my harness repaired ; yesterday 
 my horse broke these tugs in two. "You must have been 
 in a tight place to break such good tugs," said the pro 
 prietor. "Sir, I will tell you a part of the story. It is 
 lengthy." I then told him of my mishap and said, "How 
 mnch are you going to charge me to splice them?" "I 
 will splice them for one dollar, as it is you ; if it were 
 any of my customers I should charge them one dollar and 
 fifty cents, but under the circumstances I will charge you 
 but one dollar." "Can you do them this afternoon, as I 
 wish to leave early to-morrow morning ?" He agreed to 
 do so, and late in the afternoon I called for the tugs, ask 
 ing "Have you spliced those tugs?" "I have, they are 
 much stronger than before." "If I mistake not, your 
 charge is one dollar?" "That was the price, but I have 
 concluded to do better than that, I will not charge you 
 anything ; you have come a long distance and have a 
 much longer one before you. I do not think you can ac 
 complish the undertaking." "Friend, I thank you for 
 this favor, I appreciate it ; my funds are almost exhausted 
 and I can have no more until reaching Ogden. My cow 
 
WELLS. 151 
 
 is doing finely, her milk helps me much. I sell it when 
 I can for money and when I cannot I exchange it for 
 something to eat. When I left Sacramento she was fresh 
 in milk, she is milked twice a day. I would use what I 
 can and carry the remainder, but it would go sour and I 
 should have to throw it away. I have done this many 
 times, so I have changed my milking time. For instance, 
 if I were at some ranche or station and could part with it, 
 I milked ; when away from a ranche or station I did njt 
 milk, but let the cow carry it, as it does not sour in the 
 bag. I have taken milk from the cow as many as five 
 times a day and have met tramps who have asked me "If 
 I had anything to eat?" "Yes, my bread is crackers, 
 3'ou can have some." I would then take out from my 
 wagon the lunch basket and hand out the crackers. 
 "Have you an}' meat?" "No, not a bit." If the tramp 
 was a fair sort of fellow I would milk the cow and give 
 it him with the crackers. This I have done many times ; 
 some have offered money, but as yet I have never taken a 
 cent. 
 
 Wells is situated on the Central Pacific Railroad, about 
 two hundred and twenty miles from Ogden. It is a smart, 
 lively, business town. Large amounts of freight are 
 brought here, left and taken by teams to the mountains 
 and mining camps. On entering the town from the west, 
 you travel up Main street ; on your left are the railroad 
 and station house ; on your right is a long block of build 
 ings, mostly brick. These buildings are mostly occupied 
 by stores, with many kinds of merchandise. Post Office, 
 express offices and a hotel with a livery stable. On the 
 side streets are blacksmith, carriage and harness shops. 
 
 On the morning of the 14th I left Wells. About eight 
 o'clock I reached Cedar station. This is simply an ac 
 commodation station for the drawers of wood ; on my 
 
152 MOORES STATION. 
 
 right there is cedar timber in abundance. So far my trail 
 has been good but hilly, the surrounding country r-11- 
 ing ; no more alkalic deserts for the present. Two miles 
 further I came to Moores station. This is a section 
 station, and I made a stop here to feed and water the 
 cattle. A lady frjm a house close by came out to me 
 saying, "You are travelling?" "Yes," I replied. "You 
 have a fine locking cow ; do you milk her?" she asked. 
 "I do ; she has not been milked this morning, would ycu 
 like s >me milk?" "Yes, indeed ; milk is a luxury here," 
 said the lady. "How much would you like ?" "I will 
 take a gallon; how much do you ask for a gallon?" 
 "Fifty cents a gallon to the stations, when I sell to pas 
 sengers on the trains I ask more." "Fifty cents a gallon 
 is what I pay when I can get it ; I will take a gallon," 
 said the lady. I sat down and milked my can full, which 
 holds just a gallon. She paid me for the milk and said, 
 "If you come this way again, please call if you have your 
 cow with y u, I will take some more milk of you. Good 
 bye," she said as we parted. At Wells I was informed 
 that at Independence I should find grass in abundance. 
 On our arrival I found some grass, but more cattle than 
 grass. There was a large meadow fenced with wire and 
 when we came to this fence I stopped ; the trail had been 
 fenced in. I turned sharp to my right and crossed the 
 railroad, going on until we came to a small creek ; before 
 crossing I looked around and saw a herd of cattle rushing 
 after me and we were soon surrounded by them. I should 
 think there were seventy-five of them. I was a little 
 frightened, so was the cow, but the horse was not. I 
 took the dog out of the wagon and set it at the cattle, 
 which made them scamper away. Then I crossed the 
 creek over a plank bridge and followed the trail, in fact, 
 the road, as money had evidently been expended on it. 
 I went on leaving the railroad on my left, and in front a 
 high bluff or mountain range. I saw that I was leaving 
 
CABIN RANCHE. 153 
 
 the railroad to my left, and supposed the track was 
 obliged to g.> round the other side of this mountain and 
 my trail would come on it again, so continued onward. 
 The sun was fast going down. I crowded along as the 
 day was getting darker and I could see no houses, but to 
 my right there w r as a light. I think the horse saw this, 
 for as soon as the horse came to the trail she took it, and 
 after travelling about forty rods we came to a log-cabin. 
 Two men were standing in front, to whom I said, "Good 
 evening, gentlemen." "Good evening, stranger." "I 
 am travelling East ; am I on my right road to Ferrice ?" 
 "You are not ; you are from the west, I suppose, as you 
 answer to the description of the man that is travelling 
 from California to Massachusetts. When you were at 
 the creek near the railroad you should have taken the 
 trail to the depot, this side of the bridge." "Must I 
 turn back?" "Yes, you will have to return to the depot." 
 "Can I stay here to-night; I see ycu have hay and I 
 would like some for my cattle?" "Yes, you can have all 
 the hay } T OU wish and I will not charge you a cent." "I 
 carry grain, and when n^t able to find grass or haj^, I fall 
 back on grain." "There is the hay, help yourself to what 
 you want ; down there a few rods, you will find water, 
 and good at that." Taking my basket to the cabin I 
 asked permission to make some coffee. "Yes, if you 
 like, but, stranger, 3*011 can take s )me supper with me." 
 "Thank you, I have plenty to eat, as I carry tea, coffee, 
 sugar and milk." I see you have a fine looking co\v, does 
 she give milk?" "She does, I will milk her and you can 
 have the milk, it may be a luxury to you." 
 
 At five o'clock on the morning of the 15th I left Cabin 
 Ranche for a return to Independence station. My taking 
 the wrong trail had made fourteen miles of extra travel. 
 About half-past seven I reached the station and rested a 
 short time, giving water to the cattle and then went on. 
 
154 MONTICELLO. 
 
 At half- past ten I made Otego station, giving grain and 
 water to the cattle and preparing a lunch for nryself, and 
 after resting one hour went on. My trail was not as good 
 as usual, hilly and rough. At two in the afternoon we 
 passed Pequoy station, but did not stop until I reached 
 Toano station. Here I stopped for a feed, making a fire 
 I made some coffee, it tasted good and was refreshing. I 
 spread my blankets and laid down for a while. There 
 was a good moon, so I concluded to travel a while longer, 
 and broke camp at eight o'clock and went on. My trail 
 had improved, it was not so hilly, but sand} 7 . About half- 
 past ten o'clock p. m., we reached Loray station and pas 
 sed through without stopping. A little after midnight the 
 express train from the west passed and at two o'clock the 
 express from the east. I had almost reached Monticello 
 station. On making this place a little later I stopped, all 
 of us being very tired. I hitched the horse to a tele 
 graph pole, spread my blankets and laid down on them, 
 being very tired I was soon slumbering. 
 
 On the morning of the 16th I was awakened about five 
 o'clock by a passing train and got up, the sun had not 
 yet risen, but I thought it was late. I am a great talker 
 to my cattle, having no one else to speak to, and said, 
 "Well, Fanny, how arc you this morning ; you must want 
 some water about this time ?" I fed them with grain and 
 gave them water, greased the wagon and went onwards. 
 At nine o'clock we reached Tecoma station ; this is a tele 
 graph station. On entering the town, on my right I saw 
 a stack of hay and I drove along side of it giving the 
 cattle a chance to eat, which they did right smart. After 
 a little while a Chinaman came along, saj'ing nothing and 
 passed on. Soon he returned with another Chinaman and 
 on coming up to me said, "Your cattle eat my hay." I 
 took from my pocket a dime and gave it to him ; he took 
 it seeming much pleased. I then told them I was from 
 
TECOMA. 155 
 
 California. "Yah, you from California?" u Yes, I am 
 from California and going to Massachusetts." "Yah, 
 here take dis money, you go to Massachusetts." "Keep 
 it," I said. "No, no-keepee, you go to Massachusetts," 
 said the Chinaman. When the morning freight train 
 from the East arrived, about half-past four o'clock, three 
 tramps were ejected from the train, having stolen a ride 
 from Kelton ; they were about twenty years of age and 
 rough appearing fellows. They had been prowling around 
 some four or five hours, came where I was camping and 
 began asking questions quite familiarly. They said they 
 were from the east, and I asked them what part of the 
 East? "From St. Louis," they answered. "Where are 
 you going?" "To "California." "How long have you 
 been on the road?" "About a month ; will you give us 
 something to eat, we are hungry?" "Have you no 
 money?" "Not a cent." "And going to California with 
 out any money. You will be hungry all the way." "We 
 have had no money since we left Ogden." "Where did 
 you get on the cars last night?" " We got on at Kelton 
 and rode to this place, when we were put off." I got my 
 lunch basket and a four quart measure that I use to 
 measure out the feed for my cattle, I filled the measure 
 with crackers and got a can of salmon, having two, milked 
 the cow until I had about four quarts and gave them to 
 them saying, "Here, boys, is your milk, salmon and crack 
 ers, it is the best I can do for }'ou." "This is more than 
 we asked and hope we shall do as well to-morrow." 
 While they were eating I got ready and started, leaving 
 them eating their breakfast. I went to the depot for a 
 sack of grain, but having forgot to take my milk can, I 
 went back for it, saying, "Well, boys, how do you make 
 out?" "First rate, you are every inch a man ; we wish 
 we could meet you every day." "Have you drank all 
 the milk?" "Yes, long ago." I got the can from them 
 and started for Terrace, it was just half-past ten o'clock. 
 
156 BOVINE. 
 
 It has been 1113" custom to follow the railroad as close as I 
 could, so that should I become sick or disabled I could 
 have ready access to the railroad, This custom I have 
 generally adhered to. I have often been told that the old 
 emigrant trail was always the best, and now I am advised 
 to keep the old trail to Terrace, and on leaving this 
 station there is but one trail for some distance. I took 
 this trail, travelling with the railroad to rny right, until 
 about one o'clock in the afternoon when I came to some 
 grass, known as bunch grass. This grass grows in 
 bunches, some as large as a bog. The small bunches 
 look beautiful, on the alkalic plains and among the sage 
 bushes. I stopped here, taking the horse from the car 
 riage, removed her harness and turned her loose, and the 
 cow also. This they enjoyed for about an hour and at 
 two o'clock we resumed our journey. In front of us was 
 a mountain, a noble looking fellow. It appeared to be 
 about five miles away, yet it might be twenty-five. We 
 went on, the railroad was out of sight, I could not see a 
 telegraph pole and began to feel uneasy, and wished I 
 had taken the other trail. The more I thought, the more 
 foolish I felt and concluded to change my course. All 
 around me was a flat surface ; the sage bushes were quite 
 thin and scattering, and I was bound to find the railroad 
 that I had left to my right. I had been travelling east by 
 the sun. I then struck out on a south-east line and con 
 tinued on that course for two hours ; the sun almost 
 down and no railroad in sight. I changed my course to 
 the right and just as the sun was dropping out of sight I 
 came to the railroad. I then changed my course to the 
 left and came on the railroad trail near to Bovine station, 
 which I soon reached. It had got dark and cloudy, no 
 moon to be seen. My lantern was minus oil, I having 
 neglected to fill it. I poured some oil on the ground and 
 set it on fire, then I filled the lantern by its light. Having 
 a light, I then saw a house close by and went to it, to 
 
BOVINE. 157 
 
 ascertain if I could get water. I knocked at the door 
 and a voice asked, "Who is there?" "Madam, I am a 
 stranger and have come a long distance ; I have a horse 
 and cow and would like some water for them, they have 
 not tasted since morning. I want some good, I dare not 
 give them alkalic water. All the way from Wadsworth I 
 filled my cans from the cisterns at the stations." "Where 
 have you come from?" asked the lady. "I have come 
 from California, am going East to Massachusetts, which 
 is my home." ik l dare not let you in, my husband has 
 not yet come home, he will be here soon." "I do not 
 care to come in, all I want is water for the cattle." I had 
 to wait. I went back to the camp and gave the cattle 
 some grain and got ready to go to bed ; as I was about 
 to retire the freight train from the west passed by. I 
 made my cattle fast to their post, went to bed and soon 
 fell asleep. About one a. m., I was awakened by a pass 
 ing train, which came to a dead stop. Two men got off 
 the train and went to the house. Soon after these men 
 came to where I lay ; my lantern was hanging on the hub 
 of the wheel, burning. I called out, "Halt! advance and 
 give the counter-sign." They stopped, right short. "We 
 have just got off the train and went into the house where 
 we belong. I am boss of repairs. My wife said there 
 was a man on the other side of the railroad, with a horse, 
 carriage, cow and dog from California, going East, to 
 Massachusetts; is that so?" "It is, I told her every 
 word of it." "Is that true?" "It is true ; I have come 
 from California and it is my intention to go East, to Mas 
 sachusetts." "Stranger, come into the house and take a 
 bed, you shall be welcome." "Friend, I thank you ; I 
 never have left my cattle alone over night. All times, 
 day and night, I am with them. I do not intend to have 
 any one take my horse or cow without my knowledge." 
 "Your cattle will be safe here." "Perhaps they would, 
 but I do not intend to take any chances. Friend, my 
 
158 TERRACE. 
 
 cow ought to be milked, she has not been milked since 
 yesterday morning, she will be more comfortable ; you. 
 get me something to milk in and }'ou can have it." He 
 went for a pail and I filled it, about four quarts. He took 
 the milk into the house and gave it to the lady. "Stran 
 ger, there will be a train from the west soon, is your 
 horse afraid of the cars?" "No, not the least, but the 
 cow is." "Well, stranger, if you will not come in and 
 sleep, we shall have to leave you for the night. Good 
 night." 
 
 Bovine station I left early on the morning of the 17th, 
 for Terrace. It was a dark, cloudy morning, looking as 
 though it would rain at any moment, and should it rain 
 there was no place for shelter. I said U myself, the next 
 station is eleven miles ; I must make it, rain or no rain. 
 At half-past five I moved on, and at half-past six I heard 
 thunder ; it was dark, too dark for that time in the morn 
 ing, so I crowded along as fast as possible ; remember it 
 is all walk. Again I heard thunder and kept talking to 
 my horse, saying "Go on, Fanny." I was sure we were 
 going to have something terrible ; it was something new 
 to have rain, I had seen nothing like it. To my right I 
 could see a long distance, many miles ; so flat was the 
 surface. After having made about five miles, I saw to 
 my right a very d;irk cloud, a black cloud. Thunder and 
 lightning were more frequent and such streaks of light 
 ning and thunder I never before witnessed. I stopped 
 and made things on my wagon as fast as I could, put on 
 my rubber coat and went as fast as I could. Every streak 
 of lightning went to the ground, the thunder was terrible. 
 It seemed to me, as if it had got out of patience with the 
 lightning and was bound to smash things generally. 
 The rain came but it was of short duration ; then followed 
 hail, as large as hen's eggs and it fell with great force, 
 striking on the head of the horse. I stepped back to the 
 
TERRACE. 159 
 
 wagon, pulled out a sack and threw it over the horse's 
 head. Here I stopped for the storm to pass over. The 
 cloud passed on and left behind it hailstones to the depth 
 of four or six inches. This made it fine travelling on al- 
 kalic soil. I had about six miles to go so we went on. 
 It took me three hours to travel that distance, less than 
 two miles to the hour. On my arrival in Terrace I was 
 informed that it was the severest storm ever known there. 
 
 Terrace is situated on the Central Pacific Railroad, 
 about one hundred and twenty-five miles from Ogden. It 
 is a station of the first-class ; here the railroad has a ma 
 chine shop for the repairs of the rolling stock, which gives 
 employment to many hands ; this makes it a stirring 
 town. You enter the town from the west on its Main 
 street ; on the right are the machine shops and a little 
 further is the station ; on your left, there is a long block 
 of buildings in which all kinds of business is carried on ; 
 a post office, several stores, saloons and many boarding- 
 houses. 
 
 On the morning of the 19th I lelt Terrace for Kelton. 
 It was six o'clock when I started ; the morning was cold 
 and cloudy and I hesitated about starting, but being 
 anxious to reach Ogden, I went on. I was told after 
 travelling a mile to cross the railroad, as the trail on the 
 south side was the best for travelling. My trail was any 
 thing but good. Having made the first mile and could 
 see no crossing I stopped and looked for it. but found 
 none. I carry four pieces of wood, two by four feet long. 
 This timber I put on the side of the rails so that my car 
 riage wheels would run over the rails without straining 
 my wagon. At first-class stations there is timber laid for 
 the crossings. I looked around for a suitable place to 
 cross and found a good one ; I laid my timbers and cros 
 sed the track and struck a good road and went on with 
 
160 MATLIN. 
 
 good cheer. About noon I made Matlin station and stop 
 ped, gave my cattle a feed and went to the station. Here 
 I found a man sitting reading a newspaper beside a 
 stove ; I passed the compliments of the day with him, 
 and said "I am travelling East to Ogden, will you give 
 me the privilege of making some coffee on your stove ?" 
 "Oh, 3*es ; with pleasure." I made some coffee, boiled 
 some eggs and ate nry dinner. "You say you are travel, 
 ling, how far have you come?" "I have come a long 
 distance ; from California." "What part of California?" 
 "The north-western part, three hundred miles north of 
 San Francisco, Eureka city, Humboldt Bay." "I know 
 where that is. It is a large lumbering place, and you 
 have come all that distance, with that horse and cow?" 
 "Yes, sir; I have." "Which way did you come?" 
 "There is only one way to come with a team ; the over 
 land road to the cit}*- of San Francisco, through Humboldt 
 and Mendocino counties, through Ukiah to Cloverdale ; 
 which is the terminus of the North Pacific Railroad." 
 "When I went there it was by the steamer Humboldt, and 
 you have come all that distance. Well, well ; you are a 
 brick, well-burned; you say you are going to Ogden?" 
 "Yes, sir ; but I do not intend to stop there long ; to be 
 short, I am on my way to Massachusetts." "Is Massa 
 chusetts j'our native State?" "It is not, but it is ni}* 
 home. I went from Massachusetts to California and I 
 am now on my way back." "Well, well ; I am from 
 Maine. I went from Maine to California to work on the 
 lumber, but did not like California, so I concluded to re 
 turn home, to Maine. I became acquainted with a man 
 that was going to Terrace to work and I came with him, 
 and here I am instead of Maine. Do you honestly think 
 you can get your horse, carriage, cow and dog in this way 
 to Massachusetts?" "Yes, I honestly think I can." 
 "Well, I hope you can, but it is a big thing ; you will find 
 it so before you get there." "I am aware of it ; by the 
 
OMBEY. 
 
 161 
 
 time I get there I shall have travelled four thousand 
 miles. But, friend, I must leave you.'* I returned to 
 my cattle and found that the horse had not eaten her 
 grain, so I gave it to the cow and she soon ate it up. It 
 was now almost raining, there being a heavy, cold mist. 
 No sheds being nigh in which to shelter, I go on to 
 Ombey, which is ten miles further. Travelling on until 
 about five o'clock, I came to some grass ; here I stopped 
 and allowed the horse and cow to have their fill of it, and 
 the} r seemed to relish it well. "Well, Fanny ; we must 
 make the next station, Ombey." We moved on and 
 reached there about half-past six. This is a section 
 station, a house for the boss and a shanty for his China 
 men assistants. I went to the house and in answer to 
 my call, a man came to the door asking, "What do } T OU 
 want, stranger?" I answered, "I am travelling with a 
 horse and carriage and have come a long distance, as far 
 as from California, and have led a cow that distance ; to 
 day I have come from Terrace. It has been a hard day 
 for nvy horse and she is not feeling well, having refused 
 her dinner at Matlin. Now, friend, what can you do for 
 my cattle and me?" "I have no shed or wood-house for 
 your cattle, but I can find a place for you." "Friend, 
 you have got what I want some distance back, that would 
 suit me." "What is that?" "It is your hand-car shed." 
 "I never thought of that, you can use it for your horse 
 and cow." This hand-car house was but a short distance 
 from the boss of repairs house. He went with me and 
 ran out the hand-car and put in my carriage, horse and 
 cow. "Friend, I am all right now ; will } T OU give me some 
 thing to milk in, and I will give you the milk?" The lad} r 
 of the house handed me a pail in which I milked and filled 
 it full, and gave it to the lady. By this time the lady had 
 made some coffee expressly for me. I carried in my 
 lunch basket, but it was not needed, as she had provided 
 plenty of eatables. After supper many questions were 
 
162 K ELTON. 
 
 asked, such as where I was from, where going, how long 
 had I been on the road, and whether or no I would ever 
 make Massachusetts. "Friends, I am tired and would 
 like to retire ; if you will go with me to the shed you may 
 1 :ck me in, but must let me out in the morning." "You 
 may stay in the house if you wish." "I prefer to sleep 
 with my cattle ; I have done so every night since I left 
 California." We went to the shed, found all right and 
 ^he cattle seemed satisfied with their quarters. I gave them 
 water and grain, made up my bed and laid down f or the 
 night; the stranger saying as he left me, "I think it is 
 best not to lock you in ; should anything happen, you will 
 be able to get out and let us know." "Very well, per 
 haps that would be the best ; good night." My thoughts 
 of accidents troubled me until the trains which meet at 
 this station had passed, then I slept soundly the rest of 
 the night, 
 
 On the morning of the 20th I was up as usual getting 
 ready t) move onward. I gave the animals their break 
 fast and was greasing the wheels of my wagon when my 
 friend of the station came along. "Well, stranger, I see 
 you are making ready to go on ; how did you sleep last 
 night?" "Well, the first part I slept with my eyes open, 
 and the latter much better with them closed, the trains 
 having passed." "Our breakfast is about ready, come in 
 and have a dish of hot coffee. It takes milk to make 
 good coffee, I find." "Yes, it improves it very much." 
 I went and took breakfast with them, and as I was leav 
 ing said to them, "Friends, I feel very grateful to you 
 for the kindness to me. I am sure, could my cattle 
 speak, they would also ; good morning." "Good morn 
 ing," was answered. "Take the first right trail after 
 crossing the railroad, it is the best and the nearest." It 
 is just six o'clock as we move on another stage of our 
 journey. After crossing the railroad I left the road to my 
 
KELTON. 163 
 
 left, my trail taking me down into the canyon, while the 
 railroad went around, both coming together again before 
 reaching Kelton, which place I reached at eleven o'clock. 
 I drove down to the stock yards and asked the proprietor 
 if he would sell me some hay to bait my horse and cow. 
 "Lead your cattle into the yard and we will feed them on 
 ha} r ." "How much will you ask me?" "Fifty cents a 
 head." "Will }-ou sell me some to take outside of the 
 yard?" "No, not a pound," I went down town, coming 
 to a small barn. I stopped and went into the barn and 
 heard some one say, "Whoa, Fanny, whoa." On look 
 ing around I saw a lady putting a saddle on a horse and 
 I said to her, "Madam, I have just come into town and 
 stopped back at the stock-yards to see if I could buy 
 some hay for my cattle ; I have a horse and cow. I am 
 a traveller, I have come a long distance and still have a 
 longer distance before me/' "Where are your cattle?" 
 "Outside the barn." She stepped out, saw them and 
 said, "You have a fme looking cow; where have you 
 come from?" "I have come from California." "Not 
 with that horse and cow?" "Yes, I have." "Drive to 
 the barn, take the horse out of the carriage and lead "her 
 into that stall, put the cow into the next and give them all 
 the hay they wish ; there is grain, help yourself," said the 
 lady. I did as told. "How long do you intend to stay?" 
 she asked. "I would like to stop over until to-morrow 
 morning. The cow gives milk, but she has not been 
 milked since last night." "I would like the milk, I keep 
 an eating-house on Main street ; I will get a pail for the 
 milk," she said. She brought me the pail, I milked and 
 gave it to her, when she said, "This is a fine mess and a 
 large quantity of milk. I would like that cow ; come in 
 and have some dinner." I took dinner with the lady and 
 as we were about to leave the table, a gentleman came in 
 and sat down to dinner. The lady said, "This is my 
 husband, stranger. This man says he has travelled from 
 
164 KELTON. 
 
 California to this place with a horse, carriage, cow and 
 dog, and is going East, to Massachusetts." "Then you 
 are the man I read of in some Western papers ?" he said . 
 U I am, sir." "You are a gritty fellow to undertake such 
 a journey. There is not a young man that dares do as 
 much/' "His cattle are in our barn, go and lo^k at them 
 after dinner." "I will, wife." He went t) the barn and 
 looked my cattle over, saying "He has got a fine looking 
 cow and a good one." "John, look in this pail and see 
 what a large mess of milk he has taken from her," said 
 the lady. The husband left, but as he went out he told 
 everybody that I had arrived, and the people came to see 
 me. The landlord said to a friend, "Bill, the man from 
 California has got along with his horse and cow ; they arc 
 in my stable, come and look at them; my wife thinks 
 everything of the cow." They came. "Well, stranger, 
 you have a fine horse here." "Yes she is a Morgan 
 mare." "I see she is. Where is the cow?" "Here she 
 is." "She is a daisy ; handsome and beautifully marked. 
 Have you come from California with this horse and cow?" 
 "I have, sir." "You are a brick, well burned. If you suc 
 ceed in this enterprise we will run you for next president." 
 "Over the left. Landlord, where shall I find a black 
 smith to repair my carriage?'' "I will go with you and 
 introduce you to the blacksmith." We went t > the black 
 smith's shop, the landlord saying, "Jack, this man wants 
 some work done on his carriage. He has come a long 
 distance ; in fact he is the man we read of in the papers 
 who is travelling from California to Massachusetts. His 
 h rse and cow are now in my barn ; what you do for him 
 remember to do it well and cheap." "Yes, I will remem 
 ber ; where is your carriage?" "Over at the stable, let 
 us go and look at it." We went back to the stable and 
 the blacksmith examined the carriage and found that a 
 bolt would make all right, so he went back and got a bolt 
 and put it in its place ; when the j b was done I asked him 
 
KELTON. 165 
 
 / i O / 
 
 A man travelling as you arei should be kept in 
 ling condition." "Thank you, sir; I will re- 
 
 4 'How much shall I pay you ?" The blacksmith answered, 
 "I have done as John wished me. I have put in a good 
 bolt, it is well done, and for cheapness I will charge you 
 nothing, 
 g od running 
 
 member you in my last will and testament." "You have 
 a good looking horse, and I think she is as good as she 
 locks. The cow is a beauty ; it is wonderful that she has 
 stood the j)urney so well. I should suppose that she 
 would have worn out her feet several times." "You see 
 she travels on iron." "Oh, I see, she has on shoes made 
 of iron. You are all right." 
 
 Kelton is a first-class station, about ninety miles from 
 Ogden. It is the most northerly on the Central Pacific 
 Railroad. Large amounts of freight are brought and left 
 at this station, then carried by teams to the mountains 
 around, Idaho city, Bois city, Albion, and other places. 
 
 On the morning of the 21st, I was up us usual, that is, 
 early, getting ready to leave. I was strongly urged to 
 stay and get breakfast before starting. Having been well 
 cared for I could but stop ; a good breakfast was at my 
 disposal. While getting my breakfast I inquired for the 
 lady of the house, when soon she came. I bade her good 
 morning and said, "I am about t3 leave you and thought 
 I would like to bid you good-bye." "Why need you start 
 so early?" she said. "It is my custom; if I make an 
 early start I can make a l^ng or short day as I chqse. I 
 am informed that I shall have many sloughs to get 
 through.* some of them are deep and will be troublesome 
 to get through." "Yes, I am afraid you will, and bad to 
 get over, the rain we had a day or two ag > made the mar 
 shes bad. I suppose it will be cf no use to offer you any 
 more than I have already done for }*our cow?" "Madam, 
 you have already offered me more than she is worth. I 
 
166 KELTON. 
 
 have been told many times that I could not get her East. 
 At all times I have thought to the contrary, and it is my 
 desire to give it a fair trial. The cow has not been 
 milked this morning, but I intend tcf, give me a pail and 
 I will milk her. I milked and gave the lady the milking, 
 saying, "My dear friend, this is all I can do. I have but 
 one dollar ; that is all the money I possess. I have as 
 much grain as will last me to C <rinne. Then I can get a 
 sack and have as much as will pay for the same." "Stran 
 ger, your cow has paid your bill and more. Here is a 
 lunch for the day," she answered. "Thank you, good 
 morning." "Good morning, I hope you will get along 
 all right." 
 
 It was just six o'clock as we left Kelton and on 
 passing the blacksmith's shop he called out to me, 
 "Here, friend traveller, is something you will need after 
 crossing the sloughs. It's worth all I ask. You can not 
 travel until you get rid of the mud ; you will know more 
 after you have crossed one." "What do you ask for it?" 
 "Oh, I sell cheap. It will be nothing to you, that is 
 cheap enough." After thanking him I moved on, soon 
 coming to one of these sloughs. These sloughs are fiat 
 or level pieces of land, of from forty to one hundred rods 
 in length, composed of sand, mixed with salt and alkali. 
 When rain falls on this soil, it becomes soft like mortar, 
 for plastering. It is not deep, from one to three inches, 
 but its adhesion to the boots, wheels or feet of animals is 
 very strong. I drove on to this slough, "mud we will call 
 it. As I walked through, my feet seemed to double in 
 size ; so did the horses and cows, and the rims of my 
 wheels became very thick and clumsy. It does not fall 
 off as ordinary mud will ; it hangs like a load-stone until 
 you scrape it off with some instrument ; the blacksmith 
 had given me the right kind of an instrument, it was 
 nothing more pi less than a shovel ; the blade was two 
 
LAKE STATION. 167 
 
 inches wide, three inches deep, and about one-eighth of an 
 inch thick and about one foot long. After crossing one 
 of these sloughs, I would have a half mile or more of 
 g >od road before coming to another. After passing 
 through one, I would clean off the mud from rny boots, 
 the horse's and cow's shoes and from the rims of my 
 wheels, but with the latter I was not so particular. I 
 found it best to remove the mud at once before it became 
 dry, as it hardened as quick as cement. In travelling 
 about seven miles I crossed five of these sloughs. At 
 noon I stopped, giving my cattle water, and grain and 
 took a bite nryself. About half-past one we passed Mon 
 ument station, making no stop, and about four o'clock I 
 made Lake station, or the salt works. Here I stopped 
 and then went to the Lake. This lake is the most north 
 ern part of the big Salt Lake ; from the railroad to the 
 lake is not more than forty rods. At this point of the 
 lake the water is very dark and blue and very strong of 
 salt ; seventy-five per cent, stronger than the Pacific 
 Ocean. Here I was advised to leave the railroad and 
 take the old emigrant trail, which would bring me out on 
 the railroad near to Promontory ; both Royal and Pro 
 montory will be left on the right. Should I continue on 
 the railroad trail I would encounter many sloughs. I was 
 told that two days ago, two teams attempted to come 
 througli on this trail, and one of the wagons had to be 
 left in one of these sloughs. Crossing the railroa^ I took 
 the left trail as advised, and coming to a small creek I 
 stopped. I took my pail and filled it with water, I tested 
 it and found it of a salty taste and hesitated about giving 
 it to my cattle, not knowing what its effects might be on 
 them ; both were thirst}^, so I gave them a drink of it 
 and moved on passing Salt Springs. It was not yet time 
 to go into camp, so we continued further. In front of 
 me there was a tall mountain. My trail had been good 
 and still was excellent, could not desire better ; but what 
 
168 MOUNTAIN. 
 
 would be next I could not tell. I went on and soon 
 came to another trail leading to my right ; this is the old 
 emigrant trail from Ogden to Corinne, Kelton, Terrace, 
 Wells and on to California. The mountain which was in 
 front) is now on my left, soon there will be one on my 
 right, and then I shall be between two mountains ; this is 
 known as the divide. From the west to these mountains 
 the ascent is sharp and heav T 3 T ; from the east the ascension 
 is not so sharp, but it is long. From the west to reach 
 the summit^ is two miles, but from the east it is nine 
 miles, showing plainly the difference in the grade from the 
 East to the West. When I reached the summit it was 
 quite dark, so we went into camp 4 making the horse fast 
 to the right rear wheel and the cow opposite, I gave them 
 some grain, made up my bed and laid down, but sleep 
 there was none for me,* it appeared the longest night on 
 my whole journey. 
 
 On the morning of the 22nd I was up before there was 
 any light in the east, and waited anxiously for its appear 
 ance so that I could move on. I got up and gave the 
 cattle their grain, but the}' would not eat it as they were 
 so thirsty ; the salt water I had given them was the cause. 
 Soon I saw a light in the sky, which I thought was in the 
 south, but which I found came from the east. I was 
 anxious to move on to get rid of the noise and the pres 
 ence of the wolves, which had been ar umd us all night. 
 Not being able to get any wood for a fire I was obliged to 
 keep my lantern burning ; but that was not enough, they 
 were so bold. My dog I kept tied up that he might not 
 go for them ; once I came very near losing him by setting 
 him on a coyotte. This animal turned on him and I had 
 to go to his rescue to save him ; since then I have 
 chained the dog at night. The lantern alone not being 
 enough to keep the wolves awaj-, I poured oil on the 
 ground and set it on fire and used about three quarts ; I 
 
BLUE CREEK. 169 
 
 have often done this before. It having now grown light 
 I moved on, leaving my camp about five o'clock. My 
 road was a down grade and about six o'clock, just as the 
 sun wag' coming up, I saw to my left a herd of horses 
 some distance away. Grass was in abundance on either 
 side, so I thought I would stop and give the cattle a 
 chance to eat it, but changed my mind and went on. 
 They were so thirsty that I thought they would not eat 
 enough to do them any good, as it was water they wanted 
 and must have. I urged them on and travelled now at a 
 gait of three miles an hour, and at eight o'clock we came 
 in sight of the railroad. I was glad of it and I think my 
 cattle were also ; I have an idea that they knew some 
 things as well as I did, "and don't you forget it." Soon 
 I was on the railroad trail that I had left at Lake station. 
 On my left is a mountain ; the old trail goes over it, the 
 railroad trail runs around it with the track. From this 
 point over the mountain to Blue Creek, is three miles ; 
 from the same point by Blue Creek station, by railroad is 
 fourteen miles ; by crossing the mountain I save eleven 
 miles. This is one of the instances where many miles 
 might have been saved, if I had not determined to follow 
 the railroad where possible, and which I have done most 
 of the way. 
 
 I am now at Blue Creek station. Here I have access 
 to water, taken and brought by rail from Bear river to 
 this station. My first care was to water my cattle as 
 they have had none since yesterday morning, except the 
 little salt water I gave them. I gave each two pails at 
 once and after a little while gave them two more and then 
 their grain, but they wanted more water, so I again gave 
 them two pails each ; this appeared to satisfy them. 
 
 Blue Creek is a telegraph station, in charge of a Mrs. 
 Nichols and son, formerly of Vermont. She is a lady in 
 
170 BLUE CREEK. 
 
 its true sense. After making m} r self known, she seemed 
 quite anxious to do all possible for our convenience. She 
 asked me many questions, which took up some time, then 
 she said, "Stranger, I am going to get dinner ready. I 
 am out of most everything that makes a good dinner, but 
 will do the best I can." "Madam, I see you have some 
 fine looking peaches, I have not tested them, but their 
 looks I admire. Now, let me make a suggestion ; I have 
 a cow that has given me milk ever since I left Eureka and 
 she has not been milked to-day. Have you ice? I will 
 go and milk her. Now, what I want, is some of those 
 peaches and milk, simple and good ; madam, what have 
 you to say?" "Well, stranger, your milk I think much 
 of; it will be a luxury to me and my son, all the milk we 
 get comes from the city. Now, can I not get something 
 you would like better?" "I don't think you can; I 
 really would like some of those peaches in milk. There 
 is another point, I cannot st >p long, I must make Corinne 
 to-night; what is the distance?" "To Corinne is seven 
 teen miles." "It will take me seven hours to make that 
 distance ; it is now half-past eleven o'clock. If we start 
 from here at one, we shall get there about seven or half- 
 past." "Well, bread and milk it shall be," said the lady. 
 "I would rather call it peaches and milk it shall be." "It 
 won't take long to get that dinner," she answered. "That 
 will suit me better ; the dish of peaches and milk takes 
 the place of meat. If you have something that would be 
 good to come after, bring it on, we will look at it quickly." 
 While she was getting it ready, I gave my cattle some 
 more grain, so that we all would be read} 7 to move at one. 
 The dinner was soon ready and we sat down to a dinner 
 that I shall long remember. At one o'clock I bade the 
 lady good-bye, thanking her for the hospitality I had re 
 ceived. I kept on the old trail, following it for some four 
 miles. I found that this trail went to Corinne, but it was 
 going to make twenty- fiv^ miles more of travel, so I at 
 
CORINNE. 171 
 
 once left this trail and struck across to the railroad trail 
 coming to Quarry station. From this place to Corinnc 
 was a good road all the way, and we reached Corinne 
 about dark. A little distance off I saw a man with a lan 
 tern go into a barn, and I went for him as he was coming 
 out and said, "Good evening. Friend, I have just ar 
 rived in town, 1 1 have a horse and cow and wish to stop 
 for the night ; I would like some hay for my cattle* can 
 you accommodate me, sir?" "I have hay; stranger, 
 which way are }'ou travelling, sir?" "I am travelling 
 East." "Travelling East, sir," he repeated and then 
 stepped out t > where my cattle was. "You say you have 
 come from the west, sir. What part of the west?" 
 "From California." "What, with that horse, carriage 
 and cow ; you must be the man I read about in a western, 
 paper, who is going East?" "Yes, sir; I think I am. 
 The papers are ahead of me." "Lead your horse up to 
 the barn, take her from the carriage, remove the harness 
 and put her in that stall ; the cow, what shall we do with 
 her?" "She will stand beside the horse'she knows her 
 very well." "Well, put the cow beside the horse and 
 give them all the hay they will eat ; grain, do they know 
 what it is?" "Yes, |ir ; they have had grain every day 
 since I left home." "Home! where is your home?" 
 "My home is in Massachusetts ; when I said home, I 
 meant where I started from." "What part of California 
 did y^u start ftvm, sir?" "From the northern part, 
 Eureka city, Humboldt Bay." "That is a long distance ; 
 more than a thousand miles." "Yes, sir; more than 
 three hundred north of San Francisco." "Well, sir; 
 you have done well, but } r ou have not gone half the way 
 yet." "No, sir ; not more than a quarter." "Come into 
 the house and get something to eat^our cattle are doing 
 well." We went into the house, my host saying, "Wife, 
 here is a man that has travelled more than thirteen hun 
 dred miles, with a horse and carriage, and leading a cow 
 
172 CORINNE. 
 
 all that distance. This is the man we read of in the 
 papers coming from California to Massachusetts. I have 
 just put his cattle in the barn and they are feeding 
 on hay, and I asked him in to get something to eat ; what 
 have 3 T ou g t that is good for him? I think he is worthy 
 of something good." "I can give him such as we have 
 had for supper." "Can't you do a little better? I do not 
 think we shall ever put up another man that has travel 
 led that distance with a single horse, carriage and leading 
 a cow. No, I think this is the last man, I am sure he is 
 the first. Go on, and what you omit to-night, make up 
 in the morning." "You are right, sir; madam, do not 
 trouble } T ourself in the least." "Stranger, sit up to the 
 table and take a lunch ; to-morrow morning we will have 
 something to make up for this." After supper I went 
 back to the barn and gave the cattle more hay and some 
 grain. Then I did not recollect having loosened my dog, 
 so I went and got him and returned back to the house. 
 The wife then asked, "Has that dog too, come all that 
 way?" "He has," I answered. "Oh, you little beauty, 
 you shall have some supper." "Well, stranger, there are 
 many questions I would like to ask 3'ou, but you must be 
 weary; how far have you come to-day?" "I do not 
 know the distance ; yesterday I left Kelt"n, taking the 
 railroad trail as far as Lake station. Then I left the rail 
 road trail, following the left trail over the mountains, or 
 divide, coming back into the old trail and on reaching the 
 summit I camped there." "Have J T OII come from there 
 to-day?" "I have." "You have travelled thirty miles ; 
 wife, think of that ! Thirty miles that cow has travelled 
 in one day." "I travel two and a half miles to the hour, 
 day or night. If I travel ten hours, I make twent} T -five 
 miles ; I left Blue Creek at one o'clock and have come 
 seventeen miles since that time. It is not a hard pull but 
 a steady one; how far is it to Ogden?" "Thirty-five 
 miles." "To-morrow I will make there,*it is a good road 
 
CORINNE. 173 
 
 I suppose?" "Yes, it is a good r;:ad. We Mormons 
 have good roads." "Are there many Mormons in Cor. 
 inne?" "We are all Mormons, here." "Are you a Mor 
 mon?" "Yes, I am ; are you a Mormon?" "I suppose 
 not ; I know but little about Mormonism, but I have 
 heard much about them. If you are a Mormon you are 
 the first one that I ever became acquainted with. Before 
 leaving California, my folks said all they could to dis 
 suade and discourage me, and endeavored to get the 
 neighbors also to intercede with me, not to take this jour 
 ney, but I was determined to go East on this plan. They 
 told me I could not travel with a one-horse team ; that it 
 was not safe to travel alone ; that the wild beasts would 
 devour me ; that the Indians would take my scalp ; that 
 the Mormons would surety kill me ; that I could not 
 travel in Utah, and I ought not to make the attempt. All 
 this was said before I left, but on the first of June I left 
 Eureka city, and have travelled about fourteen hundred 
 miles, and not an injur} 7 , or , as yet, an insult has 
 come to me. You say that } r ou are Mormons ; if you are, 
 I shall never be afraid of the Mormons in the least. 
 Well, friend Mormon, if you will go with me to the barn, 
 you may lock me in if you wish?" "We have no locks 
 on our barns ; we are not afraid of any one." "Do you 
 not have tramps come around?" "Yes, there are some 
 on the railroad, but they don't trouble us. You can 
 sleep in the house ; we will give you a bed." "I prefer 
 to sleep with my cattle and have done so all the time on 
 this journey." "Very well, suit yourself." 1 went to the 
 barn, gave the animals some more hay, made me a bed 
 and was soon asleep. 
 
 The morning of the 23rd found me up early. There 
 was no one up in the house, I fed my cattle and made 
 ready to move on. While they were eating I took a 
 tramp around the town ; on my return I found my friend 
 
174 CORINNE. 
 
 at the barn, to whom I bade good morning. "Good 
 morning, sir; how did you rest last night?" "I had a 
 good rest." "I am glad of it for your sake. We are up 
 early this morning, as we thought you would like an early 
 start ; I suppose you will make O^den to-day?" "Yes, 
 sir ; I would like to do so." "You will have a good road, 
 no better, east or west ; you will find it as I say. Our 
 breakfast must be ready* we will go in and see." We 
 went into the house and as I entered I bade the lady 
 good morning. "Good morning, sir ; did you rest well 
 last night?" she asked. "Very well, thank you." 
 Breakfast is ready, take a seat at the table. Stranger, 
 will you give thanks?" "Please excuse me." Then my 
 host said, "Our Father in Heaven, we thank Thee this 
 morning, that we are again permitted to come round this 
 table. Bless this food, may it strengthen us in body ; 
 and our faith in Thee we will ever proclaim. This stran 
 ger, O God, Thou hast protected him on his long road so 
 far, please continue on, watch over him both day and 
 night ; see him through this long journey, if it be Thy will, 
 Amen." The foregoing is the prayer and utterance of 
 a Mormon. 
 
 Corinne is situated on the Central Pacific Railroad, 
 about twenty-five miles from Ogden. It was laid out for 
 a large city. Large quantities of freight were brought 
 and taken north by teams to Montana and Idaho. But 
 since the building of the Utah Northern Railroad, it has 
 been on the decline, and doubtful if it ever will come up 
 again, at least for the present. But should the contem 
 plated railroad between Dakota and Wyoming ever be 
 built, its junction will probably be at Corinne. The Cen 
 tral desires a line of their own to the East. 
 
 On le?ving Corinne I left the railroad to my right, my 
 direction being south to Brigham city, crossing Bear 
 
WAHSHAT RANGE. 
 
 175 
 
 river, distance about four miles : on entering the town I 
 travelled but one street to the main road to Ogden. 
 Beautiful was the water running down the gutters of the 
 street ; it seemed delightful. But being late and also 
 anxious to reach Ogden I did not stop. A short distance to 
 my left is Wahshat range of mountains. On my right is 
 Salt Lake and Valley. The foot-hills of this mountain 
 range is of the best soil and under good cultivation by the 
 Mormons. What a contrast, from what I have passed 
 through, on coming to such beautiful farms as the Mor 
 mons have made on the west of this long range of moun 
 tains. Some are so close to the mountain's base^ that the 
 morning's sun is hidden for some time. About twelve at 
 noon, I came to a farm house, where I stopped. There 
 was plenty of hay here, and a man was husking corn to 
 whom I bade g >od morning, and then said, "I would like 
 some hay for my cattle, but I have no money, not a dime. 
 I paid the last dime in Corinne for a sack of grain ; when 
 I reach Ogden I hope to be replenished." "Your cattle 
 can have all the hay they can eat in two hours,* I will not 
 charge } r ou an} T thing." I gave the cattle some water and 
 hay ; splendid hay it was, known as alfalfa. "You are 
 travelling, it seems?" "Yes, sir." "How far have you 
 come, sir?" "I have come from California, and have 
 travelled more than fourteen hundred miles since I left 
 my home, or where I have been staying in California the 
 past two years ; I am on my way home." "Home, where 
 is your home?" "Massachusetts is my home." "Do 
 you ever expect to reach Massachusetts in this way, with 
 that outfit?" "Yes, sir." "That is a long distance; 
 come in and take dinner with us,' } r our cattle are doing 
 well,- let them eat all they will." I went in and took din 
 ner with the stranger. There were four of us sat at din 
 ner, two men and two women. One of the women asked, 
 "Are you a Mormon?" "I am not, that is, I suppose I 
 am not; I have but one wife. I suppose the Mormons 
 
176 HOT SPRINGS. 
 
 have as many as they desire?" "They are allowed to 
 have as many as they can support, but they are getting 
 sick of that ; they do not care to support but one, and 
 not half support that one ; they would rather do as you 
 do down East, one wife or none. It is coming to that 
 here* polygamy is playing out." "Are you Mormons?" 
 u We are, but we don't go f>r polygamy. We belong to 
 the Josephites." "Are there many of that order?" 
 "There are many of them, and it will not be long before 
 we are in the majority." "Well, strangers, I must be 
 moving on ; how far is it to Ogden?" "To the post-office 
 it is fourteen miles ; how long will it take you to travel 
 that distance ?" About five hours, on a good road." "It 
 is a good road." "Thank you, for your hospitality." 
 "You are welcome, and I hope }'ou will make your long 
 journey." "Thank you, good day." "Good day, call 
 again." We went on and about half-past three p. m., I 
 passed through Hot Springs. Here there are two roads 
 to Ogden ; the one to the right is the nearest, but there 
 are a number of sloughs to pass over ; the one to the left 
 is the best, but it is the longest. I took the left r ad and 
 soon I came to a peach orchard ; how beautiful it looked. I 
 stopped and accosted a lady in the yard, saying "Madam, 
 can I take some of the peaches that are on the ground ?" 
 "Yes, sir; all you wish." I had a four quart measure 
 which I filled and put them in my wagon. "You may 
 fill it again if you wish," said the lady. I did so and 
 then went on. Coming to a broad road and turning 
 sharp to my right we travelled this road. The road here 
 was about one hundred feet wide. Here I was told it 
 was four miles to the post-office in Ogden ; we went on 
 and came to a more thickly settled district ; passed some 
 splendid farms with fine orchards of all kinds of fruit, 
 and on either side many new houses built of brick. They 
 are small, but neat and pretty. The sun is now going 
 down and I asked a stranger how far it was to Ogden. 
 
THE RANCHE. 177 
 
 He answered. "Two miles." "Where can I stop to 
 night?" "Yonder, yon see that large barn, a man by the 
 name of MillerJ lives there ; he has plenty of room and 
 hay. He is a fine man and will keep you, no doubt, over 
 night. I went there and turned into the yard and inquired 
 if Mr. Miller Avas at home. "He is not, but soon will 
 be ; he has g me down town with the milk," said the ]ad}\ 
 Soon after a man drove into the yard and I asked him, 
 "Is this Mr. Miller?" "Yes, sir ; that is my name." 
 "Would you allow me to camp in this yard, and I would 
 like some hay for my cattle." "Yes, } r ou can camp here, 
 and have hay for your cattle also." I led Fannie into the 
 yard, took her from the carriage and fastened her to the 
 wheel as usual, the cow opposite and gave them alfalfa 
 hay; it is the best hay for a cow that is grown.. "You 
 are travelling ; are you?" "Yes, sir." "Have you been 
 buying a cow?" "No, sir; not of late." "How far 
 have you led that cow?" "A long distance." "How 
 long a distance?" "About fourteen hundred miles." 
 "The d 1 you have ; where from? Tell me that, so that 
 I can judge the distance?" "You say your name is 
 Miller?" "Yes, sir ; my name is Miller." "Mr. Miller, 
 I have come all the way from California to this place." 
 "I can't believe you." "Mr. Miller, I want to-stop over 
 a day or two, and will satisfy you that I am not a fraud. 
 How far is it to the post-office from here?" "It is less 
 than two miles." "I suppose there is some mail there, 
 which I ordered to be sent and held until called for." 
 "Where were you when you gave that order?" "In San 
 Francisco. I mean what I say, ever} r time, don't you 
 forget it." "You look like a man that speaks the truth, 
 but you are getting off some yarn ; what is your name, 
 sir?" "I have but one name ; Johnson is my name, at 
 all times and places." "Well, Mr. Johnson, come into 
 the house, we will get some supper, I have not had any 
 yet, and presume you have not." "I have not, and would 
 
1 78 THE RANCHE, 
 
 like some." I went into the house, sat down to supper 
 and the man said to his wife, "This man tells me some 
 big stories. He says he has travelled over fourteen hun 
 dred miles, with that horse and carriage, leading the cow* 
 what do }"ou think of it, wife?" "Where did you come 
 from?" she asked. "From California, direct." "But it 
 is not fourteen hundred miles to San Francisco ; only 
 about a thousand, your story does not agree with that 
 distance." "Very well, I now have to tell }'ou more than 
 I had intended ; I have but one story to tell. When tell 
 ing the whole it is a long one ; when I can get rid of tell 
 ing it, it gives me rest, but I will tell you the long story, 
 no doubt you will pay me something for it." "Go on, we 
 will see." "But I want to be excused at this time, as I 
 wish to go down town to the post-office for my mail. I 
 have had no mail since leaving San Francisco. I sent my 
 pension papers to Boston, giving my post-office address 
 at Ogden. I except there is a check there waiting for me." 
 "The post-office is already closed for the night,' you can 
 not have access to it, and to-morrow is Sunday ; it will 
 be open at six to-morrow evening." "Then I must wait 
 patiently until to-morrow." "Yes, sir; you must." 
 "Why did I not start sooner this morning from Corinne, 
 so that I could have arrived sooner? Oh, I see ; I stop 
 ped too long at dinner talking with the Mormons ; that is 
 what is the matter." "Yes, Mormon women, I suppose." 
 "Are you Mormons?" "No, sir; we are not Mormons 
 here." "I supposed you were all Mormons here?" "No, 
 sir ; not a bit of it. My wife was a Mormon before she 
 was married, but since her marriage she is strongly anti- 
 Mormon." "I know nothing about Mormonism, only what 
 I have heard." After supper I remarked, By the way, 
 my cow is good for milk." "Does she give milk?" asked 
 the lady. "She does, I milk her every day, and some 
 times four times a day, but not often. Mr. Miller, I 
 would like to stop here a day or two, or a short time 
 
THE RANCHE. 179 
 
 before I go on further." "Go on ; where are you. going 
 to?" "Oh, I have not got to my journey's end yet. Mr. 
 Miller, I do not see that I can avoid telling you the whole 
 story. Sometimes, I endeavor to get rid of telling it," I 
 prefer a short story to a long one, and should I ever put 
 it in a book it would be the same story over and over. 
 Mr. Miller, I will give you the facts as briefly as I can. On 
 the first of June last, I was three hundred miles north of 
 San Francisco ; on that day I left Eureka city, Humboldt 
 county, with that horse, carriage, cow and dog, for Massa 
 chusetts. Travelled from Eureka to San Francisco and 
 remained in that city some ten days ; then I went to San 
 Jose expressly to see the place, having heard so much 
 about it. This was directly out of my way, fifty- 
 seven miles. I did not return to San Francisco, but 
 struck off to the right through Livermore Valley, Liver- 
 more Pass into the San Joaquin Valley to Stockton. 
 From there to Sacramento and on to Gold Run ; return 
 ing back by Colfax to Grass Valley. There taking the 
 old turnpike, known as the Virginia and Marysville turn 
 pike to Reno, or Verdi, twelve miles west from Reno. 
 This turnpike was built on the Henness Pass, on the 
 north side of the Sierra Mountains. From Reno I fol 
 lowed the Central Pacific Railroad most of the way to 
 here. From Eureka to Ogden, the way I have come, it is 
 1427 miles. I do not intend to stop here any length of 
 time but to pass on, Mr. Miller, so far, this is true ; 
 now you can ask me any questions you choose, such as, 
 how could I make this or that ; whether or not I was 
 troubled with the wild beasts, or the Indians or the Mor 
 mons. Mr. Miller, I can say that I have not been insult 
 ed by man or woman, since leaving Eureka. I can relate 
 many instances of travel, that no doubt would be of much 
 interest, and will do so should I remain a short time 
 with you, but I do not intend to stop long, if I do, I may 
 get snow-bound in travelling over the Rocky Mountains. 
 
180 OGDEN. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE CITY OF OGDEN. 
 
 Oh the morning of the 24th, Sunday, after breakfast, I 
 went down into the city looking around. My attention 
 was called to a gathering of the people at a given place. 
 On inquiring the cause, I learned that there was a mass 
 meeting at the Tabernacle by the Mormons, in regard to 
 the ''Edmunds bill," then passed by Congress. "What is 
 this bill," I asked. "The bill disfranchises those Mor 
 mons that have more than one wife, Mr. Stranger." "I 
 have heard nothing about it," I answered. "It is going 
 to make hot work here." I went up to the Tabernacle ; 
 it was full and hundreds were standing outside. I step 
 ped up to a well dressed gentleman, bidding him good 
 morning, and I'remarked that this was a large gathering. 
 "What is itf >r?" "The cause is this : Those Mormons who 
 believe in Polygamy are not to be allowed to vote at the 
 coming election by the new law of Mr. Edmunds, and it 
 will make hot work here, stranger." "I am a stranger 
 here, and have but just arrived from the West. It is 
 my intention to remain but a day or two ; I am in camp 
 about two miles north of this place, on Mr. Miller's 
 ranche, he is a milk merchant ; perhaps you know him ?" 
 I remarked. About noon I returned to my camp and 
 gave my cattle their dinner, took a lunch myself and 
 then returned to the city to wait for the opening of 
 the Post Office. I was the first at the office to call for 
 mail, asking if there were any for Warren B. Johnson, 
 and was told there was nothing. I then told the 
 Postmaster there should be, as before leaving San 
 
OGDEN. 181 
 
 Francisco, California, I sent my pension papers to Boston 
 for collection, ordering them to be sent to Ogden, Utah, 
 and there held until called for. When giving him this in 
 formation he ordered me to pass on, but I stood there 
 until the crowd of people in my rear pushed me away 
 from the window, then I said, "Gentlemen, this is not 
 fair, I am a traveller from the far West. On the 15th of 
 July, at San Francisco, California, I sent my pension 
 papers to Boston, Mass., f jr collection, to be returned 
 to Ogden, Utah Territory, there to be held until my ar 
 rival. Now I am here and there seems t J be no mail for 
 me. I have been ejected from that window on account of 
 trying to explain and learn particulars about my mail." 
 "Stranger, you shall have a hearing," said a voice from 
 the crowd. "Post master, hear what the stranger has tJ 
 say about his mail." "Stranger, come to the window, I 
 will hear what 3 r ou have to say." I then told him the par 
 ticulars and asked if there had been any mail for Warren 
 B. Johnson at his office and returned to Boston, Massa 
 chusetts. "No, sir; not to my recollection," answered 
 the Post master. I turned to the crowd and said, "Gen 
 tlemen, I am a stranger/in a strange land and have come 
 all the way from San Francisco with a horse, carriage, 
 cow and little dog ; I am without money not a dime. 
 When I left Kelton I had one dollar, that was all. On 
 my arrival in Corinne I spent that dollar for a sack of 
 grain for my cattle and am here without a dime. I was 
 sure that on my arrival I should find in the mail a letter 
 containing a check for me, but there is no mail no 
 check." "Stranger, where is your horse, carriage, cow 
 and dog?" "Gentlemen, here is the dog beside me." 
 (Holding him up.) "The horse, carriage and cow are at 
 Mr. Miller's ranche,' about two miles from here. Mr. 
 Miller is a milk merchant, I am informed." "You are 
 all right with Mr. Miller," said a voice in the crowd. 
 Here I am, what shall I do next? I went to the telegraph 
 
182 OGDEN. 
 
 office and asked the operator if he would send a second- 
 class despatch to Boston, Mass., for me, and how much 
 it would cost. He answered, "One dollar, sir." 
 
 "Please ask H W. Gooch, Pension Agent, Boston, 
 Mass., where my pension papers are, that I ordered to be 
 sent to Ogden, Utah Territory. They are not here, 
 answer. 
 
 WARREN B. JOHNSON. 
 Ogden, Sept. 24th, 1882. 
 
 I waited four days, but got no answer and on the 28th 
 I sent a note giving full particulars. On the 2d of 
 October I sent another telegram, and on the 7th I re 
 ceived a despatch, saying, "No voucher received; will 
 send blank by mail." On the 13th I received a blank to be 
 filled and on the 14th I filled the blank and sent it back to 
 Boston. On the 30th of October I received my mail 
 which I ought to have had by the 24th ; this made a delay 
 of thirty-six days. Having received my money, on the 
 first of November I was ready to move forward, and 
 should have done so but I was advised not to do so by my 
 many friends, Mormon and Gentile, I had made on being 
 obliged to stop here. They told me I could not cross the 
 Rocky Mountains so late in the season. I should perish 
 in the snow storms and would be neither able to re treat or 
 advance, so I concluded to winter in Ogden. Before re 
 lating my journey any further, I will state that my mail, 
 which is my present text, was sent from Boston to Ogden, 
 and returned to Boston. It showed that it had travelled 
 the road three times. After deciding to remain through 
 the winter, my first thoughts were to procure a stable for 
 my cattle. I could get one, but the rent was more than I 
 could pay. I was recommended by a Mormon friend, to 
 another Mormon, to allow me to put up a small stable, 
 10x16, on some of her land, which she granted. I then 
 went to a lumber dealer, he a Mormon, and selected such 
 lumber as I needed, and put up the stable myself; cost of 
 lumber, nails, bolts, screws, thirty- two dollars, all told. 
 
OGDEN. 183 
 
 This stable contained 160 square feet; I gave 90 feet to 
 my cattle, leaving 70 feet for myself, hay and grain. This 
 was my home for nearly eight months. While here I be 
 came acquainted with the leading men of the city, most 
 of whom were Mormons ; about four-fifths of the popula 
 tion were Mormons. I could not tell one from a Gentile, 
 only when talking on the Edmunds bill, then you would 
 readily know, as they spoke strongly against it every 
 time, and don't you forget it. I never had any trouble 
 whatever with the people. On my arrival in Ogden I 
 stayed with Mr. Miller some two weeks or more and all 
 this time I was in and out of the city, tiding to learn the 
 whereabouts of my mail. On the 9th of October we had 
 a very severe thunder storm, which left its mark behind, 
 consisting of rain, hail and snow. So severe was it that 
 the fall of snow was so deep, the people were obliged to 
 drive the cattle into the barns ; this storm was an experi 
 ence for me. I was obliged to look f >r better quarters 
 for myself and cattle. On returning from the city after 
 the storm I was overtaken by a fine looking 3'oung man. 
 After talking with him I related my circumstances, how I 
 was situated at that time. Said he, "I think that my 
 father would give you barn room for your cattle ; I am 
 not sure, but think he will." "Where is* your home?" I 
 asked. "Only a few steps above the first house on the 
 left, you had better call and see my father," said the 
 young man. I went with him to his home, He said, 
 "Father, please step to the door; this stranger is travel 
 ling from the West and is going East. He has been stop 
 ping with Mr. Miller and is obliged to leave on account of 
 barn room. I told him that I thought you would give 
 him barn room for a short time." About how long would 
 you like to stop, sir?" "Not longer than time enough 
 for me to get my mail from Boston, Mass.," I answered. 
 "Yes, stranger ; I will accommodate you." I went home 
 and returned with my outfit. Here I remained until my 
 
184 OGDEN. 
 
 stable was read}' for dedication. After the dedication I 
 gave my cattle possession "with right of way." 
 
 Ogden is situated on the west of the Wahsatch moun 
 tain, close to its base, fronting Ogden canyon and river. 
 When the Mormons t ;ok possession of these lands, they 
 laid out a road one hundred and thirty-two feet wide, six 
 miles long, and commenced the building of their cabins on 
 this road, equal distances apart. When the Atlantic and 
 Pacific Railroad passed through the town, they established 
 their depot near the river, on account of the water. This 
 was south of its centre of population. The Mormons 
 built their Tabernacle south of its centre. The two rail 
 roads establishing their depot where they have, soon 
 made Ogden a fine ctty, with a population of about eight 
 thousand. The Mormons having by far the greatest pop 
 ulation, they have several places of worship, but the 
 Tabernacle is their chief place. There are several 
 other churches, Episcopal, Baptist and Catholic. There 
 are three banks ; two are National. The cashier of 
 the First National, Mr. Young, told me that the di 
 rectors of this bank represented three million dollars. 
 There are several hotels, one of these is a very fine one, 
 the Brown Hotel ; it surpasses any hotel east of San 
 Francisco, for thousands of miles ; that takes you east 
 to Cleveland, Ohio. There are many first-class stores 
 for the sale of all kinds of merchandise and the proprie 
 tors are mostly Mormons. In fact, it is difficult at any 
 time to tell a Mormon from a Gentile, except during the 
 heat of discussion on politics. Having made many 
 acquaintances with the people, I got quite familiar with 
 their politics, always pretending ignorance or scepticism. 
 There was one man that I became well acquainted with, 
 whom I much admired, he was a thorough Mormon. I 
 passed his house almost every day when going into town. 
 One day as I was passing I said to him, "What is it that 
 
OGDEN. 185 
 
 makes }'our fruit trees look so healthy and the bark so 
 smooth and green ; what gives them that healthy color ?" 
 "Mr. Johnson, I give them nothing, it is the soil they 
 live on ; alkali and salt are its compound. It is as good 
 for grain as for fruit, and for potatoes still better. Mr. 
 Johnson, I would like to have a long half day's talk with 
 you. I am from the State of Illinois, and was one of the 
 early pioneers over the Rocky Mountains. I was probably 
 the first one who saw the Salt Lake and was one of five 
 that left Salt Lake prospecting between Weber's river and 
 canj'on, and from there to what is now Ogden. Here we 
 stopped and have remained here ever since. This is a 
 wonderful place ; we are between two rivers, Ogden and 
 Weber. They are about eight miles apart. For irriga 
 tion we take water from the Ogden river. Our people 
 are n >w engaged in an enterprise, which when completed 
 will cost many thousands of dollars, and will be worth to 
 us, many millions when finished. We are construct 
 ing a canal to carry the waters of Weber river a long 
 distance on the plains, between Ogden and Salt Lake city. 
 This canal will take the water from the river before it 
 leaves the canyon, as the fall to the water is much 
 greater. As I have said, Ogden is wonderfully situated. 
 Look at yonder mountain, only one mile from its base, 
 over there is Ogden river and can}'on. Look at those 
 lands beyond the court house, what a vast plain to the 
 right and left of us ; these are the foot hills of the moun 
 tain ; see those lands on high ground, some eighty feet 
 above the city's level ; we call them shelves. These lands 
 are easily irrigated. Mr. Johnson, I have said and still 
 say, it is wonderful. Coming from the best State in the 
 Union to this place, the Lord God Almighty was with us 
 from the beginning and has been ever since. We have 
 been severel} 7 tried since the railroad came amongst us. 
 We had been here twenty years/ before the railroad. We 
 have cultivated these lands and have brought them to 
 
186 OGDEN. 
 
 what they now are, with their fine fruit trees and those 
 beautiful fields of grain that you see 3 r onder ; all this we 
 have done with our own hands. How was it before the 
 railroad arrived in town? We were a happy, peaceful 
 people. Not a saloon in town ; no drinking or gambling 
 places to be found. How is it to-da}-? Go down Fifth 
 street ; look in those drinking hells. The proprietors are 
 not Mormons. No, they are Gentiles, formerly Missouri 
 rebels during the Rebellion ; they are the ones that make 
 the most noise. Mr. Johnson, you know, no doubt, that 
 when the government contracted with the railroad, it was 
 to give and take equally. The government take a section 
 and the railroad take a section of a mile each ; with this 
 understanding, that all citizens who had taken land as 
 settlers and under cultivation, shall receive a patent for 
 the same on payment of one dollar and twenty-five cents 
 per acre. When the Pacific Railroad arrived in town their 
 division comprised the most part of Ogden. Ogden was 
 a large agricultural town, with many inhabitants. The 
 railroad had passed through nothing like unto it, and in 
 due time the people living on these lands were called 
 upon to show their patents, or to purchase one. The 
 leading Mormons were shrewd ; they were citizens of the 
 States. As the citizens came up to pay for their lands and 
 take their patents according to contract, one dollar and 
 twenty-five cents wa# not enough, much more was exac 
 ted ; they refused to pay the advanced figures. A meet 
 ing was called of the land owners, the decision was to 
 pay the figures of the railroad and take out their patents. 
 This was hard on many of the citizens ; most of them 
 were living in their old log cabins, that they had built at 
 first settling. But they came up and now most of these 
 lands are ours. For instance, a Mormon dies, leaving a 
 good farm, a widow and two daughters ; the widow mar 
 ries an anti-Mormon. He is satisfied with one wife, and 
 don't care for a second one ; and so is the wife. When 
 
OGDEN. 187 
 
 the daughters commence to think of a husband, they are 
 pretty sure to take an anti- Mormon. There are many 
 cases of this kind." "Friend J., then Mormonism is go 
 ing to die out in time?" I said. "I think polygamy will 
 in time," said Mr. J. "I understand that the young 
 women will not consent to their husbands taking a second 
 wife on their marriage day ; how is that, Mr. J?" I asked. 
 "I don't blame them; I would not if I were the\ r . I 
 never had but one wife and never saw the day I wanted the 
 second. We are thinking of doing as 3 r ou do down East ; 
 one wife and as many concubines as you can bargain for. 
 This, congress will consent, no doubt. Mr. Johnson, I 
 have omitted one essential part, and it should hav.e been 
 first. While we were at Council Bluff, and about to leave 
 for parts unknown, President Polk sent a squad of troops 
 to Council Bluff and took five hundred of our best young 
 men and sent them to Mexico to fight for these same 
 lands that we are now living on. If we have no right to 
 these lands, who are the people that have. Mr. Johnson, 
 this was a severe blow to us ; many of the men taken 
 had families, they were marched away from their wives 
 and children to see them no more. Some of them found 
 their way back to us. When we arrived here, we were 
 told by the Indians that corn would not grow, but we tried 
 it and found that it would and did. The same God of 
 ancient times was with us continually ; we called on him 
 daily and he answered our call. They believed in a God 
 in those days and we Mormons do to-da}'. On our ar 
 rival here, we were destitute of those fine, young men 
 taken to go to war ; oh, how cruel it was, their wives, 
 and children here, but they were not. Time moved on. 
 We found by experience, that not only corn could be 
 grown, but all kinds of grain ; wheat especially was very 
 productive, more so than any other kind of grain. Mr. 
 Johnson, you have been with us about how long?" 
 "More than seven months," I replied. "You have been 
 
188 OGDEN. 
 
 with us seven months or more, with the worst people on 
 earth, so say the people clown East. Mr. Johnson, have 
 we harmed 3'ou in any way since you have been with us? 
 You can say when you get back to old Massachusetts, 
 that you have been stopping more than seven months with 
 Mormons; when do you intend to leave us?" he asked. 
 "About the middle of the month ; I shall leave as soon as 
 you say it will be safe to cross the mountains," I replied. 
 4 'The middle of the month will be early enough. I am 
 afraid you will find snow on the mountains. Mr. John 
 son, I hope you will tell your people the truth about the 
 Mormons, the whole truth and shame the devil. Mr. 
 Johnson, we have some bad Mormons and they are grow 
 ing W^rse every day. Before the railroad came into 
 town, we were a better people, but since, we have grown 
 worse. They are not Mormons, but men from the East 
 to work at the mines. Here they spend the winter and 
 try to rob each other by gambling and carousing through 
 the winter. Mr. Johnson, we have had a long talk, when 
 do you think of leaving us?" "I think of leaving } T OU on 
 the 14th, next Monday." "What a long road you have 
 before you ; over the Rock} r Mountains all alone ; that is 
 the worst part of it. All the rivers to ford, you must be 
 something more than a man to stand it. Well, Mr. John 
 son, I hope 3'ou will go through safe and sound ; my dail} T 
 prayer for you will be that you may reach your home in 
 safety. The Lord our God protect thee. Good-b}'e, 
 friend Johnson, I hope to hear from you," said this 
 Josephite. "Thank y u. Good-bye, friend J. Further, 
 give ni}' regards to your people, those that I have had the 
 pleasure of being acquainted with while here. Tell them 
 all to become Josephites ; give up polygam} f and come 
 into the Union with a clean constitution ; do it voluntarily 
 and not be drawn to it is the wish of a traveller across 
 the country." 
 
OGDEN. 189 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 FROM OGDEN CITY, UTAH, TO LARAMIE, WYOMING. 
 
 I left Ogclen May 14th, 1883, for the East, and made 
 Weber the same day, a distance of twenty-five miles. I 
 followed the Union Pacific Railroad most of the way to 
 Omaha. Leaving the city 4 1 left the railroad to my right. 
 My 'direction was south to Uintah, about eight miles. 
 There I crossed the railroad and the Weber river also. 
 Following the river and railroad to the canyon,! am on 
 the right of both, the three running parallel for many 
 miles. Crossing the river on the railroad bridge, I now 
 follow on the left and enter the Weber Valley. This 
 canyon that I have just passed through is most wonder 
 ful. There are places that are not sixty feet wide, from 
 rock to rock, and the road is veiy narrow in places, not 
 more than eight feet. On my right is a wall of solid 
 rock, hundreds of feet perpendicular ; on my left is the 
 river, down to its waters are many feet. There are many 
 rocks in the river that would weigh thousands of t >ns. 
 Waters are dashing and roaring against these rocks that 
 make one feel awful. As I was about to cross the 
 river, I heard the sound of an engine's whistle. I stop 
 ped, looking up and down the railroad, but could see no 
 cars ; I was sure that I heard a whistle and soon came 
 the train. The roar of the water was so great among 
 the rocks that I could not hear the train as it passed. 
 Soon after entering this canyon, I came to a company of 
 men, who were building a flume to carry the waters of the 
 river into a canal, which had been made for miles on the 
 plains, south and west of Ogden ; between the Wahsatch 
 
100 WEBER. 
 
 Mountains, Salt Lake and Salt Lake city. I was informed 
 by the superintendent of these works, Mr. Brown, that 
 this enterprise would cost over one hundred and thirty 
 thousand dollars, and can be made to cost any amount. 
 The bridge on which I crossed is one of the best I have 
 seen on my way, thus far. My road is now on the east 
 side of the valley, winding around its foot hills ; this val 
 ley is thickly populated by the Mormons. I have passed 
 through a place called Enterprise ; it looks as if there 
 were some around. On the west side of this valley is a 
 place called Peterson, a telegraph station. Before leaving 
 Ogden I got my cattle shod ; the horse was well done, 
 but the cow was not, and she was troubled to travel. 
 On arriving at Weber, I called on a blacksmith to ascer 
 tain if I could get the cow shod and learned that I could. 
 The blacksmith said he could shoe her and would do so at 
 five o'clock next morning. 
 
 On the morning of the 15th I was up early ; fed my 
 cattle, got breakfast and made ever} r thing ready for a 
 start, and waited for the blacksmith till five a. m., the 
 time set for shoeing the cow. He was on time, sa}'ing, 
 "It was going to be a hard job." "I think 3 T ou are going 
 to be mistaken, she will behave like a lady ; won't you, 
 Bessie?" I said. "We will soon know," said the black 
 smith. I led Bessie into the brake, and the blacksmith 
 was about to sling her up, but I told him not to do so, 
 but put the slings under her and let her 'stand on her feet. 
 I will show 3'ou how when she is in the brake. The sling 
 was then drawn tight under her, but not so tight as to lift 
 her from her feet ; a rope was then passed around both 
 legs, below the fetlocks, and drawn tight s;> that it would 
 not slip, and made fast to the brakes. The front right 
 foot was taken up and the nail clinches cut, the pincers 
 were put to the shoe for its removal, and after a strong 
 pull it was quickly off all right. The other shoes were 
 
ECHO. 191 
 
 removed in a like manner. The shoes were then cut and 
 made one half inch less in length and re-placed ; this 
 made a good job.* In travelling there was no friction of 
 the shoes and they were evidently easy to the feet of the 
 cow. 
 
 I left Weber at 7 a. m., and reached Emory the same 
 day, a distance of twenty-five miles. In making this 
 place, we passed two stations, Corydon and Echo,* the 
 latter is a first-class station. It is a junction, a railroad 
 from Park city comes in. On leaving this station, on the 
 left you pass around a number of high bluffs ; they are 
 handsome and grand. Here, nature is to be seen at her 
 best. Bluff after bluff arise one after another, hundreds 
 of feet high a short distance from the road. Between 
 the bluffs, at their bases, are spaces wide enough to pass 
 through with a team, and on emerging come out on beau 
 tiful plains. Reader, should you ever travel this way, 
 stay and look at nature's works around Echo. On leaving 
 this town I made the acquaintance of a gentleman, while 
 sitting in his carriage, who said, "Stranger, you will just 
 reach my place to-night ; it is about a mile beyond the 
 station ; if you will call I will entertain you the best I 
 can. I have plenty of hay and grain for your cattle,' for 
 yourself I will say nothing 5 my wife shall look after you." 
 "What are you, Mormons?" I asked. "No, no Mor 
 mons at our house. I suppose you know all about them. 
 You have been staying in Ogden?" "Friend, I do know 
 something about them ; I have had a good opportunity to 
 learn. When I get East, should I succeed in getting 
 there, you will hear what I have to say about them. It 
 is now about twelve o'clock." "It is about eleven miles 
 to my home,* how long will you be in travelling there ?" 
 "I travel about two and a half miles to the hour, day or 
 night, just as it happens ; so it will take four and a half 
 hours to make that distance." "I will overtake you be 
 fore you get to the station ; if I d >n't, it is the first house 
 
192 THE RANCIIE. 
 
 beyond the station, on the right of the road on the 
 hillside." "All right* I will be going on." There was 
 a large number of people around me, and as I was leav 
 ing, one of their number called out, "Three cheers and 
 success to the man from California, on his wa}^ to Massa 
 chusetts." They were given with a will, you bet. "Good 
 bye yourself, and success on your journey." About four 
 miles from the station I was overtaken by a cavalcade of 
 Indians, eighteen in number, mounted on fine horses. 
 They were civil and courteous and spoke fair English. I 
 travelled in their company several miles. Before reaching 
 the station, the gentleman who had invited me to stop 
 over night overtook me and kept me company as far as 
 his house. On our arrival he introduced me to his wife, 
 saying, "Wife, this stranger is from California, just as 
 he is, and is going East, to Massachusetts, where he be 
 longs ; make him as comfortable as }'ou can,' I think he is 
 worthy of it." My cattle were put in the barn, fed with 
 good hay and grain, and were made safe under a good 
 lock ; after this was done I went into the house to a good 
 supper which was waiting. "Stranger, allow me to ask 
 3*our name?" "Sir, my name is Johnson, W. B., of 
 Webster, Mass." "Mr. Johnson, take a seat at the 
 table and we will soon know what my wife has for sup 
 per." "Had I known that I was to have company to tea, 
 I might have done better, however, excuse me," said the 
 wife. Well, what did we have? It consisted of mutton 
 chop, hot potatoes, biscuit, coffee and mince pies. That 
 was all there was on the table ; to me it tasted delicious. 
 We sat at the table nearly two hours, asking and 
 answering questions. When the time came for retiring, 
 I told them that I had at all times and places slept with 
 my cattle, having been advised to do so, so that should 
 anybody attempt to take them, I should be there to see 
 to them. 
 
EVANSTON. 193 
 
 I left the ranche near Emory on the 16th, and made 
 Evanston, a distance of twenty-six miles. I was up early 
 as usual, feeding and getting ready to move forward. My 
 friend of the ranche came to the barn and we bade each 
 other good morning. "You find your cattle all here I 
 suppose?" "Yes, sir ; and doing well. I have fed them 
 with ha}'." "You will find grain in that box, give them all 
 3'ou dare, }'ou must keep them well, or fail in your under 
 taking." "I cany grain." "You do, then you are all 
 right ; put the grain into them. Our breakfast is ready. 
 I told my wife that } 7 ou would like to start early." We 
 went into the house and partook of a good breakfast. As 
 I was about to leave them I said, "We have all been well 
 cared for, and are now ready to go on. Since leaving 
 California, many times have we been well entertained, 
 but your hospitality stands ahead of any. Yours was 
 entirely voluntary ; I have asked and received many 
 times, but } r ou did not give me a chance to ask ; that is 
 where there is a difference. I wish I could have an op 
 portunity to do the same for 3 r ou." After bidding each 
 other good-bj^e I moved on my journey towards Evanston, 
 leaving the railroad on my left. In reaching this town I 
 pass but one station, Wahsatch, which is a telegraph 
 station. Its location is desolate, being on a high eleva 
 tion, cold and windy. The road to this 'station from 
 the west is of a very heavy grade. Trains labor hard in 
 making it ; its elevation is six thousand eight hundred and 
 sevent}'-nine feet above the level of the sea. The high 
 way is good, and about five p. m. I reached Evanston, 
 driving up to near the depot, I stopped at a livery stable 
 and inquired for the proprietor, who came and asked what 
 he could do for me. "I am travelling and would like to 
 get my cattle out of the wind for the night. That shed 
 would answer my purpose, if you will consent to it?' 
 "Yes, sir ; I will consent." "Will you sell me some hay 
 for my cattle?" "Hay is very scarce with me. I ought 
 
194 EVANSTON. 
 
 to have gone for some to-day, but being so windy and 
 cold I did not go. Your cattle must have some, I will go 
 up and throw some down ; when there is enough, call 
 out." I did so when he had put down a liberal supply. 
 I have now to feed strong on grain as I can not depend 
 on hay or grass. "Which way are you travelling?" ask 
 ed the livery man. "I am going East." "Where are 
 you from?" "I left Ogden last Monday morning." 
 "You come from Ogden since last Monday, with that 
 cow?" "I have, sir." "That is a big story to tell ; } r ou 
 look as though yon ought to tell the truth. From Ogden 
 to this place in three days ; 3^ou have travelled more than 
 eighty miles } r es, eighty-five. It is seventy-six by rail 
 road, and your road around the foot-hills of the valley is 
 more than that distance. Then you are from Ogden, 
 where in the name of God are you going to?" "I am 
 going to Green River ciiy, and when I get there I am go 
 ing to Laramie and so on to Omaha, and thus on to Mas 
 sachusetts." "Are you the man that is on his way from 
 California with a horse, carriage, cow and a little dog. I 
 read about him in the papers a while ago?" "I think I 
 must be the man ; I am sure I am." "You are early to 
 travel East, over the mountains ; I do not think you can 
 ford the rivers, they are already high and will be higher." 
 "I am told there are two roads to Green River city, one 
 to follow the railroad, the other to take the old Emigrant 
 road." "If I were in }'our boots going to Green River 
 city, I would take the old Immigrant trail every time. It 
 is the best, travelled the most and the shortest." "Plow 
 about fording the rivers ?" "They are high at this time, 
 but will be higher before you get through." "Are there 
 more rivers one way than the other?" "No ; either way 
 you will have the same rivers and the same road a part of 
 the way." "There is Bear river to begin with; how 
 about that?" "It is the best river to ford on your whole 
 route; a good hard bottom and no rocks." "Is it a 
 
EVANSTON. 195 
 
 broad river?" u Yes, it is ; that makes it much better to 
 ford. If it were narrow, the water would be much deeper 
 and a much stronger current ; when do you leave here ?" 
 ' 'To-morrow morning." "On the morrow, I will harness 
 up and drive my team to the river and across} you follow 
 me closety, then you. will be all right for the next river." 
 
 1 was up early on the morning of the 17th. I had fed 
 my cattle and was greasing my carriage as the proprietor 
 came to feed his team. Coming up to where I was he 
 said, "Come, go with me and get some breakfast; a 
 dish of hot coffee will make }'ou all right for fording the 
 rivers." I went with him and got breakfast, came back 
 and made ready to start on my journey. I drove along 
 to the river and soon the man came with his team and 
 said, "How does it look to you?" I answered back, 
 "How does it look to you?" "This is all right,* get on to 
 your wagon and drive close up to mine,* don't be a bit 
 afraid." He drove down into the river, I close up to him ; 
 the water was much deeper than I supposed it to be, and 
 I thought my horse would go under. I dared not look 
 back to see how the cow was getting along. I felt as if I 
 was swinging around, but when I looked on the wagon 
 ahead I was all right. After crossing, the man said, 
 "This is the largest river you will have to ford. Green 
 river you will have to cross on a boat ; it cannot be forded 
 this time of the year. The next to ford is Muddy river, 
 and muddy you will find it, and it is doubtful if you can 
 ford it. Should it continue to be warm, it will cut the 
 snow on the mountains and make the rivers much higher ; 
 that is the matter with the rivers at this time of the year. 
 It is doubtful if you will be able to travel until the rivers 
 fall." "How much shall I pay you for your kindness?" I 
 asked. "Not a dime," he answered. "But this has been 
 a great favor to me, and I feel as though you ought to be 
 rewarded." "It is all right now. If we were on the 
 
196 EVANSTON. 
 
 other side of the river, perhaps, I would take something 
 with you, but as we are it is all right. I hope you will 
 get along all right; good morning." ' 'Thank you, good 
 morning." 
 
 Evanston is a thorough business town ; one of more 
 than ordinary enterprise. There are churches and school- 
 houses, Avhich are something new,' I have not seen them 
 with but one exception for a great many miles ; yes, for 
 hundreds of miles. There is more of New England in 
 this placeythan in any other town I have passed through, 
 with one exception, since leaving California. All trains 
 stop here and time is allowed for dinner. The express 
 from the East arrives at 1 :50 p. m. ; from the West at 
 3 :50 p. m. On leaving here, after crossing Bear river, 
 my direction was eastward, the railroad on my right. 
 After travelling about eight miles I came to another trail, 
 but did not know whether I should take it or not. Having 
 passed but one house since leaving in the morning, there 
 was not much chance to get information. Looking around 7 
 I could see but one way^ and that was to my right. 
 On my left were mountains and on the right the railroad. 
 I thought it safest to take the right-hand trail, and did so. 
 I am now on a good trail, travelling at the rate of three 
 miles an hour. About eleven o'clock I came in sight of a 
 covered wagon ; before reaching the wagon I saw two 
 men with a herd of sheep and made for them. On reach 
 ing them I made known my business, relating my long 
 story and said I had come from Evanston this morning, 
 and on coming to two trails I took this one," Am I on the 
 rierbt trail to Green River city?" "You are not; you 
 should have taken the other trail," said the strangers. "I 
 suppose I shall have to go back and take the other trail ?" 
 "I think you had better go back and take the other trail. 
 If you were acquainted with the surroundings you might 
 get through, but as you are a stranger it is doubtful if you 
 
THE RANCHE. 197 
 
 could find the trail." "What is the time of day?" I 
 asked. "It is about 12m. Stranger, stop and get some 
 dinner with us,* we will give you some mutton and your 
 cattle some grain,* that is the best we can do." "That is 
 good enough,' I will stop ; such an invitation should not 
 be passed by." My cattle were fed with grain, myself 
 with mutton chop ; and at one o'clock I counter-marched 
 back to the trail I should have taken, which if taken at 
 first would have saved me five hours' travel, and lost me a 
 good dinner. This new trail is a good road. After trav 
 elling about the same length of time,I came to a ranche, 
 on approaching which I found two men present. After in 
 troducing myself to the gentlemen, I inquired of them 
 "If I was on the right trail to the creek called the 
 Muddy?" "You are," they answered. "How far is it?*' 
 " About two miles," they said. "Have you any objec 
 tion to my company here?" "Qh, no ; not in the least," 
 they answered. It was then 6 p. m., so I told them I 
 would camp with them. I took the horse from the car 
 riage and turned her loose,* the cow I staked out. After 
 supper I secured my cattle to their several posts, 
 spread my blankets on the ground and went to bed. 
 About midnight I was awakened by the howling of dogs ; 
 they do duty at night,and are good shepherds and no mis 
 take. There are two animals that are very troublesome to 
 sheep owners, the wolf and the coyotte ; they can "smell 
 sheep a very long way off, I am told. I will give you a 
 description of a sheep ranche ; there are two within two 
 miles of where I am camped. This ranche is a long 
 wagon, about eighteen feet long, by six and a half wide ; 
 covered with heavy canvas. In the front part is a stove 
 suitable for cooking, with all the necessary utensils. 
 In the centre there is a table four feet long, and 
 in the rear part, there is a bed, with the necessary 
 bedding. Here you have a house with three apartments ; 
 kitchen, dining and lodging rooms. A man with two good 
 
198 MUDDY CREEK. 
 
 horses will take this house to some secluded place suit 
 able for sheep to graze and there stop. In his rear, 
 f >llow from one to five thousand sheep. During the day 
 sheep roam at large, grazing, and at night they are all 
 gathered around this wagon, or ranche. Corn is fed to 
 them which keeps them well content. They understand 
 that outside there is danger ; four dogs do guard duty 
 every day and night. This grazing belongs to Uncle 
 Sam ; he has thousands of them. The best part of this 
 ranche is the house ; it is on wheels^ and it can be taken 
 where you please, one, five or twenty miles, if }'ou don't 
 step on the Indian's toes* that is all. 
 
 On the morning of the 18th I was up and around early, 
 getting ready to go on and about six o'clock broke camp 
 for Muddy creek, which I reached about ten o'clock. This 
 creek is about four rods across ; had it been six, it would 
 have been much better to cross. A large bod}' of water 
 flows past and its banks are full and overflowing. A 
 short distance below the ford, there is a bend in the river 
 which sets the water back, making the ford deep, with a 
 strong current. It was discouraging,* I felt blue^and be 
 ing all alone I was disheartened. In order to ascertain 
 the depth of the water, I took out my horse, got on to 
 her back and made an attempt to cross, but she would not 
 go into the water ; I made several attempts, but with no 
 further success. It was a warm da)j and I remembered 
 what the man said at Evanston, "The warmer the da} r , 
 the higher the river." I went back to my wagon, removed 
 the harness and turned the horse loose, the cow also. I 
 returned to the river and made a mark, so that I could 
 tell whether the water was rising or falling. I then re 
 turned to my carriage, gathered some wood and made a 
 fire ; made some coffee, boiled some eggs and ate my din 
 ner. Having some oil, I concluded to give my harness a 
 good limbering up. Several times I went to the river to 
 
MUDDY CREEK. 199 
 
 see whether the water was higher or lower. Before night 
 the river had fallen about four inches, and I thought that 
 by morning I should be able to cross. 
 
 On the morning of the 19th, instead of the river being 
 lower, it had risen two feet. Just across the river, not 
 more than four rods was the railroad. As the water was 
 higher, I concluded to turn back to a road that led to a 
 railroad station, which I had noticed the day before. I had 
 just got ready to return when I noticed a hand-car coming 
 up the railroad track, with several men on it. I signaled 
 them to stop, which they did, and inquired the distance to 
 the station? They answered, "About four miles." "I 
 came here yesterday and finding the river high, I dared 
 not cross it." "It is very high ; never saw it so high be 
 fore,' you had better go back to the station and take the 
 road to Fort Bridges,' you there cross the same river over 
 a bridge, about a mile from the station," one of the men 
 answered. I went back to the station, and on my way I 
 came to a small village. The first building I came to was 
 a store and Post Office. I introduced myself to a woman 
 who proved to be the Postmistress, relating my travels 
 from California to this place, and telling her that "Yes 
 terday I came to a river about four miles below, but find 
 ing it very high, dared not cross and remained over night, 
 hoping that the waters would be lower in the morning, 
 but instead they were higher, and so I was advised to 
 take this road to Fort Bridges." "Well, but I don't 
 know but the bridge on this road has been carried away. 
 I will take my horse and carriage and will go and see," 
 said the Postmistress. We went to the river and found 
 the bridge all right, but the road had been washed away 
 and the river had made a new bed. Just above the bridge 
 there is a bend in the river which was full and overflowing, 
 so that the waters washed out a new passage. We 
 turned back and reported the condition of the road, and 
 
200 MUDDY CREEK. 
 
 that it looked as if several days would pass before travel 
 could be renewed. When we got back, the Postmistress 
 told me to take my horse from my carriage and put her 
 and the cow in the barn and give them some hay, as I 
 might have to^ stop several days. I did as bidden, stay 
 ing with her through the night. 
 
 On the morning of the 20th, I was up in due season 
 and made ready to move on. I went down to the river to 
 see how it looked and found it about the same as yester 
 day ; I turned back rather blue, and went to the Post 
 Office where I found the proprietor, to whom I remarked, 
 "I have been to the river ; but saw no change in its con 
 dition. What can I do ? my only chance is to go back 
 and ford the river." "The river can be forded, but it will 
 be a hard job. It is a deep and powerful current ; 3^011 
 may be able to ford it, but you should not be alone," she 
 answered. As we were talking, three teams came up to 
 where we were and the drivers asked the road to Green 
 River city. The Postmistress said to me, "Now is your 
 time." The teamsters were answered, "There are two 
 roads, one you can't go and the other you can if you dare 
 ford the river." "Which road is that?" asked the team 
 sters. "The left road." "What is the matter with the 
 other way?" they asked. "A heavy wash-out ; a bridge 
 to be built before it can be travelled. Rivers and creeks 
 are very high, it seems." "They are high ; we are on our 
 way to Green River city, and still further East across the 
 plains," said the teamsters. "I came to the river yester 
 day ? but found it so high I dared not cross, and came here 
 to take this road, but find it impassable, so here I am as 
 you see," I said. "Get ready and go with them and 
 cross as they do," said the Postmistress. We all went 
 back to the river, and as we got there saw on the opposite 
 side a herd of horses with three men in charge of them. 
 They rode up to the crepk, looked at it a moment and then 
 
BRIDGES STATION. 201 
 
 rode down the bank and over the opposite in no time. 
 "That was quickly done," I said. "How shall I get 
 across with my carriage ?" I asked. "Drive down into 
 the river, that is the way to cross ; you can't do it while 
 on that bank," said one of the horsemen. "If you will 
 ride across, I will follow you," I said. He rode down 
 into the river and I followed close after him and got 
 across all right, but my wagon was full of water, but 
 it soon ran out. I went on and did not stop to see 
 how the three teams got across. In crossing my feed got 
 wet, but it did no other damage. About twelve o'clock I 
 came to a road that ran at angles. To the right is Fort 
 Bridges, nine miles, and to my left is Bridges station, one 
 mile. Here I stopped, fed my cattle on grain, no hay or 
 grass, myself on bread, milk, butter, cheese and salmon, 
 a ver} r good dinner. I had just finished my dinner when 
 the three teams I had left at the river came up. I 
 asked, "What luck crossing the river?" "We came 
 across as you did, but got badly wet. It was much 
 deeper than we supposed ; our wagon was under water. 
 It has made work for us, T we will not cross another creek 
 as we did that. It is taking too many chances and won't 
 pa}'. We shall have to overhaul our trunks and diy our 
 clothing." Leaving them at dinner^ I went on,and about 
 six o'clock these teams overtook me* they passed me but 
 soon after went into camp, and I camped with them ; no 
 grass or hay, feeding our cattle wholly on grain. I gather 
 ed some sage brush for fuel, made a fire, got some coffee 
 and ate my supper. If you asked what it consisted of, 
 I would say, hot coffee, cold salmon, boiled eggs, butter, 
 cheese, milk, and crackers for bread. My neighborSj hav 
 ing gone through the same routine, they overhauled their 
 trunks, taking out their clothing^and got ready for a dry- 
 out. I have a box which is water-tight that contains my 
 clothing, sugar, tea, coffee and other things that water 
 affects. On the top of this box are my blankets, covered 
 
202 BRIDGES STATION. 
 
 with a rubber blanket. At half-past eight it was time to 
 make up my bed, so I made fast my cattle to their several 
 posts, made up my bed and laid down for a good night's 
 rest. 
 
 The morning of the 21st found me up early, as usual, 
 making ready to move onward. I fed my cattle on grain, 
 no grass, nothing but sage bushes around. I made a fire, 
 got some coffee and sat down to breakfast. The box 
 from which my horse eats her grain serves me as a seat 
 when not otherwise in use. After breakfast I moved on. 
 My road is not as good as usual,* it is rough and stony. 
 About ten o'clock I came to a small creek and gave the 
 cattle water ; they were thirsty, drinking as though they 
 had not seen water since crossing the ford, and there they 
 did not stop to drink. "Come Fanny, we must go on," I 
 said. About one o'clock I saw two teams approaching. 
 As we met, of course we stopped, we do not have to stop 
 more than once a day. "Good morning, gentlemen," I 
 said. "Where are you from, excuse me asking?" "Oh, 
 yes ; that is all right ; we are from Green River city." 
 "Where did you camp last night?" "About ten miles 
 from here." "Did your cattle get grass?" "Oh, }'es ; 
 where we stopped the grass was good." "About ten miles. 
 How is the road that distance?" "Very rough." We 
 then went on and at three o'clock, stopped and gave my 
 cattle grain ; after eating we again went on until coming 
 to the grass of which I had been told, and went into 
 camp. It was not yet time .to go into camp, but there be 
 ing grass we must stop, as going on we might not come 
 to any more for many miles. I turned the cattle loose, 
 allowing them to have their fill, then I made them fast for 
 the night. While they were eating, I gathered some wood 
 for a fire, got my supper ready, ate it and went to bed. 
 In the night I was awakened by the horse. I knew then 
 there was something around. I got up and saw the 
 
GRANGE STATION. 203 
 
 horse looking in a given direction, and on turning that 
 way I saw a herd of deer feeding. I went back to bed 
 and did not awake until dawn. 
 
 On the morning of the 22nd I did not awaken as early 
 as usual, my rest of the night 'having been broken. 
 While I was making my breakfast I gave the cattle an 
 other chance at the grass and then gave grain, after 
 which we moved on. It was six o'clock when we left the 
 camp ; my road was very rough. Can my carriage stand 
 it? it is doubtful. I led the horse over ever} 7 stone that I 
 thought w r ould strain the carriage, but as I progressed the 
 road improved. I travelled as fast as I dared and soon 
 came to a small creek ; just what I wanted, as the cattle 
 were very thirsty,' here I gave them some grain and then 
 moved on and soon came to the railroad, which after 
 crossing 1 came to a large river, but did not learn its 
 name. There being plenty of grass I concluded to go no 
 further and went into camp, turning the cattle loose to eat 
 as they pleased. I went to the river prospecting and found 
 a junction of two rivers, and made marks to ascertain 
 whether the river was rising or falling. As I went back 
 to the camo, I gathered some fuel and made a good large 
 fire, and got me ready a good supper, that is, what I 
 called good. I carry a variety of eatables, so that I had, 
 the stuff for a good meal. Well, here we are, the four of 
 us ; horse, cow, dog and self. It is just seven o'clock in 
 the evening, on the banks of a rivjer unknown. I secured 
 my cattle, gave them grain, make up my bed and was 
 about to lie down, when a train of cars came along from 
 Ogden. 
 
 On the morning of the 23rd I was up and around look 
 ing to my cattle, doing this aid that, not knowing what 
 the next would be. I went to the river and looked at the 
 marks made last night, and found the water four inches 
 
204 GRANGE STATION. 
 
 lower and went back to the camp and turned the cattle 
 loose, that they might eat plenty of good grass, made a 
 fire and got me another "poor" breakfast. Then I went 
 back to the river, being anxious to see some team coming 
 from the East crossing the river, to see if it wasfordable. 
 About one mile east of us is Grange station, which is a 
 junction of the Union Pacific and the Oregon Short Line, 
 running within twenty rods of my camp. About nine 
 o'clock the express train from the East passed by. After 
 the passing of this train I saw four teams coming from 
 the East ; three were heav} r wagons and one a light 
 Eastern wagon on springs, drawn by two horses each. On 
 coming to the river they stopped ; their trail from 
 Granges was close to the railr ;ad track, and not more 
 than fort} T feet from the bridge. As they got to the bank, 
 the men, women and children, to the number of twenty- 
 three, got out and made for the river. I was some 
 distance from them and went to the junction of the two 
 rivers, opposite to them ; we tried to talk across, but the 
 roar of the waters prevented us from hearing one another. 
 They went back to their wagons ; two horses were then 
 taken from one of the wagons,' unharnessed and two men 
 mounted them and rode down into the river and out on 
 its opposite banks, then they rode on about eight rods and 
 down into the larger river and across to where I was. 
 The first river was about four rods across, the second 
 about eight rods. As soon as they got to me, they com 
 menced asking me, where I was from, where going and 
 how long had I been at the river? I told them where I was 
 from and where I intended to haul up, and so on. I told them 
 that I reached this river 3*esterday, and had been waiting 
 there since that time, and now I will cross with them. They 
 recrossed the river, I following close after and got over all 
 right. The teamsters now got ready to cross with their 
 wagons and I watched them at a distance of twelve rods. 
 They drove their largest wagon first down into the river, 
 
BLACK FORK RIVER. 205 
 
 the two men on horseback leading. As the big, heavy 
 team went into the river, the wheels sunk deep into the 
 mud, but the horses were game and pulled it across the 
 two rivers all right. The second wagon got across with 
 the same good fortune and returned for the third team, 
 which was the covered light carriage, with springs, the 
 horses were fine and spirited ones. In this carriage were 
 four women and two children. As they were going down 
 into the river, the bank being cut up by the other teams in 
 crossing, the horses stepped deep into the mud and began 
 to act meanly. The driver, however, was an excellent 
 horseman and spoke to his horses sharply, and led them 
 out safely. One of the women, however, was so badly 
 frightened that she lay unconscious for over two hours. 
 The fourth vehicle was got across all right ; it was eleven 
 o'clock when we all had forded the two rivers, and seeing 
 them safely across I went on my way and about three 
 o'clock I came to another river. I followed this river for 
 several miles, until coming to a fine plat of grass where I 
 went into camp for the night, turning my cattle loose to 
 graze. I made a fire and got my supper, and after bring 
 ing the cattle and fastening them up for the night I went 
 to bed. 
 
 On the 24th, on the banks of the Black Fork river, I 
 was up making ready to move on. While setting my own 
 breakfast I allowed my cattle free range of grass and then 
 a feed of grain. I left camp about six o'clock ; it was a 
 fine morning as I left the Black Fork river, and having 
 a good trail I went on my way with merry glee. About 
 eleven o'clock we came to some good water where we 
 stopped ; I gave water and grain to my cattle and took a 
 dish of cold coffee myself; this was all I cared for. I 
 did not stop long and as my journey continued the road 
 grew rougher. About three o'clock in the afternoon I 
 met a train of six teams ; I stopped and passed the 
 
206 BITTER CREEK. 
 
 compliments of the da}-, saying, "Gentlemen, where are 
 you from and where going?" "We are from Kansas and 
 have not decided finally where to locate. We started, 
 however, for Oregon, but it is a long road, and a rough 
 one at that. Stranger, where are you from and where 
 are you bound to?" "I am from Ogden and going East." 
 "How far East, we would like to know, stranger?" "I 
 can't say for certainty, no more than you, but should I 
 have luck, I may go as far as Massachusetts." "Massa 
 chusetts, the d 1 you are, that is almost the jumping off 
 place." "How far have }*ou come to-day ?" "We have 
 come from Green River city, about twelve miles I think." 
 4t How far is it to water?" "About three miles, I should 
 think." "How far have you come!" "I have come 
 from the Black Fork river, about fifteen miles." "Have 
 we got to ford the rivers?" "No, you follow the river, 
 3 r ou do not have to ford it ; your next will be Hams Fork, 
 about forty miles from here." After bidding each other 
 good-bye, we went on. On coming to water, I gave my 
 cattle water and grain and concluded to camp here for the 
 night. My surroundings look rough, and not a house in 
 sight. I gathered some sage brush ior fuel, made a good, 
 rousing fire, got supper and made everything ready for 
 the night. As I lay on my bed, to the right of me, I 
 heard the whistle of an engine,Uhen I knew that we were 
 not for from the railroad. After a time I was lost in a 
 sound sleep. 
 
 On the morning of the 25th I was up before the dawn 
 of da} r , getting ready to break camp. As soon as it was 
 light enough, I hauled out and went on. About eight 
 o'clock I descended a steep bluff into a canyon and after 
 travelling about a mile came to some grass ; I stopped 
 here, giving m}' cattle a chance at it. While they were 
 feeding I gathered some fuel, made a fire and boiled some 
 eggs for my breakfast. Having heard so much about 
 
GREEN RIVER CITY. 207 
 
 Green River I was anxious to see it ; so I got ready and 
 went on. I am still in the canyon and ascending a 
 heavy bluff and expect soon to reach the river, which I 
 did at half-past eleven, and at twelve o'clock we cross 
 Green River by the Ferry boat. I went on down to the 
 railroad bridge ; this bridge spans the Bitter Creek. Here 
 I went into camp, giving my cattle the last of 2001bs. of 
 grain I had bought at Evanston, and at three o'clock I 
 went into Green River city for grain and other things. I 
 made inquiries if there were two roads to Laramie city, 
 and was told there were ; one following the railroad, the 
 other the old Emigrant trail, and I would do the best to 
 take the Emigrant trail ; nine-tenths of the travel from 
 Laramie coming by that trail. The railroad trail is not 
 travelled enough to make it good, if travelled more it 
 would be better and not as far that way. When the 
 emigrant is in Laramie they tell him to take the Emigrant 
 trail to Green River city. "What is the distance to Lar 
 amie by the old Emigrant trail?" I asked. "By the rail 
 road ii is two hundred and seventy-two miles, and by the 
 Emigrant trail it must be three hundred and twenty-five 
 miles." "Can I get grain on my way?" "No, 3^011 will 
 have to buy here all you need on the way." "How about 
 grass?" "You will not find much grass, our Spring has 
 been so late and cold. It will take you twelve days at 
 least to get to Laramie. On the last two or three days 
 3'ou ma} T get grass, and as you get nearer to Laramie 3-011 
 will find it much warmer." "How much will you charge 
 me for lOOlbs. each of corn, oats and barley?" "I shall 
 charge you six dollars for SOOlbs., that is the least." 
 "Why didn't you say seven dollars^ you could have got it 
 as quickly as six ; }'ou have it all 3'our own way and 3'ou 
 know we must have it. In Evanston, I only paid three 
 dollars for 2001bs. It came from Nebraska, right by 
 your door, one hundred and twenty miles further. I sup 
 pose you only do business three months out of the twelve, 
 
208 GREEN RIVER CITY. 
 
 which accounts for the high price." "You are right there, 
 we do not have much trade after the emigrant season is 
 over." I bought the grain and paid for it and my wagon 
 had 3001bs. more weight on it. The wagon itself only 
 weighs 3251bs. ; pretty slender for the Rocky Mountains. 
 In my wagon there is a box a half foot deep, a half foot 
 wide, and three feet long, water-tight, in which are cloth 
 ing, tea, coffee, sugar, several kinds of canned meats and 
 some tools, such as a wrench, hammer, hatchet, saw, 
 square and many smaller tools. The weight of the whole 
 being about 1751bs. ; making a total of goods of 50Ulbs. 
 and 8001bs. for my horse to draw. When passing through 
 creeks, rivers and sloughs I get on and ride, thus adding 
 ISOlbs. more, for the horse to draw through and up the 
 rivers and creeks. About six o'clock I returned to my 
 camping ground, inspected my wagon and made the weak 
 places stronger and more perfect. After everything had 
 been done as I thought could be, to make it safer, I 
 prepared for the night ; securing my cattle to their posts, 
 made up my bed and went to rest. 
 
 On the morning of the 26th J left Green River city for 
 Laramie, where I arrived on the 10th of June. Leaving the 
 city I followed the railroad to Rock Springs, where I left 
 it and did not see it again until arriving in Laramie. Af 
 ter leaving the city and having travelled about six miles, 
 I came to Bitter Creek river. The waters are said to be 
 poisonous and cattle are not allowed to drink its waters, 
 In fording this river my cattle were not dry, so did not 
 attempt to drink. About twelve I made Rock Springs, 
 which is a telegraph station. Here I made a short stop, 
 giving water and grain to the cattle and took a dish of 
 cold coffee and crackers myself. Here I leave the rail 
 road for a long time. About four miles or more from 
 here I met an ox team, accompanied by two men, and in 
 quired if "I was on the right trail for Laramie?" "You 
 
MILLER'S CANYON. 209 
 
 are not ; you should have taken the other trail," they 
 said. ''Then I shall have to go back and take the other 
 trail?" I said. "No, go on a little further and turn to 
 your left, you .will come into the trail." I went on and 
 coming to the place turned to the left, as I had been told, 
 coming back to the trail all right, and about five o'clock 
 came to a slough ; it was an awful looking hole. After 
 looking at it I got upon my wagon and drove over it all 
 right. After a little while I came to another of the same 
 kind, which I passed all right. Went on, coming to some 
 grass, which was fenced in and some cattle feeding, and 
 going on a little further came to a house and barn. After 
 passing the house we came to a good grass plat where I 
 camped for the night. I turned my cattle loose to feed 
 for themselves, while I gathered some fuel, made a fire, 
 prepared some coffee and cooked some dried beef, par 
 taking of an excellent supper. A good disli of coffee, 
 well seasoned with milk and sugar, all alone, tastes good, 
 } r ou bet. After supper I brought in the cattle, gave them 
 some grain and secured them for the night ; spread out 
 my blankets, laid down and allowed myself to go to sleep. 
 Just think of it, in the dead of the night to wake up and 
 find 3 T ourself alone and have a long talk with my cattle. 
 My dog, Bertie, is at all times with me in my bed. 
 
 The morning of the 27th found me up before there was 
 any light. I turned the cattle loose for grass, greased my 
 wagon, made a fire, bailed coffee and eggs, and opened a 
 can of salmon. My breakfast being ready I brought in 
 the cattle and gave them some grain, then I sat down to 
 my breakfast to be ready to move onwards together. Af 
 ter breakfast started onward and having travelled about a 
 mile came to a house. Here was a man, his wife and two 
 children. I inquired the name of this canyon. "It is 
 called Miller's canyon," stranger." "How far is it to 
 Green River city?" "Twenty-five miles, stranger." 
 
210 MILLER'S CANYON. 
 
 "How far to the next house?" "I do not know the 
 distance, but it is a long way ; in fact I never was east of 
 here more than fifty miles, stranger." "How long have 
 you been here?" "Six years or more, stranger." I left 
 them and ascended the mountain, attaining its summit 
 travelling three-fourths of a circle in the distance of 
 eight miles. About ten o'clock I passed a trail to my 
 left and on a board nailed to a post I read, "To Soda 
 Springs, crossing Green River without Ferry." Went 
 down the mountain and. at its base I crossed a deep gulch 
 on snow. A short distance from this gulch I came to a 
 creek of good water. Here we stopped, my cattle took 
 water and grain, nrvself and dog, bread, cheese and cold 
 coffee. We go on our road to-day, so far good, no rivers, 
 creeks or sloughs. The day is fast closing ; it is time we 
 should have come to grass. I have travelled all day and 
 seen none ; we must go into camp without water or grass. 
 I spoke to my horse, "Fanny, we will go no further to 
 day ; we have no grass or water,' you will be obliged to 
 eat your grain without." It is hard, plenty of grass 
 and water one day and none the next. I drove into the 
 sage bush, just out of the trail and stopped. Fed my 
 cattle with grain, spread my blankets on the ground and 
 laid down for the night, but could not go to sleep. I would 
 lay awhile and then get up and talk to my cattle and then 
 lay down again, but could not drop off to sleep. Several 
 times I got up and laid down again, and after a while I 
 dropped off to sleep, not knowing it at the time. 
 
 On the morning of the 28th I was up again before it 
 was light enough to travel. I gave my cattle grain, but 
 they would not touch ij they were so thirsty. As soon as 
 light came I drove into the trail and moved on. I knew 
 that my cattle must have water, so. I drove on as fast as 
 possible ; after travelling about eight miles we came to 
 water, which I tested and found it fair water, so I gave to 
 
MILLER'S CANYON. 211 
 
 the cattle as much as they would drink. After which I 
 gave them their grain, and while they were eating had 
 breakfast of crackers and milk. I did not stop long, but 
 went on and about ten o'clock met a man on horseback, 
 leading a pack-horse. "Good morning, stranger," I said. 
 "Good morning, sir." "How far have 3 T ou come this 
 morning?" I asked. "About ten or twelve miles," he 
 said. "Did your horses have grass last night?" I asked. 
 "No, not any ; I should have stopped at the creek, there 
 was grass there," he said. "How is the trail on ahead?" 
 I asked. "First best for me ; I can go anywhere as I 
 am,* you can't with }'our wagon." "Where are you go 
 ing to?" I asked. "I am going to California," he said. 
 "California, I am just from there." "You from Cali 
 fornia ; what, you have not come from California with 
 that outfit?" he asked. "I have ; just as I am, and I am 
 going East, to Massachusetts," I answered. "The d 1 
 you are. Well, I will give it up, if you have come so 
 far, I think I ought to do as much ; good-bye, stranger." 
 "Goodie, sir." We parted and went on, I saying, 
 "Well, Fanny and Bessie, we must make that creek before 
 night. There is grass, you did not get any last night ; 
 to-night you may get some." On we went, a good trail 
 -and down grade ; we are travelling at the rate of three 
 miles an hour, and about four p. m,, I made a stop of 
 about thirty minutes, giving the cattle some grain, after 
 which we went on. Talking to my horse I said, "Come, 
 Fanny, do your best, it is a good road, you shall have 
 grass to-night." I was crowding along as fast as I 
 could, when looking off to my left, saw smoke, and soon 
 I came to tracks of wagons and was sure there was a 
 camp some where near. When the horse saw these tracks 
 she stopped, looking around. I said, "Fanny, we will go 
 in here and follow those tracks and see what we can find." 
 Travelling around a bluff we came in sight of a camp a 
 tent and three wagons and eight horses ; five men,, a boy, 
 
212 MILLER'S CANYON. 
 
 two women and a girl. As I went into the camp I called 
 out, ''Don't be afraid,*! have come to see who is here !" 
 "Come in, stranger ; you are welcome," was answered. 
 "I am going East and you are going West, I suppose. 
 Can I st >p with you to-night, or in other words, can I go 
 into camp here?" I asked. "Yes, sir; you can,'* was 
 answered. I detached the horse from the wagon and un 
 harnessed her, turning her loose/ and she went rolling 
 about for some time. I gave the cow the same chance, 
 but she went for the grass. It is half-past six and I went 
 to gather fuel for a fire. "Stranger, do your cooking by our 
 fire ; don't trouble yourself in making a fire." I got my 
 supper, such as coffee, boiled eggs, crackers and milk. 
 I brought in my cattle for the night, securing and giving 
 them their grain, made up my bed and went to rest. 
 
 On the morning of the 29th, all hands around the camp 
 were up early, making ready for a departure ; it is a 
 lively camp. Cattle were fed, wagons greased and break 
 fast prepared. I was invited to breakfast with the rest of 
 the company, all making the ground our table. The 
 breakfast comprised bacon, eggs, warm bread and coffee. 
 Remember, I have a cow that has given milk even 7 day 
 since calving,* she is now four years old and has had two 
 calves. On this occasion I found milk for all. After 
 breakfast we made ready and moved on our respective 
 ways. It is six o'clock as I leave the camp. It is a fine 
 morning and the road good. The wind is freshening up 
 and clouds are gathering; it looks as if we are to have a 
 change of weather ; it is warm and sultry and begins to 
 look like rain. I crowd on as fast as I can remember it 
 is all walk and nothing else after a while it began to rain 
 and the wind blew a gale. I stopped to make the things 
 on the wagon more secure; as I could see no place for 
 shelter or cover, we have to stand and take it. A flash 
 of lightning and a peal of thunder startled us and set me 
 
ANTELOPE SPRINGS. 213 
 
 thinking of my loneliness ; sometimes this thought troubles 
 rne considerably. What if some serious accident happens 
 to me ? The storm did not last long, but it left the roads 
 dangerous travelling ; my horse could scarcely ascend a 
 hill, but descending was even worse, on account of the 
 slipperyness. I continued on, hoping to come to some 
 place where we could stay, at least over night. I came to 
 a cross-trail, leading to the right and left ; not knowing 
 which to take, I concluded to stop, as I have found such 
 trails to my disadvantage. I had not been here more 
 than an hour before a team came along the right trail and 
 stopped when he got to me, saying, "Stranger, I have 
 been trying to travel since the storm, but my horse slips so 
 bad I am afraid she will injure herself." "I am in the same 
 fix. It is dangerous travelling ; I have been travelling 
 an hour down the mountains, and my horse has been 
 down twice. I am looking for water. Antelope Springs 
 are not far from here ; have you come past them, stran 
 ger?" "No, sir," I answered. "Then they must be on 
 this trail." "Are 3-011 alone," I asked. "No, stranger ; 
 there is another team a little ways back." "Where are 
 you from?" Tasked. "lam from Laramie ; where are 
 you from?" asked the stranger. "I am from Ogden." 
 "You from Ogden ! I am going there and then to Salt 
 Lake city," said the stranger. "What! are you a Mor 
 mon?" "No, I am not a Mormon ; are you?" asked the 
 stranger. "No, I am not, but I know something about 
 them, as I have lived amongst them some eight months. 
 I left Ogden on the 14th instant, and have come so far 
 since that time." "Where are you going to?" asked the 
 stranger. "I am going to Laramie," I replied. "How 
 is the road to Ogden ; what rivers have }*ou forded?" "I 
 forded Bear river, Muddy creek, Hams Fork and Bitter 
 creek. These are all of any account ; small creeks are 
 the worst to cross," I answered. He went on up the left 
 trail, I following in his rear. We had gone but a short 
 
214 ANTELOPE SPRINGS. 
 
 distance when we came to a small creek, were we stopped 
 and gave our cattle water. We then went on our way 
 and came to a good valley where we found a herd of 
 horses, ninety in number, in charge of two men, who 
 were bound to Laramie. Here, we also found an Emi 
 grant tram, twelve in number, bound for Oregon. En 
 tering this valley, on our left are the springs, known as 
 Antelope Springs. It is three o'clock and all propose to 
 stop until we can travel. There is not much grass but 
 plenty of water. The herd of horses have eaten nearly 
 all the grass. I secured the cow with her lariat, the horse 
 I dared not turn loose i nor stake her out. This is a 
 most wonderful place ; not more than fifty acres in ex 
 tent, almost surrounded by mountains. There is two en 
 trances to the valley ; one from the East and one from 
 the West. A fine harbor it makes, only one thing is 
 lacking, that is wood ; not a particle of fuel can be found, 
 it has been so closely gathered up. I was informed that 
 here was the best water to be found between Ogden and 
 Laramie. Here I will say, that if I ever travel in this 
 manner again, I will carry an oil stove for cooking pur 
 poses,' it will save much labor in gathering fuel ; you can 
 gather sage brush, but wood is almost out of the question 
 across the plains. When I entered this valley, beside 
 the herd of horses, I found twelve wagons, twenty-four 
 horses and sixty-three persons, men, women and child 
 ren, all for Ogden. The other two teams were for 
 Salt Lake city. It is six o'clock in the evening and time 
 to prepare for the night. Supper comes first, there is no 
 wood of which to make a fire. I have kerosene oil, but 
 I use it for my lantern and lighting a fire, and have found 
 it very convenient many times for this purpose. Of 
 these teams, there are two which have no men with them. 
 They are conducted by two women and eight children, 
 four boys and four girls ten persons in all. These 
 women are Germans, and they had brought with them the 
 
ANTELOPE SPRINGS. 215 
 
 spare wood from last night's camp, and they were the 
 only ones who had an}* wood. This wood made tea and 
 coffee for the whole camp. After supper preparations for 
 the night were made. The ground is quite wet. The 
 camp for the night had eleven tents, all arranged in a 
 circle. In the rear of each tent is a wagon, and the horses 
 are made fast to the rear of each. I was invited to come 
 into the circle, but declined, having no tent preferring to 
 sleep with my cattle. This camp is under good discip 
 line, and has a watchman for each night. This is essen 
 tial ; should anything strange or serious occur in or around 
 the camp it is made known to all. Having the camp ar 
 ranged for the night and while sitting around, one of the 
 compaivy said, "Stranger from California, we would like 
 to hear from you, about your travels. We are going to 
 Oregon, now give us a route thereto." "Captain, what 
 part of Oregon do you intend to settle in?" "We intend 
 to settle on lands that have been cultivated to some ex 
 tent, say in the vicinity of Portland," said the captain. 
 "Portland is about one hundred and twenty-five miles 
 from the Pacific Ocean. Now, 1 would go from here to 
 Green River city, following the Union Pacific Railroad to 
 Ogden, by way of Evanston. At Ogden take the Central 
 Pacific Railroad to Corinne, Kelton, Terrace, Wells, Elko, 
 Carlin. About five miles beyond Carlin, take the old 
 Emigrant trail to Beowawe ; there you are on the railroad 
 again. Then to Battle Mountain, Golconda, Winnemucca, 
 Humboldt, Wadsworth, Reno. Then take the Virginia 
 city and Marysville turnpike to Webber's Lake, Jackson's 
 Ranche, Granite ville, Nevada city, Grass Valley to 
 Murysville. There you should take the California and 
 Oregon road to Oregon. This is as far as I can tell you. 
 You will not have to leave the Central Pacific Railroad 
 for any length of time, with one exception. That will be 
 from Carlin to Beowawe." 
 
216 ANTELOPE SPRINGS. 
 
 On the morning of the 30th, all hands were up before 
 the sun. A detail was made and sent in search of wood, 
 but nothing but sage brush could be found, and enough 
 of this was found to boil all the water that was neces- 
 saiy to make coffee for breakfast for the whole camp. I 
 milked the cow and contributed it to the general stock, 
 and the company were much pleased to taste milk once 
 more. At six o'clock all had finished breakfast and got 
 ready to break camp. It was decided to do so on account 
 of the scarcity of fuel and grass, but we had plenty of good 
 water, such as we shall not find for many miles. As we 
 were about to part, the captain of the camp, John H. 
 Standly, said, " Stranger from California, bound East to 
 Massachusetts, we sincerely hope that you will succeed in 
 your great undertaking. Travelling alone as you are, 
 not knowing what you may have to encounter, (perhaps, 
 it is as well you do not) we know, and can't help but 
 think of you daily. We would like to know whether you 
 succeed in getting through your journey safely." I an 
 swered, "Strangers from Kansas, I thank you kindly for 
 your S} T mpathy in my behalf, hoping that } r ou all may 
 reach your destination in safet} r . I know what you will 
 have to encounter. Moving as an army ; if you get into 
 a tight place 3*0 u can get out of it ; you are not alone as 
 I am. Strangers, I bid you all good-bye." As I left 
 them, they gave three cheers for the man from California, 
 bound East to Massachusetts. 
 
 It was half-past eight o'clock when we broke camp, 
 each going his seperate way. It was a delightfully 
 warm morning, but hard travelling for my horse, as she 
 kept slipping, but as the day advanced the travelling im 
 proved. About twelve at noon, I stopped and gave the 
 cattle a feed of grain. No water for them as warm as it 
 had been in the morning ; it was rather hard on them. 
 My stop was short as I wished to get to some water. 
 
THE BLUFF. 217 
 
 About two o'clock I met a train of four wagons and I 
 asked them "How far is it to water?" "We have seen 
 none since leaving camp this morning, stranger." "How 
 far have you come, think you?" "About twelve miles I 
 think. Stranger, how far have 3*011 come?" "About the 
 same distance." "When did you cross any rivers or 
 creeks last?" I asked. "We have seen none for many 
 miles." "How far from the road were you camped last 
 night?" I asked. "Oh, not far; about forty rods, not 
 more. We turned in on our right and made a high bluff, 
 around the bluff we found both water and grass ; you will 
 see our tracks, we have made some deep ones to-day, 
 stranger." "Where are you from?" I asked. "We are 
 from Colorado. Where are you from, stranger?" "I am 
 from California." "What, you all the way from Califor 
 nia?" "Yes, all the way." "That beats the d 1. 
 Have you brought that cow all the way from California, 
 stranger?" "No, I did not say that I brought that cow 
 from California, but led her all the way. She has walked 
 all that distance," I said. "Where are you going to, 
 stranger?" "I am going to Massachusetts." "Oh, h 1 ! 
 where are }'ou going, honest?" said the stranger. "Hon 
 est, I am going East, to Massachusetts. Where are 
 y ou going?" I asked. "We are bound to Washington 
 Territory." After this conversation we bade good-bye 
 and went on our several ways. About six o'clock I came 
 to the tracks made by the teams I had met. I turned in 
 and followed the tracks around the bluff and came to 
 water. Here I stopped and made my camp for the 
 night. I detached the horse from the wagon, removing 
 her harness and let her loose, the cow also ; the horse 
 went in for rolling, the cow for grazing. I went gather 
 ing sage brush for fuel and having gathered a large pile, I 
 set it on fire, prepared a hot supper and ate it. 'After 
 supper I brought in my cattle, securing them and gave 
 them their evening meal of grain, made up my bed and 
 
218 THE BLUFF. 
 
 lay down to rest. As I la}' down on my bed my atten 
 tion was drawn towards my horse. She was looking 
 steadily towards the bluff, and continued to for some 
 time. I looked in that direction but could see nothing ; 
 still she kept looking all the same. All at once I saw 
 what had attracted the attention of my horse. It was a 
 herd of deer coming down the bluffs for grass and water. 
 They were not more than twenty rods from us. I did not 
 trouble them, and told them to remain as long as they 
 wished, and they did remain. I did not let my fire go out 
 as I thought there might be something more than deer 
 around. It has been m} T custom at nights to tie my dog 
 to the wagon, since I was so near losing him when I was 
 travelling among the sheep ranches and was annoyed by 
 coyottes. They were around me continually ; I did not 
 know what to do to stop their infernal noise. One morn 
 ing I was up early and saw one a short distance from me. 
 I set the dog on him and the coyotte turned on the dog. 
 I tried to call the dog off, but the little boobee was only 
 the more courageous, and since that time I have been 
 more particular about setting him on to the wild animals. 
 
 The last da} r of May, 31st, I was up earl}', as usual, 
 getting ready to strike out. At six o'clock I left the 
 camp and at eight I made the mountain's base on the left, 
 travelling east, I came to a stop. I left my cattle and 
 ascended the mountain, when about half-way up I stopped 
 hesitating, but walked to the summit. Beyond I could 
 see a great distance. Here my imagination carried me 
 home. Well, here I am ; my cattle are yonder at the base. 
 I went back to them, saying to the horse, "Fanny, can 
 you make this mountain ? I think } r ou can, but you will 
 have to work smart to do it." My weight is about GOOlbs. 
 in all. "Fanny," I said, "you can't take it all at once ; 
 we must make two loads of it." I took the grain from 
 the carriage and left it at the foot of the hill. I did not 
 
THE MOUNTAIN. 219 
 
 leave the cow, knowing that she is good at going up hills, 
 her halter being at all times slack. The horse succeeded in 
 drawicg up the load after a hard pull ; then we returned 
 for the grain, taking the cow back with us to act as a 
 brake on going down the hill. I then re-loaded the 
 grain and took up the second load ; this is the worst hill 
 I have travelled so far on my journey if there are any 
 mountains in Wyoming this must be one of them. In 
 journeying from the East this hill is not near so hard as 
 from the West. It was just twelve at noon as we made 
 the summit the last time. I gave the cattle some grain 
 and when they had finished eating went on further, and 
 about two o'clock we came to a small creek at an oppor 
 tune time, as the cattle were very thirsty and they drank 
 freely. Going on we travelled a good down grade, with 
 a tip-top trail, crowding along as fast as we could. In 
 fact, to-day I am feeling well. As I travelled along I 
 saw smoke in front of us and I am sure the horse saw it 
 also, as she pricked her ears until we came to a camp, 
 where I stopped and inquired if there was any water near 
 by, how they had come and where they made camp last 
 night and if there were any rivers to ford ? I ask such 
 questions whenever I meet such trains of travellers. 
 This company consisted of five wagons, twelve horses, 
 four tents and twenty-two persons, hailing from Kansas, 
 on their way to Oregon. "Where are you from and 
 where are you going?" asked the strangers. "I am 
 from California, going East," I replied. "You from 
 California, going East. What, don't you like California, 
 stranger?" "Yes, but like the East much better," I 
 answered. "That beats the d 1 ; ain't you just a little 
 craz}^?" "No, not much,'* I said. "You have not 
 brought that cow from California, have you?" "No, I 
 have not brought her a step, I have led her all the way as 
 you now see," I remarked. "Ha, ha-ha !" laughed the 
 stranger. "I'll bet you are a Yankee." "Yes, I am." 
 
220 THE MOUNTAIN. 
 
 "Here, come with me." I went with him to his wagon,' 
 there he took out a small barrel that would hold about a 
 gallon, took out the stopple and drank, I should think as 
 much as a pint, and then handed it to me, saying, 
 "Drink, Yankee, drink, it will do you good. I have 
 plenty more." I took it and drank three small swallows, 
 and handed it back to the man, he taking another drink 
 and then handed it to me again, but I refused to drink 
 an}' more. I then said, "I will stop here over night if 
 3"ou will allow me to do so?" "Yes, stranger, stop with 
 us over-night. I will find the whisky." "I will milk the 
 cow and we will have some good coffee,' that will be 
 better than whisky," I answered. It is now about six 
 o'clock, rather early to go into camp, but we will make it 
 up to-morrow. "Where is the water?" I asked. "You 
 can have some of ours; we carry it in a barrel and don't 
 intend to be without ; we keep the barrels full. This we 
 got at Platt River ; we were in camp there last night and 
 came from there to-da} T ." About how many miles have 
 you made to-day ?" I asked. "About twenty miles." I 
 gave my cattle water and grain, remarking that it was 
 getting low, half gone, but it must last until I reach 
 Laramie, as there is none to be bought this side of that 
 place. The teamster said, "It was not so," I could get 
 grain where I should cross the river, which I would reach 
 to-morrow. Then you will follow the river to the bridge, 
 just put up by Uncle Sam, and beyond the bridge you will 
 come to a store. There you can get grain, flour, bacon, 
 tea, coffee, sugar and all the whisk} r you want." When 
 in Green River city I Avas told that I would have to take 
 grain that would last me till I reached Laramie, and you 
 say that I can get grain after crossing the river?" "Yes, 
 all 3 r ou want." "I bought enough to last me to Laramie. 
 Had I known that I could buy, it would have saved me 
 hauling it this distance. I will feed my cattle a little 
 more. How many days have you been coming from 
 
PLATTE VALLEY. 221 
 
 Laramie?" I asked. "Left Laramie on the 24th, eight 
 da}*s," answered the stranger. "About how many miles, 
 think you?" "About one hundred and forty. We ought 
 to travel about twenty miles a day, but our first day out, 
 we only travelled to the river." "What river?" I asked. 
 "I do not know the name." "I want some hot coffee and 
 want to go to bed, as I desire to start early in the morn 
 ing and make that store." "Oh, let your coffee go, take 
 a drink of whisky-, that will do you some good," said the 
 stranger. "Friend, I am not in the habit of taking such 
 strong stuff; it does us no good,' you must excuse me." 
 "Yes, I will, but, stranger, I tell } T OU that you had better 
 get some whisky when you get to the store ; it will help 
 you along so much easier. You have got a hard road be 
 fore 3*011 ; 3'ou have got to cross what will make } T OU 
 quail." "Friend, I am alone and must keep my head 
 clear; it will not do for me to meddle with that whisky 
 much ; it is good where it belongs, if yon kn:>w where 
 that is." "Well, we will go to bed and get up early in 
 the morning for a good, early start." Securing my cattle 
 I went to bed. 
 
 On the morning of June 1st, I was up at five o'clock 
 making all preparations for moving on. My neighbors 
 were not yet up, so I hollered out, "Strangers, I am all 
 ready to leave you^ If you have any message to send 
 East, now is your time !" The old gentleman answered, 
 "Hold on a minute ! Stranger, you are going East and I 
 West, we shall never meet again, so here is luck and 
 prosperity to you, hoping you will have a good voyage." 
 He drank and urged me to drink. I said, "Friend, I am 
 not in the habit of doing this, but to please you, I do so. 
 I really think it does more harm than good ; good morn 
 ing. I hope you will succeed on your long journey," I 
 remarked. "Good morning,' I hope you will get along 
 all right, you have a hard road to Laramie." I left them 
 
222 PLATTE VALLEY. 
 
 soon after five o'clock,' it was a very fine morning: and a 
 good trail,' all were in harmony. About eight o'clock we 
 came to a creek and I allowed my cattle to take as much 
 water as they pleased, making but a short stop. Had I 
 company, how pleasant it would be ; my animals are my 
 only company. I talk with them as though they were 
 human and think they understand me ; I have no doubt 
 about this. This is my seventh day from Green River 
 cit}', about half-way to Laramie. I am now in sight of 
 Platte Valley. I have been descending since making the 
 summit of the hill yesterda} 7 . A good road is cheering 
 such as I have had for the past two days ; one hour more 
 and I shall be on the banks of the river. I see smoke in 
 that direction, also teams, any quantity of them. There 
 appears a large camp close by the river ; there is grass 
 and horses feeding. "Come, Fann}', go on; we will soon 
 be there," I said. At a distance she saw the horses and 
 whinnied loudly. We made for the camp and as I made 
 it was completely taken in ; men, women and children 
 surrounded me asking many questions. "Stranger, where 
 in h 1 have you come from, from the West, have you 
 not?" "I have come from the West, but your first ques 
 tion I am not able to answer. I don't know that place,' I 
 never was there ; I have heard of it, perhaps 3'ou can tell 
 me where it is? Oh, I came through it my first day from 
 Green River city ; you will find it before you get there," I 
 remarked. "You will, surely before you get to Laramie. 
 I will bet you are a Yankee," was answered. "Well, 
 you are a good guesser. I am. I would like to stop 
 here to-night ; }-ou may ask me any questions you like. 
 I am from California, just as }~ou see me, with horse, car 
 riage, cow and dog. I can make it interesting to you ; I 
 want my horse and cow to have some grass. I see there 
 is plenty of it for all. I will let them both loose to feed, 
 at the same time I will give you a history of my travels. 
 Have you had your bupper?" I asked. "No, we have 
 
NORTH PLATTE RIVER. 223 
 
 not," said the stranger. "All right, I want some hot tea 
 or coffee ; I have plenty of it, and not only that, I have 
 yonder cow ; she has given me milk all my way from Cali 
 fornia to this place, just one year to day. The first of 
 June, 1882, we left Eureka city, Humboldt county, three 
 hundred and three miles north of San Francisco ; follow 
 ing the Central Pacific Railroad from there to Ogden, ar 
 riving at the latter place on the 23rd of September. On 
 the 14th of May last, we left Ogden arid have travelled to 
 this very place, North Platte River." "About how many 
 miles have you travelled since you left California, stran 
 ger?" was asked. "On my arrival in Ogden I found 
 that I had travelled fourteen hundred and twenty-seven 
 miles." "Where are you going to, stranger?" "I am 
 going to Massachusetts ; when I get there I am at home." 
 "About how far is it from here, stranger?" "About two 
 thousand live hundred miles." "More than four thousand 
 miles you will have travelled. How far has that cow 
 come with you?" "She has come all the distance ; I left 
 with the same outfit I now have." "I saw last fall in 
 some paper of a man earning from California and going 
 to Massachusetts, and you are the man. Well, well, you 
 are a brick ; you will be well burned by the time you 
 get to Massachusetts. We shall weary you all out asking 
 questions. Our supper is ready, come with me and get 
 some hot coffee, stranger." "Thank you, I will." After 
 supper I asked, "How large a camp have you ?" "We 
 have twenty-one wagons, forty-eight horses and one hun 
 dred and one persons, all told, bound for Washington 
 Territory. Now, how shall we go, to get there ?" asked 
 the captain. "What part of the territory are you intend 
 ing to settle in?" I asked. "The western part, about one 
 hundred miles from the Pacific Ocean." "Only a few 
 days' ago I was asked about the same question, with one 
 exception, that was Oregon ; about the same distance 
 from the ocean, only further north. Now, suppose I give 
 
224 NORTH PLATTE RIVER. 
 
 you a route, due west, within one hundred and fifty miles 
 of the Pacific Ocean ; that would be to Sacramento /your 
 road is a great thoroughfare. There is but one trail to 
 central California, that is Fremont's,' all other trails lead 
 out of this. We will start from this very spot, North 
 Platte River and go to Green River cit}", Evanston, 
 Ogden. From Ogden follow the Central Pacific Rail 
 road to Carlin/ there leave the railroad and cross over the 
 mountain to Beowawe, and on to Reno. At this place 
 leave the railroad trail and take the Henness trail to 
 Graniteville, Grass Valley to Marysville. At this last 
 place you are on the great highway for Oregon ; about 
 one hundred and fifty miles from the Pacific Ocean. 
 From here to Green River city it is a very disagreeable 
 r md, but had I had company it might have seemed differ 
 ent; travelling alone makes things look dreary. I have 
 met many teams, most of them were from Kansas. 
 Where are you from, captain?" "We are from Kansas." 
 "I think you are making it a rough road for those in your 
 rear." "We do cut it up badly." "It makes an awful 
 road for me ; how is it from Laramie to here?" "It is very 
 good, but the rivers and creeks are awful to think of. 
 The worst place was on our first da} r from Laramie, 
 about fifteen miles out. It is a flat, wide plat of meadow, 
 adjoining a river, which you have to ford three times in 
 less than twelve rods. Before we came to this river, we 
 came to a store and post-office. About a mile this side 
 of the store is an awful muddy hole. It took us nearly 
 all of the afternoon to get through. About half of our 
 teams got through,' the rest we had to double up to get 
 them through. The fording of the river was not bad, a 
 good bottom, but deep water ; many things in our wagons 
 got wet. Just this side the river was a hill, 'we stopped 
 on this ascension to let the water drop out, which it did 
 to some extent. We have forded but one river since, 
 crossed three bridges and one creek. The creek not four 
 
NORTH PLATTE RIVER. 225 
 
 rods across, was the worst of all, more mud than water. 
 All of this you will have to encounter. Stranger, you do 
 not know what you have to pass through before reaching 
 Laramie ; } T OU should have some one with you at those 
 places. Your next three days will be good. On leaving 
 here you will follow the river to the bridge, and cross on 
 a good, substantial bridge, built by the Government. 
 After crossing, and going a short distance you will come 
 to the store, where you can buy most anything }'ou wish 
 grain, flour, bacon, pork, sugar, tea, coffee and a large 
 variety of canned meats. It is a great accommodation 
 store. While in Laramie this store was made known to 
 us," said the captain. "When I was in Green River city, 
 I was told that I could not get anything that I should 
 need until getting to Laramie. They told me a big lie, 
 you see. When you get there, tell the grain dealer that 
 you met the man with the horse, cow and dog, and he 
 sends his compliments, and says he could have got all the 
 grain he wanted at the bridge over the Platte River, near 
 Warm Springs." "It is about time to retire. We place 
 a watchman over the camp at nights to look around while 
 we are sleeping ; should anything happen, it would be 
 made known to us and we should be prepared for any 
 emergency," said the captain. 
 
 On the morning of June 2nd, on the banks of the 
 Platte River I broke camp, journeying on and following 
 the river to a bridge, recently built by the Government, 
 which I crossed. After travelling but a short distance I 
 came to the store, before spoken about. This place is 
 known as Hot Springs, and is about one hundred and 
 thirty miles from Laramie. I travelled along the river 
 until I came to some grass and stopped," it was difficult to 
 get the cattle past, if I had desired ; so I unharnessed 
 the horse and gave the cattle a good chance to eat their 
 fill, not knowing where the next would be found. We 
 
226 HOT SPRINGS. 
 
 stayed just one hour and then went on, coming back to 
 the old trail. This morning, when leaving camp, instead 
 of fording the river, I chose to go over the bridge, as the 
 river was very high. It is a good ford, but at this time 
 of the 3'ear the water is deep and strong. Many in cross 
 ing, have been borne down by its force, so the Govern 
 ment has erected this bridge. As you make the river 
 from the East or West the trail is good. Although from 
 the East you have to descend a bluff, but not from the 
 West. About one mile from the river I came to a 
 junction of four roads. In my rear is the river ; to my 
 left is Fort Steal and the Union Pacific Railroad, about 
 twenty miles ; to my right is the bridge ; to my left is the 
 road to Laramie, a hundred and twenty miles away, more 
 or less. It was four o'clock and moving in the right 
 direction, hoping to make Laramie in five days, 'the road 
 is good and all of us cheerful. About six o'clock, ahead 
 of us I saw smoke ; soon after we came up to three ugly- 
 looking men who were putting up a tent ; the}' had a 
 wagon and three bulls. I passed the compliments of the 
 da} T with them in a rough manner, asking some questions. 
 I thought it best to go on as I did not like their move 
 ments, but I asked, "How far was it to water?" "Three 
 miles to the creek," w^s .answered. "How large a 
 creek?" I asked. "A small one, but water enough for 
 your cattle," was answered. "Where are you from?" 
 "I am from Hot Springs." "Where in h 1 is Hot 
 Springs?" was asked. "About fifteen miles from here, 
 near Platte River." It is about three miles to the creek, 
 so I said, "Come, Fanny, we must reach the creek," 
 which in due time we did. Giving my cattle a good drin^, 
 I went on, not daring to make my camp there. I made 
 up my mind to journey on as long as I could as my road 
 was good. After a little while I saw a light ahead, 
 which on our coming near, proved to be a camp. In ap 
 proaching the camp the horse gave a tremendous neigh, 
 
THE CREEK. 227 
 
 startling all the camp, horses as well as men. I went 
 right into the camp and said, "Don't be afraid^ I am 
 alone and will not harm you ; I have come from the West 
 and suppose }'ou seldom meet persons from that direction. 
 I wish to camp with 3'ou to-night, and would rather do so 
 than stop with those I met two hours ago. I should have 
 kept on if I had not struck your camp, until I was far out 
 of their reach." "Who were those that 3 T ou dislike so 
 much?" I told him of the men with the bulls, whose 
 looks and actions I did not like, and repeated the discus 
 sion I had with them, so I travelled out of their reach 
 and here I am. I asked if they had any objections to my 
 camping with them over night, and was told they had no 
 objections. I le^d my cattle into the camp and gave 
 them grain, made my bed and laid down, saying that I 
 was very weary and tired, having travelled a long distance 
 that day. "Stranger, if you are not too tired, please tell 
 us where you are from and where bound?" "Strangers, I 
 have come from California. Three hundred and three 
 miles north of San Francisco, from there following the 
 Central Pacific Railroad through the States of California, 
 Nevada, Utah to Ogden, Green River to this place." 
 "Where are you going, stranger?" "I am bound East, to 
 Massachusetts," I answered. "Going to Massachusetts ! 
 How far have you come with that cow, stranger?" "I 
 have led her all that distance, about eighteen hundred 
 miles. Where are you from ?" I asked. "We are from 
 Kansas and are going to Oregon." "I have met many 
 from Kansas, all going to Oregon. What is the cause of 
 so many leaving Kansas?" "We are from the western 
 part of Kansas. The hot winds kill about everything 
 there and the people are leaving, going West." "How 
 many teams have you?" "We have four, also four 
 men, four women, twelve children and two dogs, all 
 for Oregon. Stranger, where has been your worst 
 travelling on the whole route?" "My worst travelling, 
 
THE CREEK. 
 
 and also the most dangerous, was in California. From 
 Green River to where we are, has been most disagreeable. 
 All alone, as I am, it makes one think of home too much. 
 I am continually thinking of breaking down, or anything 
 serious happening to me ; these thoughts trouble me con 
 tinuously. Since leaving Green River city, there have 
 been da}'s that I have seen no person nor passed a house. 
 I have 3'et about one hundred miles to travel, before I 
 reach Laramie ; how many houses do I pass in making 
 that distance?" I asked. "You pass one, yes, two ; both 
 are at a river where you cross on a bridge, one on each 
 side to take the toll. These are all until }*ou get to New 
 Laramie, where there is a post-office and a store. Now, 
 friend, stranger, we will leave you until morning and hope 
 you will have a good night's rest ; good night." "Good 
 night," I replied. 
 
 On the morning of June 3rd I was up before my neigh 
 bors, making ready to move on. I had fed my cattle and 
 was greasing my carriage, when one of my neighbors 
 came around and asked, "How often do you grease } T our 
 wagon?" "I grease every other da}'; I travel about 
 twenty-five miles a da}', making about fifty miles between 
 each greasing. Can I make some coffee by your fire ?" I 
 asked. "Oh, yes ; you can make your breakfast by our 
 fire." Soon all in the camp were up and around. I went 
 to milk the cow and while doing so, one of the dogs came 
 too near the cow ; she made a plunge at the dog upsetting 
 me and the milk. I cared but little for the milk, but the 
 strangers seemed to feel bad about it. The poor dog had 
 to take it on all sides. I told them I did not care for the 
 milk, but felt sorry on their part. I finished milking and 
 there was enough for the coffee of the whole camp. After 
 breakfast, on leaving the camp I wished the company 
 success on their long journey. They answered, "Friend, 
 stranger, we all feel anxious for you, being alone ; if you 
 
THE CREEK. 
 
 were in company with some one it would seem different, 
 and when in a tight place would have some one to help 
 you. Good-b3'e, success to you, stranger." We parted 
 and I went on. It was a pleasant and grand morning ; to 
 my right are lofty mountains, covered with snow, which 
 appear but a short distance awa} T , but are many miles. 
 High elevations give light and air, and the eye a long 
 range of vision. About nine o'clock I met a long train, 
 but made no stop, merely asking where they were from 
 and where going? "We are from Kansas and going to 
 Washington Territory. Where are 3*011 from and where 
 going?" was answered. "I am from California, going 
 East, to Massachusetts," I answered. "You are from 
 there, and have you brought that cow from there, stran 
 ger?" "We have come from California just as you see 
 us." I left them and at twelve o'clock met another train, 
 who were at dinner. Having my feed ready for the cattle 
 I stopped and fed them, and ate my own dinner. This 
 company was also from Kansas, bound for Oregon. There 
 were ten teams, twenty-four horses, twelve men, sixteen 
 women and thirty-eight children, sixty-six persons in all. 
 I left this company about half-past one o'clock ; my road 
 was not good, being badly cut up by the many teams. 
 About three o'clock we met another train of six teams ; 
 they were also from Kansas, bound for Oregon, compris 
 ing eight men, eight women and nineteen children. Only 
 a short distance further I came to another train of four 
 teams, ten horses, four men, four women and thirteen 
 children, from the same State. About five o'clock I met 
 another band of emigrants of nine teams, eleven men, ten 
 women and twent3'-nine children, all for the State of 
 Oregon. I asked the captain of the train the "Cause of 
 so many leaving Kansas? It looked as though they were 
 abandoning the State. I have met a good many teams 
 to-day." "I will tell you the cause, stranger. Where 
 we come from we have hot winds that cuts corn and many 
 
230 THE CREEK. 
 
 other things ; we can't stand it, and it is very unhealthy. 
 It is not so in other sections of the State. We made up 
 our minds to leave the State and go to the West and .see 
 what we can. do there." "Strangers, success to }'ou," I 
 said and went on, About half-past six o'clock I saw 
 smoke in the distance and journeyed towards it, and 
 came to a small creek and grass and gave my cattle 
 water. Here, my first thoughts were to go into camp, 
 then I thought I would go to where I saw the smoke. 
 However, there being excellent water and grass at this 
 creek, I concluded to camp here, so we left the trail to 
 the right, went down the creek a short distance and 
 pitched my camp, and turned the cattle loose so that 
 they could have their fill of grass. I concluded to build 
 no fire, but take my supper cold. After supper I spread 
 my blankets, laid me down and went to sleep. I did not 
 intend to sleep. When I awoke I went for my cattle and 
 found the cow lying down, the horse I could not find. I 
 called for the horse but no answer could I get. I then 
 called the cow, while I was near that I might have her 
 to help me call the horse. The second time of calling the 
 cow the horse answered me and while taking the cow to 
 the wagon the horse came into camp and I made them se 
 cure to their posts. A thought now came into my head 
 to harness the horse and go where I had seen the smoke. 
 It was not yet ten o'clock. I went on and came to the 
 camp, which was but a short distance from the road. On 
 approaching I saw two men sitting b}* the fire, whom I 
 addressed, sa} T ing "Good evening, gentlemen. About 
 half-past six I saw the smoke from your camp which I in 
 tended to reach, but coming to a creek where there was 
 good grass and water, I stopped to let my cattle have a 
 good nibble, so I remained there about three hours, and 
 now I have come on here to see if I could remain with 
 you the rest of the night?" While I was speaking the 
 foregoing, the whole camp came around me. "Strangers, 
 
THE CAMP. 231 
 
 can I remain here? I have come a long distance, and per 
 haps can make a half hour of some interest to you." 
 "Stranger, make yourself at home with us," was an 
 swered. "I have said that I have come a long way, 
 which is true ; I am all the way from the Pacific Ocean, 
 alone." "You say that you are from California ; where 
 is your home?" "I am, and my home is in Massa 
 chusetts, and I am on my way home." "Do you think 
 that j'ou will be able to get that cow to that State, stran 
 ger?" "I do,' she has already travelled eighteen hundred 
 miles. You can see in what condition she is; she speaks 
 for herself." "She is a fine looking cow. When did you 
 leave California, stranger?" "The first day of June, 
 1882." "We are going somewhere, and have started for 
 Oregon, but may change our direction. We have heard 
 much about California, what a glorious State it is ! You 
 have had an opportunity to know something about it, 
 stranger?" "Yes, I know something about the State. 
 There are as many climates in the State^ as there are 
 counties ; some parts are hot ; some warm and some parts 
 cold. You can get any temperature you desire ; -but that 
 is not all. California gets her watering done in Decem 
 ber and January ; some parts in November, and some 
 parts in February. Humboldt county I know more about 
 than any other county. That county gets more rain lhan 
 any other in the State, 1 it is also one of the healthiest in 
 the State. West of the coast-range of mountains the 
 temperature is the most even', neither too hot nor too 
 cold ; on the east side of the range it is warm, in many 
 places very warm. What I dislike, is the many months 
 without rain. Say, the last rain was in February and 
 there will be no more until December. The best months 
 are February, March and April ; they are fine months, but 
 in May it begins to dry up ; June and July are hot, and 
 August is very dry. By the latter month you will have 
 to start your sheep for the mountains, or they will starve 
 
232 MEDICINE BOW MOUNTAIN. 
 
 on the way. A person from the East going to California 
 will find the months of November, December, January 
 and February much different from the East. They will 
 forget our May's and Junes', but when the sun gets high 
 and the winds are blowing a gale, and the sands are drift 
 ing like snow, then, and not till then, will they think of 
 home. We have better days in Massachusetts than they 
 can have in California." 
 
 On the morning of the 4th I was up early, getting 
 ready for another day's travel, and soon after my neigh 
 bors were stirring. Breakfast was made and disposed of 
 and at six o'clock I am ready to break camp and move 
 on. On leaving I said, "Strangers, I leave you ; suc 
 cess to you." "Thank } T ou,'we hope you will get along 
 all right,' you have a dangerous road before you ; I think 
 you will accomplish your undertaking, }'ou look just the 
 man to do it. We would like to hear from you, good 
 morning, stranger." I replied, "Good morning," and 
 went on my way. About eight o'clock I came to water ; 
 it looked as if milk had been turned into it. I tasted and 
 found it poor water, but not disagreeable, and gave my 
 cattle a half pail each. Going on I ascend a high bluff 
 and soon attain the summit of Medicine Bow Mountain. 
 It is a high elevation, thousands of feet above the level 
 of the sea. Here I stopped and gave my cattle grain, 
 which they would not eat on account of their great thirst. 
 In descending, on my right is a high ridge. After travel 
 ling about a half mile my road turns sharp to the right 
 and then ascends this ridge. You descend from this into 
 a valley and cross a small creek, turning sharp to the 
 left. Travelling this valley about a mile, another ridge 
 has to be ascended. This preceding had to be repeated 
 until seven of these ridges had been ascended and de 
 scended, and came to a large creek. If this creek was in 
 the East it would be called a river ; in the West it is 
 
MEDICINE BOW MOUNTAIN. 233 
 
 called a creek. Being in the habit of talking to my cattle, 
 I think they understand me, I said, "Fanny, we have 
 got to cross this creek,' we can't go around it, we must 
 go down into it, mud or no mud." I got on the wagon 
 and drove down into the mud and water, about three feet 
 deep, the wagon was full of water ; we went on about 
 two rods when my horse stepped on something that threw 
 her down, completely covering her in the water. I 
 leaped from the wagon into the mud and water, caught 
 her by the head, and raised it out of the water that she 
 might breathe. I was in full three feet of mud and water. 
 "Come, Fanny, we must get out of this," I said, and at the 
 moment she made a great exertion, and landed on her 
 feet. She was frightened, she trembled and quivered. I 
 thought she would die right there where she was. I 
 stood beside her, petting and talking to her, and soon I 
 saw she was coming all right again. We had about 
 twenty feet more to cross before we reached the opposite 
 bank. I spoke to her, saying, "Fanny, try it again." 
 She pulled with a tremendous power, a little too much, as 
 she tore the tugs in two, and landed herself on the bank ; 
 leaving the carriage, cow, dog and everything else in the 
 creek. This is not the first time she has done this thing. 
 On crossing the Humboldt river, there she left the wagon, 
 cow, and all in the creek. Since that time I have carried 
 two ropes about thirty-five feet long. I take these ropes 
 and make them fast to the front axles, carry the other 
 ends on hard ground where the horse can stand, make 
 them fast to the harness ; this being done the horse pulls 
 the wagon out of the creek right sharpty. Well, I am 
 out of the water, but how do I look ? Wet and muddy 
 more mud than water. I carry two pails for watering my 
 cattle,' these I take, plunge into the mud and fill the pails 
 with water, come out on dry land and went gathering sage 
 brush for a fire. Having made a fire, I took off my boots, 
 stockings, pants and drawers, rinsing and wringing them 
 
234 MEDICINE BOW MOUNTAIN. 
 
 as diy as possible, re-placing them and building more fire 
 until I had made myself comfortable. I repaired my har 
 ness by the use of ropes and went on until coming where 
 I c^uld gather more sage brush to make a fire and there I 
 stopped for the night. I did not get much rest, as I 
 was both wet and cold Could I have had what fuel I 
 ought to have, then I should have been warm. I then 
 said the first opportunity I have I will procure some of 
 that fuel, so that when I get into another creek I should be 
 prepared for the worst emergency. I have been in many 
 tight places and every time came out all rtght. 
 
 On the morning of the 5th I was up as usual, making 
 ready for the day's duty, but not feeling so well as com 
 mon. Yesterday, I shall remember as long as time lasts 
 with me. It was half-past five o'clock as I resumed my 
 journey and a remarkably fine morning. About half-past 
 seven we met a train of nine teams and stopped to ask 
 and answer questions. My questions are so common ; 
 how far to water, are there rivers to ford, etc? I dread 
 the rivers and creeks, they are a terror to me. "Are there 
 any rivers to ford?" I asked. "Yes, one about ten miles 
 from here ; you can cross over a bridge or ford it. We 
 crossed on the bridge. The next is the Medicine Bow 
 river, which you will have to ford ; it has a hard bottom ; 
 we have only forded two rivers since leaving Laramie. 
 How is it where you come from ?" In answer, I related 
 my experience of yesterda3 r , also on crossing the Humboldt 
 river, early in my journey. After which I went on, coin 
 ing to a river, I followed it to a house, just beyond which 
 was the bridge. On passing the house I did not see a 
 person about, so we made for the bridge and passed over, 
 and after journeying a short distance came to another 
 house, where there were two roads ; I did not know which 
 of the two I should take, so I went to the house to make 
 inquiries and a lady came to the door, of whom I asked > 
 
MEDICINE BOW RIVER. 235 
 
 ''Which of the two roads is for Laramie?" "The left 
 road is the best to ford the river," she answered. "What 
 river?" I asked, "The Medecine Bow river," she an 
 swered. I was about to leave her when she asked, "Did 
 }'ou pay toll on the other side of the bridge?" "No, I 
 did not ; is this a toll bridge?" I asked. "It is, you may 
 pay me," she said. "How much is the toll?' -'Twenty- 
 five cents," she answered. "Twent3 r -five cents for a one 
 horse team ! That is as much as you charge for a two or 
 a four horse team," I remarked. "Well, I don't remem 
 ber ever seeing a one horse team before," and turning her 
 conversation to some one in the house said, "How much 
 shall I ask this man, with a horse and cow?" At this a 
 man came to the door and asked, "Where is your horse, 
 team and cow?" going up to my team and looking all 
 around he said, "Where have you come from with that 
 outfit?" "My dear sir, if you will not ask too many 
 questions I will answer the first. I have come from Cali 
 fornia, just as you see me." "Oh, h 1 ! don't talk that 
 stuff into me,' you are a fraud. From California with that 
 horse and cow ; now tell me the truth, where are you 
 from?" "Before I answer your question, allow me to ask, 
 where is your native State ? I think you are an Eastern 
 man by your talk." "I was born in the State of New 
 York ; I left the State in 1861 , at the time of the war. I 
 was not going to help free them d d niggers," he an 
 swered. "I don't know that I can convince you, but, 
 sir, if you are from New York and have lived there many 
 years, you know whether I am a Yankee or not. Were 
 you ever in the State of Massachusetts?" "Yes, I have 
 been in Massachusetts ; are you from that State?" he an 
 swered. "I am, and now on my way to Massachusetts ; 
 when there I am at home. I left Massachusetts in April, 
 1880, for California, arriving there in May, I left Califor 
 nia June the first, 1882, for the East. My stay in Cali 
 fornia was two years or more. I arrived in Ogden, Sep- 
 
236 MEDICINE BOW RIVER. 
 
 tember 23rd, and left there on the 14th of May last, and 
 have travelled here since. What I have said is the truth 
 and nothing but the truth. This is all I can say, 1 1 leave 
 the rest for your consideration ; how much for crossing 
 the bridge?" I asked. "Stranger, go in the house with 
 me," he said. "I have already made a longer stop than 
 I intended. I am anxious to reach Laramie ; when there 
 my travelling will be more pleasant. I shall have an op 
 portunity to see some civilization ; I have not seen much 
 since leaving Ogden." I went with him to the house and 
 the man said to the woman, "I am satisfied that this man 
 has come from California ; that he is not a fraud. He 
 tells a big story, but it is bigger to perform it. If I were 
 in the woman's place I would not charge you a cent. 
 Now, stranger, take a little whisky with me." Handing 
 rne the whisky he said, "Here's luck and success to }~ou 
 on your long journey." "Thank you, when you meet 
 another man from California like unto me, cb-thou like 
 wise. Madam, how much shall I pa} T you for crossing the 
 bridge?" "Nothing, sir ; take the left road as that leads 
 you to the best ford ; be careful in going down the bank 
 into the river,' when you get into the water you are all 
 right; good-bye, stranger." I went on; it was a fine 
 morning, a good road and everything appeared fine. 
 About eleven o'clock I came in sight of the river, and as 
 I approached I met a train of teams ; as they came up to 
 me we all stopped. I said, "Good morning, strangers ; 
 how far to the river?" "Only a short distance." "What 
 luck in crossing?" I asked. "Very good ; getting up the 
 bank is bad, as it is steep and muddy, and has been cut 
 up by the many teams in crossing, but the river has a 
 good, hard bottom," was answered. "Where are you 
 from?" I asked. "We are from Kansas; we have 
 started for Oregon, but may go to Washington Territory. 
 If we like Oregon, we shall settle there, but can't tell till 
 we get there. Where are you from ?" said the strangers. 
 
MEDICINE BOW RIVER. 237 
 
 "I am from California," I answered. "From California ! 
 You don't say ; what with that cow?" "Yes, sir ; from 
 California." By this time the whole camp, men, women 
 and children, were around me, and were confounded. 
 One of them asked, "What part of California are you 
 from?" "The northern part; Humboldt county, three 
 hundred miles north of San Francisco," I answered. 
 "You are from California and brought that cow all the 
 way?" asked the strangers. "Yes, all the way," I said. 
 "Well, well, you are a hero, and no mistake ; have you 
 come alone?" "Yes, all alone," I answered. "How 
 many miles, think you?" asked the strangers. "About 
 two thousand," I answered. "Strangers, I would like to 
 talk two hours with you, but I have not the time, I must 
 reach Laramie this week ; how long have you been in com 
 ing from Laramie?" I asked. "This is our fifth day, it is 
 about one hundred miles to Laramie ; how many miles do 
 you travel a day?" asked the strangers. "I travel by the 
 hour, two and a half miles per hour, all da} r . I left 
 Green River city the 26th of May, and have made that 
 distance, more than two hundred miles. One day I could 
 not travel it was so wet and slippery ; most of the time I 
 have travelled on good time. I have met many teams, 
 and it seemed to me I could scarcely leave them, which 
 has caused me to lose much time ; how is the road to 
 Laramie?" "Well, most of the way it is good, still there 
 are many bad places. The worst place we have found 
 was our first day from Laramie. About the middle of 
 the afternoon, we passed a store and a post-office and came 
 to a flat meadow about a mile long ; it was mud, nothing 
 but mud. Our wagons were heavily ladened with grain 
 and other materials, so that they sank deep in the mud. 
 We were obliged to double up our teams to get them 
 through. On coming to the river we found it deep and 
 dared not cross at the main ford. We turned short to 
 our right, crossing the river, then onwards about eight 
 
238 MEDICINE BOW RIVER. 
 
 rods, turning sharp to the left, crossing it again ; onward 
 a little further, then crossing the river for the third time. 
 We have forded but one river since, the one you now see." 
 u Are there any more?" I asked. "Yes, there is another, 
 but you cross it over a bridge. We dared not ford it, it 
 was so rocky, we would rather pay the toll than run our 
 chances." "What is the name of the river?" I asked. 
 "Its name is Stony creek, and it is stony before and af 
 ter crossing ; we were in great danger of breaking our 
 wagons. How is it on ahead?" asked the strangers. 
 "All kinds of travel, I have had many miles of good 
 roads. Then again, it would be rough and tough. You 
 move like an army ; I am alone. If anything happens to 
 you, you have assistance at once, while I alone have to 
 get out of a difficulty the best I can, if I get out at all. 
 Well, strangers, I will go to the river ; good-bj'e." We 
 went on and soon came to the river and on my arrival 
 I found another team of wagons ready to cross over. I 
 stopped, fed the cattle with grain and watched the teams 
 cross the ford ; I sitting on the bank. A team came down 
 into the river and across up on the bank all right. I 
 watched this go on until three teams had been got over, 
 I noticed that the bank was being cut up very badly and 
 would be more before the twelve others were got over, so 
 as the captain now doubled up his horses I said to him, 
 "Will you allow me t> cross; I see it is going to take 
 you considerable time to get all your teams across." 
 "Yes, sir ; certainly. But, stranger, where are you from 
 with that outfit and where are you going to?" "Captain, 
 if I should answer that question, I should not get across 
 the river to-day. Captain, I am from California and 
 have come all this distance just as I am, horse, carriage, 
 cow and dog." "Stranger, it will not take us more than 
 an hour to cross, and perhaps not so long ; I want to ask 
 you a few questions. They may be worth something to 
 us ; we are going to Oregon and I think you are the man 
 
MEDICINE BOW RIVER. 239 
 
 to tell us how to get there," said the captain. ''Captain, 
 I can tell you how I came here, I can do that much ; as I 
 shall stop long enough to get some hot coffee at least." 
 "Bo3 r s, gather some fuel and make a fire, we will have 
 some hot coffee ; be smart about it," commanded the 
 captain. Fires were soon made, coffee was cooking and 
 there was a great stir around. Teams were being rapidly 
 doubled up and brought over the river. I was thinking 
 what I could do, so I took my pail and went to the cow 
 and milked, taking about four quarts from her. The cap 
 tain called us all to dinner and I gave the milk to the 
 lady, whom I thought to be the captain's wife, saying, 
 "Take this milk and do what you like with it." She took 
 a bottle holding about a pint, filling it and laying it on 
 one side ; then asking her neighbors if they would like 
 some milk for their coffee. After dinner the captain called 
 the camp around, saying, "Stranger, from California, 
 now please tell us where you have come from and the way 
 you came." "Strangers, I am from California ; from the 
 northern part, Humboldt county, city of Eureka. I left 
 there the first of June, 1882, taking the overland road to 
 San Francisco, distance, three hundred and three miles. 
 Followed the Central Pacific Railroad to Ogden ; arriving 
 there September 23rd. On my arrival I did not intend to 
 stop but four da} r s, but circumstances were such that I 
 was obliged to winter there. On the 14th of May last, I 
 left Ogden and have travelled as far as this." "Stranger, 
 if J T OU were going to Oregon, which way would you go?" 
 asked the captain. "I would go from here to Green 
 River city, from there to Evanston, and on to Ogden. 
 From Ogden I would follow the Central Pacific Railroad 
 to Reno. From Reno I would take the old turnpike, 
 called Virginia and Marysville Pike, through the Sar 
 dinian Valley, Webber's Lake, Jackson's Ranche, Gran 
 ite ville, Nevada city, Grass Valley to Marysville. At 
 Marysville take the California and Oregon turnpike 
 
240 MEDICINE BOW RIVER. 
 
 direct to Oregon. Captain, I have given you the main 
 outline and I know that the trail is good. After reach 
 ing Ogden 3'ou have no mountains to get over or under. 
 When you get to Wells, you are sure of grass ail the way 
 to Humboldt Valley, nearly four hundred miles. Captain, 
 what is the number of men, women and children in your 
 company?" I asked. "Stranger, this camp has fifteen 
 wagons, thirty-six horses, eighteen men, twenty-two 
 women, fifty-two children and eight dogs, one hundred 
 and thirty-six in all," he answered. "Strangers from 
 Kansas, I must leave }~ou ; I wish you success on your 
 long journey and hope you will succeed to your satisfac 
 tion ; good-b}~e all." "Stranger, from California, we sin 
 cerely hope you will succeed in reaching your destination. 
 In three or four days more you will reach Laramie. Bej'ond 
 there you will be all right ; we will go to the river and see 
 3'ou across." I drove to the river and descended the bank, 
 I got into the river, but came near being upset, so much 
 so that my dog was precipitated into the water, but I did 
 not know this at the time. I succeeded in getting across 
 all right. As soon as the horse gained the shore she 
 whinnied ; on looking around I saw the dog going down 
 the river. I took the horse from the wagon, got upon her 
 back and rode for the dog. Before I had gone far the 
 dog was taken out of the water by a stranger, about 
 twelve rods down the river, where there was a bend, if he 
 had not been rescued here I should have lost him. I re 
 turned with my dog, feeling thankful ; then I re-har 
 nessed my horse, put her in the wagon and got ready to 
 go on. The river I had just forded was about six rods 
 across. "Strangers and friends, I thank you for } r our 
 kindness, I shall ever remember you ; should I be permit 
 ted to arrive safely at home, this incident I may make a 
 record of in some form and hope you may in some way 
 see it. Good-bye, strangers." "Three cheers for the 
 man from California, bound East to Massachusetts." 
 
MEDICINE BOW RIYER. 241 
 
 They were given with a will. I went on up the bluff; for 
 about two miles it was rough and stony. I thought surely 
 I should break my wagon. I led the horse around the 
 rocks which no doubt saved my carriage. About half- 
 past three o'clock I noticed that there was to be a change 
 in the weather, clouds were gathering as if for rain. I 
 crowded along as fast as possible with a rough trail. 
 From the East, I am now continuously meeting teams ; 
 but from the West no one overtakes me. You see it is 
 all one way. At five o'clock I had not yet come to grass, 
 or water, but about this time I saw a train of four teams 
 coming. I asked, "How far am I from water?" "Only 
 about two miles." I continued on and soon came to 
 water and grass also. I stopped and gave my cattle 
 water, then went on a short distance further and camped 
 for the night. I turned my cattle loose that they might 
 eat what little grass they could find, it was not much, 
 however. I looked around for fuel, but in vain, not 
 enough to boil water for my coffee. Having some cold tea 
 I took my lunch basket, sat down on my blankets and ate 
 supper all alone. About eight o'clock I brought in my 
 cattle and secured them, giving them their evening's meal 
 of grain, then made up my bed and laid down. The 
 clouds were thick and heavy, looking as though it would 
 soon rain, which it did about ten o'clock. I got up, 
 rolled up my blankets, put on my rubber coat and stood 
 up, taking the rain as it fell, which however, was of short 
 duration, and then it began to hail ; this I could stand 
 better than the rain, but it began to blow very cold with 
 the wind increasing ; the hailstones dwindled away into 
 almost snow. Fanny was making a fine fuss about it. 
 The ground had become quite white with the hail, the 
 wind was blowing quite strong and getting round to the 
 East and the storm was increasing, and at eleven o'clock 
 there had fallen four inches of snow. Fanny was com 
 plaining bitterly and she made the snow fly, making more 
 
242 THE PLAINS. 
 
 fuss then was essential ; the cow was quietly chewing her 
 cud as she lay down, seeming to care little about the 
 storm. I noticed that the storm struck the horse in the 
 face, so I turned the wagon about half round, changing 
 her position , and then I took the blanket off the horse 
 and put it on the cow, then I took one of my blankets 
 and a buffalo robe and put them on the horse, which 
 change made her more contented. All this time I was 
 getting cold. The snow had continually fallen ; by mid 
 night five inches had fallen. Still the storm increased. 
 I little thought I should be snow bound in June. No, 
 nothing of the kind. I was getting very cold, especially 
 my hands und feet, having no mittens or gloves. I 
 thought of one thing, and that was my kerosene. I got 
 the can, cleared away the snow and poured some on 
 the ground and set it on fire. It made a big blaze, so 
 big it scared my horse. I warmed my hands by the blaze 
 until the stiffness came out. At two o'clock the snow 
 was six inches deep ; it looked as if there was a slight 
 chance for a sleigh-ride in June. Well, here I am alone. 
 Yes, all alone, except my cattle. Ah, there is some con 
 solation in talking to them, especially on the Rocky 
 Mountains in a snow-storm. I am getting very cold, 
 especially my feet. I took the oil can again and poured 
 more oil on the ground, set it on fire and warmed me the 
 best I could, my feet felt as if they were freezing. Another 
 thought came to my mind, that was, to take a sack which 
 had contained grain and place it on the ground where I 
 poured the oil, which I did. There was considerable 
 warmth, so I took off my boots and standing on the sack 
 my feet soon became quite warm. This was quite an in 
 vention and had I patented it I might have been a rich 
 man by this time. Well, here I am, not quite morning, 
 eight inches of snow on the ground, feet warm but fingers 
 cold ; a little more oil will make them all "hunkey-dorey." 
 I gave the ground another wetting with oil and fired it off. 
 
THE PLAINS. 243 
 
 The horse had by this time got used to this kind of firing 
 and did not upset the wagon as she did at the first. This 
 was a very long night, one to be long remembered. It 
 is getting close on to day-break and soon light will be 
 upon us. There is one point, or pint, I had forgotten. 
 When back at the bridge, where I could Ifave bought 
 grain or anything else, I got a pint of that "anything 
 else," but which" so far I have had no use for, a full pint, 
 and which now seems to be the proper time for its use, so 
 I go to my wagon and get the "something else," and took 
 a big "smile," holding it up so as to know what I was 
 about. Instead of putting it back in the wagon I put it 
 m my pocket. Soon after I began to feel warm and 
 cheerful. I could run, which I did ; I could talk to my 
 cattle, but never knew what they thought about it, nor 
 did I care, I was alone on the Western plains, surrounded 
 by high hills, and "something else" was in my pocket. I 
 took another "smile" and looked at the bottle and found 
 that I had drank more than half of it, so I put it away 
 where I could find it when wanted, or where no one could 
 get it ; knowing that neither Fanny nor Bessie would in 
 terfere with it, and there were no Indians around to steal 
 it, being so cold and stormy for them to be out. Well, it 
 is morning ; what a long night it has seemed to me, and a 
 foot of snow on the level and still more coming. As soon 
 as I could see I tried to find the trail, but could not, so 
 deep was the snow. "Well, Fanny, what have you 
 to say this morning? We shall have to remain here for 
 a while ; when the sun comes in sight, then we will know 
 what direction to take. "About five o'clock, there being a 
 faint glimmer of light, I thought sure that was East. 
 When I went into camp my wagon was standing eastward 
 and when I made the change, the position I must have made 
 was to westward ; this was the only compass I had. 
 Should the sun come out, it would not give me the trail, 
 but the point of compass. About six o'clock I saw 
 
244 THE PLAINS. 
 
 smoke to my rear. "Fanny, yonder is smoke, do you see 
 it ; there is a camp !" I did not pass it last night, so I 
 thought it was in my direction, and tried once more to 
 find the trail, but the snow was too deep. 
 
 On the morning of the 6th I fed my cattle with grain 
 and took "a smile of something else," .and started in the 
 direction of the smoke, which I found proceeded from a 
 camp about a mile distant. When about mid-way I com 
 menced hallooing with all my might, which brought out 
 two men and two boys from a tent. As soon as I got 
 near them I bade them "good morning. We are having a 
 heavy snow-storm." "Yes, I do not know what we will 
 have to do," answered the stranger. "I have a horse, 
 cow, dog and a carriage, a little distance from here, but I 
 can't travel, not being able to find the trail." "How far 
 from here?" asked the strangers, "Less than a mile, I 
 think," I answered. "Stranger, I think you can get 
 down to our camp. Here you will not be alone, and we 
 may have to stop several days before we can travel fur 
 ther. We will assist you." With this assurance I fol 
 lowed my trail back, and on my returning my cattle gave 
 me a good reception. I got all ready and went back to 
 the camp, which I reached all right. As the forenoon ad 
 vanced, the snow began to disappear, and by noon the 
 sun was out in all its glory, promising that by to-morrow 
 we should be able to travel. Having got everything in 
 good shape in the camp we began to gather sage brush for 
 a fire, and soon had a good dinner in preparation. The 
 campers being supplied with water, I furnished the milk 
 for the tea and coffee. I did not get much milk from the 
 cow, the wonder was, I got any. The strangers said, 
 "Where in God's name have you come from, with that 
 horse, cow, carriage and dog. If you came from the East 
 we would not ask, but coming from the West all alone, is 
 what we want to know?" "Well, I will tell you a long 
 
THE PLAINS. 245 
 
 story after dinner, as there will be plenty of time before 
 we can travel." Dinner being now ready, we retired to 
 the tent where the table was spread. After dinner many 
 questions were asked and answered, in which I related 
 my travels. About four o'clock, two men on horseback 
 came into our camp from the East, who said they had 
 been travelling all day. When they left their camp in the 
 morning their was no snow. After journej'ing about six 
 miles they came to snow, and continued along until the 
 snow was so deep they could not see the trail ? About two 
 miles from here they saw smoke and continued until 
 coming to this camp. "We have had a tough storm. 
 Strangers, can I make your camp with my outfit to-mor 
 row morning, if I travel on your trail. When I get there, 
 jndging from what you say, I shall have no trouble in 
 travelling East." 
 
 On the morning of the 7th I was around early, making 
 ready to go on. It is a very cold morning for early June, 
 but remember we are more than eight thousand feet above 
 the level of the sea. On leaving, I thanked the friends 
 for allowing me to share their quarters, as otherwise, 1 
 should have had a cold time of it. I moved on and fol 
 lowed the trail of the men of the previous day and soon 
 reached their camp. I found it was a large company and 
 I was soon surrounded by the campers. "Well, stranger, 
 you have got along so far," said one. "Yes, sir; but 
 you did not make me a very good trail, but I came 
 through all right." "There is more snow west than east 
 of us, you think?" I asked. "Oh, yes ; you will not find 
 snow six miles from here." I left them, and soon after I 
 came to water, of which my cattle drank as if they liked 
 it, although but surface water. Travelling on, the snow 
 gradually dwindles away, and I pass through any quantity 
 of surface water. On this day I am obliged to ride as my 
 shoes are not water-proof. About noon I pass Stony 
 
246 STONY CREEK. 
 
 creek, crossing it on a bridge. The ford is a rough, stony 
 one, so I preferred to pay twenty-five cents, rather than 
 run the risk of breaking my wagon. Just above the 
 bridge, there is a saw-mill, the owner of which is also the 
 proprietor of the bridge. As I stood talking with him a 
 large train came in sight. "About how much toll d jes 
 this bridge bring you in a year?" I asked. "About one 
 hundred dollars," he answered. "I have passed many 
 teams since leaving Green River city. Emigration must 
 be great this season. Are there any that attempt to ford 
 the creek?" I asked. "No, not man} 7 . Should they 
 break down, it would prove a dear toll for them," he an 
 swered. While we were talking, the train came up and 
 the captain said, "Is this a toll-bridge?" "Yes, sir; it 
 is, stranger." "How much toll for a team?" "Twenty- 
 five cents." "Can't this river be forded, or must we pa}* 
 toll?" asked the captain. "There is the ford ; you are 
 not compelled to cross the bridge, stranger." "What is 
 the matter with the ford?" asked the captain. "This is 
 a rocky creek, the name is an old one. Before this bridge 
 was made, all teams had to ford the creek, and many 
 wagons were broken in crossing, which caused delay, ex 
 pense and much anxiety. I built the bridge and it pays 
 me something, but it pays those crossing more than me, 
 every time," he answered. "We have twenty-two wagons 
 and fort} T -eight horses ; will you make any reduction on 
 that number?" asked the captain. "No, sir ; no differ 
 ence. Your extra horses I will not charge you for." 
 "Captain, how many persons have you in your company?" 
 I asked. "There are twenty-eight men, twenty-six 
 women and seventy-nine children ; one hundred and 
 thirty-three all told," he answered. "How is the travel 
 ling to Laramie ?" I asked. 'Very good; there is but 
 one bad place, and that is before you reach the river. 
 This side of the river is good." "How many days from 
 Laramie to this place?" I asked. "Three and a half. 
 
STONY CREEK. 24:7 
 
 It took us a half day to cross the river, and a mile beyond 
 we had to double up our horses to get to the river ; such 
 deep mud, no teams ever passed through/' I left them 
 and went on, the water in many places being quite deep, 
 and in other places the mud much deeper, and the train of 
 teams has made the trail much worse. Late in the day I 
 pitched my camp. 
 
 On the morning of the 8th I resumed my journey early, 
 and without breakfast, and went on until I came to an 
 other camp of emigrants, who were eating their breakfast. 
 I bade them good morning. "Good morning, stranger," 
 answered one. "Where have } T OU come from, so early?" 
 "I have come from the West, and thought I would call 
 and take a dish of coffee with you this morning," I an 
 swered. "Come along, stranger, we have plenty." "But, 
 hold on. I have a cow which has not been milked this 
 morning, I will milk her," I said. I did so and gave the 
 milk to a lady, took my lunch basket and sat down at the 
 table without ceremony, handing my cup to her for coffee ; 
 she filled it full and bade me help myself to milk which I 
 did. "Stranger, where are } r ou from?" "I am from 
 California," I answered. "From California ! do you 
 mean that, stranger; with that outfit?" "Yes, sir," I 
 answered. "Stranger, take another dish of coffee and 
 help yourself to milk?" "Thank you, don't be too lavish 
 with the milk ; keep that yourself. I have milk every day, 
 Sunday's not excepted," I answered. "Stranger, I wish 
 you had reached this camp last night." "I wish so too, 
 but it was not ordained. Excuse me, I must go on ; I am 
 anxious to see the promised land. Good morning all, 
 and thank you." It is a fine, cheerful morning and I have 
 a good trail. It was six o'clock when I left this company 
 and at seven passed a train of six teams, and at half-past 
 eight o'clock another of four teams, but did not stop as I 
 was anxious to reach Laramie the next day. I knew I 
 
248 THE PLAINS. 
 
 could not do so and stop on meeting each train, and an 
 swer all questions that would be asked. About eleven 
 we came to a creek, there was grass as well as water ; I 
 never pass grass, so I stop, giving my cattle water and a 
 biting at the grass. I stopped just one hour and then 
 went on again ; my road continuing good. About one 
 o'clock I came to another camp where I was obliged to 
 stop, and could not avoid it as a man called out, "Hello, 
 stranger, what part of h 1 are }*ou from?" "Well, sir ; 
 you do not know much about h 1 yet, but will before you 
 get to Green River cit}' ; I am almost in the promised 
 land, already in sight of it, and to-morrow I propose to 
 enter it," 1 answered. "Stranger, to-morrow you will be 
 in h 1, take my word for it. You will almost get there to 
 day, but to-morrow you will surety find it ; we have come 
 through it, man." "Sir, I must have taken the wrong 
 trail, judging by what } T OU say. Could you not have pas 
 sed around ? I will go and look at it for myself, and see 
 if I can't avoid it." I went on and thought of Watts' 
 old hymn on this occasion; "Broad is the road that 
 leads to hell, and thousands travel on it." Now, I am 
 travelling a narrow road and think that the man is an im- 
 poster, there is no h 1 on this trail, it is too narrow. I 
 went on as fast as I could crowd along until it was time 
 to stop for the night, but could see no water or grass and 
 have not done so since eleven o'clock. I made the cattle 
 secure to their posts, gave them their grain, but they be 
 ing so thirsty they did not eat it. I made up my bed, laid 
 down and was quickly asleep. 
 
 On the morning of the 9th I arose early, being anxious 
 to know what was ahead. After travelling about five 
 miles I came to a camp. "Good morning, strangers," I 
 said. "Good morning, sir; where have you come from 
 this morning ?" was asked. "About two miles back. I 
 went into camp late last night, hoping to come to water, 
 
THE PLAINS. 249 
 
 but did not. How far am I from water?" I asked. 
 "About three miles." "My cattle have had none since 
 eleven o'clock yesterday. Last night they would not eat 
 their grain being so thirsty." "Stranger, I have water 
 on my wagon, I keep a small barrel full all the time, you 
 may give your cattle some of it." "Thank 3^011, I would 
 like too," I answered. I took my pail and filled it four times, 
 giving two to each, which they drank but were not satis 
 fied. I said to the man, "Shall I give them more?" 
 "Yes, I can fill the barrel where 3*ou got your last, no 
 doubt." I gave them two pails more, which seemed to 
 satisfy them. I then gave them their groin and they ate 
 itwitha will. "Strangers, I left camp early this morning, 
 as you are aware ; I have had no breakfast, but I have 
 plenty to eat, sugar, tea, coffee, bread and canned meats, 
 and one thing no doubt, you have not got, that is, milk 
 from that cow. Now, strangers, I will milk the cow 
 and we will have it in our coffee ; how will that suit ?" I 
 asked. "First, best, stranger; wife make your coffee 
 strong, we are going to have milk once more. This 
 stranger is going to milk his cow, and we will have a good 
 dish of coffee." I milked the cow, getting about three 
 and a half quarts. I gave it to the lady, telling her to do 
 with it as she pleased. I then went and gave my cattle 
 more grain and returned to breakfast, which consisted of 
 boiled ham, Jiot potatoes, biscuits and coffee, with sugar 
 and milk ; a good breakfast. "Strangers, I have come 
 from California, and am going to Massachusetts." "Have 
 you come from California with that outfit, just as it is?" 
 "Yes, sir," I answered. My God ! wife, just think of it ; 
 about how many miles, stranger." "Two thousand." 
 "If you should be the man to make the journey, about 
 how many miles will you have travelled, stranger?" 
 "More than four thousand," I answered. "You never 
 can accomplish that journey !" "I have already made 
 nearly half of it ; and think of the country I have passed 
 
250 THE CREEK. 
 
 through. When I get to Laramie, I am almost home, that 
 is, I am among civilization and shall have good roads, 
 which will be more cheerful and delightful." "Yes, that 
 is true, but can the cow do that much, stranger?" "Thus 
 far she has, and held her own better than the horse. But, 
 strangers, I must leave you and go on. I am told that I 
 shall have a bad place to go through at the river, how is 
 that?" "Well, stranger, you will find a bad place after 
 crossing the river ; you will find deep mud ; yet, your 
 carriage being light, you will go through it better than we, 
 with our heavy wagons. For nearly a mile our horses 
 were in mud from their hoofs to their bellies." We bade 
 each other good-bye and success on our several journeys. 
 I left them and about half-past seven o'clock came to the 
 creek. I allowed my cattle to drink and then went on 
 again. Just as I was leaving I saw a long train com 
 ing towards me. I started up the bluff and turned into 
 the sage brush, giving them the trail. There were two 
 men on horseback who were in advance, and as they came 
 up I bade them good morning. "You have a long train, 
 how many teams have you?" I asked. "Twenty-three 
 wagons, fort3'-seven horses in all," was answered. "How 
 far is it to the river?" I asked. "About two miles." 
 "I learn it is a bad place to get over?" I said. "Stran 
 ger, I never saw the like in my life ; horses in mud up to 
 their bellies, and a long stretch at that." *'Is there no 
 way of getting round it, without going through it?" I 
 asked. "No, not without taking down the fences which 
 are on either side." I shall soon know nil about it, and 
 soon came to the river. At one time there was a bridge 
 over this river, but now there was none. The water here is 
 deep and can not be forded. You have to ford the river 
 three times, as it winds in and out. I drove down into 
 the river, went across and came out all right. Instead of 
 turning to my right, I drove out in my front and landed 
 in a large pasture, for the pasturing of horses. I travel- 
 
LARAMIE. 251 
 
 led close to the fence for about a mile and came to a store, 
 which was also the post-office. I drove out into the trail, 
 stopped and went into the store and explained why I did 
 so. "In coming from the West, I would have done the 
 same," answered the postmaster. I am out of the wilder 
 ness and have just entered the promised land. Here I 
 went into camp for the night. 
 
 I was up before daylight on the morning of the 10th, 
 turned my cattle loose among the grass and allowed them 
 to eat their fill. So anxious was I to make Laramie that 
 day, that as daylight came I commenced my journe3 r , 
 leaving camp about four o'clock ; everything around me 
 was beautiful and grand. On my right are lofty moun 
 tains, painted white with snow ; on the left, as far as the 
 eye can see, was a vast plain, covered with fine grass. O 
 how beautiful, surely this is the promised land. We move 
 onward as fast as possible ; Fanny understands it, no 
 doubt. Last evening, about nine o'clock, I heard the 
 whistle of an engine, and spoke to my horse, "Fanny, do 
 you hear that?" She replied, "Hah, hah, hah," that is 
 her way of replying. About nine o'clock we came to 
 water, a small pond. It was surface water, of which my 
 cattle drank freely. I was talking to my horse, telling 
 her that we soon would be there, when I heard on my left 
 the whistle of an engine, the horse heard it also. 
 "Fanny," I said, "we are almost there." We entered the 
 city of Laramie about ten o'clock, Sunday, June 10th, 
 1883. At once I made for a stable, so as to get hay for 
 my cattle ; saying to the proprietor, "I have just arrived 
 in the city, having crossed the plains from Ogden." "Oh, 
 indeed; what kind of times have you had?" he asked. 
 "Most of the way, good ; others, not so good ; one part 
 was very rough ; that was the snow storm," I replied. 
 "Have you had a snow-storm on the plains?" "Yes, sir ; 
 on the night of the 5th and 6th, snow fell to the depth of 
 
252 LARAMIE. 
 
 eight to twelve inches. On the morning I could not find 
 the trail to travel, so deep was the snow. Could you ac 
 commodate me with some hay?" "Yes, sir ; you. shall 
 have all the hay they can eat, and not a dime will I charge 
 for it." "Thank you, I would like to stop in the city two 
 days, to give my cattle rest ; they have come a long dis 
 tance and have still a longer distance before them.'' 
 "Stranger, where did you start from?" "As you would 
 not ta"ke pay for the hay, I will tell you and you can rely 
 on what I say. I started from Eureka, California, three 
 hundred and three miles north of San Francisco ; came 
 down to that city, then took the Central Pacific Railroad 
 trail to Ogden, and from there hereto. I left Osjden on 
 the 14th of May, and have been nearty a month coming 
 the journey." "You have had a tough time, and have 
 had all the rivers to ford, or nearly so ; who came with 
 3*ou?" "I have come alone. No one travels from the 
 West but many from the East. Can I stay here to-night? 
 I he with my cattle at nights ; I have blankets, but no 
 tents." "You can sta}* with your cattle and give them all 
 the hay they will eat." 
 
 Laramie is the capital of Albany county, Wyoming. A 
 fine little cit}*, with a population of five thousand. It is 
 situated on the east side of Laramie river, with a vast 
 plain on the right and left. On the east, about six miles 
 distant, is a range of mountains ; on the south, about 
 three miles off, is Fort Sanders ; on the west are the fine 
 grazing plains, known as the Laramie Plains. In reach 
 ing the city I crossed these plains. To the right, stretch 
 those lofty mountains which extend into Colorado. On 
 the north, running to and from the city, is the Union Pa 
 cific Railroad. Laramie has one of the finest hotels and 
 depots combined, on this railroad. The town is finely laid 
 out in squares and contains many elegant buildings. The 
 county building is uncommonly fine, and the grounds are 
 
^ARAMIE. 253 
 
 tastefully laid out, and very becoming to the city. What 
 is going to support this fine little city I can not sa} r . It 
 is an enterprising city and I hope it will continue to pros 
 per. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 FROM LARAMIE, CHEYENNE. TO OMAHA. 
 
 On the morning of the 13th I left Laramie, travelling 
 over the mountain, through the Cheyenne Pass, by Fort 
 Russell, to Cheyenne city. When I arrived in Laramie, 
 it was my intention to have followed the Union Pacific 
 Railroad, but I was advised to take the old trail to Chey 
 enne ; a very fine trail with the exception of about eight 
 miles. By taking this route I should save one da} T 's 
 travel. In starting from Laramie I left the railroad on 
 my right. About three miles from the city I came to Fort 
 Sanders, there I took the old trail over the mountain, and 
 on coming to the base of the mountain we stopped. It 
 looked as if it was to be a long and a hard pull for the 
 horse. The ascent was for some distance on solid rock. 
 About noon we had accomplished the ascent. I am now 
 standing on the highest elevation in my journey, eleven 
 thousand feet above the level of the sea, and shall have 
 to descend six thousand feet. My first four miles is very 
 rough. About three o'clock I came to a creek of good 
 spring water, the best I have found on my journey. I 
 stopped and allowed the cattle all they would drink, and 
 gave them their grain. After an hour's rest, we went on, 
 following a heavy descent for about eight miles, until we 
 came to a plat of fine grass ; I had no desire to pass it. 
 Here we again stopped ; I took the horse from the car- 
 
254 THE BLUFF. 
 
 riage, removed her harness and let her loose ; she went to 
 rollirg ; the cow went busily eating at the grass. It was 
 not long before the cow went to bed, but the horse con 
 tinued to eat. I had gathered wood and made a fire, 
 making some coffee, boiled eggs, which I ate with cold ham 
 and bread ; it made me a good supper. I brought my cattle 
 in, made them fast to their places and gave them a small 
 ration of grain, spread my blankets and laid myself down 
 to rest, being very, weary. In the night I was awakened 
 by the horse, but I well knew what was up, my fire had 
 gone out, but the lantern was still burning. I got up and 
 went gathering wood to re-kindle the fire. This was 
 essential to keep my camp free of the wild animals. 
 Having got the fire going once more, I returned to bed. I 
 lie in the rear of the wagon, between the cattle, and I 
 build the fires close by me. I did not drop to sleep as 
 readity as at the first part of the night. As I lie I had a 
 fair view of the horse. Her ears were well pointed down 
 into the canyon where the infernals were, as I could tell 
 they were there by the noise. Bessie lay there chewing 
 her cud, as if she cared but little whether school kept or 
 not. I was up and down the rest of the night, anxious 
 for the day to come. 
 
 On the morning of the 14th, I made an early start, 
 yet disliked to leave the good grass. My trail is much 
 better than it had been the previous day. After travel 
 ling about two miles, on my right I saw a house. I con. 
 tinued on, circling a high bluff for more than a half mile. 
 This bluff was so constructed by nature, that in following 
 its base it brought me to this house, a well-built modern 
 house. I went up to the door and rang the bell ; a lady 
 came in answer to the summons, to whom I said, "Can I 
 make a dish of coffee here ; I am a traveller, going from 
 the West to the East, and have come a long distance. 
 Last evening I went into camp about two miles from here, 
 
THE BLUFF. 255 
 
 where was good grass ; I broke camp early and did not 
 make breakfast." "Wife, ask the gentleman in," said a 
 voice. I went into the house and said "Good morn 
 ing." "Good morning, sir ; take a seat. I think I heard 
 you say that you was a traveller and had come a long dis 
 tance from the West. When I heard the west mentioned, 
 I was anxious to see your face. Wife, how much coffee 
 have you in the pot? We are not quite through with our 
 breakfast yet, so take a seat at the table and eat with us. 
 I like the tone of your voice ; it sounds as though you 
 have been East, sometime." "I belong in old Massachu 
 setts, and am now on my way there," I said. "What part 
 of the west are you from?" said my host. "I am from 
 California, the north-western part, more than three hun 
 dred miles from San Francisco, north, on the Pacific 
 coast," I answered. "When did }*ou leave California?" 
 "I left Eureka city, the first of June, 1882, and arrived 
 in Ogden on the 23rd of September. I left Ogden on the 
 14th*of May last, and have come the distance from there 
 in one month to a day ; travelling nearly six hundred 
 miles, over the Rocky Mountains and through the red sea 
 to the promised land." "Well, have you come that dis 
 tance by railroad, horseback, or on fo^t?" asked my host. 
 "Sir, I am here for some coffee or something else. I have 
 not asked for anything more, but I may soon, but I will 
 take the coffee first." After eating breakfast I said, 
 "Friend, go with me to the gate of the corral?" "What 
 for, what is there?" asked the stranger. "Come and see 
 for 3*ourself," I replied, We went to the corral, to which 
 was a high and strong gate, which is to hold wild cattle. 
 "Ah, stranger, where did you find that cow ; it must be 
 the one I lost some time ago?" "Well, friend, she must 
 be the same. I found her in California and have led her 
 from that State, in the rear of the wagon. If the brand 
 on her corresponds to your brand, I must give her up. I 
 think you had better give them some breakfast ; I have 
 
256 THE PLAINS. 
 
 had mine and am greatly obliged." "Stranger, your 
 horse looks as though she could eat some oats." "Yes, 
 sir ; she is fond of them, and the cow knows some kinds 
 of grain. I carry grain and have done ever since starting 
 on this journey. The day I left Green River city I bought 
 3001bs. and she hauled it to Laramie." "She is a fine 
 horse, and the cow I do not know about taking from } r ou ; 
 if she has travelled that long distance, she is good for the 
 remainder. I would like to hear from } r ou when you reach 
 old Massachusetts." "How far is it to Cheyenne?" I 
 asked. "Just twenty miles ; you think you can make that 
 distance to-day?" "Yes, good morning," and I went on. 
 As I was moving steadily along I saw a herd of cattle, 
 not many rods away, to my right. The cow saw them 
 and bellowed several times. After passing them, on 
 looking around I saw them coming on a sharp run. There 
 must have been fifty to seventy-five of them. They over 
 took and surrounded us and were very troublesome to the 
 cow, and I could not beat them off. I took the dog from 
 the wagon and set him at them, and they left us right 
 sharp. Going on, I soon saw a large fellow coming down 
 the trail in front of us ; he was bellowing loudly and com 
 ing dead on the horse. I called out with all my power ; 
 he stopped sharp and stood for a few seconds ; neither 
 stirred ; the more I yelled, the less he seemed to care. I 
 caught hold of my ha3*-fork and went for him, at the 
 same time setting my dog on him, this made him leave 
 quickly for the herd. Many times I have thought of this 
 incident, and wondered how I got out of it so easily. 
 While standing facing each other, I thought the bull would 
 make a dash at the horse, but the dog did a big thing in 
 driving him away. Travelling on we came to water, of 
 which my cattle drank freety. A few rods further, I came 
 up to a man who was sitting on the grass ; his horse was 
 feeding, and at a distance of about twenty rods, was a 
 herd of sheep. I spoke to him saying, "Stranger, you 
 
CHEYENNE. 257 
 
 have a fine herd of sheep ; how many have you ?" 
 "Nearly four thousand, sir," he answered. "I see those 
 dogs understand their business. Stranger, this is some 
 thing new to me ; I have travelled a long distance, but 
 have never before seen such thorough discipline in man or 
 dog." This herd of sheep were moving and feeding at 
 the same time in a square, with eight dogs in care of the 
 herd ; two dogs on each side of the square. If any of 
 the sheep fell in the rear, the dogs put them back in line ; 
 and if any advanced the dogs put them in line, they were 
 constantly on duty, their manoeuvres is difficult to describe 
 on paper. "Stranger, you remarked that } T OU had come a 
 long distance ; where are } r ou from?" "I am from Cali 
 fornia." "The d 1 you are; from California with that 
 outfit?" "Yes, sir; with that outfit," I answered. 
 "Where are you going?" "I am on my way to Massa 
 chusetts," I answered. "My God, is that so. If you 
 make that journey, you will be the biggest man out of 
 h 1. From California to Massachusetts ; I hope you will 
 succeed. Do you ever take an} T thing stronger than cof 
 fee?" "No, sir; I like my coffee very strong." "So do 
 I, and I have something in my satchel that will do you 
 good. You are much older than I, here take a smile with 
 me and put that in your box, you will need another before 
 3 7 ou get to Fort Russell and another before reaching 
 Cheyenne. To-morrow there is going to be a big circus 
 in Cheyenne ; I expect to be there, and will find you and 
 fill it again for you, I think you are worthy." "Friend, I 
 hope to meet you again ; good-bye." "Good-bye ; suc 
 cess to you and give my love to the folks in old Massa 
 chusetts." I left him and about three o'clock heard the 
 whistle of an engine, and passed Fort Russell and reached 
 Cheyenne about five o'clock. On entering the city I stop 
 ped at a livery stable and inquired where I could camp. 
 "You can drive into my corral there, if you like," said 
 the livery-man. "Can you accommodate me with hay?" 
 
258 CHEYENNE. 
 
 "Yes, you can have all the ha}' you want for your cattle." 
 "How much will } r ou charge me?" I asked. "Oh, never 
 mind that. John," said the livery man, "go and show 
 this stranger the corral and take a bale of hay with you. 
 I do not know that your cattle will eat our hay, but you 
 can try them." "John," said I, "this is a fine place to 
 camp, I fear I shall stay longer than I ought." "How 
 long do 3'ou intend to stay?" asked John. "Well, this 
 bale of hay will last me two daj's or more." "We have a 
 big circus here to-morrow from New York ; you will want 
 to see it?" said John. "Yes, I would like to do so," I 
 answered. This corral is about one hundred feet square, 
 with sheds on two sides. About twenty feet outside the 
 corral, is a cottage to get to which I have to pass around 
 the corral. I went there to see if I could make a pot of 
 coffee, and on ringing the bell a lad} r answered it, of 
 whom I requested the privilege of cooking my coffee, to 
 which she gave me permission. She called her husband, 
 saying, "Charles, come here. This gentleman has come 
 here to make some coffee, and says he is a traveller from 
 the West. I see he wears a badge like you do, which is 
 why I called }*ou." The man answered, "Comrade, how 
 do you do. My wife sa}*s you are travelling from the 
 West and going East; where are you from?" "I am 
 from Ogden, I left on the fourteenth of May." "What 
 way are you travelling?" "I am travelling with horse and 
 carriage, leading a cow." "That is a strange way of 
 travelling over the Rocky Mountains ; where is 3'our out 
 fit, Comrade?" "In yonder shed ; you can see the horse 
 through that window." "I would like to see what you 
 have for a horse that has crossed the Rocky Mountains. 
 Come, wife, let us go and see it. Ah, Comrade, I see it 
 is a fine Morgan. How far East are you going?" "I am 
 on my way home to Massachusetts." "You have come 
 from Ogden and going to Massachusetts. Allow me to 
 ask your name?" "My name is Johnson." "What 
 
CHEYENNE. 259 
 
 town and county is jxmr home?" u Town of Webster, 
 county of Worcester." "Comrade Johnson, stop with us 
 as long as you stay in the city, }*ou will be welcome." 
 "Thank } r ou, I will take dinner with you to-morrow. At 
 present I am here to make a pot of coffee, if you have no 
 objection, I will get my lunch basket and eat with you. 
 My cow is four years old and has given birth to two 
 daughters, and is now in travail and about the second of 
 July, I expect another. She is now giving four quarts of 
 milk a day, and if you will give me a pail that will hold a 
 gallon, I will milk her and give you the milk.' I milked 
 the cow and gave the lady the milk. "Comrade, excuse 
 me if I ask your name?" "My name is Brown." "Com 
 rade Brown, I did not tell you the whole truth, when I 
 said I had come from Ogden ; I will say that I have come 
 much further. More than a year ago I left Eureka cit} T , 
 California, for Massachusetts ; passing through San Fran 
 cisco, following the Central Pacific Railroad to Ogden, 
 where I arrived September 23rd. There I remained all 
 winter and left there May 14th, and arrived in Laramie 
 on the 10th of the present month. Comrade Brown, the 
 above is the truth and nothing but the truth." "I re 
 member reading in the papers last Fall of this journey, so 
 you are the man. Well, you are a gritty, old soldier. 
 What were 3*ou in the army, what rank?" asked Mr. 
 Brown. "I was only a private, a musician in the 
 band of the First Brigade, First Division, Tweniieth 
 Army Corps." "Do you draw a pension?" "I do, a 
 small one, for hernia ; only eight dollars a month." 
 "Comrade, how is it that you have come so far and not 
 had your cattle stolen from you ? I think you can't travel 
 to North Platte without having your horse stolen, as she 
 is a fine Morgan mare, which makes the chances against 
 you. Your only and safe wa} T is, to stay constantly with 
 your cattle. 1 would like to have you take a bed in the 
 house, but think it safer for you to sleep with your cattle. 
 
260 CHEYENNE. 
 
 "If you wish to go down town, let us know, and we will 
 look to your cattle while away." "I intend to ; I have 
 travelled two thousand miles, and every night have slept 
 with my cattle and shall do so until I get a considerable 
 way further East." "After you cross the Missouri you 
 will be safe, yet you will find men all along the road who 
 would steal the horse if they had a chance. If you suc 
 ceed in getting safe to Massachusetts, you are a lucky 
 man." I left these people and went to my camp, giving 
 the cattle their grain, made up a bed of hay and laid me 
 down to sleep and had a good night's rest. 
 
 On the morning of the 15th I was awakened by the 
 whistle of an engine bringing into town the cars of the 
 circus from Denver. I got up and gave my cattle water 
 and grain and went to the railroad. I did not think of 
 the safety of my cattle, when I did so, I immediately re 
 turned to my camp and found all right. Soon the city 
 was alive with people anxious to see the circus horses and 
 carriages. I was this day a little anxious about the safety 
 of my outfit, on account of so many of the cow-b >}*s and 
 strangers from abroad. Comrade Brown was around 
 soon after my return, and bade me good morning, saying, 
 "Did you get a good night's rest," and that the breakfast 
 was ready, and invited me in to a dish of coffee, which I 
 accepted. For a time I remained with the cattle until I 
 regained confidence to leave them. This I did, as the}' 
 were locked in the carrol and Mrs. Brown said that she 
 would look after them, so I once more went into the 
 streets of the city to see the parade. In passing along, 
 intent on sight-seeing, and while standing in front of 
 the circus tent, I was tapped on the shoulder by my 
 friend of the day before, the herdsman, who said he 
 was "Up to his word." I told him he did not look as he 
 did yesterday. He answered, "No, I suppose not. I 
 have drunk more good bourbon this morning, than I have 
 
CHEYENNE. 261 
 
 for a week past. Come with me, traveller, and I will fill 
 your flask, as I am bound to keep my word. I am not a 
 cow-boy, but a sheep-boy." He introduced me to several 
 other of his acquaintances, and having expressed my fears 
 for the safety of the cattle, he took me to a friend of his 
 who keeps a large saloon, and has great influence with 
 the cow-boys. Here I found a large crowd , and it was 
 some time before we could get audience with the proprie 
 tor, Mr. A . After a time we gained an audience and 
 
 I was introduced in due form. Mr. A , having been 
 
 told my story and of my fear, said, "Mr. Johnson, I un 
 derstand that you have been informed that } T OU are in 
 danger travelling through our county, from fear of the 
 cow-boys; is this true?" "Yes, sir; it is," I answered. 
 "You have been travelling from the far west, have you 
 not ; have you been insulted by any one on your journey?" 
 
 asked Mr. A . "No, sir; I have not," I answered. 
 
 "About how many miles have you travelled?" asked Mr. 
 A . "Two thousand miles from California to Chey 
 enne, through the wildest country on the globe. Just 
 emerging into civilization and have now stopped for fear 
 of the cow-boys." "Mr. Johnson, you must be a brave 
 man to have come through what you have to reach Chey 
 enne. Now, sir ; do not be timid. You can travel from 
 here to Omaha, and not a cow-boy, or any other boy will 
 harm or insult you, you can take my word for it, it is not 
 
 worth much ; when do you leave here?" asked Mr. A . 
 
 "I intend to leave }*ou, the da}^ after to-morrow, the 
 18th," I answered. "Come in to-morrow, to-day is a 
 great da}* with us ; seldom is it that we have such a 
 gathering. Mr. Johnson, do you ever take anything 
 
 stronger than three per cent.?" asked Mr. A . "I 
 
 take nothing stronger than first-class bourbon, that is as 
 much as my head will carry," I replied. "Well, boys ; 
 we will all take something on this occasion," said Mr. 
 A . We went into the bar-room, which was filled to 
 
262 CHEYENNE. 
 
 its utmost. As we stood at the bar, Mr. A , said, 
 
 "Gentlemen, here is a man, a stranger to us all, who has 
 travelled from California to our city, with a horse and 
 carriage, leading a fine Ayrshire cow, and a little dog, 
 Bertie by name, and he is on his way to old Massachu 
 setts. He has come the long distance of two thousand 
 miles and says that he has not received an insult thus far 
 on his journey, from any man, bear or d 1. On his ar 
 rival here, he has become timid, on account of } r ou cow 
 boys. I have told him that he can travel from here to 
 Omaha and not a cow-boy, or any other boy will injure 
 him, or take from him any of his outfit." A voice in the 
 crowd asked, "What part of California did you start 
 from ; which way did you come, by steamer or overland 
 road?" "I started fram Eureka cit} r , Humboldt ba} r , 
 three hundred miles north of San Francisco, and I came 
 the overland road to that city, then following the Central 
 Pacific Railroad to Ogden, and from there to this place," 
 I replied. "That is a big story to tell," said a voice 
 from the crowd. "Yes, I am aware of it, but it is a big 
 ger thing to do it," I replied. "You are right, stranger, 
 and have you brought that cow all the way from Califor 
 nia?" said one of the crjwd. "I have not made any 
 such statement. She has travelled every rod to Chey 
 enne," I answered. This created laughter and the boys 
 gave three cheers with a will for the man from California. 
 "Mr. Johnson, how do you feel, with this crowd of cow 
 boys around } T OU, do you think if }*ou should meet them 
 on the road they would take your horse from you?'' 
 Cries of no, no, came from all sides. We would do all we 
 could to help you along. "Yes, boys ; help the old gen 
 tleman on his long journey ; he is not half-way yet, and 
 it is -doubtful if he succeeds. I h:>pe he may, it is a great 
 undertaking. I say, boys, help the old gentleman along ; 
 give him a sack of oats for his horse and cow, and for 
 himself, something good to eat and drink."' A voice from 
 
CHEYENNE. 263 
 
 the crowd said, "A bottle of good bourbon is the kind of 
 
 help-along, "every time." "Mr. A and gentlemen, 
 
 allow me to make a remark. Before leaving California, I 
 was told by my friends and neighbors, that the enterprise 
 I was contemplating could not be carried out. First, be 
 cause a one-horse team could not travel the trails of two- 
 horse teams ; second, my wagon was too light and slen 
 der, with no brake attached ; third, I should have the 
 wild beasts to contend with ; fourth, I sh >uld be scalped 
 by the Indians ; fifth, the Mormons would kill me. Noth 
 ing was said about you cow-boys. In California I sup 
 pose you were not known and have only heard of you 
 more recently. Now, gentlemen ; I have travelled more 
 than two thousand miles and have received but one insult, 
 and that was from a couple of black bears, who were 
 more afraid of me than I of them. The Indians were 
 kind and obliging to me ; I have been in their company 
 several times and travelled with them for several hours ; 
 I have drank from their canteens and they from mine. 
 Twice having lost my trail, they have put me right again ; 
 that was while passing through Nevada." Just as I had 
 finished my last word the band of the circus struck up and 
 the whole crowd rushed to the street to see the parade. 
 I took the chance and returned to my camp. On arriving 
 I found Mrs. Brown was entertaining my animals and a 
 large number of people that had congregated to see my 
 outfit which had come from California, but all left as the 
 circus parade passed along the street. After the parade, 
 Mrs. Brown said, "Mr. Johnson, come in and get a 
 lunch, my dinner will be late, as Mr. Brown will not re 
 turn until three o'clock, so I will defer dinner until that 
 time." I went in and had lunch with Mrs. Brown, and 
 while eating I saw "Fann}'" looking directly at me, as if 
 she would like her lunch also. I told her to wait till I 
 was through and then she should have one. Mrs. Brown 
 said, "Mr. Johnson, you think much of your horse." 
 
264 CHEYENNE. 
 
 "Yes, but no more than she does of me. I think 
 so much of my animals that I would reluctantly part 
 with them, but I may get into a tight place and be 
 obliged to." "Mr. Johnson, I hope not, and hope also 
 that you will succeed and reach your destination safely. 
 If you do, it will be a record in your history." "Mrs. 
 Brown, I will go and give my cattle a lunch and then re 
 turn and shave if } T OU have no objections ?" She gave a 
 ready assent to this. On my return, Mr, Brown had 
 come home, and to him I said that I had made the 
 acquaintance of many of his citizens and related my ex 
 perience with the herd-man and his friend Bill Jones, and 
 
 my interview with Mr. A . "Mr. Brown, I have 
 
 given you the particulars of my introduction to the lead 
 ing citizens. I have no doubt, however, but that it will 
 work to my favor ; its results are in the future." "Com 
 rade Johnson, this interview is calculated to work in your 
 favor. It will carry you a long distance, even to North 
 Platte. Beyond there, you will be travelling where it is 
 more thickly settled. I think, however, it will be best to 
 make the railroad stations your camping places. 
 
 Cheyenne is an old town, of long standing. It existed 
 long before the Union Pacific Railroad was built. It is 
 now a city with a population of eight thousand. It is 
 known as the herdsman's city of the West. It is situa 
 ted in the southern part of Laramie county, and is its 
 capital. It is beautifully laid out, streets running at 
 right angles, with an elevation of more than six thousand 
 feet above the level of the sea. Here there is a tine view 
 of Pike's Peak in Colorado. 
 
 On the morning of the 18th I left Cheyenne for Omaha, 
 a distance of five hundred and sixteen miles. I followed 
 the Union Pacific Railroad te Archer station ; there I left 
 the railroad to my right. About twelve o'clock I came 
 
BURNS STATION. 265 
 
 across a train of eight wagons, seventeen horses, ten men, 
 eleven women and twenty-seven children, bound from 
 Kansas to Oregon. I stopped and gave grain to the 
 cattle, made a dish of coffee and ate my dinner, and then 
 went on. About six o'clock I saw a camp in front 
 of me, as I approached and stopped, I said to the camp 
 ers, "Gentlemen, have you any objections to my camp 
 ing here with you to-night?" "No, sir, not any; we 
 would like to have } r ou. You seem to be travelling East 
 instead of West ; we seldom meet any from the West. 
 Where have you come from?" "Cheyenne, I left this 
 morning. Where are }*ou from?" I asked. We are from 
 Kansas, stranger." "Where are you going to?" I asked. 
 "We have started for Oregon, but may change our direc 
 tion to California; where are }*ou bound to, stranger?" 
 "I am going to North Platte," I said. "Are you going 
 to take that cow with you?" "Yes, sir ; how many teams 
 have you?" I asked. "We have four wagons and eight 
 horses, four men, four women, thirteen children and 
 two dogs. 
 
 On the morning of the 19th near Burns station, I broke 
 camp and went on ; the railroad being still on my right. 
 I had travelled but a short distance when I came to a 
 creek and gave my cattle a chance to drink ; they were 
 very thirst} 7 and drank as though the water was good. 
 Going still further, we came to a spot where there was 
 grass ; here I stopped, took the horse from her carriage, 
 taking off her harness and turned her loose, also the cow. 
 I gathered some wood and made a fire and some coffee, 
 boiled some eggs and ate my breakfast, making a stop of 
 one hour and then went further. About ten o'clock I 
 heard the whistle of an engine to my right and soon saw 
 the train, a western bound train ; not long after I heard 
 another whistle and a train from the East came along. 
 This was cheering to us, especially to me. I am travel- 
 
266 DIX STATION. 
 
 ling in a beautiful valley ; on m} r right are large herds of 
 cattle. I am in sight of Pine Bluff station, a noted place 
 for the transportation of cattle to the East ; on my left is 
 a high bluff. As I circled round this bluff I drove into a 
 valley, crossing the creek, and had a fine view of the 
 cattle awaiting shipment. About six o'clock I went into 
 camp for the night, near Bush well station. 
 
 On the morning of the 20th I was up early, making 
 ready to move onward, and at five o'clock broke camp. 
 About eight o'clock we passed the western bound freight 
 train, salutations being given while passing, and about 
 ten o'clock we passed the western bound express. I was 
 within forty feet of the track and I threw up my hat as a 
 signal on passing. Coming in sight of a train of wagons, 
 I stopped with the common salutation, "Strangers, where 
 are you from?" "We are from Kansas." "Where is 
 your destination?" "We have started for Washington 
 Territory ; we may stop short of that, and scarcely know 
 where we shall finally stop, we can't get to a worse place 
 than that we have left." "What is the matter with 
 the place you came from?'* I asked. "We came from 
 where those hot, blasting winds burn up everything but 
 the d 1, they did not seem to cut him down. Where are 
 you from with that cow?" "I am from Laramie," I an 
 swered. "Where are you going, stranger?" "I am go 
 ing to Sidney. How many teams have you?" I asked. 
 "We have four wagons, eight horses, four men, four 
 women and eleven children." "Good-bye, .strangers ; 
 success to you," I said and passed on. Travelling fur 
 ther I came to water, here I gave the cattle water and 
 grain, ate a lunch myself and then went on. About five 
 o'clock I made Dix station. Here I found grass and 
 an abundance of water, so I concluded to stay for the 
 night. I took the horse from the carriage, removed her 
 harness and let her loose, the cow as well. I spread my 
 
POTTER STATION. 267 
 
 blankets on the ground and laid down on them. I had 
 not lain long when a man came up to me and said, 
 "Stranger, what's ye doing there?" I raised myself from 
 the ground and said, "What am I doing here, don't you. 
 see what I am doing?" "Yes, I see." "No you don't 
 see, or you would not have asked so foolish a question. 
 I am a traveller, I have come from Cheyenne and am go 
 ing to stop here for a while, so that my cattle can cut this 
 grass for you." "That is all right, stranger ; }*ou are go 
 ing to camp here for the night?" "I don't know, do 
 you?" I asked. "No I don't. If you want to make tea 
 or coffee you can make it in my house and welcome," 
 said the man. I thanked him and accepted. 
 
 The morning of the 21st found me up early, as usual. I 
 turned the cattle loose for grass and then returned to my 
 bed. I concluded to travel in the early morning and rest 
 in the early evening. I called in my cattle, gave them 
 their grain and went on. About six o'clock I passed the 
 western bound train ; I flung up my hat to signal the train 
 and kept on my journey. About nine o'clock I made 
 Potter station. As I was watering my cattle the western 
 express train came in and stopped, and about twelve 
 o'clock I saw in front of me, an emigrant train in camp. 
 On coming to the camp, I drove up along-side and stop 
 ped, after passing compliments, I said, "Your coffee 
 smelled so good, I could not but stop." "All right, 
 stranger, walk in, we have plentj^ of it," was the answer. 
 "I would like a dish of good, hot coffee. I will bring my 
 basket along, if you have no objection?" I said. "Bring 
 it along, we have no objections," was answered. I took 
 my basket with me, gave my cup to the lady, who filled it 
 with coffee. I said, "Strangers, there is one thing lack 
 ing, that is milk." "Stranger, we have no milk, I wish 
 we had !" "I will furnish you the milk." I went to my 
 wagon and took the pail I carry expressly for the purpose 
 
268 SIDNEY STATION. 
 
 of milking, I milked the cow and carried it to the lady, 
 saying, "Take this milk, and as often as you see or 
 handle milk in any shape, remember the man who took 
 dinner with you on the plains of Nebraska. That cow 
 which gives us this milk is a native of California and has 
 come thus far in the rear of that wagon. Strangers, how 
 large a company have }-ou?" "We have seven wagons, 
 fourteen horses, seven men, seven women and twent3 r -two 
 children." "Where are you from and where going?" I 
 asked, "We are from Kansas and have started for 
 Washington Territory, we may not get that distance, we 
 are late." I then left them and went on and about five 
 o'clock when about a mile west of Sidney, I stopped and 
 gave the cattle grass. As I lay on the grass I saw a lady 
 on horse-back coming towards me ; when she came up to 
 where I was lying, she said, "I want to buy a good, 
 kind, gentle horse, about such an one as this I am on." I 
 told her I was travelling East, and was a stranger in those 
 parts and did not know of any horse." ^'1 am travelling 
 West and have a sister in the town of Sidney. We have 
 come from Wisconsin, with this horse and a light buggy. 
 I have traded the buggy and harness for a saddle," said 
 the lady. "You say you are from Wisconsin, with a 
 carriage, j^ourself and sister. Where are you going?" I 
 asked. "We are going to California," answered the lady. 
 "Ah, I am from California, with this horse, carriage and 
 cow ; 3 7 es, and that little dog. All of us have travelled 
 from California thus far, and you have come here with a 
 carriage ; when you leave your carriage }~ou have to leave 
 your grain. Had I left my grain in Green River city, in 
 stead of carrying it over the Rocky Mountains, my cattle 
 would have been starved, as there was no grass for days, 
 that would keep them alive. With your carriage you. can 
 carry grain, bedding, grub and clothing ; without it, you 
 will have to carry everj'thing on your horse's back. I 
 advise you to continue with your carriage." The lady 
 
SIDNEY STATION. 269 
 
 left me and went on and I saw no more of her. As the 
 western-bound freight train was passing me it came to a 
 dead stop. I was anxious to know the cause and went 
 near to the train. I heard the conductor say in a loud 
 voice, "You will leave this train, or I will blow 3 r our God- 
 d d brains out." "Blow and be d d," said the tramp. 
 There were three of them on the train who intended to 
 steal a ride through the night, but the conductor said they 
 should not ride. He was obliged to call up all hands to 
 put them off; there were only six hands on the train. 
 The tramps left the train and as it moved off shots were 
 fired from both parties. 
 
 Sidney is a town grown up from a Military Post, which 
 was established many years before the building of the 
 Union Pacific Railroad ; it took its name from the Post. 
 Since the building of the railroad, it has become a place 
 of considerable note, and it is the capital of Cheyenne 
 county. It is handsomely laid out, and is situated on a 
 high elevation, four thousand feet above the level of the 
 sea. Many kinds of business have been established here, 
 and the surrounding country is well calculated to support 
 and build it up. One of the best eating-houses on the 
 road is to be found here. Its population at the present 
 is a little over a thousand. 
 
 On the morning of the 23rd I left Sidney, my trail now 
 being a good road. After travelling about four miles I 
 came to a house ; I went to the door, rang the bell and a 
 lady came in answer, of whom I asked, "Madam, can I 
 cook some coffee here?" "Yes, or you can have some of 
 ours already cooked, as you choose," she answered. "If 
 you have hot water, or a fire, I will cook enough for my 
 dinner, as I have a large coffee pot." I made the coffee, 
 had breakfast and then moved on. About seven o'clock I 
 met the western-bound express train ; the engineer recog- 
 
270 CHAPPELL STATION. 
 
 nized me and gave a salute. I returned the same and 
 continued on my way. On coming to water, I gave the 
 cattle water and grain. I took a drink of coffee and a 
 lunch myself. About two o'clock I made Lodge Pole 
 station ; here I stopped, giving water and grain to the 
 cattle ; my stop was one hour. About seven in the even 
 ing I came to good grass and concluded to camp. It was 
 my intention to have madeChappell station, but this being 
 an extra good quality of grass, I thought it best not to 
 pass it. I turned the cattle loose, made my supper and 
 ate it. After securing my cattle I gave them their grain, 
 went to bed and slept till ten o'clock, when I was awak 
 ened by the eastern-bound express train, but I was soon 
 asleep again. 
 
 On the morning of the 24th I awoke very early, ' I did 
 not know the time as my watch had run down. I turned 
 the horse and cow loose in the grass, I then laid me down 
 again and rested until it was light enough to travel. 
 About five a. m., I reached Chappell station ; soon after 
 my arrival the Eastern-bound express train came in, and 
 I called on the engineer for the time and set my watch ; 
 now I have the time again. It was just six o'clock when 
 I left the station and at ten o'clock I reached Julesburgh. 
 In making here, my road has not been good, it was the 
 heaviest travelling since leaving Che3 T enne. My stop 
 here was two hours and then I went on, and about three 
 I made Denver Junction, my last six miles have been very 
 heavy with sand. Here I found good grass, and any 
 quantity of cattle to take care of it. I turned the horse 
 loose and staked out the cow ; I dared not let her loose, it 
 might trouble me to find her. I gathered some fuel, made 
 a fire and made myself some dinner ; while eating dinner, 
 two teams came along-side where I was and stopped. 
 "Stranger, which way are 3*011 travelling?" the} 7 asked. 
 "I am travelling East, sir; you seem to be travelling 
 
DENVER JUNCTION. ' 271 
 
 West," I said. "Where are you from?" they asked. "I 
 am from Chej^enne, I left there the 18th," I said. "How 
 is the road there?" they asked. "Your first fifteen miles 
 will be sandy, after you get over that, your road will be 
 good to Cheyenne. Where are you from?" I asked. 
 "We are from Kansas," they answered. "Where are 
 you going?" I asked. "We don't know where we will haul 
 up yet. We are bound for California, and we may go to 
 Oregon, can't tell," they said. "Here is good grass and 
 we had better stop for the night," they said. "Yes, here 
 is the best grass I have found yet," I replied. My last 
 six miles have been from south to east, on a circle to Den 
 ver Junction, coming out into the Platte Valley. On 
 leaving this station, travelling East, I journey parallel 
 with the Platte river. 
 
 The morning of the 25th I left Denver Junction 
 about four o'clock, and about seven the eastern-bound 
 freight train passed me ; all the hands seemed to know 
 me. On my right, is Platte river ; large herds of cattle 
 are feeding on its banks and about nine o'clock I reached 
 Big Springs, here I stopped to give my cattle grain and 
 water, occupying just one hour, and then again went en, 
 the day being very warm and sultry. At half-past two 
 o'clock I made Brule station. Hot and not a shade to get 
 under. I am but a short distance from the river ; cattle 
 are in the mud and water more then stride deep, to get 
 rid of the flies ; the flies are very troublesome to the cattle 
 and are large and vicious in their bite. At four o'clock I 
 made Brule station and about six o'clock came to grass 
 and camped for the night, turning the cattle loose for their 
 evening meal. I gathered fuel, made a fire and got my 
 supper all alone, no one around or in sight, think of it. 
 About eight o'clock I secured the cattle, gave them their 
 grain, made up my bed and laid down, but no sleep came 
 around, being troubled with mosquitos. 
 
272 O'FALLONS STATION. 
 
 On the morning of the 26th, between Brule and Oga- 
 lalla stations I broke camp. After travelling but a short 
 distance I saw the western-bound freight coming towards 
 me ; as we passed signals were made. I made Ogalalla 
 station and on my arrival found the station but little in 
 ferior to Sidney. I fed my cattle and went to the station. 
 Here I found a store with a general assortment of goods 
 of all kinds. I went in and bought some good butter and 
 cheese, and filled my basket with bread. I also got a 
 sack of oats and meal for my cattle. I went for my wagon 
 and drove to the store, put aboard my grain and basket 
 and went on. At twelve thirty I reached Roscoe station, 
 here I stopped long enough to feed on water and grain. 
 About half-past five o'clock I made Alkali station ; I 
 stopped and gave my cattle grain and water and then 
 moved on a little further, and at seven o'clock stopped 
 for the night, all of us being thoroughly exhausted, al 
 most suffocating. I gave my cattle all the oats they would 
 eat ; I drank a dish of coffee, ate some bread and cheese, 
 made up my bed and laid down for rest, being so weary. 
 
 On the morning of the 27th, as soon as it was light 
 enough to travel I moved on, and at six o'clock I made 
 Dexter station ; here my cattle had water and grain and I 
 cooked some coffee and dried beef in milk and butter, with 
 eggs for my breakfast ; a very good breakfast I thought. 
 About seven o'clock I resumed my journey, my road now 
 lies between two rivers, the north and south forks of the 
 Platte river. About eleven o'clock I made O'Fallons 
 station. Just as I had reached this place, the eastern- 
 bound freight train came in. I stepped up to the engine 
 and said to the engineer, "Good morning." "Good 
 morning, friend traveller," he answered. "You have an 
 opportunity to see me often ; you know about how fast I 
 move," I remarked. "Yes, I see you are getting along 
 finely, you will make North Platte to-day." ''To-morrow 
 
NORTH PLATTE. 273 
 
 noon I hope to be there." The train moved on and here 
 I stopped for dinner and fed my cattle. About five 
 o'clock I reached Nichols station. Here was good grass 
 and I gave my cattle a chance at it for the night. 
 
 On the morning of the 28th, I left Nichols station for 
 North Platte, distance eight miles, which I reached about 
 ten o'clock. In making this place I travelled between two 
 rivers, the north and south forks of Platte river. There 
 are two trails to this place ; the railroad and river trails. 
 I went in on the railroad trail and encountered several 
 sloughs, the horse was in blue mud, knee deep. Had I 
 taken the river trail, I should have had a good road into 
 the town, this I was told when in town, and too late. 
 
 North Platte is situated on the banks of two rivers, the 
 north and south forks of the Platte river. It is the capi 
 tal of Lincoln count} 7 , Nebraska. It is a beautiful town 
 and finely laid out. As you enter from the West, you 
 pass down a broad avenue. On the left is the railroad 
 and station house, a large, noble looking building ; on the 
 right is the town. There are six streets leading out from 
 the avenue to the right. Entering the town by rail, it 
 looks grand and imposing. It boasts a population of 
 over two thousand. 
 
 On the morning of July 1st I left North Platte for 
 Omaha. After travelling about two miles I came to the 
 north fork of the Platte river. Here we cross the river 
 over the railroad bridge. This bridge is about nine hun 
 dred and sixty feet long, and sixteen wide. The railroad 
 track is laid in the centre. All teams have the right of 
 way across. Should a team get on the bridge the train 
 stops until it gets across, this is according to law, I was 
 informed. About a mile below this bridge is the junction 
 of the two rivers, the north and south forks, below is the 
 
274 BRADY STATION. 
 
 Platte river. After passing Gannet station I came to two 
 roads, and took the best, by so doing I took the wrong 
 road, going some eight miles out of my way. On coining 
 to a cattle ranche I learned that I should have to return 
 some four miles and take the left trail, which would lead 
 me on to the railroad trail. I returned .as directed and 
 came to the railroad trail, a loss of some ten miles for 
 that day's travel. I was anxious to reach Brady station, 
 but did not make it until late in the evening, about eight 
 o'clock ; a heavy day's travel, too much for the cow, as 
 she was heavy in calf. I made ready for the night ; the 
 cattle I take good care of, myself will care "for himself." 
 
 On the morning of the 2nd I left Brady station earl} 7 ; 
 I did not stop to feed, going on in the hope of coming to 
 grass that my cattle would eat readily. I will say here 
 that grass is plentiful, but too stout and heavy to be 
 sweet and nutritious. I am, and have been particular, in 
 their feeding ; I must be so, or they will never reach Mas 
 sachusetts. About six o'clock I stopped, fed the cattle 
 and myself and then went on until coming to a creek, 
 with a broad, deep ford. I was not able to ascertain the 
 depth of the water. I drove into the creek and when 
 more than half across, nry wagon was under water, the 
 cow was under, all but her head, that she kept dry. 
 Making the opposite bank, in ascending, my horse was not 
 able to get up out of the water on account of slipping. I 
 was obliged to back into the water and detach the horse 
 from the wagon that she might get up the bank. I carry 
 two ropes, thirty feet long, these I made fast to the front 
 axles, then carry them on to good footing, make them fast 
 to the hame tugs, then the horse pulls the wagon out of 
 the creek. This done, I took the horse from the carriage 
 and turned her loose, the cow also. I unloaded the 
 wagon to have a dry -out, as most of my things were wet. 
 While doing this, m} attention was drawn to the cow. I 
 
WILLOW ISLAND. 275 
 
 was about twelve rods from the railroad. On the op-, 
 posite side is Willow Island ; the cow was making for this 
 island across the railroad. I saw her intention and head 
 ing her, I staked her out. I thought no more of her for 
 a time, as I was busy drying my outfit. Two men 
 came up to me where I was and one said, "Do you want 
 to sell that cow?" "No, sir; I do not,*" I answered. 
 "She is a fine looking cow, I would like to buy her," he 
 said. "I have led that cow in the rear of that wagon a 
 long distance ; more than two thousand three hundred 
 miles, more than three hundred miles north of San Fran 
 cisco, California. If she were nothing more than an or 
 dinary cow it would be foolish to lead her that distance. 
 She speaks for herself, however." "She has a calf. I 
 went towards her and she shook her head at me, so I 
 went no further. Would you sell the calf?" he asked. 
 "Yes," I replied, "but I do not know that she has a calf. 
 If she has one, I will sell you the calf, situated as I am. 
 We will go to her and see how things look." I went up 
 to the cow all right, but the stranger she looked daggers 
 at. I found her with a calf, "Is it a male or female?" 
 the man asked. "It is a male," I answered. "What will 
 you sell him for?" he asked. "I will sell him for twenty- 
 five dollars, situated as I am," I replied. "I will give 
 you fifteen dollars for the calf," he said. "No, I will 
 take him along with me ; I do not care to take him from 
 the cow yet. It would be much better for the cow to have 
 the calf stay with her two days." "I am in the cattle 
 raising business on a small scale, and would like that calf. 
 I would not have made you an offer had it been a female, 
 but as it is a male, I will give you twenty dollars for the 
 calf, that is the best I can do," he said. "Situated as I 
 am, you can take him in two days." "I would like to 
 have him to-morrow, as I am going to move about ten 
 miles down the road," answered the man. "You pay me 
 for the calf and on the 4th I will deliver the calf at Cay- 
 
276 PLAIN CREEK. 
 
 ote station." "Here is your money, twenty dollars for the 
 calf. Now, you are a stranger to me ; I wanted that calf, 
 so I have bought and paid for it. Twenty dollars is a 
 large price ; now I want you to go to, and stay at the de 
 pot until you get ready to go on the 4th," he said. 
 
 On the morning of the 4th of July, as soon as it was 
 light enough to travel, I left Willow Island station for 
 Cayote station, with the calf for John Murray, Esq., 
 where I arrived about seven o'clock. On my arrival I was 
 made welcome to a good breakfast by Mrs. Murra}^. The 
 children were delighted with the calf. The calf had its 
 parting breakfast from its mother, after which the little 
 fellow was put into the barn and the mother was turned 
 loose with a herd of cattle. My stop here was two hours 
 and then went on. About one o'clock I made Plain Creek 
 station. Shortly after my arrival the western-bound 
 freight came up. This day I have been travelling through 
 a fine farming country. 
 
 Plain Creek is situated on a high, rolling prairie, and is 
 destined to be one of the best towns on the railroad. It 
 is beautifully laid out ; its Main street runs north and 
 south, with streets running at right angles ; all kinds of 
 business can be found here. As I was travelling up Main 
 street to my right I noticed a fine school-house and 
 church, not large, but neat and elaborate. Here my stay 
 was three hours ; I left this place at four o'clock and 
 travelled until coming to Josselyn station, where I stop 
 ped for the night. 
 
 At four o'clock on the morning of the 5th I left Josse 
 lyn station. About five o'clock the eastern-bound freight 
 passed us, and at six o'clock I made Overton station, 
 travelling on until I came to grass where I stopped to feed 
 my cattle, made a pot of coffee and ate my breakfast and 
 
STEVENSON STATION. 277 
 
 then went forward. On my right and left are fields of 
 grass close up to the road. My horse obliques to right 
 and left, nibbling at the grain, then forward, halt, stopped 
 five to fifteen minutes, then forward, march. My horse 
 does not understand the last, so I sometimes have to re 
 mind her with my cane. This way of travelling has never 
 been complained of. The horse is not in the grain, only 
 two out of four wheels were slightly in the grain. Well, 
 where am I? close on to Elm Creek station, where I soon 
 arrived as did also the western-bound freight. I gave the 
 cattle water and offered them grain, but they would not 
 eat it. Going on we came to a field of clover. I drove 
 into the field among a large number of hogs, giving my 
 cattle a chance to eat a mess of it, which they greedily 
 ate. My stop was short, perhaps an hour. It- is warm, 
 3~es, more than warm, very hot ; not a shade can I get 
 under. About eight o'clock a breeze sprang up and it be 
 came more comfortable travelling. Coming to a small 
 grove, the first shade I had seen to-day, we stopped here 
 for one hour, it was a luxury. Resuming our journey we 
 passed Stevenson station, and after going about a mile 
 from there we camped for the night. We were surrounded 
 with good grass ; I made the cow fast with the lariat, the 
 horse I turned loose. 
 
 At midnight of the morning of the 6th, I got ready and 
 went on. About two o'clock I passed by Kearney station, 
 and about four I made Buda station. Here I stopped 
 and gave the cattle water and then went on to Gibbon 
 station where I stopped one hour, feeding the cattle and 
 myself. As I was leaving the station, the eastern-bound 
 express passed me. I travelled this morning in merry 
 glee, my road being good. No flies to bother us, nor sun 
 to burn, like yesterday. About eleven o'clock we made 
 Shelton station. Here I inquired if there were any shade 
 that I could get myself and cattle under ? I was told there 
 
278 CAMP GROVE. 
 
 was none around the station, but a short distance below I 
 could get out of the sun. "About how far below?" I 
 asked. "About half a mile ; you can see it yonder." I 
 went for the shade ; we came to a pine grove, in the rear 
 of which was a house and barn ; approaching the grove I 
 saw a man, whom I went up to and said, "Would }'ou 
 allow me to stop a while with my cattle in your grove. I 
 have been travelling since midnight and my cattle have 
 come from Stevenson station, five miles below Kearney 
 Junction?" "Oh, yes ; stop as long as you like. There 
 is hay in the barn, but if your cattle prefer grass take the 
 scythe and cut them some ; give them all they can eat, it 
 will cost you nothing," answered the stranger. I took my 
 horse from the carriage, unharnessed her and let her loose 
 so that she might roll. The cow I kept confined allowing 
 her all the grass she would eat. "Stranger, where have 
 you come from with that outfit?" "Friend, I have come 
 all the way from California, with that horse, carriage, cow 
 and dog." "Oh, you are the man that I have read about 
 in the papers, coming from California and going to Mas 
 sachusetts?" "Yes, sir; lam the man." "Go into the 
 house*, I want my wife to see you !" "Please have her 
 step to the door ; she, perhaps, would prefer to see the 
 cattle, rather than me." He called his wife, saying, 
 "Here is the man I read about on his way from California 
 to Massachusetts, with his horse, carriage, cow and dog. 
 Look, at the cow, see what a mark she has on her rump, 
 that is enough to show she has come a long distance. 
 Well, stranger, don't you want some dinner? He is 
 worthy of a better dinner than we can give him." "While 
 she is preparing dinner I will milk the cow ; she has not 
 been milked since very early this morning." I milked 
 and took it to the lady saying, "Madam, there is the milk 
 that I have taken from a cow that has travelled more than 
 two thousand four hundred miles. She was born and 
 bred in California, and has been led in the rear of that 
 wagon all that distance." 
 
CENTRAL CITY STATION. 279 
 
 On the morning of the 7th, soon after midnight, I left 
 Camp Grove, between Shelton and Wood River stations, 
 reaching the latter about half past two o'clock. I made 
 no stop, but continued on to Alder station, which I 
 gained about six o'clock. Here we stopped and had 
 breakfast, staying one hour and then went forward, reach 
 ing Grand Island at ten o'clock. Here I remained most 
 of the day, making the park my camp. By permission, I 
 turned my cattle loose that they might have grass where 
 they choose. At four o'clock in the afternoon I made 
 ready for another stage on my journey and at six o'clock 
 made Lockwood station. Here I gave the cattle water 
 and then went on a short distance and camped. My 
 camp is close t > the railroad ; on my right is a large field 
 of corn. A little further is a field of oats. I led my 
 horse to the oat field that she might eat a few oats, think 
 ing they would do her more good than grass. After a 
 while I returned to camp, making the horse fast to a tele 
 graph pole for the night, spread my blankets and went 
 to bed. 
 
 Early on the morning of the 8th, about three o'clock, I 
 made ready and went on. At six o'clock I made Chap- 
 mans station ; here we took breakfast. My cattle had 
 grain, myself and dog took bread and milk ; my stop was 
 only one hour. About twelve at noon, we made Central 
 City station. On making this last station, it had been 
 warm, the flies did their best to torment my cattle ; the 
 horse becoming frantic, I thought surely she would break 
 away from me. I covered my cattle with fh*-blankets 
 continually. About three o'clock I left Central City and 
 travelled to Clark's station, which I reached at seven 
 o'clock. I stopped and gave my cattle water and went on 
 until I came to a fine place to camp. I took the horse 
 from the carriage, unharnessed her and let her loose, the 
 cow I staked out, as I was anxious to know her where- 
 
280 CAMP MANSION. 
 
 abouts. I made a fire, cooked some coffee, boiled eggs 
 and ate my supper. After this was done I brought in my 
 cattle, gave them their grain and went to bed for the 
 night. While lying in bed I concluded it was better to 
 travel in the night instead of the day, as the flies were so 
 troublesome by day. 
 
 At midnight of the 9th, I broke camp near Clark's 
 station and travelled until six o'clock, at which time I 
 reached Silver Creek station ; here we all took breakfast. 
 We rested till eight o'clock and then went on and about 
 twelve o'clock we made Duncan station. It has been a 
 very warm morning, the warmest of the season and no 
 shade to get into or under. Meeting a person I said, 
 "Stranger, is there any shade that I can get my cattle 
 under?" "There is none very near ; which way are you 
 travelling?" he asked. "I am travelling East, sir," I 
 said. "About a mile east, you will find a good shade, no 
 better in the State," said the stranger. I concluded to 
 go on, rather than stop in the sun. I soon reached the 
 shade, a beautiful grove, which I drove into. In the rear 
 of this grove was a mansion. I went for a permit to stop 
 a while at least. Stepping to the door I rang the" bell ; a 
 lady came in answer, to whom I said, "Madam, I am 
 travelling East ; I have come from the West a long dis 
 tance ; I have a horse, carriage and cow. It is very warm 
 and I would like to have my cattle stand in the shade, 
 while they cool off and rest ; it is the warmest day I have 
 travelled." "Where are your cattle, sir?" asked the lady. 
 "Yonder, near the road," I replied. "Drive them in 
 here, I would like to look at them," said the lady. I 
 went for the cattle and drove them into the yard. "Let 
 them stand there in the shade, it will do them good," she 
 said. 
 
 At three o'clock on the morning of the 10th, I left 
 
COLUMBUS. 281 
 
 Camp Mansion and arrived at Columbus at half-past five 
 o'clock and found the city m perfect slumber. I thought 
 that I must be mistaken in the day, Sunday, as not a per 
 son could I see to gain information. Soon, however, I 
 saw a man crossing the street. "I asked him, "Stran 
 ger, will you tell me where I will find a hotel?" "Yes, 
 sir, right here; this is a hotel." "I am travelling and 
 have lust made the city. I have a cow that must be 
 milked and would like to exchange it for something to eat 
 that I do not carry. Are you the proprietor, sir?" "We 
 will take the milk and give you a tip-top breakfast," said 
 the stranger. "Please look at my cow. By the way, 
 where is your barn?" I asked. "In the rear of the 
 hotel ; I will show you." I went for the cattle and took 
 them to the barn, milked the cow and went into the hotel 
 with the milk. "There, stranger, take this and give me 
 some breakfast in return," I said. "But here is more 
 milk than breakfast," he answered. "Never mind, re 
 member my cattle," I said. The landlord turned to his 
 man and said, "John, give this man some grain for his 
 cattle ; give them a good breakfast." We all had a good 
 meal, after which we went on and about ten o'clock made 
 Benton station, where I watered the cattle. Coming to a 
 wheat-field, I could not get my cattle by it, they were 
 bound to have wheat for dinner. I did not try much to 
 keep them from it, but allowed them to eat for about an 
 hour and then drove on. About half-past three o'clock I 
 reached Schuyler station, and on my arrival I inquired 
 for the best hotel and went there. I inquired for the pro 
 prietor, who asked, what he could do for me? "I have 
 come a long distance and have not got to the end } T et." 
 "Are }'ou the man that the papers talk about, who is on 
 his way from California to Massachusetts, with a horse, 
 carriage, cow and dog?" asked the proprietor. "I think 
 I must be the man ; I have heard of no one else. I have 
 my doubts whether there is another man that would be so 
 
282 NORTH BEND STATION. 
 
 foolish as to attempt the job again." u Stranger, you are 
 not a fool, because a fool could not have done what you 
 have. As to its being foolish, that is another question ; 
 you have had an opportunity that no other man has had to 
 know the country, and should yon ever get to the end of 
 your journey, it is for }'ou to give us } T our experience on 
 paper, in black and white. I sincerely hope you will suc 
 ceed," said the proprietor. "Friend, I am obliged to you 
 for }x>ur advice. Should I succeed in reaching my destin 
 ation and put on paper the facts relative to my journey 
 across the continent, I will send you the contents in book 
 form. Friend proprietor, I am going to travel to-night ; 
 it is my intention to reach North Bend. If } T OU have 
 some ha} T , I suppose } T OU have no grass, that my cattle 
 will eat, I will milk the cow and you can have the milk 
 in exchange." "You can have all the hay and grain you 
 wish ; about what time will you leave ?" asked the pro 
 prietor. "How many miles is it to North Bend?" I 
 asked. "It is fifteen miles by rail and the same by the 
 road," was answered. "It will take me five hours to 
 travel that distance. I will leave here about half-past six 
 or seven o'clock," I answered. At that time I left 
 Schuyler and at half-past nine passed Rogers station, and 
 just at midnight we made North Bend station. I gave my 
 cattle some oats, spread my blankets and laid me down 
 for rest. Just as I lay down the western express train 
 came in. 
 
 I arose early on the morning of the llth, but not as 
 early as usual. Travelling in the night is more agreeable 
 to my cattle than the day ; we are not troubled with the 
 big flies, they are so tormenting to my cattle. As I was 
 making ready to leave, the hotel proprietor came along 
 and said, "Good morning, stranger. Travelling, are 
 you?" "Yes, sir ; I came in from Schuyler last evening, 
 arriving about midnight. Landlord, I have a cow that is 
 
NORTH BEND STATION. 283 
 
 fresh in milk ; I am obliged to milk her regularly, but she 
 has not been milked this morning. Will you take the milk 
 in exchange for something to eat that I do not carry." 
 "Yes, milk your cow, bring it in and get your breakfast. 
 Will that answer 3*011?" asked the landlord. "Yes, sir ; 
 that is just what I was driving at.'* I milked the cow and 
 took it to the hotel-keeper, when he said, "Come with me 
 and get your breakfast. You have a good cow, judging 
 by the quantity of milk she gives. Where did you find 
 that cow?" asked the landlord. "That cow is a native of 
 California ; I am taking her down East," I answered. 
 "How far East?" "To Massashusetts," I replied. To 
 Massachusetts ; that is a long distance. Are you the 
 man that is travelling from California to Massachusetts ?'' 
 asked the landlord. "John, bring out two pails of oats 
 for this horse and cow," the landlord commanded. John 
 brought out the oats and gave them to the horse and cow. 
 After they had eaten the grain we went on, leaving North 
 Bend for Fremont. Not long after starting on my wa} r , 
 I noticed a change was taking place in the atmosphere ; 
 clouds were rolling up, I disliked their deportment ; they 
 were continually rolling and tumbling, trying to smash 
 each other. Then came a streak of lightning to the 
 ground, and the thunder was rumbling in our rear. 
 I crowded my cattle along as fast as possible, hoping to 
 come to some place where we could get under cover. 
 Soon, on my left, a stream of lightning came down, the 
 thunder following close upon it. Here I am between two 
 armies, I thought ; one on my right and one on my left. 
 Perpendicular, there was not a cloud. These two clouds, 
 or armies, were advancing and retreating. Soon the one 
 on the right charged the one on the left ; then, there was 
 such a canonading that I never heard down South at the 
 time we crossed the Ogeechy river. All the time this 
 battle was raging, I was trying to get under cover. On 
 my left, about sixty rods, was a grove of young willows, 
 
284 SHELTER GROVE. 
 
 from two to six inches in diameter ; about three hundred 
 feet long and about fifty feet wide, running down to the 
 road. We had almost made the grove when the storm 
 burst upon us. First, it was wind, then hail mingled with 
 fire from nitrogen ; it struck us on our left. I was unable 
 to hold the horse, she started on a full run for the 
 grove. As soon as we got under cover of the grove we 
 were all right. This grove was wide enough to shelter us 
 from the storm, the duration of which was only forty 
 minutes. After the storm had passed over I looked 
 around, but no house could I see. I went around to the 
 end of the grove ; what did I see ? A house made with 
 hands, not more than two hundred feet from where I had 
 been standing during the storm. I backed my horse out 
 of the grove and went to this house, standing in front 
 about a minute when a man came to the door. I said to 
 him, "Stranger, when this storm, just passed, struck me, 
 I was about twenty rods from your grove. I have been 
 there all this time ; I am wet and cold and would like to 
 stop here for a while. I am a traveller and have come a 
 long distance, and am not half-way until I reach Omaha." 
 The lady of the house made a fire and I had a good dry-out. 
 " Stranger, this storm has delayed my travelling for 
 several days. Can I stop here until I am able to travel 
 again. I carry a lunch basket and grain for my cattle ; I 
 would like hay or grass as you prefer?" I said. "There 
 is a grass cutter, help yourself," said my host. "Have 
 you a cow?" I asked. "I have, but she has not come in 
 yet," he answered. "All right, my cow is fresh in milk. 
 I will find the milk, you the grass," I said. When the 
 time for milking came, I milked the cow and took it 
 to the lady of the house, who said, "You have a fine cow 
 to give that quantity of milk. John, come here and see 
 what a mess of milk that cow has given," said the lady. 
 1 'Stranger, you have a rare cow to give so much milk; 
 where are you from and where are you going?" said John. 
 
SHELTER GROVE. 285 
 
 4 'Friend, stranger, I would like to stop with you until I 
 am able to travel. To-day is Friday ; with your consent, 
 I would like to stay here till Monday morning. If I stay 
 I shall have plenty of time to answer your questions. If 
 I answer one it will lead to many more, I will now an 
 swer your first. I am from California, with that horse, 
 carriage, cow and dog, having left that state June 1st, 
 1882, and arrived in Ogden, September 23rd. I left 
 Ogden May 14th, 1883, and have travelled thus far since 
 that time, about two thousand five hundred miles. To 
 your second question, I answer, I am on my way to Mas 
 sachusetts." "But Massachusetts is a long distance from 
 here," said the stranger. "Yes, I am aware of it, but it 
 was much longer before I left California. I have been 
 working steadily along; I have killed half the distance, 
 and if nothing serious happens I will kill the remainder in 
 time." 
 
 On the morning of the 16th, I left Shelter Grove for 
 Fremont. This place I call Shelter Grove, as it gave me 
 protection from the storm of Friday and also of the Sun 
 day, the 13th following, of rain and hail. My stay was 
 four d&ys instead of two, as I had intended. The storm 
 of Sunday was very severe ; the rain poured down in tor 
 rents, mingled with hail and fire that ran along the 
 ground ; the telegraph wires and poles were very danger 
 ous. Cloud after cloud, charged with electricity, would 
 come up and then such lightning and thunder, as could 
 not be seen or heard outside of Nebraska, would follow. 
 After such storms it is with difficulty that people can 
 travel as the roads are so cut up and muddy, and travel 
 ling on this mud, as it dries becomes like frozen earth, 
 only worse, for frozen earth will yield to the sun, but this 
 only becomes harder. At Julesburg, or as it is more re 
 cently called, Denver Junction, I made the Platte Valley. 
 From here the lands are very flat ; since coming to the 
 
286 FREMONT. 
 
 flat land I have witnessed many storms, not of rain and 
 hail alone, but storm of fire and electricity. These 
 storms are a terror to me. The day previous to reaching 
 Columbus there was one of these storms. I was travel 
 ling beside the telegraph poles, my trail being close up to 
 them, sometimes the hubs of my wheels would strike the 
 poles. The lightning had split down pole after pole, so I 
 left the trail and drove into the high grass where I re 
 mained until the storm had consumed all its ammuniton, as 
 I was afraid of the electricity. I am travelling parallel 
 with the railroad, which is on my right. After journeying 
 about three miles I was obliged to cross, then turning 
 sharp to my left, I have the railroad to my left, my road 
 at this time being good. Between the road and the rail 
 road is the old trail, covered with heavy grass. The flies 
 are very troublesome to the cattle, so much so, that the 
 horse will rush into the tall grass to brush them off. Here 
 she took to the grass and I was afraid that there might be 
 a ditch that she would run into and upset the wagon. I 
 called out to her to stop, but Fanny would not stop. I 
 tried to get around her, but she struck into the old trail, 
 turning round and back to the crossing ; I thought that 
 here she would surely stop, but no, she crossed and went 
 on. I was close up to the wagon and made ;i great effort 
 to clutch some part of the harness, but did not succeed. 
 She then started on a smart run, but the cow kept up with 
 her with little trouble. In this way we all went back to 
 Shelter Grove. After taking a good, long breath, I con 
 cluded to try it again and did so. Coming to the crossing 
 I concluded it would be best to lead her through the tall 
 grass, as she might try again to run back. In this esca 
 pade we lost over seven miles. Our road was rough, but 
 we made Fremont about two o'clock in the afternoon. 
 
 Fremont is a fine town ; it is the county seat of Dodge 
 county. It is young, as most of the towns are on this 
 
FREMONT. 287 
 
 line of railroad ; still it is growing fast and handsome. 
 Enterprise is stamped strong and firm upon its appear 
 ance. I had occasion to call at the Post Office and was 
 surprised at its excellent appearance and good arrange 
 ments. I could not but ask myself who was the designer 
 of this beautiful office? If I am not misinformed, it was 
 built in New Haven, Conn., and shipped hereto. As I 
 intended to leave early in the morning I went down town 
 to learn of my direction for to-morrow. On returning, I 
 passed a flouring mill and stopped to purchase a sack of 
 grain. After it had been put up and paid for, the miller 
 asked, where I found my c^w? This question opens 
 the gate for more, which I was obliged to answer. "That 
 cow is a native of California ; I have led her in the rear 
 of my wagon all that distance, and we are going to Mas 
 sachusetts," I answered. "Here is your money, I will 
 not be guilty of taking a cent from you. Do you have to 
 pay for what you have to subsist on ?" asked the miller. 
 "Not often. When they learn my story it costs me noth 
 ing," I answered. "I will keep you a week, if yon will 
 stay," said the miller. "Thank you ; good-bye, sir," I 
 said. "Good-bye ; success to you all along the road," he 
 answered. 
 
 On the morning of the 17th, at midnight, I left Fre 
 mont, travelling the old militar3 r road. On leaving Fre 
 mont I leave the railroad to my right, and going down 
 into the valley recross the railroad, turning short to left 
 and following the railroad. Going on as far as my mem 
 ory would carry me and coming to two roads, I did not 
 know which one to take. I followed one of the roads 
 until coming to a house. I called out which was the road 
 to Omaha. A man came to the window of whom I asked, 
 "Am I on the right road to Omaha?" "You are not, you 
 should have taken the right-hand road." "If you had a 
 shingle on a post, I should have taken the right road, 
 
288 ELK-HORN RIVER. 
 
 without being obliged to wake you up from your slumbers. 
 I think I shall not be able to travel to-night without wak 
 ing up the whole neighborhood," I remarked. "You go 
 back and take your left road, go on a little distance fur 
 ther, take }*our next left road, then there will be no more 
 turnings for a long distance." I retraced my steps and 
 followed the road as directed, and came to a large river, 
 crossing it on a good, substantial bridge, made of iron. 
 This river is the Elk-horn. Going on, we ascended a heavy 
 bluff, and further onward came to a store and post-office. 
 Here we stopped for breakfast ; after eating we went on 
 till one o'clock, when we stopped for water and luncheon. 
 Our stop was short as I desired to make the celestial city. 
 I could see the smoke from the furnaces, indicating 
 the location of the city, and we now went on with good 
 cheer. About six o'clock we came to a plat of grass 
 where we stopped. It was just within city limits. Here 
 I concluded to go into camp for the night and early in the 
 morning would enter the city. I camped and turned my 
 cattle loose, giving them a chance to ramble. I gathered 
 some wood for a fire as there was plent} r around ; made a 
 fine pot of coffee, with plenty of milk and sugar, boiled 
 some eggs and dried beef in chips ; seated on a box I ate 
 this good supper. We were all hungry. I spread my 
 blankets and laid down, being very weary. Bessie went 
 to bed, but Fannie was not ready to retire ; she seldom 
 lays down till late in the evening, and I have never seen 
 her laid down but once in the da}--time. That was at 
 Willow Island, where Bessie gave birth to her fine bo} 7 . 
 There I found her lying down with Bessie. I brought in 
 my cattle, gave them grain and retired for the night. 
 
 Early on the morning of the 18th, I was awakened by 
 the passing teams of the city market-men. I got up and 
 turned my cattle loose for grass, made a fire and cooked a 
 pot of coffee, drinking of it freely. It was not yet dawn. 
 
OMAHA. 289 
 
 Between us and the city was a heavy plat of timber, 
 hiding our view of the city and also the East. Soon I 
 discerned that morning was breaking upon us, so I called 
 in my cattle and made ready to go into the city. After 
 passing the timber lot I had a fine view of the city ; we 
 were on a high elevation and could look down on the city. 
 We went into the city and coming to a convenient place 
 we stopped. My first duty was to milk the cow, as she 
 had not been milked for twenty hours ; her sack was full. 
 In milking her I took eighteen quarts from her ; this made 
 her more comfortable. My second dut}' was to see about 
 the shoeing of my cattle. I had been recommended to a 
 given shop ; I went to the street and number and inquired 
 for the proprietor, to whom I said, "I am a stranger in 
 the city, travelling with a horse and carriage, leading a 
 cow, and I would like to get them both well shod." "I 
 can shoe your horse, sir, but your cow I can't, as I have 
 no brake to put her in. I have shod oxen, but cows I 
 have never shod," said the blacksmith. "Is there any 
 one you know of, who has a brake?" I asked. "I think 
 there is not a brake in the city. Where are you from and 
 where are yon going, to require the shoeing of a caw ?" 
 the blacksmith asked. "My dear sir, I will go and get 
 my cattle, and while you are shoeing my horse, I will an 
 swer your two questions, it will take some time to answer 
 them," I said. So I went and fetched my outfit, and on 
 my return I found several strangers in the shop. I took 
 the horse from the carriage and led her into the shop. 
 She went very reluctantly, and several times did she call 
 for Bessie to follow, but she declined. "Mr. Blacksmith, 
 I will begin and answer your questions. To commence 
 with, I will say it is a long journey and will need some" 
 thing good on the road, if it is nothing more than three 
 per cent." About this time a large number of persons 
 had gathered about the wagon. My dog, Bertie, sat on 
 the seat, he was feeling finely, but was being petted and 
 
290 OMAHA. 
 
 teased alternately, and some were pulling his tail. "Boys, 
 don't pull his tail,' you would not like to have your tail 
 pulled," I said. The blacksmith also told the boys to let 
 the dog alone. "Mr. Blacksmith, 3*011 see what condition 
 those shoes are in ; the} 7 have done excellent service. 
 Those shoes were put on her feet in Ogden. She has 
 crossed the Rocky Mountains witli them, drawing that 
 carriage all the distance. That is not all, she has hauled 
 three hundred pounds of grain over the mountains, from 
 Green River city until it was all eaten." "Where did you 
 start from with the horse and cow?" asked the black 
 smith. "I started from Eureka, Humboldt county, Cali 
 fornia, with these animals." I answered. "When did you 
 start from California?" he asked. "One year ago, the 
 first day of last June," I answered. "And you have 
 been all that time coming hereto?" said the blacksmith. 
 "I have been all this time coming, going and stopping," 
 I answered. "Stranger, I do not understand } T ou," said 
 the blacksmith, "I will explain; coming is not going; 
 going is when on the wrong trail and have to return to get 
 into the right one ; stopping is when you can't go or come, 
 you understand ?" "I do, go on," said the blacksmith. 
 "On the 23rd of last September, I arrived in Ogden. I was 
 obliged to stop there until the 14th of May ; on that day 
 I left Ogden and arrived in Omaha July 18th, the present 
 month. I am just half-way on my journey, California is 
 West ; Massachusetts is East, and Omaha is the centre ; 
 you understand, Mr. Blacksmith?" "I do, and what is 
 more, I will bet ten dollars you are a full-blooded Yan 
 kee," he answered. "I dare not bet, I have no money to 
 lose as I surely should," I answered. "John," said the 
 blacksmith, "take the pitcher, go and fill it with beer." 
 "What kind of beer, I drink nothing but three per cent., 
 remember !" I said. "John, hold on, we will go out and 
 get our three per cent.," said the blacksmith. We went 
 out and took a smile of old bourbon, came back and 
 
OMAHA. 291 
 
 finished shoeing the horse. This done, I asked the black 
 smith if he knew of a place where I could stay over 
 night and feed my animals. I preferred to be outside 
 than inside. He told me of a place and went with me 
 to it, introducing me to the owner, who gave me permis 
 sion to camp there for the night. The property was 
 owned by a Mr. Adams, a Mr. Briggs and a Jew. The twe 
 former gave their ready permission, after having heard my 
 story ; the Jew was awa} T from home, so I could not get 
 his assent on going to see him about it. In the mean 
 time, I went down town and recruited my lunch-basket ; 
 returning I made my dinner, and was eating it when the 
 Jew returned home, and seeing me camped came directly 
 to me saying, " Stranger, who gave }'ou leave to come 
 here, you are on my premises, get out of here d d quick 
 or I will smash you up." I told him that I was a stran 
 ger, I had come to the city that morning and had been to 
 the blacksmith to have my cattle shod, I asked him where 
 I could sta} T for a short time and had been brought there. 
 I had consulted his neighbors, Mr. Adams and Mr. 
 Briggs, and had called on him for his consent, but not be 
 ing at home was told to camp there, it would be all right. 
 The Jew said it would not be all right, and he told me to 
 get out d d quick. Many people hearing our cantro- 
 versy had gathered around. Mr. Adams and Mr. Briggs 
 both were there. It appeared that one-half of my wagon 
 was on the Jew's land, so they hauled it off on their 
 land, saying to me, ''Stranger, don't you move a thing; 
 you are now, not on his grounds, but on ours." At this 
 the Jew was much excited ; he left and went into his store 
 and in a little while returned with a policeman. The 
 officer came directly up to me and said, "Take your 
 cattle and traps off these grounds, and quick too, or I 
 will take them and you too." "Policeman,'* said both 
 Mr. Adams and Mr. Briggs, "this stranger is on our 
 grounds by permission, not on the city's, or anybody 
 
292 OMAHA. 
 
 else's. You have no right to eject him from these 
 grounds." While this controversy was going on the 
 people had collected in large numbers. "Gentlemen, 
 strangers, I am a long distance from my home." A voice 
 in the crowd asked, "Where is your home?" "My home 
 is in the State of Massachusetts. I have no other and I 
 sun on my way there. I little thought when I entered 
 3'our city that I should receive such an ovation ; especially 
 of this kind. On my journey I have met all kinds and 
 grades of people, from a Chinaman to a Yankee." 
 "Where are } T OU from?" asked a voice in the crowd. 
 "I am from California, direct," I answered. On this 
 three cheers were called for the man from California, 
 which were given with a will. "Strangers and friends, I 
 think I am not mistaken when I say friends." (No, not 
 a bit of it, 3 r ou bet.) "I am simply passing through your 
 city, and stopped to get my cattle shod and give them a 
 feed and rest, being directed to this place, I am here by 
 permission. This controversy was uncalled for ; a little 
 feeling has arisen, because this man is unwilling that I 
 should stop here, and has brought this policeman to eject 
 me from these grounds ; while on the other hand, those 
 that gave me permission to use these grounds, are here 
 defending me. As it now stands, I am sorry I came 
 here." At this, many voices were heard in protest from 
 among the crowd, who said they would stand by me, one 
 telling me "To stand my hand and not be put out by that 
 snob of a Jew." "Friends, you very well know that one 
 of the parties must yield. You know also, that the police 
 are very courageous at times, and then where are they? 
 Then this policeman commanded me to leave the grounds. 
 Friends, it is foolish to kick against the hackle." On my 
 left was a board fence, about sixty feet long and five feet 
 high, on the opposite side was a fine grass lawn ; the 
 owner of this lot was present and had been an observer of 
 the controversy, "Stranger," said he, "I have been a 
 
OMAHA. 293 
 
 looker-on of this foolish controversy ; I think that our 
 policeman ought to have known beans from potatoes, but 
 he did not. Lead your cattle through this gate, into 
 these .grounds, there is plenty of grass, they can have 
 all they will eat, it will grow again ; we will draw your 
 wagon round," said the man. I did as directed. After 
 getting around, my friend said, "We will wait a little 
 while and see if they will order you from these grounds ; 
 they have the same right, no more, nor no less. I think 
 you was shamefully used on the other side ; we will en 
 deavor to make it up. I would like to know } T our name, 
 so that we can address each other courteousty. and by our 
 right name?" said the gentleman. "Yes, sir ; that would 
 seem more home-like. My name is Johnson, W. B., of 
 Webster, Mass. Please give me } r our name?" I said. 
 "My name is N. A. Jones, of Omaha, Nebraska. Make 
 yourself at home Mr. Johnson ; we welcome you," said 
 Mr. Jones. Mrs. Jones also pressed a welcome, saying, 
 "When I think how mean you have been treated this da} r , 
 it is hard to stand. If I was a man, I should show fight." 
 "Mrs. Jones, I have not been shaved since leaving North 
 Platte ; I would like a good wash, shave and change of 
 clothing, and then I think they will not know me on the 
 other side of the fence, and perhaps not know me on this 
 side," I said. They pressed me to take dinner with them 
 which they said was then ready. I excused myself, say 
 ing that I had a late breakfast and was not hungty, but 
 they insisted on my having a dish of coffee. I reluctantly 
 went in to dinner and took some coffee. I excused my 
 self and then went and washed up, and going to my wagon 
 got a change of clothing, returned to the house and rang 
 the bell, to which the lady answered. I said to her, 
 "How do you do, Mrs. Jones?" "I am very well, thank 
 you; will you walk in, sir," said Mrs. Jones. "You 
 don't seem to recognize me, Mrs. Jones?" I said. "No, 
 I do not," she answered. "I remarked a little while ago, 
 
294 OMAHA. 
 
 that they would not know me on the other side of the 
 fence ; it seems also the} T do not know me on this," I said. 
 "Why, why, Mr. Johnson, is that 3*011, it can't be !" said 
 Mrs. Jones. "Yes, madam, it is me. Mrs. Jones, I 
 would like to walk down into the cit3 r and see what it is 
 like ; my animals are doing well and are in the shade. I 
 will not be long," I said. With this I started down 
 town, looking at this and that. I made my way down to 
 the river, expecting to find a broad, deep stream, but I 
 did not find one, it was about dried up, and } T et it was the 
 Missouri river. I expected to find steamboats, but not a 
 boat could I find. A fer^-boat, I certainly expected to 
 see, but there is no ferry for crossing the river. I made 
 inquiry how to cross with a team, and was informed that 
 the railroad did the fencing of teams across, in cars. 
 After roaming about the city until I was nearly exhausted, 
 I returned to my camp. On my return, I found many 
 people, men, women and children, had assembled to see 
 my animals, who asked hundreds of questions, embracing 
 my journey from California to Omaha, and even in regard 
 to the policeman. Mr. Adams said, "That he was sur 
 prised that they had a policeman on their force who would 
 do as he had acted, after learning from the proprietors of 
 the ground, themselves having given permission for you to 
 remain on the ground, and even remonstrated against 
 your removal. It was a shame that it should have been 
 done, Why, sir, a man of }'our years to have accom 
 plished what you have done, is wonderful. Then, on 3'our 
 arrival, with those beautiful animals, having travelled 
 more than two thousand five hundred miles on foot, re 
 member not by railroad, but on foot, should be ejected 
 from so fine a place for rest, when permission was granted 
 by the owners. Stranger, had this thing happened in 
 some of the places you have passed through, we should 
 have thought nothing about it, but coming into civiliza 
 tion and receiving such treatment, is what I can't under- 
 
OMAHA. 295 
 
 stand. Stranger, when do you resume your journey ?" 
 4 'Next Friday, the 20th, I think ; but having such a fine 
 place to camp I may stay over one day longer. It will 
 give the cattle more rest and that is what they need," I 
 replied. "Stranger, success to you, I hope you will ac 
 complish your undertaking," and with that we bade each 
 other good-bye. "Mr. Johnson , you have had many callers 
 this afternoon," said Mrs. Jones. "Yes, ma'am ; I am 
 aware of it," I replied. "Our supper is ready, come in," 
 said Mrs. Jones. "Mrs. Jones, my cow will want the 
 milk taken from her soon," I said. "After tea is time 
 enough," said Mrs. Jones. I took supper with them 
 and when through went and milked Bessie, taking nine 
 quarts from her, which I took to Mrs. Jones, saying, 
 "Here is the milk from my California cow, you are wel 
 come to it." "Mr. Johnson, you have a lovely cow, so 
 handsome, and such a good mess of milk she gives. I 
 hope you will succeed in getting her through to Massachu 
 setts ; should you, she will be worth her weight in gold," 
 said Mrs. Jones. I repled, "That makes her a valuable 
 cow, much more so than any animal that Barnum has." 
 
 Omaha is situated on the west bank of the Missouri 
 river, high up, on a large flat bluff, running back to the 
 west and north on a high elevation. It is a young city, 
 with a population of thirty thousand. It has come to 
 stay for a while at least, until the western part of the 
 state becomes more settled, then Grand Island will come 
 in for the star of the state. This will be strongly op 
 posed by the eastern part of the state, but it will surely 
 come, like unto Des Moines. 
 
296 COUNCIL BLUFFS. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 FROM OMAHA TO DES MOINES, DAVENPORT AND 
 CHICAGO. 
 
 On the morning of the 21st, I left the city of Omaha 
 crossing the Missouri river into Council Bluffs, where I 
 remained three days, being invited to stop over by a G. 
 A. R. comrade, and see the many delegations from the 
 East leave for Denver city. 
 
 Council Bluffs is located in the Missouri Valley, and is 
 an old town. It takes its name from the assembling of 
 the Indians and Whites in council on the bluff overlook 
 ing the city, to arrange the treaties made between the 
 government and the Indians. On leaving Council Bluffs, 
 I resolved to follow the Rock Island Railroad, as closely 
 as I possibly could, this being the shortest line to travel. 
 
 On the morning of the 24th I left Council Bluffs for 
 Davenport city. I travelled along the west side of the 
 bluff, making a gradual ascent for about two miles, 
 then turning sharp to my right and went on do wn a heavy 
 descent into the Mosquito Valley, crossing the Mosquito 
 creek, and on up another steep bluff until about twelve 
 o'clock, when I came to a fine farm house, where I stop 
 ped for dinner, and turned my cattle loose among an ex 
 cellent quality of grass. The roads, thus far, are fenced 
 with barb wire. My stay here was about two hours, 
 moving onwards about two o'clock, and about six o'clock 
 
OAKLAND. 297 
 
 I made Oakland ; here I went into camp for the first night 
 in the State of Iowa. 
 
 Oakland. On the morning of the 25th I left Oakland, 
 making Atlantic about eight in the evening of the same 
 day. Oakland is situated on the Nishnebotene river, and 
 is surrounded by a heavy forest of hard timber. A rail 
 road passes through this place from Sidney to Harlan. 
 
 Atlantic. On the morning of the 26th I left Atlantic 
 and made Adair that day. Atlantic is the county seat of 
 Cass county, and is a remarkably fine town for its age. 
 Two railroads pass through ; the Rock Island and Bur 
 lington and Quincy. 
 
 Adair. On the morning of the 27th I left Adair and 
 reached Dexter the same da} r . Adair is situated on the 
 Rock Island Railroad, in the county of the same name. 
 In travelling to this place the road has been very rough 
 and exceedingly hilly. 
 
 Dexter. The morning of the 28th we left Dexter and 
 made Van Meter the same da}\ Dexter is a small town 
 on the Rock Island Railroad, in the county of Dallas. 
 
 Van Meter. On the morning of the 29th we left Van 
 Meter and made Des Moines. Van Meter is a town on 
 the Raccoon river. The Rock Island Railroad passes 
 through ; on leaving the town we crossed the river over a 
 fine iron bridge. 
 
 On the morning of the 30th I went into the city of Des 
 Moines to hunt up Mr. L. F. Andrews, 834 Fifth street, 
 having a card of introduction to him, from Mr. James 
 Dobson, of Atlantic. I did not have much trouble in 
 finding the residence. I went to the door and rang the 
 
298 DES MOINES. 
 
 bell, a lady came to the door in answer. After passing 
 compliments I handed her the card of introduction. She 
 said, "This is Mr. Johnson, the great traveller, who is 
 crossing the continent. We heard of you when passing 
 through Atlantic, by our brother, Mr. Dobson ; he wrote 
 us, saying, that he had given }'ou a card of introduction. 
 Mr. Johnson, we are glad to meet } r ou ; Mr. Andrews is 
 clown town and will not be back until twelve o'clock. 
 Please lead your cattle through the drive to the barn, only 
 a few steps, there you will find room for your animals, 
 and both hay and grain, feed them as you think best." I 
 did as directed, taking good care of my animals. Soon 
 the lady followed me to the barn and said, u Mr. Johnson, 
 how do 3'ou find things?" "All right, ma'am," I replied. 
 "I thought likely }'ou would. Come in the house soon, I 
 have so many questions to ask you ; I don't know but 
 that I shall weary }*ou out. I suppose the same questions 
 I ask, will be asked by my husband." While we were 
 talking, Mr. Andrews came in, when she said, "Mr. 
 Johnson, I will make you acquainted with my husband, 
 Mr. Andrews." "Mr. Johnson, I am glad to meet you ; 
 I have been looking for you for several days, and how 
 have you got along?" asked Mr. Andrews. "Since trav 
 elling in your state it has been hard and hilly ; your roads 
 are laid out by the compass, a mile apart. Yonder is a 
 heavy hill ; the road is directly over it, instead of around 
 it, which makes it hard pulling," I answered. "Mr. John 
 son, how was your road through Nebraska?" asked Mr. 
 Andrews. "It was very good. The western part of the 
 state has no roads, simply a trail, but was good travel 
 ling," I replied. "Mr. Johnson, how was your travelling 
 over the Rocky Mountains?" asked Mr. Andrews. "All 
 kinds, good, very good ; bad, very bad." "Mr. John 
 son," said Mr. Andrews, "I have many questions I wish 
 to ask, if you have no objections. I will note them down 
 for one of our leading papers in the city, and will begin 
 
DES MOINES. 299 
 
 with the question, "Where did you start from, with your 
 outfit; horse, carriage, cow and dog?" "I started from 
 Eureka city, Humboldt bay, California, with this same 
 outfit ; travelling the overland road to San Francisco, 
 from there to San Jose, through the Livermore valley and 
 Pass, into San Joaquin valley to Stockton, up the Sacra 
 mento valley to Sacramento city ; following the Cen 
 tral Pacific Railroad to Gold Run ; returning to Colfax, 
 thence to Grass Valley, Nevada city, Webbers Lake ; 
 through the Sardinian valley to Verdi. Here I came to 
 the Central Pacific road again ; following it to Ogden, 
 where I arrived September 23rd, 1882. On the 14th of 
 May following, I resumed my journey, crossing the Rocky 
 Mountains by the old Emigrant trail to Omaha, and from 
 there to this city, Des Moines. This gives you my line 
 of travel from California to this place." "And you, Mr. 
 Johnson, have led that cow all the distance?" asked Mr. 
 Andrews. "I have, sir." "How many miles have you 
 travelled, think }^ou, to reach this place?" asked Mr. An 
 drews. "Fourteen hundred and thirty-seven miles to 
 Ogden ; from Ogden to Omaha, one thousand and seventy- 
 five miles ; from Omaha to Des Moines, about one hun 
 dred and fifty miles ; making a total of two thousand six 
 hundred and sixty-two miles," I answered. "By the 
 time you reach Massachusetts, you will have travelled 
 four thousand four hundred miles ; across the continent 
 from the Pacific to the Atlantic. Wife, what do you 
 think about it?" said Mr. Andrews. "I think the cow 
 will not live to see Massachusetts," she answered. "Mrs. 
 Andrews, if you will please give me a pail, I will go and 
 milk her, as she has not been milked this morning. She 
 is fresh in milk," I said. "Mr. Johnson, when was she 
 milked last?" asked Mr. Andrews. "Last evening about 
 seven o'clock, I have the milk in my wagon. I have two 
 cans expressly for milking. It may not be good as I am 
 obliged to carry it closed up ; milk needs ventilation to be 
 
300 DES MOINES. 
 
 good." I went for the milk and it was pronounced good. 
 After milking Bessie I took the milk to Mrs. Andrews, 
 about ten quarts, saying that "I would warrant that to 
 be good." Last night's and this morning's milking made 
 seventeen quarts, from a good cow that has travelled 
 twenty-seven hundred miles. "Mr. Johnson, travelling 
 slowly through the country, you have had a chance to 
 judge of the goodness of the country superior to those 
 who see it by railroad, and who pretend to know all about 
 it, and yet really know nothing. Your movements are 
 slow ; you can count the telegraph poles as }*ou go along. 
 When you get to your journey's end, and quietly seated 
 or resting on your lounge, go back to California and 
 travel it over again, (Don't forget to stop here on your 
 way,) and put it all down on paper, you are the man to 
 do it correctly and life-like, from a Chinaman to a jack- 
 rabbit." "Mr. Johnson," said Mrs. Andrews, "Mr. An 
 drews has kept you busy answering his questions ; I now 
 want to ask you, perhaps two. How could you cross the 
 plains without being devoured by the wild beasts?" 
 "Many times I have been surrounded by the wild beasts, 
 and then I have thought of home and my lonely position. 
 On such occasions, my most effectual mode of keeping 
 them awa} T , was by building fires. Where wood could be 
 found, I kept them burning through the night ; there were 
 times when wood could not be got, then I would burn 
 kerosene oil. I alwa}'S kept my lantern burning also. 
 Kerosene was a luxury, I burnt it night and day, and al 
 ways used it for kindling. The night of the fifth of June 
 was the most remarkable of my journey. I was on the 
 plains, coming over the Rocky Mountains, when I was 
 overtaken by a severe snow storm. I was in camp and 
 had retired for the night. About nine o'clock it began to 
 rain, which very soon turned to hail, and from hail to 
 snow, and continued through the night. The wind had 
 changed and the snow fell direct in the horse's face. I 
 
DES MOINES. 301 
 
 changed the horse's position by turning round my wagon 
 which made it a little more comfortable to the horse. I 
 took from the horse her blanket and put it on the cow, 
 and then took two of my blankets and put them on the 
 horse, which added to her comfort. All this time Bessie, 
 the cow, was lying down, quietly chewing her cud, not 
 caring whether school kept or not. But the horse stood 
 the storm as it came. All this time I was exposed to the 
 storm, changing my position, but getting very cold. I 
 had no gloves or mittens for my hands, which as well as 
 my feet were cold. I happened to think of my kerosene 
 oil and went to the wagon for it, I took the can and after 
 scraping the snow away, which had fallen to the depth of 
 about six inches, I poured oil on the ground and set fire 
 to it, which blazed up finely, scaring the horse who turned 
 the wagon to the rear, some ten feet, but doing no dam 
 age. I had kindled a good fire and warmed my hands. 
 I did this several times, but it did not warm my feet, 
 which had become very cold. I got a sack from my 
 wagon, scraped the snow from where I had been stand 
 ing and poured some oil on the place and burnt it. After 
 the blaze had died out I spread the sack over the ground, 
 took off my boots and stood upon the sack, which soon 
 made my feet quite comfortable." "Mr. Johnson, how 
 was it in regard to the Indians?" asked Mrs. Andrews. 
 "At first the Indians were a terror to me, but that soon 
 wore away. I came in contact with them many times, 
 and on several occasions they rendered me good service. 
 Twice I lost my trail, and both times they put me on it 
 again." "Mr. Johnson, you were in Ogden several 
 months, were 3*011 not?" asked Mrs. Andrews. "I was,' 
 I replied. "You must be posted in regard to the Mor 
 mons ; what do you think of them?" asked Mrs. An 
 drews. "What little I know about them, I can speak 
 highly of them. At first I could not tell a Mormon from 
 a Gentile, only by their conversation ; their deportment 
 
302 DES MOINES. 
 
 was as good as the Gentiles. The Edmunds bill had just 
 passed Congress and the Government had commenced the 
 enforcement of the law. The troops of the Government 
 were there, which caused much excitement among them. 
 I became acquainted with some of the leading men of the 
 city, who were Mormons. The First National Bank of 
 Ogden is a Mormon bank. I was informed by its cashier, 
 Mr. Young, that the directors of the bank represented 
 three million dollars. Mr. Farr, formerly of Vermont, 
 was a leading man of the city, a gentleman in its true 
 sense and a Mormon. When I was about leaving Ogden 
 he said to me, 4 Mr. Johnson, when you are on the eve of 
 leaving us, come to our store, we may have something you 
 would like on your long journey.' "When about to leave, 
 I called upon him, reminding him of his word. He an 
 swered, 'I am glad you have come in ; I think you are a 
 fair man. Since my acquaintance with you, we have dis 
 coursed together on the leading issues of the day. When 
 3*ou arrive at your old home in Massachusetts, I want you 
 to tell your people of us ; just as you found us, from the 
 d a } T you came to your leaving. You have been with us 
 about eight months ; you leave us with a horse and 
 wagon, do you? Here, take these things I have laid out 
 for you, such as tea, coffee, cheese, butter, beef, chicken, 
 turkey, sardines and salmon/ 'Mr. Farr, you must think 
 I have a good horse to haul that pile over the Rocky 
 Mountains,' I remarked. 'You have a fine horse,' said 
 Mr. Farr. 'Yes, I am aware of it, but this is all for my 
 self and dog, the cattle must be cared for ; especially at 
 this end of my journey. When I get into Nebraska, my 
 cattle will not have to haul what they need to subsist on,' 
 I said. 'Mr. Johnson, your heaviest hauling is between 
 here and Evanston, about seventy-five miles. After you 
 pass there, you will have a down grade. If you choose, 
 I will put a part of it in a box and you can send it by 
 rail/ said Mr. Farr. 'I will go and fetch my team,' I 
 
DES MOINES. 303 
 
 said. 'You need not go for your team, we will take it 
 and you, if } r ou are ready to return. Mr. Johnson, you 
 say you are going to leave us ; I regret it very much and 
 think the rest of the citizens do. I hope you will be car 
 ried through this long journey safely. We will ever re 
 member you in our praj-ers. May our Father in Heaven 
 protect you by day and night on your long journey. 
 Good-bye and success with it.' 'My dear friend, since 
 my acquaintance with you, I have thought much of you, 
 so much that I have singled you out of the many people 
 of the city to discuss the issues of the day. I have 
 learned much from you that I otherwise could not have 
 learned. I have been one of your constant callers, and 
 when in need of anything in your line I came here for it. 
 Your deportment, to me a Gentile, has been such as I 
 shall ever remember with pleasure. I am about to leave 
 3 T ou ; the probabilities are, that I shall never see } r ou 
 again, as I have no desire to return West. Good-bye.' " 
 4 'Mrs. Andrews, your last question has brought out a 
 lengthy answer ; I feel as though justice should be ren 
 dered to the bridge that has safely carried me over, 
 whether Jew or Gentile. I am neither, but a reader and 
 thinker for myself ; I believe in free agency every time. 
 The Bible teaches many things, but the laws have fixed 
 penalties of dollars and cents. This ancient history is a 
 great hobby with the Mormons. They say if it was 
 right in the olden times, it is right now ; if wrong then, 
 it is wrong now. Our natures are the same to-day as they 
 were j'ears ago, but we are more particular about the veil, 
 whether it is thick or thin. Mrs. Andrews, do not think 
 I am in favor of polj'gamy, for I am not. I would like 
 to see a big fire made of some of our ancient records. If 
 Christ and his apostles in their day, had put their feet on 
 these ancient records, we should not now be contending 
 with potygamy. But our natures would be the same, 
 only we should be more particular about the veil, and 
 
304 DES MOINES. 
 
 wear a thick one every time. The Mormons say that we 
 down East wear heavy veils. I told them if strong 
 drinks were to be sold and drank, I preferred them veiled 
 with thick boards. Well, Mrs. Andrews, excuse me, but 
 I must make ready and move onwards, so good morning." 
 "Good morning, if you come this way, don't forget to 
 call," said Mrs. Andrews. "No, I will not, my fare has 
 been too good to be forgotten." 
 
 Des Moines is the capital of Iowa, and a fine city for its 
 age. It is situated on the Des Moines river, in the 
 southern part of Polk county, and boasts a population of 
 about thirtj'-five thousand. 
 
 On the morning of August 1st, I left the city of Des 
 Moines, crossing the river Des Moines, by a fine bridge 
 into East Des Moines. On the left is the State Capitol, 
 with her golden dome, a handsome building. About 
 seven in the evening I made Colfax. 
 
 About four o'clock on the morning of the 2nd, we left 
 Colfax, making Newton in haste. About eleven o'clock I 
 saw in the north a heavy cloud. As it came up it looked 
 terrible, and having heard much about cyclones, I con 
 cluded that this might prove one. I crowded onward as 
 fast as possible, hoping to reach town before the storm 
 overtook us, but I fell short, as rain began to fall on our 
 entering the town. It was not a cyclone, but a terrible 
 thunder-storm ; such lightning and thunder is seldom wit 
 nessed outside of Nebraska, but this happened to get out 
 side of the line. I think, however, that the ammunition 
 of Iowa is as good as that of Nebraska, perhaps not quite 
 so sharp. I went into the town and about its centre, 
 came to a house in front of which stood two fine trees, here 
 I stopped. The rain was pouring down in torrents and 
 any quantity of electricity was being discharged. While 
 
NEWTON. 305 
 
 standing under the trees, a man came to the door and 
 said, "Stranger, don't stand under the trees, yourself 
 and the animals may be killed by the lightning." "Friend, 
 my time is not yet come," I replied. "Lead your cattle 
 around to my barn," said the man. "I prefer to stand 
 under these trees, rather than be in your barn," I replied. 
 The storm soon passed over. "Stranger," I said, "this 
 storm has stopped my travelling for one day, at least." 
 "Come in, stranger," said the man, "our dinner is 
 ready, come and have some." "I will obey that order 
 every time," I replied, "but this retreating to a barn in 
 a thunder-storm is what I never intend to do." I went 
 in to dinner, which was a fine one ; comprising roast 
 lamb, all kinds of vegetables, green corn, cucumbers, 
 puddings, etc. ; when through dinner, I said "Stranger, 
 I have had a good dinner, now I want my cattle to have 
 as good ; I think much of my cattle." "I have hay, old 
 or. new, also all kinds of grain. Now, sir J you can have 
 your choice, or you can turn your cattle into this rowen," 
 said my host. "I will turn them into this grass, I think 
 they will prefer the grass." "Stranger, where are you 
 travelling to?" asked the man. "I am on my way to 
 Massachusetts," I replied. "East, to Massachusetts ; 
 where are you from?" he asked. "I will come directly to 
 the point; I am from California." "What! with that 
 outfit. Stranger, you must be the very man I have heard 
 spoken of this morning, in a Des Moines paper. It 
 tells of a man travelling from California, going East, to 
 Massachusetts; are you the man?" "I suppose I am. 
 Stranger, can I stop with you until I am able to travel 
 again?" I asked. "Yes, you can stop as long as you 
 wish, we will feed you and your cattle as long as 
 you stay." 
 
 Newton. On the morning of the 4th I left Newton and 
 reached Grinnell the same day. Newton is the county 
 
306 HOMESTEAD. 
 
 town of Jasper county. It stands on the Rock Island 
 Railroad, about the centre of the county. It is more 
 than an ordinary town, and few equal it. 
 
 Grinnell. On the morning of the 5th I left Grinnell, 
 making Ladora the same da}'. Grinnell is not only a fine 
 town, but a smart business place. It is situated on the 
 Rock Island Railroad, and is a junction of railroads from 
 Poweshiek county. Had its location been more central, it 
 would have been the capital of the county. A destructive 
 cyclone which passed over this town was said to have been 
 the work of Providence, but I would as soon think that 
 Des Moines had more to do with it than Providence. 
 
 Ladora. On the morning of the 6th I left Ladora and 
 reached Homestead that day. Ladora is a town situated 
 on the Rock Island Railroad, in the county of Iowa. 
 
 Homestead. While in Des Moines I was informed that 
 in this town oxen were used for many purposes, instead 
 of horses, and no doubt I could get my cow shod, and on 
 my arrival I ascertained I could, so I went into camp for 
 the night with good cheer, giving the cattle grass and 
 grain and took a cold lunch myself. 
 
 On the morning of the 7th 1 arose early and got the cow 
 ready for shoeing. I went to the blacksmith's shop and 
 asked for the proprietor, when a man said, 4t l am the 
 proprietor, what can I do for 3*ou?" "I have a cow I 
 want to have shod, can you shoe her?" I asked. k 'I have 
 never shod a cow in all my days, but I have shod many 
 oxen. I suppose a cow can be shod as well as an ox. 
 Yes, I will try to put shoes on her. Stranger, I have been 
 looking for you for several days. I saw in a Des Moines 
 paper an account of your being in that city. It spoke of 
 your route of travel, which explains why I was looking 
 
CORALVILLE. 307 
 
 for you. How is the cow in the brake, will she shake it 
 down?" inquired the blacksmith. "No, indeed, she is 
 good in the brake," I answered. I led her into the brake 
 and went to my wagon for a rope, which I made fast to 
 her rear legs, bringing her feet directly under her, then I 
 put the sling under her and lifted her slightly, so as she 
 could just stand on her feet. This being done all right, I 
 then took up one of her front feet and made it fast to the 
 stanchion. "Blacksmith," I said, "remove her old shoes, 
 but be careful that you do not break the shell of the 
 hoof." While this was being done she made a great 
 effort to get loose, but while the shoes were being put on 
 she did not make any struggle. "Blacksmith, how much 
 shall I pa}' } T OU for this job?" I asked. "Stranger, when 
 you get to } T onr journey's end, you must write a book of 
 your travels and relate what you have seen, heard and 
 done, all the items, even to the shoeing of the cow this 
 morning in the town of Homestead. After the book is 
 complete, send me a copy, it is all the pay I ask," said 
 the blacksmith. "I will, sir; with many thanks," I re 
 plied. Homestead is in the county of Iowa. About 
 eight o'clock on the morning of the 7th I left Homestead, 
 making Coralville at five o'clock, where I stopped for the 
 night. 
 
 Coralville. At eight o'clock on the morning of the 8th 
 I left Coralville, making Iowa city. This place is a town 
 situated on the Iowa river, about four miles from Iowa 
 city. It is quite a place for the making of flour. I en 
 tered this town on Sunday morning. Many people 
 gathered around me and many questions were asked on 
 one side onlj-, I having none to ask. I was presented 
 with two bags of grain for my cattle and a first-class din 
 ner for myself and dog. 
 
 Iowa City. On the morning of the 10th I left Iowa 
 
308 CEDAR RIVER. 
 
 city, making West Liberty that day. Iowa city is situa 
 ted on the Iowa river and Rock Island Railroad, in John 
 son county. Formerly it was the capital of the State 
 and now it is merely the county seat; it has a pop 
 ulation of about seven thousand. 
 
 West Liberty. On the morning of the 12th I left West 
 Liberty, reaching Cedar River. This town is situated on 
 the Rock Island Railroad, and is a junction of railroads, 
 in Muscatine county. About twelve o'clock I came to 
 Cedar river, a large stream of water ; no bridge to cross 
 over and too deep to ford. I called out for the Ferryman. 
 The boatman got aboard his boat and began crossing the 
 river ; coming to a sand-bar, he labored hard for an hour 
 or more to get his boat over the bar but did not succeed. 
 He returned to the wharf and I went back a short 
 distance and went into camp for a time, not knowing how 
 long. Several teams came to the crossing, but turned 
 back. A two-horse team with two gentlemen drove up 
 to the river, and on turning back I hailed them, asking 
 what they intended to do? They replied, "We shall go 
 round through Muscatine, crossing the river there, over a 
 bridge." ''What is the distance?" I asked. "About 
 twelve miles ; where are you travelling to?" they asked. 
 "I am going to Davenport," I answered. "If you cross 
 the river here, you will reach Davenport in a day ; if you 
 go by Muscatine it will take you three days," they said. 
 "But can I cross?" I asked. "No doubt you can, some 
 time," they replied. I concluded to wait until morning 
 and take my chances. 
 
 On the morning of the 13th, on the banks of Cedar 
 river, I got up early and made ready for crossing the 
 river. I drove down to the river and sang out for the 
 boatman, who soon came down and pulled his boat across 
 the channel, to where yesterday's sand-bar was, and came 
 
DAVENPORT. 309 
 
 directly across to the landing where I was. I drove on 
 the boat and was soon across the river. I said to the 
 boatman this delay is expressly for my benefit ; had I 
 gone around to Muscatine, I should have had to travel 
 three days to have made Davenport, now I can travel the 
 distance in a day and a half ; a saving of at least forty 
 miles. I went on and reached Fulton where I stopped for 
 the night. 
 
 Fulton. On the morning of the 14th I left Fulton and 
 reached Davenport at four o'clock in the afternoon. Ful 
 ton is situated on the Rock Island Railroad, in the county 
 of Muscatine. 
 
 Davenport is situated on the western bank of the Mis 
 sissippi river, opposite Rock Island, in Scott county. 
 It is a fine enterprising city of about twenty-five thousand 
 inhabitants. 
 
 About four o'clock on the morning of the 16th I left 
 Davenport, making Creek river the same evening. On 
 leaving the city I crossed the river on the finest iron 
 bridge I had as yet seen, into Rock Island, passing di 
 rectly by the Fort. The next place reached was Moline. 
 A fine town, everything about it was excellent, nothing 
 seemed out of tune. I travelled along with the river on 
 the left and about nine o'clock in the evening I met a team, 
 in which were a lady and gentleman. I stopped them and 
 asked the road to Geneseo. I was told to go on a little 
 distance further and turn sharp to my right, cross the rail 
 road, and after crossing turn again short to the right and 
 onward to Rock river ferry. On my arrival I found a 
 suitable place and went into camp for the night. 
 
 JRock River I left on the morning of the 17th, making 
 Geneseo the same day. Here I crossed the river on a 
 
310 GENESEO. 
 
 ferry-boat, after staying four days ; a longer time than 
 I expected. 
 
 Geneseo I left on the morning of the 21st, reaching 
 Mineral the same day. Geneseo is situated on the Rock 
 Island Railroad, in the county of Henry. It is one of the 
 most progressive towns in the State. I was compelled to 
 stop over three days ; I will tell you the reason. About 
 thirty years ago, a man by the name of Dwight Freeman, 
 went West from Webster ; he was a special friend of mine. 
 He made a wife of a fine 3 r oung lady, that I thought much 
 of. Before leaving Des Moines, a programme of my 
 route was made out and reported in the papers ; stating 
 that I, Warren B. Johnson, from California, going East, 
 to Massachusetts, would follow the Rock Island Railroad 
 to Davenport, from there to Joliet and on direct to Cleve 
 land, Ohio, thence to Buffalo, and from Buffalo on to Al 
 bany, N. Y. Mr. Freeman was on the look-out for me ; 
 he intended to catch me if possible on this route. He 
 said to his wife, "Sarah, Warren will come from Rock 
 Island direct to Geneseo. He will come either this or the 
 west road, one of the two." Well, I had travelled that 
 road and went directly past his house, camping directly in 
 front of it, and did not know that I was within tens of 
 miles of him. In the morning, early as usual, I broke 
 camp and went into the town. Mr. Freeman, that morn 
 ing, went to his pasture earl}', but not as early as I start 
 when I am travelling, to see if his horses were safe, and 
 saw where I had just left camp ; which he learned by the 
 tracks of the cow, she having on iron shoes. He returned 
 to his house and said to his wife, "Sarah, I am going up 
 town. Warren is there ; I am sure he is. Last night he 
 went into camp directly opposite us ; I know by the marks 
 of his cow. I am going up town ; I will know surely and 
 not let him pass me by." He harnessed his horse, put 
 her in the carriage and drove to the town. When he came 
 
GENESEO. 311 
 
 up I was milking the cow in front of the hotel. Quite a 
 large gathering of people were around watching me milk 
 the California cow. They were sure that I was the man 
 the papers spoke about. Mr. Freeman did not wait for me 
 to finish milking, but came directly up to me, saying, 
 "Warren, I have caught you this time ; I have been look 
 ing for you many days. I knew of }'our arrival in Daven 
 port, the papers mentioned you. I said to my wife yes 
 terday, that you would come through the town on the 
 eastern road, or the west, sure. I was right, you came on 
 the east road, directly by my house, but we did not know 
 it at the time. Well, Warren, finish your milking and 
 go back to where you camped last night.'* "Dwight," 
 said I, "I will go back with you, expressly to sec your 
 wife ; I have not seen } T OU nor your wife since you left 
 Webster, nearly thirty years ago." At this time a large 
 number of people had gathered around. The inhabitants 
 would tell one another that the man from California had ar 
 rived with his outfit, horse, carriage, cow and dog, "Come 
 quick or you will not see him. He is going to stop with 
 Mr, Freeman for a short time." Many questions were 
 asked, and I remarked that if they would come to Mr. 
 Freeman's, I would answer all the questions that they 
 could ask me from California to Geneseo. I went back 
 with Mr. Freeman ; he kept with me and in order to sur 
 prise his wife he called her out as he sat in his carriage, 
 and said, "Sarah, I have got him ; I found him up town 
 milking his cow. "Why, Warren B. Johnson, is that 
 you? can it be you! "Yes, it is; you look as you did 
 years ago. I have not seen you since leaving Webster, 
 twenty-eight } 7 ears ago. It is that length of time, surely. 
 Warren, I shall weary you out, having so many questions 
 to ask of you," said Mrs. Freeman. "I can stand all the 
 questions you may ask ; I am tough and hardy. I have 
 not seen a sick day since I left California ; no, not an 
 hour," I answered. "Warren, how many miles have yon 
 
312 GENESEO. 
 
 travelled since you left Eureka ?" asked Mrs. Freeman. 
 "I have travelled about three thousand miles; I think it 
 will over-run that number." "And that poor cow has 
 come all that distance?" said Mrs. Freeman. "Yes, we 
 all have come that distance, and we are good for the re 
 mainder to Massachusetts," I answered. "I hope you 
 will get home safe and sound," said Mrs. Freeman. 
 " Sarah, to-day is Saturday and to-morrow will be Sun 
 day. I want to have a good wash-up. I do not care to 
 do it on Sunday and will put it off till Monday ; how is 
 that, Sarah?" I asked. ''Warren, what are your inten 
 tions, I would like to know, and then I will come to 
 time?" she answered. "I would like to make a long stay 
 with you, but that will not do. I must get home before 
 winter sets in ; I can travel if it is cold, if the snow will 
 only keep off ; but should we have a heavy fall of snow, 
 it would wind up my travelling for a while at least. Sarah, 
 I would like to leave here on Monday, but perhaps it will 
 be best to stay over Monday and prepare for the future, 
 and leave you Tuesday morning early." 
 
 Mineral. I left Mineral on the morning of the 22nd, 
 making Wyanet the same da} 7 . This town is situated on 
 the Rock Island Railroad and in the county of Bureau. 
 
 Wyanet. I left Wyanet on the morning of the 23rd, 
 reaching Princeton the same day. Wyanet is a smart, 
 active business town, situated on the Rock Island and 
 Burlington and Quincy Railroads. 
 
 Princeton. I left Princeton on the morning of the 25th 
 and made La Salle the same day. Princeton stands cen 
 tral in Bureau county and is the county town. As a 
 town, I must say, it stands ahead of all on my line of 
 travel. It is beautifully laid out ; her streets are graded 
 and paved with the best of material, and the gutters are 
 
JOLIET. 313 
 
 tiled with the best of tiling pipes. The streets on either 
 side are lined with the finest of shade trees ; this makes 
 the town look grand and imposing. She has two railroads 
 in town, but it is a mistake that they are so far from its 
 centre. Having a friend in this place, formerly from the 
 East, I stopped with him, H. A. P., for two days. 
 
 La Salle. I left La Salle on the morning of the 26th, 
 making Ottawa the same day. This town I passed after 
 dark, going directly through the town and into camp, not 
 learning anything about it. 
 
 Ottawa. I left Ottawa on the morning of the 27th, 
 making Morris the same day. Ottawa is the capital of 
 La Salle county. It is one of the largest towns I have 
 passed through. I entered the town on Sunday afternoon, 
 Monday was a rainy day, so we stayed here till Tuesday 
 morning. 
 
 Morris. On the morning of the 29th I left Morris and 
 reached Joliet the same day. Morris is the capital of 
 Grundy county, and is situated on the Rock Island 
 Railroad. 
 
 Joliet. This town I left on the morning of the 30th, 
 reaching Dyer the same day. Joliet is the county seat of 
 Wills county ; it is a large city, boasting a population of 
 about seventeen thousand, and is a large railroad centre. 
 Here also, are located the State prisons. Just before 
 reaching the city I passed a granite quarry ; this was 
 something novel, after travelling hundreds of miles and 
 not a stone to be seen, then coming to a quarry of fine 
 granite, it was worthy of note. I went on and coming to 
 the citj*, I passed down Main street until coming to a fruit 
 store, where they were unloading a wagon of watermel 
 ons. I stopped, saying, "What is the price of those 
 
314 JOLIET. 
 
 melons?" "From ten to twenty-five cents each, accord 
 ing to the size," answered the proprietor. "Here is one 
 badly broken, what is the price of that?" I asked. u ltis 
 worth twenty-five cents, but you may have it for ten 
 cents. If I mistake not you are the California man. If so, 
 put it in your wagon and pick the best one you can find, 
 and put that also in your wagon," said the proprietor. 
 "I think you are well posted on this California man," I 
 replied. "I think the papers ought to keep us posted ; it 
 is not often the} 7 get a chance to post people on that sub 
 ject. Are you the man that has travelled from California 
 to this place? I know you are, without asking that ques 
 tion. The papers say, a man is travelling through the 
 State from California, with a horse, carriage, cow and 
 a little dog, en route to Massachusetts. You seem to 
 represent those members ; if you had not a cow, I would 
 have thought you were not the man, but the cow is the 
 prompter." "Well, sir ; I am the man, there is no other 
 person would have been so foolish," I replied. "There 
 is no other that would have dared to be so foolish. No, 
 emphasize the word dare ; there is nothing foolish about 
 it. Wh}', sir, you have a chance to see the kingdoms of 
 this world and the kingdoms of the other world we know 
 nothing about. Stranger, go inside, perhaps you will see 
 something you would like on your journe}" ; if so, take it 
 and put it in your wagon ; you shall be welcome to it," 
 said the proprietor. I went into the store and looked 
 around, I saw a cheese that had just been cut, I tasted it 
 and found it was just to my liking. I said to the pro 
 prietor, "You have a fine cheese, I know nothing that 
 would suit better than some of that cheese and crackers 
 at some midnight hour when on my travels." The pro 
 prietor took the knife and put it on the cheese. I moved 
 the knife back about half the distance, telling him to cut 
 it there, but he moved it a little further on. I remarked 
 that "I had a good horse ; she would draw it, but would 
 
JOLIET. 315 
 
 not care to eat it." I took the cheese and a small bag of 
 crackers, thanking him for his generosity and went on out 
 of the city about a half mile. Coming to a fine looking 
 plat of grass I detached the horse from the carriage, re 
 moved her harness, turned her loose and the cow also. I 
 seated myself on the grass, the broken melon beside me, 
 and went into it right smart. I sat there at work eating 
 the melon and on looking up I saw a man opposite, in the 
 road, watching me steadily. "Stranger," he said, "you 
 seem to be doing well, but if you will go with me a short 
 distance, to the top of yonder hill, I will do better by 
 you." "Sir, can you do better to my cattle than they are 
 doing. I think much of them," I answered. "Yes, sir, 
 I can give you a grass that has more sweetness than that 
 they are now eating. Stranger, I think that you "are the 
 man that I have just read about in this very paper. It 
 speaks of a man that has travelled from California thus 
 far, and is on his way to Massachusetts. I was satisfied 
 as I was sitting in this very wagon that you were the ver} r 
 man." "Yes, sir; I am the man," I answered. "Now, 
 stranger, put } r our horse in your wagon and come up to 
 my house, we will entertain 3*011 the best we know how. I 
 don't wonder you think much of your cattle, coming all 
 the distance they have. Why, sir, if that horse and cow 
 were mine, I would refuse their weight in gold for them." 
 I got ready and went with him to his house, a fine man 
 sion. "Now, stranger, turn your cattle loose and let 
 them romp wherever they choose, they can do no harm. 
 Come into the house, it is our tea-time, your cattle are do 
 ing well." We went into the house, he introducing me to 
 his wife, saying, "This man is from California with yon 
 der horse and cow. He has led that cow in the rear of his 
 wagon all that long distance. Our tea is ready, take a 
 seat." I took a seat at the table and while eating many 
 where the questions asked, which I freely answered, from 
 my start to the present time. "Stranger," said my host, 
 
316 VALPARAISO. 
 
 "yonder is my grain, help yourself to all your cattle will 
 eat ; if they are not in the habit of eating corn be careful 
 not to give them too much." "What is a ration of corn 
 to a horse?" I asked. "From ten to eighteen ears is a 
 ration of corn for a horse," he replied. "Friend, on the 
 morrow, I will leave you earty ; I thank } T OU for your hos 
 pitality and bid you good night," I said. "Stranger, you 
 are welcome to what you have received from our hands. 
 Undoubtedly, you are, and probably will be the only man 
 of the kind that we shall have the chance to entertain. 
 Good night; hope you will have a good night's rest." 
 "Thank you, good night," and I retired. 
 
 Dyer. I left Dyer on the morning of the 1st of Sep 
 tember and made Valparaiso the 2nd. Dyer is a town of 
 small note. The Michigan Central and Louisville Rail 
 roads form a junction. The Michigan Central comes 
 through here, crossing nine trunk roads that lead to Chic 
 ago, which makes what is known as the Joliet cut off. 
 
 Valparaiso. I left Valparaiso on the morning of the 
 3rd, making Laporte on the 4th. Valparaiso is the capital 
 of Porter county, and a fine town of about five thousand 
 inhabitants. Have travelled about thirty miles, I should 
 have made it in the distance of twenty-four. Owing to deep, 
 heavy sand, I could not travel more than four to six rods 
 before I had to stop, such hard pulling for my horse. 
 My average travelling has been two and a half miles to 
 the hour, but these two days it has only been one and 
 three-quarter miles to the hour. I continually inquired 
 how long before I would get rid of the sand. "Where 
 are you travelling to ?" they asked. "I want to make 
 Cleveland, Ohio," I would answer. "You will have sand 
 and deep sand all through the State. The nearer the lake 
 the more sand you will find. I think you had better go to 
 Laporte and from there to South Bend ; from there to Elk- 
 
LAPORTE. 317 
 
 hart, then to White Pigeon and so on," said my adviser. 
 
 Laporte. I left Laporte on the morning of the 5th and 
 made South Bend on the 6th. Laporte is the seat of La 
 porte county. It is situated in the centre of the count}' ; 
 several railroads enter the town. Lake Shore and Michi 
 gan Southern are the most prominent. In making South 
 Bend, I had to travel thirty-six miles. I would travel on 
 one road a while and coming to some place, then they 
 would tell me to take a certain road, where I should meet 
 with less sand and I would go for that road. Perhaps, I 
 would travel for about one mile, sometimes tw> miles. 
 Here I will state for the information of my readers that in 
 the Western States, the Government has laid out the 
 roads one mile apart. You travel as it were by the com 
 pass, east, west, north and south, no less angles than 
 squares. There are roads that run parallel with the rail 
 roads, from depot to depot, which roads are the best 
 every time. I am travelling on a flat surface. Indiana 
 is not Iowa ; I wish it was. Iowa has good roads and 
 good hills, but Indiana has the sand hills such as no other 
 State has. So far it is the poorest State for soil I have 
 travelled through. Ohio I know nothing about, but 
 should I succeed in reaching that State, and I pray that I 
 may, I will know what I don't know at this time. 
 
 /South Bend. I left South Bend on the 8th, making 
 Goshen the same day. This town is the county seat of 
 St. Joseph county ; it is a large, noble town, I will call it 
 such, but I think it is a city. The Lake Shore and Michi 
 gan pass through. This has a tendency to build the town 
 up rather than pull it down. Here I found many warm 
 friends. 
 
 Goshen. I left Goshen on the morning of the 10th, 
 making Lagrange on the llth. Goshen is the capital of 
 
318 ANGOLA. 
 
 Elkhart county, situated in the centre of the county. It 
 is a fine town. Last night was the first frost of the sea 
 son. On making Goshen my travelling has improved and 
 I hope it will continue. 
 
 Lagrange. I left this place on the morning of the 12th 
 and reached Angola on the 13th. Lagrange is the county 
 seat of the same name. It is centrally located and a fine 
 town, but does not come up to others I have passed 
 through. On making Lagrange, my road has been very 
 uneven ; hills and vallej's with plenty of sand. This 
 variety of travel wears heavily on my horse. The cow 
 stands it remarkably well, but the horse ; oh, how I pity 
 her. 
 
 Angola. I left Angola on the morning of the 14th, 
 making Bryan the same day. Angola is the capital of 
 Steuben county. Its location is central of the county. 
 It has a fine court-house, this was in the best part of the 
 town ; but its surroundings were not as good as many that 
 I have passed through. On my arrival I found the place 
 was full of people and on inquiring the cause, I found 
 there was a circus in town that day. I drove along to a 
 hotel, in rear of which was a small barn, and behind that 
 a fine plat of grass. I turned my cattle loose that they 
 might eat of the grass, and laid myself down for rest, be 
 ing very weary. Soon the cow laid down, but I thought 
 nothing of this, as it was a common thing, and soon after 
 the horse also laid down. This was a surprise to me ; I 
 never saw her lie down in the day time before. She 
 must have been very tired. Poor horse ! I began to 
 think, and in my mind travelled back to Dyer station, 
 over again the long distance we had come through the 
 long sand-road, up hill and down, first on one side and 
 then the other of the road, in the ditch and out trying to 
 find something solid to step on. She would stop and look 
 
MAUMEE CITY. 319 
 
 around ; then I would tell her to go on, which she would 
 do every time, without any hesitation ; she was at all 
 times ready to do as bidden. She must have rest or she 
 would take it in another form. About ten o'clock I heard 
 music and went down to the hotel and watched the circus 
 procession pass down the street on their parade through 
 the town. After it had passed I returned to my camp 
 and found the animals still tying down. I did not dis 
 turb them. I spoke to them, however, but they made no 
 reply. I went to my wagon and laid down again. We 
 were all most worn out for want of rest. I had an inter 
 view with the hotel proprietor and related my travelling 
 through the State and the advice given me to keep to the 
 north instead of the south roads where I should find less 
 sand. He said, "They told me wrong, and that they 
 knew nothing about the roads. Had I travelled further 
 south I should have had much less sand. On crossing the 
 Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, you should have followed 
 the road. I now advise you to go from here to Bryan and 
 then follow the railroad. One day more will take }'ou out 
 of the sands. When in Ohio you will find good roads." 
 
 Bryan. I left Bryan on the morning of the 16th and 
 made- Wauseon the same day. Bryan is the capital of 
 Williams county. It is a fine town, situated on the Lake 
 Shore and Michigan Southern Railroad. 
 
 Wauseon. I left Wauseon on the morning of the 17th 
 and reached Maumee city. Wauseon is the capital of 
 Fulton and is situated on the Lake Shore and Michigan 
 Southern Railroad. It is a thriving town. 
 
 Maumee City. This place I left on the 18th, reaching 
 Freemont on the 19th. Maumee city is but a small town, 
 situated on the west side of the Maumee river, where we 
 cross into Perry sburgh. From Perry sburgh to Bellevue 
 
320 FREEMONT. 
 
 is one of the best roads in the State of Ohio. A good 
 macadamized road. 
 
 Freemont. I left Freemont on the 20th, making Belle- 
 vue that day. Freemont is the capital of Sandusky 
 county. It is a fine, large town of ten thousand inhabit 
 ants and a great town for business. After leaving Free 
 mont my first stop was at Ctyde, where we took dinner. 
 As I sat eating my dinner I saw a monument on my left 
 and went to it. It was a square block of very fine 
 Quincy granite, about four feet at its base and three feet 
 at the top, with cut corners. On the top of this block 
 was a statue. This statue was of Gen. McPherson, one 
 of the most noted in our whole army. 
 
 Bellevue. I left this place on the 22nd, making Nor- 
 walk the same day. Bellevue is more than an ordinary 
 town. It is situated on a junction of railroads which 
 makes it a smart thriving town. 
 
 Norwalk. I left Norwalk on the 23rd, making Wake- 
 man the same day. Norwalk is the capital of Huron 
 county. It is one of the high-toned towns in the State ; 
 its aristocracy stands out strong. 
 
 Wakeman. I left Wakeman on the morning of the 24th, 
 making Elyria the same day. Wakeman is more than 
 an ordinary town. It is situated on the Michigan South 
 ern Railroad. My stop here was unexpected and was on 
 account of a severe thunder-storm. 
 
 'Elyria. I left Elyria on the morning of the 25th, 
 reaching the city of Cleveland the same da}'. Elyria is 
 the county seat of Lorian county, and is as smart a town 
 as they make out West. It is not a large, but a clean, en 
 terprising town. I left very early in the morning, in 
 
CLEVELAND. 321 
 
 order to make Cleveland the same day, and did ; but it 
 was a smart day's travelling. I had a fine road which 
 helped me much in making it. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 FROM CLEVELAND, BUFFALO, ALBANY, TO MARLOW. 
 NEW HAMPSHIRE. 
 
 Resuming my journey after a day's rest, I left the city 
 of Cleveland early on the morning of the 27th and made 
 Painesville the same day. Cleveland is the largest city I 
 have passed through since leaving San Francisco. On 
 leaving the city, I came out on Superior street ; I should 
 have taken the left street, b} T doing so it would have saved 
 me pulling through deep sand and four miles of travel. 
 Leaving so early as I did, I travelled the whole length of 
 Superior street without meeting a person. I made Paines 
 ville late in the evening. 
 
 Painesville. I left Painesville on the morning of the 
 28th, making Ashtabula the same day. It is the seat of 
 Lake county and a first-class town ; situated on the Lake, 
 and has two railroads passing through, the St. Louis 
 and Lake Shore and Michigan Southern. 
 
 Ashtabula. I left this place on the 29th and made North 
 Kingsville. Ashtabula is situated on the lake, but unlike 
 Painesville is not a county town. It has the same rail- 
 
322 AVONIA. 
 
 roads, but still does not come up to Painesville as a town, 
 for some reason I know not. 
 
 North Kingsville. I left North Kingsville on the morn 
 ing of the 30th and made Avonia. North Kingsville is 
 simply a small town, like many other towns with railroads. 
 I made Avonia in haste, being driven in by a terrific 
 thunder-storm, with copious showers of rain, hail and fire 
 mingled. I succeeded in getting under cover as the storm 
 burst upon us. Such thunder and lightning I only saw 
 back in Nebraska. Well, I got out of the hail and rain. 
 I expected more, but thanks be to God, that lightning did 
 not hit me or any of my family. When a streak of light 
 ning starts from a cloud one mile high, coming down so 
 quickly, it does not turn to the right or left to hit this one 
 or that one. I do not believe in the doctrine that God 
 intends to hit one person in particular and not the other. 
 Well, where am I ? In Avonia, under a shed out of the 
 storm. The storm has passed and gone and now I can't 
 travel. So much slipping will injure my horse, so I must 
 wait awhile. 
 
 Avonia. I left Avonia on the morning of October 1st, 
 making Erie the same day. Avonia is a town situated 
 close on the shores of Lake Erie, and has a full view of 
 the Lake for many miles. I am now travelling on a 
 broad road, known as the old Erie turnpike. It is much 
 worn out. This road after a smart rain will hold quanti 
 ties of water, and the water of yesterday's rain lays deep 
 on the road, making any quantity of mud to go through, 
 and it is of that consistency that would make fire-brick ; 
 3'ou may judge how my boots looked about this time. As 
 I was about entering Erie city, I saw on my right a 
 splendid field of grass. I was undecided whether to go 
 on and enter the city or stop here ; however, I went into 
 the city, but after entering the city and thinking the mat- 
 
THE CAMP. 323 
 
 ter over, I decided to return to this field of grass and 
 camp, asking no permission whatever. After my cattle 
 had eaten what I thought essential, I brought them in and 
 gave them their grain and secured them for the night, 
 made up my bed and laid down to rest. I had not laid 
 long when two men came up to me and said, "Stranger, 
 are you not trespassing here?" "Gentlemen, I think I 
 am. I have become so accustomed to doing so on my 
 long journey. I think that had I been strictly honest, I 
 should not have been so far on my journey as I am now," 
 I replied. "Stranger, what am I to understand by your 
 being on a journey?" was asked. "I will explain, I have 
 travelled a long distance ; the distance is as long as from 
 California to this place, about four thousand miles. 
 Strangers, I have been doing about as my mind has led 
 me. Coming through Nebraska, I would let my cattle 
 eat the grain while they would be standing in the road, 
 with two wheels of my wagon in the growing grain, but 
 the cattle were not." "Stranger, a man was passing by 
 you and saw your cattle feeding and called and notified 
 me of it, so we came down here to see. We have read 
 in the papers about a man from California, travelling East 
 to Massachusetts, with a horse, carriage, cow and dog ; 
 are you the man?" "I am the man," I answered. 
 "Stranger, if you will go with me I will give your cattle a 
 place in the barn and all the hay and grain you wish them 
 to have, and }*ourself a good bed in the house," they 
 said. "Gentlemen, my cattle have had all they need to 
 night ; they ate heartily on grass, and then I gave them a 
 feed of grain an4 there they are resting, as for myself, I 
 would as soon lie on this ground, and sooner, than take 
 a bed. Gentlemen, I thank you for your invitation, 
 please allow me to remain here through the night, to-mor 
 row I shall feel so much better than if I had taken a bed 
 inside." "We have no objection to your remaining here 
 over night, under the circumstances. We would not 
 
324 ERIE CITY. 
 
 allow any one to turn in their cattle to feed, but you are 
 welcome to stop over night." "Thank you, gentlemen." 
 u Good night, stranger." "Good night, gentlemen." 
 
 Erie City. On the morning of the 2nd I left Erie City, 
 making North East the same day. Erie City is situated 
 on the Lake, mid- way of Erie county, Pennsylvania. It 
 is an old town and looks old, and is as old as it looks, but 
 has little enterprise. It has a very fine cemetery, I had 
 occasion to pass through it. 
 
 North East. The morning of the 3rd I left North East 
 and reached Brockton the same day. North East is a 
 town situated in the most north-east extremity of Erie 
 county. It is one of the finest towns in the county and 
 has two railroads, the Lake Shore and Michigan Southern 
 and New York and St. Louis Railroads. 
 
 Brockton. On the morning of the 4th I left Brockton, 
 making Silver Creek. Brockton is situated on the rail 
 road in the town of Portland and my first stopping place 
 in New York State. 
 
 Silver Creek. I left this place on the morning of the 
 5th, making Lake view the same day. Silver Creek is a 
 railroad station for the town of Hanover, it is a fine vil 
 lage with a good view of the Lake. 
 
 Lake View. I left this place on the morning of the 
 6th, reaching Buffalo the same day. Lajse View is a rail 
 road station in the town of Hamburgh. It is a very 
 pretty village, situated on a high elevation and overlooks 
 the Lake for a great distance. 
 
 Buffalo. On the morning of the 7th, about six o'clock, 
 we entered the city of Buffalo, near the Lake, this being 
 
BUFFALO. 325 
 
 the most northern part of the city. We travelled directly 
 through Genesee street to the New York Central Rail 
 road, where we stopped some three hours. I really saw 
 but little of the city, which is the largest I have entered 
 since leaving San Francisco. On my leftj about sixty 
 rods distant, were many people standing. While eating 
 our breakfast they learned that the man from California 
 had arrived with his outfit, the people came around us 
 by the hundreds and completely surrounded us. I did not 
 attempt to retreat, in fact I could not ; I was their cap 
 tive. The people were quite familiar in asking questions, 
 some of which were difficult to answer. After a while a 
 squad of policemen arrived, and one of their number 
 came to me and said, "Old man, what are you here for?" 
 This you see was a question for authority. "Sir, your 
 honor ; I am simply passing through your city, and merely 
 stopped to get breakfast, I will soon move on," I an 
 swered. "Move on at once, or we will take you up 
 town," said the officer. "Oh, don't detain me. I am 
 anxious to get home to vote for old Ben Butler," I said. 
 When I was about leaving, I remarked to the people, 
 "Gentlemen, I am simply passing through this extreme 
 part of your city quietty, and have had no disturbance as 
 yet, nor do I fear any. I have come a long distance, 
 about four thousand miles, and no where have I received 
 such an ovation as this." Many questions were asked and 
 answered satisfactorily and when I was about to move on, 
 two men came up to my wagon with a basket and said, 
 "Stranger, take this basket and when you get a short dis 
 tance, look in and help yourself." "Thank you," I re 
 plied and went on. As I was moving along, three cheers 
 were given for the man travelling from California to 
 Massachusetts. I left Buffalo at twelve at noon on my 
 way to Alban}*, travelling the old Genesee turnpike, and 
 made Batavia at ten o'clock on the morning of the 8th. 
 
326 GENEVA. 
 
 Batavia. I left Batavia at one o'clock in the afternoon 
 of the 8th, reaching Le Roy the same day. Batavia is 
 the capital of Genesee county. It is situated on the New 
 York Central Railroad. To its left is the city of Roches 
 ter. Here the New York Central with its four tracks, 
 leaves Batavia to the left. Two of the tracks run due 
 east to Syracuse. 
 
 Le Roy. I left Le Roy on the morning of the 9th and 
 made Avon the same day. Le Roy is situated on the 
 railroad in Geneseo county. It is a smart, active business 
 town. 
 
 Avon. I left this place on the morning of the 10th and 
 made Canandaigua the same day. Avon is situated on a 
 junction of railroads in the county of Livingston. 
 
 Canandaigua. I left this place on the morning of the 
 llth, making Geneva the same day. Canandaigua is the 
 principal town in Ontario county. 
 
 Geneva. I left Geneva on the morning of the 12th and 
 made Seneca Falls the same day. Geneva is situated on 
 the railroad and on the northern part of Seneca Lake. 
 Soon after leaving this place it began to rain lightly. I 
 continued on and found it improved my road, it being a 
 deep, heavy sand. I passed directly through the town 
 of Waterloo. The rain kept increasing, my travelling 
 was becoming heav}*, and coming to a fine-looking barn I 
 turned in. As I did so, I met two young men to whom I 
 said, " Gentlemen, I am a traveller, and have become 
 quite noted in this department. I have travelled from 
 Geneva through this ram ; my horse is very weary and so 
 am I. I should like to get under cover for the night." 
 U I think you must be the man the papers speak of, who 
 is with a horse, wagon, cow and dog from California, go- 
 
GENEVA. 327 
 
 ing East to Massachusetts ; are you the man ?" asked the 
 stranger. "I am the man/' I answered. "Lead your 
 horse in the barn and stay till the rain stops. I want to 
 ask you a few questions," said the stranger. I drove in 
 the barn, removed the horse from the wagon and the cow 
 also, making all right for the night. "Stranger, our sup 
 per is about ready, we will go in and see." We went to the 
 house the 3 T oiing man introducing me to his father and 
 mother, as the traveller from California they had read 
 about in the papers, he telling me to take a seat, and say 
 ing, "Mother, give the stranger a good dish of tea, we 
 will say nothing about the rest." "Is it possible you 
 have come from California with that horse and cow?" 
 asked the father. "I suppose 3 r ou have seen all that we 
 read about, coming across the plains ; the wild beasts, the 
 Indians, the Mormons, the tramps, the cow-boys, and I 
 know not what?" "I have seen all you have spoken of, 
 but there is one I have not seen, that is the elephant ; he 
 1 saw not. But the Mormons, the tramps and the cow 
 boys, I became very familiar with, especially the Mormons, 
 with whom I was eight months. You will be sur 
 prised when you learn what I know about them." "Well, 
 friend, we will go to the barn and see how the California 
 cow is, and learn if she is in want of anything in our 
 line." We went to the barn, giving the cattle more hay 
 and grain, then returned to the house and retired for the 
 night. "Friend, stranger, before retiring, allow me to say 
 a word ; Massachusetts is having a very warm time at the 
 coming election for Governor, I have interest in that mat 
 ter, having the right to vote on my arrival home.'' 
 "What town in Massachusetts is your home?" he asked. 
 "The town of Webster is my home. Now, sir, I have 
 quite a walk to get home in time to vote. I suggest that 
 3*ou get me away in the morning as early as you can. 
 But I do not want to go before I get my breakfast, you 
 understand. I am a Yankee, every time ; please excuse 
 
328 ONEIDA. 
 
 me." "I see you are a Yankee. I question whether there 
 is another man, Yankee or Yorker, like you. You have 
 done that which would trouble the boys to do. Well, we 
 must go to bed or we shall not get up early in the 
 morning." 
 
 On the morning of the 13th I was up early, prospect 
 ing. I decided to stop over the day as it was not safe to 
 travel, it being so slippery it would wrench my cattle. I 
 was cordially welcomed to stay at will and thought it best 
 to stop over the day. 
 
 Auburn. On the morning of the 14th I thought it best 
 to travel and make Auburn if possible. I went on and 
 found it to be a hard day's labor. 
 
 Syracuse. On the morning of the 15th, about six 
 o'clock I left Auburn for Syracuse, where I arrived about 
 midnight. I drove under a shed, giving my cattle water 
 and grain, spreading my blankets on the ground, laid my 
 self down, soon dropping asleep. 
 
 Oneida. I left Syracuse on the morning of the 16th, 
 making Oneida the same day. On making East Syracuse 
 we were invited to take dinner by the proprietor of the 
 hotel ; such invitations we never decline. After dinner 
 we went on, crossing the railroad and continuing about 
 two miles, crossing the canal. We are now on the right 
 of both canal and railroad. The day having passed and 
 gone, I concluded to travel some time in the night and 
 about ten o'clock camped. I was uncommon^' sleepy, so 
 much so that I was compelled to lie down and I at once 
 fell asleep, but not for long. I was awakened by my little 
 dog. The dog was with me under the blankets. A man 
 in passing, being more or less drunk, came along to my 
 cow, which was lying down and gave her a hard kick with 
 
ONEIDA. 329 
 
 his boots. At once the cow got up and went as near the 
 horse as she could get, and at the same time the dog 
 bounced out of bed and went for the man. The man's 
 attention was now with the dog. I was still lying in bed. 
 The man was looking for something to slay the dog. I 
 told him to go on and let the dog alone. Then he came 
 to me where I was lying and said, "Who in h 1 are you ; 
 get up or I will blow your d d brains out." I was up in 
 no time, you bet, and quickly went to my wagon, having 
 a hand-axe where I could have easy access to it at such a 
 time as this. The man was too drunk to fear the axe. I 
 did not want to strike him, as I might have killed him on 
 the spot. I retreated and at the same time called out, 
 "Murder." Nearly opposite was a house. The man had 
 been awakened by my cry and soon had a light. I 
 retreated towards the house and called on the man to 
 come out ; he knew the man and commenced talking to 
 him. While they were talking I went for my wagon cut 
 ting the halter, not stopping to untie it and went on. I 
 continually looked back, expecting the man to follow me. 
 I think I got out of this well. On my arrival in Utica I 
 related this incident. One man in the crowd said, "Why 
 didn't yon split his d d head open. I would have done 
 it." I remarked, "Had I struck the man I might have 
 killed him, which would have detained me, and I should 
 have gone and complained of myself, then a coroner's in 
 quest would have to be called. I should have been 
 detained and I would not have been here to-day, perhaps 
 not for several days, and more, I would not reach Massa 
 chusetts by election day so that I could vote for grand, 
 old Ben Butler ; so friends, really my way was the best." 
 "Yes, you are right ; but there is no other man left like 
 you. I don't think there is another man living that would 
 have done as you have done." 
 
 Utica. I left Oneida for Utica on the 17th, making the 
 
330 UTICA. 
 
 city limits and went into camp in front of a fine residence. 
 About midnight it commenced raining. I packed my 
 bedding that it might not get wet and remained awhile, 
 hoping it would stop raining, instead of that it kept in 
 creasing. I thought it best to go into the city and get 
 under cover. I got ready and went on, not knowing the 
 time. Coming in sight of a long row of gas lights we 
 journeyed on, turning to my left, going further some 
 twenty rods, turning to my right. It was raining quite 
 smart. I came to a stop as I could see no one except my 
 own family. While standing I saw one man ; he was out 
 of the rain of course. I was sure he must be a police 
 man. The old proverb is, "They don't know enough to 
 get under cover when it rains." This was an exception ; 
 he was under cover and proved to be a watchman. I went 
 up to him leaving my horse ; but mind 3*011 the horse would 
 not be left, she followed me, making a turn and coming 
 up to me. As I approached the watchman he came out 
 and met me. "You are a watchman?" said I. "Yes, 
 sir, I am a watchman, and have been watching you for 
 some time." "You have, I have been looking for a 
 watchman for information. You are the first and the last 
 man I have seen since I entered the city. It commenced 
 raining and I thought it best to make the city and get 
 under cover, I am a stranger, will you direct me to 
 where I can get out of the storm." "Yes, sir ; keep on 
 down this street, turn to your right and you will come to 
 the Mansion stables." I went on and came to a street, 
 but did not know whether it would take me to the stables 
 or not ; I turned down it, however, and soon came to the 
 stables. I went to the door and rang the bell, and s ion 
 we were admitted to a good house for a stormy night. 
 The cattle were well cared for, and nryself and the dog 
 took the hay-mow and had very comfortable lodgings. In 
 the morning I went to the Mansion House and called for 
 the proprietor. I said to him, "I came to the city early 
 
TJTICA. 331 
 
 this morning in the rain. I am a traveller, but not a 
 tramp, a common tramp at least. I have come a long 
 distance with a horse, carriage and a cow. My horse is 
 a fine Morgan, a native of Massachusetts ; my cow is an 
 Ayrshire and Jersey, a native of California, and a fine 
 cow ; both are in your stables. My cow needs milking, 
 please come and look at them." "I will, sir, with 
 pleasure. You are evidently the man the papers tell 
 about, who is with a horse and carriage, leading a cow 
 from California, going to Massachusetts ; are you the 
 man?" I told him I was and we went to the stable. "If 
 the papers t ;ld the truth, and I have no doubt they did, 
 that horse and cow have walked more than four thousand 
 miles. Can that be true ? It is a big story, but a bigger 
 thing to accomplish. Well, stranger, take good care of 
 your cattle ; milk the cow, I will put it on ice and test it 
 in our coffee. Perhaps I can trade for her, how is that, 
 stranger?" "I will milk the cow and test the milk with 
 other fixings," I answered. This being done it was de 
 cided that I had a remarkable cow. The rumor went 
 arcund that the man from California, with his horse, car 
 riage, cow and dog were at the Mansion House. A large 
 crowd soon gathered around and many questions were 
 asked on one side and answered by the other. 
 
 About midnight, of the morning of the 19th I left 
 Utica, crossing the canal, river and railroad. I am still 
 on the old Genesee road ; canal, river and railroad on my 
 right. I was advised to continue on the same road that I 
 had been travelling, although the south road was the 
 river road and the most level, but I would find more mud 
 at this time. My first four miles was deep sand, but the 
 rain had made the sand quite hard, which made it more 
 comfortable travelling. Further on I found clay ; this 
 clay soil is very disagreeable, causing continual slipping 
 when wet. About seven o'clock we made Herkemer, here 
 
332 THE RANCHE. 
 
 we took breakfast. After breakfast we journeyed to 
 Little Falls, where we made a short stop and then went 
 on ; after a time coming to a fine-looking ranche. Here 
 I concluded to stop for the night, if I could be permitted 
 to use part of a shed. By simply removing a wagon I 
 could have good accommodation for the night. I went to 
 the house and rang the bell, which was answered by a fine- 
 looking young lady, to whom I said, "Madam, I am a 
 traveller and have come a very long distance and still have 
 not reached my home." "Where is your home?" she 
 asked. "Massachusetts is my home," I replied. "You 
 say you have come a long distance, where have 3-011 come 
 from?" asked the lady. "From California, madam," I 
 replied. "I have just read in the papers of a man arriv 
 ing in Utica from California, with his horse and carriage, 
 leading a cow all that distance, are you the man?" asked 
 the lady. "I am, and have come from Utica this day. 
 I left about midnight this morning." "You have come 
 from there to-day ? Mother, this is the man that I was 
 reading about in the paper ; he has travelled from Utica 
 to-day. Where is your horse and cow, I would like to 
 look at them?" said the lady. "They are at the shed," I 
 replied. Mother, daughter and a neighbor, who was in 
 vited by the young lady, all went to see the California 
 cow. "Stranger, take your horse out of the carriage and 
 put her and the cow in the barn. You are not going to 
 sleep in the shed to-night," said the lady. "Madam, I 
 prefer to sleep with my cattle. I have done so with two 
 exceptions ; I am dirty and not fit to get into a clean 
 bed," I replied. "My dear sir, water and a little soap 
 will soon make them clean. I really wish that you would 
 comply with my request," she answered. "If 3 r ou insist 
 I will comply with your wish." "I do, my brother will be 
 home soon, he will look after your cattle. Father I have 
 none ; we buried him some three months ago. Oh, that 
 he were living, he would dearly love to entertain you. 
 
THE RANCHB. 333 
 
 What a loss we have sustained. Dear Father. Stranger, 
 the papers say that } r our name is Johnson, W. B.," said 
 the lady. "That is my name ; I have but one." "Stran 
 ger, our supper is ready, I hope you will not decline to 
 take tea with us?" she said. "Why should I decline 
 this?" I replied. "I did not know but that you would like 
 to be excused from coming to the table, as you look as if 
 you had seen some mud, travelling the long distance," 
 said the lady. Soon after, the brother came home and the 
 young lady said to him, "William, this stranger is the 
 California man, that we have read of in the papers. He 
 came in to see if we would allow him to stop under the 
 carriage shed for the night. I told him that we would 
 do better with him and give him a clean bed inside. He 
 seemed to discard this invitation, preferring rather to 
 sleep with his cattle." After tea I said, "My dear 
 friends, about sleeping with my cattle ; I think much of 
 them and they of me, I am sure of it. I will go back 
 four thousand miles, having travelled that distance al 
 ready. When I left California, I left behind me all the 
 family I ever had ; wife and one daughter, who are still 
 living. They were opposed to my coming the way I have 
 come. They told me all they could and got others to 
 dissuade me from my project. They said I whould be 
 confronted with the wild beasts of the forests ; the Indians ; 
 the cow-boys ; the tramps ; and last, but worst of all, the 
 Mormons. All of these I should have to contend with. 
 I have had to do so, but not one insult have I received 
 from any of them, with one exception, leaving out the 
 wild animals. This exception was near Oneida, by a man 
 too drunk to know what he was doing ; this was the first 
 and the last. Many times I have been told to look sharp 
 after my cattle, which I have done. Many nights I have 
 slept between them ; the horse fastened to one wheel and 
 the cow to another. While in Cheyenne I fell in with a 
 comrade of the Grand Army, who invited me to stay with 
 
334 THE RANCHE. 
 
 him while in the city. He remarked that t must look 
 sharp after the cattle at nights, especially my horse, the 
 cow he thought no one would attempt to take. The 
 horse was a strong temptation for the cow-boys. Most 
 of my way through Nebraska I was filled with continual 
 fear, lest I should be overtaken by some one or more that 
 would want the horse or trade for her. I have passed 
 such and met them at the stations, but no insult whatever 
 have I received from them. Well, friends, it is past my 
 bed time. If you insist on my sleeping inside, I will go 
 to the barn and see if the cattle are all right and then re 
 turn and retire, as I would like to get a good night's rest. 
 I am strongly inclined to think that a bed under the shed 
 would make a better night's rest than one inside. We 
 will try it on ; it is the only way to test the pudding by 
 eating." "What time will you leave in the morning?" 
 asked the young lady. "About six o'clock," I answered. 
 
 St. Johnsville. I left the ranche near St. Johnsville 
 on the 20th, making Johnstown the same day. I arose 
 early and got ready to leave, and as soon as the breakfast 
 was ready, I was ready for it. Our breakfast consisted 
 of fresh fried pork and sausage, hot potatoes, hot biscuits 
 and coffee, all well-cooked, topping off with cranberry 
 sauce and mince pie. This with its surroundings, was 
 the best breakfast I had from California to Massachusetts. 
 I did ample justice to the meal. After breakfast, and as 
 I was about to leave, the lady came out to me at my car 
 riage with a bundle, saying, "I would like you t > take this 
 with you ; it is simply a lunch, you may get faint on } r our 
 way. Take, eat, and remember us all ; we will ever re 
 member you, the man that travelled across the continent." 
 I well knew its contents, and on parting I remarked, 
 "Dear friends, your hospitality exceeds all others on my 
 journey ; particularly the way it has been given, with 
 sympathy, love and affection. Oh, that I could do some- 
 
ST. JOHNSVILLE. 335 
 
 thing in return ; but I must leave you. Good morning." 
 "Good morning, we hope }'ou will succeed and arrive 
 safely at your journey's end. Should you ever be per 
 mitted to come this way again, please be sure to call on 
 us," said the lady. "I will, thank }'ou, good-bye." I re 
 luctantly left them and went on my journey. About 
 twelve we stopped for dinner. Here I broke the seal of 
 the bundle ; its contents were cold meats, like our break 
 fast, a mince pie and some doughnuts and cheese ; a good 
 dinner was the result. I thought much of it, but much 
 more of those from whom it came. At one o'clock we 
 again moved forward and at five o'clock we reached a fine 
 looking farm-house and barn. I thought it best to stop 
 here for the night. I went to the house for a permit to 
 use the shed for my cattle. Just as I was going to ring 
 the bell a man came in sight, I asked him if he was the 
 master of the ranche? He answered he was. "What 
 will you have?" "I would like to use your shed for the 
 night. It is going to be a cold, frosty night and I would 
 like to get under cover, I have not been under cover, ex 
 cept two nights, for months. Some nights I have been so 
 cold that I could not sleep and then travelled the rest of 
 the night to keep warm." "Where have you come from 
 and where going, to be travelling for months?" he asked- 
 "Well, sir,' I have but one story to tell and I have told it 
 many times, twice in a day, and some times I have seen 
 no one to tell it to," I replied. "I think I know who you 
 are, through the papers. They say that a man from Cali 
 fornia is travelling to Massachusetts, with a horse, car 
 riage, cow and dog. Are you the man that is doing such 
 a wonderful thing?" "I am the man," I replied. "Well, 
 well, I want to see what you have got for a horse and cow 
 that have travelled all that distance, stranger," he said. 
 "They are at your shed," I replied. "And you have 
 travelled from California with that horse and cow ? Take 
 your horse and lead her inside, and the cow too. They 
 
336 ST. JOHNSVILLE. 
 
 shall have a good bed to-night. Will your cow stand be 
 side the horse?" he asked. "She will." "She won't in 
 jure the horse, think you?" he asked. "Oh, no, they think 
 much of each other," I replied. "We will go into the 
 house, our supper will be ready soon ; I suppose you 
 won't decline to take a bed inside?" "Oh, no, last night 
 I was well cared for ; I think the best on my whole 
 journey," I said. As we were sitting around the stove, 
 the man took up the newspaper and said, "Your name is 
 Johnson it seems, that is what the paper says. This is a 
 Utica paper, and it speaks of a man by the name of W. 
 B. Johnson, from California to Massachusetts, as having 
 passed through that city ; you are the man. Mr. John 
 son, take a. seat at the table and make yourself at home ; I 
 suppose you have one or you would not look as well as 
 you do." I took the seat and answered, "I have not 
 been sick a day since leaving California ; no, not an hour. 
 I have seen some hard times in crossing the Rocky Moun 
 tains. I was out on the plains in -a bad snow storm, that 
 made me think of home, you bet." "What time was that 
 storm?" he asked. "It was the 5th and 6th of June 
 last." "How much of a snow-fall?" "The snow fell from 
 eight to twelve inches on the level. It commenced rain 
 ing about eight o'clock in the evening, turning to hail, 
 from hail to snow and continued all night. I was alone 
 with my cattle and was very cold. I brushed the snow 
 away on the ground, then I poured kerosene oil on the 
 ground and set it en fire. This kept my hands from 
 freezing. This I did at intervals until I had consumed 
 nearly two quarts of oil. My feet became very cold, I 
 could not get them warm. I went to my wagon and took 
 from it an old blanket, putting it over the ground where I 
 had been burning the oil, I took off my boots and stood 
 on this blanket. It was not long before I began to feel 
 the warmth and my feet soon became comfortable." 
 
SCHENECTADY. 337 
 
 Schenectady \ I left the ranche, near Fonda, and the 
 pleasant family connected with it on the 21st, reaching 
 Schenectady early on the morning of the 22nd. On the 
 morning of the 21st I was up early, getting ready to move 
 on. Soon after the breakfast bell rang, the gentleman of 
 the house came out to me and said, "Good morning, 
 stranger." u Good morning," I replied. "You are 
 driving things, it seems, }"ou are going to get home to vote 
 for old B. F., I suppose, or some one else?" "Yes, sir ; 
 that is my intention." "Have 3'ou fed that California 
 cow; she is all right, I suppose?" said my host. "She 
 is." "Our breakfast is ready. I suppose you are ready 
 and waiting?" he said. "I am, sir ; I could have taken 
 breakfast in Amsterdam, but I thought you might never 
 forget me, you might forgive." "Yes, I could readily 
 forgive } T OU, but I should not be likely to forget you, for 
 a time at least." "Friend stranger, I do not wish to 
 insult you by offering to pay for your hospitality," I said. 
 "No, sir, you had better not ; that would be an insult and 
 a crime. I would not be guilty of taking one cent from 
 you, not a cent ; I would like to have you stop longer. I 
 have been much interested in listening to your travels 
 across the plains," said my host. "My friend, I must 
 leave you, and thank you kindly for your hospitality," I 
 said. "You are welcome, sir ; I would like to entertain 
 another man under the circumstances ; good morning, 
 and success to you." "Thank you," I replied, and 
 I started on my journey and just at twelve o'clock I made 
 Amsterdam. Here we took dinner, leaving Amsterdam 
 at half-past one o'clock and about half-past five came 
 to a small farm-house. I stopped and asked the man of 
 the house if he would sell me some hay for my cattle. 
 "How much hay do you want for your cattle?" he asked. 
 "Only enough for their supper ; I am going to travel to 
 night. I want to make Schenectacty to-night or early in 
 the morning." "Yes, you can have some hay, sir ; will 
 
338 SCHENECTADY. 
 
 you put your cattle in the barn, or shall I bring it out 
 here?" "Bring it out here, if you please," which he did. 
 "Can I make me a dish of tea?" I asked. "Yes, if you 
 wish. We will go into the house, perhaps my wife has 
 some already made. It is our tea time ; come in, stran 
 ger." I went in with him and he said to his wife, "This 
 man seems to be travelling. I have given his cattle some 
 hay and he wants to make a dish of tea. I told him to 
 come into the house, perhaps you may have some already 
 made." "I have some already made ; perhaps the man 
 would like some supper, he can if he wishes ; will you 
 take supper with us?" asked the wife. "I will, if you 
 have no objections, I ought not," I answered. "Take a 
 seat at the table." I seated myself and the wife said, 
 "You seem to be travelling, how far have you come?" 
 "I have come a long distance, as far as from the Pacific 
 Ocean to this place." "Are you the man the papers of 
 yesterday speak of as travelling from California to Massa 
 chusetts, with a horse, carriage, cow and a little dog?" 
 "I suppose I am." After many other questions had been 
 asked and answered. I asked, "What is the distance to 
 Schenectady ?" "About twelve miles," was answered. 
 "I would like to see Albany about this time to-morrow," 
 "How many miles do } T OU travel in the day?" "I travel 
 two and a half miles per hour, all day and night when I 
 travel. Friends, I thank you for your hospitalit} 7 , good 
 night." "You are welcome, good night. Stranger, one 
 word ; soon } r ou will be travelling close by the railroad. 
 It is dangerous to travel at night. There are many trains 
 the first part of the night, all from the West, and mostly 
 freight. The engines throw out streams of fire, which in 
 the night look horrid, especially to the horses." I went 
 on and came to a place where the carriage road was close 
 to the railroad. I had but just got to the place, when a 
 train came along in our rear. I stopped ; the horse 
 turning partially round ; the cow had left her position 
 
SCHENECTADY. 339 
 
 and stood side way of the wagon, as near me and the 
 horse as she could get. I was not afraid of the horse 
 but I was of the cow. The cow has always been afraid 
 of an engine, while the horse would stand perfectly still. 
 On this occasion, I thought the cow would upset the 
 wagon, but I spoke to her, keeping her quiet and when 
 the train had passed I said, * 'Bessie, I told you it would 
 not harm you." We went on and not long after another 
 train came in our rear. I stopped as before until the 
 train had passed and then again went forward. But one 
 train did we meet, while seven overtook and passed us. 
 Going further we came to a railroad bridge, which we 
 went under instead of over. We are now travelling on 
 the right of the railroad and about midnight came to a 
 signal station ; here I stopped for a time and went to 
 see and learn the workings of the station. When a train 
 arrives the number of the train is signalled to Albany. 
 Number ten, on time ; number eight, behind time twenty 
 minutes ; number fifteen, behind time thirty minutes, and 
 so on. Going on we made Schenectady about ten in the 
 morning. I drove under a shed and gave my cattle grain, 
 spread my blankets and laid n^self down ; I was very 
 tired, sleep}*- and weary and soon dropped to sleep. I 
 was awakened by a team coming into the shed. I got up, 
 made ready and went on to the city ; coming to a fine, 
 cozy ranche, I stopped for the day. After making known 
 my presence the gentleman and lady of the ranche were 
 much interested in me and my cattle, and entertained us 
 with much pleasure, and made me acquainted with A. B. 
 and C. as they passed by. For example ; a gentleman 
 and lady is passing, my host says, "Mr. Adams, please 
 stop a moment." Mr. Adams stops. U I am entertaining 
 a man who has just arrived here, who says he has travel 
 led from California, with that horse, carriage, cow and 
 dog. They are all well, eating their breakfast. If we 
 can rely on his word, which I think we can, it is the 
 
340 SCHENECTADY. 
 
 biggest thing out. That cow, travelling over four thou 
 sand miles, think of it ; she speaks for herself. She is a 
 fine looking cow, bright and handsome. Oh, she has 
 shoes on, and iron at that, that tells her story." "I saw 
 some time ago an account of a man travelling from Cali 
 fornia to Massachusetts, with a horse and carriage, lead 
 ing a cow. I think this must be the man, no doubt," 
 said Mr. Adams. "You have come from California, how 
 could you travel that distance ? Did you cross over the 
 Rocky Mountains?" asked the wife. "I did, ma'am," I 
 answered. "Did you come alone?" asked the wife. 
 "Yes, all alone." "How dare you come alone ; did you 
 see any Indians on your way and were }*ou not afraid of 
 them?" she asked. "I was at first, but I found them 
 Americanized. The young Indians could speak good 
 English quite' well ; the older Indians I had nothing to do 
 with, I did hot like their looks, not one bit. They looked 
 ugly, like the pictures of all Indians, painted up, decked 
 with rings in their ears and nose." While we were talk 
 ing, others came up and a like introduction took place. 
 Others came and stopped to see what is the matter, until 
 a large congregation had gathered round. Two teams 
 came along and stopped. "What does this mean, so many 
 gathered here ; have you a show here ?" asked one of the 
 men. "Yes, we have a show, hand over your money. 
 The man from California has arrived ; there is his outfit 
 and a good one too." The men that came in last, were 
 direct from the city ; one of them I learned later was a 
 reporter. He was anxious to know all that was worth 
 knowing. The two teams returned to the city and re 
 ported what they had seen. This brought out many more. 
 I was at dinner when these came and when I had fin 
 ished I loaned my services for one hour, answering all 
 the questions they could think of, from California to my 
 present place. 
 
COZY RANCHE. 341 
 
 Cozy Ranche. I left Cozy Ranche, two miles east of 
 Schenectady, at four in the afternoon of the 22nd, for Al 
 bany, arriving on the morning of the 23rd, at nine o'clock. 
 On entering the city I was much annoyed by the boys. It 
 seems they had been informed of my coming and came to 
 meet me in large numbers. They were armed with pistols 
 and fire crackers. My horse cared but little for these, but 
 the cow became frantic ; I could do nothing with her. I 
 tried to reason with them, but in vain. I travelled as far 
 as I could with safety and then stopped. Here I remained 
 until I could have assistance from the police. A street 
 car was passing by and I spoke to the conductor, asking 
 him to send me a policeman to assist me in passing 
 through the city. The officer soon arrived, saying, 
 " Stranger, what is the matter, that you are obliged to 
 send for me?" "The boys are having more fun than I 
 can stand ; the horse stands it, but the cow has become 
 frantic," I replied. "What can I do for you ; where are 
 3 T ou going?" asked the policeman. "I am on my way 
 home to Massachusetts ; I do not intend to stop in the 
 city. I wish to pass directly through and cross the river 
 into East Albany ; will you see me to the bridge ?" I 
 asked. "I will, with pleasure," answered the policeman. 
 We went on and the boys' fun was all cut off ; no more 
 crackers were heard from them. Oh reaching the bridge, 
 I asked him, "How much shall I pay }-ou for this favor?" 
 "Not anything, sir," said the policeman. "Thank } T OU, 
 sir," I answered. I crossed over the bridge into East 
 Albany and here I stopped for dinner. About two o'clock 
 we resumed our journey and on reaching East Greenbush 
 we stopped for the night. 
 
 East Greenbush. I left this place on the morning of 
 the 24th, making Nassua the same day. It was early in 
 the morning as I left, I did not stop to take a breakfast. 
 About nine o'clock I came to a small ranche where I 
 
342 GREENBUSH. 
 
 stopped, fed the cattle and myself and then went on. A 
 change in the weather is about to take place, the clouds 
 threatening a storm. A given time had been set for 
 crossing the State line, therefore, I would have to make a 
 given place in order to come to time. About eleven 
 o'clock it commenced raining, so I pushed onward and 
 soon came to a house, and opposite this house was a car 
 riage shed, which we went under. It continued to rain 
 and the wind had changed its quarter into the north-east. 
 My quarters were good for a north-easter. About twelve 
 at noon, a man with 9 horse and carriage drove up to 
 where I was. I said to him, "Stranger, I have taken pos 
 session of 3'our shed ; it commenced raining and I was 
 anxious to get under cover, out of the storm, so I took 
 the liberty to drive in here and would like to remain until 
 the storm is over ; with your consent I will remain." 
 "All right, sir, 3 r ou can remain," said the man. "Will 
 you sell me some ha} T for my cattle?" I asked. "I have 
 no hay to sell, I will give you some," said he. "Thank 
 you ; that is a saving of time in counting your money," I 
 answered. "Where are }'ou from ; excuse me for asking 
 the question?" he said. "That question has been asked 
 me many times. I can answer it by night as well as by 
 day ; I am the man that has travelled almost across the 
 continent. I presume you have seen me mentioned in 
 the papers," I said. "I have read in the papers of a man 
 travelling from California to Massachusetts ; are you the 
 man, with that horse, carriage, cow and little dog ; where 
 is the dog?" was asked. "He is in the carriage, under 
 the blankets," I answered. "I must go into the house 
 and inform my wife of your arrival. No longer than 
 yesterday, we were reading of your arrival in Utica. We 
 had no idea of seeing the man and his cattle ; you have 
 come to us and you can stop as long as the storm lasts, 
 and longer should you wish.". "I am anxious to get 
 home." "Where is your home, by the way?" "Webster, 
 
GREENBUSH. 343 
 
 Massachusetts. I am almost home." "Come into the 
 house, our dinner is ready and waiting." "We went into 
 the house, he saying to his wife, "Here is the very man 
 with his horse and cow that we saw mentioned in the 
 paper of yesterday ; I asked him in to dinner, is it read} 7 ?" 
 "Yes,. and has been waiting some time," said the wife. 
 "I don't care for any dinner ; I ate my breakfast between 
 nine and ten o'clock, I am not in want of any dinner," I 
 said. "Have a dish of coffee and a piece of pie, we will 
 have supper earl} 7 ," said the wife. "I may have to stop 
 here several days waiting for the storm to pass over, or 
 travel in the storm," I said. "Don't trouble yourself 
 about the storm ; I have never known but one storm that 
 did not clear away soon, and this will, I think," said my 
 host. After dinner we went to look at the California cow. 
 "Is that cow a native of California?" asked the man, 
 looking me straight in the eye. "Yes, sir ; she is. I am 
 no fraud. Some think she has not travelled half that dis 
 tance, but you can see that she has marks that belong to 
 the far west. I say, and repeat it, that cow has travelled 
 more than four thousand miles and she has been shod four 
 times on the journey. Her first shoeing was at Reno, Ne 
 vada ; up to that time she had travelled seven hundred 
 miles ; her next shoeing was at Ogden, Utah ; the third 
 was in Weber, Utah ; the fourth time was in Homestead, 
 Iowa ; the fifth will be at Lebanon, to-morrow, should 
 the storm pass over so soon." "Stranger, would you not 
 prefer to have your cattle in the barn, if so, you can as 
 well as not?" "They are comfortable as they are, as the 
 storm is in the east and it is much more comfortable to lie 
 on the ground than on timber." "We can give the horse 
 a good bedding." About five o'clock I milked the cow 
 and carried the milk into the house and handed it to the 
 lady, who seemed much pleased with it. About this time 
 supper was ready and on the table. "I have been read 
 ing about your arrival in Utica. It says that a man from 
 
344 NASSUA. 
 
 California, by the name of W. B. Johnson, is in the cit} T , 
 on his way to Massachusetts. I have learned your name 
 by reading the paper," said the lady. "That is correct, 
 my name is Johnson." "Our supper is read}*, Mr. John 
 son, take a seat at the table." After supper my cattle 
 were well cared for, and when the time for retiring came, 
 I remarked, "That it was my custom to retire with my 
 cattle and I had strictly adhered to it with two or three 
 exceptions. These were since travelling in this State. 
 There have been times when I would not leave my cattle 
 by day or night. "While in Cheyenne, I was invited by a 
 comrade of the Grand Army to take my meals with him, 
 and he told me to look sharp after my cattle at nights or I 
 should lo^se them, especially the horse. The cow there is 
 not so much danger of. The cow-boys are fond of swap 
 ping horses and are sure to get the best every time." 
 
 It was late on the morning of the 4th when I got up 
 and found it still raining. I went to my cattle and found 
 them all right, I gave them some h&y and returned to the 
 house. My host, John, called out, "Go back to bed, } r ou 
 will not leave here to-da3\" "I will, if you say so," I 
 answered. "I do say so," said John. I went back to 
 my bed and remained there until I was sure they were all 
 below. When the bell sounded for breakfast, I reluc 
 tantly got up ; it was just ten o'clock and breakfast was 
 waiting. After breakfast I went to the barn and gave my 
 cattle more hay and returned to the house. 
 
 Nassua. I left Nassua on the morning of the 27th, 
 making Pittsfield, in Massachusetts, the same day. This 
 morning I was up early, making read}' to move onward. 
 It was a fine morning, but cold. After getting all ready, 
 I returned to the house. The lady of the house was up 
 and had made a good fire. I sat near the fire warming 
 my fingers, which were very cold. "You intend to leave 
 
MOUNT LEBANON. 345 
 
 us this morning?" said the lady. "I do ; I have made a 
 long stop, one day more than I really could afford. I 
 must take it from some one else." "Come, John, get up, 
 my breakfast is about ready," said the lady. "Yes, 
 John, get up and see me off," I said. "I will, stranger," 
 said John. After breakfast, I left them with a good-bye 
 all round. "Should you come this way again, call and 
 see how we are getting along," said the lad}'. "Yes, call. 
 If you should get into a storm, we will try and keep you 
 warm," said John. "Good morning and success to you." 
 I left them and went on until coming to two roads, one to 
 West Lebanon and the other to Lebanon. Here I in 
 quired Jthe best road to Pittsfield. I was told the best 
 road was to my right, over Mount Lebanon. I went on 
 until coming to the latter place where I made a stop, in 
 quiring the distance to the State line. A lady told me it 
 was but a short distance up the mountain. She was 
 dressed in the Shaker fashion. I said to her, "You are a 
 Shaker, I think, by your attire?" "I am, sir," she 
 replied. "I am a traveller on my way home to Massa 
 chusetts, which is my home. Can I know when I step 
 over the line into Massachusetts?" I asked. "I can not 
 answer that question," said the lady. Opposite where we 
 were standing was a stable, and two men were standing 
 near. The lady spoke to one of the two saying, "Please 
 step here a moment ; this gentleman has asked me a ques 
 tion that I am unable to answer. His question is, can I 
 know when I step from one State to another, or cross the 
 line?" "Yes, sir; you can. It does not require a long 
 step to decide the question. When you come to the State 
 line, you wlil find a post, the centre of which is supposed to 
 be the line. Stranger, why are you so particular to under 
 stand the exact line?" asked the man. "I will tell you if 
 I have time. What is the time of the morning?" "It is 
 just ten o'clock," answered the man. "I first remarked 
 to the lady, that I was a traveller ; yes, I am one on a 
 
346 MOUNT LEBANON. 
 
 large scale. I have almost crossed the continent, from the 
 Pacific to the Atlantic ; from California almost to Massachu 
 setts. Now, sir ; when I make the line, I want to know it, 
 as I propose as I step into Massachusetts to give three 
 cheers for the Old Bay State. Do you now understand?" 
 I said. "I do," said the man. As I was about to go on 
 the man said, "But, stop, stranger, I wish to ask you a 
 few questions." "If you begin to ask questions and I 
 attempt to answer them, I shall not be able to cross the 
 State line to-day. Whj 7 , just look at it, more then four 
 thousand two hundred miles of questions to ask and 
 answer ; it will cover more than three hundred pages on 
 paper. I want to step into Massachusetts just at twelve 
 o'clock. Now, sir, I will contract with you. It is this, 
 if you will give my cattle grain ; n^self, bread and hot 
 coffee ; my dog a bone, with no meat on it ; (be careful 
 about the meat, as it might hurt him,) I will stop and 
 listen to your questions for one hour ; will you agree to 
 this contract?" "I will," said the man. "Begin with 
 my cattle," I said. "Lead them into the barn, here is 
 the grain," said the man. I led them into the barn and 
 they had their grain, not in small quantities by no means, 
 but in large quantities. The last part of the contract, I 
 am not particular about, but the first part I am. Had I 
 not well cared for my cattle, they would not have been 
 here to-day. "Well, stranger, I will listen to your ques 
 tions, begin." "You gave me to understand that you 
 have travelled with that horse and carriage, leading that 
 cow, more than four thousand two hundred miles. Now, 
 sir, where did you start from to make that distance ?" he 
 asked. "I started from Eureka city, Humboldt bay, 
 three hundred and three miles north of San Francisco, 
 with that horse, wagon, cow and dog. I followed the 
 Central Pacific Railroad to Ogden ; from Ogden, I fol 
 lowed the Union Pacific Railroad most of the way to 
 Omaha. From Omaha, I followed the Rock Island Rail- 
 
PITTSFIELD. 347 
 
 road through Iowa, Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, and a small 
 bit of Penns} r lvania to Buffalo. From Buffalo to Albany, 
 and from there here. Now, sir, it has taken many days 
 to travel that long distance. I have seen all that was 
 worth seeing except the elephant ; he had just slipped out, 
 I could not get a sight of him." "When you left Eureka, 
 that cow left at the same time and place?" he asked. 
 "We all left at the same time and place." "Well, well, 
 she is a wonderful cow ; it is all most wonderful. You 
 have only about one hundred miles more and you will be 
 at home, which I hope you will safely reach. Will you 
 ever regret that you undertook the journey?" asked the 
 man. "I can not answer that question. I think not ; how 
 ever, I can not tell. If I reach home safely, there will be 
 no reason to regret," I answered. "It is eleven o'clock, 
 come in and get a lunch, } T OU will have time," said the 
 man. I went in and got a lunch, then returned and made 
 ready and went on. I came to the State line and crossed 
 into the Old Bay State, with three cheers. Going on and 
 just before reaching Pittsfield city, we came to a fine plat 
 of grass, I stopped and gave the cattle a chance to eat of 
 it. Opposite this plat of grass is a large Monumental 
 Manufactory. [ called at a house for permission to make 
 a pot of coffee. Both the lady and gentleman were at 
 tea. I asked the lady if she would permit me to make 
 some coffee. "Oh, yes ; with pleasure," she answered. 
 I went for my coffee pot and on returning I was asked 
 into the house. "Are you travelling?" asked the gentle 
 man. "I am, sir," I replied. "I see you are feeding 
 your cattle opposite, and I thought you might be 
 travelling. Where are you travelling to?" he asked. 
 "To Webster, Massachusetts." "Wife, put a plate on 
 the table for this man. I think I have heard about you 
 through the papers. They tell about a man travelling 
 from California to this State ; are you the man?" "I am," 
 I replied. "Take a seat at the table ; you are welcome 
 
348 PITTSFIELD. 
 
 to what } T ou want to eat or drink. " I took a seat at the 
 table and after supper I asked him if he could accommo 
 date me and my cattle with barn room?" "Yes, I have 
 plenty of barn room ; I will accommodate you. I will be 
 well paid for it, without money or price, as I think you 
 can tell a story that will be interesting to us ; such a story 
 as is not often told, if ever, We have stories, but they 
 are all fiction ; you can tell us what you have seen, some 
 thing that is worth telling. First, we will go to the barn 
 and see what is wanted." We went to the barn. "There 
 is a stall for your horse, the cow can stand beside the 
 horse; how is that, stranger?" "All right, sir." I led 
 the cattle in and made them fast to their allotted places. 
 "My hay I call good, we will see what your cattle say 
 about it." They pronounced it good. "Now, we will go 
 into the house, as I am anxious to hear from the West. I 
 have many questions to ask ; you must take it easy," re 
 marked my host. "To-morrow will be Sunday and I do 
 not care to travel. I have travelled on Sundays, however, 
 not knowing it at the time. All the days seemed alike. 
 Da}^s and days have I travelled and would not meet a 
 living being, but wild animals." "You have had some 
 thing to do with the wild animals?" asked my host. "I 
 have seen them, but never cared to make close acquaint 
 ance with them . There have been times when I would 
 break camp and leave them ; I disliked their deportment. 
 They were always cross and crabbed." How about the 
 Indians?" he asked. "The Indians, I have seen many of 
 them and I have travelled with them many miles ; con 
 versed with them many times, and have asked them to put 
 me on the right track frequently. They would do it ; one 
 time in particular, I had lost my trail and was returning 
 to Carlin, about eight miles distant, when a cavalcade of 
 Indians came down the bluff. I signalled them to stop, 
 and two of them rode up to me, sa} T ing, 'What's wanted, 
 friend.* 'I have lost my trail to Elko,' I answered. 
 
PITTSFIELD. 349 
 
 'Follow me,' said the Indian. I followed him and was 
 soon on the right trail. I thanked him and went on to 
 Elko." "How was it with the cow-boys; did you ever 
 come across them?" asked my host. "I did, I saw many 
 of them ; they were gentlemen to me ; they offered me no 
 insult whatever. Having heard much about them, I was 
 afraid of them at first, but that soon disappeared. Many 
 times I was reminded of the cow-bo}^s ; my first day out 
 from Cheyenne, I saw two men on horseback ; I was a 
 little excited ; they were in my rear, coming towards me. 
 I had about twenty-five dollars about me ; two ten dollar 
 bills, one two and three dollars in change. I dropped the 
 bills into my boots and went on ; soon they overtook me, 
 passed to the right and went on. I was more scared than 
 hurt; after this I was afraid of no man. I was insulted 
 by no one until I had travelled more than four thousand 
 miles, and that man was so badly drunk, that he feared not 
 the weapon I was swinging around his head. I could 
 have laid him out with one blow." 
 
 On the morning of the 28th, Sunday, I arose about 
 seven o'clock. I went to the barn, finding all right, I fed 
 the cattle and returned to the house and to bed. About 
 nine o'clock I was called for breakfast, which I answered. 
 As I entered the dining-room, I was received with "Good 
 morning, friend Johnson." "Good morning," I respond 
 ed ; "you are ahead of my time. You have been reading 
 the morning's paper." "I have not this morning's, but I 
 have the papers of several mornings back. I learn from 
 them that your name is W. B. Johnson ; do you answer 
 to that name?" asked my host. "I do, sir. Well, friend, 
 how am I to learn your name ; what paper shall I find it 
 in, please tell me?" "I think, sir, that you will not find 
 it in any paper, but I will give you my name. My name 
 is Hungerford." "Mr. Hungerford, where will you at 
 tend church to-day?" "I think, sir, I shall not attend 
 
350 DALTON. 
 
 church to-day," he replied. "I think I will take to the 
 bed, it will do me more good than going to church. Mr. 
 Hungerford, is this lady your wife?" I asked. "She is 
 my wife," he answered. "Mrs. Hungerford, last night 
 as I was about to retire to bed and turning down the bed 
 ding, what do you think I found?" ''I don't know, I am 
 sure; what did you find?" asked the wife. "Find? I 
 found a clean bed. It reminded me of home." 
 
 Dalton. I left the Monumental Works, near Pittsfield, 
 on the morning of the 31st of October, arriving in Green 
 field about midnight of November 4th. On the morning 
 of the 3Ist, after a recess of three days, caused by the 
 falling of snow and rain. I made an attempt to travel. 
 My road was heavy with mud ; I continued on, however. 
 On making Dalton I concluded to stop over for the night. 
 On coming to a livery stable I stopped and went into the 
 office. There were several persons sitting round a good, 
 comfortable fire. "Is the proprietor in?" I inquired. 
 "He is, what will } T OU have?" he asked. "Could I stop 
 under your shed to-night, I am travelling and have been 
 stopping in Pittsfield the last three days on account of 
 the storm. The storm has made it heavy travelling and I 
 am anxious to reach home as it is getting late in the 
 season. I am liable to get snow-bound and will not be 
 able to travel." "Where is your home?" asked the 
 livery-man. "My home is in Webster, Massachusetts." 
 "You say you are travelling; where are you from?" 
 asked the Iiver3"-man. "I have come through from Cali 
 fornia," I replied. "I have heard about }'ou through the 
 papers. Where is your team?" asked the livery-man. 
 "Under the shed, sir." All hands went to the shed. "Ah, 
 a cow ; yes, yes, you are the man the papers speak of- 
 Stranger, back out of this place and lead your horse 
 in the barn, it will be much more comfortable than under 
 this shed," said the livery-man. I led my cattle into the 
 
WINDSOR. 351 
 
 barn and they were well cared for. "Come to the house 
 with me and get some supper," said the livery-man. I 
 went with him, he introducing me to his wife, as follows, 
 "Wife, this is the gentleman that we were reading about 
 in the papers, travelling from California to Massachu 
 setts." "You have come a long distance. Where in 
 Massachusetts is your home?" she asked. "In Webster, 
 Worcester county." After supper we returned to the 
 stable and fed my cattle with grain. "If you have no 
 objections I would like to spread my blankets on this hay, 
 it will give me a good bed for the night." No objections 
 being raised, I made me a bed of hay and laid down for 
 the night. 
 
 Windsor. On the morning of November 1st, I left 
 Dal ton, travelling over the mountain through Windsor. 
 While on the mountain I was struck by a snow squall, 
 snow falling some six inches. Having passed Windsor 
 and descending the mountain, about mid-waj', I came to a 
 house and barn. I stopped, and at the house I asked 
 permission to use the barn. I was told by the lady that 
 the floor of the barn was filled with corn and I would not 
 be able to get my wagon in, but the cattle could get in, no 
 doubt. I took the cattle to the barn, removing the snow 
 from them and giving them their blankets, made them 
 comfortable. By this time I had got wet and very cold. 
 I went to the house to warm my hands as they were very 
 cold. As I was about to enter, the lady met me at the 
 door and said, "Come in, I have a good fire; you must 
 be cold." I went in and the lady said, "Your cattle are 
 comfortable, I hope." "They are ; I have removed the snow 
 and have given them their blankets, which makes them 
 comfortable. Madame, will you allow me to bring in my 
 luncb basket?" I asked. "Oh, j-es, certainly," said the 
 lady. I carried in my basket, made a pot of coffee, 
 boiled some eggs and made a dry toast of crackers, 
 
352 WINDSOR. 
 
 making a good supper. After eating my supper. I went to 
 the barn, giving my cattle their grain, made me a bed of 
 hay and went to sleep. After a time the man of the 
 ranche returned from market and I explained to him my 
 taking possession of the barn by a permit from his lady. 
 "It is nil right,* had I been in your boots I would have 
 done the same. You had better come into the house and 
 take a bed,' you are welcome," said the man. "Thank 
 you, I shall be very comfortable here ; it is not very cold. 
 I prefer to remain here ; I have matches but only use 
 them for lighting my lantern. I am not a smoker } I 
 never made but one attempt, that sickened me so much, 
 that I never made the second attempt. I have fed my 
 cattle with your hay, how much shall I pay you?" I 
 asked. "Not an}'thing ; not a dime will I take. I may 
 want the same favor some time," said the man. "I may 
 leave early in the morning, before }'ou are up," I said. 
 "Stop and get your breakfast before you leave. Good 
 night." "Good night," I replied. 
 
 Early on the morning of November 2nd, I was up 
 making ready to leave, and left the ranche mid- way of the 
 mountain at six o'clock. I went on down the mountain, 
 coming to the road I should have taken at Dalton. This 
 road would have taken me around the left side of the 
 mountain, instead of over it and through Windsor. The 
 map told me that Windsor was in the right direction. 
 Therefore, I went over the mountain, and several miles 
 out of my way ; and a more disagreeable road I have not 
 found on my long journey. Now I am on a good road. 
 Had it not been for yesterday's snow, I should have had a 
 good day's travel. My last few miles have been free from 
 mud and snow ; to-morrow I hope to find it still better. 
 About half-past four o'clock I came to an old-fashioned 
 New England farm house. I went to the door and rang 
 the bell, which was answered by an elderly lad" 
 
THE FARM. 353 
 
 "Madame," I said, "I am travelling; it is about time 
 that I should know where I am to stop for the night. It 
 is going to be a cold, frosty night, and I would like to 
 get under cover ; your shed will answer my purpose. I 
 would like some hay for my cattle, I carry grain and my 
 own grub ; all I wish is hay for my cattle?" "My hus 
 band is in the barn taking care of his cattle ; he will be 
 in soon. Perhaps I had better sound the horn, it will 
 hasten him along." She took down the old tin-horn giv 
 ing it a couple of blasts, which brought the old gentleman 
 to the house. "Richard, this man wants to stop over 
 night under the shed, and wants some hay for his cattle," 
 said the lad} T . "Travelling, are you ; where are you from 
 and where are you going? Why I ask these questions is, 
 you represent the man that I saw an account of in the 
 newspapers, travelling from California to Massachusetts.'' 
 "I am the man." "Do you belong in Massachusetts ; 
 what t )wn?" asked the man. "I do ; the town of Web 
 ster," I replied. "I have plenty of room in the barn 
 for the cattle, which will be much more comfortable. It 
 will cost you no more," said the man. I concluded to 
 have them in the barn ; they were well cared for. "We 
 will go into the house and see what the woman will do for 
 you. She ought to do as well for you as I have done for 
 your cattle." We went into the house, he saying, "Wife, 
 this man has done a great thing. We will never have an 
 other opportunity to show our hospitality." "I can give 
 the man a good supper and a good bed, and in the morn 
 ing a good breakfast and lunch for his dinner. I will do 
 so much," said the wife. 
 
 The morning of the 3rd I was up as usual, getting 
 ready to leave the old New England farm-house, which I 
 left at seven o'clock, with good mornings on both sides ; 
 with success on one side and a thank you on the other. 
 It was a fine morning, a good road and every thing in 
 
354 TURNERS FALLS. 
 
 harmony. About twelve o'clock I made a factory village. 
 Here we stopped for dinner, which was just one hour, and 
 then went on and came to a railroad, which we crossed, 
 and onward to a river which we crossed on a suspension 
 bridge. Here was a fine plat of grass. I stopped and 
 allowed my cattle a grass supper and while they were eat 
 ing I gathered fuel and made a fire, boiling water for 
 coffee, and ate my supper. Having a good road and a fine 
 evening, I concluded to travel a while. Here my stop 
 was two hours. I went forward and about midnight 
 reached Greenfield. We went under a shed, I made up 
 my bed, laid me down and had a good night's rest. While 
 in Pittsfield I had not fully decided on my direction to 
 travel, having two sisters, one in Marlow, New Hamp 
 shire, and one in Webster, Massachusetts. The one in 
 New Hampshire I did not positively know that she was 
 there. I wrote the Postmaster at Marlow, asking if Mrs. 
 A. Emerson was in Marlow, and please write me at 
 Greenfield, Massachusetts. Leaving Pittsfield, I took 
 my directions to Greenfield. Greenfield lay to my left 
 and Northampton to my right. Had I known positively 
 which place to travel to, I should have gone to North 
 ampton, for Webster; had it been Marlow, I should 
 have gone direct to Keene. On my arrival in Greenfield, 
 I went to the Post-office, but it being Sunday it was not 
 open. I called upon the Postmaster, who, not being at 
 home I was delayed in getting my mail, as there was one. 
 
 Turners Falls. On the 4th of November I left Green 
 field about two o'clock in the afternoon for Marlow, where 
 I arrived on the 7th, about seven o'clock in the evening. 
 On leaving Greenfield, my direction was east to Turners 
 Falls. Here I crossed the Connecticut river twice, on two 
 suspension bridges ; one to get into the city and one to 
 get out. The one above the Falls is much larger than 
 the one below; both are very fine bridges. I passed 
 
WINCHESTER. 355 
 
 directly through the town, making no stop. I found it 
 difficult to get through, as the boys were under no re 
 straint whatever, but I succeeded in crossing the bridge 
 and went on, coming to the town of Gill. Here, on the 
 3rd of April, 1880, Sunday. I stopped with a friend on 
 my way to California. I thought it not more than right 
 that I should stop on my return. On my arrival I was 
 received with much pleasure and we were all well cared 
 for. Many questions were asked and disposed of, which 
 made a lengthy evening. I was strongly urged to remain 
 a few days, but I was anxious to get to my journey's end, 
 that I might get a rest. 
 
 Winchester. On the morning of the 5th, about eight 
 o'clock I left Gill, and about eleven o'clock came to the 
 Connecticut river. Here we crossed the river on a boat 
 into Northfield, where we took dinner. After a stop of 
 two hours we went on, but our good road was left behind. 
 I am about leaving Massachusetts, by simply slipping 
 over the line into New Hampshire. I am now travel 
 ling in that State, what a change in the roads from 
 one state to another ; such a change ought not to be. 
 About four o'clock we passed through Winchester, where 
 we made a short stop, feeding my cattle with grain and 
 then went on ; I concluding to travel a while the first part 
 of the night and make Keene early in the morning. I 
 continued my journey until I could not travel any fur 
 ther, I was so weary and sleepy that I would drop to sleep 
 while walking beside my horse. I stopped and made my 
 horse fast to a post and laid nryself down on the ground, 
 without spreading my blankets. I was so weary and 
 sleepy that I at once went to sleep. A passing team 
 awoke me and I got up, feeling as well as usual and went 
 on. It was not long before I commenced to feel sleepy 
 again. On ahead I saw a light and I spoke to my horse, 
 4 'Fanny, we will make that light and then stop for the 
 
356 WINCHESTER. 
 
 night." I turned in and went to the house. A man was 
 sitting in front of a pile of turnips and was cutting off 
 the tops. I spoke to the man, saying, "Good evening. 
 I am travelling and intended to have made Keene to 
 night, but something peculiar has come over me. I am 
 so sleepy that I drop to sleep while walking beside my 
 horse. I stopped a short distance back and laid down, 
 and I at once fell asleep and was awakened by a passing 
 team. I got up and came on, but soon the sleepiness 
 came upon me again and your light brought me here. 
 Can I lay down under your shed awhile, I am in want of 
 rest. I have been travelling continually since last May, 
 by night and day." "Where did you start from last 
 May?" asked the stranger. "From Ogden, Utah," I re 
 plied. "That is a long distance from here," he said. 
 "About three thousand miles," I replied, "Stranger, 
 give me your hand," he said. I gave him my hand. 
 "Stranger, I will call you comrade as 3*011 have given me 
 the signs of the Grand Army. I thought I saw your 
 badge, had I seen it sooner I would have given }'ou my 
 hand at once. Comrade, what department do you be 
 long to?" "I belong to the Massachusetts department, 
 Post 61," I replied. "Have you the countersign?" he 
 asked. "I have the National countersign, but not the 
 Post. I have not met with my Post for several years ; I 
 suppose I have been suspended for non-payment of dues ; 
 you understand its workings," I replied. "Comrade, I 
 have room in my barn for }*our animals, hay and grain, 
 and for } r ourself a good bed in the house ; so much I can 
 do for you, and it is with pleasure that I do it." After 
 my cattle were in the barn and well cared for, we went 
 into the house. "Wife, this stranger is a great traveller ; 
 he sa} r s he has come fr>m Ogden here, a distance of three 
 thousand miles," said the comrade. "I think I read in 
 the paper of a man travelling from California to Massa 
 chusetts with a horse and carriage, leading a cow," said 
 
KEENE* 357 
 
 the wife. "Comrade, I have said nothing about Califor 
 nia, but I will, under the circumstances. When I relate 
 the whole story it makes a long one, and should I ever 
 write it on paper it will make a book of many pages. As 
 I have just said, I will give you the long story. One 
 year ago last June I left Eureka, Humboldt Bay, Califor 
 nia, for Massachusetts. Came down to San Francisco, 
 three hundred and three miles, on the overland road, so 
 called. From San Francisco to Ogden. When in Ogden 
 I footed up one thousand four huundred and thirty-seven 
 miles that I had travelled. In Ogden I remained nearly 
 eight months, leaving there May 14th. From Ogden here, 
 about three thousand miles. My travelling road is many 
 more miles than the railroad. Remember, stranger, I could 
 give you the items on this long journey if there were time. 
 To-morrow I hope to make Marlow, about eighteen miles 
 from here. In Marlow I have a brother and sister, with 
 whom I intend to stop over Thanksgiving, then turn 
 back to Keene, and on to Webster, Mass." "Comrade, 
 my wife has made } r ou a dish of tea ; sit at the table and 
 take some, and also eat of what is on the table ; help 
 yourself." I took the seat and made mj'self acquainted 
 with such as I desired. "Comrade, it will be morning 
 by-and-by, and I would like }'ou to help me away early. 
 I carry tea, coffee and sugar } T es, and milk. I have not 
 been without milk since leaving California. I will get up 
 and feed my animals, make a fire and cook a pot of coffee ; 
 you need not get up." In the morning the lady 'did not 
 wait for me to make the fire ; no, she was up and dressed 
 and ready for my departure. 
 
 Keene. On the morning of the 6th, after being enter 
 tained and cared for by a Grand Army comrade and lady, 
 I left for Keene. On entering the city I was met by a 
 marshal and his assistant in an open bugg} T . We passed 
 the compliments of the day, and the marshal inquired, 
 
358 MARLOW. 
 
 "Are you the man that has almost travelled across the 
 continent with that outfit?" "Yes, sir; I am," I re 
 plied. "We were notified of your coming to the cit} 7 ; go 
 on up to the park ; we would like to meet 3*011 there," 
 said the marshal. I went along, coming to the park, which 
 was filled with people, eager to see and hear. More than 
 four thousand three hundred miles of questions were asked 
 and answered. While I was entertaining the people, a 
 friend of mine, an old acquaintance, came through the 
 crowd to me and said, "Warren B., is this }-ou, all the 
 way from California?" "Yes, Charlie, it is I." "As 
 soon as you can leave these people come up to my house. 
 Should my wife learn that } T OU are here she would be here 
 before you could get to them." About eleven o'clock 
 I left the people and went up to my friend Charles' house, 
 where I remained the rest of the day. 
 
 Marlow. Eight o'clock on the morning of the 7th I left 
 Keene for Marlow. About twelve o'clock we made Gil- 
 sum. On my arrival I found many people waiting for me. 
 "What does this mean?" I asked. "Friend traveller, we 
 received a dispatch from Keene this morning, saying the 
 man from California, across the continent with hi3 outfit, 
 left Keene this morning for Marlow, and would arrive in 
 Gilsum about twelve at noon. This telegram being circula 
 ted, has brought out this gathering. Stranger, we were 
 anxious to see you the man that has travelled across the 
 continent with a horse and carriage, cow and dog. Yes, 
 stranger, we have assembled here for this purpose, and to 
 congratulate you on your arrival. You have accomplished 
 a great undertaking ; we are not able to grasp it. Stranger, 
 come down to the hotel and get some refreshments ; }'ou 
 are heartily welcome." We went to the hotel and took 
 dinner. After dinner, in fact, even while at dinner, many 
 questions were asked. I disposed of them satisfactorily. 
 About two o'clock 1 asked to be excused, as I was anxious 
 
MARLOW. 359 
 
 to reach Marlow that day. As I was about to leave three 
 cheers were given to the man from across the continent. 
 I stopped and said : "Ladies and gentlemen, I thank you 
 for this ovation ; it was wholly unexpected. In a few 
 days I will return and see you again. Good afternoon." 
 4 'Good afternoon, and success to you," was the reply. I 
 left just at two o'clock. About six o'clock, as I was about 
 to enter Marlow, I was met by a delegation, who asked for 
 a short delay, so that the band, with a delegation of citi 
 zens, might have the time to come and escort me into the 
 town. "Gentlemen, this is wholly unexpected. This 
 will call out some remarks from me which I am not pre 
 pared for at this time, but as }'ou are wanting something, I 
 know not what, I will cheerfully comply with your re 
 quest." Not long, however, before I saw a procession 
 coming towards me with torches. I fell in their rear and 
 soon found myself in* the town, directly in front of my 
 brother and sister's house. "Stranger," said the marshal, 
 "for several da}*s we have been looking for you. We 
 thought, should we omit the holding of this reception, we 
 would never have another opportunity of the kind. You, a 
 stranger, travelling across the continent as }"ou have, have 
 accomplished no small thing. We will not call on you 
 to-night for any remarks, but at some future time, before 
 you leave the town, we would like to listen to you in re 
 gard to the many things that must have transpired or 
 come under your observation while on your long journey.'* 
 "Strangers, I thank you for this reception ; it was wholly 
 unexpected ; I have had no such dreams on my way. 
 When I first started on my journey I made up my mind 
 that I would take things as they came and dispose of 
 them to the best of my ability. I have done this, and 
 have accomplished that which I was told could not be 
 done. Strangers, you have surrounded and captured me 
 and my family ; we surrender and ask for a parole." Three 
 cheers were called for the stranger from California who 
 
360 MARLOW. 
 
 has crossed the continent ; which were given, and the com- 
 Pany dispersed to their homes. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 FROM MARLOW, NEW HAMPSHIRE, TO WEBSTER, AND 
 WEBSTER TO LYNN, MASSACHUSETTS, AND RETURN. 
 
 On the 7th of November, 1883, I arrived in Marlow, 
 New Hampshire. It was my intention to stop here four 
 weeks, to pass Thanksgiving with my sister, and then 
 return en-route to Webster, Massachusetts. As the time 
 was expiring and just as I was about to leave for my 
 home, the first snow-storm of the season set in, so I was 
 compelled to remain until the first of May, 1884. My 
 stay here was four months longer than I intended ; being 
 completely snow-bound that length of time. 
 
 Marlow is a town situated in the most northern part of 
 Cheshire county, in a delightful valley, surrounded by 
 lofty hills, that are visible for miles. It has two churches, 
 three stores, a post-office, a hotel, a flouring mill and a 
 mill for cutting lumber, and a very extensive tannery, 
 which consumes two thousand cords of bark annually. I 
 was told that the celebrated calf-skin, known as the 
 Wesson Calf, was made here. This tannery gives em 
 ployment to many people. The citizens of The village ar^ 
 enterprising ; their houses show this. In painting their 
 buildings they use white lead, instead of red, with a 
 shading of green, which I admired much. 
 
TROY. 361 
 
 Gilsum. On the morning of the 5th of May, 1884, I 
 left Marlow for Webster, Massachusetts, and made Troy 
 the same day ; distance, twentj^-eight miles. In making 
 Troy, I passed through the town of Gilsum and the city of 
 Keene. Gilsum is a manufacturing town with much en 
 terprise. In 1880 I passed through this place, when on 
 my way to California, and in 1883 on my return, I again 
 passed through. I knew the village, by some old land 
 marks, but a great change had taken place and many new 
 marks were to be seen, that showed plainly that the vil 
 lagers were up early to work as well as early to rest. 
 
 Keene is a beautiful little city, with a population of 
 seven thousand, situated in a valley, surrounded by the 
 hills of the old Granite State, midway of the county, and 
 is the county seat. Entering the city from the south you 
 cross the railroad ; in your front is a fine park, not large, 
 but lovely. It is the beautiful shade trees that make it 
 lovely. 
 
 Troy. On the morning of the 6th I left Troy, making 
 Gardner the same da} 7 ; distance, twenty-two miles, pass 
 ing through the towns of Fitzwilliam and Winchendon. 
 Troy is situated in the southern part of Cheshire county, 
 near Monadnock mountain, on the Cheshire railroad, 
 about ten miles from Keene. It is a very respectable 
 town, with a fine hotel, called the Monadnock House. 
 I can speak well of the house, and more so of the land 
 lord, because I and my family were well entertained there 
 without money and without price. 
 
 Fitzwilliam, is a much larger town than Troy. I passed 
 Erectly through, making no stop. I noticed that it pre 
 tended to support two hotels. I went on as I was 
 anxious to get into Massachusetts, knowing that there I 
 should have good roads, which New Hampshire did not 
 
362 HOLDEN. 
 
 have. About ten o'clock I made the town of Winchendon 
 where we took dinner. After a rest of two hours we 
 moved on, having a splendid road, and at four o'clock we 
 entered Gardner, making only a short stop, and then 
 made South Gardner, where we stopped for the night ; 
 making mj'self known as the man who had travelled 
 almost across the continent. Quite a crowd of people 
 gathered around me to learn the particulars, which con 
 sumed much of my time. The landlord said, "Stranger^ 
 our supper is read} 7 ; you must be in need of something 
 about this time." I answered, "I never refuse. I have 
 had many such invitations, but never refused. Could I 
 have had such when crossing the Rocky Mountains ; but 
 no, nothing of the kind was offered me ; not even a house 
 for hundreds of miles." "Stranger, you must be a brick, 
 well burned, to have accomplished such a journey across 
 the continent, and all alone at that. I don't think that 
 we have a correct idea of what you have accomplished. 
 Stranger, go to the barn with my hostler and give him direc- 
 t,ions how you want your cattle fed, and give them a good 
 bed. Come in and we will give } T OU a good bed, we will 
 never have another opportunity to do so under the same 
 circumstances," said the landlord. "No, sir; there is not 
 another man that would be so foolish," I answered. "Not 
 much foolishness about it, you bet. Stranger, would you 
 travel the same road over again?" asked the landlord. 
 "Landlord, it would take some money to have me re 
 turn the same road," I replied. 
 
 Holden. On the morning of the 7th I left South Gard. 
 ner, making Holden the same day ; travelling through the 
 towns of Hubbardston and Rutland, arriving in Holden 
 at four o'clock in the afternoon, in a rain-storm. From 
 Gardner to Hubbardston my road was good, and from 
 Hubbardston to Holden it was not as good, as it was hilly 
 and rough over the cut-off. On my arrival in Holden I 
 
WEBSTER. 363 
 
 stopped with an old friend, formerly of Webster, for the 
 night. 
 
 The morning of the 8th dawned on a rainy day, which 
 continued throughout the whole day, yet the day passed 
 by with much interest. So many questions to ask and to 
 answer that consumed much time. Some of the time was 
 passed on the hay mow, fast asleep, and some in cleaning 
 the harness and other needed things. 
 
 jSincrott Library 
 
 Webster. On the morning of the 9th I was up and 
 around early, anxious to see my old home again. I fed 
 my animals, greased the wagon axles and was all ready 
 to start onward, with twenty-five miles between me and 
 home and much mud to encounter. I left Holden just at 
 six o'clock and was advised to take the old road to Wor 
 cester, eight miles distant ; more hills, but less mud. I 
 took the old road and went on. About nine o'clock I 
 was within the limits of the city, and on coming to the 
 Boulevard, I stopped to consider whether I should go 
 through the city or around it. 1 reasoned thus : If I 
 made an attempt to go through the cit}^, I would not be 
 able to reach home; if I go around, I would not be de 
 tained by the people, and I would be able to reach home. 
 So I turned into the Boulevard and went into the city ; on 
 coming to the cemetery I stopped and fed my cattle with 
 grain, myself and dog with cold boiled ham, brown bread 
 and hot coffee. After a stop of one hour we went on, 
 passing on to North Auburn and on to Oxford. Here we 
 stopped, because we could go no further, as we were sur 
 rounded by many of my old friends and acquaintances, 
 who had been looking for us for weeks. Some of these 
 were from Webster. While in Oxford a dispatch was 
 sent to Webster, saying, "The man from California, 
 across the continent, with horse, carriage, cow and dog, 
 is now in Oxford, on his way to Webster and will arrive 
 there about seven p. m." I went on, amid cheers that 
 
364 WEBSTER. 
 
 were being given for the man from California, across the 
 continent. About two miles from Webster, an escort of 
 carriages was in waiting, and a little further, an escort 
 on foot was in waiting. On my arrival in the town, 
 before I reached Main street, I was surrounded by hun 
 dreds, I could scarcely move. I remained on Main street 
 for a long time. Salutations of all kinds were given me, 
 shaking of hands ; "How are you, Johnson ; you have ar 
 rived, you old hero ; Johnson, you beat the d 1 all hol 
 low ; we knew you would make it ; we said you would 
 come through, and you have." "Gentlemen, please give 
 way and let the man pass on up to the Joslin House," said 
 a voice in the crowd. I went on to the Joslin House and 
 stopped. "Gentlemen," said the same voice, "he has ar 
 rived ; look at him, do you know him? It is Warren B. 
 Johnson, he is one of our old citizens ; he helped to make 
 this*town of Webster. He went out to California, but a 
 short time ago and has returned home, not the same way 
 he went, by rail, but on foot. He has crossed the contin 
 ent with that horse and carriage, leading that cow more 
 than four thousand five hundred miles. On foot, remem 
 ber, not by rail ; how does he look?" "All right," said 
 another voice from the crowd. "Yes, gentlemen, he looks 
 all right. I do not think there is another man living that 
 could have done what he has. Gentlemen, I will make 
 you acquainted with Warren B. Johnson, the man that 
 has almost crossed the American continent, from Califor 
 nia to Massachusetts." "Gentlemen, friends and stran 
 gers, the remarks friend Shumway has made, were most of 
 them correct. Where he sa} T s there is not a man living that 
 could have done this, we will strike out. Gentlemen, I 
 wish to be excused from saying much to-night. I have 
 travelled from Holden to-day, eight miles beyond Worces 
 ter and am not in tune to play the music, but can say this 
 much, that the reception given me to-night^ is no smaji 
 reception. I have not the language to express to you my 
 
WEBSTER. 
 
 365 
 
 feelings. This ovation was wholly unexpected. I will 
 say, however, at some future time, I will give you a his 
 tory of my travels, which no doubt will be interesting to 
 you all." Three cheers for the man that has crossed the 
 continent from the Pacific to the Atlantic, was called for 
 and given, after which I drove into H. I. Joslin's stables 
 and put up for the night. For several days after my ar 
 rival at home, the people came long distances to see me 
 and the animals, that had travelled almost from ocean to 
 ocean. All kinds of questions were asked and I enter 
 tained them with pleasure. The question was asked, 
 "Did you keep a daily record of your travels, 'if so, make 
 a book of them,* it must make an interesting book." 
 Some would add, "There is money to be made in the book t 
 and you are the man that should be benefitted by it." 
 This prompted me not to stop at Webster, but go on and 
 make the Atlantic ocean. Then I could truly say, that I 
 had crossed the American continent, from ocean to ocean. 
 Before leaving Webster I had fully decided on the place I 
 would make the ocean ; some of my friends desired me to 
 make it at Plymouth, as Plymouth was aq historic place. 
 My desire was to make the ocean at Lynn, as I could 
 reach it in two day's less travel. 
 
 On the morning of June llth, I left Webster for the 
 Atlantic coast. After travelling about two miles I came 
 to two roads ; to the right was Plymouth, and to the left 
 was Lynn. I stopped and hesitated which of the two 
 roads to take. I did not stop long, and took the road for 
 Lynn. I went on to West Sutton and stopped directly 
 in front of a blacksmith's shop. "Can I get that cow 
 shod?" I asked. "No, sir," replied the blacksmith. I 
 went on about three miles and coming to the town of 
 Sutton, stopping again in front of a blacksmith's shop. I 
 asked, "Will you shoe that cow for me?" "Yes, sir ; I 
 will," said the blacksmith. I led the cow into the brake 
 
366 WESTBOROUGH. 
 
 and made her fast to the stanchions. "Will she let me 
 shoe her?" asked the blacksmith. "Yes, sir, she will; 
 she will behave like a lady," I replied. "Did she ever 
 have shoes on her feet before?" asked the blacksmith. 
 "Yes, she has worn shoes many miles. Perhaps you 
 don't know that that cow has travelled almost across the 
 continent," I remarked. "Is that the cow the papers 
 said so much about?" asked the blacksmith. "That is 
 the California cow," I answered. "Where are you going 
 with her?" asked the blacksmith. "I am on my way to 
 Lynn," I replied. I left Button about twelve o'clock and 
 about three o'clock I passed through Grafton. 
 
 Grafton is a fine town, one of the leading towns in the 
 State, with much wealth and enterprise ; the towns are 
 scarce that can come up to it. About seven p. m., I 
 made Westborough. Here I stopped for the night, with 
 an old New England Farmer. Every thing free as usual,' 
 costs nothing to travel ; that is, it costs me nothing. 
 
 Westborough. On the morning of the 12th, after 
 breakfast, we went to the centre of the town and I 
 made a call on friend "Judd," formerly of my own town. 
 Westborough is a fine town, none in the county a head of 
 it ; none in the county is equal to it in beauty and enter- 
 prize. There are towns much larger, but they always fall 
 behind the smaller towns. Stand in front of the Whitney 
 House, where do you find another that is equal to it in 
 the county ? I did not find it on my long journey ; I have 
 passed through hundreds of towns. Coming through 
 Illinois, I passed through the town of Princeton, it was 
 prince of princes. I am on my way to Lynn. If I find 
 a town that surpasses Westborough, I will give it notice. 
 About nine o'clock we went on, it was a very warm morn 
 ing and about eleven we came to a fine shade, where we 
 stopped, it being too hot to travel. A little distance 
 
WALTHAM. 367 
 
 above was a house ; the man of the house came down 
 to where we were resting. "Stranger," said the man, 
 "you are travelling, it seems. A very hot day to travel 
 with that cow." "Very hot indeed," I replied. "Stranger, 
 move up to the house, I have a good shade forjxwr cattle. 
 I will give them some dinner, and yourself also," said the 
 man. "Thank you, I will," I answered. We went to 
 the house and a good dinner was the result. About two 
 o'clock we went on, it was very hot, almost suffocating. 
 About four o'clock we passed through Southboro. This 
 is a line town, with some very fine shade trees ; but it is 
 situated too far from the Boston and Albany Railroad. 
 All towns and parts of towns that stand on the Boston 
 and Albany Railroad do grow wonderfully. About five 
 o'clock we passed through the town of Framingham. I 
 merely stopped to give my animals water and then went 
 on. Framingham is an old town, no older than others, 
 but when a railroad cuts through a portion of a town like 
 this, it's gone up to rise no more. About eight o'clock 
 we made Cochituate and stopped for the night. This was 
 a rational stop ; it was at the right time and at the right 
 place. My regards to my friend Lyon and lad} r , for their 
 hospitality. Cochituate we will call a fine town. I only 
 know it from reputation ; I entered late at night and left 
 it earl}*, therefore, I can't judge, personally. I can and 
 do say, that friend Lyon and lady has the finest house, 
 inside, that I have entered, and I have entered several, 
 but not with false keys. 
 
 Waltham. On the morning of the 13th we left Cochit 
 uate, but not until we all had breakfasted. The lad}', 
 Mrs. I/yon, insisted on my sta}'ing to breakfast and I was 
 obliged to comply with her request ; I could not consist 
 ently decline. Our next stop was at Waltham, the 
 day being so exceedingly hot that I could not travel 
 yet I was able to make the town and go into 
 
368 WALTHAM. 
 
 camp. While in camp I was reminded of a gentle 
 man that went from my town to Waitham, by the name 
 of Graves. I made inquiries and found that my camp was 
 but eight rods from his house. I called at the house, 
 finding no one at home, I went to the next house, and 
 was informed that Mr. Graves' place of business was 
 down town and his lady had not returned from a ride. 
 As soon as Mrs. Graves returned, she was informed 
 of my calling and made haste to meet me ; we both 
 were glad at the meeting. "Mr. Johnson, sir; can 
 this be thee?" said Mrs? Graves. "It is I," I replied. 
 "And where are you going with your animals?" she 
 asked. "I am on my wa\ r to Lynn ; to make the Atlantic 
 Ocean. I started from the Pacific and am anxious to 
 make the Atlantic, so that I can give my book the title, 
 'From the Pacific to the Atlantic.'" "And you are 
 going to make a book of jour travels, are you?" asked 
 Mrs. Graves. "I am," I replied. "Mr. Johnson, I 
 want a book* it must be an interesting book," said Mrs. 
 Graves. "Where is your husband, Mrs. Graves?" I 
 asked. "He is down town ; he will be home soon,' it is 
 time for him now ; here he is. Mr. Graves, come here, 
 quickly !" said Mrs. Graves. He came, and after the 
 usual greeting, he said, "How are }*ou, Mr. Johnson?" 
 "I am well, thank } r ou," I replied. "And here is the 
 California cow. Mr. Johnson, where are you going?" 
 asked Mr. Graves. "I am on my way to Lynn, to make 
 the Atlantic, so as to give my book the title, 'From the 
 Pacific to the Atlantic,' " I answered. "I see. Wile, 
 how about your supper?" inquired Mr. Graves. "I came 
 here as soon as I returned from riding ; I did not even go 
 into the house, and have been here ever since that time," 
 replied Mrs. Graves. "I think, Mr. Johnson would like 
 some supper," said Mr. Graves. "I will go in and get 
 the tea ready," she answered. It was not long before 
 the bell sounded for tea. "Mr. Johnson, the bell says 
 
LYNN. 369 
 
 tea is ready, 4 we will go and see what the lady has to say 
 about it," said Mr. Graves. We went in and Mrs. Graves 
 said, "Come, husband; come, Mr. Johnson, and please 
 take that seat." I took the seat, a fine chair, in the centre 
 of the table. On the table stood a dish of fine straw 
 berries, with cream. In the rear was a plate of bread 
 and a dish of butter. The strawberries' left and right 
 flanks were supported by two batteries of cake, which did 
 excellent service. When through supper, I said to Mrs. 
 Graves, "You have given us a good supper, well done." 
 "Thank you, Mr. Johnson, I think you are deserving of 
 as good as you have had." 
 
 Lynn. On the morning of the 14th I left Waltham 
 for Lynn, travelling through the towns of Watertown, 
 Brighton, Cambridge, East Cambridge, Somerville and 
 Everett, arriving in Lynn at two o'clock in the afternoon. 
 On my arrival, I travelled directly to the beach. I could 
 not get over the breakwater, down to the Atlantic's 
 waters. I returned to the Ocean House, receiving per 
 mission to pass through the gate and down on the beach, 
 and into the Atlantic's waters. While this ceremony was 
 being performed, there was but one person that witnessed 
 the performance. I returned to the city, feeding my 
 cattle and left for Webster, returning to Everett where I 
 camped for the night, and ultimately reached Webster all 
 right ; thus finishing my journey from the Pacific to the 
 Atlantic, without any serious mishap or accident to make 
 me regret my long and perilous overland journey. 
 
JOHN HOWELL 
 IMPORTER