fourteen miles reached another. A ride of twenty-five miles brought us to a hollow, where, finding good water, we encamped. Resting but a short time we continued our journey, and in ten miles, over a rich rolling country, arrived at Council Grove, where our train was waiting for us.

Council Grove is situated in a rich grassy bottom, well watered, and heavily timbered. It is a settlement of about twenty frame and log houses, and scattered up and down the stream are several Indian villages. At a short distance from the road is a large and substantially built Methodist mission-house, constructed of limestone, which is found here in inexhaustible quantities. This stone is excellent as a building material, and lies in strata of from six inches to three feet in thickness: lintels and arches are made of it as it is extracted from the quarries, which extend for fifteen miles up the stream. Day's march, 32 miles; total distance, 122 miles.

May 19. We now considered ourselves fairly embarked on our journey, for until leaving Council Grove we felt as if we were still within the boundaries of civilization. Even the huts which we passed occasionally on the road, though inhabited only by Indians, removed that sense of utter loneliness which impresses the traveller upon the boundless prairie. Mr. Beale had selected only such men as were inured by long habit to the privations and hardships which we expected to encounter. One, the Delaware, was an experienced hunter, and to his unerring rifle we owed, during the journey, many abundant repasts, when otherwise we would have been upon short allowance. While at Council Grove, we had some mules shod, and the provisions that had been consumed on the journey from Westport, were replaced. The animals having been well packed, and our arms and ammunition inspected, we bid adieu to Council Grove in the morning, and after a pleasant ride of seventeen miles encamped near water in a hollow on the roadside. The weather was fine, a cool breeze refreshing the air. Some prairie hens, ducks, and plovers were shot. In the afternoon, after travelling fifteen miles, we encamped near the "Lost Spring." The grass along the road was good, and we passed several pools which probably dry up in midsummer.

Since our departure from Westport we had seen many graves on each side of the road, and some of the camping-places had

the appearance of village graveyards. The cholera raged on the plains a few years ago, occasioning a fearful mortality, and these mounds remain to attest its ravages. Through carelessness or haste, they were often too shallow to protect their contents from the wolves, and it frequently happened that he who in the morning was hastening forward in health and spirits towards the golden bourn, was ere night a mangled corpse, his bones scattered, by the savage hunger of the wolf, over the plain. It was now deemed prudent to keep guard, as we were approaching Indian hunting-grounds, and were liable at any moment to meet a predatory band. Eight of the party kept watch, each man being relieved every hour. Day's march, 32 miles; distance from Westport, 154 miles.

May 20. The night was cold and frosty. Started soon after sunrise, and, after travelling sixteen miles, encamped on Cottonwood Creek; a pretty brook, lined with cottonwood and oak trees, and alive with small fish, some of which were caught with a hook and line.

Resumed our march at noon, and travelled over a flat uninteresting country with little water. This day saw antelope for the first time. Met Major Rucker, and Lieutenants Heath and Robinson on their way from New Mexico to Fort Leavenworth. They informed us that at a short distance in advance of us were large bands of buffalo. Encamped, as the sun was setting, on a brook called Turkey Creek, where we found an abundant supply of water, but no wood. We here overtook Mr. Antoine Leroux, on his way to Taos, and considered ourselves fortunate in securing the services of so experienced a guide. He did not join us at once, as he was desirous of seeing his train safely over one or two bad places in advance of us, but promised to overtake us in a day or two. Day's march, 35 miles; distance from Westport, 189 miles.

May 21. Raised camp at sunrise, and after a ride of thirty miles stopped to noon on the Little Arkansas. This stream is difficult to cross during a continuance of heavy rains, but has little water in it at this season.

twelve miles from last camp.

Passed good water and grass in

We were all on the lookout for buffaloes. It was five days since we had left Westport, and as yet our eyes had not been gladdened by the sight of even one. Hoping to fall in with

them more readily by diverging from the beaten track, I left the party soon after sunrise, and turning to the left, went a few miles in the direction of the Arkansas. After a ride of two hours, I observed afar off many dark objects which resembled trees skirting the horizon, but, after a closer scrutiny, their change of position convinced me that they were buffaloes. I slowly approached them, and, in order to obtain a nearer view without giving them the alarm, dismounted, and, urging my horse forwards, concealed myself behind him. I thus got within a hundred yards of the herd. Bands of antelope and prairie wolves were intermingled with the buffaloes, who had come down to a rivulet to drink. Of the latter some were fighting, others wallowing, drinking, or browsing. I was just congratulating myself upon my ruse in getting so near to them, this being my first sight of these noble animals, when my horse, suddenly raising his head, uttered such a sonorous neigh as put the whole troop to flight. Away they galloped, one band after another taking the alarm, until the whole herd, numbering several thousand, was in motion, and finally disappeared in clouds of dust. Despairing of getting such another opportunity for a shot, I reluctantly turned my horse's head in the direction where I supposed the rest of the party to be. A few hours' ride brought me back to them. They too had fallen in with buffaloes, and, in their eagerness to secure the first prize, each man had taken two or three shots at a straggling old bull, an exile from the herd; he fell, pierced with twenty-three balls. He was, however, too old and tough to be eaten, and was left for his friends the cayotes.

Buffaloes now became such an ordinary occurrence that the novelty soon wore off, and we had more humps, tongues, and marrow-bones than the greatest gourmand could have desired.

In the afternoon travelled ten miles to Owl Creek, one of the head-waters of the Neosho, where we found good grass and timber, but no water. Passed many pools, much muddied by buffaloes. Mr. Leroux joined us here, but remained behind again to see his train across this creek.

Early in the evening, another rain and thunderstorm broke over us, and lasted all night; the grass, and everything metallic, threw off sparks of electricity; the rain descended in torrents, and it was with difficulty that a fire could be kindled. A more

unpromising prospect could scarcely be imagined. Some endeavored to secure the packs and provisions, whilst others, stoically resigning themselves to their fate, wrapped their dripping blankets around them, and slept in spite of the storm. Day's march, 40 miles; distance from Westport, 229 miles.

May 22. Moved camp without breakfast, for, notwithstanding the rain, no water for making coffee had been caught. The day broke clear and bright, and large bands of buffaloes being in our vicinity, Mr. Beale and myself went out for a hunt. On ascending the ridge which inclosed the bottom in which we were encamped, long lines of these animals could be seen quite near, walking with solemn tread, and occasionally stopping to browse or to roll; but, as we approached them to windward, they soon took the alarm, and, wheeling round, galloped off to rejoin the scattered herds in the plain. We rode some distance down the deep bed of Owl Creek, and having got to leeward of a large herd, endeavored to approach them in the Indian manner, by creeping on our hands and knees. By approaching them to leeward, and remaining perfectly motionless whenever they raise their heads to sniff the air, or evince any alarm, hunters have succeeded in getting sufficiently near to strike them with their ramrods. We, however, could only get within rifle-shot, and Mr. Beale wounding one, though not mortally, he made his escape with the rest of the band. Indians, in chasing the buffalo, use only the most practised horses; guiding them with their knees, their long lances ready for use, they rush at full speed in the midst of a herd, and piercing the animal under the shoulder, so as to penetrate the heart, they leave him to fall, and continue the chase, often killing ten or twelve in the course of a single run.

We had already overtaken and passed several large wagon and cattle trains from Texas and Arkansas, mostly bound to California. With them were many women and children; and it was pleasant to stroll into their camps in the evening and witness the perfect air of comfort and being-at-home that they presented. Their wagons drawn up in a circle, gave them at least an appearance of security; and within the inclosure the men either reclined around the camp-fires, or were busy in repairing their harness or cleaning their arms. The females milked the cows and prepared the supper; and we often en

joyed the hot cakes and fresh milk which they invited us to partake of. Tender infants in their cradles were seen under the shelter of the wagons, thus early inured to hard travel. Carpets and rocking-chairs were drawn out, and, what would perhaps shock some of our fine ladies, fresh-looking girls, whose rosy lips were certainly never intended to be defiled by the vile weed, sat around the fire, smoking the old-fashioned corn-cob pipe.

Although Mr. Beale and myself overtook camp at a late hour, we travelled a few miles farther, and encamped for the night on Walnut Creek, an insignificant brook at this season, but which is difficult to cross after rains. This is the point at which emigrants to Oregon and California, from Texas and Arkansas, generally strike this road. They prefer the route which leads them through the South Pass-to the one on the Gila, or Cooke's route, where little or no timber or water are found for long distances. Mr. Leroux again rejoined us here with the intention of remaining with us. In the evening, the Delaware brought in the humps, tongues, and marrow-bones of two fat buffalo cows. Day's march, 42 miles; distance from Westport, 271 miles.

May 23. We were again on the road at sunrise, and travelled thirty-one miles to the Pawnee Fork of the Arkansas. The sun was excessively hot, but towards noon its heat was tempered by a pleasant breeze from the northwest; crossed many gullies, which carry water only after heavy rains. We passed, on the right of the road, a remarkable butte, or spur of the hills, projecting into the plain, and presenting a broad surface of smooth rock, thickly inscribed with names. This landmark is

known as "The Pawnee Rock."

In twenty miles from last camp, we came to a well-wooded ravine, after which the country became more undulating. Pawnee Fork was swollen and turbid from the late rains, but we got good water from a spring near the camp. The Delaware brought in a fine antelope and a hare, and during our noon camp shot an old buffalo cow, much bitten by wolves.

Encamped in the evening near a pond on the roadside, where we found good pasturage, but no wood; bois de vache served us for fuel. Just before dark an enormous wolf boldly trotted into camp, but a ball from the Delaware's rifle sent him