wagon containing a woman (sick to death), her son, a lad of sixteen, being afraid to attempt the crossing for fear his team would stop. It must be that this South Platte carries millions of cubic feet of sand annually into the Missouri.
On July 19 the road led up the north bank of the South Platte. Here is the best game park in the world. I believe that fifty men, properly organized, could have herded a portion of the immense droves of buffalo and kept one hundred men busy dressing and preparing beef enough in three or four days to reload every wagon heavier than when we started. It was no great hardship to make a meal on buffalo beef alone. Some of the sick, who were traveling with us under the guidance of William Sublette, rapidly improved. They ate lean buffalo meat. It may have been that the air of this region was their principal medicine. It was wonderful how far one could see.
July 20 our course still led up the north bank of the South Platte. On the twenty-first we started across to the North Platte. About 10 o'clock in the forenoon we could see immense herds of buffalo on slopes the sun strikes. They seemed resting after their morning feed, like domestic cattle in good pasture, which the wild beeves have here constantly. Just about 12 o'clock, noon, we were met by the heaviest hailstorm I ever saw or felt. The teams could not be kept with their faces toward it. Luckily they were turned without accident, and prevented from running before it. Some of the hailstones were as large as pigeon eggs, and gave a smart blow. The shower did not last five minutes, I think.
As we took the decline toward the North Platte we passed trunks and big limbs of cedar trees, which would seem to have been buried, as there was no green timber in sight. We chopped some of this and laid it into the
