Summer was now upon us, and the heat at midday
was intense, although the nights, as usual, were cold. Deprived of all
pack animals, except our dog, we were perforce reduced to the lightest
of gear, and discomfort was our continual lot. Food, however, we could
still secure, abundant meat, and sometimes the roots of plants which I
dug up and tested, though I scarce knew what they were.
We moved steadily on toward the west and northwest, but although we
crossed many old Indian trails, we saw no more of these travelers of the
Plains. At that time the country which we were traversing had no white
population, although the valley of the Platte had long been part of a
dusty transcontinental highway. It was on this highway that the savages
were that summer hanging, and even had we been certain of its exact
location, I should have feared to enter the Platte valley, lest we
should meet red men rather than white.
At times we lost the buffalo for days, more especially as we approached
the foothills of the mountains, and although antelope became more
numerous there, they were far more difficult to kill, and apt to cost us
more of our precious ammunition. I planned to myself that if we did not
presently escape I would see what might be done toward making a bow and
arrows for use on small game, which we could not afford to purchase at
the cost of precious powder and ball.
Pages:
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278