212 IN THE OLD WEST 



of the Old World than to the unlearned trappers 

 of the Rocky Mountains. The huge mass is a 

 well-known landmark to the Indians and moun- 

 taineers ; and travelers and emigrants hail it as 

 the halfway beacon between the frontiers of the 

 United States and the still distant goal of their 

 long and perilous journey. 



It was a hot sultry day in July. Not a breath 

 of air relieved the intense and oppressive heat of 

 the atmosphere, unusual here, where pleasant sum- 

 mer breezes, and sometimes stronger gales, blow 

 over the elevated plains with the regularity of 

 trade-winds. The sun, at its meridian height, 

 struck the dry sandy plain, and parched the 

 drooping buffalo-grass on its surface ; and its rays, 

 refracted and reverberating from the heated 

 ground, distorted every object seen through its 

 lurid medium. Straggling antelope, leisurely 

 crossing the adjoining prairie, appeared to be 

 gracefully moving in mid-air; whilst a scattered 

 band of buffalo bulls loomed huge and indistinct 

 in the vapory distance. In the timbered valley of 

 the river, deer and elk were standing motionless 

 in the water, under the shade of the overhanging 

 cottonwoods, seeking a respite from the persever- 

 ing attacks of swarms of horse-flies and mos- 

 quitoes ; and now and then a heavy splash was 

 heard, as they tossed their antlered heads into the 

 stream, to free them from tlie venomous insects 

 that buzzed incessantly about them. In the sandy 



