V The Platte River 129 



experiences on the Plains ; but this scheme went 

 the way that so many of the best laid schemes of 

 mice and men go, and we have only a set of dis- 

 connected sketches, of which I give a few. 



' What a picture for an artist, working with 

 either pen or pencil, was our crossing of that 

 south fork of the Platte River, shallow and winding, 

 rippling over sands, and whirling in blue-gray pools 

 — where a harder bit of ground checked its course 

 and compelled it to expend its power on the softer 

 bed — so wide that one could hardly see across it, 

 yet so shallow that mid -leg could ford it, broken 

 by innumerable islands, dense with rugged, grayish 

 white cotton-trees and purple-tipped willows, where 

 the willow grouse clucked and crowed, and the 

 deer slunk, rustling but invisible. But shallow as 

 it was, the crossing of it was by no means an 

 easy matter, for on the sandbanks there lay broad 

 sheets of ice, frozen to the ground, and on either 

 side of the open water there projected other sheets, 

 thick enough at first, but soon tapering to a thinness 

 which let in our waggons with a smash and a splash 

 and a thump on the one side, and, on the other, 

 presented razor-like edges which woefully bothered 

 the mules who attempted to surmount them, with 

 crashings like the breaking of ten million window 

 panes. I remembered the description of the old 

 London hunt, " the asparagus beds rode awfully 

 heavy, and the cucumber frames were up to our 

 hocks." But it was mighty pretty, the honest, 



K 



