A DAY ON THE PLAINS. 47 



Mother," as reiterated by one of Mark Twain's characters. 

 He professed to believe in neither God nor a future existence, 

 and yet the night we forded the Platte, when from exposure 

 he thought he was about to die, he howled like a coward for 

 fear of death. But this was nothing new in my experience 

 on the plains. The greatest blatherskites in sneering at death 

 and religion, were the most grovelling cravens when the last 

 hour seemed imminent. There were others who are still in 

 my memory, but I have mentioned enough to show what 

 manner of men I traveled with. Our mess had a full share 

 of these, among whom I name Fisher, Casey and "Irish John." 



The night is wearing on. The men, tired with their day's 

 toil and with listening to the evening talk, are one by one 

 crawling into their wagons to get their needed sleep. Our 

 mess is on guard to-night and should have retired long since. 

 We get into our blankets, and, for awhile kept awake by 

 thoughts of the past or speculations on the future, we are in 

 the mysterious land of dreams. 



I have given a sample of our experience on the plains for 

 a period of eighteen weeks, our hardships increasing as we 

 advanced among the mountains and pasture became scarce. 

 Then at nights we would have to drive the oxen across the 

 river to graze, preceding trains having eaten up the pasture 

 on the near side. We would ride the oxen over, if practicable, 

 while the horsemen urged them on, but we would have to 

 spend the night in wet clothing. How we kept our health 

 through it all I cannot understand, but it did not materially 

 suffer. 



An incident we occasionally experienced, and which was a 

 pleasing one, was the meeting of the mail stage, or being 

 passed by the same on its western way. The vehicle itself 

 was a cumbrous affair, and was known by the " Pikers" as an 

 " avalanche," which was as near as they could be expected 



