along the 
Platte to the 
South Fork 
—44— 
in severe cold—and the weather seems to be no more 
favorable than formerly. We have penetrating cold 
and thunderstorms in alternation. On the fifth day 
we came to a, burial place where two Americans are 
interred—one, while drunk, shot the other and then 
himself. The incident happened several years ago; 
a simple stake marks the sad spot. On the seventh 
day we reached the junction of the north and south 
arms of the Platte. The bluffs, like the wings of a 
stage, on either side, had now become more interest- 
ing. I climbed one of the highest points to enjoy the 
view. The sandy hills are cut by many gulches, and 
so irregularly thrown together that in comparison to 
the prairie they may be even deemed romantic. Ar- 
riving at the top I found considerable strong ‘“‘medi- 
cine.” Thirty buffalo skulls, adorned with all kinds 
of gewgaws, lay before me in a magic circle, as cun- 
ningly arranged as “Caspar” in the ‘“Freischuetz” 
could have done it. I felt no kind of call to break 
the charm, but took out my spy-glass to enjoy the 
view. Before me lay a great part of the river val- 
ley we had come over. I traced out the island along 
which we had passed, and the shallow, but broad and 
rapid, stream, whose northern and southern branches 
here unite at an acute angle. Opposite me were other 
bluffs; behind me the boundless prairie. 
After I had enjoyed the fine sight to the full, I 
hurried back to my party. We now ascended the 
right bank of the South Fork, over which we were 
soon to cross. On the same day— it was the twenty- 
