VALLEY OF THE ARKANSAS. 
27 
again to the bottom land, we encamped on the soft damp soil, after a march of twenty-two 
miles. Our men are obliged to cross to the islands and opposite bank of the river for fuel. With 
our tents pitched a few feet from the river, we enjoy the luxury of bathing. The river bed is 
very uneven, the whole of which is a shifting sand. Nothing can exceed the dull monotony of 
a journey along the Arkansas. Neither in the character of the country nor in any department of 
science, do we find a variety in a day’s march of twenty miles. A gradual change is going on, 
however, of which vve feel sensible; the vegetation of the rolling prairie being already parched 
and dry, and the earth of the hills is so compact and hard that it rings under our horses’ feet, 
and it is often impossible to drive a tent-pin of wood into it. To-day, for the first time, we 
have felt the southeast wind, which travellers on this route have so often noticed in summer, 
and the remembrance of which is still agreeable to me; and to-day it is intermixed with hot, 
enervating gusts, which remind us of descriptions given of the winds of arid deserts. 
July 22.—The wind blew a gale during the night, and, flying clouds partially obscuring the 
sun, a fresh breeze made the morning march pleasant; but before noon the wind subsided, and 
the day became oppressively hot. We travelled all day on a fine road, crossing several dry 
beds of creeks, along which, here and there, might be seen a few scattered trees. . We encamped, 
after a march of twenty-two miles, near the river, on a dry creek, w T here we found a few trees, 
and evidences of large Indian encampments of a very recent date. This point, eighty-nine miles 
from our camp near Fort Atkinson, is four hundred and seventy-two feet above it—an average 
ascent of five feet three inches to the mile. Altitude above the Gulf, 2,852 feet. 
July 23.—Our journey to-day of twenty-four miles has been on a barren plain, at the foot of 
the main plateau; and, although commenced with a cool, cloudy morning, was the most oppres¬ 
sive from heat we have yet experienced, which was greatly increased by the reflected rays of 
the sun from the smooth, claypy surface, almost bare; and for much of the distance quite desti¬ 
tute of vegetation, except a: few scattered weeds and sun-flowers. Near our present camp we 
passed two dry creeks, on which there are a few scattered clumps of cotton-wood, with a 
few trees of large diameter, but crooked and short, with large, unsound branches. On the river 
banks, also, there is more than the usual amount of this timber, while the sand-hills on the south¬ 
ern bank come close in to the stream, and, like the rolling prairie hills to the north, increase in 
height. 
July 24.—Captain Gunnison made an unsuccessful effort to procure specimens of prairie dogs 
for preservation, by pouring water into their holes, in a village near camp; nor was he more 
successful in digging for them, as they easily eluded his search, (although he had a large number 
of men at work,) in their burrows, which are formed of numerous passages, which they extend 
rapidly when pursued beneath the surface of the ground. The amateur hunters of the camp 
were equally unsuccessful, and after scouring the neighborhood for game, returned to their 
coffee, bacon and bread, only with good appetites. 
July 25 .—Yesterday we were oppressed with heat, and to-day, with the same clothing, should 
shiver with the cold. Prairie dogs, which are the most abundant live creatures along the road, 
are, to-day, torpid. The road followed the base of the hills from our last camp, at a distance of 
from one to three miles from the river. At fifteen miles from camp we found salt efflorescing on 
the surface of the ground, and salicornia growing abundantly on the bottom. At the base of 
the hills, which are here gentle and sloping, “ in the tertiary drift, are cylinders and rounded 
nodules of iron ore, similar to those larger ones found on the Chugwater, at the base of the Black 
Hills.” Day’s travel, 21 miles. 
July 26.—The night was cool, with a slight fall of rain at daylight; and, although the ther¬ 
mometer in the early morning stood at 59° Fahrenheit, it was so material a change from 96° in 
thirty-six hours, as to be uncomfortable. Seven miles from camp we reached what is called the 
Big Timber, a section of the river of about twenty-four miles in length, on the islands and banks 
of which more than the usual amount of cotton-wood grows. It deserved the name, however, 
