FOREST AND STREAM 
301 
Across the Continent in The Sixties” 
Big “Lexden.” 
(Continued from last issue.) 
While I have been introducing my readers to 
my fellow travelers, the transfer of the mail 
and of our baggage to the mud wagon has been 
completed; and the driver having taken his place 
with the “lines” in his hands, and sung out the 
familiar “all aboard” I climbed up beside him, 
while my companions each took possession of the 
corner he had reserved within. 
The country was already, more broken in 
character, and the stretches of road to be seen 
ahead were shorter, as we began to wind among 
the ravines which led us gradually upward. The 
driver who up to this time had been rather 
taciturn, thawed out considerably upon finding 
I was from California, seemingly having a 
prejudice against anyone recently from the 
east. He himself was from Massachusetts, as 
he told me in a burst of confidence, but had gone 
west as a very young man, had teamed to the 
Pikes’ Peak mines at an early date, and hav¬ 
ing been a stage driver for several years, he 
seemed to feel that he had at last lived down 
his early indiscretion in having been born east 
of the Mississippi. 
We had plenty of time for conversation, for 
the steady ascent had begun to tell on the 
horses, and it was only occasionally that they 
trotted or showed enough life to occupy the 
drivers’ attention. Darkness gradually settled 
down upon us, and with it came a chill which 
seemed to tell of snow drifts not far away. 
Nothing could any longer be distinguished ot 
our surroundings, except the changing outlines 
of the hills against the sky, and here and there 
in side ravines, which were becoming more fre¬ 
quent as we ascended, dark masses of trees or 
underbrush showed, and the road faintly visible 
by the light of the stars. At length when I was 
becoming both cold and sleepy, and the murmur 
of voices from inside the wagon was hushed, a 
cheerful gleam of light just ahead announced 
our arrival at the upper station, at least an 
hour behind time, on account of delay in making 
the transfer from one vehicle to another at the 
previous stop. 
Two or three men with only a curt salutation 
to our driver, set to work unhitching the 
horses; while we passengers hastened in to the 
cheerful fire which had evidently recently been 
replenished with wood, in anticipation of our 
arrival. 
This station had but two rooms, the kitchen 
and the large common room, which was sitting- 
room, dining room and bed room, all in one. 
The cook immediately busied himself in getting 
supper, for it was never started until the arrival 
of the coach, as almost anything might happen 
in the ten to twenty miles between stations. The 
cooking was certainly not elaborate and in half 
an hour, our food was placed on a long table 
in the center of the room; all hands came in, 
and hanging up revolver belts and hats, we sat 
down together to a supper of fried beef, fried 
salt pork, fried potatoes, hot 'biscuits from self 
rising flour, and hot coffee, with the old fash¬ 
ioned sticky condensed milk, which did not look 
attractive, but fortunately tasted better in coffee, 
than it looked. We travelers thoroughly en¬ 
joyed the meal, but without realizing that it was 
the last fresh beef, and last potatoes we would 
have until we reached the Mormon settlements, 
some six hundred miles away. From that day 
forward, venison, usually that of the prong 
horned antelope, was the only meat besides salt 
pork, except on one occasion when a buffalo 
strayed from the rest of the herd, furnished a 
change. Vegetables, except beans, were entirely 
absent; those were the days before the now 
omnipresent tin can had come into its kingdom. 
Good butter, however, was provided for our hot 
biscuit, and these we had at nearly every meal. 
Plenty of time was allowed in all cases, what¬ 
ever the hour, or the name of the repast. Of 
course meal times were extremely uncertain; the 
only thing we were sure of was that each meal 
would be exactly like the preceding one, so far 
as its component parts went. 
Our supper over, my four companions each 
took his corner, while I took -the middle seat; 
this was provided only with a leather strap 
about five inches wide, which is removable in 
order to give the passengers in the rear seat, 
a chance to get in or out. This strap is of the 
very thickest and stiffest sole leather, and forms 
a good support for the back. When enveloped 
in a heavy overcoat and provided with a cap. 
which will pull down over the ears, it is not 
difficult to pass a comfortable night if the 
weather is not too cold. I passed the greater 
part of seven successive nights in that way, be¬ 
fore reaching Salt Lake City, and by the time 
we arrived there was less tired than after the 
first night. For the first few hours after sup¬ 
per we were all more or less wakeful, as we 
had not yet settled down to the business of 
traveling; twice during the night we arrived at 
stations, and of course got out and went into 
the house to warm ourselves, and change our 
positions. At about four in the morning, those 
of us who were asleep were awakened by the 
objurgations of the driver as the coach came to 
a standstill; then there was heard the slap of 
his whip as he laid it down upon the roof of 
our sleeping apartment, preparatory to coming 
down from his perch. Pulling open the side 
curtains, we all scrambled out to find what was 
the matter, and render assistance if needed. A 
bolt, holding one of the singletrees had broken 
or slipped out; whichever had happened, it was 
gone. 
The driver, after fumbling around in the boot, 
produced a leather strap with which he fastened 
things together, so that they would do until we 
reached the next station, only a mile or so 
farther on. Here he and the blacksmith had 
an animated discussion about the making of a 
new bolt, there being none which would fit. It 
was at length determined to wait for daylight 
before doing anything, and there being no extra 
bunks in the station house, we were told we 
could have some buffalo robes, and spend the 
night in front of the fire. I tried it for a while, 
but nine men in the room, and too big a fire, 
made it so uncomfortably warm that I took 
my robe outside, and selecting a level spot near 
the stable, folded it about me, and pulling my 
cap down over my ears, soon went to sleep, 
and was only awakened when about daylight 
one of the stable men came to feed the horses. 
It had turned colder toward morning, and my 
robe was frozen to the ground, around the 
edges, away from the warmth of my body. A 
white frost had formed, and there was a crust 
of frozen ground where before had been mud. 
The sky to the eastward was flecked with little 
clouds, first gray, then touched with a delicate 
pink on the lower edges, and anon all aglow like 
wild rose leaves. How often we hear of beauti¬ 
ful sunsets and how seldom of sunrises, though 
the latter are far the most lovely, and there 
is a freshness in the air, in ourselves and in 
all nature, which gives the cloud plainting a 
charm not felt when the senses are dulled by 
the labors and incidents of the day just ended. 
From the blacksmith shop, came the sound of 
hammer upon anvil, showing that we would 
soon be ready for a start. Carrying my buffalo 
robe into the station, and having a good wash 
in icy water from a barrel just outside of the 
door, I was ready for breakfast. The station 
I learned was called Soda Lakes, from some 
pools of alkaline water somewhere near, though 
we did not see anything of them. 
Resuming our journey, a mile or so from the 
station, the largest wolf I have even seen leaped 
from behind a clump of bushes as we came near, 
and loped away at a fast gallop for a hundred 
yards or more, turned and stared at us for a 
moment, then away for another similar dis¬ 
tance, whirled about and again gave us a good 
look, then off again until he disappeared over 
a rise, a half mile away. He was probably tak¬ 
ing his breakfast when disturbed, and I have 
always wondered what it consisted of. 
The beast looked as tall as the largest St. 
Bernard dog, and by no means gaunt. Our 
dinner was at a station near the Little Laramie 
River, and we were late in getting there. From 
this our course lay up the valley for a few 
miles; and during the afternoon, we had an 
opportunity to see a large band of Indians on 
the move from one camping ground to another. 
They were several hundred in number, warriors, 
squaws, and children with innumerable ponies 
and dogs, and all their portable property. 
They were bound southward, and for a little 
way our road was along side of the route they 
were traveling. 
All the men and most of the squaws were 
mounted, though a few were on foot, but had no 
trouble in keeping up with the rest, as they 
moved very slowly. The horses which carried 
no riders were mostly packed with robes and 
blankets; but the favorite contrivance was the 
travois, in universal use since the advent of the 
horse made the extensive migrations of the 
Indians of the plains, possible. In lieu of any 
other vehicle, a pony was hitched between two 
lodge poles, say twenty feet long, as in a pair 
of shafts, the larger ends dragging on the 
ground, being kept at a uniform distance apart 
