ous than he had supposed, and it was too clear that he was
in a very unfit state to undergo the fatigue of a journey.

We at length reached Fort Kearney, on the Platte River, where we met
with a kind reception from the officers of the garrison, while my father
received that attention from the surgeon he so much required. The rest
of our party were unwilling to delay longer than was necessary; but the
surgeon assured my father that he would risk his life should he
continue, in the state in which he then was, to prosecute his journey.
Very unwillingly, therefore, he consented to remain,--for our sakes more
than his own,--while our late companions proceeded towards their
destination. We here remained several months, of course at great
expense, as both our men and animals had to be fed, although we
ourselves were entertained without cost by our hospitable hosts.

At last another emigrant train halted at the post, and my father,
unwilling longer to trespass on the kindness of his entertainers,
insisted on continuing his journey with them. The surgeon warned him
that he would do so at great risk; observing that should the wound,
which was scarcely healed, break out again, it would prove a serious
matter. Still, his desire to be actively engaged in forming the new
settlement prevailed over all other considerations, and on a fatal day
he started, in company with about a dozen other waggons. The owners,
who were rough farmers, took very little interest either in my poor
father or in us.

We had been travelling for about ten days or a fortnight when my father
again fell ill. He tried to proceed in the waggon, but was unable to
bear the jolting; and we were at length obliged to remain in camp by
ourselves, while the rest of the train continued on the road. Our camp
was pitched in an angle formed by a broad stream on the side of a wood,
so that we were pretty well protected should enemies on horseback attack
us. My father proposed to remain here to await another emigrant train,
hoping in a short time to be sufficiently recovered to move on. But, to
our great grief, Clarice and I saw that he was rapidly sinking. He
himself did not appear to be aware of his condition; and fearing that it
would aggravate his sufferings were he to think he was about to leave
us, young as we were, in the midst of the wild prairie among strangers,
we were unwilling to tell him what we thought.

The men with us began to grumble at the long de