fine fish in the clear waters
of the forks of the Blue, which with some difficulty we were able to
ford. Gradually shaking down into better organization, we fared on and
on day after day, until the grass grew shorter and the hills flatter. At
last we approached the valley of the Platte.

We were coming now indeed into the great Plains, of which I had heard
all my youth. A new atmosphere seemed to invest the world. The talk of
my companions was of things new and wild and strange to me. All my old
life seemed to be slipping back of me, into a far oblivion. A feeling of
rest, of confidence and of uplift came to me. It was difficult to be
sad. The days were calm, the nights were full of peace. Nature seemed to
be loftily above all notice of small frettings. Many things became more
clear to me, as I rode and reflected. In some way, I know not how, it
seemed to me that I was growing older.

We had been out more than two weeks when finally we reached the great
valley along which lay the western highway of the old Oregon trail, now
worn deep and dusty by countless wheels. Our progress had not been very
rapid, and we had lost time on two occasions in hunting up strayed
animals. But, here at last, I saw the road of the old fur traders, of
Ashley and Sublette and Bridger, of Carson and Fremont, later of
Kearney, Sibley, Marcy, one knew not how many Army men, who had for
years been fighting back the tribes and making ready this country for
white occupation. As I looked at this wild, wide region, treeless,
fruitless, it seemed to me that none could want it. The next thought was
the impression that, no matter how many might covet it, it was
exhaustless, and would last forever. This land, this West, seemed to all
then unbelievably large and limitless.

We pushed up the main trail of the Platte but a short distance that
night, keeping out an eye for grazing ground for our horses. Auberry
knew the country perfectly. "About five or six miles above here," he
said, "there's a stage station, if the company's still running through
here now. Used to be two or three fellers and some horses stayed there."

We looked forward to meeting human faces with some pleasure; but an hour
or so later, as we rode on, I saw Auberry pull up his horse, with a
strange tightening of his lips. "Boys," said he, "there's where it
_was!_" His pointing finger showed nothing more than a low line of
ruins, bits of broken fencing, a heap of half-charred timbers.