hem are lying around dead. I
wondered and wondered why Dryas did not come to our assistance, but he
told us afterward that when the storm first came he went to the stable
to fasten the horses up snug, and was then afraid to come away, first
because of the immense hailstones, and later because both horses were so
terrified by the crashing in of their windows, and the awful cannonade
of hail on the roof. A new cook had come to us just the day before the
storm, and I fully expected that she would start back to Bozeman that
night, but she is still here, and was most patient over the awful
condition of things all over the house. She is a Pole and a good cook,
so there is a prospect of some enjoyment in life after the house gets
straightened out. There was one thing peculiar about that storm. Bozeman
is only three miles from here, yet not one hailstone, not one drop of
rain did they get there. They saw the moving wall of gray and heard the
roar, and feared that something terrible was happening up here.

The storm has probably ruined the mushrooms that we have found so
delicious lately. At one time, just out of the post, there was a long,
log stable for cavalry horses which was removed two or three years
ago, and all around, wherever the decayed logs had been, mushrooms have
sprung up. When it rains is the time to get the freshest, and many a
time Mrs. Fiske and I have put on long storm coats and gone out in the
rain for them, each bringing in a large basket heaping full of the most
delicate buttons. The quantity is no exaggeration whatever--and to be
very exact, I would say that we invariably left about as many as we
gathered. Usually we found the buttons massed together under the soft
dirt, and when we came to an umbrella-shaped mound with little cracks
on top, we would carefully lift the dirt with a stick and uncover big
clusters of buttons of all sizes. We always broke the large buttons off
with the greatest care and settled the spawn back in the loose dirt for
a future harvest. We often found large mushrooms above ground, and these
were delicious baked with cream sauce. They would be about the size of
an ordinary saucer, but tender and full of rich flavor--and the buttons
would vary in size from a twenty-five-cent piece to a silver dollar,
each one of a beautiful shell pink underneath. They were so very
superior to mushrooms we had eaten before--with a deliciousness all
their own.

We are wondering if the storm passed ov