ed my
employer to hold my hard earned money. So far as I know, he is holding
it yet, for he "skipped" in the night, leaving his boarding mistress to
weep with me, for we had both been too confiding.

Somewhat cast down by the loss of my first earnings, but not totally
discouraged, I shipped with six others on board a prairie schooner, well
supplied with provisions and three good horses and headed for the north
and fortune. After thirteen days of frontier hardships, we landed at the
mouth of the Chien River where it empties into the Red River of the
North. Here we erected two or three good log houses, surveyed and
platted our town, and planted common vegetables. They grew wonderfully
well. We caught fish and shot ducks and geese. On paper our town could
not be excelled, with its streets and boulevards, its parks and drives,
its churches and schools and public buildings. It was so inspiring to
look at, that we each took one hundred and sixty acres adjoining the
town, intending them as an addition to plat and sell to the on-rushers
when the boom should commence.

We also built a boat here, or rather made a dugout, so we could explore
the river. We had amusements in plenty, for wolves, Indians, mosquitoes
and grasshoppers were in great abundance. The wolves were hungry and
told us so, congregating in great numbers for their nightly concerts. We
had to barricade our doors to keep them out and burn smudges on the
inside to keep mosquitoes out as well. Sixty-five Indians paid us a
visit one day and they were not at all pleasant. We had a French half
breed with us and he influenced them to leave. They only intended to
take our yoke of cattle, but finally, after much parleying they moved
on, and we breathed easier.

All things come to an end, and so did this wild goose chase after riches
and in time we got back to God's country and St. Anthony. I will not
worry you by reciting our experiences in getting back, but they were
vexatious and amusing.

To sum up my reward for this five months of hard work, privation and
danger, I had one red flannel shirt, one pair of boots, one pair of
white duck pants and $13 worth of groceries. Wasn't this a jolt?

It was late in the fall, with a long cold winter ahead and things looked
rather blue. Judge Isaac Atwater was the owner of "The St. Anthony
Express," a good looking weekly paper of Whig politics. I went to work
in this office at four dollars a week and as I advanced in efficiency,