wn vegetables. I found Fort Leavenworth then, as now, a most
beautiful spot, but in the midst of a wild Indian country. There
were no whites settled in what is now the State of Kansas. Weston,
in Missouri, was the great town, and speculation in town-lots there
and thereabout burnt the fingers of some of the army-officers, who
wanted to plant their scanty dollars in a fruitful soil. I rode on
horseback over to Gordon's farm, saw the cattle, concluded the
bargain, and returned by way of Independence, Missouri. At
Independence I found F. X. Aubrey, a noted man of that day, who had
just made a celebrated ride of six hundred miles in six days. That
spring the United States quartermaster, Major L. C. Easton, at Fort
Union, New Mexico, had occasion to send some message east by a
certain date, and contracted with Aubrey to carry it to the nearest
post-office (then Independence, Missouri), making his compensation
conditional on the time consumed. He was supplied with a good
horse, and an order on the outgoing trains for an exchange. Though
the whole route was infested with hostile Indians, and not a house
on it, Aubrey started alone with his rifle. He was fortunate in
meeting several outward-bound trains, and there, by made frequent
changes of horses, some four or five, and reached Independence in
six days, having hardly rested or slept the whole way. Of course,
he was extremely fatigued, and said there was an opinion among the
wild Indians that if a man "sleeps out his sleep," after such
extreme exhaustion, he will never awake; and, accordingly, he
instructed his landlord to wake him up after eight hours of sleep.
When aroused at last, he saw by the clock that he had been asleep
twenty hours, and he was dreadfully angry, threatened to murder his
landlord, who protested he had tried in every way to get him up,
but found it impossible, and had let him "sleep it out" Aubrey, in
describing his sensations to me, said he took it for granted he was
a dead man; but in fact he sustained no ill effects, and was off
again in a few days. I met him afterward often in California, and
always esteemed him one of the best samples of that bold race of
men who had grown up on the Plains, along with the Indians, in the
service of the fur companies. He was afterward, in 1856, killed by
R. C. Weightman, in a bar-room row, at Santa Fe, New Mexico, where
he had just arrived from California.

In going from Independence to Fort Leavenworth,