large boots, blue trousers and shirts of every color. Their
riding was admirable, and as they appeared and disappeared among the
trees or behind some rising ground the effect was always picturesque.
The valley was charming after so much desert, for it was long since we
had seen a good tree. The principal one in Cheyenne was not larger
than a lilac-bush, and had to be kept wrapped in wet towels. The light
vivid tints of the box-elder contrasted well with the silvery willows
and cottonwoods, and still better with the long rows of sage-brush in
the foreground and the yellowish cliffs behind. A high, singular butte
called Chimney Rock was conspicuous for many miles; also a long one
called the Table. There were several ranches in the valley, and many
splendid cattle.

About ten o'clock we stopped at Colonel Bullock's ranch. Not a soul
within: all hands were gone off to a "rounding out," or branding of
cattle--a wild scene, they say, and worth seeing. The herders, rough
men with shaggy hair and wild, staring eyes, in butternut trousers
stuffed into great rough boots, drive the cattle together, a mass of
tossing horns and hoofs, and brand the names of their several owners
upon them--a work full of excitement and not unattended with peril.
We looked curiously about the ranch, which resembled others we had
seen: a log house, furnished with the necessaries of life, with
buffalo skins and arms in plenty lying about, and some hanging
shelves, containing a number of very good books, including a classical
dictionary. About the middle of the day we rested a few minutes at
Owen's Ranch, where lived a handsome blond young man with a nice white
wife. His corral was surrounded with a wall of neat masonry, instead
of the usual crooked posts. Here were Chug Springs, the head of a
branch stream, and from thence we went over what we were told was the
toughest divide in the whole country. The heat was scorching over the
dreary, dusty wastes of sand and alkali, where hardly the cactus could
find sustenance. This was our first glimpse of the Mauvaises Terres,
the alkali-lands, which turn up their white linings here and there,
but do not quite prevail on this side the Platte. The Black Hills of
Wyoming, with their dark jagged outlines, gave life to the backward
view, and when they were concealed Laramie Peak appeared on the
left--a mountain of noble form and color. At Eagle's Nest the yellow
bluffs again started up, opening with a striking gatew