ng. Its stout log
stockade was, however, valuable to its builder as a protection against
attacks from Indians led by one of his own sons. Their mother was a
Cheyenne squaw, and though they, together with their only sister, had
been educated in St. Louis, the same as white children, they had
preferred to follow the fortunes of their mother's people on returning
to the Plains. Now the Cheyennes had no more daring leader than George
Bent, nor was there a girl in the tribe so beautiful as his sister. The
little fort, admirably located on a high bluff overlooking the river,
was filled with a curious mixture of old Plainsmen, Indians, half-breed
children, ponies, mules, burros, and pet fawns. It was a place of noise
and confusion at once bewildering and interesting.

At the end of fifty miles from the point at which they entered the
Arkansas Valley, the explorers caught their first glimpse of the Rocky
Mountains, two white clouds that they knew to be the snow-capped summits
of the Spanish Peaks, a hundred miles away.

Here the expedition was divided. The first and third divisions were to
cross the river and proceed southwesterly, by way of the Raton Mountains
and Fort Union, to Santa Fe; while Mr. Hobart was to take the second
still farther up the Arkansas Valley, and almost due west to the famous
Sangre de Cristo Pass through the mountains, just north of the Spanish
Peaks. For two weeks longer they worked their way slowly but steadily
across the burning Plains, towards the mountains that almost seemed to
recede from them as they advanced; though each day disclosed new peaks,
while those already familiar loomed up higher and grander with every
mile. Finally they were so near at hand that the weary toilers, choked
with the alkaline dust of the Plains, and scorched with their fervent
heat, could feast their eyes on the green slopes, cool, dark valleys,
and tumbling cascades, rushing down from glittering snow-fields. How
they longed to be among them, and with what joy did they at length leave
the treeless country of which they were so tired and enter the timbered
foot-hills!

Now, how deliciously cool were the nights, and how they enjoyed the
roaring camp-fires. What breathless plunges they took in ice-cold
streams of crystal water. How good fresh venison tasted after weeks of
salt bacon and dried buffalo meat, and how eagerly they ate raw onions,
and even raw potatoes, obtained at the occasional Mexican ranches found
nestled