t numbers died. The Indians stole others. The animals
that remained were weak. The destruction of property was immense, for
everything that could be spared was thrown away in order to lighten the
loads. The road was lined with abandoned wagons, stoves, mining
implements, clothes.

We were told these things over and over, heavily, in little snatches, by
men too wearied and discouraged and beaten even to rejoice that they had
come through alive. They were not interested in telling us, but they
told, as though their minds were so full that they could not help it. I
remember one evening when we were feeding at our camp the members of one
of these trains, a charity every miner proffered nearly every day of the
week. The party consisted of one wagon, a half dozen gaunt, dull-eyed
oxen, two men, and a crushed-looking, tragic young woman. One of the men
had in a crude way the gift of words.

He told of the crowds of people awaiting the new grass at Independence
in Missouri, of the making up of the parties, the election of officers
for the trip, the discussion of routes, the visiting, the campfires, the
boundless hope.

"There were near twenty thousand people waiting for the grass," said our
friend; a statement we thought exaggerated, but one which I have
subsequently found to be not far from the truth.

By the middle of May the trail from the Missouri River to Fort Laramie
was occupied by a continuous line of wagons.

"That was fine travelling," said the immigrant in the detached way of
one who speaks of dead history. "There was grass and water; and the
wagon seemed like a little house at night. Everybody was jolly. It
didn't last long."

After Fort Laramie there were three hundred miles of plains, with little
grass and less water.

"We thought that was a desert!" exclaimed the immigrant bitterly. "My
God! Quite a lot turned back at Laramie. They were scared by the cholera
that broke out, scared by the stories of the desert, scared by the
Indians. They went back. I suppose they're well and hearty--and kicking
themselves every gold report that goes back east."

The bright anticipations, the joy of the life, the romance of the
journey all faded before the grim reality. The monotony of the plains,
the barrenness of the desert, the toil of the mountains, the terrible
heat, the dust, the rains, the sickness, the tragedy of deaths had
flattened all buoyancy, and left in its stead only a sullen, dogged
determination.

"The