SALT LAKE TO BOISÈ CITY, IDAHO.
It was our intention originally to proceed from Salt Lake to San
Francisco direct, _via_ Nevada; but our long sojourn at Salt Lake
induced us to go _via_ Boisè City and the Columbia instead. When
arranging for our departure, we happened to meet Mr. Ben Holliday,
the great stage-proprietor of the Plains there, and he advised us to
inspect Idaho first, or we would be caught there in winter. He was
then temporarily at Salt Lake, on one of his semi-annual inspections
of his vast stage-lines. The Pacific Railroad has supplanted these
now, in the main; but they were then the only means of rapid transit,
and a great and important agency of civilization throughout all that
region. His line of stages commenced then at Fort Kearney on the
Platte, and ran thence to Denver, about five hundred miles; thence to
Central City, in the heart of the Colorado mines, about forty miles;
returning to Denver, thence along and across the Rocky and Wahsatch
Mountains to Salt Lake, about six hundred miles; thence through Idaho
and Oregon, to Umatilla on the Columbia, about seven hundred miles,
with a branch at Bear River, through Montana to Virginia City, about
four hundred miles more. In all, his stage-lines then footed up about
two thousand two hundred and forty miles, through the great frontier
heart of the continent. From Kearney to Salt Lake, he ran a daily
stage each way; over the balance of his routes, only a tri-weekly.
From Salt Lake to California, about seven hundred and fifty miles
more, there was also a daily stage each way, but this line was owned
and run by Wells, Fargo & Co., then and still the great Express
Company of the Pacific Coast. Mr. Holliday, in anticipation of the
Railroad, with his wonted sagacity, was just completing the sale
and transfer of all his stage-lines to Wells, Fargo & Co., whose
stage-business alone thus became one gigantic enterprise, reaching
from the Missouri to the Pacific, and from Salt Lake to the Columbia.
What a prodigious undertaking! How colossal in its proportions! It
was estimated that these lines would then foot up over three thousand
miles, and to operate them would require about five hundred coaches,
and fully ten thousand horses and mules, first and last. Mr. Holliday
said his lines had been very profitable some years, but in others
again he had lost heavily. Sometimes the Indians stole or destroyed
a quarter of a million's worth of his property per annum, and then
again his expenses were always necessarily enormous. Stations had
to be erected and maintained, ten or fifteen miles apart, along all
the routes. Grain had to be hauled, in the main, from either the
Missouri or Salt Lake, although Colorado and Idaho had begun to yield
something. Hay had to be transported often fifty miles, and fuel
sometimes a hundred and fifty. He paid his General Superintendent
ten thousand dollars per year, and his Washington Agent about the
same; his Division Superintendents about half that sum; his drivers
and station-keepers from seventy-five to a hundred dollars per month
and their board; and then there were ten thousand and one incidental
expenses besides. One would have supposed, that the oversight and
management of his vast stage-enterprises would have been enough
for one man to carry. But, in addition, he owned and ran a line of
steam-ships on the Pacific from San Francisco to Oregon and Alaska,
another to Lower California and Mexico, and was planning to get
more business still. He was a man apparently of about forty-five,
tall and thin, of large grasp and quick perceptions, of indifferent
health but indomitable will, fiery and irascible when crossed, and a
Westerner all through. Apparently he carried his vast business very
jauntily, without much thought or care; but he crossed the continent
twice each year, from end to end of his stage-routes, and saw for
himself how matters were getting on. When he went through thus, extra
teams and coaches were always held in readiness, and he had made the
quickest Overland trip recorded. Time was everything with him then;
horse-flesh and expense--nothing. Once he drove from Salt Lake to
the Missouri, over twelve hundred miles, in six days and a half, and
made the total trip from San Francisco in twelve days. The locomotive
beats this now, but nothing else could. The usual schedule-time was
about twenty days; but it often took two or three more.
Mr. Holladay, however, was beginning to show signs of his hard work,
and on this trip had found it necessary to bring his physician
along with him. Subsequently, we met him in San Francisco, still an
invalid, but as hard at work as ever, and there seemed to be no end
to his teeming schemes. Of course, we found these great stage-lines
not always popular, because they were rapacious monopolies, _ex
necessitate_. Nevertheless, on the whole, they accomplished a great
work in their day; and, all things considered, did it cheaply
and well. They have a history of their own, full of incident and
adventure, that will read like romance a few years hence; and the
man who will gather up all the facts, and give us a full account of
them, will do the future a real service. Now, if ever, is the time
to do this; for the Railroad has already done away with the main
lines, and soon over all our American stage-coaching will be written
"Ichabod"--its glory has departed.
Mr. Halsey, Mr. Holladay's general superintendent at Salt Lake, was
about going to Boisè City to look after stage-affairs generally,
and politely invited us to share his special coach. I was still
feeble, and it was some days before I could leave; but finally Nov.
7th, we bade good-bye to Camp Douglas and Salt Lake, and were off
for the Columbia. Once out of the city, our route struck due north,
and skirted the shores of Great Salt Lake for a day or so. This
great inland sea, fifty miles long by twenty wide, was on our left,
while to the right rose abrupt mountains barren to the summit. The
Lake itself was surrounded by marshes, abounding in water-fowl, and
just then afforded excellent duck-shooting to frequent parties from
the city. It was dotted with islands, several of them large and
mountainous, which furnished rich pasturage for large herds of horses
and cattle, belonging chiefly to Brigham Young. These beautiful
islands had been "granted" to him by the Utah Legislature, as well
as the exclusive right to numerous streams and cañons in other parts
of the Territory, that were esteemed especially valuable. Among
others, they had granted to him City Creek cañon, which contained
about the only valuable timber within many miles of Salt Lake City,
and now every man, who chopped a load of wood there, had to pay
tribute to Brother Brigham to the tune of one dollar per cord. Along
the base of the mountains, we frequently came across hot Sulphur
Springs, steaming in the sharp November air, and Mr. Halsey pointed
out several said to be hot enough to boil an egg. The sulphur and
heat from them destroyed all vegetation around them, and also for a
considerable distance along the issuing streams, that flowed thence
into Great Salt Lake. Every few miles we crossed dashing rivulets,
that came roaring and foaming out of the cañons, all making their
way ultimately to the Lake--the common reservoir of all that basin.
Great Salt Lake drains many hundreds of square miles there, receiving
streams from all directions, but giving out none. Its only relief is
evaporation, which of course must be enormous during the long and
dry summer there. Hence its saltiness and great specific gravity, a
man floating in it--it is said--very readily. Its volume that year
was greater than usual, owing it was thought to a heavy rain-fall;
but this year (1873), I see it reported as several feet higher, than
ever before. This would seem to confirm the favorite theory of many
pioneers, that as the country became settled up and cultivated, the
average rain-fall constantly increased. Between the mountains and the
Lake, along its whole extent, there was usually a fine broad plateau
of land, and this was dotted thickly with farms to Ogden and beyond.
Ogden, now the stopping point on the Pacific Railroad for Salt Lake
City, and about forty miles north of it, was then a smart little
town of perhaps 1200 inhabitants, and rapidly growing larger. It
was Salt Lake City over again, on a reduced scale, but evidently
patterning after it, both in plan and detail. Its streets were broad
and rectangular; its irrigating streams, clear and cold from the
neighboring cañons; its houses, adobe or frame; and its yards and
gardens, a mass of beauty and luxuriance. A general air of industry
and thriftiness pervaded the little community. Everybody appeared
to be constantly at work, though not very hard work. And, indeed,
so far as material comfort was concerned, there seemed little
ground for criticism. The supervisor and main-spring of the whole
was Bishop West--a burly active man of forty, with three buxom
wives, and a house-full of well-graduated children. He was a live,
go-ahead business man, with little or nothing of the sacerdotal
about him--owned the mill, store, and hotel there, and managed them
all with rare shrewdness and energy. His hotel was a comfortable
two-story adobe house, with shingle roof, and was remarkably well
kept for a country tavern, all things considered. He was a heavy
contractor with the stage-line, to deliver grain along at the
stations between Salt Lake and Boisè City, and Mr. Halsey concluded
to stop over one night to see and confer with him. He received us
with generous hospitality, and was soon conversing freely upon all
matters relating to Utah, aside from Mormonism. He little suspected
then the good luck in store for him, by the oncoming of the Pacific
Railroad, which has doubtless made him a millionaire, if he was not
approaching that before. Salt Lake was then depending on the Railroad
coming there, and doubtless was grievously disappointed, when it left
her "out in the cold"--forty miles to the South.[13]
The Bishop's partner in many of his operations was Mr. Joseph
Young, the eldest son, I believe, of Brigham. He happened at Ogden
that night, and we saw considerable of him. Mr. Halsey said he was
"some married" already, having four wives, and as he was still a
comparatively young man--about thirty-five--might have a good many
more yet. He was a tall, well-knit, resolute looking young fellow;
but did not seem to be overly well stocked with brains or judgment.
Nevertheless, in addition to his investments with Bishop West, he
owned saw-mills in the mountains beyond Salt Lake, and was a heavy
contractor with the stage-company besides for supplies elsewhere. He
spoke carelessly, not to say disrespectfully, about Mormon affairs
in general, and left the impression, that he might abjure the faith
some day yet, when the fit occasion came. Brigham, it appears, had
discarded him for the succession some time before, in favor of his
younger brother, Brigham, Jr., who was said to be a much abler and
discreeter man; and this, it was thought, had something to do with
"Joe's" free and easy thinking.
From Ogden to Brigham City, about half way to Bear River, the country
continued much the same, except that the mountains trended away more
to the east, and the plateau thence to the Lake consequently became
broader. Settlements continued most of the way, but the farms grew
more scattered, and ran more to grazing. Wherever a stream issued
from the cañons, it had been caught up and carried far up and down
the plateau, to irrigate a wide breadth of land, and its application
appeared always to have met with a generous return. Brigham City
was a clever little town, of a thousand inhabitants or so, and in
its general plan and make up was as much like Ogden as two peas. It
lies on a higher bench or plateau, however, and affords a much finer
prospect of the bottom country below. We halted there for dinner,
and while waiting in the office a Ute Indian came in, with a noble
wild goose for sale, that he had just shot in the marshes. He was a
splendidly built young fellow, with nothing in the way of clothing,
however, except a ragged blanket and the inevitable breech-cloth.
His feet and limbs were entirely naked, and would have served well
as models for a Belvidere Apollo. It was a cold raw day, with
alternating rain and sleet, and no wonder the poor wretch mumbled,
"Me cold; much cold!" as he huddled up to the fire. He sold his
goose for two "bits," and the last we saw of him he was purchasing
"smoke-tobacco" at the nearest store. We saw many lodges of Utes,
while _en route_ from Ogden to Bear River, and they all seemed to be
pitiably off. As we left Brigham City, we observed a dozen squaws or
more loitering around a slaughter-house on its outskirts, waiting
to secure the entrails or other refuse, that the butchers might
throw away. Just beyond, several more crossed the road, loaded down
with great bundles of sage-brush, that they had been out gathering
for fuel, while their "braves" loafed at home. "Mr. Lo" (the poor
Indian!), as our borderers satirically call him, in brief, has
certainly sadly deteriorated in Utah, whatever he may be elsewhere.
These Utes seemed to be a taller and better class of savages
naturally, than their cousins on the Rio Grande; but from contact
with the Mormons they were fast disappearing, and would soon become
extinct. Brigham Young was credited with saying, with his wonted
shrewdness, "I can kill more injuns with a sack of flour, than a keg
of gunpowder;" and no doubt he was correct. When left to themselves,
as children of nature, they manage to get along somehow, on the old
principle of "root pig, or die!" But when they mix with the whites,
they acquire our habits and tastes in part, without learning how
safely to gratify or benefit by them; and consequently, when left to
themselves again, sicken and die.
From Brigham City to Bear River, the country was wilder and more
unsettled; but ranches--the true forerunners of settlements--were
starting up in various places. The mountain streams were smaller and
fewer, but still there were enough to irrigate thousands of broad
acres there yet, and to spare. Indeed, the whole country from Salt
Lake to Bear River, as a rule, needs only population, to become
prosperous and nourishing. The mountain streams did not seem to be
a quarter utilized; and, apart from these, vast tracks of land were
unused, where grazing would certainly prove profitable.
We crossed Bear River, here a broad deep stream, on a rude bridge,
and were now fairly off for Boisè City. Here, eighty-three miles
from Salt Lake, the road forked--one branch going to Virginia City,
Montana, and the other continuing on to Boisè. The Montana travel
was then much the larger, and the stages thus far went full. But the
Idaho travel was light--most of her miners preferring the Columbia
as a base. From Bear River quite through to Boisè, the country as a
whole proved wild and sterile, with but little to recommend it, until
we struck the valley of the Boisè. There were some good grazing lands
here and there, judging by the "bunch" grass; but Idaho, as a rule,
seemed to be a high volcanic plateau, barren and desert-like. Much of
it reminded us of Bitter Creek, though here there was less alkali and
old red sand-stone. There were no settlements anywhere, except the
isolated stage-stations, and but little travel beyond the tri-weekly
stages. The lonely stations occurred as usual, every ten or fifteen
miles, but they were most dreary and dismal habitations, as a rule.
They were built generally of stone, laid up loosely with clay, and
often their only fuel was sage-brush and grease-wood--about the last
apology for fuel on the earth. The whole region seemed destitute of
timber, until you reached the Boisè, and even here there was not much
to brag of. Good wholesome water seemed to be equally rare, and even
at the stage-stations where they had dug for it, the water was often
very unpalatable. We passed three stations, one after the other, one
day, where Mr. Halsey knew the water to be bad, without essaying to
drink, and finally became so thirsty that when we reached the next
station, all hands sung out to the station-keepers:
"I say, men, what kind of water have you here?"
"Wall, strangers," was the reply, "Honor bright, it is not much to
brag of! It is a heap alkali, and right smart warm; but we manage to
drink it, when it cools a little. It's altogether, you see, in gitten
used to it; you bet!"
But as we hadn't got "used to it" yet, and hadn't time to wait, we
concluded to pass on to the next station. At most of the stations,
the only persons were two stock-tenders or stable-hands, and
sometimes only one. At Maláde, however, as we halted there one cold
and blustering night, we were agreeably surprised to find a blazing
fire and an excellent meal, that gained all the more by contrast with
the forlorn and cheerless stations, that greeted us elsewhere. A
neat and tidy woman, with an instinct of true refinement about her,
was the simple explanation. But how she came to drop down into that
desolate station, with a husband and two or three children, will
always remain one of the inexplicable mysteries of the Universe to me.
We were now on the old and well-travelled Emigrant Trail from the
Missouri to Oregon. But emigration that way had mostly ceased,
and the general unattractiveness of the country was shown, by its
leaving no settlements behind. Much of the route had always been a
natural road across the plateaus; but in crossing the "divides"
and descending into the abrupt valleys, considerable digging and
blasting had been done here and there. We neither saw nor heard of
any Indians, and I judge the country as a whole was always too barren
and desolate to support any thing but wolves. Night after night we
heard these howling around us, and sometimes by day a single cayote
would skulk across the road; but they took good care to give our
Remingtons and Spencers a wide berth. How the cayotes or wolves of
these plateaus, and of the Plains, manage to live, it is hard to say.
There seems little for them to subsist on ordinarily. And yet camp
where you will at night, an hour afterwards the whole surrounding
landscape becomes vocal with them. First, it is a solitary yelp, and
then a constantly widening chorus, until thousands of the cowards
seem to be on the bark. One night we got out to walk, over a piece
of extra bad road, and as we rounded a rocky point toward the coming
station, suddenly a score or more of them opened on us at once. It
was pitchy dark, and the suddenness of their onset certainly startled
us; but we sent them our compliments in the direction of the sound,
from a Spencer carbine and two revolvers, and that was the last we
heard of them. The Indians sometimes counterfeit their howling, in
order to take travellers unawares; but otherwise, however startling,
there seemed to be little real danger about it, as they seldom or
never attack a man.
We crossed Snake River on a rude ferry-boat, stage and all, and found
it to be there some two or three hundred yards wide, by perhaps forty
feet deep. Its banks were abrupt--its water of the same pea-green, as
that at Niagara. It was skirted by narrow bottoms on either side, and
then came precipitous basaltic walls, hundreds of feet high to the
plateau above. This plateau again was of the same sterile character,
as the country already passed over--devoid of animal and vegetable
life, except wolves, sage-brush and grease-wood, and even these
didn't seem much inclined to nourish there. The Snake itself seemed
to be an abrupt cut, through the heart of a vast volcanic plateau, as
if following in the track of some ancient earthquake.
Snake River Station was on the north side, just at the foot of the
high basaltic bluff, which here rears its majestic front six hundred
feet or more perpendicularly into the air. Half way up, a small river
bursts forth, and descends in a beautiful cascade two or three hundred
feet, whence it rushes like an arrow down the broken, rocky hillside,
and so off to the Snake itself. This fleecy waterfall, against the
black basaltic bluff, is the first object that strikes you, as you
descend into the valley of the Snake, and is a charming feature of the
landscape just there. Our route lay along the Snake for many miles, and
at several other points we observed similar cascades, on both sides
of the river, though none so large or lofty as this. The conclusion
seems inevitable, that subterranean streams, having their sources in
the far away Mountains, pervade all this barren region; and could these
be tapped and brought to the surface, all these plateaus might be made
cultivable and fertile. No doubt a way of doing this, by artesian-wells
or otherwise, will be found in the future, when the continent fills up
more, and Idaho becomes necessary. But these cascades could be utilized
immediately, to irrigate much of the bottoms of the Snake at trifling
expense, if anybody chose to settle there. These bottoms, as a rule,
appeared very rich; but in the absence of rain there for months, were
no better than a dust heap. At Snake River Station, indeed, attempts
had been made to raise potatoes, and other garden vegetables, and
the results seemed encouraging. No doubt, rye, oats, barley, and flax
might be grown there thus very readily; but probably the region is too
elevated, and too far north, for the more delicate cereals to succeed
well.
The great American Falls of Snake River were twenty miles or so
farther up, and, much to our regret, we failed to reach them. Mr.
Halsey intended taking us that way, but he was already overdue in
Boisè, and as I myself had lost a fortnight by illness at Salt Lake,
and the weather was threatening, we concluded to hasten on. These
falls have been described by some travellers, as much superior to
Niagara; but the station-keeper at Snake River said he had visited
them the previous spring, and they seemed to him to be only about a
hundred feet or so in height in all. He described them, as consisting
of two Falls--the first about twenty-five feet high, with foaming
rapids to the second or main fall, which itself then goes down
perhaps seventy-five feet or so more. He said, however, that a party
of soldiers, from an adjacent post, had measured them only a few
weeks before, and they reported them as one hundred and ninety-four
feet high in all, by perhaps two hundred yards wide, and with the
black basaltic walls of the cañon rising some six hundred feet above
them still, on either side. During seasons of high water, this would
make them quite worthy, indeed, of their great reputation. But
the volume of water there for many months in the year must be so
small, that it is to be doubted whether they ordinarily approach the
grandeur and sublimity of majestic old Niagara. However, Idahoans set
great store by these Falls, as the chief wonder of all that region;
and as the country just there has little else to brag of, perhaps it
is well not to gainsay them.
From the Snake to the Boisè, as already intimated, the country was,
if anything, still more barren and desolate, than the region we had
just passed over. In some places, it was strewn thick for miles
with black volcanic stones and rocks, glazed and scarred by ancient
fires, with no signs of ordinary animal or vegetable life anywhere.
In such localities, the wolves disappeared, and even the inevitable
sage-brush and grease-wood disdained to grow; or, if they grew at
all, only eked out a miserable existence. Once across this high
"divide," however, we struck the valley of the Boisè, which soon
introduced us to an excellent region again, and as we neared Boisè
City we found ranches and farms everywhere thickening up. Horses and
cattle were out grazing by the roadside in considerable numbers,
and down in the bottoms frequent squads of stacks indicated, that
goodly crops of hay and grain had been cut and harvested. Wagons now
appeared again on the road, as beyond Bear River, (we had not met a
single one since leaving there), and people flocked to the doors and
windows as the stage rolled by. Once across the "divide" between the
Snake and Boisè, the whole country sloped gently to the Boisè, and we
spun along and down these descending grades at a splendid gait. We
made one hundred and twenty miles, in the last twenty-two hours out
from Boisè City, and rolled up to the Overland House with our last
team as fresh and gamey as stallions.
Our general ride from Bear River, however, was hardly an enviable
one. There were but three of us--Mr. Halsey, myself, and L. We had
mattrasses along, which we carried on top by day, and at night arranged
into a passable bed. So, too, we had india-rubber pillows, and robes
and blankets in abundance. But the weather was very disagreeable, even
for the season, and though convalescent I yet found myself far from
strong. We left Bear River about 10 P. M., in an ugly storm of rain and
sleet, well tucked in for a night's ride; but in an hour or so were
roused up by the stage coming to a dead-halt, and the driver singing
out--it sounded half-maliciously--"Good place to walk, gents! Bad
place ahead!" Out we got for a dismal walk of a mile or more, through
a soft and yielding bottom, where the horses could hardly pull the
empty coach through, and then in again with muddy boots and disgusted
feelings generally. Just before daybreak, we struck a long and steep
"divide," where the sleet had thickened into snow, without stiffening
the ground enough to bear the coach up, and here again we had another
cheerful walk of a couple of miles or so, to relieve the blown horses.
At King Hill, the last serious "divide" before reaching Boisè, we had
another promenade of a mile or two, through five or six inches of snow,
just after midnight; but I managed to stick by the stage. The weather
continued raw and cold, rainy and sleety, by turns, and we found it
necessary to keep well wrapped up, except in the middle of the day.
At night our mattrasses proved too narrow for three, after all, and
Halsey's shoulders or knees were constantly punching into either L. or
me. He and L. usually slept right along all night, but I got scarcely
a genteel wink from Bear River to Boisè. By sunrise ordinarily we were
up, and then came a general smoke and talk over the night's experience.
By nine or ten A. M. we halted for breakfast, which usually consisted
of chicory coffee, stringy beef or bacon, and saleratus-biscuit.
Sometimes we got fried potatoes in addition--which helped the meal out
somewhat--but not often. Late at night we stopped for dinner (only two
meals a day), which was generally only a poor edition of breakfast over
again, with the courses perchance reversed. Bilious and aguish with
that accursed mountain-fever still hanging about me, I need scarcely
say, I had little relish for such a bill of fare, and indeed scarcely
ate a "square meal" from Bear River to Boisè. Fortunately, among other
extras, Mr. Halsey had had the forethought to lay in a half a bushel
of apples, just fresh from the tree at Salt Lake, and these we all
munched _ad libitum_ as we journeyed along. They were always juicy
and cool, piquant and delicious, when nothing else was palatable; and
for my part, I really don't see, how I would have got through without
them. We were three days and three nights on the road continuously,
never stopping except forty minutes or so at a time for meals. The last
twenty-four hours out, the weather was raw and cold even for November;
and as we rolled into Boisè, with every joint aching, the lights of a
town never seemed more winning and welcome. At the Overland House, they
were already full. But they gave us a good hot supper, followed by a
"shake-down" in the parlor, and every comfort at their disposal.
A word more about kind Mr. Halsey. A New Yorker by birth, he drifted
west when a boy, and at an early age became clerk on a Mississippi
steamer. Subsequently, he followed the Army in 1857 to Utah, and
was engaged for awhile in the Q. M. Dep't. at old Camp Floyd. Then
he passed into Mr. Holladay's employ, and now for several years had
been his general superintendent at Salt-Lake, with a handsome salary
of course. He was a quick, sharp man, about thirty-five, devoted
to business, and sure to make money anywhere, if there was money
to be made. Slightly conservative, he was still a strong Union
man, and especially proud of Grant and Sherman, whom he had known
before the war. He was a robust and hardy man, of the kind that can
chew cast-iron or digest pebble-stones (and hence, Idaho pies and
biscuit!), but with a heart as big and tender as a woman's. In the
spring of '65, he attempted to stage it from Atchison to Salt Lake,
but had to walk most of the way, because of the execrable roads
that season. Day after day, he and a single companion pushed on
ahead of the coach, frequently fording streams up to their arm-pits,
especially among the Mountains, where they must have been icy cold,
and never even changed their clothes the whole way. They were never
dry, or even comfortably warm, for a day together; and yet they
reached Salt Lake all right, and he said, never seemed to mind it.
It is of such men, that the Border is made up, and these are the
ones that accomplish such miracles out there. Such men are always
the pioneers of the race, and the rightful founders of empire.
"Natural Selection," I suppose, steps in and duly provides them,
by the "survival of the fittest." We were indebted to him for many
courtesies, in various ways, and would duly acknowledge this here.
Afterwards we met him in San Francisco, and subsequently, I believe,
he settled in New York. Stalwart, go-ahead, whole-souled Mr. Halsey,
good fortune attend you, wherever you may go!
FOOTNOTE:
[13] But she has already filled this gap with a branch Road, which
ultimately she will push north to the Columbia, and south to the Gulf
of California.