"'TIS ONLY A SNOWBANK'S TEARS, I WEEN."
We are now approaching the foot-hills of the Rocky Mountains. The
fertile plains through which we have been passing are being merged into
rocky hills, the level parts being mostly gravelly barrens. The roads
are hard and flinty, like pounded glass, which were making some of the
cattle-teams and droves very lame and foot-sore. When one got so it
could not walk, it was killed and skinned. Other lame ones were lashed
to the side of a heavy wagon, partially sunk in the ground, their lame
foot fastened on the hub of a wheel, when a piece of the raw hide was
brought over the hoof and fastened about the fet-lock, protecting the
hoof until it had time to heal. This mode of veterinary treatment,
although crude, lessened the suffering among the cattle very materially.
The streams along here, the La Barge, La Bonte, and Deer Creek, were all
shallow with rocky bottoms and excellent water. Here we frequently took
the stock upon the hills at night, where the bunch-grass grows among the
sage brush. This grass, as its name indicates, grows in bunches about a
foot high and about the same in diameter, bearing a profusion of yellow
seeds about the size of a kernel of wheat. This makes excellent feed,
and the stock is very fond of it.
At this point Mother Nature is gradually changing the old scenes for new
ones. The big brawny mountains with their little ones clustered at their
feet are just before us; while the Platte River, which for many miles
has been our constant companion, will soon be a thing of the past, as we
are close to the crossing, and once over we shall see the river no more.
This river which stretches itself in graceful curves across an entire
State, is one of peculiar construction and characteristics. At a certain
point it is terrifying, even to its best friends. In curve, color,
contour, and graceful foliage, it is a magnificent stretch of beauty;
while as a stream of utility its presence has ever been a benediction to
the country through which it passes. As a tribute to its general
excellence, I place here the beautiful lines (name of author unknown to
me), entitled:
IN THE CRADLE OF THE PLATTE.
A little stream in the canon ran,
In the canon deep and long,
When a stout old oak at its side began
To sing to it this song,
"Oh, why do you laugh and weep and sing,
And why do you hurry by,
For you're only a noisy little thing,
While a great strong oak am I;
A hundred years I shall stand alone,
And the world will look at me;
While you will bubble and babble on
And die at last in the sea."
"So proud and lofty," the stream replied,
"You're a king of the forest true;
But your roots were dead and your leaves all dried
Had I not watered you."
The oak tree rustled its leaves of green
To the little stream below;
"'Tis only a snowbank's tears, I ween,
Could talk to a monarch so.
But where are you going so fast, so fast,
And what do you think to do?
Is there anything in the world at last
For a babbling brook like you?"
"So fast, so fast,--why should I wait,"
The hurrying water said,
"When yonder by the canon gate
The farmer waits for bread?"
Out on the rainless desert land
My hurrying footsteps go;
I kiss the earth, I kiss the sand,
I make the harvest grow.
"And many a farmer, when the sky
Has turned to heated brass,
And all the plain is hot and dry,
Gives thanks to see me pass.
By many a sluice and ditch and lane
They lead me left and right,
For it is I who turns the plain
To gardens of delight."
Then hurrying on, the dashing stream
Into a river grew,
And rock and mountain made a seam
To let its torrent through;
And where the burning desert lay,
A happy river ran;
A thousand miles it coursed its way,
And blessed the homes of man.
Vain was the oak tree's proud conceit,
Dethroned the monarch lay;
The brook that babbled at its feet
Had washed its roots away.
Still in the canon's heart there springs
The desert's diadem,
And shepherds bless the day that brings
The snow-bank's tears to them.
We crossed the river on a ferry-boat that was large enough to hold four
wagons and some saddle-horses. The boat was run by a cable stretched
taut up stream fifteen or twenty feet from the boat. A line from the
bow and stern of the boat connected it with a single block which ran on
the cable. When ready to start, the bow-line was hauled taut, the stern
line slacked off to the proper angle, when, the current passing against
the side of the boat, it was propelled across very rapidly. The river
here was rapid, the water cold and deep, with a strong undercurrent.
We had to wait nearly a whole day before it came our turn to take our
wagons over. In the meantime we were detailed as follows: Ten men were
selected to get the wagons aboard the boat, cross over with them and
guard them until all were carried over; three or four men were sent
across and up the river to catch and care for the stock as it came out
of the river near a clump of cottonwoods. One of the company, named Owen
Powers, a strong, courageous young man and a good swimmer, volunteered
to ride the lead horse in and across to induce the other animals to
follow, the balance of the company herding them, as they were all loose
near the edge of the river. When everything was ready, Powers stripped
off, and mounting the horse he had selected, rode out into the stream.
The other animals, forty-seven of them followed, and when a few feet
from the shore had to swim. Everything was going all right until Powers
reached the middle of the river, when an undercurrent struck his horse,
laying him over partly on his side. Powers leaned forward to encourage
his horse, when the animal suddenly threw up his head, striking him a
terrible blow squarely in the face. He was stunned and fell off
alongside the horse. It now seemed as though both he and his horse would
be drowned, as all the other stock began to press close up to them. He
soon recovered, however, and as he partially pulled himself on to his
horse, we could plainly see that his face and breast were covered with
blood. We shouted at him words of encouragement, cheering him from both
sides of the river. While his struggling form was hanging to the horse's
mane, the other animals all floundered about him, pulling for the shore
for dear life. The men on the other side were ready to catch him as he
landed, nearly exhausted by his struggles and the blow he had received.
They carried him up the bank and leaned him against a tree, one man
taking care of him while the others caught the animals, or rather
corralled them, until the rest of us got across and went to their
assistance. We brought the young man's clothes with us and fixed him up,
washing him and stanching his bleeding nose and mouth. He had an awful
looking face; his eyes were blackened, nose flattened and mouth cut.
However, he soon revived and was helped by a couple of the men down to
the wagons. We then gathered the stock, went down to the train, hitched
up, and drove into camp.
We now soon came to the Sweetwater River. The country here is more hilly
and rocky, and the valleys narrower and more barren. The main range of
Wind River Mountains could be plainly seen in the distance, while close
upon our left were the Sweetwater Mountains. The difference in scenery
after leaving the river and plains was such as to awaken new emotions
and fire one with a new kind of admiration. The immensity and fixedness
of the mountains awakened a keener sense of stability, of firmness of
purpose, and a sort of _expect great things and do great things spirit_;
while the sense of beauty appreciation was in no wise narrowed as it
followed the lights and shades of jut and crevice, and the rosy,
scintillating bits of sun as a new day dropped them with leisure hand
upon summit and sides, or later the tender glow of crimson and blue and
gold, as the gathered sun-bits trailed themselves behind the mountains
for the night.
When making up our outfit back in the States, by oversight or want of
knowledge of what we would need, we had neglected to lay in a supply of
horse-nails, which we now began to be sorely in need of, as the horses'
shoes were fast wearing out and becoming loose. It was just here that we
came one day to a man sitting by the roadside with a half-bushel measure
full of horse nails to sell at the modest price of a "bit" or twelve and
one-half cents apiece. No amount of remonstrance or argument about
taking advantage of one's necessity could bring down the price; so I
paid him ten dollars in gold for eighty nails. I really wanted to be
alone with that man for awhile, I loved him so. He, like some others who
had crossed the plains before, knew of the opportunity to sell such
things as the trailers might be short of at any price they might see fit
to ask.
It was here, too, that we came upon the great Independence Rock, an
immense boulder, lying isolated on the bank of the Sweetwater River. It
was oblong, with an oval-shaped top, as large as a block of buildings.
It was of such form that parties could walk up and over it lengthwise,
thereby getting a fine view of the surrounding country.
About a mile beyond was the Devil's Gate, a crack or rent in the
mountain, which was probably about fifty feet wide, the surface of the
walls showing that by some sort of force they had been separated,
projections on one side finding corresponding indentations on the other.
The river in its original course had run around the range, but now it
ran leaping and roaring through the Gate.
There was considerable alkali in this section. We had already lost two
horses from drinking it, and several others barely recovered from the
effects.