Wednesday, June 7.
There is such a sameness in our surroundings that we seem to be
stopping in the same place every night, with the same neighbors in
front and back of us, and across the corral. When we organized, Mr.
Kerfoot’s wagons were driven just in front of ours and Mr. Morrison’s
just behind ours, so we have the same next-door neighbors, only they
have changed places. We are in the central part of the left-hand side
of the corral. The wagons occupied by the Walkers and Hardinbrookes are
just opposite in the right-hand side of the corral.
We always stop in just this way, if only for an hour at noon--which we
do every day for lunch, and to water the stock.
When we halted to-day, the rain began to pour, the stock scattered in
every direction. When it stopped raining, the cattle could not all
be found in time to start again this afternoon, so we only made half
a day’s drive. It has commenced raining again, and promises a rainy
night. It is not very pleasant camping when it rains, yet it would be
much more unpleasant if it did not rain--to lay the dust, refresh the
atmosphere, and make the grass grow.
When the captain finds a place for the corral, he rides out where all
can see him, and gives the signal, the first and central wagons leave
the road; the first to drive to where the captain stands, the other
and all behind it cross over a sufficient distance to form the corral
by the wagons stopping, so as to form a gateway, for the stock to pass
through, turned so that they will not interfere with each other when
hitching. The next wagon drives to position, with the right-hand side
of cover almost touching the left-hand or back, outer edge of the
wagon in front, with tongues of wagons turned out, so that all can
be hitched to at one time. In this way the entire corral is formed,
meeting at the back an oblong circle, forming a wall or barrier, the
cattle cannot break through. The horses are caught and harnessed
outside the corral, but the cattle have to be driven inside to be yoked.
* * * * *
Thursday, June 8.
It rained all night, seemingly without cessation; the wind did not
blow, so there was no harm, but lots of good done. I am glad when the
rain comes in the night-time, instead of day-time. Where the beds
touched the covers they were quite wet this morning.
* * * * *
Friday, June 9.
We came through a little town--Valley City. There is a very pretty
attractive looking house near the road. Cash and I had come on ahead of
wagons. Our inclination to enter that pretty home was irresistible,
so we dismounted, took off our habits, hitched our ponies, and knocked
at the door. A very pleasant lady opened the door and gave us hearty
welcome. We told her frankly why we came. She laughed, and said,
“I have had callers before, with the same excuse, but you need not
apologize, I am glad my home is attractive to strangers.”
The gentleman of the house is postmaster, and has his office in the
room across the hall from the parlor. While we were there the coach
arrived, and the mail was brought in. He did not know we were there,
and called to his wife to “Come see this mail.” We went with her, and
oh, such a mess. They had emptied the mail-sack on some papers that had
been spread upon the floor, and such a lot of dilapidated letters and
papers I never saw before. I picked up a photograph of an elderly lady,
but we could not find the envelope from which it had escaped.
Perhaps some anxious son, away out in the mines, far from home and
friends and mother, will look in vain for mother’s pictured face, and
be so sadly disappointed. I am so sorry for the boy that will miss
getting his mother’s photograph. She looks like such a sweet, motherly
mother. A great many of the letters were past saving; if the owners had
been there they could not have deciphered either the address or the
written contents, for they were only a mass of pulp; the postmaster
said it was “Because they send such old leaky mail-bags on this route;
those post-office folk seem to think any old thing will do for the
West, when we ought to have the very best and strongest, because of
the long distances they must be carried.” All that could be, were
carefully handled and spread out to dry; still, they would reach their
destination in a very dilapidated condition.
We have made a long drive, are within four miles of Fort Kearney.
There are a great many wagons within sight besides our own long
train, whichever way we look we can see wagons. The road from Kansas
City comes into this road not far from Valley City, and there are as
many, or more, coming that way as the way we came. People leaving
war-stricken Missouri, no doubt. I have never seen a fort. I do hope
Kearney will come up to my expectations.