Nellie Bower has a pony, and rides with us sometimes. She is a very
mature young lady for her age, and very pleasant company. Neelie and I
were riding together this morning, while Cash and Nellie Bower rode a
short distance ahead. We had been on the road about half an hour when
Dr. Fletcher and Milt Walker rode up, requesting the pleasure of our
company, in a very formal manner. Of course we smilingly bowed assent,
and the doctor rode with Neelie, and Milt with me. It is the first time
there has been any formality in our pairing off while riding. The boys
sometimes ride with us, but they come informally, we ride as we please,
and stop and climb into the wagon when we please, without saying by
your leave.
I am sorry any such formality has been commenced, for when I want
to lope off, and be by myself, I want to feel free to do so, rather
than to be constrained to entertain a beau, as we did this morning.
Of course, Dr. Fletcher and Mr. Walker have not gone with us thus
informally. I presume we succeeded in entertaining them, for when the
train turned out for noon, each gentleman looked at his watch and
wondered “If it could be possible it is noon?”
Dr. Fletcher is stepbrother of the Walkers--his mother and their
father being married. He is physician for our train; an intelligent,
handsome man, below medium in size. I think he must be dyspeptic, for
he is always finding fault with everything. He seems to admire Neelie
very much. We came through Cottonwood this morning. Stopped at noon
where the feed is fine, so it has been decided that we stay here until
to-morrow. The sky has the appearance of another storm this evening. We
have had a busy afternoon.
* * * * *
Saturday, June 17.
There was a brisk shower last evening about dark, only lasted about
half an hour, there was no wind. About midnight the cattle stampeded,
the herders do not know what frightened them, but the first thing
thought of was Indians, yet there were none visible. Some of the cattle
were not found until this afternoon, so here we will have to stay
another night.
The bluffs near here are quite high and abrupt. I climbed to the top
this morning. I seemed to be away up yonder, when looking down at our
corral the people looked like midgets. The bluffs are 150 feet high. I
received a beautiful bouquet of wild flowers this evening, but do not
know who sent it. The boy said, “A gentleman sent it.” But he either
could not, or would not, tell what gentleman. Perhaps the one that sent
it thought I would know instinctively, but I am certainly in the dark.
Two gentlemen took lunch at our table this afternoon; they are father
and son. Hillhouse met them out on the road; they asked him, “Do you
know where we can get something to eat? We have had nothing since a
very early breakfast.”
He brought them to our wagons, and we soon had a lunch ready for them.
Their name is Reade, the father’s hair and whiskers are as white as
snow, otherwise he is not an aged-looking man. They asked questions,
and when they found we had not fully decided upon our destination, they
insisted that Montana is the place for us. They have been there and are
going again with freight. They belong with the Irvine train. Each train
goes by the name of its captain, ours is known as “The Hardinbrooke
train.” Then there is the McMahan train, and the Dickerson train, that
always camp within sight of us, for mutual protection. We have not
met any of the people from the other trains. The Irvine train--which
is very large--are some miles ahead of us. The Reades were hunting
cattle, had been as far back as Cottonwood, but without success. The
son had a long talk with the boys before leaving camp. After he had
gone, Hillhouse came around and took a seat on the wagon-tongue,
near where I was engaged in the interesting occupation of the week’s
mending. I said, “Mr. Read thinks Montana the place for us.”