Saturday, July 22.
We are within sight of Pine Grove in Wyoming Territory.
Neelie was very much better this morning; almost well, she said at
noon, and rode her pony this afternoon. I was riding with her when I
noticed a heavy rain-storm coming. I begged her to come on and not risk
getting wet.
“Oh no, Miss Sallie; I don’t want to ride fast. This air is so
delicious, and I think I want to ride alone for a while; you go on, and
I will come very soon.”
I saw it was useless to urge her. I am always careful not to expose
myself unnecessarily to a drenching, so I raced on to our own wagons
and had barely time to unsaddle Dick and turn him loose when down came
the rain in torrents. I was so anxious about Neelie and expected her
to come tearing through the rain. I looked from the back of the wagon
and saw her coming--plodding along at the same slow gait, as if she
did not know it was raining. When the rain was almost over she came
along--drenched, of course. She laughed at my look of dismay and paid
no heed to my scolding. Mother and I both urged her to go quickly and
change her wet garments for dry and warm ones. She got off her horse
and climbed into the wagon. When we stopped I went around to see how
she fared. She sat in the wagon with a blanket-shawl around her, and
the wet clothes had not been changed for dry ones. She was shivering
with cold.
“Oh, Neelie, my precious girl, I am afraid you have killed yourself.”
“Oh, no, Miss Sallie; I am not so easily killed as all that.”
“But, Neelie, you have been sick for a week, and now to get this
drenching. I fear the consequences.”
The family do not appear at all anxious, so there is nothing I can do
but hope and trust that her naturally strong constitution may bear even
this strain. I advised her to go to bed, drink hot tea, and get into a
perspiration. I doubt very much if she will do it.
Milt Walker is on the sick-list, too. Hillhouse went to bed with a
severe headache last night, but a night’s rest has entirely restored
him.
We crossed three very muddy streams to-day, the first muddy water
we have seen since leaving the South Platte. Since coming to the
mountains, the water has been as clear as crystal until to-day;
perhaps we are coming into mining country. We stopped quite early this
afternoon; the McMahan train has passed and gone out of sight. I hope
they will not go too far, and that they will lend us protection with
their portable engine and other machinery.
* * * * *
Sunday, July 23.
We are resting to-day. I went with Mrs. Hardinbrooke, Lyde and a
gentleman friend of Lyde’s, for a long ramble over the mountains this
afternoon. We found a most delightful spring where the water seemingly
gushes out of the rock. Just below this spring was a patch of the
finest wild onions I ever saw. We brought a good supply to camp. We
are so starved for green vegetables that everyone seems to enjoy the
onions, though some had never eaten onions before, they said. For my
part I always did like onions.