The Fourth of July! What a glorious day, and how honored at home, but to
the travel-worn emigrant, in the eternal wilds, this day's remembrances
hardly stir the sluggish blood. All are rushing to the gold region, and
few stop to celebrate the Fourth of July. We drove as usual, wild sage
and dust being about the only thing in the eye. We followed up Goose
Creek and a tributary for about ten miles, when we struck out across a
high, dry country, destitute of vegetation, except wild sage, etc. After
going twelve miles, we came to Thousand Spring Valley, and going down
it a little more than a mile we found water and tolerable grass, where
we stopped for the night. Day hot! Distance, twenty-three miles.