"Now, Cousin, don't insult the poor dog by such a price. They say they make nice pets, and I am going to take my dog home for Norval. But that reminds me I must give it some fresh grass," and away I went, gathering the tenderest, but, alas! the barrel was empty, and a hole gnawed in the side told the story.
I wanted to sell the dog then, and would have taken almost any price for the naughty Danger, that, though full grown, was no bigger than a Norway rat; but no one seemed to want to buy him.
The weather was very warm, but poor "Wiggins" was left on the parlor table in the hotel at Plum Creek one night, and in the morning I found him scalped, and all his prophetic powers destroyed, so we did not know just when to look out for a storm, but thunder storms, accompanied with heavy rains, came frequently during the week, generally at night, but by morning the ground would be in good working order.
Our cousin, A. M. Gardner, formerly of Franklin, Pennsylvania, for several years was one of the fortunate oil men of the Venango county field, but a couple of years of adverse fortunes swept all, and leaving their beautiful home on Gardner's Hill, came west, and are now earnestly at work building upon a surer foundation.
When I was ready to be off for Wymore, Tuesday, Salt Creek Valley was entirely covered with water, and even the high built road was so completely hidden that the drive over it was dangerous, but Cousin Rob Wilhelm took me as far as a horse could go, and thanks to a high-built railroad and my light luggage, we were able to walk the rest of the way. The overflow of Salt Creek Valley is not an uncommon occurrence in the spring of the year. This basin or valley covers about 500 acres, and is rather a barren looking spot. In dry weather the salt gathers until the ground is quite white, and before the days of railroads, settlers gathered salt for their cattle from this valley. The water has an ebb and flow, being highest in the morning and lowest in afternoon.
I had been directed to call upon Mr. R. R. Randall, immigration agent of the B. & M.R.R., for information about southern Nebraska, and while I waited for the train, I called upon him in his office, on the third floor of the depot, and told him I had seen northern and central Nebraska, and was anxious to know all I could of southern Nebraska.
After a few moments conversation, he asked:
"What part of Pennsylvania are you from, Miss Fulton?"
"Indiana county."
"Indeed? why, I have been there to visit a good old auntie; but she is dead now, bless her dear soul," and straightway set about showing me all kindness and interest.