For the benefit of others, I want to tell of the wisest man I ever saw working corn. I am sorry I cannot tell just how his tent was attached to his cultivator, but it was a square frame covered with muslin, and the ends hanging over the sides several inches which acted as fans; minus a hat he was taking the weather cool. Now I believe in taking these days when it says 100° in the shade, cool, and if you can't take them cool, take them as cool as you can any way. My thermometer did not do so, but left in the sun it ran as high as it could and then boiled over and broke the bulb.
There were frequent showers and one or two storms, and though they came in the night, I was up and as near ready, as I could get, for a cyclone. Aunt Jane wants me to stay until a hot wind blows for a day or two, almost taking one's breath, filling the air with dust, and shriveling the leaves. But I leave her, wiping her eyes on the corner of her apron, while she throws an old shoe after me, and with Gracie and Arthur by the hand, I go to the depot to take the 4:45 P.M. train, July 5th.
I cried once when I was bidding friends good bye, and had the rest all crying and feeling bad, so I made up my mind never to cry again at such a time if it was possible. I did not know that I would ever see these dear friends again, but I tried to think I would, and left them as though I would soon be back; and now I am going farther from home and friends.
Out from Wymore, past fields of golden grain already in the sheaf, and nicely growing corn waving in the wind. Now it is gently rolling, and now bluffy, crossing many little streams, and now a great grassy meadow. But here is what I wrote, and as it may convey a better idea of the country, I will give my notes just as I took them as I rode along:
ODELL,
A town not so large by half as Wymore. Three great long corn cribs, yet well filled. About the only fence is the snow fence, used to prevent the snow from drifting into the cuts. Grass not so tall as seen on the Reservation. Here are nicely built homes, and the beginners' cabins hiding in the cosy places. Long furrows of breaking for next year's planting. The streams are so like narrow gullies, and so covered with bushes and trees that one has to look quick and close to see the dark muddy water that covers the bottom.
DILLER,
A small town, but I know the "Fourth" was here by the bowery or dancing platforms, and the flags that still wave. Great fields of corn and grassy stretches. Am watching the banks, and I do believe the soil is running out, only about a foot until it changes to a clay. Few homes.
INDIAN CREEK.
Conductor watching to show me the noted "Wild Bill's" cabin, and now just through the cut he points to a low log cabin, where Wild Bill killed four men out of six, who had come to take his life, and as they were in the wrong and he in the right, he received much praise, for thus ridding the world of worse than useless men, and so nobly defending government property, which they wanted to take out of his hands. There is the creek running close to the cabin, and up the hill from the stream is the road that was then the "Golden Trail," no longer used by gold seekers, pony-express riders, stage drivers, wild Indians, and emigrants that then went guarded by soldiers from Fort Kearney. The stream is so thickly wooded, I fancy it offered a good hiding place, and was one of the dangerous passes in the road; but here we are at