Wednesday, May 17.
Another night with Gus. She wakes in the morning to weep. We started once more on our now sad journey. I have ridden with Gus all day. We do not hear the sound of song and laughter as we did last week; we all seem to be under a pall. We came through Redoak this morning, are camping in a beautiful place, near a pleasant, homelike farmhouse. The weather is perfect.
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Thursday, May 18.
The friends that stayed with us Sunday night told us that the authorities are not allowing emigrants to take the northern route, because of the Indian depredations that have been committed on that route. That if we went to Council Bluffs we would have to come down the river to Platsmouth to get on the southern route. So we changed our course accordingly.
We came through Whitecloud, Glenwood and Pacific City to-day. At Whitecloud I made a few purchases, traded with a little German merchant who crossed the plains a year ago; he says we have a delightful trip before us. He expects to go again to the Rocky Mountains, and make his home there, as soon as he can sell out and settle up his business here.
Just before we came to Glenwood, as the girls passed on their ponies, Gus said to me, “Sallie, go ride your pony, too; you have not had a ride for several days. Pardon me if I have been selfish in my great sorrow.”
“No, Gus, I would rather stay with you than to ride Dick, as long as you need me.”
“Thank you, dear; your company has been very grateful to me, but now I would really enjoy seeing you ride through Glenwood.”
To please her, and myself, too, I soon had saddled and mounted Dick and overtaken the girls. As we were riding through Glenwood a photographer sent a messenger to request us to “Please stop five minutes and let him take our picture.” We rode to the position indicated, doffed our sun-bonnets, and looked as pleasant as we could. We did not wait to see the proof, and I expect he was disappointed.