There are several musicians in the McMahan train; Lyde says they serenaded me last night. She says they stood between our two wagons. I think she is trying to tease me.
“Ask Dr. Howard, if you do not believe me. He was one of them.”
“Oh, no. I would be ashamed to acknowledge I did not hear them, and would feel like a dunce if they had not been there.”
Dr. Howard gave me the bouquet he gathered on Elk Mountain, which was most beautifully arranged, and asked me “To keep it until it falls to dust.” I have put it between the leaves of a book and will perhaps never think of it again.
We came through Fort Halleck to-day. There were eight wigwams, or teepees, at the east end of the town; the squaws wore calico dresses and hoops. I believe they were more comical-looking than in their blankets. I fail as yet to recognize “The noble red man.” They are anything else than dignified; they seem lazy, dirty, obnoxious-looking creatures.
Cash and I made a few purchases at Fort Halleck. I paid eighty cents for a quire of writing paper, and Cash paid fifty cents for a can of peaches. Mrs. Morrison is on the sick-list to-day, and Delia Kerfoot has a very sore mouth—scurvy, the doctor says, caused by the alkali in the dust and air. Neelie and Frank are both complaining.
WE CROSS THE NORTH PLATTE.
Thursday, July 20.
The ground was covered with a white frost this morning, and it is freezing cold. Mrs. Morrison and Frank are better; Delia’s mouth is healing. Neelie continues to drag around; she will not acknowledge that she is sick enough to go to bed, but she certainly looks sick. I wish they would call Dr. Howard; somehow, I have more faith in him; perhaps because he is older and more experienced.
We are on the banks of the North Platte; arrived about three o’clock, did not stop for lunch at noon. We came ahead of the other trains, which will be here to-night. We will have the privilege of crossing first in the morning.