“To San Francisco in eight days, by the Central Overland California and Pike’s Peak Express Company.
“The first courier of the ‘Pony Express’ will leave the Missouri River on Tuesday, April the 3d, at — o’clock P.M., and will run regularly weekly hereafter, carrying a letter mail only. The point on the Missouri River will be in telegraphic communication with the East, and will be announced in due time.
“Telegraphic messages from all parts of the United States and Canada, in connection with the point of departure, will be received up to 5 o’clock P.M. of the day of leaving, and transmitted over the Placerville and St. Joseph Telegraph-wire to San Francisco and intermediate points by the connecting Express in eight days. The letter mail will be delivered in San Francisco in ten days from the departure of the Express. The Express passes through Forts Kearney, Laramie, and Bridger, Great Salt Lake City, Camp Floyd, Carson City, the Washoe Silver Mines, Placerville, and Sacramento. And letters for Oregon, Washington Territory, British Columbia, the Pacific Mexican Ports, Russian Possessions, Sandwich Islands, China, Japan, and India, will be mailed in San Francisco.
“Special messengers, bearers of letters, to connect with the Express of the 3d April, will receive communications for the Courier of that day at No. 481 Tenth Street, Washington City, up to 2 45 P.M. on Friday, March 30th; and in New York, at the office of J.B. Simpson, Room No. 8 Continental Bank Building, Nassau Street, up to 6 50 A.M. of 31st March.
“Full particulars can be obtained on application at the above places, and from the Agents of the Company.W. H. Russell, President.
“Leavenworth City, Kansas, March, 1860.
“Office, New York.—J. B. Simpson, Vice-President; Samuel and Allen, Agents, St. Louis, Mo.; H. J. Spaulding, Agent, Chicago.”
Beyond Guittard’s the prairies bore a burnt-up aspect. Far as the eye could see the tintage was that of the Arabian Desert, sere and tawny as a jackal’s back. It was still, however, too early;THE PRAIRIE FIRES. October is the month for those prairie fires which have so frequently exercised the Western author’s pen. Here, however, the grass is too short for the full development of the phenomenon, and beyond the Little Blue River there is hardly any risk. The fire can easily be stopped, ab initio, by blankets, or by simply rolling a barrel; the African plan of beating down with boughs might also be used in certain places; and when the conflagration has extended, travelers can take refuge in a little Zoar by burning the vegetation to windward. In Texas and Illinois, however, where the grass is tall and rank, and the roaring flames leap before the wind with the stride of maddened horses, the danger is imminent, and the spectacle must be one of awful sublimity.
In places where the land seems broken with bluffs, like an iron-bound coast, the skeleton of the earth becomes visible; the formation is a friable sandstone, overlying fossiliferous lime, which is based upon beds of shale. These undergrowths show themselves at the edges of the ground-waves and in the dwarf precipices, where the soil has been degraded by the action of water. The yellow-brown humus varies from forty to sixty feet deep in the most favored places, and erratic blocks of porphyry and various granites encumber the dry water-courses and surface drains. In the rare spots where water then lay, the herbage was still green, forming oases in the withering waste, and showing that irrigation is its principal, if not its only want.
Passing by Marysville, in old maps Palmetto City, a county town which thrives by selling whisky to ruffians of all descriptions, we forded before sunset the “Big Blue,” a well-known tributary of the Kansas River. It is a pretty little stream, brisk and clear as crystal, about forty or fifty yards wide by 2·50 feet deep at the ford. The soil is sandy and solid, but the banks are too precipitous to be pleasant when a very drunken driver hangs on by the lines of four very weary mules. We then stretched once more over the “divide”—the ground, generally rough or rolling, between the fork or junction of two streams, in fact, the Indian Doab—separating the Big Blue from its tributary the Little Blue. At 6 P.M. we changed our fagged animals for fresh, and the land of Kansas for Nebraska, at Cotton-wood Creek, a bottom where trees flourished, where the ground had been cleared for corn, and where we detected the prairie wolf watching for the poultry. The fur of our first coyote was light yellow-brown, with a tinge of red, the snout long and sharp, the tail bushy and hanging, the gait like a dog’s, and the manner expressive of extreme timidity; it is a far more cowardly animal than the larger white buffalo-wolf and the black wolf of the woods, which are also far from fierce. At Cotton-wood Station we took “on board” two way-passengers, “lady” and “gentleman,” who were drafted into the wagon containing the Judiciary. A weary drive over a rough and dusty road, through chill night air and clouds of musquetoes, which we were warned would accompany us to the Pacific slope of the Rocky Mountains, placed us about 10 P.M. at Rock, also called Turkey Creek—surely a misnomer; no turkey ever haunted so villainous a spot! Several passengers began to suffer from fever and nausea; in such travel the second night is usually the crisis, after which a man can endure for an indefinite time. The “ranch” was a nice place for invalids, especially for those of the softer sex. Upon the bedded floor of the foul “doggery” lay, in a seemingly promiscuous heap, men, women, children, lambs, and puppies, all fast in the arms of Morpheus, and many under the influence of a much jollier god. The employés, when aroused pretty roughly, blinked their eyes in the atmosphere of smoke and musquetoes, and declared that it had been “merry in hall” that night—the effects of which merriment had not passed off. After half an hour’s dispute about who should do the work, they produced cold scraps of mutton and a kind of bread which deserves a totally distinct generic name. The strongest stomachs of the party made tea, and found some milk which was not more than one quarter flies. This succulent meal was followed by the usual douceur. On this road, however mean or wretched the fare, the station-keeper, who is established by the proprietor of the line, never derogates by lowering his price.