buffalo. Up to this time we had had a great deal of sickness in camp. I
remember one poor fellow (his name I have forgotten), we called him
Chihuahua Bob; he was a jovial, good natured fellow and drove one of the
eight-mule baggage wagons. I enquired about him one morning and was told
that he had died during the night of cholera, and had been left in his
shallow grave.

We met some returning emigrants that morning who had become discouraged
and were going back to their old homes This made me think of home and
friends, the domestic happy fireside, and all that I had left behind,
"but," said I to myself, "this won't do, I am too far out now; pluck is
the word and I'm not going back on it."

Early next morning we were once more upon our long journey, slowly
traveling towards the far, far West.

The first place of interest that presented itself to our view was a
narrow passage for the river between two perpendicular rocky banks,
which were about one hundred feet high and looked as though a man could
jump from one to the other at the top. This was called the "Devil's
Gate." Above and below was the broad prairie.

At intervals along the Platte were villages of prairie dogs, who were
about the size of large grey squirrels, but more chunky' of a brownish
hue, with a head somewhat resembling a bulldog. They are sometimes eaten
by the Indians and mountaineers. Their earth houses are all about two
feet deep; are made in the form of a cone; are entered by a hole in the
top, which descends vertically some two or more feet and then takes an
oblique course, and connects with others in every direction. These towns
or villages sometimes cover several hundred acres and it is very