The crossing is
sometimes dangerous, and there is a rope-ferry, but to-day the water
was low and fordable with ease. We are now no longer in the United
States, but in the Indian country. No ladies have ever taken this
journey before except the wives of the agents, who have been there but
a few weeks. In fact, these agencies were only established a short
time ago and the Indians are not yet very friendly to them. The
country was wilder, vaster and more barren than ever, with fewer
streams and broader divides. Tantalizing showers flying across the
distant mountains did not cool the dry, hot air. At noon we began to
see a long detached ridge, an advanced post of the Rockies, called
Rawhide Peak, and at night we camped on Rawhide Creek, a rather
desolate stream, without timber, bordered only with shrubs and weeds.
It seemed cheerful, however, upon its stony banks with such a gay
crowd as we had, so many soldiers and other people about, with their
wagons, horses, mules, tents and mess-chests. But a great black cloud
was rising over Rawhide Peak, and just as we were seated comfortably
at dinner down came the whirlwind upon us, nearly blew over our tent,
and covered our dinner with a thick coating of the dust of the Plains.
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