g to them, one of the Indians drew his knife, and taking
a weed by the top, quickly cut it off, saying as he did so, "Pawnees."
His illustration of how the thing was done was entirely satisfactory.

We gave the grub to the chief, who in turn, handed it out to the men as
they sat on the ground. When through eating, they mounted their ponies,
waved us a salute and were off.

The balance of the day was spent in writing home letters, which we
expected to deliver on the morrow at the post.

About 9 o'clock the next morning, we came to Laramie River, near where
it empties into the North Platte, which we crossed on a bridge, the
first one we had seen on the whole route. At this point a road turns
off, leading up to the fort, about one mile distant. Being selected to
deliver the mail, I rode out to the fort, which was made up of a
parade-ground protected by earth-works, with the usual stores, quarters,
barracks, etc., the sutler and post-office being combined. On entering
the sutler's, about the first person I saw was the young leader of the
Indians, who had lunched at our camp the afternoon before. He was now
dressed in the uniform of a soldier, recognizing me as soon as we met
with a grunt and a "How."

Delivering the mail, I rode out in another direction to intercept the
train. When about one-half mile from the fort I came to a sentinel,
pacing his beat all alone. He was just as neat and clean as though doing
duty at the general's headquarters, with his spotless white gloves,
polished gun, and accoutrements. In a commanding tone of voice, he
ordered me to halt. Asking permission to pass, which was readily
granted, I rode on a couple of miles, when I met some Indians with their
families, who were on the march with ponies, dogs, women, and papooses.

Long spruce poles were lashed each side of the ponies' necks, the other
ends trailing on the ground. The poles, being slatted across, were made
to hold their plunder or very old people and sometimes the women and
children. The dogs, like the ponies, were all packed with a pole or two
fastened to their necks; the whole making an interesting picture.

Overtaking the train about noon, we camped at Bitter Cottonwood Creek,
the location being beautifully described by the author of the novel,
"Prairie Flower."

Our standard rations during these days consisted of hardtack, bacon, and
coffee; of course, varying it as we could whenever we came to a
Government fort. I recall how, on