uel and excellent water made the trip of about
ninety miles very pleasant, as compared with some of the former route.

We now came to the last-leaving of the Sweetwater, which is within ten
miles of the highest elevation of the South Pass. The springs and the
little stream on which we were camped, across which one could have
stepped, was the last water we saw that flowed into the Atlantic. We
were upon the summit or dividing line of the continent. With our faces
to the southward, the stream at our left flowed east and into the
Atlantic, while that upon our right flowed west into the Pacific.

There was something not altogether pleasant in considering the
conditions. Following and crossing and studying the streams as we had so
long been doing, it was not without a tinge of regret and broken
fellowship that we stepped over the ridge and courted the favor of new
and untried waters.

The abrupt ending of the great Wind River Mountain range was at our
right. These mountains are always more or less capped with snow. To the
south, perhaps one hundred miles, could be seen the main ridge of the
Rocky Mountains looming up faintly against the sky. The landscape,
looking at it from the camp, was certainly pleasing, if not beautiful.
During the day there could be seen bunches of deer, antelope, and elk
grazing and running about on the ridges, the whole making a picture
never to be forgotten. The sky was clear, the air pure and invigorating,
the sun shone warm by day and the stars bright at night.

The spot proved to be a "parting of the ways" in more than one sense,
for it was here, before the breaking of camp, that the company decided
to separate, not as to interests, but as to modes of travel.

Some of our wagons were pretty nearly worn out, and, as we had but
little in them, there were sixteen men who that night decided to give up
their five wagons and resort to "packing." Consequently the remaining
three wagons, including Captain and Mrs. Wadsworth, bade us goodby and
pulled out in the morning. This parting of the trail, as had been the
case in the parting of the waters, was not without its smack of regret.
For four months we had travelled as one family, each having at heart the
interest and comfort of the others. There had been days of sickness and
an hour of death; there was a grave at the roadside; there had had been
times of danger and disheartenment; all of which marshalled themselves
to memory's foreground as the quest