sentative in Salt Lake City. He gave the story
to the press; the descendants of the pioneer mother read it, and they
provided a monument, lovingly inscribed, to mark the spot.

[Illustration: _United States Geological Survey_

Chimney Rock, an old sentinel on the trail in western Nebraska.]

About twenty miles from Scott's Bluff stands old Chimney Rock. It is a
curious freak of nature, and a famous landmark on the trail. It covers
perhaps twelve acres, and rises coneshaped for two hundred feet to the
base of the spire-like rock, the "chimney," that rests upon it and rises
a full hundred feet more.

A local story runs that an army officer trained a cannon on this spire,
shot off about thirty feet from the top, and for this was
court-martialed and dishonorably discharged from the army. I could get
no definite confirmation of the story, though it was repeated again and
again. It seems incredible that an intelligent man would do such an act,
and if he did it, he deserved severe punishment.

It is saddening to think of the many places where equally stupid things
have been done to natural wonders. Coming through Idaho, I had noticed
that at Soda Springs the hand of the vandal had been at work. That
interesting phenomenon, Steamboat Spring, the wonderment of all of us in
1852, with its intermittent spouting, had been tampered with and had
ceased to act.

[Illustration: Going up the steep, rocky sides of Little Canyon.]

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

A BIT OF BAD LUCK

"OLD Oregon Trail Monument Expedition, Brady Island, Nebraska, August 9,
1906, Camp No. 120. Odometer, 1,536 5/8. Yesterday morning Twist ate his
breakfast as usual and showed no signs of sickness until we were on the
road two or three miles, when he began to put his tongue out and his
breathing became heavy. But he leaned on the yoke more heavily than
usual and determined to pull the whole load. I finally stopped, put him
on the off side, gave him the long end of the yoke, and tied his head
back with the halter strap to the chain; but to no purpose, for he
pulled by the head very heavily. I finally unyoked, gave him a quart of
lard, a gill of vinegar, and a handful of sugar, but all to no purpose,
for he soon fell down and in two hours was dead."

Such is the record in my journal of this noble animal's death. I think
he died from eating some poisonous plant.

When we started, Twist weighed 1470 pounds. After we had crossed two
ranges of mounta