little grass on this day's travel, but a very good, level road, and saw some antelope.

25 miles.

25th. Weather still hot, with cold nights. The wind changes about midnight, and blows cold from the west until noon of the next day, in the afternoon it dies away, leaving the atmosphere hot and sultry. The wind suddenly changed this evening, and blew a perfect tornado. It would have made a parson split his sides with laughter if he could have refrained from holding the hair on his own head long enough to laugh—to have seen the perfect confusion and turmoil which our camp was thrown into when it struck us. Tents were flying in the air, men chasing their hats, with the most persevering energy; some were holding down their tents to keep them from tumbling down, while others were tumbling them down to keep them from being torn into ribbons, and others in the greatest excitement were securing the covers of their wagons to prevent their being blown away; in truth it was one of the most delightful scenes of confusion, turmoil and dismay that could be imagined. For our part, we had noticed the coming change a few moments before it came about, and had secured our tent to our wagon, so that it weathered the gale; ours and one other were the only ones in the camp that remained standing when the blow passed over. The tornado lasted about thirty minutes, but during that time it leveled every tent in every encampment in sight of us, (but the two in our camp.) This is the second time we have had such a blow out, but we expect to find more of them before we get through. The grass is poor to-day, and no wood except willows on the islands and buffalo chips, of the latter of which there are a great plenty.

28 miles.

26th. Sunday. A part of our train concluded to lie over to-day, but the majority being against it, produced a split in the train, owing to which 10 wagons left us and drove on, leaving seven wagons behind. This we consider no detriment, although the men belonging to those wagons that left us are all of them whole-hearted, noble-souled companions. Small trains travel faster than larger ones, and the difficulty of finding good camping grounds for a small train is not so great as for a large one. We were sorry to part with them, but we parted in friendship and peace, as all ought to do on this journey. Some of them wish to travel to Fort Laramie, which is 330 miles from Fort Kearney, before stopping, but we wish to rest our horses one day in every seven, and are determined whenever we can find grass to make that day the Sabbath. We are all very busy keeping the Sabbath, which is done here after this fashion: Exercises of the morning, shaving and cleaning with a plunge bath in the Platte river. Forenoon, setting wagon tire, repairing wagons. Afternoon, shoeing horses, washing clothes &c. &c. Evening, rest—which is all the time we get to rest. Our stopping days are no resting days to us, but our horses need it—they look well now, and we mean to keep them looking well if we can. We have three blacksmiths in our train, and one wagon maker. We set the tire on Ainsly's wagon this morning in a manner that would be new to blacksmiths in the States. Not having any means of welding tire, we took them off from the wheels, took all the felloes off, and then put leather cottrells or rings on the spokes, thereby raising the shoulder of the spoke and enlarging the circle of the wheel, then put the felloes on again, and then heated the tire, and set it as tight as the best blacksmith could do, with a forge and bellows to cut and weld the ties at. This valley is lined with buffalo bones and carcasses, their skulls lie about in every direction. One of our men found 18 yesterday in one spot at the foot of a high bluff. They were probably driven over the bluff by the Indians. We saw no buffalo to-day, although there were plenty of signs, they appear to come down to the river at night to get water, and go back to the plains in the morning. The bottom is about two miles wide here, and on the bluffs may be found some few scattering cedars. Litwiler killed a noble buck to-day. Its horns were in the velvet, and the meat good. It made us plenty of meat for the whole company, and some to spare. Saw a beaver dam at this place.

27th. We struck our tents again this morning and started. We have had a very cold day, so much so that we needed great coats and mittens, and I have suffered more with cold than on any day since I started. We had a smart shower in the morning, which was welcome. The country on this day's drive looks like a huge buffalo pasture, the ground being covered with buffalo chips like a farm-yard. The emigrants before us have been slaughtering them without mercy. We counted eight fresh slaughtered ones within one mile distance. We were informed to-day that McPike & Strother's train lost 25 mules and horses in a stampede last night. We crossed the south fork of the Platte this afternoon. It is about three fourths of a mile wide here, which is the south or lower ford, but we had to travel in the river at least a mile and a half, the wind and current sweeping us down the river, so that our course lay in the form of a half circle. The water was about up to our wagon boxes, one of them taking water a little. This crossing is one of the exciting scenes of this journey. When we crossed, the river was filled with wagons, men, mules and horses, extending quite across the river. One of our wagons got stuck in the quick-sand which frightened the horses, but frightened the driver more. Being on horse back myself, I rode back to assist the driver, but in our endeavors to start the wagon we had our doubletree broken, owing to which accident I had to go ashore and send back a spare team to help them out, but before the team reached the wagon, and within a few minutes after I had reached the shore, the driver came ashore, bearing in hand a tin lantern, that being (in his fright) the only thing which he could find of value, to save out of the drowned wagon, which, as he supposed, would be soon buried in the quick-sand. However, after awhile, the wagon came safely ashore, when the driver had the satisfaction of depositing his tin lantern in a place of safety again in one of the boxes in the wagon. He did not relish much being said after that about crossing the Platte, it was a disagreeable subject, decidedly. Some of the teams were towed through the river with long ropes, with 20 or 30 men dragging at them ahead of the mules and horses, up to their middles in the water. One man was riding horse back when his horse stumbled off from a sand bar into deep water, and horse and rider both went out of sight; a dozen of us started immediately for him, but before we had got to him, horse and rider both came up, the horse making for the shore, and the man for the nearest sand bar.—The man lost his rifle and hat, which grieved him a great deal; the horse lost his rider, which he did not seem to take to heart at all. We drove about two miles after crossing and camped on the bottom, with no fuel but buffalo chips. A stampede took place about sunset, of 150 head of horses, mules and oxen, which was the largest stampede that we have seen or heard of. We were just cooking our supper. Our horses were quietly grazing around the camp; the men gathering buffalo chips for the night, or idly lounging about the fires, talking and smoking, and taking as much comfort as possible after our hard day's work, when down the river came a sound, as of distant thunder, yet more terrible to the ears of the practiced emigrant on the plains; instantly every man was on his feet listening to the approaching sounds; faintly above the noise could be heard the cry of stampede! stampede! and a dark mass enveloped in the dust could be seen moving down upon us with the speed of the wind. Instantly every man sprang for the horses, knowing too well that if they were not got inside of the correll of wagons, before that moving mass of terror and phrenzy came up to them they were lost. The cooks threw down their frying pans, the men their pipes,