I watched them closely, hardly daring to
draw my breath, feeling sure that they would sink the boat in the middle
of the stream, and very thankful I was when I found that they were not
like the Indians in grandmamma's stories.
"When we reached the Blue River, Kansas, the water was so high that the
men made rafts of logs twenty-five feet in length, united by cross
timbers. Ropes were attached to both ends and by these the rafts were
pulled back and forth. The banks of the stream being steep, our
heavy-laden wagons had to be let down carefully with ropes so that the
wheels might run into the hollow between the logs. This was a dangerous
task, for in the wagons were the women and children, who could cross the
rapid stream in no other way.
"After striking the great valley of the Platte the road was good, the
country beautiful. Stretching out before us as far as the eye could
reach was a valley as green as emerald, dotted here and there with
flowers of every imaginable color. Here flowed the grand old Platte--a
wide, shallow stream. This part of our journey was an ideal pleasure
trip. How I enjoyed riding my pony, galloping over the plain gathering
wild flowers! At night the young folks would gather about the camp fire
chattering merrily, and often a song would be heard or some clever
dancer would give us a jig on the hind door of a wagon.
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