Some Pioneer Experiences

A week or two later, way up the North Platte, we nooned nearly opposite that prominent and queer formation called Scott�s Bluffs, and we all had a �confab� as to its distance from further bank of river. Some guessed it five miles and some two and a half and all grades between these figures. I was among the lowest figures. So to solve it another man and I volunteered to make the trip and also visit Chimney Rock, a noted landmark, some fifteen or more miles upstream, on the same trip. I have entirely forgotten the name of this companion on the trip as I have seldom or never had occasion to mention it during the past fifty years. We had in our party a pair of twin brothers from Fond du Lac, Wisconsin, who made some fun for the rest of the crowd by their word wrangling between themselves nearly every day, though to all others they were genial and good men. The given names of the pair were Elder and Deacon and my companion was the latter, a spry, nervous, wirey fellow who could walk or run with most anyone.

We got across the river without trouble and counted our paces. For every hundred steps we broke off a piece of dry weed and placed it in our pocket. We walked fast and took as long steps as we could conveniently. It was a hot day, and the hot, dry winds on our trip nearly famished us. On adding up our tallies we made the distance an even five miles, but from talking with a man who lived near there a few years ago I am led to believe our start was not from the nearest point on the river.

When we arrived at the cliffs we found a young man sitting there resting. It seemed odd to find any human being in such a desolate place. He belonged to a bull train going up the south side of the river and said the wagon boss agreed to give him $5 if he reached camp before sundown. He was sure of the money all right.

Deacon would not be content until he had climbed to the top or as near as he could get and carve his name in the soft rock or hard clay formation. We found many names so cut, and among them a lady�s name only a few weeks earlier in season. When he came down he said there was a nice little stream just behind the cliffs and we made for that and drank and drank. It was good pure water and we walked up its bed to cool our hot feet and hated to leave it, but had to.

We headed for Chimney Rock and walked fast, but soon decided we had lost too much time to gain the Rock before dark, though we headed so as to go as direct to camp as possible and we expected then to go to nearly opposite said point for the evening stop. About as soon as we fully realized we were way off from water we got pretty thirsty. Once we saw a small lake and were looking for a place to get down to it for a drink when we discovered there was not a drop of water in it � just a place for it � a dry lake. It was no mirage, just an optical illusion. We tramped at our best gait, but it was dusk when we reached the river, where we rested and ate a few mouthfuls of lunch before tackling the raging flood. Whenever we could touch bottom at all we waded, for when we were carried off our feet and had to swim we went down stream very fast and we did not want to go that way. So as we swam we would very often try to touch bottom and if we failed to touch it the effort took our strength and made us a bit nervous. Once we turned back and just succeeded in reaching the lower end of a small island where we rested for some time before another start. When at last we reached the north bank we were thankful enough, and resolved to go no more over the river on any �wild goose chase.� Found camp a mile or so above and we were pleased to be there.

M. H. Coffin