He Informed Me
I Was On The Wrong Road; That The Stage Took A Road Further West,
Which Was Out Of Sight; And That I Had Better Go On A Little Further
And Then Cross The Open Prairie.
Then for the first time did I notice
that the road I had taken was but a street, not half so much worn as
the main road.
I followed his friendly advice, and feeling some
despair I hastened on at a swift run, and as I advanced towards where
I thought the right road ought to be, though I could neither see it
nor the stage, "called so loud that all the hollow deep of" the
prairies might have resounded. At last, when quite out of breath and
hoarse with loud vociferation, I descried the stage rolling on at a
rapid rate. Then I renewed my calls, and brought it up standing. After
clambering over a few fences, sweating and florid, I got to the stage
and resumed my seat, amidst the pleasant merriment of the passengers.
The driver was kind enough to say that he began to suspect I had taken
the wrong road, and was about to turn round and come after me that
he certainly would not have left me behind, &c. I was happy,
nevertheless, that my mistake did not retard the stage. But I do not
intend to abandon the practice of walking on before the stage whenever
it stops to change horses.
Just in the edge of twilight, and when we were a little way this side
of Coon Creek, where we had changed horses again, we came in sight of
a large fire. It was too much in one spot to be a prairie fire; and as
we drove on the sad apprehension that it was a stack of hay was
confirmed. The flames rose up in wide sheets, and cast a steady glare
upon the landscape. It was a gorgeous yet a dismal sight. It always
seems worse to see grain destroyed by fire than ordinary merchandise.
Several stacks were burning. We saw that the usual precaution against
prairie fires had been taken. These consist in ploughing several
furrows around the stack, or by burning the grass around it to prevent
the flames from reaching it. It was therefore suspected that some
rascal had applied the torch to the hay; though for humanity's sake we
hoped it was not so. The terrible prairie fires, which every autumn
waste the western plains, are frequently started through the gross
carelessness of people who camp out, and leave their fires burning.
Some of us took supper at St. Anthony. I cannot say much of the hotel
de facto. The table was not as good as I found on the way at other
places above. There is a hotel now being built there out of stone,
which I am confident will exceed anything in the territory, if we
except the Fuller House. It is possible we all felt invigorated and
improved by the supper, for we rode the rest of the way in a very
crowded stage without suffering any exhibition of ill temper to speak
of, and got into St. Paul at last, when it was not far from eleven;
and after seventy-five miles of staging, the luxurious accommodations
of the Fuller House seemed more inviting than ever.
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