still weary of hearing so much swearing by the wicked white
men. On Monday night, we had another hard storm of rain,
hail, and thunder. These beautiful bluffs look, in some
places, like magnificent buildings.

     June 1ST. This week we had storms all the time.

      Sunday, the 7th. Our hunters killed an elk, for the
first time. On Wednesday, they killed three buffaloes. The
Indians still continued to travel with us. This night we
were threatened with another thunder storm, but it passed
off without much rain. Our hunters killed some more
buffaloes, and we then had plenty of meat. It is thought
that the Platte plains here are several feet below the
surface of the water, The small cedars grow on the top of
the bluffs. The bluffs get larger and higher as we ascend
the river. Monday morning we began to make ready to cross
the south fork of Platte River. This fork is about
one-fourth of a mile wide, with a sandy bottom; some places
the wagons nearly swam. We got across with some difficulty,
but not much danger. There were seven or eight buffaloes
seen coming up with our oxen; our 'hunters shot one of them.
Some more were seen with the other oxen. They seemed to
form an attachment to each other.   Thursday we traveled up
the north side of the south fork,   Here we saw thousands of
buffalo, all along the plains. Out hunters shot down one
bull; they thought it unnecessary to kill anymore. Here we
saw packs of wolves, which followed them. This morning
there was a great alarm given that the Indians had driven
off some of the oxen, and our men went in pursuit of them,
and brought them back. One man said he saw an Indian, and
shot at him; but some did not believe him. All this time, I
had to stand guard every fourth night. The Indians still
come to trade with us. Here we have nothing to make our
fires but buffalo manure. This morning a large buffalo bull
came near us, when we were marching along, and seemed
regardless of the bullets; but after about fifteen or twenty
were shot into him, he fell. We started across to the north
fork, about two miles to the northwest, and then traveled
Saturday night. Here an awful circumstance took place: A
young man by the name of Shotwell, shot himself
accidentally, and died in about two hours afterwards. I was
called upon, by his comrades, to preach his funeral, which I
did. The death of this young man caused some seriousness in
his comrades for a few days. On Sunday evening, we went up
the river about eight miles, to the mouth of Ash Creek, and
stayed there one day and two nights. We then traveled up
through the bluffs and bald hills, the weather still cold
and windy. Nothing grows here but some willow bushes on the
banks. The plains are poor and broken. Many curious shapes
and forms may be seen among the bluffs. Some abrupt
elevations look like houses, with steeples to them. One we
saw sixteen or eighteen miles ahead of us, which resembled a
house with the chimney in the middle of it; or like a
funnel, with a small end uppermost, and covering about two