Dr. Fletcher is stepbrother of the Walkers--his mother and their father being married. He is physician for our train; an intelligent, handsome man, below medium in size. I think he must be dyspeptic, for he is always finding fault with everything. He seems to admire Neelie very much. We came through Cottonwood this morning. Stopped at noon where the feed is fine, so it has been decided that we stay here until to-morrow. The sky has the appearance of another storm this evening. We have had a busy afternoon. * * * * * Saturday, June 17. There was a brisk shower last evening about dark, only lasted about half an hour, there was no wind. About midnight the cattle stampeded, the herders do not know what frightened them, but the first thing thought of was Indians, yet there were none visible. Some of the cattle were not found until this afternoon, so here we will have to stay another night. The bluffs near here are quite high and abrupt. I climbed to the top this morning. I seemed to be away up yonder, when looking down at our corral the people looked like midgets. The bluffs are 150 feet high. I received a beautiful bouquet of wild flowers this evening, but do not know who sent it. The boy said, “A gentleman sent it.” But he either could not, or would not, tell what gentleman. Perhaps the one that sent it thought I would know instinctively, but I am certainly in the dark. Two gentlemen took lunch at our table this afternoon; they are father and son. Hillhouse met them out on the road; they asked him, “Do you know where we can get something to eat? We have had nothing since a very early breakfast.” He brought them to our wagons, and we soon had a lunch ready for them. Their name is Reade, the father’s hair and whiskers are as white as snow, otherwise he is not an aged-looking man. They asked questions, and when they found we had not fully decided upon our destination, they insisted that Montana is the place for us. They have been there and are going again with freight. They belong with the Irvine train. Each train goes by the name of its captain, ours is known as “The Hardinbrooke train.” Then there is the McMahan train, and the Dickerson train, that always camp within sight of us, for mutual protection. We have not met any of the people from the other trains. The Irvine train--which is very large--are some miles ahead of us. The Reades were hunting cattle, had been as far back as Cottonwood, but without success. The son had a long talk with the boys before leaving camp. After he had gone, Hillhouse came around and took a seat on the wagon-tongue, near where I was engaged in the interesting occupation of the week’s mending. I said, “Mr. Read thinks Montana the place for us.” WE DECIDE TO GO TO MONTANA. “Yes, so do the Walkers, and Mr. Hardinbrooke, and Mr. Morrison, and everyone else that are going to Montana.” “Well, why not go there?”