Here we are at Soda Springs. I am surprised to see so small a town, for it is quite an old place for this western country, at least ten or fifteen years old, and does not have a post-office. The town is beautifully situated, the landscape views are glorious. The soda springs are bubbling up out of the ground in many places in this vicinity, and I expect there will be a city here some day. There are medicinal springs here that possess wonderful curative properties, or people think they do. We wanted Sim to test them, but he said: “I am getting well as fast as possible, and I don’t care to drink that nauseous water. I prefer the pure, unadulterated snow water from the mountain springs.” This is the junction of the Oregon and Montana roads. There are three camps within sight of us. * * * * * Wednesday, August 23. As we drove into the road this morning there was a train of eight wagons came into line just behind our wagons, and have traveled with us all day, stopping at noon when we did, and they are camping near us to-night, though we have separate camps. They are from Missouri, and are going to Virginia City. They seem to think as we all came from the same State, and our destination is the same place, that of course there is a bond of fellowship that is mutual, but to be frank, I must confess I do not care to go into a strange place in their company, for I fear we would be judged by the company we keep, and I think it would not be very favorable, so we will try to get away from them as soon as possible. The weather is perfect. This is a beautiful valley. The men say the land is extremely rich. We are camping on the Blackfoot. We have not been able to shake our Missouri friends. WE MEET MEN RETURNING TO THE STATES. Thursday, August 24. We came to a toll bridge over the Blackfoot this morning, where the toll was one dollar per team, and fifty cents for horseback riders. There had been an excellent ford just below the bridge. The men collecting the toll had spoiled it by digging ditches on both sides near the bank. The water was clear, and they were plainly visible. Hillhouse mounted Dick to see if we could ford it. One of the men screamed out at him: “You will mire your horse if you try that.” “I’ll risk it.” And he rode in below where the ditches were dug. The pony’s feet were not muddy. Hillhouse found we could easily ford the creek below the ditches, which we did without accident. It does seem a shame that we should have to pay toll for crossing a stream like that, after fording South Platte, North Platte and Green River.