I had done my best to keep awake; I really thought I had done so for hours, and I know that I peeped out of my bed many times during the night, but nothing but the dim broad everlasting prairie met my gaze—so I must have fallen asleep just as we were passing through this interesting region, to my great disappointment. I was told by those who had been more wakeful, that they could see the lignite coal a-fire,—fire which has for countless ages been baking these rocks into actual terra-cotta. I was inclined to question the exactness of this statement. Smoke may doubtless be seen; and when I am told by a man that he has lighted a cigar at a hole in the rock the existence of fire can be no longer questioned. We were told by the guide-books to expect to see hereabouts, herds of buffalo, deer, and elk,—in fact, we have only seen a few prairie dogs, and these looked comical enough as they stood bolt upright on their little hillocks, with their fore-paws hanging down before them. They only wanted a stick in their arms to look like soldiers on guard. Just here we caught our first distant glimpse of the Rockies, some of the peaks tipped with snow,—and now we are at Livingston! I need not tell you how anxiously I looked out for the train from Bozeman. When it came in I sought in vain through the crowd for Frank; my heart sank within me when I found that no Frank was there. I could not get on to Bozeman; the last train for the day had already gone, so we took the train for the "National Park," and I sat down in one corner of it, and felt more like fainting than I had ever felt in my life before. Three weeks had I been in the country, and not a word or sign from the boy I had come so far to see. What was the cause? If he had been ill some friend would surely have told me. Was he living? Had he met with some terrible accident on that long sheep-drive he wrote about months ago? Had he married a red Indian squaw, and did he not want to see me? Did he suppose that his old friend M. and I would be too proud to put up at the little log shanty which he had built with his own hands? Had he been in the hug of a grizzly? These were some of the grim reflections that passed through my disturbed mind as I sat at the end of the car, gloomily watching the magnificent scenery through which the train was now carrying us down towards the Park. [Illustration] [Illustration] LETTER No. XII. The Yellowstone National Park—"The New Wonderland"—"The Devil's Slide"—The stage driver—Story of a corpse—Driving a circus coach—Circus Bill "appropriates" a coat—Stealing their own blankets—Start for the Park—Mammoth Springs—Forest of dead pines—The Lake of the Woods—Norris Hot Springs and Geysers—"Hell's Half-acre"—A perilous drive—Fire Hole River—Lower Geyser Springs—"Old Faithful"—"The Bee Hive"—The Grand Cañon—Rough roads—Return—"The Golden Gate"—"By Jove! it's Frank!"