Forty years ago, in that dismal waste, at distances of about forty miles, were log huts occupied by one man, where the engine pulled up to drink; between them not a dwelling—not a tree—a few sage bushes—a sort of dwarf cactus—hardly a blade of grass—the abomination of desolation. How in this wilderness, this boundless desert with a round horizon, animal life contrived to sustain itself was a mystery. Vast herds, probably millions of buffaloes, travelled north from Mexico in summer and back again south in the autumn. There were antelopes and coyotes (a sort of wolf), skunks, squirrels, here and there horses that had run wild; of birds—larks, vultures, blackbirds with glorious yellow breasts, prairie chickens, wild ducks. Then there were the pretty little prairie dogs, the tiny owls and the rattlesnakes—the three said to live together in amity in the same holes. The beasts and birds had company, the lonely railway man in the log hut had but himself and his thoughts. Governor Lowe, who was British Minister at Peking, told me a capital story of how the famous Senator Wade, who was Senator for Ohio, travelling West found at one of these solitary huts an Ohio man, who at once recognized him, shook him by the hand and said, “Why, Mr. Senator, I am right pleased to see you!” The Senator thanked him for his welcome and answered, “But what in the name of wonder are you doing here?” “Well, Mr. Senator, I’m going to tell you. This is going to be one of the greatest cities in the world.” The Senator failed to see the possibilities of that one log hut in the wilderness. “Yes, sir! There is a river runs about seven miles from here, and we air calculating to divert the course of that river and bring it along here. Then we shall get a few first-class families from East and West to come and locate here and this will become a great town, giving the go-by to New York, San Francisco, and may be even to London and Paris. All that is wanted here, sir, is a little water and good society.” “Yes,” answered the witty Senator, “and the same remark applies equally to Hell.” The “We” of the solitary eremite speaks volumes. In it lies the keynote of American confidence and success. It was freezing hard at 5.30 in the morning of the 25th when we left that miserable train with its unholy crew of undesirables, having had to pass a second night on board instead of comfortably in Mr. Ruggles’ excellent inn at Fort Wallace. He was sitting up for us, for we had warned him of our coming; he struggled out of that yawny state of coma which is engendered by a night of arm-chair and tobacco and showed us to our rooms. A few pails of ice-cold water washed away the memories of those two wretched nights, and a delicious breakfast of milk, new laid eggs and buffalo steaks made new men of us. Mr. and Mrs. Ruggles were really delightful people. She, poor lady! was a very different person from the landlady whom one would imagine presiding over a prairie hotel.