The name given to Powder River by the Indians, is “Chahalee Wacapolah.” It crosses the country east of the Big Horn Mountains, and from its banks can be seen the snow-capped Cloud Peak rising grandly from its surrounding hills. Between these ranges, that culminate in the queenly, shining crowned height that takes its name from the clouds it seems to pierce, are fertile valleys, in which game abounds, and delicious wild fruits in great variety, some of which can not be surpassed by cultivated orchard products in the richness and flavor they possess, although they ripen in the neighborhood of everlasting snow. In these valleys the country seems to roll in gentle slopes, presenting to the eye many elements of loveliness and future value. Powder River, which is a muddy stream, comes from the southern side of the Big Horn Mountains, and takes a southwestern course, and therefore is not a part of the bright channel that combines to feed the Missouri River from the Big Horn range. This range of the Rocky Mountains possesses two distinct, marked features. First, there is a central or back-bone range, which culminates in perpetual snow, where Cloud Peak grandly rises, as the chief of all its proud summits. Falling off gradually toward the southern valley, there are similar ranges of the Wind River Mountains beyond. Between these ranges, and varying in breadth from twelve to twenty-five miles, are fine hunting grounds, abounding in noble orchards of wild fruit of various kinds, and grapes, as well as game of the choicest kind for the huntsman. Notwithstanding its vicinity to snow, there are gentle slopes which present features of peculiar loveliness. Several miles northwest, and following the sweep of the higher northern range, and six to eight miles outside its general base, a new country opens. Sage brush and cactus, which for nearly two hundred miles have so largely monopolized the soil, rapidly disappear. The change, though sudden, is very beautiful. One narrow divide only is crossed, and the transition about one day’s ride from the above-named river. The limpid, transparent, and noisy waters of Deer Fork are reached, and the horses have difficulty in breasting the swift current. The river is so clear that every pebble and fish is seen distinctly on the bottom, and the water so cool that ice in midsummer is no object of desire. The scenes of natural beauty, and the charms that have endeared this country to the savage, will in the future lure the emigrant seeking a home in this new and undeveloped land. This clear creek is a genuine outflow from the Big Horn Mountains, and is a type of many others, no less pure and valuable, derived from melting snow and from innumerable springs in the mountains. Rock Creek comes next, with far less pretensions, but is similar in character. A day’s ride to the northward brings the traveler to Crazy Woman’s Fork.