_August 20_ (Friday). We moved on to the Devils Gate, a distance of twenty and a half miles. The route lay principally along Sweet Water Creek, the sight of which, its banks covered by a luxuriant growth of grass, was very welcome to our eyes; and the road, too, instead of being dusty, was hard and well beaten. Company F, Seventh Infantry, passed us to-day, escorting the families of some of the men of the Sixth Infantry. We also saw a large trading post during the march, for the benefit of the neighboring tribes of Indians and profit of the Canadian-French proprietor. It was, as is usual with trading posts, surrounded by a number of Indian wigwams, the denizens of which were lazily lolling in the sun. _August 21_ (Saturday). At reveille all who wished to go through the Devils Gate were requested to step to the front; the whole Company unanimously presented themselves for a visit to his Satanic Majesty's portals. The Gate is a gorge between the mountains, which, apparently, have been parted for the express purpose of giving passage to the waters of Sweet Water Creek. On one side the massive rocks rise to a height of three hundred feet, projecting almost across the gap; at this part a deep, black fissure starts from the bottom and ascends to the very top, resembling a chimney; the gap about eighty feet wide, the bottom covered with large boulders. We scrambled into every accessible nook and corner, yelling and shouting like maniacs. We went on to Greasewood Creek, marching twenty-one and three-quarter miles. Another large trading post was seen to-day, kept by Louis Greenyard; it is said to be the most extensive post along the route. Mr. Greenyard has erected a bridge across the stream at this place. _August 22_ (Sunday). We marched twenty-three and a quarter miles and encamped on the banks of the North Fork of the Platte River. As on last Sunday, we broke camp to move only a few miles to obtain grass for the herd; but we made a long march, nevertheless. The route lay over a very hilly and rocky country. At one time we would be gazing from the top of a high hill, at another winding across the bottom of a barren, dusty valley. The road was sandy and the water scarce. We hailed the view of the North Fork with acclamations of joy. At our camp a trading and mail post is stationed, and a little below stands an Arapahoe Indian village, the inhabitants of which soon turned out to visit us. _August 23_ (Monday). We did not move camp, but adopted this as a day of rest. The Indians, no doubt, thought we stayed in order to give them an opportunity of making acquaintance, which they set about doing in a very indefatigable manner, greatly to our annoyance, for they are a filthy, indolent tribe. We were obliged to remain in or near our tents all day, to keep them out, not through fear of their taking anything, for they appear to be honest, but for fear of their leaving vermin behind.