The trail to the Pacific Coast ran through what is now the State of Kansas to the Big Blue River, then over the Big and the Little Sandy River, coming into Nebraska close by the Big Sandy. Next, striking the Little Blue, the trail followed it for some sixty miles until it came to the Platte River near Fort Kearney. From here it wound in and out of the rolling hills like a great serpent, and on across the prairies to Fort Laramie, one of the most westerly frontier posts. The country lying between this fort and the Salt Lake Valley, on the other side of the Rocky Mountains, was inhabited only by hostile Indians, and it was here that many brave men lost their lives. Among the large number of people who pushed into the Wild West in the early days of emigration, the resolute forester who had already penetrated the wilds of the forest-covered States was the first to venture. Toils and hazards of former undertakings were forgotten, as these endless and unexplored regions were opened for settlement. The tints and hues of autumn were at their fullest when a train of wagons issued from the border hills to pursue its way across the rolling surface of the great prairie. Creaking “prairie-schooners,” as the wagons were sometimes called, heavy with stoves and household goods, and concealing the women and children, moved slowly along the trail. Straggling sheep and cattle were herded in the rear, while in front rode or walked the sturdy and fearless backwoodsmen. On every side stretched the broad plain which reached like a great sea to the far distant Rocky Mountains. The leader, a tall, strong man, who rode ahead, had stopped and was looking with shaded eyes toward the west. The setting sun cast a yellow glow over the heavens and earth and seemed to suggest the very gold whose discovery in California was attracting so many men to make this hazardous journey. The dress of this leader was very picturesque. From his deer-skin belt hung his hunting knife, with its buckhorn handle, and his hat of martens’ fur gave to his strong face a look of great determination. The stock of his rifle, that was loosely hung over his shoulder, was of beautiful mahogany riveted and bound with precious metal. In addition to the rifle, a carefully guarded powder horn and a keen, bright wood axe were slung across his back. [Illustration: A PRAIRIE SCHOONER] As evening came, a camp was sought for the night. A cool spring that burst forth from the side of a gently sloping hill, and proved to be the source of a prairie stream, called a run, offered the desired water and fresh grass for the cattle and horses, and was quickly chosen. It was a busy scene while the camp was made, and every member of the train had his task. The great wagons were swung into a circle to afford the best means of protection in case of attack.