But here comes Lizzie saying, "Why, Sims, you look like a witch hiding away up here; do come down." And I go and take a walk with Mrs. K. down to see their cattle corral. The name of corral was so foreign I was anxious to know all about it. It is a square enclosure built of heavy poles, with sheds on the north and west sides with straw or grass roof for shelter, and is all the protection from the cold the cattle have during the winter. Only the milk cows are corraled during the summer nights. A little log stable for the horses completes the corral, while of course hay and straw are stacked near. Then she took me to see a dugout in the side of a hill, in a sheltered ravine, or draw, and surrounded by trees. It is not a genuine dugout, but enough of the real to be highly interesting to me. It was occupied by a middle-aged man who is Mr. K.'s partner in the stock business, and a French boy, their herder. The man was intelligent, and looked altogether out of place as he sat there in the gloom of the one little room, lighted only by a half window and the open door, and, too, he was suffering from asthma. I asked: "Do you not find this a poor house for an asthmatic?" "No, I do not find that it has that effect; I am as well here as I was before I came west." The room was about 10×12, and 6 feet high. The front of the house and part of the roof was built of logs and poles, and the rest was made when God made the hill. They had only made the cavity in which they lived, floor enough for the pole bed to stand on. To me it seemed too lonely for any enjoyment except solitude--so far removed from the busy throngs of the world. But the greater part of the stockman's time is spent in out-door life, and their homes are only retreats for the night. We then climbed the hill that I might have a last view of sunset on the Keya Paha. I cannot tell you of its beauty, as I gaze in admiration and wonder, for sun, moon, and stars, have all left their natural course, or else I am turned all wrong. _Tuesday._ Another pleasant day. Mrs. K., whom I have learned to regard as a dear friend, and I, take our last walk and talk together, going first to the grave of a granddaughter on the hill, enclosed with a railing and protected from the prairie wolves by pieces of iron. Oh! I thought, as I watched the tears course down Mrs. K's. cheek as she talked of her "darling," there is many a sacred spot unmarked by marble monument on these great broad plains of Nebraska. "You see there is no doctor nearer than Keya Paha, and by the time we got him here he could do her no good." Another disadvantage early settlers labor under. Then to the river that I might see it flow for the last time, and gather sand and pebbles of almost every color that mingle with it. I felt it was my last goodbye to this country and I wished to carry as much of it away in my satchel and in memory as possible.