"In this colony there were sixty-five men, women, and children. Their first habitation was four boxcars, kindly placed on a side track by the U.P.R.R. Co. for their use until they could build their houses." I met one of these colonists, B. F. Krier, editor _Pioneer_, whom I questioned as to their prosperity. He said: "Those who remained have done well, but some returned, and others have wandered, farther west, until there is not many of us left; only about eight families that are now residents of the town. We were so completely eaten out by the grasshoppers in '73-74, and in 78 there was a drought, and it was very discouraging." I thought of the sixty-five colonists who had just landed and drove their stakes in the soil of northern Nebraska, and hoped they may be driven deep and firm, and their trials be less severe. "The Union Pacific windmill was their only guide to lead them over the treeless, stoneless, trackless prairie, and served the purpose of light-house to many a prairie-bewildered traveler. A few days after they landed, they had an Indian scare. But the seven Sioux, whose mission was supposed to be that of looking after horses to steal, seeing they were prepared for them, turned and rode off. Six miles west of Plum Creek in 1867, the Indians wrecked a freight train, in which two men were killed, and two escaped; one minus a scalp, but still living." Mrs. E. D. Johnston told of how they came in 1873, and opened a hotel in a 16×20 shanty, with a sod kitchen attached; and how the cattle men, who were their principal stoppers, slept on boxes and in any way they could, while they enlarged their hotel at different times until it is now the Johnston House, the largest and best hotel in Plum Creek. While interviewing Judge Pierce, a man entered the office, to transact some business, and as he left, the Judge remarked-- "That man came to me to be married about a year ago, and I asked him how old the lady was he wished to marry. 'Just fifteen,' he answered. I can't grant you a license, then; you will have to wait a year. 'Wait?' No; he got a buggy, drove post-haste down into Kansas, and was married. He lives near your friends, and if you wish I will see if he can take you out with him." So, through his help, I took passage in Mr. John Anderson's wagon, Wednesday noon, along with his young wife, and a family just from Luzerne county, Pennsylvania. The wind was strong and the sun warm, but I was eager to improve even this opportunity to get to my friends. Going south-east from Plum Creek, we pass over land that is quite white with alkali, but beyond the river there is little surface indication of it. For the novelty of crossing the Platte river on foot, I walked the bridge, one mile in length, and when almost across met Mr. Joseph Butterbaugh--our old neighbor--coming to town, and who was greatly surprised, as they had not received my letter.