The day, Oct. 21, is lowering. We push on. A blizzard is the
threat hanging over us. We push on. Nothing in sight. Grass
tall as the horses heads and taller. When seen in bunches
against the horizon, look like trees. As we got over a rise,
we see a couple of wagons loaded and drawn by four horses each.
At first, in the smoke and distance, we thought them trees and
as they came nearer, they looked gigantic. I would not have
credited a story of how they looked , but when one is days away
from any sight but these prairies, the sense of proportions
becomes enfeebled and judgment erring until one learns to discount
in judgment. It was warm, then it grew cold, then warm, then
cold, and at last the wind rose. Whew! how it blew - a blizzard
sure. We reached Turtle Creek crossing - Mr. T. left the roll
of magazines for Mr. Raymond. a squaw man, and we pushed on.