of India

D there forever. But father had other plans, and we were soon on our way. With our trading-wagon we climbed a hill--later

named Sheridan's Ridge for General Philip Sheridan. From its summit we had a view of Salt Creek Valley, the most

beautiful valley I have ever seen. In this valley
lay our future home.
The hill was very steep, and I remember we

had to "lock" or chain the wagon-wheels as we descended. We made camp in the valley. The next day father began trading with the Indians, who were so pleased
with the bargains he had to offer
that they sent their friends back to us when they departed. One of the first trades he made was for a little pony for me--a four-year-old--which
I was told I should have to break myself. I named him
Prince. I had a couple of hard falls, but I made up my mind I

was going to ride that pony or bust, and--I did not bust. The next evening, looking over toward the west, I saw

a truly frontier sight--a line of trappers
winding down the hillside with their pack animals. My mother

had often told me of the trappers searching the distant mountains for fur-bearing animals and living a life of fascinating adventure. Here they were in reality. While some of

the men prepared the skins, others built a
fire and began to get a meal. I watched them cook the dried venison, and was filled with

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