The afternoon sun blazed upon the low hills, mere heaps of rubble like old moraines, where sometimes a little red sandstone cropped out and gave the wearied eyes a change of color.  Always the noble vault of sky, the flying cloud-shadows, the Laramie range with its torn outlines softened by distance, which looked so near, yet was so far.  Constantly we said, “How like to Arabia or Palestine!” We only asked for camels to make the resemblance perfect.  The gray sage-brush tinted the long low solemn hills like the olives of Judaea; the distant bluffs looked like ruined cities; the mirage was our Dead Sea.  The cattle-and sheep-farmers follow the same business as Abraham and Isaac, and are as sharp in their dealings as Jacob of old.  The Indians are our Bedouins, and like them they “fold their tents and silently steal.”  Once in looking back the illusion was perfect.  The Sea of Galilee was behind us, and upon its banks stood the old cities of Capernaum and Nazareth towered and walled and gray.  We had not then seen the verses of Joaquin Miller, in which he expresses the same idea in better words—­in words of prophecy.

After a long hot ride we were glad to see the flag waving over Fort Fetterman, though the signs of human habitation did not seem to belong there.  The post is not as large as Fort Laramie, but otherwise as like it as one pea to another, and stands in the same way at the junction of a stream (La Prele) with the Platte, upon a bluff that commands the two rivers.  The view from thence at the moment of sunset was impressive—­of the two streams, bordered with green, and the vast country beyond the Platte, more barren and alkaline even than the nearer side.

At the fort we found the same kindness and hospitality as at Laramie.  Our quarters were in a large empty house, the abode of the commanding officer of the post, then absent with his family, where we were made very comfortable.  Our meals were provided at other officers’ quarters, and everything was done for our entertainment.  Our rooms were on the ground floor, and we were startled at reveille to see five or six dogs leap in at the open windows and run about the floor.  Just awakened, we hardly knew in the dim light what manner of wild beasts they might be.  Afterward, we heard that this was the custom in the family.  A pet porcupine in the house amused us very much.  He was a grotesque little creature, and very tame and affectionate, following the servant about like a little dog, and fondling her feet.  His quills had been drawn or shed, but they were beginning to grow again, like pin-feathers.

In this quiet, kindly little post nothing seems ever to happen, but the air is full of Indian rumors.  A Gatling gun, pointed at the universe, seemed to promise the enemy a sharp reception if a scare ever came.  This diabolical little mitrailleuse would not be pleasant to look upon as it ground out grim death in such a matter-of-fact way.  A few days were very agreeably spent at Fetterman (of which the very name tells of Indian murders), and there we found courteous, educated men and gracious, lovely women.  It was wonderful what elegant little entertainments they managed to give us in this far-away outpost of civilization.