Here we stayed over Sunday, but Monday noon saw us
under sail again. As we went through the town we stopped at the
freighter's camp, and told 'Gene Brooks good-bye, and then drove
away across the wide rolling plain to the east.
'Gene had warned us that we had a lonesome road before us to
Pierre, one hundred and seventy miles, nearly all of it across
the reservation.
"You'll follow the old freight trail all the way," he said,
"but you may not see three teams the whole distance, because
since the railroad got nearer it isn't used. You'll find an old
stage station about every fifteen or seventeen miles, with
probably one man in charge. You may see a horse-thief or two, or
something of that sort. S'ciety ain't what it ought to be 'round
a reservation gen'rally."
[Illustration: The Deserted Ranch]
Just before the sun sank behind the mountains, which lay like
low black clouds to the west, we came to a little ranch standing
alone on the prairie. The door was open, and it seemed to be
deserted, though there was a rude bed inside.
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