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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.

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