In a race of one thousand miles, the baroness had already beaten me almost by a month! Further word was, of course, now unobtainable, for no trains or wagons would come west so late, and there were then no stages carrying mail across the great Plains.

There was nothing for me to do except to wait and eat out my heart at old Fort Laramie, in the society of Indians and trappers, half-breeds and traders.

The winter seemed years in length, so gladly I make its story brief.
It was now the spring of 1846, and I was in my second year away from Washington.

Glad enough I was when in the first sunshine of spring I started east, taking my chances of getting over the Plains.

At last, to make the long journey also brief, I did reach Fort Leavenworth, by this time a five months' loser in the transcontinental race.