Submitted by scott on Thu, 11/25/2021 - 19:07

A weary drive over a rough and dusty road, through chill night air and clouds of mosquitoes, which we were warned would accompany us to the Pacific slope of the Rocky Mountains, placed us about 10 PM at Rock, also called Turkey Creek --  surely a misnomer, no turkey ever haunted so villainous a spot! Several passengers began to suffer from fever and nausea; in such travel the second night is usually the crisis, after which a man can endure for an indefinite time. The "ranch" was a nice place for invalids, especially for those of the softer sex. Upon the bedded floor of the foul "doggery" lay, in a seemingly promiscuous heap, men, women, children, lambs and puppies, all fast in the arms of Morpheus, and many under the influence of a much jollier god. The employees, when aroused pretty roughly, blinked their eyes in the atmosphere of smoke and mosquitoes, and declared that it had been "merry in hall" that night --  the effects of which merriment had not passed off. After half an hour's dispute about who should do the work, they produced cold scraps of mutton and a kind of bread which deserves a totally distinct generic name. The strongest stomachs of the party made tea, and found some milk which was not more than one quarter flies. This succulent meal was followed by the usual douceur. On this road, however mean or wretched the fare, the station-keeper, who is established by the proprietor of the line, never derogates by lowering his price. 

(The City of the Saints)

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