This land, this West, seemed to all then unbelievably large and limitless.
We pushed up the main trail of the Platte but a short distance that night, keeping out an eye for grazing ground for our horses.

Auberry knew the country perfectly.

"About five or six miles above here," he said, "there's a stage station, if the company's still running through here now.

Used to be two or three fellers and some horses stayed there." We looked forward to meeting human faces with some pleasure; but an hour or so later, as we rode on, I saw Auberry pull up his horse, with a strange tightening of his lips.

"Boys," said he, "there's where it _was!_" His pointing finger showed nothing more than a low line of ruins, bits of broken fencing, a heap of half-charred timbers.
"They've been here," said Auberry, grimly.