it was a long hard trip then across the plains. one of the author's friends at the age of thirteen years drove a little band of cows from the state of indiana to sacramento. he says he would not do it again for anything. he is now a man, and owns a large prune-orchard in california, and people tell him he is getting too stout, and that he ought to exercise more, and that he ought to walk every day several miles; but he shakes his head, and says, "no, i will not walk any to-day, and possibly not to-morrow or the day following. do not come to me and refer to taking a walk: i have tried that. possibly you take me for a dromedary; but you are wrong. i am a fat man, and may die suddenly some day while lacing up my shoes, but when i go anywhere i ride."