There was no stove, but fire-place served all needful purposes. There were no shelves, no cupboards, no closets. In a corner stood an open sack of flour, and nestling against its base were a couple of black and venerable tin coffee-pots, a tin teapot, a little bag of salt, and a side of bacon. By the door of the station keeper's den, outside, was a tin wash-basin, on the ground. The passengers eagerly await the spectacle of an encounter with a Pony Express rider racing his load of mail to its next transfer point.
Every neck is stretched further, and every eye strained wider.
Away across the endless dead level of the prairie a black speck appears against the sky, and it is plain that it moves. The Mormon Emigrant Train Near Salt Lake City, the stage passes a wagon train filled with Mormons making the trek westward.