Explore "John Brent" by Theodore Winthrop on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Still, as we rode along, the same rich, tranquil days of October; the air always potable gold, and every breath nepenthe.
Early on one of the fairest of afternoons when all were fairest, we reached Fort Bridger. Bridger had been an old hunter, trapper, and by and by that forlorn hope of civilization, the holder of an Indian trading-post. The spot is better known now. It was there that that miserable bungle and blunder of an Administration more fool, if that be possible, than knave, -- the Mormon Expedition in 1858, -- took refuge, after its disasters on the Sweetwater.