We crossed [ the Platte River ] on the fourth day of July and Peter H. Burnett who was later the first Governor of California crossed a few minutes later.  I remember that because aunt Rachel, who had gone over some days before, had a big dinner all cooked and ready for us.  Someone had killed a buffalo and aunt had a great pan of juicy steaks all broiled and piping hot.  We were terribly hungry and after the steaks were eaten, we found that they had been broiled over buffalo "chips".  Mrs. Burnett was not altogether happy about it.  She even said that she would have "starved before she would have eaten anything cooked on them if she had known it".  I guess that was not altogether true, for a few mornings later, the Hon. Peter H. was surprised when he had gone out about daylight to gather a good supply before other people were up.  The boys said he was gathering them in a big white table cloth.

      Dry fuel of any kind was very scarce, so even the finicky ones were compelled to use  them, and after a time, used them in preference, when other fuel was plentiful.  They were good tinder and made beautiful coals that held the heat for a long time.

     We were in the heart of the buffalo country.  They were roaming the plains everywhere.  Hunters would ride in ahead with mules and horses to carry the meat back to camp.  Once my Father killed six fat cows that fell within the space of an acre of ground.

     The cows were skinned and dressed and carried to camp to be apportioned out.  Each family was supposed to share alike, but once I remember considerable dissatisfaction and mothered grumbling.  It happened at a place where the hunting had not been good only one buffalo had been killed.  A minister, who had volunteered to help, was given charge of the pack animals that carried the meat into camp.  When the hunters returned, they found that he had taken all the best  pieces to his own tent.

     As a rule there were plenty of buffalo and they did not appear to be so very wild. Our leaders had ordered that none were to be killed for the mere sport of it, but only as we were actually in need of meat.  Sometimes we laid over for a few days and dried the meat, jerking it, we called it.  When it was quite dry, it could be pounded almost into a powder.  We then packed it in gunny bags and carried it with us.  It was called "pomican" and when it was made with just the right proportion of lean and fat, it was very nice.