February 3rd, 1872. Fine.

From Summit, we descended 1,700 feet within a distance of eleven miles. When the train pulled into Truckee Station, we heard the sounds of a river rushing beside the track. From here we entered the state of Nevada.

The track wove back and forth between the left and right banks of the Humboldt River as it proceeded eastwards. After two hours we reached the village of Humboldt, where we stopped for twenty minutes to have breakfast. This region is now known as the Humboldt Wilderness; originally it was called ‘the American Desert’. Dry desert with sagebrush stretched as far as the horizon. The river meandered across the arid landscape in broken streams. No trees grew on the hillsides, no springs welled up in the canyons and no houses were visible in any direction.

This is an area inhabited by American Indians. From the train windows we sometimes caught sight of their winter dwellings, which are dugouts among the rough sagebrush, with roofs thatched with bundles of grass in the shape of a small dome. Wondering what such a house was like inside, we asked somebody who is familiar with Indian customs. He told us that it is spherical, with half the sphere above the ground and half below it. Having journeyed through a realm of civilisation and enlightenment, we were now crossing a very ancient, uncivilised wilderness.