By W. A. DUNCAN.

But few people in the East have a correct idea of the Red River Valley. For hundreds of miles the land is as level as a floor; for thirty miles on either side of the river there is not even the roll of the prairie, and scarcely a tree or shrub in sight. The railroads shoot from village to village as straight as the flight of an arrow. You would see neither grade nor cut during forty-eight hours of travel.

The choice lands of the valley seem to be on the west side of the river, north from Grafton to the Dominion, and west to the Pembina Mountains, the land growing richer as you approach the mountains. There is but little government land to be obtained near the railroad. Although it has been in the market less than a year, nearly every section is taken, and prices range, according to the locality, from $200 to $4,500 for 160 acres of entirely unimproved land. In some counties many sections are apparently in the hands of speculators and railroad companies, who do nothing toward improving either roads or farms. The surpassing fertility of the soil has given Dakota its reputation. Its richness has never been exaggerated; it is as productive as the valley of the Nile, and it owes its fertility to the same cause. The annual overflow of the Red River, for centuries, has left a deposit that is unrivaled in wheat-producing qualities.

In discussing the future prosperity of the Red River Valley all admit that the control of these floods, by some system of levees, and drainage, is a vital question. The excess of water not only delays seeding but sometimes the harvesting, and it must seriously affect the healthfulness of that section. Water can not stand till it becomes stagnant without producing malaria. Nearly every one will tell you how healthy the people are; yet a prominent physician admitted that there was a great deal of fever, and that he feared there would be more as the country became more populous.

These low lands moreover send out during the hot summer days great swarms of immense mosquitos.

There is no gravel with which to make roads, hence in the spring they are something wonderful to behold; at certain seasons they are impassable. “I have just driven five miles,” said a gentleman, “and every foot of the way the wagon wheels sank to the hubs. There have been no drays in the streets of this city for three weeks. All carting has been done with hand-carts.”

And yet there is no doubt that this is a country with grand possibilities, able to support an immense population, rich in its soil, and worth all it is costing to make it habitable. Pioneer life is not one-half as hard here as it was in the days when New York State was reclaimed from a wilderness; but let no one come here thinking there is nothing to be done but to select a quarter section of land, and in a few months become rich. There is wealth here for those who seek it, but they must seek it with all their hearts.

The most prosperous section of the country, as it appears to a stranger, is on the line of the North Pacific road between Fargo and Bismarck. The foot hills begin at the James River and the grade ascends steadily until a point is reached at least five hundred feet above the valley. From Huron, in the south, to the Turtle Mountains, in the north, and west to the Missouri River, are what may be called the high-lands of Dakota, embracing as fine a rolling prairie land as can be found in the West. There are, however, poor sections; the soil is not so rich and deep as lower down in the valley; yet here 14,000 bushels of oats are said to have been raised from 180 acres, and 400 bushels of potatoes per acre. In the north, at Fort Totten, on Devil’s Lake, small fruits are grown in abundance, all kinds of vegetables and an inferior kind of corn. Yet in Russia apples and cherries are raised in abundance, three hundred miles farther north than Winnipeg. Toward the south, between Huron and the North Pacific Railroad, it is much warmer, and a larger variety of crops can be raised. This whole section has good air, is not flooded every spring, has a fair amount of rain, and produces well under proper cultivation. As a rule the water is poor, alkaline and brackish. At Steele, a bright and thriving county seat, on the Northern Pacific, half-way between Jamestown and Bismarck, soft water has been found.

There are some things about the Devil’s Lake country that seem very odd. As far as the eye can reach there is scarcely a tree or shrub. You may ride across the prairie for a hundred miles and not cross a stream, large or small; the surface is a rolling prairie, and in almost every hollow there is a pond of water; some of these ponds are half a mile across and remain throughout the year; probably the ground is frozen so deep that it can not absorb the water from the melting snow. The same cause prevents the forming of streams as the frozen hollows hold the water. A proper system of drainage, connecting all the ponds, would fill the country with brooks.

It is almost the country of the “midnight sun.” One can see to read without lamp-light till nearly ten o’clock, and again as early as three in the morning. It is said that in summer the evening and morning twilight can be seen at the same time.

The “shacks,” or houses, are strange dwellings for human beings to live in; being merely a board shanty, one story high, often only ten by twelve, with perhaps one small window and a door, the whole cabin covered with black tar-paper, and batten strips nailed over the cracks. Sometimes the home is nothing but a hole dug into the side of a hill, with a door and no window. Some of the houses, and many of the barns, are made of sod cut and laid one upon another, just as we lay brick; occasionally the walls are thicker at the base than at the top, and curve in at the center with graceful lines; in fact some of the sod houses are very pretty, and must be quite warm. We fancied them covered with green grass in summer, and sprinkled with violets and blue forget-me-nots.

Fort Totten and the Indian Reservation are here, and the government is experimenting with an industrial school, trying to Christianize and educate the Indians. It is a success. In answer to questions Major Crampton said, “You can educate and civilize them as well as you can the whites, but you must have patience, and begin with the children. We have a school for girls, and the Sisters of Charity teach them how to sew, cook, and do housework, and we teach the boys how to farm and do general work; then when they want to marry we give them their own home and land in severalty, and you have no idea how happy and prosperous they are. You couldn’t get a civilized girl to go back to the old life, and even the heathen want civilized wives. I make and unmake chiefs. The best men are appointed to all the offices. Old men with two wives are permitted to live with them, but young men are put in prison if they attempt polygamy. We forbid immoral dances.”

Devil’s Lake is sixty miles long and six miles wide; there is no outlet or inlet, and the water is brackish; it abounds with fish. The name of the lake seems to be a misnomer, as there are no evidences of heat in any part of the country, not even enough for comfort. In May it was covered with ice four feet thick. A little warmth would have done no harm. The owners of property in that section are anxious to make it a summer resort, and propose to give hearty assistance to any Chautauqua workers who will open a Sunday-school assembly there.

There is beauty here for the artist. Over there is the white line of the beach, with a forest background, a green slope between. To the left are dim wreaths of smoke, curling cloudward: they come from the “council fires” of the Sioux braves, as they camp on the reservation; they seem to ascend from fires lighted by invisible hands, and around them seem to be gathered the spirits of departed warriors, shadows, hidden from unanointed eyes. To the west the sun is a ball of fire dropping into a sea of ice: sapphire, flame and pearl are mixed with the blue and golden light, and arch toward heaven, tinging forest and hill with celestial splendor. As the orb of day sinks behind the hills, it seems like the path to glory, and but a step—

Montana is entered at the Little Missouri, one hundred miles west of Bismarck. The road to this point runs through an upland prairie, or valley. From Bismarck to Livingston, the gateway to the Park, a distance of six hundred miles, the rain-fall is light, insufficient for general farming. In the summer the grasses dry or cure, and it is claimed they are very nutritious, and much relished by herds. At Miles City, and Billings, canals twenty and thirty miles long are being dug which, when completed, will be used to irrigate the valley. This can never be a great agricultural country without irrigation. Large crops are not raised except on farms that have a natural overflow from some stream or in some exceptionally wet season. But with a water supply under control, there is no reason why this wide, rich valley, may not supply the land with its productions. Let none come here to engage in farming unless they are prepared to supply their crops with abundance of water; there are plenty of streams, or an artesian well can be sunk, which, with an engine or wind-mill, and force-pump, would enable any one to make a fortune. But none need fear to come and engage in herding. Fabulous stories are told of the fortunes made from flocks and herds. The ranches are in the valleys, being used in the winter for the herds, and for the horses in the summer. They are located on the streams, and join the mountain lands in the rear, where the herds and flocks range at large, and fatten without even being fed or cared for.

Sunday is not observed as a holy day. Trains run; building and all kinds of labor continue, and if there is any difference, there is more bustle on the Sabbath than on any other day. At Billings, saloons are open, hurdy-gurdies playing, negroes singing, and drunken dances going on in rooms on the main street of the village.

We visited here the Crow Reservation, and saw among the Indians one of the finest specimens of physical manhood in the world. A Crow warrior, with a physique that Hercules might have envied—straight as an arrow, colored nut-brown; with an eye like that of an eagle, and with the bearing of a CÆsar; one could easily fancy that a second King Philip stood before him. The Crows have a singular burial custom: they wind, with sheets, the bodies of the dead, practising a primitive kind of embalming, and then place them on elevated platforms, or fasten them to the limbs of a tree. At one of their burial places we saw the body of their old chieftain, Blackbow. The table upon which it lay was falling into decay, but the body remained undisturbed. For many a year it had kept a silent watch over the happy hunting-ground of his people.

Here, also, the experiment of industrial schools is being tried. Said the Crow agent, “We are teaching them how to work. I believe one plow is as good as two spelling-books, with these people. We must teach them how to labor, and the dignity of it.” It was through this valley that Custer marched to his death, and many places are named for him.

The whole surface of the country, for hundreds of miles, is covered with petrified trees, snakes, and shells. We saw hundreds of petrified stumps, some of them six feet across.

Citadel Rocks and Pyramid Park, are on the line of the Pacific road, and are wonderful freaks of nature. The latter seems to have been produced by the burning of the coal that underlies the whole country; in fact, in some places, the fires still burning can be seen from the car windows—one fire being near enough to be felt inside the cars.

All along the line antelope are feeding on the hillsides, and in many places those natural communists, the hawk and prairie-dog, can be seen sitting together beside their common home.

The Upper Yellowstone is as lovely a valley as the eye of man ever saw. For one hundred miles east of Livingston the scenery is of wondrous beauty. The slopes of the hills and the mountains turn in graceful curves, mountain against mountain, peak above peak, valley beyond valley, flooding the air and sky with lines of beauty. Some of the mountains are ribbed horizontally, others from base to peak, and all are covered with green verdure, mixed with the brown of last year’s grasses; the fir tree dots the whole with patches of brilliant green, and the beautiful Yellowstone dashes through the valley. Nestled in secluded places are the cabins; grazing on the hillsides are herds of cattle, and here and there the reckless “cow-boy” can be seen dashing across the plains.

At Billings we passed through a heavy snow storm, but as we journeyed westward we felt the warm touch of the Chennock, as it swept down the valley, bringing life and beauty in its gentle touch. Every hilltop is rounded and covered with grasses, and it does not seem possible that on all this round globe there is another valley with such a wealth of graceful curves and delicate colors.

Enthroned at the head of the valley, Livingston sits a very queen; in her right hand the Yellowstone Park, in her left the Bozeman Pass over the Rockies, Emigrant, Crazy, and Baldhead mountains, seemingly but a mile away, though in reality more than fifty, lift their hoary heads fourteen thousand feet toward the heavens, and sparkle in the sunlight like jewels in her crown.

Northern Dakota and Manitoba are very cold countries. In the rural districts the inhabitants do not pretend to have schools in the winter, it is so cold they would not dare to let the children attend. Sometimes during storms men fear to leave their stores at night, and remain in them rather than risk their lives in going home; farmers tie a rope around their bodies, fastening one end to their cabins, when they go out to feed their cattle, and no one leaves home that can avoid it.

But with proper preparation colonies will make no mistake in locating in Dakota or Montana, and the same may be said of individuals. For lack of correct information parties are sometimes deceived. A story is told of a party of German emigrants, who came this spring from across the sea. They had been induced to come by some foreign agent, who had given them a picture of Gladstone, a beautiful little village, and had agreed to locate them there on government lands. Instead of fulfilling his promise he located them several miles away, where there was not a cabin in sight. Said an eye-witness: “It was laughable and sad to see them. Each man had a cut of Gladstone in his hand, and they were all looking for the houses.”

There are rare opportunities to make fortunes; the soil is exceedingly fertile, especially so in Dakota; the cereals grow abundantly, even with the poor farming practiced. Farms and city lots, properly located in thriving towns, are steadily increasing in value, and there are plenty of government lands yet unoccupied, in excellent localities. The Northern Pacific Railroad has any quantity of its very best lands, between Jamestown and Bismarck, yet unsold. One can scarcely make a mistake in settling there, because the land is high and not subject to inundation. There are splendid opportunities in all the country around Bismarck and north, even to the far-famed Turtle Mountains. In all the above-mentioned section success is assured to the patient, hard-working settler. He will have to endure privations; the severe cold of an almost arctic winter; a rude cabin for a dwelling-place; loss of opportunities for education; few churches or Sunday-schools, and a promiscuous population. There are many men and women of culture among the people, but there are also a great many adventurers, as in every new country. But in time all this will change, roads will be worked, schools and churches will be built, cabins will be changed into elegant farm-houses, and society will crystallize as it has done in eastern centers. All this will come after the struggle for existence, which is now going on, is over.