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Army Letters from an Officer's Wife, 1871-1888

by Frances Marie Antoinette Mack Roe · English · Gutenberg #6823 · 603,365 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Army Letters from an Officer's Wife, 1871-1888

Author: Frances Marie Antoinette Mack Roe


        
Release date: November 1, 2004 [eBook #6823]
                Most recently updated: June 4, 2009

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/6823

Credits: Produced by Dianne Bean, and David Widger


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ARMY LETTERS FROM AN OFFICER'S WIFE, 1871-1888 ***




Produced by Dianne Bean








ARMY LETTERS FROM AN OFFICER'S WIFE


By Frances M. A. Roe




PREFACE

PERHAPS it is not necessary to say that the events mentioned in the
letters are not imaginary--perhaps the letters themselves tell that!
They are truthful accounts of experiences that came into my own
life with the Army in the far West, whether they be about Indians,
desperadoes, or hunting--not one little thing has been stolen. They
are of a life that has passed--as has passed the buffalo and the
antelope--yes, and the log and adobe quarters for the Army. All flowery
descriptions have been omitted, as it seemed that a simple, concise
narration of events as they actually occurred, was more in keeping with
the life, and that which came into it. FRANCES M. A. ROE.





ARMY LETTERS FROM AN OFFICER'S WIFE


KIT CARSON, COLORADO TERRITORY, October, 1871.

IT is late, so this can be only a note--to tell you that we arrived here
safely, and will take the stage for Fort Lyon to-morrow morning at six
o'clock. I am thankful enough that our stay is short at this terrible
place, where one feels there is danger of being murdered any minute.
Not one woman have I seen here, but there are men--any number of
dreadful-looking men--each one armed with big pistols, and leather belts
full of cartridges. But the houses we saw as we came from the station
were worse even than the men. They looked, in the moonlight, like huge
cakes of clay, where spooks and creepy things might be found. The hotel
is much like the houses, and appears to have been made of dirt, and a
few drygoods boxes. Even the low roof is of dirt. The whole place is
horrible, and dismal beyond description, and just why anyone lives here
I cannot understand.

I am all upset! Faye has just been in to say that only one of my trunks
can be taken on the stage with us, and of course I had to select one
that has all sorts of things in it, and consequently leave my pretty
dresses here, to be sent for--all but the Japanese silk which happens to
be in that trunk. But imagine my mortification in having to go with
Faye to his regiment, with only two dresses. And then, to make my
shortcomings the more vexatious, Faye will be simply fine all the time,
in his brand new uniform!

Perhaps I can send a long letter soon--if I live to reach that army post
that still seems so far away.

FORT LYON, COLORADO TERRITORY, October, 1871.

AFTER months of anticipation and days of weary travel we have at last
got to our army home! As you know, Fort Lyon is fifty miles from Kit
Carson, and we came all that distance in a funny looking stage coach
called a "jerkey," and a good name for it, too, for at times it seesawed
back and forth and then sideways, in an awful breakneck way. The day was
glorious, and the atmosphere so clear, we could see miles and miles in
every direction. But there was not one object to be seen on the vast
rolling plains--not a tree nor a house, except the wretched ranch and
stockade where we got fresh horses and a perfectly uneatable dinner.

It was dark when we reached the post, so of course we could see
nothing that night. General and Mrs. Phillips gave us a most cordial
welcome--just as though they had known us always. Dinner was served soon
after we arrived, and the cheerful dining room, and the table with its
dainty china and bright silver, was such a surprise--so much nicer than
anything we had expected to find here, and all so different from the
terrible places we had seen since reaching the plains. It was apparent
at once that this was not a place for spooks! General Phillips is not a
real general--only so by brevet, for gallant service during the war. I
was so disappointed when I was told this, but Faye says that he is very
much afraid that I will have cause, sooner or later, to think that
the grade of captain is quite high enough. He thinks this way because,
having graduated at West Point this year, he is only a second lieutenant
just now, and General Phillips is his captain and company commander.

It seems that in the Army, lieutenants are called "Mister" always, but
all other officers must be addressed by their rank. At least that is
what they tell me. But in Faye's company, the captain is called general,
and the first lieutenant is called major, and as this is most confusing,
I get things mixed sometimes. Most girls would. A soldier in uniform
waited upon us at dinner, and that seemed so funny. I wanted to watch
him all the time, which distracted me, I suppose, for once I called
General Phillips "Mister!" It so happened, too, that just that instant
there was not a sound in the room, so everyone heard the blunder.
General Phillips straightened back in his chair, and his little son gave
a smothered giggle--for which he should have been sent to bed at once.
But that was not all! That soldier, who had been so dignified and stiff,
put his hand over his mouth and fairly rushed from the room so he could
laugh outright. And how I longed to run some place, too--but not to
laugh, oh, no!

These soldiers are not nearly as nice as one would suppose them to be,
when one sees them dressed up in their blue uniforms with bright brass
buttons. And they can make mistakes, too, for yesterday, when I asked
that same man a question, he answered, "Yes, sorr!" Then I smiled, of
course, but he did not seem to have enough sense to see why. When I
told Faye about it, he looked vexed and said I must never laugh at an
enlisted man--that it was not dignified in the wife of an officer to do
so. And then I told him that an officer should teach an enlisted man
not to snicker at his wife, and not to call her "Sorr," which was
disrespectful. I wanted to say more, but Faye suddenly left the room.

The post is not at all as you and I had imagined it to be. There is no
high wall around it as there is at Fort Trumbull. It reminds one of a
prim little village built around a square, in the center of which is a
high flagstaff and a big cannon. The buildings are very low and broad
and are made of adobe--a kind of clay and mud mixed together--and the
walls are very thick. At every window are heavy wooden shutters, that
can be closed during severe sand and wind storms. A little ditch--they
call it acequia--runs all around the post, and brings water to the trees
and lawns, but water for use in the houses is brought up in wagons from
the Arkansas River, and is kept in barrels.

Yesterday morning--our first here--we were awakened by the sounds of
fife and drum that became louder and louder, until finally I thought the
whole Army must be marching to the house. I stumbled over everything
in the room in my haste to get to one of the little dormer windows, but
there was nothing to be seen, as it was still quite dark. The drumming
became less loud, and then ceased altogether, when a big gun was fired
that must have wasted any amount of powder, for it shook the house and
made all the windows rattle. Then three or four bugles played a little
air, which it was impossible to hear because of the horrible howling
and crying of dogs--such howls of misery you never heard--they made
me shiver. This all suddenly ceased, and immediately there were lights
flashing some distance away, and dozens of men seemed to be talking
all at the same time, some of them shouting, "Here!" "Here!" I began
to think that perhaps Indians had come upon us, and called to Faye, who
informed me in a sleepy voice that it was only reveille roll-call, and
that each man was answering to his name. There was the same performance
this morning, and at breakfast I asked General Phillips why soldiers
required such a beating of drums, and deafening racket generally, to
awaken them in the morning. But he did not tell me--said it was an
old army custom to have the drums beaten along the officers' walk at
reveille.

Yesterday morning, directly after guard-mounting, Faye put on his
full-dress uniform--epaulets, beautiful scarlet sash, and sword--and
went over to the office of the commanding officer to report officially.
The officer in command of the post is lieutenant colonel of the
regiment, but he, also, is a general by brevet, and one can see by
his very walk that he expects this to be remembered always. So it
is apparent to me that the safest thing to do is to call everyone
general--there seem to be so many here. If I make a mistake, it will be
on the right side, at least.

Much of the furniture in this house was made by soldier carpenters here
at the post, and is not only very nice, but cost General Phillips
almost nothing, and, as we have to buy everything, I said at dinner last
evening that we must have some precisely like it, supposing, of course,
that General Phillips would feel highly gratified because his taste
was admired. But instead of the smile and gracious acquiescence I had
expected, there was another straightening back in the chair, and a
silence that was ominous and chilling. Finally, he recovered sufficient
breath to tell me that at present, there were no good carpenters in the
company. Later on, however, I learned that only captains and officers of
higher rank can have such things. The captains seem to have the best of
everything, and the lieutenants are expected to get along with smaller
houses, much less pay, and much less everything else, and at the same
time perform all of the disagreeable duties.

Faye is wonderfully amiable about it, and assures me that when he gets
to be a captain I will see that it is just and fair. But I happen
to remember that he told me not long ago that he might not get his
captaincy for twenty years. Just think of it--a whole long lifetime--and
always a Mister, too--and perhaps by that time it will be "just and
fair" for the lieutenants to have everything!

We saw our house yesterday--quarters I must learn to say--and it is
ever so much nicer than we had expected it to be. All of the officers'
quarters are new, and this set has never been occupied. It has a hall
with a pretty stairway, three rooms and a large shed downstairs, and
two rooms and a very large hall closet on the second floor. A soldier is
cleaning the windows and floors, and making things tidy generally. Many
of the men like to cook, and do things for officers of their company,
thereby adding to their pay, and these men are called strikers.

There are four companies here--three of infantry and one troop of
cavalry. You must always remember that Faye is in the infantry. With
the cavalry he has a classmate, and a friend, also, which will make
it pleasant for both of us. In my letters to you I will disregard army
etiquette, and call the lieutenants by their rank, otherwise you would
not know of whom I was writing--an officer or civilian. Lieutenant
Baldwin has been on the frontier many years, and is an experienced
hunter of buffalo and antelope. He says that I must commence riding
horseback at once, and has generously offered me the use of one of his
horses. Mrs. Phillips insists upon my using her saddle until I can get
one from the East, so I can ride as soon as our trunks come. And I am to
learn to shoot pistols and guns, and do all sorts of things.

We are to remain with General and Mrs. Phillips several days, while our
own house is being made habitable, and in the meantime our trunks and
boxes will come, also the colored cook. I have not missed my dresses
very much--there has been so much else to think about. There is a little
store just outside the post that is named "Post Trader's," where many
useful things are kept, and we have just been there to purchase some
really nice furniture that an officer left to be sold when he was
retired last spring. We got only enough to make ourselves comfortable
during the winter, for it seems to be the general belief here that these
companies of infantry will be ordered to Camp Supply, Indian Territory,
in the spring. It must be a most dreadful place--with old log houses
built in the hot sand hills, and surrounded by almost every tribe of
hostile Indians.

It may not be possible for me to write again for several days, as I will
be very busy getting settled in the house. I must get things arranged
just as soon as I can, so I will be able to go out on horseback with
Faye and Lieutenant Baldwin.

FORT LYON, COLORADO TERRITORY, October, 1871.

WHEN a very small girl, I was told many wonderful tales about a grand
Indian chief called Red Jacket, by my great-grandmother, who, you will
remember, saw him a number of times when she, also, was a small girl.
And since then--almost all my life--I have wanted to see with my very
own eyes an Indian--a real noble red man--dressed in beautiful skins
embroidered with beads, and on his head long, waving feathers.

Well, I have seen an Indian--a number of Indians--but they were not Red
Jackets, neither were they noble red men. They were simply, and only,
painted, dirty, and nauseous-smelling savages! Mrs. Phillips says that
Indians are all alike--that when you have seen one you have seen all.
And she must know, for she has lived on the frontier a long time, and
has seen many Indians of many tribes.

We went to Las Animas yesterday, Mrs. Phillips, Mrs. Cole, and I, to do
a little shopping. There are several small stores in the half-Mexican
village, where curious little things from Mexico can often be found,
if one does not mind poking about underneath the trash and dirt that is
everywhere. While we were in the largest of these shops, ten or twelve
Indians dashed up to the door on their ponies, and four of them,
slipping down, came in the store and passed on quickly to the counter
farthest back, where the ammunition is kept. As they came toward us in
their imperious way, never once looking to the right or to the left,
they seemed like giants, and to increase in size and numbers with every
step.

Their coming was so sudden we did not have a chance to get out of their
way, and it so happened that Mrs. Phillips and I were in their line of
march, and when the one in the lead got to us, we were pushed aside with
such impatient force that we both fell over on the counter. The others
passed on just the same, however, and if we had fallen to the floor, I
presume they would have stepped over us, and otherwise been oblivious to
our existence. This was my introduction to an Indian--the noble red man!

As soon as they got to the counter they demanded powder, balls, and
percussion caps, and as these things were given them, they were stuffed
down their muzzle-loading rifles, and what could not be rammed down the
barrels was put in greasy skin bags and hidden under their blankets. I
saw one test the sharp edge of a long, wicked-looking knife, and then
it, also, disappeared under his blanket. All this time the other Indians
were on their ponies in front, watching every move that was being made
around them.

There was only the one small door to the little adobe shop, and into
this an Indian had ridden his piebald pony; its forefeet were up a step
on the sill and its head and shoulders were in the room, which made it
quite impossible for us three frightened women to run out in the street.
So we got back of a counter, and, as Mrs. Phillips expressed it, "midway
between the devil and the deep sea." There certainly could be no mistake
about the "devil" side of it!

It was an awful situation to be in, and one to terrify anybody. We were
actually prisoners--penned in with all those savages, who were evidently
in an ugly mood, with quantities of ammunition within their reach, and
only two white men to protect us. Even the few small windows had iron
bars across. They could have killed every one of us, and ridden far away
before anyone in the sleepy town found it out.

Well, when those inside had been given, or had helped themselves to,
whatever they wanted, out they all marched again, quickly and silently,
just as they had come in. They instantly mounted their ponies, and all
rode down the street and out of sight at race speed, some leaning so far
over on their little beasts that one could hardly see the Indian at all.
The pony that was ridden into the store door was without a bridle, and
was guided by a long strip of buffalo skin which was fastened around his
lower jaw by a slipknot. It is amazing to see how tractable the Indians
can make their ponies with only that one rein.

The storekeeper told us that those Indians were Utes, and were greatly
excited because they had just heard there was a small party of Cheyennes
down the river two or three miles. The Utes and Cheyennes are bitter
enemies. He said that the Utes were very cross--ready for the blood of
Indian or white man--therefore he had permitted them to do about as they
pleased while in the store, particularly as we were there, and he
saw that we were frightened. That young man did not know that his own
swarthy face was a greenish white all the time those Indians were in the
store! Not one penny did they pay for the things they carried off. Only
two years ago the entire Ute nation was on the warpath, killing every
white person they came across, and one must have much faith in Indians
to believe that their "change of heart" has been so complete that these
Utes have learned to love the white man in so short a time.

No! There was hatred in their eyes as they approached us in that store,
and there was restrained murder in the hand that pushed Mrs. Phillips
and me over. They were all hideous--with streaks of red or green paint
on their faces that made them look like fiends. Their hair was roped
with strips of bright-colored stuff, and hung down on each side of their
shoulders in front, and on the crown of each black head was a small,
tightly plaited lock, ornamented at the top with a feather, a piece of
tin, or something fantastic. These were their scalp locks. They wore
blankets over dirty old shirts, and of course had on long, trouserlike
leggings of skin and moccasins. They were not tall, but rather short and
stocky. The odor of those skins, and of the Indians themselves, in that
stuffy little shop, I expect to smell the rest of my life!

We heard this morning that those very savages rode out on the plains in
a roundabout way, so as to get in advance of the Cheyennes, and then had
hidden themselves on the top of a bluff overlooking the trail they knew
the Cheyennes to be following, and had fired upon them as they passed
below, killing two and wounding a number of others. You can see how
treacherous these Indians are, and how very far from noble is their
method of warfare! They are so disappointing, too--so wholly unlike
Cooper's red men.

We were glad enough to get in the ambulance and start on our way to the
post, but alas! our troubles were not over. The mules must have felt
the excitement in the air, for as soon as their heads were turned toward
home they proceeded to run away with us. We had the four little mules
that are the special pets of the quartermaster, and are known throughout
the garrison as the "shaved-tails," because the hair on their tails is
kept closely cut down to the very tips, where it is left in a square
brush of three or four inches. They are perfectly matched--coal-black
all over, except their little noses, and are quite small. They are full
of mischief, and full of wisdom, too, even for government mules, and
when one says, "Let's take a sprint," the others always agree--about
that there is never the slightest hesitation.

Therefore, when we first heard the scraping of the brake, and saw that
the driver was pulling and sawing at the tough mouths with all his
strength, no one was surprised, but we said that we wished they had
waited until after we had crossed the Arkansas River. But we got over
the narrow bridge without meeting more than one man, who climbed over
the railing and seemed less anxious to meet us than we were to meet him.
As soon as we got on the road again, those mules, with preliminary kicks
and shakes of their big heads, began to demonstrate how fast they
could go. We had the best driver at the post, and the road was good and
without sharp turns, but the ambulance was high and swayed, and the pace
was too fast for comfort.

The little mules ran and ran, and we held ourselves on our seats the
best we could, expecting to be tipped over any minute. When we reached
the post they made a wonderful turn and took us safely to the government
corral, where they stopped, just when they got ready. One leader looked
around at us and commenced to bray, but the driver was in no mood for
such insolence, and jerked the poor thing almost down.

Three tired, disheveled women walked from the corral to their homes; and
very glad one of them was to get home, too! Hereafter I shall confine
myself to horseback riding--for, even if John is frisky at times, I
prefer to take my chances with the one horse, to four little long-eared
government mules! But I have learned to ride very well, and have a
secure seat now. My teachers, Faye and Lieutenant Baldwin, have been
most exacting, but that I wanted. Of course I ride the army way, tight
in the saddle, which is more difficult to learn. Any attempt to "rise"
when on a trot is ridiculed at once here, and it does look absurd after
seeing the splendid and graceful riding of the officers. I am learning
to jump the cavalry hurdles and ditches, too. I must confess, however,
that taking a ditch the first time was more exciting than enjoyable.
John seemed to like it better than I did.

FORT LYON, COLORADO TERRITORY, November, 1871.

IN many of my letters I have written about learning to ride and to
shoot, and have told you, also, of having followed the greyhounds after
coyotes and rabbits with Faye and Lieutenant Baldwin. These hunts exact
the very best of riding and a fast horse, for coyotes are very swift,
and so are jack-rabbits, too, and one look at a greyhound will tell
anyone that he can run--and about twice as fast as the big-eared
foxhounds in the East. But I started to write you about something quite
different from all this--to tell you of a really grand hunt I have been
on--a splendid chase after buffalo!

A week or so ago it was decided that a party of enlisted men should
be sent out to get buffalo meat for Thanksgiving dinner for
everybody--officers and enlisted men--and that Lieutenant Baldwin, who
is an experienced hunter, should command the detail. You can imagine how
proud and delighted I was when asked to go with them. Lieutenant Baldwin
saying that the hunt would be worth seeing, and well repay one for the
fatigue of the hard ride.

So, one morning after an early breakfast, the horses were led up from
the stables, each one having on a strong halter, and a coiled picket
rope with an iron pin fastened to the saddle. These were carried so that
if it should be found necessary to secure the horses on the plains, they
could be picketed out. The bachelors' set of quarters is next to ours,
so we all got ready together, and I must say that the deliberate way
in which each girth was examined, bridles fixed, rifles fastened to
saddles, and other things done, was most exasperating. But we finally
started, about seven o'clock, Lieutenant Baldwin and I taking the lead,
and Faye and Lieutenant Alden following.

The day was very cold, with a strong wind blowing, so I wore one of
Faye's citizen caps, with tabs tied down over my ears, and a large silk
handkerchief around my neck, all of which did not improve my looks
in the least, but it was quite in keeping with the dressing of the
officers, who had on buckskin shirts, with handkerchiefs, leggings, and
moccasins. Two large army wagons followed us, each drawn by four mules,
and carrying several enlisted men. Mounted orderlies led extra horses
that officers and men were to ride when they struck the herd.

Well, we rode twelve miles without seeing one living thing, and then
we came to a little adobe ranch where we dismounted to rest a while. By
this time our feet and hands were almost frozen, and Faye suggested that
I should remain at the ranch until they returned; but that I refused
to do--to give up the hunt was not to be thought of, particularly as
a ranchman had just told us that a small herd of buffalo had been seen
that very morning only two miles farther on. So, when the horses were a
little rested, we started, and, after riding a mile or more, we came to
a small ravine, where we found one poor buffalo, too old and emaciated
to keep up with his companions, and who, therefore, had been abandoned
by them, to die alone. He had eaten the grass as far as he could reach,
and had turned around and around until the ground looked as though it
had been spaded.

He got up on his old legs as we approached him, and tried to show fight
by dropping his head and throwing his horns to the front, but a child
could have pushed him over. One of the officers tried to persuade me to
shoot him, saying it would be a humane act, and at the same time give
me the prestige of having killed a buffalo! But the very thought of
pointing a pistol at anything so weak and utterly helpless was revolting
in the extreme. He was such an object of pity, too, left there all alone
to die of starvation, when perhaps at one time he may have been leader
of his herd. He was very tall, had a fine head, with an uncommonly long
beard, and showed every indication of having been a grand specimen of
his kind.

We left him undisturbed, but only a few minutes later we heard the sharp
report of a rifle, and at once suspected, what we learned to be a
fact the next day, that one of the men with the wagons had killed him.
Possibly this was the most merciful thing to do, but to me that shot
meant murder. The pitiful bleary eyes of the helpless old beast have
haunted me ever since we saw him.

We must have gone at least two miles farther before we saw the herd we
were looking for, making fifteen or sixteen miles altogether that we had
ridden. The buffalo were grazing quietly along a meadow in between low,
rolling hills. We immediately fell back a short distance and waited for
the wagons, and when they came up there was great activity, I assure
you. The officers' saddles were transferred to their hunters, and the
men who were to join in the chase got their horses and rifles ready.
Lieutenant Baldwin gave his instructions to everybody, and all started
off, each one going in a different direction so as to form a cordon,
Faye said, around the whole herd. Faye would not join in the hunt, but
remained with me the entire day. He and I rode over the hill, stopping
when we got where we could command a good view of the valley and watch
the run.

It seemed only a few minutes when we saw the buffalo start, going from
some of the men, of course, who at once began to chase them. This kept
them running straight ahead, and, fortunately, in Lieutenant Baldwin's
direction, who apparently was holding his horse in, waiting for them
to come. We saw through our field glasses that as soon as they got
near enough he made a quick dash for the herd, and cutting one out, had
turned it so it was headed straight for us.

Now, being on a buffalo hunt a safe distance off, was one thing, but to
have one of those huge animals come thundering along like a steam
engine directly upon you, was quite another. I was on one of Lieutenant
Baldwin's horses, too, and I felt that there might be danger of his
bolting to his companion, Tom, when he saw him dashing by, and as I was
not anxious to join in a buffalo chase just at that time, I begged Faye
to go with me farther up the hill. But he would not go back one step,
assuring me that my horse was a trained hunter and accustomed to such
sights.

Lieutenant Baldwin gained steadily on the buffalo, and in a wonderfully
short time both passed directly in front of us--within a hundred feet,
Faye said. Lieutenant Baldwin was close upon him then, his horse looking
very small and slender by the side of the grand animal that was taking
easy, swinging strides, apparently without effort and without speed, his
tongue lolling at one side. But we could see that the pace was really
terrific--that Lieutenant Baldwin was freely using the spur, and that
his swift thoroughbred was stretched out like a greyhound, straining
every muscle in his effort to keep up. He was riding close to the
buffalo on his left, with revolver in his right hand, and I wondered why
he did not shoot, but Faye said it would be useless to fire then--that
Lieutenant Baldwin must get up nearer the shoulder, as a buffalo is
vulnerable only in certain parts of his body, and that a hunter of
experience like Lieutenant Baldwin would never think of shooting unless
he could aim at heart or lungs.

My horse behaved very well--just whirling around a few times--but Faye
was kept busy a minute or two by his, for the poor horse was awfully
frightened, and lunged and reared and snorted; but I knew that he could
not unseat Faye, so I rather enjoyed it, for you know I had wanted to go
back a little!

Lieutenant Baldwin and the buffalo were soon far away, and when our
horses had quieted down we recalled that shots had been fired in another
direction, and looking about, we saw a pathetic sight. Lieutenant
Alden was on his horse, and facing him was an immense buffalo, standing
perfectly still with chin drawn in and horns to the front, ready for
battle. It was plain to be seen that the poor horse was not enjoying
the meeting, for every now and then he would try to back away, or give
a jump sideways. The buffalo was wounded and unable to run, but he could
still turn around fast enough to keep his head toward the horse, and
this he did every time Lieutenant Alden tried to get an aim at his side.

There was no possibility of his killing him without assistance, and
of course the poor beast could not be abandoned in such a helpless
condition, so Faye decided to go over and worry him, while Lieutenant
Alden got in the fatal shot. As soon as Faye got there I put my fingers
over my ears so that I would not hear the report of the pistol. After
a while I looked across, and there was the buffalo still standing, and
both Faye and Lieutenant Alden were beckoning for me to come to them. At
first I could not understand what they wanted, and I started to go over,
but it finally dawned upon me that they were actually waiting for me to
come and kill that buffalo! I saw no glory in shooting a wounded animal,
so I turned my horse back again, but had not gone far before I heard the
pistol shot.

Then I rode over to see the huge animal, and found Faye and Lieutenant
Alden in a state of great excitement. They said he was a magnificent
specimen--unusually large, and very black--what they call a blue
skin--with a splendid head and beard. I had been exposed to a bitterly
cold wind, without the warming exercise of riding, for over an hour, and
my hands were so cold and stiff that I could scarcely hold the reins,
so they jumped me up on the shoulders of the warm body, and I buried
my hands in the long fur on his neck. He fell on his wounded side,
and looked precisely as though he was asleep---so much so that I
half expected him to spring up and resent the indignity he was being
subjected to.

Very soon after that Faye and I came on home, reaching the post about
seven o'clock. We had been in our saddles most of the time for twelve
hours, on a cold day, and were tired and stiff, and when Faye tried
to assist me from my horse I fell to the ground in a heap. But I got
through the day very well, considering the very short time I have
been riding--that is, really riding. The hunt was a grand sight, and
something that probably I will never have a chance of seeing again--and,
to be honest, I do not want to see another, for the sight of one of
those splendid animals running for his life is not a pleasant one.

The rest of the party did not come in until several hours later;
but they brought the meat and skins of four buffalo, and the head of
Lieutenant Alden's, which he will send East to be mounted. The skin
he intends to take to an Indian camp, to be tanned by the squaws.
Lieutenant Baldwin followed his buffalo until he got in the position he
wanted, and then killed him with one shot. Faye says that only a cool
head and experience could have done that. Much depends upon the horse,
too, for so many horses are afraid of a buffalo, and lunge sideways just
at the critical moment.

Several experienced hunters tell marvelous tales of how they have
stood within a few yards of a buffalo and fired shot after shot from a
Springfield rifle, straight at his head, the balls producing no effect
whatever, except, perhaps, a toss of the head and the flying out of a
tuft of hair. Every time the ball would glance off from the thick skull.
The wonderful mat of curly hair must break the force some, too. This
mat, or cushion, in between the horns of the buffalo Lieutenant Alden
killed, was so thick and tangled that I could not begin to get my
fingers in it.

FORT LYON, COLORADO TERRITORY, December, 1871.

OUR first Christmas on the frontier was ever so pleasant, but it
certainly was most vexatious not to have that box from home. And I
expect that it has been at Kit Carson for days, waiting to be brought
down. We had quite a little Christmas without it, however, for a number
of things came from the girls, and several women of the garrison sent
pretty little gifts to me. It was so kind and thoughtful of them
to remember that I might be a bit homesick just now. All the little
presents were spread out on a table, and in a way to make them present
as fine an appearance as possible. Then I printed in large letters, on a
piece of cardboard, "One box--contents unknown!" and stood it up on the
back of the table. I did this to let everyone know that we had not been
forgotten by home people. My beautiful new saddle was brought in, also,
for although I had had it several weeks, it was really one of Faye's
Christmas gifts to me.

They have such a charming custom in the Army of going along the line
Christmas morning and giving each other pleasant greetings and looking
at the pretty things everyone has received. This is a rare treat out
here, where we are so far from shops and beautiful Christmas displays.
We all went to the bachelors' quarters, almost everyone taking over some
little remembrance--homemade candy, cakes, or something of that sort.

I had a splendid cake to send over that morning, and I will tell you
just what happened to it. At home we always had a large fruit cake made
for the holidays, long in advance, and I thought I would have one this
year as near like it as possible. But it seemed that the only way to get
it was to make it. So, about four weeks ago, I commenced. It was quite
an undertaking for me, as I had never done anything of the kind, and
perhaps I did not go about it the easiest way, but I knew how it should
look when done, and of course I knew precisely how it should taste.
Eliza makes delicious every-day cake, but was no assistance whatever
with the fruit cake, beyond encouraging me with the assurance that it
would not matter in the least if it should be heavy.

Well, for two long, tiresome days I worked over that cake, preparing
with my own fingers every bit of the fruit, which I consider was a fine
test of perseverance and staying qualities. After the ingredients were
all mixed together there seemed to be enough for a whole regiment, so we
decided to make two cakes of it. They looked lovely when baked, and just
right, and smelled so good, too! I wrapped them in nice white paper that
had been wet with brandy, and put them carefully away--one in a stone
jar, the other in a tin box--and felt that I had done a remarkably fine
bit of housekeeping. The bachelors have been exceedingly kind to me,
and I rejoiced at having a nice cake to send them Christmas morning. But
alas! I forgot that the little house was fragrant with the odor of spice
and fruit, and that there was a man about who was ever on the lookout
for good things to eat. It is a shame that those cadets at West Point
are so starved. They seem to be simply famished for months after they
graduate.

It so happened that there was choir practice that very evening, and that
I was at the chapel an hour or so. When I returned, I found the three
bachelors sitting around the open fire, smoking, and looking very
comfortable indeed. Before I was quite in the room they all stood up
and began to praise the cake. I think Faye was the first to mention
it, saying it was a "great success"; then the others said "perfectly
delicious," and so on, but at the same time assuring me that a large
piece had been left for me.

For one minute I stood still, not in the least grasping their meaning;
but finally I suspected mischief, they all looked so serenely contented.
So I passed on to the dining room, and there, on the table, was one of
the precious cakes---at least what was left of it, the very small piece
that had been so generously saved for me. And there were plates with
crumbs, and napkins, that told the rest of the sad tale--and there was
wine and empty glasses, also. Oh, yes! Their early Christmas had been
a fine one. There was nothing for me to say or do--at least not just
then--so I went back to the little living-room and forced myself to
be halfway pleasant to the four men who were there, each one looking
precisely like the cat after it had eaten the canary! The cake was
scarcely cold, and must have been horribly sticky--and I remember
wondering, as I sat there, which one would need the doctor first, and
what the doctor would do if they were all seized with cramps at the same
time. But they were not ill--not in the least--which proved that the
cake was well baked. If they had discovered the other one, however,
there is no telling what might have happened.

At half after ten yesterday the chaplain held service, and the little
chapel was crowded--so many of the enlisted men were present. We sang
our Christmas music, and received many compliments. Our little choir
is really very good. Both General Phillips and Major Pierce have fine
voices. One of the infantry sergeants plays the organ now, for it was
quite too hard for me to sing and work those old pedals. Once I forgot
them entirely, and everybody smiled--even the chaplain!

From the chapel we--that is, the company officers and their wives--went
to the company barracks to see the men's dinner tables. When we entered
the dining hall we found the entire company standing in two lines, one
down each side, every man in his best inspection uniform, and every
button shining. With eyes to the front and hands down their sides they
looked absurdly like wax figures waiting to be "wound up," and I did
want so much to tell the little son of General Phillips to pinch one and
make him jump. He would have done it, too, and then put all the blame
upon me, without loss of time.

The first sergeant came to meet us, and went around with us. There
were three long tables, fairly groaning with things upon them: buffalo,
antelope, boiled ham, several kinds of vegetables, pies, cakes,
quantities of pickles, dried "apple-duff," and coffee, and in the center
of each table, high up, was a huge cake thickly covered with icing.
These were the cakes that Mrs. Phillips, Mrs. Barker, and I had sent
over that morning. It is the custom in the regiment for the wives of
the officers every Christmas to send the enlisted men of their husbands'
companies large plum cakes, rich with fruit and sugar. Eliza made the
cake I sent over, a fact I made known from its very beginning, to keep
it from being devoured by those it was not intended for.

The hall was very prettily decorated with flags and accoutrements,
but one missed the greens. There are no evergreen trees here, only
cottonwood. Before coming out, General Phillips said a few pleasant
words to the men, wishing them a "Merry Christmas" for all of us.
Judging from the laughing and shuffling of feet as soon as we got
outside, the men were glad to be allowed to relax once more.

At six o'clock Faye and I, Lieutenant Baldwin, and Lieutenant Alden
dined with Doctor and Mrs. Wilder. It was a beautiful little dinner,
very delicious, and served in the daintiest manner possible. But out
here one is never quite sure of what one is eating, for sometimes
the most tempting dishes are made of almost nothing. At holiday time,
however, it seems that the post trader sends to St. Louis for turkeys,
celery, canned oysters, and other things. We have no fresh vegetables
here, except potatoes, and have to depend upon canned stores in the
commissary for a variety, and our meat consists entirely of beef, except
now and then, when we may have a treat to buffalo or antelope.

The commanding officer gave a dancing party Friday evening that was most
enjoyable. He is a widower, you know. His house is large, and the rooms
of good size, so that dancing was comfortable. The music consisted of
one violin with accordion accompaniment. This would seem absurd in the
East, but I can assure you that one accordion, when played well by a
German, is an orchestra in itself. And Doos plays very well. The girls
East may have better music to dance by, and polished waxed floors to
slip down upon, but they cannot have the excellent partners one has at
an army post, and I choose the partners!

The officers are excellent dancers--every one of them--and when you are
gliding around, your chin, or perhaps your nose, getting a scratch now
and then from a gorgeous gold epaulet, you feel as light as a feather,
and imagine yourself with a fairy prince. Of course the officers were in
full-dress uniform Friday night, so I know just what I am talking about,
scratches and all. Every woman appeared in her finest gown. I wore my
nile-green silk, which I am afraid showed off my splendid coat of tan
only too well.

The party was given for Doctor and Mrs. Anderson, who are guests of
General Bourke for a few days. They are en route to Fort Union,
New Mexico. Mrs. Anderson was very handsome in an elegant gown of
London-smoke silk. I am to assist Mrs. Phillips in receiving New Year's
day, and shall wear my pearl-colored Irish poplin. We are going out now
for a little ride.

FORT LYON, COLORADO TERRITORY, January, 1872.

WHEN we came over on the stage from Kit Carson last fall, I sat on top
with the driver, who told me of many terrible experiences he had passed
through during the years he had been driving a stage on the plains, and
some of the most thrilling were of sand storms, when he had, with great
difficulty, saved the stage and perhaps his own life. There have been
ever so many storms, since we have been here, that covered everything in
the houses with dust and sand, but nothing at all like those the driver
described. But yesterday one came--a terrific storm--and it so happened
that I was caught out in the fiercest part of it.

As Faye was officer of the day, he could not leave the garrison, so
I rode with Lieutenant Baldwin and Lieutenant Alden. The day was
glorious--sunny, and quite warm--one of Colorado's very best, without a
cloud to be seen in any direction. We went up the river to the mouth of
a pretty little stream commonly called "The Picket Wire," but the real
name of which is La Purgatoire. It is about five miles from the post
and makes a nice objective point for a short ride, for the clear water
gurgling over the stones, and the trees and bushes along its banks, are
always attractive in this treeless country.

The canter up was brisk, and after giving our horses the drink from the
running stream they always beg for, we started back on the road to the
post in unusually fine spirits. Almost immediately, however, Lieutenant
Baldwin said, "I do not like the looks of that cloud over there!" We
glanced back in the direction he pointed, and seeing only a streak
of dark gray low on the horizon, Lieutenant Alden and I paid no more
attention to it. But Lieutenant Baldwin was very silent, and ever
looking back at the queer gray cloud. Once I looked at it, too, and was
amazed at the wonderfully fast way it had spread out, but just then John
shied at something, and in managing the horse I forgot the cloud.

When about two miles from the post, Lieutenant Baldwin, who had fallen
back a little, called to us, "Put your horses to their best pace--a sand
storm is coming!" Then we knew there was a possibility of much
danger, for Lieutenant Baldwin is known to be a keen observer, and our
confidence in his judgment was great, so, without once looking back to
see what was coming after us, Lieutenant Alden and I started our horses
on a full run.

Well, that cloud increased in size with a rapidity you could never
imagine, and soon the sun was obscured as if by an eclipse. It became
darker and darker, and by the time we got opposite the post trader's
there could be heard a loud, continuous roar, resembling that of a heavy
waterfall.

Just then Lieutenant Baldwin grasped my bridle rein on the right and
told Lieutenant Alden to ride close on my left, which was done not a
second too soon, for as we reached the officers' line the storm struck
us, and with such force that I was almost swept from my saddle. The wind
was terrific and going at hurricane speed, and the air so thick with
sand and dirt we could not see the ears of our own horses. The world
seemed to have narrowed to a space that was appalling! You will think
that this could never have been--that I was made blind by terror--but I
can assure you that the absolute truth is being written.

Lieutenant Baldwin's voice sounded strange and far, far away when he
called to me, "Sit tight in your saddle and do not jump!" And then
again he fairly yelled, "We must stay together--and keep the horses from
stampeding to the stables!" He was afraid they would break away and
dash us against the iron supports to the flagstaff in the center of the
parade ground. How he could say one word, or even open his mouth, I do
not understand, for the air was thick with gritty dirt. The horses were
frantic, of course, whirling around each other, rearing and pulling, in
their efforts to get free.

We must have stayed in about the same place twenty minutes or longer,
when, just for one instant, there was a lull in the storm, and I caught
a glimpse of the white pickets of a fence! Without stopping to think of
horse's hoofs and, alas! without calling one word to the two officers
who were doing everything possible to protect me, I shut my eyes tight,
freed my foot from the stirrup, and, sliding down from my horse, started
for those pickets! How I missed Lieutenant Alden's horse, and how I got
to that fence, I do not know. The force of the wind was terrific, and
besides, I was obliged to cross the little acequia. But I did get over
the fifteen or sixteen feet of ground without falling, and oh, the joy
of getting my arms around those pickets!

The storm continued for some time; but finally the atmosphere began
to clear, and I could see objects around me. And then out of the dust
loomed up Lieutenant Baldwin. He was about halfway down the line and
riding close to the fence, evidently looking for me. When he came up,
leading my horse, his face was black with more than dirt. He reminded me
of having told me positively not to jump from my horse, and asked if
I realized that I might have been knocked down and killed by the crazy
animals. Of course I had perceived all that as soon as I reached safety,
but I could not admit my mistake at that time without breaking down and
making a scene. I was nervous and exhausted, and in no condition to be
scolded by anyone, so I said: "If you were not an old bachelor you would
have known better than to have told a woman not to do a thing--you would
have known that, in all probability, that would be the very thing she
would do first!" That mollified him a little, but we did not laugh--life
had just been too serious for that.

The chaplain had joined us, and so had Lieutenant Alden. The fence I had
run to was the chaplain's, and when the good man saw us he came out and
assisted me to his house, where I received the kindest care from Mrs.
Lawton. I knew that Faye would be greatly worried about me, so as soon
as I had rested a little--enough to walk--and had got some of the dust
out of my eyes, the chaplain and I hurried down to our house to let him
know that I was safe.

At every house along the line the heavy shutters were closed, and not
one living thing was to be seen, and the post looked as though it might
have been long abandoned. There was a peculiar light, too, that made the
most familiar objects seem strange. Yes, we saw a squad of enlisted men
across the parade ground, trying with immense ropes to get back in place
the heavy roof of the long commissary building which had been partly
blown off.

We met Faye at our gate, just starting out to look for us. He said that
when the storm first came up he was frightened about me, but when the
broad adobe house began to rock he came to the conclusion that I was
about as safe out on the plains as I would be in a house, particularly
as I was on a good horse, and with two splendid horsemen who would take
the very best care of me. My plait of hair was one mass of dirt and was
cut and torn, and is still in a deplorable condition, and my face looks
as though I had just recovered from smallpox. As it was Monday, the
washing of almost every family was out on lines, about every article of
which has gone to regions unknown. The few pieces that were Caught by
the high fences were torn to shreds.

FORT LYON, COLORADO TERRITORY, January, 1872.

OUR little party was a grand success, but I am still wondering how it
came about that Mrs. Barker and I gave it together, for, although we
are all in the same company and next-door neighbors, we have seen very
little of each other. She is very quiet, and seldom goes out, even for
a walk. It was an easy matter to arrange things so the two houses could,
in a way, be connected, as they are under the same long roof, and the
porches divided by a railing only, that was removed for the one evening.
The dancing was in our house, and the supper was served at the Barkers'.
And that supper was a marvel of culinary art, I assure you, even if it
was a fraud in one or two things, We were complimented quite graciously
by some of the older housekeepers, who pride themselves upon knowing how
to make more delicious little dishes out of nothing than anyone else.
But this time it was North and South combined, for you will remember
that Mrs. Barker is from Virginia.

The chicken salad--and it was delicious--was made of tender veal, but
the celery in it was the genuine article, for we sent to Kansas City for
that and a few other things. The turkey galantine was perfect, and the
product of a resourceful brain from the North, and was composed almost
entirely of wild goose! There was no April fool about the delicate
Maryland biscuits, however, and other nice things that were set forth.
We fixed up cozily the back part of our hall with comfortable chairs and
cushions, and there punch was served during the evening. Major Barker
and Faye made the punch. The orchestra might have been better, but the
two violins and the accordion gave us music that was inspiring, and gave
us noise, too, and then Doos, who played the accordion, kept us merry by
the ever-pounding down of one government-shod foot.

Everyone in the garrison came--even the chaplain was here during the
supper. The officers Were in full-dress uniform, and the only man in
plain evening dress was Mr. Dunn, the post trader, and in comparison to
the gay uniforms of the officers he did look so sleek, from his shiny
black hair down to the toes of his shiny black pumps! Mrs. Barker and
I received, of course, and she was very pretty in a pink silk gown
entirely covered with white net, that was caught up at many places
by artificial pink roses. The color was most becoming, and made very
pronounced the rich tint of her dark skin and her big black eyes.

Well, we danced before supper and we danced after supper, and when we
were beginning to feel just a wee bit tired, there suddenly appeared in
our midst a colored woman--a real old-time black mammy--in a dress
of faded, old-fashioned plaids, with kerchief, white apron, and a
red-and-yellow turban tied around her head. We were dancing at the time
she came in, but everyone stopped at once, completely lost in amazement,
and she had the floor to herself. This was what she wanted, and she
immediately commenced to dance wildly and furiously, as though she was
possessed, rolling her big eyes and laughing to show the white teeth.
Gradually she quieted down to a smooth, rhythmic motion, slowly swaying
from side to side, sometimes whirling around, but with feet always flat
on the floor, often turning on her heels. All the time her arms were
extended and her fingers snapping, and snapping also were the
black eyes. She was the personification of grace, but the dance was
weird--made the more so by the setting of bright evening dresses and
glittering uniforms. One never sees a dance of this sort these days,
even in the South, any more than one sees the bright-colored turban.
Both have passed with the old-time darky.

Of course we recognized Mrs. Barker, more because there was no one else
in our small community who could personify a darky so perfectly, than
because there was any resemblance to her in looks or gesture. The
make-up was artistic, and how she managed the quick transformation
from ball dress to that of the plantation, with all its black paint and
rouge, Mrs. Barker alone knows, and where on this earth she got that
dress and turban, she alone knows. But I imagine she sent to Virginia
for the whole costume. At all events, it was very bright in her to think
of this unusual divertissement for our guests when dancing was beginning
to lag a little. The dance she must have learned from a mammy when a
child. I forgot to say that during the time she was dancing our fine
orchestra played old Southern melodies. And all this was arranged and
done by the quietest woman in the garrison!

Our house was upset from one end to the other to make room for the
dancing, but the putting of things in order again did not take long, as
the house has so very little in it. Still, I always feel rebellious when
anything comes up to interfere with my rides, no matter how pleasant it
may be. There have been a great many antelope near the post of late,
and we have been on ever so many hunts for them. The greyhounds have not
been with us, however, for following the hounds when chasing those fleet
animals not only requires the fastest kind of a horse and very good
riding, but is exceedingly dangerous to both horse and rider because of
the many prairie-dog holes, which are terrible death traps. And besides,
the dogs invariably get their feet full of cactus needles, which cause
much suffering for days.

So we have been flagging the antelope, that is, taking a shameful
advantage of their wonderful curiosity, and enticing them within rifle
range. On these hunts I usually hold the horses of the three officers
and my own, and so far they have not given me much trouble, for each one
is a troop-trained animal.

The antelope are shy and wary little creatures, and possess an abnormal
sense of smell that makes it absolutely necessary for hunters to move
cautiously to leeward the instant they discover them. It is always an
easy matter to find a little hill that will partly screen them--the
country is so rolling--as they creep and crawl to position, ever mindful
of the dreadful cactus. When they reach the highest point the flag
is put up, and this is usually made on the spot, of a red silk
handkerchief, one corner run through the rammer of a Springfield rifle.
Then everyone lies down flat on the ground, resting on his elbows, with
rifle in position for firing.

Antelope always graze against the wind, and even a novice can tell when
they discover the flag, for they instantly stop feeding, and the entire
band will whirl around to face it, with big round ears standing straight
up, and in this way they will remain a second or two, constantly
sniffing the air. Failing to discover anything dangerous, they will take
a few steps forward, perhaps run around a little, giving quick tossings
of the head, and sniffing with almost every breath, but whatever they
do the stop is always in the same position--facing the flag, the strange
object they cannot understand. Often they will approach very slowly,
making frequent halts after little runs, and give many tossings of the
head as if they were actually coquetting with death itself! Waiting for
them to come within range of the rifle requires great patience, for the
approach is always more or less slow, and frequently just as they are at
the right distance and the finger is on the trigger, off the whole
band will streak, looking like horizontal bars of brown and white! I am
always so glad when they do this, for it seems so wicked to kill such
graceful creatures. It is very seldom that I watch the approach, but
when I do happen to see them come up, the temptation to do something to
frighten them away from those murderous guns is almost irresistible.

But never once are they killed for mere pleasure! Their meat is tender
and most delicious after one has learned to like the "gamey" flavor.
And a change in meat we certainly do need here, for unless we can have
buffalo or antelope now and then, it is beef every day in the month--not
only one month, but every month.

The prairie-dog holes are great obstacles to following hounds on the
plains, for while running so fast it is impossible for a horse to see
the holes in time to avoid them, and if a foot slips down in one it
means a broken leg for the horse and a hard throw for the rider, and
perhaps broken bones also. Following these English greyhounds--which
have such wonderful speed and keenness of sight--after big game on vast
plains, is very different from running after the slow hounds and foxes
in the East, and requires a very much faster horse and quite superior
riding. One has to learn to ride a horse--to get a perfect balance that
makes it a matter of indifference which-way the horse may jump, at any
speed--in fact, one must become a part of one's mount before these hunts
can be attempted.

Chasing wolves and rabbits is not as dangerous, for they cannot begin
to run as fast as antelope. And it is great fun to chase the big
jack-rabbits. They know their own speed perfectly and have great
confidence in it. When the hounds start one he will give one or two
jumps high up in the air to take a look at things, and then he commences
to run with great bounds, with his enormously long ears straight up like
sails on a boat, and almost challenges the dogs to follow. But the
poor hunted thing soon finds out that he must do better than that if
he wishes to keep ahead, so down go the ears, flat along his back, and
stretching himself out very straight, goes his very fastest, and then
the real chase is on.

But Mr. Jack-Rabbit is cunning, and when he sees that the long-legged
dogs are steadily gaining upon him and getting closer with every jump,
he will invariably make a quick turn and run back on his own tracks,
often going right underneath the fast-running dogs that cannot stop
themselves, and can only give vicious snaps as they jump over him. Their
stride--often fifteen and twenty feet--covers so much more ground
than the rabbit's, it is impossible for them to make as quick turns,
therefore it is generally the slow dog of the pack that catches the
rabbit. And frequently a wise old rabbit will make many turns and
finally reach a hole in safety.

The tail of a greyhound is his rudder and his brake, and the sight is
most laughable when a whole pack of them are trying to stop, each tail
whirling around like a Dutch windmill. Sometimes, in their frantic
efforts to stop quickly, they will turn complete somersaults and roll
over in a cloud of dust and dirt. But give up they never do, and once
on their feet they start back after that rabbit with whines of
disappointment and rage. Many, many times, also, I have heard the dogs
howl and whine from the pain caused by the cactus spines in their feet,
but not once have I ever seen any one of them lag in the chase.

But the pack here is a notoriously fine one. The leader. Magic, is a
splendid dog, dark brindle in color, very swift and very plucky,
also most intelligent. He is a sly rascal, too. He loves to sleep
on Lieutenant Baldwin's bed above all things, and he sneaks up on it
whenever he can, but the instant he hears Lieutenant Baldwin's step on
the walk outside, down he jumps, and stretching himself out full length
in front of the fire, he shuts his eyes tight, pretends to be fast
asleep, and the personification of an innocent, well-behaved dog! But
Lieutenant Baldwin knows his tricks now, and sometimes, going to the
bed, he can feel the warmth from his body that is still there, and if he
says, "Magic, you old villain," Magic will wag his tail a little, which
in dog language means, "You are pretty smart, but I'm smart, too!"

With all this outdoor exercise, one can readily perceive that the
days are not long and tiresome. Of course there are a few who yawn
and complain of the monotony of frontier life, but these are the
stay-at-homes who sit by their own fires day after day and let cobwebs
gather in brain and lungs. And these, too, are the ones who have time to
discover so many faults in others, and become our garrison gossips! If
they would take brisk rides on spirited horses in this wonderful air,
and learn to shoot all sorts of guns in all sorts of positions,
they would soon discover that a frontier post can furnish plenty of
excitement. At least, I have found that it can.

Faye was very anxious for me to become a good shot, considering it
most essential in this Indian country, and to please him I commenced
practicing soon after we got here. It was hard work at first, and I had
many a bad headache from the noise of the guns. It was all done in a
systematic way, too, as though I was a soldier at target practice. They
taught me to use a pistol in various positions while standing; then
I learned to use it from the saddle. After that a little four-inch
bull's-eye was often tacked to a tree seventy-five paces away, and I
was given a Spencer carbine to shoot (a short magazine rifle used by the
cavalry), and many a time I have fired three rounds, twenty-one shots in
all, at the bull's-eye, which I was expected to hit every time, too.

Well, I obligingly furnished amusement for Faye and Lieutenant Baldwin
until they asked me to fire a heavy Springfield rifle--an infantry gun.
After one shot I politely refused to touch the thing again. The noise
came near making me deaf for life; the big thing rudely "kicked" me over
on my back, and the bullet--I expect that ball is still on its way to
Mars or perhaps the moon. This earth it certainly did not hit! Faye is
with the company almost every morning, but after luncheon we usually
go out for two or three hours, and always come back refreshed by the
exercise. And the little house looks more cozy, and the snapping of the
blazing logs sounds more cheerful because of our having been away from
them.

FORT LYON, COLORADO TERRITORY, April, 1872.

SOME of the most dreadful things have occurred since I wrote you last,
and this letter will make you unhappy, I know. To begin with, orders
have actually come from Department Headquarters at Leavenworth for two
companies of infantry here--General Phillips' and Captain Giddings'--to
go to Camp Supply! So that is settled, and we will probably leave this
post in about ten days, and during that time we are expected to sell,
give away, smash up, or burn about everything we possess, for we have
already been told that very few things can be taken with us. I do not
see how we can possibly do with less than we have had since we came
here.

Eliza announced at once that she could not be induced to go where there
are so many Indians--said she had seen enough of them while in New
Mexico. I am more than sorry to lose her, but at the same time I cannot
help admiring her common sense. I would not go either if I could avoid
it.

You will remember that not long ago I said that Lieutenant Baldwin was
urging me to ride Tom, his splendid thoroughbred, as soon as he could be
quieted down a little so I could control him. Well, I was to have ridden
him to-day for the first time! Yesterday morning Lieutenant Baldwin had
him out for a long, hard run, but even after that the horse was nervous
when he came in, and danced sideways along the officers' drive in his
usual graceful way. Just as they got opposite the chaplain's house, two
big St. Bernard dogs bounded over the fence and landed directly under
the horse, entangling themselves with his legs so completely that when
he tried to jump away from them he was thrown down on his knees with
great force, and Lieutenant Baldwin was pitched over the horse's head
and along the ground several feet.

He is a tall, muscular man and went down heavily, breaking three ribs
and his collar bone on both sides! He is doing very well, and is as
comfortable to-day as can be expected, except that he is grieving
piteously over his horse, for the poor horse--beautiful Tom--is utterly
ruined! Both knees have been sprung, and he is bandaged almost as much
as his master.

The whole occurrence is most deplorable and distressing. It seems so
dreadful that a strong man should be almost killed and a grand horse
completely ruined by two clumsy, ill-mannered dogs. One belongs to the
chaplain, too, who is expected to set a model example for the rest of
us. Many, many times during the winter I have ridden by the side of Tom,
and had learned to love every one of his pretty ways, from the working
of his expressive ears to the graceful movement of his slender legs. He
was a horse for anyone to be proud of, not only for his beauty but as a
hunter, too, and he was Lieutenant Baldwin's delight and joy.

It does seem as if everything horrible had come all at once. The order
we have been expecting, of course, as so many rumors have reached us
that we were to go, but all the time there has been hidden away a little
hope that we might be left here another year.

I shall take the greyhound puppy, of course. He is with Blue, his
mother, at Captain Richardson's quarters, but he is brought over every
day for me to see. His coat is brindled, dark brown and black--just like
Magic's--and fine as the softest satin. One foot is white, and there is
a little white tip to his tail, which, it seems, is considered a mark of
great beauty in a greyhound. We have named him Harold.

Nothing has been done about packing yet, as the orders have just been
received. The carpenters in the company will not be permitted to do one
thing for us until the captain and first lieutenant have had made every
box and crate they want for the move. I am beginning to think that it
must be nice to be even a first lieutenant. But never mind, perhaps Faye
will get his captaincy in twenty years or so, and then it will be all
"fair and square."

FORT LYON, COLORADO TERRITORY, May, 1872.

EVERYTHING is packed or disposed of, and we are ready to start to-morrow
on the long march to Camp Supply. Two large army wagons have been
allowed to each company for the officers' baggage, but as all three
officers are present with the company Faye is in, and the captain has
taken one of the wagons for his own use, we can have just one half of
one of those wagons to take our household goods to a country where it is
absolutely impossible to purchase one thing! We have given away almost
all of our furniture, and were glad that we had bought so little when
we came here. Our trunks and several boxes are to be sent by freight to
Hays City at our own expense, and from there down to the post by wagon,
and if we ever see them again I will be surprised, as Camp Supply is
about one hundred and fifty miles from the railroad. We are taking
only one barrel of china--just a few pieces we considered the most
necessary--and this morning Faye discovered that the first lieutenant
had ordered that one barrel to be taken from the wagon to make more room
for his own things. Faye ordered it to be put back at once, and says it
will stay there, too, and I fancy it will! Surely we are entitled to all
of our one half of the wagon--second choice at that.

I am to ride in an ambulance with Mrs. Phillips, her little son and her
cook, Mrs. Barker and her small son. There will be seats for only four,
as the middle seat has been taken out to make room for a comfortable
rocking-chair that will be for Mrs. Phillips's exclusive use! The dear
little greyhound puppy I have to leave here. Faye says I must not take
him with so many in the ambulance, as he would undoubtedly be in the
way. But I am sure the puppy would not be as troublesome as one small
boy, and there will be two small boys with us. It would be quite bad
enough to be sent to such a terrible place as Camp Supply has been
represented to us, without having all this misery and mortification
added, and all because Faye happens to be a second lieutenant!

I have cried and cried over all these things until I am simply hideous,
but I have to go just the same, and I have made up my mind never again
to make myself so wholly disagreeable about a move, no matter where we
may have to go. I happened to recall yesterday what grandmother said to
me when saying good-by: "It is a dreadful thing not to become a woman
when one ceases to be a girl!" I am no longer a girl, I suppose, so I
must try to be a woman, as there seems to be nothing in between. One can
find a little comfort, too, in the thought that there is no worse place
possible for us to be sent to, and when once there we can look forward
to better things sometime in the future. I do not mind the move as much
as the unpleasant experiences connected with it.

But I shall miss the kind friends, the grand hunts and delightful rides,
and shall long for dear old John, who has carried me safely so many,
many miles.

Lieutenant Baldwin is still ill and very depressed, and Doctor Wilder is
becoming anxious about him. It is so dreadful for such a powerful man as
he has been to be so really broken in pieces. He insists upon being up
and around, which is bad, very bad, for the many broken bones.

I will write whenever I find an opportunity.

OLD FORT ZARAH, KANSAS, April, 1872.

OUR camp to-night is near the ruins of a very old fort, and ever
since we got here, the men have been hunting rattlesnakes that have
undoubtedly been holding possession of the tumble-down buildings, many
snake generations. Dozens and dozens have been killed, of all sizes,
some of them being very large. The old quarters were evidently made of
sods and dirt, and must have been dreadful places to live in even when
new.

I must tell you at once that I have the little greyhound. I simply took
matters in my own hands and got him! We came only five miles our first
day out, and after the tents had been pitched that night and the various
dinners commenced, it was discovered that many little things had been
left behind, so General Phillips decided to send an ambulance and two
or three men back to the post for them, and to get the mail at the same
time. It so happened that Burt, our own striker, was one of the men
detailed to go, and when I heard this I at once thought of the puppy I
wanted so much. I managed to see Burt before he started, and when asked
if he could bring the little dog to me he answered so heartily, "That
I can, mum," I felt that the battle was half won, for I knew that if
I could once get the dog in camp he would take care of him, even if I
could not.

Burt brought him and kept him in his tent that night, and the little
fellow seemed to know that he should be good, for Burt told me that he
did not whimper once, notwithstanding it was his first night from his
mother and little companions. The next morning, when he was brought to
me, Faye's face was funny, and after one look of astonishment at the
puppy he hurried out of the tent--so I could not see him laugh, I think.
He is quite as pleased as I am, now, to have the dog, for he gives
no trouble whatever. He is fed condensed milk, and I take care of him
during the day and Burt has him at night. He is certainly much better
behaved in the ambulance than either of the small boys who step upon
our feet, get into fierce fights, and keep up a racket generally. The
mothers have been called upon to settle so many quarrels between their
sons, that the atmosphere in the ambulance has become quite frigid.

The day we came from the post, while I was grieving for the little
greyhound and many other things I had not been permitted to bring with
me, and the rocking-chair was bruising my ankles, I felt that it was not
dignified in me to submit to the treatment I was being subjected to, and
I decided to rebel. Mrs. Barker and her small son had been riding on the
back seat, and I felt that I was as much entitled to a seat here as the
boy, nevertheless I had been sitting on the seat with Mrs. Phillips's
servant and riding backward. This was the only place that had been left
for me at the post that morning. After thinking it all over I made up my
mind to take the small boy's seat, but just where he would sit I did not
know.

When I returned to the ambulance after the next rest--I was careful
to get there first--I sat down on the back seat and made myself
comfortable, but I must admit that my heart was giving awful thumps, for
Mrs. Barker's sharp tongue and spitfire temper are well known. My head
was aching because of my having ridden backward, and I was really cross,
and this Mrs. Barker may have noticed, for not one word did she say
directly to me, but she said much to her son--much that I might have
resented had I felt inclined. The small boy sat on his mother's lap and
expressed his disapproval by giving me vicious kicks every few minutes.

Not one word was said the next morning when I boldly carried the puppy
to that seat. Mrs. Barker looked at the dog, then at me, with great
scorn, but she knew that if she said anything disagreeable Mrs. Phillips
would side with me, so she wisely kept still. I think that even Faye has
come to the conclusion that I might as well have the dog--who lies
so quietly in my lap--now that he sees how I am sandwiched in with
rocking-chairs, small boys, and servants. The men march fifty minutes
and halt ten, each hour, and during every ten minutes' rest Harold and I
take a little run, and this makes him ready for a nap when we return to
the ambulance. From this place on I am to ride with Mrs. Cole, who has
her own ambulance. This will be most agreeable, and I am so delighted
that she should have thought of inviting me.

Camping out is really very nice when the weather is pleasant, but the
long marches are tiresome for everybody. The ambulances and wagons are
driven directly back of the troops, consequently the mules can never go
faster than a slow walk, and sometimes the dust is enough to choke us.
We have to keep together, for we are in an Indian country, of course.
I feel sorry for the men, but they always march "rout" step and seem to
have a good time, for we often hear them laughing and joking with each
other.

We are following the Arkansas River, and so far the scenery has been
monotonous--just the same rolling plains day after day. Leaving our
first army home was distressing, and I doubt if other homes and other
friends will ever be quite the same to me. Lieutenant Baldwin was
assisted to the porch by his faithful Mexican boy, so he could see
us start, and he looked white and pitifully helpless, with both arms
bandaged tight to his sides. One of those dreadful dogs is in camp and
going to Camp Supply with us, and is as frisky as though he had done
something to be proud of.

This cannot be posted until we reach Fort Dodge, but I intend to write
to you again while there, of course, if I have an opportunity.

FORT DODGE, KANSAS, May, 1872.

IT was nearly two o'clock yesterday when we arrived at this post, and
we go on again to-day about eleven. The length of all marches has to be
regulated by water and wood, and as the first stream on the road to
Camp Supply is at Bluff Creek, only ten miles from here, there was no
necessity for an early start. This gives us an opportunity to get fresh
supplies for our mess chests, and to dry things also.

There was a terrific rain and electric storm last evening, and this
morning we present anything but a military appearance, for around each
tent is a fine array of bedding and clothing hung out to dry. Our camp
is at the foot of a hill a short distance back of the post, and during
the storm the water rushed down with such force that it seemed as though
we were in danger of being carried on to the Arkansas River.

We had just returned from a delightful dinner with Major and Mrs.
Tilden, of the cavalry, and Faye had gone out to mount the guard for the
night, when, without a moment's warning, the storm burst upon us. The
lightning was fierce, and the white canvas made it appear even worse
than it really was, for at each flash the walls of the tent seemed to
be on fire. There was no dark closet for me to run into this time, but
there was a bed, and on that I got, taking the little dog with me for
company and to get him out of the wet. He seemed very restless and
constantly gave little whines, and at the time I thought it was because
he, too, was afraid of the storm. The water was soon two and three
inches deep on the ground under the tent, rushing along like a mill
race, giving little gurgles as it went through the grass and against the
tent pins. The roar of the rain on the tent was deafening.

The guard is always mounted with the long steel bayonets on the rifles,
and I knew that Faye had on his sword, and remembering these things made
me almost scream at each wicked flash of lightning, fearing that he
and the men had been killed. But he came to the tent on a hard run, and
giving me a long waterproof coat to wrap myself in, gathered me in his
arms and started for Mrs. Tilden's, where I had been urged to remain
overnight. When we reached a narrow board walk that was supposed to run
along by her side fence, Faye stood me down upon it, and I started to do
some running on my own account. Before I had taken two steps, however,
down went the walk and down I went in water almost to my knees, and then
splash--down went the greyhound puppy! Up to that instant I had not been
conscious of having the little dog with me, and in all that rain and
water Faye had been carrying me and a fat puppy also.

The walk had been moved by the rushing water, and was floating, which
we had no way of knowing, of course. I dragged the dog out of the
water, and we finally reached the house, where we received a true army
welcome--a dry one, too--and there I remained until after breakfast
this morning. But sleep during the night I did not, for until long after
midnight I sat in front of a blazing fire holding a very sick puppy. Hal
was desperately ill and we all expected him to die at any moment, and I
was doubly sorrowful, because I had been the innocent cause of it. Ever
since I have had him he has been fed condensed milk only--perhaps a
little bread now and then; so when we got here I sent for some fresh
milk, to give him a treat. He drank of it greedily and seemed to enjoy
it so much, that I let him have all he wanted during the afternoon. And
it was the effect of the milk that made him whine during the storm, and
not because he was afraid of the lightning. He would have died, I do
believe, had it not been for the kindness of Major Tilden who knows all
about greyhounds. They are very delicate and most difficult to raise.
The little dog is a limp bunch of brindled satin this morning, wrapped
in flannel, but we hope he will soon be well.

A third company joined us here and will go on to Camp Supply. Major
Hunt, the captain, has his wife and three children with him, and they
seem to be cultured and very charming people. Mrs. Hunt this moment
brought a plate of delicious spice cake for our luncheon. There is a
first lieutenant with the company, but he is not married.

There is only one mail from here each week, so of course there will be
only one from Camp Supply, as that mail is brought here and then carried
up to the railroad with the Dodge mail. It is almost time for the tents
to be struck, and I must be getting ready for the march.

CAMP SUPPLY, INDIAN TERRITORY, May, 1872.

THIS place is quite as dreadful as it has been represented to us. There
are more troops here than at Fort Lyon, and of course the post is very
much larger. There are two troops of colored cavalry, one of white
cavalry, and three companies of infantry. The infantry companies that
have been stationed here, and which our three companies have come to
relieve, will start in the morning for their new station, and will use
the transportation that brought us down. Consequently, it was necessary
to unload all the things from our wagons early this morning, so they
could be turned over to the outgoing troops. I am a little curious to
know if there is a second lieutenant who will be so unfortunate as to be
allowed only one half of a wagon in which to carry his household goods.

Their going will leave vacant a number of officers' quarters, therefore
there will be no selection of quarters by our officers until to-morrow.
Faye is next to the junior, so there will be very little left to select
from by the time his turn comes. The quarters are really nothing more
than huts built of vertical logs plastered in between with mud, and the
roofs are of poles and mud! Many of the rooms have only sand floors. We
dined last evening with Captain and Mrs. Vincent, of the cavalry,
and were amazed to find that such wretched buildings could be made so
attractive inside. But of course they have one of the very best houses
on the line, and as company commander, Captain Vincent can have done
about what he wants. And then, again, they are but recently married, and
all their furnishings are new and handsome. There is one advantage
in being with colored troops--one can always have good servants. Mrs.
Vincent has an excellent colored soldier cook, and her butler was
thoroughly trained as such before he enlisted. It did look so funny,
however, to see such a black man in a blue Uniform.

The march down from Fort Dodge was most uncomfortable the first two
days. It poured and poured rain, and then poured more rain, until
finally everybody and everything was soaked through. I felt so sorry for
the men who had to march in the sticky mud. Their shoes filled fast with
water, and they were compelled constantly to stop, take them off,
and pour out the water. It cleared at last and the sun shone warm and
bright, and then there was another exhibition in camp one afternoon, of
clothing and bedding drying on guy ropes.

All the way down I was on the lookout for Indians, and was laughed at
many a time for doing so, too. Every time something unusual was seen in
the distance some bright person would immediately exclaim, "Oh, that
is only one of Mrs. Rae's Indians!" I said very little about what I saw
during the last day or two, for I felt that the constant teasing must
have become as wearisome to the others as it had to me. But I am still
positive that I saw the black heads of Indians on the top of ever so
many hills we passed. When they wish to see and not be seen they crawl
up a hill on the side farthest from you, but only far enough up to
enable them to look over, and in this position they will remain for
hours, perfectly motionless, watching your every movement. Unless you
notice the hill very carefully you will never see the black dot on top,
for only the eyes and upper part of the head are exposed. I had been
told all this many times; also, that when in an Indian country to be
most watchful when Indians are not to be seen.

Camp Supply is certainly in an Indian country, for it is surrounded by
Comanches, Apaches, Kiowas, Cheyennes, and Arapahoes--each a hostile
tribe, except the last. No one can go a rod from the garrison without an
escort, and our weekly mail is brought down in a wagon and
guarded by a corporal and several privates. Only last week two
couriers--soldiers--who had been sent down with dispatches from Fort
Dodge, were found dead on the road, both shot in the back, probably
without having been given one chance to defend themselves.

We are in camp on low land just outside the post, and last night we
were almost washed away again by the down-pouring rain, and this morning
there is mud everywhere. And this is the country that is supposed never
to have rain! Mrs. Vincent invited me most cordially to come to her
house until we at least knew what quarters we were to have, and Captain
Vincent came early to-day to insist upon my going up at once, but I
really could not go. We have been in rain and mud so long I feel that I
am in no way fit to go to anyone's house. Besides, it would seem selfish
in me to desert Faye, and he, of course, would not leave the company as
long as it is in tents. We are delighted at finding such charming people
as the Vincents at this horrid place.

CAMP SUPPLY, INDIAN TERRITORY, June, 1872.

WE are in our own house now and almost settled. When one has only a few
pieces of furniture it does not take long to get them in place. It is
impossible to make the rooms look homelike, and I often find myself
wondering where in this world I have wandered to! The house is of logs,
of course, and has a pole and dirt roof, and was built originally for an
officers' mess. The dining room is large and very long, a part of which
we have partitioned off with a piece of canvas and converted into a
storeroom. We had almost to get down on our knees to the quartermaster
before he would give us the canvas. He is in the quartermaster's
department and is most arrogant; seems to think that every nail and tack
is his own personal property and for his exclusive use.

Our dining room has a sand floor, and almost every night little white
toadstools grow up all along the base of the log walls. All of the logs
are of cottonwood and have the bark on, and the army of bugs that hide
underneath the bark during the day and march upon us at night is to be
dreaded about as much as a whole tribe of Indians!

I wrote you how everyone laughed at me on the march down because I was
positive I saw heads of Indians on the sand hills so many times.
Well, all that has ceased, and the mention of "Mrs. Rae's Indians" is
carefully avoided! There has been sad proof that the Indians were there,
also that they were watching us closely and kept near us all the way
down from Fort Dodge, hoping for a favorable opportunity to steal the
animals. The battalion of the --th Infantry had made only two days'
march from here, and the herders had just turned the horses and mules
out to graze, when a band of Cheyenne Indians swooped down upon them and
stampeded every animal, leaving the companies without even one mule!
The poor things are still in camp on the prairie, waiting for something,
anything, to move them on. General Phillips is mightily pleased that the
Indians did not succeed in getting the animals from his command, and I
am pleased that they cannot tease me any more.

My ride with Lieutenant Golden, Faye's classmate, this morning was very
exciting for a time. We started directly after stable call, which is at
six o'clock. Lieutenant Golden rode Dandy, his beautiful thoroughbred,
that reminds me so much of Lieutenant Baldwin's Tom, and I rode a troop
horse that had never been ridden by a woman before. As soon as he was
led up I noticed that there was much white to be seen in his eyes, and
that he was restless and ever pawing the ground. But the orderly said he
was not vicious, and he was sure I could ride him. He did not object in
the least to my skirt, and we started off in fine style, but before we
reached the end of the line he gave two or three pulls at the bit, and
then bolted! My arms are remarkably strong, but they were like a child's
against that hard mouth. He turned the corner sharply and carried me
along back of the laundress' quarters, where there was a perfect network
of clothes lines, and where I fully expected to be swept from the
saddle. But I managed to avoid them by putting my head down close to the
horse's neck, Indian fashion. He was not a very large horse, and lowered
himself, of course, by his terrific pace. He went like the wind, on
and up the hill in front of the guard house. There a sentry was walking
post, and on his big infantry rifle was a long bayonet, and the poor
man, in his desire to do something for me, ran forward and held the
gun horizontally right in front of my horse, which caused him to give a
fearful lunge to the right and down the hill. How I managed to keep my
seat I do not know, and neither do I know how that mad horse kept right
side up on that down jump. But it did not seem to disturb him in the
least, for he never slackened his speed, and on we went toward the
stables, where the cavalry horses were tied to long picket ropes, and
close together, getting their morning grooming.

All this time Lieutenant Golden had not attempted to overtake me,
fearing that by doing so he might make matters worse, but when he saw
that the horse was running straight for his place on the line, he pushed
forward, and grasping my bridle rein, almost pulled the horse on his
haunches. He said later that I might have been kicked to death by the
troop horses if I had been rushed in among them. We went on to the
stables, Lieutenant Golden leading my horse, and you can fancy how
mortified I was over that performance, and it was really unnecessary,
too. Lieutenant Golden, also the sergeant, advised me to dismount and
try another horse, but I said no! I would ride that one if I could have
a severer bit and my saddle girths tightened. Dismount before Lieutenant
Golden, a cavalry officer and Faye's classmate, and all those staring
troopers--I, the wife of an infantry officer? Never! It was my first
experience with a runaway horse, but I had kept a firm seat all the
time--there was some consolation in that thought.

Well, to my great relief and comfort, it was discovered that the chin
chain that is on all cavalry bits had been left off, and this had made
the curb simply a straight bit and wholly ineffective. The sergeant
fastened the chain on and it was made tight, too, and he tightened the
girths and saw that everything was right, and then Lieutenant Golden and
I started on our ride the second time. I expected trouble, as the horse
was then leaving his stable and companions, but when he commenced to
back and shake his head I let him know that I held a nice stinging whip,
and that soon stopped the balking. We had to pass three long picket
lines of horses and almost two hundred troopers, every one of whom
stared at me with both eyes. It was embarrassing, of course, but I was
glad to let the whole line of them see that I was capable of managing my
own horse, which was still very frisky. I knew very well, too, that the
sergeant's angry roar when he asked, "Who bridled this horse?" had
been heard by many of them. Our ride was very delightful after all its
exciting beginning, and we are going again to morrow morning. I want
to let those troopers see that I am not afraid to ride the horse they
selected for me.

I shall be so glad when Hal is large enough to go with me. He is growing
fast, but at present seems to be mostly legs. He is devoted to me, but
I regret to say that he and our old soldier cook are not the dearest
friends. Findlay is so stupid he cannot appreciate the cunning things
the little dog does. Hal is fed mush and milk only until he gets his
second teeth, and consequently he is wild about meat. The odor of a
broiling beefsteak the other day was more than he could resist, so he
managed to get his freedom by slipping his collar over his head, and
rushing into the kitchen, snatched the sizzling steak and was out again
before Findlay could collect his few wits, and get across the room to
stop him. The meat was so hot it burned his mouth, and he howled from
the pain, but drop it he did not until he was far from the cook. This
I consider very plucky in so young a dog! Findlay ran after the little
hound, yelling and swearing, and I ran after Findlay to keep him from
beating my dog. Of course we did not have beefsteak that day, but, as I
told Faye, it was entirely Findlay's fault. He should have kept watch
of things, and not made it possible for Hal to kill himself by eating a
whole big steak!

Yesterday, Lieutenant Golden came in to luncheon, and when we went in
the dining room I saw at once that things were wrong, very wrong. A
polished table is an unknown luxury down here, but fresh table linen we
do endeavor to have. But the cloth on the table yesterday was a sight
to behold, with big spots of dirt all along one side and dirt on top.
Findlay came in the room just as I reached the table, and I said,
"Findlay, what has happened here?" He gave one look at the cloth where
I pointed, and then striking his knuckles together, almost sobbed out,
"Dot tamn dog, mum!" Faye and Lieutenant Golden quickly left the room
to avoid hearing any more remarks of that kind, for it was really very
dreadful in Findlay to use such language. This left me alone, of course,
to pacify the cook, which I found no easy task. Old Findlay had pickled
a choice buffalo tongue with much care and secrecy, and had served it
for luncheon yesterday as a great surprise and treat. There was the
platter on the table, but there could be no doubt of its having been
licked clean. Not one tiny piece of tongue could be seen any place.

The window was far up, and in vain did I try to convince everyone that
a strange dog had come in and stolen the meat, that Hal was quite too
small to have reached so far; but Findlay only looked cross and Faye
looked hungry, so I gave that up. Before night, however, there was
trouble and a very sick puppy in the house, and once again I thought he
would die. And every few minutes that disagreeable old cook would
come in and ask about the dog, and say he was afraid he could not get
well--always with a grin on his face that was exasperating. Finally,
I told him that if he had served only part of the tongue, as he should
have done, the dog would not have been so ill, and we could have had
some of it. That settled the matter--he did not come in again. Findlay
has served several enlistments, and is regarded as an old soldier, and
once upon a time he was cook for the colonel of the regiment, therefore
he sometimes forgets himself and becomes aggressive. I do not wonder
that Hal dislikes him.

And Hal dislikes Indians, too, and will often hear their low mumbling
and give little growls before I dream that one is near. They have a
disagreeable way of coming to the windows and staring in. Sometimes
before you have heard a sound you will be conscious of an uncomfortable
feeling, and looking around you will discover five or six Indians, large
and small, peering at you through the windows, each ugly nose pressed
flat against the glass! It is enough to drive one mad. You never know
when they are about, their tread is so stealthy with their moccasined
feet.

Faye is officer of the guard every third day now. This sounds rather
nice; but it means that every third day and night--exactly twenty-four
hours--he has to spend at the guard house, excepting when making the
rounds, that is, visiting sentries on post, and is permitted to come
to the house just long enough to eat three hurried meals. This is doing
duty, and would be all right if there were not a daily mingling of white
and colored troops which often brings a colored sergeant over a white
corporal and privates. But the most unpleasant part for the officer of
the guard is that the partition in between the officer's room and guard
room is of logs, unchinked, and very open, and the weather is very hot!
and the bugs, which keep us all in perpetual warfare in our houses, have
full sway there, going from one room to the other.

The officers say that the negroes make good soldiers and fight like
fiends. They certainly manage to stick on their horses like monkeys. The
Indians call them "buffalo soldiers," because their woolly heads are so
much like the matted cushion that is between the horns of the buffalo.
We had letters from dear old Fort Lyon yesterday, and the news about
Lieutenant Baldwin is not encouraging. He is not improving and Doctor
Wilder is most anxious about him. But a man as big and strong as he was
must certainly get well in time.

CAMP SUPPLY, INDIAN TERRITORY, June, 1872.

IT seems as if I had to write constantly of unpleasant occurrences, but
what else can I do since unpleasant occurrences are ever coming
along? This time I must tell you that Faye has been turned out of
quarters--"ranked out," as it is spoken of in the Army. But it all
amounts to the same thing, and means that we have been driven out of our
house and home, bag and baggage, because a captain wanted that one set
of quarters! Call it what one chooses, the experience was not pleasant
and will be long remembered. Being turned out was bad enough in itself,
but the manner in which it was done was humiliating in the extreme. We
had been in the house only three weeks and had worked so hard during
that time to make it at all comfortable. Findlay wanted to tear down the
canvas partition in the dining room when we left the house, and I was
sorry later on that I had not consented to his doing so.

One morning at ten o'clock I received a note from Faye, written at the
guard house, saying that his set of quarters had been selected by a
cavalry officer who had just arrived at the post, and that every article
of ours must be out of the house that day by one o'clock! Also that, as
he was officer of the guard, it would be impossible for him to assist
me in the least, except to send some enlisted men to move the things.
At first I was dazed and wholly incapable of comprehending the
situation--it seemed so preposterous to expect anyone to move everything
out of a house in three hours. But as soon as I recovered my senses I
saw at once that not one second of the precious time must be wasted, and
that the superintendence of the whole thing had fallen upon me.

So I gathered my forces, and the four men started to work in a way that
showed they would do everything in their power to help me. All that was
possible for us to do, however, was almost to throw things out in a side
yard, for remember, please, we had only three short hours in which to
move everything--and this without, warning or preparation of any kind.
All things, big and small, were out by one o'clock, and just in time,
too, to avoid a collision with the colored soldiers of the incoming
cavalry officer, who commenced taking furniture and boxes in the house
at precisely that hour.

Of course there was no hotel or even restaurant for me to go to, and
I was too proud and too indignant to beg shelter in the house of a
friend--in fact, I felt as if I had no friend. So I sat down on a chair
in the yard with the little dog by me, thinking, I remember, that the
chair was our own property and no one had a right to object to my being
there. And I also remember that the whole miserable affair brought to
mind most vividly scenes of eviction that had been illustrated in
the papers from time to time, when poor women had been evicted for
nonpayment of rent!

Just as I had reached the very lowest depths of misery and woe, Mrs.
Vincent appeared, and Faye almost immediately after. We three went to
Mrs. Vincent's house for luncheon, and in fact I remained there until we
came to this house. She had just heard of what had happened and hastened
down to me. Captain Vincent said it was entirely the fault of the
commanding officer for permitting such a disgraceful order to leave his
office; that Captain Park's family could have remained one night longer
in tents here, as they had been in camp every night on the road from
Fort Sill.

There came a ludicrous turn to all this unpleasantness, for, by the
ranking out of one junior second lieutenant, six or more captains and
first lieutenants had to move. It was great fun the next day to see the
moving up and down the officers' line of all sorts of household goods,
for it showed that a poor second lieutenant was of some importance after
all!

But I am getting on too fast. Faye, of course, was entitled to two
rooms, some place in the post, but it seems that the only quarters he
could take were those occupied by Lieutenant Cole, so Faye decided at
once to go into tents himself, in preference to compelling Lieutenant
Cole to do so. Now it so happened that the inspector general of the
department was in the garrison, and as soon as he learned the condition
of affairs, he ordered the post quartermaster to double two sets
of quarters--that is, make four sets out of two--and designated the
quartermaster's own house for one of the two. But Major Knox divided
off two rooms that no one could possibly occupy, and in consequence has
still all of his large house. But the other large set that was doubled
was occupied by a senior captain, who, when his quarters were reduced
in size, claimed a new choice, and so, turning another captain out, the
ranking out went on down to a second lieutenant. But no one took our old
house from Captain Park, much to my disappointment, and he still has it.

The house that we are in now is built of cedar logs, and was the
commanding officer's house at one time. It has a long hall running
through the center, and on the left side Major Hunt and his family have
the four rooms, and we have the two on the right. Our kitchen is across
the yard, and was a chicken house not so very long ago. It has no floor,
of course, so we had loads of dirt dug out and all filled in again with
clean white sand, and now, after the log walls have been scraped and
whitened, and a number of new shelves put up, it is really quite nice.
Our sleeping room has no canvas on the walls inside, and much of the
chinking has fallen out, leaving big holes, and I never have a light in
that room after dark, fearing that Indians might shoot me through those
holes. They are skulking about the post all the time.

We have another cook now--a soldier of course--and one that is rather
inexperienced. General Phillips ordered Findlay back to the company,
saying he was much needed there, but he was company cook just one
day when he was transferred to the general's own kitchen. Comment is
unnecessary! But it is all for the best, I am sure, for Farrar is very
fond of Hal, and sees how intelligent he is, just as I do. The little
dog is chained to a kennel all the time now, and, like his mistress, is
trying to become dignified.

Faye was made post adjutant this morning, which we consider rather
complimentary, since the post commander is in the cavalry, and there are
a number of cavalry lieutenants here. General Dickinson is a polished
old gentleman, and his wife a very handsome woman who looks almost as
young as her daughter. Miss Dickinson, the general's older daughter, is
very pretty and a fearless rider. In a few days we two are to commence
our morning rides.

How very funny that I should have forgotten to tell you that I have a
horse, at least I hope he will look like a horse when he has gained some
flesh and lost much long hair. He is an Indian pony of very good size,
and has a well-shaped head and slender little legs. He has a fox
trot, which is wonderfully easy, and which he apparently can keep up
indefinitely, and like all Indian horses can "run like a deer." So,
altogether, he will do very well for this place, where rides are
necessarily curtailed. I call him Cheyenne, because we bought him of
Little Raven, a Cheyenne chief. I shall be so glad when I can ride
again, as I have missed so much the rides and grand hunts at Fort Lyon.

Later: The mail is just in, and letters have come from Fort Lyon
telling us of the death of Lieutenant Baldwin! It is dreadful--and seems
impossible. They write that he became more and more despondent, until
finally it was impossible to rouse him sufficiently to take an interest
in his own life. Faye and I have lost a friend--a real, true friend. A
brother could not have been kinder, more considerate than he was to both
of us always. How terribly he must have grieved over the ruin of the
horse he was so proud of, and loved so well!

CAMP SUPPLY, INDIAN TERRITORY, September, 1872.

THE heat here is still intense, and it never rains, so everything is
parched to a crisp. The river is very low and the water so full of
alkali that we are obliged to boil every drop before it is used for
drinking or cooking, and even then it is so distasteful that we flavor
it with sugar of lemons so we can drink it at all. Fresh lemons are
unknown here, of course. The ice has given out, but we manage to cool
the water a little by keeping it in bottles and canteens down in the
dug-out cellar.

Miss Dickinson and I continue our daily rides, but go out very early in
the morning. We have an orderly now, as General Dickinson considers it
unsafe for us to go without an escort, since we were chased by an Indian
the other day. That morning the little son of General Phillips was with
us, and as it was not quite as warm as usual, we decided to canter down
the sunflower road a little way--a road that runs to the crossing of
Wolf Creek through an immense field of wild sunflowers. These sunflowers
grow to a tremendous height in this country, so tall that sometimes you
cannot see over them even when on horseback. Just across the creek there
is a village of Apache Indians, and as these Indians are known to be
hostile, this particular road is considered rather unsafe.

But we rode on down a mile or more without seeing a thing, and had just
turned our ponies' heads homeward when little Grote, who was back of
us, called out that an Indian was coming. That was startling, but
upon looking back we saw that he was a long distance away and coming
leisurely, so we did not pay much attention to him.

But Grote was more watchful, and very soon screamed, "Mrs. Rae, Mrs.
Rae, the Indian is coming fast--he's going to catch us!" And then,
without wasting time by looking back, we started our ponies with a bound
that put them at their best pace, poor little Grote lashing his most
unmercifully, and crying every minute, "He'll catch us! He'll catch us!"

That the Indian was on a fleet pony and was gaining upon us was very
evident, and what might have happened had we not soon reached the
sutler's store no one can tell, but we did get there just as he caught
up with us, and as we drew in our panting horses that hideous savage
rode up in front of us and circled twice around us, his pony going like
a whirlwind; and in order to keep his balance, the Indian leaned far
over on one side, his head close to the pony's neck. He said "How"
with a fiendish grin that showed how thoroughly he was enjoying our
frightened faces, and then turned his fast little beast back to the
sunflower road. Of course, as long as the road to the post was clear
we were in no very great danger, as our ponies were fast, but if that
savage could have passed us and gotten us in between him and the Apache
village, we would have lost our horses, if not our lives, for turning
off through the sunflowers would have been an impossibility.

The very next morning, I think it was, one of the government mules
wandered away, and two of the drivers went in search of it, but not
finding it in the post, one of the men suggested that they should go
to the river where the post animals are watered. It is a fork of the
Canadian River, and is just over a little sand hill, not one quarter of
a mile back of the quarters, but not in the direction of the sunflower
road. The other man, however, said he would not go--that it was not
safe--and came back to the corral, so the one who proposed going went on
alone.

Time passed and the man did not return, and finally a detail was sent
out to look him up. They went directly to the river, and there they
found him, just on the other side of the hill--dead. He had been shot
by some fiendish Indian soon after leaving his companion. The mule has
never been found, and is probably in a far-away Indian village, where
he brays in vain for the big rations of corn he used to get at the
government corral.

Last Monday, soon after luncheon, forty or fifty Indians came rushing
down the drive in front of the officers' quarters, frightening some of
us almost out of our senses. Where they came from no one could tell, for
not one sentry had seen them until they were near the post. They rode
past the houses like mad creatures, and on out to the company gardens,
where they made their ponies trample and destroy every growing thing.
Only a few vegetables will mature in this soil and climate, but melons
are often very good, and this season the gardeners had taken much pains
with a crop of fine watermelons that were just beginning to ripen. But
not one of these was spared--every one was broken and crushed by the
little hoofs of the ponies, which seem to enjoy viciousness of this kind
as much as the Indians themselves.

A company of infantry was sent at once to the gardens, but as it was not
quite possible for the men to outrun the ponies, the mischief had been
done before they got there, and all they could do was to force them back
at the point of the bayonet. Cavalry was ordered out, also, to drive
them away, but none of the troops were allowed to fire upon them, and
that the Indians knew very well. It might have brought on an uprising!

It seems that the Indians were almost all young bucks out for a frolic,
but quite ready, officers say, for any kind of devilment. They rode
around the post three or four times at breakneck speed, each circle
being larger, and taking them farther away. At last they all started for
the hills and gradually disappeared--all but one, a sentinel, who could
be seen until dark sitting his pony on the highest hill. I presume there
were dozens of Indians on the sand hills around the post peeking over to
see how the fun went on.

They seem to be watching the post every second of the day, ready to
pounce upon any unprotected thing that ventures forth, be it man or
beast. At almost any time two or three black dots can be seen on the top
of the white sand hills, and one wonders how they can lie for hours in
the hot, scorching sand with the sun beating down on their heads and
backs. And all the time their tough little ponies will stand near them,
down the hill, scarcely moving or making a sound. Some scouts declare
that an Indian pony never whinnies or sneezes! But that seems absurd,
although some of those little beasts show wonderful intelligence and
appear to have been apt pupils in treachery.

CAMP SUPPLY, INDIAN TERRITORY, October, 1872.

THIS place is becoming more dreadful each day, and every one of the
awful things I feared might happen here seems to be coming to pass.
Night before last the post was actually attacked by Indians! It was
about one o'clock when the entire garrison was awakened by rifle shots
and cries of "Indians! Indians!" There was pandemonium at once. The
"long roll" was beaten on the infantry drums, and "boots and saddles"
sounded by the cavalry bugles, and these are calls that startle all who
hear them, and strike terror to the heart of every army woman. They mean
that something is wrong--very wrong--and demand the immediate report
for duty at their respective companies of every officer and man in the
garrison.

Faye jumped into his uniform, and saying a hasty good-by, ran to his
company, as did all the other officers, and very soon we could hear the
shouting of orders from every direction.

Our house is at the extreme end of the officers' line and very isolated,
therefore Mrs. Hunt and I were left in a most deplorable condition, with
three little children--one a mere baby--to take care of. We put them all
in one bed and covered them as well as we could without a light, which
we did not dare have, of course. Then we saw that all the doors and
windows were fastened on both sides. We decided that it would be quite
impossible for us to remain shut up inside the house, so we dressed our
feet, put on long waterproof coats over our nightgowns as quickly and
silently as possible, and then we sat down on the steps of the front
door to await--we knew not what. I had firm hold of a revolver, and felt
exceedingly grateful all the time that I had been taught so carefully
how to use it, not that I had any hope of being able to do more with it
than kill myself, if I fell in the hands of a fiendish Indian. I believe
that Mrs. Hunt, however, was almost as much afraid of the pistol as she
was of the Indians.

Ten minutes after the shots were fired there was perfect silence
throughout the garrison, and we knew absolutely nothing of what was
taking place around us. Not one word did we dare even whisper to each
other, our only means of communication being through our hands. The
night was intensely dark and the air was close--almost suffocating.

In this way we sat for two terrible hours, ever on the alert, ever
listening for the stealthy tread of a moccasined foot at a corner of the
house. And then, just before dawn, when we were almost exhausted by the
great strain on our strength and nerves, our husbands came. They told us
that a company of infantry had been quite near us all the time, and that
a troop of cavalry had been constantly patrolling around the post. I
cannot understand how such perfect silence was maintained by the troops,
particularly the cavalry. Horses usually manage to sneeze at such times.

There is always a sentry at our corner of the garrison, and it was
this sentinel who was attacked, and it is the general belief among the
officers that the Indians came to this corner hoping to get the-troops
concentrated at the beat farthest from the stables, and thus give them
a chance to steal some, if not all, of the cavalry horses. But Mr.
Red Man's strategy is not quite equal to that of the Great Father's
soldiers, or he would have known that troops would be sent at once to
protect the horses.

There were a great many pony tracks to be seen in the sand the next
morning, and there was a mounted sentinel on a hill a mile or so away.
It was amusing to watch him through a powerful field glass, and we
wished that he could know just how his every movement could be seen.
He sat there on his pony for hours, both Indian and horse apparently
perfectly motionless, but with his face always turned toward the post,
ready to signal to his people the slightest movement of the troops.

Faye says that the colored troops were real soldiers that night, alert
and plucky. I can readily believe that some of them can be alert, and
possibly good soldiers, and that they can be good thieves too, for last
Saturday night they stole from us the commissary stores we had expected
to last us one week--everything, in fact, except coffee, sugar, and such
things that we keep in the kitchen, where it is dry.

The commissary is open Saturday mornings only, at which time we are
requested to purchase all supplies we will need from there for the
following week, and as we have no fresh vegetables whatever, and no
meat except beef, we are very dependent upon the canned goods and other
things in the commissary.

Last Saturday Mrs. Hunt and I sent over as usual, and most of the
supplies were put in a little dug-out cellar in the yard that we use
together--she having one side, I the other. On Sunday morning Farrar
happened to be the first cook to go out for things for breakfast, and
he found that the door had been broken open and the shelves as bare as
Mother Hubbard's. Everything had been carried off except a few candles
on Mrs. Hunt's side, and a few cakes of laundry soap on mine! The
candles they had no use for, and the thieves were probably of a class
that had no use for soap, either.

Our breakfast that morning was rather light, but as soon as word got
abroad of our starving condition, true army hospitality and generosity
manifested itself. We were invited out to luncheon, and to dinner, and
to breakfast the next morning. You can see how like one big family
a garrison can be, and how in times of trouble we go to each other's
assistance. Of course, now and then we have disagreeable persons with
us--those who will give you only three hours to move out of your house,
or one who will order your cook from you.

CAMP SUPPLY, INDIAN TERRITORY, January, 1873.

ALL that remained of Captain White was carried to the little cemetery
yesterday, with all the military honors possible at such a far-away
post We have no chaplain, therefore one of the cavalry officers read
the service for the dead at the house, just before the march to the
cemetery. Almost all of the cavalry of the garrison was out, mounted,
Captain White's own troop having the lead, of course, and the greater
part of the infantry was out also, and there was a firing detail, with
guns reversed.

The casket, covered with a large flag, was carried on a caisson, and
his horse, led by an orderly, was covered with a large blanket of black
cloth. Over this was the saddle, and on top of the saddle rested his
helmet--the yellow horsehair plume and gold trimmings looking soiled by
long service. His sabre was there, too, and strapped to the saddle on
each side were his uniform boots, toes in stirrups--all reversed! This
riderless horse, with its pall of black, yellow helmet, and footless
boots, was the saddest sight imaginable.

I did not go to the cemetery, but we heard distinctly the firing of the
three volleys over the grave and the sounding of taps on the bugles. The
garrison flag had been drawn to half mast almost the moment of Captain
White's death, but at the last sound of taps it was immediately pulled
up to full mast, and soon the troops came back to their quarters, the
field music playing lively airs.

This seemed so unnecessarily cruel, for Mrs. White must have heard every
note, and she is still so wretchedly ill. The tiny baby has been
taken from the house by the motherly wife of an officer, and the other
tots--four in all--are being cared for by others. We have all been
taking turns in sitting up nights during the illness of husband and
wife, and last night three of us were there, Captain Tillman and Faye in
one room, and I with Mrs. White. It was a terrible night, probably the
one that has exacted, or will exact, the greatest self-control, as it
was the one before the burial.

In civil life a poor widow can often live right on in her old home, but
in the Army, never! Mrs. White will have to give up the quarters just
as soon as she and the little baby are strong enough to travel. She has
been in a warm climate many years, and her friends are all in the North,
so to-morrow a number of us are to commence making warm clothing for her
and the children. She has absolutely nothing of the kind, and seems to
be pitifully helpless and incapable of thinking for herself.

Soon after I got home this morning and was trying to get a little sleep,
I heard screams and an awful commotion across the hall in one of Mrs.
Hunt's rooms, and running over to see what was the matter, I found Mrs.
Hunt standing upon a chair, and her cook running around like a madman,
with a stick of wood in his hand, upsetting furniture and whacking
things generally. I naturally thought of a mouse, and not being afraid
of them, I went on in and closed the door. I doubt if Mrs. Hunt saw me,
she was so intently watching the man, who kept on upsetting things.
He stopped finally, and then held up on the wood a snake--a dead
rattlesnake! We measured it, and it was over two feet long.

You can see how the house is built by the photograph I sent you, that
there are no chimneys, and that the stovepipes go straight up through
the pole and sod roof. The children insist that the snake came down the
pipe in the liveliest kind of a way, so it must have crawled up the logs
to the roof, and finding the warmth of the pipe, got too close to the
opening and slipped through. However that may be, he got into the room
where the three little children were playing alone. Fortunately, the
oldest recognized the danger at once, and ran screaming to her mother,
the other two following. Mrs. Hunt was almost ill over the affair,
and Major Hunt kept a man on top and around the old house hunting for
snakes, until we began to fear it would be pulled down on our heads.

This country itself is bad enough, and the location of the post is most
unfortunate, but to compel officers and men to live in these old huts
of decaying, moldy wood, which are reeking with malaria and alive with
bugs, and perhaps snakes, is wicked. Officers' families are not obliged
to remain here, of course.

But at dreadful places like this is where the plucky army wife is most
needed. Her very presence has often a refining and restraining influence
over the entire garrison, from the commanding officer down to the last
recruit. No one can as quickly grasp the possibilities of comfort in
quarters like these, or as bravely busy herself to fix them up. She
knows that the stay is indefinite, that it may be for six months, or
possibly six years, but that matters not. It is her army home--Brass
Button's home--and however discouraging its condition may be, for his
sake she pluckily, and with wifely pride, performs miracles, always
making the house comfortable and attractive.

FORT DODGE, KANSAS, January, 1873.

OUR coming here was most unexpected and very unpleasant in every way.
General Phillips and Major Barker quarreled over something, and Major
Barker preferred charges against the general, who is his company
commander, and now General Phillips is being tried here by general court
martial. Faye and I were summoned as witnesses by Major Barker, just
because we heard a few words that were said in front of our window late
one night! The court has thoughtfully excused me from going into the
court room, as I could only corroborate Faye's testimony. I am so
relieved, for it would have been a terrible ordeal to have gone in that
room where all those officers are sitting, in full-dress uniform, too,
and General Phillips with them. I would have been too frightened to have
remembered one thing, or to have known whether I was telling the truth
or not.

General Dickinson and Ben dark, his interpreter, came up in the
ambulance with us, and the poor general is now quite ill, the result of
an ice bath in the Arkansas River! When we started to come across on the
ice here at the ford, the mule leaders broke through and fell down
on the river bottom, and being mules, not only refused to get up, but
insisted upon keeping their noses under the water. The wheelers broke
through, too, but had the good sense to stand on their feet, but they
gave the ambulance such a hard jerk that the front wheels broke off more
ice and went down to the river bottom, also. By the time all this had
occurred, I was the only one left inside, and found myself very busy
trying to keep myself from slipping down under the front seat, where
water had already come in. General Dickinson and Faye were doing
everything possible to assist the men.

Just how it was accomplished would make too long a story to tell, but
in a short time the leaders were dragged out and on their feet, and the
rear wheels of the ambulance let down on the river bottom, and then we
were all pulled up on the ice again, and came on to the post in safety.
All but General Dickinson, who undertook to hold out of the water the
heads of the two leaders who seemed determined to commit suicide by
keeping their noses down, the general forgetting for once that he was
commanding officer. But one of those government mules did not forget,
and with a sudden jerk of his big head he pulled the general over and
down from the ice into the water, and in such a way that he was wedged
tight in between the two animals. One would have expected much objection
on the part of the mules to the fishing out of the general, but those
two mules kept perfectly still, apparently satisfied with the mischief
that had already been done. I can fancy that there is one mule still
chuckling over the fact of having gotten even with a commanding officer!
It is, quite warm now, and the ice has gone out of the river, so there
will be no trouble at the ford to-morrow, when we start back.

There is one company of Faye's regiment stationed here, and the officer
in command of the post is major of the Third, so we feel at home. We are
staying with Lieutenant Harvey, who is making it very pleasant for us.
Hal is with us, and is being petted by everybody, but most of all by the
cavalry officers, some of whom have hunted with Magic, Hal's father.

Last evening, while a number of us were sitting on the veranda after
dinner, a large turkey gobbler came Stalking down the drive in front of
the officers' quarters. Hal was squatted down, hound fashion, at the
top of the steps, and of course saw the gobbler at once. He never moved,
except to raise his ears a little, but I noticed that his eyes opened
wider and wider, and could see that he was making an estimate of the
speed of that turkey, and also making up his mind that it was his duty
as a self-respecting hound to resent the airs that were being assumed
by the queer thing with a red nose and only two legs. So as soon as the
turkey passed, down he jumped after him, and over him and around him,
until really the poor thing looked about one half his former size. Then
Hal got back of the turkey and waited for it to run, which it proceeded
to do without loss of time, and then a funny race was on! I could have
cried, I was so afraid Hal would injure the turkey, but everyone else
laughed and watched, as though it was the sporting event of the year,
and they assured me that the dog would have to stop when he got to
the very high gate at the end of the line. But they did not know that
greyhound, for the gate gave him still another opportunity to show the
thing that had wings to help its absurd legs along what a hound puppy
could do. When they reached the gate the turkey went under, but the
puppy went over, making a magnificent jump that landed him yards in
advance of the turkey, thereby causing him the loss of the race, for
before he could stop himself and turn, the gobbler had very wisely
hidden himself in a back yard.

There was a shouting and clapping of hands all along the line because
of the beautiful jump of so young a dog, but I must confess that all I
thought of just then was gratitude that my dog had not made an untimely
plucking of somebody's turkey, for in this country a turkey is something
rare and valuable.

Hal came trotting back with his loftiest steps and tail high in the air,
evidently much pleased with his part in the entertainment. He is
very tall now, and ran by the ambulance all the way up, and has been
following me on my rides for some time.

CIMARRON REDOUBT, KANSAS, January, 1873.

WHEN Faye was ordered here I said at once that I would come, too, and
so I came! We are at a mail station--that is, where the relay mules
are kept and where the mail wagon and escort remain overnight on their
weekly trips from Camp Supply to Fort Dodge. A non-commissioned officer
and ten privates are here all the time.

The cause of Faye's being here is, the contractor is sending big trains
of grain down to Camp Supply for the cavalry horses and other animals,
and it was discovered that whisky was being smuggled to the Indians in
the sacks of oats. So General Dickinson sent an officer to the redoubt
to inspect each sack as it is carried past by the ox trains. Lieutenant
Cole was the first officer to be ordered up, but the place did not agree
with him, and at the end of three weeks he appeared at the post on a
mail wagon, a very sick man--very sick indeed! In less than half an hour
Faye was ordered to relieve him, to finish Lieutenant Cole's tour in
addition to his own detail of thirty days, which will give us a stay
here of over five weeks.

As soon as I heard of the order I announced that I was coming, but it
was necessary to obtain the commanding officer's permission first. This
seemed rather hopeless for a time, the general declaring I would "die
in such a hole," where I could have no comforts, but he did not say I
should not come. Faye did not want to leave me alone at the post, but
was afraid the life here would be too rough for me, so I decided the
matter for myself and began to make preparations to come away, and that
settled all discussion. We were obliged to start early the next morning,
and there were only a few hours in which to get ready. Packing the mess
chest and getting commissary stores occupied the most time, for after
our clothing was put away the closing of the house was a farce, "Peu de
bien, peu de soin!" Farrar was permitted to come, and we brought Hal and
the horse, so the family is still together.

The redoubt is made of gunny sacks filled with sand, and is built on
the principle of a permanent fortification in miniature, with bastions,
flanks, curtains, and ditch, and has two pieces of artillery. The
parapet is about ten feet high, upon the top of which a sentry walks all
the time. This is technically correct, for Faye has just explained it
all to me, so I could tell you about our castle on the plains. We have
only two rooms for our own use, and these are partitioned off with
vertical logs in one corner of the fortification, and our only roof is
of canvas.

When we first got here the dirt floor was very much like the side of a
mountain--so sloping that we had difficulty in sitting upon the chairs.
Faye had these made level at once, and fresh, dry sand sprinkled
everywhere.

We are right in the heart of the Indian country, almost on the line
between Kansas and the Indian Territory, and are surrounded by any
number of villages of hostile Indians. We are forty miles from Camp
Supply and about the same distance from Fort Dodge. The weather is
delightful--sunny and very warm.

I was prevented from finishing this the other day by the coming of a
dozen or more Arapahoe Indians, but as the mail does not go north until
to-morrow morning, I can tell you of the more than busy time we have had
since then.

For two or three days the weather had been unseasonably warm--almost
like summer--and one evening it was not only hot, but so sultry one
wondered where all the air had gone. About midnight, however, a terrific
wind came up, cold and piercing, and very soon snow began to fall, and
then we knew that we were having a "Texas norther," a storm that is
feared by all old frontiersmen. Of course we were perfectly safe from
the wind, for only a cyclone could tear down these thick walls of sand,
but the snow sifted in every place--between the logs of the inner wall,
around the windows--and almost buried us. And the cold became intense.

In the morning the logs of that entire wall from top to bottom, were
white inside with snow, and looked like a forest in the far North. The
floor was covered with snow, and so was the foot of the bed! Our rooms
were facing just right to catch the full force of the blizzard. The
straightening-out was exceedingly unpleasant, for a fire could not be
started in either stove until after the snow had been swept out. But a
few soldiers can work miracles at times, and this proved to be one
of the times. I went over to the orderly room while they brushed and
scraped everywhere and fixed us up nicely, and we were soon warm and
dry.

The norther continued twenty-four hours, and the cold is still freezing.
All the wood inside was soon consumed, and the men were compelled to
go outside the redoubt for it, and to split it, too. The storm was so
fierce and wholly blinding that it was necessary to fasten the end of a
rope around the waist of each man as he went out, and tie the other
end to the entrance gate to prevent him from losing his direction and
wandering out on the plains. Even with this precaution it was impossible
for a man to remain out longer than ten minutes, because of the terribly
cold wind that at times was almost impossible to stand up against.

Faye says that he cannot understand why the place has never been made
habitable, or why Lieutenant Cole did not have the wood brought inside,
where it would be convenient in case of a storm. Some of the men are
working at the wood still, and others are making their quarters' a
little more decent. Every tiny opening in our own log walls has been
chinked with pieces of blanket or anything that could be found, and the
entire dirt floor has been covered with clean grain sacks that are held
down smooth and tight by little pegs of wood, and over this rough
carpet we have three rugs we brought with us. At the small window are
turkey-red curtains that make very good shades when let down at night.
There are warm army blankets on the camp bed, and a folded red squaw
blanket on the trunk. The stove is as bright and shining as the strong
arm of a soldier could make it, and on it is a little brass teakettle
singing merrily.

Altogether the little place looks clean and cheerful, quite unlike the
"hole" we came to. Farrar has attended to his part in the kitchen also,
and things look neat and orderly there. A wall tent has been pitched
just outside our door that gives us a large storeroom and at the same
time screens us from the men's quarters that are along one side of the
sandbag walls.

On the side farthest from us the mules and horses are stabled, but one
would never know that an animal was near if those big-headed mules did
not occasionally raise their voices in brays that sound like old squeaky
pumps. When it is pleasant they are all picketed out.

At the first coming of the blizzard the sentry was ordered from the
parapet, and is still off, and I am positive that unless one goes on
soon at night I shall be wholly deaf, because I strain my ears the whole
night through listening for Indians. The men are supposed to be ever
ready for an attack, but if they require drums and cannon to awaken them
in a garrison, how can they possibly hear the stealthy step of an Indian
here? It is foolish to expect anything so unreasonable.

CIMARRON REDOUBT, KANSAS, January, 1873.

FANCY our having given a dinner party at this sand-bag castle on the
plains, miles and miles from a white man or woman! The number of guests
was small, but their rank was immense, for we entertained Powder-Face,
Chief of the Arapahoe Nation, and Wauk, his young squaw, mother of his
little chief.

Two or three days ago Powder-Face came to make a formal call upon the
"White Chief," and brought with him two other Indians--aides we would
call them, I presume. A soldier offered to hold his horse, but he would
not dismount, and sat his horse with grave dignity until Faye went out
and in person invited him to come in and have a smoke. He is an Indian
of striking personality--is rather tall, with square, broad shoulders,
and the poise of his head tells one at once that he is not an ordinary
savage.

We must have found favor with him, for as he was going away he announced
that he would come again the next day and bring his squaw with him.
Then Faye, in his hospitable way, invited them to a midday dinner! I was
almost speechless from horror at the very thought of sitting at a table
with an Indian, no matter how great a chief he might be. But I could say
nothing, of course, and he rode away with the understanding that he was
to return the following day. Faye assured me that it would be amusing to
watch them, and be a break in the monotony here.

They appeared promptly, and I became interested in Wauk at once, for she
was a remarkable squaw. Tall and slender, with rather a thin, girlish
face, very unlike the short, fat squaws one usually sees, and she had
the appearance of being rather tidy, too. I could not tell if she was
dressed specially for the occasion, as I had never seen her before, but
everything she had on was beautifully embroidered with beads--mostly
white--and small teeth of animals. She wore a sort of short skirt, high
leggings, and of course moccasins, and around her shoulders and falling
far below her waist was a queer-shaped garment--neither cape nor
shawl--dotted closely all over with tiny teeth, which were fastened on
at one end and left to dangle.

High up around her neck was a dog collar of fine teeth that was really
beautiful, and there were several necklaces of different lengths hanging
below it, one of which was of polished elk teeth and very rare. The
skins of all her clothing had been tanned until they were as soft as
kid. Any number of bracelets were on her arms, many of them made of tin,
I think. Her hair was parted and hung in loose ropes down each shoulder
in front. Her feet and hands were very small, even for an Indian, and
showed that life had been kind to her. I am confident that she must have
been a princess by birth, she was so different from all squaws I have
seen. She could not speak one word of English, but her lord, whom she
seemed to adore, could make himself understood very well by signs and a
word now and then.

Powder-Face wore a blanket, but underneath it was a shirt of fine skins,
the front of which was almost covered with teeth, beads, and wampum. His
hair was roped on each side and hung in front, and the scalp lock on top
was made conspicuous by the usual long feather stuck through it.

The time came when dinner could no longer be put off, so we sat down.
Our menu in this place is necessarily limited, but a friend at Fort
Dodge had added to our stores by sending us some fresh potatoes and
some lettuce by the mail wagon just the day before, and both of these
Powder-Face seemed to enjoy. In fact, he ate of everything, but Wauk was
more particular--lettuce, potatoes, and ham she would not touch. Their
table manners were not of the very best form, as might be expected, but
they conducted themselves rather decently--far better than I had feared
they would. All the time I was wondering what that squaw was thinking
of things! Powder-Face was taken to Washington last year with chiefs of
other nations to see the "Great Father," so he knew much of the white
man's ways, but Wauk was a wild creature of the plains.

We kept them bountifully supplied with everything on the table, so our
own portion of the dinner would remain unmolested, although neither Faye
nor I had much appetite just then. When Farrar came in to remove the
plates for dessert, and Powder-Face saw that the remaining food was
about to disappear, he pushed Farrar back and commenced to attend to the
table himself. He pulled one dish after another to him, and scraped each
one clean, spreading all the butter on the bread, and piled up
buffalo steak, ham, potatoes, peas--in fact, every crumb that had been
left--making one disgusting mess, and then tapping it with his finger
said, "Papoose! Papoose!" We had it all put in a paper and other things
added, which made Wauk almost bob off her chair in her delight at having
such a feast for her little chief. But the condition of my tablecloth
made me want to bob up and down for other feelings than delight!

After dinner they all sat by the stove and smoked, and Powder-Face told
funny things about his trip East that we could not always interpret, but
which caused him and Wauk to laugh heartily. Wauk sat very close to him,
with elbows on her knees, looking as though she would much prefer to be
squatted down upon the floor.

The tepee odor became stifling, so in order to get as far from the
Indians as possible, I went across the room and sat upon a small trunk
by the window. I had not been there five minutes, however, before that
wily chief, who had apparently not noticed my existence, got up from
his chair, gathered his blanket around him, and with long strides came
straight to me. Then with a grip of steel on my shoulder, he jerked me
from the trunk and fairly slung me over against the wall, and turning to
Faye with his head thrown back he said, "Whisk! Whisk!" at the same time
pointing to the trunk.

The demand was imperious, and the unstudied poise of the powerfully
built Indian, so full of savage dignity, was magnificent. As I calmly
think of it now, the whole scene was grand. The rough room, with its
low walls of sand-bags and logs, the Indian princess in her picturesque
dress of skins and beads, the fair army officer in his uniform of
blue, both looking in astonishment at the chief, whose square jaws and
flashing eyes plainly told that he was accustomed to being obeyed, and
expected to be obeyed then!

Faye says that I missed part of the scene; that, backed up against
sand-bags and clinging to them on either side for support, stood a
slender young woman with pigtail hanging down one shoulder, so terrified
that her face, although brown from exposure to sun and wind, had become
white and chalky. It is not surprising that my face turned white; the
only wonder is that the pigtail did not turn white, too!

It was not right for Faye to give liquor to an Indian, but what else
could be done under the circumstances? There happened to be a flask of
brandy in the trunk, but fortunately there was only a small quantity
that we had brought up for medicinal purposes, and it was precious, too,
for we were far from a doctor. But Faye had to get it out for the chief,
who had sat there smoking in such an innocent way, but who had all the
time been studying out where there might be hidden some "whisk!" Wauk
drank almost all of it, Powder-Face seeming to derive more pleasure in
seeing her drink his portion than in drinking it himself. Consequently,
when she went out to mount her horse her steps were a little unsteady,
over which the chief laughed heartily.

It was with the greatest relief I saw them ride away. They certainly had
furnished entertainment, but it was of a kind that would satisfy one for
a long time. I was afraid they might come for dinner again the following
day, but they did not.

Powder-Face thought that the pony Cheyenne was not a good enough horse
for me, so the morning after he was here an Indian, called Dog, appeared
with a very good animal, large and well gaited, that the chief had sent
over, not as a present, but for a trade.

We let poor Cheyenne go back to the Indians, a quantity of sugar,
coffee, and such things going with him, and now I have a strawberry-roan
horse named Powder-Face.

Chief Powder-Face, who is really not old, is respected by everyone,
and has been instrumental in causing the Arapahoe nation to cease
hostilities toward white people. Some of the chiefs of lesser rank have
much of the dignity of high-born savages, particularly Lone Wolf and his
son Big Mouth, both of whom come to see us now and then. Lone Wolf is no
longer a warrior, and of course no longer wears a scalp lock and strings
of wampum and beads, and would like to have you believe that he has ever
been the white man's friend, but I suspect that even now there might
be brought forth an old war belt with hanging scalps that could tell
of massacre, torture, and murder. Big Mouth is a war chief, and has the
same grand physique as Powder-Face and a personality almost as striking.
His hair is simply splendid, wonderfully heavy and long and very glossy.
His scalp lock is most artistic, and undoubtedly kept in order by a
squaw.

The picture of the two generations of chiefs is unique and rare. It
shows in detail the everyday dress of the genuine blanket Indians as we
see them here. Just how it was obtained I do not know, for Indians
do not like a camera. We have daily visits from dozens of so-called
friendly Indians, but I would not trust one of them. Many white people
who have lived among Indians and know them well declare that an Indian
is always an Indian; that, no matter how fine the veneering civilization
may have given him, there ever lies dormant the traits of the savage,
ready to spring forth without warning in acts of treachery and fiendish
cruelty.

CIMARRON REDOUBT, January, 1873.

IT was such a pleasant surprise yesterday when General Bourke drove up
to the redoubt on his way to Camp Supply from dear old Fort Lyon. He
has been ordered to relieve General Dickinson, and was taking down
furniture, his dogs, and handsome team. Of course there was an escort,
and ever so many wagons, some loaded with tents and camp outfits. We
are rejoicing over the prospect of having an infantry officer in command
when we return to the post. The general remained for luncheon and seemed
to enjoy the broiled buffalo steak very much. He said that now there
are very few buffalo in Colorado and Kansas, because of their wholesale
slaughter by white men during the past year. These men kill them for the
skins only, and General Bourke said that he saw hundreds of carcasses on
the plains between Lyon and Dodge. They are boldly coming to the Indian
Territory now, and cavalry has been sent out several times to drive them
from the reservation.

If the Indians should attempt to protect their rights it would be called
an uprising at once, so they have to lie around on the sand hills and
watch their beloved buffalo gradually disappear, and all the time they
know only too well that with them will go the skins that give them
tepees and clothing, and the meat that furnishes almost all of their
sustenance.

During the blizzard two weeks ago ten or twelve of these buffalo hunters
were caught out in the storm, and being unable to find their own camps
they wandered into Indian villages, each man about half dead from
exposure to the cold and hunger. All were suffering more or less from
frozen feet and hands. In every case the Indians fed and cared for them
until the storm was over, and then they told them to go--and go fast
and far, or it would not be well with them. Faye says that it was truly
noble in the Indians to keep alive those men when they knew they had
been stealing so much from them. But Faye can always see more good in
Indians than I can. Even a savage could scarcely kill a man when he
appeals to him for protection!

There is some kind of excitement here every day--some pleasant, some
otherwise--usually otherwise. The mail escort and wagon are here two
nights during the week, one on the way to Fort Dodge, the other on the
return trip, so we hear the little bits of gossip from each garrison.
The long trains of army wagons drawn by mules that carry stores to the
post always camp near us one night, because of the water.

But the most exciting times are when the big ox trains come along that
are taking oats and corn to the quartermaster for the cavalry horses and
mules, for in these sacks of grain there is ever a possibility of liquor
being found. The sergeant carefully punches the sacks from one end to
the other with a long steel very much like a rifle rammer; but so far
not a thing has been found, but this is undoubtedly because they
know what to expect at this place now. Faye is always present at the
inspection, and once I watched it a short distance away.

When there are camps outside I always feel a little more protected from
the Indians. I am kept awake hours every night by my uncontrollable fear
of their getting on top of the parapet and cutting holes in the canvas
over our very heads and getting into the room that way. A sentry is
supposed to walk around the top every few minutes, but I have very
little confidence in his protection. I really rely upon Hal more than
the sentry to give warning, for that dog can hear the stealthy step
of an Indian when a long distance from him. And I believe he can smell
them, too.

We bought a beautiful buffalo-calf robe for a bed for him, and that
night I folded it down nicely and called him to it, thinking he would be
delighted with so soft and warm a bed. But no! He went to it because I
called him and patted it, but put one foot on it he would not. He gave
a little growl, and putting his tail up, walked away with great dignity
and a look of having been insulted.

Of course the skin smelled strong of the tepee and Indians. We sunned
and aired it for days, and Farrar rubbed the fur with camphor and other
things to destroy the Indian odor, and after much persuading and any
amount of patience on our part, Hal finally condescended to use the
robe. He now considers it the finest thing on earth, and keeps close
watch of it at all times.

We have visits from Indians every day, and this variation from the
monotony is not agreeable to me, but Faye goes out and has long powwows
with them. They do not hesitate to ask for things, and the more you give
the more you may.

The other morning Faye saw a buffalo calf not far from the redoubt, and
decided to go for it, as we, also the men, were in need of fresh meat.
So he started off on Powder-Face, taking only a revolver with him. I
went outside to watch him ride off, and just as the calf disappeared
over a little hill and he after it, an Indian rode down the bluff at the
right, and about the same distance away as I thought Faye might be, and
started in a canter straight across in the direction Faye had gone. Very
soon he, also, was back of the little hill and out of sight.

I ran inside and called the sergeant, and was trying to explain the
situation to him as briefly as possible when he, without waiting for me
to finish, got his rifle and cartridge belt, and ordering a couple
of men to follow, started off on a hard run in the direction I had
designated. As soon as they reached the top of the hill they saw Faye,
and saw also that the Indian was with him. The men went on over slowly,
but stopped as soon as they got within rifle range of Faye, for of
course the Indian would never have attempted mischief when he knew that
the next instant he would be riddled with bullets. The Indian was facing
the soldiers and saw them at once, but they were at Faye's back, so he
did not know they were there until he turned to come home.

Faye says that the Indian was quite near before he saw him at all, as he
had not been thinking of Indians in his race after the little buffalo.
He came up and said "How!" of course, and then by signs asked to see
Faye's revolver, which has an ivory handle with nickel barrel and
trimmings, all of which the Indian saw at once, and decided to make his
own without loss of time, and then by disarming Faye he would be master
of things generally.

Faye pulled the pistol from its holster and held it out for the Indian
to look at, but with a tight grip on the handle and finger on trigger,
the muzzle pointed straight to his treacherous heart. This did not
disturb the Indian in the least, for he grasped the barrel and with a
twist of the wrist tried to jerk it down and out of Faye's hand. But
this he failed to do, so, with a sarcastic laugh, he settled himself
back on his pony to await a more favorable time when he could catch Faye
off guard. He wanted that glistening pistol, and he probably wanted the
fat pony also. And thus they sat facing each other for several minutes,
the Indian apparently quite indifferent to pistols and all things,
and Faye on the alert to protect himself against the first move of
treachery.

It would have been most unsafe for Faye to have turned from the crafty
savage, and just how long the heart-to-heart interview might have lasted
or what would have happened no one can tell if the coming in sight
of the soldiers with their long guns had not caused him to change his
tactics. After a while he grunted "How!" again, and, assuming an air of
great contempt for soldiers, guns, and shiny pistols, rode away and soon
disappeared over the bluff. There was only the one Indian in sight, but,
as the old sergeant said, "there might have been a dozen red devils just
over the bluff!"

One never knows when the "red devils" are near, for they hide themselves
back of a bunch of sage brush, and their ponies, whose hoofs are never
shod, can get over the ground very swiftly and steal upon you almost as
noiselessly as their owners. It is needless to say that we did not have
fresh buffalo that day! And the buffalo calf ran on to the herd wholly
unconscious of his narrow escape.

We expect to return to Camp Supply in a few days, and in many ways I
shall be sorry to leave this place. It is terrible to be so isolated,
when one thinks about it, especially if one should be ill. I shall miss
Miss Dickinson in the garrison very much, and our daily rides together.
General Dickinson and his family passed here last week on their way to
his new station.

CAMP SUPPLY, INDIAN TERRITORY, February, 1873.

UPON our return from the Cimarron we found a dear, clean house all
ready for us to move into. It was a delightful surprise, and after the
wretched huts we have been living in ever since we came to this post,
the house with its white walls and board floors seems like fairyland. It
is made of vertical logs of course, the same as the other quarters, but
these have been freshly chinked, and covered on the inside with canvas.
General Bourke ordered the quartermaster to fix the house for us, and I
am glad that Major Knox was the one to receive the order, for I have not
forgotten how disagreeable he was about the fixing up of our first house
here. One can imagine how he must have fumed over the issuing of so much
canvas, boards, and even the nails for the quarters of only a second
lieutenant!

Many changes have been made during the few weeks General Bourke has been
here, the most important having been the separating of the white troops
from the colored when on guard duty. The officers and men of the colored
cavalry have not liked this, naturally, but it was outrageous to put
white and black in the same little guard room, and colored sergeants
over white corporals and privates. It was good cause for desertion. But
all that is at an end now. General Dickinson is no longer commanding
officer, and best of all, the colored troops have been ordered to
another department, and the two troops of white cavalry that are to
relieve them are here now and in camp not far from the post, waiting for
the barracks to be vacated.

We have felt very brave since the camp has been established, and two
days ago several of us drove over to a Cheyenne village that is a mile
or so up the creek. But soon after we got there we did not feel a bit
brave, for we had not been out of the ambulance more than five minutes,
when one of their criers came racing in on a very wet pony, and rode
like mad in and out among the tepees, all the time screaming something
at the top of his voice.

Instantly there was a jabbering by all of them and great commotion. Each
Indian talked and there seemed to be no one to listen. Several tepees
were taken down wonderfully quick, and a number of ponies were hurried
in, saddled, and ridden away at race speed, a few squaws wailing as they
watched them go, guns in their hands. Other squaws stood around looking
at us, and showing intense hatred through their wicked eyes. It was soon
discovered by all of us that the village was really not attractive, and
four scared women came back to the garrison as fast as government mules
could bring them! What was the cause of so much excitement we will
probably never know--and of course we should not have gone there without
an officer, and yet, what could one man have done against all those
savages!

We were honored by a visit from a chief the other day. He was a Cheyenne
from the village, presumably, and his name was White Horse. He must
have been born a chief for he was young, very dignified, and very
good-looking, too, for an Indian. Of course his face was painted in a
hideous way, but his leggings and clothing generally were far more
tidy than those of most Indians. His chest was literally covered with
polished teeth of animals, beads, and wampum, arranged artistically in
a sort of breastplate, and his scalp lock, which had evidently been
plaited with much care, was ornamented with a very beautiful long
feather.

Fortunately Faye was at home when he came, for he walked right in,
unannounced, except the usual "How!" Faye gave him a chair, and this he
placed in the middle of the room in a position so he could watch both
doors, and then his rifle was laid carefully upon the floor at his right
side. He could speak his name, but not another word of English, so,
thinking to entertain him, Faye reached for a rifle that was standing in
one corner of the room to show him, as it was of a recent make. Although
the rifle was almost at the Indian's back the suspicious savage saw
what Faye was doing, and like a flash he seized his own gun and laid it
across his knees, all the time looking straight at Faye to see what he
intended to do next. Not a muscle of his race moved, but his eyes were
wonderful, brilliant, and piercing, and plainly said, "Go ahead, I'm
ready!"

I saw the whole performance and was wondering if I had not better run
for assistance, when Faye laughed, and motioned the Indian to put his
rifle down again, at the same time pulling the trigger of his own to
assure him that it was not loaded. This apparently satisfied him, but he
did not put his gun back on the floor, but let it rest across his knees
all the time he sat there. And that was for the longest time--and never
once did he change his position, turn his head, or, as we could see,
move an eyelid! But nevertheless he made one feel that it was not
necessary for him to turn his head--that it was all eyes, that he could
see up and down and across and could read one's very thoughts, too.

The Indian from whom we bought Powder-Face--his name is Dog, you will
remember--has found us out, and like a dog comes every day for something
to eat. He always walks right into the kitchen; if the door is closed he
opens it. If he is not given things he stands around with the greatest
patience, giving little grunts now and then, and watches Farrar
until the poor soldier becomes worn out and in self-defense gives him
something, knowing full well all the time that trouble is being stored
up for the next day. The Indian never seems cross, but smiles at
everything, which is most unusual in a savage.

With the white cavalry is a classmate of Faye's, Lieutenant Isham,
and yesterday I went out to camp with him and rode his horse, a large,
spirited animal. It was the horse's first experience with a side saddle,
and at first he objected to the habit and jumped around and snorted
quite a little, but he soon saw that I was really not a dangerous person
and quieted down.

As Lieutenant Isham and I were cantering along at a nice brisk gait we
met Faye, who was returning from the camp on Powder-Face, and it could
be plainly seen that he disapproved of my mount. But he would not turn
back with us, however, and we went on to camp without him. There is
something very fascinating about a military camp--it is always so
precise and trim--the little tents for the men pitched in long straight
lines, each one looking as though it had been given especial attention,
and with all things is the same military precision and neatness. It was
afternoon stables and we rode around to the picket lines to watch the
horses getting their grooming.

When I got home Faye was quick to tell me that I would certainly be
killed if I continued to ride every untrained horse that came along! Not
a very pleasant prospect for me; but I told him that I did not want to
mortify him and myself, too, by refusing to mount horses that his own
classmates, particularly those in the cavalry, asked me to ride, and
that I knew very well he would much prefer to see me on a spirited
animal than a "gentle ladies' horse" that any inexperienced rider could
manage. So we decided that the horse, after all, was not a vicious
beast, and I am to ride him again to-morrow.

Last evening we gave a delightful little dance in the hall in honor of
the officers and their wives who are to go, and the officers who have
come. We all wore our most becoming gowns, and anyone unacquainted with
army life on the frontier would have been surprised to see what handsome
dresses can be brought forth, even at this far-away post, when occasion
demands. There are two very pretty girls from the East visiting in the
garrison, and several of the wives of officers are young and attractive,
and the mingling of the pretty faces and bright-colored dresses with the
dark blue and gold of the uniforms made a beautiful scene. It is not in
the least surprising that girls become so silly over brass buttons. Even
the wives get silly over them sometimes!

CAMP SUPPLY, INDIAN TERRITORY, April, 1873.

IN the last mail Faye heard from his application for transfer to another
company, and the order will be issued as soon as the lieutenant in that
company has been promoted, which will be in a few weeks. This will
take us back to Fort Lyon with old friends, and Faye to a company whose
captain is a gentleman. He was one of Faye's instructors at West Point.

I have a new horse--and a lively one, too--so lively that I have not
ridden him yet. He was a present from Lieutenant Isham, and the way in
which he happened to possess him makes a pretty little story. The troop
had been sent out on a scout, and was on its way back to the post to be
paid, when one evening this pony trotted into camp and at once tried
to be friendly with the cavalry horses, but the poor thing was so
frightfully hideous with its painted coat the horses would not permit
him to come near them for some time. But the men caught him and brought
him on to the stables, where there was trouble at once, for almost every
man in the troop claimed ownership. So it was finally decided by the
captain that as soon as the troop had been paid the horse should be
raffled, that each man in that one troop could have the privilege of
buying a chance at one dollar, and that the money should go in the troop
fund. This arrangement delighted the men, as it promised something new
in the way of a frolic.

In due time the paymaster arrived, the men were paid, and then in a few
minutes there was brisk business going on over at the quarters of
the troop! Every enlisted man in the troop--sergeants, corporals, and
privates, eighty-four in all--bought a chance, thus making a fine
sum for the fund. A private won the horse, of whom Lieutenant Isham
immediately bought him and presented him to me.

He is about fifteen hands high and not in the least of a pony build, but
is remarkably slender, with fine head and large intelligent eyes. Just
what his color is we do not know, for he is stained in red-brown stripes
all over his body, around his legs, and on his face, but we think he is
a light gray. When he wandered to camp, a small bell was tied around
his neck with a piece of red flannel, and this, with his having been so
carefully stained, indicates almost conclusively that he was a pet. Some
of the soldiers insist that he was a race pony, because he is not only
very swift, but has been taught to take three tremendous jumps at the
very beginning of his run, which gives him an immense advantage, but
which his rider may sometimes fail to appreciate. These jumps are often
taught the Indian race ponies. The horse is gentle with Faye and is
certainly graceful, but he is hard to hold and inclined to bolt, so I
will not try him until he becomes more civilized.

The Indians are very bold again. A few days ago Lieutenant Golden was in
to luncheon, and while we were at the table we saw several Kiowas rush
across the creek and stampede five or six horses that belonged to our
milkman, who has a ranch just outside the garrison. In a few minutes an
orderly appeared with an order for Lieutenant Golden and ten men to go
after them without delay, and bring the horses back.

Of course he started at once, and chased those Indians all the
afternoon, and got so close to them once or twice that they saw the
necessity of lightening the weight on their tired ponies, and threw off
their old saddles and all sorts of things, even little bags of shot, but
all the time they held on to their guns and managed to keep the stolen
horses ahead of them. They had extra ponies, too, that they swung
themselves over on when the ridden beasts began to lag a little. When
night came on Lieutenant Golden was compelled to give up the chase, and
had to return to the post without having recovered one of the stolen
horses.

One never knows here what dreadful things may come up any moment.
Everything was quiet and peaceful when we sat down to luncheon, yet in
less than ten minutes we saw the rush of the Indians and the stampede of
the milkman's horses right from our dining-room window. The horses were
close to the post too. Splendid cavalry horses were sent after them,
but it requires a very swift horse to overtake those tough little Indian
ponies at any time, and the Kiowas probably were on their best ponies
when they stampeded the horses, for they knew, undoubtedly, that cavalry
would soon be after them.

DODGE CITY, KANSAS, June, 1873.

WE reached this place yesterday, expecting to take the cars this morning
for Granada, but the servant who was to have come from Kansas City on
that train will not be here until to-morrow. When the time came to say
good-by, I was sorry to leave a number of the friends at Camp Supply,
particularly Mrs. Hunt, with whom we stayed the last few days, while we
were packing. Everyone was at the ambulance to see us off--except the
Phillips family.

We were three days coming up, because of one or two delays the very
first day. One of the wagons broke down soon after we left the post,
and an hour or so was lost in repairing it, and at Buffalo Creek we were
delayed a long time by an enormous herd of buffalo. It was a sight that
probably we will never see again. The valley was almost black with the
big animals, and there must have been hundreds and hundreds of them on
either side of the road. They seemed very restless, and were constantly
moving about instead of grazing upon the buffalo grass, which is
unusually fine along that valley, and this made us suspect that they had
been chased and hunted until the small bands had been driven together
into one big herd. Possibly the hunters had done this themselves, so
the slaughter could be the greater and the easier. It is remarkable that
such grand-looking beasts should have so little sense as to invariably
cross the road right in front of moving teams, and fairly challenge
one to make targets of them. It was this crossing of large numbers that
detained us so long yesterday.

When we got out about fifteen miles on the road, an Apache Indian
appeared, and so suddenly that it seemed as if he must have sprung up
from the ground. He was in full war dress--that is, no dress at all
except the breech clout and moccasins--and his face and whole naked body
were stained in many colors in the most hideous manner. In his scalp
lock was fastened a number of eagle feathers, and of course he wore two
or three necklaces of beads and wampum. There was nothing unusual
about the pony he was riding, except that it was larger and in
better condition than the average Indian horse, but the one he was
leading--undoubtedly his war horse--was a most beautiful animal, one of
the most beautiful I ever saw.

The Apache evidently appreciated the horse, for he had stained only his
face, but this had been made quite as frightful as that of the Indian.
The pony was of a bright cream color, slender, and with a perfect head
and small ears, and one could see that he was quick and agile in every
movement. He was well groomed, too. The long, heavy mane had been parted
from ears to withers, and then twisted and roped on either side with
strips of some red stuff that ended in long streamers, which were blown
out in a most fantastic way when the pony was running. The long tail
was roped only enough to fasten at the top a number of strips of the red
that hung almost to the ground over the hair. Imagine all this savage
hideousness rushing upon you--on a yellow horse with a mane of waving
red! His very presence on an ordinary trotting pony was enough to freeze
the blood in one's veins.

That he was a spy was plainly to be seen, and we knew also that his band
was probably not far away. He seemed in very good spirits, asked for
"tobac," and rode along with us some distance--long enough to make a
careful estimate of our value and our strength. Finally he left us and
disappeared over the hills. Then the little escort of ten men received
orders from Faye to be on the alert, and hold themselves and their
rifles ready for a sudden attack.

We rode on and on, hoping to reach the Cimarron Redoubt before dark, but
that had to be given up and camp was made at Snake Creek, ten miles the
other side. Not one Indian had been seen on the road except the Apache,
and this made us all the more uncomfortable. Snake Creek was where the
two couriers were shot by Indians last summer, and that did not add to
our feelings of security--at least not mine. We were in a little coulee,
too, where it would have been an easy matter for Indians to have sneaked
upon us. No one in the camp slept much that night, and most of the men
were walking post to guard the animals. And those mules! I never heard
mules, and horses also, sneeze and cough and make so much unnecessary
noise as those animals made that night. And Hal acted like a crazy
dog--barking and growling and rushing out of the tent every two minutes,
terrifying me each time with the fear that he might have heard the
stealthy step of a murderous savage.

Everyone lived through the night, however, but we were all glad to make
an early start, so before daylight we were on the road. The old sergeant
agreed with Faye in thinking that we were in a trap at the camp, and
should move on early. We did not stop at the Redoubt, but I saw as we
passed that the red curtains were still at the little window.

It seems that we are not much more safe in this place than we were in
camp in an Indian country. The town is dreadful and has the reputation
of being one of the very worst in the West since the railroad has been
built. They say that gamblers and all sorts of "toughs" follow a new
road. After breakfast this morning we started for a walk to give Hal a
little run, but when we got to the office the hotel proprietor told us
that the dog must be led, otherwise he would undoubtedly be stolen right
before our eyes. Faye said: "No one would dare do such a thing; I would
have him arrested." But the man said there was no one here who would
make the arrest, as there certainly would be two or more revolvers to
argue with first, and in any case the dog would be lost to us, for if
the thief saw that he could not hold him the dog would undoubtedly be
shot. Just imagine such a thing! So Hal was led by his chain, but he
looked so abused and miserable, and I was so frightened and nervous, our
outing was short, and here we are shut up in our little room.

We can see the car track from the window, and I wonder how it will seem
to go over in a car, the country that we came across in wagons only
one year ago. From Granada we will go to the post in an ambulance, a
distance of forty or more miles. But a ride of fifty miles over these
plains has no terrors for me now. The horses, furniture, and other
things went on in a box car this morning. It is very annoying to be
detained here so long, and I am a little worried about that girl. The
telegram says she was too sick to start yesterday.

FORT LYON, COLORADO TERRITORY, June, 1873.

IT has been impossible for me to write before, for I have been more than
busy, both day and night, ever since we got here. The servant for whom
we waited at Dodge City, and who I had hoped would be a great assistance
to me in getting settled, came to us very ill--almost too ill to be
brought over from Granada. But we could not leave her there with no one
to take care of her, and of course I could not remain with her, so there
was nothing else to be done--we had to bring her along. We had accepted
Mrs. Wilder's invitation to stay with them a few days until we could get
settled a little, but all that was changed when we got here, for we were
obliged to come directly to our own house, unpack camp bedding and the
mess chest, and do the best we could for ourselves and the sick girl.

The post surgeon told us as soon as he had examined the girl that she
had tuberculosis in almost its last stage, and that she was threatened
with double pneumonia! So you can imagine what I have been through in
the way of nursing, for there was no one in the garrison who would come
to assist me. The most unpleasant part of it all is, the girl is most
ungrateful for all that is being done for her, and finds fault with
many things. She has admitted to the doctor that she came to us for
her health; that as there are only two in the family, she thought there
would be so little for her to do she could ride horseback and be out of
doors most of the time! What a nice arrangement it would have been--this
fine lady sitting out on our lawn or riding one of our horses, and I
in the kitchen preparing the dinner, and then at the end of the month
humbly begging her to accept a little check for thirty dollars!

We have an excellent soldier cook, but the care of that miserable girl
falls upon me, and the terrible experience we passed through at Dodge
City has wholly unfitted me for anything of the kind. The second night
we were there, about one o'clock, we were awakened by loud talking and
sounds of people running; then shots were fired very near, and instantly
there were screams of agony, "I'm shot! I'm shot!" from some person
who was apparently coming across the street, and who fell directly
underneath our window. We were in a little room on the second floor, and
its one window was raised far up, which made it possible for us to hear
the slightest sound or movement outside.

The shooting was kept up until after the man was dead, many of the
bullets hitting the side of the hotel. It was simply maddening to have
to stay in that room and be compelled to listen to the moans and death
gurgle of that murdered man, and hear him cry, "Oh, my lassie, my poor
lassie!" as he did over and over again, until he could no longer speak.
It seemed as though every time he tried to say one word, there was the
report of a pistol. After he was really dead we could hear the fiends
running off, and then other people came and carried the body away.

The shooting altogether did not last longer than five or ten minutes,
and at almost the first shot we could hear calls all over the wretched
little town of "Vigilante! Vigilante!" and knew that the vigilantes were
gathering, but before they could get together the murderous work had
been finished. All the time there had been perfect silence throughout
the hotel. The proprietor told us that he got up, but that it would have
been certain death if he or anyone else had opened a door.

Hal was on the floor in a corner of our room, and began to growl after
the very first scream, and I was terrified all the time for fear he
would go to the open window and attract the attention of those murderers
below, who would undoubtedly have commenced firing at the window and
perhaps have killed all of us. But the moans of the dying man frightened
the dog awfully, and he crawled under the bed, where he stayed during
the rest of the horrible night. The cause of all the trouble seems to
have been that a colored man undertook to carry in his wagon three or
four men from Dodge City to Fort Dodge, a distance of five miles, but
when he got out on the road a short distance he came to the conclusion,
from their talk, that they were going to the post for evil purposes,
and telling them that he would take them no farther, he turned his team
around to come back home. On the way back the men must have threatened
him, for when he got in town he drove to the house of some colored
people who live on a corner across from the hotel and implored them to
let him in, but they were afraid and refused to open the door, for by
that time the men were shooting at him.

The poor man ran across the street, leaving a trail of blood that
streamed from his wounds, and was brutally killed under our window.
Early the next morning, when we crossed the street to go to the cars,
the darky's mule was lying on the ground, dead, near the corner of the
hotel, and stuck on one long ear was the murdered man's hat. Soon after
we reached Granada a telegram was received giving an account of the
affair, and saying also that in less than one half hour after the train
had passed through, Dodge City was surrounded by troops of United States
cavalry from Fort Dodge, that the entire town was searched for the
murderers, but that not even a trace of one had been discovered.

When I got inside a car the morning after that awful, awful night, it
was with a feeling that I was leaving behind me all such things and that
by evening I would be back once more at our old army home and away
from hostile Indians, and hostile desperadoes too. But when I saw that
servant girl with the pale, emaciated face and flushed cheeks, so ill
she could barely sit up, my heart went down like lead and Indians seemed
small trials in comparison to what I saw ahead of me.

Well, she will go in a few days, and then I can give the house some
attention. The new furniture and china are all here, but nothing has
been done in the way of getting settled. The whole coming back has been
cruelly disappointing, and I am so tired and nervous I am afraid of my
own shadow. So after a while I think I will go East for a few weeks,
which I know you will be glad to hear.

FORT LYON, COLORADO TERRITORY, August, 1873.

WE have just come in from a drive to the Purgatoire with Colonel Knight
behind his handsome horses. It makes me sad, always, to go over that
familiar road and to scenes that are so closely associated with my
learning to ride and shoot when we were here before. The small tree that
was my target is dead but still standing, and on it are several little
pieces of the white paper bull's eyes that Faye and Lieutenant Baldwin
tacked on it for me.

We often see poor Tom. The post trader bought him after Lieutenant
Baldwin's death, so the dear horse would always have good care and not
be made to bring and carry for a cruel master. He wanders about as he
chooses and is fat, but the coat that was once so silky and glossy is
now dull and faded, and the horse looks spiritless and dejected. Poor
Tom! The greyhound, Magic, still remembers their many, many hunts
together when the horse would try to outrun the dog, and the hound often
goes out to make him little visits, and the sight is pathetic. That
big dog of the chaplain's is still here, and how the good man can
conscientiously have him about, I cannot understand.

Colonel Knight has two large dogs also, but they are shut in the stable
most of the time to guard his pair of valuable horses. The horses are
not particularly fast or spirited, but they are very beautiful and
perfectly matched in color and gait.

Ever since Hal has been old enough to run with a horse, he has always
gone with me riding or driving. So the first time we drove with Colonel
Knight I called Hal to go with us and he ran out of the house and over
the fence with long joyful bounds, to be instantly pounced upon, and
rolled over into the acequia by the two big dogs of Colonel Knight's
that I had not even heard of! Hal has splendid fighting blood and has
never shown cowardice, but he is still a young dog and inexperienced,
and no match for even one old fighter, and to have two notoriously
savage, bloodthirsty beasts gnawing at him as though he was a bone was
terrible. But Hal apparently never thought of running from them, and
after the one howl of surprise gave his share of vicious growls and
snaps. But the old dogs were protected by their heavy hair, while Hal's
short coat and fine skin were easily torn.

We all rushed to his rescue, for it looked as though he would be torn in
pieces, and when I saw a long cut in his tender skin I was frantic. But
finally the two black dogs were pulled off and Hal was dragged out of
the ditch and back to the house, holding back and growling all the time,
which showed plainly he was not satisfied with the way the affair had
ended. The drive that day I did not enjoy!

Hal was not torn so deeply as to have unsightly scars, for which I was
thankful. From that day on, however, he not only hated those dogs,
but disliked the man who cares for them, and seemed to consider him
responsible for their very existence. And it was wonderful that he
should recognize Cressy's step on the ground as he passed at the side of
our house. Several times when he would be stretched out on the floor,
to all appearances fast asleep, I have seen him open his eyes wide and
growl when the man and dogs were passing, although it was perfectly
impossible for him to have seen them.

One morning about ten days ago when I was on the second floor, I heard
an awful noise downstairs--whines, growls, and howls all so mingled
together one would have thought there were a dozen dogs in the house.
I ran down to see what could possibly be the matter, and found Hal at a
window in the dining room that looked out on the back yard, every hair
on his brindled back standing straight up and each white tooth showing.
Looking out I saw that Turk, the more savage of the two black dogs, was
in the yard and could not get out over the high board fence. Cressy
was probably on guard that day, and sentry over the prisoners who had
brought water. The dog must have followed him in and then managed to get
left.

Hal looked up at me, and for one instant kept perfectly still, waiting
to see what I would do. His big brown eyes were almost human in their
beseeching, and plainly said, "You cannot have forgotten--you will
surely let me out!" And let him out I did. I opened the doors leading
to the yard, and almost pushing me over he rushed to the black dog with
great leaps and the most blood-curdling growls, jumping straight over
him, then around him, then over him again and again, and so like a
whirlwind, the poor black beast was soon crazy, for snap as fast as he
might, it was ever at the clear, beautiful air. Hal was always just out
of reach.

After he had worried the dog all he wanted to Hal proceeded to business.
With a greyhound trick, he swung himself around with great force and
knocked the big dog flat upon the ground, and holding him down with his
two paws he pulled out mouthful after mouthful of long hair, throwing it
out of his mouth right and left. If the dog attempted to raise his big
head Hal was quick to give a wicked snap that made the head fall down
again. When I saw that Hal had actually conquered the dog and had proved
that he-was the splendid hound I had ever considered him to be, I told
West to go out at once and separate them. But for the very first time
West was slow--he went like a snail. It seemed that one of the dogs had
snapped at his leg once, and I believe he would have been delighted if
Hal had gnawed the dog flesh and bone. He pulled Hal in by his collar
and opened the gate for Turk, and soon things were quite once more.

All that day Hal's eyes were like stars, and one could almost see a grin
on his mouth. He was ever on the alert, and would frequently look out on
the yard, wag his tail and growl. The strangest thing about it all is,
that not once since that morning has he paid the slightest attention to
Cressy or the two dogs, except to growl a little when they have happened
to meet. Turk must have told his companion about the fight, for he, too,
finds attractions in another direction when he sees Hal coming.

Some of our friends have found pleasure in teasing me about my sporting
taste, private arena, and so on, but I do not mind so very much, since
the fight brought about peace, and proved that Hal has plenty of pluck.
Those two Knight dogs are looked upon as savage wolves by every mother
in the garrison, and when it is known that they are out, mothers and
nurses run to gather in their small people.

Hal has developed a taste for hunting that has been giving trouble
lately, when he has run off with Magic and the other hounds. So now he
is chained until after guard mounting, by which time the pack has gone.
The signal officer of the department was here the other day when Faye
and men from the company were out signaling, and after luncheon I told
West to go out to him on Powder-Face and lead King, so he could ride
the horse in, instead of coming in the wagon with the men. Late in the
afternoon West came back and reported that he had been unable to find
Faye, and then with much hesitation and choking he told me that he had
lost Hal!

He said that as they had gone up a little hill, they had surprised a
small band of antelope that were grazing rather near on the other side,
and that the hound started after them like a streak, pulling one down
before they had crossed the lowland, and then, not being satisfied,
he had raced on again after the band that had disappeared over a hill
farther on. That was the last he saw of him. West said that he wanted
to bring the dead antelope to the post, but could not, as both horses
objected to it.

My heart was almost broken over the loss of my dog, and I started for my
own room to indulge in a good cry when, as I passed the front door that
was open, I happened to look out, and there, squatted down on the walk
to the gate was Hal! I ran out to pet him, but drew back in horror when
I saw the condition he was in. His long nose and all of his white chest
were covered with a thick coating of coarse antelope hair plastered in
with dried blood. The dog seemed too tired to move, and sat there with
a listless, far-away look that made me wish he could tell all about his
hunt, and if he had lost the second poor little antelope. West almost
danced from joy when he saw him, and lost no time in giving him a bath
and putting him in his warm bed. Greyhounds are often great martyrs to
rheumatism, and Deacon, one of the pack, will sometimes howl from pain
after a hunt. And the howl of a greyhound is far-reaching and something
to be remembered.

Very soon now I will be with you! Faye has decided to close the house
and live with the bachelors while I am away. This will be much more
pleasant for him than staying here all alone.

FORT LYON, COLORADO TERRITORY, October, 1873.

THE trip out was tiresome and seemed endless, but nothing worth
mentioning happened until I got to Granada, where Faye met me with an
ambulance and escort wagon. It was after two o'clock in the morning when
the train reached the station, and as it is the terminus of the road,
every passenger left the car. I waited a minute for Faye to come in, but
as he did not I went out also, feeling that something was wrong.

Just as I stepped off the car, Mr. Davis, quartermaster's clerk,
appeared and took my satchel, assuring me that Faye was right there
waiting for me. This was so very unlike Faye's way of doing things, that
at once I suspected that the real truth was not being told. But I went
with him quickly through the little crowd, and on up the platform, and
then I saw Faye. He was standing at one corner of the building--all
alone, and I recognized him instantly by the long light-blue overcoat
and big campaign hat with brim turned up.

And I saw also, standing on the corner of the platform in front of him,
a soldier with rifle in hand, and on the end of it glistening in the
moonlight was a long bayonet! I had lived with troops long enough to
know that the bayonet would not be there unless the soldier was a sentry
guarding somebody or something. I naturally turned toward Faye, but was
held back by Mr. Davis, and that made me indignant, but Faye at once
said quietly and in a voice just loud enough for me to hear, "Get in
the ambulance and ask no questions!" And still he did not move from
the corner. By this time I was terribly frightened and more and more
puzzled. Drawn up close to the farther side of the platform was an
ambulance, also an escort wagon, in which sat several soldiers, and
handing my trunk checks to Mr. Davis, I got, into the ambulance, my
teeth chattering as though I had a chill.

The very instant the trunks were loaded Faye and the sentry came, and
after ordering the corporal to keep his wagon and escort close to us,
and telling me to drop down in the bottom of the ambulance if I heard
a shot, Faye got on the ambulance also, but in front with the driver.
Leaning forward, I saw that one revolver was in his hand and the other
on the seat by his side. In this way, and in perfect silence, we rode
through the town and until we were well out on the open plain, when we
stopped just long enough for Faye to get inside, and a soldier from the
wagon to take his seat by the driver.

Then Faye told me of what had occurred to make necessary all these
precautions. He had come over from Fort Lyon the day before, and had
been with Major Carroll, the depot quartermaster, during the afternoon
and evening. The men had established a little camp just at the edge of
the miserable town where the mules could be guarded and cared for.

About nine o'clock Faye and Mr. Davis started out for a walk, but before
they had gone far Faye remembered that he had left his pistols and
cartridge belt on a desk in the quartermaster's office, and fearing
they might be stolen they went back for them. He put the pistols on
underneath his heavy overcoat, as the belt was quite too short to fasten
outside.

Well, he and Mr. Davis walked along slowly in the bright moonlight past
the many saloons and gambling places, never once thinking of danger,
when suddenly from a dark passageway a voice said, "You are the man I
want," and bang! went a pistol shot close to Faye's head--so close, in
fact, that as he ducked his head down, when he saw the pistol pointed at
him, the rammer slot struck his temple and cut a deep hole that at once
bled profusely. Before Faye could get out one of his own pistols from
underneath the long overcoat, another shot was fired, and then away
skipped Mr. Davis, leaving Faye standing alone in the brilliant
moonlight. As soon as Faye commenced to shoot, his would-be assassin
came out from the dark doorway and went slowly along the walk, taking
good care, however, to keep himself well in the shadow of the buildings.

They went on down the street shooting back and forth at each other, Faye
wondering all the time why he could not hit the man. Once he got him in
front of a restaurant window where there was a bright light back of
him, and, taking careful aim, he thought the affair could be ended right
there, but the ball whizzed past the man and went crashing through
the window and along the tables, sending broken china right and left.
Finally their pistols were empty, and Faye drew out a second, at the
sight of which the man started to run and disappeared in the shadows.

As soon as the shooting ceased men came out from all sorts of places,
and there was soon a little crowd around Faye, asking many questions,
but he and Major Carroll went to a drug store, where his wounds could be
dressed. For some time it was thought there must be a ball in the deep
hole in his temple. When Faye had time to think he understood why he had
done such poor shooting. He is an almost sure shot, but always holds his
pistol in his left hand, and of course aims with his left eye. But that
night his left eye was filled with blood the very first thing from the
wound in his left temple, which forced him unconsciously to aim with his
right eye, which accounts for the wild shots.

The soldiers heard of the affair in camp, and several came up on a run
and stood guard at the drug store. A rumor soon got around that Oliver
had gone off to gather some of his friends, and they would soon be at
the store to finish the work. Very soon, however, a strange man came in,
much excited, and said, "Lieutenant! Oliver's pals are getting ready
to attack you at the depot as the train comes in," and out he went. The
train was due at two o'clock A. M., and this caused Faye four hours of
anxiety. He learned that the man who shot at him was "Billy Oliver," a
horse thief and desperado of the worst type, and that he was the leader
of a band of horse thieves that was then in town. To be threatened by
men like those was bad enough in itself, but Faye knew that I would
arrive on that train. That was the cause of so much caution when the
train came in. There were several rough-looking men at the station, but
if they had intended mischief, the long infantry rifles in the hands of
drilled soldiers probably persuaded them to attend to their own affairs.
A man told the corporal, however, that Oliver's friends had decided not
to kill Faye at the station, but had gone out on horseback to meet him
on the road. This was certainly misery prolonged.

The mules were driven through the town at an ordinary gait, but when we
got on the plain they were put at a run, and for miles we came at that
pace. The little black shaved-tails pulled the ambulance, and I think
that for once they had enough run. The moonlight was wonderfully bright,
and for a long distance objects could be seen, and bunches of sage bush
and Spanish bayonet took the forms of horsemen, and naturally I saw
danger in every little thing we passed.

One thing occurred that night that deserves mentioning. Some one told
the soldiers that Oliver was hidden in a certain house, and one of them,
a private, started off without leave, and all alone for that house. When
he got there the entire building was dark, not a light in it, except
that of the moon which streamed in through two small windows. But the
gritty soldier went boldly in and searched every little room and every
little corner, even the cellar, but not a living thing was found. It may
have been brave, but it was a dreadful thing for the trooper to do, for
he so easily could have been murdered in the darkness, and Faye and
the soldiers never have known what had become of him. Colonel Bissell
declares that the man shall be made a corporal upon the first vacancy.

The man Oliver was in the jail at Las Animas last summer for stealing
horses. The old jail was very shaky, and while it was being made
more secure, he and another man--a wife murderer--were brought to
the guardhouse at this post. They finally took them back, and Oliver
promptly made his escape, and the sheriff had actually been afraid to
re-arrest him. We have all begged Faye to get out a warrant for the man,
but he says it would simply be a farce, that the sheriff would pay no
attention to it. The whole left side of Faye's face is badly swollen and
very painful, and the wound in his ankle compels him to use a cane.
Just how the man managed to shoot Faye in the ankle no one seems to
understand.

Granada must be a terrible place! The very afternoon Faye was there a
Mexican was murdered in the main street, but not the slightest attention
was paid to the shooting--everything went right on as though it was an
everyday occurrence. The few respectable people are afraid even to try
to keep order.

Dodge City used to be that way and there was a reign of terror in the
town, until finally the twelve organized vigilantes became desperate
and took affairs in their own hands. They notified six of the leading
desperadoes that they must be out of the place by a certain day and
hour. Four went, but two were defiant and remained. When the specified
hour had passed, twelve double-barreled shotguns were loaded with
buckshot, and in a body the vigilantes hunted these men down as they
would mad dogs and riddled each one through and through with the big
shot! It was an awful thing to do, but it seems to have been absolutely
necessary and the only way of establishing law and order. Our friends
at Fort Dodge tell us that the place is now quite decent, and that a
man can safely walk in the streets without pistols and a belt full of
cartridges.

FORT LYON, COLORADO TERRITORY, October, 1873.

ONE naturally looks for all sorts of thrilling experiences when out
on the frontier, but to have men and things mix themselves up in a
maddening way in one's very own house, as has recently been done in
mine, is something not usually counted upon. To begin with, Mrs. Rae is
with us, and her coming was not only most unlocked for up to two days
ago, but through a wretched mistake in a telegram she got here just
twenty-four hours before we thought she would arrive. Ordinarily this
would have been a delightful surprise, but, unfortunately, things had
begun to "mix!"

Faye had suffered so much from the wound in his head that very little
attention had been given the house since my return from the East,
therefore it was not in the very best of order. It was closed during my
two months' absence, as Faye had lived down with the bachelors. The very
day that Mrs. Rae came the quartermaster had sent a man to repair one of
the chimneys, and plaster and dirt had been left in my room, the one I
had intended Mrs. Rae to occupy. And then, to make matters just as bad
as possible, there was a sand storm late in the afternoon that had, of
course, sifted dust over all things.

But this was not all! My nerves had not recovered from the shock at
Granada, and had given out entirely that day just before dinner, and
had sent me to bed with an uncomfortable chill. Still, I was not
disheartened. Before I went East many things had been put away, but West
had unpacked and polished the silver several days before, and the glass
was shining and the china closets in perfect order, all of which had
been attended to with my own hands. Besides, the wife of one of the
sergeants was to come the next morning to dust and clean the little
house from top to bottom, so there was really nothing to worry about,
as everything would be in order long before time for the stage to arrive
that would bring Mrs. Rae.

But after the chill came a fever, and with the fever came dreams,
most disturbing dreams, in which were sounds of crunching gravel, then
far-away voices--voices that I seemed to have heard in another world. A
door was opened, and then--oh! how can I ever tell you--in the hall came
Faye's mother! By that time dreams had ceased, and it was cruel reality
that had to be faced, and even now I wonder how I lived through the
misery of that moment--the longing to throw myself out of the window,
jump in the river, do anything, in fact, but face the mortification of
having her see the awful condition of her son's house!

Her son's house--that was just it. I 

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