of our camps after we reached the mountains, and I can assure you
that the speckled trout of the East and these mountain trout are not
comparable, the latter are so far, far superior. The flesh is white and
very firm, and sometimes they are so cold when brought out of the water
one finds it uncomfortable to hold them. They are good fighters, too,
and even small ones give splendid sport.

One night the camp was by a beautiful little stream with high banks, and
here and there bunches of bushes and rocks--an ideal home for trout, so
I started out, hoping to catch something--with a common willow pole and
ordinary hook, and grasshoppers for bait. Faye tells everybody that I
had only a bent pin for a hook, but of course no one believes him. Major
Stokes joined me and we soon found a deep pool just at the edge of
camp. His fishing tackle was very much like mine, so when we saw Captain
Martin coming toward us with elegant jointed rod, shining new reel, and
a camp stool, we felt rather crestfallen. Captain Martin passed on and
seated himself comfortably on the bank just below us, but Major Stokes
and I went down the bank to the edge of the pool where we were compelled
to stand, of course.

The water was beautifully clear and as soon as everybody and everything
became quiet, we saw down on the bottom one or two trout, then more
appeared, and still more, until there must have been a dozen or so
beautiful fish in between the stones, each one about ten inches long.
But go near the hooks they would not, neither would they rise to Captain
Martin's most tempting flies--for he, too, saw many trout, from where he
sat. We stood there a long time, until our patience was quite exhausted,
trying to catch some of those fish, sometimes letting the current take
the grasshoppers almost to their very noses, when finally Major Stokes
whispered, "There, Mrs. Rae there, try to get that big fellow!" Now as
we had all been most unsuccessful with the little "fellows," I had no
hope whatever of getting the big one, still I tried, for he certainly
was a beauty and looked very large as he came slowly along, carefully
avoiding the stones. Before I had moved my bait six inches, there was
a flash of white down there, and then with a little jerk I hooked that
fish--hooked him safely.

That was very, very nice, but the fish set up a terrible fight that
would have given great sport with a reel, but I did not have a reel, and
the steep bank directly back of me only made matters worse. I saw that
time must not be wasted, that I must not give him a chance to slacken
the line and perhaps shake the hook off, so I faced about, and putting
the pole over my shoulder, proceeded to climb the bank of four or
five feet, dragging the flopping fish after me! Captain Martin laughed
heartily, but instead of laughing at the funny sight, Major Stokes
jumped to my assistance, and between us we landed the fish up on the
bank. It was a lovely trout--by far the largest we had seen, and Major
Stokes insisted that we should take him to the commissary scales, where
he weighed over three and one half pounds!

The jumping about of my big trout ruined the fishing, of course, in that
part of the stream for some time, so, with a look of disgust for things
generally, Captain Martin folded his rod and camp stool and returned
to his tent. I had the trout served for our dinner, and, having been
so recently caught, it was delicious. These mountain trout are very
delicate, and if one wishes to enjoy their very finest flavor, they
should be cooked and served as soon as they are out of the water. If
kept even a few hours this delicacy is lost--a fact we have discovered
for ourselves on the march up.

The camp to-night is near the house of a German family, and I am writing
in their little prim sitting room, and Billie squirrel is with me and
very busy examining' things generally. I came over to wait while
the tents were being pitched, and was received with such cordial
hospitality, and have found the little room so warm and comfortable that
I have stayed on longer than I had intended. Soon after I came my kind
hostess brought in a cup of most delicious coffee and a little pitcher
of cream--real cream--something I had not tasted for six weeks, and she
also brought a plate piled high with generous pieces of German cinnamon
cake, at the same time telling me that I must eat every bit of it--that
I looked "real peaked," and not strong enough to go tramping around with
all those men! When I told her that it was through my own choice that
I was "tramping," that I enjoyed it she looked at me with genuine pity,
and as though she had just discovered that I did not have good common
sense.

We start on early in the morning, and it will take two three days to
cross the mountains. The little camp of one company looks lonesome after
the large regimental camp we have been with so long. The air is really
wonderful, so clear and crisp and exhilarating. It makes me long for
a good horse, and horses we intend to have as soon as possible. We are
anticipating so much pleasure in having a home once more, even if it
is to be of logs and buried in snow, perhaps, during the winter. Hal
is outside, and his beseeching whines have swelled to awful howls that
remind me of neglected duties in the tent.

CAMP BAKER, MONTANA TERRITORY, November, 1877.

IT was rather late in the afternoon yesterday when we got to this
post, because of a delay on the mountains. But this did not cause
inconvenience to anyone--there was a vacant set of quarters that
Lieutenant Hayden took possession of at once for his family, and where
with camp outfit they can be comfortable until the wagons are unloaded.
Faye and I are staying with the commanding officer and his wife. Colonel
Gardner is lieutenant colonel of the --th Infantry, and has a most
enviable reputation as a post commander. As an officer, we have not
seen him yet, but we do know that he can be a most charming host. He
has already informed Faye that he intends to appoint him adjutant and
quartermaster of the post.

We are in a little valley almost surrounded by magnificent, heavily
timbered mountains, and Colonel Gardner says that at any time one can
find deer, mountain sheep, and bear in these forests, adding that there
are also mountain lions and wild cats! The scenery on the road from
Helena to Camp Baker was grand, but the roads were dreadful, most of the
time along the sides of steep mountains that seemed to be one enormous
pile of big boulders in some places and solid rock in others. These
roads have been cut into the rock and are scarcely wider than the wagon
track, and often we could look almost straight down seventy-five feet,
or even more, on one side, and straight up for hundreds of feet on the
other side.

And in the canons many of the grades were so steep that the wheels of
the wagons had to be chained in addition to the big brakes to prevent
them from running sideways, and so off the grade. I rode down one of
these places, but it was the last as well as the first. Every time
the big wagon jolted over a stone--and it was jolt over stones all
the time--it seemed as if it must topple over the side and roll to the
bottom; and then the way the driver talked to the mules to keep them
straight, and the creaking and scraping of the wagons, was enough to
frighten the most courageous.

In Confederate Gulch we crossed a ferry that was most marvelous. A heavy
steel cable was stretched across the river--the Missouri--and fastened
securely to each bank, and then a flat boat was chained at each end to
the cable, but so it could slide along when the ferryman gripped the
cable with a large hook, and gave long, hard pulls. Faye says that the
very swift current of the stream assisted him much.

The river runs through a narrow, deep canon where the ferry is, and at
the time we crossed everything was in dark shadow, and the water looked
black, and fathoms deep, with its wonderful reflections. The grandeur of
these mountains is simply beyond imagination; they have to be seen to
be appreciated, and yet when seen, one can scarcely comprehend their
immensity. We are five hundred miles from a railroad, with endless
chains of these mountains between. All supplies of every description are
brought up that distance by long ox trains--dozens of wagons in a train,
and eight or ten pairs of oxen fastened to the one long chain that pulls
three or four heavily loaded wagons. We passed many of these trains on
the march up, and my heart ached for the poor patient beasts.

We are to have one side of a large double house, which will give us as
many rooms as we will need in this isolated place. Hal is in the house
now, with Cagey, and Billie is there also, and has the exclusive run of
one room. The little fellow stood the march finely, and it is all owing
to that terrible old wagon that was such a comfort in some ways, but
caused me so much misery in others. These houses must be quite warm;
they are made of large logs placed horizontally, and the inner walls are
plastered, which will keep out the bitter cold during the winter. The
smallest window has an outside storm window.

CAMP BAKER, MONTANA TERRITORY, December, 1877.

THIS post is far over in the Belt Mountains and quite cut off from the
outside world, and there are very few of us here, nevertheless the days
pass wonderfully fast, and they are pleasant days, also. And then we
have our own little excitements that are of intense interest to us, even
if they are never heard of in the world across the snow and ice.

The Rae family was very much upset two days ago by the bad behavior of
my horse Bettie, when she managed to throw Faye for the very first time
in his life! You know that both of our horses, although raised near this
place, were really range animals, and were brought in and broken for us.
The black horse has never been very satisfactory, and Faye has a battle
with him almost every time he takes him out, but Bettie had been lovely
and behaved wonderfully well for so young a horse, and I have been so
pleased with her and her delightful gaits--a little single foot and easy
canter.

The other morning Faye was in a hurry to get out to a lumber camp and,
as I did not care to go, he decided to ride my horse rather than waste
time by arguing with the black as to which road they should go. Ben
always thinks he knows more about such things than his rider. Well,
Kelly led Bettie up from the corral and saddled and bridled her, and
when Faye was ready to start I went out with him to give the horse a few
lumps of sugar. She is a beautiful animal--a bright bay in color--with
perfect head and dainty, expressive ears, and remarkably slender legs.

Faye immediately prepared to mount; in fact, bridle in hand, had his
left foot in the stirrup and the right was over the horse, when up went
Miss Bet's back, arched precisely like a mad cat's, and down in
between her fore legs went her pretty nose, and high up in the air went
everything--man and beast--the horse coming down on legs as rigid
and unbending as bars of steel, and then--something happened to Faye!
Nothing could have been more unexpected, and it was all over in a
second.

Kelly caught the bridle reins in time to prevent the horse from running
away, and Faye got up on his feet, and throwing back his best West Point
shoulders, faced the excited horse, and for two long seconds he and Miss
Bet looked each other square in the eye. Just what the horse thought no
one knows, but Kelly and I remember what Faye said! All desire to laugh,
however, was quickly crushed when I heard Kelly ordered to lead the
horse to the sutler's store, and fit a Spanish bit to her mouth, and to
take the saddle off and strap a blanket on tight with a surcingle, for I
knew that a hard and dangerous fight between man and horse was about to
commence. Faye told Cagey to chain Hal and then went in the house, soon
returning, however, without a blouse, and with moccasins on his feet and
with leggings.

When Kelly returned he looked most unhappy, for he loves horses and
has been so proud of Bettie. But Faye was not thinking of Kelly and
proceeded at once to mount, having as much fire in his eyes as the horse
had in hers, for she had already discovered that the bit was not to her
liking. As soon as she felt Faye's weight, up went her back again,
but down she could not get her head, and the more she pushed down, the
harder the spoon of the bit pressed against the roof of her mouth. This
made her furious, and as wild as when first brought from the range.

She lunged and lunged--forward and sideways--reared, and of course tried
to run away, but with all the vicious things her little brain could
think of, she could not get the bit from her mouth or Faye from her
back. So she started to rub him off--doing it with thought and in the
most scientific way. She first went to the corner of our house, then
tried the other corner of that end, and so she went on, rubbing up
against every object she saw--house, tree, and fence--even going up the
steps at the post trader's. That I thought very smart, for the bit
was put in her mouth there, and she might have hoped to find some kind
friend who would take it out.

It required almost two hours of the hardest kind of riding to conquer
the horse, and to teach her that just as long as she held her head up
and behaved herself generally, the bit would not hurt her. She finally
gave in, and is once more a tractable beast, and I have ridden her
twice, but with the Spanish bit. She is a nervous animal and will always
be frisky. It has leaked out that the morning she bucked so viciously,
a cat had been thrown upon her back at the corral by a playful soldier,
just before she had been led up. Kelly did not like to tell this of a
comrade. It was most fortunate that I had decided not to ride at that
time, for a pitch over a horse's head with a skirt to catch on the
pommel is a performance I am not seeking. And Bettie had been such a
dear horse all the time, her single foot and run both so swift and
easy. Kelly says, "Yer cawn't feel yerse'f on her, mum." Faye is
quartermaster, adjutant, commissary, signal officer, and has other
positions that I cannot remember just now, that compel him to be at his
own office for an hour every morning before breakfast, in addition to
the regular office hours during the day. The post commander is up and
out at half past six every workday, and Sundays I am sure he is a most
unhappy man. But Faye gets away for a hunt now and then, and the other
day he started off, much to my regret, all alone and with only a rifle.
I worry when he goes alone up in these dense forests, and when an
officer goes with him I am so afraid of an accident, that one may shoot
the other. It is impossible to take a wagon, or even ride a horse among
the rocks and big boulders. There are panthers and wild cats and wolves
and all sorts of fearful things up there. The coyotes often come down
to the post at night, and their terrible, unearthly howls drive the dogs
almost crazy--and some of the people, too.

I worried about Faye the other morning as usual, and thought of all the
dreadful things that could so easily happen. And then I tried to forget
my anxiety by taking a brisk ride on Bettie, but when I returned I found
that Faye had not come, so I worried all the more. The hours passed and
still he was away, and I was becoming really alarmed. At last there was
a shout at a side door, and running out I found Faye standing up very
tall and with a broad smile on his face, and on the ground at his feet
was an immense white-tail deer! He said that he had walked miles on the
mountain but had failed to find one living thing, and had finally come
down and was just starting to cross the valley on his way home, when
he saw the deer, which he fortunately killed with one shot at very long
range. He did not want to leave it to be devoured by wolves while he
came to the corral for a wagon, so he dragged the heavy thing all the
way in. And that was why he was gone so long, for of course he was
obliged to rest every now and then. I was immensely proud of the
splendid deer, but it did not convince me in the least that it was safe
for Faye to go up in that forest alone. Of course Faye has shot other
deer, and mountain sheep also, since we have been here, but this was the
first he had killed when alone.

Of all the large game we have ever had--buffalo, antelope, black-tail
deer, white-tail deer--the mountain sheep is the most delicious. The
meat is very tender and juicy and exceedingly rich in flavor. It is very
"gamey," of course, and is better after having been frozen or hung for
a few days. These wary animals are most difficult to get, for they are
seldom found except on the peaks of high mountains, where the many big
rocks screen them, so when one is brought in, it is always with great
pride and rejoicing. There are antelope in the lowlands about here, but
none have been brought in since we came to the post. The ruffed grouse
and the tule hens are plentiful, and of course nothing can be more
delicious.

And the trout are perfect, too, but the manner in which we get them this
frozen-up weather is not sportsmanlike. There is a fine trout stream
just outside the post which is frozen over now, but when we wish a few
nice trout for dinner or breakfast. Cagey and I go down, and with a
hatchet he will cut a hole in the ice through which I fish, and usually
catch all we want in a few minutes. The fish seem to be hungry and rise
quickly to almost any kind of bait except flies. They seem to know that
this is not the fly season. The trout are not very large, about eight
and ten inches long, but they are delicate in flavor and very delicious.

Cagey is not a wonderful cook, but he does very well, and I think that
I would much prefer him to a Chinaman, judging from what I have seen of
them here. Mrs. Conrad, wife of Captain Conrad, of the --th Infantry,
had one who was an excellent servant in every way except in the manner
of doing the laundry work. He persisted in putting the soiled linen in
the boiler right from the basket, and no amount of talk on the part of
Mrs. Conrad could induce him to do otherwise. Monday morning Mrs. Conrad
went to the kitchen and told him once more that he must look the linen
over, and rub it with plenty of water and soap before boiling it. The
heathen looked at her with a grin and said, "Allee light, you no likee
my washee, you washee yousel'," and lifting the boiler from the stove he
emptied its entire steaming contents out upon the floor! He then went to
his own room, gathered up his few clothes and bedding, and started off.
He knew full well that if he did not leave the reservation at once he
would be put off after such a performance.

CAMP BAKER, MONTANA TERRITORY, February, 1878.

HOME seems very cozy and attractive after the mountains of snow and ice
we crossed and re-crossed on our little trip to Helena. The bitter cold
of those canons will long be remembered. But it was a delightful change
from the monotonous life in this out-of-the-way garrison, even if we did
almost freeze on the road, and it was more than pleasant to be with old
friends again.

The ball at the hall Friday evening was most enjoyable, and it was
simply enchanting to dance once more to the perfect music of the
dear old orchestra. And the young people in Helena are showing their
appreciation of the good music by dancing themselves positively thin
this winter. The band leader brought from New Orleans the Creole music
that was so popular there, and at the ball we danced Les Varietes four
times; the last was at the request of Lieutenant Joyce, with whom I
always danced it in the South. It is thoroughly French, bringing in the
waltz, polka, schottische, mazurka, and redowa. Some of those Creole
girls were the personification of grace in that dance.

We knew of the ball before leaving home, and went prepared for it, but
had not heard one word about the bal masque to be given by "The Army
Social Club" at Mrs. Gordon's Tuesday evening. We did not have one
thing with us to assist in the make-up of a fancy dress; nevertheless we
decided to attend it. Faye said for me not to give him a thought, that
he could manage his own costume. How I did envy his confidence in man
and things, particularly things, for just then I felt far from equal to
managing my own dress.

I had been told of some of the costumes that were to be worn by friends,
and they were beautiful, and the more I heard of these things, the
more determined I became that I would not appear in a domino! So Monday
morning I started out for an idea, and this I found almost immediately
in a little shop window. It was only a common pasteboard mask, but
nevertheless it was a work of art. The face was fat and silly, and
droll beyond description, and to look at the thing and not laugh was
impossible. It had a heavy bang of fiery red hair. I bought it without
delay, and was wondering where I could find something to go with it in
that little town, when I met a friend--a friend indeed--who offered me
some widths of silk that had been dyed a most hideous shade of green.

I gladly accepted the offer, particularly as this friend is in deep
mourning and would not be at the ball to recognize me. Well, I made this
really awful silk into a very full skirt that just covered my ankles,
and near the bottom I put a broad band of orange-colored cambric--the
stiff and shiny kind. Then I made a Mother Hubbard apron of white
paper-cambric, also very stiff and shiny, putting a big full ruche of
the cambric around neck, yoke, and bottom of sleeves. For my head I made
a large cap of the white cambric with ruche all around, and fastened it
on tight with wide strings that were tied in a large stiff bow under the
chin. We drew my evening dress up underneath both skirt and apron
and pinned it securely on my shoulders, and this made me stout and
shapeless. Around this immense waist and over the apron was drawn a wide
sash of bright pink, glossy cambric that was tied in a huge bow at the
back. But by far the best of all, a real crown of glory, was a pigtail
of red, red hair that hung down my back and showed conspicuously on the
white apron. This was a loan by Mrs. Joyce, another friend in mourning,
and who assisted me in dressing.

We wanted the benefit of the long mirror in the little parlor of the
hotel, so we carried everything there and locked the door. And then
the fun commenced! I am afraid that Mrs. Joyce's fingers must have been
badly bruised by the dozens of pins she used, and how she laughed at me!
But if I looked half as dreadful as my reflection in the mirror I must
have been a sight to provoke laughter. We had been requested to give
names to our characters, and Mrs. Joyce said I must be "A Country
Girl," but it still seems to me that "An Idiot" would have been more
appropriate.

I drove over with Major and Mrs. Carleton. The dressing rooms were
crowded at Mrs. Gordon's, so it was an easy matter to slip away, give my
long cloak and thick veil to a maid, and return to Mrs. Carleton before
she had missed me, and it was most laughable to see the dear lady go
in search for me, peering in everyone's face. But she did not find me,
although we went down the stairs and in the drawing-room together, and
neither did one person in those rooms recognize me during the evening.
Lieutenant Joyce said he knew to whom the hair belonged, but beyond that
it was all a mystery.

That evening will never be forgotten, for, as soon as I saw that no one
knew me, I became a child once more, and the more the maskers laughed
the more I ran around. When I first appeared in the rooms there was a
general giggle and that was exhilarating, so off I went. After a time
Colonel Fitz-James adopted me and tagged around after me every place; I
simply could not get rid of the man. I knew him, of course, and I
also knew that he was mistaking me for some one else, which made his
attentions anything but complimentary. I told him ever so many times
that he did not know me, but he always insisted that it was impossible
for him to be deceived, that he would always know me, and so on. He was
acting in a very silly manner--quite too silly for a man of his years
and a colonel of a regiment, and he was keeping me from some very nice
dances, too, so I decided to lead him a dance, and commenced a rare
flirtation in cozy corners and out-of-the-way places. I must admit,
though, that all the pleasure I derived from it was when I heard the
smothered giggles of those who saw us. The colonel was in a domino and
had not tried to disguise himself.

We went in to supper together, and I managed to be almost the last one
to unmask, and all the time Colonel Fitz-James, domino removed, was
standing in front of me, and looking down with a smile of serene
expectancy. The colonel of a regiment is a person of prominence,
therefore many people in the room were watching us, not one suspecting,
however, who I was. So when I did take off the mask there was a shout:
"Why, it is Mrs. Rae," and "Oh, look at Mrs. Rae," and several friends
came up to us. Well, I wish you could have seen the colonel's face--the
mingled surprise and almost horror that was expressed upon it. Of course
the vain man had placed himself in a ridiculous position, chasing around
and flirting with the wife of one of his very own officers--a second
lieutenant at that! It came out later that he, and others also, had
thought that I was a Helena girl whom the colonel admires very much.
It was rather embarrassing, too, to be told that the girl was sitting
directly opposite on the other side of the room, where she was watching
us with two big, black eyes. And then farther down I saw Faye also
looking at us--but then, a man never can see things from a woman's view
point.

The heat and weight of the two dresses had been awful, and as soon as
I could get away, I ran to a dressing room and removed the cambric. But
the pins! There seemed to be thousands of them. Some of the costumes
were beautiful and costly, also. Mrs. Manson, a lovely little woman of
Helena, was "A Comet." Her short dress of blue silk was studded with
gold stars, and to each shoulder was fastened a long, pointed train of
yellow gauze sprinkled with diamond dust. An immense gold star with a
diamond sunburst in the center was above her forehead, and around her
neck was a diamond necklace. Mrs. Palmer, wife of Colonel Palmer, was
"King of Hearts," the foundation a handsome red silk. Mrs. Spencer
advertised the New York Herald; the whole dress, which was flounced
to the waist, was made of the headings of that paper. Major Blair was
recognized by no one as "An American citizen," in plain evening dress. I
could not find Faye at all, and he was in a simple red domino, too.

I cannot begin to tell you of the many lovely costumes that seemed most
wonderful to me, for you must remember that we were far up in the Rocky
Mountains, five hundred miles from a railroad! I will send you a copy
of the Helena paper that gives an account of the ball, in which you will
read that "Mrs. Rae was inimitable--the best sustained character in the
rooms." I have thought this over some, and I consider the compliment
doubtful.

We remained one day longer in Helena than we had expected for the
bal masque; consequently we were obliged to start back the very next
morning, directly after breakfast, and that was not pleasant, for we
were very tired. The weather had been bitter cold, but during the night
a chinook had blown up, and the air was warm and balmy as we came across
the valley. When we reached the mountains, however, it was freezing
again, and there was glassy ice every place, which made driving over the
grades more dangerous than usual. In many places the ambulance wheels
had to be "blocked," and the back and front wheels of one side chained
together so they could not turn, in addition to the heavy brake, and
then the driver would send the four sharp-shod mules down at a swinging
trot that kept the ambulance straight, and did not give it time to slip
around and roll us down to eternity.

There is one grade on this road that is notoriously dangerous, and
dreaded by every driver around here because of the many accidents that
have occurred there. It is cut in the side of a high mountain and has
three sharp turns back and forth, and the mountain is so steep, it is
impossible to see from the upper grade all of the lower that leads down
into the canon called White's Gulch. This one mountain grade is a mile
and a half long. But the really dangerous place is near the middle turn,
where a warm spring trickles out of the rocks and in winter forms thick
ice over the road; and if this ice cannot be broken up, neither man nor
beast can walk over, as it is always thicker on the inner side.

I was so stiffened from the overheating and try-to-fool dancing at Mrs.
Gordon's, it was with the greatest difficulty I could walk at all on the
slippery hills, and was constantly falling down, much to the amusement
of Faye and the driver. But ride down some of them I would not. At
Canon Ferry, where we remained over night, the ice in the Missouri was
cracked, and there were ominous reports like pistol shots down in the
canon below. At first Faye thought it would be impossible to come over,
but the driver said he could get everything across, if he could come at
once. Faye walked over with me, and then went back to assist the driver
with the mules that were still on the bank refusing to step upon the
ice. But Faye led one leader, and the driver lashed and yelled at all of
them, and in this way they crossed, each mule snorting at every step.

There were the most dreadful groans and creakings and loud reports
during the entire night, and in the morning the river was clear, except
for a few pieces of ice that were still floating down from above. The
Missouri is narrow at Canon Ferry, deep and very swift, and it is
a dreadful place to cross at any time, on the ice, or on the cable
ferryboat. They catch a queer fish there called the "ling." It has three
sides, is long and slender, and is perfectly blind. They gave us some
for supper and it was really delicious.

We found everything in fine order upon our return, and it was very
evident that Cagey had taken good care of the house and Hal, but Billie
grayback had taken care of himself. He was given the run of my room, but
I had expected, of course, that he would sleep in his own box, as usual.
But no, the little rascal in some way discovered the warmth of the
blankets on my bed, and in between these he had undoubtedly spent most
of the time during our absence, and there we found him after a long
search, and there he wants to stay all the time now, and if anyone
happens to go near the bed they are greeted with the fiercest kind of
smothered growls.

The black horse has been sold, and Faye has bought another, a sorrel,
that seems to be a very satisfactory animal. He is not as handsome as
Ben, nor as fractious, either. Bettie is behaving very well, but is
still nervous, and keeps her forefeet down just long enough to get
herself over the ground. She is beautiful, and Kelly simply adores her
and keeps her bright-red coat like satin. Faye can seldom ride with me
because of his numerous duties, and not one of the ladies rides here,
so I have Kelly go, for one never knows what one may come across on the
roads around here. They are so seldom traveled, and are little more than
trails.

CAMP BAKER, MONTANA TERRITORY, March, 1878.

THE mail goes out in the morning, and in it a letter must be sent to
you, but it is hard--hard for me to write--to have to tell you that my
dear dog, my beautiful greyhound, is dead--dead and buried! It seems so
cruel that he should have died now, so soon after getting back to his
old home, friends, and freedom. On Tuesday, Faye and Lieutenant Lomax
went out for a little hunt, letting Hal go with them, which was unusual,
and to which I objected, for Lieutenant Lomax is a notoriously poor shot
and hunter, and I was afraid he might accidentally kill Hal--mistake him
for a wild animal. So, as they went down our steps I said, "Please do
not shoot my dog!" much more in earnest than in jest, for I felt that
he would really be in danger, as it would be impossible to keep him with
them all the time.

As they went across the parade ground, rifles over their shoulders, Hal
jumped up on Faye and played around him, expressing his delight at being
allowed to go on a hunt. He knew what a gun was made for just as well as
the oldest hunter. That was the last I saw of my dog! Faye returned long
before I had expected him, and one quick glance at his troubled face
told me that something terrible had happened. I saw that he was unhurt
and apparently well, but--where was Hal? With an awful pain in my heart
I asked, "Did Lieutenant Lomax shoot Hal?" After a second's hesitation
Faye said "No; but Hal is dead!" It seemed too dreadful to be true, and
at first I could not believe it, for it had been only such a short time
since I had seen him bounding and leaping, evidently in perfect health,
and oh, so happy!

No one in the house even thought of dinner that night, and poor black
Cagey sobbed and moaned so loud and long Faye was obliged to ask him
to be quiet. For hours I could not listen to the particulars. Faye
says that they had not gone out so very far when he saw a wild cat some
distance away, and taking careful aim, he shot it, but the cat, instead
of falling, started on a fast run. Hal was in another direction, but
when he heard the report of the rifle and saw the cat running, he
started after it with terrific speed and struck it just as the cat fell,
and then the two rolled over and over together.

He got up and stood by Faye and Lieutenant Lomax while they examined the
cat, and if there was anything wrong with him it was not noticed. But
when they turned to come to the post, dragging the dead cat after them,
Faye heard a peculiar sound, and looking back saw dear Hal on the ground
in a fit much like vertigo. He talked to him and petted him, thinking he
would soon be over it--and the plucky dog did get up and try to follow,
but went down again and for the last time The swift run and excitement
caused by encountering an animal wholly different from anything he had
ever seen before was too great a strain upon the weak heart.

Before coming to the house Faye had ordered a detail out to bury him,
with instructions to cover the grave with pieces of glass to keep the
wolves away. The skin and head of the cat, which was really a lynx, are
being prepared for a rug, but I do not see how I can have the thing in
the house, although the black spots and stripes with the white make the
fur very beautiful. The ball passed straight through the body.

The loneliness of the house is awful, and at night I imagine that I hear
him outside whining to come in. Many a cold night have I been up two and
three times to straighten his bed and cover him up. His bed was the skin
of a young buffalo, and he knew just when it was smooth and nice, and
then he would almost throw himself down, with a sigh of perfect content.
If I did not cover him at once, he would get up and drop down again,
and there he would stay hours at a time with the fur underneath and
over him, with just his nose sticking out. He suffered keenly from the
intense cold here because his hair was so short and fine. And then he
was just from the South, too, where he was too warm most of the time.

It makes me utterly wretched to think of the long year he was away from
us at Baton Rouge. But what could we have done? We could not have had
him with us, in the very heart of New Orleans, for he had already been
stolen from us at Jackson Barracks, a military post!

With him passed the very last of his blood, a breed of greyhounds that
was known in Texas, Kansas, and Colorado as wonderful hunters, also
remarkable for their pluck and beauty of form. Hal was a splendid
hunter, and ever on the alert for game. Not one morsel of it would he
eat, however, not even a piece of domestic fowl, which he seemed to look
upon as game. Sheep he considered fine game, and would chase them
every opportunity that presented itself. This was his one bad trait, an
expensive one sometimes, but it was the only one, and was overbalanced
many times by his lovable qualities that made him a favorite with all.
Every soldier in the company loved him and was proud of him, and would
have shared his dinner with the dog any day if called upon to do so.

NATIONAL HOTEL, HELENA, MONTANA TERRITORY, May, 1878.

TO hear that we are no longer at Camp Baker will be a surprise, but
you must have become accustomed to surprises of this kind long ago.
Regimental headquarters, the companies that have been quartered at the
Helena fair grounds during the winter, and the two companies from Camp
Baker, started from here this morning on a march to the Milk River
country, where a new post is to be established on Beaver Creek. It is
to be called Fort Assiniboine. The troops will probably be in camp until
fall, when they will go to Fort Shaw.

We had been given no warning whatever of this move, and had less than
two days in which to pack and crate everything. And I can assure you
that in one way it was worse than being ranked out, for this time there
was necessity for careful packing and crating, because of the rough
mountain roads the wagons had to come over. But there were no accidents,
and our furniture and boxes are safely put away here in a government
storehouse.

At the time the order came, Faye was recorder for a board of survey
that was being held at the post, and this, in addition to turning over
quartermaster and other property, kept him hard at work night and day,
so the superintendence of all things pertaining to the house and
camp outfit fell to my lot. The soldiers were most willing and
most incompetent, and it kept me busy telling them what to do. The
mess-chest, and Faye's camp bedding are always in readiness for ordinary
occasions, but for a camp of several months in this climate, where it
can be really hot one day and freezing cold the next, it was necessary
to add many more things. Just how I managed to accomplish so much in
so short a time I do not know, but I do know that I was up and packing
every precious minute the night before we came away, and the night
seemed very short too. But everything was taken to the wagons in very
good shape, and that repaid me for much of the hard work and great
fatigue.

And I was tired--almost too tired to sit up, but at eight o'clock I got
in an ambulance and came nearly forty miles that one day! Major Stokes
and Captain Martin had been on the board of survey, and as they were
starting on the return trip to Helena, I came over with them, which not
only got me here one day in advance of the company, but saved Faye the
trouble of providing for me in camp on the march from Camp Baker. We
left the post just as the troops were starting out. Faye was riding
Bettie and Cagey was on Pete.

I brought Billie, of course, and at Canon Ferry I lost that squirrel!
After supper I went directly to my room to give him a little run and
to rest a little myself, but before opening his box I looked about for
places where he might escape, and seeing a big crack under one of the
doors, covered it with Faye's military cape, thinking, as I did so, that
it would be impossible for a squirrel to crawl through such a narrow
place. Then I let him out. Instead of running around and shying at
strange objects as he usually does, he ran straight to that cape, and
after two or three pulls with his paws, flattened his little gray
body, and like a flash he and the long bushy tail disappeared! I was en
deshabille, but quickly slipped on a long coat and ran out after him.

Very near my door was one leading to the kitchen, and so I went on
through, and the very first thing stumbled over a big cat! This made me
more anxious than ever, but instead of catching the beast and shutting
it up, I drove it away. In the kitchen, which was dining room also, sat
the two officers and a disagreeable old man, and at the farther end was
a woman washing dishes. I told them about Billie and begged them to keep
very quiet while I searched for him. Then that old man laughed. That was
quite too much for my overtaxed nerves, and I snapped out that I failed
to see anything funny. But still he laughed, and said, "Perhaps you
don't, but we do." I was too worried and unhappy to notice what he
meant, and continued to look for Billie.

But the little fellow I could not find any place in the house or
outside, where we looked with a lantern. When I returned to my room I
discovered why the old man laughed, for truly I was a funny sight. I had
thought my coat much longer than it really was--that is all I am willing
to say about it. I was utterly worn out, and every bone in my body
seemed to be rebelling about something, still I could not sleep, but
listened constantly for Billie. I blamed myself so much for not having
shut up the cat and fancied I heard the cat chasing him.

After a long, long time, it seemed hours, I heard a faint noise like a
scratch on tin, and lighting a lamp quickly, I went to the kitchen and
then listened. But not a sound was to be heard. At the farther end a
bank had been cut out to make room for the kitchen, which gave it a dirt
wall almost to the low ceiling, and all across this wall were many rows
of shelves where tins of all sorts and cooking utensils were kept, and
just above the top shelf was a hole where the cat could go out on the
bank. I put the lamp back of me on the table and kept very still and
looked all along the shelves, but saw nothing of Billie. Finally, I
heard the little scratch again, and looking closely at some large tins
where I thought the sound had come from, I saw the little squirrel.
He was sitting up in between two of the pans that were almost his own
color, with his head turned one side, and "hands on his heart," watching
me inquisitively with one black eye.

He was there and apparently unharmed, but to catch him was another
matter. I approached him in the most cautious manner, talking and cooing
to him all the time, and at last I caught him, and the little fellow was
so glad to be with friends once more, he curled himself in my hands,
and put two little wet paws around a thumb and held on tight. It was
raining, and he was soaking wet, so he must have been out of doors. It
would have been heartbreaking to have been obliged to come away without
finding that little grayback, and perhaps never know what became of
him. I know where my dear dog is, and that is bad enough. We heard just
before leaving the post that men of the company had put up a board at
Hal's grave with his name cut in it. We knew that they loved him and
were proud of him, but never dreamed that any one of them would show so
much sentiment. Faye has taken the horses with him and Cagey also.

The young men of Helena gave the officers an informal dance last night.
At first it promised to be a jolly affair, but finally, as the evening
wore on, the army people became more and more quiet, and at the last
it was distressing to see the sad faces that made dancing seem a farce.
They are going to an Indian country, and the separation may be long. I
expect to remain here for the present, but shall make every effort to
get to Benton after a while, where I will be nearly one hundred and
fifty miles nearer Faye. The wife of the adjutant and her two little
children are in this house, and other families of officers are scattered
all over the little town.

COSMOPOLITAN HOTEL, HELENA, MONTANA TERRITORY, August, 1878.

YOU will see that at last I decided to move over to this hotel. I made
a great mistake in not coming before and getting away from the cross
old housekeeper at the International, who could not be induced by
entreaties, fees, or threats, to get the creepy, crawly things out of
my room. How I wish that every one of them would march over to her
some fine night and keep her awake as they have kept me. It made me so
unhappy to leave Mrs. Hull there with a sick child, but she would not
come with me, although she must know it would be better for her and the
boy to be here, where everything is kept so clean and attractive. There
are six wives of officers in the house, among them the wife of General
Bourke, who is in command of the regiment. She invited me to sit at her
table, and I find it very pleasant there. She is a bride and almost a
stranger to us.

The weather has been playing all sorts of pranks upon us lately, and we
hardly know whether we are in the far North or far South. For two
weeks it was very warm, positively hot in this gulch, but yesterday
we received a cooling off in the form of a brisk snowstorm that lasted
nearly two hours. Mount Helena was white during the rest of the day, and
even now long streaks of snow can be seen up and down the peak. But a
snowstorm in August looked very tame after the awful cloud-burst that
came upon us without warning a few days before, and seemed determined to
wash the whole town down to the Missouri River.

It was about eleven o'clock, and four of us had gone to the shops to
look at some pretty things that had just been brought over from a boat
at Fort Benton by ox train. Mrs. Pierce and Mrs. Hull had stopped at a
grocery next door, expecting to join Mrs. Joyce and me in a few minutes.
But before they could make a few purchases, a few large drops of rain
began to splash down, and there was a fierce flash of lightning and
deafening thunder, then came the deluge! Oceans of water seemed to be
coming down, and before we realized what was happening, things in the
street and things back of the store were being rushed to the valley
below.

All along the gulch runs a little stream that comes from the canon above
the town. The stream is tiny and the bed is narrow. On either side of
it are stores with basements opening out on these banks. Well, in an
alarmingly short time that innocent-looking little creek had become
a roaring, foaming black river, carrying tables, chairs, washstands,
little bridges--in fact everything it could tear up--along with it
to the valley. Many of these pieces of furniture lodged against the
carriage bridge that was just below the store where we were, making a
dangerous dam, so a man with a stout rope around his waist went in the
water to throw them out on the bank, but he was tossed about like a
cork, and could do nothing. Just as they were about to pull him in the
bridge gave way, and it was with the greatest difficulty he was kept
from being swept down with the floating furniture. He was dragged back
to our basement in an almost unconscious condition, and with many cuts
and bruises.

The water was soon in the basements of the stores, where it did much
damage. The store we were in is owned by a young man--one of the beaux
of the town--and I think the poor man came near losing his mind. He
rushed around pulling his hair one second, and wringing his hands the
next, and seemed perfectly incapable of giving one order, or assisting
his clerks in bringing the dripping goods from the basement. Very unlike
the complacent, diamond-pin young man we had danced with at the balls!

The cloud-burst on Mount Helena had caused many breaks in the enormous
ditches that run around the mountain and carry water to the mines on the
other side. No one can have the faintest conception of how terrible a
cloud-burst is until they have been in one. It is like standing under
an immense waterfall. At the very beginning we noticed the wagon of a
countryman across the street with one horse hitched to it. The horse was
tied so the water from an eaves trough poured directly upon his back,
and not liking that, he stepped forward, which brought the powerful
stream straight to the wagon.

Unfortunately for the owner, the wagon had been piled high with all
sorts of packages, both large and small, and all in paper or paper bags.
One by one these were swept out, and as the volume of water increased in
force and the paper became wet and easily torn, their contents went in
every direction. Down in the bottom was a large bag of beans, and
when the pipe water reached this, there was a white spray resembling a
geyser. Not one thing was left in that wagon--even sacks of potatoes and
grain were washed out! It is a wonder that the poor horse took it all as
patiently as he did.

During all this time we had not even heard from our friends next door;
after a while, however, we got together, but it was impossible to return
to the hotel for a long time, because of the great depth of water in the
street. Mrs. Pierce, whose house is on the opposite side of the ravine,
could not get to her home until just before dark, after a temporary
bridge had been built across the still high stream. Not one bridge
was left across the creek, and they say that nothing has been left at
Chinatown--that it was washed clean. Perhaps there is nothing to be
regretted in this, however, except that any amount of dirt has been
piled up right in the heart of Helena. The millionaire residents seem
to think that the great altitude and dry atmosphere will prevent any ill
effects of decaying debris.

We went to the assay building the other day to see a brick of gold taken
from the furnace. The mold was run out on its little track soon after we
got there, and I never dreamed of what "white heat" really means, until
I saw the oven of that awful furnace. We had to stand far across the
room while the door was open, and even then the hot air that shot out
seemed blasting. The men at the furnace were protected, of course. The
brick mold was in another mold that after a while was put in cold water,
so we had to wait for first the large and then the small to be opened
before we saw the beautiful yellow brick that was still very hot, but we
were assured that it was then too hard to be in danger of injury. It
was of the largest size, and shaped precisely like an ordinary building
brick, and its value was great. It was to be shipped on the stage the
next morning on its way to the treasury in Washington.

It is wonderful that so few of those gold bricks are stolen from the
stage. The driver is their only protector, and the stage route is
through miles and miles of wild forests, and in between huge boulders
where a "hold-up" could be so easily accomplished.

CAMP ON MARIAS RIVER, MONTANA TERRITORY, September, 1878.

AN old proverb tells us that "All things come to him who waits," but
I never had faith in this, for I have patiently waited many times for
things that never found me. But this time, after I had waited and waited
the tiresome summer through, ever hoping to come to Fort Benton, and
when I was about discouraged, "things come," and here I am in camp with
Faye, and ever so much more comfortable than I would have been at the
little old hotel at Benton.

There are only two companies here now--all the others having gone with
regimental headquarters to Fort Shaw--otherwise I could not be here, for
I could not have come to a large camp. Our tents are at the extreme end
of the line in a grove of small trees, and next to ours is the doctor's,
so we are quite cut off from the rest of the camp. Cagey is here, and
Faye has a very good soldier cook, so the little mess, including the
doctor, is simply fine. I am famished all the time, for everything
tastes so delicious after the dreadful hotel fare. The two horses are
here, and I brought my saddle over, and this morning Faye and I had a
delightful ride out on the plain. But how I did miss my dear dog! He was
always so happy when with us and the horses, and his joyous bounds and
little runs after one thing and another added much to the pleasure of
our rides.

Fort Benton is ten miles from camp, and Faye met me there with an
ambulance. I was glad enough to get away from that old stage. It was
one of the jerky, bob-back-and-forth kind that pitches you off the seat
every five minutes. The first two or three times you bump heads with the
passenger sitting opposite, you can smile and apologize with some grace,
but after a while your hat will not stay in place and your head becomes
sensitive, and finally, you discover that the passenger is the most
disagreeable person you ever saw, and that the man sitting beside you is
inconsiderate and selfish, and really occupying two thirds of the seat.

We came a distance of one hundred and forty miles, getting fresh horses
every twenty miles or so. The morning we left Helena was glorious, and I
was half ashamed because I felt so happy at coming from the town, where
so many of my friends were in sorrow, but tried to console myself with
the fact that I had been ordered away by Doctor Gordon. There were
many cases of typhoid fever, and the rheumatic fever that has made Mrs.
Sargent so ill has developed into typhoid, and there is very little hope
for her recovery.

The driver would not consent to my sitting on top with him, so I had
to ride inside with three men. They were not rough-looking at all, and
their clothes looked clean and rather new, but gave one the impression
that they had been made for other people. Their pale faces told that
they were "tenderfeet," and one could see there was a sad lacking of
brains all around.

The road comes across a valley the first ten or twelve miles, and
then runs into a magnificent canon that is sixteen miles long, called
Prickly-Pear Canon. As I wrote some time ago, everything is brought up
to this country by enormous ox trains, some coming from the railroad at
Corinne, and some that come from Fort Benton during the Summer, having
been brought up by boat on the Missouri River. In the canons these
trains are things to be dreaded. The roads are very narrow and the
grades often long and steep, with immense boulders above and below.

We met one of those trains soon after we entered the canon, and at the
top of a grade where the road was scarcely wider than the stage itself
and seemed to be cut into a wall of solid rock. Just how we were to pass
those huge wagons I did not see. But the driver stopped his horses and
two of the men got out, the third stopping on the step and holding on to
the stage so it was impossible for me to get out, unless I went out
the other door and stood on the edge of an awful precipice. The driver
looked back, and not seeing me, bawled out, "Where is the lady?" "Get
the lady out!" The man on the step jumped down then, but the driver
did not put his reins down, or move from his seat until he had seen me
safely on the ground and had directed me where to stand.

In the meantime some of the train men had come up, and, as soon as the
stage driver was ready, they proceeded to lift the stage--trunks and
all--over and on some rocks and tree tops, and then the four horses were
led around in between other rocks, where it seemed impossible for them
to stand one second. There were three teams to come up, each consisting
of about eight yoke of oxen and three or four wagons. It made me almost
ill to see the poor patient oxen straining and pulling up the grade
those huge wagons so heavily loaded. The crunching and groaning of the
wagons, rattling of the enormous cable chains, and the creaking of the
heavy yokes of the oxen were awful sounds, but above all came the yells
of the drivers, and the sharp, pistol-like reports of the long whips
that they mercilessly cracked over the backs of the poor beasts. It was
most distressing.

After the wagons had all passed, men came back and set the stage on
the road in the same indifferent way and with very few words. Each man
seemed to know just what to do, as though he had been training for years
for the moving of that particular stage. The horses had not stirred and
had paid no attention to the yelling and cracking of whips. While coming
through the canons we must have met six or seven of those trains, every
one of which necessitated the setting in mid-air of the stage coach. It
was the same performance always, each man knowing just what to do, and
doing it, too, without loss of time. Not once did the driver put down
the reins until he saw that "the lady" was safely out and it was ever
with the same sing-song, "balance to the right," voice that he asked
about me--except once, when he seemed to think more emphasis was needed,
when he made the canon ring by yelling, "Why in hell don't you get the
lady out!" But the lady always got herself out. Rough as he was, I felt
intuitively that I had a protector. We stopped at Rock Creek for dinner,
and there he saw that I had the best of everything, and it was the same
at Spitzler's, where we had supper.

We got fresh horses at The Leavings, and when I saw a strange driver on
the seat my heart sank, fearing that from there on I might not have
the same protection. We were at a large ranch--sort of an inn--and just
beyond was Frozen Hill. The hill was given that name because a number of
years ago a terrible blizzard struck some companies of infantry while
on it, and before they could get to the valley below, or to a place of
shelter, one half of the men were more or less frozen--some losing legs,
some arms. They had been marching in thin clothing that was more or
less damp from perspiration, as the day had been excessively hot. These
blizzards are so fierce and wholly blinding, it is unsafe to move a step
if caught out in one on the plains, and the troops probably lost their
bearings as soon as the storm struck them.

It was almost dark when we got in the stage to go on, and I thought it
rather queer that the driver should have asked us to go to the corral,
instead of his driving around to the ranch for us. Very soon we were
seated, but we did not start, and there seemed to be something wrong,
judging by the way the stage was being jerked, and one could feel, too,
that the brake was on. One by one those men got out, and just as the
last one stepped down on one side the heads of two cream-colored horses
appeared at the open door on the other side, their big troubled eyes
looking straight at me.

During my life on the frontier I have seen enough of native horses to
know that when a pair of excited mustang leaders try to get inside a
stage, it is time for one to get out, so I got out! One of those men
passengers instantly called to me, "You stay in there!" I asked, "Why?"
"Because it is perfectly safe," said a second man. I was very indignant
at being spoken to in this way and turned my back to them. The driver
got the leaders in position, and then looking around, said to me that
when the balky wheelers once started they would run up the hill "like
the devil," and I would surely be left unless I was inside the stage.

I knew that he was telling the truth, and if he had been the first man
to tell me to get in the coach I would have done so at once, but it so
happened that he was the fourth, and by that time I was beginning to
feel abused. It was bad enough to have to obey just one man, when
at home, and then to have four strange men--three of them idiots,
too--suddenly take upon themselves to order me around was not to be
endured. I had started on the trip with the expectation of taking care
of myself, and still felt competent to do so. Perhaps I was very tired,
and perhaps I was very cross. At all events I told the driver I would
not get in--that if I was left I would go back to the ranch. So I stayed
outside, taking great care, however, to stand close to the stage door.

The instant I heard the loosening of the brake I jumped up on the step,
and catching a firm hold each side of the door, was about to step in
when one of those men passengers grabbed my arm and tried to jerk me
back, so he could get in ahead of me! It was a dreadful thing for anyone
to do, for if my hands and arms had not been unusually strong from
riding hard-mouthed horses, I would undoubtedly have been thrown
underneath the big wheels and horribly crushed, for the four horses were
going at a terrific gait, and the jerky was swaying like a live thing.
As it was, anger and indignation gave me extra strength and I scrambled
inside with nothing more serious happening than a bruised head. But that
man! He pushed in back of me and, not knowing the nice little ways of
jerkies, was pitched forward to the floor with an awful thud. But after
a second or so he pulled himself up on his seat, which was opposite
mine, and there we two sat in silence and in darkness. I noticed the
next morning that there was a big bruise on one side of his face, at the
sight of which I rejoiced very much.

It was some distance this side of the hill when the driver stopped his
horses and waited for the two men who had been left. They seemed much
exhausted when they came up, but found sufficient breath to abuse the
driver for having left them; but he at once roared out, "Get in, I
tell you, or I'll leave you sure enough!" That settled matters, and we
started on again. Very soon those men fell asleep and rolled off their
seats to the floor, where they snored and had bad dreams. I was jammed
in a corner without mercy, and of course did not sleep one second during
the long wretched night. Twice we stopped for fresh horses, and at both
places I walked about a little to rest my cramped feet and limbs. At
breakfast the next morning I asked the driver to let me ride on top with
him, which he consented to, and from there on to Benton I had peace and
fresh air--the glorious air of Montana.

Yesterday--the day after I got here--I was positively ill from the awful
shaking up, mental as well as physical, I received on that stage ride.
We reached Benton at eleven. Faye was at the hotel with an ambulance
when the stage drove up, and it was amusing to look at the faces of
those men when they saw Faye in his uniform, and the government outfit.
We started for camp at once, and left them standing on the hotel porch
watching us as we drove down the street. It is a pity that such men
cannot be compelled to serve at least one enlistment in the Army, and be
drilled into something that resembles a real man. But perhaps recruiting
officers would not accept them.

FORT SHAW, MONTANA TERRITORY, October, 1878.

MY stay at the little town of Sun River Crossing was short, for when
I arrived there the other day in the stage from Benton, I found a note
awaiting me from Mrs. Bourke, saying that I must come right on to Fort
Shaw, so I got back in the stage and came to the post, a distance of
five miles, where General Bourke was on the lookout for me. He is in
command of the regiment as well as the post, as Colonel Fitz-James is
still in Europe. Of course regimental headquarters and the band are
here, which makes the garrison seem very lively to me. The band is out
at guard mounting every pleasant morning, and each Friday evening there
is a fine concert in the hall by the orchestra, after which we have a
little dance. The sun shines every day, but the air is cool and crisp
and one feels that ice and snow are not very far off.

The order for the two companies on the Marias to return to the Milk
River country was most unexpected. That old villain Sitting Bull, chief
of the Sioux Indians, made an official complaint to the "Great Father"
that the half-breeds were on land that belonged to his people, and were
killing buffalo that were theirs also. So the companies have been sent
up to arrest the half-breeds and conduct them to Fort Belknap, and to
break up their villages and burn their cabins. The officers disliked the
prospect of doing all this very much, for there must be many women and
little children among them. Just how long it will take no one can tell,
but probably three or four weeks.

And while Faye is away I am staying with General and Mrs. Bourke. I
cannot have a house until he comes, for quarters cannot be assigned
to an officer until he has reported for duty at a post. There are two
companies of the old garrison here still, and this has caused much
doubling up among the lieutenants--that is, assigning one set of
quarters to two officers--but it has been arranged so we can be by
ourselves. Four rooms at one end of the hospital have been cut off from
the hospital proper by a heavy partition that has been put up at the
end of the long corridor, and these rooms are now being calcimined and
painted. They were originally intended for the contract surgeon. We will
have our own little porch and entrance hall and a nice yard back of the
kitchen. It will all be so much more private and comfortable in every
way than it could possibly have been in quarters with another family.

It is delightful to be in a nicely furnished, well-regulated house once
more. The buildings are all made of adobe, and the officers' quarters
have low, broad porches in front, and remind me a little of the houses
at Fort Lyon, only of course these are larger and have more rooms. There
are nice front yards, and on either side of the officers' walk is a
row of beautiful cottonwood trees that form a complete arch. They are
watered by an acequia that brings water from Sun River several miles
above the post. The post is built along the banks of that river but I
do not see from what it derived its name, for the water is muddy all the
time. The country about here is rather rolling, but there are two large
buttes--one called Square Butte that is really grand, and the other is
Crown Butte. The drives up and down the river are lovely, and I think
that Bettie and I will soon have many pleasant mornings together on
these roads. After the slow dignified drives I am taking almost every
day, I wonder how her skittish, affected ways will seem to me!

I am so glad to be with the regiment again--that is, with old friends,
although seeing them in a garrison up in the Rocky Mountains is very
different from the life in a large city in the far South! Four companies
are still at Fort Missoula, where the major of the regiment is in
command. Our commanding officer and his wife were there also during the
winter, therefore those of us who were at Helena and Camp Baker, feel
that we must entertain them in some way. Consequently, now that everyone
is settled, the dining and wining has begun. Almost every day there is
a dinner or card party given in their honor, and several very delightful
luncheons have been given. And then the members of the old garrison,
according to army etiquette, have to entertain those that have just
come, so altogether we are very gay. The dinners are usually quite
elegant, formal affairs, beautifully served with dainty china and
handsome silver. The officers appear at these in full-dress uniform, and
that adds much to the brilliancy of things, but not much to the comfort
of the officers, I imagine.

Everyone is happy in the fall, after the return of the companies from
their hard and often dangerous summer campaign, and settles down for the
winter. It is then that we feel we can feast and dance, and it is then,
too, that garrison life at a frontier post becomes so delightful. We
are all very fond of dancing, so I think that Faye and I will give a
cotillon later on. In fact, it is about all we can do while living in
those four rooms.

We have Episcopal service each alternate Sunday, when the Rev. Mr. Clark
comes from Helena, a distance of eighty-five miles, to hold one service
for the garrison here and one at the very small village of Sun River.
And once more Major Pierce and I are in the same choir. Doctor Gordon
plays the organ, and beautifully, too. For some time he was organist in
a church at Washington, and of course knows the service perfectly. Our
star, however, is a sergeant! He came to this country with an opera
troupe, but an attack of diphtheria ruined his voice for the stage, so
he enlisted! His voice (barytone) is still of exquisite quality, and
just the right volume for our hall.

FORT SHAW, MONTANA TERRITORY, January, 1879.

THERE has been so much going on in the garrison, and so much for me to
attend to in getting the house settled, I have not had time to
write more than the note I sent about dear little Billie. I miss him
dreadfully, for, small as he was, he was always doing something cunning,
always getting into mischief. He died the day we moved to this house,
and it hurts even now when I think of how I was kept from caring for him
the last day of his short life. And he wanted to be with me, too, for
when I put him in his box he would cling to my fingers and try to get
back to me. It is such a pity that we ever cracked his nuts. His lower
teeth had grown to perfect little tusks that had bored a hole in the
roof of his mouth. As soon as that was discovered, we had them cut off,
but it was too late--the little grayback would not eat.

We are almost settled now, and Sam, our Chinese cook, is doing
splendidly. At first there was trouble, and I had some difficulty in
convincing him that I was mistress of my own house and not at all afraid
of him. Cagey has gone back to Holly Springs. He had become utterly
worthless during the summer camp, where he had almost nothing to do.

Our little entertainment for the benefit of the mission here was a
wonderful success. Every seat was occupied, every corner packed, and we
were afraid that the old theater might collapse. We made eighty dollars,
clear of all expenses. The tableaux were first, so the small people
could be sent home early. Then came our pantomime. Sergeant Thompson
sang the words and the orchestra played a soft accompaniment that made
the whole thing most effective. Major Pierce was a splendid Villikins,
and as Dinah I received enough applause to satisfy anyone, but the
curtain remained down, motionless and unresponsive, just because I
happened to be the wife of the stage manager!

The prison scene and Miserere from Il Trovatore were beautiful. Sergeant
Mann instructed each one of the singers, and the result was far beyond
our expectations. Of course the fine orchestra of twenty pieces was a
great addition and support. Our duet was not sung, because I was seized
with an attack of stage fright at the last rehearsal, so Sergeant Mann
sang an exquisite solo in place of the duet, which was ever so much
nicer. I was with Mrs. Joyce in one scene of her pantomime, "John
Smith," which was far and away the best part of the entertainment. Mrs.
Joyce was charming, and showed us what a really fine actress she is. The
enlisted men went to laugh, and they kept up a good-natured clapping and
laughing from first to last.

It was surprising that so many of the Sun River and ranch people came,
for the night was terrible, even for Montana, and the roads must have
been impassable in places. Even here in the post there were great drifts
of snow, and the path to the theater was cut through banks higher than
our heads. It had been mild and pleasant for weeks, and only two nights
before the entertainment we had gone to the hall for rehearsal with
fewer wraps than usual. We had been there about an hour, I think, when
the corporal of the guard came in to report to the officer of the day,
that a fierce blizzard was making it impossible for sentries to walk
post. His own appearance told better than words what the storm was. He
had on a long buffalo coat, muskrat cap and gauntlets, and the fur from
his head down, also heavy overshoes, were filled with snow, and at each
end of his mustache were icicles hanging. He made a fine, soldierly
picture as he brought his rifle to his side and saluted. The officer
of the day hurried out, and after a time returned, he also smothered
in furs and snow. He said the storm was terrific and he did not see how
many of us could possibly get to our homes.

But of course we could not remain in the hall until the blizzard had
ceased, so after rehearsing a little more, we wrapped ourselves up as
well as we could and started for our homes. The wind was blowing at
hurricane speed, I am sure, and the heavy fall of snow was being carried
almost horizontally, and how each frozen flake did sting! Those of us
who lived in the garrison could not go very far astray, as the fences
were on one side and banks of snow on the other, but the light snow had
already drifted in between and made walking very slow and difficult. We
all got to our different homes finally, with no greater mishap than
a few slightly frozen ears and noses. Snow had banked up on the floor
inside of our front door so high that for a few minutes Faye and I
thought that we could not get in the house.

Major Pierce undertook to see Mrs. Elmer safely to her home at the
sutler's store, and in order to get there they were obliged to cross a
wide space in between the officers' line and the store. Nothing could be
seen ten feet from them when they left the last fence, but they tried
to get their bearings by the line of the fence, and closing their eyes,
dashed ahead into the cloud of blinding, stinging snow. Major Pierce
had expected to go straight to a side door of the store, but the awful
strength of the wind and snow pushed them over, and they struck a corner
of the fence farthest away--in fact, they would have missed the fence
also if Mrs. Elmer's fur cape had not caught on one of the pickets, and
gone out on the plains to certain death. Bright lights had been placed
in the store windows, but not one had they seen. These storms kill so
many range cattle, but the most destructive of all is a freeze after a
chinook, that covers the ground with ice so it is impossible for them
to get to the grass. At such times the poor animals suffer cruelly. We
often hear them lowing, sometimes for days, and can easily imagine that
we see the starving beasts wandering on and on, ever in search of an
uncovered bit of grass. The lowing of hundreds of cattle on a cold
winter night is the most horrible sound one can imagine.

Cold as it is, I ride Bettie almost every day, but only on the high
ground where the snow has been blown off. We are a funny sight sometimes
when we come in--Bettie's head, neck, and chest white with her frozen
breath, icicles two or three inches long hanging from each side of her
chin, and my fur collar and cap white also. I wear a sealskin cap with
broad ear tabs, long sealskin gauntlets that keep my hands and arms
warm, and high leggings and moccasins of beaver, but with the fur
inside, which makes them much warmer. A tight chamois skin waist
underneath my cadet-cloth habit and a broad fur collar completes a
riding costume that keeps me warm without being bungling. I found a
sealskin coat too warm and heavy.

No one will ride now and they do not know what fine exercise they are
missing. And I am sure that Bettie is glad to get her blood warm once
during the twenty-four hours. Friends kindly tell me that some day I
will be found frozen out on the plains, and that the frisky Bettie
will kill me, and so on. I ride too fast to feel the cold, and Bettie I
enjoy--all but the airs she assumes inside the post. Our house is near
the center of the officers' line, and no matter which way I go or what
I do, that little beast can never be made to walk one step until we get
out on the road, but insists upon going sideways, tossing her head,
and giving little rears. It looks so affected and makes me feel very
foolish, particularly since Mrs. Conger said to me the other day: "Why
do you make your horse dance that way--he might throw you." I then asked
her if she would not kindly ride Bettie a few times and teach her to
keep her feet down. But she said it was too cold to go out!

We have much more room in this house than we had in the hospital, and
are more comfortable every way. Almost every day or evening there is
some sort of an entertainment--german, dinner, luncheon, or card party.
I am so glad that we gave the first cotillon that had ever been given
in the regiment, for it was something new on the frontier; therefore
everyone enjoyed it. Just now the garrison seems to have gone cotillon
crazy, and not being satisfied with a number of private ones, a german
club has been organized that gives dances in the hall every two weeks.
So far Faye has been the leader of each one. With all this pleasure, the
soldiers are not being neglected. Every morning there are drills and a
funny kind of target practice inside the quarters, and of course there
are inspections and other things.

FORT ELLIS, MONTANA TERRITORY, January, 1879.

IT is still cold, stinging cold, and we are beginning to think
that there was much truth in what we were told on our way over last
fall--that Fort Ellis is the very coldest place in the whole territory.
For two days the temperature was fifty below, and I can assure you
that things hummed! The logs of our house made loud reports like pistol
shots, and there was frost on the walls of every room that were not near
roaring fires. No one ventures forth such weather unless compelled to
do so, and then, of course, every precaution is taken to guard against
freezing. In this altitude one will freeze before feeling the cold, as
I know from experience, having at the present time two fiery red ears of
enormous size. They are fiery in feeling, too, as well as in color.

The atmosphere looks like frozen mist, and is wonderful, and almost at
any time between sunrise and sunset a "sun dog" can be seen with its
scintillating rainbow tints, that are brilliant yet exquisitely delicate
in coloring. Our houses are really very warm--the thick logs are
plastered inside and papered, every window has a storm sash and every
room a double floor, and our big stoves can burn immense logs. But
notwithstanding all this, our greatest trial is to keep things to eat.
Everything freezes solid, and so far we have not found one edible that
is improved by freezing. It must be awfully discouraging to a cook to
find on a biting cold morning, that there is not one thing in the house
that can be prepared for breakfast until it has passed through the
thawing process; that even the water in the barrels has become solid,
round pieces of ice! All along the roof of one side of our house are
immense icicles that almost touch the snow on the ground. These are a
reminder of the last chinook!

But only last week it was quite pleasant--not real summery, but warm
enough for one to go about in safety. Faye came down from the saw-mill
one of those days to see the commanding officer about something and to
get the mail. When he was about to start back, in fact, was telling me
good-by, I happened to say that I wished I could go, too. Faye said:
"You could not stand the exposure, but you might wear my little fur
coat" Suggesting the coat was a give-in that I at once took advantage
of, and in precisely twenty minutes Charlie, our Chinese cook, had been
told what to do, a few articles of clothing wrapped and strapped, and
I on Bettie's back ready for the wilds. An old soldier on a big corral
horse was our only escort, and to his saddle were fastened our various
bags and bundles.

Far up a narrow valley that lies in between two mountain ranges, the
government has a saw-mill that is worked by twenty or more soldiers
under the supervision of an officer, where lumber can be cut when needed
for the post. One of these ranges is very high, and Mount Bridger, first
of the range and nearest Fort Ellis, along whose base we had to go, has
snow on its top most of the year. Often when wind is not noticeable at
the post, we can see the light snow being blown with terrific force
from the peak of this mountain for hundreds of yards in a perfectly
horizontal line, when it will spread out and fall in a magnificent spray
another two or three hundred feet.

The mill is sixteen miles from Fort Ellis, and the snow was very
deep--so deep in places that the horses had difficulty in getting their
feet forward, and as we got farther up, the valley narrowed into a
ravine where the snow was even deeper. There was no road or even trail
to be seen; the bark on trees had been cut to mark the way, but far
astray we could not have gone unless we had deliberately ridden up the
side of a mountain. The only thing that resembled a house along the
sixteen miles was a deserted cabin about half way up, and which only
accentuated the awful loneliness.

Bettie had been standing in the stable for several days, and that, with
the biting cold air in the valley, made her entirely too frisky, and she
was very nervous, too, over the deep snow that held her feet down. We
went Indian file--I always in the middle--as there were little grades
and falling-off places all along that were hidden by the snow, and I was
cautioned constantly by Faye and Bryant to keep my horse in line. The
snow is very fine and dry in this altitude, and never packs as it does
in a more moist atmosphere.

When we had ridden about one half the distance up we came to a little
hill, at the bottom of which was known to be a bridge that crossed the
deep-cut banks of one of those mountain streams that are dry eleven
months of the year and raging torrents the twelfth, when the snow melts.
It so happened that Faye did not get on this bridge just right, so down
in the light snow he and Pete went, and all that we could see of them
were Faye's head and shoulders and the head of the horse with the awful
bulging eyes! Poor Pete was terribly frightened, and floundered about
until he nearly buried himself in snow as he tried to find something
solid upon which to put his feet.

I was just back of Faye when he went down, but the next instant I had
retreated to the top of the hill, and had to use all the strength in my
arms to avoid being brought back to the post. When Bettie saw Pete go
down, she whirled like a flash and with two or three bounds was on
top of the hill again. She was awfully frightened and stood close to
Bryant's horse, trembling all over. Poor Bryant did not know what to do
or which one to assist, so I told him to go down and get the lieutenant
up on the bank and I would follow. Just how Faye got out of his
difficulty I did not see, for I was too busy attending to my own
affairs. Bettie acted as though she was bewitched, and go down to the
bridge she would not. Finally, when I was about tired out, Faye said we
must not waste more time there and that I had better ride Pete.

So I dismounted and the saddles were changed, and then there was more
trouble. Pete had never been ridden by a woman before, and thinking,
perhaps, that his sudden one-sidedness was a part of the bridge
performance, at once protested by jumps and lunges, but he soon quieted
down and we started on again. Bettie danced a little with Faye, but
that was all. She evidently remembered her lost battle with him at Camp
Baker.

It was almost dark when we reached the saw-mill, and as soon as it
became known that I was with the "lieutenant" every man sprang up from
some place underneath the snow to look at me, and two or three ran over
to assist Bryant with our things. It was awfully nice to know that I was
a person of importance, even if it was out in a camp in the mountains
where probably a woman had never been before. The little log cabin built
for officers had only the one long room, with large, comfortable bunk,
two tables, chairs, a "settle" of pine boards, and near one end of the
room was a box stove large enough to heat two rooms of that size. By the
time my stiffened body could get inside, the stove had been filled to
the top with pine wood that roared and crackled in a most cheerful and
inviting manner.

But the snow out there! I do not consider it advisable to tell the exact
truth, so I will simply say that it was higher than the cabin, but that
for some reason it had left an open space of about three feet all around
the logs, and that gave us air and light through windows which had been
thoughtfully placed unusually high. The long stable, built against
a bank, where the horses and mules were kept, was entirely buried
underneath the snow, and you would never have dreamed that there was
anything whatever there unless you had seen the path that had been
shoveled down to the door. The cabin the men lived in, I did not see at
all. We were in a ravine where the pine forest was magnificent, but one
could see that the trees were shortened many feet by the great depth of
snow.

Our meals were brought to us by Bryant from the soldiers' mess, and as
the cook was only a pick-up, they were often a mess indeed, but every
effort was made to have them nice. The day after we got there the cook
evidently made up his mind that some recognition should be shown of
the honor of my presence in the woods, so he made a big fat pie for my
dinner. It was really fat, for the crust must have been mostly of lard,
and the poor man had taken much pains with the decorations of twisted
rings and little balls that were on the top. It really looked very nice
as Bryant set it down on the table in front of me, with an air that the
most dignified of butlers might have envied, and said, "Compliments
of the cook, ma'am!" Of course I was, and am still, delighted with the
attention from the cook, but for some reason I was suspicious of that
pie, it was so very high up, so I continued to talk about it admiringly
until after Bryant had gone from the cabin, and then I tried to cut it!
The filling--and there was an abundance--was composed entirely of big,
hard raisins that still had their seeds in. The knife could not cut
them, so they rolled over on the table and on the floor, much like
marbles. I scooped out a good-sized piece as well as I could, gathered
up the runaway raisins, and then--put it in the stove.

And this I did at every dinner while I was there, almost trembling each
time for fear Bryant would come in and discover how the pie was being
disposed of. It lasted long, for I could not cut off a piece for Faye,
as Bryant had given us to understand in the beginning that the chef
d'oeuvre was for me only.

Nothing pleases me more than to have the enlisted men pay me some
little attention, and when the day after the pie a beautiful little gray
squirrel was brought to me in a nice airy box, I was quite overcome.
He is very much like Billie in size and color, which seems remarkable,
since Billie was from the far South and this little fellow from the far
North. I wanted to take him out of the box at once, but the soldier said
he would bite, and having great respect for the teeth of a squirrel, I
let him stay in his prison while we were out there.

The first time I let him out after we got home he was frantic, and
jumped on the mantel, tables, and chairs, scattering things right and
left. Finally he started to run up a lace window curtain back of the
sewing machine. On top of the machine was a plate of warm cookies
that Charlie had just brought to me, and getting a sniff of those the
squirrel stopped instantly, hesitated just a second, and then over he
jumped, took a cookie with his paws and afterwards held it with his
teeth until he had settled himself comfortably, when he again took it
in his paws and proceeded to eat with the greatest relish. After he had
eaten all he very well could, he hid the rest back of the curtain in
quite an at-home way. There was nothing at all wonderful in all this,
except that the squirrel was just from the piney woods where warm sugar
cakes are unknown, so how did he know they were good to eat?

I was at the saw-mill four days, and then we all came in together and on
bob sleds. There were four mules for each sleigh, so not much attention
was paid to the great depth of snow. Both horses knew when we got to
the bridge and gave Bryant trouble. Every bit of the trail out had
been obliterated by drifting snow, and I still wonder how these animals
recognized the precise spot when the snow was level in every place.

We found the house in excellent order, and consider our new Chinaman
a treasure. A few days before Faye went to the mill I made some Boston
brown bread. I always make that myself, as I fancy I can make it very
good, but for some reason I was late in getting it on to steam that
day, so when I went to the kitchen to put it in the oven I found a
much-abused Chinaman. When he saw what I was about to do he became very
angry and his eyes looked green. He said, "You no put him in l'oven."
I said, "Yes, Charlie, I have to for one hour." He said, "You no care
workman, you sploil my dee-nee, you get some other boy."

Now Charlie was an excellent servant and I did not care to lose him, but
to take that bread out was not to be considered. I would no longer have
been mistress of my own house, so I told him quietly, "Very well," and
closed the oven door with great deliberation. The dinner was a little
better than usual, and I wondered all the time what the outcome would
be. I knew that he was simply piqued because I had not let him make the
bread. After his work was all done he came in and said, with a smile
that was almost a grin, "I go now--I send 'nother boy," and go he did.
But the "other boy" came in time to give us a delicious breakfast, and
everything went on just the same as when old Charlie was here. He is in
Bozeman and comes to see us often.

This Charlie takes good care of my chickens that are my pride and
delight. There are twenty, and every one is snow white; some have heavy
round topknots. I found them at different ranches. It is so cold here
that chicken roosts have to be covered with strips of blanket and made
flat and broad, so the feathers will cover the chickens' feet, otherwise
they will be frozen. It is a treat to have fresh eggs, and without
having to pay a dollar and a half per dozen for them. That is the price
we have paid for eggs almost ever since we came to the Territory.

FORT ELLIS, MONTANA TERRITORY, June, 1880.

EVERYTHING is packed and on the wagons--that is, all but the camp outfit
which we will use on the trip over--and in the morning we will start
on our way back to Fort Shaw. With the furniture that belongs to the
quarters and the camp things, we were so comfortable in our own house
we decided that there was no necessity to go to Mrs. Adams's, except
for dinner and breakfast, although both General and Mrs. Adams have been
most hospitable and kind.

The way these two moves have come about seems very funny to me. Faye
was ordered over here to command C Company when it was left without an
officer, because he was senior second lieutenant in the regiment and
entitled to it. The captain of this company has been East on recruiting
service, and has just been relieved by Colonel Knight, captain of Faye's
company at Shaw; as that company is now without an officer, the senior
second lieutenant has to return and command his own company. This
recognition of a little rank has been expensive to us, and disagreeable
too. The lieutenants are constantly being moved about, often details
that apparently do not amount to much but which take much of their small
salary.

The Chinaman is going with us, for which I am most thankful, and at his
request we have decided to take the white chickens. Open boxes have been
made specially for them that fit on the rear ends of the wagons, and
we think they will be very comfortable--but we will certainly look like
emigrants when on the road. The two squirrels will go also. The men of
the company have sent me three squirrels during the winter. The dearest
one of all had been injured and lived only a few days. The flying
squirrel is the least interesting and seems stupid. It will lie around
and sleep during the entire day, but at dark will manage to get on some
high perch and flop down on your shoulder or head when you least expect
it and least desire it, too. The little uncanny thing cannot fly,
really, but the webs enable it to take tremendous leaps. I expect
that it looks absurd for us to be taking across the country a small
menagerie, but the squirrels were presents, and of course had to go, and
the chickens are beautiful, and give us quantities of eggs. Besides, if
we had left the chickens, Charlie might not have gone, for he feeds them
and watches over them as if they were his very own, and looks very cross
if the striker gives them even a little corn.

Night before last an unusually pleasant dancing party was given by
Captain McAndrews, when Faye and I were guests of honor. It was such a
surprise to us, and so kind in Captain McAndrews to give it, for he is a
bachelor. Supper was served in his own quarters, but dancing was in the
vacant set adjoining. The rooms were beautifully decorated with flags,
and the fragrant cedar and spruce. Mrs. Adams, wife of the commanding
officer, superintended all of the arrangements and also assisted in
receiving. The supper was simply delicious--as all army suppers are--and
I fancy that she and other ladies of the garrison were responsible for
the perfect salads and cakes.

The orchestra was from Bozeman, so the music was very good. Quite a
party of young people also, many of them friends of ours, came up from
Bozeman, which not only swelled the number of guests, but gave life to
the dance, for in a small garrison like this the number of partners is
limited. The country about here is beautiful now; the snow is melting
on the mountains, and there is such a lovely green every place, I almost
wish that we might have remained until fall, for along the valleys and
through the canons there are grand trails for horseback riding, while
Fort Shaw has nothing of the kind.

FORT SHAW, MONTANA TERRITORY, July, 1880.

WE are with the commanding officer and his wife for a few days while our
house is being settled. Every room has just been painted and tinted and
looks so clean and bright. The Chinaman, squirrels, and chickens are
there now, and are already very much at home, and Charlie is delighted
that the chickens are so much admired.

The first part of the trip over was simply awful! The morning was
beautiful when we left Ellis--warm and sunny--and everybody came to see
us oft. We started in fine spirits, and all went well for ten or twelve
miles, when we got to the head waters of the Missouri, where the three
small rivers, Gallatin, Jefferson, and Madison join and make the one big
river. The drive through the forest right there is usually delightful,
and although we knew that the water was high in the Gallatin by Fort
Ellis, we were wholly unprepared for the scene that confronted us when
we reached the valley. Not one inch of ground could be seen--nothing
but the trees surrounded; by yellow, muddy water that showed quite a
current.

The regular stage road has been made higher than the ground because of
these July freshets, when the snow is melting on the mountains, but it
was impossible to keep on it, as its many turns could not be seen,
and it would not have helped much either, as the water was deep. The
ambulance was in the lead, of course, so we were in all the excitement
of exploring unseen ground. The driver would urge the mules, and if the
leaders did not go down, very good--we would go on, perhaps a few yards.
If they did go down enough to show that it was dangerous that way, he
would turn them in another direction and try there. Sometimes it was
necessary almost to turn around in order to keep upon the higher
ground. In this way mules and drivers worked until four o'clock in
the afternoon, the dirty water often coming up over the floor of the
ambulance, and many times it looked as if we could not go on one step
farther without being upset in the mud and water.

But at four we reached an island, where there was a small house and a
stable for the stage relay horses, and not far beyond was another island
where Faye decided to camp for the night. It was the only thing he
could have done. He insisted upon my staying at the house, but I finally
convinced him that the proper place for me was in camp, and I went on
with him. The island was very small, and the highest point above water
could not have been over two feet. Of course everything had to be
upon it--horses, mules, wagons, drivers, Faye and I, and the two small
squirrels, and the chickens also. In addition to our own traveling
menagerie there were native inhabitants of that island--millions and
millions of mosquitoes, each one with a sharp appetite and sharp sting.
We thought that we had learned all about vicious mosquitoes while in the
South, but the Southern mosquitoes are slow and caressing in comparison
to those Montana things.

It was very warm, and the Chinaman felt sorry for the chickens shut up
in the boxes, where fierce quarrels seemed to be going on all the time.
So after he had fed them we talked it over, and decided to let them
out, as they could not possibly get away from us across the big body of
water. There were twenty large chickens in one big box, and twenty-seven
small ones that had been brought in a long box by themselves. Well,
Charlie and one of the men got the boxes down and opened them. At once
the four or five mother hens clucked and scratched and kept on clucking
until the little chicks were let out, when every one of them ran to its
own mother, and each hen strutted off with her own brood. That is the
absolute truth, but is not all. When night came the chickens went back
to their boxes to roost--all but the small ones. Those were left outside
with their mothers, and just before daylight Charlie raised a great
commotion when he put them up for the day's trip.

When we were about ready to start in the morning, a man came over from
the house and told Faye that he would pilot us through the rest of the
water, that it was very dangerous in places, where the road had been
built up, and if a narrow route was not carefully followed, a team would
go down a bank of four or five feet. He had with him just the skeleton
of a wagon--the four wheels with two or three long boards on top, drawn
by two horses. So we went down in the dirty water again, that seemed to
get deeper and deeper as we splashed on.

Now and then I could catch a glimpse of our pilot standing up on the
boards very much like a circus rider, for the wagon wheels were twisting
around over the roots of trees and stones, in a way that required
careful balancing on his part. We got along very well until about noon,
when a soldier came splashing up on a mule and told Faye that one of the
wagons had turned over! That was dreadful news and made me most anxious
about the trunks and chests, and the poor chickens, too, all of which
might be down under the water.

They got the ambulance under some trees, unfastened the mules and led
them away, leaving me alone, without even the driver. The soldier had
thoughtfully led up Pete for Faye to ride back, and the mules were
needed to assist in pulling the wagon up. Fortunately the wagon was
caught by a tree and did not go entirely over, and it so happened, too,
that it was the one loaded more with furniture than anything else, so
not much damage was done.

Our pilot had left us some time before, to hurry on and get any
passengers that might come in the stage that runs daily between Helena
and Bozeman. As soon as I began to look around a little after I was left
alone in the ambulance, I discovered that not so very far ahead was an
opening in the trees and bushes, and that a bit of beautiful dry land
could be seen. I was looking at it with longing eyes when suddenly
something came down the bank and on into the water, and not being
particularly brave, I thought of the unprotected position I was in. But
the terrible monster turned out to be our pilot, and as he came nearer,
I saw that he had something on the wagon--whether men or women or mere
bags of stuff I could not tell.

But in time he got near enough for me to see that two men were with
him--most miserable, scared tourists--both standing up on the seesawing
boards, the first with arms around the pilot's neck, and the second with
his arms around him. They were dressed very much alike, each one
having on his head an immaculate white straw hat, and over his coat
a long--very long--linen duster, and they both had on gloves! Their
trousers were pulled up as high as they could get them, giving a fine
display of white hose and low shoes. The last one was having additional
woe, for one leg of his trousers was slipping down, and of course it was
impossible for him to pull it up and keep his balance. Every turn of
the wheels the thick yellow water was being spattered on them, and I can
imagine the condition they were in by the time they reached the little
inn on the island. The pilot thought they were funny, too, for when he
passed he grinned and jerked his head back to call my attention to them.
He called to know what had happened to me, and I told him that I was a
derelict, and he would ascertain the cause farther on.

After a while--it seemed hours to me--Faye and the wagons came up, and
in time we got out of the awful mess and on dry land. It was the Fourth
of July, and we all wished for a gun or something that would make a loud
noise wherewith we could celebrate--not so much the day as our
rejoicing at getting out of the wilderness. The men were in a deplorable
condition, wet and tired, for no one had been able to sleep the night
before because of the vicious mosquitoes and the stamping of the poor
animals. So, when Faye saw one of the drivers go to a spring for water,
and was told that it was a large, fine spring, he decided to camp right
there and rest before going farther.

But rest we could not, for the mosquitoes were there also, and almost
as bad as they had been on the island, and the tents inside were covered
with them as soon as they were pitched. If there is a person who thinks
that a mosquito has no brain, and is incapable of looking ahead, that
person will soon learn his mistake if ever he comes to the Missouri
River, Montana! The heat was fierce, too, and made it impossible for us
to remain in the tents, so we were obliged, after all, to sit out under
the trees until the air had cooled at night sufficiently to chill the
mosquitoes.

The chickens were let out at every camp, and each time, without fail,
they flew up to their boxes on the wagons. Charlie would put in little
temporary roosts, that made them more comfortable, and before daylight
every morning he would gather up the little ones and the mothers and
put them in the crates for the day. He is willing and faithful, but has
queer ideas about some things. Just as I was getting in the ambulance
the second morning on the trip, I heard a crunching sound and then
another, and looking back, I saw the Chinaman on top of the mess chest
with head bent over and elbows sticking out, jumping up and down with
all his strength.

I ran over and told him not to do so, for I saw at once what was the
matter. But he said, "He velly blig--he no go downee--me flixee him,"
and up and down he went again, harder than ever. After a lengthy
argument he got down, and I showed him once more how to put the things
in so the top would shut tight. There were a good many pieces of broken
china, and these Charlie pitched over in the water with a grin that
plainly said, "You see--me flixee you!" Of course the soldiers saw it
all and laughed heartily, which made Charlie very angry, and gave him a
fine opportunity to express himself in Chinese. The rest of the trip was
pleasant, and some of the camps were delightful, but I am afraid that I
no longer possess beautiful white chickens--my Chinaman seems to be the
owner of all, big and small.

FORT SHAW, MONTANA TERRITORY, August, 1880.

THE company has been ordered to "proceed without delay" to Fort
Maginnis, a post that is just being established, and to assist another
company in building temporary log quarters. The other company will go
from Fort Missoula, and has to remain at the new post during the winter,
but Faye's company will return here in November. We were all ready to go
to the Yellowstone Park next week with General and Mrs. Bourke, but this
order from Department Headquarters upsets everything. The company was
designated there, and go it must, although Faye has been at Fort Shaw
only six weeks. He has command, of course, as Colonel Knight is East on
recruiting service, and the first lieutenant is abroad.

General and Mrs. Bourke could not understand at first why I would not
go with them to the park, just the same, but I understood perfectly, and
said at once that I would go to Maginnis with Faye. For, to go in one
direction where there is only a weekly mail, and Faye to go in another
direction where there is no mail at all, and through an Indian country,
was not to be considered one second. I was half afraid that the
commanding officer might forbid my going with Faye, as he could have
done, but he did not, and when he saw that I could not be persuaded to
change my mind, an ambulance was ordered to go with the command, so I
can have a shelter when it storms, for I shall ride Bettie on the trip.

The distance over is one hundred and fifty miles right across mountains
and valleys, and there will be only a faint trail to guide us, and I am
anticipating great delight in such a long horseback ride through a wild
country. We will have everything for our comfort, too. Faye will be in
command, and that means much, and a young contract surgeon, who has been
recently appointed, will go with us, and our Chinese cook will go also.
I have always wanted to take a trip of this kind, and know that it
will be like one long picnic, only much nicer. I never cared for real
picnics--they always have so much headache with them. We have very
little to do for the march as our camp outfit is in unusually fine
condition. After Charlie's "flixee" so much mess-chest china, Faye had
made to order a complete set for four people of white agate ware with
blue bands. We have two sets of plates, vegetable dishes, cups and
saucers, egg cups, soup plates, and a number of small pieces. The plates
and dishes, also platters, can be folded together, and consequently
require very little room, and it is a great comfort to know that these
things are unbreakable, and that we will not be left without plates for
the table when we get in the wilds, and the ware being white looks very
nice, not in the least like tin. It came yesterday, just in time.

The two squirrels I carried to the woods and turned loose. I could
not take them, and I would not leave them to be neglected perhaps. The
"Tiger" was still a tiger, and as wild and fierce as when he came from
the saw-mill, and was undoubtedly an old squirrel not to be taught new
tricks. The flying thing was wholly lacking in sense. I scattered pounds
of nuts all about and hope that the two little animals will not suffer.
The Chinaman insisted upon our taking those chickens! He goes out
every now and then and gives them big pans of food and talks to them in
Chinese with a voice and expression that makes one almost want to weep,
because the chickens have to be left behind.

We are to start on the eighteenth, and on the nineteenth we had expected
to give a dinner--a very nice one, too. I am awfully sorry that we could
not have given it before going away, for there are so many things to
do here during the winter. The doctor has had no experience whatever in
camp life, and we are wondering how he will like it. He looks like a man
who would much prefer a nice little rocking-chair in a nice little room.

CAMP NEAR JUNOT'S, IN THE JUDITH BASIN, August, 1880.

THIS will be left at a little trading store as we pass to-morrow
morning, with the hope that it will soon be taken on to Benton and
posted.

So far, the trip has been delightful, and every bit as nice as I had
anticipated. The day we left the post was more than hot--it was simply
scorching; and my whole face on the right side, ear and all, was
blistered before we got to the ferry. Just now I am going through a
process of peeling which is not beautifying, and is most painful.

Before we had come two miles it was discovered that a "washer" was
lacking on one of the wheels of a wagon, and a man was sent back on a
mule to get one. This caused a delay and made Faye cross, for it really
was inexcusable in the wagon master to send a wagon out on a trip like
this in that condition. The doctor did not start with the command, but
rode up while we were waiting for the man with the washer. The soldiers
were lounging on the ground near the wagons, talking and laughing; but
when they saw the doctor coming, there was perfect silence over there,
and I watched and listened, curious to see what effect the funny sight
would have upon them. First one sat up, then another, and some stood
up, then some one of them giggled, and that was quite enough to start
everyone of them to laughing. They were too far away for the laughing
and snickering to be disrespectful, or even to be noticed much, but I
knew why they laughed, for I laughed too.

The doctor did not present a military appearance. He is the very
smallest man I ever saw, and he was on a government horse that is known
by its great height--sixteen hands and two inches, I believe--and the
little man's stirrups were about half way down the horse's sides,
and his knees almost on the horse's back. All three of us are wearing
officers' white cork helmets, but the doctor's is not a success, being
ever so much too large for his small head, consequently it had tilted
back and found a resting place on his shoulders, covering his ears and
the upper part of his already hot face. For a whip he carried a little
switch not much longer than his gauntlets, and which would have puzzled
the big horse, if struck by it. With it all the little man could not
ride, and as his government saddle was evidently intended for a big
person, he seemed uncertain as to which was the proper place to sit--the
pommel, the middle, or the curved back. All during that first day's
march the soldiers watched him. I knew this, although we were at the
head of the column--for every time he would start his horse up a little
I could hear smothered laughter back of us.

It was late when we finally got across the Missouri on the funny
ferryboat, so we camped for the night on this side near the ferryman's
house. It was the doctor's first experience in camp, and of course he
did not know how to make himself comfortable. He suffered from the
heat, and became still warmer by rushing up and down fanning himself
and fighting mosquitoes. Then after dinner he had his horse saddled,
a soldier helped him to mount, and he rode back and forth bobbing all
sorts of ways, until Faye could stand it no longer and told him to show
some mercy to the beast that had carried him all day, and would have to
do the same for days to come.

Most of the camps have been in beautiful places--always by some clear
stream where often there was good trout fishing. In one or two of these
we found grayling, a very gamey fish, that many epicures consider more
delicate than the trout. We have a fine way of keeping fish for the
following day. As soon as possible after they have been caught we pack
them in long, wet grass and put them in a cool spot, and in this way
they will keep remarkably fresh.

We have had an abundance of game, too--all kinds of grouse and prairie
chicken, and the men killed one antelope. The Chinaman thought that
Faye shot quite too many birds, and began to look cross when they were
brought in, which annoyed me exceedingly, and I was determined to stop
it. So one evening, after Faye had taken some young chicken to the cook
tent, I said to the doctor, "Come with me," and going over to the tent
I picked up the birds and went to some trees near by, and handing the
doctor one, asked him to help me pick them, at the same time commencing
to pull the feathers out of one myself. The poor doctor looked as though
he was wishing he had made a specialty of dementia, and stood like a
goose, looking at the chicken. Charlie soon became very restless--went
inside the tent, and then came out, humming all the time. Finally he
gave in, and coming over to us, fairly snatched the birds from me and
said, "Me flixee him," and carried the whole bunch back of his tent
where we could not see him. Since that evening Charlie has been the most
delighted one in camp when Faye has brought birds in.

All the way we have had only a faint trail to follow, and often even
that could not be seen after we had crossed a stream. At such places
Faye, the doctor, and I would spread out and search for it. As Bettie
and I were always put in the middle, we were usually the finders. One
day we came up a hill that was so steep that twelve mules had to be
hitched to each wagon in order to get it up. Another day we went down
a hill where the trail was so sidling, that the men had to fasten big
ropes to the upper side of each wagon to hold it right side up as it was
drawn down. Another day we made only a few miles because of the deep-cut
banks of a narrow little stream that wound around and across a valley,
and which we had to cross eight times. At every crossing the banks had
to be sloped off and the bed built up before the wagons could be drawn
over. Watching all this has been most entertaining and the whole trip is
making a man of the doctor.

To-night we are in camp in the Judith Basin and by the Judith River--a
beautiful stream, and by far the largest we have seen on the march. And
just across the river from us is a stockade, very high and very large,
with heavy board gate that was closed as we came past. We can see the
roof of the cabin inside, and a stovepipe sticking up through it. Faye
says that he has just heard that the place is a nest of horse thieves of
the boldest and most daring type, and that one of them is coming to see
him this evening! He was told all this by the Frenchman, Junot, who has
a little trading store a mile or so from here.

Faye and the doctor rode over there as soon as the tents had been
pitched, to ascertain if the company from Missoula had passed. Our trail
and the one from the Bitter Root valley fork there. The company passed
several days ago, so we will go on in the morning; otherwise we would
have been obliged to wait for it.

I had to stay here all alone as Faye would not consent to my going with
him. He gave me one of his big pistols, and I had my own small one,
and these I put on a table in the tent, after they had gone, and then
fastened the tent flaps tight and sat down to await events. But the tent
soon became stifling, and it occurred to me that it was foolish to shut
myself up so I could not see whatever might come until it was right upon
me, so putting my pistol in my pocket and hiding the other, I opened the
tent and went out. The first thing I saw was a fishing pole with line
and fly, and that I took, and the next was the first sergeant watching
me. I knew then that Faye had told him to take care of me.

I went over to tell him that I was going for a fish, and then on down to
the beautiful river, whose waters are green and very much the color of
the Niagara River. I cast the fly over on the water, and instantly a
large fish came up, took the fly, and went down again so easily and
gracefully that he scarcely made a ripple on the water until he felt
the pull of the line. That was when I forgot everything connected with
camp--Faye, horse thieves, and Indians! I had no reel, of course, and
getting the big fish out of the water was a problem, for I was standing
on a rather high and steep bank. It jumped and jerked in a way that made
me afraid I might be pulled down instead of my pulling the fish up, so I
began to draw him in, and then up, hand over hand, not daring to
breathe while he was suspended in the air. It called for every bit of my
strength, as the shiny thing was so heavy. But I got him; and his length
was just twice the width of my handkerchief--a splendid salmon trout.
I laid it back of a rock in the shade, and went on down the stream,
casting my one fly, and very soon I caught another trout of precisely
the same size as the first, and which I landed the same way, too. I put
it by the rock with the other.

I kept on down the river, whipping it with my lucky fly every few steps,
but I caught no more fish, neither did I get a rise, but I did not mind
that, for I had the two beauties, and I was having a grand time too. I
had caught both large fish without assistance and with a common willow
pole. All that serenity was upset, however, when I heard my name called
with such a roar that I came near jumping over the bank to save myself
from whatever was after me, but the "What are you doing so far from
camp?" came just in time to stop me.

It was Faye, of course, and he was cross because I had gone so far
alone, and had, in a way, disregarded his instructions--had done as I
pleased after he had left me alone. I wanted to go to Junot's, therefore
was not one bit sorry that I had frightened him, and said not a word
to his sputtering about the danger from Indians and horse thieves as we
started back to camp. After we had gone a little distance up I said, "I
left something by that rock." I tried to lift the big fish to show him,
but they were too heavy, and I had to hold up one at a time as I
said, "This is Mr. Indian and this Mr. Horse Thief!" Faye was almost
speechless over my having caught two such large trout, and started
to camp with them at such a pace I had to run, almost, to keep up. He
thought of something of great importance to say to the first sergeant,
simply because he wanted to show them to the company. Some beautiful
trout have been brought in by the enlisted men who went up the river,
and I am so glad, for now they will have such a nice supper.

The horse thieves undoubtedly knew this country well, when they selected
this valley for their hiding place. They have an abundance of delicious
fish the year round at their very door, and there is any amount of
game near, both furred and feathered, and splendid vegetables they
can certainly raise, for they have just sent Faye a large grain sack
overflowing with tender, sweet corn, new beets, turnips, cabbage, and
potatoes. These will be a grand treat to us, as our own vegetables gave
out several days ago. But just think of accepting these things from a
band of desperadoes and horse thieves! Their garden must be inside the
immense stockade, for there is nothing of the kind to be seen outside.
They probably keep themselves in readiness for a long siege by sheriff
and posse that may come down upon them at any time without warning. And
all the time they know that if ever caught stealing horses, their trial
will last just as long as it will take to drag them to a tree that has a
good strong branch.

Charlie says that he is a mason and reads every evening in a book that
is of his own printing. It is really wonderful. Every evening after
dinner he sits out in front of his tent with a large silk handkerchief
over his head, and perhaps another with which to fight the ever-present
mosquitoes, and reads until dark. He is the only literary person in the
command and we are quite proud of him. He is a great comfort to Faye and
me, for his cooking is delicious. The doctor has a camp appetite now and
is not as finicky as when we started on the trip.

FORT MAGINNIS, MONTANA TERRITORY, September, 1880.

IT is almost one week since we got here, but I have not written before
as no mail has been sent out. I hope that the letter left with Junot has
been received, also the two or three notes that were given to horsemen
we met on their way to Fort Benton.

At first, Faye did not tell me all that he knew about those horse
thieves in the Judith Basin, but it finally came out that the trader,
Junot, had told him a most blood-curdling tale of events to come. He had
declared most positively that the desperadoes were planning to attack
the command, the very next morning while crossing the Judith Mountains,
with a hope, of course, of getting the animals. He also told Faye that
one of them would be in camp that evening to ask permission to go with
him to Maginnis. Faye said the whole story was absurd, particularly
the attack, as those horse thieves would never dare attack government
troops. Besides, he had over fifty good men with him, and probably there
were only ten or twelve horse thieves. So not much attention was paid to
what the old Frenchman had said.

But after dinner, when we were sitting outside and Faye and the doctor
were smoking, a man came around the corner of the tent with long,
swinging strides, and was in our midst before we had dreamed of anyone
being near. He spoke to Faye courteously, and declining a chair, dropped
down full length on the ground, with elbows in the grass and chin on the
palms of his hands. His feet were near the tent and his face out, which
placed him in a fine position to observe everything in the camp without
anyone seeing that he was doing so, especially as his eyes were screened
by a soft, broad-brimmed hat. It was impossible to see their color, of
course.

He was young--not over twenty-eight or thirty--and handsome, with a face
that was almost girlish in its fairness. His hair was neatly cut, and so
was his light mustache, and his smooth face showed that he had recently
shaved. He was tall and lithe, and from his chin to his toes was dressed
in fine buckskin--shirt, trousers, leggings, and moccasins--and around
his neck was tied a blue cotton handkerchief, new and clean. That the
man could be a horse thief, an outlaw, seemed most incredible.

He talked very well, too, of the country and the game, and we were
enjoying the change in our usual after-dinner camp conversation, when
suddenly up he jumped, and turning around looked straight at Faye, and
then like a bomb came the request to be allowed to go with him to Fort
Maginnis! He raised the brim of his hat, and there seemed to be a look
of defiance in his steel-blue eyes. But Faye had been expecting this,
and knowing that he was more than a match for the villain, he got up
from his camp stool leisurely, and with great composure told the man:
"Certainly, I will be very glad to have some one along who knows
the trail so well." To be told that he knew the trail must have been
disconcerting to the man, but not one word did he say in reference to
it.

After he had gone, Faye went over to the company, where he remained some
time, and I learned later that he had been giving the first sergeant
careful instructions for the next day. I could not sleep that night
because of horrible dreams--dreams of long, yellow snakes with fiery
eyes crawling through green grass. I have thought so many times since of
how perfectly maddening it must have been to those horse thieves to have
twenty-two nice fat mules and three horses brought almost within the
shadow of their very own stockade, and yet have it so impossible to
gather them in!

At the appointed time the buckskin-man appeared the following morning
on a beautiful chestnut horse with fancy bridle and Mexican saddle, and
with him came a friend, his "pal" he told Faye, who was much older and
was a sullen, villainous-looking man. Both were armed with rifles and
pistols, but there was nothing remarkable in that; in this country it
is a necessity. We started off very much as usual, except that Faye kept
rather close to the "pal," which left Bettie and me alone most of the
time, just a little at one side. I noticed that directly back of the
horse thieves walked a soldier, armed with rifle and pistol, and Faye
told me that night that he was one of the best sharpshooters in the
Army, and that he was back of those men with orders to shoot them down
like dogs if they made one treacherous move. The buckskin man was one of
the most graceful riders I ever saw, and evidently loved his fine mount,
as I saw him stroke his neck several times--and the man himself was
certainly handsome.

Faye had told me that I must not question anything he might tell me
to do, so after we had crossed the valley and gone up the mountains a
little distance he called to me in a voice unnecessarily loud, that I
must be tired riding so far, and had better get in the ambulance for
a while. I immediately dismounted, and giving the bridle rein to a
soldier, I waited for the ambulance to come up. As I got in, I felt that
perhaps I was doing the first act in an awful tragedy. The horsemen and
wagons had stopped during the minute or two I was getting in, but I saw
soldiers moving about, and just as soon as I was seated I looked out to
see what was going on.

A splendid old sergeant was going to the front with four soldiers, whom
I knew were men to be trusted, each one with rifle, bayonet, and belt
full of cartridges, and then I saw that some of the plans for that day's
trip had not been told to me. The men were placed in front of everyone,
four abreast, and Faye at once told the thieves that under no conditions
must one ever get in front of the advance guard. How they must have
hated it all--four drilled soldiers in front of them and a sharpshooter
back of them, and all the time treated by Faye as honored guests!

There were four men at the rear of the wagons, and the posting of these
rear and advance guards, and placing men on either side of the wagons,
had been done without one order from Faye, so my dismounting must have
been the signal for the sergeant to carry out the orders Faye had given
him the night before. Not by one turn of the head did those outlaws show
that they noticed those changes.

In that way we crossed the range. We met a dozen or more men of the very
roughest type, each one heavily armed. They were in parties of two and
three, and Faye thinks that a signal was passed between one of them and
the "pal." But there was no attack as had been predicted! What might
have taken place, however, if Faye had not been prepared, no one can
tell. Certainly part of Junot's story had been carried out--the horse
thief came to the tent and came with us to Maginnis, and it was not
because he wanted the protection of the troops. Faye insists that an
attack was never thought of, but as he was responsible for government
property, including the animals, he had to make preparation to protect
them. Of course those men wanted only the animals. We passed many places
on the divide that were ideal for an ambush--bluffs, huge boulders, and
precipices--everything perfect for a successful hold up.

The men came on to the post with us, and were in camp two nights with
the soldiers. The second day from the Judith, we stopped for luncheon
near a small stream where there were a great many choke-cherry bushes,
and "Buckskin Joe"*--that was his name--brought large bunches of
the cherries to me. His manner showed refinement, and I saw that his
wonderful eyes could be tender as well as steely. Perhaps he had sisters
at the old home, and perhaps, too, I was the first woman he had seen
in months to remind him of them. I shall always believe that he is from
good people some place East, that his "dare-devil" nature got him into
some kind of trouble there, and that he came to this wild country to
hide from Justice. The very morning after we got here, not long after
our breakfast, he appeared at our tent with a fine young deer slung
across the back of his horse, which he presented to us. He had just
killed it. It was most acceptable, as there was no fresh meat in camp.
He and his "pal" stayed around that day and night, and then quietly
disappeared. Not one of the soldiers, even, saw them go.

*About six years after this occurrence, there was a graphic account
in the Western papers of the horrible death of "Buckskin Joe," who
was known as one of the most daring and slippery horse thieves in the
Territory. After evading arrest many times, he was finally hunted down
by a sheriff's posse, when his fiendish fighting excited the admiration
of those who were killing him. A bullet broke one of his legs, and
he went down, but he kept on shooting--and so fast that no one dared
approach him. And when the forearm of his pistol hand was shattered, he