Little Pills, An Army Story

My children have often asked me to write out some of my experience while a medical officer in the United States Army on the frontier, and I have often resolved to do so. But for many years after leaving the service my time was so thoroughly taken up in an effort to make a living and educate the children that my good resolutions received scant attention. Now in my 78th year the apathy of old age is such a handicap, that great effort is required to do things that at one time I could have done cheerfully but did not.

I think my experiences during the Civil War gave me something of a taste for military duty, for when in the summer or early fall of 1868 I noticed that an Army Medical Board was in session at New York, I at once made application to appear before it for examination for a position in the regular service. I was examined in October, 1868, and as the board continued in session for some time afterwards I waited with some anxiety and misgivings as to the result of my examination. I had the impression that the examination would be severe and was doubtful of my ability to pass. In this connection it is proper to say that some had failed in these examinations that afterwards became noted medical men. Among them, I was informed, was Dr. Austin Flint, Sr., whose work on the practice of medicine was standard and considered the best when I was a student. His son, Dr. Austin Flint, Jr., also became famous as our great Physiologist and his work on that subject is standard today. It was not until the following January that I heard from my examination, and was then directed to report at St. Louis to be mustered into the service as Acting Assistant Surgeon in the United States Army. There was necessarily some delay in disposing of the few things we had, some of which we sold and some of which we stored. Finally everything being disposed of, we left our home in Washington, Iowa, and from there, after a day with friends, took a train for Burlington, thence to Keokuk, where my wife remained visiting relatives, I going on to St. Louis to report.

I was mustered into the service January 29th, 1869, and ordered to report to the Medical Director, Department of the Missouri at Leavenworth, Kansas, for assignment to duty. The Department of the Missouri at the time comprised the States of Missouri, Kansas, Colorado, New Mexico, The Indian Territory, and I think Arkansas.

General Sheridan was the commanding officer of the department at that time. He also had a brother who was a captain and who was also stationed at Leavenworth. Dr. Miles was the Medical Director of the Department and Dr. McGruder was Post Surgeon at Leavenworth. I was on waiting orders at Fort Leavenworth for something over a month during which time I got my first impression of the rank and file of the Regular Army. The officers impressed me as very self important, exceedingly courteous and cordial, and charming in their broad-gauge views of current events and their unreserved candor in discussing all subjects. I must except one subject, however, and that was politics. An army officer is supposed to have no politics, or if he has he keeps them in reserve. Seldom during nearly seven years of my life in the army did I hear politics mentioned. An army officer is supposed to do his duty regardless of who holds political authority over him, and this he does most loyally. The enlisted men impressed me as a clean, attractive and well disciplined body of soldiers. Another thing that impressed me was the absolute separation of the officers and enlisted men. It may be different now but at that time there seemed to be nothing of even a fraternal interest. The officer commanded and the soldier obeyed. In this way they seemed as distinct as oil and water, and it was a rather surprising contrast to the volunteer service during the war, where enlisted men and officers often from the same town and nearly always from the same community fraternized and often addressed each other by their given names; while in the regular service there was nothing of the kind. An officer when passing an enlisted man always received a salute. The men or man standing at attention when giving it and the officer was required to return the salute. The men may be sitting down, say outside of their barracks, and when an officer approaches and gets within a certain distance they all rise at once, stand at attention, and give the salute, and this is the extent of their relations with each other.

The officers mess at Leavenworth was quite a large one, mostly of unmarried men, although there were maybe two or three married couples, and was exceedingly cordial and sociable with each other. Those of the rank of Captain or higher up in rank were always addressed by their military title of Captain or Major, as it might be, but the Lieutenants were addressed as Mister, or by their surnames, as Mr. Jones or simply Jones.

The first of March came and with it came pay-day, a matter that seemed of much interest to the officers. It did not take me long to learn its importance for army officers at that time as a rule literally lived up their salaries. I finally learned that an officer was considered by many other officers as a little off color if he was close-fisted and tried to save money out of his pay. To me it was a matter of importance because I was poor and needed it. I sent most of my first month's pay, after paying mess bill and a few other necessary expenses, to my wife, not keeping enough, as I afterward learned, for an emergency that might arise. Expecting to be ordered to some frontier post, I took the precaution to invest in a pistol, a very ridiculous thing to do, as I now think of it. The further history of that pistol will appear later on in this story.

While at Leavenworth the officers gave a hop. I never knew why it was called a hop instead of a dance, but it was always so designated in the army. Officers came from other places, particularly Fort Riley, among whom was General Custer of cavalry fame during the Civil War, and a noted Indian fighter on the frontier. I watched him with a good deal of interest, for at that time he was a distinguished man in the service, and I must say that I was rather disappointed in his appearance. He seemed to me to be under-sized and slender, and at first blush to be effeminate in appearance. Maybe his long hair, almost reaching to his shoulders, gave this impression, but the face was something of a study and hard to describe. Something of boldness or maybe dash, a quick eye, and he was intensely energetic, giving the impression that he would be a veritable whirlwind in an engagement. He did not convey the idea of a great character. He was a very graceful dancer. His career ended at the famous battle in our Indian warfare, that of the Little Big Horn. Not a man of his command escaped to tell the story.

I think it was about the 8th or 9th of March that I received orders to report to the Chief Medical Officer, District of New Mexico, for assignment to duty. The quartermaster furnished transportation, that is to say, orders to the transportation companies, railroads, stage-lines, etc., to carry the officer to point of destination. This, together with the order of assignment to duty, would carry one wherever the assignment directed. At this time the so-called Kansas-Pacific railroad was built out pretty well towards the west line of the state, but there were no transcontinental lines finished until the following summer. The Union and Central Pacifics joining that year in Utah in July.

I left Fort Leavenworth in the morning and before night was out on the plains. From Leavenworth to Topeka there was some settlement. The towns as I remember them were mere railroad stations, except Lawrence, which was more pretentious, and the scattering farmhouses were small and primitive in style. Topeka seemed to be something of a town, but from there west the country was only partially inhabited. Fort Hayes stood out prominently to the left of the railroad but the whole country seemed one great sea of desolation unlimited in extent. At that time I would not have given ten dollars per square league for what has since become one of the famous wheat fields of the country. The evening of the second day we arrived at a place called Sheridan which was the terminus of the railroad. It was a straggling place of tents and wooden shacks, dance halls, bawdy houses, gambling houses and saloons. Murders were of frequent occurrence and it was considered dangerous to be on the street at night. There was only one street in the town. I started out on this street about dusk, thinking I had better go to the stage office and arrange for my transportation on to Santa Fe. The landlord happened to notice me and called for me to wait a minute and when he had joined me he inquired where I was going. He said he would go with me as it might not be safe for me to be alone, and told me of a killing in front of the hotel the night before.

My bed that night was on the second story, merely floored, and not plastered or sealed, and the roof slanted down close to the bed. The space between the floor and the edge of the roof was open and I could look down into the saloon. I watched the patrons of this place for some time for it was altogether a new experience. The clinking of glasses; the loud talk; the dim lights; and the thorough abandonment of the motley crowd remains quite vividly in my memory. It finally occurred to me that in the event of a shooting scrape, even there in bed was not a very safe place, so I edged over to the far side of the bed and soon dropped to sleep, not waking until called in the morning.

We got an early start and I had the stage mostly to myself until we crossed the Raton spur of the mountain. The nights were chilly and I was not over-warmly clad, but I managed after the first night to get a fair amount of sleep. I felt some fear of Indians although it was too early in the season for them to go on the war-path. The summer before had been a particularly bad one on the plains. Forsythe's command was almost annihilated in October, 1868, on the Ariskaree Fork of the Republican river, and at every stage station until after we reached Trinidad, Colo., the first salutation between the men at the station and our conductor was whether either had seen any Indians. The apprehension was not that the Indians would go on the war-path at that time of the year, because their ponies could not exist until the grass was well started, but that some of the venturesome young bucks might take it into their heads to attack the stage coach. I peeked out of the coach at night and wondered if there was any probability of Indians attacking us and thought of my pistol, but was not proud of it, or of my ability to use it.

The stage stations were interesting to me. On the plains proper they were uniformly built, underground as far up as the sidewalls extended, and was located near some water hole and at an elevation that would command a view of the surrounding country for some distance. Above the dirt walls large logs were laid, upon which the cross timbers were placed for supporting the roof. These logs were raised from the ground enough, say three or four inches, to give the occupants a good view of the surrounding country, and an opportunity of using their carbines against attack from the Indians, with comparative safety to themselves. The roof was covered with dirt. The stables were built the same way with underground passages or open ditches connected with the station proper. Both station and stable were connected in the same way with the water hole. At these stations on the plains proper, were stationed a small squad of soldiers, maybe a half dozen, under the command of a noncommissioned officer, generally a sergeant, and you can readily see that the Indians would be a little cautious about getting too near such a place although during the summer season they often attacked the stage between stations. The stations were at variable distances apart, depending on the water supply, generally from eight to twenty miles apart, and were supplied by government trains on their way to the military posts of the West. There was not much to attract attention in approaching these stations, no building in sight, no sign of life. The first thing you knew some one would hollow "Hello!" and "Hello!" would come back. "Have you seen any Indians?" and there you are. The last inquiry was natural enough when you consider the near approach of spring, when the grass would be green enough to furnish feed for Indian ponies. Indians would not appear in large numbers at this time of the year, but little roving bands, maybe one or two venturesome bucks might be seen almost daily at a safe distance, evidently spying out the prospects for more serious work later in the season. Of course we got our meals at these stations, consisting generally of bacon, hot corn-bread or biscuit, a vegetable or two, and black coffee. This menu varied some after we crossed the Raton Mountains and were practically out of Indian troubles, when we had a greater variety, and it was better prepared.

We got to Trinidad late at night, the first town after crossing the plains, and located just at the base on the north side of the Raton Range near the Purgatory river. This was a mining town of some importance in those days, and had the usual quota of dance halls, gambling dens and other equipment of a typical mining town.

We got to Dick Wooton's early the following morning and had a good breakfast. His place was located near the top of Raton Pass and consisted at that time of a rambling lot of log buildings; one for a house proper, which was clean, comfortable, and attractive inside, and the others for stables, blacksmith and wagon shops, and in fact anything and everything where repairs to transportation could be made. Dick himself was an attractive personality, was large, quite above the average in size, with a cheery open face giving little evidence of the frontier man, and yet he was almost as noted as Kit Carson with whom he was associated as pioneer and scout. Both were noted men on the frontier. Wooton, however, took a more practical view of life than Carson and conceived the idea of building a wagon road over the Raton Pass. This road was completed and I think had been for some time before I crossed the pass. If I remember correctly we crossed a little stream coming down from near the top of the range thirteen times before we came to the top of the pass. Wooton had some kind of permit or authority from the government for building this road and was authorized to make it a toll road. He was reported to have made quite a fortune from the revenue derived from it.

A little place called Cimarron, (which in Spanish means mountain of sheep) or Maxwell's ranch was the next place of interest to me. This is some distance south of the Raton Range, maybe half way from Trinidad to Fort Union. It seemed that Maxwell married a high class Spanish woman whose family owned an immense estate in what was Mexico before it was ceded to the United States. In the division of the estate Maxwell's wife got a grant of many thousands of acres on the head waters of the Cimarron, a tributary of the Canadian, which I understand was very much reduced as a result of extended litigation with the government as to title. We traveled for miles on what was then called Maxwell's Ranch, where great herds of sheep, cattle and horses were to be seen, with an adobe house here and there, where herders lived. It was a great pleasure to stop even for one meal at such a place as Maxwell's. The house was commodious and handsomely furnished and everything was prosperous and home-like. Some years later I had the pleasure of acquaintance of a daughter of Mr. Maxwell's who married a lieutenant in the army and we were serving at the same post.

We passed Fort Union in the night and I did not get to see much of it, but I understand it to be only a military post and base of supplies, for the Quarter-Master or Commissary Department of the army for the District of New Mexico.

My first view of Las Vegas (The Meadows, in Spanish) was over a beautiful wide valley, some three or four miles across, through which a pretty little stream of water, the source of the Pecos river, was wending its way. The view was beautiful and the town looked to be a place of importance, but proved to be disappointing on a closer acquaintance.

Not far from Las Vegas we passed what was called the old Pecos church. It was only a little distance from the road and said to have been built in the seventeenth century. It stood alone in its desolation and had partially fallen into decay. The roof was off, the walls partly broken down and it looked to be as old as reported.

We arrived in Santa Fe late in the evening and stopped at the hotel or fonda, as it is called in Spanish. At first one feels that he is in a different country; something foreign and out of the usual, and this feeling grows with closer acquaintance. For instance you go direct from the street to your room if your wife is with you, or to a kind of a lobby or sitting room with a bar at one side if alone.

I was thankful that the stage ride was ended. We had been going night and day since leaving the railroad at Sheridan, Kans., a distance of nearly four hundred miles, and although I had the stage to myself most of the way, one passenger got on at Cimarron that I will feel grateful to the balance of my days, and from Fort Union to Santa Fe the coach was crowded all the way. The stage lines in those days had a conductor who went to the end of the route, much as our railroad conductors do today, while the drivers like our engineers, only went to what might be called division points, say twelve-hour trips.

The conductor has charge, and is responsible for the United States mail and the express packages which are carried in what is called the front boot, and where the conductor curls up among the mail sacks and packages and sleeps at night. The back boot is devoted to baggage. Inside there are generally two seats facing each other and wide enough for three persons if not too big, on each seat. The stage coach had a great swinging body resting on two immense leather straps for springs, one on each side underneath and extending from front to back. These flexible springs gave the coach an easy side swing and it was not a particularly unpleasant thing to ride in.

Having arrived in Santa Fe late Saturday evening I did not report until next morning, and about noon an orderly brought to the hotel my orders from the Chief Medical officer directing me to report to the commanding officer at Fort Selden, New Mex., for assignment to duty. This was startling news, for Fort Selden was the last military post before reaching the Mexican border and I had only $2.50 in my pocket and my hotel bill to pay. Being new in the service and something of a tenderfoot I did not want to go to the other officers for help. I left my room and went down to the hotel lobby and among others who were there was the gentleman who got on the stage at Cimarron. We had traveled together from Cimarron to Santa Fe with hardly the exchange of the usual courtesies. I was not a good mixer and he had nothing to say, but my case was very desperate. I had to talk to someone so I asked if he was acquainted in Santa Fe and he said "some." I told him my troubles and that I had a good watch and a good pistol (that pistol was a hoodoo by this time) that I would put up as security for a few dollars to pay my expenses on the way to Fort Selden. He said: "Well, nobody would give you anything for them things. If I had the money I would let you have it." This in a rather slow drowning voice. I took this as a matter of course. Anybody would talk the same way, I thought, whether they had it or not.

Dinner was soon ready. The dining room was away to the rear end of this somewhat rambling hotel building. We passed through a billiard hall and maybe some store rooms before reaching it. I think, however, there was a different route for the ladies. I suppose the dinner was good but do not remember much about it. I do remember, however, on the way back through the pool hall I stopped to glance around the room which was a very long one with many tables and many players. The second table away became very interesting to me for near it stood my man of short acquaintance apparently talking to one of the players, a large fine looking man who, laying his cue across the corner of the table, pulled out such a wad of bills as I had never seen before and commenced counting out the money to my newly made acquaintance. I passed and went up to my room wondering if he would keep his word, now that he had the money. I tried to read but made poor headway. Pretty soon there was a light tap on the door and I said "come in." The door opened and there was my new found friend who took a seat in a rather deliberate way and said nothing. I made some remark about the weather which seemed to meet his approval but directly he asked me: "About how much money do you think you will need?" I told him I thought about twenty dollars would be enough. He brought from his pocket a great bunch of bank notes and counted out twenty dollars and handed it to me. When I offered my security he politely turned them down saying he would take chances. When I asked him if he had never lost money that way he replied, "Yes, some." And when I said I would feel better myself if he would take something to make himself safe he said, "Oh no, I'll take chances." When next I inquired about his knowledge of Santa Fe and the west generally he became more communicative and informed me that he had spent all his life from a youngster as a prospector, sometimes striking it good and selling out and trying it again; sometimes having plenty of money, and at other times having nothing. Someone else would then furnish him a "grub-stake" as he called it with which to try again. He and his partners had just sold out a gold mine at Cimarron and I presume the money I saw him receive from the big man at the pool table was part of the proceeds of that sale. He finally asked me if I cared to walk about the town some. I think I would have gone with him anywhere, so I responded very promptly that I would like to. The town was utterly strange to me, so different from anything I had ever seen: adobe walls, adobe houses, and the people were as strange looking as the houses. The women wore some kind of a wrap over their head called a mantilla (pronounced man-tee-ya, with the accent on the second syllable) leaving a little open space for one eye to peep out at people they met, and the men with the wide brimmed, high peaked hats that I afterwards learned are the universal costumes of the Mexican people. After looking around a bit my companion asked me if I would like to see a cock-fight. Sure thing, of course I would, although having been raised a strict Scotch Presbyterian I felt some qualms of conscience about witnessing such an exhibition on the "Sabbath."

SATANTA

War Chief of the Kiowas

Original in our possession, taken by Soule,

of Boston, while we were stationed

at Fort Sill

The amphitheater in which the exhibition was given was without cover and enclosed by a high adobe wall. It was crowded with men and women, mostly Mexicans, in gala dress, some very richly dressed women and some whose attire attested poverty, but even these wore bright colors. The head covering was universal but as varied in colors and quality as the fancy and wealth of the wearers suggested. I think some of the hats of the men must have cost a small fortune. The exhibition itself was not very attractive to me. I could see the chickens sparring around as though for a good opening and finally one of the cocks would drive the gaff home with deadly effect and the people would shout and clap their hands and exchange the money they had wagered on the result. The management would then bring in another pair of birds for another contest. The betting consisted not only of money but all kinds of trinkets and valuables. I saw one woman take off her white slippers handsomely ornamented with gold braid and spangles and bet them on the result of the contest. The affair was conducted in Spanish-Mexican and I could not understand anything that was said, but they all seemed to be delighted with the exhibition. To me it was not only cruel but was uninteresting. We did not stay until the finish but went out and saw some more of the town, then returned to our hotel.

My newly made friend came up to my room after supper, and spent part of the evening with me. I found his experiences interesting. The old story of ups and downs, money to spare, and grub-stakes furnished by some one else, to give him another start. He gave me his address and I was very prompt in returning his twenty dollars as soon as I got to Fort Selden, which by the way, I borrowed from the post trader until pay-day. In answer to my remittance I received a post card without address or date saying, "You needn't have been in such a hurry." Thus ended an acquaintance and experience that I think could not have happened anywhere else than on the American frontier. His name was Robert Daugherty and nothing could give me greater pleasure than to meet him again and furnish him a "grub-stake" if he needed it.

Santa Fe (Holy Faith, in Spanish) was an old town when the Pilgrims landed at Plymouth Rock. About 1606 according to Colonel R. E. Twitchell, the best authority on the early history of New Mexico, it was made the capital of one of the Spanish provinces, and had been built on the site of two small Indian pueblos. I believe if I had been dropped down in some town in the interior of China and had found a few Americans to talk to it would not have seemed more strange to me. The office of the chief medical officer of the district was located in a building on the plaza that someone told me was the old palace, but which I thought did not look much like a palace, and which I understand is now used as a museum in which are to be found the most remarkable collection of archaeological specimens in America.

* * *

Monday morning I started for Fort Selden on the Rio Grande, nearly three hundred miles away. We had a different type of stage coach, a small affair, more like a carriage, and drawn by two horses. Some eight or ten miles out of Santa Fe we almost literally dropped off into a canon that widened out into more of a valley as we continued our journey until we reached the Rio Grande some distance above Albuquerque. This town was at that time a straggling Mexican village of adobe houses along the east bank of the river.

It is now a city of considerable size on the east side, with modern improvements and is a division point on the Santa Fe railway and a town of commercial importance.

The river was disappointing. I expected something bigger, and it wound around from one side of the valley to the other as though in doubt as to the best way to go. The valley was interesting because of its being occupied by an altogether different type of Indians. We had left the plains Indian at Trinidad and from there to Santa Fe had seen only Mexicans with a fair proportion of Americans whose business interests were in the country. The Plains Indian, Cheyennes, Commanches, and Kiowas and Arapahoes, were nomadic and warlike. Here was an agricultural people who lived in little villages called pueblos, a name also attached to the Indians themselves. Their villages were located at convenient distances apart and both men and women went to the fields to work. The land was divided off into little patches separated by irrigating ditches, called asacies, and there were no fences or lines to show individual ownership. It was seemingly a community interest, a kind of socialism. The Pueblo Isletta was the capital and principal town and was the place of meeting for the disposal of important questions of interest to the tribe, and for the observance of such religious services as was their wont. The hoe was the principal agricultural implement, both for making ditches and for cultivating the land. The people seemed to be kindly disposed, and in every way a contrast to the Plains Indian whose women do the work while the men do the hunting and fighting. They enter their houses by way of the roof, climbing a ladder from the ground to the roof and pulling the ladder up after them, then descending by way of an opening in the room to the room or rooms below. No doors, and only little peep-holes for windows, sometimes covered with a thin cloth of muslin. I suppose this was done in the first place as a protection against the Mountain Indians (Utes and Navajos) who in early times raided the valley and carried off anything they could lay their hands on. The valley was sparsely wooded except here and there when we would come to great groves or boscas as they were called, of immense cotton-wood trees which were very beautiful. The valley as described above was the same all the way down to Fort Selden.

After leaving the Pueblo settlements we came to a country occupied nearly altogether by Mexicans. The commercial interests were conducted by so-called foreigners: Americans, Germans and Jews, the latter predominating, but the population was principally Mexican. Stock raising and farming were the principal industries, the latter in a very primitive way. They had no modern farm implements, such as plows, harrows, wagons, etc., and only such improved tools as they could construct from the scant material at hand. I saw at one place a man driving a yoke of cattle attached to what appeared to be the limb of a tree with a projecting prong entering the ground, and at the other end, which bent up something like a handle, was another man holding it. They were going back and forth making little ditches or furrows but not turning the ground over as our plows do. It looked primitive indeed and reminded me of a picture I saw in an almanac when a kid, representing the Egyptian plowing. Stock business was more promising. A good many cattle were reported on the range and I was told the sheep numbered many thousands scattered all along the mountain range to the west. Soccorro was the principal town, typically Mexican, but a place of some business importance. There were small villages at frequent intervals all the way to Paraja, the last town near the river before crossing the Jornada del Muerto (or "Journey of Death" in Spanish) which extends from Paraja (pronounced Paraha, j having the sound of h in Spanish) to Fort Selden, nearly one hundred miles across, a desert properly named and that has some pitiful associations in my memory. It was what was known as the Apache Indian country and grewsome stories are related concerning it. Death by Indians, famishing for want of water, etc., etc. I must tell a legend concerning it and the desert country to the east and north. Near Paraja and rising bluff from the river's edge is a high bit of mountain, hardly worth the name of range, on the top of which lying in a recumbent position is as perfect profile of a face and bust as you could imagine. You get a fine view of it from Fort Craig and for a great distance to the northwest and northeast. The legend is that a friar, Christobal by name, and for whom the mountain or range was named, was traveling through the country on his work for the souls of men when he perished from thirst. Some supernatural agency brought his body to this mountain top where it hardened into stone and remains to this day a monument commemorating a tragedy, and a land mark and guide to the weary and thirsty traveler pointing the way to where he may find water.

We left Paraja and the river and valley at night after a good supper, having supplied ourselves with water enough for the trip, expecting to get breakfast at a place about half-way across, called the Alaman (Allemand) literally meaning "Dutchman" where it was reported a German had been found some years before, killed and scalped by Indians. There had been repeated efforts made to find water on this desert. General Pope when a young officer of the service had spent a large amount of government money digging for water. Finally a man by the name of Martin, a Scotchman, who furnished the meat supply at Fort Selden, was so persistent with the commanding officer in asserting his ability to find water, that he was furnished a body of soldiers as an escort and guard and commissary supplies for the undertaking. He had been working faithfully and persistently for some months. He had also put some adobe rooms and had them furnished, his hauling his water supply from a spring in a canon some six or eight miles away and had built an adobe wall around his camp. He had also put some adobe rooms and had them furnished, his wife being an important assistant in the undertaking, and he was still sinking his well deeper and expressing an abiding faith in the result. It must be a glorious feeling to be vindicated in such an undertaking. It was rumored along the overland route that Jack Martin had found water but not enough, and upon our arrival we found that he not only had water but had an abundance of it and our stage was the first to arrive after he struck it. After eating a late breakfast, which was a very good one, we started for Fort Selden still some fifty miles away. This part of the trip was uneventful as we only stopped once to feed and water the team, having carried the necessary supplies with us. We arrived at Fort Selden in the evening. All the way from Santa Fe down I frequently noticed little piles of stone by the wayside, sometimes with little hand-made wooden crosses standing up in the center marking the place where someone had met a violent death, maybe by Indians or maybe at the hands of some renegade Mexicans. It is the custom among the Mexican people in passing to toss another stone on the pile and in this way some of them became of considerable size, the size of the pile indicating in a way the time that had elapsed since the murder had been committed.

I reported to the commanding officer at the post and the following day was assigned to duty. By invitation I took dinner with one of the officers the evening of my arrival. Among other good things we had a choice roast of beef which they informed me was from their very choice and only milk cow. It seems the herders were not sufficiently on guard and this animal had become separated from the herd but in rounding up the herd in the evening it was discovered that this particular cow had an Indian arrow in her side and on examination it was thought best to kill her. The good woman did not have much appetite for beef but grieved over the loss of her favorite cow. There was some small timber and underbrush along the streams affording a good hiding place for sneaking Apaches who might be disposed to commit depredations. It was the rule at this post that when the officers' wives wanted to take an airing to send an escort along with the ambulance as a protection against the Indians.

It was a two company post and the duties of the medical officer were light; so much so as to become a little monotonous, but was sometimes varied by a trip to Las Cruces or Messilla, some fifteen or eighteen miles distant. These towns were at one time separated by the river but some years before an unusual flood had swept down the valley and the river had made a new channel leaving the towns close neighbors. Even in those days they were places of some importance.

While stationed at this post I made my first acquaintance with gambling. It did not take me long to learn that it was the universal custom in the country. The Sutler's or Post Trader's store was a favorite resort for those who indulged in the various games. I remember an old man camping not far from the post who made it his business. He remained there for some time and in conversation one day I expressed my surprise at the universal custom and he informed me that he had rather bet his money on Monte than loan it out at ten per cent interest, and yet his dress and camping outfit did not indicate a man of fortune.

One of the most interesting incidents of my experience here was one Sunday morning after inspection when a group of officers were standing out on the parade grounds talking on various subjects when one of them was attracted by something at our feet and called attention to it. Upon closer investigation we discovered it to be the outlines of a human skull, the top of which had been worn away by the trampling of many feet over the parade ground. The post commander ordered the dirt removed from around it and thus unearthed a complete human skeleton except where the top of the head had been worn away. It was in a sitting position with the knees flexed up close to the chin but the bones crumbled upon being exposed to the air. There was no evidence of shroud or other covering to the body. What race of people buried their dead that way? How long had it been in its resting place?

This post at that time was about seven hundred miles from the railroad. I doubt if there is a place in the United States today outside of Alaska or our insular possession where one could go and be seven hundred miles from a railroad.

Along in the first part of May of that year I received orders from the chief medical officer of the district to exchange places with Dr. Seguin, post surgeon at Fort Craig. General Grover was the commanding officer at Fort Craig and was considered a good deal of a Martinet. As explained to me by Doctor Seguin, it seems that Mrs. Grover wanted something from the hospital which the doctor declined to send her and General Grover thereupon ordered it sent. The doctor disobeyed the order and the matter was carried to district headquarters and probably higher up for it involved the question of military discipline and also the rights of medical officers under army regulations. It is well enough here to say that the medical corps is a corps to itself, distinct from any other branch of the service, and orders come through the medical officers from the surgeon general down to the divisions; departments and districts, and yet at the military post the commanding officer is supposed to be "monarch of all he surveys" as you see there was a chance for controversy. Any way it was settled by Doctor Seguin being ordered to Fort Selden to take my place and I to his place at Fort Craig.

General Grover was a severe looking man past middle age, and had seen service on the frontier before the Civil War. He was a strict disciplinarian and held himself aloof from everything around. I have seen him walking down the line of officers' quarters straight as an arrow, maybe with hands clasped behind his back and an orderly walking the proper distance behind. He never entered an officer's quarters but if he wanted anything he would send his orderly to the officer with "the General's compliments and would like to see you." The officer then walked out to where the general was standing and at the proper distance stopped, stood at attention and saluted and waited for such communications as the general would make. He then saluted again and returned to his quarters and the general went on his way.

Mrs. Grover was confined soon after my arrival at the post and gave birth to a daughter. When the general was called in to see the new arrival he merely looked at it, gave a grunt, or "huh," and then turned and walked out. Mrs. Grover was the most queenly looking woman I ever saw; a magnificent physique; a commanding presence and a dignified and gracious manner. She seemed to possess all the qualities my imagination had conjured up as befitting a queen. She was the daughter of Dr. Austin Flint, Sr., whom I mentioned in an earlier chapter, and a sister of Dr. Austin Flint, Jr., the eminent physiologist. I was frequently called to their quarters to see the baby, not I thought, that it needed anything, but that the mother wanted someone to talk with. The general was civil enough to me but never cordial. I think it was not his nature to be so. He invited me occasionally to go with him in his carriage to places away from the post, say to Paraja some twelve miles away, or perhaps just for a ride, a courtesy he never extended to other officers of the post. On these little excursions I found that the general was an interesting talker, mostly with reference to his experiences on the frontier before the war. The war itself and the army since the war was never mentioned that I remember. He had been a major general during the war and was now a colonel and it was thought by most of the officers that he felt humiliated by being assigned to a negro regiment, the twenty-fourth infantry. I was invited to their quarters one morning for breakfast and maybe one or two other meals during the summer but as I remember them now they were rather formal and uninteresting.

Fort Craig was a walled fort, made so in early days as a protection against Indians. It was typical of most of the posts at which I served in being built in the form of a square. The parade ground being a square plot varying in size at different posts, around which are located the buildings. The officers occupying one side of the square; the barracks being directly opposite and the commissary and quarter master department generally occupying one side and the commanding officer's quarters and post headquarters and adjutant's office occupying the other side. At Fort Craig just outside of these buildings was an adobe wall about ten feet high. Next to the guardhouse was an opening large enough for wagons to enter the parade ground with heavy gates to close at night, and there were some small openings in the wall for other purposes, one being near the hospital. The walls of the buildings were of adobe with heavy timbers across to support the roof of dirt. The floors were what the Mexicans called "Jaspa" (pronounced Haspa), a kind of cement made of gypsum or lime sulphate which is found in great beds through a great portion of New Mexico. It is quarried or blasted out, heated to drive out the water or crystalization, then ground into a powder and when mixed with sand and water makes a pretty fair quality of cement. It was used altogether in the floors for the military posts along the Rio Grande.

The water supply at Fort Craig was obtained from the Rio Grande river and there were times about June when the snows melted in the mountains that it answered very well to a description I once read of the Missouri river water, "Too thick to drink and too thin to cultivate." This was a great bother to us during the summer rise for it was persistent for more than a month. I conceived the idea of making a filter by making a good sized ball of jaspa and charcoal which I held together by mixing a little cotton batting carefully in the mortar and kneading it into a very stiff paste. After it hardened I bored a hole in the ball and inserted a rubber tube and then put the ball in a "Tanaja," a large ungalvanized earthen jar holding eight or ten gallons of the muddy water. This jar was put in an army blanket and was swung in the hallway. The jar being porous would let enough water through to keep the blanket damp, which cooled the water. By swinging another tanaja just below the first and having it blanketed in the same way, and having a rubber tube connecting the two, I had a filter that furnished clear, sparkling, cool water. I put one in the hospital and they became quite the vogue at the post.

The wood supply was brought from the mountains some thirty miles away. Trains comprising several wagons would be sent out in charge of a wagonmaster with men enough to load them promptly and by starting early and returning late they sometimes made the round trip in two days, but generally they were three days out.

For a month or more I was in the officers' mess, consisting only of single men or those whose families were away. The meals were rather stately affairs and to me seemed a little tinged with the ridiculous in that far-away place. There was a colored man standing behind each officer's chair dressed in the proper toggery to do his duty and to give him every attention. I never saw any more perfect service at any hotel and the table was the best the commissary department and the surrounding country would provide.

Prices outside the commissary were much higher than we had then in Iowa. Eggs were fifty cents a dozen; butter a dollar and a quarter a pound. I paid these prices regularly when I started my own mess. I had what was called a student's lamp in those days and paid five dollars a gallon for coal oil, as it was then called. Of course that was before oil tanks were known and it was carried across the plains in barrels, maybe in hot weather, and on slow moving ox trains, being months on the way. The evaporation would necessarily be very great, and by the time the sutler's store got its percent of profit (probably one hundred percent or more) one could easily see that fifty cent oil in Iowa could easily be five dollars in New Mexico. Some years later at Fort McRae, further down the river, we got it for two dollars and a half per gallon by sending a five gallon can to Santa Fe to be filled.

Thinking that I was a fixture at Fort Craig for some time I wrote my wife and asked her to join me after her visit in the East was over. In view of her coming I started a mess of my own and had a little colored drummer boy detailed as servant and cook. He was as black as night and I called him Sandy. To start with I laid in a pretty good supply of commissaries, among them ten pounds of cut loaf sugar. I had my first dinner on Saturday and the following Monday morning I asked Sandy if anything was needed. "Yas sah, Doctor, we needs some moah sugar." Why Sandy, I said, we got ten pounds of each kind on Saturday, which kind do you want? "We needs some moah cut loaf sugar, sah," he said. What, cut loaf sugar? "Yas sah, Doctor, it takes a powerful sight 'o sugar for deserts." Well all right Sandy, I said, I'll see about it. I thought it was going pretty fast for only two dinners so I stopped on my way back from the hospital at Major Sweet's quarters and asked Mrs. Sweet how much cut loaf sugar they used. She was bright and quick as a flash, and wished to know, while trying to look serious, why I asked such a question. Finally she broke out into a jolly rippling laugh and said, "I know what's the matter, Sandy has been carrying your sugar off to the laundresses." I told Sandy when I returned to my quarters that I did not mind his having all the sugar he wanted himself but I did not want to feed all the laundresses at the post on cut loaf sugar. He did better afterwards but I still think the laundresses got some sugar.

There is no other part of the country so far as I know where skunks were so plentiful as in New Mexico. They were a nuisance at all the posts at which I served in that territory, but if possible were worse at Fort Craig than elsewhere. One evening I had gone to the post trader's to get my mail and upon my return I found the odor in my quarters so pronounced that I investigated and found that Sandy had killed a skunk in the kitchen. He explained by saying that he had tried to drive it out and could not do so and that he had killed it. I told him to open up all the windows and doors and scrub the kitchen floor and I went back to the sutler's store in self protection. I did not return until late when I found the odor worse than ever and Sandy explained the matter this time by saying another skunk came in and had made its way into my bed-room and got under the wardrobe and he could not get it out and was compelled to kill it. This he did by punching it to death. The result can be imagined, but not very well described. I slept on a cot in the front room for some time afterwards and found hunting and out-door exercise more interesting than remaining in my quarters.

The sand storms at Fort Craig were something to remember, or rather I should say impossible to forget. They are simply a straight wind blowing with terrific force and loaded with fine sand and dust and very fine gravel. I remember particularly one that came up one day when the steward and I were making out the monthly reports at the hospital. The windows and doors were closed and everything made as snug as possible, yet when the storm was over one made tracks when walking across the floor as visible as he would have made walking along a sandy highway. It was a serious matter to be out in one of them, for unless the face was covered one would suffer severely from the stinging sand and fine gravel, and everything a short distance away was shut out from sight. There are also some pleasant things to remember of my experience at this post. The hunting, particularly of wild fowl, was very good, the ducks remaining late in the spring and returning early in the fall. The sunsets were beautiful beyond my power of description. It was my first summer in a rarified atmosphere and I imagined at times I could see objects moving along the mountain range some thirty miles away. I remember one evening when Doctor Seguin was visiting a few days with me on his return from Fort Selden to New York, having left the service, we were out for a walk together and were up on a little mound just west of the post as the sun went down and his attention was called to the beautiful cloud effects. He remarked that he had never seen anything more beautiful in Italy. The doctor was a Frenchman by birth; his father was a medical man of distinction, and while most of his life had been spent in this country he had traveled extensively abroad and his education, particularly in medicine, had been acquired in Europe. He was now returning to New York to take up his work as a lecturer on nervous diseases in the College of Physicians and Surgeons.

While the doctor was visiting with me we went up to San Marcial to witness the games on St. John's day, June 24th. San Marcial was at that time a small straggling Mexican village of one street with adobe houses on each side and all told maybe had one hundred inhabitants. We did not go into any of the houses and only witnessed one game of any interest, it was a rough-and-tumble affair and excited great interest among the Mexicans. A rooster with its legs tied would be buried in a little mound of sand in the middle of the street, leaving only its head and neck sticking above the mound. The game was for the horsemen to form in line some distance up the street and come at full speed swooping down from the saddle, grab the chicken by the head, and then the battle was on for the chicken. The possessor of the unfortunate chicken would strike out over adobe walls and across irrigating ditches, anywhere to get out of the way of his pursuers and when at last he would be cornered, or surrounded, a battle royal would follow. I could not determine how the matter was decided but when the game was over they would come back and repeat the performance. There were many misses in their efforts to pick up the rooster, but a few of the contestants were more expert than the others and several succeeded in swinging down and retrieving the rooster from the mound of sand. We left while the game was still in progress. In all the games I witnessed among the Mexicans there appeared the element of cruelty in some form or other.

During the summer of 1869 while stationed at this post I went to Paraja to see the Penitentes parade. I don't know why it was called a parade for it was an exhibition of cruelty that I have never at any other time in my life seen equaled. It was supposed to be a religious ceremony but consisted of a procession in single file of those who had committed great crimes or sins. The one in front carried a great wooden cross, the cross-bar of which rested on his neck and shoulders, he carrying it in a somewhat stooped position. It was of an enormous size, the cross-bar extending as I estimated it, at least eight feet in length and the stem in proportion. It had been made of dry cotton-wood logs and hewn out to probably eight or ten inches square and was a crude looking affair, but was probably not as heavy as it looked. The one bearing this cross took the lead and was naked to the waist and from there down wore only a single cotton garment, pants-like in shape, but very full, something like a skirt, and all those following were dressed in a similar way. All were bare-footed and there were probably twenty or more of them. Each carried thongs with which he struck the man in front of him on the bare back, all acting in something like uniformity as to time and repeating in unison and in a drone like voice something in Spanish that I could not understand. Before the procession ended the backs of most of the participants were notably bloody and some of them very much so. Paraja is located literally in a bed of sand and I wondered how they could stand it that hot August day in their bare feet and the bloody work of the thongs left the impression on my mind of being a most brutal performance. But they were sincere and no doubt believed they were atoning for sins committed. What kind of a God is it who would accept such an atonment or approve of its offering? The faces of the participants were mostly of a brutal type and they looked as though they were capable of committing almost any crime. This exhibition did not impress me as in any way religious but on the contrary as exceedingly barbarious and superstitious.

By act of Congress during the winter of 1868 and 1869 the army was ordered reduced, which to me was a serious matter as it rendered improbable any convening of a medical board for examination of medical officers for promotion, at least for some years to come. As I remember such line officers as wished to resign could do so with the privilege of a year's additional pay, and enough others would be dropped from the service to bring the number down to the required standard, also with a year's additional pay. The only difference being that of resigning or being dropped from the service. Quite a number of line officers preferred resigning. Among those who did so was Lieutenant Page of the twenty-fourth infantry at Fort Craig. He proposed selling me his cow and I proposed trading him my pistol for it. He thought the matter over and said that he proposed locating on a farm in Missouri and the pistol might come very handy, so we made the exchange. He came to visit me at Girard, Kansas, after I had quit the service and gave me a farther history of the pistol. He had missed a good deal of corn from his fields and watched for the thieves and shot one of them quite seriously. The matter got into the courts and being so soon after the War the factional feeling had not died out, and the long litigation that followed almost bankrupted Mr. Page, rather a disreputable record for a pistol to make, but I imagine that there have been comparatively few occasions where pistols were used in personal encounters, that it would not have been better if they had never been made.

I expected my wife in September. In the meantime Captain Lawson had returned from a leave of absence and joined my mess until his wife should come. Just before I expected my wife to start on her trip to join me, a command came up from Texas, an exchange of regiments had been ordered. The fifteenth infantry went to the Department of the Missouri, and the twenty-fourth infantry to the Department of Texas, and I was ordered to accompany a part of the fifteenth infantry from Fort Craig to Fort Wingate, New Mex. I at once wrote my wife to await developments. She had already started and got as far as Fort Wallace, Kans., near the terminus of the railroad when word reached her from Fort Wingate that I was to go with one company of the fifteenth infantry to Fort Dodge, Kans., and she could meet me at Fort Lyon, Colo., which would be on my way to Fort Dodge.

THE OLD GOVERNOR'S PALACE

Santa Fe, New Mexico, as it appeared in 1869. Army Headquarters for the

District of New Mexico was located at the far end of this building.

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Fort Wingate is a post about one hundred and fifty miles west and a little north of Albuquerque and in the mountains in what was then called the Navajo country. While there I saw one of the squaws making a Navajo blanket. I supposed it would be called weaving but was unlike any weaving I ever saw, yet when a lad I was quite familiar with the looms and spinning wheels of the times, and the making of cloth.

The blanket making appeared to be a very tedious process, the warp being held taut by stakes in the ground and the filling or woof worked in under and over the threads forming the warp and pressed in place by a little flat piece of wood passing between the threads of the warp. I could more readily understand why the blankets were so expensive.

We remained at Wingate probably two weeks. I was a guest of Doctor Vickery, the post surgeon. He was a most charming host and all-around good fellow. He gave me a little handful of garnets the Indians had brought him from the little ant hills so abundant in the country. I sent a few of the choicest stones to Tiffany & Company of New York and had two rings made; one for my wife and one for a friend, the post surgeon's wife at Fort Wallace, who had been most kind to her while she was waiting for an opportunity to join me.

The company from Fort Wingate to Fort Dodge together with the headquarters' paraphernalia was under the command of Mr. Krause, a lieutenant of the fifteenth infantry. Instead of coming around by Albuquerque we came part way and then cut across country to the northeast. When within a few miles of the Rio Grande the wagon road bore down to the southeast. The infantry cut across in the direction of Barnalillo (double L has the sound of E in Spanish) and the transportation followed the wagon road. Mr. Krause and I took the ambulance and when we reached the river in place of going up stream on the west side as the wagons were directed to do we crossed over to the old overland stage route and then went north on the east side. It was late when we reached the outskirts of the town and we noticed a great light as though some building was on fire. We had now left the stage road and were trying to find one that would take us to a crossing on the river. We were about to enter the town or pueblo, for it was an Indian pueblo, when we had a good view of the fire which proved to be an immense bonfire in the middle of the street with many people gathered around it. An Indian met us and gave us to understand that we could go no farther. With what little Spanish we could command, and by signs, we got him to understand that we wanted to reach the command on the other side of the river. By that time another Indian or two had joined us and they at once took the matter in hand. One of them got into the ambulance and by signs indicated to the driver which way to go and the first man to meet us signalled Mr. Krause and myself to follow him. He would take us through the pueblo, but started around the outskirts of the place and after what seemed to me an interminable time brought us up at a high bluff. It was quite dark and we could see the campfires across the river, but how to get there, or whether we would get there, seemed questionable to me. However, the Indian knew what he was about, and soon found the place he wanted, and disappeared over the side of the bluff on what proved to be steps cut out of the rock, leading down to the valley below. It was then only a short distance to the ford and our guide motioned us to stay there, and we understood he wanted us to wait for the ambulance, but he waded across the river. We found him on our arrival in camp carrying wood for the campfires and seemingly greatly pleased at being able to help us. We gave him a dollar at which he was evidently delighted. The transportation arrived soon after we reached camp and all was right again.

We reached Santa Fe early in November-I think the 4th-and only stayed in town a few hours to rest and report to district headquarters where arrangements were made to have the paymaster come out to a place agreed on some five miles out where we would camp that night and pay off the men. This precaution was taken because there are always some men who cannot stand prosperity and will blow their money for anything they may fancy, particularly for liquor, and quite a number of them were likely to get drunk and be put in the guardhouse and cause delay in getting away from the town. It seems however, that some of them had money and those disposed to load up on "tangle-foot" had borrowed enough to put themselves past good marching condition, for at roll call preparatory to being paid off, some were missing and came straggling into camp one at a time later on in the afternoon, one without shoes, hat or clothing, excepting underwear, and one entirely naked. They had fallen out of ranks and taken a nap, and on trying to join the command had been held up by Mexicans. Of course their guns and accoutrements had gone with their clothing. We were camped where we could see some distance back along the road we had come and it was rather an odd sight to see the men coming into camp in that condition. It was quite ridiculous to see men in such uniforms, or rather lack of them, come into camp, stand at attention and salute when reporting to the commanding officer.

We followed the old overland stage route from Santa Fe to Fort Lyon, Colo., a distance of nearly three hundred miles. From there it was some two hundred miles to our destination at Fort Dodge. There was little of interest on the way to Fort Lyon, the usual routine of making and breaking camp and marching during the day. By this time the men were thoroughly hardened to the march and the roads being good we made good time. It is interesting to know that for a distance of one thousand miles men will beat horses.

At Cimarron we waked up in the morning to find six inches of snow on the ground and at Wooton's just north of the crest of Raton Pass, we stayed two or three days to have transportation repaired. I hunted a little but as I was afraid to go far from camp found nothing. One evening while there, Mr. Krause and I went down to Trinidad, a mining town of some importance in those days with the usual equipment of saloons and gambling halls. I had some curiosity to see the later, so we visited one. It was located in a long room a hundred feet or more in length by probably forty feet wide, in which there were many tables, at most of which were men engaged in playing games. The poker players sat at small tables, four or five players around each one, with stacks of chips or money at their side, or perhaps a buckskin sack containing gold dust, (for this was a placer mining camp) which was weighed out as occasion demanded in the fluctuations of the game. At other tables dice were used, or balls were rolled, and the bets were made as to which little pocket they would enter. Everything was quiet and orderly and seriously business-like. It was a curious exhibition and to this day I do not understand the fascination that seems to be in it.

At Trinidad we were still a hundred miles or more from Fort Lyons where I expected to meet my wife, and while we made exceptional progress for infantry it seemed all too slow for me. It was on the 25th of November when we reached Fort Lyons, and I had the great pleasure of seeing my wife and baby boy again. We rested over for two or three days at Fort Lyons and then started on the last long lap of nearly two hundred miles down the Arkansas river to Fort Dodge, Kans. We did not see a habitation or a soul on the way except at one place where a man was standing at the roadside as we passed along. He informed us that he and his partner were there killing buffalo and poisoning wolves for their hides. We found an immense gray wolf lying by the roadside and the men threw it on one of the wagons and we left it with the lone hunter by the roadside.

When pretty well down toward Fort Dodge, I had one of the most exciting hunting experiences of my life. Buffalo in great numbers were seen nearly all the way down and I was anxious to get a fine robe from an animal I had killed myself. My opportunity occurred one afternoon after we had gone into camp. I saw a good sized herd leave the river and start back to the high ground to graze, probably a mile or more away. I did not know any better than to go on foot and alone. It never occurred to me that there could be any danger. The ground was level as a floor and I got up within a hundred yards or less and picked out a large black bull that I thought would furnish the prize I was after, and fired. At the crack of the rifle he started for me and of course I turned and ran, and ran for my very life. I thought how hopeless it looked for me, for the camp seemed far away, but I did my best. Finally I could hear him close behind me and while I expected every moment to be gored it occurred that he was breathing heavily, and I kept the pace as best I could until the breathing seemed less distinct and looking over my shoulder I discovered that he had stopped running and was walking around and around. However, I kept going until I was sure I was at a safe distance and then fell on the ground and lay there for a while. My heart was beating like a trip-hammer. I had no notion then of giving up the contest and as he turned broadside to me I fired and he started, and I started for another race. He did not make much headway this time and my courage arose accordingly. Pretty soon he stopped again and commenced turning around. He did not chase me again, but it took the fourth shot before he fell. The rifles of those days were very different from the modern repeating rifles. This was a breech loader with only a single shot and it was necessary to raise up what was called the breachblock by hand and insert the cartridge, then replace the breachblock, cock the gun, and you were ready for another shot. Too slow a process when a mad buffalo is chasing you.

I had been aiming for the heart but shot too high and the wound in the lungs had caused the blood to choke him so he could not keep up the pace. All four of the shots went into a space not larger than my hand and one of the bullets lodged under the skin on the opposite side which I was careful to keep as a souvenir of the chase. Some of the enlisted men who had gone out to the right for a shot came to my assistance and skinned the animal for me and carried the hide into camp. They assured me that the animal was certainly within ten or fifteen feet of me at one time during our race.

Another hunting incident occurred on our trip down the valley in which I was only a spectator. Some men had gone off into the hills to get a buffalo for the command. They had separated one from the herd and had wounded it and got the animal turned in the direction so as to cross the road ahead of the command. When it came in sight our cook became enthused with the idea of going out and killing it and thus have some of the glory of the chase. He asked permission to take my riding mule that followed behind the ambulance. I readily gave my consent and watched the proceedings with a good deal of interest. He started away at full speed with a pistol in one hand swinging it in anticipation of a great victory. All went well enough until the mule got close to the game when I suppose he got a whiff of an odor that did not please him, for without slacking his pace he turned and never stopped until he was back in the rear of the ambulance again. All this with the rider making the most frantic effort to get him into the fight. He did not even get a shot. The buffalo was killed near the road and loaded on one of the wagons and taken into camp.

Another little incident occurred on this trip that was quite exciting for a few moments: We had camped near the river in some very tall grass, blue-stem I think it was called, the company some little distance away and to windward of headquarters. Some way in starting their campfire, it got beyond their control, and a shout in that direction gave as warning. I gathered the baby in my arms and we all ran for the river. Fortunately there was a sandbar extending out from the bank and we jumped some four or five feet down to that, and huddled up against the bank until the danger was past. There was a strong wind blowing and it was all over in a few moments. We thought of the ammunition wagon and feared the results, but the only harm done was a little scorching of my wife's side-saddle which was under the wagon. Only those who have seen a prairie fire in tall grass with a stiff wind blowing, can picture the scene as it actually happened. The ground was swept clean but was black with the ashes and stubble of the burned grass.

On arriving at Fort Dodge we stayed a few days waiting for a surgeon who was returning from Fort Larned and who accompanied us from Fort Dodge to Fort Hayes, Kans. While at Fort Dodge there was a dust storm that continued for three or four days, blowing a steady gale during that time. Major Morris was commanding officer at that post and I remember a lieutenant, Phil Reed, who was a charming and entertaining talker at the table. My recollection is that he was afterwards married to Minnie Reams, an actress of note at that time. The road from Fort Dodge to Fort Hayes was a very desolate one. By starting early and urging our team along until after dark we came to a stream bordered by timber where we camped for the night. It was snowing very hard when we reached camp and by morning there were six or eight inches of snow on the ground. The road was so obscure in many places that we were doubtful whether we were on the right road or on any road at all. Not a house or sign of life in all that great white waste and even now I think of it as the most desolate day of all my life. We arrived at Fort Hayes after midnight of the second day, and were soon comfortably located at Doctor Meacham's quarters and sound asleep. My orders read to accompany the command to Fort Dodge and then proceed to St. Louis, Mo., and report to the medical director of the department which had been changed from Fort Leavenworth to that place. We were now at the railroad and the worst of the long journey from Fort Craig, N. Mex., to St. Louis was over.

When in the ticket office at Fort Hayes arranging my transportation, I was introduced to one of the most noted characters on the frontier. He was generally known as "Wild Bill," but his name was Hickok and his brother had been our wagon master from Fort Wingate to Fort Dodge. He did not look wild at all but was a rather mild mannered and genteel looking fellow. He had long hair and wore good clothes and had nothing of the appearance of a desperado.

The trip to St. Louis was uneventful.

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