Chapter 8

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

DODGE CITY, KANSAS, June, 1873.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FORT LYON, COLORADO TERRITORY, June, 1873.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FORT LYON, COLORADO TERRITORY, August, 1873.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FORT LYON, COLORADO TERRITORY, October, 1873.

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

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

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