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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CAMP BAKER, MONTANA TERRITORY, February, 1878.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CAMP BAKER, MONTANA TERRITORY, March, 1878.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FORT SHAW, MONTANA TERRITORY, October, 1878.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FORT SHAW, MONTANA TERRITORY, January, 1879.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FORT ELLIS, MONTANA TERRITORY, January, 1879.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FORT ELLIS, MONTANA TERRITORY, June, 1880.

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

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

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

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

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

FORT SHAW, MONTANA TERRITORY, July, 1880.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FORT SHAW, MONTANA TERRITORY, August, 1880.

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

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

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