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.
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