A Bullet Broke One Of His
Legs, And He Went Down, But He Kept On Shooting - And So Fast That No
One Dared Approach Him.
And when the forearm of his pistol hand was
shattered, he grasped the pistol with the other hand and continued to
shoot, even when he could not sit up, but had to hold himself up by
the elbow of his broken arm.
He was finally killed, fairly riddled
with bullets. He knew, of course, all the time what his fate would be
if taken alive, and he chose the cold lead instead of the end of a
rope.
It was pleasant to meet our old friends here. Colonel Palmer is in
command, and I was particularly glad to see them. After Mrs. Palmer
had embraced me she held me off a little and said: "What have you been
doing to your face? my, but you are ugly!" The skin on the blistered
side has peeled off in little strips, leaving the new skin very white
in between the parched brown of the old, so I expect I do resemble a
zebra or an Indian with his war paint on. The post, which is only a
camp as yet, is located at the upper end of a beautiful valley, and
back of us is a canon and mountains are on both sides. Far down the
valley is a large Indian village, and we can distinctly see the
tepees, and often hear the "tom-toms" when the Indians dance. There
are other Indian camps near, and it is not safe to go far from the
tents without an escort. It seems to be a wonderful country for
game - deer, grouse, and prairie chicken. Twice we have seen deer come
down from the mountains and drink from the stream just below the post.
Bettie and I have scared up chicken every time we have taken little
runs around the camp, and Faye has shot large bags of them. They are
not as great a treat to us as to our friends, for we had so many on
the way over.
We have two wall tents, one for sitting room and one for bedroom, and
in front a "fly" has been stretched. Our folding camp furniture makes
the tents very comfortable. Back of these is the mess, or dining tent,
and back of that is the cook tent. Charlie has a small range now,
which keeps him squeaking or half singing all the time. One morning,
before we got this stove from the quartermaster, breakfast was late,
very late. The wind was blowing a gale, and after waiting and waiting,
we concluded that Charlie must be having trouble with the little
sheet-iron camp stove. So Faye went back to see what was the matter.
He returned laughing, and said he had found a most unhappy Chinaman;
that Charlie was holding the stove down with a piece of wood with one
hand, and with the other was trying to keep the breakfast on the
stove.
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