Some of the
men are working at the wood still, and others are making their
quarters' a little more decent. Every tiny opening in our own log
walls has been chinked with pieces of blanket or anything that could
be found, and the entire dirt floor has been covered with clean grain
sacks that are held down smooth and tight by little pegs of wood, and
over this rough carpet we have three rugs we brought with us. At the
small window are turkey-red curtains that make very good shades when
let down at night. There are warm army blankets on the camp bed, and a
folded red squaw blanket on the trunk. The stove is as bright and
shining as the strong arm of a soldier could make it, and on it is a
little brass teakettle singing merrily.
Altogether the little place looks clean and cheerful, quite unlike the
"hole" we came to. Farrar has attended to his part in the kitchen
also, and things look neat and orderly there. A wall tent has been
pitched just outside our door that gives us a large storeroom and at
the same time screens us from the men's quarters that are along one
side of the sandbag walls.
On the side farthest from us the mules and horses are stabled, but one
would never know that an animal was near if those big-headed mules did
not occasionally raise their voices in brays that sound like old
squeaky pumps. When it is pleasant they are all picketed out.
At the first coming of the blizzard the sentry was ordered from the
parapet, and is still off, and I am positive that unless one goes on
soon at night I shall be wholly deaf, because I strain my ears the
whole night through listening for Indians. The men are supposed to be
ever ready for an attack, but if they require drums and cannon to
awaken them in a garrison, how can they possibly hear the stealthy
step of an Indian here? It is foolish to expect anything so
unreasonable.
CIMARRON REDOUBT, KANSAS,
January, 1873.
FANCY our having given a dinner party at this sand-bag castle on the
plains, miles and miles from a white man or woman! The number of
guests was small, but their rank was immense, for we entertained
Powder-Face, Chief of the Arapahoe Nation, and Wauk, his young squaw,
mother of his little chief.
Two or three days ago Powder-Face came to make a formal call upon the
"White Chief," and brought with him two other Indians - aides we would
call them, I presume.
