third character was a woman of unique per- sonality and dress, as typical of her craft, in those days, as was Wild Bill himself. Of swarthy skin, with keen black eyes, with black curling hair, and casting furtive glances when conscious of particular notice, her appearance as well as her professions suggested gypsy antecedents. Decided and varied colors marked her dress. Her hands and ears were lavishly jewelled, whether with real or imitation gems my proximity did not disclose, though if real, certainly not of the first water. Her self-conscious importance and my lack of inclination precluded judgment on this point. She was a fortune-teller, with clairvoyant powers, so said, en route to the little settlement of Denver to ply her vocation there. I did not know of her reputation as possessing occult powers until after her departure, otherwise I might have lengthened my story. I had the misfortune to lose a diamond brooch at or near our rendezvous, a 32
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matter of great concern on account of its senti- mental as well as real value, and had I suspected her ability in her boasted powers I might possibly have invoked her aid for its recovery, and might have been tempted even to take a peep into the future at her behest.
These wayside ranch stories, limited in their range, and minus the Canterbury features, are typi- cal in a small way of the old life of the times.
The Plains, at that season, were barren of green- ness, as everything of a vegetable nature was sere and brown, possessing no beauty worthy of descrip- tion. The level prairies had nothing to break the monotony of this sea of waste. Trees and patches of grass were to be found along the water courses and justified the wisdom of previous travellers in choosing, so far as possible, their camping places near them. We were certainly travelling across the '' Great American Desert. ''
And yet the soil was afterwards found to be rich, and only needed modern irrigation to make it won- derfully productive. Once, when General Sherman was serving in that region, some one remarked to him that "it was a fine country and all that it needed was plenty of water and good society." To this the General is reported to have replied very brusquely, "That is all hell needs." As with the soil, so the wild cactus was waiting for modern science to transform and evolve it into food fit for beasts. Then, contact with it had to be avoided with scrupulous care, and no one dreamed that it could serve any good purpose to justify its exist-
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MY ARMY LIFE
ence and the evil function it seemed to serve. A thousand needles in a single plant were so adjusted as to prick and pierce both the hands and feet of the unwary traveller as she descended from her ambulance for a short respite from cramped limbs and bodily weariness incident to the day's travel. How painfully we afterwards understood its char- acter will develop later in our story.
It is said that one of the favorite tortures of some tribes of Indians was to strip their unfortunate captives and bind them tightly to a large cactus of the country, and it was a common saying in regard to a bright boy, "He will make a fine boy if the Apaches don't tie him to a cactus. "
CHAPTER IV.
McPHERSON AND SEDGWICK VISITED.
FORT McPherson, Nebraska, afterwards a well built Post constructed of the red cedar which there abounded and gave beauty, when varnished, to all interior wood-work, consisted of only shabby log and adobe quarters upon our arrival, and we were not loath to leave it behind, though each halting place where we could commune with others than our own little party proved a welcome relief. If I could have ridden on horseback for even a brief spell, what a relief it would have been. I had been quite an expert in the saddle from childhood, and had not entirely lost the art. It did seem but fair, if Uncle Sam could only see things that way and consider the personal comfort of women travellers bound to follow their husbands at whatever cost; but the Government carriage, called "ambulance," was always at command upon transition from rail or steam-boat conveyance to the limited methods of transportation on the frontier.
After another hundred miles of travel, and three hundred and ninety miles from Omaha, we reached Fort Sedgwick with but little to interrupt the con- tinuity of brown grass and sand hills along our immediate route.
Fort Sedgwick, in the northeast corner of Colo- rado, was the old site of Julesburg, now across the Platte River, and had been burned by the son of
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MY ARMY LIFE
old "Little Dog," but had been rebuilt and con- tained a dozen houses and stores. According to the nomenclature of town designation in those days in the West, the tradition is as follows: In the days of the overland stage service, and during the early Mormon migration to Salt Lake, one Jules, a Chero- kee exile, kept the so-called "hotel" there for pass- ing travel, and in the cheerful frankness of western life the place was known as "Dirty Jules Ranch" thence to Jules, finally, Julesburg. Here it was my gaod fortune to meet Captain J. P. W. Neil, belong- ing to the same regiment as my husband, the Eigh- teenth U. S. Infantry ; his company had been left to garrison the post when the regiment went westward the previous May. To this day I feel indebted to Mrs. Neil for ministering to my necessities and giving valuable suggestions for enhancing my com- fort during the wearisome days to follow. And what a blessing to sit at her hospitable board and eat good square meals, if only for a few days.
The best preserver of kindnesses is the remem- brance of them and perpetual thanksgiving for them. It was said of a Kentucky soldier during the Civil War that often in the camp, far from home, he would stir an invisible beverage with an imaginary spoon. Perhaps I experienced a kindred sensation afterwards, when I recalled the taste and aroma of Mrs. Neil's coffee as contrasted with our own made over a camp fire of "buffalo chips," the only fuel obtainable at times, and if sorrow's crowning sorrow be the remembering of happier days and events, surely there was nothing left for me to do but fortify
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myself for and not against the decoction of the camp-fire article.
We had followed the course of the South Platte but now were to cross that strange river, thus de- scribed by one who had made the experiment: "The River Platte is a broad, but dirty, uninviting stream, differing from a slough in having a swift current, often a mile wide, but with no more water than would fill an ordinary canal; three inches of fluid running en the top of several feet of moving quick- sand ; too deep for safe fording; too yellow to wash in ; and too pale to paint with, it is the most useless and disappointing river in America. "
Such was the Platte River in 1866. To-day the river and its tributaries irrigate one million nine hundred and twenty-five thousand four hundred and sixty-two acres of land, which fifty years ago, or even less, were regarded as worthless. Measure- ments of water once used and then returned to the river bed bring out the fact that a large percentage of the water diverted to a particular canal is not wholly lost but returns to the stream and is used over again. Some of the measurements show that in low water the return seepage tends to increase the flow of the stream rather than to diminish that flow. Such is the statement of the Superintendent of Irrigation Affairs.
The very anticipation of crossing, or seeming to cross, this strange river at any given point was at least disconcerting, as we had to expect new eddies, more spiteful currents, more desperate quicksands, and constantly varying depths of water, with no
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MY ARMY LIFE
competent
