Army Letters from an Officer's Wife, 1871-1888

by Frances Marie Antoinette Mack Roe

I have a new horse—and a lively one, too—so lively that I have not ridden him yet. He was a present from Lieutenant Isham, and the way in which he happened to possess him makes a pretty little story. The troop had been sent out on a scout, and was on its way back to the post to be paid, when one evening this pony trotted into camp and at once tried to be friendly with the cavalry horses, but the poor thing was so frightfully hideous with its painted coat the horses would not permit him to come near them for some time. But the men caught him and brought him on to the stables, where there was trouble at once, for almost every man in the troop claimed ownership. So it was finally decided by the captain that as soon as the troop had been paid the horse should be raffled, that each man in that one troop could have the privilege of buying a chance at one dollar, and that the money should go in the troop fund. This arrangement delighted the men, as it promised something new in the way of a frolic.

In due time the paymaster arrived, the men were paid, and then in a few minutes there was brisk business going on over at the quarters of the troop! Every enlisted man in the troop—sergeants, corporals, and privates, eighty-four in all—bought a chance, thus making a fine sum for the fund. A private won the horse, of whom Lieutenant Isham immediately bought him and presented him to me.

He is about fifteen hands high and not in the least of a pony build, but is remarkably slender, with fine head and large intelligent eyes. Just what his color is we do not know, for he is stained in red-brown stripes all over his body, around his legs, and on his face, but we think he is a light gray. When he wandered to camp, a small bell was tied around his neck with a piece of red flannel, and this, with his having been so carefully stained, indicates almost conclusively that he was a pet. Some of the soldiers insist that he was a race pony, because he is not only very swift, but has been taught to take three tremendous jumps at the very beginning of his run, which gives him an immense advantage, but which his rider may sometimes fail to appreciate. These jumps are often taught the Indian race ponies. The horse is gentle with Faye and is certainly graceful, but he is hard to hold and inclined to bolt, so I will not try him until he becomes more civilized.

The Indians are very bold again. A few days ago Lieutenant Golden was in to luncheon, and while we were at the table we saw several Kiowas rush across the creek and stampede five or six horses that belonged to our milkman, who has a ranch just outside the garrison. In a few minutes an orderly appeared with an order for Lieutenant Golden and ten men to go after them without delay, and bring the horses back.

Of course he started at once, and chased those Indians all the afternoon, and got so close to them once or twice that they saw the necessity of lightening the weight on their tired ponies, and threw off their old saddles and all sorts of things, even little bags of shot, but all the time they held on to their guns and managed to keep the stolen horses ahead of them. They had extra ponies, too, that they swung themselves over on when the ridden beasts began to lag a little. When night came on Lieutenant Golden was compelled to give up the chase, and had to return to the post without having recovered one of the stolen horses.

One never knows here what dreadful things may come up any moment. Everything was quiet and peaceful when we sat down to luncheon, yet in less than ten minutes we saw the rush of the Indians and the stampede of the milkman's horses right from our dining-room window. The horses were close to the post too. Splendid cavalry horses were sent after them, but it requires a very swift horse to overtake those tough little Indian ponies at any time, and the Kiowas probably were on their best ponies when they stampeded the horses, for they knew, undoubtedly, that cavalry would soon be after them.

DODGE CITY, KANSAS, June, 1873.

WE reached this place yesterday, expecting to take the cars this morning for Granada, but the servant who was to have come from Kansas City on that train will not be here until to-morrow. When the time came to say good-by, I was sorry to leave a number of the friends at Camp Supply, particularly Mrs. Hunt, with whom we stayed the last few days, while we were packing. Everyone was at the ambulance to see us off—except the Phillips family.

We were three days coming up, because of one or two delays the very first day. One of the wagons broke down soon after we left the post, and an hour or so was lost in repairing it, and at Buffalo Creek we were delayed a long time by an enormous herd of buffalo. It was a sight that probably we will never see again. The valley was almost black with the big animals, and there must have been hundreds and hundreds of them on either side of the road. They seemed very restless, and were constantly moving about instead of grazing upon the buffalo grass, which is unusually fine along that valley, and this made us suspect that they had been chased and hunted until the small bands had been driven together into one big herd. Possibly the hunters had done this themselves, so the slaughter could be the greater and the easier. It is remarkable that such grand-looking beasts should have so little sense as to invariably cross the road right in front of moving teams, and fairly challenge one to make targets of them. It was this crossing of large numbers that detained us so long yesterday.

When we got out about fifteen miles on the road, an Apache Indian appeared, and so suddenly that it seemed as if he must have sprung up from the ground. He was in full war dress—that is, no dress at all except the breech clout and moccasins—and his face and whole naked body were stained in many colors in the most hideous manner. In his scalp lock was fastened a number of eagle feathers, and of course he wore two or three necklaces of beads and wampum. There was nothing unusual about the pony he was riding, except that it was larger and in better condition than the average Indian horse, but the one he was leading—undoubtedly his war horse—was a most beautiful animal, one of the most beautiful I ever saw.