Just as the entire garrison had become quiet once more—bang! went a gun, and then again we heard people running about to see what was the matter, and if the burglar had been caught. But it proved to have been the accidental going off of a rifle at the guardhouse. The instant that Colonel Gregory ascertained that a soldier had really been in Mrs. Norton's house, check roll-call was ordered—that is, the officer of the day went to the different barracks and ordered the first sergeants to get the men up and call the roll at once, without warning or preparation. In that way it was ascertained if the men were on their cots or out of quarters. But that night every man was "present or accounted for." At the hospital, roll-call was not necessary, but they found an attendant playing possum! A lantern held close to his face did not waken him, although it made his eyelids twitch, and they found that his heart was beating at a furious rate. His clothes had been thrown down on the floor, but socks were not to be found with them.
So he is the man suspected.. He will get his discharge in three days, and it is thought that he was after a suit of citizen clothes of the doctor's. Not so very long ago he was their striker. No one in the garrison has ever heard of an enlisted man troubling the quarters of an officer, and it is something that rarely occurs. I spend every night with Mrs. Norton now, who seems to have great confidence in my ability to protect her, as I can use a revolver so well. She calmly sleeps on, while I remain awake listening for footsteps. The fact of my having been at a military post when it was attacked by Indians—that a man was murdered directly under my window, when I heard every shot, every moan—and my having had two unpleasant experiences with horse thieves, has not been conducive to normal nerves after dark.
During all the commotion at Mrs. Norton's the night the man got in her house, her Chinaman did not appear. One of the officers went to his room in search of the burglar and found him—the Chinaman—sitting up in his bed, almost white from fear. He confessed to having heard some one in the kitchen, and when asked why he did not go out to see who it was, indignantly replied, "What for?—he go way, what for I see him?"
I feel completely upset without a good saddle horse. George is developing quite a little speed in single harness, but I do not care for driving—feel too much as though I was part of the little buggy instead of the horse. Major and Mrs. Stokes are expected soon from the East, and I shall be so glad to have my old neighbors back.
CAMP ON BIRCH CREEK, NEAR PIEGAN AGENCY, MONTANA TERRITORY, September, 1882.
BY this time you must have become accustomed to getting letters from all sorts of out-of-the-way places, therefore I will not weary you with long explanations, but simply say that Major Stokes and Faye sent for Mrs. Stokes and me to come to camp, thinking to give us a pleasant little outing. We came over with the paymaster and his escort. Major Carpenter seemed delighted to have us with him, and naturally Mrs. Stokes and I were in a humor to enjoy everything. We brought a nice little luncheon with us for everybody—that is, everyone in the ambulance. The escort of enlisted men were in a wagon back of us, but the officer in charge was with us.
The Indians have quieted down, and several of the officers have gone on leave, so with the two companies now here there are only Major Stokes, who is in command, Faye, Lieutenant Todd, and Doctor Norton. Mrs. Stokes has seen much of camp life, and enjoys it now and then as much as I do. The importance of our husbands as hosts—their many efforts to make us comfortable and entertain us—is amusing, yet very lovely. They give us no rest whatever, but as soon as we return from one little excursion another is immediately proposed. There is a little spring wagon in camp with two seats, and there are two fine mules to pull it, and with this really comfortable turn-out we drive about the country. Major Stokes is military inspector of supplies at this agency, and every Piegan knows him, so when we meet Indians, as we do often, there is always a powwow.
Three days ago we packed the little wagon with wraps and other things, and Major and Mrs. Stokes, Faye, and I started for a two days' outing at a little lake that is nestled far up on the side of a mountain. It is about ten miles from here. There is only a wagon trail leading to it, and as you go on up and up, and see nothing but rocks and trees, it would never occur to you that the steep slope of the mountain could be broken, that a lake of good size could be hidden on its side. You do not get a glimpse of it once, until you drive between the bushes and boulders that border its banks, and then it is all before you in amazing beauty. The reflections are wonderful, the high lights showing with exquisite sharpness against the dark green and purple depths of the clear, spring water.
The lake is fearfully deep—the Indians insist that in places it is bottomless—and it is teeming with trout, the most delicious mountain trout that can be caught any place, and which come up so cold one can easily fancy there is an iceberg somewhere down below. Some of these fish are fourteen or more inches long.
It was rather late in the afternoon when we reached the lake, so we hurriedly got ourselves ready for fishing, for we were thinking of a trout dinner. Four enlisted men had followed us with a wagon, in which were our tents, bedding, and boxes of provisions, and these men busied themselves at once by putting up the little tents and making preparations for dinner, and we were anxious to get enough fish for their dinner as well as our own. At a little landing we found two row-boats, and getting in these we were soon out on the lake.