"Apaches, Yumas, Navajos abound; they are cruel, treacherous fighters. We had some lively skirmishes with them. I received a poisoned arrow in my arm. But I sucked the wound and very soon, to everyone's surprise, it healed. There comes to me oft-times a strange conceit that I cannot be killed or even badly hurt ... until I have met Terry."
There was a postscript written on a later date, proceeding from Fort Davis, Texas. Though the handwriting was less firm than the foregoing, there was a jubilance about the closing lines which even the Chinese felt. His eyes glowed with a battle spirit as Benito read:
"My prayer has been answered. At least in part. I have met and fought with Broderick's assassin. It was in the battle for Fort Davis, which we wrested from the enemy, that he loomed suddenly before me, a great hulk of a man in a captain's uniform swinging his sword like a demon. I saw one of our men go down before him and then the battle press brought us together. It seemed almost like destiny. His sword was red and dripping, his horse was covered with foam. He looked at me with eyes that were insane--mad with the lust of killing; tried to plunge the blade into my neck. But I caught his wrist and held it. I shouted at him, for the noise was hideous, 'David Terry, I am Broderick's friend.' He went white at that. I let his wrist go and drew my own saber. I struck at him and the sparks flew from his countering weapon. My heart was leaping with a kind of joy. 'No trick pistols this time,' I cried. And I spat in his face.
"But another's ball came to his rescue. I felt it, cold as ice and hot as fire in my lung. I made a wild slash at him as I fell; saw him wince, but ride away.... So, now I lie in a camp hospital. It has seemed a long time. But it is the fortune of war. Perhaps I shall see you soon."
"It isn't signed," Benito seemed a trifle puzzled. Then he found, in back of Waters' lines, a final sheet in a strange handwriting. Hurriedly he rose, walked to the open door. Below, upon the bay, storm was brewing; it seemed mirrored in his eyes.
"What is it, dear?" asked Alice following. He handed her the single sheet of paper.
"Dead!" her tone was stunned, incredulous.
Benito's arm around her, dumbly, they went out together. Rain was beginning to fall, but neither knew it.
Several years of war made little change in San Francisco. The city furnished more than its quota of troops. The California Hundred, trained fighters and good horsemen, went to Massachusetts in 1862 and were assigned to the Second Cavalry. Later the California Battalion joined them. Both saw terrific fighting.