The wild flowers of Montana are as abundant and beautiful as those of the Alps, and more varied. Shooting stars greet the spring. Dandelions abound but do not reach full rounded perfection. The common blue larkspur, however, revels in the cool air and warm sunshine. The little yellow violet which haunts the woods in the eastern states makes herself quite at home here. Blue bells nod and sway in the breeze, little ragged sun flowers turn their faces to the sun and mitreworts grow everywhere.
Along the shady streams wild currants flaunt their yellow flags while hydrangea, that queen of flowers, lends a shade to the violets blooming at her feet. Wild roses strew the ground with their delicate petals. Stately lilies, their purple stamens contrasting strangely with their yellow petals, are abundant. The most dainty of this fair host is the golden saxifrage, and the most delicate gold thread, whose dainty, slender roots resemble nothing so much as threads of pure gold.
At Havre, Montana, the Twenty-fourth United States Infantry came aboard. They are stalwart colored soldiers who will do credit to the uniforms they wear. They go to San Francisco, where they take transports for Manila. The good-bys at the station between the soldiers and their friends and relatives were pathetic indeed. Not one of the brave fellows but acted a soldier’s part.
Just as the train was pulling out a handsome girl ran along one of the cars to the window calling out to her sweetheart:
“O, lift me up till I kiss you again.”
We were glad when two big black hands came out through the open window and strong arms clasped the maiden for a moment.
Every heart beat with the same thought; how many of these brave men would return from the deadly Philippines?
We were proud of the Twenty-fourth when they bade good-by to their friends at Havre; we were proud of them when they marched up the street at Spokane; we are proud of them still.
The officers of this regiment are white. They and their wives came into our car.
The conversation was enlivened with tales of camp life. When a private, one officer was greatly annoyed by the Indians, who came day after day to sit in the shade of his quarters, when having been on night duty he wanted to sleep. He bought a sun-glass and when they began talking he would sit down at the window and carelessly with the glass draw a focus on one of his tormentor’s feet. With a yell worthy an Indian with the bad spirit after him he would bound away, followed by his companions. Soon they would return, when the glass would be brought into play with the same effect. At last the Indians came to believe the house haunted and our captain was no longer troubled by his red brothers.