After a good supper with a stranger who offered his hospitality, we two strolled about the flower-scented streets in the cool evening air, until we retired to a downy bed in his apartment that made me wish my trip at an end. Here were no mosquitoes. The fruits of this valley are prolific and delicious, and haven't a blemish; the water is pure, and the climate healthful and exhilarating; surely Vernal received its name from Nature.
The frontier post, Fort Duchesne, lay twenty-eight miles to the south, across a desert waste. A few miles beyond Vernal we entered the Uintah Indian Reservation. Further on we saw the shacks and teepees of the Utes, and once we passed a party of this treacherous tribe on their ponies. Apparently taking us for desperadoes, they veered off to some distance in the sage and gave us a "wide berth." The strength and humility of their little steeds was surprising. Several of them carried four and five people, the buck sometimes with a boy in front of him and his squaw astride behind him with a papoose strapped to her back, and a boy or girl behind her. When they saw Damfino with her towering pack they, too, perhaps, did some wondering.
We crossed the bridge spanning the Uintah River just before sunset, and reached the guardhouse of the fort just as the bugle sounded retreat parade. To my surprise and delight the officer of the day, Lieut. Horne, was adjutant and chief commissary, and better still, an old classmate. And when, after parade, I saw the popular officer crossing the parade ground to meet me, I wondered if the changes wrought in our appearance by the lapse of thirteen years would make us both unrecognizable. Our meeting was amusing. The orderly ushered me into the officer's presence, and I advanced and grasped my old friend's hand in a manner to convince him that I knew him; but while we shook hands vigorously and playfully punched each other in the shoulders, the puzzled man could not speak my name.
"You old fool! Don't you know me?" I asked, still shaking his hand.
"You disgraceful old vagabond! Of course I know you; but blast me if I can place you," he returned grinning all over. "Who are you for heaven's sake? Where 're you from, and how did you get here? Speak, man! Relieve me of suspense, if you don't want to get shot by a colored regiment of United States troopers."
"Why," I asked, "is it possible that you do not recollect your old classmate; the famous pillow fight at S—'s Hotel? The mock fight with our old chum, Mike H—n, in my room, when you frightened the boy from West Virginia half to death with—?"
"Pod! Blast me, if it ain't Pod!" exclaimed the Lieutenant. "Well, well, if this doesn't beat me. Sit down and tell me about it. I am glad to see you. But you do look rough. Prospecting? Or fighting Indians? Or what?"
I explained. My animals, I said, were waiting outside in the care of my valet. Horne rose in astonishment.
"Traveling overland with a valet!" he exclaimed. "You are a beautiful looking swell. I have often read about you, but, blast me! if I ever once suspected it was my old chum making the famous trip. Show me the jackasses." Forthwith I escorted the laughing Lieutenant out and presented Mac A'Rony.
I spent two enjoyable days at Fort Duchesne, as the guest of my friend. One of the first to call upon me was the genial Colonel commanding. He asked me to lecture to the residents of the post. Accordingly, I gave my talk that evening to a large audience, and at its conclusion I was introduced to many ladies and officers of the post and afterwards entertained at the army club.