Fort Wingate is a post about one hundred and fifty miles west and a little north of Albuquerque and in the mountains in what was then called the Navajo country. While there I saw one of the squaws making a Navajo blanket. I supposed it would be called weaving but was unlike any weaving I ever saw, yet when a lad I was quite familiar with the looms and spinning wheels of the times, and the making of cloth. The blanket making appeared to be a very tedious process, the warp being held taut by stakes in the ground and the filling or woof worked in under and over the threads forming the warp and pressed in place by a little flat piece of wood passing between the threads of the warp. I could more readily understand why the blankets were so expensive.

We remained at Wingate probably two weeks. I was a guest of Doctor Vickery, the post surgeon. He was a most charming host and all-around good fellow. He gave me a little handful of garnets the Indians had brought him from the little ant hills so abundant in the country. I sent a few of the choicest stones to Tiffany & Company of New York and had two rings made; one for my wife and one for a friend, the post surgeon's wife at Fort Wallace, who had been most kind to her while she was waiting for an opportunity to join me.

The company from Fort Wingate to Fort Dodge together with the headquarters' paraphernalia was under the command of Mr. Krause, a lieutenant of the fifteenth infantry. Instead of coming around by Albuquerque we came part way and then cut across country to the northeast. When within a few miles of the Rio Grande the wagon road bore down to the southeast. The infantry cut across in the direction of Barnalillo (double L has the sound of E in Spanish) and the transportation followed the wagon road. Mr. Krause and I took the ambulance and when we reached the river in place of going up stream on the west side as the wagons were directed to do we crossed over to the old overland stage route and then went north on the east side. It was late when we reached the outskirts of the town and we noticed a great light as though some building was on fire. We had now left the stage road and were trying to find one that would take us to a crossing on the river. We were about to enter the town or pueblo, for it was an Indian pueblo, when we had a good view of the fire which proved to be an immense bonfire in the middle of the street with many people gathered around it. An Indian met us and gave us to understand that we could go no farther. With what little Spanish we could command, and by signs, we got him to understand that we wanted to reach the command on the other side of the river. By that time another Indian or two had joined us and they at once took the matter in hand. One of them got into the ambulance and by signs indicated to the driver which way to go and the first man to meet us signalled Mr. Krause and myself to follow him. He would take us through the pueblo, but started around the outskirts of the place and after what seemed to me an interminable time brought us up at a high bluff. It was quite dark and we could see the campfires across the river, but how to get there, or whether we would get there, seemed questionable to me. However, the Indian knew what he was about, and soon found the place he wanted, and disappeared over the side of the bluff on what proved to be steps cut out of the rock, leading down to the valley below. It was then only a short distance to the ford and our guide motioned us to stay there, and we understood he wanted us to wait for the ambulance, but he waded across the river. We found him on our arrival in camp carrying wood for the campfires and seemingly greatly pleased at being able to help us. We gave him a dollar at which he was evidently delighted. The transportation arrived soon after we reached camp and all was right again.

We reached Santa Fe early in November—I think the 4th—and only stayed in town a few hours to rest and report to district headquarters where arrangements were made to have the paymaster come out to a place agreed on some five miles out where we would camp that night and pay off the men. This precaution was taken because there are always some men who cannot stand prosperity and will blow their money for anything they may fancy, particularly for liquor, and quite a number of them were likely to get drunk and be put in the guardhouse and cause delay in getting away from the town. It seems however, that some of them had money and those disposed to load up on "tangle-foot" had borrowed enough to put themselves past good marching condition, for at roll call preparatory to being paid off, some were missing and came straggling into camp one at a time later on in the afternoon, one without shoes, hat or clothing, excepting underwear, and one entirely naked. They had fallen out of ranks and taken a nap, and on trying to join the command had been held up by Mexicans. Of course their guns and accoutrements had gone with their clothing. We were camped where we could see some distance back along the road we had come and it was rather an odd sight to see the men coming into camp in that condition. It was quite ridiculous to see men in such uniforms, or rather lack of them, come into camp, stand at attention and salute when reporting to the commanding officer.

We followed the old overland stage route from Santa Fe to Fort Lyon, Colo., a distance of nearly three hundred miles. From there it was some two hundred miles to our destination at Fort Dodge. There was little of interest on the way to Fort Lyon, the usual routine of making and breaking camp and marching during the day. By this time the men were thoroughly hardened to the march and the roads being good we made good time. It is interesting to know that for a distance of one thousand miles men will beat horses.

At Cimarron we waked up in the morning to find six inches of snow on the ground and at Wooton's just north of the crest of Raton Pass, we stayed two or three days to have transportation repaired. I hunted a little but as I was afraid to go far from camp found nothing. One evening while there, Mr. Krause and I went down to Trinidad, a mining town of some importance in those days with the usual equipment of saloons and gambling halls. I had some curiosity to see the later, so we visited one. It was located in a long room a hundred feet or more in length by probably forty feet wide, in which there were many tables, at most of which were men engaged in playing games. The poker players sat at small tables, four or five players around each one, with stacks of chips or money at their side, or perhaps a buckskin sack containing gold dust, (for this was a placer mining camp) which was weighed out as occasion demanded in the fluctuations of the game. At other tables dice were used, or balls were rolled, and the bets were made as to which little pocket they would enter. Everything was quiet and orderly and seriously business-like. It was a curious exhibition and to this day I do not understand the fascination that seems to be in it.

At Trinidad we were still a hundred miles or more from Fort Lyons where I expected to meet my wife, and while we made exceptional progress for infantry it seemed all too slow for me. It was on the 25th of November when we reached Fort Lyons, and I had the great pleasure of seeing my wife and baby boy again. We rested over for two or three days at Fort Lyons and then started on the last long lap of nearly two hundred miles down the Arkansas river to Fort Dodge, Kans. We did not see a habitation or a soul on the way except at one place where a man was standing at the roadside as we passed along. He informed us that he and his partner were there killing buffalo and poisoning wolves for their hides. We found an immense gray wolf lying by the roadside and the men threw it on one of the wagons and we left it with the lone hunter by the roadside.

When pretty well down toward Fort Dodge, I had one of the most exciting hunting experiences of my life. Buffalo in great numbers were seen nearly all the way down and I was anxious to get a fine robe from an animal I had killed myself. My opportunity occurred one afternoon after we had gone into camp. I saw a good sized herd leave the river and start back to the high ground to graze, probably a mile or more away. I did not know any better than to go on foot and alone. It never occurred to me that there could be any danger. The ground was level as a floor and I got up within a hundred yards or less and picked out a large black bull that I thought would furnish the prize I was after, and fired. At the crack of the rifle he started for me and of course I turned and ran, and ran for my very life. I thought how hopeless it looked for me, for the camp seemed far away, but I did my best. Finally I could hear him close behind me and while I expected every moment to be gored it occurred that he was breathing heavily, and I kept the pace as best I could until the breathing seemed less distinct and looking over my shoulder I discovered that he had stopped running and was walking around and around. However, I kept going until I was sure I was at a safe distance and then fell on the ground and lay there for a while. My heart was beating like a trip-hammer. I had no notion then of giving up the contest and as he turned broadside to me I fired and he started, and I started for another race. He did not make much headway this time and my courage arose accordingly. Pretty soon he stopped again and commenced turning around. He did not chase me again, but it took the fourth shot before he fell. The rifles of those days were very different from the modern repeating rifles. This was a breech loader with only a single shot and it was necessary to raise up what was called the breachblock by hand and insert the cartridge, then replace the breachblock, cock the gun, and you were ready for another shot. Too slow a process when a mad buffalo is chasing you.

I had been aiming for the heart but shot too high and the wound in the lungs had caused the blood to choke him so he could not keep up the pace. All four of the shots went into a space not larger than my hand and one of the bullets lodged under the skin on the opposite side which I was careful to keep as a souvenir of the chase. Some of the enlisted men who had gone out to the right for a shot came to my assistance and skinned the animal for me and carried the hide into camp. They assured me that the animal was certainly within ten or fifteen feet of me at one time during our race.

Another hunting incident occurred on our trip down the valley in which I was only a spectator. Some men had gone off into the hills to get a buffalo for the command. They had separated one from the herd and had wounded it and got the animal turned in the direction so as to cross the road ahead of the command. When it came in sight our cook became enthused with the idea of going out and killing it and thus have some of the glory of the chase. He asked permission to take my riding mule that followed behind the ambulance. I readily gave my consent and watched the proceedings with a good deal of interest. He started away at full speed with a pistol in one hand swinging it in anticipation of a great victory. All went well enough until the mule got close to the game when I suppose he got a whiff of an odor that did not please him, for without slacking his pace he turned and never stopped until he was back in the rear of the ambulance again. All this with the rider making the most frantic effort to get him into the fight. He did not even get a shot. The buffalo was killed near the road and loaded on one of the wagons and taken into camp.

Another little incident occurred on this trip that was quite exciting for a few moments: We had camped near the river in some very tall grass, blue-stem I think it was called, the company some little distance away and to windward of headquarters. Some way in starting their campfire, it got beyond their control, and a shout in that direction gave as warning. I gathered the baby in my arms and we all ran for the river. Fortunately there was a sandbar extending out from the bank and we jumped some four or five feet down to that, and huddled up against the bank until the danger was past. There was a strong wind blowing and it was all over in a few moments. We thought of the ammunition wagon and feared the results, but the only harm done was a little scorching of my wife's side-saddle which was under the wagon. Only those who have seen a prairie fire in tall grass with a stiff wind blowing, can picture the scene as it actually happened. The ground was swept clean but was black with the ashes and stubble of the burned grass.

On arriving at Fort Dodge we stayed a few days waiting for a surgeon who was returning from Fort Larned and who accompanied us from Fort Dodge to Fort Hayes, Kans. While at Fort Dodge there was a dust storm that continued for three or four days, blowing a steady gale during that time. Major Morris was commanding officer at that post and I remember a lieutenant, Phil Reed, who was a charming and entertaining talker at the table. My recollection is that he was afterwards married to Minnie Reams, an actress of note at that time. The road from Fort Dodge to Fort Hayes was a very desolate one. By starting early and urging our team along until after dark we came to a stream bordered by timber where we camped for the night. It was snowing very hard when we reached camp and by morning there were six or eight inches of snow on the ground. The road was so obscure in many places that we were doubtful whether we were on the right road or on any road at all. Not a house or sign of life in all that great white waste and even now I think of it as the most desolate day of all my life. We arrived at Fort Hayes after midnight of the second day, and were soon comfortably located at Doctor Meacham's quarters and sound asleep. My orders read to accompany the command to Fort Dodge and then proceed to St. Louis, Mo., and report to the medical director of the department which had been changed from Fort Leavenworth to that place. We were now at the railroad and the worst of the long journey from Fort Craig, N. Mex., to St. Louis was over.

When in the ticket office at Fort Hayes arranging my transportation, I was introduced to one of the most noted characters on the frontier. He was generally known as "Wild Bill," but his name was Hickok and his brother had been our wagon master from Fort Wingate to Fort Dodge. He did not look wild at all but was a rather mild mannered and genteel looking fellow. He had long hair and wore good clothes and had nothing of the appearance of a desperado.

The trip to St. Louis was uneventful.