Orders came the latter part of March to abandon the camp and I was ordered to accompany the command to Fort Gibson, Indian Territory, and then to report to the commanding officer at Fort Garland, Colorado, for assignment to duty. From Fort Gibson I returned to Camp Limestone for my wife and little girl baby, who was born the previous November. We were furnished tickets by the railroad as far as Kansas City, but when we came to use them we found they had been packed with our baggage and of course had to pay car-fare. We went over the same railroad from Kansas City as the one I had first taken in crossing the plains but in place of stopping in Kansas, as it did then, it had been finished to Denver.

There was a narrow gauge road from Denver to Pueblo. Its passenger train was at the depot when ours pulled in and our train stopped beside it. It was quite a curiosity to me. It looked so very small, I thought of it as a toy affair and wondered if we could make any headway on such a thing. I was surprised and much gratified to soon know how much I had miscalculated its merits. It was a long train and went in and out among the canons and around the mountain sides in an amusing way and with surprising speed. Maybe we would look out and see an engine coming down the track across the canon from us and would discover it to be our own engine puttering along as though pleased with its job. We stayed over night at Pueblo and in the morning we found there was an ambulance to take us and Major Hartz over the mountains to Fort Garland. The major had introduced himself the previous night on our arrival from Denver. On the route to Garland we spent the night at the different stage stations and were made fairly comfortable. As we neared the summit of Sangre De Cristo Pass (Blood of Christ) the snow was very deep and soft. We thought it too much of a load for the mules and so the major and I concluded to walk. It was well we did so, for the mules had all they could do to flounder through it. I stood the walking very well but it was laborious work. The major did not fare so well, for as we neared the top, which is about eleven thousand, five hundred feet above sea level, he was spitting blood and having difficulty in breathing. The west side of the range was clear of snow and it was only two or three miles from the summit to Stearn's ranch, where we stayed over night, and by morning although the major had a restless night the hemorrhage had stopped. The following day we drove to Fort Garland only twenty miles away.

Fort Garland is situated at the edge of the foothills just south of old Baldy, one of the highest peaks of the Sangre De Cristo range. It was a pretty location overlooking the Rio Grande valley to the south and west and we were assigned to comfortable quarters.

About the first part of May a troop of cavalry under command of Major Carraher was ordered to establish a camp at the junction of the west fork with the main stream of the Rio Grande, about one hundred miles west and a little north of the post, and I was assigned to duty as surgeon of the command. This camp was established as a base of supplies for government surveyors who were to survey the San Juan Indian reservation. There had been trouble for some years between the Ute Indians and prospectors who had gone into their reservation and located some valuable mines, and warfare between them had resulted in the government buying the land and opening it to settlers, and this survey was to fix the boundaries and divide the land into sections and cross sections so legal title could be given.

The surveyors arrived a few days after we had established camp. A Mr. Prout was in charge of the party and they stayed at camp several days to establish the exact latitude and longitude of the camp as a base from which to make additional surveys. I became very much interested in this work and they explained a good deal of it to me but I was surprised at the time it required and the figuring necessary. I had the pleasure of watching the chronometer and calling time on signal from the observer. The nights were clear and in that rare atmosphere the stars shone with great brilliancy.

An escort accompanied the surveyors in their work, a squad of a half dozen men in command of a noncommissioned officer, generally a sergeant, and each week these were relieved by others and returned to camp. There was practically no need for a surgeon with the camp that summer, the only two cases in the hospital being a man who was blinded by a premature shot in the mines and my pointer dog which I shot on one of my hunting trips.

The country along the Rio Grande was unsettled, there being but one abandoned log-house between Fort Garland and Loma, now called Del Norte, a Mexican village with a good sprinkling of American houses, and located at the head of what was called the San Luis valley. The log-house was dignified by the name of Alamoosa and was our camp-ground and half-way place between Fort Garland and our summer camp. The trip was generally made in two days although the distance was nearly one hundred miles. From Loma to the camp, a distance of some fifteen miles, the mountains sloped gradually to the river and there were a few adobe houses occupied by Mexicans. As there was very little to do I spent a good deal of time hunting and fishing. Rainbow trout are very plentiful in the river for here it was a clear rushing mountain stream with deep pools and the water was cold throughout the summer from melting snows. We had fish at all times and cooked in every imaginable way until we were almost sickened at the thought of fish, although they were always pretty to look at. To this day my wife does not want to see or eat fish. All kinds of game were abundant but I never had much success with the larger varieties, I did not understand deer hunting and always managed it the wrong way. I did not know anything about their runways, so still hunting was not practical and in riding over the mountains they saw me before I saw them and that settled the matter. I tried repeatedly to get a shot at an elk that I frequently saw on his favorite grazing ground, a small park a half mile or more away near the top of one of the high points in the mountains, but with all my care, and calculating the direction of the wind, and figuring on the best way of approach, he would always scent the danger while I was making my way through the thicket of aspens that surrounded the park and I could hear the keen whistle-like note and hear him bounding away before I caught sight of him.

On these hunting trips I rode a government mule that General Alexander, the post commander at Fort Garland, had given me for the summer's use, and who spoke of him with great praise as an exceptionally good saddle animal. He was said to be twenty-seven years old, and had formerly been used as a messenger mule between Fort Garland and Taos when the mail was brought to the post from the latter point. I suppose he had been gray at one time but now he was white from age, but had been well cared for and although in fine condition, had been retired from actual service. I found him all that he was recommended to be, and with an additional merit that he was not afraid of a gun. I could fire from the saddle and he would not flinch, and because of this exceptional quality, I had a great deal of sport shooting jack-rabbits. They would jump up and run away fifty or a hundred yards and sit up straight, which is their habit, and I would aim in line and a little below the mark and as the mule would inhale it would raise the muzzle of the rifle and by pulling the trigger at the right moment I was sure to see the rabbit tumble over. I never had much chance from the saddle at larger game. The color of the mule was against it, and I was not a good shot with the rifle at moving objects.

I became much attached to this mule for his exceptionally easy gait and his fine disposition, however, he played me a bad trick one day for which I have since forgiven him because of my own culpable ignorance. It was getting late and I was out of my usual hunting range when I saw an antelope grazing in one of the many beautiful parks to be found in the mountains. There was a small ravine down the center of this park near which I noticed a clump of willows and figured that if I could approach from behind the willows I could get a good shot. My scheme worked all right and I got up within range and fired. To my great surprise I saw the shot take effect on the hillside beyond and had passed over the antelope's shoulders. This was a puzzle to me for I was sure I had taken good aim, and equally sure that I did not have the "buck-ague." The antelope ran away and stopped and looked back at me when I estimated him to be about two hundred and fifty yards away. I made a careful allowance for the distance and fired at the shoulder and at the report of the gun he dropped in his tracks apparently without a struggle. I thought a little strange of this, for I had aimed just back of the shoulders and supposed he would at least make a jump or two and struggle some after falling. Imagine my surprise when I found his neck broken just back of his ears, a purely accidental shot. I went back to my mule, which by the way I had named "Paddy O'Rooney" but always addressed him by his given name, and I thought I would put the antelope on him without dressing it as it was getting late and I wanted to find a trail down to the valley. I found that Paddy had an altogether different view of the matter, for he had no desire to get acquainted with the dead antelope. There was no timber near where I could tie him to a tree, to force him to accept the load and so a bright idea occurred to me. I have done a good many foolish things in my life, but I think nothing quite so idiotic as this. I decided that I would tie the end of the lariat rope to the antelope's hind legs, the other end being fastened around Paddy's neck and I would then get on the mule and pull the antelope up. This scheme worked pretty well at least part way. I was in the saddle and my gun across in front of me and I backed Paddy up toward the antelope, wrapping the lariat around the horn of the saddle as he backed. Paddy would look back and snort a little, but was quite gentle until I attempted to raise the antelope up to me. When Paddy saw it move I believe he thought the thing had come to life and was going to swallow him, for the way he went down the mountain side would have shamed John Gilpin and his foam covered horse. I tried to hold him but I might as well have tried to hold a cyclone. I had been raised on a farm and helped break the young horses to ride and work, and I thought I could hold anything, but I had never been on a scared mule before, and I found I was utterly helpless. My first impulse was to throw away my gun and try to get off and let the mule and the antelope have it out together but the lariat was across my right thigh and I could not get away from it. I believe the thing following him added to his terror, for we went over places I could not have forced him over in his sane condition. I went over the track of our runaway race a few days later and found a ledge of nearly four feet in height that we had gone over, and I really think it would have been the same thing to Paddy if it had been forty feet in place of four. The old saying "All's well that ends well" proved true in this case. The lariat rope slipped around the saddle horn caused by the jerking of the antelope as it bounded along and choked Paddy down just as we got to the edge of the timber. I hurriedly dismounted and loosened the lariat so that he could get his breath and found that he was pretty well tuckered out. I tied him to a tree and then went back to examine my antelope. The hind and fore-quarters were held together by the backbone and a strip of skin along the belly but the ribs and entrails were gone. Fortunately we had stopped near a trail which I knew would lead down to the valley, although I had never been over it before. When I tried to put what was left of the antelope on Paddy's back he again rebelled. I then tied his neck up against a small tree and wrapped the lariat around the tree and his neck until he could not buck, but in his struggles he lost his footing and hung himself. I cut the rope as quickly as I could, and got him on his feet again and gave him a little more freedom the next time and while he protested most vigorously, I finally got my antelope securely fastened in the saddle and led the poor worn-out mule down the trail. It was very dark by this time and we made slow progress but finally reached the valley and I estimated that we were not more than three or four miles from camp. We had only gone a short distance when we met a detachment of cavalry that had been ordered out by Major Carraher in search of me. The major had been over to my tent two or three times and finding I was not there became uneasy, thinking I might have met with some accident, or the Indians might have found me. We arrived in camp about nine or ten o'clock with what was left of the antelope, a very tired hunter and a very tired mule.

The following day I tested my rifle at a mark and found good cause for my wild shooting the previous day. I suppose the front sight had been slightly moved by striking on a tree or something on my trip before I found the antelope. Paddy and I still remained good friends and he took me many pleasant rides through the mountains.

With the latter part of August came the wing-shooting of the dusky grouse (Canace of the Ornothologist) a large slate-colored bird, some larger than our prairie chickens (Cupidonia Cupido). The young birds could then fly strong and afforded great sport. My observation is that it is a very stupid bird. I have seen them sit on the limb of a tree until knocked off after repeated throwing and have seen them sit on the bare ground apparently thinking they were hid, until I have walked up to within ten or fifteen feet of them, before they would take wing. Until well grown I found them most frequently in the open parks where there was a ravine with water and willows and other undergrowth, and more or less grass for cover, but later in the season they took to the large timber. So far as my experience goes they are the best table bird of all the grouse family. The flesh is white and delicious. Their range is as high as timber line in the summer but they go lower as the season advances. There were no quail at this altitude. I think they do not go so high and I saw no other game birds.

There was a bird about camp called the "Nut-cracker" and I believe in some places known as "lark's Crow" (Nussifrage Columbrana) that for a nuisance I believe could not be equalled. In action, in size and something in appearance and rasping voice he much resembled our jays. They were in great numbers about our camp and were impudent fellows and seemed determined to get into everything. Mr. H. W. Henshaw was with us that summer collecting natural history specimens for the Smithsonian Institute. He was quite anxious to find the nest and eggs of this bird. I supposed from their abundance this would be a matter requiring little effort, but I found I was mistaken. I made it my special part that summer to locate a nest of these birds and was constantly on the lookout. I often went out with Mr. Henshaw in the morning when he would start on his day's round but generally lost out after the first hour. He was an athlete in size and finely proportioned and hardened to the work by constant practice, and could walk the legs off me in an hour's travel. I would then strike out for myself but was always looking for the Nut-cracker and trying to locate his nest. One day I saw him fly away from a hole some fifteen feet up in an old tree stump, the limbs having fallen away. This looked encouraging so I climbed up and found a nest but no eggs. I reported my find to Mr. Henshaw that evening and he was pleased with the prospects and said we would go together in about a week, and by that time we might find eggs in the nest. I had marked the place well and we had no difficulty in finding it. Mr. Henshaw did the climbing this time and thrust his hand in the hole but found no eggs. "Wait a minute though," he said and thrust his hand down in the hole again, but brought it out in a hurry and the blood was dripping from it. He suggested I make a forked stick such as every boy knows who has ever twisted a rabbit out of a stone wall or hollow log, and he twisted the thing out which proved to be a mountain rat, something entirely new to me. It was a rat in every way I had known them but had a bushy tail like a squirrel. We took it to camp with us and the skin went away with his other specimens to the institute. This is commonly called the bushy-tailed rat but is designated Neotoma Cinera Orelestes by the zoologist.

Mr. Henshaw is now chief of the biological survey in the United States Department of Agriculture, to whom I am indebted for many agreeable experiences and for most of my knowledge concerning most of the birds and animals herein mentioned. His contributions to the National Geographical Magazine are particularly interesting and instructive. The rat mentioned is also one of the varieties of what is known as pack-rats. They construct a nest of sticks and other rubbish found in the neighborhood, and if near a house may carry off spoons or knives or anything that attracts their attention. There is a smooth tailed rat belonging to this genus that is very abundant in New Mexico and is apt to leave something in place of the article he carries away, and on that account is often called the swap-rat.

General Alexander and some other officers from the post at Fort Garland came to our camp the latter part of July. Complaint had been made by cattlemen, really some Englishmen by the name of Hamilton, that some of their cattle had been killed and they blamed the escort that accompanies the engineers for their death. Mr. Delaney, who came with the general, and I were detailed to go to Antelope park, where the ranch was located, and investigate the matter. The general and some other officers accompanied us as far as Wagon-wheel Gap and with a small escort we continued on to the park, the general and other officers returning to camp. We found the Hamilton brothers very cordial and hospitable. We talked the business over quite thoroughly and remained until near midnight before returning to our camp a short distance away. The following morning we found a half-inch or more of ice in a cup that had been left with some water in it the night before, rather cool weather I thought for the 30th of July. It was very chilly riding for the first two or three hours in the morning, but the sunshine finally got the better of the cold, and we were comfortable for the balance of the day. We camped at Wagon-wheel Gap the following night and found it an interesting place, although there was but one log building and that unoccupied, in the place.

The river here makes a great circular bend around an almost perpendicular wall of rock that I judged to be about a half-mile high. Across the river from this was a beautiful valley sloping gradually up into the mountains and in it were many hot springs varying in temperature from barely tepid to boiling hot.

The following day brought us back to our summer camp again. Our camp here was beautifully located among the pines and between the camp and bluff there was a pretty little lake which had been made by turning a little mountain stream into the low ground between the camp and the bluff. The officers' tents were in line facing this lake, and at the back ground sloped gradually to the river about a half-mile away. A very interesting "nature feature" of this camp, was the uniformity with which we got a shower of rain every morning during July and August, and we got into the habit of expecting it at eleven o'clock and were seldom disappointed. One day, August 17th, the water from the cloud in passing over became congealed and formed snow-flakes that for size were really astonishing. I was on my way to Loma on my faithful mule Paddy O'Rooney, and when it came it shut out practically everything from sight, a few yards away, and lasted probably twenty or thirty minutes. About four inches of snow fell in that time, then the sun came out bright and warm, and it seemed to go away almost as fast as it came. On my way back to camp the depressions along the way were flooded and by night only the spots protected by ledges of rock or dense foliage were left. With all these pleasant surroundings, and nothing to do but fish and hunt, life became a little monotonous. I sometimes wonder if people will get tired of golden streets and heavenly music.

The survey being ended we broke camp September 9th and started back to Fort Garland. Mr. Prout and one other engineer, whose name I cannot now recall, accepted commissions in the Egyptian army and a letter received some months later assured me it was not a very comfortable service.

While in this camp my wife and I thought one day it would be fine to take an outing together, so the ambulance was ordered and she and our little baby girl and nurse girl and myself and the driver made up the party. We crossed the west fork of the Rio Grande and went up the valley for some distance. The west fork is smaller than the main stream, with many pools and little rapids and hugs close to the north side of the valley as far as we went. The mountains rose abruptly from the waters and at a great height divided into peaks and spires, pinnacles and domes, in abandoned confusion, that impressed me not only as most remarkable but also the most beautiful combination of mountain scenery I had ever witnessed. The pools were especially attractive for I had taken my tackle with me, so I left the party in charge of the driver and started out for some good sport. I did not meet with the ready response I expected from the fish, and kept going on up stream trying one pool after another until I was quite out of sight of the ambulance but still kept going, each pool looking more inviting than the one just passed. I finally came to an unusually large pool, deep and wide, and that ran close to the perpendicular bluff on the opposite side. I had made a number of casts when a voice from somewhere called out "What luck?" It might have been from the clouds and I would not have been more surprised, and at first I could not locate it, but looked up and down stream and back over the valley but saw no one. Finally just across from me on a big block of rock that had become detached from the mountainside and in plain view sat a man. His clothing was so near the color of the rock and he sat so stalk still that I would never have discovered him if he had not made the inquiry. Answering I said, "Not very good," but some way I was so startled by that inquiry seemingly coming from the unknown and then finding a real man where of all places I least expected him, that I think I was a little nervous about it, and soon lost interest in fishing and returned to the ambulance. He had evidently been watching me as I was going up stream but made no other effort for closer acquaintance and I left him with that one response, "Not very good."