remark that they would all be the better for a little smoke, and as soon as the tobacco was handed out to them, the chief conspirator was to take some and begin rolling a cigarette. (The Indians of the southwest do not ordinarily use the pipe.) When the first puff was taken from the cigarette, the man next to the chief was to suddenly level his weapon and kill General Crook, the others at the very same moment taking the lives of the whites closest to them. The whole tribe would then be made to break away from the reserve and take to the inaccessible cliffs and cañons at the head of the Santa Maria fork of the Bill Williams. The plan would have succeeded perfectly, had it not been for the warning received, and also for the fact that the expected visit had to be made much sooner than was anticipated, and thus prevented all the gang from getting together.
Captain Philip Dwyer, Fifth Cavalry, the officer in command of the camp, suddenly died, and this took me down post-haste to assume command. Dwyer was a very brave, handsome, and intelligent soldier, much beloved by all his comrades. He was the only officer left at Date Creek—all the others and most of the garrison were absent on detached service of one kind and another—and there was no one to look after the dead man but Mr. Wilbur Hugus, the post trader, and myself. The surroundings were most dismal and squalid; all the furniture in the room in which the corpse lay was two or three plain wooden chairs, the bed occupied as described, and a pine table upon which stood a candle-*stick, with the candle melted and burned in the socket. Dwyer had been "ailing" for several days, but no one could tell exactly what was the matter with him; and, of course, no one suspected that one so strong and athletic could be in danger of death.
One of the enlisted men of his company, a bright young trumpeter, was sitting up with him, and about the hour of midnight, Dwyer became a trifle uneasy and asked: "Can you sing that new song, 'Put me under the daisies'?"
"Oh, yes, Captain," replied the trumpeter; "I have often sung it, and will gladly sing it now."
So he began to sing, very sweetly, the ditty, which seemed to calm the nervousness of his superior officer. But the candle had burned down in the socket, and when the young soldier went to replace it, he could find neither candle nor match, and he saw in the flickering light and shadow that the face of the Captain
