guidon, of two horizontal bands, white above, red beneath, with a blue star in the centre. The white was from a crash towel contributed by Colonel Stanton, the red came from a flannel undershirt belonging to Schuyler, and an old blouse which Randall was about to throw away furnished the star. Tom Moore had a "travois" pole shaved down for a staff, the ferrule and tip of which were made of metallic cartridges.
Supper had just been finished that day when we were exposed to as miserable a storm as ever drowned the spirit and enthusiasm out of any set of mortals. It didn't come on suddenly, but with slowness and deliberation almost premeditated. For more than an hour fleecy clouds skirmished in the sky, wheeling and circling lazily until re-enforced from the west, and then moving boldly forward and hanging over camp in dense, black, sullen masses. All bestirred themselves to make such preparations as they could to withstand the siege: willow twigs and grasses were cut in quantities, and to these were added sage-brush and grease-wood. Wood was stacked up for the fire, so that at the earliest moment possible after the cessation of the storm it could be rekindled and afford some chance of warming ourselves and drying clothing. With the twigs and sage-brush we built up beds in the best-drained nooks and corners, placed our saddles and bridles at our heads, and carbines and cartridges at our sides to keep them dry. As a last protection, a couple of lariats were tied together, one end of the rope fastened to a picket pin in the ground, the other to the limb of the withered Cottonwood alongside of which headquarters had been established; over this were stretched a couple of blankets from the pack-train, and we had done our best. There was nothing else to do but grin and bear all that was to happen. The storm-king had waited patiently for the completion of these meagre preparations, and now, with a loud, ear-piercing crash of thunder, and a hissing flash of white lightning, gave the signal to the elements to begin the attack. We cowered helplessly under the shock, sensible that human strength was insignificant in comparison with the power of the blast which roared and yelled and shrieked about us.
For hours the rain poured down—either as heavy drops which stung by their momentum; as little pellets which drizzled through canvas and blankets, chilling our blood as they soaked into clothing; or alternating with hail which in great, globular crystals,
