becoming graciousness and humility. She received in the kindest spirit the efforts made by all of the rougher sex to render her stay among them pleasant and, if possible, interesting. Not a day passed that did not find her the recipient of some token of regard. It might not always be the most appropriate sort of a thing, but that really made very little difference. She accepted everything and tried to look as if each gift had been the one for which she had been longing during her whole life. She had a rattlesnake belt, made from one of the biggest and most vicious reptiles ever seen in the vicinity. She had Apache baskets, war-clubs, playing-cards, flutes, fiddles, and enough truck of the same kind to load an army-wagon. The largest Gila monsters would have been laid at her feet had she not distinctly and emphatically drawn the line at Gila monsters. Tarantulas and centipedes, if properly bottled, were not objectionable, but the Gila monster was more than she could stand, and she so informed intending donors. She has been dead a number of years, but it is hardly likely that she ever forgot until she drew her last breath the days and weeks and months of her existence at Camp Grant.
Our own stay at the delightful summer resort had come to an end. Orders received from department headquarters transferred our troop to Tucson, as being a more central location and nearer supplies. Lieutenant Cushing was ordered to take the field and keep it until further orders, which meant that he was to be free to roam as he pleased over any and all sections of the territory infested by the Apaches, and to do the best he could against them.
To a soldier of Cushing's temperament this meant a great deal, and it is needless to say that no better selection for such a duty could have been made.
We were packed up and out of the post in such quick time that I do not remember whether it was twelve hours or twenty-four. To be sure, we did not have an immense amount of plunder to pack. None the less did we work briskly to carry out orders and get away in the shortest time possible.
We had to leave one of our men in the hospital; he had accidentally shot himself in the leg, and was now convalescing from the amputation. But the rest were in the saddle and out on the road through the Santa Catalina Cañon before you could say Jack Robinson.
And not altogether without regret. There was a bright side
