So I Was Called Foolish To Be
Afraid In A Tent After The Weeks And Months I Had Lived In Camp.
But
just then Mrs. Stokes ran from her tent, Major Stokes slowly
following, and then it came out that there had been trouble over there
also, and that I was not the only one in disgrace.
Mrs. Stokes had
seen queer shadows on her canvas, and coming to me, said, "Will says
those things are squirrels!" That was too much, and I replied with
indignation, "They are not squirrels at all; they are too small and
their tails are not bushy."
Well, there was a time! We refused absolutely, positively, to go back
to our tents until we knew all about those darting shadows. We saw
that those two disagreeable men had an understanding with each other
and were much inclined to laugh. It was cold and our wrappers not very
warm, but Mrs. Stokes and I finally sat down upon some camp stools to
await events. Then Faye, who can never resist an opportunity to tease,
said to me, "You had better take care, mice might run up that stool!"
So the cat was out! I have never been afraid of mice, and have always
considered it very silly in women to make such a fuss over them. But
those field mice were different; they seemed inclined to take the very
hair from your head. Of course we could not sit up all night, and
after a time had to return to our tents. I wrapped my head up
securely, so my hair could not be carried off without my knowing
something about it. Ever so many times during the night I heard
talking and smothered laughter, and concluded that the soldiers also
were having small visitors with four swift little legs.
We had more delicious trout for our breakfast; that time fried with
tiny strips of breakfast bacon. The men had been out on the lake very
early, and had caught several dozen beautiful fish. The dinner the
evening before had been much like an ordinary picnic, but the early
breakfast up on the side of a mountain, with big boulders all around,
was something to remember. One can never imagine the deliciousness of
the air at sunrise up on the Rocky Mountains, It has to be breathed to
be appreciated.
Everyone fished during the morning and many fish were caught, every
one of which were carefully packed in wet grass and brought to Birch
Creek, to the unfortunates who had not been on that most delightful
trip to Fish Lake. After luncheon we came down from the mountain and
drove to the Piegan Agency. The heavy wagon came directly to camp, of
course. There is nothing remarkable to be seen at the agency - just a
number of ordinary buildings, a few huts, and Indians standing around
the door of a store that resembles a post trader's. Every Indian had
on a blanket, although Major Stokes said there were several among them
who had been to the Carlisle School.
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