How terribly he must have grieved over the
ruin of the horse he was so proud of, and loved so well!
CAMP SUPPLY, INDIAN TERRITORY,
September, 1872.
THE heat here is still intense, and it never rains, so everything is
parched to a crisp. The river is very low and the water so full of
alkali that we are obliged to boil every drop before it is used for
drinking or cooking, and even then it is so distasteful that we flavor
it with sugar of lemons so we can drink it at all. Fresh lemons are
unknown here, of course. The ice has given out, but we manage to cool
the water a little by keeping it in bottles and canteens down in the
dug-out cellar.
Miss Dickinson and I continue our daily rides, but go out very early
in the morning. We have an orderly now, as General Dickinson considers
it unsafe for us to go without an escort, since we were chased by an
Indian the other day. That morning the little son of General Phillips
was with us, and as it was not quite as warm as usual, we decided to
canter down the sunflower road a little way - a road that runs to the
crossing of Wolf Creek through an immense field of wild sunflowers.
These sunflowers grow to a tremendous height in this country, so tall
that sometimes you cannot see over them even when on horseback. Just
across the creek there is a village of Apache Indians, and as these
Indians are known to be hostile, this particular road is considered
rather unsafe.
But we rode on down a mile or more without seeing a thing, and had
just turned our ponies' heads homeward when little Grote, who was back
of us, called out that an Indian was coming. That was startling, but
upon looking back we saw that he was a long distance away and coming
leisurely, so we did not pay much attention to him.
But Grote was more watchful, and very soon screamed, "Mrs. Rae, Mrs.
Rae, the Indian is coming fast - he's going to catch us!" And then,
without wasting time by looking back, we started our ponies with a
bound that put them at their best pace, poor little Grote lashing his
most unmercifully, and crying every minute, "He'll catch us! He'll
catch us!"
That the Indian was on a fleet pony and was gaining upon us was very
evident, and what might have happened had we not soon reached the
sutler's store no one can tell, but we did get there just as he caught
up with us, and as we drew in our panting horses that hideous savage
rode up in front of us and circled twice around us, his pony going
like a whirlwind; and in order to keep his balance, the Indian leaned
far over on one side, his head close to the pony's neck.
