Mule was lying on the ground, dead, near the corner of the
hotel, and stuck on one long ear was the murdered man's hat. Soon
after we reached Granada a telegram was received giving an account of
the affair, and saying also that in less than one half hour after the
train had passed through, Dodge City was surrounded by troops of
United States cavalry from Fort Dodge, that the entire town was
searched for the murderers, but that not even a trace of one had been
discovered.
When I got inside a car the morning after that awful, awful night, it
was with a feeling that I was leaving behind me all such things and
that by evening I would be back once more at our old army home and
away from hostile Indians, and hostile desperadoes too. But when I saw
that servant girl with the pale, emaciated face and flushed cheeks, so
ill she could barely sit up, my heart went down like lead and Indians
seemed small trials in comparison to what I saw ahead of me.
Well, she will go in a few days, and then I can give the house some
attention. The new furniture and china are all here, but nothing has
been done in the way of getting settled. The whole coming back has
been cruelly disappointing, and I am so tired and nervous I am afraid
of my own shadow. So after a while I think I will go East for a few
weeks, which I know you will be glad to hear.
FORT LYON, COLORADO TERRITORY,
August, 1873.
WE have just come in from a drive to the Purgatoire with Colonel
Knight behind his handsome horses. It makes me sad, always, to go over
that familiar road and to scenes that are so closely associated with
my learning to ride and shoot when we were here before. The small tree
that was my target is dead but still standing, and on it are several
little pieces of the white paper bull's eyes that Faye and Lieutenant
Baldwin tacked on it for me.
We often see poor Tom. The post trader bought him after Lieutenant
Baldwin's death, so the dear horse would always have good care and not
be made to bring and carry for a cruel master. He wanders about as he
chooses and is fat, but the coat that was once so silky and glossy is
now dull and faded, and the horse looks spiritless and dejected. Poor
Tom! The greyhound, Magic, still remembers their many, many hunts
together when the horse would try to outrun the dog, and the hound
often goes out to make him little visits, and the sight is pathetic.
That big dog of the chaplain's is still here, and how the good man can
conscientiously have him about, I cannot understand.
