The young lieutenants sometimes tried to make up to the
prettiest ones, and offered them trinkets, pretty boxes of soap,
beads, and small mirrors (so dear to the heart of the Indian
girl), but the young maids were coy enough; it seemed to me they
cared more for men of their own race.
Once or twice, I saw older squaws with horribly disfigured faces.
I supposed it was the result of some ravaging disease, but I
learned that it was the custom of this tribe, to cut off the
noses of those women who were unfaithful to their lords. Poor
creatures, they had my pity, for they were only children of
Nature, after all, living close to the earth, close to the pulse
of their mother. But this sort of punishment seemed to be the
expression of the cruel and revengeful nature of the Apache.
CHAPTER XII
LIFE AMONGST THE APACHES
Bowen proved to be a fairly good cook, and I ventured to ask
people to dinner in our little hall dining-room, a veritable box
of a place. One day, feeling particularly ambitious to have my
dinner a success, I made a bold attempt at oyster patties. With
the confidence of youth and inexperience, I made the pastry, and
it was a success; I took a can of Baltimore oysters, and did
them up in a fashion that astonished myself, and when, after the
soup, each guest was served with a hot oyster patty, one of the
cavalry officers fairly gasped. "Oyster patty, if I'm alive!
Where on earth - Bless my stars! And this at Camp Apache!"
"And by Holy Jerusalem! they are good, too," claimed Captain
Reilly, and turning to Bowen, he said: "Bowen, did you make
these?"
Bowen straightened himself up to his six foot two, clapped his
heels together, and came to "attention," looked straight to the
front, and replied: "Yes, sir."
I thought I heard Captain Reilly say in an undertone to his
neighbor, "The hell he did," but I was not sure.
At that season, we got excellent wild turkeys there, and good
Southdown mutton, and one could not complain of such living.
But I could never get accustomed to the wretched small space of
one room and a hall; for the kitchen, being detached, could
scarcely be counted in. I had been born and brought up in a
spacious house, with plenty of bedrooms, closets, and an immense
old-time garret. The forlorn makeshifts for closets, and the
absence of all conveniences, annoyed me and added much to the
difficulties of my situation. Added to this, I soon discovered
that my husband had a penchant for buying and collecting things
which seemed utterly worthless to me, and only added to the
number of articles to be handled and packed away. I begged him to
refrain, and to remember that he was married, and that we had not
the money to spend in such ways. He really did try to improve,
and denied himself the taking of many an alluring share in
raffles for old saddles, pistols, guns, and cow-boy's stuff,
which were always being held at the cutler's store.
But an auction of condemned hospital stores was too much for him,
and he came in triumphantly one day, bringing a box of
antiquated dentist's instruments in his hand.
"Good gracious!" I cried, "what can you ever do with those
forceps?"
"Oh! they are splendid," he said, "and they will come in mighty
handy some time."
I saw that he loved tools and instruments, and I reflected, why
not? There are lots of things I have a passion for, and love,
just as he loves those things and I shall never say any more
about it. "Only," I added, aloud, "do not expect me to pack up
such trash when we come to move; you will have to look out for it
yourself."
So with that spiteful remark from me, the episode of the forceps
was ended, for the time at least.
As the winter came on, the isolation of the place had a rather
depressing effect upon us all. The officers were engaged in their
various duties: drill, courts-martial, instruction, and other
military occupations. They found some diversion at "the store,"
where the ranchmen assembled and told frontier stories and played
exciting games of poker. Jack's duties as commissary officer kept
him much away from me, and I was very lonely.
The mail was brought in twice a week by a soldier on horseback.
When he failed to come in at the usual time, much anxiety was
manifested, and I learned that only a short time before, one of
the mail-carriers had been killed by Indians and the mail
destroyed. I did not wonder that on mail-day everybody came out
in front of the quarters and asked: "Is the mail-carrier in?" And
nothing much was done or thought of on that day, until we saw him
come jogging in, the mail-bag tied behind his saddle. Our letters
were from two to three weeks old. The eastern mail came via Santa
Fe to the terminus of the railroad, and then by stage; for in
1874, the railroads did not extend very far into the Southwest.
At a certain point on the old New Mexico road, our man met the
San Carlos carrier, and received the mail for Apache.
"I do not understand," I said, "how any soldier can be found to
take such a dangerous detail."
"Why so?" said Jack. "They like it."
"I should think that when they got into those canons and narrow
defiles, they would think of the horrible fate of their
predecessor," said I.
"Perhaps they do," he answered; "but a soldier is always glad to
get a detail that gives him a change from the routine of post
life."
I was getting to learn about the indomitable pluck of our
soldiers.
