I know the coast well enough. We
were on our way to the Ar'tic Ocean then, after right whales."
But, as a rule, people there seemed to have little interest in
the army and it had made me feel as one apart.
Gila City was our first camp; not exactly a city, to be sure, at
that time, whatever it may be now. We were greeted by the sight
of a few old adobe houses, and the usual saloon. I had ceased,
however, to dwell upon such trifles as names. Even "Filibuster,"
the name of our next camp, elicited no remark from me.
The weather was fine beyond description. Each day, at noon, we
got out of the ambulance, and sat down on the warm white sand,
by a little clump of mesquite, and ate our luncheon. Coveys of
quail flew up and we shot them, thereby insuring a good supper.
The mules trotted along contentedly on the smooth white road,
which followed the south bank of the Gila River. Myriads of
lizards ran out and looked at us. "Hello, here you are again,"
they seemed to say.
The Gila Valley in December was quite a different thing from the
Mojave desert in September; and although there was not much to
see, in that low, flat country, yet we three were joyous and
happy.
Good health again was mine, the travelling was ideal, there were
no discomforts, and I experienced no terrors in this part of
Arizona.
Each morning, when the tent was struck, and I sat on the
camp-stool by the little heap of ashes, which was all that
remained of what had been so pleasant a home for an afternoon and
a night, a little lonesome feeling crept over me, at the thought
of leaving the place. So strong is the instinct and love of home
in some people, that the little tendrils shoot out in a day and
weave themselves around a spot which has given them shelter. Such
as those are not born to be nomads.
Camps were made at Stanwix, Oatman's Flat, and Gila Bend. There
we left the river, which makes a mighty loop at this point, and
struck across the plains to Maricopa Wells. The last day's march
took us across the Gila River, over the Maricopa desert, and
brought us to the Salt River. We forded it at sundown, rested our
animals a half hour or so, and drove through the MacDowell canon
in the dark of the evening, nine miles more to the post. A day's
march of forty-five miles. (A relay of mules had been sent to
meet us at the Salt River, but by some oversight, we had missed
it.)
Jack had told me of the curious cholla cactus, which is said to
nod at the approach of human beings, and to deposit its barbed
needles at their feet. Also I had heard stories of this deep, dark
canon and things that had happened there.
Fort MacDowell was in Maricopa County, Arizona, on the Verde
River, seventy miles or so south of Camp Verde; the roving bands
of Indians, escaping from Camp Apache and the San Carlos
reservation, which lay far to the east and southeast, often found
secure hiding places in the fastnesses of the Superstition
Mountains and other ranges, which lay between old Camp MacDowell
and these reservations.
Hence, a company of cavalry and one of infantry were stationed at
Camp MacDowell, and the officers and men of this small command
were kept busy, scouting, and driving the renegades from out of
this part of the country back to their reservations. It was by no
means an idle post, as I found after I got there; the life at
Camp MacDowell meant hard work, exposure and fatigue for this
small body of men.
As we wound our way through this deep, dark canon, after
crossing the Salt River, I remembered the things I had heard, of
ambush and murder. Our animals were too tired to go out of a
walk, the night fell in black shadows down between those high
mountain walls, the chollas, which are a pale sage-green color in
the day-time, took on a ghastly hue. They were dotted here and
there along the road, and on the steep mountainsides. They grew
nearly as tall as a man, and on each branch were great
excrescences which looked like people's heads, in the vague light
which fell upon them.
They nodded to us, and it made me shudder; they seemed to be
something human.
The soldiers were not partial to MacDowell canon; they knew too
much about the place; and we all breathed a sigh of relief when
we emerged from this dark uncanny road and saw the lights of the
post, lying low, long, flat, around a square.
CHAPTER XXV
OLD CAMP MACDOWELL
We were expected, evidently, for as we drove along the road in
front of the officers' quarters they all came out to meet us, and
we received a great welcome.
Captain Corliss of C company welcomed us to the post and to his
company, and said he hoped I should like MacDowell better than I
did Ehrenberg. Now Ehrenberg seemed years agone, and I could
laugh at the mention of it.
Supper was awaiting us at Captain Corliss's, and Mrs. Kendall,
wife of Lieutenant Kendall, Sixth Cavalry, had, in Jack's
absence, put the finishing touches to our quarters. So I went at
once to a comfortable home, and life in the army began again for
me.
How good everything seemed! There was Doctor Clark, whom I had
met first at Ehrenberg, and who wanted to throw Patrocina and
Jesusita into the Colorado. I was so glad to find him there; he
was such a good doctor, and we never had a moment's anxiety, as
long as he staid at Camp MacDowell.
