with his small command on the long march overland. He had not seen his
daughter for over two years, as during her vacation time (she was
attending Sunnycrest School, on the Hudson), she made her home with an
aunt in Connecticut. This year the aunt was in Europe, not expecting
to return until fall, and the father had hopefully counted on having
the girl with him once again in Kentucky. Then came his sudden,
unexpected transfer west, and the final decision to have her join him
there. Why not? If she remained the same high-spirited army girl, she
would thoroughly enjoy the unusual experience of a few months of real
frontier life, and the only hardship involved would be the long stage
ride from Ripley. This, however, was altogether prairie travel,
monotonous enough surely, but without special danger, and he could
doubtless arrange to meet her himself at Kansas City, or send one of
his officers for that purpose.

This was the situation in May, but by the middle of June conditions had
greatly changed throughout all the broad Plains country. The spirit of
savage war had spread rapidly from the Platte to the Rio Pecos, and
scarcely a wild tribe remained disaffected. Arapahoe, Cheyenne,
Pawnee, Comanche, and Apache alike espoused the cause of the Sioux, and
their young warriors, breaking away from the control of older chiefs,
became ugly and warlike. Devere, isolated as it was from the main
route of travel (the Santa Fé stages still following the more northern
trail), heard merely rumors of the prevailing condition through
tarrying hunters, and possibly an occasional army courier, yet soon
realized the gravity of the situation because of the almost total
cessation of travel by way of the Cimarron and the growing insolence of
the surrounding Comanches. Details from the small garrison were, under
urgent orders from headquarters at Fort Wallace, kept constantly
scouting as far south as the fork of the Red River, and then west to