finding such charming people as the Vincents at this horrid place.

CAMP SUPPLY, INDIAN TERRITORY,
June, 1872.

WE are in our own house now and almost settled. When one has only a
few pieces of furniture it does not take long to get them in place. It
is impossible to make the rooms look homelike, and I often find myself
wondering where in this world I have wandered to! The house is of
logs, of course, and has a pole and dirt roof, and was built
originally for an officers' mess. The dining room is large and very
long, a part of which we have partitioned off with a piece of canvas
and converted into a storeroom. We had almost to get down on our knees
to the quartermaster before he would give us the canvas. He is in the
quartermaster's department and is most arrogant; seems to think that
every nail and tack is his own personal property and for his exclusive
use.

Our dining room has a sand floor, and almost every night little white
toadstools grow up all along the base of the log walls. All of the
logs are of cottonwood and have the bark on, and the army of bugs that
hide underneath the bark during the day and march upon us at night is
to be dreaded about as much as a whole tribe of Indians!

I wrote you how everyone laughed at me on the march down because I was
positive I saw heads of Indians on the sand hills so many times. Well,
all that has ceased, and the mention of "Mrs. Rae's Indians" is
carefully avoided! There has been sad proof that the Indians were
there, also that they were watching us closely and kept near us all
the way down from Fort Dodge, hoping for a favorable opportunity to