rode around the post three or four times at breakneck speed, each
circle being larger, and taking them farther away. At last they all
started for the hills and gradually disappeared--all but one, a
sentinel, who could be seen until dark sitting his pony on the highest
hill. I presume there were dozens of Indians on the sand hills around
the post peeking over to see how the fun went on.

They seem to be watching the post every second of the day, ready to
pounce upon any unprotected thing that ventures forth, be it man or
beast. At almost any time two or three black dots can be seen on the
top of the white sand hills, and one wonders how they can lie for
hours in the hot, scorching sand with the sun beating down on their
heads and backs. And all the time their tough little ponies will stand
near them, down the hill, scarcely moving or making a sound. Some
scouts declare that an Indian pony never whinnies or sneezes! But that
seems absurd, although some of those little beasts show wonderful
intelligence and appear to have been apt pupils in treachery.

CAMP SUPPLY, INDIAN TERRITORY,
October, 1872.

THIS place is becoming more dreadful each day, and every one of the
awful things I feared might happen here seems to be coming to pass.
Night before last the post was actually attacked by Indians! It was
about one o'clock when the entire garrison was awakened by rifle shots
and cries of "Indians! Indians!" There was pandemonium at once. The
"long roll" was beaten on the infantry drums, and "boots and saddles"
sounded by the cavalry bugles, and these are calls that startle all
who hear them, and strike terror to the heart of every army woman.
They mean that something is wrong--very wrong--and demand the