irit and enthusiasm for such unremunerative work
was at a very low ebb-- While it had not yet approached a complete
discouragement, it was a condition of supreme disgust and contempt at
the methods employed-- They felt that with the Government at Washington
nullifying and rendering most of their hard labor abortive, that success
in those long, weary and extremely exhausting Indian campaigns was not
so much dependent upon their absolute loyalty to duty and perfect
willingness to sacrifice themselves when necessary in achieving results,
as upon the paralyzing acts and influence of the "Indian Ring" in
Washington and the ever changing political cesspools of a politically
ridden country-- They wanted to see the tangible results or fruits of
such terribly hard service and to feel that such hardships, privations
and sacrifices as they had experienced, had not been in vain or wasted
by a gang of cold blooded, unscrupulous plunderers and grafters remote
from the scene of these border activities. We have but recently passed
through a similar experience with the same class--in fact are doing
it now. Like "_death_ and _Taxes_," we have them with us always,
especially in time of wars-- It is then the vultures abound-- It is
then we have the jelly-fish, spineless slackers, the pussy-foot
pacifists--conscientious objectors, chicken hearted shirkers--and--"let
George do it" fighters--coming down to the secret renegades--traitors,
and Bolshevist anarchists and bomb throwers-- They have always been the
curse of this Nation--the natural result,--as a rule--of the "Melting
Pot" that does not melt--breeding a lot of mongrel curs and hybrids that
should no longer be a part of our American life. It is feared they will
always be with us--

Thus they reasoned--and the propaganda poison spread. These were some of
the contributing, but not all of the real causes that led to what soon
became almost an epidemic of desertions in the regiment-- The last snow
storm in which they had floundered and wallowed into Fort Richardson,
seemed to have destroyed the last atom of patriotic ardor and martial
enthusiasm among even some of the best of our Indian scrappers-- The
loss of Quan-ah Parker's village in the snow, sleet and hail of that
black, awful night on the solitary plateau of the "Staked Plains", when
the entire command came so near perishing, and the swiftly moving mass
of fleeing panic-stricken Indians was "so near, and yet so far"--had
taken near