eting, we came again to the fort to make some
arrangements for the journey. After completing these we sat down under a
sort of perch, to smoke with some Cheyenne Indians whom we found there.
In a few minutes we saw an extraordinary little figure approach us in a
military dress. He had a small, round countenance, garnished about the
eyes with the kind of wrinkles commonly known as crow's feet and
surrounded by an abundant crop of red curls, with a little cap resting
on the top of them. Altogether, he had the look of a man more conversant
with mint juleps and oyster suppers than with the hardships of prairie
service. He came up to us and entreated that we would take him home to
the settlements, saying that unless he went with us he should have to
stay all winter at the fort. We liked our petitioner's appearance so
little that we excused ourselves from complying with his request. At
this he begged us so hard to take pity on him, that at last we
consented, though not without many misgivings.

The rugged Anglo-Saxon of our new recruit's real name proved utterly
unmanageable on the lips of our French attendants, and Henry Chatillon,
after various abortive attempts to pronounce it, one day coolly
christened him Tete Rouge, in honor of his red curls. He had at
different times been clerk of a Mississippi steamboat, and agent in a
trading establishment at Nauvoo, besides filling various other
capacities, in all of which he had seen much more of "life" than was
good for him. In the spring, thinking that a summer's campaign would be
an agreeable recreation, he had joined a company of Saint Louis
volunteers.

"There were three of us," said Tete Rouge, "me and Bill Stevens and John
Hopkins. We thought we would just go out with the army, and when we had
conquered the country, we would get discharged and take our pay, you
know, and go down to Mexico. They say there is plenty of fun going on
there. Then we could go back to New Orleans by way of Vera Cruz."

But Tete Rouge, like many a stouter volunteer, had reckoned without his
host. Fighting Mexicans was a less amusing occupation than he had
supposed, and his pleasure trip was disagreeably interrupted by brain
fever, which attacked him when about halfway to Bent's Fort. He jolted
along through the rest of the journey in a baggage wagon. When they came
to the fort he was taken out and left there, together with the rest of
the sick. Bent's Fort does not supply the best accommodations f