cently, and has left his only child in New Orleans in a convent, and
the greyhound, a pet of both wife and little girl, is all he has left
to comfort him. Everyone is so glad that he got the dog. Hal was not
unchained again, I assure you, until we got here, but poor Cagey almost
killed himself at every stopping place running up and down with the dog
to give him a little exercise.

It is really delightful to be in a tent once more, and I am anticipating
much pleasure in camping through a strange country. A large wagon
train of commissary stores will be with us, so we can easily add to
our supplies now and then. It is amazing to see the really jolly mood
everyone seems to be in. The officers are singing and whistling, and we
can often hear from the distance the boisterous laughter of the men. And
the wives! there is an expression of happy content on the face of each
one. We know, if the world does not, that the part we are to take
on this march is most important. We will see that the tents are made
comfortable and cheerful at every camp; that the little dinner after the
weary march, the early breakfast, and the cold luncheon are each and
all as dainty as camp cooking will permit. Yes, we are sometimes called
"camp followers," but we do not mind--it probably originated with some
envious old bachelor officer. We know all about the comfort and cheer
that goes with us, and then--we have not been left behind!

RYAN'S JUNCTION, IDAHO TERRITORY, October, 1877.

WE are snow-bound, and everyone seems to think we that we will be
compelled to remain here several days. It was bright and sunny when the
camp was made yesterday, but before dark a terrible blizzard came up,
and by midnight the snow was deep and the cold intense. As long as we
remain inside the tents we are quite comfortable with the little conical
sheet-iron stoves that can make a tent very warm. And the snow that had
banked around the canvas keeps out the freezing-wind. We have everything
for our comfort, but such weather does not make life in camp at all
attractive.

Faye just came in from Major Pierce's tent, where he says he saw a funny
sight. They have a large hospital tent, on each side of which is a row
of iron cots, and on the cots were five chubby little children--one a
mere baby--kicking up their little pink feet in jolly defiance of their
patient old mammy, who was trying to keep them covered up. The tent was
warm and cozy, but outside, where the snow was s