arrel to be taken from the wagon to make more room
for his own things. Faye ordered it to be put back at once, and says it
will stay there, too, and I fancy it will! Surely we are entitled to all
of our one half of the wagon--second choice at that.

I am to ride in an ambulance with Mrs. Phillips, her little son and her
cook, Mrs. Barker and her small son. There will be seats for only four,
as the middle seat has been taken out to make room for a comfortable
rocking-chair that will be for Mrs. Phillips's exclusive use! The dear
little greyhound puppy I have to leave here. Faye says I must not take
him with so many in the ambulance, as he would undoubtedly be in the
way. But I am sure the puppy would not be as troublesome as one small
boy, and there will be two small boys with us. It would be quite bad
enough to be sent to such a terrible place as Camp Supply has been
represented to us, without having all this misery and mortification
added, and all because Faye happens to be a second lieutenant!

I have cried and cried over all these things until I am simply hideous,
but I have to go just the same, and I have made up my mind never again
to make myself so wholly disagreeable about a move, no matter where we
may have to go. I happened to recall yesterday what grandmother said to
me when saying good-by: "It is a dreadful thing not to become a woman
when one ceases to be a girl!" I am no longer a girl, I suppose, so I
must try to be a woman, as there seems to be nothing in between. One can
find a little comfort, too, in the thought that there is no worse place
possible for us to be sent to, and when once there we can look forward
to better things sometime in the future. I do not mind the move as much
as the unpleasant experiences connected with it.

But I shall miss the kind friends, the grand hunts and delightful rides,
and shall long for dear old John, who has carried me safely so many,
many miles.

Lieutenant Baldwin is still ill and very depressed, and Doctor Wilder is
becoming anxious about him. It is so dreadful for such a powerful man as
he has been to be so really broken in pieces. He insists upon being up
and around, which is bad, very bad, for the many broken bones.

I will write whenever I find an opportunity.

OLD FORT ZARAH, KANSAS, April, 1872.

OUR camp to-night is near the ruins of a very old fort, and ever
since we got here, the men have been hunting rattlesnakes that have
undoubtedly been holding po