ty-nine had now passed away,
victims to the climate. His wise wife perceived his extreme language not
to have been all on account of hens, however; but he never allowed her
to share in his professional worries, so she stayed safe with the
baking, and he sat in the front room with a cigar in his mouth.

Boise was a two-company post without a major, and Paisley, being senior
captain, was in command, an office to which he did not object. But his
duties so far this month of May had not pleased him in the least.
Theoretically, you can have at a two-company post the following
responsible people: one major, two captains, four lieutenants, a doctor,
and a chaplain. The major has been spoken of; it is almost needless to
say that the chaplain was on leave, and had never been seen at Boise by
any of the present garrison; two of the lieutenants were also on leave,
and two on surveying details--they had influence at Washington; the
other captain was on a scout with General Crook somewhere near the
Malheur Agency, and the doctor had only arrived this week. There had
resulted a period when Captain Paisley was his own adjutant,
quartermaster, and post surgeon, with not even an efficient sergeant to
rely upon; and during this period his wife had stayed a good deal in the
kitchen. Happily the doctor's coming had given relief to the hospital
steward and several patients, and to the captain not only an equal, but
an old friend, with whom to pour out his disgust; and together every
evening they freely expressed their opinion of the War Department and
its treatment of the Western army.

There were steps at the door, and Paisley hurried out. "Only you!" he
exclaimed, with such frank vexation that the doctor laughed loudly.
"Come in, man, come in," Paisley continued, leading him strongly by the
arm, sitting him down, and giving him a cigar. "Here's a pretty how de
do!"

"More Indians!" inquired Dr. Tuck.

"Bother! they're nothing. It's Senators--Councillors--whatever the
Territorial devils call themselves."

"Gone on the war-path?" the doctor said, quite ignorant how nearly he
had touched the Council.

"Precisely, man. War-path. Here's the Governor writing me they'll be
scalping him in the State-House at twelve o'clock. It's past 11.30.
They'll be whetting knives about now." And the captain roared.

"I know you haven't gone crazy," said the doctor, "but who has?"

"The lot of them. Ballard's a good man, and--what's his name?--the
lit