t can be done."

She laid out enough clothing to last me until I could get some things
from the East, and gave me a grey and white percale dress with a basque,
and a border, and although it was all very much too large for me, it
sufficed to relieve my immediate distress.

Letters were dispatched to the East, in various directions, for every
sort and description of clothing, but it was at least two months before
any of it appeared, and I felt like an object of charity for a long
time. Then, too, I had anticipated the fitting up of our quarters with
all the pretty cretonnes and other things I had brought from home. And
now the contents of those boxes were no more! The memory of the visit
was all that was left to me. It was very hard to bear.

Preparations for our journey to Camp MacDowell were at last completed.
The route to our new post lay along the valley of the Gila River,
following it up from its mouth, where it empties into the Colorado,
eastwards towards the southern middle portion of Arizona.

CHAPTER XXIV. UP THE VALLEY OF THE GILA

The December sun was shining brightly down, as only the Arizona sun
can shine at high noon in winter, when we crossed the Colorado on
the primitive ferryboat drawn by ropes, clambered up into the great
thorough-brace wagon (or ambulance) with its dusty white canvas covers
all rolled up at the sides, said good-bye to our kind hosts of Fort
Yuma, and started, rattling along the sandy main street of Yuma City,
for old Camp MacDowell.

Our big blue army wagon, which had been provided for my boxes and
trunks, rumbling along behind us, empty except for the camp equipage.

But it all seemed so good to me: I was happy to see the soldiers again,
the drivers and teamsters, and even the sleek Government mules. The old
blue uniforms made my heart glad. Every sound was familiar, even the
rattling of the harness with its ivory rings and the harsh sound of the
heavy brakes reinforced with old leather soles.

Even the country looked attractive, smiling under the December sun. I
wondered if I had really grown to love the desert. I had read somewhere
that people did. But I was not paying much attention in those days
to the analysis of my feelings. I did not stop to question the subtle
fascination which I felt steal over me as we rolled along the smooth
hard roads that followed the windings of the Gila River. I was back
again in the army; I had cast my lot with a soldier, and where he was,