Faye can seldom ride with me
because of his numerous duties, and not one of the ladies rides here,
so I have Kelly go, for one never knows what one may come across on
the roads around here. They are so seldom traveled, and are little
more than trails.
CAMP BAKER, MONTANA TERRITORY,
March, 1878.
THE mail goes out in the morning, and in it a letter must be sent to
you, but it is hard--hard for me to write--to have to tell you that my
dear dog, my beautiful greyhound, is dead--dead and buried! It seems
so cruel that he should have died now, so soon after getting back to
his old home, friends, and freedom. On Tuesday, Faye and Lieutenant
Lomax went out for a little hunt, letting Hal go with them, which was
unusual, and to which I objected, for Lieutenant Lomax is a
notoriously poor shot and hunter, and I was afraid he might
accidentally kill Hal--mistake him for a wild animal. So, as they went
down our steps I said, "Please do not shoot my dog!" much more in
earnest than in jest, for I felt that he would really be in danger, as
it would be impossible to keep him with them all the time.
As they went across the parade ground, rifles over their shoulders,
Hal jumped up on Faye and played around him, expressing his delight at
being allowed to go on a hunt. He knew what a gun was made for just as
well as the oldest hunter.
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