He was finally killed, fairly riddled
with bullets. He knew, of course, all the time what his fate would be
if taken alive, and he chose the cold lead instead of the end of a
rope.
It was pleasant to meet our old friends here. Colonel Palmer is in
command, and I was particularly glad to see them. After Mrs. Palmer
had embraced me she held me off a little and said: "What have you been
doing to your face? my, but you are ugly!" The skin on the blistered
side has peeled off in little strips, leaving the new skin very white
in between the parched brown of the old, so I expect I do resemble a
zebra or an Indian with his war paint on. The post, which is only a
camp as yet, is located at the upper end of a beautiful valley, and
back of us is a canon and mountains are on both sides. Far down the
valley is a large Indian village, and we can distinctly see the
tepees, and often hear the "tom-toms" when the Indians dance. There
are other Indian camps near, and it is not safe to go far from the
tents without an escort. It seems to be a wonderful country for
game--deer, grouse, and prairie chicken. Twice we have seen deer come
down from the mountains and drink from the stream just below the post.
Bettie and I have scared up chicken every time we have taken little
runs around the camp, and Faye has shot large bags of them. They are
not as great a treat to us as to our friends, for we had so many on
the way over.
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