Orders came the latter part of March to abandon the camp and I was
ordered to accompany the command to Fort Gibson, Indian Territory, and
then to report to the commanding officer at Fort Garland, Colorado, for
assignment to duty. From Fort Gibson I returned to Camp Limestone for my
wife and little girl baby, who was born the previous November. We were
furnished tickets by the railroad as far as Kansas City, but when we
came to use them we found they had been packed with our baggage and of
course had to pay car-fare. We went over the same railroad from Kansas
City as the one I had first taken in crossing the plains but in place of
stopping in Kansas, as it did then, it had been finished to Denver.
There was a narrow gauge road from Denver to Pueblo. Its passenger train
was at the depot when ours pulled in and our train stopped beside it. It
was quite a curiosity to me. It looked so very small, I thought of it as
a toy affair and wondered if we could make any headway on such a thing.
I was surprised and much gratified to soon know how much I had
miscalculated its merits. It was a long train and went in and out among
the canons and around the mountain sides in an amusing way and with
surprising speed. Maybe we would look out and see an engine coming down
the track across the canon from us and would discover it to be our own
engine puttering along as though pleased with its job. We stayed over
night at Pueblo and in the morning we found there was an ambulance to
take us and Major Hartz over the mountains to Fort Garland. The major
had introduced himself the previous night on our arrival from Denver. On
the route to Garland we spent the night at the different stage stations
and were made fairly comfortable. As we neared the summit of Sangre De
Cristo Pass (Blood of Christ) the snow was very deep and soft. We
thought it too much of a load for the mules and so the major and I
concluded to walk. It was well we did so, for the mules had all they
could do to flounder through it. I stood the walking very well but it
was laborious work. The major did not fare so well, for as we neared
the top, which is about eleven thousand, five hundred feet above sea
level, he was spitting blood and having difficulty in breathing. The
west side of the range was clear of snow and it was only two or three
miles from the summit to Stearn's ranch, where we stayed over night, and
by morning although the major had a restless night the hemorrhage had
stopped. The following day we drove to Fort Garland only twenty miles
away.
Fort Garland is situated at the edge of the foothills just south of old
Baldy, one of the highest peaks of the Sangre De Cristo range. It was a
pretty location overlooking the Rio Grande valley to the south and west
and we were assigned to comfortable quarters.
About the first part of May a troop of cavalry under command of Major
Carraher was ordered to establish a camp at the junction of the west
fork with the main stream of the Rio Grande, about one hundred miles
west and a little north of the post, and I was assigned to duty as
surgeon of the command. This camp was established as a base of supplies
for government surveyors who were to survey the San Juan Indian
reservation. There had been trouble for some years between the Ute
Indians and prospectors who had gone into their reservation and located
some valuable mines, and warfare between them had resulted in the
government buying the land and opening it to settlers, and this survey
was to fix the boundaries and divide the land into sections and cross
sections so legal title could be given.
The surveyors arrived a few days after we had established camp. A Mr.
Prout was in charge of the party and they stayed at camp several days to
establish the exact latitude and longitude of the camp as a base from
which to make additional surveys. I became very much interested in this
work and they explained a good deal of it to me but I was surprised at
the time it required and the figuring necessary. I had the pleasure of
watching the chronometer and calling time on signal from the observer.
The nights were clear and in that rare atmosphere the stars shone with
great brilliancy.
An escort accompanied the surveyors in their work, a squad of a half
dozen men in command of a noncommissioned officer, generally a sergeant,
and each week these were relieved by others and returned to camp. There
was practically no need for a surgeon with the camp that summer, the
only two cases in the hospital being a man who was blinded by a
premature shot in the mines and my pointer dog which I shot on one of my
hunting trips.
The country along the Rio Grande was unsettled, there being but one
abandoned log-house between Fort Garland and Loma, now called Del Norte,
a Mexican village with a good sprinkling of American houses, and located
at the head of what was called the San Luis valley. The log-house was
dignified by the name of Alamoosa and was our camp-ground and half-way
place between Fort Garland and our summer camp. The trip was generally
made in two days although the distance was nearly one hundred miles.
From Loma to the camp, a distance of some fifteen miles, the mountains
sloped gradually to the river and there were a few adobe houses occupied
by Mexicans. As there was very little to do I spent a good deal of time
hunting and fishing. Rainbow trout are very plentiful in the river for
here it was a clear rushing mountain stream with deep pools and the
water was cold throughout the summer from melting snows. We had fish at
all times and cooked in every imaginable way until we were almost
sickened at the thought of fish, although they were always pretty to
look at. To this day my wife does not want to see or eat fish. All kinds
of game were abundant but I never had much success with the larger
varieties, I did not understand deer hunting and always managed it the
wrong way. I did not know anything about their runways, so still hunting
was not practical and in riding over the mountains they saw me before I
saw them and that settled the matter. I tried repeatedly to get a shot
at an elk that I frequently saw on his favorite grazing ground, a small
park a half mile or more away near the top of one of the high points in
the mountains, but with all my care, and calculating the direction of
the wind, and figuring on the best way of approach, he would always
scent the danger while I was making my way through the thicket of
aspens that surrounded the park and I could hear the keen whistle-like
note and hear him bounding away before I caught sight of him.
On these hunting trips I rode a government mule that General Alexander,
the post commander at Fort Garland, had given me for the summer's use,
and who spoke of him with great praise as an exceptionally good saddle
animal. He was said to be twenty-seven years old, and had formerly been
used as a messenger mule between Fort Garland and Taos when the mail was
brought to the post from the latter point. I suppose he had been gray at
one time but now he was white from age, but had been well cared for and
although in fine condition, had been retired from actual service. I
found him all that he was recommended to be, and with an additional
merit that he was not afraid of a gun. I could fire from the saddle and
he would not flinch, and because of this exceptional quality, I had a
great deal of sport shooting jack-rabbits. They would jump up and run
away fifty or a hundred yards and sit up straight, which is their habit,
and I would aim in line and a little below the mark and as the mule
would inhale it would raise the muzzle of the rifle and by pulling the
trigger at the right moment I was sure to see the rabbit tumble over. I
never had much chance from the saddle at larger game. The color of the
mule was against it, and I was not a good shot with the rifle at moving
objects.
I became much attached to this mule for his exceptionally easy gait and
his fine disposition, however, he played me a bad trick one day for
which I have since forgiven him because of my own culpable ignorance. It
was getting late and I was out of my usual hunting range when I saw an
antelope grazing in one of the many beautiful parks to be found in the
mountains. There was a small ravine down the center of this park near
which I noticed a clump of willows and figured that if I could approach
from behind the willows I could get a good shot. My scheme worked all
right and I got up within range and fired. To my great surprise I saw
the shot take effect on the hillside beyond and had passed over the
antelope's shoulders. This was a puzzle to me for I was sure I had taken
good aim, and equally sure that I did not have the "buck-ague." The
antelope ran away and stopped and looked back at me when I estimated him
to be about two hundred and fifty yards away. I made a careful allowance
for the distance and fired at the shoulder and at the report of the gun
he dropped in his tracks apparently without a struggle. I thought a
little strange of this, for I had aimed just back of the shoulders and
supposed he would at least make a jump or two and struggle some after
falling. Imagine my surprise when I found his neck broken just back of
his ears, a purely accidental shot. I went back to my mule, which by the
way I had named "Paddy O'Rooney" but always addressed him by his given
name, and I thought I would put the antelope on him without dressing it
as it was getting late and I wanted to find a trail down to the valley.
I found that Paddy had an altogether different view of the matter, for
he had no desire to get acquainted with the dead antelope. There was no
timber near where I could tie him to a tree, to force him to accept the
load and so a bright idea occurred to me. I have done a good many
foolish things in my life, but I think nothing quite so idiotic as this.
I decided that I would tie the end of the lariat rope to the antelope's
hind legs, the other end being fastened around Paddy's neck and I would
then get on the mule and pull the antelope up. This scheme worked pretty
well at least part way. I was in the saddle and my gun across in front
of me and I backed Paddy up toward the antelope, wrapping the lariat
around the horn of the saddle as he backed. Paddy would look back and
snort a little, but was quite gentle until I attempted to raise the
antelope up to me. When Paddy saw it move I believe he thought the thing
had come to life and was going to swallow him, for the way he went down
the mountain side would have shamed John Gilpin and his foam covered
horse. I tried to hold him but I might as well have tried to hold a
cyclone. I had been raised on a farm and helped break the young horses
to ride and work, and I thought I could hold anything, but I had never
been on a scared mule before, and I found I was utterly helpless. My
first impulse was to throw away my gun and try to get off and let the
mule and the antelope have it out together but the lariat was across my
right thigh and I could not get away from it. I believe the thing
following him added to his terror, for we went over places I could not
have forced him over in his sane condition. I went over the track of our
runaway race a few days later and found a ledge of nearly four feet in
height that we had gone over, and I really think it would have been the
same thing to Paddy if it had been forty feet in place of four. The old
saying "All's well that ends well" proved true in this case. The lariat
rope slipped around the saddle horn caused by the jerking of the
antelope as it bounded along and choked Paddy down just as we got to the
edge of the timber. I hurriedly dismounted and loosened the lariat so
that he could get his breath and found that he was pretty well tuckered
out. I tied him to a tree and then went back to examine my antelope. The
hind and fore-quarters were held together by the backbone and a strip of
skin along the belly but the ribs and entrails were gone. Fortunately we
had stopped near a trail which I knew would lead down to the valley,
although I had never been over it before. When I tried to put what was
left of the antelope on Paddy's back he again rebelled. I then tied his
neck up against a small tree and wrapped the lariat around the tree and
his neck until he could not buck, but in his struggles he lost his
footing and hung himself. I cut the rope as quickly as I could, and got
him on his feet again and gave him a little more freedom the next time
and while he protested most vigorously, I finally got my antelope
securely fastened in the saddle and led the poor worn-out mule down the
trail. It was very dark by this time and we made slow progress but
finally reached the valley and I estimated that we were not more than
three or four miles from camp. We had only gone a short distance when we
met a detachment of cavalry that had been ordered out by Major Carraher
in search of me. The major had been over to my tent two or three times
and finding I was not there became uneasy, thinking I might have met
with some accident, or the Indians might have found me. We arrived in
camp about nine or ten o'clock with what was left of the antelope, a
very tired hunter and a very tired mule.
The following day I tested my rifle at a mark and found good cause for
my wild shooting the previous day. I suppose the front sight had been
slightly moved by striking on a tree or something on my trip before I
found the antelope. Paddy and I still remained good friends and he took
me many pleasant rides through the mountains.
With the latter part of August came the wing-shooting of the dusky
grouse (Canace of the Ornothologist) a large slate-colored bird, some
larger than our prairie chickens (Cupidonia Cupido). The young birds
could then fly strong and afforded great sport. My observation is that
it is a very stupid bird. I have seen them sit on the limb of a tree
until knocked off after repeated throwing and have seen them sit on the
bare ground apparently thinking they were hid, until I have walked up to
within ten or fifteen feet of them, before they would take wing. Until
well grown I found them most frequently in the open parks where there
was a ravine with water and willows and other undergrowth, and more or
less grass for cover, but later in the season they took to the large
timber. So far as my experience goes they are the best table bird of all
the grouse family. The flesh is white and delicious. Their range is as
high as timber line in the summer but they go lower as the season
advances. There were no quail at this altitude. I think they do not go
so high and I saw no other game birds.
There was a bird about camp called the "Nut-cracker" and I believe in
some places known as "lark's Crow" (Nussifrage Columbrana) that for a
nuisance I believe could not be equalled. In action, in size and
something in appearance and rasping voice he much resembled our jays.
They were in great numbers about our camp and were impudent fellows and
seemed determined to get into everything. Mr. H. W. Henshaw was with us
that summer collecting natural history specimens for the Smithsonian
Institute. He was quite anxious to find the nest and eggs of this bird.
I supposed from their abundance this would be a matter requiring little
effort, but I found I was mistaken. I made it my special part that
summer to locate a nest of these birds and was constantly on the
lookout. I often went out with Mr. Henshaw in the morning when he would
start on his day's round but generally lost out after the first hour. He
was an athlete in size and finely proportioned and hardened to the work
by constant practice, and could walk the legs off me in an hour's
travel. I would then strike out for myself but was always looking for
the Nut-cracker and trying to locate his nest. One day I saw him fly
away from a hole some fifteen feet up in an old tree stump, the limbs
having fallen away. This looked encouraging so I climbed up and found a
nest but no eggs. I reported my find to Mr. Henshaw that evening and he
was pleased with the prospects and said we would go together in about a
week, and by that time we might find eggs in the nest. I had marked the
place well and we had no difficulty in finding it. Mr. Henshaw did the
climbing this time and thrust his hand in the hole but found no eggs.
"Wait a minute though," he said and thrust his hand down in the hole
again, but brought it out in a hurry and the blood was dripping from it.
He suggested I make a forked stick such as every boy knows who has ever
twisted a rabbit out of a stone wall or hollow log, and he twisted the
thing out which proved to be a mountain rat, something entirely new to
me. It was a rat in every way I had known them but had a bushy tail like
a squirrel. We took it to camp with us and the skin went away with his
other specimens to the institute. This is commonly called the
bushy-tailed rat but is designated Neotoma Cinera Orelestes by the
zoologist.
Mr. Henshaw is now chief of the biological survey in the United States
Department of Agriculture, to whom I am indebted for many agreeable
experiences and for most of my knowledge concerning most of the birds
and animals herein mentioned. His contributions to the National
Geographical Magazine are particularly interesting and instructive. The
rat mentioned is also one of the varieties of what is known as
pack-rats. They construct a nest of sticks and other rubbish found in
the neighborhood, and if near a house may carry off spoons or knives or
anything that attracts their attention. There is a smooth tailed rat
belonging to this genus that is very abundant in New Mexico and is apt
to leave something in place of the article he carries away, and on that
account is often called the swap-rat.
General Alexander and some other officers from the post at Fort Garland
came to our camp the latter part of July. Complaint had been made by
cattlemen, really some Englishmen by the name of Hamilton, that some of
their cattle had been killed and they blamed the escort that accompanies
the engineers for their death. Mr. Delaney, who came with the general,
and I were detailed to go to Antelope park, where the ranch was located,
and investigate the matter. The general and some other officers
accompanied us as far as Wagon-wheel Gap and with a small escort we
continued on to the park, the general and other officers returning to
camp. We found the Hamilton brothers very cordial and hospitable. We
talked the business over quite thoroughly and remained until near
midnight before returning to our camp a short distance away. The
following morning we found a half-inch or more of ice in a cup that had
been left with some water in it the night before, rather cool weather I
thought for the 30th of July. It was very chilly riding for the first
two or three hours in the morning, but the sunshine finally got the
better of the cold, and we were comfortable for the balance of the day.
We camped at Wagon-wheel Gap the following night and found it an
interesting place, although there was but one log building and that
unoccupied, in the place.
The river here makes a great circular bend around an almost
perpendicular wall of rock that I judged to be about a half-mile high.
Across the river from this was a beautiful valley sloping gradually up
into the mountains and in it were many hot springs varying in
temperature from barely tepid to boiling hot.
The following day brought us back to our summer camp again. Our camp
here was beautifully located among the pines and between the camp and
bluff there was a pretty little lake which had been made by turning a
little mountain stream into the low ground between the camp and the
bluff. The officers' tents were in line facing this lake, and at the
back ground sloped gradually to the river about a half-mile away. A very
interesting "nature feature" of this camp, was the uniformity with
which we got a shower of rain every morning during July and August, and
we got into the habit of expecting it at eleven o'clock and were seldom
disappointed. One day, August 17th, the water from the cloud in passing
over became congealed and formed snow-flakes that for size were really
astonishing. I was on my way to Loma on my faithful mule Paddy O'Rooney,
and when it came it shut out practically everything from sight, a few
yards away, and lasted probably twenty or thirty minutes. About four
inches of snow fell in that time, then the sun came out bright and warm,
and it seemed to go away almost as fast as it came. On my way back to
camp the depressions along the way were flooded and by night only the
spots protected by ledges of rock or dense foliage were left. With all
these pleasant surroundings, and nothing to do but fish and hunt, life
became a little monotonous. I sometimes wonder if people will get tired
of golden streets and heavenly music.
The survey being ended we broke camp September 9th and started back to
Fort Garland. Mr. Prout and one other engineer, whose name I cannot now
recall, accepted commissions in the Egyptian army and a letter received
some months later assured me it was not a very comfortable service.
While in this camp my wife and I thought one day it would be fine to
take an outing together, so the ambulance was ordered and she and our
little baby girl and nurse girl and myself and the driver made up the
party. We crossed the west fork of the Rio Grande and went up the valley
for some distance. The west fork is smaller than the main stream, with
many pools and little rapids and hugs close to the north side of the
valley as far as we went. The mountains rose abruptly from the waters
and at a great height divided into peaks and spires, pinnacles and
domes, in abandoned confusion, that impressed me not only as most
remarkable but also the most beautiful combination of mountain scenery I
had ever witnessed. The pools were especially attractive for I had taken
my tackle with me, so I left the party in charge of the driver and
started out for some good sport. I did not meet with the ready response
I expected from the fish, and kept going on up stream trying one pool
after another until I was quite out of sight of the ambulance but still
kept going, each pool looking more inviting than the one just passed. I
finally came to an unusually large pool, deep and wide, and that ran
close to the perpendicular bluff on the opposite side. I had made a
number of casts when a voice from somewhere called out "What luck?" It
might have been from the clouds and I would not have been more
surprised, and at first I could not locate it, but looked up and down
stream and back over the valley but saw no one. Finally just across from
me on a big block of rock that had become detached from the mountainside
and in plain view sat a man. His clothing was so near the color of the
rock and he sat so stalk still that I would never have discovered him if
he had not made the inquiry. Answering I said, "Not very good," but some
way I was so startled by that inquiry seemingly coming from the unknown
and then finding a real man where of all places I least expected him,
that I think I was a little nervous about it, and soon lost interest in
fishing and returned to the ambulance. He had evidently been watching me
as I was going up stream but made no other effort for closer
acquaintance and I left him with that one response, "Not very good."