The streams were all frozen up-- The weather was still icy cold-- So far
I had been unable to get any trace, or sure clue of the missing carbines
which the men had carried with them when deserting, and sold. The
deserters refused to divulge their whereabouts except to hint that they
were somewhere between Crawford's Ranch and Fort R---- At last I
determined to use heroic methods-- At that date such methods were
recognized as _legitimate_, if not _legal_ in bringing recalcitrants to
their senses, instead of resorting to the slow and laborious, as well as
questionable methods of Court Martial. These methods were legacies of
the Civil War, and in the field, away from the complicated machinery of
Post Administration--and on such duty--and under such _wide open
instructions_ as Mackenzie had given us, I considered it absolutely
necessary to employ-- I resolved to select the weakest minded man in the
group of deserters, and, in the presence of them, the two corporals and
the entire detachment, "_tie him up by the thumbs_", until he
"squealed"-- Such punishment was of almost daily occurrence at the great
Draft Rendezvous-- This was done with the desired result--and I located
the missing arms, the property of the United States which I was out
after, without further trouble. This man was Crafts-- Placing the
deserters in Mrs. Crawford's corn bins, the ground still being covered
with snow and ice and the weather bitter cold--I determined to send in a
mounted courier or runner to Mackenzie. Writing a hasty message--a
personal note on a piece of soiled brown paper--a brief announcement of
the capture was made, but reciting no details--also the condition of
both the men and horses--"all nearly exhausted from cold and loss of
sleep--the prisoners nearly barefooted, and with sore and blistered
feet, chafed legs, etc.--but plenty to eat; horses unshod." He was urged
to "send a wagon, some handcuffs--ropes--rations, etc., to meet me
somewhere on the road--and without delay--between Crawford's Ranch and
Fort R---- I was proceeding slowly", etc.-- The wagon met me, but not
until I was within a few miles of the post--and just as the prisoners
were emphatically exclaiming that they "_could go no further._" They
were bundled into the wagon, much to their and my relief, for these
footsore and chafed cavalrymen, as I had seen them in October after
being dismounted in the stampede near Canon Blancho, were now in the
same demoralized condition, and it is extremely doubtful if they could
have been pushed any further afoot.