. . . That grandchild of yours has been here—well, I do not quite know
how many days it is; nobody can keep account of days or anything else
where she is! Mother, she did what the Indians were never able to do.
She took the Fort—took it the first day! Took me, too; took the
colonels, the captains, the women, the children, and the dumb brutes;
took Buffalo Bill, and all his scouts; took the garrison—to the last man;
and in forty-eight hours the Indian encampment was hers, illustrious old
Thunder-Bird and all. Do I seem to have lost my solemnity, my gravity,
my poise, my dignity? You would lose your own, in my circumstances.
Mother, you never saw such a winning little devil. She is all energy,
and spirit, and sunshine, and interest in everybody and everything, and
pours out her prodigal love upon every creature that will take it, high
or low, Christian or pagan, feathered or furred; and none has declined it
to date, and none ever will, I think. But she has a temper, and
sometimes it catches fire and flames up, and is likely to burn whatever
is near it; but it is soon over, the passion goes as quickly as it comes.
Of course she has an Indian name already; Indians always rechristen a
stranger early. Thunder-Bird attended to her case. He gave her the
Indian equivalent for firebug, or fire-fly. He said:
“’Times, ver’ quiet, ver’ soft, like summer night, but when she mad she
blaze.”
Isn’t it good? Can’t you see the flare? She’s beautiful, mother,
beautiful as a picture; and there is a touch of you in her face, and of
her father—poor George! and in her unresting activities, and her fearless
ways, and her sunbursts and cloudbursts, she is always bringing George
back to me. These impulsive natures are dramatic. George was dramatic,
so is this Lightning-Bug, so is Buffalo Bill. When Cathy first
arrived—it was in the forenoon—Buffalo Bill was away, carrying orders to
Major Fuller, at Five Forks, up in the Clayton Hills. At mid-afternoon I
was at my desk, trying to work, and this sprite had been making it
impossible for half an hour. At last I said:
“Oh, you bewitching little scamp, _can’t_ you be quiet just a minute or
two, and let your poor old uncle attend to a part of his duties?”
“I’ll try, uncle; I will, indeed,” she said.
“Well, then, that’s a good child—kiss me. Now, then, sit up in that
chair, and set your eye on that clock. There—that’s right. If you
stir—if you so much as wink—for four whole minutes, I’ll bite you!”
It was very sweet and humble and obedient she looked, sitting there,
still as a mouse; I could hardly keep from setting her free and telling
her to make as much racket as she wanted to. During as much as two
minutes there was a most unnatural and heavenly quiet and repose, then
Buffalo Bill came thundering up to the door in all his scout finery,
flung himself out of the saddle, said to his horse, “Wait for me, Boy,”
and stepped in, and stopped dead in his tracks—gazing at the child. She
forgot orders, and was on the floor in a moment, saying:
“Oh, you are so beautiful! Do you like me?”
“No, I don’t, I love you!” and he gathered her up with a hug, and then
set her on his shoulder—apparently nine feet from the floor.
She was at home. She played with his long hair, and admired his big
hands and his clothes and his carbine, and asked question after question,
as fast as he could answer, until I excused them both for half an hour,
in order to have a chance to finish my work. Then I heard Cathy
exclaiming over Soldier Boy; and he was worthy of her raptures, for he is
a wonder of a horse, and has a reputation which is as shining as his own
silken hide.
IV
CATHY TO HER AUNT MERCEDES
OH, it is wonderful here, aunty dear, just paradise! Oh, if you could
only see it! everything so wild and lovely; such grand plains, stretching
such miles and miles and miles, all the most delicious velvety sand and
sage-brush, and rabbits as big as a dog, and such tall and noble
jackassful ears that that is what they name them by; and such vast
mountains, and so rugged and craggy and lofty, with cloud-shawls wrapped
around their shoulders, and looking so solemn and awful and satisfied;
and the charming Indians, oh, how you would dote on them, aunty dear, and
they would on you, too, and they would let you hold their babies, the way
they do me, and they _are_ the fattest, and brownest, and sweetest little
things, and never cry, and wouldn’t if they had pins sticking in them,
which they haven’t, because they are poor and can’t afford it; and the
horses and mules and cattle and dogs—hundreds and hundreds and hundreds,
and not an animal that you can’t do what you please with, except uncle
Thomas, but _I_ don’t mind him, he’s lovely; and oh, if you could hear
the bugles: _too—too—too-too—too—too_, and so on—perfectly beautiful! Do
you recognize that one? It’s the first toots of the _reveille_; it goes,
dear me, _so_ early in the morning!—then I and every other soldier on the
whole place are up and out in a minute, except uncle Thomas, who is most
unaccountably lazy, I don’t know why, but I have talked to him about it,
and I reckon it will be better, now. He hasn’t any faults much, and is
charming and sweet, like Buffalo Bill, and Thunder-Bird, and Mammy
Dorcas, and Soldier Boy, and Shekels, and Potter, and Sour-Mash,
and—well, they’re _all_ that, just angels, as you may say.
The very first day I came, I don’t know how long ago it was, Buffalo Bill
took me on Soldier Boy to Thunder-Bird’s camp, not the big one which is
out on the plain, which is White Cloud’s, he took me to _that_ one next
day, but this one is four or five miles up in the hills and crags, where
there is a great shut-in meadow, full of Indian lodges and dogs and
squaws and everything that is interesting, and a brook of the clearest
water running through it, with white pebbles on the bottom and trees all
along the banks cool and shady and good to wade in, and as the sun goes
down it is dimmish in there, but away up against the sky you see the big
peaks towering up and shining bright and vivid in the sun, and sometimes
an eagle sailing by them, not flapping a wing, the same as if he was
asleep; and young Indians and girls romping and laughing and carrying on,
around the spring and the pool, and not much clothes on except the girls,
and dogs fighting, and the squaws busy at work, and the bucks busy
resting, and the old men sitting in a bunch smoking, and passing the pipe
not to the left but to the right, which means there’s been a row in the
camp and they are settling it if they can, and children playing _just_
the same as any other children, and little boys shooting at a mark with
bows, and I cuffed one of them because he hit a dog with a club that
wasn’t doing anything, and he resented it but before long he wished he
hadn’t: but this sentence is getting too long and I will start another.
Thunder-Bird put on his Sunday-best war outfit to let me see him, and he
was splendid to look at, with his face painted red and bright and intense
like a fire-coal and a valance of eagle feathers from the top of his head
all down his back, and he had his tomahawk, too, and his pipe, which has
a stem which is longer than my arm, and I never had such a good time in
an Indian camp in my life, and I learned a lot of words of the language,
and next day BB took me to the camp out on the Plains, four miles, and I
had another good time and got acquainted with some more Indians and dogs;
and the big chief, by the name of White Cloud, gave me a pretty little
bow and arrows and I gave him my red sash-ribbon, and in four days I
could shoot very well with it and beat any white boy of my size at the
post; and I have been to those camps plenty of times since; and I have
learned to ride, too, BB taught me, and every day he practises me and
praises me, and every time I do better than ever he lets me have a
scamper on Soldier Boy, and _that’s_ the last agony of pleasure! for he
is the charmingest horse, and so beautiful and shiny and black, and
hasn’t another color on him anywhere, except a white star in his
forehead, not just an imitation star, but a real one, with four points,
shaped exactly like a star that’s hand-made, and if you should cover him
all up but his star you would know him anywhere, even in Jerusalem or
Australia, by that. And I got acquainted with a good many of the Seventh
Cavalry, and the dragoons, and officers, and families, and horses, in the
first few days, and some more in the next few and the next few and the
next few, and now I know more soldiers and horses than you can think, no
matter how hard you try. I am keeping up my studies every now and then,
but there isn’t much time for it. I love you so! and I send you a hug
and a kiss.