Army Letters from an Officers Wife, 1871-1888 | Page 4

dreadful place--with old log houses
built in the hot sand hills, and surrounded by almost every tribe of
hostile Indians.
It may not be possible for me to write again for several days, as I will
be very busy getting settled in the house. I must get things arranged just
as soon as I can, so I will be able to go out on horseback with Faye and
Lieutenant Baldwin.
FORT LYON, COLORADO TERRITORY, October, 1871.
WHEN a very small girl, I was told many wonderful tales about a
grand Indian chief called Red Jacket, by my great-grandmother, who,
you will remember, saw him a number of times when she, also, was a
small girl. And since then--almost all my life--I have wanted to see
with my very own eyes an Indian--a real noble red man--dressed in
beautiful skins embroidered with beads, and on his head long, waving
feathers.
Well, I have seen an Indian--a number of Indians--but they were not
Red Jackets, neither were they noble red men. They were simply, and
only, painted, dirty, and nauseous-smelling savages! Mrs. Phillips says
that Indians are all alike--that when you have seen one you have seen
all. And she must know, for she has lived on the frontier a long time,
and has seen many Indians of many tribes.
We went to Las Animas yesterday, Mrs. Phillips, Mrs. Cole, and I, to
do a little shopping. There are several small stores in the half-Mexican
village, where curious little things from Mexico can often be found, if
one does not mind poking about underneath the trash and dirt that is
everywhere. While we were in the largest of these shops, ten or twelve
Indians dashed up to the door on their ponies, and four of them,
slipping down, came in the store and passed on quickly to the counter
farthest back, where the ammunition is kept. As they came toward us in
their imperious way, never once looking to the right or to the left, they
seemed like giants, and to increase in size and numbers with every step.
Their coming was so sudden we did not have a chance to get out of

their way, and it so happened that Mrs. Phillips and I were in their line
of march, and when the one in the lead got to us, we were pushed aside
with such impatient force that we both fell over on the counter. The
others passed on just the same, however, and if we had fallen to the
floor, I presume they would have stepped over us, and otherwise been
oblivious to our existence. This was my introduction to an Indian--the
noble red man!
As soon as they got to the counter they demanded powder, balls, and
percussion caps, and as these things were given them, they were stuffed
down their muzzle-loading rifles, and what could not be rammed down
the barrels was put in greasy skin bags and hidden under their blankets.
I saw one test the sharp edge of a long, wicked-looking knife, and then
it, also, disappeared under his blanket. All this time the other Indians
were on their ponies in front, watching every move that was being
made around them.
There was only the one small door to the little adobe shop, and into this
an Indian had ridden his piebald pony; its forefeet were up a step on the
sill and its head and shoulders were in the room, which made it quite
impossible for us three frightened women to run out in the street. So we
got back of a counter, and, as Mrs. Phillips expressed it, "midway
between the devil and the deep sea." There certainly could be no
mistake about the "devil" side of it!
It was an awful situation to be in, and one to terrify anybody. We were
actually prisoners--penned in with all those savages, who were
evidently in an ugly mood, with quantities of ammunition within their
reach, and only two white men to protect us. Even the few small
windows had iron bars across. They could have killed every one of us,
and ridden far away before anyone in the sleepy town found it out.
Well, when those inside had been given, or had helped themselves to,
whatever they wanted, out they all marched again, quickly and silently,
just as they had come in. They instantly mounted their ponies, and all
rode down the street and out of sight at race speed, some leaning so far
over on their little beasts that one could hardly see the Indian at all. The
pony that was ridden into the store door was without a bridle, and was
guided by a long strip of buffalo skin which was fastened around his
lower jaw by a slipknot. It is amazing to