My mother was all American -no alkali-spider about HER,I can tell you;she was of the best blood of Kentucky,the bluest Blue-grass aristocracy,very proud and acrimonious -or maybe it is ceremonious.I don't know which it is.But it is no matter;size is the main thing about a word,and that one's up to standard.She spent her military life as colonel of the Tenth Dragoons,and saw a deal of rough service -distinguished service it was,too.I mean,she CARRIED the Colonel;but it's all the same.Where would he be without his horse?He wouldn't arrive.It takes two to make a colonel of dragoons.She was a fine dragoon horse,but never got above that.She was strong enough for the scout service,and had the endurance,too,but she couldn't quite come up to the speed required;a scout horse has to have steel in his muscle and lightning in his blood.
My father was a bronco.Nothing as to lineage -that is,nothing as to recent lineage -but plenty good enough when you go a good way back.When Professor Marsh was out here hunting bones for the chapel of Yale University he found skeletons of horses no bigger than a fox,bedded in the rocks,and he said they were ancestors of my father.My mother heard him say it;and he said those skeletons were two million years old,which astonished her and made her Kentucky pretensions look small and pretty antiphonal,not to say oblique.Let me see....I used to know the meaning of those words,but ...well,it was years ago,and 'tisn't as vivid now as it was when they were fresh.That sort of words doesn't keep,in the kind of climate we have out here.Professor Marsh said those skeletons were fossils.So that makes me part blue grass and part fossil;if there is any older or better stock,you will have to look for it among the Four Hundred,I reckon.I am satisfied with it.And am a happy horse,too,though born out of wedlock.
And now we are back at Fort Paxton once more,after a forty-day scout,away up as far as the Big Horn.Everything quiet.Crows and Blackfeet squabbling -as usual -but no outbreaks,and settlers feeling fairly easy.
The Seventh Cavalry still in garrison,here;also the Ninth Dragoons,two artillery companies,and some infantry.All glad to see me,including General Alison,commandant.The officers'ladies and children well,and called upon me -with sugar.Colonel Drake,Seventh Cavalry,said some pleasant things;Mrs.Drake was very complimentary;also Captain and Mrs.Marsh,Company B,Seventh Cavalry;also the Chaplain,who is always kind and pleasant to me,because I kicked the lungs out of a trader once.It was Tommy Drake and Fanny Marsh that furnished the sugar -nice children,the nicest at the post,I think.
That poor orphan child is on her way from France -everybody is full of the subject.Her father was General Alison's brother;married a beautiful young Spanish lady ten years ago,and has never been in America since.They lived in Spain a year or two,then went to France.Both died some months ago.This little girl that is coming is the only child.General Alison is glad to have her.
He has never seen her.He is a very nice old bachelor,but is an old bachelor just the same and isn't more than about a year this side of retirement by age limit;and so what does he know about taking care of a little maid nine years old?If I could have her it would be another matter,for I know all about children,and they adore me.Buffalo Bill will tell you so himself.
I have some of this news from over-hearing the garrison-gossip,the rest of it I got from Potter,the General's dog.Potter is the great Dane.He is privileged,all over the post,like Shekels,the Seventh Cavalry's dog,and visits everybody's quarters and picks up everything that is going,in the way of news.Potter has no imagination,and no great deal of culture,perhaps,but he has a historical mind and a good memory,and so he is the person I depend upon mainly to post me up when I get back from a scout.That is,if Shekels is out on depredation and I can't get hold of him.
