removed. It was with a light heart that I spurred my gallant little bay 

 to overtake the column. 



Our march to Fort Robinson was without any unusual incident and, 

 leaving the last camp before the others, I rode into the post about seven 

 o'clock in the morning, just as Colonel Sumner was coming out of his 

 quarters. When he caught sight of me, he stared at me openmouthed, 

 as though I were a ghost, and finally stammered out: "Why! Great 

 God Almighty, man! I thought you were dead." He then proceeded to 

 tell me of a Mexican, who had come to Robinson and told the Colonel 

 that he was a nephew of Sr. Romero, the Mexican Minister at Wash- 

 ington. This worthy had told an absurd yarn of his having been my 

 camp cook and declared that, when the Indians attacked us, I had 

 "set him afoot" and run away, leaving him behind. This proved to be 

 his salvation, for the Indians had pursued us and killed every other 

 member of the party, but allowed him to escape. The Colonel was so 

 affected by this tale of woe, that he lent the victim fifty dollars to reach 

 Washington and the Mexican legation. I said: "Colonel, you've been 

 done brown; the fellow was a swindler whom I never saw, and you're 

 not likely to get your money back." 



The whole adventure had an amusing sequence some months later. 

 My Mother had always been fearless; when a little thing, as she laugh- 

 ingly told us, her timid older brother had taken her as an escort, armed 

 with a fire shovel, when he went to explore the perilous wilderness of 

 Bayard Lane. When his father tried to laugh him out of his fears, say- 

 ing: "Alexander, aren't you ashamed to let your little sister protect 

 you? She isn't afraid," the little hero rephed: "Father, Mary hasn't 

 sense enough to be afraid." Whether or not due to lack of sense, Mary 

 was never afraid of anything and, possibly on that account, she used 

 to profess the utmost contempt for physical courage, declaring that it 

 was an animal quality, often nothing more than the lack of imagination. 

 For moral courage, on the other hand, she had the greatest admiration, 

 but that was not because she lacked it herself. 



At the Morven dinner table, one day, when she was talking in that 

 vein, I saw a chance to "get a rise out of her" and, at the same time, 

 learn her real, inmost thoughts on this question and so I craftily said: 

 "Mother, you know that, last summer, the lives of twenty men were 

 dependent on my good judgement, don't you?" "Yes, so I have under- 

 stood." "Well, now, be frank and tell us whether you would rather 

 have had me show the white feather and run away, leaving those men 

 to their fate, or be brought home dead?" Without an instant's hesita- 



1 158 ] 



