66 The Rough Riders 



flying -fish. Toward evening, when the officers clus- 

 tered together on the forward bridge, the band of the 

 Second Infantry played tune after tune, until on our 

 quarter the glorious sun sank in the red west, and, 

 one by one, the lights blazed out on troopship and 

 warship for miles ahead and astern, as they steamed 

 onward through the brilliant tropic night. 



The men on the ship were young and strong, eager 

 to face what lay hidden before them, eager for ad- 

 venture where risk was the price of gain. Some- 

 times they talked of what they might do in the 

 future, and wondered whether we were to attack 

 Santiago or Porto Rico. At other times, as they 

 lounged in groups, they told stories of their past 

 stories of the mining camps and the cattle ranges, 

 of hunting bear and deer, of war-trails against the 

 Indians, of lawless deeds of violence and the lawful 

 violence by which they were avenged, of brawls in 

 saloons, of shrewd deals in cattle and sheep, of suc- 

 cessful quest for the precious metals; stories of 

 brutal wrong and brutal appetite, melancholy love- 

 tales, and memories of nameless heroes masters of 

 men and tamers of horses. 



The officers, too, had many strange experiences to 

 relate; none, not even Llewellen or O'Neill, had 

 been through what was better worth telling, or 

 could tell it better, than Capron. He had spent 

 years among the Apaches, the wildest and fiercest 



