176 HORSE, FOOT, AND DRAGOONS. 



bridge to the levee of the busy little frontier city. Hi, mules ! 

 drag the ramshackle cab up the steep bank, rattle through the 

 dusty, unpaved streets, flanked by the one-storied wooden shops 

 and numberless drinking- " saloons," with here and there, tow- 

 ering above its neighbors, a brand-new brick or stone edifice, 

 its front covered with sign- boards bright with fresh paint and 

 gilded lettering. Ho! ho! there's a newspaper - office ! there 

 are sidewalks, street lamps, telegraph-poles, and corner loafers, 

 and, by Jove, a soda-water fountain! Well, we are in civili- 

 zation again ! 



And now, as we stand on the rear platform of the "sleeper" 

 on the Atlantic Express this fine evening, looking back over 

 the long perspective of the rails as we fly over them homeward 

 bound, we take back with us to the far East grateful remem- 

 brances of the kind and "comradely" treatment we have met 

 with at the hands of the American soldier, and a thorough 

 appreciation of the hardships and privations, the dangers and 

 vicissitudes of his life on the wild frontier — an honorable life 

 of faithful performance of his arduous duties and of devotion 

 to his colors. 



