182 NEW TRACKS IN NORTH AMERICA. 
and could talk with General Gregg across a deep cajion, only , 
half-a-mile distant, my legs, somehow or other, refused to | 
carry me farther, and I came to the conclusion that infantry — 
service was disagreeable on an empty stomach. So I made a | 
fire and laid down to sleep, and sent for rations, which my , 
faithful servant, George, brought out to me in the rain, with 
a flask of whiskey from General Gregg, and strict injunctions 
to be sure to drink it all—a command I promptly obeyed. I 
hope the Temperance Society will forgive me, as I could 4 
have drunk a demijohn under the circumstances without: 
being affected by it. a 
_It was by no means a short walk even from where we 
were to General Gregg’s camp, as we had to head the deep” 
side cafion, and to cross several others near their sources. It | 
was raining, and the ground and rocks were slippery ; but at~ 
last we arrived and received the gratulations of the party, | 
who had heard the Indian shots and shouts, and feared we 
had met too many of the “noble reds.” 
General Gregg had found a way out of the Sycamore 
Cafion along a horrible trail, by unloading his pack mules | 
and making several trips of it. He had signalled to us, but 
had no means of communication, and supposed we had struck 
for Camp Lincoln, a military post in the valley of the Verde : 
fifty miles to the south. 
My noble grey horse, Signor, is gone. He had helped to — 
carry me faithfully from Santa Fé through New Mexico, and ’ 
thus far into Arizona, but he has fallen a martyr to the 
topography of the sources of the Rio Verde. While George : 
was leading him ‘up a precipitous path he lost his footing in 
jumping over a rock, and tumbled to the bottom of the | 
___ ¢afon, 100 feet, killing himself instantly. My other valuable — 
ie horse, a whom I intend to take home if I get him safely 4 
