I did not ask what became of the poor faithful mules; I do not know, to this day.

In my pity and real distress over the fate of these patient brutes, I forgot to inquire what boxes were on the unfortunate wagon.
We began to have some shooting.

Lieutenant Bailey shot a young deer, and some wild turkeys, and we could not complain any more of the lack of fresh food.
It did not surprise us to learn that ours was the first wagon-train to pass over Crook's Trail.

For miles and miles the so-called road was nothing but a clearing, and we were pitched and jerked from side to side of the ambulance, as we struck large rocks or tree-stumps; in some steep places, logs were chained to the rear of the ambulance, to keep it from pitching forward onto the backs of the mules.

At such places I got out and picked my way down the rocky declivity.
We now began to hear of the Apache Indians, who were always out, in either large or small bands, doing their murderous work.
One day a party of horseman tore past us at a gallop.