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Updated: April 30, 2025
I did not relish the idea of going into such a place, and I knew that my sister Kate and the Widow Canby would be horrified when they heard of it. "What kind of a man is this Holtzmann?" I continued, seeing that the man I had accosted was inclined to talk. "Oh, he's a good enough kind of a fellow if you know how to take him," was the reply.
Preble says of Canby: "I cannot agree with his claim, and neither does the record support it" ... and besides it is practically charging Washington and the rest of the committee with seeking to establish and set up a national ensign before we had even declared ourselves a free people with an independent national government, and without any delegated authority to do so, the record of Congress being silent on the subject; so therefore we have: First.
No one cared to go to a restaurant, and we took the first train homeward. It was dark when we reached Newville. The Widow Canby's carriage was at the depot waiting for us. "Suppose I get my ticket for Chicago now," said I. "It will save time Monday, and I can find out all about the train." "A good idea," returned my uncle. "I'll go with you." So while Kate joined Mrs. Canby we entered the depot.
To Canby, who accompanied him on his tour of inspection, he said eagerly: "Where I wish your assistance is in the selection of my work-horses. What would you advise? Have you a pair in mind, Mr. Canby?" Canby reflected. "That was a good horse Boise Bill was currying," he suggested. "Yes, I noticed him. Is there another like him?" "I believe he is one of a team." Canby was correct in his surmise.
On February 21, 1862, Sibley defeated Colonel E.R.S. Canby at Valverde near Fort Craig. But his further advance was hindered by the barrenness of the country, by the complete destruction of all Union stores likely to fall into his hands, and by the fact that he was between two Federal forts when the battle ended. On the twentyeighth of March there was a desperate fight in Apache Canon.
In those two months was formed the basis of Jerry's idea of life as seen through the philosophy of Roger Canby. We had many talks, and Jerry asked many questions, but I answered them all, rejoicing in his acuteness in following a line of thought to its conclusion, a procedure which, as I afterward discovered, was to cause me anxious moments.
At my request, one of the teachers in the girls' department examined Helen in regard to the construction of the story. Her testimony is as follows: "I first tried to ascertain what had suggested to Helen's mind the particular fancies which made her story seem like a reproduction of one written by Miss Margaret Canby.
Wallie stopped him with a gesture. "No, you don't! I take no chances when I play with crooks. You make out that check." "Isn't my word good?" Canby demanded. "Not so far as I can throw my horse." "I haven't a check-book," he lied. "Get it, Pink." The check-book and indelible pencil which every sheep and cattleman carries were in the inside pocket of his coat. "Fill it out."
Up to this time I had not learned what would be the fate of those Indians directly interested in the assassination of Gen. Canby and Col. Thomas, and I must admit that I was terribly surprised when Gen. Wheaton informed me that they would all be hanged.
The horse was swimming lower at every stroke. "Five hundred!" Fear and rage were in Canby's choking voice. "Put another cipher on that to cover my mental anguish!" Wallie mocked. The horse was exhausting itself rapidly with its efforts merely to keep its nose out, making no further attempt to swim toward the bank. Canby slapped water in its face in the hope of turning it, but it was too late.
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