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Updated: June 29, 2025
General Sheridan, being anxious to punish the Indians who had lately fought General Forsythe, did not give the regiment much of a rest. On October 5th it began the march to Beaver Creek country. The first night we camped on the south fork of Big Creek, four miles west of Hays City. By this time I had become well acquainted with Major Brown and Captain Sweetman.
Judith was brushing out her pretty brown hair and looking rather solemnly at her reflection in the mirror when shrieks of delight testified to the arrival of some one, who, to judge by the commotion, must be very popular. "Cathy, you darling, are you really to be ours? What precious luck! Josephine and Jane, and yes two new girls Judith Benson in twenty-five and Sally May Forsythe in twenty-one."
Forsythe looked at him, and whistled. "Jove!" he exclaimed, "it doesn't strike you as it did Dr. Howe. I told him, and he said, 'Bless my soul, hadn't the man sense enough to call a policeman?" But Mr. Dale had nothing more to say.
He too did not speak; she found herself walking toward the door. "Good-by." The scene seemed the replica of a scene somewhere else, sometime before. Ah, in the garden, amid flowers, fragrance. There were no flowers here "Good-by." He spoke in a low voice. "As I told Captain Forsythe, you you need not feel concern about the story ever coming out " "Concern? What do you mean?"
With no one to restrain her or warn her she was playing with forces that she did not understand. She had subjugated easily all the boys in school, keeping them exactly where she wanted them for her purpose, and using methods that would have done credit to a woman of the world. But by far the greatest force in her life was her infatuation for Forsythe.
It was a simple solution of the difficulty and upon its submission to the public meeting called for its consideration, it was felt that the comment of the irrepressible Victor Forsythe was not entirely unfitting: "Of course!" said Victor, cheerfully. "It is the only thing. Why didn't the Johnnies think of it before, or why didn't they ask me?"
The days came when the tender-hearted Miss Forsythe went about the house restless, impatient, tearful, waiting for a summons that was sure to come when she was needed. She thought only of her child, as she called her, and all the tenderness of her nature was stirred-these years of cloud and separation and pain were as they had not been. Little Margaret had promised to send for her.
Our next stop revealed how things were going to-day. "Forsythe," one of them read on the station. "Portland 1266." They were counting the lessening distance westward. This was the undercurrent of war. It broke on me as I procured fresh water at Forsythe and made some toilet in their stolid presence.
"Margaret is a noble girl; she is very independent," suggested Miss Forsythe, still avoiding the point. "I know. I don't ask you her feeling." Mr. Lyon was standing quietly looking down into the coals. "She is the only woman in the world to me. I love her. Are you against me?" he asked, suddenly looking up, with a flush in his face.
"No, sir, we will not," answered Jenkins. "Things are too serious for fighting. You must hand me that pistol and any arms you may have, and be confined to the wardroom. And you, Forsythe," he said, looking at the victim, "if you can master navigation, get busy and make good. And you other ginks get out of here.
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