Little Pills, an Army Story. R. H. McKay
addressed by their military title of Captain or Major, as it might be, but the Lieutenants were addressed as Mister, or by their surnames, as Mr. Jones or simply Jones.
The first of March came and with it came pay-day, a matter that seemed of much interest to the officers. It did not take me long to learn its importance for army officers at that time as a rule literally lived up their salaries. I finally learned that an officer was considered by many other officers as a little off color if he was close-fisted and tried to save money out of his pay. To me it was a matter of importance because I was poor and needed it. I sent most of my first month's pay, after paying mess bill and a few other necessary expenses, to my wife, not keeping enough, as I afterward learned, for an emergency that might arise. Expecting to be ordered to some frontier post, I took the precaution to invest in a pistol, a very ridiculous thing to do, as I now think of it. The further history of that pistol will appear later on in this story.
While at Leavenworth the officers gave a hop. I never knew why it was called a hop instead of a dance, but it was always so designated in the army. Officers came from other places, particularly Fort Riley, among whom was General Custer of cavalry fame during the Civil War, and a noted Indian fighter on the frontier. I watched him with a good deal of interest, for at that time he was a distinguished man in the service, and I must say that I was rather disappointed in his appearance. He seemed to me to be under-sized and slender, and at first blush to be effeminate in appearance. Maybe his long hair, almost reaching to his shoulders, gave this impression, but the face was something of a study and hard to describe. Something of boldness or maybe dash, a quick eye, and he was intensely energetic, giving the impression that he would be a veritable whirlwind in an engagement. He did not convey the idea of a great character. He was a very graceful dancer. His career ended at the famous battle in our Indian warfare, that of the Little Big Horn. Not a man of his command escaped to tell the story.
I think it was about the 8th or 9th of March that I received orders to report to the Chief Medical Officer, District of New Mexico, for assignment to duty. The quartermaster furnished transportation, that is to say, orders to the transportation companies, railroads, stage-lines, etc., to carry the officer to point of destination. This, together with the order of assignment to duty, would carry one wherever the assignment directed. At this time the so-called Kansas-Pacific railroad was built out pretty well towards the west line of the state, but there were no transcontinental lines finished until the following summer. The Union and Central Pacifics joining that year in Utah in July.
I left Fort Leavenworth in the morning and before night was out on the plains. From Leavenworth to Topeka there was some settlement. The towns as I remember them were mere railroad stations, except Lawrence, which was more pretentious, and the scattering farmhouses were small and primitive in style. Topeka seemed to be something of a town, but from there west the country was only partially inhabited. Fort Hayes stood out prominently to the left of the railroad but the whole country seemed one great sea of desolation unlimited in extent. At that time I would not have given ten dollars per square league for what has since become one of the famous wheat fields of the country. The evening of the second day we arrived at a place called Sheridan which was the terminus of the railroad. It was a straggling place of tents and wooden shacks, dance halls, bawdy houses, gambling houses and saloons. Murders were of frequent occurrence and it was considered dangerous to be on the street at night. There was only one street in the town. I started out on this street about dusk, thinking I had better go to the stage office and arrange for my transportation on to Santa Fe. The landlord happened to notice me and called for me to wait a minute and when he had joined me he inquired where I was going. He said he would go with me as it might not be safe for me to be alone, and told me of a killing in front of the hotel the night before.
My bed that night was on the second story, merely floored, and not plastered or sealed, and the roof slanted down close to the bed. The space between the floor and the edge of the roof was open and I could look down into the saloon. I watched the patrons of this place for some time for it was altogether a new experience. The clinking of glasses; the loud talk; the dim lights; and the thorough abandonment of the motley crowd remains quite vividly in my memory. It finally occurred to me that in the event of a shooting scrape, even there in bed was not a very safe place, so I edged over to the far side of the bed and soon dropped to sleep, not waking until called in the morning.
We got an early start and I had the stage mostly to myself until we crossed the Raton spur of the mountain. The nights were chilly and I was not over-warmly clad, but I managed after the first night to get a fair amount of sleep. I felt some fear of Indians although it was too early in the season for them to go on the war-path. The summer before had been a particularly bad one on the plains. Forsythe's command was almost annihilated in October, 1868, on the Ariskaree Fork of the Republican river, and at every stage station until after we reached Trinidad, Colo., the first salutation between the men at the station and our conductor was whether either had seen any Indians. The apprehension was not that the Indians would go on the war-path at that time of the year, because their ponies could not exist until the grass was well started, but that some of the venturesome young bucks might take it into their heads to attack the stage coach. I peeked out of the coach at night and wondered if there was any probability of Indians attacking us and thought of my pistol, but was not proud of it, or of my ability to use it.
The stage stations were interesting to me. On the plains proper they were uniformly built, underground as far up as the sidewalls extended, and was located near some water hole and at an elevation that would command a view of the surrounding country for some distance. Above the dirt walls large logs were laid, upon which the cross timbers were placed for supporting the roof. These logs were raised from the ground enough, say three or four inches, to give the occupants a good view of the surrounding country, and an opportunity of using their carbines against attack from the Indians, with comparative safety to themselves. The roof was covered with dirt. The stables were built the same way with underground passages or open ditches connected with the station proper. Both station and stable were connected in the same way with the water hole. At these stations on the plains proper, were stationed a small squad of soldiers, maybe a half dozen, under the command of a noncommissioned officer, generally a sergeant, and you can readily see that the Indians would be a little cautious about getting too near such a place although during the summer season they often attacked the stage between stations. The stations were at variable distances apart, depending on the water supply, generally from eight to twenty miles apart, and were supplied by government trains on their way to the military posts of the West. There was not much to attract attention in approaching these stations, no building in sight, no sign of life. The first thing you knew some one would hollow "Hello!" and "Hello!" would come back. "Have you seen any Indians?" and there you are. The last inquiry was natural enough when you consider the near approach of spring, when the grass would be green enough to furnish feed for Indian ponies. Indians would not appear in large numbers at this time of the year, but little roving bands, maybe one or two venturesome bucks might be seen almost daily at a safe distance, evidently spying out the prospects for more serious work later in the season. Of course we got our meals at these stations, consisting generally of bacon, hot corn-bread or biscuit, a vegetable or two, and black coffee. This menu varied some after we crossed the Raton Mountains and were practically out of Indian troubles, when we had a greater variety, and it was better prepared.
We got to Trinidad late at night, the first town after crossing the plains, and located just at the base on the north side of the Raton Range near the Purgatory river. This was a mining town of some importance in those days, and had the usual quota of dance halls, gambling dens and other equipment of a typical mining town.
We got to Dick Wooton's early the following morning and had a good breakfast. His place was located near the top of Raton Pass and consisted at that time of a rambling lot of log buildings; one for a house proper, which was clean, comfortable, and attractive inside, and the others for stables, blacksmith and wagon shops, and in fact anything and everything where repairs to transportation could be made. Dick himself was an attractive personality, was large, quite above the average in size, with a cheery open face giving little evidence of the frontier man, and yet he was almost as noted as Kit Carson with whom he was associated as pioneer and scout. Both were noted men on the frontier. Wooton, however, took a more practical view of life than Carson and conceived the idea