It was the custom to change the stations of the different companies of a regiment¹ about every two years. So the autumn of '82 found us on the way to Fort Halleck, a post in Nevada, but differing vastly from the desolate² MacDermit station. Fort Halleck was only thirteen miles south of the Overland Railroad, and lay near a spur of the Humboldt range. There were miles of sage-brush between the railroad and the post, but the mountains which rose abruptly³ five thousand feet on the far side, made a magnificent background for the officers' quarters, which lay nestled at the bottom of the foot-hills.  
"Oh! what a lovely post!" I cried, as we drove in.
 
Major Sanford of the First Cavalry⁴, with Captain Carr and Lieutenant⁵ Oscar Brown, received us. "Dear me," I thought, "if the First Cavalry is made up of such gallant⁶ men as these, the old Eighth Infantry⁷ will have to look out for its laurels⁸."
 
Mrs. Sanford and Mrs. Carr gave us a great welcome and vied with each other in providing for our comfort, and we were soon established.
 
It was so good to see the gay yellow of the cavalry again! Now I rode, to my heart's content, and it was good to be alive; to see the cavalry drill, and to ride through the canons, gorgeous in their flaming autumn tints⁹; then again to gallop¹⁰ through the sage-brush, jumping where we could not turn, starting up rabbits by the score.
 
That little old post, now long since abandoned, marked a pleasant epoch¹¹ in our life. From the ranches¹² scattered¹³ around we could procure¹⁴ butter and squabs and young vegetables, and the soldiers cultivated great garden patches, and our small dinners and breakfasts live in delightful¹⁵ memory.
 
At the end of two years spent so pleasantly with the people of the First Cavalry, our company was again ordered to Angel Island. But a second very active campaign in Arizona and Mexico, against Geronimo, took our soldiers away from us, and we passed through a period of considerable anxiety. June of '86 saw the entire regiment ordered to take station in Arizona once more.
 
We travelled to Tucson in a Pullman car. It was hot and uninteresting. I had been at Tucson nine years before, for a few hours, but the place seemed unfamiliar¹⁶. I looked for the old tavern¹⁷; I saw only the railroad restaurant. We went in to take breakfast, before driving out to the post of Fort Lowell, seven miles away. Everything seemed changed. Iced cantaloupe was served by a spick-span alert waiter; then, quail¹⁸ on toast. "Ice in Arizona?" It was like a dream, and I remarked to Jack¹⁹, "This isn't the same Arizona we knew in '74," and then, "I don't believe I like it as well, either; all this luxury doesn't seem to belong to the place."
 
After a drive behind some smart mules²⁰, over a flat stretch of seven miles, we arrived at Fort Lowell, a rather attractive post, with a long line of officers' quarters, before which ran a level road shaded by beautiful great trees. We were assigned a half of one of these sets of quarters, and as our half had no conveniences for house-keeping, it was arranged that we should join a mess with General and Mrs. Kautz and their family. We soon got settled down to our life there, and we had various recreations; among them, driving over to Tucson and riding on horseback are those which I remember best. We made a few acquaintances in Tucson, and they sometimes drove out in the evenings, or more frequently rode out on horseback. Then we would gather together on the Kautz piazza²¹ and everybody sang to the accompaniment of Mrs. Kautz's guitar. It was very hot, of course; we had all expected that, but the luxuries obtainable through the coming of the railroad, such as ice, and various summer drinks, and lemons, and butter, helped out to make the summer there more comfortable.
 
We slept on the piazzas²², which ran around the houses on a level with the ground. At that time the fad²³ for sleeping out of doors, at least amongst civilized²⁴ people, did not exist, and our arrangements were entirely²⁵ primitive²⁶.
 
Our quarters were surrounded by a small yard and a fence; the latter was dilapidated, and the gate swung on one hinge. We were seven miles from anywhere, and surrounded by a desolate country. I did not experience the feeling of terror that I had had at Camp Apache, for instance, nor the grewsome fear of the Ehrenberg grave-yard, nor the appalling²⁷ fright I had known in crossing the Mogollon range or in driving through Sanford's Pass. But still there was a haunting feeling of insecurity which hung around me especially at night. I was awfully²⁸ afraid of snakes, and no sooner had we lain ourselves down on our cots to sleep, than I would hear a rustling²⁹ among............