placed in such a situation again.

At dawn everybody got up and dressed. I looked in my small
hand-mirror, and it seemed to me my hair had turned a greyish
color, and while it was not exactly white, the warm chestnut
tinge never came back into it, after that day and night of
terror. My eyes looked back at me large and hollow from the
small glass, and I was in that state when it is easy to imagine
the look of Death in one's own face. I think sometimes it comes,
after we have thought ourselves near the borders. And I surely
had been close to them the day before.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* *

If perchance any of my readers have followed this narrative so
far, and there be among them possibly any men, young or old, I
would say to such ones: "Desist! For what I am going to tell
about in this chapter, and possibly another, concerns nobody but
women, and my story will now, for awhile, not concern itself with
the Eighth Foot, nor the army, nor the War Department, nor the
Interior Department, nor the strategic value of Sunset Crossing,
which may now be a railroad station, for all I know. It is simply
a story of my journey from the far bank of the Little Colorado to
Fort Whipple, and then on, by a change of orders, over mountains
and valleys, cactus plains and desert lands, to the banks of the
Great Colorado.

My attitude towards the places I travelled through was naturally
influenced by the fact that I had a young baby in my arms the