The winter came on apace, but the weather was mild and pleasant.
One day some officers came in and said we must go over to the
"Ravine" that evening, where the Indians were going to have a
rare sort of a dance.

There was no one to say to me: "Do not go," and, as we welcomed
any little excitement which would relieve the monotony of our
lives, we cast aside all doubts of the advisability of my going.
So, after dinner, we joined the others, and sallied forth into
the darkness of an Arizona night. We crossed the large
parade-ground, and picked our way over a rough and pathless
country, lighted only by the stars above.

Arriving at the edge of the ravine, what a scene was before us!
We looked down into a natural amphitheatre, in which blazed great
fires; hordes of wild Apaches darted about, while others sat on
logs beating their tomtoms.

I was afraid, and held back, but the rest of the party descended
into the ravine, and, leaning on a good strong arm, I followed.
We all sat down on the great trunk of a fallen tree, and soon the
dancers came into the arena.

They were entirely naked, except for the loin-cloth; their bodies
were painted, and from their elbows and knees stood out bunches
of feathers, giving them the appearance of huge flying creatures;
jingling things were attached to their necks and arms. Upon their
heads were large frames, made to resemble the branching horns of
an elk, and as they danced, and bowed their heads, the horns lent
them the appearance of some unknown animal, and added greatly to