to
slip down upon, but they cannot have the excellent partners one has at
an army post, and I choose the partners!

The officers are excellent dancers--every one of them--and when you are
gliding around, your chin, or perhaps your nose, getting a scratch now
and then from a gorgeous gold epaulet, you feel as light as a feather,
and imagine yourself with a fairy prince. Of course the officers were in
full-dress uniform Friday night, so I know just what I am talking about,
scratches and all. Every woman appeared in her finest gown. I wore my
nile-green silk, which I am afraid showed off my splendid coat of tan
only too well.

The party was given for Doctor and Mrs. Anderson, who are guests of
General Bourke for a few days. They are en route to Fort Union,
New Mexico. Mrs. Anderson was very handsome in an elegant gown of
London-smoke silk. I am to assist Mrs. Phillips in receiving New Year's
day, and shall wear my pearl-colored Irish poplin. We are going out now
for a little ride.

FORT LYON, COLORADO TERRITORY, January, 1872.

WHEN we came over on the stage from Kit Carson last fall, I sat on top
with the driver, who told me of many terrible experiences he had passed
through during the years he had been driving a stage on the plains, and
some of the most thrilling were of sand storms, when he had, with great
difficulty, saved the stage and perhaps his own life. There have been
ever so many storms, since we have been here, that covered everything in
the houses with dust and sand, but nothing at all like those the driver
described. But yesterday one came--a terrific storm--and it so happened
that I was caught out in the fiercest part of it.

As Faye was officer of the day, he could not leave the garrison, so
I rode with Lieutenant Baldwin and Lieutenant Alden. The day was
glorious--sunny, and quite warm--one of Colorado's very best, without a
cloud to be seen in any direction. We went up the river to the mouth of
a pretty little stream commonly called "The Picket Wire," but the real
name of which is La Purgatoire. It is about five miles from the post
and makes a nice objective point for a short ride, for the clear water
gurgling over the stones, and the trees and bushes along its banks, are
always attractive in this treeless country.

The canter up was brisk, and after giving our horses the drink from the
running stream they always beg for, we started back on the road to the
post in unusually fine spirits. Almost im