ted to give up. Two months ago
his wife had died, leaving to his care two dear little ones--a boy of
nine and a girl of six. He soon determined to take them East to his home
in far Pennsylvania. There was no Southern Pacific or any other Arizona
railway in those days. Officers and their families who wanted to go East
had to turn their faces westward, take a four or five days' "buckboard"
ride across the dusty deserts to the Colorado River, camp there perhaps
a week before "Captain Jack Mellon" came backing or sideways down the
shallow stream with his old "Cocopah." Then they sculled or ground their
way over the sand bars down to Fort Yuma, a devious and monotonous trip;
then were transferred to "lighten" or else, on the same old Cocopah,
were floated out into the head of the Gulf of California and there
hoisted aboard the screw steamers of the Ocean line--either the Newbern
or the Montana, and soon went plunging down the gulf, often very
sea-sick, yet able to get up and look about when their ship poked in at
some strange old Mexican town, La Paz or Guaymas, and finally, turning
Cape St. Lucas, away they would steam up the coast to San Francisco,
which they would reach after a two weeks' sea voyage and then, hey for
the Central Pacific, Cape Horn, the Sierras, Ogden, and the tramp to the
Union Pacific and, at last, home in the distant east, all after a
journey of five or six weeks and an expense of months of the poor
officer's pay.

Now Captain Gwynne was what we called a "close" man. He could not bear
the idea of spending something like a thousand dollars in taking
himself, little Ned and Nellie, and their devoted old nurse, Irish Kate,
by that long and expensive route. He had two fine horses and a capital
family wagon, covered. He had a couple of stout mules and a good baggage
wagon. Jim, his old driver, would go along to take care of "the
Concord," as the family cart was termed. Manuelito, a swarthy Mexican,
would drive the mules; the captain would ride his own pet saddle horse,
Gregg, and a discharged soldier, whom he hired for the purpose, would
ride McIntosh, the other charger. All were well armed. Parties were
going unmolested over the Sunset Pass route every month. Why should not
he?

The officers at Prescott shook their heads and endeavored to dissuade
him, but the more they argued the more determined was he. There were
tearful eyes among the ladies at Prescott barracks, where Mrs. Gwynne
had been dearly loved