I had lost my
health and strength. I knew nothing of the care of a young infant, and
depended entirely upon the advice of the Post Surgeon, who happened at
that time to be a young man, much better versed in the sawing off of
soldiers' legs than in the treatment of young mothers and babies.

The packing up was done under difficulties, and with much help from our
faithful Bowen. It was arranged for Mrs. Bailey, who was to spend the
summer with her parents at Fort Whipple, to make the trip at the same
time, as our road to Camp MacDowell took us through Fort Whipple. There
were provided two ambulances with six mules each, two baggage-wagons, an
escort of six calvarymen fully armed, and a guide. Lieutenant Bailey was
to accompany his wife on the trip.

I was genuinely sorry to part with Major Worth, but in the excitement
and fatigue of breaking up our home, I had little time to think of my
feelings. My young child absorbed all my time. Alas! for the ignorance
of young women, thrust by circumstances into such a situation! I had
miscalculated my strength, for I had never known illness in my life,
and there was no one to tell me any better. I reckoned upon my superbly
healthy nature to bring me through. In fact, I did not think much about
it; I simply got ready and went, as soldiers do.

I heard them say that we were not to cross the Mogollon range, but were
to go to the north of it, ford the Colorado Chiquito at Sunset Crossing,
and so on to Camp Verde and Whipple Barracks by the Stoneman's Lake
road. It sounded poetic and pretty. Colorado Chiquito, Sunset Crossing,
and Stoneman's Lake road! I thought to myself, they were prettier than
any of the names I had heard in Arizona.

CHAPTER XIV. A MEMORABLE JOURNEY

How broken plunged the steep descent! How barren! Desolate and rent By
earthquake shock, the land lay dead, Like some proud king in old-time
slain. An ugly skeleton, it gleamed In burning sands. The fiery rain
Of fierce volcanoes here had sown Its ashes. Burnt and black and seamed
With thunder-strokes and strewn With cinders. Yea, so overthrown, That
wilder men than we had said, On seeing this, with gathered breath, "We
come on the confines of death!"--JOAQUIN MILLER.

Six good cavalrymen galloped along by our side, on the morning of April
24th, 1875, as with two ambulances, two army wagons, and a Mexican
guide, we drove out of Camp Apache at a brisk trot.

The drivers were all armed, and spare rifles hun