the Civil War?" he asked.

"Their records stand in black and white in the War Department," I
replied, "if you have the interest to learn more about them."

"Women's opinions are influenced by their feelings," he said.

"Mine are based upon what I know, and I am prepared to stand by my
convictions," I replied.

Soon after this interview, I returned to New York and I did not give the
matter very much further thought, but my impression of the greatness of
Mr. Cleveland and of his powerful personality has remained with me to
this day.

A vacancy occurred about this time in the Quartermaster's Department,
and the appointment was eagerly sought for by many Lieutenants of the
army. President Cleveland saw fit to give the appointment to Lieutenant
Summerhayes, making him a Captain and Quartermaster, and then, another
vacancy occurring shortly after, he appointed Lieutenant John McEwen
Hyde to be also a Captain and Quartermaster.

Lieutenant Hyde stood next in rank to my husband and had grown grey in
the old Eighth Infantry. So the regiment came in for its honor at last,
and General Kautz, when the news of the second appointment reached him,
exclaimed, "Well! well! does the President think my regiment a nursery
for the Staff?"

The Eighth Foot and the Ninth Horse at Niobrara gave the new Captain and
Quartermaster a rousing farewell, for now my husband was leaving his old
regiment forever; and, while he appreciated fully the honor of his new
staff position, he felt a sadness at breaking off the associations of
so many years--a sadness which can scarcely be understood by the young
officers of the present day, who are promoted from one regiment to
another, and rarely remain long enough with one organization to know
even the men of their own Company.

There were many champagne suppers, dinners and card-parties given for
him, to make the good-bye something to be remembered, and at the end of
a week's festivities, he departed by a night train from Valentine, thus
eluding the hospitality of those generous but wild frontiersmen, who
were waiting to give him what they call out there a "send-off."

For Valentine was like all frontier towns; a row of stores and saloons.
The men who kept them were generous, if somewhat rough. One of the
officers of the post, having occasion to go to the railroad station one
day at Valentine, saw the body of a man hanging to a telegraph pole a
short distance up the track. He said to the station ma