are wanted, and he is in no wise astonished when a courier comes in on jaded horse to tell him that they have “doubled” on the other column and are now two or three days’ march away down stream, “making for the big bend.”  His own scouting-parties are still out to the eastward:  he can pick them up as he goes.  He sends the main body of his infantry, a regiment jocularly known as “The Riflers,” to push for a landing some fifty miles down-stream, scouting the lower valley of the Sweet Root on the way.  He sends his wagon-train, guarded by four companies of foot and two of horsemen, by the only practicable road to the bend, while he, with ten seasoned “troops” of his pet regiment, the ——­th Cavalry, starts forthwith on a long detour in which he hopes to “round up” such bands as may have slipped away from the general rush.  Even as “boots and saddles” is sounding, other couriers come riding in from Lieutenant Crane’s party.  He has struck the trail of a big band.

When the morning sun dawns on the picturesque valley in which the cantonment nestled but the day before, it illumines an almost deserted village, and brings no joy to the souls of some twoscore of embittered civilians who had arrived only the day previous, and whose unanimous verdict is that the army is a fraud and ought to be abolished.  For four months or more some three regiments had been camping, scouting, roughing it thereabouts, with not a cent of pay.  Then came the wildly exciting tidings that a boat was on the way up the Missouri with a satrap of the pay department, vast store of shekels, and a strong guard, and as a consequence there would be some two thousand men around the cantonment with pockets full of money and no one to help them spend it, and nothing suitable to spend it on.  It was a duty all citizens owed to the Territory to hasten to the scene and gather in for local circulation all that was obtainable of that disbursement; otherwise the curse of the army might get ahead of them and the boys would gamble it away among themselves or spend it for vile whiskey manufactured for their sole benefit.  Gallatin Valley was emptied of its prominent practitioners in the game of poker.  The stream was black with “Mackinaw” boats and other craft.  There was a rush for the cantonment that rivalled the multitudes of the mining days, but all too late.  The command was already packing up when the first contingent arrived, and the commanding officer, recognizing the fraternity at a glance, warned them outside the limits of camp that night, declined their services as volunteers on the impending campaign, and treated them with such calmly courteous recognition of their true character that the Eastern press was speedily filled with sneering comment on the hopelessness of ever subduing the savage tribes of the Northwest when the government intrusts the duty to upstart officers of the regular service whose sole conception of their functions is to treat with insult and contempt the hardy frontiersman whose