However, I felt much better after the pleasant way in which Mrs. Elliott declared she looked at it, and with renewed self-complacence proceeded to discuss with the Colonel his plans for the next summer’s campaign.

He informed me that he intended to go out with four companies of soldiers, and would locate a short distance east of last year’s quarters, at a place where the town of Wadsworth has since been built.  Plenty of good water and an abundance of grass were there, and with two companies he would make his headquarters there.  The other two companies he would send about one hundred miles further east, to the vicinity of Steen’s Mountain, and it was his wish that I should take charge of the scouts and operate between the two camps.

Notwithstanding I had a good home with Col.  Elliott and his wife as long as I wished to remain, it seemed to me that this was the longest and lonesomest week I had ever experienced.  Everything being so different from my customary way of living, I could not content myself.

The day before I was to start back home it was arranged that I should return to Jim Beckwith’s ranche and keep the Colonel posted by letter in regard to the snow in the mountains, and when he would be able to cross.  Then I was to join him at Beckwith’s.

The following evening Mrs. Elliott gave a party, which was attended by all the ladies and gentlemen of the garrison.  There was to be a general good time, perhaps the last party of the season, as it was approaching the time for preparations for the next campaign against the Indians.

When all the guests had arrived and the spacious house was a blaze of light and happiness—­fair women smiling and their musical voices fairly making a delightful hub-bub of light conversation, and the gentlemen, superb in their gold-trimmed uniforms, or impressive in full evening dress—­the manager of the dance sang out for all to take partners for some sort of a bowing and scraping drill that is a mystery to me to this day.  I had seen the fandango in Taos, and elsewhere in the Mexican parts of the southwest, but this was the first time I had seen Americans dance, and it was all appallingly new to me.

I sat in a corner like a homely girl at a kissing-bee, and had nothing to say.

After the crowd had danced about two hours, the floor-manager sang out, “Ladies’ choice!” or something that meant the same thing, and to my surprise and terror, Mrs. Elliott made a bee-line for me and asked me to assist her in dancing a quadrille.  I had no more idea of a quadrille than I had of something that was invented yesterday, and I begged her to excuse me, telling her that I knew nothing whatever of dancing.  She declared, however, that I had looked on long enough to learn and that I would go through all right.  I hung back like a balky horse at the foot of a slippery hill, but between Mrs. Elliott and the prompter I was almost dragged out on the floor.