The enterprise. [volume] (Harlem, Mont.) 1899-1926, 1913-10-23
CHAPTER xxxvtit.
At Camp Supply.

There are yet living in that great
Southwest those who will retell the
story of Hamlin's ride from the banks
of the Washita to Camp Supply. 1t
remains one of the epics of the plains,
one of the proud traditions of the
army. To the man himself those hours
OF danger, struggle and WEAKNESS,
were more dream than a reality.
He passed through them almost un-
consciously. a soldier performing his
duty in utter forgetfulness Of self,
nerved by the discipline OF years OF
service, by the Importance of his mis-.
sion, and by memory of Molly McDon.
aid. Love and duty held him reeling
in the saddle. brought him safely to
the journeys end.
Let the details pass unwritten. Be.
meath the darkening skies of early
evening, the Sergeant and the Usage
guide rode forth into the peril and
mystery Of the shrouded desert. Be-
yond the out1nost picket, moving as
| silently as two specters, they found
at last a coulee leading upward from
the valley to the plains above. To
their left the Indian fires swept in
half circle, and between were the
| dark outlines Of savage foes. From
rock to rock echoed cultural voices,
but, foot by foot, unnoted by the keen
| eyes, the two crept steadily on
through the midnight of that shelter
ing ravine, dismounted, hands clasp
ing the nostrils of their ponies, feel
ing through the darkness for each
step, hating GREATNESS at every
crackle of a twig. every crunch OF
they paused, silent motionless, as
some apparition of savagery outlined
itself between them and the sky, yet
slowly, steadily, every instinct of the
plains exercised. they passed unseen.
In the earliest gray Of dawn the
two wearicd men crept out upon the
upper plateau, dragging their horses.
Behind, the mists of the night still
hung heavy and dark over the valley,
yet with new sense of freedom
they swung into their saddles, faced
sternly the chill wind of the north
and rode forward across the desolate
snow fields. 1t was no boys play!
The tough, half-broken Indian ponies
kept steady stride, leaping the drifts,
skimming rapidly along the bare HILL
sides. From dawn to dark scarcely a
word was uttered. BY turns they
slept in the saddle, the one awake
gripping the others rein. Once, in a
strip of cottonwood beside frozen
creek, they paused to light fire and
make hasty meal Then they were
off again, facing the frosty air, rid
them stretched the barren snow-clad
steppes, forlorn and shelterless, with
scarcely mark of guidance any.
where, a dismal wilderness, intersect-
ed by gloomy ravines and frozen
creeks. Here and there river, the
water icy cold and covered with float
ing ice, barred their passage; down
in the valleys the drifted snow turned
them aside. Again and again the
struggling ponies foundered to their
ears, or slid headlong down some
steep declivity. Twice Hamlin was
thrown, and once the Usage was
crushed between floating cakes and
submerged in the icy stream. Across
the open barrens swept the wind into
their faces. a ceaseless buffetlng, chill
ing to the marrow; their eyes burned
in the snow-glare. Yet they rode on
and on, voiceless, suffering in the
grim silence OF despair, fit denizens
of that scene of utter desolation.
(TO BE CONTINUED)