Two days after my arrival at the Territorial capital I was ordered to proceed alone to Los Pinos, a town two hundred miles south, in the valley of the Rio Grande, and report to Captain Bayard, commanding officer of a column preparing for a march to Arizona.

On reaching Algodones, on the eastern bank of the great river, I was visited by a Catholic priest.  He told me that Manuel Perea, the Mexican lad with whom the boy corporals were so friendly at Santa Fe, was a prisoner in the hands of Elarnagan, a chief of the Navajos.  He begged me to assist in his release, and I promised to do all I could, consistently with my military duty.  Two days after arriving at Los Pinos, where I found a troop of California volunteer cavalry and also another troop of New Mexican volunteers, the boy corporals unexpectedly arrived.  Colonel Burton had changed his plans and had allowed them to accompany me.  They at once asked to be assigned to duty, and I promised to consult with Captain Bayard.

My interview with him concluded, I returned to my tent and found the boys busy in fitting up two cot bedsteads, spreading mats before them, hanging a small mirror to the rear tent-pole, and arranging their marching outfit as they proposed to set it up at every encampment between the Rio Grande and Prescott.

“Did you have this tent pitched for our use, sir?” asked Henry.

“I did not know you were coming, corporal, so that is impossible.  Your tent was placed here some days ago by the post commander, for the accommodation of visiting officers who have since gone.  Captain Bayard has assigned it to you.”

“Then we are to have the tent to ourselves?”

“Yes.”

“Isn’t that just jolly, Frank?”

“Fine.  To-morrow we’ll place a short rail across the back for our saddles and saddle-blankets, two pegs in the tent-pole for bridles, and raise a box somewhere for curry-combs and brushes.”

“Can’t we have Vic here, too, sir?” asked Henry.

“And leave me all alone?” I replied.

“You wouldn’t mind it, would you, sir?”

“Well, I’ll leave it to Vic.  You may make a bed for her, and we’ll see which she will occupy—­yours, or her old bed near mine.”

“All right, sir; we’ll try it to-night.”

“Now something about yourselves, boys.  Your tent is to be always pitched on the left of mine; you are to take your meals with the officers, and your ponies will be taken care of by one of the men who—­”

“That will not do, sir,” interrupted Frank.  “Father has always required us to take care of our arms, clothing, and horses like other soldiers, just as we always did in the valleys, you know.  He says an officer who rides on a march, particularly an infantry officer, should not require a soldier who has marched on foot to wait upon him.”

“Very well; do as you choose.”