was a large three-story building, with out-buildings adjacent, and a fine large stable for stock, the whole being surrounded by a commodious stockade of cedar palisades, set deep in the ground, and projecting to the height of about ten or twelve feet above the surface.

Upon arriving at the ranch, late at night, my usually noisy Indians were quietly sleeping in the huge ox-wagons, which had been provided for transportation.  I found the front of the ranch lit up by fires built between the stockade and the buildings on a narrow strip of ground, serving for a front yard.  I had been informed by the commanding officer at Cottonwood, that Mr. Morrow was not living at his ranch, but was away East, and the object in sending me there was to prevent the Indians from burning so valuable a property.  I was not prepared to find a party encamped at the ranch, and not knowing but that they might be Indians, waiting in so favourable a spot to waylay travellers or emigrants passing the road in front of the stockade, I told my drivers to halt their teams, and, quietly awakening my Indians, I bade them be in readiness to rush up if I should give them a signal by yelling, but to remain in the wagons until I called them, and to make no noise.  I then quietly rode forward to reconnoitre, and as the stockade timbers were set very close together, I had to crawl up to the loop-holes cut in the timber to see what was going on inside.  Standing on the ground, and holding my pony’s nose with my hand to keep him quiet, I stood on my tiptoes, and could see, through one of the loop-holes, a curious sight, but one natural enough on the frontier.

Grouped around three small fires, built close to the front of the ranch, sat some ten or twelve weather-beaten men, whose hair hung to their shoulders, and each one of whom wore a slouched hat, a pair of revolvers, and a good stout knife, the inseparable companions of a western prairie man.  All were intent on eating supper of fried bacon, slapjacks, and coffee.

They had no guard, doubtless feeling secure in their number and means of defence, against any Indian attack that might be made.  “Hello!” I shouted, “have you got supper enough for one more?” “Yes, if you are white or red; but if black, no,” was answered back, with an invitation to “show” myself.  I led the pony across the narrow trench which ran around the stockade, and, mounting him, rode into the yard.  As I approached the party I overheard remarks, such as, “An army cuss”; “One of those little stuck-up officers.”  But not appearing to have heard them, I got down, and asked what party they were.  “Wood-haulers,” they replied; “taking building logs down the road”; followed by “Who are you, and where are you going this late at night?” I told them who I was, and that I had now finished my journey, as I intended to stop there.  I was immediately informed in a curt manner that they guessed I was rather “mixed”