These women had found solace in raising vegetables and flowers, for water was always plentiful in the pool and of good quality. The younger had gone much among the Indians, but the elder had never left the walled-in space and only on rare occasions had she climbed the rocks to the top, to view the world beyond. She had learned, during her captivity, many of the Indian methods of treating the sick and wounded, and, discarding the fanatical and appeals to the elements, the use of prayer-sticks, etc., she was skilled in the selection of herbs, and raised them in the beautiful little garden which thrived nearly all the year. For several days at least two of the women always hung over the cot of the wounded lieutenant, while the other slept. With cool water, fans, and aperient drinks, they kept the fever down, and at the end of a week Lieutenant Avery was on the road to recovery. And then began as strange a life as a soldier probably ever enjoyed, for Lieutenant Avery did enjoy it. Indeed, how could he help it? With his bride ever at his side and his every wish anticipated, who can blame him if his period of convalescence was somewhat prolonged. At times little pangs of conscience pricked the young officer, who felt that the small force at the old fort needed him in these troublous times. But he was soon enticed to wait yet a little while until he was stronger, and his numerous wounds should give him less of pain and weakness. Later the strength of the young man began to come back and with it a desire for activity. He busied himself in the garden and improved the crude tools of wood which they used in the cultivation of the soil. He enlarged the area cultivated, and, with the ever-present Dot and the other young woman almost constantly with them, they watched the growth of every flower and bud. At evening the quartette spent many happy hours, the lieutenant and his wife telling the others about the wonders of the great outer world, and in turn enjoying the tales of the red-skinned people and their manners and customs. The Cheyennes had given the child prisoner the name of Little Moonbeam, but the woman, who said her name was Mrs. Sherley, called the girl Mona, the name of one of her own dead daughters. The Indians had accepted the name Mona as the white man’s short for Moonbeam and had not objected to Mrs. Sherley’s adoption of it. Thus the girl was called Mona, and the Averys immediately affixed Sherley for a surname, in honor of the motherly soul who had been robbed of all that was dear to her.