His thoughts all along had been of his wife. When he got to the station he refused to get in an ambulance, in order to spare her the sight of his being brought home in that way. A carriage was procured, and supported in the arms of the physician and his comrades, he was driven back to the fort. With superhuman resolution, in order to convince his wife that he was not seriously hurt, he determined to walk from the carriage to the door. Mrs. Henry had received instructions from the doctor to control herself, and stood waiting quietly in the entrance. “Well,” whispered the shattered man, as she took him tenderly by the hand, alluding to the fact that it was the Fourth of July, “this is a fine way to celebrate, isn’t it?” After the quietest of greetings—think of that woman, what her feelings must have been!—he was taken into the house and laid on the sofa. The doctor had said that he might have one look at his wife. The bandages were lifted carefully from his face, so that he might have that single glance; then they were replaced, and the wife, unable to bear it longer, fled from the room. The chaplain’s wife was waiting for her outside the door, and when she got into the shelter of that good woman’s arms she gave way and broke down completely. “You know,” said the chaplain’s wife, alluding to many conversations which they had had, “that you asked of God only that He should bring him back to you, and God has heard that prayer.” Everybody expected that Henry would die, but die he did not; perhaps it would be better to say die he would not. And he had no physique to back his efforts, only an indomitable will. He never completely recovered from that experience. He lost the sight of one eye permanently, and to the day of his death was liable to a hemorrhage at any moment, in which there was grave danger of his bleeding to death. He took a year’s leave of absence, and then came back to duty. In 1877, when his troop was ordered to the front in another campaign under Crook against the redoubtable Sioux, he insisted upon accompanying them. He had been out an hour or so when he fell fainting from the saddle. Did they bring him back? Oh, no! He bade them lay him under a tree, leave two or three men with him to look after him, and go ahead. He would rejoin them that night, when it became cooler and he could travel with more ease! What he said he would do he did. A trooper rode back to the post on his own account and told of his condition. An order was sent him by the post commander to return. Henry quietly said he would obey the first order and go on. He remained with the troop for six weeks, until finally he was picked up bodily and carried home, vainly protesting, the doctor refusing to answer either for his eyesight or for his life if he stayed in the field any longer. V. The Buffalos and Their Famous Ride