In our own case we had to occupy quarters with another officer and his wife, Mr. Spencer of the Tenth cavalry, and this reminds me of an experience we had that shows something of the Indian character. We had for some time previous to this, a Cherokee Indian woman employed as servant. She probably had a little negro blood in her veins as her long black hair was slightly wavy, but in every other way she was typically Indian. She was exceedingly neat and clean and a thorough housekeeper and an exceptionally good cook and a most devoted servant, but she would take orders from no one except my wife. Soon after going into our new quarters she informed my wife that she was going to leave us, and this she did, knowing full well that she could not remain at the post if she did so. My wife was surprised and so expressed herself and also her sorrow at having her go, but no inducement she could offer had any effect on this high-strung woman. She cleaned out the stove and put in the kindling and had everything neat and clean as possible before leaving. It developed afterwards that she was offended at some orders given her by Mrs. Spencer. Another little incident will show the Indian blood: One of the colored sergeants took quite a fancy to her and would often stand in the door and talk to her, which was all well enough with Charlotte until she wanted him to go. I think on this occasion he was disposed to nag her about something, for I overheard her say in a loud and angry tone, "Now you go, I won't talk to you again. Go now!" I hurried to the kitchen and opened the door just in time to see the butcherknife sticking in the outside door-jam and still vibrating from the force that sent it. The sergeant had jumped in time, but Charlotte was furious. When I asked, "Why, Charlotte, what is the matter?" she simply replied, "Next time I tell that nigger to go I guess he will go." I frequently thought how near we came to having another patient in the hospital. I will relate one or two other instances that occurred while we were stationed here that may be interesting: My wife had the only sewing machine in the camp and one day Satanta, the war chief of the Kiowas, was passing down the line of officers' quarters and heard the hum of the sewing machine. It was summer time and the door was open so he stalked in and sat down without any ceremony or sign of recognition and watched my wife sewing. He was evidently very much interested but gave no evidence of it by word or look. He remained for quite a while observing the performance intently and then got up and said, "Adios!" and stalked out again. He made several calls afterwards and went through the same performance each time until I suppose he became satisfied for his visits ceased. He was the finest specimen of an Indian I ever saw; very large, well proportioned, with a remarkably forceful expression of face and walked with a dignity becoming a prince.