Little Pills, an Army Story: Being Some Experiences of a United States Army Medical Officer on the Frontier Nearly a Half Century AgoMcKay, R. H. (Robert Henderson)
History
Little Pills, an Army Story: Being Some Experiences of a United States Army Medical Officer on the Frontier Nearly a Half Century Ago
McKay, R. H. (Robert Henderson)
Frontier and pioneer life -- West (U.S.); United States. Army -- Military life
I left Fort Leavenworth in the morning and before night was out on the
plains. From Leavenworth to Topeka there was some settlement. The towns
as I remember them were mere railroad stations, except Lawrence, which
was more pretentious, and the scattering farmhouses were small and
primitive in style. Topeka seemed to be something of a town, but from
there west the country was only partially inhabited. Fort Hayes stood
out prominently to the left of the railroad but the whole country seemed
one great sea of desolation unlimited in extent. At that time I would
not have given ten dollars per square league for what has since become
one of the famous wheat fields of the country. The evening of the second
day we arrived at a place called Sheridan which was the terminus of the
railroad. It was a straggling place of tents and wooden shacks, dance
halls, bawdy houses, gambling houses and saloons. Murders were of
frequent occurrence and it was considered dangerous to be on the street
at night. There was only one street in the town. I started out on this
street about dusk, thinking I had better go to the stage office and
arrange for my transportation on to Santa Fe. The landlord happened to
notice me and called for me to wait a minute and when he had joined me
he inquired where I was going. He said he would go with me as it might
not be safe for me to be alone, and told me of a killing in front of the
hotel the night before.
My bed that night was on the second story, merely floored, and not
plastered or sealed, and the roof slanted down close to the bed. The
space between the floor and the edge of the roof was open and I could
look down into the saloon. I watched the patrons of this place for some
time for it was altogether a new experience. The clinking of glasses;
the loud talk; the dim lights; and the thorough abandonment of the
motley crowd remains quite vividly in my memory. It finally occurred to
me that in the event of a shooting scrape, even there in bed was not a
very safe place, so I edged over to the far side of the bed and soon
dropped to sleep, not waking until called in the morning.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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