On the south end of the parade are two long buildings used for offices and store rooms. The guard house is in one of these two, but I don’t care to learn of the interior of that place. I’m told that it’s poorly ventilated, having no windows. In winter there’s no heat in the cells. The guards have a fireplace in their area, but the men in the cells have to wear their blankets like Indians from morning ’til night to keep warm. At night there’s no sleeping, it’s that cold. Not many men getting in trouble during the cold months, I’m told. [Illustration: Evening Muster. Cavalry troop in formation.] [Illustration: Old Fort Garland From an early drawing in _Harper’s New Monthly_.] The stables are located some 120 paces due east of the east barrack and are strong smelling quarters, consisting of three long corrals built of the same old adobe. The corrals contain sheds for the common horses and enclosed stables for the officers’ mounts. The post gets its water from the Ute Creek and water from this stream flows in a ditch completely around the parade. The water is cold and fresh the entire year, maybe because it comes from the snows of Mount Blanca to the north. The post has a garden of about six acres, in which all of us must take a tour of duty. In this plot the men try to grow about everything, but only those vegetables or grains which will ripen or mature in our short season are successful. I discovered only today that this fort is on a reservation covering about six square miles, with the post buildings smack in the center. Back in Indiana that would be a considerable piece of land, but out here that’s no more’n enough to feed one good-sized jack rabbit. December 26, 1860. Christmas come and gone for another year. I’ve never seen such a feast as we had here yesterday. The weather was tough outside, with wind and snow, but inside there was nothing but cheer. The dinner consisted of every kind of meat that can be had in this part of the Territory. We had smoked bear, roast deer, elk and antelope; we had trout, wild duck, and every breed of bird that walks or flys within fifty miles of this place. One of the favorite pastimes of men at our post is hunting—everything from bear to wild cats and coyotes. Our Indian friends tell us we’re driving off the game, but that seems unlikely, at least not for the next hundred years. Christmas was not all eating; those who didn’t get sick from eating too much got into even worse shape from too much whiskey. We all figured we might as well celebrate, seeing that we’re soon to have a new president, Abe Lincoln. Some say that the South is so opposed to Abe and the North in general that they’ll pack up and leave the Union. Some say they won’t. I figure we got enough troubles out here just trying to keep these Indians from running loose.