Fort Bridger

All through that long ride with the stranger I was in and out of consciousness, aware that we were climbing in altitude, aware that the air grew brisker and somehow more clear and lighter somehow, which made me yet more giddy. Imagine my terror to see these soldiers; -Union troops! - when I peeked out under the canvas and saw this armed posse. I shivered the length of my body and I nearly lost the precious dinner I'd eagerly and ravenously consumed, fed gently and piecemeal to me by the stranger's hand, like he was feeding a wild creature. I swooned, for it was too much to imagine our trials worsening at the hands of these Federal brigands (for in my twilight state I regarded Father as still with me; - I spoke to him, and he to me, while other voices, the voices of the living, sounded like the distant piping of little birds). After this fright, I woke in clean sheets which smelt of sharp stones, a not unpleasant smell, and somewhat stiff but very white. I could hear the stamping of horses, barrels or crates being moved about, harness, and the now-familiar soft, stangely aristocratic-sounding gutterals of Indian talk. A woman came in, dressed in calico but somehow looking Indian and spoke to me softly, held a tin cup of cold, cold water to my lips. "Where am I?" I asked. "Fort Bridger," she said, almost inaudibly, and turned and left the room.