Tell
Harry Atkinson this from me, he has a good kind
heart but he is the worst of your friends. Every
night when I am dressing I think of you at
Chicago, and pray you may never again go on the
way you did that terrible night at Rochester.
Tell me dear, did you look handsome in Horatio?
You ought to have had Laertes instead of that
duffing Merivale.
And now I have the queerest thing to tell you.
Jardine is going in for Indians and has secured six
very ugly ones. I mean real Indians, not professional.
They are hostile Comanshies or something
who have just laid down their arms. They
had an insurrection in the first year of the War,
when the troops went East, and they killed all the
settlers and ranches and destroyed the canyons
somewhere out in Nevada, and when they were
brought here they had a wee little kid with them
only four or five years old, but _so sweet._ They stole
her and killed her parents and brought her up for
their own in the cunningest little moccasins.
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