Jany. 15th

My last letter to you has come back to me. The man who was to have taken it has not yet started + so orders were given to have the mail returned. I do not know now when it will go out. To day has been cold but so bright and beautiful that one could scarce feel the cold + another thing, which is good news, the coal has come. So now we need no longer shiver over sputtering fires. An expedition started out to day after some whiskey traders. I do not know yet what success they have had. A larger Indian Camp moved down today into our neighbourhood. There have been quite a number of squaws and young bucks around the square one or two of the Chiefs were also down looking at the Fort. I feel as tho’ I were going to have a fit of the blues. I am trying to work them off by inflicting upon you a lot of writing which I feel to be most disconnected, but I cannot look it over. I don’t feel unwell nor exactly miserable, but I do so long to see you, so yearn for the sound of your voice, I am almost homesick. It is so utterly lonely out here, not a single person that I care two straws about, nor I suppose do they care about me. However ‘It is a long lane that has no turning’ and one of these days I will come back to you, and you will be glad to see me, and we will then spend many happy moments, days, years together, will not we?