Mar.2

Brooks has had another bad turn and for a couple of days has been pretty bad, but I am glad to say is now doing better. Last night we had our monthly Mess Meeting. I was again forced to continue as secretary. The accounts required looking over and so were postponed[?] until tonight + then accepted + approved. No Mail has yet come in. Two[?] wagons from High River came in this morning, with the news of a murder + brought the body of the murdered man, struck in the head with a bar of iron + died after 3 or 4 days of suffering. The murderer is not to be found. Another whiskey trader has also been routed out of the place[?] + his stock seized so we are doing some good. It is late and I must say Good night.

Feb-March 1st

I forgot that this is a Spring month. It was quite still and bright this morning, but before 12 a high West Wind had set in, and it is now the usual monthly Muster Parade. Then we had breakfast and then the Hospital. This afternoon a tremendous excitement was created by the sight of a large troop of horses and a wagon coming over the hill. All thought it was Baker or Major Walsh with a Mail, but all were doomed to disappointment. It was a lot of Indians loaded with robes and a wagon belonging to our guide Jerry Potts. How [?] we all felt, for we were almost certain that it was a Mail. I entertained nearly the whole afternoon a select[?] party of Indians I was learning a few words from them and training my ears to the sound of their talk. My hospitality only cost me a few pipes of tobacco, for wonderful to tell, they asked for nothing else.

Feb. 28th Sunday -

It is bright and warm to day. It seems as tho’ spring was really beginning to think[?] of coming back to us. This morning after church parade I went down to Conrad’s and had a chat with him. I had intended going to the Indian Camp again to day but did not manage to get my courage up. I could not help feeling that a Mail might arrive while I was away. However none came alltho’ I was in Camp the whole time. We were of course on the lookout the whole day. The evening passed slowly as all evenings do.

Feb. 27th

I again went up to the Blackfoot Camp this time with Welch alone. I intended making a sketch of the camp, but the wind was too cold + numbed my fingers. Crowfoot had quite recovered and was rejoicing accordingly. I promised to operate on the eyes of one of his sons[?]/ I [?] making an artificial pupil, when I can get some instruments. No Mail, oh my.

Feb 26th

This morning shortly after breakfast, I took Welch and Jerry Potts, our interpreter[?] and went up to the Blackfoot Camp to see their Chief Crowfoot, who was quite sick. I gave him some medicine, and then assisted[?] Jerry in endeavoring to persuade a runaway squaw to come back to her husband. We succeeded. Since our arrival the squaws have struck[?], refusing to work and the husbands are in a quandary, if they follow their usual plan they would kill or mutilate the women, + thus keep them in order, but the women would now report this to the Commissioner, + the place would be rather hot[?] for the husbands. It is too bad. Again the day has passed and no Mail. Good night.

Feb 25th

Last night after going to bed, I tossed from side to side all night long what sleep I got was disturbed by frightful dreams, and I wakened this morning with a feeling of utter unrest, + disinclination- to do think or say anything. I did manage to attend sick parade, but that was all – ate nothing day long, but sat moping around. I thought it was the blues, but think now I must have taken cold. I am all right again this evening and am presently going to have some supper. It has been a cold dismal day storming all the time old Crowfoot says this is the last storm of the winter after this has gone, the birds will be coming out + Spring will be here. I hope so sincerely. I heard that my last letter to you has not yet gotten farther than Whoop Up, 25 miles. Quick traveling[?] is it not. That is the way things go in this country. Of course no Mail has come in yet.

Feb 24th

Still the same unvarying cry no mail. It stormed wretchedly yesterday. The wind blew cold + strong from the north, blowing [?] [?] snow into deep eddying[?] drifts [?]. I think I had sufficient cause for the Blues. Do you not think so? The horrible things are still hanging around me. Will you try and drive them away? If you only could see how cross I look. I think you would positively be frightened, so for that reason you I am glad you cannot see me. This morning the usual dull round of duty -one chap did not feel like working + played sick- I [?] him + understand that I know what was ailing him, and [?]clined him soundly. I am sorry now that I did not put him under arrest. When I returned to my room, a whole bag[?] of squaws came in. there were at least 12 of them and several children. I gave them a smoke, and [?] the eyes of the children, + after a little while they all got up and went away. Brisbois came up from Fort Kipp today, to wait for the ‘Mail’. How anxiously we scanned the horizon, watching every object we saw moving, hoping against hope that it would bring a Mail. So all Hope is not deadyet. Baker is due here, but what is causing this delay we cannot imagine. Perhaps the Mail has been delayed East of Benton + he is waiting for it, perhaps he never reached Benton, he may have been frozen to death, or killed by Indians. At all events he has not come yet and here we are expecting him. You would be amused to see the dresses of the squaws. A pair of moccasins + leggings, a sort of gown made of blanket with two holes in the side for the arms and one on top for the head, + slightly gathered in around the waist, over this is thrown a blanket or buffalo robe, confined around the waist by a broad leather belt, usually thickly studded with brass headed tacks. If they get too warm they throw off or back the outer robe + display their arms which are well formed and strong. The men are also loosely clad. A pair of moccasins + leggings + a Buffalo Robe or blanket. In the cold they keep the blanket wrapped closely about them, near the fire they sit in their skins. Well my dear the Blues are better, but are still present. Let us hope tomorrow they will have disappeared with the arrival of a Mail – Good night.