Mar. 5th

Nothing going on to day. I made out a table of the temperatures for February. It was above zero most of the time. Welch is going away for a week on leave, he starts tomorrow. I think he does not intend to go far, but merely wishes to break the weary monotony of Barrack life. I went up this afternoon to the Indian Camp to see the sick woman. She was ever so much better. I took a sketch of an [?] of a wigwam not very good but something like [?] the old cry No Mail. Surely something must have happened to the man.

Mar. 4th

The trial of the whiskey trader came off this morning. It was distinctly proven that he was trading the article + he was fined 200°° + 3 months imprisonment. I also gave evidence touching the death the death of Spanish[?] Joe. I made, I suppose, the first Post Mortem Examination in these parts. The murder took place during a drunken brawl, + was committed by a man who has the reputation of being the most tenderhearted man in the world. He is also the one we were trying to catch for trading whiskey, but in our present[?] crippled and disabled condition without horses, we could not follow him. Denny came home this afternoon from his mountain trip, he had a very hard time indeed, without blankets. It stormed nearly the whole time he was away + he did not get a shot or even see any game. He had to stay for two days and two nights in an Indian Camp, feeding and sleeping with them. He describes them as being very hospitable freely and gladly giving him of their best, but says they are filthy and that he never wishes to live with them. The same cry of No Mail, we still hope, but in a more saddened manner. I had several Indians as patients to day, one a poor squaw with inflammation of the lungs. I also took a sketch of a buck who came into my room. I must now say Good night.

March 3rd

It is pleasant + warm, the air is as balmy as the spicy breezes[?]. I was busy all the morning working at the thermometrical observations for the month of February. We have confined another whiskey trader he is a half breed named Alex Gardy[?], his trial comes off sometime this week. This afternoon we had a fine game of base ball, the ball being made by a member of the force + the bats, pieces of green wood, we[?] enjoyed ourselves very much. No Mail yet. Is it not tiresome? Oh Dear…

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.