Chapter 3

CHAPTER III - GENERAL ALISON TO HIS MOTHER

I am glad to know that you are all well, in San Bernardino.

. . . That grandchild of yours has been here - well, I do not quite
know how many days it is; nobody can keep account of days or
anything else where she is! Mother, she did what the Indians were
never able to do. She took the Fort - took it the first day! Took
me, too; took the colonels, the captains, the women, the children,
and the dumb brutes; took Buffalo Bill, and all his scouts; took
the garrison - to the last man; and in forty-eight hours the Indian
encampment was hers, illustrious old Thunder-Bird and all. Do I
seem to have lost my solemnity, my gravity, my poise, my dignity?
You would lose your own, in my circumstances. Mother, you never
saw such a winning little devil. She is all energy, and spirit,
and sunshine, and interest in everybody and everything, and pours
out her prodigal love upon every creature that will take it, high
or low, Christian or pagan, feathered or furred; and none has
declined it to date, and none ever will, I think. But she has a
temper, and sometimes it catches fire and flames up, and is likely
to burn whatever is near it; but it is soon over, the passion goes
as quickly as it comes. Of course she has an Indian name already;
Indians always rechristen a stranger early. Thunder-Bird attended
to her case. He gave her the Indian equivalent for firebug, or
fire-fly. He said:

"'Times, ver' quiet, ver' soft, like summer night, but when she mad
she blaze."

Isn't it good? Can't you see the flare? She's beautiful, mother,
beautiful as a picture; and there is a touch of you in her face,
and of her father - poor George! and in her unresting activities,
and her fearless ways, and her sunbursts and cloudbursts, she is
always bringing George back to me. These impulsive natures are
dramatic. George was dramatic, so is this Lightning-Bug, so is
Buffalo Bill. When Cathy first arrived - it was in the forenoon -
Buffalo Bill was away, carrying orders to Major Fuller, at Five
Forks, up in the Clayton Hills. At mid-afternoon I was at my desk,
trying to work, and this sprite had been making it impossible for
half an hour. At last I said:

"Oh, you bewitching little scamp, CAN'T you be quiet just a minute
or two, and let your poor old uncle attend to a part of his
duties?"

"I'll try, uncle; I will, indeed," she said.

"Well, then, that's a good child - kiss me. Now, then, sit up in
that chair, and set your eye on that clock. There - that's right.
If you stir - if you so much as wink - for four whole minutes, I'll
bite you!"

It was very sweet and humble and obedient she looked, sitting
there, still as a mouse; I could hardly keep