A messenger was sent to the post and the ambulance came the following day with a little coffin made at the quartermaster's and the trip back to the post was to us indeed the "Journey of Death." Our home was so desolate that I became more morbid than ever, and was soon taken down with typhoid dysentery, and Dr. Boughter came from the Fort Craig to wait on me. My recovery was very slow and I was indifferent to anything that might happen. My wife at last became discouraged and she and Captain Kauffman talked the situation over, and after consulting Dr. Boughter concluded to have me taken to Fort Craig for treatment. I was not informed of their conclusion, and when they told me the ambulance was at the door, and a bed in it and that I was going to Fort Craig, it did not even interest me. If they had told me I was going to the cemetery I would have been just as well satisfied with the arrangement, although they thought I would be interested because of having been post surgeon there some years before. After I was at Fort Craig a few days, I began to take some interest in life and thought I would like to see what changes had been made, and the more I thought about it, the more interest I took until I finally wanted to see for myself. With this awakening I began to have some appetite for food, and I soon began to gain strength and as I improved I wanted to cross the river and see my old hunting grounds. All these things undoubtedly contributed to my recovery for I soon made rapid progress toward good health again. The doctor had given us his quarters to occupy while there and they were handsomely furnished and we were made most comfortable. It was then the latter part of September and the nights were cool and the days pleasant. We took our meals at the officers' mess and had good things to eat, and I shall always remember how delicious the pigeon squabs were to me. Before returning to Fort McRae the doctor and I planned to hunt across the river. One of the officers had a gun he would loan us, and the doctor said the blacksmith had one, and he had no doubt he would loan it. I preferred going for it myself, as I wanted to see the shop and house close to the bluff where the blacksmith lived. The blacksmith was very well pleased to loan his gun, but said one barrel was loaded, and he shot it off and handed the gun to me, saying, "Now it is all right." It was a muzzle-loader and after wiping it out carefully at the doctor's quarters I found one of the tubes were stopped up. I put a cap on the tube and in place of taking the gun out of doors, or pointing it in the fireplace, I merely turned the muzzle down toward the carpet and pulled the trigger. A report followed that astonished the doctor, my wife and myself, who were all taking interest in the preparation for the hunt. The shot tore through the carpet and into the jaspa floor and sent the plaster flying in all directions, and made a hole in the floor big enough to bury a small-sized dog. Another instance of where the gun that was not loaded, did serious damage, but fortunately no one was hurt.