was the last place we should see or where we should find anything until we got to Camp Harney, a hundred miles farther. Here I met another enemy of mine who was unlooked for. We three went in when dinner was ready, and the two soldiers had their lunch outside. We sat down, and the woman came in with coffee. She looked at me, and then said,—
“Well, I never thought I should feed you again. I hope they will not let you off this time.”
She then turned to Lieutenant Wilkinson, and said, “Why do you take so much trouble in taking her to Camp Harney? Why don’t you take her and tie one part of her to a horse, and the other part of her to another horse, and let them go? I would see the horses pull her to pieces with good grace.”
All this time Lieutenant Wilkinson tried to stop her, saying, “You don’t know what you are talking about. This is Sarah Winnemucca.”
She replied. “I don’t care. Rope is too good to hang her with.”
Lieutenant Wilkinson said to me, “Never mind her. She is crazy.” But I could not eat anything.
Dear reader, this is the kind of white women that are in the West. They are always ready to condemn me.
After dinner, Lieutenant Wilkinson brought me another horse.
“Now,” I said, “it is about sixty miles to the Agency.” We went past there just a little after dark for fear some of the Bannocks were hiding there somewhere. We rode on as fast as we could, took a great many short cuts which helped us along greatly, and stopped to rest for half an hour. We stood guard while Lieutenant Wilkinson slept a little while, called him up at the appointed time, and went on without stopping again. As we passed the Agency,
