PERHAPS it is not necessary to say that the events mentioned in the letters are not imaginary—perhaps the letters themselves tell that! They are truthful accounts of experiences that came into my own life with the Army in the far West, whether they be about Indians, desperadoes, or hunting—not one little thing has been stolen. They are of a life that has passed—as has passed the buffalo and the antelope—yes, and the log and adobe quarters for the Army. All flowery descriptions have been omitted,

KIT CARSON, COLORADO TERRITORY, October, 1871. IT is late, so this can be only a note—to tell you that we arrived here safely, and will take the stage for Fort Lyon to-morrow morning at six o'clock. I am thankful enough that our stay is short at this terrible place, where one feels there is danger of being murdered any minute. Not one woman have I seen here, but there are men—any number of dreadful-looking men—each one armed with big pistols, and leather belts full of cartridges. But the houses