These families were from Illinois and Ohio, and I can truthfully
say that I never traveled with or saw a finer crowd of people than
these were, and I never was in a company that I regretted leaving
as I did those people, for they all seemed more like brothers and
sisters to me than strangers.
The majority of them bought small farms in Solano county,
California, and settled down. I remained with them until after the
holidays, then left and struck out for San Francisco. This was the
beginning of the year 1865.
After remaining in the city a few days I concluded one day to take
a ride out to the fort and see if any of my acquaintances were
there. I only found one person that I had been acquainted with
before, and that was Capt. Miller. He showed me a number of
letters from his brother officers out in Arizona, all saying they
were having a great deal of trouble with the Indians in that
country. I returned to the city, bought two more horses and
commenced making preparations to go to Fort Yuma by way of Los
Angeles.
The day before I was to start I was walking down Sampson street
near the American Exchange Hotel, where I was stopping while in
the city, when I heard a voice across the street that sounded
familiar, say, "Hello chief." I looked around and who should I see
but George Jones, who was then coming on a run to me; and you can
rest assured that I was glad to see him, as it had been nine years
since I had met him.
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