september - october - Fort Sill

GUNS ON THE MOUNTAIN
There is a certain melancholy in such a spot. There is, as well, a certain
inspiration.
Only the guns and the mountains remained the same. To the guns came
new servitors, young men and young mules, to serve them with the same
devotion. For guns are like monarchs who speak with the loud voice of
authority. In all things must they be served and waited upon. They must be
handled delicately and fully fed and escorted to the throne whence they are
to utter words of thunder.
The mules served the guns faithfully and patiently. They were
affectionately called "jugheads" by the men, who groomed them and
cursed them and swore by them. No one knows why mules breed
profanity among the men who live with them. It may be because the mule
is a realist while the men are swayed by emotions which, to the mule, are
of little account. Nature has so made him that he can have no pride of
ancestry and no hope of posterity. He can afford, therefore, to ignore
most of the vanities of this world. He occupies a position of extreme
independence. This grates upon the temperament of man, who abhors
independence in any but himself. When one reflects that, in addition, the
mule enjoys extreme sagacity together with a healthy sense of his own
dignity, it is easy to realize the degree to which he exasperates a master
who often possesses neither.
The mule has followed the frontier. More, he has carried the frontier on
his back. In the company of white men, yellow, brown and black, he has
cocked his ears at unknown trails and virgin wilderness in every corner of
the globe. His invariable reward has been profanity and scorn. To this he
remains indifferent. He continues the march.
The men were brown and earnest. There was an habitual gravity and
dignity about them. They came of a race which for generations had been
forbidden to bear arms. Therefore, they said to themselves, there is the
more reason that we prove ourselves fit soldiers. They had become more
than soldiers. They were men at arms, devotees of the profession of arms, a
profession which retains all of its ancient nobility wherever it is honestly
pursued. The simplicity of their thoughts was untouched by the clever
babble of cynical paragraphers. They focussed their attention upon the facts
of life, indifferent to the tinsel and baubles of a gaudy civilization. Some
had fought under Aguinaldo, a few had served under the scarlet and gold of
Spain. All were soldiers.
These guns and mules and men, put together, made what is called
pack artillery. One may search in vain for something like it. Other
people, going from one place to another, follow the roads. The pack
artillery goes direct. Mountains, declivities, rivers are
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