No one except old campaigners knew much about any other post in the Territory.
It was said to be the very hottest place that ever existed, and from the time we left San Francisco we had heard the story, oft repeated, of the poor soldier who died at Fort Yuma, and after awhile returned to beg for his blankets, having found the regions of Pluto so much cooler than the place he had left.

But the fort looked pleasant to us, as we approached.
It lay on a high mesa to the left of us and there was a little green grass where the post was built.
None of the officers knew as yet their destination, and I found myself wishing it might be our good fortune to stay at Fort Yuma.

It seemed such a friendly place.
Lieutenant Haskell, Twelfth Infantry, who was stationed there, came down to the boat to greet us, and brought us our letters from home.

He then extended his gracious hospitality to us all, arranging for us to come to his quarters the next day for a meal, and dividing the party as best he could accommodate us.

It fell to our lot to go to breakfast with Major and Mrs.Wells and Miss Wilkins.
An ambulance was sent the next morning, at nine o'clock, to bring us up the steep and winding road, white with heat, which led to the fort.
I can never forget the taste of the oatmeal with fresh milk, the eggs and butter, and delicious tomatoes, which were served to us in his latticed dining-room.
After twenty-three days of heat and glare, and scorching winds, and stale food, Fort Yuma and Mr.Haskell's dining-room seemed like Paradise.
Of course it was hot; it was August, and we expected it.