Thursday, Aug. 23, ‘17

Dear Marie,

You sure are mighty good to me to keep on writing. I guess you know how
I feel. Be sure to write from Rockford too. Did you get the letter to
Beloit? You must have had a great time in Chicago. That fortune telling
gets my goat right. Or I mean it would if I let it. I suppose you are
too young to go with boys. What Lauretta said gives me one good healthy
pain. A girl is never too young to know herself. Lauretta may be a wise
one but there is an awful lot she don’t “know about war.” All the real
truth we learn at any age never will hurt any. Let the grandmothers and
old maids argue to the contrary.

We are having about the same stuff every day now. You should see our big
“slickers”. We just got them Tuesday as we have been having some rainy
weather. It sure is some hot here when it’s clear. We get about 2 hours
with the radio sets in the field every day now. This afternoon five of
us run a buzzer telegraph line out in the hills. We crossed a road and
hooked the wire up on a couple trees. It slacked up some way and hung
down so that when one of the captains drove by in an auto, it knocked
his hat off. He didn’t get very peeved about it but I guess our sergeant
expected some hard words. When we got in from the field, the company
went over the corral and groomed our horses. Yesterday on sergeant
hopped on a “green” horse and was next “among those present” in the
hospital. Most of the horses are in pretty good shape now. We had good
luck in getting our pack mules, too. I wish you could see this place.
There are herds of sheep and cattle, and a lot of garden truck is raised
for the table. I guess the military prisoners do most of the work.
Believe me, you won’t see yours truly lockstepping around with a guard
behind him carrying a good healthy autoloading shotgun. The guards here
carry these buckshot cannon instead of rifles. The engineers have the
hardest work of any branch of service in the army. The camp here is
building a line of trenches and tunnels out in the field. There used to
be quite a few sham battles but I haven’t heard any for over a week.
Some of the officers reserve in training here, left a few days ago. You
should have seen the handshaking among those fellows as they left for
different places. A fellow certainly makes some good close friends in a
camp of this kind. The Signal Corps is about the big hest branch of
service in the army and there is none of the “wop” class that you find
the Infantry. At Jefferson Barracks about half of the 23^(rd) Recruit
Company were hardboiled Chicago roughnecks. You don’t see any dice or
cards here. Just now they posted a notice that any gambling would mean
three months, with a cute little shotgun tickling the victim in the
ribs.

Any one that likes to split wood, now move the officers’ golf course,
hoe the corn, or break rock for the new roads have my permission to
start a little game of Sixty-Six. If you even hit a horse with a brush,
or anything else except the open hand, you can be tried and given in the
brick house with the barred windows. The regular army is strong for
discipline, which is a good thing, and one has to be on the watch all
the time. The officers are all very strict, but are all a pretty decent
bunch. When anyone gets within 30 feet of a commissioned officer he has
to salute. I have been jumped on twice for forgetting this, but haven’t
had any worse luck yet. I sure am glad that I enlisted but I won’t be
sorry when the time comes to gallop home. This is a great place here. I
guess we don’t go to Fort Omaha after all. Well, I must go down and wash
a pair of pants. Then I got to get out of my “housewife” which is a kit
of needles, thread, pins, scissors, etc. and stab a button on my shirt.
It’s a gay life.

The first thing I’ll do will be to execute a flank movement over to my
pal’s bunk and hook a piece of fudge that his girl sent him. George says
that whenever he wants me to practice semaphore I am always writing.
This is a pretty long letter for me. I bet you can’t read it though.

Say listen, don’t ever ask me to excuse your writing.

I hope this will find you in Beloit, O.K. Don’t forget that picture.

Yours

Forrest.