noon
Farther east along this tortuous stream , and on its left bank , too , midway between fort and city , is another big brown enclosure , in which are dozens of sheds and storehouses . It is a great supply depot for quartermaster 's stores and ordnance , and over it , as over the fort , flutters the little patch of color which stamps the property as Uncle Sam 's . For reasons that can soon be explained only small-sized flags are ever hoisted near Cheyenne . By noon of three hundred days a year , straight from the wild pass to the west , there comes sweeping down a gale that would snap the stoutest flag-staff into flinders , and that whips even a storm-flag threadbare in a few brief weeks . But it is a rare June morning now , too early for the `` zephyr , '' and nature beams and sparkles even over such bare landscape . The air is crisp , cool , invigorating . Far out on the slopes and side hills great herds of horses and mules are grazing , guarded by vigilant troopers , some alert in saddle , others prone upon the turf .