Stones, Bullets and Blood

By Robert Wilhelm

In the early fall of 1867, on the plains of Western Kansas, a little-known but important fight took place between a large number of experienced Southern Cheyenne warriors and a small detachment of inexperienced 10th Cavalry troopers. It was the Battle of the Saline River and it was the first major engagement of a group of soldiers who came to be called “The Buffalo Soldiers.” Follow the desperate battle through the eyes of both the cavalry troopers and the Cheyenne warriors. But not all battles were between soldiers and Indians. Soldiers often fought among themselves. Fort Hays was established in 1865 to protect white settlers, stagecoaches and freight wagons, and to ensure that the Kansas Pacific railroad was completed from Kansas City to Denver, across the contested plains. The Army had specific rules for how these western forts were to be built but two officers at Fort Hays had different ways of interpreting those rules. This battle of wills and authority resulted in both serious and comical results. Sometimes battles were waged between man and beast. Doctors were the early naturalists of America and you will follow one young military physician as he sets out alone to document the flora and fauna of western Kansas, only to abruptly cross paths with a hungry mountain lion. He is injured and is left alone on the prairie, defending himself from not only several ferocious predators but Mother Nature as well. These stories, based on actual events, are chronicled in the second installment of the “Tales of the Sergeant Major” and continue to tell the stories of Fort Hays, Kansas, in the late 1800s. They are stories of action, intrigue and adventure made up of “Stones, Bullets and Blood.”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert Wilhelm
• Release date: Feb 10, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005961329

Robert Wilhelm

Bob Wilhelm was born in 1950. His father was a school teacher and administrator in several small towns in Kansas where Bob, his two older brothers, and two younger sisters grew up, living the “Mayberry” experience. Bob has had a life-long interest in the “wild west” and grew up watching Roy Rogers, the Lone Ranger, and Gene Autry on Saturday mornings. Following a stint in the U.S. Air Force, where he attained the rank of sergeant, he attended Fort Hays State University in Hays, Kansas, where his primary field of study was biology (another keen interest). After graduating with a Master’s Degree in biology, he sought work as a museum director. As fate would have it, Natural History Museum jobs were practically non-existent. People get into those jobs because they have a passion for the job, not for the money, so jobs only open up when someone retires or dies!. However, a position at Fort Hays Historic Site became available, and he decided to take it while continuing to seek employment in natural history. Twenty-nine years later, Bob retired from the Fort Hays history museum. He had always wanted to write fiction, and so, immediately upon his retirement, he began writing his series “Tales of the Sergeant Major.” This is his first historical novel set in the military world of Fort Hays in the late 1800s. He plans to write a tetralogy following the exploits of Sergeant Major Barrett, and the five troublesome privates of the 18th Infantry, but, as he is fond of saying, “You never know where the characters will take you.” Bob lives in Hays, Kansas, with his wife, Joan.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

The sun rose slowly over the high plains, its warmth being absorbed by fields, pastureland, farms, small towns, lazy meandering streams, and lonely unmoving ponds. Soon a breeze would tickle the cottonwoods, elms, hackberries, and other trees that had taken up residence near those refuges of water, bringing them magically to life. Not only would their limbs begin their wind-driven dance, but the leaves would start to speak, each with their own unique voice. Cottonwoods, with their flapping chatter, would compete with the cedar’s low whistle and the smooth whisper of the ash. The long, thin leaves of buffalo, gramma, and other grasses in this ocean of green sang their soft melody as wind-driven waves raced across the plains. Soon the chorus of cheeps, chirps, caws, and whistles from the meadowlarks, finches, hawks, and other avian songsters arose in a choral accompaniment. It was the opening chorus of the High Plains Symphony.

The invaders then began to stir. Metal wind-up contraptions sprang to life to awaken those who could not or would not listen to the natives. It was an artificial awakening. The invaders moved from houses on farms and cities to go about their human business, paying no heed to the natives who, admittedly, paid no attention to the humans. Did they live in harmony, or despite one another? No matter. For the invaders, nothing would stop progress. Farmers turned swaths of God-deposited soil eliminating native grasses and replacing them with fields of grain or caused domesticated beasts to graze upon the native grasses until they transitioned them into food. In other places, iron rails and houses topped patches of undisturbed soil or were scraped bare for roads. Progress could not be stopped.

A lazy meandering stream known as Big Creek served as a refuge for settlement. On the north bank was a small town, Hays City, composed of several thousand souls who owned shops and businesses. On the south was a collection of U.S. Government forces at a place called Fort Hays. It was established in 1867 to ensure the construction of the Union Pacific Railway through Kansas, a project the Cheyenne people resisted. But progress could not be stopped.

The heyday of Fort Hays, with its hard-charging cavalry and rugged frontier soldiers who spent days and weeks on the trail of Indians and equally formidable desperadoes, was short-lived. Gone were the days of Custer, Hickok, and Cody, the days of shoot-outs on the streets of nearby Hays City, saloons, brothels, soiled doves, and pistoleers. The faith of the people had erected steeples. Bars had transformed from places of drunkenness, violence, and debauchery to become family-friendly lemonade parlors, an opera house (a staple of any town worth living in) brought musicals, melodramas, minstrel shows, and even an occasional opera to town. Base ball and roller skating were among the major attractions, with occasional church socials and a county fair in this the one thousand eight hundred and eighty-eighth year as measured by civilized Man. Hays City was now a decent place for families to live, and Fort Hays was a decent place for a U.S. Army soldier to be stationed. And it was awakening on this day, just like every other of its 7,600-plus days of life, with the sun rising over the High Plains as it had every day for countless millions of years.

It was dawn, September 20, 1888.

Colonel John Yard, commander of Fort Hays, opened the door to the north wing of the limestone-walled headquarters building and walked into the outer office, just as he did every morning. It was a small room about twelve feet square with a large double-sided desk dominating the space. One side of the dark oak desk was reserved for an army private detailed to assist in whatever odd jobs needed to be done, such as being a runner delivering messages from the commander to various others on the post. That position had yet to be filled on this day.

The other side of the desk was occupied by Corporal Jarod Pearson, the commander’s clerk. He was responsible for copying official correspondence and recording it in the Post Returns, the fort’s official ledger. He also prepared outgoing mail, and once a day made the short trip across the creek to Hays City, where he would deliver it to the Post Office and collect any incoming mail. Against the wall and to the left of the doorway was a table with a shallow cabinet on top having twenty pigeon-hole openings for sorting the incoming mail according to the various departments and officers occupying the post. 

Corporal Pearson snapped to attention and rendered a smart salute as his commander entered.

As you were, corporal, said Yard. Has Lieutenant Turner shown up yet?

Yes, sir. He’s in your office.

Thank you, corporal, said Yard as he walked around the desk, headed toward the inner door that led to his office in the center, hexagonal portion of the blockhouse. How are your wife and those two beautiful children of yours, Jarod?

They are doing quite well, sir, thank you for asking.

I do hope they can come for a visit today. I get such enjoyment out of little Lucille.

I do believe Amanda said something about dropping by sometime after lunch today, sir.

That sounds wonderful! He turned the handle on the door and entered his office to find Post Adjutant Lieutenant George Turner arranging papers on the colonel’s desk.

Good morning George!

Good morning, sir.

What have we got on our agenda for today?

Most of it is pretty routine today, sir. A few court-martial records to review, some official correspondence to sign, we are having more trouble with dogs running loose on the parade ground during drill, Lieutenant Hardin has requested permission to join the Torpedo Service...

Hardin’s a good man, the colonel interrupted.

Yes, sir, he is, Turner agreed.

It will be a shame to lose him. Excellent officer, studious, ambitious, has graduated from both the Infantry and Cavalry Schools at Fort Leavenworth. Very knowledgeable of weapons and explosives. He should be encouraged to enlarge his knowledge of his chosen profession. Being sent to the Engineer Depot at Willetts Point, New York, I presume.

I believe so, sir, Fort Totten, Turner responded.

Yes, I passed through there briefly several years ago. Well, is that it?

I’m afraid not, sir. There’s a report from the blacksmith concerning a potentially unserviceable mule, and Lieutenant Wheeler noticed some milky material in Big Creek yesterday while making his rounds. He thinks it might be coming to us courtesy of the Hays City Butter and Cheese Manufacturing Factory upstream. And you wanted to review the record of Sergeant Percival Lowe.

Why did I want to look at Sergeant Lowe’s records?

Possible promotion to lieutenant, sir.

Oh, yes. My memory isn’t what it used to be.

You have a lot of responsibilities, sir. Besides, he said as he placed the papers on the colonel’s desk. That’s why you have me.

Right you are, George. Well, let’s begin at the top of the list and work our way down. What about those courts-martial? What do we have?

They are pretty routine, sir, fighting in the barracks, insubordination, that sort of thing. Mostly, the result of being drunk and disorderly.

Yard took the stack of court-martial reports and began perusing them. We will have to bring Mr. Wilson in and have another talk with him about the number of intoxicants he dispenses. There is just too much of this sort of thing going on. I suppose a lot of it has to do with the fact there are no longer any saloons in town. At least they stay on post when they…. Yard stopped in mid-sentence and held one particular report up so that it caught the morning light coming in the east window.

Something wrong, sir? asked Turner.

Private Alonzo Duck, he said. Has he really served out his sentence?

Yes, sir, thirty days, fifteen at hard labor on bread and water, and one-month forfeiture of pay.

This wasn’t his first court-martial, was it?

No, sir, although this was the most serious.

Yard began to laugh. Yes, and I’m sure he took this more seriously than his others. I tell you, George, I wish you could have seen his face when Miss Reynolds hit him with that rolling pin. Ha, ha! He was just standing there smiling, and when I saw him out cold on the ground at her feet, he still had that smile on his face, I swear to God. It was the darnedest thing I’d ever seen. Ha, ha. If it weren’t such a serious matter, I would have found myself rolling on the floor! The colonel pounded his hand on the table and slapped his knee as he unashamedly let loose with a hearty, booming laugh.

It must have been something to see, sir, said Turner. He had heard the story before but never tired of seeing his aged commander get a good laugh.

Oh, but when he finally regained consciousness, he wasn’t smiling! He had a knot on his head the size of a goose egg. Doc Cronkhite said he was lucky the old gal didn’t kill him! The colonel was beginning to recover his composure, now. I guess I shouldn’t laugh so at another’s misfortune, but by golly, he deserved what he got! Imagine trying to spy on my little Annie! Oh, I hope he’s learned his lesson.

Little Annie isn’t so little anymore, thought Lieutenant Turner. She was a wonderfully precocious little girl who had grown into a beautiful young woman of 18, and he knew many of the men cast longing gazes her way. But, of course, he would not dare voice such a notion in front of the colonel. He knew that, as a father, the colonel’s daughter would always be his little Annie.

If he’s smart, he should have learned his lesson, sir, Turner said.

He’s one of those that Sergeant Major Barrett is trying to salvage, is he not?

Yes, sir.

I admire the sergeant major’s tenacity and unwillingness to give up on those the rest of us think are hopeless. But maybe I should have a talk with him to see if he is making progress. Clear a spot on my calendar for later today, would you, George?

Certainly, sir.

CHAPTER TWO

Sergeant Major Barrett opened the door to the headquarters to find no clerk at the desk, although laughter and conversation were coming from within the commander’s office. He closed the door and patiently stood in front of the mailboxes to the left of the doorway. Barrett had several hours to think about this meeting with the colonel. Although the messenger did not tell him the reason for the meeting, he was sure it had to do with the five horsemen (of apocalypse fame) as McInnes, Marchment, Conners, and JT had dubbed his project. Private Duck was due to be released from confinement, and Colonel Yard probably wanted an update to see if there was any hope of saving the five men. After a few moments, the door to the commander’s office opened, and Corporal Pearson came out, followed by his wife and two children, the youngest, Lucille, in the arms of Colonel Yard.

You are such a delightful young lady, Miss Lucy. It’s hard to believe you are just four! the colonel was saying.

Did you see my new shoes? she asked. They are the ones what my grandma sended me!

Yes, I did! Those are quite nice and so stylish!

Yeah.

Lucille began squirming to get down. The colonel bent to deposit the little girl on the floor, and she grabbed his beard, which was two feet long if it was an inch, and swung down the last few inches. Colonel Yard’s eyes went wide as he felt all of Lucy’s 34 pounds hanging from his whiskers. Whee! she squealed as she landed on the floor.

Oh, my, said Yard, trying hard to keep tears from coming to his eyes.

Lucille! commanded Mrs. Pearson, You know better than that! Apologize to the colonel right now!

The little girl looked up into the colonel’s eyes and said, Sorry. Your beard is so soft. Not scratchy like my papa’s!

Yard cleared his throat, Perfectly all right, Miss Lucy. But, uh, let’s just not make a habit of it!

Come children, said Mrs. Pearson, Let’s not take up any more of Colonel Yard’s time.

Not at all, my dear, Yard said. It is always a pleasure. Looking down at the boy, who was turning a jackknife over and over in his hands, he said, Now, Master Jude, you be careful with that jackknife I gave you. It’s sharp!

I will, said the seven-year-old Jude Pearson.

Children, say goodbye to Colonel Yard! Both children issued their goodbyes, and Sergeant Major Barrett opened the door as they made their way out.

I’ll see you tonight, Corporal Pearson said to his wife.

Ah, Sergeant Major Barrett, please come in!

Thank you, sir.

The two entered the office as Corporal Pearson again took his position at his desk, and Lieutenant Turner left the building on some adjutant-related business.

Please take a seat, sergeant major! I suppose you are wondering why I asked you to come in today.

I imagine it is about the five men I have been tutoring, sir.

Well, yes, and no, the colonel said as he took his seat behind his desk. I am interested in your progress, in general, but I wanted to ask you about Private Duck specifically. You know, he is set to be released today, and I would really like to see him stay out of trouble.

Yes, sir. I wanted to talk to you about him. I believe I could handle his discipline much better by assigning him, well, shall we say, some very undesirable details. It would counteract any good that I am doing him if he were to again return to the guardhouse.

Yes, I can understand that, replied Yard. Do as you see fit, sergeant major, but if he continues to flaunt regulations and lawful orders, I’m afraid I will have to discharge him as an undesirable.

Thank you, sir.

How are the other men coming along? I mean, are they improving to the point that this exercise is worth continuing?

Sir, the other four are indeed making progress, and I believe they are close to becoming fair soldiers. If I could have just a few more months, sir, say, after the first of next year, I think they would be far enough along that I could step aside.

You know, sergeant major, that this experiment of yours is highly irregular. I don’t believe I have ever heard of anyone, particularly of your rank, undertaking such a challenge, just for the sake of five men!

I know, sir, but as I said when I asked permission to do this, I just hate to give up on any man who shows any inclination at all for becoming a soldier.

And, realistically, how does Private Duck fit into the picture?

I admit he is the least desirable of the five, and there have been many times that I have wondered why I bother with him. But, I figure that if I can make him come around, well, then maybe other NCOs can learn from it and save other hard cases like him. He’s got spirit and smarts, and if it comes to a fight, he would be a good one to have at your side, IF he can learn some discipline.

That’s a big IF, sergeant major!

Yes, sir, it is. If I could make one more request, colonel.

Go ahead, said Yard.

I would like the men to be remanded to me full time.

Removed from their companies?

Yes, sir. If I had more control over the men, night and day, I’m sure I could accelerate their training. I’d like to house them in the west end of the quartermaster’s storehouse.

Next to your quarters, eh?

Exactly, sir! It is currently unused and could easily be converted into a barrack, of sorts.

Colonel Yard shuffled through some papers and said, It seems you are keeping up with your routine duties just fine.

Yes, sir.

Yard was silent for a moment and then set his papers on the desk. Well, all right, sergeant major. I see no reason to withdraw you from this project of yours at present. I’ll give you until…. let’s see, this is September 20, so let’s say the end of next March? Things may be changing around here about then, and you may have additional duties. How will that be?

Barrett was surprised at being given six months; he would have accepted three as more than generous. The colonel must have something in the works to make such a pronouncement. Barrett knew nothing about any changes that would be taking place, and he wondered what the new year might bring, but it was not his place to pry into the regimental commander’s plans. That would be most generous, sir. Thank you!

Very well. You are dismissed. Thank you for coming in.

Barrett stood and saluted, turned, and reached for the doorknob to leave.

Sergeant Major Barrett. One last question.

Yes, sir?

What gives you the passion for this? Why are you so committed to these five men?

Barrett stood and thought for a moment, weighing whether to unburden himself of the various reasons he was drawn to this project. He decided not to get too detailed. Well, sir, it’s just that, when I first joined up, it was during the war, and, well, I did it to help my family after my father died. As long as I got paid, that was all that mattered to me, but I wasn’t much of a soldier. It was different than I thought it would be. I thought it would be full of adventure, but when we didn’t see action for a while, I began to think I could make more money as a civilian. I didn’t take too well to being ordered around, got in a number of fights, was even caught deserting one night. Didn’t get far. In fact, I didn’t even make it out of camp. First Sergeant Robbinett caught me, talked me out of it. Could have easily thrown me in the guardhouse, or worse. But he didn’t. Must have seen something in me that I didn’t even know was there. He took me under his wing and molded me into a good soldier. Saved my life, I figure. What he taught me got me through the war. Being a soldier has been a good life. Maybe I can return the favor he showed to me by molding these men into good soldiers.

Hmmm. I see. Whatever happened to Sergeant Robbinett?

That’s kind of a long story, sir.

Perhaps you can tell me sometime.

I’d be glad to, sir. Sometime.

Getting permission from Colonel Yard proved to be the easy part. When he informed First Sergeant’s Marchment, McInnes, and Conners, they were more concerned about losing men from their companies than anything else. But they agreed with Barrett that he could better reach his objective if he had complete control of the five men. Convincing the company commanders was a harder sell, but realizing Barrett had Colonel Yard’s blessing, there wasn’t much they could say. Major Vance and Lieutenant Colonel Coppinger were more concerned about Barrett’s regular, routine duties but, as with the company commanders, they really had no choice but to accept the change.

CHAPTER THREE

Sergeant Major Barrett finished roll call and tucked his clipboard under his left arm as he gave the five privates a stern look. Nice to have you back, Duck, he said.

Duck looked at him with a sneer and replied slowly, Great to be back…sergeant major. 

Barrett ignored Duck’s disrespectful tone. He had just come back from time in the guardhouse and was entitled to be grumpy. Once. I’ve got some news about this special training that you all have been undergoing. I talked with the colonel today about reassigning you from your current companies to me full time. None of the five men had any reaction, except for Private Houlihan, who registered shock on his face followed by a slight smile.

Why you doin’ that? Duck asked disrespectfully.

You should know better than anyone, Duck. I would just hate to see any of you wander off. Besides, I think it’s time we stepped up this training a notch. I’ve been too easy on you up to this point.

The men all began to moan and protest.

I don’t think this is quite fair, said Bowser.

Haven’t we been getting better? asked Houlihan.

I thought we were getting pretty good, said Love.

Easy? said Brady. The regular companies don’t drill half as hard as we do!

Duck was silent.

Quiet in the ranks! bellowed Barrett. No one gave you permission to speak!

But Sergeant Major Barrett, said Bowser, Ask anyone on post, and they will tell you....

Ask anyone? bellowed Barrett again. This isn’t a democracy! No one gets a vote except me! You are under my command, no one else’s. Do you all understand? He looked them all square in the eyes. No one spoke, although Duck had a smile on his face. Something funny, Duck?

Oh, no, sergeant major. Everything is just hunky-dory.

Good! I’m glad to hear that. After drill today, you will each return to your respective companies for the night. Your assignment to what will from now on be known as Company J will begin tomorrow immediately after breakfast mess, so make certain you have everything packed up tonight for your transfer tomorrow. Today, however, we are going on a march. Return to your barracks, draw your weapon, prairie belt and ammunition box, bayonet, knapsack, and canteen and return here. He pulled his Elgin watch from his vest pocket, pushed the stem with his thumb, and popped open the cover. You have four minutes. Go!

Barrett looked up as the men scattered, put his watch back in his vest pocket, and walked around the corner of the nearest barrack where he picked up his rifle, accouterments, and canteen he had secreted there earlier. He strapped on his knapsack, then the prairie belt with his McKeever cartridge box and bayonet attached, and slung his canteen over his shoulder, so it hung on his left side. Walking back to the parade ground, he again removed his watch and opened the cover.

At the three and one half minute mark, all the men had returned except for Duck. Barrett continued to stare at his watch as the small second hand at the bottom of the watch face ticked off the final few seconds.

Time, he said and looked up. Duck calmly stepped into his assigned place in line, his leather gear and canteen hanging correctly from his right shoulder across his body to his left hip, his rifle butt resting at the toes of his right foot at the order arms position. Barrett looked at the other four men who were equally presentable, except for Private Houlihan, whose belt was not only crooked but part of his sack coat was folded up under his belt. At least he has his canteen on his left side, Barrett thought, where it wouldn’t interfere with loading and firing his rifle.

Today, your training begins in earnest, Barrett said. I won’t lie to you, you have made progress over the past several weeks—most of you, anyway, he said as he looked Duck squarely in the eye. But our time is limited. You only have a few more months to get to where you need to be. If you don’t, it won’t just be a simple discharge from the army you will receive. It will be a hefty sentence in Leavenworth for wasting my time and the army’s expense. Your training will be from reveille to taps every day, Sundays included. You will master not only the rudimentary basics of military training but much more. You will emerge from this training the best, most capable soldiers in the American Army. Or the newest residents of that feared post in the northeast, making little rocks out of big rocks. Make no mistake, gentlemen; I will make you, or break you.

May I ask a question, sergeant major? asked Love.

No, you may not, Private Love. You have no say in this matter. You all belong to me now, so get used to it. He paused for effect, then called out, Attention! Carry arms! The men snapped to attention and came to the carry arms position, their rifle supported by their index finger and thumb wrapped around the trigger guard, and the other three fingers resting on the back of the hammer, the barrel cradled in the crease of their right shoulder.

Arms Port! Their rifle barrels were brought across their chest and grasped by their left hand, their right hand around the small of the buttstock immediately behind the trigger guard.

Right face! Forward march, and after a few steps, Double time, march! They ran past the barracks, around the blockhouse, in front of the trader’s store, and continued for a mile until the fort was out of sight. While on the prairie, they practiced skirmish drill, reviewed the Manual of Arms while on the run, and engaged in bayonet drill; they did everything except fire their rifles. That would come later, once they could perform all these actions and more, without a second thought. Barrett was determined to present the men to Colonel Yard as a Christmas present, well before the stated deadline of March 1889.

CHAPTER FOUR

Barrett had the privates clear out a storeroom next to his room in the quartermaster’s warehouse, and they moved in. Barrett enjoyed the solitude of his room in the corner of the warehouse, but he was willing to sacrifice that for the good of the men. It took a few days to get the barrack in shape, but eventually, everyone settled in, and training began in earnest. The first week was rough, but they slowly began to show improvement, especially Houlihan.

As Private Houlihan improved, he became more interested in the army in general, and Fort Hays in particular. Barrett encouraged this inquisitiveness. Showing interest in his surroundings, in the situation in which he found himself, indicated he was becoming part of the whole, and not just an individual. That’s what being in the army was all about, as far as Barrett was concerned. The more he learned about Fort Hays, its past, and the people who built it, the more devoted he would become to those with whom he served and those who had come before him, and he would develop pride in his chosen profession. And Houlihan’s interest was infectious. The others also became interested in the stories Barrett told, which, in turn, made them better soldiers.

All except Duck. Nothing Barrett did seemed to make much of an impression on Private Alonzo Duck.

Squad halt! We’ll take a rest here. You can remove your knapsacks. They were on the easternmost of three hills about two miles south of the fort. It commanded a spectacular view of Fort Hays, the railroad, and Hays City down in the valley of Big Creek, which was visible only as a line of trees cutting a path from west to east separating the fort and the town.

Nice day, today, observed Private Love after taking a long drink from his canteen.

Sure is, echoed Brady.

And just look at that view, said Houlihan looking down at the fort and town.

What’s so great about it? snarled Duck.

Just look at all the green, Alonzo! Even a few fall flowers bloomin’ down along the hill. What are they, sergeant major?

I’m hot and tired. That’s all I see, said Duck.

I’m not sure, Barrett responded to Houlihan’s question. We can ask Doc Cronkhite when we get back. He’s the one who should know.

I don’t see nothin’ worth lookin’ at from where I’m sittin’, said Duck with a smirk as he looked at Houlihan. The others just ignored Duck. They were getting used to his complaints and belly aching on these marches (and practically everything else).

Sergeant major? said Houlihan.

Barrett swished water in his mouth and spit into the grass. What is it, private?

Sitting up here looking down at the fort, there is something that puzzles me.

What’s that?

"Well, look at all the buildings down there. They’re all made of wood except the guardhouse and the headquarters. Now, I can see why the guardhouse is built of