Under the burning mid-day sun of Arizona, on May 16th, our six good mules¹, with the long whip cracking about their ears, and the ambulance rattling² merrily along, brought us into the village of Ehrenberg. There was one street, so called, which ran along on the river bank, and then a few cross streets straggling back into the desert, with here and there a low adobe³ casa. The Government house stood not far from the river, and as we drove up to the entrance the same blank white walls stared at me. It did not look so much like a prison, after all, I thought. Captain Bernard, the man whom I had pitied, stood at the doorway⁴, to greet us, and after we were inside the house he had some biscuits and wine brought; and then the change of stations was talked of, and he said to me, "Now, please make yourself at home. The house is yours; my things are virtually packed up, and I leave in a day or two. There is a soldier here who can stay with you; he has been able to attend to my simple wants. I eat only twice a day; and here is Charley, my Indian, who fetches the water from the river and does the chores. I dine generally at sundown."  
A shadow fell across the sunlight in the doorway; I looked around and there stood "Charley," who had come in with the noiseless step of the moccasined foot. I saw before me a handsome naked Cocopah Indian, who wore a belt and a gee-string. He seemed to feel at home and began to help with the bags and various paraphernalia⁵ of ambulance travellers. He looked to be about twenty-four years old. His face was smiling and friendly and I knew I should like him.
 
The house was a one-story adobe. It formed two sides of a hollow square; the other two sides were a high wall, and the Government freight-house respectively. The courtyard was partly shaded by a ramada and partly open to the hot sun. There was a chicken-yard in one corner of the inclosed square, and in the centre stood a rickety old pump, which indicated some sort of a well. Not a green leaf or tree or blade of grass in sight. Nothing but white sand, as far as one could see, in all directions.
 
Inside the house there were bare white walls, ceilings covered with manta, and sagging⁶, as they always do; small windows set in deep embrasures, and adobe floors. Small and inconvenient⁷ rooms, opening one into another around two sides of the square. A sort of low veranda⁸ protected by lattice screens, made from a species of slim cactus⁹, called ocotilla, woven together, and bound with raw-hide, ran around a part of the house.
 
Our dinner was enlivened by some good Cocomonga wine. I tried to ascertain¹⁰ something about the source of provisions, but evidently the soldier had done the foraging¹¹, and Captain Bernard admitted that it was difficult, adding always that he did not require much, "it was so warm," et caetera, et caetera. The next morning I took the reins¹², nominally¹³, but told the soldier to go ahead and do just as he had always done. I selected a small room for the baby's bath, the all important function of the day. The Indian brought me a large tub (the same sort of a half of a vinegar barrel we had used at Apache for ourselves), set it down in the middle of the floor, and brought water from a barrel which stood in the corral. A low box was placed for me to sit on. This was a bachelor establishment, and there was no place but the floor to lay things on; but what with the splashing and the leaking and the dripping, the floor turned to mud and the white clothes and towels were covered with it, and I myself was a sight to behold¹⁴. The Indian stood smiling at my plight¹⁵. He spoke¹⁶ only a pigeon English, but said, "too much-ee wet."
 
I was in despair; things began to look hopeless again to me. I thought "surely these Mexicans must know how to manage with these floors." Fisher, the steamboat agent, came in, and I asked him if he could not find me a nurse. He said he would try, and went out to see what could be done.
 
He finally brought in a rather forlorn looking Mexican woman leading a little child (whose father was not known), and she said she would come to us for quinze pesos a month. I consulted with Fisher, and he said she was a pretty good sort, and that we could not afford to be too particular down in that country. And so she came; and although she was indolent, and forever smoking cigarettes, she did care for the baby, and fanned him when he slept, and proved a blessing¹⁷ to me.
 
And now came the unpacking^............