What a joy to see her, and to initiate2 her into the ways of our life in Arizona! Everything was new, everything was a wonder to her and to my nephew. At first, he seemed to gain perceptibly, and we had great hopes of his recovery.
It was now cool enough to sleep indoors, and we began to know what it was to have a good night's rest.
But no sooner had we gotten one part of our life comfortably arranged, before another part seemed to fall out of adjustment. Accidents and climatic conditions kept my mind in a perpetual state of unrest.
Our dining-room door opened through two small rooms into the kitchen, and one day, as I sat at the table, waiting for Jack3 to come in to supper, I heard a strange sort of crashing noise. Looking towards the kitchen, through the vista4 of open doorways5, I saw Ellen rush to the door which led to the courtyard. She turned a livid white, threw up her hands, and cried, "Great God! the Captain!" She was transfixed with horror.
I flew to the door, and saw that the pump had collapsed6 and gone down into the deep sulphur well. In a second, Jack's head and hands appeared at the edge; he seemed to be caught in the debris7 of rotten timber. Before I could get to him, he had scrambled8 half way out. "Don't come near this place," he cried, "it's all caving in!"
And so it seemed; for, as he worked himself up and out, the entire structure feel in, and half the corral with it, as it looked to me.
Jack escaped what might have been an unlucky bath in his sulphur well, and we all recovered our composure as best we could.
Surely, if life was dull at Ehrenberg, it could not be called exactly monotonous9. We were not obliged to seek our excitement outside; we had plenty of it, such as it was, within our walls.
My confidence in Ehrenberg, however, as a salubrious dwelling-place, was being gradually and literally10 undermined. I began to be distrustful of the very ground beneath my feet. Ellen felt the same way, evidently, although we did not talk much about it. She probably longed also for some of her own kind; and when, one morning, we went into the dining-room for breakfast, Ellen stood, hat on, bag in hand, at the door. Dreading11 to meet my chagrin12, she said: "Good-bye, Captain; good-bye, missis, you've been very kind to me. I'm leaving on the stage for Tucson—where I first started for, you know."
And she tripped out and climbed up into the dusty, rickety vehicle called "the stage." I had felt so safe about Ellen, as I did not know that any stage line ran through the place.
And now I was in a fine plight13! I took a sunshade, and ran over to Fisher's house. "Mr. Fisher, what shall I do? Ellen has gone to Tucson!"
Fisher bethought himself, and we went out together in the village. Not a woman to be found who would come to cook for us! There was only one thing to do. The Quartermaster was allowed a soldier, to assist in the Government work. I asked him if he understood cooking; he said he had never done any, but he would try, if I would show him how.
This proved a hopeless task, and I finally gave it up. Jack dispatched an Indian runner to Fort Yuma, ninety miles or more down river, begging Captain Ernest to send us a soldier-cook on the next boat.
This was a long time to wait; the inconveniences were intolerable: there were our four selves, Patrocina and Jesusita, the soldier-clerk and the Indian, to be provided for: Patrocina prepared carni seca with peppers, a little boy came around with cuajada, a delicious sweet curd14 cheese, and I tried my hand at bread, following out Ellen's instructions.
How often I said to my husband. "If we must live in this wretched place, let's give up civilization and live as the Mexicans do! They are the only happy beings around here.
"Look at them, as you pass along the street! At nearly any hour in the day you can see them, sitting under their ramada, their backs propped15 against the wall of their casa, calmly smoking cigarettes and gazing at nothing, with a look of ineffable16 contentment upon their features! They surely have solved the problem of life!"
But we seemed never to be able to free ourselves from the fetters17 of civilization, and so I struggled on.
One evening after dusk, I went into the kitchen, opened the kitchen closet door to take out some dish, when clatter18! bang! down fell the bread-pan, and a shower of other tin ware19, and before I could fairly get my breath, out jumped two young squaws and without deigning20 to glance at me they darted21 across the kitchen and leaped out the window like two frightened fawn22.
They had on nothing but their birthday clothes and as I was somewhat startled at the sight of them, I stood transfixed, my eyes gazing at the open space through which they had flown.
Charley, the Indian, was in the corral, filling the ollas, and, hearing the commotion23, came in and saw just the disappearing heels of the two squaws.
I said, very sternly: "Charley, how came those squaws in my closet?" He looked very much ashamed and said: "Oh, me tell you: bad man go to kill 'em; I hide 'em."
"Well," said I, "do not hide any more girls in this casa! You savez that?"
He bowed his head in acquiescence24.
I afterwards learned that one of the girls was his sister.
The weather was now fairly comfortable, and in the evenings we sat under the ramada, in front of the house, and watched the beautiful pink glow which spread over the entire heavens and illuminated25 the distant mountains of Lower California. I have never seen anything like that wonderful color, which spread itself over sky, river and desert. For an hour, one could have believed oneself in a magician's realm.
At about this time, the sad-eyed Patrocina found it expedient26 to withdraw into the green valleys of Lower California, to
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