r mood of a
thirsty man who finds an alkali spring sparkling deceptively under a
rock. Furthermore, the nights had been hot and the mosquitoes a humming
torment. And as a last affliction he was called upon to keep the diary
going. He did it, faithfully enough but in a fashion of his own.

First he read back a few pages to get the hang of the thing. Then he
shook down Cash's fountain pen, that dried quickly in that heat. Then he
read another page as a model, and wrote:

June 19.

Mosquitoes last night was worse than the heat and that was worse than
Gila Bend's great white way. Hunted up the burros. Pete and Monte came
in and drank. Monte had colic. We fed them and turned them loose but the
blamed fools hung around all day and eat up some sour beans I throwed
out. Cash was peeved and swore they couldn't have another grain of feed.
But Monte come to the shack and watched Cash through a knothole the size
of one eye till Cash opened up his heart and the bag. Cash cut his thumb
opening tomatoes. The tomatoes wasn't hurt any.

June 20.

Got breakfast. Bill and harem did not come to water. Cash done the
regular hike after them. His thumb don't hurt him for hazing donkeys.
Bill and harem come in after Cash left. They must of saw him go. Cash
was out four hours and come in mad. Shot a hidrophobia skunk out by the
creek. Nothing doing. Too hot.

June 21.

The sun would blister a mud turtle so he'd holler. Cash put in most of
day holding a parasol over his garden patch. Burros did not miss their
daily drink. Night brings mosquitoes with their wings singed but their
stingers O.K. They must hole up daytimes or they would fry.

June 22.

Thought I know what heat was. I never did before. Cash took a bath. It
was his first. Burros did not come to water. Cash and I tried to sleep
on kitchen roof but the darned mosquitoes fed up on us and then played
heavenly choir all night.

June 25.

Cash got back from Bend. Thumb is better and he can have this job any
time now. He hustled up a widow that made a couple of mosquito bags to
go over our heads. No shape (bags, not widow) but help keep flies and
mosquitoes from chewing on us all day and all night. Training for hades.
I can stand the heat as well as the old boy with the pitch-fork. Ain't
got used to brimstone yet, but I'd trade mosquitoes for sulphur smoke
and give some boot. Worried about Cash. He took a bath today again,
using water I had packed for mine. Heat must be gettin