own land prevented us from feeling any
aloofness toward each other on this account. To me Colonel Elliot was an
American, and a mighty decent specimen of an American at that--a friend
in need. And to Colonel Elliot also I was an American, and one needing
assistance. We seldom spoke of our political differences, partly because
our lives speedily became too full and intimate to admit of the petty
exchange of divergent views, and partly because I had been a boy during
the Civil War and my youthful brain had not been sufficiently mature to
assimilate the manifold prejudices, likes, dislikes and opposing
theories that were the heritage of nearly all those who lived during
that bloody four years' war.

I have said that Colonel Elliot was a friend in need. There is an apt
saying that a "friend in need is a friend indeed," and such was Colonel
Elliot as I soon found. For I had not been a week at the ranch when I
was struck down with smallpox, and throughout that dangerous sickness,
lasting several weeks, the old Colonel, careless of contagion, nursed
me like a woman, finally bringing me back to a point where I once again
had full possession of all my youthful health and vigor.

I do not just now recall the length of time I worked for Elliot and his
partner, but the stay, if not long, was most decidedly pleasant. I grew
to speak Spanish fluently, haunted the town of Mazatlan (from which the
Jamestown had long since departed), and made as good use generally of my
temporary employment as was possible. I tried hard to master the patois
of the peon as well as the flowery and eloquent language of the
aristocracy, for I knew well that should I at any time seek employment
as overseer at a rancho either in Mexico or Arizona, a knowledge of the
former would be indispensable, while a knowledge of the latter was at
all times useful in Mexico, especially in the cities, where the
possession of the cultured dialect marked one for special favors and
secured better attention at the stores.

The Mexicans I grew to understand and like more and more the longer I
knew them. I found the average Mexican gentleman a model of politeness,
a Beau Brummel in dress and an artist in the use of the flowery terms
with which his splendid language abounds. The peons also I came to know
and understand. I found them a simple-minded, uncomplaining class,
willingly accepting the burdens which were laid on them by their
masters, the rich landlords; and living, lo