afford, they are useful in keeping
the place clear of all kinds of "varmints" such as coyotes, skunks and
wild cats.

How much Col. Hooker appreciates his dogs is best illustrated by an
incident. One morning after greeting the dogs at the door, he was
heard to remark sotto voce.

"Well, if everybody on the ranch is cross, my dogs always greet me with
a smile."

There appears to be much in the dog as well as in the horse that is
human, and the trio are capable of forming attachments for each other
that only death can part.

The ranch house is a one-story adobe structure built in the Spanish
style of a rectangle, with all the doors opening upon a central court.
It is large and commodious, is elegantly furnished and supplied with
every modern convenience. It affords every needed comfort for a family
and is in striking contrast with the common ranch house of the range
that is minus every luxury and often barely furnishes the necessaries
of life.

CHAPTER VIII

SOME DESERT PLANTS

Much of the vegetation that is indigenous to the southwest is unique
and can only be seen at its best in the Gila valley in southern
Arizona. The locality indicated is in the arid zone and is extremely
hot and dry. Under such conditions it is but natural to suppose that
all plant life must necessarily be scant and dwarfed, but such is not
the fact. Upon the contrary many of the plants that are native to the
soil and adapted to the climate grow luxuriantly, are remarkably
succulent and perennially green.

How they manage to acquire so much sap amidst the surrounding siccity
is inexplicable, unless it is that they possess the function of
absorbing and condensing moisture by an unusual and unknown method. It
is, however, a beneficent provision of nature as a protection against
famine in a droughty land by furnishing in an acceptable form,
refreshing juice and nutritious pulp to supply the pressing wants of
hungry and thirsty man and beast in time of need.

Another peculiarity of these plants is that they are acanaceous;
covered all over with sharp thorns and needles. Spikes of all sorts
and sizes bristle everywhere and admonish the tenderfoot to beware.
Guarded by an impenetrable armor of prickly mail they defy encroachment
and successfully repel all attempts at undue familiarity. To be torn
by a cat-claw thorn or impaled on a stout dagger leaf of one of these
plants would not only mean painful laceration but, perhaps, serious