o were loaned us by Captain Ernest from his company at
Fort Yuma, were constantly being changed, and I was often left with the
Indian and the indolent Patrocina. At those times, how I wished I had
no silver, no table linen, no china, and could revert to the primitive
customs of my neighbors!

There was no market, but occasionally a Mexican killed a steer, and we
bought enough for one meal; but having no ice, and no place away from
the terrific heat, the meat was hung out under the ramada with a piece
of netting over it, until the first heat had passed out of it, and then
it was cooked.

The Mexican, after selling what meat he could, cut the rest into thin
strips and hung it up on ropes to dry in the sun. It dried hard and
brittle, in its natural state, so pure is the air on that wonderful
river bank. They called this carni seca, and the Americans called it
"jerked beef."

Patrocina often prepared me a dish of this, when I was unable to taste
the fresh meat. She would pound it fine with a heavy pestle, and then
put it to simmer, seasoning it with the green or red pepper. It was most
savory. There was no butter at all during the hot months, but our hens
laid a few eggs, and the Quartermaster was allowed to keep a small lot
of commissary stores, from which we drew our supplies of flour, ham, and
canned things. We were often without milk for weeks at a time, for the
cows crossed the river to graze, and sometimes could not get back until
the river fell again, and they could pick their way back across the
shifting sand bars.

The Indian brought the water every morning in buckets from the river.
It looked like melted chocolate. He filled the barrels, and when it had
settled clear, the ollas were filled, and thus the drinking water was a
trifle cooler than the air. One day it seemed unusually cool, so I said:
"Let us see by the thermometer how cool the water really is." We found
the temperature of the water to be 86 degrees; but that, with the air at
122 in the shade, seemed quite refreshing to drink.

I did not see any white people at all except Fisher, Abe Frank (the
mail contractor), and one or two of the younger merchants. If I wanted
anything, I went to Fisher. He always could solve the difficulty. He
procured for me an excellent middle-aged laundress, who came and brought
the linen herself, and, bowing to the floor, said always, "Buenos dias,
Senorita!" dwelling on the latter word, as a gentle compliment to a
younge