u devil, kick!" And I got the merry ha-ha from up and
down the line. But in giving me a message a little while after he flew
the track, and I instantly opened up and said, "Whistle, you tarrier,
whistle!" Maybe he didn't get it back.

CHAPTER VI

BLUE FIELD, ARIZONA, AND AN INDIAN SCRIMMAGE

The desire to travel was strong within me, and in the following June I
left Mankato, went out to Arizona and secured a position on the A. & P.,
at Blue Field, a small town almost in the centre of the desert. Alfreda,
Kansas, was dreary and desolate enough, but there, I was at least in
communication with civilization, because I had one wire running to
Kansas City, while Blue Field was the crowning glory of utter
desolation. The Bible says that the good Lord made heaven and earth in
six days, and rested on the seventh. It needed but a single glance at
Blue Field to thoroughly convince me that the Lord quit work at the end
of the sixth day right there, and had never taken it up since. There was
nothing but some scattering adobe shacks, with the usual complement of
saloons, and as far almost as the eye could see in every
direction,--sand--hot, glaring, burning sand. To the far northwards,
could be dimly observed the outlines of the Mogollon range of
mountains. The population consisted chiefly of about four hundred
dare-devil spirits who had started to wander westwards in search of the
El Dorado and had finally settled there, too tired, too disgusted to go
any farther, and lacking money enough to return to their homes. It
wasn't the most congenial crowd in the world. There was only one good
thing in the place, and that was a deep well of pure sparkling water.
The sun during the day was so scorching that the rails seemed to sizzle
as they stretched out like two slender, interminable bands of silver
over the hot sands, and at night no relief was apparent, and the office
so stifling hot that my existence was well nigh unbearable. But the pay
was ninety dollars per month and I hung on until I could save funds
enough to get back to God's own country. To sleep in a house, in the day
time, was almost killing, so I used to make up a sort of bunk on a truck
and sleep in the shade of the freight shed. At seven-forty-three in the
evening, the Trans-Continental flyer went smashing by at a fifty-five
mile an hour clip and the dust it raised was enough to strangle a man.

The Arizona climate is a well known specific for pulmonary troubles,