Well, they are going to
relieve him, of course?"
"Why, yes," said Jack, falteringly, "if they can get anyone to
take his place."
"Can't they order some one?" I inquired.
"Of course they can," he replied, and then, turning towards the
window, he ventured: "The fact is Martha, I've been offered it,
and am thinking it over." (The real truth was, that he had
applied for it, thinking it possessed great advantages over Camp
MacDowell. )
"What! do I hear aright? Have your senses left you? Are you
crazy? Are you going to take me to that awful place? Why, Jack, I
should die there!"
"Now, Martha, be reasonable; listen to me, and if you really
decide against it, I'll throw up the detail. But don't you see,
we shall be right on the river, the boat comes up every fortnight
or so, you can jump aboard and go up to San Francisco." (Oh, how
alluring that sounded to my ears!) "Why, it's no trouble to get
out of Arizona from Ehrenberg. Then, too, I shall be independent,
and can do just as I like, and when I like," et caetera, et
caetera. "Oh, you'll be making the greatest mistake, if you
decide against it. As for MacDowell, it's a hell of a place, down
there in the South; and you never will be able to go back East
with the baby, if we once get settled down there. Why, it's a
good fifteen days from the river."
And so he piled up the arguments in favor of Ehrenberg, saying
finally, "You need not stop a day there. If the boat happens to
be up, you can jump right aboard and start at once down river."
All the discomforts of the voyage on the "Newbern," and the
memory of those long days spent on the river steamer in August
had paled before my recent experiences. I flew, in imagination,
to the deck of the "Gila," and to good Captain Mellon, who would
take me and my child out of that wretched Territory.
"Yes, yes, let us go then," I cried; for here came in my
inexperience. I thought I was choosing the lesser evil, and I
knew that Jack believed it to be so, and also that he had set his
heart upon Ehrenberg, for reasons known only to the understanding
of a military man.
So it was decided to take the Ehrenberg detail.
CHAPTER XVII
THE COLORADO DESERT
Some serpents slid from out the grass That grew in tufts by
shattered stone, Then hid below some broken mass Of ruins older
than the East, That Time had eaten, as a bone Is eaten by some
savage beast.
Great dull-eyed rattlesnakes - they lay All loathsome,
yellow-skinned, and slept Coiled tight as pine knots in the sun,
With flat heads through the centre run; Then struck out sharp,
then rattling crept Flat-bellied down the dusty way.
- JOAQUIN MILLER.
At the end of a week, we started forth for Ehrenberg. Our escort
was now sent back to Camp Apache, and the Baileys remained at
Fort Whipple, so our outfit consisted of one ambulance and one
army wagon. One or two soldiers went along, to help with the
teams and the camp.
We travelled two days over a semi-civilized country, and found
quite comfortable ranches where we spent the nights. The greatest
luxury was fresh milk, and we enjoyed that at these ranches in
Skull Valley. They kept American cows, and supplied Whipple
Barracks with milk and butter. We drank, and drank, and drank
again, and carried a jugful to our bedside. The third day brought
us to Cullen's ranch, at the edge of the desert. Mrs. Cullen was
a Mexican woman and had a little boy named Daniel; she cooked us
a delicious supper of stewed chicken, and fried eggs, and good
bread, and then she put our boy to bed in Daniel's crib. I felt
so grateful to her; and with a return of physical comfort, I
began to think that life, after all, might be worth the living.
Hopefully and cheerfully the next morning we entered the vast
Colorado desert. This was verily the desert, more like the desert
which our imagination pictures, than the one we had crossed in
September from Mojave. It seemed so white, so bare, so endless,
and so still; irreclaimable, eternal, like Death itself. The
stillness was appalling. We saw great numbers of lizards darting
about like lightning; they were nearly as white as the sand
itself, and sat up on their hind legs and looked at us with their
pretty, beady black eyes. It seemed very far off from everywhere
and everybody, this desert - but I knew there was a camp somewhere
awaiting us, and our mules trotted patiently on. Towards noon
they began to raise their heads and sniff the air; they knew that
water was near. They quickened their pace, and we soon drew up
before a large wooden structure. There were no trees nor grass
around it. A Mexican worked the machinery with the aid of a mule,
and water was bought for our twelve animals, at so much per head.
The place was called Mesquite Wells; the man dwelt alone in his
desolation, with no living being except his mule for company. How
could he endure it! I was not able, even faintly, to comprehend
it; I had not lived long enough. He occupied a small hut, and
there he staid, year in and year out, selling water to the
passing traveller; and I fancy that travellers were not so
frequent at Mesquite Wells a quarter of a century ago.
The thought of that hermit and his dreary surroundings filled my
mind for a long time after we drove away, and it was only when we
halted and a soldier got down to kill a great rattlesnake near
the ambulance, that my thoughts were diverted.
