The Courtyard Was Partly Shaded By A
Ramada And Partly Open To The Hot Sun.
There was a chicken-yard
in one corner of the inclosed square, and in the centre stood a
rickety old pump, which indicated some sort of a well.
Not a
green leaf or tree or blade of grass in sight. Nothing but white
sand, as far as one could see, in all directions.
Inside the house there were bare white walls, ceilings covered
with manta, and sagging, as they always do; small windows set in
deep embrasures, and adobe floors. Small and inconvenient rooms,
opening one into another around two sides of the square. A sort
of low veranda protected by lattice screens, made from a species
of slim cactus, called ocotilla, woven together, and bound with
raw-hide, ran around a part of the house.
Our dinner was enlivened by some good Cocomonga wine. I tried to
ascertain something about the source of provisions, but
evidently the soldier had done the foraging, and Captain Bernard
admitted that it was difficult, adding always that he did not
require much, "it was so warm," et caetera, et caetera. The next
morning I took the reins, nominally, but told the soldier to go
ahead and do just as he had always done. I selected a small room
for the baby's bath, the all important function of the day. The
Indian brought me a large tub (the same sort of a half of a
vinegar barrel we had used at Apache for ourselves), set it down
in the middle of the floor, and brought water from a barrel which
stood in the corral.
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