If I could only dress as the Mexicans
do! Their necks and arms do look so cool and clean."
I have always been sorry I did not adopt their fashion of house
apparel. Instead of that, I yielded to the prejudices of my
conservative partner, and sweltered during the day in high-necked
and long-sleeved white dresses, kept up the table in American
fashion, ate American food in so far as we could get it, and all
at the expense of strength; for our soldier cooks, who 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.
