Ellen
felt the same way, evidently, although we did not talk much about
it. She probably longed also for some of her own kind; and when,
one morning, we went into the dining-room for breakfast, Ellen
stood, hat on, bag in hand, at the door. Dreading to meet my
chagrin, she said: "Good-bye, Captain; good-bye, missis, you've
been very kind to me. I'm leaving on the stage for Tucson - where
I first started for, you know."
And she tripped out and climbed up into the dusty, rickety
vehicle called "the stage." I had felt so safe about Ellen, as I
did not know that any stage line ran through the place.
And now I was in a fine plight! I took a sunshade, and ran over
to Fisher's house. "Mr. Fisher, what shall I do? Ellen has gone
to Tucson!"
Fisher bethought himself, and we went out together in the
village. Not a woman to be found who would come to cook for us!
There was only one thing to do. The Quartermaster was allowed a
soldier, to assist in the Government work. I asked him if he
understood cooking; he said he had never done any, but he would
try, if I would show him how.
This proved a hopeless task, and I finally gave it up. Jack
dispatched an Indian runner to Fort Yuma, ninety miles or more
down river, begging Captain Ernest to send us a soldier-cook on
the next boat.
