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. A low box was placed for me to sit on. This
was a bachelor establishment, and there was no place but the
floor to lay things on; but what with the splashing and the
leaking and the dripping, the floor turned to mud and the white
clothes and towels were covered with it, and I myself was a
sight to behold. The Indian stood smiling at my plight. He spoke
only a pigeon English, but said, "too much-ee wet."
I was in despair; things began to look hopeless again to me. I
thought "surely these Mexicans must know how to manage with these
floors." Fisher, the steamboat agent, came in, and I asked him
if he could not find me a nurse. He said he would try, and went
out to see what could be done.
He finally brought in a rather forlorn looking Mexican woman
leading a little child (whose father was not known), and she said
she would come to us for quinze pesos a month. I consulted with
Fisher, and he said she was a pretty good sort, and that we could
not afford to be too particular down in that country.
