Everything was new, everything was a wonder to
her and to my nephew. At first, he seemed to gain perceptibly,
and we had great hopes of his recovery.
It was now cool enough to sleep indoors, and we began to know
what it was to have a good night's rest.
But no sooner had we gotten one part of our life comfortably
arranged, before another part seemed to fall out of adjustment.
Accidents and climatic conditions kept my mind in a perpetual
state of unrest.
Our dining-room door opened through two small rooms into the
kitchen, and one day, as I sat at the table, waiting for Jack to
come in to supper, I heard a strange sort of crashing noise.
Looking towards the kitchen, through the vista of open doorways,
I saw Ellen rush to the door which led to the courtyard. She
turned a livid white, threw up her hands, and cried, "Great God!
the Captain!" She was transfixed with horror.
I flew to the door, and saw that the pump had collapsed and gone
down into the deep sulphur well. In a second, Jack's head and
hands appeared at the edge; he seemed to be caught in the debris
of rotten timber. Before I could get to him, he had scrambled
half way out. "Don't come near this place," he cried, "it's all
caving in!"
And so it seemed; for, as he worked himself up and out, the
entire structure feel in, and half the corral with it, as it
looked to me.
Jack escaped what might have been an unlucky bath in his sulphur
well, and we all recovered our composure as best we could.
Surely, if life was dull at Ehrenberg, it could not be called
exactly monotonous. We were not obliged to seek our excitement
outside; we had plenty of it, such as it was, within our walls.
My confidence in Ehrenberg, however, as a salubrious
dwelling-place, was being gradually and literally undermined. I
began to be distrustful of the very ground beneath my feet. 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!
