hinking. This was not the
first that the officers of the Sandy garrison had heard of those two new
"ranches" established within the year down in the hot but fertile
valley, and not more than four hours' easy gallop from Fort Phoenix,
where a couple of troops of "Ours" were stationed. The people who had so
confidently planted themselves there were evidently well to do, and they
brought with them a good-sized retinue of ranch- and herdsmen,--mainly
Mexicans,--plenty of "stock," and a complete "camp outfit," which served
them well until they could raise the adobe walls and finish their
homesteads. Curiosity led occasional parties of officers or enlisted
men to spend a day in saddle and thus to visit these enterprising
neighbors. Such parties were always civilly received, invited to
dismount, and soon to take a bite of luncheon with the proprietors,
while their horses were promptly led away, unsaddled, rubbed down, and
at the proper time fed and watered. The officers, of course, had
introduced themselves and proffered the hospitality and assistance of
the fort. The proprietors had expressed all proper appreciation, and
declared that if anything should happen to be needed they would be sure
to call; but they were too busy, they explained, to make social visits.
They were hard at work, as the gentlemen could see, getting up their
houses and their corrals, for, as one of them expressed it, "We've come
to stay." There were three of these pioneers; two of them, brothers
evidently, gave the name of Crocker. The third, a tall, swarthy,
all-over-frontiersman, was introduced by the others as Mr. Burnham.
Subsequent investigations led to the fact that Burnham was first cousin
to the Crockers. "Been long in Arizona?" had been asked, and the elder
Crocker promptly replied, "No, only a year,--mostly prospecting."

The Crockers were building down towards the stream; but Burnham, from
some freak which he did not explain, had driven his stakes and was
slowly getting up his walls half a mile south of the other homestead,
and high up on a spur of foot-hill that stood at least three hundred
feet above the general level of the valley. From his "coigne of vantage"
the whitewashed walls and the bright colors of the flag of the fort
could be dimly made out,--twenty odd miles down stream.

"Every now and then," said Captain Wayne, who happened up our way on a
general court, "a bull-train--a small one--went past the fort on its way
up to the ranch