d the last few yards that brought me out of the
city of Mazatlan and into the open country. In theory, of course, the
captain of the sloop-o'-war Jamestown could not have sent a squad of men
after me with instructions to bring me back off foreign soil dead or
alive, but in practice that is just what he would have done. Theory and
practice have a habit of differing, especially in the actions of an
irate skipper who sees one of his best ward-room stewards vanishing from
his jurisdiction.

Life now opened before me with such a vista of possibilities that I felt
my breath taken away. Here was I, a youth twenty-two years old, husky
and sound physically, free in a foreign country which I felt an instant
liking for, and no longer beholden to the Stars and Stripes for which I
was quite ready to fight but not to serve in durance vile on a
plague-ship. My spirit bounded at the thought of the liberty that was
mine, and I struck northward out of Mazatlan with a light step and a
lighter heart. At the edge of the city I paused awhile on a bluff to
gaze for the last time on the Bay, on the waters of which rode quietly
at anchor the vessel I had a few hours before quit so unceremoniously.
There was no regret in my heart as I stood there and looked. I had no
particular love for Mexico, but then I had no particular love for the
sea, either, and a good deal less for the ships that sailed the sea. So
I turned my back very definitely on that part of my life and set my face
toward the north, where, had I known it, I was to find my destiny
beneath the cloudless turquoise skies of Arizona.

When I left Mazatlan it was with the intention of walking as far as I
could before stopping, or until the weight of the small bundle
containing my worldly possessions tired my shoulders. But it was not to
be so. Only two miles out of the city I came upon a ranch owned by two
Americans, the sight of whom was very welcome to me just then. I had no
idea that I should find any American ranchers in the near neighborhood,
and considered myself in luck. I found that one of the American's names
was Colonel Elliot and I asked him for work. Elliot sized me up, invited
me in to rest up, and on talking with him I found him to be an
exceedingly congenial soul. He was an old Confederate colonel--was
Elliot, but although we had served on opposite sides of the sad war of a
few years back, the common bond of nationality that is always strongest
beyond the confines of one's