r
railroads are shattered in a dozen places and their schedules, those
that have them, are dependent on the magnanimity of the various tribes
of bandits that infest the routes; but at the time I write of it was
harder.

To strike north overland was possible, though not to be advised, for
brigands infested the cedar forests of Sinaloa and southern Sonora; and
savage Yaquis, quite as much to be feared as the Apaches of further
north, ravaged the desert and mountain country. I solved the difficulty
finally by going to Mazatlan and shipping from that port as a deck-hand
on a Dutch brigantine, which I remember because of its exceptionally
vile quarters and the particularly dirty weather we ran up against on
our passage up the Gulf. The Gulf of California, especially the mouth of
it, has always had an evil reputation among mariners, and with justness,
but I firmly believe the elements out-did themselves in ferocity on the
trip I refer to.

Guaymas reached, my troubles were not over, for there was still the long
Sonora desert to be crossed before the haven of Hermosillo could be
reached. At last I made arrangements with a freighting outfit and went
along with them. I had had a little money when I started, but both
Mazatlan and Guaymas happened to be chiefly filled with cantinas and
gambling-hells, and as I was not averse to frequenting either of these
places of first resort to the lonely wanderer, my money-bag was
considerably depleted when at last I arrived in the beautiful capital of
Sonora. I was, in fact, if a few odd dollars are excepted, broke, and
work was a prime necessity. Fortunately, jobs were at that time not very
hard to find.

There was at that time in Hermosillo a house named the Casa Marian Para,
kept by one who styled himself William Taft. The Casa Marian Para will
probably be remembered in Hermosillo by old-timers now--in fact, I have
my doubts that it is not still standing. It was the chief stopping-house
in Sonora at that time. I obtained employment from Taft as a cook, but
stayed with it only long enough to procure myself a "grub-stake," after
which I "hit the grit" for Tucson, crossing the border on the Nogales
trail a few days later. I arrived in Tucson in the latter part of the
year 1870, and obtained work cooking for Charlie Brown and his family.

It was while I was employed as chef in the Brown household that I
made--and lost, of course, a fortune. No, it wasn't a very big fortune,
but it was a f