igarette with an air
of insufferable probity. I gave her up and played a new game of smashing
horseflies as they settled on my mount. Dandy Jim plays the game ably.
When a big fly settles on his nose he holds his head round so I can reach
it. He does not flinch at the terrific smash of my hat across his face.
If a fly alights on his neck or shoulder, and I do not remark it, he
turns his head slightly toward me and winks, so I can stalk and pot it.
He is very crafty here. If the fly is on his right side he turns and
winks his left eye at me so the insect will not observe him. And yet
there are people who say horses don't reason.

I now opened fifty more gates and we left the cool green of the fields
for a dusty side road that skirts the base of the mesa. We jogged along
in silence, which I presently heard stir with the faint, sweet strain of
a violin; an air that rose and wailed and fell again, on a violin played
with a certain back-country expertness. The road bent to show us its
source. We were abreast of the forlorn little shack of a dry-farmer,
weathered and patched, set a dozen yards from the road and surrounded
by hard-packed earth. Before the open door basked children and pigs and
a few spiritless chickens.

All the children ran to the door when we halted and called to someone
within. The fiddle played on with no faltering, but a woman came
out--a gaunt and tattered woman who was yet curiously cheerful. The
children lurked in her wake as she came to us and peered from beyond
her while we did our business.

Our business was that the redskin, Laura, official laundress of the
Arrowhead, had lately attended an evening affair in the valley at which
the hitherto smart tipple of Jamaica ginger had been supplanted by a
novel and potent beverage, Nature's own remedy for chills, dyspepsia,
deafness, rheumatism, despair, carbuncles, jaundice, and ennui. Laura had
partaken freely and yet again of this delectable brew, and now suffered
not only from a sprained wrist but from detention, having suffered arrest
on complaint of the tribal sister who had been nearest to her when she
sprained her wrist. Therefore, if Mrs. Dave Pickens wanted to come over
to-morrow and wash for us, all right; she could bring her oldest girl to
help.

Mrs. Dave thereupon turned her head languidly toward the ignoble dwelling
and called: "Dave!" Then again, for the fiddle stayed not: "Dave! Oh,
Dave!"

The fiddle ceased to moan--complainingly it s