y, but I believe we cried just a little. Then
Mr. Bailey and Jack (thinking we were giving way, I suppose) pulled out
their big flasks, and we had to take a cup of good whiskey, weakened up
with a little water from our canteens, which had been filled at Walker's
ranch in the morning. Great Heavens! I thought, was it this morning
that we left Walker's ranch, or was it a year ago? So much had I lived
through in a few hours.

CHAPTER XV. FORDING THE LITTLE COLORADO

At a bend in the road the Mexican guide galloped up near the ambulance,
and pointing off to the westward with a graceful gesture, said:
"Colorado Chiquito! Colorado Chiquito!" And, sure enough, there in the
afternoon sun lay the narrow winding river, its surface as smooth as
glass, and its banks as if covered with snow.

We drove straight for the ford, known as Sunset Crossing. The guide was
sure he knew the place. But the river was high, and I could not see how
anybody could cross it without a boat. The Mexican rode his pony in
once or twice; shook his head, and said in Spanish, "there was much
quicksand. The old ford had changed much since he saw it." He galloped
excitedly to and fro, along the bank of the river, always returning to
the same place, and declaring "it was the ford; there was no other; he
knew it well."

But the wagons not having yet arrived, it was decided not to attempt
crossing until morning, when we could get a fresh start.

The sun was gradually sinking in the west, but the heat down in that
alkali river-bottom even at that early season of the year was most
uncomfortable. I was worn out with fright and fatigue; my poor child
cried piteously and incessantly. Nothing was of any avail to soothe him.
After the tents were pitched and the camp-fires made, some warm water
was brought, and I tried to wash away some of the dust from him, but the
alkali water only irritated his delicate skin, and his head, where it
had lain on my arm, was inflamed by the constant rubbing. It began
to break out in ugly blisters; I was in despair. We were about as
wretchedly off as two human beings could be, and live, it seemed to me.
The disappointment at not getting across the river, combined with
the fear that the Indians were still in the neighborhood, added to my
nervousness and produced an exhaustion which, under other circumstances,
would have meant collapse.

The mournful and demoniacal cries of the coyotes filled the night; they
seemed to come clo