But he is not too dependent upon hospitality. Fish
are in every creek; game, although not so
plentiful as might be supposed, is still in most
places a sure resource; and with a little bag of
beef or parched corn ground by the
hands of Indian squaws, the traveller who has
few wants may have few troubles.

Journeying in this manner, and enjoying it,
I nevertheless did once fall into sore trouble.

I was on the way to a U. S. military post on
the frontier, and the road to it lay across the
wide valley of the Colorado of the west, where
that river, the Nile of North America, divides
the great Californian desert from the wild and
little known territory of New Mexico. After
a hot ride over the low barren table-land, which
extends from within a dozen miles of the river
to the base of the rugged granite wall that
bounds the horizon, I came to a point where
the path suddenly descended a steep of a hundred
feet. It was evident that I had reached
a level partially blessed by the great periodical
inundation. The acacia of the New World
—mezquit-tree—with its gnarled stem and pale
green foliage, showed that the ground knew
moisture. Farther on, the appearance of a
covey of crested quail, piping and fluttering
among the bushes, proved that water could
not be far distant, and that to find it I should
not be obliged to go as far as the river itself,
or to force my way through the almost impenetrable
jungle on its banks. The steady
manner in which the quail advanced in one direction,
testified that they were going to their
watering-place. I followed them for more than
a mile, and was enchanted by the sight most
welcome to a wayfarer through the desert.
This sight was, a deep oval basin, about fifty
or sixty yards in length, bordered by shady
willow-trees, and having in the centre one
spot of moist black mud—on its surface, a
shallow pool containing about a cupful of
water. From the numerous footprints in the
neighbourhood of this miniature tank, it was
evident that many small animals, especially
the coyoté (the American jackal), were in
the habit of visiting it. I determined to execute
a public work, and confer lasting benefit
upon the population of the desert, by
converting this miserable pool into a decent
well. The spot, indeed, was in many ways so
attractive, that it was impossible to resist the
temptation of remaining there for a few days.
At each end of the basin was a large plot of
grass—a rare sight in that burnt-up land—which
my horse had already begun to crop while I was
engaged in my amateur survey. Close by, was
a grove of mezquit, laden with golden branches
of pecheta—the staff of life to the New Mexican
horses. There was abundance of dry wood,
and what more was required for a perfect camp,
if the well should but turn out well?

Having picketed the horse on the little
meadow, I set to work with a bowie-knife, and
in the course of a few hours dug what I regarded
as a very pretty well. It tilled rapidly with
water, and towards evening the water became as
pure and clear as lip could wish. My horse appeared
to enjoy the unwonted luxury of grass,
but he did not properly appreciate the glory of
being the first settler and improver in the desert.
Evidently he longed for the society of his own
kind; being so restless that I rather feared
he might break away in the night and join
a little herd of ponies and mules belonging
to an adventurous pioneer, who had established
a solitary rancho about twenty-five miles off,
among the cane-brakes and cotton-wood groves
on the bank of the river. I thought it prudent,
therefore, to " hobble" as well as picket him
before retiring to rest.

Lying beside a cheerful fire, watching the
great comet which then blazed in the sky, and
tranquilly smoking the pipe of contentment, I
experienced all the exquisite joys of the
boundless chamber, and after a night of glorious
and wholesome sleep, such as the dweller in
houses seldom knows, I rose and inspected my
new well. Numerous coyoté tracks around its
margin showed that the oasis had not been
without visitors during the night. My horse
appeared reconciled to his position, and to
luxuriate in the new sensation of repose. Feeling
that he might be safely trusted alone, I
started on an exploratory walk in the direction
of the river. On every side, there extended a
monotonous and desert plain, which in many
places bore signs of having been partially over-
flowed. Except a low ridge of yellow sand-hill,
there were no breaks in the dreary level, save
here and there a stunted shrub or a thorny old
mezquit-tree. On the summit of the sand-hill,
were the remains of an Indian encampment,
where a Yuma family had evidently fixed
their summer quarters during the last inunda-
tion. A rude sun-shade of posts and boughs,
and a few broken jars, were the only traces of
the former occupants: who had returned with
the subsiding waters to the willow-shaded
lagoons and bayous of the mosquito-haunted
river.

From this slight elevation could be seen the
long sierras of New Mexico, and the solitary precipitous
peaks that rise like beacons in the desert
of California: while, a few miles to the westward,
a dark green line marked the course of the Colorado.
On returning to my camp, I found all
well, and my mind was relieved on observing
that neither the coyotés nor the ground rats had
been able to reach the bag of provisions, which
I had left hung to the branch of a tree. Reposing
in the shade of the willows, I applauded
myself for the well I had called into existence,
and regretted that the fertile ground around it
was too limited for the working out of any ideas
of an agricultural nature. Three days were spent
thus agreeably, in idle watching of the manners
and customs of the wild creatures by day, and in
gazing at the comet by night. Sometimes, when
I lay awake, I shot a quail, and it amused me to
cook him à la braise, while the never-failing pipe
was famous company. At last I became sensible
that even these simple pleasures must come
to an end, and that, as I had only provision for a