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deserted the camp fire and went rustling for our blankets。 At the end of
ten minutes every bed was safe within the doors of the abandoned adobe
ranch house； each owner recumbent on the floor claim he had pre…empted；
and every man hoping fervently that he had guessed right as to the
location of leaks。 Ordinarily we had depended on the light of camp
fires； so now artificial illumination lacked。 Each man was indicated by
the alternately glowing and waning lozenge of his cigarette fire。
Occasionally someone struck a match； revealing for a moment high…lights
on bronzed countenances； and the silhouette of a shading hand。 Voices
spoke disembodied。 As the conversation developed； we gradually
recognised the membership of our own roomful。 I had forgotten to state
that the ranch house included four chambers。 Outside； the rain roared
with Arizona ferocity。 Inside； men congratulated themselves； or swore as
leaks developed and localised。
Naturally we talked first of stampedes。 Cows and bears are the two
great cattle…country topics。 Then we had a mouth…organ solo or two；
which naturally led on to songs。 My turn came。 I struck up the first
verse of a sailor chantey as possessing at least the interest of novelty：
Oh； once we were a…sailing； a…sailing were we； Blow high；
blow low； what care we； And we were a…sailing to see what we could
see； Down on the coast of the High Barbaree。
I had just gone so far when I was brought up short by a tremendous
oath behind me。 At the same instant a match flared。 I turned to face a
stranger holding the little light above his head； and peering with fiery
intentness over the group sprawled about the floor。 He was evidently
just in from the storm。 His dripping hat lay at his feet。 A shock of
straight； close…clipped vigorous hair stood up grey above his seamed
forehead。 Bushy iron…grey eyebrows drawn close together thatched a
pair of burning； unquenchable eyes。 A square； deep jaw； lightly stubbled
with grey； was clamped so tight that the cheek muscles above it stood out
in knots and welts。 Then the match burned his thick； square fingers；
and he dropped it into the darkness that ascended to swallow it。 〃Who
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was singing that song？〃 he cried harshly。 Nobody answered。 〃Who
was that singing？〃 he demanded again。
By this time I had recovered from my first astonishment。 〃I was
singing；〃 said I。 Another match was instantly lit and thrust into my
very face。 I underwent the fierce scrutiny of an instant； then the taper
was thrown away half consumed。 〃Where did you learn it？〃 the
stranger asked in an altered voice。 〃I don't remember；〃 I replied； 〃it is
a common enough deep…sea chantey。〃 A heavy pause fell。 Finally
the stranger sighed。 〃Quite like；〃 he said； 〃I never heard but one man
sing it。〃 〃Who in hell are you？〃 someone demanded out of the
darkness。 Before replying； the newcomer lit a third match； searching
for a place to sit down。 As he bent forward； his strong； harsh face once
more came clearly into view。
〃He's Colorado Rogers；〃 the Cattleman answered for him； 〃I know
him。〃 〃Well；〃 insisted the first voice； 〃what in hell does Colorado
Rogers mean by bustin' in on our song fiesta that way？〃 〃Tell them；
Rogers；〃 advised the Cattleman； 〃tell themjust as you told it down on the
Gila ten years ago next month。〃 〃What？〃 inquired Rogers。 〃Who
are you？〃 〃You don't know me；〃 replied the Cattleman； 〃but I was
with Buck Johnson's outfit then。 Give us the yarn。〃 〃Well；〃 agreed
Rogers； 〃pass over the 'makings' and I will。〃 He rolled and lit a
cigarette； while I revelled in the memory of his rich； great voice。 It was
of the sort made to declaim against the sea or the rush of rivers or； as here；
the fall of waters and the thunderfull； from the chest； with the caressing
throat vibration that gives colour to the most ordinary statements。 After
ten words we sank back oblivious of the storm； forgetful of the leaky roof
and the dirty floor； lost in the story told us by the Old Timer。
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CHAPTER TEN THE TEXAS
RANGERS
I came from Texas； like the bulk of you punchers； but a good while
before the most of you were born。 That was forty…odd years agoand
I've been on the Colorado River ever since。 That's why they call me
Colorado Rogers。 About a dozen of us came out together。 We had all
been Texas Rangers； but when the war broke out we were out of a job。
We none of us cared much for the Johnny Rebs； and still less for the Yanks；
so we struck overland for the West； with the idea of hitting the California
diggings。 Well； we got switched off one way and another。 When we
got down to about where Douglas is now； we found that the Mexican
Government was offering a bounty for Apache scalps。 That looked pretty
good to us； for Injin chasing was our job； so we started in to collect。 Did
pretty well； too； for about three months； and then the Injins began to get
too scarce； or too plenty in streaks。 Looked like our job was over with；
but some of the boys discovered that Mexicans； having straight black hair；
you couldn't tell one of their scalps from an Apache's。 After that the
bounty business picked up for a while。 It was too much for me； though；
and I quit the outfit and pushed on alone until I struck the Colorado about
where Yuma is now。 At that time the California immigrants by the
southern route used to cross just there； and these Yuma Injins had a
monopoly on the ferry business。 They were a peaceful； fine…looking lot；
without a thing on but a gee…string。 The women had belts with rawhide