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without a thing on but a gee…string。 The women had belts with rawhide
strings hanging to the knees。 They put them on one over the other until
they didn't feel too decollotey。 It wasn't until the soldiers came that the
officers' wives got them to wear handkerchiefs over their breasts。 The
system was all right； though。 They wallowed around in the hot； clean
sand； like chickens； and kept healthy。 Since they took to wearing clothes
they've been petering out； and dying of dirt and assorted diseases。
They ran this ferry monopoly by means of boats made of tules； charged a
scand'lous low price； and everything was happy and lovely。 I ran on a
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little bar and panned out some dust； so I camped a while； washing gold；
getting friendly with the Yumas； and talking horse and other things with
the immigrants。 About a month of this； and the Texas boys drifted
in。 Seems they sort of overdid the scalp matter； and got found out。 When
they saw me； they stopped and went into camp。 They'd travelled a heap
of desert； and were getting sick of it。 For a while they tried gold washing；
but I had the only pocketand that was about skinned。 One evening a
fellow named Walleye announced that he had been doing some figuring；
and wanted to make a speech。 We told him to fire ahead。 〃Now
look here；〃 said he； 〃what's the use of going to California？ Why not stay
here？〃 〃What in hell would we do here？〃 someone asked。 〃Collect
Gila monsters for their good looks？〃 〃Don't get gay；〃 said Walleye。
〃What's the matter with going into business？ Here's a heap of people
going through； and more coming every day。 This ferry business could be
made to pay big。 Them Injins charges two bits a head。 That's a crime
for the only way across。 And how much do you suppose whisky'd be
worth to drink after that desert？ And a man's so sick of himself by the
time he gets this far that he'd play chuck…a…luck； let alone faro or monte。〃
That kind of talk hit them where they lived； and Yuma was founded right
then and there。 They hadn't any whisky yet； but cards were plenty； and
the ferry monopoly was too easy。 Walleye served notice on the Injins
that a dollar a head went； and we all set to building a tule raft like the
others。 Then the wild bunch got uneasy； so they walked upstream one
morning and stole the Injins' boats。 The Injins came after them innocent
as babies； thinking the raft had gone adrift。 When they got into camp our
men opened up and killed four of them as a kind of hint。 After that the
ferry company didn't have any trouble。 The Yumas moved up river a
ways； where they've lived ever since。 They got the corpses and buried
them。 That is； they dug a trench for each one and laid poles across it；
with a funeral pyre on the poles。 Then they put the body on top； and the
women of the family cut their hair off and threw it on。 After that they set
fire to the outfit； and； when the poles bad burned through； the whole
business fell into the trench of its own accord。 It was the neatest；
automatic； self…cocking； double…action sort of a funeral I ever saw。 There
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wasn't any ceremonyonly crying。
The ferry business flourished at prices which were sometimes hard to
collect。 But it was a case of pay or go back； and it was a tur'ble long ways
back。 We got us timbers and made a scow； built a baile and saloon and
houses out of adobe； and called her Yuma； after the Injins that had really
started her。 We got our supplies through the Gulf of California； where
sailing boats worked up the river。 People began to come in for one
reason or another； and first thing we knew we had a store and all sorts of
trimmings。 In fact we was a real live town。
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CHAPTER ELEVEN THE
SAILOR WITH ONE HAND
At this moment the heavy beat of the storm on the roof ceased with
miraculous suddenness； leaving the outside world empty of sound save for
the DRIP； DRIP； DRIP of eaves。 Nobody ventured to fill in the pause
that followed the stranger's last words； so in a moment he continued his
narrative。
We had every sort of people with us off and on； and； as I was lookout
at a popular game； I saw them all。 One evening I was on my way home
about two o'clock of a moonlit night； when on the edge of the shadow I
stumbled over a body lying part across the footway。 At the same instant I
heard the rip of steel through cloth and felt a sharp stab in my left leg。
For a minute I thought some drunk had used his knife on me； and I mighty
near derringered him as he lay。 But somehow I didn't； and looking closer；
I saw the man was unconscious。 Then I scouted to see what had cut me；
and found that the fellow had lost a hand。 In place of it he wore a sharp
steel hook。 This I had tangled up with and gotten well pricked。 I
dragged him out into the light。 He was a slim…built young fellow； with
straight black hair； long and lank and oily； a lean face； and big hooked
nose。 He had on only a thin shirt； a pair of rough wool pants； and the
rawhide home…made zapatos the Mexicans wore then instead of boots。
Across his forehead ran a long gash； cutting his left eyebrow square in two。
There was no doubt of his being alive； for he was breathing hard； like a
man does when he gets hit over the head。 It didn't sound good。 When a
man breathes that way he's mostly all gone。
Well； it was really none of my business； as you might say。 Men got
batted over the head often enough in those days。 But for some reason I
picked him up and carried him to my 'dobe shack； and laid him out； and
washed his cut with sour wine。 That brought him to。 Sour wine is fine
to put a wound in shape to