Cooley was interpreter and scout, and although he was a white man, he had married a young Indian girl, the daughter of one of the chiefs and was known as a squaw man.

There seemed to be two Indian girls at his ranch; they were both tidy and good-looking, and they prepared us a most appetizing supper.
The ranch had spaces for windows, covered with thin unbleached muslin (or manta, as it is always called out there), glass windows being then too great a luxury in that remote place.

There were some partitions inside the ranch, but no doors; and, of course, no floors except adobe.
Several half-breed children, nearly naked, stood and gazed at us as we prepared for rest.

This was interesting and picturesque from many standpoints perhaps, but it did not tend to make me sleepy.

I lay gazing into the fire which was smouldering in the corner, and finally I said, in a whisper, "Jack, which girl do you think is Cooley's wife ?" "I don't know," answered this cross and tired man; and then added, "both of 'em, I guess." Now this was too awful, but I knew he did not intend for me to ask any more questions.