They kept American cows, and supplied Whipple Barracks with milk and butter.
We drank, and drank, and drank again, and carried a jugful to our bedside.

The third day brought us to Cullen's ranch, at the edge of the desert.

Mrs.Cullen was a Mexican woman and had a little boy named Daniel; she cooked us a delicious supper of stewed chicken, and fried eggs, and good bread, and then she put our boy to bed in Daniel's crib.
I felt so grateful to her; and with a return of physical comfort, I began to think that life, after all, might be worth the living.
Hopefully and cheerfully the next morning we entered the vast Colorado desert.

This was verily the desert, more like the desert which our imagination pictures, than the one we had crossed in September from Mojave.

It seemed so white, so bare, so endless, and so still; irreclaimable, eternal, like Death itself.