Tall, and well-made, with clean-cut limbs and features, fine smooth copper-colored skin, handsome face, heavy black hair done up in pompadour fashion and plastered with Colorado mud, which was baked white by the sun, a small feather at the crown of his head, wide turquoise bead bracelets upon his upper arm, and a knife at his waist--this was my Charley, my half-tame Cocopah, my man about the place, my butler in fact, for Charley understood how to open a bottle of Cocomonga gracefully, and to keep the glasses filled.
Charley also wheeled the baby out along the river banks, for we had had a fine "perambulator" sent down from San Francisco.

It was an incongruous sight, to be sure, and one must laugh to think of it.

The Ehrenberg babies did not have carriages, and the village flocked to see it.

There sat the fair-haired, six-months-old boy, with but one linen garment on, no cap, no stockings--and this wild man of the desert, his knife gleaming at his waist, and his gee-string floating out behind, wheeling and pushing the carriage along the sandy roads.
But this came to an end; for one day Fisher rushed in, breathless, and said: "Well! here is your baby! I was just in time, for that Injun of yours left the carriage in the middle of the street, to look in at the store window, and a herd of wild cattle came tearing down! I grabbed the carriage to the sidewalk, cussed the Injun out, and here's the child! It's no use," he added, "you can't trust those Injuns out of sight." The heat was terrific.

Our cots were placed in the open part of the corral (as our courtyard was always called).