We were often without milk for weeks at a time, for the cows crossed the river to graze, and sometimes could not get back until the river fell again, and they could pick their way back across the shifting sand bars.
The Indian brought the water every morning in buckets from the river.
It looked like melted chocolate.

He filled the barrels, and when it had settled clear, the ollas were filled, and thus the drinking water was a trifle cooler than the air.

One day it seemed unusually cool, so I said: "Let us see by the thermometer how cool the water really is." We found the temperature of the water to be 86 degrees; but that, with the air at 122 in the shade, seemed quite refreshing to drink.
I did not see any white people at all except Fisher, Abe Frank (the mail contractor), and one or two of the younger merchants.

If I wanted anything, I went to Fisher.

He always could solve the difficulty.