Many a night I swore I should pack up and go home at daylight, but when daylight came and all again seemed serene and beautiful--how beautiful!--all fear would be forgotten; I would cook my trout or fry the breast of a young turkey, and with hot fresh bread and bacon grease, and strong coffee .-- Why, packing up was unthought of! One of my nearest neighbours was an old frontiers-man and Government scout.

He had married an Apache squaw, been adopted into the tribe (White Mountain Apaches) and possessed some influence.

He liked trout-fishing, so once or twice I accompanied him with his party, said party consisting of his wife and all her relatives--indeed most of the tribe.

The young bucks scouted and cut "sign" for us (another branch of the Apaches being then on the war-path), the women washed clothes, did the cooking, cleaned and smoked the fish, etc.

These Indians were rationed with beef by the Government, while they killed no doubt quite a number of our cattle, and even devoured eagerly any decomposed carcass found on the range; but they preferred the flesh of horses, mules and donkeys, detesting pork and fish.
In these mountains in summer a serious pest was a green-headed fly, which worried the cattle so much that about noon hour they would all congregate in a very close herd out in the open places for self-protection.