Los Angeles herald., 1890-08-25

nature. As the day passed along, we
became very hungry, and the way my
friend descanted ON the provisions he
had in his dug-out was far more of an
appetizer to me than could have been an
absinthe frappee or cocktail.
At last we entered defile and after
toiling YEARLY on for several miles he
showed me, Just in front of an old
Apache fort, his residence. 1t was
miserable little hut stuck against bank,
all opening in front. There was stove,
two Mexican cots and few empty boxes
inside, and that was all. My friend
made dive under the roof and then
there came howl OF despair, followed
by curses, varied and numerous. The
Papagoes had raided his place during
his absence and left nothing but little
flour, three onions, pepper and salt and
a pot of mouldy stewed apples. Here
was fix. We were starving and there
was nothing to eat. AS 1 was gazing
intently into the distance, regretting
the fleshpots of the ancient and honor
able Pueblo. 1 saw big tortoise feeding
on a cactus. In two minutes | had
ridden him down on my burro, and two
minutes later off came his devoted head.
lit fire and cleaned out the pot, re-
warding my burro with the mouldy
apples. My friend gaped at me aghast
and asked me what l intended to do.
''To do?" said "why cook the tor
toise, sure. 1t is better than venison."
ooh! horror, exclaimed he, "why,
they are poison. Do you want to die at
my camp"
sternly informed him that poison
or not | was going ito eat the tortoise,
if l lived until could get him ready for
the table, beg pardon, for the old dry
goods box. If there is any thing 1 pride
myself about it is my culinary talent,
and beg you to believe that when 1 got
the meat three onions, pepper and salt
a small piece of bacon l unearthed from
and corner into that:pot.and had the fire
going, the smell was very satisfactory to
the nerves of my nose.
When the stew was nearly ready,
my friend became rather nervous. He
still asserted that the meat was poison
GUS, but he was not quite so sure. Then
he became interrogative, and when l
took the pot off the fire he looked at me
longingly. l pitched right in. Then
came the climax. Hurriedly Selling
spoon, my friend cried, dipping it into
the broth, cit may be poison and it
may not, but I'll be id if l wont risk
it" He did, and risked it several times
again until there was nothing left. We
are both alive still. Next day we met
another prospector who invited us to his
camp and there we lived in plenty until
we left for Tucson on our return trip.
We were fated to witness an Indian
battle after all. We took another
trail going back, and after travelling
about 15 miles, saw in little bottom
few conical huts strongly reminding one
of rag and bottle shops. A terrible bat
tie was going on in the village. The
Papagoes who were camped there had
obtained large number of bottles of
whisky from a Mexican trader. The
frewater was all gone. They were
fighting mad and belaboring each other
with clubs and the empty bottles. One
big fellow was laid out with his head
split open, and his squaw was pouring
water on him to bring him to- There
wasn't an Indian, male or female, who
wasn't bloody. By persuasion and the
free brandishing of our revolvers, we
managed to quiet the Indians and they
proceeded to dress their wounds. When
we left, peace reigned supreme, but all
our tobacco was gone.
Upon our arrival in Tucson we learned
that the Apache outbreak had been
false alarm, and when l told the story
of our first night out to the boys, the
shoemaker swore revenge and distinctly
refused three times in succession to take
a drink with me.