10 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[July 3, 1909- 
him,’ he kept sayin’. ‘I’ll sure kill him if I 
have to die for it. No low down chuckawalla 
eatin’ Injun can play this sort of a game on me 
an’ get away with it.’ 
“We went back to work an’ made the usual 
wages. Next day we didn t make so much, 
the pay dirt seemed to be peterin’ out. In the 
afternoon the Papago came an sat by awhile 
watchin’ us pan an’ tryin’ to talk. We wouldn’t 
talk. He came again the next afternoon an’ said 
he was goin’ to move back in the range in a day 
or two. Had we changed our minds about 
tradin’? We hadn’t. 
“That day we didn’t pan more than a dollar 
an' a half or maybe six bits. The pay streak 
in the gravel had petered out. We prospected 
other parts of the bar. A cent to the pan was 
the most any of it washed. Jim continued to be 
mad. Not often speakin’, except to break out 
cussin’ the Injun. ‘I’ll tell you what, he pro¬ 
posed the next rnornin’, ‘you cross-cut the place 
where we got the best pannin’s an’ see if you 
can’t find an old channel. I’ll go up the creek; 
maybe there’s pay gravel further on.’ 
“I worked away all the rnornin’ runnin’ a 
trench, scrapin’ bed rock an’ pannin’ it—the 
gravel was shallow—but gettin’ nothin’ encour¬ 
agin’. ’Twas the same in the afternoon an’ 
about 3 o’clock I quit, disgusted, an’ started for 
camp to get the smooth-bore an’ kill a couple 
of turkeys. I had gone maybe half way when 
I heard a fearful loud boom in that direction; 
loud as a cannon, it seemed to me. I ran the 
rest of the way, sure somethin’ was wrong, ex¬ 
pectin’ to find that our powder cache had been 
blown up—it was buried in the tent—an’ that 
our whole outfit had been destroyed. 
“Well, sir, when I did get there I saw what 
gave me the cold shivers. That Papago Injun 
was settin’ on the ground weavin’ back and for¬ 
ward an’ hangin’ on to his jaw—which was 
blowed to tatters—with his left hand. His right 
hand an’ forearm hung useless an’ mangled an’ 
he was blood-spattered all over. In front of 
him stood Jim, grinnin’ an’ talkin’ Spanish to 
him, callin’ him all sorts of names an’ askin’ 
him if he was goin’ to poison any more burros 
right soon. 
“ ‘Jim Holden, what have you done to this 
fellow?’ I asked him. 
“He turned an’ looked at me kind of vacant 
an’ foolish an’ his eyes had a strange sort of 
a wild stare in ’em. ‘Oh, I ain’t done nothin’ 
at all, pardner,’ said he; ‘nothin’ at all. He 
wanted to trade a burro for the smooth-bore, 
but first he must try it an’ I guess it was loaded 
too heavy. Anyhow, it bust an’ sort of scratched 
him a bit.’ 
“‘Dog-gone you, you put up a job on him,’ 
said I. 
“ ‘Well, maybe it was a little overcharged,’ he 
allowed, ‘an’ come to think of it I rammed a 
couple of handfulls of sand an’ grass down on 
top of the shot. He! he ! he!’ 
“His laugh was silly. He turned an’ went to 
cussin’ the Injun again. He had gone bug-house 
for sure. 
“I stood still, wonderin’ what I best do; what 
I could do. I remembered afterward seein’ the 
busted barrel an’ the stock of the gun all splin¬ 
tered. All at once the Papago fell back, turned 
gray an’ lay still. He was dyin’ from loss of 
blood. Away off to the north I heard, or thought 
f I did, the bawlin’ of a burro. ‘Say, was anyone 
with this fellow when the gun bust ? I asked. 
But Jim didn’t seem to notice me. I went up to 
him, shook him, an’ asked again. 
“ ‘Oh, yes, the young one was with him, I think, _ 
but I don’t seem to remember where he went, do 
you?’ he answered, kind of wakin up for a 
minute. 
“I saw that we had to get out of there poco 
pronto before the young fellow would have time 
to arouse the camp an’ bring ’em down on us. 
I got together a pack for each of us, a blanket 
apiece, our cartridges an’ what grub we could 
carry. The Papago was dead. I dragged the 
body into the tent, dug down to the powder 
and attached a long fuse to it, made Jim put 
on his pack, put on mine, an’ lightin’ the fuse 
an’ grabbin’ my partner by the arm, started off 
up the mountains. He was just like a child for 
mindin’ an’ came along easy, now laughin’ or 
cussin’ the Papago, an’ again moanin’ about the 
burros. 
“We hadn’t gone far when boom! went the 
powder, an’ lookin’ back I saw a big cloud of 
smoke shoot up above the treetops. That was 
the last I ever saw of that camp. I let go of 
Jim an’ he followed peaceful enough. I kept 
in the heavy pine timber, where our tracks 
wouldn’t show on the dry needles, an’ never 
stopped ’till it was too dark to see my way. I 
made down our bed beside a little creek. Jim 
wouldn’t eat. His cheeks an’ hands were burn- 
in’ hot an’ he talked wilder than ever. I didn’t 
dare make a fire, so I ate some raw pork an a 
piece of bread that was left from breakfast. We 
had a lot of quinine an’ I gave Jim some big 
doses of it, puttin’ it in his mouth an’ makin’ 
him swallow it. Watchin’ an’ dopin’ him, I 
never got a wink of sleep. It was a fearful 
night, but not a marker for what was to come. 
“In the rnornin’ Jim was sure sick; down with 
some kind of a fever an’ too weak to get up. 
I built a shelter of poles an’ pine boughs, ex¬ 
pectin’ every minute to be discovered an’ at¬ 
tacked by the Papagos, for we were only a few 
miles from where we had camped. Well, sir, 
to cut a long story short, I didn’t get any sleep 
for three days an’ I came near droppin’ myself. 
I made sure that Jim was goin’ to die. By the 
time the third night came he had the worst 
fever I ever met up with in any man an’ I’ve 
seen some plenty of cases, you bet. ‘It’s got 
to be a kill or cure,’ I said to myself; ‘I’ve got 
to make him sweat.’ 
“I had brought along the coffee pot an’ build- 
in’ the smallest kind of a fire an’ screenin’ the 
blaze with a lot of boughs, I steeped some tea 
of madrone leaves an’ made him wash down a 
dose of thirty grains of quinine with it. I kept 
makin’ the tea an’ pourin’ it into him an’ at last 
he began to sweat a plenty an’ went to sleep. In 
the rnornin’ his head was clear an’ he was all 
right, except bein’ weak. Then I laid down an 
slept twenty-four hours straight. But first I 
had to explain to him where we were an’ why 
we were there. He didn’t remember fixin’ the 
smooth-bore to bust an’ kill the Papago, or any¬ 
thing else for a day or two before that, him 
bein’ bughouse long before I realized it. 
“We lay where we were three days more an’ 
then lit out for the plains an’ the Mexican 
settlement of Bavispe. There we bought two 
burros, went north to El Paso an’ hirin’ out 
as scouts for an immigrant train, finally got back 
here to Arizona. I ain’t been in Sonora since 
an’ I haven’t any great hankerin’ to go, either. 
Injuns have long memories sometimes. 
“‘And what became of your partner, Jim?’ 
I asked, preparing to go home. 
“Jim? Oh, he made a fool of himself over 
a woman. Fell in love with one an’ married 
her, an’ she made him settle down on a ranch 
in the Salt River Valley. I drifted in to visit 
him once, but only stayed a day. It was too 
darn painful to watch him, as brave a man as 
ever lived, a tiptoein’ around an’ her a tongue 
lashin’ him all the time. Besides, she didn’t 
have no use for me. ‘Come on down to Phoe¬ 
nix,’ I said to Jim, ‘an’ we’ll have one more 
good time like we used to.’ 
“ ‘Gee! I’d like to, old man,’ he replied, ‘but 
I ain’t got the dough. The old woman carries 
the sock an’ won’t loosen up.’ 
“‘Never mind that,’ said I; ‘here’s a couple 
of hundred.’ 
“Well, sir, he fairly groaned at the sight of 
it. ‘Old man,’ said he, plumb wishful, ‘I’d like 
to, you know I would, but the price I’d have to 
pay would be too much. She’d rub it into me 
about bein’ a shiftless inebriate for the next ten 
years.’ 
“Think of that. Jim Holden afraid of a 
woman. You bet your life if she was my wife 
I’d do the bossin’.” 
I wonder if he would? * 
Prehistoric Dogs. 
In the Danish “kitchen-middens,’’ or heaps of 
household refuse, piled up by the men of the 
Newer Stone period—a time when our Scandi¬ 
navian forefathers used chipped or polished flints 
instead of metal for their weapons—are found 
bone cuttings belonging to some species of the 
genus Canis. Along with these remains are 
some of the long bones of birds, all the other 
bones of the said birds being absent. Now it 
is known that the bird bones here found are 
the very ones which dogs cannot devour, while 
the absent ones are such as they can bolt with 
ease, and it has been ingeniously argued from 
this that the remains in question did really Be¬ 
long to a domestic dog, as, if the animals to 
which they appertained had been wolves, they 
would have made short work of the long bones 
as well as of the others. Other dog bones are 
found in Denmark in later periods. At the time 
when the flint knives were succeeded by bronze 
a large dog existed, and at the time when iron 
was used one larger still. In Switzerland, dur¬ 
ing the Newer Stone period, a dog existed, which 
is probably the oldest of which we have any 
record. It “partook of the character of our 
hounds and setters or spaniels,” and, in the mat¬ 
ter of its skull, “was about equally remote from 
the wolf and jackal.” This dog, too, like its 
Danish contemporary, was succeeded in the 
Bronze period by a larger variety. Thus we 
see that at a time when our ancestors were 
living “in dens and caves of the earth” in a 
state of civilization about equal to that of the 
African or Australian aborigines of the present 
day, the dog was already systematically kept 
and “selected”; that is, any good varieties which 
appeared were taken note of and kept up. 
Cassell’s Natural History. 
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