diseases。
  They　ran　this　ferry　monopoly　by　means　of　boats　made　of　tules；
  charged　a　scand'lous　low　price；　and　everything　was　happy　and
  lovely。　　I　ran　on　a　little　bar　and　panned　out　some　dust；　so　I
  camped　a　while；　washing　gold；　getting　friendly　with　the　Yumas；
  and　talking　horse　and　other　things　with　the　immigrants。
  About　a　month　of　this；　and　the　Texas　boys　drifted　in。　Seems　they
  sort　of　overdid　the　scalp　matter；　and　got　found　out。　　When　they
  saw　me；　they　stopped　and　went　into　camp。　　They'd　travelled　a　heap
  of　desert；　and　were　getting　sick　of　it。　　For　a　while　they　tried
  gold　washing；　but　I　had　the　only　pocketand　that　was　about
  skinned。　　One　evening　a　fellow　named　Walleye　announced　that　he
  had　been　doing　some　figuring；　and　wanted　to　make　a　speech。　　We
  told　him　to　fire　ahead。
  〃Now　look　here；〃　said　he；　〃what's　the　use　of　going　to　California？
  Why　not　stay　here？〃
  〃What　in　hell　would　we　do　here？〃　someone　asked。　　〃Collect　Gila
  monsters　for　their　good　looks？〃
  〃Don't　get　gay；〃　said　Walleye。　　〃What's　the　matter　with　going
  into　business？　　Here's　a　heap　of　people　going　through；　and　more
  coming　every　day。　　This　ferry　business　could　be　made　to　pay　big。
  Them　Injins　charges　two　bits　a　head。　　That's　a　crime　for　the　only
  way　across。　　And　how　much　do　you　suppose　whisky'd　be　worth　to
  drink　after　that　desert？　　And　a　man's　so　sick　of　himself　by　the
  time　he　gets　this　far　that　he'd　play　chuck…a…luck；　let　alone　faro
  or　monte。〃
  That　kind　of　talk　hit　them　where　they　lived；　and　Yuma　was　founded
  right　then　and　there。　　They　hadn't　any　whisky　yet；　but　cards　were
  plenty；　and　the　ferry　monopoly　was　too　easy。　　Walleye　served
  notice　on　the　Injins　that　a　dollar　a　head　went；　and　we　all　set　to
  building　a　tule　raft　like　the　others。　　Then　the　wild　bunch　got
  uneasy；　so　they　walked　upstream　one　morning　and　stole　the　Injins'
  boats。　　The　Injins　came　after　them　innocent　as　babies；　thinking
  the　raft　had　gone　adrift。　　When　they　got　into　camp　our　men　opened
  up　and　killed　four　of　them　as　a　kind　of　hint。　　After　that　the
  ferry　company　didn't　have　any　trouble。　　The　Yumas　moved　up　river
  a　ways；　where　they've　lived　ever　since。　　They　got　the　corpses　and
  buried　them。　　That　is；　they　dug　a　trench　for　each　one　and　laid
  poles　across　it；　with　a　funeral　pyre　on　the　poles。　　Then　they　put
  the　body　on　top；　and　the　women　of　the　family　cut　their　hair　off
  and　threw　it　on。　　After　that　they　set　fire　to　the　outfit；　and；
  when　the　poles　bad　burned　through；　the　whole　business　fell　into
  the　trench　of　its　own　accord。　　It　was　the　neatest；　automatic；
  self…cocking；　double…action　sort　of　a　funeral　I　ever　saw。　　There
  wasn't　any　ceremonyonly　crying。
  The　ferry　business　flourished　at　prices　which　were　sometimes　hard
  to　collect。　But　it　was　a　case　of　pay　or　go　back；　and　it　was　a
  tur'ble　long　ways　back。　　We　got　us　timbers　and　made　a　scow；　built
  a　baile　and　saloon　and　houses　out　of　adobe；　and　called　her
  Yuma；　after　the　Injins　that　had　really　started　her。　　We　got　our
  supplies　through　the　Gulf　of　California；　where　sailing　boats
  worked　up　the　river。　　People　began　to　come　in　for　one　reason　or
  another；　and　first　thing　we　knew　we　had　a　store　and　all　sorts　of
  trimmings。　　In　fact　we　was　a　real　live　town。
  CHAPTER　ELEVEN
  THE　SAILOR　WITH　ONE　HAND
  At　this　moment　the　heavy　beat　of　the　storm　on　the　roof　ceased
  with　miraculous　suddenness；　leaving　the　outside　world　empty　of
  sound　save　for　the　DRIP；　DRIP；　DRIP　of　eaves。　　Nobody　ventured
  to　fill　in　the　pause　that　followed　the　stranger's　last　words；　so
  in　a　moment　he　continued　his　narrative。
  We　had　every　sort　of　people　with　us　off　and　on；　and；　as　I　was
  lookout　at　a　popular　game；　I　saw　them　all。　　One　evening　I　was　on
  my　way　home　about　two　o'clock　of　a　moonlit　night；　when　on　the
  edge　of　the　shadow　I　stumbled　over　a　body　lying　part　across　the
  footway。　　At　the　same　instant　I　heard　the　rip　of　steel　through
  cloth　and　felt　a　sharp　stab　in　my　left　leg。　　For　a　minute　I
  thought　some　drunk　had　used　his　knife　on　me；　and　I　mighty　near
  derringered　him　as　he　lay。　　But　somehow　I　didn't；　and　looking
  closer；　I　saw　the　man　was　unconscious。　　Then　I　scouted　to　see
  what　had　cut　me；　and　found　that　the　fellow　had　lost　a　hand。　　In
  place　of　it　he　wore　a　sharp　steel　hook。　　This　I　had　tangled　up
  with　and　gotten　well　pricked。
  I　dragged　him　out　into　the　light。　　He　was　a　slim…built　young
  fellow；　with　straight　black　hair；　long　and　lank　and　oily；　a　lean
  face；　and　big　hooked　nose。　　He　had　on　only　a　thin　shirt；　a　pair
  of　rough　wool　pants；　and　the　rawhide　home…made　zapatos　the
  Mexicans　wore　then　instead　of　boots。　　Across　his　forehead　ran　a
  long　gash；　cutting　his　left　eyebrow　square　in　two。
  There　was　no　doubt　of　his　being　alive；　for　he　was　breathing　hard；
  like　a　man　does　when　he　gets　hit　over　the　head。　　It　didn't　sound
  good。　　When　a　man　breathes　that　way　he's　mostly　all　gone。
  Well；　it　was　really　none　of　my　business；　as　you　might　say。　　Men
  got　batted　over　the　head　often　enough　in　those　days。　　But　for
  some　reason　I　picked　him　up　and　carried　him　to　my　'dobe　shack；
  and　laid　him　out；　and　washed　his　cut　with　sour　wine。　　That
  brought　him　to。　　Sour　wine　is　fine　to　put　a　wound　in　shape　to
  heal；　but　it's　no　soothing　syrup。　　He　sat　up　as　though　he'd　been
  touched　with　a　hot　poker；　stared　around　wild…eyed；　and　cut　loose
  with　that　song　you　were　singing。　　Only　it　wasn't　that　verse。
  It　was　another　one　further　along；　that　went　like　this：
  Their　coffin　was　their　ship；　and　their　grave　it　was　the　sea；
  Blow　high；　blow　low；　what　care　we；
  And　the　quarter　that　we　gave　them　was　to　sink　them　in　the　sea；
  Down　on　the　coast　of　the　High　Barbaree。
  It　fair　made　my　hair　rise　to　hear　him；　with　the　big；　still；
  solemn　desert　outside；　and　the　quiet　moonlight；　and　the　shadows；
  and　him　sitting　up　straight　and　gaunt；　his　eyes　blazing　each　side
  his　big　eagle　nose；　and　his　snaky　hair　hanging　over　the　raw　cut
  across　his　head。　　However；　I　made　out　to　get　him　bandaged　up　and
  in　shape；　and　pretty　soon　he　sort　of　went　to　sleep。
  Well；　he　was　clean　out　of　his　head　for　nigh　two　weeks。　　Most　of
  the　time　he　lay　flat　on　his　back　staring　at　the　pole　roof；　his
  eyes　burning　and　looking　like　they　saw　each　one　something　a
  different　distance　off；　the　way　crazy　eyes　do。　　That　was　when　he
  was　best。　　Then　again　he'd　sing　that　Barbaree　song　until　I'd　go
  out　and　look　at　the　old　Colorado　flowing　by　just　to　be　sure　I
  hadn't　died　and　gone　below。　　Or　else　he'd　just　talk。　　That　was
  the　worst　performance　of　all。　　It　was　like　listening　to　one　end
  of　a　telephone；　though　we　didn't　know　what　telephones　were　in
  those　days。　　He　began　when　be　was　a　kid；　and　he　gave　his　side　of
  conversations；　pausing　for　replies。　　I　could　mighty　near　furnish
  the　replies　sometimes。　　It　was　queer　lingoabout　ships　and
  ships'　officers　and　gales　and　calms　and　fights　and　pearls　and
  whales　and　islands　and　birds　and　skies。　　But　it　was　all　little
  stuff。　　I　used　to　listen　by　the　hour；　but　I　never　made　out
  anything　really　important　as　to　who　the　man　was；　or　where　he'd
  come　from；　or　what　he'd　done。
  At　the　end　of　the　second　week　I　came　in　at　noon　as　per　usual　to
  fix　him　up　with　grub。　　I　didn't　pay　any　attention　to　him；　for　he
  was　quiet。　　As　I　was　bending　over　the　fire　he　spoke。　　Usually　I
  didn't　bother　with　his　talk；　for　it　didn't　mean　anything；　but
  something　in　his　voice　made　me　turn。　　He　was　lying　on　his　side；
  those　black　eyes　of　his　blazing　at　me；　but　now　both　of　them　saw
  the　same　distance。
  〃Where　are　my　clothes？〃　he　asked；　very　intense。
  〃You　ain't　in　any　shape　to　want　clothes；〃　said　I。　　〃Lie　still。〃
  I　hadn't　any　more　than　got　the　words　out　of　my　mouth　before　he
  was　atop　me。　　His　method　was　a　winner。　　He　had　me　by　the　throat
  with　his　hand；　and　I　felt　the　point　of　the　hook　pricking　the　back
  of　my　neck。　One　little　squeezeTalk　about　your　deadly　weapons！
  But　he'd　been　too　sick　and　too　long　abed。　　He　turned　dizzy　and
  keeled　over；　and　I　dumped　him　back　on　the　bunk。　　Then　I　put　my
  six…shooter　on。
  In　a　minute　or　so　he　came　to。
  〃Now　you're　a　nice；　sweet　proposition；〃　said　I；　as　soon　as　I　was
  sure　he　could　understand　me。　　〃Here　I　pick　you　up　on　the　street
  and　save　your　worthless　carcass；　and　the　first　chance　you　get　you
  try　to　crawl　my　hump。
  Explain。〃
  〃Where's　my　clothes？〃　he　demanded　again；　very　fierce。
  〃For　heaven's　sake；〃　I　yelled　at　him；　〃what's　the　matter　with　you
  and　your　old　clothes？　　There　ain't　enough　of　them　to　dust　a
  fiddle　with　anyway。　　What　do　you　think　I'd　want　with　them？
  They're　safe　enough。〃'
  〃Let　me　have　them；〃　he　begged。
  〃Now；　look　here；〃　said　I；　〃you　can't　get　up　to…day。　　You　ain't
  fit。〃
  〃I　know；〃　he　pleaded；　〃but　let　me　see　them。〃
  Just　to　satisfy　him　I　passed　over　his　old　duds。
  〃I've　been　robbed；〃　he　cried。
  〃Well；〃　said　I；　〃what　did　you　expect　would　happen　to　you　lying
  around　Yuma