"Towards morning I came to an arroyo which was running full of water.
My idea was to get that between me and the scene of my trouble, so
I took off my boots to wade it. When about one third way across, I
either stepped off a bluff bank or into a well, for I went under and
dropped the boots. When I came to the surface I made a few strokes
swimming and landed in a clump of mesquite brush, to which I clung,
got on my feet, and waded out to the opposite bank more scared than
hurt. Right there I lay until daybreak.

"The thing that I remember best now was the peculiar odor of the wet
mole-skin. If there had been a strolling artist about looking for
a picture of Despair, I certainly would have filled the bill. The
sleeves were torn out of my shirt, and my face and arms were scratched
and bleeding from the thorns of the mesquite. No one who could have
seen me then would ever have dreamed that I was a walking depositary
of 'Other People's Money.' When it got good daylight I started out
and kept the shelter of the brush to hide me. After nearly an hour's
travel, I came out on a divide, and about a mile off I saw what looked
like a jacal. Directly I noticed a smoke arise, and I knew then it was
a habitation. My appearance was not what I desired, but I approached
it.

"In answer to my knock at the door a woman opened it about two inches
and seemed to be more interested in examination of my anatomy than in
listening to my troubles. After I had made an earnest sincere talk she
asked me, 'No estay loco tu?' I assured her that I was perfectly sane,
and that all I needed was food and clothing, for which I would pay her
well. It must have been my appearance that aroused her sympathy, for
she admitted me and fed me.