the cramped little village and its unsavoury restaurant, I established
my first camp four miles south of it on a commodious and pleasant
opening, where we could do our own cooking. But here a new annoyance,
and rather a curious one, was met with. The cattle of the region
evinced a peculiar predilection for our wearing apparel. Especially
at night, the cows would come wandering in among our tents, like the
party who goes about seeking what he may devour, and on getting hold
of some such choice morsel as a sock, shirt, or blanket, Mrs. Bossie
would chew and chew, "gradually," to quote Mark Twain, "taking it in,
all the while opening and closing her eyes in a kind of religious
ecstasy, as if she had never tasted anything quite as good as an
overcoat before in her life." It is no use arguing about tastes, not
even with a cow. In spite of this drawback, it was pleasant to be out
in the country, which was growing delightfully green after the rains,
and gave us a foretaste of what we might expect.

The last thing to do, after all other preparations had been completed,
was to get into the camp three small bags containing seven hundred
and fifty Mexican dollars, since among the Mexican country population
paper money is hardly of any use. There was some talk about a raid on
the camp by some toughs in the neighbourhood, but we made our start
unmolested, on September 9, 1890.

Thanks to my letters from the Mexican Government, I had no trouble
at the custom-house in San Pedro. I stopped a few days there,
nevertheless, to buy some Mexican pack-saddles, called aparejos,
which, roughly speaking, are leather bags stuffed with straw, to be
fastened over the mules' backs. Through the courtesy of the Mexican
custom officials I also secured two excellent and reliable Mexican
packers, to take the place of some Americans who had been fighting