It was too much for me, though, and I quit the outfit and pushed on alone until I struck the Colorado about where Yuma is now.
At that time the California immigrants by the southern route used to cross just there, and these Yuma Injins had a monopoly on the ferry business.

They were a peaceful, fine-looking lot, without a thing on but a gee-string.

The women had belts with rawhide strings hanging to the knees.

They put them on one over the other until they didn't feel too decollotey.

It wasn't until the soldiers came that the officers' wives got them to wear handkerchiefs over their breasts.