THE RIO GRANDE
The water is very low and muddy. We are now in New Mexico running across its southwestern border for two hundred and fifty miles. There was a white frost on this morning, a rare thing here. The poor Mexicans were huddled on the sunny-side of their dugouts and dobys, wrapped in their blankets. I can't see where they get wood to burn, the country is so barren. My friend told me yesterday that these are typical Mexican homes. A poor little pony, a long-nosed pig or two, a mangy cur, and a few chickens are all they possess in the way of live stock, with these they seem perfectly contented. Some one said El Paso was the