My short hair and man’s garb have temporarily added an aggressive personality to my six foot stature and my strength. But, at a turn in the road I am likely to meet a physical strength greater than my own, which in conflict would utterly defeat me. The world is not mine, it is another’s to whom I am obliged to entrust myself. I am a childbearer, and of what worth are my physical powers of endurance?
I am a woman; I am vain, jealous, changeable, dependant, and ever must remain so.
Oh God! I pray, in my next incarnation, make me the best kind of man, and meanwhile as a compensation give me the consolation of having made one.
Mexico. In Camp.
I have lost all track of days and dates. I get no papers, I receive no letters, no one knows where I am, I hardly can locate myself.
It is a rough primitive life, and the situation necessitating a long walk on a hilly stony track with rivers to cross has tested the material of my four friends.
The Scotchman never came at all, we left him in the village when we came to camp. He was invaluable in organizing our needs and dispatching the mule train, but there was no cold beer in these regions and he went back to Tampico.
The Mexican started with us, but turned back half way.
The Irishman is a man of affairs, he comes and goes—comes whenever he can snatch a spare few days.
The Canadian has been able to remain.