The scene on the river seemed very charming after our hot and dusty ride across the arid plain. Masses of wild roses in full bloom glowed against the soft green background of willows. Birds had woven a hanging nest over the water, and the little mother sat demurely on the eggs, while her mate swung on a slender perch and fairly burst his throat with song. They reminded me of some wrens a few miles back who had built their nest in an abandoned mailbox, but I suppose they could scarcely belong to the same species. In the rippling water beneath, fish of many sizes darted to and fro, while a fitful breeze set the silvery foliage to glimmering.
Reluctantly we said farewell to river and birds and roses and, skimming over a long bridge, entered a sleepy little town. Here we loaded the wheel to the limit with groceries, for the country grew wilder each day.
The weather was fine and we were able to camp out in accordance with our original plans. Still, we thought it best to follow the railroad as closely as possible in the event of more rain and muddy roads.
While boiling our cocoa in a lonely spot, our attention was attracted by the fine soldierly figure of a man who stood on the railroad embankment about fifty feet away, gazing down at us. He was dressed in khaki, sombrero, and leggings, and seemed preternaturally tall, silhouetted on the dull red evening sky.
“Hello, comrade,” called Dan. “Want a bite to eat?”
The man strode down the bank and approached our fire. He was tall indeed, with the slim waist and long limbs of a track athlete. His smooth, deeply-tanned skin set off his bright blue eyes and white teeth to advantage as a real Tipperary smile curved his humorous lips. As he removed his hat, a thatch of white hair added an incongruous touch to his appearance.
Squatting on his haunches like one accustomed to that posture, he explained that he had just eaten a hearty meal, but accepted a cup of cocoa to keep us company. After listening to an account of our experiences, he stated that he was an ex-soldier, now walking from San Francisco to New York on a wager. He had made the trip from east to west in ninety days and was bent on returning in ten weeks. So far he had made good time and felt confident of winning. With scant regard for the property of the railroad company, he insisted on carrying a great pile of old ties to a secluded spot and there started a bonfire. When I considered the forty-odd miles that he had covered on foot that day, I marvelled at the man. When the fire was blazing brightly, we settled ourselves on the windward side for a real talk-feast.
His most exciting adventure on this trip had occurred far out on the desert when he had been accosted by three tramps, who demanded the canteen of water that he carried on his shoulder. He unslung it with the intention of sharing the precious fluid, but one attempted to snatch it from his hand. As they struggled, another approached and struck him from the rear with a rock. With a sudden sidelong leap, he wrenched himself free, and swinging the canteen by the strap with all his force, let the first man have it full in the forehead. The fellow went down without a groan, and with a backhand motion, the soldier brought the canteen up and around, striking the second tramp on the point of the jaw. His companions out of commission, the third man took to his heels, while our hero gathered up the first hobo, who still lay unconscious, and with the aid of the second carried him to the railroad track and there flagged a passing freight, which took the two tramps to the next town.
As the evening advanced, the Irishman entertained us with descriptions of the many strange corners of the world that he had visited in the service of Uncle Sam, and told wild yarns of his experiences in the Philippines and in China during the Boxer rebellion. After a last creepy story of a looted temple and a dead Chinese priest, who came to life while the foreign devils were holding high carnival, and walking into their midst in his grave clothes, caused them to drop their spoils and flee, we stretched ourselves beside the glowing coals and slept.
The sharp cold of early morning awakened me, and heaping the ashes high with dry wood, I kindled a fire and started breakfast. Our soldier friend lay with head on knapsack, and in the deep relaxation of sleep the harsh footprints of the years disappeared and his face looked pure and boyish in the soft light of dawn. As he whimpered with cold and weariness, I could scarcely restrain myself from easing his head with a motherly touch, but contented myself with covering him with our blankets. Breakfast concluded, we prepared to follow our diverging paths. The soldier wrote a note to a pal at the military reservation at Cheyenne, commending us to his care. Then, as we said good-bye, he thrust the battered canteen into my hands.