They say it takes a long time and much whiskey to affect one bitten by a rattler, but this case seemed to be an exception; in a few moments, my head was going round, and I prostrate on a couch. My kind nurse looked curiously at the turpentine, and finally said it was queer it didn't turn green, as it should in the case of a rattle-snake bite.
A half hour passed and still there was no change. Then when I repeated my story of how the thing happened, she grinned, and said she guessed it was the prairie dog and not the snake that bit me, after all. I was so dead drunk when the daughter came that she glanced at me and asked in a whisper, "Is he dead?"
"No," said the mother, "and he ain't going to die. We've been trying to cure dog bite with 'snake bit', and I reckon it'll take a week or more to sober the man up."
Then the daughter began to get a meal, and Coonskin went after my outfit, on the good woman's suggestion, to fetch my animals to the corral.
It was not until morning that I was fit to sit my saddle; but I made the effort, and after thanking my hostesses and insisting on paying for the turpentine, we said good-bye.
Mid-day travel, in the Colorado desert at that season, was enervating in the extreme. Our straw helmets, being supported by a skeleton crown, allowed a free circulation of air over and about the head; also a free circulation of buffalo gnats, blue flies, mosquitos, flying ants, grasshoppers, and everything else that hadn't an excuse for living. Everything seemed to be free in that country.
The sunrays beat down mercilessly on the sandy plain, and every live thing seemed to be in search of shade or water. Once, while crossing the dry and cracked bed of a stream, I saw a rabbit, almost dying of thirst, and I put an end to its agony with my six-shooter. In the narrow bars of shade cast by the fence posts along the railroad, could be seen occasional birds, standing on the hot sand, immovable, with bills wide open, panting from the excessive heat.
We reached Sterling late that night, after a twenty-eight mile journey. The town looked dull. Everybody complained of the hottest weather for years. It occurred to me that an awning would add greatly to our comfort, so I bought the canvas, and had one made. Henceforth we would travel at night, and sleep as much as possible in the day beneath the awning. I also purchased a light folding chair, which, with our table and stove, could easily be carried on Skates, the new donkey.
We pitched camp eight miles from town, near a sod house and well. On the way the donkeys became obstreperous, and before they were under control, our only lantern was smashed. This stroke of bad luck was the forerunner of other misfortunes.
As I fell on my hard bed, expecting to have a delightful rest, I voiced a righteous yell of pain, and leaped out of doors. I was a fair imitation of a porcupine. Coonskin had carelessly pitched the tent on a bed of cacti. The astonished fellow made profuse apologies, and set to the task of picking the cactus spears out of me by the flare of lighted matches. But for a week I suffered the sensations of sleeping on pins and needles.