"And takes about as long to put on the paint as to put on a fashionable dress," said Henry, "but not so long to remove it."
Another thing that interested the boys was a balsa or raft, made by the Mojaves of the cane-grass which grew in the river-bottoms to the height of fifteen feet. A large bundle bound at the ends with withes would sustain two men. The boys borrowed one of an Indian girl, who was sitting in the shade of a cottonwood prinking herself artistically with an original and intricate pigmentary pattern. Stepping on board, they paddled about the quiet lagoon for some time.
Tiring at last of the sport, they separated, Frank saying that he was going to look over his shot-gun, and, perhaps, go for some quail; and Henry, that he meant to find Clary, and set some lines for catfish.
The younger sergeant failing to find the soldier, selected a line, and procuring some bait, returned alone to the lagoon. On his way he met the Indian girl walking along the sidewalk, an object of admiration and envy to the men and women of her people. Her bronze flesh was ornamented with a lacelike tracery in many tints.
"How exceedingly pretty!" said Henry, in Spanish, a language fairly well understood by the aborigines of the Southwest.
"I, or my paint?" asked the girl.
"The paint is well put on; but I think you look prettiest just after a swim."
"Thank you, señor."
"May I take the balsa again, Indita?"
"Si, señor; and you may keep it; but return the paddle."