I Married a Ranger | Page 4

long!" she said, and laughed when I asked her
why.
"This is a funny place to put you," she remarked next, after a glance
around our new domain. "I'd rather be out under a tree, wouldn't you?"
"God forbid!" I answered earnestly. "I'm no back-to-nature fan, and this
is primitive a-plenty for me. There's no bathroom, and I can't even find
a place to wash my face. What shall we do?"
We reconnoitered, and found the water supply. We coaxed a tin basin
away from the cook and were fully equipped as far as a bathroom was
concerned.

Thea--for that was her Indian name--agreed that it might be well to
fasten our doors; so we dragged the decrepit dresser against the front
portal and moved a trunk across the back entrance. As there were no
shades at the windows, we undressed in the dark and retired.
The wind moaned in the pines. A querulous coyote complained.
Strange noises were everywhere around us. Scampering sounds echoed
back and forth in the cabin. My cot was hard and springless as a rock,
and when I stretched into a more comfortable position the end bar fell
off and the whole structure collapsed, I with it. Modesty vetoed a light,
since the men were still passing our cabin on their way to the tents; so
in utter darkness I pulled the mattress under the table and there made
myself as comfortable as possible. Just as I was dozing, Thea came in
from the kitchen bringing her cot bumping and banging at her heels.
She was utterly unnerved by rats and mice racing over her. We draped
petticoats and other articles of feminine apparel over the windows and
sat up the rest of the night over the smoky lamp. Wrapped in our bright
blankets it would have been difficult to tell which of us was the Indian.
"I'll get a cat tomorrow," I vowed.
"You can't. Cats aren't allowed in the Park," she returned, dejectedly.
"Well, then rats shouldn't be either," I snapped. "I can get some traps I
reckon. Or is trapping prohibited in this area?"
Thea just sighed.
Morning finally came, as mornings have a habit of doing, and found me
flinging things back in my trunk, while my companion eyed me
sardonic-wise. I had spent sufficient time in the great open spaces, and
just as soon as I could get some breakfast I was heading for
Washington again. But by the time I had tucked in a "feed" of fried
potatoes, eggs, hot cakes, and strong coffee, a lion couldn't have scared
me away. "Bring on your mice," was my battle cry.
At breakfast Ranger Fisk asked me quite seriously if I would have
some cackle berries. I looked around, couldn't see any sort of fruit on

the table, and, remembering the cook's injunction to eat what he set
before me, I answered: "No, thank you; but I'll have an egg, please."
After the laughter had subsided, White Mountain explained that cackle
berries were eggs!
I told the rangers about the mice in my house, and the cook overheard
the conversation. A little later a teamster appeared at my cabin with a
tiny gray kitten hidden under his coat.
"Cook said you have mice, Miss. I've brought 'Tuffy' to you. Please
keep him hid from the rangers. He has lived in the barn with me up to
now."
With such a loyal protector things took a turn for the better, and my
Indian friend, my wee gray cat, and myself dwelt happily in our little
Grayhaven.

[Illustration]
Chapter II: "THIS AIN'T WASHINGTON!"
"This ain't Washington, and we don't keep bankers' hours here," was
the slogan of the Superintendent. He spoke that phrase, chanted it, and
sang it. He made a litany of it; he turned it into a National Anthem. It
came with such irritating regularity I could have sworn he timed it on a
knotted string, sort of "Day-by-day-in-every-way" tempo, one might
say. And it wasn't Washington, and we didn't live lives of ease; no
banker ever toiled from dawn until all hours of the night, Sunday
included!
I made pothooks and translated them. I put figures down and added
them up. For the road crew I checked in equipment and for the cook I
chucked out rotten beef. The Superintendent had boasted that three
weeks of the program he had laid out for me would be plenty to send
me back where I came from and then he would have a regular place
again. But I really didn't mind the work. I was learning to love the
Arizona climate and the high thin air that kept one's spirits buoyed up

in spite of little irritations. I was not lonely, for I had found many
friends.
When I had been at the Canyon