Several days were spent in crossing the little stream formed by the
confluence of two creeks. The water was quite deep and had to be
crossed by means of a ferryboat. Here I met with my first adventure,
which nearly cost me my life. My wagon was loaded with supplies and
provisions and with several pieces of oak timber, intended for use in
our train. When I drove down the steep bank on to the ferryboat, the
timbers, which were not well secured, slid forward and pushed me off
my seat, so that I fell right under the mules just as they stepped on
the ferry. The frightened mules trampled and kicked fearfully. I lay
still, thinking that if I moved they would step on me, as their hoofs
missed my head by inches only. I thought of my mother and how sorry
she would be if she could see me now, but I was thinking, ever
thinking and lay very still. Then my guardian angel, in the person of
a Mexican, crawled under the wagon from the rear end and pulled me by
my heels, back to safety under the wagon. When I came out from under
I threw my hat in the air and gave a whoop and cheer, at which the
Mexicans were greatly enthused. They yelled excitedly and our
mayordomo exclaimed: "Caramba, mira que diablito!" (Egad, see the
little devil!)
We traveled in two parallel lines, about fifty feet apart and kept
the spare cattle and remounts of horses, as also the small provision
teams between the lines.
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