to care for and protect; and the idea of adopting him into my family, in case I could not find his father at Los Angeles, more than once occurred to me.
"All my traveling companions, save one,—a big, rough brute, known as Waco Bill,—took a kindly interest in the little unfortunate, and consented to my adding him to the party. That night we succeeded in finding him a pair of shoes, which would keep his bleeding feet from the sun and the rough rocks of the road, and a blanket to wrap around his shoulders when traveling; and, after a hearty meal of the best we could prepare for him in camp, he fell asleep. I had a large black dog—half-hound, half-mastiff—which had accompanied us on the trip, and was very useful in watching the camp, and guarding us against surprise by the Indians. He was as savage as a tiger, and could scent an Apache a mile away. Butcher went up to little Manuel—the boy's name was Manuel de la Cruz—as soon as I brought him into camp, and, to the surprise of everybody, immediately manifested the warmest friendship for him. Thenceforth the boy and the dog were almost inseparable companions. That night Manuel slept near me, with Butcher lying watchfully at his feet; and, time after time, the little fellow would start up, suddenly reach out his hand to touch me, and make sure that I was still there, then, reassured, curl down again under his ample blanket, and close his eyes in slumber. Next morning, I rigged a temporary saddle for my protégé, and, mounting him on one of my pack-mules, installed him as a member of the expedition, as we took up our line of march again for
