[illustration: teaming in death valley from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] the mystic mid-region the deserts of the southwest by arthur j. burdick with illustrations g. p. putnam's sons new york and london the knickerbocker press copyright, by arthur j. burdick published, april, the knickerbocker press, new york kingdom of solitude, thou desert vast, the keeper thou of secrets of the past, for what, o desert, was thy land accurs'd? thy rivers dried, thy fields consumed by thirst? thy plains in mute appeal unfruitful lie beneath a burning, stern, relentless sky that brings its showers of life-renewing rain unto the mount, but ne'er unto the plain. what secret guardest thou, o desert dread? what mystery hidest of the ages dead? doth some strange treasure lie within thy breast that thou wouldst guard from man's most eager quest? or doth there in thy solitude abide some mystery that nature fain would hide? some secret of the great creative plan too deep, too awful for the mind of man? o desert, with thy hot, consuming breath, whose glance is torture and whose smile is death, realm of the dewless night and cloudless sun, burn on until thine awful watch be done. then may the shifting winds their off'rings bring-- the yielding clouds their life-fraught dews to fling upon thy yearning, panting, scorching breast, that with abundance thou at last be bless'd. so, where thy wasted sands now barren lie, green fields may some day meet a smiling sky. where now but lurks grim, ghastly, burning death, the violet may shed its fragrant breath. it hath been said--a sure, divine decree-- that in the solitude shall gladness be; and, by that one from whom all goodness flows, that thou shalt bloom, o desert, as the rose. a. j. b. contents chapter page i.--the desert ii.--the land of thirst iii.--curious plants which live in the desert iv.--strange dwellers of the desert v.--humanity in the desert vi.--a funeral in the region of death vii.--desert basket-makers viii.--ships of the desert ix.--the story of a streak of yellow x.--desert borax mines xi.--other minerals found in the desert xii.--a remarkable harvest-field xiii.--death valley xiv.--the mouth of hades xv.--desert miscellany--unusual and peculiar features xvi.--journalism below sea-level xvii.--the end of the desert index list of illustrations page *teaming in death valley _frontispiece_ *the desert * mount san jacinto from the desert *ancient sea beach, colorado desert near coachella *when california was an island from an old spanish map. *an indian well in the desert *an oasis in the colorado desert *sentinel palm a welcome sight to the desert traveler, for it marks an oasis hidden in the cañon. *an oasis dwelling thatched with palm-leaves in colorado desert this might pass for a cannibal's hut in the south sea islands. *a desert bedroom *sahuaro, or giant cactus *spanish bayonet *a desert cactus in blossom--one of many varieties *"the well of the desert" *one of the desert bloomers *a yellow diamond-back rattler desert lizard, chucawalla, closely akin to the gila monster horned toad tarantula centipede scorpion *a chemehuevi indian and coyote *a chemehuevi dwelling *a chemehuevi squaw and child *a desert dwelling on the colorado river *the desert "white house" *the funeral pyre *a mojave indian pounding mesquite beans in wooden mortar *rare tulare and pomo baskets *a yuma woman weaving coarse baskets *mojave basket-maker *the advance agent of progress *ships of the desert *bearing the red man's burden *taking on the cargo *the prospector sets forth *an aged prospector at mouth of his mine *an anxious moment--looking for the yellow streak *an aËrial ferry--prospectors crossing colorado river *a traction engine hauling borax from death valley *the painted desert *a monument in the land of thirst *a typical desert mining town plowing salt in colorado desert *teaming in death valley indian chief lying in state a desert pottery factory black buttes--phantom ship of the desert digging the imperial canal imperial church--first wooden building in lower colorado desert year-old willow trees at international line irrigating desert land desert sorghum milo maize on reclaimed desert land near heber adobe hotel, calexico, which has the only shower bath in the desert * from photographs reproduced by permission of c. c. pierce & co. the mystic mid-region chapter i the desert between the lofty ranges of mountains which mark the western boundary of the great mississippi valley and the chain of peaks known as the coast range, whose western sunny slopes look out over the waters of the placid pacific, lies a vast stretch of country once known as the "great american desert." a few years ago, before the railroad had pierced the fastness of the great west, explorers told of a vast waste of country devoid of water and useful vegetation, the depository of fields of alkali, beds of niter, mountains of borax, and plains of poison-impregnated sands. the bitter sage, the thorny cacti, and the gnarled mesquite were the tantalizing species of herbs said to abound in the region, and the centipede, the rattlesnake, tarantula, and gila monster represented the life of this desolate territory. more recently, as the railroads have spanned the continent at different points, we have knowledge of several deserts. there are the "nevada desert," the "black rock desert," the "smoke creek desert," the "painted desert," the "mojave desert," the "colorado desert," etc.; the "great american desert" being the name now applied to that alkali waste west of salt lake in utah. as a matter of fact, however, these are but local names for a great section of arid country in the united states from two hundred to five hundred miles wide, and seven hundred to eight hundred miles long, and extending far down into mexico, unbroken save for an occasional oasis furnished by nature, or small areas made habitable by irrigation. where the old union pacific drew its sinuous line across the northern section of the desert, a trail of green spots was left to mark the various watering-stations for the engines. the southern pacific railroad left a similar line of oases down through the colorado desert, and the santa fé, in like manner, dotted with green spots the great mojave desert. the water at these stations is obtained in some instances by drilling wells, and where it can not be obtained in this manner it is hauled in tank cars from other points. [illustration: the desert from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] a portion of the desert lies below the level of the sea. death valley, in the great mojave desert, has a depression of one hundred and ten feet below sea-level, while portions of the colorado desert lie from a few feet to four hundred feet below ocean-level. in the latter desert there are square miles below sea-level, and there are several villages in this desert which would be many feet submerged were the mountain wall between sea and desert rent asunder. there is a mystery about the desert which is both fascinating and repellent. its heat, its dearth of water and lack of vegetation, its seemingly endless waste of shifting sands, the air of desolation and death which hovers over it,--all these tend to warn one away, while the very mystery of the region, the uncertainty of what lies beyond the border of fertility, tempts one to risk its terrors for the sake of exploring its weird mysteries. strange tales come out of the desert. every one who has ventured into its vastness, and who has lived to return, has brought reports of experiences and observations fraught with the deepest interest, which tend to awaken the spirit of adventure in the listener. the most famous of the american deserts are the great mojave and the colorado, the latter lying partly in the united states and partly in mexico. as trackless as the sahara, as hot and sandy as the great arabian, they contain mysteries which those deserts cannot boast. within their borders are the great salt fields of salton and of death valley, which have no counterpart in the world; the "volcanoes," a region abounding in cone-shaped mounds which vomit forth poisonous gases, hot mud, and volcanic matter, and over which region ever hang dense clouds of steam; the great niter fields and borax plains of the mojave, and other equally strange exhibitions of nature. there are other mysteries in the desert. amid its sands are gold and gems for the fortunate finder, and many are they who have lost their lives in search of these treasures. hovering over the desert, too, is that phantom, that desert apparition, the mirage, a never-ceasing wonder to the fortunate traveler who wants not for water and who is in no doubt as to his way across the dreary waste, and a never-ceasing torment and menace to the thirst-tortured wayfarer lost in the dread solitude. imagine the mockery to the thirsty traveler of a rippling sheet of water, its blue waves rolling ever in view but receding as he advances, leaving only the burning sands to the perishing one! is it any wonder that men go mad in the desert? and yet, locked in the breast of this waste is more fertility than is necessary to supply the continent with sustenance. [illustration: mount san jacinto from the desert from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] the colorado desert is thus called because the great river of that name carved it out of the sea. it is also destined to lose the name of desert because of that same river. at one time the gulf of california extended nearly up to banning, where rise those two sentinels of the plain, mt. san jacinto and mt. grayback, each towering nearly two miles above the surrounding country. this was before the colorado river had cut its way through the mountains to the sea, forming that magnificent chasm known as the grand cañon. for endless centuries the great river has been eating out the heart of the continent, pulverizing the rock and earth, and bearing it in its turbid tide down from the mountains and tablelands to the lower plains and to the sea. a part of its burden of silt was laid down over the northern portion of the gulf, and a part of it was carried by the force of the current far down into the great body of water and was piled up ninety miles below the present boundary line between mexico and the united states. this bank was about sixty miles long, extending in an easterly and westerly direction. along the right side of the current was formed a lateral embankment, which eventually shut off the river from its former inlet into the gulf and directed it to its present mouth, some two hundred miles lower. this, joining with the sixty-mile embankment, severed one portion of the gulf from the main body and left an inland sea where now is the desert. then the thirsty sun drank up the waters of this sea and left the land of desolation. how long ago all this happened is a matter of conjecture. there are many places on the boundaries of the desert where the ancient beach-line may be traced long distances. here are found numerous shells and corals. many of the shells are unbroken, and one might almost believe, to look upon them, that they were tossed there by the restless waves no longer ago than yesterday. the varieties of shells and of sea relics correspond very closely with those now abounding in the sea. [illustration: ancient sea beach, colorado desert, near coachella from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] there are evidences that the desert has been dry land many centuries. upon its breast are found indian pottery and implements of a style and pattern antedating those in use at the time the white man reached this country. then, too, as far back as the sixteenth century, when the earliest exploration of that region was made, the desert-dwelling tribes seem to have been thoroughly established in the territory once occupied by the gulf. it doubtless required centuries, after the waters were cut off from the region, to dry up the inland sea and make it possible for man to enter in and occupy the territory. it is the belief of some scholars that the land was submerged when the first spanish explorers reached the coast. in support of this theory they point to certain maps which show the gulf as covering that region. a map of the early navigators recently in the possession of general stoneman of the united states army, which was obtained by him in the city of mexico, shows the gila river as entering the gulf, whereas the gila river now enters the colorado river ninety miles north of the present mouth of the colorado. a map of california, published in by n. sanson d'abbeville, geographer to the king of france, pictures the gulf of california as extending along the entire eastern boundary of the state, and connecting with the pacific ocean on the north. this map was made from sundry drawings and accounts furnished by the early navigators, and is glaringly incorrect. it is certain that the gulf did not then, or at any time, extend to the pacific. the early explorers and map-makers conveniently guessed at matters upon which they could get no information. [illustration: when california was an island from photograph by c. c. pierce & co. from an old spanish map.] chapter ii the land of thirst when the "tenderfoot" first strikes the desert country he is surprised to learn that he is expected to pay for the water he uses for himself and for his beast. a little later he becomes indignant upon finding himself unable to purchase even a small quantity of the necessary fluid because of the extreme caution of the proprietor of some desert well where he has expected to replenish his stock of water. it is not an unusual happening for the desert traveler, who has toiled hours over the burning sands after his supply of water has been used up, to find the desert-dweller unwilling to spare a drop of his scanty supply. not all desert wells are dependable, and sometimes the solitary dweller of the oasis finds his supply exhausted; he then has to haul all the water he uses forty or fifty miles until such time as the winter rains come to replenish the vein which feeds his well. one who has never experienced it can gain no idea of the torture of thirst upon the desert. the scorching sun from a cloudless sky, with never so much as a hint of haze to temper its rays, seems fairly to drink the blood of the traveler exposed to its fierceness. from the sands rises a cloud of fine alkali dust which penetrates the nostrils and enters the mouth, stinging and inflaming the glands, and adding to the torture of thirst. a few hours of this suffering without water to alleviate the pain is sufficient to drive most men mad. it is this desert madness which travelers most fear. if one can keep a clear head he may possibly live and suffer and toil on to a place of safety, even though bereft of water many hours, but once the desert madness seizes him all hope is lost, for he no longer pursues his way methodically, but rushes off in pursuit of the alluring mirages, or chases some dream of his disordered brain which pictures to him green fields and running brooks, ever just at hand. men tortured by thirst become desperate. a thirsty man knows no law save that of might. men who would, under ordinary circumstances, scorn to do even a questionable act, will, when under the pressure of extreme thirst, fight to the death for a few drops of water. [illustration: an indian well in the desert from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] not long ago a respectable citizen of a little california town had occasion to cross the desert at a point where water-holes were few and far apart. he depended upon obtaining water at a certain ranch, established at one of the oases on his route, and when he arrived there he and his guide and burros were in sad condition, having been several hours without water. he gave his guide a five-dollar gold-piece and told him to see the rancher and purchase the water necessary to carry them to the next watering-place. it happened that the rancher's well was in danger of going dry, and he declined the money, refusing to part with any water. pleadings were unavailing, and the guide returned to his employer and reported his inability to make a deal. then the staid citizen arose in his wrath and, with a ten-dollar gold-piece in one hand and a revolver in the other, he sought the rancher. "there is ten dollars for the water, if you will sell it," he said; "and if not, i will send you to hades and take it, anyway! now which will it be?" there was but one reply to an argument of that kind; the rancher sulkily accepted the money, the brackish water was drawn from the well, and the journey was soon resumed. as a result of this transaction, however, the rancher was obliged to take a forty-mile journey over the desert and back, to replenish his water-supply from another well. john f. mcpherson, of los angeles, manager of the nevada land office, left los angeles, in august, , to traverse the great mojave desert, on his way to look over the lands in the parumph valley, in nevada. his experience, which was by no means uncommon, is best related by himself. "i left los angeles by team," he says, "for the purpose of retracing the government surveys and making field notes. i had with me two companions, one samuel baker and a young man from the east. we proceeded over the foothills to cajon pass, thence to victor, out on the desert. it was in the burning days of a fierce, dry summer. the earth was fervid and the air quivered with the intense heat of the sun which poured its burning rays from a cloudless sky. bad luck accompanied us from the very start. at pomona, thirty miles from los angeles, we lost a horse and had to purchase another. at daggett, out in the desert, which place we reached the second day of our desert travel, we found the thermometer registering degrees in the shade. we passed through daggett and made camp, ten miles farther on, at dark. [illustration: an oasis in the colorado desert from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] "eighteen miles beyond daggett is coyote holes, where we expected to find water to replenish the supply with which we left daggett at seven o'clock in the morning. we found the well dry when we reached there, and the place red with alkali. near the well, two pieces of two by four scantling marked the grave of some traveler who had preceded us and who had run short of water before reaching the holes. he had arrived too far gone to go farther, and his companions had remained with him till the end and had given him a burial in the sand and set the scantlings to mark the spot. those scantlings proved our salvation a little later. "by noon we had consumed all but about three gallons of our water and we determined to save this till the last extremity, for we had yet eighteen miles to go to the next watering-place, garlic springs. our horses were already in bad shape and nearly crazed for want of water. in their eagerness to reach it they plunged forward at a pace that threatened soon to exhaust them. our efforts to restrain them by means of the reins were unavailing, and we were obliged to take off our coats and throw them over the heads of the animals and then lead them by the bits in this blinded condition. "just beyond coyote holes, on the road to garlic springs, is a fearful sink known as dry lake. here the ground is shifty and treacherous and the wheels of the wagon sank deep into the sand. just as we had reached the farther side of the lake the forward axle of the wagon broke, letting the front part of the wagon fall to the ground. this frightened the horses so that they became almost unmanageable. they seemed to realize that this delay meant possible death, and their cries were almost human-like and were indeed pitiable to hear. "by this time the condition of my companions and myself was dire, and we realized that time was of the greatest importance. the thermometer registered in the shade--and no available shade. to add to our misery and increase our danger a terrible sand storm arose, blinding, stinging, and almost smothering us. "it was like standing in front of a blast furnace, opening the door, and catching at the blast. there were pounds of provisions in the wagon at the time, and if we abandoned that we were sure to perish of starvation. it could not be thought of. "we unhitched the horses and tied them to the rear of the wagon and stretched the heavy canvas which had covered the wagon over them to protect them from the sand storm. our salvation lay with the horses. if they became exhausted or broke loose, we knew that our bones would be left to bleach upon the desert sands as have the bones of so many desert travelers. "the young easterner lost his courage and cried like a baby. the three gallons of water were divided among man and beast, and then baker started back to coyote holes to get the two pieces of scantling with which to mend our broken wagon. while he was gone the young easterner and myself threw the freight from the wagon to make ready for the work of trussing up the rig when baker returned with the scantlings. "the storm continued to increase and it soon became as dark as midnight. when it came time for baker's return the storm was at such a height that we feared he would have perished in it or that he had lost his way. hour after hour passed and still he did not return, and we lost hope. at about o'clock in the evening, however, he came into camp with the scantlings. his mouth was bleeding from thirst and he was nearly blinded with the sand, but he had the material with which to repair the wagon, and hope returned to all our hearts. [illustration: sentinel palm a welcome sight to the desert traveler, for it marks an oasis hidden in the cañon from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] "with stout wires and the timbers we soon had our wagon in shape, and the freight was speedily loaded upon it and we prepared to resume our journey. our ill-luck, however, was not at an end, for when we attempted to attach the tongue of the wagon the king-bolt was not to be found. it was midnight when we had our wagon repaired and loaded, and it was two o'clock before we succeeded in pawing the king-bolt out of the sand where it had fallen. then we had twelve weary miles to travel before we could reach water. we were all in a terrible state when we started, and the wagon sank so deeply in the sand that our progress was fearfully slow. "twenty-four hours without water in the desert is a terrible thing. before we had covered half the distance to garlic springs baker went mad. he was for abandoning the party, and that meant, to one in his condition, certain death. there was but one thing i could think of to prevent him, and that i did. i pulled my revolver and told him if he attempted to leave the party i would shoot him. he had enough sense or sanity to heed the admonition, and he stayed with us. i had to carry my revolver in my hand, however, and constantly keep an eye on him. it was ten o'clock when we reached the springs, and we were all on the verge of delirium. it was several hours before our swollen and parched throats would admit more than a very few drops of water at a time. we bathed in the water, soaked towels in it and sucked at the ends, and by degrees fought away the demon of thirst. baker spent five weeks in a hospital after reaching civilization, and we all were unfitted for hard work for a long time." it is easy to gather tales of this sort from the towns bordering upon the deserts. there are still more disastrous tales which remain untold because none survive to relate them. items similar to the one herewith given are by no means rare. the subjoined one is an associated press dispatch dated imperial, april , . it says: "five human skeletons were found to-day at the east side of the salton river, making eighteen found to date on the part of the desert being brought under irrigation. the presumption is that the persons may have perished from thirst as many have done in this region, which a few months ago was utter barrenness. nothing has been found to give any clew to the identity of these persons whose bones may have lain on the desert for many years." down in the colorado desert is a well which is bringing its owner a fortune. within a radius of fifty or sixty miles are a score or more of mining camps where no water is to be found. prospectors and other travelers, also, frequently pass that way, and there is no other water for many miles about. these travelers and the residents of the mining camps are glad to pay handsomely for water from this well. the proprietor has built tanks and loading apparatus for the convenience of his patrons, and he has established the following schedule of prices: [illustration: an oasis dwelling thatched with palm leaves in colorado desert this might pass for a cannibal's hut in the south sea islands from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] gallons, or less, cents per gallon. two-horse load, cents per gallon. four-horse load, cents per gallon. the well is a very deep one and the water was obtained by drilling. it requires a power-pump to raise the water to the surface, and the fuel to run the boiler and engine has to be hauled many miles across the desert sands, so, after all, the rates for water are not so exorbitant as they may seem at first glance. every year the great deserts of the west claim scores of victims, the most of whom die of thirst. men go out into the arid plains, are not again heard from, and their fate remains, in many cases, a mystery to the end of time. again, beside a bleaching skeleton is found a trinket or belonging which serves to identify the remains. sometimes the identification comes long after death, as in the case of a los angeles prospector who years ago left that city with a companion to cross the desert. the two men lost their way, and the prospector, leaving his companion with the burros at the foot of an eminence, climbed to the top to take a survey of the country and try to get his bearings. after waiting an hour or more for him to return, his comrade began searching for him, and after several hours of vain seeking he resumed the journey alone and eventually reached his destination in safety. twenty years later some prospectors found human bones upon the desert and beside them a hunting-knife and a watch which had belonged to the long-lost prospector. he had died within two miles of good water. here and there in the solitudes of these great saharas may be seen rude crosses, or stones heaped into mounds, to mark the spot where, in horrible torture, some human life went out. and, strange as it may seem, these graves are more plentiful in the vicinity of the oases than elsewhere. to drink heavily after several hours of abstinence is almost certain death. many a poor fellow has struggled on through hours of extreme torture, buoyed up by the thoughts of the refreshing draught awaiting him, only to die in agony from drinking too deeply of the precious potion. [illustration: a desert bedroom from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] sometimes death comes from a very different cause. not long ago a veteran prospector was taking a party across the desert, and saw in the distance a green spot on the plain. they were headed for timber mountain, where good water is plentiful, but they had run short of water some hours before, and were nearly choked with thirst. they turned from their course to visit the green spot, believing that water would be found there. they were not mistaken, for a bubbling spring greeted their eyes, a sight more welcome than would have been a mine of gold, but about the spring were strewn a number of human skeletons, indicating that a goodly sized caravan had met death there. they were too thirsty to pause to make inquiry as to the cause of this wholesale fatality, and hurried on to the spring to cool their parched tongues. the leader of the party, however, was suspicious and insisted that no one should take more than a few drops of the water at that time. his caution proved their salvation, for within a few minutes after drinking of the water all were taken violently ill. the spring was a natural arsenic fountain. as soon as the party was able to travel the journey was resumed and timber mountain was reached in safety. the guide carried away some of the water for analysis and thus learned of the properties of the spring. later, he returned and set up a sign to inform travelers of the dangerous character of the water. chapter iii curious plants which live in the desert in the mystic mid-region grows vegetation as weird and wonderful as the region which it inhabits. the mojave yucca (_clistoyucca arborescens_) is a strange freak of vegetation found nowhere else in the world. the palo-verde stands grim and sentinel-like, along the banks of the colorado river which skirts the deserts, an evergreen but leafless tree with curious branches which cross and recross each other, forming a perfect network of green vegetation. cacti in innumerable variety abound in certain portions of the deserts, from the tiny prickly balls covered with long gray hairs to the giant sahuaro which attains a height of fifty feet. in some places the deer-bush thrives: this plant is so named because of the resemblance borne by its branches to the horns of a deer. there are also sage, mesquite, chaparral, and greasewood, and numbers of other peculiar species of plants. [illustration: sahuaro, or giant cactus from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] cacti are the most numerous of the species of vegetable life. the several varieties all have their uses to those versed in the lore of the desert. in them the indians, who make the desert their home, find food, drink, raiment, and shelter. this is particularly true of the _cereus giganteus_, which is abundant in the arid regions of southern arizona, new mexico, texas, and mexico. this plant grows, in many cases, to a height of fifty feet. in some sections it grows so thickly that several hundred plants are found on a single acre. the plant consists of a main trunk which rises to a height of from ten to twenty feet, and then branches into two, three, or several columns, which grow upright several feet. the main trunk and branches are ribbed, and these ribs are thickly studded with clusters of heavy spines, which if lighted will burn readily, the flame running up the ribbed columns, seeking and burning all the spines thereon. this fact has given rise to the name of "arizona candle" which is often applied to the giant cactus. alternating with the spiny ribs, and just beneath the epidermis, are ligneous fascicles--one for each rib--which serve as a support for the soft tissues which constitute the bulk of the plant. these fascicles are from twenty to forty feet long, according to the height of the plant, and are from one to three inches in diameter. they constitute the framework or skeleton of the plant, and are left standing when the plant itself dies from age or other cause. this frame is of great value to the desert indians or to desert travelers who know its properties. the fascicles make excellent firewood, and when cut into required lengths they are used as pickets with which to build corrals, and for the roofs to the adobe huts. the spines of the plant are also used by the indians as combs. the plant lives to be more than one hundred and fifty years old, as has been determined by counting the layers of growth. the first flowers appear when the plant has attained a height of eight or ten feet, and they come into bloom early in may and continue in blossom till near the middle of june. the blossoms are large, white, and waxy. the flowers are borne in the axils of the bunches of spines, often fifty or more blossoms in the summit of a single branch. it comes to fruit in august, and then it is that the indians ride from plant to plant and with long poles detach the fruit, which is gathered and preserved as food or is made into an intoxicating drink of which they are very fond. [illustration: spanish bayonet from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] another plant, a species of yucca, abundant in the southern deserts, is the spanish bayonet. these plants have a thick, palm-like stem or trunk with long, thick, spine-pointed leaves. the flowering stem shoots up many feet in height and bears myriads of white, showy, panicled flowers, lily-like in appearance. as many as six thousand blossoms have been observed upon a single plant. an interesting peculiarity of this plant is that it cannot pollenize itself, but is obliged to depend for its perpetuity upon a little moth whose sole aim in life seems to be to perform the work of pollenizing this plant. this moth does not eat the honey or pollen of the plant, but lays her eggs upon the stigma of the flower and then gathers the pollen of the blossom and deposits it over the eggs, thus protecting the eggs and pollenizing the plant at the same time. the larvæ hatch at the time that the flower goes into seed, and the grubs feast upon the seeds, destroying a part of them, but leaving enough to keep up the supply of plants. the indians eat the undeveloped flower-shoots of this plant raw, the stalks are roasted over hot stones and make a very palatable dish; the fruit, which is cylindrical and yellow, ripening in august and september, is eaten raw, and is also dried for future use. it is pulpy, sweet, and nourishing. the mojave yucca is a remarkable plant, which resembles in its nature both the cactus and the palm. it is found nowhere save in the mojave desert. it attains a height of thirty or forty feet, and the trunk, often two or three feet in diameter, supports half a dozen irregular branches, each tipped with a cluster of spine-like leaves. the flowers, which are of a dingy white color, come out in march and last till may, giving off a disagreeable odor. the fruit, however, which is two or three inches long, is pulpy and agreeable, resembling a date in flavor. from the base of the plant radiate countless roots. these lie near the surface and extend a long distance, absorbing such moisture as they find with avidity. one of the peculiarities of the yucca wood is its ability to store moisture. the fiber of the wood is cellular, and it is almost equal to a sponge in its capacity for storing and retaining water. fully sixty per cent. of its weight is sap. [illustration: a desert cactus in blossom--one of many varieties from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] the trunk and branches of the tree are covered, a portion of the time, with bristling reflex leaves, which finally fall, showing that bark has been added to the tree. a sectional view of this bark shows concentric rings such as characterize exogenous stems. as the yucca is an endogen, this peculiarity is a remarkable one. like its cousin, the sahuaro, the mojave yucca is a friend to the indians, who eat of the fruit when fresh, and dry it to be used when it is out of season. they also utilize the flower-buds and blossoms in preparing a stew, which, if not tempting to the appetite, is at least nourishing, and with them that is the main object of food. the seeds, when dried, are ground in rude mortars and used for mush and in making a sort of bread. in the middle and northern desert, where the cacti are not so plentiful, there grows the _allenrolpea occidentalis_, or greasewood. this shrub grows to the height of four or five feet, and is a leafless, jointed-branched plant, which appears to be too succulent to burn unless plucked and left for days to dry. the reverse is the case, however, for, if lighted, the plant will make an excellent fire when green, but if cut for a few hours it becomes so watery that nothing can induce it to burn. though the days on the desert are terrifically hot, the nights are apt to be chilly, and the greasewood often proves a most welcome friend to the traveler. another friend to the desert wanderer is the _chlorogalum pomeridianum_, or soap plant. this grows from two to five feet high and has a bulbous root two or more inches in thickness which is an excellent substitute for soap--hence its name. the leaves are from one to two and one half feet in length, and from an inch to an inch and a half in thickness. the plant flowers in july and august, the blossoms opening in the afternoon only. the bulb of the plant lies deep in the earth and has the power of storing moisture, in time of rain, for the long, dry months which follow. as previously stated, the numbers of the cactus family to be found in various portions of the desert are almost innumerable. in a three-days' journey through the southern desert, taken early in may, the writer noted forty-two different varieties of cacti in blossom. these ranged from the delicate bloom of tiny plants to the gorgeous blossoms of the giant species, thirty, forty, and even fifty feet in height. [illustration: "the well of the desert" from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] it was a most memorable trip. at no other season of the year does the desert present so gay an appearance as in may and early june. blossoms, white, pink, yellow, purple, and scarlet, are to be seen on all sides, till one loses the idea that he is in the desert and almost dreams that he is in some wonderful garden. but there are no sparkling fountains and grassy lawns to complete the illusion; only the thorny shrubs with their vivid blossoms and the scorching sands, the dust, the thirst, and the cloudless sky above. a very common species of cactus is the nopal or prickly-pear, the fruit of which is known as the tuna, and which is much prized both by indians and by mexicans. a welcome plant to the desert traveler is the bisnaga, or "well of the desert." this is a cylindrical-shaped green plant thickly covered with sharp spines. by cutting out the center of the plant, a bowl is formed which quickly fills with water of an excellent quality, affording a palatable drink to the thirsty traveler. many a life has been saved by these plants, and there have been a number of instances recorded where travelers, ignorant of the properties of the plant, have died of thirst in the midst of them. another cactus found in the southern desert is the grape cactus, which bears in clusters fruit resembling the tuna. the fruit is green without and purple within, is juicy, melting, and luscious. a very common and ungainly plant is the ocotilla, growing clusters of straight poles from ten to fifteen feet in height, which are covered with spines. the poles terminate in long spikes of beautiful scarlet blossoms. the maguey or mescal, sometimes misnamed the century plant, is common along the foothills bordering the desert. it is from this plant that the mexicans and indians distil the fiercely intoxicating drink known as mescal, which contains a large percentage of alcohol of a villainous quality. from the cluster of spiked leaves, which attain a height of four or five feet, springs a pole ten to twelve feet tall, which bears large clusters of small yellow flowers filled with a sickishly sweet syrup. the maguey furnishes the native indian with both food and clothing. from the fibers of the leaves he weaves coarse cloth, and the inner leaves, when stripped and cooked in the earth ovens by surrounding them with stones heated on coals, are considered a delicacy. snake-weed is the name given a low-growing plant with a pulpy leaf, because when the leaves are crushed and applied to the wound, in case of snake-bite, they serve as an antidote to the poison. [illustration: one of the desert bloomers from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] pectis, or creosote bush, is another desert plant, with odor not unlike the essence of lemon. it is prized by the indians for its medicinal properties. there are a number of other varieties of plants--mostly of the cactus family--which contribute to the sustenance of the indians of the desert, but it is in the fibrous tissues of the giant cactus and the yuccas that they find their material for the weaving of garments, plaiting ropes, and making baskets and other articles of use and ornament. of late years the squaws of the several desert tribes have found the making of baskets and other trinkets for sale to curio hunters a very profitable undertaking. one squaw of the mojave indians received more than three thousand dollars in a single year for work of that sort. and the desert, which flaunts the banner of death in the face of the stranger, hands out its treasures to its children, and they live and thrive and love it. there is a little flower found growing in certain portions of california's deserts, which fulfills the poet's statement embodied in the couplet: "full many a flower is born to blush unseen and waste its sweetness on the desert air." the little yellow blossom has, so far as the writer knows, no name in the text-books on botany. it is a tiny blossom, growing very close to the ground, and it opens only at night. then, whoso chances to pass through a patch of these flowers is treated to incense such as never exhaled from the most redolent orange orchard. [illustration: a yellow diamond-back rattler from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] the perfume is given off in vast quantities, and is sweet beyond the power of language to describe, yet it is not the sickening, overpowering perfume of some plants. one does not need to lift the flower to the face to get the fragrance,--the air is fairly saturated with the sweet odor. the daylight, however, puts an end to both blossom and perfume. there is not a sign of the blossom to be found when the morning sun lights up the desert plain. it is only the night traveler who is favored with the sweet experience arising from an acquaintance with this strange plant. chapter iv strange dwellers of the desert the representatives of the animal kingdom in the desert are fully as strange and curious as are the specimens of vegetable life. it may seem strange that animal life should exist at all in this region of death and desolation, but several forms of creatures seem to find this dread region congenial. in keeping with its surroundings is the _crotalus cerastes_, one of the most deadly of the rattlesnake family. it is known to the frequenters of the desert region as the "sidewinder," because of its alleged propensity for springing sidewise at the object of its wrath, and because it travels with a sidelong motion. the bite of this creature is considered to be certain death, and it is a saying in the west, when some unusually frightful catastrophe overtakes one: "it was a regular sidewinder." the sidewinder is of a grayish color, mottled with dark blotches. it is found in the very heart of the desert, miles and miles from any known supply of water, and it is believed by many to be able to exist without that fluid. near the borders of the desert the great yellow diamond-back rattler, _crotalus horridus_, is found, as well as a species of constrictor known as the "bull snake." the latter grows to a length of ten or twelve feet and, while formidable to look upon, is perfectly harmless. [illustration: desert lizard, chucawalla, closely akin to the gila monster] such innocence is not claimed for the gila monster, _heloderina horridum_, which is found in the southern portion of the colorado desert. this huge lizard is like the chameleon in one respect: it changes its color to conform to its surroundings. it is in the main of a yellow hue, with dark markings which change to a gray or to a reddish tint according to the character of the soil about its abiding-place. when it lies quietly upon the earth it is very difficult to detect it because of this resemblance to the soil. the gila monster attains a length of nearly two feet. it is covered with horny protuberances and scales similar to the horned toad, so called. when angry it makes a hissing noise not unlike that made by a serpent. [illustration: horned toad] the horned toad--which is not a toad, but the lizard _phrynosoma_--is an innocent little fellow, attaining a length of six or eight inches at the most. there was a time when his reputation for evil was second only to that of the gila monster. now that he is better known he has become a plaything of children and a pet in many a household. a common creature in the portions of the desert in which cacti abound is the cactus rat, a small rodent about midway in size between the mouse and the ordinary rat. he is provided with a bushy tail which he carries over his back, squirrel fashion. he lives upon the barrel cactus, a plant so protected by spines as to seem unapproachable by man or animal. the cunning rat, however, has found a way of attacking this formidable vegetable. he burrows in the earth at the foot of the plant and comes at it from beneath. one specimen of the matured plant will keep a colony of the rats several months. they gnaw at its vitals till nothing but the empty shell remains, then they emigrate to some other plant and there set up housekeeping for another six or eight months. living so far from a habitable country, the rat finds few enemies to molest it. the rattler is about the only creature which preys upon it, therefore it thrives and multiplies in the midst of the fearful region it has chosen for its home. it is astonishing to the desert traveler, after he has crossed half a hundred miles of parched and barren territory, to find about the spring of an oasis tortoises basking in the sun or swimming in the waters of the desert well. [illustration: tarantula] the desert tortoise differs from the ordinary tortoise in several respects. it never exceeds in length over fifteen or sixteen inches, but in form and other characteristics it more nearly resembles the sea turtle than it does the tortoise. this leads to the belief that the desert specimen is the descendant of a sea turtle that throve in the waters of the gulf when it extended over the now desert country. change of conditions from sea to land--and most forbidding land at that--is supposed to have dwarfed the original species till a new one is the outcome of the change. [illustration: centipede] if one familiarizes himself with the desert, he will find that the rattler and the gila monster are not the only representatives of the "poison people" in that region. the scorpion, the tarantula, and the centipede make their home there and add to the dangers and terrors of desert travel. there are also animals found here and there in the desert and along its borders, which cannot be classed as typical desert animals. bands of wild horses and wild burros are known to roam the formidable region, migrating from oasis to oasis, cropping the grasses at one place till they are exhausted, then moving across the burning sands, guided by unerring instinct, to the next green spot in the desert, twenty, forty, or perhaps fifty miles away. the coyote, too, finds his way to nearly all portions of the desert, and even in the midst of the great desolate waste his uncanny cry goes up in the night-time, making the darkness still more lonely for the chance traveler who pitches his tent in the land of terror. [illustration: scorpion] few birds are seen in the desert after one has left the border-lands behind, but there is one inhabitant of the air which is never absent. hovering ever over the region of death is the vulture, ready to settle down to his grewsome feast the moment thirst and heat shall have robbed his victim of life. one may scan the heavens with never a sight of one of these birds while all goes well with himself and his beast, but let one of his horses or burros fall by the way, and lo! from the heavens descend numbers of the birds, and, should a traveler pass that way a few hours later, he would find but the whitening bones of the animal and a few fragments of the hide. and were he to look aloft, he, too, would discern not a speck against the blue canopy above him. chapter v humanity in the desert why human beings should have chosen such a place as the desert for their habitation is a mystery without a solution. possibly the forefathers of the present dwellers of the region fled thither to escape the oppression of tribes more powerful and war-like than their own. be that as it may, there dwell in the great mojave and in the colorado deserts several tribes of men who, according to their traditions, have made their home there many centuries. up in the death valley region is a tribe known as the panamint indians. they live in rude huts built of sticks and mud, and they subsist upon the most disgusting of foods. at a certain season of the year owen's lake and several smaller saline lakes in that region abound with a white grub--the larva of a two-winged fly, _ephydra californica_--called by the indians "koochabee." the indians visit the lakes at the season of the year when the grub is most plentiful, and from the shores of the lakes they gather them where the waves throw them up in windrows several inches deep. the grubs are dried and are then pulverized in rude stone mortars. the powder is used in making a sort of bread which is highly prized as an article of food. [illustration: a chemehuevi indian and coyote from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] snakes and lizards are also cooked and eaten by the panamints, and their vegetable diet consists chiefly of leaves and buds of cactus plants and other wild herbs. they are not agriculturists and are but indifferent hunters. they seem contented with their lot and evince no desire to leave the desert for a more habitable region. the seri indians are found at the extreme southern portion of the desert. at one time there were considerable numbers of them in the colorado desert, but in the mexican government, then in possession of the territory, removed them to the island of tiburon, where the greater number now live. a few families are to be found, however, in the vicinity of the "volcanoes" in the colorado desert. the seri indians are unreasoning, treacherous, and indolent. the women of the tribe command great respect from the men, and the family relationship is always traced through the mother. in the language or dialect of the tribe there is no equivalent to the word "father," although there is for "mother." little attention is paid to the death of a male member of the tribe, but when a woman dies the funeral ceremonies are elaborate. the cocopahs are another banished tribe, now occupying the desert region south of the boundary line between the united states and mexico. not many years ago their chief village was a few miles from yuma, which town was their trading-post. smallpox broke out in the indian village, but the indians continued to visit yuma and soon carried the disease thither. when the authorities learned the source of the infection they forbade the indians to come to the town, and to insure obedience to the command, a mounted guard was placed about the indian village. two indians one day eluded the guards and walked into yuma. then the edict of banishment went forth. the indians were driven from their homes and across the border into mexico, and the village and all effects left behind became food for the flames. [illustration: a chemehuevi dwelling from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] the cocopahs, as a rule, are of fine physique, hardy, and nimble, but like all desert tribes they are unprogressive. a peculiar burial custom prevails among these indians. as a rule they wear their hair long--a custom with all of the western tribes--but upon the death of a relative it is cut. if the deceased was a distant relative the hair is but slightly shortened. if a very near relative it is cut close to the head. the nearness of kinship is easily determined by the length of hair of the mourners. a still more curious custom prevails in connection with the marriage ceremony. before a cocopah girl may become a bride she must be buried over night in the earth. a hole is first dug in the sand deep enough to admit her in a sitting posture. then a fire is built in the pit and is made to burn till the earth is thoroughly warmed. it is then extinguished, and the bride enters the grave and is buried to the neck in the earth. here she remains till the morning, when she is ready for the marriage ceremony. occupying the region between these dwellers of the extreme southern portion of the desert and the tribe first described are the mojave indians and the yumas. the indians of these tribes are of good stature, but they are dull, coarse, and unprogressive. they live in rude huts, curiously constructed of twigs, stones, and mud. the occupation of the men consists in an occasional visit to the fertile country in search of game, or to the mountains in search of turquoise, a gem much prized by nearly all the indian tribes. the women make baskets and toys, blankets, and beaded ornaments to sell to curio dealers, whose agents make frequent visits among them to gather up these articles. they live upon fish taken from the colorado river, game taken in their occasional hunting excursions, and upon dishes prepared from cacti. a sort of government is maintained. they have their chiefs and medicine men, the latter being second in power and importance. the medicine men practice the healing art, depending more upon mysterious rites and incantations than upon herbs and medicines for their cures. among the indians of the northern desert it is the custom, as it is with some other western tribes, to execute the medicine man when he shall have lost his third patient. [illustration: a chemehuevi squaw and child from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] the chemehuevi indians are also desert-dwellers. they depend chiefly upon nature to supply them with food and other necessities. the desert cactus furnishes a large proportion of their food. the fibers of the plants are woven into a coarse cloth, which gives them clothing, and mud and sticks form the material for their houses. like the other desert tribes, they know of no more desirable spot for an abiding-place; and no greater sorrow could come to them than to be told that they were to be transported to a land of "green fields and running brooks." the desert is their home. they know its peculiarities and its mysteries; it keeps them and lets them live, and they love it. why should they long for that which is strange, and for which their natures are not adapted? chapter vi a funeral in the region of death in the great weird wastes which make up the mojave desert, death is king. he sits enthroned in the terrible region known as death valley, and from that fiery pit he stretches forth his fleshless fingers over all the desert region, and exacts a fearful toll from the desert-dwellers and from those who travel through his domain. to the mojave indians, a visit from the great destroyer comes as an event. in their lives few incidents occur to relieve the monotony of existence in that barren, isolated, and uneventful region, and the circumstances attending the taking off of a member of the tribe are made the most of. even in the case of the death of the most humble member of the community the rites are elaborate and prolonged. the traditions of the tribe do not record any funeral so memorable as was that of the recently deceased chief, sutuma, who had ruled his people for more than half a century. [illustration: a desert dwelling on the colorado river from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] sutuma was of a royal line. his father, his fathers father, and his father's father's father had ruled the tribe before him, even as his son is now presiding over the affairs of his people. sutuma's father was chief of the mojaves when padre junipero serra, the founder of the california missions, came into the desert from the san gabriel mission in search of a fabled city supposed to be located in the midst of the great desert. this city was reported to be a mighty pile of stately stone buildings, with walls and towers and domes and spires in profusion. indians told the good father of having viewed the city from a distance and, believing that he was about to discover a civilized race of beings, padre junipero set out for the desert on an expedition of discovery. when he had passed the barrier of mountains at what is now known as cajon pass, he looked out upon the great desert spread before him and lo! miles away, plainly outlined against the azure sky, was the wonderful city. it was, as had been described, a city of walls, and spires, and lofty buildings. with exultant cries the padre and his followers made haste toward it. when they had traveled several hours the city seemed no nearer. when darkness compelled them to pitch their tents for the night it appeared to be as far away as when they had started toward it in the morning. when they arose on the following day and turned their eyes toward the point whither they had been traveling, the city had disappeared. disappointed and filled with alarm, the padre and his men prepared to return to san gabriel. before they had completed their arrangements for the return journey the city reappeared. when they had journeyed city-ward half a day, and it seemed still as far away as ever, they met a party of indians. these indians were mojaves, and at their head was their chief, the father of sutuma. by means of the sign language the indians made the padre understand that the city was a phantom and did not really exist, and the disappointed party turned back. it was the padre's first experience with the mirage, that phenomenon of refraction and reflection which has lured so many men to their death in this same desert. [illustration: the desert "white house" from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] the mojaves cremate their dead. when sutuma passed away, his body was arrayed in all the splendor which his regal wardrobe afforded and he was laid in state under the thatched roof of an open approach to the "white house" of the mojave desert. during the three days in which the silent form lay awaiting the final rites, it was surrounded by a band of mourners who uttered cries and lamentations unceasingly. old morabico, the aged prophetess of the tribe, with eyes raised heavenward, recounted, in a chanting monotone, the joys of the spirit land whither the departed chief would go when the fires of the funeral pile had freed the captive spirit. braves of the tribe hid their faces against the supporting posts of the structure and uttered doleful cries till exhaustion compelled them to give way to other braves who in like manner wailed their grief. women and children, seated about the form of their late chief, added their voices to the mournful chorus. on the evening of the third day, the body of the old chieftain was borne on the shoulders of six strong young braves to a huge pyre out on the plain some distance from the village. here were found waiting the men, women, and children of the tribe and the official chanters, or poets-laureate who officiate on such occasions. the body was laid upon the pile of fagots, and it was then securely bound to an upright stake and the torch applied. two of the chanters took their places at the head and foot of the body, and the third began running about the pyre, chanting in a loud voice the virtues of the departed. the indians are natural poets. the simpleness of diction, the imagery of thought and directness of statement, render their improvised measures exceedingly attractive. much of the charm of their poetry is lost in the translation and the writer cannot give, with any degree of accuracy a rendition of the poems thus weirdly chanted about the blazing pile. the following will give an idea of the words of the chanters: "he is dead, he is dead! it is sutuma our chief, our beloved. he lived an hundred years and did no evil. he was the son of an hundred chiefs and he was wise. his words were like drops of water on thirsty ground. his deeds were good and they will live forever." this poet continued to chant his improvised epic as he ran about the pyre, till he became exhausted, when he exchanged places with one of his companions who took up the strain and went on: [illustration: the funeral pyre from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] "the sun is darkened because our chief is gone. the stars weep dewdrops because he is dead. the wind sings sorrowfully because he lies low. when he was alive the earth was very glad. his household rejoiced because of his good sayings. his braves were fearless because he was strong. he was great, he was good, he was full of wisdom. he is dead and the earth groans with its sorrow." from time to time the chanters changed places, and the poem of praise and sorrow continued till the fire burned low and died out. then the old prophetess, morabico, lifted from the embers a handful of ashes, which she cast upon the winds saying: "to the glad land waft thy spirit. be there happy ever as thou art entitled to be because of thy goodness and wisdom." then, in the blackness of the night, lighted only by the stars above, the picturesque band journeyed back into the lonely desert village, and the funeral was at an end. chapter vii desert basket-makers in the midst of a region so repellent that a large part of it remains comparatively unknown and unexplored, one art has reached a state of perfection unattained in civilized communities. this is the art of basket-making. when, in , marcos de niza, in his explorations northward from mexico, entered the great desert region, he found peoples equipped with baskets of wonderful make and of marvelous fineness, such as the enlightened nations of europe could not produce. the basket-makers of that time had all the skill that is known to their descendants to-day. more than three and one-half centuries have passed since then, but it has marked no improvement in the art. it was perfect then; it was perfect as far back as the traditions of that early day could trace it. it is an art to which civilization can add nothing; on the contrary, civilization threatens it with retrogression. [illustration: a mojave indian pounding mesquite beans in wooden mortar from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] neither history nor tradition goes back far enough to determine when the art of plaiting and weaving had its birth, nor can we find evidence of a period when the work of the weaver has been less perfect. progressiveness in those lines has been at the expense of the quality of the article produced. while the indian is weaving a single blanket the modern loom will produce thousands, but never has loom been invented which could produce a blanket equal in quality to the hand-made blanket turned out by some of the indian tribes who inhabit the arid lands of the west. almost all the basket-weaving tribes--and that includes nearly every tribe west of the rocky mountains--have legends pointing to the antiquity of the art. the pomo indians of northern california tell that when the progenitors of their tribe were created, the great spirit furnished them with food in conical, water-tight baskets which served them as patterns for future work in that line. the navajos learned the art by patterning after the baby-baskets in which the infant gods of war were sent to them, and the havasupais believe that the daughter of the good god tochopa taught the art to her daughter, from whom the tribe descended. the basket plays an important part in the affairs of the desert indian. it is his cradle in infancy; it is necessary in his domestic life, baskets being used in which to store his grain, cook his meals, serve his food, and carry his burdens. it figures in religious ceremonies, in marriage festivals, and in funeral rites. it forms a part of the decoration of his home, and serves him as a repository for his precious turquoise, wampum, and other treasures. his water-supply is brought and stored in baskets, the history and traditions of his tribe are woven into basket designs, and of late years, since the curio hunter is abroad in the land, the basket has become a very fertile source of revenue, bringing, in some instances, actual wealth. indian baskets may be divided into four general classes: . burden baskets, such as are used for the carrying of loads of various kinds. these are generally of coarse material and are quite likely to be the work of old men who are incapacitated for other labor, or of young members of the tribe who are learning the art of basket-weaving. [illustration: rare tulare and pomo baskets from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] . domestic baskets, including the granaries, cooking utensils, water-bottles, and other baskets in general use about the house. in this line may be classed the baskets in which are cradled the infants. . jewel baskets, which are used for holding articles of value and trinkets prized by the householder, and baskets used solely for ornamental purposes. . ceremonial, embracing such as have sacred significance and historical import, and those used at feasts and festivals and at marriages and funerals. it may seem strange to speak of using baskets in which to cook food, but this is a common practice with certain tribes. vegetables are boiled and mush is cooked in baskets, by dropping into the basket with the food stones which have been heated on live coals. certain foods are also cooked in shallow baskets, which have been lined with clay, by placing live coals beside the food, and then skilfully twirling the basket in such a manner as to keep the food and coals constantly changing places, but at the same time separate from each other. by occasionally blowing into the dish the mess is kept free from ashes and the coals are kept glowing. the designs which appear in indian baskets are not merely artistic conceptions of the weavers, but have significance. the sacred baskets are dedicated to certain purposes suggested by the designs woven in them. thus the cobweb pattern in a hopi basket signifies that it is to be used in conveying offerings to the "spider woman," as one of the deities or saints in the hopi calendar is designated. even the seeming miscalculation in the weaving of patterns is by design, as in the instance of patterns which apparently are calculated to run entirely around the basket but fail to join at the place of meeting. the opening is purposely left that the evil spirits may find a place of exit and pass out before they have opportunity to work harm to the possessor of the basket. the colors in the design have their significance. red means triumph or success; blue signifies defeat; black represents death; white denotes peace and happiness. colors are also used to designate the points of the compass. yellow symbolizes the north because, as the indians explain, the light of the morning is yellow in the winter season when the sun rises toward the north instead of directly in the east. blue stands for the west because the blue waters of the pacific are in that direction. red is the sign of the south, for that is the region of summer and the red sun. white represents the east, for the sky grows white in the east at the rising of the sun. [illustration: a yuma woman weaving coarse baskets from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] with most tribes red is a sacred color. it is symbolical of blood, which is the life and strength of man, and is therefore the source of his success and achievement. a variety of material is used in basket-making, and by observing the kind of material used the expert collector is able to determine very closely the authorship of the basket, as well as to read from the designs the purpose for which it was created. different tribes use different materials, and, naturally, those found nearest at hand. southern california indians make use of tule and certain fine grasses found in that part of the state. the pomos, who are exceedingly adept weavers, use a tough slough-grass, capable of being split, and willow shoots. havasupais use willows and certain fibrous plants found growing in the strange cañon which is their home. the hopi indians use yucca and grasses, while the indians of northern california make use of spruce roots and fibrous barks found in that locality. the panamint indians of death valley use year-old willow shoots, stalks of the aromatic sumac, fibers of the pods of the unicorn plant, and roots of the yucca. color is gained by various methods. sometimes the bright red, green, and scarlet plumage of birds is used. natural colors are much employed. the brown designs are mostly made by the use of maiden-hair fern stalks. black is usually obtained by dyeing the material used with martynia pods; red from yucca roots and certain berries; green from willow bark; pink and various shades of red from the juice of the blackberry, and other colors and shades from various barks and fruits. basket-making has recently become a fad with white women, but the dusky woman need not fear the rivalry of her white sister. civilization has too many claims upon her, and she has too little time and strength to devote to the work to permit of her spending weeks in searching mountain, valley, and plain for the material, and toiling months in the weaving, of a single basket. even were she to do this, she could not weave into it the traditions of a race, the faith of a religion, the longings of a soul, and the poetry of a people. until this is possible, the indian basket will stand without a peer and its maker without a rival. [illustration: mojave basket-maker from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] chapter viii ships of the desert an account of the desert which omitted to make mention of the burro would be woefully incomplete. the burro has been one of the most important factors in desert exploration and development. he is far more sagacious and enduring than the horse or mule. he is to the american desert what the camel is to the deserts of the eastern hemisphere. few persons are aware that camels were once used upon the american deserts, but such are the facts. ten years after the pathfinder, general john c. fremont, crossed the desert and traversed the golden state, and four years after marshall had thrilled the world with his discovery of gold in northern california, jefferson davis, secretary of state under president pierce, consigned to mr. l. p. redwine, of los angeles, a lot of camels, to be used in transporting supplies to government posts located in the arid regions. the camels were delivered to mr. redwine, at los angeles, in , and one of his first assignments was the transporting of a lot of supplies to the troops stationed at fort mojave at the eastern confines of the great mojave desert. then, as now, a tribe of indians dwelt in the vicinity of the fort, but, unlike the present time, they were hostile to whites, and unprotected parties fared but poorly at their hands. redwine had completed the greater part of his journey to the fort when his caravan wound around the foot of a clump of hills and came unexpectedly upon an encampment of mojave indians. it is doubtful which party was the more surprised, the indians at the sight of the strange cavalcade, or the whites at witnessing the frantic efforts of the redskins to put space between themselves and the approaching caravan. the sight of the camels was too much for them. it was the most complete rout in the history of the frontier. a little later, when the caravan reached the fort, there was another surprise. the horses and mules corraled near the fort proved as timid as the indians, and a general stampede ensued. the corral was broken down, and it took the soldiers several days to gather in the scattered herd. the camels forthwith became objects of hatred to the bluecoats. [illustration: the advance agent of progress from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] as a means of transportation the camels were a success. the heat and drought and sands of the desert were as naught to them, and they throve on hardships that would have proven fatal to horses or mules, but their approach to a military post was a signal for a stampede of the stock, and the camels were marked for destruction. every now and then, as opportunity offered, the soldiers would shoot down one or more of the camels till their numbers were so reduced that there were not enough for a caravan. then the remnant of the herd was turned loose in the desert, to live or die as might happen. true to instinct, the liberated animals sought an oasis, and there they began to multiply. later, however, hunters shot them for sport, and, so far as is now known, they have become extinct. redwine, the man who introduced the camels to the deserts of california, closed his earthly career in the desert town of imperial in july, . much of mr. redwine's life was spent in the deserts of the great west, and this region of mystery, so terrifying to most men, seemed to possess for him a peculiar charm, and when the desert city of imperial was started he left his comfortable home in phoenix, arizona, to take part in the founding of this town. when the camel project came to an end, the burro came to the front and has since held the foremost place as a means of desert transportation in localities not reached by the railroads. the burro is a native of spain, and he came to america at the time of the spanish conquest. he carried the accoutrements of cortez through mexico and into the montezumian capital. he was with de soto when he journeyed into the heart of the american continent. de balboa was indebted to him for the opportunity to discover the greatest of oceans. the padres who planted the chain of missions through mexico, and who three hundred and fifty years ago reared the walls of the mission of san xavier del bac, in arizona, had the assistance of the burro. the franciscan fathers, who more than a century ago dotted the coast of california with another chain of missions, depended upon the burro for aid, and he did not disappoint them. and so for more than three centuries he has been in the procession of progress and has marched at its head. [illustration: ships of the desert from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] the fortunes of the spaniard have fluctuated, but the burro has known no rise nor fall in his prospects. he came as a beast of burden, and as such he has remained. it is all one with him--spain or america. if he has a little to eat, a few hours for slumber, and is not too heavily burdened, he will patiently and contentedly perform his work and offer no complaint. he clambers up the mountain trail where the horse could find no footing, carrying upon his back twice his own weight, and he picks his way along the brow of the mountain or the edge of mighty precipices as unconcernedly as though he were treading the pavement of a boulevard or the soft turf of green meadows. if his owner places too heavy a load upon him he makes no complaint. not he! he simply lies down till the burden is made lighter. there is no arguing the question with him. he is indifferent alike to blows and pleadings. not an inch will he stir till matters are adjusted. he knows his capacity, and his load must conform to it. few mines have been discovered in the mountainous or desert regions of the west without the assistance of the burro. the steel tracks of the locomotive which wind in and out of the cañons and passes and over the mountains were led thither by the burro. the explorer has thrown the burden of his efforts upon him, and the prospector deems him indispensable. he is the veritable "ship" of the western desert, and many a man owes his life to his burro. he will live longer without water and scent it farther than any known animal save the camel. as an example of the keen scent of the burro for water may be related the experience of two prospectors named peterson and kelley, who a few years ago attempted to cross the great mojave desert on foot. they had with them, to carry their supplies, a burro. in passing from oasis to oasis they lost their way and the supply of water became exhausted. to be lost in the desert is a terrible thing, and the anxiety, coupled with the torturing thirst and the intense heat, drove peterson insane. he left his companion and fled shrieking across the plain. kelley picketed the burro and went after peterson to bring him back, but he was unable to overtake him. he returned to the trail to find that his burro had broken his tether and was moving across the desert at a leisurely pace. he followed, but the animal was so far in the lead, and he was so exhausted from his efforts to overtake peterson, that he could not come up to him. [illustration: bearing the redman's burden from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] night came upon him, and it soon became so dark that he could not distinguish the burro and he had to follow him by the footprints in the sand. when it became too dark to distinguish them he still staggered on in sheer desperation. by and by his heart gave a great throb. before him, outlined against the sky and seemingly suspended in the air, was a form which he knew to be either his burro or an apparition. he hurried forward and lo! standing upon a sharp rise of ground and facing him was his lost burro, who seemed to be awaiting him for a purpose, for when he came up to him the animal turned and led the way down the incline to a spring of living water. kelley gave a shout of joy and plunged bodily into the spring. after he had soaked his parched skin and moistened his lips and throat, he crawled out and went to his burro, which was browsing upon the green herbs growing about the place. throwing his arms about the neck of the animal he gave the creature a hearty hug and a kiss. if this mark of affection surprised or touched the burro he made no sign. he merely nipped another mouthful of the herbage and continued chewing. when kelley had taken a fresh supply of water he retraced his steps to the point where the burro had broken away. it was fully ten miles. there is no doubt but the animal had scented the water all that distance, and his eagerness to get to it had led him to strain at his fastenings till he broke loose. poor peterson did not survive. kelley found his dead body the next morning four or five miles from the point where he had left the trail. the burro draws no color line. he affiliates as readily with the mexican and the indian as he does with the whites. the desert tribes have little success with horses, and even the rugged bronchos cannot endure the heat and thirst incident to life in that region, but the burro is as much at home and seemingly as contented there as are his brethren who live and labor in the alfalfa meadows of the fertile belt. the burro is never vicious. unlike his cousin, the mule, he knows no guile. as a playmate for children he has no rival. he humors them, bears with them, and lets them work their own sweet wills with him. he requires little care, asks little to eat, and seems simply to crave existence. [illustration: taking on the cargo from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] let the artist in search of a model for contentment go to the burro. there he will find contentment personified. he does not sigh and moan that he, alas, is but a mongrel, neither horse nor ass. content that being neither, he may do his work and live as nature meant him to. chapter ix the story of a streak of yellow if "the love of money is the root of evil," it is, as well, the germ of progress. it was the imaginary glitter of the yellow metal that lured de soto across the continent to the mississippi and beyond; it enticed de balboa to the shores of the pacific, led cortez through the land of the aztecs, and its magnetism drew alvarado down into central america and carried pizarro to the conquest of peru; it dragged coronado across the arid plains of mexico, new mexico, and arizona in search of the fabled land of cibola, and, in fact, its gleaming has explored and exploited the americas from alaska to cape horn. it has led man to brave the perils of the desert, and as the result prosperous towns have sprung up in that dread region, and millions of dollars of wealth have been wrested from its treasure-house. just what this continent would now be, had it not been for the glitter of the yellow dust, it is hard to estimate. it is probable that the dusky savage would still hold dominion over the land. [illustration: the prospector sets forth from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] the prospector is the advance agent of progress, civilization, and prosperity. he has spied out the country,--with the aid of his faithful burro,--and has marked every trail, preceded every stage route and railroad, and founded the greater number of towns on the western half of this united states. he it is who has unlocked the treasure-house of the continent and poured into the coffers of this republic the golden stream which has made her the first nation on the globe. it is for the sight of a yellow streak in his pan that he has been tempted to endure the fatigue, cold, and hunger of the mountains, and the heat, thirst, and horror of the desert. the prospector is a man of small pretentions, of peaceful disposition, indomitable will, boundless perseverance, remarkable endurance, undoubted courage, irrepressible hopefulness, and unlimited hospitality. he is the friend of every man till he has evidence that the man is his enemy, and he is the most respected man in the mining regions of the west. of what does the prospector's outfit consist? that is a question the writer put to one of the ilk who was just starting out for the desert. "plenty of bacon, son," said he, "for that's whar ye git yer grease fer to fry yer flap-jacks, yer stock fer soup, an' it gives ye rines fer the burro to chaw. next ye takes rice, fer it don't take up much room an' it swells like all-git-out when ye gits it in the pot. comes mighty handy in yer soup, too. half a dozen onions an' a few taters--not many, fer ye can't tote 'em--them's fer soup, too, an' then the flour. flour's the principal thing in the grub line. a few beans is good an' they swells like the rice. then thar's the tent canvas an' the blankets an' the pick an' shovel an' pan, fer washin' dirt, the mortar an' chemicals fer testin' rock, an' the cookin' outfit. there's a knife, a fork, a spoon, a tin plate an' cup an' the fryin' pan, an' thar ye are." the prospector no longer deems it necessary to seek entirely new territory in which to prosecute his search for the precious metal. he has learned that good results are obtained on ground many times prospected. it takes sharp eyes to detect traces of the precious stuff--not only that, but keen judgment and technical knowledge coupled with experience. [illustration: an aged prospector at mouth of his mine from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] in the early days of mining in this country it was in the placer fields that the prospector reaped his fortune. in california, successive ages of erosion had worn away portions of the gold-bearing veins of the sierras, and the rains and brooks and rivers had distributed the metal along the valleys and plains where it but awaited the test of the pan to disclose its whereabouts. in ten years after the prospector began his wanderings through the state there were taken from the placer diggings more than $ , , worth of gold. in the year , $ , , worth were washed from the sands of california gulch alone. when the placer fields were practically worked out the prospector began looking for "mother lodes," as they termed the veins which had furnished the dust and yellow lumps they had been gathering from the sands in the placer diggings. in this search the real skill of the prospector comes into play. gold is found in a variety of rocks. its usual home, however, is in quartz, although a few of our richest mines have been found in other rocks. the prospector must be able to read the book of nature closely. he starts from the placer fields to search for the mother lode. he must determine in what direction to prosecute his search. the fine particles of gold which have been disseminated through the soil must originally have come from higher ground. one thing to determine is whether, since the gold has been laid down, there has been displacement or upheaval. if not, it is evident that somewhere upstream he must look for the vein, but the question is: where. there are mountains and valleys upon every side, and in any one of these may lie the object of his search. he circles about, looking for "float," as the small pieces of disintegrated quartz or rock are called. if he finds one piece he seeks a second and a third, that he may get a line or trail to the point from which they came. we will suppose that he finds several pieces of float at intervals on a certain line. he follows these to a point where two cañons or valleys join. here is another puzzle. he must again turn to the book of nature and closely scan her pages. his mode of reasoning will be something like this: "here are three pieces of float. one i found back at the mouth of this valley. another i picked up forty rods back, and here, where the cañon splits, i find the third. now from which branch did they come? they could not have come from the sides of this cañon, for they bear away from both sides where i found this last piece. now, if they had come from the left branch they would have landed over against the right side of the valley, for there is where the débris from that gulch has piled up. the float was on the left side and therefore must have come from the gulch on the right. they did not come from far, for the edges have not been worn smooth by the action of the water and by friction with other pebbles. then, too, this last piece is too large to have been carried any great distance." [illustration: an anxious moment--looking for the yellow streak from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] the prospector then takes the right-hand gulch and soon finds other pieces of float and knows that he is on the right trail. by and by he finds his quartz vein outcropping, or he has the good luck to uncover it. he examines the rock carefully and obtains some promising specimens and proceeds to test them. in his mortar he grinds the specimens to a fine powder. this powder he roasts in a big iron spoon till it is cherry red. he finds that the ore fuses, indicating a metal of some kind, so he drops a bit of blazing paper into it and notes that the flame burns brighter. that indicates the presence of nitrates and chlorides. then he takes some of the oxidized ore and puts it into a tin cup and covers it with iodine. after it has stood two or three hours he soaks a piece of filter paper in the solution and sets fire to it. if it gives out a purple color in burning he knows there is gold in it. how much must be determined by assay, but it is encouragement enough to lead him to select the most promising location and stake his claim thereon. then he loads his burro with specimens of his ore and returns to civilization to seek an assayer. if the assayer finds large proportions of gold in the ore the prospector has little trouble in finding capital to interest itself in his property to the extent of developing it for an interest, and perhaps his fortune is made. on the other hand, the assay may prove unfavorable and show returns so small as to make it unprofitable to mill the ore, and the matter ends there. the prospector then starts out after another will-o'-the-wisp. with many it is a lifelong chase, with a pauper's grave at the end of the course. it is a fascinating life, however, and once a prospector is, in most cases, always a prospector. to some, fortune comes on the brink of the grave, to some never, and now and then the most inexperienced "tenderfoot" stumbles upon wealth at the very outset of his search. there was the notable case of dave moffatt. he had no technical knowledge of mining and absolutely no experience. he started out in the hills prospecting and chanced upon a deer's horn lying upon the ground. [illustration: an aËrial ferry--prospectors crossing colorado river from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] "that's a sign of good luck," reasoned he, and he fell to digging where had lain the horn. he struck it rich, named his claim the "deer's horn," sold out for forty thousand dollars--and got cheated. even the most experienced prospector believes in luck. they believe that experience counts for little if a man is not naturally lucky. they still refer to the late multi-millionaire stratton as an example of the lucky man. he found his famous independence mine where hundreds of experienced prospectors had repeatedly looked over the ground. they tell how the cows once cropped the grasses over the richest mines of cripple creek, while their owners cursed their luck for not being able to strike pay. no amount of hard luck, however, will convince the prospector that his good luck is not waiting just ahead, so he totes his pick and pan over mountain and plain, out into the heart of the desert, up and down the face of the earth, till he stakes his final claim--six feet of earth--where the lucky and unlucky are on an equal footing. many rich strikes of gold have been made in the colorado and mojave deserts. the possibilities of these deserts are not exhausted, however. prof. g. e. bailey of san francisco, who was one of a party of government surveyors who recently made an exhaustive study of the mojave desert, says: "we have heard a great deal about alaska as a gold-producer, but the mojave desert is now more talked about in the financial centers of the east than alaska, and the day is not far off when there will be a greater rush to this desert than ever there was to the northern zone. "take the desert as a mineral-bearing region, and we have not begun to discover its vast wealth. there are gold-fields here which will astonish the world. every little while some prospector brings in float rock, sparkling with the precious metal which has been broken from a ledge as rich, but that ledge has been hunted for in vain. the day will come when these rich ledges will be located and contribute to the world's wealth of gold." speaking of the recent placer strike near the town of needles he says: "the real wealth of the ground has not been determined, but gold, coarse gold and nuggets of good size, have been discovered. the real story of the strike is about like this: "'the clark road is building down a cañon between needles and goff, and the men had occasion to drive several piles. one of the piles was split and was withdrawn, when several nuggets were found imbedded in the pine. word of the strike was sent quietly to san francisco, and several well-known men from there came down and located. i believe the field is to develop into a permanent one, and may yet grow to large proportions.'" the randsburg district was discovered in , and it has developed into an extensive gold-producing district of which randsburg and johannesburg are the chief towns. that field has yielded millions of dollars of gold and is yet in an early stage of development. chapter x desert borax mines in the most desolate, dangerous, and terrifying locality in the united states, if not in the whole world, lie the largest known deposits of borax in the universe. death valley is the repository of more mineral wealth than has ever been brought out of the klondike, but death stands guard over the hoards of gold, silver, copper, salt, niter, borax, and precious stones known to abound there. every year prospectors brave the terrors of the desert and enter the dread portals of the gateway to the valley. this gateway is through a range of mountains to which have been given the most appropriate name of funeral mountains. every year new tragedies are enacted in the valley and new graves are made under the shadow of these mountains, or else the victims, finding no grave, lie upon the burning sands and stare with sightless eyes at the mountains which bound the valley. [illustration: a traction engine hauling borax from death valley from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] where fortunes are to be made lives are held cheap, and natures great deposits of wealth in the valley have tempted man to pit his ingenuity, strength, and endurance against the powers of the great destroyer. in the united states the supply of borax is limited to the states of california, oregon, and nevada. until within the last ten or twelve years the supply of borax in this country was derived from evaporating the water of clear lake and several alkaline marshes in california and nevada. in , it was discovered that the crust of borax which formed in such places was but a secondary deposit from the main body of the mineral drug stored below. then began the real history of the borax industry in this country. it is said that borax is never found in nature except in craters of extinct volcanoes. be that as it may, certain it is that in california all the deposits yet discovered lie at the bottom of those bowl-shaped valleys which are known to have been once the outlet for the vomitings of prehistoric pélées. the presence of borax is indicated by the snowy appearance of the valley bottoms, and to the uninitiated these white stretches, when seen from a little distance, might well be mistaken for snow-fields. many a life has been lost in attempting to cross these snowy plains, for beneath the thin shell of salts lie fathomless depths of poisonous waters, for the funnels of those extinct volcanoes are filled with solutions of a multitude of mineral drugs such as were never brewed in chemist's laboratory. in death valley thirty thousand acres of borax, niter, soda, and salt deposits have been located. the valley is literally a vast chemical laboratory where nature has compounded and stored drugs by the millions of tons. it is the drug store of the universe. there are several different forms in which borax occurs in nature. it is found in solution in some of the lakes and pools, from which it is obtained by evaporation; in salts or crystals known as boreat, which require no other treatment than to be dissolved in vats of boiling water and then allowed to crystallize again, and it is found in the form of "cotton balls," as the round masses of ulexite are called, masses varying in size from a rifle-ball to a bushel basket. the finest borax on the market is made from the "cotton balls." these balls, when broken, are fibrous and woolly in appearance, hence the name. [illustration: the painted desert from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] when it was discovered that the real deposits of borax lie beneath the surface deposits, a genuine borax mine was located and developed at what is now known as boreat, twelve miles north of daggett, on the line of the santa fé railroad, where the reduction works are situated. the wonderful richness of this deposit has led to further explorations, and the remarkable finds in death valley have resulted. when brought to the works at daggett, the lumps of borax are fed into the mammoth iron jaws of a crusher which breaks them into lumps of an uniform size about the bigness of the average chestnut. these lumps are fed to the grinder, which reduces them to powder, and the powder, in turn, is passed through rollers like those used in the manufacture of the finest grades of wheat flour. from these rollers it comes forth as fine as the product of the wheat from which our most choice bread is made. then it is mixed with carbonate of soda, which is mined in death valley, and the mixture is thrown into vats of boiling water and agitated by means of revolving wheels till the mass is dissolved and thoroughly mixed. from this compound are precipitated two powders, one the borax of commerce, the other the well-known product styled sal soda. borax from death valley first entered the markets about twenty years ago. it was mined from deposits found in the calico mountains and from one or two sinks in the valley, and it was hauled out of the valley and one hundred miles across the desert in wagons drawn by mule teams of from eighteen to thirty-two mules each. during the five or six years following the opening of the mines, large quantities of borax were taken out and placed upon the market. then, in the spring of , the mines were closed because it was impossible to find men to work the mines or drive the mules. it became known that few men who went into the mines came out alive. at the end of six or seven months the miner succumbed to the terrific heat and the poisonous atmosphere, or else he was a broken-down invalid incapable of doing further work. it came to be considered simply a form of suicide to engage in the work, consequently the mine-owners were unable to continue operations. [illustration: a monument in the land of thirst from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] the desert borax wagons are a marvel of themselves. the wagon proper is made to hold ten tons of borax. it has a bed sixteen feet long by four feet wide and sides six feet high. the hind wheels are seven feet, and the front wheels five feet, in diameter. they are fitted with tires eight inches wide and an inch thick, and an empty wagon weighs seventy-eight hundred pounds. in addition to this combined weight of wagon and load, amounting to about fourteen tons, is the trailer, as is called the water wagon, which it is necessary to attach to the train in order that man and beast may not perish of thirst on the journey. altogether, the plucky teams have to haul through the yielding sands about twenty tons--nearly or quite one ton to the beast. a traction engine is also employed in hauling the product of the mines. this is a huge concern weighing hundreds of tons and doing the work of several mule teams. this machine has not been found adapted to all features of the work, however, and is not destined to supersede the mule wagons. a little more than twenty years ago borax was worth, in this country, in the neighborhood of one dollar per pound. it is now being mined,--even under the present disadvantages,--prepared, and marketed at a profit at about ten cents a pound, with a prospect of still lower figures in the near future. chapter xi other minerals found in the desert gold and borax, which have been given chapters in this work, are by no means all the minerals found in the california deserts. the deserts have tempted the prospector ever since california became known as a mineral field. for a time gold was the prime object of his search, but later it became known that other minerals were capable of yielding profits quite as great as the yellow metal, and he has become more critical in his observations. his care has been liberally rewarded. borax was one of the first of the mineral products to attract his attention. the discovery of large deposits of this in death valley was followed by the discovery of immense beds of niter, of sulphate of soda, nitrate of soda, and other mineral drugs in the same vicinity. [illustration: a typical desert mining town from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] the gold belt of the mojave desert has been traced from the town of mojave to death valley, a distance of one hundred and fifteen miles. the belt varies in width from two to ten miles. death valley is known to contain rich deposits of gold in other portions of the desert. all along these gold belts, silver is also more or less abundant. the silver mines of the calico district have become famous for their yield of silver bullion. these mines are about six miles north of the santa fé railroad and near the station of daggett. the belt extends in an easterly and westerly direction, and has been traced and developed for a distance of ten miles. the rocks of this region are violet or brown rhyolite, often porphyritic; green, yellow, and white tufa; greenish hornblende andesite; yellow and green breccia. copper, lead, tin, zinc, iron, manganese, baryta, gypsum, sulphur, onyx, marble, asbestos, and gem stones are also found in the deserts. the minerals are scattered over the many thousands of square miles of territory. the difficulties of transportation, coupled with the lack of water, have greatly retarded the development of the known mineral fields, as well as prevented the finding of other rich deposits which doubtless exist. the character of the mineral rocks is multitudinous. in the waterloo mines in the mojave desert, ore is found in a belt of jasper which yields more than one thousand ounces of silver to the ton. twenty-eight miles east of daggett are large bodies of iron ore--the largest known on the pacific coast. these deposits have been practically undisturbed because of the distance from railroad and the lack of water and fuel to mine and smelt the ores. when a railroad is laid to the locality this field will prove a wonderful source of wealth to those who secure possession of it. five miles south of oro grande are rich veins of copper which are found very near the surface. these deposits were discovered by the mormons who settled on the mojave river several years ago. variegated marble quarries have been opened twelve miles northeast from victor, in which are found marbles of wonderful beauty and fineness. shades of crimson and gray, cream, rose, white, pale blue, black, chocolate, and yellow are mined from these quarries, the ledges of which outcrop and stand above the surrounding lands. some of these marbles approach in beauty that of the finest onyx. the colorado desert contains numerous valuable gold mines, as well as silver, copper, tin, and other important minerals. cement and asbestos are found in abundance in certain sections. rich deposits of the latter mineral are found in the vicinity of indio and at palm springs. lithia rock and fine clay are mined in certain sections and in the richest known tourmaline deposits in america were found at mesa grande. there is an interesting story connected with the finding of these gems. mesa grande is an elevated plateau or tableland. on the lower adjacent lands water is found, and ranchers--mostly mexicans--have established themselves. ever since the valley became settled the tableland has been a favorite playground for the children. a portion of the mesa is scantily covered with loam, where grow cacti and other specimens of dry-weather plants. a large portion of the mesa, however, is barren and the rock lies exposed, gray, mottled, or white beneath the glaring sun which shines ever from a cloudless sky. here and there the granite and gneiss show a belt of snowy white quartz which gleams in the sunlight, forming a pleasing contrast to the darker rocks in which it is set. one day, while playing among these rocks, one of the children found a delicately tinted transparent pebble. when held up to the sun it emitted brilliant reflections and sparkled and scintillated like living flame. a cry of delight brought the other children to the spot, and then began a search for more of the pretty stones, with the result of the gathering of a dozen or more of the sparkling stones that afternoon. after this, frequent trips were made to the mesa in search of the pretty pebbles, and scarcely a house in the vicinity but contained collections of the beautiful playthings. one day a professional gem-cutter chanced to visit the valley under the mesa and in a basket of playthings he saw some of the bright pebbles. he examined the stones and learned where they had been found. then he prospected the locality and found the gem-bearing ledges and staked claims covering the richer portions of the field. since then some rare and valuable stones have been taken from the mines, gems equal to those of ceylon, brazil, or siberia, which countries have heretofore supplied the world with these gems. the gem-bearing ledges extend over two or three hundred acres. salt is another valuable mineral found in both the mojave and colorado deserts. the famous salt-fields of salton are in the latter desert, but they have a story all their own, which will be told in another chapter. chapter xii a remarkable harvest-field the most remarkable harvest-field in the united states, if not in the whole world, is located in the heart of the colorado desert. the spot is known as salton, and it lies feet below the level of the sea. the crop which is harvested is salt. so plentiful is the natural deposit of this necessary article that it is plowed with gang-plows, is scraped into windrows as hay is raked in the field, and, like hay, it is stacked into heaps from the windrows and is then loaded into wagons and later into cars to be carried to the reduction works three miles away. there are about one thousand acres in this saline field. when one looks upon this glittering, sparkling, and scintillating field, which lies like a great patch of snow dropped down into the midst of the burning sands of the plain, he is reminded of that passage of scripture which says: "lift up your eyes, and look on the fields; for they are white already to harvest." [illustration: plowing salt in colorado desert] this field is literally white to harvest and a most phenomenal harvest it is. over a briny, oozy marsh lies a crust of salt six to sixteen inches thick. as often as removed, the crust quickly forms again, so that crop after crop is taken from the same ground. in fact, although these harvests have been going on nearly twenty years, and two thousand tons of marketable salt are annually taken from the beds, but ten acres of the one-thousand-acre field have been broken. the laborers employed in breaking up the salt crust, in loading the salt onto the wagons and taking it to the mills, in cleaning and preparing it for the market, are mostly japanese and indians. in the summer season the temperature reaches to degrees at salton, and white men are unable to endure the work exposed to the burning rays of the sun. the ease with which the salt is procured in this field makes it a valuable one. at very little expense the salt is made ready for market, and it brings from six to thirty-six dollars per ton, according to the grade. the coachella valley, in which this great field of salt lies, is ninety miles long and from ten to thirty miles wide. its one thousand six hundred square miles of territory lie wholly below the level of the sea, its greatest depression being feet. the southern portion of the valley is devoid of vegetation, save where irrigation has been introduced, but about the northern portion of the valley the sage and mesquite have obtained a foothold in the sandy soil. near indio, in the northern portion of the valley, an artesian well was drilled a few years ago and a copious supply of water was obtained. now more than two hundred and fifty of those wells are pouring their waters over the thirsty soil, and a large tract of land has been brought into a high state of cultivation. the lands about the salt-fields, however, are too strongly impregnated with salts and alkali to offer any inducements to the rancher now or in the future. the constant harvest of salt, however, is a rich enough return for the lands thus unfitted for agriculture. this desert salt is remarkable for its fine quality. an analysis made in san francisco shows its constituents to be as follows: chloride of sodium, . per cent.; calcium sulphate, . per cent.; water, . per cent.; magnesium sulphate, . per cent.; sodium sulphate, . per cent.; total, per cent. until , the title to the salton lands was vested in the government, and the company which was reaping the harvest had no title to the property and no legal right thereto. there is an interesting story connected with the change of title. this concern, the liverpool salt company, had a competitor for the salt trade of the pacific coast in the standard salt company. the salton fields are reached by means of the southern pacific railway, which road has the handling of all the product of the salt-fields. the standard company alleged that the railroad people discriminated against it in the way of freight rates, excluding the standard people from the coast markets, and thus securing a monopoly of the trade for the liverpool company. this led the managers of the standard company to look into the titles of the salt-fields. it was then discovered that the company operating was without title, and that the lands were unallotted government lands. the attention of the government officials was called to the fact that the liverpool people were trespassers, and an order was issued for the company to vacate. a bill was then introduced in congress providing for filing claims upon saline lands, and the bill passed the senate january , . it yet required the signature of the president to make it a law, however, and it was then that matters became interesting in the desert. both companies congregated men on the lands adjoining the salt-fields, prepared to race to the choice portion of the field to stake claims the moment the wire should apprise them of the signing of the bill. each company had an agent in washington ready to telegraph the news the instant it became known, and each company had a man at the telegraph station at salton, three miles from the field, to take the message to the men the moment it came. the liverpool company felt confident of winning the race, for the company owned a spur track from the main line of the railroad to the salt-fields, and upon this line was placed a hand-car, manned ready to pull for the fields the instant the dispatch should arrive. this car could easily outstrip the fleetest horse, the yielding sands making it impossible for a steed to make rapid progress. the manager of the standard company, however, did not depend upon horse speed, mule speed, or car speed. there are in southern california an average of cloudless days each year. he pinned his faith to the weather, and his confidence was not betrayed. at . o'clock, the afternoon of january st, two telegrams arrived at salton at about the same time. one was for the manager of the liverpool salt company and the other was for the manager of the standard salt company. the contents of the telegrams were identical. they told that the president had signed the bill which opened the lands in the salt-field to entry. in a moment the hand-car was off, the men pumping for dear life. before they had gone a dozen rods there shot from the station a blaze of light--a message flashed by mirrors held in such a manner as to catch and reflect the rays of the sun. to the watchers three miles away, who were waiting for the signal, which had been prearranged, it was as though the station had burst into flame. at the sight of this signal the men rushed to the salt-fields and set the stakes and posted the notices required by law. when the hand-car men arrived it was all over, and there was nothing for them to do but to return and swallow their chagrin. after the triumph of the standard company in this peculiar race, a compromise was effected whereby the liverpool company, which owned the mills and apparatus and the spur track, and all other equipments for the operating of the field, resumed the ownership of the field, and the standard company was granted concessions which placed them on an equal footing with their competitors in the markets on the coast. in june, , the laborers at salton were treated to a surprise. they found the country filling up with water from an unknown source. a great deal of apprehension was felt, as it was thought that the water undoubtedly came from a crevasse which had been opened communicating with the sea. if such were the case it was to be expected that salton would soon be feet under water, for water seeks its level. the flow of water continued till an area ten miles wide by thirty miles long was covered to a depth of six feet; then it was ascertained that the water was coming in from the colorado river, which had risen above its banks and was cutting a channel across the desert, threatening to convert a large section of the coachella valley into an inland sea. this inundation was caused by the co-equal rise of the head waters of the colorado and gila rivers. the waters of the lower colorado rose five feet above high-water mark and continued to pour its waters into the desert till the flood subsided. after the flood had abated, the sands of the desert and the fiery sun soon drank up the lake thus suddenly formed. inquiry brought forth the information that a similar inundation had taken place in . at that time, however, the waters subsided before so large a lake had been formed. it was these inundations which gave birth to the idea of converting a part of the waters of the colorado into an irrigating canal for the purpose of reclaiming the lands of the valley. chapter xiii death valley of the , square miles of territory which comprise the state of california, , square miles are desert. of this area more than two thousand square miles lie below the level of the sea. the lowest point in all this submarine field is found in death valley, the most terrifying and forbidding region in the world. death valley has been rightly named. it was christened with blood and has ever lived up to its title. sixty-eight out of the seventy mormon emigrants who wandered into that dread region, in , gave their lives to the christening. the story of their terrible death from tortures of thirst and agonies of heat is too horrible to print. they came into a nameless region and their bodies were there consigned to unmarked graves. there lie to-day the remains of all that party save two. these two, when they came away, left behind them a region with a name--death valley. [illustration: teaming in death valley from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] since then other names have been given to localities within this terrible region, and they have been, for the most part, names in keeping with the awfulness of the place. the mountains which tower above the fearful sink, shutting it off from the great desert outside, have been named "funeral mountains." there is "furnace creek," whose waters, bitter, poisonous, and unpalatable, flowing through burning sands, become heated as though literally flowing from a glowing furnace. there are "ash meadows," a plain strewn with scoriac débris--a sodom of the western world. there is the "devil's chair," a gigantic and realistic throne worn by erosion from the huge bluffs which form the portals to the valley, a seat appropriate to his satanic majesty were he to choose a throne upon earth. indeed, according to a notice posted by a government surveying party in the pass into the valley, the home of the chief of imps is not far distant. the notice reads thus: dry place please keep off the grass saratoga springs soda, borax, and niter mineral monument death valley, feet below sea-level miles to randsburg miles to daggett miles to evans' ranch miles to resting springs miles to owl springs miles to salt springs miles to coyote holes erected by the bailey geological party christmas day, miles from wood miles from water feet from hell god bless our home the pool known as saratoga springs, where this monument is erected, is one of the wonders of the valley. from the bottom of the circular crater-like basin, which is about thirty feet across, bubble several springs whose tepid waters are strongly impregnated with sulphur. these springs keep the basin full and overflowing, and the waste waters seek a natural depression near and form a lake several acres in extent. the waters are not fit for use, however, being rank with alkali and other mineral substances. death valley has an area of nearly five hundred square miles. it is fifty miles long and varies in width from five to ten miles. its greatest depression is feet below sea-level. in this limited area more men have perished than upon any other similar area in the world, the great battle-fields excepted. the remarkable mineral wealth of the region has been a glittering bait to lure men to destruction. there are in the valley golden ledges, the ores of which run in value to fabulous sums per ton. there are vast beds of borax, niter, soda, salt, and other mineral drugs. there is a single salt-field in the valley thirty miles long and from two to four miles wide, where salt lies a foot or more deep over the entire field. turquoises, opals, garnets, onyx, marbles, and other gems and rocks of value exist in abundance. the valley is a storehouse of wealth, the treasure-vault of the nation, the drug-store of the universe, but death holds the title. although death valley is the most formidable spot in all the desert region, it is not wanting in beauty. color effects such as artist never dreamed of are here to be seen. it is not the coloring given by vegetation, however, for verdure is lacking. there are no velvety green meadows, neither are there fields of blooming flowers. the coloring of the mountains and plains of this region are penciled in unfading and unchanging colors. these colors are mineral and chemical and are blended in rare harmony--laid by the master hand which carved this remarkable region out of the edge of the western continent. green and blue of copper, ruddiness of niter, yellow of sulphur, red of hematite and cinnabar, white of salt and borax, blend with the black and gray of the barren rocks and the dark carmine and royal purple and pale green of the mineral-stained granites. heat and thirst are not wholly responsible for death in this valley, for some have frozen and some have drowned within its confines. thermometers register as high as degrees in the valley, but towering above the region are snow-clad mountains, and it sometimes happens that the winds, which in the day waft waves of furnace-like heat through the valley, bring down, by night, the frigidity of the upper region, chilling to death the unprotected prospector who may chance to be below. again, in this thirst-cursed region, which knows not the blessing of the shower, sometimes occur terrible cloudbursts which send solid walls of water tearing down the mountain-sides, carrying death and destruction in its wake. [illustration: indian chief lying in state from photograph by c. c. pierce & co.] nor are these all of the possible dangers. in this great drug warehouse arise deadly vapors, and the passing winds whirl clouds of poisonous dust through the air, which, if inhaled, will eat the vitals and eventually rob one of life. notwithstanding the terrible character of this valley, there is an instance where two persons sought it for the express purpose of cheating death. a brooklyn lawyer named whittaker, and his wife, were both stricken with consumption. by advice of their doctors they sought the pacific coast, going to los angeles. physicians there advised them to seek a drier climate; therefore, in a wagon equipped with a camping outfit and a supply of the necessities of life, they sought the great mojave desert. here, indeed, was air dry enough for their purpose. they drove from oasis to oasis, and soon found themselves growing better and stronger, notwithstanding the privations they were forced to endure. they determined to make their home somewhere in that vast solitude, but where was a question yet to be decided. they continued to wander over the barren wastes till one day they came to the gateway to the terrible valley of death. it is not certain that they were aware of the identity of the locality. be that as it may, the horses were directed valleyward and they passed through the portals which have admitted so many and discharged so few. inside the valley they found a man guarding a borax mine which had been closed down because men could not be found to brave the perils of the valley to operate it. here whittaker and his wife rested a few days and then they pressed on into the valley. their host tried to induce them to turn back, but they would not heed him. onward they journeyed till they found a little cañon in the side of the mountain which formed a portion of one of walls of the valley, and this spot they named home and made there a permanent camp. this was in or . seven years later the woman died. whittaker continued to live in the old home, but the loss of his wife, coupled with the solitude, the heat, and the poisons of the atmosphere, was too much for his reason and he went mad. in this condition he was found by a prospector--mad, but rich, for the floor of his cabin was thickly littered with golden nuggets. a great railroad, the san pedro, los angeles and salt lake road, is now spanning the desert. this line will pass within a few miles of the entrance to the valley, and when it is completed the real conquest of the valley will begin. it is predicted that a branch road will shortly be built into the valley from this road. when this is done, and pure water has been piped into the valley, towns and perhaps cities will spring up in the midst of the dread region, even as they are now springing up in the great submarine region of the colorado desert. then, from a region of terror and death, it may become a valley of life, activity, and prosperity. chapter xiv the mouth of hades "the volcanoes" is the name given to a most peculiar and terrifying region in the lower colorado desert. its character is such as to lead certain of the indians who inhabit the desert to believe it to be the gateway to the land of evil spirits. indeed, it would seem to be the very gateway to hades, and one is reminded, upon visiting the region, of john bunyan's description of the "valley of the shadow of death" through which christian is forced to pass. "about the midst of this valley i perceived the mouth of hell to be," he writes, "and it stood also hard by the wayside. and ever and anon the flame and smoke would come out in such abundance, with sparks and hideous noises." one can almost imagine that bunyan wrote those lines from the colorado desert, after viewing the "volcanoes." over an area of more than a mile square are scattered hundreds of cone-like mounds, from one foot to one hundred feet in diameter and of various heights, all of which are busily engaged in spitting forth sulphurous vapors, black ooze, boiling mud and water, and other volcanic matter. over the region eternally hang dense clouds of steam and hot vapors, and strange sounds emanate from this diabolical region. there are hissings, as of monster serpents; strange and ominous rumblings which come from the bowels of the earth; sharp explosions, singly or in multitudinous concert, like the running fire of armies engaged in battle; moaning noises, as of animals or human beings in distress; thuds and jars, as of heavy bodies falling,--all these and a multitude of other unusual and unnatural sounds are not reassuring to timid hearts. the region is treeless and herbless. sulphurous soil and sulphurous air have proven fatal to vegetable life. not even the cactus or desert sage can survive the poisons of the soil. animal life is equally scarce, and the very birds of the air avoid the locality. there is a peculiar sensation experienced upon entering this volcanic region after hours of travel over the desert in the glare of the sun, which here ever shines from a cloudless sky. as one approaches the eruptive cones he passes into a shadow which is almost startling after the brightness so long experienced. the steam-clouds shut out the sun from this mile of gruesome region, but the heat from the numerous craters more than makes up for the absence of the fiery rays of the sun. in one portion of the volcanic territory is a body of water a quarter of a mile long, which is known as lake juala or black lake. its waters, which are extremely warm, are inky-black, and the hands, when dipped therein, are stained. it is not known what minerals or chemicals are held in solution. it is probable that the waters are poisonous. it may be, however, that they have wonderful medicinal properties, and that they are destined to heal the ailments of humanity. however that may be, this somber sea is in keeping with the region--a fitting lake for the suburb of hades. earthquakes are of frequent occurrence in the vicinity of the "volcanoes." they are in line of the so-called "earthquake belt," which extends up and down the coast, california being the most frequently disturbed of the coast states. since , when the record of these disturbances was begun, more than four hundred shocks have been felt in the state. some of these have been slight and others have been severe. the earthquake, christmas evening of , destroyed the village of hemet over against the western side of the desert and caused the death of six persons. in the year , the mission of san juan capistrano was destroyed by an earthquake, and half a hundred lives were lost. certain changes are taking place in this region. some portions of the land are slowly sinking and other points are rising. the same subterranean fires which keep active the hundreds of miniature volcanoes heat the waters of the caliente and matajala hot springs, and are doubtless responsible for the frequent shiverings of mother earth. there was a time in the history of the earth--long before man was here to record the history--when a chain of volcanoes extended from alaska on the north to mexico and beyond, on the south. these monster spouters left their ineffaceable record upon the continent in the way of vast beds of lava and numerous craters, which the centuries have not been able to hide. the region known as the "volcanoes" may be the remnant of that mighty volcanic period, or it may be the dawning of a new eruptive season. it is, in either case, a locality to be shunned. chapter xv desert miscellany--unusual and peculiar features there are several localities in the deserts, about which cling stories and traditions of unusual interest. superstition mountain, situated in the southwestern portion of the colorado desert, is one of these. this mountain is nearly in the line of the old trail taken by the early overland pioneers on their way to the coast by the way of yuma. the mountain is remarkable in one respect--it scarcely ever presents the same appearance twice. its contour is constantly changing, owing to the fact that it is bordered by gigantic sand-hills, which are carved and whittled and shaped by the fierce winds which sweep across the plain. if one notes some point or pinnacle as a landmark to-day, to-morrow he will have lost his bearings, for the outlines will have been changed. this peculiarity of the mountain has awakened the fears of the cocopah indians, who inhabit that region, and who are naturally superstitious, and they shun the locality. nothing will induce them to mount the eminence, and they even avoid that section of the plain. it is to them the abode of evil spirits. among other evil spirits who, they believe, inhabit the mountain, is one which bears a strange resemblance to the gaelic "banshee." the old folks of the irish peasantry to this day tell of the banshee, a little, old weazened woman, who is said to appear to persons, clapping her hands and wailing, as a warning of approaching death. the cocopahs have precisely the same superstition, save that the banshee is a little old man, "wah dindin," who is supposed to come down from superstition mountain to bring death to the one to whom he appears. the cocopahs are very much averse to being photographed, and the sight of a camera is a signal for them to throw themselves face downward upon the earth. they believe that their pictures, if taken, are transmitted to the evil spirits in the mountain, and that, by means of this picture, the little old man of death--the cocopah banshee--will be able to trace them and bring them death. some of the more enlightened and more avaricious, however, upon being bribed with silver, so far overcome their fears as to allow themselves to be photographed. [illustration: a desert pottery factory] white men are not so loath to visit the locality. it is believed that this mountain or some of the adjacent hills holds the famous lost "pegleg" gold mine. in , a one-legged man named smith found a mine of wonderful richness in the colorado desert. he was piloting a party over the desert from yuma, when he came to three hills which rose out of the plain. not being sure of his bearings, he mounted the taller of the hills to get a view of the surrounding country. upon this hill, which seemed to be composed of black quartz or rock, he found out-cropping ore fairly sparkling with the precious metal. he took specimens away with him and learned, upon reaching his destination, that the metal was really gold. the mine became known as the "pegleg mine" from the fact that smith wore a wooden leg and was known as "pegleg."[ ] after conducting his party safely to los angeles, smith returned to the desert to investigate his find. he could not locate it. he could not even find the hills which had been the landmark upon which he depended. in or , a prospector passed over the trail from yuma to los angeles. in the colorado desert he chanced upon three hills, and upon the larger one he discovered gold. he reached los angeles with $ worth of gold nuggets. he told of his find and described the location. it tallied with the description given by smith of his find. a party was formed for the exploiting of the mine, and the prospector was preparing to guide his associates to the spot when he was taken ill and died. the mine was again lost and has never been found. from time to time expeditions have gone forth to look for the lost pegleg mine, but their searches have been fruitless. scores of lives have been lost in the quest. to this day skeletons are frequently found in that section of the desert, grewsome reminders of the tortures of that terrible region. one of the last of these search parties consisted of tom clover of los angeles and a man named russell, of san bernardino. the latter still lives in san bernardino, but tom clover left his bones upon the desert. he ascended superstition mountain to take observations while russell remained upon the plain. they agreed to meet on the opposite side of the mountain. russell kept the appointment, but clover was never seen again. in the midst of the colorado desert, where, previous to the bringing in of water by the imperial canal system, neither man nor beast could find means of subsistence, are found many earthen ollas of indian make and of ancient pattern. nearly every settler in the imperial valley has one or more of these relics, some chipped and broken, but many in a perfect condition. these ollas are not found in groups and collections, but in ones and twos at various intervals in the interior of the desert. they have a story to tell of conditions in the dim past and explain how it happened that certain tribes chose so forbidding a region as a dwelling-place. in ancient times, before the white man--the most formidable foe the redman has known--came to this continent, the various tribes warred with each other. the strong wrested the choice portions of the land from the weaker tribes, and the latter were forced to choose between the desert with possible death or certain annihilation at the hands of their foes. they chose the desert. as was natural in the case, those who dared the desert made their abiding-place at the oases of the desolate region. here, after a certain manner, they lived and accumulated more or less of the things which represented, to the savage mind, wealth. but even here they were not yet free from their oppressors, who occasionally bore down upon them to give them battle. in the very heart of the desert, far from food or water, these persecuted indians finally found refuge. they learned that their enemies dared not brave the perils of the desert wastes, therefore, in times of peace, they carried deep into the desert supplies of food and water, the latter in the large earthen ollas, and cached them in the sands. each warrior attended to the supply for himself and family. they did not store the supplies of the tribe together, but purposely scattered them. when an attack was made upon them, each man sought his own cache, and there he stayed till food and water were exhausted. by that time the zeal of the foe would have cooled off, no doubt, and they could return in safety to their homes. [illustration: black buttes--phantom ship of the desert] the indians thus persecuted have long since passed away, but the story of their tribulations is brought down to us in those ollas scattered over the burning plain. before irrigation made habitable a portion of the colorado desert, persons who visited the dread region came back to civilization with strange tales of a phantom ship which was seen to sail upon a spectral sea. sometimes this ship took the form of a full-rigged three-master; again it was a monster war-ship, with conning-towers and turrets, and great guns projecting fore and aft. the phantom vessel always appears in a certain portion of the desert and, instead of sailing slowly into sight and passing steadily on out of range of vision, as a well-regulated ship should do, it has the remarkable faculty of rising suddenly from the mystic sea and as suddenly sinking out of sight again. when the imperial settlements were established in the land of mirages the mystery of the phantom ship was solved. about thirty miles south of the international line, in the republic of mexico, rising out of a level plain, is a triple-peaked mountain known as the black buttes. when the atmospheric conditions are favorable, which is frequent, the buttes, which from the imperial settlements are below the horizon, are lifted by refraction into view, and under the transforming power of the mirage they appear like a great ship sailing upon a vast sea. sometimes the three peaks are elongated and appear to be masts, while the solid granite bulk of the pile takes on the form of sails, seemingly set to catch the winds of the specter sea. again the peaks are less elongated, and they appear like the heavier masts of a war-ship, and the sails are transformed into turrets and towers. the mirage eats into the sides of the mountains, leaving exposed several projecting points, which look like the heavy guns of a battle-ship. then, perhaps, while the watcher strains his eye to catch the strange vision, it suddenly disappears from sight. at times the transformation from three-master to war-ship, or from war-vessel to three-master, takes place before the watcher's eyes, as though some mighty wizard were doing the "presto, change!" act for the gazer's benefit. then, very likely, the buttes lose all resemblance to ocean craft and assume their natural shape, but appear to be surrounded by water--a granite isle in a placid sea. so vivid is this picture that the mountain casts a perfect inverted shadow of itself in the waters which apparently surround it, but which actually do not exist. there are other peaks and mountains which are worthy of mention among the features of the colorado desert. one of these is pilot knob, and signal mountain is another. these two mountains are landmarks which serve to guide those who have occasion to cross the forbidding region. pilot knob, in the southeastern part of the desert, is the point toward which eastern-bound travelers shape their course. the peak can be seen more than a hundred miles, and it stands out so distinctly from other mountains in that quarter of the desert that its identity is not easily lost. signal mountain rises abruptly from the level plain near the western side of the desert at the international line. it is visible from all points in the desert, and has served to guide many a traveler to safety who otherwise would have perished in the desert wastes. the mountain is pyramidal in form, and is distinctive from all other peaks of that region. along the eastern rim of the desert stretches a long line of hills two or three hundred feet in height, which are known as the "walking hills." they are gray and barren but not lacking in picturesqueness, for many strange and fantastic shapes may be traced in their outlines. these hills are constantly changing both shape and position, and that is the reason they have received the name of walking hills. east of these hills run the trains of the southern pacific railroad. the road was built a little more than a quarter of a century ago, and at that time the tracks were from one fourth of a mile to two miles west of the hills. now the latter are encroaching upon the road and threaten to bury it beneath millions of tons of sand. the tracks of the road must either be moved farther east, or else they must swing in to the west of the hills to escape being engulfed by the sandy billows. the hills are composed of fine particles of sand which have been carried before the winds which sweep a hundred miles across a level and barren plain. what first caused the sand to pile up will never be known, but once a barrier was formed, all the sand which fled before the winds piled up, raising the barrier each year. the winds, which always blow from the west, are continually beating against the base of the hills, lifting the sands there, sliding them up the sloping sides and dropping them over the other side. thus, as the westward slope is eaten away, the eastern side of the hills is added to and they slowly advance toward the east. [illustration: digging the imperial canal] the range has yet an open field many miles before it comes to the colorado river. when the hills reach that point they will disappear, for the waters of that mighty stream will bear the shifting sands away toward the sea. in the southwestern portion of the desert, one hundred miles across the plain from the walking hills, nature has dealt in geometrical figures on an extensive scale. the plain, at this point, is composed of claylike soil, very hard and firm, unlike that of the surrounding desert, which is loose and sandy. the clay section is smooth as macadam, and is level save for the geometrical figures which are found thereon in relief. from beyond the clay-paved section the winds have brought the light, loose particles of soil and have piled them up in crescent-shaped hills at various places about the plain. the hills vary in size but not in shape. each mound is as true a crescent as is the new moon, or as could be constructed by the most skillful landscape gardener. the proportions are carefully preserved in the various mounds. the horns of the crescents all point eastward. the winds all blow from the west. like the walking hills, they travel slowly across the plain, preserving their shape and proportions but growing a little taller, a little broader, and a little thicker as they go, because of the new material which is continually being brought across the plain by the constructive winds. there is, no doubt, some good and sufficient natural cause for this peculiar construction. some unalterable law of nature is probably being followed in the shaping of these sand-heaps, but thus far no one has been able to offer an explanation for this remarkable freak of the winds. [illustration: imperial church--first wooden building in lower colorado desert] [footnote : "pegleg" smith was a brother of the famous trapper, jedediah smith.] chapter xvi journalism below sea-level the printing-press has sought many strange corners in the universe. it has, in these modern times, led rather than followed civilization. in the new west it usually is, first the printing-press, then the town. one of the most peculiar phases of journalism is found in the desert region of california. there are, in the two great deserts of the state, four weekly papers, two in each desert. in the mojave desert are the _randsburg miner_, published in the gold-mining town of randsburg, in the northern part of the desert, and the _needles' eye_, issued from the town of needles on the eastern confines of the sandy waste. the needles is the metropolis of the upper desert country, and the _needles' eye_ is the larger of the two papers published in this desert. the town has a peculiar history, inasmuch as in the first fifteen years of its existence it stood upon borrowed ground. in size the township is one and a half times as large as the state of vermont. the village of needles is about eight miles west of the colorado river on the line of the santa fé railroad. the main part of the village is situated upon section of the township, which is one of the sections included in the railway grant to the southern pacific railroad company. the town grew naturally about the station, which was established at the time of the building of the santa fé road, and little thought was given to titles at that time. in time the town grew to the dignity of brick blocks, and still the titles remained with the railway company. some ineffectual efforts were made on one or two occasions to secure titles to the lands from the railway people, but it was not until that a deal was made whereby the townsmen, in consideration of $ , , secured deeds to the lands upon which stand their homes and business blocks. needles has a population of two thousand souls. it is a mine outfitting town, furnishing supplies for a large and rich gold-mining district north of that locality. the _needles' eye_, which is an eight-page journal, is a wide-awake organ owned, printed, and edited by l. v. root, a native of michigan, but a resident of the southwest since . he formerly edited the _new mexico gleaner_ and is familiar with frontier journalism. his paper is devoted to the local interests of the town and to the mining districts of that region. [illustration: year-old willow trees at international line] randsburg is a typical mining town with desert accessories. it is the chief town of the gold-mining district known as the "american rand," and has but one rival in the district, johannesburg, which is close to it in size and importance, but which has not yet arrived at the dignity of a newspaper. the _miner_ is a four-page weekly devoted to the news of the mines and to local items. it has few features of interest outside the locality in which it is published. in the colorado desert journalism attains an unusual degree of uniqueness. both papers published in that region are printed below the level of the sea. the _submarine_ has the distinction of being the first paper in the world to be printed below the level of the sea. it is still unique in that it is the "lowest down" of any paper in the world. in order to hold this record the editor and proprietor, randolph r. freeman, was obliged to move to a new locality a few months after establishing his paper in the desert. in , the first paper to be printed below sea-level was issued by freeman at indio, a station in the desert on the line of the southern pacific railroad. indio has a depression of twenty-two feet below the level of the sea. later, the imperial irrigation canal was started across the desert from the colorado river, and the town of imperial had its birth. then the _press_ sprang into existence and was printed in an office situated sixty-five feet below the ocean's level. the _submarine_ thus lost double prestige, for it was no longer the only paper published below the level of the sea, neither was it the "most low down newspaper on earth," as the publisher announced in his prospectus. the editor, in informing his readers of his move, did so in the following language: "we have dropped from twenty-two feet below sea-level to seventy-six feet below sea-level. we hit coachella with a dull yet raucous thud. the low, rumbling noise you heard last tuesday was caused by our printing-office taking the drop. it may be truly said that the _submarine_ is the lowest down, or the lowdownest, or the most low down newspaper on earth. as nearly as we can compute the distance, hades is about two hundred and twelve feet just below our new office. the paper will continue to advocate the interests of all the country below sea-level and we want you to fire in all the news you know." the _submarine_ is nothing if not consistent. it is an eight-page weekly, printed upon paper of a "submarine blue" tint. its local paragraphs are run under the caption of "along the coral strand." it has a humorous department conducted by "mcginty," the man who fell to the bottom of the sea. there is still another department entitled, "the undertow." the editor owns a span of fine horses, the names of which are "sub" and "marine." in fact there is a flavor of the locality in everything connected with the establishment. the imperial _press_, owned, edited, and published by edgar f. howe, is conducted strictly on journalistic principles. the paper is somewhat larger than the _submarine_. it is an eight-page weekly devoted to the interests of irrigation and of reclamation of the desert lands, and to general and local news. howe has been connected with various california newspapers, and has a wide reputation as a commercial editor and an oil expert. he confesses that the imperial publishing business has introduced him to decidedly new experiences. one of the chief difficulties in printing a paper in so torrid a region is that it frequently occurs that the ink-rollers melt and the paper is delayed from issuing till other rollers can be obtained from los angeles, nearly three hundred miles away. summer temperature in imperial ranges from to degrees in the shade and from to degrees higher in the sun. a double set of rollers is kept on hand when possible, but it frequently happens that rollers collapse about as fast as they can be adjusted, and the paper is hung up till a new lot gets in, or till the weather cools off a bit. howe has a device of his own invention for the keeping of the rollers when not in actual use. it is a cupboard with a ventilator in the top and a box of sawdust in the bottom. the rollers are set in a rack midway. the sawdust is kept wet, and the rapid evaporation keeps the cupboard moderately cool. in one feature the _press_ and _submarine_ are peculiar. each of the papers has a circulation three or four times larger than the entire population of the towns in which the papers are published. another feature not common with rural publications is that all subscriptions are paid in advance and in cash. there are no delinquent subscribers, for the paper is stopped when the subscription expires. neither are subscriptions payable in cordwood, for that is a commodity unknown to desert towns. twelve miles north of imperial, and near the end of the imperial canal, there was completed, january , , a single board building twelve by sixteen feet. when the writer visited the place in the following june he found thirty-six buildings completed and others in the course of construction. this was the town of brawley, one hundred and twenty-five feet below sea-level. one of the first objects to greet his eye was a printing outfit, the presses, cases, and accoutrements being stacked upon the sands beside a street of the town and near a tent in which resided the owner of the outfit. this was the nucleus of a new newspaper, to be started as soon as a building could be erected for its occupancy. this paper is destined to be the "lowdownest," unless one of the other papers moves still deeper into the great sink. it is among the possibilities of the future to have a paper published three hundred feet below sea-level, for this depression may be reached in the center of the basin known as the "salton sink." chapter xvii the end of the desert there must be, we are told, an end to everything, and the beginning of the end of the desert is at hand. already two hundred thousand acres of the great colorado desert has been taken from it and placed with the productive acreage of the state. this is but a fraction, to be sure, of the vast amount of arid land in the state and but about one five-hundredth part of the arid area in the united states, but it is a beginning, and when it is considered that it is the work of only two years it will be conceded that it is a marvelous beginning. irrigation, to be sure, is not new to the western country, but reclamation on a gigantic scale is new. farming was carried on by irrigation in the west before the first white man visited this continent. in arizona and new mexico are to be traced to-day vast irrigation canals and reservoirs used by a race that had been forgotten when the first white man visited the region. some of these ancient canals are now being used by both indians and white men in those territories. [illustration: irrigating desert land] the national irrigation idea had its birth in los angeles in , when the business men of that city met and opened a campaign for securing a government system. nearly six thousand letters were written and mailed to representative men of the country with the result that the idea took root and national irrigation became an accomplished fact. before the government passed laws whereby irrigation became a national charge, private enterprise had taken hold of the matter, and the imperial canal had been started out into the colorado desert. this canal has had marvelous development, and two years from the time work was begun upon it more lands had been reclaimed than by any other single irrigation system in the world. the work of reclaiming the colorado desert was begun in . not far from the mexican line, at hanlon's crossing, the river left a convenient place for the headworks of the great canal. here is where the river was tapped. about a mile from the headworks the river, which in the bygone ages laid down the sixty-mile barrier between the gulf and the desert, also left a channel whereby to aid in reclaiming the desert. the first ten miles of this natural channel required some deepening, and then for some sixty miles across the mexican border and back to the international line the canal was ready-made. from the point where the canal leaves the colorado to where it returns to the international line, after circling through mexican territory, there is a fall of one hundred and fifteen feet, less than two feet to the mile. this, however, is sufficient for the purposes of irrigation. one of the first questions to be settled, when the project for leading the river out into the desert was considered, was the character of the water. not all water found in the arid regions is good for irrigation. much of it is so impregnated with alkali as to be injurious rather than helpful to the soil. the university of arizona made daily analysis of the waters of the river for a period of seventeen months. this analysis showed that the waters contained no injurious substances, but, on the contrary, much that is nutritive to the soil. [illustration: desert sorghum] the waters of the colorado carry in suspension one-fourth of one per cent. of solid matter. the color of the water is about like that of lemonade. the analysis shows that this matter in suspension is composed of clay, lime, phosphoric acid, available potash, and nitrogen. the fertilizing value of these substances is about cents per acre-inch of water. as from twenty-four inches to thirty-six inches of water are used in the course of the year for each acre irrigated, it will be seen that the fertilizing value of the water is from $ to $ per acre per year. this means that the land will never wear out but will produce abundant crops so long as worked and irrigated. another question which came up for settlement was the permanence of the water-supply. the answer to this was equally satisfactory. the mean flow of the river is found to be forty thousand cubic feet per second, an amount of water ample to irrigate territory eight times as large as the colorado desert. the volume of water in the lower colorado river is greater in the summer, or dry season, than in the winter, or rainy season. this is because the river has its source in the great mountainous region in the north, where the melting snows on the mountain-tops during the summer season furnish large quantities of water to the streams which make up the river. this brings the greatest amount of water at the season of the year when the farmers use the most, a condition most satisfactory to the projectors of the irrigation system. the main canal, which was begun in , at the beginning of had grown to be one hundred miles long. this canal is seventy feet wide and eight feet deep, and supplies more than three hundred miles of lateral canals with water. the first season that water was turned into the canal, six thousand five hundred acres of crops were raised where for ages had been nothing but barren desert lands. the second season forty thousand acres were raised, and at the end of the season one hundred and twenty-five thousand acres of land had been broken ready for seeding. the great sandy wastes have given way to green fields of waving grain, verdant seas of billowy maize and millet, broad meadows of rich green alfalfa, and wide pastures where thousands of cattle dot the plain. in addition to this, new cities are springing up where desolation so recently reigned, and a railroad has crept down toward the mexican line, and is destined to go on to the line and over, even to the great gulf which ages ago retreated from the land now being turned into a paradise. [illustration: milo maize on reclaimed desert land near heber] one of the first towns a man hears of now, when he enters the desert region, is calexico, the most remote of the settlements in the desert north of the mexican line. it is noted for two things, both of which have to do with the hotel, one of the half-dozen buildings which compose the town. when the visitor steps from the train at old beach, in the very heart of the desert, he is apt to be greeted with this question: "going down to calexico? "waal, ye'll git the best meal there of any place in the desert, an' they've got a shower-bath at the hotel there, too," is the information vouchsafed when the visitor announces calexico as his destination. these are the things which have given calexico fame. it was nine o'clock in the evening when the writer and his party arrived at calexico in june, , after a two-days drive across the dusty, burning plain. "this way," said the landlord who answered our hail, showing us into a side room in the adobe structure. "drop your luggage here. you can wash over there. and right in here," said he, proudly pointing the way, "is a shower-bath. help yourselves." a shower-bath in the very heart of the desert! it is no wonder the landlord is proud of it, for there is not another within two hundred miles. calexico is a town with a future,--like most of the desert towns,--in fact, it is nearly all future as yet. it has streets and public squares, but it lacks the buildings. they will follow, however, for the railroad is coming, and a rich farming region will center there. the town is laid out beside the irrigation canal which there forms a portion of the international boundary. over this ditch, in mexico, is the embryo town of mexicala, which consists of a single row of thatched huts and adobes strung along beside the canal. nearly every building is a saloon or gambling den, or both. the town boasts of a population of three hundred souls, with but a single white man. none of the towns in the imperial country on this side of the line sell intoxicating liquors. this makes mexicala the mecca for the "spirituously" inclined. the liquor obtainable there is of a brand known as mescal, and there is murder in every glass. in proof of this assertion, just before we arrived there a mexican took four drinks and then shot four persons. [illustration: adobe hotel, calexico, which has the only shower bath in the desert] silsbee, twelve miles north of calexico, is a very young city. there are three or four tents among the mesquites which border blue lake, and there is a general store, post-office, and dwelling combined. the building, as well as the business thereof, is composite. it is made partly of boards, partly of tent cloth, and partly of poles, thatched with greasewood boughs. the proprietor of the establishment, dan browning, is a red-faced frontiersman who has faith in the future of his city, and he is in on the ground floor. he will point out to the visitor "main street," "the park," "the hotel site," and other attractions, and he sees them all in his mind's eye. to the visitor, however, all these metropolitan wonders appear to be simply desert. imperial has the one church of the desert. it is a small wooden structure--the first wooden building in the valley--which is whitewashed on the outside. imperial is ancient. it has two years the start of its sister towns and it looks down upon them with disdain. some of the infant cities have designs upon their big sister, however, and they mean to outstrip her in the near future. brawley is one of these ambitious towns. heber is another and holten is still another. plans have been perfected for the construction of a grand boulevard which will pass from the northern limit of the imperial canal system to the international line at calexico. this street will be one of the wonders of the state when completed. it is to be one hundred feet wide and thirty-five miles long, and will be so level that it cannot be determined with the eye which way the street inclines. along either side of the way and down through the center of the thoroughfare will be rows of trees to shut off from the street the glare of the desert sun. also on either side will be small canals of running water which will serve, not only to irrigate the trees but will be utilized to lay the dust of the street. when completed it will require but two men to keep the entire street in order. with this glimpse of the work of reclamation which is taking place in the desert thus afforded the reader, i will drop the subject and bring the final chapter to an end. the death of the desert will be a beautiful one. there will be no lack of flowers to lay upon its bier. its grimness and fierceness and terrors will have given place to peace, plenty, and prosperity. the region of death will be transformed into a kingdom of life. index alkali, , _allenrolpea occidentalis_, andesite, arizona candle, arsenic spring, asbestos, ash meadows, banning, baryta, basket-making, - birds, , bitter sage, black buttes, , black lake, black rock desert, borax, , - , brawley, , breccia, bull snake, burial customs, , - burro, - cactus blossoms, cactus, grape, cactus rat, calexico, camels, , , , centipede, _cereus giganteus_, chaparral, chemehuevi indians, _chlorogalum pomeridianum_, cinnabar, _clistoyucca arborescens_, coachella valley, cocopah indians, , , colorado desert, , , , , , , , - , , - colorado desert, how formed, colorado river, , , , - copper, - coyote, creosote bush, crescent hills, _crotalus cerastes_, daggett, death valley, , , , , , , , , - desert journalism, - deserts, black rock, ; colorado, , , , , , , , - , , - ; great american, , ; mojave, , , , , , , , , , ; nevada, ; painted, ; smoke creek, deserts, extent and origin, devil's chair, early navigators, earthquakes, , _ephydra californica_, funeral mountains, furnace creek, gila monster, , , , , gila river, gold, , gold districts, , , , gold mine, pegleg, grand cañon, greasewood, , great american desert, , gulf of california, gypsum, hanlon's crossing, heber, _heloderina horridum_, hematite, holton, hopi indians, , horned toad, human bones, , imperial, - imperial canal, - imperial press, - indio, iron, irrigation, - jasper, journalism, - koochabee, lake juala, lead, lithia, maguey, manganese, map ancient california, , marble, , mcpherson, john f., desert experiences, - mescal, mesquite, mexicala, mirage, mojave desert, , , , , , , , , , mt. grayback, mt. san jacinto, needles, - needle's eye, - nevada desert, niter, , nopal, oases, old beach, ollas, , onyx, owen's lake, padre junipero serra, painted desert, palo-verde, panamint indians, , , pectis, pegleg gold mine, , phantom ship, _phrynosoma_, pilot knob, pomo indians, prickly pear, prospector, - randsburg, _randsburg miner_, - rattlesnake, , , rhyolite, sage, sahuaro, salt, - , salton, , - saratoga springs, scorpion, , serra, padre junipero, side-winder, signal mountain, silsbee, silver, smoke creek desert, snakeweed, soap plant, soda, , spanish bayonet, submarine, - sulphur, , sutuma, - tarantula, , temperature, , thirst, tortures of, , tin, tortoise, , tourmaline, tufa, tuna, turquoise, volcanoes, , , - walking hills, , water, - water wells, , well of the desert, yucca, , , yuma indians, zinc, old paths _and_ legends of new england _with many illustrations of massachusetts bay, old colony, rhode island, and the providence plantations, and the fresh river of the connecticut valley_ by katherine m. abbott _ ^o, very fully illustrated, net. $ . . (by mail, $ . .)_ the idea for this book grew out of the fact that miss abbott's little paper-bound _trolley trips_, describing the old new england neighborhoods that may now be reached by the trolley, have met with an astonishingly wide demand. in this more pretentious work miss abbott has utilized her fund of material to draw a delightful picture of the quaint byways of new england. but in this case her wanderings are not limited by gaps in the trolley circuit, or by daylight or car-fares. historic spots of national interest, curious or charming out-of-the-way places, indian legends and yankee folk-lore find full justice in miss abbott's entertaining pages. fiction could never interpret new england so honestly as does this volume. g. p. putnam's sons new york london the romance of the colorado river a complete account of the discovery and of the explorations from to the present time, with particular reference to the two voyages of powell through the line of the great canyons. by frederick s. dellenbaugh, member of the u. s. colorado river expedition of and , author of "north americans of yesterday," etc. ^o. fully illustrated. $ . net. by mail, $ . . ever since the day of its discovery by alarçon in , the colorado river of the west has been of romantic interest. bound in for more than one thousand miles of its course in the stupendous canyon which was and always will be one of the wonders of the natural world, it defied for centuries full exploration. the first descent of major powell through its magnificent gorges, in , and his second in - , giving to the world a complete knowledge of the unknown river, form together one of the most interesting pages of our history. the volume is well illustrated by photographs, taken on the expedition, by new maps, and by drawings made by the author and by others. the hudson river from ocean to source historical--legendary--picturesque. by edgar mayhew bacon, author of "chronicles of tarrytown," etc. ^o. with over illustrations. net $ . . (by mail, $ . .) no stream in america is so rich in legends and historic associations as the hudson. from ocean to source every mile of it is crowded with the reminders of the early explorers, of the indian wars, of the struggle of the colonies, and of the quaint, peaceful village existence along its banks in the early days of the republic. before the explorers came, the river figured to a great extent in the legendary history of the indian tribes of the east. mr. bacon is well equipped for the undertaking of a book of this sort, and the story he tells is of national interest. the volume is illustrated with views taken especially for this work and with many rare old prints now first published in book form. new york--g. p. putnam's sons--london transcriber's notes page : changed "cyclindrical" to "cylindrical." (orig: a cyclindrical-shaped green plant) page : changed "indisspensable" to "indispensable." (orig: the prospector deems him indisspensable) page : removed duplicate "a." (orig: information that a a similar inundation had taken place) page : changed "oufit" to "outfit." (orig: first objects to greet his eye was a printing oufit,) page : changed page to . (orig: gold districts, , , , ) page : changed "mexacala" to "mexicala." (orig: mexacala, ) page : changed page to . (orig: thirst, tortures of, , ) online distributed proofreading canada team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net hi jolly! by jim kjelgaard illustrated by kendall rossi dodd, mead & company new york © _by eddy kjelgaard, ._ _second printing_ _all rights reserved_ _no part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher_ _the general situation and many of the events described in this book are based upon historical facts. however, the fictional characters are wholly imaginative: they do not portray and are not intended to portray any actual persons._ _library of congress catalog card number: - _ _printed in the united states of america by vail-ballou press, inc., binghamton, n. y._ _dedicated to_ dorothy and ed hansen contents . ali finds the dalul . fugitive . ambush . the hadj . the unpardonable sin . the strange ship . another pilgrimage . trouble . lieutenant beale . the expedition . the wilderness . the road . reunion . ali finds the dalul the first gray light of very early morning was just starting to thin the black night when ali opened his eyes. he came fully awake, with no lingering period that was part sleep and part wakefulness, but he kept exactly the same position he had maintained while slumbering. until he knew just what lay about him, he must not move at all. motion, even the faintest stir and even in this dim light, was sure to attract the eye of whoever might be near. in this syrian desert, where only the reckless turned their backs to their own caravan companions, whoever might be near--or for that matter far--could be an enemy. when ali finally moved, it was to extend his right hand, very slowly and very stealthily, to the jeweled dagger that lay snugly sheathed beneath the patched and tattered robe that served him as burnous by day, and bed and bed covering by night. when his fingers curled around the hilt, he breathed more easily. next to a camel--of course a _dalul_, or riding camel--a dagger was the finest and most practical of possessions, as well as the best of friends. as for owning a _dalul_, ali hadn't even hoped to get so much as a baggage camel for this journey. when it finally became apparent that the celestial rewards of a trip to mecca would be augmented by certain practical advantages if he made his pilgrimage now, he had just enough silver to pay for the _ihram_, or ceremonial robe that he must don before setting foot in the holy city. even then, it had been necessary to provide mustapha, that cheating dog of a tailor, with four silver coins--and two lead ones--and mustapha had himself to thank for that! when ali came to ask the price, it was five pieces of silver. when he returned to buy, it was six. but the _ihram_, as well as the fifth silver coin which mustapha might have had if he'd retained a proper respect for a bargain, were now safe beneath ali's burnous. the dagger was a rare and beautiful thing. it had been the property of some swaggering desert chief who, while visiting damascus, ali's native city, had imprudently swaggered into a dark corner. though he frowned upon killing fellow humans for other than the most urgent reasons, and he disapproved completely of assassins who slew so they might rob, it never even occurred to ali that he was obliged to do anything except disapprove. he knew the usual fate of swaggering desert chieftains who entered the wrong quarters of damascus, and, when the inevitable happened, he did not spring to the rescue. that was not required by his code of self-preservation. so the assassin snatched his victim's purse and fled without any intervention. ali got the dagger. in the light of the journey he was undertaking, and the manner in which he was undertaking it, a dagger was infinitely more precious than the best-filled purse. mecca was indeed a holy city, but of those who traveled the routes leading to it, not all confined themselves to holy thoughts and deeds. many a pilgrim had had his throat slit for a trifle, or merely because some bandit felt the urge to practice throat slitting. a dagger smoothed one's path, and, as he waited now with his hand on the hilt of his protective weapon, ali thought wryly that his present path was in sore need of smoothing. he'd left damascus two weeks ago, intending to offer his services, as camel driver, to the amir of the nearby village of sofad. he would then travel to mozarib with his employer's caravan. the very fact that there would be force behind the group automatically meant that there would also be reasonable safety. located three days' journey from damascus, two from sofad, mozarib was the assembly point and starting place for the great syrian _hadj_, or pilgrimage. it went without saying that, if ali tended to his camel driving and kept his dagger handy, he would go all the way to mecca with the great _hadj_, which often consisted of pilgrims and , camels. thus he had planned, but his plans had misfired. he reached sofad on the morning scheduled for departure, only to find that the amir, at the last moment, had decided to make this first march toward mozarib a cool one and had left the previous night. hoping to catch up, but not unmindful of the perils that beset the way when he neared the camp of the sofad pilgrims, ali had decided that it would be prudent to reconnoiter first. it had indeed been prudent. peering down at the camp from a nest of boulders on a hillock, ali was just in time to see the amir and his fourteen men beheaded, in a most efficient fashion, by sword-wielding druse tribesmen who'd taken the camp. afterwards, the raiders had loaded everything except the stripped bodies of their victims on their own camels and departed. it was a time for serious thinking, to which ali had promptly devoted himself. unfortunately, he failed also to think broadly, and the only conclusion he drew consisted of the fact that it was still possible for him to go on and join the _hadj_. camel drivers were always welcome. sparing not a single thought to the idea that druse raiders would rather kill than do anything else, ali had almost been caught unawares by the one who had slipped hopefully back to see if he could find somebody else to behead. ali had taken to his heels and, so far, he had proved that he was fleeter than his pursuer. tenacious as any bloodhound, the druse had stayed on his trail until yesterday morning. now he was shaken. ali knew that he was somewhere south of damascus and, with any luck, might yet join the _hadj_. help would not come amiss. ali drank the last sip from his goatskin water flask, shifted his dagger just a little, so it would be ready to his hand should he have need of it, and made ready to address himself to the one unfailing source of help. though he had no more water, there was an endless supply of sand. good moslems who could read and write had assured him that this statement appears in the _koran_: "when ye rise up to prayer, wash your faces and your hands and your arms to the elbows, and wipe your heads and your feet to the ankles." though it was commonly assumed that one would cleanse himself with water before daring to mention allah's name, special provisions applied to special occasions. for those who had no water, sand was an acceptable substitute. his ablutions performed, ali faced toward mecca, placed an open hand on either side of his face and intoned, "god is most great." remaining in a standing position, he proceeded to the next phase of the prayer that all good moslems must offer five times daily. it was the recitation of the opening _sura_, or verse, of the _koran_. ali, who'd memorized the proper words, had not proceeded beyond, "in the name of the merciful and compassionate god. praise belongs to god--" when he was interrupted by the roar of an enraged camel. ali halted abruptly, instantly and completely, forgetting the sacred rite in which he'd been absorbed and that had five more complete phases, each with prescribed gestures, before he might conclude it. when he finally remembered, he was a little troubled; allah might conceivably frown upon whoever interrupted prayers to him. but ali remembered also that allah is indulgent toward those who are at war, in danger, ill, or for other good reasons are unable to recite the proper prayers in the proper way at the prescribed times. surely a camel in trouble--and, among other things, the beast's roar told ali that it was in trouble--was the finest of reasons for ignoring everything else. not lightly had the camel been designated as allah's greatest gift to mankind. to slight his gift would be to slight him. his conscience clear on that point, ali devoted himself to analyzing the various things he'd learned about when a camel roared in the distance. the earliest recollection of ali, who'd never known father or mother, was of his career as a rug vendor's apprentice in the bazaar of the street called straight. his master worked him for as many hours as the boy could stay awake, beat him often and left him hungry when he was unable to steal food. but the life was not without compensations. though no longer enjoying the flourishing trade it had once known, damascus sat squarely astride the main route between the vast reaches of mohammedan turkey and mecca, the city that every good moslem must visit at least once during his lifetime. the turks came endlessly, and in numbers, and since it's only sensible to do a little trading, even when on a holy pilgrimage, when they reached damascus, they stopped to trade at the street called straight. but though the pilgrims were interesting, ali found the camels that carried both the turks and their goods infinitely more so. he knew them all--plodding baggage beasts, two-humped bactrians, the hybrid offspring of bactrians and one-humped camels, and all the species and shades of species in between. but though he liked all camels, he saved his love for the dromedary, the _heira_, the _hygin_, riding camel, or, as ali called them, the _dalul_. invariably ridden by proud men and never used for any purpose other than riding, they were a breed apart. slighter and far more aristocratic than the baggage beasts, they could carry a rider one hundred miles between sunrise and sunset, satisfy themselves with a few handfuls of dates when the ride ended, and go without water for five days. their pedigrees, in many instances longer than those of their riders, dated back to pre-biblical history. the owner of a _dalul_ considered such a possession only slightly less precious than his life. it was when he became acquainted with the _dalul_ that ali invented his own mythical father. this parent was not a nameless vagabond, petty thief, or fly-by-night adventurer who never even knew he'd sired a son and wouldn't have cared if he had, but a renowned trainer of _dalul_. it was he who went to the camel pastures and chose the wild young stallions that were ready for breaking. though they would kill any ordinary man who ventured near, ali's father gentled them and taught them to accept the saddle and rein. ali determined that he himself must go out with the camels and promptly ran away from his master. because he was too young to be of any imaginable use, the few caravan masters who condescended to look at him usually aimed a blow right after the look. for two years ali was one of the numerous boy-vagabonds who infested the bazaars of damascus. if such a life did not elevate the mind it could not help but sharpen the wits. then, just after his ninth birthday, ali got his chance to go out with a caravan. it was a very small and very poor one, fewer than fifty camels, and the caravan master decided to take ali only because he was a boy. as such, quite apart from the fact that he could safely be browbeaten, it was reasonable to assume that he had not had time to learn all the tricks of experienced drivers, the more talented among whom have been known to get rich, and leave the owners poor, on just one journey. apart from their uses and physical functions, which he learned so precisely that one glance enabled him to cite any camel's past history, age, present state of health, and what it would probably do next, ali came to appreciate the true miracle of a camel. he was the one in ten thousand, the camel driver who knew everything the rest did--and much they did not--and who transcended that to understand clearly the nature of the camel itself. so fine was his touch and so complete the affinity between camels and himself, that even beasts thought hopelessly unmanageable responded to him. nine years old when he made his first trip, ali had spent the past nine years on the caravan routes. he'd been to baghdad, istanbul, tosya, trebizond. he went where the camels went and never cared if it was two hundred miles or two thousand. but though every member of a caravan is entitled to trade for himself, and many a camel driver has become a caravan master or owner, ali was as poor as on the day he started. partly responsible for this was his consuming passion for camels and his negligible interest in trading. far more at fault was his origin. the men of the caravans knew him as ali, and only allah could know more about camels. to the merchants, who saw camels merely as the most convenient method for transporting goods, he remained the orphan waif of damascus. they turned their backs upon one who had neither family nor prestige, who could point to no achievement other than an outstanding skill with camels. now, camels were very convenient, but, as every merchant in a perfumed drawing room knew, they also smelled! so ali had a most compelling reason for deciding to undertake his pilgrimage at this time. after he'd been to mecca, like all others who have completed the difficult and dangerous journey, he'd be entitled to add the prefix "hadji" to his name. that alone would never make him the equal of the wealthy merchants who also had been to mecca, but it would surely make him the superior of all who had not. and this was a vast number, since the life of a merchant is not necessarily conducive to physical achievement and the journey to mecca is hard. now, in a desert wilderness, while on the way to mecca, a camel had cried out to ali, and he could not have helped responding, even if the camel had cried while he was at prayer in the _masjid-al-haram_, the great mosque of mecca. its roar had already told ali many things about the beast, including the exact direction he must take to find it and approximately how far he must go before locating it. the sound had had a certain timbre and quality that hinted of regal things and regal bearing, therefore it was not a baggage animal. however, neither did it have the awesome blast of a fully-grown _dalul_. it was not challenging another stallion to battle, but roaring in rage and defiance at something that it did not know how to fear. ali's hand slipped back to the hilt of his dagger. unmindful of the hot little wind that had just arisen, and that would become hotter as the day grew longer, he started toward the camel. although he had never been here before, he had traveled similar country often enough to make a reasonably accurate guess as to the terrain that lay ahead. it was a land of low hills, or hillocks, whose sides and narrow crests supported a straggling growth of aleppo pine intermixed with scrubby brush. there was more than average rainfall, so the trees were bigger and not as parched as those found in very arid regions. the camel was in a gulley between the second and third hills. ali climbed the hill, slunk behind an aleppo pine, peered around the trunk and gasped. there was a camp in the gulley--and a string of baggage camels and men--but at first glance ali saw nothing except the _dalul_. of a deep fawn color, which stamped it as one of the nomanieh dromedaries, it was still so young that it had not yet attained full growth. located apart from the rest, each separate leg was held by a separate rope, and the bonds were stretched so tightly that the beast could hardly move. a fifth rope, that encircled its neck, was equally tight. evidently bound in such a fashion for many hours, the young _dalul_ was weary, thirsty and choking. but, despite its obvious misery, this was far and away the most magnificent beast ali had ever beheld. it was the riding camel he'd often dreamed of when, plodding along some lonely caravan trail, he'd conjured up mental images of the perfect _dalul_. further examination revealed why the young _dalul_ was bound so cruelly. ali's lip curled in contempt. the men--he counted nineteen--were part of the same band of druse tribesmen who'd pillaged the camp of sofad and massacred its people. evidently they considered themselves safe here, since they kept no watch at all and seemed to be unconcerned about anything. the twenty-nine camels on the picket line were all stolid baggage animals such as even druse could handle. the young _dalul_ was something else. there was no telling just how it had fallen into the hands of the druse; a _dalul_ so fine would certainly be carefully guarded. regardless of how the raiders had obtained the animal, they could not handle it. obviously, it had turned on them and probably hurt somebody--ali voiced a fervent hope that the injury was not a light one--and now the _dalul_ was tightly bound, to insure that it would hurt nobody else. ali whispered, "have patience, brother." slowly and thoroughly, beginning at one end and letting his eyes move alertly to the other, ali inspected the camp and confirmed an ugly truth that had already been pointed out by common sense. with eight good men at his back, and the element of surprise in their favor, he would have a reasonable chance of storming the camp. but, as things were-- he'd help neither the _dalul_ nor himself by joining his ancestors at this moment, ali decided. he pulled the burnous over his head, drew the dagger from its sheath and settled down to wait. the light grew, and the heat with it, as the sun climbed higher. ali risked moving just enough to pick up a pebble and put it on his tongue. he had no water, and if the wait proved a long one, the pebble would help relieve thirst. he must not move again, though. the merest flicker could be one too many, and certainly a druse tribesman with even a baggage camel could run down a man who hadn't any. a camel rider, coming into camp from the south, roused not the least interest among the men already there, and ali took mental note of the incident. doubtless these raiders were flanking the great _hadj_, but surely they could not be insane enough to attack it. probably they intended to waylay small groups coming from various sources to join the _hadj_, just as they had the camp of sofad. the very fact that the camel rider came almost unnoticed proved that the raiders had a sentry posted to the south, and the sentry had somehow advised his companions of the rider's approach. apparently, they anticipated no interference from any other point of the compass. sudden hope rose in ali's heart. the rider might be bringing news of another caravan to be attacked, and, if so, he and his companions would depart very shortly. since they did not know how to control it anyhow, they would not take the _dalul_ with them. ali's eyes strayed back to the tethered animal. it must have come from the very choicest of the riding camels of some mighty official. even the pasha of damascus would not have many such, for the simple reason that there weren't many. more than ever, it represented all the perfection dreamed of by some camel breeder--some long-dead camel breeder, since the _dalul_ had never been produced in one generation or during the life span of one man--who knew the desert and yearned for the ideal camel. watching the _dalul_, ali found his own mounting thirst easier to bear. the animal had been without water longer than he and probably was desperate for a drink--but refused to show it. ali had learned while still apprenticed to the rug vendor that camels may be as thirsty as any other creatures. he turned his eyes back to the men. one, in a rather desultory fashion, was mending a pack saddle. two or three others were at various small chores and the rest were sleeping in the shade of their own tents. the hardness flowed back into ali's eyes. no followers of mohammed, the druse were devoted to heathen gods and rituals. it was not for that, or their hypocrisy--a druse tribesman going among other peoples usually pretended to accept the religion of his hosts--or their thievery, or the fact that they seldom attacked anyone at all unless the odds were heavily in their favor, that ali now hated them. he'd have hated anyone at all who mistreated such a _dalul_ in such a fashion! it occurred to ali that he had neglected the prayer he should have offered immediately after the sun rose and probably would have to omit proper ceremonies at high noon, but it did not worry him. allah, the compassionate, would surely understand that there are certain inconveniences attached to the observance of prayers while in the full sight of hostile druse. nor would he frown upon ali for refusing to let the _dalul_ out of his sight. when ali left the camp, the _dalul_ was leaving with him. passing the noon mark and starting its swing to the west, the full glare of the sun no longer burned down on ali's burnous, and the branches of the aleppo pine offered some shade. but since the day became hotter as it grew longer, with the hottest hour of any being that one just preceding sunset, there was little relief from the heat. ali lay as still as possible, partly because the slightest motion would be sure to excite the curiosity of any druse who happened to glance his way and partly because moving must inevitably make him hotter. helping him to accept with grace what almost any other man of almost any other nation would have found an unendurable wait were certain talents and characteristics that had been his from birth. though he'd never even known his own father, ali was of ancient blood. few of his ancestors, throughout all the generations, had ever had the facilities, even though they might possess the best of reasons, for going anywhere in a hurry. ali came of people who knew how to wait, and added to his inheritance was his experience with the caravans. regardless of when a shipment had been promised for delivery in baghdad or aleppo, it lingered along the way, if the camels that carried it developed sore feet en route. in some measure, ali suffered from heat, and, to a far greater extent, he knew the tortures of thirst, but he accepted both with the inborn fatalism of one who knows he must accept what he can neither change nor prevent. heat and thirst were passing factors. unless he died first, in which event he'd join allah's celestial family, sooner or later he'd be cool and he'd drink. there'd been little action in the camp all day, but toward night the druse stirred. they did so surlily, grudgingly, after the fashion of men who do not like what they've been doing in the recent past and have no reason to suppose they'll be doing anything more interesting in the near future. rather than build cooking fires, they nibbled dates, meal and honey cakes, and drank from goatskin flasks. there was no singing, not even much shouting. the druse, born raiders who could be happy only when in the saddle and riding to the attack, must now be unhappy and snarl at each other because their scouts, who were doubtless haunting every caravan trail, had brought no news of quarry sighted. night came, and with it a coolness so refreshing that it inspired ali to thoughts of the heavenly bath that must be enjoyed by allah's angels. the cool night air fell and enfolded him like a gentle flood, but with no hint of the earth's dross. after a blazing day, it was as welcome as the sight of green palms ringing an oasis. ali reveled in the coolness, but not nearly as much as he did in the fact that, with night, the druse camp quieted. after waiting another hour, he drew his dagger and went forward. the sky was cloudless, but there was no moon and, at this early hour, very few stars shone. ali advanced with silent and unfaltering speed, in spite of the fact that he could see almost nothing. a dozen times during the day he had marked the exact route between himself and the young _dalul_. he knew where he was going. ali's fingers tightened on the dagger's hilt. if allah saw fit to reveal him to the druse, he hoped that the all merciful would see equally fit to defend himself manfully. when ali was within a dozen yards of the _dalul_, the peaceful night was shattered by an alarm. "ho! wake and arm! there is an enemy among us!" because that was all he could do, ali began to run. he had cast his lot, and now all depended on the _dalul_. if he could free it, then mount and ride, he and the camel would be safe at least until morning. ali was within an arm's length of the _dalul_ when it turned and spoke to him. it was a guttural sound, and scarcely audible, but as different from the usual camel's grunt as the scream of a hawk is from the chirp of a robin. even as he flung himself forward and started slashing at the nearest rope, ali heard and correctly interpreted. the _dalul_ had just said that it would kill him if it could! . fugitive the picketed camels, that never saw any reason to give way to excitement just because humans did, shuffled their feet, grunted and went on munching fodder. his warning voiced, the young _dalul_ remained silent. he would waste no more breath on threats or further warnings; just let any man who came near enough look to his own safety! his very silence had all the lethal promise of a poised, unsheathed dagger! ali said, "i hear, oh lord of all _dalul_, and i understand. but behold, i free you!" he spoke calmly, and there was no fear to be detected by the young camel because there was none in ali. this young camel driver, who had seen the shadow of death, or heard death whisper, as frequently as did all those who ventured forth on the lonely caravan routes, now assured himself that he was not necessarily looking upon a forbidding being in this tortured camel. but, be that as it may, he must take the chance. the incurably ill, the weary old, the oppressed, the mistreated, knew no friend more kind than ali. however, though he talked slowly and softly, he moved swiftly as a leaping panther while he cut the first rope and went at once to the second. the druse camp was silent, and had been since that first shouted alarm, but it was alert and the druse were no fools. certainly they would know better than to come yelling and leaping, brandishing weapons and mouthing threats. far more probable, ali wouldn't even know an enemy was within striking distance until he saw--or felt--the pointed dagger that was seeking his heart or heard the swish of a descending sword. then, if allah so decreed, one less camel driver would return to the caravan routes. as he cut the remaining ropes, ali continued to speak soothingly to the young _dalul_. far from nervous, or even slightly excited, the young rescuer was almost serenely calm. death would certainly be his portion if the druse had their way, and, of course, there was also a good chance that he would die if he liberated the young _dalul_. but some deaths are much sweeter than others. it would be far easier, and more honorable, to die under the trampling feet of a good moslem _dalul_ than under the sword or dagger of a heathen druse. besides, even though the _dalul_ first killed ali, there remained the satisfactory probability that he would then turn upon and kill one or more of the villains. ali cut the final rope, the one about the _dalul's_ neck, and waited calmly. he lowered the hand holding the dagger. he'd have sheathed the weapon, except that one or more of the druse might be upon him at any moment and a dagger would be a convenient article to have in hand. but ali had no intention of fighting the _dalul_, or even of resisting should it attack him. he said calmly, "you are free, brother." not accustomed to freedom after standing so long bound by cramping ropes, the _dalul_ shook his head and stamped his forefoot. then he gave two prodigious sidewise leaps toward the picketed baggage camels and roared. the baggage camels crowded very close together, as though for the comfort each found in the others, when the _dalul_ leaped. his roar robbed them of common sense, so that they began a wild plunging. even better than ali, the baggage camels knew the _dalul's_ quality. they'd have broken their tethers and stampeded had not some of the druse taken note of the situation and rushed in to quiet the terrified beasts. for the first time, ali had a few fleeting moments to wonder why he still lived. it had seemed inevitable that, if the druse did not kill him, the _dalul_ most certainly would. perhaps, during the tortured hours it had stood as captive, it had marked its enemies and knew ali was not among them. more probable, ali's gift, his ability to understand and be understood by all camels, had proved itself once again. ali shrugged. he didn't know, and probably never would know, just why the _dalul_ had not killed him the instant it was free. but allah knew, and it was not for ali to question or even wonder about his judgments. ali's business was camels. he decided that it was high time he took his business in hand and called the _dalul_. it responded, but before coming all the way to ali, it stopped twice to bestow a long, lingering and disappointed look upon the camp of the druse. raging, but bound and helpless, the _dalul_ had promised his captors a battle as soon as he was free. the challenge still stood, and, even though the druse were not accepting, the situation rebounded to ali's benefit. while the _dalul_ roamed the camp, the enemy dared not move freely, and ali's peril was correspondingly less. after his second inspection of the enemy camp, the _dalul_ did not stop again or even look about him but continued straight to ali. he halted a few steps away and grunted a little camel song. then he extended his long neck and lightly laid his head on his rescuer's shoulder. ali embraced the great head with both arms and pressed his cheek close to the _dalul's_ neck. "mighty one!" he crooned. "peerless one! where is a name worthy of such as you?" the druse were continuing the hunt, and when and if they found ali, they'd be overjoyed to kill him as dead as possible in the shortest necessary time. but creeping into an armed druse camp, his only weapons a dagger and courage, was one matter. waiting beside the young _dalul_, whom the druse had every reason to fear, was quite another. again ali addressed the young stallion. "sun of cameldom! jewel of the caravan routes! by what title may you be called so that, wherever you may venture, all men shall know your deeds when you are called by name?" the young _dalul_--and if he had the faintest interest in the name ali or anyone else might bestow, there was no indication of that--took his head from ali's shoulder to sniff his hand. obviously, it was high time for ali to seek divine assistance in determining a name for the _dalul_, and it would not come amiss to indicate that haste was in order. even druse tribesmen, knowing ali was in camp but failing to find him, must sooner or later deduce that he was with the _dalul_. ali faced mecca. he began his supplication with the customary "_allahu akbar_--god is most great." he ended it at precisely the same place, more than a little overwhelmed by the speed with which allah may respond to even the least of his worshipers. ali had scarcely started when he knew the name he sought. he whirled to the _dalul_. "from this moment you shall be known as ben akbar!" he declared happily. "ben akbar!" transcending mere perfection, the name was a stroke of genius. ben akbar, the unequaled, the peerless, the greatest _dalul_ of any. no matter how hard they racked their own brains, regardless of the masters of rhetoric they might consult, no camel rider anywhere would ever hit upon a name that described his favorite in terms more superlative. now that ben akbar bore the only name that truly conformed to his dignity and power, ali turned his thoughts to affairs of the moment. his entry into the druse camp, audacious though it had been, never would have created other than momentary alarm. freeing ben akbar, a confirmed killer camel in the mind of every druse, gave a wholly different meaning to the entire affair. the least of the raiders would happily prowl the camp in search of ali. but while darkness held sway, not even the best of them cared to chance an encounter with ben akbar. in addition, or so the druse would think, killer camels made no distinction among moslems, christians, jews, or men of any other faith. they killed whomsoever they were able to catch. since ali had been near enough to cut the _dalul's_ bindings, it followed that the killer camel had been able to catch him. regardless of anything the druse thought at the moment, ali knew that they would not continue to remain deceived after sunrise. the signs, the tracks, would be there for them to read, and few desert dwellers read signs more skillfully. despite anything their minds told them, their eyes would leave no doubt that ali and the _dalul_ had gone away together. for a brief interval, ali speculated concerning the inscrutable ways of allah, who had bestowed upon the druse tribesmen a maximum of ferocity and a minimum of common sense. obviously, it was his duty to take certain most urgent action if he would live to greet another sunset. at night, the druse would have no stomach for attacking, or even coming near, ben akbar. as soon as a new day brought light enough so they could see, they'd never hesitate. if ali happened to be near ben akbar, where he had every intention of being, he'd be found. ali said softly, "we go, brother." with ben akbar pacing contentedly at his shoulder, he faded into the darkness. although ali wanted to go south, where he thought he'd have the best chance of meeting the great _hadj_, and the gulley in which the druse were camped ran almost directly north-south, he did not go down that gulley. there was at least one enemy outpost stationed there--and possibly more. ali climbed the ridge, retracing almost exactly the path he'd followed when he came to the rescue of ben akbar. rather than stop when he gained the summit, he went on down into the next gulley and climbed the following ridge. on the summit of that, he finally halted. ben akbar, who sported neither tether rope nor rein but who was amiably willing to walk behind ali where the path was narrow and beside him where space permitted, came up from behind and thrust his long neck over his friend's shoulder. ali reached up to caress the mighty head. the baggage animals he'd seen in the druse camp were just that, ponderous beasts, bred to carry six hundred or more pounds a distance of twenty-five miles at a stretch and to bear this enormous burden day after day. under ordinary circumstances, they'd be no match for the _dalul_, but ben akbar was more than just tired and hungry. an hour of the torment he'd endured was enough to sap more strength than an entire day on the trail. his hump, that unfailing barometer of a camel's condition, was half the size it should have been. there was no way of telling when he'd had his last drink of water. this last, ali told himself, was of the utmost importance. every urchin on every caravan route knows that camels store water in their own bodies, and that it is entirely possible for some seasoned veterans of the caravan trails to plod on, though at an increasingly slower pace, for three, four, or even five days without any water save that which they absorb from their fodder. but those are the exceptions. as noted, given an opportunity, camels will drink as much and as frequently as any creature of similar size, and a thirsty camel is handicapped. so, although ali might have laughed in their faces had ben akbar been rested and well-nourished, the druse, who would most certainly be on their trail the instant it was light enough to see, had more than a good chance of overtaking them before nightfall. but before ali could concern himself with the druse, there was something he must do. "kneel!" he commanded. ben akbar knelt, settling himself with surprising grace. ali mounted. though there was no riding saddle, he seated himself where it should have been and placed his feet properly, one on either side of the base of ben akbar's neck. there was no rein either, but the finest of the _dalul_ were carefully schooled to obey the spoken word without regard to rein. ali gave the command to rise, then bade ben akbar go. ben akbar's gait was as gentle as the evening wind that ruffles the new-sprouted fronds of young date palms. ali sent him to the right, then the left, relying on spoken commands alone and getting a response so perfect that there'd have been no need of a rein, even if the _dalul_ wore one. ali no longer had reason to wonder if ben akbar was the property of a rich man. none except the wealthy could afford the fees demanded by riding masters who knew the secret of teaching a camel to obey spoken orders. though he knew he should not, ali ordered ben akbar to run. the camel obeyed instantly, yet so imperceptible was the change in pace, and so rhythmically smooth was his run, that he had attained almost full speed before his rider realized that the change had been made. ali sat unmoving, letting the wind fan his cheeks and reveling in this ride as he had delighted in nothing else he could remember. the gait of riding camels varies as much as that of riding horses, but ben akbar stood alone. rather than landing with spine-jarring thuds as he raced on, his feet seemed not even to touch the earth. ali had never ridden a smoother-gaited camel...but suddenly it occurred to him that the ride had better end. bidding his mount halt, ali slid to the ground and went around to where he could pet ben akbar's nose. "you are swift as the wind itself, and the back of the downiest bird is a bed of stones and thorns compared with the back of ben akbar," he stated. "but it is not now that you should run." ben akbar sniffed ali gravely and blew through his nostrils. ali responded, as though he were answering a question. "the druse," he explained, "tonight they are helpless, for even if they would follow, they cannot see our path in the darkness. but rest assured that they shall be upon our trail with the first light of morning and they know well how to get the most speed from their baggage beasts. if you were rested and nourished, i would laugh at a dozen--nay!--a thousand such! but you are weary and ill-cared-for, so tonight we must spare your strength. tomorrow, you may have to run away from the druse!" * * * * * the next day was two hours old, and ali and ben akbar were still walking south, when ali glanced about and saw the mounted druse sweep over a hillock. at the same instant, they saw him and raced full speed to the kill. hearing, scenting or sensing pursuit, ben akbar swung all the way around. he was very quiet, an indication that he would look to and obey ali. but there was about him a complete lack of nervousness, plus a certain quality in the way he faced enemies, rather than turned from them, that betrayed a war camel. he would flee from the druse, if that were ali's wish, but he would run just as eagerly and just as swiftly toward them, should ali decide to attack. nervous, but controlling himself, ali counted the druse as they raced down the hill. there were twenty-three, three more than had been in camp last night, therefore some must have arrived after he left. they were not the organized unit they would have been if they expected formidable resistance. since there was only one man to kill, and every druse burned to kill him, they came in wild disorder, with those on the swiftest camels leading. though the charge was only seconds old, three of the druse had already drawn ahead of the rest. a glance told ali that all three were mounted on _dalul_. since there had been no riding camels in the druse camp, obviously these were the three newcomers who had arrived during the night. the rest were all mounted on baggage camels. because he had had a whole night's start, and the pursuing druse should have been hampered by the necessity for working out his trail, ali had not expected them before midday. something had gone amiss. possibly, during the night, ali and ben akbar had passed another outpost that they had not seen, but that had managed both to shadow them and to send word back to the camp. perhaps the outpost had even consisted of the three riders of _dalul_. ali concentrated on the three _dalul_. all were good beasts, but none were outstanding, and, in an even contest, none could have come near to matching ben akbar's speed. no, however-- ali turned to ben akbar and said gently, "kneel." ben akbar obeyed. ali mounted and gave the command to rise, then to run. he unsheathed the dagger and held it in his hand. the druse were armed with guns, which they knew how to use, but there were good reasons why they would hesitate to shoot one lone man. in the first place, powder and shot were expensive and to be used only when nothing else sufficed. in the second, when the odds were twenty-three to one, the druse who shot when he might have killed his enemy with sword or dagger must lose face as a warrior. the dagger in his hand was ali's only concession to the possibility that he might be overtaken. when and if he was, might allah frown if at least one of the druse did not join his ancestors before ali did likewise. other than that, the race was not unpleasant. weary though he was, the power and strength that ali had seen in ben akbar when the young _dalul_ stood captive in the druse camp were manifest now. ben akbar flowed along, seeming to do so almost without effort, and ali thought with wonder of the magnificent creature this _dalul_ would be when properly fed and rested. only when ben akbar stumbled where he should have run on was his rider recalled to the grim realities of the situation. he did not have to look behind him because he knew what lay there. having been detected when they appeared over the crest of the far hillock, the druse must still descend it, cross the gulley and climb the opposite hill before they could be where ali had been when they saw him. though they must know that ben akbar was not in condition to run his best, they certainly knew the quality of such a camel. looking from the crest of the hill upon which ali had been sighted and seeing nothing, they could by no means be certain that camel and rider had not already gone out of sight on the hill beyond. a terrified fugitive would logically run in a straight line. a third of the way down the hill, ali gave ben akbar the command to turn left. he was about three hundred yards from the floor of the gulley and the same distance from its head, where a thick copse of mingled aleppo pine and scrub brush offered more than enough cover to hide a whole caravan. reaching the thicket, ali halted ben akbar and dismounted. then he turned and waited for the druse to appear. led by the three riders of _dalul_, they broke over the crest at the exact spot where ali had been sighted. they did exactly as he had hoped they would and raced straight on. a smile of satisfaction flitted across ali's lips as the advance riders swept past that place where he had turned ben akbar. then something went amiss. though the three _dalul_ had seemed equally matched, one now led the other two by some ten yards. reaching the gulley's floor, the leading rider halted his mount, swung him abruptly and shouted, "he has gone another way!" as the truth forced itself on ali, his first thought was that the rider of the leading _dalul_ must be a very giant among the druse. noted trackers, most druse would have some trouble trailing a single camel on a sun-baked desert. but, incredible though it seemed, the leading pursuer had been tracking ali while riding at full speed. he had raced on because he had thought exactly what ali hoped he would--that ali and ben akbar were already out of sight behind the next hill. but he had stopped when he no longer saw tracks. while the two remaining riders of _dalul_ swung unquestioningly in behind him, and the druse mounted on baggage camels halted wherever they happened to be, the tracker trotted his _dalul_ back up the hill. his eyes were fixed on the ground as he sought to pick up the trail he had lost. with ben akbar behind him, ali stole through the thicket toward the far end. he clutched the dagger tightly. he would mount and ride when he was clear of the thicket; nobody could ride a camel through such a place. but it was questionable as to how long he'd ride with such a tracker on his trail. ali was almost out of the thicket when a man who swung a wicked-looking scimitar seemed to rise from the earth and bar his path. ali gazed upon the countenance of an old acquaintance. the man was a druse that ali knew as the jackal! . ambush ali took a single backward step that brought him nearer ben akbar. the move could have been interpreted as a wholly natural desire to find such comfort as he might in his camel, the one friend he had or was likely to have. but ali's purpose was more practical. unless every imaginable advantage was on his side, the wielder of a dagger hadn't the faintest chance of overcoming anyone armed with a scimitar, but ali intended to concede no point not already and unavoidably given by the difference in weapons. when the jackal swung, which he would do when he considered the moment right, he would not miss. but if ali was agile enough at ducking, and ducked in the right direction, it did not necessarily follow that he must be killed outright. for a split second immediately following his blow, the jackal would be off guard. before he recovered, always supposing he was still able to move, ali might go forward with his dagger and work some execution, or at least inflict some damage, of his own. all else failing, there was reason to hope that ben akbar would trample his foe after he went down. ali studied the jackal. of medium height and probably middle-aged, he was veiled in a certain mystic aura that defied penetration and prevented even a reasonably accurate guess as to how many years he had been on earth. he blended in a curious manner with the harsh and wild desert background, as though he had been a part of it from the beginning. his hair was concealed beneath a hood, but not even a thick beard succeeded in hiding a cruel mouth. his nose was thin and aquiline, with nostrils that seemed forever to be questing. his eyes were unreadable, but they possessed certain depths that combined with a broad sweep of forehead and a vast arrogance of manner to mark the jackal as a man apart. ali remembered the first time he had run across him, or rather, evidence of his work. it was ali's third year with the caravans, and they were going from mersin to erzerum, with seven hundred camels and an assorted load, when they overtook all that remained of the caravan preceding them. it had been the entourage of some wealthy amir, traveling north with his family and a powerful guard of soldiers. when ali arrived, the jackal had been there and gone, but he had left his trademark. all human males, from babes in the arms of his wives to the gray-bearded amir himself, lay where they had fallen. the older women and the girl children were massacred, too. only the young girls had been carried away with the remainder of the legitimate booty. savagely cruel though it was, the raid was equally audacious. of the many bandit leaders infesting the caravan routes, few had the imagination to plan a successful attack on a heavily-guarded amir's caravan or the courage to proceed, once such an attack was planned. thereafter, at sporadic intervals, ali found additional evidence that the jackal was still at work, and there could be no mistake about his identity. his raids were noted for cruelty and for the fact that he never bothered with any except wealthy caravans. three years later, ali met the jackal. the caravan for which ali was handling camels came to an oasis one day out of ankara and found another caravan already encamped. however, there was ample room for both and no apparent reason for either to challenge the other. ali took care of the camels for which he was responsible, then set about to do something he would have done before had an opportunity offered itself. he had been in antioch, temporarily idle, when he happened across a youngster mishandling some half-broken baggage camels. he had stepped in to bring the situation under control. on succeeding, he discovered that the young man had disappeared while he was occupied, and an older person was quietly watching him instead. the older man, whom ali thought was the caravan master, invited him to come along as a camel driver. ali had accepted and discovered, too late, that the imperious youngster who'd been mishandling baggage camels was the real caravan master, which position he held solely by virtue of the fact that his father was pasha of damascus. he didn't like ali and he missed no opportunity to demonstrate his disapproval. ali had stayed with the caravan until reaching this oasis for the simple reason that there was no other choice. if he had left sooner, he would have been one lone man in a land noted for the brief span of life enjoyed by solitary travelers. but he felt that he could make it from here to ankara without difficulty and he'd had more than his fill of the pasha's son. he went to the caravan master's tent to demand his pay. he found the youngster engaged in amiable conversation with the man who now stood before him, the jackal, who said he was master of the other caravan. ali also found that, in the eyes of the pasha's son, his own state was less than exalted. he was ordered out of the tent. when ali refused to leave without first receiving his pay, the youngster unsheathed a dagger and advanced with the obvious intention of having him carried out feet first. unluckily for the pasha's son, ali also had a dagger and his skill with the same exceeded by a comfortable margin any adroitness the other might claim. ali got his due wages, which he took from a moneybag, and the pasha's son had fainted from a series of dagger wounds in his right arm. ali was on the point of leaving when the jackal, who had offered not the faintest interference, rose, complimented him on a superb bit of dagger work and thanked him for making it easier to sack the caravan. he intended to do this tomorrow, somewhere between the oasis and ankara, but the pasha's son had presented an awkward problem. the jackal, who introduced himself as such, had no fear of soldiers in reasonable numbers but he was not prepared to cope with the armies that must inevitably take the field against whoever molested a son of the pasha--this despite the fact that the pasha had no fewer than twenty-nine known sons. the jackal had been trying to persuade the young man to leave and go into ankara when ali's dagger had settled the matter in a most satisfactory fashion. the jackal was not ungrateful, and, to prove his gratitude, he would arrange for ali to ride into ankara with a small group of his own men, who would leave shortly. after they had gone, the jackal would see to it that a sufficient number of his own trusty brigands, under such oaths as might be appropriate, would swear that they had seen the pasha's son struck down by an unknown assailant. ali had ridden and so had escaped the next morning's massacre, which several travelers had reported as taking place after the pasha's son had been "_killed by an assassin_." thereafter, he had waited for lightning to strike although he had only injured his attacker in self defense, but so far, it hadn't which meant that the jackal had kept his lips sealed. now it no longer mattered. the jackal would cut his own mother down if by so doing he served his own ends. suddenly, "why hesitate, abdullah?" somebody growled. another man came from the brush to stand beside the jackal. then there was another...and more...until nineteen men were grouped about the jackal and facing ali. the jackal stepped aside. another took his place. ali glanced briefly at the jackal. he looked at the others, all good moslems and all wearing on their turbans the distinctive emblem that marked them as members of the pasha's crack personal soldiery. the present "abdullah," the former jackal, wore the same emblem but, until now, it had escaped ali's notice because, not in his wildest flight of imagination had he dreamed he'd ever see it on a druse. the soldier who'd spoken and for whom the jackal had stepped aside, evidently the commander of this patrol, spoke again and directed his words to ali, "where found you the _dalul_, dog?" ali answered, "i stole him from some druse." the soldier drew his dagger and spoke again, "die you will, but choose whether you die swiftly or slowly. why are you found in possession of the finest _dalul_ among two thousand such owned by the pasha of damascus?" "i stole him--" ali began. at that moment, out in the thicket, one of the camels being led by the dismounted druse as they made their way among the trees and brush, chose to grunt. the eyes of every man except the officer turned toward the sound. ali said, "the druse from whom i stole the _dalul_ are in close pursuit. they are twenty-three in all." except for the officer, who thoughtfully kept the point of his dagger pricking ali's ribs, the moslems scattered and, a few seconds later, it was as though they had never been. the officer addressed ali. "bid the _dalul_ lie down." ali gave the order and ben akbar obeyed. unconcerned as though there were no druse within forty miles, but not forgetting to prick ali's ribs with his dagger, the officer scorned even to glance in the direction from which the druse approached. ali wondered. some moslems yearned so ardently for the life to come that they set not the least value on the one they already had, but the officer seemed more practical-minded. "the druse number a score and three," ali ventured finally. "they come from the direction where the camel grunted and they cannot fail to see you should you neglect to hide." "i did not ask your opinion," the officer growled. "be silent!" since the order was emphasized with a sudden jab of the dagger, ali remained silent. he composed himself. this, as well as everything else, was now in the hands of allah and he alone would determine the outcome. but it never harmed anything to ponder. the rest of the moslems and the jackal had disappeared as suddenly and completely as morning dew when the sun turns hot. though they could not be very far away, neither was the end of the thicket. once out of the brush, ali could mount ben akbar and ride. if the pursuit were resumed, and, regardless of who won the forthcoming battle, it would be, it must still be delayed while the fight was in progress. if allah would only see fit to make the officer take the point of his dagger out of ali's ribs and go wherever his men had gone, it would be worth ali's while to try to break away. but the officer entertained no ideas about going anywhere or of using his dagger for any purpose except to remind ali how swiftly a painful situation could become fatal. ali looked at ben akbar, still lying where he had been ordered to lie, but not liking it. though reclining, he was anything but relaxed. his head was up, his eyes missed nothing, his nostrils quested, and tense muscles indicated both a readiness and an ability to spring instantly to his feet. ali decided that ben akbar did not like these strange moslems any better than he had the druse who captured him, and that he tolerated them at all only because ali commanded him to do so. it occurred to ali that none of the moslems had been eager to venture too near ben akbar, and, suddenly, he knew something he hadn't known before. certainly no killer, ben akbar was most discriminating when it came to a choice of human companions. incapable as the druse of handling him properly, the moslems were wisely leaving him alone. the fierce little officer never would have told ali to make ben akbar lie down if he thought the _dalul_ would obey him instead. that being so, and if allah smiled and the moslems won the forthcoming fight, ali felt that he had some hope of staying alive, at least until the soldiers returned to whatever headquarters camp they had left to go out on patrol. it would reflect little credit on any emissary of the pasha of damascus to bring a favorite _dalul_ before the eyes of his master as a raging brute at the end of ropes. if the moslems could not take him in except by force, but ali could, there were reasons to suppose that ali would. when they appeared on foot, the druse were led by a sinewy man who advanced at a trot, and who, in turn, led a _dalul_. evidently the same talented tracker who'd followed ali's trail while riding full speed, the man strained like a leashed gazelle hound that sights its quarry. the remaining druse grouped behind him. ali glanced at the officer. that fierce moslem, who certainly knew the druse were coming, contemptuously refused even to look around until the leader was within thirty yards of him. then, maintaining enough pressure on the dagger to remind ali that he was not forgotten, he swung and shouted insults. "dogs!" he spat. "eaters of pork! spawn of flies that infest camel dung! i have your prisoner and your _dalul_! come take them if you're men!" the leading druse dropped the reins of his _dalul_, shouted fiercely, drew his sword and rushed. his followers did likewise, and, even though some were delayed by frightened camels that plunged to one side or the other, ali counted nine sword-waving druse hard on the heels of their leader and all too close for comfort. he stole another glance at the officer. neither taking the dagger from ali's ribs nor making any move to draw his sword, he seemed to regard the attacking druse as he might some particularly repulsive vermin that might soil his shoes if he stepped on them. then it happened. from both sides of the trail, where they had concealed themselves as soon as they knew the druse were coming, moslem swordsmen rose. so complete was the surprise and so overwhelming the shock, half the druse were down before the rest even thought of rallying. ali acknowledged his approval--and even some admiration--for an officer who could plan so well. the ambushed moslems must have seen ali and ben akbar when they were at least as far off as the druse had been when they were sighted. they had marked the exact route, which made it unnecessary to do any second-guessing about the druse. if they were following ali, they were tracking him. so an ambush on either side of the track, an officer to act as bait and convince the druse that there was only one man and-- the last druse went down. the moslems ranged out to catch the scattered camels and bring in any loot that was worth bringing. some wounded, but all on their feet, they arranged themselves and their booty before the officer. "you fought like old women," he sneered. "it is well that there were no real warriors to oppose you. but now that we have the _dalul_ we set out to find, we may return." "the prisoner?" someone called. "he stays." the officer pushed his dagger a quarter inch into ali's ribs. because it was an ideal time to think of something else, ali speculated about the jackal. whatever else he might be, the jackal was a brave man. what would happen, if he were detected, to a druse who not only joined the _hadj_ but the pasha's personal soldiers too, and who was obviously representing himself as a moslem, ali couldn't even imagine. he did know that one false step would be one too many for the deceiver. if the jackal took that step, he would live a very long while in agony before voicing his final shriek. of course, it was a true moslem's duty to tell what he knew, but the jackal had only to speak and ali would face the torturers with him. whatever purpose had brought the jackal here, he must be playing for tremendous stakes. ali was considerably relieved, but not greatly astonished, when the officer withdrew his dagger and sheathed it. he addressed ali as he might have spoken to a stray cur. "on second thought, we will take you to al misri, the egyptian, and let him kill you. bring the _dalul_, dog, and, for your own sake, see that it does not stray." . the hadj as soon as possible, which was as soon as their own riding camels could be brought from wherever they had been hidden, the moslem soldiers mounted and prepared to set out. on the point of mounting ben akbar, ali was knocked to the ground by the flat of the fierce officer's sword and informed in terms that left no room for doubt that he was ben akbar's attendant. nobody except the pasha of damascus was to be his rider. despite clear grounds for argument, ali smothered his anger and comforted himself with logic. there are times to fight, but on this specific occasion logic indicated clearly that one man armed with a dagger can hope for nothing except a very certain demise by defying twenty men who are armed with everything. ali walked beside the _dalul_, a rather simple process, since the speed of all must necessarily be regulated by the pace of the slow baggage camels, and ben akbar refused to leave his friend's side, anyhow. with nightfall, they made camp at a water hole too small to be dignified by the title of oasis. after he had finished eating, the officer contemptuously tossed ali the remains of his meal and a silken cord. he said nothing, apparently he had no desire to degrade himself by speaking unnecessarily to anyone who was so clearly and so greatly his inferior, but the implication was obvious. ben akbar must not stray. knowing the cord was unnecessary, ali chose the diplomatic course. he tied one end of the cord to his wrist and the other around the young _dalul's_ neck. while ben akbar grazed, ali sat quietly and devoted a few fleeting thoughts to the various possibilities of a social position that is approximately on a level with the fleas that torment camels--and sometimes riders of camels. while it was true that the soldiers, grouped about their evening fire, ignored him as completely as though he didn't even exist, ali saw no good reason why he should ignore them in a similar fashion. he breathed a silent thanks to allah for blessing him with sharp ears. what those ears heard as ali sat pretending to doze, but alert as a desert fox, might have a powerful influence on his plans for the future. there were diverse possibilities. one that had already been considered most thoroughly and at great length was rooted in the pleasing thought that ben akbar was no longer a tired, hungry and thirsty _dalul_. given as much as a five-second start, there wasn't another camel on the desert that could even hope to catch him. if this was to be ali's choice, tonight was the time for action. but before committing himself to anything, he wanted to consider everything. the patrol, as ali had learned from the conversation at the campfire, was one of several dispatched from the great _hadj_ six days ago. their only purpose was to find ben akbar; their orders were not to return without him. ben akbar had been lost, so ali learned, through the laxity of a seven-times-cursed camel driver from smyrna. his only duty, a task to which he'd been assigned because he was one of the very few men ben akbar would obey, was to watch over the pasha's most-prized _dalul_. somehow or other--a soldier voiced the opinion that he'd been in collusion with the very druse from whom ali had taken him--he'd managed to lose his charge. all the soldiers gave fervent thanks to allah because their mission was successfully completed. hunting lost camels was not their idea of interesting diversion. ali digested the food for thought thus provided and decided, to his own satisfaction, that his previous deduction had been entirely correct. he had not been spared because the moslem soldiers were compassionate, but because not one among them knew how to handle ben akbar without resorting to force. furthermore, if ben akbar were not greatly esteemed, several patrols of soldiers who might at any time be needed for other duties never would have been charged with the exclusive task of recovering him. while ben akbar moved so carefully that the silken cord was never even taut, ali lay back to gaze at the sky and consider the most profitable use of the information at his disposal. if he rode into the desert on ben akbar, a possibility that retained much appeal, he need have no fear of successful pursuit. however, the pasha's soldiers would certainly continue their search. as long as ben akbar was with him--and ali had already decided that that would be as long as he lived--he must inevitably be a marked man. unless he rode into a country ruled by some sultan or pasha who was hostile to the pasha of damascus--in which event there was a fine chance of having his throat cut by someone who wanted to steal ben akbar--he would lead a harassed and harried life. on the other hand, if he stayed with the soldiers and went into camp, he'd be doing exactly what he'd set out to do in the first place--he'd join the great _hadj_. as there seemed to be few camel drivers who knew how to handle ben akbar, there was more than a good chance that ali would make the pilgrimage as his attendant. since he'd already determined that ben akbar would be a part of his future, regardless of what that was or where it led him, this prospect was entrancing. in addition, once his holy pilgrimage was properly completed, he would be entitled to call himself hadji ali and to take advantage of the expanded horizon derived therefrom. only one small cloud of doubt prevented ali from choosing this latter course without further hesitation or thought. the moslem officer's voice had been laden with more than casual respect when he referred to al misri, or the egyptian. the casual pronouncement that the egyptian was to have the pleasure of executing ali might be, and probably was, just another attempt to intimidate him. but this was the syrian _hadj_. as such, it differed distinctly from the moslem pilgrimage that originated in and departed from cairo, egypt. every syrian knew that egyptians are inferior. the very fact that a responsible and high-ranking officer of the syrian _hadj_ possessed the sheer brazen effrontery to call himself the egyptian, plus the strength and authority to command respect for such a title, was more than enough to mark him as a man apart. doubtless he was a man of firm convictions that were translated into action without loss of time. if he had, or if he should develop, a firm conviction that ali dead was more pleasing than ali alive-- ali finally decided to go in with the soldiers and trust allah. his decision made, he lay down, arranged his burnous to suit him and went peacefully to sleep. in the thin, cold light of very early morning, he came awake and, as usual, lay quietly before moving. the silken cord that was tied to his wrist and ben akbar's neck was both slack and motionless; the _dalul_ must be resting. the dagger and pilgrim's robe were safe. reassured concerning the state of his personal world and possessions of the moment, ali sat up and looked toward ben akbar. no more than a dozen feet away, the young _dalul_ was standing quietly where he had finished grazing. an ecstatic glow lighted ali's eyes. ben akbar's recuperative powers must be as marvelous as his speed and endurance. he scarcely seemed to be the same spent and reeling beast that ali had led into ambush yesterday morning. after only one night's rest and grazing, even his hump was noticeably bigger. ali joined the other moslems at morning prayer, stood humbly aside as they saddled and mounted and started the baggage camels moving and fell in behind with ben akbar. nobody paid the least attention to him; if he planned to escape, he would not be fool enough to make the attempt by day. four hours later, the travelers looked from a hillock upon the great _hadj_. a sea of tents, like rippling waves, overflowed and seemed about to overwhelm a broad valley. there were no palms or any other indication of water. obviously, this was a dry camp--one of many on the long, dangerous route--and dry camps were the primary reason why so many baggage camels were needed. but even with thousands of baggage camels burdened with food and water, often there was not enough. falling in that order to thirst, bandits, disease or hunger--or succumbing to the desert itself--a full third of the pilgrims with any _hadj_ might die before reaching the holy city. save for a few tethered camels and some horses, there were no animals in sight. ali knew that the majority had been given over to herders and were in various pastures. the picketed camels and horses were for the convenience of those who might find it necessary to ride. for the most part, the camp would rest all day. only when late afternoon shadows tempered the glaring sun would it come awake. then, guided by blazing torches on either flank, at the mile-or mile-and-a-half-an-hour which was the swiftest pace so many baggage animals could maintain, it would march toward mecca all night long. impressive as the camp appeared, ali knew also that it was just a small part--though one of the wealthier parts or there would not have been so many tents--of the great _hadj_. there was not a single valley in the entire desert spacious enough to accommodate the five thousand humans, and the more than twenty thousand beasts, whose destination was the holy city of mecca. after a brief halt, the officer led his men down into the camp. there were few humans stirring, and those who were regarded the returning patrol with complete indifference. in the very center of the camp, before a huge and luxurious tent that, together with its furnishings, must require a whole herd of baggage camels just to transport it, the officer dismounted, handed the reins of his riding camel to a soldier and entered the tent. the remainder of the patrol formed an armed circle around ali and ben akbar. wishing he could feel as unconcerned as he hoped he appeared, ali sought to ease the tension by observing and speculating. this tent, he presently decided, was not headquarters for the pasha himself. though the pasha's tent couldn't possibly be much more luxurious, it would be surrounded by the camps of other dignitaries, and the whole would be so well-guarded by soldiers that nobody could have come even near. ali guessed that this was the headquarters of al misri, and that they were in a camp of officers and lesser notables. twenty minutes after he entered the tent--ali guessed shrewdly that he had been allowed to cool his heels for a decorous interval--the officer backed out. he bowed, a curious and somehow a ludicrous gesture for anyone so fiery, and held the tent flaps open. when a second man emerged, the officer stepped humbly to one side and waited whatever action the other might consider. short and squat, at first glance al misri seemed a shapeless lump of human flesh that has somehow been given the breath of life. his silken robe hung loosely open. uncovered, his massive head seemed to be supported directly on his shoulders, without benefit of or need for a neck. it was bald as an egg. he plopped a date into his mouth and chewed it as the soldiers moved respectfully back to give him room. yet ali needed only one glance to tell him that al misri was far more than just a funny little fat man who chewed dates in a rather disgusting manner. his grotesque body was enveloped in an aura not unlike that which enfolded ben akbar. al misri commanded because it was his destiny to command. he came near, spat the date pit into ali's face and spoke to the officer. the latter conveyed the message to ali. "even though al misri prefers to kill vermin, you are granted your life. you win this favor, not through compassion, but because you are able to ride a _dalul_ that kills other men." ali remained silent, as was expected of him. al misri gave the officer another message for the captive camel driver. "the other keeper of the _dalul_ let it stray," the officer announced. "the keeper died in a fire, a very slow fire that was kindled at dawn, but the keeper still nodded his head at high noon. you are now keeper of the _dalul_. take care that it strays not." without another word or a backward glance, al misri turned and waddled back to his tent. the officer disbanded his men. ali led ben akbar to pasture at the edge of camp. * * * * * the travelers came to tanim, far enough outside holy territory so that there was no possibility of desecrating it, but near enough to furnish a convenient stopping place for donning the _ihram_, in the cool of early morning. not all who had been with the _hadj_ when ali finally joined it--and not all who had since come from one place or another--were still present. many good moslems who would never see the holy city had died trying to reach it. ali reflected curiously that some of the more devout were dead, while some who seemed to regard this holy journey in anything except a pious light were very much alive. a merchant who had come all the way from damascus, and who was about to don the _ihram_, deferred the ceremony so that he might bargain about something or other with another merchant from smyrna. though they were all moslems--except for the jackal, ali thought quickly--obviously the true light burned brightly for some and dimly for others. ali wondered uneasily about the category in which he belonged. he worried about the fact that he did not feel greatly different from the way he had felt while out on the caravan routes or in the bazaar of the street called straight. he thought he should feel something else. though many had died, his pilgrimage had been almost luxurious. he had nothing at all to do except watch over ben akbar, which was simplicity itself because the powerful young _dalul_ wanted nothing except to be where ali was. though ali was forbidden to ride, the pasha of damascus, the only human worthy of riding ben akbar, had allowed himself to be carried all the way to mecca in a sedan chair. seeing the pasha once, and from a distance, ali decided, to his own satisfaction, at least, that he had not asked to ride ben akbar for the simple reason that he couldn't. judging by the pasha's looks, he'd have trouble riding an age-broken baggage camel. always together, ali and ben akbar had walked all the way. it had still been the easiest of walks since, as long as he took care of ben akbar and kept himself in the background, ali was assured ample food and water. with the finest of care and nothing to do, ben akbar was at the very peak of perfection. with appropriate ceremony, ali donned the _ihram_ and ran a mental tally of the things he must not do until the _hadj_ came to an end. he must wear neither head nor foot covering. he must not shave, trim his nails--but there was nothing in the entire list that forbade taking ben akbar with him. ali remained troubled, nevertheless because, try as he would, he was unable to achieve what he considered a necessary level of piety. rather than feeling spiritually uplifted by what had been and what was to be, he could think only that, very shortly, he would have the right to call himself hadji ali. . the unpardonable sin mecca, holy city of the moslems, spoke in a strangely subdued whisper when this particular night finally enfolded it. the great _hadj_ was ended--the official termination announced when the wealthier pilgrims sought barbers to shave them and those without money shaved each other. the unofficial, but more realistic, termination came about in a different manner. whatever their motives, or degree of zeal, an inspired army had gone to mecca. with the _hadj_ ended, suddenly weary human beings thought with wistful longing of the homes they'd left and the beloved faces that became doubly precious because they were absent. thus the sudden silence in mecca, where--every night until this one--lone pilgrims and bands of pilgrims had gone noisily about various errands. however, not all pilgrims had chosen to spend this night in their beds. ali, now hadji ali, stood very quietly in the darkest niche he'd been able to find of the masa, the sacred course between mounts safa and marwa. ben akbar, never far from ali's side, stood just as quietly beside him and ali wanted no other companion. hoping to ease a troubled conscience, he had sought this lonely and deserted spot to try to find the true significance, which he was sure must exist but had so far escaped him, of the ceremonies in which he had just participated. perhaps, he thought seriously, he was now confused because he had had no real understanding of any part of anything from the very beginning. nobody had told him why the _ihram_ must be donned and adjusted in a certain way, with certain prescribed motions, and in no other fashion. with ben akbar, who followed like a faithful dog but aroused little comment in this city where camels were the commonest means of transportation, ali had entered mecca in the prescribed fashion, though he hadn't the faintest idea as to who had prescribed it or why. at intervals, and solely because all his companions were doing likewise, he had shouted "_labbaika_," a word whose meaning he had not known and still did not know. at this point, ali became so hopelessly entangled in matters he did not understand that it was necessary to start all over again. however, he decided not to begin with the _ihram_ this time. the sacred course was also a part of the ceremony, and, being near at hand, it might yield clues that could not be discerned in that which was far away. the sacred course, connecting the eminences of safa and marwa and locale of the liveliest and most unmanageable bazaar in mecca, was four hundred and ninety three paces in length. it was the trail of torment imposed on hagar, who ran it seven times in a desperate effort to find water for her infant son. pilgrims arriving in mecca accepted as part of their own ceremony a seven times running of the sacred course. this, as ali had seen with his own eyes, was subject to various interpretations. some pilgrims ran the prescribed seven times but some would have difficulty walking it once, for despite the hardships of the journey, some of the afflicted, aged and the simply lazy arrived with every _hadj_. then there were always the eccentrics. ali himself had been an astounded witness when one fat amir reclined in a cushioned sedan chair which six sweating slaves carried over the sacred course the requisite number of times. ali tilted his head and stared miserably into the darkness as the utter hopelessness of his quest for understanding became increasingly apparent. it had been important that he earn the right to call himself hadji ali, but, in his heart of hearts, he knew that he'd wanted far more than that from his holy pilgrimage and he had not received it. since millions of moslems who found all they hoped for in mecca could not be wrong, it followed that the fault was personal. so-- ali's meditations were interrupted by that which he understood perfectly. ben akbar, swinging his head in the darkness as he turned to look toward something that had attracted him, gave the first sign that they were no longer alone. ali had not seen the move, but he knew ben akbar had moved because he always knew everything the _dalul_ did. presently, he knew that a man, or men, were approaching because ben akbar always breathed in a certain cadence whenever men came near. ali held very still, hoping the strangers would pass without noticing him. he knew by their footsteps that there were two of them. ali sighed in disappointment when the pair halted only a few feet away. he was about to call out and make his presence known, for those who have reason for silence in the darkness also have reason to expect violence, when someone spoke. "all know of the plan then, ahmet?" it was the voice of the jackal! "all know," a second man replied. ali stood very still, holding his breath. the fact that the jackal, whose intentions were anything except holy, was with the _hadj_, had caused ali some uneasy moments. but, he reminded himself once more, if it was the obvious duty of a good moslem to reveal a druse or anyone else traveling with the _hadj_ and pretending to be a moslem, it was equally true that the jackal was in an excellent position to do some revealing of his own. ali had decided he would not be the first to speak. evidently the jackal was not talking either. "when is the exact appointed time?" the man named ahmet asked. "in another hour, when the followers of mohammed and the worshipers of allah will be enjoying their deepest dreams." the jackal voiced a low laugh, and, despite his anxiety, ali had to wonder. in the heart of mecca, surrounded by thousands of moslems and certainly with no hope of fighting his way clear, the jackal could laugh as easily as though he were in a druse stronghold. his companion was less assured. "speak gently," he cautioned. "someone may hear!" "_pouf!_" the jackal scoffed. "the moslems hear nothing tonight save the hot wind that shall sing about their ears until they are once again safe in their homes. the city sleeps, ahmet." ahmet said uneasily, "some are always awake." "have you turned lily-livered?" the jackal asked sardonically. ahmet answered, "i do not think so, but better a lily than a sword-pierced liver." "have i not planned well?" the jackal demanded. "one who can select thirty-four men, scatter them throughout a moslem _hadj_ and bring all safely to mecca, has planned as wisely as he chose men," ahmet commented. "just let there be no mistake at this late hour." the jackal said, "the only mistake of which we can be guilty now is in leaving this place without the black stone." ali clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle a gasp. the jackal was indeed playing for big stakes, one of the most colossal prizes in the history of brigandage, and he seemed in a fair position to get it. fixed in the wall of the kaaba, an edifice so ancient that some claimed it was here even before mohammed, the black stone was possibly the holiest of moslem shrines. in common with all other pilgrims, ali had dutifully kissed it. as far as its physical aspects were concerned, it was a small, dark mass that at one time might have been part of a meteor. should anyone ever succeed in stealing it, the moslem world would pay a fantastic ransom for its safe return. if nobody stopped the jackal and his accomplices, each of them could be so wealthy that the pasha of damascus would seem a beggar by comparison. ben akbar swung his head to nudge ali's shoulder with an inquiring nose, and ali stroked the _dalul's_ soft cheek. accustomed to spending his nights in some peaceful pasture, ben akbar had no liking for this confined place, and he was telling his friend so. ali tried to conjure up a mental image of the sacred course, but he couldn't do it, in spite of the fact that he had run its length the stipulated seven times. because he had hoped to find that in their faces which would tell him just why they had come to mecca, and thus furnish some sure basis upon which he could build his own right motivation for coming, ali had studied his fellow pilgrims and ignored the street. who could imagine that he or anyone else might have to leave the masa by the nearest and quietest path? there had to be a way because there was always a way, but ali was still seeking it when ben akbar, increasingly eager to be out of the city that he did not like and into the desert he did, expressed his impatience in a racking grunt. then there was just one way. ali drew his dagger and waited. out in the night, there was sudden silence, but the very lack of noise was as lethal as and somehow remarkably similar to the desert adder that awaits its prey in complete silence and, in striking, makes no noise that is ever heard by the victim. ali considered the situation. since it was most improbable that there'd be a camel at this place and hour without a camel driver, the conspirators knew they had been overheard. in addition, since every camel has its own distinctive voice, the jackal had probably recognized ben akbar. therefore, he knew that ali had overheard him. swiftly, ali weighed the advantages and disadvantages and considered possible ways to make the best use of the former, while yielding as little as possible to the latter. beyond any doubt, the jackal knew that ben akbar accepted certain favored human beings and rejected all others, unless they foolishly tried to interfere with him. then he showed his resentment, often violently. so only a fool would rush in, and the jackal was no fool. neither, ali told himself, was he a coward who'd be swerved from his determined purpose by a threatening incident. he'd face a dozen ben akbars before he'd abandon his plan to steal the black stone and seek refuge in flight, but he'd face them in his own way. ali took a calculated risk. "kneel," he whispered in the _dalul's_ ear. ben akbar obeyed. stifling a sigh of relief, ali slipped five paces to one side and turned so that he was again facing the _dalul_. there had been a certain unavoidable rattling of pebbles and other small noises when ben akbar knelt, but no sound of a camel leaving the scene. if allah were kind, the jackal would know that ben akbar remained where he had been and would expect to find ali with him. rushing in from an unexpected quarter at the right moment, ali would have the advantage of surprise and some hope of victory, in spite of two to one odds. ali thought, but very fleetingly, of calling out an offer to negotiate. he'd go his way and maintain his silence, if the pair would promise no interference. but the jackal had come too far and risked too much to incur the further risk of a knowing head and a possibly loose tongue; he'd never accept the offer. nor could ali really have brought himself to make it. even though he had failed to find the assured spiritual awakening he'd earnestly hoped to discover in mecca, he could not be disloyal to a faith he'd voluntarily accepted. even though he himself failed to appreciate the significance of the black stone, as a good moslem, he could not see it defiled. dagger in hand, ali stood very quietly in the darkness. though he was looking toward ben akbar and the _dalul_ was only a few paces away, the darkness was so intense that he could barely discern the camel's outline. he neither saw nor heard anything else. it was as though ali and ben akbar were the only inhabitants of a world suddenly turned black. ali battled the illusion, for the very silence and the feeling that he was alone were sufficient evidence that he faced deadly danger. the jackal was no amateur who would seek to cow his enemy by hissed threats, mislead him by thrown stones or other ruses, or indulge in any other melodrama. he compared favorably with the tawny-maned lion who lays his ambush at a water hole where gazelles drink. having decided that killing was in order, the jackal would kill with a maximum of speed and efficiency, brought about by a lifetime of experience. ben akbar did not even move. he would remain exactly as he was and where he was until ali himself gave permission to get up or until circumstances beyond his friend's control forced him to arise. a lump rose in ali's throat. ben akbar was far more than just a magnificent _dalul_. he was ali's other self, a true brother and to be loved as such. ali renewed his vow that, so long as allah saw fit to spare him, just so long would he and ben akbar face the same winds, traveling side by side. suddenly, seeing his pilgrimage in an entirely new light, it was no longer a disappointment but more than rewarding. perhaps, in his infinite wisdom, allah bestowed different gifts upon different pilgrims, according to their true intentions. ali knew that he was contented now, for, because of his pilgrimage, he had ben akbar. he would no longer stand alone against the world. presently, ali became aware of great and immediate danger. it was no sudden perception accompanied by sudden shock, but a complete and whole revelation, the ripening of each separate incident since the jackal and ahmet had appeared. unless he did something about it, ali's senses told him, he would be dead very shortly. at the same time, so clear was the light that bathed his mind, he was instantly able to understand exactly how this had come about. he had underestimated the jackal. hearing ben akbar grunt, the man had identified him instantly. but he had also identified the tiny sounds made by a camel kneeling and he'd known why ben akbar was made to kneel. the jackal, had decided, not only that ali would not await directly beside ben akbar, but also exactly where he would be found. it was what the jackal himself might have done under similar circumstances. now, dagger poised, he stood directly behind ali and needed only one more silent step to carry him into a striking position. when ali moved, he did so swiftly, bending at the knees even while he swiveled the upper portion of his body forward to make a smaller target. at the same time, he pivoted on the balls of his feet, so that he made a complete turn and faced his enemy. he thrust with all his strength. the dagger's point found resistance, but not unyielding resistance. it bit hungrily into something that was both soft and warm. there was a gasp, a strangled grunt, then an almost gentle rustle as the jackal wilted backwards and his own burnous enfolded him. a shout cracked the darkness as a hammer blow might crack a pane of glass. "now then! close in!" bloody dagger still in his extended hand, ali only half heard either the shout or the patter of running feet that immediately followed. aghast at what he'd done but never intended to do, he remained rooted in his tracks. this was mecca, the holy city, and shedding blood within its borders was one of the very few sins for which there was no pardon. mohammed himself, when making prisoners of some enemies who sought to hide in mecca, could carry out his own death sentence only by locking them in a building and letting them starve. no moslem was wealthy or influential enough to attain forgiveness for shedding blood in mecca. so complete was his horror and so shocking, for a short space ali was only vaguely aware of rough hands that gripped him. then someone spoke. ali recognized the voice of the fierce officer who had ambushed the druse. "it is the camel rider who was made keeper of the _dalul_, and he too has let his charge stray." a groan sounded in the darkness. "he has done more than that," someone whom ali could barely see said in an awed whisper. "he has shed blood in the holy city." "fool!" the officer said to ali contemptuously. "we knew who they were and were ready to take them! i would not care to wear your burnous at this moment!" the single reason why he was not already lying beside the wounded man, ali told himself, could be ascribed to the fact that the fierce officer dared not shed blood in mecca. certainly his execution would not be delayed when they no longer stood on holy ground. then the fog that had dulled ali's brain when he stabbed the jackal faded away. he thought of words voiced by the officer, 'the camel rider who was made keeper of the _dalul_, and he too has let his charge stray.' obviously, the soldiers were unaware of ben akbar's nearness. ali saw his one hope of escape. "ho!" he called loudly and clearly. "ben akbar! come to me! run!" there was a rattling of pebbles as ben akbar hastened to obey. astonished soldiers, who hadn't even suspected this and needed a moment to decide what it might be, dodged out of the _dalul's_ path or were knocked out of it. side by side, ali and ben akbar ran on until the friendly mantle of night hid both. . the strange ship the first light of day was followed almost at once by the first blast of heat. then the sun rose, a burning red ball that seemed to roll across the eastern horizon with steadily increasing speed, as though to gain momentum for leaping into the sky. the rein hung slack and ali dozed in the saddle as ben akbar paced steadily onward. when the bright sun flashed in his eyes, ali awakened and halted his mount with, "ho, my brother! let us stop." ben akbar halted, knelt when commanded to do so, and ali dismounted. as the sun climbed higher and grew hotter, ali pondered his present situation, the immediate past and the probable future. in his mind's eye, he drew a map of the general area and of his approximate position. at a rough estimate, mecca was halfway down the east shore of the red sea, a great sweep of water whose most northerly waves break on the sinai peninsula and whose southern extremity mingles with the gulf of aden, a thousand or more miles away. directly to the east was the land of the arabs. ali's native syria was northeast, and beyond syria lay turkey. since it was manifestly impossible to cross the red sea without a suitable ship, ali's choice of directions were north, south and east. it was a difficult choice, for, wherever he went, he would still be in a land of moslems. even if he might somehow contrive to cross the red sea, he must necessarily disembark in moslem egypt. because he had shed blood in holy mecca, he was and forever must be outcast by all true moslems. moreover, with thousands of home-going pilgrims and each one an indignant bearer of the tale of desecration, very shortly ali would be a marked man throughout the moslem world. any moslem who killed him would be honored, not prosecuted. now all that belonged to the dead past. this was the living present, and ali wondered curiously why he was unable to regard that present in the grave light cast by facts as they were. he'd gained in mecca the coveted right to call himself hadji ali, and, considering the turn of circumstances that now meant nothing whatever. it made not the slightest difference what name he carried. but, far from surrendering to despair or even giving way to anxiety, ali felt that the _hadj_ had brought him a whole new future and that it had never been so hopeful. he stroked the _dalul's_ neck with affectionately understanding hands. ben akbar made happy little noises with his mouth and the rein trailed in the desert sand. ali stooped to pick it up. the rein was not necessary because he could still guide ben akbar by voiced commands, but, since he was setting out on what would most certainly be a long journey, he had felt that it was desirable to have proper trappings for his mount. as soon as ali began to plan ahead after his flight from mecca, he decided that he must reach the camp of al misri, the most accessible source of camel harness, before the soldiers were able to bring their news there. he accomplished that by making ben akbar kneel when both had run a safe distance, then mounting and riding at full speed until he was within a discreet distance of the camp. there--even if he has completed the _hadj_, a camel's groom must not be caught riding a _dalul_ reserved exclusively for the pasha of damascus--ali dismounted and walked the rest of the way. familiar figures about the camp, the pair attracted only indifferent glances from the sentries. as though he were acting under orders, ali went directly to the supply tent to choose a proper saddle and bridle. the bridle presented no problem, but ali was able to find a saddle only after rejecting a dozen of the biggest ones and finally hitting upon the largest of all. in superb condition, ben akbar's sleek hump seemed ready to burst. none but the biggest saddle would fit. however, foreseeing probable hardship, and the consequent shrinking of the _dalul's_ hump, ali gathered up a sufficient supply of saddle pads. finally, he chose a goatskin water bag and, as payment for all, left the single coin that had remained to him after paying for his _ihram_. it was not enough, and he knew it, but it was all he had. leading ben akbar, ali filled his water bag at the oasis and went on. the sentries who watched all this but failed to act were lulled partly by the fact that ali was a familiar part of the camp and, as far as the sentries knew, above suspicion. they were further disarmed by the very audacity of the scheme. nobody, certainly not a camel's groom, would walk brazenly into a camp commanded by al misri and steal trappings to equip the pasha's prized _dalul_, which he also intended to steal! a safe distance from camp, ali mounted and rode. he struck inland, veering away from the route that would be selected by most of the home-going pilgrims, letting ben akbar choose his own moderate pace all night long. nobody could follow him in the darkness, anyhow, and it was wise to spare his mount. now, as he stood beside the reclining _dalul_ and the burning sun pursued its torrid course, ali considered that which was as inevitable as the eventual setting of the sun. it was a foregone conclusion that some tracker had taken the trail as soon as he was able to see it, and the pursuers would waste no time. nor would they ever give up. who stole a _dalul_ from the pasha of damascus might escape only if he sought and found asylum with one of the pasha's powerful enemies. but who desecrated holy mecca would never find safety in any moslem land. in addition, ali thought, the officer and all the men who'd been with him would now make a heretic's punishment a point of honor, a blood quest from which only death would free them. ali still saw hope that could not have been without ben akbar. as individuals, either was assailable. together, they were invincible. counting from the time they'd left al misri's camp to the first light of day, ali gave meticulous consideration to the pace set by ben akbar and the type of terrain they'd traveled. when finished, he knew within a few rods either way just how far they had come and within a few minutes, plus or minus, when pursuers could be expected. ali turned to ben akbar. "rest," he crooned, as he removed saddle and bridle. "rest and forage, oh prince among _dalul_. come to me then, and you shall teach the pasha's soldiers the true speed of a _dalul_." ben akbar wandered forth to crop the coarse desert vegetation. choosing the doubtful shade offered by a copse of scrub, ali lay down and drew his burnous about him. he slept peacefully and soundly, as though he'd somehow managed to purge his mind of certain grim prospects for the immediate future and rest alone mattered. a bit more than three hours later, as ali had planned when he chose his bed, the blazing sun shone directly upon him and its glare broke his slumber. he did not, as had been his habit, lie quietly and without moving until he determined exactly what lay about him and what, if anything, he should do about it. ben akbar, who always knew long before his master when anything approached--and always let ali know--made such precautions unnecessary. the great _dalul_ was grazing quietly and only a few feet away. "to me, my brother," ali called softly. ben akbar came at once and ali replaced the saddle and bridle. about to take a swallow of water, he decided to wait until ben akbar could also have a satisfactory drink or until thirst became unbearable. in the latter event, they'd share the contents of the water bag. ali thought calmly of the journey before him. a novice attempting such a trip would invite his own death, and even an experienced desert traveler would find such an undertaking very precarious. however, ali, who'd spent most of his life on the caravan routes, thought of it as just one more journey. the merciless sun spared nothing. waves of heat rolled along with monotonous regularity, as though the heat blanket were a mighty ocean beset by a steady wind. ali turned his back to the sun's direct rays and watched ben akbar. he was hot and thirsty, and becoming hotter and thirstier, but so had he been before and would be again. the sun was almost exactly where ali had decided it should be when ben akbar raised his head and fixed his attention on the western horizon. it was the direction from which they had come, that from which pursuit should come. ali turned to face the same way as ben akbar. a few minutes later, they rode over a hillock and ali saw them. they were a little group of the pasha's crack troops, superbly mounted on magnificent _dalul_ and maintaining tight formation behind a tracker. ali reached up to fondle ben akbar's neck but kept his eyes on the riders. they were seven, including the tracker, and ali knew at once why there were no more than seven and no fewer. he was no ordinary outlaw, but a direct affront to all that moslems held most dear. he must be brought to justice, and no effort would be spared to do so. thus the tracker was the best to be found. the six soldiers were picked men. finally, the seven _dalul_ were the very elite of the almost thirty thousand camels with the _hadj_. there were no more than seven pursuers because there was not another _dalul_ to keep pace with these seven. ali did not have to ask himself if the seven _dalul_ were fresh or weary; their riders would know how to conserve their mounts. ben akbar had had less than four hours' rest. standing quietly beside ben akbar, ali told himself that he had wanted and planned to have the pursuit take form in just this way, and he would not change now if he could. he himself might have ridden much farther in the hours that had elapsed since leaving al misri's camp, but he'd have done it at the expense of ben akbar. the test had to come, and it was better to meet it in this fashion. the soldiers sighted him and urged their mounts from an easy trot to a swift lope. ali waited until they were within two hundred and fifty yards, well beyond effective range of smoothbore muskets, before he turned to ben akbar and said quietly, "kneel." ben akbar knelt and ali mounted. at ease in the saddle, he turned to watch the soldiers sweep nearer. a momentary doubt assailed him as a close-up inspection of their _dalul_ revealed the full magnificence of such animals. ali put the doubt behind him and told ben akbar to run. at home in a camel saddle as he seldom fitted in elsewhere, ali did not waste another backward glance as ben akbar flew on. he knew what lay behind him, and that he could expect no mercy whether his back or his face was toward the pursuers. wherever it struck, the blade of a sword would be equally sharp and bite as deeply. after fifteen minutes, and the blade not felt, ali knew he'd chosen wisely when he gave his very life into ben akbar's keeping. he still did not look behind him. _dalul_ such as the soldiers mounted were not easily outdistanced, but there was a mighty vein of comfort in that very thought. ben akbar would never again be pursued by swifter _dalul_ or more skilful riders. if he won this race, he'd win all to come. an hour and a half afterwards, ali finally looked around. with less than a two-hundred-yard lead at the beginning of the race, ben akbar had doubled that distance between himself and the three swiftest pursuers. the remaining four, in order of their speed, straggled behind the leaders. ali slowed ben akbar so that his pace exceeded by the scantiest margin that of the three leaders. when a cool wind announced the going of the day and the coming of the night, the nearest of the seven pursuers was a mere dot in the distance. * * * * * the bitter autumn wind that snarled in from the mediterranean had sent a herd of tough, desert-bred goats to the shelter of some boulders and made them stand close together for the warmth one found in another. riding past on ben akbar, ali gave the shivering herd the barest of glances and turned his gaze to the horizon. he missed nothing, a highly practical talent whose development had been markedly accelerated by necessity. behind lay an incredible journey. eluding the soldiers, ali rode on into the very heart of the arabian desert. always he sought the lonelier places, shepherd's or camel herder's camps and the smallest villages. at first his experiences had conformed strictly to what any solitary traveler might expect. as the news spread and ali's ill fame became part of the talk at even the most isolated campfires, his fortunes changed accordingly. he seldom met anything except cold hatred and outright hostility. normally it was accompanied by dread, not entirely a disadvantage since, whatever else they thought, trembling natives who recognized ali feared to refuse him food and other necessities. he fought when he could not avoid fighting, but much preferred to run. ben akbar had shown his heels to more soldiers, tribesmen and just plain bandits than ali could remember. with an almost desperate yearning for anyone at all who'd exchange a friendly word, eventually ali turned to his native syria, where he hoped to find a friend. he found a hatred more bitterly intense than anything experienced elsewhere; every syrian seemed to think that he must bear part of the shame for a countryman who had defiled the holy city. now ali was farther north, in the land of the turks and riding toward the port of smyrna. rounding a bend that brought him in sight of the mediterranean, ali halted ben akbar and stared in amazement. he was on the shoreside wall of a u-shaped rock ledge that extended into the sea and formed a natural harbor. some distance out, a great sailing ship that flew a foreign flag rode at anchor. though he could not read it and had no more than a vague notion that it might be read, ali could make out her name. she was the _supply_. halfway between shore and ship, a scow propelled by oarsmen and carrying a kneeling camel that seemed to be strapped in position, was making toward the _supply_. on the shore beneath ali, a number of other camels were tethered. one had lain down, and eight egyptian camel handlers seemed interested in making it get up again. with a fine contempt for egyptians generally, and egyptian camel handlers specifically, ali had decided to his own satisfaction that these last fell back on forceful crudity simply because they were too stupid to master the right ways of handling camels. ali's curiosity mounted because, contrary to their usual procedure, these handlers were gently trying to make the camel get up. then the scow reached the ship, the men who had been on the scow disappeared on the _supply_ and took the camel with them, whereupon the egyptian handlers abruptly changed tactics. kicking together a pile of rubble, someone started a fire. a pail appeared from somewhere and was put over the fire. a raging ali leaped from ben akbar and toward the group. he had not intended to interfere. if the egyptians were stupid enough to abuse their own camel, then let them be deprived of the beast that much sooner. ali would not have interfered if the egyptian handlers had done almost anything except what they were obviously about to do--make the camel get up by pouring boiling pitch over its tail. hearing ali, the eight turned as one and greeted him with hostile stares. "swine!" ali snarled. "offspring of diseased fleas! eaters of camel dung!" he emphasized his insults with a blow to the midriff that sent the nearest egyptian spinning, and immediately the seven were upon him. ali delivered a smart kick to the shin that left one hopping about on one foot and howling with pain, landed a clenched fist squarely on the jaw of another, and then a sledge hammer collided with his own head. night came suddenly. then light shone through the dark curtain, and ali looked up at two men who stood before him. one, a native interpreter, was foppish in garment and manner. the other, arrayed in clothing such as ali had never seen, commanded instant respect. tall, slim, strong and young, he had the same air of strength and authority that marked al misri. he spoke in a strange tongue to the interpreter, who addressed ali. "lieutenant porter demands to know why you attacked his men." ali gestured toward the kneeling camel. "they would have made it rise by pouring boiling pitch on its tail." the interpreter conveyed this information to lieutenant porter, who whirled at once on the egyptians. "i've told all of you that i will tolerate no cruelty," he began. not understanding a word, nevertheless ali listened with mingled awe and admiration as lieutenant porter continued to speak. his words, ali thought happily, were a lion's roar, and it was better to be whipped than to endure them because a whip could not remove skin nearly as well. the eight egyptians, like eight beaten dogs, slunk away. lieutenant porter addressed the interpreter, who conveyed the message to ali. "can you make the camel rise?" ali got to his feet, smoothed his burnous and went to the stubborn camel. he took hold of the tether rope while he stooped to whisper in its ear, "rise, my little one. rise, my beauty. the trail is long and the day is short." the camel rose and began to lick ali's hand. ali addressed the interpreter. "where are these camels going?" "to america," the interpreter assured him. "but--" a bewildered ali looked from the stately ship to the tethered camels. "is a land wealthy enough to have such a ship, so poor as to have no camels?" treating this question with haughty disdain, the interpreter relayed another message. "lieutenant porter wishes to know if you will go to america with the camels?" ali hesitated, then asked, "is america a land of moslems?" the interpreter conferred with lieutenant porter and turned to ali. "there are no moslems." ali indicated ben akbar, silhouetted on top of the ledge. "may my _dalul_ come, too?" "he may," the interpreter assured him. ali said joyously, "then we will go." he didn't know where america was or what he might find on arrival, but he was sure that he and ben akbar, together, could make their own way anywhere at all. . another pilgrimage beginning at her stern and bearing to the starboard side, ali set out to become more intimately acquainted with the ship. almost every step brought to light a fresh marvel. as a camel driver who traveled with caravans, at one time or another he had been in every port that a caravan can visit, and he was not unfamiliar with ships. but never before had he seen anything to compare with the _supply_. a hundred and forty-one feet over all, the wooden three-master had a main and a quarterdeck. an official united states navy ship, she was armed with a battery of four twenty-four pounders. one glance revealed that her crew of forty officers and men believed in and strictly adhered to the rules of first-class seamanship; the _supply_ was as spotlessly clean as she was trim. had she been a conventional ship, ali would have considered her impressive enough. as it was, he found her overwhelming. jefferson davis, united states secretary of war, was one of several outstanding americans who'd long cherished the notion that camels might very well help solve some of the troublesome problems of transportation involved in settling america's vast, arid and little-known southwest. finally, granted official permission to subject this theory to a practical test, the _supply_ had been rebuilt for the sole purpose of importing an experimental herd. a well-built stable, sixty feet long, twelve feet wide and not quite seven feet six inches high, extended from just behind the foremast to just in front of the quarterdeck. on either side were twenty portholes that could be left open when weather permitted, but each porthole was equipped with a panel of glass that closed from the inside in cold weather and wooden shutters that swung from the outside and were to be used during violent storms or in heavy seas. midway was a hatch that offered direct entry to the stable, and that could be lowered for loading or unloading and raised when the ship was at sea. front and rear, high enough above the main deck so that even the most turbulent waves would not wash over them, were other hatches fitted with wind sails--canvas funnels--that admitted air but excluded everything else. thus, even when it was necessary to close the portholes, there was no danger that the camels would suffocate. every stall was fitted with a harness, so arranged that the stall's occupant might have complete freedom of movement when the _supply_ was in smooth sailing, or be strapped firmly in a kneeling position and unable to move at all, when the ship was in stormy seas. further to minimize injuries that might result from being tossed about, bags filled with hay were secured to every beam and anything else that a camel might bump. the stable floor was covered with clean, fresh litter. reflector lamps would illuminate the stable if it should be necessary to attend the camels at night. a supply of fresh water was contained in two huge tanks, each holding thirty thousand gallons, and a fire extinguisher was arranged so that it could draw on either tank or both. a sterile cabinet held an ample supply of every known remedy for any aliment that might afflict a camel. the hold of the _supply_ was filled to the bursting point with a store of the finest and cleanest hay and grain. no necessity or luxury that a camel might need--or that somebody fancied a camel might need--had been omitted. there were twenty camels already in the stable and they were making themselves at home there. twenty-four, including ben akbar, remained to be brought on board. thirty-seven of the herd were young females, many of which were with young. every one of the forty-three beasts that the american buyers had selected was an outstanding creature, all in their prime and none with any blemishes or deformities. but even though he must concede that the americans knew how to choose camels, ali was both baffled and dazzled by their sending of the _supply_, obviously representing a tremendous investment, to carry a mere forty-four of even the finest camels all the way to america. few of the desert-roving camel breeders of ali's acquaintance would consider it worth their while to drive so small a herd to market, not even if the market was only four miles away. rounding the front of the stable and continuing sternward on the opposite side of the _supply_, ali felt a tense ripple travel up his spine and reassured himself that his dagger was at hand when he saw another camel handler approaching. eight natives in all, seven besides ali, had been retained to accompany this herd to america and ali hadn't the faintest doubt that each one knew all the details of his story. but far from any hostile gesture or incident, nobody had even mentioned mecca, to say nothing of the punishment sure to attend any who shed blood in the holy city. there was a variety of possible explanations for such forbearance. maybe the seven were lukewarm moslems, who simply didn't care; perhaps, like ali, they had personal reasons for wanting to go to some land where moslems were few; possibly they intended to take action but were waiting for the right moment. when he was near enough to his fellow camel handler, mimico teodara, ali said decorously, "i greet thee." "and i thee," the other replied. ali relaxed. if mimico knew his story--and beyond doubt he did know--and if he were a strict moslem, he would not have spoken to ali at all. for a moment they remained side by side and both glanced toward the tethered camels that remained on shore. ali, who somehow felt that mimico might become his friend, spoke of the riddle that had been puzzling him. "it is strange, almost past understanding, that americans would send such a ship, at vast expense, to carry only forty-four camels to america." "strange indeed," his companion agreed. "even more to be wondered at is the fact that, the first time they came, they returned with only thirty-three camels." surprised, ali asked, "they have been here before?" mimico nodded. "this is their second voyage." "come," the foppish interpreter said, "this is not a time for idling." ali and mimico walked silently to the lowered hatch through which the camels were brought on board and took their places in the boat that was moored against it. the device employed to bring camels from shore to ship, ali felt, was another startling example of american ingenuity. twenty feet long by seven wide, the boat used as a ferry was fitted with a hinged door at each end. a wheeled truck, sturdy enough to support the biggest camel, could be pushed through either door and secured in such a manner that it neither moved nor unbalanced the ferry. of very shallow draft, the oarsmen had no difficulty in running the ferry up on any beach. then the hinged door was lowered and the truck run out. a camel was led onto the truck, made to kneel and strapped in place. the truck was pushed back onto the ferry, the door was raised, and the launching accomplished. reaching the _supply_, the door on the opposite end was lowered and the ferry brought squarely against the lowered hatch. then it was necessary only to push the truck and its helpless passenger onto the deck of the _supply_ and into the stable. ali, who thought he knew all the methods of moving camels, had to admit that he'd never even heard of this one. mimico, who had a fine touch with camels, brought the next passenger. it was a great bactrian, or two-humped male. as it was led onto the truck, made to kneel and strapped in place, ali wondered. bactrians were enormous beasts, some weighing a ton or more, and this was an especially fine specimen. there was no doubting the strength of a two-humped camel, but caravan trails were usually long ones. often, what with delivering one cargo at one point, picking up another for a different destination, and there getting still another, a year or more might elapse before a train of camels finally returned to the home from which they had set out. such wandering was certain to be attended by conditions that varied from lush browse and ample water to scant forage and near drought. a camel's hump changed accordingly, so that often nothing except the very skilful application of pads made it possible to keep a firm saddle on a beast with only one hump. naturally, a beast with two humps could be twice the trouble. in addition, ali thought, bactrians were less hardy. under the skilful direction of ali and mimico, all the camels except ben akbar were finally loaded. on the final trip, mimico leaped out as soon as the ferry was beached and went to bring ali's _dalul_. ali waited, saying nothing. the more they were together, the better he liked mimico, who handled camels with consummate skill and never used words when deeds were in order. ali waited now to find if his judgment was sound. if mimico passed what ben akbar considered a respectful distance, the _dalul_ would show his resentment. if mimico was the camel man he seemed to be, he would recognize ben akbar for what he was and halt before he was dangerously near. before ben akbar lunged, mimico halted, turned and beckoned. ali strode forward to lead his _dalul_ to the ferry. * * * * * all sails spread to a stiff and favorable wind, the _supply_ skimmed along at a fast eight knots an hour. leaning against an outside wall of the camel stable, beside the porthole near which ben akbar was tethered, and through which he was thrusting his nose, ali kept anxious eyes on the horizon where land should appear. since that day when the _supply_ had sliced into the mediterranean and the haze-shrouded coast of turkey had slipped always farther behind and then disappeared, almost three full months had come and gone. by no means had they passed swiftly. one furious storm followed another while the _supply_ pursued her course in the mediterranean. much of the time it had been necessary to strap the camels in place, to keep them from being tumbled about as the ship listed one way or another. it had been impossible to prevent all injury, but only three of the forty-four camels had died. two of them were bactrians, the only two-humped camels in the present cargo. this gave additional support for ali's theory that they were less hardy than their arabian cousins. he did not draw any positive conclusions because lieutenant porter disagreed with him, saying that species had nothing to do with it and the two bactrians merely happened to be less hardy individuals. ali offered no argument because of an ever increasing respect for lieutenant porter's knowledge and wisdom. in part, ali was influenced by the fact that porter was the only man on board besides ali himself who had succeeded in winning ben akbar's friendship. but more than that was involved. as the _supply_ lay at anchor off the turkish coast, it was evident that lieutenant porter was not an authority on camels. but in sharp contrast with some men ali had known, the american had proven himself both willing and eager to learn, and he included the eight native camel drivers among his teachers. but from the first, to ali's vast astonishment and then to his boundless delight, porter did not find it necessary to base his behavior upon that pursued by haughty sheiks and amirs who conversed with camel drivers. nobody on the _supply_ ever forgot that lieutenant porter was in command, but nobody ever had reason to feel that the officer considered them inferior. ali nursed a happy conviction that america must be a wonderful land indeed if many americans were like the skipper of the _supply_. a little distance from ali, mimico was also leaning against the camel stable and waiting for the first sight of land. the pair had become friends during the voyage, but, after so many days at sea, neither ali nor mimico wanted to do anything except look at some land. presently ali saw it, the sea rolling up on a flat and treeless shore and the waves falling back. then it disappeared, a tantalizing vision that first enticed and then crushed. but it came again and did not disappear. ali's eager eyes drank in as much as possible of this first look at america. the shore was flat and treeless, but not by any means was it deserted. a great crowd of people, everything from officials come to receive the camels to the curious who wanted only to look, awaited. there was a wooden pier and a group of buildings that comprised the town of indianola, texas. a lighter that had been lingering at the pier was now making toward them. the ship met the _supply_ and drew alongside. a camel was brought from its stall and a harness was strapped about and beneath it. a cable dangling from the lighter's boom was attached to the harness and the kicking, frightened camel was transferred from the _supply_ to the lighter. lieutenant porter gestured to ali and mimico, ordering, "go aboard the lighter and help out." the pair entered a small boat that took them to the lighter, where they received all the camels as they came. with gentle touch and soothing voices, they calmed the frightened animals and averted what might have become a catastrophe. busy with the camels, ali had time for only the briefest of shoreward glances. his first close-up impression of america was a restricted one--a small section of the pier which they were approaching. standing on it were two horses, hitched to a light wagon. a red-faced, red-haired man who had come to see the unloading occupied the wagon seat and held the horses' reins. there was no time for a prolonged scrutiny; the camels must be put ashore as soon as possible. mimico climbed from the lighter to the pier and made ready to receive them. ali strapped the harness about the first camel to be unloaded. the boom lifted it. then the horses screamed, the red-faced man roared, and a full scale upheaval was in progress! . trouble as soon as the horses began to scream and the man to shout, the camels quieted. it was what they should do, and ali would have been astonished if they hadn't. taken from familiar stalls and immediately thereafter swung on the boom, they had been roused to the verge of stampede. but they had not been hurt and saw no indication that they might be hurt when the new danger threatened. the camels had not detected this fresh peril and were not directly aware of it, but the screams of the horses and shouts of the driver were evidence enough that it existed. the camels responded as though they were part of a caravan under attack. whatever peril lurked, it might pass them by if they stood quietly. the herd again tractable, ali put a companionable hand on ben akbar's shoulder and turned toward the pier. his eyes widened in astonishment. mimico had received and was holding the tether rope of the single beast that had been transferred to the pier. it was one of the young females, and, like all the rest of the herd, it was standing very quietly. but on the pier and within a wide radius, mimico and the young camel seemed to be the only living creatures that were quiet. the terrified horses, bereft of all reason, had wrenched control from their driver. whirling crazily, they had missed dashing off the pier and into the water by no more than a wagon wheel's width. now, with the red-haired driver still trying with all his strength to stop them, they were running away at top speed. as ali watched, a wheel struck a boulder and the wagon bounded high in the air. to one side, a black-bearded man had been indolently sitting on a gaunt dun mule, with one foot in a stirrup and the other cocked up on the saddle, while his chin rested on the upraised knee. suddenly and obviously to the man's complete surprise--the mule began an insane bucking. the startled rider dropped his upraised foot, groped for and couldn't find the stirrup, and missed the dangling reins when he snatched at them. he leaned forward to wrap both arms about the mule's neck and clung desperately. two saddled horses whose riders were among the crowd reared and danced in a mad effort to break their tethers. a horse that had not been picketed whirled and, tail high over its rump, galloped away. everybody on shore except mimico seemed to be shouting or screaming, or shouting and screaming. a small boat moved up beside the lighter and more men came aboard. four were native camel handlers but the fifth was a quiet young american named, ali remembered, gwynne heap. with a taste for adventure and a knowledge of eastern languages and customs derived from previous residence in the east, heap had contributed at least as much as anyone else to the successful purchase and importation of the camel herd. now he took competent command. "you have no trouble?" he asked quietly. "no trouble," ali told him. gwynne heap called to lieutenant porter, who had remained in the small boat, "everything's under control." "keep them coming," lieutenant porter called back. "they must be unloaded." lieutenant porter and the men who remained with him joined mimico and made ready to help receive the camels. ali began to harness the next animal scheduled for unloading. he became absorbed in what he was doing, adjusting each strap and fastening each buckle with a fussy attention to detail that was both unnecessary and so time-consuming that it drew reprimanding glances from gwynne heap. ali refused either to hurry or to look toward the shore, but refusing to turn his eyes toward it in no way obliterated the ugly thing that awaited there. the resentful crowd was still in an uproar. ali thought sadly of the joyous welcome his imagination had created for these camels, so vital to his own country, when they finally reached america. the harnessed camel was finally swung away on the boom, and, still refusing to glance shoreward, ali began to help prepare the next in line. he tried to console himself with the thought that lieutenant porter was still in command and nobody would dare challenge him, but in his heart he knew that it was not so. if camels were not wanted in america, they could not be here. nobody could force their acceptance. then, as always when facing a problem that seemed to have no solution, ali stopped thinking about it. he knew from experience that it was not wise to borrow trouble. the rising sun shone on not just one but many different paths that led in many different directions. one could always find the right way if he was properly diligent in the search. one by one, the camels were landed until only ben akbar was left. ali finally glanced shoreward, to discover that lieutenant porter and his men had rigged a picket line, a long rope stretched across the pier, and they were tethering the camels to it as they were lowered and unharnessed. ali saw also that the herd was again becoming restless, but this time there was no cause for concern. the crowd was still in an uproar and such horses as had not already broken away were trying their best to do so. the camels had definitely decided that whatever might be bothering everything else would not disturb them. however, after many weeks at sea, at last they were once again on firm footing. that was very exciting. his companions stood back while ali alone harnessed ben akbar, then took hold of the boom and rode with him as the great _dalul_ was transferred from the lighter to the pier. he saw, even as he descended, that the tethered camels were fast becoming unmanageable. they both smelled and saw the earth that lay just beyond the pier and they were frantic to feel it. for all his skill, not even mimico would be able to maintain control much longer. the spectators--those with horses had wisely left them behind--had come nearer and were arranged in a rough u at the end of the pier and on either side. lieutenant porter, who looked more worried than he had during the stormiest part of the voyage, paced nervously back and forth. again and again he searched the crowd, as though expecting to find someone who should be present but was not. keeping a firm grip on ben akbar's lead rope, because he knew that big _dalul_ was as anxious as any of the rest to feel earth under his feet, ali turned to study the crowd, too. except for a group distinguished by their uniforms, and further marked as soldiers by their arms and precise formation, he learned nothing except that americans wear outlandish clothes. gwynne heap came onto the pier and porter asked anxiously, "will you see if you can find wayne? he should have met us." "right," the other assented. gwynne heap walked to the end of the pier and mingled with the crowd. a second after he disappeared, ben akbar shivered convulsively and ali knew what to expect. "i know you long to feel the earth, for i have a similar yearning," he said. "but wait until the time is here and the word is spoken. do not break and run as a half-trained baggage camel might. do not shame me, my brother." ben akbar quieted, but the rest of the camels would not be soothed. they surged forward, and there was no way to know which one broke the picket line because all were lunging. tether ropes slipped off either end of the broken line as the herd ran forward. maintaining a firm grip on ben akbar's tether rope and keeping pace with the _dalul_, ali ran with them. he was not worried. this was no reasonless stampede that might be expected to overrun whatever lay in its path because fear-crazed camels would take no reckoning of obstacles. these camels were running for the same reason that a young horse runs when, after a winter spent in a confining stall, it is finally freed in a green pasture. the people on the pier were in no danger. the spectators, however, thought otherwise. most of them were thoroughly familiar with horses and mules, but camels were as alien as dinosaurs. obviously, these berserk beasts were bent on destruction. a man shouted in fear and the contagion spread. those directly in the path of the running herd surged away, crowding those on either side and compounding the confusion. some idiot, fortunately he was too excited to take proper aim, drew and fired a revolver. then ali's eyes widened in horror. through the gap left open when the crowd parted, the soldiers came on the run. their arms were ready. their obvious intention was to avert catastrophe by shooting the camels before they overran the crowd. ali heard lieutenant porter's outraged bellow. "no! no, you fools!" if they heard the command, the soldiers ignored it. dispersing smartly, those in front knelt and those behind were preparing to shoot over their heads when a newcomer appeared. riding a sleek black horse which he handled so skillfully that somehow it seemed an extension of himself, he came through the same gap the soldiers had used. unmistakably a professional soldier, his present actions proclaimed that he was accustomed to emergencies. he wheeled his horse in front of the troops and snapped an order. though they had ignored lieutenant porter, either because they hadn't heard him or because porter wore the navy uniform, the soldiers gave this officer instant obedience. falling back to either side, they formed a lane that let the running camels through but kept the spectators out. seconds after the run started, ali and ben akbar left the pier and stood on the soil of america. back on the pier, lieutenant porter heaved a mighty sigh of relief. he gave formal command of the camel herd over to major henry wayne, of the united states army. arriving in the nick of time, wayne's prompt and vigorous action averted the massacre of these animals and insured establishment of the most colorful and most unique method of transportation ever attempted in the united states--the camel corps. * * * * * at the very rear of the caravan, where he had been posted by major wayne so that he might keep a watchful eye on all the other camels, a puzzled and apprehensive ali sat lightly in ben akbar's saddle. watching the caravan, only forty-one animals in all, imposed no strain. from yusuf, the belled leader who swung along as placidly as though the seven hundred and fifty pounds he bore on his pack saddle had no weight at all, to iba, the little female who walked just ahead of ben akbar and had been relieved of all pack-carrying because of anticipated motherhood, none had any rebellious ideas or any inclination to do anything except walk along until they came to their destination. ali saw them as one learns to see the very familiar. with no need for the fussy solicitude and anxious fretting that marked the soldiers assigned to duty with the camels, he would instantly discern any departure from the normal and immediately thereafter he would be making the proper countermove. not required even to think about the camels, ali's thoughts were occupied by more troublesome matters. in this america, to which camels had been brought with so much trouble and at such vast expense, they had been granted a hostile reception and, with very few exceptions, there had been nothing but hostility since. even those who came only to stare--and throngs of the curious appeared wherever the camels were taken--did not like what they saw. it was true that camels just naturally frightened horses and mules, and thus were responsible for an unrehearsed but extremely lively rodeo wherever they made an unexpected appearance. in an attempt to avoid such incidents, a rider preceded the caravan and warned all that camels were en route. but the rider never succeeded in warning everyone, and some of those he did advise insisted on staying around with their horses or mules, to see for themselves whether he spoke the truth. ali managed a flitting grin as he thought of an incident that had followed the unloading. the excited camels, savoring their first happy taste of land after such a long time at sea, were permitted to race about and frolic as they pleased until they tired themselves out and could again be herded. then they were taken to a corral built especially for them. the corral was large enough, and as an enclosure for horses or mules it would have been satisfactory enough. in this land, however, conventional building materials were both scarce and expensive. since prickly-pear cactus was abundant, the builders had used it to construct their fence. far from being repelled by such a thorny barrier, the camels happily ate it! regardless of other considerations, the very fact that they could eat such fodder was another indication that they were well adapted to this american southwest. ali already knew that, although he might encounter problems different from any previously experienced, there'd be none incapable of solution. nor was there anything horses and mules could do that camels couldn't do better. a good pack camel was capable of bearing five or six times as much as the best pack horse or mule, and, day for day, he'd carry it farther. he would keep on going, at the same steady pace, past dry water holes or across drought-shriveled areas where lack of water would drive a horse or mule to madness. although it was often necessary to carry hay and grain for other beasts of burden, a camel would always live off the country. these camels would do all anyone expected from them and then surpass expectations, but ali sighed dolefully as he thought of what had been and what was. even major wayne had been unable to counteract a spontaneous public rejection of these beasts from a far land. accosted by skeptics who doubted a camel's ability to pack anything at all, wayne had bales of hay packed on a kneeling camel. the enormous load totaled more than twelve hundred pounds, but, with no hesitation and no visible strain, the camel rose and walked away with the load when ordered to do so. compared with the pack animals they knew, it was an incredible feat. but, although they themselves were eyewitnesses, the onlookers seemed to regard what they had seen as the trick of some circus master. seeing, they neither accepted nor approved. the real trouble, ali thought sadly, was nothing that had yet appeared or would appear on the surface. although this country was markedly similar to his own native land, there were fundamental differences that had nothing to do with topography. they lay in the hearts and traditions of people who, for past generations, had looked to the horse, the mule and the ox for help in building up their land. with very few exceptions, even the soldiers assigned to the camel corps resented their new duties. for the most part, they were former mule skinners who had been chosen because of their outstanding ability to handle mules. almost to a man, they yearned to be rid of camels and back with their mules. only major wayne and a very few others had complete confidence in the proposed camel corps. fortunately, some of these were so influential that they must be heard. presently, ali caught his first glimpse of camp verde, the military post where the camels were to be held until a major expedition was organized. his heart grew lighter and his troubles less. obviously, camp verde had been planned by someone who knew camels. glancing briefly at a cluster of adobe buildings, ali centered intent scrutiny on the khan, or camel corral. constructed of stone, wood and timber, it was patterned after the time-tested khans of ali's native country. rectangular, the north wall angled outward. the gate was in this wall and a house for the chief camel handler stood beside the gate. spacious enough for five times as many camels, the corral differed in a notable respect from most khans ali had seen. it was sparkling clean. a few camels, some with pack and some with riding saddles, stood here and there about the camp and more were visible in the khan. evidently this was the herd mimico had mentioned, the thirty-three previously imported. the new arrivals were halted, stripped of their burdens and herded into the khan. with an affectionate parting slap for ben akbar, ali turned to face a strange camel handler. arrived with the first camels and presently serving as interpreter, he already had mimico and the six other handlers in tow. "you are to come with me," he announced. he escorted the newcomers to a building and lined them up before a desk, behind which sat a bored-looking clerk. the clerk inscribed each man's name in his records while the interpreter told each about the wages he would receive. ali, last in line, presently faced the clerk. "you are to be paid twenty dollars a month and receive full rations," the interpreter said. without looking up, the clerk asked, "name?" "hadji ali," ali answered. "what?" the clerk asked. "hadji ali," ali repeated. the clerk wrote with his goose quill, and, still without looking up, he flipped the book around for ali's inspection. unable to read or write, but with no intention of admitting that while the interpreter might overhear, ali scanned his written name. "right?" the clerk asked. ali nodded approval. thus did hadji ali cease to be. from that moment, not only as long as he lived but as history would record him after his death, ali would be known by the name the clerk had written. it was _hi jolly_. . lieutenant beale except for the camels, that never seemed to be affected by any weather, everything at camp verde had sought the nearest shade. it was hot, ali admitted to himself. the syrian sun at its fiercest was not more savage than this blazing sun of texas. but it was not unendurable. since for the present there was no reason to endure it, ali and mimico sat cross-legged in the shade of the camel khan. wan and weak, mimico was still recovering from some devastating malady that had almost cost his life. for an interval neither spoke. then mimico broke the silence. "i came to this thrice-accursed camp while winter was still with us," he growled. "i have been here since, doing the work of a stable boy and as a stable boy regarded. all this i endured without complaint--" ali smothered a quick grin. throughout a very monotonous period of doing nothing worthwhile, as they waited for somebody to decide what should be done, no voice had declared more loudly or more frequently than mimico's that camels and camel men belonged out on the trails. they should not be restricted to a rest home for obsolete pashas--mimico's personal title for camp verde--who could do nothing except talk because they had grown too old or too fat to ride. mimico saw the grin and lapsed into a sulky silence. then he resumed, amending his narrative to conform with truth. "all this i endured with little complaint, for i knew that it was a passing thing. sooner or later, there would be work for men, and men would be needed. now that the opportunity is here--" mimico's voice trailed off into silence, and he gazed moodily at the sun-shriveled horizon. ali's heart went out to his friend. camp verde had indeed proved dull. ali would have taken ben akbar and gone elsewhere weeks ago, except that he, too, foresaw a need for both camels and camel men. now that time was not only at hand, but it promised to be the most exciting caravan of ali's life. a full-scale expedition was to be commanded by a lieutenant beale, an officer ali had not met. the object was to survey a wagon road. according to rumor, a great deal of the proposed route lay through wilderness, of which none was well-known and much was unknown. there was more than a fair chance of encountering indians, america's own savage tribesmen! most important and most exciting, the expedition was to provide a major test for the camels. twenty-five were to go along, with ali as a sort of overseer-teacher. besides handling the camels, he was to instruct others in their proper handling. ali could well understand his friend's disappointment. mimico, who otherwise would have accompanied the expedition, had been declared physically unfit by the post surgeon and ordered to remain at camp verde. ali offered such comfort as he could. "it is the will of allah." "save your pious lectures for fledglings who may be impressed!" mimico snapped. "if the will of allah were truly what men proclaim it to be, you would have been shriveled by his wrath on a certain night when you left mecca in a very great hurry." ali said nothing. gray november skies had prevailed when he joined the company on the _supply_ and had his first meeting with mimico. this was june in a new land, and never once had mimico even intimated that he knew of the incident in mecca. mentioning it now was a breach of etiquette, but ali did not forget that mimico was both sick and heartbroken. after a moment, "forgive me, my friend!" mimico implored. "i shall not make my own hurt less painful by inflicting hurt upon you!" ali said, "it is forgotten." "i care not what you or anyone else did in mecca," mimico went on. "none of us may truly know what lies beyond this mortal life until we have taken leave of it and may find out for ourselves. getting back to earthly matters, which are the only ones i admit to understanding, i hear the journey will be long." "i have heard the same," ali declared. "but the longer it is, the better. i do not like this place." mimico said fervently, "nor do i! aside from being wearisome, it has been most absurd. i wonder at the amirs who have made it so." ali told himself that that was also true. major wayne, in command at camp verde, was a thoroughly competent officer who maintained a smoothly running organization when left alone. but various officers who ranked wayne, of whom few had any real knowledge of camels but all cherished pet theories, had visited from time to time and insisted on trying their ideas. one had convinced himself--and submitted an official report that he hoped would convince others--that camels were greatly inferior to horses. he arrived at such a conclusion by arranging a race, a quarter-mile sprint, between a racehorse and a riding camel. the horse finished before the camel was fairly started, it is true, but the officer in question refused to recognize the sound fact that quarter-mile sprints would not be especially valuable to the proposed camel corps. nor could he be convinced that, although a good horse may outdistance a camel in the first half day of travel, the camel will overtake and pass the horse before night. furthermore, the camel will be fresh for the next day's start and will be going on long after the horse is worn out. another officer had proved conclusively that, due to peculiarities of the terrain, camels would be worse than useless in the southwest because they quickly became sore-footed. this officer derived such an opinion by requisitioning six camels that hadn't been outside the khan for six weeks, having them packed and sending them off on a fifty-mile trip. the camels went lame solely because they had had no trail work to harden their feet. in a similar fashion, it had been demonstrated that the gait of a riding camel is so stiff and jarring that americans couldn't possibly get used to it; that camels are subject to a bewildering variety of ailments; that they are too vicious to be practical, and that there were a few dozen other reasons why the whole project couldn't possibly work and the camels had better be disposed of right now! throughout, those who had originally had faith in a camel corps persisted in battling all skeptics and going ahead. at long last, this proper expedition was organized and a true test was at hand. what happened afterward, ali told himself, depended in great measure on lieutenant beale. if he was one of those officers whose every thought is already written in the manual of regulations--ali had seen for himself that the american army has a full quota of such--his report might very well doom future expeditions. if beale was able to think for himself, if he was capable of honest analysis and could adapt to new situations, it was wholly possible that his favorable report would remove all obstacles and be the making of the camel corps. mimico asked wistfully, "what think you of the savage tribesmen, whose country you are to enter?" "i have never met them," ali answered seriously. "but i have met and fought the druse, and i know well the bandits of the caravan routes. it is difficult to suppose that these savages are more fierce." "difficult indeed," mimico said. "i am most envious, ali." ali said, "there will be a chance for you." "there is already a chance for you," mimico pointed out, "and it is better to have one honey cake in the hand than to yearn for twenty and have none. it is said that you will enter desert country." "i am no stranger to the desert," ali said. mimico asked, "have you no fears at all?" "only fools go without fear," said ali. "to fear the unknown is to be prepared for it." "some have so much fear that they refuse even to be prepared," mimico grunted. he named various other camel drivers who found the existence of camp verde ideal, since they had the finest of care and nothing to do. asked to accompany the expedition and honestly informed of its nature and probable dangers, they had promptly terminated their employment and requested passage back to their native land. when mimico finished his appraisal of this worthless lot, ali said simply, "they are egyptians." "they are cowards," mimico amended. "i have known many old women with more courage. when does the leader of this expedition arrive, ali?" "i do not know the day, but it will be soon. i have been asked to be present at all times, for this man is expected to tarry only long enough to choose his camels." mimico said, "i wish you luck, ali." "and may fortune attend you," ali responded. halfway across the camel khan, ali stood grimly unmoving and silently awaited that which allah had ordained. at any rate, none but allah could now direct the tide of destiny, for ali himself had tried. a former navy officer whose title derived from that service, and not now attached to the military, lieutenant beale had arrived late yesterday afternoon. ali knew that because he had remained at a respectful distance and witnessed the arrival. it was what he had expected; camel drivers do not participate in formal welcomes for caravan masters. beale was accompanied by two companions, men so young that they were hardly more than boys, and all were greeted by and escorted to the house of major wayne. ali drew his rations and retired to his own house, a lean-to behind the camel khan. two hours ago, while the light of a new day was only a dim promise in the sky, he had been routed out and told to make ready. shortly thereafter, he met lieutenant beale. again skipping formality, which did not bother ali, the introduction consisted of a good look at his future chief. ali liked what he saw. edward beale looked older than his mid-thirties, but it was a look that experience alone had imparted. a trained surveyor and veteran of numerous excursions into the wilderness, kit carson was one of his many friends. beale's knowledge of dangerous situations resulted from facing danger and finding his own way out. one of the original few who had conceived the idea of a camel corps and then worked tirelessly for it, beale was a demanding taskmaster, with a touch of the martinet. however, ali had seen enough men to know beale as very much of a man. the sun was just rising as ali followed major wayne's party to the khan, so lieutenant beale might select the animals he wanted. he rose considerably in ali's opinion when his first choice was old mohamet, the wisest and best baggage camel in the herd. beale followed with gusuf and, without a single error selected twenty-four of the best animals in the herd. finally, he fixed his eyes on ben akbar. "that's as fine a _dalul_ as i've seen," he remarked. "we'll take him." ali nodded, not even slightly surprised. could anyone who chose camels with such a discerning eye fail to choose ben akbar? the expedition certainly had the right commander. lieutenant beale looked from ben akbar to sied, an all-white animal previously chosen and, next to ben akbar, the best _dalul_ in the herd. a soldier came to advise major wayne that he was wanted elsewhere and the commanding officer of camp verde left. lieutenant beale, his young companions and ali were left alone in the khan. after studying sied thoroughly, a time-consuming process if correctly done, lieutenant beale turned to subject ben akbar to the same intense scrutiny. ali discarded all doubts he might still have concerning beale. anyone could look at a camel, but few had the knack of looking, seeing and understanding. ali had known cameleers of great experience who would never bother with such preliminaries. faced with two apparently equal _dalul_, they would accept either, after assuring themselves that both were good. but the best of the camel men never chose lightly. among them, an elite few were entirely willing to spend as much time as necessary to study every beast in a herd, so that they might finally select the one best fitted to their requirements. finally, beale gestured toward ben akbar and turned to his companions. "that red nomanieh dromedary is superb," he said. "i want a closer look." he started toward ben akbar, who was standing quietly near the far wall of the khan. ali, who had understood none of the conversation but who knew all too clearly what beale's gesture indicated, felt his heart catch in his throat. he whirled toward the gate, and eyes already worried became desperate when there was no evidence of major wayne. ali turned back to lieutenant beale, already a third of the way across the khan, and he shivered in terrible indecision. a camel driver did not presume to give orders to his leader! the two young men seemed to have forgotten ali and kept fascinated eyes on lieutenant beale. ali ran forward. a camel driver did not command his chief, but neither did he let him go to certain injury and possible death. running up behind the officer, ali grasped his arm. lieutenant beale stopped and swung about, but his eyes were questioning rather than angry, and he arched interrogatory brows. "well, boy?" he asked. ali remained speechless. though he could have voiced a warning in syrian or any of a dozen arabic dialects, he did not know how to speak in a tongue beale might understand. presently, and happily, he found the perfect solution in one of the bits of english he had mastered but sadly misinterpreted. the fists of a constantly brawling soldier had hammered out an unbroken string of victories. as a result, his companions trod with appropriate wariness and offered proper respect. obviously, therefore, the name bestowed on their pugnacious brother-in-arms indicated that which was better left alone. ali gestured toward ben akbar. "sad sam," he pronounced. "what?" lieutenant beale's quizzical frown became an engaging grin. "sad sam," ali repeated. lieutenant beale turned to glance at ben akbar. "sad sam, eh? he does look a bit melancholy at that. i'll see if i can make him smile." pulling away from ali, he resumed walking toward ben akbar. ali waited in his tracks, unable to think of anything else he might do. lieutenant beale passed ben akbar's point of no return, and only allah could help now. then, even as ali drew each quick breath with a dreadful certainty that it must mark ben akbar's quick lunge, the _dalul_ stepped forward. he thrust his head over lieutenant beale's shoulder and waited in shivering ecstasy for his neck to be scratched. ali caught his breath and the look in his eyes was one of profound respect. this man was indeed to command. there would be no failure. major wayne shouted suddenly, "ned! watch yourself!" still scratching ben akbar's neck, lieutenant beale glanced toward the returning major. "what's up?" "that's a killer dromedary. didn't anybody warn you?" "somebody tried but i guess i didn't understand." the look lieutenant beale gave ali meant that one man recognized another. "i won't be so stupid again," lieutenant beale promised. . the expedition ali awakened in the dim light of very early morning. for a startled moment, he reverted to old habit and lay perfectly still, for he was not at once sure as to what lay about him. then came comprehension. the many nights he had slept in his lean-to shelter behind the camel khan marked the longest uninterrupted period of his life ever spent in any one house. he had become accustomed to it and was momentarily bewildered to awake in unfamiliar surroundings. then the days at camp verde seemed to fade away and it was as though he had never slept anywhere except on bare earth, with the sky his only roof. the fact that he was wrapped in a blanket rather than his burnous was the only difference between this and the life he had always led. ali preferred the burnous, but his was becoming tattered and a new burnous seemed to be almost the only article one could not hope to find in the rich markets of vast america. putting the garment away against some vague future when nothing else would serve, ali had taken the first step toward becoming an american by accepting american clothes. he raised on one elbow and looked toward the corral. all was peaceful there, so he settled back down. his plan had worked. the camels had not had enough trail work to toughen their feet, and the journey from camp verde to the expedition's base camp near san antonio had necessarily been a slow one. arriving with some sore-footed camels, in spite of a leisurely pace, the horses and mules that were also to be part of the expedition promptly took the usual violent exception to these trespassers from a far land. in any other circumstances, ali could have corrected all trouble simply by going on with his camels. in this instance, it was not only impossible to go on, but the camels must travel with the rest of the expedition's livestock for many days and miles and a full-scale rodeo every day and every mile was not the way to assure success. since a definite and final settlement was obviously indispensable, ali requested and received lieutenant beale's permission to put the camels in the same corral with the horses and mules. the immediate result was pandemonium. though the camels again refused to give way to excitement, just because everything about them was hysterical, and remained serene, the horses and mules did everything except tear the corral apart. since no flesh and blood could maintain such a pace, eventually they had to quiet down because they were too tired to do anything else. now, although the camels formed their own group and stood apart from the rest, all was still peaceful. east and west had finally met, and, even though neither considered the other socially acceptable, at least they had become acquainted. what might have been a major problem was already solved. some distance away from the corral, a herd of more than three hundred sheep were bedded under the watchful eye of a mexican herder and his dog. the sheep were also to go with the expedition, ali neither knew nor cared why. there were to be eight big freight wagons, each drawn by six mules, and two smaller wagons for personal effects and lieutenant beale's engineering equipment. there was a total of fifty-six men, most of them soldiers who had discarded conventional uniforms in favor of more practical buckskin garb. there was a miscellany of livestock, to serve wherever extra animals were needed. some of the soldiers were to help with the camels. ali knew nothing about any of them except that they knew nothing about camels. some, as usual, resented such duty but, for once, resentment of ali and his charges posed no problem. though relations were on a congenial and informal basis, nobody had the faintest doubt but that lieutenant beale commanded. foremost among the enthusiastic advocates of the proposed camel corps, beale had taken a strong liking to sied, the white _dalul_, and ali had already given him a few riding lessons. in addition, whenever he could spare the time, beale was sitting at ali's feet and doing his best to learn syrian, so that he might address the camels in a tongue with which they were already familiar. known as a fair-minded man, beale also had a reputation for meting out deserved punishment with anything except kid gloves. thus there was small probability that smoldering resentment would be expressed in hostile action, as had been the case at camp verde. one of the camels, that had somehow escaped from the khan and strayed, died shortly after she was recovered. subsequent examination disclosed that she had been hit on the neck with sufficient force to fracture the bones. nobody ever found out who did it. presently, ali got up and carefully folded his blanket. he laid it beside the spare clothing and few personal articles that belonged to him and wrapped all in a square of canvas. though he hadn't the least trouble carrying all his worldly goods in one hand, it never even occurred to ali that he lacked anything. on those rare occasions when he gave the matter any thought, the contents of his bundle were wealth indeed compared with what he'd had on the night he rode ben akbar away from al misri's camp. leaving the bundle where it lay, ali devoted himself to the first solemn duty of every morning. he walked toward the corral. seeing him, ben akbar detached himself from the little herd of camels and came to the fence. ali dug in his pocket for a lump of sugar, a delicacy that only the wealthy could enjoy elsewhere but that was available to even the poorest in america. ben akbar licked it from the palm of his hand and made gusty smacking noises as he chewed. ali scratched the big _dalul's_ neck. "we are on the way," he murmured. "the camp of idleness lies behind, and once more the caravan routes are ahead. it is well." only the cook, a sour individual who must necessarily be astir long before anyone else if breakfast was to be eaten in time for an early start, had been up before ali. he greeted the young camel driver with a grunt, but heaped a plate with food and filled a mug with coffee. ali had finished his breakfast when the rest of the camp began to stir. returning to the corral, ali looked past ben akbar to the remaining camels. a troubled frown creased his brow. the horses and mules were none of his responsibility, for which he was duly thankful. the camels were, and ali's frown deepened as the problem he must solve assumed its correct proportions. on the trip from camp verde, the camels had carried little except their bells, harness and a few gay trappings to add color. in spite of that, and a leisurely pace, some had come in sore-footed. because lieutenant beale was determined to forestall any possible accusations to the effect that there had been no fair test, every camel was to carry a full load from this camp on. though all were in superb condition in every respect save one, that single lack could be serious and perhaps disastrous. since their feet were still soft, sore-footed camels were not only to be expected but were practically inevitable. until such time as they were again trail-hardened, camels that might otherwise have left a favorable impression on a highly-skeptical public would make a dismal showing indeed. ali shrugged. there was nothing for it except go on, hope for the best and trust lieutenant beale. entering the corral, ali saddled and bridled ben akbar and tied him to the top rail. it would help nothing if some soldier who decided he could handle ben akbar as he might a fractious mule were trampled and mauled for his pains. presently the soldiers came. all had considerable experience in conventional army transport and all would have known exactly what to do if they were about to deal with conventional beasts of burden. as it was, none had the vaguest notion of the correct procedure with camels, and their lack of knowledge was expressed in a lack of confidence. they were awkward and self-conscious, and, at the same time, they were trying to conceal their uncertainty beneath a mask of indifference. "here we are, pal," the leader informed ali. "what's next?" ali grinned, understanding nothing but having been previously informed that his helpers would need instruction. before anything else, he pointed to ben akbar. as lieutenant beale had instructed, he said, "bad one. stay away." the soldiers regarded ben akbar with respect plus challenging interest. all had met the bad ones and none had stayed away, but they had been handling beasts with which they were familiar. this time, at least until they had a better idea of what they were doing, it might be well to take this camel driver's advice. they turned expectantly back to him. ali saddled mohamet, seeming to do so with a few deft motions, but years of experience and great skill were his invisible helpers. none knew better than he that a camel must be saddled with absolute perfection. if anything less, a slipping saddle will be certain a chafe a tender hump. it was an unwise practice, even if one had no regard for the animal itself; sore-backed camels cannot carry packs. when ali finished, each soldier selected a saddle and set about to practice the lesson he had just learned. busy with a second camel, ali pivoted when the air was split with a thunderous, "you ornery, slab-sided, no good, devil-begotten son of nothing!" one of the aspiring cameleers was reeling back with both hands over his eyes. the camel he had been trying to saddle was standing quietly, apparently interested in nothing but a dreamy contemplation of the horizon. the soldier wiped his eyes. "the critter spit at me!" he ejaculated. again, and as though he didn't quite believe, "the critter _spit_ at me, and got me square in the eyes!" ali went patiently to the aid of the agitated soldier. if he had known how, he would have explained that improperly handled camels will not only spit, but are uncannily accurate. wilder beasts than these would bite. two hours later, an anxious lieutenant beale entered the corral. "how's it going?" he queried. ali indicated the few saddled camels that were tied to the rail and the many unsaddled ones that were presently dodging about the corral and rather deftly eluding amateur packers. it would be necessary to catch every one. since nobody except ali had yet succeeded in bringing a camel and a camel saddle together, it followed that ali would have to saddle every one after he caught it. lieutenant beale nodded and left. * * * * * back pillowed against a boulder, ali sprawled in the warm sun and watched the camels browse. far more than a pleasant sight, he thought, it was a vision that could not fail to lift the heart of anyone not too dull to be inspired. for to see the camels as they were--and where they were--meant that a great victory was won. it was no small victory. the camels had arrived at the expedition's base camp on the twenty-first of june. departure was scheduled for the next morning. but with camels already driven wild by inexperienced help and rapidly getting wilder, they hadn't even succeeded in saddling all of them on that day or for several days thereafter. not until june the twenty-fifth were they finally under way, and ali could not recall a sorrier caravan. the soldiers had acquired just enough skill so they could put a pack on a camel and have some assurance that it wouldn't fall off. in accordance with lieutenant beale's wish for a thorough test, the minimum load for any baggage animal was seven hundred pounds. that was far more than should have been carried by animals whose exercise in recent months had consisted of shuffling about the khan. there were immediate complications. freight wagons drawn by six mules, conveyances not noted for speed, whizzed past sore-footed and overloaded camels and seemed swift in comparison. to the unrestrained hilarity of those who came to watch--and presently of the country at large when news sources got hold of the story--the camels functioned in every way except efficiently. far from reaching the colorado river at the california border, the end of the survey, it became increasingly apparent that beale and his camels would be fortunate indeed if they were trapped in the suburbs of a growing san antonio. then the outlook changed. though it did not happen overnight, eventually the camels became trail-hardened. weary and sore beasts that had plodded into camp hours after the mule wagons were already there during the first harassed days began arriving at the next night's camp hours before the wagons were even sighted. two camels so ill that they were abandoned on the trail, rejoined the caravan, apparently as well as ever, a few days afterwards. baggage camels that staggered under over-heavy loads on the day of departure, now bore equally-heavy burdens without the least effort. they proved as indifferent to drenching rains as they had been to blazing sun. they not only ate but thrived on any forage they found; the expedition's store of grain never had to feed starving camels. soldiers who hadn't known the first thing of camel transport had acquired a liberal education. most had come to like these strange beasts. some turncoats had even been heard to declare that camels were far better than mules in any way anyone might compare the two species. probably the outstanding triumph belonged to lieutenant beale. growing ever fonder of sied, beale had ridden the white _dalul_ at every opportunity and even ali admitted that he had become a very skilful rider. near albuquerque, beale had news that a friend, colonel loring, was in the vicinity. mounting sied, lieutenant beale set out to find his friend. the camel, whose only nourishment since leaving san antonio had consisted of whatever forage the trail offered, not only carried his rider to colonel loring, but when loring accepted an invitation to visit the expedition's camp, outdistanced the grain-fed horses of the colonel and his men on the return trip. all was well, ali thought dreamily, and may allah have mercy on whoever was unable to see sublime beauty in the camels as they were and where they were. for they were still fat and healthy and they were at fort defiance. the pedestrian and least interesting part of the journey was behind. fort defiance was a true frontier post. unless they turned back, which was unthinkable, they must go ahead. and ahead lay the unknown. . the wilderness the trail was rough, but ben akbar's saddle remained a veritable bed of feathers as the big _dalul_ continued at the same swift trot he had started two hours ago. ali turned in the saddle to look behind him. there was nothing there, but neither was there anything ahead except the same boulder-strewn, scrub-grown, sun-baked land that he saw when he glanced around. the place had no visible attractions, but it did furnish reason anew to marvel at the vastness of america. ali knew some self-contained nations, complete from pasha to slaves, that were not as large as this forbidding corner of america wherein the entire expedition was presently lost. never jarring his rider, ben akbar continued without a noticeable variation in gait. ali turned back to face the west. the anxiety that clouded his eyes deepened, but it was not for himself that he worried. as far as he personally was concerned, by far the happiest days of his life began when the expedition left zuni, west of fort defiance and the last settlement this side of california, on the thirty-first of august. that day, a lifelong dream finally came true. illiterate, ali had developed skills vital to those who may never consult written records. when necessary to do so, he had only to close his eyes and see in memory a map of all the caravan routes he'd ever traveled. it was invariably in proper detail--the shortest route was never omitted and the longest was never extended beyond correct proportions. every mile of every trail was again as it had been when ali went that way with the camels. for various reasons, some of those journeys had been very exciting. but this promised far more than any other trail ali had traveled. wild and dangerous though they had been, and some still were, the camel trails of ali's native country were almost as ancient as the land itself. caravans had certainly been traversing them since recorded history, and fable told of camels on the march long before any recording. thus there had never been even a faint possibility of doing anything that had not already been done over and over, or of going anywhere not already visited by multitudes. this route must forever stand apart. even though people had come this way, with very few exceptions, they were wild as the wild beasts that slunk from their path. certainly there had never been a caravan, and for that reason alone there must be the challenge of the mysterious and unknown. in addition, ali found something else he'd never known before. here were no petty amirs, with an endless array of petty decrees. confining camp verde was far behind; there wasn't even a camel khan. space was limitless, and freedom was restricted only by a need for caution. obviously, when at last one had all the room he needed for growing and roaming, he would not do a great deal of either if he fell prey to either the savages or the elements. ali knew that even this parched and barren country was not repulsive to his eyes. he must consider it forbidding, or at least undesirable, because of its current threat to the expedition. fighting a sudden powerful notion that he had missed something and had better turn around again, ali looked steadfastly ahead. he hadn't missed anything and knew it, but he would anxiously grasp any straw as he neared the place where he must turn about and hope faded. largely because, in ali's eyes, lieutenant beale's stature had long since exceeded that of any other man and was rapidly nearing heroic proportions, ali could not blame his leader for the present dilemma. the signs had been present; any man who had good camels should think seriously as to the wisdom of bringing horses and mules too into a land where water was uncertain. ali was unable to blame his leader for anything, and, anyhow, the guide was directly at fault. after leading the entire expedition astray--as yet nobody knew how far--the guide offered only a sheepish grin as an excuse when he finally admitted choosing the wrong landmarks. he'd risked everyone's life but he'd never know, ali thought, how close he'd come to paying for his carelessness with his own life. ali had been watching lieutenant beale's eyes when the guide confessed his error. the guide had been looking at the ground. except for the strict rations allotted each man, they had run out of water shortly afterwards. the camels were in no trouble, but the horses and mules were already frantic with thirst. had ali been in command, he would have shot the horses and mules and gone on with camels only. but ali was not in command, and because lieutenant beale wished to find water for his suffering beasts, ali could not wish otherwise. even though they still had rations, some of the expedition's men were already apprehensive. the sun was almost at that point where ali must turn ben akbar and go back. his heart grew heavier as it became increasingly evident that he would have no news of water. such failure was all the more galling because he never doubted but that he'd been close to success. there was no use in comparing this with his own country, since this specific problem could never arise there. all the water holes were known. a thirsty traveler who found one dry, simply went on toward the next one. if he got there, he drank. if he did not, he died. however, it was reasonable to suppose that some fundamental rules applied in america, even as they did throughout the rest of the world. where there was water, there should be green foliage. of course, he must not expect to find familiar date palms. there must be some other trees indigenous to this parched area, and any that received water would be green, and any color at all in such drab surroundings would glow like a candle at midnight. reaching the place where he had been ordered to turn around, a reluctant ali halted ben akbar. for a moment he sat the saddle, searching everything still ahead and hoping desperately to see a splash of green that must mark an oasis. he saw only more desert. the last feeble spark of hope almost flickered out. then, suddenly, it flared. though lieutenant beale had told him when he must return, he had not said that ali must come back by the same route. some distance to the south was a series of rocky ridges from whose crests it would surely be possible to see much new country. ali swung south. with a much clearer understanding of the expedition's true purpose, ali lauded the wisdom that had prompted it. if some of this southwest was bleak and forbidding, some was as fine and rich as anything ali had ever seen. villages and even cities might thrive here and there would still be ample grazing for flocks and herds. almost without exception, however, the few white men who had dared enter the region cared for nothing except high adventure and possible riches, with high adventure accorded a definite priority. far from taming the wilderness, they much preferred it untamed. their opposites, who would bring settlement and civilization, must first be provided with some means of access. though the wild men could live by their rifles and from their saddlebags, families could not. following the th parallel, except wherever circumstance, such as terrain unsuited for wagons, made it wise to deviate from that line, the expedition was to lay out a wagon road between fort defiance and the california border. besides opening new country, the road would close the final gap in a transcontinental highway. ali, who knew something about roads, had only unstinted admiration for the course so far. that camels could travel it was not open to question, for camels were breaking the trail. lieutenant beale, however, was choosing the route so carefully and with such skill that the heaviest and clumsiest wagons could hereafter follow where the camels led. it was an admirable road, and the fact that the entire expedition was lost at the moment would be of no consequence if it were not for lack of water. even that would be no more than a minor annoyance, except that horses and mules must drink or find it impossible to go on. ali's hopes, that had burned brightly when he turned south to swing along these ridges, flickered dimly as time passed and no oasis was sighted. the appointed rendezvous for this evening's camp--at least it would be a rendezvous if the struggling mule teams were able to come so far--was only a few miles ahead and night would fall soon. ali put ben akbar to a fast lope. suddenly he wheeled and rode back. he'd seen something--or thought he had--for it was so faintly traced that he could not be sure. it was worth a second look. returning to the place where something had caught his eye, ali halted ben akbar, dismounted and knelt to study the ground. he had seen something, but it was not to be wondered that he had almost passed without seeing it. a small, unshod horse, traveling at a fast trot, had passed this way within the hour and gone directly southeast. ali frowned thoughtfully. every one of the expedition's horses was shod and none had so small a hoof. this animal was either separated from its companions and trying to find them, or it carried a rider. wandering horses do not travel fast and straight. ali rose and remounted ben akbar. since the horse did not belong to the expedition, obviously it was the property of someone else. the only human inhabitants of this forsaken waste were indians. though he had seen nothing except the track of one horse, ali knew the druse and the brigands of the caravan routes too well, and had fought them too often, to shrug it off as meaningless. one druse going somewhere in a hurry could either be running from enemies or going to join some companions bent on raiding. since there was no indication of pursuit, obviously the indian was not fleeing. but in ali's opinion and experience, there was every reason to believe that any group of brigands anywhere would sack the expedition if they could. so a group of bandits were assembling for the purpose of attacking the expedition. or, ali admitted, they were not assembling. he was certain only that there was at least one horse in the area and equally certain that there was water not too far away. the whole thing should properly be reported to lieutenant beale, but ali remained indecisive. if beale knew what ali knew, he would most certainly insist on a personal investigation at the earliest moment. never doubting that his chief was a renowned and experienced warrior, beale was also one to rush in where anything else feared to tread. should one with so many distressing problems already on his mind be further burdened? finally, and conclusively, the expedition might do very well without ali. it couldn't possibly succeed without lieutenant beale. therefore, who should logically run the risk? there was only one choice. ben akbar trotted into camp where the remaining camels were contentedly feeding on greasewood. sied was among them. lieutenant beale, who had also scouted for water, must have returned. he proved to be one of the little group who stood watching the agonized approach of the mules. nobody had found water; if they had, they would not appear so downcast. dismounting, ali removed ben akbar's trappings and the big _dalul_ joined the feeding herd. ali turned toward the oncoming wagons. heads bent, tongues lolling, the mules swayed in their traces and moved at a slow crawl. when the wagons finally drew up, the mules remained as they were when halted and did not so much as glance to one side or the other, even when stripped of their harnesses. his mules unharnessed, but so nearly finished that they retained their team positions, the first driver went to his wagon and lifted down the water keg. he turned to lieutenant beale and spoke in a husky whisper, "nary a drop left. must of sprung a leak and--" the mules came alert with a frantic rush and were upon him in a wild scramble. surrounding the driver, their eager grunts and harsh gasping seemed the voice of madness itself as they fought each other for the privilege of licking the dry keg's bung hole. unable to look, the soldiers turned away. lieutenant beale remained the leader. "we can't move from here without water," he said quietly. "we'll try again tomorrow." ali offered, "i'll go again at dawn." beale continued to speak softly. "any preferred direction?" ali gestured toward the horse track and lieutenant beale nodded permission. "be back by sundown." it was so early that the dim gray light still made for uncertain observation when ali halted ben akbar and dismounted. he bent very near the earth, unable to see until he did so. the track was here, he had not erred. leading ben akbar, he followed, slowly at first, then faster as the strengthening light permitted. from the crest of one hill, he looked over the top of another and finally saw what he so desperately wanted to see. it was the topmost branches of a full-leafed tree, and here, in this place of no color, it was startling as snow on a naked cliff. ali turned his mount and said softly, "kneel." the big _dalul_ knelt. ali crawled forward. on the summit of the hill over which the tree top appeared, he crouched in a nest of boulders and verified his preconceived opinion that he would see more than water when he finally beheld the oasis. water there was, a limpid pool, shaded by one great tree and a cluster of small ones, and seeping underground to bring life to a patch of grass. sixty-one horses cropped the grass, and sixty-one indians lazed about. though he knew where he was and who these men were, ali felt as he had when spying on the druse tribesmen. even external differences between burnous-clad druse and half-naked indians did not set them so very far apart. if the indians were not bent on raiding, there would be women and children among them. the expedition was the only prize worth the assembly of so many warriors. at present, they were idling away their time until a scout reported. the scout appeared, as ali was sure he would, from the direction in which the expedition was encamped. ali waited for the scout to reach his companions. when he did and began his report, ali returned to ben akbar. he rode first toward the camp, so that he was between the warriors and the expedition. then he put ben akbar up a hill, but not quite over it. he wanted only to look down on the path taken by the scout and which, by all reason, should be the path of the warriors. presently they appeared, as ali had prayed they would, and, obviously, the scout had reported well. in no hurry at all, it was clear that the indians knew of the distress in camp. the time to take it was now, with most of the animals unfit, all of the men uncertain, and some so near the breaking point that a little more stress would break them. when the indians were directly beneath him, ali spoke to his mount. "ho! now!" ben akbar shot over the crest and unhesitatingly did as ali wished, he charged the mounted column. the leader, a fiercely painted young warrior whose thoughts were pleasantly filled with an easy conquest and ample loot, had time for only one good look before his horse took charge. the panic spread like wind-driven fire in dry grass. ali halted ben akbar and gave himself up to complete enjoyment, for indeed it was enjoyable. sixty-one horses, as was customary with horses of america, took instant leave of their senses when confronted by a _dalul_ of syria. for the first time since arriving in america, and the last, this was one unscheduled rodeo for which a camel would never be held to accounting. two hours later, bulging water bags tied wherever ben akbar's saddle offered a buckle or knob to tie one, and two more over his shoulders, ali rode back into camp. he halted near lieutenant beale, who had just come in on sied, and grinned amiably as teamsters snatched at his load and ran to their parched animals. when he and ali were alone, lieutenant beale asked, "how did you locate it, ali?" "first," ali said, "i saw a green tree." "what next?" "then i saw some indians," ali reported, "but they all ran away and are not at the water now. we may go take as much as we need." . the road when he came to the california bank of the colorado river, ali halted ben akbar and surrendered to complete astonishment. reason told him he had been this way before, but so drastic were the changes and so little was as he remembered it, that he challenged reason itself. ali took a deep breath and tried vainly to assure himself that this really was beale's crossing where, two years ago and fifty days out of fort defiance, the expedition's work had been successfully completed. ali and lieutenant beale, on ben akbar and sied, had reached the river on the seventeenth of october. they were met by a horde of indians, all of whom were so deliriously excited at their first sight of camels that any english they might have known was submerged in the shock. two days later, ali had proved that camels can swim by swimming ben akbar across the colorado. the rest of the expedition had followed. some horses and mules, which the indians promptly retrieved and ate, were drowned. all the camels had crossed safely. ali's dazed mind strove to reconcile that scene of the past and this one. on the opposite bank, where the indians had grown their corn and melons, covered wagons with canvas tops that billowed in the little wind that stirred were lined up as far as the eye could see. horses, mules and oxen rested in the traces while awaiting their turn on a ferry that was presently in mid-river, its cargo a wagon and a six-mule team. adults gossiped and children played about the waiting wagons. there was a barking of dogs, a cackling of fowl, a lowing of cattle, all the noises that accompany a nation on the march. transfixed, ali could not move. then the spell that gripped him was broken by a shout. "hey you! move that blasted camel!" glancing toward the ferry, ali saw the six mules dancing skittishly and two men trying to quiet them. ali moved downriver. in some ways, all had changed and in some, nothing had; camels still panicked livestock. presently, ali halted and turned back to watch, appalled by this monster that he had somehow helped to spawn. the road had seemed a good thing, but all the people who would ever use it, or so ali thought, were not half as many as the multitude awaiting the ferry. for a while he sat entranced as a wild deer that cannot turn its eyes from some fascinating thing, then his flight was sudden as the deer's when the intriguing but unknown object is abruptly recognized as a dreaded enemy. wheeling ben akbar, ali rode downriver at top speed. he did not dare look around, and he did not think of slackening the pace until even ben akbar could no longer maintain it and slowed of his own accord. instantly contrite, ali drew his mount to a halt. "i'm sorry, oh brother, that i could let you run so far and fast," he apologized. "great fear stole my senses. perhaps i am becoming craven." the panting ben akbar nosed his arm and accepted and ate a lump of sugar. ali dared look back up the river. he heaved a mighty sigh of relief. not only had ben akbar run far beyond the sight of any wagons, but far beyond hearing. here was only the peaceful river, its tule-lined banks disturbed by nothing except a horde of waterfowl and an occasional ripple that marked the wake of a great fish hunting smaller ones in the shallows. ali grinned sheepishly. certainly there had been no real danger; he had fled from shadows. tongues would wag along many caravan routes if it were known that hadji ali had run away from nothing. just the same, ali liked this better. he decided to ride farther down the riverbank before crossing. the farther he went, the lonelier it became and the better he liked it. presently, his wild flight seemed more amusing than otherwise, and ali chuckled throatily, but he had no thought of going back up the river. he rounded a bend and saw a dwelling. built of driftwood and roofed with adobe, it was a one-room affair. glassless windows had been cut in such a manner as to admit the morning sun. an adobe fireplace was built against an outside wall and an adobe chimney rose a little above the flat roof. ali halted ben akbar. he was no longer afraid. there had never been anything about such houses to frighten him. however, if there was any livestock about, he would avoid argument by circling around. if not, it was safe to go directly past. then a man came from the house and hailed him, "come on, stranger! come on an' light!" ali rode ahead to meet a wiry, fierce-eyed man whose uncut hair and long beard were snow-white, but who fought the advancing years as furiously as he had once battled advancing indians. everything about him, from his buckskins to the way he had built his house, marked him for what he was. here was one of the wild men, who had gone where he wished and done as he pleased, and never fretted about anything if he had a gun in his hands and a knife at his belt. grown too old for such a life, he had chosen to spend the rest of his days here in this isolated spot. ali dismounted and the old man extended his hand. "i'm hud perkins an' you're welcome." "i'm hi jolly." ali gave the americanized version of his name. hud perkins said, "i looked out an' saw a man comin' on a camel, i couldn't believe it! of course, lots of men come, hardly a week passes but what somebody goes up or down river, but not on camels. is he tame?" "tamer than he was at one time," ali answered. "he has been among so many people that almost anybody can pet him now." hud perkins said, "don't know as i'd hold with pettin' him, but such a critter sure makes a man think. on my way out here, i run across a passel of 'em." ali's interest quickened. "you did? where?" "on the heely river," hud perkins stated, "an' there wasn't rightly a passel. there was five, but five such critters look like a passel. will yours stay about or do you picket him?" "he'll stay." "then take his gear off an' let him fill up. plenty of grass hereabouts an' nary a critter to eat it most times." ali removed ben akbar's saddle and bridle and the big _dalul_ padded out to forage. intrigued by his host's reference to five camels on the heely river, ali straightened to ask for more information and found hud perkins staring at ben akbar. he turned to ali. "what's wrong with him?" "what do you mean?" "is he good's a horse or mule?" "much better," ali stated. the old man shook a puzzled head. "that don't hardly jibe with those camels on the heely. wasn't nobody payin' them no mind, 'cept some heathen papagoes that was fixin' to eat 'em. i was tempted to ketch one an' see how it rode, but a cowboy said they wasn't worth ketchin'. the army fetched 'em from some place in texas, he said, an' turned 'em loose on the heely on account they was more fuss than worth." ali's heart sank at this first news in more than two years of the camels left behind at camp verde, but he told himself that he should have expected nothing else. he drew some comfort from a quick assurance that neither mimico nor major wayne could possibly have accompanied any expedition that would abandon camels. whoever had loosed those five in the arizona desert, where they would certainly find conditions to their liking, knew nothing of camels and cared less. ali said, "who left those camels did not know what he was doing." "might be i ought to have caught me one anyway, eh?" "you'd have found it worth your while," ali assured him. "well, i didn't an' i don't know as it would of been doin' me or the camel any favor if i did. ridin' anythin' don't set like it used to. come on in, hi. i'll rouse up some rations." ali walked with the old man to his house and sat down on a wooden bench while hud perkins busied himself preparing fish from the river and vegetables from his garden. he queried, "if i might ask, where ye been?" ali answered, "for the past two years, i've been here in california." "_hmm-ph._ didn't know they landed any such critters out thisaway." "they didn't," ali informed him. "lieutenant beale brought twenty-five camels with him when he surveyed the wagon road from fort defiance." "_wagh!_" hud perkins ejaculated. "then 'tis so!" "what's so?" "i heard tell of such when i was leavin' santa fe to come here," his host informed him. "some fool, 'twas said, was goin' from fort defiance to californy, usin' camels to lay out a road. not many believed it. of them as did, nobody thought the camels would get a pistol shot from fort defiance." "it's true," ali said. "i was with the expedition." "well tie that one!" hud perkins marveled. "so camels did come to californy! what happened to 'em?" ali had no immediate answer, for after reaching california, nothing worthwhile had happened. the camels had been shown in various places, including los angeles, and had attracted the usual onlookers and sparked the usual stampedes. a few months after arriving, lieutenant beale took fourteen of the animals and started back along the surveyed road. the rest of the herd, with ali as keeper, had been sent to and was still at fort tejon, where army brass amused itself by putting camels through the usual meaningless paces. seeing no opportunity for a change, and with all he could stomach of fort tejon, ali had taken ben akbar and departed. ali answered his host, "they're at fort tejon." hud perkins snorted. "don't blame you for leavin', got no use for army posts myself. you goin' east?" "not all the way," ali said. "too far east is no better than too far west. i think i'll go back along the road. i saw a lot of free country there." hud perkins was silent for a long while, then he said quietly, "you saw it two years ago." "but--" ali was startled. "it isn't all taken?" "i don't know," hud perkins spoke as a bewildered old man who no longer knew about anything. "was a time when i figgered the west'd never settle an' a man would always find room. but--anyhow it's two years since i come out." ali asked gravely, "have there really been so many others?" his host answered moodily, "i've seen a passel of wagon roads opened up. whenever there was one, people boiled along it like water pours out of a busted beaver dam." the specter ali had seen lurking behind the wagons at beale's crossing was again present and again threatened panic. "perhaps," he said doubtfully, "i'd better go somewhere else." "if you can still find such a place," hud perkins replied. "still, like i said, it's two years since i come out. i could be wrong. why not find out?" "how?" ali asked. "ride back along the road," hud perkins advised him. "see for yourself if it's what you think it is. it's the one way you'll ever know." ali said, "i'll do it." when the leading team of mules swung around the sandy butte, ali turned ben akbar away from the road. it was somehow different from the numerous times he'd swung to one side or the other, so that wagons might pass without the panic that always resulted when livestock met a camel. this time there would be no turning back. ali and his mount were swallowed up in a pine forest before anyone saw them. except for the leading mule team, that spooked when they smelled ben akbar's fresh tracks, nobody in the whole train suspected that a camel had been here. riding due south, ali did not look around even once. again he was fleeing, but this time he knew why. at one time, the wagon road had offered everything he wanted. now it offered nothing. the wagons lined up and awaiting their turn on the ferry at beale's crossing had seemed an overwhelming multitude only because there had been no basis for comparison. after nineteen days on the wagon road, ali was able to fit them into their proper niche, one small ripple in a surging tide. he still did not know how this had come about, although he could not have believed unless he saw it. two short years after the camels had composed the first organized caravan to come this way, everybody seemed to be following. besides an endless stream of wagons on the road, there were ranches beside it. the flocks and herds that were sure to come some time seemed to have grown overnight, as though they were mushrooms. there were homes, villages, towns, even the cities that, ali had once thought, might arise after several generations. swimming ben akbar across the colorado at hud perkins' house, ali circled to come back on the road well east of beale's crossing--and found more people. unwilling to believe what became increasingly evident and hoping to find even one place that was as it had been, he rode east. hope died when he found a village in the very heart of the desert where the expedition had been lost. the village's source of water was the same water hole from which ben akbar had stampeded the indians. he rode on only to find a better place for leaving the road, and now he had left it. when he finally halted ben akbar and made camp, ali knew that he had acted wisely. once again he was at peace, for, even though the old trail was closed, nothing was ever lost as long as a new one beckoned. the next morning, he resumed his southward journey. the pine forest was long behind him, the desert all about, when ben akbar mounted a hill from whose summit ali finally saw the gila river. he dismounted, standing a bit in front of the big _dalul_ and holding the camel's rein lightly as he studied that which he had come so far to see. here in the desert, the gila was sluggish, lazy and silt-laden. it had nothing in common with the clear and sparkling streams that have inspired poet and artist alike, but it belonged in this hot desert, even as the others fitted their rugged valleys. who could not see beauty in the gila, could not see. for no special reason, ali glanced at the rein in his hand and a vast mortification swept over him. while working for the army, he had never even thought about certain essential needs because army pay and rations provided all he needed. now he had neither, though food was still no problem because everybody in this land was happy to share whatever food he might have. but man could not live by bread alone. true, not a great deal more was necessary and ali attached little importance to his own threadbare clothing and battered shoes. but his very soul revolted when he looked at ben akbar's worn rein, a sorry thing, unfitted for even the poorest baggage camel. ali must somehow contrive to earn some money. but the peace that had come to him when he finally turned from the wagon road did not desert him when he remounted. he had come to the gila with a plan. he would find and catch the abandoned camels and hire out as packer--and surely packers were needed. all would be well. two days later, in a delightful little haven where the gila periodically overflowed its banks and ample water brought luxurious growth, ali found the camels. he smiled with happiness when he noted amir, an old friend from camp verde, and two more old acquaintances in a pair of the young camp verde females. the herd numbered seven and not five, as hud perkins had told him, but ali remembered that the old man had come this way two years ago. all five camels he'd seen must have been from camp verde. two had been killed by something or other--hud had mentioned indians--and the four were amir's daughters and son. they watched nervously--and probably would have run if approached by anyone else. ali, who knew how to converse with camels, advanced slowly, talking as he did so. amir himself finally trotted forward to renew old friendship. * * * * * riding ben akbar and trailed by his string of camels, there were eleven now, ali did not look back. the eleven would follow, just as they always followed him. nor were they at fault because their sorry rewards had never equalled their unswerving devotion and loyalty. maybe nothing was really at fault, but the mine owners to whom ali had offered his services and that of his camels were either too poor to hire any packer; or so rich that they might hire what they chose, and they chose mules. there was no use in going even near the ranches, camels terrified cattle, too. finally, reduced to packing water, ali found that those whose need was most desperate were almost never able to pay. unable to go on because of maximum expense and minimum income, ali must now do the best he could for his baggage animals. when he came to the meadow on the gila where he had found the original seven, he led his herd far into it. then, still not looking behind, he whirled ben akbar and was off at top speed. though they would still try to follow, the baggage camels could not match ben akbar's speed for very long and must soon fall behind. there must be another journey along a new trail. ben akbar's rein was no longer even a rein, but a piece of rope found at a water hole. his saddle was falling apart and ali must do something, but this time he would. he had heard of much gold in the northern desert. . reunion the village of quartzite was never calculated to overwhelm with metropolitan sweep or impress with architectural grandeur. completely surrounded by the arizona desert, sometimes it was oddly like a captive village, a prisoner of the desert. but in a very real sense quartzite was a true monument, a tribute to the human beings who first had the courage to trespass in such a forbidding land and then dared build homes and live there. the men gathered at a quartzite inn varied in various ways, but all bore the stamp of the desert. tiny wrinkles etched the eyes of each man, and, though none were aware of it, even here in the cool and shaded inn, they squinted. that was something they learned in the desert, where they faced a blazing sun for hours on end and squinted to shield their eyes, until the habit became so ingrained that they never forgot to practice it. the door opened and another man entered. one of those present greeted him with, "welcome, stranger!" the newcomer grinned. "thought i'd best have me a look at civilization, been away so long that the other day i found myself talkin' with a pack rat. saw the darndest thing when i walked in." "what?" "a camel." at once the newcomer was the center of interest. "a big red camel." "go on!" his friend exclaimed. "it's true," the newcomer insisted. "he's right where boney wash crosses skull canyon. layin' down, he is, like he might be sick or hurt. but he's there." the only man present who did not gather around the speaker had been sitting alone and unnoticed. he rose. an old man with snow-white hair and beard, there was that about him which spoke of many burdens carried, and yet he bore the weight of his years with a certain assurance. when he walked to and opened the door and slipped into the overcast early spring afternoon, his absence went as unnoticed as his presence had been. ali closed the door behind him. safe from prying eyes, he quivered with excitement. the last arrival was a prospector, one of many original optimists who constantly roamed the desert, engaged in prodigious labors that were seldom granted the smallest reward and never once doubted that they had only to keep on and all the desert's dazzling riches would be yielded up to them. recently, he'd been working in hills to the north, and his best way to quartzite would be down skull canyon. a red camel, the man had said, lay at the junction of skull canyon and boney wash. ali couldn't remember how many times his own prospecting trips had taken him up skull canyon. he left the village and started to run, but his legs were no longer capable of running far, so he dropped back to a walk. the increasingly cooler evening wind, one of various reasons why ali had finally turned his back on the desert to live with generous friends at quartzite, he scarcely noticed. he had gone to live at quartzite six years ago, three years before the turn of the century and a few days before his seventieth birthday. ben akbar was old too, but even if he'd been welcome in quartzite, he wouldn't have been happy there. ali's last trip into the desert had been for the sole purpose of taking ben akbar to the most isolated spot he knew--and no man knew more than ali about the wildest and most inaccessible areas--and leaving him there. escorting camels into the desert and turning them loose was nothing new. twenty times in years gone by ali had thus disposed of beasts he was no longer able to support. invariably, however, he either went and got them again or found some new herd for some new venture. though not one other person in the entire southwest shared his conviction that camels would eventually triumph--ali's faith never flickered. he'd loosed all the camels in the best places he knew. ben akbar, however, was a special case. though camels thrived in the desert and might have multiplied, as far as anyone knew, only camel ghosts had come to the water holes in recent years. finding them gentle and easy to approach, indians and white men alike killed them for food, and sometimes merely for killing's sake. many had been captured and were with various circuses or zoos. ben akbar was both the last to have been in any active and useful service and the last american camel not in confinement. there were still rumors of desert-roaming camels, but all such were born in somebody's imagination and there were no reliable reports. nor had there been since ali loosed ben akbar, which might mean that ali had succeeded in taking him so far away that nobody had yet found him. or it might mean that he was no longer to be found; passing years had probably not spared the camel any more than the master. just before nightfall, the wind lulled and then died down. a bright moon rode high, lighting the path but softening harsh angles and shadowing into gentle harmlessness all that was seen as hard and harsh under the sun's pitiless glare. presently, every cactus was bedecked in a sparkle of rare jewels as moonlight glanced from frosty branches. ali's thoughts went to a snug cave he knew, plenty big enough for a camel who was no longer as restless as he once had been. ali walked on, resentful of both his necessarily slow pace and a growing skepticism that came over him as he drew farther from the town and deeper into the desert. a red camel, the prospector had said, but there had been several red camels with the herd and there was still seventy miles of desert to cross before reaching the place where ben akbar was freed. though there had been a time when seventy miles would have meant no more than a pleasant jaunt, could an aging ben akbar walk so far? then ali came to the junction of skull canyon and boney wash. he stopped--and instantly he knew! at this point, skull canyon was about fifty yards from the base of one rocky wall to the foot of another. boney wash had been born when torrential rains crumbled a rift in the east wall. the flood that had poured through then had ripped a ragged ditch in the canyon floor. above the ditch, the canyon was level, for the most part pebble-strewn, but here and there was a boulder or copse of cactus. under the gentle moonlight, the canyon became gentle. all four legs curled beneath him and head cushioned against his flank, apparently ben akbar had been on his way down the canyon and had lain down to rest when forbidding boney wash gaped before him. ali's eyes softened, for it seemed no accident that on this night the moon should glow in such a fashion. the ben akbar ali had last seen had shown the sunken cheeks, shriveled neck, worn teeth and stiffened joints of the aging. under the magic moon, the ben akbar he met might have been the proud young _dalul_ he had rescued from the druse and who, in turn, had rescued him. even the many hairs that were no longer red, but white, could have been sparkling with frost. ali went a step nearer and crooned, "i greet thee, oh prince among _dalul_." there was a ripple along flanks and ribs, but only after a marked interval was ben akbar able to raise his head. ali dropped beside him and eased the proud head into his lap. he stroked it gently. "we meet again, oh, brother," he murmured. "it is well." he continued to caress ben akbar, and, under the soft moon, a thoughtful expression came over his face. there had been a very long time and a very long journey since he had boarded the _supply_. now he sat in the desert, comforting the last remaining camel of all that were brought to america. how could such an auspicious beginning lead to this end? the failure could not be charged to the camels. lieutenant beale himself had declared that any one of them was worth any six mules. then who, or what, was to blame? ali considered various explanations that had been advanced. some declared that the entire experiment was fore-doomed by anonymous but invincible forces interested in perpetuating large profits derived from horse and mule trading. their combined strength overwhelmed the advocates of camel transport. these reports were partly right, ali conceded, but not entirely so. he could not imagine major wayne or lieutenant beale yielding to the combined power of anything. anyhow, it went without saying that these forces had done all they could to prevent the importation of camels in the first place. they had not succeeded. it was true that neither major wayne nor lieutenant beale had been active in the camel corps for years, and jefferson davis no longer mattered after the confederacy he headed lost the war between the states. but adverse influence alone had never defeated the camels. many contended that the war itself was responsible. nobody had time for camels while the battles raged and nobody was interested when peace came. another part truth, ali decided, but by no means a whole truth. to say that the war between the states doomed camels was as absurd as declaring it doomed railroads. even the popular refusal to accept camels--that sometimes mounted to flaring resentment against them--was not to blame for their downfall. that which has practical worth cannot forever remain unnoticed and camels had proved themselves superior to any other beast of burden. ali bent his head and crooned softly in ben akbar's ear. the big _dalul_ sighed softly and pressed his chin hard against his friend's knee. ali resumed caressing the camel. what ill wind, he wondered, had blown the day these camels were finally aboard and the _supply_ set sail? they had come and they had proven themselves, but far from any conquest they had found only oblivion. why? ali straightened unconsciously as he thought of the day lieutenant beale's expedition had left fort defiance and started west. his mind became a screen upon which appeared a complete review of every single day that had followed. ali lived again, as he had before, the whole exciting caravan into unknown wilderness. then, skipping his two years in california, ali rode ben akbar back to the colorado and the massed wagons awaiting ferry transport. there followed, in complete detail, his return ride over the road. again he saw the burgeoning civilization that had overrun a virgin wilderness. finally, he knew the right answer, and knowing, must question no more. the camels had not yielded to any petty thing, but had bowed to a force so powerful that nothing could stand against it. all the armies of all the world could bring human progress to no more than a temporary halt, and not even the swiftest _dalul_ could hope to keep pace with the breathtaking march of civilization as america knew it. if the camels had been imported fifty years sooner, or if america had been satisfied to wait fifty years longer to develop her wilderness, then indeed would all americans know the true worth of camels. as the course was run, most americans would know camels only as legendary ships of the desert or exotic imports whose proper abode was the circus or zoo. those few who did learn about the camel corps, might hear of it as a glaring example of the hare-brained schemes that may be dreamed up by scatter-brained people. nevertheless, ali was suddenly happy and again knew a complete peace. he and ben akbar were reunited never to be parted again, and he, at least, knew the true story of the camel corps. nothing anyone might say or do could change in the smallest detail what had already been done. the people who spilled over lieutenant beale's wagon road might never know that the pillars of their churches, the foundations of their schools, their homes, their very way of life, were anchored on long-forgotten camel tracks. but they would not be there if camels had not led the way. given only one real opportunity, the camels had contributed more than their full share. ali knew finally that, if he might return over the years and once more look at camels being taken aboard the _supply_, and if he might also look ahead and see all the future, he would again do as he had done and come to america. the journey had not been in vain. what had seemed to be heartbreaking failure showed its true colors under the correct light. triumph was complete. ali stood up. "rise," he said. slowly, ben akbar rose to his feet and the two started along the silvery path together. jim kjelgaard was born in new york city. happily enough, he was still in the pre-school age when his father decided to move the family to the pennsylvania mountains. there young jim grew up among some of the best hunting and fishing in the united states. he says: "if i had pursued my scholastic duties as diligently as i did deer, trout, grouse, squirrels, etc., i might have had better report cards!" jim kjelgaard has worked at various jobs--trapper, teamster, guide, surveyor, factory worker and laborer. when he was in the late twenties he decided to become a full-time writer. he has succeeded in his wish. he has published several hundred short stories and articles and quite a few books for young people. his hobbies are hunting, fishing, dogs, and questing for new stories. he tells us: "story hunts have led me from the atlantic to the pacific and from the arctic circle to mexico city. stories, like gold, are where you find them. you may discover one three thousand miles from home, as in _rescue dog of the high pass_, or, as in _the spell of the white sturgeon_, right on your own door step." and he adds: "i am married to a very beautiful girl and have a teen-age daughter. both of them order me around in a shameful fashion, but i can still boss the dog! we live in phoenix, arizona." * * * * * books by jim kjelgaard _big red_ _rebel siege_ _forest patrol_ _buckskin brigade_ _chip, the dam builder_ _fire hunter_ _irish red_ _kalak of the ice_ _a nose for trouble_ _snow dog_ _the story of geronimo_ _stormy_ _cochise, chief of warriors_ _trailing trouble_ _wild trek_ _the explorations of pere marquette_ _the spell of the white sturgeon_ _outlaw red_ _the coming of the mormons_ _cracker barrel trouble shooter_ _the lost wagon_ _lion hound_ _trading jeff and his dog_ _desert dog_ _haunt fox_ _the oklahoma land run_ _double challenge_ _swamp cat_ _rescue dog of the high pass_ _hi jolly!_ generously made available by the internet archive.) history of .. .. .. .. "billy the kid" a cowboy outlaw whose youthful daring has never been equalled in the annals of criminal history. when a bullet pierced his heart he was less than twenty-two years of age, and had killed twenty-one men, indians not included. [illustration] by chas. a. siringo history of "billy the kid." the true life of the most daring young outlaw of the age. he was the leading spirit in the bloody lincoln county, new mexico, war. when a bullet from sheriff pat garett's pistol pierced his breast he was only twenty-one years of age, and had killed twenty-one men, not counting indians. his six years of daring outlawry has never been equalled in the annals of criminal history. by chas. a. siringo. author of: "fifteen years on the hurricane deck of a spanish pony," "a cowboy detective," and "a lone star cowboy." to my friend, george s. tweedy--an honest, easy-going, second abraham lincoln; this little volume is affectionately dedicated by the author, chas. a. siringo. copyrighted , by chas. a. siringo. all rights reserved. introduction the author feels that he is capable of writing a true and unvarnished history of "billy the kid," as he was personally acquainted with him, and assisted in his capture, by furnishing sheriff pat garrett with three of his fighting cowboys--jas. h. east, lee hall and lon chambers. the facts set down in this narrative were gotten from the lips of "billy the kid," himself, and from such men as pat garrett, john w. poe, kip mckinnie, charlie wall, the coe brothers, tom o'phalliard, henry brown, john middleton, martin chavez, and ash upson. all these men took an active part, for or against, the "kid." ash upson had known him from childhood, and was considered one of the family, for several years, in his mother's home. other facts were gained from the lips of mrs. charlie bowdre, who kept "billy the kid," hid out at her home in fort sumner, new mexico, after he had killed his two guards and escaped. chas. a. siringo. chapter i. billy bonney kills his first two men, and becomes a daring outlaw in the republic of mexico. in the slum district of the great city of new york, on the rd day of november, , a blue-eyed baby boy was born to william h. bonney and his good looking, auburn haired young wife, kathleen. being their first child he was naturally the joy of their hearts. later, another baby boy followed. in william h. bonney shook the dust of new york city from his shoes and emigrated to coffeeville, kansas, on the northern border of the indian territory, with his little family. soon after settling down in coffeeville, mr. bonney died. then the young widow moved to the territory of colorado, where she married a mr. antrim. shortly after this marriage, the little family of four moved to santa fe, new mexico, at the end of the old santa fe trail. here they opened a restaurant, and one of their first boarders was ash upson, then doing work on the daily new mexican. little, blue-eyed, billy bonney, was then about five years of age, and became greatly attached to good natured, jovial, ash upson, who spent much of his leisure time playing with the bright boy. three years later, when the hero of our story was about eight years old, ash upson and the antrim family pulled up stakes and moved to the booming silver mining camp of silver city, in the southwestern part of the territory of new mexico. here mr. and mrs. antrim established a new restaurant, and had ash upson as the star boarder. naturally their boarders were made up of all classes, both women and men,--some being gamblers and toughs of the lowest order. amidst these surroundings, billy bonney grew up. he went to school and was a bright scholar. when not at school, billy was associating with tough men and boys, and learning the art of gambling and shooting. this didn't suit mr. antrim, who became a cruel step-father, according to billy bonney's way of thinking. jesse evans, a little older than billy, was a young tough who was a hero in billy's estimation. they became fast friends, and bosom companions. in the years to come they were to fight bloody battles side by side, as friends, and again as bitter enemies. as a boy, mr. upson says billy had a sunny disposition, but when aroused had an uncontrollable temper. at the tender age of twelve, young bonney made a trip to fort union, new mexico, and there gambled with the negro soldiers. one "black nigger" cheated billy, who shot him dead. this story i got from the lips of "billy the kid" in . making his way back to silver city he kept the secret from his fond mother, who was the idol of his heart. one day billy's mother was passing a crowd of toughs on the street. one of them made an insulting remark about her. billy, who was in the crowd, heard it. he struck the fellow in the face with his fist, then picked up a rock from the street. the "tough" made a rush at billy, and as he passed ed. moulton he planted a blow back of his ear, and laid him sprawling on the ground. this act cemented a friendship between ed. moulton and the future young outlaw. about three weeks later ed. moulton got into a fight with two toughs in joe dyer's saloon. he was getting the best of the fight. the young blacksmith who had insulted mrs. antrim and who had been knocked down by ed. moulton, saw a chance for revenge. he rushed at moulton with an uplifted chair. billy bonney was standing near by, on nettles, ready to render assistance to his benefactor, at a moment's notice. the time had now arrived. he sprang at the blacksmith and stabbed him with a knife three times. he fell over dead. billy ran out of the saloon, his right hand dripping with human blood. now to his dear mother's arms, where he showered her pale cheeks with kisses for the last time. realizing the result of his crime, he was soon lost in the pitchy darkness of the night, headed towards the southwest, afoot. for three days and nights billy wandered through the cactus covered hills, without seeing a human being. luck finally brought him to a sheep camp, where the mexican herder gave him food. from the sheep camp he went to mcknight's ranch and stole a horse, riding away without a saddle. three weeks later a boy and a grown man rode into camp bowie, a government post. both were on a skinny, sore-back pony. this new found companion had a name and history of his own, which he was nursing in secret. he gave his name to billy as "alias," and that was the name he was known by around camp bowie. finally billy, having disposed of his sore-back pony, started out for the apache indian reservation, with "alias," afoot. they were armed with an old army rifle and a six-shooter, which they had borrowed from soldiers. about ten miles southwest of camp bowie these two young desperados came onto three indians, who had twelve ponies, a lot of pelts and several saddles, besides good fire-arms, and blankets. in telling of the affair afterwards, billy said: "it was a ground-hog case. here were twelve good ponies, a supply of blankets, and five heavy loads of pelts. here were three blood-thirsty savages revelling in luxury and refusing help to two free-born, white, american citizens, foot-sore and hungry. the plunder had to change hands. as one live indian could place a hundred united states soldiers on our trail, the decision was made. "in about three minutes there were three dead indians stretched out on the ground, and with their ponies and plunder we skipped. there was no fight. it was the softest thing i ever struck." about one hundred miles from this bloody field of battle, the surplus ponies and plunder were sold and traded off to a band of texas emigrants. finally the two young brigands settled down in tucson, where billy's skill as a monte dealer, and card player kept them in luxuriant style, and gave them prestige among the sporting fraternity. becoming tired of town life, the two desperadoes hit the trail for san simon, where they beat a band of indians out of a lot of money in a "fake" horse race. the next we hear of billy bonney is in the state of sonora, old mexico, where he went alone, according to his own statement. in sonora he joined issues with a mexican gambler named melquiades segura. one night the two murdered a monte dealer, don jose martinez, and secured his "bank roll." now the two desperadoes shook the dust of sonora from their feet and landed in the city of chihuahua, the capital of the state of chihuahua, several hundred miles to the eastward, across the sierra madres mountains. chapter ii. a fierce battle with apache indians. single handed billy bonney liberates segura from jail. in the city of chihuahua, the two desperadoes led a hurrah life among the sporting elements. finally their money was gone and their luck at cards went against them. then billy and segura held up and robbed several monte dealers, when on the way home after their games had closed for the night. one of these monte dealers had offended billy, which caused his death. one morning before the break of day, this monte dealer was on his way home; a peon was carrying his fat "bank roll" in a buckskin bag, finely decorated with gold and silver threads. when nearing his residence in the outskirts of the city, segura and young bonney made a charge from behind a vacant adobe building. the one-sided battle was soon over. a popular mexican gambler lay stretched dead on the ground. the peon willingly gave up the sack of gold and silver. now towards the texas border, in a north-easterly direction, a distance of three hundred miles, as fast as their mounts could carry them. when their horses began to grow tired, other mounts were secured. their bills were paid enroute, with gold doubloons taken from the buckskin sack. on reaching the rio grande river, which separates texas from the republic of mexico, the young outlaws separated for the time being. billy bonney finally met up with his silver city chum, jesse evans, and they became partners in crime, in the bordering state of texas, and the territories of new mexico and arizona. many robberies and some murders were committed by these smooth-faced boys, and they had many narrow escapes from death, or capture. fresh horses were always at their command, as they were experts with the lasso, and the scattering ranchmen all had bands of ponies on the range. on one occasion the boys ate dinner with a party of texas emigrants, and were well treated. leaving the emigrant camp, a band of renegade apache indians were seen skulking in the hills. the boys concealed themselves to await results, as they felt sure a raid was to be made on the emigrants, who were headed for the territory of arizona. there were only three men in the party, and several women and children. just at dusk, the boys, who were stealing along their trail in the low, flint covered hills, heard shooting. realizing that a battle was on, billy bonney and jesse evans put spurs to their mounts and reached the camp just in time. by this time it was dark. the three men had succeeded in standing off the indians for awhile, but finally a rush was made on the camp, by the reds, with blood curdling war whoops. at that moment the two young heroes charged among the indians and sprang off their horses, with winchester rifles in hand. for a few moments the battle raged. one bullet shattered the stock of billy's rifle, cripping his left hand slightly. he then dropped the rifle and used his pistol. when the battle was over, eight dead indians lay on the ground. the emigrants had shielded themselves by getting behind the wagons. two of the men were slightly wounded, and the other dangerously shot through the stomach. one little girl had a fractured skull from a blow on the head with a rifle. the mother of the child fainted on seeing her daughter fall. in telling of this battle, billy bonney said the war-whoops shouted by himself and jesse, as they charged into the band of indians, helped to win the battle. he said a bullet knocked the heel off one of his boots, and that jesse's hat was shot off his head. he felt sure that the man shot through the stomach died, though he never heard of the party after separating. soon after the indian battle billy bonney and jesse evans landed in the mexican village of la mesilla, new mexico, and there met up with some of jesse's chums. their names were jim mcdaniels, bill morton, and frank baker. during their stay in mesilla, jim mcdaniels christened billy bonney, "billy the kid," and that name stuck to him to the time of his death. finally these three tough cowboys started for the pecos river with jesse evans. "billy the kid" promised to join them later, as he had received word that his old mexico chum, segura, was in jail in san elizario, texas, below el paso. this word had been brought by a mexican boy, sent by segura. the "kid" told the boy to wait in mesilla till he and segura got there. it was the fall of . mounted on his favorite gray horse, "billy the kid" started at six o'clock in the evening for the eighty-one mile ride to san elizario. a swift ride brought him into el paso, then called franklin, a distance of fifty-six miles, before midnight. here he dismounted in front of peter den's saloon to let his noble "gray" rest. while waiting, he had a few drinks of whiskey, and fed "gray" some crackers, there being no horse feed at the saloon. now for the twenty-five mile dash down the rio grande river, over a level road to san elizario. it was made in quick time. daylight had not yet begun to break. dismounting in front of the jail, the "kid" knocked on the front door. the mexican jailer asked; "quien es?" (who's that?) the "kid" replied in good spanish: "open up, we have two american prisoners here." the heavy front door was opened, and the jailer found a cocked pistol pointed at him. now the frightened guard gave up his pistol and the keys to the cell in which segura was shackled and handcuffed. in the rear of the jail building there was another guard asleep. he was relieved of his fire-arms and dagger. when segura was free of irons the two guards were gagged so they couldn't give an alarm, and chained to a post. the two outlaws started out in the darkest part of the night, just before day, segura on "gray" and the "kid" trotting by his side, afoot. an hour later the two desperadoes were at a confederate's ranch across the rio grande river, in old mexico. after filling up with a hot breakfast, the "kid" was soon asleep, while segura kept watch for officers. the "kid's" noble "gray" was fed and with a mustang, kept hidden out in the brush. now the ranchman rode into san elizario to post himself on the jail break. hurrying back to the ranch, he advised his two guests to "hit the high places," as there was great excitement in san elizario. reaching la mesilla, new mexico, the two young outlaws found the boy who had carried the message to "billy the kid," from segura, and rewarded him with a handful of mexican gold. chapter iii. "billy the kid" and segura make successful robbery raids into mexico. a battle with indians. the "kid" joins his chum, jesse evans. after a few daring raids into old mexico, with segura, the "kid" landed in la mesilla, new mexico. here he fell in with a wild young man by the name of tom o'keefe. together, they started for the pecos river to meet jesse evans and his companions. instead of taking the wagon road, the two venturesome boys cut across the mescalero apache indian reservation, which took in most of the high guadalupe range of mountains, which separates the pecos and rio grande rivers. first they rode into el paso, texas, and loaded a pack mule with provisions. a few days out of el paso, the boys ran out of water, and were puzzled as to which way to ride. finally a fresh indian trail was found, evidently leading to water. it was followed to the mouth of a deep canyon. for fear of running into a trap, the "kid" decided to take the canteen and go afoot, leaving his mount and the pack mule with o'keefe, who was instructed to come to his rescue should he hear yelling and shooting. a mile of cautious traveling brought the "kid" to a cool spring of water. the ground was tramped hard with fresh pony and indian tracks. after filling the canteen, and drinking all the water he could hold, the "kid" started down the canyon to join his companion. he hadn't gone far when indians, afoot, began pouring out of the cliff to the right, which cut off his retreat down the canyon. there was nothing to do but return towards the spring, as fast as his legs could carry him. the twenty half-naked braves were gaining on him, and shouting blood-curdling war-whoops. like a pursued mountain lion, the "kid" sprang into the jungles of a steep cliff. foot by foot his way was made to a place of concealment. the indians seeing him leave the trail, scrambled up into the bushy cliff. now the "kid's" trusty pistol began to talk, and several young braves, who were leading the chase passed to the "happy hunting ground." the "kid" said the body of one young buck went down the cliff and caught on the over-hanging limb of a dead tree, and there hung suspended in plain view. many shots were fired at the "kid" when he sprang from one hiding place to another. one bullet struck a rock near his head, and the splinters gave him slight wounds on the face and neck. reaching the extreme top of a high peak, the young outlaw felt safe, as he could see no reds on his trail. being exhausted he soon fell asleep. on hearing the yelling and shooting, tom o'keefe stampeded, leaving the "kid's" mount and the pack mule where they stood. reaching a high bluff, which was impossible for a horse to climb, o'keefe quit his mount and took it afoot. from cliff to cliff, he made his way towards the top of a peak. finally his keen eyesight caught the figure of a man, far away across a deep canyon, trying to reach the top of a mountain peak. he surmised that the bold climber must be the "kid." at last young o'keefe's strength gave out and he lay down to sleep. his hands and limbs were bleeding from the scratches received from sharp rocks, and he was craving water. being refreshed from his long night's sleep, the "kid" headed for the big red sun, which was just creeping up out of the great "llano estacado," (staked plains), over a hundred miles to the eastward, across the pecos river. finally water was struck and he was happy. then he filled up on wild berries, which were plentiful along the borders of the small sparkling stream of water. three days later the young hero outlaw reached a cow-camp on the rio pecos. he made himself known to the cowboys, who gave him a good horse to ride, and conducted him to the murphy-dolan cow-camp, where his chum, jesse evans, was employed. in this camp the "kid" also met his former friends, mcdaniels, baker, and morton. here the "kid" was told of the smouldering cattle war between the murphy-dolan faction on one side, and the cattle king, john s. chisum, on the other. many small cattle owners were arrayed with the firm of murphy and dolan, who owned a large store in lincoln, and were the owners of many cattle. on john s. chisum's side were alex a. mcsween, a prominent lawyer of lincoln--the county seat of lincoln county--and a wealthy englishman by the name of john s. tunstall, who had only been in america a year. mcsween and tunstall had formed a co-partnership in the cattle business, and had established a general trading store in lincoln. it was now the early spring of . jesse evans tried to persuade "billy the kid" to join the murphy-dolan faction, but he argued that he first had to find tom o'keefe, dead or alive, as it was against his principles to desert a chum in time of danger. for nearly a year a storm had been brewing between john chisum and the smaller ranchmen. chisum claimed all the range in the pecos valley, from fort sumner to the texas line, a distance of over two hundred miles. naturally there was much mavericking, in other words, stealing unbranded young animals from the chisum bands of cattle, which ranged about twenty-five miles on each side of the pecos river. chisum owned from forty to sixty thousand cattle on this "jingle-bob" range. his cattle were marked with a long "jingle-bob" hanging down from the dew-lap. in branding calves the chisum cowboys would slash the dew-lap above the breast, leaving a chunk of hide and flesh hanging downward. when the wound healed the animal was well marked with a dangling "jingle-bob." thus did the chisum outfit get the name of the "jingle-bobs." well mounted and armed, "billy the kid" started in search of tom o'keefe. he was found at las cruces, three miles from la mesilla, the county seat of dona ana county, new mexico. it was a happy meeting between the two smooth-faced boys. each had to relate his experience during and after the indian trouble. o'keefe had gone back to the place where he had left the "kid's" mount and the pack mule. there he found the "kid's" horse shot dead, but no sign of the mule. his own pony ran away with the saddle, when he sprang from his back. now o'keefe struck out afoot, towards the west, living on berries and such game as he could kill, finally landing in las cruces, where he swore off being the companion of a daring young outlaw. "billy the kid" tried to persuade o'keefe to accompany him back to the pecos valley, to take part in the approaching cattle war, but tom said he had had enough of playing "bad-man from bitter creek." now the "kid" went to a ranch, where he had left his noble "gray," and with him started back towards the pecos river. chapter iv. the starting of the bloody lincoln county war. the murder of tunstall. "billy the kid" is partially revenged when he kills morton and baker. arriving back at the murphy-dolan cow-camp on the pecos river, "billy the kid" was greeted by his friends, mcdaniels, morton and baker, who persuaded him to join the murphy and dolan outfit, and become one of their fighting cowboys. this he agreed to do, and was put on the pay-roll at good wages. the summer and fall of passed along with only now and then a scrap between the factions. but the clouds of war were lowering, and the "kid" was anxious for a battle. still he was not satisfied to be at war with the whole-souled young englishman, john s. tunstall, whom he had met on several occasions. on one of his trips to the mexican town of lincoln, to "blow in" his accumulated wages, the "kid" met tunstall, and expressed regret at fighting against him. the matter was talked over and "billy the kid" agreed to switch over from the murphy-dolan faction. tunstall at once put him under wages and told him to make his headquarters at their cow-camp on the rio feliz, which flowed into the pecos from the west. now the "kid" rode back to camp and told the dozen cowboys there of his new deal. they tried to persuade him of his mistake, but his mind was made up and couldn't be changed. in the argument, baker abused the "kid" for going back on his friends. this came very near starting a little war in that camp. the "kid" made baker back down when he offered to shoot it out with him on the square. before riding away on his faithful "gray," the "kid" expressed regrets at having to fight against his chum jesse evans, in the future. at the rio feliz cow camp, the "kid" made friends with all the cowboys there, and with tunstall and mcsween, when he rode into lincoln to have a good time at the mexican "fandangos" (dances.) a few "killings" took place on the pecos river during the fall, but "billy the kid" was not in these fights. in the early part of december, , the "kid" received a letter from his mexican chum whom he had liberated from the jail in san elizario, texas, melquiades segura, asking that he meet him at their friend's ranch across the rio grande river, in old mexico, on a matter of great importance. mounted on "gray," the "kid" started. meeting segura, he found that all he wanted was to share a bag of mexican gold with him. while visiting segura, a war started in san elizario over the guadalupe salt lakes, in el paso county, texas. these salt lakes had supplied the natives along the rio grande river with free salt for more than a hundred years. an american by the name of howard, had leased them from the state of texas, and prohibited the people from taking salt from them. a prominent man by the name of louis cardis, took up the fight for the people. howard and his men were captured and allowed their liberty under the promise that they would leave the salt lakes free for the people's use. soon after, howard killed louis cardis in el paso. this worked the natives up to a high pitch. under the protection of a band of texas rangers, howard returned to san elizario, twenty-five miles below el paso. on reaching san elizario the citizens turned out in mass and besieged the rangers and the howard crowd, in a house. many citizens of old mexico, across the river, joined the mob. among them being segura and his confederate, at whose ranch "billy the kid" and segura were stopping. as "billy the kid" had no interest in the fight, he took no part, but was an eye witness to it, in the village of san elizario. near the house in which howard and the rangers took refuge, lived captain gregario garcia, and his three sons, carlos, secundio, and nazean-ceno garcia. on the roof of their dwelling they constructed a fort, and with rifles, assisted in protecting howard and the rangers from the mob. the fight continued for several days. finally, against the advice of captain gregario garcia, the rangers surrendered. they were escorted up the river towards el paso, and liberated. howard, charlie ellis, john atkinson, and perhaps one or two other americans, were taken out and shot dead by the mob. thus ended one of the bloody battles which "billy the kid" enjoyed as a witness. the following year the present governor of new mexico, octaviano a. larrazolo, settled in san elizario, texas, and married the pretty daughter of carlos garcia, who, with his father and two brothers, so nobly defended howard and the rangers. now "billy the kid," with his pockets bulging with mexican gold, given him by segura, returned to the tunstall-mcsween cow camp, on the rio feliz, in lincoln county, new mexico. in the month of february, , w. s. morton, who held a commission as deputy sheriff, raised a posse of fighting cowboys and went to one of the tunstall cow-camps on the upper ruidoso river, to attach some horses, which were claimed by the murphy-dolan outfit. tunstall was at the camp with some of his employes, who "hid out" on the approach of morton and the posse. it was claimed by morton that tunstall fired the first shot, but that story was not believed by the opposition. in the fight, tunstall and his mount were killed. while laying on his face gasping for breath, tom hill, who was later killed while robbing a sheep camp, placed a rifle to the back of his head and blew out his brains. this murder took place on the th day of february, . before sunset a runner carried the news to "billy the kid," on the rio feliz. his anger was at the boiling point on hearing of the foul murder. he at once saddled his horse and started to lincoln, to consult with lawyer mcsween. now the lincoln county war was on with a vengeance and hatred, and the "kid" was to play a leading hand in it. he swore that he would kill every man who took part in the murder of his friend tunstall. at that time, lincoln county, new mexico, was the size of some states, about two hundred miles square, and only a few thousand inhabitants, mostly mexicans, scattered over its surface. on reaching the town of lincoln, the "kid" was informed by mcsween that e. m. bruer had been sworn in as a special constable, and was making up a posse to arrest the murderers of tunstall. "billy the kid" joined the bruer posse, and they started for the rio pecos river. on the th day of march, the bruer posse ran onto five mounted men at the lower crossing of the rio penasco, six miles from the pecos river. they fled and were pursued by bruer and his crowd. two of the fleeing cowboys separated from their companions. the "kid" recognized them as morton and baker, his former friends. he dashed after them, and the rest of the posse followed his lead. shots were being fired back and forth. at last morton's and baker's mounts fell over dead. the two men then crawled into a sink-hole to shield their bodies from the bullets. a parley was held, and the two men surrendered, after bruer had promised them protection. the "kid" protested against giving this pledge. he remarked: "my time will come." now the posse started for the chisum home ranch, on south spring river, with the two handcuffed prisoners. on the morning of the th day of march, the bruer posse started with the prisoners for lincoln, but pretended to be headed for fort sumner. the posse was made up of the following men: r. m. bruer, j. g. skurlock, charlie bowdre, "billy the kid," henry brown, frank mcnab, fred wayt, sam smith, jim french, john middleton and mcclosky. after traveling five miles they came to the little village of roswell. here they stopped to allow morton time to write a letter to his cousin, the hon. h. h. marshall, of richmond, virginia. ash upson was the postmaster in roswell, and morton asked him to notify his cousin in virginia, if the posse failed to keep their pledge of protection. mcclosky, who was standing near, remarked: "if harm comes to you two, they will have to kill me first." the party started out about a. m. from roswell. about p. m., martin chavez of picacho, arrived in roswell and reported to ash upson that the posse and their prisoners had quit the main road to lincoln and had turned off in the direction of agua negra, an unfrequented watering place. this move satisfied the postmaster that the doom of morton and baker was sealed. on march the eleventh, frank mcnab, one of the bruer posse, rode up to the post-office and dismounted. mr. upson expressed surprise and told him that he supposed he was in lincoln by this time. now mcnab confessed that morton, baker and mcclosky were dead. later, ash upson got the particulars from "billy the kid" of the killing. the "kid" and charlie bowdre were riding in the lead as they neared blackwater spring. mcclosky and middleton rode by the side of the two prisoners. the balance of the posse followed behind. finally brown and mcnab spurred up their horses and rode up to mcclosky and middleton. mcnab shoved a cocked pistol at mcclosky's head saying: "you are the s-- of a b-- that's got to die before harm can come to these fellows, are you?" now the trigger was pulled and mcclosky fell from his horse, dead, shot through the head. "billy the kid" heard the shot and wheeled his horse around in time to see the two prisoners dashing away on their mounts. the "kid" fired twice and morton and baker fell from their horses, dead. no doubt it was a put up job to allow the "kid" to kill the murderers of his friend tunstall, with his own hands. the posse rode on to lincoln, all but mcnab, who returned to roswell. the bodies of mcclosky, morton and baker were left where they fell. later they were buried by some sheep herders. thus ends the first chapter of the bloody lincoln county war. chapter v. the murder of sheriff brady and his deputy, hindman, by the "kid" and his band. "billy the kid" and jesse evans meet as enemies and part as friends. on returning to lincoln, "billy the kid" had many consultations with lawyer mcsween about the murder of tunstall. it was agreed to never let up until all the murderers were in their graves. the "kid" heard that one of tunstall's murderers was seen around dr. blazer's saw mill, near the mescalero apache indian reservation, on south fork, about forty miles from lincoln. he at once notified officer dick bruer, who made up a posse to search for roberts, an ex-soldier, a fine rider, and a dead shot. as the posse rode up to blazer's saw mill from the east, roberts came galloping up from the west. the "kid" put spurs to his horse and made a dash at him. both had pulled their winchester rifles from the scabbards. both men fired at the same time, robert's bullet went whizzing past the "kid's" ear, while the one from "billy the kid's" rifle, found lodgment in robert's body. it was a death wound, but gave roberts time to prove his bravery, and fine marksmanship. he fell from his mount and found concealment in an outhouse, from where he fought his last battle. the posse men dismounted and found concealment behind the many large saw logs, scattered over the ground. for a short time the battle raged, while the lifeblood was fast flowing from robert's wound. one of his bullets struck charlie bowdre, giving him a serious wound. another bullet cut off a finger from george coe's hand. still another went crashing through dick bruer's head, as he peeped over a log to get a shot at roberts; bruer fell over dead. this was robert's last shot, as he soon expired from the wound "billy the kid" had given him. a grave yard was now started on a round hill near the blazer saw mill, and in later years, mr. and mrs. george nesbeth, a little girl, and a strange man, who had died with their boots on--being fouly murdered--were buried in this miniature "boot hill" cemetery. two of the participants in the battle at blazer's saw mill, frank and george coe, are still alive, being highly respected ranchmen on the ruidoso river, where both have raised large families. after the battle at blazer's mill, the coe brothers joined issues with "billy the kid" and fought other battles against the murphy-dolan faction. in one battle frank coe was arrested and taken to the lincoln jail. through the aid of friends he made his escape. now that their lawful leader, dick bruer, was in his grave, the posse returned to lincoln. here they formed themselves into a band, without lawful authority, to avenge the murder of tunstall, until not one was left alive. by common consent, "billy the kid" was appointed their leader. in lincoln, lived one of "billy the kid's" enemies, j. b. mathews, known as billy mathews. while he had taken no part in the killing of tunstall, he had openly expressed himself in favor of jimmie dolan and murphy, and against the other faction. on the th day of march, billy mathews, unarmed, met the "kid" on the street by accident. mathews started into a doorway, just as the "kid" cut down on him with a rifle. the bullet shattered the door frame above his head. major william brady, a brave and honest man, was the sheriff of lincoln county. he was partial to the murphy-dolan faction, and this offended the opposition. he held warrants for "billy the kid" and his associates, for the killing of morton, baker, and roberts. on the first day of april, , sheriff brady left the murphy-dolan store, accompanied by george hindman and j. b. mathews to go to the court house and announce that no term of court would be held at the regular april term. the sheriff and his two companions carried rifles in their hands, as in those days every male citizen who had grown to manhood, went well armed. the tunstall and mcsween store stood about midway between the murphy-dolan store and the court house. in the rear of the tunstall-mcsween store, there was an adobe corral, the east side of which projected beyond the store building, and commanded a view of the street, over which the sheriff had to pass. on the top of this corral wall, "billy the kid" and his "warriors" had cut grooves in which to rest their rifles. as the sheriff and party came in sight, a volley was fired at them from the adobe fence. brady and hindman fell mortally wounded, and mathews found shelter behind a house on the south side of the street. ike stockton, who afterwards became a killer of men, and a bold desperado, in northwestern new mexico, and southwestern colorado, and who was killed in durango, colorado, at that time kept a saloon in lincoln, and was a friend of the "kid's." he ran out of his saloon to the wounded officers. hindman called for water; stockton ran to the bonita river, nearby, and brought him a drink in his hat. about this time, "billy the kid" leaped over the adobe wall and ran to the fallen officers. as he raised sheriff brady's rifle from the ground, j. b. mathews fired at him from his hiding place. the ball shattered the stock of the sheriff's rifle and plowed a furrow through the "kid's" side, but it proved not to be a dangerous wound. now "billy the kid" broke for shelter at the mcsween home. some say that he fired a parting shot into sheriff brady's head. others dispute it. at any rate both brady and hindman lay dead on the main street of lincoln. this cold-blooded murder angered many citizens of lincoln against the "kid" and his crowd. now they became outlaws in every sense of the word. from now on the "kid" and his "warriors" made their headquarters at mcsween's residence, when not scouting over the country searching for enemies, who sanctioned the killing of tunstall. often this little band of "warriors" would ride through the streets of lincoln to defy their enemies, and be royally treated by their friends. finally, george w. peppin was appointed sheriff of the county, and he appointed a dozen or more deputies to help uphold the law. still bloodshed and anarchy continued throughout the county, as the "kid's" crowd were not idle. san patricio, a mexican plaza on the ruidoso river, about eight miles below lincoln, was a favorite hangout for the "kid" and his "warriors," as most of the natives there were their sympathizers. one morning, before breakfast, in san patricio, jose miguel sedillo brought the "kid" news that jesse evans and a crowd of "seven river warriors" were prowling around in the hills, near the old bruer ranch, where a band of the chisum-mcsween horses were being kept. thinking that their intentions were to steal these horses, the "kid" and party started without eating breakfast. in the party, besides the "kid," were charlie bowdre, henry brown, j. g. skerlock, john middleton, and a young texan by the name of tom o'phalliard, who had lately joined the gang. on reaching the hills, the party split, the "kid" taking henry brown with him. soon the "kid" heard shooting in the direction taken by the balance of his party. putting spurs to his mount, he dashed up to jesse evans and four of his "warriors," who had captured charlie bowdre, and was joking him about his leader, the "kid." he remarked: "we are hungry, and thought we would roast the 'kid' for breakfast. we want to hear him bleat." at that moment a horseman dashed up among them from an arroyo. with a smile, charlie bowdre said, pointing at the "kid;" "there comes your breakfast, jesse!" with drawn pistol, "old gray" was checked up in front of his former chum in crime, jesse evans. with a smile, jesse remarked: "well, billy, this is a h--l of a way to introduce yourself to a private picnic party." the "kid" replied: "how are you, jesse? it's a long time since we met." jesse said: "i understand you are after the men who killed that englishman. i, nor none of my men were there." "i know you wasn't, jesse," replied the "kid." "if you had been, the ball would have been opened before now." soon the "kid" was joined by the rest of his party and both bands separated in peace. chapter vi. "billy the kid" and gang stand off a posse at the chisum ranch. a bloody battle in lincoln, which lasted three days. as time went on, sheriff peppin appointed new deputies on whom he could depend. among these being marion turner, of the firm of turner & jones, merchants at roswell, on the pecos river. for several years, turner had been employed by cattle king john chisum, and up to may, had helped to fight his battles, but for some reason he had seceded and became chisum's bitter enemy. marion turner was put in charge of the sheriff's forces in the pecos valley, and soon had about forty daring cowboys and cattlemen under his command. roswell was their headquarters. early in july, "billy the kid" and fourteen of his followers rode up to the chisum headquarters ranch, five miles from roswell, to make that their rendezvous. turner with his force tried to oust the "kid" and gang from their stronghold, but found it impossible, owing to the house being built like a fort to stand off indians, but he kept out spies to catch the "kid" napping. one morning, turner received word that the "kid" and party had left for fort sumner on the upper pecos river. the trail was followed about twenty miles up the river, where it switched off towards lincoln, a distance of about eighty or ninety miles. the trail was followed to lincoln, where it was found that "billy the kid" and gang had taken possession of mcsween's fine eleven-room residence, and were prepared to stand off an army. on arriving in lincoln with his posse, turner was joined by sheriff peppin and his deputies, and they made the "big house," as the murphy-dolan store was called, their headquarters. for three days shots were fired back and forth from the buildings, which were far apart. on the morning of july th, , marion turner concluded to take some of his men to the mcsween residence and demand the surrender of the "kid" and his "warriors." with turner were his business partner, john a. jones and eight other fearless men. at that moment the "kid" and party were in a rear room holding a consultation, otherwise some of the advancing party might have been killed. on reaching the thick adobe wall of the building, through which portholes had been cut, turner and his men found protection against the wall between these openings. when the "kid" and party returned to the port-holes they were hailed by turner, who demanded their surrender, as he had warrants for their arrest. the "kid" replied: "we, too, hold warrants for you and your gang, which we will serve on you, hot from the muzzles of our guns." about this time lieut. col. dudley, of the ninth cavalry, arrived from ft. stanton with a company of infantry and some artillery. planting his cannons midway between the belligerent parties, col. dudley proclaimed that he would turn his guns loose on the first of the two, who fired over the heads of his command. despite this warning, shots were fired back and forth, but no harm was done. now martin chavez, who at this writing is a prosperous merchant in santa fe, rode up with thirty-five mexicans, whom he had deputized to protect mcsween and the "kid's" party. col. dudley asked him under what authority he was acting. he replied that he held a certificate as deputy sheriff under brady. col. dudley told him that as sheriff brady was dead, and a new sheriff had been appointed, his commission was not in effect. still he proclaimed that he would protect the "kid" and mcsween. now col. dudley ordered chavez off the field of battle, or he would have his men fire on them. when the guns were pointed in their direction, the chavez crowd retreated to the ellis hotel. here he ordered his followers to fire on the soldiers if they opened up on the "kid" and party with their cannon. toward night the turner men, who were up against the mcsween residence, between the port-holes, managed to set fire to the front door and windows. a strong wind carried the blaze to the woodwork of other rooms. mrs. mcsween and her three lady friends had left the building before the fight started. she had made one trip back to see her husband. the firing ceased while she was in the house. in the front parlor, mrs. mcsween had a fine piano. to prevent it from burning, the "kid" moved it from one room to another until it was finally in the kitchen. the crowd made merry around the piano, singing and "pawing the ivory," as the "kid" expressed it to the writer a few months later. after dark, when the fiery flames began to lick their way into the kitchen, where the smoke begrimed band were congregated, a question of surrender was discussed, but the "kid" put his veto on the move. he stood near the outer door of the kitchen, with his rifle, and swore he would kill the first man who cried surrender. he had planned to wait until the last minute, then all rush out of the door together, and make a run for the bonita river, a distance of about fifty yards. finally the heat became so great, the kitchen door was thrown open. at this moment one mexican became frightened and called out at the top of his voice not to shoot, that they would surrender. the "kid" struck the fellow over the head with his rifle and knocked him senseless. when the mexican called out that they would surrender, robert w. beckwith, a cattleman of seven rivers, and john jones, stepped around the corner of the building in full view of the kitchen door. a shot was fired at beckwith and wounded him on the hand. then beckwith opened fire and shot lawyer mcsween, though this was not a death shot. another shot from beckwith's gun killed vicente romero. now the "kid" planted a bullet in beckwith's head, and he fell over dead. leaping over beckwith's body, the band made a run for the river. the "kid" was in the lead yelling: "come on, boys!" tom o'phalliard was in the rear. he made his escape amidst flying bullets, without a scratch, although he had stopped to pick up his friend harvey morris. finding him dead he dropped the body. mcsween fell dead in the back yard with nine bullets in his body, which was badly scorched by the fire, before he left the building. it was p. m. when the fight had ended. seven men had been killed and many wounded. only two of turner's posse were killed, while the "kid" lost five,--mcsween, morris and three mexicans. chapter vii. "billy the kid" kills two more men. at the head of a reckless band, he steals horses by the wholesale. he becomes desperately in love with miss dulcuiea del toboso. after their escape from lincoln, "billy the kid" got his little band together, and made a business of stealing stock and gambling. their headquarters were made in the hills near fort stanton--only a few miles above lincoln. the soldiers at the fort paid no attention to them. now governor lew wallace, the famous author of "ben hur," of santa fe, the capital of the territory of new mexico, issued a proclamation granting a pardon to "billy the kid" and his followers, if they would quit their lawlessness, but the "kid" laughed it off as a joke. on the th day of august, "billy the kid" and gang rode up in plain view of the mescalero indian agency and began rounding up a band of horses. a jew by the name of bernstein, mounted a horse and said he would go out and stop them. he was warned of the danger, but persisted in his purpose of preventing the stealing of their band of gentle saddle horses. when mr. bernstein rode up to the gang and told them to "vamoose," in other words, to hit the road, the "kid" drew his rifle and shot the poor jew dead. this was the "kid's" most cowardly act. his excuse was that he "didn't like a jew, nohow." during the fall the government had given a contract to a large gang of mexicans to put up several hundred tons of hay at $ a ton. as they drew their pay, the "kid" and gang were on hand to deal monte and win their money. when the contract was finished, there was no more business for the "kid's" monte game, so with his own hand, as told to the author by himself, he set fire to the hay stacks one windy night. now the government gave another contract for several hundred tons of hay at $ a ton--as the work had to be rushed before frost killed the grass. when pay day came around the "kid's" monte game was raking in money again. the new stacks were allowed to stand, as it was too late in the season to cut the grass for more hay. during the fall the "kid" and some of his gang made trips to fort sumner. bowdre and skurlock always remained near their wives in lincoln, but finally those two outlaws moved their families to "sumner," where a rendezvous was established. here one of their gang, who always kept in the dark, and worked on the sly, lived with his mexican wife, a sister to the wife of pat garrett. his name was barney mason, and he carried a curse of god on his brow for the killing of john farris, a cowboy friend of the writer's, in the early winter of . on one of his trips to fort sumner, "billy the kid" fell desperately in love with a pretty little seventeen-year-old half-breed mexican girl, whom we will call miss dulcinea del toboso. she was a daughter of a once famous man, and a sister to a man who owned sheep on a thousand hills. the falling in love with this pretty, young miss, was virtually the cause of "billy the kid's" death, as up to the last he hovered around fort sumner like a moth around a blazing candle. he had no thought of getting his wings singed; he couldn't resist the temptation of visiting this pretty little miss. during the month of september, , the "kid" and part of his gang visited the town of lincoln, and on leaving there stole a large band of fine range horses from charlie fritz and others. this band of horses was driven to fort sumner, thence east to tascosa in the wild panhandle of texas, on the canadian river. while disposing of these horses to the cattlemen and cowboys, the "kid" and his gang camped for several weeks at the "lx" cattle ranch, twenty miles below tascosa. it was here, during the months of october and november, , that the writer made the acquaintance of "billy the kid," tom o'phalliard, henry brown, fred wyat, john middleton, and others of the gang whose names can't be recalled. the author had just returned from chicago where he had taken a shipment of fat steers, and found this gang of outlaws camped under some large cottonwood trees, within a few hundred yards of the "lx" headquarter ranch house. for a few weeks, much of my time was spent with "billy the kid." we became quite chummy. he presented me with a nicely bound book, in which he wrote his autograph. i had previously given him a fine meerschaum cigar holder. while loafing in their camp, we passed off the time playing cards and shooting at marks. with our colt's pistols i could hit the mark as often as the "kid," but when it came to quick shooting, he could get in two shots to my one. i found "billy the kid" to be a good natured young man. he was always cheerful and smiling. being still in his teens, he had no sign of a beard. his eyes were a hazel blue, and his brown hair was long and curly. the skin on his face was tanned to a chestnut brown, and was as soft and tender as a baby's. he weighed about one hundred and forty pounds, and was five feet, eight inches tall. his only defects were two upper front teeth, which projected outward from his well shaped mouth. during his many visits to tascosa, where whiskey was plentiful, the "kid" never got drunk. he seemed to drink more for sociability than for the "love of liquor." here henry brown and fred wyat quit the "kid's" outlaw gang and went to the chickasaw nation, in the indian territory, where the parents of half-breed fred wyat lived. it is said that fred wyat, in later years, served as a member of the oklahoma legislature. henry brown became city marshal of caldwell, kansas, and while wearing his star rode to the nearby town of medicine lodge, with three companions and in broad day light, held up the bank, killing the president, wiley payne, and his cashier, george jeppert. this put an end to henry brown, as the enraged citizens mobbed the whole band of "bad men." the snow had begun to fly when the "kid" and the remnant of his gang returned to fort sumner, new mexico. one of his followers, john middleton, had sworn off being an outlaw and rode away from tascosa, for southern kansas, where the author met him in later years. he had settled down to a peaceful life. the "kid" made his headquarters at fort sumner, so as to be near his sweetheart. he made several raids into lincoln county to steal cattle and horses. on one of these trips to lincoln county, his respect for women and children, avoided a bloody battle with united states soldiers. in the month of february, , wm. h. mcbroom, at the head of a united states surveying crew, established a camp at the roberts ranch on the penasco creek, in the pecos valley. while absent with most of his crew, mr. mcbroom left a young man, twenty-two years of age, will m. tipton, in charge of the camp and extra mules. a young mexican by the name of nicholas gutierez was detailed to help young tipton care for the stock. their camp was within a few hundred feet of the roberts home, on the bank of the creek. one morning mr. roberts started up the river to roswell to buy supplies, leaving his wife, grown daughter, and five-year-old son at the ranch. late that evening, captain hooker and some negro soldiers pitched camp near the roberts home. they had several american prisoners with them, to be taken to fort stanton and placed in jail. that night after supper, mr. will m. tipton, who at this writing, , is a highly respected citizen of santa fe, new mexico, says he and nicolas gutierez were sitting on the bank of the creek in their camp. he was playing a guitar while nicolas was singing. just then a horseman climbed up the steep embankment from the bed of the creek, and dismounted. this stranger began asking questions about the soldiers' camp, where the camp-fires blazed brilliantly in the pitchy darkness. finally the stranger gave a shrill whistle, and soon a companion rode into camp, out of the bed of the creek. this second visitor was a slender, boyish young man, who seemed anxious to learn all about the soldiers' camp. in a few moments three negro soldiers strolled into camp and chatted awhile. when they left to return to their quarters, the two strangers bade tipton and his companion goodnight, and rode down the bed of the creek. at noon next day, mr. roberts returned from roswell. on meeting young tipton, he remarked: "you boys had 'billy the kid' as a visitor last night." he then told of meeting the "kid" and his band of "warriors" that morning, and of how the "kid" told of his visit to the mcbroom camp. he told will tipton that the small young man was the "kid." "billy the kid" had told roberts that they had planned to make a charge into the soldiers' camp and liberate the prisoners, who were friends of theirs, but finding that mrs. roberts and the children were alone, and that the soldiers' camp was so near the roberts home, they gave up the proposed battle, knowing that the shooting would disturb mrs. roberts and the family. mr. roberts explained to mr. tipton that he had always fed the "kid" and his "warriors" when they happened by his place, hence their friendship for him. now the "kid" and his party rode to lincoln to use their influence in a peaceful way to liberate their friends, whom capt. hooker intended to turn over to the new sheriff of lincoln county. in lincoln the "kid" met his former chum, jesse evans, and they started out to celebrate the meeting. with jesse evans was a desperado named william campbell. one night a lawyer named chapman, who had been sent from las vegas to settle up the mcsween estate, was in the saloon, when campbell shot at his feet to make him dance. the lawyer protested indignantly and was shot dead by campbell. jimmie dolan and j. b. mathews, being present, were later arrested, along with campbell, for this killing. dolan and mathews came clear at the preliminary trial, and campbell was bound over to the grand jury. he was taken to fort stanton and placed in jail. there he made his escape and has never been heard of in that part of the country since. now "billy the kid" and tom o'phalliard rode back to fort sumner, but soon returned to lincoln, where they were arrested by sheriff kimbrall and his deputies--merely as a matter of performing their duty, but with no intention of disgracing them. they were turned over to deputy sheriff t. b. longworth and guarded in the home of don juan patron, where they were wined and dined. on the st day of march, , deputy sheriff longworth received orders to place his two prisoners in the town jail--a filthy hole. arriving at the jail door, the "kid" told mr. longworth that he had been in this jail once before, and he swore he would never go into it again, but to avoid making trouble, he would go back on his pledge. on a pine door to one of the cells, the "kid" wrote with his pencil: "william bonney was incarcerated first time, december nd, --second time, march st, , and hope i will never be again. w. h. bonney." this inscription showed on the old jail door for many years after it was written. the first time the "kid" was put in this jail he walked right out, and this second time, he broke down the door when he got ready to go. after breaking out of the jail, the "kid" and o'phalliard spent a couple of weeks in lincoln, carrying their rifles whenever they walked through the street, in plain view of the sheriff. in april, they returned to fort sumner and were joined by charlie bowdre and skurlock. jesse evans had left for the lower pecos, where he was later killed, according to reports. the summer was spent by the "kid" and his followers stealing cattle and horses. in october they went to roswell and stole head of john chisum's fattest steers, and later sold them to colorado beef buyers. the "kid" claimed that chisum owed him for fighting his battles during the lincoln county war, and he was using this method to get his pay. from now on, for the next year, the "kid" and gang did a wholesale business in stealing cattle. tom cooper and his gang had joined issues with the "kid" and party, and they established headquarters at the portales lake--a salty body of water at the foot of the staked plains, about seventy-five miles east of fort sumner. here a permanent camp was pitched against a cliff of rock, at a fresh water spring, and it afterward became noted as "billy the kid's" cave. a rock wall had been built against the cliff to take in the spring, and afforded protection as a fort in case of a surprise from indians or law-officers. they had the whole country to themselves, as there were no inhabitants--only drifting bands of buffalo hunters. raids were made into the texas panhandle, the western line being a few miles east of their camp, and fat steers stolen from the "lx" and "lit" cattle ranges on the canadian river. these herds of stolen steers were driven to tularosa, in dona ana county, new mexico, and turned over to pat cohglin, the "king of tularosa," who had a contract to furnish beef to the u. s. soldiers at ft. stanton. cohglin had made a deal with "billy the kid" to buy all the steers he could steal in the texas panhandle, and deliver to him in tularosa. in january, , the "kid" added another notch on the handle of his pistol as a mankiller. he and a crowd of the chisum cowboys were celebrating in bob hargroves' saloon in fort sumner. a bad-man from texas, by the name of joe grant, was filling his hide full of "kill-me-quick" whiskey, in the hargroves' saloon. grant pulled a fine, ivory-handled colt's pistol from the scabbard of cowboy finan, putting his own pistol in place of it. here the "kid" asked grant to let him look at this beautiful, ivory-handled pistol. the request was granted. then the "kid" revolved the cylinder and saw there were two empty chambers. he let the hammer down so that the first two attempts to shoot would be failures. now the pretty pistol was handed back to grant and he stuck it in his scabbard. a little later grant stepped behind the bar, so as to face the crowd, and jerking his pistol, he began knocking glasses off the bar with it. eyeing "billy the kid," he remarked: "pard, i'll kill a man quicker than you will, for the whiskey." the "kid" accepted the challenge. grant fired at the "kid," but the hammer struck on an empty chamber. now the "kid" planted a ball between grant's eyes and he fell over dead. at the bosque grande, on the pecos river, the three dedrick boys, sam, dan, and mose, owned a ranch, which became quite a rendezvous for the "kid's" and tom cooper's gangs. from here the herds of stolen panhandle, texas, cattle were started across the waterless desert to the foot of the capitan mountains, a distance of about one hundred miles. here dave rudabaugh, who had the previous fall killed the jailer in las vegas in trying to liberate his friend, webb, joined "billy the kid's" gang. also billy wilson and tom pickett joined the party, and their time was spent stealing cattle and horses. chapter viii. "billy the kid" adds one more notch to his gun as a killer. trapped at last by pat garrett and posse. two of his gang killed. in jail at santa fe. in the year , rich gold ore had been struck on baxter mountain, three miles from white oaks spring, about thirty miles north of lincoln, and the new town of white oaks was established, with a population of about one thousand souls. the "kid" had many friends in this hurrah mining camp. he had shot up the town, and was wanted by the law officers. on the rd day of november, , the "kid" celebrated his birthday in white oaks, under cover, among friends. on riding out of town with his gang after dark, he took one friendly shot at deputy sheriff jim woodland, who was standing in front of the pioneer saloon. the chances are he had no intention of shooting woodland, as he was a warm friend to his chum, tom o'phalliard, who was riding by his side. o'phalliard and jim woodland had come to new mexico from texas together, a few years previous. woodland is still a resident of lincoln county, with a permanent home on the large block cattle ranch. this shot woke up deputy sheriffs jim carlyle and j. n. bell, who fired parting shots at the gang, as they galloped out of town. the next day a posse was made up of leading citizens of white oaks with deputy sheriff will hudgens and jim carlyle in command. they followed the trail of the outlaw gang to coyote spring, where they came onto the gang in camp. shots were exchanged. "billy the kid" had sprung onto his horse, which was shot from under him. when the "kid's" gang fired on the posse, johnny hudgens' mount fell over dead, shot in the head. the weather was bitter cold and snow lay on the ground. without overcoat or gloves, "billy the kid" rushed for the hills, afoot, after his horse fell. the rest of the gang had become separated, and each one looked out for himself. in the outlaws' camp the posse found a good supply of grub and plunder. jim carlyle appropriated the "kid's" gloves and put them on his hands. no doubt they were the real cause of his death later. with "billy the kid's" saddle, overcoat and the other plunder found in the outlaws' camp, the posse returned to white oaks, arriving there about dark. it would seem from all accounts that "billy the kid" trailed the posse into white oaks, where he found shelter at the dedrick and west livery stable. he was seen on the street during the night. on november th, a posse of white oaks citizens under command of jim carlyle and will hudgens, rode to the jim greathouse road-ranch, about forty miles north, arriving there before daylight. their horses were secreted, and they made breastworks of logs and brush, so as to cover the ranch house, which was known to be a rendezvous of the "kid's" gang. after daylight the cook came out of the house with a nosebag and ropes to hunt the horses which had been hobbled the evening before. this cook, steck, was captured by the posse behind the breastworks. he confessed that the "kid" and his gang were in the house. now steck was sent to the house with a note to the "kid" demanding his surrender. the reply he sent back by steck read: "you can only take me a corpse." the proprietor of the ranch, jim greathouse, accompanied steck back to the posse behind the logs. jimmie carlyle suggested that he go to the house unarmed and have a talk with the "kid." will hudgens wouldn't agree to this until after greathouse said he would remain to guarantee carlyle's safe return. that if the "kid" should kill carlyle, they could take his life. a time limit was set for carlyle's return, or greathouse would be killed. this was written on a note and sent by steck to the "kid." when carlyle entered the saloon, in the front part of the log building, the "kid" greeted him in a friendly manner, but seeing his gloves sticking out of carlyle's coat pocket, he grabbed them, saying: "what in the h--l are you doing with my gloves?" of course this brought back the misery he had endured without gloves after the posse raided their camp at coyote spring. here he invited carlyle up to the bar to take his last drink on earth--as he said he intended to kill him when the whiskey was down. after carlyle had drained his glass the "kid" pulled his pistol and told him to say his prayers before he fired. with a laugh the "kid" put up his pistol, saying, "why, jimmie, i wouldn't kill you. let's all take another friendly drink." now the time was spent singing and dancing. every time the gang took a drink, carlyle had to join them in a social glass. the "kid" afterwards told friends that he had no intention of killing carlyle, that he just wanted to detain him till after dark, so they could make a dash for liberty. the time had just expired when the posse were to kill jim greathouse, if carlyle was not back. at that moment a man behind the breastworks fired a shot at the house. carlyle supposed this shot had killed greathouse, which would result in his own death. he leaped for the glass window, taking sash and all with him. the "kid" fired a bullet into him. when he struck the ground he began crawling away on his hands and knees, as he was badly wounded. now the "kid" finished him with a well aimed shot from his pistol. the men behind the logs were witnesses to this murder,--as they could see carlyle crawling away from the window. now they opened fire with a vengeance on the building. the gang had previously piled sacks of grain and flour against the doors, to keep out the bullets. in the excitement, jim greathouse slipped away from the posse and ran through the woods. finding one of his own hobbled ponies, he mounted him and rode away. he was later shot by desperado joe fowler, with a double-barrel shot gun, as he lay in bed asleep. this murder took place on joe fowler's cattle ranch west of socorro, new mexico. after dark the posse concluded to return to white oaks, as they were cold and hungry. they had brought no grub with them, and they dared not build a fire to keep warm, for fear of being shot by the gang. a few hours later the "kid" and gang made a break for liberty, intending to fight the posse to a finish, they not knowing that the officers had departed. all night the gang waded through the deep snow, afoot. they arrived at mr. spence's ranch at daylight, and ate a hearty breakfast. then continued their journey towards anton chico on the pecos river. about daylight that morning, will hudgens, johnny hurley, and jim brent made up a large posse and started to the greathouse road-ranch. arriving there, they found the place vacated. the buildings were set afire, then the journey continued on the gang's trail, in the deep snow. a highly respected citizen, by the name of spence, had established a road-ranch on a cut-off road between white oaks and las vegas. the gang's trail led up to this ranch, and mr. spence acknowledged cooking breakfast for them. now mr. spence was dragged to a tree with a rope around his neck to hang him. many of the posse protested against the hanging of spence, and his life was spared, but revenge was taken by burning up his buildings. the "kid's" trail was now followed into a rough, hilly country and there abandoned. then the posse returned to white oaks. in anton chico, the "kid" and his party stole horses and saddles, and rode down the pecos river. a few days later, pat garrett, the sheriff of lincoln county, arrived in anton chico from fort sumner, to make up a posse to run down the "kid" and his gang. at this time the writer and bob roberson had arrived in anton chico from tascosa, texas, with a crew of fighting cowboys, to help run down the "kid," and put a stop to the stealing of panhandle, texas, cattle. the author had charge of five "warriors," jas. h. east, cal polk, lee hall, frank clifford (big-foot wallace), and lon chambers. we were armed to the teeth, and had four large mules to draw the mess-wagon, driven by the mexican cook, francisco. bob roberson was in charge of five riders and a mess-wagon. at our camp, west of anton chico, pat garrett met us, and we agreed to loan him a few of our "warriors." the writer turned over to him three men, jim east, lon chambers and lee hall. bob roberson turned over to him three cowboys, tom emmory, bob williams, and louis bozeman. we then continued our journey to white oaks in a raging snow storm. pat garrett started down the pecos river with his crew, consisting of our six cowboys, his brother-in-law, barney mason, and frank stewart, who had been acting as detective for the panhandle cattlemen's association. at fort sumner, pat garrett deputized charlie rudolph and a few mexican friends, to join the crowd which now numbered about thirteen men. finding that the "kid" and party had been in fort sumner, and made the old abandoned united states hospital building, where lived charlie bowdre and his half-breed mexican wife, their headquarters, pat garrett concluded to camp there. he figured that the outlaws would return and visit mrs. charlie bowdre, whose husband was one of the outlaw band. in order to get a true record of the capture of "billy the kid" and gang, the author wrote to james h. east, of douglas, arizona, for the facts. jim east is the only known living participant in that tragic event. his reputation for honesty and truthfulness is above par wherever he is known. he served eight years as sheriff of oldham county, texas, at tascosa, and was city marshal for several years in douglas, arizona. herewith his letter to the writer is printed in full: "douglas, arizona, may st, . dear charlie: yours of the th received, and contents noted. i will try to answer your questions, but you know after a lapse of forty years, one's memory may slip a cog. first: we were quartered in the old government hospital building in ft. sumner, the night of the first fight. lon chambers was on guard. our horses were in pete maxwell's stable. sheriff pat garrett, tom emory, bob williams, and barney mason were playing poker on a blanket on the floor. i had just laid down on my blanket in the corner, when chambers ran in and told us that the 'kid' and his gang were coming. it was about eleven o'clock at night. we all grabbed our guns and stepped out in the yard. just then the 'kid's' men came around the corner of the old hospital building, in front of the room occupied by charlie bowdre's woman and her mother. tom o'phalliard was riding in the lead. garrett yelled out: 'throw up your hands!' but o'phalliard jerked his pistol. then the shooting commenced. it being dark, the shooting was at random. tom o'phalliard was shot through the body, near the heart, and lost control of his horse. 'kid' and the rest of his men whirled their horses and ran up the road. o'phalliard's horse came up near us, and tom said: 'don't shoot any more, i am dying.' we helped him off his horse and took him in, and laid him down on my blanket. pat and the other boys then went back to playing poker. i got tom some water. he then cussed garrett and died, in about thirty minutes after being shot. the horse that dave rudabaugh was riding was shot, but not killed instantly. we found the dead horse the next day on the trail, about one mile or so east of ft. sumner. after dave's horse fell down from loss of blood, he got up behind billy wilson, and they all went to wilcox's ranch that night. the next morning a big snow storm set in and put out their trail, so we laid over in sumner and buried tom o'phalliard. the next night, after the fight, it cleared off and about midnight, mr. wilcox rode in and reported to us that the "kid," dave rudabaugh, billy wilson, tom pickett, and charlie bowdre, had eaten supper at his ranch about dark, then pulled out for the little rock house at stinking spring. so we saddled up and started about one o'clock in the morning. we got to the rock house just before daylight. our horses were left with frank stewart and some of the other boys under guard, while garrett took lee hall, tom emory and myself with him. we crawled up the arroyo to within about thirty feet of the door, where we lay down in the snow. there was no window in this house, and only one door, which we would cover with our guns. the "kid" had taken his race mare into the house, but the other three horses were standing near the door, hitched by ropes to the vega poles. just as day began to show, charlie bowdre came out to feed his horse, i suppose, for he had a moral in one hand. garrett told him to throw up his hands, but he grabbed at his six-shooter. then garrett and lee hall both shot him in the breast. emory and i didn't shoot, for there was no use to waste ammunition then. charlie turned and went into the house, and we heard the 'kid' say to him: 'charlie, you are done for. go out and see if you can't get one of the s--of--b's before you die.' charlie then walked out with his hand on his pistol, but was unable to shoot. we didn't shoot, for we could see he was about dead. he stumbled and fell on lee hall. he started to speak, but the words died with him. now garrett, lee, tom and i, fired several shots at the ropes which held the horses, and cut them loose--all but one horse which was half way in the door. garrett shot him down, and that blocked the door, so the 'kid' could not make a wolf dart on his mare. we then held a medicine talk with the kid, but of course couldn't see him. garrett asked him to give up, billy answered: 'go to h--l, you long-legged s-- of a b!' garrett then told tom emory and i to go around to the other side of the house, as we could hear them trying to pick out a port-hole. then we took it, time about, guarding the house all that day. when nearly sundown, we saw a white handkerchief on a stick, poked out of the chimney. some of us crawled up the arroyo near enough to talk to 'billy.' he said they had no show to get away, and wanted to surrender, if we would give our word not to fire into them, when they came out. we gave the promise, and they came out with their hands up, but that traitor, barney mason, raised his gun to shoot the 'kid,' when lee hall and i covered barney and told him to drop his gun, which he did. now we took the prisoners and the body of charlie bowdre to the wilcox ranch, where we stayed until next day. then to ft. sumner, where we delivered the body of bowdre to his wife. garrett asked louis bousman and i to take bowdre in the house to his wife. as we started in with him, she struck me over the head with a branding iron, and i had to drop charlie at her feet. the poor woman was crazy with grief. i always regretted the death of charlie bowdre, for he was a brave man, and true to his friends to the last. before we left ft. sumner with the prisoners for santa fe, the 'kid' asked garrett to let tom emory and i go along as guards, which, as you know, he did. the 'kid' made me a present of his winchester rifle, but old beaver smith made such a roar about an account he said 'billy' owed him, that at the request of 'billy,' i gave old beaver the gun. i wish now i had kept it. on the road to santa fe, the 'kid' told garrett this: that those who live by the sword, die by the sword. part of that prophecy has come true. pat garrett got his, but i am still alive. i must close. you may use any quotations from my letters, for they are true. good luck to you. mrs. east joins me in best wishes. sincerely yours, jas. h. east." the author had previously written to jim east about "billy the kid's" sweetheart, miss dulcinea del toboso. here is a quotation from his answer, of april th, : "your recollection of dulcinea del toboso, about tallies with the way i remember her. she was rather stout, built like her mother, but not so dark. "after we captured 'billy the kid' at arroyo tivan, we took him, dave rudabaugh, billy wilson, and tom pickett--also the dead body of charlie bowdre--to fort sumner. "after dinner mrs. toboso sent over an old navajo woman to ask pat garrett to let 'billy' come over to the house and see them before taking him to santa fe. so garrett told lee hall and i to guard 'billy' and dave rudebough over to toboso's, dave and 'billy' being shackled together. as we went over the lock on dave's leg came loose, and 'billy' being very superstitious, said: 'that is a bad sign. i will die, and dave will go free,' which, as you know, proved true. "when we went in the house only mrs. toboso, dulcinea, and the old navajo woman were there. "mrs. toboso asked hall and i to let 'billy' and dulcinea go into another room and talk awhile, but we did not do so, for it was only a stall of 'billy's' to make a run for liberty, and the old lady and the girl were willing to further the scheme. the lovers embraced, and she gave 'billy' one of those soul kisses the novelists tell us about, till it being time to hit the trail for vegas, we had to pull them apart, much against our wishes, for you know all the world loves a lover." it was december rd, , when the "kid" and gang, dave rudebaugh, tom pickett and billy wilson--were captured, and charlie bowdre killed. the prisoners were taken to the nearest railroad, at las vegas, where a mob tried to take them away from the posse, to string them up. they were placed in the county jail at santa fe, the capital of the territory of new mexico, as the penitentiary was not yet completed. dave rudebaugh was tried and sentenced to death for the killing of the jailer in las vegas. later he made his escape and has never been heard of since. chapter ix. "billy the kid" is sentenced to hang. he kills his two guards and makes good his escape. in the latter part of february, , "billy the kid" was taken to mesilla to be tried for the murder of roberts at blazer's saw mill. judge bristol presided over the district court, and assigned ira e. leonard to defend the "kid." he was acquitted for the murder of roberts. in the same term of court, the "kid" was put on trial for the murder of sheriff wm. brady, in april, . this time he was convicted, and sentenced to hang on the th day of may, , in the court house yard in lincoln. deputy united states marshall, robert ollinger, and deputy sheriff david wood, drove the "kid" in a covered back to fort stanton, and turned him over to sheriff pat garrett. as lincoln had no suitable jail, an upstairs room in the large adobe court house was selected as the "kid's" last home on earth--as the officers supposed, but fate decided otherwise. bob ollinger and j. w. bell were selected to guard "billy the kid" until the time came for shutting off his wind with a rope. the room selected for the "kid's" home was large, and in the northeast corner of the building, upstairs. there were two windows in it, one on the east side and the other on the north, fronting the main street. in order to get out of this room one had to pass through a hall into another room, where a back stairs led down to the rear yard. in a room in the southwest corner of the building, the surplus firearms were kept, in a closet, or armory. one room was assigned as the sheriff's private office. the "kid's" furniture consisted of a pair of steel hand-cuffs, steel shackles for his legs, a stool, and a cot. bob ollinger, the chief guard, was a large, powerful middle-aged man, with a mean disposition. he and the "kid" were bitter enemies on account of having killed warm friends of each other during the bloody lincoln county war. it is said that ollinger shot one of the "kid's" friends to death while holding his right hand with his, ollinger's, left hand. after this local war had ended, the fellow stepped up to ollinger to shake hands and to bury the hatchet of former hatred. ollinger extended his left hand, and grabbed the man's right, holding it fast until he had shot him to death. of course this cowardly act left a scar on "billy the kid's" heart, which only death could heal. j. w. bell was a tall, slender man of middle age, with a large knife scar across one cheek. he had come from san antonio, texas. he held a grudge against the "kid" for the killing of his friend, jimmie carlyle, otherwise there was no enmity between them. in the latter part of april, cowboy charlie wall had four mexicans helping him irrigate an alfalfa field, above the mexican village of tularosa, on tularosa river. a large band of tularosa mexicans appeared on the scene one morning, to prevent young wall from using water for his thirsty alfalfa. when the smoke of battle cleared away, four tularosa mexicans lay dead on the ground and charlie wall had two bullet wounds in his body, though they were not dangerous wounds. now, to prevent being mobbed by the angry citizens of tularosa, which was just over the line in dona ana county, wall and his helpers made a run, on horseback, for lincoln, to surrender to sheriff pat garrett. the sheriff allowed them to wear their pistols and to sleep in the old jail. at meal times they accompanied either bob ollinger or j. w. bell, to the ellis hotel across the main street, which ran east and west through town. charlie wall did his loafing while recovering from his bullet wounds, in the room where the "kid" was kept. on the morning of april th, , sheriff garrett prepared to leave for white oaks, thirty-five miles north, to have a scaffold made to hang the "kid" on. before starting, he went into the room where the "kid" sat on his stool, guarded by ollinger, who was having a friendly chat with charlie wall--the man who gave the writer the full details of the affair. j. w. bell was also present in the room. garrett remarked to the two guards: "say, boys, you must keep a close watch on the 'kid,' as he has only a few more days to live, and might make a break for liberty." bob ollinger answered: "don't worry, pat, we will watch him like a goat." now ollinger stepped into the other room and got his double-barrel shot gun. with the gun in his hand, and looking towards the "kid," he said: "there are eighteen buckshot in each barrel, and i reckon the man who gets them will feel it." with a smile, "billy the kid" remarked: "you may be the one to get them yourself." now ollinger put the gun back in the armory, locking the door, putting the key in his pocket. then garrett left for white oaks. about five o'clock in the evening, bob ollinger took charlie wall and the other four armed prisoners to the ellis hotel, across the street, for supper. bell was left to guard the "kid." according to the story "billy the kid" told mrs. charlie bowdre, and other friends, after his escape, he had been starving himself so that he could slip his left hand out of the steel cuff. the guards thought he had lost his appetite from worry over his approaching death. j. w. bell sat on a chair, facing the "kid," several paces away. he was reading a newspaper. the "kid" slipped his left hand out of the cuff and made a spring for the guard, striking him over the head with the steel cuff. bell threw up both hands to shield his head from another blow. then the "kid" jerked bell's pistol out of its scabbard. now bell ran out of the door and received a bullet from his own pistol. the body of bell tumbled down the back stairs, falling on the jailer, a german by the name of geiss, who was sitting at the foot of the stairs. of course geiss stampeded. he flew out of the gate towards the ellis hotel. on hearing the shot, bob ollinger and the five armed prisoners, got up from the supper table and ran to the street. charlie wall and the four mexicans stopped on the sidewalk, while ollinger continued to run towards the court house. after killing bell, the "kid" broke in the door to the armory and secured ollinger's shot-gun. then he hobbled to the open window facing the hotel. when in the middle of the street, ollinger met the stampeded jailer, and as he passed, he said: "bell has killed the "kid." this caused ollinger to quit running. he walked the balance of the way. when directly under the window, the "kid" stuck his head out, saying: "hello, bob!" ollinger looked up and saw his own shotgun pointed at him. he said, in a voice loud enough to be heard by wall and the other prisoners across the street: "yes, he has killed me, too!" these words were hardly out of the guard's mouth when the "kid" fired a charge of buckshot into his heart. now "billy the kid" hobbled back to the armory and buckled around his waist two belts of cartridges and two colt's pistols. then taking a winchester rifle in his hand, he hobbled back to the shot gun, which he picked up. he then went out on the small porch in front of the building. reaching over the ballisters with the shotgun, he fired the other charge into ollinger's body. then breaking the shotgun in two, across the ballisters, he threw the pieces at the corpse, saying: "take that, you s-- of a b--, you will never follow me with that gun again." now the "kid" hailed the jailer, old man geiss, and told him to throw up a file, which he did. then the chain holding his feet close together was filed in two. when his legs were free, the "kid" danced a jig on the little front porch, where many people, who had run out to the sidewalk across the street, on hearing the shots, were witnesses to this free show, which couldn't be beat for money. geiss was hailed again and told to saddle up billy burt's, the deputy county clerk's, black pony and bring him out on the street. this black pony had formerly belonged to the "kid." when the pony stood on the street, ready for the last act, the "kid" went down the back stairs, stepping over the dead body of bell, and started to mount. being encumbered with the weight of two pistols, two belts full of ammunition, and the rifle, the "kid" was thrown to the ground, when the pony began bucking, before he had got into the saddle. now the "kid" faced the crowd across the street, holding the rifle ready for action. charlie wall told the writer that he could have killed him with his pistol, but that he wanted to see him escape. many other men in the crowd felt the same way, no doubt. when the pony was brought back the "kid" gave geiss his rifle to hold, while he mounted. the rifle being handed back to him when he was securely seated in the saddle, then he dug the pony in the sides with his heels, and galloped west. at the edge of town he waved his hat over his head, yelling: "three cheers for billy the kid!" now the curtain went down, for the time being. chapter x. "billy the kid" goes back to his sweetheart in fort sumner. shot through the heart by sheriff pat garret, and buried by the side of his chum, tom o'phalliard. a few days after the "kid's" escape, billy burt's black pony returned to lincoln dragging a rope. he had either escaped or been turned loose by the "kid." the next we hear of the "kid" he visited friends in las tablas, and stole a horse from andy richardson. from there he headed for fort sumner to see his sweetheart, miss dulcinea del toboso. it was said he tried to persuade her to run away with him, and go to old mexico to live in happiness ever afterward. but that sweet little dulce refused to leave mamma. the "kid" found shelter and concealment in the home of mrs. charlie bowdre and her mother. one night a few weeks after his escape, the writer was within whispering distance of "billy the kid." myself and a crowd of cowboys had attended a mexican dance. mrs. charlie bowdre was there, dressed like a young princess. she captured the heart of the author, so that he danced with her often, and escorted her to the midnight supper. about three o'clock in the morning the dance broke up and the writer escorted the pretty young widow, mrs. charlie bowdre, to her adobe home. at the front door, i almost got down on my knees pleading for her to let me go into the house and talk awhile, but no use, she insisted that her mother would object. now a wine-soaked young cowboy with jingling spurs on his high-heel boots, staggered into camp and "piled" into bed, spread on the ground under a cottonwood tree, to dream of mexican "fandangos," where the girls have no choice of partners. without an introduction the man walks up to the girl of his choice and leads her out on the floor to dance to his heart's content. about six months later, in the fall of , after the "kid" had been killed, the writer was in fort sumner again, and attended a dance with mrs. charlie bowdre. now she explained the reason for not letting me enter the house. she said at that time, "billy the kid," who was in hiding at her home, was on the inside of the door listening to our conversation. that he recognized my voice. here mrs. bowdre told me the facts in the case, of how "billy the kid" met his death, bare-headed and bare-footed, with a butcher knife in his hand. while in hiding in fort sumner the "kid" stole a saddle horse from mr. montgomery bell, who had ridden into town from his ranch fifty miles above, on the rio pecos. bell supposed the horse had been ridden off by a common mexican thief. he hired barney mason and a mr. curington to go with him to hunt the animal. they started down the stream, bell keeping on one side of the river, while mason and curington headed for a sheep camp in the foot hills. riding up to the tent in the sheep camp, the "kid" stepped out with his winchester rifle, and hailed them. barney mason was armed to the teeth, and was on a swift horse. he had on a new pair of spurs and nearly wore them out making his get-away. mr. curington rode up to his friend, "billy the kid," and had a friendly chat. the "kid" told mr. curington to tell montgomery bell that he would return his horse, or pay for him. when curington reported the matter to mr. bell, he was satisfied and searched no more for the animal. after the "kid's" escape from lincoln, sheriff pat garrett "laid low," and tried to find out the "kid's" whereabouts through his friends and associates. in march, , a deputy united states marshal by the name of john w. poe arrived in the booming mining camp of white oaks. he had been sent to new mexico by the cattlemen's association of the texas panhandle. cattle king charlie goodnight, being the president of the association, had selected mr. poe as the proper man to put a stop to the stealing of panhandle cattle by "billy the kid" and gang. after the "kid's" escape, pat garrett went to white oaks and deputized john w. poe to assist him in rounding up the "kid." from now on mr. poe made trips out in the mountains trying to locate the young outlaw. the "kid's" best friends argued that he was "nobody's fool," and would not remain in the united states, when the old mexico border was so near. they didn't realize that little cupid was shooting his tender young heart full of love-darts, straight from the heart of pretty little miss dulcinea del toboso, of fort sumner. early in july, pat garrett received a letter from an acquaintance by the name of brazil, in fort sumner, advising him that the "kid" was hanging around there. garrett at once wrote brazil to meet him about dark on the night of july th at the mouth of the taiban arroyo, below fort sumner. now the sheriff took his trusted deputy, john w. poe, and rode to roswell, on the rio pecos. there they were joined by one of mr. garret's fearless cowboy deputies, "kip" mckinnie, who had been raised near uvalde, texas. together the three law officers rode up the river towards fort sumner, a distance of eighty miles. they arrived at the mouth of taiban arroyo an hour after dark on july th, but brazil was not there to meet them. the night was spent sleeping on their saddle blankets. the next morning garrett sent mr. poe, who was a stranger in the country, and for that reason would not be suspicioned, into fort sumner, five miles north, to find out what he could on the sly, about the "kid's" presence. from fort sumner he was to go to sunny side, six miles north, to interview a merchant by the name of mr. rudolph. then when the moon was rising, to meet garrett and mckinnie at la punta de la glorietta, about four miles north of fort sumner. failing to find out anything of importance about the "kid," john w. poe met his two companions at the appointed place, and they rode into fort sumner. it was about eleven o'clock, and the moon was shining brightly, when the officers rode into an old orchard and concealed their horses. now the three continued afoot to the home of pete maxwell, a wealthy stockman, who was a friend to both garrett and the "kid." he lived in a long, one-story adobe building, which had been the u. s. officers' quarters when the soldiers were stationed there. the house fronted south, and had a wide covered porch in front. the grassy front yard was surrounded by a picket fence. as pat garrett had courted his wife and married her in this town, he knew every foot of the ground, even to pete maxwell's private bed room. on reaching the picket gate, near the corner room, which pete maxwell always occupied, garrett told his two deputies to wait there until after he had a talk with half-breed pete maxwell. the night being hot, pete maxwell's door stood wide open, and garrett walked in. a short time previous, "billy the kid" had arrived from a sheep camp out in the hills. back of the maxwell home lived a mexican servant, who was a warm friend to the "kid." here "billy the kid" always found late newspapers, placed there by loving hands, for his special benefit. this old servant had gone to bed. the "kid" lit a lamp, then pulled off his coat and boots. now he glanced over the papers to see if his name was mentioned. finding nothing of interest in the newspapers, he asked the old servant to get up and cook him some supper, as he was very hungry. getting up, the servant told him there was no meat in the house. the "kid" remarked that he would go and get some from pete maxwell. now he picked up a butcher knife from the table to cut the meat with, and started, bare-footed and bare-headed. the "kid" passed within a few feet of the end of the porch where sat john w. poe and kip mckinnie. the latter had raised up, when his spur rattled, which attracted the "kid's" attention. at the same moment mr. poe stood up in the small open gateway leading from the street to the end of the porch. they supposed the man coming towards them, only partly dressed, was a servant, or possibly pete maxwell. the "kid" had pulled his pistol, and so had john poe, who by that time was almost within arm's reach of the "kid." with pistol pointing at poe, at the same time asking in spanish: "quien es?" (who is that?), he backed into pete maxwell's room. he had repeated the above question several times. on entering the room, "billy the kid" walked up to within a few feet of pat garrett, who was sitting on maxwell's bed, and asked: "who are they, pete?" now discovering that a man sat on pete's bed, the "kid" with raised pistol pointing towards the bed, began backing across the room. pete maxwell whispered to the sheriff: "that's him, pat." by this time the "kid" had backed to a streak of moonlight coming through the south window, asking: "quien es?" (who's that?) garrett raised his pistol and fired. then cocked the pistol again and it went off accidentally, putting a hole in the ceiling, or wall. now the sheriff sprang out of the door onto the porch, where stood his two deputies with drawn pistols. soon after, pete maxwell ran out, and came very near getting a ball from poe's pistol. garrett struck the pistol upward, saying: "don't shoot maxwell!" a lighted candle was secured from the mother of pete maxwell, who occupied a nearby room, and the dead body of "billy the kid" was found stretched out on his back with a bullet wound in his breast, just above the heart. at the right hand lay a colt's calibre pistol, and at his left a butcher knife. now the native people began to collect,--many of them being warm friends of the "kid's." garrett allowed them to take the body across the street to a carpenter shop, where it was laid out on a bench. then lighted candles were placed around the remains of what was once the bravest, and coolest young outlaw who ever trod the face of the earth. the next day, this, once mother's darling, was buried by the side of his chum, tom o'phalliard, in the old military cemetery. he was killed at midnight, july th, , being just twenty-one years, seven months and twenty-one days of age, and had killed twenty-one men, not including indians, which he said didn't count as human beings. a few months after the killing of the "kid," a man was coining money, showing "billy the kid's" trigger finger, preserved in alcohol. seeing sensational accounts of it in the newspapers, sheriff garrett had the body dug up, but found his trigger-finger was still attached to the right hand. during the following spring in the town of lincoln, the sheriff auctioned off the "kid's" saddle, and the blue-barrel, rubber-handled, double action colt's calibre pistol, which the "kid" held in his hand when killed. there were only two bidders for the pistol, the writer and the deputy county clerk, billy burt, who got it for $ . . its actual value was about $ . . since then many pistols have been prized as keepsakes from the supposed idea that the "kid" had held each one of them in his hand when he fell. many were presented to friends with a sincere thought that they were genuine. as an illustration we will quote a few lines from a friendly letter, dated may th, , written by the present game warden, mr. j. l. dehart of the state of montana: "later in march, , i was ushered into office as sheriff of sweet grass county, montana, and a former resident of new mexico, and an acquaintance of 'billy the kid,' later a resident of livingston, montana, by the name of william dawson, upon this momentous occasion, presented me with a splendid colt's six-shooter, forty-five calibre, seven inch barrel, and ivory handle, said to have been the property of the notorious "billy the kid," when killed by sheriff pat garrett, at the maxwell ranch house. i have always considered this piece of artillery a valuable relic, and with much trouble have retained it. most of my diligent watch, however, upon this gun, was brought about as a result of being named as state game warden in , by his excellency, governor s. v. stewart." "where ignorance is bliss, it is folly to be wise," is a true saying. no doubt mr. dehart has felt proud over the ownership of the pistol "billy the kid" was supposed to have in his hand at the time of his death. this is not the only "billy the kid" pistol in existence. it would be a safe gamble to bet that there are a wagon load of them scattered over the united states. the winchester rifle taken from the "kid" at the time of his capture at stinking spring, was raffled off in the spring of , and the writer won it. he put it up again in a game of "freeze out" poker. as one of my cowboys, tom emory, was an expert poker player, i induced him to play my hand. i then went to bed. on going down to the pioneer saloon, in white oaks, early next morning, the night barkeeper told me a secret, under promise that i keep it to myself. he said he was stretched out on the bar trying to take a nap. the poker game was going on near him. when he lay down all had been "freezed out" but tom emory and johnny hudgens. just before daylight, emory won all the chips, in a big show down, and i was the owner of "billy the kid's" rifle for the second time, but only for a moment, as johnny hudgens gave tom emory $ . for the gun, under the pretense that hudgens had won it. emory almost shed tears when he told me of losing the rifle in what he thought was a winning hand. of course i didn't dispute it, as i had given a promise to keep silent. "billy the kid" came very near having a stone monument placed on his grave for the benefit of posterity--so that the curious among the unborn generations would know the exact spot where this "claude duval" of the southwest was planted. one day, on the plaza in the city of santa fe, in about the year , the writer met mrs. gertrude dills, wife of lucius dills, the surveyor general of new mexico, a daughter of judge frank lea of white oaks, and a niece to that whole-souled prince among men, the father of the city of roswell, captain j. c. lea. she suggested that the writer get up a subscription to place a lasting monument on the grave of "billy the kid," so that future generations would know where he was buried. as a little girl, mrs. dills was once tempted to crawl under the bed, when "billy the kid" and gang shot up the town of white oaks. i at once went to the monument establishment of mr. louis napoleon, and selected a fine marble monument, with the understanding that the inscription not be cut on it until after i had located the grave. many years ago, will e. griffin, who is still a resident of santa fe, moved all the bodies of the soldiers buried in the old military cemetery, at fort sumner, to the national cemetery at santa fe. he says, when the work was finished, the only graves left in the grave-yard, were those of "billy the kid" and his chum, tom o'phalliard. on these two graves, close together, still remained the badly rotted wooden head boards. since then the old cemetery has been turned into an alfalfa field, and the chances are, all signs of this noted young outlaw's resting place have been obliterated. soon after selecting the monument, i happened to be in the town of tularosa, and brought up the subject to my old cowboy friend, john p. meadows. he at once subscribed five dollars towards the erection of the monument. he said "billy the kid" had befriended him in , when he needed a friend, and for that reason he would like to perpetuate his memory. he thought it would be no trouble to raise the desired amount in tularosa, but the first man he struck for a subscription, mr. charlie miller, former state engineer, discouraged him. mr. miller went straight up in the air with indignation at the idea of placing a monument at the grave of a blood-thirsty outlaw. soon after this, mr. miller was murdered, when pancho villa made his bloody raid on columbus, new mexico. this is as far as the grave of "billy the kid" came to being marked, as the writer has been too busy on other matters, to visit fort sumner and try to locate his last resting place. in closing, i wish to state that with all his faults, "billy the kid" had many noble traits. in white oaks, during the winter of , the writer talked with a man who actually shed tears in telling of how he lay almost at the point of death, with smallpox, in an old abandoned shack in fort sumner, when the "kid" found him. a good supply of money was given by the "kid," and a wagon and team hired to haul him to las vegas, where medical attention could be secured. since the killing of the "kid," kip mckinney has died with his boots off, while pat garrett died with them on, being shot and killed on the road between tularosa and las cruces, new mexico. hence the only man now living who saw the curtain go down on the last act of "billy the kid's" eventful life, is john w. poe, at the present writing a wealthy banker in the beautiful little city of roswell, new mexico. he has served one term as sheriff of lincoln county, and has helped to change that blood-spattered county from an outlaw's paradise, to a land of happy, peaceful homes. peace to william h. bonney's ashes, is the author's prayer. the end. a lone star cowboy being the recollections of fifty years spent in the saddle, as cowboy and new mexico ranger, on nearly every cow-trail in the wooly old west, when the cowboys, buffalo hunters, and indians had room to come and go, before the "hoe-man" and wire fences cut off the trails. fine cloth binding, pages, with fourteen illustrations. price postpaid, $ . . a cowboy detective being the twenty-two years experience with pinkerton's national detective agency, in all parts of the united states, british columbia, alaska and old mexico. fine cloth binding pages and illustrations. price $ . , post-paid. the song companion of a lone star cowboy a booklet of old favorite cow-camp songs. price postpaid, cents. address the author: chas. a. siringo, p. o. box , santa fe, n. m. [illustration: pat garrett the fearless sheriff of lincoln county, new mexico, who killed "billy the kid." they had met by accident in a dark room, which meant that one, or both, had to die quick.] guide to life and literature of the southwest revised and enlarged in both knowledge and wisdom by j. frank dobie dallas. southern methodist university press _not copyright in again not copyright in _ anybody is welcome to help himself to any of it in any way library of congress catalog card number: - s.m.u. press contents a preface with some revised ideas . a declaration . interpreters of the land . general helps . indian culture; pueblos and navajos . apaches, comanches, and other plains indians . spanish-mexican strains . flavor of france . backwoods life and humor . how the early settlers lived . fighting texians . texas rangers . women pioneers . circuit riders and missionaries . lawyers, politicians, j.p.'s . pioneer doctors . mountain men . santa fe and the santa fe trail . stagecoaches, freighting . pony express . surge of life in the west . range life: cowboys, cattle, sheep . cowboy songs and other ballads . horses: mustangs and cow ponies . the bad man tradition . mining and oil . nature; wild life; naturalists . buffaloes and buffalo hunters . bears and bear hunters . coyotes, lobos, and panthers . birds and wild flowers . negro folk songs and tales . fiction-including folk tales . poetry and drama . miscellaneous interpreters and institutions . subjects for themes index to authors and titles illustrations indian head by tom lea, from _a texas cowboy_ by charles a. siringo ( edition) comanche horsemen by george catlin, from _north american indians_ vaquero by tom lea, from _a texas cowboy_ by charles a. siringo ( edition) fray marcos de niza by jose cisneros, from the journey of fray marcos de niza by cleve hallenbeck horse by gutzon borglum, from mustangs and cow horses praxiteles swan, fighting chaplain, by john w. thomason, from his lone star preacher horse's head by william r. leigh, from the western pony longhorn by tom lea, from the longhorns by j. frank dobie cowboy and steer by tom lea, from the longhorns by j. frank dobie illustration by charles m. russell, from the virginian by owen wister ( edition) mustangs by charles banks wilson, from the mustangs by j. frank dobie illustration by charles m. russell, from the untamed by george pattullo pancho villa by tom lea, from southwest review, winter, frontispiece by tom lea, from santa rita by martin w. schwettmann illustration by charles m. russell, from the blazed trail by agnes c. laut buffaloes by harold d. bugbee illustration by charles m. russell, from fifteen thousand miles by stage by carrie adell strahorn coyote head by olaus j. murie, from the voice of the coyote by j. frank dobie paisano a preface with some revised ideas it has been ten years since i wrote the prefatory "declaration" to this now enlarged and altered book. not to my generation alone have many things receded during that decade. to the intelligent young as well as to the intelligent elderly, efforts in the present atmosphere to opiate the public with mere pictures of frontier enterprise have a ghastly unreality. the texas rangers have come to seem as remote as the foreign legion in france fighting against the kaiser. yet this _guide_, extensively added to and revised, is mainly concerned, apart from the land and its native life, with frontier backgrounds. if during a decade a man does not change his mind on some things and develop new points of view, it is a pretty good sign that his mind is petrified and need no longer be accounted among the living. i have an inclination to rewrite the "declaration," but maybe i was just as wise on some matters ten years ago as i am now; so i let it stand. do i contradict myself? very well then i contradict myself. i have heard so much silly bragging by texans that i now think it would be a blessing to themselves--and a relief to others--if the braggers did not know they lived in texas. yet the time is not likely to come when a human being will not be better adapted to his environments by knowing their nature; on the other hand, to study a provincial setting from a provincial point of view is restricting. nobody should specialize on provincial writings before he has the perspective that only a good deal of good literature and wide history can give. i think it more important that a dweller in the southwest read _the trial and death of socrates_ than all the books extant on killings by billy the kid. i think this dweller will fit his land better by understanding thomas jefferson's oath ("i have sworn upon the altar of god eternal hostility against every form of tyranny over the mind of man") than by reading all the books that have been written on ranch lands and people. for any dweller of the southwest who would have the land soak into him, wordsworth's "tintern abbey," "ode: intimations of immortality," "the solitary reaper," "expostulation and reply," and a few other poems are more conducive to a "wise passiveness" than any native writing. there are no substitutes for nobility, beauty, and wisdom. one of the chief impediments to amplitude and intellectual freedom is provincial inbreeding. i am sorry to see writings of the southwest substituted for noble and beautiful and wise literature to which all people everywhere are inheritors. when i began teaching "life and literature of the southwest" i did not regard these writings as a substitute. to reread most of them would be boresome, though _hamlet_, boswell's _johnson_, lamb's _essays_, and other genuine literature remain as quickening as ever. very likely i shall not teach the course again. i am positive i shall never revise this _guide_ again. it is in nowise a bibliography. i have made more additions to the "range life" chapter than to any other. i am a collector of such books. a collector is a person who gathers unto himself the worthless as well as the worthy. since i did not make a nickel out of the original printing of the _guide_ and hardly expect to make enough to buy a california "ranch" out of the present printing, i have added several items, with accompanying remarks, more for my own pleasure than for benefit to society. were the listings halved, made more selective, the book might serve its purpose better. anybody who wants to can slice it in any manner he pleases. i am as much against forced literary swallowings as i am against prohibitions on free tasting, chewing, and digestion. i rate censors, particularly those of church and state, as low as i rate character assassins; they often run together. i'd like to make a book on _emancipators of the human mind_--emerson, jefferson, thoreau, tom paine, newton, arnold, voltaire, goethe.... when i reflect how few writings connected with the wide open spaces of the west and southwest are wide enough to enter into such a volume, i realize acutely how desirable is perspective in patriotism. hundreds of the books listed in this _guide_ have given me pleasure as well as particles for the mosaic work of my own books; but, with minor exceptions, they increasingly seem to me to explore only the exteriors of life. there is in them much good humor but scant wit. the hunger for something afar is absent or battened down. drought blasts the turf, but its unhealing blast to human hope is glossed over. the body's thirst for water is a recurring theme, but human thirst for love and just thinking is beyond consideration. horses run with their riders to death or victory, but fleeting beauty haunts no soul to the "doorway of the dead." the land is often pictured as lonely, but the lone way of a human being's essential self is not for this extravert world. the banners of individualism are carried high, but the higher individualism that grows out of long looking for meanings in the human drama is negligible. somebody is always riding around or into a "feudal domain." nobody at all penetrates it or penetrates democracy with the wisdom that came to lincoln in his loneliness: "as i would not be a slave, so i would not be a master. this expresses my idea of democracy. whatever differs from this, to the extent of the difference, is no democracy." the mountains, the caves, the forests, the deserts have had no prophets to interpret either their silences or their voices. in short, these books are mostly only the stuff of literature, not literature itself, not the very stuff of life, not the distillations of mankind's "agony and bloody sweat." an ignorant person attaches more importance to the chatter of small voices around him than to the noble language of remote individuals. the more he listens to the small, the smaller he grows. the hope of regional literature lies in out-growing regionalism itself. on november , , i gave a talk to the texas institute of letters that was published in the spring issue of the _southwest review_. the paragraphs that follow are taken therefrom. good writing about any region is good only to the extent that it has universal appeal. texans are the only "race of people" known to anthropologists who do not depend upon breeding for propagation. like princes and lords, they can be made by "breath," plus a big white hat--which comparatively few texans wear. a beef stew by a cook in san antonio, texas, may have a different flavor from that of a beef stew cooked in pittsburgh, pennsylvania, but the essential substances of potatoes and onions, with some suggestion of beef, are about the same, and geography has no effect on their digestibility. a writer--a regional writer, if that term means anything--will whenever he matures exercise the critical faculty. i mean in the matthew arnold sense of appraisal rather than of praise, or, for that matter, of absolute condemnation. understanding and sympathy are not eulogy. mere glorification is on the same intellectual level as silver tongues and juke box music. in using that word intellectual, one lays himself liable to the accusation of having forsaken democracy. for all that, "fundamental brainwork" is behind every respect-worthy piece of writing, whether it be a lightsome lyric that seems as careless as a redbird's flit or a formal epic, an impressionistic essay or a great novel that measures the depth of human destiny. nonintellectual literature is as nonexistent as education without mental discipline, or as "character building" in a school that is slovenly in scholarship. billboards along the highways of texas advertise certain towns and cities as "cultural centers." yet no chamber of commerce would consider advertising an intellectual center. the culture of a nineteenth-century finishing school for young ladies was divorced from intellect; genuine civilization is always informed by intellect. the american populace has been taught to believe that the more intellectual a professor is, the less common sense he has; nevertheless, if american democracy is preserved it will be preserved by thought and not by physics. editors of all but a few magazines of the country and publishers of most of the daily newspapers cry out for brightness and vitality and at the same time shut out critical ideas. they want intellect, but want it petrified. happily, the publishers of books have not yet reached that form of delusion. in an article entitled "what ideas are safe?" in the _saturday review of literature_ for november , , henry steele commager says: if we establish a standard of safe thinking, we will end up with no thinking at all.... we cannot... have thought half slave and half free.... a nation which, in the name of loyalty or of patriotism or of any sincere and high-sounding ideal, discourages criticism and dissent, and puts a premium on acquiescence and conformity, is headed for disaster. unless a writer feels free, things will not come to him, he cannot burgeon on any subject whatsoever. in davy crockett's _autobiography_ was published. it is one of the primary social documents of america. it is as much davy crockett, whether going ahead after bears in a tennessee canebrake or going ahead after general andrew jackson in congress, as the equally plain but also urbane _autobiography_ of franklin is benjamin franklin. it is undiluted regionalism. it is provincial not only in subject but in point of view. no provincial mind of this day could possibly write an autobiography or any other kind of book co-ordinate in value with crockett's "classic in homespun." in his time, crockett could exercise intelligence and still retain his provincial point of view. provincialism was in the air over his land. in these changed times, something in the ambient air prevents any active intelligence from being unconscious of lands, peoples, struggles far beyond any province. not long after the civil war, in harris county, texas, my father heard a bayou-billy yell out: whoopee! raised in a canebrake and suckled by a she-bear! the click of a six-shooter is music to my ear! the further up the creek you go, the worse they git, and i come from the head of it! whoopee! if it were now possible to find some section of country so far up above the forks of the creek that the owls mate there with the chickens, and if this section could send to congress one of its provincials untainted by the outside world, he would, if at all intelligent, soon after arriving on capitol hill become aware of interdependencies between his remote province and the rest of the world. biographies of regional characters, stories turning on local customs, novels based on an isolated society, books of history and fiction going back to provincial simplicity will go on being written and published. but i do not believe it possible that a good one will henceforth come from a mind that does not in outlook transcend the region on which it is focused. that is not to imply that the processes of evolution have brought all parts of the world into such interrelationships that a writer cannot depict the manners and morals of a community up owl hoot creek without enmeshing them with the complexities of the atlantic pact. awareness of other times and other wheres, not insistence on that awareness, is the requisite. james m. barrie said that he could not write a play until he got his people off on a kind of island, but had he not known about the mainland he could never have delighted us with the islanders--islanders, after all, for the night only. patriotism of the right kind is still a fine thing; but, despite all gulfs, canyons, and curtains that separate nations, those nations and their provinces are all increasingly interrelated. no sharp line of time or space, like that separating one century from another or the territory of one nation from that of another, can delimit the boundaries of any region to which any regionalist lays claim. mastery, for instance, of certain locutions peculiar to the southwest will take their user to the aztecs, to spain, and to the border of ballads and sir walter scott's romances. i found that i could not comprehend the coyote as animal hero of pueblo and plains indians apart from the reynard of aesop and chaucer. in a noble opinion respecting censorship and freedom of the press, handed down on march , , judge curtis bok of pennsylvania said: it is no longer possible that free speech be guaranteed federally and denied locally; under modern methods of instantaneous communication such a discrepancy makes no sense.... what is said in pennsylvania may clarify an issue in california, and what is suppressed in california may leave us the worse in pennsylvania. unless a restriction on free speech be of national validity, it can no longer have any local validity whatever. among the qualities that any good regional writer has in common with other good writers of all places and times is intellectual integrity. having it does not obligate him to speak out on all issues or, indeed, on any issue. he alone is to judge whether he will sport with amaryllis in the shade or forsake her to write his own _areopagitica_. intellectual integrity expresses itself in the tune as well as argument, in choice of words--words honest and precise--as well as in ideas, in fidelity to human nature and the flowers of the fields as well as to principles, in facts reported more than in deductions proposed. though a writer write on something as innocuous as the white snails that crawl up broomweed stalks and that roadrunners carry to certain rocks to crack and eat, his intellectual integrity, if he has it, will infuse the subject. nothing is too trivial for art, but good art treats nothing in a trivial way. nothing is too provincial for the regional writer, but he cannot be provincial-minded toward it. being provincial-minded may make him a typical provincial; it will prevent him from being a representative or skilful interpreter. horace greeley said that when the rules of the english language got in his way, they did not stand a chance. we may be sure that if by violating the rules of syntax horace greeley sometimes added forcefulness to his editorials, he violated them deliberately and not in ignorance. luminosity is not stumbled into. the richly savored and deliciously unlettered speech of thomas hardy's rustics was the creation of a master architect who had looked out over the ranges of fated mankind and looked also into hell. thomas hardy's ashes were placed in westminster abbey, but his heart, in accordance with a provision of his will, was buried in the churchyard of his own village. i have never tried to define regionalism. its blanket has been put over a great deal of worthless writing. robert frost has approached a satisfying conception. "the land is always in my bones," he said--the land of rock fences. but, "i am not a regionalist. i am a realmist. i write about realms of democracy and realms of the spirit." those realms include the woodpile, the grindstone, blueberries, birches, and many other features of the land north of boston. to an extent, any writer anywhere must make his own world, no matter whether in fiction or nonfiction, prose or poetry. he must make something out of his subject. what he makes depends upon his creative power, integrated with a sense of form. the popular restriction of creative writing to fiction and verse is illogical. carl sandburg's life of lincoln is immeasurably more creative in form and substance than his fanciful _potato face_. intense exercise of his creative power sets, in a way, the writer apart from the life he is trying to sublimate. becoming a philistine will not enable a man to interpret philistinism, though philistines who own big presses think so. sinclair lewis knew babbitt as babbitt could never know either himself or sinclair lewis. j. f. d. _the time of mexican primroses_ . a declaration in the university of texas i teach a course called "life and literature of the southwest." about i had a brief guide to books concerning the southwest mimeographed; in it was included by john william rogers in a booklet entitled _finding literature on the texas plains_. after that i revised and extended the guide three or four times, during the process distributing several thousand copies of the mimeographed forms. now the guide has grown too long, and i trust that this printing of it will prevent my making further additions--though within a short time new books will come out that should be added. yet the guide is fragmentary, incomplete, and in no sense a bibliography. its emphases vary according to my own indifferences and ignorance as well as according to my own sympathies and knowledge. it is strong on the character and ways of life of the early settlers, on the growth of the soil, and on everything pertaining to the range; it is weak on information concerning politicians and on citations to studies which, in the manner of orthodox ph.d. theses, merely transfer bones from one graveyard to another. it is designed primarily to help people of the southwest see significances in the features of the land to which they belong, to make their environments more interesting to them, their past more alive, to bring them to a realization of the values of their own cultural inheritance, and to stimulate them to observe. it includes most of the books about the southwest that people in general would agree on as making good reading. i have never had any idea of writing or teaching about my own section of the country merely as a patriotic duty. without apologies, i would interpret it because i love it, because it interests me, talks to me, appeals to my imagination, warms my emotions; also because it seems to me that other people living in the southwest will lead fuller and richer lives if they become aware of what it holds. i once thought that, so far as reading goes, i could live forever on the supernal beauty of shelley's "the cloud" and his soaring lines "to a skylark," on the rich melancholy of keats's "ode to a nightingale," on cyrano de bergerac's ideal of a free man, on wordsworth's philosophy of nature--a philosophy that has illuminated for me the mesquite flats and oak-studded hills of texas--on the adventures in robert louis stevenson, the flavor and wit of lamb's essays, the eloquent wisdom of hazlitt, the dark mysteries of conrad, the gaieties of barrie, the melody of sir thomas browne, the urbanity of addison, the dash in kipling, the mobility, the mightiness, the lightness, the humor, the humanity, the everything of shakespeare, and a world of other delicious, high, beautiful, and inspiring things that english literature has bestowed upon us. that literature is still the richest of heritages; but literature is not enough. here i am living on a soil that my people have been living and working and dying on for more than a hundred years--the soil, as it happens, of texas. my roots go down into this soil as deep as mesquite roots go. this soil has nourished me as the banks of the lovely guadalupe river nourish cypress trees, as the brazos bottoms nourish the wild peach, as the gentle slopes of east texas nourish the sweet-smelling pines, as the barren, rocky ridges along the pecos nourish the daggered lechuguilla. i am at home here, and i want not only to know about my home land, i want to live intelligently on it. i want certain data that will enable me to accommodate myself to it. knowledge helps sympathy to achieve harmony. i am made more resolute by arthur hugh clough's picture of the dripping sailor on the reeling mast, "on stormy nights when wild northwesters rave," but the winds that have bit into me have been dry texas northers; and fantastic yarns about them, along with a cowboy's story of a herd of longhorns drifting to death in front of one of them, come home to me and illuminate those northers like forked lightning playing along the top of black clouds in the night. no informed person would hold that the southwest can claim any considerable body of pure literature as its own. at the same time, the region has a distinct cultural inheritance, full of life and drama, told variously in books so numerous that their very existence would surprise many people who depend on the book-of-the-month club for literary guidance. any people have a right to their own cultural inheritance, though sheeplike makers of textbooks and sheeplike pedagogues of american literature have until recently, either wilfully or ignorantly, denied that right to the southwest. tens of thousands of students of the southwest have been assigned endless pages on and listened to dronings over cotton mather, increase mather, jonathan edwards, anne bradstreet, and other dreary creatures of colonial new england who are utterly foreign to the genius of the southwest. if nothing in written form pertaining to the southwest existed at all, it would be more profitable for an inhabitant to go out and listen to coyotes singing at night in the prickly pear than to tolerate the increase mather kind of thing. it is very profitable to listen to coyotes anyhow. i rebelled years ago at having the tradition, the spirit, the meaning of the soil to which i belong utterly disregarded by interpreters of literature and at the same time having the increase mather kind of stuff taught as if it were important to our part of america. happily the disregard is disappearing, and so is increase mather. if they had to be rigorously classified into hard and fast categories, comparatively few of the books in the lists that follow would be rated as pure literature. fewer would be rated as history. a majority of them are the stuff of history. the stuff out of which history is made is generally more vital than formalized history, especially the histories habitually forced on students in public schools, colleges, and universities. there is no essential opposition between history and literature. the attempt to study a people's literature apart from their social and, to a less extent, their political history is as illogical as the lady who said she had read romeo but had not yet got to juliet. nearly any kind of history is more important than formal literary history showing how in a literary way abraham begat isaac and isaac begat jacob. any man of any time who has ever written with vigor has been immeasurably nearer to the dunghill on which he sank his talons while crowing than to all literary ancestors. a great deal of chronicle writing that makes no pretense at being belles-lettres is really superior literature to much that is so classified. i will vote three times a day and all night for john c. duval's _adventures of bigfoot wallace_, charlie siringo's _riata and spurs_, james b. gillett's _six years with the texas rangers_, and dozens of other straightaway chronicles of the southwest in preference to "the culprit fay" and much other watery "literature" with which anthologies representing the earlier stages of american writing are padded. ike fridge's pamphlet story of his ridings for john chisum--chief provider of cattle for billy the kid to steal--has more of the juice of reality in it and, therefore, more of literary virtue than some of james fenimore cooper's novels, and than some of james russell lowell's odes. the one thing essential to writing if it is to be read, to art if it is to be looked at, is vitality. no critic or professor can be hired to pump vitality into any kind of human expression, but professors and critics have taken it out of many a human being who in his attempts to say something decided to be correct at the expense of being himself--being natural, being alive. the priests of literary conformity never had a chance at the homemade chronicles of the southwest. the orderly way in which to study the southwest would be to take up first the land, its flora, fauna, climate, soils, rivers, etc., then the aborigines, next the exploring and settling spaniards, and finally, after a hasty glance at the french, the english-speaking people who brought the southwest to what it is today. we cannot proceed in this way, however. neither the prairies nor the indians who first hunted deer on them have left any records, other than hieroglyphic, as to their lives. some late-coming men have written about them. droughts and rains have had far more influence on all forms of life in the southwest and on all forms of its development culturally and otherwise than all of the coronado expeditions put together. i have emphasized the literature that reveals nature. my method has been to take up types and subjects rather than to follow chronology. chronology is often an impediment to the acquiring of useful knowledge. i am not nearly so much interested in what happened in abilene, kansas, in --the year that the first herds of texas longhorns over the chisholm trail found a market at that place--as i am in picking out of abilene in some thing that reveals the character of the men who went up the trail, some thing that will illuminate certain phenomena along the trail human beings of the southwest are going up today, some thing to awaken observation and to enrich with added meaning this corner of the earth of which we are the temporary inheritors. by "literature of the southwest" i mean writings that interpret the region, whether they have been produced by the southwest or not. many of them have not. what we are interested in is life in the southwest, and any interpreter of that life, foreign or domestic, ancient or modern, is of value. the term southwest is variable because the boundaries of the southwest are themselves fluid, expanding and contracting according to the point of view from which the southwest is viewed and according to whatever common denominator is taken for defining it. the spanish southwest includes california, but california regards itself as more closely akin to the pacific northwest than to texas; california is southwest more in an antiquarian way than other-wise. from the point of view of the most picturesque and imagination-influencing occupation of the southwest, the occupation of ranching, the southwest might be said to run up into montana. certainly one will have to go up the trail to montana to finish out the story of the texas cowboy. early in the nineteenth century the southwest meant tennessee, georgia, and other frontier territory now regarded as strictly south. the men and women who "redeemed texas from the wilderness" came principally from that region. the code of conduct they gave texas was largely the code of the booming west. considering the character of the anglo-american people who took over the southwest, the region is closer to missouri than to kansas, which is not southwest in any sense but which has had a strong influence on oklahoma. chihuahua is more southwestern than large parts of oklahoma. in _our southwest_, erna fergusson has a whole chapter on "what is the southwest?" she finds fort worth to be in the southwest but dallas, thirty miles east, to be facing north and east. the principal areas of the southwest are, to have done with air-minded reservations, arizona, new mexico, most of texas, some of oklahoma, and anything else north, south, east, or west that anybody wants to bring in. the boundaries of cultures and rainfall never follow survey lines. in talking about the southwest i naturally incline to emphasize the texas part of it. life is fluid, and definitions that would apprehend it must also be. yet i will venture one definition--not the only one--of an educated person. an educated person is one who can view with interest and intelligence the phenomena of life about him. like people elsewhere, the people of the southwest find the features of the land on which they live blank or full of pictures according to the amount of interest and intelligence with which they view the features. intelligence cannot be acquired, but interest can; and data for interest and intelligence to act upon are entirely acquirable. "studies perfect nature," bacon said. "nature follows art" to the extent that most of us see principally what our attention has been called to. i might never have noticed rose-purple snow between shadows if i had not seen a picture of that kind of snow. i had thought white the only natural color of snow. i cannot think of yew trees, which i have never seen, without thinking of wordsworth's poem on three yew trees. nobody has written a memorable poem on the mesquite. yet the mesquite has entered into the social, economic, and aesthetic life of the land; it has made history and has been painted by artists. in the homely chronicles of the southwest its thorns stick, its roots burn into bright coals, its trunks make fence posts, its lovely leaves wave. to live beside this beautiful, often pernicious, always interesting and highly characteristic tree--or bush--and to know nothing of its significance is to be cheated out of a part of life. it is but one of a thousand factors peculiar to the southwest and to the land's cultural inheritance. for a long time, as he tells in his _narrative_, cabeza de vaca was a kind of prisoner to coastal indians of texas. annually, during the season when prickly pear apples (_tunas_, or indian figs, as they are called in books) were ripe, these indians would go upland to feed on the fruit. during his sojourn with them cabeza de vaca went along. he describes how the indians would dig a hole in the ground, squeeze the fruit out of _tunas_ into the hole, and then swill up big drinks of it. long ago the indians vanished, but prickly pears still flourish over millions of acres of land. the prickly pear is one of the characteristic growths of the southwest. strangers look at it and regard it as odd. painters look at it in bloom or in fruit and strive to capture the colors. during the droughts ranchmen singe the thorns off its leaves, using a flame-throwing machine, easily portable by a man on foot, fed from a small gasoline tank. from central texas on down into central america prickly pear acts as host for the infinitesimal insect called cochineal, which supplied the famous dyes of aztec civilization. a long essay might be written on prickly pear. it weaves in and out of many chronicles of the southwest. a. j. sowell, one of the best chroniclers of texas pioneer life, tells in his life of bigfoot wallace how that picturesque ranger captain once took one of his wounded men away from an army surgeon because the surgeon would not apply prickly pear poultices to the wound. in _rangers and pioneers of texas_, sowell narrates how rattlesnakes were so large and numerous in a great prickly pear flat out from the nueces river that rangers pursuing bandits had to turn back. nobody has written a better description of a prickly pear flat than o. henry in his story of "the caballero's way." people may look at prickly pear, and it will be just prickly pear and nothing more. or they may look at it and find it full of significances; the mere sight of a prickly pear may call up a chain of incidents, facts, associations. a mind that can thus look out on the common phenomena of life is rich, and all of the years of the person whose mind is thus stored will be more interesting and full. cabeza de vaca's _narrative_, the chronicles of a. j. sowell, and o. henry's story are just three samples of southwestern literature that bring in prickly pear. no active-minded person who reads any one of these three samples will ever again look at prickly pear in the same light that he looked at it before he read. yet prickly pear is just one of hundreds of manifestations of life in the southwest that writers have commented on, told stories about, dignified with significance. cotton no longer has the economic importance to texas that it once had. still, it is mighty important. in the minds of millions of farm people of the south, cotton and the boll weevil are associated. the boll weevil was once a curse; then it came to be somewhat regarded as a disguised blessing--in limiting production. de first time i seen de boll weevil, he was a-settin' on de square. next time i seen him, he had all his family dere-- jest a-lookin' foh a home, jest a-lookin' foh a home. a man dependent on cotton for a living and having that living threatened by the boll weevil will not be much interested in ballads, but for the generality of people this boll weevil ballad--the entirety of which is a kind of life history of the insect--is, while delightful in itself, a veritable story-book on the weevil. without the ballad, the weevil's effect on economic history would be unchanged; but as respects mind and imagination, the ballad gives the weevil all sorts of significances. the ballad is a part of the literature of the southwest. but i am assigning too many motives of self-improvement to reading. people read for fun, for pleasure. the literature of the southwest affords bully reading. "if i had read as much as other men, i would know as little," thomas hobbes is credited with having said. a student in the presence of bishop e. d. mouzon was telling about the scores and scores of books he had read. at a pause the bishop shook his long, wise head and remarked, "my son, when do you get time to think?" two of the best educated men i have ever had the fortune of talking with were neither schooled nor widely read. they were extraordinary observers. one was a plainsman, charles goodnight; the other was a borderer, don alberto guajardo, in part educated by an old lipan indian. but here are the books. i list them not so much to give knowledge as to direct people with intellectual curiosity and with interest in their own land to the sources of knowledge; not to create life directly, but to point out where it has been created or copied. on some of the books i have made brief observations. those observations can never be nearly so important to a reader as the development of his own powers of observation. with something of an apologetic feeling i confess that i have read, in my way, most of the books. i should probably have been a wiser and better informed man had i spent more time out with the grasshoppers, horned toads, and coyotes. november , j. frank dobie . interpreters of the land "he's for a jig or a tale of bawdry, or he sleeps." thought employs ideas, but having an idea is not the same thing as thinking. a rooster in a pen of hens has an idea. thought has never been so popular with mankind as horse opera, horse play, the main idea behind sheep's eyes. far be it from me to feel contempt for people who cannot and do not want to think. the human species has not yet evolved to the stage at which thought is natural. i am far more at ease lying in grass and gazing without thought process at clouds than in sitting in a chair trying to be logical. just the same, free play of mind upon life is the essence of good writing, and intellectual activity is synonymous with critical interpretations. to the constant disregard of thought, americans of the mid-twentieth century have added positive opposition. critical ideas are apt to make any critic suspected of being subversive. the southwest, texas especially, is more articulately aware of its land spaces than of any other feature pertaining to itself. yet in the realm of government, the southwest has not produced a single spacious thinker. so far as the cultural ancestry of the region goes, the south has been arid of thought since the time of thomas jefferson, the much talked-of mind of john c. calhoun being principally casuistic; on another side, derivatives from the spanish inquisition could contribute to thought little more than tribal medicine men have contributed. among historians of the southwest the general rule has been to be careful with facts and equally careful in avoiding thought-provoking interpretations. in the multitudinous studies on spanish-american history all padres are "good" and all conquistadores are "intrepid," and that is about as far as interpretation goes. the one state book of the southwest that does not chloroform ideas is erna fergusson's _new mexico: a pageant of three peoples_ (knopf, new york, ). essayical in form, it treats only of the consequential. it evaluates from the point of view of good taste, good sense, and an urbane comprehension of democracy. the subject is provincial, but the historian transcends all provincialism. her sympathy does not stifle conclusions unusable in church or chamber of commerce propaganda. in brief, a cultivated mind can take pleasure in this interpretation of new mexico--and that marks it as a solitary among the histories of neighboring states. the outstanding historical interpreter of the southwest is walter prescott webb, of the university of texas. _the great plains_ utilizes chronology to explain the presence of man on the plains; it is primarily a study in cause and effect, of water and drought, of adaptations and lack of adaptations, of the land's growth into human imagination as well as economic institutions. webb uses facts to get at meanings. he fulfils emerson's definition of scholar: "man thinking." in _divided we stand_ he goes into machinery, the feudalism of corporation-dominated economy, the economic supremacy of the north over the south and the west. in _the great frontier_ (houghton mifilin, boston, ) he considers the western hemisphere as a frontier for europe--a frontier that brought about the rise of democracy and capitalism and that, now vanished as a frontier, foreshadows the vanishment of democracy and capitalism. in _virgin land: the american west as symbol and a myth_ (harvard university press, cambridge, massachusetts, ) henry nash smith plows deep. but the tools of this humanistic historian are of delicate finish rather than of horsepower. to him, thinking is a joyful process and lucidity out of complexity is natural. he compasses parrington's _main currents in american thought_ and beadle's dime novels along with agriculture and manufacturing. excepting the powerful books by walter prescott webb, not since frederick jackson turner, in , presented his famous thesis on "the significance of the frontier in american history" has such a revealing evaluation of frontier movements appeared as a matter of fact, henry nash smith leaves turner's ideas on the dependence of democracy upon farmers without more than one leg to stand upon. not being a king canute, he does not take sides for or against social evolution. with the clearest eyes imaginable, he looks into it. turner's _the frontier in american history_ ( ) has been a fertile begetter of interpretations of history. instead of being the usual kind of jokesmith book or concatenation of tall tales, _folk laughter on the american frontier_ by mody c. boatright (macmillan, new york, ) goes into the human and social significances of humor. of boastings, anecdotal exaggerations, hide-and-hair metaphors, stump and pulpit parables, tenderfoot baitings, and the like there is plenty, but thought plays upon them and arranges them into patterns of social history. mary austin ( - ) is an interpreter of nature, which for her includes naturally placed human beings as much as naturally placed antelopes and cacti. she wrote _the american rhythm_ on the theory that authentic poetry expresses the rhythms of that patch of earth to which the poet is rooted. rhythm is experience passed into the subconscious and is "distinct from our intellectual perception of it." before they can make true poetry, english-speaking americans will be in accord with "the run of wind in tall grass" as were the pueblo indians when europeans discovered them. but mary austin's primary importance is not as a theorist. her spiritual depth is greater than her intellectual. she is a translator of nature through concrete observations. she interprets through character sketches, folk tales, novels. "anybody can write facts about a country," she said. she infuses fact with understanding and imagination. in _lost borders_, _the land of little rain_, _the land of journey's ending_, and _the flock_ the land itself often seems to speak, but often she gets in its way. she sees "with an eye made quiet by the power of harmony." _earth horizons_, a stubborn book, is mary austin's inner autobiography. _the beloved house_, by t. m. pearce (caxton, caldwell, idaho, ), is an understanding biography. joseph wood krutch of columbia university spent a year in arizona, near tucson. instead of talking about his _the desert year_ (sloane, new york, ), i quote a representative paragraph: in new england the struggle for existence is visibly the struggle of plant with plant, each battling his neighbor for sunlight and for the spot of ground which, so far as moisture and nourishment are concerned, would support them all. here, the contest is not so much of plant against plant as of plant against inanimate nature. the limiting factor is not the neighbor but water; and i wonder if this is, perhaps, one of the things which makes this country seem to enjoy a kind of peace one does not find elsewhere. the struggle of living thing against living thing can be distressing in a way that a mere battle with the elements is not. if some great clump of cactus dies this summer it will be because the cactus has grown beyond the capacity of its roots to get water, not because one green fellow creature has bested it in some limb-to-limb struggle. in my more familiar east the crowding of the countryside seems almost to parallel the crowding of the cities. out here there is, even in nature, no congestion. _southwest_, by laura adams armer (new york, , op) came from long living and brooding in desert land. it says something beautiful. _talking to the moon_, by john joseph mathews (university of chicago press, ) is set in the blackjack country of eastern oklahoma. this oxford scholar of osage blood built his ranch house around a fireplace, flanked by shelves of books. his observations are of the outside, but they are informed by reflections made beside a fire. they are not bookish at all, but the spirits of great writers mingle with echoes of coyote wailing and wood-thrush singing. _sky determines: an interpretation of the southwest_, by ross calvin (new york, ; republished by the university of new mexico press) lives up to its striking title. the introductory words suggest the essence of the book: in new mexico whatever is both old and peculiar appears upon examination to have a connection with the arid climate. peculiarities range from the striking adaptations of the flora onward to those of fauna, and on up to those of the human animal. sky determines. and the writer once having picked up the trail followed it with certainty, and indeed almost inevitably, as it led from ecology to anthropology and economics. cultivated intellect is the highest form of civilization. it is inseparable from the arts, literature, architecture. in any civilized land, birds, trees, flowers, animals, places, human contributors to life out of the past, all are richer and more significant because of representations through literature and art. no literate person can listen to a skylark over an english meadow without hearing in its notes the melodies of chaucer and shelley. as the southwest advances in maturity of mind and civilization, the features of the land take on accretions from varied interpreters. it is not necessary for an interpreter to write a whole book about a feature to bring out its significance. we need more gossipy books--something in the manner of _pinon country_ by haniel long (duell, sloan and pearce, new york, ), in which one can get a swift slant on billy the kid, smell the pinon trees, feel the deeply religious attitude toward his corn patch of a zuni indian. roy bedichek's chapters on the mockingbird, in _adventures with a texas naturalist_, are like rich talk under a tree on a pleasant patch of ground staked out for his claim by an april-voiced mockingbird. in _the voice of the coyote_ i tried to compass the whole animal, and i should think that the "father of song-making" chapter might make coyote music and the night more interesting and beautiful for any listener. intelligent writers often interpret without set purpose, and many books under various categories in this _guide_ are interpretative. . general helps there is no chart to the life and literature of the southwest. an attempt to put it all into an alphabetically arranged encyclopedia would be futile. all guides to knowledge are too long or too short. this one at the outset adds to its length--perhaps to its usefulness--by citing other general reference works and a few anthologies. _books of the southwest: a general bibliography_, by mary tucker, published by j. j. augustin, new york, , is better on indians and the spanish period than on anglo-american culture. _southwest heritage: a literary history with bibliography_, by mabel major, rebecca w. smith, and t. m. pearce, university of new mexico press, albuquerque, , revised , takes up the written material under the time-established heads of fiction, poetry, drama, etc., with due respect to chronological development. _a treasury of southern folklore_, , and _a treasury of western folklore_, , both edited by b. a. botkin and both published by crown, new york, are so liberal in the extensions of folklore and so voluminous that they amount to literary anthologies. of possible use in working out certain phases of life and literature common to the southwest as well as to the west and middle west are the following academic treatises: _the frontier in american literature_, by lucy lockwood hazard, new york, ; _the literature of the middle western frontier_, by ralph leslie rusk, new york, ; _the prairie and the making of middle america_, by dorothy anne dondore, cedar rapids, iowa, ; _the literature of the rocky mountain west - _, by l. j. davidson and p. bostwick, caldwell, idaho, ; and _the rediscovery of the frontier_, by percy h. boynton, chicago, . anyone interested in vitality in any phase of american writing will find vernon l. parrington's _main currents in american thought_ (three vols.), new york, - , an opener-up of avenues. perhaps the best anthology of southwestern narratives is _golden tales of the southwest_, selected by mary l. becker, new york, . two anthologies of southwestern writings are _southwesterners write_, edited by t. m. pearce and a. p. thomason, university of new mexico press, albuquerque, , and _roundup time_, edited by george sessions perry, whittlesey house, new york, . themes common to the southwest are represented in _western prose and poetry_, an anthology put together by rufus a. coleman, new york, , and in _mid country: writings from the heart of america_, edited by lowry c. wimberly, university of nebraska press, lincoln, . for the southern tradition that has flowed into the southwest franklin j. meine's _tall tales of the southwest_, new york, , op, is the best anthology published. it is the best anthology of any kind that i know of. _a southern treasury of life and literature_, selected by stark young, new york, , brings in texas. anthologies of poetry are listed under the heading of "poetry and drama." the outstanding state bibliography of the region is _a bibliography of texas_, by c. w. raines, austin, . since this is half a century behind the times, its usefulness is limited. at that, it is more useful than the shiftless, hit-and-miss, ignorance-revealing _south of forty: from the mississippi to the rio grande: a bibliography_, by jesse l. rader, norman, oklahoma, . henry r. wagner's _the plains and the rockies_, "a contribution to the bibliography of original narratives of travel and adventure, - ," which came out - , was revised and extended by charles l. camp and reprinted in . it is stronger on overland travel than on anything else, only in part covers the southwest, and excludes a greater length of time than raines's _bibliography_. now published by long's college book co., columbus, ohio. mary g. boyer's _arizona in literature_, glendale, california, , is an anthology that runs toward six hundred pages. _texas prose writings_, by sister m. agatha, dallas, , op, is a meaty, critical survey. l. w. payne's handbook-sized _a survey of texas literature_, chicago, , is complemented by a chapter entitled "literature and art in texas" by j. frank dobie in _the book of texas_, new york, . op. _a guide to materials bearing on cultural relations in new mexico_, university of new mexico press, albuquerque, , is so logical and liberal-minded that in some respects it amounts to a bibliography of the whole southwest; it recognizes the overriding of political boundaries by ideas, human types, and other forms of culture. the _new mexico quarterly_, published by the university of new mexico, furnishes periodically a bibliographical record of contemporary literature of the southwest. _new mexico's own chronicle_, edited by maurice g. fulton and paul horgan (dallas, , op), is an anthology strong on the historical side. in the lists that follow, the symbol op indicates that the book is out of print. many old books obviously out of print are not so tagged. . indian culture; pueblos and navajos the literature on the subject of indians is so extensive and ubiquitous that, unless a student of americana is pursuing it, he may find it more troublesome to avoid than to get hold of. the average old-timer has for generations regarded indian scares and fights as the most important theme for reminiscences. county-minded historians have taken the same point of view. the bureau of american ethnology of the smithsonian institution has buried records of indian beliefs, ceremonies, mythology, and other folklore in hundreds of tomes; laborious, literal-minded scholars of other institutions have been as assiduous. in all this lore and tabulation of facts, the indian folk themselves have generally been dried out. the anglo-american's policy toward the indian was to kill him and take his land, perhaps make a razor-strop out of his hide. the spaniard's policy was to baptize him, take his land, enslave him, and appropriate his women. any english-speaking frontiersman who took up with the indians was dubbed "squaw man"--a term of sinister connotations. despite pride in descending from pocahontas and in the vaunted indian blood of such individuals as will rogers, crossbreeding between anglo-americans and indians has been restricted, as compared, for instance, with the interdicted crosses between white men and black women. the spaniards, on the other hand, crossed in battalions with the indians, generating _mestizo_ (mixed-blooded) nations, of which mexico is the chief example. as a result, the english-speaking occupiers of the land have in general absorbed directly only a minimum of indian culture--nothing at all comparable to the uncle remus stories and characters and the spiritual songs and the blues music from the negroes. grandpa still tells how his own grandpa saved or lost his scalp during a comanche horse-stealing raid in the light of the moon; boy scouts hunt for indian arrowheads; every section of the country has a bluff called lovers' leap, where, according to legend, a pair of forlorn indian lovers, or perhaps only one of the pair, dived to death; the maps all show caddo lake, kiowa peak, squaw creek, tehuacana hills, nacogdoches town, cherokee county, indian gap, and many another place name derived from indian days. all such contacts with indian life are exterior. three forms of indian culture are, however, weaving into the life patterns of america. ( ) the mexicans have naturally inherited and assimilated indian lore about plants, animals, places, all kinds of human relationships with the land. through the mexican medium, with which he is becoming more sympathetic, the gringo is getting the ages-old indian culture. ( ) the pueblo and navajo indians in particular are impressing their arts, crafts, and ways of life upon special groups of americans living near them, and these special groups are transmitting some of their acquisitions. the special groups incline to be arty and worshipful, but they express a salutary revolt against machined existence and they have done much to revive dignity in indian life. offsetting dilettantism, the museum of new mexico and associated institutions and artists and other individuals have fostered indian pottery, weaving, silversmithing, dancing, painting, and other arts and crafts. superior craftsmanship can now depend upon a fairly reliable market; the taste of american buyers has been somewhat elevated. o mountains, pure and holy, give me a song, a strong and holy song to bless my flock and bring the rain! this is from "navajo holy song," as rendered by edith hart mason. it expresses a spiritual content in indian life far removed from the we and god, incorporated form of religion ordained by the national association of manufacturers. ( ) the wild freedom, mobility, and fierce love of liberty of the mounted indians of the plains will perhaps always stir imaginations--something like the charging cossacks, the camping arabs, and the migrating tartars. there is no romance in indian fights east of the mississippi. the mounted plains indians always made a big hit in buffalo bill's wild west show. little boys still climb into their seats and cry out when red horsemen of the plains ride across the screen. see "apaches, comanches, and other plains indians," "mountain men." applegate, frank g. _indian stories from the pueblos_, philadelphia, . charming. op. astrov, margot (editor), _the winged serpent_, john day, new york, . an anthology of prose and poetry by american indians. here are singular expressions of beauty and dignity. austin, mary. _the trail book_, , op; _one-smoke stories_, , houghton mifflin, boston. delightful folk tales, each leading to a vista. bandelier, a. f. _the delight makers_, , dodd, mead, new york. historical fiction on ancient pueblo life. coolidge, dane and mary. _the navajo indians_, boston, . readable; bibliography. op. coolidge, mary roberts. _the rain-makers_, boston, . op. this thorough treatment of the indians of arizona and new mexico contains an excellent account of the hopi snake ceremony for bringing rain. during any severe drought numbers of christians in the southwest pray without snakes. it always rains eventually--and the prayer-makers naturally take the credit. the hopis put on a more spectacular show. see dr. walter hough's _the hopi indians_, cedar rapids, iowa, . op. cushing, frank hamilton. _zuni folk tales_, ; reprinted, , by knopf, new york. _my adventures in zuni_, santa fe, . _zuni breadstuff_, museum of the american indian, new york, . cushing had rare imagination and sympathy. his retellings of tales are far superior to verbatim recordings. _zuni breadstuff_ reveals more of indian spirituality than any other book i can name. all op. dehuff, elizabeth. _tay tay's tales_, ; _tay tay's memories_, . op. douglas, frederic h., and d harnoncourt, rene. _indian art of the united states_, simon and schuster, new york, . dyk, walter. _son of old man hat_, new york, . op. fergusson, erna. _dancing gods_, knopf, new york, . erna fergusson is always illuminating. foreman, grant. _indians and pioneers_, , and _advancing the frontier_, university of oklahoma press, norman, . grant foreman is prime authority on the so-called "civilized tribes." university of oklahoma press has published a number of excellent volumes in "the civilization of the american indian" series. gillmor, frances, and wetherill, louisa wade. _traders to the navajos_, boston, ; reprinted by university of new mexico press, albuquerque, . an account not only of the trading post wetherills but of the navajos as human beings, with emphasis on their spiritual qualities. goddard, p. e. _indians of the southwest_, new york, . excellent outline of exterior facts. op. hamilton, charles (editor). _cry of the thunderbird_, macmillan, new york, . an anthology of writings by indians containing many interesting leads. hewett, edgar l. _ancient life in the american southwest_, indianapolis, . op. a master work in both archeology and indian nature. (with bertha p. dretton) _the pueblo indian world_, university of new mexico press, albuquerque, . hodge, f. w. _handbook of american indians north of mexico_, washington, d. c., . indispensable encyclopedia, by a very great scholar and a very fine gentleman. op. labarre, weston. _the peyote cult_, yale university press, new haven, . lafarge, oliver. _laughing boy_, boston, . the navajo in fiction. lummis, c. f. _mesa, canon, and pueblo_, new york, ; _pueblo indian folk tales_, new york, . lummis, though self-vaunting and opinionated, opens windows. matthews, washington. _navajo legends_, boston, ; _navajo myths, prayers and songs_, berkeley, california, . mooney, james. _myths of the cherokees_, in nineteenth annual report of the bureau of ethnology, washington, . outstanding writing. nelson, john louw. _rhythm for rain_, boston, . based on ten years spent with the hopi indians, this study of their life is a moving story of humanity. op. pearce, j. e. _tales that dead men tell_, university of texas press, austin, . eloquent, liberating to the human mind; something rare for texas scholarship. pearce was professor of anthropology at the university of texas, an emancipator from prejudices and ignorance. it is a pity that all the college students who are forced by the bureaucrats of education--education spelled with a capital e--"the unctuous elaboration of the obvious"--do not take anthropology instead. collegians would then stand a chance of becoming educated. petrullo, vicenzo. _the diabolic root: a study of peyotism, the new indian religion, among the delawares_, university of pennsylvania press, philadelphia, . the use of peyote has now spread northwest into canada. see milly peacock stenberg's _the peyote culture among wyoming indians_, university of wyoming publications, laramie, , for bibliography. reichard, gladys a. _spider woman_, , and _dezba woman of the desert_, . both honest, both op. simmons, leo w. (editor). _sun chief: the autobiography of a hopi indian_, yale university press, new haven, . the clearest view into the mind and living ways, including sex life, of an indian that has been published. few autobiographers have been clearer; not one has been franker. a singular human document. {illust} . apaches, comanches, and other plains indians the apaches and the bareback indians of the plains were extraordinary _hombres del campo--_men of the outdoors, plainsmen, woodsmen, trailers, hunters, endurers. they knew some phases of nature with an intimacy that few civilized naturalists ever attain to. it is unfortunate that most of the literature about them is from their enemies. yet an enemy often teaches a man more than his friends and makes him work harder. see "indian culture," "texas rangers." bourke, john g. _on the border with crook_, london, . reprinted by long's college book co., columbus, ohio. a truly great book, on both apaches and arizona frontier. bourke had amplitude, and he knew. buckelew, f. m. _the indian captive_, bandera, texas, . homely and realistic. op. catlin, george. _letters and notes on the manners, customs and conditions of the north american indians, written during eight years' travel, - _, . despite many strictures, catlin's two volumes remain standard. i am pleased to find frank roe, in _the north american buffalo_, standing up for him. in _pursuit of the horizon: a life of george catlin, painter and recorder of the american indian_, new york, , loyd haberly fails in evaluating evidence but brings out the man's career and character. clum, woodworth. _apache agent_, boston, . worthy autobiography of a noble understander of the apache people. op. comfort, will levington. _apache_, dutton, new york, . noble; vivid; semifiction. davis, britton. _the truth about geronimo_, yale university press, new haven, . davis helped run geronimo down. deshields, james t. _cynthia ann parker_, st. louis, ; reprinted . good narrative of noted woman captive. op. dobie, j. frank. _the mustangs_, little, brown, boston, . the opening chapters of this book distil a great deal of research by scholars on plains indian acquisition of horses, riding, and raiding. grinnell, george bird. _the cheyenne indians_, new haven, . this two-volume work supersedes _the fighting cheyennes_, . it is noble, ample, among the most select books on plains indians. _blackfoot lodge tales: the story of a prairie people_, , shows grinnell's skill as storyteller at its best. _pawnee hero stories and folk tales_, , is hardly an equal but it reveals the high values of life held by representatives of the original plainsmen. _the story of the indian_, , is a general survey. all op. grinnell's knowledge and power as a writer on indians and animals has not been sufficiently recognized. he combined in a rare manner scholarship, plainsmanship, and the worldliness of publishing. {illust. caption = george catlin, in _north american indians_ ( )} haley, j. evetts. _fort concho and the texas frontier_, san angelo standard-times, san angelo, texas, . mainly a history of military activities against comanches and other tribes, laced with homilies on the free enterprise virtues of the conquerors. lee, nelson. _three years among the comanches_, . lehman, herman. _nine years with the indians_, bandera, texas, . best captive narrative of the southwest. lockwood, frank c. _the apache indians_, macmillan, new york, . factual history. long lance, chief buffalo child. _long lance_, new york, . op. long lance was a blackfoot only by adoption, but his imagination incorporated him into tribal life more powerfully than blood could have. he is said to have been a north carolina mixture of negro and croatan indian; he was a magnificent specimen of manhood with swart indian complexion. he fought in the canadian army during world war i and thus became acquainted with the blackfeet. no matter what the facts of his life, he wrote a vivid and moving autobiography of a blackfoot indian in whom the spirit of the tribe and the natural life of the plains during buffalo days were incorporated. in in the california home of anita baldwin, daughter of the spectacular "lucky" baldwin, he absented himself from this harsh world by a pistol shot. lowie, robert h. _the crow indians_, new york, . this scholar and anthropologist lived with the crow indians to obtain intimate knowledge and then wrote this authoritative book. op. mcallister, j. gilbert. "kiowa-apache tales," in _the sky is my tipi_, edited by mody c. boatright (texas folklore society publication xxii), southern methodist university press, dallas, . wise in exposition; true-to-humanity and delightful in narrative. mcgillicuddy, julia b. _mcgillicuddy agent_, stanford university press, california, . dr. valentine t. mcgillicuddy, scotch in stubbornness, honesty, efficiency, and individualism, was u.s. indian agent to the sioux and knew them to the bottom. in the end he was defeated by the army mind and the bloodsuckers known as the "indian ring." the elements of nobility that distinguish the man distinguish his wife's biography of him. mclaughlin, james. my _friend the indian_, , . op. mclaughlin was u.s. indian agent and inspector for half a century. despite priggishness, he had genuine sympathy for the indians; he knew the sioux, nez perces, and cheyennes intimately, and few books on indian plainsmen reveal so much as his. marriott, alice. _the ten grandmothers_, university of oklahoma press, norman, . narratives of the kiowas--a complement to james mooney's _calendar history of the kiowa indians_, in seventeenth annual report of the bureau of ethnology, washington, . alice marriott, author of other books on indians, combines ethnological science with the art of writing. mathews, john joseph. _wah'kon-tah: the osage and the white man's road_, university of oklahoma press, . this book of essays on the character of and certain noble characters among the great osages, including their upright agent leban j. miles, has profound spiritual qualities. neihardt, john g. _black elk speaks_, new york, . op. black elk was a holy man of the ogalala sioux. the story of his life as he told it to understanding john g. neihardt is more of mysteries and spiritual matters than of mundane affairs. richardson, r. n. _the comanche barrier to the south plains_, glendale, california, . factual history. rister, carl c. _border captives_, university of oklahoma press, norman, . ruxton, george f. _adventures in mexico and the rocky mountains_, london, . vivid on comanche raids. see ruxton in "surge of life in the west." schultz, j. w. _my life as an indian_, . op. in this autobiographical narrative of the life of a white man with a blackfoot woman, facts have probably been arranged, incidents added. whatever his method, the author achieved a remarkable human document. it is true not only to indian life in general but in particular to the life of a "squaw man" and his loved and loving mate. among other authentic books by schultz is _with the indians of the rockies_, houghton mifflin, boston, . smith, c. l. and j. d. _the boy captives_, bandera, texas, . a kind of classic in homeliness. op. vestal, stanley. _sitting bull_, houghton mifflin, boston, . excellent biography. op. wallace, ernest, and hoebel, e. adamson. _the comanches: lords of the south plains_, university of oklahoma press, norman, . a wide-compassing and interesting book on a powerful and interesting people. wellman, paul i. _death on the prairie_ ( ), _death in the desert_ ( ); both reprinted in _death on horseback_, . all op. graphic history, mostly in narrative, of the struggle of plains and apache indians to hold their homelands against the whites. wilbarger, j. w. _indian depredations in texas_, ; reprinted by steck, austin, . its stirring narratives made this a household book among texans of the late nineteenth century. . spanish-mexican strains the mexican revolution that began in resulted in a rich development of the native cultural elements of mexico, the art of diego rivera being one of the highlights of this development. the native culture is closer to the mexican earth and to the indigenes than to spain, notwithstanding modern insistence on the latin in latin-american culture. the spaniards, through mexico, have had an abiding influence on the architecture and language of the southwest. they gave us our most distinctive occupation, ranching on the open range. they influenced mining greatly, and our land titles and irrigation laws still go back to spanish and mexican sources. after more than a hundred years of occupation of texas and almost that length of time in other parts of the southwest, the english-speaking americans still have the rich accumulations of lore pertaining to coyotes, mesquites, prickly pear, and many other plants and animals to learn from the mexicans, who got their lore partly from intimate living with nature but largely through indian ancestry. see "fighting texians," "santa fe and the santa fe trail." aiken, riley. "a pack load of mexican tales," in _puro mexicano_, published by texas folklore society, . now published by southern methodist university press, dallas. delightful. alexander, frances (and others). _mother goose on the rio grande_, banks upshaw, dallas, . charming rhymes in both spanish and english in charming form. applegate, frank g. _native tales of new mexico_, philadelphia, . delicious; the real thing. op. atherton, gertrude. _the splendid idle forties_, new york, . romance of mexican california. austin, mary. _one-smoke stories_, boston, . short tales of spanish-speaking new mexicans, also of indians. bandelier, a. f. _the gilded man_, new york, . the dream of el dorado. barca, madam calderon de la. _life in mexico_, ; reprinted by dutton about . among books on mexican life to be ranked first both in readability and revealing qualities. bell, horace. _on the old west coast_, new york, . a golden treasury of anecdotes. op. bentley, harold w. _a dictionary of spanish terms in english_, new york, . in a special way this book reveals the spanish-mexican influence on life in the southwest; it also guides to books in english that reflect this influence. op. bishop, morris. _the odyssey of cabeza de vaca_, new york, . better written than cabeza de vaca's own narrative. op. blanco, antonio fierro de. _the journey of the flame_, boston, . bully and flavorsome; the californias. op. bolton, herbert e. _spanish exploration in the southwest_, . the cream of explorer narratives, well edited. _coronado on the turquoise trail_ (originally published in new york, , under the title _coronado: knight of pueblos and plains_; now issued by university of new mexico press, albuquerque). by his own work and by directing other scholars, dr. bolton has surpassed all other american historians of his time in output on spanish-american history. _coronado_ is the climax of his many volumes. its fault is being too worshipful of everything spanish and too uncritical. a little essay on coronado in haniel long's _pinon country_ goes a good way to put this belegended figure into proper perspective. brenner, anita. _idols behind altars_, . op. the pagan worship that endures among mexican indians. _the wind that swept mexico: the history of the mexican revolution, - _, , op. _your mexican holiday_, revised . no writer on modern mexico has a clearer eye or clearer intellect than anita brenner; she maintains good humor in her realism and never lapses into phony romance. cabeza de vaca's _narrative_. any translation procurable. one is included in _spanish explorers in the southern united states_, edited by f. w. hodge and t. h. lewis, now published by barnes & noble, new york. the most dramatic and important aftermath of cabeza de vaca's twisted walk across the continent was coronado's search for the seven cities of cibola. coronado's precursor was fray marcos de niza. _the journey of fray marcos de niza_, by cleve hallenbeck, with illustrations and decorations by jose cisneros, is one of the most beautiful books in format published in america. it was designed and printed by carl hertzog of el paso, printer without peer between the atlantic and the pacific, and is issued by southern methodist university press, dallas. castaneda's narrative of coronado's expedition. winship's translation is preferred. it is included in _spanish explorers in the southern united states_, cited above. cather, willa. _death comes for the archbishop_, knopf, new york, . classical historical fiction on new mexico. cumberland, charles c. _mexican revolution: genesis under madero_, university of texas press, austin, . bibliography. to know mexico and mexicans without knowing anything about mexican revolutions is like knowing the united states in ignorance of frontiers, constitutions, and corporations. the madero revolution that began in is still going on. mr. cumberland's solid book, independent in itself, is to be followed by two other volumes. de soto. hernando de soto made his expedition from florida north and west at the time coronado was exploring north and east. _the florida of the inca_, by garcilaso de la vega, translated by john and jeannette varner, university of texas press, austin, , is the first complete publishing in english of this absorbing narrative. diaz, bernal. _history of the conquest_. there are several translations. a book of gusto and humanity as enduring as the results of the conquest itself. dobie, j. frank. _coronado's children_, . legendary tales of the southwest, many of them derived from mexican sources. _tongues of the monte_, . a pattern of the soil of northern mexico and its folk. _apache gold and yaqui silver_, . lost mines and money in mexico and new mexico. last two books published by little, brown, boston. domenech, abbe. _missionary adventures in texas and mexico_, london, . delightful folklore, though domenech would not have so designated his accounts. fergusson, harvey. _blood of the conquerors_, . fiction. op. _rio grande_, knopf, new york, . best interpretations yet written of upper mexican class. flandrau, charles m. _viva mexico!_ new york, ; reissued, . delicious autobiographic narrative of life in mexico. fulton, maurice g., and horgan, paul (editors). _new mexico's own chronicle_, dallas, . op. selections from writers about the new mexico scene. gilpatrick, wallace. _the man who likes mexico_, new york, . op. bully reading. gonzalez, jovita. tales about texas-mexican vaquero folk in _texas and southwestern lore_, in _man, bird, and beast_, and in _mustangs and cow horses_, publications vi, viii, and xvi of texas folklore society. {illust. caption = jose cisneros: fray marcos, in _the journey of fray marcos de niza_ by cleve hallenbeck ( )} graham, r. b. cunninghame. _hernando de soto_, london, . biography. op. harte, bret. _the bell ringer of angels_ and other legendary tales of california. laughlin, ruth. _caballeros_. when the book was published in , the author was named ruth laughlin barker; after she discarded the barker part, it was reissued, in , by caxton, caldwell, idaho. delightful picturings of mexican--or spanish, as many new mexicans prefer--life around santa fe. lea, tom. _the brave bulls_. see under "fiction." lummis, c. f. _flowers of our lost romance_, boston, . humanistic essays on spanish contributions to southwestern civilization. op. _the land of poco tiempo_, new york, (reissued by university of new mexico press, ), in an easier style. _a new mexico david_, , . folk tales and sketches. op. merriam, charles. _machete_, dallas, . plain and true to the _gente_. op. niggli, josephina. _mexican village_, university of north carolina press, chapel hill, . a collection of skilfully told stories that reveal mexican life. o'shaughnessy, edith. _a diplomat s wife in mexico_, new york, ; _diplomatic days_, ; _intimate pages of mexican history_, . books of passion and power and high literary merit, interpretative of revolutionary mexico. op. otero, nina. _old spain in our southwest_, new york, . genuine. op. porter, katherine anne. _flowering judas_. see under "fiction." prescott, william h. _conquest of mexico_. history that is literature. remington, frederic w. _pony tracks_, new york, . includes sketches of mexican ranch life. ross, patricia fent. _made in mexico: the story of a country's arts and crafts_, knopf, new york, . picturesquely and instructively illustrated by carlos merida. tannenbaum, frank. _peace by revolution_, columbia university press, new york, ; _mexico: the struggle for peace and bread_, knopf, new york, . tannenbaum dodges nothing, not even the church. _terry's guide to mexico_. it has everything. texas folklore society. its publications are a storehouse of mexican folklore in the southwest and in mexico also. especially recommended are _texas and southwestern lore_ (vi), _man, bird, and beast_ (viii), _southwestern lore_ (ix), _spur-of-the-cock_ (xi), _puro mexicano_ (xii), _texian stomping grounds_ (xvii), _mexican border ballads and other lore_ (xxi), _the healer of los olmos and other mexican lore_ (xxiv, ). all published by southern methodist university press, dallas. toor, frances. a _treasury of mexican folkways_, crown, new york, . an anthology of life. turner, timothy g._ bullets, bottles and gardenias_, dallas, . obscurely published but one of the best books on mexican life. op. . flavor of france there is little justification for including louisiana as a part of the southwest. despite the fact that the french flag--tied to a pole in louisiana--once waved over texas, french influence on it and other parts of the southwest has been minor. arthur, stanley clisby. _jean laffite, gentleman rover_ ( ) and _audubon: an intimate life of the american woodsman_ ( ), both published by harmanson--publisher and bookseller, royal st., new orleans. cable, george w. _old creole days: strange true stories of louisiana_. chopin, kate. _bayou folk_. fortier, alcee. any of his work on louisiana. hearn, lafcadio. _chita_. a lovely story. joutel. _journal_ of la salle's career in texas. kane, harnett t. _plantation parade: the grand manner in louisiana_ ( ), _natchez on the mississippi_ ( ), _queen new orleans_ ( ), all published by morrow, new york. king, grace. _new orleans: the place and the people; balcony stories._ mcvoy, lizzie carter. _louisiana in the short story_, louisiana state university press, . saxon, lyle. _fabulous new orleans; old louisiana; lafitte the pirate_. . backwoods life and humor the settlers who put their stamp on texas were predominantly from the southern states--and far more of them came to texas to work out of debt than came with riches in the form of slaves. the plantation owner came too, but the go-ahead crockett kind of backwoodsman was typical. the southern type never became so prominent in new mexico, arizona, and california as in texas. nevertheless, the fact glares out that the code of conduct--the riding and shooting tradition, the eagerness to stand up and fight for one's rights, the readiness to back one's judgment with a gun, a bowie knife, money, life itself--that characterized the whole west as well as the southwest was southern, hardly at all new england. the very qualities that made many of the texas pioneers rebels to society and forced not a few of them to quit it between sun and sun without leaving new addresses fitted them to conquer the wilderness--qualities of daring, bravery, reckless abandon, heavy self-assertiveness. a lot of them were hell-raisers, for they had a lust for life and were maddened by tame respectability. nobody but obsequious politicians and priggish "daughters" wants to make them out as models of virtue and conformity. a smooth and settled society--a society shockingly tame--may accept cardinal newman's definition, "a gentleman is one who never gives offense." under this definition a shaded violet, a butterfly, and a floating summer cloud are all gentlemen. "the art of war," said napoleon, "is to make offense." conquering the hostile texas wilderness meant war with nature and against savages as well as against mexicans. go-ahead crockett's ideal of a gentleman was one who looked in another direction while a visitor was pouring himself out a horn of whiskey. laying aside climatic influences on occupations and manners, certain spanish influences, and minor pueblo indian touches, the southwest from the point of view of the bedrock anglo-saxon character that has made it might well include arkansas and missouri. the realism of southern folk and of a very considerable body of indigenous literature representing them has been too much overshadowed by a kind of _so red the rose_ idealization of slave-holding aristocrats. allsopp, fred w. _folklore of romantic arkansas_, vols., grolier society, . allsopp assembled a rich and varied collection of materials in the tone of "the arkansas traveler." op. arrington, alfred w. _the rangers and regulators of the tanaha_, . east texas bloodletting. baldwin, joseph g. _the flush times of alabama and mississippi_, . blair, walter. _horse sense in american humor from benjamin franklin to ogden nash_, . op. _native american humor_, . op. _tall tale america_, coward-mccann, new york, . orderly analyses with many concrete examples. with franklin j. meine as co-author, _mike fink, king of mississippi river keelboatmen_, . biography of a folk type against pioneer and frontier background. op. boatright, mody c. _folk laughter on the american frontier_. see under "interpreters." clark, thomas d. _the rampaging frontier_, . op. historical picturization and analysis, fortified by incidents and tales of "varmints," "liars," "quarter horses," "fiddlin'," "foolin' with the gals," etc. crockett, david. _autobiography_. reprinted many times. scribner's edition in the "modern students' library" includes _colonel crockett's exploits and adventures in_ _texas_. crockett set the backwoods type. see treatment of him in parrington's _main currents in american thought_. richard m. dorson's _davy crockett, american comic legend_, , is a summation of the crockett tradition. featherstonhaugh, g. w. _excursion through the slave states_, london, . refreshing on manners and characters. flack, captain. _the texas ranger, or real life in the backwoods_, london, . gerstaecker, frederick. _wild sports in the far west_. nothing better on backwoods life in the mississippi valley. hammett, samuel adams (who wrote under the name of philip paxton), _piney woods tavern; or sam slick in texas_ and _a stray yankee in texas_. humor on the roughneck element. for treatment of hammett as man and writer see _sam slick in texas_, by w. stanley hoole, naylor, san antonio, . harris, george w. _sut lovingood_, new york, . prerealism. hogue, wayman. _back yonder_. minton, balch, new york, . ozark life. op. hooper, j. j. _adventures of captain simon suggs_, . op. downright realism. like longstreet, hooper in maturity wanted his realism forgotten. an alabama journalist, he got into the camp of respectable slave-holders and spent the later years of his life shouting against the "enemies of the institution of african slavery." his life partly explains the lack of intellectual honesty in most southern spokesmen today. _alias simon suggs: the life and times of johnson jones hooper_, by w. stanley hoole, university of alabama press, , is a careful study of hooper's career. hudson, a. p. _humor of the old deep south_, new york, . an anthology. op. longstreet, a. b. _georgia scenes_, . numerous reprints. realism. masterson, james r. _tall tales of arkansas_, boston, . op. the title belies this excellent social history--by a scholar. it has become quite scarce on account of the fact that it contains unexpurgated versions of the notorious speech on "change the name of arkansas"--which in in officers' barracks at bordeaux, france, i heard a lusty individual recite with as many variations as roxane of _cyrano de bergerac_ wanted in love-making. when fred w. allsopp, newspaper publisher and pillar of arkansas respectability, found that this book of unexpurgations had been dedicated to him by the author--a harvard ph.d. teaching in michigan--he almost "had a colt." meine, franklin j. (editor). _tall tales of the southwest_, knopf, new york, . a superbly edited and superbly selected anthology with appendices affording a guide to the whole field of early southern humor and realism. no cavalier idealism. the "southwest" of this excellent book is south. olmsted, frederick law. _a journey in the seaboard slave states_, . _a journey through texas_, . invaluable books on social history. postl, karl anton (charles sealsfield or francis hardman, pseudonyms). _the cabin book; frontier life_. translations all op. randolph, vance. _we always lie to strangers_, columbia university press, new york, . a collection of tall tales of the adding machine variety. fertile in invention but devoid of any yearning for the beautiful or suggestion that the human spirit hungers for something beyond horse play; in short, typical of american humor. rourke, constance. _american humor_, ; _davy crockett_, ; _roots of american culture and other essays_, , all published by harcourt, brace, new york. thompson, william t. _major jones's courtship_, philadelphia, . realism. thorpe, t. b. _the hive of the bee-hunter_, new york, . this excellent book should be reprinted. watterson, henry. _oddities in southern life and character_, boston, . an anthology with interpretative notes. wilson, charles morrow. _backwoods america_. university of north carolina press, chapel hill, . well ordered survey with excellent samplings. wood, ray. _the american mother goose_, ; _fun in american folk rhymes_, ; both published by lippincott, philadelphia. . how the early settlers lived despite the fact that the tendency of a majority of early day rememberers has been to emphasize indian fights, killings, and other sensational episodes, chronicles rich in the everyday manners and customs of the folk are plentiful. the classic of them all is noah smithwick's _the evolution of a state_, listed below. see also "backwoods life and humor," "pioneer doctors," "women pioneers," "fighting texians." barker, e. c. _the austin papers_. four volumes of sources for any theme in social history connected with colonial texans. bates, ed. f. _history and reminiscences of denton county_, denton, texas, . a sample of much folk life found in county histories. bell, horace. _on the old west coast_, new york, . social history by anecdote. california. op. bracht, viktor. _texas in _, translated from the german by c. f. schmidt, san antonio, . better on natural resources than on human inhabitants. op. carl, prince of solms-braunfels. _texas, - _. translation, houston, . op. cox, c. c. "reminiscences," in vol. vi of _southwestern historical quarterly_. one of the best of many pioneer recollections published by the texas state historical association. crockett, david. anything about him. dick, everett. _the sod house frontier_ ( ) and _vanguards of the frontier_ ( ). both op. life on north-ern plains into rocky mountains, but applicable to life southward. dobie, j. frank. _the flavor of texas_, . op. considerable social history. fenley, florence. _oldtimers: their own stories_, uvalde, texas, . op. faithful reporting of realistic detail. southwest texas, mostly ranch life. frantz, joe b. _gail borden, dairyman to a nation_. university of oklahoma press, norman, . this biography of a newspaperman and inventor brings out sides of pioneer life that emphasis on fighting, farming, and ranching generally overlooks. gerstaecker, frederick. _wild sports in the far west_, . dances are among the sports. harris, mrs. dilue. "reminiscences," edited by mrs. a. b. looscan, in vols. iv and vii of _southwestern historical quarterly_. hart, john a. _history of pioneer days in texas and oklahoma_; no date. extended and republished under the title of _pioneer days in the southwest_, . much on frontier ways of living. hoff, carol _johnny texas_, wilcox and follett, chicago, . juvenile, historical fiction. delightful in both text and illustrations. hogan, william r. _the texas republic: a social and economic history_, university of oklahoma press, . long on facts, short on intellectual activity; that is, on interpretations from the perspective of time and civilization. holden, w. c. _alkali trails_, dallas, . pioneer life in west texas. op. holley, mary austin. _texas... in a series of letters_, baltimore, ; reprinted under the title of _letters of an american traveler_, edited by mattie austin hatcher, dallas, . first good book on texas to be printed. op. _lamar papers_. six volumes of scrappy source material on texas history and life, issued by texas state library, austin. op. lewis, willie newbury. _between sun and sod_, clarendon, texas, . op. again, want of perspective. lubbock, f. r. six _decades in texas_, austin, . mcconnell, h. h. _five years a cavalryman_, jacksboro, texas, . bully. mcdanfield, h. f., and taylor, nathaniel a. _the coming empire, or miles in texas on horseback_, new york, ; privately reprinted, . delightful travel narrative. op. mcneal, t. a. _when kansas was young_, new york, . episodes and characters of plains country. op. olmsted, frederick law. _a journey through texas_, new york, . olmsted journeyed in order to see. he saw. read, opie. _an arkansas planter_, . pleasant fiction. richardson, albert d. _beyond the mississippi_, hartford, . what a traveling journalist saw. rister, carl c. _southern plainsmen_, university of oklahoma press, . though pedestrian in style, good social data. bibliography. roemer, dr. ferdinand. _texas_, translated from the german by oswald mueller, san antonio, . op. roemer, a geologist, rode through texas in the forties and made acute observations on the land, its plants and animals, and the settlers. schmitz, joseph william. _thus they lived_, naylor, san antonio, . this would have been a good social history of texas had the writer devoted ten more years to the subject. unsatisfactory bibliography. shipman, daniel. _frontier life, years in texas_, n.p., . one of the pioneer reminiscences that should be reprinted. smith, henry. "reminiscences," in _southwestern historical quarterly_, vol. xiv. telling details. smithwick, noah. _the evolution of a state_, austin, . reprinted by steck, austin, . best of all books dealing with life in early texas. bully reading. _southwestern historical quarterly_, published since by texas state historical association, austin. a depository of all kinds of history; the first twenty-five or thirty volumes are the more interesting. sweet, alexander e., and knox, j. armoy. _on a mexican mustang through texas_, hartford, . humorous satire, often penetrating and ruddy with actuality. wallis, jonnie lockhart. _sixty years on the brazos: the life and letters of dr. john washington lockhart_, privately printed, los angeles, . in notebook style, but as rare in essence as it is among dealers in out-of-print books. waugh, julia nott. _castroville and henry castro_, san antonio, . op. best-written monograph dealing with any aspect of texas history that i have read. wynn, afton. "pioneer folk ways," in _straight texas_, texas folklore society publication xiii, . . fighting texians the texas people belong to a fighting tradition that the majority of them are proud of. the footholds that the spaniards and mexicans held in texas were maintained by virtue of fighting, irrespective of missionary baptizing. the purpose of the anglo-american colonizer stephen f. austin to "redeem texas from the wilderness" was accomplished only by fighting. the texans bought their liberty with blood and maintained it for nine years as a republic with blood. it was fighting men who pushed back the frontiers and blazed trails. the fighting tradition is now giving way to the oil tradition. the texas myth as imagined by non-texans is coming to embody oil millionaires in airplanes instead of horsemen with six-shooters and rifles. see edna ferber's giant ( novel). nevertheless, many texans who never rode a horse over three miles at a stretch wear cowboy boots, and a lot of texans are under the delusion that bullets and atomic bombs can settle complexities that demand informed intelligence and the power to think. as i have pointed out in _the flavor of texas_, the chronicles of men who fought the mexicans and were prisoners to them comprise a unique unit in the personal narratives and annals of america. many of the books listed under the headings of "texas rangers," "how the early settlers lived," and "range life" specify the fighting tradition. bean, peter ellis. _memoir_, published first in vol. i of yoakum's _history of texas_; in printed as a small book by the book club of texas, dallas, now op. a fascinating narrative. bechdolt, frederick r. _tales of the old timers_, new york, . forceful retelling of the story of the mier expedition and of other activities of the "fighting texans." op. chabot, frederick c. _the perote prisoners_, san antonio, . annotated diaries of texas prisoners in mexico. op. dobie, j. frank. _the flavor of texas_, dallas, . op. chapters on bean, green, duval, kendall, and other representers of the fighting texans. duval, john c. _adventures of bigfoot wallace_, ; _early times in texas_, . both books are kept in print by steck, austin. for biography and critical estimate, see _john c. duval: first texas man of letters_, by j. frank dobie (illustrated by tom lea), dallas, . op. _early times in texas_, called "the _robinson crusoe_ of texas," is duval's story of the goliad massacre and of his escape from it. duval served as a texas ranger with bigfoot wallace, who was in the mier expedition. his narrative of bigfoot's _adventures_ is the rollickiest and the most flavorsome that any american frontiersman has yet inspired. the tiresome thumping on the hero theme present in many biographies of frontiersmen is entirely absent. stanley vestal wrote _bigfoot wallace_ also, boston, . op. erath, major george g. _memoirs_, texas state historical association, austin, . erath understood his fellow texians. op. gillett, james b. _six years with the texas rangers_, . op. green, thomas jefferson. _journal of the texan expedition against mier_, ; reprinted by steck, austin, . green was one of the leaders of the mier expedition. he lived in wrath and wrote with fire. for information on green see _recollections and reflections_ by his son, wharton j. green, . op. houston, sam. _the raven_, by marquis james, , is not the only biography of the texan general, but it is the best, and embodies most of what has been written on houston excepting the multivolumed _houston papers_ issued by the university of texas press, austin, under the editorship of e. c. barker. houston was an original character even after he became a respectable baptist. kendall, george w. _narrative of the texan santa fe expedition_, ; reprinted by steck, austin, . two volumes. kendall, a new orleans journalist in search of copy, joined the santa fe expedition sent by the republic of texas to annex new mexico. lost on the staked plains and then marched afoot as a prisoner to mexico city, he found plenty of copy and wrote a narrative that if it were not so journalistically verbose might rank alongside dana's _two years before the mast_. fayette copeland's _kendall of the picayune_, but op, is a biography. an interesting parallel to kendall's _narrative is letters and notes on the texan santa fe expedition, - _, by thomas falconer, with notes and introduction by f. w. hodge, new york, . op. the route of the expedition is logged and otherwise illuminated in _the texan santa fe trail_, by h. bailey carroll, panhandle-plains historical society, canyon, texas, . leach, joseph. _the typical texan: biography of an american myth_, southern methodist university press, dallas, . at the time texas was emerging, the three main types of americans were yankees, southern aristocrats, kentucky westerners embodied by daniel boone. texas took over the kentucky tradition. it was enlarged by crockett, who stayed in texas only long enough to get killed, sam houston, and bigfoot wallace. novels, plays, stories, travel books, and the texans themselves have kept the tradition going. this is the main thesis of the book. mr. leach fails to note that the best books concerning texas have done little to keep the typical texan alive and that a great part of the present texas brags spirit is as absurdly unrealistic as mussolini's splurge at making twentieth-century italians imagine themselves a {illust. caption = john w. thomason, in his _lone star preacher_ ( )} reincarnation of caesar's roman legions. mr. leach dissects the myth and then swallows it. linn, john j. _reminiscences of fifty years in texas_, ; reprinted by steck, austin, . mixture of personal narrative and historical notes, written with energy and prejudice. maverick, mary a. _memoirs_, . op. mrs. maverick's husband, sam maverick, was among the citizens of san antonio haled off to mexico as prisoners in . morrell, z. n. _fruits and flowers in the wilderness_, . op. morrell, a circuit-riding baptist preacher, fought the indians and the mexicans. see other books of this kind listed under "circuit riders and missionaries." perry, george sessions. texas, a _world in itself_, mcgraw-hill, new york, . especially good chapter on the alamo. smythe, h. _historical sketch of parker county, texas_, . one of various good county histories of texas replete with fighting. for bibliography of this extensive class of literature consult _texas county histories_, by h. bailey carroll, texas state historical association, austin, . op. sonnichsen, c. l. _i'll die before i'll run: the story of the great feuds of texas_--and of some not great. harper, new york, . sowell, a. j. _rangers and pioneers of texas_, ; _life of bigfoot wallace_, ; _early settlers and indian fighters of southwest texas_, . all op; all meaty with the character of ready-to-fight but peace-seeking texas pioneers. sowell will some day be recognized as an extraordinary chronicler. stapp, william p. _the prisoners of perote_, ; reprinted by steck, austin, . journal of one of the mier men who drew a white bean. thomason, john w. _lone star preacher_, scribner's, new york, . the cream, the essence, the spirit, and the body of the fighting tradition of texas. historical novel of civil war. webb, walter prescott. _the texas rangers_, houghton mifflin, boston, . see under "texas rangers." wilbarger, j. w. _indian depredations in texas_, ; reprinted by steck, austin, . narratives that have for generations been a household heritage among texas families who fought for their land. . texas rangers the texas rangers were never more than a handful in number, but they were picked men who knew how to ride, shoot, and tell the truth. on the mexican border and on the indian frontier, a few rangers time and again proved themselves more effective than battalions of soldiers. oh, pray for the ranger, you kind-hearted stranger, he has roamed over the prairies for many a year; he has kept the comanches from off your ranches, and chased them far over the texas frontier. banta, william. _twenty-seven years on the texas frontier_, ; reprinted, . op. gay, beatrice grady. _into the setting sun_, santa anna, texas, . coleman county scenes and characters, dominated by ranger character. op. gillett, james b. _six years with the texas rangers_, printed for the author at austin, texas, . he paid the printer cash for either one or two thousand copies, as he told me, and sold them personally. edited by milo m. quaife, the book was published by yale university press in . this edition was reprinted, , by the lakeside press, chicago, in its "lakeside classics" series, which are given away by the publishers at christmas annually and are not for sale--except through second-hand dealers. meantime, in , the narrative had appeared under title of _the texas ranger_, "in collaboration with howard r. driggs," a professional neutralizer for school readers of any writing not standardized, published by world book co., yonkers-on-hudson, new york. all editions op. i regard gillett as the strongest and straightest of all ranger narrators. he combined in his nature wild restlessness and loyal gentleness. he wrote in sunlight. greer, james k. _buck barry_, dallas, . op. _colonel jack hays, texas frontier leader and california builder_, dutton, new york, . hays achieved more vividness in reputation than narratives about him have attained to. jennings, n. a. _the texas ranger_, new york, ; reprinted , with foreword by j. frank dobie. op. good narrative. maltby, w. jeff. _captain jeff_, colorado, texas, . amorphous. op. martin, jack. _border boss_, san antonio, . mediocre biography of captain john r. hughes. op. paine, albert bigelow. _captain bill mcdonald_, new york, . paine did not do so well by "captain bill" as he did in his rich biography of mark twain. op. pike, james. _scout and ranger_, , reprinted by princeton university press. pike drew a long bow; interesting. op. raymond, dora neill. _captain lee hall of texas_, norman, oklahoma, . op. reid, samuel c. _scouting expeditions of the texas rangers_, ; reprinted by steck, austin, . texas rangers in mexican war. roberts, dan w. _rangers and sovereignty_, . op. roberts was better as ranger than as writer. roberts, mrs. d. w. (wife of captain dan w. roberts). a _woman's reminiscences of six years in camp with the texas rangers_, austin, . op. mrs. roberts was a sensible and charming woman with a seeing eye. sowell, a. j. _rangers and pioneers of texas_, san antonio, . a graphic book down to bedrock. op. webb, walter prescott. _the texas rangers_, houghton mifflin, boston, . the beginning, middle, and end of the subject. bibliography. . women pioneers one reason for the ebullience of life and rollicky carelessness on the frontiers of the west was the lack--temporary--of women. the men, mostly young, had given no hostages to fortune. they were generally as free from family cares as the buccaneers. this was especially true of the first ranches on the great plains, of cattle trails, of mining camps, logging camps, and of trapping expeditions. it was not true of the colonial days in texas, of ranch life in the southern part of texas, of homesteading all over the west, of emigrant trails to california and oregon, of backwoods life. various items listed under "how the early settlers lived" contain material on pioneer women. alderson, nannie t., and smith, helena huntington. a _bride goes west_, new york, . montana in the eighties. op. baker, d. w. c. a _texas scrapbook_, ; reprinted, , by steck, austin. brothers, mary hudson. a _pecos pioneer_, . op. the best part of this book is not about the writer's brother, who cowboyed with chisum's jinglebob outfit and ran into billy the kid, but is mary hudson's own life. only ross santee has equaled her in description of drought and rain. the last chapters reveal a girl's inner life, amid outward experiences, as no other woman's chronicle of ranch ways--sheep ranch here. call, hughie. _golden fleece_, houghton mifflin, boston, . hughie call became wife of a montana sheepman early in this century. op. cleaveland, agnes morley. _no life for a lady_, houghton mifflin, boston, . bright, witty, penetrating; anecdotal. best account of frontier life from woman's point of view yet published. new mexico is the setting, toward turn of the century. people who wished mrs. cleaveland would write another book were disappointed when her _satan's paradise_ appeared in . ellis, anne. _the life of an ordinary woman_, , and _plain anne ellis_, , both op. colorado country and town. books of disillusioned observations, wit, and wisdom by a frank woman. faunce, hilda. _desert wife_, . op. desert loneliness at a navajo trading post. harris, mrs. dilue. reminiscences, in _southwestern historical quarterly_, vols. iv and vii. kleberg, rosa. "early experiences in texas," in _quarterly of the texas state historical association_ (initial title for _southwestern historical quarterly_), vols. i and ii. magoffin, susan shelby. _down the santa fe trail_, . op. she was juicy and a bride, and all life was bright to her. matthews, sallie reynolds. _interwoven_, houston, . ranch life in the texas frontier as a refined and intelligent woman saw it. op. maverick, mary a. _memoirs_, san antonio, . op. essential. pickrell, annie doom. _pioneer women in texas_, austin, . too much lady business but valuable. op. poe, sophie a. _buckboard days_, edited by eugene cunningham, caldwell, idaho, . mrs. poe was there--new mexico. rak, mary kidder. _a cowman's wife_, houghton mifflin, boston, . the external experiences of an ex-teacher on a small arizona ranch. rhodes, may d. _the hired man on horseback_, . biography of eugene manlove rhodes, but also warm-natured autobiography of the woman who ranched with "gene" in new mexico. op. richards, clarice e. _a tenderfoot bride_, garden city, n. y., . op. charming. stewart, elinor p. _letters of a woman homesteader_, boston, . op. white, owen p. _a frontier mother_, new york, . op. overdone, as white overdid every subject he touched. wilbarger, j. w. _indian depredations in texas_, ; reprinted by steck, austin, . a glimpse into the lives led by families that gave many women to savages--for death or for cynthia ann parker captivity. wynn, afton. "pioneer folk ways," in _straight texas_, texas folklore society publication xiii, . excellent. . circuit riders and missionaries notwithstanding both the tradition and the facts of hardshooting, hard-riding cowboys, of bad men, of border lawlessness, of inhabitants who had left some other place under a cloud, of frontier towns "west of god," hard layouts and conscienceless "courthouse crowds"--notwithstanding all this, the southwest has been and is religious-minded. this is not to say that it is spiritual-natured. it belongs to h. l. mencken's "bible belt." "pass-the-biscuits" pappy o'daniel got to be governor of texas and then u.s. senator by advertising his piety. a politician as "ignorant as a mexican hog" on foreign affairs and the complexities of political economy can run in favor of what he and the voters call religion and leave an informed man of intellect and sincerity in the shade. the biggest campmeeting in the southwest, the bloys campmeeting near fort davis, texas, is in the midst of an enormous range country away from all factories and farmers. since about the united states indian service has not only allowed but rather encouraged the indians to revert to their own religious ceremonies. they have always been religious. the spanish colonists of the southwest, as elsewhere, were zealously catholic, and their descendants have generally remained catholic. the first english-speaking settlers of the region--the colonists led by stephen f. austin to texas--were overwhelmingly protestant, though in order to establish mexican citizenship and get titles to homestead land they had, technically, to declare themselves catholics. one of the causes of the texas revolution as set forth by the texans in their declaration of independence was the mexican government's denial of "the right of worshipping the almighty according to the dictates of our own conscience." a history of southwestern society that left out the bible would be as badly gapped as one leaving out the horse or the six-shooter. see chapter entitled "on the lord's side" in dobie's _the flavor of texas_. most of the books listed under "how the early settlers lived" contain information on religion and preachers. church histories are about as numerous as state histories. virtually all county histories take into account church development. the books listed below are strong on personal experiences. asbury, francis. three or more lives have been written of this representative pioneer bishop. bolton, herbert e. _the padre on horseback_, . life of the jesuit missionary kino. op. brownlow, w. g. _portrait and biography of parson brownlow, the tennessee patriot_, . brownlow was a very representative figure. under the title of _william g brownlow, fighting parson of the southern highland_, e. m coulter has brought out a thorough life of him, published by university of north carolina press, chapel hill, . burleson, rufus c. _life and writings_, . op. the autobiographical part of this amorphously arranged volume is a social document of the first rank. cartwright, peter. _autobiography_, . out of kentucky, into indiana and then into illinois, where he ran against lincoln for congress, cartwright rode with saddlebags and bible. sandburg characterizes him as "an enemy of whisky, gambling, jewelry, fine clothes, and higher learning." he seems to me more unlovely in his intolerance and sectarianism than most circuit riders of the southwest, but as a militant, rough-and-ready "soldier of the lord" he represented southwestern frontiers as well as his own. cranfill, j. b. _chronicle, a story of life in texas_, . cranfill was a lot of things besides a baptist preacher--trail driver, fiddler, publisher, always an observer. op. devilbiss, john wesley. _reminiscences and events_ (compiled by h. a. graves), . the very essence of pioneering, domenech, abbe. _missionary adventures in texas and mexico_ (translated from the french), london, . op. the abbe always had eyes open for wonders. he saw them. delicious narrative. evans, will g. _border skylines_, published in dallas, , for bloys campmeeting association, fort davis, texas. chronicles of the men and women--cow people--and cow country responsible for the best known campmeeting, held annually, texas has ever had. op. gravis, peter w. _ years on the outside row of the northwest texas annual conference_, comanche, texas, . another one of those small personal records, privately printed but full of juice. op. lide, anna a. _robert alexander and the early methodist church in texas_, la grange, texas, . op. morrell, z. n. _fruits and flowers in the wilderness_, . though reprinted three times, last in , long op. in many ways the best circuit rider's chronicle of the southwest that has been published. morrell fought indians and mexicans in texas and was rich in other experiences. morris, t. a. _miscellany_, . the "notes of travel"--particularly to texas in --are what makes this book interesting. parisot, p. f. _reminiscences of a texas missionary_, . mostly the texas-mexican border. potter, andrew jackson, commonly called the fighting parson. _life_ of him by h. a. graves, , not nearly so good as potter was himself. thomason, john w. _lone star preacher_, scribner's, new york, . fiction, true to humanity. the moving story of a texas chaplain who carried a bible in one hand and a captain's sword in the other through the civil war. . lawyers, politicians, j. p.'s stephen f. austin wanted to exclude lawyers, along with roving frontiersmen, from his colonies in texas, and hoped thus to promote a utopian society. the lawyers got in, however. their wit, the anecdotes of which they were both subject and author, and the political stories they made traditional from the stump, have not been adequately set down. as criminal lawyers they stood as high in society as corporation lawyers stand now and were a good deal more popular, though less wealthy. the code of independence that fostered personal violence and justified killings--in contradistinction to murders--and that ran to excess in outlaws naturally fostered the criminal lawyer. his type is now virtually obsolete. keen observers, richly stored in experience and delightful in talk, as many lawyers of the southwest have been and are, very few of them have written on other than legal subjects. james d. lynch's _the bench and the bar of texas_ ( ) is confined to the eminence of "eminent jurists" and to the mastery of "masters of jurisprudence." what we want is the flavor of life as represented by such characters as witty three-legged willie (judge r. m. williamson) and mysterious jonas harrison. it takes a self-lover to write good autobiography. lawyers are certainly as good at self-loving as preachers, but we have far better autobiographic records of circuit riders than of early-day lawyers. like them, the pioneer justice of peace resides more in folk anecdotes than in chroniclings. horace bell's expansive _on the old west coast_ so represents him. a continent away, david crockett, in his _autobiography_, confessed, "i was afraid some one would ask me what the judiciary was. if i knowed i wish i may be shot." before this, however, crockett had been a j. p. "i gave my decisions on the principles of common justice and honesty between man and man, and relied on natural born sense, and not on law learning to guide me; for i had never read a page in a law book in all my life." coombes, charles e. _the prairie dog lawyer_, dallas, . op. experiences and anecdotes by a lawyer better read in rough-and-ready humanity than in law. the prairie dogs have all been poisoned out from the west texas country over which he ranged from court to court. hawkins, walace. _the case of john c. watrous, united states judge for texas: a political story of high crimes and misdemeanors_, southern methodist university press, dallas, . more technical than social. kittrell, norman g. _governors who have been and other public men of texas_, houston, . op. best collection of lawyer anecdotes of the southwest. robinson, duncan w. _judge robert mcalpin williamson, texas' three-legged willie_, texas state historical association, austin, . this was the republic of texas judge who laid a colt revolver across a bowie knife and said: "here is the constitution that overrides the law." sonnichsen, c. l. _roy bean, law west of the pecos_, macmillan, new york, . roy bean ( - ), justice of peace at langtry, texas, advertised himself as "law west of the pecos." he was more picaresque than picturesque; folk imagination gave him notoriety. the texas state highway department maintains for popular edification the beer joint wherein he held court. three books have been written about him, besides scores of newspaper and magazine articles. the only biography of validity is sonnichsen's. sloan, richard e. _memories of an arizona judge_, stanford, california, . full of humanity. op. smith, e. f. _a saga of texas law: a factual story of texas law, lawyers, judges and famous lawsuits_, naylor, san antonio, . interesting. . pioneer doctors before the family doctors came, frontiersmen sawed off legs with handsaws, tied up arteries with horsetail hair, cauterized them with branding irons. before homemade surgery with steel tools was practiced, mexican _curanderas_ (herb women) supplied _remedios_, and they still know the medicinal properties of every weed and bush. herb stores in san antonio, brownsville, and el paso do a thriving business. behind the _curanderas_ were the medicine men of the tribes. not all their lore was superstition, as any one who reads the delectable autobiography of gideon lincecum, published by the mississippi historical society in , will agree. lincecum, learned in botany, a sharply-edged individual who later moved to texas, went out to live with a choctaw medicine man and wrote down all his lore about the virtues of native plants. the treatise has never been printed. the extraordinary life of lincecum has, however, been interestingly delineated in samuel wood geiser's _naturalists of the frontier_, southern methodist university press, , , and in pat ireland nixon's _the medical story of early texas_, listed below. no historical novelist could ask for a richer theme than gideon lincecum or edmund montgomery, the subject of i. k. stephens' biography listed below. bush, i. j. _gringo doctor_, caldwell, idaho, . op. dr. bush represented frontier medicine and surgery on both sides of the rio grande. living at el paso, he was for a time with the maderistas in the revolution against diaz. coe, urling c. _frontier doctor_, new york, . op. not of the southwest but representing other frontier doctors. lusty autobiography full of characters and anecdotes. dodson, ruth. "don pedrito jaramillo: the curandero of los olmos," in _the healer of los olmos and other mexican lore_ (publication of the texas folklore society xxiv), edited by wilson m. hudson, southern methodist university press, dallas, . don pedrito was no more of a fraud than many an accredited psychiatrist, and he was the opposite of offensive. nixon, pat ireland. _a century of medicine in san antonio_, published by the author, san antonio, . rich in information, diverting in anecdote, and tonic in philosophy. bibliography. _the medical story of early texas, - _ [san antonio], . lightness of life with scholarly thoroughness; many character sketches. red, mrs. george p. _the medicine man in texas_, houston, . biographical. op. stephens, i. k. _the hermit philosopher of liendo_, southern methodist university press, dallas, . well-conceived and well-written biography of edmund montgomery--illegitimate son of a scottish lord, husband of the sculptress elisabet ney--who, after being educated in germany and becoming a member of the royal college of physicians of london, came to texas with his wife and sons and settled on liendo plantation, near hempstead, once known as sixshooter junction. here, in utter isolation from people of cultivated minds, he conducted scientific experiments in his inadequate laboratory and thought out a philosophy said to be half a century ahead of his time. he died in . his life was the drama of an elevated soul of complexities, far more tragic than any life associated with the lurid "killings" around him. woodhull, frost. "ranch remedios," in _man, bird, and beast_, texas folklore society publication viii, . the richest and most readable collection of pioneer remedies yet published. . mountain men as used here, the term "mountain men" applies to those trappers and traders who went into the rocky mountains before emigrants had even sought a pass through them to the west or cattle had beat out a trail on the plains east of them. beaver fur was the lodestar for the mountain men. their span of activity was brief, their number insignificant. yet hardly any other distinct class of men, irrespective of number or permanence, has called forth so many excellent books as the mountain men. the books are not nearly so numerous as those connected with range life, but when one considers the writings of stanley vestal, sabin, ruxton, fer gusson, chittenden, favour, garrard, inman, irving, reid, and white in this seld, one doubts whether any other form of american life at all has been so well covered in ballad, fiction, biography, history. see james hobbs, james o. pattie, and reuben gold thwaites under "surge of life in the west," also "santa fe and the santa fe trail." alter, j. cecil. _james bridger_, salt lake city, . a hogshead of life. bibliography. op. republished by long's college book co., columbus, ohio. bonner, t. d. _the life and adventures of james p. beckwourth, _; reprinted in , with an illuminating introduction by bernard devoto. op. beckwourth was the champion of all western liars. brewerton, g. d. _overland with kit carson_, new york, . good narrative. op. chittenden, _h. m. the american fur trade of the_ _far west_, new york, . op. basic work. bibliography. cleland, robert glass. _this reckless breed of men: the trappers and fur traders of the southwest_, knopf, new york, . fresh emphasis on the california-arizona-new mexico region by a knowing scholar. economical in style without loss of either humanity or history. bibliography. conrad, howard l. _uncle dick wootton_, . primary source. op. coyner, d. h. _the lost trappers_, . davidson, l. j., and bostwick, p. _the literature of the rocky mountain west - _, caxton, caldwell, idaho, . davidson and forrester blake, editors. _rocky mountain tales_, university of oklahoma press, norman, . devoto, bernard. _across the wide missouri_, houghton mifflin, boston, . superbly illustrated by reproductions of alfred jacob miller. devoto has amplitude and is a master of his subject as well as of the craft of writing. favour, alpheus h. _old bill williams, mountain man_, university of north carolina press, chapel hill, . flavor and facts both. full bibliography. fergusson, harvey. _rio grande_, , republished by tudor, new york. the drama and evolution of human life in new mexico, written out of knowledge and with power. _wolf song_, new york, . op. graphic historical novel of mountain men. it sings with life. garrard, lewis h. _wah-toyah and the taos trail_, . one of the basic works. grant, blanche c. _when old trails were new--the story of taos_, new york, . op. taos was rendezvous town for the free trappers. guthrie, a. b., jr. _the big sky_, sloane, new york, (now published by houghton mifflin, boston). "an unusually original novel, superb as historical fiction."--bernard devoto. i still prefer harvey fergusson's _wolf song_. hamilton, w. t. _my sixty years on the plains_, new york, . now published by long's college book co., columbus, ohio. inman, henry. _the old santa fe trail_, . irving, washington. _the adventures of captain bonneville_ and _astoria_. the latter book was founded on robert stuart's narratives. in these were prepared for the press, with much illuminative material, by philip ashton rollins and issued under the title of _the discovery of the oregon trail_. larpenteur, charles. _forty years a fur trader on the upper missouri_, edited by elliott coues, new york, . as milo milton quaife shows in an edition of the narrative issued by the lakeside press, chicago, , the indefatigable coues just about rewrote the old fur trader's narrative. it is immediate and vigorous. laut, a. c. _the story of the trapper_, new york, . a popular survey, emphasizing types and characters. leonard, zenas. _narrative of the adventures of zenas leonard_, clearfield, pa., . in the leonard trappers reached san francisco bay, boarded a boston ship anchored near shore, and for the first time in two years varied their meat diet by eating bread and drinking "coneac." one of the trappers had a gun named knock-him-stiff. such earthy details abound in this narrative of adventures in a brand new world. lockwood, frank c. _arizona characters_, los angeles, . very readable biographic sketches. op. miller, alfred jacob. _the west of alfred jacob miller_, with an account of the artist by marvin c. ross, university of oklahoma press, norman, . although miller painted the west during - , only now is he being discovered by the public. this is mainly a picture book, in the top rank. pattie, james ohio. _the personal narrative of james o. pattie of kentucky_, cincinnati, . pattie and his small party went west in . for grizzlies, thirst, and other features of primitive adventure the narrative is primary. reid, mayne. _the scalp hunters_. an antiquated novel, but it has some deep-dyed pictures of mountain men. ross, alexander. _adventures of the first settlers on the oregon or columbia river_ ( ) and _the fur hunters of the far west_ ( ). the trappers of the southwest can no more be divorced from the trappers of the hudson's bay company than can texas cowboys from those of montana. russell, osborne. _journal of a trapper_, boise, idaho, . in the winter of , at fort hall on snake river, russell and three other trappers "had some few books to read, such as byron, shakespeare and scott's works, the bible and clark's commentary on it, and some small works on geology, chemistry and philosophy." russell was wont to speculate on life and nature. in perspective he approaches ruxton. ruxton, george f. _life in the far west_, ; reprinted by the university of oklahoma press, norman, , edited by leroy r. hafen. no other contemporary of the mountain men has been so much quoted as ruxton. he remains supremely readable. sabin, edwin l. _kit carson days_, . a work long standard, rich on rendezvous, bears, and many other associated subjects. bibliography. republished in rewritten form, . op. vestal, stanley (pseudonym for walter s. campbell). _kit carson_, . as a clean-running biographic narrative, it is not likely to be superseded. _mountain men_, , op; _the old santa fe trail_, . vestal's "fandango," a tale of the mountain men in taos, is among the most spirited ballads america has produced. it and a few other mountain men ballads are contained in the slight collection, _fandango_, . houghton mifflin, boston, published the aforementioned titles. _james bridger, mountain man_, morrow, new york, , is smoother than j. cecil alter's biography but not so savory. _joe meek, the merry mountain man_, caxton, caldwell, idaho, . white, stewart edward. _the long rifle_, , and _ranchero_, , doubleday, doran, garden city, n. y. historical fiction. . santa fe and the santa fe trail there was independence on the missouri river, then eight hundred miles of twisting trail across hills, plains, and mountains, all uninhabited save by a few wandering indians and uncountable buffaloes. then there was santa fe. on west of it lay nearly a thousand miles of wild broken lands before one came to the village of los angeles. but there was no trail to los angeles. at santa fe the trail turned south and after crawling over the jornada del muerto--journey of the dead man--threading the great pass of the north (el paso) and crossing a vast desert, reached chihuahua city. looked at in one way, santa fe was a mud village. in another way, it was the solitary oasis of human picturesqueness in a continent of vacancy. like that of athens, though of an entirely different quality, its fame was out of all proportion to its size. in a strong chapter, entitled "a caravan enters santa fe," r. l. duffus _(the santa fe trail)_ elaborates on how for all travelers the town always had "the lure of adventure." josiah gregg doubted whether "the first sight of the walls of jerusalem were beheld with much more tumultuous and soul-enrapturing joy" than santa fe was by a caravan topping the last rise and, eight hundred miles of solitude behind it, looking down on the town's shining walls and cottonwoods. no other town of its size in america has been the subject of and focus for as much good literature as santa fe. pittsburgh and dozens of other big cities all put together have not inspired one tenth of the imaginative play that santa fe has inspired. some of the transcontinental railroads probably carry as much freight in a day as went over the santa fe trail in all the wagons in all the years they pulled over the santa fe trail. but the santa fe trail is one of the three great trails of america that, though plowed under, fenced across, and cemented over, seem destined for perennial travel--by those happily able to go without tourist guides. to quote robert louis stevenson, "the greatest adventures are not those we go to seek." the other two trails comparable to the santa fe are also of the west--the oregon trail for emigrants and the chisholm trail for cattle. for additional literature see "mountain men," "stagecoaches, freighting," "surge of life in the west." cather, willa. _death comes for the archbishop_, knopf, new york, . historical novel. connelley, w. e. (editor). _donithan's expedition_, . saga of the mexican war. op. davis, w. w. h. _el gringo, or new mexico and her people_, ; reprinted by rydal, santa fe, . op. excellent on manners and customs. duffus, r. l. _the santa fe trail_, new york, . op. bibliography. best book of this century on the subject. dunbar, seymour. _history of travel in america_, ; revised edition issued by tudor, new york, . gregg, josiah. _commerce of the prairies_, two vols., . reprinted, but all op. gregg wrote as a man of experience and not as a professional writer. he wrote not only the classic of the santa fe trade and trail but one of the classics of bedrock americana. it is a commentary on civilization in the southwest that his work is not kept in print. harvey fergusson, in _rio grande_, has written a penetrating criticism of the man and his subject. in and the university of oklahoma press, norman, issued two volumes of the _diary and letters of josiah gregg_, edited by maurice g. fulton with introductions by paul horgan. these volumes, interesting in themselves, are a valuable complement to gregg's major work. inman, henry. _the old santa fe trail_, . a mine of lore. laughlin, ruth (formerly ruth laughlin barker). _caballeros_, new york, ; republished by caxton, caldwell, idaho, . essayical goings into the life of things. especially delightful on burros. a book to be starred. _the wind leaves no shadow_, new york, ; caxton, . a novel around dona tules barcelo, the powerful, beautiful, and silvered mistress of santa fe's gambling _sala_ in the 's and ' 's. magoffin, susan shelby. _down the santa fe trail_, yale university press, new haven, . delectable diary. pillsbury, dorothy l. _no high adobe_, university of new mexico press, albuquerque, . sketches, pleasant to read, that make the _gente_ very real. ruxton, george frederick. _adventures in mexico and the rocky mountains_, london, . in the second half of this book was reprinted under title of _wild life in the rocky mountains_. in , with additional ruxton writings discovered by clyde and mae reed porter, the book, edited by leroy r. hafen, was reissued under title of _ruxton of the rockies_, university of oklahoma press, norman. santa fe is only one incident in it. ruxton illuminates whatever he touches. he was in love with the wilderness and had a fire in his belly. other writers add details, but ruxton and gregg embodied the whole santa fe world. vestal, stanley. _the old santa fe trail_, houghton mifflin, boston, . . stagecoaches, freighting a good introduction to a treatment of the stagecoach of the west would be thomas de quincey's "the english mail-coach." the proper place to read about the coaches would be in doctor lyon's pony express museum, out from pasadena, california. may it never perish! old monte drives up now and then in alfred henry lewis' _wolfville_ tales, and bret harte made yuba bill crack the whip; but, somehow, considering all the excellent expositions and reminiscing of stage-coaching in western america, the proud, insolent, glorious figure of the driver has not been adequately pictured. literature on "santa fe and the santa fe trail" is pertinent. see also under "pony express." banning, william, and banning, george hugh. _six horses_, new york, . a combination of history and autobiography. routes to and in california; much of texas. enjoyable reading. excellent on drivers, travelers, stations, "pass the mustard, please." bibliography. op. conkling, roscoe p. and margaret b. _the butterfield overland trail, - _, arthur h. clark co., glendage, california. three volumes replete with facts from politics in washington over mail contracts to horsehead crossing on the pecos river. dobbie, j. frank. chapter entitled "pistols, poker and the petit mademoiselle in a stagecoach," in _the flavor of texas_ . op. duffus, r. l. _the santa fe trail_ new york, . swift reading. well selected bibliography. op. frederick, j. v. _ben holladay, the stage coach king_, clark, glendale, california, . bibliography. haley, j. evetts. chapter v, "the stage-coach mail," in _fort concho and the texas frontier_, illustrated by harold bugbee, san angelo standard-times, san angelo, texas, . strong on frontier crossed by stage line. hungerford, edward. _wells fargo: advancing the frontier_, random house, new york, . written without regard for the human beings that the all-swallowing corporation crushed. facts on highwaymen. inman, henry. _the old santa fe trail_, new york, . op. _the great salt lake trail_, . op. many first-hand incidents and characters. majors, alexander. _seventy years on the frontier_, chicago, . reprinted by long's college book co., columbus, ohio. majors was the lead steer of all freighters. ormsby, w. l. _the butterfield overland mail_, edited by lyle h. wright and josephine m. bynum, huntington library, san marino, california, . ormsby rode the stage from st. louis to san francisco in and contributed to the new york _herald_ the lively articles now made into this book. root, frank a., and connelley, w. e. _the overland stage to california_, topeka, kansas, . reprinted by long's college book co., columbus, ohio. a full storehouse. basic. santleben, august. _a texas pioneer_, edited by i. d. affleck, new york, . op. best treatise available on freighting on chihuahua trail. twain, mark. _roughing it_, . mark twain went west by stage. winther, o. o. _express and stagecoach days in california_, stanford university press, . compact, with bibliography. op. . pony express "presently the driver exclaims, `here he comes!' "every neck is stretched and every eye strained. away across the endless dead level of the prairie a black speck appears against the sky. in a second or two it becomes a horse and rider, rising and falling, rising and falling sweeping towards us nearer and nearer--growing more and more distinct, more and more sharply defined--nearer and still nearer, and the flutter of the hoofs comes faintly to the ear--another instant a whoop and a hurrah from our upper deck [of the stagecoach], a wave of the rider's hand, but no reply, and man and horse burst past our excited faces, and go swinging away like a belated fragment of a storm."--mark twain, _roughing it_. a word cannot be defined in its own terms; nor can a region, or a feature of that region. analogy and perspective are necessary for comprehension. the sense of horseback motion has never been better realized than by kipling in "the ballad of east and west." see "horses." bradley, glenn d._ the story of the pony express_, chicago, . nothing extra. op. brewerton, g. d. _overland with kit carson_, new york, . bibliography on west in general. chapman, arthur. _the pony express_, putnam's, new york, . good reading and bibliography. dobie, j. frank. chapter on "rides and riders," in _on the open range_, published in ; reprinted by banks up shaw, dallas. chapter on "under the saddle" in _the mustangs_. hapen, leroy. _the overland mail_, cleveland, . factual, bibliography. op. root, frank a., and connelley, w. e. _the overland stage to california_, topeka, kansas, . reprinted by long's college book co., columbus, ohio. basic work. visscher, frank j. _a thrilling and truthful history of the pony express_, chicago, . op. not excessively "thrilling." . surge of life in the west the wanderings of cabeza de vaca, coronado, de soto, and la salle had long been chronicled, although the chronicles had not been popularized in english, when in captain meriwether lewis and captain william clark set out to explore not only the louisiana territory, which had just been purchased for the united states by president thomas jefferson, but on west to the pacific. their _journals_, published in , initiated a series of chronicles comparable in scope, vitality, and manhood adventure to the great collection known as _hakluyt's voyages_. between and reuben gold thwaites, one of the outstanding editors of the english-speaking world, brought out in thirty-two volumes his epic _early western travels_. this work includes the lewis and clark _journals_, every student of the west, whether northwest or southwest, goes to the collection sooner or later. it is a commentary on the values of life held by big rich boasters of patriotism in the west that virtually all the chronicles in the collection remain out of print. an important addendum to the thwaites collection of _early western travels_ is "the southwest historical series," edited by ralph p. bieber--twelve volumes, published - , by clark, glendale, california. the stampede to california that began in climaxed all migration orgies of the world in its lust for gold; but the lust for gold was merely one manifestation of a mighty population's lust for life. railroads raced each other to cross the continent. ten million longhorns were going up the trails; from texas while the last of a hundred million buffaloes, killed in herds--the greatest slaughter in history--were being skinned. dodge city was the cowboy capital of the world, and chicago was becoming "hog butcher of the world." miller and lux were expanding their ranges so that, as others boasted, their herds could trail from oregon to baja california and bed down every night on miller and lux's own grass. hubert howe bancroft ( - ) was massing in san francisco at his own expense the greatest assemblage of historical documents any one individual ever assembled. while his interviewers and note-takers sorted down tons of manuscript, he was employing a corps of historians to write what, at first designed as a history of the pacific states, grew in twenty-eight volumes to embrace also alaska, british columbia, texas, mexico, and central america, aside from five volumes on the native races and six volumes of essays. meantime he was printing these volumes in sets of thousands and selling them through an army of agents that covered america. collis p. huntington ( - ) was building the southern pacific railroad into a network, interlocked with other systems and steamship lines, not only enveloping california land but also the whole economic and political life of that and other states, with headquarters in the u.s. congress. then his nephew, henry e. huntington ( - ), taking over his wealth and power, was building gardens at san marino, california, collecting art, books, and manuscripts to make, without benefit of any institution of learning and in defiance of all the slow processes of tradition found at oxford and harvard, a huntington library and a huntington art gallery that, set down amid the most costly botanical profusion imaginable, now rival the world's finest. the dreams were of empire. old men and young toiled as "terribly" as mighty raleigh. the "spacious times" of queen elizabeth seemed, indeed, to be translated to another sphere, though here the elements that went into the mixture were less diverse. boom methods of gargantuan scale were applied to cultural factors as well as to the physical. few men stopped to reflect that while objects of art may be bought by the wholesale, the development of genuine culture is too intimately personal and too chemically blended with the spiritual to be bartered for. the huntingtons paid a quarter of a million dollars for gainsborough's "the blue boy." it is very beautiful. meanwhile the mustang grapevine waits for some artist to paint the strong and lovely grace of its drapery and thereby to enrich for land-dwellers every valley where it hangs over elm or oak. most of the books in this section could be placed in other sections. many have been. they represent the vigor, vitality, energy, and daring characteristic of our frontiers. to quote harvey fergusson's phrase, the adventures of mettle have always had "a tension that would not let them rest." barker, eugene c. _the life of stephen f. austin_, dallas, . republished by texas state historical association, austin. iron-wrought biography of the leader in making texas anglo-american. bell, horace. _reminiscences of a ranger, or early times in california_, los angeles, ; reprinted, but op. in this book and in _on the old west coast_, bell caught the lift and spiritedness of life-hungry men. bidwell, john ( - ). _echoes of the past_, chico, california (about ). bidwell got to california several years before gold was discovered. he became foremost citizen and entertained scientists, writers, scholars, and artists at his ranch home. his brief accounts of the trip across the plains and of pioneer society in california are graphic, charming, telling. the book goes in and out of print but is not likely to die. billington, ray allen. _westward expansion: a history of the american frontier_, macmillan, new york, . this alpha to omega treatise concludes with a seventy-five-page, double-column, fine-print bibliography which not only lists but comments upon most books and articles of any consequence that have been published on frontier history. bourke, john g. _on the border with crook_, new york, . now published by long's college book co., columbus, ohio. bourke had an eager, disciplined mind, at once scientific and humanistic; he had imagination and loyalty to truth and justice; he had a strong body and joyed in frontier exploring. he was a captain in the army but had nothing of the littleness of the army mind exhibited by generals nelson miles and o. o. howard in their egocentric reminiscences. i rank his book as the meatiest and richest of all books dealing with campaigns against indians. in its amplitude it includes the whole frontier. general george crook was a wise, generous, and noble man, but his _autobiography_ (edited by martin f. schmitt; university of oklahoma press) lacks that power in writing necessary to turn the best subject on earth into a good book and capable also, as darwin demonstrated, of turning earthworms into a classic. burnham, frederick russell. _scouting on two continents_, new york, ; reprinted, los angeles, . a brave book of enthralling interest. the technique of scouting in the apache country is illuminated by that of south africa in the boer war. hunting for life, major burnham carried it with him. op. devoto, bernard. _the year of decision _, houghton mifflin, boston, . critical interpretation as well as depiction. the mexican war, new mexico, california, mountain men, etc. devoto's _across the wide missouri_ is wider in spirit, less bound to political complexities. see under "mountain men." emory, lieutenant colonel william h. _notes of a military reconnaissance from fort leavenworth, in missouri, to san diego, in california, including part of the arkansas, del norte, and gila rivers_, washington, . emory's own vivid report is only one item in _executive document no. _, th congress, st session, with which it is bound. lieutenant j. w. albert's _journal_ and additional _report on new mexico_, st. george cooke's odyssey of his march from santa fe to san diego, another _journal_ by captain a. r. johnson, the torrey-englemann report on botany, illustrated with engravings, all go to make this one of the meatiest of a number of meaty government publications. the emory part of it has been reprinted by the university of new mexico press, under title of _lieutenant emory reports_, introduction and notes by ross calvin, albuquerque, . emory's great two-volume _report on united states and mexican boundary survey_, washington and , is, aside from descriptions of borderlands and their inhabitants, a veritable encyclopedia, wonderfully illustrated, on western flora and fauna. united states commissioner on this boundary survey (following the mexican war) was john russell bartlett. while exploring from the gulf of mexico to the pacific and far down into mexico, he wrote _personal narrative of explorations and incidents in texas, new mexico, california, sonora and chihuahua_. published in two volumes, new york, . for me very little rewritten history has the freshness and fascination of these strong, firsthand personal narratives, though i recognize many of them as being the stuff of literature rather than literature itself. fowler, jacob. _the journal of jacob fowler, - _, edited by elliott coues, new york, . hardly another chronicle of the west is so defoe-like in homemade realism, whether on indians and indian horses or negro paul's experience with the mexican "lady" at san fernando de taos. should be reprinted. gambrell, herbert. _anson jones: the last president of texas_, garden city, new york, ; now distributed by southern methodist university press, dallas, texas. anson jones was more surged over than surgent. infused with a larger comprehension than that behind many a world figure, this biography of a provincial figure is perhaps the most artfully written that texas has produced. it goes into the soul of the man. hobbs, james. _wild life in the far west_, hartford, . hobbs saw just about all the elephants and heard just about all the owls to be seen and heard in the far west including western mexico. should be reprinted. hulbert, archer butler. _forty-niners: the chronicle of the california trail_, little, brown, boston, . hulbert read exhaustively in the exhausting literature by and about the gold hunters rushing to california. then he wove into a synthetic diary the most interesting and illuminating records on happenings, characters, ambitions, talk, singing, the whole life of the emigrants. irving, washington. irving made his ride into what is now oklahoma in . he had recently returned from a seventeen-year stay in europe and was a mature literary man--as mature as a conforming romanticist could become prairie life refreshed him. a _tour on the prairies_, published in , remains refreshing. it is illuminated by _washington irving on the prairie; or, a narrative of the southwest in the year _, by henry leavitt ellsworth (who accompanied irving), edited by stanley t. williams and barbara d. simison, new york, ; by _the western journals of washington irving_, excellently edited by john francis mcdermott, norman, oklahoma, ; and by charles j. latrobe's _the rambler in north america, - _, new york, . james, marquis. _the raven_, bobbs-merrill, indianapolis, . graphic life of sam houston. kurz, rudolph friederich. _journal of rudolph friederich kurz: ... his experiences among fur traders and american indians on the mississippi and upper missouri rivers, during the years of - _, u.s. bureau of ethnology bulletin , washington, . the public has not had a chance at this book, which was printed rather than published. kurz both saw and recorded with remarkable vitality. he was an artist and the volume contains many reproductions of his paintings and drawings. one of the most readable and illuminating of western journals. lewis, oscar. _the big four_, new york, . railroad magnates. lockwood, frank c. _arizona characters_, los angeles, california, . fresh sketches of representative men. the book deserves to be better known than it is. op. lyman, george d. _john marsh pioneer_, new york, . prime biography and prime romance. laid mostly in california. this book almost heads the list of all biographies of western men. op. parkman, francis. _the oregon trail_, . parkman knew how to write but some other penetrators of the west put down about as much. school assignments have made his book a recognized classic. pattie, james o. _personal narrative_, cincinnati, ; reprinted, but op. positively gripping chronicle of life in new mexico and the californias during mexican days. pike, zebulon m. _the southwestern expedition of zebulon m. pike_, philadelphia, . the edition edited by elliott coues is the most useful to students. no edition is in print. pike's explorations of the southwest ( - ) began while the great lewis and clark expedition ( - ) was ending. his journal is nothing like so informative as theirs but is just as readable. _the lost pathfinder_ is a biography of pike by w. eugene hollon, university of oklahoma press, norman, . twain, mark. _roughing it_, . mark twain was a man who wrote and not merely a writer in man-form. he was frontier american in all his fibers. he was drunk with western life at a time when both he and it were standing on tiptoe watching the sun rise over the misty mountain tops, and he wrote of what he had seen and lived before he became too sober. _roughing it_ comes nearer catching the energy, the youthfulness, the blooming optimism, the recklessness, the lust for the illimitable in western life than any other book. it deals largely with mining life, but the surging vitality of this life as reflected by mark twain has been the chief common denominator of all american frontiers and was as characteristic of texas "cattle kings" when grass was free as of virginia city "nabobs" in bonanza. . range life: cowboys, cattle, sheep the cowboy originated in texas. the texas cowboy, along with the texas cowman, was an evolvement from and a blend of the riding, shooting, frontier-formed southerner, the mexican-indian horseback worker with livestock (the vaquero), and the spanish open-range rancher. the blend was not in blood, but in occupational techniques. i have traced this genesis with more detail in _the longhorns_. compared with evolution in species, evolution in human affairs is meteor-swift. the driving of millions of cattle and horses from texas to stock the whole plains area of north america while, following the civil war, it was being denuded of buffaloes and secured from indian domination, enabled the texas cowboy to set his impress upon the whole ranching industry. the cowboy became the best-known occupational type that america has given the world. he exists still and will long exist, though much changed from the original. his fame derives from the past. romance, both genuine and spurious, has obscured the realities of range and trail. the realities themselves have, however, been such that few riders really belonging to the range wished to lead any other existence. only by force of circumstances have they changed "the grass beneath and the sky above" for a more settled, more confining, and more materially remunerative way of life. some of the old-time cowboys were little more adaptable to change than the plains indians; few were less reluctant to plow or work in houses. heaven in their dreams was a range better watered than the one they knew, with grass never stricken by drought, plenty of fat cattle, the best horses and comrades of their experience, more of women than they talked about in public, and nothing at all of golden streets, golden harps, angel wings, and thrones; it was a mere extension, somewhat improved, of the present. bankers, manufacturers, merchants, and mechanics seldom so idealize their own occupations; they work fifty weeks a year to go free the other two. for every hired man on horseback there have been hundreds of plowmen in america, and tens of millions of acres of rangelands have been plowed under, but who can cite a single autobiography of a laborer in the fields of cotton, of corn, of wheat? or do coal miners, steelmongers, workers in oil refineries, factory hands of any kind of factory, the employees of chain stores and department stores ever write autobiographies? many scores of autobiographies have been written by range men, perhaps half of them by cowboys who never became owners at all. a high percentage of the autobiographies are in pamphlet form; many that were written have not been published. the trail drivers of open range days, nearly all dead now, felt the urge to record experiences more strongly than their successors. they realized that they had been a part of an epic life. the fact that the hired man on horseback has been as good a man as the owner and, on the average, has been a more spirited and eager man than the hand on foot may afford some explanation of the validity and vitality of his chroniclings, no matter how crude they be. on the other hand, the fact that the rich owner and the college-educated aspirant to be a cowboy soon learned, if they stayed on the range, that _a man's a man for a' that_ may to some extent account for a certain generous amplitude of character inherent in their most representative reminiscences. sympathy for the life biases my judgment; that judgment, nevertheless, is that some of the strongest and raciest autobiographic writing produced by america has been by range men. {illust. caption = tom lea, in _the longhorns_ by j. frank dobie ( )} this is not to say that these chronicles are of a high literary order. their writers have generally lacked the maturity of mind, the reflective wisdom, and the power of observation found in personal narratives of the highest order. no man who camped with a chuck wagon has written anything remotely comparable to charles m. doughty's _arabia deserta_, a chronicle at once personal and impersonal, restrainedly subjective and widely objective, of his life with nomadic bedouins. perspective is a concomitant of civilization. the chronicles of the range that show perspective have come mostly from educated new englanders, englishmen, and scots. the great majority of the chronicles are limited in subject matter to physical activities. they make few concessions to "the desire of the moth for the star"; they hardly enter the complexities of life, including those of sex. in one section of the west at one time the outstanding differences among range men were between owners of sheep and owners of cattle, the ambition of both being to hog the whole country. on another area of the range at another time, the outstanding difference was between little ranchers, many of whom were stealing, and big ranchers, plenty of whom had stolen. such differences are not exponents of the kind of individualism that burns itself into great human documents. seldom deeper than the chronicles does range fiction go below physical surface into reflection, broodings, hungers--the smolderings deep down in a cowman oppressed by drought and mortgage sitting in a rocking chair on a ranch gallery looking at the dust devils and hoping for a cloud; the goings-on inside a silent cowboy riding away alone from an empty pen to which he will never return; the streams of consciousness in a silent man and a silent woman bedded together in a wind-lashed frame house away out on the lone prairie. the wide range of human interests leaves ample room for downright, straightaway narratives of the careers of strong men. if the literature of the range ever matures, however, it will include keener searchings for meanings and harder struggles for human truths by writers who strive in "the craft so long to lerne." for three-quarters of a century the output of fiction on the cowboy has been tremendous, and it shows little diminution. mass production inundating the masses of readers has made it difficult for serious fictionists writing about range people to get a hearing. the code of the west was concentrated into the code of the range--and not all of it by any means depended upon the six-shooter. no one can comprehend this code without knowing something about the code of the old south, whence the texas cowboy came. mexican goats make the best eating in mexico and mohair has made good money for many ranchers of the southwest. goats, goat herders, goatskins, and wine in goatskins figure in the literature of spain as prominently as six-shooters in blazing frontier fiction--and far more pleasantly. read george borrow's _the bible in spain_, one of the most delectable of travel books. beyond a few notices of mexican goat herders, there is on the subject of goats next to nothing readable in american writings. where there is no competition, supremacy is small distinction; so i should offend no taste by saying that "the man of goats" in my own _tongues of the monte_ is about the best there is so far as goats go. although sheep are among the most salient facts of range life, they have, as compared with cattle and horses, been a dim item in the range tradition. yet, of less than a dozen books on sheep and sheepmen, more than half of them are better written than hundreds of books concerning cowboy life. mary austin's _the flock_ is subtle and beautiful; archer b. gilfillan's _sheep_ is literature in addition to having much information; hughie call's _golden fleece_ is delightful; winifred kupper's _the golden hoof_ and _texas sheepman_ have charm--a rare quality in most books on cows and cow people. among furnishings in the cabin of robert maudslay, "the texas sheepman," were a set of sir walter scott's works, shakespeare, and a file of the _illustrated london news_. "a man who read shakespeare and the _illustrated london news_ had little to contribute to come a ti yi yoopee ti yi ya!" o. henry's ranch experiences in texas were largely confined to a sheep ranch. the setting of his "last of the troubadours" is a sheep ranch. i nominate it as the best range story in american fiction. "cowboy songs" and "horses" are separate chapters following this. the literature cited in them is mostly range literature, although precious little in all the songs rises to the status of poetry. a considerable part of the literature listed under "texas rangers" and "the bad man tradition" bears on range life. abbott, e. c., and smith, helena huntington. we _pointed them north_, new york, . abbott, better known as teddy blue, used to give his address as three duce ranch, gilt edge, montana. helena huntington smith, who actually wrote and arranged his reminiscences, instead of currying him down and putting a checkrein on him, spurred him in the flanks and told him to swaller his head. he did. this book is franker about the women a rollicky cowboy was likely to meet in town than all the other range books put together. the fact that teddy blue's wife was a half-breed indian, daughter of granville stuart, and that indian women do not object to the truth about sex life may account in part for his frankness. the book is mighty good reading. op. adams, andy. _the log of a cowboy_ ( ). in , at the age of twenty-three, andy adams came to texas from indiana. for about ten years he traded horses and drove them up the trail. he knew cattle people and their ranges from brownsville to caldwell, kansas. after mining for another decade, he began to write. if all other books on trail driving were destroyed, a reader could still get a just and authentic conception of trail men, trail work, range cattle, cow horses, and the cow country in general from _the log of a cowboy_. it is a novel without a plot, a woman, character development, or sustained dramatic incidents; yet it is the classic of the occupation. it is a simple, straightaway narrative that takes a trail herd from the rio grande to the canadian line, the hands talking as naturally as cows chew cuds, every page illuminated by an easy intimacy with the life. adams wrote six other books. _the outlet, a texas matchmaker, cattle brands_, and _reed anthony, cowman_ all make good reading. _wells brothers_ and _the ranch on the beaver_ are stories for boys. i read them with pleasure long after i was grown. all but _the log of a cowboy_ are op, published by houghton mifflin, boston. adams, ramon f. _cowboy lingo_, boston, . a dictionary of cowboy words, figures of speech, picturesque phraseology, slang, etc., with explanations of many factors peculiar to range life. op. _western words_, university of oklahoma press, . a companion book. _come an' get it_, university of oklahoma press, norman, . informal exposition of chuck wagon cooks. aldridge, reginald. _ranch notes_, london, . aldridge, an educated englishman, got into the cattle business before, in the late eighties, it boomed itself flat. his book is not important, but it is maybe a shade better than _ranch life in southern kansas and the indian territory_ by benjamin s. miller, new york, . aldridge and miller were partners, and each writes kindly about the other. allen, john houghton. _southwest_, lippincott, philadelphia, . a chemical compound of highly impressionistic autobiographic nonfiction and highly romantic fiction and folk tales. the setting is a ranch of mexican tradition in the lower border country of texas, also saloons and bawdy houses of border towns. vaqueros and their work in the brush are intensely vivid. the author has a passion for superlatives and for "a joyous cruelty, a good cruelty, a young cruelty." arnold, oren, and hale, j. p. _hot irons_, macmillan, new york, . technique and lore of cattle brands. op. austin, mary. _the flock_, boston, , op. mary austin saw the meanings of things; she was a creator. very quietly she sublimated life into the literature of pictures and emotions. australian ranching is not foreign to american ranching. the best book on the subject that i have found is _pastures new_, by r. v. billis and a. s. kenyon, london, . barnard, evan g. ("parson"). _a rider of the cherokee strip_, houghton mifflin, boston, . savory with little incidents and cowboy humor. op. barnes, will c. _tales from the x-bar horse camp_, chicago, . op. good simple narratives. _apaches and longhorns_, los angeles, . autobiography. op. _western grazing grounds and forest ranges_, chicago, . op. governmentally factual. barnes was in the u.s. forest service and was informed. barrows, john r. _ubet_, caldwell, idaho, . excellent on northwest; autobiographical. op. bechdolt, frederick r. _tales of the old timers_, new york, . vivid, economical stories of "the warriors of the pecos" (billy the kid and the troubles on john chisum's ranch-empire), of butch cassidy and his wild bunch in their wyoming hide-outs, of the way frontier texans fought mexicans and comanches over the open ranges. research clogs the style of many historians; perhaps it is just as well that bechdolt did not search more extensively into the arcana of footnotes. op. boatright, mody c. _tall tales from texas cow camps_, dallas, . the tales are tall all right and true to cows that never saw a milk bucket. op. reprinted by haldeman-julius, girard, kansas. borein, edward. _etchings of the west_, edited by edward s. spaulding, santa barbara, california, . op. a very handsome folio; primarily a reproduction of sketches, many of which are on range subjects. ed borein tells more in them than hundreds of windbags have told in tens of thousands of pages. they are beautiful and authentic, even if they are what post-impressionists call "documentary." believers in the true faith say now that leonardo da vinci is documentary in his painting of the lord's supper. ed borein was a great friend of charlie russell's but not an imitator. _etchings of the west_ will soon be among the rarities of western books. bower, b. m. _chip of the flying u_, new york, . charles russell illustrated this and three other bower novels. contrary to his denial, he is supposed to have been the prototype for chip. a long time ago i read _chit of the flying u_ and _the lure of the dim trails_ and thought them as good as eugene manlove rhodes's stories. that they have faded almost completely out of memory is a commentary on my memory; just the same, a character as well named as chip should, if he have substance beyond his name, leave an impression even on weak memories. b. m. bower was a woman, bower being the name of her first husband. a montana cowpuncher named "fiddle back" sinclair was her second, and robert ellsworth cowan became the third. under the name of bud cowan he published a book of reminiscences entitled _range rider_ (garden city, n. y., ). b. m. bower wrote a slight introduction to it; neither he nor she says anything about being married to the other. in the best of her fiction she is truer to life than he is in a good part of his nonfiction. her chaste english is partly explained in an autobiographic note contributed to _adventure_ magazine, december , . her restless father had moved the family from minnesota to montana. there, she wrote, he "taught me music and how to draw plans of houses (he was an architect among other things) and to read _paradise lost_ and dante and h. rider haggard and the bible and the constitution--and my taste has been extremely catholic ever since." branch, e. douglas. _the cowboy and his interpreters_, new york, . useful bibliography on range matters, and excellent criticism of two kinds of fiction writers. op. bratt, john. _trails of yesterday_, chicago, . john bratt, twenty-two years old, came to america from england in , went west, and by was ranching on the platte. he became a big operator, but his reminiscences, beautifully printed, are stronger on camp cooks and other hired hands than on cattle "kings." nobody ever heard a cowman call himself or another cowman a king. "cattle king" is journalese. brisbin, general james s. _the beef bonanza; or, how to get rich on the plains_, philadelphia, . one of several books of its decade designed to appeal to eastern and european interest in ranching as an investment. figureless and with more human interest is _prairie experiences in handling cattle and sheep_, by major w. shepherd (of england), london? . bronson, edgar beecher. _cowboy life on the western plains_, chicago, . _the red blooded_, chicago, . freewheeling nonfiction. brooks, bryant b. _memoirs_, gardendale, california, . the book never was published; it was merely printed to satisfy the senescent vanity of a property-worshiping, cliche-parroting reactionary who made money ranching before he became governor of wyoming. he tells a few good anecdotes of range days. numerous better books pertaining to the range are not listed here; this mediocrity represents a particular type. brothers, mary hudson. a _pecos pioneer_, university of new mexico press, albuquerque, . superior to numerous better-known books. see comment under "women pioneers." brown, dee, and schmitt, martin f. _trail driving days_, scribner's, new york, . primarily a pictorial record, more on the side of action than of realism, except for post-trailing period. excellent bibliography. burton, harley true. a _history of the j a ranch_, austin, . facts about one of the greatest ranches of texas and its founder, charles goodnight. op. call, hughie. _golden fleece_, boston, . hughie married a sheepman, and after mothering the range as well as children with him for a quarter of a century, concluded that montana is still rather masculine. especially good on domestic life and on sheepherders. op. canton, frank m. _frontier trails_, edited by e. e. dale, boston, . op. good on tough hombres. clay, john. my _life on the range_, privately printed, chicago, . op. john clay, an educated scot, came to canada in and in time managed some of the largest british-owned ranches of north america. his book is the best of all sources on british-owned ranches. it is just as good on cowboys and sheepherders. clay was a fine gentleman in addition to being a canny businessman in the realm of cattle and land. he appreciated the beautiful and had a sense of style. cleland, robert glass. _the cattle on a thousand hills_, huntington library, san marino, california, (revised, ). scholarly work on spanish-mexican ranching in california. cleaveland, agnes morley. _no life for a lady_, houghton mifflin, boston, . best book on range life from a woman's point of view ever published. the setting is new mexico; humor and humanity prevail. collings, ellsworth. _the ranch_, university of oklahoma press, norman, . the ranch was far more than a ranch; it was a unique institution. the ranch wild west show is emphasized in this book. op. collins, dennis. _the indians' last fight or the dull knife raid_, press of the appeal to reason, girard, kansas, n.d. nearly half of this very scarce book deals autobiographically with frontier range life. realistic, strong, written from the perspective of a man who "wanted something to read" in camp. collins, hubert e. _warpath and cattle trail_, new york, . the pageant of trail life as it passed by a stage stand in oklahoma; autobiographical. beautifully printed and illustrated. far better than numerous other out-of-print books that bring much higher prices in the second-hand market. conn, william (translator). _cow-boys and colonels: narrative of a journey across the prairie and over the black hills of dakota_, london, ; new york ( ?). more of a curiosity than an illuminator, the book is a sparsely annotated translation of _dans les montagnes rocheuses_, by le baron e. de mandat-grancey, paris, october, . (the only copy i have examined is of printing.) it is a gossipy account of an excursion made in - ; cowboys and ranching are viewed pretty much as a sophisticated parisian views a zoo. the author must have felt more at home with the fantastic marquis de mores of medora, north dakota. the book appeared at a time when european capital was being invested in western ranches. it was followed by _la breche aux buffles: un ranch francais dans le dakota_, paris, . not translated so far as i know. cook, james h. _fifty years on the old frontier_, . cook came to texas soon after the close of the civil war and became a brush popper on the frio river. nothing better on cow work in the brush country and trail driving in the seventies has appeared. op. a good deal of the same material was put into cook's _longhorn cowboy_ (putnam's, ), to which the pushing mr. howard r. driggs attached his name. coolidge, dane. _texas cowboys_, . thin, but genuine. _arizona cowboys_, . _old california cowboys_, . all well illustrated by photographs and all op. cox, james. _the cattle industry of texas and adjacent territory_, st. louis, . contains many important biographies and much good history. in i traded a pair of store-bought boots to my uncle neville dobie for his copy of this book. a man would have to throw in a young santa gertrudis bull now to get a copy. craig, john r. _ranching with lords and commons_, toronto, . during the great boom of the early 's in the range business, craig promoted a cattle company in london and then managed a ranch in western canada. his book is good on mismanaged range business and it is good on people, especially lords, and the land. he attributes to de quincey a latin quotation that properly, i think, belongs to thackeray. he quotes hamlin garland: "the trail is poetry; a wagon road is prose; the railroad, arithmetic." he was probably not so good at ranching as at writing. his book supplements _from home to home_, by alex. staveley hill, new york, . hill was a major investor in the oxley ranch, and was, i judge, the pompous cheat and scoundrel that craig said he was. crawford, lewis f. _rekindling camp fires: the exploits of ben arnold (connor)_, bismarck, north dakota, . op. the skill of lewis f. crawford of the north dakota historical society made this a richer autobiography than if arnold had been unaided. he was squaw man, scout, trapper, soldier, deserter, prospector, and actor in other occupations as well as cowboy. he had a fierce sense of justice that extended to indians. his outlook was wider than that of the average ranch hand. _badlands and broncho trails_, bismarck, , is a slight book of simple narratives that catches the tune of the badlands life. op. _ranching days in dakota_, wirth brothers, baltimore, , is good on horse-raising and the terrible winter of - . culley, john. _cattle, horses, and men_, los angeles, . much about the noted bell ranch of new mexico. especially good on horses. culley was educated at oxford. when i visited him in california, he had on his table a presentation copy of a book by walter pater. his book has the luminosity that comes from cultivated intelligence. op. dacy, george f. _four centuries of florida ranching_, st. louis, . op. in _crooked trails_, frederic remington has a chapter (illustrated) on "cracker cowboys of florida," and _lake okeechobee_, by a. j. hanna and kathryn abbey, indianapolis, , treats of modern ranching in florida, but the range people of that state have been too lethargic-minded to write about themselves and no marjorie kinnan rawlings has settled in their midst to interpret them. dale, e. e. _the range cattle industry_, norman, oklahoma, . economic aspects. bibliography. _cow country,_ norman, oklahoma, . bully tales and easy history. both books are op. dana, richard henry. _two years before the mast_, . this transcript of reality has been reprinted many times. it is the classic of the hide and tallow trade of california. david, robert d. _malcolm campbell, sheriff_, casper, wyoming, . much of the "johnson county war" between cowmen and thieving nesters. op. dayton, edson c. _dakota days_. privately printed by the author at clifton springs, new york, --three hundred copies only. dayton was more sheepman than cowman. he had a spiritual content. his very use of the word _intellectual_ on the second page of his book; his estimate of milton and gladstone, adjacent to talk about a frontier saloon; his consciousness of his own inner growth--something no extravert cowboy ever noticed, usually because he did not have it; his quotation to express harmony with nature: i have some kinship to the bee, i am boon brother with the tree; the breathing earth is part of me-- all indicate a refinement that any gambler could safely bet originated in the east and not in texas or the south. dobie, j. frank. _a vaquero of the brush country_, . much on border troubles over cattle, the "skinning war," running wild cattle in the brush, mustanging, trail driving; john young's narrative, told in the first person, against range backgrounds. _the longhorns_, illustrated by tom lea, . history of the longhorn breed, psychology of stampedes; days of maverickers and mavericks; stories of individual lead steers and outlaws of the range; stories about rawhide and many other related subjects. the book attempts to reveal the blend made by man, beast, and range. both books published by little, brown, boston. _the mustangs_, . see under "horses." ford, gus l. _texas cattle brands_, dallas, . a catalogue of brands. op. french, william. _some recollections of a western ranchman_, london, . a civilized englishman remembers. op. gann, walter. _the trail boss_, boston, . faithful fiction, with a steer that charlie russell should have painted. op. gard, wayne. _frontier justice_, university of oklahoma press, norman, . this book could be classified under "the bad man tradition," but it has authentic chapters on fence-cutting, the so-called "johnson county cattlemen's war" of wyoming, and other range "difficulties." clearly written from an equable point of view. useful bibliography of range books. gibson, j. w. (watt). _recollections of a pioneer_, st. joseph, missouri (about ). like many another book concerned only incidentally with range life, this contains essential information on the subject. here it is trailing cattle from missouri to california in the 's and 's. cattle driving from the east to california was not economically important. the outstanding account on the subject is _a log of the texas-california cattle trail, _, by james g. bell, edited by j. evetts haley, published in the _southwestern historical quarterly_, (vols. xxxv and xxxvi). also reprinted as a separate. {illust. caption = tom lea, in _the longhorns_ by j. frank dobie ( )} gilfillan, archer b. _sheep_, boston, . with humor and grace, this sheepherder, who collected books on samuel pepys, tells more about sheep dogs, sheep nature, and sheepherder life than any other writer i know. op. gipson, fred. _fabulous empire_, houghton mifflin, boston, . biography of zack miller of the ranch and wild west show. goodwyn, frank. _life on the king ranch_, crowell, new york, . the author was reared on the king ranch. he is especially refreshing on the vaqueros, their techniques and tales. gray, frank s. _pioneer adventures_, , and _pioneering in southwest texas_, , both printed by the author, copperas cove, texas. these books are listed because the author has the perspective of a civilized gentleman and integrates home life on frontier ranches with range work. greer, james k. _bois d'arc to barbed wire_, dallas, . outstanding horse lore. op. hagedorn, hermann. _roosevelt in the bad lands_, boston, . a better book than roosevelt's own _ranch life and the hunting trail_. op. haley, j. evetts. _the xit ranch of texas_, chicago, . as county and town afford the basis for historical treatment of many areas, ranches have afforded bases for various range country histories. of such this is tops. a lawsuit for libel brought by one or more individuals mentioned in the book put a stop to the selling of copies by the publishers and made it very "rare." _charles goodnight, cowman and plainsman_, boston, , reissued by university of oklahoma press, norman, . goodnight, powerful individual and extraordinary observer, summed up in himself the whole life of range and trail. haley's book, packed with realities of incident and character, paints him against a mighty background. _george w. littlefield, texan_, university of oklahoma presss norman, okla., , is a lesser biography of a lesser man. hamilton, w. h. _autobiography of a cowman_, in _south dakota historical collections_, xix ( ), - . a first-rate narrative of life on the dakota range. hamner, laura v. _short grass and longhorns_, norman, oklahoma, . sketches of panhandle ranches and ranch people. op. harris, frank. _my reminiscences as a cowboy_, . a blatant farrago of lies, included in this list because of its supreme worthlessness. however, some judges might regard the debilitated and puerile lying in _the autobiography of frank tarbeaux_, as told to donald h. clarke, new york, , as equally worthless. hart, john a., and others. _history of pioneer days in texas and oklahoma_. no date or place of publication; no table of contents. this slight book was enlarged into _pioneer days in the southwest from to _, "contributions by charles goodnight, emanuel dubbs, john a. hart and others," guthrie, oklahoma, . good on the way frontier ranch families lived. the writers show no sense of humor and no idea of being literary. hastings, frank s. _a ranchman's recollections_, chicago, . op. hastings was urbane, which means he had perspective; "old gran'pa" is the most pulling cowhorse story i know. henry, o. _heart of the west_. interpretative stories of texas range life, which o. henry for a time lived. his range stories are scattered through several volumes. "the last of the troubadours" is a classic. henry, stuart. _our great american plains_, new york, . op. an unworshipful, anti-philistinic picture of abilene, kansas, when it was at the end of the chisholm trail. while not a primary range book, this is absolutely unique in its analysis of cow-town society, both citizens and drovers. stuart henry came to abilene as a boy in . his brother was the first mayor of the town. after graduating from the university of kansas in , he in time acquired "the habit of authorship." he had written a book on london and _french essays and profiles_ and _hours with famous parisians_ before he returned to kansas for a subject. some of his non-complimentary characterizations of westerners aroused a mighty roar among panegyrists of the west. they did not try to refute his anecdote about the sign of the bull head saloon. this sign showed the whole of a great red bull. the citizens of abilene were used to seeing bulls driven through town and they could go out any day and see bulls with cows on the prairie. nature might be good, but any art suggesting nature's virility was indecent. there was such an uprising of victorian taste that what distinguishes a bull from a cow had to be painted out. a similar artistic operation had to be performed on the bull signifying bull durham tobacco--once the range favorite for making cigarettes. hill, j. l. _the end of the cattle trail_, long beach, california [may, ]. rare and meaty pamphlet. holden, w. c. _rollie burns_, dallas, . biography of a plains cowman. op. _the spur ranch_, boston, . history of a great texas ranch. op. horn, tom. _life of tom horn... written by himself, together with his letters and statements by his friends, a vindication_. published (for john c. coble) by the louthan book company, denver, . who wrote the book has been somewhat in debate. john c. coble's name is signed to the preface attributing full authorship to horn. of pennsylvania background, wealthy and educated, he had employed horn as a stock detective on his wyoming ranch. he had the means and ability to see the book through the press. a letter from his wife to me, from cheyenne, june , , says that horn wrote the book. charles h. coe, who succeeded horn as stock detective in wyoming, says in _juggling a rope_ (pendleton, oregon, , p. ), that horn wrote it. i have a copy, bought from fred rosenstock of the bargain book store in denver, who got it from hattie horner louthan, of denver also. for years she taught english in the university of denver, college of commerce, and is the author of more than one textbook. the louthan book company of denver was owned by her family. this copy of _tom horn_ contains her bookplate. on top of the first page of the preface is written in pencil: "i wrote this--`ghost wrote.' h. h. l." then, penciled at the top of the first page of "closing word," is "i wrote this." glendolene myrtle kimmell was a schoolteacher in the country where tom horn operated. as her picture shows, she was lush and beautiful. pages - print "miss kimmell's statement." she did her best to keep tom horn from hanging. she frankly admired him and, it seems to me, loved him. jay monaghan, _the legend of tom horn, last of the bad men_, indianapolis and new york, , says (p. ), without discussion or proof, that after horn was hanged and buried miss kimmell was "writing a long manuscript about a sir galahad horseman who was `crushed between the grinding stones of two civilizations,' but she never found a publisher who thought her book would sell. it was entitled _the true life of tom horn_." the main debate has been over horn himself. the books about him are not highly important, but they contribute to a spectacular and highly controversial phase of range history, the so-called johnson county war of wyoming. mercer's _banditti of the plains_, mokler's _history of natrona county, wyoming_, canton's _frontier trails_, and david's _malcolm campbell, sheriff_ (all listed in this chapter) are primary sources on the subject. hough, emerson. _the story of the cowboy_, new york, . exposition not nearly so good as philip ashton rollins' _the cowboy. north of _, new york, . historical novel of the chisholm trail. the best character in it is old alamo, lead steer. a young woman owner of the herd trails with it. the success of the romance caused emerson hough to advise his friend andy adams to put a woman in a novel about trail driving--so andy adams told me. adams replied that a woman with a trail herd would be as useless as a fifth wheel on a wagon and that he would not violate reality by having her. for a devastation of hough's use of history in _north of _ see the appendix in stuart henry's _conquering our great american plains_. yet the novel does have the right temper. hoyt, henry f. _a frontier doctor_, boston, . texas panhandle and new mexico during billy the kid days. reminiscences. hunt, frazier. _cat mossman: last of the great cowmen_, illustrated by ross santee, hastings house, new york, . few full-length biographies of big operators among cowmen have been written. this reveals not only cap mossman's operations on enormous ranges, but the man. hunter, j. marvin (compiler). _the trail drivers of texas_, two volumes, bandera, texas, , . reprinted in one volume, . all op. george w. saunders, founder of the old time trail drivers association and for many years president, prevailed on hundreds of old-time range and trail men to write autobiographic sketches. he used to refer to volume ii as the "second edition"; just the same, he was not ignorant, and he had a passion for the history of his people. the chronicles, though chaotic in arrangement, comprise basic source material. an index to the one-volume edition of _the trail drivers of texas_ is printed as an appendix to _the chisholm trail and other routes_, by t. u. taylor, san antonio, --a hodgepodge. james, will. _cowboys north and south_, new york, . _the drifting cowboy_, . _smoky_--a cowhorse story-- . several other books, mostly repetitious. will james knew his frijoles, but burned them up before he died, in . he illustrated all his books. the best one is his first, written before he became sophisticated with life--without becoming in the right way more sophisticated in the arts of drawing and writing. _lone cowboy: my life story_ ( ) is without a date or a geographical location less generalized than the space between canada and mexico. james, w. s. _cowboy life in texas_, chicago, . a genuine cowboy who became a genuine preacher and wrote a book of validity. this is the best of several books of reminiscences by cowboy preachers, some of whom are as lacking in the real thing as certain cowboy artists. next to _cowboy life in texas_, in its genre, might come _from the plains to the pulpit_, by j. w. anderson, houston, . the second edition (reset) has six added chapters. the third, and final, edition, goose creek, texas, , again reset, has another added chapter. j. b. cranfill was a trail driver from a rough range before he became a baptist preacher and publisher. his bulky _chronicle, a story of life in texas_, , is downright and concrete. keleher, william a. _maxwell land grant: a new mexico item_, santa fe, . the maxwell grant of , , acres on the cimarron river was at one time perhaps the most famous tract of land in the west. this history brings in ranching only incidentally; it focuses on the land business, including grabs by catron, dorsey, and other affluent politicians. perhaps stronger on characters involved during long litigation over the land, and containing more documentary evidence, is _the grant that maxwell bought_, by f. stanley, the world press, denver, (a folio of pages in an edition of copies at $ . ). keleher is a lawyer; stanley is a priest. harvey fergusson in his historical novel _grant of kingdom_, new york, , vividly supplements both. keleher's second book, _the fabulous frontier_, rydal, santa fe, , illuminates connections between ranch lands and politicians; principally it sketches the careers of a. b. fall, john chisum, pat garrett, oliver lee, jack thorp, gene rhodes, and other new mexico notables. kent, william. _reminiscences of outdoor life_, san francisco, . op. this is far from being a straight-out range book. it is the easy talk of an urbane man associated with ranches and ranch people who was equally at home in a chicago office and among fellow congressmen. he had a country-going nature and gusto for character. king, frank m. _wranglin' the past_, los angeles, . king went all the way from texas to california, listening and looking. op. his second book, _longhorn trail drivers_ ( ), is worthless. his _pioneer western empire builders_ ( ) and _mavericks_ ( ) are no better. most of the contents of these books appeared in _western livestock journal_, los angeles. kupper, winifred. _the golden hoof_, new york, . story of the sheep and sheep people of the southwest. facts, but, above that, truth that comes only through imagination and sympathy. op. _texas sheepman_, university of texas press, austin, . the edited reminiscences of robert maudslay. he drove sheep all over the west, and lived up to the ideals of an honest englishman in writing as well as in ranching. he had a sense of humor. lampman, clinton parks. _the great western trail_, new york, . op. in the upper bracket of autobiographic chronicles, by a sensitive man who never had the provincial point of view. lampman contemplated as well as observed he felt the pathos of human destiny. lang, lincoln a. _ranching with roosevelt_, philadelphia, . civilized. op. lewis, alfred henry. _wolfville_ ( ) and other wolfville books. all op. sketches and rambling stories faithful to cattle backgrounds; flavor and humanity through fictionized anecdote. "the old cattleman," who tells all the wolfville stories, is a substantial and flavorsome creation. lockwood, frank c. _arizona characters_, los angeles, . skilfully written biographies. op. mccarty, john l. _maverick town_, university of oklahoma press, . tascosa, texas, on the canadian river, with emphasis on the guns. mccauley, james emmit. _a stove-up cowboy's story_, with introduction by john a. lomas and illustrations by tom lea, austin, . op. "my parents be poor like job's turkey," mccauley wrote. he was a common cowhand with uncommon saltiness of speech. he wrote as he talked. "god pity the wight for whom this vivid, honest story has no interest," john lomax pronounced. it is one of several brief books of reminiscences brought out in small editions in the "range life series," under the editorship of j. frank dobie, by the texas folklore society. the two others worth having are _a tenderfoot kid on gyp water_, by carl peters benedict ( ) and _ed nichols rode a horse_, as told to ruby nichols cutbirth ( ). mccoy, joseph g. _historic sketches of the cattle trade of the west and southwest_, kansas city, . in , mccoy established at abilene, kansas, terminus of the chisholm trail, the first market upon which texas drovers could depend. he went broke and thereupon put his sense, information, and vinegar into the first of all range histories. it is a landmark. of the several reprinted editions, the one preferred is that edited by ralph p. bieber, with an information-packed introduction and many illuminating notes, glendale, california, . this is volume viii in the "southwest historical series," edited by bieber, and the index to it is included in the general index to the whole series. available is an edition published by long's college book co., columbus, ohio. about the best of original sources on mccoy is _twenty years of kansas city's live stock and traders_, by cuthbert powell, kansas city, --one of the rarities. mackay, malcolm s. _cow range and hunting trail_, new york, . among the best of civilized range books. fresh observations and something besides ordinary narrative. op. illustrations by russell. mandat-grancey, baron e. de. see conn, william. mercer, a. s. _banditti of the plains, or the cattlemen's invasion of wyoming in _, cheyenne, ; reprinted at chicago in under title of _powder river invasion, war on the rustlers in _, "rewritten by john mercer boots." reprinted , with foreword by james mitchell clarke, by the grabhorn press, san francisco. all editions op. bloody troubles between cowmen and nesters in wyoming, the "johnson county war." for more literature on the subject, consult the entry under tom horn in this chapter. miller, lewis b. _saddles and lariats_, boston, . a fictional chronicle, based almost entirely on facts, of a trail herd that tried to get to california in the fifties. the author was a texan. op. mokler, alfred james. _history of natrona county, wyoming, - _, chicago, . contains some good material on the "johnson county war." this book is listed as an illustration of many county histories of western states containing concrete information on ranching. other examples of such county histories are s. d. butcher's _pioneer history of custer county_ (nebraska), broken bow, nebraska, ; _history of jack county_ (texas), jacksboro, texas (about ); _historical sketch of parker county and weatherford, texas_, st. louis, . mora, jo. _trail dust and saddle leather_, scribner's, new york, . no better exposition anywhere, and here tellingly illustrated, of reatas, spurs, bits, saddles, and other gear. _californios_, doubleday, garden city, n. y., . profusely illustrated. largely on vaquero techniques. jo mora knew the california vaquero, but did not know the range history of other regions and, therefore, judged as unique what was widespread. nimmo, joseph, jr. _the range and ranch cattle traffic in the western states and territories_, executive document no. , house of representatives, th congress, nd session, washington, d. c., . printed also in one or more other government documents. a statistical record concerning grazing lands, trail driving, railroad shipping of cattle, markets, foreign investments in ranches, etc. this document is the outstanding example of factual material to be found in various government publications, volume iii of the _tenth census of the united states_ ( ) being another. _the western range: letter from the secretary of agriculture_, etc (a "letter" pages long), united states government printing office, washington, , lists many government publications both state and national. nordyke, lewis. _cattle empire_, morrow, new york, . history, largely political, of the xit ranch. not so careful in documentation as haley's _xit ranch of texas_, and not so detailed on ranch operations, but thoroughly illuminative on the not-heroic side of big businessmen in big land deals. the two histories complement each other. o'neil, james b. _they die but once_, new york, . the biographical narrative of a tejano who vigorously swings a very big loop; fine illustration of the fact that a man can lie authentically. op. osgood, e. s. _the day of the cattleman_, minneapolis, . excellent history and excellent bibliography. northwest. op. peake, ora brooks. _the colorado range cattle industry_, clark, glendale, california, . dry on facts, but sound in scholarship. bibliography. pelzer, louis. _the cattlemen's frontier_, clark, glendale, california, . economic treatment, faithful but static. bibliography. pender, rose. a _lady's experiences in the wild west in _, london ( ?); second printing with a new preface, . rose pender and two fellow-englishmen went through wyoming ranch country, stopping on ranches, and she, a very intelligent, spirited woman, saw realities that few other chroniclers suggest. this is a valuable bit of social history. perkins, charles e. _the pinto horse_, santa barbara, california, . _the phantom bull_, boston, . fictional narratives of veracity; literature. op. pilgrim, thomas (under pseudonym of arthur morecamp). _live boys; or charley and nasho in texas_, boston, . the chronicle, little fictionized, of a trail drive to kansas. so far as i know, this is the first narrative printed on cattle trailing or cowboy life that is to be accounted authentic. the book is dated from kerrville, texas. ponting, tom candy. _the life of tom candy ponting_, decatur, illinois [ ], reprinted, with notes and introduction by herbert o. brayer, by branding iron press, evanston, illinois, . an account of buying cattle in texas in , driving them to illinois, and later shipping some to new york. accounts of trail driving before about have been few and obscurely printed. the stark diary kept by george c. duffield of a drive from san saba county, texas, to southern iowa in is as realistic--often agonizing--as anything extant on this much romanticized subject. it is published in _annals of iowa_, des moines, iv (april, ), - . potter, jack. born in , son of the noted "fighting parson," andrew jackson potter, jack became a far-known trail boss and ranch manager. his first published piece, "coming down the trail," appeared in _the trail drivers of texas_, compiled by j. marvin hunter, and is about the livest thing in that monumental collection. jack potter wrote for various western magazines and newspapers. he was more interested in cow nature than in gun fights; he had humor and imagination as well as mastery of facts and a tangy language, though small command over form. his privately printed booklets are: _lead steer_ (with introduction by j. frank dobie), clayton, n. m., ; _cattle trails of the old west_ (with map), clayton, n.m., ; _cattle trails of the old west_ (virtually a new booklet), clayton, n. m., . all op. _prose and poetry of the live stock industry of the united states_, denver, . biographies of big cowmen and history based on genuine research. the richest in matter of all the hundred-dollar-and-up rare books in its field. raine, william mcleod, and barnes, will c. _cattle_, garden city, n. y., . a succinct and vivid focusing of much scattered history. op. rak, mary kidder. _a cowman s wife_, houghton mifflin, boston, . unglossed, impersonal realism about life on a small modern arizona ranch. _mountain cattle_, , and op, is an extension of the first book. remington, frederic. _pony tracks_, new york, (now published by long's college book co., columbus, ohio); _crooked trails_, new york, . sketches and pictures. rhodes, eugene manlove. _west is west, once in the saddle, good men and true, stepsons of light_, and other novels. "gene" rhodes had the "right tune." he achieved a style that can be called literary. _the hired man on horseback_, by may d. rhodes, is a biography of the writer. perhaps "paso por aqui" will endure as his masterpiece. rhodes had an intense loyalty to his land and people; he was as gay, gallant, and witty as he was earnest. more than most western writers, rhodes was conscious of art. he had the common touch and also he was a writer for writing men. the elements of simplicity and the right kind of sophistication, always with generosity and with an unflagging zeal for the rights of human beings, were mixed in him. the reach of any ample-natured man exceeds his grasp. rhodes was ample-natured, but he cannot be classed as great because his grasp was too often disproportionately short of the long reach. his fiction becomes increasingly dated. _the best novels and, stories of eugene manlove rhodes_, edited by frank v. dearing, houghton mifflin, boston, , contains an introduction, with plenty of anecdotes and too much enthusiasm, by j. frank dobie. richards, clarice e. a _tenderfoot bride_, garden city, n. y., . the experiences of a ranchman's wife in colorado. the telling has charm, warmth, and flexibility. in the way that art is always truer than a literal report, _a tenderfoot bride_ brings out truths of life that the literalistic _a cowman's wife_ by mary kidder rak misses. richter, conrad. _the sea of grass_, knopf, new york, . a poetic portrait in fiction, with psychological values, of a big cowman and his wife. ricketts, w. p. _ years in the saddle_, sheridan, wyoming, . op. a natural book with much interesting information. it contains the best account of trailing cattle from oregon to wyoming that i have seen. ridings, sam p. _the chisholm trail_, . sam p. ridings, a lawyer, published this book himself from medford, oklahoma. he had gone over the land, lived with range men, studied history. a noble book, rich in anecdote and character. the subtitle reads: "a history of the world's greatest cattle trail, together with a description of the persons, a narrative of the events, and reminiscences associated with the same." op. robinson, frank c. _a ram in a thicket_, abelard press, new york, . robinson is the author of many westerns, none of which i have read. this is an autobiography, here noted because it reveals a maturity of mind and an awareness of political economy and social evolution hardly suggested by other writers of western fiction. rollins, alice wellington. _the story of a ranch_, new york, . philip ashton rollins (no relation that i know of to alice wellington rollins) went into charlie everitt's bookstore in new york one day and said, "i want every book with the word _cowboy_ printed in it." _the story of a ranch_ is listed here to illustrate how titles often have nothing to do with subject. it is without either story or ranch; it is about some dilettanteish people who go out to a kansas sheep farm, talk chopin, and wash their fingers in finger bowls. rollins, philip ashton. _the cowboy_, scribner's, new york, . revised, . a scientific exposition; full. rollins wrote two western novels, not important. a wealthy man with ranch experience, he collected one of the finest libraries of western books ever assembled by any individual and presented it to princeton university. rollinson, john k. _pony trails in wyoming_, caldwell, idaho, . not inspired and not indispensable, but honest autobiography. op. _wyoming cattle trails_, caxton, caldwell, idaho, . a more significant book than the autobiography. good on trailing cattle from oregon. roosevelt, theodore. _ranch life and the hunting trail_, new york, . roosevelt understood the west. he became the peg upon which several range books were hung, hagedorn's _roosevelt in the bad lands_ and lang's _ranching with roosevelt_ in particular. a good summing up, with bibliography, is _roosevelt and the stockman's association_, by ray h. mattison, pamphlet issued by the state historical society of north dakota, bismarck, . rush, oscar. _the open range_, salt lake city, . reprinted by caxton, caldwell, idaho. a sensitive range man's response to natural things. the subtitle, _bunk house philosophy_, characterizes the book. russell, charles m. _trails plowed under_, , with introduction by will rogers. russell was the greatest painter that ever painted a range man, a range cow, a range horse or a plains indian. he savvied the cow, the grass, the blizzard, the drought, the wolf, the young puncher in love with his own shadow, the old waddie remembering rides and thirsts of far away and long ago. he was a wonderful storyteller, and most of his pictures tell stories. he never generalized, painting "a man," "a horse," "a buffalo" in the abstract. his subjects are warm with life, whether awake or asleep, at a particular instant, under particular conditions. _trails plowed under_, prodigally illustrated, is a collection of yarns and anecdotes saturated with humor and humanity. it incorporates the materials in two rawhide rawlins pamphlets. _good medicine_, published posthumously, is a collection of russell's letters, illustrations saying more than written words. russell's illustrations have enriched numerous range books, b. m. bower's novels, malcolm s. mackay's _cow range and hunting trail_, and patrick t. tucker's _riding the high country_ being outstanding among them. tucker's book, autobiography, has a bully chapter on charlie russell. _charles m. russell, the cowboy artist: a bibliography_, by karl yost, pasadena, california, , is better composed than its companion biography, _charles m. russell the cowboy artist_, by ramon f. adams and homer e. britzman. (both op.) one of the most concrete pieces of writing on russell is a chapter in _in the land of chinook_, by al. j. noyes, helena, montana, . "memories of charlie russell," in _memories of old montana_, by con price, hollywood, , is also good. all right as far as it goes, about a rock's throw away, is "the conservatism of charles m. russell," by j. frank dobie, in a portfolio reproduction of _seven drawings by charles m. russell, with an additional drawing by tom lea_, printed by carl hertzog, el paso [ ]. santee, ross. _cowboy_, . op. the plotless narrative, reading like autobiography, of a kid who ran away from a farm in east texas to be a cowboy in arizona. his cowpuncher teachers are the kind "who know what a cow is thinking of before she knows herself." passages in _cowboy_ combine reality and elemental melody in a way that almost no other range writer excepting charles m. russell has achieved. santee is a pen-and-ink artist also. among his other books, _men and horses_ is about the best. shaw, james c. _north from texas: incidents in the early life of a range man in texas, dakota and wyoming, - _, edited by herbert o. brayer. branding iron press, evanston, illinois, . edition limited to copies. i first met this honest autobiography by long quotations from it in virginia cole trenholm's _footprints on the frontier_ (douglas, wyoming, ), wherein i learned that shaw's narrative had been privately printed in cheyenne in , in pamphlet form, for gifts to a few friends and members of the author's family. i tried to buy a copy but could find none for sale at any price. this reprint is in a format suitable to the economical prose, replete with telling incidents and homely details. it will soon be only a little less scarce than the original. sheedy, dennis. _the autobiography of dennis sheedy_. privately printed in denver, or . sixty pages bound in leather and as scarce as psalm-singing in "fancy houses." the item is not very important in the realm of range literature but it exemplifies the successful businessman that the judicious cowman of open range days frequently became. sheffy, l. f. _the life and times of timothy dwight hobart, - _, panhandle-plains historical society, canyon, texas, . hobart was manager for the large j a ranch, established by charles goodnight. he had a sense of history. this mature biography treats of important developments pertaining to ranching in the texas panhandle. siringo, charles a. a _texas cowboy, or fifteen years on the hurricane deck of a spanish cow pony_, . the first in time of all cowboy autobiographies and first, also, in plain rollickiness. siringo later told the same story with additions under the titles of _a lone star cowboy, a cowboy detective_, etc., all out of print. finally, there appeared his _riata and spurs_, boston, , a summation and extension of previous autobiographies. because of a threatened lawsuit, half of it had to be cut and additional material provided for a "revised edition." no other cowboy ever talked about himself so much in print; few had more to talk about. i have said my full say on him in an introduction, which includes a bibliography, to _a texas cowboy_, published with tom lea illustrations by sloane, new york, . op. smith, erwin e., and haley, j. evetts. _life on the texas range_, photographs by smith and text by haley, university of texas press, austin, . erwin smith yearned and studied to be a sculptor. early in this century he went with camera to photograph the life of land, cattle, horses, and men on the big ranches of west texas. in him feeling and perspective of artist were fused with technical mastership. "i don't mean," wrote tom lea, "that he made just the best photographs i ever saw on the subject. i mean the best pictures. that includes paintings, drawings, prints." on by pages of -pound antique finish paper, the photographs are superbly reproduced. evetts haley's introduction interprets as well as chronicles the life of a strange and tragic man. the book is easily the finest range book in the realm of the pictorial ever published. smith, wallace. _garden of the sun_, los angeles, . op. despite the banal title, this is a scholarly work with first-rate chapters on california horses and ranching in the san joaquin valley. snyder, a. b., as told to nellie snyder yost. _pinnacle jake_, caxton, caldwell, idaho, . the setting is nebraska, wyoming, and montana from the 's on. had pinnacle jake kept a diary, his accounts of range characters, especially camp cooks and range horses, with emphasis on night horses and outlaws, could not have been fresher or more precise in detail. reading this book will not give a new interpretation of open range work with big outfits, but the aliveness of it in both narrative and sketch makes it among the best of old-time cowboy reminiscences. sonnichsen, c. l. _cowboys and cattle kings: life on the range today_, university of oklahoma press, norman, . an interviewer's findings without the historical criticism exemplified by bernard devoto on the subject of federal-owned ranges (in essays in _harper's magazine_ during the late 's). stanley, clark, "better known as the rattlesnake king." _the life and adventures of the american cow-boy_, published by the author at providence, rhode island, . this pamphlet of forty-one pages, plus about twenty pages of snake oil liniment advertisements, is one of the curiosities of cowboy literature. it includes a collection of cowboy songs, the earliest i know of in time of printing, antedating by eleven years jack thorp's booklet of cowboy songs printed at estancia, new mexico, in . clark stanley no doubt used the contents of his pamphlet in medicine show harangues, thus adding to the cowboy myth. as time went on, he added scraps of anecdotes and western history, along with testimonials, to the pamphlet, the latest edition i have seen being about , printed in worcester, massachusetts. steedman, charles j. _bucking the sagebrush_, new york, . op. charming; much of nature. illustrated by russell. {illust. caption = charles m. russell, in _the virginian_ by owen wister} stevens, montague. _meet mr. grizzly_, university of new mexico press, albuquerque, . stevens, a cambridge englishman, ranched, hunted, and made deductions. see characterization under "bears and bear hunters." streeter, floyd b. _prairie trails and cow towns_, boston, . op. this brings together considerable information on kansas cow towns. primary books on the subject, besides those by stuart henry, mccoy, vestal, and wright herewith listed, are _the oklahoma scout_, by theodore baughman, chicago, ; _midnight and noonday_, by g. d. freeman, caldwell, kansas, ; biographies of wild bill hickok, town marshal; stuart n. lake's biography of wyatt earp, another noted marshal; _hard knocks_, by harry young, chicago, , not too prudish to notice dance hall girls but too victorian to say much. many texas trail drivers had trouble as well as fun in the cow towns. _life and adventures of ben thompson_, by w. m. walton, , reprinted at bandera, texas, , gives samples. thompson was more gambler than cowboy; various other men who rode from cow camps into town and found themselves in their element were gamblers and gunmen first and cowboys only in passing. stuart, granville. _forty years on the frontier_, two volumes, cleveland, . nothing better on the cowboy has ever been written than the chapter entitled "cattle business" in volume ii. a prime work throughout. op. thorp, jack (n. howard) has a secure place in range literature because of his contribution in cowboy songs. (see entry under "cowboy songs and other ballads.") in he had printed at santa fe a paper-backed book of pages entitled _tales of the chuck wagon_, but "didn't sell more than two or three million copies." some of the tales are in his posthumously published reminiscences, _pardner of the wind_ (as told to neil mccullough clark, caxton, caldwell, idaho, ). this book is richest on range horses, and will be found listed in the section on "horses." towne, charles wayland, and wentworth, edward norris. _shepherd's empire_, university of oklahoma press, norman, . not firsthand in the manner of gilfillan's _sheep_, nor charming and light in the manner of kupper's _the golden hoof_, but an essayical history, based on research. the deference paid to mary austin's _the flock_ marks the author as civilized. towne wrote the book; wentworth supplied the information. wentworth's own book, _america's sheep trails_, iowa state college press, ames, , is ponderous, amorphous, and in part, only a eulogistic "mugbook." townshend, r. b. _a tenderfoot in colorado_, london, ; _the tenderfoot in new mexico_, . delightful as well as faithful. literature by an englishman who translated tacitus under the spires of oxford after he retired from the range. treadwell, edward f. _the cattle king_, new york, ; reissued by christopher, boston. a strong biography of a very strong man--henry miller of california. trenholm, virginia cole. _footprints on the frontier_, douglas, wyoming, . op. the best range material in this book is a reprint of parts of james c. shaw's _pioneering in texas and wyoming_, privately printed at cheyenne in . truett, velma stevens. _on the hoof in nevada_, gehrett-truett-hall, los angeles, . a -page album of cattle brands--priced at $ . . the introduction is one of the sparse items on nevada ranching. tucker, patrick t. _riding the high country_, caldwell, idaho, . a brave book with much of charlie russell in it. op. vestal, stanley (pen name for walter s. campbell). _queen of cow towns, dodge city_, harper, new york, . "bibulous babylon," "killing of dora hand," and "marshals for breakfast" are chapter titles suggesting the tenor of the book. _vocabulario y refranero criollo_, text and illustrations by tito saudibet, guillermo kraft ltda., buenos aires, . north american ranges have called forth nothing to compare with this fully illustrated, thorough, magnificent history-dictionary of the gaucho world. it stands out in contrast to american slapdash, puerile-minded pretenses at dictionary treatises on cowboy life. "he who knows only the history of his own country does not know it." the cowboy is not a singular type. he was no better rider than the cossack of asia. his counterpart in south america, developed also from spanish cattle, spanish horses, and spanish techniques, is the gaucho. literature on the gaucho is extensive, some of it of a high order. primary is _martin fierro_, the epic by jose hernandez (published - ). a translation by walter owen was published in the united states in . no combination of knowledge, sympathy, imagination, and craftsmanship has produced stories and sketches about the cowboy equal to those on the gaucho by w. h. hudson, especially in _tales of the pampas_ and _far away and long ago_, and by r. b. cunninghame graham, whose writings are dispersed and difficult to come by. webb, walter prescott. _the great plains_, ginn, boston, . while this landmark in historical interpretation of the west is by no means limited to the subject of grazing, it contains a long and penetrating chapter entitled "the cattle kingdom." the book is an analysis of land, climate, barbed wire, dry farming, wells and windmills, native animal life, etc. no other work on the plains country goes so meatily into causes and effects. wellman, paul i. _the trampling herd_, doubleday, garden city, n. y., ; reissued, . an attempt to sum up the story of the cattle range in america. white, stewart edward. _arizona nights_, . "rawhide," one of the stories in this excellent collection, utilizes folk motifs about rawhide with much skill. williams, j. r. _cowboys out our way_, with an introduction by j. frank dobie, scribner's, new york, . an album reproducing about two hundred of the realistic, humorous, and human j. r. williams syndicated cartoons. this book was preceded by _out our way_, new york, , and includes numerous cartoons therein printed. there was an earlier and less extensive collection. modest jim williams has been progressively dissatisfied with all his cartoon books--and with cartoons not in books. i like them and in my introduction say why. wister, owen. _the virginian_, . wister was an outsider looking in. his hero, "the virginian," is a cowboy without cows--like the cowboys of eugene manlove rhodes; but this hero does not even smell of cows, whereas rhodes's men do. nevertheless, the novel authentically realizes the code of the range, and it makes such absorbing reading that in fifty years ( - ) it sold over , , copies, not counting foreign translations and paper reprints. wister was an urbane harvard man, of clubs and travels. in the university of wyoming celebrated the fiftieth anniversary of the publication of _the virginian_. to mark the event, frances k. w. stokes wrote _my father owen wister_, a biographical pamphlet including "ten letters written to his mother during his trip to wyoming in "--a trip that prepared him to write the novel. the pamphlet is published at laramie, wyoming, name of publisher not printed on it. wright, peter. _a three-foot stool_, new york and london, . like several other englishmen who went west, wright had the perspective that enabled him to comprehend some aspects of ranch life more fully than many range men who knew nothing but their own environment and times. he compares the cowboy to the cowherd described by queen elizabeth's spenser. into exposition of ranching on the gila, he interweaves talk on arabian afreets, stevenson's philosophy of adventure, and german imperialism. wright, robert m. _dodge city, cowboy capital_, wichita, kansas, ; reprinted. good on the most cowboyish of all the cow towns. pamphlets pamphlets are an important source of knowledge in all fields. no first-class library is without them. most of them become difficult to obtain, and some bring higher prices than whole sets of books. of numerous pamphlets pertaining to the range, only a few are listed here. _history of the chisum war, or life of ike fridge_, by ike fridge, electra, texas (undated), is as compact as jerked beef and as laconic as conversation in alkali dust. james f. hinkle, in his _early days of a cowboy on the pecos_, roswell, new mexico, , says: "one noticeable characteristic of the cowpunchers was that they did not talk much." some people don't have to talk to say plenty. hinkle was one of them. at a reunion of trail drivers in san antonio in october, , fred s. millard showed me his laboriously written reminiscences. he wanted them printed. i introduced him to j. marvin hunter of bandera, texas, publisher of _frontier times_. i told hunter not to ruin the english by trying to correct it, as he had processed many of the earth-born reminiscences in _the trail drivers of texas_. he printed millard's _a cowpuncher of the pecos_ in pamphlet form shortly thereafter. it begins: "this is a piece i wrote for the trail drivers." they would understand some things on which he was not explicit. about , as he told me, bob beverly of lovington, new mexico, made a contract with the proprietor of the town's weekly newspaper to print his reminiscences. by the time the contractor had set eighty-seven pages of type he saw that he would lose money if he set any more. he gave bob beverly back more manuscript than he had used and stapled a pamphlet entitled _hobo of the rangeland_. the philosophy in it is more interesting to me than the incidents. "the cowboy of the old west worked in a land that seemed to be grieving over something--a kind of sadness, loneliness in a deathly quiet. one not acquainted with the plains could not understand what effect it had on the mind. it produced a heartache and a sense of exile." crudely printed, but printed as the author talked, is _the end of the long horn trail_, by a. p. (ott) black, selfridge, north dakota (august, ). as i know from a letter from his _compadre_, black was blind and sixty-nine years old when he dictated his memoirs to a college graduate who had sense enough to retain the flavor. black's history is badly botched, but reading him is like listening. "it took two coons and an alligator to spend the summer on that cotton plantation.... cowpunchers were superstitious about owls. one who rode into my camp one night had killed a man somewhere and was on the dodge. he was lying down by the side of the campfire when an owl flew over into some hackberry trees close by and started hooting. he got up from there right now, got his horse in, saddled up and rode off into the night." john alley is--or was--a teacher. his _memories of roundup days_, university of oklahoma press, (just twenty small pages), is an appraisal of range men, a criticism of life seldom found in old-timers who look back. on the other hand, some pamphlets prized by collectors had as well not have been written. here is the full title of an example: _an aged wanderer, a life sketch of j. m. parker, a cowboy of the western plains in the early days_. "price cents. headquarters, elkhorn wagon yard, san angelo, texas." it was printed about . when parker wrote it he was senile, and there is no evidence that he was ever possessed of intelligence. the itching to get into print does not guarantee that the itcher has anything worth printing. some of the best reminiscences have been pried out of range men. in the wyoming stock growers association resolved a historical commission into existence. a committee was appointed and, naturally, one man did the work. in a fifty-five-page pamphlet entitled _letters from old friends and members of the wyoming stock growers association_ was printed at cheyenne. it is made up of unusually informing and pungent recollections by intelligent cowmen. . cowboy songs and other ballads {illust. lyrics = kind friends, if you will listen, a story i will tell a-bout a final bust-up, that happened down in dell.} cowboy songs and ballads are generally ranked alongside negro spirituals as being the most important of america's contributions to folk song. as compared with the old english and scottish ballads, the cowboy and all other ballads of the american frontiers generally sound cheap and shoddy. since john a. lomax brought out his collection in , cowboy songs have found their way into scores of songbooks, have been recorded on hundreds of records, and have been popularized, often--and naturally--without any semblance to cowboy style, by thousands of radio singers. two general anthologies are recommended especially for the cowboy songs they contain: _american ballads and folk songs_, by john a. and alan lomax, macmillan, new york, ; _the american songbag_, by carl sandburg, harcourt, brace, new york, . larrin, margaret. _singing cowboy_ (with music), new york, . op. lomax, john a., and lomax, alan. _cowboy songs and other frontier ballads_, macmillan, new york, . this is a much added-to and revised form of lomax's collection, under the same title. it is the most complete of all anthologies. more than any other man, john a. lomax is responsible for having made cowboy songs a part of the common heritage of america. his autobiographic _adventures of a ballad hunter_ (macmillan, ) is in quality far above the jingles that most cowboy songs are. missouri, as no other state, gave to the west and southwest. much of missouri is still more southwestern in character than much of oklahoma. for a full collection, with full treatment, of the ballads and songs, including bad-man and cowboy songs, sung in the southwest there is nothing better than _ozark folksongs_, collected and edited by vance randolph, state historical society of missouri, columbia, - . an unsurpassed work in four handsome volumes. owens, william a. _texas folk songs_, southern methodist university press, dallas, . a miscellany of british ballads, american ballads, "songs of doleful love," etc. collected in texas mostly from country people of anglo-american stock. musical scores for all the songs. the texas folklore society has published many cowboy songs. its publications _texas and southwestern lore_ ( ) and _follow de drinkin' gou'd_ ( ) contain scores, with music and anecdotal interpretations. other volumes contain other kinds of songs, including mexican. thorp, jack (n. howard). _songs of the cowboys_, boston, . op. good, though limited, anthology, without music and with illuminating comments. a pamphlet collection that thorp privately printed at estancia, new mexico, in , was one of the first to be published. thorp had the perspective of both range and civilization. he was a kind of troubadour himself. the opening chapter, "banjo in the cow camps," of his posthumous reminiscences, _pardner of the wind, is_ delicious. . horses: mustangs and cow ponies the west was discovered, battled over, and won by men on horseback. spanish conquistadores saddled their horses in vera cruz and rode until they had mapped the continents from the horn to montana and from the floridas to the harbors of the californias. the padres with them rode on horseback, too, and made every mission a horse ranch. the national dance of mexico, the jarabe, is an interpretation of the clicking of hoofs and the pawing and prancing of spirited horses that the aztecs noted when the spaniards came. likewise, the chief contribution made by white men of america to the folk songs of the world--the cowboy songs--are rhythmed to the walk of horses. astride horses introduced by the conquistadores to the americas, the plains indians became almost a separate race from the foot-moving tribes of the east and the stationary pueblos of the rockies. the men that later conquered and corralled these wild-riding plains indians were plainsmen on horses and cavalrymen. the earliest american explorers and trappers of both plains and rocky mountains went out in the saddle. the first industrial link between the east and the west was a mounted pack train beating out the santa fe trail. on west beyond the end of this trail, in spanish california, even the drivers of oxen rode horseback. the first transcontinental express was the pony express. outlaws and bad men were called "long riders." the texas ranger who followed them was, according to his own proverb, "no better than his horse." booted sheriffs from brownsville on the rio grande to the hole in the wall in the big horn mountains lived in the saddle. climactic of all the riders rode the cowboy, who lived with horse and herd. in the old west the phrase "left afoot" meant nothing short of being left flat on your back. "a man on foot is no man at all," the saying went. if an enemy could not take a man's life, the next best thing was to take his horse. where cow thieves went scot free, horse thieves were hanged, and to say that a man was "as common as a horse thief" was to express the nadir of commonness. the pillow of the frontiersmen who slept with a six-shooter under it was a saddle, and hitched to the horn was the loose end of a stake rope. just as "colonel colt" made all men equal in a fight, the horse made all men equal in swiftness and mobility. the proudest names of civilized languages when literally translated mean "horseman": eques, caballero, chevalier, cavalier. until just yesterday the man on horseback had been for centuries the symbol of power and pride. the advent of the horse, from spanish sources, so changed the ways and psychology of the plains indians that they entered into what historians call the age of horse culture. almost until the automobile came, the whole west and southwest were dominated by a horse culture. material on range horses is scattered through the books listed under "range life," "stagecoaches, freighting," "pony express." no thorough comprehension of the spanish horse of the americas is possible without consideration of this horse's antecedents, and that involves a good deal of the horse history of the world. brown, william robinson. _the horse of the desert_ (no publisher or place on title page), ; reprinted by macmillan, new york. a noble, beautiful, and informing book. cabrera, angel. _caballos de america_, buenos aires, . the authority on argentine horses. carter, william h. _the horses of the world_, national geographic society, washington, d. c., . a concentrated survey. _cattleman_. published at fort worth, this monthly magazine of the texas and southwestern cattle raisers association began in to issue, for september, a horse number. it has published a vast amount of material both scientific and popular on range horses. another monthly magazine worth knowing about is the _western horseman_, colorado springs, colorado. denhardt, robert moorman. _the horse of the americas_, university of oklahoma press, norman, . this historical treatment of the spanish horse could be better ordered; some sections of the book are little more than miscellanies. dobie, j. frank. _the mustangs_, illustrated by charles banks wilson, little, brown, boston, . before this handsome book arrives at the wild horses of north america, a third of it has been spent on the arabian progenitors of the spanish horse, the acquisition of the spanish horse by western indians, and the nature of indian horses. there are many narratives of mustangs and mustangers and of spanish-blooded horses under the saddle. the author has tried to compass the natural history of the animal and to blend vividness with learning. the book incorporates his _tales of the mustang_, a slight volume published in an edition of only three hundred copies in . it also incorporates a large part of _mustangs and cow horses_, edited by dobie, boatright, and ransom, and issued by the texas folklore society, austin, --a volume that went out of print not long after it was published. dodge, theodore a. _riders of many lands_, new york, . illustrations by remington. wide and informed views. graham, r. b. cunninghame. _the horses of the conquest_, london, . graham was both historian and horseman, as much at home on the pampas as in his ancient scottish home. this excellent book on the spanish horses introduced to the western hemisphere is in a pasture to itself. reprinted in by the university of oklahoma press, with introduction and notes by robert moorman denhardt. {illust. caption = charles banks wilson, in _the mustangs_ by j. frank dobie ( )} greer, james k. _bois d'arc to barbed wire_, dallas, . op. hastings, frank. _a ranchman's recollections_, chicago, . "old gran'pa" is close to the best american horse story i have ever read. op. hayes, m. horace. _points of the horse_, london, . this and subsequent editions are superior in treatment and illustrations to earlier editions. hayes was a far traveler and scholar as well as horseman. one of the less than a dozen best books on the horse. james, will. _smoky_, scribner's, new york, . perhaps the best of several books that will james--always with illustrations--has woven around horse heroes. leigh, william r. _the western pony_, new york, . one of the most beautifully printed books on the west; beautiful illustrations; illuminating text. op. muller, dan. _horses_, reilly and lee, chicago, . interesting illustrations. pattullo, george. _the untamed_, new york, . a collection of short stories, among which "corazon" and "neutria" are excellent on horses. op. perkins, charles elliott. _the pinto horse_, santa barbara, california, . a fine narrative, illustrated by edward borein. op. ridgeway, w. _the origin and influence of the thoroughbred horse_, cambridge, england, . a standard work, though many of its conclusions are disputed, especially by lady wentworth in her _thoroughbred racing stock and its ancestors_, london, . santee, ross. _men and horses_, new york, . three chapters of this book, "a fool about a horse," "the horse wrangler," and "the rough string," are especially recommended. _cowboy_, new york, , reveals in a fine way the rapport between the cowboy and his horse. _sleepy black,_ new york, , is a story of a horse designed for younger readers; being good on the subject, it is good for any reader. all op. simpson, george gaylor. _horses: the story of the horse family in the modern world and through sixty million years of history_, oxford university press, new york, . in the realm of paleontology this work supplants all predecessors. bibliography. steele, rufus. _mustangs of the mesas_, hollywood, california, . op. modern mustanging in nevada; excellently written narratives of outstanding mustangs. stong, phil. _horses and americans_, new york, . a survey and a miscellany combined. op. {illust. caption = charles m. russell, in _the untamed_ by george pattullo ( )} thorp, jack (n. howard) as told to neil mccullough clark. _pardner of the wind_, caxton, caldwell, idaho, . two chapters in this book make the "spanish thunderbolts," as jack thorp called the mustangs and spanish cow horses, graze, run, pitch, and go gentle ways as free as the wind. "five hundred mile horse race" is a great story. no other range man excepting ross santee has put down so much everyday horse lore in such a fresh way. tweedie, major general w. _the arabian horse: his country and people_, edinburgh and london, . one of the few horse books to be classified as literature. wise in the blend of horse, land, and people. wentworth, lady. _the authentic arabian horse and his descendants_, london, . rich in knowledge and both magnificent and munificent in illustrations. almost immediately after publication, this noble volume entered the rare book class. wyman, walker d. _the wild horse of the west_, caxton, caldwell, idaho, . a scholarly sifting of virtually all available material on mustangs. readable. only thorough bibliography on subject so far published. . the bad man tradition plenty of six-shooter play is to be found in most of the books about old-time cowboys; yet hardly one of the professional bad men was a representative cowboy. bad men of the west and cowboys alike wore six-shooters and spurs; they drank each other's coffee; they had a fanatical passion for liberty--for themselves. but the representative cowboy was a reliable hand, hanging through drought, blizzard, and high water to his herd, whereas the bona fide bad man lived on the dodge. between the killer and the cowboy standing up for his rights or merely shooting out the lights for fun, there was as much difference as between adolf hitler and winston churchill. of course, the elements were mixed in the worst of the bad men, as they are in the best of all good men. no matter what deductions analysis may lead to, the fact remains that the western bad men of open range days have become a part of the american tradition. they represent six-shooter culture at its zenith--the wild and woolly side of the west--a stage between receding bowie knife individualism of the backwoods and blackguard, machine-gun gangsterism of the city. the songs about sam bass, jesse james, and billy the kid reflect popular attitude toward the hard-riding outlaws. sam bass, jesse james, billy the kid, the daltons, cole younger, joaquin murrieta, john wesley hardin, al jennings, belle starr, and other "long riders" with their guns in their hands have had their biographies written over and over. they were not nearly as immoral as certain newspaper columnists lying under the cloak of piety. as time goes on, they, like antique robin hood and the late pancho villa, recede from all realistic judgment. if the picture show finds in them models for generosity, gallantry, and fidelity to a code of liberty, and if the public finds them picturesque, then philosophers may well be thankful that they lived, rode, and shot. {illust. caption = tom lea: pancho villa, in _southwest review_ ( )} "the long-tailed heroes of the revolver," to pick a phrase from mark twain's unreverential treatment of them in _roughing it_, often did society a service in shooting each other--aside from providing entertainment to future generations. as "the old cattleman" of alfred henry lewis' _wolfville_ stories says, "a heap of people need a heap of killing." nor can the bad men be logically segregated from the long-haired killers on the side of the law like wild bill hickok and wyatt earp. w. h. hudson once advanced the theory that bloodshed and morality go together. if american civilization proceeds, the rage for collecting books on bad men will probably subside until a copy of miguel antonio otero's _the real billy the kid_ will bring no higher price than a first edition of a. edward newton's _the amenities of book-collecting_. see "fighting texians," "texas rangers," "range life," "cowboy songs and other ballads." aikman, duncan. _calamity jane and the lady wildcats_, . op. patronizing in the h. l. mencken style. billy the kid. we ve got to take him seriously, not so much for what he was-- there are twenty-one men i have put bullets through, and sheriff pat garrett must make twenty-two-- as for his provocations. popular imagination, represented by writers of all degrees, goes on playing on him with cumulative effect. as a figure in literature the kid has come to lead the whole field of western bad men. the _saturday review_, for october , , features a philosophical essay entitled "billy the kid: faust in america--the making of a legend." the growth of this legend is minutely traced through a period of seventy-one years ( - ) by j. c. dykes in _billy the kid: the bibliography of a legend_, university of new mexico press, albuquerque, ( pages). it lists titles, including magazine pieces, mimeographed plays, motion pictures, verses, pamphlets, fiction. in a blend of casualness and scholarship, it gives the substance and character of each item. indeed, this bibliography reads like a continued story, with constant references to both antecedent and subsequent action. pat garrett, john chisum, and other related characters weave all through it. a first-class bibliography that is also readable is almost a new genre. pat f. garrett, sheriff of lincoln county, new mexico, killed the kid about midnight, july , . the next spring his _authentic life of billy the kid_ was published at santa fe, at least partly written, according to good evidence, by a newspaperman named ash upton. this biography is one of the rarities in western americana. in it was republished by macmillan, new york, under title of _pat f. garrett's authentic life of billy the kid_, edited by maurice g. fulton. this is now op but remains basic. the most widely circulated biography has been _the saga of billy the kid_ by walter noble burns, new york, . it contains a deal of fictional conversation and it has no doubt contributed to the robin-hoodizing of the lethal character baptized as william h. bonney, who was born in new york in and now lives with undiminished vigor as billy the kid. walter noble burns was not so successful with _the robin hood of el dorado: the saga of joaquin murrieta_ ( ), or, despite hogsheads of blood, with _tombstone_ ( ). canton, frank m. _frontier trails_, boston, . coe, george w. _frontier fighter_, boston, ; reprinted by university of new mexico press, albuquerque. the autobiography of one of billy the kid's men as recorded by nan hillary harrison. coolidge, dane. _fighting men of the west_, new york, . biographical sketches. op. cunningham, eugene. _triggernometry_, ; reprinted by caxton, caldwell, idaho. excellent survey of codes and characters. written by a man of intelligence and knowledge. bibliography. forrest, e. r. _arizona's dark and bloody ground_, caxton, caldwell, idaho, . gard, wayne. _sam bass_, boston, . most of the whole truth. op. haley, j. evetts. _jeff milton--a good man with a gun_, university of oklahoma press, norman, . jeff milton the whole man as well as the queller of bad men. hendricks, george. _the bad man of the west_, naylor, san antonio, . analyses and classifications go far toward making this treatment of old subjects original. excellent bibliographical guide. hough, emerson. _the story of the outlaw_, . op. an omnibus carelessly put together with many holes in it. lake, stuart. _wyatt earp_, boston, . best written of all gunmen biographies. earp happened to be on the side of the law. lankford, n. p. _vigilante days and ways_, , . op. full treatment of lawlessness in the northwest. love, robertus. _the rise and fall of jesse james_, new york, . excellently written. op. raine, william mcleod. _famous s and western outlaws_, doubleday, garden city, n. y., . a rogues' gallery. _guns of the frontier_, boston, . another miscellany. op. rascoe, burton. _belle starr_, new york, . op. ripley, thomas. _they died with their boots on_, . mostly about john wesley hardin. op. sabin, edwin l. _wild men of the wild west_, new york, . biographic survey of killers from the mississippi to the pacific. op. wild bill hickok. the subject of various biographies, among them those by frank j. wilstach ( ) and william e. connelley ( ). the _nebraska history magazine_ (volume x) for april-june is devoted to wild bill and contains a "descriptive bibliography" on him by addison e. sheldon. woodhull, frost. folk-lore shooting, in _southwestern lore_, publication ix of the texas folklore society, . rich. humor. . mining and oil during the twentieth century oil has brought so much money to the southwest that the proceeds from cattle have come to look like tips. this statement is not based on statistics, though statistics no doubt exist--even on the cost of catching sun perch. geological, legal, and economic writings on oil are mountainous in quantity, but the human drama of oil yet remains, for the most part, to be written. it is odd to find such a modern book as erna fergusson's _our southwest_ not mentioning oil. it is odd that no book of national reputation comes off the presses about any aspect of oil. the nearest to national notice on oil is the daily report of transactions on the new york stock exchange. oil companies subsidize histories of themselves, endow universities with money to train technicians they want, control state legislatures and senates, and dictate to congress what they want for themselves in income tax laws; but so far they have not been able to hire anybody to write a book about oil that anybody but the hirers themselves wants to read. probably they don't read them. the first thing an oilman does after amassing a few millions is buy a ranch on which he can get away from oil--and on which he can spend some of his oil money. people live a good deal by tradition and fight a good deal by tradition also, voting more by prejudice. when one considers the stream of cow country books and the romance of mining living on in legends of lost mines and, then, the desert of oil books, one realizes that it takes something more than money to make the mare of romance run. geology and economics are beyond the aim of this _guide_, but if oil money keeps on buying up ranch land, the history of modern ranching will be resolved into the biographies of a comparatively few oilmen. boatright, mody c. _gib morgan: minstrel of the oil fields_. texas folklore society, austin, . folk tales about gib rather than minstrelsy. op. boone, lalia phipps. _the petroleum dictionary_, university of oklahoma press, norman, . "more than , entries: definitions of technical terms and everyday expressions, a comprehensive guide to the language of the oil industry." caughey, john walton. _gold is the cornerstone_ ( ). adequate treatment of the discovery of california gold and of the miners. _rushing for gold_ ( ). twelve essays by twelve writers, with emphasis on travel to california. both books published by university of california press, berkeley and los angeles. cendrars, blaise. _sutter's gold_, london, . op. clark, james a., and halbouty, michel t. _spindletop_, random house, new york, . on january , , the spindletop gusher, near beaumont, texas, roared in the oil age. this book, while it presumes to record what pat higgins was thinking as he sat in front of a country store, seems to be "the true story." the bare facts in it make drama. de quille, dan (pseudonym for william wright). _the big bonanza_, hartford, . reprinted, . op. dobie, j. frank. _coronado's children_, dallas, ; reprinted by grosset and dunlap, new york. legendary tales of lost mines and buried treasures of the southwest. _apache gold and yaqui silver_, little, brown, boston, . more of the same thing. emrich, duncan, editor. _comstock bonanza_, vanguard, new york, . a collection of writings, garnered mostly from west coast magazines and newspapers, bearing on mining in nevada during the boom days of mark twain's. {illust. caption = tom lea, in _santa rita_ by martin w. schwettmann ( )} _roughing it_. james g. gally's writing is a major discovery in a minor field. forbes, gerald. _flush production: the epic of oil in the gulf-southwest_, university of oklahoma press, norman, . gillis, william r. _goldrush days with mark twain_, new york, . op. glasscock, lucille. _a texas wildcatter_, naylor, san antonio, . the wildcatter is mrs. glasscock's husband. she chronicles this player's main moves in the game and gives an insight into his energy-driven ambition. house, boyce. _oil boom_, caxton, caldwell, idaho, . with boyce house's earlier _were you in ranger?_, this book gives a contemporary picture of the gushing days of oil, money, and humanity. lyman, george t. _the saga of the comstock lode_, , and _ralston's ring_, . both published by scribner's, new york. mckenna, james _a. black range tales_, new york, . reminiscences of prospecting life. op. mathews, john joseph. _life and death of an oilman: the career of e. w. marland_, university of oklahoma press, norman, . mature in style and in interpretative power, john joseph mathews goes into the very life of an oilman who was something else. rister, c. c. _oil! titan of the southwest_, university of oklahoma press, norman, . facts in factual form. plenty of oil wealth and taxes; nothing on oil government. shinn, charles h. _mining camps_, , reprinted by knopf, new york, . perhaps the most competent analysis extant on the behavior of the gold hunters, with emphasis on their self-government. _the story of the mine as illustrated by the great comstock lode of nevada_, new york, . op. shinn knew and he knew also how to combine into form. stuart, granville. _forty years on the frontier_, cleveland, . superb on california and montana hunger for precious metals. op. tait, samuel w. _wildcatters: an informal history of oil-hunting in america_, princeton university press, . op. twain, mark. _roughing it_. the mining boom itself. . nature; wild life; naturalists "no man," says mary austin, "has ever really entered into the heart of any country until he has adopted or made up myths about its familiar objects." a man might reject the myths but he would have to know many facts about its natural life and have imagination as well as knowledge before entering into a country's heart. the history of any land begins with nature, and all histories must end with nature. "the character of a country is the destiny of its people," wrote harvey fergusson in _rio grande_. ross calvin, also of new mexico, had the same idea in mind when he entitled his book _sky determines_. "culture mocks at the boundaries set up by politics," clark wissler said. "it approaches geographical boundaries with its hat in its hand." the engineering of water across mountains, electric translation of sounds, refrigeration of air and foods, and other technical developments carry human beings a certain distance across some of nature's boundaries, but no cleverness of science can escape nature. the inhabitants of yuma, arizona, are destined forever to face a desert devoid of graciousness. technology does not create matter; it merely uses matter in a skilful way--uses it up. man advances by learning the secrets of nature and taking advantage of his knowledge. he is deeply happy only when in harmony with his work and environments. the backwoodsman, early settler, pioneer plainsman, mountain man were all like some infuriated beast of promethean capabilities tearing at its own vitals. driven by an irrational energy, they seemed intent on destroying not only the growth of the soil but the power of the soil to reproduce. davy crockett, the great bear killer, was "wrathy to kill a bear," and as respects bears and other wild life, one may search the chronicles of his kind in vain for anything beyond the incidents of chase and slaughter. to quote t. b. thorpe's blusterous bear hunter, the whole matter may be summed up in one sentence: "a bear is started and he is killed." for the average american of the soil, whether wearing out a farm, shotgunning with a headlight the last doe of a woodland, shooting the last buffalo on the range, trapping the last howling lobo, winging the last prairie chicken, running down in an automobile the last antelope, making a killer's target of any hooting owl or flying heron that comes within range, poisoning the last eagle to fly over a sheep pasture for him the circumstances of the killing have expressed his chief intellectual interest in nature. a sure sign of advancing civilization has been the rapidly changing popular attitude toward nature during recent years. people are becoming increasingly interested not merely in conserving game for sportsmen to shoot, but in preserving all wild life, in observing animals, in cultivating native flora, in building houses that harmonize with climate and landscape. roger tory peterson's _field guide to the birds_ has become one of the popular standard works of america. the story of the american indian is--despite taboos and squalor--a story of harmonizations with nature. "wolf brother," in _long lance_, by chief buffalo child long lance, is a poetic concretion of this harmony. as much at ease with the wilderness as any blackfoot indian was george frederick ruxton, educated english officer and gentleman, who rode horseback from vera cruz to the missouri river and wrote _adventures in mexico and the rocky mountains_. in this book he tells how a lobo followed him for days from camp to camp, waiting each evening for his share of fresh meat and sometimes coming close to the fire at night. any orthodox american would have shot the lobo at first appearance. ruxton had the civilized perspective on nature represented by thoreau and saint francis of assisi. primitive harmony was run over by frontier wrath to kill, a wrath no less barbaric than primitive superstitions. but the coyote's howl is more tonic than all theories about nature; the buck's whistle more invigorating; the bull's bellow in the canyon more musical; the call of the bobwhite more serene; the rattling of the rattlesnake more logical; the scream of the panther more arousing to the imagination; the odor from the skunk more lingering; the sweep of the buzzard in the air more majestical; the wariness of the wild turkey brighter; the bark of the prairie dog lighter; the guesses of the armadillo more comical; the upward dartings and dippings of the scissortail more lovely; the flight of the sandhill cranes more fraught with mystery. there is an abundance of printed information on the animal life of america, to the west as well as to the east. much of it cannot be segregated; the earthworm, on which darwin wrote a book, knows nothing of regionalism. the best books on nature come from and lead to the grasshopper's library, which is free to all consultants. i advise the consultant to listen to the owl's hoot for wisdom, plant nine bean rows for peace, and, with wordsworth, sit on an old gray stone listening for "authentic tidings of invisible things." studies are only to "perfect nature." in the words of mary austin, "they that make the sun noise shall not fail of the sun's full recompense." like knowledge in any other department of life, that on nature never comes to a stand so long as it has vitality. a continuing interest in natural history is nurtured by _natural history_, published by the american museum of natural history, new york; _nature_, published in washington, d. c.; _the living wilderness_, also from washington; _journal of mammalogy_, a quarterly, baltimore, maryland; _audubon magazine_ (formerly _bird lore_), published by the national audubon society, new york; _american forests_, washington, d. c., and various other publications. in addition to books of natural history interest listed below, others are listed under "buffaloes and buffalo hunters," "bears and bear hunters," "coyotes, lobos, and panthers," "birds and wild flowers," and "interpreters." perhaps a majority of worthy books pertaining to the western half of america look on the outdoors. adams, w. h. davenport (from the french of benedict revoil). _the hunter and the trapper of north america_, london, . a strange book. arnold, oren. _wild life in the southwest_, dallas, . helpful chapters on various characteristic animals and plants. op. bailey, vernon. _mammals of new mexico_, united states department of agriculture, bureau of biological survey, washington, d. c., . _biological survey of texas_, . op. the "north american fauna series," to which these two books belong, contains or points to the basic facts covering most of the mammals of the southwest. baillie-grohman, william a. _camps in the rockies_, . a true sportsman, baillie-grohman was more interested in living animals than in just killing. op. bedichek, roy. _adventures with a texas naturalist_, doubleday, garden city, n. y., . to be personal, roy bedichek has the most richly stored mind i have ever met; it is as active as it is full. liberal in the true sense of the word, it frees other minds. here, using facts as a means, it gives meanings to the hackberry tree, limestone, mockingbird, inca dove, mexican primrose, golden eagle, the davis mountains, cedar cutters, and many another natural phenomenon. _adventures with a texas naturalist_ is regarded by some good judges as the wisest book in the realm of natural history produced in america since thoreau wrote. the title of bedichek's second book, _karankaway country_ (garden city, ), is misleading. the karankawa indians start it off, but it goes to coon inquisitiveness, prairie chicken dances, the extinction of species to which the whooping crane is approaching, browsing goats, dignified skunks, swifts in love flight, a camp in the brush, dust, erosion, silt--always with thinking added to seeing. the foremost naturalist of the southwest, bedichek constantly relates nature to civilization and human values. browning, meshach. _forty-four years of the life of a hunter_, ; reprinted, philadelphia, . prodigal on bear and deer. cahalane, victor h. _mammals of north america_, macmillan, new york, . the author is a scientist with an open mind on the relationships between predators and game animals. his thick, delightfully illustrated book is the best dragnet on american mammals extant. it contains excellent lists of references. caton, judge john dean. _antelope and deer of america_, . standard work. op. dobie, j. frank. _the longhorns_ ( ) and _the mustangs_ ( ), while hardly to be catalogued as natural history books, go farther into natural history than most books on cattle and horses go. _on the open range_ ( ; reprinted by banks upshaw, dallas) contains a number of animal stories more or less true. ben lilly of _the ben lilly legend_ (boston, ) thought that god had called him to hunt. he spent his life, therefore, in hunting. he saw some things in nature beyond targets. dodge, richard i. _the hunting grounds of the great west_, london, . published in new york the same year under title of _the plains of the great west and their inhabitants_. outstanding survey of outstanding wild creatures. dunraven, earl of. _the great divide_, london, ; reprinted under title of _hunting in the yellowstone_, . op. elliott, charles (editor). _fading trails_, new york, . humanistic review of characteristic american wild life. op. flack, captain. _the texas ranger, or real life in the backwoods_, ; another form of _a hunter's experience in the southern states of america_, by captain flack, "the ranger," london, . ganson, eve. _desert mavericks_, santa barbara, california, . illustrated; delightful. op. geiser, samuel wood. _naturalists of the frontier_, southern methodist university press, dallas, ; revised and enlarged edition, . biographies of men who were characters as well as scientists, generally in environments alien to their interests. gerstaecker, frederick. _wild sports in the far west_, . a translation from the german. delightful reading and revealing picture of how backwoodsmen of the mississippi valley "lived off the country." graham, gid. _animal outlaws_, collinsville, oklahoma, . op. a remarkable collection of animal stories. privately printed. grinnell, george bird. between and , grinnell, partly in collaboration with theodore roosevelt, edited five volumes for the boone and crockett club that contain an extraordinary amount of information, written mostly by men of civilized perspective, on bears, deer, mountain sheep, buffaloes, cougars, elk, wolves, moose, mountains, and forests. the series, long out of print, is a storehouse of knowledge not to be overlooked by any student of wild life in the west. the titles are: _american big-game hunting_, ; _hunting in many lands_, ; _trail and camp-fire_, ; _american big game in its haunts_, ; _hunting at high altitudes_, . grinnell, joseph; dixon, joseph s.; and linsdale, jean m. _fur-bearing mammals of california: their natural history, systematic status, and relation to man_, two volumes, university of california press, berkeley, . the king, so far, of all state natural histories. hall, e. raymond. _mammals of nevada_, university of california press, berkeley and los angeles, . so far as my knowledge goes, this is the only respect-worthy book extant pertaining to the state whose economy is based on fees from divorces and gambling and whose best-known citizen is senator pat mccarran. hartman, carl g. _possum_, university of texas press, austin, . this richly illustrated book comprehends everything pertaining to the subject from prehistoric marsupium to baking with sweet potatoes in a negro cabin. it is the outcome of a lifetime's scientific investigation not only of possums but of libraries and popular talk. thus, in addition to its biographical and natural history aspects, it is a study in the evolution of man's knowledge about one of the world's folkiest creatures. {illust. caption = charles m. russell, in _the blazed trail of the old frontier_ by agnes c. laut ( )} hornaday, william t. _camp fires on desert and lava_, london, n.d. op. dr. hornaday, who died in , was the first director of the new york zoological park. he was a great conservationist and an authority on the wild life of america. hudson, w. h. _the naturalist in la plata_, new york, . not about the southwest or even north america, but hudson's chapters on "the puma," "some curious animal weapons," "the mephitic skunk," "humming birds," "the strange instincts of cattle," "horse and man," etc. come home to the southwest. few writers tend to make readers so aware; no other has written so delightfully of the lands of grass. ingersoll, ernest. _wild neighbors_, new york, . op. a superior work. chapter ii, "the father of game," is on the cougar; chapter iv, "the hound of the plains," is on the coyote; there is an excellent essay on the badger. each chapter is provided with a list of books affording more extended treatment of the subject. jaeger, edmund c. _denizens of the desert_, boston, . op. "don coyote," the roadrunner, and other characteristic animals. _our desert neighbors_, stanford university press, california, . locke, lucie h. _naturally yours, texas_, naylor, san antonio, . charm must never be discounted; it is far rarer than facts, and often does more to lead to truth. this slight book is in verse and drawings, type integrated with delectable black-and-white representations of the prairie dog, armadillo, sanderling, mesquite, whirlwind, sand dune, mirage, and dozens of other natural phenomena. the only other book in this list to which it is akin is eve ganson's _desert mavericks_. lumholtz, carl. _unknown mexico_, new york, . nearly anything about animals as well as about indians and mountains of mexico may be found in this extraordinary two-volume work. op. mcilhenny, edward a. _the alligator s life history_, boston, . op. the alligator got farther west than is generally known--at least within reach of laredo and eagle pass on the rio grande. mcilhenny's book treats--engagingly, intimately, and with precision--of the animal in louisiana. hungerers for anatomical biology are referred to _the alligator and its allies_ by a. m. reese, new york, . i have more to say about mcilhenny in chapter . marcy, colonel r. b. _thirty years of army life on the border_, new york, . marcy had a scientific mind and a high sense of values. he knew how to write and what he wrote remains informing and pleasant. martin, horace t. _castorologia, or the history and traditions of the canadian beaver_, london, . op. the beaver is a beaver, whether on hudson's bay or the mexican side of the rio grande. much has been written on this animal, the propeller of the trappers of the west, but this famous book remains the most comprehensive on facts and the amplest in conception. the author was humorist as well as scientist. menger, rudolph. _texas nature observations and reminiscences_, san antonio, . op. being of an educated german family, dr. menger found many things in nature more interesting than two-headed calves. mills, enos. _the rocky mountain wonderland, wild life on the rockies, waiting in the wilderness_, and other books. some naturalists have taken exception to some observations recorded by mills; nevertheless, he enlarges and freshens mountain life. muir, john. _the mountains of california, our national parks_, and other books. muir, a great naturalist, had the power to convey his wise sympathies and brooded-over knowledge. murphy, john mortimer. _sporting adventures in the far west_, london, . one of the earliest roundups of game animals of the west. newsome, william m. _the whitetailed deer_, new york, . op. standard work. palliser, john. _the solitary hunter; or storting adventures in the prairies_, london, . roosevelt, theodore. _outdoor pastimes of an american hunter_, with a chapter entitled "books on big game"; _hunting adventures in the west; the wilderness hunter; ranch life and the hunting trail; a book lover's holiday in the open; the deer family_ (in collaboration). sears, paul b. _deserts on the march_, university of oklahoma press, norman, . dramatic picturization of the forces of nature operating in what droughts of the 's caused to be called "the dust bowl." "drought and wind and man" might be another title. seton, ernest thompson. _wild animals i have known; lives of the hunted_. probably no other writer of america has aroused so many people, young people especially, to an interest in our wild animals. natural history encyclopedias he has authored are _life histories of northern animals_, new york, , and _lives of game animals_, new york, . seton's final testament, _trail of an artist naturalist_ (scribner's, new york, ), has a deal on wild life of the southwest. thorpe, t. b. _the hive of the bee-hunter_, new york, . op. juicy. warren, edward royal. _the mammals of colorado_, university of oklahoma press, norman, . op. . buffaloes and buffalo hunters the literature on the american bison, more popularly called buffalo, is enormous. nearly everything of consequence pertaining to the plains indians touches the animal. the relationship of the indian to the buffalo has nowhere been better stated than in note to the benavides _memorial_, edited by hodge and lummis. "the great buffalo hunt at standing rock," a chapter in _my friend the indian_ by james mclaughlin, sums up the hunting procedure; other outstanding treatments of the buffalo in indian books are to be found in _long lance_ by chief buffalo child long lance; _letters and notes on... the north american indians_ by george catlin; _forty years a fur trader_ by charles larpenteur. floyd b. streeter's chapter on "the buffalo range" in _prairie trails and cow towns_ lists twenty-five sources of information. the bibliography that supersedes all other bibliographies is in the book that supersedes all other books on the subject--frank gilbert roe's _the north american buffalo_. more about it in the list that follows. nearly all men who got out on the plains were "wrathy to kill" buffaloes above all else. the indians killed in great numbers but seldom wastefully. the spaniards were restrained by indian hostility. mountain men, emigrants crossing the plains, santa fe traders, railroad builders, indian fighters, settlers on the edge of the plains, european sportsmen, all slaughtered and slew. some observed, but the average american hunter's observations on game animals are about as illuminating as the trophy-stuffed den of a rich oilman or the lockers of a packing house. lawrence of arabia won his name through knowledge and understanding of arabian life and through power to lead and to write. buffalo bill won his name through power to exterminate buffaloes. he was a buffalo man in the way that hitler was a polish jew man. {illust. caption = harold d. bugbee: buffaloes it is a pleasure to note the writings of sportsmen with inquiring minds and of scientists and artists who hunted. three examples are: _the english sportsman in the western prairies_, by the hon. grantley f. berkeley, london, ; _travels in the interior of north america, - _, by maximilian, prince of wied (original edition, ), included in that "incomparable storehouse of buffalo lore from early eye-witnesses," _early western travels_, edited by reuben gold thwaites; george catlin's _letters and notes on the manners, customs and conditions of the north american indians_, london, . three aspects of the buffalo stand out: the natural history of the great american animal; the interrelationship between indian and buffalo; the white hunter--and exterminator. allen, j. a. _the american bison, living and extinct_, cambridge, mass., . reprinted in th annual report of the united states geological and geographical survey, washington, . basic and rich work, much of it appropriated by hornaday. branch, e. douglas. _the hunting of the buffalo_, new york, . interpretative as well as factual. op. cook, john r. _the border and the buffalo_. topeka, kansas, . personal narrative. dixon, olive. _billy dixon_, guthrie, oklahoma, ; reprinted, dallas, . bully autobiography; excellent on the buffalo hunter as a type. op. dodge, r. i. _the plains of the great west and their inhabitants_, new york, . one of the best chapters of this source book is on the buffalo. garretson, martin s. _the american bison_, new york zoological society, new york, . not thorough, but informing. limited bibliography. op. grinnell, george bird ( - ) may be classed next to j. a. allen and w. t. hornaday as historian of the buffalo. his primary sources were the buffaloed plains and the plains indians, whom he knew intimately. "in buffalo days" is a long and excellent essay by him in _american big-game hunting_, edited by theodore roosevelt and george bird grinnell, new york, . he has another long essay, "the bison," in _musk-ox, bison, sheep and goat_ by caspar whitney, george bird grinnell, and owen wister, new york, . his noble and beautifully simple _when buffalo ran_, new haven, , is specific on work from a buffalo horse. again in his noble two-volume work on _the cheyenne indians_ ( ) grinnell is rich not only on the animal but on the plains indian relationship to it. all op. haley, j. evetts. _charles goodnight, cowman and plainsman_, . goodnight killed and also helped save the buffalo. haley has preserved his observations. hornaday, w. t. _extermination of the american bison_ (smithsonian reports for , published in , part ii). hornaday was a good zoologist but inferior in research. inman, henry. _buffalo jones forty years of adventure_, topeka, kansas, . a book rich in observations as well as experience, though jones was a poser. op. lake, stuart n. _wyatt earp_, boston, . early chapters excellent on buffalo hunting. mccreight, m. i. _buffalo bone days_, sykesville, pa., . op. a pamphlet strong on buffalo bones, for fertilizer. palliser, john (and others). _journals, detailed reports, and observations, relative to palliser's exploration of british north america, - _, london, . according to frank gilbert roe, "a mine of inestimable information" on the buffalo. _panhandle-plains historical review_, canyon, texas. articles and reminiscences, _passim_. parkman, francis. _the oregon trail_, . available in various editions, this book contains superb descriptions of buffaloes and prairies. poe, sophie a. _buckboard days_ (edited by eugene cunningham), caldwell, idaho, . early chapters. op. roe, frank gilbert. _the north american buffalo_, university of toronto press, . a monumental work comprising and critically reviewing virtually all that has been written on the subject and supplanting much of it. no other scholar dealing with the buffalo has gone so fully into the subject or viewed it from so many angles, brought out so many aspects of natural history and human history. in a field where ignorance has often prevailed, roe has to be iconoclastic in order to be constructive. if his words are sometimes sharp, his mind is sharper. the one indispensable book on the subject. rye, edgar. _the quirt and the spur_, chicago, . rye was in the fort griffin, texas, country when buffalo hunters dominated it. op. schultz, james willard. _apauk, caller of buffalo_, new york, . op. whether fiction or nonfiction, as claimed by the author, this book realizes the relationships between plains indian and buffalo. weekes, mary. _the last buffalo hunter_ (as told by norbert welsh), new york, . op. the old days recalled with upspringing sympathy. canada--but buffaloes and buffalo hunters were pretty much the same everywhere. west texas historical association (abilene, texas) _year books_. reminiscences and articles, _passim_. williams, o. w. a privately printed letter of eight unnumbered pages, dated from fort stockton, texas, june , , containing the best description of a buffalo stampede that i have encountered. it is reproduced in dobie's _on the open range_. . bears and bear hunters the bear, whether black or grizzly, is a great american citizen. think of how many children have been put to sleep with bear stories! facts about the animal are fascinating; the effect he has had on the minds of human beings associated with him transcends naturalistic facts. the tree on which daniel boone carved the naked fact that here he "killed a. bar in the year " will never die. davy crockett killed bars in one season, and his reputation as a bar hunter, plus ability to tell about his exploits, sent him to congress. he had no other reason for going. the grizzly was the hero of western tribes of indians from alaska on down into the sierra madre. among western white men who met him, occasionally in death, the grizzly inspired a mighty saga, the cantos of which lie dispersed in homely chronicles and unrecorded memories as well as in certain vivid narratives by ernest thompson seton, hittell's john capen adams, john g. neihardt, and others. for all that, neither the black bear nor the grizzly has been amply conceived of as an american character. the conception must include a vast amount of folklore. in a chapter on "bars and bar hunters" in _on the open range_ and in "juan oso" and "under the sign of ursa major," chapters of _tongues of the monte_, i have indicated the nature of this dispersed epic in folk tales. in many of the books listed under "nature; wild life; naturalists" and "mountain men" the bear "walks like a man." alter, j. cecil. _james bridger_, salt lake city, reprinted by long's college book co., columbus, ohio. contains several versions of the famous hugh glass bear story. hittell, theodore h. _the adventures of john capen adams_, ; reprinted , new york. op. perhaps no man has lived who knew grizzlies better than adams. a rare personal narrative. miller, joaquin. _true bear stories_, chicago, . op. truth questionable in places; interest guaranteed. miller, lewis b. _saddles and lariats_, boston, . op. the chapter "in a grizzly's jaws" is a wonderful bear story. mills, enos a. _the grizzly, our greatest wild animal_, houghton mifflin, boston, . some naturalists have accused mills of having too much imagination. he saw much and wrote vividly. neihardt, john g. _the song of hugh glass_, new york, . an epic in vigorous verse of the west's most famous man-and-bear story. this imagination-rousing story has been told over and over, by j. cecil alter in _james bridger_, by stanley vestal in _mountain men_, and by other writers. roosevelt, theodore. _hunting adventures_ in the {illust. caption = charles m. russell, in _fifteen thousand miles by stage_ by carrie adell strahorn ( ) _west_ ( ) and _the wilderness hunter_ ( )--books reprinted in parts or wholly under varying titles. several narratives of hunts intermixed with baldfaced facts. seton, ernest thompson. _the biography of a grizzly_, ; now published by appleton-century-crofts, new york. _monarch, the big bear of tallac_, . graphic narratives. skinner, m. p. _bears in the yellowstone_, chicago, . op. a naturalist's rounded knowledge, pleasantly told. stevens, montague. _meet mr. grizzly_, university of new mexico press, albuquerque, . montague stevens graduated from trinity college, cambridge, in and came to new mexico to ranch. as respects deductions on observed data, his book is about the most mature yet published by a ranchman. goodnight experienced more, had a more ample nature, but he lacked the perspective, the mental training, to know what to make of his observations. another english rancher, r. b. townshend, had perspective and charm but was not a scientific observer. so far as sense of smell goes, _meet mr. grizzly_ is as good as w. h. hudson's _a hind in richmond park_. on the nature and habits of grizzly bears, it is better than _the grizzly_ by enos mills. wright, william h. _the grizzly bear: the narrative of a hunter-naturalist, historical, scientific and adventurous_, new york, . op. this is not only the richest and justest book published on the grizzly; it is among the best books of the language on specific mammals. wright had a passion for bears, for their preservation, and for arousing informed sympathy in other people. yet he did not descend to propaganda. _his the black bear_, london, n.d., is good but no peer to his work on the grizzly. also op. . coyotes, lobos, and panthers i separate coyotes, lobos, and panthers from the mass of animals because they, along with bears, have made such an imprint on human imagination. white-tailed deer are far more common and more widely dispersed. men, women also, by the tens of thousands go out with rifles every fall in efforts to get near them; but the night-piercing howl and the cunning ways of the coyote, the panther's track and the rumor of his scream have inspired more folk tales than all the deer. lore and facts about these animals are dispersed in many books not classifiable under natural history. lewis and clark and nearly all the other chroniclers of trans-mississippi america set down much on wild life. james pike's _scout and ranger_ details the manner in which, he says, a panther covered him up alive, duplicating a fanciful and delightful tale in gerstaecker's _wild sports in the far west_. james b. o'neil concludes _they die but once_ with some "bedtime stories" that--almost necessarily--bring in a man-hungry panther. coyotes and lobos the two full-length books on brother coyote listed below specify most of the printed literature on the animal. (he is "brother" in mexican tales and i feel much more brotherly toward him than i feel toward character assassins in political power.) it would require another book to catalogue in detail all the writings that include folk tales about don coyote. ethnologists and scientific folklorists recognize what they call "the coyote circle" in the folklore of many tribes of indians. morris edward opler in _myths and legends of the lipan apache indians_, , and in _myths and tales of the chiricahua apache indians_, (both issued by the american folklore society, new york) treats fully of this cycle. numerous tales that belong to the cycle are included by j. gilbert mcallister, an anthropologist who writes as a humanist, in his extended collection, "kiowa-apache tales," in _the sky is my tipi_, edited by mody c. boatright for the texas folklore society (publication xxii), southern methodist university press, dallas, . literary retellers of indian coyote folk tales have been many. the majority of retellers from western indians include coyote. one of the very best is frank b. linderman, in _indian why stories_ and _indian old-man stories_. these titles are substantive: _old man coyote_ by clara kern bayliss (new york, , op), _coyote stories_ by mourning dove (caldwell, idaho, , op); _don coyote_ by leigh peck (boston, ) gets farther away from the indian, is more juvenile. the _journal of american folklore_ and numerous mexican books have published hundreds of coyote folk tales from mexico. among the most pleasingly told are _picture tales frown mexico_ by dan storm, (lippincott, philadelphia). the first two writers listed below bring in folklore. cushing, frank hamilton. _zuni breadstuff_, museum of the american indian, heye foundation, new york, . this extraordinary book, one of the most extraordinary ever written on a particular people, is not made up of coyote lore alone. in it the coyote becomes a character of dignity and destiny, and the telling is epic in dignity as well as in prolongation. frank hamilton cushing was a genius; his sympathy, insight, knowledge, and mastery of the art of writing enabled him to reveal the spirit of the zuni indians as almost no other writer has revealed the spirit of any other tribe. their attitude toward coyote is beautifully developed. cushing's _zuni folk tales_ (knopf, new york, , ) is climactic on "tellings" about coyote. dobie, j. frank. _the voice of the coyote_, little, brown, boston, . not only the coyote but his effect on human imagination and ecological relationships. natural history and folklore; many tales from factual trappers as well as from mexican and indian folk. this is a strange book in some ways. if the author had quit at the end of the first chapter, which is on coyote voicings and their meaning to varied listeners, he would still have said something. the book includes some, but by no means all, of the material on the subject in _coyote wisdom_ (publication xiv of the texas folklore society, ) edited by j. frank dobie and now distributed by southern methodist university press, dallas. grinnell, george bird. wolves and wolf nature, in _trail and camp-fire_, new york, . this long chapter is richer in facts about the coyote than anything published prior to _the voice of the coyote_, which borrows from it extensively. lofberg, lila, and malcolmson, david. _sierra outpost_, duell, sloan and pearce, new york, . an extraordinary detailment of the friendship between two people, isolated by snow high in the california sierras, and three coyotes. written with fine sympathy, minute in observations. mathews, john joseph. _talking to the moon_, university of chicago press, . a wise and spiritual interpretation of the black-jack country of eastern oklahoma, close to the osages, in which john joseph mathews lives. not primarily about coyotes, the book illuminates them more than numerous books on particular animals illuminate their subjects. murie, adolph. _ecology of the coyote in the yellowstone_, united states government printing office, washington, d. c., . an example of strict science informed by civilized humanity. _the wolves of mount mckinley_, united states government printing of ice, washington, d. c., . murie's combination of prolonged patience, science, and sympathy behind the observations has never been common. his ecological point of view is steady. highly interesting reading. young, stanley paul (with edward a. goldman). _the wolves of north america_, american wildlife institute, washington, d. c., . full information, full bibliography, without narrative power. _sketches of american wildlife_, monumental press, baltimore, . this slight book contains pleasant chapters on the puma, wolf, coyote, antelope and other animals characteristic of the west. (with hartley h. t. jackson) _the clever coyote_, stackpole, harrisburg, pa., and wildlife management institute, washington, d. c., . emphasis upon the economic status and control of the species, an extended classification of subspecies, and a full bibliography make this book and dobie's _the voice of the coyote_ complemental to each other rather than duplicative. panthers anybody who so wishes may call them mountain lions. where there were negro mammies, white children were likely to be haunted in the night by fear of ghosts. otherwise, for some children of the south and west, no imagined terror of the night equaled the panther's scream. the anglo-american lore pertaining to the panther is replete with stories of attacks on human beings. indian and spanish lore, clear down to where w. h. hudson of the pampas heard it, views the animal as _un amigo de los cristianos_--a friend of man. the panther is another animal as interesting for what people associated with him have taken to be facts as for the facts themselves. barker, elliott s. _when the dogs barked `treed'_, university of new mexico press, albuquerque, . mainly on mountain lions, but firsthand observations on other predatory animals also. before he became state game warden, the author was for years with the united states forest service. hibben, frank c. _hunting american lions_, new york, ; reprinted by university of new mexico press, albuquerque. mr. hibben considers hunting panthers and bears a terribly dangerous business that only intrepid heroes like him-self would undertake. sometimes in this book, but more awesomely in _hunting american bears_, he manages to out-zane zane grey, who had to warn his boy scout readers and puerile-minded readers of added years that _roping lions in the grand canyon_ is true in contrast to the fictional _young lion hunter_, which uses some of the same material. hudson, w. h. _the naturalist in la plata_, new york, . a chapter in this book entitled "the puma, or lion of america" provoked an attack from theodore roosevelt (in _outdoor pastimes of an american hunter_); but it remains the most delightful narrative-essay yet written on the subject. young, stanley paul, and goldman, edward a. _the puma, mysterious american cat_, american wildlife institute, washington, d. c., . scientific, liberal with information of human interest, bibliography. we get an analysis of the panther's scream but it does not curdle the blood. {illust} . birds and wild flowers nearly everybody enjoys to an extent the singing of birds and the colors of flowers; to the majority, however, the enjoyment is casual, generalized, vague, in the same category as that derived from a short spell of prattling by a healthy baby. individuals who study birds and native flora experience an almost daily refreshment of the spirit and growth of the intellect. for them the world is an unending garden of delight and a hundred-yard walk down a creek that runs through town or pasture is an exploration. hardly anything beyond good books, good pictures and music, and good talk is so contributory to the enrichment of life as a sympathetic knowledge of the birds, wild flowers, and other native fauna and flora around us. the books listed are dominantly scientific. some include keys to identification. once a person has learned to use the key for identifying botanical or ornithological species, he can spend the remainder of his life adding to his stature. birds bailey, florence merriam. _birds of new mexico_, . op. said by those who know to be at the top of all state bird books. much on habits. bedichek, roy. _adventures with a texas naturalist_ ( ) and _karankaway country_ ( ), doubleday, garden city, n. y. these are books of essays on various aspects of nature, but nowhere else can one find an equal amount of penetrating observation on chimney swifts, inca doves, swallows, golden eagles, mockingbirds, herons, prairie chickens, whooping cranes, swifts, scissortails, and some other birds. as bedichek writes of them they become integrated with all life. brandt, herbert. _arizona and its bird life_, bird research foundation, cleveland, . this beautiful, richly illustrated volume of pages lives up to its title; the birds belong to the arizona country, and with them we get pines, mesquites, cottonwoods, john slaughter's ranch, the northward-flowing san pedro, and many other features of the land. herbert brandt's _texas bird adventures_, illustrated by george miksch sutton (cleveland, ), is more on the big bend country and ranch country to the north than on birds, though birds are here. dawson, william leon. _the birds of california_, san diego, etc., california, . op. four magnificent volumes, full in illustrations, special observations on birds, and scientific data. dobie, j. frank, who is no more of an ornithologist than he is a geologist, specialized on an especially characteristic bird of the southwest and gathered its history, habits, and folklore into a long article: "the roadrunner in fact and folklore," in _in the shadow of history_, publication xv of the texas folklore society, austin, . op. "bob more: man and bird man," _southwest review_, dallas, vol. xxvii, no. (autumn, ). nice, margaret morse. _the birds of oklahoma_, norman, . op. united states biological survey publication. oberholser, harry church. the birds of texas in manuscript form. "a stupendous work, the greatest of its genre, by the nation's outstanding ornithologist, who has been fifty years making it." the quotation is condensed from an essay by roy bedichek in the _southwest review_, dallas, vol. xxxviii, no. (winter, ). maybe some day some man or woman with means will see the light of civilized patriotism and underwrite the publication of these great volumes. patriotism that does not act to promote the beautiful, the true, and the good had better pipe down. peterson, roger tory. _a field guide to western birds_ ( ) and _a field guide to the birds_ (birds of the eastern united states, revised ), houghton mifflin, boston. these are standard guides for identification. the range, habits, and characteristics of each bird are summarized. simmons, george finley. _birds of the austin region_, university of texas press, austin, . a very thorough work, including migratory as well as nesting species. sutton, george miksch. _mexican birds_, illustrated with water-color and pen-and-ink drawings by the author, university of oklahoma press, norman, . the main part of this handsome book is a personal narrative--pleasant to read even by one who is not a bird man--of discovery in mexico. to it is appended a resume of mexican bird life for the use of other seekers. sutton's _birds in the wilderness: adventures of an ornithologist_ (macmillan, new york, ) contains essays on pet roadrunners, screech owls, and other congenial folk of the big bend of texas. _the birds of brewster county, texas_, in collaboration with josselyn van tyne, is a publication of the museum of zoology, university of michigan, university of michigan press, ann arbor, . _wild turkey_. literature on this national bird is enormous. among books i name first _the wild turkey and its hunting_, by edward a. mcilhenny, new york, . op. mcilhenny was a singular man. his family settled on avery island, louisiana, in ; he made it into a famous refuge for wild fowls. the memories of individuals of a family long established on a country estate go back several lifetimes. in two books of negro folklore and in _the alligator's life history_, mcilhenny wrote as an inheritor. initially, he was a hunter-naturalist, but scientific enough to publish in the _auk_ and the _journal of heredity_. age, desire for knowledge, and practice in the art of living dimmed his lust for hunting and sharpened his interest in natural history. his book on the wild turkey, an extension into publishable form of a manuscript from a civilized alabama hunter, is delightful and illuminative reading. _the wild turkey of virginia_, by henry s. mosby and charles o. handley, published by the commission of game and inland fisheries of virginia, richmond, , is written from the point of view of wild life management. it contains an extensive bibliography. less technical is _the american wild turkey_, by henry e. davis, small arms technical company, georgetown, south carolina, . no strain, or subspecies, of the wild turkey is foreign to any other, but human blends in j. stokley ligon, naturalist, are unique. the title of his much-in-little book is _history and management of merriam's wild turkey_, new mexico game and fish commission, through the university of new mexico press, albuquerque, . wild flowers and grasses the scientific literature on botany of western america is extensive. the list that follows is for laymen as much as for botanists. benson, lyman, and darrow, robert a. _a manual of southwestern desert trees and shrubs_, biological science bulletin no. , university of arizona, tucson, . a thorough work of pages, richly illustrated, with general information added to scientific description. carr, william henry. _desert parade: a guide to southwestern desert plants and wildlife_, viking, new york, . clements, frederic e. and edith s. _rocky mountain flowers_, h. w. wilson, new york, . scientific description, with glossary of terms and key for identification. coulter, john m. _botany of western texas_, united states department of agriculture, washington, - . op. nothing has appeared during the past sixty years to take the place of this master opus. geiser, samuel wood. _horticulture and horticulturists in early texas_, southern methodist university press, dallas, . historical-scientific, more technical than the author's _naturalists of the frontier_. jaeger, edmund c. _desert wild flowers_, stanford university press, california, , revised . scientific but designed for use by any intelligent inquirer. lundell, cyrus l., and collaborators. _flora of texas_, southern methodist university press, dallas, -. a "monumental" work, highly technical, being published part by part. mckelvey, susan delano. _yuccas of the southwestern united states_, harvard university press, cambridge, . definitive work in two volumes. _range plant handbook_, prepared by the forest service of the united states department of agriculture. united states government printing office, washington, . a veritable encyclopedia, illustrated. schulz, ellen d. _texas wild flowers_, chicago, . good as a botanical guide and also for human uses; includes lore on many plants. op. _cactus culture_, orange judd, new york, . now in revised edition. silvius, w. a. _texas grasses_, published by the author, san antonio, . a monument, of illustrated pages, to a lifetime's disinterested following of knowledge "like a star." stevens, william chase. _kansas wild flowers_, university of kansas press, lawrence, . this is more than a state book, and the integration of knowledge, wisdom, and appreciation of flower life with botanical science makes it appeal to layman as well as to botanist. pages, illustrations. applicable to the whole plains area. stockwell, william palmer, and breazeale, lucretia. _arizona cacti_, biological science bulletin no. , university of arizona, tucson, . beautifully illustrated. thornber, john james, and bonker, frances. _the fantastic clan: the cactus family_, new york, . op. thorp, benjamin carroll. _texas range grasses_, university of texas press, austin, . a survey of species of grasses, their adaptability to soils and regions, and their values for grazing. beautifully illustrated and printed, but no index. whitehouse, eula. _texas wild flowers in natural colors_, ; republished in dallas. op. toward flowers are pictured in colors, each in conjunction with descriptive material. the finding lists are designed to enable novices to identify flowers. a charming book. {illust. caption = paisano (roadrunner) means fellow-countryman} . negro folk songs and tales west of a wavering line along the western edge of the central parts of texas and oklahoma the negro is not an important social or cultural element of the southwest, just as the modern indian hardly enters into texas life at all and the mexican recedes to the east. negro folk songs and tales of the southwest have in treatment been blended with those of the south. dorothy scarborough's _on the trail of negro folk-songs_ ( , op) derives mainly from texas, but in making up the body of a negro song, miss scarborough says, "you may find one bone in texas, one in virginia and one in mississippi." leadbelly, a guitar player equally at home in the penitentiaries of texas and louisiana, furnished john a. and alan lomax with _negro folk songs as sung by leadbelly_, new york, (op). the lomax anthologies, _american ballads and folk songs_, , and _our singing country_, (macmillan, new york) and carl sandburg's _american songbag_ (harcourt, brace, new york, ) all give the negro of the southwest full representation. three books of loveliness by r. emmett kennedy, _black cameos_ ( ), _mellows_ ( ), and _more mellows_ ( ) represent louisiana negroes. all are op. an excellent all-american collection is james weldon johnson's _book of american negro spirituals_, viking, new york, . bibliographies and lists of other books will be found in _the negro and his songs_ ( , op) and _negro workaday songs_, by howard w. odum and guy b. johnson, university of north carolina press, chapel hill, , and in _american negro folk-songs_, by newman i. white, cambridge, . a succinct guide to negro lore is _american folk song and folk lore: a regional bibliography_, by alan lomax and sidney r. crowell, new york, . op. narrowing the field down to texas, j. mason brewer's "juneteenth," in _tone the bell easy_, publication x of the texas folklore society, austin, , is outstanding as a collection of tales. in volume after volume the texas folklore society has published collections of negro songs and tales a. w. eddins, martha emmons, gates thomas, and h. b. parks being principal contributors. . fiction--including folk tales from the days of the first innocent sensations in beadle's dime novel series, on through zane grey's mass production and up to any present-day newsstand's crowded shelf of _ace high_ and _flaming guns_ magazines, the southwest, along with all the rest of the west, has been represented in a fictional output quantitatively stupendous. most of it has betrayed rather than revealed life, though not with the contemptible contempt for both audience and subject that characterizes most of hollywood's pictures on the same times, people, and places. certain historical aspects of the fictional betrayal of the west may be found in e. douglas branch's _the cowboy and his interpreters_, in _the house of beadle and adams and its dime and nickel novels_, by albert johannsen in two magnificent volumes, and in jay monaghan's _the great rascal: the life and adventures of ned buntline_ buntline having been perhaps the most prolific of all wild west fictionists. some "westerns" have a kind of validity. if a serious reader went through the hundreds of titles produced by william mcleod raine, dane coolidge, eugene cunningham,. b. m. bower, the late ernest haycox, and other manufacturers of range novels who have known their west at firsthand, he would find, spottedly, a surprising amount of truth about land and men, a fluency in genuine cowboy lingo, and a respect for the code of conduct. yet even these novels have added to the difficulty that serious writing in the western field has in getting a hearing on literary, rather than merely western, grounds. any writer of westerns must, like all other creators, be judged on his own intellectual development. "the western and ernest haycox," by james fargo, in _prairie schooner_, xxvi (summer, ) has something on this subject. actualities in the southwest seem to have stifled fictional creation. no historical novel dealing with texas history has achieved the drama of the fall of the alamo or the drawing of the black beans, has presented a character with half the reality of sam houston, jim bowie, or sallie skull, or has captured the flavor inherent in the talk on many a ranch gallery. historical fiction dealing with early day texas is, however, distinctly maturing. as a dramatization of jim bowie and the bowie knife, _the iron mistress_, by paul wellman (doubleday, garden city, new york, ), is the best novel published so far dealing with a figure of the texas revolution. in _divine average_ (little, brown, boston, ), elithe hamilton kirkland weaves from her seasoned knowledge of life and from "realities of those violent years in texas history between and " a story of human destiny. she reveals the essential nature of range templeton more distinctly, more mordantly, than history has revealed the essential nature of sam houston or any of his contemporaries. the wife and daughter of range templeton are the most plausible women in any historical novel of texas that i have read. the created world here is more real than the actual. among the early tale-tellers of the southwest are jeremiah clemens, who wrote _mustang gray_, mollie e. moore davis, of plantation tradition, mayne reid, who dared convey real information in his romances, charles w. webber, a naturalist, and t. b. thorpe, creator of "the big bear of arkansas." fiction that appeared before world war i can hardly be called modern. no fiction is likely to appear, however, that will do better by certain types of western character and certain stages of development in western society than that produced by bret harte, with his gamblers; stage drivers, and mining camps; o. henry with his "heart of the west" types; alfred henry lewis with his "wolfville" anecdotes and characters; owen wister, whose _virginian_ remains the classic of cowboy novels without cows; and andy adams, whose _log of a cowboy_ will be read as long as people want a narrative of cowboys sweating with herds. the authors listed below are in alphabetical order. those who seem to me to have a chance to survive are not exactly in that order. frank applegate (died ) wrote only two books, _native tales of new mexico_ and _indian stories from the pueblos_, but as a delighted and delightful teller of folk tales his place is secure. mary austin seems to be settling down as primarily an expositor. her novels are no longer read, but the simple tales in _one-smoke stories_ (her last book, ) and in some nonfiction collections, notably _lost borders_ and _the flock_, do not recede with time. while the southwest can hardly claim willa cather, of nebraska, her _death comes for the archbishop_ ( ), which is made out of new mexican life, is not only the best-known novel concerned with the southwest but one of the finest of america. despite the fact that it is not on the literary map, will levington comfort's _apache_ ( ) remains for me the most moving and incisive piece of writing on indians of the southwest that i have found. if a teller of folk tales and plotless narratives belongs in this chapter, then j. frank dobie should be mentioned for the folk tales in _coronado's children, apache gold and yaqui silver_, and _tongues of the monte_, also for some of his animal tales in _the voice of the coyote_, outlaw and maverick narratives in _the longhorns_, and "the pacing white steed of the prairies" and other horse stories in _the mustangs_. the characters in harvey fergusson's _wolf song_ ( ) are the mountain men of kit carson's time, and the city of their soul is rollicky taos. it is a lusty, swift song of the pristine earth. fergusson's _the blood of the conquerors_ ( ) tackles the juxtaposition of spanish-mexican and anglo-american elements in new mexico, of which state he is a native. _grant of kingdom_ ( ) is strong in wisdom life, vitality of character, and historical values. fred gipson's _hound-dog man_ and _the home place_ lack the critical attitude toward life present in great fiction but they are as honest and tonic as creek bottom soil and the people in them are genuine. frank goodwyn's _the magic of limping john_ (new york, , op) is a coherence of mexican characters, folk tales, beliefs, and ways in the ranch country of south texas. there is something of magic in the telling, but frank goodwyn has not achieved objective control over imagination or sufficiently stressed the art of writing. paul horgan of new mexico has in _the return of the weed_ (short stories), _far from cibola_, and other fiction coped with modern life in the past-haunted new mexico. oliver lafarge's _laughing boy_ ( ) grew out of the author's ethnological knowledge of the navajo indians. he achieves character. tom lea's _the brave bulls_ ( ) has, although it is a sublimation of the mexican bullfighting world, death and fear of death for its dominant theme. it may be compared in theme with stephen crane's _the red badge of courage_. it is written with the utmost of economy, and is beautiful in its power. _the wonderful country_ ( ), a historical novel of the frontier, but emphatically not a "western," recognizes more complexities of society. its economy and directness parallel the style of tom lea's drawings and paintings, with which both books are illustrated. _sundown_, by john joseph mathews ( ), goes more profoundly than _laughing boy_ into the soul of a young indian (an osage) and his people. its translation of the "long, long thoughts" of the boy and then of "shades of the prison house" closing down upon him is superb writing. the "shades of the prison house" come from oil, with all of the world's coarse thumbs that go with oil. george sessions perry's _hold autumn in your hand_ ( ) incarnates a texas farm hand too poor "to flag a gut-wagon," but with the good nature, dignity, and independence of the earth itself. _walls rise up_ ( ) is a kind of _crock of gold_, both whimsical and earthy, laid on the brazos river. katherine anne porter is as dedicated to artistic perfection as was a. e. housman. her output has, therefore, been limited: _flowering judas_ ( , enlarged ); _pale horse, pale rider_ ( ), _the leaning tower_ ( ). her stories penetrate psychology, especially the psychology of a mexican hacienda, with rare finesse. her small canvases sublimate the inner realities of men and women. she appeals only to cultivated taste, and to some tastes no other fiction writer in america today is her peer in subtlety. eugene manlove rhodes died in . most of his novels--distinguished by intricate plots and bright dialogue--had appeared in the _saturday evening post_. his finest story is "paso por aqui," published in the volume entitled _once in the saddle_ ( ). gene rhodes, who has a canyon--on which he ranched--named for him in new mexico, was an artist; at the same time, he was a man akin to his land and its men. he is the only writer of the range country who has been accorded a biography--_the hired man on horseback_, by may d. rhodes, his wife. see under "range life." conrad richter's _the sea of grass_ ( ) is a kind of prose poem, beautiful and tragic. lutie, wife of the owner of the grass, is perhaps the most successful creation of a ranch woman that fiction has so far achieved. dorothy scarborough's _the wind_ ( ) excited the wrath of chambers of commerce and other boosters in west texas--a tribute to its realism. _the grapes of wrath_, by john steinbeck ( ), made okies a word in the american language. although dated by the great depression, its humanity and realism are beyond date. it is among the few good novels produced by america in the first half of the twentieth century. john w. thomason, after fighting as a marine in world war i, wrote _fix bayonets_ ( ), followed by _jeb stuart_ ( ). a native texan, he followed the southern tradition rather than the western. _lone star preacher_ ( ) is a strong and sympathetic characterization of confederate fighting men woven into fictional form. in _high john the conqueror_ (macmillan, ) john w. wilson conveys real feeling for the tragic life of negro sharecroppers in the brazos bottoms. he represents the critical awareness of life that has come to modern fiction of the southwest, in contrast to the sterile action, without creation of character, in most older fiction of the region. . poetry and drama "knowledge itself is power," sir francis bacon wrote in classical latin, and in abbreviated form the proverb became a familiar in households and universities alike. but knowledge of what? there is no power in knowledge of mediocre verse. i had rather flunk my wasserman test than read a poem by edgar a. guest. the power of great poetry lies not in knowledge of it but in assimilation of it. most talk about poetry is vacuous. poetry can pass no power into any human being unless it itself has power--power of beauty, truth, wit, humor, pathos, satire, worship, and other attributes, always through form. no poor poetry is worth reading. taste for the best makes the other kind insipid. compared with america's best poetry, most poetry of the southwest is as mediocre as american poetry in the mass is as compared with the great body of english poetry between chaucer and masefield. yet mediocre poetry is not so bad as mediocre sculpture. the mediocre in poetry is merely fatuous; in sculpture, it is ugly. generations to come will have to look at coppini's monstrosity in front of the alamo; it can't rot down or burn up. volumes of worthless verse, most of it printed at the expense of the versifiers, hardly come to sight, and before long they disappear from existence except for copies religiously preserved in public libraries. weak fiction goes the same way. but a good deal of very bad prose in the nonfiction field has some value. in an otherwise dull book there may be a solitary anecdote, an isolated observation on a skunk, a single gesture of some human being otherwise highly unimportant, one salty phrase, a side glimpse into the human comedy. if poetry is not good, it is positively nothing. the earliest poet of historical consequence the only form of his poetical consequence--of the southwest was mirabeau buonaparte lamar. he led the texas cavalry at san jacinto, became president of the republic of texas, organized the futile santa fe expedition, gathered up six volumes of notes and letters for a history of texas that might have been as raw-meat realistic as anything in zola or tolstoy. then as a poet he reached his climax in "the daughter of mendoza"--a graceful but moonshiny imitation of tom moore and lord byron. perhaps it is better for the weak to imitate than to try to be original. it would not take one more than an hour to read aloud all the poetry of the southwest that could stand rereading. at the top of all i should place fay yauger's "planter's charm," published in a volume of the same title. with it belongs "the hired man on horseback," by eugene manlove rhodes, a long poem of passionate fidelity to his own decent kind of men, with power to ennoble the reader, and with the form necessary to all beautiful composition. this is the sole and solitary piece of poetry to be found in all the myriads of rhymes classed as "cowboy poetry." i'd want stanley vestal's "fandango," in a volume of the same title. margaret bell houston's "song from the traffic," which takes one to the feathered mesquites and the bluebonnets, might come next. begging pardon of the perpetually palpitating new mexico lyricists, i would skip most of them, except for bits of mary austin, witter bynner, haniel long, and maybe somebody i don't know, and go to george sterling's "father coyote"--in california. probably i would come back to gallant phil lenoir's "finger of billy the kid," written while he was dying of tuberculosis in new mexico. i wouldn't leave without the swift, brilliantly economical stanzas that open the ballad of "sam bass," and a single line, "he came of a solitary race," in the ballad of "jesse james." several other poets have, of course, achieved something for mortals to enjoy and be lifted by. their work has been sifted into various anthologies. the best one is_ signature of the sun: southwest verse, - _, selected and edited by mabel major and t. m. pearce, university of new mexico press, albuquerque, . two other anthologies are _songs of the cattle trail and cow camp_, by john a. lomax, , reprinted in by duell, sloan and pearce, new york; _the road to texas_, by whitney montgomery, kaleidograph, dallas, . montgomery's kaleidograph press has published many volumes by southwestern poets. somebody who has read them all and has read all the poets represented, without enough of distillation, in _signature of the sun_ could no doubt be juster on the subject than i am. like historical fiction, drama of the southwest has been less dramatic than actuality and less realistic than real characters. lynn riggs of oklahoma, author of _green grow the lilacs_, has so far been the most successful dramatist. . miscellaneous interpreters and institutions artists art may be substantive, but more than being its own excuse for being, it lights up the land it depicts, shows people what is significant, cherishable in their own lives and environments. thus peter hurd of new mexico has revealed windmills, thomas hart benton of missouri has elevated mules. nature may not literally follow art, but human eyes follow art and literature in recognizing nature. the history of art in the southwest, if it is ever rightly written, will not bother with the italian "holy families" imported by agent-guided millionaires trying to buy exclusiveness. it will begin with clay (indian pottery), horse hair (vaquero weaving), hide (vaquero plaiting), and horn (backwoods carving). it will note navajo sand painting and designs in blankets. charles m. russell's art has been characterized in the chapter on "range life." he had to paint, and the old west was his life. more versatile was his contemporary frederic remington, author of _pony tracks, crooked trails_, and other books, and prolific illustrator of owen wister, theodore roosevelt, alfred henry lewis, and numerous other writers of the west. not so well known as these two, but rising in estimation, was charles schreyvogle. he did not write; his best-known pictures are reproduced in a folio entitled _my bunkie and others_. remington, russell, and schreyvogle all did superb sculptoring in bronze. one of the finest pieces of sculpture in the southwest is "the seven mustangs" by a. phimister proctor, in front of the texas memorial museum at austin. among contemporary artists, ross santee and will james (died, ) have illustrated their own cow country books, some of which are listed under "range life" and "horses." william r. leigh, author of _the western pony_, is a significant painter of the range. edward borein of santa barbara, california, has in scores of etchings and a limited amount of book illustrations "documented" many phases of western life. buck dunton of taos illustrated also. his lithographs and paintings of wild animals, trappers, cowboys, and indians seem secure. i cannot name and evaluate modern artists of the southwest. they are many, and the excellence of numbers of them is nationally recognized. many articles have been written about the artists who during this century have lived around taos and painted that region of the southwest. some of the better-known names are ernest l. blumenschein, oscar berninghaus, ward lockwood, b. j. o. nordfeldt, georgia o'keeffe, ila mcafee, barbara latham cook, howard cook. artists thrive in arizona, oklahoma, and texas as well as in new mexico. tom lea, of el paso, may be quitting painting and drawing to spend the remainder of his life in writing. perhaps he himself does not know. jerry bywaters, who is at work on the history of art in the southwest, has about quit producing to direct the dallas museum of fine arts. alexandre hogue gives his strength to teaching art in tulsa university. exhibitions, not commentators, are the revealers of art. a few books, all expensive, reproduce the art of certain depicters of the west and southwest. _etchings of the west_, by edward borein, and _the west of alfred jacob miller_ have been noted in other chapters (consult index). other recent art works are: _peter hurd: portfolio of landscapes and portraits_, university of new mexico press, albuquerque, ; _gallery of western paintings_, edited by raymond carlson, mcgraw-hill, new york, (unsatisfactory reproduction); _frederic remington, artist of the old west_, by harold mccracken, lippincott, philadelphia, (biography and check list with many reproductions); _portrait of the old west_, by harold mccracken, mcgraw-hill, new york, (samplings of numerous artists). in february, , robert taft of the university of kansas began publishing in the _kansas historical quarterly_ chapters, richly illustrated in black and white, in "the pictorial record of the old west." the book to be made from these chapters will have a historical validity missing in most picture books. magazines the leading literary magazine of the region is the _southwest review_, published quarterly at southern methodist university, dallas. the _new mexico quarterly_, published by the university of new mexico at albuquerque, the _arizona quarterly_, published by the university of arizona at tucson the _colorado quarterly_, published by the university of colorado at boulder, and _prairie schooner_, university of nebraska press, lincoln, are excellent exponents of current writing in the southwest and west. all these magazines are liberated from provincialism. historical societies every state in the southwest has a state historical organization that publishes. the oldest and most productive of these, outside of california, is the texas state historical association, with headquarters at austin. histories a majority of the state histories of the southwest have been written with the hope of securing an adoption for school use. it would require a blacksnake whip to make most juve-niles, or adults either, read these productions, as devoid of picturesqueness, life-blood, and intellectual content as so many concrete slabs. no genuinely humanistic history of the southwest has ever been printed. there are good factual histories--and a history not based on facts can't possibly be good--but the lack of synthesis, of intelligent evaluations, of imagination, of the seeing eye and portraying hand is too evident. the stuff out of which history is woven--diaries, personal narratives, county histories, chronicles of ranches and trails, etc.--has been better done than history itself. folklore considered scientifically, folklore belongs to science and not to the humanities. when folk and fun are not scienced out of it, it is song and story and in literature is mingled with other ingredients of life and art, as exampled by the folklore in _hamlet_ and _a midsummer night's dream_. in "indian culture," "spanish-mexican strains," "backwoods life and humor," "cowboy songs," "the bad man tradition," "bears," "coyotes," "negro folk songs and tales," and other chapters of this _guide_ numerous books charged with folklore have been listed. the most active state society of its kind in america has been the texas folklore society, with headquarters at the university of texas, austin. volume xxiv of its publications appeared in , and it has published and distributed other books. its publications are now distributed by southern methodist university press in dallas. j. frank dobie, with constant help, was editor from to , when he resigned. since mody c. boatright has been editor. in the new mexico folklore society began publishing yearly the _new mexico folklore record_. it is printed by the university of new mexico press. the university of arizona, tucson, has published several folklore bulletins. the california folklore society publishes, through the university of california press, berkeley, _western folklore_, a quarterly. in co-operation with the southeastern folklore society, the university of florida, gainesville, publishes the _southern folklore quarterly_. levette j. davidson of the university of denver, author of _a guide to american folklore_, university of denver press, , directs the western folklore conference. the _journal of american folklore_ has published a good deal from the southwest and mexico. the sociedad folklorica de mexico publishes its own _anurio_. between and , b. a. botkin, editor of _a treasury of southern folklore_, , and a _treasury of western folklore_, (crown, new york), brought out four volumes entitled _folk-say_, university of oklahoma press. op. the volumes are significant for literary utilizations of folklore and interpretations of folks. museums museums do not belong to the dar. their perspective on the past is constructive. the growing museums in santa fe, tucson, phoenix, tulsa, oklahoma city, houston, san antonio, dallas, austin, denver, and on west into california represent the art, fauna, flora, geology, archeology, occupations, transportation, architecture, and other phases of the southwest in a way that may be more informing than many printed volumes. . subjects for themes the object of theme-writing is to make a student observe, to become aware, to evaluate, to enrich himself. any phase of life or literature named or suggested in the foregoing chapters could be taken as a subject for an essay. the most immature essay must be more than a summary; a mere summary is never an essay. the writer must synthesize, make his own combination of thoughts, facts, incidents, characteristics, anecdotes, interpretations, illustrations, according to his own pattern. a writer is a weaver, weaving various threads of various hues and textures into a design that is his own. "look into thy heart and write." "write what you know about." all this is good advice in a way--but students have to write themes whether they have anything to write or not. the way to get full of a subject, to generate a conveyable interest, is to fill up on the subject. as clouds are but transient forms of matter that "change but cannot die," so most writing, even the best, is but a variation in form of experiences, ideas, observations, emotions that have been recorded over and over. in general, the materials a student weaves are derived from three sources: what he has read, what he has heard, what he has observed and experienced himself. if he chooses to sketch an interesting character, he will make his sketch richer and more interesting if he reads all he can find that illuminates his subject's background. if he sets out to tell a legend or a series of related folk tales or anecdotes, he will improve his telling by reading what he can on the subjects that his proposed narratives treat of and by reading similar narratives already written by others. if he wishes to tell what he knows about rattlesnakes, buzzards, pet coyotes, brahma cattle, prickly pear, cottonwoods, caddo lake, the brazos river, santa fe adobes, or other features of the land, let him bolster and put into perspective his own knowledge by reading what others have said on the matter. knowledge fosters originality. reading gives ideas. the list of subjects that follows is meant to be suggestive, and must not be regarded as inclusive. the best subject for any writer is one that he is interested in. a single name or category may afford scores of subjects. for example, take andy adams, the writer about cowboys and range life. his campfire yarns, the attitude of his cowboys toward their horses, what he has to say about cows, the metaphor of the range as he has recorded it, the placidity of his cowboys as opposed to zane grey sensationalism, etc., are a few of the subjects to be derived from a study of his books. or take a category like "how the early settlers lived." pioneer food, transportation, sociables, houses, neighborliness, loneliness, living on game meat, etc., make subjects. almost every subject listed below will suggest either variations or associated subjects. the humor of the southwest similes from nature (crockett is rich in them) the code of individualism the code of the range six-shooter ethics the right to kill the tradition of cowboy gallantry (read owen wister's _the virginian_ and _a journey in search of christmas;_ also novels by eugene manlove rhodes) frontier hospitality amusements (shooting matches, tournaments, play parties, dances, poker, horse races, quiltings, house-raisings) the western gambler (bret harte and alfred henry lewis have idealized him in fiction; he might be contrasted with the mississippi river gambler) indian captives the age of horse culture (spanish, indian, anglo-american; the horse was important enough to any one of these classes to warrant extended study) the cowboy's horse the cowboy myth (mody boatright is writing a book on the subject) evolution of the frontier criminal lawyer the frontier intellect in the atomic age british chroniclers of the west civilized perspective in writings on the old west the indian in fiction fictional betrayal of the west the west in reality and the west on the screen around the chuck wagon: cowboy yarns stretching the blanket authentic liars recent fiction of the southwest (any writer worth writing about) literary magazines of the southwest ranch women mexican labor (on ranch, farm, or in town) mexican folk tales backwoods life in frederick gerstaecker "the old catdeman" in alfred henry lewis' _wolfville_ books mayne reid as an exponent of the southwest (see estimate of him in _mesa, canon and pueblo_, by charles f. lummis) the gunman in fiction and reality (o. henry, bret harte, alfred henry lewis; _the saga of billy the kid_, by walter noble burns; gillett's _six years with the texas rangers;_ webb's _the texas rangers;_ lake's _wyatt earp)_ character of the trail drivers cowboy's life as reflected in his songs "wrathy to kill a bear" (the frontiersman as a destroyer of wild life "i thought i might see something to shoot at" anecdotes of the stump speaker exempla of revivalists and campmeeting preachers the campmeeting stagecoaching life on the santa fe trail the rendezvous of the mountain men in the covered wagon squatter life no shade from grass to wheat from wheat to dust brush (a special study of prickly pear, the mesquite, or some other form of flora could be made) cotton (whole books are suggested here, the tenant farmer being one of the subjects) oil booms longhorns coyote stories deer nature, or whitetails and their rattlesnakes, or rattlesnake stories panther stories tarantula lore grasshopper plagues the javelina in fact and in folk tale the roadrunner (paisano) wild turkeys the poisoned-out prairie dog sheep vanishing sheep herders the bee hunter pot hunters buffalo hunters the bar hunter and bar stories indian fighter indian hater scalps squaw men mountain men and grizzlies scouts and guides stage drivers fiddlers and fiddle tunes frontier justices of the peace (roy bean set the example) horse traders horse racers newspapermen frontier schoolteacher circuit rider pony express rider folk tales of my community flavorsome characters of my community stanley vestal harvey fergusson kansas cow towns drought and thirst washington irving on the west witty repartee in eugene manlove rhodes bigfoot wallace's humor charles m. russell as artist of the west (or any other western artist) learning to see life around me features of my own cultural inheritance i heard it back home family traditions my family's interesting character doodlebugs in the sand bobwhites blue quail coachwhips and other good snakes mockingbird habits jack rabbit lore catfish lore herb remedies "criticism of life" in southwestern fiction intellectual integrity in________________ (name of writer or writers or some locally prominent newspaper to be supplied) {pages - are an index -- not included} grace harlowe's overland riders on the great american desert by jessie graham flower, a. m. illustrated chapter i--when the cowboys laughed picking out the ponies for the desert journey. the overland girls meet hi lang. grace selects an "outlaw" pony. "don't reckon you'll be able to stick on him," warns the guide. grace harlowe flings herself into the saddle, braced for the shock. chapter ii--an "outlaw" meets his match grace fights a stubborn battle with the vicious bronco. "look out!" yells the guide. "wall, ef thet don't beat the dutch!" exclaims a cowboy. a fainting conqueror. cowboys voice their admiration of the overland girl, and bud offers his services in the event of trouble. chapter iii--a thrilling moment enthusiastic plainsmen give grace a mexican lasso. the start for the desert. a rousing good-bye that ends in disaster. elfreda and grace accomplish a difficult feat. "hang on! we'll stop him!" the runaway bronco is thrown. "they're caught!" chapter iv--ping wing makes a discovery elfreda confesses to being "all mussed up," and gives first aid to an injured cowboy. the lure of the desert. welcomed at their first camp by ping wing. the chinaman as a songbird. the overland eiders are aroused by cries and shots. chapter v--stalking a mountain mystery ping uses a frying pan and a can of tomatoes as his weapons. scooting for a mysterious foe. "put up your hands! i have you covered!" grace harlowe exchanges shots with her adversary, then suddenly sinks out of sight. chapter vi--into the great silence hi stalks an unseen enemy and wings him. the hole in the mountain. "the hound! he hit her! i'll kill him for that!" grace, unconscious, is carried into camp. "this is not a gunshot wound!" bullets are fired into the camp of the overlanders. chapter vii--the first desert camp hi lang shows his charges how to make a campfire on the desert. a water hole is found. "some one is trying to poison us!" groans hippy. the guide warns the campers against scorpions. emma dean wishes she had gone to the seashore. chapter viii--callers drop in amid scenes of desolation. "a party of horsemen coming this way!" the overland party prepares for trouble. hippy is doused by a wild desert rider. "get off my desert!" orders lieutenant wingate. the leader is kicked into a water hole. the battle at the water hole. chapter ix--pirates get a hot reception bullets fly fast in the desert camp. grace protests against hi lang's order to shoot the attackers' ponies. miss briggs dresses the wounds of the victims. the guide reads danger signals in the sky. chapter x--when the blow fell "it's here!" mutters hi lang. enveloped in a wild desert sandstorm. "down! everybody down!" overland girls nearly buried under drifting sands, and camp equipment is wrecked and blown away. "the water hole is lost!" announces the guide. chapter xi--facing a new peril ponies stray away in the storm. on the trail of the missing ones. the overland girl makes a capture. headed for death valley. grace harlowe is lost, but doesn't know it. hi lang goes to the rescue and follows her trail. chapter xii--a bitter disappointment "we must find water!" declares hi lang impressively. the search for a desert "tank" begun by the weary riders. directed to smell for water. a thrilling discovery. hopes dashed to earth. "get back to your positions!" orders the guide. chapter xiii--a startling alarm supper is eaten without water or tea. hi lang shows the girls how to extract food and moisture from a cactus plant. "this is heavenly!" gasps emma, and wonders why they did not bring an artesian well. shouts and screams suddenly disturb the camp. chapter xiv--the mysterious horseman hippy wingate falls into the desert. a happy accident. "water! i smell it!" cries grace. signal shots are fired. a desert wanderer rides in begging for water. a solitary horseman views the overlanders from afar. chapter xv--the guide reads a desert trail a stranger's warning interests hi lang. why the desert wanderer is always listening. more desert secrets revealed. emma dean dreams of snakes and things. grace harlowe is complimented. hi tells the overlanders what the mysterious horseman is. chapter xvi--the cross on the desert grace learns to throw the lasso. an unpleasant discovery. the mystery box at the foot of the cross. emma is eager to see their find opened. "it rattles like gold," declares hippy. lieutenant wingate raises the cover of the mystery box. chapter xvii--another mystery to solve what the overland riders found in the buried tin box. the map that aroused the curiosity of all. "i'll bury the old thing," declares hippy. hi lang empties his rifle at the mysterious horseman, and later makes discoveries. chapter xviii--an old indian trick the most trying day of all. hi lang utters a warning. a cloud that aroused suspicion. overlanders meet with a keen disappointment. "folks, the tank is dry! the water hole has been tampered with!" announces the overlanders' guide. chapter xix--the warning an all-night ride for forty-mile canyon. the red star is hi lang's beacon. hippy wingate mourns at missing a meal. emma comes a cropper in a mountain stream. "the last spot made when the world was built." in camp in the specter range. grace harlowe's discovery. chapter xx--conclusion grace harlowe wades into the mountain stream and suddenly disappears. a remarkable scene behind the waterfall. grace makes an important capture. mountain and desert mysteries unveiled. lindy becomes the daughter of five mothers. home! grace harlowe's overland riders on the great american desert chapter i when the cowboys laughed "grace harlowe, do you realize what an indulgent husband you have?" demanded elfreda briggs severely. "why, of course i do," replied grace, giving her companion a quick glance of inquiry. "why this sudden realization of the fact on your part!" "i was thinking of the really desperate journey we are about to undertake--the journey across the desert that lies just beyond the cactus range you can see over yonder," answered miss briggs, as she gazed out through the open window of their hotel at elk run, to the distant landscape to which she had referred. "what i am curious about is how tom ever came to consent to your attempting such an adventure." "i presume he really would have made serious objection had it not been for the fact that he had signed up for that forestry contract in oregon. tom knew that i would have a lonely summer at home, and, i believe, deep down in his heart, felt that were he to deny me the pleasure of this trip, i might break my neck driving my car. you see, since i drove an ambulance in france i do not exactly creep along the roads with my spirited little roadster." "he did not object to the trip then?" "well, he did threaten to balk when i told him that we overlanders had planned to ride horseback across the great american desert, starting from elk run, nevada. however, he listened to reason. tom is such a dear," reflected grace. "yes, reason in the form of grace harlowe gray," nodded elfreda understandingly. "should i ever have the misfortune to possess a husband i hope he may be as amenable to reason. where is tom, by the way?" "he has gone out with hippy wingate to look for one hiram lang, known hereabouts as hi lang, the man who is to act as our guide and protector across the desert. he is mr. fairweather's cousin, you will recall, and my one great hope is that he may prove to be as fine a character as the man who piloted us over the old apache trail last summer." "i sincerely hope, for our sake, that he knows his business," nodded elfreda briggs. "where did you leave the girls?" questioned grace. "i left emma dean, anne nesbit and nora wingate at the general store where they were selecting picture cards of wild west scenes to send to the folks back home. by the way, when does tom leave for oregon?" "to-night. i wish it were possible for him to go with us, knowing that it would prove an interesting experience for him, but now that he is out of the army he feels that he must get to work without loss of time. tom now has a large family to look after-- yvonne and my own little self." "i should say that, after fighting bolshevists in russia for the better part of a year, the desert would be a rather tame experience for him," observed miss briggs. "of course he cannot be blamed for desiring to get to work. i feel the same way about myself, but since my return from france my law practice has been about what it was while i was serving my country on the other side of the atlantic ocean--nothing at all--so i might as well be on the desert as in my office." "your practice will come back, elfreda. don't worry, but in the meantime try to have the best kind of a time and set what happens this fall. i hear tom's step." a knock followed the brisk step in the hallway, and grace's husband entered. elfreda rose, but grace held out a hand as a signal that her friend was not to leave. "well, tom dear, did you find him?" questioned grace. "oh, yes. this town isn't so large that one can well miss finding any one. your man, hi lang, is getting the ponies into the corral and you girls are to go out there and make your selections." "did mr. lang say why he had not called here to see us?" asked grace. "no, he didn't say much of anything. he is not of the saying kind. i suppose he expected you to look him up. besides, he is very busy getting ready for you, i could see that. if you are ready we will go over to the corral now." "where did you leave hippy?" asked miss briggs. "talking horse with the owner of the ponies," grace's husband informed her, whereat both girls smiled understandingly, knowing quite well that hippy wingate was posing as an expert on horses, whereas about all the knowledge he possessed in that direction had been gained from the ride over the apache trail during the previous summer. tom led the two girls to the corral at the extreme edge of the little western village. anne, emma and nora already had found their way there and were watching the wranglers, as the men who catch up the ponies are called, roping broncos and leading them out for the inspection of lieutenant wingate and the guide. "my, but they are a lively bunch," exclaimed miss briggs. the roped ponies were bucking and squealing and biting and kicking. a suffocating gray cloud of alkali dust hung over the corral, and, altogether, the scene was not only exciting, but it stirred feelings of alarm in some of grace harlowe's overland riders. "surely, grace, you girls aren't going to ride those wild animals!" protested tom gray. "judging from the performances i have just witnessed, i am inclined to think we are not," replied grace whimsically. "which is mr. lang?" "the man with his hat off leading the pony from the corral." tom beckoned to the man who was to guide the overlanders across the desert, and, as soon as he had turned the protesting bronco over to a cowboy, the guide responded to tom gray's summons. "lang, this is mrs. gray and miss briggs," said tom by way of introduction. "reckon i'm mighty glad to know you all," greeted the guide, mopping the perspiration from his forehead with his sleeve. hi lang interested grace at once. of medium height, thin-featured, with a complexion that reminded her of wrinkled parchment, eyes that, though intelligent and alert, frequently took on a dreamy, far-away expression, hiram lang proved a new type of westerner to grace harlowe. "got your telegram that you reckoned on starting to-day," he told her. "yes. of course we do not wish to hurry you, but we are eager to get on our way. what about the supplies and equipment! have you ordered everything that i suggested?" the guide nodded. "the stuff already has gone on ahead in charge of ping wing--" "who?" laughed elfreda briggs. "ping wing, a chinaman, with four lazy burros. good man. can cook, too. been on the desert before. lively as a cricket. only trouble with ping is that he thinks he can sing. ride and shoot?" he demanded, abruptly changing the subject. "i am not much of a rider, but manage to stick to the saddle most of the time," answered grace. "i shoot a little. we are all novices, with the exception of lieutenant wingate who is an excellent shot. the lieutenant was a fighting aviator in the war." hi nodded and stroked his chin. "reckoned you could ride some. when we get out on the desert i'll see how you can shoot. when do you think you want to start?" "i will leave that to you," replied grace. "three o'clock this afternoon. we'll make the range where ping will be waiting for us, and have chow there, then go on in the cool of the evening. want to look over the broncos?" "if you please. i should like to try the ponies that we are to ride." "do--do they always kick and buck as we saw them do just now?" questioned miss briggs apprehensively. the guide shook his head and grinned. "they don't like to be roped, that's all. no bronco does. they'll be as all right as a bronc' can be, so long as you don't use the spur or get the critters stubborn." "if you say they are perfectly safe for my friends to ride, i am satisfied, though i should like to try them out. hippy, have you ridden any of these animals?" asked grace, turning to lieutenant wingate. "he tried to," observed tom gray dryly. "hippy mounted one on one side and promptly fell off on the other before getting his feet in the stirrups. it was not the pony's fault, however, but hippy's clumsiness that caused the disaster." "that's right, have all the fun at my expense you wish. i am the comedian of this outfit anyway," protested hippy. "let's see you ride one of them, brown eyes," he urged, speaking to grace. "please have them saddled one by one and i will try them, mr. lang," directed grace. "any pony that i can ride, the others surely can." the guide nodded and turned away. grace watched the saddling with keen interest, especially the saddling of the first pony selected for her, which squealed and pawed and danced as the cinch-girth was being tightened. "vicious!" objected elfreda briggs. "no," answered grace. "just playful. if the others are no worse, we shall have a good bunch of horses." the saddle being secured, grace stepped up and petted the little animal for a few moments, then mounted. the pony danced under her, then, at a word, galloped off. the overland girl rode but a short distance, and, turning back, trotted up to the group smilingly. "spirited but sweet," was her comment as she dismounted. "he will be all right if he is used right. try him, elfreda. i know you will like him." miss briggs took her test without falling off, and promptly claimed the little brown animal as her own private mount. "you made a most excellent selection, mr. lang," complimented grace, after she had tried the ponies for the rest of the girls and found them suitable. each girl also tried out and selected her own mount from those that grace had approved, the cowboys and half the village being interested spectators. grace was pleased, both with the ponies and with the riding of her girl friends. not the least of those who were pleased was hi lang, who, before the coming of the outfit, had felt considerable doubt as to the success of the proposed jaunt. now he knew that the overland riders were not rank greenhorns, as he expressed it to himself. "which animal did you think of selecting for me!" asked grace smilingly. "reckoned you'd do that for yourself," answered the guide. "thank you. please have that black roped and brought out. he is the one i think will please me," replied grace promptly. "what, that black bronc'? he's a lively one, mrs. gray. don't reckon you'll be able to stick on him at all," warned hi lang. "i have fallen off before, sir. have him roped and brought out. i'll try him out." the guide shrugged his shoulders and walked over to the head wrangler. "why take such unnecessary chances!" begged tom gray. "surely there are plenty of ponies in the bunch that are safe for you to ride." "tom, surely the black one can be no worse than that wild western pony that i bought last fall and rode. you know he was supposed to be the last word in viciousness and bucking ability, but i rode him successfully." "very well, go ahead. you won't be satisfied until you have tried him, but remember, i warned you," returned grace's husband with some heat. "now, tom," begged grace pleadingly. "please don't be a cross bear and spoil my trip. you have been so perfectly lovely about it right up to this moment, that it would be too bad if you were to get peevish now. if you say i must not, of course i will not try to ride the animal, but i do so want him." tom gray shrugged his shoulders and laughed. "go to it, little woman. you have my full permission to break your neck if you insist. i will see that little yvonne keeps your memory green." "oh, tom! you are such a dear, but i promise you that you won't have occasion to keep my memory green so far as that mischievous little black pony is concerned." grace harlowe's confidence in herself was not without good and sufficient reason. the western pony that she had ridden the previous winter had demonstrated nearly all the tricks known to the stubborn broncos of the great west. at first grace had had some bad spills, but eventually she learned to outwit her pony and ride him no matter how savagely he tried to unhorse her. not only had grace learned to ride, in anticipation of another summer in the saddle, but, under her husband's instruction, she had taken up revolver shooting, and by spring was capable of qualifying as an expert, especially in quick shooting at moving targets. thus fitted for the strenuous life in the wilder parts of her native land, grace looked forward with calm assurance to the experiences that she knew lay before her. "bring out the black," hi lang had directed. "cinch him so tight it will make him squeal." when a wrangler's rope caught him, the wiry little animal fought viciously for a few moments, then suddenly surrendered and was led out as docile as a lamb. "who said that black is vicious?" demanded hippy wingate. "want to ride him?" asked the guide good-naturedly. "no. i have a real pony for myself." "watch those ears, grace," warned tom gray. "i am," replied grace, and hi lang, overhearing, grunted his satisfaction. the black pony's ears were tilted back at an angle of forty-five degrees, and there he held them while the saddle was being set in place, and the girth cinched, both forefeet spread wide apart and head well down. he winced a little as the girth was drawn a hole tighter so that the saddle might not slip, but otherwise made no move, which, the cowboys said, was an unusual thing for him to do. the pony's sudden surrender was of itself suspicious to those who were familiar with the western bronco, and the laid-back ears were significant to them of trouble to come. "is he an outlaw!" asked grace, meaning an animal naturally so vicious that he never had been satisfactorily broken. hi lang, to whom the question had been addressed, gave grace a quick glance of inquiry. "some call him that. at least he's got the ginger in him, and mebby he is an outlaw. keep a tight rein on him; don't let him get his head down if you can help his doing so, and stick to your leather. watch him every second, for he's got a box full of tricks." "thank you for the suggestions. i shall not forget." "i ought not let you ride him. i reckon you'll get enough of the critter before you have ridden him many minutes, even if you stick on that long." "mr. lang, i intend to ride that 'critter,' as you call him, across the desert. will he bolt while i am mounting?" "mebby. all ready now." "have you any last requests to make, grace harlowe?" asked elfreda briggs frowningly. elfreda strongly disapproved of grace's "foolhardiness," as she called it. "yes, keep back and give me plenty of room. see that the other girls do the same. the black may do a little side-stepping." grace, as she had done with the other ponies before mounting, stepped up to the black and began petting and caressing him, now and then straightening up the animal's ears, chiding him as she might a child. this made the cowboys laugh. cowboys when subduing broncos do not ordinarily do so with anything resembling baby talk, and it was their firm conviction that this pretty young tenderfoot from the east was about to get the surprise of her life. instead of feeling sorry for her, however, the souls of the cowboys were filled with joy at the prospect of some real fun. it was not often that they were privileged to see an innocent easterner make an exhibition of himself on a vicious western pony, and this was the first time they had ever seen a woman from the east attempt to ride a bucking bronco, which made the occasion all the more interesting. "stand clear, please," warned grace, giving the pony's neck a final pat, and at the same time edging her way back from his head, measuring the distance to the stirrup with her eyes. "i'll give you the word when to hit the leather," directed hi in a low voice. "watch your step." grace acknowledged the warning with a brief nod, watching the black's head narrowly. the animal still stood with forefeet braced apart, head slightly lowered, ears, it seemed, flatter than ever. "if i miss it i'm lost," muttered grace, referring to the stirrup. "ready," warned the voice of the guide. the girl's left hand holding the bridle rein crept cautiously to the pommel of the saddle. "now!" grace's left foot caught the stirrup and, like a flash, the overland girl landed hard and firmly seated on the saddle, the right foot in the stirrup on that side, then, with the aid of stirrup and cantle, she braced herself to meet the shock that she knew was right at hand. chapter ii an "outlaw" meets his match the black did not move a muscle for a few seconds, then, with a sudden turn of the head, he made a grab for his rider's leg. grace, never having taken her eyes from the laid-back ears, gave a quick kick with her left foot, catching the pony fairly on the nose. as he hastily withdrew his head, she took advantage of the opportunity to tighten up on the reins, which brought the animal's head well up. all these preparatory activities were observed with intense interest by cowboys and overlanders. "watch him!" called hi lang in an urgent tone. grace was watching, her every faculty beat to the task of discovering what the next move of her mount was to be. the black, as she tightened the rein, reared high in the air until his rider seemed to be standing straight up. one moment she felt that they were both going to fall over backwards, and was about to clear the stirrups to jump. instead she brought her crop down on the black's head, with a resounding whack. "yeow!" howled the cowboys, but grace did not hear them, for the pony had dropped to all fours, and no sooner had his feet touched the ground than he leaped clear of it, coming down stiff-legged with a jolt that jarred grace harlowe throughout her body in spite of her effort to soften the shock by throwing most of her weight on the stirrups. "he's going to buck," warned the steady voice of hi lang. grace knew it in advance of the guide's warning, but, though she tugged with all her might, she was not strong enough to get the black bronco's head up so he could not carry out his intention. there followed a series of bucks and squeals, accompanied with flying hoofs, that sent the spectators fleeing for safety. as for the overland girl, her head was spinning, her hair was down and her sombrero long since had fallen off and been trampled in the alkali dust by the hoofs of her mount. the jolting she was getting was almost more than she could endure and sharp pains were shooting through her body. this bronco indeed was a master at the art of bucking, but vicious as were his movements the black had not succeeded in ridding himself of his rider. "look out!" yelled the guide. all four feet went from under the pony and he struck the ground on his side with a force that brought a grunt from him. in the cloud of dust the spectators thought that grace had been caught under the horse and crashed. emma dean uttered a cry of alarm, and nora wingate turned her head away that she might not see. "she's all right!" shouted hiram lang, who had sprung forward to give assistance if it were needed. the pony had thrown itself on its right side. mr. lang found grace sitting calmly on the side of the saddle, free of the body of the horse, but breathing heavily. her quickness had been the means of her disengaging herself as the bronco threw himself to the ground. after giving the black a few seconds on his side, the overland rider brought her crop down on his rump with a vicious whack. it stung. like a flash the pony was on his feet, with grace's feet now planted firmly in the stirrups. as grace had expected, the bucking was resumed the instant the pony felt the smart of the crop. how the dust did fly then, and how those cowboy wranglers did yell! "who's a tenderfoot!" howled hippy wingate. "just watch her smoke." grace harlowe's whole body was weary, but her grit was not diminishing in the least. however, she decided that the time had arrived when she must do a little fighting for herself, and not leave it all to the pony, so, having arrived at this decision, grace watched narrowly for a favorable opportunity to begin. the opportunity came a few seconds later when the horse threw up his head preparatory to pitching forward in another series of savage bucks. grace jerked the animal's head to one side, brought her quirt down sharply, and, at the same time, jabbed the little black fighter with her spurs. she continued to apply this treatment for several seconds until the bronco, goaded to a change of tactics, whirled and started away at a run, driving straight through the assembled crowd. the crowd fled for their lives with grace unable now to do more than stay on the saddle. the black had not gone far before he stopped as suddenly as he had started, stopped stiff-legged, braced himself and slid on his feet through the alkali for several yards. grace harlowe had been alert for this very thing, but just the same the suddenness of the move had nearly unhorsed her. as it was she fell forward on the neck of the bronco, but, recovering herself before the animal could begin bucking again, she regained her former position in the saddle and applied crop and spur vigorously. the bronco again tried to buck, but under grace's lively treatment he gave it up and started to run, and for the next few minutes pony and rider went like a black streak across the landscape, the overland girl giving the pony no time for anything but to travel as fast as his legs would carry him, until they were a full two miles from the village. grace finally turned him about, without resistance on the pony's part, and raced for the corral, driving and urging the pony with crop and word, bound to wear him down and convince him once and for all that she was his master. as the overland rider came up to the corral now at a jog trot, the bronco covered with white foam, the cowboys broke loose. shrill cowboy yells, whoops and cat calls and a rattling fire of revolver shots into the air greeted her achievement. "grab him, you duffers!" shouted hi lang, running toward the bronco as he saw grace wavering on her saddle. "can't you see that game kid's all in?" it was only by the exercise of sheer pluck that grace harlowe had held her seat on the saddle throughout that grilling ride. she had fought and won a battle with an "outlaw" pony that many a hard- muscled cowboy had fought only to lose. now that she had conquered, however, grace felt weak and dizzy, and the reaction, she found, was worse than the experience itself. at hi lang's command, half a dozen cowboys had sprung to her assistance, but it was hi who held up his arms to help her down. "fall over. i'll catch you," he urged. grace shook her head and tried to smile. "i--i think i can make it, tha--ank you," she gasped, freeing her feet from the stirrups and slipping limply until her feet touched the ground. for a moment she stood leaning against the bronco for support, one hand clinging to the pommel of the saddle. the guide sought to draw her away, fearful that the pony might spring to one side and let loose a volley of kicks. grace shook her head, her left hand grasped the mane of the pony and she pulled herself to his head. fumbling in her pocket, she drew forth a piece of candy and felt rather than, saw the bronco's lips close over the sweet morsel. "wall, ef thet don't beat the dutch!" exclaimed a cowboy. "a bronc' eatin' outer a lady's hand. what's the alkali flats a- comin' to!" "she's a reg'lar lion tamer, thet's the shorest thing i know," declared another. "hey! what's up now?" grace's fingers had slowly relaxed their grip on the black bronco's mane, a faint moan escaped her lips, and the overland girl slipped down under the pony's neck in a dead faint. the bronco, merely by lifting a forefoot and bringing it down on his conqueror, could have crushed the life out of grace harlowe. instead, the horse arched his neck, curled his head down and nosed her with the nearest approach to affection that any man there ever had seen a bronco exhibit. hi lang gathered the unconscious girl up cautiously and carried her to a safe spot where he laid her down. "get water. everybody stand back and give her air," he directed. "i will look after her," said elfreda brigg hurrying to grace's side. the water, fetched in a cowboy's hat, came hand just as grace regained consciousness elfreda bathed her face from the hat and fanned her with her own sombrero. "what a per--perfectly silly thing for me do," muttered grace, raising herself on elbow. "if you mean riding that wild animal, i agree with you," frowned miss briggs. "i mean the faint. what will these men think of me!" "i reckon if you'll give them a chance they'll tell you what they think," interjected hi lang. "bud, come here," he called, beckoning to one of the wranglers. "this little lady wants to know what you fellows think of a woman who rides a horse and then faints away. tell her." bud stepped up, flushing painfully under his tan, awkwardly fumbling his hat. "ah--ah reckon they think thet you're 'bout the gamest little sport thet ever hit the leather," declared bud. "any feller thet sez you ain't, is a liar and a hoss thief!" bud glared about him as if challenging some one to take up his defi. grace laughed so merrily that, for the moment, she forgot that she was supposed to be in a fainting condition. getting up rather unsteadily, she offered her hand to the cowboy, who, in his embarrassment, instantly dropped his bravado and half held out a limp paw for grace to shake. "them's our sentiments. we double cinch what bud jest articulated, lady," called a cowboy voice. "thank you, bud. thank you all, fellows. it is much higher praise than i deserve," she replied, smiling and waving a hand to the group. "where do you all reckon on goin', miss?" questioned another of the men. grace told him that they had planned to cross the american desert. "and maybe we're going to look for a lost gold mine or a diamond mine or an iron mine down in the specter range, or something equally exciting," added hippy wingate. "reckon there ain't no such animal in these here parts," drawled bud. "if you all need help any old time, ah reckon you all know where to come for it, lady," he added. grace thanked him and said she would remember. "you are not thinking of riding that black bronco, are you!" questioned tom gray. "what's the next move?" "yes, to your first question. we expect to make our start this afternoon, unless mr. lang advises to the contrary. what do you say, mr. lang?" "i reckoned that, after what you've been through, you'd be wishing to lay up for the rest of the day," replied the guide. "that would be the sensible course to follow," agreed grace's husband. "no. no change of plans is necessary so far as i am concerned," she replied. "mr. lang, will you please ask one of the boys to groom blackie--that is what i shall call my pony--and not to be cross with him? i do not wish the little fellow stirred up. i have him temporarily under control, and am certain that after i have ridden him for a day he will be as manageable as the rest of them. where shall we meet you, mr. lang?" "eight here at the corral. three o'clock." hi turned his back on them and walked away to give grace's directions about the bronco to one of the wranglers. "i am going back to the hotel to lie down for an hour," announced grace. "tom, you may go out and do a little shopping for me while i am resting. girls," she said, turning to her companions, "i would suggest that all of you turn in for a beauty sleep. you will need it, for we shall have a hot, dusty ride between here and the mountains, which we shall not reach until some time this evening. if you have any further purchases to make at the general store, you had better make them now, or let tom do it for you. we must be on time at the corral. mr. lang probably has timed our departure to fit certain plans of his own." the girls said they had completed their purchases, and shortly after that all were sound asleep, fortifying themselves for the experiences before them, experiences that were destined to be the most strenuous that they had ever met with, outside of the battle front in france. chapter iii a thrilling moment "we are ready, mr. lang," greeted grace harlowe as she and her party came up to the corral where the guide was supervising the saddling of the ponies for the outfit. the girls now wore the overseas uniforms that they had worn in their ride over the old apache trail. in addition, a red bandana handkerchief was twisted about the neck of each overland rider, in true western style, to keep the alkali dust from sifting down their necks. all the equipment except mess kits and emergency rations, and a canteen of water for each, had been sent forward on the burros in charge of the chinaman, ping wing, whom the overland girls had not yet met. "how is blackie behaving at present, mr. lang?" questioned grace, stepping over towards the guide, who was readjusting the cinch- girth on the little animal. "quiet as a kitten after finding a nest of young mice. better put your revolver in the saddle holster where it will be handy. that's where i carry mine. the lieutenant is stowing his now. never know when the 'hardware' is going to come in handy on the desert." a lump of sugar found its way into the black bronco's mouth from grace harlowe's hand, as she petted and talked to the little fellow. this time his ears were tilted forward, and he stood motionless while his new master was caressing him. the instant grace stepped away, however, the black grew restless. he dragged the cowboy who was holding him and threatened to break away, nor was he quieted until grace herself intervened and, slipping the bridle rein over her arm and leading the pony, walked over to tom gray. "no wonder you are successful in managing a husband," observed tom. "even the dumb animals bow to your will." "now, tom," protested grace laughingly, the color mounting to her cheeks. "that wasn't a bit nice of you." "ready whenever you are, mrs. gray," interrupted the voice of hi lang. grace turned to her husband, the laughter gone from her face. "i shall miss you, tom dear. write to yvonne as often as you can, and to me, but yvonne needs our letters to keep her from getting lonely at school. good-bye and the best of luck, as we used to say when we were in france." grace patted the neck of the black bronco, and tom assisted her to the saddle. blackie began to prance, but, though he threatened to buck, he did not. grace finally subdued him and sat waiting for her companions to mount, all of whom managed the operation successfully, though emma dean was twice nearly unhorsed. the cowboys, as the overland girls observed, were saddled up as if they too were going along, but she supposed they were starting out on some duty connected with their work. all but two of them mounted, and there followed an exhibition of prancing and bucking that furnished amusement and interest to grace and her friends. bud and a companion finally rode up before grace and dismounted, the former removing his sombrero and approaching her awkwardly. glancing inquiringly at mr. lang, grace saw that he was smiling. "bud has something on his mind. i reckon he wants to unload, mrs. gray," announced the guide. "yes, bud?" smiled grace encouragingly. "what is it?" "it's yourself, miss. the bunch here reckoned as i, bein' gifted with the knack of gab, it fer me to speak for 'em. they're tongue- tied when there's a woman on the premises." "what is it the 'bunch' wishes you to say to me?" asked the overland girl. "they seen you bust the black bronc' this morning, and bein' as no female woman ever pulled off a stunt like it in these parts, they reckoned it might not make you mad if they told you you was all to the good." "thank you--thank you all." grace waved a hand and smiled at the eager faces of the cowboys who, lined up on their ponies, just to the rear of bud and a companion, were eagerly hanging on bud's words, but not taking their gaze from grace harlowe's face for an instant. "the bunch reckoned, too, that bein' a champeen mebby you'd take a little present from 'em. i ain't much on spreadin' the dough, even if i have some gab," added bud, floundering for the rest of his speech. "bud, i'm just as excited as you are, and, were i in your place, i should not know what to say next," comforted grace seriously. "what is it that the 'bunch' wished you to give to me?" bud reached a hand behind him, whereupon his companion placed something in it. emma dean whispered to nora that it looked like a blacksnake all coiled up and ready to jump. "this here," resumed the cowboy, holding up the coil that had been passed to him, "is a real mexican lariat, made by a greaser, but real horsehair, and warranted not to kink or to miss in the hands of a lady. the bunch reckons they'd like to give it to you to remember 'em by," concluded bud, stepping forward and handing the lariat to grace. "bud--boys, i don't need anything to make me remember you, but of course i will accept your thoughtful gift. i never threw a rope and could not hit the side of a barn with one, but now that you have given me this beautiful piece of rope i am going to learn to throw it. mr. lang, will you teach me how to rope--to throw the lasso?" the guide nodded. "if we come back this way, i hope i shall see all you boys here, and i will then throw the rope for you and you shall tell me whether or not i am a hopeless tenderfoot." "you ain't no tenderfoot already," called a cowboy. "thank you. good-bye, all." grace waved her sombrero, and, blowing a kiss to her husband, clucked to her pony and was off at a gallop, following in the wake of hi lang, who had already started on. the others of the overland party swung in and the party began its journey. they had gone but a short distance when, hearing shouts to the rear, they turned to discover the cowboys racing toward them in a cloud of dust. "what do they want, mr. lang!" called grace, urging her pony up to him. "i reckon they're coming out to give you a send off," answered the guide. as they approached, the cowboys spread out and began circling the galloping overlanders, yelling, whooping and firing their revolvers into the air. now and then one's sombrero would fly off, whereupon a following cowboy would swing down from his saddle and scoop up the hat. ropes began to wiggle through the air as the western riders sought to rope each other. they were giving grace harlowe a demonstration of what western roping was, and, as she rode, grace observed and enjoyed, as did her companions. suddenly a rope darted into the air behind her, and, had she not seen its shadow, grace surely would have been caught. interpreting that shadow for what it was the overland rider threw herself forward on her pony's neck just as the loop descended. it dropped lightly on her back, but she was out from under it in a flash, and, as she sped on, she turned a laughing face to the roper, who was being rewarded by the jeers of his companions who had chanced to see him make the cast and fail. howling and whooping like a wild indian, another rider shot directly across grace's path, his glee spinning his sombrero as high in the air as he could throw it, intending to ride under and catch it. grace's revolver, the same weapon that she had taken from belle bates, the wife of the bandit of the apache trail, whipped out of its holster in a second. her first shot at the spinning hat missed, but her second shot was a hit. she put a hole right through the crown of the hat. the whooping and yelling was renewed as the owner of the hat scooped it up from the ground and held it up for the others to see. there were two, however, who were taking no interest in the shooting--the cowboy who had tried to rope grace, and a companion who was chasing and trying to rope him in payment for his unsportsmanlike attempt to cast his lariat over grace harlowe's head. the two were darting in and out among the racing cowboys and overlanders at the imminent peril of running down some one; the dust was a suffocating, choking cloud except as they rode ahead, and then only those in the lead were out of the worst of it. the overlanders were coughing and perspiring, and the shouting and shooting at times made conversation well nigh impossible. "what is this, a wild west show?" cried elfreda briggs, riding toward grace harlowe, who was entering into the sport with a zest that set hi lang's head nodding in approval. "the real wild west, elfreda. it is not easy to find, but we have found it in earnest. oh! look at that!" the pursuing cowboy had now roped a hind foot of the pony ridden by the man who had attempted to lasso grace harlowe. the lariat being attached to the pommel of the thrower's saddle, the roped pony went down on its nose, violently hurling its rider to the ground, but the little horse was up in a flash, galloping away and dragging along the rope which it had jerked free from the owner's hands and from the saddle pommel. not only was it dragging the lasso, but also its cowboy rider, who, with one foot caught in a stirrup, was being bumped along on his back over the uneven ground. elfreda briggs, nearest to the fallen cowboy, instantly spurred her pony after the runaway. she was abreast of it in a moment. grasping the bridle of the runaway, elfreda tugged at it with all her might in her endeavor to stop the animal, shouting, "whoa! whoa!" in the meantime, grace on blackie was heading for the scene at top speed, seeking to head off the runaway. others also were trying to stop the animal and rescue the fallen cowboy, but it was elfreda's race, with grace following her. elfreda was clinging desperately to the bridle of the runaway with one hand, the other holding fast to the pommel of her saddle, but despite all her efforts she failed to check the speed of the runaway, leaning over toward it further and further as the space between the two ponies widened. this meant a fall for elfreda, as she suddenly realized. "let go!" cried grace, but elfreda was too busy to hear and still held on to the runaway. the runaway swerved sharply to the right. miss briggs had the presence of mind to kick back with both feet as she felt herself going to fall off. she did this to clear her feet from the stirrups so that when she fell she might not be dragged along on the ground by one foot. she was now leaning too far over to be able to recover her balance on her own saddle. miss briggs suddenly let go of the pommel of her saddle as she felt herself slipping, and threw both arms about the neck of the runaway, to which she clung with all her might. "whoa! whoa!" she gasped chokingly, her feet whipping the ground with every leap of the runaway as she was dragged along. elfreda was taking severe punishment, but she was enduring it pluckily, determined to hang on until either the runaway stopped or her arms came off. grace harlowe drew down rapidly on the runaway and its victims, having so timed her arrival that she succeeded in heading the pony off, with several yards between it and herself. "whoa! whoa!" commanded grace sharply, at the same time hurling her sombrero into the face of the runaway. instead of slowing down, he came on with a rush, and grace, who was now directly in his path, saw that she could not avoid a collision. the bronco ridden by grace braced himself, seeming to know instinctively what was coming. in the next moment the runaway plunged against blackie, and the impact bowled blackie over flat on his side. grace already had slipped her feet from the stirrups, and, when the collision came, she too threw herself on the neck of the runaway. "ha--ang on! we'll stop him!" she cried, her arms now tightly encircling the runaway's neck, her feet dragging on the ground just as elfreda's were. by this time the two girls on the running pony's neck were surrounded by mounted cowboys. "let go! jump clear so we kin rope him!" shouted bud, for the men dared not rope and throw the horse, fearing that he might fall on one of the girls and crush her. the cowboys did not seem to realize that neither girl would let go of her own free will until the runaway had been stopped. the end came suddenly. the heavy burden on his neck was too much for the bronco, and, his knees weakening, all at once he stumbled and went down on his nose, then toppled over on his side, enveloped in a cloud of dust. "they're caught!" shouted hi lang. chapter iv ping wing makes a discovery when the cowboys, with hi lang in the lead, reached the overland girls, they discovered grace harlowe calmly sitting on the runaway bronco's head to hold him down. "get miss briggs out from between the pony's legs. she can't help herself. drag the man out, too. the pony fell on him," urged grace. "are you hurt, mrs. gray!" begged hi anxiously. "no." "and miss briggs!" "i think not. she was a little stunned when we fell with the bronco. hold down his head so i can get to her." surrendering her seat on the bronco's head to a cowboy, grace got up and insisted in removing elfreda from her perilous position. they stood miss briggs on her feet, grace supporting her with an arm about her waist to give elfreda opportunity to collect herself. "how do you feel now!" asked grace. "all--all mussed up," was j. elfreda's characteristic reply. both girls showed the effects of their experience. their hair was hanging down their backs, their uniforms were covered with dust and their faces were grimy from the alkali dirt of the plain. "let me walk you about to see if all your joints function," suggested grace. "they never again will do so properly as long as i live," complained miss briggs. "did the ponies run away? i mean our ponies." "i have been too busy to notice. if you will sit down i will see what i can do for the poor fellow who was dragged." elfreda insisted on assisting, and a moment later both girls were kneeling beside the dazed, but conscious, cowboy whose clothing was in tatters and whose face was scarcely recognizable from the dust that was ground into it. grace moistened her handkerchief with water from her canteen and bathed the man's face, and elfreda, producing a bottle of smelling salts, held it to his nostrils. the cowboy quickly came out of his daze. one arm was doubled up under his body, and this elfreda briggs carefully drew out. the cowboy groaned as she did so. "can you lift your arm!" she asked. "no," gritted the cowboy, his face twisting with pain as he tried to raise the arm. "his left arm is broken," announced elfreda. "men, you must get this poor fellow to town as quickly as possible. i will make a sling to support the arm until you can get him to a surgeon." "do you folks reckon you want to go back to elk run, too?" questioned the guide. "i was about to ask that question of you," replied grace, turning to elfreda. "you should know better than to ask," returned miss briggs. "we will go on, mr. lang. perhaps it is as well that we have been broken in properly at the start. we shall be in better form to cope with real emergencies if such arise," declared grace. "real! huh!" grunted hi lang. "oh, you'll get used to having things happen," soothed hippy wingate. "wherever this outfit goes there is trouble and then some more." "yes, but this is the worst," complained emma dean. "alors! let's go," urged elfreda briggs as she got up after having arranged a sling to support the cowboy's injured arm. their ponies were led up by the cowboys and the girls mounted for a fresh start, grace and elfreda considerably rumpled and both very tired after their lively experience. the cowboys, having loaded their injured companion on a pony, now gave the overland girls a rousing farewell whoop and trotted slowly homeward. hi lang had uttered no comment on what had occurred, but he was keeping up a constant thinking, now and then scowling observingly at his charges. of grace and elfreda he had no doubts, for, in his estimation, they had graduated from the tenderfoot class. the others had yet to prove themselves. the ride was hot and dusty, and, in order to make up for lost time, the party was riding fast, but the ponies, though already flecked with foam, appeared to be as fresh as at the start. "what time do you think we will reach the mountains?" called anne, who was suffering tortures from the heat and dust. "sundown," briefly answered the guide. "it will be worse than this after we reach the desert." "worse!" groaned emma. "i shall expire, i know i shall." the mountains, for which they were heading, were looming larger now, and looked cool and inviting compared to the heat of their present position. "what is that smoke?" asked grace harlowe, as they neared the range, pointing to a thin spiral of vapor rising from the mountains. "i reckon it's in our camp. ping should have chow ready by the time we get there." "you intend to go on this evening, do you not?" asked grace. "yes. you said you were in a hurry to get to the desert." "i shouldn't put it that way, mr. lang, but i am rather eager to get into the real phase of our journey, and eager to know what the desert is like. i have a feeling that i shall love it." "some do--some hate it," replied the guide thoughtfully. "do you hate it?" questioned the overland rider. "i love it," murmured hi lang after a brief silence. "little woman, i love the white sands, the burning heat of the day, the deadly, sweet silence of the night when all the stars come down so close you can almost reach out and touch them. i love the dead odor, and then--" "yes?" urged grace. "i hate it, i fight it--and i win," added the guide in a tone that was almost triumphant. "yet, i'd rather be out there where the starving coyotes howl the night through, where the great, gaunt gray wolves loom up in the night seeking what they may kill and eat, or where a step in the dark may be your last should you tread on a desert rattler. i'd rather be there and face all of that, and the peril of dying from thirst, than be anywhere else in the world," he concluded, and then lapsed into silence. "i understand, mr. lang. it is the lure of the desert that appeals to you, though none knows better than you the perils that lurk there for the unwary traveler. i hope and believe that i may feel as you do about it." "you will, and so will miss briggs. i am not so certain about the others." "when you get to know us better, mr. lang, you will find that, though some of us complain and fret, all are true blue." "humph! beckon i know something about that myself. what i saw to- day shows me that i don't have to worry about you and miss briggs. did you know that ike fairweather wrote me a long letter about you folks!" grace looked her interest. "yes. ike said i'd have my hands full, and that you folks would trot a pace that would make my legs weary trying to keep up with you. said you weren't afraid of anything that walked, crept or crawled." grace laughed merrily. "mr. fairweather is mistaken. i am terribly shy of snakes and-- and--well, i don't know what else" she added lamely. hi lang chuckled under his breath. "yes, that's our camp where you see the smoke. i just caught a glimpse of ping. i reckon when we get closer we'll hear his voice." "we are almost there, girls," grace called back to her companions. "that is ping's smoke you see yonder." "is ping on fire?" answered emma so innocently that the overlanders shouted with laughter, and hi indulged in the hearty, soundless laugh that they had already discovered was characteristic of him. a few moments later a cooling breeze from the range was wafted down to them, heavy with, odors of mountain and foliage and suggestive of cooling mountain water as well. "what's that screeching?" demanded hippy wingate, as they fell into single file and began climbing a narrow mountain trail. "screeching?" answered anne nesbit. "why, that's our celestial being singing a lullaby to the coyotes lurking in their dens." as they drew nearer those in advance could make out some of the words of the song. the guide pointed to a rock, behind which ping was cooking supper, and held up a hand to indicate that the party was to stop and listen. "what on earth, is he saying?" wondered nora wingate. "i should call it a heathen version of 'little jack horner,'" suggested miss briggs. hi nodded. "listen!" urged grace. "i want to hear it. perhaps he will sing it again." the guide said that when ping got started on a song he ordinarily kept it up for some time unless interrupted. "sh--h--h!" warned grace as emma began to laugh. "he is singing again." ping, in a high falsetto voice that was almost a screech, sang: "littee jack horner makee sit inside corner, chow-chow he clismas pie; he put inside t'um, hab catchee one plum, hai yah! what one good chilo (child) my!" the overland girls, unable longer to contain their laughter, burst into a shout of merriment. the song ceased instantly, and a moment later ping appeared at the top of the rock, clad in a white linen suit, the blouse, with its wide-flowing sleeves, being cut in native chinese fashion the queue, which ping had declined to part was tucked into a side pocket, being all braided up and shiny, like a snake. the chinaman, in greeting, bowed and scraped and smiled and shook hands with himself cordially. "hulloa, ping pong! is supper ready?" called hippy jovially. "him come along, top-side piecee heaven pidgin man," answered the chinaman without an instant's hesitation, which, being freely translated, meant, "supper is ready, high heaven-born man." the retort brought a peal of laughter from the girls and a flush to the face of hippy. "all right, old top. you win," was the way hippy confessed his defeat. it was a happy, laughing group that rode around the rock and into the camp where odors of cooking food, and the smiling face of ping wing, met them. horses were quickly unsaddled and tethered, then the guide introduced his charges. ping shook hands with himself at each introduction, and smiled and bowed with a profound grace that would have done credit at a king's reception. "you belongee plenty smart inside," was his greeting to grace harlowe, which she interpreted correctly, ping having meant to convey that, in his opinion, she was an intelligent woman. "thank you. is mess ready?" "les. you belongee one time flance!" he questioned, touching the sleeve of her red cross uniform. "yes, we all were in france. i drove an ambulance there; mr. wingate was an aviator, and the other young ladies worked in hospitals and canteens. how do you know about france?" "me cook-man in melican army. no likee war. belongee too muchee number one blam, blam!" "you mean the shooting? you mean you did not like to have the big german shells come over?" smiled the overland girl. "no likee." hippy's appetite was getting the better him and at this juncture he voiced his desire for food. "come, come, ping. we are hungry. rustle some grub for us, for we may wish to on our way," urged hi lang. ping, thus reminded of his duty, hurriedly gathered the mess kits of the party and soon produced a really fine supper, which the overlanders ate sitting on the ground. "are you people pretty tired?" questioned grace. a chorus of yeses answered her. elfreda briggs said she was so lame that she would be glad never to look at a saddle again, and emma dean declared that her body felt as if it had been sandpapered. "i have been thinking that perhaps we had better make camp right here and go on to the desert some time to-morrow. will that interfere with your plans mr. lang?" asked grace. the guide said it would not, and the girls of the party eagerly urged that they be permitted to stay where they were and have a good night's rest, so it was decided to pitch their little tents on the spot and lay up for the night. "ping tells me that a man visited this camp late in the afternoon and asked a great many questions," hi lang then informed them. "the caller, according to ping, showed a heap of interest in what we were here for, where we were going and what we proposed to do, and said that the best thing for you ladies to do would be to turn about and go back to elk run. do you know of any one who might be interested in heading off your journey over the desert, mrs. gray?" he asked, bending a searching look on grace. "i do not, mr. lang. if i did it would make no difference in our plans. ping may be mistaken about the man's motive." the guide shook his head. "ping wing is not easily deceived. he the caller was a 'number one blad man,' only he expressed it with some further words to emphasize his point. there's something about this business that i don't like. i'll keep my eyes peeled." "don't worry, hi," soothed hippy. "this outfit can take care of any bad characters that get in its way. i--" "merciful heaven! what's that!" cried emma dean. "ping is in trouble!" cried elfreda. a shrill screeching, accompanied by the clatter of tinware, a struggle, then two quick shots brought the overlanders to their feet. there was a quick rush toward the scene of the disturbance, the guide, grace and hippy in the lead as they ran stumbling over the rough ground in the darkness. chapter v stalking a mountain mystery "ping! ping!" shouted the guide. "where are you, ping pong?" added lieutenant wingate. a groan revealed the chinaman's presence. they found him sitting on the ground, rocking back and forth holding the thumb of his right hand. a brief examination revealed that a bullet had clipped off the end of the thumb. "i observe that we have started in early," declared miss briggs. "who did it?" "that's what i want to know," growled hi lang. "let me dress the wound, then you can question him," suggested elfreda. this having been done, ping was led into camp and placed with his back against a rock where the light of the campfire lighted up his countenance. "tell me what happened!" demanded the guide. "big piecee man come 'long. him clawl like dog. him listen to what say." "to what we were saying!" interjected grace. "les. him bad piecee man." hi lang and grace exchanged glances of inquiry. each was wondering what the meaning of what ping had discovered, might be. "what then!" urged mr. lang. "him clawl like a dog." "so you said," piped emma dean. "me clawl like dog too. one timee me tlow can tlomatoes and hab hit piecee man on head." "you threw a can of tomatoes and hit him on the head?" nodded the guide, whereupon emma dean laughed, but no one paid the slightest heed to her. "what did the man do then!" "him jlump. me hit piecee man with flying pan; then me run. him shoot--blam, blam! and run away. hab hit thumb. hab makee me stop, and run away. why for big piecee man makee so fashion?" "we do not know why, ping. that is what we are trying to find out," answered grace harlowe. "can you tell us how the man looked!" the chinaman shook his head. "what would you advise, mr. lang!" she asked. "we must beat up about the camp to make certain that he is not hiding near, then i will stand the watch to-night so that he may not surprise us. i will get out the rifles, but be careful that you don't shoot each other. in case you discover some one prowling, make them stand and put up their hands, then call for assistance. ping, you will stay here. three of us will be sufficient to go out." "whom do you wish to accompany you?" asked grace. "you and the lieutenant will go, if agreeable to you." "it will be more agreeable to go than to stay. elfreda, you will please watch the camp," directed grace. "if disturbed, you know what to do." rifles were laid on the ground by the campfire, hi, hippy and grace having decided that the rifles would be cumbersome to carry, and that their revolvers would be much more serviceable. after hi lang had given final instructions as to how they were to operate, the three started out and soon were out of sight of their companions. a new moon, fast sinking into the west, shed a faint light over the mountains, bringing out the bare spots and deepening the shadows cast by rocks and trees. the stalkers laid their course by the moon so that they might keep going in one direction and not get in each other's way, though some little distance separated them, and only now and then did they come within speaking distance of one another. not a sound did the guide make as he moved forward. grace was almost equally quiet in her movement, but now and then hippy wingate would stumble, followed by a grunt or a growl of disgust that might have been heard several yards away. hippy, being between the guide and grace, knew that two pairs of ears were alert for any fumbling on his part, which irritated more than it helped him to be quiet. grace finally halted at the edge of an open space, faintly lighted by the moon's rays, and waited watchfully before attempting to cross the open spot. crouching low, she gazed and listened, every faculty on the alert. the overland rider's heart gave a jump when she saw something move out there behind a clump of bushes. with revolver at ready, she waited, then leveled the weapon as something moved out from behind the bushes. "a coyote," she whispered to herself. "he hasn't heard me." he heard her whisper, however. the alert ears tilted forward as the beast halted; then he bounded away and disappeared in a twinkling. grace was now well satisfied that she was proceeding with sufficient caution. if she could approach a keen-eared coyote without disturbing it, how much easier would it be to stalk a human being. having decided upon this, grace got up and stepped into the moonlit space, feeling more confidence in herself. she had barely reached the middle of the open space when, from the other side, and plainly at close range, a revolver banged. she heard the bullet, as it sped past her head too close for comfort. without an instant's hesitation, grace fired two shots from her revolver at the flash made by the other weapon, then throwing herself on the ground, wriggled away into a shadow and lay flat on the ground, screened by the short shrubbery and the unevenness of the ground. two shots were now fired from the other weapon, aimed, as nearly as she could see, at the place where she had thrown herself down. to the last two shots grace made no reply. she lay waiting, hoping that the person who had fired them, would come out and show himself. this he was too wary to do, and finally, becoming impatient, she groped for a stone, and, finding a small piece of rock, flipped it into the air, so that it might fall some little distance from her, hoping thereby to draw the other's fire. still there was no response from her adversary. "he must have slipped away, and here i have been waiting all this time, afraid of what proves to be nothing. i'm going to start on," decided the overland girl. instead of getting up where she was, grace crawled further to the right for some little distance, until she was in a heavier shadow. there she arose cautiously, weapon at ready, prepared to see a flash and hear the report of a weapon. not a sound nor a movement followed her revealing herself. grace now pushed on with still greater caution than before, but rather more rapidly, believing that her companions by this time had gained a considerable lead over her. the moon was getting lower, grace observed, and soon the range would be enveloped in darkness, though she was certain that she could find her way back by the stars, from which she already had taken her bearings. in the meantime, hi lang, having heard the exchange of shots, had started for the scene at a long, loping trot, now and then giving an agreed upon signal whistle to warn lieutenant wingate of his approach. hippy had heard the shots too, but his orders were to keep his position and continue on until directed to stop. as hi got within speaking distance of him, hippy challenged. "move forward and keep going until i fire three signal shots to call you in," directed the guide. "the man may run along the ridge. wing him if you see him. he may have shot mrs. gray. both of them fired. there they go again!" hi lang was off at top speed. grace, in the meantime, thinking that she had heard a twig snap, halted sharply. then, to her amazement, a man stepped out into the light a few yards to the rear of her. she saw him the instant he emerged from the shadows, and he was looking in the direction of the overland camp. "now i have you!" muttered grace harlowe, taking a cautious step toward the man who was standing with his back toward her. "put up your hands! i have you covered!" she commanded sharply. the man whirled like a flash and fired point blank at the overland girl. grace fired almost in the same instant. so close was he to her when he fired that she imagined she could feel the hot powder strike her face. each fired again. it was close quarters for grace. she sprang to the right hoping to disconcert her adversary and make a more difficult mark for him to hit. he pulled the trigger of his revolver, and, at that second, grace, uttering a little gasp, toppled over, half turning as she plunged forward with arms outstretched. black night instantly enveloped the overland rider, nor did she hear a rattling exchange of shots that followed almost instantly after her fall, for consciousness had left her. chapter vi into the great silence hi lang had reached the scene just as the last shots were being fired by grace and her adversary. the guide had seen neither of the combatants, but he had seen the flashes of their revolvers. at first he was not certain which was which, but in a moment the man who had been shooting at grace revealed himself for a second. it was then that the guide took a hand. hi lang was a quick and accurate hand with both revolver and rifle, and he feared no man, nor collection of men. at his second shot he heard his man utter an exclamation and knew that he had scored a hit. for the next several minutes the two indulged in snap-shooting, firing at the slightest sound or movement; then the mysterious stranger suddenly ceased firing. the guide was cautious. he did not take advantage of the lull in hostilities for some little time, and when he did he crawled to one side and crept noiselessly around to the position that the stranger had occupied when he had fired his last shot. the man had disappeared. mr. lang was anxious about grace harlowe, but it might be equivalent to suicide to search for her until he had satisfied himself that his adversary was either wounded or had gone away. finally, having searched all the surrounding bushes and rocks and finding no one, he returned to the scene of the shooting, softly calling to the overland girl. there was no response. hi stood still for a moment trying to recall where he had seen the flash of her weapon. "it must have been about where i am standing now. i--" hi lang suddenly disappeared from sight. the guide had fallen into a crevice in the rocks, a crevice that had been hidden by dwarf shrubs and mountain grass, and it seemed a long way to the bottom. hi bumped his way to the bottom at the expense of some bruises and a badly ruffled temper. "hulloa!" he exclaimed. "what's this?" he had touched something that was not rock--something that felt like a human form. the guide struck a match and peered down at grace harlowe, who lay face down at the bottom, and, as he turned her face up to the light, he saw flecks of blood on it. "the hound! he hit her! i'll kill him for that, whoever he may be!" placing a hand over grace's heart, hi lang found that she was alive. "thank god for that! give me the luck to meet the critter that did this thing," breathed the desert guide. hi lifted the unconscious overland girl in his arms and began scrambling toward the top of the big crevice. finding that he could not make it without freeing one hand, he slipped an arm about grace's waist, holding her with it while he used his free hand to assist him in climbing to the top. he reached it a little out of breath. without giving a thought now to the peril he was inviting by showing himself so boldly, hi stepped out into the open space, raised his revolver and fired three shots into the air, the signal of recall for lieutenant wingate. then, gathering grace in his arms, he started for the camp in long strides, raging silently at the ruffian who had tried to kill her. elfreda, who was on watch just outside of their camp, heard him coming and challenged. "it's hi. i've got mrs. gray." "is--is she hurt?" questioned elfreda more calmly than she felt. "she's been shot, but she's alive." miss briggs ran to meet the guide, and, walking along at his side, she placed a finger on grace's pulse and held it there until they reached the camp. nora, anne and emma paled as they caught sight of the limp figure in hi lang's arms. "who shot her!" asked elfreda. "the critter who tried to kill ping, i suppose." "oh, this is terrible!" wailed emma. "get water," directed miss briggs, after the guide had placed her where the light from the fire would shine in her face. nora fetched water from the spring near which the camp had been pitched, and elfreda bathed the wound that she found on grace's head. elfreda's hospital training during the war, in france, had already stood her in good stead on several occasions since her return from europe. "this is not a gunshot wound," she announced after a critical examination of the patient's head. "not--not a gunshot--" exclaimed hi. "no. it is a severe scalp wound, however." "what made it, then?" demanded the guide. "either she has been struck over the head or she has fallen and bumped her head against the sharp edge of a rock," answered miss briggs. the overland girls drew long breaths of relief. "i found her in a hole in the ground. fell into it myself. that's where she got hurt," said hi. "she and that critter were shooting at each other when i came up, then all at once the shooting stopped. i got in a few shots on him myself. reckon i winged him for he quit pretty soon after i got there. what do you think?" elfreda, still noting grace's pulse and peering into her face, nodded encouragingly, and placed her smelling salts under grace's nostrils. "i feared it might be a fracture, but i believe it is not that bad. concussion is the word. she must have struck hard, and it is a wonder she did not break her neck. you see how the neck is swollen. her pulse is getting stronger, and i think she will be out of her faint in a few moments." grace regained consciousness shortly after that, but she was still dizzy and weak from the severe shock of her fall and the loss of quite a little blood. "where--where was i hit!" was her first question, weakly asked. "you were not hit anywhere," replied elfreda. "you fell into a hole and landed on your head. mr. lang, will you carry her to her tent? she must be quiet for the rest of the night, and it won't do for us to start across the desert until she has had a good rest." "that suits me. i've got a little job on hand for the morning. here's the lieutenant," he added, as hippy came in, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. "what's this! brown eyes knocked out again?" he demanded. "she fell down and hurt herself," answered elfreda. "what was the shooting, hi?" "mrs. gray and that critter out there were doing it. i reckon she pinked the pirate, for he was shooting with his left hand when he opened up on me. i reckon i touched him up too, and, getting enough of it, he cleared out. i'll get him for that," added hi, gathering grace up and carrying her to her tent. "to-morrow we'll go out and see if we can't round up that critter. can't do anything to-night except to see that he doesn't do any more damage to this outfit." "i think i'd like to get a shot at him myself," observed hippy. "there, mrs. gray! you keep quiet. if there's any more scouting to be done this evening, the lieutenant and i will do it," directed the guide, laying down his burden. hippy nodded. "lieutenant, what do you think of this business? are you certain that you folks haven't any enemies!" asked mr. lang when the two had walked out beyond the camp and sat down to talk over the affair. "not that i know of, in these parts, hi." "it's mighty queer. i can't figure it out," pondered the guide. "have you any?" asked hippy carelessly. "reckon i have plenty. they know better'n to cross my trail, though." "it strikes me, hi, old man, that one of them crossed your trail this evening," chuckled hippy wingate. the guide made no reply then, and for some moments thereafter occupied himself with his own thoughts. "you asked me just now if i had any enemies. i'll say this, lieu--" bang! bang! two quick shots were fired from behind hippy and the guide. one bullet passed between the two men, the other clipped the crown, of lieutenant wingate's sombrero. the answer came, it seemed, within a second after the two shots. hippy and the guide leaped to their feet, drawing their revolvers as they did so, and emptying them into the bushes, firing low and trying to cover all the ground where a man might be lurking. "as you were about to say," drawled hippy, slipping another clip of ammunition into his revolver. "that there is one man who might and would get me if he thought he could get away with it. but why should he wish to shoot a woman? crawl out to the left and then go in and let the folks know everything is all right now. i'm going to hang around a bit and try to tease that cayuse into shooting at me again." "they're at it again," complained grace harlowe in her tent. "go out, elfreda, am see if any one is hit." hippy was reassuring the girls when elfreda came out. "humph!" exclaimed miss briggs. "we surely are making a brilliant start. i think i shall be glad to get on the desert. one can see such a long way there. grace is anxious to know about those shots, so i will run in and tell her. are you going out again, hippy?" "not unless i get a word from hi. you see i do not know where he is, and it would not be safe for either of us were we both to be out there without either knowing where the other is." ping, wide-eyed, was an eager listener to what lieutenant wingate had to say, but he made no comment, and no song that fitted the situation found expression on his lips. an hour passed, and the guide had not returned. the girls were getting anxious, but hippy said that, no shots having been heard, it was safe to assume that no one could have been hit. no one had, and all this time hi lang, almost within sound of their voices, had been lying flat on top of a rock, listening with every faculty on the alert. for two hours the guide remained in one position, watching, waiting and eagerly hoping. "one shot--just one second when i can see my mark, is all i ask," he muttered. "i'll get that shot yet!" a few moments later hi crept down from his hiding place and returned to camp, on the alert every second of the way for the report of a revolver and the whistle of a bullet. "this beats me," he declared in answer to hippy's question as to whether or not he had discovered anything. "you folks turn in, how's mrs. gray?" "asleep," answered miss briggs. "i think she will be ready for a start some time to-morrow." the guide told lieutenant wingate to turn in also, saying that he would watch the camp through the night, so the overland riders went to bed for what sleep they could get, but they passed a restless night, starting up at every sound, listening for the report of rifle or revolver or a call for help. nothing disturbing occurred. shortly after daylight, grace got up and dressed and went out to breathe in the invigorating, sweet mountain air. she felt strong and able to meet whatever emergency she might be called upon to face. hi lang was nowhere in sight. ping, who was fussing with a cook fire preparatory to getting breakfast, shook his head when grace asked him where the guide was. "no can tell," he said, caressing his injured hand. breakfast was served at seven o'clock, but long before that grace had been out looking for trail signs and finding some, though she could not tell whether they had been left by a prowler or by one of her own party. it was eleven o'clock that forenoon when hi lang strode into camp, his rifle slung under one arm, a heavy revolver on either hip. the greeting of the girls brought a smile to the face of the guide. they were relieved and glad to see him, and he saw it. he also was glad to be with them once more, for, in the brief time he had known them, he had grown to feel a genuine affection for these bright-eyed, plucky young women who preferred to spend their vacation on his beloved desert rather than dance away the weeks of their vacation at some fashionable summer resort. "mr. lang, where have you been?" cried emma dean. "out looking for game," he answered briefly, laying aside his rifle. "did you find it?" asked grace smilingly. "no. ping, bring me some chow. how you feeling this morning, mrs. gray?" he asked after he had begun eating his breakfast. "fit and fine, sir. you found a trail, i take it," she added in a lower voice. "yes." hi gave her a quick look of appreciation for her keenness. "you hit your man all right. i found blood where he was standing when you two were shooting at each other. i also found the trail, further on, the trail of the same man and another. there were two of them." "i wonder which, one it was that put a hole through my perfectly new hat," grumbled hippy. "at least one of them has left the range," resumed the guide. "i found the trail of a pony and footprints of one man on the other side of the range, but what became of the other fellow, i don't know. i'm going out again after breakfast and look further. do you feel like making a start to-day?" "yes. i think we should be moving," replied grace. "we'll leave after chow this evening. better get what rest you can to-day. lieutenant, i wish you would stick around and see that the camp is not bothered." "if you need him, mr. lang, we can protect ourselves. do not worry about us," interjected grace. "don't need him. ping, put some grub in my pack, then i'm off." after the guide's departure time dragged rather heavily for the girls. later in the day grace took her pony out for a gallop and felt better for the change. at four o'clock mr. lang came in, and, though he had been up all night and had been hiking in the mountains all day long since early morning, he appeared fresh and alert. "pack up and get out!" he ordered, nodding to ping wing. "serve the grub on our mess kits first. follow the foothills and we will catch up with you. i give it up, folks. this mystery has got to solve itself. it's too much for me." "don't worry, mr. lang. if our friend the mystery man keeps at us long enough we shall catch him. i wish we knew why he is bothering us so," said grace. "i should prefer to stay here until we solve the mystery, but we must be on our way, and perhaps he may follow us." "that sounds interesting," observed miss briggs. ping and his lazy burros started about an hour before the rest of the party got under way, and when they did get under way they jogged along slowly through the foothills of the range, where the going was fairly easy. the guide said they should come up with ping before dark, and that they would, after having mess, then continue on at a slower pace until they reached a suitable camping place for the night. dusk was upon them when they finally overtook the chinaman, who was sitting on the rump of a burro chattering to his mount to get him to go faster, but without much success. the ponies of the party then took the lead, which, hi lang said, would induce the burros to move faster in an effort to keep up, but it was a much slower pace than the overland riders were in the habit of traveling, that they now dropped into. night enveloped the outfit suddenly, it seemed to them, and with the cool of the evening their spirits rose. even ping's spirits rose, until he forgot his aching thumb and broke into song. the ground began to slope away under the hoofs of the horses, for they were now moving down a sharp descent, and the air seemed to take on a strange new quality, a new odor. no longer could the girls hear the rustling of foliage. a great and impressive silence settled over them, in which even the footfalls of the ponies were soft and subdued. glancing up, they saw the stars shining with a brilliancy that none of the party had ever observed before. the chatter of the overland riders died away, and ping wing's song died away, also, in a throaty gurgle. "what is it?" cried emma dean. "i feel queer, and my pony is trembling. oh, grace, i'm afraid of something." grace knew what it was that was disturbing emma, for she felt something of the same sensation that emma was experiencing, but she made no reply. "it is the desert!" answered the guide solemnly. "it is the mystery of the desert, a mystery that no man can solve. perhaps it is the mystery of centuries; perhaps it is the spirits of the thousands who have perished here on this sweet, cruel sea of burning sand, that have come back to warn us living ones of the fate that may be in store for us who dare." "the mystery of the desert," murmured grace harlowe, but hi lang spoke no more. his lips seemed sealed, though could they have seen his face they would have observed a new and more tender expression there, and seen him inhale in deep breaths, heavy draughts of the faintly scented air of the desert that he both loved and hated. chapter vii the first desert camp "how far do we go to-night?" asked grace, after a long silence, during which the party moved steadily forward. "until we find a tank," was the brief reply uttered by hi lang. "what's that he says?" questioned hippy. "mr. lang says that we must keep on going until we reach a tank, whatever that may be," answered grace. "will you please explain, mr. lang?" "tank is a water hole covered by a thin crust of alkali. sometimes the crust is there but the water isn't," the guide informed her. "do you know where to find one?" questioned hippy. "i know where one ought to be, but you can't most always tell. ought to reach this one about midnight. if we get water there we will be all right. go easy with your canteens, for if we shouldn't find water you will need what you have." "mine is all gone now," spoke up emma dean. "may i have a drink of yours, grace? my throat is burning." "one little swallow," admonished grace, passing her canteen to emma. "you heard what the guide said." "yes, you'll wish you were a camel before you have done with this journey," added lieutenant wingate. too weary to talk, anne and nora were nodding on their saddles, but elfreda was wide awake and alert, filled with a wonder that was akin to awe at the vast mysteriousness of the desert night. it was shortly after midnight when hi lang halted and sat surveying his surroundings. "dismount and rest!" was his brief command. the overland girls slid from their saddles, and the guide, after handing his bridle-rein to ping, strode off into the darkness. "oh, this is terrible!" wailed emma. "i know i shall expire." "good! then we shall have a little peace," retorted hippy laughingly. "don't," begged grace. "the poor girl really is suffering, but when she gets used to the heat and discomforts out here i think she will really enjoy it." grace petted the wet neck of her pony and he nosed her cheek and nibbled at the brim of her sombrero. "how do you feel, elfreda?" "as if i had been wearing a mustard-plaster suit. i am burned from head to foot." "yes, that's the way i feel," cried emma. "what is good for it, grace?" "sand," interjected miss briggs, which sally caused a laugh and made the girls feel better. at this juncture hi lang came up to them, walking briskly. "stake down and make camp," he ordered. "you have water?" questioned hippy. "yes. ping! hustle your bones. get some firewood and make a blaze so we can see what we're doing. when that is ready, get supper ready, and then pitch the camp." "firewood!" scoffed hippy. "i should like to know where you are going to find it?" "sagebrush! plenty of that hereabouts." hippy could not understand how a fire could be made from green sagebrush, but he waited to be shown before making further comments. in a few moments the chinaman had a little fire blazing, the guide and hippy, in the meantime, having staked down the ponies and relieved the burros of their packs. the burros were left to roam where they would, hi assuring his charges that the pack animals were too lazy to run away. the girls, while ping was preparing a light supper for them, set to work to pitch the tents. carrying canvas buckets, hippy and the guide then hurried to the water hole. "it won't do to wait for the water, for it has a habit, in this country, of suddenly disappearing while you wait," explained hi. "yes, but where's the water?" wondered lieutenant wingate, as hi got down in a hole that he had opened by breaking down the crust with his boots. "give me that blanket and i'll show you," he said, reaching for a canvas square, which he spread out in the opening and pressed down with his hands. in a few moments water began seeping up through the blanket, which was so placed that it was lower in the middle than at the sides. "that beats me," marveled hippy. "how did you know there was water here?" "i didn't. i knew where i found it the last time i was this way, but that didn't mean it would be here this time. these desert underground streams shift their courses almost as often as the wind does. hand me a bucket." two buckets were finally filled and passed up to hippy. "water the ponies first. give them only a little at first. they're too warm to drink their fill. when you come back bring the red buckets for water for us to drink," directed the guide. hippy, marveling at the ways of the desert, took the buckets and began watering the ponies. the two bucketfuls answered for four of them, and by the time he returned to the water hole hi had two more bucketfuls ready for him. in this way all the ponies and the burros were supplied with water, and hi, working as fast as he could, filled all the buckets for the night's use of man and beast, then scrambled out of the water hole. "i hope we still find water here in the morning," he said. "what if we do not?" "then we go without it, lieutenant. one has to get used to thirst out here. you will see many a dry day before we finish our journey." "hm--m--m--m!" mused hippy reflectively. "him come along," cried ping wing in a shrill voice, meaning that supper was ready, as the two men with their water buckets entered the camp. "four meals a day, eh?" grinned hippy. "that is what i call the proper thing. i shall have to readjust myself so as to know how to live on four meals a day, but i am so hungry now that you can see right through me." "we always could," teased miss briggs. now that the supper was ready, ping piled more sagebrush on the fire and made a blaze that lighted up the little desert camp, its white tents standing out clearly defined in the light and appearing very small. just beyond them the "crunch, crunch" of the ponies' teeth as they tore at the sage, which was to be their only food for a long time to come, could be heard, and it really was a soothing sound in this sea of silence and mystery. there was bacon, biscuit with honey, and tea for their midnight luncheon. emma and hippy were first to try the bacon, but no sooner did they taste of it than they began to choke and sputter. "awful! what stuff are you feeding me?" cried emma. "yes, some one is trying to poison us," groaned hippy. "what's the matter?" grinned the guide. "it is the most awful stuff i ever put in my mouth, so bitter i simply can't eat it," complained emma. grace smiled. she had nibbled at a slice of bacon and knew instantly what caused its bitter taste. "alkali," the guide told them. "everything you eat and drink out here will taste bitter, but time you will not notice the bitter taste." emma uttered a suppressed wail. there were complaints from each of the other girls, except grace, who, though she disliked that bitter taste as much as did her companions, was too plucky to voice her dislike. "you must make certain that your tents are cleared of tarantulas before you take off your shoes, folks. if you get out of bed in the night be certain to put your shoes on first so you do not step on one of the pesky fellows," warned the guide. "any other cheerful little features about this camp that you can think of?" asked hippy solemnly. "plenty, but i'll tell you about them some other time, unless you discover them for yourselves before then." "i wish to goodness that i had gone to the seashore where the worst that can happen to one is to be pinched by a crab or to drown in the surf," complained emma. a laugh cleared the atmosphere, and the girls, immediately after supper, prepared for bed, which they welcomed eagerly; and soon after that the camp settled down for the night, enveloped in deep and profound silence. a gentle breeze, sweetly cool after the burning heat of the day, crept in and lulled the tired overlanders to sleep. now and then the silence was broken by the far off echoing scream of a prowling coyote or the distant hoot of an owl. but the overlanders did not hear. they were sleeping soundly, storing up energy for the coming day, a day that was destined to be filled with hardships and excitement and peril for them. chapter viii callers drop in heat waves were shimmering over the eastern horizon when the overland girls awakened next morning. the guide had been up since daybreak fetching "bitter water," as the girls called it, and serving it to the ponies and burros. "whew!" exclaimed elfreda. "this looks like a warm day." "regular russian bath day," agreed anne nesbit. "i fear we girls will not have any complexions left after this journey," added nora wingate. "i wonder if that husband of mine is still asleep?" "hippy is always sleeping--when he isn't awake or eating," declared emma ambiguously, causing a laugh at her expense. "you folks made a mistake that time," chuckled hippy from the adjoining tent. "everybody makes mistakes. that's why they put erasers on lead pencils," retorted emma quickly. "good night!" they heard hippy wingate mutter, after which he relapsed into silence, while a shout of laughter greeted emma's sally. "come, girls, turn out," urged grace. "we have a day ahead of us." breakfast was ready when they emerged from their tents, and this time they ate without complaining of the bitter taste of food and water. the sun came up while they were at breakfast, lighting up the cheerless landscape and whitening the sands. the mountain range where they first camped had disappeared in the distance and they were alone in the burning silence. ahead, here and there, ugly buttes lay baking in the morning heat, some showing a variety of dazzling colors, others a dull leaden gray. "how far do we go to-day, hi?" questioned lieutenant wingate. "until we find water," was the brief, but significant reply. after breakfast, and while ping, singing happily, was striking camp and packing the equipment on the burros, mr. lang and hippy brought in and saddled the ponies, turning each one over to its rider as it was made ready; then the start was made. hippy wingate, the girls observed, held a small package under one arm, which he guarded so carefully that it aroused the curiosity of his companions, but hippy merely grinned in response to their questioning. as the sun rose higher the heat became well nigh unbearable to some of the party, and especially to emma, if one were to judge by her bitter complaints. emma declared that she never could live through it, and grace began to have doubts herself with reference to her little friend. as they progressed, the landscape grew more and more desolate and forbidding. gaunt ravens soared staring over the wan plains, hairy tarantulas now and then hopped from the path of the ponies, and the "side-winder"--the deadly horned rattlesnake, which gets its name from its peculiar side-long motion as it crawls across the burning sands--squirmed out of the way, following snorts of fear from the ponies. they halted at noon, for a rest and a light luncheon, near one of the barren buttes. grace asked if it would not be possible to find a resting place on the butte where they might shade under a rock. hi lang shook his head. "too many snakes up there," he replied. "dangerous!" "br--r--r--r--r!" shivered emma. the water carried in canvas receptacles on the burros was apportioned among the horses and burros, but there was only a small quantity left for each animal, not more than a quart apiece. this, however, was enough to take the keen edge from their thirst. following the resumption of the journey, hippy carefully unwrapped his package, eager eyes observing the operation. the girls gasped when he threw the wrapping paper away and revealed a dainty blue silk parasol, which he raised and held over his head. "every man his own shade tree," chuckled hippy. "if any of you ladies find you are being overcome by the desert heat, you are at liberty to ride in the shadow cast by my christmas tree." "you are very considerate. we thank you," answered anne. "selfish!" rebuked emma. hi lang laughed silently, but made no comment. neither heat nor hardship appeared to affect him unpleasantly. hi, grace observed, appeared always to be in a listening attitude, as if he were expecting something or some one. grace asked him why he did so, but the guide merely smiled and rode on with head slightly tilted to one side, listening, listening! early in the afternoon the guide began looking for water, now and then dismounting to search about for a tank, breaking in crusts of alkali, putting an ear to the ground to listen for the murmur of an underground stream, or feeling with his hands over several yards of hot sand in search of a cool spot that might indicate water. "nothing doing yet," he announced. "there ought to be a tank about five miles further on." however, they had journeyed on ten miles more before a promising spot was reached, and the guide and hippy began to dig for the precious water that hi said surely was somewhere below them. they found it finally, but there was so little of it that he was not certain that they would get enough for their ponies. there was but little water left in the canteens, none at all in the bags, and it became necessary to find a supply sufficient for both ponies and riders. "every drop here is precious," warned the guide. "be careful that you do not spill any." water was first carried to the ponies, small quantities being given to them as before, the girls assisting in the operation, and the supply was getting alarmingly low when grace, returning from carrying a quart to blackie, suddenly halted and gazed off across the desert. a cloud of dust, that appeared to be approaching, had attracted her attention. the overland girl wondered if it was a wind-squall, such as she had heard was quite common on the desert. after watching it for a few moments she decided to speak to the guide and call his attention to it. "i see it. it's horses," said elfreda, stepping up beside grace. "do you think so?" "i know it is." "then your eyes are better than mine," answered grace. "i suppose it is some party headed for elk run. mr. lang!" she called. "what is it?" demanded hippy, who was standing over the hole in which the guide was working. "a party of horsemen coming this way, sir!" "you don't say! that's right, hi," said hippy, speaking to mr. lang. "quite a bunch of them, too, i should say." the guide's head appeared above the rim of the water hole and he gazed searchingly at the oncoming alkali cloud. "bunch of cowboys or wild horse hunters," he observed. "anyway, we've got first claim on the water." hi returned to his work and hippy resumed passing water to the girls, but kept the approaching horsemen under observation, as did also grace harlowe. "those fellows are kicking up an awful lot of dust, it seems to me," observed nora wingate. "yes, i hope they slow down before passing us," answered anne. "i have swallowed about all the dust to-day that i can digest." emma dean, not to be outdone, declared that she too had swallowed a lot of dust--so much of it that a good wind would blow her away and sift her over the desert. "you surely would be the plaything of the winds in that event," murmured anne. "they are heading directly for the camp," hippy was saying to hi lang, but the guide gave no heed. he wished to get all the water out of the tank that he possibly could before the party reached them, knowing very well that they, the newcomers, would also want water. a few moments later the desert riders galloped up on foaming ponies. they were not a prepossessing looking lot, and the eight men of the party carried rifles in their saddle boots and revolvers on their hips. "water!" shouted the one who appeared to be the leader. "here's water, old top, but pass it around. we haven't much, of the alkali beverage on hand this evening." hippy handed up a partially filled bucket to one man and another to the rest until each man had been supplied. "i'll take the buckets now," announced hippy. "hey, you! where you all headed for?" demanded hi, straightening up and surveying the newcomers narrowly. "reckon we might ask the same question of you. who's them gals?" questioned the leader. "that is none of your business who they or we are!" retorted hippy wingate sternly. "say, you fellow! looking for trouble?!" demanded hi in an even voice. "pass that bucket to me!" commanded hippy. "ye want thet bucket, hey?" leered the desert rider. then, quick as a flash he emptied the contents of it over lieutenant wingate's head. "get ready for trouble," ordered grace harlowe sharply to elfreda briggs, at the same time raising her right hand above her head, a signal that emma, anne and nora understood. it was the overland riders' signal of distress and meant that all hands should instantly prepare to defend themselves. all the girls expected to see hippy's revolver out of its holster after that insult. instead, the desert rider was violently yanked from his saddle and stood on his head in the sand. so quick had lieutenant wingate been in unhorsing the man that the ugly visitor had not even time to draw his weapon. up to this juncture, hi lang had remained in the water hole, industriously dipping up water, at the same time keeping a wary eye on the progress of affairs above. he did not think best to take a hand until hostilities actually began, knowing that were he to spring out and draw his weapon, the desert riders would shoot before his revolver was out of its holster. peering out cautiously he saw that every man of the desert riders was resting a careless hand on the butt of his revolver. at the same time hi observed something else in the opposite direction. grace harlowe and elfreda briggs had stepped up close to the water hole and each was standing with a hand on her hip. the situation was resting on a hair trigger, and, even in the tenseness of the moment, hi lang found himself keenly interested in what he saw--the overland riders in action. the leader of the newcomers sprang to his feet raging. hippy wingate, now close to the man, pushed the flat of his hand against the fellow's face. "get off my desert, you imitation rough-neck," invited hippy sweetly. in the same breath he added in a savage tone: "keep your hand away from that gun!" emphasizing his command by thrusting the muzzle of his own revolver against the desert rider's stomach. the visitor's back was toward his companions, so that they did not get the full import of what was taking place, but they looked their amazement when they saw their leader turn his back on hippy. they did not know that he was doing this in obedience to lieutenant wingate's order, nor that the leader's revolver at that moment was in hippy's hand, hippy having slipped it from its holster while still pressing his own weapon against the man who had ducked him. "i told you to get off my desert," said hippy, incisively. "i've changed my mind. i'm going to kick you off!" lieutenant wingate retreated a step, sprang clear of the ground, and with a kick that had sent many a ball over the goal, he kicked the desert leader into the water hole. hi lang was not so considerate. as the fellow scrambled to his feet, hi laid him flat on his back with a blow between the eyes that instantly put the fellow to sleep. the battle between the two parties of desert travelers was on in a second. chapter ix pirates get a hot reception the desert riders, who had been laughing over their leader's downfall after hippy jerked him from his pony, suddenly awakened to a realization that the scene they had witnessed had ceased to become a joke. the rider nearest to the water hole whipped out his revolver and fired, but the bullet went over hippy's head for the very good reason that, expecting this very thing, he had ducked. hippy fired in return, hit the pony, and the rider tumbled off as the pony went down. hi lang was out of the water hole in a twinkling. "keep your hands off your guns!" he shouted to the visitors, drawing his own weapon. a bullet went through his hat. another spun him around as it furrowed the fleshy part of his left arm, but the man who had fired the second shot got his reward in the next second. a bullet from grace harlowe's revolver went through his shoulder. "let them have it!" commanded hi lang. "they're out to do us!" two rifles, in the hands of anne and nora, banged from the tent in which they, with emma dean, were crouching, waiting for orders to take a hand in the battle. bullets were flying rather thickly, but the desert riders' ponies, under the touching up they were getting from the revolvers of the defenders, were making careful shooting impossible for their riders. the defenders had the advantage of a steady footing under them, and they were shooting with extreme care, trying their best not to kill any one, but endeavoring to punish the attackers, and to keep themselves from getting killed. the grilling fire was getting too hot for the desert ruffians, handy as they were with weapons and horses. several, too, had been hit or unhorsed, though the overland party did not really know how much damage they had done to the attackers. "shoot their ponies from under them!" commanded hi lang. "it's the only way." "no, no! please, not that," protested grace. "the ponies haven't harmed us." the guide shrugged his shoulders and, taking quick aim at a rider who was jerking his rifle from the saddle boot, shot the fellow out of his saddle. hi lang's next shot downed a pony, its rider being thrown heavily to the ground, where he lay stunned from the fall. four men were now down and a fifth, the leader of the party of ruffians, was still in the water tank where lieutenant wingate had kicked him and where the guide had then put him to sleep. the leader had long since recovered consciousness, but, being unarmed, he wisely decided to remain where he was, knowing very well that, were he to try to reach his companions or his mount, he would be shot down. there were now only three mounted men of the attacking party left and these suddenly began galloping away from the water hole. "rifles!" called hi. grace and elfreda sped to their tent and quickly returned carrying four rifles and ammunition. the guide had instantly divined the purpose of the attackers in drawing off. they wished to get out of revolver range of the overlanders and then use their rifles on them, but by the time the desert ruffians turned, facing the scene of their late battle, hi, hippy, grace and elfreda were shooting steadily with their rifles, pouring a hot fire into them. one ruffian was seen to sway in his saddle and pitch to the ground. one of his companions gathered him up, then, with the wounded man across a saddle, the two remaining bandits galloped away, leaving their fellows to whatever fate might be in store for them. "cowards!" growled hippy wingate. "no. common prudence," answered the guide. "help me get the fellows who are down. look out that they aren't playing possum. keep your gun in your hand and watch them. mrs. gray, will you follow a short distance behind us, so that you may have all the wounded men under observation?" "yes, mr. lang." "if you see a suspicious move from any of them, shoot!" "yes, sir. come along, elfreda, your services probably will be needed. mr. lang, you were hit. may we not do something for you first?" the guide shook his head and strode over to the water hole, into which he peered. "you stay where you are!" he commanded sternly, to which there was no reply from the leader of the ruffians, who sat scowling up at him. "mrs. nesbit! watch that fellow and if he tries to get out, drill him! he isn't fit to live anyway." the two men, with grace and elfreda following, went out to disarm and examine the men who had been downed. they found that two had merely been stunned by falls, two others having been wounded in shoulders and arms, with numerous bullet holes through their clothing. elfreda examined their wounds and announced that none was seriously hurt, but that the men ought to be taken where they could have proper attention. hi lang laughed. "fiddlesticks!" he scoffed. "the only way you can kill this sort of critter is to kill 'em. we'll fix 'em up and send 'em on. the ones who got away will be waiting for 'em, so don't worry about that." "i shall dress their wounds and give them whatever further attention i can before you send them away, mr. lang," replied elfreda firmly. grace nodded her approval. "lieutenant, help me carry them in. it is wise to keep them well bunched, you know," advised the guide. while he and hippy were doing this, grace watched the other men. elfreda returned to camp with the first ruffian, and there dressed his wounds, gave the man water and made him as comfortable as possible. she treated the second wounded man with similar consideration. "i do not see that there is anything at all the matter with these men," announced elfreda after examining those who had been stunned by falls. "they should be able to take their wounded companions back with them. are there enough ponies left to carry all?" "i reckon. they're out yonder browsing on the sage. i'll catch them up and stake them down here. when you say the word, we will start these critters off, and good riddance it will be." just before dark elfreda "discharged" her patients, as she expressed it, and they were led to their ponies, assisted to mount, and told to get out as fast as horseflesh would carry them. not a word of information had the guide been able to get from any of them, not even their names nor why they were on the desert. "i've seen that cayuse before," declared hi, referring to the leader, and regarding the rapidly disappearing horsemen with a deep frown on his face. "i can't remember where, but one of these days i'll think of it. too bad we can't turn them over to a sheriff, but we're too far out to go back now." "that gang was looking for trouble when they rode up," averred hippy. "yes, i reckon they were after us. somebody sent them after us, too. got any ideas on the subject, mrs. gray?" "no, sir. i am thinking of you at the moment. where were you hit?" "shoulder." "oh! why didn't you say so?" cried elfreda. "here we have been wasting time on those ruffians and neglecting you. i'll have a look, if you please. which shoulder?" "left. nothing much, i reckon." elfreda bared the guide's shoulder and peered at the wound. she saw that it was merely a superficial flesh wound, but that unless it had attention it might prove to be more serious. with skillful fingers miss briggs bathed the wound and dressed it, hi lang observing the professional manner in which she went about her work and nodding reflectively. "doctor?" he asked. "no, lawyer," replied elfreda with equal brevity. "huh!" grunted the guide. "were you hit anywhere else?" "a few scratches, that's all." miss briggs demanded that he show her, which he did. both lower limbs were, as he had told her, scratched by bullets that had grazed them, and these surface wounds she also dressed. "anyone else needing surgical attention?" she demanded, smiling at her companions, shook their heads. "grace harlowe, how is it that you were not shot? i am amazed. you must have been in the water hole too, hiding from those ruffians." "mrs. gray isn't of the hiding sort," spoke up hi. "reckon we better have supper and get set for the night," he said, turning abruptly toward the south and gazing off over the desert. "do--do you think those men will come back to-night?" questioned emma, half fearfully. the guide shook his head. "not to-night. we'll probably meet up with them again one of these days, and i hope we do," he replied, looking thoughtfully up at the sky. his survey took in all quarters of the compass, and when he turned to the overlanders again, grace thought he looked a little disturbed. "what is it, mr. lang?" she asked. "i reckon it's the desert this time," he replied. "a storm?" "yes." "rain?" questioned grace innocently. the guide grinned. "nothing like that in these parts. wind, mrs. gray. i reckon you'll meet one enemy that you can't drive off, before this night comes to an end. we better have chow now, then make the camp as secure as possible. shall you tell the others?" he asked, nodding toward the overland girls, who, after their exciting battle, were chattering and laughing as they assisted ping wing to prepare the supper. "yes. after we eat. they should know," replied grace. "you see they are not at all upset over what occurred." by the time they had finished supper, which had been eaten amid much teasing and laughter, some one discovered that the stars, before so near and brilliant, were now only faintly discernible, a veil of thin mist having intervened between them and the baking desert. elfreda briggs regarded the overcast sky for a moment, then turned inquiringly to the guide. "fog?" she asked. "no. bad storm. better go to bed with your clothes on to-night," advised the guide. "is it so serious as that, mr. lang?" "it may be. nobody can figure on anything on this desert--storms, water, everything here is as contrary as an outlaw bronco. better turn in soon and have the others do the same, for you may not have long to sleep to-night." "i would suggest that you do the same," advised elfreda. "you need sleep and rest even more than we do. i hear mrs. gray telling our friends to prepare for bad weather, so i will run along and listen. good-night, mr. lang." the overland girls, requested by grace to turn in, after being told that a storm was in prospect, did so, but hippy still remained up talking with ping, who was scouring the cooking equipment and carefully stowing it in the packs so that it might all be in one place in the event that the storm was a severe one. ping wing had had experience with desert wind storms; he had learned to respect their tremendous force, and he too had read the danger signs in the heavens that night. the guide being nowhere in sight, hippy finally crawled into his tent and lay down with his clothes on, first, however, placing his revolver where it might be quickly reached in an emergency, but there was to be no use for his weapon that night. the enemy that he was to face later on would be proof against bullets, an enemy that no human courage, skill or ingenuity could stay. out by the water hole, hi lang sat keeping silent vigil, narrowly watching those film-mists overhead, his nerves on the alert to catch the first cooling breath, which he knew from past experience would be the vanguard of what he fully expected was in store for them. chapter x when the blow fell a faint, cooling breath, wafted across the desert, fanned the cheek of hi lang. he inhaled deeply of it, not once, but several times. "it is here!" he muttered, "i hope it may be a light one." saying which the guide rose and walked briskly to the ponies' tethering ground. the animals were restive, they were stepping from side to side and an occasional snort was heard, but they quieted down when he went among them and spoke soothing words, petting an animal here, restaking another one there until he had spoken to each bronco in the outfit. the guide's next move was to step to hippy's tent and awaken him. "what is it? have the desert pirates returned?" questioned hippy, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. "no! something worse is coming. do not awaken the young ladies just yet. come out i will show you a great sight." hippy sprang up and followed the guide. hi paused by the embers of the camp fire long enough to stamp them out. "so they do not blow about and set our equipment on fire," he explained. "where's the sight?" demanded the lieutenant. "look yonder!" directed hi, pointing toward the western horizon. the mist had disappeared from the sky like magic and the stars once more shone out with all their former brilliancy. off to the westward, however, there were no stars to be seen. in their place, stretched clear across the horizon, lay a cloud, black as ink. "watch the upper edge of the cloud," said the guide in a low tone. "it is rolling like the surf," exclaimed hippy. "yes, and in that cloud are tons upon tons of sand that the cloud is carrying along with it. we'll lose a stretch of our desert here in a few moments." "is there nothing that we can do to protect ourselves, hi?" "not a thing. the equipment has been securely packed. i had ping put the rifles in a sack and stand them upright in a hole in the ground so we may find them after the storm. without weapons we should be in a bad way, especially if our friends, the pirates, return, but i reckon that what's left of that crowd will be pretty well sanded. this storm is going to pile right up on the range that we left behind us." a distant, menacing roar now became audible to the two men, such a roar as one can hear by placing an ear to the opening of a conch shell, but magnified perhaps a million times. the cool breeze, that had shortly before warned hi lang, now became a chill blast, moderate, but plainly thrust ahead by a mighty force behind it. "good night!" exclaimed lieutenant wingate. "that breeze must have been born up in iceland. talk about your heat on the desert! perhaps we shall have some cool weather here after the storm passes." hi lang laughed. "don't fool yourself, lieutenant. it will be hotter than ever to- morrow, blistering, sizzling hot; and the water courses probably will dive deeper into the earth and give us no end of trouble to find them. i---" "it is coming, isn't it?" questioned graces who had been awakened by the breeze and had come up behind hippy and mr. lang without their hearing her. "it's well on the way, mrs. gray. perhaps it might be well to awaken the young ladies. knock down your tents and sit on them or you won't have any tents left. reckon we'd better do the same, lieutenant." it was plain that the storm soon would be upon them and all haste was made to prepare for the blow. the tents were laid flat, weighted with such equipment as might be expected to hold them there, and the overland riders stood or crouched a little fearful in this new mystery of the desert. "getting closer!" announced the guide. "what shall we do?" asked hippy. "lie down when you can no longer stand up, and take pot luck." "any orders, mr. lang?" called grace harlowe. "yes. lie down facing the storm and wind your blankets about you. be sure to keep your heads covered. if you find that the sand is piling up on your backs, shake it off." "if you get buried perhaps you may find a tank down there," suggested hippy, but no one laughed at his sally. "there goes that crazy chinaman again. i hope he chokes." "he will if he keeps his mouth open much longer." ping had broken out in song, which the wind was not yet strong enough to smother. "sometim' you look-see piece sand he walkee mountain high, jist t'hen wind knock top-side off an' blow 'um up to sky. jist so my heart walk up inside--befo' he sinkee down--" that was the last heard of ping wing for some time, the concluding words of his song having been lost in a burst of wind that drowned out every other sound. "down! everybody down!" yelled the guide just before the blast struck them. the sandstorm swooped down on them suddenly, bringing with it black night, a roaring, booming, hideous thing. sand rained on the blankets, covering the girls of the overland riders, and now and then some heavier object, they knew not what, struck one or more of them, adding to the terror of the moment. emma dean struggled and moaned in her fright. her blanket, loosened by her movements, was whisked into the air and out of sight in a twinkling. she screamed for help, but no one heard her, and emma threw herself down in the sand, or was blown over when she struggled to a sitting position. there she lay, her face buried in the sand, sobbing and moaning. not a sound had been uttered by any of the other girls. they were listening, listening, wondering how much longer they would be able to endure the terrific strain under which they were laboring. such wind no person there, except hi lang, had ever dreamed could be possible. grace found herself wondering if the arabian simoon, of which she had read, could possibly be deadlier. she doubted it. by now the girls were fighting to keep from being buried alive, and in their choking, suffocating condition they tried to sit up for air. all lost their blankets instantly. the sand beat on their faces and heads like sharp-pointed tiny hailstones. their eyes were blinded by it, and their bodies burned as if they had been rubbed with sandpaper, but there was nothing that could be done to relieve their suffering because no person could stand up against the mighty force of the wind. the storm, it seemed to them, lasted for hours, though as a matter of fact it had blown itself out within fifteen minutes from the time it struck them. "backbone of the storm is broken," yelled the guide in hippy's ear, both being under the same blanket. "so is mine," hippy howled back. "there's a ton of sand, if there is a pound on it, this very minute. hope the girls are safe. can we get out?" "no. the wind is too strong. it will die out in a few moments. i'll go out the minute i can crawl." the men waited several minutes, during which the gale was steadily decreasing. the guide finally poked his head from under the blanket, shading his eyes with a hand to keep the blowing sand out, before opening them. "cover your eyes and come on," he said, crawling out and starting to beat his way against the gale toward the spot where the overland girls were supposed to be. they were huddled together, with their arms about each other to keep from being blown away, every head resting on an arm as they lay face down on the ground. "stand up, but protect your eyes," shouted hi. "gale's almost over and done for." "so--o--o are we," gasped grace, staggering to her feet, and almost instantly landing on her back on the ground where the wind had hurled her. hi assisted her to her feet, grace laughing and choking at the same time. the others, in turn, were lifted up by hi and hippy, all leaning against the wind, clinging to each other, and, with handkerchiefs in their mouths, breathing what air they could get in this way without taking in any more sand than they could help. the wind stopped with a suddenness that left every one of the party unprepared. the result was that they fell forward on their faces, and for a few moments there was a mixup that, in ordinary circumstances, would have brought merry peals of laughter, but there was no laughter this time. the eyes of the overland riders were so filled with sand that they were too blinded to see the stars that once more were shining "just above them." "wet your handkerchiefs with water from your canteens and wipe your eyes," suggested grace. "go easy on the water," commanded the guide. "let's see where we are at before we use water." "you are right, sir. i had not thought of that," agreed grace. "our buckets are full, aren't they?" questioned anne. "yes--of sand," spoke up elfreda. "the first thing to do is to settle the water question. ping!" ping wing came running up, his white suit the color of the landscape, for ping had been rolled in the sand to his utter undoing. "go see how many horses we have left." "me savvy. tlee." "three? that is better than i hoped for," chuckled the guide. "with three we can reasonably look forward to finding the others somewhere on the desert, but we can't do much to improve our situation until daylight. no use to search for our equipment before then. i will look into the water question, however, right now." "this is the most violent landscape that it has ever been my misfortune to gaze upon," declared elfreda briggs, tossing her fallen hair up and down to shake the sand out of it, a proceeding that was followed by each of the girls. "at least we have one thing to be thankful for," observed anne. "i thank my stars that it is so dark that we cannot see how really tough we do look." "if i look as bad as i feel i must be a terrible sight," wailed emma. "here comes hi. have we water?" "not a drop except what you have in your canteens. the water hole is buried so deep that we have lost it. guard every drop. we are in a serious situation." chapter xi facing a new peril "aren't the water bags safe?" asked hippy. "they're gone," said the guide. "everything but the sand seems to be gone," observed miss briggs. "i suppose we should thank the kind fates that we still have plenty of sand." "plenty of some things is too much," declared nora wingate. "hippy, my darlin', you weren't hurt, were you?" "yes, i was killed, but i have come to life again. hi, what is the next thing to be done?" "kill time until daylight!" that was practically what the overland riders did, but with the first streaks of dawn the barren spot assumed an appearance of activity. "lieutenant, we'll go out and look for the horses," announced the guide. "is blackie still here?" questioned grace. "no, but there are three ponies left, as you know. wish to go along?" "yes." ping was directed what to do, and miss briggs was left to see that the orders of the guide were carried out during his absence. hi, hippy and grace then mounted the remaining ponies and started away, working back toward the range that they had left two days before. the wind had blown in that direction and it was reasonable to suppose that the lost animals had been driven before it. "spread out, but keep within sight of the lieutenant, who will be middle man," directed the guide. when they had finally taken up their positions, some three miles separated grace harlowe and the guide, with hippy a mile and a half from each of the two outside riders. the sun was not yet up, and the morning, while not uncomfortable, gave promise of what hi lang had said it would be--a sizzler. the three had ridden for a full hour, when off to her right grace discovered what she thought was one of their ponies. urging her mount forward, she galloped rapidly in that direction, but after riding for some time she was amazed to find that the animal seemed to be as far away as when she had started toward him. "i hope to goodness the pony i see isn't a desert mirage," muttered grace. "mirage or no mirage i am going to run it to earth." she galloped on at a more rapid pace, but it was a long time, it seemed to grace, before she saw that she really was nearing the little animal, who was browsing on desert sage, or what few scraps of it remained after the storm. hoping fervently that it was her own little spirited blackie, grace urged her mount forward at a lively clip and bore down on the bronco who began edging off when he saw her heading for him. "it's elfreda's pony!" cried grace. "here, boy; here, boy!" she called. the "lost" animal kicked up its heels and started away at a gallop, with grace harlowe in full pursuit. "how provoking!" cried grace as the bronco kept galloping from her with aggravating persistence. the overland girl rode and coaxed until she tired of it, then, touching her mount lightly with the crop, she dashed straight for the tantalizing roamer. it was a race for a little while, the runners steadily drawing away from hippy wingate and hi lang, but to this grace gave no thought. once she nearly got her hand on the bridle of elfreda's mount, but the little fellow dodged her at the critical moment. "oh, for a rope and the skill to throw it. i'll learn to throw a lasso at once. i see it is necessary out here. whoa, boy!" she commanded sharply. the runaway bronco stopped short, and, with feet spread apart, stood gazing at her as if daring the overland girl to come and catch him. grace decided to try new tactics. dismounting, and slipping her bridle rein over one arm, she walked slowly toward the animal, plucking a bunch of sage as she went, and holding it out toward him. the pony looked interested, his ears sloped forward and he took a step or two towards her. grace walked up to him confidently, gave him the handful of sage and, after petting him, grasped the lead rope and then the bridle. "all of which goes to prove the assertion that it is easier to catch flies with molasses than with vinegar. now be a good boy, and we will jog back home to elfreda," she soothed to the captured pony. mounting, and attaching the end of the lead rope to the pommel of her saddle, grace started for camp. at least she thought that was what she did. instead she was headed for the range of mountains on which they had first made camp. after a little the overland rider came to a realization that the guide and hippy were nowhere in sight. still, she was not greatly disturbed, but she was thirsty. a few drops of water from her canteen was all that she dared allow herself. grace had been traveling for the better part of an hour, from time to time glancing up at the glaring sun that was just rising, when she suddenly brought her pony up short. "do you think you can find the way back if i give you the rein?" she asked, petting her mount. the pony pawed the dirt and whinnied, but his rider knew that it was because he too was thirsty, instead of being an answer to her question. grace paused to reflect over her situation, to consider what was the wise thing to do, finally deciding that she would follow her trail back to the spot at which she captured the pony. "from there it should be easy for me to find my original trail; then all i shall have to do will be to follow it to the camp. we must go back," decided grace, turning about and starting away at a trot, finding no difficulty in making out the tracks of the two ponies. the spot at which she had found the lost bronco was reached at last. grace sat for some moments, staring at the landscape, turning in her saddle until she had looked all the way around the compass, then, clucking to the two animals, trotted away, following her original trail. as she progressed, the trail grew fainter, a desert breeze having almost obliterated the tracks her pony made on the way out with hi lang and hippy wingate. to make certain that she was on the right road, grace got down and compared her mount's footprints with those that she was following. "yes, i am positive that i am right," she decided and once more set out. "hark!" she exclaimed sharply. three faraway shots had been fired. grace waited, and in a few moments the shots were repeated. she raised her revolver and fired three signal shots in return. she did this twice, then reloaded and thrust the revolver into its holster. "it is doubtful if my shots can be heard, but i have the satisfaction of knowing that some one probably is out looking for me. we'll go in under our own power. they shan't say that we could not find our way home in broad daylight." the rifle signal shots were repeated shortly after grace got started again. she answered them, but was unable to tell from which direction the signals had come, though the shots sounded off to the right of her, but she decided to continue on in the direction she had chosen however, believing that she was headed towards the camp. it was nearly noon when grace discovered a horseman far to the right. he was too far away to be recognized, and, evidently, he had not seen her. the overland girl fired three shots into the air, which were answered by a similar signal, then the distant rider was seen to turn and gallop towards her. grace headed for him, riding more slowly than she had been doing, and finally discovering that the horseman was hi lang. despite the confidence that grace had felt in her ability to find her way in, she experienced a sense of relief. now he would compliment her on her ability to find her way on a trackless waste such as this. "where have you been?" shouted hi when near enough to make his voice heard. "i went after miss briggs' pony, then got on the wrong trail, if there be such a thing as a trail on this landscape," answered grace. "we've been worrying about you. did you get lost?" "well, not exactly. i was puzzled at first, but i was following my trail back towards the camp when you discovered me, or when i discovered you, to be exact." "hm--m--m--m!" mused the guide. "do you know where you were headed for when i first saw you?" "why, yes. i told you. for the camp, was i not?" hi shook his head. "if your canteen and rations had held out, and you'd kept on going the way you were headed, eventually you would have landed in death valley," the guide informed her. "but i followed the tracks left by the pony i was riding," she protested. "i reckon you followed some other pony's tracks, for i was on the trail of the bronc' you are riding." "mr. lang, as a plainswoman i fear i am a miserable failure," complained the overland girl. "on the contrary you are very much of a success. you did not get panic-stricken when you found you had lost us, but you used your head. you found and followed a trail that would have fooled me as it did you." "thank you! how many of the ponies did you find?" "all of 'em, lacking the one you have here; also found one that didn't belong to us. we sent him adrift." "oh, i am so glad. then you have blackie." "yes. let's be going. things at the camp are not very encouraging. much of the equipment has been blown away or buried, but that isn't the worst of the situation." "you mean water?" questioned grace, regarding him inquiringly. "yes. we haven't been able to locate a tank to-day, and there isn't more than a quart altogether left in the canteens." "what are we to do now?" asked grace. "we've got to pull up stakes and move. all hands must search for water--search until water is found, and keep moving forward at the same time. if we don't find it by night---" the guide shrugged his shoulders and clucked to his pony. grace, her face reflecting the concern she felt, followed at a gallop and they were soon raising a cloud of dust on the baking desert. chapter xii a bitter disappointment a wan and considerably mussed up party of girls met grace and the guide when the two rode into what was left of their camp. "well, here we are at last," cried grace cheerily. "we thought you were lost. how could you have missed such an opportunity?" wondered miss briggs. "i did not miss it, elfreda dear. i got beautifully lost and didn't know it. most persons when they get lost are very much alive to the fact, but i traveled on in blissful ignorance of the fact that i was headed straight for death valley." "i wish you wouldn't talk about it. death valley reminds me of the experience we had last night," complained emma. "oh, then you have been to death valley?" questioned anne. "no, i said--i mean i said--i mean i meant to have said that---" "let it go at that. you will get tongue-tied if you keep on," warned hippy wingate. "we have something more serious on hand than to listen to your--" "yes, girls," interrupted grace. "mr. lang tells me that we must move on immediately, that we must find water, and that, too, without delay. what shape are we in with regard to equipment?" "we have our tents," answered elfreda. "some cooking utensils, and our food, which ping had the foresight to take to bed with him," said anne nesbit whimsically. "were the rifles saved?" "all secure, and the ammunition too," replied lieutenant wingate. "i believe that a few blankets were blown away and lost, together with numerous odds and ends that weren't nailed down. what could you expect with a wind strong enough to blow our horses far out on the desert. got any water?" "i have some. do you mean to tell me, hippy wingate, that an old campaigner like yourself has drunk up all the water he had in his canteen, and in the face of a great drouth?" demanded grace, trying hard not to smile. "every last drop of it," admitted hippy. "but what's a fellow to do when he is thirsty and his throat is cracking open?" "use the precious stuff sparingly. here! take a sip from my canteen. only a sip, lieutenant." with the eyes of the entire party on him, hippy dared not take more than enough water to moisten his throat. grace then took the canteen from him, passing it to emma. "the same holds good for you, emma," she said, "take a sip and pass it along. what water is there may have to be our only supply all the rest of the afternoon." "that's right, mrs. gray," spoke up hi lang. "ping!" "les?" "are you all packed and ready?" "me belongee chop-chop," answered ping, meaning that he was ready to move. "follow along behind us, but make those lazy burros keep close up. we don't want to lose you and have to look all over the desert for you. now, folks, please listen carefully to what i have to say. while i do not wish to alarm you, it is well that you thoroughly understand what our situation is. we must find water. you will all spread out with an interval of a hundred yards, say, between ponies, and scrutinize every foot of ground on either side." "who goes where?" interrupted emma. "please be quiet," rebuked grace. "i am coming to that," resumed the guide. "two things i wish you to look for, alkali crusts that may cover a tank, and discolorations on the desert. that is, if you find a spot darker than the prevailing color of the ground, that discoloration may be the result of moisture. do you get me?" "yes," answered the overlanders in chorus. "in the event of such a discovery, shout, or if i am too far away to hear your voice, fire one shot into the air. about the crusts that i spoke of, when you find one, hop off and break it in. you probably will not see water, even though it is there, but, after you have broken open the crust, thrust your head into the opening and sniff the air." "what we need is a thirsty bird dog in this outfit," observed hippy, without the suggestion of a smile on his face. hi lang permitted himself a brief silent laugh. "what are we to sniff for?" questioned emma in all seriousness. "for a damp odor. the air under the crust, too, will be perhaps a degree cooler than the outer air. if it is a dry tank you will get a dry, earthy odor that you cannot mistake. the one who finds water will, as i have suggested, shout or shoot. the others will hold their positions until i have investigated. "another thing. ponies familiar with desert conditions, as most of ours are, sometimes can smell water when they can't see it. if one of your animals suddenly bolts in a direction that you think he should not go, give him his head for a little way. he may lead you to water." "why didn't i think to put a divining rod in my pocket?" chuckled hippy. "you brought a sweet little parasol, that blew away on the wings of the storm," reminded nora. "why didn't you bring something useful while you were about it?" "nora darling, didn't i bring you along? what, tell me, could be more useful to this outfit than your own beautiful little self?" "go on, go on with ye! if there were a blarney stone here i'd throw it at ye!" rebuked nora, laughing in spite of her effort to be stern, joined in her merriment by the other girls of the outfit. "take your positions!" ordered the guide. "the lieutenant will take the center. to the right, miss dean, miss briggs. left, mrs. nesbit, mrs. wingate and mrs. gray. i will take the extreme right. you, mrs. gray, will look after the extreme left. keep your formation as well as you can so that we do not straggle too much. all ready!" the overland riders swung themselves to their saddles and moved to the positions assigned to them, then started away, walking their ponies. their line looked like a troop of cavalry going into action, except that the horses moved listlessly. emma found the first alkali tank, and getting off, broke the crust and thrust her head in the opening. "what do you find?" called hippy. "ugh! it smells like a rummage sale," answered miss dean. "dry!" announced hippy. "move along." all along the line the girls were trying to make merry, trying to forget the terrible heat, a deadly burning heat, but their efforts in this direction were not very successful. heat waves shimmered over the white sands of the desert with not a breath of air stirring to relieve the deadly monotony. it did not seem possible to elfreda briggs that human beings long could endure such heat, and she wondered at the cheerfulness of her companions. hi lang rode around behind the line of riders to see what it was that emma dean had discovered, but he paused at the dry water hole for but a moment, then hurried back to his position. now and then one of the riders would dismount and examine a patch of ground, only to meet with disappointment. they had come up to a vast cup-like depression in the desert, white with the alkali crust that covered its bottom, when hi fired a signal shot to indicate that they were to halt for a rest. "what is that big hole?" called lieutenant wingate. "a prehistoric lake, in whose alkaline dust no plant, not even sage-brush, can grow, and upon which a puddle of rainwater becomes an almost deadly poison. this is one of the most thoroughly hated spots on the desert, hated and shunned by most of those who travel this way." "is there not water under the crust at the bottom?" asked miss dean. "not a drop. there probably has not been in centuries. no water is known to have been found within a few miles of this spot either, but, as i have said, one never knows, and the traveler must take nothing for granted." "fine place for a summer outing," observed hippy. "probably there is on all the globe no other spot more forbidding, more desolate, more deadly," added the guide. "we must be going. move on!" all that afternoon the overland riders plodded wearily along, now and then hopes suddenly raised being dashed to earth by dry water holes. at the next halt, hi passed along the line, giving each rider a sip of water from the slender supply in his canteen, grace smilingly declining to drink. "have you any left in your canteen?" he asked. "a few drops, but i am saving them until i am thirsty. i have been sucking the cork for the last hour." grace then asked about the dry lake, and the guide repeated what he had said to emma and hippy. "how are the girls standing the strain?" she questioned. "very well indeed. i hope they hold out as well until we find water." "now that there is no one but ourselves present, please tell me what the prospects are?" requested grace. "i can't, mrs. gray, for the very good reason that i don't know. of course water we must have or we shall perish, and so will the ponies. as a last resort we can head for the nearest mountain range, but it would take us nearly two days to make it with ponies and riders in good working condition." "then the situation really is serious!" asked grace. "no, not yet, but we are on the verge of a serious situation. yes, that about expresses it. however, i have hopes that we may find a tank about ten miles from here, one that i have never failed to find some water in, though at times it has been a mighty slow process to get it. i must get to the other end of the line now. good luck." several tanks were found during the next few hours, but not a drop of water in any of them. it fell to emma dean to make a discovery, however, that thrilled all within sound of her voice. "water!" she screamed. "water!" "i believe you are right. hooray!" shouted hippy wingate. "i know i am. it's a lake, a lake full of beautiful blue water!" cried emma. "quick! shoot to let the others know." instead of the agreed-upon single shot as the signal that water had been found, hippy wingate emptied his revolver into the air, then, urging on his weary pony, rode on ahead, with emma following, shouting and urging her pony to go faster that she and hippy might reach the precious water ahead of the others. even hippy was excited at the sight that had burst so unexpectedly on his smarting eyes, for there, a mile or so ahead, surely was a body of water that the guide himself had not known of or he surely would have told them. attracted by the shots, hi lang looked, first in the direction from which the shots had come, then off across the desert. what he saw led him to head towards hippy and emma, who themselves were traveling as fast as they could make their ponies go. some of the other overland riders had followed emma and hippy, they too having discovered the blue lake in the near distance. the guide fired into the air, to recall the excited riders, but they gave no heed to his signal. "stop!" he shouted when near enough to make himself heard. "stop, i say! you'll run your ponies to death." "water! don't you see it?" cried emma. "no! that isn't water. stop, i say!" "the heat has gone to hi's head," laughingly confided hippy to emma. "all right, old man, just trail along behind us and we'll show you," he flung back. "stop, lieutenant! listen to reason, won't you? what you see is a desert mirage. there isn't a lake within a hundred miles of us." hippy wingate brought his pony to a slow stop, and emma, who had heard, stopped about the same time. "mirage?" wondered hippy stupidly. "m--m--mister lang, do--do you me--ean that wha--at we see isn't wa--ater at all?" "it's a mirage, i tell you. get back to your positions!" chapter xiii a startling alarm elfreda briggs and grace harlowe did not give way to the panic that had seized their companions. both had seen the mirage, each knew instinctively what it was, but when they saw hi lang overhaul the two leaders, grace and elfreda hurried in from their positions and joined their companions. "grace! oh, grace," moaned emma as her friend rode up to them. "give me water or i shall die." "have courage, emma dear. we are all suffering from thirst. hand me your cup and i will give you a swallow. i don't dare trust you with the canteen." grace poured out about a tablespoonful of water, which emma drank in one choking gulp. each of the others got about the same quantity, but it was not much of a relief. "shall i return to my position now, sir?" questioned grace of the guide. "yes, please. i have told the others to do so at once. hereafter, in no circumstances are you people to run away as you did just now. we must go on as rapidly as is consistent, until dark. i wish to reach a certain point before we stop for the night. we may find some relief there unless the storm has buried everything so deep that we cannot find the place," said hi lang. "do you mean water?" asked elfreda. "i am in hopes that it may be so, miss briggs." "alors! let's go!" the party broke up at once and rode to their positions, emma dean, red of face, her hair down her back, tear drops still trickling down her cheeks, leaving little furrows behind them, summoning all her courage and doing her best to regain control of herself. the mirage had disappeared by the time the start was made, and did not appear again to tantalize the suffering overland riders. all the rest of the afternoon, eager eyes, reddened by the glare of the sun on the white desert, sought for water holes. none were found, not even dry tanks, but when darkness settled over the desert a faint breeze sprung up. they drank it in eagerly, taking long, deep breaths and uttering sighs of satisfaction. hi called the party together with a signal shot. "how long before we make camp?" called grace as she rode up. "about five miles if my reckoning is right," answered the guide. "no need to look for water holes now that it is dark. we shan't find any unless we accidentally fall into one." "you are about the most cheerful prophet i've ever known," declared lieutenant wingate. "glad you weren't with us in the war." "at least, mr. lang has made good all his forecasts. you must admit that," reminded miss briggs. "he has, bad luck to him!" growled hippy, which brought a grin to the thin, bronzed face of the desert guide. it was nearly ten o 'clock when hi finally ordered a halt. the riders, upon looking about them, observed that there was considerable vegetation there, sage, cactus, dwarfed trees and shrubbery, scattered, twisted, misshapen things, all of them. "turn the ponies loose immediately," directed the guide. "they will get a little moisture from the green stuff. never mind staking down. they will not run away. ping, start a fire and cook something. sorry, folks, but it will have to be a dry supper this time." "where is that relief you were promising us a century or so ago?" demanded nora wingate. "yes, mr. lang. we have been patient and borne our thirst uncomplainingly. now, we must have relief. i don't want a dry supper, i want water!" cried emma. anne said she feared that she too had about reached her limit. "be patient, girls. mr. lang is doing the best he can," urged grace. "yes, don't we know that?" agreed miss briggs. "he is splendid. i hope these unsolicited compliments do not turn your head, mr. lang," teased elfreda. the guide laughed silently. "come with me. we can pitch our tents later on," he directed, striding away. he led them through mesquite bushes, finally halting before a patch of odd, pumpkin-shaped cactus, that, with its grotesque shape, its spines and fishhooks, was far from being attractive-looking. hi's knife was out as he halted, and, with it, he laid open a cactus plant, revealing to the eager eyes of his charges a silver- white pulp glistening with water. "this will relieve your thirst," he said, handing the white, moist mass to emma. "oh--h--h--h!" gasped miss dean. "this is heavenly." to each of the others hi gave a handful of pulp. "nectar straight from heaven," murmured elfreda at her first taste. "who would think that so much heavenliness could come from such a hideous plant, so hideous that, were i alone, it would give me the shivers to look at?" uttering exclamations of satisfaction and delight, the overland girls ate and ate, soothing their throats and satisfying their thirst. "please tell us what this is, mr. lang," asked grace. "it is the bisnaga, sometimes called the 'niggerhead,' belonging to the cactus family, a plant that is ever hailed with joy by the thirsty traveler." "it's a life saver," agreed lieutenant wingate. "where is that chinaman? doesn't he ever get thirsty?" "don't worry about him. he is out there in the bushes now, swallowing 'niggerheads' as fast as he can gulp them down. this is one of the secrets of the desert. there are others--but a man must know them before he can take advantage of them." "tell us about them. i just dote on secrets," exclaimed emma, her good nature now fully restored. "they might answer for an emergency, but nothing short of real food would answer for me," declared hippy. "just the same a man might live on what we see before us here for a long time," replied the guide. "if you will examine those mesquite bushes you will find a bean pod on them. it is a rich and nourishing food. then there are the pears of the tuna and the fruit of the sahuaro or giant cactus." "we saw a forest of them on the apache trail," grace informed him. "yes, i know. you will find all of these nourishing foods about you here, hideous, some of them, but furnishing food and water that have saved the lives of many desert travelers. "besides these food plants of the desert, we have the cat's-claw, mesquite and cholla shrubs for fuel; the bear-grass and yuccas for camp-building. better than a mirage, is it not, miss dean?" emma flushed. "i don't know about that. the sight of that lake that wasn't a lake made me forget for the moment that i was thirsty," answered emma spiritedly. the chinaman's shrill call for supper sounded while they were still talking. the girls, now greatly refreshed, turned campward and sat down on the ground to eat "poisoned pig," as hippy wingate had named the bacon with its bitter alkaline taste. "i fear we are forgetting that we still are without water," reminded grace after they had finished their supper, feeling more like themselves than at any time in the last two days. "don't throw a monkey-wrench in the machinery," begged hippy. "let's live while the living is good, and die when we haven't anything else to do." "grace is quite right," agreed anne. "i am worrying about to- morrow myself." "i have been thinking it over," spoke up hi lang. "i believe i will go out early in the morning and ride until noon. i can cover a lot of ground in that time, and if i do not find water, the chances are against our getting any in the direction we are going. in that event we will head for the mountains and fight our way through. i never knew so many water holes to fail, but the storm is largely responsible for that condition." "why didn't we bring an artesian well with us? i have heard that one could have water anywhere with one of those. are they very heavy to carry?" asked emma innocently. a shout greeted her question, and the guide brushed a hand across his mouth to hide his silent laughter. "what's the matter? have i said something funny?" demanded emma, bristling. "that would be impossible," answered hippy. "no, emma dean, an artesian well would be no burden to carry at all if one were able to solve the problem of how to carry it. all the makin's are right here, too. hi, why didn't you bring a medium-sized artesian well with you! i am amazed that you would neglect to find a way to bring one along," rebuked hippy. "you are all making fun of me. i think you are real mean," pouted emma. "we're not," protested hippy. "yes, he is, dear. hippy, stop teasing emma. she is worn out and irritable. by the way, mr. lang, what is an artesian well?" asked nora, which brought down another shout of laughter, this time at her expense. "i'm not irritable," objected emma. "an artesian well is a hole in the ground, miss dean," the guide gravely informed her. "i'm going to bed!" announced emma, getting up. "am i to sleep in the open, or do we have tents to cover us to-night?" she asked with much dignity. "ping will pitch the tents. he is getting out the canvas now," replied grace. "before i turn in i am going out to eat some more 'niggerheads.' any one going with me?" all signified their desire to have more of the luscious white pulp, and in a few moments they were gorging themselves among the bisnagas. the moon was now well along in its first quarter, and in the cool of the evening the overland girls were in a frame of mind to appreciate and enjoy the scene. "the desert has a strange and beguiling beauty all its own," murmured grace. "yes," agreed elfreda. "such an evening as this makes one forget the awful heat, and lays hold of one's spirit. then the silence-- no whistling of wind, no rustling of leaves. why, i find myself holding my breath so as not to break the silence." "i had not observed it," retorted grace, presenting a smiling face to her companion. "the camp should be ready by now. i move we go back and turn in." "the mystery of it all, too," added elfreda, turning to walk to the camp. the guide told them not to be concerned at his absence if he did not get in until late on the following day, and the overland riders sought their blankets for a rest which all needed. the night passed without one of the girls moving, so far as any of them could remember, when they were rudely awakened next morning. shouts and yells from hippy wingate, and a scream from emma dean, brought grace, elfreda, anne and nora to their feet, hurriedly throwing on sufficient clothing to make themselves presentable. "girls! hurry, hurry!" shrieked emma. "coming! hold fast!" shouted elfreda briggs, running out ahead of the others. chapter xiv the mysterious horseman "for mercy sake, what is it?" cried elfreda. emma was dancing about in a high state of excitement. "hippy's gone down! hippy's gone down!" she cried. "gone down where?" demanded grace, appearing on the scene at that juncture. "he must have gone very suddenly, for i surely heard him yell less than five minutes ago," averred elfreda. "look, look!" urged emma, pointing to hippy's tent, only the top of which was visible above the ground. grace was already running towards the tent, believing she knew just what the trouble was. "hippy, are you there?" she called. "i am that, what's left of me," answered a voice that sounded some distance away. "are you hurt?" "no, brown eyes, i am not hurt. please clear away the wreckage, so we can see what we have here." grace and elfreda hauled the tent out of the hole in the alkali crust and peered in. hippy was sitting at the bottom, about five feet below the surface, and the instant grace thrust her head into the opening she uttered a cry. "water!" she exclaimed. "i smell it!" "i tasted it when i landed on my head in the wet sand," answered hippy. "it was good, but i'd a heap sight rather drink my water standing. one doesn't take in so much sand that way." "wa--ater!" gasped emma dean. "and it isn't another mirage?" "it is water, my dear, but how much of a supply there is remains to be seen. what were you doing out so early?" "i was going out to get some water food from that horrible looking pumpkin plant, or whatever it is." "ping! oh, ping! fetch the water buckets. hurry! mr. lang has gone, so we must do what is to be done before the water disappears. what happened, hippy?" asked grace. "this did, brown eyes. i turned over on my blanket, then the earth yawned and swallowed me down. i slid in head first." "here are the buckets and the canvas. i think i will get down there and assist you. girls, drink your fill, then water the ponies. no, you carry the water out and let ping do the watering." hippy assisted grace down. she dropped to her knees and immediately began digging in the sand, which was wet and sticky. with hippy's aid, she patted the canvas blanket down as she had seen hi lang do it, and in a moment the water began seeping through. grace observed that it seeped much more rapidly than when the guide had performed a similar operation. "buckets!" demanded hippy. they were lowered, and, in a few moments, half a dozen of them were filled and handed up to the outstretched hands waiting to receive them. "this is splendid! i wish mr. lang were here. too bad," said grace. "might it not be a good idea for us to fire signal shots to recall him? he may be within hearing. sound carries a long distance on the desert," suggested miss briggs. "fine, j. elfreda. will you fire the shots?" miss briggs said she would, and, in a few moments, three interval shots rang out. elfreda fired the signal six times, listening after each signal for a reply. none was heard, however, and grace suggested that she wait half an hour or so, then try it again. the baling went on, but the ponies and burros drank the water faster than grace and hippy could get it out of the tank and pass it up to those who were carrying water to ping who was giving it to the horses, singing as he worked. this was the happy refrain he sang: "look-see you bucket, 'fore you tly, got lopee (rope) 'nuf to pump 'um dly. one piecee mouse can dlink at liver, but let he mousey tly for ever, all he can do top-sidee shore is squinch (quench) he t'hirst an 'nuffin more." "every 'r' is an 'l' with a chinaman," laughed anne. "that is what makes their pidgin english so quaint," answered miss briggs. "ping says the horses don't care for any more water," announced nora, returning with two empty buckets. "pass them down," directed hippy. "we will fill everything in camp, including ourselves." when, they had finished with their work, the familiar, "him come along," in ping wing's shrill voice, brought hippy out of the water hole in a hurry. "are you going to leave me down here, hippy wingate, or are you going to assist me out?" reminded grace. "a thousand pardons! the thought of food drives every other thought from my mind." hippy reached down and gave grace a hand. "please fire another set of signal shots," suggested grace, shaking out her skirt to free it from the damp sand. "mr. lang will be surprised when he finds that we have a water tank right here in camp. i hope he hears our shots." elfreda, having shot into the air six times, put down her rifle and joined her companions. "oh, doesn't that coffee smell good?" she cried. "a warm drink is even more necessary out here than it is in the city. i hope we never have another such a dry time as we have just experienced." "listen!" warned grace, holding up a hand for silence. the reports of two rifle shots were faintly borne to their ears. "that's a signal. i heard the first a second before i spoke. answer them, elfreda." miss briggs sprang up and fired the rifle three times. an answer came in the form of three reports that plainly were from a long distance away. "that must be mr. lang. i am glad," said grace, her face lighting up in a pleased smile. "him come along," announced ping a few moments later, using the elastic expression that stood for the dinner call, as well as to indicate that some one was approaching. the overland girls stood up and, shading their eyes, gazed off over the desert. they saw a horseman approaching, but the pony he was riding appeared to be almost dragging himself along. "that isn't lang," exclaimed hippy. "i see it isn't," agreed grace. being a lone rider the overlanders knew they were safe from trouble so far as he was concerned, but they observed the rider narrowly as he neared the camp. "ping! fetch water!" ordered grace incisively. "that man and horse are exhausted." "water!" cried the man hoarsely as he rode up to them and would have fallen from his saddle had hippy not sprung forward and grabbed him. he placed the exhausted man on the ground, and raising the rider's head, held a canteen to his lips. "take it easy, old top. don't choke yourself. we have plenty, but you mustn't try to drink it all at once," admonished lieutenant wingate. "get food," directed grace. "coffee and whatever else you think he can eat." ping glided away to prepare the food, nora and anne, in the meantime, having brought water for the traveler's pony. in a few moments the man sat up, holding his head in his hands. "here, bathe your face. it will cool you off," urged elfreda. the traveler did so, and, by the time the coffee was ready, he was able to stand. ping had fried some bacon, and, with the coffee and biscuit, the traveler had a meal the like of which he had not eaten for many a long day. as yet, the man had spoken only one word--"water"--but he regarded the outfit with wide, inquiring eyes, as he ate greedily of the food placed before him. "where going?" he asked after finishing. "specter range, i believe. perhaps taking in the shoshones. i am not certain. our guide, hi lang, is not here just now." "bad gang there. drove me out. will drive you out." he would say no more, shaking his head when grace pressed him for an explanation. after an hour's rest, during which the caller drank water until they feared for its effect on him, he filled his water bags from the water hole and lashed them to his pony and mounted. elfreda handed him a chunk of bacon, which he acknowledged with a nod, and stuffed it into his kit. the traveler now threw back his shoulders and peered at each member of the outfit in turn as if to impress their faces on his mind, then swept off his sombrero. "thankee, folks," he said, and, putting spurs to his pony, galloped away. "there is one man to whom it would be perfectly safe to entrust a secret," declared miss briggs with emphasis. "what a strange character," murmured anne, as she gazed after the galloping pony. "i wonder who he can be." "i am curious to know what he meant by warning us against the mountains," interjected elfreda briggs. "and i am rather concerned about mr. lang," added grace. "he must be a long way from here, else he would have heard our signal shots. i have an idea that our late caller must have heard them and that it was he who answered. that must be it. if so i am glad, for the poor fellow was ready to drop and so was his horse. shall we fill the buckets?" they did. the ponies were thirsty again, and it required several bucketfuls to satiate thirst, after which everything fillable was filled with water. grace, to pass away the time, got out her lasso and tried to throw it, but she made a complete failure. in turn, each of the others tried their hand at throwing the rope, but with no better success. ping offered himself for a mark, chattering like a magpie as, each time, the loop of the lasso collapsed before reaching him. "what for you makee so fashion?" he cried between laughs, chuckles and grimaces. "never mind, ping. you will not talkee 'so fashion' one day. when i learn to throw the rope, which i shall, i will rope you when you are not looking," threatened grace. "no can do," grinned the chinaman. "hai yah! man b'longey top-side horse," he cried, pointing off over the desert. looking in the direction in which he was pointing, the overland girls saw in the far distance a horseman, sitting his mount so motionless that at first they were not positive whether it were a horseman or a distorted cactus plant. grace ran for her binoculars and for some minutes studied the stranger. "that's our caller," suggested hippy. maybe he has decided to hang around for another meal. i don't know that i blame him." "no, it is not the same man, at least not same pony," answered grace, snapping glasses shut. "the man yonder is riding a black pony. the one who called on us rode a nearly white animal. i can't imagine why he is so interested, but he is surely watching us. however, we won't worry so long as we have a water tank at hand." at four o'clock in the afternoon the mysterious stranger was still in practically the same place. he appeared to move only when his pony stepped forward a few paces for more sagebrush. "man b'longey top-side horse!" cried ping, again pointing in another direction. the overlanders saw a cloud of dust rolling toward them over the desert, ahead of the cloud being a horseman riding at a swift gallop. "this would seem to be our day at home, judging from the number of callers who are dropping in," observed elfreda. grace threw up her glasses and took a quick look. "i can't make him out," she said. "it can't be mr. lang, for this man is coming from a direction different from the one he took, if the footprints of his pony leading out of this camp are any indication." "man b'longey horse hab go chop-chop!" volunteered ping. looking quickly toward the west the overlanders were amazed to find that the silent horseman who had had them under observation for hours was no longer in view. though not more than two or three minutes had elapsed since grace harlowe last saw him, he had disappeared as suddenly as if the sands of the desert had opened and taken him in. "maybe he has fallen into a tank, just as i did," suggested hippy. "mr. lang is coming. it is he, after all," cried grace joyously, as she gazed at the swiftly moving cloud of dust that ping had called her attention to some moments before. chapter xv the guide reads a desert trail "did you shoot?" called the guide, pulling his pony down sharply. both pony and rider were gray from the desert dust, and the guide's face was lined with perspiration streaks. it was plain that he had ridden hard and long. "yes. did you find water?" cried emma. "i did, twenty miles or nigh that, from here. what's that?" he demanded, pointing to the water hole. "we have water, mr. lang," grace told him, "mr. wingate fell through a crust and discovered a tank. there is water in plenty. we are so sorry that you had all that journey for nothing. ping! water for mr. lang and a bucketful for his pony. how long since did you hear our signal shots?" "more'n an hour ago. i wasn't certain, but i thought i heard three shots. my journey was not for nothing, for i have found a tank and there we will make our next camping place." the guide paused to lift the bucket that ping had fetched, and to drink deeply from it. "who's been here?" "what makes you think anyone has?" teased emma. "plain as daylight. i followed a pony's trail in for more than two miles. there's the tracks where he went away," answered the guide quickly. "you surely have sharp eyes," nodded elfreda. "he was one of those sphinxes, like some other deserts have. this one was not stuck fast to the ground like a regular sphinx, but his tongue must have been stuck to the roof of his mouth, for he couldn't say any more words than a ten-month-old baby," declared hippy wingate. "tell me about him," urged hi, turning to grace. the guide nodded understandingly after grace had told him in detail of the arrival of the stranger, choking for a drink, and half famished from hunger. "that's like him." "like whom?" questioned hippy. "like the desert traveler. he is just one of those brainless fellows like myself, who would rather be out here, suffering, choking, dying by inches, than be at home surrounded by all the comforts that a home gives a man. didn't say what his name is, did he?" "no, sir. let me see," reflected grace. "he said, 'water!' then, later, after asking where we were going, and being informed that we expected to visit the specter range and perhaps the shoshones, he replied, 'bad gang there. drove me out. will drive you out.' as he left he said, 'thankee, folks.' to the best of my recollection he opened his mouth at no other time, except to eat and drink." "hm--m--m--m," mused the guide. "in the specters, eh?" "i don't know whether he referred to them or to the shoshones," answered grace. "didn't say where he was going?" "no, sir. can you tell us, mr. lang, why it is that desert lovers like yourself, and like the stranger who was here, as a more extreme case are so silent, so taciturn and ever listening for something? what is it they are listening for?" "i reckon they take after nature herself out here. when a man is alone on this big desert he feels very small, and speaking out or raising a fellow's voice seems as much of a sacrilege as speaking out loud in church when the preacher's praying. as for listening, i don't know, but maybe we listen for the sounds that we are so used to hearing at home, the rustle of leaves, the song of a bird, but all we ever hear out here in the daytime is now and then the buzz of a rattler's tail. we don't always shoot 'em because we sort of hate to make so much noise. i reckon that isn't much of an explanation, but---" "i call it very fine," nodded elfreda. "by the way, mr. lang, we had another caller, a distant caller to-day. he didn't come near the camp, but sat his pony for several hours apparently observing us. perhaps he was resting." hi lang's face showed his interest. he asked questions and frowned thoughtfully, requesting that they point out as closely as possible the spot at which the man had been seen. "you say he disappeared suddenly?" "yes, mr. lang," answered grace. "was that when i was coming up?" "you were." "he evidently saw me and ducked. there's a high ridge of sand over there where you saw him. he was on that ridge or you wouldn't have seen him, and when he discovered me he just naturally slid his pony down the other side and walked away under cover of the ridge or else got down and peeked over the top of it. i don't like that. you weren't thinking of going on to-night, were you?" "not unless you think best, mr. lang," replied grace. "then i reckon i'll ride over there in the morning and see what his tracks look like. to-morrow night we'll make camp by the water hole i found to-day, unless some other party comes along and dips the water all out or it disappears between now and then." "did you answer our signal shots that you say you thought you heard?" asked hippy. "of course i did, though i didn't think you would hear them, being as there was a gentle breeze from this direction against me. i staked the ponies down before i went away this morning, and that black bronco of yours gave me some trouble, mrs. gray. i had to lasso him. when are you going to learn to throw the rope?" "when are you going to teach me?" returned grace smilingly. "that's the talk. we'll begin right now. get your rope." grace was instructed first how to coil the rope, how to make the loop and to properly grasp it by its hondo, or knot, before throwing; then the real lesson began. it was sorry work for her at first, but by the time ping uttered his shrill call for supper, grace had learned to throw the rope and let the loop drop to the ground without destroying the form of the loop. hi announced that, on the morrow, she should be able to hit a mark on the ground but that considerable practice would be necessary before she would be able to rope an object that was in motion. supper was followed by an interesting evening, during which hi lang told the overland girls more of the desert secrets. "we are now in the skunk country," he said, as they were about to turn in. "the what?" demanded emma dean. "i do not mean the sort you probably are familiar with in the east. the desert skunk is an entirely different animal. he bites, and his bite is supposed to produce hydrophobia, which means death out here. he is, therefore, known as the hydrophobia skunk. go into any desert camp just before turning-in time and you will hear the desert wanderers speaking of rattlesnakes and skunks. every man who knows those two pests is actually afraid of them." "this is a fine time of day to tell us," complained nora. "that's what i say," wailed emma. "why didn't you tell us after breakfast instead of after supper?" "yes. i know i shall dream of snakes and skunks and other creeping, crawling things to-night," added anne. hi laughed silently, masking his mouth with a hand. "string a rope all the way around your tent on the ground. no snake will go over that, especially a horsehair rope. your lasso is the thing for that, mrs. gray. i will have ping keep the fire going and that will keep the skunks away. the insects and other creeping things we can't stop, so we shall have to take our chances with them. sorry, but it was necessary to tell you. if you are going to be desert travelers you must learn the desert." "you are perfectly right, mr. lang," nodded grace. "i am very glad you have told us so much to-night, especially about skunks and snakes. i will lay my lasso around the tent and sleep in perfect security. girls, let's turn in." emma dreamed of snakes that night and had nightmare, crying out in her sleep and getting a violent shaking from elfreda briggs as her reward. otherwise, the night was peacefully passed. early on the following morning, before any of the outfit was awake, except ping, who seemed never to sleep, hi lang had caught up his pony and ridden out on the desert and on to the spot at which the girls had seen the mysterious horseman the day before. hi readily found the hoof-prints of the pony ridden by the man, and examined them with keen interest. he observed other features of the trail that might easily have escaped even a desert wanderer's observation, and that told him much. "i reckon there's going to be some lively doings before we've got to the end of this journey," muttered the guide, assuming a listening attitude, with head tilted to one side, eyes fixed on the blue sky overhead. he stood motionless in that position for many minutes. finally arousing himself from his reverie, hi mounted his pony and galloped away towards the camp, reaching there some time before the riders were awake. grace harlowe appeared about an hour later, and walked out over the desert a short distance, inhaling the sweet morning air in long, delicious breaths. "what is it that smells so sweet?" she called to the guide, who was busying himself about the camp, for there was a new and strangely sweet fragrance in the air. "that's another of the desert mysteries. supposed to have been rain somewhere. it's like a breath straight from heaven. i love it!" hi straightened up, and, throwing back his shoulders, inhaled deeply. grace was thoughtful as she returned to camp, but it was not of the desert she was thinking. rather was it of the man who was guiding them. he was a poet by nature, but did not know it. he was intelligent and he possessed a mind and a power of reasoning far beyond what one might look for in a man of his calling. "was the morning perfume what induced you to take such an early ride, mr. lang?" asked grace sweetly. the guide gave her a quick glance. "what makes you think i took a gallop this morning, mrs. gray?" "in the first place your pony is not tethered where he was last night, and, secondly, your trail, going and returning, is plain out there," she said, with a gesture towards the desert. "you're sharp," observed hi briefly, and proceeded with his work without offering further information. grace believed, however, that he had ridden out to look at the trail left by the solitary horseman who had been watching their camp, but asked no further questions. hi would speak when ready to do so; that she knew. the overlanders moved at an early hour and made camp that night at the water hole found by the guide the day before. several pairs of keen eyes frequently swept the horizon during the day, and again on the following morning, for the mysterious horseman, but it was three days later before he was again seen in the distance. "what's the matter with my taking a shot at him?" demanded lieutenant wingate. "no!" answered the guide with emphasis. "give the calf enough rope and he'll hang himself. saddle up and we'll ride that way and have a look at the trail again." the watcher disappeared as the overlanders were saddling their ponies. as before, the guide made no comment after he had examined the hoof-prints left by the observer's pony, and the journey was resumed. the days drew on, and the overlanders, now more used to the hardships and heat of traveling on the desert, began to take a real pleasure in the work, to enjoy the free life and the excitement that came to them in one form or another nearly every day. now and then a day would pass without water, but they made the best of it, having confidence that hi lang would find it in time, no matter how dark the outlook. the mysterious horseman had appeared several times, always too far away to enable them to get a good look at him. occasionally hi would go out for a look at the pony's trail, but it was not until they were nearing the mountain ranges, after three weeks of journeying across the hot sands, that the guide gave a direct answer to a direct question as to whether or not he knew what the mysterious one was up to. hippy had asked the question when they were at supper one evening. "i don't know what he's up to, of course," replied hi lang. "i do know that he is the same fellow who left the range after we folks were shot at there, for the hoof-prints of his pony are the same. he is watching us, and we'll hear from him later," he declared impressively. chapter xvi the cross on the desert "you should have let me take a shot at him when i had the chance," grumbled hippy. "time enough to shoot when we are shot at," rebuked grace. "we are not starting trouble, but when it comes we know how to meet it. do we not, mr. lang?" hi lang nodded enthusiastically. grace had been practicing persistently with her mexican lasso, and was now beginning to learn to rope a pony. that is, she had succeeded, when riding alongside a trotting pony who objected to being caught, in casting the lasso over its head, but so far as catching the hind foot of a moving bronco with her loop, that was far beyond her. grace doubted if she ever would gain sufficient skill to do that. elfreda, too, was an apt pupil and not far behind her companion in casting the rope. she was glorying in the life of the west, which was becoming more and more alluring to her as the days passed. "two days more and we'll be in the foothills of the specters. maybe you will be able to rope a wildcat there," said the guide, smiling at the two girls. "four-or two-legged?" inquired hippy. "possibly both. after we get cooled off in the mountains, if you folks think you wish to go on down into the colorado desert, i will show you some real desert heat. by comparison, this desert is as cool as a summer resort." grace said they would discuss their future movements after they had rested up a bit in the mountains. all the girls were looking forward to the mountains where shade, spring water and cooling breezes awaited them. some of them were filled with curiosity as to what else awaited them there, having in mind the prophecy of the desert rider whom they had succored. it was with thoughts of the mountains, and with eager eyes searching the horizon ahead, that the overland riders set out for their day's journey on the following morning. a brief stop was made at noon for a cup of tea and biscuits, after which the daily search for a water hole was begun. as night approached, the search became more intensive, but it was not until after nightfall that a tank was found. a full moon hung in the heavens and the night was a beautiful one, a peaceful, restful desert night. camp was quickly made a short distance removed from the water hole, and, after water had been supplied to the ponies, and the water bags and pails filled, the party sat down to supper and to a discussion of the topic uppermost in their minds--the attack that had been made on them, and the mysterious horseman. "what is that i see out there?" suddenly demanded nora wingate, pointing to an object out on the desert, some fifty or sixty yards from where she was sitting. "it looks like a cross tilted on its side," said anne. "that's what it is," nodded the guide. "a cross? what for?" questioned emma. "some poor desert traveler who couldn't find a water hole," replied hi lang reflectively. "did you know that thing was there?" demanded emma. "yes, of course." "and yet you camped right here? i shan't sleep a wink to-night." "don't be foolish, emma. let it be a reminder to us to be prudent with our water supply," soothed grace. "i do not suppose this water hole existed at that time; did it, mr. lang?" "it may have. travelers have been known to give up and die of thirst when water was almost within reach of their hand. you will see more such as that as we get south," said hi, nodding in the direction of the leaning cross. "i suppose that, in most instances, they were persons who did not know the desert well," suggested grace. "just so," agreed the guide. "shall we go out and look at it?" "not to-night, thank you. the morning will do for that. it is not a pleasant thought to take to bed with one." hi got up and strode out to look at the cross, followed by hippy. the guide believed in investigating everything. it was a precaution that he had learned after many journeys across the great american desert. it might not mark the resting place of a lost traveler at all; the cross might be a guide to water, or it might mean nothing at all. in any event hi's curiosity must be satisfied. "what do you find?" questioned hippy, as he joined the guide by the leaning cross. "the stones that held it up have been moved, as you see. they are scattered, some half covered with sand. windstorm did that in all probability. queer thing, but i don't see any indications of anything but wind having disturbed the place." "hand me a stone and i'll prop it up," requested hippy. the guide did so, and lieutenant wingate dropped the stone beside it, after straightening up the crude cross. both men heard a metallic sound as the stone struck the ground. the quick ear of hi lang told him that something other than desert sand lay there at the foot of the crossed sticks. "see what it is," urged hi. grace had been observing the movements of the two men and her curiosity was rapidly getting the better of her. "come, elfreda, let us go out and see what those two men are so deeply interested in," she urged, rising and starting towards them, followed by miss briggs. "looks like a tin box," answered hippy. "there's only a corner of it sticking above the sand." hi got down on his knees and peered at the object, then, lighting a match, looked it over more closely. "reckon it's a cracker box. pull it out." "i wouldn't do that," protested grace, who now saw what had so interested hippy and the guide. "it seems like a sacrilege to disturb it." "on the desert, mrs. gray, one's life may depend upon the thoroughness with which he investigates everything that he was not before familiar with--anything unusual. this is unusual." "i know, but---" "out she comes," answered hippy. "oh!" exclaimed grace harlowe under her breath. "another match, please, hi." by the light of the flickering match the men and the two girls peered at the object that lieutenant wingate took from the sand and held up for their inspection. "it isn't a cracker box at all. it looks more like a safe deposit box," he declared. "what shall i do with it, hi?" "take it into camp and open it, of course." grace protested again, but not so insistently as before. the guide said he had a theory about the cross and the supposed grave, a theory which he proposed to prove or disprove before leaving that night's camping place. "i know what it is," volunteered miss briggs. "i have one like it to keep my private papers in, except that this one shows wear and has lost most of its enamel, i suppose from the action of sand and weather." "what is it? what is it?" cried emma, unable longer to restrain her curiosity. following her, as she came running to the scene, were anne and nora. "we don't know yet. it is a box, but we haven't opened it," grace informed her. "who found it?" demanded emma. "mr. lang and hippy." "do--do we get what is in it?" persisted miss dean. "this is an overland affair, emma," said hippy. "mr. lang is an overlander so far as this party is concerned, and, as a matter of fact, he discovered the box." "you mean you did, lieutenant," corrected the guide. "we discovered it. that, i think, is the best way to settle it. however, we are counting our chickens before they are hatched. let's go in by the fire where we can see." hippy carried the box under his arm, followed by the entire overland party, their curiosity being intensified by his delay in opening it. observing this, lieutenant wingate took his time, helped himself to a drink of water, discussed their find with hi, then shifted the box to the other arm and began, discussing the weather. "are you ever going to open that thing?" cried emma. "you are so aggravating." "oh, yes, the box," exclaimed hippy. "come over by the fire where we can see what we are about." hippy sat down, held the box up to his ear and shook it. "yep! something in it. sounds like gold rattling about in there, but the box is locked. get a hammer so i can break it open." "i do not like the idea at all," objected grace somewhat severely. "it is not our property and we have no right to---" "everything on the desert is any man's property," corrected the guide. "further, it is our duty to open the box. we do not know but it may contain the last request of some unfortunate desert traveler, and if that is so it may lay in our power to do him a great service. of course, if you say we must not open it, we will respect your wishes in the matter." "you may do as you wish," answered grace. the guide produced his heavy clasp-knife, provided with a can- opening attachment, and pried the cover loose. "do you wish to open it, brown eyes?" asked hippy, holding the box up to grace. she shook her head. "then here goes for better or for worse," announced lieutenant wingate, throwing open the cover and revealing the contents of the box to the eager gaze of the overlanders. chapter xvii another mystery to solve "fiddlesticks! nothing but paper," wailed emma dean, peering into the mystery box. "no. there is something more." hippy lifted out the paper, a folded paper, and placed it on the ground. "here is a gold watch and a handful of gold. let's see how much there is." he counted out a hundred dollars, which, with some silver and a plain gold ring, and the paper first removed, made up the contents of the box. "not much of a find, is it?" smiled anne. "no. it's a shame, too, after our expectations had been worked up to concert pitch," declared nora. "hippy wingate, this is your doings." "blame the fellow who put the things in the box. i only took them out," grumbled hippy. "guess that's about all, hi," he added, looking up sheepishly at the guide. "you haven't looked at the paper," reminded elfreda. "it's only a piece of wrapping paper," returned hippy. "what do i want to look at that for?" grace harlowe stooped over, picked up the paper and felt it gingerly. "there is something here!" she exclaimed. "the wrapping paper evidently has been folded over as a protection to what is inside." grace thereupon opened the wrapper, revealing a tightly folded package of heavier paper. the rubber band that held the inner package together fell apart as she placed a finger on it to remove it. the eyes of the party were instantly centered on grace harlowe, who carefully unfolded the paper and held it down so that the light from the campfire might shine on it. "it is a map," she said. "it is a map, drawn with pen and ink. this looks promising," she added, spreading the map out on the ground. "what a queer thing to bury, and who did it? surely not the man who lies there under the cross." "i should not take that for granted," observed hi lang quietly. "please let me see it," requested miss briggs. grace handed the map to her, and elfreda studied it frowningly. "it means nothing in particular, i should say. it might be a map of a scene in switzerland for all we know," declared nora. "hippy, you are a champion finder. i wonder if they give medals for persons who find things--who make great finds." "nora dear, if i had found one of the egyptian pyramids out here on the american desert, you would blame me for not handing out the sphinx at the same time," protested hippy. "it may mean a great deal," said grace. "i agree with you," nodded elfreda, who was still studying the map. "it is a mystery map, and it plainly meant something to its possessor or he would not have brought it out here and buried it. by the same token, i should say that it applied to something in this part of the country. i am inclined to believe that it does. there is a name here. mr. lang, do you know of any person of the name of steve carver?" "no, miss briggs. may i have a look?" "oh, pardon me," begged elfreda, handing the map to the guide. hi studied it for several minutes, then returned it. "it's not a picture of anything that i ever saw, i reckon," he said. "what shall we do with it?" asked miss briggs. "i would suggest that we make a copy of it, returning the map to the box and burying the box by the cross where we found it," replied grace. "yes, but what about this gold, brown eyes?" demanded hippy. "put that back, too. it doesn't belong to us, am i not right, mr. lang?" she asked. "i reckon you are," agreed the guide, nodding his approval of the suggestion. "what's the use in finding things?" grumbled hippy, permitting the gold to slip through his fingers into the metal box. elfreda, on a piece of wrapping paper, made a careful copy of the map, then returned it to lieutenant wingate, who placed it in the box and slammed down the cover. "i'll bury the old thing, of course, but some one else will dig it up. that's why i should advise keeping the whole business," said hippy, rising and walking over to the cross with the box under his arm. they heard him working out there and, in a few moments, he returned. "deed's done," he informed them. "what are you going to do with the copy of the map, j. elfreda?" "entertain myself in studying it. nothing may come of that, of course, but, like emma, a mystery does appeal to me." "so it does to me," agreed grace. "were it not for the fact that my intuition tells me that the map is going to play an important part in our journey, i should not have been in favor of making a copy of it, so take good care of the copy, elfreda dear." the rest of the evening was spent in discussing their mysterious find and all sorts of theories were advanced for the box being buried by the leaning cross. hi lang listened to all of this, but made no comment. he had his own ideas on the subject. next morning hi was out long before the others were awake, making an investigation on his own account. he had barely begun this when, upon glancing up, he saw the solitary horseman far out on the desert, sitting motionless, apparently observing the camp of the overland riders. the guide took his time at what he was doing, at the same time keeping a watchful eye on the distant horseman. "i thought so!" exclaimed hi lang. "i think i'll give that fellow a run," he decided after a moment's reflection, during which he observed the watcher narrowly. catching up his pony, the guide quickly saddled, and, mounting, started across the desert at a brisk gallop. five minutes later the solitary horseman turned his pony about and dashed away. hi threw up his rifle and sent a bullet after the man, continuing to fire until the magazine of his rifle was emptied. after reloading hi thrust the rifle into its saddle boot and rode on until he reached the point from which the horseman had been observing. hi lang got down and again examined the hoof-prints of the watcher's pony. "huh!" he grunted. "that cayuse will keep on until something hits him--hits him hard. i reckon i begin to smell a mouse, and i think mrs. gray does, too. hope she didn't hear me shooting back there. but none of that outfit is so sleepy or thick-headed that they don't see or hear pretty much everything that's going on about them." having freed his mind, hi remounted and rode slowly back towards the camp. the chinaman was getting breakfast when mr. lang rode in and tethered his pony. "pack up right after breakfast. we've got a long journey to-day," he directed. ping nodded his understanding and went on with his work, humming to himself. half an hour later the riders began to appear, each with a cheery good morning for their guide and adviser. grace and elfreda came out together. miss briggs paused to chat with the guide, grace walking on and strolling about to get an appetite, as she nearly always did in the early morning. hi lang observed her narrowly when grace halted by the cross and stood gazing down at it thoughtfully. "i wonder who you are, unhappy traveler?" she was murmuring. "i wonder, too, if there are any who are wondering where you are?" grace observed that the ground had been disturbed since last she saw it, but she made no comment when, a few moments later, she joined mr. lang and elfreda. "grace, i was just asking mr. lang who it was that was shooting this morning," greeted elfreda. "i presume he told you it was a mirage of your dreams, did he not?" smiled grace teasingly. "it was mr. lang who did the shooting," replied elfreda. "grace, our mysterious horseman was on the job again this morning." "did you hit him?" questioned grace. hi lang shook his head. "too far away. knew i couldn't get him. all i expected to do was to give him a polite hint that his attentions were displeasing to us. it was the same man that has been following us all along, mrs. gray. it was the same hoofprints, too, that i found up in the range where we first made camp. if that critter and i ever get close enough to see each other's eyes there's going to be a shooting match. when we get to the hills he will have the advantage of us, because he can get closer without being seen." "please don't worry, mr. lang. we will meet that emergency when we come face to face with it. perhaps by then i may have skill enough with the lasso to practice on a real live man," laughed grace. "i reckon you could get most anything you cast for already." "thank you! when do we start?" "right away. just as soon as we finish breakfast. ping is packing up and we will be off in no time." breakfast had been eaten, and in something less than twenty minutes from that time, the party was well on its way, and the sun, red and angry, was showing its upper rim above the sands of the desert. "a hot time on the old desert to-day," observed hippy. "emma, how would you like a dish of strawberry ice cream for luncheon?" he teased. "i think you are real mean," pouted emma. grace, at this juncture, galloped up beside the guide to ask him about the water hole that they were hoping to reach, that day, but from his shake of the head she knew that he was not particularly hopeful about finding water there. "it should be easy for you to nose out a water tank, mr. lang," she said, smiling over at him. "how so?" "you are so successful in unraveling the mysteries of nature that you surely should be able to discover water even where there isn't any." "what are you driving at, mrs. gray?" "i have an idea that you solved at least one mystery this morning." hi lang flushed a little under his tan and shook his head. "there's no use trying to keep anything from you, and there's no reason that i know of, why i should. no one is buried in that place where we found the box. the cross was set up to keep people away so they wouldn't find the box with the gold and the map. it was my idea that we should find it to be so. how did you know?" "i saw what you had been doing," answered grace. "what do you think is the most important contents of the box, the gold?" "no. i reckon the map might be a sight more valuable than the handful of gold if one knew where to find the place that the map pictures. there's a heap of bad actors down this way, mrs. gray. they are regular land pirates. we call them desert pirates. they'd murder a man for two bits, and i reckon that maybe they had something to do with that place back there, and that the fellow who owned the map, when he saw the pirates coming, buried it so they shouldn't find it." "then this is another mystery for us to solve, mr. lang--the mystery of the buried map. i suppose you have discovered that the girls of the overland riders are possessed of the usual curiosity of their sex, have you not?" hi laughed silently. "you've got a poser this time. 'fraid your curiosity won't be gratified, so far as that map is concerned, but i reckon you'll find so much doing before long that you will forget all about this particular mystery. we are not being watched out of mere curiosity, mrs. gray," declared the guide. "i am well aware of that, mr. lang," replied grace harlowe gravely. chapter xviii an old indian trick it was the most trying day of their journey that the overlanders were experiencing, because of the heat and the fact that they were getting further and further below sea level. the heat was a lifeless heat, and the members of the outfit found themselves nodding and swaying in their saddles, keeping awake only by much effort. "water only five miles away," called hippy wingate late in the afternoon in a cheerful voice. "wake up, overlanders! hi says we will be there before sundown." a little later the party broke into a gallop, leaving ping wing and his lazy burros far to the rear of them. they were now crossing that arid region known as the pahute mesa, and, just over the horizon, lay a series of broken mountain ranges, wild, cut off from civilization, and shunned by all save those whose duty, fancy or love of adventure called them there. on beyond these the desert again took up its monotonous reach, hotter, more deadly than before. just now, however, the thoughts of the overland riders were on the water hole for which they were heading, and, next in importance, the cool mountain ranges. hi lang beckoned to grace to ride up to him. "what is it, mr. lang?" she asked. "please caution the young ladies to be sparing of the water." "why, it isn't possible that we are short of water," protested grace. "we may be." "will you please explain? your words intimate that you may have discovered something." "i saw dust rising from the desert over yonder, a short time ago. it moved along in a little cloud to the westward and finally disappeared." "do you think it was our mysterious horseman?" asked grace. "maybe. there was more than one horse, as i could tell from the dust kicked up." grace asked what relation that had to the shortage of water. "just this, mrs. gray. that cloud rose--and i saw it the instant it appeared--from about where the tank that we are heading for should be. that's all. of course i don't know what those folks were doing there, but i am warning you to go easy on the water." grace thanked him and rode over to her companions to caution them to be sparing of the water, saying that it were possible that they might be short of it, though grace confessed to herself that she did not see how even a visit of the desert "pirates" to a water hole possibly could prevent her outfit from getting sufficient water for their use. of course, if there were but little water in the tank it might take a long time to get enough for the ponies. "something has occurred, has it not?" questioned elfreda in a tone barely loud enough for grace to hear. "mr. lang saw a cloud of dust that aroused his suspicion. the guide has something of an imagination," added grace, smiling at her perspiring companion. after a little hi lang ordered the party to drop into a slower pace, saying that he wished to save the ponies so far as possible. "dismount, but wait before you unpack," directed the guide, when the party arrived at the water hole. "girls, please stay where you are for the present," called grace. "what's the big idea?" demanded hippy wingate. "mr. lang wishes to see if any one has been here. he thought he saw a dust cloud in this direction this afternoon and desires to have a look around, so don't stamp about and destroy the trail, if there is such a thing," admonished grace. hi lang got down in the water hole, and for a few moments was out of their sight. he rose finally and clambered out, his face wearing a stern expression, and grace saw at once that the guide was trying desperately to control his temper. without so much as looking at the overlanders, hi lang began nosing about, now and then bending over to peer at the ground, stepping cautiously, following a crooked course, all of which excited hippy wingate's merriment. "he works just like a dog does when the rabbit season opens," declared the lieutenant. "what's he up to?" "looking for trouble," suggested emma. hi followed the trail he had picked up some little distance out on the desert, which the light of the full moon enabled him to do. he then stood up and gazed at the sky for a brief moment. "unsaddle and make camp," he directed tersely. "did you find what you expected?" asked grace. "yes. i'll tell you about it as soon as we make camp." "how's the water?" called hippy. "there isn't a drop in the tank, lieutenant. ping, you will give the ponies about a quart apiece from our supply, no more. we will stake down now." camp was quickly made and the bacon was frying over a small, flickering cook-fire a few moments afterward. efforts to be merry at supper that night were a failure, and hi lang was unusually taciturn. "may we hear the worst now, mr. lang?" asked grace as they finished the meal. "as i told you, there is no water in the tank, but the sand is still moist, showing that there was water there a short time since." "some one must have been rather dry," observed hippy, but no one laughed at his humor. "there probably was not much water left there after the party before us finished helping themselves, but there would have been sufficient for us if they had left the tank alone. they tampered with it, folks!" "how do you mean, hi?" questioned lieutenant wingate. "by digging in and poking about in the tank they have managed to start the water seeping deeper into the ground until it finally found a new course and disappeared. it's an old indian trick they've worked on us." "is it possible that men can be so desperate?" wondered anne nesbit. "men!" exploded the guide. "they're not men. they're low-down hounds!" "why should they wish to do these things to us?" demanded nora, flushing with resentment. "there were three men in the party this time, one being the same fellow that has followed us most of the way out here. i don't know who the others are. it isn't so much the water that's bothering me as it is that they don't come out and face us if they have a grudge to settle with us. i'm ready to meet them and i reckon you folks are too." "i think it would be a relief to have them do so," agreed elfreda briggs. "this constant tormenting gets on one's nerves after a time." "what is your plan? i know you have one, mr. lang," spoke up grace. "the clouds are making up in the south, and in a couple of hours they will hide the moon. it isn't advisable to do anything until the night gets good and dark, so i suggest that you folks lie down and get some rest, for we have a long, hard ride ahead of us." "to-night? ride to-night?" questioned emma. "yes. ride and ride hard. even the lazy burros have got to get a move on. we must ride all night to-night, and when day dawns we must be in or near forty-mile canyon. then let those pirates find us if they can. they will find us sooner or later, in all probability, but by that time we shall be doing some stalking on our own account. you see, they will be expecting to find us here in the morning, but we shall be far on our journey by then," said the guide. "what! ride all night?" demanded emma. "i'll die! i surely will." "and probably all day to-morrow," nodded the guide. "i will start the chinaman on his way the moment the sky becomes overcast, and we will follow an hour or so later. you folks will have that much longer to sleep. good-night, folks." hi got up abruptly and walked away to give his orders to ping wing. "this is where we link arms with trouble," observed miss briggs, with a shake of the head. "stick by me. i have a rope and i know how to throw it, j. elfreda dear," replied grace harlowe laughingly. chapter xix the warning "turn out!" it was hi lang's voice that summoned the girls from their tents, and a far from welcome summons it was, for they were sleeping soundly. "lieutenant, the ponies are saddled and ready," said the guide, halting at hippy's tent. "please give the riders the tent equipment to carry and assist them to lash the stuff on. everything else has gone forward." "all right, old ma-an. can't give me five minutes for a cat-nap, can you?" begged hippy. "turn out!" hippy yawned and got up. the night was now pitch dark, and lieutenant wingate fell over tent stakes and ropes and whatever else was handy for him to catch his toes on, as he staggered about aimlessly. bethinking himself of the guide's orders, hippy suddenly began pulling up the stakes from the girls' tent and let it down on their heads. emma dean cried out, which brought a stern command for silence from mr. lang. following that, there was not a sound in the camp during the next fifteen minutes. "packs lashed to ponies behind saddles," announced hippy. "party ready to move." "mount and follow me. no loud talking, please; light no matches. you understand why i am so strict?" said the guide in an apologetic tone. "we understand fully, mr. lang," replied grace in a low voice. "start!" he commanded. the start was made at a jog-trot, which, after a few minutes, was changed to a gallop. this pace was continued for some time, but finally the guide slowed down and began peering into the darkness, looking for ping and his burros. elfreda marveled at the almost uncanny instinct of their guide, and how ping could lay a course that could be followed in the dark was a mystery to her. she asked hi lang how it was done. "see that red star over on the horizon, miss briggs? ping is instructed to keep that star between the ears of his burro and not to wobble. by keeping the same star between the ears of my bronco i am bound to overhaul ping, provided he has held to his course. i am, however, allowing for some deviation and keeping a close lookout." it was not more than ten minutes after that when mr. lang discovered the chinaman and his burden bearers plodding along less than a hundred yards to the right of the course that the overland riders were following. ping, though he had heard the party coming up, held to his course until directed to fall in behind them. "a mariner following a compass course could do no better than that," declared grace harlowe. "it really is marvelous, though mr. lang doesn't think so," replied elfreda. from that point on the journey was slow and wearisome. no one complained, however, and the ponies with their riders moved through the night like specters of the desert. the first leaden streaks in the sky in the east next morning found the overland riders still a long distance from their objective, the clouds not having darkened the moon as early in the evening as hi lang had hoped they might do, thus delaying the start. "i see nothing to interest us," announced grace after a survey of the desert with her glasses. "neither do i. reckon that spy will be surprised when he makes his morning call and finds us gone," chuckled the guide. "yonder are the mountains where we turn in," he added, pointing. "i thought that was a cloud on the horizon," said miss briggs. "how far is it from here?" "about five miles. we'll be there in two hours. mrs. gray, will you use your glasses occasionally as we go ahead? stop now and then and take your time in making observations. you can catch up with us without straining the pony, i reckon," grinned the guide. "don't we stop for breakfast soon?" begged emma. "tighten your belt," answered the guide. "it may be some hours before we can settle down for rest and food." emma groaned dismally, and hippy looked serious. missing a meal meant taking a good part of the joy of living from his day. sweltering heat followed the rising of the sun, and, as it lighted up the desert with its glare, grace stopped and began her survey of the horizon as requested by the guide. she sat her pony until she had carefully examined it all the way around. "all clear, so far as i can see, mr. lang," she said, riding up to him. hi nodded, but made no comment, for he could read the desert better than could grace harlowe with her powerful binoculars. it was eight o'clock in the morning when finally they turned into forty-mile canyon and began picking their way over the rough ground. the desert heat followed them until the walls of the canyon rose sheer for several hundred feet, and they came to a cascade that, falling into the canyon, became a mountain brook. here there was a marked change in the temperature. "dismount and water the horses; then we will press on," directed the guide. "drink cautiously yourselves. this water is too cold to be gulped down and will chill your blood if you take too much of it. do not let the ponies have all they want, either." "you mean to say that we will go on after breakfast, do you not?" questioned lieutenant wingate. "no. we move in ten minutes." "humph! france in wartime was living. this is--well, i don't believe my vocabulary is quite equal to the occasion," declared hippy. "do we go the entire length of this canyon, mr. lang?" asked grace. "no. there are several trails leading out of it, but i shall not take the first one. i prefer to take the second or third trail, perhaps just before night. whoever is interested in us will surely find our trail leading into forty-mile canyon and will follow it, but by the time they reach, say the second turning-off path, the canyon will be as dark as a dungeon. they will then either make camp for the night or turn back, believing that we are going all the way through the canyon." elfreda nodded her appreciation of the guide's reasoning. "with the easier traveling on the desert, which they probably will follow, they will be able to take their time, knowing that they can head us off at the lower end of the canyon. you see, a straight line isn't always the shortest distance between two points so far as time is concerned," smiled hi lang. "but we won't come out at the lower end, eh?" nodded hippy. "you said it, lieutenant." "i always say something rather brilliant before mess," observed hippy airily. "yes, but after mess you are afflicted with what might be called a 'fat mind,'" interjected emma dean. hippy grinned and took up another hole in his belt. from that point on, the ponies traveled in the mountain stream. "there's no need to be quiet here. make all the noise you wish," suggested the guide. "may i scream?" called emma. hi lang nodded, and emma uttered a wild cowboy yell which so startled her pony that the little fellow jumped, and, losing his footing on a slippery rock, went down on his nose. emma landed in the stream, and for a few moments there was excitement among the overland riders, hippy and grace succeeding in rescuing emma and holding her pony before serious results could follow. emma, however, was soaked to the skin; her hair was wet and tumbled, and in a short time her face took on a bluish tinge from her ducking in the icy cold stream. "serves you right," declared hippy wingate. "anybody who can make a noise like that before breakfast ought to be ducked." "were it not that the water is so cold, i should be inclined to agree with you," laughed grace. after the girls had walked emma about to get her blood circulating, a fresh start was made. thereafter the journey was uninterrupted until darkness began to settle over the canyon. in passing, the guide had pointed out in turn three trails leading up the mountainside, but the overlanders were unable to see anything that resembled a trail in any one of them. when they reached the fourth trail hi ordered a halt while he investigated it. "we shall leave the canyon by this trail. you will have to climb the mountain and lead your ponies," directed the guide on his return. "it will be a hard climb, but it has to be made. i'll lead the way. dismount and follow me." night had fully fallen when, after a desperately hard climb, the top of the mountain was reached. the overlanders were tired and hungry, but they were not to have their supper yet. hi pushed deeper into the mountains before he found a place to his liking. then they had supper and soon after were sound asleep. before sunrise the next morning the journey was resumed. their objective was the specter range, still a four-days' journey distant. when they at last reached the range they pitched their camp on the western edge, overlooking an arid desert to the south, broken mountain ranges in all other directions. "did you see any trail marks at the point where we entered the specters, mrs. gray?" asked the guide of grace. "no. should i have seen something?" "several horsemen passed that way only a short time before we arrived, but, from the glance i got of the trail, i don't think the fellow who's been dogging us was among them." "who could they have been?" "wild horse hunters, maybe. there're plenty of them and they're usually a tough bunch. i'll scout about and see what else i can discover." mr. lang discovered nothing of importance, nor was the camp disturbed that night. early next morning grace went out to familiarize herself with their surroundings and also to try to shoot some game, for the party needed fresh meat. she had gone only a short distance when, her gaze focused on a yucca tree ahead. fastened to the tree was a sheet of paper, evidently recently put there, and on this was a crudely drawn heart with a bullet hole through it. beneath the heart were scrawled the words: take notice hi lang and your fresh kids! grace stared in amazement for a moment, then removed the paper from the tree and flattened it out on a rock. taking a pencil, she drew a smaller heart below the one already there and filled it in entirely in black. she put the paper back in place and, drawing her revolver, put a bullet hole through the center of the black heart. "i hope they'll take the hint," she muttered, and turned back toward the camp, knowing that the sound of her shot would cause anxiety. "what were you shooting at?" cried hippy, who had started to run toward the sound. "at a mark," replied grace truthfully. "oh, all right. breakfast's ready." grace went to the stream that flowed from the foot of the waterfall near by. the stream followed a shallow ravine for a short distance then disappeared in a crevice in the rocks. as she was washing her face, grace straightened up to throw her hair out of the way. she gasped in amazement: "gracious, i'm getting nervous! i thought i saw a face peer out from behind the waterfall!" hi came in, stating that he had shot a bear. "it's a small one, and after breakfast i'll have him over here and we'll have bear steak." "did you get anything else, mr. lang?" asked elfreda. "well, i learned that we were not trailed here, but were headed off. i think that's alkali pete's--otherwise known as snake mcglory--work. then, too," and he turned his eyes on grace, "i saw a black heart." "a black heart!" was the cry. after the story was told anne asked: "do you know what it means?" "no, mrs. nesbit. but keep away from the yucca tree. a gun may be trained on the spot. never be without your weapons in this country," he warned, "and keep eyes and ears open." then he left them, to go for the bear. grace walked to the waterfall with elfreda. "grace harlowe gray, i've been studying that map," elfreda said. "look here. i think this is the very place meant." "oh, elfreda, i believe you're right!" cried grace after studying the map, which elfreda put before her, for a moment. "there's the pyramid rock and the waterfall. yonder are the three rocks designated as 'the three bears,' and there's the trunk of what was a yucca tree, and the stream disappears just a few yards beyond us--'stream's end,' as it says on the map! elfreda---" "grace, look! a rag doll over there on that boulder!" interrupted elfreda. the two girls went over. the doll was soiled, but had evidently not lain out in the weather. "shall we take it in?" asked elfreda. "no; leave it where the child put it. but we'd better keep watch on the place. it's queer to find a child's toy here, and while it may mean little, it may mean much." when the two girls returned to camp they found that hi was just back with the bear. "oh, girls! hippy! mr. lang!" and the two in chorus fairly spilled out the story of the face seen by grace back of the waterfall and the doll and their belief that the map was of the place on which they now camped. hi lang took the map and studied it intently. "it surely is," he finally announced. "what does the map mean?" questioned anne. "oh, i guess there'd been rumors of gold or silver, and some one, believing the stories, made a map, maybe by hearsay, maybe at first hand. maybe he talked too much, and some other fellow knocked him on the head and took it." "don't you think there's anything in it?" inquired emma dean disappointedly. "oh, maybe so, maybe not. can't say." after lunch grace donned hip boots and went down toward the fall. seeing elfreda there intent on the map, she announced: "i'm going wading, elfreda. want to come?" "emphatically not. do your boots leak?" "i'll tell you in a moment," laughed grace, stepping into the water. "all right, so far," she called, wading toward the fall. grace thrust her bare arms through the sheet of water pouring from above, groping for the rocks behind. sharp screams, at first loud and piercing, an instant later muffled and seeming far away, brought elfreda to her feet. grace was nowhere to be seen. "help! grace has gone in!" shouted elfreda, plunging into the cold water. chapter xx conclusion hippy heard. hi, farther away, heard. both ran through the bushes. anne, nora, and emma sped to the stream. hippy and elfreda were searching the bottom of the stream, which was not more than three feet deep. hi stopped them and asked elfreda to tell what she knew. "both hands were thrust through the fall like this," and elfreda thrust her own hands through the sheet of water. "i was looking at the map when i heard her scream. looking up, she had disappeared." lang nodded and plunged through the waterfall. those on the outside heard a shot, followed almost instantly by a second one. at the sound elfreda and hippy plunged through the fall. near the base of the fall was no wall of rock behind the water. instead, a tunnel-like cave led into the mountain. elfreda gasped and hippy looked in amazement. grace lay on the floor of the cave and hi lang had a man flown and was beating him, while a little girl was trying to aid the man by striking hi over the head and shoulders with a stick. wingate snatched the stick from her. the child shrank back, and hi, realizing that he was going too far, ceased beating the man. "the fellow struck mrs. gray with the butt of a revolver, i reckon, then shot at me. i put a bullet through his shoulder and we clinched. how's mrs. gray, miss briggs?" "i'll have her around in a few minutes," answered elfreda confidently. "who's the man and what is he?" "some crazy loon. strong as a giant, too. here, you!" to the child reaching toward the man's revolver that lay on the floor. "i'll take that. is this man your father?" the child nodded. "what's your name, kid?" "lindy silver." "he grabbed my hands and jerked me into the cave. then he struck me," explained grace, who had opened her eyes and now sat up. "the scoundrel!" exclaimed hi, jerking the man to his feet. at hi lang's suggestion, hippy and the two girls went up to the camp. it was an hour later when the guide joined them. "the fellow's name is not silver. he's steve carver," hi informed his hearers. "he's loony. he didn't say so, but he thinks he has a claim that's valuable. he declared, too, that we're here to rob him and threatened to get us if we didn't move on at once." "was it he who put the paper on the yucca tree?" questioned elfreda. "no, he didn't do that." "then we have other foes," said grace slowly. "what a shame to let lindy live like a wild animal," broke in elfreda. "perhaps we can do something for her," responded grace. just then a revolver, fired close at hand, sent a bullet a few inches from nora's head. then came a rattling fire of rifle shots. the rifle bullets were going high, possibly due to the fact that they were being fired from a point higher than the camp. the men, armed only with revolvers, had gone from the camp at the revolver shot. "quick, elfreda!" cried grace. "rifles and ammunition for all. for hi and hippy, too. we're being attacked!" "him come along," chirped ping wing, trotting up to elfreda with a rifle in either hand and two belts of ammunition. "take them to the men," ordered elfreda. grace took command of her overland riders and placed them at advantageous points out of sight behind rocks and bushes. from her own position grace saw a head and a pair of shoulders above them on the ridge and a rifle aimed toward the spot where anne was stationed. before the fellow could fire there was a report near at hand. "got him!" exclaimed the guide. "now we'll get it!" muttered grace. they did. bullets from the ridge above them rained on the foliage and the rocks about the campers, but so far none was hurt, though they could tell that several of the attackers received bullet wounds when raising their own rifles in order to fire. creeping closer to hi lang, grace held a whispered consultation, suggesting to him that they try to flank their opponents and to drive them toward the camp where it would be possible to capture them. this was agreed to, but at elfreda's suggestion they decided to wait until darkness fell. when night came there was shooting from the ridge, but the return fire came only from one rifle, that of ping wing. even this ceased in about half an hour, but by that time the overlanders met in the rear of the party on the ridge. here they spread out and began to move cautiously toward the camp, hoping to come upon their attackers, either singly or together, and drive them before them. grace had gone a short distance when she saw a man rise suddenly about ten feet in front of her. without a sound she rose and, slipping her revolver to her left hand, grasped her lasso with her right. it was a true throw, and the rope fell over the man's shoulders, pinning his arms to his sides. without a moment's hesitation, the girl snubbed the lasso about a tree and, holding it firmly, fired three signal shots into the air. the man was heavy, and the best grace could do was to keep the rope taut, taking up the slack when the fellow tried to roll toward her to loosen the strain. "i'll get you for this!" raged the ruffian. "keep quiet or i'll get you first." rifles began to bang toward the camp. three sides were engaged, so it seemed to grace, judging by the sound. what was the meaning of that? the sound of voices presently reached her ears. the prisoner heard, too, and began, to stir. "keep quiet!" ordered grace. "one sound from you and i will shoot. understand?" "yes," he muttered, and sank back. grace strained her ears. were the men of her party or of that of the roped villain? to her relief the men--apparently only two of them--passed by without discovering her and her prisoner, and he, intimidated, kept quiet. suddenly a loud, penetrating "coo-e-e-e-e!" woke the echoes of the mountains. it was the call of the cowboy, a friendly, thrilling sound. a moment of silence, then "overla-a-a-and!" "overla-a-a-and!" cried grace joyfully. "careful, man. i can yell and shoot at the same time," she told her prisoner, who had moved. two men came running over the rocks. "mrs. gray!" shouted the guide. "here! careful! i have a prisoner!" "hullo, kid," cried a familiar voice. "that's bud thomas's voice! the man who gave me this lasso," answered grace, laughing joyously, if a bit hysterically. "sure, it's me. and a lot of the other boys!" the two men came over to grace's side. "hello, kid. you're a smart one. that fellow's snake mcglory, the hombre we boys came out to get." the fighting was over, for the members of mcglory's gang, for such they were, were captured, some of them wounded. "steve carver got his," said lang, on the way back to camp, the two men seeing that mcglory went quietly. "he was the fellow who shot at us and some of this man's gang got him, probably thinking he was one of our outfit." "oh, poor little lindy!" murmured grace. back at the camp grace had to tell her story. "and i caught him because you boys gave me that lasso. wasn't i thankful that i had the rope and had learned to use it! but how did you boys happen to come along?" it seemed, according to bud's story, that belle bates, the wife of the bandit whom grace had wounded when he attacked the overland riders on the apache trail the summer before was the sister of snake mcglory. it was she, bent on vengeance, who had instigated the trailing of the party and the attack on them. snake and his gang were delighted with their task. through a girl of shoshone pete's whom belle liked and confided in, the cowboys had learned of the plan and set forth to prevent its accomplishment. the prisoners were taken to the county seat, and in time received prison sentences for their many crimes in the countryside. hi lang spent some hours in the cave, and when he came back told the girls that carver had not been "loony" after all, for in the cave he found silver, and, time proved, a considerable vein. lindy grieved over her father's death. but the overland riders took her in charge, first registering the mine in her name, inducing hi lang to see to it that it was later worked. the child was sent to school, the overland riders being appointed her guardians by the court. "but now we are to head for home," said grace, leaning over her camp outfit. "ping wing is pleased over that prospect. listen to his song," laughed elfreda. all stopped their work to watch the chinaman pack his stores, singing as he did so: "supposey you makee listen to my singee one piecee sing. me makee he first-chop fashion, about the glate ping wing; he blavest man in desert side, or any side about; me bettee you five dolla', hai! ha blavest party out." the end transcriber notes the text includes original edition page numbers in { }. footnotes in the text are in [ ]. italic text is denoted by _underscores_. obvious typographical and punctuation errors have been corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences within the text and consultation of external sources. more detail can be found at the end of the book. early western travels - volume xviii early western travels - a series of annotated reprints of some of the best and rarest contemporary volumes of travel, descriptive of the aborigines and social and economic conditions in the middle and far west, during the period of early american settlement edited with notes, introductions, index, etc., by reuben gold thwaites, ll.d. editor of "the jesuit relations and allied documents," "original journals of the lewis and clark expedition," "hennepin's new discovery," etc. volume xviii pattie's personal narrative, - ; willard's inland trade with new mexico, , and downfall of the fredonian republic; and malte-brun's account of mexico. [illustration: (publisher's logo)] cleveland, ohio the arthur h. clark company copyright , by the arthur h. clark company all rights reserved the lakeside press r. r. donnelley & sons company chicago contents of volume xviii preface. _the editor_ personal narrative during an expedition from st. louis, through the vast regions between that place and the pacific ocean, and thence back through the city of mexico to vera cruz, during journeyings of six years; in which he and his father, who accompanied him, suffered unheard of hardships and dangers, had various conflicts with the indians, and were made captives, in which captivity his father died; together with a description of the country, and the various nations through which they passed. _james o. pattie_, of kentucky, edited by _timothy flint_. copyright notice the first editor's preface. _timothy flint_ author's introduction text the first editor's note. _timothy flint_ inland trade with new mexico. _doctor willard_, edited by _timothy flint_ downfall of the fredonian republic. _doctor willard_, edited by _timothy flint_ mexico. some account of its inhabitants, towns, productions, and natural curiosities. _conrad malte-brun_ illustrations to volume xviii facsimile of title-page, pattie's narrative "rescue of an indian child" "mr. pattie wounded by an indian arrow" "shooting mr. pattie's horse" "messrs. pattie and slover rescued from famish" "burial of mr. pattie" preface to volume xviii upon the return, in , of the lewis and clark exploring expedition, the first successfully to penetrate from the mississippi river to the pacific ocean, the western imagination was aroused by visions of wealth to be acquired from commercial relations with the indians of the far northwest. fur-trading expeditions were accordingly soon dispatched up the missouri and its tributaries; and, throughout several years, the equally rich opportunities for southwestern indian commerce and exploration were neglected. far to the southwest lay the spanish settlements of new mexico, isolated islands of a sluggish civilization. practically all of their imports were brought in by way of the gulf of mexico and vera cruz, thence travelling a difficult road of over fifteen hundred miles from the coast, making their cost almost prohibitive to the mixed race of spaniards and mexicans who dwelt in the valleys of the upper rio grande. yet within easy reach of their frontier lay one of the chief commercial peoples of the age, to be reached over a wilderness road passing for the most part across level plains, watered by numerous streams--the upper tributaries of the great western affluents of the mississippi. the common interests of these people and of the americans lay in an interchange of commodities; but the government of new spain looked with hostile suspicion upon the aggressive, vigorous race that was even then forcing its borders. behind the prospect of profit for the overland southwest trader, loomed the possibility of a gruesome spanish prison, and confiscation of the adventured goods. after zebulon m. pike returned ( ) with his account of arrest and detention in santa fé and chihuahua, no american trader appears to have sought this region for five years. a party then outfitting from st. louis was seized at the new mexican frontier, hurried to an inland dungeon, and kept in durance nine miserable years. news of this harsh treatment, and of the revolutionary movement which was upheaving the social structure of all new spain, proved sufficiently deterrent to keep any organized expeditions from risking the hazard of the southwest trade, until the third decade of the nineteenth century. more favorable reports being then received, several caravans were fitted out, and the real history of the santa fé trail began. among the early merchants of st. louis, the name of bernard pratte, near relative of the chouteaus and labbadies, was connected with important fur-trading enterprises. in the summer of pratte's eldest son headed a caravan destined for the santa fé, his party being rendezvoused at the company's post upon the missouri, not far from the present site of omaha. there, while waiting for its final equipment, the expedition was reinforced by four free-traders who had left their home upon the gasconade river, the frontier of missouri settlement, and with a small outfit had ascended the river to this point, bent on trading and hunting upon its upper waters. barred from their enterprise by the lack of an authoritative license for dealing with the indians, the little band were easily persuaded to join pratte's party. two of these recruits were the heroes of our tale--sylvester pattie and his son james ohio. for three generations the patties had been frontiersmen. restlessly they moved onward as the border advanced, always hovering upon the outskirts of civilization, seeking to better their condition by taking up fresh lands in untilled places, and remorselessly fighting the aborigines who disputed their invasion. they longed unceasingly for new adventures in the mysterious west, that allured them with its strange fascination. brave, honest, god-fearing, vigorous in mind and body, dependent on their own resources, for food and for defense chiefly dependent on the familiar rifle, the patties belonged to that class of americans who conquered the wilderness, and yearly pushed the frontier westward. the career of the grandfather and father of our author, as in simple phrase he relates it in his introduction, is typical of those of the founders of kentucky, and the early settlers of the rich valley of the missouri. to have early emigrated from virginia to kentucky, to have aided in the defense of bryant's station, and to have served under colonel benjamin logan, and the still more renowned kentuckian, george rogers clark, was unquestionable guaranty to the proud title of pioneer. it was typical, also, that the grandfather, having acquired some local fame and position, and attained the rank of magistrate, the father, tiring of kentucky, should, like the boones, join the stream of emigration to missouri. there, history repeated itself. the war of - breaking out, the frontier blockhouses must again withstand the assaults of savages. lieutenant pattie's relief of cap-au-gris, upon the missouri, takes rank with logan's revolutionary exploits at st. asaph's. the war ended, and the country filling up, "mr. pattie, possessing a wandering and adventurous spirit," once more removed to the utmost borders of civilization, and built a mill upon the rapid gasconade. here he was in a fair way to prosperity, when domestic affliction sent him forth into the wilderness, taking with him his eldest son, who "inheriting the love of a rifle through so many generations, and nursed amid such scenes, he begged so earnestly of his father that he might be allowed to accompany the expedition, that he prevailed." thus began that long series of adventures, so full of hazard and suffering that their unvarnished narration would seem the invention of romance, did not one often find counterparts in the experiences of other western wanderers. recruited to the number of a hundred and sixteen, pratte's caravan advanced first toward the pawnee villages of the platte. because of his long experience in border warfare, sylvester pattie was now chosen commander, and thereafter arranged the details of march and guard. the pawnee were inclined to be friendly, their chiefs having recently visited the great father at washington; but in rescuing an ill-treated native child, captured by them on a recent raid against a hostile tribe, the whites were nearly embroiled with these pirates of the plains. securing the little waif, also some indian guides, the pawnee were left behind august , , and the advance to the southwest begun. day after day the party toiled across the plains, their journey filled with stirring incident. once, prepared to fight a band of from six to eight hundred well-mounted comanche, the whites were rescued by a rival tribe of horsemen, who, "with a noise like distant thunder," swept in between the hostile lines, and won the battle for them. again, amid a vagrant party of indians, the father of the little captive suddenly appeared, and presented the captain of the expedition with tokens of his gratitude for the rescue. upon the twentieth of august, buffalo were first encountered; and twenty days later, on the ridge between the waters of the kansas and the arkansas, young pattie was introduced to that then formidable enemy, the grizzly bear. from that time forward, these fierce creatures attacked the camp almost nightly; on one occasion, a member of the party was caught and so maimed by a grizzly that he shortly after died of his wounds. on the twentieth of october the caravan reached the mountains, and after a difficult crossing descended into the attractive valley of taos, the new mexican frontier. pattie was surprised at the primitive life and customs of the inhabitants of new mexico, of which in a few unadorned sentences he gives us a vivid picture. passing on to santa fé, the ancient capital, our adventurers were just in time to join a punitive expedition against a hostile band of indians, wherein the junior pattie had the good fortune to rescue from the hands of the savages a charming young spanish maiden, daughter of a former governor of the province. the gratitude of the fair captive and of her father was profusely expressed, and their friendship proved of lasting value to the gallant narrator. obtaining permission from the new mexican government to trap upon the gila river, the patties organized a small party for that purpose. leaving santa fé on november , they passed down the rio del norte to socorro, and then struck across country to the gila, visiting en route the famous copper mines of santa rita. the trip extended through nearly five months, and the hunters were probably the first americans to visit the upper valley of the gila. many of the natives having never seen a white man, fled at their approach; but others were more bold, and viciously attacked them with their arrows. james's appearance upon his return to the new mexican settlements was so haggard that the rescued spanish girl shed tears upon observing his plight. securing fresh supplies, the party set out to bring in their buried furs from the gila, only to find that the indians had discovered and rifled their cache; thus had their hardships and sufferings gone for naught. returning to the mines, they succeeded in repelling an attack thereon by hostile apache, and in wringing from them a treaty which ensured the peaceful working of the deposits; whereupon the spaniards rented these works to sylvester pattie, whose american methods enabled him to derive from them a profit unknown to their former operators. but the tranquil life at santa rita proved too monotonous for the younger pattie. he was seized with "an irresistible desire to resume the employment of trapping," and despite paternal remonstrances set out january , , with a few companions, for the gila valley, where he had already suffered and lost so much. during the following eight months, the range of the trappers' journey was wide. passing down the gila to its junction with the colorado, they ascended the banks of the latter stream, seeing in its now world-famous cañons only walls of highly-colored rock that debarred them from the water's edge. crossing the continental divide, probably at the south pass, they emerged upon the plains, and once more hunted buffalo in their native habitat. turning north to the big horn and yellowstone, the adventurers pursued a somewhat ill-defined course, coming back upon the upper arkansas, and crossing to santa fé, where pattie was again deprived of the harvest of furs gathered with such wearisome labor--this time by the duplicity of the spanish governor, who claimed that the young man's former license did not extend to this expedition. after once more visiting the gentle jacova, his young spanish friend, pattie sought his father at santa rita. delaying there but three days for rest, he set forth upon another excursion afield--this time to sonora, chihuahua, and other provinces of northern mexico, returning by way of el paso, and reaching the mines by the middle of november. the winter and spring were spent in occasional hunting excursions, and in visits to the spanish haciendas. in the spring, a new turn was given to the fortunes of the patties, by the embezzlement and flight of a trusted spanish subordinate, through whom were lost the savings of several years. forced to abandon their mining operations, father and son sought to rehabilitate themselves by another extended trapping expedition, and set forth with a company of thirty, again in the direction of the gila. engagements with hostile indians were of frequent occurrence. early in november, many of their party having deserted and all of their horses being stolen, the remainder built themselves canoes, and embarked upon the river. communication with the natives being only possible through the sign language, our adventurers misunderstood their informants to declare that a spanish settlement existed at the mouth of the colorado; and in expectation of here finding succor, they continued down that great waterway to its mouth. there they met with nothing but deserted shores, and tidal waves which seriously alarmed and disturbed these fresh-water voyagers. finding the ascent of the swift current beyond their powers, they had now no recourse but to bury their store of furs, and strike across the rugged peninsula of lower california toward the spanish settlements on the pacific coast. the story of their sufferings in the salt lakes and deserts of this barren land is told with more vigor than delicacy. arrived at a dominican mission on the western slope of the mountains, the weary travellers were received with suspicion rather than hospitality. being placed under surveillance, they were forwarded to san diego, then the residence of the governor of the spanish settlements of california. we now come to a most interesting portion of pattie's book--his residence in california, in the time of the mexican régime, and his report of conditions and events in the "land of the golden fleece." according to his account, he and his companions were at first treated with severity, being imprisoned at san diego for lack of passports, and there detained for many months. the elder pattie died in his cell, without being permitted to see the son for whose presence he had piteously pleaded in his latest hours. young pattie's hatred for the mexican governor was not unnatural; but the consequent bitterness of expression quite distorts his narrative. a mexican tradition reports that the patties were received by the inhabitants with wonder, and treated kindly; also that the elder pattie embraced the catholic faith before his death, and expressed his appreciation of the hospitality shown them. we may infer even from the son's statements, since his chief anathemas are reserved for the officers and the priests, that the unofficial population disapproved of the governor's measures. pattie was at last released, in recognition of his services as an interpreter, and in order that he might vaccinate the natives of the missions, among whom a smallpox epidemic had broken out. the adventurer now set forth up the coast, stopping in turn at each mission and presidio, and presenting us with a graphic picture of the pastoral life of the neophytes and rancheros. arrived at san francisco, he pushed on to the russian fort on bodega bay, returning to monterey in time to describe and participate in the solis revolt of . here he consorted with the small american colony, and in his narrative probably magnifies his own part in this affair, which, seen through the mists of memory, bulked larger than the facts would warrant. at monterey he encountered his old enemy, governor echeandia, who with apparent surprise found his former captive among those who had aided in suppressing the revolt. proffered mexican citizenship, pattie represents himself as showering reproaches on the governor for the indignities he had suffered. advised by his new friends to make a formal statement of his injuries, and the losses suffered by refusal to permit the securing of his furs, pattie embarked for mexico in may, , together with the revolutionists who were being sent to the capital for trial. upon his departure he conveys his impressions of alta california in a few striking sentences: "those who traverse it [the california coast] ... must be constantly excited to wonder and praise. it is no less remarkable for uniting the advantages of healthfulness, a good soil, a temperate climate, and yet one of exceeding mildness, a happy mixture of level and elevated ground, and vicinity to the sea." he then proceeds to animadvert upon the inhabitants and the conduct of the mission padres in their treatment of the natives. the companions of his long and adventurous journey he left settled among the mexicans; most of them made california their permanent home. at the city of mexico, pattie visited the american diplomatic representative, also the president of the republic, but failed to obtain satisfaction for his losses or injuries. on the way to vera cruz, pattie's travelling party met with an incident then common to travel in mexico--being halted by the outlawed followers of the recently-deposed president, their arms seized, one of their number hanged, and the remainder relieved of their valuables. from vera cruz our adventurer found passage to new orleans; thence, through the kindly help of compatriots, who loaned him money for the steamboat passage, he ascended the mississippi to cincinnati and his early kentucky home. here the narrative closes. the only clue we have in reference to his after life, is the one given by h. h. bancroft, the historian, who thinks he was again in san diego, california, after the american advent.[ ] when poor pattie arrived in cincinnati, august , , he not only was penniless, but long incarceration in mexican prisons had broken his health and spirits. the tale of his adventures was doubtless received with slight credence by his simple relatives. but the reverend timothy flint, the young editor of the _western monthly review_ of cincinnati, who was already enamored of stories of western pioneering, prevailed upon pattie to write an account of his curious experiences. thus originated the _personal narrative_, which we now republish in full for the first time.[ ] pattie appears to have written from memory, without the aid of notes taken on the journey--a fact which accounts for the occasional discrepancies in dates, and the obvious confusion of events. upon the whole, however, the narrative impresses the reader with a sense of its verity, and has the charm of simplicity and vigor. the emendations of the editor, we are assured, were chiefly in the matters of orthography and punctuation, "with the occasional interposition of a topographical illustration, which my acquaintance with the accounts of travellers in new mexico, and published views have enabled me to make." it is probable that we thus owe to flint most of the descriptions of scenery, for there is abundant textual evidence that pattie was not possessed of a poetic fancy. to expand the dimensions of the book, flint added an article on "inland trade with new mexico," composed chiefly of extracts from the journal of a doctor willard, who in may, , set out from st. charles, missouri, with an overland party bound for santa fé. thence, practicing medicine on the way, he visited chihuahua and the northeastern provinces of mexico, ending his journey at matamoras. this article, together with another by the same author, on the "downfall of the fredonian republic," also included in the volume, had appeared three years before in flint's magazine. the volume closes with an extract on mexican manners and customs, from malte-brun's _géographie universelle_. a thrilling tale of pure adventure, ranging all the way from encounters with grizzly bears, and savages who had never before seen a white man, to a revolution in a latin-american state, pattie's narrative has long been a classic. its chief value to the student of western history depends upon the vast extent of country over which the author passed, the ethnological data which he presents, especially in relation to the southwestern tribes, and his graphic picture of the contact between two civilizations in the southwest, with the inevitable encroachments of the more progressive race. one sees in his pages the beginnings of the drama to be fought out in the mexican war--the rich and beautiful country, which excited the cupidity of the american pioneer; the indolence and effeminacy of the inhabitants, which inspired the virile backwoodsmen's contempt; and the vanguard of the american advance, already touching the rockies, and ready to push on to the pacific. the spanish-american official, displaying his little brief authority, but irritated the restless borderer, whose advent he dreaded, and whose pressure finally proved irresistible. as a part of the vanguard of the american host that was to crowd the mexican from the fair northern provinces of his domain, pattie's wanderings are typical, and suggestive of more than mere adventure. his book is well worthy of reproduction in our series. the present editor is under obligations to louise phelps kellogg, ph.d., and edith kathryn lyle, ph.d., for assistance in preparing this volume for the press. r. g. t. madison, wis., july, . footnotes to preface: [ ] bancroft, _history of california_, iii, p. , note . [ ] the first edition was published at cincinnati in ; this is, however, less commonly seen than one dated . both are, however, from the same plates, and differ only in date and style of title-page and form of copyright clause. we follow the earlier edition, in these respects. in , one bilson published a book in new york under the title, _the hunters of kentucky; or, the trials and toils of traders and trappers during an expedition to the rocky mountains, new mexico and california_, in which much of pattie's narrative was incorporated verbatim. _harper's magazine_, xxi, pp. - , also gives a résumé of pattie's adventures, with slight embellishments. pattie's personal narrative of a voyage to the pacific and in mexico june , --august , reprint of the original edition: cincinnati, [illustration: (facsimile of title-page, pattie's narrative )] the personal narrative of james o. pattie, of kentucky, during an expedition from st. louis, through the vast regions between that place and the pacific ocean, and thence back through the city of mexico to vera cruz, during journeyings of six years; in which he and his father, who accompanied him, suffered unheard of hardships and dangers, had various conflicts with the indians, and were made captives, in which captivity his father died; together with a description of the country, and the various nations through which they passed. edited by timothy flint. cincinnati: printed and published by john h. wood. . district of ohio, to wit: [illustration: (small logo with l. s. in the center)] be it remembered, that on the th day of oct., anno domini ; john h. wood, of the said district, hath deposited in this office, the title of a book, the title of which is in the words following, to wit: "the personal narrative of james o. pattie, of kentucky, during an expedition from st. louis, through the vast regions between that place and the pacific ocean, and thence back through the city of mexico to vera cruz, during journeyings of six years; in which he and his father who accompanied him, suffered unheard of hardships and dangers; had various conflicts with the indians, and were made captives, in which captivity his father died, together with a description of the country, and the various nations through which they passed." the right whereof he claims as proprietor, in conformity with an act of congress, entitled "an act to amend the several acts respecting copyrights." _attest_, william miner, _clerk of the district_. editor's preface[ ] it has been my fortune to be known as a writer of works of the imagination. i am solicitous that this journal should lose none of its intrinsic interest, from its being supposed that in preparing it for the press, i have drawn from the imagination, either in regard to the incidents or their coloring. for, in the literal truth of the facts, incredible as some of them may appear, my grounds of conviction are my acquaintance with the author, the impossibility of inventing a narrative like the following, the respectability of his relations, the standing which his father sustained, the confidence reposed in him by the hon. j. s. johnston,[ ] the very respectable senator in congress from louisiana, who introduced him to me, the concurrent testimony of persons now in this city, who saw him at different points in new mexico, and the reports, which reached the united states, during the expedition of many of the incidents here recorded. when my family first arrived at st. charles' in , the fame of the exploits of his father, as an officer of the rangers, was fresh in the narratives of his associates and fellow soldiers. i have been on the ground, at cap au gris, where he was besieged by the indians. i am not unacquainted with the scenery through which he passed on the missouri, and i, too, for many years was a sojourner in the prairies. these circumstances, along with a conviction of the truth of the narrative, tended to give me an interest in it, and to qualify me in some degree to judge of the internal evidences contained in the journal itself, of its entire authenticity. it will be perceived at once, that mr. pattie, with mr. mcduffie, thinks more of action than literature, and is more competent to perform exploits, than blazon them in eloquent periods. my influence upon the narrative regards orthography, and punctuation {iv} and the occasional interposition of a topographical illustration, which my acquaintance with the accounts of travellers in new mexico, and published views of the country have enabled me to furnish. the reader will award me the confidence of acting in good faith, in regard to drawing nothing from my own thoughts. i have found more call to suppress, than to add, to soften, than to show in stronger relief many of the incidents. circumstances of suffering, which in many similar narratives have been given in downright plainness of detail, i have been impelled to leave to the reader's imagination, as too revolting to be recorded. the very texture of the narrative precludes ornament and amplification. the simple record of events as they transpired, painted by the hungry, toil-worn hunter, in the midst of the desert, surrounded by sterility, espying the foot print of the savage, or discerning him couched behind the tree or hillock, or hearing the distant howl of wild beasts, will naturally bear characteristics of stern disregard of embellishment. to alter it, to attempt to embellish it, to divest it of the peculiar impress of the narrator and his circumstances, would be to take from it its keeping, the charm of its simplicity, and its internal marks of truth. in these respects i have been anxious to leave the narrative as i found it. the journalist seems in these pages a legitimate descendant of those western pioneers, the hunters of kentucky, a race passing unrecorded from history. the pencil of biography could seize upon no subjects of higher interest. with hearts keenly alive to the impulses of honor and patriotism, and the charities of kindred and friends; they possessed spirits impassible to fear, that no form of suffering or death could daunt; and frames for strength and endurance, as if ribbed with brass and sinewed with steel. for them to traverse wide deserts, climb mountains, swim rivers, grapple with the grizzly bear, and encounter the savage, in a sojourn in the wilderness of years, far from the abodes of civilized men, was but a spirit-stirring and holiday mode of life. {v} to me, there is a kind of moral sublimity in the contemplation of the adventures and daring of such men. they read a lesson to shrinking and effeminate spirits, the men of soft hands and fashionable life, whose frames the winds of heaven are not allowed to visit too roughly. they tend to re-inspire something of that simplicity of manners, manly hardihood, and spartan energy and force of character, which formed so conspicuous a part of the nature of the settlers of the western wilderness. every one knows with what intense interest the community perused the adventures of captain riley,[ ] and other intrepid mariners shipwrecked and enslaved upon distant and barbarous shores. it is far from my thoughts to detract from the intrepidity of american mariners, which is known, wherever the winds blow, or the waves roll; or to depreciate the interest of the recorded narratives of their sufferings. a picture more calculated to arouse american sympathies cannot be presented, than that of a ship's crew, driven by the fierce winds and the mountain waves upon a rock bound shore, and escaping death in the sea, only to encounter captivity from the barbarians on the land. yet much of the courage, required to encounter these emergencies is passive, counselling only the necessity of submission to events, from which there is no escape, and to which all resistance would be unavailing. the courage requisite to be put forth in an expedition such as that in which mr. pattie and his associates were cast, must be both active and passive, energetic and ever vigilant, and never permitted to shrink, or intermit a moment for years. at one time it is assailed by hordes of yelling savages, and at another, menaced with the horrible death of hunger and thirst in interminable forests, or arid sands. either position offers perils and sufferings sufficiently appalling. but fewer spirits, i apprehend, are formed to brave those of the field, 'where wilds immeasurably spread, seem lengthening as they go.' than of the ocean, where the mariner either soon finds rest beneath its tumultuous bosom, or joyfully spreads his sails again to the breeze. introduction the grandfather of the author of this journal, was born in caroline county, virginia, in . soon after he was turned of twenty-one, he moved to kentucky, and became an associate with those fearless spirits who first settled in the western forests. to qualify him to meet the dangers and encounter the toils of his new position, he had served in the revolutionary war, and had been brought in hostile contact with the british in their attempt to ascend the river potomac. he arrived in kentucky, in company with twenty emigrant families, in , and settled on the south side of the kentucky river. the new settlers were beginning to build houses with internal finishing. his pursuit, which was that of a house carpenter, procured him constant employment, but he sometimes diversified it by teaching school. soon after his arrival, the commencing settlement experienced the severest and most destructive assaults from the indians. in august, , he was one of the party who marched to the assistance of bryant's station,[ ] and shared in the glory of relieving that place by the memorable defeat of the savages. not long afterwards he was called upon by col. logan[ ] to join a party led by him against the indians, who had gained a bloody victory over the kentuckians at the blue licks.[ ] he was present on the spot, where the bodies of the slain lay unburied, and assisted in their interment. during his absence on this expedition, sylvester pattie, father of the author, was born, august , . in november of the same year, his grand-father was summoned to join a party commanded by col. logan, in an expedition against the indians at the shawnee towns, in the limits of the present state of ohio.[ ] they crossed the ohio just below {viii} the mouth of the licking, opposite the site of what is now cincinnati, which was at that time an unbroken forest, without the appearance of a human habitation. they were here joined by gen. clark[ ] with his troops from the falls of the ohio, or what is now louisville. the united force marched to the indian towns, which they burnt and destroyed. returning from this expedition, he resumed his former occupations, witnessing the rapid advance of the country from immigration. when the district, in which he resided, was constituted bracken county, he was appointed one of the judges of the court of quarter sessions, which office he filled sixteen years, until his place was vacated by an act of the legislature reducing the court to a single judge. sylvester pattie, the father of the author, as was common at that period in kentucky, married early, having only reached nineteen. he settled near his father's house, and there remained until there began to be a prevalent disposition among the people to move to missouri. march , , he removed to that country, the author being then eight years old. born and reared amidst the horrors of indian assaults and incursions, and having lived to see kentucky entirely free from these dangers, it may seem strange, that he should have chosen to remove a young family to that remote country, then enduring the same horrors of indian warfare, as kentucky had experienced twenty-five years before. it was in the midst of the late war with england, which, it is well known, operated to bring the fiercest assaults of savage incursion upon the remote frontiers of illinois and missouri. to repel these incursions, these then territories, called out some companies of rangers, who marched against the sac and fox indians, between the mississippi and the lakes, who were at that time active in murdering women and children, and burning their habitations during the absence of the male heads of families.[ ] when pattie was appointed lieutenant in one of these companies, he left his family at st. charles' where he was then residing.[ ] it may be imagined, that the condition of his wife was sufficiently lonely, as this village contained but one american {ix} family besides her own, and she was unable to converse with its french inhabitants. his company had several skirmishes with the indians, in each of which it came off successful. the rangers left him in command of a detachment, in possession of the fort at cap au gris.[ ] soon after the main body of the rangers had marched away, the fort was besieged by a body of english and indians. the besiegers made several attempts to storm the fort, but were repelled by the garrison.--the foe continued the siege for a week, continually firing upon the garrison, who sometimes, though not often, for want of ammunition, returned the fire. lieutenant pattie, perceiving no disposition in the enemy to withdraw, and discovering that his ammunition was almost entirely exhausted, deemed it necessary to send a despatch to bellefontaine,[ ] near the point of the junction of the missouri and mississippi, where was stationed a considerable american force. he proposed to his command, that a couple of men should make their way through the enemy, cross the mississippi, and apprize the commander of bellefontaine of their condition. no one was found willing to risk the attempt, as the besiegers were encamped entirely around them. leaving thomas mcnair[ ] in command in his place, and putting on the uniform of one of the english soldiers, whom they had killed during one of the attempts to storm the fort, he passed by night safely through the camp of the enemy, and arrived at the point of his destination, a distance of over forty miles: soldiers were immediately dispatched from bellefontaine to the relief of the besieged at cap au gris. as soon as this force reached the fort, the british and indians decamped, not, however, without leaving many of their lifeless companions behind them. lieutenant pattie remained in command of cap au gris, being essentially instrumental in repressing the incursions of the sacs and foxes, and disposing them to a treaty of peace, until the close of the war.[ ] in he received his discharge, and returned to his family, with whom he enjoyed domestic happiness in privacy and repose for some years. st. louis and st. charles {x} were beginning rapidly to improve; american families were constantly immigrating to these towns. the timber in their vicinity is not of the best kind for building. pine could no where be obtained in abundance, nearer than on the gasconade, a stream that enters on the south side of the missouri, about one hundred and fifty miles up that river. mr. pattie, possessing a wandering and adventurous spirit, meditated the idea of removing to this frontier and unpeopled river, to erect mills upon it, and send down pine lumber in rafts to st. louis, and the adjoining country. he carried his plan into operation, and erected a saw and grist mill upon the gasconade.[ ] it proved a very fortunate speculation, as there was an immediate demand at st. louis and st. charles for all the plank the mill could supply. in this remote wilderness, mr. pattie lived in happiness and prosperity, until the mother of the author was attacked by consumption. although her husband was, as has been said, strongly endowed with the wandering propensity, he was no less profoundly attached to his family; and in this wild region, the loss of a beloved wife was irreparable. she soon sunk under the disorder, leaving nine young children. not long after, the youngest died, and was deposited by her side in this far land. the house, which had been the scene of domestic quiet, cheerfulness and joy, and the hospitable home of the stranger, sojourning in these forests, became dreary and desolate. mr. pattie, who had been noted for the buoyancy of his gay spirit, was now silent, dejected, and even inattentive to his business; which, requiring great activity and constant attention, soon ran into disorder. about this time, remote trapping and trading expeditions up the missouri, and in the interior of new mexico began to be much talked of. mr. pattie seemed to be interested in these expeditions, which offered much to stir the spirit and excite enterprize. to arouse him from his indolent melancholy, his friends advised him to sell his property, convert it into merchandize and equipments for trapping and hunting, and to join in such an undertaking. to a man born and reared under the circumstances {xi} of his early life--one to whom forests, and long rivers, adventures, and distant mountains, presented pictures of familiar and birth day scenes--one, who confided in his rifle, as a sure friend, and who withal, connected dejection and bereavement with his present desolate residence; little was necessary to tempt him to such an enterprise. in a word, he adopted the project with that undoubting and unshrinking purpose, with which to will is to accomplish. arrangements were soon made. the children were provided for among his relations. the author was at school; but inheriting the love of a rifle through so many generations, and nursed amid such scenes, he begged so earnestly of his father that he might be allowed to accompany the expedition, that he prevailed. the sad task remained for him to record the incidents of the expedition, and the sufferings and death of his father. commencement of the expedition i pass by, as unimportant in this journal, all the circumstances of our arrangements for setting out on our expedition; together with my father's sorrow and mine, at leaving the spot where his wife and my mother was buried, the place, which had once been so cheerful, and was now so gloomy to us. we made our purchases at st. louis. our company consisted of five persons. we had ten horses packed with traps, trapping utensils, guns, ammunition, knives, tomahawks, provisions, blankets, and some surplus arms, as we anticipated that we should be able to gain some additions to our number by way of recruits, as we proceeded onward. but when the trial came, so formidable seemed the danger, fatigue, distance, and uncertainty of the expedition, that not an individual could be persuaded to share our enterprize. june , , we crossed the missouri at a small town called newport,[ ] and meandered the river as far as pilcher's fort,[ ] without any incident worthy of record, except that one of our associates, who had become too unwell to travel, was left at charaton, the remotest village on this frontier of any size.[ ] we arrived at pilcher's fort, on the th day of july. there we remained, until the th, waiting the arrival of a keel boat from below, that was partly freighted with merchandize for us, with which we intended to trade with the indians. on the th, our number diminished to four, we set off for a trading establishment eight miles above us on the missouri, belonging to pratte, choteau and company.[ ] in this place centres most of the trade with the indians on the upper missouri. here we met with sylvester, son of gen. pratte,[ ] who was on his way { } to new mexico, with purposes similar to ours. his company had preceded him, and was on the river platte waiting for him. we left this trading establishment for the council bluffs, six miles above.[ ] when we arrived there, the commanding officer demanded to see our license for trading with the indians. we informed him, that we neither had any, nor were aware that any was necessary. we were informed, that we could be allowed to ascend the river no higher without one. this dilemma brought our onward progress to a dead stand. we were prompt, however, in making new arrangements. we concluded to sell our surplus arms in exchange for merchandize, and change our direction from the upper missouri, to new mexico. one of our number was so much discouraged with our apparent ill success, and so little satisfied with this new project, that he came to the determination to leave our ranks. the remainder, though dispirited by the reduction of our number, determined not to abandon the undertaking. our invalid having rejoined us, we still numbered four. we remained some time at this beautiful position, the council bluffs. i have seen much that is beautiful, interesting and commanding in the wild scenery of nature, but no prospect above, around, and below more so than from this spot. our object and destination being the same as mr. pratte's, we concluded to join his company on the platte. we left the bluffs, july th, and encamped the night after our departure on a small stream, called the elkhorn.[ ] we reached it at a point thirty miles s. w. from the bluffs. the pawnee indians sometimes resort upon the banks of this stream. the country is so open and bare of timber, that it was with difficulty we could find sufficient wood to cook with, even on the banks of the river, where wood is found, if at all, in the prairie country. early the next morning we commenced our march up the bottoms of the stream, which we continued to ascend, until almost night fall, when we concluded to cross it to a small grove of timber that we descried on the opposite shore, where we encamped { } for the night, securing our horses with great care, through fear that they would be stolen by the indians. in the morning, as we were making arrangements to commence our march, we discovered a large body of indians, running full speed towards us. when they had arrived within a hundred yards of us, we made signs, that they must halt, or that we should fire upon them. they halted, and we inquired of them, as one of our number spoke their language, to what nation they belonged? they answered the pawnee.[ ] considering them friendly, we permitted them to approach us. it was on our way, to pass through their town, and we followed them thither. as soon as we arrived at their town, they conducted us to the lodge of their chief, who posted a number of his warriors at the door, and called the rest of his chiefs, accompanied by an interpreter. they formed a circle in the centre of the lodge. the elder chief then lighting a pipe, commenced smoking; the next chief holding the bowl of his pipe. this mode of smoking differed from that of any indians we had yet seen. he filled his mouth with the smoke, then puffed it in our bosoms, then on his own, and then upward, as he said, toward the great spirit, that he would bestow upon us plenty of fat buffaloes, and all necessary aid on our way. he informed us, that he had two war parties abroad. he gave us a stick curiously painted with characters, i suppose something like hieroglyphics, bidding us, should we see any of his warriors, to give them that stick; in which case they would treat us kindly. the pipe was then passed round, and we each of us gave it two or three light whiffs. we were then treated with fat buffaloe meat, and after we had eaten, he gave us counsel in regard to our future course, particularly not to let our horses loose at night. his treatment was altogether paternal. next morning we left the village of this hospitable old chief, accompanied by a pilot, dispatched to conduct us to mr. pratte's company on the platte. this is one of the three villages of the republican pawnees. it is situated on the little platte river,[ ] in the centre of an extensive prairie plain; having near{ } it a small strip of wood extending from the village to the river. the houses are cone-shaped, like a sugar loaf. the number of lodges may amount to six hundred. the night after we left this village, we encamped on the banks of a small creek called the mad buffaloe. here we could find no wood for cooking, and made our first experiment of the common resort in these wide prairies; that is, we were obliged to collect the dung of the buffaloe for that purpose. having taken our supper, some of us stood guard through the night, while the others slept, according to the advice of the friendly chief. next morning we commenced our march at early dawn, and by dint of hard travelling through the prairies, we arrived about sunset, on the main platte, where we joined mr. pratte and his company. we felt, and expressed gratitude to the pilot, who, by his knowledge of the country, had conducted us by the shortest and easiest route. we did not forget the substantial expression of our good will, in paying him. he started for his own village the same evening, accompanying us here, and returning, on foot, although he could have had a horse for the journey. at this encampment, on the banks of the platte, we remained four days, during which time we killed some antelopes and deer, and dressed their skins to make us moccasins. among our arrangements with mr. pratte, one was, that my father should take the command of this company, to which proposition my father and our associates consented. the honor of this confidence was probably bestowed upon him, in consequence of most of the company having served under him, as rangers, during the late war. those who had not, had been acquainted with his services by general report. in conformity with the general wish, my father immediately entered upon his command, by making out a list of the names of the whole company, and dividing it into four messes; each mess having to furnish two men, to stand guard by reliefs, during the night. the roll was called, and the company was found to be a hundred and sixteen. we had three hundred mules, and some { } horses. a hundred of them were packed with goods and baggage. the guard was posted as spies, and all the rest were ordered to commence the arrangements of packing for departure. the guard was detached, to keep at some distance from the camp, reconnoitre, and discover if any indians were lurking in the vicinity. when on the march, the guards were ordered to move on within sight of our flank, and parallel to our line of march. if any indians were descried, they were to make a signal by raising their hats; or if not in sight of us, to alarm us by a pistol shot. these arrangements gave us a chance always to have some little time to make ready for action. it may be imagined, that such a caravan made no mean figure, or inconsiderable dust, in moving along the prairies. we started on the morning of the th of august,[ ] travelling up the main platte, which at this point is more than a hundred yards wide, very shallow, with a clean sand bottom, and very high banks. it is skirted with a thin belt of cotton-wood and willow trees, from which beautiful prairie plains stretch out indefinitely on either side. we arrived in the evening at a village of the pawnee loups.[ ] it is larger than the village of the republican pawnees, which we had left behind us. the head chief of this village received us in the most affectionate and hospitable manner, supplying us with such provisions as we wanted. he had been all the way from these remote prairies, on a visit to the city of washington. he informed us, that before he had taken the journey, he had supposed that the white people were a small tribe, like his own, and that he had found them as numberless as the spires of grass on his prairies. the spectacle, however, that had struck him with most astonishment, was bullets as large as his head, and guns of the size of a log of wood. his people cultivate corn, beans, pumpkins and watermelons. here we remained five days, during which time mr. pratte purchased six hundred buffalo skins, and some horses. a pawnee war party came in from an expedition against a hostile tribe of whom they had killed and scalped four, and taken twenty horses. we were affected at the sight of a little child, taken { } captive, whose mother they had killed and scalped. they could not account for bringing in this child, as their warfare is an indiscriminate slaughter, of men, women and children. a day or two after their arrival, they painted themselves for a celebration of their victory, with great labor and care. the chiefs were dressed in skins of wild animals, with the hair on.--these skins were principally those of the bear, wolf, panther and spotted or ring tailed panther. they wore necklaces of bear's and panther's claws. the braves, as a certain class of the warriors are called, in addition to the dress of the other chiefs, surmounted their heads with a particular feather from a species of eagle, that they call the war eagle.[ ] this feather is considered worth the price of ten ordinary horses. none but a brave is permitted to wear it as a badge. a brave, gains his name and reputation as much by cunning and dexterity in stealing and robbing, as by courage and success in murdering. when by long labor of the toilette, they had painted and dressed themselves to their liking, they marched forth in the array of their guns, bows, arrows and war clubs, with all the other appendages of their warfare. they then raised a tall pole, on the top of which were attached the scalps of the foes they had killed. it must be admitted, that they manifested no small degree of genius and inventiveness, in making themselves frightful and horrible. when they began their triumphal yelling, shouting, singing and cutting antic capers, it seemed to us, that a recruit of fiends from the infernal regions could hardly have transcended them in genuine diabolical display. they kept up this infernal din three days. during all this time, the poor little captive child, barely fed to sustain life, lay in sight, bound hand and foot. when their rage at length seemed sated, and exhausted, they took down the pole, and gave the scalps to the women. we now witnessed a new scene of yells and screams, and infuriated gestures; the actors kicking the scalps about, and throwing them from one to the other with strong expressions of rage and contempt. when they also ceased, in the apparent satisfaction of gratified revenge, the men directed their attention { } to the little captive. it was removed to the medicine lodge, where the medicine men perform their incantations, and make their offerings to the great spirit. we perceived that they were making preparations to burn the child. alike affected with pity and horror, our party appealed, as one man, to the presiding chief, to spare the child. our first proposition was to purchase it. it was received by the chief with manifest displeasure. in reply to our strong remonstrances, he gravely asked us, if we, seeing a young rattlesnake in our path, would allow it to move off uninjured, merely because it was too small and feeble to bite? we undertook to point out the want of resemblance in the circumstances of the comparison, observing that the child, reared among them, would know no other people, and would imbibe their habits and enmities, and become as one of them. the chief replied, that he had made the experiment, and that the captive children, thus spared and raised, had only been instrumental, as soon as they were grown, of bringing them into difficulties. 'it is' said he, 'like taking the eggs of partridges and hatching them; you may raise them ever so carefully in a cage; but once turn them loose, and they show their nature, not only by flying away, but by bringing the wild partridges into your corn fields: eat the eggs, and you have not only the food, but save yourself future trouble.' we again urged that the child was too small to injure them, and of too little consequence to give them the pleasure of revenge in its destruction. to enforce our arguments, we showed him a roll of red broad cloth, the favorite color with the indians. this dazzled and delighted him, and he eagerly asked us, how much we would give him. we insisted upon seeing the child, before we made him an offer. he led us to the lodge, where lay the poor little captive, bound so tight with thongs of raw hide, that the flesh had so swelled over the hard and dried leather, that the strings could no longer be perceived. it was almost famished, having scarcely tasted food for four days, and seemed rather dead than alive. with much difficulty we disengaged its limbs from the thongs, and perceiving that it seemed to revive, we offered him { } ten yards, of the red cloth. expatiating upon the trouble and danger of his warriors in the late expedition, he insisted, that the price was too little. having the child in our possession, and beginning to be indignant at this union of avarice and cruelty, our company exchanged glances of intelligence. a deep flush suffused the countenance of my father. 'my boys,' said he, 'will you allow these unnatural devils to burn this poor child, or practice extortion upon us, as the price of its ransom?' the vehemence and energy, with which these questions were proposed, had an effect, that may be easily imagined, in kindling the spirits of the rest of us. we carried it by acclamation, to take the child, and let them seek their own redress. my father again offered the chief ten yards of cloth, which was refused as before. our remark then was, that we would carry off the child, with, or without ransom, at his choice.--meanwhile the child was sent to our encampment, and our men ordered to have their arms in readiness, as we had reason to fear that the chief would let loose his warriors upon us, and take the child by force. the old chief looked my father full in the face, with an expression of apparent astonishment. 'do you think' said he, 'you are strong enough to keep the child by force?' 'we will do it,' answered my father, 'or every man of us die in the attempt, in which case our countrymen will come, and gather up our bones, and avenge our death, by destroying your nation.' the chief replied with well dissembled calmness, that he did not wish to incur the enmity of our people, as he well knew that we were more powerful than they; alledging, beside, that he had made a vow never to kill any more white men; and he added, that if we would give the cloth, and add to it a paper of vermillion, the child should be ours. to this we consented, and the contract was settled. we immediately started for our encampment, where we were aware our men had been making arrangements for a battle. we had hardly expected, under these circumstances, that the chief would have followed us alone into a camp, where every thing appeared hostile. but he went on with us unhesitatingly, { } until he came to the very edge of it. observing that our men had made a breast work of the baggage, and stood with their arms leaning against it ready for action, he paused a moment, as if faltering in his purpose to advance. with the peculiar indian exclamation, he eagerly asked my father, if he had thought that he would fight his friends, the white people, for that little child? the reply was, that we only meant to be ready for them, if they had thought to do so. with a smiling countenance the chief advanced, and took my father's hand exclaiming, that they were good friends. 'save your powder and lead,' he added, 'to kill buffaloes and your enemies.' so saying he left us for his own lodge. this tribe is on terms of hostility with two or three of the tribes nearest their hunting grounds. they make their incursions on horseback, and often extend them to the distance of six or seven hundred miles. they chiefly engage on horseback, and their weapons, for the most part, consist of a bow and arrows, a lance and shield, though many of them at present have fire arms. their commander stations himself in the rear of his warriors, seldom taking a part in the battle, unless he should be himself attacked, which is not often the case. they show no inconsiderable military stratagem in their marches, keeping spies before and behind, and on each flank, at the distance of a few days travel; so that in their open country, it is almost impossible to come upon them by surprise. the object of their expeditions is quite as often to plunder and steal horses, as to destroy their enemies. each one is provided with the spanish noose, to catch horses. they often extend these plundering expeditions as far as the interior of new mexico. when they have reached the settled country, they lurk about in covert places, until an opportunity presents to seize on their prey. they fall upon the owner of a large establishment of cattle and horses, kill him during the night, or so alarm him as to cause him to fly, and leave his herds and family unprotected; in which case they drive off his horses, and secrete them in the mountains. in these fastnesses of nature they consider them safe; { } aware that the mexicans, partly through timidity, and partly through indolence, will not pursue them to any great distance. we left this village on the th of august, taking with us two of its inhabitants, each having a trap to catch, and a hoe to dig the beavers from their burrows. during this day's march we traversed a wide plain, on which we saw no game but antelopes[ ] and white wolves. at five in the evening, our front guard gave the preconcerted alarm by firing their pistols, and falling back a few moments afterwards, upon the main body.--we shortly afterwards discovered a large body of indians on horseback, approaching us at full speed. when they were within hailing distance, we made them a signal to halt: they immediately halted. surveying us a moment, and discovering us to be whites, one of them came towards us. we showed him the painted stick given us by the pawnee republican chief. he seemed at once to comprehend all that it conveyed, and we were informed, that this was a band of the republican pawnee warriors. he carried the stick among them. it passed from hand to hand, and appeared at once to satisfy them in regard to our peaceable intentions, for they continued their march without disturbing us. but our two associate indians, hearing their yells, as they rode off, took them to be their enemies, from whom they had taken the child. they immediately disappeared, and rejoined us no more. we travelled a few miles further, and encamped for the night on a small stream, called smoking river. it is a tributary stream of the main platte. on this stream a famous treaty had been made between the pawnees and shienne;[ ] and from the friendly smoking of the calumet on this occasion it received its name. next morning we made an early start, and marched rapidly all day, in order to reach water at night. we halted at sunset to repose ourselves, and found water for our own drinking, but none for our mules and horses. as soon as the moon arose, we started again, travelling hard all night, and until ten the next morning. at this time we reached a most singular spring fountain, forming a basin four hundred yards in diameter, in the centre { } of which the water boiled up five or six feet higher, than it was near the circumference. we encamped here, to rest, and feed our mules and horses, the remainder of the day, during which we killed some antelopes, that came here to drink. near this place was a high mound, from which the eye swept the whole horizon, as far as it could reach, and on this mound we stationed our guard. next morning we commenced the toil of our daily march, pursuing a s. w. course, over the naked plains, reaching a small and, as far as i know, a nameless stream at night, on the borders of which were a few sparse trees, and high grass. here we encamped for the night. at twelve next day we halted in consequence of a pouring rain, and encamped for the remainder of the day. this was the first point, where we had the long and anxiously expected pleasure of seeing buffaloes. we killed one, after a most animating sport in shooting at it. next day we made an early start, as usual, and travelled hard all day over a wide plain, meeting with no other incidents, than the sight of buffaloes, which we did not molest. we saw, in this day's march, neither tree nor rising ground. the plains are covered with a short, fine grass, about four inches high, of such a kind, as to be very injurious to the hoofs of animals, that travel over it. it seems to me, that ours would not have received more injury from travelling over a naked surface of rock. in the evening we reached a small collection of water, beside which we encamped. we had to collect our customary inconvenient substitute for fuel, not only this evening, but the whole distance hence to the mountains. on the morning of the th, we commenced, as usual, our early march, giving orders to our advance guard to kill a buffaloe bull, and make moccasins for some of our horses, from the skin, their feet having become so tender from the irritation of the sharp grass, as to make them travel with difficulty. this was soon accomplished, furnishing the only incident of this day's travel. we continued the next day to make our way over the same wearying plain, without water or timber, having been obliged { } to provide more of our horses with buffaloe skin moccasins. this day we saw numerous herds of buffaloe bulls. it is a singular fact, in the habits of these animals, that during one part of the year, the bulls all range in immense flocks without a cow among them, and all the cows equally without the bulls. the herd, which we now saw, showed an evident disposition to break into our caravan. they seemed to consider our horses and mules, as a herd of their cows. we prevented their doing it, by firing on them, and killing several. this evening we arrived on one of the forks of the osage,[ ] and encamped. here we caught a beaver, the first i had ever seen. on the th, we started late, and made a short day's travel, encamping by water. next morning we discovered vast numbers of buffaloes, all running in one direction, as though they were flying from some sort of pursuit. we immediately detached men to reconnoitre and ascertain, whether they were not flying from the indians. they soon discovered a large body of them in full chase of these animals, and shooting at them with arrows. as their course was directly towards our camp, they were soon distinctly in sight. at this moment one of our men rode towards them, and discharged his gun. this immediately turned their attention from the pursuit of the game, to us. the indians halted a moment, as if in deliberation, and rode off in another direction with great speed. we regretted that we had taken no measures to ascertain, whether they were friendly or not. in the latter case we had sufficient ground to apprehend, that they would pursue us at a distance, and attack us in the night. we made our arrangements, and resumed our march in haste, travelling with great caution, and posting a strong guard at night. the next day, in company with another, i kept guard on the right flank. we were both strictly enjoined not to fire on the buffaloes, while discharging this duty. just before we encamped, which was at four in the afternoon, we discovered a herd of buffaloe cows, the first we had seen, and gave notice on our arrival at the camp. mr. pratte insisted, that we had mistaken, and said, that we were not yet far enough advanced into the country, { } to see cows, they generally herding in the most retired depths of the prairies. we were not disposed to contest the point with him, but proposed a bet of a suit of the finest cloth, and to settle the point by killing one of the herd, if the commander would permit us to fire upon it. the bet was accepted, and the permission given. my companion was armed with a musket, and i with a rifle. when we came in sight of the herd, it was approaching a little pond to drink. we concealed ourselves, as they approached, and my companion requested me to take the first fire, as the rifle was surer and closer than the musket. when they were within shooting distance, i levelled one; as soon as it fell, the herd, which consisted of a thousand or more, gathered in crowds around the fallen one. between us we killed eleven, all proving, according to our word, to be cows. we put our mules in requisition to bring in our ample supply of meat. mr. pratte admitted, that the bet was lost, though we declined accepting it. about ten at night it commenced raining; the rain probably caused us to intermit our caution; for shortly after it began, the indians attacked our encampment, firing a shower of arrows upon us. we returned their fire at random, as they retreated: they killed two of our horses, and slightly wounded one of our men; we found four indians killed by our fire, and one wounded. the wounded indian informed our interpreter, that the indians, who attacked us, were arrickarees.[ ] we remained encamped here four days, attending our wounded man, and the wounded indian, who died, however, the second day, and here we buried him. we left this encampment on the th, and through the day met with continued herds of buffaloes and wild horses, which, however, we did not disturb. in the evening we reached a fork of the platte, called hyde park.[ ] this stream, formerly noted for beavers, still sustains a few. here we encamped, set our traps, and caught four beavers. in the morning we began to ascend this stream, and during our progress, we were obliged to keep men in advance, to affrighten the buffaloes and wild horses { } from our path. they are here in such prodigious numbers, as literally to have eaten down the grass of the prairies. here we saw multitudes of prairie dogs.[ ] they have large village establishments of burrows, where they live in society. they are sprightly, bold and self important animals, of the size of a norwegian rat. on the morning of the th, our wounded companion was again unable to travel, in consequence of which we were detained at our encampment three days. not wholly to lose the time, we killed during these three days no buffaloes, of which we saved only the tongues and hump ribs. on the morning of the st, our wounded associate being somewhat recovered, we resumed our march. ascending the stream, in the course of the day we came upon the dead bodies of two men, so much mangled, and disfigured by the wild beasts, that we could only discover that they were white men. they had been shot by the indians with arrows, the ground near them being stuck full of arrows. they had been scalped. our feelings may be imagined, at seeing the mangled bodies of people of our own race in these remote and unpeopled prairies. we consoled ourselves with believing that they died like brave men. we had soon afterwards clear evidence of this fact, for, on surveying the vicinity at the distance of a few hundred yards, we found the bodies of five dead indians. the ground all around was torn and trampled by horse and footmen. we collected the remains of the two white men, and buried them. we then ascended the stream a few miles, and encamped. finding signs of indians, who could have left the spot but a few hours before, we made no fire for fear of being discovered, and attacked in the night. sometime after dark, ten of us started up the creek in search of their fires. about four miles from our encampment, we saw them a few hundred yards in advance. twenty fires were distinctly visible. we counselled with each other, whether to fire on them or not. our conclusion was, that the most prudent plan was to return, and apprize our companions of what we had seen. in consequence of our information, on our return, sixty men were chosen, headed by my father, who set off in order { } to surround their camp before daylight. i was one of the number, as i should have little liked to have my father go into battle without me, when it was in my power to accompany him. the remainder were left in charge of our camp, horses, and mules. we had examined our arms and found them in good order. about midnight we came in sight of their fires, and before three o'clock were posted all around them, without having betrayed ourselves. we were commanded not to fire a gun, until the word was given. as it was still sometime before daylight, we became almost impatient for the command. as an indian occasionally arose and stood for a moment before the fire, i involuntarily took aim at him with the thought, how easily i could destroy him, but my orders withheld me. twilight at length came, and the indians began to arise. they soon discovered two of our men, and instantly raising the war shout, came upon us with great fury. our men stood firm, until they received the order which was soon given. a well directed and destructive fire now opened on them, which they received, and returned with some firmness. but when we closed in upon them they fled in confusion and dismay. the action lasted fifteen minutes. thirty of their dead were left on the field, and we took ten prisoners, whom we compelled to bury the dead. one of our men was wounded, and died the next day. we took our prisoners to our encampment, where we questioned them with regard to the two white men, we had found, and buried the preceding day. they acknowledged, that their party killed them, and assigned as a reason for so doing, that when the white men were asked by the chief to divide their powder and balls with him, they refused. it was then determined by the chief, that they should be killed, and the whole taken. in carrying this purpose into effect, the indians lost four of their best young men, and obtained but little powder and lead, as a compensation. we then asked them to what nation they belonged? they answered the crow.[ ] this nation is distinguished for bravery and skill in war. their bows and arrows were then given them, and they were told, that we never killed defenceless prisoners, but { } that they must tell their brothers of us, and that we should not have killed any of their nation, had not they killed our white brothers; and if they did so in future, we should kill all we found of them, as we did not fear any number, they could bring against us. they were then allowed to go free, which delighted them, as they probably expected that we should kill them, it being their custom to put all their prisoners to death by the most shocking and cruel tortures. that they may not lose this diabolical pleasure by the escape of their prisoners, they guard them closely day and night. one of them, upon being released, gave my father an eagle's feather, saying, you are a good and brave man, i will never kill another white man. we pursued our journey on the st of september. our advance was made with great caution, as buffaloes were now seen in immense herds, and the danger from indians was constant. wandering tribes of these people subsist on the buffaloes, which traverse the interior of these plains, keeping them constantly in sight. on the morning of the d, we started early. about ten o'clock we saw a large herd of buffaloes approaching us with great speed. we endeavored to prevent their running among our pack mules, but it was in vain. they scattered them in every direction over the plain; and although we rode in among the herd, firing on them, we were obliged to follow them an hour, before we could separate them sufficiently to regain our mules. after much labor we collected all, with the exception of one packed with dry goods, which the crowd drove before them. the remainder of the day, half our company were employed as a guard, to prevent a similar occurrence. when we encamped for the night, some time was spent in driving the buffaloes a considerable distance from our camp. but for this precaution, we should have been in danger of losing our horses and mules entirely. the following morning, we took a s. s. w. course, which led us from the stream, during this day's journey. nothing occurred worthy of mention, except that we saw a great number of { } wolves, which had surrounded a small herd of buffaloe cows and calves, and killed and eaten several. we dispersed them by firing on them. we judged, that there were at least a thousand. they were large and as white as sheep. near this point we found water, and encamped for the night. on the morning of the th, a party was sent out to kill some buffaloe bulls, and get their skins to make moccasins for our horses, which detained us until ten o'clock. we then packed up and travelled six miles. finding a lake, we encamped for the night. from this spot, we saw one of the most beautiful landscapes, that ever spread out to the eye. as far as the plain was visible in all directions, innumerable herds of wild horses, buffaloes, antelopes, deer, elk, and wolves, fed in their wild and fierce freedom. here the sun rose, and set, as unobscured from the sight, as on the wastes of ocean. here we used the last of our salt, and as for bread, we had seen none, since we had left the pawnee village. i hardly need observe, that these are no small deprivations. [illustration: rescue of an indian child] the next day we travelled until evening, nothing occurring, that deserves record. our encampment was near a beautiful spring, called bellefontaine, which is visited by the indians, at some seasons of the year. near it were some pumpkins, planted by the indians. i cooked one, but did not find it very palateable: the next day we encamped without water. late in the evening of the following day we reached a stream, and encamped. as we made our arrangements for the night, we came upon a small party of indians. they ran off immediately, but we pursued them, caught four, and took them to the camp they had left, a little distant from ours. it contained between twenty and thirty women and children, beside three men. the women were frightened at our approach, and attempted to run. the indians in our possession said something to them in their own language, that induced them to stop; but it was some time, before they were satisfied, that we intended them no harm. we returned to our camp, and were attending to our mules and horses. our little indian boy was playing about the camp, as usual. { } suddenly our attention was arrested by loud screams or cries; and looking up, we saw our little boy in the arms of an indian, whose neck he was closely clasping, as the indian pressed him to his bosom, kissing him, and crying at the same time. as we moved towards the spot, the indian approached us, still holding the child in his arms; and falling on his knees, made us a long speech, which we understood only through his signs. during his speech, he would push the child from him, and then draw it back to him, and point to us. he was the father of this boy, whom we saved from being burnt by the pawnees. he gave us to understand by his signs, that his child was carried off by his enemies. when the paroxysm of his joy was past, we explained, as well as we could, how we obtained the child. upon hearing the name pawnee, he sprang upon his feet, and rushed into his tent. he soon came out, bringing with him two indian scalps, and his bow and arrows, and insisted, that we should look at the scalps, making signs to tell us, that they were pawnee scalps, which he took at the time he lost his child. after he finished this explanation, he would lay the scalps a short distance from him, and shoot his arrows through them, to prove his great enmity to this nation. he then presented my father a pair of leggins and a pipe, both neatly decorated with porcupine quills; and accompanied by his child, withdrew to his tent, for the night. just as the morning star became visible, we were aroused from our slumbers, by the crying and shouting of the indians in their tent. we arose, and approached it, to ascertain the cause of the noise. looking in, we saw the indians all laying prostrate with their faces to the ground. we remained observing them, until the full light of day came upon them.--they then arose, and placed themselves around the fire. the next movement was to light a pipe, and begin to smoke. seeing them blow the smoke first towards the point where the sun arose, and then towards heaven, our curiosity was aroused, to know the meaning of what we had seen. the old chief told us by signs, that they had been thanking the great spirit for allowing them to see another day. we then purchased a few beaver { } skins of them, and left them. our encampment for the evening of this day, was near a small spring, at the head of which we found a great natural curiosity. a rock sixteen yards in circumference, rises from eighty to ninety feet in height, according to our best judgment, from a surface upon which, in all directions, not the smallest particle of rock, not even a pebble can be found. we were unable to reach the top of it, although it was full of holes, in which the hawks and ravens built their nests. we gave the spring the name of rock castle spring. on the morning of the th, we left this spot, and at night reached the foot of a large dividing ridge, which separates the waters of the platte from those of the arkansas.[ ] after completing our arrangements for the night, some of us ascended to the top of the ridge, to look out for indians; but we saw none. the succeeding morning we crossed the ridge, and came to water in the evening, where we encamped. here we killed a white bear,[ ] which occupied several of us at least an hour. it was constantly in chase of one or another of us, thus withholding us from shooting at it, through fear of wounding each other. this was the first, i had ever seen. his claws were four inches long, and very sharp. he had killed a buffaloe bull, eaten a part of it, and buried the remainder. when we came upon him, he was watching the spot, where he had buried it, to keep off the wolves, which literally surrounded him. on the th, we travelled over some hilly ground. in the course of the day, we killed three white bears, the claws of which i saved, they being of considerable value among the indians, who wear them around the neck, as the distinguishing mark of a brave. those indians, who wear this ornament, view those, who do not, as their inferiors. we came to water, and encamped early. i was one of the guard for the night, which was rather cloudy. about the middle of my guard, our horses became uneasy, and in a few moments more, a bear had gotten in among them, and sprung upon one of them. the others were so much alarmed, that they burst their fastenings, and darted off at full speed. our camp was soon aroused, and { } in arms, for defence, although much confused, from not knowing what the enemy was, nor from what direction to expect the attack. some, however, immediately set off in pursuit of our horses. i still stood at my post, in no little alarm, as i did not know with the rest, if the indians were around us or not. all around was again stillness, the noise of those in pursuit of the horses being lost in the distance. suddenly my attention was arrested, as i gazed in the direction, from which the alarm came, by a noise like that of a struggle at no great distance from me. i espied a hulk, at which i immediately fired. it was the bear devouring a horse, still alive. my shot wounded him. the report of my gun, together with the noise made by the enraged bear, brought our men from the camp, where they awaited a second attack from the unknown enemy in perfect stillness.--determined to avenge themselves, they now sallied forth, although it was so dark, that an object ten steps in advance could not be seen. the growls of the bear, as he tore up the ground around him with his claws, attracted all in his direction. some of the men came so near, that the animal saw them, and made towards them. they all fired at him, but did not touch him. all now fled from the furious animal, as he seemed intent on destroying them. in this general flight one of the men was caught. as he screamed out in his agony, i, happening to have reloaded my gun, ran up to relieve him. reaching the spot in an instant, i placed the muzzle of my gun against the bear, and discharging it, killed him. our companion was literally torn in pieces. the flesh on his hip was torn off, leaving the sinews bare, by the teeth of the bear. his side was so wounded in three places, that his breath came through the openings; his head was dreadfully bruised, and his jaw broken. his breath came out from both sides of his windpipe, the animal in his fury having placed his teeth and claws in every part of his body. no one could have supposed, that there was the slightest possibility of his recovery, through any human means. we remained in our encampment three days, attending upon him, without seeing any change for the worse or better in his situation. { } he had desired us from the first to leave him, as he considered his case as hopeless as ourselves did. we then concluded to move from our encampment, leaving two men with him, to each of whom we gave one dollar a day, for remaining to take care of him, until he should die, and to bury him decently. on the th we set off, taking, as we believed, a final leave of our poor companion. our feelings may be imagined, as we left this suffering man to die in this savage region, unfriended and unpitied. we travelled but a few miles before we came to a fine stream and some timber. concluding that this would be a better place for our unfortunate companion, than the one where he was, we encamped with the intention of sending back for him. we despatched men for him, and began to prepare a shelter for him, should he arrive. this is a fork of smoke hill river, which empties into the platte.[ ] we set traps, and caught eight beavers, during the night. our companions with the wounded man on a litter, reached us about eight o'clock at night. in the morning we had our painful task of leave taking to go through again. we promised to wait for the two we left behind at the arkansas river. we travelled all day up this stream.--i counted, in the course of the day, two hundred and twenty white bears. we killed eight, that made an attack upon us; the claws of which i saved. leaving the stream in the evening we encamped on the plain. a guard of twenty was relieved through the night, to prevent the bears from coming in upon us. two tried to do it and were killed. in the morning we began our march as usual: returning to the stream, we travelled until we came to its head.[ ] the fountain, which is its source, boils up from the plain, forming a basin two hundred yards in circumference, as clear as crystal, about five feet in depth. here we killed some wild geese and ducks. after advancing some distance farther we encamped for the night. buffaloes were not so numerous, during this day's journey, as they had been some time previous, owing, we judged, to the great numbers of white bears. { } on the th we travelled until sunset, and encamped near water. on the th we found no water, but saw great numbers of wild horses and elk. the succeeding morning we set off before light, and encamped at o'clock in the afternoon by a pond, the water of which was too brackish to drink. on the th we found water to encamp by. in the course of the day i killed two fat buffaloe cows. one of them had a calf, which i thought i would try to catch alive. in order to do so, i concluded it would be well to be free from any unnecessary incumbrances, and accordingly laid aside my shot-pouch, gun and pistols. i expected it would run, but instead of that, when i came within six or eight feet of it, it turned around, and ran upon me, butting me like a ram, until i was knocked flat upon my back. every time i attempted to rise, it laid me down again. at last i caught by one of its legs, and stabbed it with my butcher knife, or i believe it would have butted me to death. i made up my mind, that i would never attempt to catch another buffaloe calf alive, and also, that i would not tell my companions what a capsizing i had had, although my side did not feel any better for the butting it had received. i packed on my horse as much meat as he could carry, and set out for the camp, which i reached a little after dark. my father was going in search of me, believing me either lost, or killed. he had fired several guns, to let me know the direction of the camp. we travelled steadily on the st, and encamped at night on a small branch of the arkansas. during the day, we had seen large droves of buffaloes running in the same direction, in which we travelled, as though they were pursued. we could, however, see nothing in pursuit. they appeared in the same confusion all night. on the d, we marched fast all day, the buffaloes still running before us. in the evening we reached the main arkansas, and encamped. the sky indicating rain, we exerted ourselves, and succeeded in pitching our tents and kindling fires, before the rain began to fall. our meat was beginning to roast, when we saw some indians about half a mile distant, looking at us from a hill. we immediately tied our { } mules and horses. a few minutes after, ten indians approached us with their guns on their shoulders. this open, undisguised approach made us less suspicious of them, than we should otherwise have been. when they were within a proper distance, they stopped, and called out _amigo_, _amigo_. one of our number understood them, and answered _amigo_, which is friend, when they came up to us. they were commanches,[ ] and one of them was a chief. our interpreter understood and spoke their language quite well. the chief seemed bold, and asked who was our captain? my father was pointed out to him. he then asked us to go and encamp with him, saying that his people and the whites were good friends. my father answered, that we had encamped before we knew where they were, and that if we moved now, we feared that the goods would be wet. the chief said, this was very good; but that, as we now knew where his camp was, we must move to it. to this my father returned, that if it did not rain next morning, we would; but as before, that we did not wish to get the goods wet to night. the chief then said, in a surly manner, 'you don't intend then to move to my camp to night?' my father answered, 'no!' the chief said he should, or he would come upon us with his men, kill us, and take every thing we had. upon this my father pushed the chief out of the tent, telling him to send his men as soon as he pleased; that we would kill them, as fast as they came. in reply the chief pointed his finger to the spot, where the sun would be at eight o'clock the next morning, and said, 'if you do not come to my camp, when the sun is there, i will set all my warriors upon you.' he then ran off through the rain to his own camp. we began, immediately, a kind of breastwork, made by chopping off logs, and putting them together. confidently expecting an attack in the night, we tied our horses and mules in a sink hole between us and the river. it was now dark. i do not think an eye was closed in our camp that night; but the morning found us unmolested; nor did we see any indians, before the sun was at the point spoken of. when it had reached it, an army of between six and eight hundred mounted { } indians, with their faces painted as black as though they had come from the infernal regions, armed with fuzees and spears and shields appeared before us. every thing had been done by the indians to render this show as intimidating as possible. we discharged a couple of guns at them to show that we were not afraid, and were ready to receive them. a part advanced towards us; but one alone, approaching at full speed, threw down his bow and arrows, and sprang in among us, saying in broken english 'commanches no good, me iotan, good man.' he gave us to understand, that the iotan nation was close at hand, and would not let the commanches hurt us, and then started back. the commanches fired some shots at us, but from such a distance, that we did not return them. in less than half an hour, we heard a noise like distant thunder. it became more and more distinct, until a band of armed indians, whom we conjectured to be iotans,[ ] became visible in the distance. when they had drawn near, they reined up their horses for a moment, and then rushed in between us and commanches, who charged upon the iotans. the latter sustained the charge with firmness. the discharge of their fire arms and the clashing of their different weapons, together with their war-yell, and the shrieks of the wounded and dying were fit accompaniments to the savage actors and scene. i do not pretend to describe this deadly combat between two indian nations; but, as far as i could judge, the contest lasted fifteen minutes. i was too deeply interested in watching the event, to note it particularly. we wished to assist the iotans, but could not distinguish them from the mass, so closely were the parties engaged. we withheld our fire through fear of injuring the iotans, whom we considered our friends. it was not long before we saw, to our great satisfaction, the commanches dismounted, which was the signal of their entire defeat. the iotans then left the commanches, and returned to their women and children, whom they had left some distance behind. they brought them to our camp, and pitched their own tents all around us, except that of the chief, which was placed in the centre with ours. a guard of warriors was then posted around { } the encampment, and an order given for the wounded iotans to be brought into the tent of the chief. there were ten, two of whom died before night. a message was now sent to the chief of the commanches, in obedience to which he came to the iotan chief. a council then seemed to be held, and a peace was made, the terms of which were, that the iotan chief should pay the commanche chief two horses for every warrior, he had lost in the battle, over the number of iotans killed. we gave the iotan chief goods to the amount of one hundred dollars, which pleased him exceedingly. he expressed himself perfectly satisfied with this recompense for the warriors he had lost in our defence. the knowledge, that a party as large as ours was traversing the country, had soon spread in all directions from the reports of indians, who had met with us, and we became to these savage tribes a matter of interest, as a source of gain to be drawn from us by robbing, kindness or trade.--our movements were observed. the commanches determined to possess themselves of their object by force; and the iotans interfered in our defence, that they might thus gain their point by extortion from friends. not a single commanche was allowed to enter our camp, as arrangements were making for the iotans to trade with us. all, who had any beaver skins, or dressed deer skins, were sent for. a guard was placed around in a circle, inside of which the skins were thrown down. each indian then inquired for the article he wanted. in this way we exchanged with them butcher knives, paint, and powder and ball, for beaver and deer skins, to the amount of fifteen hundred dollars, allowing them what we considered the value of the skins. the old commanche chief came to the iotan chief to ask permission to talk with us, but was forbidden; and we were told not to have any dealings with him. we did not. the iotan chief then gave us the character of the commanche chief. he seemed to be thinking some time before he began. 'i know,' said he, 'you must think it strange that i should fight with the commanches, and then pay them for their warriors killed, over { } our own number lost, and make peace with them. i will give you my reasons for doing so. four years ago, this commanche chief with his followers, went in company with my father, who was a chief, and a few of his followers, in search of buffaloes. after they had killed what they wanted, they divided the meat. the commanche took all the best of it, leaving the remains for my father. the old man put up with it, and said nothing. on their return, close to this place they met a band of nabahoes,[ ] a nation that had long been at war with ours, and killed a great number of our people. my father wanted to kill them, and began to fire upon them. the commanches joined the nabahoes, and together they killed my father and most of his men. he then paid for the lives he had taken, in horses, giving twenty for my father, and four for each warrior. i only give two horses for a warrior. i am now happy. i have killed three times as many of them, as they did of us, and paid less for it. i know they can never get the upper hand of me again. this commanche chief is a mean man, for whenever he has power, he makes others do as he pleases, or he kills them, and takes all they have. he wanted to act in this way with you; but i do not think he could, for you know how to shoot better than he does; and you would not give up, as long as you had powder and ball and one man alive.' my father as commander, said, 'his men were all good soldiers, and knew how to get the advantage in fighting; and that we had plenty of ammunition and good guns, and were not in the least afraid of being beaten by them.' 'i think so,' replied the chief; 'but i thank the great spirit, that it happened as it did. i have taken revenge for the death of my father, and his people, and gained, i hope, at the same time the love of a good and brave people by defending them.' we assured him that he had, expressing our thanks for his aid, and regret for those who had been killed in our defence. 'yes,' said the chief, 'they were brave men; but they loved my father, whom they have now gone to see, where they will have plenty to eat, and drink, without having to fight for it.' these were his thoughts, as near as i can express them. the commanche chief made a second application for permission to talk with us, which was now granted. his object in conversing { } with us, was, as he said, to make friends with us, and induce us to give him some powder and ball. we told him that we would willingly make peace with him; but not give him any thing, as we did not break the peace. he had threatened to kill us, and take our property without any provocation from us, and certainly, if any present was necessary, it must come from him. we did not, however, wish any present from him, and would make peace with him, provided he promised never to kill, or try to kill a white man. he answered, that he had neither done it, or intended to do it; that with regard to us, he only sought to frighten us, so that we should come to his camp, before the iotans came up, whom he knew to be not far distant, in order that he might precede them in trading with us, adding that as he had been so disappointed, he thought we ought to give him a little powder and ball. our answer was, that we had no more ammunition to spare; and that we could not depart from our resolution of not purchasing a treaty from him; but we would give him a letter of recommendation to the next company that came in this direction, by means of which he might trade with them, and obtain what he wanted of these articles. he consented to a treaty on these conditions, and lighting his pipes we smoked friends. he then asked us if we came through the pawnee village? we answered in the affirmative. his next question was, had they plenty of ammunition? our reply was again, yes. we were then given to understand, that he was then at war with them, and had been for a number of years, and that he should soon either make peace with them, or have a general engagement. he would prefer peace, as they were at war with the spaniards, as well as himself. by uniting forces, they could beat the spaniards, though in case of a treaty or not, he intended to go against the spaniards, as soon as he should return from the country of the pawnees. he added, 'i suppose you are friends with the spaniards, and are now going to trade with them.' our commander replied, that we were going to trade with them, but not to fight for them. that, said the chief, is { } what i wanted to know. i do not want war with your people, and should we accidentally kill any of them, you must not declare war against us, as we will pay you for them in horses or beaver skins. we did not express our natural feeling, that the life of one man was worth more than all the horses or beaver skins, his nation could bring forth; but told him, that we would not injure his people, unless they did ours, on purpose. he returned, apparently satisfied, to his camp. we were detained here until the fourth of november by our promise of awaiting the arrival of the two men, we had left with our wounded companion. they came, and brought with them his gun and ammunition. he died the fifth day, after we had left him, and was buried as decently, as the circumstances would allow. on the th of november[ ] we again set off in company with a party of iotans. the arkansas is here wide and shallow, like the platte; and has wide but thinly timbered bottoms on both sides. extending from the bottom ten or twelve miles on the south side, are low hills composed principally of sand. we found travelling upon them very fatiguing, particularly as we met with no water. late in the evening we reached water, and encamped. the next morning we resumed our journey. we were exceedingly diverted, during the day, to see the iotan indians in company with us, chase the buffaloes on horseback. they killed them with their arrows. the force, with which they shoot these arrows, is astonishing. i saw one of them shoot an arrow through a buffaloe bull, that had been driven close to our camp. we were again upon level plains, stretching off in all directions beyond the reach of the eye. the few high mounds scattered over them could not but powerfully arrest the curiosity. from the summit of one i again looked down upon innumerable droves of wild animals, dotting the surface, as they seemed to forget their savage natures, and fed, or reposed in peace. i indulged the thoughts natural to such a position and scene. the remembrance of home, with its duties and pleasures, came upon my mind in strong contrast with my actual circumstances. { } i was interrupted by the discharge of guns, and the screams and yells of indians. the iotans had found six nabahoes a half a mile from us, and were killing them. three were killed. the others, being well mounted, made their escape. the iotans came to our camp with their scalps, leaving their bodies to be eaten by wild animals. my father sent men to bury them. the iotans danced around these scalps all night, and in the morning took up the bodies, we had buried, and cut them in pieces. they then covered themselves with the skins of bears and panthers, and, taking the hearts of the dead men, cut them into pieces of the size of a mouthful, and laid them upon the ground, and kneeling put their hands on the ground, and crawled around the pieces of hearts, growling as though they were enraged bears, or panthers, ready to spring upon them, and eat them. this is their mode of showing hatred to their enemies. not relishing such detestable conduct, we so manifested our feelings, that these indians went to their own camps. we encamped the evening of the next day near water. nothing worthy of record occurred during the journey of the four succeeding days, except that we came to a small creek called simaronee.[ ] here we encamped, and killed some buffaloes, and shod our horses. we travelled up this stream some distance, and left it on the th. on the th we encamped on a creek, where we found four gentle mules, which we caught. i could not account for their being there. nothing of importance occurred in the two last days. from the th to the th, we journied without interruption. the latter day we came in view of a mountain covered with snow, called taos mountain. this object awakened in our minds singular but pleasant feelings. on the d we reached its foot. here mr. pratte concealed a part of his goods by burying them in the ground. we were three days crossing this mountain. on the evening of the th, we arrived at a small town in taos, called st. ferdinando,[ ] situated just at the foot of the mountain on the west side. the alcalde asked us for the invoice { } of our goods, which we showed him, and paid the customary duties on them. this was a man of a swarthy complexion having the appearance of pride and haughtiness. the door-way of the room, we were in, was crowded with men, women and children, who stared at us, as though they had never seen white men before, there being in fact, much to my surprize and disappointment, not one white person among them. i had expected to find no difference between these people and our own, but their language. i was never so mistaken. the men and women were not clothed in our fashion, the former having short pantaloons fastened below the waist with a red belt and buck skin leggins put on three or four times double. a spanish knife is stuck in by the side of the leg, and a small sword worn by the side. a long jacket or blanket is thrown over, and worn upon the shoulders. they have few fire arms, generally using upon occasions which require them, a bow and spear, and never wear a hat, except when they ride. when on horse back, they face towards the right side of the animal. the saddle, which they use, looks as ours would, with something like an arm chair fastened upon it. the women wear upon the upper part of the person a garment resembling a shirt, and a short petticoat fastened around the waist with a red or blue belt, and something of the scarf kind wound around their shoulders. although appearing as poorly, as i have described, they are not destitute of hospitality; for they brought us food, and invited us into their houses to eat, as we walked through the streets. the first time my father and myself walked through the town together, we were accosted by a woman standing in her own door-way. she made signs for us to come in. when we had entered, she conducted us up a flight of steps into a room neatly whitewashed, and adorned with images of saints, and a crucifix of brass nailed to a wooden cross. she gave us wine, and set before us a dish composed of red pepper, ground and mixed with corn meal, stewed in fat and water. we could not eat it. she then brought forward some tortillas and milk. tortillas { } are a thin cake made of corn and wheat ground between two flat stones by the women. this cake is called in spanish, _metate_. we remained with her until late in the evening, when the bells began to ring. she and her children knelt down to pray. we left her, and returned. on our way we met a bier with a man upon it, who had been stabbed to death, as he was drinking whiskey. this town stands on a beautiful plain, surrounded on one side by the rio del norte,[ ] and on the other by the mountain, of which i have spoken, the summit being covered with perpetual snow. we set off for santa fe on the st of november. our course for the first day led us over broken ground. we passed the night in a small town, called callacia, built on a small stream, that empties into the del norte. the country around this place presents but a small portion of level surface. the next day our path lay over a point of the mountain. we were the whole day crossing. we killed a grey bear, that was exceedingly fat. it had fattened on a nut of the shape and size of a bean, which grows on a tree resembling the pine, called by the spanish, pinion. we took a great part of the meat with us. we passed the night again in a town called albukerque.[ ] the following day we passed st. thomas,[ ] a town situated on the bank of the del norte, which is here a deep and muddy stream, with bottoms from five to six miles wide on both sides. these bottoms sustain numerous herds of cattle. the small huts of the shepherds, who attend to them, were visible here and there. we reached another town called elgidonis, and stopped for the night. we kept guard around our horses all night, but in the morning four of our mules were gone. we hunted for them until ten o'clock, when two spaniards came, and asked us, what we would give them, if they would find our mules? we told them to bring the mules, and we would pay them a dollar. they set off, two of our men following them without their knowledge and went into a thicket, where they had tied the mules, and returned with them to us. as may be supposed, we gave them both a good whipping. it seemed at first, that the whole { } town would rise against us in consequence. but when we related the circumstances fairly to the people, the officer corresponding to our justice of the peace, said, we had done perfectly right, and had the men put in the stocks. we recommenced our journey, and passed a mission of indians under the control of an old priest. after crossing a point of the mountain, we reached santa fe,[ ] on the th. this town contains between four and five thousand inhabitants. it is situated on a large plain. a handsome stream runs through it, adding life and beauty to a scene striking and agreeable from the union of amenity and cultivation around, with the distant view of the snow clad mountains. it is pleasant to walk on the flat roofs of the houses in the evening, and look on the town and plain spread below. the houses are low, with flat roofs as i have mentioned. the churches are differently constructed from the other buildings and make a beautiful show. they have a great number of large bells, which, when disturbed, make a noise, that would almost seem sufficient to awaken the dead. we asked the governor for permission to trap beaver in the river helay. his reply was that, he did not know if he was allowed by the law to do so; but if upon examination it lay in his power, he would inform us on the morrow, if we would come to his office at o'clock in the morning. according to this request, we went to the place appointed, the succeeding day, which was the th of november. we were told by the governor, that he had found nothing, that would justify him, in giving us the legal permission, we desired. we then proposed to him to give us liberty to trap, upon the condition, that we paid him five per cent on the beaver we might catch. he said, he would consider this proposition, and give us an answer the next day at the same hour. the thoughts of our hearts were not at all favorable to this person, as we left him. about ten o'clock at night an express came from the river pacus,[ ] on which the nobles have their country seats and large farming establishments, stating, that a large body of indians had come upon several families, whom they had either robbed, or { } murdered. among the number two americans had been killed, and the wife of one taken prisoner, in company with four spanish women, one of whom was daughter of the former governor, displaced because he was an european. the drum and fife and french horn began to sound in a manner, that soon awakened, and alarmed the whole town. the frightened women, and the still more fear-stricken men, joining in a full chorus of screams and cries, ran some to where the drum was beating in the public square, and others to our quarters. upon the first sound of alarm we had prepared to repel the enemy, whatever it might be, provided it troubled us. when this group came rushing towards us, the light of the moon enabled us to discern them with sufficient clearness to prevent our doing them any injury. we did not sleep any more that night, for the women, having got the wrong story, as most women do in a case of the kind, told us that the commanches were in town, killing the people. we awaited an attack, without, however, hearing any sound of fire arms. our conclusion was, that they were skulking around, dealing out death in darkness and silence with their arrows; and in the feelings, which were its natural result, the remainder of the night passed. the first light of morning showed us a body of four hundred men ready to mount their horses. at sunrise the governor came to us to ask, if we would aid in the attempt to recapture the prisoners taken by the commanches, relating to us the real cause of the alarm of the preceding night. we complied readily with his request, as we were desirous of gaining the good will of the people. our arrangements were soon made, and we set off in company with the troops i have mentioned. the th was spent in travelling. we stopped for the night at st. john's, a small town.[ ] on the th we reached the spot, where the murders and robbery were committed. here we took the course the indians had marked in their retreat, stopping only for refreshments. we pressed on all night, as we found their fires still smoking. at eight on the morning of the th, the trail being fresh, we increased our speed, and at twelve came in sight of them, as they advanced toward a low gap in { } the mountains. we now halted, and counselled together with regard to the next movements. the commander of the spaniards proposed, that my father should direct the whole proceedings, promising obedience on his own part and that of his troops. the gap in the mountains, of which i spoke, was made by a stream. the indians were now entering it. my father formed a plan immediately, and submitted it to the spanish commander, who promised to aid in carrying it into effect. in conformity to it, the spaniards were directed to keep in rear of the indians, without being seen by them. we took a circuitous route, screened from sight by the highland, that lay between us and the indians, in order to gain unobserved a hollow in advance of them, in which we might remain concealed, until they approached within gunshot of us. our main object was to surprize them, and not allow them time to kill their captives, should they be still alive. the party in the rear were to close in, upon hearing the report of our guns, and not allow them to return to the plain. our plan seemed to assure us success. we succeeded in reaching the hollow, in which we placed ourselves in the form of a half circle, extending from one side of it to the other, our horses being tied behind us. every man was then ordered to prime, and pick his gun afresh. the right flank was to fire first, the left reserving theirs to give a running fire, that should enable the right to re-load. the indians, surrounding the prisoners, were to be taken as the first aim, to prevent the immediate murder of them by their captors. my post was in the centre of the line. we waited an hour and a half behind our screens of rocks and trees, before our enemies made their appearance. the first object, that came in sight, were women without any clothing, driving a large drove of sheep and horses. these were immediately followed by indians. when the latter were within thirty or forty yards of us, the order to fire was given. the women ran towards us the moment they heard the report of our guns. in doing this they encountered the indians behind them, and three fell pierced by the spears of these savages. the cry among us now was, 'save the women!' another young man and { } myself sprang forward, to rescue the remaining two. my companion fell in the attempt. an indian had raised his spear, to inflict death upon another of these unfortunate captives, when he received a shot from one of our men, that rendered him incapable of another act of cruelty. the captives, one of whom was a beautiful young lady, the daughter of the governor before spoken of, both reached me. the gratitude of such captives, so delivered, may be imagined. fears, thanks and exclamations in spanish were the natural expression of feeling in such a position. my companions aided me in wrapping blankets around them, for it was quite cold; and making the best arrangements in our power for their comfort and safety. this was all done in less time, than is required to relate it, and we returned to our post. the indians stood the second fire, and then retreated. we pursued keeping up a quick fire, expecting every moment to hear the spaniards in the rear following our example to check them in their retreat; but we could discover the entrance upon the plain, before we heard any thing from our spanish muskets. the indians then began to yell; but the spaniards, after one discharge from their fire arms, fled. being mounted on good horses the indians did not pursue them, but satisfied as to our numbers, now that we were upon the plain, they rallied, and rushed upon us. our commander now ordered us to retreat into the woods, and to find shelter behind trees, and take aim that every shot might tell, as it was of the utmost importance, not to waste ammunition, saying, 'stand resolute, my boys, and we make them repent, if they follow us, although those ---- spaniards have deserted us, when we came to fight for them. we are enough for these ---- devils alone.' as they came near us, we gave them a scattering though destructive fire, which they returned bravely, still pressing towards us. it was a serious contest for about ten minutes, after they approached within pistol shot of us. from their yells, one would have thought that the infernal regions were open before them, and that they were about to be plunged in headlong. they finally began to retreat again, and we soon { } put them completely to flight. the spaniards, though keeping a safe distance, while this was going forward, saw the state of affairs, and joined us in the pursuit, still taking especial care not to come near enough to the indians, to hurt them, or receive any injury themselves. after the indians rallied, we lost ten men, and my father received a slight wound in the shoulder. we removed our horses and the rescued captives into the plain, and encamped. the spaniards had killed an indian already wounded, and were riding over the dead bodies of those on the ground, spearing them and killing any, who still breathed. my father commanded them to desist, or he would fire upon them, and the spanish officer added his order to the same effect. the latter then demanded of us, the two women, whom we had rescued, with as much assurance, as though himself had been the cause of their deliverance. my father replied, by asking what authority or right he had, to make such a request, when his cowardice withheld him from aiding in their release? the officer became enraged, and said, that he was unable to rally his men, and that he did not consider the captives any safer in our hands than in those of the indians, as we were not christians. this insult, coupled with such a lame apology, only made my father laugh, and reply, that if cowardice constituted a claim to christianity, himself and his men were prime and undoubted christians. he added further, that if the rescued women preferred to accompany him, rather than remain, until he should have buried his brave comrades, who fell in their defence, and accept his protection, he had nothing to say. the subjects of our discussion, being present while it took place, decided the point before they were appealed to. the youngest said, that nothing would induce her to leave her deliverers, and that when they were ready to go, she would accompany them, adding, that she should pray hourly for the salvation of those, who had resigned their lives in the preservation of hers. the other expressed herself willing to remain with her, and manifested the same confidence and gratitude. the enraged officer and his men set off on their return to santa fe. { } the sun was yet an hour from its setting. we availed ourselves of the remaining light to make a breastwork with the timber, that had drifted down the stream, that we might be prepared for the indians, in case they should return. we finished it, and posted our sentinels by sunset. the governor's daughter now inquired for the individual, who first met her in her flight from the indians, and so humanely and bravely conducted her out of danger, and provided for her comfort. i cannot describe the gratitude and loveliness, that appeared in her countenance, as she looked on me, when i was pointed out to her. not attaching any merit to the act, i had performed, and considering it merely as a duty, i did not know how to meet her acknowledgments, and was embarrassed. on the morning of the th we buried our dead. my father's shoulder was a little stiff, and somewhat swollen. we saddled our horses, and began our return journey. i gave up my horse to one of the ladies, and made my way on foot. we drove the sheep, which escaped the balls, before us. our last look at the ground of our late contest gave a view sufficiently painful to any one, who had a heart; horses and their riders lay side by side. the bodies of robbers surrounded by the objects of their plunder would probably remain, scattered as they were, unburied and exposed to the wild beasts. we halted in the evening for the refreshment of ourselves and horses. this done, we again set off travelling all night. the sheep giving out, we were obliged to leave them. at twelve next day we reached pacus. here we met the father of the youngest of the two ladies accompanied by a great number of spaniards. the old man was transported almost to frenzy, when he saw his daughter. we remained here for the day. on the morning of the th we all set off together, the old governor insisting, that my father and myself must ride in the carriage with him; but we excused ourselves, and rode by the side of it with the interpreter. the father caressed us exceedingly, and said a great many things about me in particular, which i did not think, i deserved. { } the next day at two in the afternoon, we arrived at santa fe. we were received with a salute, which we returned with our small arms. the governor came in the evening, and invited my father and the interpreter to sup with him. he ordered some fat beeves to be killed for the rest of us. the father of jacova, for that was the name of the young lady, i had rescued, came, and invited us all to go, and drink coffee at his son-in-law's, who kept a coffee-house. we went, and when we had finished our coffee, the father came, and took me by the hand, and led me up a flight of steps, and into a room, where were his two daughters. as soon as i entered the room, jacova and her sister both came, and embraced me, this being the universal fashion of interchanging salutations between men and women among these people, even when there is nothing more, than a simple introduction between strangers. after i had been seated an hour, looking at them, as they made signs, and listening to their conversation, of which i did not understand a syllable, i arose with the intention of returning to my companions for the night. but jacova, showing me a bed, prepared for me, placed herself between me and the door. i showed her that my clothes were not clean. she immediately brought me others belonging to her brother-in-law. i wished to be excused from making use of them, but she seemed so much hurt, that i finally took them, and reseated myself. she then brought me my leather hunting shirt, which i had taken off to aid in protecting her from the cold, and begged the interpreter who was now present, to tell me, that she intended to keep it, as long as she lived. she then put it on, to prove to me that she was not ashamed of it. i went to bed early, and arose, and returned to my companions, before any of the family were visible. at eight the governor and my father came to our quarters, and invited us all to dine with him at two in the afternoon. accordingly we all dressed in our best, and went at the appointed time. a band of musicians played during dinner. after it was finished, and the table removed, a fandango was begun. the ladies flocked in, in great numbers. the instruments, to which the dancers moved, were { } a guitar and violin. six men and six women also added their voices. their mode of dancing was a curiosity to me. the women stood erect, moving their feet slowly, without any spring or motion of the body, and the men half bent, moved their feet like drum sticks. this dance is called _ahavave_. i admired another so much, that i attempted to go through it. it was a waltz, danced to a slow and charming air. it produces a fine effect, when twenty or thirty perform it together. the dancing continued, until near morning, when we retired to rest. at eight the following morning we received a license, allowing us to trap in different parts of the country. we were now divided into small parties. mr. pratte added three to our original number, they making the company, to which my father and myself belonged, seven. on the d, we set off. our course lay down the del norte to the helay, a river never before explored by white people.[ ] we left our goods with a merchant, until we should return in the spring. our whole day's journey lay over a handsome plain covered with herds of the different domestic animals. we reached picacheh a small town in the evening. jacova and her father overtook us here, on their way home, which was eighty miles distant from santa fe. in the morning we began our journey, together. during the day we passed several small villages and stopped for the night in one called st. philip, situated on the banks of the del norte, surrounded by large vineyards. jacova's father insisted upon our drinking plentifully of the wine made at this place. the morning of the th saw us again on our journey. our companion, the old governor, was much amused at seeing us kill wild geese and prairie wolves with our rifles, the latter being abundant in this country. in the evening we reached another small town, called st. louis. all these inconsiderable villages contain a church. the succeeding day we traversed the same beautiful plain country, which had made our journey so far, delightful. the same multitude of domestic animals still grazed around our path. { } on the th, we arrived at the residence of jacova and her father. it was a large and even magnificent building. we remained here until the th, receiving the utmost attention and kindness. at our departure, the kind old governor pressed a great many presents upon us; but we refused all, except a horse for each one of us, some flour and dried meat. seven hunters coming up with us, who were going in our direction, we concluded to travel with them, as our united strength would better enable us to contend with the hostile indians, through whose country our course lay. we made our way slowly, descending the river bank, until we reached the last town or settlement in this part of the province, called socoro.[ ] the population of the part of the country, through which we travelled was entirely confined to a chain of settlements along the bottoms of the del norte, and those of some of the rivers, which empty into it. i did not see, during the whole of this journey, an enclosed field, and not even a garden. after remaining one day here, in order to recruit our horses, we resumed our course down the river, dec. d. the bottoms, through which we now passed, were thinly timbered, and the only growth was cotton-wood and willow. we saw great numbers of bears, deer and turkeys. a bear having chased one of our men into the camp, we killed it. on the th we left the del norte, and took a direct course for the copper mines.[ ] we next travelled from the river over a very mountainous country four days, at the expiration of which time we reached this point of our destination. we were here but one night, and i had not leisure to examine the mode, in which the copper was manufactured. in the morning we hired two spanish servants to accompany us; and taking a north-west course pursued our journey, until we reached the helay on the th. we found the country the greater part of the two last days hilly and somewhat barren with a growth of pine, live oak, _pinion_, cedar and some small trees, of which i did not know the name. we caught thirty beavers, the first night we encamped on this river. the next morning, accompanied by another man, { } i began to ascend the bank of the stream to explore, and ascertain if beaver were to be found still higher, leaving the remainder of the party to trap slowly up, until they should meet us on our return. we threw a pack over our shoulders, containing a part of the beavers, we had killed, as we made our way on foot. the first day we were fatigued by the difficulty of getting through the high grass, which covered the heavily timbered bottom. in the evening we arrived at the foot of mountains, that shut in the river on both sides, and encamped. we saw during the day several bears, but did not disturb them, as they showed no ill feeling towards us. on the morning of the th we started early, and crossed the river, here a beautiful clear stream about thirty yards in width, running over a rocky bottom, and filled with fish. we made but little advance this day, as bluffs came in so close to the river, as to compel us to cross it thirty-six times. we were obliged to scramble along under the cliffs, sometimes upon our hands and knees, through a thick tangle of grape-vines and under-brush. added to the unpleasantness of this mode of getting along in itself, we did not know, but the next moment would bring us face to face with a bear, which might accost us suddenly. we were rejoiced, when this rough ground gave place again to the level bottom. at night we reached a point, where the river forked, and encamped on the point between the forks. we found here a boiling spring so near the main stream, that the fish caught in the one might be thrown into the other without leaving the spot, where it was taken. in six minutes it would be thoroughly cooked. the following morning my companion and myself separated, agreeing to meet after four days at this spring. we were each to ascend a fork of the river. the banks of that which fell to my lot, were very brushy, and frequented by numbers of bears, of whom i felt fearful, as i had never before travelled alone in the woods. i walked on with caution until night, and encamped near a pile of drift wood, which i set on fire, thinking thus to frighten any animals that might approach during the night. { } i placed a spit, with a turkey i had killed upon it, before the fire to roast. after i had eaten my supper i laid down by the side of a log with my gun by my side. i did not fall asleep for some time. i was aroused from slumber by a noise in the leaves, and raising my head saw a panther stretched on the log by which i was lying, within six feet of me. i raised my gun gently to my face, and shot it in the head. then springing to my feet, i ran about ten steps, and stopped to reload my gun, not knowing if i had killed the panther or not. before i had finished loading my gun, i heard the discharge of one on the other fork, as i concluded, the two running parallel with each other, separated only by a narrow ridge. a second discharge quickly followed the first, which led me to suppose, that my comrade was attacked by indians. i immediately set out and reached the hot spring by day break, where i found my associate also. the report of my gun had awakened him, when he saw a bear standing upon its hind feet within a few yards of him growling. he fired his gun, then his pistol, and retreated, thinking, with regard to me, as i had with regard to him, that i was attacked by indians. our conclusion now was, to ascend one of the forks in company, and then cross over, and descend the other. in consequence we resumed the course, i had taken the preceding day. we made two day's journey, without beaver enough to recompense us for our trouble, and then crossed to the east fork, trapping as we went, until we again reached the main stream. some distance below this, we met those of our party we had left behind, with the exception of the seven, who joined us on the del norte. they had deserted the expedition, and set off upon their return down the river. we now all hastened on to overtake them, but it was to no purpose. they still kept in advance, trapping clean as they went, so that we even found it difficult to catch enough to eat. finding it impossible to come up with them, we ceased to urge our poor horses, as they were much jaded, and tender footed beside, and travelled slowly, catching what beaver we { } could, and killing some deer, although the latter were scarce, owing, probably to the season of the year. the river here was beautiful, running between banks covered with tall cotton-woods and willows. this bottom extended back a mile on each side. beyond rose high and rather barren hills. on the th we came to a point, where the river entered a cavern between two mountains. we were compelled to return upon our steps, until we found a low gap in the mountains. we were three day's crossing, and the travelling was both fatiguing and difficult. we found nothing to kill. on the d we came upon the river, where it emptied into a beautiful plain. we set our traps, but to no purpose, for the beavers were all caught, or alarmed. the river here pursues a west course. we travelled slowly, using every effort to kill something to eat, but without success. on the morning of the th we concluded, that we must kill a horse, as we had eaten nothing for four day's and a half, except the small portion of a hare caught by my dogs, which fell to the lot of each of a party of seven. before we obtained this, we had become weak in body and mind, complaining, and desponding of our success in search of beaver. desirous of returning to some settlement, my father encouraged our party to eat some of the horses, and pursue our journey. we were all reluctant to begin to partake of the horse-flesh; and the actual thing without bread or salt was as bad as the anticipation of it. we were somewhat strengthened, however, and hastened on, while our supply lasted, in the hope of either overtaking those in advance of us, or finding another stream yet undiscovered by trappers. the latter desire was gratified the first of january, . the stream, we discovered, carried as much water as the helay, heading north. we called it the river st. francisco.[ ] after travelling up its banks about four miles, we encamped, and set all our traps, and killed a couple of fat turkies. in the morning we examined our traps, and found in them beavers! this success restored our spirits instantaneously. exhilarating { } prospects now opened before us, and we pushed on with animation. the banks of this river are for the most part incapable of cultivation being in many places formed of high and rugged mountains. upon these we saw multitudes of mountain sheep.[ ] these animals are not found on level ground, being there slow of foot, but on these cliffs and rocks they are so nimble and expert in jumping from point to point, that no dog or wolf can overtake them. one of them that we killed had the largest horns, that i ever saw on animals of any description. one of them would hold a gallon of water. their meat tastes like our mutton. their hair is short like a deer's, though fine. the french call them the _gros cornes_, from the size of their horns which curl around their ears, like our domestic sheep. these animals are about the size of a large deer. we traced this river to its head, but not without great difficulty, as the cliffs in many places came so near the water's edge, that we were compelled to cross points of the mountain, which fatigued both ourselves and our horses exceedingly. the right hand fork of this river, and the left of the helay head in the same mountain, which is covered with snow, and divides its waters from those of red river. we finished our trapping on this river, on the th. we had caught the very considerable number of beavers, and had used and preserved most of the meat, we had killed. on the th we arrived on the river helay, encamped, and buried our furs in a secure position, as we intended to return home by this route. on the th we began to descend the helay, hoping to find in our descent another beaver stream emptying into it. we had abandoned the hope of rejoining the hunters, that had left us, and been the occasion of our being compelled to feed upon horse flesh. no better was to be expected of us, than that we should take leave to imprecate many a curse upon their heads; and that they might experience no better fate, than to fall into the hands of the savages, or be torn in pieces by the white bears. at the same time, so ready are the hearts of mountain hunters to relent, that i have not a doubt that each man of us would { } have risqued his life to save any one of them from the very fate, we imprecated upon them. in fact, on the night of the d, four of them, actually half starved, arrived at our camp, declaring, that they had eaten nothing for five days. notwithstanding our recent curses bestowed upon them, we received them as brothers. they related that the indians had assaulted and defeated them, robbing them of all their horses, and killing one of their number. next day the remaining two came in, one of them severely wounded in the head by an indian arrow. they remained with us two days, during which we attempted to induce them to lead us against the indians, who had robbed them, that we might assist them to recover what had been robbed from them. no persuasion would induce them to this course. they insisted at the same time, that if we attempted to go on by ourselves, we should share the same fate, which had befallen them. on the morning of the th, we gave them three horses, and as much dried meat as would last them to the mines, distant about miles. fully impressed, that the indians would massacre us, they took such a farewell of us, as if never expecting to see us again. in the evening of the same day, although the weather threatened a storm, we packed up, and began to descend the river. we encamped this night in a huge cavern in the midst of the rocks. about night it began to blow a tempest, and to snow fast. our horses became impatient under the pelting of the storm, broke their ropes, and disappeared. in the morning, the earth was covered with snow, four or five inches deep. one of our companions accompanied me to search for our horses. we soon came upon their trail, and followed it, until it crossed the river. we found it on the opposite side, and pursued it up a creek, that empties into the helay on the north shore. we passed a cave at the foot of the cliffs. at its mouth i remarked, that the bushes were beaten down, as though some animal had been browsing upon them. i was aware, that a bear had entered the cave. we collected some pine knots, split them with our tomahawks, and kindled torches, with which i proposed to { } my companion, that we should enter the cave together, and shoot the bear. he gave me a decided refusal, notwithstanding i reminded him, that i had, more than once, stood by him in a similar adventure; and notwithstanding i made him sensible, that a bear in a den is by no means so formidable, as when ranging freely in the woods. finding it impossible to prevail on him to accompany me, i lashed my torch to a stick, and placed it parallel with the gun barrel, so as that i could see the sights on it, and entered the cave. i advanced cautiously onward about twenty yards, seeing nothing. on a sudden the bear reared himself erect within seven feet of me, and began to growl, and gnash his teeth. i levelled my gun and shot him between the eyes, and began to retreat. whatever light it may throw upon my courage, i admit, that i was in such a hurry, as to stumble, and extinguish my light. the growling and struggling of the bear did not at all contribute to allay my apprehensions. on the contrary, i was in such haste to get out of the dark place, thinking the bear just at my heels, that i fell several times on the rocks, by which i cut my limbs, and lost my gun. when i reached the light, my companion declared, and i can believe it, that i was as pale as a corpse. it was some time, before i could summon sufficient courage to re-enter the cavern for my gun. but having re-kindled my light, and borrowed my companion's gun, i entered the cavern again, advanced and listened. all was silent, and i advanced still further, and found my gun, near where i had shot the bear. here again i paused and listened. i then advanced onward a few strides, where to my great joy i found the animal dead. i returned, and brought my companion in with me. we attempted to drag the carcass from the den, but so great was the size, that we found ourselves wholly unable. we went out, found our horses, and returned to camp for assistance. my father severely reprimanded me for venturing to attack such a dangerous animal in its den, when the failure to kill it outright by the first shot, would have been sure to be followed by my death. four of us were detached to the den. we were soon enabled { } to drag the bear to the light, and by the aid of our beast to take it to camp. it was both the largest and whitest bear i ever saw. the best proof, i can give, of the size and fatness is, that we extracted ten gallons of oil from it. the meat we dried, and put the oil in a trough, which we secured in a deep crevice of a cliff, beyond the reach of animals of prey. we were sensible that it would prove a treasure to us on our return. on the th we resumed our journey, and pushed down the stream to reach a point on the river, where trapping had not been practised. on the th, we reached this point, and found the man, that the indians had killed. they had cut him in quarters, after the fashion of butchers. his head, with the hat on, was stuck on a stake. it was full of the arrows, which they had probably discharged into it, as they had danced around it. we gathered up the parts of the body, and buried them. at this point we commenced setting our traps. we found the river skirted with very wide bottoms, thick-set with the musquito trees,[ ] which bear a pod in the shape of a bean, which is exceedingly sweet. it constitutes one of the chief articles of indian subsistence; and they contrive to prepare from it a very palatable kind of bread, of which we all became very fond. the wild animals also feed upon this pod. on the st we moved our camp ten miles. on the way we noted many fresh traces of indians, and killed a bear, that attacked us. the river pursues a west course amidst high mountains on each side. we trapped slowly onward, still descending the river, and unmolested by the indians. on the th of february, we reached the mouth of a small river entering the helay on the north shore. here we unexpectedly came upon a small party of indians, that fled at the sight of us, in such consternation and hurry, as to leave all their effects, which consisted of a quantity of the bread mentioned above, and some robes made of rabbit skins. still more; they left a small child. the child was old enough to distinguish us from its own people, for it opened its little throat, and screamed so lustily, that we feared it would have fits. the poor thing meanwhile made its { } best efforts to fly from us. we neither plundered nor molested their little store. we bound the child in such a manner, that it could not stray away, and get lost, aware, that after they deemed us sufficiently far off, the parents would return, and take the child away. we thence ascended the small river about four miles, and encamped. for fear of surprize, and apprehending the return of the savages, that had fled from us, and perhaps in greater force, we secured our camp with a small breast-work. we discovered very little encouragement in regard to our trapping pursuit, for we noted few signs of beavers on this stream. the night passed without bringing us any disturbance. in the morning two of us returned to the indian camp. the indians had re-visited it, and removed every thing of value, and what gave us great satisfaction, their child. in proof, that the feelings of human nature are the same every where, and that the language of kindness is a universal one; in token of their gratitude, as we understood it, they had suspended a package on a kind of stick, which they had stuck erect. availing ourselves of their offer, we examined the present, and found it to contain a large dressed buck skin, an article, which we greatly needed for moccasins, of which some of us were in pressing want. on the same stick we tied a red handkerchief by way of some return. we thence continued to travel up this stream four days in succession, with very little incident to diversify our march. we found the banks of this river plentifully timbered with trees of various species, and the land fine for cultivation. on the morning of the th, we returned to the helay, and found on our way, that the indians had taken the handkerchief, we had left, though none of them had shown any disposition, as we had hoped, to visit us. we named the stream we had left, the deserted fork, on account of having found it destitute of beavers. we thence resumed our course down the helay, which continues to flow through a most beautiful country. warned by the frequent traces of fresh indian foot-prints, we every night adopted { } the expedient of enclosing our horses in a pen, feeding them with cotton-wood bark, which we found much better for them than grass. on the th, we advanced to a point, where the river runs between high mountains, in a ravine so narrow, as barely to afford it space to pass. we commenced exploring them to search for a gap, through which we might be able to pass. we continued our expedition, travelling north, until we discovered a branch, that made its way out of the mountains. up its ravine we ascended to the head of the branch. its fountains were supplied by an immense snow bank, on the summit of the mountain. with great labor and fatigue we reached this summit, but could descry no plains within the limits of vision. on every side the peaks of ragged and frowning mountains rose above the clouds, affording a prospect of dreariness and desolation, to chill the heart. while we could hear the thunder burst, and see the lightning glare before us, we found an atmosphere so cold, that we were obliged to keep up severe and unremitting exercise, to escape freezing. we commenced descending the western declivity of the mountains, amidst thick mists and dark clouds, with which they were enveloped. we pitied our horses and mules, that were continually sliding and falling, by which their limbs were strained, and their bodies bruised. to our great joy, we were not long, before we came upon the ravine of a branch, that wound its way through the vast masses of crags and mountains. we were disappointed, however, in our purpose to follow it to the helay. before it mingled with that stream, it ingulfed itself so deep between the cliffs, that though we heard the dash of the waters in their narrow bed, we could hardly see them. we were obliged to thread our way, as we might, along the precipice, that constituted the banks of the creek. we were often obliged to unpack our mules and horses, and transport their loads by hand from one precipice to another. we continued wandering among the mountains in this way, until the d. our provisions were at this time exhausted, and our horses and { } mules so worn out, that they were utterly unable to proceed further. thus we were absolutely obliged to lie by two days. during this time, allen and myself commenced climbing towards the highest peak of the mountains in our vicinity. it was night-fall, before we gained it. but from it we could distinctly trace the winding path of the river in several places; and what was still more cheering, could see smokes arising from several indian camps. to meet even enemies, was more tolerable, than thus miserably to perish with hunger and cold in the mountains. our report on our return animated the despair of our companions. on the morning of the th we resumed our painful efforts to reach the river. on the th, to our great joy, we once more found ourselves on its banks. a party of indians, encamped there, fled at our approach. but fortunately they left a little mush prepared from the seeds of grass. without scruple we devoured it with appetites truly ravenous. in the morning we took ten beavers in our traps, and allen was detached with me to clear away a path, through which the pack horses might pass. we were obliged to cross the river twelve times in the course of a single day. we still discovered the fresh footprints of indians, who had deserted their camps, and fled before us. we were continually apprehensive, that they would fire their arrows upon us, or overwhelm us with rocks, let loose upon us from the summits of the high cliffs, directly under which we were obliged to pass. the third day, after we had left our company, i shot a wild goose in the river. the report of my gun raised the screams of women and children. too much alarmed to stop for my game, i mounted my horse, and rode toward them, with a view to convince them, or in some way, to show them, that we intended them no harm. we discovered them ahead of us, climbing the mountains, the men in advance of the women, and all fleeing at the top of their speed. as soon as they saw us, they turned, and let fly a few arrows at us, one of which would have despatched my companion, had he not been infinitely dextrous in dodging. hungry and fatigued and by no means in the best humor, my companion returned { } them abundance of curses for their arrows. from words he was proceeding to deeds, and would undoubtedly have shot one of them, had i not caught his gun, and made him sensible of the madness of such a deed. it was clearly our wisdom to convince them, that we had no inclination to injure them. some of them were clad in robes of rabbit skins, part of which they shed, in their hurry to clamber over the rocks. finding ourselves unable to overtake them, we returned to their camp, to discover if they had left any thing that we could eat. at no great distance from their camp, we observed a mound of fresh earth, in appearance like one of our coal kilns. considering it improbable, that the indians would be engaged in burning coal, we opened the mound, and found it to contain a sort of vegetable that had the appearance of herbage, which seemed to be baking in the ground, to prepare it for eating. i afterwards ascertained, that it was a vegetable, called by the spanish, mascal, (probably maguey.)[ ] the indians prepare it in this way, so as to make a kind of whiskey of it, tasting like crab-apple cider. the vegetable grows in great abundance on these mountains. next day we came to the point, where the river discharges its waters from the mountains on to the plains. we thence returned, and rejoined our company, that had been making their way onward behind us. march d, we trapped along down a small stream, that empties into the helay on the south side, having its head in a south west direction. it being very remarkable for the number of its beavers, we gave it the name of beaver river. at this place we collected skins; and on the th continued to descend the helay, until the th, when we turned back with as much fur, as our beasts could pack. as yet we had experienced no molestation from the indians, although they were frequently descried skulking after us, and gathering up the pieces of meat, we had thrown away. on the morning of the th we were all prepared for an early start, and my father, by way of precaution, bade us all discharge our guns at the word of command, and then re-load them afresh, { } that we might, in case of emergency, be sure of our fire. we were directed to form in a line, take aim, and at the word, fire at a tree. we gave sufficient proofs, that we were no strangers to the rifle, for every ball had lodged close to the centre of our mark. but the report of our guns was answered by the yell of more than an hundred savages, above us on the mountains. we immediately marched out from under the mountains on to the plains, and beckoned them to come down, by every demonstration of friendship in our power. nothing seemed to offer stronger enticement, than to hold out to them our red cloth. this we did, but without effect, for they either understood us not, or were reluctant to try our friendship. leaving one of our number to watch their deportment, and to note if they followed us, we resumed our march. it would have been a great object to us to have been able to banish their suspicions, and make a treaty with them. but we could draw from them no demonstrations, but those of fear and surprize. on the th we returned to beaver river, and dug up the furs that we had buried, or cashed,[ ] as the phrase is, and concluded to ascend it, trapping towards its head, whence we purposed to cross over to the helay above the mountains, where we had suffered so much in crossing. about six miles up the stream, we stopped to set our traps, three being selected to remain behind in the camp to dry the skins, my father to make a pen for the horses, and i to guard them, while they were turned loose to feed in the grass. we had pitched our camp near the bank of the river, in a thick grove of timber, extending about a hundred yards in width. behind the timber was a narrow plain of about the same width, and still further on was a high hill, to which i repaired, to watch my horses, and descry whatever might pass in the distance. immediately back of the hill i discovered a small lake, by the noise made by the ducks and geese in it. looking more attentively, i remarked what gave me much more satisfaction, that is to say, three beaver lodges. i returned, and made my father acquainted with my discovery. the party despatched to set traps had returned. my father informed { } them of my discovery, and told them to set traps in the little lake. as we passed towards the lake, we observed the horses and mules all crowded together. at first we concluded that they collected together in this way, because they had fed enough. we soon discovered, that it was owing to another cause. i had put down my gun, and stepped into the water, to prepare a bed for my trap, while the others were busy in preparing theirs. instantly the indians raised a yell, and the quick report of guns ensued. this noise was almost drowned in the fierce shouts that followed, succeeded by a shower of arrows falling among us like hail. as we ran for the camp leaving all the horses in their power, we saw six indians stealthily following our trail, as though they were tracking a deer. they occasionally stopped, raised themselves, and surveyed every thing around them. we concealed ourselves behind a large cotton-wood tree, and waited until they came within a hundred yards of us. each of us selected a separate indian for a mark, and our signal to fire together was to be a whistle. the sign was given, and we fired together. my mark fell dead, and my companions' severely wounded. the other indians seized their dead and wounded companions, and fled. we now rejoined our company, who were busily occupied in dodging the arrows, that came in a shower from the summit of the hill, where i had stationed myself to watch our horses. discovering that they were too far from us, to be reached by our bullets, we retreated to the timber, in hopes to draw them down to the plain. but they had had too ample proofs of our being marksmen, to think of returning down to our level, and were satisfied to remain yelling, and letting fly their arrows at random. we found cause both for regret and joy; regret, that our horses were in their power, and joy, that their unprovoked attack had been defeated with loss to themselves, and none to us. at length they ceased yelling, and disappeared. we, on our part, set ourselves busily to work to fortify our camp for the night. meanwhile our savage enemy devised a plan, which, but for the circumspection of my father, would have enabled { } them to destroy us. they divided themselves into two parties, the one party mounted on horses, stolen from us, and so arranged as to induce the belief, that they constituted the whole party. they expected that we would pursue them, to recover our horses. as soon as we should be drawn out from behind our fortification, they had a reserve party, on foot, who were to rush in, between us and our camp, and thus, between two fires, cut us all off together. it so happened, that i had retired a little distance from the camp, in the direction of the ambush party on foot. i met them, and they raised a general yell. my father, supposing me surrounded, ran in the direction of the yell, to aid me. he, too, came in direct contact with the foot party, who let fly a shower of arrows at him, from which nothing but good providence preserved him. he returned the fire with his gun and pistols, by which he killed two of them, and the report of which immediately brought his companions to his side. the contest was a warm one for a few minutes, when the indians fled. this affair commenced about three in the afternoon; and the indians made their final retreat at five; and the succeeding night passed without further molestation from them. in the morning of the th, we despatched two of our men to bring our traps and furs. we had no longer any way of conveying them with us, for the indians had taken all our horses. we, however, in the late contest, had taken four of theirs, left behind in the haste of their retreat. as our companions were returning to camp with the traps, which they had taken up to bury, they discovered the indians, sliding along insidiously towards our camp. we were all engaged in eating our breakfast in entire confidence. our men cried out to us, that the enemy was close upon us. we sprang to our arms. the indians instantly fled to the top of the hill, which we had named battle-hill. in a few minutes they were all paraded on the horses and mules stolen from us. they instantly began to banter us in spanish to come up to them. one of our number who could speak spanish, asked them to what nation they belonged? they answered, _eiotaro_. in return, they asked us, who we were? we answered _americans_. hearing this, they stood in apparent { } surprise and astonishment for some moments. they then replied, that they had thought us too brave and too good marksmen, to be spaniards; that they were sorry for what they had done, under the mistake of supposing us spaniards. they declared themselves ready to make a treaty with us, provided that we would return the four horses, we had taken from them, and bring them up the hill, where they promised us they would restore us our own horses in exchange. we were at once impressed, that the proposal was a mere trick, to induce us to place ourselves in their power. we therefore answered their proposal by another, which was, that they should bring down our horses, and leave them by the pen, where they had taken them, and we in return would let their horses loose, and make friendship with them. they treated our proposal with laughter, which would have convinced us, had we doubted it before, that their only purpose had been to ensnare us. we accordingly faced them, and fired upon them, which induced them to clear themselves most expeditiously. we proceeded to bury our furs; and having packed our four horses with provisions and two traps, we commenced our march. having travelled about ten miles, we encamped in a thicket without kindling a fire, and kept a strict guard all night. next morning we made an early march, still along the banks of the river. its banks are still plentifully timbered with cotton-wood and willow. the bottoms on each side afford a fine soil for cultivation. from these bottoms the hills rise to an enormous height, and their summits are covered with perpetual snow. in these bottoms are great numbers of wild hogs, of a species entirely different from our domestic swine. they are fox-colored, with their navel on their back, towards the back part of their bodies. the hoof of their hind feet has but one dew-claw, and they yield an odor not less offensive than our polecat. their figure and head are not unlike our swine, except that their tail resembles that of a bear. we measured one of their tusks, of a size so enormous, that i am afraid to commit my credibility, by giving the dimensions. they remain undisturbed { } by man and other animals, whether through fear or on account of their offensive odor, i am unable to say. that they have no fear of man, and that they are exceedingly ferocious, i can bear testimony myself. i have many times been obliged to climb trees to escape their tusks. we killed a great many, but could never bring ourselves to eat them. the country presents the aspect of having been once settled at some remote period of the past. great quantities of broken pottery are scattered over the ground, and there are distinct traces of ditches and stone walls, some of them as high as a man's breast, with very broad foundations. a species of tree, which i had never seen before, here arrested my attention.[ ] it grows to the height of forty or fifty feet. the top is cone shaped, and almost without foliage. the bark resembles that of the prickly pear; and the body is covered with thorns. i have seen some three feet in diameter at the root, and throwing up twelve distinct shafts. on the th, we made our last encampment on this river, intending to return to it no more, except for our furs. we set our two traps for the last time, and caught a beaver in each.--we skinned the animals, and prepared the skins to hold water, through fear, that we might find none on our unknown route through the mountains to the helay, from which we judged ourselves distant two hundred miles. our provisions were all spoiled. we had nothing to carry with us to satisfy hunger, but the bodies of the two beavers which we had caught, the night before. we had nothing to sustain us in this disconsolate march, but our trust in providence; for we could not but foresee hunger, fatigue and pain, as the inevitable attendants upon our journey. to increase the depression of our spirits, our moccasins were worn out, our feet sore and tender, and the route full of sharp rocks. on the st, we reached the top of the mountain, and fed upon the last meat of our beavers. we met with no traces of game. what distressed me most of all was, to perceive my father, who had already passed the meridian of his days, sinking with fatigue and weakness. on the morning of the first of april, { } we commenced descending the mountain, from the side of which we could discern a plain before us, which, however, it required two severe days travel to reach. during these two days we had nothing either to eat or drink. in descending from these icy mountains, we were surprised to find how warm it was on the plains. on reaching them i killed an antelope, of which we drank the warm blood; and however revolting the recital may be, to us it was refreshing, tasting like fresh milk. the meat we put upon our horses, and travelled on until twelve o'clock, before we found water. here we encamped the remainder of the day, to rest, and refresh ourselves. the signs of antelopes were abundant, and the appearances were, that they came to the water to drink; from which we inferred, that there was no other drinking place in the vicinity. some of our hunters went out in pursuit of the antelopes. from the numbers of these animals, we called the place _antelope plain_. the land lies very handsomely, and is a rich, black soil, with heavily timbered groves in the vicinity. on the morning of the d, though exceedingly stiff and sore, we resumed our march, and reaching the opposite side of the plain, encamped at a spring, that ran from the mountain. next day we ascended this mountain to its summit, which we found covered with iron ore. at a distance we saw a smoke on our course. we were aware that it was the smoke of an indian camp, and we pushed on towards it. in the evening we reached the smoke, but found it deserted of indians. all this day's march was along a country abundant in minerals. in several places we saw lead and copper ore. i picked up a small parcel of ore, which i put in my shot-pouch, which was proved afterward to be an ore of silver. the misfortune of this region is, that there is no water near these mineral hills. we commenced our morning march half dead with thirst, and pushed on with the eagerness inspired by that tormenting appetite. late in the evening we found a little water, for our own drinking, in the bottom of a rock. not a drop remained for our four horses, that evidently showed a thirst no less devouring than ours. { } their feet were all bleeding, and the moment we paused to rest ourselves, the weary companions of our journey instantly laid down. it went still more to my heart, to see my two faithful dogs, which had followed me all the way from my father's house, where there was always _bread enough and to spare_, looking to me with an expression, which a hunter in the desert only can understand, as though begging food and water. full gladly would i have explained to them, that the sterile wilderness gave me no means of supplying their wants. we had scarcely commenced the next morning's march, when, at a little distance from our course, we saw a smoke. supposing it an indian camp, we immediately concluded to attack it. adopting their own policy, we slipped onward in silence and concealment, until we were close by it. we found the persons women and children. having no disposition to harm them, we fired a gun over their heads, which caused them instantly to fly at the extent of their speed. hunger knows no laws; and we availed ourselves of their provision, which proved to be mascal, and grass seed, of which we made mush. scanty as this nutriment was, it was sufficient to sustain life. we commenced an early march on the th, and were obliged to move slowly, as we were bare-footed, and the mountains rough and steep. we found them either wholly barren, or only covered with a stinted growth of pine and cedar, live oak and barbary bushes. on the th, our provisions were entirely exhausted, and so having nothing to eat, we felt the less need of water. our destitute and forlorn condition goaded us on, so that we reached the helay on the th. we immediately began to search for traces of beavers, where to set our traps, but found none. on the morning of the th, we killed a raven, which we cooked for seven men. it was unsavory flesh in itself, and would hardly have afforded a meal for one hungry man. the miserable condition of our company may be imagined, when seven hungry men, who had not eaten a full meal for ten days, were all obliged to breakfast on this nauseous bird. we were all weak and emaciated. but i was young { } and able to bear hardships. my heart only ached for my poor father who was reduced to a mere skeleton. we moved on slowly and painfully, until evening, when we encamped. on my return from setting our two traps, i killed a buzzard, which, disagreeable as it was, we cooked for supper. in the morning of the th, i found one of the traps had caught an otter. this served for breakfast and supper. it seemed the means of our present salvation, for my father had become so weak, that he could no longer travel. we therefore encamped early, and three of us went out to hunt deer among the hills. but in this sad emergency we could find none. when we returned, my father had prepared lots, that we should draw, to determine who of us should kill one of the dogs. i refused through fear that the lot would fall to me. these faithful companions of our sufferings were so dear to me, that i felt as though i could not allow them to be killed to save my own life; though to save my father, i was aware that it was a duty to allow it to be done. we lay here until the th, my father finding the flesh of the dog both sweet, nutritive and strengthening. on the th, he was again able to travel; and on the th, we arrived at bear creek, where we hid the bears oil, which we found unmolested. we lay here two days, during which time we killed four deer and some turkies. the venison we dried, and cased the skin of one of the deer, in which to carry our oil. we commenced an early march on the d, and on the th reached the river san francisco, where we found our buried furs all safe. i suffered exceedingly from the soreness of my feet, giving me great pain and fever at night. we made from our raw deer skins a very tolerable substitute for shoes. the adoption of this important expedient enabled us to push on, so that we reached the copper mines on the th. the spaniards seemed exceedingly rejoiced, and welcomed us home, as though we were of their own nation, religion and kindred. they assured us, that they had no expectation ever to see us again. the superintendent of the mines, especially, who appeared to me a gentleman of the highest order, received { } us with particular kindness, and supplied all our pressing wants. here we remained, to rest and recruit ourselves, until the d of may. my father then advised me to travel to santa fe, to get some of our goods, and purchase a new supply of horses, with which to return, and bring in our furs. i had a horse, which we had taken from the indians, shod with copper shoes, and in company with four of my companions, and the superintendent of the mines, i started for santa fe. the superintendent assured us, that he would gladly have furnished us horses; but the appache indians[ ] had recently made an incursion upon his establishment, stealing all his horses, and killing three men, that were herding them. this circumstance had suspended the working of the mines. besides he was unable to procure the necessary coal, with which to work them, because the appaches way-laid the colliers, and killed them, as often as they attempted to make coal. we arrived at the house of the governor on the th. jacova, his daughter, received us with the utmost affection; and shed tears on observing me so ill; as i was in fact reduced by starvation and fatigue, to skin and bone. beings in a more wretched plight she could not often have an opportunity to see. my hair hung matted and uncombed. my head was surmounted with an old straw hat. my legs were fitted with leather leggins, and my body arrayed in a leather hunting shirt, and no want of dirt about any part of the whole. my companions did not shame me, in comparison, by being better clad. but all these repulsive circumstances notwithstanding, we were welcomed by the governor and jacova, as kindly, as if we had been clad in a manner worthy of their establishment. we rested ourselves here three days. i had left my more decent apparel in the care of jacova, when we started from the house into the wilderness on our trapping expedition. she had had my clothes prepared in perfect order. i once more dressed myself decently, and spared to my companions all my clothes that fitted them. we all had our hair trimmed. all this had much improved our appearance. when we started { } on the th, the old gentleman gave each of us a good horse, enabling us to travel at our ease. on the th we arrived at santa fe, where we immediately met some of our former companions. it hardly need be added, that the joy of this recognition was great and mutual. we found mr. pratte ill in bed. he expressed himself delighted to see me, and was still more desirous to see my father. he informed me, that four of the company that he had detached to trap, had been defeated by the indians, and the majority of them killed. he had, also, despaired of ever seeing us again. i took a part of my goods, and started back to the mines on the st. none of my companions were willing to accompany me on account of the great apprehended danger from the indians between this place and the mines. in consequence, i hired a man to go with me, and having purchased what horses i wanted, we two travelled on in company. i would have preferred to have purchased my horses of the old governor. but i knew that his noble nature would impel him to give them to me, and felt reluctant to incur such an obligation. when i left his house, he insisted on my receiving a gold chain, in token of the perpetual remembrance of his daughter. i saw no pretext for refusing it, and as i received it, she assured me that she should always make mention of my father and me in her prayers. i left this hospitable place on the th, taking all my clothes with me, except the hunting shirt, which i had worn in the battle with the commanches. this she desired to retain, insisting, that she wished to preserve this memorial to the day of her death. we arrived at the mines the first day of june, having experienced no molestation from the indians. we continued here, making arrangements for our expedition to bring in the furs, until the th. the good natured commander gave us provisions to last us to the point where our furs were buried, and back again. still more, he armed ten of his laborers, and detached them to accompany us. the company consisted of four americans, the man hired at santa fe, and the commander's ten men, fifteen in all. { } we left the mines on the th, and reached battle-hill on beaver river on the d. i need not attempt to describe my feelings, for no description could paint them, when i found the furs all gone, and perceived that the indians had discovered them and taken them away. all that, for which we had hazarded ourselves, and suffered every thing but death, was gone. the whole fruit of our long, toilsome and dangerous expedition was lost, and all my golden hopes of prosperity and comfort vanished like a dream. i tried to convince myself, that repining was of no use, and we started for the river san francisco on the th. here we found the small quantity buried there, our whole compensation for a year's toil, misery and danger. we met no indians either going or returning. we arrived at the mines the th of july, and after having rested two days proposed to start for santa fe. the commander, don juan unis, requested us to remain with him two or three months, to guard his workmen from the indians, while pursuing their employment in the woods. he offered, as a compensation, a dollar a day. we consented to stay, though without accepting the wages. we should have considered ourselves ungrateful, after all the kindness, he had rendered us at the hour of our greatest need, either to have refused the request, or to have accepted a compensation. consequently we made our arrangements to stay. we passed our time most pleasantly in hunting deer and bears, of which there were great numbers in the vicinity. we had no other duties to perform, than to walk round in the vicinity of the workmen, or sit by and see them work. most of my time was spent with don juan, who kindly undertook to teach me to speak spanish. of him, having no other person with whom to converse, i learned the language easily, and rapidly. one month of our engagement passed off without any molestation from the indians. but on the first day of august, while three of us were hunting deer, we discovered the trail of six indians approaching the mines. we followed the trail, and within about a mile from the mines, we came up with them. { } they fled, and we pursued close at their heels. gaining upon them, one of them dodged us, into the head of a hollow. we surrounded him. as soon as he saw that we had discovered him, and that escape was impossible, he sprung on his feet, threw away his bow and arrows, and begged us most submissively not to shoot him. one of our men made up to him, while the other man and myself stood with our guns cocked, and raised to our faces, ready to shoot him, if he made the least motion towards his bow. but he remained perfectly still, crossing his hands, that we might tie them. having done it, we drove him on before us. we had advanced about a hundred yards from the point where we took him, when he pointed out to us a hollow tree, intimating that there was another indian concealed there. we bade him instruct his companion to make no resistance, and to surrender himself, or we would kill him. he explained our words to his companion in the tree. he immediately came forth from his concealment with his bow, and we tied his hands in the same way as the other's. we marched them before us to the mines, where we put them in prison. the spaniards, exasperated with their recent cruelties and murders, would have killed them. we insisted that they should be spared, and they remained in prison until the next morning. we then brought them out of prison, conversed with them, and showed them how closely we could fire. we instructed one of them to tell his chief to come in, accompanied by all his warriors, to make peace. we retained one of the prisoners as a hostage, assuring the other, that if his chief did not come in to make peace, we would put the hostage to death. in regard to the mode of making it, we engaged, that only four of our men should meet them at a hollow, half a mile from the mine. we enjoined it on him to bring them there within the term of four days. we readily discovered by the tranquil countenance of our hostage, that he had no apprehensions that they would not come in. afterwards, by way of precaution, my father put in requisition all the arms he could find in the vicinity of the mines, with { } which he armed thirty spaniards. he then ordered a trench dug, at a hundred yard's distance from the point designated for the indians to occupy. this trench was to be occupied by our armed men, during the time of the treaty, in case, that if the indians should be insolent or menacing, these men might be at hand to overawe them, or aid us, according to circumstances. on the th, we repaired to the place designated, and in a short time, the indians to the number of , came in sight. we had prepared a pipe, tobacco, and a council fire, and had spread a blanket, on which the chief might sit down. as soon as they came near us, they threw down their arms. the four chiefs came up to us, and we all sat down on the blanket. we commenced discussing the subject, for which they were convened. we asked them, if they were ready to make a peace with us; and if not what were the objections? they replied, that they had no objections to a peace with the americans, but would never make one with the spaniards. when we asked their reasons, they answered that they had been long at war with the spaniards, and that a great many murders had been mutually inflicted on either side. they admitted, that they had taken a great many horses from the spaniards, but indignantly alleged, that a large party of their people had come in to make peace with the spaniards, of which they pretended to be very desirous; that with such pretexts, they had decoyed the party within their walls, and then commenced butchering them like a flock of sheep. the very few who had escaped, had taken an unalterable resolution never to make peace with them. 'in pursuance,' they continued, 'of our purposes of revenge, great numbers of our nation went in among the spaniards, and were baptized. there they remain faithful spies for us, informing us when and where there were favorable opportunities to kill, and plunder our enemies.' we told them in reply, that if they really felt disposed to be at peace with the americans, these mines were now working jointly by us and the spaniards; that it was wrong in them to revenge the crimes of the guilty upon the innocent, and that { } these spaniards had taken no part in the cowardly and cruel butchery, of which they had spoken; and that if they would not be peaceable, and allow us to work the mines unmolested, the americans would consider them at war, and would raise a sufficient body of men to pursue them to their lurking places in the mountains; that they had good evidence that our people could travel in the woods and among the mountains, as well as themselves; and that we could shoot a great deal better than either they or the spaniards, and that we had no cowards among us, but true men, who had no fear and would keep their word. the chiefs answered, that if the mines belonged to the americans, they would promise never to disturb the people that worked them. we left them, therefore, to infer that the mines belonged to us, and took them at their word. we then lit the pipe, and all the indians gathered in a circle round the fire. the four chiefs, each in succession made a long speech, in which we could often distinguish the terms americans, and espanola. the men listened with profound attention, occasionally sanctioning what was said by a nod of the head. we then commenced smoking, and the pipe passed twice round the circle. they then dug a hole in the ground in the centre of the circle, and each one spat in it. they then filled it up with earth, danced round it, and stuck their arrows in the little mound. they then gathered a large pile of stones over it, and painted themselves red. such are their ceremonies of making peace. all the forms of the ceremony were familiar to us, except the pile of stones, and spitting in the hole they had dug, which are not practised by the indians on the american frontiers. we asked them the meaning of the spitting. they said, that they did it in token of spitting out all their spite and revenge, and burying their anger under the ground. it was two o'clock before all these ceremonies were finished. we then showed them our reserve force in the trench. they evinced great alarm to see their enemies the spaniards so close to them, and all ready for action. we explained to them, that we intended to be in good faith, if they were; and that these { } men were posted there, only in case they showed a disposition to violence. their fears vanished and tranquility returned to their countenances. the chiefs laughed, and said to each other, these americans know how to fight, and make peace too. but were they to fight us, they would have to get a company entirely of their own people; for that if they took any spaniards into their company, they would be sure to desert them in the time of action. we thence all marched to the mines, where we killed three beeves to feed the indians. after they had eaten, and were in excellent humor, the head chief made a present to my father, of ten miles square of a tract of land lying on a river about three miles from the mines. it was very favorable for cultivation, and the spaniards had several times attempted to make a crop of grain upon it; but the indians had as often either killed the cultivators, or destroyed the grain. my father informed them, that though the land might be his, he should be obliged to employ spaniards to cultivate it for him; and that, having made the land his, they must consider these cultivators his people, and not molest them. with a look of great firmness, the chief said 'that he was a man of truth, and had given his word, and that we should find that nothing belonging to the mines would be disturbed, for that he never would allow the treaty to be violated.' he went on to add, 'that he wanted to be at peace with us, because he had discovered, that the americans never showed any disposition to kill, except in battle; that they had had a proof of this in our not killing the two prisoners we had taken; but had sent one of them to invite his people to come in, and make peace with us, and that he took pleasure in making known to us, that they were good people too, and had no wish to injure men that did not disturb or injure them.' all this farce of bringing the indians to terms of peace with this establishment was of infinite service to the spaniards, though of none to us; for we neither had any interest in the mines, nor intended to stay there much longer. but we were glad to oblige don juan who had been so great a benefactor { } to us. he, on his part, was most thankful to us; for he could now work the mines without any risk of losing men or cattle. he could now raise his own grain, which he had hitherto been obliged to pack miles, not without having many of those engaged in bringing it, either killed or robbed. the indians now had so much changed their deportment as to bring in horses or cows, that they found astray from the mines. they regularly brought in deer and turkies to sell, which don juan, to keep alive their friendship, purchased, whether he needed the articles or not. every day more or less indians came into the settlement to go and hunt deer and bears with us. they were astonished at the closeness of our shooting; and nothing seemed to delight them so much, as our telling them, we would learn them to shoot our guns. my father had the honor to be denominated in their language, _the big captain_. don juan, apprehending that the truce with the indians would last no longer than while we staid, and that after our departure, the indians would resume their former habits of robbery and murder, was desirous to retain us as long as possible. we agreed to stay until december, when our plan was to commence another trapping expedition on the helay, following it down to its mouth. with every disposition on the part of don juan to render our stay agreeable, the time passed away pleasantly. on the th of september, the priest, to whose diocese the mines belonged, made a visit to the mines, to release the spirits of those who had died since his last visit, from purgatory, and to make christians by baptising the little persons who had been born in the same time. this old priest, out of a reverend regard to his own person, had fled from this settlement at the commencement of the indian disturbances; and had not returned until now, when the indians had made peace. a body of indians happened to be in, when the priest came. we were exceedingly amused with the interview between the priest and an indian chief, who, from having had one of his hands bitten off by a bear, was called _mocho mano_. the priest asked the one handed chief, why { } he did not offer himself for baptism? mocho remained silent for some time, as if ruminating an answer. he then said, 'the appache chief is a very big rogue now. should he get his crown sprinkled with holy water, it would either do him no good at all, or if it had any effect, would make him a greater rogue; for that the priests, who made the water holy, and then went sprinkling it about among the people for money, were the biggest rogues of all.' this made the priest as angry as it made us merry. when we had done laughing, mocho asked us, how we baptised among our people? i answered that we had two ways of performing it; but that one way was, to plunge the baptised person under water. he replied promptly, 'now there is some sense in that;' adding that when a great quantity of rain fell from the clouds, it made the grass grow; but that it seemed to him that sprinkling a few drops of water amounted to nothing. the priest, meanwhile, prophesied, that the peace between the spaniards and indians would be of very short duration. on the th, he left the mines, and returned to the place whence he had come. on the th, we started with some indian guides to see a mountain of salt, that they assured us existed in their country. we travelled a northerly course through a heavily timbered country, the trees chiefly of pine and live oak. we killed a great number of bears and deer on the first day; and on account of their reverence for my father, they treated me as if i had been a prince. on the second we arrived at the salt hill, which is about one hundred miles north of the mines. the hill is about a quarter of a mile in length, and on the front side of it is the salt bluff, eight or ten feet in thickness. it has the appearance of a black rock, divided from the earthy matters, with which the salt is mixed. what was to me the most curious circumstance of the whole, was to see a fresh water spring boiling up within twenty feet from the salt bluff, which is a detached and solitary hill, rising out of a valley, which is of the richest and blackest soil, and heavily timbered { } with oak, ash and black walnut. i remained here two days, during which i killed fifteen deer, that came to lick salt. an indian woman of our company dressed all my deer skins, and we loaded two mules with the salt, and started back to the mines, where we arrived the first of october. nothing could have been more seasonable or acceptable to don juan, than the salt we brought with us. having mentioned these mines so often, perhaps it may not be amiss, to give a few details respecting them. within the circumference of three miles, there is a mine of copper, gold and silver, and beside, a cliff of load stone. the silver mine is not worked, as not being so profitable, as either the copper or gold mines. we remained here to the last of december, when the settlement was visited by a company of french trappers, who were bound for red river.[ ] we immediately made preparations to return with them, which again revived the apprehensions of don juan, that the indians would break in upon the settlement as soon as we were gone, and again put an end to the working of the mines. to detain us effectually, he proposed to rent the mines to us for five years, at a thousand dollars a year. he was willing to furnish provisions for the first year gratis, and pay us for all the improvements we should make on the establishment. we could not but be aware, that this was an excellent offer. my father accepted it. the writings were drawn, and my father rented the establishment on his own account, selecting such partners as he chose. i, meanwhile, felt within me an irresistible propensity to resume the employment of trapping. i had a desire, which i can hardly describe, to see more of this strange and new country. my father suffered greatly in the view of my parting with him, and attempted to dissuade me from it. he strongly painted the dangers of the route, and represented to me, that i should not find these frenchmen like my own country people, for companions. all was unavailing to change my fixed purpose, and we left the mines, january d, . we travelled down the river helay, of which i have formerly { } given a description, as far as the point where we had left it for battle-hill. here, although we saw fresh indian signs, we met with no indians. where we encamped for the night, there were arrows sticking in the ground. we made an early start on the th, and at evening came upon the self same party of indians, that had robbed us of our horses, the year past. some of them had on articles of my father's clothes, that he had left where we buried our furs. they had made our beaver skins into robes, which we now purchased of them. while this bargain was transacting, i observed one of the indians mounted on the self same horse, on which my father had travelled from the states. my blood instantly boiled within me, and, presenting my gun at him, i ordered him instantly to dismount. he immediately did as i bade him, and at once a trepidation and alarm ran through the whole party. they were but twenty men, and they were encumbered with women and children. we were thirteen, well mounted and armed. the chief of the party came to me, and asked me, 'if i knew this horse?' i answered, that 'i did, and that it was mine.' he asked me again, 'if we were the party, whose horses and furs they had taken the year before?' i answered, that i was one of them, and that if he did not cause my furs and horses to be delivered up to me, we would kill them all on the spot. he immediately brought me skins and three horses, observing, that they had been famished, and had eaten the rest, and that he hoped this would satisfy me, for that in the battle they had suffered more than we, he having lost ten men, and we having taken from them four horses with their saddles and bridles. i observed to him in reply, that he must remember that they were the aggressors, and had provoked the quarrel, in having robbed us of our horses, and attempting to kill us. he admitted that they were the aggressors, in beginning the quarrel, but added, by way of apology, that they had thought us spaniards, not knowing that we were americans; but that now, when he knew us, he was willing to make peace, and be in perpetual friendship. on this we lit the pipe of peace, and smoked friends. i gave him some red { } cloth, with which he was delighted. i then asked him about the different nations, through which our route would lead us? he named four nations, with names, as he pronounced them, sufficiently barbarous. all these nations he described as bad, treacherous and quarrelsome. though it was late in the evening, we resumed our march, until we had reached the point where the river runs between mountains, and where i had turned back the year before. there is here little timber, beside musqueto-wood, which stands thick. we passed through the country of the first two tribes, which the indian chief had described to us, without meeting an individual of them. on the th, we arrived at an indian village situated on the south bank of the river. almost all the inhabitants of this village speak spanish, for it is situated only three days journey from a spanish fort in the province of sonora,[ ] through which province this river runs. the indians seemed disposed to be friendly to us. they are to a considerable degree cultivators, raising wheat, corn and cotton, which they manufacture into cloths. we left this village on the th, and on the th in the evening arrived at the papawar village, the inhabitants of which came running to meet us, with their faces painted, and their bows and arrows in their hands. we were alarmed at these hostile appearances, and halted. we told them that we were friends, at which they threw down their arms, laughing the while, and showing by their countenances that they were aware that we were frightened. we entered the village, and the french began to manifest their uncontrollable curiosity, by strolling about in every direction. i noted several crowds of indians, collected in gangs, and talking earnestly. i called the leader of my french companions, and informed him that i did not like these movements of the indians, and was fearful that they were laying a plan to cut us all up. he laughed at my fears, telling me i was a coward. i replied, that i did not think that to be cautious, and on our guard, was to show cowardice, and that i still thought it best for us to start { } off. at this he became angry, and told me that i might go when i pleased, and that he would go when he was ready. i then spoke to a frenchman of our number, that i had known for a long time in missouri; i proposed to him to join me, and we would leave the village and encamp by ourselves. he consented, and we went out of the village to the distance of about yards, under the pretext of going there to feed our horses. when the sun was about half an hour high, i observed the french captain coming out towards us, accompanied by a great number of indians, all armed with bows and arrows. this confirmed me in my conviction that they intended us no good. expressing my apprehensions to my french companion, he observed in his peculiar style of english, that the captain was too proud and headstrong, to allow him to receive instruction from any one, for that he thought nobody knew any thing but himself. agreeing that we had best take care of ourselves, we made us a fire, and commenced our arrangements for spending the night. we took care not to unsaddle our horses, but to be in readiness to be off at a moment's warning. our french captain came and encamped within a hundred yards of us, accompanied by not less than a hundred indians. they were all exceedingly officious in helping the party unpack their mules; and in persuading the captain, that there was no danger in turning them all loose, they promised that they would guard them with their own horses. this proposal delighted the lazy frenchmen, who hated to go through the details of preparing for encampment, and had a particular dislike to standing guard in the night. the indian chief then proposed to the captain to stack their arms against a tree, that stood close by. to this also, under a kind of spell of infatuation he consented. the indian chief took a rope, and tied the arms fast to a tree. as i saw this, i told the captain that it seemed to me no mark of their being friendly, for them to retain their own arms, and persuade us to putting ours out of our power, and that one, who had known indians, ought to be better acquainted with their character, than to encamp with them, without his men having { } their own arms in their hand. on this he flew into a most violent passion, calling me, with a curse added to the epithet, a coward, wishing to god that he had never taken me with him, to dishearten his men, and render them insubordinate. being remarkable neither for forbearance, or failing to pay a debt of hard words, i gave him as good as he sent, telling him, among other things no ways flattering, that he was a liar and a fool, for that none other than a fool would disarm his men, and go to sleep in the midst of armed savages in the woods. to this he replied, that he would not allow me to travel any longer in his company. i answered that i was not only willing, but desirous to leave him, for that i considered myself safer in my own single keeping, than under the escort of such a captain, and that i estimated him only to have sense enough to lead people to destruction. he still continued to mutter harsh language in reply, as i returned to my own camp. it being now dusk, we prepared, and ate our supper. we had just finished it, when the head chief of the village came to invite us to take our supper with them, adding, by way of inducement, that they had brought some fine pumpkins to camp, and had cooked them for the white people. we told him, we had taken supper; and the more he insisted, the more resolutely we refused. like the french captain, he began to abuse us, telling us we had bad hearts. we told him, that when with such people, we chose rather to trust to our heads than our hearts. he then asked us to let some of his warriors come and sleep with us, and share our blankets, alleging, as a reason for the request, that the nights were cold, and his warriors too poor to buy blankets. we told him, that he could easily see that we were poor also, and were no ways abundantly supplied with blankets, and that we should not allow them to sleep with us. he then marched off to the french camp, evidently sulky and in bad temper. while roundly rating us to the french captain, he gave as a reason why we ought not to sleep by ourselves, that we were in danger of being killed in the night by another tribe of indians, with whom he was at war. { } the captain, apparently more calm, came to us, and told us, that our conduct was both imprudent and improper, in not conciliating the indians by consenting to eat with them, or allowing them to sleep with us. my temper not having been at all sweetened by any thing that had occurred since we fell out, i told him, that if he had a fancy to eat, or sleep with these indians, i had neither power nor the will to control him; but that, being determined, that neither he nor they should sleep with me, he had better go about his business, and not disturb me with useless importunity. at this he began again to abuse and revile me, to which i made no return. at length, having exhausted his stock of epithets, he returned to his camp. as soon as we were by ourselves, we began to cut grass for our horses, not intending either to unsaddle, or let them loose for the night. my companion and myself were alike convinced, that some catastrophe was in reserve from the indians, and seeing no chance of defending ourselves against an odds of more than twenty to one, we concluded, as soon as all should be silent in the camp, to fly. we packed our mules so as to leave none of our effects behind, and kept awake. we remained thus, until near midnight, when we heard a fierce whistle, which we instantly understood to be the signal for an attack on the french camp. but a moment ensued, before we heard the clashing of war clubs, followed by the shrieks and heavy groans of the dying french, mingled with the louder and more horrible yells of these treacherous and blood thirsty savages. a moment afterwards, we heard a party of them making towards us. to convince them that they could not butcher us in our defenceless sleep, we fired upon them. this caused them to retreat. convinced that we had no time to lose, we mounted our horses, and fled at the extent of our speed. we heard a single gun discharged in the indian camp, which we supposed the act of an indian, who had killed the owner. we took our direction towards a high mountain on the south side of the river, and pushed for it as fast as we thought our horses could endure to be driven. we reached the mountain at day break, { } and made our way about three miles up a creek, that issued from the mountain. here we stopped to refresh our horses, and let them feed, and take food ourselves. the passage of the creek was along a kind of crevice of the mountain, and we were strongly convinced that the indians would not follow upon our trail further than the entrance to the mountain. one of us ascended a high ridge, to survey whatever might be within view. my companion, having passed nearly an hour in the survey, returned to me, and said he saw something on the plain approaching us. i ascended with him to the same place, and plainly perceived something black approaching us. having watched it for some time, i thought it a bear. at length it reached a tree on the plain, and ascended it. we were then convinced, that it was no indian, but a bear searching food. we could see the smokes arising from the indian town, and had no doubt, that the savages were dancing at the moment around the scalps of the unfortunate frenchmen, who had fallen the victims of their indolence and rash confidence in these faithless people. all anger for their abuse of me for my timely advice was swallowed up in pity for their fate. but yesterday these people were the merriest of the merry. what were they now? waiting a few moments, we saw the supposed bear descend the tree, and advance directly to the branch on which we were encamped. we had observed that the water of this branch, almost immediately upon touching the plain, was lost in the arid sand, and gave no other evidence of its existence, than a few green trees. in a moment we saw buttons glitter on this object from the reflected glare of the sun's rays. we were undeceived in regard to our bear, and now supposed it an indian, decorated with a coat of the unfortunate frenchmen. we concluded to allow him to approach close enough to satisfy our doubts, before we fired upon him. we lay still, until he came within fair rifle distance, when to our astonishment, we discovered it to be the french captain! we instantly made ourselves known from our perch. he uttered an exclamation of joy, and fell prostrate on the earth. fatigue and { } thirst had brought him to death's door. we raised him, and carried him to our camp. he was wounded in the head and face with many and deep wounds, the swelling of which had given him fever. i happened to have with me some salve, which my father gave me when i left the mines. i dressed his wounds. having taken food, and sated his thirst, hope returned to him. so great was his change in a few hours, that he was able to move off with us that evening. in his present miserable and forlorn condition, i exercised too much humanity and forbearance to think of adverting to our quarrel of the preceding evening. probably estimating my forbearance aright, he himself led to the subject. he observed in a tone apparently of deep compunction, that if he had had the good sense and good temper to have listened to my apprehensions and cautions, both he and his people might have been now gaily riding over the prairies. oppressed with mixed feelings, i hardly knew what reply to make, and only remarked, that it was too late now to lament over what was unchangeable, and that the will of god had been done. after a silence of some time, he resumed the conversation, and related all the particulars of the terrible disaster, that had come to his knowledge. his own escape he owed to retaining a pocket pistol, when the rest of their arms were stacked. this he fired at an indian approaching him, who fell, and thus enabled him to fly; not, however, until he had received a number of severe wounds from their clubs. i had not the heart to hear him relate what became of the rest of his comrades. i could easily divine that the treacherous savages had murdered every one. feelings of deep and burning revenge arose in my bosom, and i longed for nothing so much as to meet with these monsters on any thing like terms of equality. about sunset we could distinctly discern the river bottom about five miles distant from us. when it became dark, we descried three fires close together, which we judged to be those of savages in pursuit of us. like some white people, the indians never forgive any persons that they have outraged and injured. we halted, and took counsel, what { } was to be done. we concluded that my companion and myself should leave our wounded companion to take care of the horses, and go and reconnoitre the camp, in which were these fires, and discover the number of the indians, and if it was great, to see how we could be most likely to pass them unobserved. when we had arrived close to the fires, we discovered a considerable number of horses tied, and only two men guarding them. we crawled still closer, to be able to discern their exact number and situation. in this way we arrived within fifty yards of their camp, and could see no one, but the two, any where in the distance. we concluded, that all the rest of the company were asleep in some place out of our view. we presumed it would not be long before some of them would awake, it being now ten at night. our intention was to take aim at them, as they should pass between us and their fire, and drop them both together. we could distinctly hear them speaking about their horses. at length one of them called to the other, in english, to go and wake their relief guards. words would poorly express my feelings, at hearing these beloved sounds. i sprang from my crouching posture, and ran towards them. they were just ready to shoot me, when i cried _a friend_, _a friend_! one of them exclaimed, 'where in god's name did you spring from.' 'you seem to have come out of the earth.' the surprise and joy upon mutual recognition was great on both sides. i gave him a brief sketch of the recent catastrophe of our company, as we followed them to camp. the company was all roused and gathered round us, eagerly listening to the recital of our recent disaster. at hearing my sad story, they expressed the hearty sorrow of good and true men, and joined us in purposes of vengeance against the indians. we were now thirty-two in all. we fired twelve guns, a signal which the wounded captain heard and understood, for he immediately joined us. we waited impatiently for the morning. as soon as it was bright dawn, we all formed under a genuine american leader, who could be entirely relied upon. { } his orders were, that twenty should march in front of the pack horses, and twelve behind. in the evening we encamped within five miles of the indian village, and made no fires. in the morning of the st, we examined all our arms, and twenty-six of us started to attack the village. when we had arrived close to it, we discovered most fortunately, what we considered the dry bed of a creek, though we afterwards discovered it to be the old bed of the river, that had very high banks, and ran within a hundred yards of the village. in this bed we all formed ourselves securely and at our leisure, and marched quite near to the verge of the village without being discovered. every man posted himself in readiness to fire. two of our men were then ordered to show themselves on the top of the bank. they were immediately discovered by the indians, who considered them, i imagine, a couple of the frenchmen that they had failed to kill. they raised the yell, and ran towards the two persons, who instantly dropped down under the bank. there must have been at least in pursuit. they were in a moment close on the bank. in order to prevent the escape of the two men, they spread into a kind of circle to surround them. this brought the whole body abreast of us. we allowed them to approach within twenty yards, when we gave them our fire. they commenced a precipitate retreat, we loading and firing as fast as was in our power. they made no pause in their village, but ran off, men, women and children, towards a mountain distant yards from their village. in less than ten minutes, the village was so completely evacuated, that not a human being was to be found, save one poor old blind and deaf indian, who sat eating his mush as unconcernedly as if all had been tranquil in the village. we did not molest him. we appropriated to our own use whatever we found in the village that we judged would be of any service to us. we then set fire to their wigwams, and returned to our camp. they were paid a bloody price for their treachery, for of them were slain. at twelve we returned to the village in a body, and retook all the horses of the frenchmen, that they had killed. { } we then undertook the sad duty of burying the remains of the unfortunate frenchmen. a sight more horrible to behold, i have never seen. they were literally cut in pieces, and fragments of their bodies scattered in every direction, round which the monsters had danced, and yelled. we then descended the river about a mile below the village, to the point where it enters the helay from the north. it affords as much water at this point as the helay. in the morning of the st of february, we began to ascend black river.[ ] we found it to abound with beavers. it is a most beautiful stream, bounded on each side with high and rich bottoms. we travelled up this stream to the point where it forks in the mountains; that is to say, about miles from its mouth. here our company divided, a part ascending one fork, and a part the other. the left fork heads due north, and the right fork north east. it was my lot to ascend the latter. it heads in mountains covered with snow, near the head of the left hand fork of the san francisco. on the th, we all met again at the junction of the forks. the other division found that their fork headed in snow covered mountains, as they supposed near the waters of red river. they had also met a tribe of indians, who called themselves _mokee_.[ ] they found them no ways disposed to hostility. from their deportment it would seem as if they had never seen white people before. at the report of a gun they fell prostrate on the ground. they knew no other weapon of war than a sling, and with this they had so much dexterity and power, that they were able to bring down a deer at the distance of yards. we thence returned down the helay, which is here about yards wide, with heavily timbered bottoms. we trapped its whole course, from where we met it, to its junction with red river. the point of junction is inhabited by a tribe of indians called umene.[ ] here we encamped for the night. on the morning of the th, a great many of these indians crossed the river to our camp, and brought us dried beans, for which we paid them with red cloth, with which they were delighted beyond { } measure, tearing it into ribbands, and tieing it round their arms and legs; for if the truth must be told, they were as naked as adam and eve in their birth day suit. they were the stoutest men, with the finest forms i ever saw, well proportioned, and as straight as an arrow. they contrive, however, to inflict upon their children an artificial deformity. they flatten their heads, by pressing a board upon their tender scalps, which they bind fast by a ligature. this board is so large and light, that i have seen women, when swimming the river with their children, towing them after them by a string, which they held in their mouth. the little things neither suffered nor complained, but floated behind their mothers like ducks. at twelve we started up red river, which is between two and three hundred yards wide, a deep, bold stream, and the water at this point entirely clear. the bottoms are a mile in general width, with exceedingly high, barren cliffs. the timber of the bottoms is very heavy, and the grass rank and high. near the river are many small lakes, which abound in beavers. march st we came among a tribe of indians, called cocomarecopper. at sight of us they deserted their wigwams, one and all, and fled to the mountains, leaving all their effects at our discretion. of course we did not meddle with any thing. their corn was knee high. we took care not to let our horses injure it, but marched as fast as we could from their village, to deprive them of their homes [in] as little time as possible. about four miles above the town we encamped, and set our traps. about twelve next day it began to rain, and we pitched our tents. we had scarce kindled our fires, when indians came to our camp, all painted red in token of amity. they asked fire, and when we had given it, they went about yards from us, and as the rain had been heavy and the air cool, they made a great fire, round which they all huddled. we gave them the bodies of six large fat beavers, which they cooked by digging holes in the ground, at the bottom of which they kindled fires, and on the fires threw the beavers which they covered with dirt. this dainty, thus prepared they greedily devoured, entrails { } and all. next morning, fearful that our guns might have experienced inconvenience from the rain, we fired them off to load them afresh. they were amazed and alarmed, to see us make, what they called thunder and lightning. they were still more startled, to see the bullet holes in the tree, at which we had aimed. we made signs to them, that one ball would pass through the body of two men. some of our men had brought with them some scalps of the papawars, the name of the tribe where our french captain lost his company. they informed us that they were at war with that tribe, and begged some of the scalps to dance round. they were given them, and they began to cut their horrid anticks about it. our traps had taken thirty beavers the last night. we gave them the meat of twenty, with which present they were delighted, their gratitude inducing them to manifest affection to us. they ate and danced all day and most of the night. on the morning of the d, they left us, returning to their camps. we resumed our march, and on the th arrived at another village of indians called mohawa. when we approached their village, they were exceedingly alarmed. we marched directly through their village, the women and children screaming, and hiding themselves in their huts. we encamped about three miles above the village. we had scarcely made our arrangements for the night, when of these indians followed us. the chief was a dark and sulky looking savage, and he made signs that he wanted us to give him a horse. we made as prompt signs of refusal. he replied to this, by pointing first to the river, and then at the furs we had taken, intimating, that the river, with all it contained, belonged to him; and that we ought to pay him for what we had taken, by giving him a horse. when he was again refused, he raised himself erect, with a stern and fierce air, and discharged his arrow into the tree, at the same time raising his hand to his mouth, and making their peculiar yell. our captain made no other reply, than by raising his gun and shooting the arrow, as it still stuck in the tree, in two. the chief seemed bewildered with this mark of close { } markmanship, and started off with his men. we had no small apprehensions of a night attack from these indians. we erected a hasty fortification with logs and skins, but sufficiently high and thick, to arrest their arrows in case of attack. the night, contrary to our fears, passed without interruption from them. on the morning of the th, the chief returned on horse back, and in the same sulky tone again demanded a horse. the captain bade him be off, in a language and with a tone alike understood by all people. he started off on full gallop, and as he passed one of our horses, that was tied a few yards from the camp, he fired a spear through the animal. he had not the pleasure to exult in his revenge for more than fifty yards, before he fell pierced by four bullets. we could not doubt, that the indians would attempt to revenge the death of their chief. after due consideration, we saw no better place in which to await their attack, than the one we now occupied. on the rear we were defended by the river, and in front by an open prairie. we made a complete breastwork, and posted spies in the limbs of the tall trees, to descry the indians, if any approached us, while still at a distance. no indians approached us through the day, and at night a heavy rain commenced falling. we posted sentinels, and secured our horses under the river bank. we kindled no fires, and we passed the night without annoyance. but at day break, they let fly at us a shower of arrows. of these we took no notice. perhaps, thinking us intimidated, they then raised the war whoop, and made a charge upon us. at the distance of yards we gave them a volley of rifle balls. this brought them to a halt, and a moment after to a retreat, more rapid than their advance had been. we sallied out after them, and gave them the second round, which induced all, that were not forever stopped, to fly at the top of their speed. we had killed sixteen of their number. we returned to our camp, packed, and started, having made a determination not to allow any more indians to enter our camp. this affair happened on the th. we pushed on as rapidly as possible, fearful that these red { } children of the desert, who appear to inherit an equal hatred of all whites, would follow us, and attack us in the night. with timely warning we had no fear of them by day, but the affair of the destruction of the french company, proved that they might become formidable foes by night. to prevent, as far as might be, such accidents, we raised a fortification round our camp every night, until we considered ourselves out of their reach, which was on the evening of the th. this evening we erected no breast-work, placed no other guard than one person to watch our horses, and threw ourselves in careless security round our fires. we had taken very little rest for four nights, and being exceedingly drowsy, we had scarcely laid ourselves down, before we were sound asleep. the indians had still followed us, too far off to be seen by day, but had probably surveyed our camp each night. at about o'clock this night, they poured upon us a shower of arrows, by which they killed two men, and wounded two more; and what was most provoking, fled so rapidly that we could not even give them a round. one of the slain was in bed with me. my own hunting shirt had two arrows in it, and my blanket was pinned fast to the ground by arrows. there were sixteen arrows discharged into my bed. we extinguished our fires, and it may easily be imagined, slept no more that night. in the morning, eighteen of us started in pursuit of them, leaving the rest of the company to keep camp and bury our dead. we soon came upon their trail, and reached them late in the evening. they were encamped, and making their supper from the body of a horse. they got sight of us before we were within shooting distance, and fled. we put spurs to our horses, and overtook them just as they were entering a thicket. having every advantage, we killed a greater part of them, it being a division of the band that had attacked us. we suspended those that we had killed upon the trees, and left their bodies to dangle in terror to the rest, and as a proof, how we retaliated aggression. we then returned to our company, who had each received sufficient warning not to encamp in the territories { } of hostile indians without raising a breast-work round the camp. red river at this point bears a north course, and affords an abundance of the finest lands. we killed plenty of mountain sheep and deer, though no bears. we continued our march until the th, without seeing any indians. on that day we came upon a small party, of whom the men fled, leaving a single woman. seeing herself in our power, she began to beat her breast, and cry _cowera_, _cowera_; from which we gathered, that she belonged to that tribe. we treated her kindly, and travelled on. on the d, we came to a village of the shuena indians. as we approached it, they came out and began to fire arrows upon us. we gave them in return a round of rifle balls. in the excitement of an attack, we laughed heartily to see these sons of the desert dodge, and skulk away half bent, as though the heavens were falling upon them. from their manner we inferred, that they were in fact wholly unacquainted with white people, or at least they never before heard the report of a gun. the whole establishment dispersed to the mountains, and we marched through the village without seeing any inhabitants, except the bodies of those we had killed. we had received more than one lesson of caution, and we moved on with great circumspection. but so much of our time was taken up in defence and attacks, and fortifying our camps, that we had little leisure to trap. in order that our grand object should not be wholly defeated, we divided our men into two companies, the one to trap and the other to keep guard. this expedient at once rendered our trapping very productive. we discovered little change in the face of the country. the course of the river still north, flowing through a rich valley, skirted with high mountains, the summits of which were white with snow. on the th we reached a small stream,[ ] emptying into red river through the east bank, up which we detached three men, each carrying a trap, to discover if beavers abounded in that stream. they were to return the next day, while we were engaged in shoeing our horses. the next day elapsed, but none returned. we became anxious about their fate; and on the { } th, started to see what had become of them. at mid-day we found their bodies cut in pieces, and spitted before a great fire, after the same fashion which is used in roasting beaver. the indians who had murdered them, saw us as we came on, and fled to the mountains, so that we had no chance of avenging the death of our unfortunate companions. we gathered the fragments of their bodies together and buried them. with sadness in our hearts, and dejection on our countenances, we returned to our camp, struck our tents, and marched on. the temperature in this region is rather severe, and we were wretchedly clad to encounter the cold. on the th, we reached a point of the river where the mountains shut in so close upon its shores, that we were compelled to climb a mountain, and travel along the acclivity, the river still in sight, and at an immense depth beneath us.[ ]--through this whole distance, which we judged to be, as the river meanders, leagues, we had snow from a foot to eighteen inches deep. the river bluffs on the opposite shore, were never more than a mile from us. it is perhaps, this very long and formidable range of mountains, which has caused, that this country of red river, has not been more explored, at least by the american people. a march more gloomy and heart-wearing, to people hungry, poorly clad, and mourning the loss of their companions, cannot be imagined. our horses had picked a little herbage, and had subsisted on the bark of shrubs. our provisions were running low, and we expected every hour to see our horses entirely give out. april th, we arrived where the river emerges from these horrid mountains, which so cage it up, as to deprive all human beings of the ability to descend to its banks, and make use of its waters. no mortal has the power of describing the pleasure i felt, when i could once more reach the banks of the river.--our traps, by furnishing us beavers, soon enabled us to renew our stock of provisions. we likewise killed plenty of elk, and dressed their skins for clothing. on the th we reached another part of the river, emptying into the main river from the { } north. up this we all trapped two days. during this excursion we met a band of hostile indians, who attacked us with an unavailing discharge of arrows, of whom we killed four. on the th, we returned to the banks of red river, which is here a clear beautiful stream. we moved very slowly, for our beasts were too lean and worn down, to allow us to do otherwise. on the th we met with a large party of the shoshonees,[ ] a tribe of indians famous for the extent of their wanderings, and for the number of white people they had killed, by pretending friendship to them, until they found them disarmed, or asleep. one of our company could speak their language, from having been a prisoner among them for a year. they were warmly clad with buffaloe robes, and they had muskets, which we knew they must have taken from the white people. we demanded of them to give up the fire arms, which they refused. on this we gave them our fire, and they fled to the mountains, leaving their women and children in our power.--we had no disposition to molest them. we learned from these women, that they had recently destroyed a company of french hunters on the head waters of the platte. we found six of their yet fresh scalps, which so exasperated us, that we hardly refrained from killing the women. we took from them all the beaver skins which they had taken from the slain french, and five of their mules, and added to our provisions their stock of dried buffaloe meat. we had killed eight of their men, and we mortified the women excessively, by compelling them to exchange the scalps of the unfortunate frenchmen for those of their own people. we resumed our march, and ascended the river to the point where it forked again, neither fork being more than from twenty-five to thirty yards wide. on the th, we began to ascend the right hand fork, which pursues a n. e. course.[ ] on the d, we arrived at the chief village of the nabahoes, a tribe that we knew to be friendly to the whites. we enquired of them, if we could cross the rocky mountains best at the head of this fork or the other; and they informed us, that the mountains { } were impassable, except by following the left hand fork. knowing that they were at war with the shoshonee, we let them know how many of them we had killed. with this they were delighted, and gave us eight horses, one for each man we had slain. they sent with us, moreover, ten indians to point out to us the route, in which to cross the mountains. on the th, we started up the left hand fork, and arrived on the th, in the country of the pewee tribe,[ ] who are friendly to the nabahoes. their chief village is situated within two days' travel of the low gap, at which we were to cross the mountains, at which gap we arrived on the first of may.[ ] the crossing was a work, the difficulty of which may be imagined from the nature of the case and the character of the mountains.--the passage occupied six days, during which we had to pass along compact drifts of snow, higher than a man on horseback. the narrow path through these drifts is made by the frequent passing of buffaloes, of which we found many dead bodies in the way. we had to pack cotton-wood bark on the horses for their own eating, and the wood necessary to make fires for our cooking. nothing is to be seen among these mountains, but bare peaks and perpetual snow. every one knows, that these mountains divide between the atlantic and pacific oceans. at the point where we crossed them, they run in a direction a little north of west, and south of east, further than the eye can reach. on the th, we struck the south fork of the platte, near long's peak,[ ] and descended it five days. we then struck across the plain to the main platte, on which we arrived on the th. in descending it we found the beavers scarce, for all these rivers had been thoroughly trapped. the river is skirted with only a few small willows, and the country is open prairie, entirely destitute of trees. we saw immense droves of elk, buffaloes, and white bears, which haunt the buffaloe range to prey upon those noble animals. we had the merriest sport imaginable, in chasing the buffaloes over these perfectly level plains, and shooting them with the arrows we had taken from the indians { } we had killed. i have killed myself, and seen others kill a buffaloe, with a single shot of an arrow. the bows are made with ribs of buffaloes, and drive the arrows with prodigious force. on the th, we left this river and started for the big horn,[ ] a fork of the yellow stone, itself a considerable river of the missouri. we reached the big horn on the st, and found but few beavers. june d, we struck over towards the main yellow stone,[ ] and on the d entered the country of the flat heads, who were entirely friendly.[ ] we purchased some furs of them. they are indians of exceedingly handsome forms, were it not for the horrid deformity of their heads, which are transversely from ear to ear but a few inches in diameter, and in the other direction monstrous, giving them the appearance of wearing a military cap with all its plumage. this plumage is furnished by their matted tresses of hair, painted and skewered up to a high point. this monstrosity is occasioned by binding two pieces of board on each side of the head of the new-born infant, which is kept secure with bandages, until the child is three years old, at which time the head bones have acquired a firmness to retain their then shape during life. on the th, we reached the yellow stone, and ascended it to its head; and thence crossed the ridges of the rocky mountains to clarke's fork of the columbia.[ ] but all these streams had been so much trapped, as to yield but few beavers. clarke's fork is a hundred yards wide, a bold, clear, pleasant stream, remarkable for the number and excellence of its fish, and most beautiful country of fertile land on its shores. we ascended this river to its head, which is in long's peak, near the head waters of the platte. we thence struck our course for the head waters of the arkansas, on which we arrived july st. here we met a band of the grasshopper indians, who derive their name from gathering grasshoppers, drying them, and pulverizing them, with the meal of which they make mush and bread; and this is their chief article of food. they are so little improved, as not even to have furnished themselves with { } the means of killing buffaloes. at sight of us, these poor two-legged animals, dodged into the high grass like so many partridges. we marched up this stream, trapping for the few beavers which it afforded. its banks are scantily timbered, being only skirted with a few willows. on the th, we met a war party of the black foot indians,[ ] all well mounted. as soon as they saw us, they came fiercely upon us, yelling as though the spirit of darkness had loaned them the voices of all his tenants. we dismounted, and as soon as they were within shooting distance, we gave them our fire, which they promptly returned. the contest was fierce for something more than minutes, a part of the time not more than yards apart. they then retreated, and we mounted our horses, and gave them chase, though unavailingly, for their horses were as fleet as the wind, compared with ours. we soon desisted from so useless a pursuit, and returned to the battle ground. we found sixteen blackfeet dead, and with infinite anguish, counted four of our own companions weltering in their blood. we buried them with sorrowful hearts, and eyes full of tears. ah! among those who live at home, surrounded by numerous relations and friends, in the midst of repose, plenty and security, when one of the number droops, and dies with sickness or age, his removal leaves a chasm that is not filled for years. think how we must have mourned these brave men, who had shared so many dangers, and on whose courage and aid we had every day relied for protection. here on these remote plains, far from their friends, they had fallen by the bloody arrow or spear of these red, barbarous ishmaelites of the desert, but neither unwept nor unrevenged. having performed the sad task of depositing the bodies of these once warm hearted friends in the clay, we ascended to the head of this river, and crossed the mountain that separates its waters from those of the rio del norte, which river we struck on the th. we began to descend it, and on the d met a band of the nabahoes, who accompanied us { } quite to their chief village. it will be seen, that all these streams upon which we have been trapping, rise from sources which interlock with each other, and the same range of peaks at very short distances from each other. these form the heads of red river of the east, and the colorado of the west, rio del norte, arkansas, platte, yellow stone, missouri and columbia. the village of these indians is distant miles from the rio del norte. we remained at it two days, and rested our horses, and refreshed ourselves. this tribe some years since had been at war with the spanish, during which they plundered them of great numbers of horses, mules and cattle, which caused that they had now large stocks of these animals, together with flocks of sheep. they raise a great abundance of grain, and manufacture their wool much better than the spanish. on the first of august we arrived at santa fe, with a fine amount of furs. here disaster awaited us. the governor, on the pretext that we had trapped without a license from him, robbed us of all our furs. we were excessively provoked, and had it not been from a sense of duty to our own beloved country, we would have redressed our wrongs, and retaken our furs with our own arms. here i remained until the th, disposing of a part of my goods, and reserving the remainder for a trip which i contemplated to the province of sonora. i had the pleasure once more of receiving the affectionate greeting of jacova, who gave me the most earnest counsels to quit this dangerous and rambling way of life, and settle myself down in a house of my own. i thanked her for her kindness and good counsel, and promised to follow it, after rambling another year in the wilderness.--thence i went to the mines, where i had the inexpressible satisfaction again to embrace my dear father, whom i found in perfect health, and making money rapidly. i remained there three days, and, accompanied with one servant, arrived in hanas on the first of september. this is a small town situated in the province of biscay, between the province of sonora and new mexico, in a direction s. w. from the copper mines.[ ] { } the country is generally of that character, denominated in kentucky, barren. the soil is level and black. these people raise a great quantity of stock, such as horses, cows, sheep and goats. their farming implements are clumsy and indifferent. they use oxen entirely in their agriculture. their ploughs are a straight piece of timber, five feet long and eight inches thick, mortised for two other pieces of timber, one to be fitted to the beam, by which the oxen draw, and another to the handle, by which the man holds the plough. the point that divides the soil, is of wood, and hewed sloping to such a point, that a hollow piece of iron is fastened on it at the end. this is one inch thick, and three inches broad at top, and slopes also to a point. their hoes, axes and other tools are equally indifferent; and they are precisely in such a predicament, as might be expected of a people who have no saw mills, no labor saving machinery, and do every thing by dint of hard labor, and are withal very indolent and unenterprising. i amused myself at times with an old man, who daily fell in my way, who was at once rich and to the last degree a miser; and yet devotedly attached to the priests, who were alone able to get a little money out of him. he often spoke to me about the unsafeness of my religion. instead of meeting his remarks with an argument, i generally affronted him at once, and then diverted myself with his ways of showing his anger. i told him that his priest treated him as the spanish hostlers do their horses. he asked me to explain the comparison. i observed, 'you know how the hostler in the first place throws his lasso over the mule's neck. that secures the body of the beast. next the animal is blindfolded. that hinders his seeing where he is led. next step he binds the saddle safe and fast. then the holy father rigs his heels with spurs. next come spur and lash, and the animal is now restive to no purpose. there is no shaking off the rider. on he goes, till the animal under him dies, and both go to hell together!' at this he flew into such a violent rage, as to run at me with his knife. i dodged out of his { } way, and appeased him by convincing him that i was in jest. the rich, in their way of living, unite singular contrasts of magnificence and meanness. for instance, they have few of the useful articles of our dining and tea sets, but a great deal of massive silver plate, and each guest a silver fork and spoon. the dining room is contiguous to the kitchen. a window is thrown open, and the cook hands a large dish through the window to a servant, who bears it to the table. the entertainer helps himself first, and passes the dish round to all the guests. then another and another is brought on, often to the number of sixteen. all are savored so strong with garlic and red pepper, that an american at first cannot eat them. the meat is boiled to such a consistency that a spoon manages it better than a knife. at the close of the dinner they bring in wine and cigars, and they sit and smoke and drink wine until drowsiness steals upon them, and they go to bed for their siesta. they sleep until three in the afternoon, at which time the church bell tolls. they rise, take a cup of chocolate, and handle the wine freely. this short affair over, they return and sit down on the shaded side of the house, and chatter like so many geese till night, when they divide, a part to mass, and a part to the card table, where i have seen the poor, betting their shirts, hats and shoes. the village contains souls. on the th, i departed from this town, travelling a west course through a most beautiful country, the plains of which were covered with domestic animals running wild. on the th i arrived at the foot of the mountain, that divides the province of sonora from biscay. i slept at a country seat, where they were making whiskey of a kind of plantain, of which i have spoken before, which they called mascal (maguey). here were assembled great numbers of spaniards and indians. they were soon drunk, and as a matter of course, fighting with knives and clubs. in the morning, two spaniards and one indian were found dead. late in the morning, a file of soldiers arrived, and took the suspected murderers to prison. in the morning i commenced climbing the mountain before { } me, and in the evening arrived at a small town in sonoro, called barbisca;[ ] situated on the bank of a most beautiful little stream, called iago, which discharges itself into the pacific ocean, near the harbor of ymus. its banks are not much timbered, nor is the soil uncommonly good. the morning of the th was a great religious festival, or famous saint's day, which collected a vast crowd of people. after breakfast and mass, the image of the virgin mary was paraded round the public square in solemn procession, during which there was a constant crash of cannon and small arms. then an old priest headed a procession, bearing the image of christ, nailed to a cross. after these images were returned to their church, they brought into a square enclosure, strongly fenced for that purpose, a wild bull, which they threw down, tied and sharpened its horns. the tops of the houses were all covered with people to see the spectacle that was performing. the bull was covered with red cloth, and two men entered the enclosure, each holding in the right hand a bundle of sky rockets, and in the left a red handkerchief. the rockets were lashed to a stick a foot long, in the end of which was a small nail, a half an inch long, with a beard at the end, like that of a fish hook. they then untied the fierce animal. no sooner was he on his feet, than he sprang at one of his assailants, who avoided his attack, by dextrously slipping aside, and as the animal darted by him, stuck in his neck two small rockets, one on each side. the other assailant then gave a sharp whistle to draw the infuriated animal upon him. the bull snorted and dashed at him. he dodged the animal in the same manner, as the other had done, and left sticking in his forehead, as he passed, a garland of artificial flowers, made of paper, beautifully cut and painted, and large enough to cover his whole forehead. in this way they kept alternately driving him this way and that, sticking rockets in him as he dashed by them, until he was covered with eight or ten, clinging to his neck and shoulders. they then touched the crackers with a lighted match. words would not paint the bull's expressions of rage and terror, as he bounded round the enclosure, covered with fire, { } and the rockets every moment discharging like fire arms. after this, a man entered with a small sword. the bull bellowed and darted at him. as the bull dropped his head to toss him, he set his feet upon the horns, and in a twinkling, thrust his sword between the shoulder blades, so as to touch the spinal marrow. the animal dropped as dead as a stone. the drum and fife then struck up, as a signal for the horsemen to come and carry off the dead animal, and bring in a fresh one. all this was conducted with incredible dispatch. in this way seven bulls were successively tortured to death, by footmen. after this, four men entered on horseback, equipped with spears in the shape of a trowel, and a handle four feet long. with this spear in the one hand, and a noose in the other, they gallopped round the bull. the bull immediately made at the horsemen passing him, who moved just at such a pace, as not to allow the bull to toss the horse. the horseman then couched his spear backwards, so as to lay it on the bull's neck. the bull instantly reared and tossed, and in the act forced the spear between his fore shoulders, so as to hit the spinal marrow. if the spear is laid rightly, and the animal makes his accustomed motions, he drops instantly dead. but to do this requires infinite dexterity and fearlessness. if the man be clumsy, or of weak-nerves, he is apt to fail in couching the spear right, in which case, as a matter of course, the horse is gored, and it is ten to one that the man is slain. in this way fourteen bulls were killed, and with them, five horses and one man, during this festival. at night commenced gambling and card playing, and both as fiercely pursued as the bull fighting. this great feast lasted three days, during which, as the people were in a very purchasable humor, i sold a number of hundred dollar's worth of my goods. on the morning of the th, i left this place, and in the evening arrived at a small town called vassarac, and remained there one day. the country in the vicinity is well timbered and very hilly. the woods are full of wild cattle and horses. on the th, i travelled through a fine rich country, abounding with cattle, and arrived in the evening at a town called tepac, { } situated on a small creek, near a mountain, in which there is a gold mine worked by the iago indians,[ ] a nation formerly under the protection of an old priest. he attempted to practice some new imposition upon them, and they killed him some years ago. on this the spaniards made war upon them, and the conflict was continued some years. they lost the best and bravest of their men, and the remnant were obliged to submit to such terms as the spaniards saw fit to impose. they were either condemned to the mines, or to raise food for those who wrought them. i remained in this town three days, and purchased gold in bars and lumps of the indians, at the rate of ten dollars per ounce. the diggings seldom exceed twenty feet in depth. most of the gold is found on the surface after hard rains. their mode of extracting the gold from the earth with which it is mixed, or the stone in which it is imbedded, is this. the stone is pulverised or ground, still keeping the matter wet. it is carefully mixed with mercury, and kneaded with the hands, until the water is separated from the mass, and the mercury is perfectly incorporated with it. this process is repeated, until the water runs off perfectly clear. they then grind or triturate the mass anew until all the particles of earthy matter are washed away. the remaining matter is amalgam, of the color of silver, and the consistency of mush. they then put it into a wet deer skin, and strain the mercury by pressure through the pores of the skin. the gold is left, still retaining enough mercury to give it the color of silver. the coarse way of managing it afterwards, is to put it in the fire, and evaporate all the mercury from it, and it is then pure virgin gold. there is a more artificial way of managing it, by which the mercury is saved. this province would be among the richest of the mexican country, if it were inhabited by an enlightened, enterprising and industrious people. nothing can exceed the indolence of the actual inhabitants. the only point, in which i ever saw them display any activity, is in throwing the lasso, and in horsemanship. in this i judge, they surpass all other people. their great { } business and common pursuit, is in noosing and taming wild horses and cattle. on the th, i left this place and travelled through a country well timbered and watered, though the land is too broken to be cultivated, and in the evening arrived in a town called varguacha. this is a place miserably poor, the people being both badly fed and clothed. but their indolence alone is in fault. the land in the immediate vicinity of the town is good, and the woods teem with wild cattle. but they are too lazy to provide more meat than will serve them from day to day. on the th i continued my course through a beautiful country, thinly settled by civilized indians, who raise sugar cane and abundance of stock. they are obviously more enterprising and industrious than the spaniards. approaching the shore of the great pacific, i found the country more level and better settled. some rich and noble sugar farms lay in my view. on the d i arrived in patoka, which is a considerable town, and the capital of this province.[ ] it is two day's travel hence to ymus. the people here seemed to me more enlightened, and to have a higher air of civilization than any i had seen in the whole country. it probably results from the intercourse they have with foreigners, from their vicinity to the pacific. most of them are dressed in the stile of the american people. their houses are much better furnished, and the farmers are supplied with superior farming utensils, compared with any thing i saw in the interior. the chief manufactures are soap and sugar, the latter of an inferior quality, i imagine, in consequence of the clumsy mode of manufacturing it. from the port of ymus they also export considerable quantities of tallow and hides, for which the farmers are repaid in merchandize at an enormous advance. a great many horses and mules are driven from the interior to this port. many also are taken to the american states. the price of mules in this province is from three to four dollars a head. i remained here until i had disposed of all my goods. on the th, i left this town, and travelled on to port ymus, at which { } i arrived on the th, and first saw the waters of the vast pacific.[ ] i spent a day here on board an american ship, the master of which was surprised at the account i gave of myself, and would hardly believe that i had travelled to this place from the united states. i was equally amazed at hearing him relate the disasters which had befallen him at sea. on the th, i left this port, and travelled a n. w. course, through a country full of inhabitants, and abounding in every species of fruit. snow never falls, although the general temperature is not so warm but that woollen garments may be worn. to add to its advantages, it is very healthy. on the th of october, i arrived at a town called oposard. the population amounts to about souls. i here became acquainted with one of my own countrymen, married to a spanish woman. he informed me, that he had been in this country thirty years, eight of which he had spent in prison. the sufferings he endured from the spaniards were incredible; and i internally shuddered, as he related, lest i, in travelling through the country might fall into similar misfortunes. as some palliation of their cruelty, he observed, that he was made prisoner at the period when the revolution was just commencing in that country.[ ] at that time the inquisition was still in force, and committed many a poor mortal to the flames, for his alleged heresy. he assured me, that he should have met the same fate, had he not become a member of their church. he afterwards married a lady, who had gained his affections by being kind to him in prison. i remained with this man two days, and on the third resumed my journey, travelling an easterly course, and part of the time over a very rough country. i met no inhabitants, but indians, who were uniformly friendly. on the th, i arrived at the mines of carrocha,[ ] which were in the province of chihuahua, situated between two mountains, and considered the richest silver mines in new mexico. there are about miners working this mine, and they have advanced under ground at least half a mile. on the th, i started for the capital, and reached it on the th, passing over great tracts of good and bad land, all { } untilled, and most of it an uninhabited wilderness. this city is the next largest in new mexico.[ ] it is the largest and handsomest town i had ever seen, though the buildings are not so neat and well arranged as in our country. the roofs are flat, the walls well painted, and the streets kept very clean. here they smelt and manufacture copper and silver, and several other metals. they have also a mint. the terms of their currency are very different from ours. they count eight rials, or sixteen four pence half pennies, to the dollar. their merchandize is packed from ymus, or mexico. i have heard much talk about the splendid churches in this city. it is for others, who think much of such immense buildings, wrung from the labors of the poor, to describe them. for my part, having said it is a large and clean town, i present a result of their institutions and manners, which i considered the more important sort of information. during a stay of only three days here, ten dead bodies were brought into town, of persons who had been murdered in the night. part of the number were supposed to have been killed on account of having been known to carry a great deal of money with them, and part to have had a quarrel about some abandoned women. this last is a most common occasion of night murders, the people being still more addicted to jealousy, and under still less restraints of law, than in old spain, in the cities of which, assassinations from this cause are notoriously frequent. i asked my informant touching these matters, if there was no police in the city? he answered, that the forms of the law were complete, and that they had a numerous guard, and that it was quite as likely they committed the murders themselves, as not. i came to the same conclusion, for in a small and regular city like this, it was impossible that so many guards, parading the streets by night, should not be aware of the commission of such deeds, and acquainted with the perpetrators. no inquest of any sort was held over the bodies. they were, however, paraded through the streets to beg money to pay the priests for performing funeral rites at their burial. this excited in me { } still more disgust, than the murders. i expressed myself in consequence, with so much freedom, in regard to this sort of miserable imposition, as to give great offence to my host, who, like most of the people, was rigidly devoted to the religion of the church. on the evening of th, i left this city, and travelled through a fine country, thickly inhabited by shepherds, who live in small towns, and possess a vast abundance of stock. it is well watered, but thinly timbered. the most magnificent part of the spectacle is presented in the lofty snow covered mountains, that rise far in the distance, and have their summits lost in the clouds, glistening in indescribable brilliance in the rays of the rising and setting sun. the road at this time was deemed to be full of robbers, and very dangerous. i was so fortunate as to meet with none. on the th, i arrived at a small town, called san bueneventura,[ ] which is surrounded with a wall. in fact, most of the considerable villages are walled. they are called in spanish, presidio, the english of which is, a garrison. in the forenoon, i crossed a small river called rio grande,[ ] and travelled down this stream all day, the banks of which were thickly settled, and in high cultivation, with wheat, corn and barley. on the d, i arrived at a village called casas grandes, or the great houses.[ ] on the d, i pursued an east course towards passo del norte, situated on the banks of the rio del norte. i travelled over a very rough country with some high mountains, inhabited by a wandering tribe of the appache indians, that live by seizing their opportunities for robbery and murder among the spaniards, riding off upon the stolen horses, to the obscure and almost inaccessible fastnesses of their mountains, where they subsist upon the stolen horseflesh. i know not, whether to call the passo del norte, a settlement or a town.[ ] it is in fact a kind of continued village, extending eight miles on the river. fronting this large group of houses, is a nursery of the fruit trees, of almost all countries and climes. it has a length of eight miles and a breadth of nearly three. i was struck with the magnificent vineyards of this place, from { } which are made great quantities of delicious wine. the wheat fields were equally beautiful, and the wheat of a kind i never saw before, the stalks generally yielding two heads each. the land is exceedingly rich, and its fertility increased by irrigation. on the th, i started for the copper mines, wrought by my father. this day my course led me up the del norte, the bottoms of which are exceedingly rich. at a very short distance from the passo, i began to come in contact with grey bears, and other wild animals. at a very little distance on either side are high and ragged mountains, entirely sterile of all vegetation. i had no encounter with the bears, save in one instance. a bear exceedingly hungry, as i suppose, came upon my horses as i was resting them at mid-day, and made at one of them. i repaid him for his impudence by shooting him through the brain. i made a most delicious dinner of the choice parts of his flesh. my servant would not touch it, his repugnance being shared by great numbers in his condition. it is founded on the notion, that the bear is a sort of degenerated man, and especially, that the entrails are exactly like those of human beings. on the th, i struck off from the del norte, and took my course for the copper mines directly over the mountains, among which we toiled onward, subsisting by what we packed with us, or the product of the rifle, until the th of november, when i had once more the satisfaction of embracing my father at the copper mines. he was in perfect health, and delighted to see me again. he urged me so earnestly to remain with him, though a stationary life was not exactly to my taste, that i consented from a sense of filial duty, and to avoid importunity. i remained here until the first of december, amusing myself sometimes by hunting, and sometimes by working in the gold mine, an employment in which i took much pleasure. in a hunting excursion with a companion who was an american, he one morning saw fit to start out of bed, and commence his hunt while i was yet asleep in bed. he had scarcely advanced a league, before he killed a deer on the top of a high ridge. he was so inadvertent, as to commence skinning the animal, before { } he had re-loaded his rifle. thus engaged, he did not perceive a bear with her cubs, which had advanced within a few feet of him. as soon as he saw his approaching companion, without coveting any farther acquaintance, he left deer and rifle, and ran for his life. he stopped not, until he arrived at the mines. the bear fell to work for a meal upon the deer, and did not pursue him. we immediately started back to have the sport of hunting this animal. as we approached the ridge, where he had killed the deer, we discovered the bear descending the ridge towards us. we each of us chose a position, and his was behind a tree, which he could mount, in case he wounded, without killing her. this most ferocious and terrible animal, the grizzly or grey bear, does not climb at all. i chose my place opposite him, behind a large rock, which happened to be near a precipice, that i had not observed. our agreement was to wait until she came within yards, and then he was to give her the first fire. he fired, but the powder being damp, his gun made long fire, whence it happened that he shot her too low, the ball passing through the belly, and not a mortal part. she made at him in terrible rage. he sprang up his tree, the bear close at his heels. she commenced biting and scratching the tree, making, as a kentuckian would phrase it, _the lint fly_. but finding that she could not bite the tree down, and being in an agony of pain, she turned the course of her attack, and came growling and tearing up the bushes before her, towards me. my companion bade me lie still, and my own purpose was to wait until i could get a close fire. so i waited until the horrible animal was within six feet of me. i took true aim at her head. my gun flashed in the pan. she gave one growl and sprang at me with her mouth open. at two strides i leapt down the unperceived precipice. my jaw bone was split on a sharp rock, on which my chin struck at the bottom. here i lay senseless. when i regained recollection, i found my companion had bled me with the point of his butcher knife, and was sitting beside me with his hat full of water, bathing my head and face. it was perhaps an hour, before i gained full recollection, { } so as to be able to walk. my companion had cut a considerable orifice in my arm with his knife, which i deemed rather supererogation; for i judged, that i had bled sufficiently at the chin. when i had come entirely to myself, my companion proposed that we should finish the campaign with the bear. i, for my part, was satisfied with what had already been done, and proposed to retreat. he was importunate, however, and i consented. we ascended the ridge to where he had seen the bear lie down in the bushes. we fixed our guns so that we thought ourselves sure of their fire. we then climbed two trees, near where the bear was, and made a noise, that brought her out of her lair, and caused her to spring fiercely towards our trees. we fired together, and killed her dead. we then took after the cubs. they were three in number. my companion soon overtook them. they were of the size of the largest rackoons. these imps of the devil turned upon him and made fight. i was in too much pain and weakness to assist him. they put him to all he could do to clear himself of them. he at length got away from them, leaving them masters of the field, and having acquired no more laurels than i, from my combat with my buffaloe calf. his legs were deeply bit and scratched, and what was worse, such was the character of the affair, he only got ridicule for his assault of the cubs. i was several weeks in recovering, during which time, i ate neither meat nor bread, being able to swallow nothing but liquids. the country abounds with these fierce and terrible animals, to a degree, that in some districts they are truly formidable. they get into the corn fields. the owners hear the noise, which they make among the corn, and supposing it occasioned by cows and horses that have broken into the fields, they rise from their beds, and go to drive them out, when instead of finding retreating domestic animals, they are assailed by the grizzly bear. i have been acquainted with several fatal cases of that sort. one of them was a case, that intimately concerned me. iago, my servant, went out with a man to get a load of { } wood. a bear came upon this man and killed him and his ass in the team. a slight flight of snow had fallen. some spaniards, who had witnessed the miserable fate of their companion, begged some of us to go and aid them in killing the bear. four of us joined them. we trailed the bear to its den, which was a crevice in the bluff. we came to the mouth and fired a gun. the animal, confident in his fierceness, came out, and we instantly killed it. this occurred in new mexico. this stationary and unruffled sort of life had become unendurable, and with fifteen americans, we arranged a trapping expedition on the pacos.[ ] my father viewed my rambling propensities with stern displeasure. he had taken in a spanish superintendent, who acted as clerk. this person had lived in the united states from the age of to , and spoke english, french and spanish. this man arranged the calculations, and kept the accounts of my father's concerns, and had always acted with intelligence and fidelity. the concern was on the whole prosperous; and although i felt deep sorrow to leave my father against his wishes, i had at least the satisfaction to know, that i was of no other use to him, than giving him the pleasure of my society. on the th, our company arrived on the del norte, and crossed it in the evening to the eastern shore. on the evening of the th, we struck the pacos about twenty miles above its junction with the del norte. this day's travel was through a wild and precipitous country, inhabited by no human being. we killed plenty of bears and deer, and caught some beavers. on the th, we began to ascend the river through a rich and delightful plain, on which are to be seen abundance of deserted sheep folds, and horse pens, where the spanish vachers once kept their stock. the constant incursions of the indians compelled this peaceful people to desert these fair plains. their deserted cottages inspired a melancholy feeling. this river runs from n. e. to s. w. and is a clear, beautiful stream, yards wide, with high and dry bottoms of a black and rich soil. the mountains run almost parallel to the river, and at the distance of { } eight or ten miles. they are thickly covered with noble pine forests, in which aspen trees are intermixed. from their foot gush out many beautiful clear springs. on the whole, this is one of the loveliest regions for farmers that i have ever seen, though no permanent settlements could be made there, until the murderous indians, who live in the mountains, should be subdued. [illustration: mr. pattie wounded by an indian arrow] we advanced slowly onward, until the th, without meeting any indians. at day break of this day, our sentinels apprized us, that savages were at hand. we had just time to take shelter behind the trees, when they began to let their arrows fly at us. we returned them the compliment with balls, and at the first shot a number of them fell. they remained firm and continued to pour in their arrows from every side. we began to find it exceedingly difficult to dodge them, though we gave them some rounds before any one of our men was struck. at length one man was pierced, and they rushed forward to scalp him. i darted from behind my tree to prevent them. i was assailed by a perfect shower of arrows, which i dodged for a moment, and was then struck down by an arrow in the hip. here i should have been instantly killed, had not my companions made a joint fire at the indians, who were rushing upon me, by which a number of them were laid dead. but the agony of my pain was insupportable, for the arrow was still fast in my hip. a momentary cessation of their arrows enabled me to draw out the arrow from my hip, and to commence re-loading my gun. i had partly accomplished this, when i received another arrow under my right breast, between the bone and the flesh. this gave me less pain than the other shot, and finding i could not by any effort extract the arrow, i snapped it off, and finished loading my gun. the indian nearest me fell dead, and i hobbled off, glad to be once more sheltered by a tree. my companions were not slow in making their rifles crack, and in raising mutual cheers of encouragement. the indians were vastly our superiors in numbers, and we found it convenient to slip under the river bank. we were now completely sheltered { } from their arrows. after we had gained this security, they stood but a few shots more, before they fled, leaving their dead and wounded at our mercy. truth is, we were too much exasperated to show mercy, and we cut off the heads of all, indiscriminately. our loss was one killed, and two wounded, another beside myself though neither of us dangerously. the indians had killed. luckily our horses were on an island in the river, or we should have lost every one of them. our only loss of property was a few blankets, which they took, as they fled by our camp. during the minutes that the contest lasted, i had a fragment of an arrow fast in my breast, and the spike of the other in my hip. i suffered, it may be imagined, excruciating pain, and still severer pain during the operation of extraction. this operation, one of my companions undertook. he was some minutes in effecting it. the spike could not be entirely extracted from my hip, for being of flint, it had shivered against the bone. the indians that attacked us, were a tribe of the muscallaros,[ ] a very warlike people, although they have no other arms except bows and arrows, which are, however, the most powerful weapons of the kind. they are made of an elastic and flexible wood, backed with the sinews of a buffaloe or elk. their arrows are made of a species of reed grass, and are very light, though easily broken. in the end is stuck a hard piece of wood, which is pointed by a spike of flint an inch in length, and a quarter of an inch in width, and ground to the sharpest point. the men, though not tall, are admirably formed, with fine features and a bright complexion inclining to yellow. their dress is a buckskin belt about the loins, with a shirt and moccasins to match. their long black hair hangs in imbraided masses over their shoulders, in some cases almost extending to the heels. they make a most formidable appearance, when completely painted, and prepared for battle. on the th, having made our arrangements for departure, i applied my father's admirable salve to my two severe wounds, { } and to my companion's slight wound in the arm, and we both felt able to join our companions in their march. we travelled all this day and the following night a west course, and the following day, without stopping longer than was necessary to take a little food. after this we stopped and rested ourselves and horses all night. i need not attempt to describe the bitter anguish i endured, during this long and uninterrupted ride. it will be only necessary to conceive my situation to form a right conception of it. our grand object had been to avoid another contest with the muscallaros. in the evening we fell in with a party of the nabahoes, who were now out on an expedition against the muscallaros, who had recently killed one of their people, and against whom they had sworn immediate revenge. we showed the manifest proof of the chastisement they had received from us. never had i seen such frantic leaps and gestures of joy. the screams and yells of exultation were such as cannot be imagined. it seemed as though a whole bedlam had broke loose. when we told them that we had lost but one man, their screams became more frantic still. their medicine man was then called, and he produced an emollient poultice, the materials of which i did not know but the effect was that the anguish of our wounds was at once assuaged. by the application of this same remedy, my wounds were quite healed in a fortnight. the scalps, which some of our number had taken from the muscallaros, were soon erected on a pole by the nabahoes. they immediately commenced the fiercest dancing and singing i had yet seen, which continued without interruption three days and nights. during all this time, we endured a sort of worship from them, particularly the women. they were constantly presenting us with their favorite dishes, served in different ways, with dried berries and sweet vegetables, some of which, to people in our condition, were really agreeable. in size and complexion these people resemble the muscallaros, and their bows and arrows are similar; though some of the latter have fire arms, and their dress is much superior.--{ } part of their dress is of the same kind with that of the former, though the skins are dressed in a more workmanlike manner, and they have plenty of blankets of their own manufacturing, and constituting a much better article than that produced by the spaniards. they dye the wool of different and bright colors, and stripe them with very neat figures. the women are much handsomer, and have lighter complexions than the men. they are rather small in stature, and modest and reserved in their behaviour. their dress is chiefly composed of skins made up with no small share of taste; and showily corded at the bottom, forming a kind of belt of beads and porcupine quills.--they are altogether the handsomest women i have seen among the red people, and not inferior in appearance to many spanish women. their deportment to our people, was a mixture of kindness and respect. on the st, we started back to the river, accompanied by the whole party of nabahoes, who assured us that they would guard us during the remainder of our hunt. we returned to the river through a beautiful and level country, most of it well timbered and watered. on our return we killed several bears, the talons of which the indians took for necklaces. on the th, we arrived at our battle ground. the view of the bodies of the slain, all torn in pieces by wild beasts, inexpressibly disgusting to us, was equally a spectacle of pleasure to our red friends. we pointed out the grave of our companion. they all walked in solemn procession round it, singing their funeral songs. as they left it, every one left a present on the grave; some an arrow, others meat, moccasins, tobacco, war-feathers, and the like, all articles of value to them. these simple people believe that the spirit of the deceased will have immediate use for them in the life to come. viewing their offerings in this light, we could not but be affected with these testimonies of kind feeling to a dead stranger. they then gathered up the remains of their slaughtered enemies, threw them in a heap, and cut a great quantity of wood, which they piled over the remains. they then set fire to the wood. we struck our tents, { } marched about five miles up the river, set our traps, and encamped for the night. but the nabahoes danced and yelled through the night to so much effect, as to keep all the beavers shut up in their houses, for, having been recently trapped, they were exceedingly cautious. on the morning of the th, we informed them why we had taken no beavers, and during the following night they were perfectly quiet. we marched onward slowly, trapping as we went, until we reached the spanish settlements on this river. on new year's eve, january st, , the spaniards of the place gave a fandango, or spanish ball. all our company were invited to it, and went. we appeared before the alcalde, clad not unlike our indian friends; that is to say, we were dressed in deer skin, with leggins, moccasins and hunting shirts, all of this article, with the addition of the customary indian article of dress around the loins, and this was of red cloth, not an article of which had been washed since we left the copper mines. it may be imagined that we did not cut a particular dandy-like figure, among people, many of whom were rich, and would be considered well dressed any where. notwithstanding this, it is a strong proof of their politeness, that we were civilly treated by the ladies, and had the pleasure of dancing with the handsomest and richest of them. when the ball broke up, it seemed to be expected of us, that we should each escort a lady home, in whose company we passed the night, and we none of us brought charges of severity against our fair companions. the fandango room was about forty by eighteen or twenty feet, with a brick floor raised four or five feet above the earth. that part of the room in which the ladies sat, was carpetted with carpetting on the benches, for them to sit on. simple benches were provided for the accommodation of the gentlemen. four men sang to the music of a violin and guitar. all that chose to dance stood up on the floor, and at the striking up of a certain note of the music, they all commenced clapping their hands. the ladies then advanced, one by one, and stood facing their partners. the dance then changed to a waltz, each { } man taking his lady rather unceremoniously, and they began to whirl round, keeping true, however, to the music, and increasing the swiftness of their whirling. many of the movements and figures seemed very easy, though we found they required practise, for we must certainly have made a most laughable appearance in their eyes, in attempting to practise them. be that as it may, we cut capers with the nimblest, and what we could not say, we managed by squeezes of the hand, and little signs of that sort, and passed the time to a charm. the village, in which was this ball, is called perdido, or the lost town, probably from some circumstances in its history. it contains about souls and one church. the bishop was present at this ball, and not only bestowed his worshipful countenance, but _danced before the lord, like david, with all his might_. the more general custom of the ladies, as far as i observed, is to sit cross legged on the floor like a tailor. they are considerably addicted to the industry of spinning, but the mode has no resemblance to the spinning of our country. for a wheel, they have a straight stick about a foot long, rounded like the head of a spool. in the middle of the stick is a hole, through which the stick is fastened. their mode of spinning with this very simple instrument reminded me strongly of the sport of my young days, spinning a top, for they give this spinning affair a twirl, and let it run on until it has lost its communicated motion to impart it anew. this shift for a spinning wheel they call necataro. they manufacture neither cotton nor wool into cloth, and depend altogether on foreign trade for their clothing. the greatest part of this supply comes over land from the united states. on the d, we started for san tepec, through a country generally barren, though abounding in water. we saw plenty of bears, deer and antelope. some of the first we killed, because we needed their flesh, and others we killed for the same reason that we were often obliged to kill indians, that is, to mend their rude manners, in fiercely making at us, and to show them that we were not spaniards, to give them the high sport of seeing us run. we arrived in the above named town { } on the th, and sold our furs. here i met again some of the companions who came with me in the first instance from the united states. i enquired about others, whom i held in kind remembrance. some had died by lingering diseases, and others by the fatal ball or arrow, so that out of men, who came from the united states in , there were not more than sixteen alive. most of the fallen were as true men, and as brave as ever poised a rifle, and yet in these remote and foreign deserts found not even the benefit of a grave, but left their bodies to be torn by the wild beasts, or mangled by the indians. when i heard the sad roll of the dead called over, and thought how often i had been in equal danger, i felt grateful to my almighty benefactor, that i was alive and in health. a strong perception of the danger of such courses as mine, as shown by the death of these men, came over my mind, and i made a kind of resolution, that i would return to my home, and never venture into the woods again. among the number of my fallen companions, i ought not to forget the original leader of our company, mr. pratte, who died in his prime, of a lingering disease, in this place. on the th, i commenced descending the del norte for the copper mines, in hopes once more to have the pleasure of embracing my father, and relate to him what i had suffered in body and mind, for neglecting to follow his wise and fatherly counsel. i now travelled slowly and by myself, and on the th, arrived at the house of my old friend the governor, who met me at his door, and gave me such an embrace, as to start the blood from my scarcely healed wound. i did not perceive at the moment, that his embrace had produced this effect, and entered the house, where i met jacova, who received me with a partial embrace, and a manner of constrained politeness. she then sat down by me on the sopha, and began asking me many questions about my adventure since we had parted, often observing that i looked indisposed. at length she discovered the blood oozing through my waistcoat. she exclaimed, putting her hand on the wound, 'and good reason you have to look { } so, for you are wounded to death.' the look that accompanied this remark, i may not describe, for i would not be thought vain, and the stern character of my adventures forbids the intermixture of any thing of an entirely different aspect. i was not long, however, in convincing her that my wound was not really dangerous, and that i owed its present bleeding to the friendship of her father, a cause too flattering to be matter of regret. this drew from me a narrative of the occasion of my wound, which i related in the same simple terms and brief manner in which it is recorded in my journal. a long conversation of questions and replies ensued, of a nature and on subjects not necessary to relate. on the th, imploring god that we might meet again, we parted, and i resumed my journey, travelling slowly for my father's residence at the copper mines. i paused to rest and amuse myself in several of the small towns on my way. on the th, i had the high satisfaction once more to hold the hand of my father, and to find him in health and prosperity, and apparently with nowise abated affection for me, though i had rejected his counsels. this affection seemed to receive a warmer glow, when he heard my determination not to take to the woods again. i then in return wished to make myself acquainted with the true state of his affairs. he had established a vacherie on the river membry[ ] where he kept stock. he had also opened a farm on the land which the old appache chief had given him, which enabled him to raise grain for the use of his own establishment at the mines. he had actually a supply of grain in advance for the next year. he had made similar improvements upon every thing appertaining to the mines. the result of the whole seemed to be, that he was making money rapidly. he still retained the spaniard, of whom i have spoken before, as clerk and superintendent, believing him to be a man of real stability and weight of character, and placing the most entire reliance both upon his capacity and integrity. i was less sanguine, and had my doubts, though having seen no decided facts, { } upon which to ground them, i did not deem myself justified in honor to impart my doubts to my father. on the th of february, my father requested me, on his account, to take a trip to alopaz, to purchase for his establishment some wine and whiskey, which articles sell at the mines at a dollar and a half a pint. i started with one servant and six pack mules, each having a couple of small barrels fastened over their saddles, after the manner of our panniers. on the th, i reached the place, and purchased my cargo, but the weather was so inclement, that i thought it best not to return until it softened. i became acquainted with an american, married in this place. he was by pursuit a gunsmith, and had been up the upper missouri with col. henry,[ ] and an old and noted trader on that river. the mutual story of what we two had seen and suffered, would probably appear incredible, and beyond the common order of things, to most people, except those who have hunted and trapped in the western parts of this continent, among the mountains and savages, and has nothing upon which to depend, but his own firmness of heart, the defence of his rifle, and the protection of the all present god. to such persons, the incidents which we mutually related, would all seem natural. i remained here until the st of april. spring in its peculiar splendor and glory in this country, had now wakened the fields and forests into life, and was extending its empire of verdure and flowers higher and higher up the mountains towards their snowy peaks. on this day i commenced my journey of return to the mines, with my servant and my cargo bestowed on my mules. though the face of the country was all life and beauty, the roads so recently thawed, were exceedingly muddy and heavy. one of my mules in consequence gave out the second day. my servant packed the load of the tired mule upon his riding one, and walked on foot the remainder of the day. during the day we discovered fresh bear tracks in the wood, and my servant advised me to have my gun loaded. at this remark i put my hand in my shot pouch, and found but a single ball, and { } no lead with which to make more. at this discovery i saw at once the uselessness of self reproach of my own carelessness and neglect, though it will be easily imagined, what anxiety it created, aware that i had to travel through a long and dreary wilderness, replenished with grizzly bears and hostile indians. neither did i dare disclose a particle of what was passing in my mind to my servant, through fear that he would be discouraged, in which case, i knew his first step would be to turn back, and leave me to make the journey alone. it would have been impossible for me to do this, as we were both scarcely able to arrange the affairs of the journey. we advanced cautiously and were unmolested through the day. but i passed a most uncomfortable night through fear of the bears, which, thawed out, were emerging from their winter dens with appetites rendered ravenous by their long winter fast. we and our mules would have furnished them a delicious feast, after the hunger of months. no sleep visited my eyes that night. at ten o'clock of the d, we met a spaniard on horse back. i accosted him in the usual terms, and asked if he had met any indians on his way? he answered that he had, and that there was a body of friendly appaches encamped near the road, at a distance of a little more than a league. i was delighted with this information, for i supposed i should be able to purchase a horse of them, on which i might mount my servant. while i was reflecting on this thought, my servant proposed to purchase his horse, and offered him a blanket in exchange. he instantly dismounted, took the blanket, and handed over the horse. happy to see the poor fellow once more comfortably mounted, we bade the easy spaniard adieu, and gaily resumed our journey. in a short time, according to his information, we saw the indian camp near the road, from which their smokes were visible. we were solicitous to pass them unobserved and pushed on towards a stopping place, which we might reach at twelve o'clock. here we stopped to enable our horses to rest, and eat, for the grass was fine. i ordered my servant to spancel the mules, and tether the horse to a shrub by a long rope. { } my gun reclined upon the packs. we ate a little ourselves, and afterwards i spread my blanket on the grass, close by the horses, and lay down to repose myself, though not intending to go to sleep. but the bright beams of the sun fell upon me in the midst of the green solitude, and i was soon in a profound sleep. a large straw hat on the side of my face shaded my head from the sun. while enjoying this profound sleep, four of the appaches came in pursuit of us. it seems our spaniard had stolen his horse from them, a few hours before. they came upon us in possession of the horse, and supposed me the thief. one of them rode close to me, and made a dart at me with his spear. the stroke was aimed at my neck, and passed through my hat, nailing it to the ground just back of my neck, which the cold steel barely touched. it awakened me, and i sprang to my feet. four indians on horse back were around me, and the spear, which had been darted at me, still nailed my hat to the ground. i immediately seized the spear and elevated it towards the indian, who in turn made his horse spring out of my reach. i called my servant, who had seen the indians approaching me, and had hidden himself in the bushes. i then sprang to my gun, at the distance of ten or fifteen paces. when i had reached and cocked it, i presented it at an indian who was unsheathing his fusil. as soon as he discovered my piece elevated, he threw himself from his horse, fell on his knees, and called for mercy. what surprized me, and arrested my fire, was to hear him call me by my christian name. i returned my rifle to my shoulder and asked him who he was? he asked me, if i did not know targuarcha? he smote his breast as he asked the question. the name was familiar. the others dismounted, and gathered round. an understanding ensued. when they learned the manner in which we came by the horse, their countenances were expressive of real sorrow. they had supposed me a spaniard, as they said, and the thief of their horse. they begged me not to be angry, with a laughable solicitude, offering me the horse as the price of friendship. above all, they were { } anxious that i should not relate the affair to my father. they seemed to have an awe of him, resembling that due to the supreme being. this awe he had maintained by his steady deportment, and keeping up in their minds the impression, that he always had a large army at command, and was able, and disposed at the first insult, or breach of the treaty on their part, to bring it upon them to their utter destruction. to all their apologies and kind words and excuses, i answered that i knew them as well as any other man, and that they were not to expect to atone for a dastardly attempt to take my life, and coming within a hair's breadth of taking it, by offering me a present, that i believed that they knew who i was, and only wanted an opportunity, when they could steal upon me unarmed, and kill me, as they had probably committed many other similar murders; that they were ready enough to cry pardon, as soon as they saw me handling my rifle, hoping to catch me asleep again, but that they would henceforward be sure to find me on my guard. at this the indian who had darted the spear at me, exclaimed that he loved me as a brother, and would at any occasion risk his life in my defence. i then distinctly recollected him, and that i had been two months with the band, to which he belonged, roving in the woods about the mines. targuarcha had shown a singular kind of attachment to me, waiting upon me as if i had been his master. i was perfectly convinced that he had thrust his spear at me in absolute ignorance, that it was me. still i thought it necessary to instil a lesson of caution into them, not to kill any one for an imagined enemy, until they were sure that he was guilty of the supposed wrong. consequently i dissembled distrust, and told him, that it looked very little like friendship, to dart a spear at the neck of a sleeping man, and that to tell the plain truth, i had as little confidence in him, as a white bear. at this charge of treachery, he came close to me, and looking affectionately in my face, exclaimed in spanish, 'if you think me such a traitor, kill me. here is my breast. shoot.' at the same time he bared his breast with his hand, with such a { } profound expression of sorrow in his countenance, as no one was ever yet able to dissemble. i was softened to pity, and told him that i sincerely forgave him, and that i would henceforward consider him my friend, and not inform my father what he had done. they all promised that they would never attempt to kill any one again, until they knew who it was, and were certain that he was guilty of the crime charged upon him. here we all shook hands, and perfect confidence was restored. i now called again for my servant, and after calling till i was hoarse, he at length crawled from behind the bushes, like a frightened turkey or deer, and looking wild with terror. he had the satisfaction of being heartily laughed at, as a person who had deserted his master in the moment of peril. they are not a people to spare the feelings of any one who proves himself a coward by deserting his place. they bestowed that term upon him without mercy. all his reply was, sullenly to set himself to packing his mules. now arose a friendly controversy about the horse, they insisting that i should take it, as the price of our renewed friendship, and i, that i would not take it, except on hire or purchase. they were obstinate in persisting that i should take the horse along with me, and finally promised if i would consent, that they would return to camp and bring their families, and escort me to the mines. to this i consented, though i had first taken the precaution to procure some rifle balls of them. we then resumed our journey, and travelled on without incident till the th, when they overtook us, and we travelled on very amicably together, until we reached the membry, which runs a south course, and is lost in a wide arid plain, after winding its way through prodigious high, craggy mountains. it affords neither fish nor beavers, but has wide and rich bottoms, of which as i have mentioned, they gave my father as much as he chose to cultivate. from the point where the road crosses this river to the mines, is reckoned miles. here we met the chief of this band of the appaches, with a great number of his people. they were { } all delighted to see us, and not the less so, when they discovered that we had spirituous liquors, of which they are fond to distraction. there was no evading the importunities of the chief to stay all night with him, he promising, if i would that he would go in next day with me to my father. i had scarcely arrived an hour, when i saw the indian, that had darted his spear at me, come to the chief with shirt laid aside, and his back bare. he handed the chief a stout switch, asking him to whip him. the chief immediately flayed away about lashes, the blood showing at every stroke. he then asked me, if the thing had been done to my satisfaction? i told him that i had no satisfaction to demand. the chief who had whipped him, was positively ignorant of the crime, for which he had suffered this infliction. but he said, when one of his men begged a flogging, he took it for granted, that it was not for the good deeds of the sufferer, and that he deserved it. when i learned that it was a voluntary penance for his offence to me on the road, i felt really sorry, and made him a present of a quart of whiskey, as an internal unction for the smart of his stripes, a medicine in high esteem among the indians in such cases. when we arrived at the mines, the old chief enquired what had been done to me on the road? as soon as he was informed, he sprang up, tore his hair, and seized a gun to shoot the poor culprit. i interposed between them, and convinced him, that targuarcha had not been really to blame in any thing but his haste, and that if i had really been the thief, he would have done right to kill me, and get back his horse, and that not even my father would have thought the worse of him, but that we should both now like him better, as well as his people, for what had happened. on the th, my father proposed to give me a sum of money, with which to go into the united states to purchase goods for the mines. the laborers much preferred goods, at the customary rate, to money, and the profit at that rate was at least per cent on the cost. i was reluctant to do this, for my thoughts still detained me in that country. it was then concluded to { } send the before mentioned spanish clerk on the commission, with sufficient money to pay for the goods, consigned to merchants in santa fe, to be purchased there, provided a sufficient quantity had recently arrived from the united states to furnish an assortment, and if not, he was recommended to merchants in st. louis, to make the purchases there. on the th, he started under these orders, under the additional one, that on his arriving at santa fe, and learning the state of things there, he should immediately write to the mines to that effect. in the customary order of things, this letter was to be expected in one month from the day he left the mines. after he was departed, he left none behind to doubt his truth and honor, nor was there the least suspicion of him, until the time had elapsed without a letter. a dim surmise began then to grow up, that he had run off with the money. we were still anxiously waiting for intelligence. during this interval i had occupied the place of clerk in his stead. it was now insisted that i should go in search of the villain, who had obtained a good start of a month ahead of us, and , dollars value in gold bullion to expedite his journey. on the th, i started in the search, which i confess seemed hopeless, for he was a man of infinite ingenuity, who could enact spaniard, which he really was, or russian, frenchman or englishman, as he spoke the languages of these people with fluency. still i pushed on with full purpose to make diligent and unsparing search. on the th, i arrived at santa fe. i made the most anxious and careful enquiry for him, and gave the most accurate descriptions of him there. but no one had seen or heard of such a person. i sorrowfully retraced my steps down the rio del norte, now without a doubt of his treachery, and bitterly reflecting on myself for my heedless regard of my father's request. had i done it, we had both secured an affluence. now i clearly foresaw poverty and misfortune opening before us in the future. for myself i felt little, as i was young and the world before me; and i felt secure about taking care of myself. { } my grief was for my father and his companions, who had toiled night and day with unwearied assiduity, to accumulate something for their dear and helpless families, whom they had left in missouri; and for the love of whom they had ventured into this rough and unsettled country, full of thieves and murderers. my father in particular, had left a large and motherless family, at a time of life to be wholly unable to take care of themselves, and altogether dependent on him for subsistence. there is no misery like self condemnation; and i suffered it in all its bitterness. the reflections that followed upon learning the full extent of the disaster, which i could but charge in some sense upon myself, came, as such reflections generally come, too late. i arrived at the passo del norte on the th of may, and repeated the same descriptions and enquiries to no purpose.--not a trace remained of him here; and i almost concluded to abandon the search in despair. i could imagine but one more chance. the owner of the mines lived at chihuahua. as a forlorn hope i concluded to proceed to that city, and inform the governor of our misfortune. so i pushed to chihuahua, where i arrived on the d. i found the owner of the mines in too much anxiety and grief of mind on his own account, to be cool enough to listen [to] the concerns of others. the president of the mexican republic had issued orders, that all spaniards born in old spain, should be expelled from the mexican country, giving them but a month's notice, in which to settle their affairs and dispose of their property. he being one of that class, had enough to think of on his own account. however, when he heard of our misfortune, he appeared to be concerned. he then touched upon the critical state of his own affairs. among other things, he said he had all along hoped that my father was able and disposed to purchase those mines. he had, therefore, a motive personal to himself, to make him regret my father's loss and inability to make the purchase. he was now obliged to sell them at any sacrifice, and had but a very short time in which to settle his { } affairs, and leave the country. he requested me to be ready to start the next day in company with him to the mines. early on the th, we started with relays of horses and mules. as we travelled very rapidly we arrived at the mines on the th, where i found my father and his companions in the utmost anxiety to learn something what had happened to me. when they discovered the owner of the mines, whose name was don francisco pablo de lagera, they came forth in a body with countenances full of joy. that joy was changed to sadness, as soon as don pablo informed them the object of his visit. they perceived in a moment, that nothing now remained for them but to settle their affairs, and search for other situations in the country, or return to the united states in a worse condition than when they left it. my father determined at once not to think of this. nothing seemed so feasible, and conformable to his pursuits, as a trapping expedition. with the pittance that remained to him, after all demands against the firm were discharged, and the residue according to the articles of agreement divided, he purchased trapping equipments for four persons, himself included. the other three he intended to hire to trap for him. on the st of july, all these matters had been arranged, and my father and myself started for santa fe, with a view to join the first company that should start on a trapping expedition from that place. on the th, we arrived at santa fe, where we remained until the d, when a company of thirty men were about to commence an expedition of that sort down red river. my father joined this company, and in the name of the companions made application for license of safe transit through the province of chihuahua, and sonora, through which runs the red river, on which we meant to trap. the governor gave us a passport in the following terms: { } custom house of the frontier town of santa fe, in the territory of new mexico. _custom house certificate._ allow sylvester pattie, to pursue his journey with certain beasts, merchandize and money, in the direction of chihuahua and sonora; to enter in beasts and money an amount equal to this invoice, in whatsoever place he shall appear, according to the rules of the custom house, on his passage; and finally let him return this permit to the government of this city in days. do this under the established penalties. given at santa fe, in new mexico. ramon attren _september d_, . on the d, my father was chosen captain or commander of the company, and we started on our expedition. we retraced our steps down the del norte, and by the mines to the river helay, on which we arrived on the th of october, and began to descend it, setting our traps as we went, near our camp, whenever we saw signs of beavers. but our stay on this stream was short, for it had been trapped so often, that there were but few beavers remaining, and those few were exceedingly shy. we therefore pushed on to some place where they might be more abundant, and less shy. we left this river on the th, and on the th reached beaver river. here we found them in considerable numbers, and we concluded to proceed in a south course, and trap the river in its downward course. but to prevent the disagreement and insubordination which are apt to spring up in these associations, my father drew articles of agreement, purporting that we should trap in partnership, and that the first one who should show an open purpose to separate from the company, or desert it, should be shot dead; and that if any one should disobey orders, he should be tried by a jury of our number, and if found guilty should be fined fifty dollars, to be paid in fur. to this instrument we all agreed, and signed our names. { } the necessity of some such compact had been abundantly discovered in the course of our experience. men bound only by their own will and sense of right, to the duties of such a sort of partnership are certain to grow restless, and to form smaller clans, disposed to dislike and separate from each other, in parties of one by one to three by three. they thus expose themselves to be cut up in detail by the savages, who comprehend all their movements, and are ever watchful for an opportunity to show their hatred of the whites to be fixed and inextinguishable. the following are some of the more common causes of separation: men of incompatible tempers and habits are brought together; and such expeditions call out innumerable occasions to try this disagreement of character. men, hungry, naked, fatigued, and in constant jeopardy, are apt to be ill-tempered, especially when they arrive at camp, and instead of being allowed to throw themselves on the ground, and sleep, have hard duties of cooking, and keeping guard, and making breast-works assigned them. but the grand difficulty is the following. in a considerable company, half its numbers can catch as many beavers as all. but the half that keep guard, and cook, perform duties as necessary and important to the whole concern, as the others. it always happens too, in these expeditions, that there are some infinitely more dextrous and skilful in trapping and hunting than others. these capabilities are soon brought to light. the expert know each other, and feel a certain superiority over the inexpert. they know that three or four such, by themselves, will take as many beavers as a promiscuous company of thirty, and in fact, all that a stream affords. a perception of their own comparative importance, a keen sense of self interest, which sharpens in the desert, the mere love of roving in the wild license of the forest, and a capacity to become hardened by these scenes to a perfect callousness to all fear and sense of danger, until it actually comes; such passions are sufficient to thicken causes of separation among such companions in the events of every day. sad experience has made me acquainted with all these causes { } of disunion and dissolution of such companies. i have learned them by wounds and sufferings, by toil and danger of every sort, by wandering about in the wild and desolate mountains, alone and half starved, merely because two or three bad men had divided our company, strong and sufficient to themselves in union, but miserable, and exposed to almost certain ruin in separation. made painfully acquainted with all these facts by experience, my father adopted this expedient in the hope that it would be something like a remedy for them. but notwithstanding this, and the prudence and energy of my father's character, disunion soon began to spring up in our small party. almost on the outset of our expedition, we began to suffer greatly for want of provisions. we were first compelled to kill and eat our dogs, and then six of our horses. this to me was the most cruel task of all. to think of waiting for the night to kill and eat the poor horse that had borne us over deserts and mountains, as hungry as ourselves, and strongly and faithfully attached to us, was no easy task to the heart of a kentucky hunter. one evening, after a hard day's travel, my saddle horse was selected by lot to be killed. the poor animal stood saddled and bridled before us, and it fell to my lot to kill it. i loved this horse, and he seemed to have an equal attachment for me. he was remarkably kind to travel, and easy to ride, and spirited too. when he stood tied in camp among the rest, if i came any where near him, he would fall neighing for me. when i held up the bridle towards him, i could see consent and good will in his eye. as i raised my gun to my face, all these recollections rushed to my thoughts. my pulses throbbed, and my eyes grew dim. the animal was gazing at me, with a look of steady kindness, in the face. my head whirled, and was dizzy, and my gun fell. after a moment for recovery, i offered a beaver skin to any one who would shoot him down. one was soon found at this price, and my horse fell! it so happened that this was the last horse we killed. well was it for us that we had these surplus horses. had it been otherwise, we should all have perished with hunger. [illustration: shooting mr. pattie's horse] { } it was now the th of november, and while the horse flesh lasted, we built a canoe, so that we could trap on both sides of the river; for it is here too broad and deep to be fordable on horseback. one of our number had already been drowned, man and horse, in attempting to swim the river. a canoe is a great advantage, where the beavers are wild; as the trapper can thus set his traps along the shore without leaving his scent upon the ground about it. on the th, our canoe was finished, and another person and myself took some traps in it, and floated down the river by water, while the rest of the company followed along the banks by land. in this way, what with the additional supply which the canoe enabled our traps to furnish, and a chance deer or wolf that providence sometimes threw in our way, with caution and economy we were tolerably supplied with provisions; and the company travelled on with a good degree of union and prosperity, until the th. here the greater part of the company expressed disinclination to following our contemplated route any longer. that is, they conceived the route to the mouth of the helay, and up red river of california too long and tedious, and too much exposed to numerous and hostile indians. they, therefore, determined to quit the helay, and strike over to red river by a direct route across the country. my father reminded them of their article. they assured him they did not consider themselves bound by it, and that they were a majority, against which nothing could be said. my father and myself still persevered in following the original plan. two of the men had been hired on my father's account. he told them he was ready to pay them up to that time, and dismiss them, to go where they chose. they observed, that now that the company had commenced separating, they believed that in a short time, there would be no stronger party together than ours; that they had as good a disposition to risk their lives with us, as with any division of our number, and that they would stay by us to the { } death. after this speech four others of the company volunteered to remain with us, and we took them in as partners. on the th, we divided the hunt, and all expressing the same regret at the separation, and heartily wishing each other all manner of prosperity, we shook hands and parted! we were now reduced to eight in number. we made the most solemn pledges to stand by each other unto death, and adopted the severest caution, of which we had been too faithfully taught the necessity. we tied our horses every night, and encamped close by them, to prevent their being stolen by the indians. their foot-prints were thick and fresh in our course, and we could see their smokes at no great distance north of us. we were well aware that they were hostile, and watching their opportunity to pounce upon us, and we kept ourselves ready for action, equally day and night. we now took an ample abundance of beavers to supply us with meat, in consequence of our reduced numbers. our horses also fared well, for we cut plenty of cotton-wood trees, the bark of which serves them for food nearly as well as corn. we thus travelled on prosperously, until we reached the junction of the helay with red river.--here we found the tribe of umeas,[ ] who had shown themselves very friendly to the company in which i had formerly passed them, which strongly inspired confidence in them at present. some of them could speak the spanish language. we made many inquiries of them, our object being to gain information of the distance of the spanish settlements. we asked them where they obtained the cloth they wore around their loins? they answered, from the christians on the coast of the california. we asked if there were any christians living on red river? they promptly answered, yes. this information afterwards proved a source of error and misfortune to us, though our motive for inquiry at this time was mere curiosity. it was now the st of december; and at mid-day we began to see the imprudence of spending the remainder of the day and the ensuing night with such numbers of indians, however friendly in appearance. we had a tolerable fund of experience, in { } regard to the trust we might safely repose in the red skins; and knew that caution is the parent of security. so we packed up, and separated from them. their town was on the opposite shore of red river. at our encampment upwards of two hundred of them swam over the river and visited us, all apparently friendly. we allowed but a few of them to approach our camp at a time, and they were obliged to lay aside their arms. in the midst of these multitudes of fierce, naked, swarthy savages, eight of us seemed no more than a little patch of snow on the side of one of the black mountains. we were perfectly aware how critical was our position, and determined to intermit no prudence or caution. to interpose as great a distance as possible between them and us, we marched that evening sixteen miles, and encamped on the banks of the river. the place of encampment was a prairie, and we drove stakes fast in the earth, to which we tied our horses in the midst of green grass, as high as a man's head, and within ten feet of our own fire. unhappily we had arrived too late to make a pen for our horses, or a breast work for ourselves. the sky was gloomy. night and storm were settling upon us, and it was too late to complete these important arrangements. in a short time the storm poured upon us, and the night became so dark that we could not see our hand before us. apprehensive of an attempt to steal our horses, we posted two sentinels, and the remaining six lay down under our wet blankets, and the pelting of the sky, to such sleep as we might get, still preserving a little fire. we were scarcely asleep before we were aroused by the snorting of our horses and mules. we all sprang to our arms, and extinguished our little fire. we could not see a foot before us, and we groped about our camp feeling our way among the horses and mules. we could discover nothing; so concluding they might have been frightened by the approach of a bear or some other wild animal, some of us commenced rekindling our fires, and the rest went to sleep. but the indians had crawled among our horses, and had cut or untied the rope by which each one was { } bound. the horses were then all loose. they then instantly raised in concert, their fiendish yell. as though heaven and earth were in concert against us, the rain began to pour again, accompanied with howling gusts of wind, and the fiercest gleams of lightning, and crashes of thunder. terrified alike by the thunder and the indians, our horses all took to flight, and the indians repeating yell upon yell, were close at their heels. we sallied out after them, and fired at the noises, though we could see nothing. we pursued with the utmost of our speed to no purpose, for they soon reached the open prairie, where we concluded they were joined by other indians on horseback, who pushed our horses still faster; and soon the clattering of their heels and the yells of their accursed pursuers began to fade, and become indistinct in our ears. our feelings and reflections as we returned to camp were of the gloomiest kind. we were one thousand miles from the point whence we started, and without a single beast to bear either our property or ourselves. the rain had passed. we built us a large fire. as we stood round it we discussed our deplorable condition, and our future alternatives. something was to be done. we all agreed to the proposition of my father, which was, early in the morning to pursue the trails of our beasts, and if we should overtake the thieves, to retake the horses, or die in the attempt; and that, failing in that, we should return, swim the river, attack their town, and kill as many of the inhabitants as we could; for that it was better to die by these indians, after we had killed a good number of them, than to starve, or be killed by indians who had not injured us, and when we could not defend ourselves. accordingly, early in the morning of the d, we started on the trail in pursuit of the thieves. we soon arrived at a point where the indians, departing from the plain, had driven them up a chasm of the mountains. here they had stopped, and caught them, divided them, and each taken a different route with his plundered horses. we saw in a moment that it was impossible to follow them farther to any purpose. we abandoned { } the chase, and returned to our camp to execute the second part of our plan. when we arrived there, we stopped for a leisure meal of beaver meat. when we had bestowed ourselves to this dainty resort, a dutchman with us broke the gloomy silence of our eating, by observing that we had better stuff ourselves to the utmost; for that it would probably, be the last chance we should have at beaver meat. we all acquiesced in this observation, which though made in jest, promised to be a sober truth, by eating as heartily as possible. when we had finished our meal, which looked so likely to be the last we should enjoy together, we made rafts to which we tied our guns, and pushing them onward before us, we thus swam the river. having reached the opposite shore, we shouldered our rifles, and steered for the town, at which we arrived about two in the afternoon. we marched up to the numerous assemblage of huts in a manner as reckless and undaunted as though we had nothing to apprehend. in fact, when we arrived at it, we found it to contain not a single living being, except one miserable, blind, deaf, and decrepid old man, not unlike one that i described in a hostile former visit to an indian village. our exasperation of despair inclined us to kill even him. my father forbade. he apparently heard nothing and cared for nothing, as he saw nothing. his head was white with age, and his eyes appeared to have been gouged out. he may have thought himself all the while in the midst of his own people. we discovered a plenty of their kind of food, which consisted chiefly of acorn mush. we then set fire to the village, burning every hut but that which contained the old man. being built of flags and grass, they were not long in reducing to ashes. we then returned to our camp, re-swimming the river, and reaching the camp before dark. we could with no certainty divine the cause of their having evacuated their town, though we attributed it to fear of us. the occurrences of the preceding day strengthened us in this impression. while they remained with us, one of our men happened to fire off his gun. as though they never had heard { } such a noise before, they all fell prostrate on the earth, as though they had all been shot. when they arose, they would all have taken to flight, had we not detained them and quieted their fears. our conversation with these indians of the day before, now recurred to our recollections, and we congratulated ourselves on having been so inquisitive as to obtain the now important information, that there were spanish settlements on the river below us. driven from the resource of our horses, we happily turned our thoughts to another. we had all the requisite tools to build canoes, and directly around us was suitable timber of which to make them. it was a pleasant scheme to soothe our dejection, and prevent our lying down to the sleep of despair. but this alternative determined upon, there remained another apprehension sufficient to prevent our enjoying quiet repose. our fears were, that the unsheltered indians, horse-stealers and all, would creep upon us in the night, and massacre us all. but the night passed without any disturbance from them. on the morning of the d, the first business in which we engaged, was to build ourselves a little fort, sufficient for defence against the indians. this finished, we cut down two trees suitable for canoes, and accomplished these important objects in one day. during this day we kept one man posted in the top of a tall tree, to descry if any indians were approaching us in the distance. on the morning of the fourth we commenced digging out our canoes, and finished and launched two. these were found insufficient to carry our furs. we continued to prepare, and launch them, until we had eight in the water. by uniting them in pairs by a platform, we were able to embark with all our furs and traps, without any extra burden, except a man and the necessary traps for each canoe. we hid our saddles, hoping to purchase horses at the settlements, and return this way. we started on the th, floating with the current, which bore us downward at the rate of four miles an hour. in the evening we passed the burnt town, the ruins of which still threw up { } smouldering smoke. we floated about miles, and in the evening encamped in the midst of signs of beavers. we set traps, and in the morning of the th caught beavers, an excellent night's hunt. we concluded from this encouraging commencement, to travel slowly, and in hunters' phrase, trap the river clear; that is, take all that could be allured to come to the bait. the river, below its junction with the helay, is from to yards wide, with high banks, that have dilapidated by falling in. its course is west, and its timber chiefly cotton-wood, which in the bottoms is lofty and thick set. the bottoms are from six to ten miles wide. the soil is black, and mixed with sand, though the bottoms are subject to inundation in the flush waters of june. this inundation is occasioned by the melting of the snow on the mountains about its head waters. we now floated pleasantly downward at our leisure, having abundance of the meat of fat beavers. we began in this short prosperity, to forget the loss of our horses, and to consider ourselves quite secure from the indians. but on the th, at mid-day, by mere accident, we happened, some way below us, to discover two indians perched in a tree near the river bank, with their bows and arrows in readiness, waiting evidently until we should float close by them, to take off some of us with their arrows. we betrayed no signs of having seen them, but sat with our guns ready for a fair shot. when we had floated within a little short of a hundred yards, my father and another of the company gave them a salute, and brought them both tumbling down the branches, reminding us exactly of the fall of a bear or a turkey. they made the earth sound when they struck it. fearful that they might be part of an ambush, we pulled our canoes to the opposite shore, and some of us climbed trees, from which we could command a view of both shores. we became satisfied that these two were alone, and we crossed over to their bodies. we discovered that they were of the number that had stolen our horses, by the fact, that they were bound round the waist with some of the hemp ropes with which our horses had been tied. we hung the bodies of the thieves { } from a tree, with the product of their own thefts. our thoughts were much relieved by the discovery of this fact, for though none of us felt any particular forbearance towards indians under any circumstances, it certainly would have pained us to have killed indians that had never disturbed us. but there could be no compunction for having slain these two thieves, precisely at the moment that they were exulting in the hope of getting a good shot at us. beside they alarmed our false security, and learned us a lesson to keep nearer the middle of the river. we continued to float slowly downwards, trapping beavers on our way almost as fast as we could wish. we sometimes brought in in a morning. the river at this point is remarkably circuitous, and has a great number of islands, on which we took beavers. such was the rapid increase of our furs, that our present crafts in a few days were insufficient to carry them, and we were compelled to stop and make another canoe. we have advanced between and miles from the point where we built the other canoes. we find the timber larger, and not so thick. there are but few wild animals that belong to the country farther up, but some deer, panthers, foxes and wild-cats. of birds there are great numbers, and many varieties, most of which i have never before seen. we killed some wild geese and pelicans, and likewise an animal not unlike the african leopard,[ ] which came into our camp, while we were at work upon the canoe. it was the first we had ever seen. we finished our canoe on the th, and started on the th. this day we saw ten indians on a sand bar, who fled into the woods at the sight of us. we knew them to be different people from those who had stolen our horses, both by their size and their different manner of wearing their hair. the heads of these were shaved close, except a tuft, which they wore on the top of their head, and which they raised erect, as straight as an arrow. the umeas are of gigantic stature from six to seven feet high. these only average five feet and a half. they go perfectly naked, and have dark complexions, which i imagine { } is caused by the burning heat of the sun. the weather is as hot here at this time, as i ever experienced. we were all very desirous to have a talk with these indians, and enquire of them, how near we were to the spanish settlements; and whether they were immediately on the bank, for we began to be fearful that we had passed them. three days passed without our having any opportunity of conversation with them. but early on the morning of the th, we found some families yet asleep in their wigwams, near the water's edge. our approach to them was so imperceptible and sudden, that they had no chance to flee. they were apparently frightened to insanity. they surrendered without making any further effort to escape. while they stared at us in terrified astonishment; we made them comprehend that we had no design to kill, or injure them. we offered them meat, and made signs that we wished to smoke with them. they readily comprehended us, and the ghastliness of terror began to pass from their countenances. the women and children were yet screaming as if going into convulsions. we made signs to the men to have them stop this annoying noise. this we did by putting our hands to our mouths. they immediately uttered something to the women and children which made them still. the pipe was then lit, and smoking commenced. they puffed the smoke towards the sky, pointed thither, and uttered some words, of course unintelligible to us. they then struck themselves on the breast, and afterwards on the forehead. we understood this to be a sort of religious appeal to the supreme being, and it showed more like reverence to him, than any thing we had yet seen among the indians; though i have seen none but what admit that there is a master of life, whom they call by a name to that import, or that of great spirit. when the smoking was finished, we began to enquire of them by signs, how far we were from the spanish settlement? this we effected by drawing an image of a cow and sheep in the sand and then imitating the noise of each kind of domestic animals, that we supposed the spaniards would have. they appeared { } to understand us, for they pointed west, and then at our clothes, and then at our naked skin. from this we inferred that they wished to say that farther to the west lived white people, as we were. and this was all we could draw from them on that subject. we then asked them, if they had ever seen white people before? this we effected by stretching open our eyes with our fingers, and pointing to them, and then looking vehemently in that direction, while we pointed west with our fingers. they shook their heads in the negative. then stretching their own ears, as we had our eyes, striking themselves on the breast, and pointing down the river, they pronounced the word _wechapa_. this we afterwards understood implied, that their chief lived lower down the river, and that they had heard from him, that he had seen these people. we gave the women some old shirts, and intimated to them as well as we could, that it was the fashion of the women to cover themselves in our country, for these were in a state of the most entire nudity. but they did not seem rightly to comprehend our wish. many of the women were not over sixteen, and the most perfect figures i have ever seen, perfectly straight and symmetrical, and the hair of some hanging nearly to their heels. the men are exceedingly active, and have bright countenances, and quick apprehension. we gave them more meat, and then started. they followed our course along the bank, until night. as soon as we landed, they were very officious in gathering wood, and performing other offices for us. they showed eager curiosity in examining our arms, and appeared to understand their use. when my father struck fire with his pistol, they gave a start, evidencing a mixture of astonishment and terror, and then re-examined the pistol, apparently solicitous to discover how the fire was made. my father bade me take my rifle, and shoot a wild goose, that was sitting about in the middle of the river. he then showed them the goose, and pointed at me, as i was creeping to a point where i might take a fair shot. they all gazed with intense curiosity, first at me, and then at the goose, until i fired. at the moment of the report, { } some fell flat on the ground, and the rest ran for the bushes, as though satan was behind them. as soon as the fallen had recovered from their amazement, they also fled. some of our company stopped them, by seizing some, and holding them, and showing them that the goose was dead, and the manner in which it had been killed. they gradually regained confidence and composure, and called to their companions in the bushes. they also came forth, one by one, and when the nature of the report of the gun had been explained to them, they immediately swam into the river and brought out the goose. when they carried it round and showed it to their companions, carefully pointing out the ball hole in the goose, it is impossible to show more expressive gestures, cries and movements of countenances indicative of wonder and astonishment, than they exhibited. the night which we passed with them, passed away pleasantly, and to the satisfaction of all parties. in the morning their attention and curiosity were again highly excited, when we brought in our beavers, which amounted in number to thirty-six. after we had finished skinning them, we left the ample supply of food furnished by the bodies of the beavers, in token of our friendship, to these indians, and floated on. on the th, we arrived at the residence of the chief. we perceived that they had made ready for our reception. they had prepared a feast for us by killing a number of fatted dogs. as soon as we landed, the chief came to us, accompanied by two subordinate chiefs. when arrived close to us, he exclaimed, _wechapa_, striking himself on the breast, pointing to our company, and repeating the same phrase. we understood from this, that he wished to know who was our captain? we all pointed to my father, to whom the chief immediately advanced, and affectionately embracing him, invited us to enter his wigwam. we shouldered our rifles, and all followed this venerable looking man to his abode. there he had prepared several earthen dishes, in which the flesh of young and fat dogs was served up, but without salt or bread. we all sat down. the pipe was lit, and we, and the thirty indians present began to smoke. while we were smoking, they used many gesticulations and signs, the { } purport of which we could not make out, though, as they pointed often at us, we supposed we were the subjects of their gestures. the pipe was then taken away, and the chief arose, and stood in the centre of the circle which we formed by the manner in which we all sat around the fire. he then made a long harangue, and as we understood not a word, to us rather a tedious one. we took care to make as many gestures indicative of understanding it, as though we had comprehended every word. the oration finished, a large dish of the choice dog's flesh was set before us, and signs were made to us to eat. having learned not to be delicate or disobliging to our savage host, we fell to work upon the ribs of the domestic barkers. when we had eaten to satisfaction, the chief arose, and puffing out his naked belly, and striking it with his hand, very significantly inquired by this sign, if we had eaten enough? when we had answered in the affirmative, by our mode of making signs, he then began to enquire of us, as we understood it, who we were, and from whence we came, and what was our business in that country? all this we interpreted, and replied to by signs as significant as we could imagine. he continued to enquire of us by signs, if we had met with no misfortunes on our journey, calling over the names of several indian tribes in that part of the country, among which we distinctly recognized the name of the umeas? when he mentioned this name, it was with such a lowering brow and fierce countenance as indicated clearly that he was at war with them. we responded to these marks of dislike by an equal show of detestation by making the gesture of seeming desirous to shoot at them, and with the bitterest look of anger that we could assume; making him understand that they had stolen our horses. he made signs of intelligence that he comprehended us, and made us sensible of his deep hatred, by giving us to understand that they had killed many of his people, and taken many more prisoners; and that he had retaliated by killing and taking as many umeas. he pointed at the same time to two small children, and exclaimed umea! we { } pointed at them with our guns, and gave him to understand, that we had killed two of them. some of our people had brought their scalps along. we gave them to him, and he, looking first towards us, and then fiercely at them, seemed to ask if these were the scalps of his enemies? to which we replied, yes.--he then seized the hair of the scalps with his teeth, and shook them, precisely as i have seen a dog any small game that it had killed. he then gave such a yell of delight, as collected all his people round him in a moment, and such rejoicing, yelling, and dancing ensued from both men and women, as i shall forbear to attempt to describe. their deportment on this occasion was in fact much nearer bestial than human. they would leave the dance round the scalps in turn, to come and caress us, and then return and resume their dance. the remainder of this day and the ensuing night passed in being in some sense compelled to witness this spectacle. in the morning of the th, when we brought in the contents of our traps, we found we had taken twenty-eight beavers. when my father enquired this morning anew for the direction of the spanish settlements, and how far they were distant, we could make out from the signs of the chief no information more exact than this. he still pointed to the west, and then back at us.--he then made a very tolerable imitation of the rolling and breaking of the surf on the sea shore. below he drew a cow and a sheep. from this we were satisfied that there were spanish settlements west of us; and our conclusion was, that they could not be very distant. at mid-day we bade these friendly indians farewell, and resumed our slow progress of floating slowly down the stream, still setting our traps, whenever we found any indications of beavers. we met with no striking incident, and experienced no molestation until january st, . on this day we once more received a shower of arrows from about fifty indians of a tribe called pipi, of whom we were cautioned to beware by the friendly indians we had last left. i forgot at the time to mention the name of that people, when speaking of them, and { } repeat it now. it is cocopa.[ ] when the pipi fired upon us, we were floating near the middle of the river. we immediately commenced pulling for the opposite shore, and were soon out of the reach of their arrows, without any individual having been wounded. as soon as our crafts touched the shore, we sprang upon the bank, took fair aim, and showed them the difference between their weapons and ours, by levelling six of them. the remainder fell flat, and began to dodge and skulk on all fours, as though the heavens had been loaded with thunder and mill stones, which were about to rain on them from the clouds. we re-loaded our guns, and rowed over to the opposite, and now deserted shore. the fallen lay on the sand beach, some of them not yet dead. we found twenty three bows and the complement of arrows, most of them belonging to the fugitives. the bows are six feet in length, and made of a very tough and elastic kind of wood, which the spaniards call _tarnio_. they polish them down by rubbing them on a rough rock. the arrows are formed of a reed grass, and of the same length with their bows, with a foot of hard wood stuck in the end of the cavity of the reed, and a flint spike fitted on the end of it.--they have very large and erect forms, and black skins. their long black hair floats in tresses down their backs, and to the termination of each tress is fastened a snail shell. in other respects their dress consists of their birth-day suit; in other words, they are perfectly naked. the river seems here to run upon a high ridge; for we can see from our crafts a great distance back into the country, which is thickly covered with musquito and other low and scrubby trees. the land is exceedingly marshy, and is the resort of numerous flocks of swans, and blue cranes. the rackoons are in such numbers, that they cause us to lose a great many beavers, by getting into our traps and being taken instead of the true game. they annoy us too by their squalling when they are taken. from the junction of the two rivers to this place, i judge to be about a hundred miles. we find the climate exceedingly warm, { } and the beaver fur, in accommodation to the climate, is becoming short. we conclude, in consequence, that our trapping is becoming of less importance, and that it is our interest to push on faster to reach the settlements. a great many times every day we bring our crafts to shore, and go out to see if we cannot discover the tracks of horses and cattle. on the th, we first perceived that we had arrived on the back water of the tide; or rather we first attributed the deadness of the current to the entrance of some inundated river, swollen by the melting of the snow on the mountains. we puzzled our brains with some other theories, to account for the deadness of the current. this became so entirely still, that we began to rig our oars, concluding that instead of our hitherto easy progress of floating gently onward, we had henceforward to make our head-way down stream by dint of the machinery of our arms. we soon were thoroughly enlightened in regard to the slackness of the water. it began to run down again, and with the rapidity of six miles an hour; that is, double the ordinary current of the stream. we were all much surprised, for though i had seen the water of the pacific at ymus, none of us had ever felt the influence of the tides, or been in a craft on the ocean waters before. people of the same tribe, upon which we had recently fired, stood upon the shore, and called loudly to us as we passed, to come to land, making signs to us, that the motion of the water would capsize our crafts. they showed a great desire that we might come to shore, we had no doubt, that they might rob and murder us. we preserved such a distance from them, as to be out of the reach of their arrows, and had no intention to fire upon them. had we wished for a shot, they were quite within rifle distance. we floated on, having had a beautiful evening's run, and did not come to land, until late; we then pitched our camp on a low point of land, unconscious, from our inexperience of the fact, that the water would return, and run up stream again. we made our canoes fast to some small trees, and all lay down to sleep, except my father, who took the first watch. he soon aroused us, and called on us all { } to prepare for a gust of wind, and a heavy rain, which he thought betokened by a rushing noise he heard. we realized in a few moments, that it was the returning tide. still, so strongly impressed were we, that a shower was approaching, that we made all the customary arrangements of preparation, by stretching our blankets to keep out the water from above. but our enemy assailed us from another quarter. our camp was inundated from the river. we landsmen from the interior, and unaccustomed to such movements of the water, stood contemplating with astonishment the rush of the tide coming in from the sea, in conflict with the current of the river. at the point of conflict rose a high ridge of water, over which came the sea current, combing down like water over a mildam. we all sprang to our canoes, which the rush of the water had almost capsized, though we held the fasts with our hands. in twenty minutes the place where we lay asleep, and even our fire place was three feet under water, and our blankets were all afloat. we had some vague and general ideas of the nature of the tide, but its particular operations were as much unknown to us, as though we never had heard of it at all. in the consternation of our ignorance, we paddled our crafts, as well as we could, among the timber, not dreaming that in the course of a few hours, the water would fall again. as it was, we gathered up our floating blankets, got into our canoes, and held fast to the brushes, until the water fell again, leaving us and our canoes high and dry. we were now assailed by a new alarm, lest the indians, taking advantage of this new position in which we were placed, would attack and murder us. in such apprehensions we passed the night, until the morning shone upon us with a bright and beautiful sun, which enabled us to dry all our wet things, and re-animated us with the confidence which springs from the view of a bright firmament and a free and full survey of our case. when the tide returned we got into our crafts, and descended with it, still expecting to find spanish settlements. we continued in this way to descend, when the tide ran out, until the th, when the surf came up the { } river so strong that we saw in a moment, that our crafts could not live, if we floated them into this tumultuous commotion of the water. here we were placed in a new position, not the least disheartening or trying, among the painful predicaments, in which fortune had placed us. the fierce billows shut us in from below, the river current from above, and murderous savages upon either hand on the shore. we had a rich cargo of furs, a little independence for each one of us, could we have disposed of them, as we had hoped, among the spanish people, whom we expected to have found here. there were no such settlements.--every side on which we looked offered an array of danger, famine and death. in this predicament, what were furs to us? our first thought was to commit our furs to the waters, and attempt to escape with our lives. our second resolve was to ascend the river as far as we could, bury our furs, and start on foot for some settlement. we saw that the chances were greatly against us, that we should perish in the attempt; for the country yielded little to subsist on, and was full of indians who are to the last degree savage and murderous, and whom nothing can subdue to kindness and friendship. we had no idea of ever putting ourselves in their power, as long as one of us could fire a pistol, or draw a knife. we now began to ascend with the tide, when it served us, and lay by when it ran down, until we arrived at the point where it ceased to flow. we then applied our oars, and with the help of setting-poles, and at times the aid of a cordelle, we stemmed the current at the rate of one, and sometimes two miles an hour, until the tenth of february, when we met a great rise of the river, and found the current so strong, that we had no power to stem it in any way. so we concluded to abandon our canoes, come to shore, bury our furs, and make our way across the peninsula to the coast of california, which we thought from the information of the indians, could not be very distant. on the th, we completed the burying of our furs, and started on foot with our packs on our backs. the contents of these { } packs were two blankets for each man, a considerable quantity of dried beaver meat, and a rifle with the ammunition. our first day's journey was through a country to the last degree trying to our strength and patience. it was through the river bottom, which was thick set with low, scrubby brush, interwoven with tall grass, vines and creepers. the making our way through these was excessively slavish and fatiguing. we had a single alleviation. there was plenty of fresh water to drink. we were so fatigued at night, that sleep was irresistible. the weather was warm, and we kindled no fire, through fear of the savages. we started on the morning of the th, all complaining much of stiffness and soreness of our limbs. we had been unused to walking for a great length of time; and this commencement was a rude experiment of resuming the habit. at two in the afternoon, we reached the edge of a large salt plain, which runs parallel with the river. here we struck a north west course, and travelled the remainder of this hot and fatiguing day without finding any water. we began to suffer severely from thirst. the earth, also, was so loose and sandy, that at every step we sank up to our ankles, the sun beaming down a fierce radiance the while; which made it seem as if the heavens and the earth were on fire. our tongues became so parched, that not a particle of moisture flowed into our mouths. in this miserable and forlorn condition, abandoned by strength, courage and hope, we found some little alleviation of our misery, when the blaze of the sun was gone, and the cool night enabled us to throw down our weary and exhausted bodies under its dewy shade. we made an early start in the morning, and pushed on as men, as thirsty as we were, naturally would, in the hope of finding water, until two in the afternoon. what a sight of joy! i have no words to express our delight at the sight of a little lake before us. we sprang greedily to it. the water was salt, too salt to be drank! not the slightest indication of any other water course, or any omen of fresh water was any where in view. far in the distance a snow-covered mountain glittered in the { } sun, and on the opposite shore of this salt lake, and at a distance of three or four miles from it, rose some hills of considerable height. we thought that from the summit of these hills we might possibly discover some water. we gathered dry flags, of which there was a great abundance about us, and made a kind of raft, on which each one of us put his pack, and swam the lake, pushing the little rafts that carried our packs, before us. the lake is about two hundred yards wide, and contains a great variety of fish. in length the lake stretches north and south, bounded on each shore with high, level and well timbered land, though apparently affording no fresh water. when we reached the west shore of the lake, we saw fresh indian foot-prints in the sand. this assured us, that there was water at no great distance. one of our company and myself started and ascended the highest peak of the hills in our view. we were not long in descrying a smoke in the south, at the distance of about ten miles. this sight gave us great courage and hope; for we felt assured that there must be water between us and the indian camp. in a moment we started back with a vigorous step, to inform our companions, who were resting themselves under the shade of a tree. the information re-animated them, as it had us. we all shouldered our packs with a degree of alacrity, and pushed on toward the smoke.--we arrived about three in the afternoon on a small mound, within a quarter of a mile of the indians. we could distinctly number them, and found them between forty and fifty in number, and their women and children were with them. here again was anxious ground of debate, what course we should pursue? should we attempt the long and uncertain course of conciliation, before the accomplishment of which we might perish with thirst? or should we rush among them, and buy the delicious element which we had full in view, at the hazard of our lives? men as thirsty as we were, would be likely to fix upon the latter alternative, and we did so. we examined our arms to see that we were prepared to attack, or repel, according to circumstances, determined to fire upon them, if they { } showed either a disposition for fight, or to keep us from the water. we were within a hundred and fifty yards of them before they perceived us. as soon as they saw us they all fled to the bushes, men, women and children, as though satan was behind them. we had no disposition to arrest them, but rushed forward to the water, and began to slake our burning thirst. my father immediately cautioned us against drinking too much, pointing out at the same time the hurtful consequences. but men have always proved themselves slow to resist their appetites at the command of their reason. most of us overloaded our empty stomachs with water, and soon became as sick as death. after vomiting, however, we were relieved. my father told us that we had better stand to our arms; for that the indians had probably only fled to hide their women and children, and prepare themselves to return and fight us. scarcely had he finished these remarks, when we discovered them bearing down upon us, painted as black as a thunder cloud, and yelling like so many fiends. some of them were armed with clubs, some with bows and arrows. we all arranged ourselves to receive them, behind the top of a large fallen tree. when they were within rifle shot, we made signs to them to halt, or that otherwise we should fire upon them. they comprehended us, halted and ceased yelling, as though they wished to hear what we had to say. we made signs that we were friendly. at this they gazed in apparent confusion of thought, and seemed to be questioning each other, touching the meaning of our signs. these signs we continued to repeat. at length one of them called aloud in spanish, and asked us who we were? how delightful were these sounds! we answered _americans_. they repeated the name, asking us if we were friendly and christians? to these questions we made a ready affirmative. they then proposed a treaty with us. nothing could be more agreeable to us. at the same time we perceived that only eight of their people came to us, and the remainder of their company kept back. these eight that seemed to be their chief { } men, advanced to us, while the rest, with extreme anxiety painted upon their countenances, stood ready for action. we all sat down on the ground, and commenced talking. they enquired with great precision, who we were, whence we came, how we arrived here, what was our object, and whether we had met with any misfortunes? we answered these questions to their satisfaction; and soon the pipe was lit, and we commenced smoking. they then dug a hole in the ground, in which they buried their war axe, and professed to deposite all ill feelings with it. the indian of their number, who spoke the spanish language, was a fugitive from the mission of st. catherine.--threatened with the punishment of some misdemeanor, he had fled from the establishment. after we had finished smoking, they asked us if the remainder of their number might not come and converse with us. this we objected to, unless they would bring their women and children with them. to this order they expressed great reluctance. this reluctance by no means tended to allay our previous jealousy of their pretended friendship. we asked them their reasons for being unwilling to bring their women and children? they answered promptly that they did not feel it safe to put their women and children in our power, until they were more acquainted with us. there seemed reason in this. we observed, that their men might come, provided they would leave their arms behind. to this they readily assented, and called out to their men to come on, leaving their arms behind. a part of them seemingly much delighted, threw down their arms and came on. the remainder equally dissatisfied, wheeled about, and walked moodily away. the new comers sat down in a circle round us. the pipe was again lit and circled round. again the terms of the treaty were repeated, and they all expressed their satisfaction with them. they observed, that their head chief was absent, at the distance of two day's journey to the south, that in three or four days he would come and see us, desiring us to remain with them until he should come. nothing could be more opportune for { } us, for we were all excessively fatigued, and needed a few days rest. after this they went and brought their women and children, who, like the other indians we had seen, were all stark naked. at first they were excessively shy of us. this shyness wore off, and in the course of the day changed to an eager curiosity to examine us, and an admiration of our red flannel shirts, and the white skin _under them_; for little show of whiteness was to be seen in our faces. they soon ventured close to us, and with their own hands opened our bosoms, uttering exclamations of curiosity and admiration, especially on feeling the softness of our skins, in comparison of theirs. they certainly seemed to prefer our complexion to theirs, notwithstanding it had not the stamp of their fashion. at length they made up to one of our companions, who was of a singularly light complexion, fair soft skin, and blue eyes. they wanted him to strip himself naked that they might explore him thoroughly, for they seemed to be doubtful of his being alike white in every part of his body. this, but as mildly as possible, he refused to do. they went off and brought a quantity of dried fish of excellent quality, and presented him. we persuaded him to oblige these curious and good natured women, by giving them a full view of his body. he was persuaded to strip to his skin. this delighted them, and they conversed and laughed among themselves, and they came one by one and stood beside him; so as to compare their bodies with his. after this, as long as we staid, they were constantly occupied in bringing us cooked fish and the vegetables and roots on which they are accustomed to feed. on the th, the head chief came. he was a venerable looking man, whom i judged to be about fifty years old. his countenance was thoughtful and serious, and his hair a little gray. at his return his people greeted him with an acclamation of yells, that made the wild desert echo. the pipe was lit, and we all sat down by him and smoked again. he was a man of but few words, but of sound judgment. after the smoking was finished, he asked us the same questions which had been asked us before. we { } made him similar answers, adding, that we wanted to travel to the spanish settlements and purchase horses, upon which we might ride home to our own country, and that we would pay him well if he would send some of his men to guide us to those settlements. he asked us in reply, what we had to give him? we showed him our blankets, and he expressed himself delighted with them, observing at the same time, that he would have preferred to have had red cloth. on this we pulled off our red shirts and stripped them into small pieces like ribbons, and distributed them among the people. they tied the strips round their legs, arms and heads, and seemed as much overjoyed with these small tatters of worn red flannel, as we should have been, to have brought our furs to a good market among our own people. in giving away our red shirts, we gave away, what in this warm climate was to us wholly unnecessary. to carry our blankets on our backs was a useless burden. we gave two of them to the chief. the two guides that he was to send with us we were to pay after our arrival at the spanish settlements. these points of contract between us were settled to the mutual satisfaction of all. we started on the th, with our two guides, neither of whom could speak spanish, and of course we had nothing to do but follow them in silence. we struck off a south west course, which led in the direction of the snow covered mountain, which still loomed up in its brightness before us. our guides made signs that we should arrive at the foot about midnight, though the distance appeared to us to be too great to be travelled over in so short a time. we were yet to learn, that we should find no water, until we drank that of the melted snow. we perceived, however, that their travelling gait, worn as we were, was more rapid than ours. we pushed on as fast as we could a league further, when we were impeded by a high hill in our way, which was about another league to the summit, and very precipitous and steep. when we reached the top of it we were much exhausted, and began to be thirsty. we could then see the arid salt plain stretching all the way from the foot of this hill to the snow covered mountains. { } we thought it inexpedient to enquire of our guides, if there was no water to be found between us and the mountain. it appeared but too probable, that such was the fact. to know it to a certainty, would only tend to unnerve and dishearten us. if there was any, we were aware that we should reach it by travelling no more distance than as if we knew the fact. we found it best to encourage the little hope that remained, and hurried on through the drifted sand, in which we sank up to our ankles at every step. the cloudless sun poured such a blaze upon it, that by the scorching of our feet, it might have seemed almost hot enough to roast eggs in. what with the fierce sun and the scorching sand, and our extreme fatigue, the air seemed soon to have extracted every particle of moisture from our bodies. in this condition we marched on until nearly the middle of the day, without descrying any indication of water in any quarter. a small shrubby tree stood in our way, affording a tolerable shade. we laid ourselves down to get a few minutes rest. the indians sternly beckoned us to be up and onward, now for the first time clearly explaining to us, that there was no water until we reached the mountains in view. this unseasonable and yet necessary information, extinguished the last remainder of our hope, and we openly expressed our fears that we should none of us ever reach it. we attempted to chew tobacco. it would raise no moisture. we took our bullets in our mouths, and moved them round to create a moisture, to relieve our parched throats. we had travelled but a little farther before our tongues had became so dry and swollen, that we could scarcely speak so as to be understood. in this extremity of nature, we should, perhaps, have sunk voluntarily, had not the relief been still in view on the sides of the snow covered mountains. we resorted to one expedient to moisten our lips, tongue and throat, disgusting to relate, and still more disgusting to adopt. in such predicaments it has been found, that nature disburdens people of all conditions of ceremony and disgust. every thing bends to the devouring thirst, and the love of life. the application of this { } hot and salt liquid seemed rather to enrage than appease the torturing appetite. though it offered such a semblance of what would satisfy thirst, that we economized every particle. our amiable dutchman was of a sweetness of temper, that was never ruffled, and a calmness and patience that appeared proof against all events. at another time, what laughter would have circulated through our camp, to hear him make merry of this expedient! as it was, even in this horrible condition, a faint smile circulated through our company, as he discussed his substitute for drink. 'vell, mine poys, dis vater of mein ish more hotter as hell, und as dick as boudden, und more zalter as de zeas. i can't drink him. for cod's sake, gif me some of yours, dat is more tinner.' having availed ourselves to the utmost of this terrible expedient, we marched on in company a few miles further. two of our companions here gave out, and lay down under the shade of a bush. their tongues were so swollen, and their eyes so sunk in their heads, that they were a spectacle to behold. we were scarcely able, from the condition of our own mouths, to bid them an articulate farewell. we never expected to see them again, and none of us had much hope of ever reaching the mountain, which still raised its white summit at a great distance from us. it was with difficulty that we were enabled to advance one foot before the other. our limbs, our powers, even our very resolutions seemed palsied. a circumstance that added to our distress, was the excessive and dazzling brightness of the sun's rays, so reflected in our eyes from the white sand that we were scarcely able to see our way before us, or in what direction to follow our guides. they, accustomed to go naked, and to traverse these burning deserts, and be unaffected by such trials, appeared to stand the heat and drought, like camels on the arabian sands. they, however, tried by their looks and gestures to encourage us, and induce us to quicken our pace. but it was to no purpose. however, we still kept moving onward, and had gained a few miles more, when night brought us shelter at least from the insupportable radiance of the sun, and something of coolness and moisture. { } but it was so dark, that neither we or our guides could discover the course. we stopped, and made a large fire, that our companions, if yet living, and able to move, might see where we were, and how to direct their own course to reach us. we also fired some guns, which, to our great relief and pleasure, they answered by firing off theirs. we still repeated firing guns at intervals, until they came up with us. they supposed that we had found water, which invigorated their spirits to such a degree, that it aroused them to the effort they had made. when they had arrived, and found that we had reached no water, they appeared to be angry, and to complain that we had disturbed their repose with false hopes, and had hindered their dying in peace. one of them in the recklessness of despair, drew from his package a small phial, half full of laudanum, and drank it off, i suppose in the hope of sleeping himself quietly to death. we all expected it would have that effect. on the contrary, in a few moments he was exhilarated, like a man in a state of intoxication. he was full of talk, and laughter, and gaiety of heart. he observed, that he had taken it in hopes that it would put him to sleep, never to wake again, but that in fact, it had made him as well, and as fresh, as in the morning when he started; but that if he had imagined that it would prove such a sovereign remedy for thirst, he would cheerfully have shared it with us. we scraped down beneath the burning surface of the sand, until we reached the earth that was a little cool. we then stripped off all our clothing and lay down. our two indians, also lay down beside us, covering themselves with their blankets. my father bade me lay on the edge of one of their blankets, so that they could not get up without awakening me. he was fearful that they would arise, and fly from us in the night. i implicitly conformed to my father's wish, for had this event happened, we should all undoubtedly have perished. but the indians appear to have meditated no such expedient, at any rate, they lay quiet until morning. as soon as there was light enough to enable us to travel we started, much refreshed by the coolness of the night, and the { } sleep we had taken. we began our morning march with renewed alacrity. at about ten in the forenoon we arrived at the foot of a sand hill about a half a mile in height, and very steep. the side was composed of loose sand, which gave way under our feet, so that our advancing foot steps would slide back to their former places. this soon exhausted our little remaining strength; though we still made many an unavailing effort to ascend. the sun was now so high, as to beam upon us with the same insufferable radiance of yesterday. the air which we inhaled, seemed to scald our lungs. we at length concluded to travel towards the north, to reach, if we might, some point where the hill was not so steep to ascend. at two in the afternoon we found a place that was neither so steep nor so high, and we determined here to attempt to cross the hill. with great exertions and infinite difficulty, a part of us gained the summit of the hill; but my father and another of our company, somewhat advanced in years, gave out below, though they made the most persevering efforts to reach the summit of the hill with the rest. age had stiffened their joints, and laid his palsying hand upon their once active limbs, and vigorous frames. they could endure this dreadful journey no longer. they had become so exhausted by fruitless efforts to climb the hill, that they could no longer drag one foot after the other. they had each so completely abandoned the hope of ever reaching the water, or even gaining the summit of the hill, that they threw themselves on the ground, apparently convinced of their fate, and resigned to die. i instantly determined to remain with my father, be it for life or death. to this determination he would by no means consent, as he remarked it would bring my destruction, without its availing him. on the contrary, he insisted, that i should go on with the rest, and if i found any water near at hand, that i should return with my powder horn full. in this way he assured me, i might be instrumental in saving my own life, and saving him at the same time. to this i consented, and with much fatigue gained the summit of the hill, where my companions were seated waiting for us. they seemed undetermined, { } whether to advance onward, or wait for my father, until i related his determination. my purpose was to proceed onward only so far, as that, if the almighty should enable us to reach water, i might be able to return with a powder horn full to him and mr. slover, (for that was the name of the elderly companion that remained with him.) this resolution was agreed to by all, as a proper one. being satisfied by our consciences as well as by the reasoning of my father and his companion, that we could render them no service by remaining with them, except to increase their sufferings by a view of ours; and aware, that every moment was precious, we pushed on once more for the mountain. having descended this hill, we ascended another of the same wearying ascent, and sandy character with the former. we toiled on to the top of it. the eternal power, who hears the ravens when they cry, and provideth springs in the wilderness, had had mercy upon us! imagine my joy at seeing a clear, beautiful running stream of water, just below us at the foot of the hill! such a blissful sight i had never seen before, and never expect to see again. we all ran down to it, and fell to drinking. in a few moments nothing was to be heard among us, but vomiting and groaning. notwithstanding our mutual charges to be cautious, we had overcharged our parched stomachs with this cold snow water. [illustration: messrs. pattie and slover rescued from famish] notwithstanding i was sick myself, i emptied my powder horn of its contents, filled it with water, and accompanied by one companion, who had also filled his powder horn, i returned towards my father and mr. slover, his exhausted companion, with a quick step. we found them in the same position in which we had left them, that is, stretched on the sand at full length, under the unclouded blaze of the sun, and both fast asleep; a sleep from which, but for our relief, i believe they would neither of them ever have awakened. their lips were black, and their parched mouths wide open. their unmoving posture and their sunken eyes so resembled death, that i ran in a fright to my father, thinking him, for a moment, really dead. but he easily awakened, and drank the refreshing water. my companion { } at the same time bestowed his horn of water upon mr. slover. in the course of an hour they were both able to climb the hill, and some time before dark we rejoined the remainder of our company. they had kindled a large fire, and all seemed in high spirits. as for our two indians, they were singing, and dancing, as it seemed to us, in a sort of worship of thankfulness to the great spirit, who had led them through so much peril and toil to these refreshing waters. we roasted some of our beaver meat, and took food for the first time in forty-eight hours, that is to say, from the time we left our indian friends, until we reached this water. our dutchman insisted that the plain over which we passed, should be named the devil's plain, for he insisted, that it was more hotter as hell, and that none but teyvils could live upon it. in fact, it seemed a more fitting abode for fiends, than any living thing that belongs to our world. during our passage across it, we saw not a single bird, nor the track of any quadruped, or in fact any thing that had life, not even a sprig, weed or grass blade, except a single shrubby tree, under which we found a little shade. this shrub, though of some height, resembled a prickly pear, and was covered thick with thorns. the prickly pears were in such abundance, that we were often, dazzled as our eyes were with the sun's brightness, puzzled to find a path so as neither to torment our feet or our bodies with the thorns of these hated natives of the burning sands. this very extensive plain, the sahara of california, runs north and south, and is bounded on each side by high barren mountains, some of which are covered with perpetual snow. on the th, we travelled up this creek about three miles, and killed a deer, which much delighted our two indian guides. at this point we encamped for the night. here are abundance of palm trees and live oaks, and considerable of mascal. we remained until the d of march, when we marched up this creek, which heads to the south, forming a low gap in the mountain. on the th, we arrived at the point, and found some of the christian indians from the mission of st. catharine. they were roasting mascal and the tender inside heads of the { } palm trees for food, which, when prepared and cooked after their fashion, becomes a very agreeable food. from these indians we learned that we were within four days' travel of the mission mentioned above. here we concluded to discharge our guides, and travel into the settlement with the christian indians. we gave them each a blanket, and they started back to their own people on the morning of the th. at the same time we commenced our journey with our new guides, and began to climb the mountain. this is so exceedingly lofty, as to require two days' travel and a half to gain its summit. during this ascent, i severely bruised my heel. we none of us wore any thing to shield our feet from the bare and sharp rocks, which composed almost the whole surface of this ascent, but thin deer skin moccasins. obliged to walk on tip toe, and in extreme anguish, the severe fatigue of scrambling up sharp stones was any thing, rather than agreeable. but i summoned patience and courage to push on until the th. my leg then became so swollen and inflamed that it was out of my power to travel farther. the pain was so severe as to create fever. i lay myself down on the side of a sharp rock, resigning myself to my fate, and determined to make no effort to travel further, until i felt relieved. my companions all joined with my father, in encouraging me to rise, and make an effort to reach the mission, which they represented to be but three miles distant. it was out of the question for me to think of it, and they concluded to go to the settlement, and obtain a horse, and send out for me. i kindled me a fire, for i suffered severe chills. the indians gave me the strictest caution against allowing myself to go to sleep in their absence. the reason they assigned for their caution was a substantial one. the grizzly bear, they said, was common on these mountains, and would attack and devour me, unless i kept on my guard. i paid little attention to their remarks at the time. but when they were gone, and i was left alone, i examined the priming, and picked the flints of my gun and pistol. i then lay down and slept, until sometime in the early part of the night, when { } two indians came out from the settlement, and informed me that the corporal of the guards at st. catharines[ ] wished me to come in. being feverish, stiff, sore and withal testy, i gave them and their corporal no very civil words. they said that the corporal only wanted me to come in, because he was afraid the grizzly bears would kill me. i asked them why they did not bring a horse for me? they informed me, that the mission had none at disposal at that time, but that they would carry me on their backs. so i was obliged to avail myself of this strange conveyance, and mounted the back of one of them while the other carried my arms. in this way they carried me in, where i found my companions in a guard house. i was ordered to enter with them by a swarthy looking fellow, who resembled a negro, rather than a white. i cannot describe the indignation i felt at this revolting breach of humanity to people in suffering, who had thrown themselves on the kindness and protection of these spaniards. we related the reasons why we had come in after this manner. we showed them our passport, which certified to them, that we were neither robbers, murderers, nor spies. to all this their only reply was, how should they know whether we had come clandestinely, and with improper views, or not? against this question, proposed by such people, all reasonings were thrown away.--the cowardly and worthless are naturally cruel. we were thrown completely in their power; and instead of that circumstance exciting any generous desires to console and relieve us, their only study seemed to be to vex, degrade, and torment us. here we remained a week, living on corn mush, which we received once a day; when a guard of soldiers came to conduct us from this place. this mission is situated in a valley, surrounded by high mountains, with beautiful streams of water flowing from them. the natives raise sufficient corn and wheat to serve for the subsistence of the mission. the mission establishment is built in a quadrangular form; all the houses forming the quadrangle contiguous to each other; and one of the angles is a large church, adjoining which are the habitations of { } the priests; though at this time there happened to be none belonging to this at home. the number of indians belonging to the mission at this time, was about five hundred. they were destitute of stock, on account of its having been plundered from them by the free, wild indians of the desert. the air is very cool and temperate, and hard frosts are not uncommon. this cool temperature of the atmosphere i suppose to be owing to the immediate proximity of the snowy mountains. on the th, we started under the conduct of a file of soldiers, who led us two days' travel, over very high mountains, a south west course, to another mission, called st. sebastian, situated near the sea coast, in a delightful valley, surrounded, like the other, by lofty mountains, the sides of which present magnificent views of the ocean. this mission contains six hundred souls. this mission establishment, though much richer and neater than the other, is, however, built on a precisely similar plan. here they have rich vineyards, and raise a great variety of the fruits of almost all climates. they also raise their own supplies of grain, and have a tolerable abundance of stock, both of the larger and smaller kinds. a serjeant has the whole military command. we found him of a dark and swarthy complexion, though a man of tolerable information. he seemed disposed to conduct towards us with some courtesy and kindness. he saluted us with politeness, conducted us to the guard house, and begged us to content ourselves, as well as we could, until he could make some more satisfactory arrangements for our comfort and convenience. to put him to the proof of his professed kindness, we told him that we were very hungry. they soon had a poor steer killed, that reeled as it walked, and seemed sinking by natural decay. a part of the blue flesh was put boiling in one pot, and a parcel of corn in the other. the whole process reminded me strongly of the arrangements which we make in kentucky, to prepare a mess for a diseased cow. when this famous feast was cooked, we were marched forth into the yard, in great ceremony, to eat it. all the men, women and children clustered round us, and { } stood staring at us while we were eating, as though they had been at a menagerie to see some wild and unknown animals.--when we were fairly seated to our pots, and began to discuss the contents, disgusted alike with the food, with them, and their behaviour, we could not forbear asking them whether they really took us to be human beings, or considered us as brutes? they looked at each other a moment, as if to reflect and frame an answer, and then replied coolly enough, that not being christians, they considered us little superior to brutes. to this we replied, with a suitable mixture of indignation and scorn, that we considered ourselves better christians than they were, and that if they did not give us something to eat more befitting men, we would take our guns, live where we pleased, and eat venison and other good things, where we chose. this was not mere bravado, for, to our astonishment, we were still in possession of our arms. we had made no resistance to their treating us as prisoners, as we considered them nothing more than petty and ignorant officers, whom we supposed to have conducted improperly, from being unacquainted with their duty. we were all confident, that as soon as intelligence of our arrival should reach the commanding officer of this station, and how we had been detained, and treated as prisoners, we should not only be released from prison, but recompensed for our detention. this determination of ours appeared to alarm them. the information of our menaces, no doubt with their own comments, soon reached the serjeant. he immediately came to see us, while we were yet at our pots, and enquired of us, what was our ground of complaint and dissatisfaction? we pointed to the pots, and asked him if he thought such food becoming the laws of hospitality to such people? he stepped up to the pots, and turning over the contents, and examining them with his fingers, enquired in an angry tone, who had served up such food to us? he added, that it was not fit to give a dog, and that he would punish those who had procured it. he comforted us, by assuring us that we should have something fit to eat cooked for us. we immediately returned quietly to the guard house. but a { } short time ensued before he sent us a good dish of fat mutton, and some tortillas. this was precisely the thing our appetites craved, and we were not long in making a hearty meal. after we had fed to our satisfaction, he came to visit us, and interrogated us in what manner, and with what views we had visited the country? we went into clear, full and satisfactory details of information in regard to every thing that could have any interest to him, as an officer; and told him that our object was to purchase horses, on which we might return to our own country; and that we wished him to intercede in our behalf with the commander in chief, that we might have permission to purchase horses and mules among them, for this purpose. he promised to do this, and returned to his apartment. the amount of his promise was, that he would reflect upon the subject, and in the course of four days write to his commander, from whom he might expect an answer in a fortnight.--when we sounded him as to the probability of such a request being granted, he answered with apparent conviction, that he had no doubt that it would be in our favor. as our hopes were intensely fixed upon this issue, we awaited this answer with great anxiety. the commander at this time was at the port of san diego. during this period of our suspense, we had full liberty to hunt deer in the woods, and gather honey from the blossoms of the mascal, which grows plentifully on the sea shore. every thing in this strange and charming country being new, we were continually contemplating curiosities of every sort, which quieted our solicitude, and kept alive the interest of our attention. we used to station ourselves on the high pinnacles of the cliffs, on which this vast sea pours its tides, and the retreating or advancing tide showed us the strange sea monsters of that ocean, such as seals, sea otters, sea elephants, whales, sharks, sword fish, and various other unshapely sea dwellers. then we walked on the beach, and examined the infinite variety of sea shells, all new and strange to us. thus we amused ourselves, and strove to kill the time until the th, when the answer of the commander arrived, which { } explained itself at once, by a guard of soldiers, with orders to conduct us to the port of san diego, where he then resided. we were ordered to be in immediate readiness to start for that port. this gave us unmingled satisfaction, for we had an undoubting confidence, that when we should really have attained the presence of an officer whom we supposed a gentleman, and acting independently of the authority of others, he would make no difficulty in granting a request so reasonable as ours. we started on the d, guarded by sixteen soldiers and a corporal. they were all on horseback, and allowed us occasionally to ride, when they saw us much fatigued. our first day's journey was a north course, over very rough mountains, and yet, notwithstanding this, we made twenty-five miles distance on our way. at night we arrived at another mission, situated like the former, on a charming plain. the mission is called st. thomas.[ ] these wise and holy men mean to make sure of the rich and pleasant things of the earth, as well as the kingdom of heaven. they have large plantations, with splendid orchards and vineyards. the priest who presides over this establishment, told me that he had a thousand indians under his care. during every week in the year, they kill thirty beeves for the subsistence of the mission. the hides and tallow they sell to vessels that visit their coast, in exchange for such goods as they need. on the following morning, we started early down this valley, which led us to the sea shore, along which we travelled the remainder of the day. this beautiful plain skirts the sea shore, and extends back from it about four miles. this was literally covered with horses and cattle belonging to the mission. the eye was lost beyond this handsome plain in contemplating an immeasurable range of mountains, which we were told thronged with wild horses and cattle, which often descend from their mountains to the plains, and entice away the domesticated cattle with them. the wild oats and clover grow spontaneously, and in great luxuriance, and were now knee high. in the evening we arrived at the port of todos santos, and there passed the night. early on the d, we marched on. this day we { } travelled over some tracts that were very rough, and arrived at a mission situated immediately on the sea board, called st. michael.[ ] like the rest, it was surrounded with splendid orchards, vineyards and fields; and was, for soil, climate and position, all that could be wished. the old superintending priest of the establishment showed himself very friendly, and equally inquisitive. he invited us to sup with him, an invitation we should not be very likely to refuse. we sat down to a large table, elegantly furnished with various dishes of the country, all as usual highly seasoned. above all, the supply of wines was various and abundant. the priest said grace at the close, when fire and cigars were brought in by the attendants, and we began to smoke. we sat and smoked, and drank wine, until o'clock. the priest informed us that the population of his mission was twelve hundred souls, and the weekly consumption, fifty beeves, and a corresponding amount of grain. the mission possessed three thousand head of domesticated and tamed horses and mules. from the droves which i saw in the plains, i should not think this an extravagant estimation. in the morning he presented my father a saddle mule, which he accepted, and we started. this day's travel still carried us directly along the verge of the sea shore, and over a plain equally rich and beautiful with that of the preceding day. we amused ourselves with noting the spouting of the huge whales, which seemed playing near the strand for our especial amusement. we saw other marine animals and curiosities to keep our interest in the journey alive. in the evening we arrived at a ranch, called buenos aguos, or good water, where we encamped for the night. we started early on the th, purchasing a sheep of a shepherd, for which we paid him a knife. at this ranch they kept thirty thousand head of sheep, belonging to the mission which we had left. we crossed a point of the mountain that made into the water's edge. on the opposite side of this mountain was another ranch, where we staid the night. this ranch is for the purposes of herding horses and cattle, of which { } they have vast numbers. on the th, our plain lay outstretched before us as beautiful as ever. in the evening we came in sight of san diego, the place where we were bound.[ ] in this port was one merchant vessel, which we were told was from the united states, the ship franklin, of boston. we had then arrived within about a league of the port. the corporal who had charge of us here, came and requested us to give up our arms, informing us, it was the customary request to all strangers; and that it was expected that our arms would be deposited in the guard house before we could speak with the commander, or general. we replied, that we were both able and disposed to carry our arms to the guard house ourselves, and deposite them there if such was our pleasure, at our own choice. he replied that we could not be allowed to do this, for that we were considered as prisoners, and under his charge; and that he should become responsible in his own person, if he should allow us to appear before the general, bearing our own arms. this he spoke with a countenance of seriousness, which induced us to think that he desired no more in this request than the performance of his duty. we therefore gave him up our rifles, not thinking that this was the last time we should have the pleasure of shouldering these trusty friends. having unburdened ourselves of our defence, we marched on again, and arrived, much fatigued, at the town at o'clock in the evening. our arms were stacked on the side of the guard house, and we threw our fatigued bodies as near them as we could, on the ground. an officer was dispatched to the general to inform him of our arrival, and to know whether we could have an immediate audience or not? in a short time the officer returned with an answer for us, that we must remain where we were until morning, when the general would give us a hearing. we were still sanguine in seeing only omens of good. we forgot our past troubles, opened our bosom to hope, and resigned ourselves to profound sleep. it is true, innumerable droves of fleas performed their evolutions, and bit all their pleasure upon our bodies.--{ } but so entire was our repose, that we scarcely turned for the night. no dreams of what was in reserve for us the following day floated across our minds; though in the morning my body was as spotted as though i had the measles, and my shirt specked with innumerable stains of blood, let by the ingenious lancets of these same spanish fleas. on the th, at eight a.m., we were ushered into the general's office, with our hats in our hands, and he began his string of interrogations. the first question was, who we were? we answered, americans. he proceeded to ask us, how we came on the coast, what was our object, and had we a passport? in answer to these questions we again went over the story of our misfortunes. we then gave him the passport which we had received from the governor of santa fe. he examined this instrument, and with a sinister and malicious smile, observed, that he believed nothing of all this, but considered us worse than thieves and murderers; in fact, that he held us to be spies for the old spaniards, and that our business was to lurk about the country, that we might inspect the weak and defenceless points of the frontiers, and point them out to the spaniards, in order that they might introduce their troops into the country; but that he would utterly detect us, and prevent our designs.--this last remark he uttered with a look of vengeance; and then reperused the passport, which he tore in pieces, saying, it was no passport, but a vile forgery of our own contrivance. though amazed and confounded at such an unexpected charge, we firmly asserted our innocence in regard to any of the charges brought against us. we informed him that we were born and bred thorough and full blooded republicans; and that there was not a man of us who would not prefer to die, rather than to be the spies and instruments of the spanish king, or any other king; and that but a few years since, we had all been engaged in fighting the forces of a king, allied with savages, and sent against the country of our home; and that on this very expedition we had been engaged in a great many battles with the indians, hostile to his people, redeeming their captives, { } and punishing their robberies and murders. in distress, and in want of every thing from the robbery of these hostile indians, we had taken refuge in his country, and claimed its protection. we told him we considered it an unworthy return for such general deportment, and such particular services to their country, that we should be viewed as spies, and treated as prisoners. he stopped us in the midst of our plea, apparently through fear that representations, which must have carried conviction to his prejudiced mind, might tend to soften his obdurate heart, and unnerve his purpose towards us. he told us he did not wish to hear any more of our long speeches, which he considered no better than lies; for that if we had been true and bona fide citizens of the united states, we should not have left our country without a passport, and the certificate of our chief magistrate. we replied that the laws of our country did not require that honest, common citizens, should carry passports; that it did not interfere with the individual business and pursuits of private individuals; that such persons went abroad and returned unnoted by the government; and in all well regulated states, sufficiently protected by the proof that they were citizens of the united states; but that there were in our country two classes of people, for whom passports were necessary, slaves and soldiers; that for the slave it was necessary to have one, to certify that he was travelling with the knowledge and permission of his master; and for the soldier, to show that he was on furlough, or otherwise abroad with the permission of his officer. as we spoke this with emphasis, and firmness, he told us that he had had enough of our falsehoods, and begged us to be quiet. he ordered us to be remanded to our prison, and was immediately obeyed. as we were driven out of his office, my father, who was exceedingly exasperated, observed, 'my boys, as soon as we arrive in the guard house, let us seize our arms and redress ourselves, or die in the attempt; for it seems to me that these scoundrels mean to murder us.' we all unanimously agreed to this advice, and walked back with a willing mind, and an alert step. { } but our last hope of redressing ourselves, and obtaining our liberty was soon extinguished. on entering the guard house, our arms had been removed we knew not where. they had even the impudence to search our persons and to take from us even our pocket knives. the orderly sergeant then told us, that he was under the necessity of placing us in separate apartments. this last declaration seemed the death stroke to us all. affliction and mutual suffering and danger had endeared us to each other, and this separation seemed like rending our hearts. overcome by the suddenness of the blow, i threw my arms round the neck of my father, burst into tears, and exclaimed, 'that i foresaw, that the parting would be forever.' though my father seemed subdued, and absorbed in meditation, he reproved this expression of my feelings, as weak and unmanly. the sergeant having observed my grief, asked me, pointing to him, if that was my father? when he learned that it was, he showed himself in some degree affected, and remarked, that it seemed cruel to separate father and child, and that he would go and explain the relationship to the general, and see if he could not obtain permission for us to remain together. on this he set off for the general's office, leaving me in the agony of suspense, and the rest gazing at each other in mute consternation and astonishment. the sergeant returned, informing me, that instead of being softened, the general had only been exasperated, and had in nothing relaxed his orders, which were, that we must immediately be put in separate confinement. he accordingly ordered some soldiers to assist in locking us up. we embraced each other, and followed our conductors to our separate prisons. i can affirm, that i had only wished to live, to sustain the increasing age and infirmities of my father. when i shook hands with him, and we were torn in sunder, i will say nothing of my feelings, for words would have no power to describe them. as i entered my desolate apartment, the sergeant seemed really affected, and assured me, that neither my companions nor myself should suffer any want of food or drink, as far as he could prevent it, for that he did not consider us guilty, nor worthy of such treatment. { } my prison was a cell eight or ten feet square, with walls and floor of stone. a door with iron bars an inch square crossed over each other, like the bars of window sashes, and it grated on its iron hinges, as it opened to receive me. over the external front of this prison was inscribed in capital letters _destinacion de la cattivo_. our blankets were given us to lie upon. my father had a small package of medicines which he gave in charge to the sergeant, binding him on his word of honor not to part with it to any one. my door was locked, and i was left to reflect upon our position and my past misfortunes; and to survey the dreary walls of my prison. here, i thought, was my everlasting abode. liberty is dear to every one, but doubly dear to one, who had been from infancy accustomed to free range, and to be guided by his own will. put a man, who has ranged the prairies, and exulted in the wilderness, as i have for years, in a prison, to let him have a full taste of the blessings of freedom, and the horror of shackles and confinement! i passed the remainder of the day in fierce walking backwards and forwards over my stone floor, with no object to contemplate, but my swarthy sentinel, through the grate. he seemed to be true to his office, and fitly selected for his business, for i thought i saw him look at me through the grate with the natural exultation and joy of a bad and malicious heart in the view of misery. when the darkness of night came to this dreary place, it was the darkness of the grave. every ray of light was extinct. i spread my blankets on the stone floor, in hopes at least to find, for a few hours, in the oblivion of sleep, some repose from the agitation of my thoughts. but in this hope i was disappointed. with every other friend and solace, sleep too, fled from me. my active mind ranged every where, and returned only to unavailing efforts to imagine the condition and feelings of my father and what would be our ultimate fate. i shut my eyes by an effort, but nature would have her way, and the eyelids would not close. at length a glimmer of daylight, through my grate, relieved this long and painful effort to sleep. i arose, went to my grate, { } and took all possible survey of what i could see. directly in front of it was the door of the general's office, and he was standing in it. i gazed on him awhile. ah! that i had had but my trusty rifle well charged to my face! could i but have had the pleasure of that single shot, i think i would have been willing to have purchased it by my life. but wishes are not rifle balls, and will not kill. the church bell told eight in the morning. the drum rolled. a soldier came, and handed me in something to eat. it proved to be dried beans and corn cooked with rancid tallow! the contents were about a pint. i took it up, and brought it within the reach of my nostrils, and sat it down in unconquerable loathing. when the soldier returned in the evening to bring me more, i handed him my morning ration untasted and just as it was. he asked me in a gruff tone why i had not eaten it? i told him the smell of it was enough, and that i could not eat it. he threw the contents of the dish in my face, muttering something which amounted to saying, that it was good enough for such a brute as i was. to this i answered, that if being a brute gave claims upon that dish, i thought he had best eat it himself. on this he flung away in a passion, and returned no more that night, for which i was not sorry. had the food even been fit to eat, my thoughts were too dark and my mind too much agitated to allow me appetite. in fact, i felt myself becoming sick. at night i was visited by the serjeant, who asked me about my health and spirits in a tone and manner, that indicated real kindness of feeling. i trusted in the reality of his sympathy, and told him, i was not well. he then questioned me, if i had eaten any thing? i told him no, and explained to him the double reason, why i had eaten nothing. he answered that he would remove one of the causes, by sending me something good. i then asked him if he had seen my father? he said he had, though he had been unable to hold any conversation with him, for want of his understanding spanish. i thanked him for this manifestation of friendship, and he left me. in a { } short time he returned with two well cooked and seasoned dishes. i begged him to take it first to my father, and when he had eaten what he wished, he might bring the remainder to me, and i would share it among my companions. he assured me that my father was served with the same kind of food, and that my companions should not be forgotten in the distribution. while i was eating, he remained with me, and asked me, if i had a mother, and brothers, and sisters in my own country? my heart was full, as i answered him. he proceeded to question me, how long it had been since i had seen them or heard from them, and in what i had been occupied, during my long absence from my country? my misfortunes appeared to affect him. when i had finished eating, he enquired how i had passed the preceding night? in all his questions, he displayed true humanity and tenderness of heart. when he left me, he affectionately wished me good night. this night passed as sleepless and uncomfortable as the preceding one. next day the kind serjeant brought my dinner again, though from anxiety and growing indisposition i was unable to eat. at night he came again with my supper, and to my surprise accompanied by his sister, a young lady of great personal beauty. her first enquiry was that of a kind and affectionate nature, and concerned my father. she enquired about my age, and all the circumstances that induced me to leave my country? i took leave to intimate in my answer, my extreme anxiety to see my relatives, and return to my country, and in particular, that it was like depriving me of life, in this strange land, and in prison, to separate me from my old and infirm father. she assured me that she would pray for our salvation, and attempt to intercede with the general in our behalf, and that while we remained in prison, she would allow us to suffer nothing, which her power, means or influence could supply. she then wished me a good night, and departed. i know not what is the influence of the ministration of a kind spirit, like hers, but this night my sleep was sound and dreamless. she frequently repeated these kind visits, and redeemed to the letter all her pledges of kindness. for i suffered for nothing { } in regard to food or drink. a bed was provided for me, and even a change of clothing. this undeviating kindness greatly endeared her to me. about this time, captain john bradshaw, of the ship franklin, and rufus perkins, his supercargo, asked leave of the general, to come and visit us. the general denied them. but captain bradshaw, like a true hearted american, disregarded the little brief authority of this miserable republican despot, and fearless of danger and the consequences, came to see me without leave. when i spoke to him about our buried furs, he asked me about the chances and the means we had to bring them in? and whether we were disposed to make the effort, and if we succeeded, to sell them to him? the prisoners, as he separately applied to them, one and all assured him, that nothing would give them more pleasure. he assured us, that he would leave nothing in his power undone, in making efforts to deliver us from our confinement. we thanked him for this proffered friendship, and he departed. his first efforts in our favor were directed to gaining the friendship of the general, in order to soften his feelings in regard to us. but in this he entirely failed. he then adopted an innocent stratagem, which was more successful. he informed the general that he had business with a spanish merchant in port, which he could not transact for want of some one who could speak the language fluently, who would interpret for him, that he understood that one of the american prisoners could speak the language perfectly well, and that if he would allow that prisoner to come and interpret for him a few hours, he would bind himself in a bond to any amount, that the prisoner at the expiration of his services, would return voluntarily to his prison. to this the general gave his consent. captain bradshaw came to my prison, and i was permitted by the general's order to leave my prison. when i went abroad, captain bradshaw conducted me to the office of an old captain, who had charge of the arms. we begged him to intercede with the general to obtain his permission, that we might go out and bring in our furs. we informed { } him, that captain bradshaw and the supercargo, rufus perkins, would be our security in any amount, that the general was disposed to name, that we would return, and surrender ourselves to him, at the close of the expedition. he was at once satisfied of our honor and integrity, and that we were by no means those spies, whom the general took us for, and he promised to use all his influence with the general, to persuade him to dispatch us for our furs. we assured him, that in addition to our other proofs, that we were bonafide americans, and true republicans, we had documents under the proper signature of the president of the united states, which we hoped, would be sufficient to satisfy him, and every one, who we were. he asked to see those papers, of which i spoke. i told him they were my father's commission of first lieutenant in the ranging service, during the late war with england, and an honorable discharge at the close of the war. he promised to communicate this information to the general, and departed, proposing to return in half an hour. during this interval, we walked to my father's cell, and i had the satisfaction of speaking with him through the grates. he asked me if i had been visited by a beautiful young lady? when i assented, he replied, that this charming young woman, as a ministering angel, had also visited his cell with every sort of kindness and relief, which she had extended to each one of our companions. i had the satisfaction afterwards, of speaking with each one of our companions. i need not add, how much delighted we were to speak with one another once more. from these visits i returned to the office of the captain of arms. we found him waiting with the most painful intelligence. nothing could move the general, to allow us to go out and bring in our furs. he expressed a wish, notwithstanding, to see the commission of which i had spoken, and that i should return to my cell. i gave the papers to captain bradshaw, requesting him to return them to my father, after the general should have examined them. this he promised, and i took my leave of him, returning to my dreary prison, less buoyant and more completely desponding of my liberty than ever. { } in a few moments captain bradshaw and perkins came again to my cell, and said that the general had no faith in our papers, and could not be softened by any entreaty, to give us our liberty. as he said this, the sentinel came up, and stopped him short in his conversation, and ordered them off affirming, that it was the general's express command, that he should not be allowed to see or speak with me again. they however pledged their honor as they left me, that whenever an occasion offered, they would yield us all the assistance in their power, and wishing me better fortune, they departed. a fortnight elapsed in this miserable prison, during which i had no other consolation, than the visits of the young lady, and even these, such was the strictness of the general's orders, were like all angel visits, _few and far between_. at length a note was presented me by the serjeant, from my father. what a note! i appeal to the heart of every good son to understand what passed within me. this note was written on a piece of paste board torn from his hat. the characters were almost illegible, for they were written with a stick, and the ink was blood, drawn from his aged veins! he informed me that he was very ill, and without any hope of recovery, that he had but one wish on this side the grave, and that was, to see me once more before he died. he begged me to spare no entreaties, that the general would grant me permission to come and see him a last time; but, that if this permission could not be obtained, to be assured, that he loved me, and remembered me affectionately, in death. this letter pierced me to the heart. o, could i have flown through my prison walls! had i possessed the strength of the giants, how soon would i have levelled them, even had i drawn down destruction on my own head in doing it. but i could own nothing in my favour, but a fierce and self devouring will. in hopes that the heart of the general was not all adamant, i entreated the serjeant to go and inform him of my father's illness, and his desire to see me once more, and to try to gain permission that i might have leave to attend upon him, or if that might not be, to visit him once more, according to his wish. he went { } in compliance with my entreaties, and in a few minutes returned with a dejected countenance, from which i at once inferred what was the fate of my application. his voice faltered as he related that the general absolutely refused this request. oh god! of what stuff are some hearts made! and this was a republican officer! what nameless tortures and miseries do not americans suffer in foreign climes from those miserable despots who first injure and oppress, and then hate the victims of their oppression, as judging their hearts by their own, and thinking that their victims must be full of purposes of revenge. the honest and kind hearted serjeant hesitated not to express manly and natural indignation, in view of this inhuman brutality of the general, in refusing a favor, called for by the simplest dictates of humanity, a favor too, in the granting which there could be neither difficulty nor danger. all he could do in the case he promised to do, which was to see that my father should want no sort of nourishment, or aid which he could render him. i tried to thank him, but my case was not of a kind to be alleviated by this sort of consolation. when i thought of our expectations of relief, when we threw ourselves in the power of these vile people, when i took into view our innocence of even the suspicion of a charge that could be brought against us, when i thought of their duplicity of disarming us, and their infamous oppression as soon as we were in their power, and more than all, when i thought of this last brutal cruelty and insult, my whole heart and nature rose in one mingled feeling of rage, wounded affection, and the indignation of despair. the image of my venerable father, suffering and dying unsolaced and unrelieved, and with not a person, who spoke his language, to close his eyes, and i so near him, was before me wherever i turned my eyes. what a horrible night ensued at the close of this day! as the light was fading, the excellent young lady presented herself at my grate. she repeated all that her brother had related to me, in regard to the cruel refusal of the general. while she discussed this subject, the tears fell from her eyes, and i had the consolation to know, that one person at least felt real sympathy { } for my distress. she added, in faltering tones, that she was well aware that in a case like this words were of but little avail, but that i might be assured of the kindest attention to all the wants of my father, that she could relieve; and that if it was the will of god, to take him out of this world of sorrow and change, that he should be buried decently and as if he were her own father. judge what i must have felt towards this noble minded and kind hearted young lady! as she withdrew, my prayers at this time were hearty, if never before, that god would reward her a thousand fold in all good things, for her sympathy with our sufferings. thus passed away these days of agony and suspense. the young lady visited me as often as it was understood the general's orders would permit, that is, once in two or three days, bringing me food and drink, of which in the present state of my thoughts, i had little need. in fact, i had become so emaciated and feeble that i could hardly travel across my prison floor. but no grief arrests the flight of time, and the twenty-fourth of april came, in which the serjeant visited me and in a manner of mingled kindness and firmness told me that my father was no more. at these tidings, simple truth calls on me to declare, my heart felt relieved. i am a hunter, and not a person to analyze the feelings of poor human nature. my father now was gone, gone where the voice of the oppressor is no more heard. since the death of my mother, i have reason to think, that life had been to him one long burden. he had been set free from it all, and set free too, from the cruelty of this vile people, and the still viler general. i felt weak, and exhausted myself, and i expected to rejoin him in a few days, never to be separated from him. life was a burden of which i longed to be relieved. after i had given vent to natural feelings on this occasion, the serjeant asked me touching the manner in which we bury our dead in our country? i informed him. he then observed that the reason why he asked that question was, that his sister wished, that my father's body might be interred in a manner conformable to my wishes. i could only thank him for all this { } kindness and humanity to me, as he left me. i passed the remainder of this day in the indulgence of such reflections as i have no wish to describe, even had i the power. at night the serjeant's sister again visited my prison. she seemed neither able nor disposed to enter upon the subject before us, and reluctant to call up the circumstance of my father's death to my thoughts. at length she presented me with a complete suit of black, and begged that i would wear it on the following day at my father's funeral. i observed, in astonishment, that she could not doubt what a melancholy satisfaction it would be to me to follow the remains of my father to the grave, but that between me and that satisfaction were the walls of my prison, through which i could not break. she remarked, that by dint of importunity, she had prevailed on the general to allow me to attend the funeral. the fair young lady then undertook the duties of minister and philosopher, counselling me not to grieve for that, for which there is no remedy, proving to me that it was the will of god, that he should thus obtain deliverance from prison, and all the evils of this transitory life, and abundance of common place language of this sort, very similar to what is held in my own country on like occasions. having finished her kindly intended chapter of consolations, she wished me a good night and left me to my own thoughts. the night i spent in walking the floor of my prison. at eight in the morning, a file of six soldiers appeared at the door of my prison. it was opened, and i once more breathed the fresh air! the earth and the sky seemed a new region.--the glare of light dazzled my eyes, and dizzied my head. i reeled as i walked. a lieutenant conducted the ceremonies: and when i arrived at the grave he ordered the crowd to give way, that i might see the coffin let down, and the grave filled. i advanced to the edge of the grave, and caught a glimpse of the coffin that contained the remains of the brave hunter and ranger. the coffin was covered with black. no prayers were said. i had scarce time to draw a second breath, before the grave was half filled with earth. i was led back to my prison, { } the young lady walking by my side in tears. i would gladly have found relief for my own oppressed heart in tears, if they would have flowed. but the sources were dried, and tears would not come to my relief. when i arrived at the prison, such a horrid revulsion came over me at the thoughts of entering that dreary place again, that i am sure i should have preferred to have been shot, rather than enter it again. but i recovered myself by reflecting that my health was rapidly declining, and that i should be able in a short time to escape from the oppressor and the prison walls, and rejoin my father, and be at rest. [illustration: burial of mr. pattie] this thought composed me, and i heard the key turn upon me with a calm and tranquilized mind. i lay down upon my bed, and passed many hours in the oblivion of sleep. the customary habit of sleep during the night returned to me; and my strength and appetite began to return with it. i felt an irresistible propensity to resume my former habit of smoking. i named my inclination to my friend the serjeant. he was kind enough to furnish me cigars. this was a new resource to aid me in killing the time. apart from the soothing sensation of smoking, i amused myself for hours in watching the curling of my smoke from the cigar. those who have always been free, cannot imagine the corroding torments of thoughts preying upon the bosom of the prisoner, who has neither friend to converse with, books to read, or occupation to fill his hours. on the th of june, captain bradshaw's vessel was seized, on the charge of smuggling. there were other american vessels in this port at the same time, the names of the captains of which, as far as i can recollect, were seth rogers, aaron w. williams, and h. cunningham. these gentlemen, jointly with their supercargoes, sent me five ounces of gold, advising me to keep this money secret from the knowledge of the spaniards, and preserve it as a resource for my companions and myself, in case of emergencies. about this time the general received several packages of letters in english, the contents of which, not understanding the { } language, he could not make out. there was no regular translator at hand; and he sent orders to the serjeant to have me conducted to the office for that purpose. when i entered the office he asked me if i could read writing? when i told him yes, he procured a seat, and bade me sit down. he then presented me a letter in english, requesting me to translate it into spanish. though i put forth no claims on the score of scholarship, i perfectly comprehended the meaning of the words in both languages. i accomplished the translation in the best manner in my power; and he was pleased entirely to approve it. he proceeded to ask me a great many questions relative to my travels through the mexican country; how long i had been absent from my own country, and what had been my occupation, during that absence? to all which questions i returned satisfactory answers. when he bade the guard return me to prison, he informed me that he should probably call for me again. i returned to my prison somewhat cheered in spirits. i foresaw that he would often have occasion for my services as a translator, and if i showed an obliging disposition, and rendered myself useful, i hoped to obtain enlargement for myself and my companions. as i expected, i was summoned to his office for several days in succession. on my entering the office he began to assume the habit of saluting me kindly, giving me a seat, enquiring after my health, and showing me the other customary civilities. when i found him in his best humor, i generally took occasion remotely to hint at the case of our being detained as prisoners. i tried, gently and soothingly, to convince him of the oppression and injustice of treating the innocent citizens of a sister republic, as if they were spies. he generally showed a disposition to evade the subject; or alleged as a reason for what he had done, that he regretted exceedingly that circumstances on our part seemed so suspicious, that, obliged as he was, to execute the laws of his country, he felt himself compelled to act as he had done; that it was far from his disposition to desire to punish any one unjustly, and without cause; and that he would be glad if we could produce any substantial { } evidence to acquit us from the suspicion of being spies. though, as a true and honest man, i knew that every word he pronounced was a vile and deceitful lie, yet such is the power of the oppressor, i swallowed my rising words, and dissembled a sort of satisfaction. waiving the further discussion of our imprisonment, i again recurred to the subject of permission to bring in our furs, persuading him, if he had any doubts about our good faith in returning to this place, to send soldiers to guard us; assuring him, that on obtaining our furs we would pay the soldiers, and indemnify him for any other expense he might incur on the occasion; and that, moreover, we would feel ourselves as grateful to him as if he had bestowed upon us the value of the furs in money. he heard me to the close, and listened with attention; and though he said he could not at present give his consent, he promised that he would deliberate upon the subject, and in the course of a week, let me know the result of his resolution. he then bade his soldiers remand me to prison. i begged him to allow me to communicate this conversation to my companions. this he refused, and i re-entered my prison. from these repeated interviews, i began to acquaint myself with his interior character. i perceived, that, like most arbitrary and cruel men, he was fickle and infirm of purpose. i determined to take advantage of that weakness in his character by seeming submissive to his wishes, and striving to conform as far as i could to his capricious wishes; and more than all, to seize the right occasions to tease him with importunities for our liberty, and permission to bring in our furs. four days elapsed before i had another opportunity of seeing him. during this time i had finished the translation of a number of letters, some of which were from capt. bradshaw, and related to the detention of his ship and cargo, and himself. when i had finished these translations, and was re-admitted to his presence, i asked him if he had come to any determination in regard to letting us go to bring in our furs? he answered in his surliest tone, no! how different were my reflections on returning to my prison from those with which i had left it! how earnestly i wished that { } he and i had been together in the wild woods, and i armed with my rifle! i formed a firm purpose to translate no more letters for him. i found that i had gained nothing by this sort of service; nor even by dissembling a general disposition to serve him. i was anxious for another request to translate, that i might have the pleasure of refusing him, and of telling him to his face that though i was his prisoner, i was not his slave. but it was three days before he sent for me again. at their expiration i was summoned to his office, and he offered me a seat, according to former custom. when i was seated, with a smiling countenance he handed me a packet of letters, and bade me translate them. i took one, opened it, and carelessly perused a few lines, and returning the packet back, rose from my seat, and told him i wished to return to my prison; and bowing, i moved towards the door. he darted a glance at me resembling that of an enraged wild beast; and in a voice, not unlike the growl of a wounded, grizzly bear, asked me why i did not put myself to the translation of the letters? assuming a manner and tone as surly as his own, i told him my reasons were, that i did not choose to labor voluntarily for an oppressor and enemy; and that i had come to the determination to do it no longer. at this he struck me over the head such a blow with the flat of his sword, as well nigh dropped me on the floor; and ordered the soldiers to return me to prison, where he said i should lay and rot. the moment i recovered from the stunning effect of the blow i sprang toward him; but was immediately seized by the guards, and dragged to the door; he, the while, muttered abundance of the curses which his language supplies. in return, i begged him to consider how much it was like an officer and gentleman to beat an unarmed prisoner in his power, but that if i only had a sword to meet him upon equal terms, i could easily kill as many such dastards as he was, as could come at me. he bade me be silent, and the soldiers to take me off. they shoved me violently on before them to prison. when it closed upon me i never expected to see the sun rise and set again. { } here i remained a week without seeing even the young lady, who was justly so dear to my heart. she was debarred by the general's orders not only from visiting me, but even sending me provisions! i was again reduced to the fare of corn boiled in spoiled tallow, which was brought me twice a day. at this juncture came on capt. bradshaw's trial. the declaration of the captain, supercargo and crew was to be taken, and all the parties separately interrogated by a spaniard. not an individual of them could speak a word of spanish, except the captain, and he was not allowed to translate in his own case. the general supposed that by interrogating the parties separately, he should be able to gain some advantage from the contradictions of the testimony, and some positive proof of smuggling. capt. bradshaw being denied the privilege of interpreting for his crew, requested the general to procure some one who might be allowed to perform that office for him. the general told him that i was capable of the office, if i could be gained to the humor; but that he would as willingly deal with a devil, as with me, when out of humor. capt. bradshaw asked him if he might be allowed to converse with me on the subject? he consented, and capt. b. came to my prison. in reference to the above information, he asked me what had taken place between me and the general which had so exasperated him against me? i related all the circumstances of our last interview. he laughed heartily at my defiance of the general. i was ready, of course, to render any service by which i could oblige capt. b. he returned to the general, and informed him that i was ready to undertake to translate or interpret in his case. in a short time my door was opened, and i was once more conducted to the office of the general. capt. b. was sitting there in waiting. the general asked me if i had so far changed my mind, as to be willing to translate and interpret again? i told him i was always ready to perform that office for a _gentleman_. i placed such an emphasis on the word gentleman, as i purposed, should inform him, that i intended that appellation for the { } captain, and not for him. whether he really misunderstood me, or dissembled the appearance of misunderstanding me, i know not. he only named an hour, in which he should call on me for that service, cautioning me to act in the business with truth and good faith. i told him that my countrymen in that respect, had greatly the disadvantage of his people; for that it was our weakness, not to know how to say any thing but the truth. at this he smiled, ordering me back to prison, until i should be called for next day. at eight the next morning, i was again summoned to his office, where he proceeded, through me, to question captain b. touching the different ports at which he had traded, and what was his cargo, when he left the u.s.? he added a great many other questions in relation to the voyage, irrelevant to the purposes of this journal. the clerk on this occasion was an indian, and a quick and elegant writer. capt. b. produced his bill of lading, and the other usual documents of clearing out a ship; all which i was obliged to translate. they being matters out of the line of my pursuits, and i making no pretensions to accurate acquaintance with either language, the translation, of course, occupied no inconsiderable time. it was nearly twelve, when he bade us withdraw, with orders to meet him again at his office at two in the afternoon. capt. b. accompanied me to prison, and as we went on, requested me to make the testimonies of his crew as nearly correspond, and substantiate each other, as possible; for that some of them were angry with him, and would strive to give testimony calculated to condemn him. i assured him that i would do any thing to serve him, that i could in honor. i entered my prison, and slept soundly, until the bells struck two. i was then reconducted to the general's office; where he continued to interrogate capt. b., until three. the supercargo, mr. r. perkins, was then called upon to produce his manifesto, and cautioned to declare the truth, in relation to the subject in question. this manifesto differed in no essential respect from the account of the captain. at sunset they were { } dismissed, and i remanded to my prison. day after day the same task was imposed, and the same labors devolved upon me. i at length summoned courage to resume the old question of permission to go out and bring in our furs. to my surprise he remarked, that as soon as he had finished taking all the evidence in relation to capt. bradshaw's ship and cargo, he would not only allow us to go, but would send soldiers to prevent the indians from molesting us. i informed him, that his intended kindness would be unavailing to us, if he did not allow us to depart before the month of august; for that in that month the melting of the snow on the mountains at the sources of red river caused it to overflow, and that our furs were buried in the bottom, so that the river, in overflowing, would spoil them. he replied, that it was out of his power to grant the consent at this time, which was the th of july. on the th he had finished taking all the depositions, and i again asked him for permission to go and bring in our furs. he still started delays, alleging that he had made no arrangements for that purpose yet. capt. b. was present, and asked him to allow me to stay with him on board his vessel, promising that he would be accountable for me. to my astonishment the general consented. i repaired to the house of the young lady, who had been so kind to me. she received me with open arms, and manifested the most unequivocal delight. she congratulated me on being once more free from my dismal prison, and asked me a thousand questions. the captain and myself spent the evening with her; and at its close, i repaired with him on board his beautiful ship, the first sea vessel i had ever been on board. it may be imagined what a spectacle of interest and eager curiosity the interior of this ship, the rigging, masts, awning, in short, every thing appertaining to it, would be to a person raised as i had been, and of a mind naturally inquisitive. what a new set of people were the sailors! how amusing and strange their dialect! they heartily shook me by the hand, and commenced describing the several punishments they would inflict upon the general, if they had him in their { } power. among the different inflictions purposed, none seemed to please them better, than the idea of tarring and feathering him, all which i would gladly have seen him endure, but the worst of it was, after all, the general was not in their power. i spent the greater part of the night with the captain and supercargo, conversing about the oppressions and cruelties of the general, and the death of my father, for, during the time of his sickness, captain bradshaw had sailed to monte el rey, and had not returned, until after his death. he intended, he said, if his vessel was condemned, to slip his anchors, and run out of the harbor, at the risk of being sunk, as he passed the fort. he promised me, if i would take passage with him, that i should fare as he did, and that, when we should arrive at boston, he would obtain me some situation, in which i could procure a subsistence. i thanked him for his very kind offer, but remarked, that my companions had suffered a great deal with me, that we had had many trials together, and had hazarded our lives for each other, and that now i would suffer any thing rather than desert them, and leave them in prison, probably, to have their sufferings enhanced, in consequence of my desertion. in the morning we all three went on shore together, and took breakfast at the house of my friend, the brother of the young lady. we passed from breakfast, to the office of the general. i asked leave of him to visit my companions in prison. his countenance became red with anger, and he ordered the guard to search me, and take me to prison. i perceived that he thought i had arms concealed about me, and assured him i had none. this did not hinder the guard from searching me, before they put me in prison. i heard no more from him, and remained shut up in prison until the th of august. on that day the general ordered me again to be conducted to his office, where, according to his request, i translated some letters for him. when i had finished, he asked me if i still had an inclination to go for my furs? i replied, that i had reason to suppose that they had been covered { } before this time, with the waters of red river, and were all spoiled; but that nevertheless, i should be glad to be certain about it, and at least we should be able to bring in our traps. he asked me what adequate security i could give for our good behavior, and the certainty of our return, provided he should allow us the use of our arms for self defence? i replied, that i knew no one, who could give the security required, but that the soldiers he would send with us, would be his security for our return; but that it was out of the question to think of sending us on a trip, so dangerous under any circumstances, without allowing us to go armed. he remanded me to prison, saying, that he would reflect upon it, and let me know the result of his reflections in the morning. i reflected as i walked to prison, that i could have procured the security of captain bradshaw, merely for the asking. but i knew the character of my companions, and was so well aware, how they would feel when all should be once free again, and well armed, that i dared not bind any one in security for us. such had been the extent of the injuries we had suffered, and so sweet is revenge, and so delightful liberty, when estimated by the bondage we had endured, that i was convinced that mexico could not array force enough to bring us back alive. i foresaw that the general would send no more than ten or twelve soldiers with us. i knew that it would be no more than an amusement to rise upon them, take their horses for our own riding, flea some of them of their skins, to show them that we knew how to inflict torture, and send the rest back to the general on foot. knowing that the temptation to some retaliation of this sort would be irresistible, i was determined that no one of my countrymen should be left amenable to the laws on our account. such thoughts passed through my mind as i told the general, i could offer him no security. next morning, immediately after eight, i was allowed to walk to the general's office without being guarded. what a fond feeling came back to my heart with this small boon of liberty! how much i was exalted in my own thoughts, that i { } could walk fifty yards entrusted with my own safe keeping! when i entered the general's office, he saluted me with ceremonious politeness. 'buenas dias, don santiago,' said he, and showed me to a seat. he proceeded to make known his pleasure, in respect to me and my companions. in the first place he told us, we were all to be allowed the use of our arms, in the next place, that he would send fifteen of his soldiers with us; and in the third place, that we should all be allowed a week, in which to exercise ourselves, before we set out on our expedition. all this good fortune delighted us, and was more almost, than we would have dared to wish. my companions, in an ecstacy of satisfaction, soon joined us from their prisons. we met with as much affection and gladness of heart, as if we had been brothers. they looked more like persons emancipated from the prison of the grave, than human beings; and i am perfectly aware, that my spectre like visage must have been equally a spectacle to them. we had the privilege of walking in the vicinity of the port, accompanied by a guard of soldiers. our only immediate restriction was the necessity of returning to our guard house to sleep at night. in this way our time passed pleasantly. on the d of september, the general sent for me to his office. when i entered, he presented me a note, and bade me accompany a soldier to a mission at the distance of thirty miles, where he stated i was to deliver this note to a priest, and that he perhaps would be able to furnish us with horses and mules for our expedition to bring in our furs. i started with the soldier, each of us well mounted. the note was unsealed, and i read it of course. the contents were any thing, rather than encouraging. it contained no demand for the horses, as i had hoped. it simply stated to the priest, what sort of person the general supposed me to be, that we had furs buried on red river, and wished horses on which to ride out and bring them in, and that if the priest felt disposed to hire his horses to us, he would send soldiers with us to bring us back. { } discouraging as the note was, we pushed ahead with it, and arrived at the priest's mission some time before night. i handed the note to the old priest, who was a very grave looking personage. he read the note, and then asked me to come in and take some wine with him, of which they have great plenty. i followed him into a large parlor, richly adorned with paintings of saints, and several side boards, abundantly stored with wines, which i took it for granted, were not unacceptable to the holy man. the glass ware, the decorations of the parlor, and the arrangement of every thing showed me at a glance, that this priest was a man of taste and fashion. so i was on my guard not to let any of my hunting phrases and back-wood's dialect escape me. he asked me a great many questions about the circumstances of my passage across the continent, to all which i responded in as choice and studied words as i could command. he then asked me how many beasts we should want? i replied that there were seven of us, and that we should each need a pack mule, and a horse to ride upon, which would be fourteen in all. he then asked how many days it would require to go, and return? i answered, that this was a point upon which i could not pronounce with certainty, since i was unacquainted with the road, and accidents might change the issue. he then proposed to charge what was tantamount to cents of our money a day for each mule, that carried a saddle, during the expedition, longer or shorter. to this i consented, and he drew an article of agreement to that effect. he then wrote a note to send by me to the general, in reply to his. by this time the sun was setting, and the church bells began to strike. on this he knelt, and commenced his prayers. he was repeating the lord's prayer. according to the customs of his church, when he had commenced a member of a sentence, i finished it, by way of response. such are their modes of repeating their prayers, when there are two or more in company. when we had finished, he turned to me, and asked me why i had prayed? i answered for the salvation of my soul. he said, that it had a christian appearance, but that he had been { } informed, that the people of our country did not believe that man had a soul, or that there is a saviour. i assured him, that he had been entirely misinformed, for that we had churches on every side through all the land, and that the people read the scriptures, and believed all that was taught in the gospel, according to their understanding of it. but he continued, 'your people do not believe in the immaculate conception of the virgin mary.' i replied, that what the general faith of the people upon this point was, i could not say, and that for myself, i did not pretend to have sufficiently studied the scriptures, to decide upon such points. my assumed modesty soothed him, and he told me, that it was evident, i had not studied the scriptures, for that if i had, i could not be in doubt about such obvious articles of faith. i acquiesced in his supposition, that i had not studied the scriptures, remarking, that i was aware that they contained many mysteries, about which the people in my country entertained various opinions. he said that he was truly sorry, that i was not more conversant with the scriptures, for that if i had been, i could not have been led astray by the protestants. his time, however, he added was now too limited to enlighten me, but he laughed, as he said he hoped to have the pleasure of baptising me on my return. to this i replied with a smile, for the truth was, i was fearful of disgusting him, and breaking off the bargain. glad was i, when he dismissed this subject, and began to chat about other matters. we had an excellent supper, and i was shown to my bed. in the morning i took leave of the old father, and arrived on the following evening at san diego. my companions were delighted with the apparent complete success of my mission. the general informed us, that we should have permission to start on the th, and that our beasts would be ready for an early start on that day. on the evening of the th, he called us to his office, and asked us, how many days we thought the expedition would require? we informed him, as near as we could conjecture. he then said, that he could not spare any soldiers to accompany us. we answered, that it was a point of { } indifference to us, whether he did or not. 'to insure your return however,' he rejoined, 'i shall retain one of you as a hostage for the return of the rest,' and pointing to me, he informed me, 'that i was the selected hostage,' and that i must remain in prison, during their absence, and that if they did not return, it would convince him, that we were spies, and that in consequence he would cause me to be executed. at this horrible sentence, breaking upon us in the sanguine rapture of confidence, we all gazed at each other in the consternation of despair. some of our company remarked, that they had better abandon the expedition altogether, than leave me behind. others stood in mute indecision. we had all in truth confidently anticipated never to return to this place again. my indignation, meanwhile, had mounted to such a pitch, as wholly to absorb all sense of personal danger, or care about myself. it seemed as if providence had put the unrelenting seal of disappointmont to every plan i attempted to devise. i told them to go, and not allow my detention to dishearten, or detain them, for that i had no fear of any thing, the general could inflict, that i had little left, but life to relinquish, and that their refusal to go, as things now were, would be taken for ample proofs, that we were spies, and would ensure our condemnation and the conviction, that we never had intended to return. on this they all agreed to go, and began to pledge their honor and every thing sacred, that they would return, if life was spared them. i told them to follow their own inclinations, as to returning, for that i would as willingly be buried by the side of my father, as any one else; that, however, i did not believe the laws of the country would bear the general out, in putting me to death. the general now bade us arrange every thing to start early in the morning. i was again locked up in my prison, though my companions spent the greater part of the night in conversing with me. in the morning, when they were ready to start, they came and shook hands with me. when the dutchman, as good hearted a fellow as ever lived, took my hand he burst into tears, and said, 'goot py jim, if i ever does come { } back, i will bring an army mit me, and take yours and your daddy's bones from dis tammed country, for it is worse as hell.' i should have laughed heartily at him, had not his tears prevented me, for i knew, that they came from his heart. mounting their mules they now set off. their only arms were old spanish muskets, which, when fired, i would almost as soon have stood before as behind. under such circumstances, knowing, that they would be obliged to pass through numbers of hostile tribes of indians, i was very doubtful of their return. on the th, captain bradshaw came to my prison, and asked me, why i was in prison, and my companions at liberty? i told him the whole story. when he had heard it, he expressed doubts in regard to their returning. i replied to him, that i was not at all in doubt of their return, if they lived. he then told me, that he intended to go to the general, and demand his papers on the th, and if they were not given up to him, he would cut cable, and run out in spite of any one, adding his advice to me, which was, that i should write to the consul at wahu and inform him of my imprisonment. he seemed to think, i might thus obtain my release. mr. r. perkins would undertake, he said, to place it in the hands of the consul, as he was acquainted with him. i answered, that i had neither ink nor paper. he said i should have some in a few minutes, and took leave of me. a soldier soon entered with writing materials, and i wrote my letter to mr. jones, for that was the name of the consul, stating every circumstance relative to our imprisonment, and the death of my father, giving the names of all our party, and begging him, if it was not in his power to obtain our freedom, that he would inform our government of our situation. i supposed it was in his power to grant my first request, placed as he was, in the midst of a foreign nation. on the th, at the request of the general, i was conducted to his office, to serve as interpreter for the captain and mr. p. the papers were now demanded by them. the general refused to comply with the demand, and told them, that both the vessel and cargo were condemned, but that if they would discharge { } the cargo, and deliver it to him, he would allow them to clear the vessel, to go and seek redress, wherever they pleased. the captain's answer to this was, that it was not in his power to do so, and that the laws of his country would hang him, if he thus gave up his ship and cargo at the request of an individual. the general now became enraged, and repeating the words, at the request of an individual, added, the ship and cargo have both been lawfully condemned, and if they are not given up peaceably, i have soldiers enough to take the ship, and every thing belonging to it. in reply the captain remarked, that he came to trade on the coast, and not to fight, that if he was disposed to seize the vessel or cargo, he had nothing to say farther, than that he should not aid, or advance in any shape the unlading of the vessel himself, and taking up his hat walked away. i asked permission of the general to go to miss. peaks, to get a change of clothing, which was granted. he, however, told me to be in haste. my principal business there was to give my letter to mr. p., for i knew that captain b., would set sail with the first breeze, of which he could avail himself. i found both the gentlemen in the house, when i entered. i was assured by m. p., that he would give the letter to the consul, and endeavor to interest him in my behalf. i thanked him, and was upon the point of taking leave, when captain b. asked me to take a note from him to the general, and to tell him that he would like to have an answer, and would wait an hour for it. i took the note and went to the general's office, gave him the note and told him what the captain had said. he bade me sit down, after he had read the note, for a few minutes. i obeyed, and he passed into the adjoining room, and ordered his porter to call the ensign ramirez. the porter hastened to execute his commission, and in a few minutes the ensign entered. the general and ensign then began to converse, drawing near the door, behind which i was seated. i heard distinctly the former tell the latter, that captain b., and mr. p., were both at peak's awaiting an answer from him, and that he would send me to tell them that he was engaged at { } present, but at the expiration of an hour and a half they should have their answer through me. meantime he, the ensign, was to provide a guard of soldiers, with which to take them prisoners, and then the vessel and cargo would be sure. all this, as i have said, i heard distinctly. he then came in, and told me to go and inform them, as he told the ensign, he should direct me. i hastened to captain b., and told him what i had heard from the general concerning him. i advised him to go to the vessel immediately, for that the ensign and guard would soon be upon the spot. both he and mr. p. went directly to the vessel, and i returned to the general, to inform him that i had delivered his message. he then ordered me to return to prison. it was now three o'clock. in a few hours the ensign returned from the pursuit of captain b., and as he passed the prison on his way to the general's office he shook his sword at me with vengeance in his face, saying, 'oh! you traitor!' i inferred from this, that he supposed i had informed the captain of the projected attempt to take him prisoner. my situation now seemed to me desperate. i thought more of my comrades than myself, for i could not expect to live. concluding that i should soon be executed, i feared, that when they returned, they would be put to death also. in a few minutes i was summoned to the general's office. i expected to hear my sentence. when i entered the general bade me stand by the door, near a large table, at which several of his clerks were seated writing, and he then gravely asked me if i had overheard the conversation which took place between himself and the ensign, after he had read the note brought by me to him from captain b? i replied that i did not see the ensign at that time, and furthermore could not say positively, whether he had held any conversation with the ensign, since my arrival on the coast or not. the general proceeded to question me, as to the fact of my having advised the captain to go on board his ship, and if i knew the motives, which induced him to do so, after saying that he would wait for an answer to his note. { } he tried to extort an answer from me such as he wished, threatening me with death if i did not relate the truth. i regarded all this as no more than the threats of an old woman, and went on to state what was most likely to be favorable to my cause. i was now remanded to prison with the assurance, that if found guilty, death would be my doom. a few days only elapsed before, the breeze serving, the captain slipped anchor, and ran out of the port.[ ] he was compelled to perform this under a heavy shower of cannon balls poured forth from the fort, within two hundred yards of which he was obliged to pass. when he came opposite it, he hove to, and gave them a broadside in return, which frightened the poor engineers from their guns. his escape from the port was made without suffering any serious injury on his part. their shots entered the hull of the vessel, and the sails were considerably cut by the grape. i was greatly rejoiced when i heard of their escape from these thieves. the general pretended great disgust at the cowardly conduct of the engineers, but, i believe, had he been there, he would have run too. i have no faith in the courage of these people, except where they have greatly the advantage, or can kill in the dark, without danger to themselves. this in my view is the amount of a spaniard's bravery. but to return to myself, i remained in prison, until a sufficient time had elapsed, as i thought, for the return of my companions. i still did not entirely despair of seeing them; but the spaniards came daily and hourly to my prison with delighted countenances to tell me that my companions had deserted me, and that the general would soon have me executed. some consoled me with the information, that at such an hour or day, i was to be taken out, and burnt alive; and others, that i was to be stationed at a certain distance, and shot at, like a target, or hung. these unfeeling wretches thus harrassed and tormented me, until the arrival of my companions on the th sept. put an end to their taunts, with regard to their desertion of me. they brought no fur however, it having been all spoiled { } as i had expected, by an overflow of the river. our traps which they did bring, were sold, and a part of the proceeds paid to the old priest for the hire of the mules. i have failed to remark, that my comrades had returned with the loss of two of their number, one of whom we learned, had married in new mexico.[ ] when the party reached the river, these two concluded that rather than return to prison, they would run the risk of being killed by the indians, or of being starved to death; and set forth on their perilous journey through the wilderness to new mexico on foot. the probability of their reaching the point of their destination was very slight, it being a great distance and through great dangers. happily for us, their not returning, did not appear to strengthen the general, in his opinion of our being spies. i had the pleasure of conversing with my companions an hour, or more, after which they were again disarmed, and all of us returned to our separate places of confinement. i had now no prospect before me, but that of lingering out a miserable and useless life in my present situation; as i was convinced, that the only inducement, which operated in the general's mind, to allow a part of us to go in search of our property was the hope of taking a quantity of furs and other valuables from us. i was thankful that he obtained nothing but the traps, which, as he knew no more how to use, than a blind horse, could be of no utility to him. this feeling may seem a poor gratification, but it was certainly a natural one. in this condition we remained for months, never seeing the outside of our prison, deprived of the pleasure we had received from the visits of the charitable young lady, formerly allowed entrance to us, and the advantage we had derived from the generous nourishment she so kindly furnished us, and compelled by hunger to eat the food set before us by our jailors; and confined principally to dried beans, or corn boiled in water, and then fried in spoiled tallow. at length the small pox began to rage on the upper part of the coast, carrying off the inhabitants by hundreds. letters { } from the distressed people were continually arriving, praying the general to devise some means to put a stop to the disease, which seemed to threaten the country with destruction. the general was thus beset by petitions for several weeks, before he could offer a shadow of relief for them. he was much alarmed, fearing that the disorder might extend its ravages to that part of the coast where he resided. one day the soldiers, through mere inquisitiveness, asked the dutchman if he knew any remedy for the complaint? he answered that he did; but that he had none of the article that constituted the remedy. he added, however, that he thought that my father had brought some of it with him, as he recollected his having vaccinated the people at the copper mines. this conversation was communicated to the general immediately, who sent a sergeant to me to inquire if i had any of the remedy spoken of by the dutchman, as brought by my father? i answered in the affirmative; i then showed him where i had been vaccinated on the right arm, and assured him that it had effectually protected me from the small pox. upon his demand whether i knew the method of applying it, i again answered in the affirmative; but when he asked me to show him the remedy, and let him have it to apply to his own arm, as he was fearful of losing his life from the spread of this dreadful disease, i told him i would not. this sergeant, who wished the matter, was my friend, and brother of the charitable young lady who had procured my father's burial, and for whom i would have sacrificed my life.[ ] but thinking this my only chance for regaining liberty, i refused it to him, saying, that i would neither show it to any one, nor apply it, unless my liberty and that of my companions was rendered secure; and that in sustaining this resolution i would sacrifice my life. i also mentioned that i must be paid, over and above my liberty. my object in this, was to influence the fears of the general. if he acceded to my proposition, my friend and his sister would share the benefit in common with others. if i granted the request of the sergeant to inoculate him, i might lose my advantage; but my gratitude decided me { } against allowing himself and his sister to be exposed to an imminent danger, which i could avert. i told him that if he would pledge himself, solemnly, for his own part, and that of his sister, that he would not communicate the matter to another individual, i would secretly vaccinate them. he replied that i need not fear his betraying me, as he would much rather aid me in my design, which he thought excellent, and likely to accomplish my wishes. he then left me to communicate the result of our conversation to the general. this incident, so important in its influence upon my fortunes, occurred december th. the sergeant had not been absent more than a half hour, when he returned and told me that the general said he would give me a passport for a year, if i would vaccinate all the people on the coast; and furthermore, if i conducted properly during that period, that he would at the expiration of it, pay me for my services, and give me my liberty. his countenance was bright with delight, as he related this to me, not dreaming that i could refuse what seemed to him so good an offer. when i repeated, in reply, my resolution not to vaccinate any one, except on the conditions i had stated, and added that i would not agree to any terms without an audience from the general, his pleasure vanished, giving place to gloom as he told me he did not think the general would accede to the proposal to set my companions and myself at liberty upon parole for one year, for any consideration; but that, if i persisted in my refusal, he feared i should incur some violent punishment, and perhaps death. my answer was, that in my present situation i did not dread death. i then requested him to tell the general i wished to talk with him personally upon the subject. he went, and in a few minutes returned with orders to conduct me to the general's office. upon my arrival there, the general questioned me with regard to the efficacy of the remedy of which he had been much informed in the same manner as i have related in the conversation between the sergeant and myself; and he then repeated the same terms for the matter { } and the application of it, that he had transmitted me through my friend, to which i replied as before. when i had finished, he asked me in a surly manner, what my own terms were? i told him, as i had done the sergeant, that i would vaccinate all the inhabitants on the coast, provided he would allow myself and companions to leave our prison on parole for one year, with liberty to travel up or down the coast, in order to find some occupation, by which we could obtain food and clothing. upon hearing this his rage burst forth. he told me i was a devil; and that if i did not choose to take the offer he had made, he would compel me to perform its conditions, or put me to death. i replied, that he could take my life; but that it was beyond his power to compel me to execute his commands, adding, that life or liberty would be no object to me, if my companions were denied the enjoyment of them with me. they had had the alternative in their power of leaving me in prison to suffer alone, or returning to share my captivity, and had chosen the latter; i concluded by saying, that rather than accept of liberty while they remained in prison, i would undergo all the torments his _excellency_ could devise. he said he might as well let loose so many wolves to ravage his country, as give myself and companions the liberty i required; adding, that he gave me twenty-four hours to reflect on the alternative of his wrath, or my liberty upon the conditions he had proposed. i was now remanded to prison. as i walked out, i remarked to the general, that my resolution was fixed beyond the possibility of change. he made no reply, and i proceeded to prison. the soldiers who accompanied me, tried to induce me to conform to the general's wishes, saying, that he was a terrible man when enraged. i made them no answer, and entered my prison, where i remained until o'clock the next day; when i was again escorted to the office, and asked by the general, what security i would give for the good behaviour of myself and companions, if he let us out on parole for one year? i told him i would give none, for no one here knew me. he then ordered me back to prison, where he said i should lay and rot, calling me a _carracho_ { } _picaro_, and similar names, which i did not regard. i walked to my prison as undauntedly as i could. i now felt somewhat encouraged; for i perceived he was not inflexible in his resolutions, and by adhering firmly to mine, i hoped finally to conquer him. in the course of the night he received a letter containing information of the death of one of his priests, and that great numbers were ill of the small pox. early in the morning of the d i received a summons to attend him at the usual place. when i arrived, he said he wanted to see my papers, that is, those i had mentioned as being my father's commission, and his discharge from the service of a ranger. i told him they were at miss peak's, which was the name of the young lady who had been so kind to me. he sent a soldier for them, who soon returned with them. i translated them to him. he said that was a sufficient proof of my being an american; and asked if my companions could produce proofs of their belonging to the same country? i replied that i did not know. he sent orders for them to come to the office; and before their arrival, told me that all he now wanted, was proof that they were americans, to let us go on a parole, as all americans were tolerated in his country. my opinion with regard to his motive in the case was, that he was less unwilling to grant our liberty, as the payment for my services in spreading the vaccine disease, now that he knew we had no property for him to extort from us. he talked, too, about rendering himself liable to suffer the rigor of the laws of his country, should he set us free, without our establishing the fact of our being americans. my companions entered: i was glad to see them. their beards were long, and they were haggard and much reduced in flesh. i gave them to understand what was wanting, and they readily produced some old black papers, furnishing in themselves proof of any thing else, as much as of their owners being american citizens. i, however, so interpreted them, that they established the point with the general. i believe he { } had as firmly credited this fact from the first hour he saw us, as now. he concluded to let us out a week upon trial, before he gave us freedom on parole, although he compelled me to engage to vaccinate all the people in the fort. he then directed us to endeavor to find some employment around the fort, which would procure us food, and to return every night to the guard house to sleep. the guard bell now tolled eight o'clock, and according to the permission given, we walked in the direction of our inclinations. i went directly to miss peak's, who was much astonished, and apparently delighted to see me at liberty. she had expected, she said, every day to see me on my way to be shot, or hung. the manifestation of kindness and benevolence to us having been forbidden by our jailors, she now indemnified her humanity and good feeling by telling me how much she had regretted not being allowed to send me proper food, asking me if i was not hungry? and proceeding, before i could answer, to spread a table with every thing good, of which i partook plentifully; after which we had a pleasant conversation together. my enjoyment of my fortunate change of situation was, however, mingled with uncertainty, as to the length of its duration. i felt that i was still in the lion's jaws, which might close upon me from the first impulse of petulance or anger. i therefore, endeavoured to devise some way of availing myself of my momentary freedom, to place myself beyond the possibility of losing it again. that one which suggested itself to me, was to prevail upon the officer, who had our rifles in charge to allow us possession of them for a short time, to clean them. when we should once more have them in our hands, i hoped we would have resolution to retain them, until death rendered them useless to us. i went to my companions, and imparted my plan to them. they agreed with me upon all points. the only difficulty now was, to lay our hands upon our arms. i went directly to the apartment of the officer, in whose care they were, one of the best hearted spaniards i have ever seen. i appealed to his goodness of heart in order to obtain my purpose, telling { } him, that we only wanted the rifles a few minutes, in order to rub off the rust, and dirt, which must have accumulated upon them. i told him after this was done, they should be returned to him. he did not answer for some minutes; and then said, that if he complied with my request, and was discovered by the general to have done so, he should be punished. i replied that there was no danger of an act of this kind, a mere kindness of this sort being known by any, but those immediately concerned; concluding by slipping ten dollars in silver, which had been given me by capt. b., into his hand. he then handed me the rifles, and all belonging to them, through a back door, cautioning me not to let my having them in possession be known. i answered, that i would be upon my guard. i was now joined by my companions. we found an old and unoccupied house, into which we entered, and soon put our guns in order, and charged them well, resolving never to give them into the hands of a spaniard again. we had been so treacherously dealt with by these people, that we did not consider it any great breach of honour to fail in our promise of returning our arms, particularly as the officer had taken my money. we then concluded to conceal our rifles in a thicket near at hand, and to keep our pistols, which the officer had also given us as a part of our arms, concealed around our persons. at night we went to the guard house to sleep, as we had been commanded to do. the officer who gave me the rifles, came to me, and asked why i had not returned the arms according to promise? i told him that i had not finished cleaning them, and repeated, that the general should not know i had them. he charged me to fulfil my former promise of returning the arms on the succeeding morning. i satisfied him, thinking as before, that it made no great difference what is said to such persons, in a position like ours. early the next morning we met a countryman by the name of james lang, who had come upon the coast to smuggle, and to kill sea otters for their skins, which are very valuable.[ ] he was now here secretly, to enquire if sea otters were to be found in { } abundance higher up the coast; and to obtain information on some other points connected with his pursuits. he told us he had a boat distant eighty miles down the coast, with men in search of otters, and proposed that we should accompany him to it, offering to furnish every thing required for this species of hunting, and give us half of whatever we caught, adding, that when his brig returned from the gallipagos islands, where it had gone in search of tortoise shell, he would give us a free passage to our own country. we all considered this an offer advantageous to us, as it held out the prospect of our being enabled to obtain something in the way of gain, after which a way would be open for our return to our homes, and we agreed to meet him on a certain day at _todos santos_, in english all saints. this took place on the th. our new friend set off to rejoin his companions, and we fell to consultation upon the best method of conducting in our present circumstances. we did not wish to do any thing, that would render us amenable to the laws of the country, should we be detected in our attempt to escape. we were consequently precluded from relying on horses to aid us in hastening beyond the reach of pursuers. the night was chosen, as the time for our experiment; but in the course of an hour after this determination was made, all my companions excepting one, receded from it, pronouncing the plan of running off without any cover for our intentions, not a good one. they proposed instead of it, that we should ask permission of the general to go a hunting, assigning as our reason for this request, that we were barefoot, and wanted to kill some deer in order to obtain their skins to dress, to make us moccasins. i consented to this plan, and to try its efficacy immediately, i went to the general's office. it was late, but i related my errand. he asked me, where i could get arms, to kill deer with? i replied, that if he would not allow us to use our own arms, we could borrow some. he refused the permission, i had asked of him. on christmas night, the one among my companions, whom i { } have mentioned, as agreeing with me, in regard to the original plan for our escape, set off with me at o'clock, while the people, who were all catholics, were engaged in their devotions at church. we were obliged to leave our comrades, as they would not accompany us in our enterprise. we travelled entirely by night, and reached the before mentioned place of rendezvous on the th. we found mr. lang and his men in confinement, and his boat taken by the spaniards. we gained this information in the night, without committing ourselves. we retreated to the woods, in which we remained concealed through the day. at night our necessities compelled us to enter a house, in order to obtain some food. it was occupied by a widow and her two daughters. they gave us bread, milk and cheese, treating us with great kindness. we spent a week passing the day in the woods, and going to this friendly house to get food in the night; in the hope of hearing of some vessel, by means of which we might escape from this hated coast. but no such good fortune awaited us. we then concluded to return, and see our comrades, whom we supposed to be again in prison; although we were determined never again to be confined there ourselves alive, with our own consent. so we walked back to san diego, killing some deer by the way, the skins of which we carried to the fort. to our great admiration and surprize, we found our companions at liberty. they informed us, that the general was exceedingly anxious for my return, and that our arms had not been demanded, although the officer, through whose means we obtained them, had been placed under guard. i felt grieved by the latter part of this information, as i had deceived the unfortunate man, when he intended to do me a kindness, of the utmost importance to my interests, as i viewed it. he would probably, be severely punished. but i nevertheless was firm in my purpose to retain my arms. it was late in the day; but the companion of my flight and myself proceeded to present ourselves before the general, leaving our rifles concealed in a safe place. our pistols we carried in our { } bosoms, determined not to be taken to prison without offering resistance. the general appeared much surprised to see us, and asked where we had been? i told him, that we had been out upon a hunting expedition; upon which he wished to know if we had killed any thing? we answered in the affirmative. he then looked serious, and demanded of me, if i was not aware that it was wrong to go off, without taking leave of him? my reply was, that i did; and that he refused it to me; and that then i concluded to go without permission, knowing it could not be a crime. his next question was, how i obtained my arms? i told him the truth with regard to this point. the succeeding demand was, why i did not return them, according to my promise? to which i replied, that i did not intend to return them from the first; and i now declared that they should never be taken from me for the time to come, while i drew my breath. he smiled, and said he did not want them; but that i must begin to vaccinate the people of the garrison; for that he wished me to go up the coast soon to practice vaccination there. on the th of january, , i began to vaccinate; and by the th of february had vaccinated all the people belonging to the fort, and the indian inhabitants of the mission of san diego, three miles north of the former place.[ ] it is situated in a valley between two mountains. a stream runs through the valley, from which ships obtain fresh water. an abundance of grain is raised at this mission. fruit of all kinds, growing in a temperate climate, is also plentiful. the climate is delightfully equal. the husbandman here does not think of his fields being moistened by the falling rain. he digs ditches around them, in which water is conveyed from a stream, sufficient to cover the ground, whenever the moisture is required. rains seldom fall in the summer or autumn. the rainy season commences in october; and continues until the last of december, and sometimes even through january; by which time the grass, clover and wild oats are knee high. when the rain does come, it falls in torrents. the gullies made in the sides of the mountains by the rains are of an enormous size. { } but to return to my own affairs. having completed my vaccinations in this quarter, and procured a sufficient quantity of the vaccine matter to answer my purpose, i declared myself in readiness to proceed further. i communicated the matter to one thousand spaniards and indians in san diego. february th, the general gave us each a legal form, granting us liberty on parole for one year, at the expiration of which period it was in his power to remand us to prison, if he did not incline to grant us our freedom. he likewise gave me a letter to the priests along the coast, containing the information that i was to vaccinate all the inhabitants upon the coast, and an order providing for me all necessary supplies of food and horses for my journey. these were to be furnished me by the people, among whom i found myself cast. they were, also, directed to treat me with respect, and indemnify me for my services, as far as they thought proper. the latter charge did not strike me agreeably; for i foresaw, that upon such conditions my services would not be worth one cent to me. however, the prospect of one whole year's liberty was so delightful, that i concluded to trust in providence, and the generosity of the stranger, and think no more of the matter. with these feelings i set forth to the next mission, at which i had already been. it was called san luis.[ ] i reached it in the evening. i found an old priest, who seemed glad to see me. i gave him the general's letter. after he had read it, he said, with regard to that part of it which spoke of payment, that i had better take certificates from the priests of each mission, as i advanced up the coast, stating that i had vaccinated their inhabitants; and that when i arrived at the upper mission, where one of the high dignitaries of the church resided, i should receive my recompense for the whole. seeing nothing at all singular in this advice, i concluded to adopt it. in the morning i entered on the performance of my duty. my subjects were indians, the missions being entirely composed of them, with the exception of the priests, who are the rulers. { } the number of natives in this mission was three thousand, nine hundred and four. i took the old priest's certificate, as had been recommended by him, when i had completed my task. this is said to be the largest, most flourishing, and every way the most important mission on the coast. for its consumption fifty beeves are killed weekly. the hides and tallow are sold to ships for goods, and other articles for the use of the indians, who are better dressed in general, than the spaniards. all the income of the mission is placed in the hands of the priests, who give out clothing and food, according as it is required. they are also self constituted guardians of the female part of the mission, shutting up under lock and key, one hour after supper, all those, whose husbands are absent, and all young women and girls above nine years of age. during the day, they are entrusted to the care of the matrons. notwithstanding this, all the precautions taken by the vigilant fathers of the church are found insufficient. i saw women in irons for misconduct, and men in the stocks. the former are expected to remain a widow six months after the death of a husband, after which period they may marry again. the priests appoint officers to superintend the natives, while they are at work, from among themselves. they are called _alcaides_, and are very rigid in exacting the performance of the allotted tasks, applying the rod to those who fall short of the portion of labor assigned them. they are taught in the different trades; some of them being blacksmiths, others carpenters and shoe-makers. those, trained to the knowledge of music, both vocal and instrumental, are intended for the service of the church. the women and girls sew, knit, and spin wool upon a large wheel, which is woven into blankets by the men. the alcaides, after finishing the business of the day, give an account of it to the priest, and then kiss his hand, before they withdraw to their wigwams, to pass the night. this mission is composed of parts of five different tribes, who speak different languages. the greater part of these indians were brought from their native mountains against their own inclinations, and by compulsion; { } and then baptised; which act was as little voluntary on their part, as the former had been. after these preliminaries, they had been put to work, as converted indians. the next mission on my way was that, called st. john the baptist.[ ] the mountains here approach so near the ocean, as to leave only room enough for the location of the mission. the waves dash upon the shore immediately in front of it. the priest, who presides over this mission, was in the habit of indulging his love of wine and stronger liquors to such a degree, as to be often intoxicated. the church had been shattered by an earthquake. between twenty and thirty of the indians, men, women and children, had been suddenly destroyed by the falling of the church bells upon them. after communicating the vaccine matter to natives, i left this place, where mountains rose behind to shelter it; and the sea stretched out its boundless expanse before it. continuing my route i reached my next point of destination. this establishment was called the mission of st. gabriel. here i vaccinated individuals. the course from the mission of st. john the baptist to this place led me from the sea-shore, a distance of from eighteen to twenty miles. those, who selected the position of this mission, followed the receding mountains. it extends from their foot, having in front a large tract of country showing small barren hills, and yet affording pasturage for herds of cattle so numerous, that their number is unknown even to the all surveying and systematic priests. in this species of riches st. gabriel exceeds all the other establishments on the coast. the sides of the mountains here are covered with a growth of live oak and pine. the chain to which these mountains belong, extends along the whole length of the coast. the fort st. peter stands on the sea coast, parallel to this mission. my next advance was to a small town, inhabited by spaniards, called the town of the angels.[ ] the houses have flat roofs, covered with bituminous pitch, brought from a place within four miles of the town, where this article boils up from the earth. as the liquid rises, hollow bubbles like a shell of a { } large size, are formed. when they burst, the noise is heard distinctly in the town. the material is obtained by breaking off portions, that have become hard, with an axe, or something of the kind. the large pieces thus separated, are laid on the roof, previously covered with earth, through which the pitch cannot penetrate, when it is rendered liquid again by the heat of the sun. in this place i vaccinated , persons. from this place i went to the mission of st. ferdinand, where i communicated the matter to subjects. st. ferdinand is thirty miles east of the coast, and a fine place in point of position.[ ] the mission of st. buenaventura succeeded.[ ] not long previous to my arrival here, two priests had eloped from the establishment, taking with them what gold and silver they could lay their hands upon. they chose an american vessel, in which to make their escape. i practised my new calling upon persons in this mission. the next point i reached was the fort of st. barbara.[ ] i found several vessels lying here. i went on board of them, and spent some pleasant evenings in company with the commanders. i enjoyed the contrast of such society with that of the priests and indians, among whom i had lately been. this place has a garrison of fifty or sixty soldiers. the mission lies a half a mile n. w. of the fort. it is situated on the summit of a hill, and affords a fine view of the great deep. many are the hours i passed during this long and lonely journey, through a country every way strange and foreign to me, in looking on the ceaseless motion of its waves. the great leviathan too played therein. i have often watched him, as he threw spouts of water into the air, and moved his huge body through the liquid surface. my subjects here amounted to . they were principally indians. the next mission on my route was that called st. enos.[ ] i vaccinated of its inhabitants, and proceeded to st. cruz,[ ] where i operated upon . my next advance was to st. luis obispes.[ ] here i found subjects. the mission of st. michael followed in order. in it i vaccinated persons.[ ] { } my next theatre of operations was at st. john bapistrano.[ ] was the number that received vaccination here. thence i went to la solada, and vaccinated , and then proceeded to st. carlos, and communicated the matter to .[ ] from the latter mission i passed on to the fort of monte el rey, where is a garrison of a hundred soldiers.[ ] i found here persons to vaccinate. the name of this place in english signifies the king's mount or hill. forests spread around monte el rey for miles in all directions, composed of thick clusters of pines and live oaks. numberless grey bears find their home, and range in these deep woods. they are frequently known to attack men. the spaniards take great numbers of them by stratagem, killing an old horse in the neighborhood of their places of resort. they erect a scaffold near the dead animal, upon which they place themselves during the night, armed with a gun or lance. when the bear approaches to eat, they either shoot it, or pierce it with the lance from their elevated position. notwithstanding all their precautions, however, they are sometimes caught by the wounded animal; and after a man has once wrestled with a bear, he will not be likely to desire to make a second trial of the same gymnastic exercise. such, at any rate, is the opinion i have heard those express, who have had the good fortune to come off alive from a contest of this kind. i do not speak for myself in this matter, as i never came so near as to take the _close hug_ with one in my life; though to escape it, i once came near breaking my neck down a precipice. from monte el rey i advanced to the mission of st. anthony, which lies thirty miles e. from the coast.[ ] in it i found one thousand persons to inoculate. i had now reached the region of small pox, several cases of it having occurred in this mission. the ruling priest of this establishment informed me, that he did not consider it either necessary or advisable for me to proceed farther for the purpose of inoculating the inhabitants of the country, as the small pox had prevailed universally through its whole remaining extent. as i had heard, while in { } san diego, great numbers had been carried off by it. i then told him that i wished to see the church officer who had been described to me by the first priest whom i had seen on my way up the coast. he furnished me a horse, and i set off for the port of san francisco, vaccinating those whom i found on the way who had not had the small pox. i reached the above mentioned place,[ ] on the twentieth of june, . finding the person of whom i was in search, i presented him all the certificates of the priests of the missions in which i had vaccinated, and the letter of the general. i had inoculated in all twenty-two thousand persons. after he had finished the perusal of these papers, he asked me, what i thought my services were worth? i replied, that i should leave that point entirely in his judgment and decision. he then remarked, that he must have some time to reflect upon the subject, and that i must spend a week or two with him. i consented willingly to this proposal, as i was desirous of crossing the bay of san francisco to the russian settlement, called the bodego.[ ] i proceeded to carry my wish into execution on the rd, accompanied by two coriac indians, whose occupation was the killing of sea otters for the russians, who hire them into their service. those who pursue this employment, have water crafts made of the sea lions' skins, in the shape of a canoe. over this spreads a top, completely covered in such a manner as to preclude the possibility of the entrance of any water. an opening is left at the bow and stern, over which the person who has entered draws a covering of the same material with that of the boat, which fastens firmly over the aperture in such a manner, as to make this part entirely water proof, as any other portion of the boat. two persons generally occupy it. no position can be more secure than theirs, from all the dangers of the sea. the waves dash over them harmless. the occupants are stationed, one at the bow, and the other at the stern; the latter guides the boat, while the other is provided with a { } spear, which he darts into the otter whenever he comes within its reach. great numbers are thus taken. but to return to myself: we crossed the bay, which is about three miles in width. it is made by the entrance of a considerable river, called by the spaniards rio de san francisco. after we reached the north shore, we travelled through a beautiful country, with a rich soil, well watered and timbered, and reached the russian settlement in the night, having come a distance of thirty miles. as our journey had been made on foot, and we had eaten nothing, i was exceedingly fatigued and hungry. i accompanied my fellow travellers, who belonged here, to their wigwams, where i obtained some food, and a seal skin to sleep upon. early in the morning i arose, and learning from one of my late companions where was the dwelling of the commander of the place, i proceeded towards it. i had become acquainted with this person while i was vaccinating the inhabitants of san diego. he came there in a brig, and insisted upon my promising him that i would come and communicate the remedy to the people of his establishments, offering to recompense me for my services. i agreed to do what he wished, should it be in my power. accordingly, finding that the spaniard did not intend to keep a strict guard over my movements, i availed myself of this opportunity of fulfilling the expressed wish of don seraldo, for so was he called. i reached the place pointed out to me by the friendly indian, and was received by the above mentioned gentleman with the warmest expressions of kindness and friendship. he said that so long a time had elapsed since he saw me, he was afraid i had forgotten our conversation together, and that circumstances had rendered my coming to him impossible. he had suffered greatly from the fear that the small pox would spread among his people, before he should be enabled to prevent danger from it, through the means of the kine pox. after breakfast, he circulated an order among the people, for all who wished to be provided with a safe guard against the terrible malady that had approached them so near, to come to { } his door. in a few hours i began my operations; and continued to be constantly occupied for three days, vaccinating during this period fifteen hundred individuals. i reminded them all that they must return on the fourth day, provided no signs of the complaint appeared; and that they were not to rub, or roughly touch the spot, should the vaccine matter have proper effect. this done, don seraldo offered to accompany me through the fort and around the settlement, in order to show me the position, and every thing which might be new and interesting to me. its situation is one of the most beautiful that i ever beheld, or that the imagination can conceive. the fort stands on the brow of a handsome hill, about two hundred feet above the level of the sea. this hill is surrounded on all sides for two miles with a charming plain. a lofty mountain whose sides present the noblest depth of forest, raises a summit, glittering with perpetual ice and snow on one hand, and on the other the level surface is lost in the waves of the sea. clear cold streams pour down the mountain, unceasingly from different points, and glide through the plain, imparting moisture and verdure. the same multitudes of domestic animals, that are every where seen in this country, graze around in the pastures. they find abundant pasturage in the wild oats, which grow spontaneously upon this coast. very little attention is paid to cultivation, where so many advantages are united to favor it. the amount of produce of any kind raised is small, and the inhabitants depend for bread entirely upon the spaniards. i remained in this delightful place one week. at the expiration of this time don seraldo gave me one hundred dollars, as payment for my services, and then mounted me upon a horse and conducted me back to the bay himself, and remained on the shore, until he saw me safe upon the other side. i soon saw myself again in the presence of the spanish priest, from whom i was to receive my recompense for the services performed on my long tour. he was not aware where i had been, until i informed him. when i had told him, he asked { } me what don seraldo had paid me? i stated this matter as it was. he then demanded of me, how i liked the coast of california? i answered, that i very much admired the appearance of the country. his next question was, how i would like the idea of living in it? it would be agreeable to me, i returned, were it subject to any other form of government. he proceeded to question me upon the ground of my objections to the present form of government? i was careful not to satisfy him on this point. he then handed me a written piece of paper, the translation of which is as follows: i certify, that james o. pattie has vaccinated all the indians and whites on this coast, and to recompense him for the same, i give the said james o. pattie my obligation for one thousand head of cattle, and land to pasture them; that is, cows and mules. this he is to receive after he becomes a catholic, and a subject of this government. given in the mission of st. francisco on the th of july, in the year . john cabortes when i had read this, without making use of any figure of speech, i was struck dumb. my anger choked me. as i was well aware of the fact, that this man had it in his power to hang me if i insulted him, and that here there was no law to give me redress, and compel him to pay me justly for my services, i said nothing for some time, but stood looking him full in the face. i cannot judge whether he read my displeasure, and burning feelings in my countenance, as i thus eyed him, and would have sought to pacify me, or not; but before i made a movement of any kind, he spoke, saying, 'you look displeased, sir.' prudential considerations were sufficient to withhold me no longer, and i answered in a short manner, that i felt at that moment as though i should rejoice to find myself once more in a country where i should be justly dealt by. he asked me, what i meant when i spoke of being justly dealt by? i told him { } what my meaning was, and wished to be in my own country, where there are laws to compel a man to pay another what he justly owes him, without his having the power to attach to the debt, as a condition upon which the payment is to depend, the submission to, and gratification of, any of his whimsical desires. upon this the priest's tone became loud and angry as he said, 'then you regard my proposing that you should become a catholic, as the expression of an unjust and whimsical desire!' i told him 'yes, that i did; and that i would not change my present opinions for all the money his mission was worth; and moreover, that before i would consent to be adopted into the society and companionship of such a band of murderers and robbers, as i deemed were to be found along this coast, for the pitiful amount of one thousand head of cattle, i would suffer death.' when i had thus given honest and plain utterance to the feelings, which swelled within me, the priest ordered me to leave his house. i walked out quickly, and possessed myself of my rifle, as i did not know, but some of his attendants at hand might be set upon me; for if the comparison be allowable the priests of this country have the people as much and entirely under their control and command, as the people of our own country have a good bidable dog. for fear they should come barking at me, i hastened away, and proceeded to a _ranch_, where i procured a horse for three dollars, which i mounted, and took the route for monte el rey. i did not stop, nor stay on my journey to this place. i found upon my arrival there, an american vessel in port, just ready to sail, and on the point of departure. meeting the captain on shore, i made the necessary arrangements with him for accompanying him, and we went on board together. the anchor was now weighed, and we set sail. in the course of an hour, i was thoroughly sick, and so continued for one week. i do not know any word, that explains my feelings in this case so well as that of heart sickness. i ate nothing, or little all this time; but after i recovered, my appetite { } returned in tenfold strength, and i never enjoyed better health in my life. we continued at sea for several months, sailing from one port to another, and finally returned to that of monte el rey, from which we had set sail. it was now the th of january, , and i felt anxious to hear something in relation to my companions, from whom i had so long been separated. i accordingly went on shore, where i met with a great number of acquaintances, both americans and english. the latter informed me, that there was a revolution in the country, a part of the inhabitants having revolted against the constituted authorities. the revolted party seemed at present likely to gain the ascendency. they had promised the english and americans the same privileges, and liberty in regard to the trade on the coast, that belonged to the native citizens, upon the condition, that these people aided them in their attempt to gain their freedom, by imparting advice and funds. this information gladdened my very heart. i do not know, if the feeling be not wrong; but i instantly thought of the unspeakable pleasure i should enjoy at seeing the general, who had imprisoned me, and treated me so little like a man and a christian, in fetters himself. under the influence of these feelings, i readily and cheerfully appropriated a part of my little store to their use, i would fain have accompanied them in hopes to have one shot at the general with my rifle. but the persuasions of my countrymen to the contrary prevailed with me. they assigned, as reasons for their advice, that it was enough to give counsel and funds at first, and that the better plan would be, to see how they managed their own affairs, before we committed ourselves, by taking an active part in them, as they had been found to be a treacherous people to deal with. on the th of the month, gen. joachim solis placed himself at the head of one hundred and fifty soldiers well armed, and began his march from monte el rey to the fort of st. francisco.[ ] he was accompanied by two cannon, which, he said, he should make thunder, if the fort was not quietly given up to him. gen. solis had been transferred from a command in the city of mexico { } to take command of the insurgents, as soon as they should have formed themselves into something like an organized party, and have come to a head. he had left monte el rey with such a force as circumstances enabled him to collect, recruiting upon his route, and inducing all to join him, whom he could influence by fair words and promises. as has been said, he threatened the fort of st. francisco with a bloody contest, in case they resisted his wishes. he carried with him written addresses to the inhabitants, in which those, who would range themselves under his standard, were offered every thing that renders life desirable. they all flocked round him, giving in their adhesion. when he reached the fort, he sent in his propositions, which were acceded to, as soon as read by the majority. the minority were principally officers. they were all imprisoned by general solis, as soon as he obtained possession of the place. he then proceeded to make laws, by which the inhabitants were to be governed, and placed the fort in the hands of those, upon whom, he thought he could depend.--these arrangements being all made, he began his return to monte el rey, highly delighted with his success. there now seemed little doubt of his obtaining possession of the whole coast in the course of a few months. he remained at monte el rey increasing his force, and drilling the new recruits, until the th of march, when he again marched at the head of two hundred soldiers. the present object of attack was santa barbara, where the commander under the old regime was stationed. the latter was gen. echedio, my old acquaintance of san diego, for whom i bore such good will.[ ] he was not in the least aware of the visit intended him by gen. solis; the latter having prevented any tidings upon the subject reaching him, by posting sentinels thickly for some distance upon the road, that lay between them, to intercept and stop any one passing up or down. the insurgent general had as yet succeeded in his plans; and was so elated with the prospect of surprising gen. echedio, and completely dispossessing him of his power, and consequently having all in his own hands, that he { } did not consider it necessary any longer to conceal his real character. the professions of the kind purposes of the insurgent towards the english and americans will be recollected; and also, that it was at a time when application was made by these spaniards to them for aid. the tone was now changed. threats were now made, with regard to the future treatment, which we, unfortunate foreigners, might expect, as soon as gen. solis became master of the coast. we learned this through a mexican spaniard, whose daughter captain cooper had married.[ ] this old gentleman was told by the general, that he intended either to compel every american and englishman to swear allegiance to the government, which should be established, or drive them from the country. this information was, however, not communicated to us, until the general had departed. we held a consultation upon the subject, to devise some means, which should render him incapable of carrying his good intentions towards us into effect. no other expedient suggested itself to us, but that of sending general echedio information of the proposed attack, in time to enable him to be prepared for it. we agreed upon this, and a letter was written, stating what we deemed the points most necessary for him to know. the signatures of some of the principal men of the place were affixed to it; for those who think alike upon important points soon understand one another; and the character of solis had not been unveiled to us alone. it was important, that general echedio should attach consequence to our letter, and the information, it contained, would come upon him so entirely by surprize, that he might very naturally entertain doubts of its correctness. i added my name to those of the party to which i belonged. the object now was to have our document conveyed safely into the hands of gen. echedio. we sent a runner with two good horses and instructions, how to pass the army of solis in the night undiscovered. all proceedings had been conducted with so much secrecy and caution, that the matter so far rested entirely with ourselves. we occasionally heard the citizens around { } us express dislike towards the insurgent general; but as they did not seem inclined to carry their opinions into action, we concluded these were only remarks made to draw out our thoughts, and took no notice of them. from after circumstances i believe, that the number of his enemies exceeded that of his friends; and that the remarks, of which i have spoken, were made in truth and sincerity. mean while we impatiently awaited some opportunity of operating to the disadvantage of the general, and to hear what had taken place between him and gen. echedio. a messenger arrived on the th of april with the information, that the commander of the insurgents had ranged his men for three days in succession before the fort upon the plain. a continual firing had been kept up on both sides, during the three days, at the expiration of which gen. solis, having expended his ammunition, and consumed his provisions, was compelled to withdraw, having sustained no loss, except that of one horse from a sustained action of three days! the spirit with which the contest was conducted may be inferred from a fact, related to me. the cannon balls discharged from the fort upon the enemy were discharged with so little force, that persons arrested them in their course, without sustaining any injury by so doing, at the point, where in the common order of things, they must have inflicted death. upon the reception of this news, we joined in the prevalent expression of opinion around us. the name and fame of gen. solis was exalted to the skies. all the florid comparisons, usual upon such occasions, were put in requisition, and all the changes were sung upon his various characteristics wit, honor and courage. the point was carried so far as to bring him within some degrees of relationship to a supernatural being. then the unbounded skill he displayed in marshalling his force, and his extreme care to prevent the useless waste of his men's lives were expatiated upon, and placed in the strongest light. the climax of his excellence was his having retreated without the loss of a man. this was the burden of our theme to his friends, that is, the fifty soldiers, in whose charge he had left the command of the { } fort. the captain cooper, of whom i have spoken, looked rather deeper into things, than those around him; and consequently knew the most effectual means of operating upon the inefficient machines, in the form of men, which it was necessary for our present purpose, to remove out of the way for a time. accordingly he rolled out a barrel of good old rum, inviting all the friends of the good and great gen. solis to come, and drink his health. the summons was readily obeyed by them. being somewhat elevated in spirit by the proceedings of their noble general, previous to swallowing the genuine inspiration of joy, the feeling afterwards swelled to an extent, that burst all bounds, and finally left them prostrate and powerless. we, like good christians, with the help of some of the inhabitants, conveyed them into some strong houses, which stood near, while they remained in their helpless condition, locking the doors safely, that no harm might come to them. in our pity and care for them, we proposed, that they should remain, until they felt that violent excitements are injurious, from the natural re-action of things. we now proceeded to circulate another set of views, and opinions among the inhabitants in the vicinity of the fort; and such was our success in the business of indoctrination, that we soon counted all their votes on our side. general solis was now pitched down the depths, as heartily as he had before been exalted to the heights. huzza for gen. echedio and the americans! was the prevailing cry. the next movement was to make out a list of our names, and appoint officers. our number including scotch, irish, english, dutch and americans, amounted to thirty-nine. the number of americans, however, being the greatest, our party received the designation of american. captain cooper was our commanding officer. we now marched up to the castle, which is situated on the brink of a precipice, overlooking the sea, and found four brass field pieces, mounted on carriages. these we concluded to carry with us to the fort. the remainder placed so as to command a sweep of the surface of water below, and the surrounding ground, we spiked fearing, if they fell into the { } hands of solis, that he might break down our walls with them. this done, we went to the magazine, and broke it open, taking what powder and ball we wanted. we then posted sentinels for miles along the road, to which we knew solis was hastening in order to prevent news of our proceedings from reaching him, before it was convenient for us, that he should know them. we were aware of his intention to return here to recruit again, and it was our wish to surprize him by an unexpected reception, and thus obtain an advantage, which should counterbalance his superiority of numbers. in so doing, we only availed ourselves of the precedent, he had given us, in his management with regard to gen. echedio. he had not derived benefit from his plan, in consequence of his too great confidence of success, which led him to discover his real feelings towards our people. we hoped to avail ourselves of what was wise in his plan, and profit by his mistakes. we shut up all the people, both men and women, in the fort at night, that it might be out of their power to attempt to make their way, under the cover of darkness, through our line of sentinels, to give information, should the inclination be felt. our precautions were not taken through fear of him, should he even come upon us, prepared to encounter us as enemies: but from the wish to take both himself and army prisoners. should they learn what we had done, we feared, they would pass on to st. francisco, to recruit, and thus escape us. our designs were successful; for in a few days general solis and his men appeared in sight of the first of our sentinels, who quickly transmitted this information to us. our preparations for receiving him were soon made, with a proper regard to politeness. a regale of music from air instruments, called cannons, was in readiness to incline him to the right view of the scene before him, should he seem not likely to conform to our wish, which was, simply, that he should surrender to us without making any difficulty. our fortification was in the form of a square, with only one entrance. from each side of this entrance a wall projected at { } right angles from it fifty yards. the spaniards call them wings; and it seems to me a significant and fitting name for them. we intended to allow the approaching party to advance between these walls, before we began our part. our cannons were charged with grape and balls, and placed in a position to produce an effect between the walls. every man was now at his post, and general solis approaching within sight of the fort, a small cannon which accompanied him was discharged by way of salute. no answer was returned to him. the piece was reloaded, and his fife and drum began a lively air, and the whole body moved in a quick step towards the fort, entering the space between the wings, of which i have spoken. this was no sooner done than our matches were in readiness for instant operation. captain cooper commanded them to surrender. he was immediately obeyed by the soldiers, who threw down their arms, aware that death would be the penalty of their refusal. the general and six of his mounted officers fled, directing their course to st. francisco. six of our party were soon on horseback with our rifles, and in pursuit of them. i had been appointed orderly sergeant, and was one of the six. we carried orders from the principal spanish civil officer, who was in the fort, and had taken an active part in all our proceedings, to bring the general back with us, either dead or alive. the commands of our military commander, captain cooper, spoke the same language. i confess that i wanted to have a shot at the fugitive, and took pleasure in the pursuit. we went at full speed, for our horses were good and fresh. those belonging to the party we were so desirous to overtake, would of course be somewhat weary, and jaded by their long journey. we had not galloped many miles, before we perceived them in advance of us. as soon as we were within hearing distance of each other, i called upon them to surrender. they replied by wheeling their horses and firing at us, and then striking their spurs into their horses' sides, to urge them onward. we followed, producing more effect with our spurs than they had done, and calling upon { } them again to surrender, or we should fire, and give no quarter. they at length reined up, and six dismounted and laid down their arms. the seventh remained on horse back, and as we came up, fired, wounding one of our number slightly in the right arm. he then turned to resume his flight; but his horse had not made the second spring, before our guns brought the hero from his saddle. four of our balls had passed through his body. the whole number being now assembled together, victors and vanquished, general solis offered me his sword. i refused it, but told him, that himself and his officers must accompany me in my return to the fort. he consented to this with a countenance so expressive of dejection, that i pitied him, notwithstanding i knew him to be a bad man, and destitute of all principle. the man who had lost his life through his obstinacy, was bound upon his horse, and the others having remounted theirs, we set out upon our return. our captives were all disarmed except general solis, who was allowed to retain his sword. we reached the fort three hours before sunset. the general and his men were dismounted, and irons put upon their legs, after which they were locked up with those who had forgotten themselves in their joy at the good fortune of their poor general. these events occurred on the th of march. on the th the civil officer of whom i have before spoken, together with captain cooper, despatched a messenger to general echedio, who was still in santa barbara with written intelligence of what we had accomplished. it was stated that the americans were the originators of the whole matter, and that their flag was waving in the breeze over monte el rey, where it would remain, until his excellency came himself to take charge of the place; and he was requested to hasten his departure, as they who had obtained possession were anxious to be relieved from the care and responsibility they found imposed upon them. we were very well aware that he would receive our information with unmingled pleasure, as he expected solis would return in a short time to santa barbara, to give him another battle. { } it was said, that upon the reception of the letter he was as much rejoiced as though he had been requested to come and take charge of a kingdom. as soon as he could make the necessary arrangements he came to monte el rey, where he arrived on the th. we gave the command of the place up to him; but before he would suffer our flag to be taken down, he had thirty guns discharged in honor of it. he then requested a list of our names, saying, that if we would accept it, he would give each one of us the right of citizenship in his country.[ ] a splendid dinner was made by him for our party. on the night of the th a vessel arrived in the port. in the morning it was found to be a brig belonging to the american consul at macho, john w. jones, esq., who was on board of it. this was the same person to whom i wrote when in prison at san diego by mr. perkins. i met with him, and had the melancholy pleasure of relating to him in person my sufferings and imprisonment, and every thing, in short, that had happened to me during my stay in this country. this took place in my first interview with him. he advised me to make out a correct statement of the value of the furs i had lost by the general's detention of me, and also of the length of time i had been imprisoned, and to take it with me to the city of mexico, where the american minister resided, and place it in his hands. it was probable, the consul continued, that he would be able to compel the mexican government to indemnify me for the loss of property i had sustained, and for the injustice of my imprisonment. the probability of my success was not slight, provided i could establish the truth of my statement, by obtaining the testimony of those who were eye witnesses of the facts. i informed the consul that i had not means to enable me to reach the city of mexico. a gentleman who was present during this conversation, after hearing my last remark, mentioned that he was then on his way to that place, and that if i would accompany him he would pay my expenses; and if circumstances should happen to induce me to think of returning thence to the united states, i should do so free of expense. i expressed my thanks { } for this offer, and said that if i succeeded in recovering only a portion of what i had lost i would repay the money thus kindly expended in my behalf; but the obligation of gratitude imposed by such an act, it would be impossible for me to repay. in conformity to mr. jones' advice and instruction, i sat myself down to make out an account for the inspection of the american minister. when i had completed it, i obtained the signatures, of some of the first among the inhabitants of monte el rey, and that of the civil officer before mentioned, testifying as to the truth of what i said, so far as the circumstances narrated had come under their observation. the general having received the list of our names, which he had requested, he now desired, that we might all come to his office, and receive the right of citizenship from his hand, as a reward for what we had done. i put my paper in my pocket, and proceeded with my companions and mr. jones to the indicated place. the general had been much surprized to find my name in the list furnished him; but as i entered the room, he arose hastily from his seat and shook my hand in a friendly manner, after which i introduced him to the consul. he seemed surprised as he heard the name of this gentleman, but said nothing. after pointing us to seats, he walked out of the room, saying he should return in a few moments. i concluded, that he thought, i had brought the consul, or that he had accompanied me for the purpose of questioning him on the subject of my imprisonment and that of my companions. he returned, as soon as he had promised, having some papers in his hand. after he had seated himself, he began to interrogate me with regard to what had happened to me, during the long time that had elapsed since he had last seen me, adding, that he did not expect ever to have met me again; but was happy to see me a citizen of his country. my answer in reply to the last part of his remarks was short. i told him, he had not yet enjoyed any thing from that source, and with my consent never should. he looked very serious upon this manifestation of firmness, or { } whatever it may be called on my part, and requested to know my objections to being a citizen of the country? i replied that it was simply having been reared in a country where i could pass from one town to another, without the protection of a passport, which instead of affording real protection, subjected me to the examination of every petty officer, near whom i passed, and that i should not willingly remain, where such was the order of things. besides, i added, i was liable to be thrown into prison like a criminal, at the caprice of one clothed with a little authority, if i failed to show a passport, which i might either lose accidentally, or in some way, for which i might not have been in the least in fault. the general, in reply, asked me if in my country a foreigner was permitted to travel to and fro, without first presenting to the properly constituted authorities of our government, proof from those among the officers of his own government appointed for that purpose, of his being a person of good character, who might safely be allowed to traverse the country? i told him i had once attempted to satisfy him on that head, and he very abruptly and decidedly contradicted my account; and that now i did not feel in the least compelled, or inclined to enter upon the matter a second time. all which i desired of him, and that i did not earnestly desire, was, that he would give me a passport to travel into my own country by the way of the city of mexico. if i could once more place my foot upon its free soil, and enjoy the priceless blessings of its liberty, which my unfortunate father, of whom i could never cease to think, and who had died in his prison, assisted in maintaining, i should be satisfied. while i thus spoke, he gazed steadily in my face. his swarthy complexion grew pale. he read in my countenance a strong expression of deep feeling, awakened by the nature of the remembrances associated with him. he felt that there was something fearful in the harvest of bitterness which the oppressor reaps in return for his injuries and cruelties. i thought, he { } feared, if he did not grant my request for a pass, that i might carry into execution the purposes of vengeance; to which i used to give utterance in my burning indignation at his conduct at the time of my father's death. whenever i saw him pass my prison i seized the opportunity to tell him, that if my time for redress ever came, he would find me as unflinching in my vengeance as he had been in his injuries. i only expressed the truth with regard to my feelings at the time, and even now i owe it to candor and honesty to acknowledge, that i could have seen him at the moment of this conversation suffer any infliction without pity. he did not hesitate to give the pass i desired; but asked me what business led me out of my way to the united states around by the city of mexico? my direct course, he remarked, lay in a straight direction through new mexico. for reply, i drew out of my pocket the paper i had written before coming to his office, and read it to him, telling him that was the business which led me to the city of mexico. i then asked him if all the facts there stated were not true? his answer was in the affirmative; 'but,' added he, 'you will not be able to recover any thing, as i acted in conformity to the laws of my country. if you will remain in this country i will give you something handsome to begin with.' i assured him that i would not stay, but i wished him to show me the laws which allowed, or justified him in imprisoning myself and my companions for entering a country as we did, compelled by misfortunes such as ours. in return, he said he had no laws to show, but those which recommended him to take up and imprison those whom he deemed conspirators against his country. 'what marks of our being conspirators did you discover in us,' rejoined i, 'which warranted your imprisoning us? i am aware of none, unless it be the evidence furnished by our countenances and apparel, that we had undergone the extreme of misfortune and distress, which had come upon us without any agency on our part, and as inevitable evils to which every human being is liable. we were led by the hope of obtaining relief, to seek refuge in your protection. { } in confirmation of our own relation, did not our papers prove that we were americans, and that we had received legal permission from the very government under which we then were, to trade in the country? the printed declaration to this effect, given us by the governor of santa fe, which we showed you, you tore in pieces before us, declaring it was neither a license nor a passport.' the general replied, that he did tear up a paper given him by us, but that in fact it was neither a passport nor a license. "now sir," said i, "i am happy that it is in my power to prove, in the presence of the american consul, the truth of what i have said with regard to the license." i then produced another copy of the paper torn up by him, which had been given my father by the governor of santa fe, at the same time with the former. he looked at it, and said nothing more, except that i might go on, and try what i could do in the way of recovering what i had lost. the consul and myself now left him, and returned to capt. cooper's. the consul laughed at me about my quarrel with the general. in a few moments the latter appeared among us, and the remainder of the day passed away cheerfully in drinking toasts. when the general rose to take leave of us, he requested the consul to call upon him at his office; as he wanted to converse with him upon business. the consul went, according to request, and the general contracted with him for the transportation of gen. solis, and sixteen other prisoners to san blas, on board his vessel, whence they were to be carried to the city of mexico. the th of may was fixed for the departure of the brig, as the general required some time for making necessary arrangements, and preparing documents to accompany the transmission of the prisoners. when i heard that this delay was unavoidable, i went to the general and returned my passport, telling him i should want another, when the vessel was ready to sail, as i intended to proceed in it as far as san blas. he consented to give me one, and then joked with me about the { } honor, i should enjoy, of accompanying gen. solis. i replied in the same strain, and left him. captain william h. hinkley and myself went to the mission of san carlos, where we spent three days.[ ] during the whole time, we did little beside express our astonishment at what we saw. we had fallen upon the festival days of some saint, and the services performed in his honor all passed under our eyes. they were not a few, nor wanting in variety, as this was a noted festival. our admiration, however, was principally excited by the contest between grizzly bears and bulls, which constitutes one of the exhibitions of these people. five large grey bears had been caught, and fastened in a pen built for the purpose of confining the bulls, during a bullbaiting. one of the latter animals, held by ropes, was brought to the spot by men on horseback, and thrown down. a bear was then drawn up to him, and they were fastened together by a rope about fifteen feet in length, in such a manner, that they could not separate from each other. one end of it is tied around one of the forefeet of the bull, and the other around one of the hind feet of the bear. the two were then left to spring upon their feet. as soon as this movement is made, the bull makes at the bear, very often deciding the fate of the ferocious animal in this first act. if the bull fails in goring the bear, the fierce animal seizes him and tears him to death. fourteen of the latter lost their lives, before the five bears were destroyed. to captain hinkley this was a sight of novel and absorbing interest. it had less of novelty for me, as since i had been on the coast, i had often seen similar combats, and in fact worse, having been present when men entered the enclosure to encounter the powerful bull in his wild and untamed fierceness. these unfortunate persons are armed with a small sword, with which they sometimes succeed in saving their own lives at the expense of that of the animal. i once saw the man fall in one of these horrible shows; they are conducted in the following manner: the man enters to the bull with the weapon, of which he avails himself, in the right { } hand, and in the left a small red flag, fastened to a staff about three feet in length. he whistles, or makes some other noise, to attract the attention of the animal, upon hearing which the bull comes towards him with the speed of fury. the man stands firm, with the flag dangling before him, to receive this terrible onset. when the bull makes the last spring towards him, he dexterously evades it, by throwing his body from behind the flag to one side, at the same time thrusting his sword into the animal's side. if this blow is properly directed, blood gushes from the mouth and nostrils of the bull, and he falls dead. a second blow in this case is seldom required. another mode of killing these animals is by men on horseback, with a spear, which they dart into his neck, immediately behind the horns. the horse is often killed by the bull. when the animal chances to prefer running from the fight to engaging in it, he is killed by the horseman, by being thrown heels over head. this is accomplished by catching hold of the tail of the bull in the full speed of pursuit, and giving a turn around the head of the saddle, in such a manner, that they are enabled to throw the animal into any posture they choose.[ ] after we returned to the fort, it took us some time to relate what we had seen, to the consul. feeling it necessary to do something towards supporting myself, during the remaining time of my stay in this part of the country, i took my rifle, and joined a portuguese in the attempt to kill otters along the coast. we hunted up and down the coast, a distance of forty miles, killing sixteen otters in ten days. we sold their skins, some as high as seventy-five dollars, and none under twenty-five. three hundred dollars fell to my share from the avails of our trip. captain cooper was exceedingly desirous to purchase my rifle, now that i should not be likely to make use of it, as i was soon to proceed on my journey to the city of mexico. i presented it to him, for i could not think of bartering for money, what i regarded, as a tried friend, that had afforded me the means of subsistence and protection for so long a time. my { } conscience would have reproached me, as though i had been guilty of an act of ingratitude. the period of my departure from this coast was now close at hand, and my thoughts naturally took a retrospect of the whole time, i had spent upon it. the misery and suffering of various kinds, that i had endured in some portions of it, had not been able to prevent me from feeling, and acknowledging, that this country is more calculated to charm the eye, than any one i have ever seen. those, who traverse it, if they have any capability whatever of perceiving, and admiring the beautiful and sublime in scenery, must be constantly excited to wonder and praise. it is no less remarkable for uniting the advantages of healthfulness, a good soil, a temperate climate, and yet one of exceeding mildness, a happy mixture of level and elevated ground, and vicinity to the sea. its inhabitants are equally calculated to excite dislike, and even the stronger feelings of disgust and hatred. the priests are omnipotent, and all things are subject to their power. two thirds of the population are native indians under the immediate charge of these spiritual rulers in the numerous missions. it is a well known fact, that nothing is more entirely opposite to the nature of a savage, than labor. in order to keep them at their daily tasks, the most rigid and unremitting supervision is exercised. no bondage can be more complete, than that under which they live. the compulsion laid upon them has, however, led them at times to rebel, and endeavor to escape from their yoke. they have seized upon arms, murdered the priests, and destroyed the buildings of the missions, by preconcerted stratagem, in several instances. when their work of destruction and retribution was accomplished, they fled to the mountains, and subsisted on the flesh of wild horses which are there found in innumerable droves. to prevent the recurrence of similar events, the priests have passed laws, prohibiting an indian the use or possession of any weapon whatever, under the penalty of a severe punishment. on the th i addressed the companions of my former journeyings and imprisonment in san diego by letter. they had { } remained in the town of angels, during the months which had elapsed since my separation from them, after our receiving liberty upon parole. i had kept up a constant correspondence with them in this interval. my objects at present were to inform them of my proposed departure for my native country, and request them, if they should be called upon so to do, to state every thing relative to our imprisonment and loss of property, exactly as it took place. i closed, by telling them, they might expect a letter from me upon my arrival in the city of mexico.[ ] on the th of may i applied for my passport, which was readily given me, and taking leave of the general and my friends, i entered the vessel, in which i was to proceed to san blas, at o'clock in the morning. the sails of the brig, which was called the volunteer, were soon set, and speeding us upon our way. the green water turned white, as it met the advance of our prow, and behind us we left a smooth belt of water, affording a singular contrast to the waves around. i watched the disappearance of this single smooth spot, as it was lost in the surrounding billows, when the influence of the movement of our vessel ceased, as a spectacle to be contemplated by a land's man with interest. but no feeling of gratification operated in the minds of the poor prisoners in the hold. they were ironed separately, and then all fastened to a long bar of iron. they were soon heard mingling prayers and groans, interrupted only by the violent vomiting produced by sea sickness. in addition to this misery, when fear found entrance into their thoughts during the intervals of the cessation of extreme sickness, it seemed to them, as if every surge the vessel made must be its last. in this miserable condition they remained, until the th, when we arrived at san blas. the prisoners here were delivered into the charge of the commanding officer of the place. captain hinkley, his mate, henry vinal, and myself disembarked at this place, in order to commence our journey over land to mexico. the necessary arrangements for our undertaking occupied us three days. we found the season warm on our arrival here. watermelons were abundant, and also green { } corn, and a great variety of ripe fruit. two crops of corn and wheat are raised in the year. a precipice was shown me, over which, i was told, the mexicans threw three old priests at the commencement of the revolt against the king of spain.--this port is the centre of considerable business in the seasons of spring and fall. during the summer, the inhabitants are compelled to leave it, as the air becomes infected by the exhalations, arising from the surrounding swamps. myriads of musquitos and other small insects fill the air at the same time, uniting with the former cause to render the place uninhabitable. great quantities of salt are made upon the flats in the vicinity of san blas. i did not inform myself accurately, with regard to the manner, in which it is made; but as i was passing by one day, where the preparation of it was carried on, i observed what struck me as being both curious and novel. the earth was laid off in square beds. around their edges dirt was heaped up, as though the bed, which i have mentioned, was intended to be covered with water. we began our journey well armed, as we had been informed that we should, in all probability, find abundant occasion to use our arms, as we advanced. our progress was slow, as we conformed to the directions given us, and kept a constant look out for robbers, of whom there are said to be thousands upon this route. on the th we reached a small town called tipi, where we remained one day to rest from our fatigue, and then set off again for guadalaxara, distant eight days' journey. our path led us through a beautiful country, a great portion of which was under cultivation. occasionally we passed through small villages. beggars were to be seen standing at the corners of all the streets, and along the highways. they take a station by the road side, having a dog or child by them, to lead them into the road when they see a traveller approaching. they stand until the person reaches the spot upon which they are, when they ask alms for the sake of a saint, whose image is worn suspended around their neck, or tied around the wrist. { } this circumstance of begging for the saint, and not for themselves, struck me as a new expedient in the art of begging. at first we gave a trifle to the poor saint. as we went on we found them so numerous that it became necessary for us to husband our alms, and we finally came to the conclusion that the large brotherhood of beggars could occasionally diversify their mode of life by a dexterous management of their fingers, and shut our purses to the demands of the saints. the country for some time before we drew near guadalaxara, was rather barren, although its immediate vicinity is delightful. we reached that city on the d of june, and spent three days in it. it is situated upon a fine plain, which is overspread by the same numbers of domestic animals that i had seen in new mexico and california. the city is walled in, with gates at the different entrances. these gates are strongly guarded, and no one is allowed to enter them until they have been searched, in order to ascertain if they carry any smuggled goods about them. the same precaution is used when any one passes out of the city. a passport must be shown for the person, his horse, and arms, and a statement from the principal peace officer, of the number of trunks with which he set out upon his journey, and their contents. this caution is to prevent smuggling; but it does not effect the purpose, as there is more contraband trade here, than in any place i was ever in before. i was not able to ascertain the number of inhabitants of this city. the silver mines of guanaxuato are near guadalaxara. they are carried on at present by an english company. the evening before our departure we went to the theatre. the actresses appeared young and beautiful, and danced and sung charmingly. the th day of june we resumed our journey to the city of mexico. again we travelled through a charming country, tolerably thickly settled. on our way we fell in company with an officer belonging to the service of the country. he had ten soldiers with him. upon his demanding to see our passports we showed them to him, though he had no authority to make { } such a demand. after he had finished their perusal he returned them with such an indifferent air, that i could not resist an inclination to ask him some questions that might perhaps have seemed rude. i first asked him what post he filled in the army? he answered, with great civility, he was first lieutenant. i then requested to know, to what part of the country he was travelling? he said, still in a very civil manner, that he had had the command of some troops in guanaxuato, but was now on his way to the city of mexico, to take charge of the th regiment, which was ordered to the province of texas, to find out among the americans there, those who had refused obedience to the mexican laws. he added, that when he succeeded in finding them, he would soon learn them to behave well. the last remark was made in rather a contemptuous tone of voice, and with something like an implied insult to me. this warmed my blood, and i replied in a tone not so gentle as prudence might have counselled a stranger in a foreign land to have adopted, that if himself and his men did not conduct themselves properly when they were among the americans, the latter would soon despatch them to another country, which they had not yet seen; as the americans were not mexicans, to stand at the corner of a house, and hide their guns behind the side of it, while they looked another way, and pulled the trigger. at this he flew into a passion. i did not try to irritate him any further, and he rode on and left us. we pursued our way slowly, and stopped for the night at aguabuena, a small town on the way. we put up at a house, a sort of posada, built for lodging travellers.--twenty-five cents is the price for the use of a room for one night. it is seldom that any person is found about such an establishment to take charge of it but an old key bearer. provisions must be sought elsewhere. it is not often necessary to go further than the street, where, at any hour in the day until ten o'clock at night, men and women are engaged in crying different kinds of eatables. we generally purchased our food of them. after we had finished our supper two english gentlemen entered, who were on their way to the city of mexico. { } we concluded to travel together, as our point of destination was the same, and we should be more able to resist any adversaries we might encounter; this country being, as i have before mentioned, infested with robbers and thieves, although we had not yet fallen in with any. these gentlemen informed us that the greatest catholic festival of the whole year was close at hand. if we could reach the city of mexico before its celebration, we should see something that would repay us for hastening our journey. as we were desirous to lose the sight of nothing curious, we proceeded as fast as circumstances would permit, and reached the city on the th, late in the evening, and put up at an inn kept by an englishman, although, as in the other towns in which we had been, we were obliged to seek food elsewhere, the only accommodation at the inn being beds to sleep in, and liquors to drink. we found supper in a coffee house. we were awakened early in the morning by the ringing of bells. as we stepped into the street we met three biers carried by some men guarded by soldiers. blood was dropping from each bier. the bearers begged money to pay the expenses of burying the bodies. i afterwards learned that these persons were murdered on the night of our arrival, upon the alameda, a promenade north of the city, in one of the suburbs. we visited this place, and found it covered with thousands of people, some walking, and others sitting on the seats placed around this public pleasure ground. small parties are sheltered from view by thickets of a growth, like that in our country, used for hedges. the open surface is surrounded by a hedge of the same shrub. these partially concealed parties are usually composed of men and women of the lowest orders, engaged in card playing. such are to be seen at any hour of the day, occupied in a way which is most likely to terminate the meeting in an affray, and perhaps murder. blood is frequently shed, and i judged from what i saw of the order of things, that the accounts of the numerous assassinations committed among this populace, were not exaggerated. one of the characteristics of this people { } is jealousy. notwithstanding the danger really to be apprehended from visiting this place after certain hours, my two companions and myself spent several evenings in it without being molested in the slightest degree. but one evening as we were returning to our lodgings, we were compelled to kneel with our white pantaloons upon the dirty street, while the host was passing. we took care afterwards to step into a house in time to avoid the troublesome necessity. we attended a bull baiting, and some other exhibitions for the amusement of the people. being one evening at the theatre, i had the misfortune to lose my watch from my pocket, without being aware when it was taken. it would have been useless for me to have thought of looking around for it, as i stood in the midst of such a crowd that it was almost an impossibility to move. the accounts of this city which i had met with in books led me to expect to find it placed in the midst of a lake, or surrounded by a sheet of water. to satisfy myself with regard to the truth of this representation, i mounted a horse, and made the circuit of the city, visiting some villages that lay within a league of it. i found no lake; but the land is low and flat. a canal is cut through it, for the purpose of carrying off the water that descends from the mountains upon the level surface, which has the appearance of having been formerly covered with water. a mountain which is visible from the city, presents a circular summit, one part of which is covered with snow throughout the year: upon the other is the crater of a volcano, which is continually sending up proof of the existence of an unceasing fire within. early upon the first day of my arrival in this city, i waited upon mr. butler, the american charge d'affairs.[ ] after i had made myself known to him he showed me a communication from president jackson to the president of this country, the purport of which was, to request the latter to set at liberty some americans, imprisoned upon the coast of california. i then handed him the statement i had made according to the advice { } of mr. jones. he asked me many questions relative to the losses i had sustained, which i answered, and then took my leave. a number of coaches were to leave the city for vera cruz on the th of june. my companions and myself took places in one of them. on the th i again called upon mr. butler to obtain a passport to vera cruz, where i intended to embark for america. he took me to the palace of the president, in order that i might get my passport. this circumstance was agreeable to me, as i was desirous to see this person, of whom i had heard so much. upon arriving at the palace i found it a splendid building, although much shattered by the balls discharged at it by the former president guerero, who is now flying from one place to another with a few followers, spreading destruction to the extent of his power. a soldier led me into the presence of the president.[ ] he was walking to and fro when i entered the room, apparently in deep meditation. several clerks were present, engaged in writing. he received me politely, bowing as i advanced, and bade me sit down. in answer to his inquiry what i wished of him? i told my errand. he then asked me from what direction i came? i replied, from california. california! said he, repeating the word with an air of interest. i answered again, that i left that part of the country when i began my present journey. you must have been there then, rejoined he, when the late revolution took place, of which i have but a short time since received information. i remarked, that i was upon the spot where it occurred, and that i took my departure from the coast in the same vessel that brought sixteen of the captives taken in the course of its progress, and that i disembarked at st. blas at the same time that they were taken from the vessel. he resumed the conversation by saying, you were probably one of the americans who, i am told, assisted in subduing the revolted party. i told him, he was correct in his opinion; and by so doing i had had the good fortune to gain my liberty. his countenance expressed surprise at the conclusion of my remark; and he proceeded { } to ask me, what meaning i had, in saying that i had thus regained my own liberty? i then related my story; upon which he said he had understood that general echedio had acted contrary to the laws, in several instances, and that, in consequence, he had ordered him to mexico to answer for his conduct.[ ] i was surprised at the condescension of the president in thus expressing to me any part of his intentions with regard to such a person. i accounted for it by supposing that he wished to have it generally understood, that he did not approve of the unjust and cruel treatment which the americans had received. the president appeared to me to be a man of plain and gentlemanly manners, possessing great talent. in this i express no more than my individual opinion; to which i must add that i do not consider myself competent to judge of such points, only for myself. he gave me a passport, and i returned to mr. butler's office, who informed me that he wished me to take a very fine horse to vera cruz, for the american consul at that place. he said that i would find it pleasant to vary my mode of travelling, by occasionally riding the horse. i readily consented to his wish, requesting him to have the horse taken to the place from which the coach would set off, early in the morning, when i would take charge of it. i now took leave of mr. butler and proceeded to my lodgings. i found both my companions busily engaged in packing, and arranging for departure. i immediately entered upon the same employment. i had two trunks; one i filled with such articles as i should require upon my journey; and in another i placed such as i should not be likely to use, and a great many curiosities which i had collected during my long wanderings. the latter trunk i did not calculate to open until i reached my native land. at o'clock on the morning of the th our coach left the city, in company with two others. we were eight in number, including the coachman. three of the party were ladies. one was a frenchwoman, a married lady travelling without her husband. another was a spanishwoman, who had married { } a wealthy irishman, and was accompanied by her husband. the third was the wife of a mexican officer, also one of the eight. this gentleman was an inveterate enemy of the displaced president general guerero. we journeyed on very amicably together, without meeting with the slightest disturbance, until the second day, when, about three o'clock in the afternoon, we were met by a company of fifty men, all well mounted and armed. at first sight of them we had supposed them to be a party which had been sent from the city in search of some highwaymen who had committed murder and robbery upon the road on which we were travelling, a few days previous to our departure. a few minutes served to show us our mistake.--they surrounded the coaches, commanding the drivers to halt, and announcing themselves as followers of general guerero. they demanded money, of which they stated that they were in great need. the tone of this demand was, however, humble, such as beggars would use. while they addressed us in this manner, they contrived to place themselves among and around the persons of our party in such a way as to obtain entire command of us. the instant they had completed this purpose, they presented their spears and muskets, and demanded our arms. we resigned them without offering an objection, as we saw clearly, that opposition would be unavailing. they now proceeded to take from us what they thought proper. i was allowed to retain my trunk of clothing for my journey. the mexican officer was sitting by his wife in the coach. some of the soldiers seized him, and dragged him from his almost distracted wife out of the carriage. his fate was summarily decided, and he was hung upon a tree. when this dreadful business was terminated, we were ordered to drive on. we gladly hastened from such a scene of horror. but the agony of the unfortunate wife was an impressive memorial to remind us of the nature of the late occurrence, had we needed any other than our own remembrances. we left this afflicted lady at xalapa, in the care of her relations. a great quantity of jalap, which is so much used in medicine, is obtained from this place. { } after leaving xalapa, we advanced through a beautiful country. we passed many small towns on this part of our route. our course had been a continued descent, after crossing the mountain sixteen miles from the city of mexico. the road is excellent, being paved for the most part. it is cut through points of mountains in several places. this work must have been attended with immense labor and expense. we reached vera cruz on the th. on the th captain hinkley and his mate embarked for new york. i remained with the consul mr. stone, until the th of july. a vessel being in readiness to sail for new orleans at this time, i was desirous to avail myself of the opportunity to return to the united states. mr. stone and some others presented me money sufficient to pay my passage to the point to which the vessel was bound. it was very painful to me to incur this debt of gratitude, as i could not even venture to hope that it would be in my power to repay it, either in money or benefits of any kind. the prospect, which the future offered me, was dark. it seemed as if misfortune had set her seal upon all that concerned my destiny. i accepted this offering of kindness and benevolence with thanks direct from my heart, and went on board the vessel. it would be idle for me to attempt to describe the feelings that swelled my heart, as the sails filled to bear me from the shores of a country, where i had seen and suffered so much. my dreams of success in those points considered most important by my fellow men, were vanished forever. after all my endurance of toil, hunger, thirst and imprisonment, after encountering the fiercest wild beasts in their deserts, and fiercer men, after tracing streams before unmeasured and unvisited by any of my own race to their source, over rugged and pathless mountains, subject to every species of danger, want and misery for seven years, it seemed hard to be indebted to charity, however kind and considerate it might be, for the means of returning to my native land. { } as we sped on our way, i turned to look at the land i was leaving, and endeavored to withdraw my thoughts from the painful train into which they had fallen. vera cruz is the best fortified port i have ever seen. the town is walled in, and well guarded on every side with heavy cannon. the part of the wall extending along the water's edge, is surmounted by guns pointing so as completely to command the shipping in the harbour. a reef of rocks arises at the distance of half a mile from the shore opposite the city, and continues visible for several miles in a south direction, joining the main land seven or eight miles southwest of vera cruz. a fort stands upon that part of the reef which fronts the town. ships in leaving or entering the harbour are obliged to pass between the fort and the town. we reached new orleans on the first of august, although the wind had not been entirely favorable. it blew a stiff breeze from a direction which compelled us to run within five points and a half of the wind. as i approached the spot where my foot would again press its native soil, my imagination transported me over the long course of river which yet lay between me, and all i had left in the world to love. i cannot express the delight which thrilled and softened my heart, as i fancied myself entering my home; for it was the home i had known and loved when my mother lived, and we were happy that rose to my view. fancy could not present another to me. there were my brothers and sisters, as i had been used to see them. the pleasant shade of the trees lay upon the turf before the door of our dwelling. the paths around were the same, over which i had so often bounded with the elastic step of childhood, enjoying a happy existence. years and change have no place in such meditations. we landed, and i stood upon the shore. i was aroused by the approach of an englishman, one of my fellow passengers, to a sense of my real position. he asked me if i had taken a passage in a steamboat for louisville? i immediately answered in the negative. he then said he had bespoken one in the cora; and as i had { } not chosen any other, he would be glad if i would go on in the same one with him, and thus continue our companionship as long as possible. so saying he took me by the arm to lead me in the direction of the boat of which he spoke, that we might choose our births. as we advanced together, it occurred to me to ask the price of a passage to louisville? i was answered, forty dollars. upon hearing this i stopped, and told my companion i could not take a birth just then, at the same time putting my hand in my pocket to ascertain if the state of my funds would permit me to do so at all. the englishman seeing my embarrassment, and conjecturing rightly its origin, instantly remarked, that the passage money was not to be paid until the boat arrived at louisville. i was ashamed to own my poverty, and invented an excuse to hide it, telling him, that i had an engagement at that time, but would walk with him in the evening to see about the passage. he left me in consequence. i then discovered, that so far from being able to take a cabin passage i had not money enough to pay for one on the deck. i re-entered the vessel in which i had arrived. as i approached the captain i saw him point me out to a person conversing with him, and heard him say, 'there is the young man i have been mentioning to you. he speaks spanish, and will probably engage with you.' when i was near enough he introduced me to the stranger, whom he called captain vion. the latter addressed a few remarks to me, and then requested me to accompany him into his vessel. i consented and followed him on board. he then told me, that he wished to engage a person to accompany him to vera cruz, and aid in disposing of his vessel and cargo; and asked if i was inclined to go with him for such a purpose? i said, in reply, that it would depend entirely upon the recompense he offered for the services to be performed. he remarked, that he would give a certain per cent upon the brig and cargo, in case it was sold. i partly agreed to his proposal, but told him that i could not decide finally upon it until i had considered the matter. he then requested { } me to come to him the next day at o'clock, when i would find him at dinner. i left him, after promising to do so, and wandered about looking at the city until evening, when i met the englishman from whom i had parted in the morning. he said he would now accompany me to the steam boat, that we might choose our births according to our engagement. i had no longer any excuse to offer, and was compelled to acknowledge that the contents of my purse were not sufficient to justify me in contracting a debt of forty dollars. i added, that i had an idea of returning to vera cruz. he replied, that in regard to the passage money i need have no uneasiness, nor hesitate to go on board, as he would defray my expenses as far as i chose to go. in respect to my plan of returning to vera cruz, he said that it would be exceedingly unwise for me to carry it into execution; as the yellow fever would be raging by the time i reached the city, and that it was most likely i should fall a victim to it. i had, however, determined in my own mind that i would run the risk, rather than ask or receive aid from a person to whom i was comparatively unknown, and accordingly i refused his kindly proffered assistance, telling him at the same time, that i felt as grateful to him as though i had accepted his offered kindness, and that i would have availed myself of his benevolent intentions towards me, had he been a resident of my country; but as i knew him to be a traveller in a foreign land, who might need all his funds, he must excuse me. he then asked me if i had no acquaintance in new orleans, of whom i could obtain the money as a loan? i replied, that i did not know an individual in the city; but if i carried my plan of returning to vera cruz into execution, i should probably be enabled to proceed to my friends without depending on any one. upon this we separated, and each went to his lodging. at ten the succeeding morning my english friend came to my boarding house, accompanied by judge johnston, who accosted me with a manner of paternal kindness, enquiring of me how long i had been absent from my country and relations? { } i naturally enquired in turn, if he was in any way acquainted with them? he replied, that he was; and advised me to ascend the river, and visit them. i expressed to him how pleasant it would be to me to visit them, but assured him that it was out of my power to enjoy that pleasure at present. he enquired why? i avoided a direct answer, and remarked, that i proposed returning to vera cruz. he not only urged strong objections to this, but offered to pay my passage up the river. it may be easily imagined how i felt in view of such an offer from this generous and respectable stranger. i thankfully accepted it, only assuring him that i should repay him as soon as it was in my power. he replied that it was a matter of no consequence. he advised me to go on board the steam boat and choose my birth, alleging, that he had business in the city which would not allow him to accompany me on board. my english friend seemed highly gratified by this good fortune of mine, and went with me on board the steam boat, where i chose a birth. the name of this gentleman was perry, and he was one of the two whom i have already mentioned, who had travelled in company with me from the city of guadalaxara to mexico. on the fourth, at nine in the morning, the starting bell rung on the steam boat, and judge johnston, mr. perry and myself went on board. this was the first steam boat on which i had ever been. scarcely was the interior of the first ship i was ever on board at san diego, a spectacle of more exciting interest. how much more delighted was i to see her stem the mighty current of the mississippi. as i remarked the plantations, bends and forests sinking in the distance behind me, i felt that i was rapidly nearing home; and at every advance my anxiety to see my relations once more, increased. to the many enquiries, made by judge johnston, touching the interior of the continent where i had been wandering, i am sure i must have given very unsatisfactory answers, much as i wished to oblige him. my thoughts dwelt with such constant and intense solicitude upon home, that i felt myself unable to frame answers to questions upon any other subjects. { } home did i say? i have none. my father and mother sleep--widely separated from each other. they left nine orphans without resources to breast this stormy and mutable world. i, who ought to supply the place of a parent to them, shall carry to them nothing but poverty, and the withering remembrances of an unhappy wanderer, upon whom misfortune seems to have stamped her inexorable seal. i parted with judge johnston at cincinnati, who gave me a line of introduction to mr. flint, for which i felt under renewed obligations to him, hoping it would be of service to me. i left cincinnati; and on the th of august arrived at the end of my journey. i have had too much of real incident and affliction to be a dealer in romance; and yet i should do injustice to my feelings, if i closed this journal without a record of my sensations on reaching home. i have still before me, unchanged by all, that i have seen, and suffered, the picture of the abode of my infant days and juvenile remembrances. but the present reality is all as much changed, as my heart. i meet my neighbors, and school fellows, as i approach the home of my grandfather.--they neither recognize me, nor i them. i look for the deep grove, so faithfully remaining in my memory, and the stream that murmured through it. the woods are levelled by the axe. the stream, no longer protected by the deep shade, has almost run dry. a storm has swept away the noble trees, that had been spared for shade. the fruit trees are decayed. i was first met by my grandmother. she is tottering under the burden and decline of old age, and the sight of me only recalls the painful remembrance of my father, worn out by the torture of his oppressors, and buried in the distant land of strangers and enemies. i could hardly have remembered my grandfather, the once vigorous and undaunted hunter. with a feeble and tremulous voice, he repeats enquiry upon enquiry, touching the fate of my father? i look round for the dear band of brothers and sisters. but one of the numerous group remains, and he too young to know me; though i see enough to remind me, how much he has stood in need of an efficient protector.--i hastily enquire for the rest. one is here, and another is there, and my head is confused, in listening to the names of the places of their residence. i left one sister, a child. she is married to a person i never knew; one, who, from the laws of our nature, can only regard me with the eye of a stranger. we call each other brother, but the affectionate word will not act as a key, to unlock the fountains of fraternal feeling. they, however, kindly invite me to their home. i am impelled alike by poverty and affection, to remain with them for a time, till i can forget what has been, and weave a new web of hopes, and form a new series of plans for some pursuit in life. alas! disappointments, such as i have encountered, are not the motives to impart vigor and firmness for new projects. the freshness, the visions, the hopes of my youthful days are all vanished, and can never return. if any one of my years has felt, that the _fashion of this world passeth away_, and that all below the sun is vanity, it is i. if there is a lesson from my wanderings, it is one, that inculcates upon children, remaining at the paternal home in peace and privacy; one that counsels the young against wandering far away, to see the habitations, and endure the inhospitality of strangers. end of the narrative note the following articles are given, as containing fresh and important information with regard to the countries, through which the author passed. dr. willard's 'tour' was extensively quoted, by the periodicals of the day, at the time of its publication.[ ] views taken, upon the spot, by an impartial observer, of this comparatively unknown country, so interesting in itself, and from its vicinity to our own country, and the increasing relations, which connect us with it cannot fail to interest the reader. by comparing the statements of individuals differing entirely in training, position, and circumstances, and the purpose for which a country is observed, such statements, in short as are comprised in this volume, the real advantages and disadvantages of a country, its healthfulness, fertility, climate, beauty and the character of its inhabitants, and institutions may be known. these travellers note down what passed under their eyes, "nothing extenuating, nor setting down aught in malice." it probably did not occur to them, that the imagination might almost work at will, without fear of being caught in the fact, in the desert and unvisited regions of which they speak. inland trade with new mexico into what nook of our globe can we penetrate, and not find our citizens with their 'trade and traffic?' we not long since read in a paper, that a yankee captain was running a steam boat in the yellow sea. in farthest india--in the islands of the gentiles--along the new countries recently discovered in the antarctic sea, the undisputed throne of winter, and the habitation of sea monsters--wherever winds can waft, human foot-step be imprinted, or the argus ken of industry and enterprise discover the most distant prospect of a harvest, there we shall find americans. we delight to consort, as a listener, among the crowds of american tars. their peculiar dress and step, walking the firm earth as if 'she' reeled; their frank, reckless and manly port; their voice, formed to its tones and expression amidst the roar of the winds and the dash of the waves; their dialect, their outlandish phrase, all furnish food for imagination. we hear them speak of china, of japan, of borneo, the cape of good hope, and cape horn, as familiarly as the transit from new york to greenwich. their language seems to imply that distance and space are ideas unknown to them. imagination follows them in their long and dangerous course { } through the trackless brine, and realizes how many storms they have encountered, how many hardships endured, and deaths dared, during these passages; of which they speak as familiarly as of their diurnal visits on shore. though the adventures and voyages of the mariner furnish most food for the imagination; though the immense distances and the mysterious depths, that he traverses, and the indifferent hardihood, with which he encounters his perils and toils, naturally inspire an undefined admiration; yet the real exposure, toils and dangers of the interior journeys of our adventurous landsmen are, probably, quite as numerous, though they elicit much less of that feeling of romance and homage to daring, which is so readily called forth in the case of the other. the sailor carries his home with him. the fathomless and swelling cerulean is to him as the scenery of his birth place. no verdure, no enclosures of his paternal home are more pleasant, desired or natural, than good sea room. the winds and waves are chartered alike to convey him from danger, and to furnish him with the spectacles, varieties and pleasures of new ports. not so with the landsman, far from home in the land of the stranger. every new object, every variety of soil, climate, vegetation, strange plants and trees, strange men, dresses, religions, modes of building, strange customs, and, more than all, strange speech, awaken every moment those feelings, which made the romans denominate the strange host by a word, that implies an enemy. at every step nature puts on new forms of hostility, and warns him against uncalled espionage of her privacy, and familiarity with her secrets. his weary steps, his worn down horse or mule, furnish no facilities of escape from those combinations of danger that imagination so readily creates, where they do not really exist. a whole community, with all their innate and national likes and dislikes, are always ready to yield to the natural human repugnance to whatever is a departure from its own ways, and to make a war of extermination upon the defenceless and desolate strangers. the ancient bard admired the temerity of { } those, who first dared, with only a thin plank to interpose, between them and death, to commit themselves to the winds and waves. if we viewed the daring in all its aspects and bearings it would furnish equal ground for admiration, to contemplate one or a few solitary travellers setting forth on a journey of a thousand leagues, through strange countries, among people at war with each other, and in language, manners and religion furnished with a radical and unchangeable ground of jealousy, dislike and hostility. how happens it, under such circumstances, that men ever break the tender ties, the natural and strong charities of home, and go far away, to enter askance, embarrassed and afraid, the habitation of the stranger, knowing nothing of his language and character, and only knowing that the stranger has a religion and customs, not only different, but hostile? the love of gain, curiosity, the disposition to meet adventures, and the wandering protuberance can only furnish adequate motives.--we believe, that americans, and particularly the new englanders have more ample endowments of these combinations, than any other people. if we have ever for a moment given place to the traveller's vanity, in thinking, that in visiting some new and distant region, we had achieved an exploit,--on reaching the desired point, that vanity has been instantly corrected by finding compatriots there before us, who seemed quite at home, and wholly unconscious, that the attainment of their new domicil had given them any claims to celebrity. we were recently indulged with the reading of a manuscript journal of an overland tour from jackson, in tennessee, by way of memphis, the arkansas, and one of its long and undescribed branches, over the wide prairies to the mountains that separate between our territory and that of new mexico; to santa fe and the towns in that vicinity; and thence back, over the arid plains between santa fe and the council bluffs, on the missouri. the caravan noted in their journal, as a common matter, that their trip had extended between five and six thousand miles. it was not a little amusing, or furnishing moderate excitement of interest and play of the imagination, to become { } acquainted with the thoughts of these hardy denizens of the forests of tennessee, as they first emerged from the dark woods upon the ocean prairies of the arkansas. their reasonings upon the strange country over which they past, in one place covered with countless buffaloes, in another with moving sands, and still in another offering the temperature of winter in summer, in parallels south of their nativity; upon the different soils, temperatures and configurations of the country, have an intrinsic interest. they are not the reasonings of cosmogonists, or geologists, or chemists, or botanists, or philosophers; but of men, who reason from first impressions,--who make short work of knotty and debateable points, and where they cannot untie the gordian knot, make no ceremony in cutting it with the hunter's knife. nothing could be more interesting, than to witness this little caravan surrounded by hordes of the ruthless red tartars of the desert, brandishing their lances on horseback, and scenting the plunder with panther keenness of instinct. forewarned by the fate of caravans that had preceded them, how little they had to hope, except from the fears of these ishmaelites, they poise themselves on their native intrepidity, arrange their little phalanx, and remind the classical reader of the deportment of the ten thousand amidst the strange and innumerable hordes of barbarians, through which, partly by battle, and partly by policy, they made their way. the interest does not diminish, when we see them intermix with the spanish strangers, equally ignorant and bigoted; the one calling in act cupidity and cunning, to countervail the cupidity and cunning of the other. what a spectacle must be furnished by the encounter of such a band with countless thousands of buffaloes! what scenes are witnessed in their encampments for a month, with no other itinerary, than the windings of an unknown river, the course of the planets, or the distant blue mountains, whose peaks yet want a name! how different their incidents, thoughts, views, food and rest--their nightly encamping and morning departure along the grass plains, that vision cannot measure, from the pursuits and themes of us, who dwell in towns! yet painful { } and laborious and hazardous as are these distant excursions, those who engage in them, soon acquire an invincible attachment to them, that renders all other pursuits in comparison stale and tedious! after wandering six or eight weeks over these prairies, living on buffalo meat without bread or salt, and begrimmed with grease, smoke and the fine dust of the prairies to a brotherly resemblance with the red men, and not at all particular about making their toilet of a dress, which in the first instance smacked nothing of dandyism, nothing can be more amusing, than their ablutions, and beautifyings, and conversations, as, in a mountain-bounded vale, with a rivulet for mirror, they talk of the spanish beauties, and lustrate and prepare for entering upon the scene of their profits and conquests. in an article before us, we propose to take a brief survey of the journal of dr. willard, an amiable and very correct young man, now residing in our city, and calculating to become a permanent inhabitant, of a journey to the interior of new mexico, and a residence for some years in the interior, and, more than all, a descent of the rio del norte from its head springs to matamoras, at its mouth,--an immense extent of interesting country, as far as our reading extends, wholly unexplored. our regret is equal to his own, that while passing down this long, interesting and undescribed river, he had not been more particular in noting the physical aspect of the country, the character of the soil and productions, animal and vegetable, on his route. but, not contemplating any thing beyond refreshing his own recollections, by noting down obvious and diurnal facts and incidents, the journal wants that fulness and variety, which he would probably give to it, were he privileged to travel over the same ground again. how much it is to be desired, that travellers should remember, while traversing new and unexplored regions, that what may seem trivial and common, while under the eye, will assume a different interest and importance, when surveyed anew by memory. no journal of travels in a new country can be uninteresting, so that the traveller is full and faithful in noting { } down, in the freshness of vision and actual occurrence, what is passing and spread under his eye. dr. willard was a citizen of st. charles, on the missouri; and joined a missouri caravan to new mexico, as it appears, with mixed inducements. he had something of the common american propensity to seek his fortune; and seems to have been disposed to make his _debut_ and perform his first quarantine among the spaniards, choosing to make his first experiment in spoiling the tents of the philistine, rather than the children of his own people. dr. willard left st. charles, may , . the caravan consisted of thirty-three persons. he had not journeyed beyond the settlements of the missouri until the th, when he records in his tablets, that he slept under a tent for the first time in his life. the greater part of the long distance between st. charles and the mountains at the sources of the arkansas, is a country of rolling prairies, until we reach the great plains of the arkansas, generally covered with grass, and of but moderate fertility. a narrow belt of the last portion of the distance is not unlike the deserts of arabia,--a sterile plain of sand heaps, with but here and there a few of the hardier weeds and plants, which seem to have settled here, as outcasts from more fertile and genial regions. the route, laying across the head sources of the larger rivers of the missouri and arkansas, traverses but few rivers or creeks, that are not fordable.[ ] although it has the reputation of being an exceedingly arid region, one of the most frequent occurrences noted in his journal, is being drenched with rains. on the d, he remarks, that the earth, over which they travelled, was completely saturated with rain; it having rained every day, save two, since their departure. another occurrence, which we have noted in all similar journals, and one of the most unpleasant character, is the escape, or what is called the breaking away of the horses. one mode of securing them on these boundless grass plains is technically called 'hoppling'--we imagine a corruption of the word 'hobbling.' the fore and hind legs of the horse are fastened by a kind of fetter, generally { } of leather. horses accustomed to this kind of impediment can travel with ease far enough to feed; but with not sufficient facility to evade the owner. but the more general security is the feeling of companionship with each other, and with their owners, which these generous animals soon acquire; and which has so much influence, that affright, or the calls of wild horses, or some extraneous circumstance, is necessary to overcome it. but these circumstances frequently occur; and though the caravans have, or should have a guard of one eighth of the company, of sleepless vigilance, to guard against such disasters, it often happens, that the horses break away; and we can imagine few employments, except dunning and borrowing, more irksome and hopeless, than that of turning out upon the great buffalo pasture a thousand leagues by five hundred in extent, in pursuit of horses, which after all make it a matter of choice, even if discovered, whether they will be taken or not. but it so happens, that these animals, with the municipal habits of settled life, and certain remembrances of country and home, start back on the track of their outward march, and with their heads towards the natal spot; and from this circumstance it seldom happens, that, when overtaken by their owners, they are not persuaded to be retaken. on the d they see droves of elk, antelopes and deer; and of the latter kill two. here is the view of prairies boundless to vision, of only moderate fertility, but covered with grass, and adorned with a great variety of flowering plants. a number of ravines, filled with water, are crossed with difficulty. it is mentioned as a difficulty of frequent occurrence, that they could not find sufficient wood for cooking. th, see two droves of elk-- in each. some deer among them; of which one is killed. at night they encamp on the banks of a creek, supposed to be a branch of the verdigris of the arkansas. friday, th, depending on their guns, and game having failed, they start without breakfast. between and , a fine buck is killed; and they feast high again. this night encamped on the waters of the main verdigris.[ ] here they find a skirt { } of timber. among the plants are noted wild onion, hog potatoe, wild tansy, prickly pears, and a great variety of flowering plants and shrubs. it is recorded on the th, that they went three miles out of their way, to arrive at wood and water. on the th they encamped by a little cotton wood tree, the only one in sight on the plain. they cut it down for fuel. every one knows the difficulty of burning green cottonwood. the rains are still frequent. on the th they see the first signs of buffaloes. delighted with the fragrance of the flowering prairies over which they pass. on the st they passed mounds, composed of rocks resembling lumps of iron ore. they encamped on a small creek, skirted with a few lonely trees. june st, they discover buffaloes. he thinks that they could not have been less than , before noon. killed eight or ten. dine upon buffalo soup and steaks; which, although eaten without bread or salt, he considers delicious. continual exercise on horseback, and associations with the sterility and desolation of the desert, would probably render any food such. this day they passed a very large town, or community of the animals called prairie dogs (_arctomys ludoviciana_.) dr. willard describes them, as larger than they have been commonly represented, and of the size of a domestic cat. they considerably resemble a dog in appearance, except about the head, which bears a close analogy to that of the squirrel. their community contains some hundred burrows; the surface of their town being kept perfectly clean and smooth. on the eminences made by the dirt carried out of their burrows, they sit, and fiercely bark defiance at the approaching traveller. their form seems rather clumsy; and their hair is short, and of a light red color. in crossing the creek before them they found two buffaloes mired in the mud. they humanely endeavored to assist one of the unfortunate animals out, and restore him to his free plains; but he was spent; and drowned notwithstanding their efforts to disengage him. on the opposite shore of the creek, the buffaloes covered the plains, as far as their eyes could reach. wolves and antelopes were bounding among them in all directions. { } in the distance were red sand hills, which reflected the sun's rays, and seemed like a burning wall, bounding this magnificent park of nature. on the th they passed several dog towns; fed upon buffaloe flesh; and found no other material for fuel, but the dried manure of the animal. on the th they reached the main arkansas; which they found nearly half a mile wide, although it must have been, by its meanders, , miles from its mouth. the velocity of the river at this point was from three to three and a half miles an hour. the western reader will not need to be informed, that this is the full width, and more than the velocity of the river at its mouth. he found the waters potable; which it is well known, they are not in its lower courses. an unpleasant accident occurred here. in firing upon droves of buffaloes, they turned them out of their direction upon the course of the caravan. six pack horses broke from their ranks, probably in affright. after pursuing them ten miles, three were recovered. the other three, loaded with goods to the amount of three hundred dollars, and with clothing and provisions, were never recovered. a mr. andrews, of their company, who had gone out to hunt, was captured by the indians; and after being detained unharmed eight days, escaped from them, and overtook his company. on the th they crossed the arkansas, to hunt, and lay in a stock of provisions, on the opposite shore. on the th they left the arkansas; having thus far accomplished something more than twenty miles a day, on an average. hence they travelled, part of the way over sand hills, forty-five miles; in which distance they found some water, though it is commonly destitute. this brought them to the small river called the semirone.[ ] the d brought them to a fine spring, surrounded with huge rocky knobs, on which were interesting, ancient, indian fortifications. small timber, wild plumbs, grapes and currants skirt the borders; affording a charming variety to the eye, after the long and dreary expanse of prairie, which they had traversed. they inhaled the fragrance of various aromatic flowers, and { } listened to the singing of birds. they here left the small creek, called the semirone, upon which they had been travelling since they left the arkansas, and took their direction for the mountains. on the th the summits of the rocky mountains visible in the distance. on the th, mountains in view, white with snow, and supposed to be distant miles. passed a creek, which they judged to be a water of red river. the last day of june, they began to ascend the mountains. the latitude of their point of ascent is not laid down. but we should suppose their general course to have been west from the point, whence they started. this was an interesting point of their journey. from a vast expanse of naked plains they now began to ascend high mountains. alpine scenery surrounds them. they inhale a highly oxygenated atmosphere. the sighing of the wind in mountain pines and evergreens is heard, and they rapidly pass from the dominions of scorching summer to the cool and brisk spring breeze. the atmosphere is that of march, and the strawberries, and vegetation of a similar character, are in blossom. they here perform a lustration, preparatory to entering into the spanish settlements. they wash away the dirt and grease coated on them, during their long march over the hot and dusty plains, and put themselves in trim to show themselves in presence of people of a certain degree of civilization. here they met a party of ten or twelve spaniards, who had come out from taos to prevent them from smuggling their goods. their reception by the people would not furnish much interest in the description. we presume the chief effort between the parties was, to determine which should be most dextrous in circumventing the other. dr. willard boarded with a spaniard of the name of pablo sucero, at twelve dollars a month. the country hilly, mainly destitute of timber, and by no means fertile. the church is a large mud building; and the people do not seem to him to be very attentive to the ceremonial and duties of their religion. we think, the article would not be destitute of interest, if we { } were able to enter into ample details of dr. willard's residence among this people, where he remained two months, in the practice of physic. on the fourth of july, the american traders in that region, who then made a considerable of a showy concourse, turned out to celebrate the great festival of the natal day of their liberties. dr. willard prepared a flag with the american eagle. they went through their evolutions and firings much to the credit of their own patriotism; and no doubt, to the edification and delight of the good people, men, women and children, of taos. the people received them in the different quarters of the town with shouts of '_viva la republica!_' much of the journal is occupied with accounts of difficulties with the officers of the customs, in relation to the duties demanded by the spaniards upon their goods. dr. willard manifested a prudent regard to the observances of the catholic ceremonial; and was soon in full practice of physic among the people. among some hundreds of cases, which he records, there were all sorts of complaints, that flesh is heir to; and not a few bore evidence, that depravity had found its way, with its attendant penalties, to these remote recesses of the interior mountains, and among this simple and pastoral people, where such results ought not to have been expected. among other patients, he prescribes for the acknowledged concubine of a priest; and in another case, a reverend personage, sworn of course to celibacy, hesitated not to admit the claims of his offspring. some of his patients, as would be the case among us, disputed his charges. others in gratitude repaid him far beyond his claims. he seems to us to have been a very discreet and sober faced young gentleman, prudently disposed to consult _our lady of good counsel_; in other words, to keep professional secrets; for the ladies trusted him. the old ladies, in particular, gave him the masonic and confidential grip, advised him to shrive and take a conversion, marry a young lady of the country and become one of them. these amiable _old christians_ thought, no doubt, that a man can take a conversion when he chooses; and that nothing more is necessary, as many { } of our enlightened friends here believe, than to feel, that it was a point of interest to become a good catholic, really to become so. he very frequently attends _fandangoes_, which appear to be of a character similar to our country balls. his practice seems to have been constant and extensive. among his patients, he numbers priests, the governor, the military; young and old, male and female; and not a few indians, and among them some chiefs. he notes in his tablets very frequent attendance upon religious festivals; and they seemed to him poor and cheap shows, only capable of furnishing interest and curiosity for a people a little above the indians in point of refinement. though decent and respectful in his deportment, while among the people, and in view of the solemnities, he speaks of them with sufficient indifference, when away, and in communion with his own thoughts. he probably was not sufficiently aware of the influence of such a religion of forms and observances, in keeping in order a rude and ignorant people, who were incapable of a more spiritual service. however immoral they may have been with this superstition and these observances, we have no doubt, they would have been still more so without them. while dr. willard shows an evident disposition to think kindly and respectfully of the people, among whom he sojourned, it is obvious from various incidental circumstances, noted in the journal, that the fandangoes and evening amusements were conducted in a style of the coarsest simplicity,--removed, it is true far above the intercourse of their red neighbors, but probably quite as far from that of our people in the same condition. very few of the ladies were even tolerably pretty; and most of them were coarse, sufficiently forward, and not at all remarkable for attractions either of persons or manners. some few were delicate, and some even beautiful. from his recorded intercourse with the priests, it would seem, that he was almost uniformly treated with kindness and liberality. in fact, they evinced, so far as can be inferred from their deportment, a good degree of liberality. there can be little doubt, that the superstition of the people reacts upon them, { } and compels them to a seeming devotion to the formal and ceremonial part of their worship, from which they would gladly escape. with the progress of free inquiry, we confidently anticipate a consequent gradual triumph over the influence of bigotry. one trait among them is worthy of all praise--a simple, unostentatious and noble hospitality. it is recorded in dr. willard's tablets, that one day he dined with the governor; and on another was invited to spend the evening with some _donna_, or family of respectability; that his patients and friends often called upon him, to invite him to ride with them to this point and to that; and that a horse or carriage was always provided on such occasions. such hospitalities, it is true, are unexpensive in a country, where farmers have six or eight thousand horses or mules, forty thousand cattle, and twice as many sheep. but churlish and boorish people will always be inhospitable, cost the efforts to be otherwise little or much. this single trait in their character went far with us to conciliate kind feeling and good will towards them. writers on this country have generally represented its climate as variable and unequal. dr. willard found taos, sante fe and chihuahua to possess a very agreeable climate. it was never so warm there, as in some days of our summer. the temperature seemed to him equable, and seldom falling much below, or rising far above our temperate summer heat. the country suffers much from aridity, and the want of the shelter of our trees and noble forests. a few miserable, stinted shrubberies of a diminutive growth, like that which covers our shrub-oak plains, called musqueto wood, is only found at intervals. these countries are so elevated, that beyond ° north latitude, the ground is sometimes whitened with snow and frost. muriates of soda and lime, and nitrate of potash, and other saline substances, abound on the surface, and often so encrust the soil, as to bid defiance to cultivation. the mountains at the sources of the arkansas are sublime elevations. there are sometimes cultivable table summits on their peaks. that the soil is underlaid with strata of calcareous rock, is manifest from a very astonishing { } recorded phenomenon. in the rio del norte became dry for an extent of leagues. the water had sunk, and passed through subterranean channels, and so continued to flow for some weeks; when, no doubt, the chasm became choked, and the river resumed its former bed. among the most important indian tribes are the commanche, appache and navijo. they live on horseback, and keep the inhabitants constantly on the alert and alarm. they are the ishmaelites and tartars of these deserts. it seldom rains; and when rains happen, the spring of that country may be said to have commenced. the naked, red and rolling surface of the wide prairies, only limited by rude and rugged mountains, become at once covered with a tender and deep verdure. this spring happens in september. the whole country becomes as an ocean of verdure. few frosts occur. when the dry season returns, this grass may be said to be cured standing. the cattle feed and fatten upon it, when in its state of verdant tenderness. it afterwards sustains them as substantial hay. hence, and from the mildness and salubrity of the climate, and its destitution of storms, its advantages for a grazing and a shepherd's country. hence its infinite numbers of fine mules, horses, cattle and sheep; and hence, also, its innumerable droves of antelopes, deer and buffaloes. all cultivation is carried on only by artificial irrigation; and it seems wonderful, how providence has adapted a country, which could produce but few of the edible cerealia without it, for irrigation. abundant rains fall on the mountains; and the flush waters are collected in the rio del norte, which rolls down these arid plains in such a channel, and by such a gentle slope, that each of the inhabitants along this water course can command just as much water as his necessities of cultivation require. where the soil is fertile, it will naturally be imagined, how delightful and luxuriant those fields and gardens will be, when the owners can command just as frequent waterings as they choose. art works a miniature sample; but it has a neatness and finish, which we look for in vain in the great scale of nature's rough operations. in chihuahua, their trees, planted for ornament and shade, require to be irrigated; and a person { } is appointed by a municipality, whose business it is to take care of the trees, and see that they want not for water. of course, native trees can only be expected on the misty and cool tops of the hills, and near the constant moisture of streams and ponds. it will not be difficult to imagine, that in a very windy climate--and this is such,--where, too, it rains moderately only a few days in the year, they will have ample opportunities to know what dust means. but it so happens, that there is little travel,--little cause to break the sward, or disturb the tranquil monotony of nature; and the people have become accustomed to look on the brown-yellow and sear surface, during a great portion of the year, with the same patient composure of endurance, with which we regard the mud, desolation and frost of winter. these people live, as the honest irishman said of his farm on lake erie, "a thousand miles from home, and five hundred from any place!" they are nearly a thousand miles from matamoras, still farther from mexico; and as far from the settled parts of our country. the mail goes and returns, so as that an answer can be had from mexico in about two months. our municipal arts are almost unknown to them. they make whiskey it is true; but all the saw they know, and all the water or steam power, for making building plank, is the human steam power of a broadaxe, or an awkward hatchet, applied to the cloven sections of a log. it seems incredible, that such can be the state of the mechanic arts among a policed people, living under a government; but such is the fact. not a word need be said about the external improvement, the buildings, and finishings of dwellings, exterior and interior, when the plank are made with a broadaxe. yet dr. willard mentions a splendid stone church at chihuahua, which cost , dollars, was supported by corinthian pillars, and glittered with gilding. the houses in the towns are generally built of unburnt bricks; in many instances in the form of a parallelogram, or hollow square, making the fronts at once mural defences, and the fronts of dwellings. the floors are, for the most part, brick or composition,--that is { } to say, clay, lime, &c. pulverized, and cemented with blood, or other glutinous and sizy liquids. dr. willard's narrative incidentally brings to light, with a great degree of _naivete_, many of the interior lights and shades of their social intercourse and manners. nothing can well be imagined, more unlike ours; and yet there are many points of resemblance, in which all civilized people must possess a similarity of manners. it is wonderful, how, with their extreme bigotry, they could so readily have admitted an unknown stranger to their intimacy and confidence. they evidently are a dancing generation; for fandangoes are matters of very frequent occurrence. our young physician generally noted the presence of the minister at these places, which a reverend gentleman here has denominated 'squeezes,'--a word which, however, seems more vulgar and less respectable than fandango. upon surveying the state of society, and the progress of improvement, cultivation and refinement in these countries, we can hardly forbear something like a feeling of exultation, on comparing our condition with theirs. what an immense distance between the state of society in this place and chihuahua, a place of nearly half the size, and thrice the age, and the same distance from the sea! what would a cincinnatian think of building a house, if the planks were to be hewed from our oaks by a broadaxe? what a spectacle would be the state of things here to a citizen of that place! what surprise and astonishment would the _don creole_ of that country experience, if transported to lowell in massachusetts, with its million wheels flying in dizzying, and at first view, inexplicable confusion! yet they have mines innumerable, and ingots of silver; and one farmer owns ten thousand horses and mules,--and still sleeps under the puncture of fleas, on a wretched bed, supported upon an earth floor--without chairs, without hearths, and chimneys and fire places; in short, the lower classes dwell in habitations like the comfortless dens of indians. they want freedom. they want the collision of rival minds. they want liberty, that cannot be supplied either by constitutions, { } or laws, or enactments. so long as bigotry reigns, so long as the terrors of perdition are held up as determents from all freedom of thinking, and all mental elasticity, their condition cannot ameliorate. let a miserable, ignorant priest lay down the law, and prescribe just how men may think and act--when they shall go to church, and when stay at home--when they must stand, kneel, or sit, and we should soon be here the same mischievous grown up infants, that they seem to be, with all the appetites and passions and stubbornness of men, and all the mental laziness and imbecility of children. our free institutions are, no doubt, attended with their disadvantages; and there may be some peculiar pleasures belonging to such a state of society as exists at chihuahua. but with all the licentiousness of our press, with all the bitterness of the hundred tongues of calumny, with all our rivalry and competition, and disposition to pull each other down, that we may fill the vacancy, give us our free institutions, with all their scourges and all their curses; where men may be truly men; where the mind need not feel itself shut up between two adamantine walls; where no one need fear to think because a stupid doctor in divinity assures him he will be damned, if he dares to think. give us freedom, with all its appendant drawbacks. deliver us from the abominations of a dominant church establishment. deliver us from a submission, and a cringing conformity, which is not enjoined by the voluntary movement of a free mind, but which is extorted by a creed maker, armed with a little brief and bad authority. it seems to us, as if even the sincere prayers of the people, who are compelled by law to pray, could not ascend acceptably to him, whose only temple is the free heart. it is evident, that the hierarchy of new spain has received an incurable shock from the revolution there. but it has been grafted on the ignorance and bigotry of centuries. it operates as cause and effect, acting and reacting for its own benefit; and it will be ages to come, before its bad predominance will pass away. we would not be understood to object to the catholic church, as such. we believe it at present { } among the most tolerant and liberal churches; and they are wretchedly mistaken, who think, that bigotry belongs exclusively to that profession. it is a cheering consideration in our country, that the bigotry of one denomination neutralizes that of another; so that "all nature's discord makes all nature's peace." heaven defend us from a dominant religion, or a worship enforced by law! various spanish writers, malte-brun, humboldt, gen. pike, and others, have described this country superficially; gen. pike, perhaps, more satisfactorily, and more to the common apprehension, than any who preceded him. baron humboldt, only travelled it, and rapidly, in one direction.[ ] pike was a kind of a state prisoner, while in it, and was necessarily, much restricted in his means for making observations. perhaps no person has had more ample chances of this kind, than dr. willard. unfortunately, he was there with the feeling and temperament, which are usually appended to the people from his section of the country, and whose principle object is to secure, what the new englander calls the main chance. he now bitterly regrets, that he did not more highly appreciate, while he was in that interesting, and in a great measure undescribed and unexplored country, his opportunities to have made a book of travels of very high interest. as it was, he remained in the country nearly three years, made his first essays at operating on the living fibre among the new-mexicans, traversed the whole extent of country from taos to matamoras, a distance by the travelled line, of more than miles. he travelled leisurely, and at intervals, through the country, practising physic at the more important towns, making some stay at santa fe, chihuahua, monterey, saltilleo, maspimi, matamoras, &c. we note in his journal, which details the events and journeyings of each day, proofs of the hospitality of the higher classes of the citizens, and of the readiness of the people to trust themselves to an american stranger, who appears among them in the character of a physician, { } although they consider him a heretic. this is evidence conclusive of their deep respect for the supposed learning, acuteness and talents of the people from our division of the continent. he made money rapidly, as a physician among them. but it seems, he looked from the 'leeks and fleshpots' of this distant and strange country, with a filial remembrance, towards the common mother of us all, the land of his birth; and preferred to return, and encounter the scramble and competition of an over crowded profession, certainly with inferior prospects of present pecuniary advantage. we admire that feeling, in our countrymen, which prompts them, in remote and foreign lands, still to turn their thoughts towards home, as the place of the charities, views and motives, that render life desirable. a true hearted american, living or dying, as long as pulsation lasts, _dulces reminiscitur argos_. it will gratify the reader to learn, that our enterprising, modest and amiable traveller spoiled the philistines, in an honorable and honest way, of a sum of dollars, which to a young, sober and calculating new-englander, may be considered the embryo germ of a future fortune. we left him last at chihuahua. he left this place, august , . unfrequent as rains are, he records being wet with a shower on the way to san pablo. on the th, another shower is recorded. from these casual records, we should infer, that the aridity of the country has been overstated, as the records of rains occur in this journal almost as frequently, as they would in our country at the same period. the loss of four mules is mentioned on the night of the th. the loss of horses stolen is also mentioned, as a frequent occurrence. once or twice all his clothes, save those he wore, were taken off, during his sleep, at his place of encampment. it is noted often, as a circumstance of hardship, that he encamps at night without water; and, once or twice, that the beasts travel all day, without finding either grass, or other feed. frequent mention is made of _haciendas_, _ranchos_, and small villages. among them are noted vera cruz, san blas and san bernardo. he arrives at mapimi, september th. the night before his arrival his { } best horse was stolen. he stays on the th at san lorenzo, where the grape is cultivated to a considerable extent; wine, brandy, and dried fruit being important articles of their commerce. the large establishment here occupies from to hands. the whole of this magnificent and expensive establishment is owned by a young widow. he thinks the wine rich, and of a fine flavor, describing it, as having the sweetness of a greek wine. on the th he arrives at saltillio.[ ] this town he supposes to contain , souls; a great proportion of them indians. the valley, in which it is situated, he describes, as one great beauty; deeply verdant, and productive of rich fruits. it is surrounded by rugged and lofty mountains. great part of baring's famous purchase lies between paras and this place, a distance of miles. he considers the intermediate country by no means a fertile one. in all these places he meets americans, whom he names; and notes the places of their birth. on the st he records passing many fine farms, and in one instance a line of stone wall, laid perfectly regular and straight three miles in length, and enclosing a rich wheat field. there is little in the subsequent notes of the journal, which would so much interest the general reader, as the mass of information, thrown together in the notes upon the country, which follow. we recommend them to the attentive perusal of the reader, as we give them substantially in the author's own words. the reader will not find in them the manner of baron humboldt, or malte brun. they have no resemblance, either, to the remarks of gen. pike. but they have the piquancy and freshness of being the views of a shrewd, and intelligent young man, who had his eyes open, and was accustomed to make observations, although to make money was his first vocation. it is, perhaps, from views like the following, that we form more definite and adequate conceptions of a country, than from the scientific and ambitious writings of practised scholars, and travellers, who commence their career with the professed purpose to make a book. { } general aspect of the country embraced in a tour from council bluffs, mo. to santa fe, new-mexico, thence down the general course of the rio del norte to its mouth, comprising a distance of miles. the physical appearance of that part of the country, lying between the limits of missouri and the rocky mountains, is generally well known to be, comparatively speaking, an illimitable expanse of prairie. that portion of country, situated between the missouri and the head waters of the osage rivers, is considerably undulating; the lower situations of which abound, more or less, with timber, grass and small streams; the higher portions are usually covered with grass only. when arriving at the termination of this immense valley, we meet abruptly the rocky mountains, or the southern extremity of that chain so celebrated for eternal snows and rocks. these mountains are mostly covered with pines, some spruce, hemlock and white birch. on the top of the mountain we found several vallies abounding with natural meadow, and having the appearance of receiving daily showers and heavy dews. here the atmosphere was delightfully cool, while the plains on each side were so destitute of rain, as to render the air sultry, and to require irrigation for all the common products of agriculture. the province of new mexico is rather more mountainous, than that part formerly called new biscay, now state of chihuahua; but is interspersed with some rich vallies, particularly those bordering on the rio del norte. the city of santa fe is situated miles from the river, at the barren foot of a mountain. it was established about the beginning of the th century, and seems to have been formerly a place of considerable importance, as a rendezvous for troops. it now contains perhaps not far from two thousand souls, the most of whom have the appearance of penury. the mines in the neighborhood of santa fe were formerly worked, but are now abandoned. the principal articles of commerce are sheep, blankets, buffalo hides, and sometimes their meat and tallow, peltry, salt, and { } the common production of agriculture, as corn, wheat, beans, onions, &c. at the passo del norte, an important village, the grape is cultivated to a very considerable extent, of which they prepare excellent wine and brandy, making use of hides for mashing vats. for these articles they find market at santa fe and chihuahua. dried grapes, apples, onions, &c. are taken down in great abundance. chihuahua and its vicinity, with all the territory north of it, is supplied with salt from a lake in the neighborhood of the passo. there is, also, about two day's ride west of this place, an exceedingly rich copper mine, which was worked for many years by pablo guerra, an european spaniard, who realized some hundred _talegas_ [a bag of dollars] from its proceeds. in consequence of the late law of expulsion, he was obliged to relinquish it.[ ] it is now worked by two americans, mr. andrew curcier, a merchant in chihuahua, from philadelphia, and robt. mcknight, from st. louis, mo. a considerable amount of gold is found in this same mine; but, i believe, not incorporated with the copper. that part of the republic called sonora, bounded by the gulf of california, is celebrated for its rich mines of silver and gold. these metals, together with mules, horses, beeves, hides, and peltry, are exchanged for articles of merchandize, which are mostly supplied by the americans from missouri. they, however, procure some part by arrivals by sea in the port of guimus, situated on the gulf. it was in this part of the country that the indians were most troublesome, during my residence there. the tribe then hostile belonged to the _yacqui_ nation, united, i believe, to some of the navajo tribe; both of which are exceedingly numerous and rapacious. pitica, arrispe, and guimus are the principal towns or villages within that state. upper california apparently has but little correspondence with that, or any other country; as brave indian tribes inhabit the head of the gulf, the rio colorado and adjacent country, so { } that the inhabitants are in a measure cut off from correspondence with the rest of the world. chihuahua is an incorporated city of about nine thousand souls, and the largest north of durango. it is regularly laid out, but indifferently built; containing five or six churches, of which the paroque is splendid, it being constructed of hewn stone, from base to spire. the temple of guadaloupe, is also elegant but smaller. the numerous paintings, of course religious, which are suspended within, do honor to the nation in the art of painting; they being according to my taste, better executed, than the celebrated painting of mr. west at philadelphia. this town seems to have been established by the jesuits, at an early day; and located to suit the convenience of the mining country. there is yet remaining abundant evidence of their superior skill and perseverance, in the arts of building, mining, &c. the place now contains about thirty smelting furnaces, the most of which are generally in blast, and which, in the course of the year separate a great quantity of the precious metals. the most part of the ore smelted at this place is brought from la roche, some miles, over an exceedingly mountainous country. their only mode of transportation is on the back of mules, which are made to carry lbs. each. these loads produce from to and $ each, according to their quality. price of smelting per load is $ ; freight from to $ . this mineral is bought and sold at the mines, as an article of merchandise, according to its purity. in regard to manufactures, there are few in chihuahua; and, i believe, not many north of the city of mexico; though in this place there is no lack of carpenters, shoemakers, hatters, tailors, blacksmiths, jewellers and painters. but they are of the most ordinary kind. the city is under municipal regulation. a board of twelve alcaldes, constituting a junta, execute justice, according to common sense, and their notion of right and wrong, provided interest or partiality do not happen to preside.--law, i believe, is seldom consulted in matters of common place litigation. they, however, have higher tribunals to which appeals { } can be taken, and by which criminal causes are tried; but an appeal is almost an unheard of issue. the _carcel_ or jail, abounds with old and young, male and female, mostly committed under charges of theft, assassination and murder. the court recently ventured to pass sentence of death on a man between and years of age, after having acknowledged that he had committed ten murders; yet a great deal of commiseration was excited for his case by the priests and lower orders of society. they have now a workhouse, where all the lower classes of criminals are made to labor. the lawyers are few, as likewise the physicians; the former are commissioned by the general government, and allowed a salary of $ . their province seems to be to expound the law, or rather decide, as judges of it. all bonds, notes, agreements, &c. have to be passed under the official seal; and cost, according to the value, from / cents to eleven dollars, and the proceeds go to support the revenue. every village or settlement has its priest and alcalde. the former presides over their morals, and arrogates to himself the dictatorship of their consciences, while the latter wields the sceptre of civil justice, and decrees, and executes with all the dignity of a governor. if parties aggrieved enter a complaint, he dispatches a foot page with his official cane, which is a process of compulsion, or _forthwith_; and in case of non-compliance the party is made liable to a discretionary fine. although these modes of judicature may seem to us despotic yet they constitute, no doubt, the most salutary system for that people. in regard to their national constitution, they have copied it from ours, or nearly so, excepting religious intolerance. this they are aware, is anti-republican; and yet their universal and bigoted attachment to this faith, and their peculiar situation in a civil, religious, and military point of view, at the close of the revolution, seem to have demanded it. the constitution may be altered in the year , by the concurrence of two thirds of the members of congress; and at which time, it was expected by many, with whom i conversed, an attempt { } will be made to tolerate all religious denominations.[ ] their sources of revenue are the following; on all merchandize they impose an enormous duty. i think according to their last assessment, this duty is from to per cent. according to the species of goods. another very considerable revenue accrues from the culture and manufacture of cigars. this business is monopolized by the government, who furnish all parts of the republic with this the greatest of their luxuries. to give an idea of the quantity consumed in chihuahua, and the adjacent villages, i publish a note made at the time of my residence there, which states, that on the th october, , one caravan of mules brought to the custom house, cigars valued at $ , ; and that a few days after, another arrived and brought $ , more; and at the same time it was remarked by good judges, that it was but about half the quantity consumed in the year. this may be well imagined, when we consider, that all smoke, both old and young, male and female. the duties arising from the precious metals smelted, which are per cent., amount to something very considerable. all monies removed from one state to another are liable to per cent; and if taken out of the government, another / per cent. formerly each state claimed or per cent. on all merchandize, sold within its limits; but this tax was repealed more than a year ago; and was merged in the international duties. all produce of the farm, as beef, pork, grain, fruit, vegetables, &c. is subject to duty. and then comes the 'severest cut of all,' the _tithes_. thus the poor farmer may at once make up his mind to devote himself a willing slave to the minions of superstition and credulity. but oppression does not stop here. it may be traced through the minute ramnifications of all social and religious intercourse. to explain these bearings, it would be necessary to pause in these remarks, and notice such characteristics, as compose, or help to compose, a body politic; and which comprise a variety of materials, which directly or indirectly influence the happiness or prove the bane of society. in illustrating this hint, it will be necessary to pass in review a subject, which, though variously { } understood, is nevertheless sacred to every christian believer. i shall, therefore, aim at _due deference_ for _every_ religious sect; and particularly that one, of which i am about to speak. its claim i am assuredly not disposed to deny. but when i reflect on the situation of a people by nature free, and as a body, endowed with all the moral and physical advantages to make them great, wise, and happy, i can but enquire into the causes of the great and obvious distress, which pervades this fair portion of our continent. during my residence with that people, no situation could be better calculated than mine, to facilitate the objects of this enquiry. my profession naturally led me into the sphere of intimacy and confidence, which brought into view, the most generous and noble traits of the human mind; while, at the same time, i was obliged to witness with disgust, the thousand meannesses incident to human nature, which found their way through all the avenues of avarice, prejudice, interest and power. in the first place, we find them bound to observe all the enjoined feast days, amounting to more than one hundred, during which, they are not permitted to labor. among these, sundays are included. about fifty days in the year are devoted nominally to their patron saints. we will now suppose, that out of seven millions (the supposed amount of the population in mexico,) three sevenths are laborers, at the moderate price of twenty-five cents per day, the loss would amount to seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars; and in the course of a year, to thirty-seven million five hundred thousand dollars! added to this prodigality of time, no doubt some - / cents at least would be spent by each, by way of drinking, recreation, or otherwise, which would amount to thirty thousand dollars per day, and for the year, one million five hundred thousand dollars; making an aggregate of thirty-nine millions of dollars of lost time in this way to the community. added to this sum, would be the expense of rockets, illuminations, artificial bowers, church expenditures, civil and military uniforms, and a thousand other collateral expenses, that grow out of this established usage. { } this of itself would seem to be sufficient to impoverish a nation. but we have yet to consider a few other items; such as pertain to births, deaths, marriages, &c. &c. in regard to baptisms, i have often witnessed them, but am unacquainted with the expense. the ceremonies of a common marriage are not considered decent, unless they cost one hundred dollars; burials about the same price, though regulated by the style, number of priests, musicians, part of the _campo sato_, in which the interment is made, and the number of masses subsequently said, &c. the funeral rites of infants usually cost from dollars upwards. the high or low cross makes a great difference in the expense. all children who die before the age of accountability, are considered (and, i think, very properly) to have taken their departure for a better world. hence the supposed propriety of festivity and rejoicing at such obsequies, and a grave solemnity at those of adults. the most exhilarating music is played at the house of the little innocent sojourner, and also on the way to the potter's field, together with discharge of rockets, accompanied by a rabble of boys, paupers, mendicants and priests. it may not be uninteresting to notice some few of these civil and religious customs, inasmuch as they differ from our own; and border on what our people are apt to consider a puerile superstition. the greatest personage of their adoration, is called _nuestra senora de guadaloupe_, whom they esteem their patroness saint. she is said to have appeared near the city of mexico, soon after the conquest of cortez; calling herself by this name, and at the same time averring herself to be the true mary, mother of jesus. her appearance was made to a poor indian, who was civilized, and had some office in the church ceremonies. he was by her ordered to go to the bishop of mexico, and make known to him the wonderful apparition, and deliver him the following verbal message: 'that she had descended to the earth, the guardian protectress of that happy nation. that a temple must be built to her name in the vicinity of mexico, where her { } benign influence would be shed to the healing of the nation.' this command seems to have much surprised the poor native, who declined being the messenger of this heavenly mission, alleging his lowness of birth, and the probability of his being considered an impostor by the bishop, when stating a circumstance so contrary to the common order of things. whereupon she bade him not fear, but do as she should command him; and that she would suitably reward him. she then told him, that in order to convince the bishop, that the message was from heaven, he must go on to a neighboring mountain, where he should find in great abundance, a variety of blossoms, which at that time of the year, it being winter, could not naturally exist, and hence the evidence of a miracle. many more mysterious circumstances are related in the history of this renowned personage, comprising a very considerable volume. but it is sufficient to say, that the message was received, the temple erected on the spot by her pointed out; and that she is now the object of devotion, and made the principal object of their mediatorial rites. the anniversary of her appearance is the th of december, when a painting of her is taken from the temple, and carried to the _paroguia_, followed by a promiscuous procession. the next day she is returned to her temple; though there is always a duplicate representative kept at the church, which is carried out to visit the sick, and ward off disease. when any one falls sick, a greater or lesser catalogue of painted and wax images surround the patient's bed, which they almost incessantly implore. being naturally a credulous people, they place the most implicit confidence in all superiors; but more particularly in the priests and physicians. all such as are visited with sickness, usually meet with ample hospitality and commiseration. as it is a generally received opinion that the spanish character is fraught with stealth, jealousy, perfidy, rapine and murder, i feel it an incumbent duty to contradict, or rather palliate it in a great measure. i grant, we find this a predominant feature in the lower ranks of society, and too much countenanced by the { } higher order. but where is the country that is not more or less afflicted in the same way? even our own country is not without crimes from these sources. though they are not perpetrated with impunity, they are suffered to rankle in the bosom of society. so, while we there find the suspicious rabble of the community addicted to these vices, we oftener find them here confined to those who assume the importance of gentlemen, who openly or covertly practice their crimes under the protection of the public countenance. the spanish don is generally a high minded, honorable and dignified character, who would not descend to meanness. like all other nations, the people here watch their interest with tenacity. but so far as my experience goes, a respectable stranger meets with a hospitable reception, and is often loaded with favour. among the wealthy we not unfrequently find the liberal heart and hand, to as great an extent as any other part of america can boast. another beautiful trait in their character is a universal respect for seniority. thus you find the elder brother respected and obeyed; while the parents command the most profound reverence to the end of their life. common salutations are exceedingly cordial and polite. an embrace with the head uncovered, is the usual ceremony. if a servant is spoken to, he uncovers, before he makes his reply. thus you find the most illiterate heathen looking characters among them, well versed in etiquette. the stranger is struck with the great discrepancy of dress between the high and low classes; as the former abounds more or less, with gold lace or rich embroidery, and the latter, polished with smoke and grease, is little more than a blanket. as a people they seem to me to possess less versatility of genius, than perhaps, any other people. such traditions as their forefathers sanctioned, are in no case questioned; but remain incorporated with their religion. all their manual labor appears to be conducted in the ancient routine of almost savage simplicity; even their women, to this day, are made the efficient instruments in reducing all their maize to meal, of which their { } bread is mostly constituted. every other process of labour is conducted with equal embarrassment and disadvantage. having thus far hinted at their customs, i shall have to consider the country lying between chihuahua and the mouth of the rio del norte, both in a geographical and agricultural point of view. the reader will understand, that there is a great sameness in most of the mexican republic; as the general aspect is that of alternate low plains, high mountains of barren heaths, interspersed with arid plains, that would be productive, but for the want of seasonable rains, so necessary to fertility.--those mountains lying s. w. between chihuahua and the pacific, are said to be much higher and more productive of timber, having great supplies of rain. but in travelling from chihuahua to the atlantic coast, we seldom meet with water, more than once a day; and that furnished by trifling streams, or springs; and frequently from deep wells, where live a few shepherds, to water the flocks and sell water to passengers. on almost all the streams, we find more or less inhabitants, according to the advantages of water and soil. on the rivers st. pedro, conchez, guajaquilla, parral, napas, parras, pattas, santa catarina, &c. which are very small streams, we find more or less agriculture, conducted by irrigation, and for the most part, sufficient for the consumption of the inhabitants of the immediate vicinity. but the mining towns are mostly dependent on their supplies from abroad. santa cruz and st. pablo, sixty miles from chihuahua, on the river st. pedro, afford many good farms. parral, containing perhaps eight thousand, is altogether a mining town. st. bartolomeo and guajaquilla, miles south of chihuahua, containing two thousand souls, are mining villages, having some wealthy european spaniards, who were the proprietors of the mines, but who were about to leave the country under the late law of expulsion. in going from mapimi to parras, distance miles, we cross nassas, a small river which soon loses itself in a little lake. after crossing this river we enter extensive plains, as barren as { } the deserts of arabia. it was in these i travelled three successive days, without being able to procure my horses and mules a single feed, as the country was literally dried up. at parras i was delighted with the sudden change of scene. i should suppose this place and st. lorenzo, which are contiguous, might contain six or eight thousand inhabitants, who cultivate the grape in great abundance, supplying all the adjacent country as far as chihuahua and durango with the articles of wine, brandy, and all kinds of dried fruit. i here noticed one vineyard, of, i should judge, acres, owned by a young widow, which, together with the other farming departments, occupied laborers the year round. from this place to saltillio, distance miles, we passed over a broken and mostly sterile country. this is the tract purchased by the house of baring, london; said to contain , by not far from miles square, for which, i was informed by his principal overseer, living at pattas, he was to pay a little short of one million dollars, but had paid , , and refused further payment from some dispute about the title. the haciendas are all worked under his direction. saltillio is situated at the head of a large valley, affording a beautiful landscape, it being surrounded by a chain of picturesque mountains, which enclose the city, and an expanded series of cultivated farms. this place, i think something larger than chihuahua, and better built, constitutes the parogue, which is supposed to be the best of its size within the republic. a great portion of the population of saltillio, are civilized indians. they occupy a large suburb of the city, and merit no small applause for their industry and ingenuity. i was delighted while passing their neat and even elegant cottages. their little enclosures appeared teeming with verdure and fruit trees, which bespoke the frugal husbandman. i was pleased to observe the remarkable difference between the dress of these natives, and those of chihuahua. here were similar fashions, but under an entirely different aspect; the indian women were all clad in blue petticoats, { } a cotton _camisas_, with bosom and sleeves ruffled; then thrown gracefully over a blue and white striped _revoza_ or scarf, all of their own manufacture. these revozas they likewise manufacture of the common sewing silk, which they so variegate, as to throw their work, when finished, into beautiful uniform, fancy figures. these are worth from thirty to fifty dollars each.--blankets are also made in a similar manner and with equal elegance. their apparatus for each consists of a little more than a few rods and strings, with one end of their piece fastened to a permanent stake, set in the ground; while the other is fastened by a strap, that goes round their waist, that they constitute at least half of the loom. their position is that of a tailor, in which they sit, and fill in the various and beautiful colors, according to the sample before them. i here met with several french and american merchants, though none permanently settled. they were about leaving for durango and chihuahua. i was also visited by an italian, by the name of don jose rose, who had resided here for many years. it being friday, the market was destitute of meat, but said he, if there is any fish to be had, i shall expect you to dine with me; and i will let you know accordingly. it was not long before word came, that i should be expected precisely at o'clock, and to bring my comrade with me. accordingly, i waited on him at the time appointed, and sat down to a dinner served up in excellent style; and it concluded with a desert and wines of excellent quality. this gentleman (some forty-five years of age) had never seen proper to change a state of celibacy for that of a matrimonial life; but chose to govern alone his peaceful domicil in single blessedness. from saltillio to montelrey, or miles distance, we pass rinconada and santa catarina, which are small villages. the country is quite broken, rocky and sterile. at montelrey, i remained eight or ten days. this place is about the same importance as saltillio; but not quite so populous.[ ] they are both mostly built of stone; at this place the mountains diminish; and extensive valleys commence, here was a great abundance of { } oranges and lemons in their prime. in its vicinity the cane is cultivated largely, which supplies all the country to santa fe with the article of sugar. it was worth at this place from five to six cents per lb. according to quality. i also found several french and american merchants residing here, who spoke of it as only a tolerable place for business. i also became acquainted with col. guttierez, former governor of tamulipas, who now resides here in command over the troops. he spoke of himself, as having been the principal agent in the proscription of the emperor iturbide,[ ] which proceedings he gave me in detail; his appearance and manner clearly indicate military enthusiasm and promptitude of decision. his volatile and unsophisticated look and manner, reminded me of the celebrated _ringtail panther of missouri_. he certainly managed with great energy at that eventful crisis, when the fate of the nation depended on the decision of a moment. from montelrey to the coast the country lies exceedingly level, abounding more or less with musquito bushes, black ebony, and many other shrubs. in most part of the route the palm tree abounds, but they are much larger from saltillio east.--this tree seems to be of a character, partaking of the shrub and plant in point of consistence, and general appearance, growing from six to thirty feet high. the maguey, is a plant, that grows in many parts spontaneously, and from which they derive a liquor, called _pulk_, which is much used in large cities. they obtain this juice, by cutting off the plant, which is from six inches to eighteen in diameter; and at the same time they so excavate the stump, as that it will retain the juice, as it exudes upwards. this is afterwards laded out, and suffered to ferment for use. it is of this juice they make a kind of whiskey, called _vino meschal_. between montelrey and the rio del norte, we passed a few small villages, of which cadarota was the most considerable, it being a great sugar region. at quemargo, we struck the del norte, which i last saw at el passo, more than a thousand miles above. a great part of the river between these two points traverses { } a savage country. quemargo is something more than one hundred miles from the sea, and from which place to matamoras it is thinly settled. the village of matamoras, formerly called refugio, is forty miles from the harbour of brassos santiago;[ ] and stands immediately on the bank of the river, and is said to contain ten thousand inhabitants; but, i should think, not more than eight thousand. there are some two hundred americans and french in this place, most of whom are merchants and mechanics. they have erected several very good brick buildings, and the place begins to wear the aspect of enterprise. there is a company or two of mexican troops stationed here, which make great ado about nothing. a portion of them are kept at the brassos, to protect the custom-house, and prevent smuggling. but americans have seen too much territory, to be deterred from saving / per cent. either by stratagem or by bribery; both of which are easily practised with the unconscionable spaniard. in fact the american party is so strong in that place, that they do as they please. the consul (daniel w. smith) has great influence among them; as, whatever he says is law and gospel. in regard to the harbour, it is both ample and safe, when once entered; but of dangerous entrance, owing to the channel being shallow, say six or eight feet water. it nevertheless commands considerable commerce during the year. there has been little exported from this port, except during the last two or three years. since that, it has consisted mostly of passengers and their money: many of the european spaniards embarked from this port, carrying with them large fortunes of silver and gold, on which the ship masters impose a tax of one per cent. they likewise export some hides, horns, mules, ebony, and some colouring woods. but these exports bear but a small proportion to the amount of specie taken out. downfall of the fredonian republic[ ] we were removed scarcely a hundred miles from the scene, where was witnessed, during the past winter, the downfall of the fredonian republic. the crash, however appalling in our ears, at that distance, was hardly heard at washington, and if some better historian than ourselves, do not take the matter in hand, we fear that this catastrophe will perish from history. although we do not expect the fame, and do not gird ourselves for the task of the historian of '_the decline and fall of the roman empire_,' yet it was no unimportant business of the _original fifteen_, who upreared the pillars of this short lived empire. the fine country of texas beyond our western frontier, from its peculiar configuration, its vast prairies, its long range of sea coast, and its numerous rivers on the south, and its range of unexplored mountains on the north, and from its peculiar position between the settled countries of the united states on the one hand, and those of the mexican republic, beyond the rio del norte, on the other, will always be a resort for outlaws, and desperate speculators from our country. those who wish to get away from their conscience, and those who have visions of a _paradise in the wild_, in short, the 'moving generation' of the country will press to that region to find range. until the rio del norte be our boundary, or a chinese wall rise between the two states, or a continued line of military posts, interdicting transit, be kept up, it will be the refuge of negro-stealers, and the elysium of rogues. during the past winter, it witnessed the rise and fall of a republic, which numbered fifteen citizens, and endured fifty days. they must allow us in this country, to have a wonderful faculty to over-stocking all kinds { } of markets, with the articles which we furnish. every profession has three aspirants for one that is needed. we furnish more orations, than all the other people on the globe, and we overdo, and parody every thing, that is great and noble. we acknowledge, that the materials for this, our history, were no more than the common parlance of the people, the passing conversations of village news-mongers. we give as we have received. as we have understood it, a mr. edwards was the romulus of this new republic.[ ] he had somehow obtained, or imagined that he had obtained at mexico the conditional grant of some millions of acres, between the sabine, and the grant of col. austin.[ ] we saw multitudes of emigrants repairing to this land of promise. among others, there was a mr. chaplin, who, we believe, was a respectable man. he married a sister of edwards, a beautiful woman, over the events of whose life is spread no small coloring of romance. mr. chaplin was appointed by mr. edwards, the proprietor, and was elected by the people, chiefly americans, _alcaide_, and commandant of nacogdoches, the only place, that had any resemblance to a town in the country.[ ] it seems that the mexicans wanted to have a hand in the management of this business, and they appointed another _alcaide_, and commandant. hence arose a feud, and a collision of authorities between the old and the new '_residenters_.' the warm blood of the emigrants was roused. fifteen men, among them col. ligon, a man whom we had known elsewhere, in a respectable office and standing, took counsel from their free born minds, their stout hearts, and probably from the added influence of the cheering essence of the '_native_.' they repaired, on a set time, not without due pomp, and as they say, under desperate apprehensions of enormous bodily harm, to a stone house, the only one, we believe, of any consequence in the village. here they promulgated a declaration of independence, adopted national banners and insignia, swore the customary oaths, pledged their 'lives, their fortunes, and their sacred honor,' earnestly invoked the aid of their fellow citizens in the { } united states, formed their constitution, and appointed their officers; and the offices were so numerous, that, we believe, every citizen of the republic held at least one. the aid of another republic, a band of renegade cherokees, was invoked with as much form, as Æneas used in soliciting the alliance of evander. the chief of these indians was introduced under the most imposing formalities. among the names of the cherokee plenipotentiaries we observe the name of the thrice-famous _john dunn hunter_.[ ] the fredonians had expected aid from col. austin's settlement, about two hundred miles south west of them, on the brassos and colorado. not a few of the people of this colony were disposed to give in their adhesion to the new republic. but the shrewd col. austin was aware, on which side of the bread the butter lay, and he remained staunch in his loyalty to his adopted country. he issued a thundering proclamation, not unlike gen. hull's on the invasion of canada, inviting his people to range themselves under the standard of the mexican government. the cherokee chain parted its links, like _a rope of sand_. the '_fifteen_' had inadvertently caused the death of one man, and otherwise shed some blood by dint of fist. some of their more provident men said with the famous dutch refugee, 'timens lædi, his posteriora dedi.' in other words, made the best of their way east of the sabine. the mexicans embodied a small creole force, regained the '_stone house_,' and over-took some of the fredonians, wisely treating them with a lenity, which rather savoured of contempt. some of the first magistrates of the fallen republic, on regaining the eastern shore of the sabine, betook themselves to school-keeping, like dyonisius, exchanging the sceptre for a rod. the spanish vacher cracks his thong, as sonorously, and as carelessly, as before, and the surface of the vast prairies is at rest, like that of a lake, a few minutes after a projected stone has ruffled its sleeping waters. '_sic transit gloria mundi_.' { } mexico some account of its inhabitants, towns, productions, and natural curiosities [extracted from the universal geography.][ ] _moral qualities of the_ indians.--in his present condition, the mexican indian is grave, melancholy, and taciturn, as long as he is not under the influence of intoxicating liquors. this gravity is particularly remarkable in the children of indians, who, at the early age of four or five years, display infinitely greater intelligence and development of mind than the children of whites. they delight in throwing an air of mystery over their most trifling remarks. not a passion manifests itself in their features. at all times sombre, there is something terrific in the change, when he passes all at once from a state of absolute repose to violent and ungovernable agitation. the energy of his character, to which every shade of softness is unknown, habitually degenerates into ferocity. this is especially the case with the inhabitants of tlascala. in the midst of their degradation, the descendants of these republicans are still distinguished by a certain haughtiness with which they are inspired by the remembrance of their former greatness. the indigenous natives of mexico, like all other nations who have long groaned under civil and religious despotism, are attached, with an extreme degree of obstinacy, to their habits, their manners, and their opinions. _assimilation of their religious belief._--the introduction of christianity among them has scarcely produced any other effect than merely substituting new ceremonies, the symbols of a mild and humane religion,--for the ceremonies of a sanguinary worship. from the earliest periods, semibarbarous { } nations have received new laws, and new divinities from the hands of their conquerors. the indigenous and vanquished gods give place to foreign deities. indeed, in a mythology so complicated as that of the mexicans, it was easy to discover an affinity between the divinities of atzlan and those of the east. the holy spirit, for instance, was identified with the sacred eagle of the aztecs. the missionaries not only tolerated, they even favored this mixture of ideas, by which the christian worship became more speedily established. the english collector, mr. bullock, readily obtained leave from the clergy and authorities, in , to disinter and take casts from the image of the sanguinary goddess _teoyamiqui_.[ ] during the time it was exposed, he adds, "the court of the university was crowded with people, most of whom expressed the most decided anger and contempt. not so, however, all the indians. i attentively marked their countenances; not a smile escaped them, or even a word--all was silence and attention. in reply to a joke of one of the students, an old indian remarked, 'it is true we have three very good spanish gods, but we might still have been allowed to keep a few of those of our ancestors.' i was informed that chaplets of flowers had been placed on the figure by natives, who had stolen thither unseen, in the evening, for that purpose; a proof that notwithstanding the extreme diligence of the spanish clergy for years, there still remains some taint of heathen superstition among the descendants of the original inhabitants." yet it was, probably, a nobler impulse than superstition that wove the chaplet for the statue of teoyamiqui; rather that mystery of nature, by which she links the present to the past with veneration, and to the future with anxiety,--that awful reverence with which the rudest nations look back to their origin and ancestors, and which even now, among the most enlightened, still consecrates the relics of montmorillon and stonehenge. _their talent for painting and sculpture._--the mexicans have preserved a particular taste for painting and for the art of carving on stone and wood. it is truly astonishing to see what { } they are capable of executing with a bad knife, upon the hardest wood and stone. they exercise themselves in painting the images, and carving the statues of saints; but from a religious principle, they have continued too servilely intimate for years, the models which the europeans brought with them at the period of the original conquest. in mexico as well as in hindoostan, the faithful are not allowed to make the smallest change in their idols; every thing connected with the rites of the aztecs was subjugated to immutable laws. it is on this very account that the christian images have preserved in some degree, that stiffness and hardness of feature which characterised the hieroglyphical pictures of the age of montezuma. they display a great deal of aptitude for the exercise of the arts of imitation, and still greater for those of a purely mechanical nature. _want of imagination._--when an indian has attained a certain degree of cultivation, he shows great facility of acquiring information, a spirit of accuracy and precision, and a particular tendency to subtilize, or to seize on the minutest differences in objects that are to be compared with each other. he reasons coldly and with method; but he does not evince that activity of imagination, that lively freshness of sentiment, that art of creating and of producing, which characterises the people of europe, and many tribes of african negroes. the music and dancing of the indigenous natives partake of that want of cheerfulness which is so peculiar to them. their singing is of a melancholy description. more vivacity, however, is observed in their women than in their men; but they share the evils of that state of subjection to which the sex is condemned among most of those nations where civilization is still imperfect. in the dance women take no part; they are merely present for the sake of offering to the dancers the fermented drinks which they themselves had prepared. _their taste for flowers._--the mexican indians have likewise preserved the same taste for flowers that cortez noticed in his time. we are astonished to discover this taste, which, doubtless, { } indicates a taste for the beautiful, among a people in whom a sanguinary worship, and the frequency of human sacrifices, appear to have extinguished every feeling connected with sensibility of mind and the softer affections. in the great market of mexico, the native does not even sell fish, or ananas, or vegetables, or fermented liquor, without his shop being decked out with flowers, which are renewed every succeeding day. the indian shopkeeper appears seated behind a perfect entrenchment of verdure, and every thing around him wears an air of the most refined elegance. _wild indians._--the indian hunters, such as the _mecos_, the _apaches_, and the _lipans_, whom the spaniards comprehend under the denomination of _indios bravos_, and whose hordes, in their incursions, which are often made during night, infest the frontiers of new biscay, sonora, and new mexico, evince more activity of mind, and more strength of character, than the agricultural indians. some tribes have even language, the mechanism of which appears to prove the existence of ancient civilization. they have great difficulty in learning our european idioms, while, at the same time, they express themselves in their own with an extreme degree of facility. these same indian chiefs, whose gloomy taciturnity astonishes the observer, will hold a discourse of several hours, whenever any strong interest rouses them to break their habitual silence. _prerogatives of the_ whites.--the greater or less quantity of european blood, and the skin being more or less clear, are at once decisive of the consideration which a man enjoys in society and of the opinion which he entertains of himself. a white who rides barefooted, fancies that he belongs to the nobility of the country. colour even establishes a certain equality between those who, as every where happens where civilization is either a little advanced, or in a state of retrograde movement, take pleasure in refining on the prerogatives of race and origin.--when an individual of the lower orders enters into a dispute with one of the titled lords of the country, it is no unusual thing { } to hear him exclaim to the nobleman, "it is possible that you really thought yourself whiter than i am?" among the metis and mulattoes, there are many individuals who, by their colour, their physiognomy, and their intelligence, might be confounded with the spaniards; but the law keeps them down in a state of degradation and contempt. possessing an energetic and ardent character, these men of colour live in a state of constant irritation against the whites; and resentment too often hurries them into vengeance. it frequently occurs, too, that families who are suspected of being of mixed blood, claim, at the high court of justice, a declaration that they appertain to the whites. in this way, very dark colored mulattoes have had the address to get themselves _whitened_, according to the popular expression. when the judgment of the senses is too palpably in opposition to the solicitations of the applicant, he is forced to content himself with somewhat problematical terms; for, in that case, the sentence simply states, that "such and such individuals may _consider themselves as white_." new-mexico.--many french writers, and, among others, the abbe raynal, have spoken in pompous terms of what they term the _empire of new-mexico_;[ ] and they boast of its extent and riches. under this denomination they appear to comprehend all the countries between california and louisiana. but the true signification of this term is confined to a narrow province which, it is true, is leagues in length, but not more than thirty or forty in breadth. _towns._--this stripe of country, which borders the rio del norte, is thinly peopled; the town of _santa fe_ containing inhabitants; _albuquerque_, ; and _taos_, , comprise almost one-half of the population. the other half consists of poor colonists, whose scattered hamlets are frequently ravaged by the powerful tribes of indians who surround them, and overrun the province. it is true that the soil is amongst the finest and most fertile of spanish america. _productions._--wheat, maize, and delicious fruits, especially { } grapes, grow most abundantly. the environs of _passo-del-norte_, produce the most generous wines. the mountains are covered with pine trees, maples, and oaks. beasts of prey are met with in great numbers. there are also wild sheep, and particularly elks, or at least large deer, fully the size of a mule, with extremely long horns. according to the dictionary of _alcedo_,[ ] mines of tin have been discovered. there are several hot springs. rivers with a saline taste, indicate the existence of rich beds of rock-salt. _mountains._--the chain of mountains that border the eastern parts of new mexico, seem to be of a moderate degree of elevation. there is a pass through them, called the _puerto de don fernando_, by which the paducas have penetrated into new mexico.[ ] beyond this chain extend immense natural meadows, on which buffaloes and wild horses pasture in innumerable herds. the americans of the united states hunt these animals, and sometimes pursue them to the very gates of santa fe. the principal mountains coast rio del norte, following its western banks. some peaks, or _cerros_, are to be distinguished. further to the north, in the country of _nabaho_, the map of don alzate has traced mountains with flat summits, denominated in spanish _mesas_, that is, _tables_. _the apache indians._--the _apache_ indians originally inhabited the greater part of new mexico, and are still a warlike and industrious nation. these implacable enemies of the spaniards infest the whole eastern boundary of this country, from the black mountains to the confines of cohahuila, keeping the inhabitants of several provinces in an incessant state of alarm.--there has never been any thing but short skirmishes with them, and although their number has been considerably diminished by wars and frequent famine, the spaniards are obliged constantly to keep up an establishment of dragoons, for the purpose of escorting their caravans, protecting their villages, and repelling these attacks, which are perpetually renewed. at first the { } spaniards endeavoured to reduce to slavery those who, by the fate of war, fell into their hands; but seeing them indefatigably surmount every obstacle that opposed their return to their dear native mountains, their conquerors adopted the expedient of sending their prisoners to the island of cuba, where, from the change of climate, they speedily perished. no sooner were the apaches informed of this circumstance than they refused any longer either to give or receive quarter. from that moment none have ever been taken prisoners, except those who are surprised asleep, or disabled during the combat. _manner of making war._--the arrows of the apaches are three feet long, and are made of reed or cane, into which they sink a piece of hard-wood, with a point made of iron, bone, or stone. they shoot this weapon with such force, that at the distance of paces they can pierce a man. when the arrow is attempted to be drawn out of the wound, the wood detaches itself, and the point remains in the body. their second offensive weapon is a lance, fifteen feet long. when they charge the enemy they hold this lance with both hands above their head, and, at the same time, guide their horse by pressing him with their knees. many of them are armed with firelocks, which, as well as the ammunition, have been taken in battle from the spaniards, who never sell them any. the archers and fusileers combat on foot but the lancers are always on horseback. they make use of a buckler for defence. nothing can equal the impetuosity and address of their horsemen. they are thunderbolts, whose stroke it is impossible to parry or escape. we must cease to feel astonished at the invincible resistance which the apaches oppose to the spaniards, when we reflect on the fate to which they have subjected those other indians who have allowed themselves to be converted. _the intendency of mexico._--the intendency of _mexico_, the principal province of the empire of montezuma, formerly extended from one sea to the other; but the district of _panuco_, { } having been separated from it, it no longer reaches the gulf of mexico. the eastern part, situated on the plateau, contains several valleys of a round figure; in the centre of which there are lakes at present dried up, but waters appear formerly to have filled these basins. dry and deprived of its wood, this plateau is at once subject to an habitual aridity, and to sudden inundations, occasioned by heavy rains and the melting of the snow. generally speaking, the temperature is not so hot as it is in spain; in fact, it enjoys a perpetual spring. the mountains with which it is surrounded still abound in cedars and other lofty trees, in gums, drugs, salts, metallic productions, marble and precious stones. the flat country is covered the whole year through with delicate and exquisite fruits, lint, hemp, cotton, tobacco, aniseed, sugar, and cochineal, with which they support an extensive commerce. _natural curiosities._--besides the numerous volcanoes of which we have already spoken, some natural curiosities are met with. one of the most remarkable is the _ponte-dios_, or the bridge of god, a rock, under which the water has hollowed itself a canal, situated about one hundred miles to the southeast of mexico, near the village of molcaxac, on the deep river aquetoyac. along this natural bridge, the traveller may continue his journey as if he were on a high road. several cataracts present a romantic appearance. the great cavern of dante, traversed by a river; the porphyritic organ-pipes of actopan; and many other singular objects excite the astonishment of the traveller in this mountainous region, where he is obliged to cross foaming rivers upon bridges formed of the fruit of the _crescentia pinnata_, tied together with ropes of agava. _city of mexico._--on the very ridge of the great mexican plateau, a chain of porphyritic mountains encloses an oval valley, the general level of which is elevated feet above the surface of the ocean. five lakes fill the middle of this valley. to the north of the united lakes of xochimilco, and chalco, on the eastern side of the lake tezcuco, once stood the ancient { } city of _mexico_, to which the traveller arrived by causeways constructed on the shallow bottom of the lake. the new city, although placed on the same spot, is situated on firm ground, and at a considerable distance from the lakes, the waters of which have retired, and the town is still intersected by numerous canals, and the public edifices are erected on piles. the draining of the lakes is further continued, by means of a canal which has been opened for that purpose, through the mountains of sincoq, in order to protect the town from inundations. in many places however, the ground is still soft, and some buildings, amongst others the cathedral, have sunk six feet. the streets are wide and straight, but badly paved. the houses present a magnificent appearance, being built of porphyry and amygdaloid. several palaces and private mansions have a majestic effect, and its churches glitter with metallic riches. the cathedral surpasses, in this respect, all the churches in the world; the ballustrade which surrounds the great altar being composed of massive silver. a lamp of the same metal, is of so vast a size that three men go into it when it has to be cleaned; and it is enriched with lions' heads, and other ornaments, of pure gold. the statues of the virgin and the saints are either made of solid silver, or richly gilded, and ornamented with precious stones. palaces, mansions of great families, beautiful fountains, and extensive squares, adorn the interior of this city. to the north, near the suburbs, is the principal public promenade, or _alameda_. round this walk flows a rivulet, forming a fine square, in the middle of which there is a basin with a fountain. eight alleys of trees terminate here, in the figure of a star. but in consequence of an unfortunate proximity, immediately in front of alameda, the eye discovers the _quemadero_, a place where jews and other victims of the terrible inquisition, were burned alive. finis footnotes: [ ] timothy flint ( - ) was a native of reading, massachusetts. graduated from harvard college ( ), he became a congregational minister, and in went as a missionary to the far west. until his headquarters were at st. charles, missouri; in that year he descended the mississippi in a flatboat and settled in louisiana, conducting a seminary on lake pontchartrain. ill health compelled him to return to the north ( ), and thereafter he gave his attention to literature. for three years he edited the _western review_ at cincinnati; but later, removing to new york ( ), conducted the _knickerbocker magazine_. in addition to publishing a number of romances and biographies of western life, he was the author of two well-known books on the west: _recollections of the last ten years passed in the valley of the mississippi_ ( ), and _condensed history and geography of the western states_ ( ).--ed. [ ] josiah stoddard johnston was born in salisbury, connecticut ( ), but when a small boy removed with his parents to washington, kentucky. he was graduated from transylvania university ( ), and soon after began the practice of law in alexandria, a frontier village of louisiana. gaining reputation as a lawyer, he served as district judge from - , was elected to the th congress, and in became a member of the federal senate, where he supported a protective tariff and the other measures advocated by henry clay. in , johnston was killed in the explosion of the steamboat "lyon," on red river.--ed. [ ] james riley (born in connecticut, , died at sea, ) was a sea captain, who experienced some romantic adventures. in he sailed from hartford on the brig "commerce," was shipwrecked on the coast of africa, and for eighteen months held as a slave by the arabs until ransomed by the british consul at mogadove. in , anthony bleecker published from riley's journals _an authentic narrative of the loss of the american brig commerce, on the western coast of africa, in the month of august, ... with a description of tombuctoo_. the book had a wide circulation both in england and america, but until other survivors of the vessel returned and confirmed the account, was popularly supposed to be fictitious. in riley settled in van wert county, ohio, founding the town of willshire, and in was elected to the legislature. he resumed a seafaring life ( ), and an account of his later voyages and adventures was published by his son (columbus, ).--ed. [ ] this station, five miles northeast of lexington, had been established in by four bryan (later, bryant) brothers from north carolina, one of whom married a sister of daniel boone. it contained about forty cabins in when, august , it was attacked by a force of canadians and indians under the leadership of simon girty. failing to draw the men out of the stockade, as had been planned, the indians besieged the station until the following day, when they withdrew. for a full account, see ranck, "story of bryant's station," filson club _publications_, xii.--ed. [ ] for a brief sketch of colonel benjamin logan, see a. michaux's _travels_, volume iii of our series, p. , note .--ed. [ ] an account of the battle of the blue licks may be found in cuming's _tour_, in our volume iv, pp. , .--ed. [ ] this expedition, to avenge the battle of the blue licks and the attack on bryant's station, rendezvoused at the mouth of the licking. a force of a thousand mounted riflemen under george rogers clark marched thence against the shawnee towns in the neighborhood of the present chillicothe. these were completely destroyed, the expedition meeting with no resistance.--ed. [ ] a footnote cannot do justice to the services of general george rogers clark in western history. born in albemarle county, virginia ( ), he became a surveyor on the upper ohio. serving in dunmore's campaign in , the following year he settled in kentucky. returning to virginia to urge upon the legislature the conquest of the illinois territory, he was made a lieutenant-colonel and authorized to raise troops for the undertaking. june , , he set out from the falls of the ohio, upon his memorable campaign, capturing kaskaskia july , and vincennes the following february. see thwaites, _how george rogers clark won the northwest, etc._ (chicago, ). the attack upon the shawnee towns in was his last important work; an expedition up the wabash against detroit, was undertaken in ; but part of the troops mutinied, and clark was forced to turn back before reaching his destination. he died at his sister's home, "locust grove," near louisville, in february, .--ed. [ ] the war with the sauk and foxes was part of the general war of - . these indians had in signed a treaty at st. louis, by which they surrendered all their lands in illinois and wisconsin. but the cession was repudiated by the rock river band of the united tribes, who eagerly joined with the british in the hope of saving their hunting grounds. the noted warrior black hawk accepted a commission in the british army.--ed. [ ] for the early history of st. charles, see bradbury's _travels_, volume v of our series, p. , note .--ed. [ ] cap-au-gris is situated on the mississippi a few miles above the mouth of cuivre river. in fort howard was erected near that point, for the protection of the missouri frontier; its name was in honor of the governor, benjamin howard. fort howard was a shipping port of some importance until the advent of the railroads into that region, but it now exists only in name. the event here related was an attack upon fort howard by black hawk and his band, immediately after the siege of fort meigs (july, ).--ed. [ ] fort bellefontaine was established ( ) by general james wilkinson, governor of louisiana, on the site of an old spanish fort named charles the prince. it was on the missouri river, four miles above its junction with the mississippi, and was occupied by united states troops until the construction of jefferson barracks in . for further details, see thwaites, _original journals of the lewis and clark expedition_, v, p. , note .--ed. [ ] thomas mcnair was a son of robert, a blacksmith living at troy, about eighteen miles west of cap-au-gris; and a nephew of alexander mcnair, governor of missouri ( - ). the family had emigrated to st. louis from dauphin county, pennsylvania, about .--ed. [ ] as pattie obtained his discharge in , he must have yielded his command to lieutenant john mcnair, brother of thomas, who was stationed at cap-au-gris during the latter part of the war. see goodspeed, _history of lincoln county, missouri_ (chicago, ), p. . the sauk and foxes signed a treaty of peace in may, , wherein they acknowledged the cession of ; but the consequent removal across the mississippi was one of the causes of the black hawk war ( ).--ed. [ ] gasconade river rises in southern missouri, and flowing northeast empties into the missouri about a hundred miles above the latter's junction with the mississippi.--ed. [ ] newport, now dundee, is a small town on the missouri, at the mouth of buffalo creek, some sixty miles above st. louis.--ed. [ ] this was an important place during the fur-trading era. it was more commonly known as bellevue, and was situated about nine miles above the mouth of the platte. the first post was established about , and soon passed into the control of the missouri fur company, under joshua pilcher--hence the name of pilcher's post. for a sketch of pilcher, see james's _long's expedition_, in our volume xiv, p. , note .--ed. [ ] chariton was about two hundred and twenty miles up the missouri, at the mouth of chariton river. in the sale of government land began in that region, and the town sprang up with extraordinary rapidity. many lots in st. louis were exchanged for lots in chariton, but the site of the latter is now a farm.--ed. [ ] this was cabanne's post, nine or ten miles (by land) above omaha. it was established about for the american fur company, by j. p. cabanne. he remained in charge until , and soon thereafter the company moved its trading station to bellevue.--ed. [ ] silvester pratte was born in st. louis ( ), the son of bernard pratte, a partner in the american fur company. he did not return from this expedition, but died in new mexico; see _post_.--ed. [ ] for the early history of council bluffs, see brackenridge's _journal_, volume vi of our series, p. , note .--ed. [ ] for elkhorn river, see james's _long's expedition_, in our volume xiv, p. , note .--ed. [ ] for the pawnee indians, consult brackenridge's _journal_, in our volume vi, p. , note .--ed. [ ] this is not the stream now known as the little platte, for which see james's _long's expedition_, in our volume xiv, p. , note . possibly it was maple creek, a stream which rises in the southern part of stanton county, nebraska, and flowing westward through dodge county joins the elkhorn nearly opposite the town of fontenelle. at the time of major long's expedition ( ), all the pawnee villages were situated within a few miles of each other, on the loup fork of the platte (see volume xv of our series, pp. - ), while pattie finds a republican pawnee village within a day's march of the elkhorn. probably this was but a temporary village, as colonel henry dodge ( ) and later travellers describe the location on the main platte (see _senate doc._, cong., sess., ). pattie is also the only person who mentions more than one republican pawnee village. it seems likely that he erroneously classed as republican the other pawnee villages, excepting that of the loups (which he mentions separately)--namely, the grand and the tapage villages.--ed. [ ] the definiteness with which pattie gives his dates, lends to his account an appearance of accuracy, which an examination of the narrative does not sustain. by his own enumeration of days after leaving council bluffs, this should be august . there is no indication that pattie kept a journal, or that he wrote any account of his travels before reaching california.--ed. [ ] for the pawnee loups see bradbury's _travels_, volume v of our series, p. , note . an account of the visit of the pawnee chiefs to washington may be found in faux's _journal_, volume xii of our series, pp. - .--ed. [ ] this is the golden eagle (_aquila chrysaëtos_). the tail-feathers are about a foot long, and were especially prized by the indians for decorative purposes.--ed. [ ] this animal is not, correctly speaking, an antelope, but constitutes a separate family. the scientific name, _antilocapra americana_, was assigned to it ( ) by the naturalist ord, upon data furnished by lewis and clark.--ed. [ ] for the cheyenne indians, see bradbury's _travels_, volume v of our series, p. , note .--ed. [ ] pattie is altogether too far north and west to meet the osage river. the distance from the platte makes it fairly certain that he was on the republican fork of the kansas. this stream rises in colorado, and flows eastward across the arid plains of southern nebraska as far as longitude °; it there enters the state of kansas, and following a southeasterly course unites with the smoky hill river at junction city, to form the kansas. its name arose from the fact that the village of the republican pawnee was located upon it until about , when these tribesmen joined the pawnee upon the platte.--ed. [ ] for a brief description of the arikara indians, see bradbury's _travels_, volume v of our series, p. , note .--ed. [ ] pattie's geography is confused by his apparent ignorance of the kansas and its branches. hyde park is probably a tributary of the republican--possibly beaver creek, which rises in western kansas and flowing northeasterly discharges into the republican in harlan county, nebraska.--ed. [ ] the journals of lewis and clark contain a good description of the prairie dog (_cynomys_ or _arctomys ludovicianus_). see thwaites, _original journals of the lewis and clark expedition_, index.--ed. [ ] a short account of the crow indians may be found in bradbury's _travels_, in our volume v, p. , note .--ed. [ ] pattie is still among the tributaries of the kansas. this must be the dividing ridge between the sources of the republican and smoky hill rivers.--ed. [ ] this is the grizzly bear (_ursus horribilis_), described satisfactorily for the first time by lewis and clark, who also called it the white bear.--ed. [ ] smoky hill river, the main southern fork of the kansas, takes its rise in colorado, and receiving numerous tributaries in its eastward course of nearly four hundred miles, unites with the republican, to form the kansas, about one hundred and twenty miles from the mouth of the latter.--ed. [ ] in cheyenne county, colorado.--ed. [ ] for the comanche indians, see james's _long's expedition_, in our volume xvi, p. , note .--ed. [ ] ietans (iotans) is another name for the comanche, the latter being originally the spanish appellation. see james's _long's expedition_, in our volume xiv, p. , note .--ed. [ ] the navaho indians are closely related to the apache, both belonging to the athabascan family. at this time they numbered nearly ten thousand people, their territory being west of the rio del norte, between the san juan river and latitude °. their manner of life was more settled than that of the comanche and apache; and the blankets they manufacture have gained a wide notoriety. they are now located, to the number of about one thousand five hundred, on the navaho reservation in northwest new mexico.--ed. [ ] manifestly a slip, since the subsequent dates show that it was the fifth of october.--ed. [ ] for the cimarron river, see nuttall's _journal_, volume xiii of our series, p. , note .--ed. [ ] san fernandez de taos was one of two small spanish towns in the fertile valley of taos, about seventy-five miles northeast of santa fé. this valley formed the mexican boundary for those who came up arkansas river, and crossed to new mexico from the north. the first spaniard to settle in taos valley, so far as records show, came about the middle of the eighteenth century; for his story, see gregg's _commerce of the prairies_, in our volume xx. fernandez de taos is at present the seat for taos county, with a population of fifteen hundred. see _report of the governor of new mexico to the secretary of the interior_ (washington, ), p. . the indian pueblo of taos, discovered in by barrionuevo, one of coronado's lieutenants, lies about three miles northwest of san fernandez, and has had a varied history. a franciscan mission was established here before , when was built the church which suffered bombardment from the american army in . the great pueblo revolt of was largely fomented at taos; and again, in , a half-breed from taos, josé gonzales, was the leader of a revolt against the mexican government. there is still a community of indians at this pueblo, where in the final stand was made against price's army.--ed. [ ] the rio del norte rises in the san juan mountains, in southwestern colorado. closely hemmed in by mountains, it flows almost directly south as far as el paso, where it reaches the plains and thence forms the western boundary of texas. from el paso it is called the rio grande, or rio bravo.--ed. [ ] pattie could not have passed the town of albuquerque, as that is seventy-five miles south of santa fé. he probably means abiquiu, a town on the chama, a western affluent of the rio del norte, and on the well-known trail leading from santa fé to los angeles, california. pike passed down the valley of the rio del norte ( ), and his descriptions of places and of mexico are as a whole valuable. see coues, _expeditions of zebulon m. pike_ (new york, ), ii.--ed. [ ] this was the mission of st. thomas de abiquiu.--ed. [ ] santa fé is one of the oldest towns within the present limits of the united states. the site was first visited by coronado in ; but the founding of the town was the work of oñate, who established the colony of new mexico in . the date of the founding of santa fé is uncertain, owing to the destruction of the records by the revolt of ; but it was sometime between and . by , santa fé had one thousand inhabitants; its first church was built on the site of the present cathedral, in - ; the ancient governmental palace, still existing, dates from the seventeenth century. in the spaniards were expelled, but twelve years later returned under diego de vargas. from that time to the present, santa fé has been continuously inhabited. in the eighteenth century, french traders found their way thither, and by the early nineteenth the american trade began. in , the mexican standard was raised over the town, and in general stephen w. kearny secured its surrender to the united states. santa fé has always been the capital of the territory. it has now ( ) a population of about eight thousand. at the time of pattie's visit the governor of new mexico, the first under republican rule, was bartolome baca.--ed. [ ] the rio pecus is the largest branch of the rio grande. rising in the santa fé mountains immediately east of santa fé, and following a south-southeast course for about eight hundred miles, it enters the rio grande in latitude ° '. the name is derived from an old pueblo, situated on one of the mountain tributaries about twenty-five miles southeast of santa fé. in this was the largest indian village in new mexico, containing a population of about two thousand souls; but the united states troops in found it desolate and in ruins. a small modern village has grown up near the ancient site.--ed. [ ] this small town, presumably to the east of santa fé, cannot be the well-known san juan, on the rio del norte opposite the mouth of the chama river and about thirty miles north of santa fé. this latter san juan was made the capital of new mexico by oñate in - , and so remained until the founding of santa fé.--ed. [ ] "the gila was known to the whites before the mississippi was discovered; it was long better known than the rio grande and down to the present century was far better known than the rio colorado."--(coues, _expeditions of zebulon m. pike_, ii, p. .) the first name, rio del nombre de jesus, was given to it by oñate in ; the present name dates from . the stream heads in the mountains of western new mexico, and traversing arizona empties into the colorado at fort yuma ( ° ' north latitude). see _post_, notes , .--ed. [ ] this name, meaning succor, was given by oñate to the indian pueblo of teipana, about eighty miles south of albuquerque, because of the supplies of maize furnished by the inhabitants on his expedition up the rio del norte ( - ). the old pueblo was destroyed in , and the modern town founded in . it is now the seat of socorro county, and contains over , inhabitants. the home of the spanish ex-governor and his daughter must have been in the neighborhood of the present city of albuquerque, the largest town in new mexico. pattie's course quite closely followed the line of the santa fé railroad.--ed. [ ] the mines were the well-known "santa rita de cobre," in the western angle of the sierra de mogoyon, near the headwaters of the gila and about one hundred miles west of the rio del norte. mexicans began to work them in . they proved very profitable (see _post_, p. ), although the difficulty of obtaining supplies was great, owing to the plundering apache. in these indians entirely cut off the supply trains, and the mines were abandoned. they were for a time ( ) the headquarters of the boundary commission for the united states and mexico. see bartlett, _personal narrative of explorations_ (new york, ), i, pp. - . mining was resumed in ; the property is now operated by the santa rita company, and is among the best equipped mines in the territory.--ed. [ ] the present name of this stream, one of the initial forks of the gila. the confluence is in arizona, a few miles over the new mexican border.--ed. [ ] the rocky mountain sheep (_ovis montana_) was well described by lewis and clark.--ed. [ ] there are at least three varieties of mesquit-tree (_prosopis_) in new mexico and arizona. it is related to the acacia and locust; and the fruit, consisting of ten or twelve beans in a sweet, pulpy pod, is gathered by the indians, pounded in a mortar, and made into bread. a prolific tree will yield ten bushels of beans in the hull. the comanche also concoct an intoxicating drink from this bean.--ed. [ ] the maguey is the american aloe (_agave americana_). the mexicans and indians cut off the leaves near the root, leaving a head the size of a large cabbage. the heads are placed in the ground, overlaid with earth, and for a day a fire is kept burning on top of them; they are then eaten, tasting something like a beet. the roasted heads are also placed in a bag made of hides, and allowed to ferment, producing the liquor known as "mescal."--ed. [ ] for the method of making a "cache," see thwaites, _original journals of the lewis and clark expedition_, index.--ed. [ ] this is apparently the giant cactus (_cereus giganteus_). the height to which it grows varies with the nature of the soil, the average being from twenty to thirty feet.--ed. [ ] the apache were long the scourge of new mexico, arizona, and northern mexico. living by plunder alone, they systematically robbed and killed spaniards, mexicans, and americans. they belong to the athabascan family, and comprise many tribes and sub-tribes. at present they number about six thousand souls, and are located on five different reservations.--ed. [ ] the red is here used as one of the rather infrequent names for the colorado.--ed. [ ] the mexican province of sonora had then nearly the same boundaries as now, save for a northern strip--the gadsden purchase--which was transferred to arizona in . along its northern frontier stretched a line of five forts, to protect the ranches and villages from apache raids. the tribe of indians which behaved so treacherously towards the french companions of pattie were the papago (papawar), who still inhabit this region, being herdsmen in southern arizona and northern sonora. see bandelier, "final report of investigations among the indians of the southwestern united states," american archæological institute papers, american series, iii, pp. - .--ed. [ ] this river is still called the black, but more frequently the salt. it is a considerable fork of the gila, uniting with it a short distance below phoenix, arizona. the left branch of the salt is the verde, the principal river of central arizona. pattie's geography is correct in describing the source of these two great streams.--ed. [ ] the habitat of the hopi indians (the more commonly-used moki is an opprobrious nickname), has been the same for two hundred years--a plateau in northeastern arizona, about fifty miles from the little colorado river. they are of shoshonean stock, but became separated from their kindred and established themselves in six pueblos, forming the tusayan confederacy. a seventh village was later added, composed of tañoan indians from the rio grande. these pueblos were visited by don pedro de tobar, a lieutenant of coronado, in . in they gave their formal allegiance to juan de oñate, who six years later again visited their country. they appear to have taken part in the rebellion of , being reconquered in - . a delegation visited santa fé in , and garces is known to have travelled to their villages in . with the rise of the apache the hopi were necessarily cut off from contact with the new mexicans, which accounts for their surprise at the appearance of pattie's comrades. for their present habits and customs, consult bandelier, "final report," _op. cit._, iii, iv; also bourke, _snake dance of the moquis of arizona_ (new york, ).--ed. [ ] the indians whom pattie meets in this region--the mohave, on the colorado, at the mouth of the mohave river; the yuma, or cuchans, at the mouth of the gila; the cocopa near the mouth of the colorado; and the coco-maricopa, or maricopa, along the southern bank of the gila--are the principal members of the yuman family, the three latter being originally united in a confederacy. they were generally hostile to americans, and forts yuma and mohave were erected to keep them in subjection. early travellers frequently commented upon their physical beauty, but contact with the whites rapidly pauperized and debauched them. at present some fifteen hundred mohave are located at the colorado river and san carlos reservations, in arizona; the yuma, to the number of about a thousand, are at the mission agency of california, and at san carlos; and about three hundred maricopa are living on the pima reservation, in arizona.--ed. [ ] this is now known as bill williams's fork. it is composed of two main branches, the santa maria and the big sandy, and drains west-central arizona, uniting with the colorado at the present aubrey city. the villages just passed were probably those of the coconino (properly havasupai), a distinct indian family, although speaking a yuman dialect. see bandelier, _op. cit._, iv, pp. - .--ed. [ ] pattie reaches at this point the fort of black cañon, and traverses the southern bank of the cañons of the colorado for their entire length, a distance which he accurately estimates at three hundred miles. apparently the beauty and wonder of the great chasm did not appeal to the weary traveller. the cañons of the colorado were first visited by garcia lopez de cardenas, of coronado's party, in . again, in , antonio de espejo reports his visit thither. it was two centuries before another white traveller is recorded as seeing the grand cañon of the colorado; and pattie is apparently the first known american to traverse its banks. in lieutenant ives ascended in a steamer as far as black cañon, and then proceeded overland to grand cañon; twelve years later major j. w. powell descended the entire gorge in boats; see dellenbaugh, _romance of the colorado river_ (new york, ). the cañons are now much frequented by tourists. see for example, monroe, "grand cañon of the colorado," in _atlantic monthly_, .--ed. [ ] for the shoshoni indians, see bradbury's _travels_, our volume v, p. , note . the river up which they trapped for two days was probably the little colorado, which comes in from the southeast. pattie's "north" is a misprint for "south."--ed. [ ] this was san juan river, which heads in northwest new mexico; entering southeastern utah, it passes around the base of mount navaho, and unites with the colorado in kane county. it formed the northern boundary of the navaho territory; see _ante_, note .--ed. [ ] as they held possession of the mountains of colorado, these were probably paiutes. the numerous tribes of ute are of shoshonean stock; they extended along the colorado river from california to its sources, and occupied nearly all of the present states of utah and nevada.--ed. [ ] pattie is not sufficiently definite for us to determine whether or not he crossed the divide by the now famous south pass, which was already known to rocky mountain trappers. according to coues (_henry-thompson journals_, ii, p. ), stuart, crooks, and four other astorians discovered it on an overland journey from astoria in . the fur-trader andrew henry passed through it in , but it was first made known to the world at large by john c. frémont ( ), and is in consequence most often associated with his name.--ed. [ ] for further information concerning long's peak, see james's _long's expedition_, volume xv of our series, p. , note .--ed. [ ] the bighorn is one of the three largest tributaries of the yellowstone. it rises in the shoshone and wind river mountains, in wyoming, and following a northerly course enters the yellowstone at about ° ' north latitude. at its mouth, manuel lisa established the first trading post on the yellowstone ( ). one of its branches has become famous as the scene of the custer massacre.--ed. [ ] for the yellowstone river, see bradbury's _travels_, volume v of our series, p. , note .--ed. [ ] a brief account of the flathead indians may be found in franchère's _narrative_, in our volume vi, p. , note . for the method of compressing the children's heads, consult illustration in thwaites,_ original journals of the lewis and clark expedition_, iv.--ed. [ ] on the return journey of the lewis and clark expedition, clark passed from the bitterroot fork of clark's branch of the columbia, across the continental divide, through gibbon's pass, thence by way of bozeman pass and jefferson and gallatin rivers to the yellowstone, reaching the latter near the present site of livingston, montana, about forty-five miles north of yellowstone park. see thwaites, _original journals of the lewis and clark expedition_, v, p. . there is at this point some strange mistake or hiatus in pattie's journal. clark's fork of the columbia takes its rise in the bitterroot mountains, and does not flow within a thousand miles of long's peak; nor would the time allowed--less than three weeks--have admitted of so extensive a journey. the trappers must have become confused among the northern rivers, and returned on their steps up the north fork of the platte.--ed. [ ] for the blackfeet indians, see bradbury's _travels_, volume v of our series, p. , note .--ed. [ ] the province of biscay was, properly speaking, nueva vizcaya. originally extensive, and including sonora, it by this time comprised only the present states of chihuahua and durango. hanas is doubtless janos (named for an indian tribe), one of the fortified towns of chihuahua, situated on the casas grandes river.--ed. [ ] the mountains crossed were the sierra madre. bavispe (barbisca) was a presidio in the northeastern part of sonora; it is situated on the river of the same name, one of the main forks of the yaqui, the largest sonoran river, which follows a southwest course and falls into the gulf of california below port-guaymas. the village was destroyed by an earthquake in may, .--ed. [ ] the yaquis indians, living along the yaqui river, have been difficult to keep in subjection; they revolted in , and again in . at present constituting the laboring class of sonora, although living apart from whites, in their own villages, they are much employed in the gold mines, in which sonora abounds, being one of the richest mining districts in the world. the mine described by pattie was evidently near the present village of tepache, northeast of the centre of the state, which is still strewn with abandoned shafts.--ed. [ ] sonora has had several capitals, and it is uncertain to which pattie here refers. the present executive town is hermosillo, on the sonora river. its earlier rival was ures, some miles up the same river.--ed. [ ] pattie sees here the gulf of california, whose principal port is still guaymas, with a population of about five thousand five hundred.--ed. [ ] the mexican revolt against spain began with the rising of hidalgo in , and was carried on with varying success until apparently quelled in . but the spanish revolution of was the signal for a new and successful outbreak, and mexico became independent the following year.--ed. [ ] these were probably the mines of cosihuiriachi, located in the sierra de metates, about ninety miles west of the capital of chihuahua. accidentally discovered at the end of the eighteenth century, they became highly profitable, the number of persons living there in spanish times being estimated at ten thousand. as in the case of the copper mines, the plundering of the apache caused a decline, and by most of them had been abandoned. for further details, see wislizenus, "a tour to northern mexico" (_senate misc._, cong., sess., , pp. - ).--ed. [ ] chihuahua, the capital of the state of that name, is attractively situated in a valley of the sierra madre mountains, about a hundred miles west of the rio grande river. it was settled about , the population being considerably greater in spanish than in mexican times. the most noteworthy building is the cathedral, perhaps the richest and most beautiful in mexico. a second large church was begun by the jesuits, but never completed; it served as a prison for the patriot hidalgo before his execution. see wislizenus, _op. cit._, pp. - .--ed. [ ] san buenaventura was originally a franciscan mission about a hundred and eighty miles northeast of chihuahua. it was frequently disturbed by apache attacks, and about was moved a short distance and made one of the frontier presidios.--ed. [ ] from its location this river would seem to be the santa maria, a small stream which rises in the mountains south of san buenaventura, and flowing northward loses itself in a lake not far from el paso.--ed. [ ] casas grandes is a short distance south of janos (see _ante_, note ). near the mexican village are the famous ruins of large, several-storied dwellings built by an indian tribe that has passed away. evidence of a canal which conveyed the water supply is also to be seen, and at some distance from the cluster of buildings is a kind of watch-tower. similar ruins have been discovered in arizona, all the work of pueblo indians, although of a tribe having attained a somewhat higher culture than those of to-day. see bandelier, "final report," iv, pp. - .--ed. [ ] the town of el paso dates from about , when the spanish were driven out of santa fé by the great pueblo revolt. for indian, trapper, trader, and miner it has been a gateway between the atlantic and pacific river systems. its name arose from the fact that there the rio del norte emerges from the mountains to the plains. the modern el paso, texas, is across the river from the old town.--ed. [ ] this is not the pacos (pecos), previously mentioned by pattie (see _ante_, note ), but the puerco, a western tributary of the rio del norte. puerco was also a common, though mistaken name, for the pecos, hence the confusion. the puerco is a narrow, shallow stream, about seventy-five miles in length, which, rising in the mountains west of santa fé and flowing southward, unites with the rio del norte a few miles above socorro.--ed. [ ] the mescalero were among the most treacherous and murderous tribes of the apache. their favorite haunts were the mountains bordering the rio del norte on the east. some five hundred of them are now on the mescalero reservation in new mexico.--ed. [ ] the mimbres river flows between mimbres mountain and the copper mines, being but a short distance from the latter.--ed. [ ] this is probably andrew henry, a pioneer trader on the missouri, for whom see our volume xv, p. , note .--ed. [ ] see _ante_, note .--ed. [ ] the jaguar (_felis onca_) most resembles the leopard of the old world. it inhabits the wooded parts of america, from texas to paraguay.--ed. [ ] for the cocopa indians, see _ante_, note . the pipi were probably pimi, a distinct linguistic family, occupying southern arizona and northern mexico. they lived a settled life in villages, and were generally well-disposed toward the whites.--ed. [ ] santa catalina was the last mission founded in lower california. it was established by the dominicans ( ) in the mountains, back from the coast, about latitude ° ', on the headwaters of river st. quentin.--ed. [ ] the mission of santo tomás de aquino was founded by the dominicans in . it is situated about fifty miles northwest of santa catalina, on a river to which it gives a name, rio santo tomas.--ed. [ ] san miguel, established in , is about thirty miles south of san diego.--ed. [ ] a presidio was established at san diego in , and troops stationed there. although not the capital at the time of pattie's imprisonment, governor echeandia preferred its climate to that of monterey, and made it his permanent residence. the present city of san diego dates only from , and is five or six miles distant from the old site.--ed. [ ] this account of captain bradshaw and the "franklin" does not agree in chronology with the evidence presented by bancroft from official sources (_history of california_, iii, pp. , ). the "franklin" escaped on july , bradshaw having been warned by a french captain that the governor intended to place a guard on board the vessel. pattie wrote from memory, some time after the occurrences, but except in the matter of time his evidence tallies with that of the mexican manuscripts, wherein his name is mentioned as interpreter.--ed. [ ] the names of pattie's companions appear in the archives, and are given by bancroft, _california_, iii, p. , as nathaniel pryor, richard laughlin, william pope, isaac slover, jesse ferguson, james puter. of these, the first is the name of one of the sergeants in the lewis and clark expedition, for whose earlier career see wheeler, _on the trail of lewis and clark_ (new york, ), i, pp. - . see also bancroft, iv, p. ; and vallejo, "ranch and mission days in alta california," in _century magazine_, xix, p. . most of them became residents of california; william pope gave his name to pope valley, napa county, where he lived and died.--ed. [ ] pattie elsewhere gives the name of this young woman who befriended him, as miss peaks. bancroft conjectures (_california_, ii, p. ) that she was señorita pico, sister of a sergeant by that name, figuring in the records of the time.--ed. [ ] for the career of charles (not james) lang, see bancroft, _op. cit._, iii, pp. , .--ed. [ ] the mission of san diego de alcala was the first of the franciscan establishments begun by father junipero serra in . in it was removed inland three miles from the presidio of the same name; and at the time of pattie's visit, it had attained the height of its prosperity. six years after it was founded ( ), an indian revolt occurred, in which there was bloodshed on both sides, and the church was burned and pillaged. it was re-established in , and six years later was built the church, of which little yet remains but the façade. remains of an aqueduct may also be traced, to whose use in irrigating pattie refers. on the entire subject of mission history, consult in addition to bancroft, and the standard histories, victor, "studies of the california missions" in _the californian_, v, vi; helen hunt jackson, "father junipero and his work," in _century_, iv, pp. - , - ; doyle, "missions of alta california," _ibid._, xix, pp. - ; jackson, _glimpses of california and the missions_ (boston, ); carter, _missions of nueva california_ (san francisco, ), and clinch, _california and its missions_, (san francisco, ).--ed. [ ] the mission of san luis rey de francia, situated on the coast, about eighty-five miles southeast from los angeles, was founded in , and named in honor of louis ix of france. the church, the largest among the missions, was completed in . at the time of pattie's visit, it was the most prosperous mission in california, possessing twenty-five thousand sheep and over two hundred thousand acres of land, on which were annually raised twelve thousand bushels of grain. the founder, padre antonio peyri, was still in charge, and to his fine character and administrative ability was due the success of the enterprise. the old church, the finest among the missions, was recently repaired and occupied by the franciscans, the dedication ( ) of the re-established mission taking place with much ceremony.--ed. [ ] this should be san juan capistrano; san juan bautista was further north, see note , below. this mission was founded with much difficulty, the indians being hostile, and upon the news of the revolt at san diego ( ) the first attempt was abandoned. the second ( ) was more successful, but the mission made but slow progress. its beautiful stone church was begun in , and dedicated in , only to be partially destroyed by the earthquake, to which pattie refers, in . the ruins of san juan capistrano are among the most beautiful of all the california missions; they are situated near a small town of that name, on the southern california railroad, fifty-eight miles southeast of los angeles. san gabriel was the fourth mission founded on the southern coast by the franciscans. it was established in , near san pedro bay, where had been recorded a miracle upon the unfurling of a banner bearing a painting of the virgin. somewhat later the mission was removed to the foothills, and being on the road from monterey to san diego, attained considerable wealth and importance. in the spanish government secured from this mission a forced loan of $ , in gold. the existing church of the mission is much visited, being but nine miles east of los angeles. san pedro was the port both of los angeles and the san gabriel mission. the bay was named by viscaino ( ), and next to the four presidial ports it was the most important on the coast, and the spot where much smuggling took place. in , during the american conquest of the province, a battle was fought not far from san pedro, between californians and americans; the latter under captain william mervine, were defeated.--ed. [ ] los angeles was the second pueblo (municipality) founded by the spaniards in upper california. a colony of forty-six persons came overland from mexico in , and established itself at this point (september ). by pattie's time the town had about eighty houses and seven hundred inhabitants. the ancient spanish church, facing the plaza in this city, dates from , eleven years being occupied in its building.--ed. [ ] the franciscans proposed to establish a chain of missions some distance inland from the coast. as part of this plan, was founded ( ) the mission of san fernando, twenty miles north of los angeles, named in honor of king ferdinand iii of spain ( - ). during the years - , it was in a flourishing condition, the warehouse containing merchandise to the value of $ , . the mission was sold ( ) to eulogio celis to help defray the expenses of the war with the united states, but the title was not sustained by the american courts. san fernando has suffered little from the hands of the restorer, the buildings belonging still to a ranch, and affording a good picture of the general aspect of a franciscan mission.--ed. [ ] soon after the founding of san diego, serra had wished to erect a mission in honor of san buenaventura. but various reasons hindered his purpose, which was not accomplished until ; it was the last mission erected during his lifetime. the church, the only building now standing, was begun in ; it was much damaged by the earthquake of , but later being repaired, now stands in the midst of the busy american city of ventura. the two friars who fled from this mission in january, , were ripoll and altmira, who went on board the "harbinger" at santa barbara, and never returned. it is believed they ultimately reached spain.--ed. [ ] the presidio of santa barbara, one of the four forts by which the spaniards held california, was founded in . the mission itself was not begun until four years later. it became one of the most important of all the missions, and by was wealthy. the church was so much damaged by the earthquake of that a new structure was erected, which to-day is in a perfect state of preservation, and one thoroughly typical of mission architecture. after secularization ( ), the mission was neglected for twenty years; but the franciscans again took possession of the property, and established a religious community therein, which is still maintained for the education of novitiates.--ed. [ ] by "st. enos," pattie refers to the mission of santa inez, the nineteenth to be established ( ), it being at first an offshoot of santa barbara. its first church was destroyed in the earthquake of ; the present building is plain and uninteresting. at santa inez was started the great indian revolt of . at the time of secularization it was one of the smaller missions, valued at only $ , . because of its inaccessibility within the santa inez mountains, forty miles from santa barbara, it is now little visited.--ed. [ ] pattie here makes a mistake in his itinerary. either he is referring to la purissima mission, established in (re-established ), on santa inez river, eighteen miles from the mission of that name, or he has misplaced his visit to santa cruz mission (founded ), north of monterey.--ed. [ ] san luis obispo was one of the early missions, being founded by serra in , about midway between monterey and santa barbara. its buildings were several times destroyed by fire, and its prosperity was of slower growth than that of the more southern missions. the present buildings, in the flourishing modern town of its name, retain but little of the early mission architecture, having been completely changed by frequent restorations.--ed. [ ] san miguel mission (in honor of michael the archangel) was founded in , in the valley of salinas river. the present church was begun in , and is chiefly interesting for its interior decoration, designed and executed by indians. pattie has here exaggerated the number of neophytes (or else this is a misprint), the largest enrollment in being , .--ed. [ ] it is evident, from the context, that pattie has transposed the names of the two missions, san juan bautista (see note ) and san antonio. it was the latter which he visited on the way to monterey. situated in the beautiful valley of the san antonio river, it was the third of all the missions founded by serra ( ). one of the most flourishing of the early missions, at the time of secularization it was valued at $ , . the present church dates from about . it is fast falling into ruin, owing to isolation and neglect.--ed. [ ] la soledad (our lady of solitude), founded in , was one of the smaller missions, thus pattie's numbers are incorrect. its buildings are now almost in ruins. the mission of san carlos was founded at the same time as the presidio of monterey; but the following year ( ) was removed several miles into the country, upon the carmelo river (named for the carmelite friar who visited this place in ); from its location, the mission was usually spoken of as carmel. it was the central mission, the home of the president, and was important rather from this fact and its neighborhood to monterey than from the number of its neophytes. in father junipero serra, founder of the missions, died, and was buried at this place. nearly a hundred years later his tomb was re-opened, and found intact. the present church, easily visited from monterey, was dedicated in ; restored in , it is still in good condition, and service is held there monthly.--ed. [ ] the harbor of monterey was discovered by the spanish expedition under cabrillo, in ; but rediscovered and named by viscaino, in . the first land expedition sent out from san diego ( ) failed to recognize the bay. the presidio was built in june of that year, and made the capital of the new province. it consisted of a stockaded enclosure, with cannon at the corners. by a stone wall had been built, and the safety of the place ensured. thenceforward, the history of monterey was the history of alta california. after the american conquest, it remained for many years a mexican town. see stevenson, "old pacific capital," in _across the plains_ (new york, ), pp. - . more recently, monterey has become a seaside resort.--ed. [ ] this was san juan bautista (see note ), whose site, thirty miles northeast of monterey, was chosen in . a mission was not founded there until , when was begun the chapel which was dedicated in ; it still stands, although much altered from its first appearance. music was a feature of san juan bautista; there is still to be seen within the building an old barrel organ which was made in england in . as this was a prosperous mission at the date of pattie's visit, no doubt his figures are correct. he omitted from his tour the northern missions of santa cruz, santa clara, san josé, san rafael archangel, and solano de sonoma.--ed. [ ] it is usually conceded that none of the early explorers--cabrillo, sir francis drake, or viscaino--sighted the present san francisco bay, although that name had been applied to the harborage under point reyes, now known as drake's bay. therefore it was the land expedition under portata ( - ), who first saw the southern shore of the great bay, and attempted to pass around it to old port san francisco. failing in this, the party turned back to monterey and were succeeded by two more exploring parties in and . the following year ( ) ayala first entered the bay from the ocean. serra had long wished to found a mission in honor of saint francis; he therefore besought a colony from mexico, to establish a presidio which should guard such an outlying mission. this being arranged, an expedition under the lead of moraga set forth in , and in september of that year formally installed the presidio, the mission being dedicated in october. the mission lay south of the fort, and is now included in the limits of the city, where the church (dedicated in ) still stands. it was never a prosperous mission, owing partly to the climate, and partly to the character of the indians. moraga continued as commandant of the presidio until his death in . fort san joaquin was finished in , when there was a total population of about one thousand. the united states flag was raised on the plaza in . under the spaniards, san francisco was always an outpost maintained for defense; its importance began with the discovery of gold in .--ed. [ ] the russian fur company, having under rezanof explored the coast in , desired to erect thereon a trading post, and in baranof dispatched an expedition to bodega bay. a site for the settlement was selected about eighteen miles above the bay, and a fort with ten cannons was erected, named ross. although the spanish officials protested against this occupation of their territory there was never an open collision, and the trade was profitable to the californians. the russian settlement was therefore maintained until , being then voluntarily abandoned.--ed. [ ] joaquin solis was a convict ranchero, living near monterey. he had served in the war of independence from spain, and had been sentenced to california for brutal crimes which were thus lightly punished because of his military services to the republic. for an account of this revolt, from manuscript sources, see bancroft, _california_, iii, pp. - . pattie's dates are erroneous, solis having left monterey for san francisco in november, .--ed. [ ] josé maria de echeandia was the first governor of california after it passed under the mexican government. a lieutenant-colonel in the army, he had been director of the college of engineers at the city of mexico, and arrived at san diego in october, , to assume his new official duties. by establishing his official residence at san diego, he gave offense to the montereyans, and thus promoted the solis revolt. his successor was appointed in , but did not assume office until january, . the same year, echeandia himself became concerned in a revolt which placed him practically at the head of the government in california until january , , when a new appointee arrived from mexico, bearing orders to echeandia to proceed thither. the latter thereupon sailed from san diego, may , , never again to visit california. he thereafter devoted his time to engineering duties, and is known to have been so occupied in , and to have died before . a somewhat indolent man, of infirm temper, he was nevertheless popular with the mexican party in california.--ed. [ ] captain john roger cooper was an american who in arrived in california from boston, master of the ship "rover." selling his vessel to the governor, he continued his trading voyages until , when he settled at monterey and turned merchant. being naturalized in , he became one of the well-known characters of the mexican capital. in , he returned to sea-faring, and continued therein for ten or eleven years more, returning to monterey as harbor-master in . he died at san francisco in . cooper's father-in-law was ignacio vallejo, one of the earliest and best known of the mexican residents. vallejo was born in guadalaxara ( ), of pure spanish descent, and went to california with the first expedition ( ); he died at monterey in . being the only civil engineer of the province, he devoted much time to irrigating works. see shinn, "pioneer spanish families in california," in _century magazine_, xix, pp. - .--ed. [ ] pattie's account of this interesting historical event seems in the main to be accurate, except in the matter of dates, in which his own narrative is inconsistent. bancroft appears to think that he deliberately falsified the account of the capture of solis, in order to exalt his own part therein.--ed. [ ] captain william s. hinckley was well known to the california coast, appearing there as master of a trading vessel in . he visited the same ports in - , and aided alvarado in his revolution of . for several years thereafter he was in trouble with the revenue agents at san francisco, charged with smuggling. becoming a permanent resident of that place in , he was naturalized, married, and made an alcalde, as well as captain of the port. he died just previous to the advent of the americans in .--ed. [ ] for another description of these fights, consult bidwell, "life in california before the gold discovery," in _century magazine_, xix, pp. - .--ed. [ ] for the later history of pattie's companions, see vallejo, "ranch and mission days in alta california," _ibid._, pp. - . bancroft possessed his letter written from mexico, june , ; see his _california_, iii, p. .--ed. [ ] anthony butler was a native of south carolina, who early in the nineteenth century removed to logan county, kentucky. in the war of - , he served first as lieutenant-colonel of the th infantry, then as colonel of the nd rifle corps, and was at new orleans with jackson, a warm personal friend. in - he served in his state legislature. upon jackson's accession to power, butler was appointed ( ) chargé d'affaires at mexico, where, already deeply involved in speculation in texan land-scrip, he attempted to secure annexation by various means not wholly reputable. having deceived jackson, and attempted to outwit the mexican ministers, his recall was demanded by santa anna ( ), but jackson had already dismissed him. see _memoirs of john quincy adams_, xi, pp. , .--ed. [ ] vicente guerrero was installed president of the mexican republic in . in the summer of that year the spanish sent an expedition to retake mexico, and he, espousing their cause, was granted dictatorial powers. the vice-president, anastasio bustamante, thereupon styled himself preserver of the constitution, and in december organized a revolt. guerrero fled from the capital, and in was captured and shot. bustamante remained president until , when a counter revolution, led by santa anna, drove him from power.--ed. [ ] although governor echeandia's successor was appointed in , he did not return to mexico until three years later. see note , _ante_.--ed. [ ] flint, the first editor of this volume, here refers to the previous publication of the succeeding article, entitled "inland trade with new mexico," in the periodical of which he was editor, _western monthly review_, ii, pp. , (april and may, ). this journal enjoyed but three years of life, the first number appearing in may, , the last in june, .--ed. [ ] for an account of the santa fé trail, along which this caravan passed, see gregg, _commerce of the prairies_, in our volumes xix and xx.--ed. [ ] for the verdigris river, see nuttall's _journal_, in our volume xiii, p. , note .--ed. [ ] this is the cimarron river, see note , _ante_.--ed. [ ] flint here refers to the most available authorities on mexico. conrad malte-brun was a danish geographer ( - ), banished from his native country because of zeal for french revolutionary ideas. settling in paris, he devoted himself to geographical sciences, and issued _précis de la géographie universelle_ (paris, - ), which went through many editions and was long accepted as a standard authority. alexander, baron von humboldt ( - ), was the most distinguished geographer of his time. his famous journey to south america and mexico ( - ) first made spanish america known to the world. armed with official permission from madrid his mexican journey lasted about a year, in which he made a large collection of historical and scientific facts. the journals of his travels were published as part of his thirty-volume work on new spain. he also published _essai politique sur le royaume du nouveau espagne_ (paris, ). for pike's work, see brackenridge's _journal_, in our volume vi, p. , note ; also note , _ante_.--ed. [ ] saltillo was founded in . during the war for independence this place suffered considerably, a battle being fought here in ; later, the town served as headquarters for the insurgents under jiminez. in general zachary taylor occupied the place without opposition.--ed. [ ] after the spanish attempt to recover mexico in , a law was passed by the republic, according to which all persons resident in the country, but born in spain, were expelled from mexican dominions. the mines were those of santa rita; see pp. , - , - , _ante_. the spanish owner there referred to as don francisco pablo de lagera, is the same person here mentioned.--ed. [ ] religious toleration was finally secured in mexico by the decree of pronouncing separation between church and state.--ed. [ ] monterey, the capital of the province of nuevo leon, was founded in , and named in honor of the fifth spanish viceroy of mexico. the town changed hands several times during the revolutionary struggle; but the important event of its history was the siege by the american army in september, . the place made a gallant defense, but finally capitulated upon honorable terms.--ed. [ ] agustin iturbide was a native of valladolid province, who entered the militia and rose to a colonelcy. in , as military chief, he succeeded in combining the various mexican parties, and drove the spanish viceroy and army from the country. he was hailed as "liberator," and shortly (may, ) had himself proclaimed emperor. but his arbitrary rule and the general desire for a republic, united his late allies against him, and in less than a year he was compelled to abdicate and submit to banishment. in he imprudently returned unheralded, being thereupon arrested and executed by the republican authorities.--ed. [ ] matamoras, the chief town on the lower rio grande, has been the theatre of many important historical events. upon the revolt of texas ( ) it was the base of supplies for the mexican army. taylor entered matamoras with the american army in june, . much of the contest over the franco-mexican invasion under maximilian, centred in this city, which was finally evacuated by the imperial army in june, . the revolution which placed president diaz in power, took its rise at matamoras ( ). brasos de santiago is on one of the coast islands at the mouth of the rio grande.--ed. [ ] the following article appeared in _western monthly review_, i, pp. - . modern historians do not discuss this movement with the persiflage and flippancy with which flint regards it. consult on this subject, garrison, _texas_ (boston, ); bancroft, _northern mexican states and texas_; foote, _texas and texans_ (phila., ); and winkler, "the cherokee indians in texas," in texas state historical association _quarterly_, vii, pp. - .--ed. [ ] hayden edwards was a kentuckian who had formerly lived near frankfort, in that state. removing with his family to louisiana, he was impressed by the colonizing opportunities offered in texas, and sought a grant of land. his first application at the capital of mexico was unsuccessful; later, he obtained a grant from the state government of coahuila and texas ( ). edwards was an honorable man, of strict moral character, and had embarked a considerable fortune in this enterprise. but he became involved in disputes with former mexican settlers and some american outlaws, who united in such representations to their government that the grant was arbitrarily revoked. edwards thereupon ( ) raised the standard of independence, expecting to be seconded by all the american colonists of texas, and by recruits from louisiana. flint was at this time a resident of louisiana, where he probably heard of the enterprise.--ed. [ ] for the originator of austin's colony in texas, see bradbury's _travels_, in our volume v, p. , note . his son, colonel stephen f. austin, had in large measure the qualities needed for successful colonization. obtaining a grant of land on the colorado and brazos rivers ( ) from the authorities of mexico, together with extended powers of government, austin laid the foundation for american expansion in texas. he died at his texan home in .--ed. [ ] chaplin was a son-in-law of edwards, not his brother-in-law. nacogdoches was one of the earliest spanish settlements of this region. in a mission was established in the near neighborhood, and by a few permanent inhabitants had collected in the locality. with the spanish acquisition of louisiana ( ), the place took on new consequence, emigrants from the former province were invited to remove thither under the official tenure of the commandant, gil y barbo, a man of energy and enterprise. under his rule was built ( ) the "stone house" which played a rôle in the history of fredonia, but has recently been razed. in , nacogdoches was fortified against american advance, and the following year is reported with five hundred inhabitants. during the mexican revolution, however, nacogdoches suffered severely, and after was wholly abandoned for several years. included in edwards's grant, the town became the rallying point both for the adherents and opponents of the fredonian republic. in nacogdoches was once more a battle-ground between the republican and monarchical forces of mexico. after texan independence ( ), its importance rapidly declined. it is now ( ) the seat of a county of that name, and has a population of about , .--ed. [ ] the career of john dunn hunter was a remarkable one, even if he be considered an impostor. according to his own statements, he was of white parentage, but captured when a child by indians, among whom he grew to manhood. abandoning his tribe in , he went to new orleans, placed himself in school, and acquired sufficient command of english to edit a book concerning his adventures. this was published under the title, _manners and customs of several indian tribes located west of the mississippi_ (philadelphia, ). the same year it was issued in london as _memoirs of a captivity among the indians of north america from childhood to the age of nineteen_. it was also translated into german and swedish. about this time hunter went to europe, and was lionized and praised in both london and paris. he gave it to be understood that his life work was to ameliorate the condition of the north american indians, and about went to texas and joined the band of cherokee located near nacogdoches. he remained true to his engagements with the fredonians, even after their cause began to decline, and was therefore shot by a renegade indian, under circumstances of considerable barbarity. american pioneers pronounced hunter an impostor, and his book a forgery. the evidence to that effect by lewis cass, william clark, and auguste chouteau seems conclusive. see _north american review_, xxii, p. .--ed. [ ] the following extract is from an english translation ( ) of malte-brun, _précis de la géographie universelle_; see note , _ante_.--ed. [ ] william bullock was an english traveller, naturalist, and antiquary who visited mexico in - , and returned with a collection of antiquities and curiosities which were exhibited in london. the following year ( ) he published _six months' residence and travels in mexico_. see our volume xix, preface.--ed. [ ] guillaume thomas françois raynal ( - ). the work here cited is _histoire philosophique et politique des établissements et du commerce des européens dans les deux indes_ (paris, ).--ed. [ ] antonio de alcedo y bexarano, a peruvian historian and soldier, published _diccionario geográfico-histórico de las indias occidentales_ (madrid, - ).--ed. [ ] for the paduca indians, see james's _long's expedition_, in our volume xiv, note . evidently the comanche are the tribe referred to in this passage.--ed. transcriber notes the text includes original edition page numbers in { }. the following original edition page numbers are not present in the text: {i}-{iii}, {vi}, {vii}, { }-{ }, { }-{ }, { }. footnotes in the text are in [ ]. italic text is denoted by _underscores_. obvious typographical and punctuation errors have been corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences within the text and consultation of external sources. inconsistent spelling of a word or word-pair within the text has been retained. for example, northwest north-west; gray grey; headwaters head waters. spelling has been left as found in the text, except for those changes noted below. pg 'thruogh' changed to 'through'. pg 'theherd' changed to 'the herd'. pg 'sometime' changed to 'some time'. pg 'jotans' changed to 'iotans'. pg apostrophe removed from 'dancers''. pg apostrophe removed from 'their's'. pg 'battlehill' changed to 'battle-hill'. pg 'couching' changed to 'crouching'. pg 'vachers' retained; probably vaqueros. pg 'taguarcha' changed to 'targuarcha'. pg 'at' inserted into 'gazing at me'. pg 'past' changed to 'passed'. pg 'ther' changed to 'their'. pg 'ther' changed to 'their'. pg bad end quote removed from 'executed.''. pg 'eply' changed to 'reply'; also 'beforet' changed to 'before'; also 'tha' changed to 'that'. pg { } changed to correct number { }. pg 'curlish' changed to 'churlish'. pg 'malte brun' changed to 'malte-brun'. pg redundant 'the' removed from 'of the _the decline ..._'. pg 'vacher' retained; probably vaquero. the white chief, a legend of northern mexico, by captain mayne reid. ________________________________________________________________________ an exciting and well-written book by mayne reid based on his experiences during the war between america and mexico in the s. reid took the title of "captain" because that was what his men called him during that war, although he was never promoted to that rank. the importance of reid's books with this background is that they were among the first in the wild west genre. ________________________________________________________________________ the white chief, a legend of northern mexico, by captain mayne reid. chapter one. deep in the interior of the american continent--more than a thousand miles from the shores of any sea--lies our scene. climb with me yonder mountain, and let us look from its summit of snow. we have reached its highest ridge. what do we behold? on the north a chaos of mountains, that continues on through thirty parallels to the shores of the arctic sea! on the south, the same mountains,--here running in separate sierras, and there knotting with each other. on the west, mountains again, profiled along the sky, and alternating with broad tables that stretch between their bases. now turn we around, and look eastward. not a mountain to be seen! far as the eye can reach, and a thousand miles farther, not a mountain. yonder dark line rising above the plain is but the rocky brow of another plain--a _steppe_ of higher elevation. where are we? on what summit are we standing? on the sierra blanca, known to the hunter as the "spanish peaks." we are upon the western rim of the _grand prairie_. looking eastward, the eye discovers no signs of civilisation. there _are_ none within a month's journeying. north and south,--mountains, mountains. westward, it is different. through the telescope we can see cultivated fields afar off,--a mere strip along the banks of a shining river. those are the settlements of nuevo mexico, an oasis irrigated by the rio del norte. the scene of our story lies not there. face once more to the eastward, and you have it before you. the mountain upon which we stand has its base upon a level plain that expands far to the east. there are no foot-hills. the plain and the mountain touch, and at a single step you pass from the naked turf of the one to the rocky and pine-clad declivities of the other. the aspect of the plain is varied. in some places it is green, where the gramma-grass has formed a sward; but in most parts it is sterile as the sahara. here it appears brown, where the sun-parched earth is bare; there it is of a sandy, yellowish hue; and yonder the salt effervescence renders it as white as the snow upon which we stand. the scant vegetation clothes it not in a livery of verdure. the leaves of the agave are mottled with scarlet, and the dull green of the cactus is still further obscured by its thickly-set spines. the blades of the yuccas are dimmed by dust, and resemble clusters of half-rusty bayonets; and the low scrubby copses of acacia scarce offer a shade to the dusky _agama_ and the ground rattlesnake. here and there a solitary palmetto, with branchless stem and tufted crown, gives an african aspect to the scene. the eye soon tires of a landscape where every object appears angular and thorny; and upon this plain, not only are the trees of that character, but the plants,--even the _very_ grass carries its thorns! with what sensations of pleasure we turn to gaze into a lovely valley, trending eastward from the base of the mountain! what a contrast to the arid plain! its surface is covered with a carpet of bright green, enamelled by flowers that gleam like many-coloured gems; while the cotton-wood, the wild-china-tree, the live-oak, and the willow, mingle their foliage in soft shady groves that seem to invite us. let us descend! we have reached the plain, yet the valley is still far beneath us--a thousand feet at the least--but, from a promontory of the bluff projecting over it, we command a view of its entire surface to the distance of many miles. it is a level like the plain above; and gazing down upon it, one might fancy it a portion of the latter that had sunk into the earth's crust, so as to come within the influence of a fertilising power denied to the higher region. on both sides of it, far as the eye can reach, run the bordering cliffs, stepping from one level to the other, by a thousand feet sheer, and only passable at certain points. there is a width of ten miles from cliff to cliff; and these, of equal height, seem the counterparts of each other. their grim savage fronts, overhanging the soft bright landscape of the valley, suggest the idea of a beautiful picture framed in rough oak-work. a stream, like a silver serpent, bisects the valley--not running in a straight course, but in luxuriant windings, as though it loved to tarry in the midst of that bright scene. its frequent curves and gentle current show that it passes over a surface almost plane. its banks are timbered, but not continuously. here the timber forms a wide belt, there only a fringe scarce shadowing the stream, and yonder the grassy turf can be distinguished running in to the very water's edge. copse-like groves are scattered over the ground. these are of varied forms; some perfectly circular, others oblong or oval, and others curving like the cornucopias of our gardens. detached trees meet the eye, whose full round tops show that nature has had her will in their development. the whole scene suggests the idea of some noble park, planted by design, with just timber enough to adorn the picture without concealing its beauties. is there no palace, no lordly mansion, to correspond? no. nor palace nor cottage sends up its smoke. no human form appears within this wild paradise. herds of deer roam over its surface, the stately elk reposes within the shade of its leafy groves, but no human being is there. perhaps the foot of man never-- stay! there is one by our side who tells a different tale. hear him. "that is the valley of san ildefonso." wild though it appears, it was once the abode of civilised man. near its centre you may note some irregular masses scattered over the ground. but for the trees and rank weeds that cover them, you might there behold the ruins of a city. "yes! on that spot once stood a town, large and prosperous. there was a _presidio_ with the flag of spain flying from its battlements; there was a grand mission-house of the jesuit padres; and dwellings of rich miners and `hacendados' studded the valley far above and below. a busy populace moved upon the scene; and all the passions of love and hate, ambition, avarice, and revenge, have had existence there. the hearts stirred by them are long since cold, and the actions to which they gave birth are not chronicled by human pen. they live only in legends that sound more like romance than real history. "and yet these legends are less than a century old! one century ago, from the summit of yonder mountain could have been seen, not only the settlement of san ildefonso, but a score of others--cities, and towns, and villages--where to-day the eye cannot trace a vestige of civilisation. even the names of these cities are forgotten, and their histories buried among their ruins! "the indian has wreaked his revenge upon the murderers of moctezuma! had the saxon permitted him to continue his war of retaliation, in one century more--nay, in half that time--the descendants of cortez and his conquerors would have disappeared from the land of anahuac! "listen to the `legend of san ildefonso'!" chapter two. perhaps in no country has religion so many devoted days as in mexico. the "fiestas" are supposed to have a good effect in christianising the natives, and the saints' calendar has been considerably enlarged in that pseudo-holy land. nearly every week supplies a festival, with all its mummery of banners, and processions, and priests dressed as if for the altar-scene in "pizarro," and squibs, and fireworks, and silly citizens kneeling in the dust, and hats off all round. very much like a london guy-fawkes procession is the whole affair, and of about like influence upon the morals of the community. of course the _padres_ do not get up these ceremonial exhibitions for mere amusement--not they. there are various little "blessings," and "indultos," and sprinklings of sacred water, to be distributed on these occasions--not _gratuitously_--and the wretched believer is preciously "plucked" while he is in the penitent mood--at the same time he is promised a short and easy route to heaven. as to any solemnity in the character of the ceremonials, there is nothing of the sort. they are in reality days of amusement; and it is not uncommon to see the kneeling devotee struggling to keep down the cackle of his fighting-cock, which, full-galved, he carries under the folds of his _serape_! all this under the roof of the sacred temple of god! on days of fiesta, the church genuflexions are soon over; and then the gambling-booth, the race-course, bull-baiting, the cock-pit, and various minor amusements, come into full operation. in all these you may meet the robed priest of the morning, and stake your dollar or doubloon against his, if you feel so inclined. "san juan" is one of the "_fiestas principales_"--one of the most noted of mexican ceremonials. on this day--particularly in a _new_ mexican village--the houses are completely deserted. all people turn out, and proceed to some well-known locality, usually a neighbouring plain, to witness the sports--which consist of horse-racing, "tailing the bull," "running the cock," and the like. the intervals are filled up by gambling, smoking, and flirtation. there is much of republican equality exhibited on these occasions. rich and poor, high and low, mingle in the throng, and take part in the amusements of the day. it is the day of san juan. a broad grassy plain lies just outside the town of san ildefonso, and upon this the citizens are assembled. it is the scene of the festival, and the sports will soon begin. before they do, let us stroll through the crowd, and note its component parts. all classes of the community--in fact, all the community--appear to be present. there go the two stout _padres_ of the mission, bustling about in their long gowns of coarse serge, with bead-string and crucifix dangling to their knees, and scalp-lock close shaven. the apache will find no trophy on their crowns. there is the _cura_ of the town church, conspicuous in his long black cloak, shovel hat, black silk stockings, pumps, and buckles. now smiling benignly upon the crowd, now darting quick jesuitical glance from his dark ill-meaning eyes, and now playing off his white jewelled fingers, as he assists some newly-arrived "senora" to climb to her seat. great "ladies' men" are these same black-gowned bachelor-churchmen of mexico. we have arrived in front of several rows of seats raised above one another. let us observe who occupy them. at a glance it is apparent they are in possession of the "_familias principales_," the aristocracy of the settlement. yes--there is the rich "_comerciante_," don jose rincon, his fat wife, and four fat sleepy-looking daughters. there, too, is the wife and family of the "alcalde," and this magistrate himself with tasselled official staff; and the echevarrias--pretty creatures that they think themselves--under care of their brother, the beau, who has discarded the national costume for the _mode de paris_! there is the rich "_hacendado_," senor gomez del monte, the owner of countless flocks and broad acres in the valley; and there are others of his class with their senoras and senoritas. and there, too, observed of all, is the lovely catalina de cruces, the daughter of don ambrosio, the wealthy miner. he will be a lucky fellow who wins the smiles of catalina, or rather perhaps the good graces of her father--for don ambrosio will have much to say in the matter of her marriage. indeed, it is rumoured that that matter is already arranged; and that captain roblado, second in command at the presidio, is the successful suitor. there stands he, in full moustache, covered with gold-lace, back and front, and frowning fiercely on every one who dares to rest eye for a moment upon the fair catalina. with all his gold-lace and gallant strut, catalina displays no great taste in her choice;--but is he her choice? maybe not--maybe he is the choice of don ambrosio; who, himself of plebeian origin, is ambitious that his blood should be mingled with that of the military hidalgo. the soldier has no money--beyond his pay; and that is mortgaged for months in advance; but he is a true _gachupino_, of "blue blood," a genuine "hijo de algo." not a singular ambition of the old miser, nor uncommon among parvenus. vizcarra, the comandante, is on the ground--a tall colonel of forty-- laced and plumed like a peacock. a lively bachelor is he; and while chatting with padre, cura, or alcalde, his eye wanders to the faces of the pretty _poblanas_ that are passing the spot. these regard his splendid uniform with astonishment, which he, fancying himself "don juan tenorio," mistakes for admiration, and repays with a bland smile. there, too, is the third officer--there are but the three--the _teniente_, garcia by name. he is better looking, and consequently more of a favourite with both poblanas and rich senoritas, than either of his superiors. i wonder the fair catalina does not give her preference to him. who can tell that she does not? a mexican dame does not carry her soul upon her sleeve, nor upon her tongue neither. it would be a task to tell of whom catalina is thinking just now. it is not likely at her age--she is twenty--that her heart is still her own; but whose? roblado's? i would wager, no. garcia's? that would be a fairer bet. after all, there are many others--young "hacendados," employes of the mines, and a few merchant dandies of the town. her choice may be some one of these. _quien sabe_? let us on through the crowd! we see the soldiers of the garrison, with tinkling spurs and long trailing sabres, mingling fraternally with the serape-clad tradesmen, the _gambucinos_, and _rancheros_ of the valley. they imitate their officers in strut and swagger--the very character of which enables one to tell that the military power is here in the ascendant. they are all dragoons--infantry would not avail against an indian enemy--and they fancy that the loud clinking of their spurs, and the rattle of their steel scabbards, add greatly to their importance. they have their eyes after the poblanas, and the sweethearts of the poblanas keep their eyes after them in a constant vigil of jealousy. the "poblanas" are the pretty girls of the place; but, pretty or plain, all the girls are out to-day in their best and gayest apparel. some wear _enaguas_ of blue--others of scarlet--others of purple; and many of them tastefully flounced at the bottoms with a trimming of narrow lace. they wear the embroidered chemisette, with its snow-white frills, and the blueish _reboso_, gracefully arranged, so as to conceal neck, bosom, arms, and, in some cases of coquetry, even the face! ere night this jealous garment will have lost half its prudery. already the prettier faces peep forth; and you may see, from the softness of the complexion, that they have been just washed free of the "allegria" that for the last two weeks has rendered them hideous. the "rancheros" are in their full and beautiful costume--velveteen trousers, wide at the bottoms and open up the sides; _botas_ of unstained leather; jackets of tanned sheepskin; or velveteen richly embroidered; fancy-worked shirts underneath; and scarfs of rich red silk around the waist. over all the broad-brimmed _sombrero_, of black glaze, with silver or gold band, and tags of the same, screwed into the crown. some have no jacket, but the serape, hanging negligently from their shoulders, serves in place of one. all of these men have horses with them; and on their feet may be seen spurs full five pounds in weight, with rowels three, four, and even five inches in diameter! the "gambucinos," and young men of the town, the smaller tradespeople, are very similarly attired; but those of higher class--the officials and "comerciantes"--are clad in broad-cloth jackets and pantaloons, not exactly of european cut, but approaching it--a sort of compromise between paris fashions and the native costume of the country. another costume may be noticed, worn by many of the crowd. this is the dress of the native "pueblos", or _indios mansos_--the poor labourers of the mines, and the neophytes of the mission. it is a simple dress, and consists of an upper garment, the _tilma_, a sort of coat without sleeves. a coffee-sack with a hole ripped in the bottom for the head to pass through, and a slit cut in each side for the arms, would make the "tilma." it has no waist, and hangs nearly to the hips without other fastening than the support at the shoulders. the tilma is usually a piece of coarse rug--a cheap woollen cloth of the country, called "gerga," of a whitish colour, with a few dyed threads to give the semblance of a pattern. this with a pair of dressed sheepskin breeches and rude sandals--_guaraches_--constitutes the wear of most of the "indios mansos" of mexico. the head is bare; and the legs, from the knee to the ankle, shine forth in all their copper-coloured nakedness. of these dark aborigines--the "peons" of the mission and the mines-- there are hundreds stalking about, while their wives and daughters sit squatted upon the ground in rear of their _petates_; upon which are piled the fruits of the soil--the _tunas, petahayas_, plums, apricots, grapes, _sandias_, and other species of melons, with roasted nuts of the pinon-tree, the produce of the neighbouring mountains. others keep stands of _dulces_ and _agua-miel_ or _limonada_; while others sell small loaves--_piloncilios_--of corn-stalk sugar, or baked roots of the agave. some squat before fires, and prepare _tortillas_ and _chile colorado_; or melt the sugared chocolate cake in their urn-like earthen _ollas_. from these humble "hucksters," a hot peppery stew, a dish of _atole_, or a bowl of _pinole_, is to be had for a few _clacos_. there are other stands where you can buy cigarillos of _punche_, or a drink of the fiery _aguardiente_ from taos or el paso; and these stands are favourite resorts of the thirsty miners and soldiers. there are no "booths," but most of the hucksters protect themselves from the sun by a huge screen of palmetto mat (_petate_) placed umbrella-like over their heads. there is one class of persons yet to be spoken of--an important class at the festival of san juan--they who are to be competitors in the sports-- the real wrestlers in the games. these are young men of all grades in society, and all of them mounted-- of course, each in the best way he can. there they go, prancing over the ground, causing their gaily caparisoned steeds to caper and curvet, especially in front of the tiers of seated senoritas. there are miners among them, and young _hacendados_, and _rancheros_, and _vaqueros_, and _ciboleros_, and young merchants who ride well. every one rides well in mexico--even the dwellers in cities are good horsemen. nearly a hundred are there of these youths who intend to take part in the various trials of skill in equitation. let the sports begin! chapter three. the first exhibition on the programme was to be the _coleo de toros_, which may be rendered in english as "tailing the bull." it is only in the very large cities of mexico where a regular _plaza de toros_, or arena for the bull-fight, is to be found; but in every tillage, however insignificant, the spoil of bull-tailing may be witnessed, as this only requires an open plain, and as wild a bull as can be procured. the sport is not quite so exciting as the bull-fight, as it is less perilous to those engaged in it. not unfrequently, however, a gored horse or a mutilated rider is produced by the "coleo;" and fatal accidents have occurred at times. the horses, too, sometimes stumble, and both horse and rider are trampled by the others crowding from behind, so that in the pellmell drive awkward accidents are anything but uncommon. the coleo is, therefore, a game of strength, courage, and skill; and to excel in it is an object of high ambition among the youth of a new mexican settlement. the arrangements having been completed, it was announced by a herald that the coleo was about to begin. these arrangements were simple enough, and consisted in collecting the crowd to one side, so that the bull, when let loose, would have a clear track before him in the direction of the open country. should he not be allowed this favour he might head _towards_ the crowd,--a thing to be apprehended. in fear of this, most of the women were to be seen mounting into the rude _carretas_, scores of which were upon the ground, having carried their owners to the spectacle. of course the senoras and senoritas on the raised benches felt secure. the competitors were now drawn up in a line. there were a dozen detailed for this first race,--young men of all classes, who were, or fancied themselves, "crack" riders. there were rancheros in their picturesque attire, smart arrieros, miners from the hills, townsmen, hacendados of the valley, vaqueros from the grazing-farms, and ciboleros, whose home is for the most part on the wide prairies. several dragoons, too, were arrayed with the rest, eager to prove their superiority in the _manege_ of the horse. at a given signal the bull was brought forth from a neighbouring _corral_. he was not led by men afoot,--that would have been a dangerous undertaking. his conductors were well-mounted vaqueros, who, with their lazoes around his horns, were ready, in case of his showing symptoms of mutiny, to fling him to the earth by a jerk. a vicious-looking brute he appeared, with shaggy frontlet and scowling lurid eye. it was _plain_ that it only needed a little goading to make him a still more terrible object; for he already swept his tail angrily against his flanks, tossed his long straight horns in the air, snorted sharply, and beat the turf at intervals with his hoofs. he was evidently one of the fiercest of a fierce race--the race of spanish bulls. every eye was fixed upon him with interest, and the spectators freely commented upon his qualities. some thought him too fat, others alleged he was just in the condition to make a good run--as, in the coleo, speed, not courage, is the desirable quality. this difference of opinions led to the laying of numerous wagers on the result,--that is, the time that should elapse from the start until the bull should be "tailed" and "thrown." the throwing of the bull, of course ends the chase. when it is considered that the brute selected is one of the strongest, swiftest, and fiercest of his kind, and that no weapon--not even the lazo--is allowed, it will be admitted this is a matter of no easy accomplishment. the animal goes at full run, almost as fast as the horse can gallop; and to bring him to the ground under these circumstances requires the performance of a feat, and one that demands skill, strength, and the best of horsemanship. that feat is to seize the bull by the tail, and jerk the animal off his legs! the bull was led out some two hundred yards beyond the line of horsemen, where he was halted, with his head turned to the open plain. the lazoes, that held him by a leash-knot, were then cautiously slipped, two or three fire-squibs, pointed and barbed, were shot into his hips, and away he went amidst the yells of the spectators! next moment the riders spurred after, each shouting in his own fashion. soon the line was broken, and a confused spread of horsemen, like a "field" of fox-hunters, was seen scouring over the plain. each moment the troop became elongated, until what had started in line was now strung out in double and single file to a length of several hundred yards. still on they went, whipping, and spurring, and urging their steeds to the utmost. the bull, maddened by the arrowy squibs, and terrified by their hissing, ran at the top of his speed in a nearly direct line. the start he had been allowed was not so easily taken up, even by fast riders, and he had got a full mile or more before any one neared him. then a dragoon, mounted on a large bay horse, was seen pressing him closely, and at length laying hold of the tail. he was observed to give it a jerk or two, as though endeavouring to fling the brute by sheer strength. it was a failure, however; for the next moment the bull shot out in a side direction, and left his pursuer behind. a young hacendado, splendidly horsed, was next upon his flanks; but each time he reached forth to grasp the tail it was whisked beyond his reach. he succeeded at length in seizing it; but the bull, making a sudden lurch, whipped his tail from the rider's hands, and left him also in the rear. one condition of the "coleo" was, that each competitor, after having once failed, should retire from the ground; so that the hacendado and the dragoon were now actually _hors de chasse_. these were seen riding back, though not directly in front of the spectators. they preferred making a roundabout thing of it, so that their fallen faces might not be too closely scanned on their return. on went the bull, and after him the eager and excited horsemen. another dragoon soon tried his "pluck," and also failed; and then a vaquero, and another horseman, and another, with like success--each failure being hailed by a groan from the crowd. there were several tumbles, too, at which the spectators laughed heartily; and one horse was badly gored, having headed the bull and got entangled upon his horns. in less than ten minutes eleven out of the twelve competitors were seen returning from the chase. only one now remained to make his trial. the bull had proved a splendid fellow, and was already in high favour, and loudly applauded by the spectators. "_bravo, toro! bravissimo_!" was heard on all sides. all eyes were now turned upon the enraged animal, and his one remaining pursuer. both were still near enough to be well observed, for the chase had led hitherto, not in one line, but in different directions over the plain; so that the bull was actually no farther from the crowd than when first overtaken by the dragoon. he was at this moment running in a cross course, so that every movement of both pursuer and pursued could be well observed from the stand. at the first glance it was plain that the bull had now behind him the handsomest horse and horseman upon the field--would they prove the best? that was to be tried. the horse was a large coal-black _mustang_, with a long full tail, pointed at the tip, and carried like the brush of a running fox. even while in gallop, his neck slightly curved, and his proud figure, displayed against the smooth sward, called forth expressions of admiration. the rider was a young man of twenty or over; and his light curling hair and white-red complexion distinguished him from all his competitors--who were, without exception, dark-skinned men. he was dressed in full ranchero costume, with its rich broidery and trappings; and instead of the usual "serape," he wore a purple _manga_--a more graceful, as well as costlier garment. the long skirts of this he had flung behind him, in order to have his arms free; and its folds, opening to the breeze, added to the gracefulness of his carriage in the saddle. the sudden appearance of this splendid horseman--for, hanging in the rear with folded manga, he seemed not to have been noticed before,-- caused unusual attention, and many were heard inquiring his name. "_carlos the cibolero_!" cried a voice, loud enough to satisfy all at once. some evidently knew who "carlos the cibolero" was, though by far the greater number on the ground did not. of the former, one was heard inquiring-- "why hasn't he come up before?--he could have done so if he had wished." "_carrambo_! yes," added another. "he might have done so. he only hung back to give the others a trial. he knew none of them could throw _that_ bull. _mira_!" the speaker's conjecture was, no doubt, correct. it was plain, at first sight, that this rider could easily overtake the bull. his horse was still in a gentle gallop, and, though his ears were set and his red nostrils staring open, it was only through the excitement of the chase, and chafing at being hitherto checked. the bridle-rein was, in fact, still tightly drawn. as the speaker uttered the cautionary phrase "_mira_!" a change was suddenly observed in the manner of the horseman. he was about twenty paces from the chase and directly in the rear. all at once his horse sprang forward at double his former speed, and in a few stretches laid himself alongside the bull. the rider was observed to grasp the long outstretched tail, and then lean forward and downward. the next moment he raised himself with a sudden jerk, and the huge horned creature turned sprawling upon his back. the whole thing seemed to cost him no more effort than if the bull had been a tom-cat. loud "_vivas_!" broke from the spectators, and the victorious horseman rode back in front of the stand, modestly bowed his thanks, and then retired into the depth of the crowd. there were not wanting those who fancied that in bowing the eyes of the cibolero were directed on the fair catalina de cruces; and some went so far as to assert that she smiled and looked content; but that could not be. the heiress of the rich don ambrosio smile to a compliment from a cibolero! there was one, however, who _did_ smile. that was a fair-haired, fair-skinned girl, who stood upon one of the carretas, by the side of which the victor had placed himself. side by side those two faces seemed one. they were of one blood,--one colour,--one race: were they not brother and sister? yes,--the fair girl was the sister of the cibolero. she was smiling from happiness at the thought of her brother's triumph. a strange-looking woman was seated in the bottom of the carreta--an old woman, with long flowing hair, white as flax. she was silent, but her sharp eyes were bent upon the cibolero with a triumphant expression. some regarded her with curiosity, but most with fear, akin to awe. these knew something of her, and whispered strange tales to one another. "_esta una bruxa_!--_una hechicera_!" (she is a witch! a charmer!) said they. this they muttered in low tones lest they might be heard by carlos or the girl. _she was their mother_! chapter four. the sports continue. the bull thrown by the cibolero, now cowed, walks moodily across the plain. he would not serve for a second run, so he is lazoed and led off,--to be delivered to the victor as his prize. a second is brought forth and started, with a fresh dozen of horsemen at his heels. these seem to be better matched, or rather the bull has not run off so well, as all overtake him at once, riding past him in their headlong speed. most unexpectedly the animal turns in his tracks, and runs back, heading directly for the stand! loud screams are heard from the poblanas in the carretas--from the senoras and senoritas. no wonder. in ten seconds the enraged brute will be in their midst! the pursuing horsemen are still far behind him. the sudden turning in their headlong race threw them out of distance. even the foremost of them cannot come up in time. the other horsemen are all dismounted. no man on foot will dare to check the onward rush of a goaded bull! confusion and loud shouting among the men, terror and screaming among the women, are the characteristics of the scene. lives will be lost-- perhaps many. none know but that they themselves may be the victims! the strings of carretas filled with their terrified occupants flank the stand on each side; but, running farther out into the plain, form with it a sort of semicircle. the bull enters this semicircle, and guided by the carretas rushes down, heading directly for the benches, as though determined to break through in that direction. the ladies have risen to their feet, and, half-frantic, seem as though they would leap down upon the very horns of the monster they dread! it is a fearful crisis for them. just at this moment a man is seen advancing, lazo in hand, in front of the carretas. he is afoot. as soon as he has detached himself from the crowd, he spins the lazo round his head, and the noose shooting out is seen to settle over the horns of the bull. without losing a moment the man runs to a small tree that stands near the centre of the semicircle, and hastily coils the other end of the lazo around its trunk. another moment, and he would have been too late. the knot is scarcely tied, when a heavy pluck announces that the bull has reached the end of his rope, and the foiled brute is now seen thrown back upon his hips, with the _lazo_ tightly noosed over his horns. he has fallen at the very feet of the spectators! "_bravo! viva_!" cried a hundred voices, as soon as their owners had sufficiently recovered from their terror to call out. "_viva. viva_! carlos the cibolero!" it was he who had performed this second feat of skill and daring. the bull was not yet conquered, however. he was only confined within a certain range--the circle of the lazo--and, rising to his feet, with a furious roar he rushed forward at the crowd. fortunately the lazo was not long enough to enable him to reach the spectators on either side; and again he tumbled back upon his haunches. there was a scattering on all sides, as it was feared he might still slip the noose; but the horsemen had now come up. fresh lazoes were wound about his neck, others tripped up his legs, and he was at length flung violently upon the ground and his quarters well stretched. he was now completely conquered, and would run no more; and as but two bulls had been provided for the occasion, the "coleo de toros" was for that day at an end. several lesser feats of horsemanship were next exhibited, while preparations were being made for another of the grand games of the day. those were by way of interlude, and were of various kinds. one was throwing the lazo upon the foot of a person running at full speed, noosing him around the ankle, and of course tripping him up. this was done by men both mounted and afoot; and so many accomplished it, that it could hardly be deemed a "feat:" nor was it regarded as such among the more skilful, who disdained to take part in it. picking up the hat was next exhibited. this consisted in the rider throwing his hat upon the ground, and then recovering it from the saddle, while his horse swept past at full gallop. nearly every rider on the spot was equal to this feat, and only the younger ones looked upon it as a proof of skill. of these some twenty could now be seen wheeling about at a gallop and ducking down for their sombreros, which they had previously dropped. but it is not so easy to pick up smaller objects, and a piece of coin lying flat upon the ground tries the skill of the best "cavallero." the comandante vizcarra now stepped forth and commanded silence. placing a spanish dollar upon the smooth turf, he called out-- "this to the man who can take it up at the first trial. five gold onzas that sergeant gomez will perform the feat!" there was silence for a while. five gold "onzas" (doubloons) was a large sum of money. only a "rico" could afford to lose such a sum. after a pause, however, there came a reply. a young ranchero stepped forth:-- "colonel vizcarra," said he, "i will not bet that sergeant gomez cannot perform the feat; but i'll wager there's another on the ground can do it as well as he. double the amount if you please." "name your man!" said vizcarra. "carlos the cibolero." "enough--i accept your wager. any one else may have their trial," continued vizcarra, addressing the crowd. "i shall replace the dollar whenever it is taken up--only one attempt, remember!" several made the attempt and failed. some touched the coin, and even drew it from its position, but no one succeeded in lifting it. at length a dragoon mounted on a large bay appeared in the list, who was recognised as the sergeant gomez. he was the same that had first come up with the bull, but failed to fling him; and no doubt that failure dwelling still in his thoughts added to the natural gloom of his very sallow face. he was a man of large size, unquestionably a good rider, but he lacked that symmetrical shape that gives promise of sinewy activity. the feat required little preparation. the sergeant looked to his saddle-girths, disencumbered himself of his sabre and belts, and then set his steed in motion. in a few minutes he directed his horse so as to shave past the shining coin, and then, bending down, he tried to seize it. he succeeded in lifting it up from the ground; but, owing to the slight hold he had taken, it dropped from his fingers before he had got it to the height of the stirrup. a shout, half of applause and half of disapprobation, came from the crowd. most were disposed to favour him on vizcarra's account. not that they loved colonel vizcarra, but they _feared_ him, and that made them loyal. the cibolero now rode forth upon his shining black. all eyes were turned upon him. his handsome face would have won admiration, but for its very _fairness_. therein lay a secret prejudice. they knew _he was not of their race_! woman's heart has no prejudice, however; and along that line of dark-eyed "doncellas" more than one pair of eyes were sparkling with admiration for the blond "americano," for of such race was carlos the cibolero. other eyes than woman's looked favourably on the cibolero, and other lips murmured applause. among the half-brutalised tagnos, with bent limbs and downcast look, there were men who dreamt of days gone by; who knew that their fathers were once free; who in their secret assemblies in mountain cave, or in the deep darkness of the "estufa," still burned the "sacred fire" of the god quetzalcoatl--still talked of moctezuma and freedom. these, though darker than all others, had no prejudice against the fair skin of carlos. even over their benighted minds the future had cast some rays of its light. a sort of mysterious presentiment, apparently instinctive, existed among them, that their deliverers from the yoke of spanish tyranny would yet come from the east--from beyond the great plains! the cibolero scarce deigned to make any preparation. he did not even divest himself of his manga, but only threw it carelessly back, and left its long skirt trailing over the hips of his horse. obedient to the voice of his rider, the animal sprang into a gallop; and then, guided by the touch of the knees, he commenced circling round the plain, increasing his speed as he went. having gained a wide reach, the rider directed his horse towards the glittering coin. when nearly over it he bent down from the saddle, caught the piece in his fingers, flung it up into the air, and then, suddenly checking his horse underneath, permitted it to drop into his outstretched palm! all this was done with the ease and liability of a hindoo juggler. even the prejudiced could not restrain their applause; and loud _vivas_ for "carlos the cibolero" again pealed upon the air. the sergeant was humiliated. he had for a long time been victor in these sports--for carlos had not been present until this day, or had never before taken part in them. vizcarra was little better pleased. his favourite humbled--himself the loser of ten golden onzas--no small sum, even to the comandante of a frontier presidio. moreover, to be jibed by the fair senoritas for losing a wager he had himself challenged, and which, no doubt, he felt certain of winning. from that moment vizcarra liked not "carlos the cibolero." the next exhibition consisted in riding at full gallop to the edge of a deep "zequia" which passed near the spot. the object of this was to show the courage and activity of the rider as well as the high training of the steed. the zequia--a canal used for irrigation--was of such width that a horse could not well leap over it, and deep enough to render it no very pleasant matter for a horseman to get into. it therefore required both skill and daring to accomplish the feat. the animal was to arrive upon the bank of the canal in full run, and to be drawn up suddenly, so that his four feet should rest upon the ground inside a certain line. this line was marked at less than two lengths of himself from the edge of the drain. of course the bank was quite firm, else the accomplishment of such a feat would have been impossible. many succeeded in doing it to perfection; and an admirable piece of horsemanship it was. the horse, suddenly checked in his impetuous gallop, upon the very brink of the zequia, and drawn back on his haunches, with head erect, starting eyeballs, and open smoking nostrils, formed a noble picture to look upon. several, however, by way of contrast, gave the crowd a ludicrous picture to laugh at. these were either faint-hearted riders, who stopped short before arriving near the bank, or bold but unskilful ones, who overshot the mark, and went plunge into the deep muddy water. either class of failure was hailed by groans and laughter, which the appearance of the half-drowned and dripping cavaliers, as they weltered out on the bank, rendered almost continuous. on the other hand, a well-executed manoeuvre elicited _vivas_ of applause. no wonder that, under such a system of training and emulation, these people are the finest riders in the world, and such they certainly are. it was observed that carlos the cibolero took no part in this game. what could be the reason? his friends alleged that he looked upon it as unworthy of him. he had already exhibited a skill in horsemanship of a superior kind, and to take part in this would be seeking a superfluous triumph. such was in fact the feeling of carlos. but the chagrined comandante had other views. captain roblado as well-- for the latter had seen, or fancied he had seen, a strange expression in the eyes of catalina at each fresh triumph of the cibolero. the two "militarios" had designs of their own. base ones they were, and intended for the humiliation of carlos. approaching him, they inquired why he had not attempted the last feat. "i did not think it worth while," answered the cibolero, in a modest tone. "ho!" cried roblado, tauntingly; "my good fellow. you must have other reasons than that. it is not so contemptible a feat to rein up on the edge of that `zanca.' you fear a ducking, i fancy?" this was uttered in a tone of banter, loud enough for all to hear; and captain roblado wound up his speech with a jeering laugh. now, it was just this ducking that the militarios wished to see. they had conceived hopes, that, if carlos attempted the feat, some accident, such as the slipping or stumbling of his horse, might lead to that result; which to them would have been as grateful as it would have been mortifying to the cibolero. a man floundering out of a muddy ditch, and drenched to the skin, however daring the attempt that led to it, would cut but a sorry figure in the eyes of a holiday crowd; and in such a situation did they wish to see carlos placed. whether the cibolero suspected their object did not appear. his reply does not show. when it was heard, the "zequia" and its muddy water were at once forgotten. a feat of greater interest occupied the attention of the spectators. chapter five. carlos, seated in his saddle, was silent for a while. he seemed puzzled for a reply. the manner of the two officers, as well as roblado's speech, stung him. to have proceeded to the performance of this very common feat after all others had given over, merely on the banter of roblado and the comandante, would have been vexatious enough; and yet to refuse it would lay him open to jeers and insinuations; and, perhaps, this was their design. he had reason to suspect some sinister motive. he knew something of both the men--of their public character--he could not otherwise, as they were lords paramount of the place. but of their private character, too, he had some knowledge, and that was far from being to their credit. with regard to roblado, the cibolero had particular reasons for disliking _him_--very particular reasons; and but that the former was still ignorant of a certain fact, he had quite as good a reason for reciprocating the dislike. up to this moment roblado knew nothing of the cibolero, who for the most part of his time was absent from the valley. perhaps the officer had never encountered him before, or at all events had never changed words with him. carlos knew _him_ better; and long ere this encounter, for reasons already hinted at, had regarded him with dislike. this feeling was not lessened by the conduct of the officer on the present occasion. on the contrary, the haughty jeering tones fell bitterly upon the ear of the cibolero. he replied, at length, "captain roblado, i have said it is not worth my while to perform what a _muchachito_ of ten years old would hardly deem a feat. i would not wrench my horse's mouth for such a pitiful exhibition as running him up on the edge of that harmless gutter; but if--" "well, if what?" eagerly inquired roblado, taking advantage of the pause, and half suspecting carlos' design. "if _you_ feel disposed to risk a doubloon--i am but a poor hunter, and cannot place more--i shall attempt what a muchachito of ten years _would_ consider a feat perhaps." "and what may that be, senor cibolero?" asked the officer, sneeringly. "i will check my horse at full gallop _on the brow of yonder cliff_!" "within two lengths from the brow?" "within two lengths--less--the same distance that is traced here on the banks of the zequia!" the surprise created by this announcement held the bystanders for some moments in silence. it was a proposal of such wild and reckless daring that it was difficult to believe that the maker of it was in earnest. even the two officers were for a moment staggered by it, and inclined to fancy the cibolero was not serious but mocking them. the cliff to which carlos had pointed was part of the bluff that hemmed in the valley. it was a sort of promontory, however, that jutted out from the general line, so as to be a conspicuous object from the plain below. its brow was of equal height with the rest of the precipice, of which it was a part--a sort of buttress--and the grassy turf that appeared along its edge was but the continuation of the upper plateau. its front to the valley was vertical, without terrace or ledge, although horizontal seams traversing its face showed a stratification of lime and sandstone alternating with each other. from the sward upon the valley to the brow above the height was one thousand feet sheer. to gaze up to it was a trial to delicate nerves--to look down put the stoutest to the proof. such was the cliff upon whose edge the cibolero proposed to rein up his steed. no wonder the proposal was received with a surprise that caused a momentary silence in the crowd. when that passed, voices were heard exclaiming,--"impossible!" "he is mad!" "pah! he's joking!" "_esta burlando los militarios_!" (he's mocking the military gents); and such-like expressions. carlos sat playing with his bridle-rein, and waiting for a reply. he had not long to wait. vizcarra and roblado muttered some hasty words between themselves; and then, with an eagerness of manner, roblado cried out-- "i accept the wager!" "and i another onza!" added the comandante. "senores," said carlos, with an air of apparent regret, "i am sorry i cannot take both. this doubloon is all i have in the world; and it's not likely i could borrow another just now." as he said this carlos regarded the crowd with a smile, but many of these were in no humour for smiling. they were really awed by the terrible fate which they believed awaited the reckless cibolero. a voice, however, answered him:-- "twenty onzas, carlos, for any other purpose. but i cannot encourage this mad project." it was the young ranchero, his former backer, who spoke. "thank you, don juan," replied the cibolero. "i know you would lend them. thank you all the same. do not fear! i'll win the onza. ha! ha! ha! i haven't been twenty years in the saddle to be bantered by a _gachupino_." "sir!" thundered vizcarra and roblado in a breath, at the same time grasping the hilts of their swords, and frowning in a fierce threatening manner. "oh! gentlemen, don't be offended," said carlos, half sneeringly. "it only slipped from my tongue. i meant no insult, i assure you." "then keep your tongue behind your teeth, my good fellow," threatened vizcarra. "another slip of the kind may cost you a fall." "thank you, senor comandante," replied carlos, still laughing. "perhaps i'll take your advice." the only rejoinder uttered by the comandante was a fierce "carrajo!" which carlos did not notice; for at this moment his sister, having heard of his intention, sprang down from the carreta and came running forward, evidently in great distress. "oh, brother carlos!" she cried, reaching out her arms, and grasping him by the knees, "is it true? surely it is not true?" "what, _hermanita_?" (little sister), he asked with a smile. "that you--" she could utter no more, but turned her eyes, and pointed to the cliff. "certainly, rosita, and why not? for shame, girl! don't be alarmed-- there's nought to fear, i assure you--i've done the like before." "dear, dear carlos, i know you are a brave horseman--none braver--but oh! think of the danger--_dios de mi alma_! think of--" "pshaw, sister! don't shame me before the people--come to mother!--hear what she will say. i warrant she won't regard it." and, so saying, the cibolero rode up to the carreta, followed by his sister. poor rosita! eyes gleamed upon you at that moment that saw you for the first time--eyes in whose dark orbs lay an expression that boded you no good. your fair form, the angelic beauty of your face--perhaps your very grief--awakened interest in a heart whose love never meant else than ruin to its object. it was the heart of colonel vizcarra. "_mira_! roblado!" muttered he to his subordinate and fellow-villain. "see yonder! _santisima virgen_! saint guadalupe! look, man! venus, as i'm a christian and a soldier! in the name of all the saints, what sky has she fallen from?" "for _dios_! i never saw her before," replied the captain; "she must be the sister of this fellow: yes--hear them! they address each other as brother and sister! she _is_ pretty!" "_ay de mi_!" sighed the comandante. "what a godsend! i was growing dull--very dull of this monotonous frontier life. with this new excitement, perhaps, i may kill another month. will she last me that long, think you?" "scarcely--if she come and go as easily as the rest. what! already tired of inez?" "poh! poh! loved me too much; and that i can't bear. i would rather too little if anything." "perhaps this blonde may please you better in that respect. but, see! they are off!" as roblado spoke, carlos and his sister had moved forward to the carreta which held their aged mother, and were soon in conversation with her. the comandante and his captain, as well as a large number of the spectators, followed, and crowded around to listen. "she wants to persuade me against it, mother," carlos was heard to say. he had already communicated his design. "without _your_ consent, i will not. but hear me, dear mother; i have half pledged myself, and i wish to make good my pledge. it is a _point of honour_, mother." the last phrase was spoken loudly and emphatically in the ear of the old woman, who appeared to be a little deaf. "who wants to dissuade you?" she asked, raising her head, and glancing upon the circle of faces. "who?" "rosita, mother." "let rosita to her loom, and weave rebosos--that's what she's fit for. you, my son, can do great things--deeds, ay, deeds; else have you not in your veins the blood of your father. _he_ did deeds--_he_--ha! ha! ha!" the strange laugh caused the spectators to start, accompanied, as it was, with the wild look of her who uttered it. "go!" cried she, tossing back her long flax-coloured locks, and waving her arms in the air--"go, carlos the cibolero, and show the tawny cowards--slaves that they are--what a free american can do. to the cliff! to the cliff!" as she uttered the awful command, she sank back into the carreta, and relapsed into her former silence. carlos interrogated her no further. the expressions she had let slip had rendered him somewhat eager to close the conversation; for he noticed that they were not lost on several of the bystanders. the officers, as well as the priests and alcalde, exchanged significant glances while she was uttering them. placing his sister once more in the carreta, and giving her a parting embrace, carlos leaped to the back of his steed, and rode forth upon the plain. when at some distance he reined in, and bent his eyes for a moment upon the tiers of benches where sat the senoras and senoritas of the town. a commotion could be observed among them. they had heard of the intended feat, and many would have dissuaded the cibolero from the perilous attempt. there was one whose heart was full to bursting--full as that of carlos' own sister; and yet she dared not show it to those around. she was constrained to sit in silent agony, and suffer. carlos knew this. he drew a white handkerchief from his bosom, and waved it in the air, as though bidding some one an adieu. whether he was answered could not be told; but the next moment he wheeled his horse, and galloped off towards the cliffs. there were conjectures among the senoras and senoritas, among the poblanas too, as to who was the recipient of that parting salute. many guesses were made, many names mentioned, and scandal ran the rounds. one only of all knew in her heart for whom the compliment was meant--in her heart overflowing with love and fear. chapter six. all who had horses followed the cibolero, who now directed himself towards a path that led from the valley to the table above. this path wound up the cliffs by zigzag turnings, and was the only one by which the upper plain could be reached at that point. a corresponding road traversed the opposite bluff, so that the valley might be here crossed; and this was the only practicable crossing for several miles up and down. though but a thousand feet separated the valley and table-land, the path leading from one to the other was nearly a mile in length; and as it was several miles from the scene of the festival to the bottom of the cliff, only those accompanied carlos who were mounted, with a few others determined to witness every manoeuvre of this fearful attempt. of course, the officers were of the party who went up. the rest of the people remained in the valley, but moved forward in the direction of the cliffs, so that they would be able to observe the more interesting and thrilling part of the spectacle. for more than an hour those on the plain were kept waiting; but they did not allow the time to pass unimproved. a _monte_ table had been spread out over which both gold and silver changed hands rapidly, the two padres of the mission being among the highest bettors; and the senoras, among themselves, had a quiet little game of their favourite _chuza_. a "main" between a pair of sturdy chanticleers, one belonging to the alcalde and the other to the _cura_ (!), furnished the interlude for another half-hour. in this contest the representative of the church was triumphant. his grey cock ("pardo") killed the alcalde's red one at a single blow, by striking one of his long steel galves through the latter's head. this was regarded as a very interesting and pleasant spectacle by all on the ground--ladies included, and alcalde excepted. by the time the cock-fight was finished, the attention of the crowd became directed to the movements of the party who had gone up to the upper plain. these were now seen along the edge of the cliff, and by their manoeuvres it was evident they were engaged in arranging the preliminaries of the perilous adventure. let us join them. the cibolero, on gaining the ground, pointed out the spot where he had proposed to execute his daring design. from the plain above the cliffs were not visible, and even the great abyss of the valley itself could not be seen a hundred paces back from the edge of the bluff. there was no escarpment or slope of any kind. the turf ran in to the very edge of the precipice, and on the same level with the rest of the plain. it was smooth and firm--covered with a short sward of _gramma_ grass. there was neither break nor pebble to endanger the hoof. no accident could arise from that cause. the spot chosen, as already stated, was a sort of buttress-like promontory that stood out from the line of bluffs. this formation was more conspicuous from below. viewing it from above, it resembled a tongue-like continuation of the plain. carlos first rode out to its extremity, and carefully examined the turf. it was just of the proper firmness to preclude the possibility of a horse's hoof either sliding or sinking into it. he was accompanied by vizcarra, roblado, and others. many approached the spot, but kept at a safe distance from the edge of the horrid steep. though denizens of this land of grand geological features, there were many present who dreaded to stand upon the brow of that fearful ledge and look below. the cibolero sat upon his horse, on its very edge, as calm as if he had been on the banks of the zequia, and directed the marking of the line. his horse showed no symptoms of nervousness. it was evident he was well-trained to such situations. now and then he stretched out his neck, gazed down into the valley, and, recognising some of his kind below, uttered a shrill neigh. carlos purposely kept him on the cliff, in order to accustom him to it before making the terrible trial. the line was soon traced, less than two lengths of the horse from the last grass on the turf. vizcarra and roblado would have insisted upon short measure; but their proposal to curtail it was received with murmurs of disapprobation and mutterings of "shame!" what did these men want? though not evident to the crowd, they certainly desired the death of the cibolero. both had their reasons. both hated the man. the cause or causes of their hatred were of late growth,--with roblado still later than his comandante. he had observed something within the hour that had rendered him furious. he had observed the waving of that white kerchief; and as he stood by the stand he had seen to whom the "adios" was addressed. it had filled him with astonishment and indignation; and his language to carlos had assumed a bullying and brutal tone. horrible as such a supposition may seem, both he and vizcarra would have rejoiced to see the cibolero tumble over the bluff. horrible indeed it seems; but such were the men, and the place, and the times, that there is nothing improbable in it. on the contrary, cases of equal barbarity--wishes and _acts_ still more inhuman--are by no means rare under the skies of "nuevo mexico." the young ranchero, who had accompanied the party to the upper plain, insisted upon fair play. though but a ranchero, he was classed among the "ricos," and, being a fellow of spirit, urged carlos' rights, even in the face of the moustached and scowling militarios. "here, carlos!" cried he, while the arrangements were progressing; "i see you are bent on this madness; and since i cannot turn you from it, i shall not embarrass you. but you sha'n't risk yourself for such a trifle. my purse! bet what sum you will." as he said this, he held out a purse to the cibolero, which, from its bulk, evidently contained a large, amount. carlos regarded the purse for a moment without making answer. he was evidently gratified by the noble offer. his countenance showed that he was deeply touched by the kindness of the youth. "no," said he, at length; "no, don juan. i thank you with all my heart, but i cannot take your purse--one onza, nothing more. i should like to stake one against the comandante." "as many as you please," urged the ranchero. "thank you, don juan! only one--that with my own will be two.--two onzas!--that, in faith, is the largest bet i have ever made. _vaya_! a poor cibolero staking a double onza!" "well, then," replied don juan, "if you don't, i shall. colonel vizcarra!" said he aloud, addressing himself to the comandante, "i suppose you would like to win back your wager. carlos will now take your bet for the onza, and i challenge you to place ten." "agreed!" said the comandante, stiffly. "dare you double it?" inquired the ranchero. "dare i, sir?" echoed the colonel, indignant at being thus challenged in the presence of the spectators. "quadruple it, if you wish, sir." "quadruple then!" retorted the other. "forty onzas that carlos performs the feat!" "enough! deposit your stakes!" the golden coins were counted out, and held by one of the bystanders, and judges were appointed. the arrangements having been completed, the spectators drew back upon the plain, and left the cibolero in full possession of the promontory-- alone with his horse. chapter seven. all stood watching him with interested eyes. every movement was noted. he first alighted from the saddle, stripped off his manga, had it carried back and placed out of the way. he next looked to his spurs, to see that the straps were properly buckled. after this he re-tied his sash, and placed the sombrero firmly on his head. he buttoned his velveteen calzoneros down nearly to his ankles, so that their leathern bottoms might not flap open and discommode him. his hunting-knife along with his "whip" were sent back to the charge of don juan. his attention was next turned to his horse, that stood all this while curving his neck proudly as though he divined that he was to be called upon for some signal service. the bridle was first scrutinised. the great bit--a mameluke--was carefully examined, lest there might be some flaw or crack in the steel. the head-strap was buckled to its proper tightness, and then the reins were minutely scanned. these were of the hair of wild horses' tails closely and neatly plaited. leather might snap, there was no fear of breaking such cords as these. the saddle now had its turn. passing from side to side, carlos tried both stirrup-leathers, and examined the great wooden blocks which formed the stirrups. the girth was the last as well as most important object of his solicitude. he loosed the buckles on both sides, and then tightened them, using his knees to effect his purpose. when drawn to his liking, the tip of the finger could not have been passed under the strong leathern band. no wonder he observed all this caution. the snapping of a strap, or the slipping of a buckle, might have hurled him into eternity. having satisfied himself that all was right, he gathered up the reins, and leaped lightly into the saddle. he first directed his horse at a walk along the cliff, and within a few feet of its edge. this was to strengthen the nerves both of himself and the animal. presently the walk became a trot, and then a gentle canter. even this was an exhibition fearful to behold. to those regarding it from below it was a beautiful but terrible spectacle. after a while he headed back towards the plain, and then stretching into a fair gallop--the gait in which he intended to approach the cliff--he suddenly reined up again, so as to throw his horse nearly on his flanks. again he resumed the same gallop and again reined up; and this manoeuvre he repeated at least a dozen times, now with his horse's head turned towards the cliffs, and now in the direction of the plain. of course this gallop was far from being the full speed of the animal. that was not bargained for. to draw a horse up at race-course speed within two lengths of himself would be an utter impossibility, even by sacrificing the life of the animal. a shot passing through his heart would not check a racer in so short a space. a fair gallop was all that could be expected under the circumstances, and the judges expressed themselves satisfied with that which was exhibited before them. carlos had put the question. at length he was seen to turn his horse towards the cliff, and take his firmest seat in the saddle. the determined glance of his eyes showed that the moment had come for the final trial. a slight touch of the spur set the noble brute in motion, and in another second he was in full gallop, and heading directly for the cliff! the gaze of all was fixed with intense earnestness upon that reckless horseman. every heart heaved with emotion; and, beyond their quick breathing, not an utterance escaped from the spectators. the only sounds heard were the hoof-strokes of the horse as they rang back from the hard turf of the plain. the suspense was of short duration. twenty strides brought horse and horseman close to the verge, within half-a-dozen lengths. the rein still hung loose--carlos dared not tighten it--a touch he knew would bring his horse to a halt, and that before he had crossed the line would only be a failure. another leap,--another,--yet another! ho! he is inside--great god! he will be over! such exclamations rose from the spectators as they saw the horseman cross the line, still in a gallop; out the next moment a loud cheer broke from both crowds, and the "vivas" of those in the valley were answered by similar shouts from those who witnessed the feat from above. just as the horse appeared about to spring over the horrid brink, the reins were observed suddenly to tighten, the fore-hoofs became fixed and spread, and the hips of the noble animal rested upon the plain. he was poised at scarce three feet distance from the edge of the cliff! while in this attitude the horseman raised his right hand, lifted his sombrero, and after waving it round returned it to his head! a splendid picture from below. the dark forms of both horse and rider were perceived as they drew up on the cliff, and the imposing and graceful attitude was fully developed against the blue background of the sky. the arms, the limbs, the oval outlines of the steed, even the very trappings, could be seen distinctly; and for the short period in which they were poised and motionless, the spectator might have fancied an equestrian statue of bronze, its pedestal the pinnacle of the cliff! this period was but of a moment's duration, but, during its continuance, the loud "vivas" pealed upon the air. those looking from below saw the horseman suddenly wheel, and disappear beyond the brow-line of the bluff. the daring feat was ended and over; and hearts, but a moment ago throbbing wildly within tender bosoms, now returned to their soft and regular beating. chapter eight. when the cibolero returned to the plain, he was received with a fresh burst of vivas, and kerchiefs were waved to greet him. one only caught his eye,--but that was enough. he saw not the rest, nor cared to see them. that little perfumed piece of cambric, with its lace border, was to him an ensign of hope--a banner that would have beckoned him on to achieve deeds of still higher daring. he saw it held aloft by a small jewelled hand, and waved in triumph for _him_. he was happy. he passed the stand, rode up to the carreta, and, dismounting, kissed his mother and sister. he was followed by don juan, his backer;--and there were those who noticed that the eyes of the blonde were not always upon her brother: there was another on the ground who shared their kind glances, and that other was the young ranchero. no one, not even the dullest, could fail to notice that these kind glances were more than repaid. it was an affair of mutual and understood love, beyond a doubt. though don juan was a rich young farmer, and by courtesy a "don," yet in rank he was but a degree above the cibolero--the degree which wealth confers. he was not one of the high aristocracy of the place,--about that he cared little; but he had the character of being a brave, spirited young fellow; and in time, if he desired it, might mingle with the "sangre azul." it was not likely he ever should--at least through the influence of marriage. any one who was witness to the ardent glances exchanged between his eyes and those of the cibolero's sister, would prophesy with ease that don juan was not going to marry among the aristocracy. it was a happy little group around the carreta, and there was feasting, too,--dulces, and orgeat, and wine from el taso of the best vintage. don juan was not afraid to spend money, and he had no reason on that occasion, with fifty onzas of clear gain in his pocket--a fact that by no means sat easily on the mind of the comandante. the latter was observed, with a clouded countenance, strolling around, occasionally approaching the carreta, and glancing somewhat rudely towards the group. his glances were, in fact, directed on rosita, and the consciousness of his almost despotic power rendered him careless of concealing his designs. his admiration was expressed in such a manner that many could perceive it. the poor girl's eyes fell timidly when they encountered his, and don juan, having noticed it, was not without feelings of anger as well as uneasiness. he knew the character of the comandante, as well as the dangerous power with which he was armed. o liberty! what a glorious thing art thou! how many hopes are blighted, how many loves crossed, and hearts crushed, in a land where thou art not! where the myrmidons of tyranny have power to thwart the purpose of a life, or arrest the natural flow of its affections! several games were yet carried on upon the plain, but they were without general interest. the splendid feat of the cibolero had eclipsed all lesser exhibitions for the time; besides, a number of the head men were out of humour. vizcarra was sad, and roblado savage--jealous of catalina. the alcalde and his assistant were in a vexed state, as both had bet heavy sums on the red cock. both the padres had lost at _monte_, and they were no longer in a christian spirit. the cura alone was in good spirits, and ready to back the "pardo" for another main. the concluding game was at length heralded. it was to be the "_correr el gallo_" (running the cock). as this is rather an exciting sport, the "_monte_" tables and other minor amusements were once more put aside; and all prepared to watch "el gallo." "running the cock" is a new mexican game in all its characteristics. it is easily described. thus: a cock is suspended by the limbs to a horizontal branch, at just such a height that a mounted man may lay hold of his head and neck hanging downward. the bird is fastened in such a manner that a smart pluck will detach him from the tree; while, to render this the more difficult, both head and neck are well covered with soap. the horseman must be in full gallop while passing under the branch; and he who succeeds in plucking down the cock is pursued by all the others, who endeavour to rob him of the prize. he has a fixed point to run round, and his goal is the tree from which he started. sometimes he is over, taken before reaching this, the cock snatched from him,--or, as not infrequently happens, torn to pieces in the contest. should he succeed in getting back--still retaining the bird entire--he is then declared victor. the scene ends by his laying his prize at the feet of his mistress; and she--usually some pretty poblana--appears that same evening at the fandango with the feathered trophy under her arm--thus signifying her appreciation of the compliment paid her, as well as giving to the _fandangueros_ ocular proof of the fact that some skilful horseman is her admirer. it is a cruel sport, for it must be remembered that the poor cock who undergoes all this plucking and mangling is a _living bird_! it is doubtful whether a thought of the _cruelty_ ever entered the mind of a new mexican. if so, it must have been a new mexican _woman_; for the humanity of these is in an inverse ratio to that of their lords. for the women it may be urged that the sport is a custom of the country; and what country is without its cruel sports? is it rational or consistent to weep over the sufferings of chanticleer, while we ride gaily upon the heels of poor broken reynard? there are two modes of the "correr el gallo." the first has been described. the second only differs from it in the fact that the cock, instead of being tied to a tree, is buried up to his shoulders in the earth. the horsemen, as before, pass in routine--each bending from his saddle, and striving to pluck the bird out of the ground. for the rest the conditions are the same as before. the first cock was hung to a branch; and the competitors having taken their places in a line, the game commenced. several made the attempt, and actually seized the bird's head, but the soap foiled them. the dragoon sergeant was once more a competitor; but whether his colonel made any further bet upon him is not known. the comandante had gambled enough for that day; and but for a little peculation which he enjoyed upon the mining "derechos," and other little customs dues, he would have felt his losses still more severely. out of the derechos, however, he knew he could square himself at the expense of the vice-regal government. the sergeant, who, as already stated, had the advantage of a tall figure and a tall horse, was able to get a full grasp at the neck of the bird; and being already provided, as was afterwards ascertained, with a fistful of sand, he took the prize with him, and galloped off. but there were swifter horses than his on the ground; and before he could double the turning-post he was overtaken by an active vaquero, and lost a wing of his bird. another wing was plucked from him by a second pursuer; and he returned to the tree with nothing but a fragment left! of course he received neither _vivas_ nor cheers. carlos the cibolero took no part in this contest. he knew that he had won glory enough for that day--that he had made both friends and enemies, and he did not desire to swell the list of either. some of the bystanders, however, began to banter him, wishing, no doubt, to see him again exhibit his fine horsemanship. he withstood this for some time, until two more cocks were plucked from the tree--the vaquero already alluded to carrying one of them clear, and laying it at the feet of his smiling sweetheart. a new thought seemed now to have entered the mind of carlos, and he was seen riding into the lists, evidently about to take part in the next race. "it will be some time before i can be present at another fiesta," remarked he to don juan. "day after to-morrow i start for the plains. so i'll take all the sport i can out of this one." an innovation was now introduced in the game. the bird was buried in the ground; and its long neck and sharp-pointed bill showed that it was no cock, but a snow-white "gruya," one of the beautiful species of herons common in these regions. its fine tapering neck was not soiled with soap, but left in its natural state. in this case the chances of failure lay in the fact that, loosely buried as it was, the gruya would not allow its head to be approached by a hand, but jerked it from side to side, thus rendering it no easy matter to get hold of it. the signal being given, away went the string of horsemen! carlos was among the last, but on coming up he saw the white bending neck still there. his hand was too quick for the bird, and the next moment it was dragged from the yielding sand, and flapping its snowy wings over the withers of his horse. it required not only speed on the part of carlos, but great adroitness, to pass the crowd of horsemen, who now rushed from all points to intercept him. here he dashed forward--there reined up--anon wheeled round a rider, and passed behind him; and, after a dozen such manoeuvres, the black horse was seen shooting off towards the turning-post alone. this passed, he galloped back to the goal, and holding up his prize, unstained and intact, received the applause of the spectators. there was a good deal of guessing and wondering as to who would be the recipient of the trophy. some girl of his own rank, conjectured the crowd; some poblana or ranchero's daughter. the cibolero did not seem in haste to gratify their curiosity; but, after a few minutes, he astonished them all, by flinging the gruya into the air, and suffering it to fly off. the bird rose majestically upward, and then, drawing in its long neck, was seen winging its way toward the lower end of the valley. it was observed that before parting with the bird carlos had plucked from its shoulders the long gossamer-like feathers that distinguish the heron species. these he was tying into a plume. having accomplished this, he put spurs to his horse, and, galloping up to the front of the stand, he bent gracefully forward, and deposited the trophy at the feet of _catalina de cruces_! a murmur of surprise ran through the crowd, and sharp censure followed fast. what! a cibolero,--a poor devil, of whom nothing was known, aspire to the smiles of a rico's daughter? it was not a compliment. it was an insult! presumption intolerable! and these critiques were not confined to the senoras and senoritas. the poblanas and rancheros were as bitter as they. these felt themselves slighted--passed by--regularly jilted--by one of their own class. catalina de cruces, indeed! catalina--her situation was pleasant, yet painful--painful, because embarrassing. she smiled, then blushed, uttered a soft "_gracias, cavallero_!" yet hesitated a moment whether to take up the trophy. a scowling father had started to his feet on one side, on the other a scowling lover. the last was roblado. "insolent!" cried he, seizing the plume, and flinging it to the earth; "insolent!" carlos bent down from his saddle, once more laid hold of the plume, and stuck it under the gold band of his hat. then, turning a defiant glance upon the officer, he said, "don't lose your temper, captain roblado. a jealous lover makes but an indifferent husband." and transferring his look to catalina, he added with a smile, and in a changed tone, "gracias, senorita!" as he said this he doffed his sombrero, and, waving it gracefully, turned his horse and rode off. roblado half drew his sword, and his loud "carrajo!" along with the muttered imprecations of don ambrosio, reached the ears of the cibolero. but the captain was far from brave, with all his swagger; and seeing the long _machete_ of the horseman strapped over his hips, he vented his spite in threats only, and suffered carlos to depart. the incident had created no small excitement, and a good deal of angry feeling. the cibolero had roused the indignation of the aristocracy, and the jealousy and envy of the democracy; so that, after all his brilliant performances, he was likely to leave the field anything but a favourite. the wild words of his strange old mother had been widely reported, and national hatred was aroused, so that his skill called forth envy instead of admiration. an angel indeed, should he have been to have won friendship there--he an americano--a "heretico"--for in this far corner of the earth fanaticism was as fierce as in the seven-hilled city itself during the gloomiest days of the inquisition! mayhap it was as well for carlos that the sports were now ended, and the fiesta about to close. in a few minutes the company began to move off. the mules, oxen, and asses, were yoked to the carretas--the rancheros and rancheras climbed inside the deep boxes; and then, what with the cracking of quirts, the shouts of drivers, and the hideous screaming of the ungreased axles, a concert of sounds arose that would have astonished any human being, except a born native of the soil. in half-an-hour the ground was clear, and the lean coyote might be seen skulking over the spot in search of a morsel for his hungry maw. chapter nine. though the field-sports were over, the fiesta of san juan was not yet ended. there were still many sights to be seen before the crowd scattered to their homes. there was to be another turn at the church-- another sale of "indultos," beads, and relics,--another sprinkling of sacred water, in order that the coffers of the padres might be replenished toward a fresh bout at the _monte_ table. then there was an evening procession of the saint of the day (john), whose image, set upon a platform, was carried about the town, until the five or six fellows who bore the load were seen to perspire freely under its weight. the saint himself was a curiosity. a large wax and plaster doll, dressed in faded silk that had once been yellow, and stuck all over with feathers and tinsel. a catholic image indianised, for the mexican divinities were as much indian as roman. he appeared bored of the business, as, the joinings between head and neck having partially given way, the former drooped over and nodded to the crowd as the image was moved along. this nodding, however, which would have been laughed at as supremely ridiculous in any other than a priest-ridden country, was here regarded in a different light. the padres did not fail to put their interpretation upon it, pointing it out to their devout followers as a mark of condescension on the part of the saint, who, in thus bowing to the crowd, was expressing his approbation of their proceedings. it was, in fact, a regular miracle. so alleged both padres and cura, and who was there to contradict them? it would have been a dangerous matter to have said nay. in san ildefonso no man dared to disbelieve the word of the church. the miracle worked well. the religious enthusiasm boiled up; and when saint john was returned to his niche, and the little "cofre" placed in front of him, many a "peseta", "real," and "cuartillo," were dropped in, which would otherwise have been deposited that night in the _monte_ bank. nodding saints and "winking madonnas" are by no means a novel contrivance of the holy church. the padres of its mexican branch have had their wonderful saints too; and even in the almost _terra ignota_ of new mexico can be found a few of them that have performed as _smart_ miracles as any recorded in the whole jugglery of the race. a pyrotechnic display followed--and no mean exhibition of the sort neither--for in this "art" the new mexicans are adepts. a fondness for "fireworks" is a singular but sure characteristic of a declining nation. give me the statistics of pyrotechnic powder burnt by a people, and i shall tell you the standard measure of their souls and bodies. if the figure be a maximum, then the physical and moral measure will be the minimum, for the ratio is inverse. i stood in the place de concorde, and saw a whole nation--its rich and its poor--gazing on one of these pitiful spectacles, got up for the purpose of duping them into contentment. it was the price paid them for parting with their liberty, as a child parts with a valuable gem for a few sugar-plums. they were gazing with a delight that seemed enthusiasm! i looked upon scrubby, stunted forms, a foot shorter than were their ancestors. i looked upon eyes that gleamed with demoralised thought. these were the representatives of a once great people, and who still deem themselves the first of mankind. i felt sure that this was an illusion. the pyro-spectacle and its reception convinced me that i saw before me a people who had passed the culminating point of their greatness, and were now gliding rapidly down the declining slope that leads to annihilation and nothingness. after the fireworks came the "fandango." there we meet the same faces, without much alteration in the costumes. the senoras and senoritas alone have doffed their morning dresses, and here and there a pretty poblana has changed her coarse woollen "nagua" for a gay flounced muslin. the ball was held in the large saloon of the "casa de cabildo," which occupied one side of the "plaza." on this festival day there was no exclusiveness. in the frontier towns of mexico not much at any time, for, notwithstanding the distinctions of class, and the domineering tyranny of the government authorities, in matters of mere amusement there is a sort of democratic equality, a mingling of high and low, that in other countries is rare. english, and even american travellers, have observed this with astonishment. all were admitted to the "salon de baile" who chose to pay for it; and alongside the rico in fine broad-cloth you might see the ranchero in his leathern jacket and velveteen calzoneros; while the daughter of the rich comerciante danced in the same set with the "aldeana," whose time was taken up in kneading tortillas or weaving rebosos! the comandante with roblado and the lieutenant figured at the fandango in full uniform. the alcalde was there with his gold-headed cane and tassel; the _cura_ in his shovel hat; the padres in their swinging robes; and all the "familias principales" of the place. there was the rich comerciante, don jose rincon, with his fat wife and four fat sleepy-looking daughters--there, too, the wife and family of the alcalde--there the echevarrias, with their brother the "beau" in full paris costume, with dress coat and crush hat--the only one to be seen in the saloon. there, too, the rich hacendado, senor gomez del monte, with his lean wife and several rather lean daughters--differing in that respect from the hundreds of kine that roam over the pastures of his "ganada." and there, too, observed of all, was the lovely catalina de graces, the daughter of the wealthy miner don ambrosio, who himself is by her side, keeping a watchful eye upon her. besides these grand people there were employes of the mines of less note, clerks of the comerciantes, young farmers of the valley, gambucinos, vaqueros, ciboleros, and even "_leperos_" of the town, shrouded in their cheap serapes. a motley throng was the fandango. the music consisted of a bandolon, a harp, and fiddle, and the dances were the waltz, the _bolero_, and the _coona_. it is but just to say that finer dancing could not have been witnessed in the saloons of paris. even the peon, in his leathern spencer and calzoneros, moved as gracefully as a professor of the art; and the poblanas, in their short skirts and gay coloured slippers, swept over the floor like so many coryphees of the ballet. roblado, as usual, was pressing his attentions on catalina, and danced almost every set with her; but her eye wandered from his gold epaulettes and seemed to search the room for some other object. she was evidently indifferent to the remarks of her partner, and tired of his company. vizcarra's eyes were also in search of some one that did not appear to be present, for the comandante strolled to and fro, peering into every group and corner with a dissatisfied look. if it was the fair blonde he was looking for, he would be unsuccessful. she was not there. rosita and her mother had returned home after the exhibition of the fireworks. their house was far down the valley, and they had gone to it, accompanied by carlos and the young ranchero. these, however, had returned to be present at the fandango. it was late before they made their appearance, the road having detained them. this was why the eye of catalina wandered. unlike vizcarra, however, she was not to meet with disappointment. while the dance was going on two young men entered the saloon, and soon mingled with the company. one of them was the young ranchero, the other was carlos. the latter might easily have been distinguished by the heron-plume that waved over his black sombrero. the eye of catalina was no longer restless. it was now directed upon an object, though its glances were not fixed, but quick and stolen--stolen, because of the observation of an angry father and a jealous lover. carlos assumed indifference, though his heart was burning. what would he not have given to have danced with her? but he knew the situation too well. he knew that the offer of such a thing would lead to a scene. he dared not propose it. at times he fancied that she had ceased to regard him--that she even listened with interest to roblado--to the beau echevarria--to others. this was but catalina's fine acting. it was meant for other eyes than those of carlos, but he knew not that, and became piqued. he grew restless, and danced. he chose for his partner a very pretty "aldeana," inez gonzales by name, who was delighted to dance with him. catalina saw this, and became jealous in turn. this play continued for a length of time, but carlos at length grew tired of his partner, and sat down upon the _banqueta_ alone. his eyes followed the movements of catalina. he saw that hers were bent upon him with glances of love,--love that had been avowed in words,--yes, had already been plighted upon oath. why should they suspect each other? the confidence of both hearts was restored; and now the excitement of the dance, and the less zealous guardianship of don ambrosio, half drunk with wine, gave confidence to their eyes, and they gazed more boldly and frequently at one another. the ring of dancers whirling round the room passed close to where carlos sat. it was a waltz. catalina was waltzing with the beau echevarria. at each circle her face was towards carlos, and then their eyes met. in these transient but oft-recurring glances the eyes of a spanish maid will speak volumes, and carlos was reading in those of catalina a pleasant tale. as she came round the room for the third time, he noticed something held between her fingers, which rested over the shoulder of her partner. it was a sprig with leaves of a dark greenish hue. when passing close to him, the sprig, dexterously detached, fell upon his knees, while he could just bear, uttered in a soft whisper, the word--"_tuya_!" carlos caught the sprig, which was a branch of "tuya," or cedar. he well understood its significance; and after pressing it to his lips, he passed it through the button-hole of his embroidered "jaqueta." as catalina came round again, the glances exchanged between them were those of mutual and confiding love. the night wore on--don ambrosio at length became sleepy, and carried off his daughter, escorted by roblado. soon after most of the ricos and fashionables left the saloon, but some tireless votaries of terpsichore still lingered until the rosy aurora peeped through the "rejas" of the casa de cabildo. chapter ten. the "llano estacado," or "staked plain" of the hunters, is one of the most singular formations of the great american prairie. it is a table-land, or "steppe," rising above the regions around it to a height of nearly one thousand feet, and of an oblong or leg-of-mutton form, trending from north to south. it is four hundred miles in length, and at its widest part between two and three hundred. its superficial area is about equal to the island of ireland. its surface aspect differs considerably from the rest of prairie-land, nor is it of uniform appearance in every part. its northern division consists of an arid steppe, sometimes treeless, for an extent of fifty miles, and sometimes having a stunted covering of mezquite (_acacia_), of which there are two distinct species. this steppe is in several places rent by chasms a thousand feet in depth, and walled in on both sides by rugged impassable precipices. vast masses of shapeless rocks lie along the beds of these great clefts, and pools of water appear at long intervals, while stunted cedars grow among the rocks, or cling from the seams of the cliffs. such chasms, called "canons," can only be crossed, or even entered, at certain points; and these passes are frequently a score of miles distant from each other. on the upper plain the surface is often a dead level for a hundred miles, and as firm as a macadamised road. there are spots covered with a turf of grass of the varieties known as gramma, buffalo, and mezquite; and sometimes the traveller encounters a region where shallow ponds of different sizes stud the plain--a few being permanent, and surrounded by sedge. most of these ponds are more or less brackish, some sulphurous, and others perfectly salt. after heavy rains such aqueous deposits are more numerous, and their waters sweeter; but rain seems to fall by accident over this desolate region, and after long spells of drought the greater number of these ponds disappear altogether. towards the southern end of the llano estacado the surface exhibits a very singular phenomenon--a belt of sand-hills, nearly twenty miles in breadth and full fifty in length, stretching north and south upon the plain. these hills are of pure white sand, thrown up in ridges, and sometimes in cones, to the height of a hundred feet, and without tree, bush, or shrub, to break their soft outlines, or the uniformity of their colour. but the greatest anomaly of this geological puzzle is, that water-ponds are found in their very midst--even among their highest ridges--and this water not occasional, as from rains, but lying in "lagunas," with reeds, rushes, and _nymphae_ growing in them, to attest that the water is permanent! the very last place where water might be expected to make a lodgment. such formations of drift-sand are common upon the shores of the mexican gulf, as well as on european coasts, and there their existence is easily explained; but here, in the very heart of a continent, it cannot be regarded as less than a singular phenomenon. this sand-belt is passable at one or two points, but horses sink to the knees at every step, and but for the water it would be a perilous experiment to cross it. where is the llano estacado? unroll your map of north america. you will perceive a large river called the canadian rising in the rocky mountains, and running, first southerly, and then east, until it becomes part of the arkansas. as this river bends eastwardly, it brushes the northern end of the llano estacado, whose bluffs sometimes approach close to its banks, and at other times are seen far off, resembling a range of mountains--for which they have been frequently mistaken by travellers. the boundary of the west side of the "staked plain" is more definite. near the head-waters of the canadian another large river has its source. this the pecos. its course, you will observe, is nearly south, but your map is not correct, as for several hundred miles the pecos runs within a few degrees of east. it afterwards takes a southerly direction, before it reaches its embouchure in the rio grande. now the pecos washes the whole western base of the llano estacado; and it is this very plain, elevated as it is, that turns the pecos into its southerly course, instead of leaving it to flow eastward, like all the other prairie-streams that head in the rocky mountains. the eastern boundary of the llano estacado is not so definitely marked, but a line of some three hundred miles from the pecos, and cutting the head-waters of the wichita, the louisiana bed, the brazos, and colorado, will give some idea of its outline. these rivers, and their numerous tributaries, all head in the eastern "ceja" (brow) of the staked plain, which is cut and channelled by their streams into tracts of the most rugged and fantastic forms. at the south the llano estacado tapers to a point, declining into the mezquite plains and valleys of numerous small streams that debouch into the lower rio grande. this singular tract is without one fixed dweller; even the indian never makes abode upon it beyond the few hours necessary to rest from his journey, and there are parts where he--inured as he is to hunger and thirst--dare not venture to cross it. so perilous is the "jornada," or crossing of the llano estacado, that throughout all its length of four hundred miles there are only two places where travellers can effect it in safety! the danger springs from the want of water, for there are spots of grass in abundance; but even on the well-known routes there are, at certain seasons, stretches of sixty and eighty miles where not a drop of water is to be procured! in earlier times one of these routes was known as the "spanish trail," from santa fe to san antonio de bexar, of texas; and lest travellers should lose their way, several points were marked with "palos," or stakes. hence the name it has received. the llano estacado is now rarely travelled, except by the ciboleros, or mexican buffalo-hunters, and "comancheros," or indian traders. parties of these cross it from the settlements of new mexico, for the purpose of hunting the buffalo, and trafficking with the indian tribes that roam over the plains to the east. neither the hunt nor the traffic is of any great importance, but it satisfies a singular race of men, whom chance or inclination has led to the adopting it as a means of subsistence. these men are to the mexican frontier pretty much what the hunter and backwoodsman are upon the borders of the anglo-american settlements. they are, however, in many respects different from the latter--in arms and equipments, modes of hunting, and otherwise. the outfit of a cibolero, who is usually also a _coureur de bois_, is very simple. for hunting, he is mounted on a tolerable--sometimes a fine--horse and armed with a bow and arrows, a hunting-knife, and a long lance. of fire-arms he knows and cares nothing--though there are exceptional cases. a lazo is an important part of his equipment. for trading, his stock of goods is very limited--often not costing him twenty dollars! a few bags of coarse bread (an article of food which the prairie indians are fond of), a sack of "pinole," some baubles for indian ornament, some coarse serapes, and pieces of high-coloured woollen stuffs, woven at home: these constitute his "invoice." hardware goods he does not furnish to any great extent. these stand him too high in his own market, as they reach it only after long carriage and scandalous imposts. fire-arms he has nothing to do with: such prairie indians as use these are furnished from the eastern side; but many spanish pieces--fusils and escopettes-- have got into the hands of the comanches through their forays upon the mexican towns of the south. in return for his outlay and perilous journey, the cibolero carries back dried buffalo-flesh and hides--some the produce of his own hunting, some procured by barter from the indians. horses, mules, and asses, are also articles of exchange. of these the prairie indians possess vast herds--some individuals owning hundreds; and most of them with mexican brands! in other words, they have been stolen from the towns of the _lower_ rio grande, to be sold to the towns of the _upper_ rio grande, and the trade is deemed perfectly legitimate,--at least, there is no help for it as the case stands. the cibolero goes forth on the plains with a rare escort. sometimes a large number of these men, taking their wives and families with them, travel together just like a tribe of wild indians. generally, however, one or two leaders, with their servants and equipage, form the expedition. they experience less molestation from the savages than ordinary travellers. the comanches and other tribes know their object, and rather encourage them to come amongst them. notwithstanding, they are often cheated and ill-used by these double-faced dealers. their mode of transport is the pack-mule, and the "carreta" drawn by mules or oxen. the carreta is of itself a picture of primitive locomotion. a pair of block-wheels, cut out of a cotton-wood tree, are joined by a stout wooden axle. the wheels usually approach nearer to the oval, or square, than the circular form. a long tongue leads out from the axle-tree, and upon top of this a square, deep, box-like body is placed. to this two or more pairs of oxen are attached in the most simple manner--by lashing a cross-piece of wood to their horns which has already been made fast to the tongue. the animals have neither yoke nor harness, and the forward push of the head is the motive power by which the carreta is propelled. once in motion, the noise of the wooden axle is such as to defy description. the cries of a whole family, with children of all sizes, in bitter agony, can alone represent the concert of terrible sounds; and we must go to south mexico to find its horrid equal in a troop of howling monkeys. chapter eleven. about a week after the fiesta of saint john, a small party of ciboleros was seen crossing the pecos, at the ford of the "bosque redondo." the party was only five in number, and consisted of a white man, a half-blood, and three pure-bred indians, having with them a small _atajo_ of pack-mules, and three ox-team carretas. the crouching trot of the indians, as well as their tilma dresses and sandalled feet, showed that they were "indios mansos." they were, in fact, the hired _peons_ of carlos the cibolero--the white man, and chief of the party. the half-blood--antonio by name--was "arriero" of the mule-train, while the three indians drove the ox-teams, guiding them across the ford with their long goads. carlos himself was mounted upon his fine black horse, and, muffled in a strong serape, rode in front to pilot the way. his beautiful manga had been left behind, partly to save it from the rough wear of such an expedition, and also that it might not excite the cupidity of the prairie indians, who, for such a brilliant mantle as it was, would not hesitate to take his scalp. besides the manga, the embroidered jacket, the scarlet scarf, and velveteen calzoneros, had all been put off, and others of a coarser kind were now worn in their place. this was an important expedition for carlos. he carried with him the largest freight he had ever taken upon the prairies. besides the three carretas with four oxen each, the atajo consisted of five pack-mules, all loaded with merchandise--the carretas with bread, pinole, spanish beans, chile peppers; and the packs were made up of serape blankets, coarse woollen cloth, and a few showy trinkets, as also some spanish knives, with their pointed triangular blades. it was his bold luck on the day of the fiesta that had enabled him to provide such a stock. in addition to his own original onza and the two he had won, the young ranchero, don juan, had insisted upon his accepting the loan of five others towards an outfit for this expedition. the little troop, having safely forded the pecos, headed towards the "ceja" of the llano estacado, that was not far distant from the crossing of bosque redondo. a sloping ravine brought them to the top of the "mesa," where a firm level road lay before them--a smooth plain without break or bush to guide them on their course. but the cibolero needed no guide. no man knew the staked plain better than he; and, setting his horse's head in a direction a little south of east, the train moved on. he was striking for one of the head branches of the red river of louisiana, where he had heard that for several seasons past the buffalo had appeared in great numbers. it was a new route for him--as most of his former expeditions had been made to the upper forks of the texan rivers brazos had colorado. but the plains around these rivers were at this time in undisputed possession of the powerful tribe of comanches, and their allies, the kiawas, lipans, and tonkewas. hence, these indians, uninterrupted in their pursuit of the buffalo, had rendered the latter wild and difficult of approach, and had also thinned their numbers. on the waters of the red river the case was different. this was hostile ground. the wacoes, panes, osages, and bands from the cherokee, kickapoo, and other nations to the east, occasionally hunted there, and sanguinary conflicts occurred among them; so that one party or another often lost their season's hunt by the necessity of keeping out of each other's range; and the game was thus left undisturbed. it is a well-known fact that in a neutral or "hostile ground" the buffalo, as well as other game, are found in greatest abundance, and are there more easily approached than elsewhere. with a knowledge of these facts, carlos the cibolero had determined to risk an expedition to the red river, whose head-waters have their source in the eastern "ceja" of the llano estacado, and _not_ in the rocky mountains as laid down upon maps. carlos was well armed for hunting the buffalo--so was the half-blood antonio--and two of the three peons were also experienced hunters. their arms consisted of the bow and lance, both weapons being preferable to fire-arms for buffalo-hunting. in one of the carretas, however, might be seen a weapon of another kind--a long brown american rifle. this carlos kept for other and higher game, and he well knew how to use it. but how came such a weapon into the hands of a mexican cibolero? remember carlos was not of mexican origin. the weapon was a family relic. it had been his father's. we shall not follow carlos and his "caravan" through all the details of their weary "journeyings" across the desert plain. at one place they made a "jornada" of seventy miles without water. but the experienced carlos knew how to accomplish this without the loss of a single animal. he travelled thus. having given his cattle as much as they would drink at the last watering-place, he started in the afternoon, and travelled until near daybreak. then a halt of two hours was made, so that the animals should graze while the dew was still on the grass. another long march followed, continuing until noon, then a rest of three or four hours brought the cool evening, when a fresh spell of marching brought the "jornada" to its end, far on in the following night. such is the mode of travelling still practised on the desert steppes of chihuahua, sonora, and north mexico. after several days' travelling the cibolero and his party descended from the high "mesa," and, passing down its eastern slope, arrived on a tributary of the red river. here the scenery assumed a new aspect--the aspect of the "rolling" prairie. gentle declivities, with soft rounded tops declining into smooth verdant vales, along which meandered streams of clear and sparkling water. here and there along the banks stood groves of trees, such as the evergreen live-oak, the beautiful "pecan" with its oblong edible nuts, the "overcup" with its odd-looking acorns, the hackberry with its nettle-shaped leaves and sweet fruits, and the silvery cotton-wood. along the swells could be seen large trees standing apart, and at almost equal distances, as though planted for an orchard. their full leafy tops gave them a fine appearance, and their light pinnate leaves, with the long brown legumes hanging from their branches, told they were the famous "mezquite" trees--the american acacia. the red mulberry could be seen in the creek bottoms, and here and there the beautiful wild-china-tree with its pretty lilac flowers. the whole surface both of hill and valley was clad in a rich mantle of short _buffalo_ grass, which gave it the aspect of a meadow lately mown, and springing into fresh verdure. it was a lovely landscape, and no wonder the wild bulls of the prairies chose it for their favourite range. the cibolero had not travelled far through this favoured region until he came upon the buffalo sign--"roads", "wallows", and "bois de vache;" and next morning he found himself in the midst of vast herds, roaming about like tame cattle, and browsing at their leisure. so little shy were they, they scarce deigned to make off at his approach! of course he had reached the end of his journey. this was his great stock-farm. these were his own cattle--as much his as any one else's; and he had nothing more to do but set to killing and curing. as to his trade with the indians, that would take place whenever he should chance to fall in with a party--which he would be certain to do in the course of the season. like all men of the prairie, rude trappers as well as indians, carlos had an eye for the picturesque, and therefore chose a beautiful spot for his camp. it was a grassy bottom, through which ran a clear "arroyo" of sweet water, shaded by pecan, mulberry, and wild-china-trees, and under the shadow of a mulberry grove his carretas were halted and his tent was pitched. chapter twelve. carlos had commenced his hunt, and was making rapid progress. in the first two days he had slaughtered no less than twenty buffaloes, and had them all carried to camp. he and antonio followed the buffalo and shot them down, while two of the peons skinned the animals, cut up the meat, and packed it to camp. there, under the hands of the third, it underwent the further process of being "jerked," that is, cut into thin slices and dried in the sun. the hunt promised to be profitable. carlos would no doubt obtain as much "tasajo" as he could carry home, besides a large supply of hides, both of which found ready sale in the towns of new mexico. on the third day, however, the hunters noticed a change in the behaviour of the buffalo. they had suddenly grown wild and wary. now and then vast gangs passed them, running at full speed, as if terrified and pursued! it was not carlos and his companion that had so frighted them. what then had set them a-running? carlos conjectured that some indian tribe was in the neighbourhood engaged in hunting them. his conjecture proved correct. on ascending a ridge which gave him a view of a beautiful valley beyond, his eye rested upon an indian encampment. it consisted of about fifty lodges, standing like tents along the edge of the valley, and fronting towards the stream. they were of a conical form, constructed of a framework of poles set in a circle, drawn together at their tops, and then covered with skins of the buffalo. "waco lodges!" said the cibolero, the moment his practised eye fell upon them. "master," inquired antonio, "how do you tell that?" antonio's experience fell far short of that of his master, who from childhood had spent his life on the prairies. "how!" replied carlos, "by the lodges themselves." "i should have taken it for a comanche camp," said the half-blood. "i have seen just such lodges among the `buffalo-eaters.'" "not so, anton," rejoined his master. "in the comanche lodge the poles meet at the top, and are covered over with the skins, leaving no outlet for smoke. you observe it is not so with these. they are lodges of the wacoes, who, it is true, are allies of the comanches." such was in reality the fact. the poles, though bent so as to approach each other at the top, did not quite meet, and an open hole remained for the passage of smoke. the lodge, therefore, was not a perfect cone, but the frustum of one; and in this it differed from the lodge of the comanches. "the wacoes are not hostile," remarked the cibolero. i think we have nothing to fear from them. no doubt they will trade with us. but where are they? this question was drawn forth by the cibolero observing that not a creature was to be seen about the lodges,--neither man, woman, child, nor animal! and yet it could not be a deserted camp. indians would not abandon such lodges as these--at least they would not leave behind the fine robes that covered them! no, the owners must be near: no doubt, among the neighbouring hills, in pursuit of the buffalo. the cibolero guessed aright. as he and his companion stood looking down upon the encampment, a loud shouting reached their ears, and the next moment a body of several hundred horsemen was seen approaching over a swell of the prairie. they were riding slowly, but their panting foaming horses showed that they had just left off harder work. presently another band, still more numerous, appeared in the rear. these were horses and mules laden with huge brown masses, the buffalo-meat packed up in the shaggy hides. this train was conducted by the women and boys, and followed by troops of dogs and screaming children. as they came toward the encampment from an opposite direction, carlos and his companion were not for a while seen. the indians, however, had not been long among the lodges before the quick eye of one caught sight of their two heads above the ridge. a warning cry was uttered, and in a moment every one of the dismounted hunters was back in his saddle and ready for action. one or two galloped off towards the meat-train, which had not yet come into camp, while others rode to and fro, exhibiting symptoms of alarm. no doubt they were under apprehensions that the panes, their mortal foes, had stolen a march upon them. carlos soon relieved them from this apprehension. spurring his horse to the crest of the ridge, he drew up in full view of the indians. a few signs, which he well knew how to make, and the word "amigo!" shouted at the top of his voice, restored their confidence; then a young fellow now rode out in front, and advanced up the hill. when sufficiently near to be heard, he halted; and a conversation, partly by signs, and partly by means of a little spanish, enabled him and carlos to understand each other. the indian then galloped back, and, after a short interval, returned again, and invited the cibolero and his companion to the encampment. carlos of course accepted the courtesy, and a few minutes after, he and antonio were eating fresh buffalo-beef, and chatting in perfect amity with their new hosts. the chief, a fine-looking man, and evidently possessing full authority, became particularly friendly with carlos, and was much pleased at hearing that the latter had a stock of goods. he promised to visit his camp next morning and allow his tribe to trade. as the cibolero had conjectured, they were waco indians,--a noble race, one of the noblest of the prairie tribes. carlos returned to his camp in high spirits. he would now have his goods exchanged for mules,--so the chief promised,--and these were the main objects of his expedition. in the morning, according to appointment, the indians arrived, chief and all; and the little valley where the cibolero had encamped was filled with men, women, and children. the packs were opened, the goods were set forth, and the whole day was spent in continuous trading. the cibolero found his customers perfectly honest; and when night came, and they took their departure, not a single item of carlos' stock remained on his hands. in its place, however, a handsome _mulada_ of no less than thirty mules was seen picketed in the bottom of the little valley. these were now the property of carlos the cibolero. not a bad outlay of his eight onzas! not only would they yield well on his return, but it was his intention that each of them should carry back its full load of buffalo-hides, or "tasajo." it would be a successful expedition, indeed; and dreams of future wealth, with the hope of being some day in a condition to advance a legitimate claim to the hand of the fair catalina, were already passing through the mind of carlos. once a "rico," reflected he, even don ambrosio might sanction his suit. on that night soft was the slumber and pleasant the dreams of carlos the cibolero. chapter thirteen. next day he followed his hunting with increased ardour. he was now provided with the means of transport to any amount. there was no fear he should have to leave either his robes or tasajo behind. with his own mules, he had now thirty-five; and that number, with the three carretas, would carry a splendid freight--of the value of hundreds of dollars. he had already obtained some dressed robes from the indians. for these he had parted with everything for which an indian would trade. even the buttons from off his jacket and those of his men, the bullion bands and shining tags of their sombreros--everything about them that glittered! their arms of course not. these the wacoes did not want. they had similar ones themselves, and could manufacture them at will. they would have purchased the long brown rifle; but that was a souvenir carlos would not have parted with for a score of mules. for the next day or two the cibolero continued his hunting. he found the buffalo grow every hour more excited and wild. he noticed, too, that the "running" gangs came from the north, while the wacoes were hunting to the southward of his camp! it could not be the latter that were disturbing them. who then? on the third night after his trade with the indians, carlos had retired to rest with his people. antonio kept watch until midnight, at which hour he was to be relieved by one of the peons. antonio had grown very sleepy. his hard riding after the buffalo had wearied him; and he was doing his best to keep awake for the last half-hour of his vigil, when a snort reached his ears from the direction of the _mulada_. this brought him to himself. he placed his ear to the ground and listened. another snort louder than the first came from the _mulada_-- another--and another--quick in succession! "what can it mean? coyotes? or, perhaps, a bear? i shall wake my master," said antonio to himself. stealing gently to the side of carlos, the half-blood shook the sleeper by the arm. a slight shake was enough, for in an instant the cibolero was upon his feet and handling his rifle. he always resorted to this weapon in cases of danger, such as a hostile attack by indians, using his bow only in the chase. after a word or two had passed between carlos and antonio the three peons were awaked, and all five stood to their arms. the little party remained in the midst of the carretas, which had been drawn up so as to form a small triangular corral. the high boxes of these would be an excellent protection against arrows; and, as there was no fire in the camp to make a light, they could not be seen from without. the camp, moreover, was shadowed by the thick foliage of the mulberries, which rendered it still more obscure; while its occupants commanded a view of the prairie in front. but for the wood copses which stood at intervals, they could have seen the whole ground both up and down the valley and along its sides. these copses, however, might have concealed any number of foes. the hunters remained silent, listening intently. at one time they fancied they could see a dark form crouching along the ground in the direction of the _mulada_, that was picketed not a hundred yards off. the light, however, was so uncertain, not one of the five could be sure of this. whatever it was, it moved very slowly, for it appeared to remain near the same spot. carlos at length set himself to observe it more closely. he stole out from the corral, and, followed by antonio, crawled along the ground. when the two had got nearer the dark object, it was distinctly seen to move. "there _is_ something!" whispered the cibolero. at that moment the mules again snorted, and one or two of them struck the ground with their hoofs, as if startled. "it must be a bear, i fancy," continued carlos. "it has the appearance of one. it will stampede the animals--a shot will be less likely to do so." as he said this he raised his rifle, and, taking aim as well as the darkness would allow him, pulled trigger and fired. it seemed as if the shot had invoked all the demons of the infernal regions. a hundred voices burst forth in one simultaneous yell, the hoofs of a hundred horses rang upon the turf, the _mulada_ got into motion, the mules squealing and plunging violently, and the next moment every one of them had broken their lariats, and were running at a furious gallop out of the valley! a dark band of yelling horsemen was seen closing in after and driving them off; and, before carlos could recover from his surprise, both mules and indians had disappeared out of sight and hearing! not a single one remained of the whole _mulada_. the ground upon which they had been picketed was swept perfectly clear! "an estampeda!" said the cibolero, in a husky voice; "my poor mules--all gone--_every_ one of them! a curse upon indian duplicity!" carlos had not the slightest doubt but that the marauders were the wacoes--the very same from whom he had purchased the mules. he knew that such an occurrence was by no means rare--that oftentimes the traders are robbed in this way; and not unusual is it for them to purchase a second time the very animals thus carried off, and from the same indians who have stolen them! "a curse upon indian duplicity!" he repeated with indignant emphasis. "no wonder they were so free and generous in their barter! it was but a plot on the part of the cowardly thieves to take from me my whole cargo, without daring to do so openly. _carajo_! i am lost!" this last phrase was uttered in a tone that partook equally of anger and grief. the cibolero was certainly placed in an unpleasant situation. all his hopes--lately running so high--were crushed in a single moment. his whole property taken from him--the object of his enterprise lost--his long, perilous, and painful journeyings made for nothing. he should return empty-handed, poorer than when he set out--for his own five pack-mules were gone among the rest. the oxen, and his faithful steed, tied to the carretas, alone remained. these would scarce serve to carry provision for himself and party on their journey home; no cargo--not a bale of hides--not a "bulta" of meat more than would be required for their own food! these reflections all passed through the mind of the cibolero in the space of a few moments, as he stood gazing in the direction in which the marauders had gone. he made no attempt to follow--that would have been worse than useless. on his splendid horse he might have overtaken them--only to die on the points of their lances! "a curse upon indian duplicity!" he once more repeated; and then, rising to his feet, walked back to the corral, and gave orders for the oxen to be drawn close up and firmly fastened to the carretas. another surprise might be attempted by some lingering party of the savages; and, as it would be unsafe to go to sleep, the cibolero and his four companions remained awake and on the alert for the remainder of the night. chapter fourteen. that was a _noche triste_ to carlos--a night of painful reflections. bereft of his property--in the midst of hostile indians, who might change their minds, return, and massacre him and his party--many hundred miles from home, or from any settlement of whites--a wide desert to be traversed--the further discouragement that there was no object for his going home, now that he was stripped of all his trading-stock--perhaps to be laughed at on his return--no prospect of satisfaction or indemnity, for he well knew that his government would send out no expedition to revenge so humble an individual as he was--he knew, in fact, that no expedition of spanish soldiery could penetrate to the place, even if they had the will; but to fancy vizcarra and roblado sending one on his account! no, no; there was no hope of his obtaining satisfaction. he was cruelly robbed, and he knew that he must endure it; but what a blighted prospect was before him! as soon as day broke he would go to the waco camp--he would boldly upbraid them for their treachery. but what purpose would that serve? besides, would he find them still there? no; most likely they were moving off to some other part at the time they had planned the robbery! several times during the night a wild idea occurred to him. if he could not have indemnity he might obtain revenge. the wacoes were not without enemies. several bordering tribes were at war with them; and carlos knew they had a powerful foe in the panes. "my fortune is bitter," thought carlos; "but revenge is sweet! what if i seek the pane,--tell him my intention,--offer him my lance, my bow, and my true rifle? i have never met the pane. i know him not; but i am no weak hand, and now that i have a cause for vengeance he will not despise my aid. my men will follow me--i know they will--anywhere; and, tame `tagnos' though they be, they can fight when roused to revenge. i shall seek the pane!" the last thought was uttered half aloud, and with emphasis that spoke determination. the cibolero was a man of quick resolves, and this resolve he had actually come to. it is not to be wondered at, his indignation at being treated in such a cruel and cowardly manner--the poor prospect before him on returning to the settlement--his natural desire to punish those who had placed him in such a predicament--as well as some hope which he still entertained of recovering at least a part of his lost property,--all influenced him to this resolve. he had determined upon it, and was just on the point of communicating his determination to his companions, when he was interrupted by the half-blood antonio. "master," said the latter, who appeared to have been for some time busied with his own thoughts, "did you notice nothing strange?" "when, antonio?" "during the estampeda." "what was there strange?" "why, there appeared to be a good number, full half, of the rascals afoot." "true; i observed that." "now, master, i have seen a _cavallada_ stampeded by the comanches more than once--they were always mounted." "what signifies that? these are wacoes, not comanches." "true, master; but i have heard that the wacoes, like the comanches, are true horse-indians, and never go afoot on any business." "that is indeed so," replied the cibolero in a reflective mood. "something strange, i confess." "but, master," continued the half-blood, "did you notice nothing else strange during the stampede?" "no," answered carlos; "i was so annoyed--so put out by the loss--i scarce noticed anything. what else, antonio?" "why, in the midst of these yellings, did you not hear a shrill whoop now and then--a _whistle_?" "ha! did you hear that?" "more than once--distinctly." "where were my ears?" asked the cibolero of himself. "you are sure, antonio?" "quite sure, master." carlos remained for a moment silent, evidently engaged in busy reflection. after a pause, he broke out in a half-soliloquy:-- "it may have been--it must have been--by heavens! it must--" "what, master?" "the pane whistle!" "just what i was thinking, master. the comanches never whoop so--the kiawa never. i have not heard that the wacoes give such a signal. why not pane? besides, their being afoot--that's like pane!" a sudden revulsion had taken place in the mind of the cibolero. there was every probability that antonio's conjecture was correct. the "whistle" is a peculiar signal of the pane tribes. moreover, the fact of so many of the marauders being on foot--that was another peculiarity. carlos knew that among the southern indians such a tactic is never resorted to. the panes are _horse_-indians too, but on their marauding expeditions to the south they often go afoot, trusting to return mounted--which they almost invariably do. "after all," thought carlos, "i have been wronging the wacoes--the robbers are panes!" but now a new suspicion entered his mind. it was still the wacoes that had done it. they had adopted the pane whistle to deceive him! a party of them might easily be afoot--it was not such a distance to their camp,--besides, after the estampeda they had gone in that very direction! no doubt, should he go there on the morrow, they would tell him that panes were in the neighbourhood, that it was they who had stolen his mules--the mules of course he would not see, as these would be safely concealed among the hills. "no, antonio," he said, after making these reflections, "our enemies are the wacoes themselves." "master," replied antonio, "i hope not." "i hope not, too, camarado. i had taken a fancy to our friends of but yesterday: i should be sorry to find them our foes--but i fear it is even so." with all, carlos was not confident; and now that he reflected, another circumstance came to his mind in favour of the wacoes. his companions had also noted it. that circumstance was the running of the buffaloes observed during the past few days. the gangs had passed from the north, going southward; and their excited manner was almost a proof that they were pressed by a party of hunters. the wacoes were all this time hunting to the south of the cibolero's camp! this would seem to indicate that some other indians were upon the north. what more likely than a band of panes? again carlos reproached himself for his too hasty suspicions of his new friends. his mind was filled with doubts. perhaps these would be resolved by the light of the morning. as soon as day should arrive, he had resolved to go to the waco camp, and satisfy himself, or at all events openly make his inquiries. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ the first streaks of daylight were just falling upon the prairie, when the quick keen eye of the half-blood, ranging the ground in every direction, was arrested by the appearance of something odd upon the grass. it lay near the spot where the _mulada_ had been picketed. it was a darkish object in a recumbent position. was it bushes or gorse? no. it could not be that. its outlines were different. it was more like some animal lying down--perhaps a large wolf? it was near the place where they had fancied that they saw something in the darkness, and at which carlos had fired. antonio, on first perceiving the object, called his master's attention to it, and both now gazed over the box of the carreta, scanning it as well as the grey light would permit them. as this became brighter, the object was seen more distinctly, while at each moment the curiosity of the ciboleros increased. they would have long since gone out to examine it more closely; but they were not yet free from apprehensions of a second attack from the indians; and they prudently remained within the corral. at length, however, they could forego an examination no longer. they had formed their suspicion of what the object was; and carlos and antonio climbed over the carretas, and proceeded towards it. on arriving at the spot they were not so much surprised--for they had partially anticipated such a thing--at finding the body of a dead indian. it was lying flat upon the grass, face downwards; and, on closer examination, a wound, from which much blood had run, was perceived in the side. there was the mark of a rifle bullet--carlos had not fired in vain! they bent down, and turned over the body to examine it. the savage was in full war-costume--that is, naked to the waist, and painted over the breast and face so as to render him as frightful as possible: but what struck the ciboleros as most significant was the _costume of his head_! this was close shaven over the temples and behind the ears. a patch upon the top was clipped short, but in the centre of the crown one long lock of hair remained uncut, and this lock was intermingled with plumes, and plaited so as to hang, queue-like, down the back. the naked temples were stained with vermilion, and the cheeks and bosom daubed in a similar manner. these brilliant spots contrasted with the colourless and deathly hue of the skin, and, with the blanched lips and glazed eyeballs, gave to the corpse a hideous appearance. carlos, after gazing upon it for some moments, turned to his companion with a look of intelligence; and, pointing to the shaved head, and then to the moccasins upon the indian's feet, in a tone that expressed the satisfaction he felt at the discovery, pronounced the word,--"pane!" chapter fifteen. the dead indian was a pane beyond doubt. the tonsure of his hair, the cut of his moccasins, his war-paint, enabled carlos to tell this. the cibolero was glad that he was a pane. he had several reasons for being so. first, it gratified him to know that his waco friends were still true; secondly, that he had punished one of the robbers; and, lastly, the knowledge that they were panes gave him some hope that he might yet recover, _by the help of the wacoes_, some of the stolen mules. this was not improbable. as already stated, the wacoes and panes were sworn foes; and as soon as the former should hear that the latter were in the neighbourhood, carlos felt sure they would go in pursuit of them. he would share in this pursuit with his little band, and, in the event of the panes being defeated, might get back his _mulada_. his first impulse, therefore, was, to gallop to the waco camp--apprise them of the fact that the pane was on the war-trail, and then join them in search of the latter. just then both he and antonio remembered that the panes had themselves gone in the direction of the waco camp! it was not two miles distant-- they could hardly fail to find it, even in the night. what if they had taken the wacoes by surprise, and had already made their attack! it was quite probable--more than probable. the time and the hour were just in keeping. the estampeda had occurred before midnight. no doubt they were then on their way to the waco village. they would just be in time to make their attack, at the usual hour for such forays, between midnight and morning. carlos feared he might be too late to give warning. his waco friends may have already perished! whether or no, he determined to proceed at once to their encampment. leaving antonio and the peons with directions to guard and defend his own camp to the last, he rode off, armed both with rifle and bow. it was yet but grey day, but he knew the trail leading to the waco village, and followed it without difficulty. he rode with caution, scanning the timber copses before approaching them; and running his eye along the crests of the ridges as he advanced. this caution was not unnecessary. the panes could not be far off--they might still be in ambush between him and the waco camp, or halted among the hills. the cibolero had but little fear of meeting one or two of them. he rode a horse in which he had full confidence; and he knew that no pane could overtake him; but he might be surrounded by numbers, and intercepted before he could reach the waco lodges. that was the reason why he advanced with so much caution. his ears were set to listen attentively. every sound was noted and weighed--the "gobble" of the wild turkey from the branches of the oak; the drumming of the ruffed grouse on some dry knoll; the whistling of the fallow-deer; or the tiny bark of the prairie marmot. all these were well-known sounds; and as each was uttered, the cibolero stopped and listened attentively. under other circumstances he would not have heeded them, but he knew that these sounds could be imitated, and his ear was bent to detect any counterfeit. he could distinguish the pane trail of the previous night. a strong band there must have been, by the numerous tracks on the grass. at the crossing of a stream carlos could detect the prints of moccasins in the sand. there were still some of the party afoot then, though, no doubt, the stolen _mulada_ had mounted a good many. carlos rode on with more caution than ever. he was half-way to the waco village, and still the pane trail led in that direction. surely these could not have passed without finding it? such skilled warriors as the panes would not. they would see the trail of the wacoes leading to the cibolero's own camp--they would soon discover the lodges--perhaps they had already made their attack--perhaps-- the reflections of the cibolero were suddenly interrupted; distant sounds fell upon his ear--shouts and cries of fearful import--with that continued murmur that results from the mingling of many voices in loud and confused clamour. now and then was heard a whoop, or a cheer, or a shrill whistle, rising above the ordinary noises, and carrying far over the plain its tones of triumph or revenge. carlos knew the import of those shouts and cries--they were the sounds of battle!--of terrible and deadly strife! they came from behind the hill--the cibolero was just climbing it. he spurred his horse, and, galloping forward to its crest, looked down into the valley. the conflict was raging before him! he had a full view of the dreadful scene. six hundred dusky horsemen were riding about on the plain; some dashing at each other with couched lances--some twanging their bows from a distance; and others close together in the hand-to-hand combat of the deadly tomahawk! some were charging in groups with their long spears--some wheeling into flight, and others, dismounted, were battling on foot! some took shelter among the timber islands, and sprang out again as they saw an opportunity of sending an arrow, or lancing a foeman in the back; and so the red contest continued. not a shot was heard--neither bugle nor drum sent forth their inspiring notes--no cannon rolled its thunder--no rocket blazed--no smoke spread its sulphury cloud upon the air; but without these sights and sounds there was no fear of mistaking that contest for a mimic game--a tournament of the prairies. the wild war-whoop, and the wilder whistle--the earnest onslaught--the fierce charging cheer--the cries of triumph and vengeance--the neighing steeds without riders--here and there the prostrate savage, with skinless scalp, glaring red in the sun--the spears and hatchets crimsoned with blood,--all were evidence of real and deadly strife, and carlos did not doubt for a moment the character of the scene. before him was an indian fight--waco and pane engaged in the earnest struggle of life and death! all this he comprehended at a glance, and, after regarding the fight for a moment, he could distinguish the warriors of both tribes from one another. the panes, in full war-costume, were easily recognised by their tufted scalp-locks; while the wacoes, who had, no doubt, been taken by surprise, were many of them in hunting-shirts and leggings. some, however, were nearly as naked as their adversaries; but easily distinguished from them by their full flowing hair. the first impulse of the cibolero was to gallop forward and mingle in the fight,--of course, taking side with the wacoes. the sound of the conflict roused his blood, and the sight of the robbers who had so lately ruined him rendered him eager for revenge. many of them were mounted upon the very mules they had taken from him, and carlos was determined to have some of them back again. he was about to put spurs to his horse, and dash forward, when a sudden change seemed to occur in the conflict that decided him to remain where he was. the panes were giving way! many of them were seen wheeling out of the plain, and taking to flight. as carlos looked down the hill, he saw three of the pane warriors in full run, making up to the spot where he stood. most of the band were still fighting, or had fled in a different direction; but these, cut off from the rest, came directly up the hill at a gallop. the cibolero had drawn his horse under the cover of some trees, and was not perceived by them until they were close to the spot. at this moment the war-cry of the wacoes was heard directly in their rear, and carlos saw that two mounted warriors of that tribe were in pursuit. the fugitives looked back, and, seeing only two adversarios after them, once more wheeled round and gave fight. at their first charge one of the pursuers was killed, and the other-- whom carlos now recognised as the waco chief--was left alone against three assailants. the whip-like crack of the cibolero's rifle sounded on the air, and one of the panes dropped out of his saddle. the other two, ignorant of whence the shot had come, continued their onset on the waco chief, who, dashing close up, split the skull of one of there with his tomahawk. his horse, however, bore him rapidly past, and before he could wheel round, the remaining pane--an active warrior--rushed after and thrust his long spear into the back of the chief. its head passed clear through his body, completely impaling him; and with a death-whoop, the noble indian fell from his horse to the ground. but his enemy fell at the same time. the arrow of the cibolero was too late to save, though not to avenge, the waco's fall. it pierced the pane just at the moment the latter had made his thrust, and he fell to the ground simultaneously with his victim, still clutching the handle of the spear! a fearful group lay dead upon the sward; but carlos did not stay to contemplate it. the fight still raged in another part of the field, and, putting spurs to his horse he galloped off to take part in it. but the panes had now lost many of their best warriors, and a general panic had seized upon them, ending in their full flight. carlos followed along with the victorious pursuers, now and then using his rifle upon the fleeing robbers. but fearing that a stray party of them might attack his own little camp he turned from the line of pursuit, and galloped in that direction. on arriving, he found antonio and the peons fortified within their corral, and all safe. stray indians had passed them, but all apparently too much frightened to have any desire for an attack upon the little party. as soon as the cibolero had ascertained these facts, he turned his horse and rode back toward the scene of the late conflict. chapter sixteen. as carlos approached the spot where the chief had been slain he heard the death-wail chanted by a chorus of voices. on getting still nearer, he perceived a ring of warriors dismounted and standing around a corpse. it was that of the fallen chief. others, fresh from the pursuit, were gathering to the place; each taking up the melancholy dirge as he drew nigh. the cibolero alighted, and walked forward to the ring. some regarded him with looks of surprise, while others, who knew he had aided them in the fight, stepped up and grasped him by the hand. one old warrior taking carlos' arm in his, led him forward to the ring, and silently pointed to the now ghastly features, as though he was imparting to the cibolero the news that their chief was dead! neither he nor any of the warriors knew what part carlos had borne in the affair. no one, now alive, had been witness to the conflict in which the chief had fallen. around the spot were high copses that hid it from the rest of the field, and, at the time this conflict occurred, the fight was raging in a different direction. the warrior, therefore, thought he was imparting to carlos a piece of news, and the latter remained silent. but there was a _mystery_ among the braves, and carlos saw this by their manner. five indians lay dead upon the ground _unscalped_! that was the mystery. they were the three panes, and the chief with the other waco. they could not have slain each other, and all have fallen on the spot. that was not probable. the waco and one of the panes lay apart. the other three were close together, just as they had fallen, the chief impaled by the pane spear, while his slayer lay behind him still grasping the weapon! the red tomahawk was clutched firmly in the hands of the chief, and the cleft skull of the second pane showed where it had last fallen. so far the indians translated the tableau, but the mystery lay not there. who had slain the slayer of their chief? that was the puzzle. some one must have survived this deadly strife, where five warriors had died together! if a pane, surely he would not have gone off without that great trophy which would have rendered him famous for life,--the scalp of the waco chief? if a waco, where and who was he? these questions passed from lip to lip. no one was found to answer them, but there were yet some warriors to return from the pursuit, and the inquiry was suspended, while the death-song was again chanted over the fallen chief. at length all the braves had arrived on the spot, and stood in a circle around the body. one of the warriors stepped forward to the midst, and by a signal intimated that he wished to be heard. a breathless silence followed, and the warrior began:-- "wacoes! our hearts are sad when they should otherwise rejoice. in the midst of victory a great calamity has fallen upon us. we have lost our father,--our brother! our great chief--he whom we all loved--has fallen. alas! in the very hour of triumph, when his strong right hand had hewn down his enemy on the field--in that moment has he fallen! "the hearts of his warriors are sad, the hearts of his people will long be sad! "wacoes! our chief has not fallen unrevenged. his slayer lies at his feet pierced with the deadly dart, and weltering in his blood. who of you hath done this?" here the speaker paused for a moment as if waiting for a reply. none was given. "wacoes!" he continued, "our beloved chief has fallen, and our hearts are sad. but it glads them to know that his death has been avenged. there lies his slayer, still wearing his hated scalp. what brave warrior claims the trophy? let him stop forth and take it!" here there was another pause, but neither voice nor movement answered the challenge. the cibolero was silent with the rest. he did not comprehend what was said, as the speech was in the waco tongue, and he understood it not. he guessed that it related to the fallen chief and his enemies, but its exact purport was unknown to him. "brothers!" again resumed the orator, "brave men are modest and silent about their deeds. none but a brave warrior could have done this. we know that a brave warrior will avow it. let him fear not to speak. the wacoes will be grateful to the warrior who has avenged the death of their beloved chief." still the silence was unbroken, except by the voice of the orator. "brother warriors!" he continued, raising his voice and speaking in an earnest tone, "i have said that the wacoes will be grateful for this deed. i have a proposal to make. hear me!" all signified assent by gestures. "it is our custom," continued the speaker, "to elect our chief from the braves of our tribe. i propose that we elect him _now_ and _here_-- here! on the red field where his predecessor has fallen. _i propose for our chief the warrior who has done this deed_!" and the orator pointed to the fallen pane. "_my_ voice for the brave who has avenged our chief!" cried one. "and mine!" shouted another. "and mine! and mine! and mine!" exclaimed all the warriors. "then solemnly be it proclaimed," said the orator, "that he to whom belongs this trophy," he pointed to the scalp of the pane, "shall be chief of the waco nation!" "solemnly we avow it!" cried all the warriors in the ring, each placing his hand over his heart as he spoke. "enough!" said the orator. "who is chief of the waco warriors? let him declare himself on the spot!" a dead silence ensued. every eye was busy scanning the faces around the circle, every heart was beating to hail their new chief. carlos, unconscious of the honour that was in store for him, was standing a little to one side, observing the movements of his dusky companions with interest. he had not the slightest idea of the question that had been put. some one near him, however, who spoke spanish, explained to him the subject of the inquiry, and he was about to make a modest avowal, when one of the braves in the circle exclaimed-- "why be in doubt longer? if modesty ties the tongue of the warrior, let his weapon speak. behold! his arrow still pierces the body of our foe. perhaps it will declare its owner,--it is a marked one!" "true!" ejaculated the orator. "let us question the arrow!" and, stepping forward, he drew the shaft from the body of the pane, and held it aloft. the moment the eyes of the warriors fell upon its barbed head, an exclamation of astonishment passed from their lips. the head was of _iron_! no waco ever used such a weapon as that! all eyes were instantly turned on carlos the cibolero, with looks of inquiry and admiration. all felt that it must be from his bow had sped that deadly shaft; and they were the more convinced of this because some who had noticed the third pane pierced with a rifle bullet, had just declared the fact to the crowd. yes, it must be so. the pale-face was the avenger of their chief! chapter seventeen. carlos, who by this time had become aware of the nature of their inquiries, now stepped forward, and, in modest phrase, detailed through the interpreter how the chief had fallen, and what part he himself had borne in the conflict. a loud murmur of applause broke from the circle of warriors, and the more excited of the young men rushed forward and grasped the cibolero's hand, uttering as they did so expressions of gratitude. most of the warriors already knew that to him they were indebted for their safety. it was the report of his rifle, fired in the night, that had put them on their guard, and prevented the panes from surprising their encampment, else the day's history might have been _very_ different. in fact, the panes, through this very signal having been heard, had been themselves surprised, and that was the true secret of their disaster and sanguinary retreat. when, in addition to this service, it was seen how the cibolero had fought on their side, killing several of their foes, the hearts of the wacoes were filled with gratitude; but now that it became known that the pale-faced warrior was the avenger of their beloved chief, their gratitude swelled into enthusiasm, and for some minutes their loud expressions of it alone could be heard. when the excitement had to some extent subsided, the warrior who seemed to be recognised as the orator of the tribe, and who was regarded with great deference, again stood forth to speak. this time his speech was directed to carlos alone. "white warrior!" he said. "i have spoken with the braves of our nation. they all feel that they owe you deep gratitude, which words cannot repay. the purport of our recent deliberations has been explained to you. upon this ground we vowed that the avenger of him who lies cold should be our future chief. we thought not at the time that that brave warrior was our white brother. but now we know; and should we for that be false to our vow--to our promised word? no!--not even in thought; and here, with equal solemnity, we again repeat that oath." "we repeat it!" echoed around the ring of warriors, while each with solemnity of manner placed his hand over his heart. "white warrior!" continued the speaker, "our promise remains sacred. the honour we offer you is the greatest that we can bestow. it has never been borne but by a _true_ warrior of the waco tribe, for no impotent descendant of even a favourite chief has ever ruled over the braves of our nation. we do not fear to offer this honour to you. we would rejoice if you would accept it. stranger! we will be proud of a _white_ chief when that chief is a warrior such as you! we know you better than you think. we have heard of you from our allies the comanche--we have heard of _carlos the cibolero_! "we know you are a great warrior; and we know, too, that in your own country, among your own people, you are nothing. excuse our freedom, but speak we not the truth? we despise your people, who are only tyrants and slaves. all these things have our comanche brothers told us, and much more of _you_. we know who you are, then; we knew you when you came amongst us, and were glad to see you. we traded with you as a friend. "we now hail you as a brother, and thus say,--if you have no ties that bind you to your ungrateful nation, we can offer you one that will not be ungrateful. live with us,--be our chief!" as the speaker ended, his last words were borne like an echo from lip to lip until they had gone round the full circle of warriors, and then a breathless silence ensued. carlos was so taken by surprise that for some moments he was unable to make reply, he was not alone surprised by the singular proposal thus singularly made to him; but the knowledge which the speaker betrayed of his circumstances quite astonished him. true, he had traded much among the comanches, and was on friendly terms with that tribe, some of whom, in times of peace, even visited the settlement of san ildefonso; but it seemed odd that these savages should have noticed the fact--for fact it was--that the cibolero was somewhat of an outcast among his own people. just then he had no time to reflect upon the singularity of the circumstances, as the warriors waited his reply. he scarcely knew what reply to make. hopeless outcast that he was, for a moment the proposal seemed worthy of acceptance. at home he was little better than a slave; here he would be ruler, the lord elect of all. the wacoes, though savages by name, were warriors, were men of hearts, human and humane. he had proofs of it before him. his mother and sister would share his destiny; but catalina,--ha! that one thought resolved him; he reflected no further. "generous warriors!" he replied; "i feel from the bottom of my heart a full sense of the honour you have offered to confer upon me. i wish that by words i could prove how much i thank you, but i cannot. my words, therefore, shall be few and frank. it is true that in my own land i am not honoured,--i am one of the poorest of its people; but there is _a tie_ that binds me to it--_a tie of the heart_ that calls upon me to return. wacoes, i have spoken!" "enough!" said the orator; "enough, brave stranger: it is not for us to inquire into the motives that guide your acts. if not our chief, you will remain our friend. we have yet a way--a poor one--left us to show our gratitude: you have suffered from our enemies; you have lost your property, but that has been recovered, and shall be yours again. further we entreat you to remain with us for some days, and partake of our rude hospitality. _you_ will stay with us?" the invitation was promptly echoed by all, and as promptly accepted. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ about a week after this time an atajo of pack-mules--nearly fifty in number--loaded with buffalo-hides and tasajo, was seen struggling up the eastern ceja of the llano estacado, and heading in a north-westerly direction over that desert plain. the arriero, mounted upon the _mulera_, was a half-blood indian. three carretas, drawn by oxen and driven by dusky peons, followed the mule-train, making noise enough to frighten even the coyotes that behind skulked through the coverts of mezquite. a dashing horseman mounted upon a fine black steed rode in advance, who, ever and anon turning in his saddle, looked back with a satisfied glance upon the fine atajo. that horseman was _carlos_. the wacoes had not forgotten to be generous. that train of mules and those heavy packs were the gift of the tribe to the avenger of their chief. but that was not all. in the breast-pocket of the cibolero's jacket was a "bolsa," filled with rare stuff, also a present from the wacoes, who promised some day that their guest should have more of the same. what did that bolsa contain? coin? money? jewels? no. it contained only dust; but that dust was yellow and glittering. it was _gold_! chapter eighteen. on the second day after the fiesta there was a small dining party at the presidio. merely a few bachelor friends of the comandante--the _beaux esprits_ of the place--including the fashionable echevarria. the cura was among the number, and also the mission padres, both of whom enjoyed the convivialities of the table equal to any "friar of orders grey." the company had gone through the numerous courses of a mexican meal--the "pucheros", "guisados," and endless mixtures of "chile,"--and the dinner was at that stage when the cloth has been carried off, and the wine flows freely, "canario" and "xeres", "pedro do ximenes", "madeira," and "bordeos," in bottles of different shapes, stood upon the table; and for those who liked a stronger beverage there was a flask of golden "catalan," with another of maraschino. a well-stored cellar was that of the comandante. in addition to his being military governor, he was, as already hinted, collector of the _derechos de consume_, or custom-house dues. hence he was the recipient of many a little present, as now and then a basket of champagne or a dozen of bordeaux. his company had got fairly into the wine. the cura had thrown aside his sanctity and become _human_ like the rest; the padres had forgotten their sackcloth and bead-roll, and the senior of them, padre joaquin, entertained the table with spicy adventures which had occurred to him _before_ he became a monk. echevarria related anecdotes of paris, with many adventures he had encountered among the grisettes. the spanish officers being the hosts were, of course, least talkative, though the comandante--vain as any young sub who wore his epaulettes for the first time--could not refrain from alluding occasionally to his terrible list of _bonnes fortunes_ among the fair sevillanas. he had long been stationed at the city of oranges, and "la gracia andalusiana" was ever his theme of admiration. roblado believed in the belles of the havannah, and descanted upon the plump, material beauty which is characteristic of the quadroons; while the lieutenant expressed his _penchant_ for the small-footed _guadalaxarenas_--not of old spain, but of the rich mexican province guadalaxara. _he_ had been quartered there. so ran the talk--rough and ribald--upon that delicate theme--woman. the presence of the trio of churchmen was no restraint. on the contrary, both padres and cura boasted of their _liaisons_ with as much bawd and brass as the others, for padres and cura were both as depraved as any of their dining companions. any little reserve either might have shown upon ordinary occasions had disappeared after a few cups of wine; and none of them feared the company, which, on its part, stood as little in awe of them. the affectation of sanctity and self-denial was meant only for the simple poblanos and the simpler peons of the settlement. at the dinner-table it was occasionally assumed by one or the other, but only by way of joke,--to give point and piquancy to the relation of some adventure. in the midst of the conversation, which had grown somewhat general and confused, a name was pronounced which produced a momentary silence. that name was "carlos the cibolero." at the mention of this name several countenances changed expression. roblado was seen to frown; on vizcarra's face were portrayed mixed emotions; and both padres and cura seemed to know the name unfavourably. it was the beau echevarria who had mentioned it. "'pon the honour of a cavallero! the most impudent thing i ever witnessed in all my life, even in republican paris! a fellow,--a demned trader in hides and tasajo--in short, a butcher of demned buffaloes to aspire--_parbleu_!" echevarria, though talking spanish, always swore in french. it was more polite. "most insolent--intolerable!" cried several voices. "i don't think the lady seemed over angry withal," remarked a blunt young fellow, who sat near the lower end of the table. a chorus of voices expressed dissent from this opinion. roblado's was the loudest. "don ramon diaz," said he, addressing himself to the young fellow, "you certainly could not have observed very carefully on that occasion. i who was beside the lady know that she was filled with disgust--" (this was a lie, and roblado knew it), "and her father--" "oh, her _father_, yes!" cried don ramon, laughing. "any one could see that _he_ was angry--that was natural enough. ha! ha!" "but who is the fellow?" inquired one. "a splendid rider," replied don ramon. "the comandante will admit that." and the free speaker looked at vizcarra with a smile of intelligence. the latter frowned at the observation. "you lost a good sum, did you not?" inquired the cura of vizcarra. "not to him," replied the comandante, "but to that vulgar fellow who seems his friend. the worst of it is, when one bets with these low people there is no chance of getting a _revanche_ at some other time. one cannot meet them in the ordinary way." "but who is the fellow?" again inquired one. "who? why, a cibolero--that's all." "true, but is there nothing about his history? he's a _gilero_, and that is odd for a native! is he a criollo? he might be a biscayan." "neither one nor the other. 'tis said he's an americano." "americano!" "not exactly that--his father was; but the padre here can tell all about him." the priest thus appealed to entertained the company with some facts in the history of the cibolero. his father had been an americano, as it was supposed--some stray personage who had mysteriously found his way to the valley and settled in it long ago. such instances were rare in the settlements of new mexico; but what was rarer still, in this case the "americano" was accompanied by an "americana"--the mother of carlos--and the same old woman who attracted so much attention on the day of san juan. all the efforts of the padres to christianise either one or the other had been in vain. the old trapper--for such he was--died as he had lived--a blaspheming "heretico;" and there was a general belief in the settlement that his widow held converse with the devil. all this was a scandal to the church, and the padres would long since have expelled the guero family, but that, for some reason or other, they were protected by the old comandante--vizcarra's predecessor--who had restrained the zealous priests in their good intention. "but, caballeros!" said the padre, glancing towards vizcarra, "such heretics are dangerous citizens. in them lie the seeds of revolution and social disturbance; and when this guero is at home, he is seen only in the company of those we cannot watch too closely: he has been seen with some of the suspected tagnos, several of whom are in his service." "ha! with them, indeed!" exclaimed several. "a dangerous fellow!--he should be looked after." the sister of the cibolero now became the subject of conversation; and as remarks were made more or less complimentary to her beauty, the expression upon the face of vizcarra kept constantly changing. that villain was more interested in the conversation than his guests were aware, and he had already formed his plans. already his agents were out on the accomplishment of his atrocious designs. the transition from the cibolero's sister to the other belles of the place, and to the subject of woman in general, was natural; and the company were soon engaged in their original conversation, which, under the influence of additional wine, grew more "racy" than ever. the scene ended by several of the party becoming "boracho;" and the night being now far advanced, the guests took their leave, some of them requiring to be conducted to their homes. a soldier apiece accompanied the cura and padres, all three of whom were as "drunk as lords;" and it was no new thing for them. chapter nineteen. the comandante, with his friend roblado, alone remained in the room, and continued the conversation with a fresh glass and cigar. "and you really think, roblado, that the fellow had encouragement. i think so too, else he would never have dared to act as he did." "i am quite sure of it now. that he saw her last night, and alone, i am certain. as i approached the house i saw a man standing before the reja, and leaning against the bars, as if conversing with some one inside. some friend of don ambrosio, thought i. "as i drew nearer, the man, who was muffled in a manga, walked off and leaped upon a horse. judge my surprise on recognising in the horse the black stallion that was yesterday ridden by the cibolero! "when i entered the house and made inquiries as to who were at home, the servants informed me that master was at the _mineria_, and that the senorita had retired, and could see no one that night! "by heaven! i was in such a passion, i hardly knew what i said at the moment. the thing's scarce credible; but, that this low fellow is on secret terms with her, is as sure as i am a soldier." "it does seem incredible. what do you mean to do, roblado?" "oh! i'm safe enough about her. she shall be better watched for the future. i've had a hint given to don ambrosio. you know my secret well enough, colonel. her _mine is my loadstone_; but it is a cursed queer thing to have for one's rival such a fellow as this! ha! ha! ha!" roblado's laugh was faint and unreal. "do you know," continued he, striking on a new idea, "the padre don't like the guero family. that's evident from the hints he let drop to-night. we may get this fellow out of the way without much scandal, if the church will only interfere. the padres can expel him at once from the settlement if they can only satisfy themselves that he is a `heretico.' is it not so?" "it is," coldly replied vizcarra, sipping his wine; "but to expel _him_, my dear roblado, _some one else_ might be also driven off. the rose would be plucked along with the thorn. you understand?" "perfectly." "that, then, of course, i don't wish--at least not for the present. after some time we may be satisfied to part with rose, thorn, bush, roots, and all. ha! ha! ha!" "by the way, colonel," asked the captain, "have you made any progress yet?--have _you_ been to the house?" "no, my dear fellow; i have not had time. it's some distance, remember. besides, i intend to defer my visit until this fellow is out of the way. it will be more convenient to carry on my courtship in his absence." "out of the way! what do you mean?" "that the cibolero will shortly start for the plains--to be gone, perhaps, for several months, cutting up buffalo-beef, tricking the indians, and such-like employments." "ho! that's not so bad." "so you see, querido camarado, there's no need for violence in the matter. have patience--time enough for everything. before my bold buffalo-hunter gets back, both our little affairs will be settled, i trust. you shall be the owner of rich mines, and i--" a slight knock at the door, and the voice of sergeant gomez was heard, asking to see the comandante. "come in, sergeant!" shouted the colonel. the brutal-looking trooper walked into the room, and, from his appearance, it was plain he had just dismounted from a ride. "well, sergeant?" said vizcarra, as the man drew near; "speak out! captain roblado may know what you have to say." "the party, colonel, lives in the very last house down the valley,--full ten miles from here. there are but the three, mother, sister, and brother--the same you saw at the fiesta. there are three or four tagno servants, who help the man in his business. he owns a few mules, oxen, and carts, that's all. these he makes use of in his expeditions, upon one of which he is about to start in three or four days at the furthest. it is to be a long one, i heard, as he is to take a new route over the llano estacado." "over the llano estacado?" "such, i was told, was his intention." "anything else to say, sergeant?" "nothing, colonel, except that the girl has a sweetheart--the same young fellow who bet so heavily against you at the fiesta." "the devil!" exclaimed vizcarra, while a deep shadow crossed his forehead. "he, indeed! i suspected that. where does he live?" "not far above them, colonel. he is the owner of a rancho, and is reputed rich--that is for a ranchero." "help yourself to a glass of catalan, sergeant." the trooper stretched out his hand, laid hold of a bottle, and, having filled one of the glasses, bowed respectfully to the officers, and drank off the brandy at a draught. seeing that he was not wanted further, he touched his shako and withdrew. "so, camarado, you see it is right enough, so far as you are concerned." "and for you also!" replied roblado. "not exactly." "why not?" "i don't like the story of this sweetheart--this ranchero. the fellow possesses money--a spirit, too, that may be troublesome. he's not the man one would be called upon to fight--at least not one in my position; but _he_ is one of these people--what the cibolero is not--and has their sympathies with him. it would be a very different thing to get involved with him in an affair. bah! what need i care? i never yet failed. good night, camarado!" "_buenos noches_!" replied roblado; and both, rising simultaneously from the table, retired to their respective sleeping-rooms. chapter twenty. the "ranchos" and "haciendas" of the valley extended nearly ten miles along the stream below san ildefonso. near the town they were studded more thickly; but, as you descended the stream, fewer were met with, and those of a poorer class. the fear of the "indios bravos" prevented those who were well off from building their establishments at any great distance from the presidio. poverty, however, induced others to risk themselves nearer the frontier; and, as for several years the settlement had not been disturbed, a number of small farmers and graziers had established themselves as far as eight or ten miles distance below the town. half-a-mile beyond all these stood an isolated dwelling--the last to be seen in going down the valley. it seemed beyond the pale of protection--so far as the garrison was concerned--for no patrol ever extended its rounds to so distant a point. its owner evidently trusted to fate, or to the clemency of the apaches--the indians who usually troubled the settlement,--for the house in question was in no other way fortified against them. perhaps its obscure and retired situation contributed to its security. it stood somewhat off the road, not near the stream, but back under the shadow of the bluff; in fact, almost built against the cliff. it was but a poor rancho, like all the others in the valley, and, indeed, throughout most parts of mexico, built of large blocks of mud, squared in a mould and sun-dried. many of the better class of such buildings showed white fronts, because near at hand gypsum was to be had for the digging. some of greater pretension had windows that looked as though they were glazed. so they were, but not with glass. the shining plates that resembled it were but _laminae_ of the aforesaid gypsum, which is used for that purpose in several districts of new mexico. the rancho in question was ornamented neither with wash nor windows. it stood under the cliff, its brown mud walls scarce contrasting with the colour of the rock; and, instead of windows, a pair of dark holes, with a few wooden bars across them, gave light to the interior. this light, however, was only a supplement to that which entered by the door, habitually kept open. the front of the house was hardly visible from the valley road. a traveller would never have noticed it, and even the keen eye of an indian might have failed to discover it. the singular fence that surrounded it hid it from view,--singular to the eye of one unaccustomed to the vegetation of this far land, it was a fence of columnar cacti. the plants that formed it were regular fluted columns, six inches thick and from six to ten feet high. they stood side by side like pickets in a stockade, so close together that the eye could scarce see through the interstices, still further closed by the thick beard of thorns. near their tops in the season these vegetable columns became loaded with beautiful wax-like flowers, which disappeared only to give way to bright and luscious fruits. it was only after passing through the opening in this fence that the little rancho could be seen; and although its walls were rude, the sweet little flower-garden that bloomed within the enclosure told that the hand of care was not absent. beyond the cactus-fence, and built against the cliff, was another enclosure--a mere wall of _adobe_ of no great height. this was a "corral" where cattle were kept, and at one corner was a sort of shed or stable of small dimensions. sometimes half-a-dozen mules and double the number of oxen might be seen in that corral, and in the stable as fine a horse as ever carried saddle. both were empty now, for the animals that usually occupied them were out. horse, mules, and oxen, as well as their owner, were far away upon the prairies. their owner was carlos the cibolero. such was the home of the buffalo-hunter, the home of his aged mother and fair sister. such had been their home since carlos was a child. and yet they were not of the people of the valley nor the town. neither race--spanish nor indian--claimed them. they differed from both as widely as either did from the other. it was true what the padre had said. true that they were americans; that their father and mother had settled in the valley a long time ago; that no one knew whence they had come, except that they had crossed the great plains from the eastward; that they were _hereticos_, and that the padres could never succeed in bringing them into the fold of the church; that these would have expelled, or otherwise punished them, but for the interference of the military comandante; and furthermore, that both were always regarded by the common people of the settlement with a feeling of superstitious dread. latterly this feeling, concentrated on the mother of carlos, had taken a new shape, and they looked upon her as a _hechicera_--a witch-- and crossed themselves devoutly whenever she met them. this was not often, for it was rare that she made her appearance among the inhabitants of the valley. her presence at the fiesta of san juan was the act of carlos, who had been desirous of giving a day's amusement to the mother and sister he so much loved. their american origin had much to do with the isolation in which they live. since a period long preceding that time, bitter jealousy existed between the spano-mexican and anglo-american races. this feeling had been planted by national animosity, and nursed and fomented by priestcraft. events that have since taken place had already cast their shadows over the mexican frontier; and florida and louisiana were regarded as but steps in the ladder of american aggrandisement; but the understanding of these matters was of course confined to the more intelligent; but all were imbued with the bad passions of international hate. the family of the cibolero suffered under the common prejudice, and on that account lived almost wholly apart from the inhabitants of the valley. what intercourse they had was mostly with the native indian population--the poor tagnos, who felt but little of this anti-american feeling. if we enter the rancho of carlos we shall see the fair-haired rosita seated upon a _petate_, and engaged in weaving rebosos. the piece of mechanism which serves her for a loom consists of only a few pieces of wood rudely carved. so simple is it that it is hardly just to call it a machine. yet those long bluish threads stretched in parallel lines, and vibrating to the touch of her nimble fingers, will soon be woven into a beautiful scarf to cover the head of some coquettish poblana of the town. none in the valley can produce such rebosos as the cibolero's sister. so much as he can beat all the youth in feats of horsemanship, so much does she excel in the useful art which is her source of subsistence. there are but two rooms in the rancho, and that is one more than will be found in most of its fellows. but the delicate sentiment still exists in the saxon mind. the family of the cibolero are not yet indianised. the kitchen is the larger apartment and the more cheerful, because lighted by the open door. in it you will see a small "brazero," or altar-like fireplace--half-a-dozen earthen "ollas," shaped like urns-- some gourd-shell cups and bowls--a tortilla-stone, with its short legs and inclined surface--some _petates_ to sit upon--some buffalo-robes for a similar purpose--a bag of maize--some bunches of dried herbs, and strings of red and green chile--but no pictures of saints; and perhaps it is the only house in the whole valley where your eye will _not_ be gratified by a sight of these. truly the family of the cibolero are "hereticos." not last you will see an old woman seated near the fire, and smoking _punche_ in a pipe! a strange old woman is she, and strange no doubt her history but that is revealed to no one. her sharp, lank features; her blanched, yet still luxuriant hair; the wild gleam of her eyes; all render her appearance singular. others than the ignorant could not fail to fancy her a being different from the common order. no wonder, then, that these regard her as "una hechicera!" chapter twenty one. rosita knelt upon the floor, passing her little hand-shuttle through the cotton-woof. now she sang--and sweetly she sang--some merry air of the american backwoods that had been taught her by her mother; anon some romantic lay of old spain--the "troubadour," perhaps--a fine piece of music, that gives such happy expression to the modern song "love not." this "troubadour" was a favourite with rosita; and when she took up her bandolon, and accompanied herself with its guitar-like notes, the listener would be delighted. she was now singing to beguile the hours and lighten her task; and although not accompanied by any music, her silvery voice sounded sweet and clear. the mother had laid aside her pipe of _punche_, and was busy as rosita herself. she spun the threads with which the rebosos were woven. if the loom was a simple piece of mechanism, much more so was the spinning-machine--the "huso," or "malacate"--which was nothing more or less than the "whirligig spindle." yet with this primitive apparatus did the old dame draw out and twist as smooth a thread as ever issued from the "jenny." "poor dear carlos! one, two, three, four, five, six--six notches i have made--he is just in his sixth day. by this time he will be over the llano, mother. i hope he will have good luck, and get well treated of the indians." "never fear, nina--my brave boy has his father's rifle, and knows how to use it--well he does. never fear for carlos!" "but then, mother, he goes in a new direction! what if he fall in with a hostile tribe?" "never fear, nina! worse enemies than indians has carlos--worse enemies nearer home--cowardly slaves! they hate us--both _gachupinos_ and _criollos_ hate us--spanish dogs! they hate our saxon blood!" "oh, mother, say not so! they are not _all_ our enemies. we have some friends." rosita was thinking of don juan. "few--few--and far between! what care i while my brave son is there? he is friend enough for us. soft heart--brave heart--strong arm--who like my carlos? and the boy loves his old mother--his strange old mother, as these _pelados_ think her. he still loves his old mother. ha! ha! ha! what, then, cares she for friends? ha! ha! ha!" her speech ended in a laugh of triumph, showing how much she exulted in the possession of such a son. "o my! what a _carga_, mother! he never had such a carga before! i wonder where carlos got all the money?" rosita did not know exactly where; but she had some fond suspicions as to who had stood her brother's friend. "_ay de mi_!" she continued; "he will be very rich if he gets a good market for all those fine things--he will bring back troops of mules. how i shall long for his return! one--two--three--six--yes, there are but six notches in the wood. oh! i wish it were full along both edges--i do!" rosita's eyes, us she said this, were bent upon a thin piece of cedar-wood that hung against the wall, and upon which six little notches were observable. that was her clock and calendar, which was to receive a fresh mark each day until the cibolero's return--thus keeping her informed of the exact time that had elapsed since his departure. after gazing at the cedar-wood for a minute or two, and trying to make the six notches count seven, she gave it up, and went on with her weaving. the old woman, laying down her spindle, raised the lid of an earthen "olla" that stood over a little fire upon the brazero. from the pot proceeded a savoury steam; for it contained a stew of _tasajo_ cut into small pieces, and highly seasoned with _cebollas_ (spanish onions) and _chile colorado_ (red capsicum). "nina, the _guisado_ is cooked," said she, after lifting a portion of the stew on a wooden spoon, and examining it; "let us to dinner!" "very well, mother," replied rosita, rising from her loom; "i shall make the tortillas at once." tortillas are only eaten warm--that is, are fit only for eating when warm--or fresh from the "_comal_." they are, therefore, to be baked immediately before the meal commences, or during its continuance. rosita set the olla on one side, and placed the comal over the coals. another olla, which contained maize--already boiled soft--was brought forward, and placed beside the "metate," or tortilla-stone; and then, by the help of an oblong roller--also of stone--a portion of the boiled maize was soon reduced to snow-white paste. the metate and roller were now laid aside, and the pretty, rose-coloured fingers of rosita were thrust into the paste. the proper quantity for a "tortilla" was taken up, first formed into a round ball, and then clapped out between the palms until it was only a wafer's thickness. nothing remained but to fling it on the hot surface of the comal, let it lie but for an instant, then turn it, and in a moment more it was ready for eating. these operations, which required no ordinary adroitness, were performed by rosita with a skill that showed she was a practised "tortillera." when a sufficient number were piled upon the plate, rosita desisted from her labour, and her mother having already "dished" the guisado, both commenced their repast, eating without knife, fork, or spoon. the tortillas, being still warm, and therefore capable of being twisted into any form, served as a substitute for all these contrivances of civilisation, which in a mexican rancho are considered superfluous things. their simple meal was hardly over when a very unusual sound fell upon their ears. "ho! what's that?" cried rosita, starting to her feet, and listening. the sound a second time came pealing through the open door and windows. "i declare it's a bugle!" said the girl. "there must be soldiers." she ran first to the door, and then up to the cactus-fence. she peered through the interstices of the green columns. sure enough there were soldiers. a troop of lancers was marching by twos down the valley, and not far off. their glittering armour, and the pennons of their lances, gave them a gay and attractive appearance. as rosita's eyes fell upon them, they were wheeling into line, halting, as they finished the movement, with their front to the rancho, and not a hundred paces from the fence. the house was evidently the object of their coming to a halt. what could soldiers want there? this was rosita's first reflection. a troop often passed up and down the valley, but never came near the rancho, which, as already stated, was far from the main road. what business could the soldiers be upon, to lead them out of their usual track? rosita asked herself these questions; then ran into the house and asked her mother. neither could answer them; and the girl turned to the fence, and again looked through. as she did so she saw one of the soldiers--from his finer dress evidently an officer--separate from the rest, and come galloping towards the house. in a few moments he drew near, and, reining his horse close up to the fence, looked over the tops of the cactus-plants. rosita could just see his plumed hat, and below it his face, but she knew the face at once. it was that of the officer who on the day of san juan had ogled her so rudely. she knew he was the comandante vizcarra. chapter twenty two. the officer, from his position, had a full view of the girl as she stood in the little enclosure of flowers. she had retreated to the door, and would have gone inside, but she turned to call off cibolo, a large wolf-dog, who was barking fiercely, and threatening the new-comer. the dog, obedient to her voice, ran back into the house growling, but by no means satisfied. he evidently wanted to try his teeth on the shanks of the stranger's horse. "thank you, fair senorita," said the officer. "it is very kind of you to protect me from that fierce brute. i would he were the only clangour i had to fear in this house." "what have you to fear, senor?" inquired rosita, with some surprise. "_your eyes_, sweet girl: more dangerous than the sharp teeth of your dog,--they have already wounded me." "cavallero," replied rosita, blushing and averting her face, "you have not come here to jest with a poor girl. may i inquire what is your business?" "business i have none, lovely rosita, but to see _you_,--nay, do not leave me!--i _have_ business--that is, i am thirsty, and halted for a drink: you will not refuse me a cup of water, fair senorita?" these last phrases, broken and hastily delivered, were meant to restrain the girl from cutting short the interview, which she was about to do by entering the house. vizcarra was not thirsty, neither did he wish for water; but the laws of hospitality would compel the girl to bring it, and the act might further his purposes. she, without replying to his complimentary harangue, stepped into the house, and presently returned with a gourd-shell filled with water. carrying it to the gate-like opening of the fences, she presented it to him, and stood waiting for the vessel. vizcarra, to make his request look natural, forced down several gulps of the fluid, and then, throwing away the rest, held out the gourd. the girl stretched forth her hand to receive it, but he still held it fast, gazing intently and rudely upon her. "lovely senorita," he said, "may i not kiss that pretty hand that has been so kind to me?" "sir! please return me the cup." "nay, not till i have paid for my drink. you will accept this?" he dropped a gold onza into the gourd. "no, senor, i cannot accept payment for what is only an act of duty. i shall not take your gold," she added, firmly. "lovely rosita! you have already taken my heart, why not this?" "i do not understand you, senor; please put back your money, and let me have the cup." "i shall not deliver it up, unless you take it with its contents." "then you must keep it, senor," replied she, turning away. "i must to my work." "nay, further, senorita!" cried vizcarra; "i have another favour to ask,--a light for my cigar? here, take the cup! see! the coin is no longer in it! you will pardon me for having offered it?" vizcarra saw that she was offended, and by this apology endeavoured to appease her. she received the gourd-shell from his hands, and then went back to the house to bring him the light he had asked for. presently she reappeared with some red coals upon a small "brazero." on reaching the gate she was surprised to see that the officer had dismounted, and was fastening his horse to a stake. as she offered him the brazero, he remarked, "i am wearied with my ride; may i beg, senorita, you will allow me a few minutes' shelter from the hot sun?" though annoyed at this request, the girl could only reply in the affirmative; and the next moment, with clattering spur and clanking sabre, the comandante walked into the rancho. rosita followed him in without a word, and without a word he was received by her mother, who, seated in the corner, took no notice of his entrance, not even by looking up at him. the dog made a circuit around him, growling angrily, but his young mistress chided him off; and the brute once more couched himself upon a petate, and lay with eyes gleaming fiercely at the intruder. once in the house, vizcarra did not feel easy. he saw he was not welcome. not a word of welcome had been uttered by rosita, and not a sign of it offered either by the old woman or the dog. the contrary symptoms were unmistakeable, and the grand officer felt he was an intruder. but vizcarra was not accustomed to care much for the feelings of people like these. he paid but little regard to their likes or dislikes, especially where these interfered with his pleasures; and, after lighting his cigar, he sat down on a "banqueta," with as much nonchalance as if he were in his own quarters. he smoked some time without breaking silence. meanwhile rosita had drawn out her loom, and, kneeling down in front of it, went on with her work as if no stranger were present. "oh, indeed!" exclaimed the officer, feigning interest in the process, "how very ingenious! i have often wished to see this! a reboso it is? upon my _word_! and that is how they are woven? can you finish one in a day, senorita?" "_si, senor_," was the curt reply. "and this thread, it is cotton; is it not?" "si, senor." "it is very prettily arranged indeed. did you place it so yourself?" "si, senor." "really it requires skill! i should like much to learn how the threads are passed." and as he said this he left his seat upon the banqueta, and, approaching the loom, knelt down beside it. "indeed, very singular and ingenious. ah, now, do you think, pretty rosita, you could teach me?" the old woman, who was seated with her eyes bent upon the ground, started at hearing the stranger pronounce her daughter's name, and glanced around at him. "i am really serious," continued he; "do you think you could teach me this useful art?" "no, senor!" was the laconic reply. "oh! surely i am not so stupid! i think i could learn it--it seems only to hold this thing so,"--here he bent forward, and placed his hand upon the shuttle, so as to touch the fingers of the girl,--"and then put it between the threads in this manner; is it not--?" at this moment, as if carried away by his wild passions, he seemed to forget himself; and, turning his eyes upon the blushing girl, he continued in an under tone, "sweetest rosita! i love you,--one kiss, fairest,--one kiss!" and before she could escape from his arms, which had already encircled her, he had imprinted a kiss upon her lips! a scream escaped from the girl, but another, louder and wilder, answered it from the corner. the old woman sprang up from her crouching position, and running across the floor launched herself like a tigress upon the officer! her long bony fingers flew out, and in an instant were clutching his throat! "off! beldame! off!" cried he, struggling to escape: "off i say; or my sword shall cut short your wretched life, off!--off!--i say!" still the old woman clutched and screamed, tearing wildly at his throat, his epaulettes, or whatever she could lay hold of. but sharper than her nails were the teeth of the great wolf-dog that sprang almost simultaneously from his lair, and, seizing the soldier by the limbs, caused him to bellow out at the top of his voice-- "without there! sergeant gomez! ho! treason! to the rescue! to the rescue!" "ay! dog of a gachupino!" screamed the old woman,--"dog of spanish blood! you may call your cowardly myrmidons! oh! that my brave son were here, or my husband alive! if they were, you would not carry a drop of your villain blood beyond the threshold you have insulted!--go!--go to your poblanas--your _margaritas_! go--begone!" "hell and furies! this dog--take him off! ho, there! gomez! your pistols. here! send a bullet through him! haste! haste!" and battling with his sabre, the valiant comandante at length effected a retreat to his horse. he was already well torn about the legs, but, covered by the sergeant, he succeeded in getting into the saddle. the latter fired off both his pistols at the dog, but the bullets did not take effect; and the animal, perceiving that his enemies outnumbered him, turned and ran back into the house. the dog was now silent, but the comandante, as he sat in his saddle, heard a derisive laugh within the rancho. in the clear soft tones of that jeering laughter he distinguished the voice of the beautiful guera! chagrined beyond measure, he would have besieged the rancho with his troop, and insisted on killing the dog, had he not feared that the cause of his ungraceful retreat might become known to his followers. that would be a mortification he did not desire to experience. he returned, therefore, to the troop, gave the word to march, and the cavalcade moved off, taking the backward road to the town. after riding at the head of his men for a short while, vizcarra--whose heart was filled with anger and mortification--gave some orders to the sergeant, and then rode off in advance, and in full gallop. the sight of a horseman in blue manga, passing in the direction of the rancho--and whom he recognised as the young ranchero, don juan--did not do much towards soothing his angry spirit. he neither halted nor spoke, but, casting on the latter a malignant glance, kept on. he did not slacken his pace until he drew bridle in the saguan of the presidio. his panting horse had to pay for the bitter reflections that tortured the soul of his master. chapter twenty three. the first thing which rosita did, after the noise without had ceased, was to glide forth and peep through the cactus-fence. she had heard the bugle again, and she wished to be sure that the intruders were gone. to her joy, she beheld the troop some distance off, defiling up the valley. she ran back into the house and communicated the intelligence to her mother, who had again seated herself, and was quietly smoking her pipe of _punche_. "dastardly ruffians!" exclaimed the latter. "i knew they would be gone. even an old woman and a dog are enough. oh, that my brave carlos had been here! he would have taught that proud gachupino we were not so helpless! ha! that would carlos!" "do not think of it any more, dear mother; i don't think they will return. you have frightened them away,--you and our brave cibolo. how well he behaved! but i must see," she added, hastily casting her eyes round the room; "he may be hurt. cibolo! cibolo! here, good fellow! come, i've got something for you. ho, brave dog!" at the call of her well-known voice the dog came forth from his hiding-place, and bounded up, wagging his tail, and glancing kindly in her face. the girl stooped down, and, passing her hands through his shaggy coat, examined every part of his body and limbs, in fear all the while of meeting with the red stain of a bullet. fortunately the sergeant's aim had not been true. neither wound nor scratch had cibolo received; and as he sprang around his young mistress, he appeared in perfect health and spirits. a splendid animal he was,--one of those magnificent sheep-dogs of new mexico, who, though half-wolf themselves, will successfully defend a flock of sheep from the attack of wolves, or even of the more savage bear. the finest sheep-dogs in the world are they, and one of the finest of his race was cibolo. his mistress, having ascertained that he was uninjured, stepped upon the banqueta, and reached up towards a singular-looking object that hung over a peg in the wall. the object bore some resemblance to a string of ill-formed sausages. but it was not that, though it was something quite as good for cibolo, who, by his sparkling eyes and short pleased whimpers, showed that he knew what it was. yes, cibolo had not to be initiated into the mysteries of a string of tasajo. dried buffalo-meat was an old and tried favourite; and the moment it reached his jaws, which it did immediately after, he gave proof of this by the earnest manner in which he set to work upon it. the pretty rosita, still a little apprehensive, once more peeped through the cactus-fence to assure herself that no one was near. but this time some one _was_ near, and the sight did not cause her any fear,--quite the contrary. the approach of a young man in a blue manga, mounted upon a richly-caparisoned horse, had a contrary effect altogether, and rosita's little heart now beat with confidence. this young horseman was don juan the ranchero. he rode straight up to the opening, and seeing the guera cried out in a frank friendly voice, "_buenos dias, rosita_!" the reply was as frank and friendly--a simple return of the salutation-- "_buenos dias, don juan_!" "how is the senora your mother to-day?" "_muchas gracias_, don juan! as usual she is. ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!" "_hola_!" exclaimed don juan. "what are you laughing at, rosita?" "ha! ha! ha! saw you nothing of the fine soldiers?" "true, i did. i met the troop as i came down, going up the valley in a gallop, and the comandante riding far ahead, as if the apaches were after him. in truth, i thought they had met the indios bravos--for i know that to be their usual style of riding after an interview with these gentry." "ha! ha! ha!" still laughed the little blonde, "but did you notice nothing odd about the officer?" "i think i did. he looked as though he had ridden through the chapparal; but i had scarce a glance at him, he passed so quickly. he gave _me_ one that was anything but friendly. no doubt he remembers the loss of his gold onzas at san juan. ha! ha! but, dear rosita, what may you be laughing at? have the soldiers been here? anything happened?" rosita now gave an account of the comandante's visit; how he had called to light his cigar and get a drink of water; how he had entered the house and been attacked by cibolo, which caused the precipitate retreat to his horse, and his hasty departure from the place. she was silent, however, about the most important particulars. she said nothing of the insulting speeches which vizcarra had made--nothing of the kiss. she feared the effect of such a communication on don juan. she knew her lover was of a hot rash disposition. he would not hear these things quietly; he would involve himself in some trouble on her account; and these considerations prompted her to conceal the cause that had led to the "scene." she, therefore, disclosed only the more ludicrous effects, at which she laughed heartily. don juan, even knowing only so much, was inclined to regard the affair more seriously. a visit from vizcarra--a drink of water--light his cigar--enter the rancho--all very strange circumstances, but not at all laughable, thought don juan. and then to be attacked and torn by the dog--to be driven from the house in such a humiliating manner--in presence of his own troop, too!--vizcarra--the vainglorious vizcarra-- the great militario of the place--the hero of a hundred indian battles that never were fought--he to be conquered by a cur! seriously, thought don juan, it was not an affair to laugh at. vizcarra would have revenge, or try hard to obtain it. the young ranchero had other unpleasant thoughts in connexion with this affair. what could have brought the comandante to the rancho? how had he found out that interesting abode,--that spot, sequestered as it was, that seemed to him (don juan) to be the centre of the world? who had directed him that way? what brought the troop out of the main road, their usual route of march? these were questions which don juan put to himself. to have asked them of rosita would have been to disclose the existence of a feeling he would rather keep concealed--jealousy. and jealous he was at the moment. the drink, she had served him of course,--the cigar, she had lit it for him--perhaps invited him in! even now she appeared in the highest spirits, and not at all angry at the visit that had been paid her! don juan's reflections had suddenly grown bitter, and he did not join in the laugh which his sweetheart was indulging in. when after a short while she invited him in, his feelings took a turn, and he became himself again. he dismounted from his horse, and followed rosita through the garden into the house. the girl sat down by the loom and continued her work, while the young ranchero was allowed to kneel upon the petate beside her, and converse at will. there was no objection to his occasionally assisting her to straighten out the woof or untwist a fouled thread; and, on these occasions, their fingers frequently met, and seemed to remain longer in contact than was necessary for the unravelling of the knot. but no one noticed all this. rosita's mother was indulging in a siesta; and cibolo, if he saw anything amiss, said nothing about it to any one, but wagged his tail, and looked good-humouredly at don juan, as if he entirely approved of the latter's conduct. chapter twenty four. when vizcarra reached his sumptuous quarters, the first thing he did was to call for wine. it was brought, and he drank freely and with fierce determination. he thought by that to drown his chagrin; and for a while he succeeded. there is relief in wine, but it is only temporary: you may make jealousy drunk and oblivious, but you cannot keep it so. it will be sober as soon--ay, sooner than yourself. not all the wine that was ever pressed from grapes can drown it into a complete oblivion. vizcarra's heart was filled by various passions. there was love--that is, such love as a libertine feels; jealousy; anger at the coarse handling he had experienced; wounded self-love, for with his gold-lace and fine plumes he believed himself a conqueror at first sight; and upon the top of all, bitter disappointment. this last was the greater that he did not see how his suit could be renewed. to attempt a similar visit would lead to similar chagrin,-- perhaps worse. it was plain the girl did not care for him, with all his fine feathers and exalted position. he saw that she was very different from the others with whom he had had dealings--different from the dark-eyed doncellas of the valley, most of whom, if not all, would have taken his onza without a word or a blush! it was plain to him he could go no more to the rancho. where, then, was he to meet her--to see her? he had ascertained that she seldom came to the town--never to the amusements, except when her brother was at home. how and where, then, was he to see her? his was a hopeless case--no opportunity of mending his first _faux pas_--none, any more than if the object of his pursuit was shut up in the cloisters of a nunnery! hopeless, indeed! thus ran his reflections. though uttering this phrase, he had no belief in its reality. he had no intention of ending the affair so easily. he--the lady-killer, vizcarra--to fail in the conquest of a poor ranchera! he had never failed, and would not now. his vanity alone would have urged him farther in the affair; but he had a sufficient incentive to his strong passion,--for strong it had now grown. the opposition it had met--the very difficulty of the situation--only stimulated him to greater energy and earnestness. besides, jealousy was there, and that was another spur to his excited pride. he was jealous of don juan. he had noticed the latter on the day of the fiesta. he had observed him in the company of the cibolero and his sister. he saw them talking, drinking, feasting together. he was jealous _then_; but that was light, for then he still anticipated his own easy and early triumph. that was quiet to the feeling that tortured him now--now that _he had failed_--now that he had seen in the very hour of his humiliation that same rival on his road to the rancho--welcome, no doubt--to be told of all that had happened--to join her in jeering laughter at his expense--to--furies! the thought was intolerable. for all that the comandante had no idea of relinquishing his design. there were still means--foul, if not fair--if he could only think of them. he wanted some head cooler than his own. where was roblado? "sergeant! tell captain roblado i wish to speak with him." captain roblado was just the man to assist him in any scheme of the sort. they were equally villains as regarded women; but vizcarra's _metier_ was of a lighter sort--more of the genteel-comedy kind. his forte lay in the seductive process. he made love _a la don giovanni_, and carried hearts in what he deemed a legitimate manner; whereas roblado resorted to any means that would lead most directly to the object--force, if necessary and safe. of the two roblado was the coarser villain. as the comandante had failed in his way, he was determined to make trial of any other his captain might suggest; and since the latter knew all the "love stratagems," both of civilised and savage life, he was just the man to suggest something. it chanced that at this time roblado wanted counsel himself upon a somewhat similar subject. he had proposed for catalina, and don ambrosio had consented; but, to the surprise of all, the senorita had rebelled! she did not say she would _not_ accept captain roblado. that would have been too much of a defiance, and might have led to a summary interference of paternal authority. but she had appealed to don ambrosio for time--she was not ready to be married! roblado could not think of time--he was too eager to be rich; but don ambrosio had listened to his daughter's appeal, and there lay the cause of the captain's trouble. perhaps the comandante's influence with don ambrosio might be the means of overruling this decision and hastening the wished-for nuptials. roblado was therefore but too eager to lay his superior under an obligation. roblado having arrived, the comandante explained his case, detailing every circumstance that had happened. "my dear colonel, you did not go properly to work. i am astonished at that, considering your skill and experience. you dropped like an eagle upon a dovecot, frightening the birds into their inaccessible holes. you should not have gone to the rancho at all." "and how was i to see her?" "in your own quarters; or elsewhere, as you might have arranged it." "impossible!--she would never have consented to come." "not by your sending for her direct; i know that." "and how, then?" "ha! ha! ha!" laughed roblado; "are you so innocent as never to have heard of such a thing as an `_alcahuete_'?" "oh! true--but by my faith i never found use for one." "no!--you in your fine style have deemed that a superfluity; but you might find use for one now. a very advantageous character that, i assure you--saves much time and trouble--diminishes the chances of failure too. it's not too late. i advise you to try one. if that fails, you have still another string to your bow." we shall not follow the conversation of these ruffians further. enough to say that it led into details of their atrocious plans, which, for more than an hour, they sat concocting over their wine, until the whole scheme was set forth and placed in readiness to be carried out. it _was_ carried out, in fine, but led to a different ending from what either anticipated. the "lady" who acted as "alcahuete" soon placed herself _en rapport_ with rosita; but her success was more equivocal than that of vizcarra himself; in fact, i should rather say unequivocal, for there was no ambiguity about it. as soon as her designs were made known to rosita, the latter communicated them to her mother; and the scratches which the comandante had received were nothing to those which had fallen to the lot of his proxy. the "alcahuete" had, in fact, to beg for her life before she was allowed to escape from the terrible cibolo. she would have sought legal revenge, but that the nature of her business made it wiser for her to pocket the indignities, and remain silent. chapter twenty five. "now, roblado," asked the comandante, "what is the other string to my bow?" "can't you guess, my dear colonel?" "not exactly," replied vizcarra, though he well knew that he could. it was not long since the other string had been before his mind. he had even thought of it upon the day of his first defeat, and while his anger was hot and revengeful. and since then, too--often, often. his question was quite superfluous, for he well knew roblado's answer would be "force." it _was_ "force." that was the very word. "how?" "take a few of your people, go by night, and carry her off. what can be more simple? it would have been the proper way at first, with such a prude as she! don't fear the result. it's not so terrible to them. i've known it tried before. long ere the cibolero can return, she'll be perfectly reconciled, i warrant you." "and if not?" "if not, what have you to fear?" "the talk, roblado--the talk." "bah! my dear colonel, you are timid in the matter. you have mismanaged it so far, but that's no reason you should not use tact for the future. it can be done by night. you have chambers here where no one is allowed to enter--some _without windows_, if you need them. who's to be the wiser? pick your men--those you can trust. you don't require a whole troop, and half-a-dozen onzas will tie as many tongues. it's as easy as stealing a shirt. it is only stealing a chemisette. ha! ha! ha!" and the ruffian laughed at his coarse simile and coarser joke, in which laugh he was joined by the comandante. the latter still hesitated to adopt this extreme measure. not from any fineness of feeling. though scarce so rough a villain as his companion, it was not delicacy of sentiment that restrained him now. he had been accustomed all his life to regard with heartless indifference the feelings of those he had wronged; and it was not out of any consideration for the future happiness or misery of the girl that he hesitated now. no, his motive was of a far different character. roblado said true when he accused him of being timid. he was. it was sheer cowardice that stayed him. not that he feared any bodily punishment would ever reach him for the act. he was too powerful, and the relatives of his intended victim too weak, to give him any apprehensions on that score. with a little policy he could administer death,--death to the most innocent of the people,-- and give it a show of justice. nothing was more easy than to cause suspicion of treason, incarcerate, and slay--and particularly at that time, when both pueblo revolt and creole revolution threatened the spanish rule in america. what vizcarra feared was "talk." such an open rape could not well be kept secret for long. it would leak out, and once out it was too piquant a piece of scandal not to have broad fame: all the town would soon enjoy it. but there was a still more unpleasant probability. it might travel beyond the confines of the settlement, perhaps to high quarters, even to the vice-regal ear! there find we the secret of the comandante's fears. not indeed that the vice-regal court at the time was a model of morality. it would have been lenient enough to any act of despotism or debauchery done in a quiet way; but such an open act of rapine as that contemplated, on the score of policy, could hardly be overlooked. in truth, vizcarra's prudence had reason. he could not believe that it would be possible to keep the thing a secret. some of the rascals employed might in the end prove traitors. true, they would be his own soldiers, and he might punish them for it at his will, but what satisfaction would that give him? it would be locking the stable after the steed had been stolen! even without their playing him false, how could he hope to keep the affair concealed? first, there was an angry brother. true, he was out of the way; but there was a jealous lover on the ground, and the brother would return in time. the very act of the rape would point to him, vizcarra. his visit, the attempt of the "alcahuete," and the carrying off of the girl, would all be pieced together, and put down to his credit; and the brother--such a one--and such a lover too--would not be silent with their suspicious. he might take measures to get rid of both, but these measures must needs be violent and dangerous. thus reasoned vizcarra with himself, and thus he argued with roblado. not that he wished the latter to dissuade him--for the end he desired with all his heart--but in order that by their united wisdom some safer means of reaching it might be devised. and a safer plan _was_ devised. roblado, deeper in head, as well as bolder in heart, conceived it. bringing his glass to the table with a sudden stroke, he exclaimed-- "_vamos_, vizcarra! by the virgin, i have it!" "_bueno_--_bravo_!" "you may enjoy your sweetheart within twenty four hours, if you wish, and the sharpest scandalmonger in the settlement will be foiled; at least, you will have nothing to fear. what a devil of a lucky thought!--the very thing itself, amigo!" "don't keep me in suspense, camarado! your plan! your plan!" "stop till i've had a gulp of wine. the very thought of such a glorious trick makes me thirsty." "drink then, drink!" cried vizcarra, filling out the wine, with a look of pleasant anticipation. roblado emptied the goblet at a draught, and then, leaning nearer to the comandante, he detailed what he had conceived in a low and confidential tone. it seemed to satisfy his listener, who, when the other had finished, uttered the word "bravo!" and sprang to his feet like one who had received some joyful news. he walked back and forth for some minutes in an excited manner, and then, bursting into a loud laugh, he cried out, "_carrambo_, comrade! you _are_ a tactician! the great conde himself would not have shown such strategy. _santisima virgen_! it is the very master-stroke of design; and i promise you, camarado, it shall have speedy execution." "why delay? why not set about it at once?" "true,--at once let us prepare for this _pleasant masquerade_!" chapter twenty six. circumstances were arising that would be likely to interrupt the comandante and his captain in the execution of their design. at least so it might have been supposed. in less than twenty-four hours after the conversation described, a rumour of indian incursions was carried to the town, and spread through every house in the valley. the rumour said that a band of "indios bravos,"--whether apache, yuta, or comanche, was not stated,--had made their appearance near the settlement, in full _war-paint and costume_! this of course denoted hostile intentions, and an attack might be expected in some part of the settlement. the first rumour was followed by one still more substantial,--that the indians had attacked some shepherds in the upper plain, not far from the town itself. the shepherds had escaped, but their dogs had been killed, and a large number of sheep driven off to the mountain fastnesses of the marauders! this time the report was more definite. the indians were yutas, and belonged to a band of that tribe that had been hunting to the east of the pecos, and who had no doubt resolved upon this plundering expedition before returning to their _home_, near the heads of the del norte. the shepherds had seen them distinctly, and knew the _yuta paint_. that the indians were yutas was probable enough. the same tribe had lately made a foray upon the settlements in the fine valley of taos. they had heard of the prosperous condition of san ildefonso, and hence their hostile visit. besides, both apaches and comanches were _en paz_ with the settlement, and had for some years confined themselves to ravaging the provinces of coahuila and chihuahua. no provocation had been given to these tribes to recommence hostilities, nor had they given any signs of such an intention. upon the night of the same day in which the sheep were carried off, a more important robbery was committed. that took place in the settlement itself. a large number of cattle were driven off from a grazing-farm near the lower end of the valley. the indians had been seen in the act, but the frightened vaqueros were but too glad to escape, and shut themselves up in the buildings of the farm. no murders had as yet been committed, but that was because no resistance had been made to the spoliations. nor had any houses been yet attacked. perhaps the indians were only a small band; but there was no knowing how soon their numbers might be increased, and greater outrages attempted. the people of the valley, as well as those in the town, were now in a state of excitement. consternation prevailed everywhere. those who lived in the scattered ranchos forsook their homes during the night, and betook themselves to the town and the larger haciendas for shelter. these last were shut up as soon as darkness approached, and regular sentries posted upon their azoteas, who kept watch until morning. the terror of the inhabitants was great,--the greater because for a long period they had lived on good terms with the indios bravos, and a visit from them was novel as unexpected. no wonder that they were alarmed. they had cause for it. they well knew that in these hostile incursions the savage enemy acts with the utmost barbarity,--murdering the men, and sparing only the younger women, whom they carry off to a cruel captivity. they well knew this, for at that very date there were thousands of their countrywomen in the hands of the wild indians, lost to their families and friends for ever! no wonder that there was fear and trembling. the comandante seemed particularly on the alert. at the head of his troops he scoured the neighbouring plains, and made incursions towards the spurs of the mountains. at night his patrols were in constant motion up and down the valley. the people were admonished to keep within their houses, and barricade their doors in case of attack. all admired the zeal and activity of their military protectors. the comandante won golden opinions daily. this was the first real opportunity he had had of showing them his "pluck," for there had been no alarm of indians since he arrived. in the time of his predecessor several had taken place, and on these occasions it was remembered that the troops, instead of going abroad to search for the "barbaros," shut themselves up in the garrison till the latter were gone clear out of the valley, after having carried off all the cattle they could collect! what a contrast in the new comandante! what a brave officer was colonel vizcarra! this excitement continued for several days. as yet no murders had been committed, nor any women, carried off; and as the indians had only appeared in the night, the probability was that they were in but small force,--some weak band of robbers. had it been otherwise, they would have long since boldly shown themselves by daylight, and carried on their depredations on a much larger scale. during all this time the mother and sister of the cibolero lived in their lone rancho without any protection, and were, perhaps, less in dread of the indians than any other family in the whole valley. this was to be attributed to several causes. first, their training, which had taught them to make light of dangers that terrified their less courageous neighbours. secondly, their poor hut was not likely to tempt the cupidity of indian robbers, whose design was evidently plunder. there were too many well-stocked ranchos a little farther up the valley. the indians would not be likely to molest them. but there was still a better reason for this feeling, of confidence on their part, and that was somewhat of a family secret. carlos, having traded with all the neighbouring tribes, was known to the indians, and was on terms of friendship with nearly every one of their chiefs. one cause of this friendship was, that carlos was known to them as an _american_. such was their feeling in regard to americans that, at this time, and for a long period after, both the trappers and traders of that nation could pass through the whole apache and comanche range in the smallest parties without molestation, while large caravans of mexicans would be attacked and robbed! it was only long after that these tribes assumed a fierce hostility against the saxon whites; and this was brought about by several acts of barbarism committed by parties of the whites themselves. in his dealings with the indios bravos, then, the cibolero had not forgotten his little rancho at home; and he had always counselled his mother and sister not to fear the indians in his absence, assuring them that these would not molest them. the only tribe with which carlos was not on friendly terms was the jicarilla, a small and miserable band that lived among the mountains north-east of santa fe. they were a branch of the apaches, but lived apart, and had little in common with the great freebooters of the south--the _mezcaleros_ and _wolf-eaters_. for these reasons, then, the little rosita and her mother, though not entirely without apprehension, were yet less frightened by the current rumours of the time than their neighbours. every now and then don juan rode over to the rancho, and advised them to come and stay at his house--a large strong building well defended by himself and his numerous peons. but the mother of rosita only laughed at the fears of don juan; and rosita herself, from motives of delicacy, of course refused to accede to his proposal. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ it was the third night from the time the indians had been first heard of. the mother and daughter had laid aside their spindle and loom, and were about to retire to their primitive couches on the earthen floor, when cibolo was seen to spring from his petate, and rush towards the door, growling fiercely. his growl increased to a bark--so earnest, that it was evident some one was outside. the door was shut and barred; but the old woman, without even inquiring who was there, pulled out the bar, and opened the door. she had scarcely shown herself when the wild whoop of indians rang in her ears, and a blow from a heavy club prostrated her upon the threshold. spite the terrible onset of the dog, several savages, in all the horrid glare of paint and feathers, rushed into the house yelling fearfully, and brandishing their weapons; and in less than five minutes' time, the young girl, screaming with terror, was borne in their arms to the outside of the rancho, and there tied upon the back of a mule. the few articles which the indians deemed of any value were carried away with them; and the savages, after setting fire to the rancho, made off in haste. rosita saw the blaze of the rancho as she sat tied upon the mule. she had seen her mother stretched upon the door-step, and was in fact dragged over her apparently lifeless form; and the roof was now in flames! "my poor mother!" she muttered in her agony; "o god! o god! what will become of my poor mother?" almost simultaneously with this attack, or a little after it, the indians appeared before the house of the ranchero, don juan; but, after yelling around it and firing several arrows over the azotea and against the door, they retired. don juan was apprehensive for his friends at the rancho. as soon as the indians had gone away from about his own premises, he stole out; and, trusting to the darkness, made his way in that direction. he had not gone far before the blaze of the building came under his eyes, causing the blood to rush cold through his veins. he did not stop. he was afoot, but he was armed, and he dashed madly forward, resolved to defend rosita, or die! in a few minutes he stood before the door of the rancho; and there, to his horror, lay the still senseless form of the mother, her wild and ghastly features illuminated by the blaze from the roof. the fire had not yet reached her, though in a few moments more she would have been buried in the flames! don juan drew her forth into the garden, and then rushed frantically around calling on rosita. but there was no reply. the crackling blaze--the sighing of the night wind--the hooting of the cliff owl, and the howling of the _coyote_, alone answered his anxious calls. after remaining until all hope had vanished, he turned towards the prostrate body, and knelt down to examine it. to his surprise there was still life, and, after her lips had been touched with water, the old woman showed symptoms of recovery. she had only been stunned by the heavy blow. don juan at length lifted her in his arms, and taking the well-known path returned with his burden, and with a heavy heart, to his own house. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ next morning the news of the affair was carried through all the settlement, adding to the terror of the inhabitants. the comandante with a large troop galloped conspicuously through the town; and after much loud talk and empty demonstrations, went off on the trail which the indians were supposed to have taken. long before night the troopers returned with their usual report, "_los barbaros no pudimos alcanzar_." (we could not overtake the savages.) they said that they had followed the trail to the pecos, where the indians had crossed, and that the savages had continued on towards the llano estacado. this piece of news gave some relief, for it was conjectured, if the marauders had gone in that direction, their plundering would end. they had probably proceeded to join the rest of their tribe, known to be somewhere in that quarter. chapter twenty seven. vizcarra and his gay lancers passed up the valley, on their return from the pursuit at an early hour of the evening. scarcely had a short hour elapsed when another cavalcade, dusty and wayworn, was seen moving along the same road, and heading towards the settlements. it could hardly be termed a cavalcade, as it consisted of an atajo of pack-mules, with some carretas drawn by oxen. one man only was on horseback, who, by his dress and manner, could be recognised as the owner of the atajo. despite the fatigue of a long march, despite the coating of dust which covered both horse and rider, it was not difficult to tell who the horseman was. carlos the cibolero! thus far had he reached on his homeward way. another stretch of five miles along the dusty road, and it would halt before the door of his humble rancho. another hour, and his aged mother, his fond sister, would fling themselves into his arms, and receive his affectionate embrace! what a surprise it would be! they would not be expecting him for weeks--long weeks. and what a surprise he had for them in another way! his wonderful luck! the superb mulada and cargo,--quite a little fortune indeed! rosita should have a new dress,--not a coarse woollen nagua, but one of silk, real foreign silk, and a manta, and the prettiest pair of satin slippers--she should wear fine stockings on future fiesta days--she should be worthy of his friend don juan. his old mother, too--she should drink tea, coffee, or chocolate, which she preferred--no more _atole_ for her! the rancho was rude and old--it should come down, and another and better one go up in its place--no--it would serve as a stable for the horse, and the new rancho should be built beside it. in fact, the sale of his mulada would enable him to buy a good strip of land, and stock it well too. what was to hinder him to turn ranchero, and farm or graze on his own account? it would be far more respectable, and would give him a higher standing in the settlement. nothing to hinder him. he would do so; but first one more journey to the plains--one more visit to his waco friends, who had promised him--ha! it was this very promise that was the keystone of all his hopes. the silk dress for rosita, the luxuries for his old mother, the new house, the farm, were all pleasant dreams to carlos; but he indulged a dream of a still pleasanter nature--a dream that eclipsed them all; and his hopes of its realisation lay in that one more visit to the country of the wacoes. carlos believed that his poverty alone was the barrier that separated him from catalina. he knew that her father was not, properly speaking, one of the "rico" class. true, he was a rico now: but only a few years ago he had been a poor "gambucino"--poor as carlos himself. in fact, they had once been nearer neighbours; and in his earlier days don ambrosio had esteemed the boy carlos fit company for the little catalina. what objection, then, could he have to the cibolero--provided the latter could match him in fortune? "certainly none," thought carlos. "if i can prove to him that i, too, am a `rico,' he will consent to my marrying catalina. and why not? the blood in my veins--so says my mother--is as good as that of any hidalgo. and, if the wacoes have told me the truth, one more journey and carlos the cibolero will be able to shew as much gold as don ambrosio the miner!" these thoughts had been running in his mind throughout the whole of his homeward journey. every day--every hour--did he build his aery castles; every hour did he buy the silk dress for rosita--the tea, coffee, and chocolate for his mother; every hour did he erect the new rancho, buy the farm, show a fortune in gold-dust, and demand catalina from her father! _chateaux en espagne_! now that he was close to his home, these pleasant visions grew brighter and seemed nearer; and the countenance of the cibolero was radiant with joy. what a fearful change was soon to pass over it! several times he thought of spurring on in advance, the sooner to enjoy the luxury of his mother's and sister's welcome; and then he changed his mind again. "no," muttered he to himself; "i will stay by the atajo. i will better enjoy the triumph. we shall all march up in line, and halt in front of the rancho. they will think i have some stranger with me, to whom belong the mules! when i announce them as my own they will fancy that i have turned indian, and made a _raid_ on the southern provinces, with my stout retainers. ha! ha! ha!" and carlos laughed at the conceit. "poor little rosy!" he continued; "she _shall_ marry don juan this time! i won't withhold my consent any longer? it would be better, too. he's a bold fellow, and can protect her while i'm off on the plains again: though one more journey, and i have done with the plains. one more journey, and i shall change my title from carlos the cibolero to senor don carlos r--, ha! ha! ha!" again he laughed at the prospect of becoming a "rico," and being addressed as "don carlos." "very odd," thought he, "i don't meet anyone. i don't see a soul upon the road up or down. yet it's not late--the sun's above the bluff still. where can the people be? and yet the road's covered thick with fresh horse-tracks! ha! the troops have been here! they have just passed up! but that's no reason why the people are not abroad; and i don't see even a straggler! now i could have believed there was an alarm of indians had i not seen these tracks; but i know very well that, were the apaches on their war-trail, my comandante and his whiskerandos would never have ventured so far from the presidio--that i know. "well, there's something extraordinary! i can't make it out. perhaps they're all up to the town at some fiesta. anton, my boy, you know all the feast-days! is this one?" "no, master." "and where are all the folks?" "can't guess, master! strange we don't see some!" "so i was thinking. you don't suppose there have been wild indians in the neighbourhood?" "no, master--_mira_! they're the tracks of the `lanzeros'--only an hour ago. no indians where they are!" as antonio said this, both his accent and look had an expression which guided his master to the true meaning of his words, which might otherwise have been ambiguous. he did not mean that the fact of the lancers having been on the ground would prevent the indians from occupying it, but exactly the reverse. it was, not "lancers no indians," but "indians no lancers," that antonio meant. carlos understood him; and, as this had been his own interpretation of the tracks, he burst out into a fit of laughter. still no travellers appeared, and carlos did not like it. as yet he had not thought of any misfortune to those he loved; but the unpeopled road had an air of loneliness about it, and did not seem to welcome him. as he passed on a feeling of sadness came stealing over him, which after it had fairly taken possession he could not get rid of. he had not yet passed a settlement. there were none before reaching his own rancho, which, as already stated, was the lowest in the valley. still the inhabitants fed their flocks far below that; and it was usual, at such an hour, to see them driving their cattle home. he neither saw cattle nor vaqueros. the meadows on both sides, where cattle used to graze, were empty! what could it mean? as he noticed these things an indefinite sense of uneasiness and alarm began to creep over him; and this feeling increased until he had arrived at the turning which led to his own rancho. at length he headed around the forking angle of the road; and having passed the little coppices of evergreen oaks, came within sight of the house. with a mechanical jerk he drew his horse upon his haunches, and sat in the saddle with open jaw and eyes glaring and protruded. the rancho he could not see--for the covering interposal columns of the cacti--but through the openings along their tops a black line was visible that had an unnatural look, and a strange film of smoke hung over the azotea! "god of heaven! what can it mean?" cried he, with a choking voice; but, without waiting to answer himself, he lanced the flanks of his horse till the animal shot off like an arrow. the intervening ground was passed; and, flinging himself from the saddle, the cibolero rushed through the cactus-fence. the atajo soon after came up. antonio hurried through: and there, inside the hot, smoke-blackened walls, half-seated, half-lying on the banqueta, was his master, his head hanging forward upon his breast, and both hands nervously twisted in the long curls of his hair. antonio's foot-fall caused him to look up--only for a moment. "o god! my mother--my sister!" and, as he repeated the words, his head once more fell forward, while his broad breast rose and fell in convulsed heaving. it was an hour of mortal agony; for some secret instinct had revealed to him the terrible truth. chapter twenty eight. for some minutes carlos remained stupefied with the shock, and made no effort to rouse himself. a friendly hand laid upon his shoulder caused him to look up; don juan the ranchero was bending over him. don juan's face wore a look as wretched as his own. it gave him no hope; and it was almost mechanically the words escaped his lips-- "my mother? my sister?" "your mother is at my house," replied don juan. "and rosita?" don juan made no reply--the tears were rolling down his cheeks. "come, man!" said carlos, seeing the other in as much need of consolation as himself; "out with it--let me know the worst! is she dead?" "no,--no,--no!--i hope not _dead_!" "carried off?" "alas, yes!" "by whom?" "the indians." "you are sure by _indians_?" as carlos asked this question, a look of strange meaning glanced from his eyes. "quite sure--i saw them myself--your mother?" "my mother! what of her?" "she is safe. she met the savages in the doorway, was knocked senseless by a blow, and saw no more." "but rosita?" "no one saw her; but certainly she was taken away by the indians." "you are sure they were _indians_, don juan?" "sure of it. they attacked my house almost at the same time. they had previously driven off my cattle, and for that, one of my people was on the look-out. he saw them approach; and, before they got near, we were shut up and ready to defend ourselves. finding this, they soon went off. fearing for your people, i stole out as soon as they were gone, and came here. when i arrived the roof was blazing, and your mother lying senseless in the doorway. rosita was gone! _madre de dios_! she was gone!" and the young ranchero wept afresh. "don juan!" said carlos, in a firm voice; "you have been a friend--a brother--to me and mine. i know you suffer as much as i do. let there be no tears! see! mine are dried up! i weep no more--perhaps sleep not--till rosita is rescued or revenged. let us to business, then! tell me all that is known about these indians--and quick, don juan! i have a keen appetite for your news!" the ranchero detailed the various rumours that had been afloat for the three or four days preceding--as well as the actual occurrences,--how the indians had been first seen upon the upper plain; their encounter with the shepherds and the driving off of the sheep; their appearance in the valley, and their raid upon his own cattle--for it was his _ganaderia_ that had suffered--and then the after circumstances already known to carlos. he also informed the latter of the activity shown by the troops; how they had followed that morning upon the trail of the robbers; how he had desired to accompany them with some of his people; and how the request was refused by the comandante. "refused?" exclaimed carlos, interrogatively. "yes," replied don juan; "he said we would only hinder the troops! i fancy his motive was his chagrin with me. he does not like me ever since the fiesta." "well! what then?" "the troops returned but an hour ago. they report that they followed the trail as far as the pecos, where it crossed, striking direct for the llano estacado; and, as the indians had evidently gone off to the great plains, it would have been useless to attempt pursuing them farther. so they alleged. "the people," continued don juan, "will be only too glad that the savages have gone away, and will trouble themselves no farther about it. i have been trying to get up a party to follow them, but not one would venture. hopeless as it was, i intended a pursuit with my own people; but, thank god! _you_ have come!" "ay, pray god it may not be too late to follow their trail. but no; only last night at midnight, you say? there's been neither rain nor high wind--it will be fresh as dew; and if ever hound--ha! where's cibolo?" "at my house, the dog is. he was lost, this morning; we thought he had been killed or carried off; but at midday my people found him by the rancho here, covered with mud, and bleeding where he had received the prick of a spear. we think the indians must have taken him along, and that he escaped from them on the road." "it is strange enough--oh! my poor rosita!--poor lost sister!--where art thou at this moment?--where?--where?--shall i ever see you again?--my god! my god!" and carlos once more sunk back into his attitude of despair. then suddenly springing to his feet, with clenched fist and flashing eyes, he cried out-- "wide though the prairie plains, and faint the trail of these dastardly robbers, yet keen is the _eye_ of carlos the cibolero! i shall find thee yet--i shall find thee, though it cost me the search of a life. fear not, rosita! fear not, sweet sister! i come to your rescue! if thou art wronged, woe, woe, to the tribe that has done it!" then turning to don juan, he continued,--"the night is on--we can do nothing to-night. don juan!--friend, brother!--bring me to her--to my mother." there is a wild poetry in the language of grief, and there was poetry in the words of the cibolero; but these bursts of poetic utterance were brief, and he again returned to the serious reality of his situation. every circumstance that could aid him in his purposed pursuit was considered and arranged in a sober and practical manner. his arms and accoutrements, his horse, all were cared for, so as to be ready by the earliest hour of light. his servants, and those of don juan, were to accompany him, and for these horses were also prepared. pack-mules, too, with provisions and other necessaries for a long journey--for carlos had no intention of returning without the accomplishment of his sworn purpose--rescue or revenge. his was no pursuit to be baffled by slight obstacles. he was not going to bring back the report "_no los pudimos alcanzar_" he was resolved to trail the robbers to the farthest point of the prairies--to follow them to their fastens, wherever that might be. don juan was with him heart and soul, for the ranchero's interest in the result was equal to his own--his agony was the same. their peons numbered a score--trusty tagnos all, who loved their masters, and who, if not warriors by trade, were made so by sympathy and zeal. should they overtake the robbers in time, there would be no fear of the result. from all circumstances known, the latter formed but a weak band. had this not been the case, they would never have left the valley with so trifling a booty. could they be overtaken before joining their tribe, all might yet be well. they would be compelled to give up both their plunder and their captive, and, perhaps, pay dearly for the distress they had occasioned. time, therefore, was a most important consideration, and the pursuers had resolved to take the trail with the earliest light of the morning. carlos slept not--and don juan only in short and feverish intervals. both sat up in their dresses,--carlos by the bedside of his mother, who, still suffering from the effects of the blow, appeared to rave in her sleep. the cibolero sat silent, and in deep thought. he was busied with plans and conjectures--conjectures as to what tribe of indians the marauders could belong to. apaches or comanches they were not. he had met parties of both on his return. they treated him in a friendly manner, and they said nothing of hostilities against the people of san ildefonso. besides, no bands of these would have been in such small force as the late robbers evidently were. carlos wished it had been they. he knew that in such a case, when it was known that the captive was _his_ sister, she would be restored to him. but no; they had nothing to do with it. who then?--the yutas? such was the belief among the people of the valley, as he had been told by don juan. if so, there was still a hope--carlos had traded with a branch of this powerful and warlike tribe. he was also on friendly terms with some of its chiefs, though these were now at war with the more northern settlements. but the jicarillas still returned to his mind. these were indians of a cowardly, brutal disposition, and his mortal foes. they would have scalped him on sight. if his sister was _their_ captive, her lot was hard indeed; and the very thought of such a fate caused the cibolero to start up with a shudder, and clench his hands in a convulsive effort of passion. it was near morning. the peons were astir and armed. the horses and mules were saddled in the patio, and don juan had announced that all were ready. carlos stood by the bedside of his mother to take leave. she beckoned him near. she was still weak, for blood had flown freely from her, and her voice was low and feeble. "my son," said she, as carlos bent over her, "know you what indians you are going to pursue?" "no, mother," replied carlos, "but i fear they are our enemies the jicarillas." "have the jicarillas _beards on their faces and jewels on their fingers_?" "no mother; why do you ask such a question?--you know they have no beards! my poor mother!" added he, turning to don juan; "this terrible stroke has taken her senses!" "follow the trail, then!" she continued, without noticing the last remark uttered by carlos in a whisper; "follow the trail--perhaps it will guide thee to--" and she whispered the rest into his ear. "what, mother?" said he, starting, as if at some strange information. "dost thou think so?" "i have some suspicion--only _suspicion_--but follow the trail--it will guide thee--follow it, and be satisfied!" "do not doubt me, mother; i shall be satisfied of _that_." "one promise before you go. be not rash--be prudent." "fear not, mother! i will." "if it be so--" "if it be so, mother, you'll soon see me back. god bless you!--my blood's on fire--i cannot stay!--god bless you, mother!--farewell!" next minute the train of mounted men, with don juan and carlos at its head, passed out of the great gate, and took the road that led out from the valley. chapter twenty nine. it was not yet daybreak when the party left the house, but they had not started too early. carlos knew that they could follow the road so far as the lancers had gone, in the darkness; and it would be light enough by the time they had got to the point where these had turned back. five miles below the house of don juan the road forked--one, leading southward, was that by which carlos had returned the evening before; the other, or left fork, led nearly in a direct line towards the pecos, where there was a ford. the left fork had been that taken by the troopers, as their horse-tracks showed. it was now day. they could have followed the trail at a gallop, as it was a much-travelled and well-known path. but the eye of the cibolero was not bent upon this plain trail, but upon the ground on each side of it, and this double scrutiny caused him to ride more slowly. on both sides were cattle-tracks. these were, no doubt, made by the cattle stolen from don juan--in all numbering about fifty. the cibolero said they must have passed over the ground two days before. that would correspond with the time when they had been taken. the trackers soon passed the limits of the valley, and entered the plain through which runs the pecos. they were about approaching that stream in a direct line, and were still two miles from its banks, when the dog cibolo, who had been trotting in advance of the party, suddenly turned to the left, and ran on in that direction. the keen eye of carlos detected a new trail upon which the dog was running, and which parted from the track of the troopers. it ran in a direction due north. what appeared singular both to carlos and don juan was the fact of cibolo having taken this new route, as it was not marked by a road or path of any kind, but merely by the footprints of some animals that had lately passed over it! _had cibolo gone that way before_? carlos dismounted to examine the tracks. "four horses and one mule!" he said, speaking to don juan. "two of the horses shod on the fore feet only; the other two, with the mule, barefoot. all of them mounted--the mule led--perhaps with a pack. "_no_!" he added, after a little further examination, "it's not a pack-mule!" it scarce cost the cibolero five minutes to arrive at these conclusions. how he did so was a mystery to most of his companions,--perhaps to all, except the half-blood, antonio. and yet he was right in every particular. he continued to scrutinise the new trail for some moments longer. "the time corresponds," said he, still addressing don juan. "they passed yesterday morning before the dew was dry. you are sure it was not midnight when they left your house?" "quite sure," replied the ranchero. "it was still only midnight when i returned with your mother from the rancho. i am quite sure of that." "one more question, don juan: how many indians, think you, were in the party that made their appearance at your house--few or many?" "not many i think. two or three only could be heard yelling at once; but the trees prevented us from seeing them. i fancy, from their traces left, that the band was a very small one. it might be the same that burned the rancho. they could have arrived at my house afterwards. there was time enough." "i have reason to believe they _were_ the same," said carlos, still bending over the hoof-prints, "and _this may be their trail_." "think you so?" inquired don juan. "i do.--see--there! is this not strange?" the speaker pointed to the dog, who, meanwhile, had returned to the spot, and stood whimpering, and showing an evident desire to proceed by the trace newly discovered! "very strange," replied don juan. "he must have travelled it before!" "perhaps so," said carlos. "but it will not spoil by an hour's keeping. let us first see where these valiant troopers have been to. i want to know that before i leave this main path. let us on, and briskly!" all spurred their animals into a gentle gallop, the cibolero leading as before. as before, also, his eyes swept the ground on both sides in search of any trail that might diverge from that on which they travelled. now and then cross paths appeared, but these were old. no horses had passed recently upon them, and he did not slacken his pace to examine them. after a twenty minutes' gallop the party halted upon the bank of the pecos, at the ford. it was plain that the troopers had also halted there, and turned back without crossing! but cattle had crossed two days before--so said the cibolero--and mounted drivers. the tracks of both were visible in the mud. carlos rode through the shallow water to examine the other side. at a glance he saw that no troops had crossed, but some forty or fifty head of cattle. after a long and careful examination, not only of the muddy bank, but of the plain above, he beckoned to don juan and the rest to ford the stream and join him. when don juan came up, the cibolero said to him, in a tone full of intelligence-- "_amigo_! you stand a fair chance to recover your cattle." "why do you think so?" "because their drivers, four in number, have been near this spot not much over twenty-four hours ago. the animals, therefore, cannot be far off." "but how know you this?" "oh, that is plain enough," coolly responded the cibolero. "the men who drove your beasts were mounted on the same horses that made yonder trail." the speaker indicated the trail which he had halted to examine, and continued,--"very probably we'll find the herd among the spurs of the ceja yonder." as carlos said this, he pointed to a number of ragged ridges that from the brow of the llano estacado jutted out into the plain. they appeared to be at the distance of some ten miles from the crossing. "shall we push on there?" asked don juan. the cibolero did not give an immediate answer. he had evidently not decided yet, and was debating in his own mind what course to pursue. "yes," he replied, at length, in a solemn and deliberate voice. "it is better to be sure. with all my terrible suspicions, i may be wrong. _she_ may be wrong. _the two trails may yet come together_." the latter part of this was spoken in soliloquy, and, though it reached the ears of don juan, he did not comprehend its meaning. he was about to ask his companion for an explanation, when the latter, suddenly collecting his energies, struck the spurs into his horse, and, calling to them to follow, galloped off upon the cattle-track. after a run of ten miles, which was made in less than an hour, the party entered a large ravine or point of the plain that protruded, like a deep bay, into the mountain-like side of the high steppe. as they entered this, a singular spectacle came under their eyes. the ravine, near its bottom, was covered with zopilotes, or black vultures. hundreds of them were perched upon the rocks, or wheeling overhead in the air; and hundreds of others hopped about upon the plain, flapping their broad wings as if in full enjoyment. the coyote, the larger wolf, and the grizzly bear, were seen moving over the ground, or quarrelling with each other, though they need not have quarrelled--the repast was plenteous for all. between forty and fifty carcases were strewed over the ground, which don juan and his vaqueros as they drew near recognised as the carcases of his own cattle. "i told you so, don juan," said carlos, in a voice now husky with emotion; "but i did not expect this. what a deep-laid plan! they might have strayed back! and that--oh! horrible villain! my mother was right--_it is he! it is he_!" "who, carlos! what mean you?" inquired don juan, wondering at these strange and incongruous phrases. "ask me not now, don juan! presently i shall tell you all--presently, but not now; my brain's too hot--my heart is burning: presently-- presently. the mystery is past--i know all--i had suspicion from the first--i saw him at the fiesta--i saw his bad ruffian gaze bent upon her. oh, despot! i'll tear your heart out! come, don juan!--antonio-- comrades!--after me on the trail! it's easily followed. _i know where it will lead_--well i know.--on!" and driving the spur into the flanks of his horse, the cibolero galloped off in the direction of the crossing. the wondering troop--don juan among the rest--set their animals in motion, and galloped after. there was no halt made at the ford. carlos dashed his horse through the water, and the rest imitated his example. there was no halt either on arriving at the trace that led northward. the dog scampered along it, yelping at intervals; and the troop kept close after his heels. they had not followed it quite a mile when it suddenly turned at right angles, and _took the direction of the town_! don juan and the rest expressed surprise, but there was nothing in all this to surprise the cibolero. _he_ was expecting that. the expression on his face was not that of astonishment. it was far different--far more terrible to behold! his eyes were sunk in their sockets and gleaming with a lurid light, as if fire was burning within them. his teeth were firmly set--his lips white and tightly drawn, as if he was meditating, or had already made, some desperate resolve. he scarce looked at the tracks, he needed their guidance no longer. _he knew there he was going_! the trail crossed a muddy arroyo. the dog sweltered through, and the red clay adhered to his shaggy coat. it corresponded with that with which he had been already besmeared! don juan noticed the circumstance, and pointed it out. "he has been here before!" said he. "i know it," replied carlos; "i know it all--all. there is no mystery now. patience, amigo! you shall know all, but now let me _think_. i have no time for aught else." the trail still led in the direction of the town. it did not re-enter the valley, but passed over a sloping country to the upper plain, and then ran nearly parallel with the bluffs. "master!" said antonio, riding up by the side of carlos, "these are not the tracks of indian horses, unless they have stolen them. two of them are _troop_ horses. i know the _berradura_ well. they are _officers' horses_, too--i can tell that from the shoeing." the cibolero showed no signs of being astonished by this information, nor made he reply. he seemed engrossed with his thoughts. antonio, thinking he had not been heard or understood, repeated what he had said. "good antonio!" said the cibolero, turning his eyes on his follower, "do you think me blind or stupid?" this was not said angrily. antonio understood its meaning, and fell back among his companions. on moved the trackers--now at a gallop, now more slowly, for their animals were by this time somewhat jaded. on they moved, still keeping the trail, and still heading straight for the town! at length they reached a point where a road from the upper plain led by a zigzag path to the valley below. it was the same by which carlos had ascended to perform his great feat on the day of the fiesta. at the top of the descent carlos ordered the party to halt, and with don juan rode forward to the edge of the projecting cliff--at the very spot where he had exhibited his skill--the cliff of _nina perdida_. both drew up when near the edge. they commanded a full view of the valley and the town. "do you see that building?" inquired the cibolero, pointing to the detached pile which lay between them and the town. "the presidio?" "the presidio." "yes--what of it?" "_she is there_!" chapter thirty. at that moment upon the _azotea_ a man was pacing to and fro. he was not a sentinel, though at opposite angles of the building two of these could be seen who carried carbines--their heads and shoulders just appearing above the crenated top of the battlement towers. the man _en promenade_ was an officer, and the part of the azotea _upon_ which he moved was the roof of the officers' quarter, separated from the rest by a wall of equal height with the parapet. it was, moreover, a sacred precinct--not to be disturbed by the tread of common troopers on ordinary occasions. it was the "quarterdeck" of the presidio. the officer was in full dress, though not on any duty; but a single glance at the style and cut of his uniform would convince any one that he was a "dandy soldier," and loved to appear at all times in fine feathers. the gold-lace and bright-coloured broad-cloth seemed to affect him as his rich plumage does the peacock. every now and again he paused in his promenade, glanced down at his lacquered boots, examined the tournure of his limbs, or feasted his eyes upon the jewels that studded his delicate white fingers. he was no beauty withal nor hero either; but that did not prevent him from indulging in the fancy that he was both--a combination of mars and apollo. he was a colonel in the spanish army, however, and comandante of the presidio--for the promenader in question was vizcarra himself. though satisfied with his own appearance, he was evidently not satisfied about something else. there was a cloud upon his features that not even the contemplation of the lacquered boots or lily-white hands could banish. some disagreeable thought was pressing upon his mind, causing him at intervals to make fitful starts, and look nervously around him. "bah! 'twas but a dream!" he muttered to himself. "why should i think of it? 'twas only a dream!" his eyes were bent downward as he gave expression to these abrupt phrases, and as he raised them again chance guided his look in the direction of "la nina perdida." no, it was not chance, for la nina had figured in his dream, and his eyes were but following his thoughts. the moment they rested on the cliff he started back as if some terrible spectre were before him, and mechanically caught hold of the parapet. his cheeks suddenly blanched, his jaws fell, and his chest heaved, in hurried and convulsive breathing! what can cause these symptoms of strong emotion? is it the sight of yonder horseman standing upon the very pinnacle of the bluff, and outlined against the pale sky? what is there in such an appearance to terrify the comandante--for terrified he is? hear him! "my god! my god!--it is _he_! the form of his horse--of himself--just as he appeared--it is he! i fear to look at him! i cannot--" and the officer averted his face for a moment, covering it with his hands. it was but a moment, and again he looked upwards. not curiosity, but the fascination of fear, caused him to look again. the horseman had disappeared. neither horse nor man--no object of any sort--broke the line of the bluffs! "surely i have been dreaming again?" muttered the still trembling caitiff. "surely i have? there was no one there, least of all--. how could he? he is hundreds of miles off! it was an illusion! ha! ha! ha! what the devil is the matter with my senses, i wonder? that horrid dream of last night has bewitched them! _carrambo_! i'll think no more of it?" as he said this he resumed his pace more briskly, believing that that might rid him of his unpleasant reflections. at every turn, however, his eyes again sought the bluff, and swept along its edge with a glance that betokened fear. but they saw no more of the spectre horseman, and their owner began to feel at ease again. a footstep was heard upon the stone steps of the "escalera." some one was ascending to the roof. the next moment the head and shoulders of a man were visible; and captain roblado stepped out upon the azotea. the "buenos dias" that passed between him and vizcarra showed that it was their first meeting for that day. in fact, neither had been long up; for the hour was not yet too late for fashionable sleepers. roblado had just breakfasted, and come out on the azotea to enjoy his havannah. "ha! ha! ha!" laughed he, as he lighted the cigar, "what a droll masquerade it has been! 'pon my soul! i can scarce get the paint off; and my voice, after such yelling, won't recover for a week! ha! ha! never was maiden wooed and won in such a romantic, roundabout way. shepherds attacked--sheep driven off and scattered to the winds--cattle carried away and killed in regular _battue_--old woman knocked over, and rancho given to the flames--besides three days of marching and countermarching, travestying indian, and whooping till one is hoarse; and all this trouble for a poor _paisana_--daughter of a reputed witch! ha! ha! ha! it would read like a chapter in some eastern romance-- aladdin, for instance--only that the maiden was not rescued by some process of magic or knight-errantry. ha! ha ha!" this speech of roblado will disclose what is, perhaps, guessed at already--that the late incursion of "los barbaros" was neither more nor less than an affair got up by vizcarra and himself to cover the abduction of the cibolero's sister. the indians who had harried the sheep and cattle--who had attacked the hacienda of don juan--who had fired the rancho and carried off rosita--were colonel vizcarra, his officer captain roblado, his sergeant gomez, and a soldier named jose-- another minion of his confidence and will. there were but the four, as that number was deemed sufficient for the accomplishment of the atrocious deed; and rumour, backed by fear, gave them the strength of four hundred. besides, the fewer in the secret the better. this was the prudence or cunning of roblado. most cunningly, too, had they taken their measures. the game, from beginning to end, was played with design and execution worthy of a better cause. the shepherds were first attacked on the upper plain, to give certainty to the report that hostile indians were near. the scouting-parties were sent out from the presidio, and proclamations issued to the inhabitants to be on their guard--all for effect; and the further swoop upon the cattle was clear proof of the presence of "los barbaros" in the valley. in this foray the fiendish masquers took an opportunity of "killing two birds with one stone;" for, in addition to carrying out their general design, they gratified the mean revenge which they held against the young ranchero. their slaughtering his cattle in the ravine had a double object. first, the loss it would be to him gave them satisfaction; but their principal motive was that the animals might not stray back to the settlement. had they done so, after having been captured by indians, it would have looked suspicious. as it was, they hoped that, long before any one should discover the _battue_, the wolves and buzzard would do their work; and the bones would only supply food for conjecture. this was the more probable, as it was not likely, while the indian alarm lasted, that any one would be bold enough to venture that way. there was no settlement or road, except indian trails, leading in that direction. even when the final step was taken, and the victim carried off, she was not brought _directly_ to the presidio; for even _she_ was to be hoodwinked. on the contrary, she was tied upon a mule, led by one of the ruffians, and permitted to see the way they were going, until they had reached the point where their trail turned back. she was then blinded by a leathern "tapado," and in that state carried to the presidio, and within its walls--utterly ignorant of the distance she had travelled, and the place where she was finally permitted to rest. every act in the diabolical drama was conceived with astuteness, and enacted with a precision which must do credit to the head of captain roblado, if not to his heart. he was the principal actor in the whole affair. vizcarra had, at first, some scruples about the affair--not on the score of conscience, but of impracticability and fear of detection. this would indeed have done him a serious injury. the discovery of such a villainous scheme would have spread like wildfire over the whole country. it would have been ruin to him. roblado's eloquence, combined with his own vile desires, overruled the slight opposition of his superior; and, once entered on the affair, the latter found himself highly amused in carrying it out. the burlesque proclamations, the exaggerated stories of indians, the terror of the citizens, their encomiums on his own energetic and valorous conduct--all these were a pleasant relief to the _ennui_ of a barrack life and, during the several days' visit of "los barbaros," the comandante and his captain were never without a theme for mirth and laughter. so adroitly had they managed the whole matter that, upon the morning after the final _coup_ of the robbers--the abduction of rosita--there was not a soul in the settlement, themselves and their two aides excepted, that had the slightest suspicion but that real hostile indians were the actors! yes, there was one other who had a suspicion--only a suspicion--rosita's mother. even the girl believed herself in the hands of indians--_if belief she had_. chapter thirty one. "ha! ha! ha! a capital joke, by my honour!" continued roblado, laughing as he puffed his cigar. "it's the only piece of fun i've enjoyed since we came to this stupid place. even in a frontier post i find that one _may_ have a little amusement if he know how to make it. ha! ha! ha! after all, there was a devilish deal of trouble. but come, tell me, my dear comandante--for you know by this time--in confidence, was it worth the trouble?" "i am sorry we have taken it," was the reply, delivered in a serious tone. roblado looked straight in the other's face, and now for the first time noticed its gloomy expression. busied with his cigar, he had not observed this before. "hola!" exclaimed he; "what's the matter, my colonel? this is not the look a man should wear who has spent the last twelve hours as pleasantly as you must have done. something amiss?" "everything amiss." "pray what? surely you were with her?" "but a moment, and that was enough." "explain, my dear colonel." "she is mad!" "mad!" "having mad! her talk terrified me. i was but too glad to come away, and leave her to the care of jose, who waits upon her. i could not bear to listen to her strange jabberings. i assure you, camarado, it robbed me of all desire to remain." "oh," said roblado, "that's nothing--she'll get over it in a day or so. she still thinks herself in the hands of the savages who are going to murder and scalp her! it may be as well for you to undeceive her of this as soon as she comes to her senses. i don't see any harm in letting _her_ know. you must do so in the end, and the sooner the better--you will have the longer time to get her reconciled to it. now that you have her snug within earless and eyeless walls, you can manage the thing at your leisure. no one suspects--no one _can_ suspect. they are full of the indians to-day--ha! ha! ha! and 'tis said her inamorato, don juan, talks of getting up a party to pursue them! ha! ha! he'll not do that--the fellow hasn't influence enough, and nobody cares either about his cattle or the witch's daughter. had it been some one else the case might have been different. as it is, there's no fear of discovery, even were the cibolero himself to make his appearance--" "roblado!" cried the comandante, interrupting him, and speaking in a deep earnest voice. "well?" inquired the captain, regarding vizcarra with astonishment. "i have had a dream--a fearful dream; and that--not the ravings of the girl--it is that is now troubling me. _diablos_! a fearful dream!" "you, comandante--a valiant soldier--to let a silly dream trouble you! but come! what was it? i'm a good interpreter of dreams. i warrant i read it to your bettor satisfaction." "simple enough it is, then. i thought myself upon the cliff of la nina. i thought that i was alone with carlos the cibolero! i thought that he knew all, and that he had brought me there to punish me--to avenge _her_. i had no power to resist, but was led forward to the brink. i thought that we closed and struggled for a while; but at length i was shaken from his grasp, and pushed over the precipice! i felt myself falling--falling! i could see above me the cibolero, with his sister by his side, and on the extremest point the hideous witch their mother, who laughed a wild maniac laugh, and clapped her long bony hands! i felt myself falling--falling--yet still not reaching the ground; and this horrible feeling continued for a long, long time--in fact, until the fearful thought awoke me. even then i could scarce believe i had been dreaming, so palpable was the impression that remained. oh, comrade, it was a dreadful dream!" "and _but_ a dream; and what signifies--" "stay, roblado! i have not told you all. within the hour--ay, within the quarter of that time--while i was on this spot thinking over it, i chanced to look up to the cliff; and yonder, upon the extreme point, was a horseman clearly outlined against the sky--and that horseman the very image of the cibolero! i noted the horse and the seat of the rider, which i well remember. i could not trust my eyes to look at him. i averted them for a moment--only a moment; and when i looked again he was gone! so quickly had he retired, that i was inclined to think it was only a fancy--that there had been none--and that my dream had produced the illusion!" "that is likely enough," said roblado, desirous of comforting his companion; "likely enough--nothing more natural. in the first place, from where we stand to the top of la nina is a good five thousand varas as the crow flies; and for you, at that distance, to distinguish carlos the cibolero from any other horseman is a plain impossibility. in the second place, carlos the cibolero is at this moment full five hundred miles from the tip of my cigar, risking his precious carcase for a cartload of stinking hides and a few bultos of dried buffalo-beef. let us hope that some of his copper-coloured friends will raise his hay-coloured hair, which some of our poblanas so much admire. and now, my dear comandante, as to your dream, that is as natural as may be. it could hardly be otherwise than that you should have such a dream. the remembrance of the cibolero's feat of horsemanship on that very cliff, and the later affair with the sister, together with the suspicion you may naturally entertain that senor carlos wouldn't be too kind to you if he knew all and had you in his power--all these things, being in your thoughts at one time, must come together incongruously in a dream. the old woman, too--if she wasn't in your thoughts, she has been in mine ever since i gave her that knock in the doorway. who could forget such a picture as she then presented? ha! ha! ha!" the brutal villain laughed--not so much from any ludicrous recollection, as to make the whole thing appear light and trivial in the eyes of his companion. "what does it all amount to?" he continued. "a dream! a simple, everyday dream! come, my dear friend, don't let it remain on your mind for another instant!" "i cannot help it, roblado. it clings to me like my shadow. it feels like a presentiment. i wish i had left this paisana in her mud hut. by heaven! i wish she were back there. i shall not be myself till i have got rid of her. i seem to loathe as much as i loved the jabbering idiot." "tut, tut, man! you'll soon change your way of thinking--you'll soon take a fresh liking--" "no, roblado, no! i'm disgusted--i can't tell why but i _am_. would to god she were off my hands!" "oh! that's easy enough, and without hurting anybody. she can go the way she came. it will only be another scene in the masquerade, and no one will be the wiser. if you are really in earnest--" "roblado!" cried the comandante, grasping his captain by the arm, "i never was more in earnest in my life. tell me the plan to get her back without making a noise about it. tell me quick, for i cannot bear this horrid feeling any longer." "why, then," began roblado, "we must have another travestie of indians-- we must--" he was suddenly interrupted. a short, sharp groan escaped from vizcarra. his eyes looked as though about to start from his head. his lips grow white, and the perspiration leaped into drops on his forehead! what could it mean? vizcarra stood by the outer edge of the azotea that commanded a view of the road leading up to the gate of the presidio. he was gazing over the parapet, and pointing with outstretched arm. roblado was farther back, near the centre of the azotea. he sprang forward, and looked in the direction indicated. a horseman, covered with sweat and dust, was galloping up the road. he was near enough for roblado to distinguish his features. vizcarra had already distinguished them. it was carlos the cibolero! chapter thirty two. the announcement made by the cibolero on the bluff startled don juan, as if a shot had passed through him. up to this time the simple ranchero had no thought but that they were on the trail of indians. even the singular fact of the trail leading back to the valley had not undeceived him. he supposed the indians had made some other and later foray in that quarter, and that they would hear of them as soon as they should descend the cliffs. when carlos pointed to the presidio, and said, "she is there!" he received the announcement at first with surprise, then with incredulity. another word from the cibolero, and a few moments' reflection, and his incredulity vanished. the terrible truth flashed upon his mind, for he, too, remembered the conduct of vizcarra on the day of the fiesta. his visit to the rancho and other circumstances now rushed before him, aiding the conviction that carlos spoke the truth. for some moments the lover could scarce give utterance to his thoughts, so painful were they. more painful than ever! even while under the belief that his mistress was in the hands of wild indians he suffered less. there was still some hope that, by their strange code in relation to female captives, she might escape that dreaded fate, until he and carlos might come up and rescue her. but now the time that had elapsed--vizcarra's character--o god! it was a terrible thought; and the young man reeled in his saddle as it crossed his mind. he rode back a few paces, flung himself from his horse, and staggered to the ground in the bitterness of his anguish. carlos remained on the bluff, still gazing down on the presidio. he seemed to be maturing some plan. he could see the sentries on the battlements, the troopers lounging around the walls in their dark blue and crimson uniforms. he could even hear the call of the cavalry bugle, as its clear echoes came dancing along the cliffs. he could see the figure of a man--an officer--pacing to and fro on the azotea, and he could perceive that the latter had halted, and was observing him. it was at this very moment that vizcarra had caught sight of the horseman on the bluff--the sight that had so terrified him, and which indeed was no illusion. "can it be that fiend himself?" thought carlos, regarding the officer for a moment. "quite likely it is he. oh! that he were within range of my rifle! patience--patience! i will yet have my revenge!" and as the speaker muttered these words, he reined back from the bluff and rejoined his companion. a consultation was now held as to what would be the best mode of proceeding. antonio was called to their council, and to him carlos declared his belief that his sister was a captive within the presidio. it was telling antonio what he had already divined. the _mestizo_ had been to the fiesta as well as his master, and his keen eyes had been busy on that day. he, too, had observed the conduct of vizcarra; and long before their halt he had arrived at an elucidation of the many mysteries that marked the late indian incursion. he knew all--his master might have saved words in telling him. neither words nor time were wasted. the hearts of both brother and lover were beating too hurriedly for that. perhaps at that moment the object of their affection was in peril,--perhaps struggling with her ruffian abductor! their timely arrival might save her! these considerations took precedence of all plans; in fact, there was no plan they could adopt, to remain concealed--to skulk about the place--to wait for opportunity--what opportunity? they might spend days in fruitless waiting. days!--hours--even minutes would be too long. not a moment was to be lost before some action must be taken. and what action? they could think of none--none but open action. what! dare a man not claim his own sister? demand her restoration? but the thought of refusal--the thought of subterfuge--in fact, the certainty that such would be the result--quite terrified them both. and yet how else could they act? they would at least give publicity to the atrocious deed; that might serve them. there would be sympathy in their favour--perhaps more. perhaps the people, slaves as they were, might surround the presidio, and clamour loudly;--in some way the captive might be rescued. such were their hurried reflections. "if not rescued," said carlos, grinding his teeth together, "she shall be revenged. though the _garrota_ press my throat, he shall not live if she be dishonoured. i swear it!" "i echo the oath!" cried don juan, grasping the hilt of his _machete_. "masters! dear masters!" said antonio, "you both know i am not a coward. i shall aid you with my arm or my life; but it is a terrible business. let us have caution, or we fail. let us be prudent!" "true, we must be prudent. i have already promised that to my mother; but how, comrades?--how! in what does prudence consist?--to wait and watch, while she--oh!" all three were silent for a while. none of them could think of a feasible plan to be pursued. the situation was, indeed, a most difficult one. there was the presidio, and within its walls--perhaps in some dark chamber--the cibolero well knew his sister was a captive; but under such peculiar circumstances that her release would be a most difficult enterprise. in the first place, the villain who held her would assuredly deny that she was there. to have released her would be an acknowledgment of his guilt. what proof of it could carlos give? the soldiers of the garrison, no doubt, were ignorant of the whole transaction--with the exception of the two or three miscreants who had acted as aides. were the cibolero to assert such a thing in the town he would be laughed at-- no doubt arrested and punished. even could he offer proofs, what authority was there to help him to justice? the military was the law of the place, and the little show of civic authority that existed would be more disposed to take sides against him than in his favour. he could expect no justice from any quarter. all the proof of his accusation would rest only on such facts as would neither be understood nor regarded by those to whom he might appeal. the return trail would be easily accounted for by vizcarra--if he should deign to take so much trouble--and the accusation of carlos would be scouted as the fancy of a madman. no one would give credence to it. the very atrociousness of the deed rendered it incredible! carlos and his companions were aware of all these things. they had no hope of help from any quarter. there was no authority that could give them aid or redress. the cibolero, who had remained for a while silent and thoughtful, at length spoke out. his tone was altered. he seemed to have conceived some plan that held out a hope. "comrades!" he said, "i can think of nothing but an open demand, and that must be made within the hour. i cannot live another hour without attempting her rescue--another hour, and what we dread--no! within the hour it must be. i have formed a sort of plan--it may not be the most prudent--but there is no time for reflection. hear it." "go on!" "it will be of no use our appearing before the gate of the presidio in full force. there are hundreds of soldiers within the walls, and our twenty tagnos, though brave as lions, would be of no service in such an unequal fight. i shall go alone." "alone?" "yes; i trust to chance for an interview with _him_. if i can get that, it is all i want. he is her gaoler; and when the gaoler sleeps, the captive may be freed. he shall _sleep then_." the last words were uttered in a significant tone, while the speaker placed his hand mechanically upon the handle of a large knife that was stuck in his waist-belt. "_he shall sleep_ then!" he repeated; "and soon, if fate favours me. for the rest i care not: i am too desperate. if she be dishonoured i care not to live, but i shall have full revenge!" "but how will you obtain an interview?" suggested don juan. "he will not give _you_ one. would it not be better to disguise yourself? there would be more chance of seeing him that way?" "no! i am not easily disguised, with my light hair and skin. besides, it would cost too much time. trust me, i will not be rash. i have a plan by which i hope to get near him--to see him, at all events. if it fail, i intend to make no demonstration for the present. none of the wretches shall know my real errand. afterwards i may do as you advise, but now i cannot wait. i must on to the work. i believe it is he that is at this moment pacing yonder azotea, and that is why i cannot wait, don juan. if it be me--" "but what shall we do?" asked don juan. "can we not assist in any way?" "yes, perhaps in my escape. come on, i shall place you. come on quickly. moments are days. my brain's on fire. come on!" so saying, the cibolero leaped into his saddle and struck rapidly down the precipitous path that led to the valley. from the point where the road touched the valley bottom, for more than a mile in the direction of the presidio, it ran through a thick growth of low trees and bushes forming a "chapparal," difficult to pass through, except by following the road itself. but there were several cattle-paths through the thicket, by which it might be traversed; and these were known to antonio the half-blood, who had formerly lived in this neighbourhood. by one of those a party of mounted men might approach within half-a-mile of the presidio without attracting the observation of the sentries upon the walls. to this point, then, antonio was directed to guide the party; and in due time they arrived near the edge of the jungle, where, at the command of carlos, all dismounted keeping themselves and their horses under cover of the bushes. "now," said the cibolero, speaking to don juan, "remain here. if i escape, i shall gallop direct to this point. if i lose my horse, you shall see me afoot all the same. for such a short stretch i can run like a deer: i shall not be overtaken. when i return i shall tell you how to act. "see! don juan!" he continued, grasping the ranchero by the arm, and drawing him forward to the edge of the chapparal. "it is he! by heaven, it is he!" carlos pointed to the azotea of the presidio, where the head and shoulders of a man were seen above the line of the parapet. "it is the comandante himself!" said don juan, also recognising him. "enough! i have no time for more talk," cried the cibolero. "now or never! if i return, you shall know what to do. if not, i am taken or killed. but stay here. stay till late in the night; i may still escape. their prisons are not too strong; besides, i carry this gold. it may help me. no more. adios! true friend, adios!" with a grasp of the ranchero's hand, carlos leaped back to his saddle, and rode off. he did not go in the direction of the presidio, as that would have discovered him too soon. but a path that led through the chapparal would bring him out on the main road that ran up to the front gate, and this path he took. antonio guided him to the edge of the timber, and then returned to the rest. carlos, once on the road, spurred his horse into gallop, and dashed boldly forward to the great gate of the presidio. the dog cibolo followed, keeping close up to the heels of his horse. chapter thirty three. "by the virgin, it _is_ he!" exclaimed roblado, with a look of astonishment and alarm. "the fellow himself, as i live!" "i knew it!--i knew it!" shrieked vizcarra. "i saw him on the cliff: it was no vision!" "where can he have come from? in the name of all the saints, where has the fellow--" "roblado, i must go below! i must go in, i will not stay to meet him! i _cannot_!" "nay, colonel, better let him speak with us. he has seen and recognised you already. if you appear to shun him, it will arouse suspicion. he has come to ask our help to pursue the indians; and that's his errand, i warrant you!" "do you think so?" inquired vizcarra, partially recovering his self-possession at this conjecture. "no doubt of it! what else? he can have no suspicion of the truth. how is it possible he could, unless he were a witch, like his mother? stay where you are, and let us hear what he has got to say. of course, you can talk to him from the azotea, while he remains below. if he show any signs of being insolent, as he has already been to both of us, let us have him arrested, and cooled a few hours in the calabozo. i hope the fellow will give us an excuse for it, for i haven't forgotten his impudence at the fiesta." "you are right, roblado; i shall stay and heur him. it will be better, i think, and will allay any suspicion. but, as you say, he can have none!" "on the contrary, by your giving him the aid he is about to ask you for, you may put him entirely off the scent--make him your friend, in fact. ha! ha!" the idea was plausible, and pleased vizcarra. he at once determined to act upon it. this conversation had been hurriedly carried on, and lasted but a few moments--from the time the approaching horseman had been first seen, until he drew up under the wall. for the last two hundred yards he had ridden slowly, and with an air of apparent respect--as though he feared it might be deemed rude to approach the place of power by any swaggering exhibition of horsemanship. on his fine features traces of grief might be observed, but not one sign of the feeling that was at that moment uppermost in his heart. as he drew near, he raised his sombrero in a respectful salute to the two officers, whose heads and shoulders were just visible over the parapet; and having arrived within a dozen paces of the wall, he reined up, and, taking off his hat again, waited to be addressed. "what is your business?" demanded roblado. "cavalleros! i wish to speak with the comandante." this was delivered in the tone of one who is soon to ask a favour. it gave confidence to vizcarra, as well as to the bolder villain--who, notwithstanding all his assurances to the contrary, had still some secret misgivings about the cibolero's errand. now, however, it was clear that his first conjecture was correct; carlos had come to solicit their assistance. "i am he!" answered vizcarra, now quite recovered from his fright, "i am the comandante. what have you to communicate, my man?" "your excellency, i have a favour to ask;" and the cibolero again saluted with an humble bow. "i told you so," whispered roblado to his superior. "all safe, my colonel." "well, my good fellow," replied vizcarra, in his usual haughty and patronising manner, "let me hear it. if not unreasonable--" "your excellency, it is a very heavy favour i would ask, but i hope not unreasonable. i am sure that, if it do not interfere with your manifold duties, you will not refuse to grant it, as the interest and trouble you have already taken in the cause are but too well-known." "told you so," muttered roblado a second time. "speak out, man!" said vizcarra, encouragingly; "i can only give an answer when i have heard your request." "it is this, your excellency. i am but a poor cibolero." "you are carlos the cibolero! i know you." "yes, your excellency, we have met--at the fiesta of san juan--" "yes, yes! i recollect your splendid horsemanship." "your excellency is kind to call it so. it does not avail me now. i am in great trouble!" "what has befallen? speak out, man." both vizcarra and roblado guessed the purport of the cibolero's request. they desired that it should be heard by the few soldiers lounging about the gate and for that reason they spoke in a loud tone themselves, anxious that their petitioner might do the same. not to oblige them, but for reasons of his own, carlos replied in a loud voice. he, too, wished the soldiers, but more particularly the sentry at the gate, to hear what passed between himself and the officers. "well, your excellency," replied he, "i live in a poor rancho, the last in the settlement, with my old mother and sister. the night before last it was attacked by a party of indians--my mother left for dead--the rancho set on fire--and my sister carried off!" "i have heard of all this, my friend,--nay, more, i have myself been out in pursuit of the savages." "i know it, your excellency. i was absent on the plains, and only returned last night. i have heard that your excellency was prompt in pursuing the savages, and i feel grateful." "no need of that; i only performed my duty. i regret the occurrence, and sympathise with you; but the villains have got clear off, and there is no hope of bringing them to punishment just now. perhaps some other time--when the garrison here is strengthened--i shall make an incursion into their country, and then your sister may be recovered." so completely had vizcarra been deceived by the cibolero's manner, that his confidence and coolness had returned, and any one knowing nothing more of the affair than could be gathered from that conversation would have certainly been deceived by him. this dissimulation both in speech and manner appeared perfect. by the keen eye of carlos, however--with his knowledge of the true situation--the tremor of the speaker's lips, slight as it was--his uneasy glance--and an occasional hesitancy in his speech, were all observed. though carlos was deceiving _him_, _he_ was not deceiving carlos. "what favour were you going to ask?" he inquired, after he had delivered his hopeful promise. "this, your excellency; that you would allow your troops to go once more on the trail of the robbers, either under your own command--which i would much like--or one of your brave officers." roblado felt flattered. "i would act as guide, your excellency. there is not a spot within two hundred miles i am not acquainted with, as well as i am with this valley; and though i should not say it, i assure your excellency, i can follow an indian trail with any hunter on the plains. if your excellency will but send the troop, i promise you i shall guide them to the robbers, or lose my reputation. i can follow their trail _wherever it may lead_." "oh! you could, indeed?" said vizcarra, exchanging a significant glance with roblado, while both exhibited evident symptoms of uneasiness. "yes, your excellency, anywhere." "it would be impossible," said roblado. "it is now two days old; besides, _we_ followed it beyond the pecos, and we have no doubt the robbers are by this time far out of reach, of any pursuit. it would be quite useless to attempt such a thing." "cavalleros!"--carlos addressed himself to both--"i assure you i could find them. they are not so far off." both the comandante and his captain started, and visibly turned pale. the cibolero did not affect to notice this. "nonsense! my good fellow!" stammered roblado; "they are--at least-- hundreds of miles off by this--away over the staked plain--or to--to the mountains." "pardon me, captain, for differing with you; but i believe i know these indians--i know to what tribe they belong." "what tribe?" simultaneously inquired the officers, both with an earnestness of manner and a slight trepidation in their voices; "what tribe?--were they not yutas?" "no," answered the cibolero, while he observed the continued confusion of his questioners. "who, then?" "i believe," replied carlos, "they were _not_ yutas--more likely my sworn foes, the jicarillas." "quite possible!" assented both in a breath, and evidently relieved at the enunciation. "quite possible!" repeated roblado. "from the description given us by the people who saw them, we had fancied they were the yutas. it may be a mistake, however. the people were so affrighted, they could tell but little about them. besides, the indians were only seen in the night." "why think you they are the jicarillas?" asked the comandante, once more breathing freely. "partly because there were so few of them," replied carlos. "had they been yutas--" "but they were not so few. the shepherds report a large band. they have carried off immense numbers of cattle. there must have been a considerable force of them, else they would not have ventured into the valley--that is certain." "i am convinced, your excellency, there could not have been many. a small troop of your brave soldiers would be enough to bring back both them and their booty." here the lounging lanzeros erected their dwarfish bodies, and endeavoured to look taller. "_if_ they were jicarillas," continued carlos, "i should not need to follow their trail. they are _not_ in the direction of the llano. if they have gone that way, it was to mislead you in the pursuit. i know where they are at this moment--in the mountains." "ha! you think they are in the mountains?" "i am sure of it; and not fifty miles from here. if your excellency would but send a troop, i could guide it direct to the spot, and without following the trail they have taken out of the valley--which i believe was only a false one." the comandante and roblado drew back from the parapet, and for some minutes talked together in a low tone. "it would look well," muttered roblado; "in fact, the very thing you want. the trump cards seem to drop right into your hands. you send a force at the _request_ of this fellow, who is a nobody here. you do him a service, and yourself at the same time. it will tell well, i warrant you." "but for him to act as guide?" "let him! so much the better--that will satisfy all parties. he won't find his jicarillas,--ha! ha ha!--of course; but let the fool have his whim!" "but suppose, camarado, he falls upon _our_ trail?--the cattle?" "he is not going in that direction; besides, if he did, we are not bound to follow such trails as he may choose for us; but he has said he is not going that way--he don't intend to follow a trail. he knows some nest of these jicarillas in the mountains,--like enough; and to rout them-- there's a bit of glory for some one. a few scalps would look well over the gate. it hasn't had a fresh ornament of that sort since we've been here! what say you? it's but a fifty-mile ride." "i have no objection to the thing--it _would_ look well; but i shall not go myself. i don't like being along with the fellow out there or anywhere else--you can understand that feeling, i suppose?" here the comandante looked significantly at his companion. "oh! certainly--certainly," replied the latter. "_you_ may take the troop; or, if you are not inclined, send garcia or the sergeant with them." "i'll go myself," replied roblado. "it will be safer. should the cibolero incline to follow certain trails, i can lead him away from them, or refuse--yes it will be better for me to go myself. by my soul! i want to have a brush with these redskins. i hope to bring back some `hair,' as they say. ha ha! ha!" "when would you start?" "instantly--the sooner the better. that will be more agreeable to all parties, and will prove our promptitude and patriotism. ha! ha! ha!" "you had better give the sergeant his orders to get the men ready, while i make our cibolero happy." roblado hastened down from the azotea, and the next moment the bugle was heard sounding "boots and saddles." chapter thirty four. during the conversation that had taken place the cibolero sat, motionless upon his horse where he had first halted. the two officers were no longer in view, as they had stepped back upon the azotea, and the high parapet concealed them. but carlos guessed the object of their temporary retirement, and waited patiently. the group of soldiers, lounging in the gateway, and scanning him and his horse, now amounted to thirty or forty men; but the bugle, sounding the well-known call, summoned them off to the stables, and the sentry alone remained by the gate. both he and the soldiers, having overheard the last conversation, guessed the object of the summons. carlos felt assured that his request was about to be granted, though as yet the comandante had not told him. up to that moment the cibolero had conceived no fixed plan of action. how could he, where so much depended on chance? only one idea was before his mind that could be called definite--that was _to get vizcarra alone_. if but for a single minute, it would suffice. entreaty, he felt, would be idle, and might waste time and end in his own defeat and death. a minute would be enough for vengeance; and with the thoughts of his sister's ruin fresh on his mind, he was burning for this. to anything after he scarce gave a thought. for escape, he trusted to chance and his own superior energy. up to that moment, then, he had conceived no fixed plan of action. it had just occurred to him that the comandante himself might lead the party going out. if so he would take no immediate step. while acting as guide, his opportunity would be excellent--not only for destroying his enemy, but for his own escape. once on the wide plains, he would have no fear of ten times the number of lancers. his true steed would carry him far beyond their reach. the troop was going. the bugle told him so. would vizcarra go with it? that was the question that now engrossed his thoughts, as he sat immobile on his horse, regarding with anxious look the line of the parapet above. once more the hated face appeared over the wall--this time to announce what the comandante believed would be glad news to his wretched petitioner. with all the pompous importance of one who grants a great favour he announced it. a gleam of joy shot over the features of the cibolero--not at the announcement, though vizcarra thought so; but at his observation of the fact that the latter seemed to be now _alone upon the azotea_. roblado's face was not above the wall. "it is exceedingly gracious of your excellency to grant this favour to an humble individual like myself. i know not how to thank you." "no thanks--no thanks: an officer of his catholic majesty wants no thanks for doing his duty." as the comandante said this, he waved his hand with proud dignity, and seemed about to retire backward. carlos interrupted his intention by putting a question: "am i to have the honour of acting as guide to your excellency?" "no; i do not go myself on this expedition; but my best officer, captain roblado, will lead it. he is now getting ready. you may wait for him." as vizcarra said this, he turned abruptly away from the wall, and continued his promenade along the azotea. no doubt he felt ill at ease in a _tete-a-tete_ with the cibolero, and was glad to end it. why he had condescended to give all this information need not be inquired into; but it was just what the cibolero desired to know. the latter saw that the time was come--not a moment was to be lost, and, quick as thought, he resolved himself for action. up to this moment he had remained in his saddle. his rifle--its butt resting in the stirrup, its barrel extending up to his shoulder--had been seen by no one. the "_armas de aqua_" covering his legs, and the serape his shoulders, had completely concealed it. in addition to this, his sharp hunting-knife, strapped along his left thigh, escaped observation under the hanging corner of the serape. these were his only weapons. during the short conversation between the comandante and roblado he had not been idle, though apparently so. he had made a full reconnaissance of the walls. he saw that out of the saguan, or gateway, an escalera of stone steps led up to the azotea. this communication was intended for the soldiers, when any duty required them to mount to the roof; but carlos knew that there was another escalera, by which the officers ascended: and although he had never been inside the presidio, he rightly conjectured that this was at the adjacent end of the building. he had observed, too, that but one sentry was posted at the gate, and that the stone banquette, inside the saguan, used as a lounging-place by the guard, was at the moment unoccupied. the guard were either inside the house, or had strayed away to their quarters. in fact, the discipline of the place was of the loosest kind. vizcarra, though a dandy himself, was no martinet with his men. his time was too much taken up with his own pleasures to allow him to care for aught else. all these points had passed under the keen observation of the cibolero before vizcarra returned to announce his intention of sending the troop. he had scarce parted out of sight the second time ere the former had taken his measures. silently dismounting from his horse, carlos left the animal standing where he had halted him. he did not fasten him to either rail or post, but simply hooked the bridle-rein over the "horn" of the saddle. he know that his well-trained steed would await him there. his rifle he still carried under his serape, though the butt was now visible below the edge, pressed closely against the calf of his leg. in this way he walked forward to the gate. one doubt troubled him--would the sentry permit him to pass in? if not, the sentry must die! this resolve was quickly made; and the cibolero under his serape kept his grasp on the handle of his hunting-knife as he approached the gate. the attempt was made to pass through. fortunately for carlos, and for the sentry as well, it was successful. the latter--a slouching, careless fellow--had heard the late conversation, and had no suspicion of the other's design. he made some feeble opposition, notwithstanding; but carlos hastily replied that he had something to say to the comandante, who had beckoned him up to the azotea. this but half satisfied the fellow, who, however, reluctantly allowed him to pass. once inside, carlos sprang to the steps, and glided up with the stealthy silent tread of a cat. so little noise had his moccasins made upon the stones, that, when he arrived upon the roof, its occupant--although standing but six feet from the head of the escalera--was not aware of his presence! there was he--vizcarra himself--the despot--the despoiler--the violator of a sister's innocence and honour--there was he within six feet of the avenging brother--six feet from the muzzle of his ready rifle, and still ignorant of the terrible situation! his face was turned in an opposite direction--he saw not his peril. the glance of the cibolero rested upon him but an instant, and then swept the walls to ascertain if any one was above. he knew there were two sentries on the towers. they were not visible--they were on the outer walls and could not be seen from carlos's position. no one else was above. his enemy alone was there, and his glance again rested upon him. carlos could have sent the bullet into his back, and such a thought crossed his mind, but was gone in an instant. he had come to take the man's life, but not in that manner. even prudence suggested a better plan. his knife would be more silent, and afford him a safer chance of escape when the deed was done! with this idea, he brought the butt of his rifle gently to the ground, and rested its barrel against the parapet. the iron coming in contact with the stone wall gave a tiny clink. slight as it was, it reached the ear of the comandante, who wheeled suddenly round, and started at the sight of the intruder. at first he exhibited anger, but the countenance of the cibolero, that had undergone a complete metamorphosis during the short interval, soon changed his anger into alarm. "how dare you intrude, sir?--how dare--" "not so loud, colonel!--not so loud--you will be heard!" the low husky voice, and the firm tone of command, in which they were uttered, terrified the cowardly wretch to whom these words were addressed. he saw that the man who stood before him bore in his face and attitude the expression of desperate and irresistible resolve, that plainly said, "disobey, and you are a dead man!" this expression was heightened by the gleaming blade of a long knife, whose haft was firmly grasped by the hand of the cibolero. at sight of those demonstrations, vizcarra turned white with terror. he now comprehended what was meant. the asking for the troop had been but a subterfuge to get near his own person! the cibolero had tracked him; his guilt was known, and the brother was now come to demand redress or have vengeance! the horrors of his night-dream returned, now mingling with the horrors of the fearful reality before him. he scarce knew what to say--he could scarce speak. he looked wildly around in hopes of seeing some help. not a face or form was in sight-- nothing but the grey walls, and before him the frowning face of his terrible antagonist. he would have called for help; but that face--that angry attitude--told him that the shout would be his last. he gasped out at length-- "what want you?" "_i want my sister_!" "your sister?" "my sister!" "carlos--i know not--she is not here--i--" "liar! she is within these walls. see! yonder the dog howls by the door. why is that?" carlos pointed to a door in the lower part of the building, where the dog cibolo was at that moment seen, whining and making other demonstrations, as if he wanted to get inside! a soldier was endeavouring to drive him off. vizcarra looked mechanically as directed. he saw the dog. he saw the soldier too; but dared not make a signal to him. the keen blade was gleaming before his eyes. the question of the cibolero was repeated. "why is that?" "i--i--know not--" "liar again! she has gone in by that door. where is she now? quick, tell me!" "i declare, i know not. believe me--" "false villain! she is here. i have tracked you through all your paths--your tricks have not served you. deny her once more, and this to your heart. she is here!--where--where--i say?" "oh! do not murder me. i shall tell all. she--she--is--here. i swear i have not wronged her; i swear i have not--" "here, ruffian--stand at this point--close to the wall here.--quick!" the cibolero had indicated a spot from which part of the patio, or courtyard, was visible. his command was instantly obeyed, for the craven comandante saw that certain death was the alternative. "now give orders that she be brought forth! you know to whom she is intrusted. be cool and calm, do you hear? any sign to your minions, either word or gesture, and this knife will pass through your ribs! now!" "o my god!--my god!--it would ruin me--all would know--ruin--ruin--i pray you--have mercy--have patience!--she shall be restored to you--i swear it--this very night!" "this very moment, villain! quick--proceed--all those who know--let her be brought forth!--quick--i am on fire--one moment more--" "o heaven! you will murder me--a moment--stay!--ha!" the last exclamation was in a different tone from the rest. it was a shout of exultation--of triumph! the face of the comandante was turned towards the escalera by which carlos had ascended, while that of the latter looked in the opposite direction. carlos, therefore, did not perceive that a third person had reached the roof, until he felt his upraised right arm grasped by a strong hand, and held back! he wrenched his arm free--turning as he did so--when he found himself face to face with a man whom he recognised as the lieutenant garcia. "i have no quarrel with _you_," cried the cibolero; "keep away from me." the officer, without saying a word, had drawn a pistol, and was levelling it at his head. carlos rushed upon him. the report rang, and for a moment the smoke shrouded both garcia and the cibolero. one was heard to fall heavily on the tiles, and the next moment the other sprang from the cloud evidently unhurt. it was the cibolero who came forth; and his knife, still in his grasp, was reeking with blood! he rushed forward towards the spot where he had parted with the comandante, but the latter was gone! he was some distance off on the azotea, and running towards the private stairway. carlos saw at a glance he could not overtake him before he should reach the escalera, and make his descent; and to follow him below would now be useless, for the shot had given the alarm. there was a moment of despair,--a short moment; for in the next a bright thought rushed into the mind of the cibolero--he remembered his rifle. there might be still time to overtake the comandante with that. he seized the weapon, and, springing beyond the circle of smoke, raised it to his shoulder. vizcarra had reached the stairway, and was already sinking into its trap-like entrance. his head and shoulders alone appeared above the line of wall, when some half-involuntary thought induced him to stop and look back. the coward had partly got over his fright now that he had arrived within reach of succour, and he glanced back from a feeling of curiosity, to see if the struggle between garcia and the cibolero was yet over. he meant to stop only for an instant, but just as he turned his head the rifle cracked, and the bullet sent him tumbling to the bottom of the escalera! the cibolero saw that his shot had taken effect--he saw, moreover, that the other was dead--he heard the wild shouts of vengeance from below; and he knew that unless he could escape by flight he would be surrounded and pierced by an hundred lances. his first thought was to descend by the escalera, up which he had come. the other way only led into the patio, already filling with men. he leaped over the body of garcia, and ran toward the stairway. a crowd of armed men was coming up. his escape was cut off! again he crossed the dead body, and, running along the azotea, sprang upon the outer parapet and looked below. it was a fearful leap to take, but there was no other hope of escaping. several lancers had reached the roof, and were charging forward with their pointed weapons. already carbines were ringing, and bullets whistling about his ears. it was no time to hesitate. his eye fell upon his brave horse, as he stood proudly curving his neck and champing the bit, "thank heaven, he is yet alive!" nerved by the sight, carlos dropped down from the wall, and reached the ground without injury. a shrill whistle brought his steed to his side, and the next moment the cibolero had sprung into the saddle, and was galloping out into the open plain! bullets hissed after, and men mounted in hot pursuit; but before they could spur their horses out of the gateway, carlos had reached the edge of the chapparal, and disappeared under the leafy screen of its thick foliage. a body of lancers, with roblado and gomez at their head, rode after. as they approached the edge of the chapparal, to their astonishment a score of heads appeared above the bushes, and a wild yell hailed their advance! "indios bravos! los barbaros!" cried the lancers, halting, while some of them wheeled back in alarm. a general halt was made, and the pursuers waited until reinforcements should come up. the whole garrison turned out, and the chapparal was surrounded, and at length entered. but no indians could be found, though the tracks of their animals led through the thicket in every direction. after beating about for several hours, roblado and his troopers returned to the presidio. chapter thirty five. garcia was dead. vizcarra was not, though, when taken up from where he had fallen, he looked like one who had not long to live, and behaved like one who was afraid to die. his face was covered with blood, and his cheek showed the scar of a shot. he was alive however,--moaning and mumbling. fine talking was out of the question, for several of his teeth had been carried away by the bullet. his wound was a mere face wound. there was not the slightest danger; but the "medico" of the place, a young practitioner, was not sufficiently master of his art to give him that assurance, and for some hours vizcarra remained in anything but blissful ignorance of his fate. the garrison doctor had died but a short time before, and his place was not yet supplied. a scene of excitement for the rest of that day was the presidio--not less so the town. the whole settlement was roused by the astounding news, which spread like a prairie fire throughout the length and breadth of the valley. it travelled in two different shapes. one was, that the settlement was surrounded by "los barbaros," headed by carlos the cibolero; that they must be in great numbers, since they had made an open attack upon the military stronghold itself; but that they had been beaten off by the valiant soldiers after a desperate conflict, in which many were killed on both sides; that the officers were all killed, including the comandante; and that another attack might be looked for that night, which would most likely be directed against the town! this was the first shape of the "novedades." another rumour had it that the "indios mansos" had revolted; that they were headed by carlos the cibolero; that they had made an unsuccessful attempt upon the presidio, in which, as before, the valiant soldiers had repulsed them with great loss on both sides, including the comandante and his officers: that this was but the first outbreak of a great conspiracy, which extended to all the tagnos of the settlement, and that no doubt the attack would be renewed that night! to those who reflected, both forms of the rumour were incomprehensible. why should "indios bravos" attack the presidio before proceeding against the more defenceless town as well as the several rich haciendas? and how could carlos the cibolero be their leader? why should he of all men,--he who had just suffered at the hands of the savages? it was well-known through the settlement that it was the cibolero's sister who had been carried off. the idea of an indian incursion, with him at the head of it, seemed too improbable. then, again, as to the conspiracy and revolt. why the tame indians were seen labouring quietly in the fields, and those belonging to the mission were working at their usual occupations! news, too, had come down from the mines--no symptoms of conspiracy had been observed there! a revolt of the tagnos, with the cibolero at their head, would, of the two rumours, have been the more likely to be true; for it was well-known to all that these were far from content with their lot--but at present there was no appearance of such a thing around. there were they all at their ordinary employments. who, then, were the revolters? both rumours, therefore, were highly improbable. half the town-people were soon gathered around the presidio, and after stories of all shapes had been carried back and forward, the definite facts at length became known. these, however, were as mysterious and puzzling as the rumours. for what reason could the cibolero have attacked the officers of the garrison? who were the indians that accompanied him? were they "bravos" or "mansos"?--savages or rebels? the most remarkable thing was, that the soldiers themselves who had taken part in the imaginary "fight" could not answer these questions. some said this, and some that. many had heard the conversation between carlos and the officers; but that portion of the affair, though perfectly natural in itself when taken in connexion with after circumstances, only rendered the whole more complicated and mysterious! the soldiers could give no explanation; and the people returned home, to canvass and discuss the affair among themselves. various versions were in vogue. some believed that the cibolero had come with the _bona fide_ desire to obtain help against the indians--that those who accompanied him were only a few tagnos whom he had collected to aid in the pursuit-- and that the comandante, having first promised to aid him, had afterwards refused, and that this had led to the strange conduct of the cibolero! there was another hypothesis that gained more credit than this. it was that captain roblado was the man whom the cibolero had desired to make a victim; that he was guided against him by motives of jealousy; for the conduct of carlos on the day of the fiesta was well-known, and had been much ridiculed--that, in failing to reach roblado, he had quarrelled with the comandante, and so forth. improbable as was this conjecture, it had many supporters, in the absence of the true motive for the conduct of the cibolero. there were but four men within the presidio to whom this was known, and only three outside of it. by the general public it was not even suspected. in one thing all agreed--in condemning carlos the cibolero. the garotta was too good for him; and when taken, they could all promise him ample punishment. the very ingratitude of the act was magnified. it was but the day before that these same officers had gone forth with their valiant soldiers to do him a service! the man must have been mad! his mother had no doubt bewitched him. to have killed lieutenant garcia!--he who was such a favourite! _carrambo_! this was true. garcia was liked by the people of the settlement-- perhaps not so much from the possession of any peculiar virtues, but in contrast with his superiors. he was an affable, harmless sort of person, and had won general esteem. that night the cibolero had not one friend in san ildefonso. nay, we speak wrongly. he had _one_. there was one heart beating for him as fondly as ever--catalina's--but she, too, was ignorant of the motives which had led to his mysterious conduct. whatever these motives were, she knew they could not be otherwise than just. what to her were the calumnies--the gibes--that were heaped upon him? what to her if he had taken the life of a fellow-creature? he had not done so without good cause--without some fearful provocation. she believed that in her soul. she knew his noble nature too well to think otherwise. he was the lord of her heart, and could do no wrong! sorrowful, heart-breaking news was it to her. it boded long separation--perhaps for ever! he dared no more visit the town--not even the settlement! he would be driven to the wild plains--hunted like the wolf or the savage bison--perhaps taken and slain! bitter were her reflections. when should she see him again? maybe, never! chapter thirty six. during all this time vizcarra lay groaning upon his couch--not so much with pain as fear, for the fear of death still haunted him. but for that, his rage would have been boundless; but this passion was in abeyance--eclipsed by the terrors that flitted across his conscience. even had he been assured of recovery he would still have been in dread. his imagination was diseased by his dream and the after reality. even surrounded by his soldiers, he feared the cibolero, who appeared able to accomplish any deed and escape its consequences. he did not even feel secure there in his chamber, with guards at the entrance, against that avenging arm! now, more than ever, he was desirous of getting rid of the cause--more than ever anxious that she should be got rid of; but he reflected that now more than ever was that a delicate and difficult matter. it would undoubtedly get abroad _why_ the cibolero had made such a desperate attempt upon his life--it would spread until it reached high quarters-- such a report could not be passed over--an investigation might be ordered; and that, unless he could destroy every trace of suspicion, might be his ruin. these were his reflections while in the belief that he was going to recover; when a doubt of this crossed his mind, he grew still more anxious about the result. roblado had hinted at a way in which all might be arranged. he waited with impatience for the latter to make his appearance. the warlike captain was still engaged in beating the chapparal; but gomez had come in and reported that he was about to give up the search, and return to the presidio. to roblado the occurrences of the day had been rather pleasant than otherwise; and a close observer of his conduct could have told this. if there was anything in the whole business that really annoyed him, it was the wound of the comandante--it was exasperating! roblado, more experienced than the surgeon, knew this well. the friendship that existed between the two was a fellow-feeling in wickedness--a sort of felon's bond--durable enough so long as there was no benefit to either in breaking it. but this friendship did not prevent roblado from regretting with all his heart that the bullet had not hit _his friend_ a little higher up or a little lower down--either in the skull or the throat! he entertained this regret from no malice or ill-will towards the comandante, but simply from a desire to benefit himself. it was long since roblado had been dreaming of promotion. he was not too humble to hope he might one day command the presidio himself. vizcarra's death would have given him that station at once; but vizcarra was not to die just then, and this knowledge somewhat clouded the joy he was then experiencing. and it was joy. garcia and he had been enemies. there had been jealousy and ill-will between them for long; therefore the lieutenant's death was no source of regret to him. but the joy of roblado owed partly its origin to another consequence of that day's drama--one that affected him more than any--one that was nearest his heart and his hopes. absurd as appeared the pretensions of the cibolero in regard to catalina, roblado had learned enough of late to make him jealous--ay, even to give him real uneasiness. she was a strange creature, catalina de cruces--one who had shown proofs of a rare spirit--one not to be bought and sold like a _bulto_ of goods. she had taught both her father and roblado a lesson of late. she had taught them that. she had struck the ground with her little foot, and threatened a convent--the grave--if too rudely pressed! she had not rejected roblado--that is, in word; but she insisted on having _her own time to make answer_; and don ambrosio was compelled to concede the point. under such circumstances her suitor felt uneasy. not so much that he was jealous--though he did love her after his own fashion, and was piqued at the thought of such a rival--but he feared that spirit of hers, and dreaded that her splendid fortune might yet escape him. such a woman was capable of the wildest resolve. she _might_ take to a convent; or maybe _to the plains_ with this base-born cibolero! such an event in the life of such a woman would be neither impossible nor unlikely. in either case she could not take her fortune with her; but what mattered? it would not remain with him, roblado. the conduct of the cibolero had removed all obstacles, so far as he was concerned. there was no longer any dread of rivalry from that source. his life was now forfeited. not only would he be cut off from all communication with her, but he would not dare to show himself in the settlement. a constant vigilance would be kept on foot to guard against that, and roblado even promised himself the enjoyment of rare sport in hunting down his rival, and becoming at the same time his captor and executioner. these were the ideas that crossed the mind of the savage captain, and that made him feel satisfied at the events of the day. after scouring the chapparal, and following the track of the supposed indians to the ceja of the table plain, he returned with his men to the presidio, to make preparations for a more prolonged pursuit. chapter thirty seven. roblado's arrival brought relief to vizcarra, as he lay chafing and fretting. their conversation was, of course, upon the late occurrence, and roblado gave his account of the pursuit. "and do you really think," inquired the comandante, "that the fellow had a party of savages with him?" "no!" answered roblado. "i did think so at first--that is, the men thought so, and i was deceived by their reports. i am now convinced they were not indian bravos, but some of those tagno friends of his: for it appears the padre was right--he had a suspicious connexion. that of itself might have been sufficient cause for us to have arrested him long ago; but now we need no cause. he is ours, when we can catch him." "how do you propose to act?" "why, i have no doubt he will lead us a long chase. we must do the best we can to follow his trail. i came back to provision the men so that we can keep on for a sufficient time. the rascals have gone out of the valley by the upper pass, and perhaps have taken to the mountains. so thinks gomez. we shall have to follow, and endeavour to overtake them. we must send express to the other settlements, so that the cibolero may be captured if he make his appearance in any of them. i don't think he will attempt that." "why?" "why! because it appears the old witch is still alive! and, moreover, he will hang around here so long as he has any hopes of recovering the sister." "ha! you are right; he will do so. he will never leave me till she--" "so much the better; we shall have all the finer opportunity of laying hands on him, which, believe me, my dear colonel, will be no easy matter. the fellow will be watchful as a wolf, and on that superb horse of his can escape from our whole troop. we'll have to capture him by some stratagem." "can you think of none?" "i have been thinking of one." "what?" "why, it is simply this--in the first place, for the reasons i have given, the fellow will hang around the settlement. he may visit now and then the old _hechicera_, but not often. the other would be a better decoy." "you mean her?" vizcarra indicated the direction of the room in which rosita was confined. "i do. he is said to be foolishly fond of this sister. now, were she in a place where he could visit her, i'll warrant he would come there; and then we could trap him at our pleasure." "in a place!--where?" eagerly demanded vizcarra. "why, back to her own neighbourhood. they'll find some residence. if you will consent to let her go for a while, you can easily recover her--_the more easily when we have settled with him_!" "consent, roblado!--it is the very thing i desire above all things. my mind will not be easy while she is here. we are both in danger if such a report should get in circulation. if it should reach certain ears, we are ruined--are we not?" "why, _now_ there is some truth in what you say, garcia's death must be reported, and the cause will be inquired into. we must have _our_ story as plausible as it can be made. there must be no colour of a suspicion--no rumour! it will be well to get her off our hands for the present." "but how--that it is that troubles me--how, without increasing the chances of suspicion? if we send her home, how is it to be explained? that would not be the act of _indians_? you said you had some plan?" "i _think_ i have. but first tell me, colonel, what did you mean by saying she was _mad_?" "that she was so; is so still,--so says jose,--within the hour, muttering strange incongruities--knows not what is said to her. i tell you, roblado, it terrified _me_." "you are sure she knows not what is said to her?" "sure of it." "so much the better. she will then not remember where she is or _has been_. now i _know_ that i have a plan--nothing easier than to get her off. she shall go back and tell--if she can tell anything--that she has been in the hands of the indians! that will satisfy you?" "but how can it be arranged?" "my dear comandante, no difficulty in it. listen! to-night, or before day in the morning, gomez and jose, in indian costume as before, can carry her off to some spot which i shall indicate. in the mountains be it. no matter how far off or how near. she may be tied, and found in their company in the morning in such a way as to appear _their captive_. so much the better if she has recovered her senses enough to think so. well; i with the troopers, in hunt after the cibolero, will come upon these indians by accident. a few shots may be fired at sufficient distance to do them no hurt. they will make off, leaving their captive, whom we will rescue and bring back to the town, where she can be delivered out of our hands! ha! ha! ha! what think you, comandante, of my scheme?" "excellent!" replied vizcarra, his mind seemingly relieved at the prospect of its execution. "why, it would blind the very devil! we shall not only be free from suspicion, but we'll get credit by it. what! a successful affair with the savages!--rescue of a female captive!--restore her to her friends!-- she, too, the sister of the very man who has endeavoured to assassinate you! i tell you, comandante, the cibolero himself, if that will be any comfort to you, will be humbugged by it! she will swear--_if her word be worth anything_--that she has been in the hands of _los barbaros_ all the while! she will give the lie even to her own brother!" "the plan is excellent. it must be done to-night!" "to-night, of course. as soon as the men have gone to bed, gomez can start with her. i must give over the idea of following the trail to-day and, in truth, i regard that as idle. our only chance for taking him will be to set our trap, with her for its bait; and that we can arrange hereafter. give yourself no farther uneasiness about it. by late breakfast to-morrow i shall make my report to you,--desperate affair with jicarillas, or yutas--several warriors killed--female captive rescued--valiant conduct of troops--recommend corporal--for promotion, etcetera. ha! ha! ha!" the comandante joined in this laugh, which, perhaps, he would not have done, but that roblado had already assured him that his wound was not of the slightest danger, and would heal in a couple of weeks. roblado had given him assurance of this by calling the doctor a fool, and heaping upon him other opprobrious epithets. the delivery, therefore, from the fear of apprehended death, as well as from the other thought that was torturing him, had restored vizcarra to a composure he had not enjoyed for the twenty-four hours preceding; and he now began to imbibe, to its full extent, another passion--that of vengeance against the cibolero. that night, after tattoo had sounded, and the soldiers had retired to their respective quarters, a small mounted party was seen to issue from the gateway of the presidio, and take a road that led in the direction of the mountains. the party consisted of three individuals. one, closely wrapped, and mounted upon a mule, appeared to be a female. the other two, oddly attired, and fantastically adorned with paint and feathers, might have been taken for a brace of indian warriors. but they were not indians. they were spanish soldiers in indian disguise. they were sergeant gomez and the soldier jose in charge of the cibolero's sister. chapter thirty eight. when carlos reached the edge of the chapparal, his pursuers were still only parting from the walls of the presidio. of course none followed him on foot, and it had taken the men some time to get their arms and horses ready. so far as he was concerned, he no longer feared pursuit, and would have scorned to take a circuitous path. he had such confidence in the steed he bestrode, that he knew he could escape before the eyes of his pursuers, and need not have hidden himself in the chapparal. as he rode into the ambuscade he was thinking no longer of his own safety, but of that of don juan and his party. their critical situation suddenly came before his mind. how were _they_ to escape? even before he had half crossed the open ground this thought had troubled him more than his own peril, and a plan had been before him:-- to make direct for the pass of la nina, and shun the chapparal altogether. this would have drawn the dragoons in the same direct course; and don juan, with his tagnos, might have got off at their leisure. carlos would have put this plan in execution, could he have trusted to the prudence of don juan; but he feared to do so. the latter was somewhat rash, and not over-sagacious. seeing carlos in the act of escape, he might think it was his duty, as agreed upon, to show himself and his men on the edge of the thicket--the very thing carlos now wished to prevent. for that reason the cibolero galloped direct to the place of ambuscade, where don juan and his men were waiting in their saddles. "thank god you are safe!" cried don juan; "but they are after you. yonder they come in scores!" "yes!" replied carlos, looking back; "and a good start i've gained on them!" "what's best to be done?" inquired don juan. "shall we scatter through the chapparal, or keep together? they'll be upon us soon!" carlos hesitated a moment before making reply. three plans of action were possible, offering more or less chance of safety. first, to scatter through the chapparal as don juan had suggested; second, to make off together and at once _without showing themselves_, taking the back track, as they had come; and, third, to _show themselves_ in front to the pursuers, and then retire on the back path. of course the idea of fight was not entertained for a moment. that would have been idle, even absurd, under the circumstances. the mind of the cibolero, used to quick action, examined these plans with the rapidity of thought itself. the first was rejected without a moment's consideration. to have scattered through the chapparal would have resulted in certain capture. the jungle was too small, not over a couple of miles in width, though extending to twice that length. there were soldiers enough to surround it, which they would do. they would beat it from side to side. they could not fail to capture half the party; and though these had made no demonstration as yet, they would be connected with the affair at the presidio, and would be severely punished, if not shot down on the spot. to attempt to get off through the chapparal without showing themselves at all would have been the plan that carlos would have adopted, had he not feared that they would be overtaken before night. the tagnos were mounted on mules, already jaded, while most of the troopers rode good and swift horses. but for that carlos might have hoped that they would escape unseen, and thus neither don juan nor his people would have been suspected of having had any part in the affair. this would be an important consideration for the future; but the plan was not to be thought of. the third plan was adopted. the hesitation of the cibolero was not half so long as the time you have occupied in reading of it. scarce ten seconds elapsed ere he made reply, not to don juan alone, but to the whole band, in a voice loud enough for all to hear. the reply was in the form of a command. "ride through the bush, all of you! show yourselves near the front! your heads and shoulders only, with your bows! give your war-cry! and then back till you are out of sight! scatter right and left!--follow me!" as carlos delivered these hurried directions, he dashed forward through the underwood and soon appeared near its edge. the tagnos, guarded by don juan on one side and antonio on the other, showed almost simultaneously in an irregular line along the margin of the thicket; and flourishing their bows above their heads, they uttered a defiant war-whoop, as though they were a party of savage indians. it would have required a practised eye to have told from a short distance that they were not. most of them were bare-headed, with long flowing hair; and, in fact, differing very little in appearance from their brethren of the plains. they all had bows, a weapon still carried by the indios mansos when engaged in any hostilities; and their war-cry differed not at all from some tribes called "bravos", "wild." many in the band had but a short time left aside the full practice of warfare. many of them were but neophytes to the arts of peace. the effect of the demonstration was just what the cibolero had calculated on. the soldiers, who were galloping forward in straggling knots, and some of whom had got within three hundred paces of the chapparal, reined up in surprise. several showed symptoms of a desire to gallop back again, but these were restrained at sight of a large body of their comrades now issuing from the presidio. the whole of them were taken by surprise. they believed that the "indios bravos" were in the chapparal, and no doubt in overwhelming numbers. their belief was strengthened by the proceedings of the previous days, in which they had done nought else, as they supposed, but ride scout after "los barbaros." the latter had now come after _them_! they halted, therefore, on the plains, and waited for their fellows to come up. that this would be the effect of his _ruse_ carlos foresaw. he now directed his companions to rein gently back, until they were once more under cover of the brush; and the whole party arrived at the spot where they had waited in ambush. antonio then took the trail, and guided them through the chapparal; not as they had come to la nina, but by a path that led to the upper plain by another pass in the cliffs. from a point in this pass they obtained a distant view of the chapparal and the plain beyond. though now full three miles from their place of ambush, they could see the valiant troopers still figuring on the open ground in front of it. they had not yet ventured to penetrate the dangerous underwood which they believed to be alive with ferocious savages! carlos, having reached the upper plain, struck off with his band in a direction nearly north. his object was to reach a ravine at some ten miles distance across the plain, and this was gained without a single pursuer having appeared in the rear. this ravine led in an easterly direction as far as the pecos bottom. it was the channel of a stream, in which water flowed in the rainy season, but was now quite dry. its bed was covered with small pebbles, and a horse-trail upon these was scarcely to be followed, as the track only displaced the pebbles, leaving no "sign" that could be "read" to any advantage. old and new foot-marks were all the same. into this ravine the party descended, and, after travelling down it for five or six miles, halted. carlos called the halt for a special object--to detail a plan for their future proceeding, which had been occupying his attention during the last hour or two. as yet, none of the party were compromised but himself. it would not advantage him that they should be, but the contrary. neither don juan nor antonio had shown themselves out of the thicket; and the other dusky faces, seen but for an instant through the brambles, could not have been recognised by the frightened troopers. if, therefore, don juan and his peons could get back to their home without observation, for them all would still be well. this was a possible event. at starting carlos had cautioned secrecy as to the expedition. it had left at an early hour, before any one was abroad, and no one knew of it. indeed, no one in the valley was aware that the cibolero had returned before the news of the affair at the presidio. his mules had been quietly unpacked, and were herded at a distance from the rancho by one of his men. if, then, the _troopers_ should not visit that neighbourhood before the following day, don juan and his people could go back in the night and engage in their usual occupations without any suspicion. no doubt roblado would be there in the morning, but not likely before. it was natural to suppose he would first endeavour to follow the route they had taken, and it led almost in the opposite direction from the house of don juan. to track them along all the windings of that route would be the work of one day at least. then their pursuers would be no wiser as to where they had betaken themselves, for carlos, from the point of halting, intended to adopt a plan that would be certain to throw the troopers off the trail. it was decided, in fine, that don juan and his people should return home--that the peons of carlos should also go back to the rancho; roof it on the following day--for it only wanted that; and remain by it as if nothing had occurred. they could not be made answerable for the deeds of their master. as for the cibolero himself, his residence must remain unknown, except to one or two of his tried friends. he knew where he should find a shelter. to him the open plain or the mountain cave was alike a home. he needed no roof. the starry canopy was as welcome as the gilded ceiling of a palace. the tagnos were enjoined to secrecy. they were not sworn. a tagno is not the man to talk; besides, they all knew that their own safety, perhaps their lives, depended on their silence. all these matters were at length arranged, but the party remained where they had halted till near sunset. they then mounted, and continued on down the channel. when they had gone a mile or so, one of them climbed out of the ravine, and, heading southward, rode off across the plain. this direction would bring him back to the valley, by a pass near the lower end of the settlement. it would be night by the time he could reach this pass, and he was not likely to encounter any one on the route--now that the "wild" indians were abroad! shortly after, a second tagno left the ravine, and rode off in a line nearly parallel to that taken by the first. soon another imitated the example, and another, and another, until all had forsaken the ravine except don juan, antonio, and the cibolero himself. the tagnos had been instructed to reach home by different passes, and some of them, more sagacious, were sent by the most circuitous paths. there was no trooper belonging to the presidio likely to follow that trail. carlos and his two companions, after riding to the farthest end of the ravine, also turned to the right, and re-entered the valley of san ildefonso at its lower extremity. it was quite dark, but all of them knew the road well, and about midnight they arrived near the house of the young ranchero. a reconnaissance was necessary before they dared approach. that was soon made, and the report brought back that all was right, and no troopers had yet made their appearance. carlos once more embraced his mother hurriedly, related what had passed, gave some instructions to don juan, and then, mounting his horse, rode off from the place. he was followed by antonio and a pack-mule loaded with provisions. they passed down the valley, and struck out in the direction of the llano estacado. chapter thirty nine. on the following day a new incident created a fresh surprise among the inhabitants of san ildefonso, already excited by an unusual series of "novedades." about noon a party of lancers passed through the town on their way to the presidio. they were returning from a scout in search of the "assassin"--so carlos was designated. of him they had found no traces; but they had fallen in with a large body of "indios bravos" among the spurs of the mountains, with whom they had had a terrific conflict! this had resulted in the loss of great numbers killed on the part of the indians, who had contrived, as usual, to carry off their dead--hence, the soldiers had returned without scalps! they had brought, however,--a far more positive trophy of victory--a young girl belonging to the settlement, whom they had re-captured from the savages, and whom captain roblado--the gallant leader of the expedition--_supposed_ to be the same that had been carried off few days before from a rancho at the lower end of the valley! the captain halted in the plaza, with a few men--those in charge of the recovered captive. the remainder of the troop passed on to the presidio. roblado's object in stopping in the town, or in coming that way--for it did not lie in his return route--was threefold. first, to deliver his charge into the hands of the civic authorities; secondly, to make sure that everybody should witness the delivery, and be satisfied by this living evidence that a great feat had been performed; and thirdly, that he might have the opportunity of a little swagger in front of a certain balcony. these three objects the captain attained, but the last of them did not turn out quite to his satisfaction. although the bugle had played continuously, announcing the approach of a troop--although the recovered captive was placed conspicuously in the ranks--and although his (roblado's) horse, under the influence of sharp spurs, pitched himself into the most superb attitudes, all went for nothing--catalina did not show in the balcony! among the faces of "dependientes" and "criados," hers was not to be seen; and the triumphant look of the victorious leader, as soon as he had ridden past, changed to a gloomy expression of disappointment. a few minutes after, he dismounted in front of the "casa de cabildo," where he delivered the girl into the hands of the alcalde and other authorities of the town. this ceremony was accompanied by a grandiloquent speech, in which an account of the recapture was given with some startling details; sympathy was expressed for the parents of the girl, _whoever they might be_; and the speaker wound up by expressing his opinion that the unfortunate captive could be no other than the young girl reported to have been carried off a few days before! all this was very plausible and proper; and roblado, having resigned his charge to the keeping of the alcalde, mounted and rode off amidst a storm of complimentary phrases from the authorities, and "vivas" of applause from the populace. "_dios lo pague, capitan_!" (god reward you, captain!) was the prayer that reached his ears as he pushed through the crowd! a keen physiognomist could at that moment have detected in the corner of roblado's eye a very odd expression--a mingling of irony with a strong desire to laugh. in fact, the gallant captain could hardly keep from bursting out in the faces of his admirers, and was only restrained from doing so by the desire of keeping the joke bottled up till he could enjoy it in the company of the comandante--to whom he was now hastening. back to the captive. the crowd pressed around her, all eager to gratify their curiosity. strange to say that this feeling predominated. there was less appearance of sympathy than might have been looked for under the circumstances. the number of those that uttered the "pobrecita!"--that tender expression of mexican pity--was few; and they were principally the poor dark-skinned native women. the well-dressed shopkeepers, both gachupinos and criollos, both met and women, looked on with indifference, or with no other feeling than that of morbid curiosity. such an indifference to suffering is by no means a characteristic of the new mexican people--i should rather say of the females of that land--for the men are brutal enough. as regards the former, the very opposite character is theirs. their conduct would be unaccountable, therefore, but for the knowledge of a fact which guided it on this occasion. they knew who the captive girl was--they knew she was the sister of carlos the cibolero--carlos _the murderer_! this it was that checked the flow of their bettor feelings. against carlos the popular indignation was strong. "asesino", "ladron," "ingrato," were the terms used in speaking of him. a wretch! to have murdered the good lieutenant--the favourite of the place; and for what motive? some paltry quarrel or jealousy! what motive, indeed? there seemed no motive but a thirst of blood on the part of this "demonio," this "guero heretico." ungrateful wretch, too, to have attempted the life of the valiant comandante--he who had been striving all he could to recover the assassin's sister from the indian savages! and now he had actually succeeded! only think of it! there she was, brought safe home again by the agency of this very comandante, who had sent his captain and soldiers for her,--this very man whom he would have killed! _demonio! asesino! ladron_! they would all be glad to see him seated in the chair of the "garrote." no "buen catolico" would have acted as he had done--no one but a sinful "heretico"--a blood-loving "americano"! how he would be punished _when caught_! such were the feelings of all the populace, except, perhaps, the poor slaves--the _mansos_--and a very few criollos, who, although not approving of the acts of carlos, held revolutionary principles, and hated the spanish _regime_ with all their hearts. with such prejudice against the cibolero, no wonder that there was but little sympathy for the forlorn creature, his sister: that it _was_ his sister no one doubted, although there were few on the spot who knew either. up to the day of the fiesta her brother, now so notorious, was but little known to the inhabitants of the town, which he rarely visited--she less; and there were but few in the place who had ever seen her before that hour. but the identity was unmistakeable. the fair, golden hair, the white skin, the glowing red of the cheeks, though common in other parts of the world, were rare characteristics in north mexico. the proclamation upon the walls described the "asesino" as possessing them. this could be no other than his sister. besides, there were those who had seen her at the fiesta, where her beauty had not failed to attract both admiration and envy. she looked beautiful as ever, though the red was not so bright on her cheek, and a singular, wild expression appeared in her eyes. to the questions put to her she either answered not or returned vague replies. she sat in silence; but several times broke forth into strange, unintelligible, exclamatory phrases, in which the words "indios" and "barbaros" repeatedly occurred. "_esta loco_!" ("she is mad!") muttered one to another; "she fancies she is still with the savages!" perhaps it was so. certainly she was not among friends. the alcalde inquired if there was any one present--relative or friend-- to whom he could deliver her up. a young girl, a poblana, who had just arrived on the spot, came forward. she knew the "pobrecita." she would take charge of her, and conduct her to her home. a half-indian woman was in company with the poblana. it might have been her mother. between the two the restored captive was led away; and the crowd soon dispersed and returned to their various avocations. the girl and her conductors turned into a narrow street that led through the suburb where the poorest people lived. passing this, they emerged into the open country; and then, following an unfrequented path through the chapparal, a few hundred yards brought them to a small mud rancho, which they entered. in a few minutes after a carreta, in which sat a peon, was driven up to the door, and stopped there. the poblana, leading the girl by the hand, came out of the house, and both mounted into the carreta. as soon as the two were seated upon the bunches of dry "zacato" thrown into the carreta for this purpose, the driver goaded his oxen and moved off. the vehicle, after passing out of the chapparal path, took the main road leading to the lower settlements of the valley. as they moved on the poblana regarded her companion with kind looks, and assisted her in arranging her seat, so as to defend her as much as possible against the joltings of the carreta. she added numerous expressions of a sympathising and consolatory character, but none that bespoke recognition or old acquaintance. it was evident that the girl had never seen rosita before. when they had got about a mile from the town, and were moving along an unfrequented part of the road, a horseman was seen coming after, and at such speed as to overtake them in a few minutes. he was mounted on a pretty mustang that bore the signs of being well cared for. its flanks were rounded with fat, and it capered as it galloped along. as it came close to the carreta the rider called out to the driver to stop; and it then appeared that the _horseman_ was a _woman_, as the soft sweet voice at once indicated. more than that, the rider was a _senorita_, as the soft cheek, the silky hair, and the delicate features, showed. at a distance it was natural enough to have taken her for one of the opposite sex. a common serape covered her shoulders; a broad-brimmed sombrero concealed most of her black shining hair; and she rode according to the general custom of the country--the custom of its men. "why, senorita!--is it you?" asked the poblana, in a tone of surprise, and with a gesture of respect. "ha! ha! you did not know me, then, josefa?" "no, senorita;--_ay de mi_! how could i in that disguise?" "disguise do you call it? why, it is the usual costume!" "true, senorita; but not for a grand senora like you. _carrambo_!" "well, i think i must be disguised, as i passed several acquaintances who would not bow to me! ha! ha!" "_pobrecita_--_ita_--_ita_!" continued she, suddenly changing her tone, and regarding josefa's companion with a look of kind sympathy. "how she must have suffered! poor dear girl! i fear it is true what they have told me. _santisima virgen_! how like--" the phrase was left unfinished. the speaker had forgotten the presence of josefa and the peon, and was delivering her thoughts in too loud a soliloquy. the unfinished sentence had involuntarily escaped from her lips. suddenly checking herself, she looked sharply towards the two. the peon was busy with his oxen, but the poblana's face wore an expression of curiosity. "like whom, senorita?" innocently inquired she. "one whom i know. no matter, josefa." and, as the lady said this, she raised her finger to her lips, and looked significantly towards the peon. josefa, who knew her secret, and who guessed the "one" meant, remained silent. after a moment the lady drew her mustang nearer the carreta, upon the side on which josefa sat, and, bending over, whispered to the latter:-- "remain below till the morning; you will be too late to return to-night. remain! perhaps you may hear something. come early--not to the house. be in time for _oration_. you will find me in the church. perhaps you may see antonio. if so, give him this." a diamond set in a golden circlet sparkled a moment at the tips of the lady's fingers, and then lay hid in the shut fist of the poblana. "tell him _for whom_--he need not know who sent it. there is money for your expenses, and some to give her; or give it to her mother, _if they will accept it_." here a purse fell in josefa's lap. "bring me news! oh, bring me news, dear josefa! _adios! adios_!" the last salutation was uttered hurriedly; and, as the lady pronounced it, she wheeled her glossy mustang and galloped back towards the town. she need not have doubted that josefa would fulfil her instructions about "remaining below until the morning!" for the poblana was nearly, if not quite, as much interested as herself in this journey. the rather pretty josefa chanced to be the sweetheart of the half-blood antonio; and whether she saw antonio or not, she was not likely to hurry back that night. if she did see him, so much the pleasanter to remain; if not, she should remain in the hope of such an event. with a full purse of "pesos"--a sixth of which would pay all expenses-- and the prospect of meeting with antonio, the rough carreta seemed all at once transformed to an elegant coach, with springs and velvet cushions,--such as josefa had heard of, but had never seen! the kind-hearted girl readjusted the seats, placed the head of rosita on her lap, spread her reboso over her to keep off the evening dew, and then told the peon to move on. the latter uttered a loud "ho-ha!" touched his oxen with the goad, and once more set them in motion along the dusty road. chapter forty. early morning prayer in the "iglesia" is a fashionable custom among the senoras of mexico--particularly among those who dwell in cities and towns. close upon the heels of daybreak you may see them issuing from the great doors of their houses, and hurrying through the streets towards the chapel, where the bell has already begun its deafening "ding-dong." they are muffled beyond the possibility of recognition-- the richer in their silken shawls and mantas, the poorer in their slate-coloured rebosos; under the folds of which each carries a little bound volume--the "_misa_." let us follow them into the sacred temple, and see what passes there. if we arrive late, and take station near the door we shall be presented with the spectacle of several hundred backs in a kneeling position--that is, the individuals to whom the backs belong will be found kneeling. these backs are by no means alike--no more than faces are. they are of all shapes, and sizes, and colours, and classes in the social scale. you will see the backs of ladies in shawls--some of whom have permitted that elegant garment to fall to the shoulders, while others retain it over the crowns of their heads, thus creating two very distinct styles of back. you will see the backs of pretty poblanas, with the end of their rebosos hanging gracefully over them; and the back of the poblana's mother with the reboso ill arranged, and not over clean. you will see the back of the merchant scarcely covered with a short cloth jacket, and the back of the "aguador" cased in well-worn leather; the back of the "guapo" muffled in a cloak of fine broad-cloth, and that of the "lepero" shrouded in a ragged scrape; and then you will see broad backs and slender ones, straight backs and crooked ones; and you run a good chance of beholding a hunch or two--especially if the church be in a large town. but wheresoever you enter a mexican iglesia during prayer-time, i promise you the view of an extensive assortment of backs. not classified, however. quite the contrary. the back of the shawled lady may be inclusive between two greasy rebosos, and the striped or speckled back of the lepero may rise up alongside the shining broad-cloth of the dandy! i do not answer for any classification of the backs; i only guarantee their extensive number and variety. the only face that is likely to confront you at this moment will be the shaven phiz of a fat priest, in full sacerdotal robes of linen, that were once, no doubt, clean and white, but that look now as if they had been sent to the buck-basket, and by some mistake brought back before reaching the laundry. this individual, with a look as unlike heaven as the wickedest of his flock, will be seen stirring about on his little stage; now carrying a wand--now a brazen pot of smoking "incense," and anon some waxen doll--the image of a saint; while in the midst of his manipulations you may hear him "murmuring" a gibberish of ill-pronounced latin. if you have witnessed the performance of m. robin, or the "great wizard," you cannot fail to be reminded of them at this moment. the tinkling of a little bell, which you will presently hear, has a magical effect upon the backs. for a short while you may have observed them in an odd attitude--not erect as backs ought to be, but slouching and one-sided. during this interval, too, you may catch a glance of a face--merely the profile--and if it be pretty, you will forget the back; but then the party is no longer a back in the proper sense. you won't be struck with the devotion of the profile, if you are with its prettiness. you may observe it wink or look cunningly, and, if your observation be good, you may note another profile, of coarser mould, corresponding to that wink or cunning glance. this goes on while the backs are in their "slouch" or attitude of repose. how that attitude is produced will be to you a mystery, an anatomical puzzle; but it may be explained. it is simple enough to those who know it. it is brought about by the back changing its base from the marrow-bones to the hips; and this is done so adroitly, that, under cover of shawls, mantas, rebosos, and skirts, it is no wonder you are puzzled by it. the little bell, however, brings the backs all right again. it is to these devotees what the "attention!" is to the rank and file of an army; and the moment the first tinkle is heard, backs up is the movement, and all become suddenly elevated several inches above their former standard. thus they remain, stiff and erect, while the priest mumbles a fresh "ave maria," or "pater noster," and goes through a fresh exhibition of pantomime. then the backs are suddenly shortened again, the profiles appear as before--nods, and winks, and cunning glances, are exchanged-- and that till the little bell sounds a second time. and then there will be a third course of this performance, and a fourth, and so on, till the worship (!) is ended. this ridiculous genuflexion and mummery you may see repeated every morning in a mexican "iglesia," long before the hour of breakfast. both men and women engage in it, but by far the greater number of the devotees are of the gentler sex, and many of them the fashionable senoras of the place. one is inclined to inquire into the motives that draw so many people out of their beds, to shiver through the streets and in the cold church at such an early hour. is it religion? is it superstition? is it penance? is it devotion? no doubt many of these silly creatures really believe that the act is pleasing to god; that these genuflexions and orisons, mechanically repeated, will give them grace in his eyes. but it is very certain that many of the most constant attendants on these morning prayers are actuated by very different feelings. in a land of jealous men you will find the women peculiarly intelligent and cunning, and the matutinal hour is to them the "golden opportunity." he is a very jealous guardian, indeed, whose vigil tempts him from his couch at so chill an hour! await the end of the performance by the door of the "iglesia." there stands a large vase filled with the consecrated water. each, in passing out, takes a dip and a sprinkle. in this basin you will see the small jewelled hand immerse its finger-tips, and the next moment adroitly deliver a _carte d'amour_ to some cloaked cavallero. perhaps you may see the wealthy senora, in the safe disguise of the serape, leave the church in a direction opposite to that by which she came. if you are curious enough to follow--which would be extremely ill-bred--you may witness under the trees of the "alameda," or some unfrequented quarter, the forbidden "_entrevista_." the morning, in a mexican city, has its adventures as well as the night. the bell of the church of san ildefonso had just commenced to ring for "oracion," when a female form was seen issuing from the gateway of one of the largest mansions of the town, and taking the direction of the church. it was yet scarce daybreak, and the person thus observed was closely muffled; but her tall upright form, the dignity and grace of her carriage, and the proud elastic step told that she was a grand senora. as she reached the portal of the church she stopped for some moments and looked around. her face was not visible, as it was "tapada" under the folds of a closely-drawn manta; but her attitude, with her head occasionally moving around, showed that she was scanning the figures that, at the summons of the bell, approached like shadows through the grey light. she was evidently expecting some one; and from the eager scrutiny with which she regarded each new form that entered the plaza, it was some one whose presence was much desired. the last of the devotees had arrived and entered the church. it would be idle to remain longer; and, turning on her heel with an air that betokened disappointment, the lady glided across the portal, and disappeared through the door. in another moment she was kneeling in front of the altar, repeating her orisons and telling over the beads of her rosary. she was not the last to enter the church; still another devotee came later. about the time that she was leaving the portal a carreta drove into the plaza, and halted in a remote corner. a young girl leaped out of the carreta, tripped nimbly across the square, in the direction of the church, and passed within the portal. the dress of this new-comer-- a flaming red "nagua," broidered chemisette, and reboso--showed that she belonged to the poorer class of citizens. she was a poblana. she entered the church, but before kneeling she threw an inquiring glance along the array of backs. her eye became fixed upon one that was covered with a manta. it was that of the lady of whom we have spoken. this seemed to satisfy the poblana, who, gliding over the floor, knelt down in such a position that her elbow almost rested against that of the lady. so silently had this movement been executed that the lady did not perceive her new neighbour until a slight "nudge" upon the elbow caused her to start and look round. a gleam of satisfaction lit up her features, though her lips continued to repeat the prayer, as if nothing had happened. after a while came the cue for adopting the pose of rest, and then the two kneeling figures--senorita and poblana--dropped towards each other, so that their arms touched. a moment later and two hands became uncovered--one a little brown-skinned paw from under the reboso--the other, a delicate arrangement of white and jewelled fingers, from the manta. they came in contact as if by a mutual understanding, and, though they were _en rapport_ but a half-second, a close observer might have noticed a small roll of paper passed from one to the other--from the brown fingers to the white ones! it would have required a close observer to have noticed this manoeuvre, for so adroitly was it executed that none of those kneeling around, either in front or rear, saw anything amiss. the two hands again disappeared under their respective covers; the little bell tinkled, and both senora and poblana once more shot into an upright position, and, with most devout looks, repeated the prayers of the misa. when the "oracion" was over, and while sprinkling themselves at the sacred fount, a few hurried words passed between them; but they went out of the church separately, and walked off in separate directions. the poblana hastened across the square, and disappeared into a narrow street. the senora walked proudly back to the mansion whence she had come, her countenance radiant with joyful anticipation. as soon as she had entered the house she proceeded directly to her own chamber, and, opening the little folded slip of paper, read:-- "querida catalina!--you have made me happy. but an hour ago i was the most wretched of men. i have lost my sister, and i feared your esteem. both are restored to me. my sister is by my side, and the gem that sparkles on my finger tells me that even calumny has failed to rob me of your friendship--your love. _you_ do not deem me an assassin. no; nor am i one. i have been an avenger, but no assassin. you shall know all--the fearful plot of which i and mine have been the victims. it is scarce credible--so great is its atrocity! i am indeed its victim. i can no more show myself in the settlement. i am henceforth to be hunted like the wolf, and treated as one, if captured. i care not for that, so long as i know that you are not among my enemies. "but for you i should go far hence. i cannot leave you. i would sooner risk life every hour in the day, than exile myself from the spot where you dwell--you, the only being i can ever love. "i have kissed the gem a hundred times. in life, the sweet token can never part from me. "my foes are after me like bloodhounds, but i fear them not. my brave steed is never out of my sight, and with him i can scorn my cowardly pursuers. but i must venture one visit to the town. i must see you once, querida. i have words for you i cannot trust to paper. do not refuse to see me, and i shall come to the old place of meeting. to-morrow night--midnight. do not refuse me, dearest love. i have much to explain that i cannot without seeing you face to face. you shall know that i am not an assassin--that i am still worthy of being your lover. "thanks!--thanks for your kindness to my poor little wounded bird! i trust to god she will soon be well again. _mi querida. adios_!" when the beautiful lady had finished reading the note, she pressed it to her lips, and fervently kissed it. "worthy of being my lover!" she murmured; "ay, worthy to be the lover of a queen! brave, noble carlos!" again she kissed the paper, and, thrusting it into her bosom, glided softly from the apartment. chapter forty one. vizcarra's desire for revenge grew stronger every hour. the almost joyful reaction he had experienced, when relieved from the fear of death, was short-lived. so, too, was that which followed his relief from the anxiety about his captive. the thought that now tortured him was of a different character. the very breath of his existence--his personal appearance--was ruined for ever. he was disfigured for life! when the mirror was passed before his face, it caused his heart to burn like a coal of fire. coward though he was, he would almost as soon have been killed outright. several of his teeth were gone. they might have been replaced; but not so could be restored the mutilated cheek. a portion had been carried off by the "tear" of the bullet. there would be a hideous scar never to be healed! the sight was horrible. his thoughts were horrible. he groaned outright as he contemplated the countenance which the cibolero had given him. he swore vengeance. death and torture if he could but capture carlos--death to him and his! at times he even repented that he had sent away the sister. why should he have cared for consequences? why had he not revenged himself upon _her_? he no longer loved her. her scornful laugh still rankled in his heart. she had been the cause of all his sufferings--of sufferings that would never end but with his life--chagrin and mortification for the rest of his days! why had he not taken _her_ life? that would have been sweet revenge upon the brother. it would almost have been satisfaction. he tossed upon his couch, tortured with these reflections, and giving utterance at intervals to groans of anguish and horrid imprecations. carlos must be captured. no effort must be spared to ensure that event. and captured _alive_ if possible. he should measure out the punishment. it should be death, but not sudden death. no; the savages of the plains should be his teachers. the cibolero should die like a captive indian--by fire at the stake. vizcarra swore this! after him, the mother, too. she was deemed a witch. she should be punished as often witches have been. in this he would not have to act alone. he knew that the padres would endorse the act. they were well inclined to such fanatical cruelties. then the sister, alone--uncared for by any one. she would be wholly in his power--to do with her us he would, and no one to stay his will. it was not love, but revenge. such terrible resolves passed through the mind of the wretched caitiff. roblado was equally eager for the death of the cibolero. his vanity had been scathed as well, for he was now satisfied that catalina was deeply interested in the man, if not already on terms of intimacy--on terms of love, mutually reciprocated and understood. he had visited her since the tragical occurrence at the presidio. he had observed a marked change in her manner. he had thought to triumph by the malignant abuse heaped on the _assassin_; but she, although she said nothing in defence of the latter--of course she could not--was equally silent on the other side, and showed no symptoms of indignation at the deed. his (roblado's) abusive epithets, joined to those which her own father liberally heaped upon the man, seemed to give her pain. it was plain she would have defended him had she dared! all this roblado had noticed during his morning call. but more still had he learnt, for he had a spy upon her acts. one of her maids, vicenza, who for some reason had taken a dislike to her mistress, was false to her, and had, for a length of time, been the confidant of the military wooer. a little gold and flattery, and a soldier-sweetheart--who chanced to be jose--had rendered vicenza accessible. roblado was master of her thoughts, and through jose he received information regarding catalina, of which the latter never dreamt. this system of espionage had been but lately established, but it had already produced fruits. through it roblado had gained the knowledge that he himself was hated by the object of his regard, and that she loved some other! what other even vicenza could not tell. that other roblado could easily guess. it is not strange that he desired the capture and death of carlos the cibolero. he was as eager for that event as vizcarra himself. both were making every exertion to bring it about. already scouting-parties had been sent out in different directions. a proclamation had been posted on the walls of the town,--the joint production of the comandante and his captain, offering a high reward for the cibolero's head, and a still higher sum for the cibolero himself if captured alive! the citizens, to show their zeal and loyalty, had also issued a proclamation to the same effect, heading it with a large sum subscribed among them--a very fortune to the man who should be so lucky as to be the captor of carlos. this proclamation was signed by all the principal men of the place, and the name of don ambrosio figured high upon the list! there was even some talk of getting up a volunteer company to assist the soldiers in the pursuit of the _heretico_ assassin, or rather to earn the golden price of his capture. with such a forfeit on his head, it was an enigma how carlos should be long alive! roblado sat in his quarters busy devising plans for the capture. he had already sent his trustiest spies to the lower end of the valley, and these were to hover day and night in the neighbourhood. any information of the haunts of the cibolero, or of those with whom he was formerly in correspondence, was to be immediately brought to him, and would be well paid for. a watch was placed on the house of the young ranchero, don juan; and though both vizcarra and roblado had determined on special action with regard to him, they agreed upon leaving him undisturbed for the present, as that might facilitate their plans. the spies who had been employed were not soldiers, but men of the town and poor rancheros. a military force appealing below would frustrate their design. that, however, was kept in readiness, but its continued presence near the rancho, thought vizcarra and his captain, would only frighten the bird, and prevent it from returning to its nest. there was good logic in this. roblado, as stated, was in his quarters, completing his arrangements. a knock aroused him from the contemplation of some documents. they were communications from his spies, which had just reached the presidio, addressed both to himself and the comandante. they were concerning the affair. "who is it?" he asked, before giving the privilege to enter. "i, captain," answered a sharp squeaky voice. roblado evidently knew the voice, for he called out-- "oh! it is you? come in, then." the door opened, and a small dark man, of sharp weasel-like aspect, entered the room. he had a skulking shuffling gait, and, notwithstanding his soldier's dress, his sabre and his spurs, the man looked mean. he spoke with a cringing accent, and saluted his officer with a cringing gesture. he was just the sort of person to be employed upon some equivocal service, and by such men as vizcarra and roblado; and in that way he had more than once served them. it was the soldier jose. "well! what have you to say? have you seen vicenza?" "i have, captain. last night i met her out." "any news?" "i don't know whether it may be news to the captain; but she has told me that it was the senorita who sent her home yesterday." "her?" "yes, captain, the guera." "ha! go on!" "why, you know when you left her with the alcalde she was offered to whoever would take her. well, a young girl came up and claimed to be an acquaintance, and a woman who was the girl's mother. she was given up to them without more ado, and they took her away to a house in the chapparal below the town." "she did not stay there. i know she's gone down, but i have not yet heard the particulars. how did she go?" "well, captain; only very shortly after she arrived at the house of the woman, a carreta came up to the door, driven by a tagno, and the girl-- that is, the daughter, who is called josefa--mounted into the carreta, taking the guera along with her; and off they went down below. "now, neither this girl nor her mother ever saw the guera before, and who does captain think sent them, and the carreta too?" "who says vicenza?" "the senorita, captain." "ha!" sharply exclaimed roblado. "vicenza is sure of that." "more than that, captain. about the time the carreta drove away, or a little after, the senorita left the house on her horse, and with a common serape over her, and a sombrero on her head, like any ranchera; and in this--which i take to be a disguise for a lady of quality like her--she rode off by the back road. vicenza, however, thinks that she turned into the _camino abajo_ after she got past the houses, and overtook the carreta. she was gone long enough to have done so." this communication seemed to make a deep impression upon the listener. shadows flitted over his dark brow, and gleams of some new intelligence or design appeared in his eyes. he was silent for a moment, engaged in communicating with his thoughts. at length he inquired-- "is that all your information, jose?" "all, captain." "there may be more from the same source. see vicenza to-night again. tell her to keep a close watch. if she succeed in discovering that there is a correspondence going on, she shall be well rewarded, and _you_ shall not be forgotten. find out more about this woman and her daughter. know the tagno who drove them. lose no time about it. go, jose!" the minion returned his thanks in a cringing tone, made another cringing salute, and shuffled out of the room. as soon as he had left, roblado sprang to his feet, and, walking about the room in an agitated manner, uttered his thoughts aloud:-- "by heaven! i had not thought of this. a correspondence, i have no doubt. fiends! such a woman! she must know all ere this--if the fellow himself is not deceived by us! i must watch in that quarter too. who knows but _that_ will be the trap in which we'll take him? love is even a stronger lure than brotherly affection. ha! senorita; if this be true, i'll yet have a purchase upon you that you little expect. i'll bring you to terms without the aid of your stupid father!" after figuring about for some minutes, indulging in these alternate dreams of vengeance and triumph, he left his room, and proceeded towards that of the comandante, for the purpose of communicating to the latter his new-gotten knowledge. chapter forty two. the house of don ambrosio de cruces was not a town mansion. it was suburban--that is, it stood upon the outskirts of the village, some seven or eight hundred yards from the plaza. it was detached from the other buildings, and at some distance from any of them. it was neither a "villa" nor a "cottage." there are _no_ such buildings in mexico, nor anything at all resembling them. in fact, the architecture of that country is of unique and uniform style, from north to south, through some thousand miles of latitude! the smaller kinds of houses,--the ranchos of the poorer classes,--show a variety corresponding to the three thermal divisions arising from different elevation--_caliente_, _templada_, and _fria_. in the hot lands of the coast, and some low valleys in the interior, the rancho is a frail structure of cane and poles with a thatch of palm-leaves. on the elevated "valles," or table-plains--and here, be it observed, dwell most of the population--it is built of "adobes," and this rule is universal. on the forest-covered sides of the more elevated mountains the rancho is a house of logs, a "log-cabin," with long hanging eaves and shingled roof, differing entirely from the log-cabin of the american backwoods, and far excelling the latter in neatness and picturesque appearance. so much for the "ranchos." about them there is some variety of style. not so with "casas grandes," or houses of the rich. a sameness characterises them through thirty degrees of latitude--from one extremity of mexico to the other; and, we might almost add, throughout all spanish america. if now and then a "_whimsical_" structure be observed, you may find, on inquiry, that the owner is some foreigner resident--an english miner, a scotch manufacturer, or a german merchant. these remarks are meant only for the houses of the country. in small villages the same style as the country-house is observed, with very slight modifications; but in large towns, although some of the characteristics are still retained, there is an approximation to the architecture of european cities--more particularly, of course, to those of spain. the house of don ambrosio differed very little from the general fashion of "casas grandes" of country style. it had the same aspect of gaol, fortress, convent, or workhouse--whichever you please; but this aspect was considerably lightened by the peculiar colouring of the walls, which was done in broad vertical bands of red, white, and yellow, alternating with each other! the effect produced by this arrangement of gay colours is quite oriental, and is a decided relief to the otherwise heavy appearance of a mexican dwelling. in some parts of the country this fashion is common. in shape there was no peculiarity. standing upon the road in front you see a long wall, with a large gateway near the middle, and three or four windows irregularly set. the windows are shielded with bars of wrought-iron standing vertically. that is the "reja." none of them have either sash or glass. the gateway is closed by a heavy wooden door, strongly clasped and bolted with iron. this front wall is but one storey high, but its top is continued so as to form a parapet, breast-high above the roof, and this gives it a loftier appearance. the roof being flat behind, the parapet is not visible from below. look around the corner at either end of this front wall. you will see no gable--there is no such thing on a house of the kind we are describing. in its place you will see a dead wall of the same height as the parapet, running back for a long distance; and were you to go to the end of it, and again look around the corner, you would find a similar wall at the back closing in the parallelogram. in reality you have not yet seen the true front of don ambrosio's house, if we mean by that the part most embellished. a mexican spends but little thought on the outside appearance of his mansion. it is only from the courtyard, or "patio," you can get a view of the front upon which the taste of the owner is displayed, and this often exhibits both grandeur and elegance. let us pass through the gateway, and enter the "patio." the "portero," when summoned by knock or bell, admits us by a small door, forming part of the great gate already mentioned. we traverse an arched way, the "zaguan," running through the breadth of the building, and then we are in the patio. from this we have a view of the real front of the house. the patio itself is paved with painted bricks--a tessellated pavement. a fountain, with jet and ornamental basin, occupies its centre; and several trees, well trimmed, stand in large vessels, so that their roots may not injure the pavement. around this court you see the doors of the different apartments, some of them glazed and tastefully curtained. the doors of the "sala," the "cuarto," and the sleeping-rooms, are on three sides, while the "cocina" (kitchen), the "dispensa" (store-room), "granero" (granary), with the "caballeriza" and coach-house, make up the remaining part of the square. there is still an important portion of the mansion to be spoken of--the "azotea," or roof. it is reached by an "escalera," or stone staircase. it is flat and quite firm, being covered with a cement that is proof against rain. it is enclosed by a parapet running all round it--of such a height as not to hinder the view of the surrounding country, while it protects those occupying it from the intrusive gaze of persons passing below. when the sun is down, or behind a cloud, the azotea is a most agreeable promenade; and to render it still more so, that over the house of don ambrosio had been arranged so as to resemble a flower-garden. richly japanned pots, containing rare flowers, were placed around, and green boughs and gay blossoms, rising above the top of the wall, produced a fine effect on viewing the building from without. but this was not the only garden belonging to the mansion of the rich miner. another, of oblong shape, extended from the rear of the house, enclosed by a high wall of adobes on either side. these, ending upon the bank of the stream, formed the boundary of the garden. along the stream there was no fence, as it was here of sufficient breadth and depth to form an enclosure of itself. the garden was of large extent, including an orchard of fruit-trees at its lower part, and it was tastefully laid out in walks, flowerbeds, and arbours of different shapes and sizes. don ambrosio, although but a rich _parvenu_, might have been supposed to be a man of refined taste by any one viewing this garden--the more so, as such delightful retreats are by no means common in that country. but it was to another mind than his that these shadowy trees and fragrant arbours owed their existence. they were the "ideas" of his fair daughter, many of whose hours were spent beneath their shade. to don ambrosio the sight of a great cavity in the earth, with huge quarries of quartz rock or scoria, and a rich "veta" at the back, was more agreeable than all the flowers in the world. a pile of "barras de plata" would be to his eyes more interesting than a whole country covered with black tulips and blue dahlias. not so his fair daughter catalina. her taste was both elevated and refined. the thought of wealth, the pride of riches, never entered her mind. she would willingly have surrendered all her much-talked-of inheritance to have shared the humble rancho of him she loved. chapter forty three. it was near sunset. the yellow orb was hastening to kiss the snowy summit of the sierra blanca, that barred the western horizon. the white mantle, that draped the shoulders of the mountain, reflected beautiful roseate tints deepening into red and purple in the hollows of the ravines, and seeming all the more lovely from the contrast of the dark forests that covered the sierra farther down. it was a sunset more brilliant than common. the western sky was filled with masses of coloured clouds, in which gold and purple and cerulean blue mingled together in gorgeous magnificence; and in which the eye of the beholder could not fail to note the outlines of strange forms, and fancy them bright and glorious beings of another world. it was a picture to gladden the eye, to give joy to the heart that was sad, and make happier the happy. it was not unobserved. eyes were dwelling upon it--beautiful eyes; and yet there was a sadness in their look that ill accorded with the picture on which they were gazing. but those eyes were not drawing their inspiration from the sky-painting before them. though apparently regarding it, the thoughts which gave them expression were drawn from a far different source. the heart within was dwelling upon another object. the owner of those eyes was a beautiful girl, or rather a fully developed woman still unmarried. she was standing upon the azotea of a noble mansion, apparently regarding the rich sunset, while, in reality, her thoughts were busy with another theme, and one that was less pleasant to contemplate. even the brilliant glow of the sky, reflected upon her countenance, did not dissipate the shadows that were passing over it. the clouds from within overcame the light from without. there were shadows flitting over her heart that corresponded to those that darkened her fair face. it was a beautiful face withal, and a beautiful form--tall, majestic, of soft graces and waving outlines. the lady was catalina de cruces. she was alone upon the azotea--surrounded only by the plants and flowers. bending over the low parapet that overlooked the garden to the rear, she at the same time faced toward the sinking orb,--for the garden extended westward. now and then her eyes were lifted to the sky and the sun; but oftener they sought the shaded coppice of wild-china-trees at the bottom of the enclosure, through whose slender trunks gleamed the silvery surface of the stream. upon this spot they rested from time to time, with an expression of strange interest. no wonder that to those eyes that was an interesting spot--it was that where love's first vows had been uttered in her delighted ear--it had been consecrated by a kiss, and in her thoughts it was hallowed from the "earth's profound" to the high heaven above her. no wonder she regarded it as the fairest on earth. the most famed gardens of the world--even paradise itself--in her imagination, had no spot so sweet, no nook so shady, as the little arbour she had herself trained amid the foliage of those wild-china-trees. why was she regarding it with a look of sadness? in that very arbour, and on that very night, did she expect to meet him--the one who had rendered it sacred. why then was she sad? such a prospect should have rendered her countenance radiant with joy. and so was it, at intervals, when this thought came into her mind; but there was another--some other thought--that brought those clouds upon her brow, and imparted that air of uneasy apprehension. what was that thought? in her hand she held a bandolon. she flung herself upon a bench, and began to play some old spanish air. the effort was too much for her. her thoughts wandered from the melody, and her fingers from the strings. she laid down the instrument, and, again rising to her feet, paced backwards and forwards upon the azotea. her walk was irregular. at intervals she stopped, and, lowering her eyes, seemed to think intently on something that was absent. then she would start forward, and stop again in the same manner as before. this she repeated several times, without uttering either word or exclamation. once she continued her walk all around the azotea, casting a scrutinising look among the plants and flower-pots on both sides, as if in search of something; but whatever it was, she was unsuccessful, as nothing appeared to arrest her attention. she returned once more, and took up the bandolon. but her fingers had hardly touched the strings before she laid the instrument down again, and rose from the bench, as if some sudden resolution had taken possession of her. "i never thought of that--i may have dropped it in the garden!" she muttered to herself, as she glided toward a small escalera that led down into the patio. from this point an avenue communicated with the garden; and the next moment she had passed through this and was tripping over the sanded walks, bending from side to side, and peeping behind every plant and bush that could have concealed the object of her search. she explored every part of the enclosure, and lingered a moment in the arbour among the china-trees--as if she enjoyed that spot more than any other--but she came back at length with the same anxious expression, that told she was not rewarded by the recovery of whatever she had lost. the lady once more returned to the azotea--once more took up the bandolon; but after a few touches of the strings, laid it down, and again rose to her feet. again she soliloquised. "_carrambo_! it is very strange!--neither in my chamber--the sala, the cuarto, the azotea, the garden!--where can it be? o dios! if it should fall into the hands of papa! it is too intelligible--it could not fail to be understood--no--no--no! o dios! if it should reach other hands!-- those of _his_ enemies! it names to-night--true, it does not tell the place, but the time is mentioned--the place would be easily discovered. oh! that i knew where to communicate with him! but i know not, and he will come. _ay de mi_! it cannot be prevented now. i must hope no enemy has got it. but where can it be? madre de dios! where can it be?" all these phrases were uttered in a tone and emphasis that showed the concern of the speaker at the loss of some object that greatly interested her. that object was no other than the note brought by josefa, and written by carlos the cibolero, in which the assignation for that night had been appointed. no wonder she was uneasy at its loss! the wording not only compromised herself, but placed the life of her lover in extreme peril. this it was that was casting the dark shadows over her countenance--this it was that was causing her to traverse the azotea and the garden in such anxious search. "i must ask vicenza," she continued. "i like not to do it, for i have lost confidence in her of late. something has changed this girl. she used to be frank and honest, but now she has grown false and hypocritical. twice have i detected her in the act of deceiving me. what does it mean?" she paused a moment as if in thought. "i must ask her notwithstanding. she may have found the paper, and, not deeming it of any use may have thrown it in the fire. fortunately she does not read, but she has to do with others who can. ha! i forgot her soldier sweetheart! if she should have found it, and shown it to him! _dios de mi alma_!" this supposition seemed a painful one, for it caused the lady's heart to beat louder, and her breathing became short and quick. "that would be terrible!" she continued,--"that would be the very worst thing that could happen. i do not like that soldier--he appears mean and cunning and i have heard is a bad fellow, though favoured by the comandante. god forfend he should have gotten this paper! i shall lose no more time. i shall call vicenza, and question her." she stepped forward to the parapet that overlooked the patio. "vicenza!--vicenza!" "_aqui, senorita_," answered a voice from the interior of the house. "_ven aca_!--_ven aca_!" (come hither.) "_si, senorita_." "_anda! anda_!" (quickly.) a girl, in short bright-coloured nagua, and white chemisette without sleeves, came out into the patio, and climbed up the escalera that led to the roof. she was a _mestiza_, or half-blood, of indian and spanish mixture, as her brownish-white skin testified. she was not ill-looking; but there was an expression upon her countenance that precluded the idea of either virtue, honesty, or amiability. it was a mixed expression of malice and cunning. her manner, too, was bold and offensive, like that of one who had been guilty of some known crime, and had become reckless. it was only of late she had assumed that tone, and her mistress had observed it among other changes. "_que quiere v., senorita_?" (what want you, my lady?) "vicenza, i have lost a small piece of paper. it was folded in an oblong shape--not like a letter, but this--" here a piece of paper, similarly put up, was held out for the inspection of the girl. "have you seen anything of it?" "no, senorita," was the prompt and ready answer. "perhaps you may have swept it out, or thrown it into the fire? it looked insignificant, and, indeed, was not of much importance, but there were some patterns upon it i wished to copy. do you think it has been destroyed?" "i know not that, senorita. i know that _i_ did not destroy it. i neither swept it out nor threw it into the fire. i should not do that with any paper, as i cannot read myself, and might destroy something that was valuable." whatever truth there was in the last part of her harangue, the mestiza knew that its earlier declarations were true enough. she had not destroyed it, either by sweeping out or burning. her answer was delivered with an ingenuous _naivete_, accompanied with a slight accent of anger, as though she was not over-pleased at being suspected of negligence. whether her mistress noticed the latter did not appear from her answer, but she expressed herself satisfied. "it is of no consequence, then," said she. "you may go, vicenza." the girl walked off, looking sulky. when her head was just disappearing below the top of the escalera, her face was towards her mistress, whose back was now turned to her. a scornful pouting of the lips, accompanied by a demoniac smile, was visible upon it. it was evident from that look that she knew something more of the lost paper than was admitted in her late declaration. catalina's gaze was once more turned upon the setting sun. in a few minutes he would disappear behind the snowy ridge of the mountain. then a few hours, and then--moments of bliss! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ roblado was seated in his cuartel as before. as before, a tiny knock sounded upon the door. as before, he called out, "quien es?" and was answered, "yo!" and, as before, he recognised the voice and gave the order for its owner to enter. as before, it was the soldier jose, who, in a cringing voice and with a cringing salute, approached his officer. "well, jose, what news?" "only this," replied the soldier, holding out a slip of paper folded into an oblong shape. "what is it?" demanded roblado. "who is it from?" in the same breath. "the captain will understand it better than i can, as i can't read; but it comes from the senorita, and looks inside like a letter. the senorita got it from somebody at church yesterday morning: so thinks vicenza, for she saw her read it as soon as she got back from morning prayers. vicenza thinks that the girl josefa brought it up the valley, but the captain most likely can tell for himself." roblado had not listened to half of this talk; but had instead been swallowing the contents of the paper. as soon as he had got to the end of it he sprang from his chair as if a needle had been stuck into him, and paced the room in great agitation. "quick! quick, jose!" he exclaimed. "send gomez here. say nothing to any one. hold yourself in readiness--i shall want you too. send gomez instantly. _vaya_!" the soldier made a salute less cringing because more hurried, and precipitately retired from the apartment. roblado continued-- "by heaven! this is a piece of luck! who ever failed to catch a fool when love was his lure? this very night, too, and at midnight! i shall have time to prepare. oh! if i but knew the place! 'tis not given here." again he read over the note. "carajo, no! that is unfortunate. what's to be done? i must not go guessing in the dark! ha! i have it! _she_ shall be watched!--watched to the very spot! vicenza can do that while we lie somewhere in ambush. the girl can bring us to it. we shall have time to surround them. their interview will last long enough for that. we shall take them in the very moment of their bliss. hell and furies! to think of it--this low dog--this butcher of buffaloes--to thwart me in my purposes! but patience, roblado! patience! to-night--to-night!--" a knocking at the door. sergeant gomez was admitted. "gomez, get ready twenty of your men! picked fellows, do you hear? be ready by eleven o'clock. you have ample time, but see that you be ready the moment i call you. not a word to any one without. let the men saddle up and be quiet about it. load your carbines. there's work for you. you shall know what it is by and by. go! get ready!" without saying a word, the sergeant went off to obey the order. "curses on the luck! if i but knew the place, or anything near it. would it be about the house? or in the garden? maybe outside--in the country somewhere? that is not unlikely. he would hardly venture so near the town, lest some one might recognise him or his horse. death to that horse. no, no! i shall have that horse yet, or i much mistake. oh! if i could find this place before the hour of meeting, then my game were sure. but no, nothing said of the place--yes, the _old_ place. hell and furies! they have met before--often--often--oh!" a groan of agony broke from the speaker, and he paced to and fro like one bereft of his senses. "shall i tell vizcarra now," he continued, "or wait till it is over? i shall wait. it will be a dainty bit of news along with supper. perhaps i may garnish the table with the ears of the cibolero. ha! ha! ha!" and uttering a diabolical laugh, the ruffian took down his sabre and buckled the belt around his waist. he then armed himself with a pair of heavy pistols; and, after looking to the straps of his spurs, strode out of the room. chapter forty four. it wanted but an hour of midnight. there was a moon in the sky, but so near the horizon, that the bluff bounding the southern side of the valley threw out a shadow to the distance of many yards upon the plain. parallel to the line of the cliffs, and close in to their base, a horseman could be seen advancing up the valley from the lower end of the settlement. his cautious pace, and the anxious glances which he at intervals cast before him, showed that he was travelling with some apprehension, and was desirous of remaining unseen. it was evident, too, that this was his object in keeping within the shadow of the cliff; for on arriving at certain points where the precipice became slanting and cast no shadow, he would halt for a while, and, after carefully reconnoitring the ground, pass rapidly over it. concealment could be his only object in thus closely hugging the bluffs, for a much better road could have been found at a little distance out from them. after travelling for many miles in this way, the horseman at length arrived opposite the town, which still, however, was three miles distant from the cliff. from this point a road led off to the town, communicating between it and a pass up the bluffs to the left. the horseman halted, and gazed awhile along the road, as if undecided whether to take it or not. having resolved in the negative, he moved on, and rode nearly a mile farther under the shadow of the bluffs. again he halted, and scanned the country to his right. a bridle-path seemed to run in the direction of the town, or towards a point somewhat above it. after a short examination the horseman seemed to recognise this path as one he was in search of, and, heading his horse into it, he parted from the shadow of the bluffs, and rode out under the full moonlight. this, shining down upon him, showed a young man of fine proportions, dressed in ranchero costume, and mounted upon a noble steed, whose sleek black coat glittered under the silvery light. it was easy to know the rider. his bright complexion, and light-coloured hair curling thickly under the brim of his sombrero, were characteristics not to be mistaken in that land of dark faces. he was carlos the cibolero. it could be seen now that a large wolf-like dog trotted near the heels of the horse. that dog was cibolo. advancing in the direction of the town, the caution of the horseman seemed to increase. the country before him was not quite open. it was level; but fortunately for him, its surface was studded with copse-like islands of timber, and here and there straggling patches of chapparal through, which the path led. before entering these the dog preceded him, but without noise or bark; and when emerging into the open plain again, the horseman each time halted and scanned the ground that separated him from the next copse, before attempting to pass over it. proceeding in this way, he arrived at length within several hundred yards of the outskirts of the town, and could see the walls, with the church cupola shining over the tops of the trees. one line of wall on which his eyes were fixed lay nearer than the rest. he recognised its outline. it was the parapet over the house of don ambrosio--in the rear of which he had now arrived. he halted in a small copse of timber, the last upon the plain. beyond, in the direction of don ambrose's house, the ground was open and level up to the bank of the stream already described as running along the bottom of the garden. the tract was a meadow belonging to don ambrosio, and used for pasturing the horses of his establishment. it was accessible to these by means of a rude bridge that crossed the stream outside the walls of the garden. another bridge, however, joined the garden itself to the meadow. this was much slighter and of neater construction--intended only for foot-passengers. it was, in fact, a mere private bridge, by which the fair daughter of don ambrosio could cross to enjoy her walk in the pleasant meadow beyond. upon this little bridge, at its middle part, was a gate with lock and key, to keep intruders from entering the precincts of the garden. this bridge was not over three hundred yards from the copse in which carlos had halted, and nothing intervened but the darkness to prevent him from having a view of it. however, as the moon was still up, he could distinctly see the tall posterns, and light-coloured palings of the gate, glimmering in her light. the stream he could not see--as at this point it ran between high banks--and the garden itself was hidden from view by the grove of cotton-woods and china-trees growing along its bottom. after arriving in the copse carlos dismounted; and having led his horse into the darkest shadow of the trees, there left him. he did not tie him to anything, but merely rested the bridle over the pommel of the saddle, so that it might not draggle upon the ground. he had long ago trained the noble animal to remain where he was placed without other fastening than this. this arrangement completed, he walked forward to the edge of the underwood, and there stood with his eyes fixed upon the bridge and the dark grove beyond it. it was not the first time for him to go through all the manoeuvres here described--no, not by many--but, perhaps, on no other occasion were his emotions so strong and strange as on the present. he had prepared himself for the interview he was now expecting--he had promised himself a frankness of speech his modesty had never before permitted him to indulge in--he had resolved on proposals--the rejection or acceptance of which might determine his future fate. his heart beat within his breast so as to be audible to his own ears. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ perfect stillness reigned through the town. the inhabitants had all retired to their beds, and not a light appeared from door or window. all were close shut and fast bolted. no one appeared in the streets, except the half-dozen "serenos" who formed the night-watch of the place. these could be seen muffled up in their dark cloaks, sitting half asleep on the banquetas of houses, and grasping in one hand their huge halberds, while their lanterns rested upon the pavement at their feet. perfect stillness reigned around the mansion of don ambrosio. the great gate of the zaguan was closed and barred, and the portero had retired within his "lodge," thus signifying that all the inmates of the dwelling had returned home. if silence denoted sleep, all were asleep; but a ray of light escaping through the silken curtains of a glass door, and falling dimly upon the pavement of the patio, showed that one at least still kept vigil. that light proceeded from the chamber of catalina. all at once the stillness of the night was broken by the loud tolling of a bell. it was the clock of the parroquia announcing the hour of midnight. the last stroke had not ceased to reverberate when the light in the chamber appeared to be suddenly extinguished--for it no longer glowed through the curtain. shortly after, the glass door was silently opened from the inside; and a female form closely muffled came forth, and glided with stealthy and sinuous step around the shadowy side of the patio. the tall elegant figure could not be hidden by the disguise of the ample cloak in which it was muffled, and the graceful gait appeared even when constrained and stealthy. it was the senorita herself. having passed round the patio, she entered the avenue that led to the garden. here a heavy door barred the egress from the house, and before this she stopped. only a moment. a key appeared from under her cloak, and the large bolt with some difficulty yielded to her woman's strength. it did not yield silently. the rusty iron sounded as it sprang back into the lock, causing her to start and tremble. she even returned back through the avenue, to make sure whether any one had heard it; and, standing in the dark entrance, glanced round the patio. had she not heard a door closing as she came back? she fancied so; and alarmed by it, she stood for some time gazing upon the different doors that opened upon the court. they were all close shut, her own not excepted, for she had closed it on coming out. still her fancy troubled her, and, but half satisfied, she returned to the gate. this she opened with caution, and, passing through, traversed the rest of the avenue, and came out in the open ground. keeping under the shadow of the trees and shrubbery, she soon reached the grove at the bottom of the garden. here she paused for a moment, and, looking through the stems of the trees, scanned the open surface in the direction of the copse where carlos had halted. no object was visible but the outlines of the timber island itself, under whose shadow a human form in dark clothing could not have been recognised at such a distance. after pausing a moment she glided among the trees of the grove, and the next moment stood, upon the centre and highest point of the bridge in front of the little gate. here she again stopped, drew from under her cloak a white cambric handkerchief, and, raising herself to her full height, held it spread out between her hands. the air was filled with fire-flies, whose light sparkled thickly against the dark background of the copsewood; but these did not prevent her from distinguishing a brighter flash, like the snapping of a lucifer-match, that appeared among them. her signal was answered! she lowered the handkerchief, and, taking out a small key, applied it to the lock of the gate. this was undone in a second, and, having thrown open the wicket, she retired within the shadow of the grove, and stood waiting. even in that dark shadow her eyes sparkled with the light of love, as she saw a form--the form of a man on foot, parting from the copse, and coming in the direction of the bridge. it was to her the dearest on earth; and she awaited the approach with a flushed cheek and a heart full of joyful emotion. chapter forty five. it was no fancy of catalina's that she heard the shutting of a door as she returned up the avenue. a door in reality had been closed at that moment,--the door that led to the sleeping apartments of the maidservants. had her steps been quicker, she might have seen some one rush across the patio and enter this door. but she arrived too late for this. the door was closed, and all was silent again. it might have been fancy, thought she. it was no fancy. from the hour when the family had retired to rest, the door of catalina's chamber had been watched. an eye had been bent all the time upon that ray of light escaping through the curtained glass,-- the eye of the girl vicenza. during the early part of the evening the maid had asked leave to go out for a while. it had been granted. she had been gone for nearly an hour. conducted by the soldier jose, she had had an interview with roblado. at that interview all had been arranged between them. she was to watch her mistress from the house, and follow her to the place of assignation. when that should be determined she was to return with all haste to roblado--who appointed a place of meeting her--and then guide him and his troop to the lovers. this, thought roblado, would be the surest plan to proceed upon. he had taken his measures accordingly. the door of the maid's sleeping-room was just opposite that of catalina's chamber. through the key-hole the girl had seen the light go out, and the senorita gliding around the patio. she had watched her into the avenue, and then gently opening her own door and stolen after her. at the moment the senorita had succeeded in unlocking the great gate of the garden, the mestiza was peeping around the wall at the entrance of the avenue; but on hearing the other return,--for it was by the sound of her footsteps she was warned,--the wily spy had darted back into her room, and closed the door behind her. it was some time before she dared venture out again, as the key-hole no longer did her any service. she kept her eye to it, however, and, seeing that her mistress did not return to her chamber, she concluded that the latter had continued on into the garden. again gently opening her door, she stole forth, and, on tiptoe approaching the avenue, peeped into it. it was no longer dark. the gate was open, and the moon shining in lit up the whole passage. it was evident, therefore, that the senorita had gone through, and was now in the garden. was she in the garden? the mestiza remembered the bridge, and knew that her mistress carried the key of the wicket, and often used it both by day and night. she might by this have crossed the bridge, and got far beyond into the open country. she--the spy--might not find the direction she had taken, and thus spoil the whole plan. with these thoughts passing through her mind, the girl hurried through the avenue, and, crouching down, hastened along the walk as fast as she was able. seeing no one among the fruit-trees and flowerbeds, she began to despair; but the thick grove at the bottom of the garden gave her promise--that was a likely place of meeting--capital for such a purpose, as the mestiza, experienced in such matters, well knew. to approach the grove, however, presented a difficulty. there was a space of open ground--a green parterre--between it and the flowerbeds. any one, already in the grove, could perceive the approach of another in that direction, and especially under a bright moonlight. this the mestiza saw, and it compelled her to pause and reflect how she was to get nearer. but one chance seemed to offer. the high adobe wall threw a shadow of some feet along one side of the open ground. in this shadow it might be possible to reach the timber unobserved. the girl resolved to attempt it. guided by the instinctive cunning of her race, she dropped down flat upon her breast; and, dragging herself over the grass, she reached the selvedge of the grove, just in the rear of the arbour. there she paused, raised her head, and glanced through the leafy screen that encircled the arbour. she saw what she desired. catalina was at this moment upon the bridge, and above the position of the mestiza--so that the latter could perceive her form outlined against the blue of the sky. she saw her hold aloft the white kerchief. she guessed that it was a signal--she saw the flash in answer to it, and then observed her mistress undo the lock and fling the wicket open. the cunning spy was now sure that the place of meeting was to be the grove itself, and might have returned with that information; but roblado had distinctly ordered her not to leave until she saw the meeting itself, and was certain of the spot. she therefore remained where she was, and awaited the further proceedings of the lovers. carlos, on perceiving the signal, had answered it by flashing some powder already prepared. he lost no time in obeying the well-known summons. a single moment by the side of his horse--a whisper which the latter well understood--and he parted from the copse, cibolo following at his heels. on reaching the end of the bridge he bent down, and, addressing some words in a low voice to the dog, proceeded to cross over. the animal did not follow him, but lay down on the opposite bank of the stream. the next moment the lovers were together. from the spot where she lay the mestiza witnessed their greeting. the moon shone upon their faces--the fair skin and curly locks of carlos were distinctly visible under the light. the girl knew the cibolero--it was he. she had seen all that was necessary for roblado to know. the grove was the place of meeting. it only remained for her to get back to the officer, and give the information. she was about to crawl away, and had already half risen, when to her dismay, the lovers appeared coming through the grove, and towards the very arbour behind which she lay! their faces were turned towards the spot where she was crouching. if she rose to her feet, or attempted to go off, she could not fail to be seen by one or other of them. she had no alternative but to remain where she was--at least until some better opportunity offered of getting away--and with this intention she again squatted down close under the shadow of the arbour. a moment after the lovers entered, and seated themselves upon the benches with which the little bower was provided. chapter forty six. the hearts of both were so agitated that for some moments neither gave utterance to their thoughts. catalina was the first to speak. "your sister?" she inquired. "she is better. i have had the rancho restored. they have returned to it, and the old scenes seem to have worked a miracle upon her. her senses came at once, and relapse only at long intervals. i have hopes it will be all well again." "i am glad to hear this. poor child! she must have suffered sadly in the hands of these rude savages." "rude savages! ay, catalina, you have styled them appropriately, though you little know of whom you are speaking." "of whom?" echoed the lady, in surprise. up to this moment even she had no other than the popular and universal belief that carlos' sister had been a captive in the hands of the indians! "it was partly for this that i have sought an interview to-night. i could not exist without explaining to you my late conduct, which must have appeared to you a mystery. it shall be so no longer. hear me, catalina!" carlos revealed the horrid plot, detailing every circumstance, to the utter astonishment of his fair companion. "oh! fiends! fiends!" she exclaimed; "who could have imagined such atrocity? who would suppose that on the earth were wretches like these? but that _you_, dear carlos, have told me, i could not have believed in such villainy! i knew that both were bad; i have heard many a tale of the vileness of these two men; but this is wickedness beyond the power of fancy! _santisima madre_! what men! what monsters! it is incredible!" "you know now with what justice i am called a murderer?" "oh, dear carlos! think not of that. i never gave it a thought. i knew you had some cause just and good. fear not! the world shall yet know all--" "the world!" interrupted carlos, with a sneer. "for me there is no world. i have no home. even among those with whom i have been brought up, i have been but a stranger--a heretic outcast. now i am worse--a hunted outlaw with a price upon my head, and a good large one too. in truth, i never thought i was worth so much before!" here a laugh escaped from the speaker; but his merriment was of short duration. he continued-- "no world have i but you, catalina,--and you no longer except in my heart. i must leave you and go far away. death--worse than death-- awaits me here. i must go hence. i must return to the people from whom my parents are sprung--to our long forgotten kindred. perhaps there i may find a new home and new friends, but happiness i cannot without you--no, never!" catalina was silent, with tearful eyes bent upon the ground. she trembled at the thought that was passing in her mind. she feared to give it expression. but it was no time for the affectation of false modesty, for idle bashfulness; and neither were her characteristics. upon a single word depended the happiness of her life--of her lover's. away with womanly coyness! let the thought be spoken! she turned toward her lover, took his hand in hers, leant forward till her lips were close to his, and, looking in his face, said in a soft, but firm voice-- "carlos! is it your wish that _i_ go with you?" in a moment his arms were around her, and their lips had met. "o heavens!" he exclaimed; "is this possible? do i hear aright? dearest catalina! it was this i would have proposed, but i dared not do it. i feared to make the proposal, so wild does it seem. what! forsake all for me? oh, _querida! querida_! tell me that this is what your words mean! say you will go with me!" "_i will_!" was the short but firm reply. "o god! i am too happy--a week of terrible suffering, and i am again happy. but a week ago, catalina, and i was happy. i had met with a strange adventure, one that promised fortune. i was full of hope--hope of winning you; not you, _querida_, but your father. of winning him by gold. see!" here the speaker held forth his hand filled with shining ore. "it is gold. of this i have discovered a mine, and i had hoped with it to have rivalled your father in his wealth, and then to have won his consent. alas! alas! that is now hopeless, but your words have given me new happiness. think not of the fortune you leave behind. i know you do not, dear catalina. i shall give you one equal to it-- perhaps far greater. i know where this precious trash is to be procured, but i shall tell you all when we have time. to-night--" he was interrupted by catalina. her quick ear had caught a sound that appeared odd to her. it was but a slight rustling among the leaves near the back of the arbour, and might have been caused by the wind, had there been any. but not a breath was stirring. something else had caused it. what could it be? after a moment or two both stepped out, and examined the bushes whence the sound was supposed to have proceeded; but nothing was to be seen. they looked around and up towards the garden--there was no appearance of anything that could have caused the noise! it was now much darker than when they had entered the arbour. the moon had gone down, and the silvery light had turned to grey; but it was still clear enough to have distinguished any large object at several yards distance. catalina could not be mistaken. she had heard a rustling sound to a certainty. could it have been the dog? carlos stepped forward on the bridge. it was not--the animal still lay where he had been placed: it could not have been he! what then? some lizard? perhaps a dangerous serpent? at all events they would not again enter the arbour but remained standing outside. still catalina was not without apprehensions, for she now remembered the loss of the note, and, later still, the shutting of the door, both of which she hastily communicated to her companion. hitherto carlos had paid but little attention to what he believed to be some natural occurrence--the fluttering of a bird which had been disturbed by them, or the gliding of a snake or lizard. but the information now given made a different impression upon him. used to indian wiles, he was a ready reasoner, and he perceived at once that there might be something sinister in the sound which had been heard. he resolved, therefore, to examine the ground more carefully. once more he proceeded to the back of the arbour, and, dropping to his knees, scanned the grass and bushes. in a moment he raised his head with an exclamation of surprise. "as i live, catalina, you were right! some one has been here, beyond a doubt! some one has lain on this very spot! where can they have gone to? by heaven, it was a woman! here is the trail of her dress!" "vicenza!" exclaimed the lady. "it can be no other--my maid, vicenza! _dios de mi alma_! she has heard every word!" "no doubt it was vicenza. she has watched and followed you from the house. what could have tempted her to such an act?" "_ay de mi_! heaven only knows: her conduct has been very strange of late. it is quite annoying! dear carlos!" she continued, changing her tone of regret to one of anxiety, "you must stay no longer. who knows what she may do? perhaps summon my father! perhaps still worse-- santisima virgen! may it not be!" here catalina hastily communicated the fact of vicenza's intimacy with the soldier jose, as well as other circumstances relating to the girl, and urged upon her lover the necessity of instant departure. "i shall go then," said he. "not that i much fear them; it is too dark for their carbines, and their sabres will never reach me, while my brave steed stands yonder ready to obey my call. but it is better for me to go. there may be something in it. i cannot explain curiosity that attempts so much as this girl. i shall go at once then." and so carlos had resolved. but much remained to be said: fresh vows of love to be pronounced; an hour to be fixed for a future meeting--perhaps the last before taking the final step--their flight across the great plains. more than once had carlos placed his foot upon the bridge, and more than once had he returned to have another sweet word--another parting kiss. the final "adios" had at length been exchanged; the lovers had parted from each other; catalina had turned towards the house; and carlos was advancing to the bridge with the intention of crossing, when a growl from cibolo caused him to halt and listen. again the dog growled, this time more fiercely, following with a series of earnest barks, that told his master some danger was nigh. the first thought of the latter was to rush across the bridge, and make towards his steed. had he done so, he would have had time enough to escape; but the desire to warn her, so that she might hasten to the house, impelled him to turn back through the grove. she had already reached the open parterre, and was crossing it, when the barking of the dog caused her to stop, and the moment after carlos came up. but he had not addressed a word to her before the trampling of horses sounded outside the adobe walls of the garden--horsemen galloped down on both sides, while the confused striking of hoofs showed that some were halting outside, while others deployed around the enclosure. the rattling of the timbers of the large bridge was heard almost at the same instant; then the dog breaking into a fierce attack; and then, through the stems of the trees, the dark forms of horsemen became visible upon the opposite bank of the stream. the garden was surrounded! chapter forty seven. long after the lovers had entered the arbour the mestiza had remained in her squatting attitude, listening to the conversation, of which not a word escaped her. it was not, however, her interest in that which bound her to the spot, but her fear of being discovered should she attempt to leave it. she had reason while it was still moonlight, for the open ground she must pass over was distinctly visible from the arbour. it was only after the moon went down that she saw the prospect of retiring unseen; and, choosing a moment when the lovers had their faces turned from her, she crawled a few yards back, rose to her feet, and ran nimbly off in the darkness. strange to say, the rustling heard by the senorita was not made by the girl at the moment of her leaving the arbour. it was caused by a twig which she had bent behind a branch, the better to conceal herself, and this releasing itself had sprung back to its place. that was why no object was visible to the lovers, although coming hastily out of the arbour. the spy at that instant was beyond the reach of sight as well as hearing. she had got through the avenue before the twig moved. she did not stop for a moment. she did not return to her apartment, but crossing the patio hastily entered the zaguan. this she traversed with stealthy steps, as if afraid to awake the portero. on reaching the gate she drew from her pocket a key. it was not the key of the main lock, but of the lesser one, belonging to the postern door which opened through the great gate. this key she had secured at an earlier hour of the evening, for the very use she was now about to make of it. she placed it in the lock, and then shot the bolt, using all the care she could to prevent it from making a noise. she raised the latch with like caution; and then, opening the door, stepped gently to the outside. she next closed the door after her, slowly and silently; and this done, she ran with all her speed along the road towards some woods that were outside the town, and not far from the house of don ambrosio. it was in these woods that roblado held his men in ambush. he had brought them thither at a late hour, and by a circuitous route, so that no one should see them as they entered the timber, and thus prevent the possibility of a frustration of his plans. here he was waiting the arrival of his spy. the girl soon reached the spot, and in a few minutes detailed to the officer the whole of what she had witnessed. what she had heard there was no time to tell, for she communicated to roblado how she had been detained, and the latter saw there was not a moment to be lost. the interview might end before he should be ready, and his prey might still escape him. had roblado felt more confidence as to time he would now have acted differently. he would have sent some men by a lower crossing, and let them approach the bottom of the garden directly from the meadow; he would, moreover, have spent more time and caution about the "surround." but he saw he might be too late, should he adopt this surer course. a quicker one recommended itself, and he at once gave the orders to his followers. these were divided into two parties of different sizes. each was to take a side of the garden, and deploy along the wall, but the larger party was to drop only a few of its men, while the rest were to ride hastily over the greater bridge, and gallop round to the bottom of the garden. roblado himself was to lead this party, whose duty would likely be of most importance. as the leader well knew, the garden walls could not be scaled without a ladder, and the cibolero, if found within the garden, would attempt to escape by the bridge at the bottom. lest he might endeavour to get through the avenue and off by the front of the house, the girl vicenza was to conduct gomez with several men on foot through the patio, and guide them to the avenue entrance. the plan was well enough conceived. roblado knew the ground well. he had often strolled through that garden, and its walls and approaches were perfectly familiar to him. should he be enabled to surround it before the cibolero could got notice of their approach, he was sure of his victim. the latter must either be killed or captured. in five minutes after the arrival of the spy he had communicated the whole of their duties to the men; and in five minutes more they had ridden out of the woods, crossed the small tract that separated them from the house, and were in the act of surrounding the garden! it was at this moment that the dog cibolo first uttered his growl of alarm. "fly--fly!" cried catalina as she saw her lover approach. "oh! do not think of me! they dare not take my life. i have committed no offence. oh, carlos, leave me! fly! _madre de dios_! they come this way!" as she spoke a number of dark forms were seen entering from the avenue, and coming down the garden. their scabbards clanked among the bushes as they rushed through them. they were soldiers on foot! several remained by the entrance, while the rest ran forward. carlos had for a moment contemplated escape in that direction. it occurred to him, if he could get up to the house and on the azotea, he might drop off on either side, and, favoured by the darkness, return to the meadow at some distant point. this idea vanished the moment he saw that the entrance was occupied. he glanced to the walls. they were too high to be scaled. he would be attacked while attempting it. no other chance offered but to cut his way through by the bridge, he now saw the error he had committed in returning. she was in no danger--at least in no peril of her life. indeed her greater danger would arise from his remaining near her. he should have crossed the bridge at first. he was now separated from his horse. he might summon the latter by his call-- he knew that--but it would only bring the noble animal within reach of his foes--perhaps to be captured. that would be as much as taking his own life. no: he could not summon his steed from where he was, and he did not utter the signal. what was he to do? to remain by the side of catalina, to be surrounded and captured, perhaps cut down like a dog? to imperil her life as well?--no. he must make a desperate struggle to get out of the enclosure, to reach the open country if possible, and then-- his thoughts went no farther. he cried out-- "querida, farewell! i must leave you--do not despair. if i die, i shall carry your love to heaven! farewell, farewell!" these words were uttered in the parting haste of the moment, and he had sprung away so suddenly that he did not hear the answering farewell. the moment he was gone the lady dropped to her knees, and with hands clasped, and eyes raised to heaven, offered her prayer for his safety. half-a-dozen springs brought carlos once more under the shadow of the grove. he saw his foes on the opposite bank, and from their voices he could tell there were many of them. they were talking loudly and shouting directions to one another. he could distinguish the voice of roblado above the rest. he was calling upon some of the men to dismount and follow him over the bridge. he was himself on foot, for the purpose of crossing. carlos saw no other prospect of escape than by making a quick rush across the bridge, and cutting his way through the crowd. by that means he might reach the open plain, and fight his way until his horse could come up. once in the saddle he would have laughed at their attempts to take him. it was a desperate resolve,--a perilous running of the gauntlet,--almost certain death; but still more certain death was the alternative if he remained where he was. there was no time for hesitation. already several men had dismounted, and were making towards the bridge. he must cross before they had reached it; one was already upon it. he must be beaten back. carlos, cocking his pistol, rushed forward to the gate. the man had reached it from the other side. they met face to face, with the gate still shut between them. carlos saw that his antagonist was roblado himself! not a word was spoken between them. roblado also had his pistol in readiness and fired first, but missed his aim. he perceived this, and, dreading the fire from his adversary, he staggered back to the bank, shouting to his followers to discharge their carbines. before they could obey the order, the crack of the cibolero's pistol rang upon the air, and roblado, with a loud oath, rolled down by the edge of the water. carlos dashed open the gate, and was about to rush onward, when he perceived through the smoke and darkness several carbines brought to the level, and aimed at him. a sudden thought came into his mind, and he changed his design of crossing the bridge. the time was but the pulling of a trigger, but, short as it was, he effected his purpose. the carbines blazed and cracked, all nearly at the same instant, and when the smoke cleared away carlos was no longer on the bridge! had he gone back into the garden? no--already half-a-dozen men had cut off his retreat in that direction! "he is killed!" cried several voices, "carajo!--he has fallen into the river! _mira_!" all eyes were turned upon the stream. certainly a body had plunged into it, as the bubbles and circling waves testified, but only these were to be seen! "he has sunk! he's gone to the bottom!" cried some. "be sure he hasn't swum away!" counselled a voice; and several ran along the banks with their eyes searching the surface. "impossible! there are no waves." "he could not have passed here," said one who stood a little below the bridge. "i have been watching the water." "so have i," cried another from above. "he has not passed my position." "then he is dead and gone down!" "carajo! let us fish him out!" and they were proceeding to put this idea into execution, when roblado, who had now got to his feet, finding that a wounded arm was all he had suffered, ordered them to desist. "up and down!" he thundered; "scatter both ways--quick, or he may yet escape us. go!" the men did as they were ordered, but the party who turned down-stream halted through sheer surprise. the figure of a man was seen, in a bent attitude and crawling up the bank, at the distance of a hundred yards below. the next moment it rose into an erect position, and glided over the plain with lightning speed, in the direction of the copse of timber! "_hola_!" exclaimed several voices; "yonder he goes! _por todos santos_, it is he!" amidst the cracking of carbines that followed, a shrill whistle was heard; and before any of the mounted men could ride forward, a horse was seen shooting out from the copse and meeting the man upon the open meadow! quick as thought the latter vaulted into the saddle, and after uttering a wild and scornful laugh galloped off, and soon disappeared in the darkness! most of the dragoons sprang upon their horses and followed; but after a short gallop over the plain they gave up the chase, and one by one returned to their wounded leader. to say that roblado was furious would be to characterise very faintly the state he was in. but he had still one captive on which to vent his rage and chagrin. catalina had been captured in the garden,--taken while praying for the safe escape of her lover. jose had remained in charge of her, while the rest rushed down to assist in the capture of carlos, at which jose, knowing the cibolero as he did, and not being over brave, evinced no desire to be present. catalina heard the shots and shouts that denoted the terrible struggle. she had heard, too, the shrill whistle and the scornful laugh that rang loudly above the din. she had heard the shouts of the pursuers dying away in the distance. her heart beat with joy. she knew that her lover was free! she thought then, and then only, of herself. she thought, too, of escape. she knew the rude taunts she would have to listen to from the brutal leader of these miscreants. what could she do to avoid an encounter? she had but one to deal with--jose. she knew the despicable character of the man. would gold tempt him? she would make the trial. it was made, and succeeded. the large sum offered was irresistible. the villain knew that there could be no great punishment for letting go a captive who could at any time be taken again. he would risk the chances of his captain's displeasure for such a sum. his captain might have reasons for not dealing too severely with him. the purse was paid, and the lady was allowed to go. she was to close the door, locking it from the inside, as though she had escaped by flight; and this direction of jose was followed to the letter. as roblado crossed the bridge he was met by the soldier, who, breathless and stammering, announced that the fair prisoner had got into the house. she had slipped from his side and ran off. had it been an ordinary captive, he could have fired upon her, but he was unable to overtake her until she had passed the door, which was closed and locked before he could get near. for a moment roblado hesitated whether to "storm the house." his rage almost induced him to the act. he reflected, however, that the proceeding might appear somewhat ridiculous and could not much better his position; besides, the pain of his wounded arm admonished him to retire from the field. he re-crossed the bridge, was helped upon his horse, and, summoning around him his valiant troop, he rode back to the presidio--leaving the roused town to conjecture the cause of the alarm. chapter forty eight. next morning the town was full of "novedades." at first it was supposed there had been an attack of indians repelled as usual by the troops. what valiant protectors the people had! after a while it was rumoured that carlos the murderer had been captured, and that was the cause of the firing,--that captain roblado was killed in the affair. presently carlos was not taken, but he had been chased and came very near being taken! roblado had engaged him singly, hand to hand, and had wounded him, but in the darkness he had got off by diving down the river. in the encounter the outlaw had shot the captain through the arm, which prevented the latter from making him a prisoner. this rumour came direct from the presidio. it was partly true. the wounding of carlos by roblado was an addition to the truth, intended to give a little _eclat_ to the latter, for it became known afterwards that the cibolero had escaped without even a scratch. people wondered why the outlaw should have ventured to approach the town, knowing as he did that there was a price upon his head. some very powerful motive must have drawn him thither. the motive soon became known,--the whole story leaked out; and then, indeed, did scandal enjoy a feast. catalina had been for some time the acknowledged belle of the place, and, what with envious women and jealous men, she was now treated with slight show of charity. the very blackest construction was put upon her "compromisa." it was worse even than a _mesalliance_. the "society" were horrified at her conduct in stooping to intimacy with a "lepero;" while even the lepero class, itself fanatically religious, condemned her for her association with "un asesino," but, still worse, a "heretico!" the excitement produced by this new affair was great indeed,--a perfect panic. the cibolero's head rose in value, like the funds. the magistrates and principal men assembled in the casa de cabildo. a new proclamation was drawn out. a larger sum was offered for the capture of carlos, and the document was rendered still stronger by a declaration of severe punishment to all who should give him food or protection. if captured beneath the roof of any citizen who had voluntarily sheltered him, the latter was to suffer full confiscation of his property, besides such further punishment as might be fixed upon. the church was not silent. the padres promised excommunication and the wrath of heaven against those who would stay justice from the heretic murderer! these were terrible terms for the outlaw! fortunately for him, he knew how to live without a roof over his head. he could maintain existence where his enemies would have starved, and where they were unable to follow him,--on the wide desert plain, or in the rocky ravines of the mountains. had he depended for food or shelter on his fellow-citizens of the settlement he would soon have met with betrayal and denouncement. but the cibolero was as independent of such a necessity as the wild savage of the prairies. he could sleep on the grassy sward or the naked rock, he could draw sustenance even from the arid surface of the llano estacado, and there he could bid defiance to a whole army of pursuers. at the council don ambrosio was not present. grief and rage kept him within doors. a stormy scene had been enacted between him and his daughter. henceforth she was to be strictly guarded--to be kept a prisoner in her father's house--to be taught repentance by the exercise of penance. to describe the feelings of roblado and the comandante would be impossible. these gentlemen were well-nigh at their wits' end with mortification. disappointment, humiliation, physical and moral pain, had worked them into a frenzy of rage; and they were engaged together during all the day in plotting schemes and plans for the capture of their outlawed enemy. roblado was not less earnest than the comandante in the success of their endeavours. carlos had now given both of them good cause to hate him, and both hated him from the bottom of their hearts. what vexed roblado most was, that he was no longer able to take the field--nor was he likely to be for several weeks. his wound, though not dangerous, would oblige him to sling his arm for some time, and to manage a horse would be out of the question. the strategic designs of the comandante and himself would have to be carried out by those who felt far less interest in the capture of the outlaw than they did. indeed, but for the arrival of a brace of lieutenants, sent from division head-quarters at santa fe, the garrison would have been without a commissioned officer fit for duty. these new-comers--lieutenants yafiez and ortiga--were neither of them the men to catch the cibolero. they were brave enough--ortiga in particular--but both were late arrivals from spain, and knew nothing whatever of border warfare. the soldiers were desirous of hunting the outlaw down, and acted with sufficient zeal. the stimulus of a large reward, which was promised to them, rendered them eager of effecting his capture; and they went forth on each fresh scout with alacrity. but they were not likely to attack the cibolero unless a goodly number of them were together. no one or two of them--including the celebrated sergeant gomez--would venture within range of his rifle, much less go near enough to lay hands upon him. the actual experience of his prowess by some of them, and the exaggerated reports of it known to others, had made such an impression upon the whole troop, that the cibolero could have put a considerable body of them to flight only by showing himself! but in addition to the skill, strength, and daring which he had in reality exhibited--in addition to the exaggeration of those qualities by the fancy--the soldiers as well as people had become possessed with a strange belief-- that was, that the cibolero was under the protection of his mother-- under the protection of the "diablo"--in other words, that he was _bewitched_, and therefore invincible! some asserted that he was impervious to shot, spear, or sabre. those who had fired their carbines at him while on the bridge fully believed this. they were ready to swear--each one of them--that they had hit the cibolero, and must have killed him had he not been under supernatural protection! wonderful stories now circulated among the soldiers and throughout the settlement. the cibolero was seen everywhere, and always mounted on his coal-black horse, who shared his supernatural fame. he had been seen riding along the top of the cliffs at full gallop, and so close to their edge that he might have blown the stump of his cigar into the valley below! others had met him in the night on lonely walks amid the chapparal, and according to them his face and hands had appeared red and luminous as coals of fire! he had been seen on the high plains by the hateros--on the cliff of "la nina"--in many parts of the valley; but no one had ventured near enough to exchange words with him. every one had fled or shunned him. it was even asserted that he had been seen crossing the little bridge that led out of don ambrosio's garden, and thus brought down a fresh shower of scandal on the devoted head of catalina. the scandal-mongers, however, were sadly disappointed on hearing that this bridge no longer existed, but had been removed by don ambrosio on the day following the discovery of his daughter's misconduct! in no part of the world is superstition stronger than among the ignorant populace of the settlements of new mexico. in fact, it may be regarded as forming part of their religion. the missionary padres, in grafting the religion of rome upon the sun-worship of quetzalcoatl, admitted for their own purposes a goodly string of superstitions. it would be strange if their people did not believe in others, however absurd. witchcraft, therefore, and all like things, were among the new mexicans as much matters of belief as the deity himself. it is not then to be wondered at that carlos the cibolero became associated with the devil. his feat of horsemanship and hair-breadth escapes from his enemies were, to say the least, something wonderful and romantic, even when viewed in a natural sense. but the populace of san ildefonso no longer regarded them in this light. with them his skill in the "coleo de toros," in "running the cock,"--his feat of horsemanship on the cliff--his singular escapes from carbine and lance, were no longer due to himself, but to the devil. the "diablo" was at the bottom of all! if the outlaw appeared so often during the next few days to those who did not wish to see him, it was somewhat strange that those who were desirous of a sight and an interview could get neither one nor the other. the lieutenants, yafiez and ortiga, with their following of troopers, were on the scout and look-out from morning till night, and from one day's end to the other. the spies that were thickly-set in all parts where there was a probability he might appear, could see nothing of carlos! to-day he was reported here, to-morrow there; but on tracing these reports to their sources, it usually turned out that some ranchero with a black horse had been taken for him; and thus the troopers were led from place to place, and misled by false reports, until both horses and men were nearly worn out in the hopeless pursuit. this, however, had become the sole duty on which the soldiers were employed--as the comandante had no idea of giving up the chase so long as there was a trooper left to take the trail. one place was closely watched both by day and by night. it was watched by soldiers disguised, and also by spies employed for the purpose. this was the rancho of the cibolero himself. the disguised soldiers and spies were placed around it, in such positions that they could see every movement that took place outside the walls without being themselves seen. these positions they held during the day, taking others at night; and the surveillance was thus continual, by these secret sentries relieving one another. should the cibolero appear, it was not the duty of the spies to attack him. they were only to communicate with a troop--kept in readiness not far off--that thus insured a sufficient force for the object. the mother and sister of the cibolero had returned to live in the rancho. the peons had re-roofed and repaired it--an easy task, as the walls had not been injured by the five. it was now as comfortable a dwelling as ever. the mother and sister were not molested--in fact, they were supposed to know nothing of the fact that eyes were continually upon them. but there was a design in this toleration. they were to be narrowly watched in their movements. they were never to leave the rancho without being closely followed, and the circumstance of their going out reported to the leader of the ambushed troop at the moment of its occurrence. these orders were of the strictest kind, and their disobedience threatened with severe punishment. the reasons for all this were quite simple. both vizcarra and roblado believed, or suspected, that carlos might leave the settlement altogether--why should he not?--and take both mother and sister along with him. indeed, why should he not? the place could be no more a home to him, and he would easily find another beyond the great plains. no time could ever release him from the ban that hung over him. he could never pay the forfeit of his life--but by that life. it was, therefore, perfectly natural in the two officers to suspect him of the intention of moving elsewhere. but, reasoned they, so long as we hold the mother and sister as hostages, he will not leave them. he will still continue to lurk around the settlement, and, if not now, some time shall the fox be caught and destroyed. so reasoned the comandante and his captain, and hence the strictness of their orders about guarding the rancho. its inmates were really prisoners, though--as vizcarra and roblado supposed--they were ignorant of the fact. notwithstanding all their ingenious plans--notwithstanding all their spies, and scouts, and soldiers--notwithstanding their promises of reward and threats of punishment--day followed day, and still the outlaw remained at large. chapter forty nine. for a long time carlos had neither been seen nor heard of except through reports that on being examined turned out to be false. both the comandante and his _confrere_ began to grow uneasy. they began to fear he had in reality left the settlement and gone elsewhere to live, and this they dreaded above all things. both had a reason for wishing him thus out of the place, and until late occurrences nothing would have pleased them better. but their feelings had undergone a change, and neither the intended seducer nor the fortune-hunter desired that things should end just in that way. the passion of revenge had almost destroyed the ruffian love of the one, and the avarice of the other. the very sympathy which both received on account of their misfortunes whetted this passion to a continued keenness. there was no danger of its dying within the breast of either. the looking-glass alone would keep it alive in vizcarra's bosom for the rest of his life. they were together on the azotea of the presidio, talking the matter between them, and casting over the probabilities of their late suspicion. "he is fond of the sister," remarked the comandante; "and mother too, for that matter, hag as she is! still, my dear roblado, a man likes his own life better than anything else. near is the shirt, etcetera. he knows well that to stay here is to get into our hands some time or other, and he knows what we'll do with him if he should. though he has made some clever escapes, i'll admit, that may not always be his fortune. the pitcher may go to the well once too often. he's a cunning rascal--no doubt knows this riddle--and therefore i begin to fear he has taken himself off,--at least for a long while. he may return again, but how the deuce are we to sustain this constant espionage? it would weary down the devil! it will become as tiresome as the siege of granada was to the good king fernando and his warlike spouse of the soiled chemise. _por dios_! i'm sick of it already!" "rather than let him escape us," replied roblado, "i'd wear out my life at it." "so i--so i, capitan. don't fear i have the slightest intention of dropping our system of vigilance. no--no--look in this face. _carajo_!" and as the speaker reflected upon his spoiled features, the bitterest scowl passed over them, making them still more hideous. "and yet," continued vizcarra, following out the original theme, "it does not seem natural that he should leave _them_ behind him, even for a short period, after what has occurred, and after the risk he ran to recover _her_; does it?" "no," replied the other, thoughtfully, "no. what i most wonder at is his not setting off with them the night she got back,--that very night,--for by the letter he was there upon the spot! but, true, it takes some time to prepare for a journey across the prairies. he would never have gone to one of our own settlements--not likely--and to have travelled elsewhere would have required some preparation for the women at least; for himself, i believe he is as much at home in the desert as either the antelope or the prairie wolf. still with an effort he might have gone away at that time and taken them along with him. it was bad management on our part not to send our men down that night." "i had no fear of his going off, else i should have done so." "how?--no fear? was it not highly probable?" "not in the least," replied roblado. "i cannot understand you, my dear capitan. why not?" "because there is a magnet in this valley that held him tighter than either mother or sister could, and i knew that." "oh! now i understand you." "yes," continued roblado, grinding his teeth against each other, and speaking in a bitter tone; "that precious `margarita,' that is yet to be my wife,--ha! ha! he was not likely to be off without having a talk with her. they have had it. god knows whether they agreed to make it their last, but i, with the help of don ambrosio, have arranged that for them. _carrai_! she'll make no more midnight sorties, i fancy. no-- he's not gone. i cannot think it,--for two reasons. first, on her account. have you ever loved, comandante? i mean truly loved! ha! ha! ha!" "ha! ha! ha! well i think i was caught once." "then you will know that when a man really loves--for i myself count that foolish act among my experiences,--when a man really loves, there's no rope strong enough to pull him away from the spot where the object of his love resides. no, i believe this fellow, low as he is, not only loves but worships this future wife of mine,--ha! ha!--and i believe also that no danger, not even the prospect of the garrote, will frighten him from the settlement so long as he has the hope of another clandestine _tete-a-tete_ with her; and, knowing that she is ready to meet him half-way in such a matter, he will not have lost hope yet. "but my second reason for believing he is still lurking about is that which you yourself have brought forward. he is not likely to leave them behind after what has happened. we have not blinded him; though--_gracias a dios_, or the devil--we have dusted the eyes of everybody besides! he knows all, as the girl vicenza can well testify. now, i have no belief that, knowing all this, he would leave them for any lengthened period. what i do believe is that the fellow is as cunning as a _coyote_, sees our trap, knows the bait, and won't be caught if he can help it. he is not far off, and, through these accursed peons of his, communicates with the women regularly and continually." "what can be done?" "i have been thinking." "if we stop the peons from going back and forth they would be sure to know the trap that was set around them." "exactly so, comandante. that would never do." "have you considered any other plan?" "partly i have." "let us hear it!" "it is this. some of those peons regularly visit the fellow in his lair. i feel certain of it. of course they have been followed, but only in daylight, and then they are found to be on their ordinary business. but there is one of them who goes abroad at night; and all attempts at following him have proved abortive. he loses himself in the chapparal paths in spite of the spies. that is why i am certain he visits the cibolero." "it seems highly probable." "now if we can find one who could either follow this fellow or track him--but there's the difficulty. we are badly off for a good tracker. there is not one in the whole troop." "there are other ciboleros and hunters in the valley. why not procure one of them?" "true, we might--there are none of them over well disposed to the outlaw--so it is said. but i fear there is none of them fit, that is, none who combines both the skill and the courage necessary for this purpose--for both are necessary. they hate the fellow enough, but they fear him as well. there is _one_ whom i have heard of,--in fact know something of him,--who would be the very man for us. he not only would not fear an encounter with the cibolero, but would hardly shun one with the devil; and, as for his skill in all sorts of indian craft, his reputation among his kind is even greater than that of carlos himself." "who is he?" "i should say there are two of them, for the two always go together; one is a mulatto, who has formerly been a slave among the americanos. he is now a runaway, and therefore hates everything that reminds him of his former masters. among other souvenirs, as i am told, he hates our cibolero with a good stout hatred. this springs partly from the feeling already mentioned, and partly from the rivalry of hunter-fame. so much in our favour. the _alter ego_ of the mulatto is a man of somewhat kindred race, a _zambo_ from the coast near matamoras or tampico how he strayed this way no one knows, but it is a good while ago, and the mulatto and he have for long been shadows of each other; live together, hunt together, and fight for one another. both are powerful men, and cunning as strong; but the mulatto is the zambo's master in everything, villainy not excepted. neither is troubled with scruples. they would be the very men for our purpose." "and why not get them at once?" "therein lies the difficulty--unfortunately they are not here at present. they are off upon a hunt. they are hangers-on of the mission, occasionally employed by the padres in procuring venison and other game. "now it seems that the stomachs of our good abstemious fathers have lately taken a fancy to buffalo tongue cured in a certain way, which can only be done when the animal is fresh killed. in order to procure this delicacy they have sent these hunters to the buffalo range." "how long have they been gone?--can you tell?" "several weeks--long before the return of our cibolero." "it is possible they may be on the way back. is it not?" "i think it quite probable, but i shall ride over to the mission this very hour and inquire." "do so; it would be well if we could secure them. a brace of fellows, such as you describe these to be, would be worth our whole command. lose no time." "i shall not waste a minute," roblado replied, and leaning over the wall he called out, "hola! jose! my horse there!" shortly after a messenger came up to say that his horse was saddled and ready. he was about to descend the escalera, when a large closely-cropped head--with a circular patch about the size of a blister shaven out of the crown--made its appearance over the stone-work at the top of the escalera. it was the head of the padre joaquin, and the next moment the owner, bland and smiling, appeared upon the azotea. chapter fifty. the monk who presented himself was the same who had figured at the dinner-party. he was the senior of the two that directed the mission, and in every respect the ruler of the establishment. he was known as the padre joaquin, while his junior was the padre jorge. the latter was a late addition to the post, whereas padre joaquin had been its director almost since the time of its establishment. he was, therefore, an old resident, and knew the history and character of every settler in the valley. for some reason or other he held an inveterate dislike to the family of the cibolero, to which he had given expression upon the evening of the dinner-party,--although he assigned no cause for his hostility. it could not have been because he regarded them as "hereticos," for, though the padre joaquin was loud in his denunciations of all who were outside the pale of the church, yet in his own heart he cared but little about such things. his zeal for religion was sheer hypocrisy and worldly cunning. there was no vice practised in the settlement in which padre joaquin did not take a leading part. an adroit _monte_ player he was--ready to do a little cheating upon occasions--a capital judge of game "gallos," ever ready to stake his onzas upon a "main." in addition to these accomplishments, the padre boasted of others. in his cups,--and this was nothing unusual,--he was in the habit of relating the _liaisons_ and _amourettes_ of his earlier life, and even some of later date. although the neophytes of the mission were supposed to be all native tagnos with dark skins, yet there was to be seen upon the establishment quite a crowd of young _mestizoes_, both boys and girls, who were known as the "sobrinos" and "sobrinas" of padre joaquin. you cannot otherwise than deem this an exaggeration: you will imagine that no reverend father could practise such conduct, and still be held in any sort of respect by the people among whom he dwelt? so should i have thought had i not witnessed with my own eyes and ears the "priest-life" of mexico. the immoralities here ascribed to padre joaquin can scarcely be called exceptional in his class. they are rather common than otherwise--some have even said _universal_. it was no zealous feeling of religion, then, that could have "set" the monk in such hostile attitude against the family of the poor cibolero. no. it was some old grudge against the deceased father,--some cross which the padre had experienced from him in the days of the former comandante. as padre joaquin walked forward on the azotea, his busy bustling air showed that he was charged with some "novedad;" and the triumphant smile upon his countenance told that he calculated upon its being of interest to those to whom he was about to communicate it. "good day, father!--good day, your reverence!" said the comandante and roblado speaking at the same time. "_buenos dias, cavalleros_!" responded the padre. "glad to see you, good father!" said roblado. "you have saved me a ride. i was just in the act of starting for the mission to wait upon your reverence." "and if you had come, capitan, i could have given you a luxury to lunch upon. we have received our buffalo-tongues." "oh! you have!" cried vizcarra and roblado in the same breath, and with an expression of interest that somewhat surprised the padre. "ha! you greedy _ladrones_! i see what you would be after. you would have me send you some of them. you sha'n't have a slice though--that is, unless you can give me something that will wash this dust out of my throat. i'm woeful thirsty this morning." "ha! ha! ha!" laughed the officers. "what shall it be, father?" "well--let me see.--ah!--a cup of `bordeos'--that you received by last arrival." the claret was ordered and brought up; and the padre, tossing off a glassful, smacked his lips after it with the air of one who well knew and appreciated the good quality of the wine. "_linda! lindisima_!" he exclaimed, rolling his eyes up to heaven, as if everything good should come and go in that direction. "and so, padre," said the impatient roblado, "you have got your buffalo-tongues? your hunters, then, have returned?" "they have; that is the business that brought me over." "good! that was the business that was about to take me to the mission." "an onza we were both on the same errand!" challenged the padre. "i won't bet, father; you always win." "come! you'd be glad to give an onza for my news." "what news?--what news?" asked the officers at once, and with hurried impatience of manner. "another cup of bordeos, or i choke! the dust of that road is worse than purgatory. ah! this is a relief." and again the padre swallowed a large glassful of claret, and smacked his lips as before. "now your news, dear padre?" "_pues_, cavalleros--our hunters have returned!" "_y pues_?" "_pues que_! they have brought news." "of what?" "of our friend the cibolero." "of carlos?" "precisely of that individual." "what news? have they seen him?" "no, not exactly _him_, but _his trail_. they have discovered his lair, and know where he is at this moment." "good!" exclaimed vizcarra and roblado. "they can find him at any time." "excellent!" "_pues_, cavalleros; that is my news at your service. use it to your advantage, if you can." "dear padre!" replied vizcarra, "yours is a wiser head than ours. you know the situation of affairs. our troopers _cannot catch_ this villain. how would you advise us to act?" the padre felt nattered by this confidence. "amigos!" said he, drawing both of them together, "i have been thinking of this; and it is my opinion you will do just as well without the help of a single soldier. take these two hunters into your confidence--so far as may be necessary--equip them for the work--set them on the trail; and if they don't hunt down the heretic rascal, then i, padre joaquin, have no knowledge of men." "why, padre!" said roblado; "it's the very thing we have been thinking about--the very business for which i was about to seek you." "you had good reason, cavalleros. in my opinion, it's the best course to be followed." "but will your hunters go willingly to work? they are free men, and may not like to engage in so dangerous an enterprise." "dangerous!" repeated the padre. "the danger will be no obstacle to them, i promise you. they have the courage of lions and the agility of tigers. you need not fear that danger will stand in the way." "you think, then, they will be disposed to it?" "they _are_ disposed--i have sounded them. they have some reasons of their own for not loving the cibolero too dearly; and therefore, cavalleros, you won't require to use much persuasion on that score. i fancy you'll find them ready enough, for they have, been reading the proclamation, and, if i mistake not, have been turning over in their thoughts the fine promises it holds out. make it sure to them that they will be well rewarded, and they'll bring you the cibolero's ears, or his scalp, or his whole carcase, if you prefer it, in less than three days from the present time! they'll track him down, i warrant." "should we send some troopers along with them? the cibolero may not be alone. we have reason to believe he has a half-blood with him--a sort of right-hand man of his own--and with this help he may be quite a match for your hunters." "not likely--they are very _demonios_. but you can consult themselves about that. they will know best whether they need assistance. that is their own affair, cavalleros. let them decide." "shall we send for them? or will you send them to us?" inquired roblado. "do you not think it would be better for one of you to go to _them_? the matter should be managed privately. if they make their appearance here, and hold an interview with either of you, your business with them will be suspected, and perchance get known to _him_. if it should reach his ears that these fellows are after him, their chances of taking him would be greatly diminished." "you are right, father," said roblado. "how can we communicate with these fellows privately?" "nothing easier than that, capitan. go to their house--i should rather say to their hut--for they live in a sort of hovel by the rocks. the place is altogether out of the common track. no one will be likely to see you on your visit. you must pass through a narrow road in the chapparal; but i shall send you a guide who knows the spot, and he will conduct you. i think it like enough the fellows will be expecting you, as i hinted to them to stay at home--that possibly they might be wanted. no doubt you'll find them there at this moment." "when can you send up the guide?" "he is here now--my own attendant will do. he is below in the court-- you need lose no time." "no. roblado," added the comandante, "your horse is ready--you cannot do better than go at once." "then go i shall: your guide, padre?" "esteban! hola! esteban!" cried the padre, leaning over the wall. "_aqui, senor_," answered a voice. "_sube! sube! anda_!" (come up quickly.) the next moment an indian boy appeared upon the azotea, and taking off his hat approached the padre with an air of reverence. "you will guide the capitan through the path in the chapparal to the hunters' hut." "si, senor." "don't tell any one you have done so." "no, senor." "if you do you shall catch the `cuarto.' _vaya_!" roblado, followed by the boy, descended the escalera; and, after being helped on his horse, rode away from the gate. the padre, at the invitation of vizcarra, emptied another cup of bordeos; and then, telling his host that a luncheon of the new luxury awaited him at the mission, he bade him good day, and shuffled off homeward. vizcarra remained alone upon the azotea. had any one been there to watch him, they would have noticed that his countenance assumed a strange and troubled expression every time his eyes chanced to wander in the direction of la nina. chapter fifty one. roblado entered the chapparal, the boy esteban stepping a few paces in advance of his horse's head. for half-a-mile or so he traversed a leading road that ran between the town and one of the passes. he then struck into a narrow path, but little used except by hunters or vaqueros in search of their cattle. this path conducted him, after a ride of two or three miles, to the base of the cliffs, and there was found the object of his journey--the dwelling-place of the hunters. it was a mere hut--a few upright posts supporting a single roof, which slanted up, with a very slight inclination, against the face of the rock. the posts were trunks of a species of arborescent yucca that grew plentifully around the spot, and the roof-thatch was the stiff loaves of the same, piled thickly over each other. there was a sort of rude door, made of boards split from the larger trunks of the yucca, and hung with strong straps of _parfleche_, or thick buffalo leather. also a hole that served for a window, with a shutter of the same material, and similarly suspended. the walls were a wattle of vines and slender poles bent around the uprights, and daubed carelessly with a lining of mud. the smooth vertical rock served for one side of the house--so that so much labour had been spared in the building--and the chimney, which was nothing better than a hole in the roof, conducted the smoke in such a manner that a sooty streak marked its course up the face of the cliff. the door entered at one end, close in by the rock, but the window was in the side or front. through the latter the inmates of the hut could command a view of any one approaching by the regular path. this, however, was a rare occurrence, as the brace of rude hunters had but few acquaintances, and their dwelling was far removed from any frequented route. indeed, the general track of travel that led along the bottom line of the bluffs did not approach within several hundred yards of this point, in consequence of the indentation or bay in which the hut was placed. moreover, the thick chapparal screened it from observation on one side, while the cliffs shut it in upon the other. behind the house--that is, at the hinder end of it--was a small _corral_, its walls rudely constructed with fragments of rock. in this stood three lean and sore-backed mules, and a brace of mustangs no better off. there was a field adjoining the corral, or what had once been a field, but from neglect had run into a bed of grass and weeds. a portion of it, however, showed signs of cultivation--a patch here and there--on which stood some maize-plants, irregularly set and badly hoed, and between their stems the trailing tendrils of the melon and calabash. it was a true squatter's plantation. around the door lay half-a-dozen wolfish-looking dogs; and under the shelter of the overhanging rock, two or three old pack-saddles rested upon the ground. upon a horizontal pole two riding saddles were set astride--old, worn, and torn--and from the same pole hung a pair of bridles, and some strings of jerked meat and pods of chile pepper. inside the house might have been seen a couple of indian women, not over cleanly in their appearance, engaged in kneading coarse bread and stewing tasajo. a fire burnt against the rock, between two stones-- earthen pots and gourd dishes lay littered over the floor. the walls were garnished with bows, quivers, and skins of animals, and a pair of embankments of stones and mud, one at each corner of the room-- there was but one room--served as bedstead and beds. a brace of long spears rested in one corner, alongside a rifle and a spanish _escopeta_; and above hung a machete or sword-knife, with powder-horns, pouches, and other equipments necessary to a hunter of the rocky mountains. there were nets and other implements for fishing and taking small game, and these constituted the chief furniture of the hovel. all these things roblado might have seen by entering the hut; but he did not enter, as the men he was in search of chanced to be outside--the mulatto lying stretched along the ground, and the zambo swinging in a hammock between two trees, according to the custom of his native country--the coast-lands of the _tierra caliente_. the aspect of these men, that would have been displeasing to almost any one else, satisfied roblado. they were just the men for his work. he had seen both before, but had never scrutinised them till now; and, as he glanced at their bold swarthy faces and brawny muscular frames, he thought to himself, "these are just the fellows to deal with the cibolero." a formidable pair they looked. each one of them, so far as appearance went, might with safety assail an antagonist like the cibolero--for either of them was bigger and bulkier than he. the mulatto was the taller of the two. he was also superior in strength, courage, and sagacity. a more unamiable countenance it would have been difficult to meet in all that land, without appealing to that of the zambo. there you found its parallel. the skin of the former was dull yellow in colour, with a thin beard over the cheeks and around the lips. the lips were negro-like, thick, and purplish, and behind them appeared a double row of large wolfish teeth. the eyes were sunken--their whites mottled with yellowish flakes. heavy dark brows shadowed them, standing far apart, separated by the broad flatfish nose, the nostrils of which stood so widely open as to cause a protuberance on each side. large ears were hidden under a thick frizzled shock that partook of the character both of hair and wool. over this was bound, turban fashion, an old check madras kerchief that had not come in contact with soap for many a day; and from under its folds the woolly hair straggled down over the forehead so as to add to the wild and fierce expression of the face. it was a countenance that proclaimed ferocity, reckless daring, cunning, and an utter absence of all humane sentiment. the dress of the man had little in it differing from others who lead the life of a prairie-hunter. it was a mixture of leather and blanket. the head-dress only was peculiar. that was an old souvenir of the southern states and their negro life. the zambo had a face as ferocious in its expression as that of his confrere. it differed in colour. it was a coppery black--combining the hues of both races from whom he derived his origin. he had the thick lips and retreating forehead of the negro, but the indian showed itself in his hair, which scarcely waved, but hung in long snaky tresses about his neck and shoulders. he was altogether less distinguished-looking than his comrade the mulatto. his dress partook of the character of his tribe--wide trousers of coarse cotton stuff, with a sleeveless shirt of the same material,--a waist scarf, and coarse serape. half the upper part of his body was nude, and his thick copper-coloured arms were quite bare. roblado arrived just in time to witness the _finale_ of an incident that would serve to illustrate the character of the zambo. he was half sitting, half-lying in his hammock, in the enjoyment of a husk cigar, and occasionally striking at the flies with his raw-hide whip. he called out to one of the women--his wife for the time-- "nina! i want to eat something--is the _guisado_ ready?" "not yet," answered a voice from the hut. "bring me a tortilla then, with chile colorado." "_querido_--you know there is no chile colorado in the house," was the reply. "nina! come here! i want you." the woman came out, and approached the hammock, but evidently with some mistrust. the zambo sat perfectly silent until she was close enough for his purpose, and then, suddenly raising the raw-hide, which he had hitherto held behind him, he laid it with all his strength over her back and shoulders. a thin chemisette was all that intervened to hinder the full severity of the blows, and these fell thick end fast, until the sufferer took courage and retreated out of reach! "now, nina, dear love! the next time i call for a tortilla with chile colorado you'll have it--won't you, dear pet?" and then laying himself back in his hammock, the savage uttered a roar of laughter, in which he was joined by the mulatto, who would have done just the same by his better half for a like provocation! it was just at this crisis roblado pulled up in front of the hovel. both got to their feet to receive him, and both saluted him with a gesture of respect. they knew who he was. the mulatto, as the principal man, took the principal part in the conversation, while the zambo hung in the background. the dialogue was carried on in a low tone on account of the woman and the boy esteban. it resulted, however, in the hunters being engaged, as the padre had suggested, to track and follow the cibolero carlos to death or capture. if the former, a large sum was to be their reward--if the latter, a sum still larger--nearly double! with regard to assistance from the troops, neither mulatto nor zambo wished for any. quite the contrary. they had no desire that the magnificent bounty should be diminished by subdivision. as it stood, it would be a small fortune to both of them, and the brilliant prospect whetted their appetite for the success of the job. his errand having been thus accomplished, the officer rode back to the presidio; while the man-hunters immediately set about making preparations for expedition. chapter fifty two. the mulatto and zambo--manuel and pepe were their respective names--in half-an-hour after were ready for the road. their preparations did not cost them half that time; but a quarter of an hour was spent on the _guisado_, and each smoked a husk cigarrito, while their horses were grinding up the half-dozen heads of green maize that had been thrown them. having finished their cigars, the hunters leaped into their saddles, and rode off. the mulatto was armed with a long rifle, of the kind used by american hunters, and a knife of the sort since known as a "bowie," with a strong thick blade keenly pointed and double-edged for some inches from the point--a terrible weapon in close combat. these arms he had brought with him from the mississippi valley, where he had learnt how to use them. the zambo carried an escopeta strapped in a slanting direction along the flap of his saddle, a machete upon his thigh, and a bow with a quiver of arrows hung over his back. the last of these weapons--for certain purposes, such as killing game, or when a silent shot may be desirable-- is preferred to any sort of fire-arms. arrows can be delivered more rapidly than bullets, and, should the first shot fail, the intended victim is less likely to be made aware of the presence of his enemy. in addition to these weapons, both had pistols stuck in their belts, and lazos hanging coiled from their saddle-bows. behind them on the croup each carried his provisions--a few strips of tasajo with some cold tortillas tied in a piece of buckskin. a double-headed calabash for water, with sundry horns, pouches, and bags, completed their equipment. a pair of huge gaunt dogs trotted behind their horses' heels, fierce and savage-looking as their masters. one was the wolf-dog of the country, the other a spanish bloodhound. "what road, man'l?" inquired the zambo as they parted from the hut; "straight down to the pecos?" "no, pepe boy: must climb, go round. seen making down valley, somebody guess what we're after--send him word we're coming. he suspect--we not grow rich so easily. no--must get up by old track--cross to dry gully-- down that to pecos. take longer--make things surer, boy pepe." "carrambo!" exclaimed pepe. "it's a murderous climb. my poor beast's so jaded with the buffalo running, that he'll scarce get up. _carrai_!" after a short ride through the thicket and along the bottom of the cliffs, they arrived at a point where a ravine sloped to the upper plain. up the bottom of this ravine was a difficult pass--difficult on account of its steepness. any other horses than mountain-reared mustangs would have refused it, but these can climb like cats. even the dogs could scarcely crawl up this ascent. in spite of its almost vertical slope, the hunters dismounted, crawled up, and, pulling their horses after them, soon reached the table-land above. after breathing themselves and their animals, they once more got astride, and, heading northward, rode rapidly off over the plain. "now, boy pepe," muttered the mulatto, "chance meet any sheep-keepers, going after antelope; you hear?" "ay, man'l; i understand." these were the last words exchanged between them for ten miles. they rode in file--the mulatto in the lead, the zambo in his tracks, and the dogs following in the rear. these two went also in file, the bloodhound heading the wolf. at the end of ten miles they reached a dry river channel, that ran transversely across their route. it was the same which carlos and his party had followed on the day of their escape after the affair at the presidio. the hunters entered it, and, turning downward, as carlos had done, followed it to its mouth upon the banks of the pecos. here was a grove of timber, which they entered, and, having dismounted, tied their horses to the trees. these animals, though lately arrived from a long journey, and now having passed over more than thirty miles at a brisk rate, showed no symptoms of being done up. lean though they were, they possessed the tough wiry strength of their race, and either of them could have gone another hundred miles without breaking down. this their masters well knew, else they would have gone upon their man-hunt with less confidence of success. "may gallop away on his fine black," remarked the mulatto, as he glanced at the mustangs. "soon overhaul him again--won't we, boy pepe?" "_chinga_! we will." "brace of hacks tire out racer,--won't they, boy pepe?" "_chingara_! so they will, man'l." "don't want to try that game though--do the job easier; won't we, boy pepe?" "i hope so, man'l." "cibolero in the cave sure--stays there--no better place for him. won't be caught sleeping,--troopers never follow him up the pass. convenient to valley. goes back and forward spite of spies. tracks could lead nowhere else--sure in the cave, horse and all. when? that the trouble, boy pepe." "_es verdad_! if we knew when he was in, or when he was out, either." "ay, knew that, no difficulty,--set our trap easy enough, boy pepe." "he must surely be there in daytime?" "just been thinking--goes to the settlements--must be by night, that's clear--goes there, boy pepe, maybe not to rancho, somewhere near. must go to meet anton. not like anton meet him at cave--guero too sharp for that--goes out to meet anton, sure!" "might we not track anton?" "might track anton--no good that--would have to deal with both together. besides, don't want kill anton--no ill-will to anton--make things worse if find anton with him. never do, boy pepe--have hands full with guero himself--plenty do capture him. must not forget capture--not kill-- leave that to them. no use track anton--know where t'other keeps. if didn't know that, then might track anton." "can't we get near the cave in daylight, man'l? i don't have a good memory of the place." "mile--no nearer--unless he sleep--when sleep? tell me that, boy pepe!" "and suppose he be awake?" "see us enter the canon, mile off--jump into saddle, pass up to plain above--maybe three days before find him again--maybe not find at all, boy pepe." "well, brother man'l--i have a plan. let us get near the mouth of the canon, and hide outside of it till night--then as soon as it is dark creep into where it narrows. he will come down that way to go out. what then? we can have a shot at him as he passes!" "pooh, boy pepe! think lose chance of half reward--risk whole by shot in dark? dam! no--have whole or none--set us up for life--take him alive, take him alive, sure." "well then," rejoined the zambo, "let him pass out of the canon, and when he's gone clear out of reach we can go up, get into the cave, and wait his return. what say you to that?" "talk sense now, boy pepe--something like plan about that--what we do-- but not go inside canon till guero clear away. only near enough see him go out, then for cave--right plan to take him. sun near dawn, time we start--come!" "_vamos_!" both mounted, and rode forward to the bank of the river. there was no ford at the spot, but what of that? with scarce a moment's delay they plunged their horses into the stream and swam across. the dogs followed their example, and all came out dripping on the opposite bank. the evening was chill, but what was heat or cold to such men? nothing signified their wet clothes to them; and without halting they rode straight forward to the ceja of the llano estacado, and having reached it turned to the right, and rode along the base of the bluffs. after following the line of the ceja for two or three miles they approached a spur of the cliff that ran out into the plain, and gradually tapered to a point, sinking lower as it receded from the llano. it ended in a clump, or rather several clusters, of isolated rocks and boulders that stood near each other. the place was not timbered, but the dark rocks irregularly piled upon each other gave it a shaggy appearance; and among their crevices, and the spaces between them, was ample room for even a large party both of men and horses to lie concealed. the end of this rocky promontory was the point towards which the mulatto was steering. it formed one side of the ravine in which lay the cave, while another similar ridge bounded the ravine on its southern side. between them a deep bay indented the cliff, from which a narrow difficult pass opened up to the high plain above. it was the same ravine in which the cattle of the young ranchero don juan had been slaughtered! these were no longer to be seen, but their bones were still visible, scattered over the plain, and already bleached white. the wolves, vultures, and bears, had prepared them for that. the man-hunters at length reached their destination; and, having led their horses in among the loose boulders, fastened them securely. they then crept up through crevices in the rocks, until they had reached the crest of the ridge. from this point they commanded a view of the whole mouth of the land-bay, about three hundred yards in width, so that no object, such as a man or horse, could pass out or in without their observing it--unless the night should chance to be very dark indeed. but they expected moonlight, by the help of which not even a cat could enter the ravine without their seeing it. having found a spot to their liking, they lay down, with their bodies concealed from any one who might be passing on the plain below either in front of or behind them. their horses were already hidden among the large masses of rock. to the minds of both their purposed plan of action was clearly understood. they had their reasons for believing that the cibolero, during his period of outlawry, was dwelling in a cave that opened into this ravine, and which was well-known to the mulatto; that carlos came out in the night, and approached the settlements--the place was but ten miles from his own rancho--and that he was met somewhere by antonio, who gave him information of what was going on, bringing him provisions at the same time. it was their intention to wait until carlos should pass out, then occupy the cave themselves, and attack him on his return. true they might have waylaid him on his going forth, but that might result in a failure. catch him they could not while mounted. they might have crept near enough to get a shot at him, but, as the mulatto had said, that would have risked their losing him altogether. moreover, neither wanted to take only his scalp. the mulatto in particular had resolved on earning the double price by _taking him alive_. even though it cost them some additional risk, his capture would doubly reward them, and for money these desperadoes were ready to venture anything. withal, they were not so daring as to have cared for an open encounter. they knew something of the mettle of "el guero," but they trusted to the advantage they should obtain over him by stratagem. on starting out they had resolved to follow him up, and steal upon him when asleep--and the plan which they had now formed had been the result of cogitations by the way. in manuel's mind it had been developed long before the suggestion of the zambo. they rested their hopes upon the belief that their victim would not know that they were after him--he could not have heard of their return from the buffalo-hunt, and therefore would be less on the alert. they knew if carlos became aware that they were upon his trail he would pursue a _very_ different course from that observed towards his soldier-pursuers. from these he could easily hide at any time upon the llano estacado, but it was different with men like the hunters, who, though they might not overtake him at the first burst, could follow on and find him again wherever he should ride to. but both mulatto and zambo believed that their presence would be unsuspected by the guero, until they had laid hands upon him. hence their confidence of success. they certainly had taken measures that promised it, supposing their hypothesis to be correct--that is, supposing the cibolero to be in the cave at that moment, and that during the night he should come out of the ravine. they were soon to know--the sun had already gone down. they would not have long to watch. chapter fifty three. carlos _was_ in the cave, and at that very moment. ever since the affair at the presidio he had made it his dwelling, his "lair," and for reasons very similar to those which the mulatto had imparted to his companion. it afforded him a safe retreat, and at a convenient distance from his friends in the valley. out of the ravine he could pass with safety by night, returning before day. during the day he slept. he had little fear of being tracked thither by the troopers; but even had they done so, his cave entrance commanded a full view of the ravine to its mouth at nearly a mile's distance, and any one approaching from that direction could be perceived long before they were near. if a force of troopers should enter by the mouth of the ravine, though both sides were inaccessible cliffs, the cibolero had his way of escape. as already stated, a narrow pass, steep and difficult, led from the upper end of the gully to the plain above. steep and difficult as it was, it could be scaled by the black horse; and, once on the wide plain of the llano estacado, carlos could laugh at his soldier-pursuers. the only time his enemies could have reached him would be during his hours of sleep, or after darkness had fallen. but carlos was not afraid even then. he went to sleep with as much unconcern as if he had been surrounded by a body-guard! this is explained by a knowledge of the fact that he _had_ his guard--a faithful guard--the dog cibolo; for although cibolo had received some lance-thrusts in his last terrible encounter, he had escaped without any fatal wound. he was still by the side of his master. while the latter slept the sagacious animal sat upon the ledge, and watched the ravine below. the sight of a soldier's uniform would have raised the hair along cibolo's back and drawn from him the warning growl. even in the darkness no one could have got within several hundred yards of the cave without attracting the notice of the dog, who would have given his master time to get off from the most rapid pursuers. the cave was a large one, large enough to hold both men and horses. water, pure crystal water, dripped from the rocks near its inner end, and lay collected in a tank, that from its round bowl-like shape seemed to have been fashioned by the hand of man. but it was not so. nature had formed this bowl and filled it with choicest water. such a formation is by no means uncommon in that region. caves containing similar tanks exist in the waco and guadalupe mountains lying still farther to the south. it was just the spot for a hiding-place--a refuge for either robber, outlaw, or other fugitive; and circumstanced as carlos was it was the very dwelling for him. he had long known of its existence, and shared that knowledge only with hunters like himself and the wild indians. no settlers of the valley ever ventured up that dark and dismal ravine. in his lair carlos had ample time for reflection, and bitter often were his reflections. he had information of all that passed. antonio managed that. nightly did he meet antonio at a point on the pecos, and receive from him the "novedades" of the settlement. the cunning mulatto had guessed correctly. had antonio brought his news direct to the cave, he might have been followed, and the hiding-place of carlos have been thus discovered. to prevent that the cibolero nightly went forth to meet him. antonio, in collecting the news of the settlement, found in the young girl josefa an able adjutant. through her he learnt that catalina de cruces was kept under lock and key--that roblado had only been wounded, and would recover--that new officers went out with the scouting-parties--and that his master's head had risen in price. the shallow artifice of the spies around the rancho had long been known to carlos. shallow as it was, it greatly annoyed him, as by these he was prevented from visiting his mother and sister. through antonio, however, he kept up almost daily communication with them. he might have been apprehensive in regard to his sister after what had occurred, but the villain vizcarra was an invalid, and carlos rightly judged why rosita was permitted to go unmolested. he had little fear for her--at least for a time--and ere that time expired he should bear her away, far out of the reach of such danger. it was for that opportunity he was now waiting. with, all the vigilance of his foes, he had no fear but that he could _steal_ his own mother and sister almost at any time. but another was to be the companion of their flight--another dear as they, and far more closely guarded! for her only did he risk life daily--for her only did he sit hour after hour in that lone cave brooding over plans, and forming schemes of desperate peril. kept under lock and key--closely watched from morn to night, and night till morning--how was she to be rescued from such a situation? this was the problem upon which his mind now dwelt. she had given him the assurance of her willingness to go. oh! why had he not proposed instant flight? why did he neglect that golden moment? why should either have thought of delay? that delay had been fatal-- might retard their purpose for months, for years--perhaps for ever! but little cared carlos for the anger of his enemies--little for the contempt in which he was held throughout the settlement--she alone was his care--his constant solicitude. his waking hours were all given to that one thought--how he would rescue, not himself, but his mistress. no wonder he looked anxiously for the night--no wonder he rode with impatient eagerness towards that lone rendezvous on the pecos. night had come again; and, leading his horse down the slope in front of the cave, he mounted and rode off toward the mouth of the canon. the dog cibolo trotted in advance of him. chapter fifty four. the man-hunters had not long to wait. they had anticipated this. there was a moon which they had also expected. it was a bright moon at intervals, and then obscured--for minutes at a time--by the passage of dark clouds over the canopy. there was no wind, however, and the air was perfectly still. the slightest noise could have been heard for a long distance in the atmosphere of that elevated region--so pure and light that it vibrated afar with the slightest concussion. sounds were heard, but they were not made by either the dogs or horses of the hunters--well-trained to silence--nor by the hunters themselves. both lay stretched in silence; or if they spoke, it was only in whispers and low mutterings. the sounds were those of nature--such as it exists in that wild region. the "snort" of the grizzly bear from the rocky ledge--the howling bark of the coyote--the "hoo-hoop" of the burrowing owl, and the shrill periodical cries of the bull-bat and goatsucker. for a while these were the only sounds that fell upon the ears of the ambushed hunters. half-an-hour elapsed, and during all that time never permitted their eyes or ears to rest for a moment. they gazed up the ravine, and at intervals glanced outwards upon the plain. there was a probability that their victim might be abroad--even in the day--and with such men no probability was allowed to pass without examination. should it prove to be so, and he were to return at that time, it would frustrate the plan they had arranged. but for such a contingency the mulatto had conceived another--that was, to steal during the night as near the cave as possible--within rifle-shot if he could--wait until the guero should make his appearance in the morning, and _wing_ him with a bullet from his rifle--in the use of which weapon the yellow hunter was well skilled. to shoot the horse was another design. the horse once killed or crippled, the cibolero would be captured to a certainty; and both had made up their minds, in case a good opportunity offered, to despatch the noble animal. these men knew a certain plan by which their victim could be killed or captured--that is, supposing they had been certain he was in the cave--a plan which could scarce have failed. but yet, for reasons of their own, they would not adopt it. it would have been simple enough to have conducted a party of dragoons to the head of the pass, and there have stationed them, while another party entered the canon from below. as the sides of the ravine were impassable precipices, the retreat of the cibolero would have been thus cut off at both ends. true, to have reached the upper plain, without going through the ravine itself--and that, as we have seen would have defeated such a plan--would have cost a journey to the troop to be stationed above. but neither vizcarra nor roblado would have grudged either the time or the men to have rendered success thus sure. the mulatto and his dusky camarado knew all this perfectly, but to have caused such a plan to be put in execution was the last thought in their minds. such a course would have been attended with but little peril to them, but it would have brought as little pay, for every trooper in the whole band would have claimed equal share in the promised reward. that would not be satisfactory to the hunters, whose heads and knowledge had furnished the means and the ways. neither entertained any idea of following such a course. both were confident in their ability to effect their object without aid from any quarter. from the time they had taken their station on the rock, half-an-hour was all they had to wait. at the end of that period the quick ears of both caught the sound of some one coming from the direction of the ravine. they heard a horse's hoof striking upon loose shingle, and the rattling of the displaced pebbles. a debris of broken fragments filled the bottom of the ravine, brought there during rain-torrents. over this ran the path. a horseman was coming down it. "the guero!" muttered the mulatto; "be sure, boy pepe." "trust you for a guess, brother man'l: you were right about the tracks we first fell in with. the cave's his hiding-place to a certainty. we'll have him sure when he comes back. _carrai_! yonder he comes!" as the zambo spake, a tall dark form was perceived approaching down the ravine. by the moon gleaming upon it, they could make out the figure of a horse and rider. they had no longer any doubt it was their intended victim. "brother man'l," whispered the zambo, "suppose he passes near! why not bring down the horse? you can't miss in this fine light--both of us can aim at the horse; if we stop him we'll easily overtake the guero." "won't do, boy pepe--not easily overtake guero afoot. get off among rocks--hide for days--can't track _him_ afoot--be on his guard after-- give us trouble--old plan best--let pass--have him safe when he come back--have him sure." "but man'l--" "dam! no need for buts--always in a hurry, boy pepe--have patience--no buts, no fear. see, now!" this last exclamation was intended to point out to pepe that his suggestion, even though a wise one, could not have been carried out, as the horseman was not going to pass within range of either rifle or escopeta. it was plain he was heading down the middle of the canon, keeping equally distant from the sides, and this course would carry him out into the open plain two hundred yards from the ambush of the hunters. so did it, for in a few moments he was opposite the spot where they lay, and at full that distance from them. a shot from a hunter's rifle would not have reached him, and the bullet of an escopeta would have been an uncertain messenger. neither thought of firing, but lay in perfect silence, firmly holding their dogs down in the crevice of the rocks, and by gestures enjoining them to be still. the horseman advanced, guiding his horse at a slow pace, and evidently observing caution as he went. while passing, the moon shone full upon him, and the bright points of his harness and arms were seen sparkling under her light. his fair complexion, too, could be distinguished easily, as also his fine erect figure, and the noble outlines of his horse. "the guero!" muttered manuel; "all right, boy pepe!" "what's yon ahead?" inquired the zambo. "ha! didn't notice that. dam! a dog! dog, sure." "it is a dog. _malraya_!" "devil roast that dog!--heard of him before--splendid dog, boy pepe. dam! that dog give us trouble. lucky, wind t'other way. safe enough now. dam! see!" at this moment the horseman suddenly stopped, looking suspiciously in the direction of the rocky spur where they lay. the dog had given some sign. "dam!" again muttered the mulatto; "that dog give us trouble yet--thank our luck, wind t'other way." there was not much wind either way, but what there was was in the faces of the hunters, and blowing from the horseman. fortunately for them it was so, also cibolo would have scented them to a certainty. even as things stood, their ambush was near enough discovery. some slight noise from that quarter--perhaps the hoof of one of their horses against the turf--had awakened the dog's suspicions--though nothing had been heard by his master. neither was the dog sure--for the next moment he threw down his head and trotted on. the horseman followed and in a few minutes both were out of sight. "now, boy pepe, for the cave!" "_vamos_!" both descended from the ridge, and, mounting their horses, rode through among the scattered rocks. they entered the ravine, and kept up its edge until the gradual narrowing brought them into the same path by which the horseman had lately descended. up this they rode, keeping their eyes bent on the cliff to the right--for on that side was the cave. they had no fear of their tracks being discernible, even should the guero return by daylight, for the path lay over hard rock already marked by the hoofs of his own horse. for all that the mulatto was uneasy; and at intervals repeated half to himself, and half in the hearing of his companion-- "dam! dog give trouble, sure give trouble--dam!" at length the mouth of the cave, like a dark spot upon the rock, appeared on one side. after silently dismounting, and leaving his horse with pepe, the mulatto crawled up the ledge and reconnoitred the entrance. even the probability that some one might have been left there was not overlooked by this keen hunter, and every precaution was taken. after listening a moment at the entrance he sent in the dogs, and, as neither bark nor howl came out again, he was satisfied that all was safe. he then crawled in himself, keeping on the shadowy side of the rock. when he had got fairly within the cavern, he struck a light, at the same time shading it so that the gleam might not fall on the outside. with this he made a hurried examination of the interior; and, now satisfied that the place was untenanted, he came out again, and beckoned his comrade to bring up the horses. these were led into the cave. another reconnaissance was made, in which the few articles used by carlos for eating and sleeping were discovered upon a dry ledge. a serape, a small hatchet for cutting firewood, an olla for cooking, two or three cups, some pieces of jerked meat and fragments of bread, were the contents of the cavern. the best of these were appropriated by the intruders; and then, after fastening their horses in a secure corner, and making themselves thoroughly acquainted with the shape and position of the rocky interior, the light was extinguished, and, like beasts of prey, they placed themselves in readiness to receive their unsuspecting victim. chapter fifty five. carlos, on leaving his cave, proceeded with the caution natural to one circumstanced as he was. but this night he was more than usually careful. he scanned every bush and rock that stood near his path, and that might have sheltered an enemy. why to-night more cautious than before? because a suspicion had crossed his mind--and that, too, having reference to the very men who were at the moment in ambush so near him! at various times of late had his thoughts reverted to these men. he knew them well, and knew the hostile feelings with which both, but particularly the mulatto, regarded him. he thought of the probability of their being set upon his trail, and he knew their capability to follow it. this had made him _more_ uneasy than all the scouting of the dragoons with their unpractised leaders. he was aware that, if the cunning mulatto and his scarce less sagacious comrade were sent after him, his cave would not shelter him long, and there would be an end to his easy communication with the settlement. these thoughts were sources of uneasiness; and would have been still more so, had he not believed that the hunters were absent upon the plains. under this belief he had hopes of being able to settle his affairs and get off before their return. that morning, however, his hopes had met with discouragement. it was a little after daylight when he returned to his hiding-place. antonio, watched closely by the spies, had not been able to reach the rendezvous until a late hour,--hence the detention of carlos. on going back to his cave he had crossed a fresh trail coming in from the northern end of the llano estacado. it was a trail of horses, mules, and dogs; and carlos, on scrutinising it, soon acquainted himself with the number of each that had passed. he knew it was the exact number of these animals possessed by the yellow hunter and his comrade; and this startled him with the suspicion that it was the return trail of these men from their hunt upon the prairies! a further examination quite assured him of the truth of this. the footprints of one of the dogs differed from the rest; and although a large one, it was not the track of the common wolf-dog of the country. he had heard that the yellow hunter had lately become possessed of a large bloodhound. these must be _his_ tracks! carlos rode along the trail to a point where it had crossed an old path of his own leading to the ravine. to his astonishment he perceived that, from this point, one of the horsemen, with several of the dogs, had turned off and followed his own tracks in that direction! no doubt the man had been trailing him. after going some distance, however, the latter had turned again and ridden back upon his former course. carlos would have traced this party farther, as he knew they must have passed on the evening before. but as it was now quite day, and their trail evidently led to the settlements, he dared not ride in that direction, and therefore returned to his hiding-place. the incident had rendered him thoughtful and apprehensive throughout the whole of that day; and as he rode forth his reflections were upon this very subject--hence the caution of his movements. as he emerged from the ravine, the dog, as stated, made a demonstration, by suddenly turning toward the rocks, and uttering a low growl. this caused carlos to halt, and look carefully in that direction. but he could see nothing that appeared suspicious; and the dog, after a moment's pause, appeared satisfied and trotted on again. "some wild animal, perhaps," thought carlos, as he set his horse in motion, and continued on over the plain. when fairly out into the open ground, he quickened his pace; and after a ride of about six or seven miles arrived on the banks of the pecos. here he turned down-stream, and, once more riding with caution, approached a grove of low timber that grew upon the bank. this grove was the point of rendezvous. when within a hundred yards of it, the cibolero halted upon the plain. the dog ran on before him, quartered the grove, and then returned to his master. the horseman then rode boldly in under the shadow of the trees, and, dismounting, took station upon one side of the timber, to watch for the coming of his expected messenger. his vigil was not of long duration. in a few minutes a man on foot, bent into a crouching attitude, was seen rapidly advancing over the plain. when he had arrived within three hundred yards of the grove, he stopped in his tracks, and uttered a low whistle. to this signal the cibolero replied, and the man, again advancing as before, was soon within the shadow of the grove. it was antonio. "were you followed, amigo?" asked carlos. "as usual, master; but i had no difficulty in throwing them off." "hereafter it may not be so easy." "how, master?" "i know your news--the yellow hunter has got back?" "carrambo! it is even so! how did you hear it, master?" "this morning, after you had left me, i crossed a trail--i knew it must be theirs." "it was theirs, master. they came in last evening but i have worse news than that." "worse!--what?" "they're after _you_!" "ha! already? i guessed that they would be, but not so soon. how know you, anton!" "josefa--she has a brother who is a kind of errand-boy to padre joaquin. this morning the padre took him over to the presidio, and from there sent him to guide captain roblado to the yellow hunter's hut. the padre threatened the boy if he should tell any one; but on his return to the mission he called on his mother; and josefa, suspecting he had been on some strange errand--for he showed a piece of silver--got it all out of him. he couldn't tell what roblado and the hunters talked about, but he fancied the latter were preparing to go somewhere as he left them. now, putting one thing with another, i'm of the mind, master, they're on your trail." "no doubt of it, amigo--i haven't the slightest doubt of it. so--i'll be chased out of my cave--that's certain. i believe they have a suspicion of where i am already. well, i must try to find another resting-place. 'tis well i have got the wind of these rascals--they'll not catch me asleep, which no doubt they flatter themselves they're going to do. what other news?" "nothing particular. josefa saw the girl vicenza last night in company with jose, but she has had no opportunity of getting a word with the senorita, who is watched closely. she has some business with the portero's wife to-morrow. she hopes to hear something from her." "good antonio," said carlos, dropping a piece of money into the other's hand, "give this to josefa--tell her to be active. our hopes rest entirely with her." "don't fear, master!" replied the half-blood. "josefa will do her best, for the reason that," smiling, "_her_ hopes, i believe, rest entirely upon _me_." carlos laughed at the _naive_ remark of his faithful companion, and then proceeded to inquire about other matters,--about his mother and sister, about the troopers, the spies, and don juan. about the last antonio could give him no information that was new. don juan had been arrested the day after the affair at the presidio, and ever since had been kept a close prisoner. the charge against him was his having been an accomplice of carlos, and his trial would take place whenever the latter should be captured. half-an-hour was spent in conversation, and then carlos, having received from the half-blood the packages containing provisions, prepared to return to his hiding-place in the llano estacado. "you will meet me here to-morrow night again, anton," said he at parting. "if anything should happen to prevent me coming, then look for me the night after, and the night after that. so _buenas noches, amigo_!" "_buenos noches, mi amo_!" ("good night, master!") and with this salutation the friends--for they were go--turned their backs on each other and parted. antonio went crouching back in the direction of the valley; while the cibolero, springing to his saddle, rode off toward the frowning bluffs of the llano. chapter fifty six. the "report" delivered by antonio was of a character to have caused serious apprehension to the cibolero--fear, in fact, had he been the man to have such a feeling. it had the effect of still further increasing his caution, and his mind was now bent with all its energies upon the craft of taking care of himself. had he contemplated an open fight, even with the two strong men who were seeking him, he would have been less uneasy about the result; but he knew that, strong as they were, these ruffians would not attack him without some advantage. they would make every effort to surprise him asleep, or otherwise take him unawares. against their wiles he had now to guard himself. he rode slowly back to the ravine, his thoughts all the while busied about the yellow hunter and his companion. "they must know of the cave," so ran his reflections. "their following my trail yesterday is an evidence that they suspected something in the direction of the ravine. they had no doubt heard of late affairs before getting so far. some _hatero_ on the outer plains has told them all, very like; well, what then? they have hastened on to the mission. ha! the padre joaquin took the boy over to the presidio. i see--i see--the padre is the `patron' of these two ruffians. they have told him something, else why should he be off to the presidio so early? news from them--and then roblado starting directly after to seek them! clear--clear--they have discovered my hiding-place!" after a pause:-- "what if they have reached the ravine in my absence? let me see. yes, they've had time enough to get round; that is, if they started soon after roblado's interview. the boy thinks they did. by heaven! it's not too soon for me to be on the alert." as this thought passed through the cibolero's mind, he reined up his horse; and, lowering his head, glanced along the neck of the animal into the darkness before him. he had now arrived at the mouth of the canon, and nearly on the same track by which he had ridden out of it; but the moon was under thick clouds, and the gloom of the ravine was no longer relieved by her light. "it would be their trick," reflected he, "to get inside the canon, at its narrow part, and wait for me to come out of the cave. they would waylay me pretty handy there. now suppose they _are_ up the canon at this moment!" for a moment he paused and dwelt upon this hypothesis. he proceeded again. "well, let them; i'll ride on. cibolo can beat the rocks a shot's range ahead of me. if they're ambushed there without him finding them, they'll be sharper fellows than i take them to be; and i don't consider them flats, either, the scoundrels! if he start them, i can soon gallop back out of their reach. here! cibolo!" the dog, that had stopped a few paces in front, now came running back, and looked up in his master's face. the latter gave him a sign, uttering the simple word "anda!" at the word the animal sprang off, and commenced quartering the ground for a couple of hundred yards in advance. following him, the horseman moved forward. in this way he approached the point where the two walls converging narrowed the canon to a space of little more than a hundred yards. along the bases of the cliffs, on both sides, lay large loose rocks, that would have given cover to men in ambush, and even horses might have been concealed behind them. "this," thought carlos, "would be the place chosen for their cowardly attack. they might hit me from either side with half an aim. but cibolo makes no sign.--ha!" the last exclamation was uttered in a short sharp tone. it had been called forth by a low yelp from the dog. the animal had struck the trail where the yellow hunter and his companion had crossed to the middle of the ravine. the moon had again emerged from the clouds, and carlos could see the dog dashing swiftly along the pebbles and up the ravine towards the mouth of the cavern! his master would have called him back, for he was leaving the loose rocks unsearched, and, without that being done, carlos felt that it would be perilous to proceed farther; but the swiftness with which the dog had gone forward showed that he was on a fresh trail; and it now occurred to the cibolero that his enemies might be within the cave itself! the thought had hardly crossed his mind when the dog uttered several successive yelps! although he had got out of sight, his master knew that he was at that moment approaching the mouth of the cave, and running upon a fresh scent. carlos drew up his horse and listened. he dare proceed no farther. he dared not recall the dog. his voice would have been heard if any one were near. he reflected that he could do no better than wait till the dog should return, or by his attack give some sign of what he was after. it might, after all, be the grizzly bear, or some other animal, he was pursuing. the cibolero sat upon his horse in perfect silence--not unprepared though for any sudden attack. his true rifle lay across his thighs, and he had already looked to its flint and priming. he listened to every sound, while his eyes pierced the dark recesses of the ravine before and around him. for only a few moments this uncertainty lasted, and then back down the chasm came a noise that caused the listener to start in his saddle. it resembled the worrying of dogs, and for a moment carlos fancied that cibolo had made his attack upon a bear! only a moment did this illusion last, for his quick ear soon detected the voices of more dogs than one; and in the fierce confusion he distinguished the deep-toned bark of a _bloodhound_! the whole situation became clear to him at once. his enemies had been awaiting him in the cave--for from it he was certain that the sounds proceeded. his first instinct was to wheel his horse and gallop out of the canon. he waited a moment, however, and listened. the worrying noise continued, but, amid the roar find barking of the dogs, carlos could distinguish the voices of men, uttered in low hurried tones, as if addressing the dogs and also one another. all at once the conflict appeared to cease, for the animals became silent, except the hound, who at intervals gave out his deep loud bray. in a moment more he, too, was silent. carlos knew by this silence that cibolo had either been killed upon the spot, or, having been attacked by men, had sheered off. in either case it would be of no use waiting his return. if alive, he knew that the dog would follow and overtake him. without further delay, therefore, he turned his horse's head, and galloped back down the ravine. chapter fifty seven. on arriving at the month of the ravine he halted--not in the middle of the plain, but under the shadow of the rocks--the same rocks where the hunters had placed themselves in ambush. he did not dismount, but sat in his saddle, gazing up the canon, and listening for some token of the expected pursuit. he had not been long in this spot when he perceived a dark object approaching him. it gave him joy, for he recognised cibolo coming along his trail. the next moment the dog was by his stirrup. the cibolero bent down in his saddle, and perceived that the poor brute was badly cut and bleeding profusely. several gashes appeared along his side, and one near his shoulder exhibited a flap of hanging skin, over which the red stream was pouring. the animal was evidently weak from loss of blood, and tottered in his tracks. "amigo!" said carlos, "you have saved my life to a certainty. it's my turn to save yours--if i can." as he said this he dismounted, and, taking the dog in his arms, climbed back into the saddle. for a while he sat reflecting what to do, with his eyes turned in the direction from which he expected the pursuit. he had now no doubt as to who were the occupants of the cave. the bay of the hound was satisfactory evidence of the presence of the yellow hunter, and of course the zambo was along with him. carlos knew of no other bloodhound in the settlement--the one heard must be that of the mulatto. for some minutes he remained by the rocks, considering what course he had best take. "i'll ride on to the grove," reflected he, "and hide in it till antonio comes. they can't track me this night--it will be too dark. the whole sky is becoming clouded--there will be no more moon to-night i can lie hid all day to-morrow, if they don't follow. if they do, why, i can see them far enough off to ride away. my poor cibolo, how you bleed! heavens, what a gash! patience, brave friend! when we halt, your wounds shall be looked to. yes! to the grove i'll go. they won't suspect me of taking that direction, as it is towards the settlements. besides they can't trail me in the darkness. ha! what am i thinking of?--not trail me in the darkness! what! i had forgotten the bloodhound! o god, preserve me! these fiends can follow me were it as dark as pitch! god preserve me!" an anxious expression came over his countenance, and partly from the burden he held in his arms, and partly from the weight of his thoughts, he dropped into an attitude that betokened deep depression. for the first time the hunted outlaw showed symptoms of despair. for a long while he remained with his head leaning forward, and his body bent over the neck of his horse. but he had not yet yielded to despair. all at once he started up, as if some thought, suddenly conceived, had given him hopes. a new resolution seemed to have been taken. "yes!" he soliloquised, "i shall go to the grove--direct to the grove. ha! you bloodthirsty yellow-skin, i'll try your boasted skill. we shall see--we shall see. maybe you'll get your reward, but not that you are counting upon. you have yet something to do before you take the scalp of carlos the cibolero!" muttering these words he turned his horse's head, renewed his hold of the dog and the bridle, and set off across the plain. he rode at a rapid pace, and without casting a look behind him. he appeared to be in a hurry, though it could not be from fear of being overtaken. no one was likely to come up with him, so long as he kept on at such a pace. he was silent, except now and then when he addressed some kind word to the dog cibolo, whose blood ran over his thighs, and down the flanks of the horse. the poor brute was weak, and could no longer have kept his feet. "patience, old friend!--patience!--you shall soon have rest from this jolting." in less than an hour he had reached the lone grove on the pecos--the same where he had lately parted with antonio. here he halted. it was the goal of his journey. within that grove he had resolved on passing the remainder of the night, and, if not disturbed, the whole of the following day. the pecos at this point, and for many miles above and below, ran between low banks that rose vertically from the water. on both sides its "bottom" was a smooth plain, extending for miles back, where it stepped up to a higher level. it was nearly treeless. scattered clumps grew at distant intervals, and along its margin a slight fringing of willows. this fringe was not continuous, but broken here and there by gaps, through which the water might be seen. the timber clumps were composed of cotton-wood trees and live-oak, with acacias forming an underwood, and occasionally plants of cactus growing near. these groves were so small, and so distant from each other, that they did not intercept the general view of the surface, and a person occupying one of them could see a horseman, or other large object, at a great distance. a man concealed in them could not have been approached by his enemy in daylight, if awake and watching. at night, of course, it was different, and the security then afforded depended upon the degree of darkness. the "motte" at which the cibolero had arrived was far apart from any of the others, and commanded a view of the river bottom on both sides for more than a mile's distance. the grove itself was but a few acres in size, but the fringe of willows running along the stream at both ends gave it, when viewed from a distance, the appearance of a wood of larger dimensions. it stood upon the very bank of the stream, and the selvedge of willows looked like its prolongation. these, however, reached but a few feet from the water's edge, while the grove timber ran out several hundred yards into the plain. about this grove there was a peculiarity. its central part was not timbered, but open, and covered only with a smooth sward of gramma-grass. it was, in fact, a glade, nearly circular in shape, and about a hundred yards in diameter. on one side of this glade the river impinged, its bank being almost a tangent line to it. here there was a gap in the timber, so that out of the glade could be obtained a view of the bottom on the other side of the stream. diametrically opposite to this gap another opening, of an avenue-like form, led out into the adjacent plain, so that the grove was in reality bisected by an open line, which separated it into two groves, nearly equal in extent. this separation could only be observed from certain positions in the plain-- one on each side of the river. the glade, the avenue of a dozen yards loading from it to the outside plain, and the plain itself, were all perfectly level, and covered with a smooth turf. any object upon their surface would be easily perceptible at a distance. the grove was thickly stocked with underwood--principally the smaller species of "mezquite." there was also a network of vines and llianas that, stretching upward, twined around the limbs of the live-oaks--the latter forming the highest and largest timber of all. the underwood was impenetrable to the eye, though a hunter could have crept through it in pursuit of game. at night, however, even under moonlight, it appeared a dark and impassable thicket. on one side of the glade, where the ground was dry and sandy, there stood a small clump of _pitahaya_ cactus. there were not over a dozen plants in all, but two or three of them were large specimens, sending up their soft succulent limbs nearly as high as the live-oaks. standing by themselves in massive columns, and so unlike the trees that surrounded them, they gave a peculiar character to the scene; and the eye, unaccustomed to these gigantic candelabra, would scarce have known to what kingdom of nature they belonged--so unlike were they to the ordinary forms of vegetation. such were the features of the spot where the hunted outlaw sought shelter for the night. chapter fifty eight. carlos spoke the truth, when he gave his dog the credit of having saved his life, or, at all events, his liberty, which in the end amounted to the same thing. but for the sagacious brute having preceded him, he would certainly have entered the cave, and as certainly would he have been captured. his cunning adversaries had taken every step necessary for securing him. they had hidden their horses far back in the cavern. they had placed themselves behind the jutting rocks--one on each side of the entrance-- so that the moment he should have shown himself they were prepared to spring upon him like a brace of tigers. their dogs, too, were there to aid them--crouched by the side of their masters, and along with them, ready to seize upon the unsuspecting victim. it was a well-planned ambuscade, and so far well-executed. the secrecy with which the hunters had left the settlement, and made their roundabout journey--their adroit approach to the ravine--their patient behaviour in watching till carlos had ridden out of the way, and their then taking possession of the cave, were all admirably executed manoeuvres. how was it possible the cibolero could be aware of, or even suspect, their presence? they did not for a moment fancy that he knew of their return from their hunting expedition. it was quite dark the night before, when they had passed up the valley to the mission; and after unpacking the produce of their hunt, which had been done without observation, the padre joaquin had enjoined on them not to show themselves in the town before he should send them word. but few of the mission servants, then, knew of their return; and for the rest, no one knew anything who would or could have communicated it to carlos. therefore, reasoned they, he could have no suspicion of their being in the cave. as to their trail up the ravine, he would not notice it on his return. he would only strike it where it led over the shingle, and, of course, there it would not be visible even in daylight. never was a trap better set. he would walk into the cave unsuspectingly, and perhaps leading his horse. they would spring upon him--dogs and all--and pinion him before he could draw either pistol or knife! there seemed no chance for him. for all that there _was_ a chance, as the yellow hunter well knew; and it was that which caused him at intervals to mutter-- "dam! fear dog give us trouble, boy pepe." to this the zambo's only response was the bitter shibboleth--"_carajo_!" showing that both were uneasy about the dog. long before this time both had heard of the fame of cibolo, though neither had a full knowledge of the perfect training to which that sagacious animal had attained. they reflected that, should the dog enter the cave first, they would be discovered by him, and warning given to his master. should he enter it before the latter had got near, the chances were that their ambuscade would prove a failure. on the other hand, should the dog remain in the rear, all would go right. even should he approach at the same time with his master, so that the latter might get near without being alarmed, there would still be a chance of their rushing out upon and shooting either horse or rider. thus reasoned these two treacherous ruffians in the interim of the cibolero's absence. they had not yet seated themselves in the positions they designed to take by the entrance of the cave. they could occupy these at a moment's warning. they stood under the shadow of the rocks, keeping watch down the ravine. they knew they might be a long time on their vigil, and they made themselves as comfortable as possible by consuming the meagre stock of provisions which the cibolero had left in the cave. the mulatto, to keep out the cold, had thrown the newly appropriated blanket upon his shoulders. a gourd of chingarito, which they had taken care to bring with them, enabled them to pass the time cheerfully enough. the only drawback upon their mirth was the thought of the dog cibolo, which every now and again intruded itself upon the mind of the yellow hunter, as well as upon that of his darker confrere. their vigil was shorter than either had anticipated. they fancied that their intended victim might make a long ride of it--perhaps to the borders of the settlement--that he might have business that would detain him, and that it might be near morning before he would get back. in the midst of those conjectures, and while it still wanted some hours of midnight, the mulatto, whose eyes were bent down the ravine, was seen suddenly to start, and grasp his companion by the sleeve. "look!--yonder, boy pepe! yonder come guero!" the speaker pointed to a form approaching from the plain, and nearing the narrow part of the ravine. it was scarce visible by the uncertain light, and just possible to distinguish it as the form of a man on horseback. "carr-rr-a-ai! it is--carr-r-ai!" replied the zambo, after peering for some time through the darkness. "keep close in, boy pepe! hwish! pull back dog! take place--lie close-- i watch outside--hwish!" the zambo took his station according to the plan they had agreed upon; while the yellow hunter, bloodhound in hand, remained by the entrance of the cave. in a few moments the latter was seen to start up with a gesture of alarm. "dam!" he exclaimed. "dam! told you so--till lost--ready, boy pepe--dog on our trail!" "carajo, man'l! what's to be done?" eagerly inquired the zambo. "in--in--let come in--kill 'im in cave--in!" both rushed inside and stood waiting. they had hastily formed the design of seizing the cibolero's dog the moment he should enter the cave, and strangling him if possible. in this design they were disappointed; for the animal, on reaching the mouth of the cave, refused to enter, but stopped upon the ledge outside and commenced barking loudly. the mule uttered a cry of disappointment, and, dropping the bloodhound, rushed forward, knife in hand, to attack cibolo. at the same moment the hound sprang forward, and the two dogs became engaged in a desperate conflict. this would have terminated to the disadvantage of the hound, but, in another moment, all four--mulatto, zambo, hound, and wolf--were assailing cibolo both with knives and teeth. the latter, seeing himself thus overmatched, and having already received several bad cuts, prudently retreated among the rocks. he was not followed, as the ruffians had still some hopes that the cibolero, not suspecting what it could mean, might yet advance towards the cave. but these hopes were of short duration. next moment through the dim light they perceived the horseman wheel round, and gallop off towards the mouth of the ravine! exclamations of disappointment, profane ejaculations, and wild oaths, echoed for some minutes through the vaulted cavern. the excited ruffians at length became more cool, and, groping about in the darkness, got hold of their horses, and led them out upon the ledge. here they stopped to give farther vent to their chagrin, and to deliberate on their future course. to attempt immediate pursuit would not avail them, as they well know the cibolero would be many a mile out of their reach before they could descend to the plain. for a long time they continued to give utterance to expressions of chagrin, mingled with anathemas upon the head of the dog, cibolo. at length becoming tired of this, they once more set their heads to business. the zambo was of opinion it would be useless to go farther that night-- they had no chance of coming up with the cibolero before morning--in daylight they would more easily make out his trail. "boy pepe, fool!" was the mulatto's reply to these observations. "track by daylight--be seen--spoil all, fool pepe!" "then what way, brother man'l?" "dam! forgot bloodhound? trail by night fast as ride--soon overtake guero." "but, brother man'l, he's not going to stop short of ten leagues from here! we can't come up with him to-night, can we?" "fool again, boy pepe! stop within ten miles--stop because won't think of bloodhound--won't think can trail 'im--stop, sure. dam! that dog played devil--thought he would--dam!" "malraya! _he_ won't trouble us any more." "why think that, boy pepe?" "why, brother man'l! because i had my blade into him. he'll not limp much farther, i warrant." "dam! wish could think so--if could think so, give double onza. but for dog have guero now. but for dog, get guero before sun up. stop soon-- don't suspect us yet--don't suspect hound--stop, i say. by mighty god-- sure!" "how, brother man'l? you think he'll not go far off?" "sure of it. guero not ride far--nowhere to go--soon trail 'im--find 'im asleep--crawl on 'im but for dog--crawl on 'im sure." "if you think so, then i don't believe you need trouble yourself about the dog. if he lives twenty minutes after the stab i gave him, he's a tough brute, that's all. you find the guero, i promise you'll find no dog with him." "hope so, boy pepe--try anyhow. come!" saying this, the yellow hunter straddled his horse, and followed by the zambo and the dogs commenced moving down the rocky channel of the ravine. chapter fifty nine. having arrived at the point where the horseman had been last seen, the mulatto dismounted, and called up the bloodhound. he addressed some words to the dog, and by a sign set him on the trail. the animal understood what was wanted, and, laying his nose to the ground, ran forward silently. the hunter again climbed back to his saddle, and both he and his companion spurred their horses so as to keep pace with the bloodhound. this was easy enough, though the moon was no longer seen. the colour of the dog--a very light red--rendered him conspicuous against the dark greensward, and there were neither bushes nor long grass to hide him. moreover, by the instruction of his master, he moved slowly along the trail--although the scent was still fresh, and he could have gone at a much faster rate. he had been trained to track slowly in the night, and also to be silent about it, so that the "bay" peculiar to his race was not heard. it was two hours, full time, before they came in sight of the grove where the cibolero had halted. the moment the mulatto saw the timber, he pointed to it, muttering to his companion:-- "see, boy pepe! dog make for island--see! bet onza guero there. dam! there sure!" when they had arrived within five or six hundred yards of the grove--it was still but dimly visible under the darkening sky--the yellow hunter called the dog off the trail, and ordered him to keep behind. he knew that the horseman must have passed either into the grove or close beside it. in either case his trail could be easily taken up again. if--as the mulatto from his excited manner evidently believed--their victim was still in the grove, then the dog's sagacity was no longer needed. the time was come for them to take other measures. diverging from his forward course, the yellow hunter rode in a circle, keeping at about the same distance from the edge of the timber. he was followed by his companion and the dogs. when opposite the gap made by the avenue, a bright blaze struck suddenly upon their eyes, causing both to rein up with an exclamation of surprise. they had arrived at a point commanding a view of the glade, in the centre of which they perceived a large fire! "told so, boy pepe! fool's asleep yonder--never dream could trail him by night--don't like cold--good fire--believe safe enough. know that glade--cunning place--only see fire from two points. ha! yonder horse!" the figure of a horse standing near the fire was plainly discernible under the light. "dam!" continued the hunter; "guero bigger fool than thought 'im. mighty god, see! believe 'im sleep yonder! him, sure!" as the mulatto uttered these words, he pointed to a dark form by the fire. it appeared to be the body of a man, prostrate and asleep. "_santisima_, it is!" replied the zambo. "snug by the fire too. he _is_ a fool! but, sure enough, he could have no thought of our following him in a night so dark as this." "hwish, dam! dog not there, guero ours! no more talk, boy pepe! follow me!" the mulatto headed his horse, not direct for the grove, but for a point on the bank of the river some distance below. they rode silently, but now with more rapidity. their victim was just where they would have wished him, and they were in a hurry to take advantage of his situation. the nature of the ground was well-known to both, for they had shot deer from the cover of that very copse. on arriving at the river bank, both dismounted; and having tied both their horses and dogs to the willows, they commenced moving forward in the direction of the grove. they observed less caution than they might otherwise have done. they felt certain their victim was asleep by the fire. fool, they thought him! but then how was he to have suspected their presence? the most cunning might have deemed himself secure under such circumstances. it was natural enough that he had gone to sleep, wearied as no doubt he was. natural, too, that he had kindled a fire. the night had become unpleasantly cold, and it would have been impossible to sleep without a fire. all that seemed natural enough. they reached the edge of the grove, and without hesitation crawled into the underwood. the night was still, the breeze scarce turned a leaf, and the slightest rustling among the bushes could have been heard in any part of the glade. a low murmur of water from a distant rapid, a light ripple in the nearer stream, the occasional howl of the prairie wolf, and the dismal wailing of nightbirds, were the only sounds that fell upon the ear. but although the man-stalkers were making their way through thick underwood, not a sound betokened their advance. there was no rustling of leaves, no snapping of twigs, no crackling of dead sticks under the pressure of hand or knee, no signs of human presence within that dark shrubbery. these men well knew how to thread the thicket. silent, as the snake glides through the grass, was their advance. in the glade reigned perfect silence. in its very centre blazed a large fire that lit up the whole surface with its brilliant flames. it was easy to distinguish the form of a fine steed--the steed of the cibolero--standing near the fire; and, nearer still, the prostrate form of his master, who seemed asleep! yes, there were the manga, the sombrero, the botas and spurs. there was the lazo reaching from the neck of the horse, and, no doubt, wound around the arm of the sleeper! all these points could be determined at a glance. the horse started, struck the ground with his hoof and then stood still again! what had he heard? some wild beast moving near? no, not a wild beast--worse than that. upon the southern edge of the glade a face looked out from the underwood--a human face! it remained but a moment, and was then drawn back behind the leaves. that face could easily have been recognised, his yellow complexion, conspicuous under the glare of the blazing wood, told to whom it belonged. it was the face of manuel the mulatto. for some moments it remained behind the leafy screen. then it was protruded as before, and close beside it another face of darker hue. both were turned in the same direction. both regarded the prostrate form by the fire, that still appeared to be sound asleep! the eyes of both were gleaming with malignant triumph. success seemed certain-- their victim was at length within their power! the faces were again withdrawn, and for a minute neither sound nor sight gave any indication of their presence. at the end of that minute, however, the head of the mulatto was again protruded, but this time at a different point, close to the surface of the ground, and where there was an opening in the underwood. in a moment more his whole body was drawn through, and appeared in a recumbent position within the glade. the head and body of the zambo followed; and both now glided silently over the grass in the direction of the sleeper. flat upon their bellies, like a pair of huge lizards, they moved, one following in the other's trail! the mulatto was in the advance. his right hand grasped a long-blade, knife, while his gun was carried in the left. they moved slowly and with great caution--though ready at any moment to spring forward should their victim awake and become aware of their presence. the unconscious sleeper lay between them and the fire. his form cast a shadow over the sward. into this they crept, with the view of better concealment, and proceeded on. at length the mulatto arrived within three feet of the prostrate body; and gathering himself, he rose upon his knees with the intention of making a spring forward. the sudden erection of his body brought his face full into the light, and rendered it a conspicuous object. his time was come. the whip-like crack of a rifle was heard, and at the same instant a stream of fire shot out from the leafy top of a live-oak that stood near the entrance of the avenue. the mulatto suddenly sprang to his feet, threw out his arms with a wild cry, staggered a pace or two, and, dropping both knife and gun, fell forward into the fire! the zambo also leaped to his feet; and, believing the shot had come from the pretended sleeper, precipitated himself upon the latter, knife in hand, and drove his blade with desperate earnestness into the side of the prostrate form. almost on the instant he leaped back with a yell of terror; and, without stopping to assist his fallen comrade, rushed off over the glade, and disappeared into the underwood. the figure by the fire remained prostrate and motionless. but at this moment a dark form was seen to descend through the branches of the live-oak whence the shot had come; a shrill whistle rang through the glade; and the steed, dragging his lazo, galloped up under the tree. a man, half-naked, and carrying a long rifle, dropped upon the horse's back; and the next instant both horse and man disappeared through the avenue, having gone off at full speed in the direction of the plain! chapter sixty. who was he then who lay by the fire? not carlos the cibolero! it was his manga--his botas--his hat and spurs--his complete habiliments! true, but carlos was not in them. he it was who, half-naked, had dropped from the tree, and galloped off upon the horse! a mystery! less than two hours before we left him where he had arrived--upon the edge of the grove. how had he been employed since then? a knowledge of that will explain the mystery. on reaching the grove he had ridden direct through the avenue and into the glade, where he reined up his horse and dismounted. cibolo was gently laid upon the soft grass, with a kind expression; but his wounds remained undressed for the present. his master had no time for that. he had other work to do, which would occupy him for the next hour. with a slack bridle his horse was left to refresh himself on the sward, while carlos proceeded to the execution of a design that had been matured in his mind during his long gallop. his first act was to make a fire. the night had grown chill enough to give excuse for one. it was kindled near the centre of the glade. dry logs and branches were found among the underwood, and these were brought forward and heaped upon the pile, until the flames blazed up, illuming the glade to its very circumference. the huge pitahayas, gleaming in the red light, looked like columns of stone; and upon these the eyes of the cibolero were now turned. proceeding towards them, knife in hand, he commenced cutting through the stem of the largest, and its tall form was soon laid prostrate upon the grass. when down, he hewed both stem and branches into pieces of various length, and then dragged them up to the side of the fire. surely he did not mean to add them to the pile! these green succulent masses would be more likely to subdue the flame than contribute to its brilliancy. carlos had no such intention. on the contrary, he placed the pieces several feet from the fire, arranging them in such a manner as to imitate, as nearly as possible, the form and dimensions of a human body. two cylindrical pieces served for the thighs, and two more for the arms, and these were laid in the attitude that would naturally be adopted by a person in repose or asleep. the superior shoulder was represented by the "elbow" of the plant; and when the whole structure was covered over with the ample "manga" of the cibolero, it assumed a striking resemblance to the body of a man lying upon his side! the head, lower limbs, and feet, were yet wanting to complete the design--for it _was_ a design. these were soon supplied. a round clew of grass was formed; and this, placed at a small distance from the shoulders by means of a scarf and the cibolero's hat, was made to look like the thing for which it was intended--a human head. the hat was slouched over the ball of grass so as nearly to conceal it, and seemed as if so placed to keep the dew or the musquitos from the face of the sleeper! the lower limbs and feet only remained to be counterfeited. with these considerable pains had to be taken, since, being nearest to the fire-- according to the way in which hunters habitually sleep--they would be more exposed to observation than any other part. all these points had been already considered by the cibolero; and, therefore, without stopping for a moment he proceeded to finish his work. his leathern "botas" were pulled off, and adjusted at a slight angle to the thighs of pitahaya, and in such a way that the rim of the ample cloak came down over their tops. the huge spurs were allowed to remain on the boots, and could be seen from a distance gleaming in the blaze of the fire. a few more touches and the counterfeit was complete. he that had made it now stepped back to the edge of the glade, and, passing around, examined it from different points. he appeared satisfied. indeed, no one would have taken the figure for anything but that of a sleeping traveller who had lain down without taking off his spurs. carlos now returned to the fire, and uttering a low signal brought the horse up to his hand. he led the animal some paces out, and tightened the bridle-rein by knotting it over the horn of the saddle. this the well-trained steed knew to be a command for him to give over browsing, and stand still in that same place until released by the hand of his master, or by a well-known signal he had been taught to obey. the lazo fastened to the bit-ring was next uncoiled. one end of the rope was carried to the prostrate figure, and placed under the edge of the manga, as though the sleeper held it in his hand! once more the cibolero passed round the circumference of the glade, and surveyed the grouping in the centre. again he appeared satisfied; and, re-entering the thicket, he brought out a fresh armful of dry wood and flung it on the fire. he now raised his eyes, and appeared to scrutinise the trees that grew around the glade. his gaze rested upon a large live-oak standing at the inner entrance of the avenue, and whose long horizontal limbs stretched over the open ground. the top branches of this tree were covered thickly with its evergreen frondage, and laced with vines and _tillandsia_ formed a shady canopy. besides being the tallest tree, it was the most ample and umbrageous--in fact, the patriarch of the grove. "'twill do," muttered carlos, as he viewed it. "thirty paces--about that--just the range. they'll not enter by the avenue. no--no danger of that; and if they did--but no--they'll come along the bank by the willows--yes, sure to do so:--now for cibolo." he glanced for a moment at the dog, that was still lying where he had been placed. "poor fellow! he has had it in earnest. he'll carry the marks of their cowardly knives for the rest of his days. well--he may live long enough to know that he has been avenged--yes! that may he. but what shall i do with him?" after considering a minute, he continued:-- "carrambo! i lose time. there's a half-hour gone, and if they've followed at all they'll be near by this time. follow they can with their long-eared brute, and i hope he'll guide them true. what can i do with cibolo? if i tie him at the root of the tree, he'll lie quiet enough, poor brute! but then, suppose they should come this way! i don't imagine they will. i shouldn't if i were in their place; but suppose they should, the dog would be seen, and might lead them to suspect something wrong. they might take a fancy to glance up the tree, and then--no, no, it won't do--something else must be done with cibolo." here he approached the root of the live-oak, and looked inquiringly up among its branches. after a moment he seemed to be satisfied with his scrutiny. he had formed a new resolution. "it will do," he muttered. "the dog can lie upon those vines. i'll plait them a little for him, and cover them with moss." saying this, he caught hold of the lower limbs, and sprang up into the tree. after dragging down some of the creeping vines, he twined them between the forks of a branch, so as to form a little platform. he next tore off several bundles of the _tillandsia_, and placed it over the spot thus wattled. when the platform was completed to his satisfaction, he leaped down again; and, taking the animal in his arms, carried him up to the tree, and placed him gently upon the moss, where the dog lay quietly down. to dispose of himself was the next consideration. that was a matter of easy accomplishment, and consisted in laying hold of his rifle, swinging his body back into the tree, and seating himself firmly among the branches. he now arranged himself with care upon his seat. one branch, a stout one, supported his body, his feet rested upon another, while a third formed a stay for his arms. in a fork lay the barrel of his long rifle, the stock firmly grasped in his hands. he looked with care to this weapon. of course it was already loaded, but, lest the night-dew might have damped the priming, he threw up the pan-cover, with his thumb-nail scraped out the powder, and then poured in a fresh supply from his horn. this he adjusted with his picker, taking care that a portion of it should pass into the touch-hole, and communicate with the charge inside. the steel was then returned to its place, and the flint duly looked to. its state of firmness was felt, its edge examined. both appeared to be satisfactory, so the piece was once more brought to its rest in the fork of the branch. the cibolero was not the man to trust to blind chance. like all of his calling, he believed in the wisdom of precautions. no wonder he adopted them so minutely in the present instance. the neglect of any one of them might be fatal to him. the flashing of that rifle might cost him his life! no wonder he was particular about the set of his flint, and the dryness of his powder. the position he occupied was well chosen. it gave him a view of the whole glade, and no object as large as a cat could enter the opening without being seen by him. silently he sat gazing around the circle of green shrubbery--silently and anxiously--for the space of nearly an hour. his patient vigil was at length rewarded. he saw the yellow face as it peered from the underwood, and for a moment hesitated about firing at it then. he had even taken sight upon it, when it was drawn back! a little longer he waited--till the mulatto, rising to his knees, offered his face full in the blazing light. at that moment his finger pressed the trigger, and his unerring bullet passed through the brain of his treacherous foeman! chapter sixty one. the zambo had disappeared in the underwood almost at the same instant that carlos had mounted and galloped out through the avenue. not a living creature remained in the glade. the huge body lay with arms outstretched, one of them actually across the blazing pile! its weight, pressing down the faggots, half-obscured their light. enough there was to exhibit the ghastly face mottled with washes of crimson. there was no motion in either body or limbs--no more than in that of the counterfeit form that was near. dead was the yellow hunter--dead! the hot flame that licked his arm, preparing to devour it, gave him no pain. fire stirs not the dead! where were the others? they had gone off in directions nearly opposite! were they flying from each other? the zambo had gone back in the same direction whence he had come. he had gone in a very different manner though. after disappearing behind the leafy screen, he had not halted, but rushed on like one terrified beyond the power of controlling himself. the cracking of dead sticks, and the loud rustling among the bushes, told that he was pressing through the grove in headlong flight. these noises had ceased--so, too, the echo of hoofs which for a while came back from the galloping horse of the cibolero. where were they now--zambo and cibolero? had they fled from each other? it would have seemed so from the relative directions in which they had gone. it was not so in reality. whatever desire the zambo might have felt to get away from that spot, his antagonist had no such design. the latter had galloped out of the glade, but not in flight. he knew the zambo well enough to tell that his courage was now gone. the sudden loss of his comrade, and under such mysterious circumstances, had terrified the black, and would paralyse him almost beyond the power of resistance. he would think of nothing else but making his escape. carlos knew that. the quick intellect of the latter had taught him whence his enemies had come--from the lower or southern side of the grove. he had, indeed, been loosing for them in that direction, and, while scrutinising the underwood, had given most attention to that edge of the glade lying to the south. he conjectured that they would deem this the safest way to approach him, and his conjectures proved true. their horses would be left at some distance off, lest the stroke of their hoofs might alarm him. this, too, was his conjecture, and a just one. still another, also just, was that the zambo was now making for the horses! this last occurred to carlos as he saw the other rushing off into the underwood. just what the zambo was doing. seeing his leader fall so mysteriously, he thought no longer of an encounter. flight was his only impulse--to get back to the horses, mount and ride off, his one purpose. he had hopes that carlos would not hastily follow--that he might escape under cover of the darkness. he was mistaken. it was just to defeat this purpose that carlos had galloped forth. he, too, was resolved to make for the horses! once in the open plain, he wheeled to the right, and rode round the grove. on reaching a point where he could command a view of the river he reined up. his object in doing so was to reload his rifle. he threw the piece into a vertical position, at the same time groping for his powder-horn. to his surprise he could not get his hands upon it, and on looking down he saw that it was gone! the strap by which it had been suspended was no longer over his shoulders. it had been caught upon a branch, and lifted off as he had leaped from the tree! annoyed with this misfortune, he was about turning his horse to hurry back to the live-oak, when his eye fell upon a dark figure gliding over the plain, and close in to the fringe of willows by the river. of course it was the fleeing zambo--there could be no doubt of that. carlos hesitated. should he return for the powder-horn, and then waste time in reloading, the zambo might escape. he would soon reach the horses, and mount. had it been day carlos could easily have overtaken him, but not so under the night darkness. five hundred yards' start would have carried him safe out of sight. the cibolero was full of anxiety. he had ample reasons to wish that this man should die. prudence as well as a natural feeling of revenge prompted this wish. the cowardly manner in which these hired ruffians had dogged him had awakened his vengeance. besides, while either lived, the outlaw knew he would have a dangerous enemy. the zambo must not escape! it was but for a moment that carlos hesitated. should he wait to reload his rifle the other would get off. this reflection decided him. he dropped the piece to the ground, turned his horse's head, and shot rapidly across the plain in the direction of the river. in a dozen seconds he reined up in front of his skulking foe. the latter, seeing himself cut off from the horses, halted and stood at bay, as if determined to fight. but before carlos could dismount to close with him, his heart once more gave way; and, breaking through the willows, he plunged into the river. carlos had not calculated upon this. he stood for some moments in a state of surprise and dismay. would the fiend escape him? he had come to the ground. whether should he mount again or follow on foot? he was not long irresolute. he chose the latter course, and, rushing through the willows where the other had passed, he paused a moment on the edge of the stream. just then his enemy emerged upon the opposite bank, and, without a moment's halt, started off in full run across the plain. again carlos thought of following on horseback, but the banks were high,--a horse might find it difficult to ford at such a place,-- perhaps impossible. there was no time to be lost in experiments. "surely," thought carlos, "i am swift as he. for a trial then!" and as he uttered the words he flung himself broad upon the water. a few strokes carried him across the stream; and, climbing out on the opposite bank, he sprang after his retreating foe. the zambo had by this time got full two hundred yards in the advance, but before he had run two hundred more, there was not half that distance between them. there was no comparison in their speed. carlos fairly doubled upon his terrified antagonist, although the latter was doing his utmost. he knew that he was running for his life. not ten minutes did the chase continue. carlos drew near. the zambo heard his footsteps close behind. he felt it was idle to run any longer. he halted, and once more stood at bay. in another instant the two were face to face, within ten feet of each other! both were armed with large knives--their only weapons--and, dim as the light was, the blades of these could be seen glittering in the air. the foes scarce waited to breathe themselves. a few angry exclamations passed between them; and then, rushing upon each other, they clutched in earnest conflict! it was a short conflict. a dozen seconds would have covered its whole duration. for a while, the bodies of the combatants seemed turned around each other, and one of them fell heavily upon the plain. a groan was uttered. it was in the voice of the zambo. it was he who had fallen! the prostrate form wriggled for a moment over the ground--it half rose and fell again--then writhed for a few seconds longer, and then lay still in death! the cibolero bent over it to be assured of this. death was written upon the hideous face. the marks were unmistakeable. the victor no longer doubted; and, turning away from the corpse, he walked back towards the river. having regained his rifle and powder-horn, and reloaded his gun, carlos now proceeded to search for the horses. these were soon found. a bullet was sent through the head of the bloodhound, and another through that of his more wolf-like companion, and the horses were then untied and set free. this done, carlos once more returned to the glade, and, after lifting cibolo down from his perch, he approached the fire, and gazed for a moment at the corpse of the yellow hunter. the fires were blazing more brightly than ever. these were fed by human flesh! turning in disgust from the sight, the cibolero collected his garments, and, once more mounting into the saddle, rode off in the direction of the ravine. chapter sixty two. three days had elapsed from the time that the yellow hunter and his companion had started on their expedition. those who sent them were beginning to grow impatient for some news of them. they did not allow themselves to doubt of the zeal of their employes,--the reward would secure that,--and scarce did they doubt of their success. the latter seemed to all three--roblado, vizcarra, and the padre--but a consequence of the former. still they were impatient for some report from the hunters--if not of the actual capture, at least that the outlaw had been seen, or that they were upon his trail. on reflection, however, both padre and officers saw that it would not be likely they should have any report before the hunters themselves came back, either with or without their captive. "no doubt," suggested the monk, "they are after him every hour, and we shall hear nothing of them until they have laid hands upon the heretic rascal." what a startling piece of news it was to this charming trio, when a _hatero_ brought the information to the settlement that he had seen two dead bodies upon the plain, which he recognised as those of the mission hunters--manuel and pepe. his report was that he had seen them near a grove upon the pecos,--that they were torn by the wolves and vultures--but that what still remained of their dress and equipments enabled him to make out who they were--for the hatero had chanced to know these men personally. he was sure they were the mulatto and zambo, the hunters of the mission. at first this "mysterious murder," as it was termed, could not be explained--except upon the supposition that the "indios bravos" had done it. the people knew nothing of the duty upon which the hunters had been lately employed. both were well enough known, though but little notice was taken of their movements, which lay generally beyond the observation of the citizen community. it was supposed they had been out upon one of their usual hunts, and had fallen in with a roving band of savages. a party of dragoons, guided by the hatero, proceeded to the grove; and these returned with a very different version of the story. they had ascertained beyond a doubt that both the hunters had been killed, not by indian arrows, but by the weapons of a white man. furthermore, their horses had been left, while their dogs had been killed--the skeletons of the latter were found lying upon the bank of the river. it could not have been indians, then. they would have carried off the animals, both dogs and horses, and, moreover, would have stripped the dead of their equipments, which were of some value. indians? no. there was not much difficulty in deciding who had committed this murder. where the skeletons of the dogs were found the ground was soft, and there were hoof-tracks that did not belong to the horses of the hunters. these were recognised by several. they were the tracks of the well-known horse of carlos the cibolero. beyond a doubt carlos had done the deed. it was known that he and the yellow hunter had not been on friendly terms, but the contrary. they had met and quarrelled, then; or, what was more likely, carlos had found the hunters asleep by their camp-fire, had stolen upon them, and thus effected his purpose. the mulatto had been shot dead at once, and had fallen into the fire, for part of the body was consumed to a cinder! his companion, attempting to make his escape, had been pursued and overtaken by the bloodthirsty outlaw! new execrations were heaped upon the head of the devoted carlos. men crossed themselves and uttered either a prayer or a curse at the mention of his name; and mothers made use of it to fright their children into good behaviour. the name of carlos the cibolero spread more terror than the rumour of an indian invasion! the belief in the supernatural became strengthened. scarce any one now doubted that the cibolero's mother was a witch, or that all these deeds performed by her son were the result of her aid and inspiration. there was not the slightest hope that he would either be captured or killed. how could he? who could bind the devil and bring him to punishment? no one any longer believed that he could be caught. some gravely proposed that his mother--the witch should be taken up and burnt. until that was done, argued they, he would set all pursuit at defiance; but if she were put out of the world, the murderer might then be brought to justice! it is probable enough that the counsels of these and they were the majority of the inhabitants--would have prevailed; especially as they were openly approved of by the padres of the mission; but before the public mind became quite ripe for such a violent sacrifice, an event occurred which completely changed the currant of affairs. it was on the morning of a sunday, and the people were just coming out of the church, when a horseman, covered with sweat and dust, galloped into the plaza. his habiliments were those of a sergeant of dragoons; and all easily recognised the well-known lineaments of the sergeant gomez. in a few minutes he was surrounded by a crowd of idlers, who, although it was sunday, were heard a few moments after breaking out into loud acclamations of joy. hats were uptossed and _vivas_ rent the air! what news had gomez announced? a rare bit of news--_the capture of the outlaw_! it was true. carlos had been taken, and was now a prisoner in the hands of the soldiers. he had been captured neither by strength nor stratagem. treachery had done the work. he had been betrayed by one of his own people. it was thus his capture had been effected. despairing for the present of being able to communicate with catalina, he had formed the resolution to remove his mother and sister from the valley. he had prepared a temporary home for them far off in the wilderness, where they would be secure from his enemies, while he himself could return at a better opportunity. to effect their removal, watched as they were, he knew would be no easy matter. but he had taken his measures, and would have succeeded had it not been for treason. one of his own people--a peon who had accompanied him in his last expedition--betrayed him to his vigilant foes. carlos was within the rancho making a few hasty preparations for the journey. he had left his horse hidden some distance off in the chapparal. unfortunately for him cibolo was not there. the faithful dog had been laid up since his late encounter at the cave. to a peon had been assigned the duty that would otherwise have been intrusted to him--that of keeping watch without. this wretch had been previously bought by roblado and vizcarra. the result was, that, instead of acting as sentinel for his master, he hastened to warn his enemies. the rancho was surrounded by a troop; and, although several of his assailants were killed by the hand of carlos, he himself was finally overpowered and taken. gomez had not been five minutes in the plaza when a bugle was heard sounding the advance of a troop, which the next moment defiled into the open square. near its middle was the prisoner, securely tied upon the back of a saddle-mule, and guarded by a double file of troopers. an arrival of such interest was soon known, and the plaza became filled with a crowd eager to gratify its curiosity by a sight of the notorious cibolero. but he was not the only one upon whom the people gazed with curiosity. there were two other prisoners--one of whom was regarded with an interest equal to that felt at the sight of the outlaw himself. this prisoner was his mother. upon her the eyes of the multitude turned with an expression of awe mingled with indignation; while jeering and angry cries hailed her as she passed on her way to the _calabozo_. "_muera la hechicera! muera_!" (death to the witch--let her die!) broke from ruffian lips as she was carried along. even the dishevelled hair and weeping eyes of her young companion--her daughter--failed to touch the hearts of that fanatical mob, and there were some who cried, "_mueran las dos! madre y hija_!" (let both die-- mother and daughter!) the guards had even to protect them from rude assault, as they were thrust hastily within the door of the prison! fortunately carlos saw nought of this. _he was not even aware that they were prisoners_! he thought, perhaps, they had been left unmolested in the rancho, and that the vengeance of his enemies extended no farther than to himself. he knew not the fiendish designs of his persecutors. chapter sixty three. the female prisoners remained in the calabozo. carlos, for better security, was carried on to the presidio, and placed in the prison of the guard-house. that night he received a visit. the comandante and roblado could not restrain their dastard spirits from indulging in the luxury of revenge. having emptied their wine-cups, they, with a party of boon companions, entered the guard prison, and amused themselves by taunting the chained captive. every insult was put upon him by his half-drunken visitors-- every rudeness their ingenuity could devise. for long all this was submitted to in silence. a coarse jest from vizcarra at length provoked reply. the reply alluded to the changed features of the latter, which so exasperated the brute, that he dashed, dagger in hand, upon the bound victim, and would have taken his life, but that roblado and others held him back! he was only prevented from killing carlos by his companions declaring that such a proceeding would rob them of their anticipated sport! this consideration alone restrained him; but he was not contented until with his fists he had inflicted several blows upon the face of the defenceless captive! "let the wretch live!" said roblado. "to-morrow we shall have a fine spectacle for him!" with this the inebriated gang staggered out, leaving the prisoner to reflect upon this promised "spectacle." he did reflect upon it. that he was to be made a spectacle he understood well enough. he had no hopes of mercy, either from civil or military judges. his death was to be the spectacle. all night long his soul was tortured with painful thoughts, not of himself, but about those far dearer to him than his own life. morning glanced through the narrow loophole of his gloomy cell. nothing else--nought to eat, to drink--no word of consolation--no kind look from his ruffian gaolers. no friend to make inquiry about him--no sign that a single heart on earth cared for him. midday arrived. he was taken, or rather dragged, from his prison. troops formed around, and carried him off. where was he going? to execution? his eyes were free. he saw himself taken to the town, and through the plaza. there was an unusual concourse of people. the square was nearly filled, and the azoteas that commanded a view of it. all the inhabitants of the settlement seemed to be present in the town. there were haciendados, rancheros, miners, and all. why? some grand event must have brought them together. they had the air of people who expected to witness an unusual scene. perhaps the "spectacle" promised by roblado! but what could that be? did they intend to torture him in presence of the multitude? such was not improbable. the crowd jeered him as he passed. he was carried through their midst, and thrust into the calabozo. a rude _banqueta_ along one side of his cell offered a resting-place. on this the wretched man sank down into a lying posture. the fastenings on his arms and legs would not allow him to sit upright. he was left alone. the soldiers who had conducted him went out, turning the key behind them. their voices and the clink of their scabbards told him that some of them still remained by the door. two of them had been left there as sentinels. the others sauntered off, and mingled with the crowd of civilians that filled the plaza. carlos lay for some minutes without motion--almost without thought. his soul was overwhelmed with misery. for the first time in his life he felt himself yielding to despair. the feeling was evanescent; and once more he began to reflect--not to hope--no! hope, they say dies but with life: but that is a paradox. he still lived, but hope had died. hope of escape there was none. he was too well guarded. his exasperated enemies, having experienced the difficulty of his capture, were not likely to leave him the slightest chance of escape. hope of pardon--of mercy--it never entered his thoughts to entertain either. but reflection returned. it is natural for a captive to glance around the walls of his prison--to assure himself that he is really a prisoner. it is his first act when the bolt shoots from the lock, and he feels himself alone. obedient to this impulse, the eye of carlos was raised to the walls, his cell was not a dungeon--a small window, or embrasure, admitted light. it was high up, but carlos saw that, by standing upon the banqueta, he could have looked out by it. he had no curiosity to do so, and he lay still. he saw that the walls of his prison were not of stone. they were _adobe_ bricks, and the embrasure enabled him to tell their thickness. there was no great strength in them either. a determined man, with an edge-tool and time to spare, could make his way through them easily enough. so carlos reflected: but he reflected, as well, that he had neither the edge-tool nor the time. he was certain that in a few hours--perhaps minutes--he would be led from that prison to the scaffold. oh! he feared not death--not even torture, which he anticipated would be his lot. his torture was the thought of eternal separation from mother, sister, from the proud noble girl he loved--the thought that he would never again behold them--one or other of them--this was the torture that maddened his soul. could he not communicate with them? had he no friend to carry to them a last word?--to convey a dying thought? none. the sunbeam that slanted across the cell was cut off at intervals, and the room darkened. something half covered the embrasure without. it was the face of some idle lepero, who, curious to catch a glimpse of the captive, had caused himself to be hoisted upon the shoulders of his fellows. the embrasure was above the heads of the crowd. carlos could hear their brutal jests, directed not only against himself, but against those dear to him--his mother and sister. while this pained him, he began to wonder that they should be so much the subject of the conversation. he could not tell what was said of them, but in the hum of voices their names repeatedly reached his ear. he had lain about an hour on the banqueta, when the door opened, and the two officers, vizcarra and roblado, stepped within the cell. they were accompanied by gomez. the prisoner believed that his hour was come. they were going to lead him forth to execution. he was wrong. that was not their design. far different. they had come to gloat over his misery. their visit was to be a short one. "now, my brave!" began roblado. "we promised you a spectacle to-day. we are men of our word. we come to admonish you that it is prepared, and about to come off. mount upon that banqueta, and look out into the plaza; you will have an excellent view of it; and as it is near you will need no glass! up then! and don't lose time. you will see what you will see. ha! ha! ha!" and the speaker broke into a hoarse laugh, in which the comandante as well as the sergeant joined; and then all three, without waiting for a reply, turned and went out, ordering the door to be locked behind them. the visit, as well as roblado's speech, astonished and puzzled carlos. for some minutes he sat reflecting upon it. what could it mean? a _spectacle_, and he to be a _spectator_? what spectacle but that of his own execution? what could it mean? for a time he sat endeavouring to make out the sense of roblado's words. for a good while he pondered over the speech, until at length he had found, or thought he had found, the key to its meaning. "ha!" muttered he; "don juan--it is he! my poor friend! they have condemned him, too; and he is to die before me. that is what i am called upon to witness. fiends! i shall not gratify them by looking at it. no! i shall remain where i am." he threw himself once more prostrate along the banqueta, determined to remain in that position. he muttered at intervals:-- "poor don juan!--a true friend--to death--ay, even to death, for it is for me he dies--for me, and--oh! love--love--" his reflections were brought to a sudden termination. the window was darkened by a face, and a rough voice called in:-- "hola! carlos, you butcher of buffaloes! look forth! _carajo_! here's a sight for you! look at your old witch of a mother! what a figure she cuts! ha! ha!" the sting of a poisonous reptile--a blow from an enemy--could not have roused carlos more rapidly from his prostrate attitude. as he sprang to an upright position, the fastenings upon his ankles were forgotten; and, after staggering half across the floor, he came down upon his knees. a second effort was made with more caution, and this time he succeeded in keeping his feet. a few moments sufficed for him to work himself up to the banqueta; and, having mounted this, he applied his face to the embrasure and looked forth. his eyes rested upon a scene that caused the blood to curdle in his veins, and started the sweat in bead-drops over his forehead. a scene that filled his heart with horror, that caused him to feel as if some hand was clutching and compressing it between fingers of iron! chapter sixty four. the plaza was partially cleared--the open space guarded by lines of soldiers. the crowds, closely packed, stood along the sides of the houses, or filled the balconies and azoteas. the officers, alcalde, magistrates, and principal men of the town, were grouped near the centre of the plaza. most of these wore official costumes, and, under other circumstances, the eyes of the crowd would have been upon _them_. not so now. there was a group more attractive than they--a group upon which every eye was gazing with intense interest. this group occupied a corner of the plaza in front of the calabozo, directly in front of the window from which carlos looked out. it was the first thing upon which his eyes rested. he saw no more--he saw not the crowd, nor the line of soldiers that penned it back--he saw not the gaudy gentry in the square; he saw only that group of beings before him. that was enough to keep his eyes from wandering. the group was thus composed. there were two asses--small shaggy brown animals,--caparisoned in a covering of coarse black serge, that hung nearly to their feet. each had a coarse hair halter held in the hand of a lepero driver, also fantastically dressed in the same black stuff. behind each stood a lepero similarly attired, and carrying "cuartos" of buffalo-skin. by the side of each ass was one of the padres of the mission, and each of these held in his hand the implements of his trade--book, rosary, and crucifix. the priests wore an official look. they were in the act of officiating. at what? listen! the asses were mounted. on the back of each was a form--a human form. these sat not freely, but in constrained attitudes. the feet were drawn underneath by cords passed around the ankles; and to a sort of wooden yoke around the necks of the animals the hands of the riders were tied-- so as to bring their backs into a slanting position. in this way their heads hung down, and their faces, turned to the wall, could not yet be seen by the crowd. both were nude to the waist, and below it. the eye needed but one glance at those forms to tell they were women! the long loose hair--in the one grey, in the other golden--shrouding their cheeks, and hanging over the necks of the animals, was further proof of this. for one it was not needed. the outlines were those of a venus. a sculptor's eye could not have detected a fault. in the form of the other, age had traced its marks. it was furrowed, angled, lean, and harsh to the eye of the observer. oh, god! what a sight for the eye of carlos the cibolero! those involuntary riders _were his mother and sister_! and just at that moment his eye rested upon them--ay, and recognised them at a glance. an arrow passing through his heart could not have inflicted keener pain. a sharp, half-stifled scream escaped his lips-- the only sign of suffering the ear might detect. he was silent from that moment. his hard quick breathing alone told that he lived. he did not faint or fall. he did not retreat from the window. he stood like a statue in the position he had first taken, hugging the wall with his breast, to steady himself. his eyes remained fixed on the group, and fixed too in their sockets, as if glued there! roblado and vizcarra, in the centre of the square, enjoyed their triumph. they saw him at the embrasure. he saw not them. he had for the moment forgotten that they existed. at a signal the bell rang in the tower of the parroquia, and then ceased. this was the cue for commencing the horrid ceremony. the black drivers led their animals from the wall, and, heading them in a direction parallel to one side of the plaza, stood still. the faces of the women were now turned partially to the crowd, but their dishevelled hair sufficiently concealed them. the padres approached. each selected one. they mumbled a few unintelligible phrases in the ears of their victims, flourished the crucifix before their faces, and then, retiring a step, muttered some directions to the two ruffians in the rear. these with ready alacrity took up their cue, gathered the thick ends of their cuartos around their wrists, and plied the lash upon the naked hacks of the women. the strokes were deliberate and measured--they were counted! each seemed to leave its separate weal upon the skin. upon the younger female they were more conspicuous--not that they had been delivered with greater severity, but upon the softer, whiter, and more tender skin, the purple lines appeared plainer by contrast. strange that neither cried out. the girl writhed, and uttered a low whimpering, but no scream escaped her lips. as for the old woman, she remained quite motionless--no sign told that she suffered! when ten lashes each had been administered, a voice from the centre of the plaza cried out-- "_basta por la nina_!" (enough for the girl.) the crowd echoed this; and he, whose office it was to flog the younger female, rolled up his cuarto and desisted. the other went on until twenty-five lashes were told off. a band of music now struck up. the asses were d along the side of the square, and halted at the next corner. the music stopped. the padres again went through their mumbling ceremony. the executioners performed their part--only one of them this time--as by the voice of the crowd the younger female was spared the lash, though she was still kept in her degraded and shameful position. the full measure of twenty-five stripes was administered to the other, and then again the music, and the procession moved on to the third angle of the plaza. here the horrid torture was repeated, and again at the fourth and last corner of the square, where the hundred lashes--the full number decreed as the punishment--were completed. the ceremony was over. the crowd gathered around the victims--who, now released from official keeping, were left to themselves. the feeling of the crowd was curiosity, not sympathy. notwithstanding all that had passed before their eyes, there was but little sympathy in the hearts of that rabble. fanaticism is stronger than pity; and who cared for the witch and the heretic? yes--there were some who cared yet. there were hands that unbound the cords, and chafed the brows of the sufferers, and flung rebosos over their shoulders and poured water into the lips of those silent victims-- silent, for both had fainted! a rude carreta was there. how it came there no one knew or cared. it was getting dusk, and people, having satisfied their curiosity, and hungry from long fasting, were falling off to their homes. the brawny driver of the carreta, directed by a young girl, and aided by two or three dusky indians, lifted the sufferers into his vehicle, and then, mounting himself, drove off; while the young girl, and two or three who had assisted him, followed the vehicle. it cleared the suburbs, and, striking into a byroad that traversed the chapparal, arrived at a lone rancho, the same where rosita had been taken before--for it was josefa who again carried her away. the sufferers were taken inside the house. it was soon perceived that one no longer suffered. the daughter was restored to consciousness, only to see that that of her mother had for ever fled! her temples were chafed--her lips moistened--her hand pressed in vain. the wild utterance of a daughter's grief fell unheard upon her ears. death had carried her spirit to another world. chapter sixty five. from the embrasure of his prison carlos looked upon the terrible spectacle. we have said that he regarded it in silence. not exactly so. now and then, as the blood-stained lash fell heavier than usual, a low groan escaped him--the involuntary utterance of agony extreme. his looks more than his voice betrayed the fearful fire that was burning within. those who by chance or curiosity glanced into the embrasure were appalled by the expression of that face. its muscles were rigid and swollen, the eyes were fixed and ringed with purple, the teeth firmly set, the lips drawn tight over them, and large sweat-drops glistened upon the forehead. no red showed upon the cheeks, nor any part of the face--not a trace to tell that blood circulated there. pale as death was that face, and motionless as marble. from his position carlos could see but two angles of the plaza--that where the cruel scene had its commencement, and that where the second portion was administered. the procession then passed out of sight; but though his eyes were no longer tortured by the horrid spectacle, there was but little relief in that. he knew it continued all the same. he remained no longer by the window. a resolve carried him from it,-- the resolve of self-destruction! his agony was complete. he could endure it no longer. death would relieve him, and upon death he was determined. but how to die? he had no weapon; and even if he had, pinioned as he was, he could not have used it. but one mode seemed possible--to dash his head against the wall! a glance at the soft mason-work of _adobes_ convinced him that this would not effect his purpose. by such an effort he might stun, but not kill himself. he would wake again to horrid life. his eyes swept the cell in search of some mode of self-destruction. a beam traversed the apartment. it was high enough to hang the tallest man. with his hands free, and a cord in them, it would do. there was cord enough on them for the purpose, for they were bound by several varas of a raw-hide thong. to the fastenings his attention was now directed; when, to his surprise and delight, he perceived that the thong had become slack and loose! the hot sweat, pouring from his hands and wrists, had saturated the raw-hide, causing it to melt and yield; and his desperate exertions, made mechanically under the influence of agony and half-madness, had stretched it for inches! a slight examination of the fastenings convinced him of the possibility of his undoing them; and to this he applied himself with all the strength find energy of a desperate man. had his hands been tied in front, he might have used his teeth in the endeavour to set them free; but they were bound fast together across his back. he pulled and wrenched them with all his strength. if there is a people in the world who understand better than any other the use of ropes or thongs, that people is the spanish-american. the indian must yield to them in this knowledge, and even the habile sailor makes but a clumsy knot in comparison. no people so well understand how to bind a captive _without iron_, and the captive outlaw had been tied to perfection. but neither ropes of hemp nor hide will secure a man of superior strength and resolution. give such an one but time to operate, and he will be certain to free himself. carlos knew that he needed but time. the effect produced by the moistening of the raw-hide was such, that short time sufficed. in less than ten minutes it slipped from his wrists, and his hands were free! he drew the thong through his fingers to clear it of loops and snarls. he fashioned one end into a noose; and, mounting upon the banqueta, knotted the other over the beam. he then placed the noose around his naked threat--calculating the height at which it should hang when drawn taut by the weight of his body! and, placing himself on the elevated edge of the banqueta, he was prepared to spring out-- "let me look on them once more before i die--poor victims!--once more!" the position he occupied was nearly in front of the embrasure, and he had only to lean a little to one side to get a view of the plaza. he did so. he could not see them; but he saw that the attention of the crowd was directed towards that angle of the square adjacent to the calabozo. the horrid ceremony would soon be over. perhaps they would then be carried within sight. he would wait for the moment, it would be his last-- "ha! what is that? oh god: it is--" he heard the "weep" of the keen cuarto as it cut the air. he thought, or fancied, he heard a low moan. the silence of the crowd enabled him to distinguish the slightest sounds. "god of mercy, is there no mercy? god of vengeance, hear me! ha! vengeance! what am i dreaming of, suicidal fool? what! my hands free-- can i not break the door? the lock? i can but die upon their weapons! and maybe--" he had flung the noose from his neck, and was about to turn away from the window, when a heavy object struck him on the forehead, almost stunning him with the blow! at first he thought it was a stone from the hand of some ruffian without; but the object, in falling upon the banqueta, gave out a dull metallic clink. he looked down, and in the dim light could make out that the thing which had struck him was of an oblong shape. he bent hastily forward, and clutched it. it was a parcel, wrapped in a piece of silken scarf and tied securely. the string was soon unfastened, and the contents of the parcel held up to the light. these were a roleau of gold onzas, a long-bladed knife, and a folded sheet of paper! the last occupied his attention first. the sun was down, and the light declining, but in front of the window there was still enough to enable him to read he opened the paper and read:-- "_your time is fixed for to-morrow. i cannot learn whether you will be kept where you are all night, or be taken back to the presidio. if you remain in the calabozo, well. i send you two weapons. use which you please, or both. the walls can be pierced. there will be one outside who will conduct you safe. should you be taken to the presidio, you must endeavour to escape on the way, or there is no hope. i need not recommend courage and resolution to you--the personification of both. make for the rancho of josefa. there you will find one who is now ready to share your perils and your liberty. adieu! my soul's hero, adieu_!" no name appeared. but carlos needed none--he well knew who was the writer of that note. "brave, noble girl!" he muttered as he concealed the paper under the breast of his hunting-shirt; "the thought of living for you fills me with fresh hope--gives me new nerve for the struggle. if i die, it will not be by the hands of the _garrotero_. no, my hands are free. they shall not be bound again while life remains. i shall yield only to death itself." as the captive muttered these thoughts he sat down upon the banqueta, and hurriedly untied the thongs that up to this time had remained upon his ankles. this done, he rose to his feet again; and, with the long knife firmly clutched, strode up and down the cell, glancing fiercely towards the door at each turning. he had resolved to run the gauntlet of his guards, and by his manner it was evident he had made up his mind to attack the first of them that entered. for several minutes he paced his cell, like a tiger within its cage. at length a thought seemed to suggest itself that caused a change in his manner, sudden and decided. he gathered up the thongs just cast off; and seating himself upon the banqueta, once more wound them around his ankles--but this time in such a fashion, that a single jerk upon a cunningly-contrived knot would set all free. the knife was hidden under his hunting-shirt, where the purse had been already deposited. last of all, he unloosed the raw-hide rope from the beam, and, meeting his hands behind him, whipped it around both wrists, until they had the appearance of being securely spliced. he then assumed a reclining attitude along the banqueta, with his face turned towards the door, and remained motionless as though he were asleep! chapter sixty six. in our land of cold impulses--of love calculating and interested--we cannot understand, and scarcely credit, the deeds of reckless daring that in other climes have their origin in that strong passion. among spanish women love often attains a strength and sublimity utterly unfelt and unknown to nations who mix it up with their merchandise. with those highly-developed dames it often becomes a true passion-- unselfish, headlong, intense--usurping the place of every other, and filling the measure of the soul. filial affection--domestic ties--moral and social duty--must yield. love triumphs over all. of such a nature--of such intensity--was the love that burned in the heart of catalina de cruces. filial affection had been weighed against it; rank, fortune, and many other considerations, had been thrown into the scale. love out-balanced them all; and, obedient to its impulse, she had resolved to fling all the rest behind her. it was nearing the hour of midnight, and the mansion of don ambrosio was dark and silent. its master was not at home. a grand banquet had been provided at the presidio by vizcarra and roblado, to which all the grandees of the settlement had been invited. don ambrosio was among the number. at this hour he was at the presidio, feasting and making merry. it was not a ladies' festival, therefore catalina was not there. it was, indeed, rather an extemporised affair--a sort of jubilee to wind up the performances of the day. the officers and priests were in high spirits, and had put their heads together in getting up the improvised banquet. the town had become silent, and the mansion of don ambrosio showed not a sign of life. the portero still lingered by the great gate, waiting his master's return; but he sat inside upon the banqueta of the zaguan, and seemed to be asleep. he was watched by those who wished him to sleep on. the large door of the _caballeriza_ was open. within the framework of the posts and lintels the form of a man could be distinguished. it was the groom andres. there was no light in the stable. had there been so, four horses might have been seen standing in their stalls, saddled and bridled. a still stranger circumstance might have been observed--around the hoofs of each horse were wrapped pieces of coarse woollen cloth, that were drawn up and fastened around the ankles! there was some design in this. the door of the caballeriza was not visible from the zaguan; but at intervals the figure within the stable came forth, and, skulking along, peeped around the angle of the wall. the portero was evidently the object of his scrutiny. having listened a while, the figure again returned to its place in the dark doorway, and stood as before. up to a certain time a tiny ray of light could be detected stealing through the curtains of a chamber-door--the chamber of the senorita. all at once the light silently disappeared; but a few moments after, the door opened noiselessly. a female figure glided softly forth, and turned along under the shadow of the wall, in the direction of the caballeriza. on reaching the open doorway she stopped, and called in a low voice-- "andres!" "_aqui, senorita_!" answered the groom, stepping a little more into the light. "all saddled?" "si, senorita." "you have muffled their hoofs?" "every one, senorita." "oh! what shall we do with him," continued the lady in a tone of distress, and pointing toward the zaguan. "we shall not be able to pass out before papa returns, and then it may be too late. _santisima_!" "senorita, why not serve the portero as i have done the girl? i'm strong enough for that." "oh, vicenza! how have you secured her?" "in the garden-house,--tied, gagged, and locked up. i warrant she'll not turn up till somebody finds her. no fear of her, senorita. i'll do the same for the portero, if you but say the word." "no--no--no! who would open the gate for papa? no--no--no! it would not do." she reflected. "and yet, if he gets out before the horses are ready, they will soon miss--pursue--overtake him. he _will_ get out, i am sure of it. how long would it occupy him? not long. he will easily undo his cord fastenings. i know that--he once said he could. oh, holy virgin! he may now be free, and waiting for me! i must haste--the portero--ha!" as she uttered this exclamation she turned suddenly to andres. a new plan seemed to have suggested itself. "andres! good andres! listen! we shall manage it yet!" "si, senorita." "thus, then. lead the horses out the back way, through the garden--can you swim them across the stream?" "nothing easier, my lady." "good! through the garden take them then. stay!" at this she cast her eyes toward the entrance of the long alley leading to the garden, which was directly opposite to, and visible from, the zaguan. unless the portero were asleep, he could not fail to see four horses passing out in that way--dark as was the night. here, then, a new difficulty presented itself. suddenly starting, she seemed to have thought of a way to overcome it. "andres, it will do. you go to the zaguan. see whether he be asleep. go up boldly. if asleep, well; if not enter into conversation with him. get him to open the little door and let you out. wile him upon the street, and by some means keep him there. i shall lead out the horses." this was plausible, and the groom prepared himself for a strategic encounter with the portero. "when sufficient time has elapsed, steal after me to the garden. see that you manage well, andres. i shall double your reward. you go with me--you have nothing to fear." "senorita, i am ready to lay down my life for you." gold is powerful. gold had won the stout andres to a fealty stronger than friendship. for gold he was ready to strangle the portero on the spot. the latter was not asleep--only dozing, as a spanish portero knows how. andres put the stratagem in practice, he offered a cigar; and in a few minutes' time his unsuspicious fellow-servant stepped with him through the gate, and both stood smoking outside. catalina judged their situation by the hum of their voices. she entered the dark stable; and gliding to the head of one of the horses, caught the bridle, and led the animal forth. a few moments sufficed to conduct it to the garden, where she knotted the rein to a tree. she then returned for the second, and the third, and the fourth and last--all of which she secured as she had done the first. once more she went back to the patio. this time only to shut the stable-door, and lock that of her own chamber; and, having secured both, she cast a look towards the zaguan, and then glided back into the garden. here she mounted her own horse, took the bridle of another in her hand, and sat waiting. she had not long to wait. andres had well calculated his time, for in a few minutes he appeared in the entrance; and, having closed the gate behind him, joined his mistress. the _ruse_ had succeeded admirably. the portero suspected nothing. andres had bidden him "buenas noches," at the same time expressing his intention of going to bed. don ambrosio might now return when he pleased. he would retire to his sleeping-room as was his wont. he would not know before morning the loss he had sustained. the mufflings were now removed from the feet of the horses, and, plunging as silently as possible into the water, the four were guided across the stream. having ascended the opposite bank, they were first headed towards the cliffs, but before they had proceeded far in that direction they turned into a path of the chapparal leading downward. this path would conduct them to the rancho of josefa. chapter sixty seven. from the position he occupied, carlos did not fail to observe the outlines of his prison, and search for that point that might be pierced with least trouble. he saw that the walls were of adobe bricks--strong, enough to shut in an ordinary malefactor, but easily cut through by a man armed with the proper tool, and the determination to set himself free. two hours' work would suffice, but how to work that two hours without being interrupted and detected? that, was the question that occupied the mind of the captive. one thing was very evident; it would be unwise to commence operations before a late hour--until the relief of the guard. carlos had well calculated his measures. he had determined to remain as he was, and keep up the counterfeit of his being fast bound until such time as the guard should be changed. he knew that it was the duty of the old guard to deliver him to the relief; and these would assure themselves of his being in the cell by ocular inspection. he guessed that the hour of guard-mounting must be near. he would, therefore, not have long to wait before the new sentries should present themselves in his cell. one thought troubled him. would they keep him in the calabozo that night, or take him back to the presidio for better security? if the latter, his only chance would be--as she had suggested--to make a desperate effort, and escape on the route. once lodged in the guard-house prison, he would be surrounded by walls of stone. there would be no hope of cutting his way through them. it was probable enough he should be taken there; and yet why should they fear his escape from the calabozo--fast bound as they believed him-- unarmed, guarded by vigilant sentinels? no. they would not dream of his getting off. besides, it would be more convenient to keep him all night in the latter prison. it was close to the place of his intended execution, which no doubt was to take place on the morrow. the garrote had been already erected in front of his gaol! partly influenced by such considerations, and partly that they were occupied with pleasanter matters, the authorities had resolved on leaving him where he was for the night, though carlos was ignorant of this. he had, however, prepared himself for either contingency. should they convey him back to the presidio, he would seek the best opportunity that offered, and risk his life in a bold effort to escape. should he be permitted to remain in the calabozo, he would wait till the guard had visited him--then set to work upon the wall after they had gone out. in the event of being detected while at work, but one course remained,--run the gauntlet of the guard, and cut his way through their midst. his escape was not an affair of such improbability. a determined man with a long knife in his grasp--one who will yield only to death--is a difficult thing to secure under any circumstances. such an one will often effect his freedom, even when hemmed in by a host of enemies. with carlos, however, the probabilities of escape were much greater. he was individually strong and brave, while most of his enemies were physically but pigmies in comparison. as to their courage, he knew that once they saw him with his hands free and armed, they would make way for him on all sides. what he had most to fear was the bullets of their carbines; but he had much to hope from their want of skill, and the darkness would favour him. for more than an hour he lay along the banqueta, turning over in his mind the chances of regaining his liberty. his reflections were interrupted by an unusual stir outside his prison. a fresh batch of soldiers had arrived at the door. carlos' heart beat anxiously. was it a party come to conduct him to the presidio? it might be so. he waited with painful impatience listening to every word. to his great joy it proved to be the arrival of the relief-guard; and he had the satisfaction of hearing, by their conversation, that they had been detailed to guard him all night in the calabozo. this was just the very thing he desired to know. presently the door was unlocked and opened, and several of the men entered. one bore a lantern. with this they examined him--uttering coarse and insulting remarks as they stood around. they saw that he was securely bound! after a while all went out and left him to himself. the door was of course re-locked, and the cell was again in perfect darkness. carlos lay still for a few minutes, to assure himself they were not going to return. he heard them place the sentries by the door, and then the voices of the greater number seemed borne off to some distance. now was the time to begin his work. he hastily cast the cords from his hands and feet, drew the long knife from his breast, and attacked the adobe wall. the spot he has chosen was at the corner farthest from the door, and at the back side of the cell. he knew not what was the nature of the ground on the other side, but it seemed most likely that which would lie towards the open country. the calabozo was no fortress-prison--a mere temporary affair, used by the municipal authorities for malefactors of the smaller kind. so much the better for his chances of breaking it. the wall yielded easily to his knife. the adobe is but dry mud, toughened by an admixture of grass, and although the bricks were laid to the thickness of twenty inches or more, in the space of an hour carlos succeeded in cutting a hole large enough to pass through. he could have accomplished this feat, in still shorter time, but he was compelled to work with caution, and as silently as possible. twice he fancied that his guards were about to enter the cell, and both times he had sprung to his feet, and stood, knife in hand, ready to assail them. fortunately his fancies were without foundation. no one entered until the hole was made, and the captive had the satisfaction to feel the cold air rushing through the aperture! he stopped his work and listened. there was no sound on that side of the prison. all was silence and darkness. he pressed his head forward, and peered through. the night was dark, but he could see weeds and wild cactus-plants growing close to the wall. good! there were no signs of life there. he widened the aperture to the size of his body, and crawled through, knife in hand. he raised himself gradually and silently. nothing but tall rank weeds, cactus-plants, and aloes. he was behind the range of the dwellings. he was in the common. he was free! he started towards the open country, skulking under the shadow of the brushwood. a form rose before him, as if out of the earth, and a voice softly pronounced his name. he recognised the girl josefa. a word or two was exchanged, when the girl beckoned him to follow, and silently led the way. they entered the chapparal, and, following a narrow path, succeeded in getting round the village. on the other side lay the ranche, and in half-an-hour's time they arrived at and entered the humble dwelling. in the next moment carlos was bending over the corpse of his mother! there was no shock in this encounter. he had been half prepared for such an event. besides, his nerves had been already strained to their utmost by the spectacle of the morning. sorrow may sometimes eclipse sorrow, and drive it from the heart; but that agony which he had already endured could not be supplanted by a greater. the nerve of grief had been touched with such severity that it could vibrate no longer! beside him was one who offered consolation--she, his noble preserver. but it was no hour for idle grief. carlos kissed the cold lips--hastily embraced his weeping sister--his love. "the horses?" he inquired. "they are close at hand--among the trees." "come, then! we must not lose a moment--we must go hence.--come!" as he uttered these words, he wrapped the serape around the corpse, lifted it in his arms, and passed out of the rancho. the others had already preceded him to the spot where the horses were concealed. carlos saw that there were five of these animals. a gleam of joy shot from his eyes as he recognised his noble steed. antonio had recovered him. antonio was there, on the spot. all were soon in the saddles. two of the horses carried rosita and catalina; the other two were ridden by antonio and the groom andres. the cibolero himself, carrying his strange burden, once more sprang upon the back of his faithful steed. "down the valley, master?" inquired antonio. carlos hesitated a moment as if deliberating. "no," replied he at length. "they would follow us that way. by the pass of la nina. they will not suspect us of taking the cliff road. lead on, antonio:--the chapparal path--you know it best. on!" the cavalcade started, and in a few minutes had passed the borders of the town, and was winding its way through the devious path that led to the pass of la nina. no words were exchanged, or only a whisper, as the horses in single file followed one another through the chapparal. an hour's silent travel brought them to the pass, up which they filed without halting till they had reached the top of the ravine. here carlos rode to the front, and, directing antonio to guide the others straight across the table-land, remained himself behind. as soon as the rest were gone past, he wheeled his horse, and rode direct for the cliff of la nina. having reached the extremity of the bluff, he halted at a point that commanded a full view of san ildefonso. in the sombre darkness of night the valley seemed but the vast crater of an extinct volcano; and the lights, glittering in the town and the presidio, resembled the last sparks of flaming lava that had not yet died out! the horse stood still. the rider raised the corpse upon his arm; and, baring the pale face, turned it in the direction of the lights. "mother! mother!" he broke forth, in a voice hoarse with grief. "oh! that those eyes could see--that those ears could hear!--if but for a moment--one short moment--that you might bear witness to my vow! here do i swear that you shall be revenged! from this hour i yield up my strength, my time, my soul and body, to the accomplishment of vengeance. vengeance! why do i use the word? it is not vengeance, but justice-- justice upon the perpetrators of the foulest murder the world has ever recorded. but it shall not go unpunished. spirit of my mother, hear me! _it shall not_. your death shall be avenged--your torture shall have full retribution. rejoice, you ruffian crew! feast, and be merry, for your time of sorrow will soon come--sooner than you think for! i go, but to return. have patience--you shall see me again. yes! once more you shall stand face to face with carlos the cibolero!" he raised his right arm, and held it outstretched in a menacing attitude, while a gleam of vengeful triumph passed over his countenance. his horse, as if actuated by a similar impulse, neighed wildly; and then wheeling round at a signal from his rider, galloped away from the cliff! chapter sixty eight. after having witnessed the disgusting ceremony in the plaza, the officers returned to their quarters at the presidio. as already stated, they did not return alone. the principal men of the place had been invited to dine with them--cura, padres, alcalde, and all. the capture of the outlaw was a theme of public gratulation and rejoicing; and the comandante and his captain--to whom was due the credit--were determined to rejoice. to that end the banquet was spread in the presidio. it was not thought worth while to remove carlos to the soldiers' prison. he could remain all night in the calabozo. fast bound and well guarded as he was, there was not the slightest danger of him making his escape. to-morrow would be the last day of his life. to-morrow his foes should have the pleasure of seeing him die--to-morrow the comandante and roblado would enjoy their full measure of vengeance. even that day vizcarra had enjoyed part of his. for the scorn with which he had been treated he had revenged himself--though it was he who from the centre of the plaza had cried "_basta_!" it was not mercy that had caused him to interfere. his words were not prompted by motives of humanity--far otherwise. his designs were vile and brutal. to-morrow the brother would be put out of the way, and then-- the wine--the music--the jest--the loud laugh--all could not drown some bitter reflections. ever and anon the mirror upon the wall threw back his dark face spoiled and distorted. his success had been dearly purchased--his was a sorry triumph. it prospered better with roblado. don ambrosio was one of the guests, and sat beside him. the wine had loosened the heart-strings of the miner. he was communicative and liberal of his promises. his daughter, he said, had repented of her folly, and now looked with indifference upon the fate of carlos. roblado might hope. it is probable that don ambrosio had reasons for believing what he said. it is probable that catalina had thrown out such hints, the better to conceal her desperate design. the wine flowed freely, and the guests of the comandante revelled under its influence. there were toasts, and songs, and patriotic speeches; and the hour of midnight arrived before the company was half satiated with enjoyment. in the midst of their carousal, a proposal was volunteered by some one, that the outlaw carlos should be brought in! odd as was this proposition, it exactly suited the half-drunken revellers. many were curious to have a good sight of the cibolero--now so celebrated a personage. the proposal was backed by many voices, and the comandante pressed to yield to it. vizcarra had no objection to gratify his guests. both he and roblado rather liked the idea. it would be a further humiliation of their hated enemy. enough. sergeant gomez was summoned, the cibolero sent for, and the revelry went on. but that revelry was soon after brought to a sudden termination, when sergeant gomez burst into the saloon, and announced in a loud voice that-- _the prisoner had escaped_! a shell dropping into the midst of that company could not have scattered it more completely. all sprang to their feet--chairs and tables went tumbling over--glasses and bottles were dashed to the floor, and the utmost confusion ensued. the guests soon cleared themselves of the room. some ran direct to their houses to see if their families were safe; while others made their way to the calabozo to assure themselves of the truth of the sergeant's report. vizcarra and roblado were in a state bordering upon madness. both stormed and swore, at the same time ordering the whole garrison under arms. in a few minutes nearly every soldier of the presidio had vaulted to his saddle, and was galloping in the direction of the town. the calabozo was surrounded. there was the hole through which the captive had got off. how had he unbound his fastenings--who had furnished him with the knife? the sentries were questioned and flogged--and flogged and questioned-- but could tell nothing. they knew not that their prisoner was gone, until gomez and his party came to demand him! scouring parties were sent out in every direction--but in the night what could they do? the houses were all searched, but what was the use of that? the cibolero was not likely to have remained within the town. no doubt he was off once more to the plains! the night search proved ineffectual; and in the morning the party that had gone down the valley returned, having found no traces either of carlos, his sister, or his mother. it was known that the _hechicera_ had died on the previous night, but where had the body been taken to? had she come to life again, and aided the outlaw in his escape? such was the conjecture! at a later hour in the morning some light was thrown on the mysterious affair. don ambrosio, who had gone to rest without disturbing his daughter, was awaiting her presence in the breakfast-room. what detained her beyond the usual hour? the father grew impatient--then anxious. a messenger was at length sent to summon her--no reply to the knocking at her chamber-door! the door was burst open. the room was entered--it was found untenanted--the bed unpressed--the senorita had fled! she must be pursued! where is the groom?--the horses? she must be overtaken and brought back! the stable is reached, and its door laid open. no groom! no horse!-- they, too, were gone! heavens! what a fearful scandal! the daughter of don ambrosio had not only assisted the outlaw to escape, but she had shared his flight, and was now with him. "_huyeron_!" was the universal cry. the trail of the horses was at length taken up, and followed by a large party, both of dragoons and mounted civilians. it led into the high plain, and then towards the pecos, where they had crossed. upon the other side the trail was lost. the horses had separated, and gone in different directions, and their tracks, passing over dry shingle, could no longer be followed. after several days' fruitless wandering, the pursuing party returned, and a fresh one started out; but this, after a while, came back to announce a similar want of success. every haunt had been searched; the old rancho--the groves on the pecos--even the ravine and its cave had been visited, and examined carefully. no traces of the fugitives could be discovered; and it was conjectured that they had gone clear off from the confines of the settlement. this conjecture proved correct, and guessing was at length set at rest. a party of friendly comanches, who visited the settlement, brought in the report that they had met the cibolero on their way across the llano estacado--that he was accompanied by two women and several men with pack-mules carrying provisions--that he had told them (the indians) he was on his way for a long journey--in fact, to the other side of the great plains. this information was definite, and no doubt correct. carlos had been often heard to express his intention of crossing over to the country of the americanos. he was now gone thither--most likely to settle upon the banks of the mississippi. he was already far beyond the reach of pursuit. they would see him no more--as it was not likely he would ever again show his face in the settlements of new mexico. months rolled past. beyond the report of the comanches, nothing was heard of carlos or his people. although neither he nor his were forgotten, yet they had ceased to be generally talked of. other affairs occupied the minds of the people of san ildefonso; and there had lately arisen one or two matters of high interest--almost sufficient to eclipse the memory of the noted outlaw. the settlement had been threatened by an invasion from the yutas--which would have taken place, had not the yutas, just at the time, been themselves attacked and beaten by another tribe of savages! this defeat had prevented their invasion of the valley--at least for that season, but they had excited fears for the future. another terror had stirred san ildefonso of late--a threatened revolt of the tagnos, the _indios mansos_, or _tame_ indians, who formed the majority of the population. their brethren in several other settlements had risen, and succeeded in casting off the spanish yoke. it was natural that those of san ildefonso should dream of similar action, and conspire. but their conspiracy was nipped in the bud by the vigilance of the authorities. the leaders were arrested, tried, condemned, and shot. their scalps were hung over the gateway of the presidio, as a warning to their dusky compatriots, who were thus reduced to complete submission! these tragic occurrences had done much to obliterate from the memory of all the cibolero and his deeds. true, there were some of san ildefonso who, with good cause, still remembered both; but the crowd had ceased to think of either him or his. all had heard and believed that the outlaw had long ago crossed the great plains, and was now safe under the protection of those of his own race, upon the banks of the mississippi. chapter sixty nine. and what had become of carlos? was it true that he had crossed the great plains? did he never return? what became of san ildefonso? these questions were asked, because he who narrated the legend had remained for some time silent. his eyes wandered over the valley, now raised to the cliff of la nina, and now resting upon the weed-covered ruin. strong emotion was the cause of his silence. his auditory, already half guessing the fate of san ildefonso, impatiently desired to know the end. after a while he continued. carlos _did_ return. what became of san ildefonso? in yonder ruin you have your answer. san ildefonso fell. but, you would know how? oh! it is a terrible tale--a tale of blood and vengeance, and carlos was the avenger. yes--the cibolero returned to the valley of san ildefonso, but he came not alone. five hundred warriors were at his back--red warriors who acknowledged him as their leader--their "white chief." they were the braves of the waco band. they knew the story of his wrongs, and had sworn to avenge him! it was autumn--late autumn--that loveliest season of the american year, when the wild woods appeal painted, and nature seems to repose after her annual toil--when all her creatures, having feasted at the full banquet she has so lavishly laid out for them, appear content and happy. it was night, with an autumnal moon--that moon whose round orb and silvery beams have been celebrated in the songs of many a harvest land. not less brilliant fell those beams where no harvest was ever known-- upon the wild plain of the llano estacado. the lone _hatero_, couched beside his silent flock, was awakened by a growl from his watchful sheep-dog. raising himself, he looked cautiously around. was it the wolf, the grizzly bear, or the red puma? none of these. a far different object was before his eyes, as he glanced over the level plain--an object whose presence caused him to tremble. a long line of dark forms was moving across the plain. they were the forms of horses with their riders. they were in single file--the muzzle of each horse close to the croup of the one that preceded him. from east to west they moved. the head of the line was already near, but its rear extended beyond the reach of the hatero's vision. presently the troop filed before him, and passed within two hundred paces of where he lay. smoothly and silently it glided on. there was no chinking of bits, no jingling of spurs, no clanking of sabres. alone could be heard the dull stroke of the shoeless hoof, or at intervals the neigh of an impatient steed, suddenly checked by a reproof from his rider. silently they passed on--silent as spectres. the full moon gleaming upon them added to their unearthly appearance! the watcher trembled where he lay--though he knew they were not spectres. he knew well what they were, and understood the meaning of that extended deployment. they were indian warriors upon the march. the bright moonlight enabled him to distinguish farther. he saw that they were all full-grown men--that they were nude to the waist, and below the thighs--that their breasts and arms were painted--that they carried nought but their bows, quivers, and spears--in short, that they were braves _on the war-trail_! strangest sight of all to the eyes of the hatero was the leader who rode at the head of that silent band. he differed from all the rest in dress, in equipments, in the colour of his skin. _the hatero saw that he was white_! surprised was he at first on observing this, but not for long. this shepherd was one of the sharpest of his tribe. it was he who had discovered the remains of the yellow hunter and his companion. he remembered the events of that time. he reflected; and in a few moments arrived at the conclusion that the _white chief_ he now saw could be no other than carlos the cibolero! in that conjecture he was right. the first thought of the hatero had been to save his own life by remaining quiet. before the line of warriors had quite passed him, other thoughts came into his mind. the indians were on the _war-trail_!--they were marching direct for the settlement,--they were headed by carlos the cibolero! the history of carlos the outlaw now came before his mind--he remembered the whole story; beyond a doubt the cibolero was returning to the settlement to take vengeance upon his enemies! influenced partly by patriotism, and partly by the hope of reward, the hatero at once resolved to defeat this purpose. he would hasten to the valley and warn the garrison! as soon as the line had filed past he rose to his feet, and was about to start off upon his errand; but he had miscalculated the intelligence of the white leader. long before, the flanking scouts had enclosed both him and his charge, and the next moment he was a captive! part of his flock served for the supper of that band he would have betrayed. up to the point where the hatero had been encountered, the white chief and his followers had travelled along a well-known path--the trail of the traders. beyond this, the leader swerved from the track; and without a word headed obliquely over the plain. the extended line followed silently after--as the body of a snake moves after its head. another hour, and they had arrived at the _ceja_ of the great plain--at a point well-known to their chief. it was at the head of that ravine where he had so oft found shelter from his foes. the moon, though shining with splendid brilliance, was low in the sky, and her light did not penetrate the vast chasm. it lay buried in dark shade. the descent was a difficult one, though not to such men, and with such a guide. muttering some words to his immediate follower, the white chief headed his horse into the cleft, and the next moment disappeared under the shadow of the rocks. the warrior that followed, passing the word behind him, rode after, and likewise disappeared in the darkness; then another, and another, until five hundred mounted men were engulfed in that fearful-looking abysm. not one remained upon the upper plain. for a while there struck upon the ear a continued pattering sound--the sound of a thousand hoofs as they fell upon rocks and loose shingle. but this noise gradually died away, and all was silence. neither horses nor men gave any token of their presence in the ravine. the only sounds that fell upon the ears were the voices of nature's wild creatures whose haunts had been invaded. they were the wail of the goatsucker, the bay of the barking wolf, and the maniac scream of the eagle. another day passes--another moon has arisen--and the gigantic serpent, that had all day lain coiled in the ravine, is seen gliding silently out at its bottom, and stretching its long vertebrate form across the plain of the pecos. the stream is reached and crossed; amidst plashing spray, horse follows horse over the shallow ford, and then the glittering line glides on. having passed the river lowlands, it ascends the high plains that overlook the valley of san ildefonso. here a halt is made--scouts are sent forward--and once more the line moves on. its head reaches the cliff of la nina just as the moon has sunk behind the snowy summit of the sierra blanca. for the last hour the leader has been marching slowly, as though he waited her going down. her light is no longer desired. darkness better befits the deed that is to be done. a halt is made until the pass has been reconnoitred. that done, the white chief guides his followers down the defile; and in another half-hour the five hundred horsemen have silently disappeared within the mazes of the chapparal! under the guidance of the half-blood antonio, an open glade is found near the centre of the thicket. here the horsemen dismount and tie their horses to the trees. the attack is to be made on foot. it is now the hour after midnight. the moon has been down for some time; and the cirrus clouds, that for a while had reflected her light, have been gradually growing darker. objects can no longer be distinguished at the distance of twenty feet. the huge pile of the presidio, looming against the leaden sky, looks black and gloomy. the sentinel cannot be seen upon the turrets, but at intervals his shrill voice uttering the "_centinela alerte_!" tells that he is at his post. his call is answered by the sentinel at the gate below, and then all is silent. the garrison sleeps secure--even the night-guard in the zaguan with their bodies extended along the stone banqueta, are sleeping soundly. the presidio dreads no sudden attack--there has been no rumour of indian incursion--the neighbouring tribes are all _en paz_; and the tagno conspirators have been destroyed. greater vigilance would be superfluous. a sentry upon the azotea, and another by the gate, are deemed sufficient for the ordinary guardianship of the garrison. ha! the inmates of the presidio little dream of the enemy that is nigh: "_centinela alerte_!" once more screams the watcher upon the wall. "_centinela alerte_!" answers the other by the gate. but neither is sufficiently on the alert to perceive the dark forms that, prostrate upon the ground, like huge lizards, are crawling forward to the very walls. slowly and silently these forms are moving, amidst weeds and grass, gradually drawing nearer to the gateway of the presidio. a lantern burns by the sentinel. its light, radiating to some distance, does not avail him--he sees them not! a rustling noise at length reaches his ear. the "_quien viva_?" is upon his lips; but he lives not to utter the words. half-a-dozen bowstrings twang simultaneously, and as many arrows bury themselves in his flesh. his heart is pierced, and he falls, almost without uttering a groan! a stream of dark forms pours into the open gateway. the guard, but half awake, perish before they can lay hand upon their weapons! and now the war-cry of the wacoes peals out in earnest, and the hundreds of dark warriors rush like a torrent through the zaguan. they enter the patio. the doors of the _cuartos_ are besieged-- soldiers, terrified to confusion, come forth in their shirts, and fall under the spears of their dusky assailants. carbines and pistols crack on all sides, but those who fire do not live to reload them. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ it was a short but terrible struggle--terrible while it lasted. there were shouts, and shots, and groans, mingling together--the deep voice of the vengeful leader, and the wild war-cry of his followers--the crashing of timber, as doors were broken through or forced from their hinges--the clashing of swords and spears, and the quick detonation of fire-arms. oh! it was a terrible conflict! it ends at length. an almost total silence follows. the warriors no longer utter their dread cry. their soldier-enemies are destroyed. every cuarto has been cleared of its inmates, who lie in bleeding heaps over the patio and by the doors. no quarter has been given. all have been killed on the spot. no--not all. there are two who survive--two whose lives have been spared. vizcarra and roblado yet live! piles of wood are now heaped against the timber posterns of the building, and set on fire. volumes of smoke roll to the sky, mingling with sheets of red flame. the huge pine-beams of the azotea catch the blaze, burn, crackle, and fall inwards, and in a short while the presidio becomes a mass of smoking ruins! but the red warriors have not waited for this. the revenge of their leader is not yet complete. it is not to the soldiers alone that he owes vengeance. he has sworn it to the citizens as well. the whole settlement is to be destroyed! and well this oath was kept, for before the sun rose san ildefonso was in flames. the arrow, and the spear, and the tomahawk, did their work; and men, women, and children, perished in hundreds under the blazing roofs of their houses! with the exception of the tagno indians, few survived to tell of that horrid massacre. a few whites only--the unhappy father of catalina among the rest--were permitted to escape, and carry their broken fortunes to another settlement. that of san ildefonso--town, presidio, mission, haciendas, and ranchos-- in the short space of twelve hours had ceased to exist. the dwellers of that lovely valley were no more! it is yet but noon. the ruins of san ildefonso are still smoking. its former denizens are dead, but it is not yet unpeopled. in the plaza stand hundreds of dusky warriors drawn up in hollow square, with their faces turned inward. they are witnessing a singular scene--another act in the drama of their leader's vengeance. two men are mounted upon asses, and tied upon the backs of the animals. these men are stripped--so that their own backs are perfectly bare, and exposed to the gaze of the silent spectators! though these men no longer wear their flowing robes, it is easy to distinguish them. their close-cut hair and shaven crowns show who they are--the padres of the mission! deep cuts the cuarto into their naked skin, loudly do they groan, and fearfully writhe. earnestly do they beg and pray their persecutors to stay the terrible lash. their entreaties are unheeded. two white men, standing near, overlook the execution. these are carlos the cibolero and don juan the ranchero. the priests would move them to pity, but in vain. the hearts of those two men have been turned to stone. "remember my mother--my sister!" mutters carlos. "yes, false priests--remember!" adds don juan. and again is plied the cutting lash, until each corner of the plaza has witnessed a repetition of the punishment! then the asses are led up in front of the parroquia--now roofless and black; their heads are fastened together, so that the backs of their riders are turned toward the spectators. a line of warriors forms at a distance off--their bows are bent, and at a signal a flight of arrows goes whistling through the air. the suffering of the padres is at an end. both have ceased to exist. i have arrived at the last act of this terrible drama; but words cannot describe it. in horror it eclipses all the rest. the scene is la nina--the top of the cliff--the same spot where carlos had performed his splendid feat on the day of san juan. another feat of horsemanship is now to be exhibited. how different the actors--how different the spectators! upon the tongue that juts out two men are seated upon horseback. they are not free riders, for it may be noticed that they are tied upon their seats. their hands do not grasp a bridle, but are bound behind their backs; and their feet, drawn together under the bellies of their horses, are there spliced with raw-hide ropes. to prevent turning in the saddle, other thongs, extending from strong leathern waist-belts, stay them to croup and pommel, and hold their bodies firm. under such a ligature no horse could dismount either without also flinging the saddle, and that is guarded against by the strongest girthing. it is not intended that these horsemen shall lose their seats until they have performed an extraordinary feat. it is no voluntary act. their countenances plainly tell that. upon the features of both are written the most terrible emotions--craven cowardice in all its misery--despair in its darkest shadows! both are men of nearly middle age--both are officers in full uniform. but it needs not that to recognise them as the deadly enemies of carlos--vizcarra and roblado. no longer now his enemies. they are his captives! but for what purpose are they thus mounted? what scene of mockery is to be enacted? scene of mockery! ha! ha! ha! observe! _the horses upon which they sit are wild mustangs_! observe! _they are blinded with tapojos_! for what purpose? you shall see. a tagno stands at the head of each horse, and holds him with difficulty. the animals are kept fronting the cliff, with their heads directed to the jutting point of la nina. the indians are drawn up in line also facing to the cliff. there is no noise in their ranks. an ominous silence characterises the scene. in front is their chief mounted upon his coal-black steed; and upon him the eyes of all are fixed, as though they expected some signal, his face is pale, but its expression is stern and immobile. he has not yet reached the completion of his vengeance. there are no words between him and his victims. all that has passed. they know their doom. their backs are towards him, and they see him not; but the tagnos who stand by the horses' heads have their eyes fixed upon him with a singular expression. what do these expect? a signal. in awful silence was that signal given. to the right and left sprang the tagnos, leaving free the heads of the mustangs. another signal to the line of mounted warriors, who, on receiving it, spurred their horses forward with a wild yell. their spears soon pricked the hips of the mustangs, and the blinded animals sprang towards the cliff! the groans of agonised terror that escaped from their riders were drowned by the yells of the pursuing horsemen. in a moment all was over. the terrified mustangs had sprung out from the cliff--had carried their riders into eternity! the dusky warriors pulled up near the brink, and sat gazing upon each other in silent awe. a horseman dashed to the front; and, poising his horse upon the very edge, looked down into the abysm. it was the white chief. for some moments he regarded the shapeless masses that lay below. he saw that they moved not. men and horses were all dead crushed, bruised, and shattered--a hideous sight to behold! a deep sigh escaped him, as though some weight had been lifted from his heart, and, turning around he muttered to his friend-- "don juan! i have kept my oath--_she is avenged_!" ------------------------------------------------------------------------ the setting sun saw that long line of indian warriors filing from the valley, and heading for the plain of the llano estacado. but they went not as they had come. they returned to their country laden with the plunder of san ildefonso--to them the legitimate spoils of war. the cibolero still rode at their head, and don juan the ranchero was by his side. the fearful scenes through which they had just passed shadowed the brows of both; but these shadows became lighter as they dwelt on the prospect before them. each looked forward to a happy greeting at the end of his journey. carlos did not remain long among his indian friends. loaded with the treasure they had promised, he proceeded farther east, and established a plantation upon the red river of louisiana. here, in the company of his beautiful wife, his sister, don juan, and some of his old servants, he led in after years a life of peace and prosperity. now and then no made hunting excursions into the country of his old friends the wacoes--who were over glad to see him again, and still hailed him as their chief. of san ildefonso there is no more heard since that time. no settlement was ever after made in that beautiful valley. the tagnos--released from the bondage which the padres had woven around them--were but too glad to give up the half-civilisation they had been taught. some of them sought other settlements, but most returned to their old habits, and once more became hunters of the plains. perhaps the fate of san ildefonso might have attracted more attention in other times; but it occurred at a peculiar period in spanish-american history. just then the spanish power, all over the american continent, was hastening to its decline; and the fall of san ildefonso was but one episode among many of a character equally dramatic. near the same time fell gran quivira, abo, chilili, and hundreds of other settlements of note. each has its story--each its red romance--perhaps far more interesting than that we have here recorded. chance alone guided our steps to the fair valley of san ildefonso,-- chance threw in our way one who remembered its legend--the legend of the _white chief_. appendix. notes. "_sierra blanca_."--page . the sierra blanca is so called because the tops of this range are usually covered with snow. the snow of the sierra blanca is not "eternal." it only remains for about three parts of the year. its highest peaks are below the snow-line of that latitude. mountains that carry the eternal snow are by the spanish americans denominated "nevada." "_the grand prairie_."--page . this name is somewhat indefinite, being applied by some to particular portions of prairie land. among the hunters it is the general name given to the vast treeless region lying to the west of the timbered country on the mississippi. the whole longitudinal belt from the lower rio grande to the great slave lake is, properly speaking, the grand prairie; but the phrase has been used in a more restricted sense, to designate the larger tracts of open country, in contra-distinction to the smaller prairies, such as those of illinois and louisiana, which last are separated from the true prairie country by wide tracts of timbered surface. "_settlements of nuevo mexico_."--page . the settlements of new mexico covered at one time a much wider extent of country than they do now. the indians have been constantly narrowing the boundaries for the last fifty years. at present these settlements are almost wholly restricted to the banks of the del norte and a few tributary streams. "_gramma grass_."--page . the _chondrosium_, a beautiful and most nutritions herbage that covers many of the plains of texas and north mexico. there are several species of grass known among mexicans as "gramma"; one in particular, the _chondrosium foeneum_, as a food for horses, is but little inferior to oats. "_cackle of his fighting-cock_."--page . there is no exaggeration in all this. every traveller in mexico has witnessed such scenes, and many have borne testimony to these and similar facts. i have often seen the fighting chanticleer carried inside the church under the arm of its owner, while the latter entered to pray! "_fiestas principales_."--page . the more noted saints' days, or religious festivals, as saint john's, good-friday, guadalupe, etcetera, are so styled to distinguish them from the many others of lesser celebrity. "_tailing the bull_."--page . "bull-tailing" (_coleo de toro_) and "running the cock" (_correr el gallo_) are favourite sports in most parts of mexico, but particularly in the northern provinces. they were also californian games while that country was spano-mexican. "_the apache_"--page . one of the largest tribes of the "indios bravos" or wild indians, _i.e._ indians who have never submitted to the spanish yoke. their country lies around the heads of the gila, extending from that stream to the del norte, and down the latter to the range of another large and powerful tribe--the comanches--also classed as "indios bravos." "_familias principales_."--page . the "first families," a united states phrase, is the synonym of "familias principales" of mexico. "_comerciante_."--page . merchant or extensive trader. merchandise is not degrading in mexico. the rich merchant may be one of the "familias principales." although there is still an old _noblesse_ in the mexican republic, the titles are merely given by courtesy, and those who hold them are often outranked and eclipsed in style by the prosperous parvenu. "_alcalde_."--page . pronounced alkalde. the duties of the alcalde are very similar to those of a magistrate or justice of the peace. every village has its alcalde, who is known by his large gold or silver-headed cane and tassel. in villages where the population is purely indian, the alcalde is usually either of indian or mixed descent--often pure indian. "_mode de paris_!"--page . the upper classes in mexico, particularly those who reside in the large cities, have discarded the very picturesque national costume, and follow the fashions of paris. in all the large towns, french tailors, modistes, jewellers, etcetera, may be met with. the ladies wear french dresses, but without the bonnet. the shawl is drawn over the head when it becomes necessary to cover it. the hideous bonnet is only seen upon foreign ladies residing in mexico. the city gentleman of first-class wears a frock-coat, but the cloth jacket is the costume of the greater number. a long-tailed dress-coat is regarded as an _outre_ affair, and never appears upon the streets of a mexican town. "_gachupino_."--page . a spaniard of old spain. the term is used contemptuously by the natives, or creoles (criollos), of mexico, who hate their spanish cousins as the americans hate englishmen, and for a very similar reason. "_hijo de algo_."--page . literally, "son of somebody." hence the word _hidalgo_. the "blue blood" (_sangre azul_) is the term for pure blood or high birth. "_poblanas_."--page . a _poblana_ is, literally, a village girl or woman, but in a more specific sense it signifies a village belle, or beauty. it is nearly a synonyme of the spanish "maja." "_don juan tenorio_."--page . don juan tenorio--a celebrated character of spanish romance and drama. he is the original from which byron drew his conception of don juan. he is the hero of a thousand love-scrapes and "_desafios_," or duels. the drama of "don juan tenorio" still keeps the spanish stage, and spaniards can hardly find words to express their admiration of its poetry. it requires two nights to play this piece, which is about twice the length of a regular five-act play. "_teniente_."--page . "lugar-teniente" is lieutenant in spanish, but the "lugar" is left out, and "teniente" stands for the title of the subaltern. "_quien sabel_."--page . a noted phrase which figures largely in spanish dialogue. literally, "who knows?" "_gambucinos and rancheros_!"--page . _gambucino_, a petty miner, who digs or washes gold on his own account. _ranchero_, the dweller in a _rancho_, or country hut. the ranchero class corresponds pretty nearly to that known as "small farmers," though in mexico they are more often graziers than agriculturists. "_enaguas_."--page . sometimes written "nagua,"--the petticoat, usually of coarse blue or red cotton stuff, with a list of white or some other colour forming the top part. "_reboso_."--page . the scarf of greyish or slaty blue, worn by all women in mexico, except the ladies of the upper ten thousand, who use it only on occasions. "_allegria_."--page . a singular custom prevails among the women of new mexico, of daubing their faces all over with the juice of a berry called by them the "allegria," which gives them anything but a charming look. the juice is of a purplish red colour, somewhat like that of blackberries. some travellers allege that it is done for ornament, as the indians use vermilion and other pigments. this is not a correct explanation. the "allegria" is used by the new mexican belles to preserve the complexion, and get it up towards some special occasion, such as a grand _fiesta_ or "fandango," when it is washed off, and the skin comes out clear and free from "tan." the "allegria" is the well known "poke-weed" of the united states (_phytolacca decandra_.) "_sombrero_."--page . the black _glaze_ hat with low crown and broad leaf is a universal favourite throughout mexico. it is often worn several pounds in weight, and that, too, under a hot tropic sun. some sort of gold or silver lace-band is common, but frequently this is of heavy bullion, and costly. "_pueblos_."--page . there are many towns in new mexico inhabited exclusively by "pueblos," a name given to a large tribe of civilised indians,--_indios mansos_ (tame indians) such tribes are called, to distinguish them from the _indios bravos_, or savages, who never acknowledged the sway of the spanish conquerors. "_peons_."--page . the labouring serfs of the country are _peons_. they are not slaves by the wording of the political law, but most of them are in reality slaves by the law of debtor and creditor. "_petates_," etcetera--page . a "petate" is a small mat about the size of a blanket, woven out of palm-strips, or bulrushes, according to the district; it is the universal bed of the mexican peasant. _tunas_ and _pitahayas_ are fruits of different species of cactus. _sandias_ are water-melons. _dulces_ are preserves. _agua-miel_ and _limonada_, refreshing drinks peculiar to mexico. _piloncillos_, loaves of coarse brown sugar, met with in all parts of mexico, and very much like the maple-sugar of the states. _tortillas_, the often-described daily bread of the mexican people. _chili colorado_, red pepper. _ollas_, earthen pots of all sizes--almost the only sort used in the mexican kitchen. _atole_, a thin gruel resembling flour and water, but in reality made out of the finer dust of the maize, boiled and sweetened. _pinole_, parched maize mixed with water and sweetened. _clacos_, copper cents, or half-pence,--the copper coin of mexico. _punche_, a species of native-grown tobacco. _aguardiente_, whisky distilled from maize, or sometimes from the aloe-- literally, _agua ardiente_, hot or fiery water. it is the common whisky of the country, and a vile stuff in most cases. [illustration: from the mouth of the dark pit a fetid, foul-smelling air rushed upward.] the border boys on the trail by fremont b. deering new york hurst & company, publishers copyright, , by hurst & company made in u. s. a. * * * * * contents chapter page i. on the border ii. the boys find trouble iii. a race for life iv. through the great darkness v. the rustlers at work vi. taking up the trail vii. in the hands of the enemy viii. black ramon's mission ix. a momentous interview x. in the bell tower xi. a drop in the dark xii. a ride for the hills xiii. the hermit of the caÑon xiv. travels with a mule xv. a gateway to freedom xvi. short rations xvii. the tale of a mule xviii. the treasure of the mission xix. jim hicks, prospector xx. ralph a true hero xxi. at the irrigation dam xxii. a bolt from the blue xxiii. with the rurales xxiv. the round-up * * * * * the border boys on the trail. chapter i. on the border. "maguez! maguez!" the trainmen began hoarsely shouting the curious-sounding name of the small frontier town near the mexican border, in the southwest part of new mexico. slowly the long dust-covered southern pacific express rolled imposingly into "mag-gay," very slowly, in fact, as if it did not wish to tarry in that desolate, sun-bitten portion of the continent. as the brakes began to grind down, one of two boys of about seventeen, who had been lounging on the shady side of a forward sleeper, awoke from a semi-doze with a start. "hullo! somebody wants maggie!" exclaimed ralph stetson, as he gazed out of the open window. he saw nothing more novel before his eyes, however, than the same monotonous stretch of yellow, sandy wastes, sprinkled with sage brush and dotted by a few wandering cattle, which the train had been traversing for hours. "you'll have to get used to new mexican pronunciation of mexican names, ralph," laughed his companion, as he also opened his eyes and began looking about him in the half-startled manner peculiar to those abruptly awakened from "forty winks." "'maggie', as you call it, is our station." "station!" echoed the other. "where is it?" he stuck his head out of the window as the train gradually decreased speed, but his eyes encountered nothing more suggestive of a town than a stock car on a lonely side track, into which some cowboys, with wild yells and much spurring of their wiry little steeds, were herding a few beef cattle. "that freight car must be in front of the town," muttered the boy, pulling in his head. "over this side, you tenderfoot!" laughed jack merrill, pointing out of the left-hand window. "haven't you got used to western towns yet?" "one-sided towns, you mean, i guess," said ralph, rising and looking out in the opposite direction. "why in the name of the state of new mexico do they build all the towns out here at one side of the tracks?" "so that easterners can have something to wonder about," laughed jack merrill, brushing off the accumulation of white desert dust from his dark suit with a big brown hand. "or so that they can at least get a few minutes of shade when a train pulls in," retorted ralph, gazing at the sun-baked collection of wooden structures toward which the train was rolling. a yellow water tank, perched on a steel frame, towered above the town like a sunflower on a stalk. apparently it took the place of trees, of which there was not a vestige, unless a few cactus plants be excepted. "better follow my example and brush some of the desert off," said jack, still brushing vigorously. "no, let the porter do it; here he is," said the eastern ralph. sure enough, with his black face expanded in a grin expectant of tips, the presiding genius of the pullman approached. "come on, cheer up, ralph!" laughed jack, glancing at his companion's dismal face, which was turned toward the window and its barren view. "don't be downcast because my home town isn't surrounded by elms, and meadows, and fat jersey cows, and all that. haven't we lain awake many a night at stonefell college, talking over the west, and here you are in the heart of it." "well, it's a good warm heart, anyway!" grumbled ralph, mopping his steaming forehead. the train came to a stop with an abrupt jerk, and followed by the porter, carrying two new and shiny suitcases, the boys hastened from the car, into the blinding sunlight which lay blisteringly on maguez and its surroundings. everything quivered in the heat. the boys were the only passengers to alight. "phew, it's like opening an oven door!" exclaimed ralph, as the heated atmosphere fell full upon him. "we've come more than two thousand miles from an eastern summer to roast out here." "and look at the train, will you!" cried jack. "it looks as if it had been through a snowstorm." he pointed down the long line of coaches, each of which was powdered thickly with white dust. "all ab-oa-rd!" the conductor's sonorous voice echoed down the train, and with a few mighty puffs from the laboring engine, the wheels once more began to revolve. the porter, clutching a tip in his fingers, leaped back on to his car. all the time they had been waiting in the station the locomotive had been impatiently blowing off steam, and emitting great clouds of black smoke, as though in a desperate hurry to get away from inhospitable-looking maguez. it now lost no time in getting into motion. as the cars began to roll by, jack gave a sudden shout. "ralph! the-the professor! we've forgotten him!" "good gracious, yes! what could we have been thinking of! we are getting as absentminded as he is. here, stop the train! hey, i say, we----" but before the shouts had done resounding, a tall, spare man of middle age stepped out on the platform of one of the front coaches, and after gazing about him abstractedly for a few seconds, swung himself off, landing unsteadily on a pair of long, slender legs. so great was the shock of the professor's landing that his huge spectacles were jerked off his prominent nose, and he had all he could do to retain a hold on a large volume which he held tightly clasped under his left arm. the boys hurried to pick up the professor's spectacles and hand them to him. "we almost lost you, professor!" exclaimed ralph. "ah, boys, i was immersed in the classics--'the defense of socrates,' and----" "why, professor wintergreen, where is your suitcase?" exclaimed jack suddenly. "see--the train is moving, and----" "shades of grecian plato!" shouted the professor, glancing about him wildly. "i've forgotten it! stop! i must get it back! i----" he made a sudden dash for the train, which was now moving so swiftly that it was manifestly impossible that he could board it in safety. the boys both pulled him back, despite his struggles. just then, the car which the boys had recently vacated began to glide by. a black face appeared at the window. it was the porter, and in his hand he held a large green suitcase. it was the same the professor had left behind him when he vacated the car in which they had traveled from the east, and went forward into the smoking car with his book. "look out!" yelled the porter, as he threw the piece of baggage out of the window. it hurtled forth with a vehemence indeed that threatened to take off the scientist's head, which it narrowly missed. "fo' de lawd!" the porter shouted back, as the train gathered way. "wha' yo all got in dat valise--bricks?" "no, indeed, sir," retorted the professor seriously, as his suitcase went bounding over the platform, which was formed of sun-baked earth. "i have books. the idea of such a question. why should i want to carry bricks about with me, although the ancient egyptians----" by this time the porter was far out of hearing, and the last car of the train had whizzed by. before the professor could conclude his speech, the suitcase--as if to prove his contention as to its contents by actual proof--burst open, and out rolled several massive volumes. the few loungers, who had gathered to watch the train come in, set up a roar of laughter as the professor--his coat flaps flying out behind him like the tail of some strange bird--darted after his beloved volumes. "that's what you might call a circulating library!" grinned jack, as the books bounded about with the impetus of their fall. "i thought it was a carnegie car, you see----" began ralph, when a sudden shout checked him. he glanced up in the direction from which it had come. a dust-covered buckboard, in which sat a tall, bronzed man in plainsman's clothes, was dashing toward them. the two buckskin ponies which drew it were being urged to their utmost speed by the driver, to whom jack merrill was already waving his hand and shouting: "hello, dad!" in the meantime the professor was groping about on the platform, picking up his scattered treasures, and all the time commenting loudly to himself on his misfortune. "dear, dear!" he exclaimed, picking up one bulky volume and examining it with solicitude. "here's a corner broken off professor willikin williboice's 'the desert dwellers of new mexico, with some account of the horn toad eaters of the region.' and what have we here? eheu! the monumental work of professor simeon sandburr, on the 'fur-bearing pollywog of the south polar regions,' is----" "slightly damaged about the back!" broke in a hearty voice behind him. "but never mind, professor; the pollywogs will grow up into frogs yet, never fear. we'll soon have those volumes mended; and now let me introduce myself, as my son jack seems unable to do so. my name is jefferson merrill, the owner of agua caliente ranch." "delighted to meet you, sir," said the professor. "proud to encounter a man whose name is not unknown to science in connection with his efforts to uncover something of the history of the mesa dwellers of this part of the world." "whose relics, if my son informed me rightly in his letters from school in the east, you have come to study, professor." "yes, sir; thanks to your hospitality," rejoined the professor, imprisoning his recovered volumes with a click of his suitcase clasps; "it was extremely handsome of you to invite me, and----" "not at all, my dear sir, not at all," expostulated the rancher, a kindly smile spreading on his bronzed features. "besides," he continued in his breezy manner, "as latin professor at stonefell college you will no doubt be able to give an eye to your two pupils, and keep them out of mischief better than i could." here the professor looked doubtful. "you see, we're pretty busy now, what with cattle rustlers and----" "cattle rustlers, dad!" exclaimed jack. "hooray!" "it's nothing to be enthusiastic over, my boy. several of the border ranchers have suffered severely recently from their depredations." "have you lost any stock, dad?" "no; so far, i have luckily escaped. but the rascals may come at any time, and it keeps me on the lookout. they are well organized, i believe, and have a stronghold somewhere back across the border. so you boys will have to depend on your own devices for amusement. but now come, don't let's stand baking here any longer. there's a long drive before us, and we had better be getting on." "but, dad, look at all our baggage!" cried jack, pointing to the heap of trunks the baggage car had dropped. "there'll never be room for all of us in that buckboard." "so i guessed," smiled his father. "so i had bud wilson bring in two ponies for you boys to ride out on. you told me, i think, that your friend ralph, here, could ride." "good for you, dad!" exclaimed jack impulsively; "it'll be fine to get in the saddle again--and to see old bud, too," he added. "who is bud?" asked ralph. "you'll soon get to know him yourself," laughed mr. merrill. "but you boys go and get your horses. while you are gone the professor and i will try to get some of these independent gentlemen standing about to give us a hand to load the trunks on. then we'll drive on to the ranch. you can overtake us. eh, professor summerblue?" "wintergreen, sir," rejoined the professor in a dignified way. "eh--oh, i beg your pardon. i knew it was something to do with the seasons. i hope you will pardon me, professor spring----no, i mean wintergreen." "just like dad, he never can remember a name," laughed jack, as the two boys hastened off to find the ponies and bud. "maybe he is worried about these cattle bustlers----" "rustlers, you tenderfoot--you are as bad as dad." "well, rustlers, then. they must be desperate characters." "a lot of sneaking greasers usually. they hustle the cattle or horses off over the border, but occasionally one of them gets caught and strung up, and that's the end of it." "then there are no border wars any more, or indians, or----" "adventures left in the west," jack finished for him, laughing at the other's disappointed tone. then, more seriously: "well, ralph, the west isn't what it's pictured to be in wild west shows; but we've plenty of excitement here once in a while, and before you go back east, with those lungs of yours in a-one shape, you may experience some of it." "i hope so," said ralph, looking up the long dusty street with its sun-blistered board shacks on either side, with a few disconsolate ponies tied in front. the yellow water tower topped above it all like some sort of a misshapen palm tree or sunflower on steel legs. in fact, a more typical border town than maguez at noon on a june day could not be imagined. except for the buzzing of flies, and the occasional clatter of a horse's hoofs as some one rode or drove up to the general store--which, together with a blacksmith shop, a disconsolate-looking hotel, and a few miscellaneous buildings made up the town--there was not a sound to disturb the deep, brooding silence of the desert at noonday. far on the horizon, like great blue clouds, lay the sierre de la hacheta, in the foothills of which lay agua caliente ranch. "so this is the desert?" went on ralph, as they made their way up the rough wooden sidewalk toward the stable where they expected to find bud wilson and the horses. "this is it," echoed jack merrill, "and the longer you know it the better you like it." "it's peaceful as a graveyard, anyhow," commented ralph. "doesn't anything ever happen? i wonder if----" he broke off suddenly as a startling interruption occurred. the quiet of maguez had been rudely shattered by a sudden sound. bang! from a small building to their right, on which was painted in scrawly red letters the words, "riztorant. meelz at awl howrz," there had come the sharp crack of a pistol shot. before its echoes had died away, several doors opened along the street, and a motley crowd of cowboys, mexicans and blanketed indians poured out to ascertain the cause of the excitement. they had not long to wait. from the door of the restaurant a pig-tailed mongolian suddenly shot with the speed of a flying jackrabbit. the chinaman cleared the hitching rail in front of the place at one bound, his progress being hastened from behind by a perfect avalanche of cups and other dishes. bang! a second shot came, as the oriental sprinted up the street. all at once he stopped dead in his tracks as the bullet sang by his ear. "well, ralph, i guess something's happened, after all!" remarked jack merrill, as the crowd began to thicken and the restaurant door once more opened. this time a strange figure, to ralph's eastern eyes, emerged from the portal. a sinister suggestion was lent to the newcomer's appearance by the fact that in his right hand there glistened an exceedingly business-like looking revolver. chapter ii. the boys find trouble. "no shootee! no shootee!" the blue-overalled chinaman plumped down on his knees in the thick dust, with his hands clasped in entreaty. above him, threatening the cowering wretch with his pistol, stood the figure of the man who had emerged so suddenly from the restaurant door. the crowd doing nothing stood stoically looking on. the tormentor of the mongolian was a tall, swarthy figure of a man, crowned with a high-peaked, silver-braided sombrero, the huge brim of which almost obscured the repulsive details of his swarthy face. the remainder of his garb was a short jacket, beneath which a broad red sash upheld the most peculiar nether garments ralph had ever seen. they were tight about their wearer's thin legs as far as the knees, when the black velvet of which they were made suddenly became as full and baggy as the trousers of a sailor. high-heeled boots and a pair of jingling silver spurs completed his fantastic costume--the typical holiday garb of a mexican, including the revolver. "by sam hooker, i know that chink!" cried jack, as the boys ran up and joined the crowd. "it's hop lee. he used to cook on my father's ranch. i remember hearing now that he had started some kind of a restaurant in town. here, hop lee, what's the matter?" "oh, misser mellill, you helpee me! no let misser de ballios shootee me! i do no halm. me catch um----" "what are you boys interfering here for?" demanded the mexican suddenly, wheeling angrily. he spoke in good english, but with a trace of accent. jack, despite his brown face and the keen, resourceful look which comes from a plainsman's life, wore eastern-cut clothes. the mexican had promptly sized him up for a tenderfoot. "you just run along, or you'll get hurt," he continued menacingly. he leveled his gun, and brusquely ordered the chinaman, who had by this time arisen, to kneel once more in the dust. "don't do it, hop lee. get back to your cook stove," cried jack. "he _will_ kneel!" declared the mexican, facing about, "or----" "well, or what?" demanded jack, looking the silver-braided bravado straight in the eyes. "or you will!" question and answer came sharp as pistol shots. the mexican raised his pistol menacingly. but at the same instant a foot suddenly projected between the spanish-american's slender legs and twisted about one limb. the next instant the gaudily garbed bully lay prostrate in the dust, the pungent stuff filling his eyes, mouth and nose. it was ralph stetson's foot which had tripped the man. the boy had acted in a sudden excess of fear that the mexican was about to shoot his chum. as a matter of fact, the fellow had had no such intention. but now he had shared the fate of many another man who has made a bluff, only to have it promptly taken at its full value. a sort of murmur of alarm went through the crowd as the mexican measured his length in the dust. "say, pard," said a short, chunky little cowboy behind ralph, "you've done it now; that's black ramon de barrios." "well, he's white now!" laughed the boy, as the mexican rose to his feet with his features smothered with white dust. "looks as if he'd been taking a dive in the flour barrel!" laughed jack. he turned to ralph with a quick, "thanks, old fellow. i see that you're as much on the job here as on the football field. but i don't think he meant to shoot----" "no, he _did_ not, but he _does_ now!" de barrios approached the boys, his pistol leveled and his black, serpent-like eyes glinting wickedly. "i'll show you what black ramon can do! he never forgets an insult nor forgives an injury!" aghast at the threatened tragedy, the crowd did nothing, and the boys stood rooted to one spot. closer and closer, like a snake, the mexican crept, determined, it seemed, to get the full measure of anticipation out of his revenge for his tumble. jack never flinched, but his heart beat unpleasantly fast. the mexican's brown, cigarette-stained forefinger trembled on the trigger. he was quite close now. the fat little cowboy gave a yell of alarm, and sprang suddenly forward. "look out! the varmint's going to shoot!" but at the same instant a strange thing happened a snaky loop whizzed through the air and settled about the bully's neck. the vengeful mexican was suddenly jerked off his feet as it tightened, his long legs threshing the air like those of a swimming frog. "roped, by ginger!" yelled some one in the crowd, as de barrios, at the end of a lariat, went ploughing through the dust on his face for the second time. and roped, ramon de barrios was. so absorbed had the crowd been in watching the tense scene before them that few of them had noticed a cowboy mounted on a small calico pony who had ridden slowly up from a point behind the boys. this cow-puncher, a long-legged, rangy, sun-burned fellow, in typical stockman's garb, had watched everything attentively till the critical moment. then, with a quick twist, he had roped the mexican as neatly as he would have tied a calf on branding day. "well done, and thank you, bud!" shouted jack, running up and shaking the cowboy's hand. the latter had halted his pony a short distance from them. but the distance had been quite far enough for de barrios, whose method of traveling had been far from comfortable. "where did you spring from, old fellow?" jack went on. "from the corral up the street," said bud, displaying no more emotion than if he and the boys had had an appointment to meet at that spot under quite ordinary circumstances. "just wait till i get this here sidewinder of a greaser cut loose, and i'll talk to you." all this time de barrios had lain prone in the dust, with the rope stretched tight, just as the trained cow pony had kept it. bud now cast loose the end which he had wound about his saddle horn, and the mexican, with a sulky look, rose to his feet and threw off the rawhide loop. "here's your gun," said bud wilson, leaning from his saddle and picking up the fallen weapon from the dust. "hold on, though," he said suddenly. breaking the weapon open, he "sprung" the shells out of it. this done, he handed it to the mexican, who took it with a sinister look. "to our next meeting!" he grated, as he turned away. "well, stay on your feet next time!" rejoined bud composedly, amid a roar from the crowd. "now, hop lee," demanded jack merrill of the chinaman, as de barrios strode off without a word, but with a black look on his swarthy face, "what was the trouble in there?" "why, the chink spilled a spot of grease on the brim of the mexican's sombrero," volunteered somebody, "and when he wouldn't wipe it off again, de barrios got mad." "well, i don't know as i blame the greaser so very much, those being the circumstances," remarked bud dryly. "these chinks has got to be kep' in order some way. now get back to your chuck wagon, hop, and don't give no more dissatisfaction to your customers." ralph now learned who bud wilson was--a cow-puncher who had worked for jack's father for many years, and had practically brought jack up on the range. bud had two strong dislikes, mexicans and apaches, and his services against the latter had given him his nickname of apache bud. for tenderfeet, bud had merely pity. "poor critters," he would say, when at his ease in the bunkhouse, or when sweeping across the range on his favorite calico pony, "i s'pose it ain't their fault--being raised unnatural--but the most of 'em is dumb as a locoed coyote." "what ponies have you brought for us, bud?" asked jack, as, with the two boys walking beside him, the cowboy rode slowly back to the stable, from the door of which he had first espied their difficulty. "waal, i brought firewater fer you," said bud, "and petticoats, the buckskin, for your tenderfoot friend here." "petticoats!" said jack in a tone of vexation. "why, petticoats is the tamest old plug on the ranch." "that's all right, jack," said ralph, bravely choking back a feeling of mortification. "i guess, when i've shown i can ride, i'll get a chance at a better animal." bud wilson gazed at him with a kindlier expression than he had yet bestowed on the rather pale-faced young easterner. although an athlete and a boxer, ralph had had some slight bronchial trouble of late, and had been recommended to spend his vacation in new mexico as a means of effecting a complete cure. "so you kin ride?" bud asked. "a little," said ralph modestly. as a matter of fact, mr. stetson, the railroad magnate, owned several good horses, and had always encouraged his son ralph in using them. in this way ralph had had plenty of experience with one or two of the eastern "drag hunts," and had played polo a little. jack merrill knew this. it mortified him, therefore, to think that old petticoats had been brought for his guest. "i tell you, ralph," he said generously, "you take firewater and see how you like him." "not much, jack," exclaimed ralph. "he's your own pet particular pony. i've often heard you speak of him. no; i'll take old petticoats. i guess we'll get on all right together." both ponies were saddled and ready for them when the party reached the stable. de barrios, who had had his heavy black horse in the corral, was riding out as they came up. the mexican gave them a black look, to which they paid no attention. the mexican, whatever he may have looked like on foot, presented an impressive sight on his black horse--a superb, long-tailed animal with a glossy coat and great, restless eyes. de barrios's saddle and bridle and martingale were covered with silver, and both horse and rider were typical productions of the border. "even you will admit that that's a good horse," said jack to bud, as the mexican loped off at an easy, swinging gait, and the boys started into the barn. "oh, yes. he's all right; but give me my calico here for a traveler," said bud, patting the neck of his beloved chappo. poor petticoats was certainly not an imposing-looking pony. she was a small buckskin, and appeared to be a good enough traveler; but she had an ewe neck, and a straggly tail, and a lack-lustre eye, very unlike jack's glossy-coated, bright bay pony. "i thought you said she was a quiet old plug," said ralph, as his eyes fell on the mare for the first time. "so she is, why?" asked jack, who had been too busy tightening firewater's cinch to notice the really remarkable antics of petticoat. "well, look at that!" exclaimed ralph, as petticoats lashed out at him. for a quiet steed, petticoats certainly was jumping about a good deal. there was a restless look in her eyes. she rolled them back till only the white showed. her ears were pressed wickedly close to the side of her not very shapely head. "say, she's acting queerly, for fact," said jack. "maybe she's been eating loco weed. shall i ask bud to look her over before you mount?" "no, don't. he'd only josh me about her. i guess she's only restless. just come off pasture, maybe." so without a word to bud, who had remained outside the barn while the boys were getting their ponies, ralph swung himself easily into the saddle. his body had hardly touched the leather before the placid--or, rather, supposedly placid--petticoats leaped into the air with a spring which would have unseated a less-experienced rider, and then came down with all four feet stiffly braced together in a wicked buck. if ralph had been a less plucky rider, he would have been unseated, and almost to a certainty seriously hurt. as it was, however, he stuck to the saddle. "whoa, petticoats, whoa!" shouted jack, steadying his own pony, which was getting excited and prancing about as it saw the other's antics. "w-w-w-what's the m-m-matter with her?" the words were jerked out of ralph's mouth, as petticoats plunged and reared and gave a succession of stiff-legged bucks. jack had no time to reply before the buckskin, with a squeal and a series of running leaps, was out of the stable door. "what in the name of the great horn spoon!" yelled the startled bud, as a buff-colored streak flashed past him. the next instant, with a rattle of hoofs and an alarming crackling and flapping of saddle leathers, the little pony was off in a cloud of dust, headed for the desert. "locoed?" shouted jack, as he and bud wilson dug their big, blunt-rowelled spurs into their mounts and started in pursuit. "i dunno," muttered bud, shaking a big loop out of his "rope," as they tore along at break-neck speed, "but we've got to catch him." "why? if he doesn't fall off he'll be all right. she'll soon run herself out." "no, she won't, either. since you've been east they've put through a big irrigation canal out yonder. that cayuse is headed right for it, and if the kid can't stop her, they'll go sky-whooping over the edge." "wow! we've got to get him." "that's what. spur up now, and get your rope ready. now's your chance to show me you haven't forgot all i ever taught you about roping." jack unslung the thirty feet of plaited rawhide from the right hand of his saddle horn, and shook out a similar loop to bud's. both ponies were now going at the limit of their speed, and the distance between them and the runaway seemed to be diminishing. "will we get him in time?" gasped jack. "dunno. there's the canal yonder. it's a twenty-foot drop." the cowboy pointed dead ahead to where a dark, purplish streak cut across the dun expanse of desert. "we've _got_ to beat him to it!" said jack, gritting his teeth. chapter iii. a race for life. fast as they raced on, jack and the cow-puncher seemed to gain on the flying petticoats with aggravating slowness. "consarn that mare, she's plumb locoed, i reckon!" growled bud, as they rocketed along, flogging their ponies to renewed efforts with their heavy quirts. "she runs like a quarter horse!" gasped jack, his mouth full of alkali dust; for he had no neck handkerchief to pull up over his mouth, vaquero style. but with their splendid mounts they were bound to gain on the suddenly crazed petticoats, and gradually they drew so close that all three riders were blanketed by the same cloud of dust. behind them came a second great cloud, in which rode a score or more of riders from maguez who had hastily mounted and galloped out to see the fun as soon as they heard there was a runaway. "the canal!" shouted jack suddenly. a wandering breeze for a second swept aside the dust cloud before them, and showed the fresh, raw wound gaping in the level surface of the desert. it was fully thirty feet wide, and as the canal was a new ditch, its sides were almost as steep as a wall. bud wilson said nothing, but set his lips grimly. with an imperceptible movement of his wrist, he gathered his trailing loop into the air and began to whirl it above his head, first slowly and then faster and faster. the rawhide loop opened out till it was ten feet or more in circumference. "now!" he yelled, and at the same instant the released loop went swirling through the air. "yip-yip!" yelled jack. bud had won proudly many a prize for roping, and was the most expert man with the lariat in his part of the west. had he wished, he could have roped the flying petticoats by the heels. but to have done so would have been to have brought the crazed pony down with a crash, and probably have seriously injured, if not killed, her rider. swish! the great loop settled as accurately as if hands had guided it about the maddened pony's neck. bud took a twist of his end round the saddle horn and checked the calico. "got her!" screamed jack. "yi-hi!" but there came a sudden shout of dismay from bud. the calico's foot had caught in a gopher hole, and over he went, turning almost a complete somersault. jack gave a shout of horror as he saw the catastrophe. he feared bud had been killed, but the lithe bronco buster was up in a second, stumbling toward his fallen horse. but the rope did not prove equal to the sudden strain put upon it by the collapse of the calico. the instant the pony had fallen, of course its full weight had come on the rawhide, instead of there being, as bud had planned, a gradual strangling down of the runaway. it had been, in effect, a tug of war between the flying petticoats and the suddenly checked calico. crack! the rope twanged taut as a stretched fiddle string and parted with a snap just as bud reached back into the hip of his leathern chaperaros for his colt. he had determined to shoot the runaway and risk disabling ralph, rather than have the pony take the twenty-foot plunge over the brim of the canal. but at the moment his finger pressed the trigger there came a shout from jack, who was now only a few paces behind petticoats. the boy's hastily thrown lariat had missed altogether. before their horrified eyes, the runaway buck-skin and her rider the next instant plunged in one confused heap over the bank of the canal and vanished from sight. jack was within a breath of following them over the brink, but in the nick of time he wheeled the carefully trained firewater round on his haunches and averted a second calamity. controlling his half-maddened steed, the boy pressed to the edge of the canal. the bank was new and smooth, and as steep as the roof of a house. ralph and his pony had rolled over and over down this place in one inextricable heap. but by the time jack reached the edge of the steep bank, ralph had kicked free of the big, clumsy mexican stirrups and was struggling in the water. the flood was rushing along in a yellow, turbid swirl. there had been a freshet in the mountains a few days before, and to relieve the pressure on the land company's dam up there, the spillways had been opened to their capacity. the canal was carrying the great overflow. it tore along between the high, steep banks like a mill race. "the flood gates!" came a frenzied shout from bud. he pointed westward. in a flash jack realized that the flood gates below must be open, and at the instant of this realization came another thought. if he did not act and act quickly, ralph would be carried through the gates to probably certain death. "ralph! ralph!" he shouted, as he gazed down at the brave struggle his chum was making to reach the bank; but the current swept the eastern boy away from it every time. his pony had gained the bank, and was pawing pitifully at the steep, sandy slope. it did not need more than a glance to see that ralph's strength was giving out. he turned up a white, despairing face to jack, by whose side there now stood bud wilson. "quick, jack! chuck him the rope!" shouted bud in a tense voice. inwardly angry at himself for not having thought of this before, jack sent his rawhide snaking down the bank. ralph, his face white and strained above the tearing yellow current, reached out in a desperate effort to clutch the rawhide. even as his fingers gripped it, however, the current proved too much for him. he was swept away on its white-flecked surface like a bit of drift. "ride, boy, ride! we've got to beat him to the sluice and close the gates! it's his only chance!" it was bud's voice once more. somehow, jack found himself in the saddle, with firewater racing under him as that brave little bay had never raced before. close alongside came bud, rowelling his bleeding-kneed calico cruelly to keep alongside. far behind came shouts and yells from the crowd. the buckskin, the cause of all the trouble, managed to clamber to the edge of the stream, where the water was slightly shallower, and was dragged out by ropes. while the race for life swept onward, she stood dripping and shivering on the summit of the bank. from his flying pony jack caught occasional glimpses of ralph in the stream below. the boy was a good swimmer, and now that he was being carried along with the current, instead of fighting it, he was able to keep his head above water most of the time. "stick it out, ralph, old boy!" yelled jack, as he dashed past the half-drowned lad whom the rapid current was carrying almost as swiftly as the over-run ponies could gallop. "we'll be in time!" exclaimed jack, through his clinched teeth. right ahead of him he saw some grim, gallows-like looking timbers reared up against the sky line, which he knew must mark the sluice. hardly had the thought flashed through his mind, when firewater seemed to glide from beneath him. an instant later jack found himself rolling over and over on the level plain. the same accident as had befallen bud had happened to him. a gopher hole--one of those pests of desert riders--had tripped firewater and sent his rider sprawling headlong. "hurt?" bud wilson, on the calico, drew up alongside jack, who had struggled to his feet and was looking about in a dazed sort of way. "no, i'll be all right in a second. but firewater!" the bay had risen to his feet, but stood, sweating and trembling, with his head down almost between his knees. he could not have expressed "dead beat" better if he had said it in so many words. "blown up!" exclaimed bud disgustedly. "what shall we do?" choked out jack. "here, quick! up behind me!" bud reached down a hand, kicked a foot out of his left stirrup, and in a second jack was swung up behind him and they were off. "i hope to goodness we strike no more gopher holes," thought the boy, as they raced along, scarcely more slowly than when the plucky little calico had only a single burden to carry. never had the brave little beast been used more unmercifully. bud wilson plied his heavy quirt on the pony's flanks as if he meant to lay the flesh open. to every lash of the rawhide the calico responded bravely, leaping forward convulsively. "we'll beat him to it!" cried jack triumphantly, as both riders fairly fell off the spent calico's back at the sluice gates. "yep, maybe; but we've got to get 'em closed first!" was bud's laconic response. paying no further attention to the calico--which was too spent, anyhow, to attempt to get away--the two, the man and the boy, ran at top speed across the narrow wooden runway which led to the big wheels by which the gateways of the sluice were raised and lowered. "if ralph can only hold out!" gasped jack, who, far up the stream had espied a small black object coming rapidly toward him, which he knew must be the head of his chum. ralph was swimming easily, taking care not to wind himself, and looking out for any opportunity which might present itself to reach the bank. no sooner did he attempt to cross the current, however, than the water broke over him as if he had been a broached-to canoe. he confined his efforts, therefore, to keeping his head above water. of the deadly peril that lay ahead of him he had, of course, no knowledge. "hurry, bud!" cried jack, in an agony of fear that they would be too late. "all right now, take it easy, jack. no use hurrying over this job," replied bud easily, though his drawn face and the sweat on his forehead showed the agitation under which he was laboring. "consarn this thing! how's it work!" he muttered angrily, fiddling with the machinery, which was complicated and fitted with elaborate gears and levers to enable the terrific pressure of the water to be handled more easily. beneath their feet the stream--a mad torrent above--developed into a screaming, furious flood at the sluiceway. it shot through the narrow confines at tremendous velocity, shaking and tearing at the masonry buttresses as if it would rip them away. to jack's excited imagination, it seemed as if the swollen canal was instinct with life and malevolence, and determined to have human life or property in revenge for its confinement. suddenly the boy's eyes fell on something he had not noticed before. beyond the floodgate the engineers of the irrigation canal, finding that the confinement of the water at the sluiceway tended to make the current too savage for mere sandy walls to hold it, had constructed a tunnel. this expedient had been resorted to only after numerous experimental cement retaining walls had been swept away. just beyond the buttresses on the other side of the sluice, the entrance of the tunnel yawned blackly. like a great mouth it swallowed the raging flood as it swept through the sluice. "bud! bud! look!" cried jack, pointing. "great jumping side-winders! i forgot the tunnel!" groaned bud, his usually emotionless face working in his agitation. he had been handling the sluice desperately, but without result. "we _must_ close the gates within a second, or it will be too late!" shouted jack, above the roar of the water. ralph's despairing face was very close now. "my poor kid, we can't!" wailed bud. "why not?" "the double-doggoned, dash beblinkered fool as looks after 'em has padlocked 'em, and we can't git 'em closed without a key!" there was not a second to think. even as the discovery that it would be impossible to close the gates was made, ralph's white face flashed into view almost beneath them. bud made a quick snatch at jack's lariat, which the boy still retained, and snaked it down over the racing water. "missed!" he groaned, as ralph's upturned face was hurried by. at the same instant there came a splash that the cow puncher heard even above the roar of the water as it tore through its confines. bud glanced quickly round. where jack merrill had stood a moment before were a pair of shoes, the boy's coat and his shirt. but jack had gone--he had jumped to ralph's rescue. as bud, with a sharp exclamation of dismay, switched sharply round, he was just in time to see the forms of the two boys swallowed in the darkness of the irrigation tunnel. chapter iv. through the great darkness. little given to emotion as he was, bud wilson reeled backward as if about to fall, and gripped the woodwork of the sluice till the blood came beneath his nails. his eyes were still riveted on the yawning black mouth of the tunnel, and the white-flecked, yellow water racing into it, when the followers of the chase for life came galloping up, leading the ponies of the two boys who had vanished. blank looks were exchanged as they learned what had happened. "not a chance for them." was the consensus of opinion. jack merrill was not a boy who does things without due thought, however. when he had jumped into what seemed certain death he had done so with a definite plan in his head. in moments of intense mental strain the mind sometimes acts with lightning-like rapidity, and jack had reasoned like a flash that the irrigation tunnel, being built to convey water to the lands of the maguez land and development company, probably emerged on their lands, which lay not more than a mile away. of course, he was not certain of this, but the life of his friend was at stake. spent as his chum was, jack thought ralph could hardly last throughout the passage of the tunnel, while he, jack, was fresh, and also a stronger swimmer. these thoughts had all raced through his mind while he kicked off his boots and tugged his shirt over his head. then had come the swift flash below him of ralph's white, imploring face--and the leap. for a second the current, as he struck it, seemed to be tearing jack limb from limb. the undertow at the sluice caught him and dragged him down, down, and held him under the turbid water till it seemed that his head must burst open. at last, however, he was shot to the surface like a cork out of a bottle. joyously he filled his lungs and began swimming. as his hands struck out they encountered something. to his intense joy, the next instant jack found that the current had thrown its two victims, himself and ralph stetson, together, and none too soon. ralph's eyes were closed, and though he still floated, he seemed incapable of further effort. hardly had jack time to note this, when the light was suddenly blotted out, as if a great curtain had been drawn across the sun. there was a mighty roaring, like that of a thousand huge cataracts in his ears, and he knew that they had entered the water tunnel. where would it lead them? fortunately, to jack, fresh as he was, it was not hard to support ralph, who was almost exhausted, and keep his own head above water at the same time. all that the western boy now feared was that he would give out before they reached the mouth of the tunnel, or a still more alarming possibility which he hardly dared to dwell on. what if the tunnel narrowed? in that case they would be completely submerged, and if the water were enclosed in an iron tube for any great distance, they would inevitably be miserably drowned. the roaring in the tunnel was terrific, but at least it meant one thing, and that was that there was space for sound to reverberate. on and on they shot, borne like straws on the surface of the mad torrent. "does this thing never end, or have they run it clear through to the pacific?" jack began to wonder. it seemed to him they had been traveling for hours. in reality it was only a few minutes. all at once the boy was hurled against the side of the tunnel, and his feet touched bottom. if it had not been for the velocity of the current, he could have stopped his mad course right there. but the smooth sides of the tube afforded no hand hold, and the rapidity of the stream precluded all idea of attempting to stem the torrent. but this incident meant to jack that what he had dreaded most was actually happening. the subterranean watercourse was narrowing. hardly had the thought flashed through his mind before he felt himself sucked by what seemed an invisible arm below the surface. at the same instant ralph was torn from his arms, and both boys, submerged in a narrow part of the tunnel, were drawn through the dark tube at the speed of an express train. "the end!" was the thought that flashed through jack's mind as he felt that his worst apprehension had come true. but it was not the end, for an instant later he was shot out of the terrible restriction of the narrow irrigation tube into brilliant, blinding sunlight. "why, this is a sort of scenic railway!" was the whimsical idea that sped across the boy's mind as he gazed about him. the current had ceased dashing him about, and he was floating in a large pool from which ramifications of sluiceways led in every direction. it was the main retaining basin of the irrigation works. weakened though he was, jack found no difficulty in swimming here, and, to his delight, not many feet from him ralph was still struggling feebly for life. a few strokes brought the boy to his chum's side, and a few strokes more brought them both ashore. they reached the shallow bank, and jack laid ralph down. as he did so, the other boy fainted in good earnest. as jack bent over his chum he was startled to hear a voice above, and looking up, saw a man in irrigation boots, with a big shovel in his hand, gazing at them curiously. "say, are you real, or just what the ground grew?" demanded the stranger. "the advertisements of this land company say their land'll grow anything, but dear land of goshen! i didn't know it grew boys. that's a crop i've no use for. i've four of my own, and----" "we're real boys, have nothing to do with any land company, and don't want to, either, after our experience in their water tunnel; and if you can help me get my chum up on the bank and help me revive him, i'll be much obliged," rejoined jack, all in one breath. "well, if you came through that tube, it hasn't hurt your wind any," said the rancher admiringly, dropping his irrigation tool and clambering down the bank. together he and jack soon had ralph stretched out on the warm sandy soil in a big peach orchard, and it was not long before the eastern boy opened his eyes and looked about him. it was longer, though, before he recollected what had happened. when he did, he knew that it was jack who must have held him above water at the most critical stage of their wild trip through the tube. "thank you, jack," he said simply. "oh, pshaw!" said jack, reddening. "didn't you trip up that mexican and save me getting a bullet through my head?" at this moment a great shout caused them both to look up. riding toward them among the trees were a hundred or more mounted men, who broke into cheers as they saw the boys. they were the men who had found bud wilson at the sluice gate, and who had at once insisted on his mounting and riding on to the end of the tube to ascertain if by some marvelous chance the boys had survived. when jack and ralph stood up--for they had been sitting on the ground, relating to their interested host their adventures--the cheers broke out afresh. bud wilson did not say much. he was not a man of words, but his face expressed what he felt when he exclaimed in a voice that trembled a little in spite of his efforts to keep it steady. "waal, i knowed you'd come out of it all right, jack merrill." "i wasn't so sure of it myself, i can tell you!" laughed jack. "say," said ralph, after the first outburst of questions and answers had subsided, and the boys had had to tell over and over again every detail of their perilous trip, "what i can't understand is why you call that plug," pointing to the now downcast petticoats, who had been led along with the party, "why you call that animal 'quiet.' what do _wild_ horses do out here, eat you alive or breathe fire?" "there was a blamed good reason fer petticoats' ructions," said bud slowly; and while the eyes of all were fixed intently on him, he held up a red-stained spur. "a mexican tickler!" cried jack. "that's what, and some one placed it under petticoats' saddle blanket before the boy mounted," rejoined bud solemnly. "poor beast! no wonder she cut up didoes," said ralph. "i should say not. look at this." the cowboy lifted the hind flap of petticoats' saddle, and raising the blankets, showed her back raw and bleeding from the cruel roweling she had received. "but however did that spur get there?" gasped ralph. "not hard to guess. can't you imagine?" asked jack merrill. "no, unless----" "it was that greaser you knocked out," jack finished for him. "consarn the heathenish rattlesnake!" exclaimed the livery stable keeper, who had been among those to follow the wild chase of the canal-carried boys. "i seen him monkeying around your ponies just before he rode out of the barn. if i ever get my hands on him----" a low growl running through the crowd finished his threat for him. it would have fared badly with black ramon had he been there then. but he was far away, riding for the mountains, where he would be safe from the ranchmen's vengeance. "waal, we'll run acrost his tracks some day," growled bud wilson, "and when we do----waal, let's talk about the weather." the boys said nothing, but their faces spoke volumes. by this time, such was the heat of the sun, ralph's clothes had almost dried out, and he was assured that he would suffer no ill effects from his immersion. as jack was also almost dry, the rancher, who, it turned out, was a friend of mr. merrill's, invited the agua caliente party in to have something to eat while their houses were rubbed down and fed. after more congratulations and expressions of wonderment, the horsemen from maguez rode back to town, and when they had spread the story, the atmosphere of that part of the country would have proved very unhealthful for black ramon. indeed, there was talk of fitting up an expedition to go out and get him, but it was surmised that the mexican had probably ridden over the border and taken sanctuary in one of his retreats. "speaking of irrigation, i'm afraid we are going to have serious trouble with the water some day," mr. hungerford, the rancher, remarked as they sat at their meal. "you mean your orchards will be overflowed?" inquired jack. "oh, no. i'm not afraid of that. that pool in which you landed from the tunnel is drained by a score of small ditches which ought to be capable of handling any overflow. no, the ranches i mean are the ones back under the hills--the cattle ranges. the dam back near grizzly pass is none too strong, i am told, and if at any time following a cloudburst the sluiceways should not be opened in time, the retaining wall might burst, and the whole country be swept by a disastrous flood. damage to thousands of dollars' worth of property and the death of scores of men and cattle might also be a consequence." "but surely the dam is well guarded?" asked ralph. "that's just the trouble," said mr. hungerford seriously. "at night, i understand, only one old man is on watch there, and if he should meet with an accident there would be no one to watch for the safety of the ranchers in the foothills." "yep, if she'd carry away, she sure would raise cain!" agreed bud wilson. "engineers are figuring on some means of strengthening the retaining wall now, i understand," rejoined mr. hungerford. "i hope they will complete their work before any storm breaks." soon after, the subject was changed, and at the conclusion of their meal, after thanking their hospitable host, the little party set out for agua caliente. "what does agua caliente mean, anyhow?" asked ralph, as they rode out of mr. hungerford's place. "hot water," rejoined bud; "and it looks to me as if we didn't have to go as far as the range to get in it." "there are some hot springs on one part of the ranch," explained jack. as the sun grew low they were still in the saddle. the desert had now been passed and they were traversing foothills--rough, broken ground, covered with scrub oak and split and riven by dried water courses. behind were the dark slopes of the sierra de la hacheta. they appeared black and menacing in the dying light. "they look like regular robbers' roosts," said ralph, regarding them as the horses picked their way over the rough road, which was scarcely better than a track. "robbers' roosts, i guess so," laughed bud; "and there are some robber roosters among 'em, too," he went on. "those mountains are on the border, and some place over beyond them is the most pestiferous band of cattle rustlers and horse thieves that ever bothered a nice, peaceable community. why, before sam hickey shot walter dodge at----" but the boys had broken into a roar of laughter at bud wilson's idea of a peaceable community. their merriment was brought to a sudden halt, however. from the road ahead had come the sudden clatter of a horse's hoofs. the animal was evidently being urged ahead at full speed. bud's hand slipped swiftly back to his hip pocket. the boys realized by this almost automatic action that they were in a country where men are apt to shoot first and ask questions afterward. presently a little rise brought the galloper into view. at the sight of the advancing party, he too slackened speed, and his hand made the same curiously suggestive movement as had bud wilson's. "howdy!" called bud tentatively to the dark form outlined against the sombre background of brown, scrub-grown foothill and purple mountain. "howdy, bud wilson!" came back the hail. "i'll be switched if i didn't think it was black ramon and some of his gang, for a minute!" "why, hello, walt phelps!" hailed bud cheerfully, as the other advanced. "i didn't know but you was some sort of varmint. how be yer?" "first class, 'frisco to portland, oregon. hello, jack merrill! well, you're looking natural. welcome to our city!" the stranger spurred his horse nearer, and ralph saw that he was a boy about their own age, on a big, raw-boned gray horse that seemed capable of great efforts. fast as the other had been advancing, the gray's flanks hardly heaved. "ralph, this is walt phelps. he and i used to play ball together when we weren't off on the range some place," said jack, turning in his saddle to make the introduction. "he's a neighbor of ours. lives on the next ranch. what are you hurrying so for, walt?" the other shoved back his broad sombrero, and the evening light shone on a freckled, good-natured face and the reddest hair ralph had ever seen. "guess you ain't heard the news?" he asked curiously. "no, what?" "why, those cattle rustlers have broken out again. raided perkin's last night and got away with fifty head." "phew!" "and that's not all. they know who's at the head of the gang now." "who?" "why, that bullying greaser--what's his name? that mexican who's been in trouble a dozen times----" "black ramon de barrios?" "that's the rooster! we heard he had the nerve to show up in town, and i'm riding in to see if i can't pick up some fellows and head him off." "i guess you're too late, walt." "how do you know? you only just got in to-day from the east. i met your father a while back, and he told me." "i know, but we've had time to meet black ramon and put something on our side of the book against him." "say--tell me." the other's tone held amazement. "come on and ride back with us, and i'll tell you as we go along. black ramon's on mexican soil by this time or soon will be." their adventures were soon related, and by the time jack's narrative was concluded, the lights and welcoming voices of agua caliente were before them. chapter v. the rustlers at work. "jack!" "um-um-um-huh!" from jack merrill, as he turned over in his cot. "listen! there it is again---- what is it?" ralph stetson sat bolt upright in bed, listening with all his might to the strange and shivery sound which had awakened him. it was shortly after midnight, following the evening of the boys' arrival, and both were sleeping--or rather had been sleeping--in a room set aside for them in one wing of the low, straggly ranch house in the foothills of the sierra de la hacheta. "wow-wow-wow!" came the cry once more from somewhere among the dreary, moonlit hills outside. "oh, that!" said the ranch-raised boy, with a laugh. "that's coyotes!" "oh," rejoined ralph wisely. "coyotes, eh?" but he did not lie down again. instead, he listened more intently than before. presently came another howl from some distance off. "they're conversational beasts, aren't they?" inquired ralph. "what do you mean?" sleepily muttered jack. "why, some friend of the one i just heard is answering him. hark!" jack merrill became suddenly interested as he heard the second howl. his eyes grew round as he listened intently, and he, too, sat up in his bed. "say," he remarked, "that _is_ funny. and hark! there's another one--off there to the south." "what do you suppose they are up to?" "i've no idea, but i tell you what--if you like, we'll take the rifle and sneak out and see. what do you say?" "um--well, it's a bit chilly to go coyote hunting, but i should like to get one. professor wintergreen said at supper last night that he would like to have the hide of one of the beasts for his collection. let's go!" "all right. just slip on a few clothes. the magazine of my rifle's full. don't make a racket getting out of the house, though. i don't just know how dad would take it." "but he'll hear the rifle if we shoot one." "that's so; but it will be too late then." silently as cats, the two boys got out of bed and dressed, an operation which was performed by slipping on trousers, shirts and boots over their pajamas. then, with their sombrero hats on, they were ready to creep outside. the moon had been up for an hour, and was shining down in a radiant flood, illuminating the heaving surface of the foothills as if they had been a silver sea. "which way will we go?" whispered ralph, as they stole along in the dark shadow of the low timber house like two culprits. "over there. down toward the corral. the chicken house is down there, and those four-footed thieves are fond of chicken _au naturel_." taking advantage of every bit of shadow that offered, the two lads crept toward the corral, a big inclosure about half an acre in extent, in the center of which stood a fenced haystack. the horses of the ranch were generally turned loose in it to browse about at their will. usually not more than enough for the use of the ranch-house family were kept there, the rest being driven in from the "remuda" as required. "say, it's silent, isn't it?" whispered ralph, as they crawled along behind a big stack of wild-oat hay. "well, you didn't expect to find a roaring city in the heart of the foothills of the hachetas, did you?" inquired jack, with vast sarcasm. "hush! now i think i saw something!" "where?" "off there to the south. it was slipping along among the hills. there, there it is again!" ralph strained his eyes into the darkness, but could see nothing of the object jack had indicated. it had gone as utterly as if it had not been there. suddenly the wild howls that had awakened ralph broke out once more. this time they came quite close at hand, and neither boy could repress a start at the sound. it gave an impression of an outburst of demoniac mirth. "wow! ow-ow-ow-ow-ow!" the cry was immediately echoed from the direction in which jack had declared he had seen a gray shadow flitting in and out. the next instant both boys gave an involuntary shout of surprise, which they hastily checked, realizing that they were face to face with a stern necessity for silence. outlined as clearly against the moonlight as if it had been cut from black paper, the _figure of a horseman_ had momentarily appeared, and then as abruptly vanished. at the same instant there came a wild disturbance of hoofs in the corral, and before the boys' astonished eyes four more horsemen dashed from it and swept off toward the south. behind them there trailed half a dozen of the animals which had been feeding or sleeping in the corral. to the neck of each was attached a lariat, and they followed their captors at breakneck speed. "horse thieves!" shouted jack, springing to his feet and giving the alarm by firing a volley of bullets after the retreating rustlers. instantly the sleeping ranch galvanized into active life. lights flashed here and there, and from the bunkhouse on a hillside below the main house there poured a strangely assorted score of hastily aroused cowboys. some of them were trouserless, but all carried their revolvers. "what's the matter? what is it?" shouted mr. merrill's voice. "dad, it's horse thieves!" shouted jack. "some of black ramon's bunch, for a bet!" roared bud wilson, emerging with a lantern and vaulting into the corral. "oh, the dirty scoundrels!" he broke out the next instant. "what is it? what have they done, bud?" cried jack, who realized from the usually impassive vaquero's tone that something very much was amiss. "why, they've taken the pick of the bunch! look here, firewater's gone, my calico, and----" "but they've left some horses. quick! let's get after them. we can overtake them!" urged mr. merrill, who had hastily thrown on some clothes, and, followed by the professor, was now down at the corral. "we can't," wailed bud; "the precious rascals have hamstrung all the horses they didn't want." a chorus of furious voices broke out at this. black ramon, if it were he or his band that had made the midnight raid, had planned it cleverly. it would be hours before fresh horses could be rounded up from the "remuda," and the poor animals remaining had been crippled fatally. few minds but that of a mexican could have conceived of such a fiendish act. the unfortunate animals, uncomplainingly, as is the manner of horses, were lying about the corral, looking up at the men about with mute agony in their large eyes. "oh, blazes! if i could get my hands on that greaser!" roared bud wilson. "steady now, bud, steady!" said mr. merrill, though his own frame trembled with rage at the needless brutality of the raiders. "hard words will do no good now." "let's keep quiet a minute. maybe we can hear the clatter of their hoofs," said one of the cowboys, a young chap who had come to the ranch from a peaceful california range not long before. "not much chance of that," said bud wilson bitterly. "those chaps had the hoofs of their own mounts and the ones they stole all muffled--you can bet your sunday sombrero on that." "that's why they made so little noise when they led them off," said ralph. but in the general agitation no one paid any attention to him. everybody was rushing about asking questions, giving orders, hastening this way and that with lanterns. even the chinese cook was out with a frying pan in his hand, seemingly under the impression that it was up to him to cook something. it was mr. merrill who first found his head. "silence!" he cried in a stern, ringing voice. "you, bud, select two men and put these poor brutes here out of their pain." "if it's all the same to you, boss, will you give that job to some one else?" said bud, with a queer little break in his voice. "i've rode some of them plugs." "all right, then. your job will be to round up a dozen of the best nags you can find from the escadillo pasture. get a bite to eat, take two men with you, and start right now. don't lose a minute." bud wilson hastened off. he didn't want to be near the corral when the shots that told that the ham-strung beasts were being put out of their misery were heard. "what are they going to do?" whispered ralph, as two cowboys finally climbed into the corral with their revolvers drawn. "kill those poor brutes. it's the only thing to do with a hamstrung horse," said jack bitterly, turning away. ralph, having no more wish than his friend to see the final chapter of the raiders' visit, followed him. as they turned they almost ran into the professor. the estimable scientist, in his agitation, had just thrown aside a valuable book, and held tightly to a piece of straw, under the impression that he had thrown away the straw and kept the book. jack picked up the volume and handed it to the professor. to his surprise, however, the man of science waved the book aside, and the boys could see in the moonlight that a new light, foreign entirely to their usual mild radiance, beamed in his eyes. "no, no!" he said in a sharp voice, one which the boys had never heard him use before. "no books now. what i want is a rifle and a horse. i never knew i was a man of blood till this moment, but--but i'm hanged if i wouldn't like a shot at those--ahem--i believe they are called greasers, and a good name for the rascals!" "good for you, professor!" exclaimed jack; "and if we have our way, you'll get your chance before long. we're going to take the trail after those rascals as soon as bud and the others get the horses." "oh, jack, are we to go?" gasped ralph. "well, if we don't, something's going to drop!" said jack in a determined tone. "they've taken my little firewater, and i've got something to say to them on my own account." "say," exclaimed ralph suddenly, as the professor and the boys hastened toward the house, "i want to take back something i said yesterday." "what's that?" "that there are no adventures left in the modern west." jack, even in the midst of his agitation, could not help laughing at ralph's earnest tone. "i wonder what they'd think at stonefell if they could see us now," he mused. suddenly he pointed toward the professor, who was angrily shaking a fist at the southern sky, where the saw-like outline of the hachetas cut the moonlit horizon. "and what would his latin class say if they could see him?" "that he was all right!" rejoined ralph, with deep conviction. inside the great living room of the ranch house, with its brightly colored rugs on the dark wood floor and walls, and a blaze leaping in its big open hearth, for the night was chilly, the chinese cook was already setting out a meal, when the boys entered. mr. merrill, his brow furrowed with deep thought, was walking up and down. he looked up as his son and ralph entered, and spoke quickly. "you boys had better remain at the ranch," he said. "we are not likely to be gone long and----" he stopped short. the blank faces of the two lads had caused him to break into a broad smile despite the seriousness of his mood. "why, why," he said amusedly, "surely you didn't expect to come along?" "why, dad, of course. they've taken my firewater, the rascals, and i've got a personal interest in the thing." "and i, sir," began ralph, "i am out here for experience, you know." "well, you certainly seem to be getting it. i am half inclined to allow you to come. i must attach one condition to it, however, and that is that you obey orders implicitly, and if any danger arises that you will do your best to conceal yourselves from it." "what, run away--oh, dad!" began jack, but his father cut him short. "accept my conditions or stay here, jack." "very well, then, dad, we accept--eh, ralph?" the eastern boy nodded. not for the world would he have missed what was to come. and now the professor spoke up. "mr. merrill, sir, i shall take it as a favor if you will provide a horse for me. in my young days i was not unaccustomed to equine pursuits, and i feel that i should make one of your party. i could wish, sir, to be in at the--the finish--if i may say so--of those ruffians." "there is small likelihood of our catching them, professor," said mr. merrill, smiling at the other's excitement. "they have a long start. i am afraid you would only have a long, tiring ride for your pains." "i am willing to chance it," said the professor simply. "i feel, in fact, that such a dash across the er--er, rubicon would be classic, sir, classic, if nothing else." "that being the case," said mr. merrill, checking his amusement, in view of the professor's evident earnestness, "you shall certainly come. but now breakfast, or supper, or whatever one may call the meal, seems to be ready. let us sit down and eat, for we have a long ride ahead of us." during the meal mr. merrill was plied with questions by the eager boys. in fact, so numerous did the queries become, that he was relieved at last when a diversion offered in the shape of a clattering of hoofs outside the door. "rap!" came at the portal. "ah, the horses at last!" exclaimed mr. merrill, eagerly rising to his feet, and betraying by his haste how anxious he was to be off, despite his assumed indifference. "come in!" he called in answer to the rap. the boys looked expectantly confident of seeing the familiar features of bud wilson. to their astonishment, however, the newcomer was a total stranger. a small, swarthy mexican. he wore bear-skin chapareros, and seemed to have ridden far and hard. at the sight of him they all sprang to their feet, so complete was their surprise at the unexpected nationality of their visitor. chapter vi. taking up the trail. the new arrival replied to mr. merrill's look of inquiry by a voluble flood of spanish. when he paused for breath, the rancher, who understood the language perfectly, turned to the professor and his young companions. "this man, if he is to be relied upon, has furnished us with a valuable clue," he said. "according to him the rustlers passed him headed for grizzly pass not more than an hour ago. if this is so, then we stand a good chance of overtaking them. the ground there is rough, and, not expecting pursuit, they will take it easy. in fact, this fellow says that when he saw them they were camping." "you think he is to be relied on?" asked the professor. "well, that remains to be seen. he tells a straight enough story. he says he is a sheepman who has a few hundred head in the highlands near the cañon. while camped in a small pass leading off the main cañon, he overheard these fellows talking about the trick they played, and decided to inform me at once. he sneaked quietly out of his camp, saddled a horse he had there, and rode hard till he arrived here." at this moment a fresh trampling of hoofs announced that bud and his companion had returned with the "remuda" horses, and soon after bud himself entered the room. in leather chapareros, high-heeled riding-boots and jingling spurs, he looked every inch the cow-puncher as he handled his revolver grimly. "we're about ready when you are, boss," he said. "oh, yes--all right, wilson. but i've got something i want to tell you." rapidly mr. merrill ran over the story of the mexican sheep-herder. "what do you think of it?" he asked, as he concluded. "wa'al, it _sounds_ all right," admitted bud reluctantly, "but this yer feller's a greaser, boss, and----" "oh, i know, wilson, but after all, what can happen to us? we will be a strong party, and we'll take him along with us. he says he's willing to go." "of course, that makes it different," admitted bud; "but my advice would be to make him ride with a lariat round his neck, so that at the first sign of treachery we can string him up with neatness and dispatch." "we can't do that," smiled mr. merrill, while bud glared at the mexican, "but we can have him ride right with us, and then there will be no danger of his playing us false." "you understand what will happen to you if you ain't on the level with us?" demanded bud of the mexican, placing his hands about his own throat with a ferocious and significant expression. "si, señor," nodded the mexican. "all right, then. that being the case, you can't blame us if anything comes off that don't happen to be on your future schedule of events." soon after this conversation the expedition started. dawn was just breaking as they clattered out from under the cottonwoods that surrounded the ranch house. they were a grim, determined-looking band. on each man's saddle he carried slung before him his rifle, and with the exception of ralph and the professor, every one of those ten riders was a crack shot. behind each cow-puncher's cantle was tied a roll of blankets, and besides their lariats each saddle horn held suspended a quart canteen full of water. two pack animals, selected for their speed, carried a camping outfit and cooking utensils. complete as was the organization, it had taken little more than half an hour to get it ready for the start. "hi-yi!" yelled jack, bringing down his quirt over his pony's flanks. "it's good to hit the trail and get some action." "same here," rejoined ralph, pressing up alongside of him. the two boys urged their ponies to an easy lope. as for some miles to come there was no necessity for them to travel with the main body of the men, they kept it up till they were some distance ahead. mr. merrill had decided that there was no danger to be apprehended till the mountains were actually reached, and his consent had been gained before the boys loped off alone. suddenly another rider spurred into view, coming from the opposite direction to the boys and the merrill party. "walt phelps!" cried jack with a glad shout. the other returned the greeting and soon learned the news from agua caliente. soon the three boys were riding forward together. walter phelps, it appeared, had heard rumors that the rustlers had been abroad in the night, and had risen early and saddled for a ride to the merrill ranch. he was much concerned when he learned of the rancher's loss, and volunteered to join the party. to this mr. merrill entered no objection, and the three boys rode side by side all the morning. the noonday camp was made in a small arroyo immediately below a frowning spur of the hachetas. the foothills had been growing more and more rugged as the advance was made, and now the party might fairly be said to be in the mountains themselves. by skirting two more spurs they would be in grizzly pass in less than an hour. the character of the scenery was gloomy and grand in the extreme. the rugged and mysterious mountains, clothed darkly, almost to their summits, with scrub-oak, fir and piñon trees, seemed to ralph to promise all kinds of adventure. the noonday meal was a hasty one. as soon as it was dispatched the party pressed on without pausing for further rest. the road now grew so rough that the trail of the stolen horses, which had at first been plain and clear, could no longer be seen. the mexican guide, closely guarded by bud wilson and a cowboy named coyote pete, rode in front. close behind came mr. merrill, the three boys and the professor, and in their rear followed the half-dozen cowboys who formed the remainder of the expedition. "are we getting near the place now, jose?" asked mr. merrill, addressing their guide by the name he had given, about the middle of the afternoon. "si, señor," rejoined the guide, who soon after directed the cavalcade toward the mouth of the pass through which he said the stolen horses had been driven. if the mountains had been gloomy and sinister to the view while riding along the base of them, the northern entrance to grizzly pass itself threw a damper over the spirit of even coyote pete, who had hitherto larked about and displayed a great fund of high spirits. the dark wall of the cañon rose perpendicularly to a height of more than a hundred feet on the right side of the rough trail. at the other hand was a deep and dark abyss at the bottom of which a hidden river roared. beyond the formidable pit reared another frowning rampart of sheer rock. deep down could be heard the murmuring of water. "that's the overflow from the big dam," explained walter phelps, pointing over into the sonorous depths. "the dam is up in this direction, then?" inquired ralph. "yes, it is located in a small cañon, off to the right of the pass. i'll show you the place when we reach it." for some time they rode on without a word. the deep gloom and oppressive silence was not encouraging to conversation. the sound of a stone dislodged by a pony's hoof in that dismal place caused several of the party to give a nervous start more than once. suddenly the right-hand wall of the cañon opened out--as they rounded a sharp promontory of rock--and another deep chasm cut abruptly into grizzly pass almost at right angles. the deep rift which this caused across the trail had been bridged by a span of rough logs which crossed the intersecting cañon at a height of fully three hundred feet. a scene of wilder and more impressive grandeur than the cañon presented at the point they had now reached not one of the party had ever beheld. even a whisper went echoing and reverberating among the gloomy rocks in startling contrast to the brooding silence of the spot. the frowning black walls, the melancholy-looking trees clinging to the almost perpendicular walls, the bottomless chasm, and the deep dusk of late afternoon, all combined to make it the most oppressive scene into which any of the boys had ever penetrated. they had reached the bridge and the feet of the mexican guide's horse were upon it, when from behind them there came a sudden startling sound. the loud report of a rifle, followed by another and another, re-echoed behind them seemingly high up among the rocks. bang! bang! bang! came the explosions. instantly, mr. merrill and bud wheeled their horses sharply and faced round toward the danger. at the same instant coyote pete set up a yell: "buncoed, by ginger!" he pointed ahead as he dashed across the bridge in pursuit of their treacherous guide, who was galloping off up the cañon at top speed. he had taken advantage of the confusion to escape. without an instant's thought as to what they were doing, the three boys pressed spurs to their animals and thundered across the flimsy structure after the cow-puncher. the professor's horse became unmanageable in the excitement. the creature gave one tremendous plunge and with the unhappy scientist half on and half off its back, dashed across the bridge after the others. in the meantime, mr. merrill and the cow-punchers had galloped back to where the firing still kept up. they all feared that they had been led into an ambush, and that the attack was from the rear. "that yellow-skinned varmint betrayed us, after all," ground out bud wilson, as they dashed back. "those shots were meant for us, and came from black ramon's men." "yes, we were wrong to trust him," rejoined mr. merrill, "but now we've been led into a trap, we've got to fight out of it the best way we can." "you bet we will, boss," was bud wilson's rejoinder. the firing on the hillside had now ceased, and the little cavalcade came to a halt. "not a soul to be seen," exclaimed mr. merrill. "well, that's funny," commented bud. "this is where the firing was, for sure." "yep, right up above there," rejoined another cowboy, sam ellis, pointing upward on the hillside. "what do you make of it, boss?" was bud's next query. "i don't know what to think," rejoined mr. merrill. "perhaps we were mistaken, and the firing we heard came from hunters up on the hillside." "hunters! not much chance of that," said bud grimly. "hunters who made all that racket would soon scare all the game in the country away. no, boss, you'll have to guess again. by _jee_-hosophat!" slinking through the underbrush far above them, bud's keen eyes had discovered the furtive form of a man who by his gay sash and high-coned hat seemed to be a mexican. to think, with bud, was to act. his rifle jerked up to his shoulder as if automatically. as the weapon cracked sharply the man on the hillside gave a loud scream. throwing his hands helplessly above his head, the next instant he came plunging and crashing downward through the brush. "got him!" gritted out bud, grimly blowing through the barrel of his rifle to clear the smoke. "yip-ee!" yelled the cow-punchers at the successful shot. mr. merrill looked grave. "i didn't want any bloodshed, bud," he said. "the boys--great heavens! where are they?" he had wheeled suddenly and discovered that they were missing. "yes, and where's pete, and where's the professor?" chimed in bud. alarm showed on every countenance. in the excitement, the absence of the members of the party who had spurred onward over the bridge had not been noticed. but now blank looks were exchanged. if they had galloped on--as there seemed to be no doubt they must have--by that time they were probably in serious straits. "wait till i get that varmint, and then i'll be with you," cried bud, swinging off his pony. the cow-puncher plunged up the hillside a few feet and picked up the mexican, who had rolled down the steep incline to within a short distance of the trail. "is he dead?" asked mr. merrill anxiously, for the mexican showed no sign of life. "not dead, but pretty near it," bud rapidly diagnosed, ripping open the mexican's shirt. "the bullet went right neighborly to his heart." with surprising strength for one of his wiry build, bud picked up and slung the wounded man over the saddle before him with a grim idea in his head that at some future time the fellow might be needed. "now then, boys!" cried mr. merrill, "those others may be in a bad pickle by this time. it may have been the purpose of this trap to get them over the bridge. it's up to us to get them out of it. i know you'll do all that lies in your power to help." "you bet we will, boss," spoke up ellis. "yip-yip-y-ee-ee!" the cow-puncher's wild yell came from the bronzed throats with a will. the next instant the little cavalcade was off, clattering up the trail toward the bridge. they swept rapidly round the small bluff of rock which had hidden the bridge from them while they had been investigating the mysterious shots. as the trail came full in view, a groan of disappointment burst from them. the pass beyond the bridge was empty of life. of their friends there was not a trace. a terrible feeling that the worst had happened filled every heart. "come on, boys, we'll get 'em if we have to go to mexico city for 'em," yelled bud defiantly. "wow!" "that's the stuff--wow!" yelled the others. with his exultant cry still in his throat, and his arm still waving, bud drove in his spurs. he was about to dash upon the bridge, when suddenly the structure heaved upward before his eyes and the whole world seemed to turn to red flame. a fiery wind singed his face. there was a roar that filled the air, the sky--everything. the earth rocked and breathed hotly under the cow-pony's feet. bud felt his broncho suddenly fall from under him and himself dropping like a stone into space. desperately he clutched, grasped something solid, and drew himself up. then, everything went out from his senses and the whole world grew dark. chapter vii. in the hands of the enemy. "what happened, bud?" mr. merrill, stanching a wound in his head with his hand, sat upright on the edge of the dark gorge across which a few moments before there had been a bridge. now there was none. only sullen wisps of yellowish smoke curling upward and a strong, acrid smell in the air. sheer below the rancher, the naked rocks shot down, bare of foothold. deep down at the bottom rushed the river which carried water from the land company's dam down to the valley. the dam lay up the cañon to the west. bud wilson was crawling about dazedly on his hands and knees. all about were plunging horses and rock-wounded men. the still stupefied bud looked up as the rancher impatiently repeated his question. "_dynamite!_--the yellow-skinned reptiles," he growled, "and if that charge had been touched off right we should all have been at the bottom of that gorge with my poor horse." he gazed over the ragged, explosive-riven edge, and shuddered, as far below him he sighted a dark mass lying among the brush and trees at the bottom of the gulch. "yes, it was dynamite beyond a doubt," agreed the rancher; "but how did we escape the dreadful fate they had prepared for us?" bud wilson shrugged his shoulders. "i reckon the feller they left to press the button got rattled and touched it off too soon," he rejoined. "they're a jumpy lot, these greasers." "thank heaven that none of us is seriously hurt," said mr. merrill, looking about him. "i do not believe that any one has suffered more than a few cuts from flying rocks." this proved to be the case. the escape of the party when the bridge had been blown up had indeed been miraculous. "why should they have delayed to set off the charge till we came back? why not have set it off when we were all on the bridge, before we wheeled round to discover the origin of the shots on the hillside?" asked mr. merrill. "well, boss, it looks this way to me," said bud, after a period of deep thought. "them fellows had the trap all set and calculated that when we heard the firing we should stop and hesitate--as we did. well, that, i take it, was the time that that charge should have been touched off, but somehow connections missed. we weren't on the bridge. that fellow with the rifle fired too quick. then, too, them boys and pete taking off after that treacherous varmint wasn't calculated on by them, in all probability, and what with one thing and another they missed their guess on the first charge." "and on the second, too, by christmas!" chimed in ellis. "there ain't a pony missin' but the one you rode, bud, and there ain't a man of us hurt; even that greaser you had on your saddle-bow got bucked off when your pony was blown over the edge." "by the great horn spoon, that's right," said bud, walking over to where the wounded mexican lay. "still unconscious," he said, after a brief examination. "if only he could talk, boss," the cow-puncher added whimsically. "that would do us no good, bud," rejoined mr. merrill. "it would give us no clue to the fate of my poor boy and the others." "wouldn't it, boss?" echoed bud. "wa'al, in my opinion this saffron coyote here deserves careful keeping for future reference, for i believe he holds the key to the whole mystery." "heaven grant he does," breathed mr. merrill, his heart sinking as he thought of the possible destiny of jack and his friends. "without his aid i don't see what we are to do." "well," said bud cheerfully, "ain't no good worryin'. we'll get 'em out of it all right, never fear, boss." "thanks, bud, i hope we will," said mr. merrill, bravely putting his anxiety from him as best he could. "but the thing to do now is to find a safe place to camp for the night. we should not be overtaken by darkness in such a trap as this." "i guess there's not much danger of an attack now," said bud bitterly. "i wish there was. i'd give a new saddle for a crack at one of them greasers." soon afterward, with bud riding double behind ellis, and mr. merrill's saddle bearing the wounded mexican, the sorrowful party began the journey back down the cañon. with every sense and muscle aching for action, they were compelled to await the decision of time. the clew to the attack, and the whereabouts of black ramon and his gang, lay in the hands of one man, and that man was unable to speak. no wonder that as they rode, the thought in mr. merrill's mind was to get medical attendance for their wounded foe as soon as possible, and in the meantime give him the best of care. as bud had said, he might be valuable for future reference. * * * * * as their ponies' hoofs hammered over the rough bridge the border boys' minds had burned with but one thought. they must capture the treacherous guide who, it appeared only too evidently, had led them into a trap. as their mounts flew by a dense brush mass on the rocks at the farther side of the precipitous gorge, they had glimpsed for a second a crouching figure. but such was their wish to catch up with the treacherous jose that they paid the figure no attention. yet had they done so, they might have prevented the destruction of the bridge. the crouching man was one of black ramon's followers, and in the brush was concealed the battery from which led the wires which were to blow up the bridge. "i'd give a new lariat right now to have my fingers on that sneaking coyote's throat," gritted out walt phelps, as the ponies loped swiftly along. a little ahead of the border boys, rode the large, angular figure of coyote pete, bestriding his big, raw-boned bay with the careless ease of the old plainsman. the ends of his scarlet handkerchief whipped out behind his neck, and he gnawed his long, straw-colored mustache nervously as he kept his keen, blue eyes, with a maze of little desert furrows round them, centred on the crouching figure of the mexican ahead. the professor having by this time checked his horse and recovered his equilibrium, gazed about as eagerly as the rest. the treacherous jose, however, seemed to have a good mount, for even coyote pete's powerful bay, and the active little ponies bestrode by the boys, failed to draw up on him even after a mile of fast riding. "that horse-stealing son of a rattlesnake has a good bit of horse flesh there," grunted the cowboy, turning in his saddle without slackening speed. "say," said walt, "we've come quite a distance, pete, and there is no sign of the others. don't you think it would be a good idea to turn back and see what has become of them?" "don't know but what it might," answered pete, reining in his horse till it was going ahead at a gentle, "single-footed" trot. he gave his mustache a perplexed tug and an apprehensive look came into his eyes. "what's the trouble, pete?" asked jack. "why, i was just thinking that we've come too far as it is," rejoined the plainsman in a worried tone. "if any of ramon's men are sneaking around here now they've got us in a fine trap." he pointed down the trail. a backward view of the way they had come was cut off by a projecting promontory of rock. for anything they knew to the contrary, the trail behind them might be full of mexicans, ready to capture them. "we're in a bad place for sure," agreed walt phelps, shoving back his sombrero and scratching his red thatch. "let's be getting back. there's no chance of catching that miserable jose now, anyway." "yes, let's get back," agreed ralph, who was beginning to feel anything but easy in his mind. they wheeled their wiry little horses and pete swung his big bay. as they faced about, a simultaneous exclamation of astonishment broke from each one of the party. from behind the projection of rock there had suddenly appeared five figures. slightly in advance of the others rode a tall man on a magnificent black horse, whom the party from the foothills, with the exception of the professor, had no difficulty in recognizing as black ramon himself. with a quick exclamation, pete reached for his revolvers, but ramon checked him with an eloquent wave of his hand behind him. each of his followers held a rifle, and these weapons covered the border boys and their older companions. "another move like that, señor pete," said black ramon, "and four of your party are food for the buzzards. i myself will attend to the fifth." while pete hesitated, the ruffian from across the border whipped out a silver-mounted pistol from his sash and held it leveled, while a somber smile flitted across his countenance. "yesterday it was your turn--now it is mine," he said, turning to the alarmed ralph. at the same instant there sounded a sullen, booming roar, and the earth beneath their feet quivered as if an earthquake had shaken it. "what was that?" exclaimed pete involuntarily. "that," said black ramon, "was the wiping out of the last link that bound you to your friends." "you--you've blown up the bridge!" gasped out jack, realizing what the other's words meant. "yes. it will be some time, i fancy, before the gorge is passable once more. in the meantime, you are to be my guests _across the border_." as he spoke, a score more of the cattle-rustlers came clattering down the trail, hidden behind the rock from which the others had appeared. they had been concealed there, as pete now bitterly realized, while the border boys and the cow-puncher had blundered blindly into the mexican's trap. "i'll never forgive myself, jack," he said under his breath to the rancher's son. "oh, pshaw, pete, it wasn't your fault," rejoined jack. "we'll find some way out of it." "i dunno," grunted pete. "we're going across the border, and there's precious little law there but what you make for yourself." a few moments later, resistance being worse than useless, the party had been relieved of its weapons, and with ten or more cattle-rustlers riding in front, and the rest trailing behind the prisoners, the ride through the pass was resumed. chapter viii. black ramon's mission. as darkness fell they emerged from the gloomy shadows of the divide into a country not unlike that on the american side of the range. foot-hills covered with scanty growth, and here and there a clump of scraggly cottonwoods intersected by deep gullies, and dry watercourses, were the chief features of the scenery. there was little conversation among the prisoners as they rode along, nor indeed did their position bear discussing. pete's mind was busy with self-reproach, jack's with trying to devise some means of escape, walt phelps' with what his father would imagine had become of him, and ralph's and the professor's with real alarm. "i am a man of considerable reading," muttered the professor gloomily, "yet our present position goes to show that all the book-learning in the world is of no use to men in our position." "no, i guess coyote pete, or jack merrill, or walt phelps could get us out of this a whole lot quicker than all the classical authors that ever classicked," said ralph disgustedly. "i have a fine library at home in the east," said the professor suddenly, and with the air of a man in whose mind a great hope had sprung up. "do you imagine that this black ramon, or whatever his name is, would consider taking that in exchange for our liberty?" "i'm afraid not," moaned ralph disconsolately. yet he could not forbear a smile at the old man's simplicity. "library," grunted pete, who had overheard the professor's remark; "the only kind of library he'd have any use for would be an edition de luxury of a complete issue of greenbacks, bound in calf and horse hide." "where can they be taking us?" wondered jack, as hour after hour passed, and the procession still wound on along the foot of the mountains. "i've no idea," rejoined walt phelps, "i've never been on this side of the range before." "i was over here oncet," said pete, "after some strays, but i don't recollect this part of the country." "how far have we come?" inquired ralph, more for the sake of saying something than anything else. "not more than ten miles, i guess," rejoined jack; "at night, and among these foothills, distances are very deceptive." "they ain't so deceptive by half as these greasers," growled pete. "i can't think of anything i'd rather be doing this instant than pounding the stuffing out of that jose." "i can't think why father trusted him," exclaimed jack. "why, that was natural enough," was pete's rejoinder. "there didn't look to be a chance of his playing us false. if it hadn't been for that fusillade behind us we'd never have lost him. as it is, if only i hadn't lost my head and gone gallivanting off arter the critter, we'd have been safe now." "always providing that nothing has happened to father and the others," said jack sadly. "yes. but cheer up, lad. your father and bud wilson are two of the best plainsmen i know. they wouldn't go blundering blindfold into no trap, you can bet." "i hope not," rejoined jack, "but that explosion sounded ominous to me. if the bridge is gone they may have gone with it." "i don't think so," replied pete. "sounds travel a long distance in a narrow-walled pass like that, and the sound of a horse going over a bridge can be heard a big ways off at any time. if they'd been on the bridge when the explosion occurred we'd have heard their hoofbeats, anyhow, before they touched off the stuff." "well, i'm not going to give up hope till i know," said jack bravely, though at the moment, had he not known the uselessness of it, he could have given way entirely to his apprehensions. suddenly, on rising from a dark gully, they came full in view of a low white building with a tower at one end. the rising moon tipped the structure with silver and showed its every outline plainly, the black shadows sharply contrasted to its white walls and tiled roof. "the old san gabriel mission!" exclaimed pete, as his eyes fell on the venerable structure. "i thought i began to recognize the lay of the country a way back." "you've been here before, then?" asked ralph. "yep, after stray horses, as i said. i never knew, though, that black ramon and his gang hung out here." "well, they evidently do," rejoined jack; "see, we are headed right for it." they had begun to take a by-path which lay straight and white in front of them toward the old mission door. as they drew nearer, they could see that in the turret were hung several bells, probably part of a chime brought from spain in the days when the mission was occupied by holy franciscans. it now appeared to be in half ruinous condition, however. great cracks were in its walls, and several of the bell niches were empty. here and there tiles had fallen from the roof, and the gaps showed black in the moonlight. "a splendid specimen of mission architecture," exclaimed the professor, lifting his hand in admiration, as they drew closer. "rarely have i seen a finer, and in my younger days i spent some time exploring the spanish remains in california." "well, i reckon it's going to be a splendid specimen of a jail for us," grunted pete, with a side-long glance at the professor, who had quite forgotten his anxiety in his admiration of the old building. pete's words proved correct. a few minutes later the party--the prisoners carefully guarded in the center, drew up in front of the mouldering door, and black ramon gave three raps with a rusty knocker. "who's there?" inquired a voice from within, in spanish. "the black kings of the pass," rejoined ramon in a loud tone. the door creaked open and a squat figure stood revealed. but the door opener was not a mexican, but a white man, and no very favorable specimen of his race, either. "jim cummings!" gasped coyote pete, as his eyes fell on the other. "well, the dern renegade!" there was no time to ask questions just then. with a few rough words the prisoners were ordered to dismount, and were ushered under close guard into what seemed to have been the main body of the mission church. it had a high-vaulted ceiling, and a few windows high up from the floor and closely barred. otherwise, it was bare, except for some straw thrown about as if for beds. "you will stay here to-night," said ramon, gruffly addressing the prisoners, "and in the morning we will talk." without another word he turned away, and the border boys and their companions heard the door close with a bang. then came a metallic clang, which told that a heavy bar had been put in place outside. "bottled!" said pete laconically, and with a calm that amazed ralph. "and corked!" added walt. jack merrill and walt phelps followed pete's lead in taking the situation calmly. as a matter of fact, it was the only thing to do, but small blame can attach to ralph for sinking down despondently on some of the straw as he heard the bar clang as if proclaiming their doom. as for the professor, he was strolling about, poking the walls with an inquiring finger and gazing in rapt admiration at the blackened beams of the roof above them. "well, there's one thing to be glad over," said jack suddenly, "they haven't tied us." "no need to," rejoined pete. "we couldn't get out of here in a week, and---- hark!" they all listened intently. outside they could hear the steady tramp-tramp of a man pacing up and down. "a sentry!" exclaimed walt phelps. "that's what. we're too valuable to black ramon for him to have us get away." there seemed to be some hidden meaning underlying the cow-puncher's words, and the boys looked at him inquiringly. "what i mean is," said the cow-puncher, "that this varmint sees a chance to make some money out of us. he knows your father would give a pile to get you back safe and sound, and i'll bet a busted sweat-leather he's going to hold you for ransom." "but you, pete?" "wall, i reckon he'll make _chile-con-carne_ out of me," rejoined the cow-puncher with a grin. "i'm too tough for anything else." a careful examination of the place, made as well as they could in the moon-checkered darkness, showed that pete's diagnosis of their prison as "a bottle" was a correct one. the walls were solid, and appeared, just judging by the depth of the window embrasures, to be several feet thick. the windows themselves were far too high up to reach, even had they not been barred. the floor, after a careful tapping, yielded no sign of being hollow in any place. "i was hoping we might find a hollow place somewhere," said pete, in explaining this last maneuver. "you know these old padres lived a scary kind of life, and every once in a while their indian converts would up and backslide and attack the church mission. so as they could do a quick getaway when such contingencies came loping along, they used to make tunnels, but i guess if these fellers that built this place tunneled they did it some other part." "what you say is correct," chimed in the professor, more as if he was in the lecture room than a prisoner across the border, in the hands of ferocious cattle-rustlers; "the padre sometimes dug these tunnels so that they covered considerable distances. burrows of this character, a mile or even more in length have been found in california." "wa'al, i wish we had the tools handy and we'd bore one ourselves," said pete; "but as we ain't, the best thing we can do is to make ourselves as comfortable as possible and go to sleep. things won't get no better for fretting over them, and we're in a fix now where things is bound to get a lot worse before they get better." the cow-puncher, suiting the action to the word, lay down, and in a few moments his snores proclaimed that he slept. one after the other, the rest dozed off, till only ralph remained awake. jack merrill had done his best to cheer the eastern lad up before he sought refuge in slumber, but ralph's position weighed on his mind too keenly to permit him to sleep. while the others lay stretched out in slumber he arose and began pacing the old church. he was not a superstitious lad, but the silence of the empty vaulted place, their position, and the uncertainty of their fate, all combined to fill him with a nervous dread. suddenly he stopped short in his pacing to and fro. every nerve in his body tingled and his scalp tightened with alarm at a sudden sound he had heard. proceeding, it seemed, from the very masonry of the edifice itself, there had come a sound, which heard as it was, in those gloomy surroundings, was as terrifying as could be imagined. "who is there?" shouted the boy in frightened tones. but the sound which he had heard ceased instantly. nor, though he listened almost till dawn crept into the sky, and sleep overcame him, was it repeated. chapter ix. a momentous interview. "what can you compare the sound to?" asked jack. it was the next morning, and ralph was relating his experiences. "well, it sounded like some one 'tap-tapping,' as well as i can explain it," replied ralph. "whereabouts?" asked walt, leaning forward from the interested circle. "i don't know. it seemed to come from everywhere at once." "but it stopped right off when you hollered?" asked pete. "yes. i didn't hear another sound." "what do you suppose it could have been, pete?" asked jack. "dunno. mexican woodpecker, maybe," grinned the cow-puncher, "or maybe a little overdose of im-ag-in-at-ion." "i tell you i couldn't have been mistaken," exclaimed ralph hotly. "i heard it as clearly as i hear your voice now." at this moment the clank of the metal bar of the door falling announced that the portal was about to be opened, and they all gazed upward expectantly as the studded oak swung back. two figures appeared. the first was that of a mexican carrying a big tray of steaming food and a water-cooler. the other newcomer was the renegade cowboy, whom pete had recognized the night before. "well, they don't mean to starve us, anyhow," said jack, as his eyes fell on the food. "hum, poisoned, like as not," put in ralph. "i confess that i would dare even poison, such are my pangs of hunger," spoke the professor. pete did not say a word, but kept his eyes fixed on the renegade cow-puncher. "nice business you're in, jim cummings," he growled. "since when have you become a cattle-rustling, tamale-eating greaser?" "now, see here, pete, don't rile me," growled the other, a short, red-faced man with bow legs and whiny voice. "what i'm doing is my own business, and i reckon i can mind it." "yes, some folks don't mind what they do," observed coyote pete grimly, "even down to associating with a bunch of cattle thieves and horse-rustlers. "there's a real nice specimen of the human toad," he went on, turning to his companions. "that feller yonder, jim cummings, was once a decent white man, punching cattle and shooting up the town on pay nights, like a christian. now look at him----" but jim cummings had turned and was running for his life. he could not stand the raking cross fire of pete's biting sarcasm. the mexican who had brought them their food followed him out. "why, we could have overpowered those fellows and escaped," said jack. "if we could once get our ponies, we'd give these ruffians a race to the pass, and----" "yep, but that 'if' is a big word, sonny," said pete grimly. "i reckon you didn't see something i did when that door opened." "no--what?" chorused the boys. "why, four of the handsomest looking rascals unhung parading up and down with rifles. but let's get some of this grub down. that black ramon is likely to pay us a call after grub time, and if i'd see him first he'd take my appetite away." despite ralph's gloomy fears of poison, they made a good breakfast, although some of the dishes were so peppery and fiery they could hardly eat them. "if peary could have had some of this at the north pole," said jack, as he hastily swallowed several gulps of water. "or doc cook," grinned walt. "yes, and _if_ we could be in albuquerque right now," laughed coyote pete. as he spoke the door opened once more, this time to give entrance to the mexican leader himself. as if he was not inclined to take any chances in trusting himself with the americans, ramon de barrios was accompanied by two other of his countrymen. he lost no time in coming to the point. "you boy there, stetson," he said, pointing to ralph, "how much is your father worth?" "i suppose about five million dollars," said ralph wonderingly. "phew!" exclaimed coyote pete, "i didn't know there was so much money in the world." "silence," growled diego, looking at him from under his black brows. "and your father loves you?" he went on to ralph. "yes, of course," rejoined the eastern boy. "hum! well, if you ever want to see him again you must do as i say." "what is that?" "write him a letter telling him to send a messenger with twenty thousand dollars to a place i shall designate. if he does so i will let you go free. if not--well----" black ramon compressed his lips and gave ralph a look not pleasant to see. it seemed to promise ominously for the future. "but what about my friends?" demanded ralph. "the same condition applies to merrill, only in his case, as his father is poorer, i shall be considerate and only demand ten thousand dollars." "you can have my answer now," spoke up jack. "it is--'no'!" "the same goes here," chimed in ralph slangily, but with conviction. "what, you won't do it? boys, you must be mad. you do not know the means i can use to enforce my demand. if you fear to cause your parents alarm, i can cause them more suffering by sending them word that you are dead." the mexican gave a smile of triumph as he saw a serious look cross the boys' faces. the thought of what this would mean--of the grief into which it would plunge their families, made them shiver, but neither hesitated when the cattle-rustler asked once more: "well, what do you say?" "still--no," said jack. "that's me!" snapped ralph. "in any event," demanded jack, "suppose we did sign, what would you do with our friends?" "that would concern me only," said the mexican. "as for this cow-puncher here----" "mister pete de peyster is my name," spoke up coyote pete, caressing his yellow mustache. "well, de peyster, then, i have an old score to even up with you----" "oh, you mean about the time i snaked you off your horse when you were going to ill-treat a pony," said pete. "yep, i reckon the bump you landed with must have left some impression on your greaser mind." black ramon stepped forward. it looked for a second as if he was going to strike the venturesome cow-puncher, but instead he restrained himself and remarked in a calm voice, even more terrible than a raging tone would have been: "as you are in my power to do as i like with, i will not discuss the matter with you. i will think it over. you know i am good at thinking up original punishments." jack shuddered at the level, cold-blooded tones of the man. some of the most terrible tales of the border had to do with the fiendish tortures thought of by the man before them. but pete was undismayed, at least outwardly. "anyhow, ramon," he said, "you ought to get somebody to touch off your dynamite who will be on the job when wanted. that fellow you had on the battery at the bridge must have got cold feet at the critical moment, eh? if he had touched off the charge at the right time he could have blown us all to kingdom come. as it is, mr. merrill and bud wilson are safe, and sooner or later they'll take it out of your yellow hide, whatever you may do to us now." now pete had an object in talking thus. he wanted if possible to find out what had become of the ranch party when the bridge was blown up. if he expected to learn anything, however, he was disappointed, as the mexican was far too crafty to be led into so easy a trap. "oh-ho, you are trying to draw me out to learn what became of your friends," he grinned. "well, what if i should tell you they were blown up?" "wa'al, personally, i'd say you were an all-fired liar!" drawled pete. "before long, what you say will not matter," snarled the mexican, "you, or the boy walt phelps. i owe your father a grudge," he continued, turning to the red-headed ranch boy, "and i mean to avenge myself with you." walter gazed back at the wretch as calmly as had pete. he said nothing, however. he did not wish to betray by even a quaver in his voice that his feelings were in a state of tumult. "as for you, you bony old man," said the mexican, turning to professor wintergreen, "i have a mind to marry you off to an old indian squaw, and keep you 'round here as our medicine man." "in that case i know the medicine i should prescribe for you," said the professor calmly. "what, if you please?" asked the mexican, with mock humility. "six bullets in the region of your black heart," snapped out the man of science. "bully! good for you!" yelled pete, capering about and giving the professor a slap on the back that sent the savant's spectacles flying. "i will give you boys till to-morrow to think this over," said the mexican, deciding, apparently, not to tamper any more with such an edged tool as the professor. "in the meantime, i have decided to separate you. merrill, you and this cow-puncher i shall confine elsewhere; you are too dangerous to leave with the rest of them." he gave a shrill whistle and instantly ten men appeared from the door. under black ramon's directions they bound and blindfolded pete and jack merrill. "i have a place where i keep such firebrands as you two," said ramon in his most vindictive tone, as amid exclamations of dismay from their companions the cow-puncher and the ranchman's son were led from the old chapel. chapter x. in the bell tower. blindfolded, and almost bereft of the power of thought by the sudden order of the chief of cattle-rustlers, pete and his young companion were led forth by black ramon's men. to jack's surprise--for he had not noticed any building near to the old mission the night they had arrived--they seemed to travel some distance before they halted. presently he felt their guides impelling him forward over what seemed to be a threshold. suddenly their eye bandages were roughly removed, and the two prisoners were able to look about them. they found themselves in a small chamber lighted by one tiny window high up on a whitewashed wall. the floor was of red tiling, and gave out a solid ring beneath the feet. "i guess you'll be safe enough in here," grinned ramon, gazing at the substantial walls and the huge door of iron-studded oak. "if you escape from this place you'll be cleverer than the cleverest yankees i ever heard of." after giving their guards some brief directions to keep a close watch on the door, black ramon strode out of the place. the portal was immediately banged to, and the prisoners were alone. "well, jack, out of the frying-pan into the fire, eh?" said pete, looking about him with a comical expression of despair. "it certainly looks that way," agreed jack; "and what's worse, we're cut off from our friends. i wonder what measures ramon will use to compel ralph to write that letter to his father," went on jack. "kind of a weak sister, that there tenderfoot, ain't he?" asked pete with a grin. "i guess you've never seen ralph charging down the gridiron in the last half, when the whole game hung on his shoulders or you wouldn't say that, pete," reproved jack. "there isn't a boy alive who is cleaner cut, or grittier than ralph stetson, but he's not used to the west and i'm afraid that lemon-colored rascal may work some tricks on him." "that's what i'm afraid of, too," chimed in pete. "these greasers can think up some great ways to make a feller change his mind." "if only we knew that dad and the rest were safe, i would feel easier in my mind," said jack after a brief interval, during which neither had spoken. "boy," said pete, in a tenderer tone than jack had ever heard the rough cow-puncher use, "as i told you a while back, it's my solemn belief that mr. merrill and the rest are alive, and at this minute figuring out some way to get us out of this scrape. but if anything has happened to them, it's going to be the sorriest day in their lives for these border greasers. there isn't a cow-puncher in new mexico, or along the border from the gulf to the colorado river, that wouldn't take a hand in the trouble that's going to come." this was an unusually long and an unusually earnest speech for coyote pete to make, and as if ashamed of his display of emotion, he at once set to work looking busily about him. what he saw was not calculated to elevate his spirits. the room, or rather chamber, was so small that its dimensions could not have exceeded six by seven or eight feet. it was, in fact, more a cell than a room. in the massive oak door was a small peephole, high up, through which every now and then the evil face of one of their guards would peer. "i wonder what he thinks we are up to?" asked pete with a quizzical grin. "not much room in here to do anything but think, and precious little of that." "where are we, do you think, pete?" asked jack, after another interval of silence. "haven't any idee," rejoined pete. "i reckon we're quite some distance from the mission, though." "let's take a peep out of the door," said jack suddenly. "that fellow hasn't looked in lately; maybe he's gone to dinner, or something." "well, there's no harm in trying, anyhow," said pete, going toward the portal. "i can pull myself up to the hole by my hands, and if he's there the worst that greaser can give me is a crack over the knuckles." but as he placed his hands on the edge of the peephole jack suddenly held up his hand. "hark!" he exclaimed. from outside came a deep nasal rumble. "ach-eer, ach-eer!" "he's snoring!" exclaimed pete. "off as sound as a top," supplemented jack. "up you go, pete." but the cow-puncher, after a prolonged scrutiny, was only able to report that the passage outside was too dark for him to see anything. "we'll try the window," suggested jack. "how are we going to get up there?" "you boost me on your shoulders. i can see out then." "all right," said pete, making "a back." jack nimbly mounted the cow-puncher's shoulders and shoved his face into the window. as his eyes fell on the scene outside he gave a gasp of amazement. in the distance were the rugged outlines of the hachetas, with the rolling foothills lying between. beyond that rugged barrier--how far beyond jack realized with an aching heart--lay the united states. but all this was not what caused him to gasp with surprise. it was the fact that, peering out of the window, he was looking directly down upon the tiled roof of the mission. despite the fact that they had appeared to have been marched for a distance from it, they were still imprisoned in black ramon's stronghold in an upper story. in the belfry tower, in fact. "consarn it all," muttered the cow-puncher angrily, as jack told him this, "i might have known they'd have adopted that old trick of blindfolding you and then walking you round in a circle. i defy any one to tell how far he's gone when those methods are used." "gee, i'd give a whole lot to be that fellow down below there," mused jack, looking about him from his vantage point. "what's he doing?" asked pete. "practicing at a post with a lariat. he looks as happy as if----" "he hadn't a sin on his greaser soul," pete finished for him. "hullo!" exclaimed the border boy suddenly, still from his post on pete's shoulder, "i can see ramon going up to the lariat thrower. he's pointing up here." the boy ducked quickly. an instant later he again looked out cautiously. "i guess ramon was changing the guard," he said. "i saw him point up here, and now that fellow's coming up to the tower entrance by a flight of open steps." "is he still carrying that lariat?" asked pete, in a quick, eager voice. "yes; why?" "oh, never mind. i just wish i had it, that's all. it would help pass the time away. say, get down, will you, jack, if you've done enough gazing. you're getting to be a heavyweight." "well, if we stay here much longer i'll bant a few pounds," replied jack. "i'm sure it's long after dinner time, and i'm hungry." as if in answer to his words, the door opened and the same man he had seen practicing with the rawhide in the yard below suddenly appeared. he put some food and water before them without a word, and withdrew silently. not before pete's sharp eyes had noticed, however, that at his waist was fastened the rawhide rope he coveted. "starvation isn't part of ramon's plan, evidently," said jack, as he ate with an appetite unimpaired by the perils of their situation. "he's just waiting till to-morrow to see how a day's imprisonment has affected you," said pete grimly. "if you still refuse to write to your father, he'll begin to put the screws on." "poor ralph," sighed jack. "oh, what wouldn't i give for a corncob pipe full of tobacco," sighed pete, as their meal was concluded. "what, you mean you could smoke with all this trouble hanging over us?" exclaimed jack. "why not? it would help me to think. when i'm figgering out anything i always like to have a smoke." "then you have a plan?" "i didn't say so." "oh, pete, tell me what it is. do you think we can escape?" "now, jack, don't bother a contemplative man," said pete provokingly. "i ain't going ter deny that i was indulging in speculation, but what i've been thinking out is such a flimsy chance that i'm downright ashamed to talk about it." jack, therefore, had to be content with sitting still on the floor of the cell, while pete knitted his brows and thought and thought and thought. so the afternoon wore away somehow, and it grew dark. in the meantime, jack, from pete's shoulder, had taken another survey through the window, if such the hole in the solid wall could be called. a desperate hope had come to him that in the darkness they could squeeze through it, and in some way reach the ground. but it was an aspiration that a short survey of the situation was destined to shatter. a sheer drop down the walls of the tower of a hundred feet or more lay between them and the ground. the only hope of escape lay by the doorway, and the chance of that was so remote that the border boy did not let his thoughts dwell on it. "i guess we don't get any supper," said jack, as the light in the cell faded out and the place became as black as a photographer's dark room. "guess not," assented pete gloomily. "i could go a visit to the chuck wagon, too. curious how sitting in a cell stimerlates the appetite. i'd recommend it to some of them dyspetomaniacs you reads of back east." "i should think that the disease would be preferable to the cure," said jack. "reckon so," said pete, and once more their talk languished. two human beings, confined in a small cell, soon exhaust available topics of conversation. suddenly the door opened, and the man who had brought them their dinner appeared. as he came inside the cell pete rapidly slipped to the door. as the cow-puncher had hardly dared to hope, a brief glance showed him the passage was empty. then things began to happen. [illustration: backward he fell, and lay sprawling on the floor like some ungainly spider.] the mexican, with a quick exclamation, had faced round as the cow-puncher made a dart for the portal, and leveled his pistol. before he could utter the cry which quivered on his lips, coyote pete's knotty fist drove forward like a huge piston of flesh and muscle. the force of the blow caught the mexican full in the face, almost driving his teeth down his throat. backward he fell, and lay sprawling on the floor like some ungainly spider. the terrific concussion of the blow had rendered him temporarily unconscious. "quick, jack," cried pete, under his breath, swiftly shutting the great door. "what are you going to do?" gasped the boy. events had happened with such lightning-like rapidity that he had hardly had time to comprehend what had taken place, and stood staring at the limp form on the floor of the cell. with quick, nervous fingers pete, who had stooped over the fallen mexican, seized the rawhide rope he carried at his waist--the one with which jack had seen the fellow practicing. "now then, up on my shoulders, jack, and take the rope with you," he ordered. jack didn't know what was to come, but obeyed the resourceful plainsman without a question. "through the window," came pete's next command, and then jack began to understand the other's daring plan. without waiting for further orders from pete, he crawled through the opening. he no sooner found himself on a ledge outside before he turned cautiously and lay on his stomach across the broad embrasure and extended both his hands within. pete grabbed them, and bracing his feet against the wall, soon clambered up. as the cow-puncher climbed and got a grip on the sill, jack retreated along the narrow ledge outside. presently pete, too, clambered through and joined him. "what next?" asked jack in a low voice. "blamed if i know," rejoined pete cheerfully. the two adventurers were in about as insecure a position as could be imagined. their feet rested on a ledge of masonry not much more than six inches in width, which circled the bell tower. the ground was a hundred feet or more below them. the lariat they had with them, and which was securely fastened in pete's belt, was not more than thirty feet at the most. as they hesitated in the darkness, scarcely daring to breathe on their insecure perch, there came a sudden shout from within the tower. "wa'al, they've found out that something's up," grunted pete, while jack's blood seemed to turn to ice in his veins. below them was empty space; above, the mexican outlaws. chapter xi. a drop in the dark. "hark!" it was jack who uttered the exclamation. the shouts were growing louder. evidently the mexicans had kept a closer watch than he or pete had imagined, and had quickly taken alarm at the prolonged absence of their companion. the boy could hear them battering the oak door of the cell they had so recently occupied. "let 'em batter away," muttered pete. "i shot the bolt on the inside." to his amazement, jack actually heard his companion chuckle. what could the cow-puncher be made of, steel or granite, or a combination of both! and now pete began to wriggle along the ledge, pressing with all his weight against the wall. "come on," he breathed to jack, "throw all your weight inward and don't look up or down." in mortal fear of finding his body hurtling backward into vacancy at any moment, the boy followed the intrepid cow-puncher along the narrow footpath. perhaps it needed more pluck on his part to proceed along the insecure ledge in the pitchy blackness than it did on the part of the nervy cow-puncher. who shall take the exact measure of courage? at last they reached the angle of the tower, and pete stood still. to proceed round the sharp angle, on no wider pathway than that which they trod, would be manifestly impossible. yet go on they must. suddenly pete gave a cry of joy. looking down into the darkness, he had seen, not more than ten feet beneath them, the sharp ridge of an addition to the old mission church. if they could reach that he knew, from calculating the height of the tower, they would not be far from the ground. behind them the yells and shouts were growing louder. to think, with pete, was to act. with a muttered prayer, one of the few he had ever uttered in his rough life, the cow-puncher crouched as well as he could on the ledge. putting over first one leg and then the other, he deliberately dropped downward, till his hands gripped the edge of the ledge on which a second before he had stood. his muscles cracked as the sudden strain came on them, but he held fast, and a second later let go. he landed to his intense joy, on a rough tiled roof, after an easy drop of not more than four feet. "come on," he breathed upward to jack, who had watched the cow-puncher's daring act with horrified eyes. "i--i can't," shivered the boy, who, plucky as he was, dreaded the idea of a drop into the dark. "you go on, pete, and leave me." "not much i won't. you make that drop, or i'll give you the biggest hiding you ever had, jack merrill, when i get hold of you." the cowboy had hit on just the words to bring jack to the proper pitch to take the leap. "you ain't scared, are you?" whispered up pete, determined to brace the boy up in the way he knew would prove most effective. just as pete had done a few moments previously, jack, without a word, knelt for one awful second on the brink of space and then gingerly put over first one leg and then the other. then followed the same terrible rush into blackness that pete had experienced, and the same soul-sickening jolt and heart-leap as his fingers gripped, and he hung safe. "drop!" snapped pete. jack's fingers obediently unclasped their desperate grip, and he shot downward to be caught in pete's arms. "not so bad when you get used to it," whispered the cow-puncher. "now then, slide down." "slide down--where?" "this rope. while you were getting ready up there"--even in the dark jack felt his cheeks flush--"while you were getting ready up there, i fastened that greaser's rope to this old water-spout. all you got to do is to slide down." a second later jack flashed down the side of the old church to the ground, where, almost as soon as he had landed, coyote pete joined him. "what now?" asked jack amazedly. he had never dreamed when they stood on that dizzy tower that in less than ten minutes they would be on firm ground. nor did he forget how much of the so-far successful escape was due to coyote pete's skill and resourcefulness. but the hardest and most dangerous part was yet to come. already the whole of the old church was aglow with lights, flashing hither and thither, and outside, shout answered shout from a dozen points of the compass. "we'll run in the direction where there is the least racket," wisely decided pete. "crouch as low as you can, jack," he ordered, as, doubled almost in half, he darted off into the darkness. imitating his guide as best he could, jack followed, but as ill-luck would have it, their way led past an old well. in the pitch blackness the boy did not avoid what pete seemed to have steered clear of by instinct. with a crash that woke the echoes, he blundered headlong into a big pile of tin buckets and pails which had been placed there that day. a bull running amuck in a tin shop could hardly have made more noise. "my great aunt alkali, you've done it now!" growled pete, as the terrific crash sounded close behind him. "oh, go on, pete! go on, and leave me," cried jack miserably. "i'll only hamper you. go on by yourself." "i'll go with you or not at all," was pete's firm rejoinder. "come on, now, hurry. they're bound to have heard that, and they'll be 'round here like so many hornets in a minute." pete's prophecy proved correct. hardly had the clanging, clashing echoes of the avalanche of dislodged tinware died out, before they heard black ramon's voice shouting: "over there! over there by the well. fire at them." jack did not know much spanish, but he could comprehend this. "fire away," muttered pete grimly, as they rapidly wormed their way along among the scrub. "you'll not do us any harm by shooting at the well, but you'll drill your rotten tinware full of holes." but the mexicans having now recovered from their first excitement, turned their thoughts to other ways of getting back the fugitives than by firing into the darkness after them. to the ears of jack and pete was soon borne the trample of horses, and the rattle of galloping hoofs, as black ramon's men spread out through the darkness looking for them. "they're going to form a ring," he whispered, as they squirmed their way along; "that's what they're going to do. they know we are without horses or weapons, and that if they only make the ring large enough they're bound to get us." on and on they crept, so close to the ground that the burning dust, which had a plentiful ad-mixture of alkali in it, filled their eyes and nose. pete was more or less used to the stuff, having ridden sometimes for days at a time in it behind herds of cattle or horses, but to jack the smarting sensation in mouth and nostrils was almost unbearable. the stuff fairly choked him. suddenly pete's hand shot out and gripped jack's arm with a viselike pressure. jack interpreted the signal without a word. "stop!" down they both crouched in the alkali dust among the brush, hardly daring to breathe. long before jack's ears had caught a sound, pete's quick eye had detected something. he laid his ear to the ground. "too dry," he muttered, after holding it there an instant. then he drew from his pocket his knife and opened both blades. the larger he thrust into the earth and placed his ear against the smaller bit of steel. "just as i thought. coming this way!" he muttered. "we'll have to lie low and trust to luck." presently the trampling that the cowboy's rough-and-ready telegraph had detected became distinctly audible, and against the star-spattered sky jack saw two black figures on horseback slowly rise up from a hollow. they came into view as slowly as fairies rising to the stage from a trap-door in a theatre. neither pete nor jack dared to breathe, as the two figures appeared and paused as if undecided which way to go. suddenly one of them began to speak. "no sign of 'em in here, amigo. say ombre, i tell you what--you ride off to the right, and i'll take the left trail. we've covered all the other ground, and that way we're bound to get 'em." the mexican grunted something and rode off in the direction the other had indicated. "it's jim cummings, the dern skunk," whispered coyote pete to jack, his indignation at the idea of being hunted by the renegade cowboy getting the better of his prudence. for one terrible minute jack thought they had been discovered. jim cummings, who had been riding off, stopped his pony abruptly and faced round in the saddle. "queer," he said to himself; "thought i heard something. guess i'll take a look and see if the critters left any trail through hereabouts. i wouldn't trust myself alone with coyote pete, but i know he's got no shooting iron, and i reckon this will fetch down a dozen like him, or the kid with him." he patted his revolver--a big forty-four--as he spoke, and dismounted. throwing his pony's reins over his head, in plainsman's fashion, the renegade struck a match and bent down toward the ground. he was looking to see if jack or coyote pete had passed that way. what happened then came so quickly that afterward, when he tried to tell it, jack never could get the successive incidents arranged clearly in his own mind. all that was audible was a frightened gasp from the renegade as the glare of a match fell on coyote pete's face. wet with sweat, plastered with dust, and disfigured by righteous anger at the renegade, pete's countenance was indeed one to inspire terror in the person suddenly lighting upon it. before the gasp had died out of jim cummings' throat, and before he could utter the cry that somehow refused to come, coyote pete, with a spring like that of a maddened cougar, was on him, and bore him earthward with a mighty crash. "take that, you coward, you sneak, you traitor!" he snarled vindictively under his breath, as the unfortunate jim cummings struggled and his breath came in sharp wheezes. as he spoke, coyote pete, temporarily transformed by rage and scorn to a wild beast, savagely hammered jim cummings' head against the ground. he was recalled to himself by jack, who, after his first moment of startled surprise, realized that unless he interfered cummings would in all likelihood be killed. "pete, pete, are you mad?" he gasped, seizing the other's arm and staying it, as the furious cow-puncher was about to bring it crashing down into the renegade's face. "mad!" repeated pete, looking up, "well, i guess so. but i'm glad you brought me to my senses, son. i'd hate to have the blood of such a varmint as this on my conscience." he rose to his feet, still breathing heavily from his furious outburst. "phew! but that did me good," he said, rolling the unconscious cummings over with a contemptuous foot. "i reckon this coyote won't go hunting his own people with a pack of yellow dogs for a long time to come." pete was right, it was many a day before cummings got over his thrashing, but in the meantime the delay occasioned by pete's outbreak came near to costing them dear. a sudden trampling in the darkness behind them made them turn, and they saw dimly the figure of a horseman behind them. the starlight glinted on his rifle barrel as he aimed it at them and covered both the fugitives beyond hope of escape. "up your hands!" the command came from the new arrival in broken, but none the less vigorous and unmistakable english. chapter xii. a ride for the hills. but instead of complying with the demand, coyote pete did a strange thing. he waved his hands above his head and rushed straight at the man with the rifle. as he had expected, the pony the mexican bestrode was, like most western animals, only half broken. the sight of this sudden figure leaping toward it out of the brush caused it to wheel sharply with a snort of dismay. so unexpected was the maneuver that the mexican, no less than his horse, was taken by surprise. his rifle almost slipped from his fingers as he tried to seize the reins and control his pony. when once more he turned, it was to find himself looking into the business-like muzzle of jim cummings' pistol, which pete had quickly jerked from the unconscious man's holster. "now, then, amigo," ordered pete, "get off. pronto!" "but, hombre----" began the mexican. "get off!" pete accompanied this command by baring his white teeth in such terrifying fashion that the other quickly dismounted. "give me his lariat," ordered pete to jack, but never for an instant taking his eyes off the mexican. jack, glad of a chance to be of some use, sprang forward. in a trice he detached the mexican's lariat from his saddle horn and waited pete's next order. "tie him, and tie him good and tight," ordered the cow-puncher. "don't mind hurting him. these greasers have got a hide as tough as old scratch himself." it did not take jack long to bind the follower of black ramon hand and foot, and then, with a sarcastic apology, pete tore off a strip of his not overclean shirt, rolled it in a ball, and shoved it into the mexican's mouth. "there, he is hog-tied and silenced, with neatness and dispatch," he said. "now for cummings, and then we're off." cummings was still insensible, and the operation of tying him with his own rawhide, and forcing a gag into his mouth didn't take long. "i hate to ride without a lariat," said pete, "but it can't be helped. and anyhow, we've got two good cayuses by as big a stroke of luck as ever a cow-puncher had. you take that plug of the greaser's, jack. i've got a fancy to this fellow of cummings', here. and mind, if anybody says a word to us you let me do the talking." soon afterward, both, on a further suggestion of pete's, wrapped in the bound men's serapes--or cloaks,--the two adventurers set forward toward the north. "now we're headed for god's country," grunted pete, as he kept his eyes fixed on the north star, which is the plainsman's as well as the sailor's night guide. "how can you locate it without a compass?" asked jack, as pete informed him how he had located their direction. "by the outside stars of the dipper, jack," said pete. "the good lord put 'em there, i reckon, so as white men situated as you and i are should have no trouble in finding the way to his country. for, you mark my words, jack, there ain't no god's country south of the border. it all belongs to the other fellow, and they're working for him in double shifts." the ponies which they now bestrode were fine little animals--quick as cats on their feet and evidently hard as nails, for their coats were as dry to the touch as kindling wood, despite all the excitement they had undergone. "feels good to have a horse between your legs again," said pete, still in a low, cautious voice, for they were by no means out of danger as yet. "yes," whispered jack, "i've heard it said that a cow-puncher without his pony is only half a man." "i guess maybe you're right," agreed pete, urging forward his little animal by a dig in the sides. "say, pete," whispered jack suddenly, as they rode slowly forward under the star-sprinkled heavens, "i do wish we could go back and make a strike for the freedom of the others. it seems kind of mean for us to be safe and sound here, and leaving them back in the lion's mouth, so to speak." "don't worry about that, jack. by getting over on to good yankee soil we are doing more to help them than we could in any other way. if we turned back now we might spoil everything, and as to being safe and sound---- hark!" both reined in their ponies and listened intently. from far behind was borne to their ears the distant noise of shouts and cries. standing on the elevation to which they had now attained, the sounds came through the clear night air with great distinctness. "they're making a fine hullaballoo," commented jack. "do you think they've found cummings and the other?" "don't know. guess not, though. the sounds seem to be coming from more to the eastward than where we left them; but say, jack, don't you hear anything else but hollering?" "why, yes, i do seem to hear a kind of queer sound; what is it?" "the very worst sound we could get wind of, jack--it's bloodhounds." "bloodhounds!" gasped jack, who had read and heard much of the ferocity and tracking ability of the animals. "they will trace us down and tear us to pieces." "hum, you've bin readin' uncle tom's cabin, i reckon," sniffed pete. "no, they won't tear us to pieces, jack, but what they will do is to round us up and then set up the almightiest yelling and screeching and baying you ever heard. they'll bring the whole hornet's nest down around our ears." "what are we to do, pete?" breathed jack, completely at a loss in the face of this new peril, which seemed doubly hard to bear, coming as it did when escape had seemed certain. "dunno. just ride ahead, i reckon, that's all we can do, and thank our lucky stars it ain't daylight. if only we was a spell farther into the hills, we might strike water, and that would throw them off." "how would that confuse them?" "well, hounds can't track through water. it kills the scent. i'd give several head of beef critters for a sight of a creek right now." all this time they had been riding ahead, and although it was pitchy dark they could tell that they were rising. whether they were on a trail or not, they had no means of knowing. that the ground was rough and stony, though, they knew, for the ponies, sure-footed as they were, stumbled incessantly. "good thing none of ramon's men reached out as far as this, or we'd sure be giving ourselves away every time one of these cayuses shakes a foot," grunted pete. "i wish it wasn't so black," whispered jack, who was riding a little in advance. "i can't see a thing ahead. i wonder if---- oh!" his pony had suddenly given a wild leap backward, missed its footing, and slid down some sort of a steep bank. "jumping gee whilkers, what in blazes!" began pete, when in just the same way he went sliding forward into space. both ponies fetched up, after stumbling several feet down a steep declivity, and the sound that their hoofs made as they did so was one of the most welcome that the fugitives could have heard. splash! splash! "water!" exclaimed pete. "our blind luck is just naturally holding out." "is it a watercourse?" inquired jack, "or just a hole." pete leaned over, holding on by crooking his left foot against the cantle of his saddle. "it's a creek, and flowing lively, too," he announced, as he held his hand in the water, "and incidentally, as the newspaper fellers say, i'm thirsty." "so am i," agreed jack. "let's have a drink. besides, we don't know how long it may be before we get another." "you've the makings of a cow-puncher in you," approved pete, slipping from his saddle. side by side the two lay on the brink of the stream and drank till they could drink no more. the water was cool, though tainted with a slightly alkaline taste common to most mountain creeks in that region. refreshed, they stood up once more and listened. the baying still came incessantly, accompanied by shouts of encouragement from the riders behind the dogs. it was getting unpleasantly near, also. "time for us to cut stick," grunted pete, swinging himself into his saddle once more. jack did the same. "now to fool 'em," chuckled the cow-puncher. the ponies' noses were turned up stream, and the sure-footed little animals rapidly traversed the slippery rocks and holes of the creek bed. "these are great little broncs," said jack with a sigh, "but don't i wish i had firewater. i wonder if i'll ever see him again?" "sure you will, boy," comforted pete, although in his own heart he had serious doubts of it. pete knew that a mexican loves a good pony above all things, and that once having possession of firewater, ramon would let him pass out of his hands willingly, seemed unlikely. every now and then, as they stumbled forward in the darkness, they paused and listened. the baying had suddenly stopped, and then broke out afresh with renewed vigor. it had a puzzled note in it, too. "they're stuck for a time," grunted pete, "but we haven't shaken them off yet. yip-ee! hear them dogs holler! they've found the place where we entered the water." "then we are out of danger?" "not yet, boy. we'll not be out of danger till we're over the border and among our own folks. these greasers are no fools, and in a few minutes they'll realize that we've taken to the water, and be along the bank after us." "but if we turn out here they won't know in which direction we've gone," argued jack. "let's leave the creek here and turn north again." they had been traveling due east through the night, and he waved his hand as he spoke, toward the left bank of the stream. "kiddie, you've got horse sense, all right," approved pete. "i guess that's the best thing for us to do. anyhow, we've gone as far as we want to in this direction, and it's time to head for home again." home--never had the word held so sweet a sound for either of the two imperiled fugitives. chapter xiii. the hermit of the canyon. after some difficulty they found a place in the side of the watercourse up which the ponies could scramble. the little animals were soon once more among the rough, broken ground and stiff scrub brush of the upper foothills. the way was steeper now, and even the inexperienced jack knew that they must be approaching the mountains themselves. presently in fact, the darker outlines of the range could be seen dimly against the night, looking at first more like a darker portion of the sky itself than a solid body reared against it. "rough going," muttered pete, "but these little skates are jack rabbits at the work." "there goes ramon and his outfit," exclaimed jack a minute later, when after one of their listening pauses they heard a clattering of hoofs and confused shouts and baying far below them. "yep, and i guess he's a worried greaser right now," grinned pete. "you see he'll be figuring that if we get clear away it won't be long before he has the soldiers after him and his precious bunch." "the soldiers?" asked jack, "united states cavalry men? why it will take a week to get them." "no, sonny, not united states chaps, more's the pity. a few of our blue breeches would clean out that confabulation in double-quick time. no, the military i refer to are the mexican troops. if it's a saint's day or anything, when they get the order to move they won't budge." "what, they'll refuse duty?" "yep. they'll sit around and smoke cigarettes and play dice till they get good and ready to move, that's the kind of soldier men they have over the border." "well, why can't some of our fellows get after ramon?" "if they could, sonny, the whole question of trouble on the border would be over and done with. but you see there's some sort of law--international law, they call it--that works all right in washington, and so the big bugs there figure out it must be all right here. we couldn't send troops into mexico after those greaser cattle-rustlers any more than they could send after the rascals that get from tamale land into the states." "then it works both ways?" "that's just the trouble, it don't. all the mexican rascals get cotched when they cross into the states, but all kinds of rascals, white, black, yellow and red, escape all their troubles by skipping inter mister diaz's country." "that doesn't seem fair." "nor does lots of things in this old world, son, but we've got to grin and bear it, i reckon, just as ramon ull have to do if he don't pick up our trail." such progress did the fugitives make that night that by the time their guiding star began to fade in the sky they found themselves in a wild cañon, rock walled, and clothed, in places where vegetation could find root-hold, with the same fir, madrone and piñon as grizzly pass. the rising sun found them still pressing onward. they did not dare to stop, for although they were pretty sure none of the mexicans would have followed thus far, they were aware that it would be folly to halt till they had put all the miles possible between them and their enemies. "there's one thing we know now, anyhow," said pete with some complacency, as they rode on over the rocky ground among the pungent-smelling mountain bay bushes, "and that is that the cañons in these hills split north and south, so that we won't stray that way." "i read somewhere, too, that you can tell the north because there's more moss on the trunks of the trees on the north side than any other," announced jack with some pride. to his chagrin, pete burst into a laugh. "that might be all right in maine, son, for city hunters, but what are you going to do out here where all the water these hills and trees get is needed for something else than moss-making?" it was about noon, and in that deep gulch the sun was beating down oppressively, when jack gave a sudden cry. "look, pete, look--a trail!" he cried. sure enough, winding among the brush there was a small trail just wide enough for a horse to travel in. the brush scraped their legs as they rode along it. "might as well follow it, i guess," said pete, after a careful scrutiny. "only one man been along here, so far as i can see. we're still on the mex. side, though, so have your shooting iron ready in case we run into trouble." with every sense alert, they rode on for a mile or more, when suddenly the trail gave an abrupt turn, and they saw before them a small hut fashioned roughly out of logs, stones and brush. from its chimney blue smoke was pouring, scenting the woods about with a pleasant incense. "cooking," cried pete, "and that reminds me that my appetite and my stomach have been fighting like a cat and a dog for the last two hours." "i could eat something myself," said jack. "we haven't had a bite since yesterday noon, you know." "that's so," assented pete. "we've been so busy, though, i never noticed it till just now." "that's queer," said jack, noting the same curious fact; "neither did i. but i do feel ravenous enough to eat a rhinoceros now." "wonder where the boss of this sheebang is?" queried pete, as on a closer approach no sign of life was apparent about the place. "well, he can't be out calling on neighbors," laughed jack. "i guess there's no harm in just looking in and taking a peep." "better be careful," said jack. "i've heard that these mountain hermits are a queer lot, and this one might shoot us." "hi-yi!" yelled pete suddenly, "look at that!" jack looked, and saw that projecting through a cranny in the stone wall was the rusty muzzle of a rifle, seemingly of big caliber. there was something uncanny in the sight of this sinister weapon, aimed dead at them, with apparently no human hand to guide it. "better get out of range, son," warned pete, reining over his pony; "that feller might be nervous on the trigger." but as they swung to one side of the trail the ominous rifle barrel followed, still keeping them covered. "confound the fellow!" burst out jack, hardly knowing whether to be amused or angry, "what does he mean?" "business, apparently," grunted pete dryly. "hi, amigo!" the cow-puncher suddenly shouted. a rude query in spanish came back from inside the hut. "wants to know who we are," he said in an aside to jack. then to the hermit: "we are hunters, and lost in the mountains. can we get food and water and some fodder for the ponies?" an almost unintelligible answer came back. "wants us to lay down our rifles," translated pete. "what do you say?" "i guess we'll have to," said jack. "i'm so hungry that i feel as if i'd risk anything for a square meal." "that's the way i feel," agreed pete. "the ponies, too, are pretty well played out. reckon we'd better do as he says." accordingly, the rifles were dropped on the ground at the ponies' sides, and presently the rusty rifle barrel was withdrawn. "what now?" wondered jack. the solitary cañon-dweller presently appeared at the door of his hut. he was an old man in ragged garments, so tattered as to here and there expose his flesh. his face was wrinkled till it resembled a monkey's more than a human being's. the lower half of his countenance was completely covered by a huge matted growth of white beard. he still kept his aged rifle in his hand as he faced his visitors, as if he was afraid of some treachery. "better tell him that we don't mean him any harm," suggested jack. pete translated the boy's remark to the hermit, who chattered rapidly in mexican in response. while he was talking jack eyed the queer old man. "i believe he is crazy," he said to himself. the hermit's beady eyes had a malevolent glare in them, and when they fell on him jack felt a creepy sort of sensation. "i don't half like the idea of going into that old fellow's hut," he told himself, "but i guess there's no help for it." pete, however, it seemed, felt no such apprehensions, for he was now leading the two ponies round to a small shelter in the face of the mountain which served the old man as a stable. a disreputable-looking "clay-bank" mule, with only one ear and a half, was standing in it disconsolately flopping her whole organ of hearing. "he don't look very good, but i guess he's all right," said pete in a low tone, in response to jack's whispered comment on the old hermit. inside the hut they found a smoky sort of stew cooking in a big iron pot. the old mexican explained that the meat in it was deer flesh, and the vegetables, which were corn, tomatoes, and peppers, came from a small patch he cultivated behind his lonely hut. although they had to eat with one spoon out of the great pot itself, neither of the travelers was in a critical or fastidious mood, and they made a hearty meal. the food disposed of, pete, to his huge delight, discovered that the old man had some home-grown tobacco, and having borrowed a black pipe from him, he fell to smoking. all this time jack was nervous and apprehensive. once or twice he had caught the ragged old fellow's beady eyes fixed on him, with their strange burning look. his impression that the lonely hut-dweller was insane grew upon him. but pete seemed quite at his ease. suddenly the cow-puncher said: "i'm as sleepy as the old scratch, jack. what do you say if we take forty winks?" "better be getting on, pete; we can sleep later," warned jack with a wink in the direction of the old man, to show he mistrusted him. "ho-ho-ho-hum!" yawned the cow-puncher. "we didn't get enough sleep for a cat last night. anyhow, the ponies have got to rest up a bit." as he spoke he threw himself at full length on a rough couch, covered with skins, at one end of the hut, and which apparently served the old hermit for a bed. before jack could remonstrate, pete, with the quick adaptability of the plainsman, was off in a deep slumber, snoring till the roof of the place shook. "well, there's no use waking him if he's as sleepy as all that," thought jack, who, to tell the truth, was feeling very drowsy himself. after making a scanty meal, the old man with the shifty eyes shouldered a hoe, and mumbling something, made off. jack watched him and saw that he took his way up the hillside to his garden where he set to work among the cornstalks. the occupation seemed so harmless that jack felt half ashamed of his suspicions. nevertheless, he was determined to keep a keen lookout. seating himself in a big chair, roughly fashioned out of logs, with a big bearskin spread over it, the boy prepared to keep his vigil. but alas! for the best determination of man and boy. it grew very still in the hut. far up on the hillside came the monotonous tap-tap of the old man's hoe. insects buzzed drowsily in the warm afternoon air. the whole world seemed in a conspiracy to put the tired boy to sleep. once jack caught himself nodding, he awoke with an angry start at his own neglectfulness. a second time the same thing occurred, but this time his start was not quite so abrupt. presently his deep regular breathing was added to the sonorous snores of coyote pete. not long afterward, the worker in the corn-patch dropped his hoe and started down the hill-side toward the hut. a malevolent smile flitted across his apelike features as he heard pete's snores. approaching the hut from the back, the hermit cautiously raised himself, till his wild face was peering into a small, unglazed window. his grin grew wider as he noted jack's slumber-stilled form. then he dropped from the window and walked rapidly away. how much later it was that jack awakened, he did not know. all that he was aware of was that the hut seemed singularly dark, and that the fire on the hermit's hearth was out. the cause of the darkness soon became apparent. the door of the place was shut. jack hastened across the floor to open it. to his consternation, it resisted his stoutest efforts. it had been barred on the outside. the window through which the hermit had peered was little more than a hole, and too small to permit egress of either his own or pete's body. hastily the boy awoke pete, who at once began blaming himself bitterly for being the cause of the catastrophe. there was small doubt in the minds of either that the old hermit had locked them in; though for what purpose they could not, at the moment, imagine. "we'll have to break the door down," said pete as he hastily rose, brushing the sleep out of his eyes. he gave the door a terrific shake, but it did not tremble. it was stronger than they had supposed. pete, mustering every ounce of strength in his muscular body, crouched himself half across the room, and then with a terrific rush tried to break it down with his shoulder. still it did not budge. for the second time in twenty-four hours the fugitives were prisoners. chapter xiv. travels with a mule. "well, was i right?" "oh, say, don't rub it in, jack. of course you were. i was a fool to have gone to sleep, but----" "never mind reproaching yourself now, pete," said jack soberly. "the thing to do is to get out of here as quick as possible." "yes, we've no time to lose," said pete, a serious look coming over his ordinarily cheerful countenance. jack caught a more serious meaning underlying the words than they seemed to hold in themselves. "i should say so," he rejoined. "we've got to catch that old ruffian and give him the thrashing of his life. the idea of shutting us in here. i thought he was crazy, and now i know it." "not so crazy as you think, jack," replied pete gravely. "i'm afraid he's got more sense than we gave him credit for, and that right now we are in more serious danger than at any time since we escaped." "what do you mean?" "never mind now. i don't want to scare you to death without there being any necessity for it. what i want to impress on you is that there is no time to lose." "of course, i appreciate that," rejoined jack, not quite making out what pete meant, but thinking it wiser to abstain from asking questions at the moment, "but how are we to get out?" "dunno right now," said pete, scratching his head abstractedly. "i have it," cried jack suddenly. "we'll burn the door down." "what about matches?" "there are still some embers on the hearth there, and a pile of brush beside it. i'm sure we can do it." "well, let's get to work, then," said pete, who seemed strangely ill at ease. a goodly pile of brush was soon piled against the rough door and ignited by means of taking an ember from the fire and blowing on it till it burst into flame. up roared the flames, the timber fire crackling against the stone roof and filling the hut with a choking smoke. luckily, most of this escaped by the window, or they might have run a good chance of being suffocated. "say, it'll take a year to burn through the door at this rate," choked out jack, after fifteen minutes or so of this. "it would if we were going to burn through it, but we ain't," chuckled pete. "let the fire burn down now--or, better still, there's some water in that jar; just throw it over the blaze." this being done, the fire soon died out, and then pete, wresting one of the heavy loose stones from the hearth, battered with all his might against the charred wood. it took a long time, but at last a chink of daylight appeared. "hooray!" shouted jack, as they attacked it with a piece of iron found near the cooking-hearth. soon quite a hole appeared, and pete, reaching through, encountered a heavy wooden bar leaned against the door from the outside, placed to hold it firmly closed. it was the work of but a few seconds to dislodge this and emerge into the open air. their work, however, had taken so much time that it was dusk when they stepped out of the door. without a word, pete, as if he had gone suddenly mad, darted off toward the old hermit's stable. he emerged in a second with an angry cry on his lips. "just as i thought," he exclaimed, "they're gone!" "gone!" "yes, the ponies and our rifles." "great scott, what will we do?" "get away from here as soon as possible. if i don't miss my guess, that leathery-skinned old squeedink has recognized those ponies and started back to black ramon with them." "good gracious, that means----" "that we'll have the whole boiling of them round us if we don't skeedaddle out of here pretty jerky. we lost a lot of valuable time getting that door down." "but we've no ponies; how are we to travel on foot and keep ahead of them?" "well, there's that old one-and-a-half-eared mule out there. i reckon we won't be busting no code of ethics by borrering her. i'll get a saddle on her, and you just fill your pockets with whatever you can find in the way of grub, then we'll start." in a few minutes all was ready, and the old mule, with a ragged saddle on her angular back, stood waiting with a drooping head. pete swung himself into the saddle, and jack, being lighter, leaped up behind, holding on to the cantle. "all right, conductor. ring the bell and we'll start this here trolley," grinned pete, digging his feet into the old mule's ribs. she started off at a gait surprising in such a disreputable-looking animal. "well, we've got a start they never calculated on us getting," grunted pete as they loped along. "if only our luck holds to the end, we'll beat them out yet." the old mule plunged upward along the cañon, clambering over the rough ground with remarkable agility. one of the first things that pete had taken care to do was to leave the trail in a rocky spot, where no telltale hoofmarks would show, and his course was now along the bottom of the gorge, where a small watercourse trickled. "well, we won't want for water, anyhow," he observed, with some satisfaction. it grew dark rapidly, and nightfall found them in a wild part of the gorge with the main crests of the range reared forbiddingly above them. so far there had been no sign of pursuit, and both fugitives were beginning to hope that they had got clear away, when from far down the cañon they heard cries and shouts, and, looking back, saw a bright glare of light. "well, there they are," grinned pete, "in a fine way of taking, i guess, over the fire." "the fire," echoed the boy, puzzled; "is that what the glare is?" "yep," snorted pete, "i reckoned we'd have to pay that old scallawag out some way, so i just scattered a few hot embers about his hut before we vamoosed. i reckon by the looks of things they're catching up. guess he's sorry he left us now." "pete, you're incorrigible," exclaimed jack, not knowing whether to laugh or be angry at the cow-puncher's wanton act. true, it was wrong to burn down the old hermit's hut, but still the lone dweller of the cañon had betrayed their trust by an act of base treachery. "i guess the books are about balanced," said jack to himself. aloud he asked: "do you think they'll come on after us to-night, pete?" "reckon not," rejoined the cow-puncher; "if they do, 'twon't do them no good. we've killed out the trail in this watercourse, and even if they have the dogs they couldn't pick us up. wisht we had a couple of good rifles. we could lay up there on the hillside as snug as you please and pick 'em out as we chose." it soon became manifest that they could not travel much farther that night. not only was the old mule giving signs of fatigue, but it was so dark that, as pete said, they "ran a chance of breaking their necks any minute." they were now high on the eastern slope of the cañon, and a tumble down its steep sides might have had disastrous results. they therefore decided to camp where they were. making camp was a simple matter with their scant paraphernalia. the old saddle had a coil of rope attached to its horn, and this cord was made fast to the old mule's neck. neither of the campers was thirsty, so after eating some of the provisions jack had hastily stuffed in his pocket, and which consisted mostly of a pasty, sticky corn paste, pete made their bed. rolled in the ragged saddle blanket, with the saddle for pillow, and the stars above them, the wanderers slept as peacefully as if in their beds at home, although their couch was a rocky one. before turning in, pete took the precaution of wrapping the old mule's rope around his wrist, so that in the event of a surprise during the night she would give the alarm by tugging on it. "isn't she liable to start off home without ceremony?" asked jack as he observed this. "not she," rejoined pete wisely; "she's too tired to move a step." all of which goes to show, as we shall see later, that it takes a wise cow-puncher to know a mule. it was about midnight that jack was awakened by a most unearthly yell. he sprang to his feet, with every nerve in his body tingling, and the first thing he observed was that pete was missing. the cause of absence was not long in doubt. a sudden fit of homesickness had seized the old one-eared mule in the night, and she had started without delay for the hermit's hut, dragging with her the luckless pete. the cow-puncher's yells filled the cañon. small wonder was it that he cried out in anguish, for the side of the hill down which the old mule was loping was as steep as the side of a house, and plentifully bestrewn with rocks, inter-grown with rough scraggly brush. jack was fully dressed, just as he had lain down, and he leaped off into the darkness in the direction in which pete's hideous yells and the clattering of the old mule's hoofs proclaimed them to be. but before he reached them, the abrupt descent of the mountain by pete had ceased. the old mule had been halted in midcareer by the rope becoming entangled in a small, low-growing piñon, and she had been checked as effectively as if a hand had been laid on the rope. "here, for goodness sake, get me cut loose from this she fiend incarnate," begged pete, as he heard jack coming toward him. "well, do make less noise, then," said jack, who could hardly keep from laughing at pete's doleful tones. "noise," groaned pete, "it's a wonder i'm not making the all-sorrowfulest caterwauling you ever heard. if there's a sound bit of skin on my poor carcass, i'll give you a five-dollar gold piece for it, and no restrictions as to size, either. ouch!" he gave a painful exclamation as he rose to his feet. "consarn that mule," he grumbled, "i'm going to get me a good thick club, and her and me will argue this thing out. look at that, will you, for pure cussedness." no wonder the bruised and battered pete was indignant. the runaway mule stood only a few paces from them, unconcernedly cropping some sort of prickly bush, which no animal but a mule would have had the courage to tackle. "mule's ain't human, as i've often observed," grunted pete, in intense disgust; "they're a mixture of combustibles, hide and devilment, with a dash of red fire thrown in." "well, why did you tie the rope round your wrist, then?" asked jack, untangling the tether, and starting to lead the mule back. "don't ask me any questions," roared pete, rubbing himself affectionately, "or if you do, ask me why i was ever a consarned, peskyfied, locoed idjut enough to cross that bridge." a sudden disturbance in the brush below them caused them to start and listen intently. the noise sounded like several animals of some sort making a kind of stampede through the brush. "the mexicans!" was the first thought that flashed through jack's mind. but the next instant he knew it was impossible that it could be they. "those are no mexicans, boy," whispered pete. "what was it, then?" "hold on, thar, or i'll shoot," unwisely yelled pete. unwisely, because they, neither of them, had a weapon. in reply a bullet sang past his ear, fired, judging by the momentary flash, from the direction of the trampling animals. "waal, what do you know about that?" grunted pete amazedly. "this valley must be full of enemies of our'n." "better not do any more shouting," warned jack. "no, i reckon not. wow! i heard the bees sing that time, all right." "what do you suppose it could have been? not mexicans, certainly." "nope. at least i don't think so. maybe injuns." "indians!" "yes, every once in a while they stampede off the reservation and roam around promiscuous. but anyhow, whatever it was, or whoever it is, he's more scairt of us than we are of him. hark!" there was a mighty clattering of dislodged stones and rustling of brush coming out of the darkness, and diminishing in loudness every minute. "git thar, fox! you ornery son of a side-winding rattler!" they heard an angry voice grunt under its breath, from the direction of the retreat. "a white man, by jee-hos-o-phat!" exclaimed pete, his face lighting up. "now what in thunder is he doing up here?" chapter xv. a gateway to freedom. it was not for some time after the abrupt removal of pete and jack merrill that any one of the little party in the old church spoke. then it was the professor who broke the silence. "i trust that no harm is meant to our young friend and his breezy companion," he said. "harm!" broke out ralph indignantly, "you seem to take it easy enough. i--oh, well, i beg your pardon, professor, i guess this has got on my nerves. i didn't mean to be so short. but i do wish there was something we could do. sitting here like this and not knowing what is going to happen is maddening." "no use letting it get on your nerves, ralph," counseled the quiet and deliberate walt phelps, "worriting about it isn't going to help any." the professor got up and paced about the old chapel, examining its walls with care. in one or two places were the remnants of old paintings, and these he examined with great interest. "if we should ever get away from here i think that i should have some interesting discoveries to report to the hispanic society," he remarked amiably. walt phelps nodded. the most interesting discovery he could have made at that moment would have been a door leading into the open air and a good horse standing outside it. at noon a mexican entered with their dinner, a similar meal to that which we have already seen served to the prisoners in the tower. few words were spoken over the meal. their hearts were too heavy for that. the uncertainty as to what was to be their ultimate fate was almost maddening. in addition, they had to bear the suspense of speculation over the destiny of jack merrill and coyote pete. without the broncho buster's cheerful face and whimsical manner to cheer them the castaways were indeed in a gloomy condition. about the middle of the afternoon they received another visit from black ramon. this time he brought paper and some ink. the paper was some odd sheets, half torn and very dirty, which looked as if they might have been ripped from an old blank book. the ink was a faded, rusty colored composition. evidently, writing materials were things for which the cattle rustlers had little use. in a few brief words, spoken with brutal incisiveness, black ramon informed ralph that his offer still held good. the boy had till the next day to make up his mind to write the letter to his father, demanding the payment of the ransom. a messenger would convey it to the nearest railroad station as soon as it was written. it was for this purpose that the ink and writing materials had been brought. as jack had feared, the mexican was going to work upon ralph's sensitive nature by every means in his power, and as a step toward that end he had removed jack and the cheerful cow-puncher. "i've half a mind to write the letter and have it over with," said ralph, as the door closed and they were once more alone. "don't you do it," said walt phelps decisively. "i've heard of fellows in a worse scrape than ours getting out of it all right. what's the use of your alarming your folks? after all, it may only be a bluff on the part of black ramon." "i agree with our young western friend," put in the professor, "this mexican would hardly dare to commit any offense against the laws, and i firmly believe that if we show ourselves to be determined to resist his will, that he will ultimately let us go." walt phelps had other ideas about the mexican's character. the western boy knew the man by reputation, and the general character of the wild outlaws who make their homes along the border. he said nothing, however, wisely thinking it best to let the professor encourage ralph all he could. as the afternoon waned away, therefore, the paper still lay scattered in the same spot on the floor where the leader of the cattle rustlers had placed it. by and by, a little ray of sunshine shot in through the window as the sun grew toward the west, and illumined the interior of the old chapel with a cheerful radiance. the rays played, as if in mockery of their captivity, upon the old sheets of paper, on which the thin, blue lines with which they had been ruled when they were new, were still visible. "wonder where ramon picked up that paper," mused ralph idly. "it reminds me of our exercise books at school. looks like it might have been torn out of one of them, too. heigh ho, i wish i was back at old stonefell again. don't you, professor?" "eh--oh!" gasped the professor, coming out of a brown study in which he had had his eyes fixed abstractedly on the paper, "yes, yes, of course. but, young man, your eyes are better than mine, and i want to ask you a question--do you notice anything on that paper?" "why, yes, a few marks; looks like dirt," said ralph carelessly. "the sunlight shows them up. nice sort of correspondence paper." he laughed mirthlessly. "no, but," insisted the professor, "it looks to me as if characters of some kind were inscribed on them and----" ralph had suddenly risen and snatched up one of the sheets. a closer scrutiny had shown him that the papers were indeed covered with some sort of writing which they had not noticed before. "you're right, professor," he exclaimed, "they are written on. see! the marks are getting clearer. but--but why didn't we see any writing before." "because," exclaimed the professor, "the papers have been written on with invisible fluid of some kind. their exposure to the warm rays of the sun has brought out the writing." "it's getting clearer," said ralph, eagerly perusing the sheet he held. "i can't quite make it out yet, though." he exposed the sheet he held to the sunlight, while walt phelps leaned interestedly over his shoulder. "why-why," the boy stuttered, "it's something about this church. look here, i can see the 'church of st. gabriel, the old mission,' as plain as anything, and-and, why, professor," shouted the boy, half wild with excitement, "i believe that this paper, by some wonderful chance, may be the means of getting us out of here." "let me see," demanded the professor, taking the paper from the boy's trembling hands. sure enough, it was covered with characters written closely, and seemingly hastily. "'this record, made the seventeenth day of august, ,'" he read out, "'is to be kept in case of accidents. the secret passage lies four squares from the fifth square from the last window on the right hand side toward the altar. the old altar rail pulls back, exposing the trapdoor. treasure in passage, one hundred paces from north of tunnel in wall, to right.' give me that other page, ralph, quick!" the professor's voice shook strangely, and his dim eyes shone behind his spectacles. rapidly he warmed the page ralph handed him in the sunlight, and more writing leaped into view. "'written by me with onion juice on above date. jim hicks, prospector, formerly of preston hollow, n. y. state. this to be an instrument for my heirs, if any, and if this is ever found.' and here is something that seems to be a postscript," gasped the professor, amazedly. "'will have to leave this in church and trust to luck. place not deserted as i had thought, but in possession of mexicans. if chance should bring this to an american's notice, let them search out jim hicks, the prospector, rightful owner of treasure by right of discovery, and legacy of don manuel serro y fornero, the last descendant of the old monk, brother hilarito.'" "good gracious, does that mean this church?" breathed walt phelps, his eyes as round as two marbles. "evidently," said the professor, who seemed strangely excited, "as nearly as i can make out, jim hicks was, or is, a miner or prospector who in some way was willed this missing treasure, whatever it is, by the last heir of one of the old monks who formerly lived in the mission. he must have come here to dig up the treasure and been surprised by the mexicans. fearing discovery when he would have been searched, he wrote this record in some old book he had with him and then stuffed it in a recess in the wall or other hiding place. in some way the mexicans found it, and not knowing what it was tore some leaves out, which providentially happened to be these, and gave them to ralph to write his last message on." "i guess you must be right, professor," agreed ralph, "i've often heard that the old monks, when their indians were giving trouble, hid their treasure in secret places. and this brother hila--whatever his name was--must have been the last survivor of the monastery. he willed the secret to his heirs, who, in turn, gave it to this old miner, jim hicks." "this is the strangest thing i ever heard of," exclaimed walt phelps, "but now that we have found it, what good does it do us?" "why, why," blurted out ralph, "don't you see, walt, what the invisible writing has done? it has pointed out to us a way to escape." "how?" asked the blunt walt. "how--why, through the tunnel." "yes, if this is the right church, and if the tunnel has an exit at the other end," rejoined the practical walt. "i don't want to throw cold water on your hopes, ralph, but this looks to me as if it might be a trick of black ramon's." "i hardly think so," said the professor. "at any rate, it is worth trying. we will make a test as soon as possible." they did not dare, however, to try to test the secret of the old book till they could be sure they were not watched from without by one of ramon's spies. not till after dusk did they feel perfectly secure from observation. then, with the professor leading, they sought out in the tesselated floor the designated square. it was easily found, and following the directions which had been memorized, for, of course, the invisible writing had disappeared with the fading of the warmth that brought it into being, the eager seekers went over the prescribed ground. there was a moment of painful suspense as the professor laid hold of a moldering altar rail, followed by a moan of disappointment. the rail did not yield. it was anchored solidly in its base. "sold!" ejaculated ralph. walt phelps did not speak, but his disappointment was keen. the professor said nothing, but thought deeply, for a few minutes. then he spoke. "i have it," he exclaimed suddenly, "it's we that have been wrong, and not the book." "what do you mean?" asked ralph, "we followed directions. i memorized them carefully myself." "yes, my boy, we did, but if you recollect the book said nothing about the color of the squares. we counted on the black ones, assuming that to be correct. now might it not just as well have been the white ones that the directions meant?" "that's so," agreed ralph eagerly, with new hope; "let's try it that way." "we'll have to be quick. it will be dark as pitch in a few minutes," said walt. once more the three bent over the floor and counted carefully, this time using the white tiles as counters. their enumeration brought them to another old brass rail, standing upright in what had once been the chancel of the old church. not one of that party drew a breath, as in the dying light the professor laid his hand on the upright pillar and pulled. "fooled again," burst out ralph; but suddenly the professor, who had put his utmost strength into the task, went toppling backward, waving his arms like a scarecrow in a high gale. he fell on the marble floor with a crash, but was up again like a jack-in-the-box. "hooray! hooray! the old miner's writing was true!" burst out ralph. "hush!" exclaimed walt, "you'll have ramon and his men in here in a moment." as he spoke there came a sudden trampling of feet outside and shouts echoed. "they've found us out!" gasped ralph, with blanched cheeks. "no, they're running past the door," exclaimed walt. "listen, something else is the matter." "what can it be?" wondered jack. "no time for speculation now, my boy," warned the professor, who had recovered himself. "it's now or never. are we going to chance the secret tunnel?" "yes," chorused both boys, gazing without hesitation into the black square which the swinging back of the rail had revealed. from the mouth of the dark pit a fetid, foul-smelling air rushed upward. it was the breath of the dead centuries. "one moment," said the professor, staying ralph as he was about to plunge forward undismayed into the abyss; "let some of that deadly gas out." in apprehension of momentary discovery, the adventurers waited, starting at every sound. outside the disturbance still went on. feet could be heard rushing hither and thither. what could be happening? "now!" said the professor, after a few breathless minutes had passed. led by ralph, they plunged downward, their feet encountering a flight of steps. as they vanished into the unknown, the trap-door, actuated by some hidden machinery, which must have acted as their weight came on the long disused steps, swung silently back into place. at the same instant there were several loud shouts from without, followed by a fusillade of rifles. the escape of jack and pete from the tower had just been discovered, and while the ranch boy and the cow-puncher were surrounded by the perils through which we have followed them, the other members of the beleaguered party made their way forward into a blackness so utter as to feel almost solid. chapter xvi. short rations. as soon as it grew daylight next morning the two fugitives, jack merrill and coyote pete, not to forget the one-eared mule, from the effects of whose stampede pete was still limping, made a careful reconnaissance. from their lofty perch on a ledge of rock far up the cañon they could see behind them a thin thread of distant blue smoke, which still marked the scene of the destruction of the treacherous old hermit's hut. a few bluejays hopped about here and there, eying the intruders inquisitively, a badger rushed grunting and grumbling through some nearby scrub. otherwise the cañon, under a blinding blue sky, was still as a desert noon. "wa'al, all's quiet along the potomac from the looks of things," commented pete, "and now let's get down to the creek, and i'll wash off some of the dirt that one-eared maud there plastered me with last night, and then we'll hit up that pocket chuck-wagon of yours." "and after that?" asked jack. "why, then, we'll keep right on going. let's see, it was to-day that you was to have written home for money, wasn't it?" "yes," said jack, with a sigh, thinking of ralph, who, if he had only known it, was at that moment beyond black ramon's reach. "wa'al, now, if that easterner can only stick out, we'll win home yet," gritted out pete, "and be back with help by day after to-morrow." "now, then, you one-eared, cock-eyed imp of satan, if you want a morning drink quit pulling back on that halter and come down to the creek," went on the cow-puncher, addressing the mule, which by common consent had been christened maud. the mule flopped her one ear wisely at pete, and docilely allowed herself to be led to water. both travelers drank and laved themselves, and then seated on a rock at the edge of the watercourse made a meal off the remnants of jack's stock. "last of the grub, eh?" inquired pete, as the final morsels vanished. jack nodded. "well, we'll have to tighten our belts a few notches then, i reckon," was all pete said. it took more than the prospect of a little hunger ahead to alarm the old plainsman. all at once his eyes fell on an object lying some distance up the creek. it reposed on the flat top of a rock and seemed to be a shallow metal basin of some sort. "hello!" exclaimed pete, as he sighted it, "there's a clew to our neighbor of last night--the one who dug out so unsociable when maud began cutting up." "cutting you up, i guess you mean," laughed jack, gazing at pete's scratched countenance, and a further facial decoration he carried in the shape of a big goose egg over one eye. "hum, i guess my style of beauty has been considerably damaged," grinned pete, "and look at that one-eared demon will you, grinning at us as if she enjoyed it." they both had to burst out laughing, forgetting their other troubles at the queer sidelong glance maud bestowed on them. it was as if she said: "didn't i have a lark last night?" "say, jack," said pete suddenly, after an interval of looking about to see if any chance crumbs had been overlooked, "i'm going to have a look at that thing on the rock up there. it may give us a clew to our friend who lit out so unpremeditated." "that washbowl, you mean?" asked jack. "well, it ain't exactly a wash bowl. it's what prospectors use to wash out gold in. they take a handful of mud and some water from any creek they think looks good, and then they wash it about. of course, the gold, being heaviest, sinks to the bottom and stays there after all the other stuff has been washed away." an examination of the basin showed that it was an old one and much battered. on one side it bore scratched deep in its surface the initials j. h. "feller had quite a camp here," said pete, looking about him. "funny we didn't sight him when we first came up. must have had three ponies, two to pack and one to ride." "how can you tell that?" asked the boy. "s'prised at you, a western kid, asking such a question," grinned pete, who was in high good spirits since they had apparently thrown off the mexicans; "look at those hoofs." "that's right," said jack, after a short scrutiny, "there's one with only half a shoe on the off forefoot, one unshod on the hind hoofs----" "that's one of the packers," put in pete. "and another the same way. another packer," concluded jack. "you'll make a vaquero yet," approved pete, "but come on, it's time for us to be up and getting. i only wish we hadn't scared j. h., whoever he is, out of ten years' growth, and we'd have been in the way of getting a hot breakfast." "you wouldn't have wanted to have lighted a fire," cried jack; "wouldn't the mexicans have seen the smoke?" "wa'al, i guess you're right, kiddo," said pete; "cold victuals are safe victuals in a fix like ours. just the same, a slapjack and some frizzled bacon, with a cup of hot coffee, would appeal to yours truly right now." "don't talk of such things," laughed jack; "we may be eating piñon leaves by sundown." "and that's no childish dream," agreed pete. "now, let's saddle up maud and be on our way." a few minutes later, with pete's heels drumming a tattoo on her bony sides, maud was once more ambling over the trail, her one ear moving backward and forward as if some sort of clockwork contrivance was in it. "lot of waste of power there," observed the practical pete. "hitch that ear to a sewing machine or a corn sheller and you'd have any motor ever built beat a mile." by a sort of mutual but unspoken agreement, neither of the two mentioned eating when the sun, by its height in the sky, showed that it was noon. without a word, though, jack, from his position behind the cantle, tightened up his belt a notch. short rations were beginning to tell on him. pete, however, seemed cheerful enough. he even hummed from time to time a few lines of that endless cow-puncher's song which begins: "lie quietly now cattle; and please do not rattle; or else we will drill you as sure as you're born." such good progress did they make, notwithstanding maud's deliberate method of procedure, that by mid-afternoon they found themselves almost at the summit of the range, and in a narrow gorge formed by the closing in of the walls of the cañon. they had been following a sort of trail, which had once--so pete guessed--been an indian way. it was, however, overgrown almost continuously with brush, and they had been compelled to turn out a dozen times in every hundred yards. now suddenly the path came to a stop altogether at a spot where, for a distance of twenty feet or more, the side of the cañon had slipped down. nothing but a smooth shaly wall, impossible even for maud's goatlike feet to attempt, lay between them and the resumption of the trail on the opposite side. "have to go around," decided jack, who had dismounted and was surveying the break in the road. "that means going back three miles at least," grumbled pete. "consarn the luck." "well, we can't go ahead." "there's no such word as can't when you've gotter, son," rejoined pete, gazing about him, while maud philosophically cropped some patch grass that grew on the steep side of the trail. "let's see," mused pete. "no, there wouldn't be no sense in trying to climb around it. even this one-eared jackrabbit couldn't make it. could you, maud?" the one ear shook vigorously. "no, she's made up her mind she couldn't, and that ends it. marry an old maid, argue with a school teacher, reason with a rattlesnake, but never try to persuade a mule of the error of her ways," said pete solemnly. "there's that old dead tree up there," said jack suddenly, pointing to the steep shaly bank, where a big dead pine lay precariously balanced where the last washout that had destroyed the trail had left it. "well, what of it?" "why, it's long enough to bridge the gap and broad enough for maud to get across on if we lead her." "and if she'll go," said pete. "just the same i think your idea's a good one, jack." "well, we can try it, anyhow. it wouldn't take more than a shove to dislodge that trunk, and the way it lies it ought to roll so that its two ends will catch on each end of the trail and connect them." "by jee-hos-o-phat, i think it'll work!" exclaimed pete, warming up to the idea. as he spoke he got off the mule, who for the last five minutes had had her one good ear and the stump of the other cocked forward, listening intently. her nostrils and eyes were distended, and as pete's feet touched the ground she gave a wild scramble in an attempt to climb the bank. "whoa, whoa, maud! what's the matter with you, you one-eared locomotive on four legs," growled pete. "she's scared at something!" said jack, with a worried look, gazing nervously about him. "yep, that's right. wonder what it is." "ph-r-r-r-r!" maud snorted and plunged about furiously. "well, it ain't mexicans, that's a cinch, for the wind is blowing up the trail," mused pete, "and whatever she smells is coming down. well, no use worrying about it. the sooner we get busy and get that log across, the sooner we'll be on our way. i'll just hitch old maud to this tree, and then we'll get to work." maud, still prancing and snorting alarmedly, was tied to the tree in a few seconds. the two adventurers, bracing themselves at every step, started to climb up the shale toward the dead tree, which they wished to roll down the incline to connect the two ends of the broken trail. "now, i'll take that far end and you take this, and when i say so, we both shove, see?" said pete. after some difficulty on the slippery foothold the shale afforded, they reached the log, which was nothing more or less than a huge pine trunk, sixty feet or more in length. had it not been for the manner in which it had been caught on the pinnacle of two rocks at either end, they could not have hoped to move it. balanced as it was, however, a touch set it rocking. "ready?" hailed pete, after he had scrambled to his end of the log. he laid his hands on the fallen trunk and braced his feet and muscles for a mighty heave. "all right!" hailed jack, doing the same, when suddenly his expression of energy froze on his face, and he grew pale under his tan. "oh, pete! oh!" screamed the boy, "look behind you!" pete, who stood with his back toward the upper end of the cañon, faced around from his grip on the timber. as he did so he echoed jack's cry of horror. standing at the opposite edge of the broken trail--not twenty feet from him--was a huge, gaunt grizzly. as it gazed upon the prey on which it had lumbered so unexpectedly, the horrible brute's little pig eyes blazed malevolently, and its huge fangs began to drip as if in anticipation of the feast to come. [illustration: standing at the opposite edge of the broken trail--not twenty feet from him--was a huge gaunt grizzly.] chapter xvii. the tale of a mule. "jee-hos-o-phat, a grizzly!" yelled pete, as he gazed at the quarter of a ton of angry bruin, "and we've not got even a bean shooter." "that's what maud was scared at," was the ridiculous thought, considering the circumstances, that came into jack's mind. that pete had thought the same thing was evidenced the next instant. "say, if we'd only paid attention to maud," he began, "we'd----" but a sudden interruption cut him short. the big log they had been trying to dislodge was, as has been said, very delicately balanced. already by placing their hands on it and rocking it testingly they had disturbed its equilibrium. now pete, in his agitation, had placed a foot on it. both feet, in fact, as he jumped backward at the sight of the huge bear. this was too much for the trunk. with a crash and a roar, and accompanied by a mighty cascade of dust and rocks, it rolled down the steep, shaly bank. a few moments before both pete and jack had longed above everything else to see the trunk spanning the break in the trail. now, however, when it landed fair and square in the position desired, with its two ends resting on solid ground, the natural bridge it formed was the last thing in the world they wanted to see. with the trail still open--that is, with the break still in existence--they might have saved themselves from the bear, for it was extremely unlikely that the creature could have found a foot-hold on the loose shaly bank. now that the bridge was in existence, however, things were altered, the bear could cross to them at will, even if they took refuge on their own side of the gap. "make for those trees," shouted pete, pointing to a small clump of scrubby firs that grew out of a pile of rock just above where maud had been tethered. without a word jack turned and made the best of his speed along the steep, slippery incline to the spot indicated by the cow-puncher. pete was close behind him. "now climb," ordered pete; "it's our only chance." as he spoke the grizzly, which had hesitated for a moment when the bridge came tumbling down, had perceived the easy means it afforded him of reaching his prey, and was cautiously testing it with his foot. "wish the thing would give way and roll him down to kingdom come," gritted out pete, savagely. both pete and jack in their haste had found refuge in the same tree, a small sapling fir, which bent perilously under their weight. from this insecure perch they watched bruin testing the bridge cautiously. finally having made up his mind it was safe the immense brute started to lumber across it. "b-b-but," stammered jack, "he'll get us in this tree, pete. grizzlies can climb." the boy was horribly frightened, and small blame can attach to him therefor. jack, as we have seen, was far from being a coward, but even the bravest of men might be pardoned for feeling alarm when caught weaponless by a grizzly bear--one of the most savage, merciless foes of man in the western hemisphere. "he can climb, all right," rejoined pete, "but a grizzly is the most cautious brute there is. he's quite smart enough to see that this tree overhangs a steep slope that ends in a precipice, and he knows, too, that if too much weight is put on it we'll all go down together. maybe he won't try to dislodge us. that's our only hope." "but even if he doesn't climb it he's liable to sit below till we come down from hunger or drop from fatigue." "well, that's a chance we've got to take," grunted pete grimly. the grizzly seemed in no particular hurry to proceed. having crossed the bridge he leisurely sniffed about, only from time to time glancing up out of his little red eyes at the two figures in the flimsy fir tree. all this time maud had been plunging about like a wild thing, but her rope held tight and she could not escape. "poor critter," said pete, as he watched her. "if we'd only taken her warning we might have been out of here by now." "if we ever get out of this, i'll believe anything a mule tells me," chimed in jack miserably. the grizzly apparently made up his mind suddenly that it was time that all delays were over. with the peculiar lumbering gait of these huge, but active, creatures, he rapidly made his way to the foot of the little fir and placed his fore paws on it. as jack gazed downward at the huge paws, armed with enormous claws, each as big and sharp as a chilled steel chisel, he could not restrain a cry. "steady, kid, steady," groaned pete. "oh, if only i had a rifle for you, me haughty beauty, wouldn't i drill a nice hole in you." he shook his fist at the bear, which growled savagely back. but having tested the tree, the bear, as pete had expected, declined to risk his weight on it. instead he shook it a little in a vain attempt to dislodge the two clinging occupants. both man and boy hung on with grim desperation, while a dreadful fear that the roots might give way gnawed at the heart of each. "how long will he stay there, do you think?" asked jack, as the grizzly, grumbling angrily to himself, sat down at the foot of the tree, for all the world like a huge cat patiently watching a mouse hole. "dunno," grumbled pete; "longer than we'll stay here, i guess." suddenly the bear seemed to tire of inactivity. with a savage roar he sprang at the tree, which bent like a sapling under his tremendous weight. to pete's horror he distinctly felt the trunk crack. "it's all off," he groaned aloud; "one more jump like that will finish us." "when the tree hits the ground you run," whispered pete to jack. the boy nodded his head. he little dreamed what was in pete's mind. the acute mind of the grizzly soon perceived that his attack on the tree had been effectual. roaring with dreadful note that sent a chill to jack's heart, he charged once more. there came a dreadful crashing, crackling, rending sound, and the small sapling gave way. like a stone from a catapult jack felt himself strike the ground violently. "run, jack, run!" it was the voice of pete, but it came to jack like a voice in a dream. mingling with it came the triumphant roar of the grizzly. bruised and shaken by his fall, the boy managed somehow to get to his feet and began running stumblingly forward. suddenly he stopped. what had become of pete? in the same instant his friend's unselfish bravery flashed across him. pete meant to stay behind and deliberately sacrifice himself while jack got a chance to escape. jack turned and began to run back. "pete, pete, you shan't do it!" he cried desperately. but even as he yelled he gave a shrill cry of mortal terror. the huge black form was upon the cow-puncher, and all jack could see was its huge, hairy arms as they shot out to envelope pete in their grip. over and over rolled the two, as the bear missed its footing on the treacherous hillside and began toppling down toward the trail. in this predicament it still gripped tight to its prey, however. suddenly jack gave another yell--a cry of exultation. an extraordinary thing had happened. in its rolling plunge down the slope the bear had come within the radius of maud's iron-shod hind hoofs. with a scream of mingled fear and mulelike defiance, those formidable weapons drove out as if impelled by steel springs. ker-flo-p-p-p! both of those terrible heels struck the grizzly fair and square in the top of his ferocious head. with a howl of agony he dropped the man from his deadly grip, and with the blood streaming from the deadly wound went tumbling and clawing in his death agony down the slope. faster and faster he crashed downward, tearing out small bushes and trees as he went under his huge weight. at last everything grew silent, and jack looked over the edge of the gulch. at the bottom, half hidden among the avalanche of brush he had brought with him, lay the carcass of the huge grizzly--quite dead, it seemed, for when jack hurled down a stone he never moved. at the same instant pete sat up, a puzzled expression on his face. "am i dead?" he inquired. "no, thanks to old maud!" shouted jack, joyously flinging his arms about pete and doing a war dance of exultation. "she's the best one-eared mule in the world!" "that's right," agreed pete solemnly, after he had been made acquainted with the happenings of the last few moments, for he had lost consciousness in the bear's mighty hug. "and say, pete," said jack in a choky voice, "i understand what you did, old man, and----" his voice broke, and tears came into his eyes as he thought of pete's act of self-sacrifice. "aw blazes," said pete, with a bit of a quaver in his own tones, "that's all right. but look at maud, will you?" that intelligent animal, with her one ear cocked erect as if in triumph, had thrown back her head and opened her mouth. "is she going to have a fit?" asked jack. "naw, she's going ter sing. mules don't speak often, but when they do, they do it about something worth while. hark!" he-haw-he-haw-he-haw-he-haw! maud's song of triumph, as pete had described it, went echoing up and down the cañon in the most discordant series of sounds known to the ear of man. but if there had been a hundred mexicans in earshot, neither of the two fugitives would have grudged maud her vocal exercise, nor have attempted to cut it short. as it was, however, the mule's pean of victory had evidently reached other ears than those of jack merrill and coyote pete. they were still petting her and wishing for lumps of sugar and gold head stalls and all sorts of equine delicacies when both were startled by a gruff voice addressing them. "hullo, strangers!" "hullo yourself!" rejoined pete, considerably surprised, and peering about him keenly. chapter xviii. the treasure of the mission. the effect of their first sudden immersion into the total blackness of the tunnel was paralyzing to ralph, the professor, and walt phelps. the air, too, was still oppressive and musty with the accumulation of ages. "has any one got a match?" was the professor's first inquiry. "don't know," rejoined walt phelps, "i most generally have, but them greasers went through me pretty thoroughly. hold on, though; wait! hooray! i had a hole in my pocket, and some slipped through into the lining of my coat." "light up," said ralph eagerly, "and let's see what sort of a horrible hole we are in." a sputter, a crackle, and then a blessed flood of light, as walt phelps lit one of the precious matches of which he had found three or four. "now, see how much you can take in in one match-length," urged the red-headed ranch boy, as he held the match high in the air. its radiance showed them that they were in a narrow, walled tunnel, into which the steps from the trap-door above had led them. right ahead stretched blackness, behind was blackness, only in the little illuminated circle in which they stood in fact, was there any relief from the gloom. the professor uttered a sudden gleeful exclamation, and at the same instant walt dropped the match with a loud exclamation of: "ouch!" he had held on to it so long he had burned his fingers. "never mind," consoled the professor; "that match, walter, has shown us one important thing." "and what is that?" asked ralph. "that there is an opening to this passage somewhere." "why, how----" "simple enough. the flame flickered, as walter held the match up. that shows there must be a draught, and where there is a draught there must be an opening." "then, for goodness sake, let's make for it," exclaimed ralph, stumbling forward in the darkness "i can't stand this blackness much longer." with his hands spread in front of him the boy started off, the others following. walter would have lighted another match, but this the professor vetoed. he argued that, not knowing what lay ahead of them, they had better reserve their store for a real emergency. the boys agreed to this readily. they had gone about two hundred yards when ralph, whose hands were feeling along the walls as he went, gave a sudden exclamation. up to this point the passage had been about six feet in height, and four or more in width. now, however, it contracted until they had to double up, and could only just squeeze through. it grew unendurably hot, too, and as the floor had steadily declined as they went, they argued that they must have reached a considerable depth. ralph's exclamation had been caused by a peculiar substance with which his fingers had suddenly come in contact. heretofore the walls had been rough, and in places rocky. suddenly, however, his fingers encountered a rounded, smooth surface. "what's the matter?" asked the professor, who was behind. "i don't know. there's something odd imbedded in the wall right here. can we spare a match?" "i think under the circumstances we might," said the professor. walter accordingly kindled a fresh lucifer. as its rays shone out, every one of the party shrank back with a cry of horror. from the wall a grinning skull was gazing at them. the ranch boy dropped his match with a cry of terror and startled alarm. even the professor's nerves were shaken by this sudden apparition. "f-f-for g-g-goodness' sake, strike another!" stuttered ralph. with trembling hands walt struck another light, and this time they nerved themselves to examine the wall more carefully. the skull was imbedded in the rock, and by its side they now perceived was a skeleton hand, pointing down the tunnel. the professor also noted some marks at its side. there were five of them--short, straight lines, scratched in the wall. "why, boys," he said, as the match died out, "there is nothing to be alarmed at. the skull is placed there as some sort of a pointer, or indicator, as i take it. that hand shows the direction in which the treasure lies, and the five scratches mean either five feet, or five yards, in this direction." this simple explanation nerved the boys wonderfully, and they carefully paced off five feet. "another match, walter," ordered the professor. "the last but one," said the boy, as he struck it. hastily they gazed about them, but not a sign could they perceive of any break in the wall or floor, which might serve as a hiding-place for the treasure indicated in the miner's invisible writing. "shall we try at five yards?" asked ralph. "we will put it to a popular vote," rejoined the professor. "it will mean burning up our last match, but on the other hand----" "i'm willing to use it--how about you, walt?" came from ralph. "sure," responded the ranch boy. the professor made rapid mental calculations, and then paced off the additional distance necessary to make up the five yards from the original starting-place. "now," he said, coming to a halt. how carefully walt phelps nursed that tiny yellow flame, as it burst into being. how eagerly they glanced about them, greedy of every morsel of its light. suddenly the professor gave a cry. "look!" he sputtered out. he was pointing downward excitedly. almost at his feet was a mildewed iron ring. as the light died out, he grasped it. "never mind the darkness, now; i've got it!" he cried exultingly. "pull it up," urged ralph, all else forgotten in the mystic spell of hidden treasure. "yes, pull," urged walt. "i--ugh--ugh!" grunted the professor, putting all his strength into it, but the ring never budged an inch. "here, give me a hand, boys!" he cried. "how are we to find you?" asked ralph. "here, extend your hands. ah, that's it," went on the scientist, seizing hold of the boys' wrists and guiding them down to the ring. "now, all together," he said; "pull!" with all their strength the three adventurers tugged with a mighty heave at the iron. at first it seemed that it was going to prove obdurate even to their combined efforts, but continued tugging resulted in a slight quiver of whatever the iron ring was fastened to. "now, once more--he-a-ve!" there was a sudden give on the part of the iron ring, and its foundation gave way with a rush. a strange, pungent odor filled the air! "i--i--i'm choking," gasped walt, gripping his collar with both hands and tearing it open, to relieve the terrible congestion that had suddenly seized upon his throat. "run, boys; run for your lives!" shouted the professor. "there's something deadly in there!" they needed no second invitation. forward they plunged, gasping and choking, in the grip of the unseen, destructive agent they had liberated. the professor, as he sprang forward, felt his foot slip, and realized that he was falling backward. as he fell into what he knew must be the pit they had opened, and from which the noxious fumes were pouring, he grasped at something--it was walt's leg. "hey, leggo my leg!" howled the red-headed youth, half-crazy with fear. to his excited imagination, it seemed that in the darkness some pulling arm had reached up from the pit and seized him. "walt! walt!" gasped the professor. "save me!" the boy, in agony as he was from the horrible gases, pluckily reached round and felt about. presently he felt the professor's bony hand grip his. a second later, the scientist had been hauled out of danger. but the suffocating fumes still filled the passage. they were choking, blinding and killing the adventurers. "forward, forward! it's our only chance!" cried the professor. suddenly he felt walt, who was just ahead of him in the panic-stricken flight, collapse. seizing the fainting boy in his arms, the professor bravely struggled on. in the meantime ralph had hastened on ahead, and knew nothing of what had occurred behind him. rapidly he ran from the unseen peril, covering the ground swiftly. stumbling blindly forward, he all at once felt the air grow fresh and sweet, and at the same time a sort of glow penetrated the stygian darkness of the tunnel. the boy glanced upward and gave a cry of delight. above him, at the mouth of a circular shaft, he saw the kindly stars blinking. never had the sight of the sky looked so sweet to him. but even as he was congratulating himself, he looked about for his companions. they were not there! "hullo, walt--professor! hurry," he called back into the blackness and the foul danger he had left behind him. to his dismay, his voice echoed hollowly upon the rocks, and went booming mysteriously down the tunnel. but human reply to his call, there was none. with a sinking heart, ralph realized in an instant what had happened. the professor and his companion had been overcome, by whatever it was that had emanated from the trapdoor in the tunnel. a sort of panic seized on the boy. he shouted and shouted, again and again, regardless of his voice being heard above. but only the mockery of the echo to his frightened cries came back to him. it is no disparagement to ralph to say that it required some effort on his part to nerve himself for what he did then. summoning every ounce of resolution in his body, he threw himself on his hands and knees, with a vague recollection of having heard somewhere, that deadly gases were less deadly near to the ground. thus extended, the eastern boy, with a beating heart and a dread sense of disaster oppressing him, crawled back into the danger-filled darkness from which he had just emerged. as he proceeded, the air grew more and more unbearable. his skin seemed to be on fire, and his eyes were filled with an aching, burning, smart that was maddening. but the boy kept repeating over and over to himself the words he had uttered as he plunged back over the path of danger. "i must get them out. i must get them out!" in the pitchy darkness, with mind and body burning, he painfully wriggled on. "i can't keep this up much longer," was his thought; "where are they, oh, where are they?" suddenly he bumped into something soft. it was a human body. "professor!" gasped the boy in a voice which he knew must be his own, but which sounded strangely like that of another person. a faint groan answered him. "you must come with me. i must get you out. i must get you out," gasped ralph. he seized the other's clothes and made a brave effort to drag him forward. but as he did so, everything seemed to race round and round in his head in a mad whirligig, and the boy collapsed in a senseless heap beside the two he had come to save. chapter xix. jim hicks, prospector. the sharp eyes of coyote pete were not long in discovering the cause of the startling interruption to the adulation of maud. through a clump of brush some distance above the trail, a strange, wild face was peering at them. yet, despite its tangle of beard, and the battered hat which crowned its tangled locks, the countenance was a kindly one, and there was friendliness in its blue eyes. above all, it was the face of an american. pete, and jack, too, for that matter, would have thrown themselves rejoicingly on the neck of the most disreputable of their countrymen, if they had happened to meet him at that moment. "traveling?" inquired the stranger, coming out from his concealment and disclosing a well-knit body dressed in plainsman's garb. the butt of a revolver glinted suggestively on his left thigh. "reckon so," rejoined pete. "whar frum?" "south." "whar to?" "north." "ain't very communicative, be yer, stranger?" "wa'al, you see, we ain't had a regular introduction," rejoined pete, with range humor, a grin spreading over his countenance. "my name's jim hicks; i'm prospecting up through this yer god-forsaken place." "mine's peter aloysius archibald de peyster," rejoined coyote pete, and, although he then gasped in amazement, jack was later to learn that this was the redoubtable cow-puncher's real name. in fact, he had had more than one fight on account of it. "don't laugh," he warned. "not a snicker," was the reply, "but that sure is a fancy name, stranger. sounds like a christmas tree, all lights, and tinsel, and glitter." "humph," rejoined the cow-puncher, glancing sharply at the other, but, perceiving no sign of amusement on that leathern countenance, he went on, "and this is my young friend, jack merrill, the son of merrill, the cattle-man." "say," burst out jack, who had been doing some thinking, "are you j. h.?" "that is my usual initials," rejoined the prospector, bending a keen glance on the boy. "ho--ho--ho!" laughed pete, "i reckon we crossed your trail to-day. did you mislay a wash-pan?" "why, yep," rejoined the other, a rather embarrassed look coming over his face, and a bit of red creeping up under the tan, "you see, i was camped down the trail last night, when the all-firedest thing happened that i ever bumped into." "what was it?" asked jack mischievously, scenting here an explanation of the occurrences of the night. "why, i was sound asleep down by the creek, when, all of a sudden, i hear'n a fearful racket above me. i looked up and i seen a devil with red eyes and a blue tail, all surrounded by blue fire, coming toward me, and----" "hold on, stranger--wait a minute. i ain't through yit. wa'al, sir, i out with my pepper box and let fly, but the critter, whatever it was, jes' giv' the awfulest laugh i ever heard, and vanished in a cloud of blue smoke." "ha! ha! ha!" laughed jack, while pete joined in the merriment, holding his sides. the prospector looked at them suspiciously. "why--why--why," gasped pete, "barrin' the red fire and the trimmings, i reckon your devil was jes' our old mule, maud." "that onery, one-eared critter yonder!" yelled the prospector, "that perambulating, four-legged accumulation of cats'-meat scare me out of two years' growth! stan' aside, strangers----" "why, what are you going to do?" exclaimed jack in a somewhat alarmed tone, as the prospector's hand flew to his six-shooter. "jes' ventilate the promiscuous disposition of that animal of your'n, stranger." as he spoke, he coolly raised his pistol, preparatory to sweeping it down and firing point-blank at poor maud. but coyote pete was on him with a wild yell. "here, here, none of that in this camp, stranger," he bellowed, as his mighty arms bore the astonished prospector to the ground, and they rolled over and over; "ef you've got any nuggets lyin' loose you don't want, give 'em to us to decorate that noble creature, but you'll shoot me afore you shoot maud." as for jack, after his first alarm, all he could do was to roar with laughter at the two big westerners rolling about on the ground, and filling the air with vigorous expletives. "here, here, get up," he cried at length. "aren't you ashamed of yourselves?" the two stopped their struggle for a moment and scrambled to their feet. "i'll take back my remarks about your mule," said the prospector, apparently unruffled by the sudden strenuous interlude. "and i'll withdraw my objection to you on account of that bullet you fired at us last night," said pete solemnly. "accepted," said the ranger with equal gravity, "and now, if you two fellers feels like scoffin'----" "scoffing?" said jack. "i thought we'd had enough of that." "he means eating," chuckled pete. "what a question to ask!" "wa'al, then, i'm camped about a quarter of a mile frum here, and will be glad to have your company. i come down to find out what was the matter, when i hear'n that mule critter of yours a-singin' once more. glad to have met congenial company." "we'll have to bring the mule," said jack. "all right. so long as she don't fight with my outfit, i've no objection," rejoined the prospector; "but come on, or that rabbit stew will be getting burned." "rabbit stew!" exclaimed coyote pete. "oh, i never thought to hear them words again." rapidly they retraced their steps, leading maud by her hitching rope. soon they reached a small branch path, which they had not noticed on their way up. it led back into the brush where jim hicks, it appeared, had camped. as they neared it, a savory odor of rabbit stew became apparent. pete sniffed ecstatically. "say, stranger," he asked in a trembling voice, "is they--is they onions in that stew, or does my nose deceive me?" "mr. de peyster," rejoined the prospector, "your organ of smelling is kerrict, sir. there is four of the finest bermudas obtainable in that rabbit stew." "hold me," murmured pete to jack, a sudden look of lassitude coming over his weather-beaten face. "why, why, what's the matter?" exclaimed jack in some real alarm. "i--i think i'm going to faint, and i forgot to bring my smellin' salts," grinned pete, favoring the boy with a portentous wink. the formality of the west did not permit jim hicks to ask any questions of his guests. in fact, in that section of the country such a procedure would have been adjudged a terrible breach of good manners. on the border every man's business is his own, and no questions asked. when, however, three or more helpings of rabbit stew had become a part of coyote pete, and an equal number was being assimilated into the person of jack merrill, the cow-puncher took advantage of the temporary absence of jim hicks--who had gone to see after his ponies--to ask jack if he thought it wise to tell the prospector some of their story. "i certainly do," replied jack. "he is a queer character, certainly, but under all his peculiarities he seems to be shrewd and kindly." "that's what i think, too," agreed pete. "he may be able to help us." after coyote pete and jim hicks had their pipes lighted, therefore, for the prospector carried a good supply of "lone jack," coyote pete began. the prospector listened with many exclamations of surprise to their story, till they reached the part concerning the old mission of san gabriel. then he jumped to his feet, and, dashing his pipe to the ground, applied a few vigorous epithets to black ramon and his gang. "that's the bunch of coyotes that drove me out of there just as i was about to make my fortune," he cried. "drove you out of there?" "make yer fortune?" cried his two puzzled listeners. "yep; listen," and jim hicks told them substantially the story, which we have already perused in his notebook, so providentially delivered into the hands of the prisoners of the old church. the man who willed it to him was a dying recluse he had aided. "and there the book is, written in with onion juice stuffed in a cranny of the wall for any one's finding and nobody's reading," chuckled the prospector in conclusion. "it was the only thing i could do. you see, i didn't know whether those greasers would catch me or not, so i concluded the best thing to do would be to take no chances, and hide it." "you think you can find it again?" asked jack, fascinated by the old prospector's strange story. "why, i dunno, son. you see, i was in such a hurry to get away when i heard them fellers coming, that i just stuffed it in a crack in the wall. if they got inquisitive they could easy get it out, but they wouldn't suspect nothing, for the book looked blank." "but how did you escape without their seeing you?" "ah, you've got to trust an old borderer for that," grinned jim hicks. "you see, when i got near the church, thinks i to myself, 'now, jim hicks, you don't want to burn your bridges behind you' so i just left my pony hidden in a little arroyo about half a mile away. when i heard them coming by the front of the place, i slipped out the other side and into the brush. after a lot of wrigging about through the scrub, i reached my pony, and rode back up here to where i had my outfit cached." "then you don't know whether there's treasure there or not?" asked jack. "wa'al, there's treasure there all right, no doubt o' that. that spanish fellow--i told you how i helped him when he was dying--swore he didn't lie to me, and i believe him. but he hinted at there being some sort of difficulty in the way of getting at it. the breath of death, i think he called it. guess he meant the greasers' garlic." "i guess so," responded jack; "how i wish that we could go with you right now and explore the secret tunnel." "wa'al, we've got to get in communication with the ranch first, and then we can get the greaser troops and get after that band of scallywags," said pete. "and we must be two days' ride from it now," sighed jack. "in the meantime, what will be happening to the others?" "that's the trouble," mused pete, "if only we'd had a chance, we might have struck out and got the troops ourselves. but the greasers cut us off, and we're of more use here, even as out of the way as we are, than we would be in black ramon's clutches." "tell yer what," exclaimed jim hicks suddenly, "you don't hev ter ride all ther way to ther ranch." "what's that?" asked pete. "no. i mean what i say. use the telephone." "what?" jack and pete looked at the eccentric prospector as if they thought he had gone crazy in good earnest. "oh, i'm not locoed. has your father got talk bo' at the ranch, boy?" "yes," rejoined jack. "then it's easy." the prospector spoke with such easy confidence that, in spite of themselves, jack and pete began to pay serious attention to his words. "oh, yes; i suppose we jes' climb a sugar-pine and asked central ter give us grizzly one twenty-three?" inquired pete, sardonically. "nope," rejoined the miner, quite unruffled; "but hain't yer never thought that there's a telephone at the big water dam?" "thunders of vesuvius, that's right!" exclaimed pete, leaping to his feet and executing a jig. "how do we get there, though?" asked jack. "we must be miles from it." "not so very far. i know a trail across the mountain that'll get us there a whole lot sooner than you'd think possible." "oh-didy-dd diddy-dum; dum-dididdy-dee!" hummed pete cutting all sorts of capers, "oh, now won't we get after those greasers." "when can we start?" asked jack. "sun up to-morrow." "good. i won't rest easy till i know that we're on the way to save ralph and the others." chapter xx. ralph a true hero. "ralph!" the voice sounded in the boy's ears like the chiming of a far-away bell. lying prone on the floor of the tunnel, overcome by the foul gases, he had been unconscious, he did not know for how long, when he felt his shoulders roughly shaken and walt phelps' voice in his ear. his head ached terribly, and he felt weak and dizzy, but he struggled to reply. "oh, walt, what is it? what has happened?" "why, we've all been knocked out, i guess," said walt; "but the gas must be escaping, now, for although my head still feels as if a boiler factory was at work in it, i can think and feel." the professor's voice now struck in as he recovered consciousness. "boys!" he exclaimed. "are you there?" "yes, yes, professor; do you feel strong enough to move?" "i think so. it is important that we should get out of here at once. i imagine that the gas must have become so distributed by this time that it has lost its harmful effect, but we must get to the open air." "i agree with you," chimed in ralph. "what, ralph, my boy, you here?" exclaimed the professor. "why, you were far in advance. how do you come to be with us now?" as modestly as he could, ralph related how he had turned back into the black tunnel. "that was bravely done, bravely done, my boy," exclaimed the professor warmly. even in the darkness ralph colored with pleasure, as walt added his praise to the scientist's. soon after they started for the entrance of the tunnel once more, ralph having told them of his discovery of the shaft. "possibly there are steps cut in it. let us hope so," said the professor. "if there are not, we shall be as badly off as before, for we cannot get back through the tunnel." "no," said ralph with a shudder, "i would not face the horrors of the place again for a whole lot." a careful investigation of the shaft soon revealed, to their great joy, that a flight of steps had indeed been cut in it, doubtless to enable the old mission dwellers to ascend and descend from the surface of the earth when they desired. "the question now is," said the professor suddenly, "where are we? on what sort of ground will these steps lead us out?" "give it up," said walt. "i should judge, though, we must have come a mile or more through the tunnel." "quite that," agreed the professor. "well, the only way to find out our location is to climb up and see what we come out on," said ralph, to put an end to the hesitation. "who'll be first up?" there was quite an argument over this, the professor declaring that, as he was the eldest, he ought to assume the danger. ralph ended it by springing on to the first of the rough and slippery steps himself. "come on," he cried, though in a lowered tone. a few seconds of climbing brought the boy to the mouth of the shaft. it was quite thickly over-grown with brush, and had evidently not been used for many years. for an instant ralph hesitated before he shoved through the scrub surrounding the entrance, but when he did so, and stood outside the natural barrier with the professor and walt phelps beside him, he uttered an exclamation of unbounded astonishment, which was echoed by his companions. before them the moon was rising, tingeing the tops of the distant range with a silvery light. the illumination also flooded the scene before them. they stood in a sort of vast, natural basin, of considerable extent, surrounded by rocky walls. "it's a sunken valley," exclaimed ralph. and so it was, in fact. "look at the cattle and horses, will you?" cried the practical walt phelps, who had been gazing about him. "sure enough. there must be several score head of stock in here," was ralph's astonished cry. "say," exclaimed walt suddenly, "do you know what i believe?" "what?" inquired ralph. "that by accident we have stumbled upon black ramon's pasturage." "what!--the place where he keeps the stolen cattle and horses?" "that's the idea." "say, i believe you are right, and, speaking of that, there's something very familiar looking about that little buckskin pony, feeding off there." ralph pointed at a small animal cropping the grass some ten rods away. "if that isn't petticoats--the one that tumbled me into the canal--i'll lose a bet, that's all." "i believe you're right," cried walt phelps; "and that other pony beyond, is the dead spit of firewater, jack merrill's favorite mount." "and, if i mistake not, that large, bony animal yonder, regarding me with a suspicious optic, is the equine i bestrode at the time we were captured," exclaimed the professor, who had been looking eagerly about him. "boys, this is a wonderful discovery," he went on. "i have read of these sunken valleys, but have never seen one before; i should like to examine the geological formation hereabouts." "some other time," laughed ralph; "what i wonder at is that the mexicans never discovered the secret passage." "that's not surprising," chimed in walt phelps, "the mouth of it is all screened with thick brush, and unless you fairly fell into it you would never know it was there." "that is so," agreed the professor, "but now, boys, that we are once more in the blessed air, what are we to do?" "my advice would be to press on till we can find some village. once there, we shall be safe, and can find some soldiers, or, at least, summon them from wherever their garrison may be. it is our duty to jack merrill and coyote pete to use every means in our power to save them," said the professor, who, of course was, like his companions, ignorant of the fact that at that very minute the two he spoke of were riding over the distant foothills for their lives. this also explained why the party that had just emerged from the tunnel were not molested. every man that could be spared from immediate guard duty had been summoned to help form the great human circle, which, as we know, ramon had attempted to spread about jack merrill and the sagacious cow-puncher. "there doesn't seem to be anybody about," said walt, after a short silence, "let's get in the shadow of the rock wall and creep forward." "better yet, if we only had some rope," suggested ralph. "what do you mean?" "well, both petticoats and the other two ranch horses seem to be friendly, why couldn't we ride them?" "the very thing, if only we could make hackamores," cried walt. as ralph had remarked, the ranch horses had come closer, and were sniffing curiously. to the boy's delight, he now saw that they had halters on. as is often done in the west, when the start had been made from the ranch the bridles had been placed on over the halters, so that when the mexicans turned the stolen ponies loose, being too lazy to remove the halters, they had left them in place. "coax 'em," whispered walt, holding out his hand flat, as if he had something in it. ralph and the professor did the same, and, hesitatingly, and with many snorts, the ponies drew closer, including the professor's raw-boned mount. as they suddenly gathered up courage, and came right up to the boys, each seized his pony by the halter. the professor followed their example instantly. "now, to mount," said walt. "by hookey, i tell you i feel better when i get a pony under me again." but the boys' attention was suddenly diverted to the professor, who was endeavoring to mount his tall animal, which stood meekly awaiting the conclusion of his efforts. the professor had never mounted a bareback horse before, and imagined, apparently, that the correct method was to shin up the quadruped's forelegs. the boys, notwithstanding their risky situation, could not forbear roaring with laughter at his comical efforts. "put one hand on his withers, and the other on his back, and then spring upward," said walt; "you'll find it easy, then." the professor obediently doubled his long legs under him, placed his hands as directed, and gave a mighty spring. bump! such a mighty leap did he give that he over-shot the mark, and came down in a heap on the other side. he gave a groan as he alighted. "what's the matter?" demanded ralph, almost doubled up with laughter at the weird spectacle. "oh, boys, i am in pain. i've landed on my os ridiculosus." "your what?" shouted walt. "my os ridiculosus--my funny bone. ouch!" the professor groaned aloud as he held his elbow and rocked back and forth. the big, bony horse looked meekly around at him, as much as to say: "don't blame me, it wasn't my fault." "here, we'll give you a hand," said walt, coming around to the professor's side and leading firewater. ralph followed his example. together they hoisted the professor on to the back of his scrawny mount. "why, this feels like sitting on a clothes horse," grumbled the professor, as he felt the bony elevation of the gray's spinal column. "never mind, can't be helped," laughed ralph, springing on petticoats' broad back, while walt mounted firewater, "we'll make a circus rider of you yet, professor." "not on this horse, please," remonstrated the man of science, as all three animals were urged to a fast trot. the boys decided that as there was no one in sight, the mexicans had left the valley unguarded for the night, and so did not hesitate to make all the speed they could. as a matter of fact, the valley was seldom visited except when a shipment of stolen cattle or ponies was required. it was, as the professor had said, a natural basin from which there was but one outlet, and that the boys were shortly to find. for some time they rode along in the dark shadow of the rocky walls, which varied in height from about twenty feet to small precipices of a hundred feet or more. "say, it looks as if there wasn't any way out of this basin," began ralph finally, in an impatient tone. "there must be," replied walt; "otherwise, how did they get the cattle and ponies into it?" "dropped 'em from a balloon, by the looks of it," rejoined ralph, with a good-natured laugh at his own stupidity. "indeed, it looks as if such might have been the case," said the professor, "for all the visible sign there is of a pathway." "hold on! what's that there, dead ahead of us?" exclaimed walt suddenly. he had been riding a little in advance, and now drew rein abruptly and pointed to a darker shadow which lay against the gloom of the rock wall. "looks like a path," admitted ralph. "it's a camino, sure enough," cried walt, the next instant. "a what?" "a camino, a trail, you know." "well, i don't care what you call it, so long as it gets us out of here," exclaimed ralph, eagerly pressing forward. as walt had guessed, the darker shadow, on closer investigation, proved to be a rugged trail leading at a steep incline out of the sunken valley. in a few seconds after its discovery their horses' hoofs were clattering up it. "great heavens, if there is any one about they'll think there's a charge of cavalry coming," cried ralph. "can't be helped," rejoined walt, "we've nothing to muffle them with. in any event, if they were to discover us, we shouldn't stand a chance." but they reached the apparent summit of the trail, and a rough gate, without adventure. it was only the work of a few instants to open the portal, and, after riding a few hundred yards, they found themselves on a billowy expanse of rolling foothills. far off flashed lights, and to their north the vague outlines of the sierra de la hacheta faintly showed. "where are we going to ride to, now?" asked ralph. "anywhere away from those lights," rejoined walt, pointing behind them; "that's the mission. i guess they are looking for us now, and it's going to be 'bad medicine' if they get us." "oh, dear," groaned the professor, "i cannot imagine any worse punishment than riding this bony brute. his backbone makes me feel like being seated on a cross-cut saw." "never mind, professor, if we can only strike a town of some sort, we shall soon be out of our misery," laughed ralph. "come on, then, forward!" he kicked petticoats' fat sides, and the little buckskin leaped forward, followed by the others. all that night they rode, and by daybreak reached a small village--a mere huddle of huts, in fact. but it had its dignitaries, as they were soon to find out. as they clattered down its main street, scores of raggedly clothed, brown-skinned natives came out to gaze at them, but not one offered to do anything. walt had a little spanish at his command, and, selecting one man, who seemed slightly more intelligent than the rest, he told him they were travelers in need of food and rest. the man seemed to comprehend, and nodded with a grin. beckoning to the party, he led them forward to a large adobe building at the other end of the one street, which practically comprised the village. he ushered them in with a bow, after they had dismounted and tied their horses outside. the boys found themselves facing a little, paunchy man, with an air of vast importance investing him. he asked a few rapid questions of their guide in spanish, and then issued an order to a ragged-looking fellow standing by his side. "i guess he's gone for breakfast," mused ralph; "queer way of doing things, but anything for something to eat." but in a moment the ragged man reappeared without food, but with several others as ragged as himself. the boys noticed they all carried rifles. the first ragged man beckoned to them, and the fat, paunchy official waved his hand in token of dismissal. he also bowed low. the boys and the professor, not to be outdone in politeness, also bowed low. then they followed their guide. he led them round behind the adobe which they had just left, and approached a small building. "the dining-room, i guess," said walt cheerfully, as the three stepped through a narrow door-way into a dark interior. "i don't see any table or---- great scott, what's that?" broke off ralph suddenly. the door had closed with a clang, and they heard the big bar on the outside being placed in position. "hey, there, let us out!" "what are you doing?" "where's our breakfast?" these exclamations came in chorus from the travelers. for an instant there was silence without, and then came a snarling sort of cry, which sounded very much like a contemptuous: "yah-h-h-h-h!" furiously the two boys fell on the stout door and shook it. it remained as firmly rooted in position as rock. "we're prisoners once more," gasped ralph. chapter xxi. at the irrigation dam. bright and early, before the last stars had faded, in fact, jack merrill and pete eagerly roused jim hicks for the trip to the water company's dam. both of them hated the idea of losing a minute on this important errand. once awakened, jim hicks proved a nimble person, and breakfast was soon dispatched, his animals packed and saddled, and maud made ready. no time was lost in hitting the trail when these preparations had been concluded. jim hicks was a born trailer, and led the two travelers over the ragged ways of the rough mountains in a skillful manner that excited even coyote pete's admiration. at noon they ate a hasty meal and then pressed on. jim hicks promised to land them at the dam at about dusk. controlling their impatience as best they could, jack merrill and coyote pete rode obediently after the prospector. one change had been made in the cavalcade since noon. one of the packs had been transferred to maud, while another pack had been taken off one of the other ponies and had been distributed between two of his brethren. this left two ponies for coyote pete and his young companion to ride. after this change they pressed on far more quickly, and shortly before sundown their guide halted on the top of a ridge and pointed downward. far below them they could see an immense silvery sheet of water--a small lake, in fact. its surface shimmered in the dying light, and, at another time the two travelers would have admired the sight of the mirror-like sheet of water in its natural frame of rock and ragged timber. now, however, their thoughts were riveted on the idea of getting to the 'phone, and, by the tiny filament of wire, summoning powerful aid for their beleaguered companions. "purty, ain't it?" asked jim hicks softly. "shouldn't have imagined they'd ever have got such a lot of water together out here," grunted coyote pete. "where's it all come from?" "partly from damming up the creek, and partly from the water that pours off the higher ridges when the snow melts in the spring. we're purty high up here, you know." "well, that's a pretty good showing for a country where the rainfall isn't more than four inches a year," commented coyote pete. "not that, sometimes," put in jim hicks, "and, by the same token, if this wasn't summer i should say we were in for some rain now." he looked overhead, and jack noticed that the sky, which had been cloudless not very long before, was now black and overcast. a heavy element was in the air, too--an oppressive sort of feeling. "come on, let's be getting down the slope," said coyote pete suddenly, and once more they moved onward. as they threaded their way down the narrow trail, jack's mind reverted to the destroyed bridge. "how far should you imagine that bridge was below here?" he asked. "you mean where the bridge was, i reckon," grinned jim hicks, who had heard the story of the mexican's trick, from jack and his companion. "well, i should judge about five miles from here." "then we are on the mexican side of the canal cañon?" "yep; but we'll soon be on american soil, sonny, don't forget that." "not likely to," rejoined jack fervently. after half an hour's riding, the great water-works came into full view. there was a massive, containing-wall of cement, with a pathway along the top, and in the center the trailers could see the machinery used for opening and closing the sluice pipes that fed the irrigation canal. word was telephoned from the land company's offices in maguez to the dam-keeper regarding the pressure to be used, and, in accordance with their instructions, he turned on more or less. at the near side of the dam was a small building in which the dam-keeper made his home. from its roof there extended a pole, from which, to jack's intense delight, they could see a thin wire stretching off to the north. on that wire now depended so much that jack almost felt like taking his hat off to it and to the inventor of telephones. "geddap!" urged jim hicks, cracking his quirt about the haunches of his pack animals. the little cavalcade broke into a brisk trot. the dust spurted from under their rattling hoofs. "we're coming on in style," laughed jack, as they came briskly down the last few rods of the trail. "don't see old simmons about," commented jim hicks, looking for some sign of the dam-keeper. "guess he's taking a snooze some place. hey, sam! sam!" "here he comes," said jack briskly, as the door of the dam-tender's hut opened. but the next moment every member of the approaching party gave a gasp of dismay. jim hicks spasmodically jerked up his rifle to his shoulder, but instantly lowered it again. from the door of the hut there had stepped out, not old sam simmons, the dam-tender, but--black ramon and six of his men! they held their weapons grimly leveled at jack merrill and his companion, while ramon sharply bade them dismount. "we have prepared for you what we must call a little surprise party," he said. "please tie your horses and we will go inside." resistance was useless, and they obeyed. * * * * * to understand how this came about, we must revert for a moment to events which had been taking place at the old mission and at the rancho agua caliente while we have been following the young adventurers and their companions. we left mr. merrill and his cow-punchers riding back toward the ranch with heavy hearts, bearing with them the wounded mexican, from whom they hoped to gain some information concerning black ramon's whereabouts. on the arrival of the disconsolate party at the ranch house, mr. merrill had at once sent out a call to his neighbors, and they came riding in from miles around to a consultation. all agreed that it would be a grave invasion of international law to send an armed party over the border, but it was agreed that, providing the mexican recovered it would be legitimate to surround black ramon's rendezvous--that is, if the prisoner revealed it--and demand the surrender of the prisoners. the mexican authorities would then be informed and, if possible, black ramon given over to justice. this course would have been followed at once but for two reasons. mr. merrill and his brother ranchers felt that to act prematurely might ruin everything, and the wounded mexican obstinately refused to get better. still another obstacle, was the great chasm left by the blowing up of the bridge. it would be impossible to pass this. just when this difficulty seemed in its most serious phase, an old rancher spoke up and volunteered to guide the party by a secret trail he knew of, which led over the mountains and across the border. as he spoke, the wounded mexican, who for better attention and observation had been laid on a cot in the living room of the ranch house, stirred uneasily. "hullo, he's coming to," exclaimed mr. merrill bending over him, but the man's eyes remained closed, and he seemed, to all intents and purposes, as badly off as he had been before. for two days he remained thus, and the ranchers carried on their consultations freely before him, little dreaming what a hornets' nest they were preparing to bring down about their own heads. on the morning of the third day, when mr. merrill awakened he was astonished to find that the mexican's cot was empty. the man was gone! a search showed that he was not about the place, and a further investigation revealed the fact that one of the best horses on the ranch was missing. the wounded mexican had been "playing possum" just as a wounded animal will sometimes do, awaiting but the slightest relaxation of vigilance to be up and off. the consternation this caused may be imagined. if the man understood english, and there seemed little room to doubt that he did--otherwise he would have had no object in deceiving them as to his real condition--the ranchers' plans must by this time be known to black ramon. mr. merrill was in despair for a time, but finally, as a last recourse, and even at the risk of upsetting everything, he decided to call up los hominos, a considerable town in chihuahua province, and request that soldiers be sent in pursuit of black ramon. none knew better than mr. merrill the danger he thus incurred of having his plans doubly revealed to the chief of the cattle rustlers. the country posts of the mexican army are largely recruited from men in sympathy with the lawless element--especially if that lawless element confines itself to preying on americanos. there was, therefore, a grave risk that some traitor in the ranks might convey the news of mr. merrill's request to black ramon. that it was no time for doubts or hesitation, however, every rancher felt, and on the top of mr. merrill's message preparations were at once made for a start across the border by the ranchers themselves. in the meantime, the captured mexican, whose wound, though severe, still allowed him to ride, was spurring on his way across the hachetas to black ramon's headquarters in the old mission. it has been said that the greatest blackguards have sometimes the most faithful followers, and this seemed to be the case with the mexican miscreant, for his underling, despite the pain of his wound and his weakened condition, did not hesitate an instant over taking a ride which might have caused even a slightly wounded man to pause and reflect on the undertaking. thus it had come about, that, at the same time that jack merrill and coyote pete, escorted by the eccentric prospector, were setting out to get in communication with civilization, black ramon and six of his most trusted followers had started for the land company's dam, with what a heinous purpose in view we shall presently see. the mexican was in the blackest of moods. he had hardly returned from his vain chase after jack merrill and the cow-puncher before word had been brought to him that his other prisoners had escaped. the mexican was almost beside himself with rage as he heard this, and, in addition, news had been brought to him that mr. merrill had requisitioned that a band of soldiers be sent in search of him. armed also with the wounded man's story of the pursuit of the ranchers by means of the secret trail, ramon was indeed almost desperate when he set out with the intention of accomplishing the deed he had in mind. he felt he would render his name hateful to americans and glorious to border mexicans forever, and was all the more anxious to achieve it for that reason. his astonishment, therefore, when he heard coyote pete's hail and emerged from the dam-tender's hut to find his escaped prisoners walking right into his net again, was only equalled by his delight. as his followers bound each of the three hand and foot, after roughly dragging them from their ponies, black ramon rubbed his hands gleefully. "you are going to see a sight before long that you will remember all your days," he said, as the americans, scornfully disdaining to utter a word, were carried into the hut. "what, you do not answer?" "no, you yellow dog," grunted jim hicks disdainfully, "i'm mighty particular who i talk to." beside himself with fury at the american's calm contempt, the mexican opened his palm and struck the bound and helpless miner a blow across the face. jim hicks' ruddy, bronzed countenance went white as dead ashes. "you'll be sorry for that, you greaser, some day," he said in a quiet, controlled tone, which to those who knew him signified trouble. "some day, yes!" laughed ramon; "but i shall be far away some day, amigo, but before i go i am going to give you americanos a lesson you will never forget. the father of this boy here, and twelve other rancheros, are riding through the american foothills now to your rescue. but they will never reach the mountains. why?--ah, you will soon see." as they were carried into the hut and thrown roughly on the floor, jim hicks' eyes espied poor sam simmons, the tender of the dam. the employee of the water company was also bound hand and foot, and seemed to have been beaten into submission by the brutal mexicans. he gave a slight groan as he saw the plight of the new-comers, but made no other sign. "he resisted us," laughed black ramon harshly, "see what happened to him. it is a good thing you gave in without making trouble." as he spoke, there came a long, low grumble that shook the earth and made the furniture in the hut rattle. it was the near approach of the storm the captives had noticed impending. at the same instant, there came a dazzling flash of lambent lightning. it illumined the cruel faces about them as if a flickering calcium had been thrown upon them. the advancing storm seemed to have a strange effect on sam simmons; he stirred in his thongs and a pitiful expression came over his bruised face. "the storm! the storm!" he cried. "hark! it is coming. let me out to tend the gates." "not likely," sneered black ramon, turning from him contemptuously. "but the sluices must be opened. the rain is coming!" cried the old man, seemingly galvanized into life by the call of duty. "let me loose, i say." "be quiet," snarled ramon. "do you want another dose of the same medicine?" the old man quivered pitifully, while the others looked on with eyes that burned with indignation. "if they are not opened, the dam will burst," begged the old man. "it is weakened now, i tell you. it cannot stand the pressure of more water. let me up, and then you can tie me again." ramon seemed suddenly interested. "you say that if the sluices are not opened the dam will burst?" he asked. "yes, yes! let me up, i must open them. i----" "silence! and if they burst what will happen?" "why, the whole valley from here down is a trough! the water will rush down and destroy many lives and acres of property. let me up, for heaven's sake, ramon, or if you will not let me do it, open the sluices yourself. you do not know what you are doing--every moment counts." again the thunder roared, and a blinding flash illumined with a blue, steely radiance the strange scene in the old dam-tender's shanty. in the brief period of lighting, jack merrill surprised a wickedly radiant look on ramon's face. at the same instant a few heavy drops of rain fell on the roof. "hark! the rain!" cried the old man; "for mercy's sake, let me out. it is my duty." "which you will not perform to-night," sneered the mexican, as the storm increased; "this storm saves us the use of dynamite." in one dreadful flash of insight, jack merrill realized the mexican's terrible plan. he had intended to blow up the dam and flood the valley below. the storm had taken the work out of his hands. the heavy rain-fall would swell the dam till the weak containing wall broke. in a few short hours every ranch in the course of the bursting dam would be devastated. yes, that was what the fruit rancher at maguez had told them. and there was nothing he could do but lie there powerlessly. the boy's brain seemed to be on fire, but in his veins was ice. suddenly black ramon spoke. for an instant jack thought he had repented, but his words dashed that hope almost as it was born. the mexican issued a sharp order to two of his men. "screw down those sluice gates till not a drop escapes," he said. "we do not want to have to wait too long." chapter xxii. a bolt from the blue. outside the shanty the storm roared and flashed. the rain pelted in torrents. suddenly there came a sharp ringing at the telephone instrument. it seemed to have a note of insistence in it. the mexicans exchanged glances. here was an unexpected interruption. the instrument connected on a direct wire with the land company's offices. if one of the mexicans answered it, the possibilities were that a warning would be spread that the dam was being tampered with. ramon solved the difficulty. without untying the old man, he had two of his men support him to the telephone. another held the receiver to sam simmons' ear. black ramon drew his revolver and held it to the other ear. "now, if you utter a word of warning, i'll scatter what brains you have," he warned viciously. in a trembling voice sam simmons answered the call. "y-y-yes, the storm is here," jack heard him answer, evidently in reply to some question at the other end. "y-y-yes, i will open them, sir. y-y-yes, i know the dam is weak." "don't hesitate," warned black ramon vindictively. "y-y-you'll send the engineers to-morrow, you say? very well, sir." "evidently they know of the storm in the valley," thought jack to himself; "shouldn't wonder if the old man himself warned them some time ago, before he was tied." this was, in fact, the case. but now the old man's hesitancy grew more painful than ever. "t-t-they're asking about you," he said, turning to the mexican. "tell them you haven't seen me," snarled ramon. "no, i have seen nothing of him," whimpered the old man feebly. "kidnapped some boys, you say--the ranchers are after him--and the soldiers, too----" "there, there, that will do," said the mexican impatiently. "when the dam bursts, those americanos will be drowned like so many rats, and the soldiers will find an empty nest for their pains." "g-g-good-bye. i will attend to it," quavered the old dam-tender. after responding to further warning from the other end of the wire, he was removed from the telephone and the receiver was replaced. at the same instant the two mexicans who had been despatched to the dam to close the sluice gates returned. their evil smiles showed that they had done their duty well. the rain had now increased to a torrent and the small gauge on the side of the dam-keeper's hut showed that the water was rising rapidly. "how long before the dam goes?" asked ramon, bending over the old man, who was moaning and crying pitifully over the idea of his treachery. "she can't last more than half an hour," he whimpered. "oh, what shall i do? they will think it was my fault. they----" there came a roar so dreadful that the hut seemed to be shaken like a leaf in a windstorm. at the same instant a blue glare filled the hut, hissing viciously like a nest of aroused serpents. a sulphurous odor permeated everything. before any of the occupants of the place had time to move a step an explosion so loud that it seemed as if a ton of dynamite had detonated, rent the air. jack's eyes were almost blinded by the sudden glare and crash, and his senses reeled for an instant. the next moment, however, he realized what had happened. the hut had been struck by a thunderbolt. black ramon, his clothing singed, stood in a dazed way in the center of the smoking hut--in the floor of which a great, jagged hole had been ripped. by his side stood two of his men. the rest lay senseless, perhaps dead, in various parts of the reeking place. one of them had been hurled by the violence of the electrical shock close to jack's side, and his knife lay within an inch of the boy's fingers. bound as he was, however, he could not reach it, nor did he dare to move while the mexican leader's eyes were on them. suddenly the cattle rustler's superstitious mind seemed to recover from its daze. he gazed about him in a wild way. "it is the judgment of heaven," he cried. "let us escape." followed by the two of his men who still retained their senses, he dashed from the hut. in an instant jack rolled over on his side and seized the haft of the mexican's knife in his teeth. then he rolled over to coyote pete's side. "what the dickens----" began the cow-puncher, but stopped short as jack, still holding the blade clenched in his teeth, laid the keen blade across pete's ropes. the knife was as keen as a razor, and in a few seconds coyote pete's hands were free. then he took the knife and severed his leg bonds. a few seconds more and jack was free, and, in less time than it takes to tell, old sam simmons and jim hicks were also on their feet. "quick, get their weapons," urged the cow-puncher, and instantly all four possessed themselves of the four unconscious mexicans' knives, pistols and rifles. black ramon and his men, in their superstitious fright, had rushed from the place in such a hurry that they had neglected to disarm their followers. "now for the ponies," exclaimed jim hicks. "hold on a moment," shouted jack. he dived out of the hut into the blinding rain. but old simmons was ahead of him. already the old man had sped along the top of the dam, and while the weakened breast wall of masonry shook under his feet with the great pressure behind it, had screwed open the sluice gates. far below them a yellow flood boomed and roared and screamed its way to the valley, but the pressure on the dam had been relieved and the masonry stood. all this took some time, and in the meanwhile coyote pete and jim hicks had cautiously crept from the hut and gone to look for the horses. they found them unharmed, but of black ramon there was no sign. they learned afterward that his animals had been left down the trail, so as not to alarm old simmons when they crept on him and surprised him. as soon as the mexican had found himself outside the lightning-blasted hut, he had lost no time in mounting his black, and speeding back to his rendezvous at the old mission. he had, of course, no idea but that the boys and the old dam-tender would go to their death with the hut when the dam collapsed. suddenly jack thought of the telephone. he ran back into the hut and telephoned the glad news of the safety of the dam to the amazed office in maguez. also he gave them a brief sketch of what had happened. "but what the----" came a brief voice at the other end, but already jack had rung off and was outside, where jim hicks and coyote pete had the ponies. they had held a hasty consultation, and had decided that inasmuch as the soldiers were advancing on the mission, and the american ranchers were on their way, that their best plan would be to head back toward the valley. but it was jack who vetoed this plan. "i want to be in at the finish of those rascals," he exclaimed, "and, besides, think of our friends imprisoned in that dismal old church." "you're right, kid," shouted coyote pete, waving a dripping hat in the downpour, "the mission it is." old simmons had been too badly shaken by his encounter with the mexican for it to be advisable to leave him alone. maud's pack was therefore removed, and the old dam-tender mounted on her. first, however, a call was sent for a "relief." till the latter arrived the sluices were to be left open to drain off the heavy surplus of water. "wished i knew where them greasers' horses were," sighed jim hicks; "they'll be coming to in a minute, and walkin' bein' a healthy exercise, i'd like to provide some of it for them." a short distance down the trail they found the miscreants' ponies, just as ramon had left them hitched. even the fair-minded jack did not protest when coyote pete and jim hicks, with yells of glee, cut the cayuses loose and sent them galloping off. "i only wish we could be here to see the mexicans' faces when they wake up and wonder what's hit 'em," said jim, who had examined each of the stunned men and ascertained that not one of them was seriously hurt. "now, then, forward!" cried jim, as soon as the clatter of the retreating mexican ponies' hoofs had died out. "forward!" echoed jack again, putting his heels to his mount. with a loud shout, the four americans dashed down the trail. "now look out for fireworks! yip-yip-yip-y-ee-e-ee!" yelled coyote pete, in a voice that rivaled the last efforts of the retreating thunder-storm. chapter xxiii. with the rurales. after shouting for an hour or more, ralph and walt grew tired of the exercise. as for the professor, with his usual philosophy he had made the best of the situation by surveying their prison, which was a small, barn-like building of adobe. there was nothing very remarkable about it, except that three americans had been imprisoned there for no apparent reason. at nightfall they were brought some food, and frantic efforts were made by walt to interrogate the mexican who served them, but to no avail. the fellow only shook his head stupidly, and pretended not to understand. "whatever are we locked up here for, anyhow?" demanded ralph, for the fiftieth time, as they ate their evening meal. "give it up," said walt with a shrug. "you don't think it can have anything to do with black ramon, do you?" inquired the professor. "not likely," rejoined walt; "even down here there is some law and order, and the townsfolk of this place, whatever it is, would hardly be in league with a band of robbers." "then what do you suppose they have detained us for?" "as i said before, ralph, i give it up. maybe it's for having red hair and looking suspiciously like americans." soon after some blankets were thrown in to them, which they spread on the not overclean floor, and, being tired out, were soon asleep. in the morning they were awakened, and passed a long, dreary day in the semi-darkness. "i can't stand this much longer," ralph burst out, on the second night of their imprisonment. "if something doesn't happen soon, i'm going to escape." "how?" inquired the practical walt, gazing about at the thick walls and the small windows of their place of captivity. "i don't know how, but i will, you can bet," said ralph decisively. "well, i'm going to sleep," said walt; and, accordingly, he curled himself up in his blanket and was soon wrapped in slumber. the professor followed his example, but ralph could not sleep. what, with worry over their own situation and wondering how his friends, whom he believed were still captives in the mission, were faring, his eyes were wide open till past midnight. at that hour the quiet of the village was disturbed by a sudden sound--the trample of horses' hoofs and the clanking of metal. "black ramon has found out we are here and is coming for us," was ralph's first thought. but the trampling went on, and suddenly a bugle call sounded. "soldiers!" exclaimed ralph. hastily he awoke the others, and, after a prolonged period of listening, there was little doubt from the military character of the sounds outside that the newcomers were indeed troops. "maybe they are out after the brigands," gasped ralph, in a hopeful tone. "if only we could see their commander and explain our predicament to him," wished the professor. "and get laughed at for your pains," supplemented walt. in the morning, so early that the dawn was still gray, their jailer aroused them. wondering what could be going to happen, the boys hurriedly put on the few clothes they had taken off the night before, and, with the professor, obeyed his signal to follow him. they were quickly conducted before the short, pursy man, who had committed them to their cell. now, however, he was all smiles and condescension. the reason for this may have lain in the fact that a smart-looking officer of the mexican cavalry stood by his side and eyed the boys with interest as they came in. he was in command of the troops that had arrived the night before, and which, though the boys had not guessed it, were the ones summoned from los hominos. it now appeared that the fat dignitary could talk passable english when he chose, and, as the boys entered, he greeted them with an airy: "good morning." "good morning," sputtered ralph, indignation taking the place of prudence. "you ought to beg our pardons. what have we done to be locked up like criminals? we demand a hearing. we----" "there, there," said the stout man soothingly; "all is well. this officer has told me that in all probability you are respectable, and----" "in all probability?" burst out the professor, "i am professor wintergreen, of stonefell college, and this young man is my charge, ralph stetson, and this other gentleman is walter phelps, the son of a rancher." "the names i have on my list as being among those imprisoned by black ramon," interrupted the officer. "pray, señors, how did you escape?" "tell us first why we are locked up," demanded ralph. "why, as i understand it, this worthy man, who is mayor of this village, merely had you detained on suspicion. he thought you might be horse thieves, and----" "me a horse thief!" shouted the professor. "you forget your appearance is----" began the officer, but was interrupted by a good-natured laugh from all three of the adventurers. true, they had forgotten how they must have looked after their adventure in the tunnel. later, when they saw a mirror, they did not blame the fat mayor so much. plastered with dirt and mud, scratched and ragged, they did, indeed, look unlike the three trim persons who had set out from the american foothills in pursuit of black ramon. "but he could have found out who we were by asking us," protested ralph. "he tells me he was going to do so--to-morrow." "you forgot we are in the land of manana," reminded the professor. after some more palaver, the mayor signified that the three americans could have their liberty, and apologized for their detention on behalf of himself and his village. it was soon explained to the boys by the officer that he was hastening with fifty picked men to round up the rustlers who had long infested that part of mexico. "but," he admitted, "had we not fallen in with you, we would hardly have known where to find them." "no, the last place you would look for them would be in a church," grinned walt. soon after, the boys, having despatched a hasty breakfast, the cavalry set out. the boys rode in advance to guide them to the retreat of black ramon and his men. the professor ambled along, sitting uneasily on the saddle which had now been provided for him. it was a long time before he recovered from his bareback ride on the old ranch horse. "if these fellows are mexican cavalry, they are all right," said ralph, admiringly looking at the easy riding and smart equipment of the fifty men under the friendly officer. "they are rurales," explained the officer; "a section of the army kept especially for hunting brigands and robbers. most of them are former brigands themselves, but there are no better men for the work." by mid-afternoon they came in sight of the old mission, and, as they approached it, the boys gave a shout of astonishment, which was echoed by the professor. riding toward them, from the opposite direction, was a band of horsemen. faster they came in their direction, seemingly spurring onward to destruction. "those greasers must be crazy," exclaimed ralph, gazing at what seemed a suicidal act. "they're riding right at us." suddenly a dip in the foothills hid the approaching horsemen, but the thunder of their hoofs could still be heard. could ramon have an ambush on the other side of the rise, wondered ralph. the same thought must have come to the mexican officer, for he gave a curt order and his men, bursting into a wild yell, drew their carbines from their holsters and prepared to use them. "we'll fire when they come over the ridge," whispered the captain to ralph. chapter xxiv. the round-up. closer and closer came the clatter of the advancing hoofs. presently a horseman's head showed above the ridge. the almost formed command was abruptly checked on the captain's lips, as the newcomer, followed by twenty others, swept over the ridge. it was mr. merrill, and close behind him came coyote pete and bud wilson, with jack merrill riding alongside. "yip-yip-yip-y-ee-ee-ee!" yelled the cowboys, as they saw the mexican troops. "wow!" yelled the mexicans. "hooray!" shouted the boys, and, amidst all the rejoicing shouts, there came a sudden cry of recognition from jack as his eyes fell on walt phelps' mount. "firewater!" he cried, and the pony shared his greetings and congratulations with the three newly-recovered members of the party. it was soon told how coyote pete and jack, with jim hicks and old sam simmons, on their way from the dam, had fallen in with the merrill party near the mission. it was believed that black ramon and his men were ambushed there. then they had decided to make no attack at once, but close in on the place when the troops had been met with, and in this way make the round-up of the rustlers complete. ralph, walt and the professor rapidly told of their escape, and jim hicks emitted a whoop when he heard that the treasure had, in all likelihood, been located. further relation of all their exciting adventures was put aside by them all till ramon and his band should have been captured. after a brief consultation, it was decided to advance in a fan-shaped formation on the old mission, gradually closing in as they neared it. if ramon and his band were ambushed there, they could make deadly defense from its strong walls, and neither mr. merrill nor the mexican captain were anxious to lose any men if it could be helped. accordingly, the line moved cautiously forward till it was within a few hundred yards of the building. up to that moment the old place had been silent and deserted as a tomb. suddenly, however, as the attackers advanced, a fusillade was opened from the tower. lead spattered on the rocks about them, but, fortunately, nobody was hit. ralph turned rather pale. it was the first time he had ever been shot at. "better get behind this ridge," said mr. merrill, as the fire grew hotter. accordingly, the attacking party dropped low into a gully. the firing instantly stopped. "if only we could draw enough of their fire to exhaust their ammunition," mused the rancher. "i have a plan," cried jack suddenly. "what is it, my boy?" "why can't we elevate hats and caps on rifle-barrels and let them blaze away at those? that would soon empty their ammunition belts." "a good idea," said mr. merrill, while the other ranchers warmly approved. the preparations to carry out jack's plan were rapidly made. soon, what was apparently a head, was poked above the ridge. a perfect fusillade of bullets came showering about it. "drop it," cried jack. "make it look as if the man was killed." the ruse worked perfectly. every time a "head" appeared, a tornado of bullets rattled about it, and the riddled condition of the caps and hats thus held up, bore eloquent testimony to the efficacy of the enemy's marksmen. finally, however, the fire began to slacken. instead of a hail of bullets, only two or three greeted the appearance of a head. the moment they had waited for had arrived. with a cheer, the full force of rurales leaped from the trenches. "come on!" shouted jack, but mr. merrill restrained him. "remember, we are in a foreign country, my boy. the rurales must do the work or we shall be in serious trouble." "oh, bother," cried jack, "and i wanted to see the attack." on swept the rurales, a final fire hailing about them, but a volley from their carbines soon silenced the last feeble attempt at defense. "i guess the rustlers have about given up," exclaimed jack. suddenly, from the old mission gates there swept out a figure on horseback. it was instantly recognized as that of black ramon. he was mounted on his magnificent black horse, and waved his hand defiantly at the advancing line. the rurales poured a perfect storm of bullets at him, but the chief of the cattle rustlers seemed to bear a charmed life. once he reeled in his saddle as if he had been hit, but he instantly recovered himself. spurring his superb mount, he sprang forward over the brow of a protecting ridge, and was lost to view. when he next appeared he was silhouetted in striking outline on the summit of another ridge of foothills. for an instant he paused, and they could see him look defiantly back. then, with a wave of his sombrero, he vanished. it was useless to pursue him. there was not a horse among the ranchers or the mexicans that could approach the big black. "there goes a rascal that would look better decorating a telegraph pole with a hemp necktie around his yellow throat, than anywhere else," said one of the americans, as the desperado vanished. "and yet," said mr. merrill, "i should not have wished to see him shot down in cold blood. if only we had our horses and cattle----" "we'll have them before long," said ralph quietly, as, with a loud series of yells, the rurales charged into the mission itself. "what do you mean?" asked mr. merrill. the other americans, watching from the little knoll the attack on the mission, looked at him questioningly. "we've found them all," announced ralph calmly, "in the sunken valley----" "a remarkable geographical 'freak,' if i may use the expression," broke in the professor, "at some remote period of the earth's life----" "yip-yip-y-ee-ee-ee!" coyote pete and bud wilson set up loud yells, which were joined in by the other cow-punchers and americans, as the little mexican captain could be seen in the distance, waving his sword in token that the cattle rustlers' stronghold had fallen. the whole cavalcade, with a cheer, swept forward, with jack merrill, ralph stetson and walt phelps in the lead. the professor's horse ran away with him in the wild stampede, but luckily, by dint of fastening his bony fingers in its mane, he managed to hold on. without a single life being lost, or any wounds received on either side, the band that had so long harassed the border had fallen into the hands of the authorities. eventually every member of it but black ramon was rounded up, including the renegade cow-puncher. all were placed under escort of the troops, and taken to mexico city. they are now serving long sentences in mexican penal institutions. the border boys later received the thanks of president diaz for the part they had played in bringing the outlaws to book. after seeing the prisoners disposed of, of course the americans had to be shown how the boys and the professor had effected their escape from the church. with torches and lamps they crowded into the narrow pit, and the hole which had gaped open when the ring was pulled loose soon appeared. of the noxious gases, however, no trace remained. the air was pure and healthful. the professor ascertained later that the old missionaries who had buried the treasure there, had placed pungent chemicals under the trapdoors, so that, in case of marauding indians attacking the treasure, it would be safe. the skull and bone, it seemed reasonable to suppose, had been placed in the passage wall as a warning to other visitors. the mysterious noise that had alarmed ralph remained a mystery for a long time, till one of the prisoners admitted that he had caused it under ramon's orders, the object being to scare the boys. the lights of the torches and lamps carried by the party, shone redly into the black hole, and the three border boys peered eagerly over. jack and ralph, by a common impulse, leaped downward together. their feet struck the lid of an old wooden chest with a splitting, rending sound, as the rotten wood gave. the next instant a cheer went up. jim hicks' treasure-trove had been found. the flickering lights gleamed on the dull glint of gold coins and ornaments of priceless value. "wow!" yelled jim hicks; "i'm rich. but so will you boys be, too. i'll take care of that, and you, likewise, coyote pete." in vain the boys protested; jim hicks insisted, and long afterward, when the mexican government's claim had been settled and the treasure appraised, each boy received a crisp check for two thousand dollars. coyote pete was also a recipient of the miner's good will. among the prisoners taken, was a queer-looking old man, with a long, white beard, and the quick, shifty, dark eyes of an ape. jack merrill and pete gave an exclamation of surprise as their eyes fell on him. it was the old hermit of the cañon! he recognized them, and gave them a baleful scowl. "it wasn't his fault that ramon didn't have us where we've got _him_," commented pete. after remaining camped at the mission for a day, while final arrangements for the taking of testimony at the cattle rustlers' trials, and the matter of the boys' depositions was attended to, the american party bade farewell to the mexican captain and his troops and set out for the home-side of the border. carefully guarded by several cowboys was a pack horse, carrying the treasure chest. its contents had been roughly valued at $ , . "well, ralph," said jack, with a laugh, as the boys rode along at an easy lope together, "what do you think of the west now?" "it's great, jack," responded ralph, who had been thinking over the adventures of the last few days. "but if things had turned out differently," put in walt. "no use thinking of that," decided jack. "all we've got to think about is, that we have had the luck to be the means of cleaning out that bunch of rustlers, and ridding the border of them forever." "forever's a long time," commented mr. merrill, who had spurred up alongside the boys. "however, i think you boys have had quite enough adventures for a time." "i'd like to start out again to-morrow," exclaimed jack. "so would i," echoed ralph. "well, you may have a chance before long," said mr. merrill enigmatically. he would add nothing further, however. at maguez a great reception had been prepared for the returning ranchers. the celebration was held some days later. the boys, their faces suffused with blushes, had to make speeches and describe in part their adventures. "three cheers for the border boys," yelled the crowd, as ralph limped through some sort of an oration. jack had done much better, while walt phelps was overtaken with stage fright and couldn't speak at all. "well, good-bye to the strenuous life for a while," said jack, as they rode home after the celebration. behind them were the yells and whoops of the enthusiastic citizens who were still keeping it up. "well, we've been through many dangers and perils," rejoined ralph, "but somehow, it's pleasant to look back on them. i hope we will have some more adventures before long." "not likely to," commented walt phelps. "why not?" asked jack. "black ramon is still at large, remember, and somehow, i've got a feeling that as long as he is at liberty he'll make trouble." "well, the border boys will take care of him every time," shouted ralph, giving a regular cowboy yell: "yip-yip-y-ee-ee!" it was echoed by the other border boys, as they spurred forward for the home ranch, under the clear stars. on and on they rode, their little ponies' feet making the lively kind of music each of them loved best to hear. all at once they rode over a slight rise--the first "land-wave" to mark that they were approaching the foothills. with yells, the border boys dashed down the other side of it and disappeared from the starlit desert trail--and from this story. but we shall meet the border boys again in further adventures and perils, more exciting than any through which they had yet passed. ralph stetson's introduction to frontier life--thrilling as it had been--was but one series of incidents in the lives of the dwellers along "the line." how the border boys were tried in future stirring scenes and exciting adventures, those who choose to follow their career may find related in another volume of this series, which will be called: the border boys across the frontier. * * * * * the end. +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | transcriber's note: the erratum at the end of the original | | book has been applied to this e-book version. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+ personal narratives of events in the war of the rebellion, being papers read before the rhode island soldiers and sailors historical society. third series--no. . providence: published by the society. . providence press company, printers. frontier service during the rebellion; or, a history of company k, first infantry, california volunteers. by george h. pettis, [brevet captain united states volunteers; late first lieutenant company k, first california infantry, and first lieutenant and adjutant first new mexico infantry.] providence: published by the society. . [edition limited to two hundred and fifty copies.] frontier service during the rebellion. the first battle of bull run had been fought. the government had become satisfied that the slaveholder's rebellion was not to be put down with seventy-five thousand men. the union people of the united states now fully realized that the rebels were to use every effort on their part towards the establishment of the confederacy, and the men of the north, on their part, were ready to "mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor" to preserve the government as their fathers before them had pledged themselves to establish it. the loyal states were ready to respond to any demand made upon them by the government, and there were none more anxious to do their duty to the old flag than the union men of california. the people of that far distant part of our country were, in the early days of our "late unpleasantness," stirred to their very depths. a large portion of the inhabitants had emigrated from the southern states, and were, therefore, in sympathy with their brethren at home. general albert sidney johnston was in command of the military department, and a majority of the regular officers under him were sympathizers with the rebellion, as were a majority of the state officers. the united states gunboat "wyoming," lying in the harbor of san francisco in the early part of ' , was officered by open advocates of secession, and only by the secret coming of general e. v. sumner, who arrived by steamer one fine morning in the early part of ' , totally unknown and unannounced, and presenting himself at the army headquarters on washington street, san francisco, without delay, with, "is this gen. johnston?" "yes, sir." "i am general e. v. sumner, united states army, and do now relieve you of the command of this department," at the same time delivering the orders to this effect from the war department at washington, were the people of the pacific states saved from a contest which would have been more bitter, more fierce, and more unrelenting than was exhibited in any part of the united states during all those long four years of the war. as i have said before, the prompt and secret action of the government and that gallant old soldier, general e. v. sumner (for you all will remember that california had no railroads and telegraphs in those days), prevented civil war there. the secessionists, who were preparing to take possession of the property of the government in that department and turn the guns of alcatraz, fort point and the presidio upon the loyalists, were taken completely aback; they delayed action. general sumner took all precautions against surprise, and the union men of the pacific states breathed free again, for civil war had been driven from their doors. many of the secession leaders, with general albert sidney johnston, seeing their plans miscarry, left the state shortly after, and did service in the confederate armies. on the steamer from the states that brought the news to california of the disaster at bull run, came orders from president lincoln for that state to furnish its quota of men for the union army. the same afternoon, the franklin light infantry, a militia company, composed of printers only, held a meeting at its armory on sacramento street, and voted unanimously to offer their services to the government, which was accordingly done, and they were the first company that was mustered into the united states service in california, and was afterwards known as company b, first infantry, california volunteers, and were officered as follows: captain, valentine drescher; first lieutenant, francis s. mitchell; second lieutenant, george h. pettis. other companies were soon formed, and the regiment, with nine companies, went into camp of instruction at camp downey, near oakland. the regiment had been in camp but a few days when it was ordered to proceed by steamer to los angeles, in southern california. the transfer was made, and the regiment went into camp about nine miles from los angeles, on the seashore, where the town of santa monica now is. the first battalion cavalry, california volunteers, consisting of five companies, under command of lieutenant colonel davis, who was afterwards killed before richmond, also accompanied us. in a few days after the establishment of this camp, lieutenant pettis, of company b, was sent on detached duty as recruiting officer to san francisco, in order that the nine companies now in camp should be filled to the maximum standard. the tenth company had not been admitted to the regiment as yet, although several had made application for the position. lieutenant pettis arrived in san francisco about the fifteenth of october, and immediately commenced business by opening his recruiting office on the corner of montgomery and clay streets, in the same building with the _morning call_. he was successful, as by the fifteenth of january he had recruited and sent to the regiment one hundred and two men, and was ordered by general george wright, then commanding the department of california (and who was afterwards lost on the steamer "brother jonathan" on his way to oregon), to close his office and join his regiment at camp latham. in the meantime, four companies of the regiment, under major e. a. rigg, had proceeded to fort yuma, on the colorado river, and relieved the regulars who were there. captain winfield scott hancock, assistant quartermaster united states army, had also been relieved and ordered to the states. he had been on duty at los angeles. three companies of the regiment had been ordered to warner's ranch, about half way between los angeles and fort yuma, and established camp wright. on the twelfth of february, orders had been received by colonel j. h. carleton, commanding the regiment, to form the tenth company of his regiment from the recruits enlisted in san francisco by lieutenant pettis. company k, first infantry, california volunteers, was thus formed, and was officered as follows: captain, nicholas s. davis, promoted from first lieutenant of company a; first lieutenant, george h. pettis, promoted from second lieutenant of company b; second lieutenant, jeremiah phelan, appointed from hospital steward of the regular army. in the meantime, the government at washington had received information that general h. h. sibley had left san antonio, texas, with about three thousand seven hundred rebel soldiers for new mexico, and as the government had immense stores of clothing, camp and garrison equipage, and commissary stores in different posts in that territory and arizona, with but few troops to defend them, and a majority of the officers avowed secessionists, the rebels expected an easy conquest. accordingly, colonel carleton had orders to organize what was known as the "california column," which consisted of the first and fifth infantry, california volunteers, (george w. bowie was colonel of the fifth infantry, california volunteers); first battalion cavalry, california volunteers; company b, captain john c. cremoney, second cavalry, california volunteers, and light battery a, third united states artillery, captain john b. shinn. that an idea may be obtained of the difficulties of this enterprise, i will say that it is about nine hundred miles from los angeles to the rio grande, not a pound of food or of forage was to be obtained on the route, and everything to be consumed had to be brought from california. neither was there, as we afterwards ascertained, a single resident in all that long march, except at fort yuma. the country through which the "column" passed was without water, and the colorado and gila deserts to be crossed before we should come in sight of the green cottonwoods of the rio grande. the apache indians supposed that they had driven all the whites out of the territory of arizona, and the former required constant watching and attention. in consequence of the scarcity of water on the route, the "column" could only be moved in detachments. companies k and c, first infantry, and company g, fifth infantry, captain hugh l. hinds, left captain latham about the first of march, , under command of captain william mcmullen, of company c, and arrived at camp wright in due season, it being about one hundred and forty miles. the only incident on this march worthy of mention was, that when the battalion marched through the town of los angeles the american flag had been hauled down from the court house. as it was well known that the people of los angeles at that time were nearly all strong in their sympathies with the rebellion, it was thought that the hauling down of the flag was to insult the command. consequently, on the arrival of the battalion on the banks of the los angeles river, which flows on the eastern side of the town, it was halted and captain mcmullen returned, and, finding some of the town officials, insisted that the flag should be hoisted immediately. the citizens denied any intended insult to the flag, and proceeded to replace it, which being seen by the men of the battalion, they gave three cheers, and continued on their way. a delay of a couple of weeks at camp wright, when orders were received by lieutenant colonel j. r. west, of the first infantry, commanding at camp wright, to organize the advance detachment of the "column," to consist of companies k and c, first infantry, california volunteers, and companies b and g, fifth infantry, california volunteers, and proceed without delay to fort yuma. the command as above constituted left camp at a late hour in the afternoon, and after a short march made camp beside a laguna, or pond. it rained during the night, and daylight found us at breakfast, which was quickly dispatched, and we were soon on our march, the road continually ascending. at nine o'clock in the forenoon we had reached the line of snow, where it was snowing heavily. at noon we had reached the summit, and found the snow about two feet in depth, and as cold as greenland. a short halt was made, when great fires were built to warm the men, and then the command moved down the mountain. at three o'clock in the afternoon we passed through the line of snow, shortly after through the precipitous cañon of san felipe, and towards evening went into camp, the grass being more than knee high, the air redolent with the perfume of flowers and the sweet melody of the birds. a short march the next day brought us to los dos palmas, or the "two palms," so called from the fact that two luxuriant palm trees formerly flourished here, the stumps of which were then to be seen. thence to carizo creek, nine miles, where the command rested one day. here commences the then much-dreaded colorado desert. for more than a hundred miles we were at the mercy of its sands and storms and burning sun. such another scene of desolation does not exist on the american continent; treeless mountains on either side, brown and sombre to their very tops; no signs of life were to be seen anywhere. although it was in the first days of april, still the sun poured down with an intensity that i had never before experienced, no shade could be found, and the very water in the creek could not be bathed in--being more fit for cooking than bathing, it being so hot. such was the colorado desert as we approached it. what will it be further on? we shall see. the command left camp at carizo creek in the middle of the afternoon, and continued the march until midnight, when we arrived at sackett's wells. here it was supposed a ration of water for the men would be found, but upon examination it was ascertained that somebody had knocked the bottom out of the well, and no water was to be obtained, except such as could be caught in cups as it trickled drop by drop from the strata of clay that had heretofore formed the bottom of the well. no camp could be made here, and the command moved on, marching until about ten o'clock in the morning, when we arrived at the indian wells, having made thirty-two miles. a large number of the men were now suffering for the want of water, and the animals, upon discovering the green bushes in the distance, near these wells, pricked their ears, and every exertion was required by riders and drivers to prevent a stampede, so much were they in want of water. upon our arrival it was found that but a few buckets of water was in the well, as a detachment of cavalry had made camp there the day before, and had only left upon seeing our command approach, using all the water in the well for their animals before leaving. however, guards were placed over the well, men sent down to pass the water up as it collected, and in the course of a few hours the men had each received his pint of water; then the animals were furnished. before the water had all been distributed, one of those terrible sand storms for which this desert is renowned began, and as the sun went down it was at its very height. neither man nor animal could face this shower of stones and gravel, and the sand and dust penetrated everything. the only thing that was to be done was to throw oneself down upon his face, draw his blankets around him, and ride it out, sleeping. the storm continued through the night, and before dawn approached it had ceased, and upon crawling out of my sand bank, i saw in all directions what appeared to be graves, but they were only mounds of sand that had been formed by the storm over the bodies of the soldiers. imagine, if you can, near four hundred of these mounds becoming animate and dissolving in the desert, as reveille sounded. at about noon the command moved on, and after marching twenty-five miles arrived at alamo mucho at about two o'clock in the morning. here was found a well that would have furnished water for an army corps--sweet, cold water. it was a pleasure to look at this, to hold it in a tin cup, look at it, take a mouthful, holding it there a time before swallowing it; it seemed a sin to drink it. this water was not taken on the point of the bayonet, as water had been taken for the past four days, and we had marched sixty-six miles from los dos palmos since we had our fill of water. after the men had satisfied their thirst they spread their blankets wherever they pleased, and there was no person in that command, except the guard, that was not soon in the arms of morpheus. before daylight another sand storm commenced, and when reveille was beat off, not a dozen men were in line, and they were only brought out of their sand hills by beating the long roll. the storm subsided in the early afternoon, when the command moved on, making gardiner's wells, twelve miles, before sundown, where was found a fine well with plenty of water, but none of the command wanted any, the only objection being, and that a slight one, that there was standing above the level of the water in the well, a pair of boots--and a dead man in them. seven wells was soon reached, and, as the name implies, there were plenty of wells, but there was no water. thence to cook's well, twelve miles, with plenty of good water, thence fourteen miles to the colorado river, at algodones. the next day, before noon, the command arrived at fort yuma and went into camp. here we met don pascual, a head chief of the yumas, don diego jaeger, and the "great western," three of the most celebrated characters in the annals of fort yuma. it was supposed that our command was to constitute the advance of the "column" from fort yuma. but upon our arrival at that point, we found that a reconnoitering party, consisting of company i, first california infantry, captain w. p. calloway; company a, first california cavalry, captain william mcleave, and lieutenant phelan, with detachments for two mountain howitzers, had been sent up the gila river, as the indians had reported that a large body of rebels were advancing on fort yuma from tucson. on the third day after our arrival we crossed over the colorado river and continued our march. we passed the divide between the colorado and gila rivers, and arrived at gila city that afternoon, eighteen miles. our route was the old overland stage route on the south side of the gila. here we first saw that peculiar and picturesque cactus, so characteristic of the country, called by the indians "_petayah_," but more generally known as the "_suaro_," and recognized by botanists as the "_cereus grandeus_." our next march was to filibuster camp, eleven miles; thence to antelope peak, fifteen; mohawk, twelve; texas hill, eleven; stanwix, seventeen; burke's, twelve miles. here we found the reconnoitering party, under captain calloway, that had left fort yuma a few days before our arrival there. they had had a brush with the rebels at picacho, a point about forty-five miles west of tucson. lieutenant barrett, company a, first cavalry, california volunteers, and three men of the same company, had been killed. they had secured three rebel prisoners. the poor devils were under guard beneath some cottonwoods in their camp. they were now on their return to fort yuma. the next morning our command moved out with more alacrity than usual, for we felt that we were now the advance of the "column," and we would meet the rebels, too. a short march of twelve miles brought us to oatman flat. we had come down from the high mesa lands into this valley, and as we passed through near the middle of it, saw upon the right side of the road a small enclosure of rails, on one end of which was inscribed "the oatman family." we had all heard of this tragedy years before, and now we were upon the spot where the terrible massacre had been perpetrated. no one of us could look upon this humble monument without awakening a feeling of revenge, and many were the silent pledges given that day that when the opportunity should offer, that at least one shot would be given for these silent victims to indian treachery. one officer was so affected that he approached colonel j. r. west, our commanding officer, with the interrogatory: "colonel, if we should at anytime meet any of these indians, what course should be pursued towards them?" "tell your men when they see a head, hit it if they can!" was the colonel's quick rejoinder. you may think this to have been rather harsh, but remember we were standing above the remains of the innocent victims of a most terrible tragedy. a few miles after leaving oatman's flat we came to a pile of immense boulders in the centre of a pleasant valley. these were the famous "pedras pintados," or painted rocks. a march of fourteen miles brought the command to kenyon's. the next day, after sixteen miles marching, we arrived at gila bend. here we lay over a day, as our next march was to be to the maricopa wells, forty miles distant, the dreaded gila desert. after marching all night and all of the next day, we approached the maricopa wells at about twelve o'clock on the second night. when within a mile of this point, a small reconnoitering party that had been sent ahead of our command, met us and reported that a large force of the rebels had possession of the wells, and from appearances intended to prevent our command from reaching there. this report served to put new life into everybody, notwithstanding that the whole command had now been without sleep for over forty hours, had marched forty miles and was somewhat fatigued. one company was thrown out as skirmishers, the rest of the command in line of battle. we approached the watering place, and when we arrived there, instead of finding a formidable enemy, we found a half a dozen of our own cavalry that had been scouting ahead of the command. we found the water strongly impregnated with alkali, but it served to assuage our thirst. a short march of ten miles then brought us to the casa blanca, the largest village of the pimo indians. our command remained here for several weeks, until at least a large part of the "column" had arrived, and large stores of commissaries and forage had been collected. our indian scouts and spies brought every few days extravagant reports of the force of rebels at tucson, and they all agreed that when our troops should reach that point, we would meet with a warm reception, and that rifle-pits, sufficiently manned, extended a long ways on either side of the town. these indians were on the best of terms with us, as they had sold large amounts of their produce to our command, for which they had been promptly and abundantly paid--a different experience when the rebels were there. they had been employed by our quartermaster's department as herders of our beef cattle, and were paid to their own satisfaction for all services they had rendered, but no inducement that our commander offered them, no amount of pay, could influence any one of them to accompany us towards tucson, so assured were they that we were to be "wiped out" before we should reach there. on or about the twelfth day of may, , the advance, constituted as before stated, with b company, california cavalry, captain emil fritz, added, left the peaceful and hospitable homes of the pimos, and arrived at the sacatone, twelve miles. here we left the overland mail road, which we had followed since leaving los angeles, and keeping up the south bank of the gila to white's ranch; thence to the celebrated ruins of the casa blanca, so graphically described by mr. john r. bartlett in his "personal narratives" of the boundary commission; thence to rattlesnake spring; thence to old fort breckenridge, which had been so cowardly deserted the year before by our regular troops; thence to cañon de oro. as we now approached tucson, everything was in fighting trim. a short halt was made near the town, and the cavalry company, in two divisions, approached the place from the north and west. the infantry marched in by the main street from the west, with the field music playing "yankee doodle," and instead of being received by shot and shell, we found neither friend nor enemy, only a village without population, if we except some hundreds of dogs and cats. when we were at the pimos, governor pesquira, of sonora, mexico, arrived there from california on his way home; he was allowed to pass our lines; he and his party arrived in tucson a few days before our command, and found the place nearly deserted. captain hunter, with his rebel soldiers, were far on their way to the rio grande, and as they had assured the native population--wholly mexican--that when the "abs"--meaning the union troops--arrived they would massacre all the men and abuse all the women, they stood not upon the order of going, but went at once for sonora. governor pesquira hurried forward, overtaking parties of the fugitives each day, and assuring them of different treatment from the union soldiers than they had been told by the rebels, induced many to return to their homes, and within a week tucson was again alive; stores and gambling saloons were numerous, the military had taken possession of the best buildings in the town for quarters, and the stars and stripes again waved over the capital of the territory of arizona. the advance of the "column" entered tucson on the twentieth day of may, . several americans, among them sylvester mowry, formerly of rhode island, returned, and being violent in their sympathies with the rebellion, were arrested. some were sent out of the territory, while mowry was sent to fort yuma, where he remained incarcerated a long time. about the fifteenth of june, captain n. s. davis was relieved from the command of company k by lieutenant pettis, who remained in command, with a short interval, until its final muster out. captain davis was on duty in the quartermaster's department. by the first of july, a large part of the "column" had arrived at tucson, a large depot of army stores had been brought from california, and preparations were commenced for the movement again of the advance column. several spies and scouts had been sent forward from tucson, but as they had not returned, matters were rather uncertain. however, in the first week in july, company e, first california infantry, captain thomas l. roberts, and company b, second california cavalry, were ordered to proceed to apache pass and hold possession of the water at that point. on the twentieth of july the advance column left tucson, and on the second day arrived at the san pedro, twenty-five miles. here a delay of one day was made to put the fording place in good order for the crossing of the "column." information was received here that captain roberts' advance into the apache pass had been attacked by a large force of the apaches, under the renowned chief, "cochise," and after fighting during an entire afternoon had succeeded in driving the indians, with a loss on our side of several of our men killed and wounded. our next march was to dragoon springs, eighteen miles; thence to sulphur springs, twenty-two miles. the famous apache pass was reached by another march of twenty-five miles. here was found the command of captain roberts, with evidences of the struggle of a few days before. on leaving apache pass the next day, we were again the advance of the "column," which position was retained until our arrival on the rio grande. the next camping ground was at san simon, eighteen miles. as we were assured by our guides that no water would be found until we reached _ojo de vaca_, or cow springs, a distance of sixty-seven miles, it was deemed advisable to leave the overland route at this point, and proceed by another route. accordingly, the next morning the command moved south, following up the san simon valley, a distance of twelve miles, and camped at the cienega. here was found water, the best and most abundant on the whole march. imagine, if you can, a valley twenty miles in width, on either side a range of mountains; and to the north and south, up and down the valley, a level plain as far as the eye could reach. a trench three feet wide, by five or six in depth, filled nearly to the top with clear cold water, running with a velocity of at least six miles an hour, the bottom covered with white smooth pebbles. two miles above this point no water was to be found. as you descended the valley and approached this water, you found at first the ground moist, then water appeared, a mere drop, then a small stream of running water, which increased in volume, until you found a stream as described above. below this point the water gradually lessened, until, two miles below, this magnificent stream had entirely disappeared. there was no shade to be had here, except that found under the wagon bodies, still there was no fault found; the fine stream of water that we were enjoying satisfied us for all other discomforts. it was with feelings of regret that we left this point late the next afternoon, with well filled canteens; and the uncertainty of finding water in advance, added to this feeling. we arrived at leiteresdorffer's wells soon after sunset, but no water was to be found. the march was continued during the night, and all of the next day, until we arrived at soldier's farewell, and no water. the command was strung out a distance of at least five miles; we had been marching thirty hours, with only a canteen each of water, with the thermometer at least . a large number of the men had given out and were scattered in parties of three or four, for a dozen miles in the rear. what was left of the command moved on, and after leaving the wagon road, we arrived in burro cañon, some time after dark, where plenty of water was found, when, after taking in a fill, turned into our blankets, entirely forgetting our hunger in our weariness. company k marched into burro cañon with less than ten men out of eighty, and it was long after daylight the next day before the whole command had arrived. a short march of twelve miles brought us to ojo de baca; thence eighteen miles to the miembres river. our next march, twenty-five miles, was to cooke's springs, passing through cooke's cañon. this location was known by mexicans as _la valle del muerto_, or valley of death. it seemed to be rightly named, too, as for nearly two miles were to be seen, on either side, skulls and other portions of human remains who had fallen by indian assassination. mounds and crosses were met every few minutes. as we emerged from this _triste_ locality, we encountered the remains of wagons and government stores, that had been destroyed the year before by the regular troops, who had deserted forts buchanan and breckenridge, in arizona. when they had arrived at this point, they were informed of the surrender of the regulars at fort fillmore; consequently, without further inquiry, they destroyed all the government property they had in charge, and made their way, on the west side of the rio grande, to fort craig. the next march brought us near to mule springs, fifteen miles; and on the next afternoon could be discovered, in the distance, the green, winding way of the rio grande, with the sierras de organos in the background. camp was made that night on the banks of the rio bravo del norte, near to old fort thorn. the next march was down the west bank of the river to the fording place, known as san diego, which you will find set down on all maps as a town or village, but to my certain knowledge, up to the time mentioned, and for several years afterwards, there was but one house in the vicinity, and that contained but one room and no roof. as the river was now, the third of august, at its extreme height, caused by the melting of the snow in the upper rocky mountains, we experienced some difficulty in getting our wagons and stores across; still all was completed before sundown, and the next day we arrived at roblado, near the town of dona ana. on the fifth of august, after passing through the villages of dona ana and las cruces, we arrived at the pleasant town of la mesilla. here was to be our resting place. we found a well-built village, with a numerous population, mostly mexican. the rebels, who had arrived in the territory, we learned, had, after the treacherous surrender of the regular troops at fort fillmore (directly opposite la mesilla), marched north. they found fort craig too strong to be attacked, and, contrary to all military maxims, had continued on, leaving a fortified position in their rear. the desperate battle of val verde had taken place on the twenty-first and twenty-second of february, , a short distance above fort craig. and as long as major benny roberts had command of the federal troops they were successful, but when general e. r. s. canby came on the field and took command, the rebels soon had turned the tide of the battle in their favor. mcrae's battery was taken, and our troops were returning, panic-stricken, across the river, and fleeing towards fort craig, about three miles down the river. the rebels then approached albuquerque, where was stored a large amount of government stores, which were surrendered without a struggle. thence they proceeded to santa fé, where, without opposition, they took possession. there was one other fort to be taken, about one hundred miles northwest--fort union. after some delay at santa fé, the rebels, numbering some sixteen hundred, set out for fort union. at apache pass, or pigeon's ranch, they were met by a colorado regiment, with what regulars and militia could be found, all under command of colonel john p. slough (afterwards chief justice of the territory), and were defeated, their wagons, ammunition, and all their stores having been destroyed by a party of union troops under captain w. h. lewis, fifth united states infantry, and captain a. b. cary, of the third united states infantry, who scaled a mountain and got into their rear. the rebels precipitately retreated from this point, to and down the rio grande, having passed la mesilla a few weeks before our arrival, and left the territory with about twelve hundred men out of thirty-seven hundred, that they had arrived with. the different companies of the "column," as they arrived, were now sent to different points in the department. our colonel, james h. carleton, had been promoted to brigadier general, and had relieved general e. r. s. canby, in command of the department of new mexico. the regular troops were all relieved, except the fifth infantry, and sent east, and a protection was now assured to the population, by the california volunteers. lieutenant colonel j. r. west was now promoted to colonel of the regiment, and in command of the southern district of the department. fine quarters were found for the command in the village of la mesilla, and the district was under martial law. duty was really pleasant here,--plenty of society, with frequent _bailes_, few drills, and plenty of everything to eat and drink. the white population were nearly all of secession proclivities, one in particular, samuel l. jones (better known as the pro-slavery sheriff jones, of kansas), who resided here, was arrested usually about once a week, and incarcerated in the guard-house for treasonable utterances. after a protracted season of this duty, or up to about the twentieth of november, came the most unpleasant part of the history of company k. there had been several escapes from the guard-house of persons who had been imprisoned for treasonable utterances, until it seemed that there might exist a disposition among some of the command to be a party to these frequent escapades. this state of affairs existed until one morning an escape was reported to the commanding officer, colonel west, who immediately ordered the sergeant of the guard, with sentinels numbers one, two, three, four and five, who were on duty at the time, to be placed in the guard-house, in irons. it so happened that this sergeant and all the sentinels belonged to company k, and at the morning drill, after guard mount, the company refused to do further duty, or until the irons were taken off of sergeant miller. the soldier most aggrieved appeared to be corporal charles smith, or rather he acted as spokesman for the company. the company was immediately ordered into their quarters by lieutenant pettis, and put under guard, and the facts reported to the commanding officer. orders were given for all prisoners to be placed in the guard-house; company k was ordered to proceed to the plaza or parade without arms, when the long roll was beat. the other two companies of the garrison were soon on the plaza, fully equipped. colonel west now made his appearance, mounted; he then marched company a, fifth california infantry, about five paces in front of and facing company k, with pieces loaded, and at a "ready." he then called corporal smith to the front, and asked him if he still persisted in refusing to do his duty? the corporal respectfully, but firmly, announced that he would do no duty until the irons were removed from sergeant miller. company d, first california infantry, had been wheeled to the right out of line, and the corporal was now ordered to place himself about six paces in front of this company. upon his again refusing to do duty, captain mitchell, of company d, was ordered to fire upon him. this order was unhesitatingly obeyed; and after the smoke had cleared away, it was seen that the corporal was uninjured. not so with some others. the position of company d was such that it was facing the cathedral, which is situated on the west side of the plaza; on either side of the cathedral were long straight streets, running from the plaza; the long roll and the other preparations had called all the inhabitants from their residences, and the result of the first volley was to wound two invalid soldiers, together with one mexican woman and one child, and the cathedral, which was built of adobes, was concealed for a few minutes by its own dust, caused by the minie balls penetrating its front. the corporal was again questioned by colonel west, who returned his former answer, and company d again fired a volley, but the corporal remained untouched. after another questioning by the colonel, company d was once more ordered to fire, when, between the commands "aim," "fire," colonel west rode up behind the company with uplifted sabre, and gave the command to "lower those rifles," when the command was given by the captain to "fire." at this discharge, the corporal fell to the ground, a minie ball having passed directly through him, having entered his right breast. he was immediately placed upon a stretcher, and expired on his way to the hospital. the rest of the company was now questioned by colonel west, and each man asserted his willingness to do his duty, when the command was dismissed to their quarters, and company k immediately assumed their arms and accoutrements and appeared upon the plaza for drill. this was the only evidence of insubordination ever shown in the "column," and the prompt manner in which this one was met and punished, precluded any danger of another exhibition of this character. a few days after these occurrences, some of our spies and scouts brought in the intelligence that another large party of rebels had left san antonio, texas, for new mexico. accordingly, companies k and d were ordered to san elizario, texas, a town about twenty-five miles below el paso, mexico, and the last point of civilization towards san antonio, on outpost duty. after remaining here about six weeks, and no rebels appearing, company k was ordered to fort craig. a march of twenty-five miles brought us to franklin or fort bliss, directly opposite el paso; thence two marches, aggregating fifty miles, found us in our old quarters at la mesilla, where the company was ordered to remain until the adjournment of a general court-martial which was then in session at that post. a week later, and company k commenced its march for fort craig. a short march brought us again to dona ana. three miles from that village brought us to the commencement of the much dreaded _jornada del muerto_ (journey of death). the _jornada_ is a large desert, well supplied with fine gramma grass in some portions, but absolutely destitute of water or shade for seventy-five miles. why it ever received its title, i never distinctly learned, but suppose it was on account of the very numerous massacres committed on it by the apache indians. on the east, in the far distance, are the sierras blancos, and is fringed on the west by the sierra caballo and sierra de frey cristobal. from these heights, on either side, the indians are enabled to distinctly perceive any party of travellers coming over the wide and unsheltered expanse of the _jornada del muerto_. when any such parties are seen, they come sweeping down upon the unsuspecting immigrant in more than usual numbers, and if successful, as they generally are, in their attack, invariably destroy all of the party, for there is no possible chance of escape; and the apaches never take any prisoners but women and young children, and they become captives for life. the first camp was a dry one, and as the command was accompanied by a tank of water, drawn by six mules, thus being prepared by a plentiful supply of water, i concluded to cross this desert at my leisure. the next forenoon we passed by the celebrated "point of rocks," the company being deployed as skirmishers, with the hope of finding indians hiding between the huge boulders of which it was composed, but without results. late in the afternoon we arrived at the aleman, so called from the fact that a whole german immigrant family had been massacred at this point some years before by the indians. the next night another dry camp, having passed during the day the _laguna del muerto_, where water is found in some seasons. while some three miles on our left was the _ojo del muerto_, a point where fort mcrae was established in by captain henry a. greene, commanding company g, first california infantry, now a resident of this city, (providence, r. i.). the next day's march brought us to the little village of el paraje del fra cristobal. near the spot on which the camp was made, was the peaceful flowing and muddy rio grande. a short march of five miles brought us to our destination--fort craig. our arrival was in january, . the company remained at this post during the year , monotony of garrison life being relieved by furnishing escorts to wagon trains bound north and south, and an occasional scout after indians. in july of that year, assistant surgeon watson, who had been commissioned at sacramento, california, more than a year before, and had been ordered to report to the headquarters of his regiment at fort craig, arrived at fort mcrae, without accident. on leaving that post, captain greene had furnished him with one government wagon and an escort of five or six men of his company. they set out with joyful anticipation; the doctor was delighted to know that after a year's travel, he would soon be at his new home, and be doing duty with his own regiment, which he had never seen. the wagon, with its occupants, soon emerged from the cañon of the _ojo del muerto_, and came out on the hard, smooth, natural road of the _jornada_. about the middle of the afternoon, they were proceeding leisurely along; twelve miles in advance could be plainly seen the buildings of fort craig, with "old glory" on the flag-staff. the driver of the team, johnson, a soldier of greene's company, sat on his near wheel-mule chatting pleasantly with the doctor, who occupied the front of the wagon, with his feet hanging down on the whiffle-trees; the escort were all in the wagon, lying on their blankets, with their arms and equipments beneath them. within five miles of them there was not a rock, tree, shrub, or bush, as large as a man's head--they felt a perfect security. another moment, how changed! there arose from the sand of the desert, where they had buried themselves, some ten or twelve apaches, within twenty feet of the moving wagon, and poured a volley of arrows into the doomed party, and closing in immediately, a part attacked the occupants of the wagon, while the rest disengaged the mules, and mounting their backs started for the mountains on the west, towards the river, and before the soldiers were out of the wagon were out of reach of their fire. doctor watson was shot with two arrows, one in his right arm, and the other on the inside of his right thigh, severing the femoral artery. he breathed his last in a few minutes; the driver was shot through the heart, and one or two of the escorts were slightly wounded. news of this affair reached the post before sunset, and in twenty minutes company k was on its way down the west side of the river to intercept, if possible, these murderers. the company was kept in the field for thirty days, without other result than to find a hot trail of eighty-two navajoes, who were on their way to their own country, with some eight thousand head of sheep and other stock that they had stolen in the upper counties of new mexico. as the company were dismounted, it was impossible to take up the trail. the commander of the company, however, with five cavalrymen and two mexican scouts, followed and overtook the indians after a run of twenty-five miles, but accomplished nothing except exchanging some twenty or twenty-five shots on either side, as our animals were completely "blown," and eighty-two to eight was an unpleasant disparity of numbers. the lieutenant and his men arrived back at the river the next morning, having been in the saddle nearly twenty-four hours. the result of the short skirmish was that one of the cavalrymen's horses was shot through the breast, and one navajo was sent to his happy hunting-grounds and one was wounded. january, , company k was ordered to los pinos, about one hundred miles further up the rio grande, and about twenty miles south of albuquerque; marching through the towns of socorro, la limitar, across the sand hills at the foot of the _sierra de los ladrones_, or thieves mountains; crossing the rio puerco, near its affluence with the rio grande; thence to sabinal, la belen, and los lunes. they remained here until the first of february, when colonel kit carson arrived there from the navajo country, with some two hundred and fifty-three navajo indians, whom he had taken prisoners in his operations against that nation. orders were received from department headquarters for company k to proceed with these indians to the bosque redondo, some two hundred and fifty miles down on the pecos river. accordingly, after formally receiving these prisoners and receipting therefor, the command moved out, and on the second night arrived at carnwell cañon; thence to san antonio, san antoinette, los placeres and gallisteo. thus far the command had moved across the country, but on the day of leaving gallisteo, the company struck the military road leading from fort union to santa fé, near the old peces ruins. the command moved along this road to the village of tecolote; from here they proceeded down the pecos river, and arrived at fort sumner after eighteen days' marching. fort sumner was a new post, established for the purpose of a reservation for indians, both navajo and apache, that should be taken prisoners by the troops, and colonel carson was on a campaign against the navajoes, in which he was successful, as there were finally some eight thousand of these indians captured and placed on this reservation. those brought in by company k were the first large body that had arrived. i will say here, in parenthesis, that this is the only way to treat the indian question; for this indian nation (the navajoes), after receiving a severe drubbing by carson, and all had surrendered, were finally allowed to return to their own country, since which time they have continued on the best of terms with our people. this has always been the experience on the frontiers--one effective campaign is better than all the treaties that were ever consummated. fort sumner was at this time in command of major henry d. wallen, united states seventh infantry, than whom there was no more excellent gentleman in the service of the government. his administration was marked by a sincere desire to do justice to all under him, a feature that was sadly deficient in too many officers of the time that is spoken of. he was a perfect example of sobriety, and his case certainly was a commendation of the excellence of education of the academy at west point, of which he was an honored graduate. company k had been at fort sumner but a few days when it was ordered to report to the commanding officer at fort union, necessitating a march of one hundred and twenty-five miles. the command arrived at fort union on the eighteenth day of march, , and remained there, doing camp duty, during the months of april, may and june. in july, the company proceeded, with a company of new mexican cavalry, towards the east, by the route known as the cummarron route, passing on our way, burgwin's spring, named after the gallant captain burgwin, first regiment united states dragoons, who fell while leading the attack upon the insurgents at taos, , and the wagon mound, a high landmark (so called from its shape). from this point to the "point of rocks," forty miles, is the track of a bloody, brave and disastrous fight made by eight passengers in the stage against a band of sixty apaches. they fought every inch of the long, dread struggle. killed one by one, and dropped on the road, two survivors maintained their defense a long time, and when the sole contestant was left, his last dying effort was to strew the contents of his powder-horn in the sand, and stir it in with his foot, so that the indians could not use it. wilson's creek, some miles further on, is named after a mr. wilson, a merchant of santa fé, who was overtaken here by the indians, and, with his wife and child--for he was alone with them--butchered with the usual savage outrage and cruelty. the command returned to fort union in september, in which month the first infantry, california volunteers, was mustered out of service, their term of three years having expired, with the exception of company k, it being recollected that they were enlisted at san francisco some time after the other companies had been formed. however, the members of that company began, in october, to be dropped out, and when orders arrived at fort union for the formation of the commanche expedition, under colonel kit carson, there remained of the first infantry regiment, california volunteers, one officer (lieutenant pettis) and twenty-six enlisted men of company k. this company accompanied carson's expedition with two mountain howitzers, mounted on prairie carriages, and rendezvoued at fort bascom, on the canadian river, near the line of texas. this expedition consisted as follows: colonel christopher carson, first new mexico cavalry, commanding; colonel francisco p. abreú, first new mexico infantry; major william mccleave, first california cavalry; captain emil fritz, company b, first california cavalry, one officer and forty enlisted men; lieutenant sullivan heath, company k, first california cavalry, one officer and forty men; captain meriam, company m, first california cavalry, one officer and thirty-four men; lieutenant george h. pettis, company k, first california infantry, one officer and twenty-six men; captain charles deus, company m, first new mexico cavalry, two officers and seventy men; captain joseph berney, company d, first new mexico cavalry, two officers and thirty-six men; company a, first california veteran infantry, seventy-five men; assistant surgeon george s. courtright, united states volunteers, and an officer whose name escapes me, as assistant quartermaster and commissary,--numbering in all, fourteen officers and three hundred and twenty-one enlisted men. in addition to the command, colonel carson had induced seventy-two friendly indians (utes and apaches), and as big scoundrels as there were on the frontiers, by promising them all the plunder that they might acquire, to join the expedition. on the sixth of november, the command left fort bascom, and proceeded down on the north bank of the canadian, hoping to find the commanche and kiowa indians (who had been committing their atrocities during the whole of ) in their winter quarters. the indians with our command, on every night, after making camp, being now on the war-path, indulged in the accustomed war dance, which, although new to most of us, became almost intolerable, it being kept up each night until nearly day-break; and until we became accustomed to their groans and howlings, incident to the dance, it was impossible to sleep. each morning of our march, two of our indians would be sent ahead several hours before we started, who would return to camp at night and report. we had been on our march day after day without particular incident until our arrival at mule creek, when our scouts brought in the intelligence that they had seen signs of a large body of indians that had moved that day, and that they could be overtaken without much effort. immediately after supper, all of the cavalry, with company k, moved out of camp in light marching order, leaving the infantry, under command of colonel abreú, to protect the wagon train and proceed on our trail on the morrow. colonel carson and command marched all night, except a short halt just before dawn, and struck an outpost of the enemy on the opposite side of the river, at about sunrise, who being mounted retreated, followed by our indians and two companies of our cavalry. the rest of the command moved down on the north side of the river, and a few miles below the cavalry struck a kiowa _rancheria_ of one hundred and seventy-six lodges, the indians retreating down the river on their approach. company k, escorted by lieutenant heath's command, and accompanied by colonel carson, could not advance with the rapidity of the cavalry, as the cannoneers were dismounted, and the wheels tracking very narrow, caused the utmost attention to prevent their being overturned. the indians from the kiowa encampment retreated until they were reinforced by a large force of commanches from a commanche _rancheria_ of five hundred lodges, a short distance below the "adobe walls," a location well known by all frontiersmen. the cavalry made a stand here, and were engaged in skirmishing with the enemy, when company k came on the field with the two mountain howitzers. an order from colonel carson to lieutenant pettis to "fling a few shell over thar!" indicating with his hand a large body of indians who appeared to be about to charge into our forces, that officer immediately ordered "battery halt! action right, load with shell--load!" before the fourth discharge of the howitzers, the indians had retreated out of range, and it was supposed that there would be no more fighting; but we counted without our host, for our animals had scarcely been watered when the enemy returned to the conflict. the horses of the cavalry were again placed in the "adobe walls," which were elevated enough to protect them from the rifle balls of the enemy, and the fight was soon at its height. about the middle of the afternoon, carson concluded to return to the kiowa village that we had passed through in the morning, contrary to the wishes of his officers, who were anxious to advance to the commanche village, which was less than a mile in our front. the return column consisted of the cavalry horses, the number four of each set of fours leading the other three horses, with the howitzers in the rear, the dismounted cavalry acting as skirmishers on the front, rear and either flank. the firing was continued from each side until the village was reached, when our troops proceeded to destroy it, which was effectually done before dark. a further march of about four miles, and the wagon train was reached, the safety of which had been the subject of much anxiety during the day. the gun carriages and ammunition carts of company k were packed with the wounded on their return from the kiowa village. a rest was had the next day, which was sadly needed, as the whole command had been marching and fighting about twenty-seven hours, on a few broken hard tack and a slice of salt pork each. the second day after the fight, carson concluded to return to fort bascom, which post was reached in twenty-one days. here the command remained until orders were received from general carleton, commanding the department, and company k was ordered to fort union, as the term of service of nearly all the men had expired. by the first of february, , all the enlisted men of the company had been mustered out of service, and lieutenant pettis, the last man of his regiment, was ordered to report to the mustering officer at santa fé, with all the records of his company; and on the fifteenth of february, he was mustered out of service, and company k, first infantry, california volunteers, had ceased to exist, having marched on foot during its term of service four thousand two hundred and forty-five miles. erratum. on pages and read for "general joe johnston," general albert sidney johnston. myths and legends of california and the old southwest by various compiled and edited by katharine berry judson author of "myths and legends of alaska", "myths and legends of the pacific northwest", and "montana." illustrated second edition preface in the beginning of the new-making, the ancient fathers lived successively in four caves in the four fold-containing-earth. the first was of sooty blackness, black as a chimney at night time; the second, dark as the night in the stormy season; the third, like a valley in starlight; the fourth, with a light like the dawning. then they came up in the night-shine into the world of knowing and seeing. so runs the zuni myth, and it typifies well the mental development, insight, and beauty of speech of the indian tribes along the pacific coast, from those of alaska in the far-away northland, with half of life spent in actual darkness and more than half in the struggle for existence against the cold and the storms loosed by fatal curiosity from the bear's bag of bitter, icy winds, to the exquisite imagery of the zunis and other desert tribes, on their sunny plains in the southland. it was in the night-shine of this southern land, with its clear, dry air and brilliant stars, that the indians, looking up at the heavens above them, told the story of the bag of stars of utset, the first mother, who gave to the scarab beetle, when the floods came, the bag of star people, sending him first into the world above. it was a long climb to the world above and the tired little fellow, once safe, sat down by the sack. after a while he cut a tiny hole in the bag, just to see what was in it, but the star people flew out and filled the heavens everywhere. yet he saved a few stars by grasping the neck of the sack, and sat there, frightened and sad, when utset, the first mother, asked what he had done with the beautiful star people. the sky-father himself, in those early years of the new-making, spread out his hand with the palm downward, and into all the wrinkles of his hand set the semblance of shining yellow corn-grains, gleaming like sparks of fire in the dark of the early world-dawn. "see," said sky-father to earth-mother, "our children shall be guided by these when the sun-father is not near and thy mountain terraces are as darkness itself. then shall our children be guided by light." so sky-father created the stars. then he said, "and even as these grains gleam upward from the water, so shall seed grain like them spring up from the earth when touched by water, to nourish our children." and he created the golden seed-stuff of the corn. it is around the beautiful corn maidens that perhaps the most delicate of all imagery clings, maidens offended when the dancers sought their presence all too freely, no longer holding them so precious as in the olden time, so that, in white garments, they became invisible in the thickening white mists. then sadly and noiselessly they stole in amongst the people and laid their corn wands down amongst the trays, and laid their white broidered garments thereon, as mothers lay soft kilting over their babes. even as the mists became they, and with the mists drifting, fled away, to the south summer-land. they began the search for the corn maidens, found at last only by paiyatuma, the god of dawn, from whose flute came wonderful music, as of liquid voices in caverns, or the echo of women's laughter in water vases, heard only by men of nights as they wandered up and down the river trail. when he paused to rest on his journey, playing on his painted flute, butterflies and birds sought him, and he sent them before to seek the maidens, even before they could hear the music of his song-sound. and the maidens filled their colored trays with seed-corn from their fields, and over all spread broidered mantles, broidered with the bright colors and the creature signs of the summer-land, and thus following him, journeyed only at night and dawn, as the dead do, and the stars also. back to the seed people they came, but only to give to the ancients the precious seed, and this having been given, the darkness of night fell around them. as shadows in deep night, so these maidens of the seed of corn, the beloved and beautiful, were seen no more of men. but shutsuka walked behind the maidens, whistling shrilly as they sped southward, even as the frost wind whistles when the corn is gathered away, among the lone canes and the dry leaves of a gleaned field. the myths of california, in general, are of the same type as those given in a preceding volume on the myths of the pacific northwest. indeed many of the myths of northern californian tribes are so obviously the same as those of the modocs and klamath indians that they have not been repeated. coyote and fox reign supreme, as they do along the entire coast, though the birds of the air take a greater part in the creation of things. these stories are quaint and whimsical, but they lack the beauty of the myths of the desert tribes. there is nothing in all californian myths, so far as i have studied them, which in any way compares with the one of the corn maidens, referred to above, or the sia myths of the cloud people. in the compilation of this volume, the same idea has governed as in the two preceding volumes, simply the preparation of a volume of the quainter, purer myths, suitable for general reading, authentic, and with illustrations of the country portrayed, but with no pretensions to being a purely scientific piece of work. scientific people know well the government documents and reports of learned societies which contain myths of all kinds, good, bad, and indifferent. but the volumes of this series are intended for popular use. changes have been made only in abridgments of long conversations and of ceremonial details which detracted from the myth as a myth, even though of great ethnological importance. especial credit is due in this volume to the work of the ethnologists whose work has appeared in the publications of the smithsonian institution, and the u. s. geographical and geological surveys west of the rocky mountains: to mrs. mathilda cox stevenson for the sia myths, and to the late james stevenson for the navajo myths and sand painting; to the late frank hamilton cushing for the zuni myths, to the late frank russell for the pima myths, to the late stephen powers for the californian myths, and also to james mooney and cosmos mindeleff. the recent publications of the university of california on the myths of the tribes of that state have not been included. thanks are also due to the smithsonian institution for the illustrations accredited to them, to the carnegie institution of washington for illustrations from the desert botanical laboratory at tucson, arizona, and to mr. ferdinard ellerman of the mount wilson observatory and to others. k. b. j. department of history, university of washington. table of contents the beginning of newness--zuni (new mexico) the men of the early times--zuni (new mexico) creation and longevity--achomawi (pit river, cal.) old moles creation--shastika (cal.) the creation of the world--pima (arizona) spider's creation--sia (new mexico) the gods and the six regions how old man above created the world--shastika (cal.) the search for the middle and the hardening of the world--zuni (new mexico) origin of light--gallinomero (russian river, cal.) pokoh, the old man--pai ute (near kern river, cal.) thunder and lightning--maidu (near sacramento valley. cal.) creation of man--miwok (san joaquin valley, cal.) the first man and woman--nishinam (near bear river, cal.) old man above and the grizzlies--shastika (cal.) the creation of man-kind and the flood--pima (arizona) the birds and the flood--pima (arizona) legend of the flood--ashochimi (coast indians, cal.) the great flood--sia (new mexico) the flood and the theft of fire--tolowa (del norte co., cal.) legend of the flood in sacramento maidu valley--(near sacramento, cal.) the fable of the animals--karok (near klamath river, cal.) coyote and sun--pai ute (near kern river, cal.) the course of the sun--sia (new mexico) the foxes and the sun--yurok (near klamath river, cal.) the theft of fire--karok (near klamath river, cal.) the theft of fire--sia (new mexico) the earth-hardening after the flood--sia (new mexico) the origins of the totems and of names--zuni (new mexico) traditions of wanderings--hopi (arizona) the migration of the water people--walpi (arizona) coyote and the mesquite beans--pima (arizona) origin of the sierra nevadas and coast range--yokuts (near fresno, cal.) yosemite valley and its indian names legend of tu-tok-a-nu'-la (el capitan)--yosemite valley legend of tis-se'-yak (south dome and north dome) yosemite valley historic tradition of the upper tuolumne--yosemite valley california big trees--pai ute (near kern river, cal.) the children of cloud--pima (arizona) the cloud people--sia (new mexico) rain song--sia (new mexico) rain song rain song--sia (new mexico) the corn maidens--zuni (new mexico) the search for the corn maidens--zuni (new mexico) hasjelti and hostjoghon--navajo (new mexico) the song-hunter--navajo (new mexico) sand painting of the song-hunter--navajo the guiding duck and the lake of death--zuni (new mexico) the boy who became a god--navajo (new mexico) origin of clear lake--patwin (sacramento valley, cal.) the great fire--patwin (sacramento valley, cal.) origin of the raven and the macaw--zuni (new mexico) coyote and the hare--sia (new mexico) coyote and the quails--pima (arizona) coyote and the fawns--sia (new mexico) how the bluebird got its color--pima (arizona) coyote's eyes--pima (arizona) coyote and the tortillas--pima (arizona) coyote as a hunter--sia (new mexico) how the rattlesnake learned to bite--pima (arizona) coyote and the rattlesnake--sia (new mexico) origin of the saguaro and palo verde cacti--pima (arizona) the thirsty quails--pima (arizona) the boy and the beast--pima (arizona) why the apaches are fierce--pima (arizona) speech on the warpath--pima (arizona) the spirit land--gallinomero (russian river, cal.) song of the ghost dance--pai ute (kern river, cal.) the beginning of newness zuni (new mexico) before the beginning of the new-making, the all-father father alone had being. through ages there was nothing else except black darkness. in the beginning of the new-making, the all-father father thought outward in space, and mists were created and up-lifted. thus through his knowledge he made himself the sun who was thus created and is the great father. the dark spaces brightened with light. the cloud mists thickened and became water. from his flesh, the sun-father created the seed-stuff of worlds, and he himself rested upon the waters. and these two, the four-fold-containing earth-mother and the all-covering sky-father, the surpassing beings, with power of changing their forms even as smoke changes in the wind, were the father and mother of the soul beings. then as man and woman spoke these two together. "behold!" said earth-mother, as a great terraced bowl appeared at hand, and within it water, "this shall be the home of my tiny children. on the rim of each world-country in which they wander, terraced mountains shall stand, making in one region many mountains by which one country shall be known from another." then she spat on the water and struck it and stirred it with her fingers. foam gathered about the terraced rim, mounting higher and higher. then with her warm breath she blew across the terraces. white flecks of foam broke away and floated over the water. but the cold breath of sky-father shattered the foam and it fell downward in fine mist and spray. then earth-mother spoke: "even so shall white clouds float up from the great waters at the borders of the world, and clustering about the mountain terraces of the horizon, shall be broken and hardened by thy cold. then will they shed downward, in rain-spray, the water of life, even into the hollow places of my lap. for in my lap shall nestle our children, man-kind and creature-kind, for warmth in thy coldness." so even now the trees on high mountains near the clouds and sky-father, crouch low toward earth mother for warmth and protection. warm is earth-mother, cold our sky-father. then sky-father said, "even so. yet i, too, will be helpful to our children." then he spread his hand out with the palm downward and into all the wrinkles of his hand he set the semblance of shining yellow corn-grains; in the dark of the early world-dawn they gleamed like sparks of fire. "see," he said, pointing to the seven grains between his thumb and four fingers, "our children shall be guided by these when the sun-father is not near and thy terraces are as darkness itself. then shall our children be guided by lights." so sky-father created the stars. then he said, "and even as these grains gleam up from the water, so shall seed grain like them spring up from the earth when touched by water, to nourish our children." and thus they created the seed-corn. and in many other ways they devised for their children, the soul-beings. but the first children, in a cave of the earth, were unfinished. the cave was of sooty blackness, black as a chimney at night time, and foul. loud became their murmurings and lamentations, until many sought to escape, growing wiser and more man-like. but the earth was not then as we now see it. then sun-father sent down two sons (sons also of the foam-cap), the beloved twain, twin brothers of light, yet elder and younger, the right and the left, like to question and answer in deciding and doing. to them the sun-father imparted his own wisdom. he gave them the great cloud-bow, and for arrows the thunderbolts of the four quarters. for buckler, they had the fog-making shield, spun and woven of the floating clouds and spray. the shield supports its bearer, as clouds are supported by the wind, yet hides its bearer also. and he gave to them the fathership and control of men and of all creatures. then the beloved twain, with their great cloud-bow lifted the sky-father into the vault of the skies, that the earth might become warm and fitter for men and creatures. then along the sun-seeking trail, they sped to the mountains westward. with magic knives they spread open the depths of the mountain and uncovered the cave in which dwelt the unfinished men and creatures. so they dwelt with men, learning to know them, and seeking to lead them out. now there were growing things in the depths, like grasses and vines. so the beloved twain breathed on the stems, growing tall toward the light as grass is wont to do, making them stronger, and twisting them upward until they formed a great ladder by which men and creatures ascended to a second cave. up the ladder into the second cave-world, men and the beings crowded, following closely the two little but mighty ones. yet many fell back and were lost in the darkness. they peopled the under-world from which they escaped in after time, amid terrible earth shakings. in this second cave it was as dark as the night of a stormy season, but larger of space and higher. here again men and the beings increased, and their complainings grew loud. so the twain again increased the growth of the ladder, and again led men upward, not all at once, but in six bands, to become the fathers of the six kinds of men, the yellow, the tawny gray, the red, the white, the black, and the mingled. and this time also many were lost or left behind. now the third great cave was larger and lighter, like a valley in starlight. and again they increased in number. and again the two led them out into a fourth cave. here it was light like dawning, and men began to perceive and to learn variously, according to their natures, wherefore the twain taught them first to seek the sun-father. then as the last cave became filled and men learned to understand, the two led them forth again into the great upper world, which is the world of knowing seeing. the men of the early times zuni (new mexico) eight years was but four days and four nights when the world was new. it was while such days and nights continued that men were led out, in the night-shine of the world of seeing. for even when they saw the great star, they thought it the sun-father himself, it so burned their eye-balls. men and creatures were more alike then than now. our fathers were black, like the caves they came from; their skins were cold and scaly like those of mud creatures; their eyes were goggled like an owl's; their ears were like those of cave bats; their feet were webbed like those of walkers in wet and soft places; they had tails, long or short, as they were old or young. men crouched when they walked, or crawled along the ground like lizards. they feared to walk straight, but crouched as before time they had in their cave worlds, that they might not stumble or fall in the uncertain light. when the morning star arose, they blinked excessively when they beheld its brightness and cried out that now surely the father was coming. but it was only the elder of the bright ones, heralding with his shield of flame the approach of the sun-father. and when, low down in the east, the sun-father himself appeared, though shrouded in the mist of the world-waters, they were blinded and heated by his light and glory. they fell down wallowing and covered their eyes with their hands and arms, yet ever as they looked toward the light, they struggled toward the sun as moths and other night creatures seek the light of a camp fire. thus they became used to the light. but when they rose and walked straight, no longer bending, and looked upon each other, they sought to clothe themselves with girdles and garments of bark and rushes. and when by walking only upon their hinder feet they were bruised by stone and sand, they plaited sandals of yucca fibre. creation and longevity achomawi (pit river, cal.) coyote began the creation of the earth, but eagle completed it. coyote scratched it up with his paws out of nothingness, but eagle complained there were no mountains for him to perch on. so coyote made hills, but they were not high enough. therefore eagle scratched up great ridges. when eagle flew over them, his feathers dropped down, took root, and became trees. the pin feathers became bushes and plants. coyote and fox together created man. they quarrelled as to whether they should let men live always or not. coyote said, "if they want to die, let them die." fox said, "if they want to come back, let them come back." but coyote's medicine was stronger, and nobody ever came back. coyote also brought fire into the world, for the indians were freezing. he journeyed far to the west, to a place where there was fire, stole some of it, and brought it home in his ears. he kindled a fire in the mountains, and the indians saw the smoke of it, and went up and got fire. old mole's creation shastika (cal.) long, long ago, before there was any earth, old mole burrowed underneath somewhere, and threw up the earth which forms the world. then great man created the people. but the indians were cold. now in the cast gleamed the white fire stone. therefore coyote journeyed eastward, and brought back the fire stone for the indians. so people had fire. in the beginning, sun had nine brothers, all flaming hot like himself. but coyote killed the nine brothers and so saved the world from burning up. but moon also had nine brothers all made of ice, like himself, and the night people almost froze to death. therefore coyote went away out on the eastern edge of the world with his flint-stone knife. he heated stones to keep his hands warm, and as the moons arose, he killed one after another with his flint-stone knife, until he had slain nine of them. thus the people were saved from freezing at night. when it rains, some indian, sick in heaven, is weeping. long, long ago, there was a good young indian on earth. when he died the indians wept so that a flood came upon the earth, and drowned all people except one couple. the creation of the world pima (arizona) in the beginning there was nothing at all except darkness. all was darkness and emptiness. for a long, long while, the darkness gathered until it became a great mass. over this the spirit of earth doctor drifted to and fro like a fluffy bit of cotton in the breeze. then earth doctor decided to make for himself an abiding place. so he thought within himself, "come forth, some kind of plant," and there appeared the creosote bush. he placed this before him and set it upright. but it at once fell over. he set it upright again; again it fell. so it fell until the fourth time it remained upright. then earth doctor took from his breast a little dust and flattened it into a cake. when the dust cake was still, he danced upon it, singing a magic song. next he created some black insects which made black gum on the creosote bush. then he made a termite which worked with the small earth cake until it grew very large. as he sang and danced upon it, the flat world stretched out on all sides until it was as large as it is now. then he made a round sky-cover to fit over it, round like the houses of the pimas. but the earth shook and stretched, so that it was unsafe. so earth doctor made a gray spider which was to spin a web around the edges of the earth and sky, fastening them together. when this was done, the earth grew firm and solid. earth doctor made water, mountains, trees, grass, and weeds-made everything as we see it now. but all was still inky blackness. then he made a dish, poured water into it, and it became ice. he threw this round block of ice far to the north, and it fell at the place where the earth and sky were woven together. at once the ice began to gleam and shine. we call it now the sun. it rose from the ground in the north up into the sky and then fell back. earth doctor took it and threw it to the west where the earth and sky were sewn together. it rose into the sky and again slid back to the earth. then he threw it to the far south, but it slid back again to the flat earth. then at last he threw it to the east. it rose higher and higher in the sky until it reached the highest point in the round blue cover and began to slide down on the other side. and so the sun does even yet. then earth doctor poured more water into the dish and it became ice. he sang a magic song, and threw the round ball of ice to the north where the earth and sky are woven together. it gleamed and shone, but not so brightly as the sun. it became the moon, and it rose in the sky, but fell back again, just as the sun had done. so he threw the ball to the west, and then to the south, but it slid back each time to the earth. then he threw it to the east, and it rose to the highest point in the sky-cover and began to slide down on the other side. and so it does even to-day, following the sun. but earth doctor saw that when the sun and moon were not in the sky, all was inky darkness. so he sang a magic song, and took some water into his mouth and blew it into the sky, in a spray, to make little stars. then he took his magic crystal and broke it into pieces and threw them into the sky, to make the larger stars. next he took his walking stick and placed ashes on the end of it. then he drew it across the sky to form the milky way. so earth doctor made all the stars. spider's creation sia (new mexico) in the beginning, long, long ago, there was but one being in the lower world. this was the spider, sussistinnako. at that time there were no other insects, no birds, animals, or any other living creature. the spider drew a line of meal from north to south and then crossed it with another line running east and west. on each side of the first line, north of the second, he placed two small parcels. they were precious but no one knows what was in them except spider. then he sat down near the parcels and began to sing. the music was low and sweet and the two parcels accompanied him, by shaking like rattles. then two women appeared, one from each parcel. in a short time people appeared and began walking around. then animals, birds, and insects appeared, and the spider continued to sing until his creation was complete. but there was no light, and as there were many people, they did not pass about much for fear of treading upon each other. the two women first created were the mothers of all. one was named utset and she as the mother of all indians. the other was now-utset, and she was the mother of all other nations. while it was still dark, the spider divided the people into clans, saying to some, "you are of the corn clan, and you are the first of all." to others he said, "you belong to the coyote clan." so he divided them into their clans, the clans of the bear, the eagle, and other clans. after spider had nearly created the earth, ha-arts, he thought it would be well to have rain to water it, so he created the cloud people, the lightning people, the thunder people, and the rainbow people, to work for the people of ha-arts, the earth. he divided this creation into six parts, and each had its home in a spring in the heart of a great mountain upon whose summit was a giant tree. one was in the spruce tree on the mountain of the north; another in the pine tree on the mountain of the west; another in the oak tree on the mountain of the south; and another in the aspen tree on the mountain of the east; the fifth was on the cedar tree on the mountain of the zenith; and the last in an oak on the mountain of the nadir. the spider divided the world into three parts: ha-arts, the earth; tinia, the middle plain; and hu-wa-ka, the upper plain. then the spider gave to these people of the clouds and to the rainbow, tinia, the middle plain. now it was still dark, but the people of ha-arts made houses for themselves by digging in the rocks and the earth. they could not build houses as they do now, because they could not see. in a short time utset and now-utset talked much to each other, saying, "we will make light, that our people may see. we cannot tell the people now, but to-morrow will be a good day and the day after to-morrow will be a good day," meaning that their thoughts were good. so they spoke with one tongue. they said, "now all is covered with darkness, but after a while we will have light." then these two mothers, being inspired by sussistinnako, the spider, made the sun from white shell, turkis, red stone, and abalone shell. after making the sun, they carried him to the east and camped there, since there were no houses. the next morning they climbed to the top of a high mountain and dropped the sun down behind it. after a time he began to ascend. when the people saw the light they were happy. when the sun was far off, his face was blue; as he came nearer, the face grew brighter. yet they did not see the sun himself, but only a large mask which covered his whole body. the people saw that the world was large and the country beautiful. when the two mothers returned to the village, they said to the people, "we are the mothers of all." the sun lighted the world during the day, but there was no light at night. so the two mothers created the moon from a slightly black stone, many kinds of yellow stone, turkis, and a red stone, that the world might be lighted at night. but the moon travelled slowly and did not always give light. then the two mothers created the star people and made their eyes of sparkling white crystal that they might twinkle and brighten the world at night. when the star people lived in the lower world they were gathered into beautiful groups; they were not scattered about as they are in the upper world. the gods and the six regions in ancient times, po-shai-an-ki-a, the father of the sacred bands, or tribes, lived with his followers in the city of mists, the middle place, guarded by six warriors, the prey gods. toward the north, he was guarded by long tail, the mountain lion; west by clumsy foot, the bear; south by black-mark face, the badger; east by hang tail, the wolf; above by white cap, the eagle; below by mole. so when he was about to go forth into the world, he divided the earth into six regions: north, the direction of the swept or barren plains; west, the direction of the home of the waters; south, the place of the beautiful red; east, the direction of the home of day; upper regions, the direction of the home of the high; lower regions, the direction of the home of the low. how old man above created the world shastika (cal.) long, long ago, when the world was so new that even the stars were dark, it was very, very flat. chareya, old man above, could not see through the dark to the new, flat earth. neither could he step down to it because it was so far below him. with a large stone he bored a hole in the sky. then through the hole he pushed down masses of ice and snow, until a great pyramid rose from the plain. old man above climbed down through the hole he had made in the sky, stepping from cloud to cloud, until he could put his foot on top the mass of ice and snow. then with one long step he reached the earth. the sun shone through the hole in the sky and began to melt the ice and snow. it made holes in the ice and snow. when it was soft, chareya bored with his finger into the earth, here and there, and planted the first trees. streams from the melting snow watered the new trees and made them grow. then he gathered the leaves which fell from the trees and blew upon them. they became birds. he took a stick and broke it into pieces. out of the small end he made fishes and placed them in the mountain streams. of the middle of the stick, he made all the animals except the grizzly bear. from the big end of the stick came the grizzly bear, who was made master of all. grizzly was large and strong and cunning. when the earth was new he walked upon two feet and carried a large club. so strong was grizzly that old man above feared the creature he had made. therefore, so that he might be safe, chareya hollowed out the pyramid of ice and snow as a tepee. there he lived for thousands of snows. the indians knew he lived there because they could see the smoke curling from the smoke hole of his tepee. when the pale-face came, old man above went away. there is no longer any smoke from the smoke hole. white men call the tepee mount shasta. the search for the middle and the hardening of the world zuni (new mexico) as it was with the first men and creatures, so it was with the world. it was young and unripe. earthquakes shook the world and rent it. demons and monsters of the under-world fled forth. creatures became fierce, beasts of prey, and others turned timid, becoming their quarry. wretchedness and hunger abounded and black magic. fear was everywhere among them, so the people, in dread of their precious possessions, became wanderers, living on the seeds of grass, eaters of dead and slain things. yet, guided by the beloved twain, they sought in the light and under the pathway of the sun, the middle of the world, over which alone they could find the earth at rest( ). when the tremblings grew still for a time, the people paused at the first of sitting places. yet they were still poor and defenceless and unskilled, and the world still moist and unstable. demons and monsters fled from the earth in times of shaking, and threatened wanderers. then the two took counsel of each other. the elder said the earth must be made more stable for men and the valleys where their children rested. if they sent down their fire bolts of thunder, aimed to all the four regions, the earth would heave up and down, fire would, belch over the world and burn it, floods of hot water would sweep over it, smoke would blacken the daylight, but the earth would at last be safer for men. so the beloved twain let fly the thunderbolts. the mountains shook and trembled, the plains cracked and crackled under the floods and fires, and the hollow places, the only refuge of men and creatures, grew black and awful. at last thick rain fell, putting out the fires. then water flooded the world, cutting deep trails through the mountains, and burying or uncovering the bodies of things and beings. where they huddled together and were blasted thus, their blood gushed forth and flowed deeply, here in rivers, there in floods, for gigantic were they. but the blood was charred and blistered and blackened by the fires into the black rocks of the lower mesas( ). there were vast plains of dust, ashes, and cinders, reddened like the mud of the hearth place. yet many places behind and between the mountain terraces were unharmed by the fires, and even then green grew the trees and grasses and even flowers bloomed. then the earth became more stable, and drier, and its lone places less fearsome since monsters of prey were changed to rock. but ever and again the earth trembled and the people were troubled. "let us again seek the middle," they said. so they travelled far eastward to their second stopping place, the place of bare mountains. again the world rumbled, and they travelled into a country to a place called where-tree-boles-stand-in-the-midst-of-waters. there they remained long, saying, "this is the middle." they built homes there. at times they met people who had gone before, and thus they learned war. and many strange things happened there, as told in speeches of the ancient talk. then when the earth groaned again, the twain bade them go forth, and they murmured. many refused and perished miserably in their own homes, as do rats in falling trees, or flies in forbidden food. but the greater number went forward until they came to steam-mist-in-the-midst-of-waters. and they saw the smoke of men's hearth fires and many houses scattered over the hills before them. when they came nearer, they challenged the people rudely, demanding who they were and why there, for in their last standing-place they had had touch of war. "we are the people of the seed," said the men of the hearth-fires, "born elder brothers of ye, and led of the gods." "no," said our fathers, "we are led of the gods and we are the seed people..." long lived the people in the town on the sunrise slope of the mountains of kahluelawan, until the earth began to groan warningly again. loath were they to leave the place of the kaka and the lake of their dead. but the rumbling grew louder and the twain beloved called, and all together they journeyed eastward, seeking once more the place of the middle. but they grumbled amongst themselves, so when they came to a place of great promise, they said, "let us stay here. perhaps it may be the place of the middle." so they built houses there, larger and stronger than ever before, and more perfect, for they were strong in numbers and wiser, though yet unperfected as men. they called the place "the place of sacred stealing." long they dwelt there, happily, but growing wiser and stronger, so that, with their tails and dressed in the skins of animals, they saw they were rude and ugly. in chase or in war, they were at a disadvantage, for they met older nations of men with whom they fought. no longer they feared the gods and monsters, but only their own kind. so therefore the gods called a council. "changed shall ye be, oh our children," cried the twain. "ye shall walk straight in the pathways, clothed in garments, and without tails, that ye may sit more straight in council, and without webs to your feet, or talons on your hands." so the people were arranged in procession like dancers. and the twain with their weapons and fires of lightning shored off the forelocks hanging down over their faces, severed the talons, and slitted the webbed fingers and toes. sore was the wounding and loud cried the foolish, when lastly the people were arranged in procession for the razing of their tails. but those who stood at the end of the line, shrinking farther and farther, fled in their terror, climbing trees and high places, with loud chatter. wandering far, sleeping ever in tree tops, in the far-away summerland, they are sometimes seen of far-walkers, long of tail and long handed, like wizened men-children. but the people grew in strength, and became more perfect, and more than ever went to war. they grew vain. they had reached the place of the middle. they said, "let us not wearily wander forth again even though the earth tremble and the twain bid us forth." and even as they spoke, the mountain trembled and shook, though far-sounding. but as the people changed, changed also were the twain, small and misshapen, hard-favored and unyielding of will, strong of spirit, evil and bad. they taught the people to war, and led them far to the eastward. at last the people neared, in the midst of the plains to the eastward, great towns built in the heights. great were the fields and possessions of this people, for they knew how to command and carry the waters, bringing new soil. and this, too, without hail or rain. so our ancients, hungry with long wandering for new food, were the more greedy and often gave battle. it was here that the ancient woman of the elder people, who carried her heart in her rattle and was deathless of wounds in the body, led the enemy, crying out shrilly. so it fell out ill for our fathers. for, moreover, thunder raged and confused their warriors, rain descended and blinded them, stretching their bow strings of sinew and quenching the flight of their arrows as the flight of bees is quenched by the sprinkling plume of the honey-hunter. but they devised bow strings of yucca and the two little ones sought counsel of the sun-father who revealed the life-secret of the ancient woman and the magic powers over the under-fires of the dwellers of the mountains, so that our enemy in the mountain town was overmastered. and because our people found in that great town some hidden deep in the cellars, and pulled them out as rats are pulled from a hollow cedar, and found them blackened by the fumes of their war magic, yet wiser than the common people, they spared them and received them into their next of kin of the black corn.... but the tremblings and warnings still sounded, and the people searched for the stable middle. now they called a great council of men and the beasts, birds, and insects of all kinds. after a long council it was said, "where is water-skate? he has six legs, all very long. perhaps he can feel with them to the uttermost of the six regions, and point out the very middle." so water-skate was summoned. but lo! it was the sun-father in his likeness which appeared. and he lifted himself to the zenith and extended his fingerfeet to all the six regions, so that they touched the north, the great waters; the west, and the south, and the east, the great waters; and to the northeast the waters above, and to the southwest the waters below. but to the north his finger foot grew cold, so he drew it in. then gradually he settled down upon the earth and said, "where my heart rests, mark a spot, and build a town of the mid-most, for there shall be the mid-most place of the earth-mother." and his heart rested over the middle of the plain and valley of zuni. and when he drew in his finger-legs, lo! there were the trail-roads leading out and in like stays of a spider's nest, into and from the mid-most place he had covered. here because of their good fortune in finding the stable middle, the priest father called the town the abiding-place-of-happy-fortune. ( ) the earth was flat and round, like a plate. ( ) lava. origin of light gallinomero (russian river, cal.) in the earliest beginning, the darkness was thick and deep. there was no light. the animals ran here and there, always bumping into each other. the birds flew here and there, but continually knocked against each other. hawk and coyote thought a long time about the darkness. then coyote felt his way into a swamp and found a large number of dry tule reeds. he made a ball of them. he gave the ball to hawk, with some flints, and hawk flew up into the sky, where he touched off the tule reeds and sent the bundle whirling around the world. but still the nights were dark, so coyote made another bundle of tule reeds, and hawk flew into the air with them, and touched them off with the flints. but these reeds were damp and did not burn so well. that is why the moon does not give so much light as the sun. pokoh, the old man pai ute (near kern river, cal.) pokoh, old man, they say, created the world. pokoh had many thoughts. he had many blankets in which he carried around gifts for men. he created every tribe out of the soil where they used to live. that is why an indian wants to live and die in his native place. he was made of the same soil. pokoh did not wish men to wander and travel, but to remain in their birthplace. long ago, sun was a man, and was bad. moon was good. sun had a quiver full of arrows, and they are deadly. sun wishes to kill all things. sun has two daughters (venus and mercury) and twenty men kill them; but after fifty days, they return to life again. rainbow is the sister of pokoh, and her breast is covered with flowers. lightning strikes the ground and fills the flint with fire. that is the origin of fire. some say the beaver brought fire from the east, hauling it on his broad, flat tail. that is why the beaver's tail has no hair on it, even to this day. it was burned off. there are many worlds. some have passed and some are still to come. in one world the indians all creep; in another they all walk; in another they all fly. perhaps in a world to come, indians may walk on four legs; or they may crawl like snakes; or they may swim in the water like fish. thunder and lightning maidu (near sacramento valley, cal.) great-man created the world and all the people. at first the earth was very hot, so hot it was melted, and that is why even to-day there is fire in the trunk and branches of trees, and in the stones. lightning is great-man himself coming down swiftly from his world above, and tearing apart the trees with his flaming arm. thunder and lightning are two great spirits who try to destroy mankind. but rainbow is a good spirit who speaks gently to them, and persuades them to let the indians live a little longer. creation of man miwok (san joaquin valley, cal.) after coyote had completed making the world, he began to think about creating man. he called a council of all the animals. the animals sat in a circle, just as the indians do, with lion at the head, in an open space in the forest. on lion's right was grizzly bear; next cinnamon bear; and so on to mouse, who sat at lion's left. lion spoke first. lion said he wished man to have a terrible voice, like himself, so that he could frighten all animals. he wanted man also to be well covered with hair, with fangs in his claws, and very strong teeth. grizzly bear laughed. he said it was ridiculous for any one to have such a voice as lion, because when he roared he frightened away the very prey for which he was searching. but he said man should have very great strength; that he should move silently, but very swiftly; and he should be able to seize his prey without noise. buck said man would look foolish without antlers. and a terrible voice was absurd, but man should have ears like a spider's web, and eyes like fire. mountain sheep said the branching antlers would bother man if he got caught in a thicket. if man had horns rolled up, so that they were like a stone on each side of his head, it would give his head weight enough to butt very hard. when it came coyote's turn, he said the other animals were foolish because they each wanted man to be just like themselves. coyote was sure he could make a man who would look better than coyote himself, or any other animal. of course he would have to have four legs, with five fingers. man should have a strong voice, but he need not roar all the time with it. and he should have feet nearly like grizzly bear's, because he could then stand erect when he needed to. grizzly bear had no tail, and man should not have any. the eyes and ears of buck were good, and perhaps man should have those. then there was fish, which had no hair, and hair was a burden much of the year. so coyote thought man should not wear fur. and his claws should be as long as the eagle's, so that he could hold things in them. but no animal was as cunning and crafty as coyote, so man should have the wit of coyote. then beaver talked. beaver said man would have to have a tail, but it should be broad and flat, so he could haul mud and sand on it. not a furry tail, because they were troublesome on account of fleas. owl said man would be useless without wings. but mole said wings would be folly. man would be sure to bump against the sky. besides, if he had wings and eyes both, he would get his eyes burned out by flying too near the sun. but without eyes, he could burrow in the soft, cool earth where he could be happy. mouse said man needed eyes so he could see what he was eating. and nobody wanted to burrow in the damp earth. so the council broke up in a quarrel. then every animal set to work to make a man according to his own ideas. each one took a lump of earth and modelled it just like himself. all but coyote, for coyote began to make the kind of man he had talked of in the council. it was late when the animals stopped work and fell asleep. all but coyote, for coyote was the cunningest of all the animals, and he stayed awake until he had finished his model. he worked hard all night. when the other animals were fast asleep he threw water on the lumps of earth, and so spoiled the models of the other animals. but in the morning he finished his own, and gave it life long before the others could finish theirs. thus man was made by coyote. the first man and woman nishinam (near bear river, cal.) the first man created by coyote was called aikut. his wife was yototowi. but the woman grew sick and died. aikut dug a grave for her close beside his camp fire, for the nishinam did not burn their dead then. all the light was gone from his life. he wanted to die, so that he could follow yototowi, and he fell into a deep sleep. there was a rumbling sound and the spirit of yototowi arose from the earth and stood beside him. he would have spoken to her, but she forbade him, for when an indian speaks to a ghost he dies. then she turned away and set out for the dance-house of ghosts. aikut followed her. together they journeyed through a great, dark country, until they came to a river which separated them from the ghost-land. over the river there was a bridge of but one small rope, so small that hardly spider could crawl across it. here the woman started off alone, but when aikut stretched out his arms, she returned. then she started again over the bridge of thread. and aikut spoke to her, so that he died. thus together they journeyed to the spirit-land. old man above and the grizzlies shastika (cal.) along time ago, while smoke still curled from the smoke hole of the tepee, a great storm arose. the storm shook the tepee. wind blew the smoke down the smoke hole. old man above said to little daughter: "climb up to the smoke hole. tell wind to be quiet. stick your arm out of the smoke hole before you tell him." little daughter climbed up to the smoke hole and put out her arm. but little daughter put out her head also. she wanted to see the world. little daughter wanted to see the rivers and trees, and the white foam on the bitter waters. wind caught little daughter by the hair. wind pulled her out of the smoke hole and blew her down the mountain. wind blew little daughter over the smooth ice and the great forests, down to the land of the grizzlies. wind tangled her hair and then left her cold and shivering near the tepees of the grizzlies. soon grizzly came home. in those days grizzly walked on two feet, and carried a big stick. grizzly could talk as people do. grizzly laid down the young elk he had killed and picked up little daughter. he took little daughter to his tepee. then mother grizzly warmed her by the fire. mother grizzly gave her food to eat. soon little daughter married the son of grizzly. their children were not grizzlies. they were men. so the grizzlies built a tepee for little daughter and her children. white men call the tepee little shasta. at last mother grizzly sent a son to old man above. mother grizzly knew that little daughter was the child of old man above, but she was afraid. she said: "tell old man above that little daughter is alive." old man above climbed out of the smoke hole. he ran down the mountain side to the land of the grizzlies. old man above ran very quickly. wherever he set his foot the snow melted. the snow melted very quickly and made streams of water. now grizzlies stood in line to welcome old man above. they stood on two feet and carried clubs. then old man above saw his daughter and her children. he saw the new race of men. then old man above became very angry. he said to grizzlies: "never speak again. be silent. neither shall ye stand upright. ye shall use your hands as feet. ye shall look downward." then old man above put out the fire in the tepee. smoke no longer curls from the smoke hole. he fastened the door of the tepee. the new race of men he drove out. then old man above took little daughter back to his tepee. that is why grizzlies walk on four feet and look downward. only when fighting they stand on two feet and use their fists like men. the creation of man-kind and the flood pima (arizona) after the world was ready, earth doctor made all kinds of animals and creeping things. then he made images of clay, and told them to be people. after a while there were so many people that there was not food and water enough for all. they were never sick and none died. at last there grew to be so many they were obliged to eat each other. then earth doctor, because he could not give them food and water enough, killed them all. he caught the hook of his staff into the sky and pulled it down so that it crushed all the people and all the animals, until there was nothing living on the earth. earth doctor made a hole through the earth with his stick, and through that he went, coming out safe, but alone, on the other side. he called upon the sun and moon to come out of the wreck of the world and sky, and they did so. but there was no sky for them to travel through, no stars, and no milky way. so earth doctor made these all over again. then he created another race of men and animals. then coyote was born. moon was his mother. when coyote was large and strong he came to the land where the pima indians lived. then elder brother was born. earth was his mother, and sky his father. he was so powerful that he spoke roughly to earth doctor, who trembled before him. the people began to increase in numbers, just as they had done before, but elder brother shortened their lives, so the earth did not become so crowded. but elder brother did not like the people created by earth doctor, so he planned to destroy them again. so elder brother planned to create a magic baby.... the screams of the baby shook the earth. they could be heard for a great distance. then earth doctor called all the people together, and told them there would be a great flood. he sang a magic song and then bored a hole through the flat earth-plain through to the other side. some of the people went into the hole to escape the flood that was coming, but not very many got through. some of the people asked elder brother to help them, but he did not answer. only coyote he answered. he told coyote to find a big log and sit on it, so that he would float on the surface of the water with the driftwood. elder brother got into a big olla which he had made, and closed it tight. so he rolled along on the ground under the olla. he sang a magic song as he climbed into his olla. a young man went to the place where the baby was screaming. its tears were a great torrent which cut gorges in the earth before it. the water was rising all over the earth. he bent over the child to pick it up, and immediately both became birds and flew above the flood. only five birds were saved from the flood. one was a flicker and one a vulture. they clung by their beaks to the sky to keep themselves above the waters, but the tail of the flicker was washed by the waves and that is why it is stiff to this day. at last a god took pity on them and gave them power to make "nests of down" from their own breasts on which they floated on the water. one of these birds was the vipisimal, and if any one injures it to this day, the flood may come again. now south doctor called his people to him and told them that a flood was coming. he sang a magic song and he bored a hole in the ground with a cane so that people might go through to the other side. others he sent to earth doctor, but earth doctor told them they were too late. so they sent the people to the top of a high mountain called crooked mountain. south doctor sang a magic song and traced his cane around the mountain, but that held back the waters only for a short time. four times he sang and traced a line around the mountain, yet the flood rose again each time. there was only one thing more to do. he held his magic crystals in his left hand and sang a song. then he struck it with his cane. a thunder peal rang through the mountains. he threw his staff into the water and it cracked with a loud noise. turning, he saw a dog near him. he said, "how high is the tide?" the dog said, "it is very near the top." he looked at the people as he said it. when they heard his voice they all turned to stone. they stood just as they were, and they are there to this day in groups: some of the men talking, some of the women cooking, and some crying. but earth doctor escaped by enclosing himself in his reed staff, which floated upon the water. elder brother rolled along in his olla until he came near the mouth of the colorado river. the olla is now called black mountain. after the flood he came out and visited all parts of the land. when he met coyote and earth doctor, each claimed to have been the first to appear after the flood, but at last they admitted elder brother was the first, so he became ruler of the world. the birds and the flood pima (arizona) once upon a time, when all the earth was flooded, two birds were hanging above the water. they were clinging to the sky with their beaks. the larger bird was gray with a long tail and beak, but the smaller one was the tiny bird that builds a nest shaped like an olla, with only a very small opening at the top. the birds were tired and frightened. the larger one cried and cried, but the little bird held on tight and said, "don't cry. i 'm littler than you are, but i 'm very brave." legend of the flood ashochimi (coast indians, cal.) long ago there was a great flood which destroyed all the people in the world. only coyote was saved. when the waters subsided, the earth was empty. coyote thought about it a long time. then coyote collected a great bundle of tail feathers from owls, hawks, eagles, and buzzards. he journeyed over the whole earth and carefully located the site of each indian village. where the tepees had stood, he planted a feather in the ground and scraped up the dirt around it. the feathers sprouted like trees, and grew up and branched. at last they turned into men and women. so the world was inhabited with people again. the great flood sia (new mexico) for a long time after the fight, the people were very happy, but the ninth year was very bad. the whole earth was filled with water. the water did not fall in rain, but came in as rivers between the mesas. it continued to flow in from all sides until the people and the animals fled to the mesa tops. the water continued to rise until nearly level with the tops of the mesas. then sussistinnako cried, "where shall my people go? where is the road to the north?" he looked to the north. "where is the road to the west? where is the road to the east? where is the road to the south?" he looked in each direction. he said, "i see the waters are everywhere." all of the medicine men sang four days and four nights, but still the waters continued to rise. then spider placed a huge reed upon the top of the mesa. he said, "my people will pass up through this to the world above." utset led the way, carrying a sack in which were many of the star people. the medicine men followed, carrying sacred things in sacred blankets on their backs. then came the people, and the animals, and the snakes, and birds. the turkey was far behind and the foam of the water rose and reached the tip ends of his feathers. you may know that is true because even to this day they bear the mark of the waters. when they reached the top of the great reed, the earth which formed the floor of the world above, barred their way. utset called to locust, "man, come here." locust went to her. she said, "you know best how to pass through the earth. go and make a door for us." "very well, mother," said locust. "i think i can make a way." he began working with his feet and after a while he passed through the earthy floor, entering the upper world. as soon as he saw it, he said to utset, "it is good above." utset called badger, and said, "make a door for us. sika, the locust has made one, but it is very small." "very well, mother, i will," said badger. after much work he passed into the world above, and said, "mother, i have opened the way." badger also said, "father-mother, the world above is good." utset then called deer. she said, "you go through first. if you can get your head through, others may pass." the deer returned saying, "father, it is all right. i passed without trouble." utset called elk. she said, "you pass through. if you can get your head and horns through the door, all may pass." elk returned saying, "father, it is good. i passed without trouble." then utset told the buffalo to try, and he returned saying, "father-mother, the door is good. i passed without trouble." utset called the scarab beetle and gave him the sack of stars, telling him to pass out first with them. scarab did not know what the sack contained, but he was very small and grew tired carrying it. he wondered what could be in the sack. after entering the new world he was so tired he laid down the sack and peeped into it. he cut only a tiny hole, but at once the star people flew out and filled the heavens everywhere. then utset and all the people came, and after turkey passed, the door was closed with a great rock so that the waters from below could not follow them. then utset looked for the sack with the star people. she found it nearly empty and could not tell where the stars had gone. the little beetle sat by, very much frightened and very sad. but utset was angry and said, "you are bad and disobedient. from this time forth, you shall be blind." that is the reason the scarabaeus has no eyes, so the old ones say. but the little fellow had saved a few of the stars by grasping the sack and holding it fast. utset placed these in the heavens. in one group she placed seven--the great bear. in another, three. in another group she placed the pleiades, and threw the others far off into the sky. the flood and the theft of fire tolowa (del norte co., cal.) along time ago there came a great rain. it lasted a long time and the water kept rising till all the valleys were submerged, and the indian tribes fled to the high lands. but the water rose, and though the indians fled to the highest point, all were swept away and drowned-all but one man and one woman. they reached the very highest peak and were saved. these two indians ate the fish from the waters around them. then the waters subsided. all the game was gone, and all the animals. but the children of these two indians, when they died, became the spirits of deer and bear and insects, and so the animals and insects came back to the earth again. the indians had no fire. the flood had put out all the fires in the world. they looked at the moon and wished they could secure fire from it. then the spider indians and the snake indians formed a plan to steal fire. the spiders wove a very light balloon, and fastened it by a long rope to the earth. then they climbed into the balloon and started for the moon. but the indians of the moon were suspicious of the earth indians. the spiders said, "we came to gamble." the moon indians were much pleased and all the spider indians began to gamble with them. they sat by the fire. then the snake indians sent a man to climb up the long rope from the earth to the moon. he climbed the rope, and darted through the fire before the moon indians understood what he had done. then he slid down the rope to earth again. as soon as he touched the earth he travelled over the rocks, the trees, and the dry sticks lying upon the ground, giving fire to each. everything he touched contained fire. so the world became bright again, as it was before the flood. when the spider indians came down to earth again, they were immediately put to death, for the tribes were afraid the moon indians might want revenge. legend of the flood in sacramento valley maidu (near sacramento valley, cal.) long, long ago the indians living in sacramento valley were happy. suddenly there came the swift sound of rushing waters, and the valley became like big waters, which no man can measure. the indians fled, but many slept beneath the waves. also the frogs and the salmon pursued them and they ate many indians. only two who fled into the foothills escaped. to these two, great man gave many children, and many tribes arose. but one great chief ruled all the nation. the chief went out upon a wide knoll overlooking big waters, and he knew that the plains of his people were beneath the waves. nine sleeps he lay on the knoll, thinking thoughts of these great waters. nine sleeps he lay without food, and his mind was thinking always of one thing: how did this deep water cover the plains of the world? at the end of nine sleeps he was changed. he was not like himself. no arrow could wound him. he was like great man for no indian could slay him. then he spoke to great man and commanded him to banish the waters from the plains of his ancestors. great man tore a hole in the mountain side, so that the waters on the plains flowed into big waters. thus the sacramento river was formed. the fable of the animals karok (near klamath river,. cal.) a great many hundred snows ago, kareya, sitting on the sacred stool, created the world. first, he made the fishes in the big water, then the animals on the green land, and last of all, man! but at first the animals were all alike in power. no one knew which animals should be food for others, and which should be food for man. then kareya ordered them all to meet in one place, that man might give each his rank and his power. so the animals all met together one evening, when the sun was set, to wait overnight for the coming of man on the next morning. kareya also commanded man to make bows and arrows, as many as there were animals, and to give the longest one to the animal which was to have the most power, and the shortest to the one which should have least power. so he did, and after nine sleeps his work was ended, and the bows and arrows which he had made were very many. now the animals, being all together, went to sleep, so they might be ready to meet man on the next morning. but coyote was exceedingly cunning--he was cunning above all the beasts. coyote wanted the longest bow and the greatest power, so he could have all the other animals for his meat. he decided to stay awake all night, so that he would be first to meet man in the morning. so he laughed to himself and stretched his nose out on his paw and pretended to sleep. about midnight he began to be sleepy. he had to walk around the camp and scratch his eyes to keep them open. he grew more sleepy, so that he had to skip and jump about to keep awake. but he made so much noise, he awakened some of the other animals. when the morning star came up, he was too sleepy to keep his eyes open any longer. so he took two little sticks, and sharpened them at the ends, and propped open his eyelids. then he felt safe. he watched the morning star, with his nose stretched along his paws, and fell asleep. the sharp sticks pinned his eyelids fast together. the morning star rose rapidly into the sky. the birds began to sing. the animals woke up and stretched themselves, but still coyote lay fast asleep. when the sun rose, the animals went to meet man. he gave the longest bow to cougar, so he had greatest power; the second longest he gave to bear; others he gave to the other animals, giving all but the last to frog. but the shortest one was left. man cried out, "what animal have i missed?" then the animals began to look about and found coyote fast asleep, with his eyelids pinned together. all the animals began to laugh, and they jumped upon coyote and danced upon him. then they led him to man, still blinded, and man pulled out the sharp sticks and gave him the shortest bow of all. it would hardly shoot an arrow farther than a foot. all the animals laughed. but man took pity on coyote, because he was now weaker even than frog. so at his request, kareya gave him cunning, ten times more than before, so that he was cunning above all the animals of the wood. therefore coyote was friendly to man and his children, and did many things for them. coyote and sun pai ute (near kern river, cal.) along time ago, coyote wanted to go to the sun. he asked pokoh, old man, to show him the trail. coyote went straight out on this trail and he travelled it all day. but sun went round so that coyote came back at night to the place from which he started in the morning. the next morning, coyote asked pokoh to show him the trail. pokoh showed him, and coyote travelled all day and came back at night to the same place again. but the third day, coyote started early and went out on the trail to the edge of the world and sat down on the hole where the sun came up. while waiting for the sun he pointed with his bow and arrow at different places and pretended to shoot. he also pretended not to see the sun. when sun came up, he told coyote to get out of his way. coyote told him to go around; that it was his trail. but sun came up under him and he had to hitch forward a little. after sun came up a little farther, it began to get hot on coyote's shoulder, so he spit on his paw and rubbed his shoulder. then he wanted to ride up with the sun. sun said, "oh, no"; but coyote insisted. so coyote climbed up on sun, and sun started up the trail in the sky. the trail was marked off into steps like a ladder. as sun went up he counted "one, two, three," and so on. by and by coyote became very thirsty, and he asked sun for a drink of water. sun gave him an acorn-cup full. coyote asked him why he had no more. about noontime, coyote became very impatient. it was very hot. sun told him to shut his eyes. coyote shut them, but opened them again. he kept opening and shutting them all the afternoon. at night, when sun came down, coyote took hold of a tree. then he clambered off sun and climbed down to the earth. the course of the sun sia (new mexico) sussistinnako, the spider, said to the sun, "my son, you will ascend and pass over the world above. you will go from north to south. return and tell me what you think of it." the sun said, on his return, "mother, i did as you bade me, and i did not like the road." spider told him to ascend and pass over the world from west to the east. on his return, the sun said, "it may be good for some, mother, but i did not like it." spider said, "you will again ascend and pass over the straight road from the east to the west. return and tell me what you think of it." that night the sun said, "i am much contented. i like that road much." sussistinnako said, "my son, you will ascend each day and pass over the world from east to west." upon each day's journey the sun stops midway from the east to the centre of the world to eat his breakfast. in the centre he stops to eat his dinner. halfway from the centre to the west he stops to eat his supper. he never fails to eat these three meals each day, and always stops at the same points. the sun wears a shirt of dressed deerskin, with leggings of the same reaching to his thighs. the shirt and leggings are fringed. his moccasins are also of deerskin and embroidered in yellow, red, and turkis beads. he wears a kilt of deerskin, having a snake painted upon it. he carries a bow and arrows, the quiver being of cougar skin, hanging over his shoulder, and he holds his bow in his left hand and an arrow in his right. he always wears the mask which protects him from the sight of the people of ha-arts. at the top of the mask is an eagle plume with parrot plumes; an eagle plume is at each side, and one at the bottom of the mask. the hair around the head and face is red like fire, and when it moves and shakes people cannot look closely at the mask. it is not intended that they should observe closely, else they would know that instead of seeing the sun they see only his mask. the moon came to the upper world with the sun and he also wears a mask. each night the sun passes by the house of sussistinnako, the spider, who asks him, "how are my children above? how many have died to-day? how many have been born to-day?" the sun lingers only long enough to answer his questions. he then passes on to his house in the east. the foxes and the sun yurok (near klamath river, cal.) once upon a time, the foxes were angry with sun. they held a council about the matter. then twelve foxes were selected--twelve of the bravest to catch sun and tie him down. they made ropes of sinew; then the twelve watched until the sun, as he followed the downward trail in the sky, touched the top of a certain hill. then the foxes caught sun, and tied him fast to the hill. but the indians saw them, and they killed the foxes with arrows. then they cut the sinews. but the sun had burned a great hole in the ground. the indians know the story is true, because they can see the hole which sun burned. the theft of fire karok (near klamath river, cal.) there was no fire on earth and the karoks were cold and miserable. far away to the east, hidden in a treasure box, was fire which kareya had made and given to two old hags, lest the karoks should steal it. so coyote decided to steal fire for the indians. coyote called a great council of the animals. after the council he stationed a line from the land of the karoks to the distant land where the fire was kept. lion was nearest the fire land, and frog was nearest the karok land. lion was strongest and frog was weakest, and the other animals took their places, according to the power given them by man. then coyote took an indian with him and went to the hill top, but he hid the indian under the hill. coyote went to the tepee of the hags. he said, "good-evening." they replied, "good-evening." coyote said, "it is cold out here. can you let me sit by the fire?" so they let him sit by the fire. he was only a coyote. he stretched his nose out along his forepaws and pretended to go to sleep, but he kept the corner of one eye open watching. so he spent all night watching and thinking, but he had no chance to get a piece of the fire. the next morning coyote held a council with the indian. he told him when he, coyote, was within the tepee, to attack it. then coyote went back to the fire. the hags let him in again. he was only a coyote. but coyote stood close by the casket of fire. the indian made a dash at the tepee. the hags rushed out after him, and coyote seized a fire brand in his teeth and flew over the ground. the hags saw the sparks flying and gave chase. but coyote reached lion, who ran with it to grizzly bear. grizzly bear ran with it to cinnamon bear; he ran with it to wolf, and at last the fire came to ground-squirrel. squirrel took the brand and ran so fast that his tail caught fire. he curled it up over his back, and burned the black spot in his shoulders. you can see it even to-day. squirrel came to frog, but frog couldn't run. he opened his mouth wide and swallowed the fire. then he jumped but the hags caught his tail. frog jumped again, but the hags kept his tail. that is why frogs have no tail, even to this day. frog swam under water, and came up on a pile of driftwood. he spat out the fire into the dry wood, and that is why there is fire in dry wood even to-day. when an indian rubs two pieces together, the fire comes out. the theft of fire sia (new mexico) along, long time ago, the people became tired of feeding on grass, like deer and wild animals, and they talked together how fire might be found. the ti-amoni said, "coyote is the best man to steal fire from the world below," so he sent for coyote. when coyote came, the ti-amoni said, "the people wish for fire. we are tired of feeding on grass. you must go to the world below and bring the fire." coyote said, "it is well, father. i will go." so coyote slipped stealthily to the house of sussistinnako. it was the middle of the night. snake, who guarded the first door, was asleep, and he slipped quickly and quietly by. cougar, who guarded the second door, was asleep, and coyote slipped by. bear, who guarded the third door, was also sleeping. at the fourth door, coyote found the guardian of the fire asleep. slipping through into the room of sussistinnako, he found him also sleeping. coyote quickly lighted the cedar brand which was attached to his tail and hurried out. spider awoke, just enough to know some one was leaving the room. "who is there?" he cried. then he called, "some one has been here." but before he could waken the sleeping bear and cougar and snake, coyote had almost reached the upper world. the earth-hardening after the flood sia (new mexico) after the flood, the sia returned to ha-arts, the earth. they came through an opening in the far north. after they had remained at their first village a year, they wished to pass on, but the earth was very moist and utset was puzzled how to harden it. utset called cougar. she said, "have you any medicine to harden the road so that we may pass over it?" cougar replied, "i will try, mother." but after going a short distance over the road, he sank to his shoulders in the wet earth. he returned much afraid and told utset that he could go no farther. then she sent for bear. she said, "have you any medicine to harden the road?" bear started out, but he sank to his shoulders, and returned saying, "i can do nothing." then utset called badger, and he tried. she called shrew, and he failed. she called wolf, and he failed. then utset returned to the lower world and asked sussistinnako what she could do to harden the earth so that her people might travel over it. he asked, "have you no medicine to make the earth firm? have you asked cougar and wolf, bear and badger and wolf to use their medicines to harden the earth?" utset said, "i have tried all these." then sussistinnako said, "others will understand." he told her to have a woman of the kapina (spider) clan try to harden the earth. when the woman arrived, utset said, "my mother, sussistinnako tells me the kapina society understand how to harden the earth." the woman said, "i do not know how to make the earth hard." three times utset asked the woman about hardening the earth, and three times the woman said, "i do not know." the fourth time the woman said, "well, i guess i know. i will try." so she called together the members of the spider society, the kapina, and said, "our mother, sussistinnako, bids us work for her and harden the earth so that the people may pass over it." the spider woman first made a road of fine cotton which she produced from her own body, and suspended it a few feet above the earth. then she told the people they could travel on that. but the people were afraid to trust themselves to such a frail road. then utset said, "i wish a man and not a woman of the spider society to work for me." then he came. he threw out a charm of wood, latticed so it could be expanded or contracted. when it was extended it reached to the middle of the earth. he threw it to the south, to the east, and to the west; then he threw it toward the people in the north. so the earth was made firm that the people might travel upon it. soon after utset said, "i will soon leave you. i will, return to the home from which i came." then she selected a man of the corn clan. she said to him, "you will be known as ti-amoni (arch-ruler). you will be to my people as myself. you will pass with them over the straight road. i give to you all my wisdom, my thoughts, my heart, and all. i fill your mind with my mind." he replied: "it is well, mother. i will do as you say." the origins of the totems and of names zuni (new mexico) now the twain beloved and the priest-fathers gathered in council for the naming and selection of man-groups and creature-kinds, and things. so they called the people of the southern space the children of summer, and those who loved the sun most became the sun people. others who loved the water became the toad people, or turtle people, or frog people. others loved the seeds of the earth and became the seed people, or the people of the first-growing grass, or of the tobacco. those who loved warmth were the fire or badger people. according to their natures they chose their totems. and so also did the people of winter, or the people of the north. some were known as the bear people, or the coyote people, or deer people; others as the crane people, turkey people, or grouse people. so the badger people dwelt in a warm place, even as the badgers on the sunny side of hills burrow, finding a dwelling amongst the dry roots whence is fire. traditions of wanderings hopi (arizona) after the hopi had been taught to build stone houses, they took separate ways. my people were the snake people. they lived in snake skins, each family occupying a separate snake skin bag. all were hung on the end of a rainbow which swung around until the end touched navajo mountain. then the bags dropped from it. wherever a bag dropped, there was their house. after they arranged their bags they came out from them as men and women, and they then built a stone house which had five sides. then a brilliant star arose in the southeast. it would shine for a while and disappear. the old men said, "'beneath that star there must be people." they decided to travel to it. they cut a staff and set it in the ground and watched until the star reached its top. then they started and travelled as long as the star shone. when it disappeared they halted. but the star did not shine every night. sometimes many years passed before it appeared again. when this occurred, the people built houses during their halt. they built round houses and square houses, and all the ruins between here and navajo mountain mark the places where our people lived. they waited until the star came to the top of the staff again, but when they moved on, many people remained in those houses. when our people reached waipho (a spring a few miles from walpi) the star vanished. it has never been seen since. they built a house there, but masauwu, the god of the face of the earth, came and compelled the people to move about halfway between the east mesa and the middle mesa and there they stayed many plantings. one time when the old men were assembled, the god came among them, looking like a horrible skeleton and rattling his bones. but he could not frighten them. so he said, "i have lost my wager. all that i have is yours. ask for anything you want and i will give it to you." at that time, our people's house was beside the water course. the god said, "why do you sit there in the mud? go up yonder where it is dry." so they went across to the west side of the mesa near the point and built a house and lived there. again when the old men assembled two demons came among them, but the old men took the great baho and chased them away. other hopi (hopituh) came into this country from time to time and old people said, "build here," or "build there," and portioned the land among the newcomers. the migration of the water people walpi (arizona) in the long ago, the snake, horn, and eagle people lived here (in tusayan) but their corn grew only a span high and when they sang for rain, the cloud god sent only a thin mist. my people lived then in the distant pa-lat kwa-bi in the south. there was a very bad old man there. when he met any one he would spit in their faces.... he did all manner of evil. baholihonga got angry at this and turned the world upside down. water spouted up through the kivas and through the fire places in the houses. the earth was rent in great chasms, and water covered everything except one narrow ridge of mud. across this the serpent-god told all the people to travel. as they journeyed across, the feet of the bad slipped and they fell into the dark water. the good people, after many days, reached dry land. while the water was rising around the village, the old people got on top of the houses. they thought they could not struggle across with the younger people. but baholihonga clothed them with the skins of turkeys. they spread their wings out and floated in the air just above the surface of the water, and in this way they got across. there were saved of us, the water people, the corn people, the lizard, horned-toad, and sand peoples, two families of rabbit, and the tobacco people. the turkey tail dragged in the water. that is why there is white on the turkey's tail now. this is also the reason why old people use turkey-feathers at the religious ceremonies. coyote and the mesquite beans pima (arizona) after the waters of the flood had gone down, elder brother said to coyote, "do not touch that black bug; and do not eat the mesquite beans. it is dangerous to harm anything that came safe through the flood." so coyote went on, but presently he came to the black bug. he stopped and ate it up. then he went on to the mesquite beans. he stopped and looked at them a while, and then said, "i will just taste one and that will be all." but he stood there and ate and ate until he had eaten them all up. and the bug and the beans swelled up in his stomach and killed him. origin of the sierra nevadas and coast range yokuts (near fresno, cal.) once there was a time when there was nothing in the world but water. about the place where tulare lake is now, there was a pole standing far up out of the water, and on this pole perched hawk and crow. first hawk would sit on the pole a while, then crow would knock him off and sit on it himself. thus they sat on the top of the pole above the water for many ages. at last they created the birds which prey on fish. they created kingfisher, eagle, pelican, and others. they created also duck. duck was very small but she dived to the bottom of the water, took a beakful of mud, and then died in coming to the top of the water. duck lay dead floating on the water. then hawk and crow took the mud from duck's beak, and began making the mountains. they began at the place now known as ta-hi-cha-pa pass, and hawk made the east range. crow made the west one. they pushed the mud down hard into the water and then piled it high. they worked toward the north. at last hawk and crow met at mount shasta. then their work was done. but when they looked at their mountains, crow's range was much larger than hawk's. hawk said to crow, "how did this happen, you rascal? you have been stealing earth from my bill. that is why your mountains are the biggest." crow laughed. then hawk chewed some indian tobacco. that made him wise. at once he took hold of the mountains and turned them around almost in a circle. he put his range where crow's had been. that is why the sierra nevada range is larger than the coast range. yosemite valley (explanatory) ( ) mr. stephen powers claims that there is no such word in the miwok language as yosemite. the valley has always been known to them, and is to this day, when speaking among themselves, as a-wa'-ni. this, it is true, is only the name of one of the ancient villages which it contained; but by prominence it gave its name to the valley, and in accordance with indian usage almost everywhere, to the inhabitants of the same. the word yosemite is simply a very beautiful and sonorous corruption of the word for grizzly bear. on the stanislaus and north of it, the word is u-zu'-mai-ti; at little gap, o-so'-mai-ti; in yosemite itself, u-zu'-mai-ti; on the south fork of the merced, uh-zu'-mai-tuh.... "in the following list, the signification of the name is given whenever there is any known to the indians: "wa-kal'-la (the river), merced river. "lung-u-tu-ku'-ya, ribbon fall. "po'-ho-no, po-ho'-no (though the first is probably the more correct), bridal-veil fall.... this word is said to signify 'evil wind.' the only 'evil wind' that an indian knows of is a whirlwind, which is poi-i'-cha or kan'-u-ma. "tu-tok-a-nu'-la, el capitan. 'measuring-worm stone.' [legend is given elsewhere.] "ko-su'-ko, cathedral rock. "pu-si'-na, and chuk'-ka (the squirrel and the acorn-cache), a tall, sharp needle, with a smaller one at its base, just east of cathedral rock.... the savages... imagined here a squirrel nibbling at the base of an acorn granary. "loi'-a, sentinel rock. "sak'-ka-du-eh, sentinel dome. "cho'-lok (the fall), yosemite fall. this is the generic word for 'fall.' "ma'-ta (the canon), indian canon. a generic word, in explaining which the indians hold up both hands to denote perpendicular walls. "ham'-mo-ko (usually contracted to ham'-moak),... broken debris lying at the foot of the walls. "u-zu'-mai-ti la'-wa-tuh (grizzly bear skin), glacier rock... from the grayish, grizzled appearance of the wall. "cho-ko-nip'-o-deh (baby-basket), royal arches. this... canopy-rock bears no little resemblance to an indian baby-basket. another form is cho-ko'-ni,... literally... 'dog-house.' "pai-wai'-ak (white water?), vernal fall. "yo-wai-yi, nevada fall. in this word is detected the root of awaia, 'a lake' or body of water. "tis-se'-yak, south dome. [see legend elsewhere.] "to-ko'-ye, north dome, husband of tisseyak. [see legend elsewhere.] "shun'-ta, hun'-ta (the eye), watching eye. "a-wai'-a (a lake), mirror lake. "sa-wah' (a gap), a name occurring frequently. "wa-ha'-ka, a village which stood at the base of three brothers; also the rock itself. this was the westernmost village in the valley. "there were nine villages in yosemite valley and... formerly others extending as far down as the bridal veil fall, which were destroyed in wars that occurred before the whites came." ( ) the explanation given above is that made by mr. stephen powers, in vol. , u. s. geographical and geological survey of the rocky mountain region, part , contributions to north american ethnology, . legend of tu-tok-a-nu'-la (el capitan) yosemite valley here were once two little boys living in the valley who went down to the river to swim. after paddling and splashing about to their hearts' content, they went on shore and crept up on a huge boulder which stood beside the water. they lay down in the warm sunshine to dry themselves, but fell asleep. they slept so soundly that they knew nothing, though the great boulder grew day by day, and rose night by night, until it lifted them up beyond the sight of their tribe, who looked for them everywhere. the rock grew until the boys were lifted high into the heaven, even far up above the blue sky, until they scraped their faces against the moon. and still, year after year, among the clouds they slept. then there was held a great council of all the animals to bring the boys down from the top of the great rock. every animal leaped as high as he could up the face of the rocky wall. mouse could only jump as high as one's hand; rat, twice as high. then raccoon tried; he could jump a little farther. one after another of the animals tried, and grizzly bear made a great leap far up the wall, but fell back. last of all lion tried, and he jumped farther than any other animal, but fell down upon his back. then came tiny measuring-worm, and began to creep up the rock. soon he reached as high as raccoon had jumped, then as high as bear, then as high as lion's leap, and by and by he was out of sight, climbing up the face of the rock. for one whole snow, measuring-worm climbed the rock, and at last he reached the top. then he wakened the boys, and came down the same way he went up, and brought them down safely to the ground. therefore the rock is called tutokanula, the measuring worm. but white men call it el capitan. legend of tis-se'-yak (south dome and north dome) yosemite valley tisseyak and her husband journeyed from a country very far off, and entered the valley of the yosemite foot-sore from travel. she bore a great heavy conical basket, strapped across her head. tisseyak came first. her husband followed with a rude staff and a light roll of skins on his back. they were thirsty after their long journey across the mountains. they hurried forward to drink of the waters, and the woman was still in advance when she reached lake awaia. then she dipped up the water in her basket and drank of it. she drank up all the water. the lake was dry before her husband reached it. and because the woman drank all the water, there came a drought. the earth dried tip. there was no grass, nor any green thing. but the man was angry because he had no water to drink. he beat the woman with his staff and she fled, but he followed and beat her even more. then the woman wept. in her anger she turned and flung her basket at the man. and even then they were changed into stone. the woman's basket lies upturned beside the man. the woman's face is tear-stained, with long dark lines trailing down. south dome is the woman and north dome is the husband. the indian woman cuts her hair straight across the forehead, and allows the sides to drop along her cheeks, forming a square face. historic tradition of the upper tuolumne yosemite valley (as given by mr. stephen powers, .)( ) there is a lake-like expansion of the upper tuolumne some four miles long and from a half mile to a mile wide, directly north of hatchatchie valley (erroneously spelled hetch hetchy). it appears to have no name among americans, but the indians call it o-wai-a-nuh, which is manifestly a dialectic variation of a-wai'-a, the generic word for "lake." nat. screech, a veteran mountaineer and hunter, states that he visited this region in , and at that time there was a valley along the river having the same dimensions that this lake now has. again, in , he happened to pass that way and discovered that the lake had been formed as it now exists. he was at a loss to account for its origin; but subsequently he acquired the miwok language as spoken at little gap, and while listening to the indians one day he overheard them casually refer to the formation of this lake in an extraordinary manner. on being questioned they stated that there had been a tremendous cataclysm in that valley, the bottom of it having fallen out apparently, whereby the entire valley was submerged in the waters of the river. as nearly as he could ascertain from their imperfect methods of reckoning time, this occurred in ; and in that year, while in the town of sonora, screech and many others remembered to have heard a huge explosion in that direction which they then supposed was caused by a local earthquake. on drew's ranch, middle fork of the tuolumne, lives an aged squaw called dish-i, who was in the valley when this remarkable event occurred. according to her account the earth dropped in beneath their feet, and waters of the river leaped up and came rushing upon them in a vast, roaring flood, almost perpendicular like a wall of rock. at first the indians were stricken dumb, and motionless with terror, but when they saw the waters coming, they escaped for life, though thirty or forty were overtaken and drowned. another squaw named isabel says that the stubs of trees, which are still plainly visible deep down in the pellucid waters, are considered by the old superstitious indians to be evil spirits, the demons of the place, reaching up their arms, and that they fear them greatly. ( ) (vol. , part , u. s. geographical and geological survey of the rocky mountain region: contributions to north american ethnology, .) california big trees pai utes (near kern river, cal.) the california big trees are sacred to the monos, who call them "woh-woh-nau," a word formed in imitation of the hoot of the owl. the owl is the guardian spirit and the god of the big trees. bad luck comes to those who cut down the big trees, or shoot at an owl, or shoot in the presence of the owl. in old days the indians tried to persuade the white men not to cut down the big trees. when they see the trees cut down they call after the white men. they say the owl will bring them evil. the children of cloud pima (arizona) when the hohokam dwelt on the gila river and tilled their farms around the great temple which we call casa grande, there was a beautiful young woman in the pueblo who had two twin sons. their father was cloud, and he lived far away. one day the boys came to their mother, as she was weaving mats. "who is. our father?" they asked. "we have no one to run to when he returns from the hunt, or from war, to shout to him." the mother answered: "in the morning, look toward the sunrise and you will see a white cloud standing upright. he is your father." "can we visit our father?" they asked. "yes," said their mother. "you may visit him, but you must make the journey without stopping. first you will reach wind, who is your father's eldest brother. behind him you will find your father." the boys travelled four days and came to the house of wind. "are you our father?" they asked. "no, i am your uncle," answered wind." your father lives in the next house. go on to him." they travelled on to cloud. but cloud drove them away. he said, "go to your uncle wind. he will tell you something." but wind sent them back to cloud again. thus the boys were driven away from each house four times. then cloud said to them, "prove to me you are my sons. if you are, you can do what i do." the younger boy sent chain lightning across the sky with sharp, crackling thunder. the elder boy sent the heat lightning with its distant rumble of thunder. "you are my children," said cloud. "you have power like mine." but again he tested them. he took them to a house near by where a flood of rain had drowned the people. "if i they are my sons," he said, "they will not be harmed." then cloud sent the rain and the storm. the water rose higher and higher, but the two boys were not harmed. the water could not drown them. then cloud took them to his home and there they stayed a long, long time. but after a long time, the boys wished to see their mother again. then cloud made them some bows and arrows differing from any they had ever seen, and sent them to their mother. he told them he would watch over them as they travelled but they must speak to no one they met on their way. so the boys travelled to the setting sun. first they met raven. they remembered their father's command and turned aside so as not to meet him. then they met roadrunner, and turned aside to avoid him. next came hawk and eagle. eagle said, "let's scare those boys." so he swooped down over their heads until they cried from fright. "we were just teasing you," said eagle. "we will not do you any harm." then eagle flew on. next they met coyote. they tried to avoid him, but coyote ran around and put himself in their way. cloud was watching and he sent down thunder and lightning. and the boys sent out their magic thunder and lightning also, until coyote was frightened and ran away. now this happened on the mountain top, and one boy was standing on each side of the trail. after coyote ran away, they were changed into mescal --the very largest mescal ever known. the place was near tucson. this is the reason why mescal grows on the mountains, and why thunder and lightning go from place to place--because the children did. that is why it rains when we gather mescal. the cloud people sia (new mexico) now all the cloud people, the lightning people, the thunder and rainbow peoples followed the sia into the upper world. but all the people of tinia, the middle world, did not leave the lower world. only a portion were sent by the spider to work for the people of the upper world. the cloud people are so many that, although the demands of the earth people are so great, there are always many passing about over tinia for pleasure. these cloud people ride on wheels, small wheels being used by the little cloud children and large wheels by the older ones. ( ) the cloud people keep always behind their masks. the shape of the mask depends upon the number of the people and the work being done. the henati are the floating white clouds behind which the cloud people pass for pleasure. the heash are clouds like the plains and behind these the cloud people are laboring to water the earth. water is brought by the cloud people, from the springs at the base of the mountains, in gourds and jugs and vases by the men, women, and children. they rise from the springs and pass through the trunk of the tree to its top, which reaches tinia. they pass on to the point to be sprinkled. the priest of the cloud people is above even the priests of the thunder, lightning, and rainbow peoples. the cloud people have ceremonials, just like those of the sia. on the altars of the sia may be seen figures arranged just as the cloud people sit in their ceremonials. when a priest of the cloud people wishes assistance from the thunder and lightning peoples, he notifies their priests, but keeps a supervision of all things himself. then the lightning people shoot their arrows to make it rain the harder. the smaller flashes come from the bows of the children. the thunder people have human forms, with wings of knives, and by flapping these wings they make a great noise. thus they frighten the cloud and lightning people into working the harder. the rainbow people were created to work in tinia to make it more beautiful for the people of ha-arts, the earth, to look upon. the elders make the beautiful rainbows, but the children assist. the sia have no idea of what or how these bows are made. they do know, however, that war heroes always travel upon the rainbows. ( ) the indians say the americans also ride wheels, therefore they must have known about the cloud people. rain song sia (new mexico) we, the ancient ones, ascended from the middle of the world below, through the door of the entrance to the lower world, we hold our songs to the cloud, lightning, and thunder peoples as we hold our own hearts. our medicine is precious. (addressing the people of tinia:) we entreat you to send your thoughts to us so that we may sing your songs straight, so that they will pass over the straight road to the cloud priests that they may cover the earth with water, so that she may bear all that is good for us. lightning people, send your arrows to the middle of the earth. hear the echo! who is it? the people of the spruce of the north. all your people and your thoughts come to us. who is it? people of the white floating clouds. your thoughts come to us. all your people and your thoughts come to us. who is it? the lightning people. your thoughts come to us. who is it? cloud people at the horizon. all your people and your thoughts come to us. rain song white floating clouds. clouds, like the plains, come and water the earth. sun, embrace the earth that she may be fruitful. moon, lion of the north, bear of the west, badger of the south, wolf of the east, eagle of the heavens, shrew of the earth, elder war hero, younger war hero, warriors of the six mountains of the world, intercede with the cloud people for us that they may water the earth. medicine bowl, cloud bowl, and water vase give us your hearts, that the earth may be watered. i make the ancient road of meal that my song may pass straight over it-- the ancient road. white shell bead woman who lives where the sun goes down, mother whirlwind, father sussistinnako, mother yaya, creator of good thoughts, yellow woman of the north, blue woman of the west, red woman of the south, white woman of the east, slightly yellow woman of the zenith, and dark woman of the nadir, i ask your intercession with the cloud people. rain song sia (new mexico) let the white floating clouds--the clouds like the plains--the lightning, thunder, rainbow, and cloud peoples, water the earth. let the people of the white floating clouds,--the people of the clouds like the plains--the lightning, thunder, rain bow, and cloud peoples--come and work for us, and water the earth. the corn maidens zuni (new mexico) after long ages of wandering, the precious seed-things rested over the middle at zuni, and men turned their hearts to the cherishing of their corn and the corn maidens instead of warring with strange men. but there was complaint by the people of the customs followed. some said the music was not that of the olden time. far better was that which of nights they often heard as they wandered up and down the river trail. ( ) wonderful music, as of liquid voices in caverns, or the echo of women's laughter in water-vases. and the music was timed with a deep-toned drum from the mountain of thunder. others thought the music was that of the ghosts of ancient men, but it was far more beautiful than the music when danced the corn maidens. others said light clouds rolled upward from the grotto in thunder mountain like to the mists that leave behind them the dew, but lo! even as they faded the bright garments of the rainbow women might be seen fluttering, and the broidery and paintings of these dancers of the mist were more beautiful than the costumes of the corn maidens. then the priests of the people said, "it may well be paiyatuma, the liquid voices his flute and the flutes of his players." now when the time of ripening corn was near, the fathers ordered preparation for the dance of the corn maidens. they sent the two master-priests of the bow to the grotto at thunder mountains, saying, "if you behold paiyatuma, and his maidens, perhaps they will give us the help of their customs." then up the river trail, the priests heard the sound of a drum and strains of song. it was paiyatuma and his seven maidens, the maidens of the house of stars, sisters of the corn maidens. the god of dawn and music lifted his flute and took his place in the line of dancers. the drum sounded until the cavern shook as with thunder. the flutes sang and sighed as the wind in a wooded canon while still the storm is distant. white mists floated up from the wands of the maidens, above which fluttered the butterflies of summer-land about the dress of the rainbows in the strange blue light of the night. then paiyatuma, smiling, said, "go the way before, telling the fathers of our custom, and straightway we will follow." soon the sound of music was heard, coming from up the river, and soon the flute people and singers and maidens of the flute dance. up rose the fathers and all the watching people, greeting the god of dawn with outstretched hand and offering of prayer meal. then the singers took their places and sounded their drum, flutes, and song of clear waters, while the maidens of the dew danced their flute dance. greatly marvelled the people, when from the wands they bore forth came white clouds, and fine cool mists descended. now when the dance was ended and the dew maidens had retired, out came the beautiful mothers of corn. and when the players of the flutes saw them, they were enamoured of their beauty and gazed upon them so intently that the maidens let fall their hair and cast down their eyes. and jealous and bolder grew the mortal youths, and in the morning dawn, in rivalry, the dancers sought all too freely the presence of the corn maidens, no longer holding them so precious as in the olden time. and the matrons, intent on the new dance, heeded naught else. but behold! the mists increased greatly, surrounding dancers and watchers alike, until within them, the maidens of corn, all in white garments, became invisible. then sadly and noiselessly they stole in amongst the people and laid their corn wands down amongst the trays, and laid their white broidered garments thereupon, as mothers lay soft kilting over their babes. then even as the mists became they, and with the mists drifting, fled away, to the far south summer-land. ( ) the mists and the dawn breeze on the river and in the grotto. the search for the corn maidens zuni (new mexico) then the people in their trouble called the two master-priests and said: "who, now, think ye, should journey to seek our precious maidens? bethink ye! who amongst the beings is even as ye are, strong of will and good of eyes? there is our great elder brother and father, eagle, he of the floating down and of the terraced tail-fan. surely he is enduring of will and surpassing of sight." "yea. most surely," said the fathers. "go ye forth and beseech him." then the two sped north to twin mountain, where in a grotto high up among the crags, with his mate and his young, dwelt the eagle of the white bonnet. they climbed the mountain, but behold! only the eaglets were there. they screamed lustily and tried to hide themselves in the dark recesses. "pull not our feathers, ye of hurtful touch, but wait. when we are older we will drop them for you even from the clouds." "hush," said the warriors. "wait in peace. we seek not ye but thy father." then from afar, with a frown, came old eagle. "why disturb ye my featherlings?" he cried. "behold! father and elder brother, we come seeking only the light of thy favor. listen!" then they told him of the lost maidens of the corn, and begged him to search for them. "be it well with thy wishes," said eagle. "go ye before contentedly." so the warriors returned to the council. but eagle winged his way high into the sky. high, high, he rose, until he circled among the clouds, small-seeming and swift, like seed-down in a whirlwind. through all the heights, to the north, to the west, to the south, and to the east, he circled and sailed. yet nowhere saw he trace of the corn maidens. then he flew lower, returning. before the warriors were rested, people heard the roar of his wings. as he alighted, the fathers said, "enter thou and sit, oh brother, and say to us what thou hast to say." and they offered him the cigarette of the space relations. when they had puffed the smoke toward the four points of the compass, and eagle had purified his breath with smoke, and had blown smoke over sacred things, he spoke. "far have i journeyed, scanning all the regions. neither bluebird nor woodrat can hide from my seeing," he said, snapping his beak. "neither of them, unless they hide under bushes. yet i have failed to see anything of the maidens ye seek for. send for my younger brother, the falcon. strong of flight is he, yet not so strong as i, and nearer the ground he takes his way ere sunrise." then the eagle spread his wings and flew away to twin mountain. the warrior-priests of the bow sped again fleetly over the plain to the westward for his younger brother, falcon. sitting on an ant hill, so the warriors found falcon. he paused as they approached, crying, "if ye have snare strings, i will be off like the flight of an arrow well plumed of our feathers!" "no," said the priests. "thy elder brother hath bidden us seek thee." then they told falcon what had happened, and how eagle had failed to find the corn maidens, so white and beautiful. "failed!" said falcon. "of course he failed. he climbs aloft to the clouds and thinks he can see under every bush and into every shadow, as sees the sunfather who sees not with eyes. go ye before." before the warrior-priests had turned toward the town, the falcon had spread his sharp wings and was skimming off over the tops of the trees and bushes as though verily seeking for field mice or birds' nests. and the warriors returned to tell the fathers and to await his coming. but after falcon had searched over the world, to the north and west, to the east and south, he too returned and was received as had been eagle. he settled on the edge of a tray before the altar, as on the ant hill he settles today. when he had smoked and had been smoked, as had been eagle, he told the sorrowing fathers and mothers that he had looked behind every copse and cliff shadow, but of the maidens he had found no trace. "they are hidden more closely than ever sparrow hid," he said. then he, too, flew away to his hills in the west. "our beautiful maiden mothers," cried the matrons. "lost, lost as the dead are they!" "yes," said the others. "where now shall we seek them? the far-seeing eagle and the close-searching falcon alike have failed to find them." "stay now your feet with patience," said the fathers. some of them had heard raven, who sought food in the refuse and dirt at the edge of town, at daybreak. "look now," they said. "there is heavy-nose, whose beak never fails to find the substance of seed itself, however little or well hidden it be. he surely must know of the corn maidens. let us call him." so the warriors went to the river side. when they found raven, they raised their hands, all weaponless. "we carry no pricking quills," they called. "blackbanded father, we seek your aid. look now! the mother-maidens of seed whose substance is the food alike of thy people and our people, have fled away. neither our grandfather the eagle, nor his younger brother the falcon, can trace them. we beg you to aid us or counsel us." "ka! ka!" cried the raven. "too hungry am i to go abroad fasting on business for ye. ye are stingy! here have i been since perching time, trying to find a throatful, but ye pick thy bones and lick thy bowls too clean for that, be sure." "come in, then, poor grandfather. we will give thee food to cat. yea, and a cigarette to smoke, with all the ceremony." "say ye so?" said the raven. he ruffled his collar and opened his mouth so wide with a lusty kaw-la-ka--that he might well have swallowed his own head. "go ye before," he said, and followed them into the court of the dancers. he was not ill to look upon. upon his shoulders were bands of white cotton, and his back was blue, gleaming like the hair of a maiden dancer in the sunlight. the master-priest greeted raven, bidding him sit and smoke. "ha! there is corn in this, else why the stalk of it?" said the raven, when he took the cane cigarette of the far spaces and noticed the joint of it. then he did as he had seen the master-priest do, only more greedily. he sucked in such a throatful of the smoke, fire and all, that it almost strangled him. he coughed and grew giddy, and the smoke all hot and stinging went through every part of him. it filled all his feathers, making even his brown eyes bluer and blacker, in rings. it is not to be wondered at, the blueness of flesh, blackness of dress, and skinniness, yes, and tearfulness of eye which we see in the raven to-day. and they are all as greedy of corn food as ever, for behold! no sooner had the old raven recovered than he espied one of the ears of corn half hidden under the mantle-covers of the trays. he leaped from his place laughing. they always laugh when they find anything, these ravens. then he caught up the ear of corn and made off with it over the heads of the people and the tops of the houses, crying. "ha! ha! in this wise and in no other will ye find thy seed maidens." but after a while he came back, saying, "a sharp eye have i for the flesh of the maidens. but who might see their breathing-beings, ye dolts, except by the help of the father of dawn-mist himself, whose breath makes breath of others seem as itself." then he flew away cawing. then the elders said to each other, "it is our fault, so how dare we prevail on our father paiyatuma to aid us? he warned us of this in the old time." suddenly, for the sun was rising, they heard paiyatuma in his daylight mood and transformation. thoughtless and loud, uncouth in speech, he walked along the outskirts of the village. he joked fearlessly even of fearful things, for all his words and deeds were the reverse of his sacred being. he sat down on a heap of vile refuse, saying he would have a feast. "my poor little children," he said. but he spoke to aged priests and white-haired matrons. "good-night to you all," he said, though it was in full dawning. so he perplexed them with his speeches. "we beseech thy favor, oh father, and thy aid, in finding our beautiful maidens." so the priests mourned. "oh, that is all, is it? but why find that which is not lost, or summon those who will not come?" then he reproached them for not preparing the sacred plumes, and picked up the very plumes he had said were not there. then the wise pekwinna, the speaker of the sun, took two plumes and the banded wing-tips of the turkey, and approaching paiyatuma stroked him with the tips of the feathers and then laid the feathers upon his lips.... then paiyatuma became aged and grand and straight, as is a tall tree shorn by lightning. he said to the father: "thou are wise of thought and good of heart. therefore i will summon from summer-land the beautiful maidens that ye may look upon them once more and make offering of plumes in sacrifice for them, but they are lost as dwellers amongst ye." then he told them of the song lines and the sacred speeches and of the offering of the sacred plume wands, and then turned him about and sped away so fleetly that none saw him. beyond the first valley of the high plain to the southward paiyatuma planted the four plume wands. first he planted the yellow, bending over it and watching it. when it ceased to flutter, the soft down on it leaned northward but moved not. then he set the blue wand and watched it; then the white wand. the eagle down on them leaned to right and left and still northward, yet moved not. then farther on he planted the red wand, and bending low, without breathing, watched it closely. the soft down plumes began to wave as though blown by the breath of some small creature. backward and forward, northward and southward they swayed, as if in time to the breath of one resting. "'t is the breath of my maidens in summer-land, for the plumes of the southland sway soft to their gentle breathing. so shall it ever be. when i set the down of my mists on the plains and scatter my bright beads in the northland( ), summer shall go thither from afar, borne on the breath of the seed maidens. where they breathe, warmth, showers, and fertility shall follow with the birds of summer-land, and the butterflies, northward over the world." then paiyatuma arose and sped by the magic of his knowledge into the countries of summer-land,--fled swiftly and silently as the soft breath he sought for, bearing his painted flute before him. and when he paused to rest, he played on his painted flute and the butterflies and birds sought him. so he sent them to seek the maidens, following swiftly, and long before he found them he greeted them with the music of his songsound, even as the people of the seed now greet them in the song of the dancers. when the maidens heard his music and saw his tall form in their great fields of corn, they plucked ears, each of her own kind, and with them filled their colored trays and over all spread embroidered mantles,--embroidered in all the bright colors and with the creature-songs of summer-land. so they sallied forth to meet him and welcome him. then he greeted them, each with the touch of his hands and the breath of his flute, and bade them follow him to the northland home of their deserted children. so by the magic of their knowledge they sped back as the stars speed over the world at night time, toward the home of our ancients. only at night and dawn they journeyed, as the dead do, and the stars also. so they came at evening in the full of the last moon to the place of the middle, bearing their trays of seed. glorious was paiyatuma, as he walked into the courts of the dancers in the dusk of the evening and stood with folded arms at the foot of the bow-fringed ladder of priestly council, he and his follower shutsukya. he was tall and beautiful and banded with his own mists, and carried the banded wings of the turkeys with which he had winged his flight from afar, leading the maidens, and followed as by his own shadow by the black being of the corn-soot, shutsukya, who cries with the voice of the frost wind when the corn has grown aged and the harvest is taken away. and surpassingly beautiful were the maidens clothed in the white cotton and embroidered garments of summer-land. then after long praying and chanting by the priests, the fathers of the people, and those of the seed and water, and the keepers of sacred things, the maiden-mother of the north advanced to the foot of the ladder. she lifted from her head the beautiful tray of yellow corn and paiyatama took it. he pointed it to the regions, each in turn, and the priest of the north came and received the tray of sacred seed. then the maiden of the west advanced and gave up her tray of blue corn. so each in turn the maidens gave up their trays of precious seed. the maiden of the south, the red seed; the maiden of the east, the white seed; then the maiden with the black seed, and lastly, the tray of all-color seed which the priestess of seed-and-all herself received. and now, behold! the maidens stood as before, she of the north at the northern end, but with her face southward far looking; she of the west, next, and lo! so all of them, with the seventh and last, looking southward. and standing thus, the darkness of the night fell around them. as shadows in deep night, so these maidens of the seed of corn, the beloved and beautiful, were seen no more of men. and paiyatuma stood alone, for shutsukya walked now behind the maidens, whistling shrilly, as the frost wind whistles when the corn is gathered away, among the lone canes and dry leaves of a gleaned field. ( ) dew drops. hasjelti and hostjoghon navajo (new mexico) hasjelti was the son of the white corn, and hostjoghon the son of the yellow corn. they were born on the mountains where the fogs meet. these two became the great song-makers of the world. to the mountain where they were born (henry mountain, utah), they gave two songs and two prayers. then they went to sierra blanca (colorado) and made two songs and prayers and dressed the mountain in clothing of white shell with two eagle plumes upon its head. they visited san mateo mountain (new mexico) and gave to it two songs and prayers, and dressed it in turquoise, even to leggings and moccasins, and placed two eagle plumes upon its head. then they went to san francisco mountain (arizona) and made two songs and prayers and dressed that mountain in abalone shells with two eagle plumes upon its head. they then visited ute mountain and gave to it two songs and prayers and dressed it in black beads. then they returned to their own mountain where the fogs meet and said, "we two have made all these songs." other brothers were born of the white corn and yellow corn, and two brothers were placed on each mountain. they are the spirits of the mountains and to them the clouds come first. all the brothers together made game, the deer and elk and buffalo, and so game was created. navajos pray for rain and snow to hasjelti and hostjoghon. they stand upon the mountain tops and call the clouds to gather around them. hasjelti prays to the sun, for the navajos. "father, give me the light of your mind that my mind may be strong. give me your strength, that my arm may be strong. give me your rays, that corn and other vegetation may grow." the most important prayers are addressed to hasjelti and the most valuable gifts made to him. he talks to the navajos through the birds, and for this reason the choicest feathers and plumes are placed in the cigarettes and attached to the prayer sticks offered to him. the song-hunter navajo (new mexico) a man sat thinking. "let me see. my songs are too short. i want more songs. where shall i go to find them?" hasjelti appeared and perceiving his thoughts, said, "i know where you can get more songs." "well, i want to get more. so i will follow you." they went to a certain point in a box canon in the big colorado river and here they found four gods, the hostjobokon, at work, hewing cottonwood logs. hasjelti said, "this will not do. cottonwood becomes water-soaked. you must use pine instead of cottonwood." the hostjobokon began boring the pine with flint, but hasjelti said, "that is slow work." he commanded a whirlwind to hollow the log. a cross, joining at the exact middle of each log, a solid one and the hollow one, was formed. the arms of the cross were equal. the song-hunter entered the hollow log and hasjelti closed the end with a cloud so that water would not enter when the logs were launched upon the great waters. the logs floated off. the hostjobokon, accompanied by their wives, rode upon the logs, one couple sitting upon each arm. hasjelti, hostjoghon, and the two naaskiddi walked upon the banks to keep the logs off shore. hasjelti carried a squirrel skin filled with tobacco, with which to supply the gods on their journey. hostjoghon carried a staff ornamented with eagle and turkey plumes and a gaming ring with two humming birds tied to it with white cotton cord. the two naaskiddi carried staffs of lightning. the naaskiddi had clouds upon their backs in which the seeds of all corn and grasses were carried. after floating a long distance down the river, they came to waters that had a shore on one side only. here they landed. here they found a people like themselves. when these people learned of the song-hunter, they gave him many songs and they painted pictures on a cotton blanket and said, "these pictures must go with the songs. if we give this blanket to you, you will lose it. we will give you white earth and black coals which you will grind together to make black paint, and we will give you white sand, yellow sand, and red sand. for the blue paint you will take white sand and black coals with a very little red and yellow sand. these will give you blue." and so the navajo people make blue, even to this day. the song-hunter remained with these people until the corn was ripe. there he learned to eat corn and he carried some back with him to the navajos, who had not seen corn before, and he taught them how to raise it and how to eat it. when he wished to return home, the logs would not float upstream. four sunbeams attached themselves to the logs, one to each cross arm, and so drew the song-hunter back to the box canon from which he had started. when he reached that point, he separated the logs. he placed the end of the solid log into the hollow end of the other and planted this great pole in the river. it may be seen there to-day by the venturesome. in early days many went there to pray and make offerings. sand painting of the song-hunter navajo (explanatory of frontispiece) the black cross bars denote pine logs; the white lines the froth of the water; the yellow, vegetable debris gathered by the logs; the blue and red lines, sunbeams. the blue spot in the centre of the cross denotes water. there are four hostjobokon, with their wives, the hostjoboard. each couple sits upon one of the cross arms of the logs. the gods carry in their right hands a rattle, and in their left sprigs of pinon; the goddesses carry pinon sprigs in both hands. hasjelti is to the east of the painting. he carries a squirrel skin filled with tobacco. his shirt is white cotton and very elastic. the leggings are of white deerskin, fringed, and his head is ornamented with an eagle's tail; at the tip of each plume there is a fluffy feather from the breast of the eagle. the projection on the right of the throat is a fox skin. hostjoghon is at the west. his shirt is invisible, the dark being the dark of the body. his staff is colored black from a charred plant. two strips of beaver skin tipped with six quills of the porcupine are attached to the right of the throat. the four colored stars on the body are bead ornaments. the top of the staff is ornamented with a turkey's tail. eagle and turkey plumes are alternately attached to the staff. the naaskiddi are north and south of the painting. they carry staffs of lightning ornamented with eagle plumes and sunbeams. their bodies are nude except the loin skirt. the hunch upon the back is a black cloud and the three groups of white lines indicate corn and other seeds. five eagle plumes are attached to the cloud-back, since eagles live among the clouds. the body is surrounded by sunlight. the lines of blue and red which border the cloud-back denote sunbeams penetrating storm clouds. the black circle zig-zagged with white around the head is a cloud basket filled with corn and seeds of grass. on each side of the head are five feathers of the red-shafted flicker. the rainbow goddess, upon which these gods often travel, partly encircles and completes the picture. these sand pictures are drawn upon common yellow sand, brought in blankets and laid in squares about three inches thick and four feet in diameter. the colors used in decoration were yellow, red, and white, secured from sand stones, black from charcoal, and a grayish blue made from white sand and charcoal mixed with a very small quantity of yellow and red sands. (from eighth annual report of the bureau of ethnology, abridged from description of james stevenson.) the guiding duck and the lake of death zuni (new mexico) now k-yak-lu, the all-hearing and wise of speech, all alone had been journeying afar in the north land of cold and white loneliness. he was lost, for the world in which he wandered was buried in the snow which lies spread there forever. so cold he was that his face became wan and white from the frozen mists of his own breath, white as become all creatures who dwell there. so cold at night and dreary of heart, so lost by day and blinded by the light was he that he wept, and died of heart and became transformed as are the gods. yet his lips called continually and his voice grew shrill and dry-sounding, like the voice of far-flying water-fowl. as he cried, wandering blindly, the water birds flocking around him peered curiously at him, calling meanwhile to their comrades. but wise though he was of all speeches, and their meanings plain to him, yet none told him the way to his country and people. now the duck heard his cry and it was like her own. she was of all regions the traveller and searcher, knowing all the ways, whether above or below the waters, whether in the north, the west, the south, or the east, and was the most knowing of all creatures. thus the wisdom of the one understood the knowledge of the other. and the all-wise cried to her, "the mountains are white and the valleys; all plains are like others in whiteness, and even the light of our father the sun, makes all ways more hidden of whiteness! in brightness my eyes see but darkness." the duck answered: "think no longer sad thoughts. thou hearest all as i see all. give me tinkling shells from thy girdle and place them on my neck and in my beak. i may guide thee with my seeing if thou hear and follow my trail. well i know the way to thy country. each year i lead thither the wild geese and the cranes who flee there as winter follows." so the all-wise placed his talking shells on the neck of the duck, and the singing shells in her beak, and though painfully and lamely, yet he followed the sound she made with the shells. from place to place with swift flight she sped, then awaiting him, ducking her head that the shells might call loudly. by and by they came to the country of thick rains and mists on the borders of the snow world, and passed from water to water, until wider water lay in their path. in vain the duck called and jingled the shells from the midst of the waters. k-yak-lu could neither swim nor fly as could the duck. now the rainbow-worm was near in that land of mists and waters and he heard the sound of the sacred shells. "these be my grandchildren," he said, and called, "why mourn ye? give me plumes of the spaces. i will bear you on my shoulders." then the all-wise took two of the lightest plumewands, and the duck her two strong feathers. and he fastened them together and breathed on them while the rainbow-worm drew near. the rainbow unbent himself that k-yak-lu might mount, then he arched himself high among the clouds. like an arrow he straightened himself forward, and followed until his face looked into the lake of the ancients. and there the all-wise descended, and sat there alone, in the plain beyond the mountains. the duck had spread her wings in flight to the south to take counsel of the gods. then the duck, even as the gods had directed, prepared a litter of poles and reeds, and before the morning came, with the litter they went, singing a quaint and pleasant song, down the northern plain. and when they found the all-wise, he looked upon them in the starlight and wept. but the father of the gods stood over him and chanted the sad dirge rite. then k-yak-lu sat down in the great soft litter they bore for him. they lifted it upon their shoulders, bearing it lightly, singing loudly as they went, to the shores of the deep black lake, where gleamed from the middle the lights of the dead. out over the magic ladder of rushes and canes which reared itself over the water, they bore him. and k-yak-lu, scattering sacred prayer meal before him, stepped down the way, slowly, like a blind man. no sooner had he taken four steps than the ladder lowered into the deep. and the all-wise entered the council room of the gods. the gods sent out their runners, to summon all beings, and called in dancers for the dance of good. and with these came the little ones who had sunk beneath the waters, well and beautiful and all seemingly clad in cotton mantles and precious neck jewels. the boy who became a god navajo (new mexico) the tolchini, a clan of the navajos, lived at wind mountains. one of them used to take long visits into the country. his brothers thought he was crazy. the first time on his return, he brought with him a pine bough; the second time, corn. each time he returned he brought something new and had a strange story to tell. his brothers said: "he is crazy. he does not know what he is talking about." now the tolchini left wind mountains and went to a rocky foothill east of the san mateo mountain. they had nothing to eat but seed grass. the eldest brother said, "let us go hunting," but they told the youngest brother not to leave camp. but five days and five nights passed, and there was no word. so he followed them. after a day's travel he camped near a canon, in a cavelike place. there was much snow but no water so he made a fire and heated a rock, and made a hole in the ground. the hot rock heated the snow and gave him water to drink. just then he heard a tumult over his head, like people passing. he went out to see what made the noise and saw many crows crossing back and forth over the canon. this was the home of the crow, but there were other feathered people there, and the chaparral cock. he saw many fires made by the crows on each side of the caeon. two crows flew down near him and the youth listened to hear what was the matter. the two crows cried out, "somebody says. somebody says." the youth did not know what to make of this. a crow on the opposite side called out, "what is the matter? tell us! tell us! what is wrong?" the first two cried out, "two of us got killed. we met two of our men who told us." then they told the crows how two men who were out hunting killed twelve deer, and a party of the crow people went to the deer after they were shot. they said, "two of us who went after the blood of the deer were shot." the crows on the other side of the caeon called, "which men got killed?" "the chaparral cock, who sat on the horn of the deer, and the crow who sat on its backbone." the others called out, "we are not surprised they were killed. that is what we tell you all the time. if you go after dead deer you must expect to be killed." "we will not think of them longer," so the two crows replied. "they are dead and gone. we are talking of things of long ago." but the youth sat quietly below and listened to everything that was said. after a while the crows on the other side of the canon made a great noise and began to dance. they had many songs at that time. the youth listened all the time. after the dance a great fire was made and he could see black objects moving, but he could not distinguish any people. he recognized the voice of hasjelti. he remembered everything in his heart. he even remembered the words of the songs that continued all night. he remembered every word of every song. he said to himself, "i will listen until daylight." the crow people did not remain on the side of the canon where the fires were first built. they crossed and recrossed the canon in their dance. they danced back and forth until daylight. then all the crows and the other birds flew away to the west. all that was left was the fires and the smoke. then the youth started for his brothers' camp. they saw him coming. they said, "he will have lots of stories to tell. he will say he saw something no one ever saw." but the brother-in-law who was with them said, "let him alone. when he comes into camp he will tell us all. i believe these things do happen for he could not make up these things all the time." now the camp was surrounded by pinon brush and a large fire was burning in the centre. there was much meat roasting over the fire. when the youth reached the camp, he raked over the coals and said. "i feel cold." brother-in-law replied, "it is cold. when people camp together, they tell stories to one another in the morning. we have told ours, now you tell yours." the youth said, "where i stopped last night was the worst camp i ever had." the brothers paid no attention but the brother-in-law listened. the youth said, "i never heard such a noise." then he told his story. brother-in-law asked what kind of people made the noise. the youth said, "i do not know. they were strange people to me, but they danced all night back and forth across the canon and i heard them say my brothers killed twelve deer and afterwards killed two of their people who went for the blood of the deer. i heard them say, 'that is what must be expected. if you go to such places, you must expect to be killed.'" the elder brother began thinking. he said, "how many deer did you say were killed?" "twelve." elder brother said, "i never believed you before, but this story i do believe. how do you find out all these things? what is the matter with you that you know them?" the boy said, "i do not know. they come into my mind and to my eyes." then they started homeward, carrying the meat. the youth helped them. as they were descending a mesa, they sat down on the edge to rest. far down the mesa were four mountain sheep. the brothers told the youth to kill one. the youth hid in the sage brush and when the sheep came directly toward him, he aimed his arrow at them. but his arm stiffened and became dead. the sheep passed by. he headed them off again by hiding in the stalks of a large yucca. the sheep passed within five steps of him, but again his arm stiffened as he drew the bow. he followed the sheep and got ahead of them and hid behind a birch tree in bloom. he had his bow ready, but as they neared him they became gods. the first was hasjelti, the second was hostjoghon, the third naaskiddi, and the fourth hadatchishi. then the youth fell senseless to the ground. the four gods stood one on each side of him, each with a rattle. they traced with their rattles in the sand the figure of a man, drawing lines at his head and feet. then the youth recovered and the gods again became sheep. they said, "why did you try to shoot us? you see you are one of us." for the youth had become a sheep. the gods said, "there is to be a dance, far off to the north beyond the ute mountain. we want you to go with us. we will dress you like ourselves and teach you to dance. then we will wander over the world." now the brothers watched from the top of the mesa but they could not see what the trouble was. they saw the youth lying on the ground, but when they reached the place, all the sheep were gone. they began crying, saying, "for a long time we would not believe him, and now he has gone off with the sheep." they tried to head off the sheep, but failed. they said, "if we had believed him, he would not have gone off with the sheep. but perhaps some day we will see him again." at the dance, the five sheep found seven others. this made their number twelve. they journeyed all around the world. all people let them see their dances and learn their songs. then the eleven talked together and said, "there is no use keeping this youth with us longer. he has learned everything. he may as well go back to his people and teach them to do as we do." so the youth was taught to have twelve in the dance, six gods and six goddesses, with hasjelti to lead them. he was told to have his people make masks to represent the gods. so the youth returned to his brothers, carrying with him all songs, all medicines, and clothing. origin of clear lake patwin (sacramento valley, cal.) before anything was created at all, old frog and old badger lived alone together. old badger wanted to drink, so old frog gnawed into a tree, drew out all the sap and put it in a hollow place. then he created little frogs to help him, and working together they dug out the lake. then old frog made the little flat whitefish. some of them lived in the lake, but others swam down cache creek, and turned into the salmon, pike, and sturgeon which swim in the sacramento. the great fire patwin (sacramento valley, cal.) long ago a man loved two women and wished to marry both of them. but the women were magpies and they laughed at him. therefore the man went to the north, and made for himself a tule boat. then he set the world on fire, and himself escaped to sea in his boat. but the fire burned with terrible speed. it ate its way into the south. it licked up all things on earth, men, trees, rocks, animals, water, and even the ground itself. now old coyote saw the burning and the smoke from his place far in the south, and he ran with all his might to put it out. he put two little boys in a sack and ran north like the wind. he took honey-dew into his mouth, chewed it up, spat on the fire, and so put it out. now the fire was out, but there was no water and coyote was thirsty. so he took indian sugar again, chewed it up, dug a hole in the bottom of the creek, covered up the sugar in it, and it turned to water and filled the creek. so the earth had water again. but the two little boys cried because they were lonesome, for there was nobody left on earth. then coyote made a sweat house, and split a number of sticks, and laid them in the sweat house over night. in the morning they had all turned into men and women. origin of the raven and the macaw (totems of summer and winter) zuni (new mexico) the priest who was named yanauluha carried ever in his hand a staff which now in the daylight was plumed and covered with feathers--yellow, blue-green, red, white, black, and varied. attached to it were shells, which made a song-like tinkle. the people when they saw it stretched out their hands and asked many questions. then the priest balanced it in his hand, and struck with it a hard place, and blew upon it. amid the plumes appeared four round things-mere eggs they were. two were blue like the sky and two dun-red like the flesh of the earth-mother. then the people asked many questions. "these," said the priests, "are the seed of living beings. choose which ye will follow. from two eggs shall come beings of beautiful plumage, colored like the grass and fruits of summer. where they fly and ye follow, shall always be summer. without toil, fields of food shall flourish. and from the other two eggs shall come evil beings, piebald, with white, without colors. and where these two shall fly and ye shall follow, winter strives with summer. only by labor shall the fields yield fruit, and your children and theirs shall strive for the fruits. which do ye choose?" "the blue! the blue!" cried the people, and those who were strongest carried off the blue eggs, leaving the red eggs to those who waited. they laid the blue eggs with much gentleness in soft sand on the sunny side of a hill, watching day by day. they were precious of color; surely they would be the precious birds of the summer-land. then the eggs cracked and the birds came out, with open eyes and pin feathers under their skins. "we chose wisely," said the people. "yellow and blue, red and green, are their dresses, even seen through their skins." so they fed them freely of all the foods which men favor. thus they taught them to eat all desirable food. but when the feathers appeared, they were black with white bandings. they were ravens. and they flew away croaking hoarse laughs and mocking our fathers. but the other eggs became beautiful macaws, and were wafted by a toss of the priest's wand to the faraway summer-land. so those who had chosen the raven, became the raven people. they were the winter people and they were many and strong. but those who had chosen the macaw, became the macaw people. they were the summer people, and few in number, and less strong, but they were wiser because they were more deliberate. the priest yanauluha, being wise, became their father, even as the sun-father is among the little moons of the sky. he and his sisters were the ancestors of the priest-keepers of things. coyote and the hare sia (new mexico) one day coyote was passing about when he saw hare sitting before his house. coyote thought, "in a minute i will catch you," and he sprang and caught hare. hare cried, "man coyote, do not eat me. wait just a minute; i have something to tell you--something you will be glad to hear--something you must hear." "well," said coyote, "i will wait." "let me sit at the entrance of my house," said hare. "then i can talk to you." coyote allowed hare to take his seat at the entrance. hare said, what are you thinking of, coyote? "nothing," said coyote. "listen, then," said hare. "i am a hare and i am very much afraid of people. when they come carrying arrows, i am afraid of them. when they see me they aim their arrows at me and i am afraid, and oh! how i tremble!" hare began trembling violently until he saw coyote a little off his guard, then he began to run. it took coyote a minute to think and then he ran after hare, but always a little behind. hare raced away and soon entered a house, just in time to escape coyote. coyote tried to enter the house but found it was hard stone. he became very angry. coyote cried, "i was very stupid! why did i allow this hare to fool me? i must have him. but this house is so strong, how can i open it?" coyote began to work, but after a while he said to himself, "the stone is so strong i cannot open it." presently hare called, "man coyote, how are you going to kill me?" "i know how," said coyote. "i will kill you with fire." "where is the wood?" asked hare, for he knew there was no wood at his house. "i will bring grass," said coyote, "and set fire to it. the fire will enter your house and kill you." "oh," said hare, "but the grass is mine. it is my food; it will not kill me. it is my friend. the grass will not kill me." "then," said coyote, "i will bring all the trees of the wood and set fire to them." "all the trees know me," said hare. "they are my friends. they will not kill me. they are my food." coyote thought a minute. then he said, "i will bring the gum of the pinon and set fire to that." hare said, "now i am afraid. i do not eat that. it is not my friend." coyote rejoiced that he had thought of a plan for getting the hare. he hurried and brought all the gum he could carry and placed it at the door of hare's house and set fire to it. in a short time the gum boiled like hot grease, and hare cried, "now i know i shall die! what shall i do?" yet all the time he knew what he would do. but coyote was glad hare was afraid. after a while hare called, "the fire is entering my house," and coyote answered, "'blow it out!" but coyote drew nearer and blew with all his might to blow the flame into hare's house hare cried, "you are so close you are blowing the fire on me and i will soon be burned." coyote was so happy that he drew closer and blew harder, and drew still closer so that his face was very close to hare's face. then hare suddenly threw the boiling gum into coyote's face and escaped from his house. it took coyote a long time to remove the gum from his face, and he felt very sorrowful. he said, "i am very, very stupid." coyote and the quails pima (arizona) once upon a time, long ago, coyote was sleeping so soundly that a covey of quails came along and cut pieces of fat meat out of his flesh without arousing him. then they went on. after they had camped for the evening, and were cooking the meat, coyote came up the trail. coyote said, "where did you get that nice, fat meat? give me some." quails gave him all he wanted. then he went farther up the trail. after he had gone a little way, quails called to him, "coyote, you were eating your own flesh." coyote said, "what did you say?" quails said, "oh, nothing. we heard something calling behind the mountains." soon the quails called again: "coyote, you ate your own meat." "what did you say?" "oh, nothing. we heard somebody pounding his grinding-stone." so coyote went on. but at last he began to feel where he had been cut. then he knew what the quails meant. he turned back down the trail and told quails he would eat them up. he began to chase them. the quails flew above ground and coyote ran about under them. at last they got tired, but coyote did not because he was so angry. by and by quails came to a hole, and one of the keenest-witted picked up a piece of prickly cholla cactus and pushed it into the hole; then they all ran in after it. but coyote dug out the hole and reached them. when he came to the first quail he said, "was it you who told me i ate my own flesh?" quail said, "no." so coyote let him go and he flew away. when coyote came to the second quail, he asked the same question. quail said, "no," and then flew away. so coyote asked every quail, until the last quail was gone, and then he came to the cactus branch. now the prickly cactus branch was so covered with feathers that it looked just like a quail. coyote asked it the same question, but the cactus branch did not answer. then coyote said, "i know it was you because you do not answer." so coyote bit very hard into the hard, prickly branch, and it killed him. coyote and the fawns sia (new mexico) another day when he was travelling around, coyote met a deer with two fawns. the fawns were beautifully spotted, and he said to the deer, "how did you paint your children? they are so beautiful!" deer replied, "i painted them with fire from the cedar." "and how did you do the work?" asked coyote. "i put my children into a cave and built a fire of cedar in front of it. every time a spark flew from the fire it struck my children, making a beautiful spot." "oh," said coyote, "i will do the same thing. then i will make my children beautiful." he hurried to his house and put his children in a cave. then he built a fire of cedar in front of it and stood off to watch the fire. but the children cried because the fire was very hot. coyote kept calling to them not to cry because they would be beautiful like the deer. after a time the crying ceased and coyote was pleased. but when the fire died down, he found they were burned to death. coyote expected to find them beautiful, but instead they were dead. then he was enraged with the deer and ran away to hunt her, but he could not find her anywhere. he was much distressed to think the deer had fooled him so easily. how the bluebird got its color pima (arizona) a long time ago, the bluebird was a very ugly color. but bluebird knew of a lake where no river flowed in or out, and he bathed in this four times every morning for four mornings. every morning he sang a magic song: "there's a blue water. it lies there. i went in. i am all blue." on the fourth morning bluebird shed all his feathers and came out of the lake just in his skin. but the next morning when he came out of the lake he was covered with blue feathers. now all this while coyote had been watching bluebird. he wanted to jump in and get him to eat, but he was afraid of the water. but on that last morning coyote said, "how is it you have lost all your ugly color, and now you are blue and gay and beautiful? you are more beautiful than anything that flies in the air. i want to be blue, too." now coyote at that time was a bright green. "i only went in four times on four mornings," said bluebird. he taught coyote the magic song, and he went in four times, and the fifth time he came out as blue as the little bird. then coyote was very, very proud because he was a blue coyote. he was so proud that as he walked along he looked around on every side to see if anybody was looking at him now that he was a blue coyote and so beautiful. he looked to see if his shadow was blue, too. but coyote was so busy watching to see if others were noticing him that he did not watch the trail. by and by he ran into a stump so hard that it threw him down in the dirt and he was covered with dust all over. you may know this is true because even to-day coyotes are the color of dirt. coyote's eyes pima (arizona) when coyote was travelling about one day, he saw a small bird. the bird was hopping about contentedly and coyote thought, "what a beautiful bird. it moves about so gracefully." he drew nearer to the bird and asked, "what beautiful things are you working with?" but the bird could not understand coyote. after a while the bird took out his two eyes and threw them straight up into the air, like two stones. it looked upward but had no eyes. then the bird said, "come, my eyes. come quickly, down into my head." the eyes fell down into the bird's head, just where they belonged, but were much brighter than before. coyote thought he could brighten his eyes. he asked the bird to take out his eyes. the bird took out coyote's eyes, held them for a moment in his hands, and threw them straight up into the air. coyote looked up and called, "come back, my eyes. come quickly." they at once fell back into his head and were much brighter than before. coyote wanted to try it again, but the bird did not wish to. but coyote persisted. then the bird said, "why should i work for you, coyote? no, i will work no more for you." but coyote still persisted, and the bird took out his eyes and threw them up. coyote cried, "come, my eyes, come back to me." but his eyes continued to rise into the air, and the bird began to go away. coyote began to weep. but the bird was annoyed, and called back, "go away now. i am tired of you. go away and get other eyes." but coyote refused to go and entreated the bird to find eyes for him. at last the bird gathered gum from a pinon tree and rolled it between his hands and put it in coyote's eye holes, so that he could see. but his eyes had been black and very bright. his new eyes were yellow. "now," said the bird, it "go away. you cannot stay here any longer." coyote and the tortillas pima (arizona) once upon a time, a river rose very high and spread all over the land. an indian woman was going along the trail by the river side with a basket of tortillas on her head, but she was wading in water up to her waist. now coyote was afraid of the water, so he had climbed into a cottonwood tree. when the woman came up the trail, coyote called, "oh, come to this tree and give me some of those nice tortillas." the woman said, "no. i can't give them to you; they are for somebody else." "if you do not come here i will shoot you," said coyote, and the woman really thought he had a bow. so she came to the tree and said, "you must come down and get them. i can't climb trees." coyote came down as far as he dared, but he was afraid of the deep water. the woman laughed at him. she said, "just see how shallow it is. it's only up to my ankles." but she was standing on a big stump. coyote looked at the water. it seemed shallow and safe enough, so he jumped. but the water was deep and he was drowned. then the woman went on up the trail. coyote as a hunter sia (new mexico) coyote travelled a long distance and in the middle of the day it was very hot. he sat down and rested, and thought, as he looked up to tinia, "how i wish the cloud people would freshen my path and make it cool." in just a little while the cloud people gathered over the trail coyote was following and he was glad that his path was to be cool and shady. after he travelled some distance further, he sat down again and looking upward said, "i wish the cloud people would send rain. my road would be cooler and fresher." in a little while a shower came and coyote was contented. but in a short time he again sat down and wished that the road could be very moist, that it would be fresh to his feet, and almost immediately the trail was as wet as though a river had passed over it. again coyote was contented. but after a while he took his seat again. he said to himself, "i guess i will talk again to the cloud people." then he looked up and said to them, "i wish for water over my road-water to my elbows, that i may travel on my hands and feet in the cool waters; then i shall be refreshed and happy." in a short time his road was covered with water, and he moved on. but again he wished for something more, and said to the cloud people, "i wish much for water to my shoulders. then i will be happy and contented." in a moment the waters arose as he wished, yet after a while he looked up and said, "if you will only give me water so high that my eyes, nose, mouth and ears are above it, i will be happy. then indeed my road will be cool." but even this did not satisfy him, and after travelling a while longer he implored the cloud people to give him a river that he might float over the trail, and immediately a river appeared and coyote floated down stream. now he had been high in the mountains and wished to go to hare land. after floating a long distance, he at last came to hare land and saw many hares a little distance off, on both sides of the river. coyote lay down in the mud as though he were dead and listened. soon a woman ka-wate (mephitis) came along with a vase and a gourd for water. she said, "here is a dead coyote. where did he come from? i guess from the mountains above. i guess he fell into the water and died." coyote looked up and said, "come here, woman." she said, "what do you want?" coyote said, "i know the hares and other small animals well. in a little while they will come here and think i am dead and be happy. what do you think about it?" ka-wate said, "i have no thoughts at all." so coyote explained his plan.... so coyote lay as dead, and all the hares and small animals saw him lying in the river, and rejoiced that he was dead. the hares decided to go in a body and see the dead coyote. rejoicing over his death, they struck him with their hands and kicked him. there were crowds of hares and they decided to have a great dance. now and then a dancing hare would stamp upon coyote who lay as if dead. during the dance the hares clapped their hands over their mouth and gave a whoop like a war-whoop. then coyote rose quickly and took two clubs which the ka-wate had given him, and together they killed all of the hares. there was a great number and they were piled up like stones. coyote said, "where shall i find fire to cook the hares? ah," he said, pointing across to a high rock, "that rock gives good shade and it is cool. i will find fire and cook my meat in the shade of that rock." so they carried all the hares to that point and coyote made a large fire and threw them into it. when he had done this he was very warm and tired. he lay down close to the rock in the shade. after a while he said to ka-wate, "we will run a race. the one who wins will have all the hares." she said, "how could i beat you? your feet are so much larger than mine." coyote said, "i will allow you the start of me." he made a torch of the inner shreds of cedar bark and wrapped it with yucca thread and lighted it. then he tied this torch to the end of his tail. he did this to see that the ka-wate did not escape him. ka-wate started first, but when out of sight of coyots, she slipped into the house of badger. then coyote started with the fire attached to his tail. wherever he touched the grass, he set fire to it. but ka-wate hurried back to the rock, carried all the hares on top except four tiny ones, and then climbed up on the rock. coyote was surprised not to overtake her. he said, "she must be very quick. how could she run so fast?" then he returned to the rock, but did not see her. he was tired and sat down in the shade of the rock. "why does n't she come?" he said. "perhaps she will not come before night, her feet are so small." ka-wate sat on the rock above and heard all he said. she watched him take a stick and look into the mound for the hares. he pulled out a small one which he threw away. but the second was smaller than the first. then a third and a fourth, each tiny, and all he threw away. "i do not care for the smaller ones," he said. "there are so many here, i will not eat the little ones." but he hunted and hunted in the mound of ashes for the hares. all were gone. he said, "that woman has robbed me." then he picked up the four little ones and ate them. he looked about for ka-wate but did not see her because he did not look up. then as he was tired and lay down to rest, he looked up and saw her, with the cooked hares piled beside her. coyote was hungry. he begged her to throw one down. she threw a very small one. then coyote became angry. and he was still more angry because he could not climb the rock. she had gone where he could not go. how the rattlesnake learned to bite pima (arizona) after people and the animals were created, they all lived together. rattlesnake was there, and was called soft child because he was so soft in his motions. the people liked to hear him rattle and little rest did he get because they continually poked and scratched him so that he would shake the rattles in his tail. at last rattlesnake went to elder brother to ask help. elder brother pulled a hair from his own lip, cut it in short pieces, and made it into teeth for soft child. "if any one bothers you," he said, "bite him." that very evening ta-api, rabbit, came to soft child as he had done before and scratched him. soft child raised his head and bit rabbit. rabbit was angry and scratched again. soft child bit him again. then rabbit ran about saying that soft child was angry and had bitten him. then he went to rattlesnake again, and twice more he was bitten. the bites made rabbit very sick. he asked for a bed of cool sea sand. coyote was sent to the sea for the cool, damp sand. then rabbit asked for the shade of bushes that he might feel the cool breeze. but at last rabbit died. he was the first creature which had died in this new world. then the people were troubled because they did not know what to do with the body of rabbit. one said, "if we bury him, coyote will surely dig him up." another said, "if we hide him, coyote will surely find him." and another said, "if we put him in a tree, coyote will surely climb up." so they decided to burn the body of rabbit, and yet there was no fire on earth. blue fly said, "go to sun and get some of the fire which he keeps in his house," so coyote scampered away, but he was sure the people were trying to get rid of him so he kept looking back. then blue fly made the first fire drill. taking a stick like an arrow he twirled it in his hands, letting the lower end rest on a flat stick that lay on the ground. soon smoke began to arise, and then fire came. the people gathered fuel and began their duty. but coyote, looking back, saw fire ascending. he turned and ran back as fast as he could go. when the people saw him coming, they formed a ring, but he raced around the circle until he saw two short men standing together. he jumped over them, and seized the heart of rabbit. but he burned his mouth doing it, and it is black to this day. coyote and the rattlesnake sia (new mexico) coyote's house was not far from rattlesnake's home. one morning when they were out walking together, coyote said to rattlesnake, "to-morrow come to my house." in the morning rattlesnake went to coyote's house. he moved slowly along the floor, shaking his rattle. coyote sat at one side, very much frightened. the movements of the snake and the rattle frightened him. coyote had a pot of rabbit meat on the fire, which he placed in front of the snake, saying, "companion, eat." "i will not eat your meat. i do not understand your food," said rattlesnake. "what food do you eat?" "i eat the yellow flowers of the corn." coyote at once began to search for the yellow corn flowers. when he found some, rattlesnake said, "put some on top of my head so that i may eat it." coyote stood as far off as he could and placed the pollen on the snake's head. the snake said, "come nearer and put enough on my head so that i may find it." coyote was very much afraid, but after a while he came nearer and did as he was told. then the snake went away, saying, "companion, to-morrow you come to my house." "all right," said coyote. "to-morrow i will come." coyote sat down and thought about the morrow. he thought a good deal about what the snake might do. so he made a small rattle by placing tiny pebbles in a gourd and fastened it to the end of his tail. he shook it a while and was much pleased with it. the next morning he started for the snake's house. he shook the rattle on the end of his tail and smiled, and said to himself, "this is good. when i go into rattlesnake's house, he will be very much afraid of me." coyote did not walk into snake's house, but moved like a snake. but coyote could not shake his rattle as the snake shook his. he had to hold it in his hand. but when he shook his rattle, the snake seemed much afraid, and said, "companion, i am afraid of you." now rattlesnake had a stew of rats on the fire, and he placed some before coyote. but coyote said, "i do not understand your food. i cannot eat it because i do not understand it." rattlesnake insisted upon his eating, but coyote refused. he said, "if you put some of the flower of the corn on my head, i will eat. i understand that food." the snake took some corn pollen, but he pretended to be afraid of coyote and stood off some distance. coyote said, "come nearer and place it on top my head." snake replied, "i am afraid of you." coyote said, "come nearer. i am not bad." then the snake came closer and put the pollen on top of coyote's head. but coyote did not have the long tongue of the snake and he could not get the pollen off the top of his head. he put out his tongue first on one side of his nose and then on the other, but he could only reach to the side of his nose. his efforts made the snake laugh, but the snake put his hand over his mouth so coyote should not see him laugh. really, the snake hid his head in his body. at last coyote went home. as he left the snake's house, he held his tail in his hand and shook the rattle. snake cried, "oh, companion! i am so afraid of you!" but really the snake shook with laughter. when coyote reached his home he said to himself, "i was such a fool. rattlesnake had much food to eat and i would not take it. now i am very hungry." then he went out in search of food. origin of the saguaro and palo verde cacti pima (arizona) once upon a time an old indian woman had two grandchildren. every day she ground wheat and corn between the grinding stones to make porridge for them. one day as she put the water-olla on the fire outside the house to heat the water, she told the children not to quarrel because they might upset the olla. but the children began to quarrel. they upset the olla and spilled the water and their grandmother spanked them. then the children were angry and ran away. they ran far away over the mountains. the grandmother heard them whistling and she ran after them and followed them from place to place, but she could not catch up with them. at last the older boy said, "i will turn into a saguaro, so that i shall live forever and bear fruit every summer." the younger said, "then i will turn into a palo verde and stand there forever. these mountains are so bare and have nothing on them but rocks, i will make them green." the old woman heard the cactus whistling and recognized the voice of her grandson. so she went up to it and tried to take the prickly thing into her arms, but the thorns killed her. that is how the saguaro and the palo verde came to be on the mountains and the desert. the thirsty quails pima (arizona) a quail once had more than twenty children, and with them she wandered over the whole country in search of water and could not find it. it was very hot and they were all crying, "where can we get some water? where can we get some water?" but for a long time they could find none. at last, way in the north, under a mesquite tree, the mother quail saw a pond of water, but it was very muddy and not fit to drink. but the little quails had been wandering so many days and were so tired they stopped under the shade of the mesquite tree, and by and by, one by one, they went down to the water and 'drank it. but the water was so bad they all died. the boy and the beast pima (arizona) once an old woman lived with her daughter and son-in-law and their little boy. they were following the trail of the apache indians. now whenever a pima indian sees the trail of an apache he draws a ring around it; then he can catch him sooner. and these pimas drew circles around the trail of the apaches they were following, but one night when they were asleep, the apaches came down upon them. they took the man and younger woman by the hair and shook them out of their skins, just as one would shake corn out of a sack. so the boy and the old woman were left alone. now these two had to live on berries and anything they could find, and they wandered from place to place. in one place a strange beast, big enough to swallow people, camped in the bushes near them. the grand-mother told the boy not to go near these bushes. but the boy took some sharp stones in his hands, and went toward them. as he came near, the great monster began to breathe. he began to suck in his breath and he sucked the boy right into his stomach. but with his sharp stones the boy began to cut the beast, so that he died. then the boy made a hole large enough to climb out of. when his grandmother came to look for him, the boy met her and said, "i have killed that monster." the grandmother said, "oh, no. such a little boy as you are to kill such a great monster!" the boy said, "but i was inside of him, just look at the stones i cut him with." then the grandmother went softly up to the bushes, and looked at the monster. it was full of holes, just as the little boy had said. then they moved down among the berry bushes and had all they wanted to eat. why the apaches are fierce pima (arizona) elder brother, coyote, and earth doctor, after the flood vanished, began to create people and animals. coyote made all the animals, elder brother made the people, and earth doctor made queer creatures which had only one leg, or immense ears, or many fingers, and some having flames of fire in their knees. elder brother divided his figures of people into four groups. one of the apaches came to life first. he shivered and said, "oh, it's very cold," and began to sway back and forth. then elder brother said, "i did n't think you would be the first to awake," and he took all the apaches up in his hand and threw them over the mountains. that made them angry, and that is why they have always been so fierce. speech on the warpath pima (arizona) we have come thus far, my brothers. in the east there is white gopher, who gnaws with his strong teeth. he was friendly and came to me. on his way he came to the surface from the underground four times. looking in all four directions, he saw a magic whitish trail. slowly following this, he neared the enemy, coming to the surface from the underground four times during the journey. their power stood in their land like a mountain, but he bit it off short, and he sank their springs by biting them. he saw that the wind of the enemy was strong and he cut it up with his teeth. he gnawed in short pieces their clouds. they had good dreams and bright false-seeing, good bow strings and straight-flying reeds, but these he grasped and bit off short. the different belongings lying about he took with him, turning around homeward. on his way homeward over the whitish trail, he came to the surface four times, and magic fire appeared around the edges. then he came to his bed. he felt that the land roared rejoicingly with him. in the south was blue coyote and there i sent my cry. he was friendly and came to me from his blue darkness, circling around and shouting, four times, on his journey, making magic fire everywhere. when he arrived, he looked in four directions, then understood. a whitish magic trail lay before him. he cast his blue darkness upon the enemy and slowly approached them, circling around and shouting four times on the way. like a mountain was their power in the land, and he sucked it in. the springs of water under the trees he sucked in. the wind that was blowing he inhaled. he sucked in the clouds. the people dreamed of a white thing, and their dreams he sucked in, with their best bow strings and the straight-flying reeds. all the different belongings which lay around he gathered and slowly turned back. hidden in the blue darkness, he came to me, circling around, shouting, four times on his journey. then he homeward took his way, circling, howling, four times, and shouting reached his bed. with pleasure he felt all directions thud. the east echoed. in the sunset direction was black kangaroo mouse, an expert robber. to him i sent my cry. he was friendly to me and came hidden in black darkness, sitting down four times upon his way. magic fire covered the edges of his trail. when he reached me he looked in all directions. the magic trail brightly lay before him. he threw black darkness around him and slowly reached the enemy, sitting down four times upon the trail. he found a bag of the enemy, with much prized possessions. it was tied one knot on top of another, but he bit them off. he took from it the blue necklaces, blue earrings, and the different belongings lying around gathered up with him. then he slowly took his way back on the magic trail, with magic fire everywhere. hidden in his yellow darkness, he returned to me. he left the others at the council and in darkness took his homeward way, resting four times. he sat on his bed and felt all directions of the earth rustling in the darkness. darkness lay all around. i called on owl, the white blood-sucker. to him i sent my cry. he was friendly and came down to me with four thin flys (sailing) on the way. he looked in all directions. the magic trail brightly before him lay. he flew, with four thin flys, toward the enemy. the mountain of their power which stood in the land he bit off short. the springs he bit off, and their very good dreams. the best bow strings and the straight-flying reeds he grasped and cut very short. he bit off their flesh and made holes in their bones. from the things gathered, he made a belt from a bowstring. then he returned. he came through the whitish mist of dawn in four flights. the people held a council. leaving them there, he after four thin flys reached his bed in the gray dawn mist. then in all directions he heard the darkness rattling, as he lay there. the spirit land gallinomero (russian river, cal.) when the flames burn low on the funeral pyres of the gallinomero, indian mourners gather up handfuls of ashes and scatter them high in air. thus the good mount up into the air, or go to the happy western land beyond the big water. but the bad indians go to an island in the bitter waters, an island naked and barren and desolate, covered only with brine-spattered stone, swept with cold winds and the biting sea-spray. here they live always, breaking stone upon one another, with no food but the broken stones and no drink but the salt sea water. song of the ghost dance pai ute (kern river, cal.) the snow lies there--ro-rani! the snow lies there--ro-rani! the snow lies there--ro-rani! the snow lies there--ro-rani! the milky way lies there. the milky way lies there. "this is one of the favorite songs of the paiute ghost dance.... it must be remembered that the dance is held in the open air at night, with the stars shining down on the wide-extending plain walled in by the giant sierras, fringed at the base with dark pines, and with their peaks white with eternal snows. under such circumstances this song of the snow lying white upon the mountains, and the milky way stretching across the clear sky, brings up to the paiute the same patriotic home love that comes from lyrics of singing birds and leafy trees and still waters to the people of more favored regions.... the milky way is the road of the dead to the spirit world." none children of the desert by the same author bonnie may. illustrated by reginald birch. mo . . . . . . . . . . . . . net $ . ------------------------------------------------------------------------ children of the desert by louis dodge new york charles scribner's sons ------------------------------------------------------------------------ copyright, , by charles scribner's sons published march, ------------------------------------------------------------------------ to the friends of eagle pass and piedras negras--in the good old days ------------------------------------------------------------------------ contents part page i. harboro and sylvia ii. the time of flame iii. fectnor, the people's advocate iv. the horse with the golden dapples v. a wind from the north vi. the guest-chamber vii. sylvia ------------------------------------------------------------------------ part i harboro and sylvia ------------------------------------------------------------------------ children of the desert chapter i they were married in the little episcopal church in eagle pass on a september day in the late eighties. the fact may be verified, i have no doubt, by any who will take the trouble to examine the records, for the toy-like place of worship still stands. the church structure is not, perhaps, so small as my imagination presents it to me; but i cannot see it save with the desert as a background--the desert austere and illimitable. you reach the prim little front door by climbing a street which runs parallel with the rio grande, and the church is almost the last structure you will pass before you set forth into a no-man's land of sage and cactus and yucca and mesquite lying under the blazing sun. harboro his name was. of course, there was a christian name, but he was known simply as harboro from piedras negras to the city. she was sylvia little. sylvia, people called her, both before and after her marriage. the little might as well never have belonged to her. although neither harboro nor sylvia really belonged to eagle pass, the wedding was an event. both had become familiar figures in the life of the town and were pretty well known. their wedding drew a large and interested audience. (i think the theatrical phrase is justified, as perhaps will be seen.) weddings were not common in the little border town, unless you counted the mating of young mexicans, who were always made one by the priest in the _adobe_ church closer to the river. entertainment of any kind was scarce. but there were other and more significant reasons why people wanted to see the bride and the bridegroom, when harboro gave his name to the woman of his choice. the young people belonging to some sort of church guild had decorated the church, and special music had been prepared. and indeed when harboro and sylvia marched up the aisle to the strains of the _lohengrin_ march (the bridegroom characteristically trying to keep step, and sylvia ignoring the music entirely), it was not much to be wondered at that people craned their necks to get the best possible view. for both harboro and the woman were in a way extraordinary individuals. harboro was forty, and seemed in certain aspects older than that. he was a big man, well built, and handsome after a fashion. he was swarthy, with dark eyes which seemed to meditate, if not to dream. his hair was raven-black, and he wore a heavy mustache which stopped just short of being unduly conspicuous. it was said of him that he talked little, but that he listened keenly. by trade he was a railroad man. he had been heard to remark on one occasion that he had begun as a brakeman, but there were rumors of adventurous days before he became a member of a train crew. it was said that he had gone prospecting into mexico as a youth, and that he had spent years working at ends and odds of jobs about mines and smelters. probably he had hoped to get into something in a big way. however, he had finally turned to railroading, and in the course of uncertain events had become an engineer. it was a year or two after he had attained this position that he had been required to haul a special train from torreon to piedras negras. the general manager of the mexican international railroad was on that train, and he took occasion to talk to the engineer. the result pleased him mightily. in his engine clothes harboro looked every inch a man. there was something clean and level about his personality which couldn't have been hid under a _sarape_. he stood shoulder to shoulder with the general manager, making the latter look like a manikin, and talked about his work and the condition of the road and the rolling stock. he talked easily and listened intelligently. he was grave in an easy fashion. he took no liberties, cracked no jokes. the general manager got the idea that the big fellow would be a good man to stand shoulder to shoulder with in larger events than a special trip. when he got back to headquarters he made a casual inquiry or two, and discovered that harboro wrote an exceptionally good hand, and that he spelled correctly. he assumed that he was an educated man--though this impression may have been largely due to the fact that harboro was keenly interested in a great variety of things, and had a good memory. the general manager waited for certain wheels to turn, and then he sent for harboro and offered him a position as chief clerk in one of the headquarter departments. harboro accepted the position, and said "thank you," and proved to be uncommonly competent. the people of piedras negras took a liking to him; the women wanted to get acquainted with him. he was invited to places, and he accepted the invitations without either belittling or magnifying their importance. he got on rather well from the beginning. the social affairs of piedras negras were sometimes on a fairly large scale. the general manager had his winter residence there--a meticulously cultivated demain which lay like a blue spot in a cloudy sky. there were grass and palms and, immediately beyond, the vast desert. at night (on occasion) there were chinese lanterns to add their cheerful note to pretty revelries, while the stars lay low and big over all the desert expanse. the general manager's wife had prominent social affiliations, and she used to bring winter guests from the north and east--from chicago and new york and boston. there were balls and musicales, and a fine place for conversation out on the lawn, with mexican servants to bring cigars and punch, and with mexican fiddlers to play the national airs under a fig-covered band-stand. the young people from eagle pass used to go over when the general manager's wife was giving one of her less formal affairs. they were rather refreshing types: the texas type, with a good deal of freedom of action and speech, once they were drawn out, and with plenty of vigor. on these occasions eagle pass merged itself into the mexican town, and went home late at night over the rio grande bridge, and regarded life as a romance. these affairs and this variety of people interested harboro. he was not to be drawn out, people soon discovered; but he liked to sit on the lawn and listen and take observations. he was not backward, but his tastes were simple. he was seemingly quite as much at ease in the presence of a chicago poetess with a practised--a somewhat too practised--laugh or a fellow employee risen, like himself, to a point where society could see him. in due course eagle pass gave an entertainment (at the mesquite club) and invited certain railroad officials and employees from the other side of the river. harboro was included among those invited, and he put on correct evening dress, and rode over in a coach, and became a favorite in eagle pass. he seemed rather big and serious for complete assimilation, but he looked well with the club settings as a background, and his name appeared later in the week in the eagle pass _guide_, in the list headed "among those present." all of which he accepted without agitation, or without ceasing to be harboro himself all over. he did not meet sylvia little at the mesquite club. if you had known sylvia and the mesquite club, you would laugh at so superfluous a statement. eagle pass was pleasantly democratic, socially, but it could not have been expected to stand for sylvia. people didn't know much about her (to her credit, at least) except that she was pretty. she was wonderfully pretty, and in a way which was all the more arresting when you came to consider her desert surroundings. she had come, with her father, from san antonio. they had taken a low, homely little house, standing under its mesquite-tree, close to the government reservation, where the flagstaff stood, and the cannon boomed at sundown, and the soldiers walked their posts. back of the house there was a thicket of mesquites, and through this a path ran down to the river. the first thing people mistrusted about sylvia was her father. he had no visible means of support; and if his manner was amiable, his ways were furtive. he had a bias in favor of mexican associates, and much of his time was spent down under the river bank, where a few small wine-shops and gambling establishments still existed in those days. there were also rumors of drinking and gambling orgies in the house under the mesquite-tree, and people said that many strange customers traversed that path through the mesquite, and entered little's back door. they were soldiers and railroad men, and others of a type whose account in the bank of society nobody ever undertakes to balance. sylvia was thought to be the torch which attracted them, and it was agreed that sylvia's father knew how to persuade them to drink copiously of beverages which they paid for themselves, and to manipulate the cards to his own advantage in the games which were introduced after a sufficient number of drinks had been served. possibly a good deal of this was rumor rather than fact: an uncharitable interpretation of pleasures which were inelegant, certainly, but possibly not quite vicious. still, it seemed to be pretty well established that up to the time of sylvia's marriage her father never worked, and that he always had money--and this condition, on any frontier, is always regarded with mistrust. sylvia's prettiness was of a kind to make your heart bleed, everything considered. she was of a wistful type, with eager blue eyes, and lips which were habitually parted slightly--lips of a delicate fulness and color. her hair was soft and brown, and her cheeks were of a faint, pearly rosiness. you would never have thought of her as what people of strictly categorical minds would call a bad woman. i think a wholly normal man must have looked upon her as a child looks at a heather-bell--gladly and gratefully, and with a pleased amazement. she was small and slight. women of the majordomo type must have regarded her as still a child. her breasts were little, her neck and shoulders delicate, and she had a trick of lifting her left hand to her heart when she was startled or regarded too shrewdly, as if she had some prescient consciousness of coming evil. she was standing by her front gate when harboro first saw her--and when she first saw harboro. the front gate commanded an unobstructed view of the desert. it was near sundown, and far across the earth's floor, which looked somewhat like a wonderful mosaic of opals and jade at this hour, a mexican goatherd was driving his flock. that was the only sign of life to be seen or felt, if you except the noise of locusts in the mesquite near by and the spasmodic progress of a horned toad in the sand outside sylvia's gate. yet she was looking away to the vibrating horizon, still as hot as an oven, as yearningly as if at any moment a knight might ride over the rim of the desert to rescue her, or as if a brother were coming to put an end to the existence of a bluebeard who, obviously, did not exist. and then harboro appeared--not in the distance, but close at hand. he was passing sylvia's gate. he had a natural taste for geology, it seemed, and he had chosen this hour to walk out beyond eagle pass to examine the rock formations which had been cast up to the surface of the desert by prehistoric cataclysms. he was close enough to sylvia to touch her when her presence broke down his abstraction and drew his eyes away from whatever object they had been observing away on the horizon. he stopped as if he had been startled. that was a natural result of sylvia's appearance here in this withered place. she was so delicately, fragilely abloom. her setting should have been some region south of the caucasus. her period should have been during the foundations of mythology. she would have made you think of eve. and because her hand went to her heart, and her lips parted tremulously, harboro stopped. it was as if he felt he must make amends. yet his words were the inevitable banalities. "you have a fine view here," he said. "a fine view!" she echoed, a little incredulously. it was plain that she did not agree with him. "there is plenty of sun and air," she conceded after a pause. he rested a heavy hand on the fence. when harboro stopped you never had the feeling that some of his interests had gone on ahead and were beckoning to him. he was always all there, as if permanently. he regarded her intently. her voice had something of the quality of the _träumerei_ in it, and it had affected him like a violin's _vibrato_, accompanying a death scene--or as a litany might have done, had he been a religious man. "i suppose you find it too much the same, one day after another," he suggested, in response to that mournful quality in her voice. "you live here, then?" she was looking across the desert. where had the goatherd hidden himself? she nodded without bringing her glance to meet harboro's. "i know a good many of the eagle pass people. i've never seen you before." "i thought you must be a stranger," she replied. she brought her glance to his face now and seemed to explore it affectionately, as one does a new book by a favorite author. "i've never seen you before, either." "i've been to several entertainments at the mesquite club." "oh! ... the mesquite club. i've never been there." he looked at her in his steadfast fashion for a moment, and then changed the subject. "you have rather more than your share of shade here. i had no idea there was such a pretty place in eagle pass." he glanced at the old mesquite-tree in the yard. it was really quite a tree. "yes," she assented. she added, somewhat falteringly: "but it seems dreadfully lonesome sometimes." (i do not forget that path which led from sylvia's back door down to the rio grande, nor the men who traversed it; yet i believe that she spoke from her heart, and that her words were essentially true.) "perhaps you're not altogether at home in eagle pass: i mean, this isn't really your home?" "no. we came from san antonio a year ago, my father and i." his glance wandered up the brick walk to the cottage door, but if sylvia perceived this and knew it for a hint, she did not respond. harboro thought of other possibilities. he turned toward the desert. "there, the sun's dipping down beyond that red ridge," he said. "it will be cooler now. won't you walk with me?--i'm not going far." she smiled happily. "i'd like to," she admitted. and so sylvia and harboro walked together out toward the desert. it was, in fact, the beginning of a series of walks, all taken quite as informally and at about the same hour each day. chapter ii some of the cruder minds of eagle pass made a sorry jest over the fact that nobody "gave the bride away" when she went to the altar--either then or during the brief period of courtship. her father went to the wedding, of course; but he was not the kind of person you would expect to participate conspicuously in a ceremony of that sort. he was so decidedly of the black-sheep type that the people who assumed management of the affair considered it only fair to sylvia (and to harboro) to keep him in the background. sylvia had never permitted harboro to come to the house to see her. she had drawn a somewhat imaginary figure in lieu of a father to present to harboro's mind's eye. her father (she said) was not very well and was inclined to be disagreeable. he did not like the idea of his daughter getting married. she was all he had, and he was fearfully lonesome at times. harboro had accepted all this readily. he had asked no questions. and so little went to the wedding. he went early so that he could get a seat over against the wall, where he wouldn't be too conspicuous. he looked decidedly like an outsider, and, as a matter of fact, a good many people did not recognize him as sylvia's father. he was probably regarded as a stranger who had drifted into the church to enjoy the familiar yet interesting spectacle of a man and a maid bound together by a rite which was the more interesting because it seemed so ephemeral, yet meant so much. several of the young women of eagle pass had aided sylvia in getting ready to meet her husband-to-be at the altar. they were well-known girls, acting with the aid (and in the company) of their mothers. they did not admit even to one another what it was that separated sylvia from their world. perhaps they did not fully understand. they did know that sylvia was not one of them; but they felt sorry for her, and they enjoyed the experience of arraying her as a bride and of constituting, for the moment, a pretty and irreproachable setting for her wistful person. they were somewhat excited, too. they had the feeling that they were helping to set a mouse-trap to catch a lion--or something like that. and after the wedding mr. and mrs. harboro emerged from the church into the clear night, under the stars, and went afoot in the direction of their new home--an attractive structure which harboro had had erected on what was called the quemado road. a good many of the guests looked after them, and then at each other, but of definite comment there was mighty little. sylvia's father went back to his house alone. he was not seen in the maverick bar that night, nor for quite a number of succeeding nights. he had never had any experiences in eagle pass which proved him to be a courageous man--or to lack courage; but in all probability a sensation akin to fear bothered him more or less during those first days and nights after his daughter had got married. perhaps it would have been better for sylvia if he had brazened it out just at that time, for on the very night of the wedding there was talk in the maverick bar. not open or general comment, certainly. the border folk were not loose of speech. but two young fellows whose social versatility included membership in the mesquite club, on the one side, and a free and easy acquaintance with habitués of the maverick bar on the other, sat over against the wall behind a card-table and spoke in lowered tones. they pretended to be interested in the usual movements of the place. two or three cowboys from thompson's ranch were "spending" and pressing their hospitality upon all and sundry. a group of soldiers from the post were present, and jesus mendoza, a mexican who had accumulated a competency by corralling his inebriated fellow countrymen at election times, and knowing far more about the ticket they voted than they could ever have learned, was resting a spurred boot on the bar railing, and looking through dreamy eyes and his own cloud of cigarette smoke at the front door. mendoza always created the impression of being interested in something that was about to happen, or somebody who was about to appear--but never in his immediate surroundings. "it's too bad somebody couldn't have told him," blanchard, of the eagle pass bank, was saying to the other man behind the card-table. the conversation had begun by each asking the other why he wasn't up at the wedding. "yes," assented dunwoodie, the other man. he was a young lawyer whose father had recently died in belfast, leaving him money enough to quench a thirst which always flourished, but which never resulted in even partial disqualification, either for business or pleasure. "yes, but harboro is.... say, blanchard, did you ever know another chap like harboro?" "i can't say i know him very well." "of course--that's it. nobody does. he won't let you." "i don't see that, quite. i have an idea there just isn't much to know. his size and good looks mislead you. he doesn't say much, probably because he hasn't much to say. i've never thought of there being any mystery. his behavior in this affair proves that there isn't much of the right kind of stuff in him. he's had every chance. the railroad people pushed him right along into a good thing, and the women across the river--the best of them--were nice to him. i have an idea the--er--new mrs. harboro will recall some of us to a realization of a truth which we're rather proud of ignoring, down here on the river: i mean, that we've no business asking people about their antecedents." dunwoodie shook his head. "i figure it out differently. i think he's really a big chap. he won all the fellows over in the railroad offices--and he was pushed over the heads of some of them when he was given that chief clerkship. and then the way he's got of standing up to the general manager and the other magnates. and you'll notice that if you ever ask him a question he'll give you an answer that sets you to thinking. he seems to work things out for himself. his mind doesn't just run along the channel of traditions. i like him all the better because he's not given to small talk. if there was anything worth while to talk about, i'll bet you'd always find him saying something worth while." "you're right about his not being strong about traditions. there's the matter of his marriage. maybe he knows all about sylvia--and doesn't care. he _must_ know about her." "don't make a mistake on that score. i've seen them together. he reveres her. you can imagine his wanting to spread a cloak for her at every step--as if she were too pure to come into contact with the earth." "but good god, man! there's a path to her back door, worn there by fellows who would tremble like a colt in the presence of a lady." dunwoodie frowned whimsically. "don't say a path. it must be just a trail--a more or less indistinct trail." blanchard looked almost excited. "it's a _path_, i tell you!" and then both men laughed suddenly--though in dunwoodie's laughter there was a note of deprecation and regret. chapter iii and so harboro and sylvia went home to the house on the quemado road without knowing that the town had washed its hands of them. harboro had made certain arrangements which were characteristic of him, perhaps, and which nobody knew anything about. for example, he had employed the most presentable mexican woman he could find, to make the house homelike. he had taken a little sheaf of corn-husks away from her so that she could not make any cigarettes for a day or two, and he had read her a patient lecture upon ways and means of making a lot of furniture look as if it had some direct relationship with human needs and pleasures. and he had advised and aided her in the preparation of a wedding supper for two. he had ordered grapes from parras, and figs--black figs, a little withered, and candied _tunas._ and there was a roast of beef with herbs and chili sauce, and _enchalades._ the electric lights were turned on up-stairs and down when they entered the house, and sylvia had an alarmed moment when she pictured a lot of guests waiting for them. but there proved to be nobody in the house but just they two and the old mexican woman. antonia, her name was. harboro took her by the hand and led her up-stairs to the door of her room. it didn't occur to him that antonia might better have attended to this part of the welcoming. antonia was busy, and she was not the sort of person to mother a bride, harboro thought. she wouldn't have been asked to perform this task in any case. you would have thought that harboro was dealing with a child rather than a woman--his wife. it seemed the most natural thing in the world for him to take complete charge of her from the beginning. she uttered a little cry when she entered the bedroom. there by the bed was her trunk, which she had left at home. she hadn't known anything about its having been transferred from one house to the other. "who brought it?" she asked, startled. "i sent for it," explained harboro. "i knew you'd want it the first thing." "you didn't go to the house?" "oh, no. i sent the expressman to the house and instructed him to ask for your things. i suppose he met your father. it's all right." she looked at him curiously. there was a little furrow in her forehead. "do you always do things--that way?" she asked. he didn't appear to understand what she meant. he had other things on his mind. he stood away from her, by the door. "if i were you i'd take off that--harness," he said. "it makes you look like a picture--or a sacrifice. do you know the old aztec legends? it would be nicer for you to look just like a little woman now. put on one of the dresses you wore when we walked together. how does that strike you?" "well, i will." she looked after him as if she were a little bewildered as he turned away, and closed the door. she heard him call back: "i'll see if there's anything i can do for antonia. supper will be ready when you come down." it seemed to her that his conduct was very strange for a lover. he was so entirely matter-of-fact. yet everything about him seemed to be made up of kindness--to radiate comfort. she had never known any other man like this, she reflected. and then an unfamiliar light dawned upon her. she had had lovers before, certainly; but she realized now, with a deep and strange sensation, that she had never really been loved until harboro came. she had some difficulty in getting out of her wedding-finery. there was a momentary temptation to call for help. but she thought better of this, and in the end she came down-stairs like a girl, in a light, clinging dress of chinese silk, with a girdle and tassel at the waist, and a red ribbon woven into the throat. you might have thought she was seventeen or eighteen. as a matter of fact, she was only twenty-two. harboro met her and kissed her, and led her to the table. he had a forceful manner. he was hungry, and it seemed that his efficiency extended to a knowledge of how a dinner should be served. he took his seat at the end of the table where the roast was, and the carving implements. at sylvia's place there was a percolator, and the coffee-cups, and the sugar and cream. antonia, wizened and dark, came and went silently. to the people of her race a wedding means a _fiesta_, a village hubbub, a dance, and varying degrees of drunkenness. she was not herself in this house of a wedding supper for two, and a prosaic attitude toward the one event in life when money ought to be spent freely, even in the face of impending bankruptcy. but harboro speedily set her at ease. they were there to eat their supper--that was all there was to it. he wasn't drinking toasts, or making love. he seemed thoroughly contented; and it didn't occur to him, clearly, that there was any occasion for making a noise or simulating an excitement which he did not feel. antonia regarded him furtively, from over his shoulder, as she waited for sylvia's plate with its portion of the roast. he was a strange _hombre._ well, she had known big, quiet men before. they were like rocks. it was all very well for a woman if she stood behind such a man for protection as long as she remained quiet; but heaven help her if she ever undertook to beat him with her fists. she would only break her hands and accomplish nothing else whatever. sylvia was not in a mood, seemingly, to eat very heartily; but harboro thought he understood that, and he made allowances. he did not urge her, unless reassuring tones and comfortable topics may be said to consist of urging. he regarded her with bright eyes when she poured the coffee; and when her hands trembled he busied himself with trifles so that he would not seem to notice. he produced a cigar and cut the end off with his penknife, and lit it deliberately. only once--just before they got up from the table--did he assume the rôle of lover. he turned to antonia, and with an air of pride and contentment, asked the old woman, in her own language: "isn't she a beautiful child?" sylvia was startled by his manner of speaking spanish. everybody along the border spoke the language a little; but harboro's wasn't the canteen spanish of most border americans. accent and enunciation were singularly nice and distinct. his mustache bristled rather fiercely over one or two of the words. antonia thought very highly of the "child," she admitted. she was _bonisima_, and other superlatives. and then harboro's manner became rather brisk again. "come, i want to show you the house," he said, addressing his wife. he had taken a great deal of pride in the planning and construction of the house. there was a young englishman in one of the shops--a draftsman--who had studied architecture in a london office, and who might have been a successful architect but for a downfall which had converted him, overnight, into a remittance-man and a fairly competent employee of the mexican international. and this man and harboro had put their heads together and considered the local needs and difficulties, and had finally planned a house which would withstand northers and lesser sand-storms, and the long afternoons' blazing sun, to the best advantage. a little garden had been planned, too. there was hydrant water in the yard. and there was a balcony, looking to the west, over the garden. she preceded him up-stairs. "first i want to show you your own room," said harboro. "what do you call it? i mean the room in which the lady of the house sits and is contented." i can't imagine what there was in this description which gave sylvia a hint as to his meaning, but she said: "a boudoir?" and harboro answered promptly: "that's it!" the boudoir was at the front of the house, up-stairs, overlooking the quemado road. it made sylvia's eyes glisten. it contained a piano, and a rather tiny divan in russet leather, and maple-wood furniture, and electric fixtures which made you think of little mediæval lanterns. but the bride looked at these things somewhat as if she were inspecting a picture, painted in bold strokes: as if they would become obscure if she went too close--as if they couldn't possibly be hers to be at home among. it did not appear that harboro was beginning to feel the absence of a spontaneous acceptance on the part of his wife. perhaps he was rather full of his own pleasure just then. they closed the door of the boudoir behind them after they had completed their inspection, and at another door harboro paused impressively. "this," he said, pushing the door open wide, "is the guest-chamber." it would have been small wonder if sylvia had felt suddenly cold as she crossed that threshold. certainly she seemed a little strange as she stood with her back to harboro and aimlessly took in the capacious bed and the few other simple articles. "the guest-chamber?" she echoed presently, turning toward him. "we'll have guests occasionally--after a while. friends of yours from san antonio, perhaps, or fellows i've known all the way from here to the city. we shouldn't want them to go to a hotel, should we? i mean, if they were people we really cared for?" "i hadn't thought," she answered. she went to the window and looked out; but the gray sands, pallid under the night sky, did not afford a soothing picture. she turned to harboro almost as if she were a stranger to him. "have you many friends?" she asked. "oh, no!--not enough to get in my way, you know. i've never had much of a chance for friendships--not for a good many years. but i ought to have a better chance now. i've thought you'd be able to help me in that way." she did not linger in the room, and harboro got the idea that she did not like to think of their sharing their home with outsiders. he understood that, too. "of course we're going to be by ourselves for a long time to come. there shall not be any guests until you feel you'd like to have them." then, as her eyes still harbored a shadow, he exclaimed gaily: "we'll pretend that we haven't any guest-chamber at all!" and taking a bunch of keys from his pocket he locked the door with a decisive movement. on the way down the hall they passed their bedroom. "this room you've seen," he said, "our room. but you have not seen the balcony yet." he was plainly confident that the balcony would make a pleasant impression upon her. he opened yet another door, and they stepped out under the night sky. the thing had been planned with certain poetic or romantic values in mind. standing on the balcony you were looking toward the rio grande--and mexico. and you seemed pretty high. there was the dull silver of the river, and the line of lights along the bridge, and beyond the huddled, dark structures of piedras negras. you might have imagined yourself on the deck of a mediterranean steamer, looking at a town in algeria or tunis. and beyond, under the low-hanging stars, was the mexican desert--a blank page, with only here and there the obscurity of a garden, or a _hacienda_, or a mere speck which would be a lonely casa built of earth. "do you like it?" he asked. he had seated himself with a sigh of contentment. his outstretched arms lay along the back of the settee, and he was looking at her eagerly. yes, she said, it was nice.... "it is strange that he should be thinking of the view just now," she was saying to herself. a painful turmoil raged within her; but outwardly she was so calm that harboro was puzzled. to him, too, that view became a negative thing for the moment. "i suspect that house down under the mesquite-tree was a bit shabby," he was thinking. "she's oppressed by so many new things." he gave her time to find her bearings. that was a thing she would do better by being left alone. and out of the chaos in sylvia's mind there came the clear realization that harboro was not living for the moment, but that he was looking forward, planning for a lifetime, and not for a swift, passing storm of passion. there was something static in his nature; there was a stability in the house he had provided and furnished. her experiences with him were not to be like a flame: sanctioned, yet in all other respects like other experiences she had had in the past. the silence between them had become uncomfortable--inappropriate; and harboro put a gentle arm about her and drew her closer to him. "sit down by me," he said. he was dismayed by the result of that persuasive movement. the hand he had taken into his trembled, and she would not yield to the pressure of his arm. she hung her head as if desolate memories were crowding between him and her, and he saw that moisture glistened in her eyes. "eh?" he inquired huskily, "you're not afraid of me?" she allowed him to draw her closer, and he felt the negative movement of her head as it lay on his shoulder; but he knew that she _was_ afraid, though he did not gauge the quality of her fear. "you mustn't be afraid, you know." he continued the pressure of his arm until she seemed to relax wholly against him. he felt a delicious sense of conquest over her by sympathy and gentleness. he was eager for that moment to pass, though he held it precious and knew that it would never return again. then he felt her body tremble as it lay against his. "that won't do!" he chided gently. "look!" he stood her on her feet before him, and took her arms at the elbows, pinioning them carefully to her sides. then he slowly lifted her above him, so that he had to raise his face to look into hers. the act was performed as if it were a rite. "you mean ... i am helpless?" she checked the manifestation of grief as abruptly as a child does when its mind has been swiftly diverted. "god bless me, no! i mean anything but that. that's just what i _don't_ mean. i mean that you're to have all the help you want--that you're to look to me for your strength, that you are to put your burdens on me." he placed her on the seat beside him and took one of her hands in both his. "there, now, we'll talk. you see, we're one, you and i. that isn't just a saying of the preachers. it's a fact. i couldn't harm you without harming myself. don't you see that? nobody could harm you without harming me, too." he did not notice that her hand stiffened in his at those words. "when we've been together awhile we'll both realize in wonderful ways what it means really to be united. when you've laid your head on my shoulder a great many times, or against my heart, the very blood in my veins will be the blood in your veins. i can't explain it. it goes beyond physiology. we'll belong to each other so completely that wherever you go i shall be with you, and when i go to work i shall have only to put my hand on my breast to touch you. i'll get my strength from you, and it shall be yours again in return. there, those are things which will come to us little by little. but you must never be afraid." i would rather not even try to surmise what was in sylvia's mind when, following those words of his, she swiftly took his face in her hands with unsuspected strength and hungrily kissed him. but harboro read no dark meaning into the caress. it seemed to him the natural thing for her to do. chapter iv harboro adopted the plan, immediately after his marriage, of walking to his work in the morning and back to his home in the evening. it was only a matter of a mile or so, and if you kept out of the sun of midday, it was a pleasant enough form of exercise. indeed, in the morning it was the sort of thing a man of varied experiences might have been expected to enjoy: the walk through eagle pass, with a glimpse of the dolch hotel bus going to meet the early train from spofford junction, and a friendly greeting from an occasional merchant, and then the breezy passage across the rio grande bridge, spanning the meandering waters which never bore vessels of any sort to the far-off sea, and finally the negotiation of the narrow street in piedras negras, past the plaza and the bull-ring, and countless little wine-shops, and the market, with its attractively displayed fruits and vegetables from nobody knew where. but it is not to be denied that his practice of making this journey to and fro afoot was not without its prejudicial result. the people of quality of either side of the river rarely ever set foot on the bridge, or on those malodorous streets of piedras negras which lay near the river. such people employed a _cochero_ and drove, quite in the european style, when business or pleasure drew them from their homes. there was an almost continuous stream of _peones_ on the bridge in the mornings and evenings: silent, furtive people, watched closely by the customs guard, whose duties required him on occasion to examine a suspicious-appearing mexican with decidedly indelicate thoroughness. and all this did not tend to make the bridge a popular promenade. but harboro was not squeamish, nor did he entertain slavish thoughts of how people would feel over a disregarded custom. he liked simplicity, and moreover he felt the need of exercise now that his work kept him inactive most of the time. he was at an age when men take on flesh easily. nevertheless, people weren't favorably impressed when they looked down from their old-fashioned equipages on their ride between the two republics, and caught a glimpse of the chief clerk marching along the bridge railing--often, as likely as not, in company with some chance laborer or wanderer, whose garb clearly indicated his lowly estate. and when, finally, harboro persuaded sylvia to accompany him on one of these walks of his, the limits of his eccentricity were thought to have been reached. indeed, not a few people, who might have been induced to forget that his marriage had been a scandalous one, were inclined for the first time to condemn him utterly when he required the two towns to contemplate him in company with the woman he had married, both of them running counter to all the conventions. the reason for this trip of harboro's and sylvia's was that harboro wanted sylvia to have a new dress for a special occasion. it happened that two or three weeks after his marriage harboro came upon an interesting bit of intelligence in the eagle pass _guide_, the town's weekly newspaper. it was a saturday afternoon (the day of the paper's publication), and harboro had gone up to the balcony overlooking the garden. he had carried the newspaper with him. he did not expect to find anything in the chronicles of local happenings, past or prospective, that would interest him. but there was always a department of railroad news--consisting mainly of personal items--which had for him the quality of a letter from home. sylvia was down-stairs at work in the dining-room, directing the efforts of old antonia. perhaps i should say that she was extraordinarily happy. i doubt very much if she had come to contemplate the married state through harboro's eyes; but she seemed to have feared that an avalanche would fall--and none had fallen. harboro had manifested an unswerving gentleness toward her, and she had begun to "let down," as swimmers say, with confidence in her ability to find bottom and attain the shore. when at length she went up to the balcony to tell harboro that supper was ready, she stood arrested by the pleasantly purposeful expression in his eyes. she had learned, rather creditably, to anticipate him. "you are to have a new dress," he announced. "yes.... why?" "i see here"--he tapped the paper on his knee--"that they're getting ready for their first dance of the winter at the mesquite club." she forgot herself. "but _we're_ not invited!" she said, frankly incredulous. "why no, not yet. but we shall be. why shouldn't we be?" her hand went to her heart in the old wistful way. "i don't know ... i just thought we shouldn't be. those affairs are for ... i've never thought they would invite me to one of their dances." "nonsense! they've invited me. now they'll invite _us_. i suppose the best milliners are across the river, aren't they?" she seemed unwilling to meet his eyes. "i believe some women get their dresses made over there, and wear them back to this side--so they needn't pay any duty. that is, if they're to be handsome dresses." "well, this is going to be a handsome dress." she seemed pleased, undeniably; yet she changed the subject with evident relief. "antonia will be cross if we don't go right down. and you must remember to praise the _enchalades_. she's tried with them ever so hard." this wasn't an affectation on sylvia's part. she was a good-hearted girl. "it's to be a handsome dress," repeated harboro an hour later, when they had returned to the balcony. it was dusk now, and little tapers of light were beginning to burn here and there in the desert: small, open fires where mexican women were cooking their suppers of dried goat's meat and _frijoles_. said sylvia: "if only.... does it matter so much to you that they should invite us?" "it matters to me on your account. such things are yours by right. you wouldn't be happy always with me alone. we must think of the future." sylvia took his hand and stroked it thoughtfully. there _were_ moments when she hungered for a bit of the comedy of life: laughter and other youthful noises. the mexican _bailes_ and their humble feasts were delightful; and the song of the violins, and the odor of smoke, and the innocent rivalries, and the night air. but the mesquite club.... "if only we could go on the way we are," she said finally, with a sigh of contentment--and regret. chapter v harboro insisted upon her going across the river with him the next day, a sunday. it was now late in october, but you wouldn't have realized it unless you had looked at the calendar. the sun was warm--rather too warm. the air was extraordinarily clear. it was an election year and the town had been somewhat disorderly the night before. harboro and sylvia had heard the noises from their balcony: singing, first, and then shouting. and later drunken mexicans had ridden past the house and on out the quemado road. a mexican who is the embodiment of taciturnity when afoot, will become a howling organism when he is mounted. harboro had telephoned to see if an appointment could be made--to a madame somebody whose professional card he had found in the _guide_. and he had been assured that monsieur would be very welcome on a sunday. sylvia was glad that it was not on a weekday, and that it was in the forenoon, when she would be required to make her first public appearance with her husband. the town would be practically deserted, save by a few better-class young men who might be idling about the drug-store. they wouldn't know her, and if they did, they would behave circumspectly. strangely enough, it was sylvia's conviction that men are nearly all good creatures. as it fell out it was harboro and not sylvia who was destined to be humiliated that day--a fact which may not seem strange to the discerning. they had got as far as the middle of the rio grande bridge without experiencing anything which marred the general effect of a stage set for a passion play--but with the actors missing; and then they saw a carriage approaching from the mexican side. harboro knew the horses. they were the general manager's. and presently he recognized the coachman. the horses were moving at a walk, very slowly; but at length harboro recognized the general manager's wife, reclining under a white silk sunshade and listening to the vivacious chatter of a young woman by her side. they would be coming over to attend the services in the episcopal church in eagle pass, harboro realized. then he recognized the young woman, too. he had met her at one of the affairs to which he had been invited. he recalled her as a girl whose voice was too high-pitched for a reposeful effect, and who created the impression that she looked upon the social life of the border as a rather amusing adventure. you might have supposed that they considered themselves the sole occupants of the world as they advanced, perched on their high seat; and this, harboro realized, was the true fashionable air. it was an instinct rather than a pose, he believed, and he was pondering that problem in psychology which has to do with the fact that when people ride or drive they appear to have a different mental organism from those who walk. then something happened. the carriage was now almost at hand, and harboro saw the coachman turn his head slightly, as if to hear better. then he leaned forward and rattled the whip in its place, and the horses set off at a sharp trot. there was a rule against trotting on the bridge, but there are people everywhere who are not required to observe rules. harboro paused, ready to lift his hat. he liked the general manager's wife. but the occupants of the carriage passed without seeing him. and harboro got the impression that there was something determined in the casual air with which the two women looked straight before them. he got an odd feeling that the most finely tempered steel of all lies underneath the delicate golden filigree of social custom and laws. he was rather pleased at a conclusion which came to him: people of that kind really _did_ see, then. they only pretended not to see. and then he felt the blood pumping through the veins in his neck. "what is it?" asked sylvia, with that directness which harboro comprehended and respected. "why, those ladies ... they didn't seem quite the type you'd expect to see here, did they?" "oh, there's every type here," she replied lightly. she turned her eyes away from harboro. there was something in his face which troubled her. she could not bear to see him with that expression of wounded sensibilities and rebellious pride in his eyes. and she had understood everything. she did not break in upon his thoughts soon. she would have liked to divert his mind, but she felt like a culprit who realizes that words are often betrayers. and so they walked in silence up that narrow bit of street which connects the bridge with piedras negras, and leads you under the balcony of what used to be the american consul's house, and on past the _cuartel_, where the imprisoned soldiers are kept. here, of course, the street broadens and skirts the plaza where the band plays of an evening, and where the town promenades round and round the little square of palms and fountains, under the stars. you may remember that a little farther on, on one side of the plaza, there is the immense church which has been building for a century, more or less, and which is still incomplete. there were a few miserable-looking soldiers, with shapeless, colorless uniforms, loitering in front of the _cuartel_ as harboro and sylvia passed. the indefinably sinister character of the building affected sylvia. "what is it?" she asked. "it's where the republic keeps a body of its soldiers," explained harboro. "they're inside--locked up." they were both glad to sit down on one of the plaza benches for a few minutes; they did so by a common impulse, without speaking. "it's the first time i ever thought of prisoners having what you'd call an honorable profession," sylvia said slowly. she gazed at the immense, low structure with troubled eyes. flags fluttered from the ramparts at intervals, but they seemed oddly lacking in gallantry or vitality. "it's a barbarous custom," said harboro shortly. he was still thinking of that incident on the bridge. "and yet ... you might think of them as happy, living that way." "good gracious! happy?" "they needn't care about how they are to be provided for--and they have their duties." "but they're _prisoners_, sylvia!" "yes, prisoners.... aren't we all prisoners, somehow? i've sometimes thought that none of us can do just what we'd like to do, or come or go freely. we think we're free, as oxen in a treadmill think of themselves as being free, i suppose. we think we're climbing a long hill, and that we'll get to the top after a while. but at sundown the gate is opened and the oxen are released. they've never really gotten anywhere." he turned to her with the stanch optimism she had grown accustomed to in him. "a pagan doctrine, that," he said spiritedly. "a pagan doctrine.... i wonder what that means." "pagans are people who don't believe in god. i am not speaking of the god of the churches, exactly. i mean a good influence." "don't they believe in their own gods?" "no doubt. but you might call their own gods bad influences, as often as not." "ah--perhaps they're just simple folk who believe in their own experiences." he had the troubled feeling that her intuitions, her fatalistic leanings, were giving her a surer grasp of the subject than his, which was based upon a rather nebulous, logical process that often brought him to confusion. "i only know that i am free," he declared doggedly. the sun had warmed her to an almost vagrant mood. her smile was delicate enough, yet her eyes held a gentle taunt as she responded: "not a bit of it; you have a wife." "a wife--yes; and that gives me ten times the freedom i ever had before. a man is like a bird with only one wing--before he finds a wife. his wife becomes his other wing. there isn't any height beyond him, when he has a wife." she placed her hands on her cheeks. "two wings!" she mused.... "what's between the wings?" "a heart, you may say, if you will. or a soul. a capacity. words are fashioned by scholars--dull fellows. but you know what i mean." from the hidden depths of the _cuartel_ a silver bugle-note sounded, and sylvia looked to see if the soldiers sitting out in front would go away; but they did not do so. she arose. "would you mind going into the church a minute?" she asked. "no; but why?" "oh, anybody can go into those churches," she responded. "anybody can go into _any_ church." "yes, i suppose so. what i mean is that these old catholic churches seem different. in our own churches you have a feeling of being--what do you say?--personally conducted. as if you were a visitor being shown children's trinkets. there is something impersonal--something boundless--in churches like this one here. the silence makes you think that there is nobody in them--or that perhaps ... god isn't far away." he frowned. "but this is just where the trinkets are--in these churches: the images, the painted figures, the robes, the whole mysterious paraphernalia." "yes ... but when there isn't anything going on. you feel an influence. i remember going into a church in san antonio once--a protestant chapel, and the only thing i could recall afterward was a yankee clock that ticked too fast and too loud. i never heard of anything so horribly inappropriate. time was what you thought of. not eternity. you felt that the people would be afraid of wasting a minute too much--as if their real concerns were elsewhere." harboro was instinctively combating the thought that was in her mind, so far as there was a definite thought, and as far as he understood it. "but why shouldn't there be a clock?" he asked. "if people feel that they ought to give a certain length of time to worship, and then go back to their work again, why shouldn't they have a clock?" "i suppose it's all right," she conceded; and then, with a faint smile: "yes, if it didn't tick too loud." she lowered her voice abruptly on the last word. they had passed across the doorless portal and were in the presence of a group of silent, kneeling figures: wretched women whose heads were covered with black cotton _rebozos_, who knelt and faced the distant altar. they weren't in rows. they had settled down just anywhere. and there were men: swarthy, ill-shapen, dejected. their lips moved noiselessly. harboro observed her a little uneasily. her sympathy for this sort of thing was new to him. but she made none of the customary signs of fellowship, and after a brief interval she turned and led the way back into the sunshine. he was still regarding her strangely when she paused, just outside the door, and opened a little hand-bag which depended from her arm. she was quite intently devoted to a search for something. presently she produced a coin, and then harboro observed for the first time that the tortured figure of a beggar sat in the sun outside the church door. sylvia leaned over with an impassive face and dropped the coin into the beggar's cup. she chanced to glance at harboro's face an instant later, and she was dismayed a little by its expression: that of an almost violent distaste. what did it mean? was it because she had given a coin to the beggar? there could have been no other reason. but why should he look as if her action had contaminated her in some fashion--as if there had been communication between her and the unfortunate _anciano_? as if there had been actual contact? "you wouldn't have done that?" she said. "no, i shouldn't have done it," he replied. "i can't think why. the wretched creature--i should have felt troubled if i'd ignored him." "but it's a profession. it's as much a part of the national customs as dancing and drinking." "yes, i know. a profession ... but isn't that all the more reason why we should give him a little help?" "a reason why you should permit yourself to be imposed upon?" "i can't help thinking further than that. after all, it's he and his kind that must have been imposed upon in the beginning. it's being a profession makes me believe that all the people who might have helped him, who might have given him a chance to be happy and respectable, really conspired against him in some way. you have to believe that it's the rule that some must be comfortable and some wretched." "a beggar is a beggar," said harboro. "and he was filthy." "but don't you suppose he'd rather be the proprietor of a wine-shop, or something of that sort, if he had had any choice?" "well.... it's not a simple matter, of course. i'm glad you did what you felt you ought to do." it occurred to harboro that he was setting up too much opposition to her whims--whims which seemed rooted in her principles as well as her impulses. it was as if their minds were of different shapes: hers circular, his square; so that there could be only one point of contact between them--that one point being their love for each other. there would be a fuller conformity after a while, he was sure. he must try to understand her, to get at her odd point of view. she might be right occasionally, when they were in disagreement. he touched her lightly on the shoulder. "i'm afraid we ought to be getting on to the madame's," he said. chapter vi harboro would have made you think of a bear in a toy-shop when he sat down in the tiny front room of madame boucher's millinery establishment. he was uncomfortably, if vaguely, conscious of the presence of many hats, displayed on affairs which were like unfinished music-racks. he had given madame boucher certain instructions--or perhaps liberties would be a better word. mrs. harboro was to be shown only the best fabrics, he told her; and no pains were to be spared to make a dress which would be a credit to madame's establishment. madame had considered this, and him, and had smiled. madame's smile had impressed him curiously. there had been no co-operation between lips and eyes. the eyes had opened a little wider, as if with a stimulated rapaciousness. the lips had opened to the extent of a nicely achieved, symmetrical crescent of teeth. it made harboro think of a carefully constructed jack-o'-lantern. sylvia had asked him if he wouldn't help in making a choice, but he had looked slightly alarmed, and had resolutely taken a seat which afforded a view of the big _casa blanca_ across the way: an emporium conducted on a big scale by germans. he even became oblivious to the discussion on the other side of the partition, where sylvia and madame presently entered upon the preliminaries of the business in hand. the street was quite familiar to him. there had been a year or so, long ago, when he had "made" piedras negras, as railroaders say, twice a week. he hadn't liked the town very well. he saw its vice rather than its romance. he had attended one bullfight, and had left his seat in disgust when he saw a lot of men and women of seeming gentility applauding a silly fellow whose sole stock in trade was an unblushing vanity. his imagination travelled on beyond the bull-pen, to the shabby dance-halls along the river. it was a custom for americans to visit the dance-halls at least once. he had gone into them repeatedly. other railroaders who were his associates enjoyed going into these places, and harboro, rather than be alone in the town, had followed disinterestedly in their wake, and had looked on with cold, contemplative eyes at the disorderly picture they presented: unfortunate mexican girls dancing with cowboys and railroaders and soldiers and nondescripts. three mexicans, with harp, violin, and 'cello had supplied the music: the everlasting national airs. it seemed to harboro that the whole republic spent half its time within hearing of _sobre las olas_, and _la paloma_, and _la golondrina_. he had heard so much of the emotional noises vibrating across the land that when he got away from the throb of his engine, into some silent place, it seemed to him that his ears reverberated with flutes and strings, rather than the song of steam, which he understood and respected. he had got the impression that music smelled bad--like stale wine and burning corn-husks and scented tobacco and easily perishable fruits. he remembered the only woman who had ever made an impression upon him down in those dance-halls: an overmature creature, unusually fair for a mexican, who spoke a little english, manipulating her lips quaintly, like a child. he recalled her favorite expression: "my class is very fine!" she had told him this repeatedly, enunciating the words with delicacy. she had once said to him, commiseratingly: "you work very hard?" and when he had confessed that his duties were onerous, she had brightened. "much work, much money," she had said, with the avidity of a boy who has caught a rabbit in a trap. and harboro had wondered where she had got such a monstrously erroneous conception of the law of industrialism. the picture of the whirling figures came back to him: the vapor of dust in the room, the loud voices of men at the bar, trying to be heard above the din of the music and the dancing. there came back to him the memory of a drunken cowboy, nudging the violinist's elbow as he played, and shouting: "give us _dixie_--give us a white man's tune"--and the look of veiled hatred in the slumbrous eyes of the mexican musician, who had inferred the insult without comprehending the words. he recalled other pictures of those nights: the indian girls who might be expected to yell in the midst of a dance if they had succeeded in attracting the attention of a man who usually danced with some one else. and there were other girls with a spanish strain in them--girls with a drop of blood that might have been traced back a hundred years to madrid or seville or barcelona. small wonder if such girls felt like shrieking too, sometimes. not over petty victories, and with joy; but when their hearts broke because the bells of memory called to them from away in the barred windows of spain, or in walled gardens, or with the shepherd lovers of andalusia. if you danced with one of them you paid thirty cents at the bar and got a drink, while the girl was given a check good for fifteen cents in the trade of the place. the girls used to cash in their checks at the end of a night's work at fifty cents a dozen. it wasn't quite fair; but then the proprietor was a business man. "my class is very fine!" the words came back to harboro's mind. good god!--what had become of her? there had been a railroad man, a fellow named peterson, who was just gross enough to fancy her--a good chap, too, in his way. courageous, energetic, loyal--at least to other men. he had occasionally thought that peterson meant to take the poor, pretentious creature away from the dance-halls and establish her somewhere. he had not seen peterson for years now. ... sylvia emerged from behind the thin partition, sighing and smiling. "did it seem very long?" she asked. "it's hard to make up your mind. it's like taking one color out of the rainbow and expecting it to look as pretty as the whole rainbow. but i'm ready now." "remember, a week from wednesday," called madame boucher, as harboro and sylvia moved toward the door. harboro looked at sylvia inquiringly. "for the try-on," she explained. "yes, i'll be here." she went out, harboro holding the door open for her. out on the sidewalk she almost collided with a heavy man, an american--a gross, blond, good-natured creature who suddenly smiled with extreme gratification. "hello!--_sylvia!_" he cried. he seized her by the hand and drew her close. harboro stood on the door-step and looked down--and recognized peterson. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ part ii the time of flame ------------------------------------------------------------------------ chapter vii peterson felt the dark shadow of harboro immediately. he looked up into the gravely inquiring face above him, and then he gave voice to a new delight. "hello!--harboro!" he dropped sylvia's hand as if she no longer existed. an almost indefinable change of expression occurred in his ruddy, radiant face. it was as if his joy at seeing sylvia had been that which we experience in the face of a beautiful illusion; and now, seeing harboro, it was as if he stood in the presence of a cherished reality. he grasped harboro's hand and dragged him down from the step. "old harboro!" he exclaimed. "you two appear to have met before," remarked harboro, looking with quiet inquiry from sylvia to peterson, and back to sylvia. "yes, in san antonio," she explained. it had been in eagle pass, really, but she did not want harboro to know. the smile on peterson's face had become curiously fixed. "yes, in san antonio," he echoed. "he knew my father," added sylvia. "a particular friend," said peterson. and then, the lines of mirth on his face becoming a little less rigid and the color a little less ruddy, he added to sylvia: "doesn't your father occasionally talk about his old friend _peterson?_" harboro interrupted. "at any rate, you probably don't know that she is mrs. harboro now." peterson appeared to be living entirely within himself for the moment. he might have made you think of the trojan horse--innocuous without, but teeming with belligerent activity within. he seemed to be laughing maliciously, though without movement or noise. then he was all frank joyousness again. "good!" he exclaimed. he smote harboro on the shoulder. "good!" he stood apart, vigorously erect, childishly pleased. "enjoying a holiday?" he asked. and when harboro nodded he became animated again. "you're both going to take dinner with me--over at the _internacional_. we'll celebrate. i've got to take my train out in an hour--i've got a train now, harboro." (harboro had noted his conductor's uniform.) "we'll just have time. we can have a talk." harboro recalled a score of fellows he had known up and down the line, with most of whom he had gotten out of touch. peterson would know about some of them. he realized how far he had been removed from the spontaneous joys of the railroad career since he had been in the office. and peterson had always been a friendly chap, with lots of good points. "should you like it, sylvia?" he asked. she had liked peterson, too. he had always been good-natured and generous. he had seemed often almost to understand.... "i think it would be nice," she replied. she was afraid there was a note of guilt in her voice. she wished harboro had refused to go, without referring the matter to her. "i could telephone to antonia," he said slowly. it seemed impossible to quicken his pulses in any way. "she needn't get anything ready." "i could do it," suggested sylvia. she felt she'd rather not be left alone with peterson. "i could use madame boucher's telephone." but harboro had already laid his hand on the door. "better let me," he said. "i can do it quicker." he knew that antonia would want to remonstrate, to ask questions, and he wanted sylvia to enjoy the occasion whole-heartedly. he went back into the milliner's shop. "_peterson_," said the man who remained on the sidewalk with sylvia. "i remember," she replied, her lips scarcely moving, her eyes avoiding his burning glance. "and ... in san antonio." they were rather early for the midday meal when they reached the _internacional_; indeed, they were the first to enter the dining-room. nevertheless the attitudes of the mexican waiters were sufficient assurance that they might expect to be served immediately. peterson looked at his watch and compared it with the clock in the dining-room. "the train from spofford is late," he said. "it's due now." he pitched his head up like a dog. "there she is!" he exclaimed. there was the rumble of a train crossing the bridge. "they'll be coming in right away." he indicated the empty tables by a glance. harboro knew all about the train schedules and such matters. he knew that american tourists bound for mexico would be coming over on that train, and that they would have an hour for dinner while their baggage was passing through the hands of the customs officials. they had given their orders and were still waiting when the train pulled in at the station, close at hand, and in a moment the dining-room became noisy. "travel seems pretty light," commented peterson. he appeared to be trying to make conversation; he was obviously under some sort of constraint. still, he had the genuine interest of the railroader in the subjects he mentioned. harboro had not observed that there was not even one woman among the travellers who entered; but peterson noted the fact, mentioning it in the tone of one who has been deprived of a natural right. and harboro wondered what was the matter with a man who saw the whole world, always, solely in relation to women. he sensed the fact that peterson was not entirely comfortable. "he's probably never grown accustomed to being in the company of a decent woman," he concluded. he tried to launch the subject of old associates. it seemed that peterson had been out in durango for some time, but he had kept in touch with most of the fellows on the line to the city. he began to talk easily, and harboro was enjoying the meeting even before the waiter came back with their food. sylvia was ill at ease. she was glad that harboro and peterson had found something to talk about. she began to eat the amber-colored grapes the waiter had placed before her. she seemed absent-minded, absorbed in her own thoughts. and then she forgot self in the contemplation of a man and a child who had come in and taken a table at the other end of the dining-room. the man wore a band of crape around his arm. the child, a little girl of five or six, had plainly sobbed herself into a condition verging upon stupor. she was not eating the dinner which had been brought to her, though she occasionally glanced with miserable eyes at one dish or another. she seemed unable to help herself, and at intervals a dry sob shook her tiny body. sylvia forgot the grapes beside her plate; she was looking with womanly pity at that little girl, and at the man, who seemed sunk into the depths of despair. peterson followed her compassionate glance. "ah," he explained, "it's a chap who came up from paila a little while back. he had his wife with him. she was dying, and she wanted to be buried in texas. i believe he's in some sort of business down in paila." the spirit of compassion surrounded sylvia like a halo. she had just noted that the little girl was making a stupendous effort to conquer her sobs, to "be good," as children say. with a heroic resolve which would have been creditable to a joan of arc, the little thing suddenly began to try to eat from one of the dishes, but her hands trembled so that she was quite helpless. her efforts seemed about to suffer a final collapse. and then sylvia pushed her chair back and arose. there was a tremulous smile on her lips as she crossed the room. she paused by that man with crape on his sleeve. "i wonder if you won't let me help," she said. her voice would have made you think of rue, or of april rain. she knelt beside the child's chair and possessed herself of a tiny hand with a persuasive gentleness that would have worked miracles. her face was uplifted, soft, beaming, bright. she was scarcely prepared for the passionate outburst of the child, who suddenly flung forth eager hands with a cry of surrender. sylvia held the convulsed body against her breast, tucking the distorted face up under her chin. "there!" she soothed, "there!" she carried her charge out of the room without wasting words. she had observed that when the child came to her the man had seemed on the point of surrender, too. with an effort he had kept himself inert, with a wan face. he had the dubious, _sounding_ expression of one who stands at a door with his back to the light and looks out into the dark. before she had brought the child back, washed and comforted, to help her with her food, peterson had forgotten the interruption entirely. taking advantage of sylvia's absence (as if she had been an interfering factor in the meeting, but scarcely a third person), he turned keen eyes upon harboro. "old harboro!" he said affectionately and musingly. then he seemed to be swelling up, as if he were a mobile vessel filled with water that had begun to boil. he became as red as a victim of apoplexy. his eyes filled with an unholy mirth, his teeth glistened. his voice was a mere wheeze, issuing from a cataclysm of agonized mirth. "_and so you've come to it at last!_" he managed to articulate. "come to what?" inquired harboro. his level glance was disconcerting. peterson was on the defensive immediately. "you used not to care for women--or you claimed you didn't." "oh! i didn't understand. i used not to care for--a certain class of women. i don't yet." the threatened boiling-over process was abruptly checked, as if a lid had been lifted. "oh!" said peterson weakly. he gazed at a fragment of roast beef on his plate. it might have been some sort of strange insect. he frowned at it. and then his eyes blazed steadily and brightly. he did not look at harboro again for a long time. sylvia came back, moving a little shyly, and pushing a strand of hair back into its place. she looked across the dining-room to where the child was talking with old-fashioned sedateness to her father. she had forgotten her tragedy--for the moment. the man appeared to have forgotten, too. but peterson's dinner turned out to be a failure, after all. conversation became desultory, listless. they arose from their places at last and left the room. on the street they stood for a moment, but nothing was said about another meeting. harboro thought of inviting peterson over to the house; but he fancied sylvia wouldn't like it; and besides, the man's grossness was there, more patent than ever, and it stood between them. "well, good-by," said peterson. he shook hands with harboro and with sylvia. but while he shook hands with sylvia he was looking at harboro. all that was substantial in the man's nature was educed by men, not by women; and he was fond of harboro. to him sylvia was an incident, while harboro was an episode. harboro typified work and planning and the rebuffs of the day. sylvia meant to him only a passing pleasure and the relaxation of the night or of a holiday. as he went away he seemed eager to get around a corner somewhere. he seemed to be swelling up again. you might have supposed he was about to explode. chapter viii sylvia's dress made its appearance in due course in the house on the quemado road. sylvia could not understand why harboro should have arranged to have it delivered according to routine, paying the duty on it. it seemed to her a waste of money, a willingness to be a victim of extortion. why should the fact that the river was there make any difference? it was some scheme of the merchants of eagle pass, probably, the purpose of which was to compel you to buy from them, and pay higher prices, and take what you didn't want. the dress was a wonderful affair: a triumph of artful simplicity. it was white, with a suggestion of warmth: an effect produced by a second fabric underlying the visible silk. it made sylvia look like a gentle queen of marionettes. a set of jewelry of silver filigree had been bought to go with it: circles of butterflies of infinite delicacy for bracelets, and a necklace. you would have said there was only wanting a star to bind in her hair and a wand for her to carry. but the mesquite club ball came and went, and the harboros were not invited. harboro was stunned. the ball was on a friday night: and on saturday he went up to the balcony of his house with a copy of the _guide_ clutched in his hand. he did not turn to the railroad news. he was interested only in the full-column, first-page account of the ball at the mesquite club. there was the customary amount of fine writing, including a patent straining for new adjectives to apply to familiar decorations. and then there was a list of the names of the guests. possibly piedras negras hadn't been included--and possibly he was still regarded as belonging to the railroad offices, and the people across the river. but no, there were the names: heads of departments and the usual presentable clerks--young englishmen with an air. the general manager, as harboro knew, was on a trip to torreon; but otherwise the list of names was sufficient evidence that this first ball of the season had been a particularly ambitious affair. sylvia was standing alone in the dining-room while harboro frowned darkly over the list of names before him. the physical sylvia was in the dining-room; but her mind was up on the balcony with harboro. she was watching him as he scowled at the first page of the _guide_. but if chagrin was the essence of the thing that bothered harboro, something far deeper caused sylvia to stand like a slim, slumbering tree. she was frightened. harboro would begin to ask why? and he was a man. he would guess the reason. he would begin to realize that mere obscurity on the part of his wife was not enough to explain the fact that the town refused to recognize her existence. and then...? antonia spoke to her once and again without being heard. would the señora have the roast put on the table now, or would she wait until the señor came down-stairs? she decided for herself, bringing in the roast with an entirely erroneous belief that she was moving briskly. an ancient mexican woman knows very well what the early months of marriage are. there is a flame, and then there are ashes. then the ashes must be removed by mutual effort and embers are discovered. then life is good and may run along without any annoyances. when the señor went up-stairs with scarcely a word to the señora, antonia looked within, seeming to notice nothing. but to herself she was saying: "the time of ashes." the bustle of the domestic life was good at such a time. she brought in the roast. harboro, with the keen senses of a healthy man who is hungry, knew that the roast had been placed on the table, but he did not stir. the _guide_ had slipped from his knee to the floor, and he was looking away to the darkening tide of the rio grande. he had looked at his problem from every angle, and now he was coming to a conclusion which did him credit. ... they had not been invited to the ball. well, what had he done that people who formerly had gone out of their way to be kind to him should ignore him? (it did not occur to him for an instant that the cause lay with sylvia.) he was not a conceited man, but ... an eligible bachelor must, certainly, be regarded more interestedly than a man with a wife, particularly in a community where the young women were blooming and eligible men were scarce. they had drawn him into their circle because they had regarded him as a desirable husband for one of their young women. he remembered now how the processes of the social mill had brought him up before this young woman and that until he had met them all: how, often, he had found himself having a _tête-à-tête_ with some kindly disposed girl whom he never would have thought of singling out for special attention. he hadn't played their game. he might have remained a bachelor and all would have been well. there would always have been the chance of something happening. but he had found a wife outside their circle. he had, in effect, snubbed them before they had snubbed him. he remembered now how entirely absorbed he had been in his affair with sylvia, and how the entire community had become a mere indistinct background during those days when he walked with her and planned their future. there wasn't any occasion for him to feel offended. he had ignored the town--and the town had paid him back in his own coin. he had conquered his black mood entirely when sylvia came up to him. she regarded him a moment timidly, and then she put her hand on his shoulder. he looked up at her with the alert kindliness which she had learned to prize. "i'm afraid you're fearfully disappointed," she said. "i was. but i'm not now." he told her what his theory was, putting it into a few detached words. but she understood and brightened immediately. "do you suppose that's it?" she asked. "what else could it be?" he arose. "isn't antonia ready?" "i think so. and there are so many ways for us to be happy without going to their silly affairs. imagine getting any pleasure out of sitting around watching a girl trying to get a man! that's all they amount to, those things. we'll get horses and ride. it's ever so much more sensible." she felt like a culprit let out of prison as she followed him down into the dining-room. for the moment she was no longer the fatalist, foreseeing inevitable exposure and punishment. nothing had come of their meeting with peterson--an incident which had taken her wholly by surprise, and which had threatened for an instant to result disastrously. she had spent wakeful hours as a result of that meeting; but the cloud of apprehension had passed, leaving her sky serene again. and now harboro had put aside the incident of the mesquite club ball as if it did not involve anything more than a question of pique. she took her place at the end of the table, and propped her face up in her hands while harboro carved the roast. why shouldn't she hope that the future was hers, to do with as she would--or, at least, as she could? that her fate now lay in her own hands, and not in every passing wind of circumstance, seemed possible, even probable. if only.... a name came into her mind suddenly; a name carved in jagged, sinister characters. if only fectnor would stay away off there in the city. she did not know why that name should have occurred to her just now to plague her. fectnor was an evil bird of passage who had come and gone. such creatures had no fixed course. he had once told her that only a fool ever came back the way he had gone. he belonged to the states, somewhere, but he would come back by way of el paso, if he ever came back; or he would drift over toward vera cruz or tampico. fectnor was one of those who had trod that path through the mesquite to sylvia's back door in the days which were ended. but he was different from the others. he was a man who was lavish with money--but he expected you to pick it up out of the dust. he was of violent moods; and he had that audacity--that taint of insanity, perhaps--which enables some men to maintain the reputation of bad men, of "killers," in every frontier. when fectnor had come he had seemed to assume the right of prior possession, and others had yielded to him without question. indeed, it was usually known when the man was in town, and during these periods none came to sylvia's door save one. he even created the impression that all others were poachers, and that they had better be wary of him. she had been afraid of him from the first; and it had seemed to her that her only cross was removed when she heard that fectnor had got a contract down in the interior and had gone away. that had happened a good many months ago; and sylvia remembered now, with a feeling as of an icy hand on her heart, that if her relationships with many of the others in those old days were innocent enough--or at best marred only by a kindly folly--there had been that in her encounters with fectnor which would forever damn her in harboro's eyes, if the truth ever reached him. he would have the right to call her a bad woman; and if the word seemed fantastic and unreal to her, she knew that it would not seem so to harboro. if only fectnor.... she winked quickly two or three times, as if she had been dreaming. antonia had set her plate before her, and the aroma of the roast was in her nostrils. harboro was regarding her serenely, affectionately. chapter ix they were happier than ever, following that adjusting episode. harboro felt that his place had been assigned to him, and he was satisfied. he would have to think of ways of affording diversion for sylvia, of course; but that could be managed, and in the meantime she seemed disposed to prolong the rapturous and sufficient joys of their honeymoon. he would be on the lookout, and when the moment of reaction came he would be ready with suggestions. she had spoken of riding. there would be places to go. the _bailes_ out at the quemado; weddings far out in the chaparral. many americans attended these affairs in a spirit of adventure, and the ride was always delightful. there was a seduction in the desert winds, in the low-vaulted skies with their decorative schemes of constellations. he was rather at a loss as to how to meet the people who had made a fellow of him. there was dunwoodie, for example. he ran into dunwoodie one morning on his way to work, and the good fellow had stopped him with an almost too patent friendliness. "come, stop long enough to have a drink," said dunwoodie, blushing without apparent cause and shaking harboro awkwardly by the hand. and then, as if this blunt invitation might prove too transparent, he added: "i was in a game last night, and i'm needing one." there was no need for dunwoodie to explain his desire for a drink--or his disinclination to drink alone. harboro saw nothing out of the ordinary in the invitation; but unfortunately he responded before he had quite taken the situation into account. "it's pretty early for me," he said. "another time--if you'll excuse me." it was to be regretted that harboro's manner seemed a trifle stiff; and dunwoodie read uncomfortable meanings into that refusal. he never repeated the invitation; and others, hearing of the incident, concluded that harboro was too deeply offended by what the town had done to him to care for anybody's friendship any more. the thing that the town had done to harboro was like an open page to everybody. indeed, the people of eagle pass knew that harboro had been counted out of eligible circles considerably before harboro knew it himself. as for sylvia, contentment overspread her like incense. she was to have harboro all to herself, and she was not to be required to run the gantlet of the town's too-knowing eyes. she felt safe in that house on the quemado road, and she hoped that she now need not emerge from it until old menaces were passed, and people had come and gone, and she could begin a new chapter. she was somewhat annoyed by her father during those days. he sent messages by antonia. why didn't she come to see him? she was happy, yes. but could she forget her old father? was she that kind of a daughter? such was the substance of the messages which reached her. she would not go to see him. she could not bear to think of entering his house. she had been homesick occasionally--that she could not deny. there had been moments when the new home oppressed her by its orderliness, by its strangeness. and she was fond of her father. she supposed she ought not to be fond of him; he had always been a worthless creature. but such matters have little to do with the law of cause and effect. she loved him--there was the truth, and it could not be ignored. but with every passing day the house under the mesquite-tree assumed a more terrible aspect in her eyes, and the house on the quemado road became more familiar, dearer. unknown to harboro, she sent money to her father. he had intimated that if she could not come there were certain needs ... there was no work to be obtained, seemingly.... and so the money which she might have used for her own pleasure went to her father. she was not unscrupulous in this matter. she did not deceive harboro. she merely gave to her father the money which harboro gave her, and which she was expected to use without explaining how it was spent. with the passing of days she ceased to worry about those messages of her father--she ceased to regard them as reminders that the tie between her old life and the new was not entirely broken. and following the increased assurances of her safety in harboro's house and heart, she began to give rein to some of the coquetries of her nature. she became an innocent siren, studying ways of bewitchment, of endearment. she became a bewildering revelation to him, amazing him, delighting him. after he had begun to conclude that he knew her she became not one woman, but a score of women: demure, elfin, pensive, childlike, sedate, aloof, laughing--but always with her delight in him unconcealed: the mask she wore always slipping from its place to reveal her eagerness to draw closer to him, and always closer. the evenings were beginning to be cool, and occasionally she enticed him after nightfall into the room he had called her boudoir. she drew the blinds and played the infinitely varied game of love with him. she asked him to name some splendid lover, some famous courtier. ingomar? very well, he should be ingomar. what sort of lover was he?... and forthwith her words, her gestures and touches became as chains of flowers to lead him to do her bidding. napoleon? she saluted him, and marched prettily before him--and halted to claim her reward in kisses. he was antony and leander. when she climbed on his knees with kisses for leander he pretended to be surprised. "more kisses?" he asked. "but these are the first." "and those other kisses?" "they? oh, they were for antony." "ah, but if you have kissed antony, leander does not want your kisses." her face seemed to fade slightly, as if certain lights had been extinguished. she withdrew a little from him and did not look at him. "why?" she asked presently. the gladness had gone out of her voice. "well ... kisses should be for one lover; not for two." she pondered, and turned to him with an air of triumph. "but you see, these are new kisses for leander. they are entirely different. they've never been given before. they've got nothing to do with the others." he pretended to be convinced. but the kisses she gave to leander were less rapturous. she was thinking. "i'm afraid you don't think so highly of ... leander," he suggested. "suppose i be ... samson?" she leaned her head on his shoulder as if she had grown tired. "samson was a very strong man," he explained. "he could push a house down." that interested her. "would you like to be samson?" she asked. "i think it might be nice ... but no--the woman who kissed samson betrayed him. i think i won't be samson, after all." she had been nervously fingering the necklace of gold beads at her throat; and suddenly she uttered a distressed cry. the string had broken, and the beads fell in a yellow shower to the rug. she climbed down on her knees beside him and picked up the beads, one by one. "let them go," he urged cheerfully, noting her distress. "come back. i'll be anybody you choose. even samson." that extinguished light seemed to have been turned on again. she looked up at him smiling. "no, i don't want you to be samson," she said. "and i don't want to lose my beads." he regarded her happily. she looked very little and soft there on the rug. "you look like a kitten," he declared. she picked up the last bead and looked at the unstable baubles in her pink left palm. she tilted her hand so that they rolled back and forth. "could a kitten look at a king?" she asked with mock earnestness. "i should think it could, if there happened to be any king about." she continued to make the beads roll about on her hand. "i'm going to be a kitten," she declared with decision. "would you like me to be a kitten?" she raised herself on her knees and propped her right hand behind her on the rug for support. she was looking earnestly into his eyes. "if you'd like to be," he replied. "hold your hand," she commanded. she poured the beads into his immense, hard palm. "don't spill them." she turned about on the rug on hands and knees, and crept away to the middle of the floor. she turned and arose to her knees, and rested both hands before her on the floor. she held her head high and _meowed_ twice so realistically that harboro leaned forward, regarding her with wonder. she lowered herself and turned and crept to the window. there she lifted herself a little and patted the tassel which hung from the blind. she continued this with a certain sedateness and concentration until the tassel went beyond her reach and caught in the curtain. then she let herself down again, and crawled to the middle of the floor. now she was on her knees, her hands on the floor before her, her body as erect as she could hold it. again she _meowed_--this time with a certain ennui; and finally she raised one arm and rubbed it slowly to and fro behind her ear.... she quickly assumed a defensive attitude, crouching fiercely. an imaginary dog had crossed her path. she made an explosive sound with her lips. she regained her tranquillity, staring with slowly returning complacency and contempt while the imaginary dog disappeared. harboro did not speak. he looked on in amazed silence to see what she would do next. his swarthy face was too sphinx-like to express pleasure, yet he was not displeased. he was thinking: she is a child--but what an extraordinary child! she crawled toward him and leaned against his leg. _she was purring!_ harboro stooped low to see how she did it, but her hair hid her lips from him. he seized her beneath the arms and lifted her until her face was on a level with his. he regarded her almost uncomfortably. "don't you like me to be a kitten?" she adjusted her knees on his lap and rested her hands on his shoulders. she regarded him gravely. "well ... a kitten gets to be a cat," he suggested. she pulled one end of his long mustache, regarding him intently. "oh, a cat. but this is a different kind of a kitten entirely. it's got nothing to do with cats." she held her head on one side and pulled his mustache slowly through her fingers. "it won't curl," she said. "no, i'm not the curly sort of man." she considered that. it seemed to present an idea that was new to her. "anyway, i'm glad you're a big fellow." as he did not respond to this, she went on: "those little shrimps--you couldn't be a kitten with them. they would have to be puppies. that's the only fun you could have." "sylvia!" he remonstrated. he adjusted her so that she sat on his lap, with her face against his throat. he was recalling that other sylvia: the sylvia of the dining-room, of the balcony; the circumspect, sensible, comprehending sylvia. but the discoveries he was making were not unwelcome. folly wore for him a face of ecstasy, of beauty. as she nestled against him, he whispered: "is the sandman coming?" and she responded, with her lips against his throat: "yes--if you'll carry me." antonia was wrong. this was not the time of ashes. it was the time of flame. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ part iii fectnor, the people's advocate ------------------------------------------------------------------------ chapter x and then fectnor came. the date of the election was drawing near, and a new sheriff was to be jockeyed into office by the traditional practice of corralling all the male adult mexicans who could be reached, and making them vote just so. the voice of the people was about to be heard in the land. it was a game which enjoyed the greatest popularity along the border in those years. two played at it: the opposing candidates. and each built him a corral and began capturing mexicans two or three days before the election. the mexicans were supposed to have their abodes (of a sort) in maverick county; but there was nothing conservative in the rules under which the game was played. if you could get a consignment of voters from mexico you might do so, resting assured that your opponent would not hesitate to fill his corral with citizens from the other side of the river. the corrals were amazing places. dispensers of creature comforts were engaged. barbecued meat and double rations of _mezcal_ were provided. your mexican voters, held rigorously as prisoners, were in a state of collapse before the day of the election. they were conveyed in carryalls to the polls, and heads were counted, and the candidate got credit for the full number of constituents he had dumped out into the sunshine. and then your voter disappeared back into the chaparral, or over the rio grande bridge, and pondered over the insanity of the _gringos_. it will be seen that the process touched upon was less pleasant than simple. among the constituents in the corrals there was often a tendency to fight, and occasionally a stubborn fellow had a clear idea that he wanted to be in a different corral from the one in which he found himself. there was needed a strong-handed henchman in these cases. jesus mendoza was the henchman for one faction, but the other faction needed a henchman, too. and so fectnor came. he had the reputation of knowing every mexican in maverick county and in the territory immediately contiguous thereto. many of them had been members of his gangs when he had contracts in the neighborhood of eagle pass. he knew precisely which of them could be depended upon to remain docile under all manner of indignity, and which of them had a bad habit of placing a sudden check on their laughter and lunging forward with a knife. they knew him, too. they feared him. they knew he could be coldly brutal--an art which no mexican has ever mastered. the politicians knew that getting fectnor was almost equivalent to getting the office. it was more economical to pay him his price than to employ uncertain aids who would have sold their services much more cheaply. harboro and sylvia were sitting on their balcony the second night before the election. a warm wind had been blowing and it was quite pleasant out of doors. one of the corrals lay not far from the house on the quemado road. mounted mexicans had been riding past the house and on into the town all day, and, contrary to usual custom, they were not to be seen later in the day returning to the chaparral. they were being prepared to exercise their suffrage privileges. as harboro and sylvia listened it was to be noted that over in the corral the several noises were beginning to be blended in one note. the barbecue fires were burning down; the evening meal had been served, with reserved supplies for late comers. _mezcal_ and cheap whiskey were being dispensed. a low hum of voices arose, with the occasional uplifting of a drunken song or a shout of anger. suddenly harboro sat more erect. a shout had arisen over in the corral, and a murmur higher and more sinister than the dominant note of the place grew steadily in intensity. it came to a full stop when a pistol-shot arose above the lesser noises like a sky-rocket. "he's getting his work in," commented harboro. he spoke to himself. he had forgotten sylvia for the moment. "he? who?" inquired sylvia. he turned toward her in the dusk and replied--with indifference in his tone now--"fectnor." she shrank back so that her face would be out of his line of vision. "fectnor!" she echoed. "a fellow they've brought up from the interior to help with the election. a famous bad man, i believe." there was silence for a long interval. harboro supposed the matter did not interest her; but she asked at length: "you know him, then?" "only by reputation. a fellow with a lot of bluff, i think. i don't believe very much in bad men. he's managed to terrify the mexicans somehow or other." he had not noticed that her voice had become dull and low. "fectnor!" she breathed to herself. she rocked to and fro, and after a long interval, "fectnor!" she repeated. he hitched his chair so that he could look at her. her prolonged silence was unusual. "are you getting chilly?" he asked solicitously. "it does seem chilly, doesn't it?" she responded. they arose and went into the house. chapter xi antonia went marketing the next morning, and when she came back sylvia met her with fearful, inquiring eyes. she was terribly uneasy, and she was one of those creatures who must go more than half-way to meet impending danger. she was not at all surprised when antonia handed her a sealed envelope. the old servant did not linger to witness the reading of that written message. she possessed the discretion of her race, of her age. the señora had been married quite a time now. doubtless there were old friends.... and sylvia stood alone, reading the sprawling lines which her father had written: "_fectnor's here. he wants to see you. better come down to the house. you know he's likely to make trouble if he doesn't have his way._" she spelled out the words with contracted brows; and then for the moment she became still another sylvia. she tore the missive into bits. she was pale with rage--rage which was none the less obsessing because it had in it the element of terror. her father dared to suggest such a thing! it would have been bad enough if fectnor had sent the summons himself; but for her father to unite with him against her in such an affair! she tried to calm herself, succeeding but illy. "antonia!" she called. "antonia!" for once her voice was unlovely, her expression was harsh. the startled old woman came with quite unprecedented alacrity. "antonia, where did you see my father?" "on the street. he seemed to have waited for me." "very well. you must find him again. it doesn't matter how long you search. i want you to find him." she hurriedly framed a response to that note of her father's: "_i will not come. tell fectnor i never will see him again. he will not dare to harm me._" as she placed this cry of defiance into an envelope and sealed and addressed it certain words of harboro's came back to her. that night of their wedding he had lifted her in his powerful arms and had given her a man's assurance: "i mean that you're to have all the help you want--that you're to look to me for your strength." she reasoned shrewdly: harboro wasn't the sort of man people would tell things to--about her. they would know what to expect: intense passion, swift punishment. and yet as she watched antonia go away down the road, suggesting supine submission rather than a friend in need, her heart failed her. had she done wisely? fectnor had never stepped aside for any man. he seemed actually to believe that none must deny him the things he wanted. he seemed an insane creature when you thwarted him. there was something terrible about his rages. she imagined seemingly impossible things: that fectnor would come to the house--perhaps while harboro was there. he might kill harboro. alas, the evil she had done in those other days loomed before her now in its true light: not merely as evil deeds, definitely ended with their commission, but as fearful forces that went on existing, to visit her again and destroy her. she began to hope that fectnor would actually come to her--now, before harboro came home. at the worst she might save harboro, and there was even a chance that she could make fectnor see her position as she saw it--that she could persuade him to be merciful to her. surely for the sake of security and peace in all the years that lay before her.... a definite purpose dawned in her eyes. she went to her room and began deliberately to choose her most becoming street costume. she was ready to go out when antonia returned. "did you find him?" she asked. yes, the old woman had found him and delivered the message. he had sent no word in return; he had only glared at the bearer of the message and had cursed her. "well, never mind," said sylvia soothingly. it occurred to her that it must be a sad thing to be an old woman, and a mexican, and to have to serve as the wire over which the electric current flowed--and to feel only the violence of the current without comprehending the words it carried. and now to find fectnor--for this was what she meant to do. she would see him on the street, where publicity would protect her, even if there were no friends to take her part. she would see him on the street and explain why she could not meet him any more, why he must not ask it. certainly it would not look very well for her to be seen talking to him; but she could not help that. she would be going out to do a little shopping, ostensibly, and she would hope to encounter him on the street, either coming or going. however, her earnest planning proved to be of no avail. fectnor was nowhere to be seen. she walked rather leisurely through the town--moving barely fast enough to avoid the appearance of loitering. she walked circumspectly enough, seemingly taking little interest in events or individuals. that she was keenly on the alert for one familiar face no one would have guessed. she got quite to the end of the main street, and then she halted in painful uncertainty. if she turned back now she would have to go on steadily back to her home, save for a brief stop at one of the stores, or else betray the fact to any who might be curiously observing her that she was on the street on some secret mission. she stood for a space, trying to decide what to do. often before she had stood on that very spot to view the picture which men and the desert had painted on a vast canvas down toward the river. she occupied a point of vantage at the top of a long flight of stone steps, broken and ancient, leading down to the rio grande and its basin. along the water's edge in the distance, down in the depths below her, ancient mexican women were washing garments by a process which must have been old in pharaoh's time: by spreading them on clean rocks and kneading them or applying brushes. the river flowed placidly; the sunlight enveloped water and rock and shore and the patient women bending over their tasks. nineveh or tyre might have presented just such a picture of burdened women, concealing no one might say what passions and fires under an exterior which suggested docility or the unkind pressure of tradition's hand or even hopelessness. but sylvia scarcely saw the picture now. she was recalling the words she had written in that message to her father. if only she had not defied fectnor; if only she had made a plea for pity, or suggested a fear of her husband--or if she hadn't sent any answer at all! it occurred to her that the exposure which menaced her was as nothing to the perils to which she had subjected harboro. she knew instinctively that harboro was not a man to submit to deliberate injury from any source. he would defend himself in the face of any danger; he would defend that which belonged to him. and fectnor was cruel and unscrupulous and cunning. he knew how to provoke quarrels and to gain advantages. she grew cold at the thought of losing harboro. the inevitable consequences of such a loss occurred to her. she would have to submit always to fectnor as long as he willed it. and afterward.... ah, she must find fectnor! she retraced her steps. at a shop where silks were sold she entered. she asked for a piece of ribbon. a particular shade of blue; she could not describe it. she sat on a stool at the counter and kept an eye on the street.... no, something darker than that, something less lustrous. she examined bolt after bolt, and when at length it appeared that she was quite unwilling to be pleased she made a choice. and always she watched the street, hoping that fectnor would pass. at last she went up the quemado road, walking disconsolately. the withered immensity of the world broke her spirit. the vast stricken spaces were but a material manifestation of those cruelties of nature which had broken her long ago, and which could not be expected to withdraw their spell now that the time had come for her destruction. she looked far before her and saw where the quemado road attained its highest point and disappeared on the other side of a ridge. a house stood there, lonely and serene. she had known it was a convent; but now she observed it with eyes which really saw it for the first time. it had looked cool even during the period of midsummer. there was shade--a friendly garden. she had seen the mother superior once or twice: a large, elderly woman who wore but lightly the sedate mien which concealed a gentle humanity. what if she, sylvia, were to go on past her own house, on up to the ridge, and appeal to that unworldly woman for succor? was there a refuge there for such as she? but this was the merest passing fancy. where the tides of life ran high she had been moulded; here in the open she would meet her end, whatever the end might be. she sat inside her house throughout that long day. beside an open window she kept her place, staring toward eagle pass, her eyes widening whenever a figure appeared on the highway. but the individual she feared--fectnor, her father, a furtive messenger--did not appear. harboro came at last: harboro, bringing power and placidity. she ran out to the gate to meet him. inside the house she flung herself into his arms. he marvelled at her intensity. he held her a long moment in his embrace. then he gazed into her eyes searchingly. "everything is all right," he said--the words being an affirmation rather than a question. he had read an expression of dread in her eyes. "yes, everything is all right," she echoed. everything _was_ right now. she seemed to awaken from a horrible nightmare. harboro's presence put to flight an army of fears. she could scarcely understand why she had been so greatly disturbed. no harm could come to him, or to her. he was too strong, too self-contained, to be menaced by little creatures. the bigness of him, the penetrating, kindly candor of his eyes, would paralyze base minds and violent hands seeking to do him an injury. the law had sanctioned their union, too--and the law was powerful. she held to that supporting thought, and during the rest of the evening she was untroubled by the instinctive knowledge that even the law cannot make right what the individual has made wrong. she was as light-hearted as a child that night, and harboro, after the irksome restraints of the day, rejoiced in her. they played at the game of love again; and old antonia, in her place down-stairs, thought of that exchange of letters and darkly pondered. chapter xii the election came and went; the voice of the people had been heard, and maverick county had a new sheriff. in the house on the quemado road fectnor's name was heard no more. on the saturday night following the election harboro came home and found a letter waiting for him on the table in the hall. he found also a disquieted sylvia, who looked at him with brooding and a question in her eyes. he stopped where he stood and read the letter, and sylvia watched with parted lips--for she had recognized the handwriting on the envelope. harboro's brows lowered into a frown. "it's from your father," he said finally, lifting his eyes from the letter and regarding sylvia. she tried to achieve an effect of only mild interest. "what can he have to write to you about?" she asked. "poor fellow--it seems he's been ill. sylvia, how long has it been since you visited your father?" "does he want me to come to see him?" "he hints at that pretty strongly. yes, that's really the substance of his letter." "i've never been back since we were married." she led the way into the dining-room. her manner was not quite responsive. she made harboro feel that this was a matter which did not concern him. "but isn't that--doesn't that seem rather neglectful?" she drew a chair away from the table and sat down facing him. "yes, it does seem so. i think i've hinted that i wasn't happy in my old home life; but i've never talked very much about it. i ought to tell you, i think, that i want to forget all about it. i want the old relationship broken off completely." harboro shook his head with decision. "that won't do," he declared. "believe me, you're making a mistake. you're a good deal younger than i, sylvia, and it's the way of the young to believe that for every old tie broken a new one can be formed. at your age life seems to have an abundance of everything. but you'll be dismayed, in a few years, to discover that most things come to us but once, and that nearly all the best things come to us in our youth." he stood before her with an air of such quiet conviction, of such tranquil certainty of the truth of what he said that she could not meet his glance. she had placed an elbow on the table, and was supporting her face in her hand. her expression was strangely inscrutable to the man who looked down at her. "your father must be getting old. if you shouldn't see him for a year or so, you'd be fearfully grieved to note the evidences of failure: a slight stoop, perhaps; a slower gait; a more troubled look in his eyes. i want to help you to see this thing clearly. and some day you'll get word that he is dead--and then you'll remember, too late, how you might have carried little joys to him, how you might have been a better daughter...." she sprang up, shaking the tears from her eyes. "i'll go," she said. she startled harboro by that note of despair in her voice. "when does he wish me to come?" "he says he is ill and alone. i think he would be glad if i could persuade you to go this evening. why not this evening?" unfortunately, harboro concealed a part of the truth in this. her father had quite definitely asked to have her come this evening. but harboro wished her to feel that she was acting voluntarily, that she was choosing for herself, both as to the deed and as to the time of its doing. and sylvia felt a wave of relief at the assurance that her father had not set a definite time. oh, surely the letter was just what it purported to be--a cry of loneliness and an honest desire to see her. and sylvia really loved her father. there was that in her nature which made it impossible for her to judge him. "i could go with you," ventured harboro, "though he doesn't say anything about my coming. i've felt we must both go soon. of course, i need not wait for an invitation." but sylvia opposed this. "if he's ill," she said, "i think i ought to go alone this time." she added to herself: "i don't want him ever to go. i must make him believe that enough has been done if i go myself. i must convince him that my father doesn't care to have him come." nevertheless, she was quite resigned to the arrangement that had been made for her. she helped antonia make the final preparations for supper, and she set off down the road quite cheerfully after they arose from the table. harboro watched her with a new depth of tenderness. this sweet submission, the quick recognition of a filial duty once it was pointed out to her--here were qualities which were of the essence of that childlike beauty which is the highest charm in women. and sylvia felt a strange eagerness of body and mind as she went on her way. she had put all thought of the house under the mesquite-tree out of mind, as far as possible. becoming a closed book to her, the place and certain things which had been dear to her had become indistinct in her memory. now that she was about to reopen the book various little familiar things came back to her and filled her mind with eagerness. the tiny canary in its cage--it would remember her. it would wish to take a bath, to win her praise. there had been a few potted plants, too; and there would be the familiar pictures--even the furniture she had known from childhood would have eloquent messages for her. this was the frame of mind she was in as she opened her father's gate, and paused for an instant to recall the fact that here she had stood when harboro appeared before her for the first time. it was near sundown now, just as it had been then; and--yes, the goatherd was there away out on the trail, driving his flock home. she turned toward the house; she opened the door eagerly. her eyes were beaming with happiness. but she was chilled a little by the sight of her father. something harboro had said about her father changing came back to her. he _had_ changed--just in the little while that had elapsed since her marriage. but the realization of what that change was hurt her cruelly. he looked mean and base as he had never looked before. the old amiable submission to adversities had given place to an expression of petulance, of resentment, of cunning, of cowardice. or was it that sylvia was looking at him with new eyes? he sat just inside the door, by a window. he was in a rocking-chair, and his hands lay heavily against the back of it. he had a blanket about him, as if he were cold. he looked at her with a strange lack of responsiveness when she entered the room. "i got your message," she said affectionately. "i am glad you let me know you weren't feeling very well." she touched his cheeks with her hands and kissed him. "you _are_ cold," she added, as if she were answering the question that had occurred to her at sight of the blanket. she sat down near him, waiting for him to speak. he would have a great many things to say to her, she thought. but he regarded her almost stolidly. "your marriage seems to have changed you," he said finally. "for the better, i hope!" "well, that's according to the way you look at it. cutting your old father cold isn't for the better, as far as i can see." she did not resent the ungenerous use of that phrase, "old father," though she could not help remembering that he was still under fifty, and that he looked young for his years. it was just one of his mannerisms in speaking. "i didn't do that, you know," she said. "being married seems a wonderful adventure. there is so much that is strange for you to get used to. but i didn't forget you. you've seen antonia--occasionally...?" the man moved his head so that it lay on one side against the chair-back. "i thought you'd throw that up to me," he complained. "father!" she remonstrated. she was deeply wounded. it had not been her father's way to make baseless, unjust charges against her. shiftless and blind he had been; but there had been a geniality about him which had softened his faults to one who loved him. "well, never mind," he said, in a less bitter tone. and she waited, hoping he would think of friendlier words to speak, now that his resentment had been voiced. but he seemed ill at ease in her presence now. she might have been a stranger to him. she looked about her with a certain fond expression which speedily faded. somehow the old things reminded her only of unhappiness. they were meaner than she had supposed them to be. their influence over her was gone. she brought her gaze back to her father. he had closed his eyes as if he were weary; yet she discerned in the lines of his face a hard fixity which troubled her, alarmed her. though his eyes were closed he did not present a reposeful aspect. there was something really sinister about that alert face with its closed eyes--as there is about a house with its blinds drawn to hide evil enterprises. so she sat for interminable minutes, and it seemed to sylvia that she was not surprised when she heard the sound of tapping at the back door. she was not surprised, yet a feeling of engulfing horror came over her at the sound. her father opened his eyes now; and it seemed really that he had been resting. "the boy from the drug-store," he said. "they were to send me some medicine." he seemed to be gathering his energies to get up and admit the boy from the drug-store, but sylvia sprang to her feet and placed a restraining hand on his shoulder. "let me go," she said. there was an expression of pity and concern for her father in her eyes when she got to the door and laid her hand on the latch. she was too absent-minded to observe at first that the bolt had been moved into its place, and that the door was locked. her hand had become strange to the mechanism before her, and she was a little awkward in getting the bolt out of the way. but the expression of pity and concern was still in her eyes when she finally pulled the door toward her. and then she seemed to have known all the time that it was fectnor who stood there. chapter xiii he slipped past her into the room, and when she uttered a forlorn cry of defeat and shrank back he gripped her by the wrist. holding her so, he turned where he stood and locked the door again. then he crossed the room, and closed and bolted that other door which opened into the room where sylvia's father sat. then he released her and stood his ground stolidly while she shrank away from him, regarding him with incredulous questioning, with black terror. she got the impression that he believed himself to have achieved a victory; that there was no further occasion for him to feel anxious or wary. it was as if the disagreeable beginning to a profitable enterprise had been gotten over with. and that look of callous complacence was scarcely more terrifying than his silence, for as yet he had not uttered a word. and yet sylvia could not regard herself as being really helpless. that door into her father's room: while it held, her father could not come to her, but she could go to her father. she had only to wait until fectnor was off his guard, and touch the bolt and make her escape. yet she perceived now, that for all fectnor's seeming complacence, he remained between her and that door. she looked about for other means of escape; but she knew immediately that there was none. her own bedroom opened off the room in which she was now trapped; but it was a mere cubby-hole without an outer door or even a window. on the other side of the room there was a window looking out toward the desert; but even as her glance sought relief in that direction she remembered that this window, of only half-sash dimensions, was nailed into its place and was immovable. against the dusty panes a bird-cage hung, and she realized with an oddly ill-timed pang of sorrow that it was empty. it was plain that the canary had died during her absence; and she wondered if anything in all the world could seem so empty as a bird-cage which had once had an occupant and had lost it. the sunset sky beyond that empty cage and the uncleaned window-panes caught her glance: an infinitely far-off drift of saffron with never a moving figure between it and the window through which she looked. then all her terrors were renewed by fectnor's voice. he had sauntered to a small table near the middle of the room and sat down on the end of it, after shoving a chair in sylvia's direction. "what's the matter with you, sylvia?" he demanded. he scarcely seemed angry: impatient would be the word, perhaps. something in his manner, rather than his words, wiped out that chasm of time that had been placed between them. it was as if she had talked with him yesterday. she felt hideously familiar with him--on the same mental and moral plane with him. "i am married," she said shortly. if she had thought she would resort to parleying and evasions, she now had no intention of doing so. it seemed inevitable that she should talk to fectnor in his own language. "i don't care anything about your marriage," he said. "a bit of church flummery. use your brains, sylvia. you know that couldn't make any difference." "i'm not thinking about the flummery. that isn't it. it's the fact that i love the man i married." "all very well and good. but you know you used to love me." "no, i never did." "oh, yes you did. you just forget. at any rate, you was as much to me as you could ever be to a husband. you know you can't drop me just because it's convenient for you to take up with somebody else. you know that's not the way i'm built." she had refused to use the chair he had shoved toward her. she stood beside it a little defiantly. now she looked into his eyes with a kind of imperious reasonableness. "whatever i was to you, fectnor," she said, "i became because i was forced into it." "i never forced you," he responded stoutly. "in one way, you didn't; but just the same ... you had both hands reached out to seize me when i fell. you never tried to help me; you were always digging the pitfall under my feet. you were forever holding out your hand with money in it; and there was you on one side of me with your money, and my father on the other with his never-ending talk about poverty and debts and his fear of you--and you know you took pains to make him fear you--and his saying always that it wouldn't make any difference in what people thought of me, whether i stood out against you or...." her glance shifted and fell. there were some things she could not put into words. "that's book talk, sylvia. come out into the open. i know what the female nature is. you're all alike. you all know when to lower your eyes and lift your fan and back into a corner. that's the female's job, just as it's the male's job to be bold and rough. but you all know to a hair how far to carry that sort of thing. you always stop in plenty of time to get caught." she looked at him curiously. "i suppose," she said after a pause, "that roughly describes certain love-making processes. but it really wasn't love-making between you and me, fectnor. it was a kind of barter." his eyes seemed to snare hers relentlessly. "you're not doing yourself justice, sylvia," he said. "you're not one of the bartering kind. you'd have killed me--you'd have killed yourself--before you'd have let me touch you, if you hadn't liked me. you know that's a fact." the shadow of a frown darkened her brow. "there was a time when you had a kind of fascination for me. the way you had of making other men seem little and dumb, when you came in and spoke. you seemed so much alive. i noticed once that you didn't count your change when you'd paid for some drinks. that was the way in everything you did. you seemed lavish with everything that was in you; you let the big things go and didn't worry about the change. you were a big man in some ways, fectnor. a girl needn't have been ashamed of admiring you. but fectnor ... i've come to see what a low life it was i was leading. in cases like that, what the woman yields is ... is of every possible importance to her, while the man parts only with his money." he smote the table with his fist. "i'm glad you said that," he cried triumphantly. "there's a lie in that, and i want to nail it. the man gives only his money, you say. do you understand what that means where a hard-working devil is concerned? what has he got besides the few pennies he earns? when he gives his money, isn't he giving his strength and his youth? isn't he giving his manhood? isn't he giving the things that are his for only a few years, and that he can't get back again? i'm not talking about the dandies who have a lot of money they never earned. i should think a woman with as much as one bone in her body would take a shotgun to that sort whenever they came around. i'm talking about the fellows that sweat for what they get. a lot of mollycoddles and virtuous damn fools have built up that sunday-school junk about the woman giving everything, and the man giving nothing. but i want to tell you it's nip and tuck as to who gives the most. a woman takes a man's money as if it grew on bushes. go and watch him earn it, if you want to know what his part of the bargain is." she felt as if she were being crowded against a wall. she could not look at him. she groped for a weapon--for any weapon--with which to fight him. "that would sound a little more impressive, fectnor," she said, "if i didn't know what brought you to eagle pass just now, and how you sweat for the pay you got." this was unfortunately said, for there was malice in it, and a measure of injustice. he heard her calmly. "this election business is only a side-line of mine," he replied. "i enjoy it. there's nothing like knowing you can make a lot of so-called men roll over and play dead. if a man wants to find out where he stands, let him get out and try to make a crowd do something. let him try to pull any prunes-and-prism stuff, either with his pocketbook or his opinions, and see where he gets off at. no, sylvia, you played the wrong card. eleven months out of the year i work like a nigger, and if you don't know it, you'd better not say anything more about it." he clasped his hands about his knee and regarded her darkly, yet with a kind of joyousness. there was no end of admiration in his glance, but of kindness there was never a suggestion. she gathered new energy from that look in his eyes. after all, they had been arguing about things which did not matter now. "fectnor," she said, "i'm sure there must be a good deal of justice in what you say. but i know you're forgetting that when the man and the woman are through with youth there is a reckoning which gives the man all the best of it. his wrong-doing isn't stamped upon him. he is respected. he may be poor, but he isn't shunned." "that's more of the same lie. did you ever see a poor man--a really poor man--who was respected? there may be two or three of the people who know him best who will give him credit for certain things--if he denies himself to pay a debt, or forfeits his rest to sit up with a sick neighbor. but take the world as a whole, doesn't it ride over the man who's got nothing? isn't he dreaded like a plague? isn't he a kill-joy? i don't care what a woman's been, she's as well off. a few people will give her credit for the good she does, and that's all a man can hope for, if he's been generous enough or enough alive to let his money go. no, you can't build up any fences, sylvia. we're all in the same herd." she felt oppressed by the hardness, the relentlessness, of his words, his manner. she could not respond to him. but she knew that everything this man said, and everything he was, left out of the account all those qualities which make for hope and aspirations and faith. her glance, resting upon him as from a great distance, seemed to irritate him. "after all, sylvia," he said, "you're putting on an awful lot of silk that don't belong to you. suppose we say that you'd have kept away from me if you hadn't been too much influenced. there are other things to be remembered. peterson, for example. remember peterson? i watched you and him together a good bit. you'll never tell me you wasn't loose with him." much of her strength and pride returned to her at this. whatever the truth was, she knew that fectnor had no right to bring such a charge against her. "your language is very quaint at times," she said. a curve of disdain hovered about her lips. "i'm not aware of being, or of ever having been, loose in any way. i can't think where such a word originated." "you know what i mean well enough. and some of those young fellows--the soldiers and railroaders--i don't suppose any of them have got anything on you, either?" "they haven't, fectnor!" she exclaimed hotly. she resolved to have nothing more to say to him. she felt that his brutality gave her the right to have done with him. and then her glance was arrested by his powerful hand, where it lay on the table beside him. it was blunt-fingered and broad and red, with the back covered by yellow hairs which extended down to the dabs of finger-nails. he seemed to read her mind, and in answer he took up a heavy pewter cup and held it toward her. for an instant he permitted her to scrutinize the cup, and then his fingers closed. he opened his hand and the shapeless mass of pewter fell to the floor. he threw his head back with the ecstasy of perfect physical fitness. his laughter arose, almost hysterically. "fectnor!" she cried, standing tense and white before him, "i think you're all brute--just common, hopeless brute." he became perfectly serious; but presently he regarded her with a flicker of humor in his eyes, she thought. "you didn't say that as if you meant it, sylvia," he declared. "you didn't say it as if you quite believed it. but i'm going to show you that you're right. what we've been together, sylvia, you and i, we're going to continue to be until we both agree to quit. that's what you may call justice. and so far i'm not agreeing to quit." he came toward her then, and she perceived that his bearing had altered completely. he seemed moved by some impulse stronger than himself--as if it were quite outside himself. she felt that her heart had suddenly ceased to beat. a leopard crouching before her on a limb could not have seemed more pitiless, more terrible. she had sprung to the door opening into her father's room before he could reach her. her fingers shot the bolt and the door was open. and then she knew she had made a fatal mistake in holding that long and quiet parley with the beast that had trapped her. she had led her father, doubtless, to believe that it was an amicable talk that had been going on behind the closed door. she knew now that at the first instant of fectnor's appearance she should have given battle and cried for help. now, looking into the adjoining room, while fectnor's grip closed upon her wrist, she saw the front door quietly close. her father had gone out. chapter xiv sylvia climbed the hill in the dusk. a casual observer would have remarked that all was not right with her. beneath a calm exterior something brooded. you might have supposed that some of the trivial things of existence had gone wrong: that a favorite servant had left her, or that the dressmaker had failed to keep an appointment. sylvia was not an unschooled creature who would let down the scroll of her life's story to be read by every idle eye. but the gods of the desert, if any such there be--the spirit of the yucca and the cactus and the sage--must have known by the lines of that immobile face, by the unseeing stare in those weary eyes, that some fundamental change had come over the woman who passed along that road. sylvia had seemed almost like a happy child when she descended the hill an hour before. it was a woman who fashioned a new philosophy of life who now returned. it was her own father who had bade her come; it was the man she loved--for whom she had meant to create her life anew--who had bade her go; and it was one to whom she had never told an untruth, for whose pleasure she had been beautiful and gay, who had destroyed her. she had not fully realized how beautiful a thing her new security had been; how deeply in her nature the roots of a new hope, of a decent orderliness had taken hold. but the transplanted blossom which had seemed to thrive naturally under the fostering care of harboro--as if it had never bloomed elsewhere than in his heart--had been ruthlessly torn up again. the seeming gain had been turned into a hideous loss. and so over that road where a woman with illusions had passed, a philosopher who no longer dreamed returned. harboro, from his seat on the balcony, saw her coming. and something which surrounded her like an aura of evil startled him. he dropped his newspaper to the floor and leaned forward, his pulse disturbed, his muscles tense. as she drew nearer he arose with the thought of hurrying down-stairs to meet her; and then it occurred to him that she would wish to see him alone, away from the averted eyes of old antonia, which saw everything. a little later he heard her coming up the stairs with heavy, measured steps. and in that moment he warned himself to be calm, to discount the nameless fears--surely baseless fears--which assailed him. she appeared in the doorway and stood, inert, looking at him as from a great distance. "well, sylvia?" he said gently. he was seated now, and one arm was stretched out over the arm of his chair invitingly. he tried to smile calmly. she did not draw any nearer to him. her face was almost expressionless, save that her eyes seemed slowly to darken as she regarded him. and then he saw that certain muscles in her face twitched, and that this tendency swiftly strengthened. "sylvia!" he exclaimed, alarmed. he arose and took a step toward her. she staggered toward him and rested her hands on his shoulders. her eyes were averted, and harboro realized with a pang that she did not touch him with the familiar touch which seemed to call to something within him to respond, to make itself manifest. she was merely seeking for support such as a wall or a gate might afford to one who is faint. he touched her face with his hand and brought it about so that he could read her eyes; but this movement she resisted--not irritably, but hopelessly. he slipped an arm around her yearningly, and then the storm within her broke. he thought she must be suffocating. she gasped for breath, lifting her chin high. she was shaken with sobs. she clasped his head in her hands and placed her face against it--but the movement was despairing, not loving. he tried again to look into her eyes; and presently he discovered that they were quite dry. it seemed she had lost the power to weep; yet her sobs became rhythmic, even--like those of any woman who grieves deeply and is still uncomforted. he held her tenderly and spoke her name over and over. the tears would come soon, and when she had wept he could ask her to tell him what it was that had wounded her. he was suffering cruelly; he was in despair. but he admonished himself firmly to bear with her, to comfort her, to wait. and at last, as if indeed she had been leaning against a wall for support until she could recover herself, she drew away from him. she was almost calm again; but harboro realized that she was no nearer to him than she had been when first she had climbed the stairs and stood before him. he placed a firm hand on her shoulder and guided her to a chair. he sat down and pulled her gently down to him. "now, sylvia!" he said with firmness. she was kneeling beside him, her elbows on his knees, her face in her hands. but the strange remoteness was still there. she would not look at him. "come!" he admonished. "i am waiting." she looked at him then; but she wore the expression of one who does not understand. "something has gone wrong," he said. "you see, i've not been impatient with you. but you ought to tell me now." "you mean i ought to tell you what's gone wrong?" he was startled by the even, lifeless quality of her voice. "of course!" "in just a word or two, i suppose?" "if you can." she knelt where she could look away toward the west--toward mexico; and she noted, with mild surprise, that a new moon hung low in the sky, sinking slowly into the desert. it seemed to her that years had passed since she had seen the moon--a full moon, swinging, at this hour of the evening, in the eastern sky. "come, sylvia!" it was harboro's urgent voice again. "if i only could!" she said, moving a little in token of her discomfort. "why not?" "i mean, if any of us could ever say what it is that has gone wrong. everything has gone wrong. from the very beginning. and now you ask me: 'what's gone wrong?' just as you might ask, 'what time is it, sylvia?' or, 'who is it coming up the road?' i can't tell you what's gone wrong. if i talked to you a week--a month--i couldn't tell you half of it. i don't believe i ever could. i don't believe i know." these vagaries might have touched harboro at another time; they might have alarmed him. but for the moment wrath stirred in him. he arose almost roughly. "very well," he said, "i shall go to your father. i shall have the facts." this angry reference to her father--or perhaps it was the roughness of his withdrawal from her--affected her in a new way. "no, you must not do that!" she cried despairingly, and then the tears came suddenly--the tears which had stubbornly refused to flow. "there," he said, instantly tender again, "you'll feel better soon. i won't be impatient with you." but sylvia's tears were only incidental to some lesser fear or grief. they did not spring from the wrong she had suffered, or from the depths of her nature, which had been dwarfed and darkened. she listlessly pulled a chair into a better position and sat down where she need not look at harboro. "give me a little time," she said. "you know women have moods, don't you?" she tried to speak lightly. "if there is anything i can tell you, i will--if you'll give me time." she had no intention of telling harboro what had happened. the very thought of such a course was monstrous. nothing could be undone. she could only make conditions just a little worse by talking. she realized heavily that the thing which had happened was not a complete episode in itself; it was only one chapter in a long story which had its beginnings in the first days in eagle pass, and even further away. back in the san antonio days. she could not give harboro an intelligent statement of one chapter without detailing a long, complicated synopsis of the chapters that went before. to be sure, she did not yet know the man she was dealing with--harboro. she was entirely misled by the passive manner in which he permitted her to withdraw from him. "yes, you shall have time," he said. "i only want you to know that i am here to help you in any way i can." she remained silent so long that he became impatient again. "did you find your father very ill?" he hazarded. "my father? oh! no ... i can hardly say. he seemed changed. or perhaps i only imagined that. perhaps he really is very ill." another long silence ensued. harboro was searching in a thousand dark places for the cause of her abnormal condition. there were no guide-posts. he did not know sylvia's father. he knew nothing about the life she had led with him. he might be a cruel monster who had abused her--or he might be an unfortunate, unhappy creature, the very sight of whom would wound the heart of a sensitive woman. he leaned forward and took her arm and drew her hand into his. "i'm waiting, sylvia," he said. she turned toward him with a sudden passion of sorrow. "it was you who required me to go!" she cried. "if only you hadn't asked me to go!" "i thought we were both doing what was right and kind. i'm sorry if it has proved that we were mistaken. but surely you do not blame me?" "blame you? no ... the word hadn't occurred to me. i'm afraid i don't understand our language very well. who could ever have thought of such a meaningless word as 'blame'? you might think little creatures--ants, or the silly locusts that sing in the heat--might have need of such a word. you wouldn't _blame_ an apple for being deformed, would you?--or the hawk for killing the dove? we are what we are--that's all. i don't blame any one." the bewildered harboro leaned forward, his hands on his knees. "we are what we make ourselves, sylvia. we do what we permit ourselves to do. don't lose sight of that fact. don't lose sight of the fact, either, that we are here, man and wife, to help each other. i'm waiting, sylvia, for you to tell me what has gone wrong." all that she grasped of what he said she would have denied passionately; but the iron in his nature, now manifesting itself again, she did not understand and she stood in awe of it. "give me until to-morrow," she pleaded. "i think perhaps i'm ill to-night. you know how you imagine things sometimes? give me until to-morrow, until i can see more clearly. perhaps it won't seem anything at all by to-morrow." and harboro, pondering darkly, consented to question her no more that night. later he lay by her side, a host of indefinable fears keeping him company. he could not sleep. he did not even remotely guess the nature of her trouble, but he knew instinctively that the very foundations of her being had been disturbed. once, toward morning, she began to cry piteously. "no, oh no!" the words were repeated in anguish until harboro, in despair, seized her in his arms. "what is it, sylvia?" he cried. "no one shall harm you!" he held her on his breast and soothed her, his own face harrowed with pain. and he noticed that she withdrew into herself again, and seemed remote, a stranger to him. then she fell into a sound sleep and breathed evenly for hours. the dawn broke and a wan light filled the room. harboro saw that her face was the face of sylvia again--the face of a happy child, as it seemed to him. in her sleep she reached out for him contentedly and found his throat, and her fingers rested upon it with little, intermittent, loving pressures. finally she awoke. she awoke, but harboro's crowning torture came when he saw the expression in her eyes. the horror of one who tumbles into a bottomless abyss was in them. but now--thank god!--she drew herself to him passionately and wept in his arms. the day had brought back to her the capacity to think, to compare the fine edifice she and harboro had built with the wreck which a cruel beast had wrought. she sobbed her strength away on harboro's breast. and when the sun arose she looked into her husband's gravely steadfast eyes, and knew that she must tell the truth. she knew that there was nothing else for her to do. she spared her father, inventing little falsehoods on his behalf; herself she spared, confessing no fault of her own. but the truth, as to how on the night before fectnor had trapped her and wronged her in her father's house, she told. she knew that harboro would never have permitted her to rest if she had not told him; she knew that she must have gone mad if she had not unbosomed herself to this man who was as the only tree in the desert of her life. chapter xv she was puzzled by the manner in which he heard her to the end. she expected an outburst; and she found only that after one moment, during which his body became rigid and a look of incredulous horror settled in his eyes, a deadly quiet enveloped him. he did not try to comfort her--and certainly there was no evidence that he blamed her. he asked her a few questions when she had finished. he was not seeking to implicate her--she felt certain of that. he merely wanted to be quite sure of his ground. then he got up and began dressing, deliberately and quietly. it did not occur to her that he was not putting on the clothes he usually wore on sunday, but this deviation from a rule would not have seemed significant to her even if she had noticed it. she closed her eyes and pondered. in sylvia's world men did not calmly ignore injury. they became violent, even when violence could not possibly mend matters. had harboro decided to accept the inevitable, the irremediable, without a word? her first thought, last night, had been that she would probably lose harboro, too, together with her peace of mind. he would rush madly at fectnor, and he would be killed. was he the sort of man who would place discretion first and pocket an insult? oddly, the fear that he would attack fectnor changed to a fear that he did not intend to do so. she could not bear to think of the man she loved as the sort of man who will not fight, given such provocation as harboro had. she opened her eyes to look at him, to measure him anew. but he was no longer in the room. then her fear for him returned with redoubled force. quiet men were sometimes the most desperate, the most unswerving, she realized. perhaps he had gone even now to find fectnor. the thought terrified her. she sprang from the bed and began dressing with feverish haste. she would overtake him and plead with him not to go. if necessary, she would tell him other things about herself--about the reasons she had given fectnor, long ago, to believe that she was not a woman to be respected. harboro would not forgive her, in that event. he would leave her. but he would not go to his death. it seemed to her quite clear that the only unforgivable sin she could commit would be to permit harboro to die for her sake. she hurried down into the dining-room. ah, harboro was there! and again she was puzzled by his placidity. he was standing at a window, with his back to her, his hands clasped behind him. he turned when he heard her. "it promises to be another warm day," he said pleasantly. then he turned and looked out through the kitchen door as if hinting to antonia that breakfast might now be served. he ate his grapes and poached eggs and drank his coffee in silence. he seemed unaware that sylvia was regarding him with troubled eyes. when he arose from the table he turned toward the hall. as if by an afterthought, he called back, "i'm going to be busy for a little while, sylvia," and she heard him going up the stairs. his tone had conveyed a hint that he did not wish to be disturbed, she thought, but she could not help being uncomfortably curious. what was there to be done on a sunday morning that could compare in importance with the obviously necessary task of helping her to forget the injuries she had suffered? it was not his way to turn away from her when she needed him. she could not understand his conduct at all. she was wounded; and then she began to think more directly, more clearly. harboro was not putting this thing away from him. in his way he was facing it. but how? she noiselessly climbed the stairs and opened the door of their bedroom. with great exactitude of movement he was cleaning a pistol. he had taken it apart and just now a cylinder of burnished steel was in his hand. he frowned when he heard her. "i am sorry you came up, sylvia," he said. "i had an idea i'd given you to understand...." she hurriedly withdrew, closing the door behind her. she felt an inexplicable elation as she went down the stairs; yet she felt that she stood face to face with calamity, too. her man was a fighting man, then--only he was not a madman. he was the sort of fighter who did not lose his head. but she could not picture him as a man skilled in the brutal work of killing. he was too deliberate, too scrupulous, for that sort of work. and fectnor was neither deliberate nor scrupulous. he was the kind of man who would be intently watchful for an advantage, and who would be elated as he seized that advantage. ... she would persuade harboro not to go, after all. the thing was not known. it would never be known. her searching woman's logic brought to her the realization that the only way to publish the facts broadcast was for harboro to seek a quarrel with fectnor. he would have to give his reasons. but when harboro came down the stairs she knew instantly that she could not stop him from going. that quiet look was not unreadable now. it meant unswerving determination. he called to her, his hand outstretched; and when she went to him he kissed her. his voice was gentle and unshaken, in quite the habitual way, when he said: "_i shall be back in a little while_." she clasped her hands and looked at him imploringly. "don't go," she pleaded. "ah, but i must go." she touched his cheeks with her hands. "don't go!" she repeated. "nothing can be undone." "but a man's job isn't to undo things--it's to do them." she held her face high as if the waters were engulfing her. "don't go!" she said again; and her eyes were swimming, so that at the last she did not see him go, and did not know that he had kept that look of placid courage to the end. it was a little early for the usual sunday morning loiterers to be about as harboro entered the town. for a moment he believed there was no one about at all. the little town, with its main street and its secondary thoroughfares bordered by low structures, might have been regarded as the habitation of lesser creatures than human beings, as it stood there musing after the departed night, in the midst of limitless wastes of sand. that group of houses might have been likened to some kind of larger birds, hugging the earth in trepidation, ready to take flight at any moment. yet harboro had been mistaken in supposing that no one was as yet astir. two men stood out in the street, at the entrance to the maverick bar, near a hitching-post to which a small horse carrying a big saddle was tethered. one of the men was about to mount. as harboro approached he untied his horse and lifted one foot to its stirrup, and stood an instant longer to finish what he was saying, or perhaps to hear the other out. the other man was in his shirt-sleeves. he carried a blue-serge sack-coat over his arm. he stood facing harboro as the latter approached; and the expression in his eyes seemed to change in a peculiar way at sight of the big, swarthy man who stepped off the sidewalk, down into the street, and seemed to be headed directly toward him. the two men had never met before; but harboro, taking in that compact, muscular figure, found himself musing with assurance: "that is fectnor." nothing in his face or carriage betrayed his purpose, and the man with the blue-serge garment on his arm kept his ground complacently. the man with the horse mounted and rode away. harboro advanced easily until he was within arm's length of the other man in the street. "you're fectnor, aren't you?" he asked. "i am," replied the other crisply. harboro regarded him searchingly. at length he remarked: "fectnor, i see you've got a gun on you." "i have," was the steely response. fectnor's narrow blue eyes became, suddenly, the most alert thing about a body which was all alertness. "so have i," said harboro. the other's narrow eyes seemed to twinkle. his response sounded like: "the l you say!" "yes," said harboro. he added: "my wife was the woman you trapped in little's house last night." fectnor's mind went swiftly to the weapon in his holster; and something more than his mind, surely, since harboro knew. yet the man's hand had barely moved. however, he casually threw the coat he carried over his left arm, leaving his right hand free. if he had thought of reaching for his weapon he had probably realized that he must first get out of reach of harboro's arm. "you might put that a little different," he said lightly. "you might say--the woman i met in little's house." harboro took in the insinuated insult. he remained unmoved. he could see that fectnor was not a coward, no matter what else he was; and he realized that this man would seek to enrage him further, so that his eyes would be blinded, so that his hands would tremble. "i'm going to kill you, fectnor," harboro continued. "but i'm going to give you a chance for your life. i want you to turn and walk down the street twelve paces. then turn and draw. i'll not draw until you turn unless you try to play a trick on me. your best chance lies in your doing just as i tell you to." fectnor regarded him shrewdly with his peering, merry eyes. he rather liked harboro, so far as first impressions went. yet his lips were set in a straight line. "all right," he drawled amiably. his voice was pitched high--almost to a falsetto. "remember, you'd better not draw until you've turned around," advised harboro. "you'll be more likely to get your bearings right that way. you see, i want to give you an even break. if i'd wanted to murder you i could have slipped up from behind. you see that, of course." "clear as a whistle," said fectnor. he gave harboro a final searching look and then turned about unflinchingly. he proceeded a few steps, his hands held before him as if he were practising a crude cake-walk. the serge garment depended from one arm. he was thinking with lightning-like rapidity. harboro had courage enough--that he could tell--but he didn't behave like a man who knew very many tricks with a gun. nevertheless he, fectnor, would be under a disadvantage in this test of skill which was being forced upon him. when he turned he would need just a second to get a perfect balance, to be quite sure of his footing, to get his bearings. and that one second might make all the difference in the outcome of the affair. moreover, there was one other point in harboro's favor, fectnor realized. his was the stronger determination of the two. fectnor had not flinched, but he knew that his heart was not in this fight. he could see that harboro was a good deal of a man. a fool, perhaps, but still a decent fellow. these were conclusions which had come in flashes, while fectnor took less than half a dozen steps. then he turned his head partly, and flung back almost amiably: "wait until i get rid of my coat!" "drop it!" cried harboro sharply. but fectnor plainly had another idea. he turned a little out of his course, still with his hands well in front of him. it was evident, then, that he meant to fling his coat on the sidewalk. harboro held him with eyes which were keen as knives, yet still a little dubious. he was puzzled by the man's good humor; he was watchful for sudden stratagems. his own hands were at his sides, the right within a few inches of his hip. yet, after all, he was unprepared for what happened. fectnor leaned forward as if to deposit his coat on the sidewalk. then he seemed to stumble, and in two swift leaps he had gained the inner side of the walk and had darted into the inset of the saloon. he was out of sight in a flash. as if by some feat in legerdemain harboro's weapon was in his hand; but it was a hand that trembled slightly. he had allowed fectnor to gain an advantage. he stared fixedly at that place where fectnor had disappeared. his right hand was held in the position of a runner's, and the burnished steel of the weapon in it caught the light of the sun. he had acquired the trick of firing while his weapon was being elevated--not as he lowered it; with a movement like the pointing of a finger. he was ready for fectnor, who would doubtless try to take him by surprise. then he realized that the level rays of the sun made the whole entrance to the saloon, with its several facets of glass, a thing of dazzling opaqueness. he could not see fectnor until the latter stepped forth from his ambush; yet it seemed probable that fectnor might be able to see him easily enough through the glass barricade behind which he had taken refuge. he might expect to hear the report of a weapon and the crash of glass at any instant. at this realization he had an ugly sensation at the roots of his hair--as if his scalp had gone to sleep. yet he could only stand and wait. it would be madness to advance. so he stood, almost single-mindedly. he had a disagreeable duty to perform, and he must perform it. yet the lesser cells of his brain spoke to him, too, and he realized that he must present a shocking sight to law-abiding, happy people, if any should appear. he was glad that the street was still deserted, and that he might reasonably hope to be unseen. then his hand shot forward with the fierceness of a tiger's claw: there had been a movement in the saloon entrance. only by the fraction of a second was the finger on the trigger stayed. it was not fectnor who appeared. dunwoodie stepped into sight casually and looked in harboro's direction. the expression of amused curiosity in his eyes swiftly gave place to almost comical amazement when he took in that spasmodic movement of harboro's. "what's up?" he inquired. he approached harboro leisurely. "stand aside, dunwoodie," commanded harboro harshly. "well, wait a minute," insisted dunwoodie. "calm yourself, man. i want to talk to you. fectnor's not in the saloon. he went on through and out the back way." harboro wheeled with an almost despairing expression in his eyes. he seemed to look at nothing, now--like a bird-dog that senses the nearness of the invisible quarry. the thought came to him: "fectnor may appear at any point, behind me!" the man might have run back along the line of buildings, seeking his own place to emerge again. but dunwoodie went on reassuringly. he had guessed the thought in harboro's mind. "no, he's quite gone. i watched him go. he's probably in mexico by this time--or well on his way, at least." harboro drew a deep breath. "you watched him go?" "when he came into the saloon, like a rock out of a sling, he stopped just long enough to grin, and fling out this--to me--'if you want to see a funny sight, go out front.' fectnor never did like me, anyway. then he scuttled back and out. i followed to see what was the matter. he made straight for the bridge road. he was sprinting. he's gone." harboro's gun had disappeared. he was frowning; and then he realized that dunwoodie was looking at him with a quizzical expression. he made no explanation, however. "i must be getting along home," he said shortly. he was thinking of sylvia. chapter xvi dunwoodie was not given to talkativeness; moreover, he was a considerate man, and he respected harboro. therefore it may be doubted if he ever said anything about that unexplained drama which occurred on the main street of eagle pass on a sunday morning, before the town was astir. but there was the bartender at the maverick--and besides, it would scarcely have been possible for any man to do what harboro had done without being seen by numbers of persons looking out upon the street through discreetly closed windows. at any rate, there was talk in the town. by sundown everybody knew there had been trouble between harboro and fectnor, and men who dropped into the maverick for a game of high-five or poker had their attention called to an unclaimed blue-serge coat hanging from the ice-box. "he got away with his skin," was the way the bartender put the case, "but he left his coat." there was a voice from one of the card-tables: "well, any man that gets fectnor's coat is no slouch." there were a good many expressions of undisguised wonder at fectnor's behavior; and nobody could have guessed that perhaps some sediment of manhood which had remained after all the other decent standards had disappeared had convinced fectnor that he did not want to kill a man whom he had injured so greatly. and from the popular attitude toward fectnor's conduct there grew a greatly increased respect for harboro. that, indeed, was the main outcome of the episode, so far as the town as a whole was concerned. harboro became a somewhat looming figure. but with sylvia ... well, with sylvia it was different. of course sylvia was connected with the affair, and in only one way. she was the sort of woman who might be expected to get her husband into trouble, and fectnor was the kind of man who might easily appeal to her imagination. this was the common verdict; and the town concluded that it was an interesting affair--the more so because nearly all the details had to be left to the imagination. as for sylvia, the first direct result of her husband's gun-play was that a week or two after the affair happened, she had a caller--the wife of jesus mendoza. she had not had any callers since her marriage. socially she had been entirely unrecognized. the social stratum represented by the mesquite club, and that lower stratum identified with church "socials" and similar affairs, did not know of sylvia's existence--had decided definitely never to know of her existence after she had walked down the aisle of the church to the strains of the lohengrin march. nevertheless, there had been that trip to the church, and the playing of the march; and this fact placed sylvia considerably above certain obscure women in the town who were not under public condemnation, but whose status was even more hopeless--who were regarded as entirely negligible. the wife of jesus mendoza was one of these. she was an american woman, married to a renegade mexican who was notoriously evil. i have referred to mendoza as a man who went about partly concealed in his own cloud of cigarette smoke, who looked at nothing in particular and who was an active politician of a sort. he had his place in the male activities of the town; but you wouldn't have known he had a wife from anything there was in his conversation or in his public appearances. nobody remembered ever to have seen the two together. she remained indoors in all sorts of weather save when she had marketing to do, and then she looked neither to left nor right. her face was like a mask. she had been an unfortunate creature when mendoza married her; and she was perhaps thankful to have even a low-caste mexican for a husband, and a shelter, and money enough to pay the household expenses. that her life could not have been entirely complete, even from her own way of thinking, was evidenced by the fact that at last she came to call on sylvia in the house on the quemado road. sylvia received her with reticence and with a knowing look. she was not pleased that mrs. mendoza had decided to call. she realized just what her own status was in the eyes of this woman, who had assumed that she might be a welcome visitor. but sylvia's outlook upon life, as has been seen, was distorted in many ways; and she was destined to realize that she must form new conclusions as to this woman who had come to see her in her loneliness. mrs. mendoza was tactful and kind. she assumed nothing, save that sylvia was not very thoroughly acquainted in the town, and that as she had had her own house now for a month or two, she would expect people to be neighborly. she discussed the difficulties of housekeeping so far from the source of supplies. she was able, incidentally, to give sylvia a number of valuable hints touching these difficulties. she discussed the subject of mexican help without self-consciousness. during her call it developed that she was fond of music--that in fact she was (or had been) a musician. and for the first time since sylvia's marriage there was music on the piano up in the boudoir. mrs. mendoza played with a passionateness which was quite out of keeping with her mask-like expression. it was like finding a pearl in an oyster, hearing her at the piano. she played certain airs from _fra diavolo_ so skilfully that she seemed to be letting bandits into the house; and when she saw that sylvia was following with deep appreciation she passed on to the _tower scene_, giving to the minor chords a quality of massiveness. her expression changed oddly. there was color in her cheeks and a stancher adjustment of the lines of her face. she suggested a good woman struggling through flames to achieve safety. when she played from _il trovatore_ you did not think of a conservatory, but of a prison. she stopped after a time and the color swiftly receded from her cheeks. "i'm afraid i've been rather in earnest," she said apologetically. "i haven't played on a good piano for quite a long time." she added, as if her remark might seem an appeal for pity, "the climate here injures a piano in a year or so. the fine sand, you know." "you must come and use mine whenever you will," said sylvia heartily. "i love it, though i've never cared to play myself." "i wonder why?" "ah, i could scarcely explain. i've been too busy living. it has always seemed to me that music and pictures and books were for people who had been caught in an eddy and couldn't go on with the stream." she realized the tactlessness of this immediately, and added: "that's just a silly fancy. what i should have said, of course, is that i haven't the talent." "don't spoil it," remonstrated the other woman thoughtfully. "but you must remember that few of us can always go on with the stream." "sometimes you get caught in the whirlpools," said sylvia, as they were going down the stairs, "and then you can't stop, even if you'd like to." i doubt if either woman derived a great deal of benefit from this visit. they might have become helpful friends under happier conditions; but neither had anything to offer the other save the white logic of untoward circumstances and defeat. the wife of jesus mendoza did not know sylvia well enough to perceive that a certain blitheness and faith had abandoned her, never to return. nevertheless, the fact of her visit has its place in this chronicle, since it had a cruel bearing upon a day which still lay in sylvia's future. sylvia's caller went home; and, as it chanced, she never called again at the house on the quemado road. as for sylvia, she did not speak to harboro of her visitor. from his point of view, she thought, there would be nothing to be proud of in the fact that mrs. mendoza had called. and so harboro was destined to go on to the end without knowing that there was any such person as the wife of jesus mendoza. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ part iv the horse with the golden dapples ------------------------------------------------------------------------ chapter xvii two events which had a bearing upon sylvia's destiny occurred at about this time. i am not sure which came first: the invitation to a celebration out at the quemado settlement, or the arrival on the border of runyon, the mounted inspector. the coming of runyon caused a distinct ripple in the social circles of the two border towns. he was well connected, it was known: he was a cousin to a congressman in the san angelo district, and he had a brother in the army. he was a sort of frontier apollo; a man in his prime, of striking build--a dashing fellow. he had the physical strength, combined with neatness of lines, which characterized buffalo bill in his younger days. he was a blond of the desert type, with a shapely mustache the color of flax, with a ruddy skin finely tanned by sun and wind, and with deep blue eyes which flashed and sparkled under his flaxen brows. he was a manly appearing fellow, though there was a glamour about him which made prosaic folk suspicious. he rode a dun horse with golden dapples--a slim, proud thing which suited runyon in every detail. when you saw him mounted you thought of a parade; you wondered where the rest of it was--the supernumerary complement. the man was also characterized by the male contingent of the border as a "dresser." he was always immaculately clad, despite the exposure to which his work subjected him. he seemed to have an artist's sense of color effects. everything he put on was not only faultless in itself, but it seemed specially designed and made for him. in the set of his sombrero and the style of his spurs he knew how to suggest rakishness without quite achieving it; and when he permitted his spirited horse to give way to its wayward or playful moods there was something just a little sinister in his mirth. he looked as much at home in conventional clothes as in his inspector's outfit, and he immediately became a social favorite on both sides of the river. it developed that he could sing quite amazingly. his voice was high-pitched, but there was power and fire in it. he sang easily and he loved to sing. his songs were the light-opera favorites, the fame of which reached the border from new york and london, and even vienna. and when there was difficulty about getting the accompaniments played he took his place unaffectedly at the piano and played them himself. his name began to appear regularly in the eagle pass _guide_ in connection with social events; and he was not merely mentioned as "among those present," but there was always something about his skill as a musician. of course sylvia was destined to see him sooner or later, though she stayed at home with almost morbid fidelity to a resolution she had made. he rode out the quemado road one matchless december day when the very air would have seemed sufficient to produce flowers without calling the ungracious desert into service. sylvia sat in her boudoir by an open window and watched him approach. she immediately guessed that it was runyon. the remarkable manner in which he had conquered the town had made him an occasional subject for comment between sylvia and harboro, and he had described the man to her. sylvia thought that the rider and his horse, with the sun on the man's flashing blue eyes and the horse's golden dapples, constituted the prettiest picture she had ever seen. never before had she observed a man who sat his horse with such an air of gallantry. and as she regarded him appraisingly he glanced up at her, and there was the slightest indication of pleased surprise in his glance. she withdrew from the window; but when she reckoned that he was well past the house she looked after him. he was looking back, and their eyes met again. it is decidedly contrary to my conviction that either sylvia or runyon consciously paved the way for future mischief when they indulged in that second glance at each other. he was the sort of man who might have attracted a second glance anywhere, and he would have been a poor fellow if he had not considered sylvia a sight worth turning his head for. nevertheless, sylvia regretted that second glance. it had an effect upon her heart which was far from soothing; and when she realized that her heart seemed suddenly to hurt her, her conscience followed suit and hurt her too. she closed the window righteously; though she was careful not to do so until she felt sure that runyon was beyond sight and hearing. and then there came to harboro the invitation out to the quemado. the belle of the settlement, a mexican girl famed for her goodness and beauty, was to be married to one of the wayne brothers, ranchers on an immense scale. the older of the two brothers was a conventional fellow enough, with an american wife and a large family; but the younger brother was known far and wide as a good-natured, pleasure-pursuing man who counted every individual in maverick county, mexican and american alike, his friend. it seemed that he was planning to settle down now, and he had won the heart of a girl who seemed destined to make an admirable mate for one of his nature-loving type, though his brother had mildly opposed the idea of a mexican girl as a member of the family. the wedding was to be in the fashion of the bride's race. it was to be an affair of some twenty-four hours' duration, counting the dancing and feasting, and it was to take place in a sort of stockade which served the quemado settlement in lieu of a town hall or a public building of any kind. invitations had been practically unlimited in number. there was to be accommodation for hundreds. many musicians had been engaged, and there was to be a mountain of viands, a flood of beverages. it was to be the sort of affair--democratic and broadly hospitable--which any honest man might have enjoyed for an hour or so, at least; and it was in that category of events which drew sightseers from a considerable distance. doubtless there would be casual guests from spofford (the nearest railroad point on the southern pacific) and from piedras negras, as well as from eagle pass and the remote corners of maverick county. harboro's invitation had come to him through one of his fellow employees in the railroad offices--a mexican who had spent four years in an american university, and who was universally respected for his urbane manner and kind heart. valdez, his name was. he had heartily invited harboro to go to the wedding with him as his guest; and when he saw traces of some sort of difficulty in harboro's manner, he suggested, with the ready _simpatía_ of his race, that doubtless there was a mrs. harboro also, and that he hoped mrs. harboro, too, would honor him by accepting his invitation. he promised that the affair would be enjoyable; that it would afford an interesting study of a people whose social customs still included certain pleasures which dated back to the cortez invasion, as well as many of the latest american diversions. harboro tactfully sought for more definite details; and when he gathered that the affair would be too immense to be at all formal--that there would be introductions only so far as separate groups of persons were concerned, and that guests would be expected to come and go with perfect freedom, he accepted the invitation gratefully. he had not forgotten the slight which the two towns had put upon him and sylvia, and he was not willing to subject himself to snubs from people who had behaved badly. but he realized that it was necessary for sylvia to see people, to get away from the house occasionally, to know other society than his own. in truth, harboro had been very carefully taking account of sylvia's needs. it seemed to him that she had not been really herself since that sunday morning when he had had to place his life in jeopardy. in a way, she seemed to love him more passionately than ever before; but not so light-heartedly, so gladly. some elfin quality in her nature was gone, and harboro would gladly have brought it back again. she had listless moods; and sometimes as they sat together he surprised a strange look in her eyes. she seemed to be very far away from him; and he had on these occasions the dark thought that even the substance of her body was gone, too--that if he should touch her she would vanish in a cloud of dust, like that woman in _archibald malmaison_, after she had remained behind the secret panel, undiscovered, for a generation. and so harboro decided that he and sylvia would go to the big affair at the quemado. chapter xviii there was an atmosphere of happiness and bustle in the house when the night of the outing came. harboro easily managed a half-holiday (it was a saturday), and he had ample time to make careful selection of horses for sylvia and himself at an eagle pass stable. he would have preferred a carriage, but sylvia had assumed that they would ride, and she plainly preferred that mode of travel. she had been an excellent horsewoman in the old san antonio days. old antonia was drawn out of her almost trance-like introspection. the young señora was excited, as a child might have been, at the prospect of a long ride through the chaparral, and she must not be disappointed. she had fashioned a riding-habit and a very charming little jacket, and to these the old woman made an addition of her own--a wonderful _rebozo_. she brought it forth from among her own possessions and offered it affectionately. "but shall i need it?" asked sylvia. very surely she might, she was assured. she would not wish to dance in her riding costume, certainly. and it might turn chilly after nightfall. she would find that other young women had such garments to protect them. and this particular _rebozo_ was quite wonderful. she pointed out its wonderful qualities. it was of so delicate a weave that it might have been thrust into a man's pocket; yet, unfolded, it proved to be of the dimensions of a blanket. and there was warmth in it. she folded it neatly and explained how it might be tied to the pommel of the saddle. it would not be in the way. sylvia affected much gratitude for such kindness and foresight, though she thought it unlikely that she would need a wrap of any sort. there was an early supper, antonia contributing a quite unprecedented alacrity; and then there was a cheerful call from the road. the horses had been brought. sylvia ran out to inspect them; and harboro, following, was not a little amazed to perceive how important a matter she considered the sort of horses he had engaged. horses were not a mere medium of travel to sylvia; they were persons in the drama, and it was highly important that they should fit into the various romantic demands of the occasion. harboro had stipulated that they should be safe horses, of good appearance; and the boy from the stable, who had brought them, regarded them with beaming eyes when harboro examined them. the boy evidently looked at the affair much as sylvia did--as if the selection of the horse was far more important than the determining of a destination. "they seem to be all right," ventured harboro. "yes, they are very good horses," agreed sylvia; but she sighed a little. then there was the clatter of hoofs down the road, and valdez appeared. he, too, bestrode a decidedly prosaic-appearing animal; but when harboro exclaimed: "ah, it's valdez!" sylvia became more interested in the man than in the horse. it would be a pity to have as companion on a long ride a man without merits. she was not very favorably impressed by valdez. the man acknowledged his introduction to her too casually. there were no swift, confidential messages in his eyes. he seemed to be there for the purpose of devoting himself to harboro, not to her. antonia came out to be sure that the cherished _rebozo_ was tied to the pommel of sylvia's saddle, and then harboro and sylvia went back into the house to get into their riding things. when they returned harboro lifted her to her saddle with a lack of skill which brought a frown to her brows. but if she regretted the absence of certain established formalities in this performance, she yielded herself immediately to the ecstasy of being in the saddle. she easily assumed a pretty and natural attitude which made harboro marvel at her. she watched when it came time for him to mount. the horse moved uneasily, as horses have done since the beginning of time beneath the touch of unpractised riders. harboro gathered the reins in too firm a grip, and the animal tried to pull away from him. the boy from the stable sprang forward. "let me hold his head," he said, with a too obvious intimation that harboro needed help. "never mind," said harboro crisply; and he achieved his place in the saddle by sheer force rather than by skill. neither did he fall into an easy position; though under ordinary circumstances this fact would not have been noted. but sylvia swiftly recalled the picture of a dun horse with golden dapples, and of a rider whose very attitude in the saddle was like a hymn of praise. and again she sighed. she had seen runyon often since the afternoon on which he had made his first appearance on the quemado road. seemingly, his duties took him out that way often; and he never passed without glancing toward sylvia's window--and looking back again after he had passed. nor had he often found that place by the window vacant. in truth, it was one of sylvia's pleasures in those days to watch runyon ride by; and the afternoon seemed unduly filled with tedium when he failed to appear. * * * * * the little picture in front of harboro's house dissolved. the three riders turned their horses' heads to the north and rode away. antonia stood at the gate an instant and looked after them; but she did not derive any pleasure from the sight. it was not a very gallant-appearing group. sylvia was riding between the two men, and all three were moving away in silence, as if under constraint. the stable-boy went somewhat dispiritedly back along the way he had come. sylvia was the first of the three riders to find herself. there were certain things which made the springs of gladness within her stir. the road was perfect. it stretched, smooth and white, away into the dusk. the air was clear as on a mountain top, with just enough crispness to create energy. of wind there was scarcely a breath. she was not pleased at all with harboro's friend. he had assumed the attitude of a deferential guide, and his remarks were almost entirely addressed to harboro. but she was not to be put out by so small a part of the night's programme. after all, valdez was not planning to return with them, and they were likely to have the ride back by themselves. valdez, she had been informed, was to be a sort of best friend to the family of the bride, and it would be his duty to remain for the next day's ceremonies--the feasting and the marriage itself. the dusk deepened, and a new light began to glow over the desert. a waxing moon, half-full, rode near the zenith; and as the light of day receded it took on a surprising brilliance. the road seemed in some strange way to be more clearly defined than under the light of day. it became a winding path to happiness. it began to beckon; to whisper of the delights of swift races, of coquetries. it bade the riders laugh aloud and fling their cares away. occasionally it rose or dipped; and then through little valleys between sand-dunes, or from low summits, the waters of the rio grande were visible away to the left. a mist was clinging to the river, making more mysterious its undisturbed progress through the desert. after a long time the silence of the road was broken by the tinkle of a small bell, and valdez pulled his horse in and looked sharply away into a mesquite-clad depression. of old the road had been haunted by night-riders who were willing enough to ride away with a traveller's possessions, leaving the traveller staring sightlessly toward the sky. but valdez thought of no menaces in connection with the border folk. he was a kind-hearted fellow, to whom all men were friends. "travellers, or a party camped for the night," he said interestedly, as if the presence of other human beings must be welcomed gladly. he rode out toward the sound of that tinkling bell, and in a moment he was guided more certainly by the blaze of a camp-fire. harboro and sylvia followed, and presently they were quite near to two quaint old carts, heaped high with mesquite fagots destined for the humbler hearths of eagle pass. donkeys were tethered near by, and two mexicans, quite old and docile in appearance, came forward to greet the intruders. valdez exchanged greetings with them. he knew something of the loneliness of these people's lives, and the only religion he had was a belief that one must be friendly to travellers. he produced a flask and invited the old men to drink; and each did so with much nice formality and thoroughly comprehensive toasts to harboro and sylvia. then valdez replaced his flask in his pocket. "god go with you!" he called as he went away, and "god go with you!" came back the placid, kindly echo. and sylvia realized suddenly that it was a very good thing indeed to be riding along that golden road through the desert. chapter xix harboro became aware that some one was staring almost insolently at sylvia. they were seated on one of the benches disposed around the side of the stockade, and there was a great deal of noise all about them. in the open space of the stockade a score or more of young men and women were dancing to the music of violins and flutes and 'cellos. nearly all who were not dancing were talking or laughing. people who did not see one another for months at a time were meeting and expressing their pleasure in staccato showers of words. there were other noises in the near-by corral, in which valdez had put their horses away with the other horses; and in still another place the work of barbecuing large quantities of meat had begun. a pleasant odor from the fire and the meat floated fitfully over the stockade. there was still an almost singular absence of wind, and the night was warm for a midwinter night. valdez was remaining for the time being with his guests, and he was making friendly comments upon the scene. "it's chiefly the young people who are dancing now," he observed. "but you'll notice men and women of all ages around in the seats. they will become intoxicated with the joy of it all--and maybe with other things--later in the night, and then the dancing will begin in earnest." for the moment an old type of fandango was being danced--a dance not wholly unlike a quadrille, in that it admitted a number of persons to the set and afforded opportunity for certain individual exhibitions of skill. and then harboro, glancing beyond valdez, observed that a man of mature years--a mexican--was regarding sylvia fixedly. he could not help believing that there was something of insolence, too, in the man's gaze. he lowered his voice and spoke to valdez: "that man sitting by himself over there, the fourth--the fifth--from us. do you know him?" valdez turned casually and seemed to be taking in the general scene. he brought his glance back to harboro without seeming to have noticed anything in particular. "that's one of your most--er--conspicuous citizens," he said with a smile. "his name is mendoza--jesus mendoza. i'm surprised you've never met him." "i never have," replied harboro. he got up and took a new position so that he sat between sylvia and mendoza, cutting off the view of her. she had caught the name. she glanced interestedly at the man called jesus mendoza. she could not remember ever to have seen him before; but she was curious to know something about the man whose wife had been kind to her, and whose life seemed somehow tragically lonely. mendoza made no sign of recognition of harboro's displeasure. he arose with a purposeless air and went farther along the stockade wall. sylvia's glance followed him. she had not taken in the fact that the man's presence, or anything that he had done, had annoyed harboro. she was wondering what kind of man it was who had captivated and held the woman who had filled her boudoir with passionate music, and who knew how to keep an expressionless mask in place so skilfully that no one on the border really knew her. the fandango came to an end, and the smooth earth which constituted the floor of the enclosure was vacated for an instant. then the musicians began a favorite mexican waltz, and there was a scurrying of young men and women for places. there was an eager movement along the rows of seats by young fellows who sought partners for the waltz. custom permitted any man to seek any disengaged woman and invite her to dance with him. "we ought to find wayne and pay our respects," suggested valdez. "he will want to meet mrs. harboro, too, of course. shall we look for him?" they skirted the dancing space, leaving sylvia with the assurance that they would soon return. harboro was noting, with a relief which he could scarcely understand, that he was among strangers. the people of eagle pass were almost wholly unrepresented as yet. the few americans present seemed to be casual sightseers or ranchmen neighbors of the bridegroom. left alone, sylvia looked eagerly and a little wistfully toward the dancers. her muscles were yielding to the call of the violins. she was being caught by the spirit of the occasion. here she would have been wholly in her element but for a vague fear that harboro would not like her to yield unrestrainedly to the prevailing mood. she wished some one would ask her to dance. the waltz was wonderful, and there was plenty of room. and then she looked up as a figure paused before her, and felt a thrill of interest as she met the steady, inquiring gaze of jesus mendoza. "mrs. harboro, i believe?" he asked. the voice was musical and the english was perfect. he shrewdly read the glance she gave him and then held out his hand. "i heard you spoken of as mr. mendoza," she replied. "your wife has been very kind to me." she did not offer to make room for him on the seat beside her. she had been relieved of her riding-habit, and she held antonia's _rebozo_ across her knees. she had decided not to use it just yet. the night was still comfortably warm and she did not like to cover up the pretty chinese silk frock she was wearing. but as mendoza glanced down at her she placed the _rebozo_ over one arm as if she expected to rise. mendoza must have noted the movement. a gleam of satisfaction shone in his inscrutable eyes--as when a current of air removes some of the ash from above a live coal. "will you dance with me?" he asked. "when the young fellows overlook so charming a partner, surely an old man may become bold." she arose with warm responsiveness, yet with undefined misgivings. he had an arm about her firmly in an instant, and when they had caught step with the music he held her close to him. he was an excellent dancer. sylvia was instantly transported away from the world of petty discretions into a realm of faultless harmony, of singing rhythm. her color was heightened, her eyes were sparking, when they returned to their place. "it was nice," she said, releasing her partner's arm and drawing apart. a purple-and-gold chinese lantern glowed just above her head. and then she realized that harboro and valdez had returned. there was a stranger with them. harboro regarded her with unmistakable disapproval; but only for an instant. when something of the childlike glory of her face departed under the severe expression of his eyes, he relented immediately. "are you enjoying yourself, sylvia?" he inquired gently, and then: "i want you to meet our host." wayne shook hands with her heartily. "you're a very kind lady to get right into our merrymaking," he said, "though i hope you'll save a dance for me a little later." they all went to see the bride-to-be then. she was hidden away in one of the _adobe_ houses of the settlement near by, receiving congratulations from friends. she was a dark little creature, nicely demure and almost boisterously joyous by turns. but later sylvia danced with wayne, and he thought of a dozen, a score, of young fellows who would wish to meet her. he brought them singly and in groups, and they all asked to dance with her. she was immediately popular. happiness radiated from her, and she added to the warmth of every heart that came within her influence. harboro watched her with wonder. she was like a flame; but he saw her as a sacred flame. chapter xx sylvia was resting. she had not danced to her heart's content, but she had become weary, and she threw antonia's _rebozo_ over her shoulders and leaned back in her seat. for the moment harboro and valdez and wayne were grouped near her, standing. the girl wayne was to marry the next day had made her formal appearance now and was the centre of attention. she was dancing with one after another, equally gracious toward all. then sylvia heard valdez and wayne cry out simultaneously: "runyon!" and then both men hurried away toward the entrance to the stockade. sylvia drew her wrap more snugly about her. "runyon!" she repeated to herself. she closed her eyes as if she were pondering--or recuperating. and she knew that from the beginning she had hoped that runyon would appear. "it's that inspector fellow," explained harboro, without looking at her. his tone was not at all contemptuous, though there was a note of amusement in it. "he seems a sort of prince charming that everybody takes a liking to." wayne and valdez were already returning, with runyon between them. they pretended to lead him captive and his face radiated merriment and good nature. he walked with the elasticity of a feline creature; he carried his body as if it were the depository of precious jewels. never was there a man to whom nature had been kinder--nor any man who was more graciously proud of what nature had done for him. for the occasion he was dressed in a suit of fawn-colored corduroy which fitted him as the rind fits the apple. "just a little too much so," harboro was thinking, ambiguously enough, certainly, as runyon was brought before him and sylvia. runyon acknowledged the introduction with a cheerful urbanity which was quite without discrimination as between harboro and sylvia. quite impartially he bestowed a flashing smile upon both the man and the woman. and harboro began vaguely to understand. runyon was popular, not because he was a particularly good fellow, but because he was so supremely cheerful. and he seemed entirely harmless, despite the glamour of him. after all, he was not a mere male coquette. he was in love with the world, with life. wayne was reproaching him for not having come sooner. he should have been there for the beginning, he said. and runyon's response was characteristic enough, perhaps: "everything is always beginning." there was gay laughter at this, though the meaning of it must have been obscure to all save sylvia. the words sounded like a song to her. it was a song she had wished to sing herself. but she was reflecting, despite her joy in the saying: "no, everything is always ending." runyon was borne away like a conqueror. he mingled with this group and that. his presence was like a stimulant. his musical voice penetrated everywhere; his laughter arose now and again. he did not look back toward sylvia. she had the strange feeling that even yet they had not met--they had not met, yet had known each other always. he ignored her, she felt, as one ignores the best friend, the oldest associate, on the ground that no explanations are necessary, no misunderstanding possible. harboro sat down beside sylvia. when he spoke there was a note of easy raillery in his voice. "they're getting him to sing," he said, and sylvia, bringing her thoughts back from immeasurable distances, realized that the dancing space had been cleared, and that the musicians had stopped playing and were engaged in a low-spoken conference with runyon. he nodded toward them approvingly and then stepped out into the open, a little distance from them. the very sky listened; the desert became dumb. the orchestra played a prelude and then runyon began to sing. the words came clear and resonant: "by the blue alsatian mountains dwelt a maiden young and fair...." runyon sang marvellously. although he was accustomed to the confines of drawing-rooms with low ceilings, he seemed quite at home on this earthen floor of the desert, with the moon sinking regretfully beyond the top of the stockade. he was perfectly at ease. his hands hung so naturally by his sides that they seemed invisible. "but the blue alsatian mountains seem to watch and wait alway." the song of a woman alone, and then another, "a warrior bold," and then "alice, where art thou?" and finally "juanita." they were songs his audience would appreciate. and all those four songs of tragedy he sang without banishing the beaming smile from his eyes. he might have been relating the woes of marionettes. he passed from the scene to the sound of clapping hands, and when he returned almost immediately after that agreeable theatrical exit, he began to dance. he danced with the bride-to-be, and then with the bridesmaids. he found obscure girls who seemed to have been forgotten--who might be said to have had no existence before he found them--and danced with them with natural gallantry. he came finally to sylvia, and she drifted away with him, her hand resting on his shoulder like a kiss. "i thought you would never come to me," she said in a lifeless voice. "you knew i would," was the response. her lips said nothing more. but her heart was beating against him; it was speaking to him with clarity, with eloquence. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ part v a wind from the north ------------------------------------------------------------------------ chapter xxi harboro and sylvia were taking leave of wayne and valdez. their horses had been brought and they were in their saddles, their horses' heads already in the direction of eagle pass. valdez was adding final instructions touching the road. "if you're not quite sure of the way i'll get some one to ride in with you," said wayne; but harboro would not listen to this. "i'll not lose the way," he declared; though there remained in his mind a slight dubiousness on this point. the moon would be down before the ride was finished, and there were not a few roads leading away from the main thoroughfare. then, much to harboro's surprise, runyon appeared, riding away from the corral on his beautiful dun horse. he overheard the conference between harboro and the others, and he made himself one of the group with pleasant familiarity. "ah, harboro, must you be going, too?" he inquired genially; and then: "if you don't mind, i'll ride with you. it's rather a lonely road at this hour, and i've an idea i know the way better than you." harboro's eyes certainly brightened with relief. "it's good of you to offer," he declared heartily. "by all means, ride with us." he turned toward sylvia, plainly expecting her to second the invitation. "it will be much pleasanter," she said; though it seemed to harboro that her words lacked heartiness. she was busying herself with the little package at her pommel--old antonia's _rebozo_. "and you must all remember that there's one more latch-string out here at the quemado," said wayne, "whenever you feel inclined to ride this way." they were off then. the sound of violins and the shuffle of feet became faint, and the last gay voice died in the distance. only now and then, when the horses' feet fell in unison, there drifted after them the note of a violin--like a wind at night in an old casement. and then the three riders were presently aware of being quite alone on a windless waste, with a sentinel yucca standing on a distant height here and there between them and the descending moon, and distant groups of mesquite wreathing themselves in the silver mist of early morning. it had been a little past midnight when they left the quemado. sylvia, riding between the two men, was so obviously under some sort of constraint that harboro sought to arouse her. "i'm afraid you overtaxed yourself, sylvia," he suggested. "it's all been pleasant, but rather--heroic." it was an effort for him to speak lightly and cheerfully. the long ride out to the quemado was a thing to which he was not accustomed, and the merrymaking had seemed to him quite monotonous after an hour or two. even the midnight supper had not seemed a particularly gay thing to him. he was not quite a youth any more, and he had never been young, it seemed to him, in the way in which these desert folk were young. joy seemed to them a kind of intoxication--as if it were not to be indulged in save at long intervals. "i didn't overtax myself," replied sylvia. "the ending of things is never very cheerful. i suppose that's what i feel just now--as if, at the end, things don't seem quite worth while, after all." harboro held to his point. "you _are_ tired," he insisted. runyon interposed cheerfully. "and there are always the beginnings," he said. "we're just beginning a new day and a fine ride." he looked at harboro as if inviting support and added, in a lower tone: "and i'd like to think we were beginning a pleasant acquaintance." harboro nodded and his dark eyes beamed with pleasure. it had seemed to him that this final clause was the obvious thing for runyon to say, and he had waited to see if he would say it. he did not suppose that he and sylvia would see a great deal of runyon in eagle pass, where they were not invited to entertainments of any kind, but there might be occasional excursions into the country, and runyon seemed to be invited everywhere. but sylvia refused to respond to this. the pagan in her nature reasserted itself, and she felt resentful of runyon's affable attitude toward harboro. the attraction which she and runyon exerted toward each other was not a thing to be brought within the scope of a conventionally friendly relationship. its essence was of the things furtive and forbidden. it should be fought savagely and kept within bounds, even if it could never be conquered, or it should be acknowledged and given way to in secret. two were company and three a crowd in this case. she might have derived a great deal of tumultuous joy from runyon's friendship for her if it could have been manifested in secret, but she could feel only a sense of duplicity and shame if his friendship included harboro, too. the wolf does not curry favor with the sheep-dog when it hungers for a lamb. such was her creed. in brief, sylvia had received her training in none of the social schools. she was a daughter of the desert--a bit of that jetsam which the rio grande leaves upon its arid banks as it journeys stealthily to the sea. they were riding along in silence half an hour later, their horses at a walk, when the stillness of the night was rudely shattered by the sound of iron wheels grinding on stone, and in an instant a carriage could be seen ascending a branch road which arose out of a near-by _arroyo_. the riders checked their horses and waited: not from curiosity, but in response to the prompting of a neighborly instinct. travellers in the desert are never strangers to one another. the approaching carriage proved to be an impressively elegant affair, the locality considered, drawn by two horses which were clearly not of the range variety. and then further things were revealed: a coachman sat on the front seat, and a man who wore an air of authority about him like a kingly robe sat alone on the back seat. then to harboro, sitting high with the last rays of the moon touching his face, came the hearty hail: "harboro! how are you, harboro?" it was the voice of the general manager. harboro turned his horse so that he stood alongside the open carriage. he leaned over the wheel and shook hands with the general manager. the encounter seemed to him to add the one desirable touch of familiarity to the night ride. he explained his presence away out on the quemado road; and the general manager also explained. he had been spending the evening with friends on a near-by ranch. his family were remaining for the night, but it had been necessary for him to return to piedras negras. harboro looked about for his companions, intending to introduce them. but they were a little too far away to be included comfortably in such a ceremony. for some reason runyon had chosen to ride on a few steps. "how many are you?" inquired the general manager, with a note of purposefulness in his voice. "three? that's good. you get in with me. tie your horse behind. two can ride abreast more comfortably than three, and you and i can talk. i've never felt so lonesome in my life." he moved over to one side of the seat, and looked back as if he expected to help in getting harboro's horse tied behind the carriage. his invitation did not seem at all like a command, but it did seem to imply that a refusal would be out of the question. the arrangement seemed quite simple and desirable to harboro. he was not a practised horseman, and he was beginning to feel the effect of saddle strain. moreover, he had realized a dozen times during the past hour that two could ride easily side by side on the desert road, while a third rider was continually getting in the way. he called to runyon cheerfully: "you two go on ahead--i'm going to ride the rest of the way in." "fine!" called back runyon. to runyon everything always seemed precisely ideal--or at least such was the impression he created. it became a little cavalcade now, the riders leading the way. riders and carriage kept close together for a time. sylvia remained silent, but she felt the presence of her companion as a deliciously palpable thing. harboro and the general manager were talking, harboro's heavy tones alternating at unequal intervals with the crisp, penetrating voice of the general manager--a voice dry with years, but vital nevertheless. after a time the horses in the carriage broke into a rhythmic trot. in the darkness runyon's eyes gleamed with satisfaction. "we'll have to have a little canter, or we'll get run over," he said gayly, and he and sylvia gave rein to their horses. in a very few minutes they had put a distance of more than a hundred yards between them and the occupants of the carriage. "this is more like it!" exclaimed runyon exultantly. tone and words alike implied all too strongly his satisfaction at being rid of harboro--and sylvia perversely resented the disloyalty of it, the implication of intrigue carried on behind a mask. and then she forgot her scruples. the boy who had chosen her horse for her had known what he was doing, after all. the animal galloped with a dashing yet easy movement which was delightful. she became exhilarated by a number of things. the freedom of movement, the occasional touch of her knee against runyon's, the mysterious vagueness of the road, now that the moon had gone down. perhaps they both forgot themselves for a time, and then sylvia checked her horse with a laugh in which there was a sound of dismay. "we ought to wait for them to catch up," she said. runyon was all solicitude immediately. "we seem to have outdistanced them completely," he said. they turned their horses about so that they faced the north. "i can't even hear them," he added. then, with the irrepressible optimism which was his outstanding quality, he added laughingly: "they'll be along in a few minutes. but wasn't it a fine ride?" she had not framed an answer to this question when her mind was diverted swiftly into another channel. she held her head high and her body became slightly rigid. she glanced apprehensively at runyon and realized that he, too, was listening intently. a faint roar which seemed to come from nowhere fell on their ears. the darkness swiftly deepened, so that the man and the woman were almost invisible to each other. that sinister roaring sound came closer, as if mighty waters were rolling toward them far away. the northern sky became black, as if a sable curtain had been let down. and then upon sylvia's startled senses the first breath of the norther broke. the little winds, running ahead as an advance-guard of the tempest, flung themselves upon her and caught at her hair and her riding-habit. they chilled her. "a norther!" she exclaimed, and runyon called back through the whistle of the winds: "it's coming!" his voice had the quality of a battle-cry, joined to the shouts of the descending storm. chapter xxii fortunately, runyon knew what to do in that hour of earth's desolation and his own and sylvia's peril. he sprang from his horse and drew his bridle-rein over his arm; and then he laid a firm hand on the bridle of sylvia's horse. his own animal he could trust in such an emergency; but the other had seemed to lose in height and he knew that it was trembling. it might make a bolt for it at any moment. "keep your seat," he shouted to sylvia, and she realized that he was leading both horses away from the road. she caught glimpses of his wraith-like figure as the whirling dust-cloud that enveloped them thinned occasionally. she knew that he had found a clump of mesquite after a faltering progress of perhaps fifty yards. their progress was checked, then, and she knew he was at the hitching straps, and that he was tethering the animals to the trees. the powdered dust and sand were stinging her face, and the cold wind was chilling her; yet she felt a strange elation as she realized that she was here alone with runyon, and that he was managing the situation with deftness and assurance. she felt his hand groping for her then, and, leaning forward, she was borne to the ground. he guided her to a little depression and made her understand that she was to sit down. he had removed his saddle-blanket and spread it on the earth, forming a rug for her. "the _rebozo_?" he cried in her ear. "it's fastened to the pommel," she called back. she could neither see nor hear him; but soon he was touching her on the shoulders. the _rebozo_ was flung out on the wind so that it unfolded, and he was spreading it about her. she caught his hand and drew him close so that she could make herself heard. "there's room under it for two," she said. she did not release his hand until he had sat down by her. together they drew the _rebozo_ about them like a little tent. immediately they were transformed into two sheltered and undismayed arabs. the _rebozo_ was pinioned behind them and under their feet. the finest dust could not penetrate its warp and woof. the wind was as a mighty hand, intent upon bearing them to earth, but it could not harm them. sylvia heard runyon's musical laugh. he bent his head close to hers. "we're all right now," he said. he had his arm across her shoulder and was drawing her close. "it's going to be cold," he said, as if in explanation. he seemed as joyous as a boy--as innocent as a boy. she inclined her head until it rested on his shoulder, so that both occupied little more than the space of one. the storm made this intimacy seem almost natural; it made it advantageous, too. and so the infinite sands swarmed over them, and the norther shrieked in their ears, and the earth's blackness swallowed them up until they seemed alone as a man and a woman never had been alone before. the _rebozo_ sagged about them at intervals, weighted down with the dust; but again it rippled like a sail when an eccentric gust swept away the accumulated sediment. the desert was a thing of blank darkness. a protected torch would have been invisible to one staring toward it a dozen steps away. a temporary death had invaded the world. there was neither movement nor sound save the frenzied dance of dust and the whistle of winds which seemed shunted southward from the north star. runyon's hand travelled soothingly from sylvia's shoulder to her cheek. he held her to him with a tender, eloquent pressure. he was the man, whose duty it was to protect; and she was the woman, in need of protection. and sylvia thought darkly of the ingenuities of destiny which set at naught the petty steps which the proprieties have taken--as if the gods were never so diverted as when they were setting the stage for tragedy, or as if the struggles and defeats of all humankind were to them but a proper comedy. but runyon was thinking how rare a thing it is for a man and a woman to be quite alone in the world; how the walls of houses listen, and windows are as eyes which look in as well as out; how highways forever hold their malicious gossips to note the movements of every pair who do not walk sedately; how you may mount the stairway of a strange house--and encounter one who knows you at the top, and who laughs in his sleeve; how you may emerge from the house in which you have felt safe from espionage--only to encounter a familiar talebearer at the door. but here indeed were he and sylvia alone. chapter xxiii before the next spring came two entirely irreconcilable discoveries were made in eagle pass. the first of these was made by certain cronies of the town who found their beer flat if there was not a bit of gossip to go with it, and it was to the effect that the affair between sylvia and runyon was sure to end disastrously if it did not immediately end otherwise. the other discovery was made by harboro, and it was to the effect that sylvia had at last blossomed out as a perfectly ideal wife. a certain listlessness had fallen from her like a shadow. late in the winter--it was about the time of the ride to the quemado, harboro thought it must have been--a change had come over her. there was a glad tranquillity about her now which was as a tonic to him. she was no longer given to dark utterances which he could not understand. she was devoted to him in a gentle, almost maternal fashion--studying his needs and moods alertly and affectionately. something of the old tempestuous ardor was gone, but that, of course, was natural. harboro did not know the phrases of old antonia or he would have said: "it is the time of embers." she was softly solicitous for him; still a little wistful at times, to be sure; but then that was the natural sylvia. it was the quality which made her more wonderful than any other woman in the world. and sylvia? sylvia had found a new avenue of escape from that tedium which the sylvias of the world have never been able to endure. not long after that ride to the quemado a horse had been brought to her front gate during a forenoon when harboro was over the river at work. unassisted she had mounted it and ridden away out the quemado road. a mile out she had turned toward the rio grande, and had kept to an indistinct trail until she came to a hidden _adobe_ hut, presided over by an ancient mexican. to this isolated place had come, too, runyon--runyon, whose dappled horse had been left hidden in the mesquite down by the river, where the man's duties lay. and here, in undisturbed seclusion, they had continued that intimacy which had begun on the night of the norther. they were like two children, forbidden the companionship of each other, who find something particularly delicious in an unguessed rendezvous. all that is delightful in a temporary escape from the sense of responsibility was theirs. their encounters were as gay and light as that of two poppies in the sun, flung together by a friendly breeze. they were not conscious of wronging any one--not more than a little, at least--though the ancient genius of the place, a mexican who had lost an eye in a jealous fight in his youth, used to shake his head sombrely when he went away from his hut, leaving them alone; and there was anxiety in the glance of that one remaining eye as he kept a lookout over the trail, that his two guests might not be taken by surprise. sometimes they remained in the hut throughout the entire noon-hour, and on these occasions their finely discreet and taciturn old host placed food before them. goat's milk was brought from an earthenware vessel having its place on a wooden hook under the eaves of the house; and there was a delicious stew of dried goat's flesh, served with a sauce which contained just a faint flavor of peppers and garlic and herbs. and there was _pan_, as delicate as wafers, and coffee. time and again, throughout the winter, the same horse made its appearance at sylvia's gate at the same hour, and sylvia mounted and rode away out the quemado road and disappeared, returning early in the afternoon. if you had asked old antonia about these movements of her mistress she would have said: "does not the señora need the air?" and she would have added: "she is young." and finally she would have said: "i know nothing." it is a matter of knowledge that occasionally sylvia would meet the boy from the stable when he arrived at the gate and instruct him gently to take the horse away, as she would not require it that day; and i am not sure she was not trying still to fight the battle which she had already lost; but this, of course, is mere surmise. and then a little cog in the machine slipped. a ranchman who lived out on the north road happened to be in eagle pass one evening as harboro was passing through the town on his way home from work. the ranchman's remark was entirely innocent, but rather unfortunate. "a very excellent horsewoman, mrs. harboro," he remarked, among other things. harboro did not understand. "i met her riding out the road this forenoon," explained the ranchman. "oh, yes!" said harboro. "yes, she enjoys riding. i'm sorry, on her account, that i haven't more liking for it myself." he went on up the hill, pondering. it was strange that sylvia had not told him that she meant to go for a ride. she usually went into minute details touching her outings. he expected her to mention the matter when he got home, but she did not do so. she seemed disposed not to confide in him throughout the entire evening, and finally he remarked with an air of suddenly remembering: "and so you went riding to-day?" she frowned and lowered her eyes. she seemed to be trying to remember. "why, yes," she said, after a moment's silence. "yes, i felt rather dull this morning. you know i enjoy riding." "i know you do," he responded cordially. "i'd like you to go often, if you'll be careful not to take any chances." he smiled at the recollection of the outcome of that ride of theirs to the quemado, and of the excitement with which they compared experiences when they got back home. sylvia and runyon had made a run for it and had got home before the worst of it came, she had said. but harboro and the general manager had waited until the storm had spent itself, both sitting in the carriage with their handkerchiefs pressed to their nostrils, and their coats drawn up about their heads. he remembered, too, how the dust-fog had lingered in the air until well into the next day, like a ghost which could not be laid. he brought himself back from the recollection of that night. "if you like, i'll have the horse sent every day--or, better still, you shall have a horse of your own." "no," replied sylvia, "i might not care to go often." she had let her hair down and was brushing it thoughtfully. "the things which are ordered for you in advance are always half spoiled," she added. "it's better to think of things all of a sudden, and do them." he looked at her in perplexity. that wasn't his way, certainly; but then she was still occasionally something of an enigma to him. he tried to dismiss the matter from his mind. he was provoked that it came back again and again, as if there were something extraordinary about it, something mysterious. "she only went for a ride," he said to himself late at night, as if he were defending her. chapter xxiv a month later harboro came home one afternoon to find an envelope addressed to him on the table in the front hall. he was glad afterward that sylvia was engaged with antonia in the dining-room, and did not have a chance to observe him as he examined the thing which that envelope contained. it was a statement from one of the stables of the town, and it set forth the fact that harboro was indebted to the stable for horse-hire. there were items, showing that on seven occasions during the past month a horse had been placed at the disposal of mrs. harboro. harboro was almost foolishly bewildered. sylvia had gone riding seven times during the month, and she had not even mentioned the matter to him! clearly here was a mystery. her days were not sufficiently full of events to make seven outings a matter of little consequence to her. she was not given to reticence, even touching very little things. she had some reason for not wishing him to know of these movements of hers. but this conclusion was absurd, of course. she would understand that the bill for services rendered would eventually come to him. he was relieved when that conclusion came to him. no, she was not seeking to make a mystery out of the matter. still, the question recurred: why had she avoided even the most casual mention of these outings? he replaced the statement in the envelope thoughtfully and put it away in his pocket. he was trying to banish the look of dark introspection from his eyes when sylvia came in from the kitchen and gave a little cry of joy at sight of him. she _was_ happy at the sight of him--harboro knew it. yet the cloud did not lift from his brow as he drew her to him and kissed her slowly. she was keeping a secret from him. the conclusion was inescapable. his impulse was to face the thing frankly, affectionately. he had only to ask her to explain and the thing would be cleared up. but for the first time he found it difficult to be frank with her. if the thing he felt was not a sense of injury, it was at least a sense of mystery: of resentment, too. he could not deny that he felt resentful. at the foundation of his consciousness there was, perhaps, the belief and the hope that she would explain voluntarily. he felt that something precious would be saved to him if she confided in him without prompting, without urging. if he waited, perhaps she would do so. his sense of delicacy forbade him to inquire needlessly into her personal affairs. surely she was being actuated by some good reason. that she was committed to an evil course was a suspicion which he would have rejected as monstrous. such a suspicion did not occur to him. it did not occur to him until the next day, when a bolt fell. he received another communication from the stable. it was an apology for an error that had been made. the stableman found that he had no account against mr. harboro, but that one which should have been made out against mr. runyon had been sent to him by mistake. quite illogically, perhaps, harboro jumped to the conclusion that the service had really been rendered to sylvia, as the original statement had said, and that for some obscure reason it was to be charged against runyon. but even now it was not a light that he saw. rather, he was enveloped in darkness. he heard the envelope crackle in his clinched hand. he turned and climbed the stairs heavily, so that he need not encounter sylvia until he had had time to think, until he could understand. sylvia was taking rides, and runyon was paying for them. that was to say, runyon was the moving factor in the arrangement. therefore, runyon was deriving a pleasure from these rides of sylvia's. how? why, he must be riding with her. they must be meeting by secret appointment. harboro shook his head fiercely, like a bull that is being tortured and bewildered by the matadors. no, no! that wasn't the way the matter was to be explained. that could indicate only one thing--a thing that was impossible. he began at the beginning again. the whole thing had been an error. sylvia had been rendered no services at all. runyon had engaged a horse for his own use, and the bill had simply been sent to the wrong place. that was the rational explanation. it was a clear and sufficient explanation. harboro held his head high, as if his problem had been solved. he held himself erect, as if a burden had been removed. he had been almost at the point of making a fool of himself, he reflected. reason asserted itself victoriously. but something which speaks in a softer, more insistent voice than reason kept whispering to him: "runyon and sylvia! runyon and sylvia!" he faced her almost gayly at supper. he had resolved to play the rôle of a happy man with whom all is well. but old antonia looked at him darkly. her old woman's sense told her that he was acting a part, and that he was overacting it. from the depths of the kitchen she regarded him as he sat at the table. she lifted her eyes like one who hears a signal-cry when he said casually: "have you gone riding any more since that other time, sylvia?" sylvia hesitated. "'that other time'" she repeated vaguely.... "oh, yes, once since then--once or twice. why?" "i believe you haven't mentioned going." "haven't i? it doesn't seem a very important thing. i suppose i've thought you wouldn't be interested. i don't believe you and i look at a horseback-ride alike. i think perhaps you regard it as quite an event." he pondered that deliberately. "you're right," he said. "and ... about paying for the horse. i'm afraid your allowance isn't liberal enough to cover such things. i must increase it next month. have you been paying out of your own pocket?" "yes--yes, of course. it amounts to very little." his sombre glance travelled across the table to her. she was looking at her plate. she had the appearance of a child encountering a small obstacle in the way of a coveted pleasure. there was neither guilt nor alarm in her bearing, but only an irksome discomfort. but old antonia withdrew farther within the kitchen. she took her place under a picture of the virgin and murmured a little prayer. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ part vi the guest-chamber ------------------------------------------------------------------------ chapter xxv it was remarked in the offices of the mexican international railroad about this time that something had gone wrong with harboro. he made mistakes in his work. he answered questions at random--or he did not answer them at all. he passed people in the office and on the street without seeing them. but worse than all this, he was to be observed occasionally staring darkly into the faces of his associates, as if he would read something that had been concealed from him. he came into one room or another abruptly, as if he expected to hear his name spoken. his associates spoke of his strange behavior--being careful only to wait until he had closed his desk for the day. they were men of different minds from harboro's. he considered their social positions matters which concerned them only; but they had duly noted the fact that he had been taken up in high places and then dropped without ceremony. they knew of his marriage. certain rumors touching it had reached them from the american side. they were rather thrilled at the prospect of a dénouement to the story of harboro's eccentricity. they used no harsher word than that. they liked him and they would have deplored anything in the nature of a misfortune overtaking him. but human beings are all very much alike in one respect--they find life a tedious thing as a rule and they derive a stimulus from the tale of downfall, even of their friends. they are not pleased that such things happen; they are merely interested, and they welcome the break in the monotony of events. as for harboro, he was a far more deeply changed man than they suspected. he was making a heroic effort in those days to maintain a normal bearing. it was only the little interstices of forgetfulness which enabled any one to read even a part of what was taking place in his thoughts. he seemed unchanged to sylvia, save that he admitted being tired or having a headache, when she sought to enliven him, to draw him up to her own plane of merriment. he was reminding himself every hour of the night and day that he must make no irretrievable blunder, that he must do nothing to injure his wife needlessly. appearances were against her, but possibly that was all. yet revelations were being made to him. facts were arraying themselves and marching before him for review. suspicion was pounding at him like a body blow that is repeated accurately and relentlessly in the same vulnerable spot. why had sylvia prevented him from knowing anything about her home life? why had she kept him and her father apart? why had eagle pass ceased to know him, immediately after his marriage? and peterson, that day they had gone across the river together--why had peterson behaved so clownishly, following his familiar greeting of sylvia? peterson hadn't behaved like himself at all. and why had she been so reluctant to tell him about the thing that had happened in her father's house? was that the course an innocent woman would have pursued? what was the explanation of these things? was the world cruel by choice to a girl against whom nothing more serious could be charged than that she was obscure and poor? these reflections seemed to rob harboro of the very marrow in his bones. he would have fought uncomplainingly to the end against injustice. he would cheerfully have watched the whole world depart from him, if he had had the consciousness of righting in a good cause. he had thought scornfully of the people who had betrayed their littleness by ignoring him. but what if they had been right, and his had been the offense against them? he found it almost unbearably difficult to walk through the streets of eagle pass and on across the river. what had been his strength was now his weakness. his loyalty to a good woman had been his armor; but what would right-thinking people say of his loyalty to a woman who had deceived him, and who felt no shame in continuing to deceive him, despite his efforts to surround her with protection and love? and yet ... what did he know against sylvia? she had gone riding--that was all. that, and the fact that she had made a secret of the matter, and had perhaps given him a false account of the manner in which she had paid for her outings. he must make sure of much more than he already knew. again and again he clinched his hands in the office and on the street. he would not wrong the woman he loved. he would not accept the verdict of other people. he would have positive knowledge of his own before he acted. chapter xxvi harboro had admitted a drop of poison to his veins and it was rapidly spreading to every fibre of his being. he was losing the power to think clearly where sylvia was concerned. even the most innocent acts of hers assumed new aspects; and countless circumstances which in the past had seemed merely puzzling to him arose before him now charged with deadly significance. his days became a torture to him. he could not lose himself in a crowd, and draw something of recuperation from a sense of obscurity, a feeling that he was not observed. he seemed now to be cruelly visible to every man and woman on both sides of the river. strangers who gave more than the most indifferent glance to his massive strength and romantic, swarthy face, with its fine dark eyes and strong lines and the luxuriant black mustache, became to him furtive witnesses to his shame--secret commentators upon his weakness. he recalled pictures of men held in pillories for communities to gibe at--and he felt that his position was not unlike theirs. he had at times a frantic realization that he had unconquerable strength, but that by some ironic circumstance he could not use it. if his days were sapping his vigor and driving him to the verge of madness, his nights were periods of a far more destructive torture. he had resolved that sylvia should see no change in him; he was trying to persuade himself that there _was_ no change in him. yet at every tenderly inquiring glance of hers he felt that the blood must start forth on his forehead, that body and skull must burst from the tumult going on within them. it was she who brought matters to a climax. "harboro, you're not well," she said one evening when her hand about his neck had won no response beyond a heavy, despairing gesture of his arm. his eyes were fixed on vacancy and were not to be won away from their unseeing stare. "you're right, sylvia," he said, trying to arouse himself. "i've been trying to fight against it, but i'm all out of sorts." "you must go away for a while," she said. she climbed on his knee and assumed a prettily tyrannical manner. "you've been working too hard. they must give you a vacation, and you must go entirely away. for two weeks at least." the insidious poison that was destroying him spread still further with a swift rush at that suggestion. she would be glad to have him out of the way for a while. were not unfaithful wives always eager to send their husbands away? he closed his eyes resolutely and his hands gripped the arms of his chair. then a plan which he had been vaguely shaping took definite form. she was really helping him to do the thing he felt he must do. he turned to her heavily like a man under the influence of a drug. "yes, i'll go away for a while," he agreed. "i'll make arrangements right away--to-morrow." "and i'll go with you," she said with decision, "and help to drive the evil hours away." she had his face between her hands and was smiling encouragingly. the words were like a dagger thrust. surely, they were proof of fidelity, of affection, and in his heart he had condemned her. "would you like to go with me, sylvia?" he asked. his voice had become husky. she drew back from him as if she were performing a little rite. her eyes filled with tears. "harboro!" she cried, "do you need to ask me that?" her fingers sought his face and traveled with ineffable tenderness from line to line. it was as if she were playing a little love-lyric of her own upon a beautiful harp. and then she fell upon his breast and pressed her cheek to his. "harboro!" she cried again. she had seen only the suffering in his eyes. he held her in his arms and leaned back with closed eyes. a hymn of praise was singing through all his being. she loved him! she loved him! and then that hymn of praise sank to pianissimo notes and was transformed by some sort of evil magic to something shockingly different. it was as if a skillful yet unscrupulous musician were constructing a revolting medley, placing the sacred song in juxtaposition with the obscene ditty. and the words of the revolting thing were "runyon and sylvia! runyon and sylvia!" he opened his eyes resolutely. "we're making too much over a little matter," he said with an obvious briskness which hid the cunning in his mind. "i suppose i've been sticking to things too close. i'll take a run down the line and hunt up some of the old fellows--down as far as torreon at least. i'll rough it a little. i suspect things have been a little too soft for me here. maybe some of the old-timers will let me climb up into a cab and run an engine again. that's the career for a man--with the distance rushing upon you, and your engine swaying like a bird in the air! that will fix me!" he got up with an air of vigor, helping sylvia to her feet. "it wouldn't be the sort of experience a woman could share," he added. "you'll stay here at home and get a little rest yourself. i must have been spoiling things for you, too." he looked at her shrewdly. "oh, no," she said honestly. "i'm only sorry i didn't realize earlier that you need to get away." she went out of the room with something of the regal industry of the queen bee, as if she were the natural source of those agencies which sustain and heal. he heard her as she busied herself in their bedroom. he knew that she was already making preparations for that journey of his. she was singing a soft, wordless song in her throat as she worked. and harboro, with an effect of listening with his eyes, stood in his place for a long interval, and then shook his head slowly. he could not believe in her; he would not believe in her. at least he would not believe in her until she had been put to the test and met the test triumphantly. he could not believe in her; and yet it seemed equally impossible for him to hold with assurance to his unbelief. chapter xxvii returning from the office the next forenoon, harboro stopped at the head of the short street on which the chief stable of eagle pass was situated. he had had no difficulty in obtaining a leave of absence, which was to be for one week with the privilege of having it extended to twice that time if he felt he needed it. in truth, his immediate superior had heartily approved of the plan of his going for an outing. he had noticed, he admitted, that harboro hadn't been altogether fit of late. he was glad he had decided to go away for a few days. he good-naturedly insisted upon the leave of absence taking effect immediately. and harboro had turned back toward eagle pass pondering darkly. he scanned the street in the direction of the stable. a stable-boy was exercising a young horse in the street, leading it back and forth, but otherwise the thoroughfare seemed somnolently quiet. he sauntered along until he came to the stable entrance. he had the thought of entering into a casual conversation with the proprietor. he would try to get at the actual facts touching that mistake the stable people had made. he would not question them too pointedly. he would not betray the fact that he believed something was wrong. he would put his questions casually, innocently. the boy was just turning in with the horse he had been exercising. he regarded harboro expectantly. he was the boy who had brought the horses on the night of that ride to the quemado. "i didn't want anything," said harboro; "that is, nothing in particular. i'll be likely to need a horse in a day or two, that's all." he walked leisurely into the shady, cool place of pungent odors. he had just ascertained that the proprietor was out when his attention was attracted by a dog which lay with perfect complacency under a rather good-looking horse. "a pretty dangerous place, isn't it?" he asked of the stable-boy. "you _would_ think so, wouldn't you? but it isn't. they're friends. you'll always find them together when they can get together. when prince--that's the horse--is out anywhere, we have to pen old mose up to keep him from following. once when a fellow hired prince to make a trip over to spofford, old mose got out, two or three hours later, and followed him all the way over. he came back with him the next day, grinning as if he'd done something great. we never could figure out how old mose knew where he had gone. might have smelled out his trail. or he might have heard them talking about going to spofford, and understood. the more you know about dogs the less you know about them--same as humans." he went back farther into the stable and busied himself with a harness that needed mending. harboro was looking after him with peculiar intensity. he looked at the horse, which stood sentinel-like, above the drowsing dog. then he engaged the stable-boy in further conversation. "a pretty good-looking horse, too," he said. and when the boy nodded without enthusiasm, he added: "by the way, i suppose it's usually your job to get horses ready when people want them?" "yes, mostly." harboro put a new note of purposefulness into his voice. "i believe you send a horse around for mrs. harboro occasionally?" "oh, yes; every week or so, or oftener." harboro walked to the boy's side and drew his wallet from his pocket deliberately. "i wish," he said, "that the next time mrs. harboro needs a horse you'd send this fine animal to her. i have an idea it would please her. will you remember?" he produced a bank-note and placed it slowly in the boy's hand. the boy looked up at him dubiously, and then understood. "i'll remember," he said. harboro turned away, but at the entrance he stopped. "you'd understand, of course, that the dog wouldn't be allowed to go along," he called back. "oh, yes. old mose would be penned up. i'd see to it." "and i suppose," said harboro finally, "that if i'd telephone to you any day it wouldn't take you long to get a horse ready for me, would it? i've been thinking of using a horse a little myself." he was paying little attention to the boy's assurances as he went away. his step had become a little firmer as he turned toward home. he seemed more like himself when he entered the house and smiled into his wife's alertly questioning eyes. "it's all right, i'm to get away," he explained. "i'm away now, strictly speaking. i want to pack up a few things some time to-day and get the early morning train for torreon." she seemed quite gleeful over this cheerful information. she helped him make selection of the things he would need, and she was ready with many helpful suggestions. it seemed that his train left the eagle pass station at five o'clock in the morning--a rather awkward hour; but he did not mind, he said. they spent the day together without any restraints, seemingly. there were a good many things to do, and sylvia was happy in the thought of serving him. if he regarded her now and again with an expression of smouldering fire in his eyes she was unaware of the fact. she sang as she worked, interrupting her song at frequent intervals to admonish him against this forgetfulness or that. * * * * * she seemed to be asleep when, an hour before daybreak, he stirred and left her side. but she was awake immediately. "is it time to go?" she asked sleepily. "i hoped i needn't disturb you," he said. "yes, i ought to be getting on my way to the station." she lay as if she were under a spell while he dressed and made ready to go out. her eyes were wide open, though she seemed to see nothing. perhaps she was merely stupid as a result of being awakened; or it may be that indefinable, foreboding thoughts filled her mind. when he came to say good-by to her she put her arms around his neck. "try to have a good time," she said, "and come back to me your old self again." she felt fearfully alone as she heard him descend the stairs. she held her head away from the pillow until she heard the sharp closing of the street-door. "he's gone," she said. she shivered a little and drew the covers more closely about her. chapter xxviii runyon rode out past harboro's house that afternoon. sylvia, in her place by the window, watched him come. in the distance he assumed a new aspect in her eyes. she thought of him impersonally--as a thrilling picture. she rejoiced in the sight of him as one may in the spectacle of an army marching with banners and music. and then he became to her a glorious troubadour, having no relationship with prosaic affairs and common standards, but a care-free creature to be loved and praised because of his song; to be heard gladly and sped on his way with a sigh. the golden notes of his songs out at the quemado echoed in her ears like the mournful sound of bells across lonely fields. her heart ached again at the beauty of the songs he had sung. ... she went down-stairs and stood by the gate, waiting for him. they talked for a little while, runyon bending down toward her. she thought of him as an incomparably gay and happy creature. his musical powers gave him a mystic quality to her. she caressed his horse's mane and thrilled as she touched it, as if she were caressing the man--as if he were some new and splendid type of centaur. and runyon seemed to read her mind. his face became more ruddy with delight. his flashing eyes suggested sound rather than color--they were laughing. their conference ended and runyon rode on up the hill. sylvia carried herself circumspectly enough as she went back into the house, but she was almost giddy with joy over the final words of that conference. runyon had lowered his voice almost to a whisper, and had spoken with intensity as one sometimes speaks to children. she did not ride that afternoon. it appeared that all her interests for the time being were indoors. she spent much of her time among the things which reminded her most strongly of harboro; she sought out little services she could perform for him, to delight him when he returned. she talked with more than common interest with antonia, following the old woman from kitchen to dining-room and back again. she seemed particularly in need of human companionship, of sympathy. she trusted the old servant without reserve. she knew that here was a woman who would neither see nor speak nor hear evil where either she or harboro was concerned. not that her fidelity to either of them was particular; it was the home itself that was sacred. the flame that warmed the house and made the pot boil was the thing to be guarded at any cost. any winds that caused this flame to waver were evil winds and must not be permitted to blow. the old woman was covertly discerning; but she had the discretion common to those who know that homes are built only by a slow and patient process--though they may be destroyed easily. when it came time to light the lamps sylvia went up into her boudoir. she liberated the imprisoned currents up in the little mediæval lanterns. she drew the blinds so that she should feel quite alone. she had put on one of the dresses which made her look specially slim and soft and childlike. she knew the garment became her, because it always brought a tender expression to harboro's eyes. and then she sat down and waited. at eight o'clock runyon came. so faint was his summons at the door that it might have been a lost bird fluttering in the dark. but sylvia heard it. she descended and opened the door for him. in the dimly lighted hall she whispered: "are you sure nobody saw you come?" he took both her hands into his and replied: "nobody!" they mounted the steps like two children, playing a slightly hazardous game. "the cat's away," she said, her eyes beaming with joy. he did not respond in words but his eyes completed the old saying. they went up into the boudoir, and he put away his coat and hat. they tried to talk, each seeking to create the impression that what was being said was quite important. but neither heard what the other said. they were like people talking in a storm or in a house that is burning down. he took his place at the piano after a while. it seemed that he had promised to sing for her--for her alone. he glanced apprehensively toward the windows, as if to estimate the distance which separated him from the highway. it was no part of their plan that he should be heard singing in sylvia's room by casual passers-by on the quemado road. he touched the keys lightly and when he sang his voice seemed scarcely to carry across the room. there was a rapid passage on the keyboard, like the patter of a pony's hoofs in the distance, and then the words came: "from the desert i come to thee on my arab shod with fire...." it was a work of art in miniature. the crescendo passages were sung relatively with that introductory golden whisper as a standard. for the moment sylvia forgot that the singer's shoulders were beautifully compact and vigorous. she was visualizing the bedouin who came on his horse to declare his passion. "and i faint in thy disdain!..." she stood near him, spellbound by the animation of his face, the seeming reality of his plea. he was not a singer; he was the bedouin lover. there was a fanatic ardor in the last phrase: "till the leaves of the judgment book unfold!" he turned lightly away from the piano. he was smiling radiantly. he threw out his arms with an air of inviting approval; but the gesture was to her an invitation, a call. she was instantly on her knees beside him, drawing his face down to hers. his low laughter rippled against her face as he put his arms around her and drew her closer to him. they were rejoicing in an atmosphere of dusky gold. the light from the mediæval lanterns fell on her hair and on his laughing face which glowed as with a kind of universal good-will. a cloud of delicate incense seemed to envelop them as their lips met. and then the shadow fell. it fell when the door opened quietly and harboro came into the room. he closed the door behind him and regarded them strangely--as if his face had died, but as if his eyes retained the power of seeing. sylvia drew away from runyon, not spasmodically, but as if she were moving in her sleep. she left one hand on runyon's sleeve. she was regarding harboro with an expression of hopeless bewilderment. she seemed incapable of speaking. you would not have said she was frightened. you would have thought: "she has been slain." harboro's lips were moving, but he seemed unable to speak immediately. it was sylvia who broke the silence. "you shouldn't have tricked me, harboro!" she said. her voice had the mournful quality of a dove's. he seemed bewildered anew by that. the monstrous inadequacy of it was too much for him. he had tricked her, certainly, and that wasn't a manly thing to do. he seemed to be trying to get his faculties adjusted. yet the words he uttered finally were pathetically irrelevant, it would have seemed. he addressed runyon. "are you the sort of man who would talk about--about this sort of thing?" he asked. runyon had not ceased to regard him alertly with an expression which can be described only as one of infinite distaste--with the acute discomfort of an irrepressible creature who shrinks from serious things. "i am not," he said, as if his integrity were being unwarrantably questioned. harboro's voice had been strained like that of a man who is dying of thirst. he went on with a disconcerting change of tone. he was trying to speak more vigorously, more firmly; but the result was like some talking mechanism uttering words without shading them properly. "i suppose you are willing to marry her?" he asked. it was sylvia who answered this. "he does not wish to marry me," she said. harboro seemed staggered again. "i want his answer to that," he insisted. "well, then, i don't want to marry him," continued sylvia. harboro ignored her. "what do you say, runyon?" "in view of her unwillingness, and the fact that she is already married----" "runyon!" the word was pronounced almost like a snarl. runyon had adopted a facetious tone which had stirred harboro's fury. something of the resiliency of runyon's being vanished at that tone in the other man's voice. he looked at harboro ponderingly, as a child may look at an unreasoning parent. and then he became alert again as harboro threw at him contemptuously: "go on; get out!" ------------------------------------------------------------------------ part vii sylvia ------------------------------------------------------------------------ chapter xxix sylvia did not look at runyon as he picked up his coat and hat and vanished. she did not realize that he had achieved a perfect middle ground between an undignified escape and a too deliberate going. she was regarding harboro wanly. "you shouldn't have come back," she said. she had not moved. "i didn't go away," said harboro. her features went all awry. "you mean----" "i've spent the day in the guest-chamber. i had to find out. i had to make sure." "oh, harboro!" she moaned; and then with an almost ludicrously swift return to habitual, petty concerns: "you've had no food all day." the bewildered expression returned to his eyes. "food!" he cried. he stared at her as if she had gone insane. "food!" he repeated. she groped about as if she were in the dark. when her fingers came into contact with a chair she drew it toward her and sat down. harboro took a step forward. he meant to take a chair, too; but his eyes were not removed from hers, and she shrank back with a soft cry of terror. "you needn't be afraid," he assured her. he sat down opposite her, slowly, as very ill people sit down. as if she were still holding to some thought that had been in her mind, she asked: "what _do_ you mean to do, then?" he was breathing heavily. "what does a man do in such a case?" he said--to himself rather than to her, it might have seemed. "i shall go away," he said at length. "i shall clear out." he brought his hands down upon the arms of his chair heavily--not in wrath, but as if surrendering all hope of seeing clearly. "though it isn't a very simple thing to do," he added slowly. "you see, you're a part of me. at least, that's what i've come to feel. and how can a man go away from himself? how can a part of a man go away and leave the other part?" he lifted his fists and smote his breast until his whole body shook. and then he leaned forward, his elbows on the arms of his chair, his hands clasped before him. he was staring into vacancy. he aroused himself after a time. "of course, i'll have to go," he said. he seemed to have become clear on that one point. and then he flung himself back in his chair and thrust his arms out before him. "what were you driving at, sylvia?" he asked. "driving at...?" "i hadn't done you any harm. why did you marry me, if you didn't love me?" "i do love you!" she spoke with an intensity which disturbed him. "ah, you mean--you did?" "i mean i do!" he arose dejectedly with the air of a man who finds it useless to make any further effort. "we'll not talk about it, then," he said. he turned toward the door. "i do love you," she repeated. she arose and took a step toward him, though her limbs were trembling so that they seemed unable to sustain her weight. "harboro!" she called as he laid his hand on the door. "harboro! i want you to listen to me." she sank back into her chair, and harboro turned and faced her again wonderingly. "if you'd try to understand," she pleaded. "i'm not going to ask you to stay. i only want you to understand." she would not permit her emotions to escape bounds. something that was courageous and honorable in her forbade her to appeal to his pity alone; something that was shrewd in her warned her that such a course would be of no avail. "you see, i was what people call a bad woman when you first met me. perhaps you know that now?" "go on," he said. "but that's such a silly phrase--_a bad woman_. do you suppose i ever felt like a _bad woman_--until now? even now i can't realize that the words belong to me, though i know that according to the rules i've done you a bad turn, harboro." she rocked in silence while she gained control over her voice. "what you don't know," she said finally, "is how things began for me, in those days back in san antonio, when i was growing up. it's been bad luck with me always; or if you don't believe in luck, then everything has been a kind of trick played on me from the beginning. not by anybody--i don't mean that. but by something bigger. there's the word destiny...." she began to wring her hands nervously. "it seems like telling an idle tale. when you frame the sentences they seem to have existed in just that form always. i mean, losing my mother when i was twelve; and the dreadful poverty of our home and its dulness, and the way my father sat in the sun and seemed unable to do anything. i don't believe he _was_ able to do anything. there's the word destiny again. we lived in what's called the mexican section, where everybody was poor. what's the meaning of it; there being whole neighborhoods of people who are hungry half the time? "i was still nothing but a child when i began to notice how others escaped from poverty a little--the mexican girls and women i lived among. it seemed to be expected of them. they didn't think anything of it at all. it didn't make any difference in their real selves, so far as you could see. they went on going to church and doing what little tasks they could find to do--just like other women. the only precaution they took when a man came was to turn the picture of the virgin to the wall...." harboro had sat down again and was regarding her darkly. "i don't mean that i felt about it just as they did when i got older. you see, they had their religion to help them. they had been taught to call the thing they did a sin, and to believe that a sin was forgiven if they went and confessed to the priest. it seemed to make it quite simple. but i couldn't think of it as a sin. i couldn't clearly understand what sin meant, but i thought it must be the thing the happy people were guilty of who didn't give my father something to do, so that we could have a decent place to live in. you must remember how young i was! and so what the other girls called a sin seemed to me ... oh, something that was untidy--that wasn't nice." harboro broke in upon her narrative when she paused. "i'm afraid you've always been very fastidious." she grasped at that straw gratefully. "yes, i have been. there isn't one man in a hundred who appeals to me, even now." and then something, as if it were the atmosphere about her, clarified her vision for the moment, and she looked at harboro in alarm. she knew, then, that he had spoken sarcastically, and that she had fallen into the trap he had set for her. "oh, harboro! you!" she cried. she had not known that he could be unkind. her eyes swam in tears and she looked at him in agony. and in that moment it seemed to him that his heart must break. it was as if he looked on while sylvia drowned, and could not put forth a hand to save her. she conquered her emotion. she only hoped that harboro would hear her to the end. she resumed: "and when i began to see that people are expected to shape their own lives, mine had already been shaped. i couldn't begin at a beginning, really; i had to begin in the middle. i had to go on weaving the threads that were already in my hands--the soiled threads. i met nice women after a while--women from the san antonio missions, i think they were; and they were kind to me and gave me books to read. one of them took me to the chapel--where the clock ticked. but they couldn't really help me. i think they did influence me more than i realized, possibly; for my father began to tell them i wasn't at home ... and he brought me out here to eagle pass soon after they began to befriend me." harboro was staring at her with a vast incredulity. "and then--?" he asked. "and then it went on out here--though it seemed different out here. i had the feeling of being shut out, here. in a little town people know. life in a little town is like just one checker-board, with a game going on; but the big towns are like a lot of checkerboards, with the men on some of them in disorder, and not being watched at all." harboro was shaking his head slowly, and she made an effort to wipe some of the blackness from the picture. "you needn't believe i didn't have standards that i kept to. some women of my kind would have lied or stolen, or they would have made mischief for people. and then there were the young fellows, the mere boys.... it's a real injury to them to find that a girl they like is--is not nice. they're so wonderfully ignorant. a woman is either entirely good or entirely bad in their eyes. you couldn't really do anything to destroy their faith, even when they pretended to be rather rough and wicked. i wasn't that kind of a bad woman, at least." harboro's brow had become furrowed, with impatience, seemingly. "but your marriage to me, sylvia?" he put the question accusingly. "i thought you knew--at first. i thought you _must_ know. there are men who will marry the kind of woman i was. and it isn't just the little or worthless men, either. sometimes it is the big men, who can understand and be generous. up to the time of our marriage i thought you knew and that you were forgiving everything. and at last i couldn't bear to tell you. not alone from fear of losing you, but i knew it would hurt you horribly, and i hoped ... i had made up my mind ... i _was_ truly loyal to you, harboro, until they tricked me in my father's house." harboro continued to regard her, a judge unmoved. "and runyon, sylvia--runyon?" he asked accusingly. "i know that's the thing you couldn't possibly forgive, and yet that seems the slightest thing of all to me. you can't know what it is to be humbled, and so many innocent pleasures taken away from you. when fectnor came back ... oh, it seemed to me that life itself mocked me and warned me coldly that i needn't expect to be any other than the old sylvia, clear to the end. i had begun to have a little pride, and to have foolish dreams. and then i went back to my father's house. it wasn't my father; it wasn't even fectnor. it was life itself whipping me back into my place again. "... and then runyon came. he meant pleasure to me--nothing more. he seemed such a gay, shining creature!" she looked at him in the agony of utter despair. "i know how it appears to you; but if you could only see how it seemed to me!" "i'm trying," said harboro, unmoved. "if i'd been a little field of grass for the sheep to graze on, do you suppose i shouldn't have been happy if the birds passed by, or that i shouldn't have been ready for the sheep when they came? if i'd been a little pool in the desert, do you suppose i wouldn't have been happier for the sunlight, and just as ready for the rains when they came?" he frowned. "but you're neither grass nor water," he said. "ah, i think i am just that--grass and water. i think that is what we all are--with something of mystery added." he seized upon that one tangible thought. "there you have it, that _something of mystery_," he said. "that's the thing that makes the world move--that keeps people clean." "yes," she conceded dully, "or makes people set up standards of their own and compel other people to accept them whether they understand them or believe in them or not." when he again regarded her with dark disapproval she went on: "what i wanted to tell you, harboro, is that my heart has been like a brimming cup for you always. it was only that which ran over that i gave to another. runyon never could have robbed the cup--a thousand runyons couldn't. he was only like a flower to wear in my hair, a ribbon to put on for an outing. but you ... you were the hearth for me to sit down before at night, a wall to keep the wind away. what was it you said once about a man and woman becoming one? you have been my very body to me, harboro; and any other could only have been a friendly wind to stir me for a moment and then pass on." harboro's face darkened. "i was the favorite lover," he said. "you won't understand," she said despairingly. and then as he arose and turned toward the door again she went to him abjectly, appealingly. "harboro!" she cried, "i know i haven't explained it right, but i want you to believe me! it is you i love, really; it is you i am grateful to and proud of. you're everything to me that you've thought of being. i couldn't live without you!" she sank to her knees and covered her eyes with one hand while with the other she reached out to him: "harboro!" her face was wet with tears, now; her body was shaken with sobs. he looked down at her for an instant, his brows furrowed, his eyes filled with horror. he drew farther away, so that she could not touch him. "great god!" he cried at last, and then she knew that he had gone, closing the door sharply after him. she did not try to call him back. some stoic quality in her stayed her. it would be useless to call him; it would only tear her own wounds wider open, it would distress him without moving him otherwise. it would alarm old antonia. if he willed to come back, he would come of his own accord. if he could reconcile the things she had done with any hope of future happiness he would come back to her again. but she scarcely hoped for his return. she had always had a vague comprehension of those pragmatic qualities in his nature which placed him miles above her, or beneath her, or beyond her. she had drunk of the cup which had been offered her, and she must not rebel because a bitter sediment lay on her lips. she had always faintly realized that the hours she spent with runyon might some day have to be paid for in loneliness and despair. yet now that harboro was gone she stood at the closed door and stared at it as if it could never open again save to permit her to pass out upon ways of darkness. she leaned against it and laid her face against her arm and wept softly. and then she turned away and knelt by the chair he had occupied and hid her face in her hands. she knew he would no longer be visible when she went to the window. she had spared herself the sight of him on his way out of her life. but now she took her place and began, with subconscious hope, the long vigil she was to keep. she stared out on the road over which he had passed. if he came back he would be visible from this place by the window. hours passed and her face became blank, as the desert became blank. the light seemed to die everywhere. the little home beacons abroad in the desert were blotted out one by one. eagle pass became a ghostly group of houses from which the last vestiges of life vanished. she became stiff and inert as she sat in her place with her eyes held dully on the road. once she dozed lightly, to awaken with an intensified sense of tragedy. had harboro returned during that brief interval of unconsciousness? she knew he had not. but until the dawn came she sat by her place, steadfastly waiting. chapter xxx when harboro went down the stairs and out of the house he had a purposeful air which vanished as soon as his feet were set on the highway. where was he going? where _could_ he go? that beginning he had made usually ended in the offices across the river. but he could not go to his office now. there was nothing there for him to do. and even if he were able to get in, and to find some unfinished task to which he could turn, his problem would not be solved. he could not go on working always. a man must have some interests other than his work. he pulled himself together and set off down the road. he realized that his appearance must be such that he would attract attention and occasion comment. the foundations of his pride stiffened, as they had always done when he was required to face extraordinary difficulties. he must not allow casual passers-by to perceive that things were not right with him. they would know that he and sylvia were having difficulties. doubtless they had been expecting something of the sort from the beginning. he seemed quite himself but for a marked self-concentration as he walked through the town. dunwoodie, emerging from the maverick bar, hailed him as he passed. he did not hear--or he was not immediately conscious of hearing. but half a dozen steps farther on he checked himself. some one had spoken to him. he turned around. "ah, dunwoodie--good evening!" he said. but he did not go back, and dunwoodie looked after him meditatively and then went back into the bar, shaking his head. he had always meant to make a friend of harboro, but the thing evidently was not to be done. harboro was scarcely conscious of the fact that he crossed the river. if he encountered any one whom he knew--or any one at all--he passed without noticing. and this realization troubled him. the customs guard, who was an old acquaintance, must have been in his place on the bridge. he tried to arouse himself anew. surely his conduct must seem strange to those who chanced to observe him. with an air of briskness he went into the _internacional_ dining-room. he had had nothing to eat all day. he would order supper and then he would feel more like himself. he did not realize what it was that made his situation seem like a period of suspense, which kept in his mind the subconscious thought that he would come out of the dark into a clearing if he persevered. the fact was that something of what sylvia had said to him had touched his conscience, if it had not affected his sense of logic. she really could not be quite what she seemed to be--that was the unshaped thought in the back of his brain. there were explanations to make which had not yet been made. if he told himself that he had solved the problem by leaving the house, he knew in reality that he had not done so. he was benumbed, bewildered. he must get back his reasoning faculties, and then he would see more clearly, both as to what had been done and what he must set about doing. he had an idea that he could now understand the sensations of people who had indulged too freely in some sort of drug. he had temporarily lost the power to feel. here was sylvia, a self-confessed wanton--and yet here was sylvia as deeply intrenched in his heart as ever. this was a monstrous contradiction. one of these things must be a fact, the other a fantastic hallucination. the waiter brought food which he looked at with distaste. it was a typical frontier meal--stereotyped, uninviting. there were meat and eggs and coffee, and various heavy little dishes containing dabs of things which were never eaten. he drank the coffee and realized that he had been almost perishing from thirst. he called for a second cup; and then he tried to eat the meat and eggs; but they were like dust--it seemed they might choke him. he tried the grapes which had got hidden under the cruet, and the acid of these pleased him for an instant, but the pulp was tasteless, unpalatable. he finished the second cup of coffee and sat listlessly regarding the things he had not touched. he had hoped he might prolong the supper hour, since he could think of nothing else to engage his attention. but he was through, and he had consumed only a few minutes. his glance wandered to a railroad poster in the dining-room, and this interested him for an instant. attractive names caught his eye: torreon, tampico, vera cruz, the city, durango. they were all waiting for him, the old towns. there was the old work to be done, the old life to resume.... yes, but there was sylvia. sylvia, who had said with the intentness of a child, "i love you," and again, "i love you." she did not want runyon. she wanted him, harboro. and he wanted her--good god, how he wanted her! had he been mad to wander away from her? his problem lay with her, not elsewhere. and then he jerked his head in denial of that conclusion. no, he did not want her. she had laid a path of pitch for his feet, and the things he might have grasped with his hands, to draw himself out of the path which befouled his feet--they too were smeared with pitch. she did not love him, certainly. he clung tenaciously to that one clear point. there lay the whole situation, perfectly plain. she did not love him. she had betrayed him, had turned the face of the whole community against him, had permitted him to affront the gentle people who had unselfishly aided him and given him their affection. he wandered about the streets until nearly midnight, and then he engaged a room in the _internacional_ and assured himself that it was time to go to bed. he needed a good rest. to-morrow he would know what to do. but the sight of the room assigned to him surprised him in some odd way--as if every article of furniture in it were mocking him. it was not a room really to be used, he thought. at least, it was not a room for him to use. he did not belong in that bed; he had a bed of his own, in the house he had built on the quemado road. and then he remembered the time when he had been able to hang his hat anywhere and consider himself at home, and how he had always been grateful for a comfortable bed, no matter where. that was the feeling which he must get back again. he must get used to the strangeness of things, so that such a room as this would seem his natural resting-place, and that other house which had been destroyed for him would seem a place of shame, to be avoided and forgotten. he slept fitfully. the movements of trains in the night comforted him in a mournful fashion. they reminded him of that other life, which might be his again. but even in his waking moments he reached out to the space beside him to find sylvia, and the returning full realization of all that had happened brought a groan to his throat. he dressed in the morning with a feeling of guilt, mingled with a sense of relief. he had slept where he had had no business to sleep. he had been idle at a time when he should have been active. he had done nothing, and there was much to be done. he had not even rested. he put on an air of briskness, as one will don a garment, as he ordered coffee and rolls in the dining-room. there were things to be attended to. he must go over to the offices and write out his resignation. he must see the general manager and ask him for work on the road elsewhere. he must transfer his holdings--his house and bank-account--to sylvia. he had no need of house or money, and she would need them badly now. and then ... then he must begin life anew. it was all plain; yet his feet refused to bear him in the direction of the railroad offices; his mind refused to grapple with the details of the task of transferring to sylvia the things he owned. something constructive, static, in the man's nature stayed him. he wandered away from the town during the day, an aimless impulse carrying him quite out into the desert. he paused to inspect little irrigated spots where humble gardens grew. he paused at mean _adobe_ huts and talked to old people and to children. again and again he came into contact with conditions which annoyed and bewildered him. people were all bearing their crosses. some were hopelessly ill, waiting for death to relieve them, or they were old and quite useless. and all were horribly poor, casting about for meagre food and simple clothing which seemed beyond their reach. they were lonely, overburdened, despondent, darkly philosophical. what was the meaning of human life, he wondered? were men and women created to suffer, to bear crosses which were not of their own making, to suffer injustices which seemed pointless?... late in the afternoon he was back in piedras negras again. he had eaten nothing save a handful of figs which an old woman had given him, together with a bowl of goat's milk. he had wished to pay for them, but the old woman had shaken her head and turned away. he encountered a tourist in clerical garb--a thin-chested man with a colorless face, but with sad, benevolent eyes--sitting in the plaza near the sinister old _cuartel_. he sat down and asked abruptly in a voice strangely high-pitched for his own: "is a man ever justified in leaving his wife?" the tourist looked startled; but he was a man of tact and wisdom, evidently, and he quickly adjusted himself to what was plainly a special need, an extraordinary condition. "ah, that's a very old question," he replied gently. "it's been asked often, and there have been many answers." "but is he?" persisted harboro. "there are various conditions. if a man and a woman do not love each other, wouldn't it seem wiser for them to rectify the mistake they had made in marrying? but if they love each other ... it seems to me quite a simple matter then. i should say that under no circumstances should they part." "but if the wife has sinned?" "my dear man ... sinned; it's a difficult word. let us try to define it. let us say that a sin is an act deliberately committed with the primary intention of inflicting an injury upon some one. it becomes an ugly matter. very few people sin, if you accept my definition." harboro was regarding him with dark intentness. "the trouble is," resumed the other man, "we often use the word sin when we mean only a weakness. and a weakness in an individual should make us cleave fast to him, so that he may not be wholly lost. i can't think of anything so cruel as to desert one who has stumbled through weakness. the desertion would be the real sin. weaknesses are a sort of illness--and even a pigeon will sit beside its mate and mourn, when its mate is ill. it is a beautiful lesson in fidelity. a soldier doesn't desert his wounded comrade in battle. he bears him to safety--or both perish together. and by such deeds is the consciousness of god established in us." "wait!" commanded harboro. he clinched his fists. a phrase had clung to him: "he bears him to safety or both perish together!" he arose from the seat he had taken and staggered away half a dozen steps, his hands still clinched. then, as if remembering, he turned about so that he faced the man who had talked to him. beyond loomed the ancient church in which sylvia had said it would seem possible to find god. was he there in reality, and was this one of his angels, strayed a little distance from his side? it was not the world's wisdom that this man spoke, and yet how eternally true his words had been! a flock of pigeons flew over the plaza and disappeared in the western glow where the sun was setting. "even a pigeon will sit by its mate and mourn...." harboro gazed at the man on the bench. his face moved strangely, as a dark pool will stir from the action of an undercurrent. he could not speak for a moment, and then he called back in a voice like a cry: "i thank you." "you are welcome--brother!" was the response. the man on the bench was smiling. he coughed a little, and wondered if the open-air treatment the physician had prescribed might not prove a bit heroic. when he looked about him again his late companion was gone. harboro was hurrying down toward the rio grande bridge. he was trying to put a curb on his emotions, on his movements. it would never do for him to hurry through the streets of eagle pass like a madman. he must walk circumspectly. he was planning for the future. he would take sylvia away--anywhere. they would begin their married life anew. he would take her beyond the ordinary temptations. they would live in a tent, an igloo, in the face of a cliff. he would take her beyond the reach of the old evil influences, where he could guide her back to the paths she had lost. he would search out some place where there was never a dun horse with golden dapples, and a rider who carried himself like a crier of god, carrying glad tidings across the world. yet he was never conscious of the manner in which he made that trying journey. he was recalled to self when he reached his own door. he realized that he was somewhat out of breath. the night had fallen and the house revealed but little light from the front. through the door he could see that the dining-room was lighted. he tried the door stealthily and entered with caution. it would not do to startle sylvia. ah--that was her voice in the dining-room. the telephone bell had sounded, just as he opened the door, and she was responding to the call. her voice seemed cold at first: "i didn't catch the name." and then it turned to a caress: "oh, mendoza--i didn't hear at first. of course, i want to see you." there was now a note of perplexity in her tone, and then: "no, don't come here. it would be better for me to see you at my father's. in the afternoon." harboro found himself leaning against the wall, his head in his hands. mendoza! the town's notorious philanderer, who had regarded sylvia with insolent eyes that night out at the quemado! yes, and she had danced with him the minute his back was turned; danced with him with unconcealed joy. mendoza.... he climbed the stairs slowly. he heard sylvia's footsteps as she moved away; into the kitchen, probably. he climbed stealthily, like a thief. he mustn't permit sylvia to hear him. he couldn't see her now. chapter xxxi sylvia had spent the entire day by her window, looking down the road. she had refused the food that old antonia had brought, and the comforting words that came with it. something that was not a part of herself argued with her that harboro would come back, though all that she was by training and experiences warned her that she must not look for him. at nightfall she turned wearily when antonia tapped at her door. "_niña!_" the troubled old woman held out a beseeching hand. "you must have food. i have prepared it for you, again. there are very good eggs, and a glass of milk, and coffee--coffee with a flavor! come, there will be another day, and another. sorrows pass in the good god's time; and even a blind sheep will find its blade of grass." her hand was still extended. sylvia went to her and kissed her withered cheek. "i will try," she said with docility. and they went down the stairs as if they were four; the young woman walking with despair, the old woman moving side by side with knowledge. it was then that the telephone rang and sylvia went to the instrument and took down the receiver with trembling fingers. if it were only harboro!... but it was a woman's voice, and the hope within her died. she could scarcely attend, after she realized that it was a woman who spoke to her. the name "mrs. mendoza" meant nothing to her for an instant. and then she aroused herself. she must not be ungracious. "oh, mendoza," she said; "i didn't hear at first." she felt as if a breath of cold air had enveloped her, but she shook off the conviction. from habit she spoke cordially; with gratitude to the one woman in eagle pass who had befriended her she spoke with tenderness. the wife of jesus mendoza wanted to call on her. but sylvia had planned the one great event of her life, and it occurred to her that she ought not to permit this unfortunate woman to come to the house on the morrow. it would be an unforgivable cruelty. and then she thought of her father's house, and suggested that her visitor come to see her there. she hung up the receiver listlessly and went into the kitchen, where antonia was eagerly getting a meal ready for her. she looked at these affectionate preparations indulgently, as she might have looked at a child who assured her that a wholly imaginary thing was a real thing. she ate dutifully, and then she took a bit of husk from antonia's store and made a cigarette. it was the first time she had smoked since her marriage. "he's not coming back," she said in a voice like that of a helpless old woman. she leaned her elbows on the table and smoked. her attitude did not suggest grief, but rather a leave-taking. then with returning briskness she got up and found street apparel and left the house. she went down into the town almost gayly--like the sylvia of old. in the drug-store she told an exciting little story to the clerk. there had been a nest of scorpions ... would he believe it? in the kitchen! she had been given such a start when the servant had found them. the servant had screamed; quite naturally, too. she had been told that a weak solution, sprinkled on the floor, would drive them away. what was it?... yes, that was it. she had forgotten. she received the small phial and paid the price with fingers which were perfectly firm. and then she started back up the hill. under a street light she became aware that she was being followed. she turned with a start. it was only a dog--a forlorn little beast which stopped when she stopped, and regarded her with soft, troubled eyes. she stooped and smoothed the creature's head. "you mustn't follow," she said in a voice like hidden water. "i haven't any place to take you--nowhere at all!" she went on up the hill. once she turned and observed that the lost dog stood where she had left him, still imploring her for friendship. at her door she paused and turned. she leaned against the door-post in a wistful attitude. a hundred lonely, isolated lights were burning across the desert, as far as the eye could reach. they were little lights which might have meant nothing at all to a happier observer; but to sylvia they told the story of men and women who had joined hands to fight the battle of life; of the sweet, humble activities which keep the home intact--the sweeping of the hearth, the mending of the fire, the expectant glance at the clock, the sound of a foot-fall drawing near. there lay the desert, stretching away to the sierra madre, a lonely waste; but it was a paradise to those who tended their lights faithfully and waited with assurance for those who were away. ... she turned and entered her house stealthily. at the top of the stairs she paused in indecision. antonia had not heard her enter. (she did not know that the old woman was standing in the kitchen under the picture of the virgin, with her hands across her eyes like a bandage.) the lovely boudoir called to her, but she would not enter it. "i will go into the guest-chamber," she said; "that is the room set apart for strangers. i think i must always have been a stranger here." she opened the door quietly. a pungent odor of smoke filled her nostrils. she groped for the light and turned it on. through little horizontal wisps of smoke she saw harboro lying across the bed, his great chest standing high, his muscular throat exposed to the light, a glint of teeth showing under the sweeping black mustache. his eyes, nearly closed, seemed to harbor an eager light--as if he had travelled along a dark path and saw at last a beacon on a distant hilltop. a pistol was still clasped in his dead hand. the unopened phial sylvia carried slipped to the floor. she clutched at her lips with both hands, to suppress the scream that arose within her. he had no right to lie so, in this room. that was her thought. he had taken the place she had chosen for her own. and then she thought of harboro as a stranger, too. had she ever known him, really? her first thought recurred. it should have been her right to lie here in the guest-chamber, not harboro's. and yet, and yet.... the end [illustration: montezuma's castle, the ruined cliff dwelling on beaver creek between the coconino and prescott national forests, arizona] through our unknown southwest the wonderland of the united states--little known and unappreciated--the home of the cliff dweller and the hopi, the forest ranger and the navajo,--the lure of the painted desert by agnes c. laut author of _the conquest of the great northwest_, _lords of the north_ and _freebooters of the wilderness_ new york mcbride, nast & company copyright, , by mcbride, nast & co. _second printing october, _ _published may, _ contents page introduction i i the national forests ii national forests of the southwest iii through the pecos forests iv the city of the dead v the enchanted mesa of acoma vi across the painted desert vii across the painted desert (_continued_) viii grand caÑon and the petrified forests ix the governor's palace of santa fe x the governor's palace (_continued_) xi taos, the promised land xii taos, the most ancient city in america xiii san antonio, the cairo of america xiv casa grande and the gila xv san xavier del bac mission the illustrations cliff dwelling ruins, known as montezuma castle, _frontispiece_ facing page south house of frijoles cañon ii indian woman making pottery xii indian girl of isleta, n. m. xx one way of entering the desert in the coconino forest of arizona forest ranger fighting a ground fire with his blanket pueblo boys at play chili peppers drying outside pueblo dwelling los pueblos, taos, n. m. entrance to a cliff dwelling ruins of frijoles cañon a hopi wooing a hopi weaver a shy little hopi maid at the water hole on the outskirts of laguna a handsome navajo boy the pueblo of walpi the grand cañon the governor's palace at santa fe a pool in the painted desert street in santa fe ancient adobe gateway san ildefonso taos over the roofs of taos a metal worker of taos a mud house of the southwest the enchanted mesa of acoma navajo crossing mesa at the mission of san xavier a moki city on a mesa through our unknown southwest introduction i am sitting in the doorway of a house of the stone age--neolithic, paleolithic, troglodytic man--with a roofless city of the dead lying in the valley below and the eagles circling with lonely cries along the yawning caverns of the cliff face above. my feet rest on the topmost step of a stone stairway worn hip-deep in the rocks of eternity by the moccasined tread of foot-prints that run back, not to a. d. or b. c., but to those post-glacial æons when the advances and recessions of an ice invasion from the poles left seas where now are deserts; when giant sequoia forests were swept under the sands by the flood waters, and the mammoth and the dinosaur and the brontosaur wallowed where now nestle farm hamlets. such a tiny doorway it is that stone man must have been obliged to welcome a friend by hauling him shoulders foremost through the entrance, or able to speed the parting foe down the steep stairway with a rock on his head. inside, behind me, is a little dome-roofed room, with calcimined walls, and squared stone meal bins, and a little, high fireplace, and stone pillows, and a homemade flour mill in the form of a flat _metate_ stone with a round grinding stone on top. from the shape and from the remnants of pottery shards lying about, i suspect one of these hewn alcoves in the inner wall was the place for the family water jar. on each side the room are tiny doorways leading by stone steps to apartments below and to rooms above; so that you may begin with a valley floor room which you enter by ladder and go halfway to the top of a -foot cliff by a series of interior ladders and stone stairs. flush with the floor at the sides of these doors are the most curious little round "cat holes" through the walls--"cat holes" for a people who are not supposed to have had any cats; yet the little round holes run from room to room through all the walls. on some of the house fronts are painted emblems of the sun. inside, round the wall of the other houses, runs a drawing of the plumed serpent--"awanya," guardian of the waters--whose presence always presaged good cheer of water in a desert land growing drier and drier as the glacial age receded, and whose serpent emblem in the sky you could see across the heavens of a starry night in the milky way. lying about in other cave houses are stone "bells" to call to meals or prayers, and cobs of corn, and prayer plumes--owl or turkey feathers. don't smile and be superior! it isn't a hundred years ago since the common christian idea of angels was feathers and wings; and these stone people lived--well, when _did_ they live? not later than a. d., for that was when the period of desiccation, or drought from the recession of the glacial waters, began. [illustration: ruins of south house, one of the great communal dwellings of frijoles cañon, after excavation] "the existence of man in the glacial period is established," says winchell, the great western geologist, "that implies man during the period when flourished the large mammals now extinct. in short, there is as much evidence pointing to america as to asia as the primal birthplace of man." now the ice invasion began hundreds of thousands of years ago; and the last great recession is set at about , years; and the implements of stone age man are found contemporaneous with the glacial silt. * * * * * there is not another section in the whole world where you can wander for days amid the houses and dead cities of the stone age; _where you can literally shake hands with the stone age_. shake hands? isn't that putting it a little strong? it doesn't sound like the dry-as-dust dead collections of museums. it may be putting it strong; but it is also meticulously and simply--true. a few doors away from the cave-house where i sit, lies a little body--no, not a mummy! we are not in egypt. we are in america; but we often have to go to egypt to find out the wonders of america. lies a little body, that of a girl of about eighteen or twenty, swathed in otter and beaver skins with leg bindings of woven yucca fiber something like modern burlap. woven cloth from , to , b. c.? yes! that is pretty strong, isn't it? 'tis when you come to consider it; our european ancestors at that date were skipping through hyrcanian forests clothed mostly in the costume nature gave them; herbert spencer would have you believe, skipping round with simian gibbering monkey jaws and claws, clothed mostly in apes' hair. yet there lies the little lady in the cave to my left, the long black hair shiny and lustrous yet, the skin dry as parchment still holding the finger bones together, head and face that of a human, not an ape, all well preserved owing to the gypsum dust and the high, dry climate in which the corpse has lain. in my collection, i have bits of cloth taken from a body which archæologists date not later than a. d. nor earlier than , b. c., and bits of corn and pottery from water jars, placed with the dead to sustain them on the long journey to the other world. for the last year, i have worn a pin of obsidian which you would swear was an egyptian scarab if i had not myself obtained it from the ossuaries of the cave dwellers in the american southwest. come out now to the cave door and look up and down the cañon again! to right and to left for a height of feet the face of the yellow _tufa_ precipice is literally pitted with the windows and doors of the stone age city. in the bottom of the valley is a roofless dwelling of hundreds of rooms--"the cormorant and the bittern possess it; the owl also and the raven dwell in it; stones of emptiness; thorns in the palaces; nettles and brambles in the fortresses; and the screech owl shall rest there." listen! you can almost hear it--the fulfillment of isaiah's old prophecy--the lonely "hoo-hoo-hoo" of the turtle dove; and the lonelier cry of the eagle circling, circling round the empty doors of the upper cliffs! then, the sharp, short bark-bark-bark of a fox off up the cañon in the yellow pine forests towards the white snows of the jemez mountains; and one night from my camp in this cañon, i heard the coyotes howling from the empty caves. below are the roofless cities of the dead stone age, and the dancing floors, and the irrigation canals used to this day, and the stream leaping down from the jemez snows, which must once have been a rushing torrent where wallowed such monsters as are known to-day only in modern men's dreams. far off to the right, where the worshipers must always have been in sight of the snowy mountains and have risen to the rising of the desert sun over cliffs of ocher and sands of orange and a sky of turquoise blue, you can see the great kiva or ceremonial temple of the stone age people who dwelt in this cañon. it is a great concave hollowed out of the white pumice rock almost at the cliff top above the tops of the highest yellow pines. a darksome, cavernous thing it looks from this distance, but a wonderful mid-air temple for worshipers when you climb the four or five hundred ladder steps that lead to it up the face of a white precipice sheer as a wall. what sights the priests must have witnessed! i can understand their worshiping the rising sun as the first rays came over the cañon walls in a shield of fire. alcoves for meal, for incense, for water urns, mark the inner walls of this chamber, too. where the ladder projects up through the floor, you can descend to the hollowed underground chamber where the priests and the council met; a darksome, eerie place with _sipapu_--the holes in the floor--for the mystic earth spirit to come out for the guidance of his people. don't smile at that idea of an earth spirit! what do we tell a man, who has driven his nerves too hard in town?--to go back to the soil and let dame nature pour her invigorating energies into him! that's what the earth spirit, the great earth magician, signified to these people. * * * * * curious how geology and archæology agree on the rise and evanishment of these people. geology says that as the ice invasion advanced, the northern races were forced south and south till the stone age folk living in the roofless city of the dead on the floor of the valley were forced to take refuge from them in the caves hollowed out of the cliff. that was any time between , b.c. and , b.c. archæology says as the utes and the navajo and the apache--asthapascan stock--came ramping from the north, the stone men were driven from the valleys to the inaccessible cliffs and mesa table lands. "it was not until the nomadic robbers forced the pueblos that the southwestern people adopted the crowded form of existence," says archæology. sounds like an explanation of our modern skyscrapers and the real estate robbers of modern life, doesn't it? then, as the glacial age had receded and drought began, the cave men were forced to come down from their cliff dwellings and to disperse. here, too, is another story. there may have been a great cataclysm; for thousands of tons of rock have fallen from the face of the cañon, and the rooms remaining are plainly only back rooms. the hopi and moki and zuñi have traditions of the "heavens raining fire;" and good cobs of corn have been found embedded in what may be solid lava, or fused adobe. pajarito plateau, the spanish called this region--"place of the bird people," who lived in the cliffs like swallows; but thousands of years before the spanish came, the stone age had passed and the cliff people dispersed. * * * * * what in the world am i talking about, and where? that's the curious part of it. if it were in egypt, or petræ, or amid the sand-covered columns of phrygia, every tourist company in the world would be arranging excursions to it; and there would be special chapters devoted to it in the supplementary readers of the schools; and you wouldn't be--well, just _au fait_, if you didn't know; but do you know this wonder-world is in america, your own land? it is less than forty miles from the regular line of continental travel; $ a single rig out, $ a double; $ to $ a day at the ranch house where you can board as you explore the amazing ancient civilization of our own american southwest. this particular ruin is in the frijoles cañon; but there are hundreds, thousands, of such ruins all through the southwest in colorado and utah and arizona and new mexico. by joining the archæological society of santa fe, you can go out to these ruins even more inexpensively than i have indicated. * * * * * a general passenger agent for one of the largest transcontinental lines in the northwest told me that for , where , people bought round-trip tickets to our own west and back--pleasure, not business--over , people bought tickets for europe and egypt. i don't know whether his figures covered only the northwest of which he was talking, or the whole continental traffic association; but the amazing fact to me was the proportion he gave--_one_ to our own wonders, to _two_ for abroad. i talked to another agent about the same thing. he thought that the average tourist who took a trip to our own pacific coast spent from $ to $ , while the average tourist who went to europe spent from $ , to $ , . many european tourists went at $ ; but so many others spent from $ , to $ , , that he thought the average spendings of the tourist to europe should be put at $ , to $ , . that puts your proportion at a still more disastrous discrepancy--thirty million dollars _versus_ one hundred and twenty million. _the statist_ of london places the total spent by americans in europe at nearer three hundred million dollars than one hundred and twenty million. of the , , people who went to the seattle exposition, it is a pretty safe guess that not , easterners out of the lot saw the real west. what did they see? they saw the exposition, which was like any other exposition; and they saw western cities, that are imitations of eastern cities; and they patronized western hotel rotundas and dining places, where you pay forty cents for grand junction and hood river fruit, which you can buy in the east for twenty-five; and they rode in the rubberneck cars with the gramophone man who tells western variations of the same old eastern lies; and they came back thoroughly convinced that there was no more real west. and so , americans yearly go to europe spending a good average of $ , apiece. we scour the alps for peaks that everybody has climbed, though there are half a dozen switzerlands from glacier park in the north to cloudcroft, new mexico, with hundreds of peaks which no one has climbed and which you can visit for not more than fifty dollars for a four weeks' holiday. we tramp through spain for the picturesque, quite oblivious of the fact that the most picturesque bit of spain, about , years older than old spain, is set right down in the heart of america with turquoise mines from which the finest jewel in king alphonso's crown was taken. we rent a "shootin' box in scotland" at a trifling cost of from $ , to $ , a season, because game is "so scarce out west, y' know." yet i can direct you to game haunts out west where you can shoot a grizzly a week at no cost at all but your own courage; and bag a dozen wild turkeys before breakfast; and catch mountain trout faster than you can string them and pose for a photograph; and you won't need to lie about the ones that got away, nor boast of what it cost you; for you can do it at two dollars a day from start to finish. it would take you a good half-day to count up the number of tourist and steamboat agencies that organize sightseeing excursions to go and apostrophize the sphinx, and bark your shins and swear and sweat on the pyramids. yet it would be a safe wager that outside official scientific circles, there is not a single organization in america that knows we have a sphinx of our own in the west that antedates egyptian archæology by , years, and stone lions older than the columns of phrygia, and kings' palaces of and , rooms. am i yarning; or dreaming? neither! perfectly sober and sane and wide awake and just in from spending two summers in those same rooms and shaking hands with a corpse of the stone age. a young westerner, who had graduated from harvard, set out on the around-the-world tour that was to give him that world-weary feeling that was to make him live happy ever afterwards. in nagasaki, a little brown jappy-chappie of great learning, who was a prince or something or other of that sort, which made it possible for harvard to know him, asked in choppy english about "the gweat, the vely gweat anti-kwatties in y'or souf wes'." when young harvard got it through his head that "anti-kwatties" meant antiquities, he rolled a cigarette and went out for a smoke; but it came back at him again in egypt. they were standing below the chin of an ancient lady commonly called the sphinx, when an english traveler turned to young america. "i say," he said; "yankeedom beats us all out on this old dame, doesn't it? you've a carved colossus in your own west a few trifling billion years older than this, haven't you?" young america, with a weakness somewhere in his middle, "guessed they had." then looking over the old jewels taken from the ruins of pompeii, he was asked, "how america was progressing excavating her ruins;" and he heard for the first time in his life that the finest crown jewel in europe came from a mine just across the line from his own home state. the experience gave him something to think about. the incident is typical of many of the , people who yearly trek to europe for holiday. _we have to go abroad to learn how to come home._ we go to europe and find how little we have seen of america. it is when you are motoring in france that you first find out there is a great "camino real" almost , miles long, much of it above cloud line, from wyoming to texas. it's some european who has "a shootin' box" out in the pecos, who tells you about it. of course, if you like spending $ , a year for "a shootin' box" in scotland, that is another matter. there are various ways of having a good time; but when i go fishing i like to catch trout and not be a sucker. spite of the legend, "why go to europe? see america first," we keep on going to europe to see america. why? for a lot of reasons; and most of them lies. some fool once said, and we keep on repeating it--that it costs more to go west than it does to go to europe. so it does, if "going west" means staying at hotels that are weak imitations of the waldorf and the plaza, where you never get a sniff of the real west, nor meet anyone but traveling easterners like yourself; but if you strike away from the beaten trail, you can see the real west, and have your holiday, and go drunk on the picturesque, and break your neck mountain climbing, and catch more trout than you can lie about, and kill as much bear meat as you have courage, at less expense than it will cost you to stay at home. from chicago to the backbone of the rockies will cost you something over $ or $ one way. you can't go halfway across the atlantic for that, unless you go steerage; and if you go west "colonist," you can go to the backbone of the rockies for a good deal less than thirty dollars. now comes the crucial point! if you land in a western city and stay at a good hotel, expenses are going to out-sprint europe; and you will not see any more of the west than if you had gone to europe. choose your holiday stamping ground, sundance cañon, south dakota; or the new glacier park; or the pecos, new mexico; or the white mountains, arizona; or the indian pueblo towns of the southwest; or the white rock cañon of the rio grande, where the most important of the wonderful prehistoric remains exist; and you can stay at a ranch house where food and cleanliness will be quite as good as at the waldorf for from $ . to $ a day. [illustration: in the bright arizona sunshine before their little square adobe houses indian women are fashioning pottery into curious shapes] you can usually find the name of the ranch house by inquiries from the station agent where you get off. the ranch house may be of adobe and look squatty; but remember that adobe squattiness is the best protection against wind and heat; and inside, you will find hot and cold water, bathroom, and meals equal to the best hotels in chicago and new york. in new york or chicago, that amount would afford you mighty chancy fare and only a back hall room. i know of hundreds of such ranch houses all along the backbone of the rockies. next comes the matter of horses and rigs. if you stay at one of the big hotels, you will pay from $ to $ a day for a rig, and $ for a motor. out at the ranch house, you can rent team, driver and double rig at $ ; or a pony at $ for a month, or buy a burro outright for from $ to $ . even if the burro takes a prize for ugliness, remember he also takes a prize for sure-footedness; and he doesn't take a prize for bucking, which the broncho often does. figure up now the cost of a month's holiday; and i repeat--it will cost you less than staying at home. but if this total is still too high, there are ways of reducing the expense by half. take your own tent; and $ will not exceed "the grub box" contents for a month. or all through the rockies are deserted shacks, mining and lumber shanties, herders' cabins, horse camps. you can quarter yourself in one of these for nothing; and the sole expense will be "the grub box;" and my tin trunk for camp cooking has never cost me more than $ a month for four people. or best and most novel experience of all--along white rock cañon of the rio grande, in mesa verde park, colorado, are thousands of plastered caves, the homes of the cliff dwellers. you reach them by ladder. there is no danger of wolves, or damp. camp in one of them for nothing wherever the water in the brook below happens to be good. hundreds of archæologists, who come from egypt, greece, italy, england, to visit these remains, spend their summer holiday this way. why can't you? or if you are not a good adventurer into the unknown alone, then join the summer school that goes out to the caves from santa fe every summer. is it safe? that question to a westerner is a joke. safer, much safer, than in any eastern city! i have slept in ranch cabins of the white mountains, in caves of the cliff dwellers on the rio grande, in tents on the saskatchewan; and i never locked a door, because there wasn't any lock; and i never attempted to bar the door, because there wasn't any need. can you say as much of new york, or chicago, or washington? the question may be asked--will this kind of a holiday not be hot in summer? you remember, perhaps, crossing the backbone of the rockies some mid-summer, when nearly everything inside the pullman car melted into a jelly. yes, it will be hot if you follow the beaten trail; for a railroad naturally follows the lowest grade. but if you go back to the ranch houses of the upper mesas and of foothills and cañons, you will be from , to , feet above sea level, and will need winter wraps each night, and may have to break the ice for your washing water in the morning--i did. another reason why so many americans do not see their own country is that while one species of fool has scared away holiday seekers by tales of extortionate cost, another sort of fool wisely promulgates the lie--a lie worn shiny from repetition--that "game is scarce in the west." "no more big game"--and your romancer leans back with wise-acre air to let that lie sink in, while he clears his throat to utter another--"trout streams all fished out." in the days when we had to swallow logic undigested in college, we had it impressed upon us that one single specific fact was sufficient to refute the broadest generality that was ever put in the form of a syllogism. well, then,--for a few facts as to that "no-game" lie! in one hour you can catch in the streams of the pecos, or the jemez, or the white mountains, or the upper sierras of california, or the new glacier park of the north, more trout than you can put on a string. if you want confirmation of that fact, write to the texas club that has its hunting lodge opposite grass mountain, and they will send you the picture of one hour's trout catch. by measurement, the string is longer than the height of a water barrel; and these were fish that didn't get away. last year, twenty-six bear were shot in the sangre de christo cañon in three months. two years ago, mountain lions became so thick in the pecos that hunters were hired to hunt them for bounty; and the first thing that happened to one of the hunters, his horse was throttled and killed by a mountain lion, though his little spaniel got revenge by treeing four lions a few weeks later, and the hunter got three out of the four. near glorieta, you can meet a rancher who last year earned $ , of hunting bounty scrip, if he could have got it cashed. in the white mountains last year, two of the largest bucks ever known in the rockies were trailed by every hunter of note and trailed in vain. later, one was shot out of season by stalking behind a burro; but the other still haunts the cañons defiant of repeater. from the caves of the cliff-dwellers along the rio grande, you can nightly hear the coyote and the fox bark as they barked those dim stone ages when the people of these silent caves hunted here. the week i reached frijoles cañon, a flock of wild turkeys strutted in front of judge abbott's ranch house not a gun length from the front door. the morning i was driving over the pajarito mesa home from the cliff caves, we disturbed a herd of deer. does all this sound as if game was depleted? it is if you follow the beaten trail, just as depleted as it would be if you tried to hunt wild turkey down broadway, new york; but it isn't if you know where to look for it. believe me--though it may sound a truism--you won't find big game in hotel rotundas or pullman cars. or, if your quest is not hunting but studying game, what better ground for observation than the wichita in oklahoma? here a national forest has been constituted a perpetual breeding ground for native american game. over twenty buffalo taken from original stock in the new york park are there--back on their native heath; and there are two or three very touching things about those old furry fellows taken back to their own haunts. in new york's parks, they were gradually degenerating--getting heavier, less active, ceasing to shed their fur annually. when they were set loose in the wichita game resort, they looked up, sniffed the air from all four quarters, and rambled off to their ancestral pasture grounds perfectly at home. when the comanches heard that the buffalo had come back to the wichita, the whole tribe moved in a body and camped outside the fourteen-foot fence. there they stayed for the better part of a week, the buffalo and the comanches, silently viewing each other. it would have been worth mr. nature faker's while to have known their mutual thoughts. there is another lie about not holidaying west, which is not only persistent but cruel. when the worker is a health as well as rest seeker, he is told that the west does not want him, especially if he is what is locally called "a lung-er;" and there is just enough truth in that lie to make it persistent. it is true the consumptive is not wanted on the beaten trail, in the big general hotel, in the train where other people want draughts of air, but he can't stand them. on the beaten trail, he is a danger both to himself and to others--especially if he hasn't money and may fall a burden on the community; but that is only a half truth which is usually a lie. let the other half be known! all through the west along the backbone of the rockies, from montana to texas, especially in new mexico and arizona, are the tent cities--communities of health seekers living in half-boarded tents, or mosquito-wired cabins that can be steam-heated at night. there are literally thousands of such tent dwellers all through the rocky mountain states; and the cost is as you make it. if you go to a sanitarium tent city, you will have to pay all the way from $ to $ a week for house, board, nurse, medicine and doctor's attendance; but if you buy your own portable house and do your own catering, the cost will be just what you make it. a house will cost $ to $ ; a tent, $ to $ . still another baneful lie that keeps the american from seeing america first is that our new world west lacks "human interest;" lacks "the picturesqueness of the shepherds in spain and switzerland," for instance; lacks "the historic marvels" of church and monument and relic. if there be any degree in lies, this is the pastmaster of them all. will you tell me why "the human interest" of a legend about dick turpin's head festering on newgate, england, is any greater to americans than the truth about black jack of texas, whose head flew off into the crowd, when the support was removed from his feet and he was hanged down in new mexico? dick turpin was a highwayman. black jack was a lone-hand train robber. will you tell me why the outlaws of the borderland between england and scotland are more interesting to americans than the bands of outlaws who used to frequent horse-thief cañon up the pecos, or took possession of the cliff-dwellers' caves on the rio grande after the civil war? why are copt shepherds in egypt more picturesque than descendants of the aztecs herding countless moving masses of sheep on our own sky-line, lilac-misty, upper mesas? what is the difference in quality value between a donkey in spain trotting to market and a burro in new mexico standing on the plaza before a palace where have ruled eighty different governors, three different nations? why are skeletons and relics taken from pompeii more interesting than the dust-crumbled bodies lying in the caves of our own cliffs wrapped in cloth woven long before europe knew the art of weaving? why is the sphinx more wonderful to us than the great stone face carved on the rock of a cliff near cochiti, new mexico, carved before the pharaohs reigned; or the stone lions of an assyrian ruin more marvelous than the two great stone lions carved at cochiti? when you find a church in england dating before william the conqueror, you may smack your lips with the zest of the antiquarian; but you'll find in new mexico not far from santa fe ruins of a church--at the gates of the waters, guardian of the waters--that was a pagan ruin a thousand years old when the spaniards came to america. you may hunt up plaster cast reproduction of reptilian monsters in the kensington museum, london; but you will find the real skeleton of the gentleman himself, with pictures of the three-toed horse on the rocks, and legends of a plumed serpent not unlike the wary fellow who interviewed eve--all right here in your own american southwest, with the difference in favor of the american legend; for the satanic wriggler, who walked into the garden on his tail, went to deceive; whereas the plumed serpent of new mexican legend came to guard the pools and the springs. to be sure, there are , miles of motor roads in europe; but isn't it worth while to climb a few mountains in america by motor? that is what you can do following the "camino real" from texas to wyoming, or crossing the mountains of new mexico by the great scenic highway built for motors to the very snow tops. [illustration: an indian girl of isleta, new mexico, carrying a water jar.] and if you take to studying native indian life, at laguna, at acoma, at taos, you will find yourself in such a maze of the picturesque and the legendary as you cannot find anywhere else in the wide world but america. this is a story by itself--a beautiful one, also in spots a funny one. for instance, one summer a woman of international fame from oxford, england, took quarters in one of the pueblos at santa clara or thereabout to study indian arts and crafts. one night in her adobe quarters, her orderly british soul was aroused by such a dire din of shouting, fighting, screams, as she thought could come only from some inferno of crime. she sprang out of bed and dashed across the _placito_ in her nightdress to her guardian protector in the person of an old indian. he ran through the dark to see what the matter was, while she stood in hiding of the wall shadows curdling in horror of "bluggy deeds." "pah," said the old fellow coming back, "dat not'ing! young man, he git marry an' dey--how you call?--chiv-ar-ee-heem." "then, what are you laughing at?" demanded the irate british dame; for she could not help seeing that the old fellow was literally doubling in suffocated laughter. "how dare you laugh?" * * * * * "i laugh, mees," he sputtered out, "'cos you scare me so bad when you call, i jomp in my coat mistake for my pants. dat's all." * * * * * it would pay to cultivate a little home sentiment, wouldn't it? it would pay to let a little daylight in on the abysmal blank regarding the wonder-land of our own world--wouldn't it? i don't know whether the affectation recognized as "the foreign pose" comes foremost or hindermost as a cause of this neglect of the wonders of our own land. when you go to our own western wonder land, you can't say you have been abroad with a great long capital a; and it is wonderful what a paying thing that pose is in a harvest of "fooleries." there is a well-known case of an american author, who tried his hand on delineating american life and was severely let alone because he was too--not abroad, but broad. he dropped his own name, assumed the pose of a grand dame familiar with the inner penetralia and sacred secrets of the exclusive circle of the american colony in paris. his books have "gone off" like hot cross buns. before, they were broad. now they are abroad; and, like the tourist tickets, they are selling two to one. the stock excuse among foreign poseurs for the two to one preference of europe to america is that "america lacks the picturesque, the human, the historic." a straightforward falsehood you can always answer; but an implied falsehood masking behind knowledge, which is a vacuum, and superiority, which is pretense--is another matter. let us take the dire and damning deficiencies of america! "america lacks the picturesque." did the ancient dwelling of the stone age sound to you as if it lacked the picturesque? i could direct you to fifty such picturesque spots in the southwest alone. there is the enchanted mesa, with its sister mesa of acoma--islands of rock, sheer precipice of yellow _tufa_ for hundreds of feet--amid the desert sand, light shimmering like a stage curtain, herds exaggerated in huge, grotesque mirage against the lavender light, and indian riders, brightly clad and picturesque as arabs, scouring across the plain; all this reachable two hours' drive from a main railroad. or there are the three mesas of the painted desert, cities on the flat mountain table lands, ancient as the aztecs, overlooking such a roll of mountain and desert and forest as the tempter could not show beneath the temple. or, there is the white house, an ancient ruin of cañon de chelly (shay) forty miles from fort defiance, where you could put a dozen white houses of washington. "but," your european protagonist declares, "i don't mean the ancient and the primeval. i mean the modern peopled hamlet type." all right! what is the matter with santa fe? draw a circle from new orleans up through santa fe to santa barbara, california; and you'll find old missions galore, countless old towns of which santa fe, with its twin-towered cathedral and old san miguel church, is a type. santa fe, itself, is a bit of old spain set down in mosaic in hustling, bustling america. there is the governor's palace, where three different nations have held sway; and there is the plaza, where the burros trot to market under loads of wood picturesque as any donkeys in spain; and there is the old exchange hotel, the end of the santa fe trail, where stephen b. elkins came in cowhide boots forty years ago to carve out a colossal fortune. at one end of a main thoroughfare, you can see the site of the old spanish gareta prison, in the walls of which bullets were found embedded in human hair. and if you want a little versailles of retreat away from the braying of the burros and of the humans, away from the dust of street and of small talk--then of a may day when the orchard is in bloom and the air alive with the song of the bees, go to the old french garden of the late bishop lamy! through the cobwebby spring foliage shines the gleam of the snowy peaks; and the air is full of dreams precious as the apple bloom. what was the other charge? oh, yes--"lacks the human," whatever that means. why are legends of border forays in scotland more thrilling than true tales of robber dens in horse-thief cañon and the cliff houses of flagstaff and the frijoles, where renegades of the civil war used to hide? why are the multi-colored peasant workers of brittany or belgium more interesting than the gayly dressed peons of new mexico, or the navajo boys scouring up and down the sandy arroyos? why is the story of jack cade any more "human" than the tragedy of the three vermont boys, stott, scott and wilson, hanged in the tonto basin for horses they did not steal in order that their assassins might pocket $ , of money which the young fellows had brought out from the east with them? why are not all these personages of good repute and ill repute as famous to american folklore hunters as robin hood or any other legendary heroes of the old world? driven to the last redoubt, your protagonist for europe against america usually assumes the air of superiority supposed to be the peculiar prerogative of the gods of olympus, and declares: "yes--but america lacks the history and the art of the old associations in europe." "lacks history?" go back fifty years in our own west to the transition period from fur trade to frontier, from spanish don living in idle baronial splendor to smart yankeedom invading the old exclusive domain in cowhide boots! go back another fifty years! you are in the midst of american feudalism--fur lords of the wilderness ruling domains the area of a europe, spanish conquistadores marching through the desert heat clad _cap-à-pie_ in burnished mail; governor prince's collection at santa fe has one of those cuirasses dug up in new mexico with the bullet hole through the metal right above the heart. another fifty years back--and the century war for a continent with the indians, the downing of the old civilization of america before a sort of christian barbarism, the sword in one hand, the cross in the other, and behind the mounted troops the big iron chest for the gold--iron chests that you can see to this day among the spanish families of the southwest, rusted from burial in time of war, but strong yet as in the centuries when guarded by secret springs such iron treasure boxes hid all the gold and the silver of some noble family in new spain. when you go back beyond the days of new spain, you are amid a civilization as ancient as egypt's--an era that can be compared only to the myth age of the norse gods, when loki, spirit of evil, smiled with contempt at man's poor efforts to invade the realm of death. it was the age when puny men of the stone era were alternately chasing south before the glacial drift and returning north as the waters receded, when huge leviathans wallowed amid sequoia groves; and if man had domesticated creatures, they were three-toed horses, and wolf dogs, and wild turkeys and quail. curiously enough, remnants of some sort of domesticated creatures are found in the cave men's houses, centuries before the coming of horses and cattle and sheep with the spanish. the trouble is, up to the present when men like curtis and dear old bandelier and burbank, and the whole staff of the smithsonian and the school of santa fe have gone to work, we have not taken the trouble in america to gather up the prehistoric legends and ferret out their race meaning. we have fallen too completely in the last century under the blight of evolution, which presupposes that these cave races were a sort of simian-jawed, long-clawed, gibbering apes spending half their time up trees throwing stones on the heads of the other apes below, and the other half of their time either licking their chops in gore or dragging wives back to caves by the hair of their heads. you remember kipling's poem on the neolithic man, and jack london's fiction. now as a matter of fact--which is a bit disturbing to all these accretions of pseudo-science--the remains of these cave people don't show them to have been simian-jawed apes at all. they had woven clothing when our ancestors were a bit liable to anthony comstock's activities as to clothes. they had decorated pottery ware of which we have lost the pigments, and a knowledge of irrigation which would be unique in apes, and a technique in basketry that i never knew a monkey to possess. some day, when the evolutionary piffle has passed, we'll study out these prehistoric legends and their racial meaning. as to the "lack of art," pray wake up! the late edwin abbey declared that the most hopeful school of art in america was the school of the southwest. look up lotave's mural drawings at santa fe, or lungrun's wonderful desert pictures, or moran's or gamble's, or harmon's spanish scenes--then talk about "lack of _decadent_ art" if you will, but don't talk about "lack of art." why, in the ranch house of lorenzo hubbell, the great navajo trader, you'll find a $ , collection of purely southwestern pictures. * * * * * how many of the two to one protagonists of europe know, for instance, that scenic motor highways already run to the very edge of the grandest scenery in america? you can motor now from texas to wyoming, up above , feet much of it, above cloud line, above timber line, over the leagueless sage-bush plains, in and out of the great yellow pine forests, past cloudcroft--the sky-top resort--up through the orchard lands of the rio grande, across the very backbone of the rockies over the santa fe ranges and on north up to the garden of the gods and all the wonders of colorado's national park. with the exception of a very bad break in the white mountains of arizona, you can motor west past the southern edge of the painted desert, past laguna and acoma and the enchanted mesa, past the petrified forests, where a deluge of sand and flood has buried a sequoia forest and transmuted the beauty of the tree's life into the beauty of the jewel, into bars and beams and spars of agate and onyx the color of the rainbow. then, before going on down to california, you can swerve into grand cañon, where the gods of fire and flood have jumbled and tumbled the peaks of olympus dyed blood-red into a swimming cañon of lavender and primrose light deep as the highest peaks of the rockies. in california, you can either motor up along the coast past all the old spanish missions, or go in behind the first ridge of mountains and motor along the edge of the big trees and the yosemite and tahoe. you can't take your car into these parks; first, because you are not allowed; second, because the risks of the road do not permit it even if you were allowed. * * * * * is it safe? as i said before, that question is a joke. i can answer only from a life-time knowledge of pretty nearly all parts of the west--and that from a woman's point of view. believe me the days of "shootin' irons" and "faintin' females" are forever past, except in the undergraduate's salad dreams. you are safer in the cave dwellings of the stone age, in the pajarito plateau of the cliff "bird people," in the painted desert, among the indians of the navajo reserve than you are in broadway, new york, or piccadilly, london. i would trust a young friend of mine--boy or girl--quicker to the western environment than the eastern. you can get into mischief in the west if you hunt for it; but the mischief doesn't come out and hunt you. also, danger spots are self-evident on precipices of the western wilds. they aren't self-evident; danger spots are glazed and paved to the edges over which youth goes to smash in the east. * * * * * what about cost? aye, there's the rub! first, there's the steamboat ticket to europe, about the same price as or more than the average round trip ticket to the coast and back; but--please note, please note well--the agent who sells the steamboat ticket gets from forty to per cent. bigger commission on it than the agent who sells the railroad tickets; so the man who is an agent for europe can afford to advertise from forty to per cent. more than the man who sells the purely american ticket. secondly, european hotel men are adepts at catering to the lure of the american sightseer. (of course they are: it's worth one hundred to two hundred million dollars to them a year.) in the american west, everybody is busy. except for the real estate man, they don't care one iota whether you come or stay. thirdly, when you go to europe, a thousand hands are thrust out to point you the way to the interesting places. incidentally, also, a thousand hands are thrust out to pick your pocket, or at least relieve it of any superfluous weight. in our west, who cares a particle what you do; or who will point you the way? the hotels are expensive and for the most part located in the most expensive zone--the commercial center. it is only when you get out of the expense zone away from commercial centers and railway, that you can live at $ or $ a day, or if you have your own tent at fifty cents a day; but it isn't to the real estate agent's interests to have you go away from the commercial center or expense zone. who is there to tell you what or where to see off the line of heat and tips? outside the national park wardens and national forest rangers, there isn't anyone. * * * * * how, then, are you to manage? frankly, i never knew of either monkeys or men accomplishing anything except in one way--just going out and doing it. choose what you want to see; and go there! the local railroad agent, the local forest ranger, the local ranch house, will tell you the rest; and naturally, when you go into the wilderness, don't leave all your courtesy and circumspection and common-sense back in town. equipped with those three, you can "see america first," and see it cheaply. chapter i the national forests, a summer playground for the people if a health resort and national playground were discovered guaranteed to kill care, to stab apathy into new life, to enlarge littleness and slay listlessness and set the human spirit free from the nagging worries and toil-wear that make you feel like a washed-out rag at the end of a humdrum year--imagine the stampede of the lame and the halt in body and spirit; the railroad excursions and reduced fares; the disputations of the physicians and the rage of the thought-ologists at present coining money rejuvenating neurotic humanity! yet such a national playground has been discovered; and it isn't in europe, where statisticians compute that americans yearly spend from a quarter to half a billion dollars; and it isn't the coast-to-coast trip which the president of a transcontinental told me at least a hundred thousand people a year traverse. a health resort guaranteed to banish care, to stab apathy, to enlarge littleness, to slay listlessness, would pretty nearly put the thought-ologists out of commission. yet such a summer resort exists at the very doors of every american capable of scraping together a few hundred dollars--$ at the least, $ at the most. it exists in that "twilight zone" of dispute and strong language and peanut politics known as the national forests. in america, we have foolishly come to regard national forests as solely allied with conservation and politics. that is too narrow. national forests stand for much more. they stand for a national playground and all that means for national health and sanity and joy in the exuberant life of the clean out-of-doors. in germany, the forests are not only a source of great revenue in cash; they are a source of greater revenue in health. they are a holiday playground. in america, the playground exists, the most wonderful, the most beautiful playground in the whole world--and the most accessible; but we haven't yet discovered it. * * * * * of the three or four million people who have attended the pacific coast expositions of the past ten years, it is a safe wage that half went, not to see the exposition (for people from a radius round chicago and jamestown and buffalo had already seen a great exposition) but they went to see the exposition as an exponent of the great west. how much of the great west did they really see? they saw the alaska exhibit. well--the alaska exhibit was afterwards shown in new york. they saw the special buildings assigned to the special western states. well--the special western states had special buildings at the other expositions. what else of the purely west they saw, i shall give in the words of three travelers: "been a great trip" (two chicagoans talking in duet). "we've seen everything and stopped off everywhere. we stopped at denver and salt lake and los angeles and san francisco and portland and seattle!" "what did you do at these places?" "took a taxi and saw the sights, drove through the parks and so on. saw all the residences and public buildings. been a great trip. tell you the west is going ahead." "it has been a detestable trip" (a new yorker relieving surcharged feelings). "it has been a skin game from start to finish, pullman, baggage, hotels, everything. and how much of the west have we really seen? not a glimpse of it. we had all seen these western cities before. they are not the west. they are bits of the east taken up and set down in the west. how is the easterner to see the west? it isn't seeing it to go flying through these prairie stations. settlement and real life and wild life are always back from the railroad. how are we to get out and see that unless we can pay ten dollars a day for guides? i don't call it _seeing_ the mountains to ride on a train through the easiest passes and sleep through most of them. tell us how we are to get out and see and experience the real thing?" "h'm, talk about seeing the west" (this time from a texas banker). "only time we got away from the excursion party was when a land boomster took us up the river to see an irrigation project. that wasn't seeing the west. that was a buy-and-sell proposition same as we have at home. what i want to know is how to get away from that. that boomster fellow was an easterner, anyway." which of these three really found the playground each was seeking? not the duet that went round the cities in a sightseeing car and judged the west from hotel rotundas. not the new yorker, who saw the prairie towns fly past the car windows. not the texans who were guided round a real estate project by an eastern land boomster. and each wanted to find the real thing--had paid money to find a holiday playground, to forget care and stab apathy and enlarge life. and each complained of the extortionate charges on every side in the city life. and two out of three went back a little disappointed that they had not seen the fabled wonders of the west--the big trees, the peaks at close range, the famous cañons, the mountain lakes, the natural bridges. when i tried to explain to the new yorker that at a cost of one-tenth what the big hotels charge, you could go straight into the heart of the mountain western wilds, whether you are a man, woman, child, or group of all three--could go straight out to the fabled wonders of big trees and mountain lakes and snowy peaks--i was greeted with that peculiarly new yorky look suggestive of ananias and de rougement. [illustration: one way of entering the desert is with wagons and tents, but unless it is the rainy season the tents are unnecessary] sadder is the case of the invalid migrating west. he has come with high hopes looking for the national health resort. does he find it? not once in a thousand cases. if health seekers have money, they take a private house _in the city_, where the best of air is at its worst; but many invalids are scarce of money, and come seeking the health resort at great pecuniary sacrifice. do they find it? certainly not knocking from boarding house to boarding house and hotel to hotel, re-infecting themselves with their own germs till the very telephone booths have to be guarded. at one famous "lung" city where i stayed, i heard three invalids coughing life away along the corridor where my room happened to be. the charge for those stuffy rooms was $ and $ and $ a day without meals. at a cost of $ for train fare, i went out to one of the national forests--the pass over the divide , feet, the village center of the forest , feet above sea level, the charge with meals at the hotel $ a week. better still, $ for a roomy tent, $ . for a camp stove and as much or as little as you like for a fur rug, and the cost of meals would have been seventy-five cents a day at the hotel, seventy-five cents for life in air that was almost constant sunshine, air as pure and life-giving as the sun on creation's first day. that altitude would probably not suit all invalids--that is for a doctor to say; but certainly, whether one is out for health or play, that regimen is cheaper and more life-giving than a stuffy hotel at $ , $ and $ a day for a room alone. it is incredible when you come to think of it. here is a nation of ninety million people scouring the earth for a playground; and there is an undiscovered playground in its own back yard, the most wonderful playground of mountain and forest and lake in the whole world; a playground in actual area half the size of a germany, or france, with wonders of cave and waterway and peak unknown to germany or france. what are the railroads thinking about? if three million people visited an exposition to see the west, how many would yearly visit the national forests if the railroads granted facilities, and the ninety million americans knew how? it is absurd to regard the national forests purely as timber; and timber for politics! they are a nation's playground and health resort; and one of these times will come a peary or an abruzzi discovering them. then we'll give him a prize and begin going. * * * * * you will not find newport; and you will not find lenox; and you will not find saratoga in the national forests. neither will you find a dress parade except the painter's brush with its vesture of flame in the upper alpine meadows. and you will not find gaping on-lookers to break down fences and report your doings, unless it be a douglas squirrel swearing at you for coming too near his _cache_ of pine cones at the foot of some giant conifer. there is small noise of things doing in the national forests; but there is a great tinkling of waters; and there are many voices of rills with a roar of flood torrents at rain time, or thunder of avalanche when the snows come over a far ridge in spray fine as a waterfall. in fair weather, you may spare yourself the trouble of a tent and camp under a stretch of sky hung with stars, resinous of balsams, spiced with the life of the cinnamon smells and the ozone tang. there will be lakes of light as well as lakes of water, and an all-day diet of condensed sunbeams every time you take a breath. your bed will be hemlock boughs--be sure to lay the branch-end out and the soft end in or you'll dream of sleeping transfixed and bayoneted on a nine foot redwood stump. sage brush smells and cedar odors, you will have without paying for a cedar chest. if you want softer bed and mixed perfumes, better stay in newport. the forestry department will not resent your coming. their men will welcome you and help you to find camping ground. * * * * * meanwhile, before the railroads have wakened up to the possibilities of the national forests as a playground, how is the lone american man, woman, child, or group of all three, to find the way to the national forests? what will the outfit cost; and how is the camper to get established? take a map of the western states. though there are bits of national forests in nebraska and kansas and the ozarks, for camping and playground purposes draw a line up parallel with the rockies from new mexico to canada. your playground is from that line westward. to me, there is a peculiar attraction in the forests of colorado. nearly all are from , to , feet above sky-line--high, dry park-like forests of engelmann spruce clear of brush almost as your parlor floor. you will have no difficulty in recognizing the forests as the train goes panting up the divide. windfall, timber slash, stumps half as high as a horse, brushwood, the bare poles and blackened logs of burnt areas lie on one side--public domain. trees with two notches and a blaze mark the forest bounds; trees with one notch and one blaze, the trail; and across that trail, you are out of the public domain in the national forests. there is not the slightest chance of your not recognizing the national forests. windfall, there is almost none. it has been cleared out and sold. of timber slash, there is not a stick. wastage and brush have been carefully burned up during snowfall. windfall, dead tops and ripe trees, all have been cut or stamped with the u. s. hatchet for logging off. these colorado forests are more like a beautiful park than wild land. come up to utah; and you may vary your camping in the national forests there, by trips to the wonderful cañons out from ogden, or to the natural bridges in the south. in the national forests of california, you have pretty nearly the best that america can offer you: views of the ocean in santa barbara and monterey; cloudless skies everywhere; the big trees in the sequoia forest; the yosemite in the stanislaus; forests in the northern part of the state where you could dance on the stump of a redwood or build a cabin out of a single sapling; and everywhere in the northern mountains, are the voices of the waters and the white, burnished, shining peaks. i met a woman who found her playground one summer by driving up in a tented wagon through the national forests from colorado to montana. camp stove and truck bed were in the democrat wagon. an outfitter supplied the horses for a rental which i have forgotten. the borders of most of the national forests may be reached by wagon. the higher and more intimate trails may be essayed only on foot or on horseback. * * * * * how much will the trip cost? you must figure that out for yourself. there is, first of all, your railway fare from the point you leave. then there is the fare out to the forest--usually not $ . go straight to the supervisor or forester of the district. he will recommend the best hotel of the little mountain village where the supervisor's office is usually located. at those hotels, you will board as a transient at $ a week; as a permanent, for less. in many of the mountain hamlets are outfitters who will rent you a team of horses and tented wagon; and you can cater for yourself. in fact, as to clothing, and outfit, you can buy cheaper camp kit at these local stores than in your home town. many eastern things are not suitable for western use. for instance, it is foolish to go into the thick, rough forests of heavy timber with an expensive eastern riding suit for man or woman. better buy a $ or $ or $ khaki suit that you can throw away when you have torn it to tatters. an eastern waterproof coat will cost you from $ to $ . you can get a yellow cowboy slicker (i have two), which is much more serviceable for $ . or $ . as to boots, i prefer to get them east, as i like an elk-skin leather which never shrinks in the wet, with a good deal of cork in the sole to save jars, also a broad sole to save your foot in the stirrup; but avoid a conventional riding boot. too hot and too stiff! i like an elk-skin that will let the water out fast as it comes in if you ever have to wade, and which will not shrink in the drying. if you forswear hotels and take to a sky tent, or canvas in misty weather, better carry eatables in what the guides call a tin "grub box," in other words a cheap $ tin trunk. it keeps out ants and things; and you can lock it when you go away on long excursions. as to beds, each to his own taste! some like the rolled rubber mattress. too much trouble for me. besides, i am never comfortable on it. if you camp near the snow peaks, a chill strikes up to the small of your back in the small of the morning. i don't care to feel like using a derrick every time i roll over. the most comfortable bed i know is a piece of twenty-five cent oilcloth laid over the slicker on hemlock boughs, fur rug over that, with suit case for pillow, and a plain gray blanket. the hardened mountaineer will laugh at the next recommendation; but the town man or woman going out for play or health is not hardened, and to attempt sudden hardening entails the endurance of a lot of aches that are apt to spoil the holiday. you may say you like the cold plunge in the icy water coming off a snowy mountain. i confess i don't; and you'll acknowledge, even if you do like it, you are in such a hurry to come out of it that you don't linger to scrub. i like my hot scrub; and you can have that only by taking along (no, not a rubber bath) a $ . camp stove to heat the water in the tent while you are eating your supper out round the camp fire that burns with such a delicious, barky smell. besides, late in the season, there will be rains and mist. your camp stove will dry out the tent walls and keep your kit free of rain mold. do you need a guide? that depends entirely on yourself. if you camp under direction and within range of the district forester, i do not think you do. whether you go out as a health seeker, or a pleasure seeker, $ to $ will buy you a miner's tent--a miner's, preferable to a tepee because the walls lift the canvas roof high enough not to bump your head; $ will buy you a tin trunk or grub box; $ . will cover the price of oilcloth to spread over the boughs which you lay all over the floor to keep you above the earth damp; $ will buy you a little tin camp stove to keep the inside of your tent warm and dry for the hot night bath; $ will cover cost of pail and cooking utensils. that leaves of what would be your monthly expenses at even a moderate hotel, $ for food--bacon, flour, fresh fruit; and your food should not exceed $ each a month. if you are a good fisherman, you will add to the larder, by whipping the mountain streams for trout. if you need an attendant, that miner's tent is big enough for two. or if you will stand $ or $ more expense, buy a tepee tent for a bath and toilet room. there will be windy days in fall and spring when an extra tent with a camp stove in it will prove useful for the nightly hot bath. * * * * * what reward do you reap for all the bother? you are away from all dust irritating to weak lungs. you are away from all possibility of re-infecting yourself with your own disease. except in late autumn and early spring, you are living under almost cloudless skies, in an atmosphere steeped in sunshine, spicy with the healing resin of the pines and hemlocks and spruce, that not only scent the air but literally permeate it with the essences of their own life. you are living far above the vapors of sea level, in a region luminous of light. instead of the clang of street car bells and the jangle of nerves tangled from too many humans in town, you hear the flow and the sing and the laughter and the trebles of the glacial streams rejoicing in their race to the sea. you climb the rough hills; and your town lungs blow like a whale as you climb; and every beat pumps inertia out and the sun-healing air in. if an invalid, you had better take a doctor's advice as to how high you should camp and climb. in town, amid the draperies and the portières and the steam-heated rooms, an invalid is seeking health amid the habitat of mummies. in the forests, whether you will or not, you live in sunshine that is the very elixir of life; and though the frost sting at night, it is the sting of pulsing, superabundant life, not the lethargy of a gradual decay. at the southern edge of the national forests in the southwest dwell the remnants of a race, can be seen the remnants of cities, stand houses near enough the train to be touched by your hand, that run back in unbroken historic continuity to dynasties preceding the aztecs of mexico or the copts of egypt. when the pyramids were young, long before the flood gates of the ural mountains had broken before the inundating aryan hordes that overran the forests and mountains of europe to the edge of the netherland seas, this race which you can see to-day dwelling in new mexico and arizona were spinning their wool, working their silver mines, and on the approach of the enemy, withdrawing to those eagle nests on the mountain tops which you can see, where only a rope ladder led up to the city, or uncertain crumbling steps cut in the face of the sheer red sandstone. and besides the prehistoric in the forests--what will you find? the plains below you like a scroll, the receding cities, a patch of smoke. you had thought that sky above the plains a cloudless one, air that was pure, buoyant champagne without dregs. now the plains are vanishing in a haze of dust, and you--you are up in that cloudless air, where the light hits the rocks in spangles of pure crystal, and the tang of the clearness of it pricks your sluggish blood to a new, buoyant, pulsing life. you feel as if somehow or other that existence back there in towns and under roofs had been a life with cobwebs on the brain and weights on the wings of the spirit. i wonder if it wasn't? i wonder if the ancients, after all, didn't accord with science in ascribing to the sun, to the god of light, the source of all our strength? things are accomplished not in the thinking, but in the clearness of the thinking; and here is the realm of pure light. presently, the train carrying you up to the forests of the southwest gives a bump. you are in darkness--diving through some tunnel or other; and when you come out, you could drop a stone sheer down to the plains a couple of miles. that is not so far as up in south dakota. in sundance cañon off the national forests there, you can drop a pebble down seven miles. that's not as the crow flies. it is as the train climbs. but patience! the road into sundance cañon takes you to the top of the world, to be sure; but that is only , feet up; and this little moffat road in colorado takes you above timber line, above cloud line, pretty nearly above growth line, , feet above the sea; at , you can take your lunch inside a snow shed on the moffat road. long ago, men proved their superiority to other men by butchering each other in hordes and droves and shambles; alva must have had a good , corpses to his credit in the netherlands. to-day, men make good by conquering the elements. for four hours, this little colorado road has been cork-screwing up the face of a mountain pretty nearly sheer as a wall; and for every twist and turn and tunnel, some engineer fellow on the job has performed mathematical acrobatics; and some capitalist behind the engineer--the man behind the modern gun of conquest--has paid the cost. in this case, it was david moffat paid for our dance in the clouds--a mining man, who poked his brave little road over the mountains across the desert towards the pacific. [illustration: from a lookout point in the coconino forest of arizona] you come through those upper tunnels still higher. below, no longer lie the plains, but seas of clouds; and it is to the everlasting credit of the sense and taste of denver people, that they have dotted the outer margin of this rock wall with slab and log and shingle cottages, built literally on the very backbone of the continent overlooking such a stretch of cloud and mountain and plain as i do not know of elsewhere in the whole world. in sundance cañon, south dakota, summer people have built in the bottom of the gorge. here, they are dwellers in the sky. rugged pines cling to the cliff edge blasted and bare and wind torn; but dauntlessly rooted in the everlasting rocks. little mining hamlets composed of matchbox houses cling to the face of the precipice like cardboards stuck on a nail. then, you have passed through the clouds, and are above timber line; and a lake lies below you like a pool of pure turquoise; and you twist round the flank of the great mountain, and there is a pair of green lakes below you--emerald jewels pendant from the neck of the old mountain god; and with a bump and a rattle of the wheels, clear over the top of the continental divide you go--believe me, a greater conquest than any napoleon's march to moscow, or alva's shambles of headless victims in the netherlands. you take lunch in a snow shed on the very crest of the continental divide. i wish you could taste the air. it isn't air. it's champagne. it isn't champagne, it's the very elixir of life. there can never be any shadows here; for there is nothing to cast the shadow. nightfall must wrap the world here in a mantle of rest, in a vespers of worship and quiet, in a crystal of dying chrysoprase above the green enameled lake and the forests below, looking like moss, and the pearl clouds, a sea of fire in the sunset, and the plain--there are no more plains--this is the top of the world! yet it is not always a vesper quiet in the high places. when i came back this way a week later, such a blizzard was raging as i have never seen in manitoba or alberta. the high spear grass tossed before it like the waves of a sea; and the blasted pines on the cliffs below--you knew why their roots had taken such grip of the rocks like strong natures in disaster. the storm might break them. it could not bend them, nor wrench them from their roots. the telegraph wires, for reasons that need not be told are laid flat on the ground up here. when you cross the divide, you enter the national forests. national forests above tree line? to be sure! these deep, coarse upper grasses provide ideal pasturage for sheep from june to september; and the national forests administer the grazing lands for the general use of all the public, instead of permitting them to be monopolized by the big rancher, who promptly drove the weaker man off by cutting the throats of intruding flocks and herds. then, the train is literally racing down hill--with the trucks bumping heels like the wheels of a wagon on a sluggish team; and a new tang comes to the ozone--the tang of resin, of healing balsam, of cinnamon smells, of incense and frankincense and myrrh, of spiced sunbeams and imprisoned fragrance--the fragrance of thousands upon thousands of years of dew and light, of pollen dust and ripe fruit cones; the attar, not of persian roses, but of the everlasting pines. the train takes a swift swirl round an escarpment of the mountain; and you are in the forests proper, serried rank upon rank of the blue spruce and the lodgepole pine. no longer spangles of light hitting back from the rocks in sparks of fire! the light here is sifted pollen dust--pollen dust, the primordial life principle of the tree--with the purple, cinnamon-scented cones hanging from the green arms of the conifers like the chevrons of an enranked army; and the cones tell you somewhat of the service as the chevrons do of the soldier man. some conifers hold their cones for a year before they send the seed, whirling, swirling, broadside to the wind, aviating pixy parachutes, airy armaments for the conquest of arid hills to new forest growth, though the process may take the trifling æon of a thousand years or so. at one season, when you come to the forests, the air is full of the yellow pollen of the conifers, gold dust whose alchemy, could we but know it, would unlock the secrets of life. at another season--the season when i happened to be in the colorado forests--the very atmosphere is alive with these forest airships, conifer seeds sailing broadside to the wind. you know why they sail broadside, don't you? if they dropped plumb like a stone, the ground would be seeded below the heavily shaded branches inches deep in self-choking, sunless seeds; but when the broadside of the sail to the pixy's airship tacks to the veering wind, the seed is carried out and away and far beyond the area of the shaded branches; to be caught up by other counter currents of wind and hurled, perhaps, down the mountain side, destined to forest the naked side of a cliff a thousand years hence. it is a fact, too, worth remembering and crediting to the wiles and ways of dame nature that destruction by fire tends but to free these conifer seeds from the cones; so that they fall on the bare burn and grow slowly to maturity under the protecting nursery of the tremulous poplars and pulsing cottonwoods. * * * * * the train has not gone very far in the national forests before you see the sleek little douglas squirrel scurrying from branch to branch. from the tremor of his tiny body and the angry chitter of his parted teeth, you know he is swearing at you to the utmost limit of his squirrel (?) language; but that is not surprising. this little rodent of the evergreens is the connoisseur of all conifers. he, and he alone, knows the best cones for reproductive seed. no wonder he is so full of fire when you consider he diets on the fruit of a thousand years of sunlight and dew; so when the ranger seeks seed to reforest the burned or scant slopes, he rifles the _cache_ of this little furred forester, who suspects your noisy trainload of robbery--robbery--sc--scur--r--there! then, the train bumps and jars to a stop with a groaning of brakes on the steep down grade, for a drink at the red water tank; and you drop off the high car steps with a glance forward to see that the baggage man is dropping off your kit. the brakes reverse. with a scrunch, the train is off again, racing down hill, a blur of steamy vapor like a cloud against the lower hills. before the rear car has disappeared round the curve, you have been accosted by a young man in norfolk suit of sage green wearing a medal stamped with a pine tree--the ranger, absurdly young when you consider each ranger patrols and polices , acres compared to the , which french and german wardens patrol and daily deals with criminal problems ten times more difficult than those confronting the northwest mounted police, without the military authority which backs that body of men. you have mounted your pony--men and women alike ride astride in the western states. it heads of its own accord up the bridle trail to the ranger's house, in this case , feet above sea level, , feet above ordinary cloud line. the hammer of a woodpecker, the scur of a rasping blue jay, the twitter of some red bills, the soft _thug_ of the unshod broncho over the trail of forest mold, no other sound unless the soul of the sea from the wind harping in the trees. better than the jangle of city cars in that stuffy hotel room of the germ-infested town, isn't it? if there is snow on the peaks above, you feel it in the cool sting of the air. you hear it in the trebling laughter, in the trills and rills of the brook babbling down, sound softened by the moss as all sounds are hushed and low keyed in this woodland world. and all the time, you have the most absurd sense of being set free from something. by-and-by when eye and ear are attuned, you will see the light reflected from the pine needles glistening like metal, and hear the click of the same needles like fairy castanets of joy. meantime, take a long, deep, full breath of these condensed sunbeams spiced with the incense of the primeval woods; for you are entering a temple, the temple where our forefathers made offerings to the gods of old, the temple which our modern churches imitate in gothic spire and arch and architrave and nave. drink deep in open, full lungs; for you are drinking of an elixir of life which no apothecary can mix. most of us are a bit ill mentally and physically from breathing the dusty street sweepings of filth and germs which permeate the hived towns. they will not stay with you here! other dust is in this air, the gold dust of sunlight and resin and ozone. they will make you over, will these forest gods, if you will let them, if you will lave in their sunlight, and breathe their healing, and laugh with the chitter and laughter of the squirrels and streams. and what if your spirit does not go out to meet the spirit of the woods halfway? then, the woods will close round you with a chill loneliness unutterable. you are an alien and an exile. they will have none of you and will reveal to you none of their joyous, dauntless life secrets. chapter ii among the national forests of the southwest you have not ridden far towards the ranger's house in the forest before you become aware that clothing for town is not clothing for the wilds. no matter how hot it may be at midday, in this high, rare air a chill comes soon as the sun begins to sink. to be comfortable, light flannels must be worn next the skin, with an extra heavy coat available--never farther away from yourself than the pack straps. night may overtake you on a hard trail. long as you have an extra heavy coat and a box of matches, night does not matter. you are safer benighted in the wilds than in new york or chicago. if you have camp fire and blanket, night in the wilds knows nothing of the satyr-faced spirit of evil, sand-bagger and yeggman, that stalks the town. [illustration: the forest-ranger in action, fighting a ground fire with his saddle blanket in one of the national forests of the west] to anyone used to travel in the wilderness, it seems almost like little boys playing robinson crusoe to give explicit directions as to dress. yet only a few years ago, the world was shocked and horrified by the death of a town man exploring the wilds; and that death was directly traceable to a simple matter of boots. his feet played out. he had gone into a country of rocky portages with only one pair of moccasins. i have never gone into the wilds for longer than four months at a time. yet i have never gone with less than four sets of footgear. primarily, you need a pair of good outing boots; and outing boots are good only when they combine two qualities--comfort and thick enough soles to protect your feet from sharp rock edges if you climb, broad enough soles, too, to protect the edge of your feet from hard knocks from passing trees and jars in the stirrup. for the rest, you need about two extras in case you chip chunks out of these in climbing; and if you camp near glaciers or snow fields, a pair of moccasins for night wear will add to comfort. you may get them if you like to spend the money--$ leggings and $ horsehide shoes and cowboy hat and belted corduroy suit and all the other paraphernalia by which the seasoned westerner recognizes the tenderfoot. you may get them if you want to. it will not hurt you; but a $ cowboy slicker for rainy days and a pair of boots guaranteed to let the water out as fast as it comes in, these and the ordinary outing garments of any other part of the world are the prime essentials. this matter of proper preparation recalls a little english woman who determined to train her boys and girls to be resourceful and independent by taking them camping each summer in the forests of the pacific coast. they were on a tramp one day twelve miles from camp when a heavy fog blew in, and they lost themselves. that is not surprising when you consider the big tree country. two notches and one blaze mark the bounds of the national forests; one notch and one blaze, the trail; but they had gone off the trail trout fishing. "if they had been good path-finders, they could have found the way out by following the stream down," remarked a critic of this little group to me; and a very apt criticism it was from the safe vantage point of a study chair. how about it, if when you came to follow the stream down, it chanced to cut through a gorge you couldn't follow, with such a sheer fall of rock at the sides and such a crisscross of big trees, house-high, that you were driven back from the stream a mile or two? you would keep your directions by sunlight? maybe; but that big tree region is almost impervious to sunlight; and when the fog blows in or the clouds blow down thick as wool, you will need a pocket compass to keep the faintest sense of direction. compass signs of forest-lore fail here. there are few flowers under the dense roofing to give you sense of east or west; and you look in vain for the moss sign on the north bark of the tree. all four sides are heavily mossed; and where the little englishwoman lost herself, they were in ferns to their necks. "weren't the kiddies afraid?" i asked. "not a bit! bob got the trout ready; and son made a big fire. we curled ourselves up round it for the night; and i wish you could have seen the children's delight when the clouds began to roll up below in the morning. it was like a sea. the youngsters had never seen clouds take fire from the sun coming up below. i want to tell you, too, that we put out every spark of that fire before we left in the morning." all of which conveys its own moral for the camper in the national forests. it ought not to be necessary to say that you cannot go to the national forests expecting to billet yourself at the ranger's house. many of the rangers are married and have a houseful of their own. those not married, have no facilities whatever for taking care of you. in my visit to the vasquez forest, i happened to have a letter of introduction to the ranger and his mother, who took me in with that bountiful hospitality characteristic of the frontier; but directly across the road from the ranger's cabin was a little log slab-sided hotel where any comer could have stayed in perfect comfort for $ a week; and at the station, where the train stopped, was another very excellent little hotel where you could have stayed and enjoyed meals that for nutritious cooking might put a new york dinner to shame--all to the tune of $ a week. also, at this very station, is the supervisor's office of the forestry department. by inquiry here, the newcomer can ascertain all facts as to tenting outfit and camping place. only one point must be kept in mind--do not go into the national forests expecting the railroads, or the rangers, or providence, to look after you. do not go unless you are prepared to look after yourself. and now that you are in the national forests, what are you going to do? you can ride; or you can hunt; or you can fish; or you can bathe in the hot springs that dot so many of these intermountain regions, where god has landscaped the playground for a nation; or you can go in for records mountain climbing; or you can go sightseeing in the most marvelously beautiful mountain scenery in the whole world; or you can prowl round the prehistoric cave and cliff dwellings of a race who flourished in mighty power, now solitary and silent cities, contemporaneous with that egyptian desert runner whose skeleton lies in the british museum marked , b. c. it isn't every day you can wander through the deserted chambers of a king's palace with rooms. tourist agencies organize excursion parties for lesser and younger palaces in europe. i haven't heard of any to visit the silent cities of the cliff and cave dwellers on the jemez plateau of new mexico, or the gila river, arizona, or even the easily accessible dead cities of forgotten peoples in the national forest of southern colorado. what race movement in the first place sent these races perching their wonderful tier-on-tier houses literally on the tip-top of the world? the prehistoric remains of the southwest are now, of course, under the jurisdiction of the forestry department; and you can't go digging and delving and carrying relics from the midden heaps and baked earthen floors without the permission of the secretary of agriculture; but if you go in the spirit of an investigator, you will get that permission. * * * * * the question isn't _what is there to do_. it is _which of the countless things there are to do_ are you going to choose to do? when mr. roosevelt goes to the national forests, he strikes for the holy cross mountain and bags a grizzly. when ordinary folk hie to this forest, they take along a bathing suit and indulge in a daily plunge in the hot pools at glenwood springs. if the light is good and the season yet early, you can still see the snow in the crevices of the peak, giving the forest its name of the holy cross. people say there is no historic association to our west. once a foolish phrase is uttered, it is surprising how sensible people will go on repeating it. take this matter of the "holy cross" name. if you go investigating how these "holy cross" peaks got their names from old spanish _padres_ riding their burros into the wilderness, it will take you a hard year's reading just to master the spanish legends alone. then, if you dive into the realm of the cliff dwellers, you will be drowned in historic antiquity before you know. in the glenwood springs region, you will not find the remnants of prehistoric people; but you'll find the hot springs. just two warnings: one as to hunting; the other, as to mountain climbing. there is still big game in colorado forests--bear, mountain sheep, elk, deer; and the ranger is supposed to be a game warden; but a man patrolling , acres can't be all over at one time. as to mountain climbing, you can get your fill of it in grand cañon, above ouray, at pike's peak--a dozen places, and only the mountain climber and his troglodyte cliff-climbing prototype know the drunken, frenzied joy of climbing on the roof of the earth and risking life and limb to stand with the kingdoms of the world at your feet. but unless you are a trained climber, take a guide with you, or the advice of some local man who knows the tricks and the moods and the wiles and the ways of the upper mountain world. looking from the valley up to the peak, a patch of snow may seem no bigger to you than a good-sized table-cloth. look out! if it is steep beneath that "table-cloth" and the forest shows a slope clean-swept of trees as by a mighty broom, be careful how you cross and recross following the zigzag trail that corkscrews up below the far patch of white! i was crossing the continental divide one summer in the west when a woman on the train pointed to a patch of white about ten miles up the mountain slope and asked if "that" were "rock or snow." i told her it was a very large snow field, indeed; that we saw only the forefoot of it hanging over the edge; that the upper part was supposed to be some twenty miles across. she gave me a look meant for mrs. ananias. a month later, when i came back that way, the train suddenly slowed up. the slide had come down and lay in white heaps across the track three or four miles down into the valley and up the other side. the tracks were safe enough; for the snow shed threw the slide over the track on down the slope; but it had caught a cluster of lumbermen's shacks and buried eight people in a sudden and eternal sleep. "we saw it coming," said one of the survivors, "and we thought we had plenty of time. it must have been ten miles away. one of the men went in to get his wife. before he could come out, it was on us. man and wife and child were carried down in the house just as it stood without crushing a timber. it must have been the concussion of the air--they weren't even bruised when we dug them out; but the kid couldn't even have wakened up where it lay in the bed; and the man hadn't reached the inside room; but they were dead, all three." and near ouray another summer, a chance acquaintance pointed to a peak. "that one caught my son last june," he said. "he was the company's doctor. he had been born and raised in these mountains; but it caught him. we knew the june heat had loosened those upper fields; and his wife didn't want him to go; but there was a man sick back up the mountain; and he set out. they saw it coming; but it wasn't any use. it came--quick--" with a snap of his fingers--"as that; and he was gone." it's a saying among all good mountaineers that it's "only the fool who monkeys with a mountain," especially the mountain with a white patch above a clean-swept slope. and there is another thing for the holiday player in the national forests to do; and it is the thing that i like best to do. you have been told so often that you have come to believe it--that our mountains in america lack the human interests; lack the picturesque character and race types dotting the alps, for instance. don't you believe it! go west! there isn't a mountain or a forest from new mexico to idaho that has not its mountaineering votary, its quaint hermit, or its sky-top guide, its refugee from civilization, or simply its lover of god's great outdoors and peace and big silence, living near to the god of the great open as log cabin on a hilltop capped by the stars can bring him. wild creatures of woodland ways don't come to your beck and call. you have to hunt out their secret haunts. the same with these western mountaineers. hunt them out; but do it with reverence! i was driving in the gunnison country with a local magnate two years ago. we saw against the far sky-line a cleft like the arched entrance to a cave; only this arch led through the rock to the sky beyond. "i wish," said my guide, "you had time to spend two or three weeks here. we'd take you to the high country above these battlements and palisades. see that hole in the mountain?" "rough upper alpine meadows?" i asked. "oh, dear no! open park country with lakes and the best of fishing. it used to be an almost impossible trail to get up there; but there has been a hermit fellow there for the last ten years, living in his cabin and hunting; and year after year, never paid by anybody, he has been building that trail up. when men ask him why he does it, he says it's to lead people up; for the glory of god and that sort of thing. of course, the people in the valley think him crazy." of course, they do. what would we, who love the valley and its dust and its maniacal jabber of jealousies and dollars do, building trails to lead people up to see the glory of god? we call those hill-crest dwellers the troglodytes. is it not we, who are the earth dwellers, the dust eaters, the insects of the city ant heaps, the true troglodytes and subsoilers of the sordid iniquities? perhaps, by this, you think there are some things to do if you go out to the national forests. * * * * * you have been told so often that the national forests lock up timber from use that it comes as a surprise as you ride up the woodland trail to hear the song of the crosscut saw and the buzzing hum of a mill--perhaps a dozen mills--running full blast here in this national forest. heaps of sawdust emit the odors of imprisoned flowers. piles of logs lie on all sides stamped at the end u. s.--timber sold on the stump to any lumberman and scaled as inspected by the ranger and paid by the buyer. to be sure, the lumberman cannot have the lumber for nothing; and it was for nothing that the forests were seized and cut under the old régime. how was the spoliation effected? two or three ways. the law of the public domain used to permit burn and windfall to be taken out free. your lumberman, then, homesteaded acres on a slope of forest affording good timber skids and chutes. so far, no wrong! was not public domain open to homesteading? good; but your homesteading lumberman now watched his chance for a high wind away from his claim. then, purely accidentally, you understand, the fire sprang up and swept the entire slope of green forest away from his claim. your homesteading lumberman then set up a sawmill. a fire fanned up a green slope by a high wind did less harm than fire in a slow wind in dry weather. the slope would be left a sweep of desolate burn and windfall, dead trees and spars. your lumberman then went in and took his windfall and his burn free. thousands, hundreds of thousands, millions of acres of the public domain, were rifled free from the public in this way. if challenged, i could give the names of men who became millionaires by lumbering in this manner. that was the principle of congress when it withdrew from public domain these vast wooded areas and created the national forests to include grazing and woodland not properly administered under public domain. the making of windfall to take it free was stopped. the ranger's job is to prevent fires. also he permits the cutting of only ripe, full-grown trees, or dead tops, or growth stunted by crowding; and all timber sold off the forests must be marked for cutting and stamped by the ranger. but the old spirit assumes protean forms. the latest way of working the old trick is through the homestead law. you have been told that homesteaders cannot go in on the national forests. yet there, as you ride along the trail, is a cleared space of acres where a swedish woman and her boys are making hay; and inquiry elicits the fact that millions of acres are yearly homesteaded in the national forests. just as fast as they can be surveyed, all farming lands in the national forests are opened to the homesteader. where, then, is the trick? your farmer man comes in for a homestead and he picks out acres where the growth of big trees is so dense they will yield from $ , to $ , in timber per quarter section. good! hasn't the homesteader a right to this profit? he certainly has, if he gets the profit; but supposing he doesn't clear more than a few hundred feet round his cabin, and hasn't a cent of money to pay the heavy expense of clearing the rest, and sells out at the end of his homesteading for a few hundred dollars? supposing such farmer men are brought in by excursion loads by a certain big lumber company, and all sell out at a few hundred dollars, claims worth millions, to that certain big lumber company--is this true homesteading of free land; or a grabbing of timber for a lumber trust? the same spirit explains the furious outcry that miners are driven off the national forest land. wherever there is genuine metal, prospectors can go in and stake their claims and take lumber for their preliminary operations; but they cannot stake thousands of fictitious claims, then yearly turn over a quarter of a million dollars' worth of timber free to a big smelting trust--a merry game worked in one of the western states for several years till the rangers put a stop to it. to build roads through an empire the size of germany would require larger revenues than the forests yet afford; so the experiment is being tried of permitting lumbermen to take the timber free from the space occupied by a road for the building of the road. when you consider that you can drive a span of horses through the width of a big conifer, or build a cottage of six rooms from a single tree, the reward for road building is not so paltry as it sounds. presently, your pony turns up a by-path. you are at the ranger's cabin,--picturesque to a degree, built of hewn logs or timbers, with slab sides scraped down to the cinnamon brown, nailed on the hewn wood. many an eastern country house built in elaborate and shoddy imitation of town mansion, or prairie home resembling nothing in the world so much as an ugly packing box, might imitate the architecture of the ranger's cabin to the infinite improvement of appearances, not to mention appropriateness. appropriateness! that is the word. it is a forest world; and the ranger tunes the style of his house to the trees around him; log walls, log partitions, log veranda, unbarked log fences, rustic seats, fur rugs, natural stone for entrance steps. in several cases, where the cabin had been built of square hewn timber with tar paper lining, slabs scraped of the loose bark had been nailed diagonally on the outside; and a more suitable finish to a wood hermitage could hardly be devised--surely better than the weathered browns and dirty drabs and peeling whites that you see defacing the average frontier home. naturally enough, city people building cottages as play places have been the first to imitate this woodsy architecture. you see the slab-sided, cinnamon-barked cottages among the city folk who come west to play, and in the lodges of hunting clubs far east as the great lakes. personally i should like to see the contagion spread to the farthest east of city people who are fleeing the cares of town, "back to the land;" but when there are taken to the country all the cares of the city house, a regiment of servants or hostiles, and a mansion of grandeur demanding such care, it seems to me the city man is carrying the woes that he flees "back to the farm." [illustration: pueblo boys at play in the streets of zuñi, new mexico. the dome-like tops on the houses are bake ovens] what sort of men are these young fellows living halfway between heaven and earth on the lonely forested ridges whose nearest neighbors are the snow peaks? each, as stated previously, patrols , acres. that is, over an area of , acres he is a road warden, game warden, timber cruiser, sales agent, united states marshal, forester, gardener, naturalist, trail builder, fire fighter, cattle boss, sheep protector, arrester of thugs, thieves and poachers, surveyor, mine inspector, field man on homestead jobs inside the limits, tree doctor, nurseryman. when you consider that each man's patrol stretched out in a straight line would reach from new york past albany, or from st. paul to duluth, without any of the inaccuracy with which a specialist loves to charge the layman, you may say the ranger is a pretty busy man. what sort of man is he? very much the same type as the canadian northwest mounted policeman, with these differences: he is very much younger. i think there is a regulation somewhere in the department that a new man older than forty-five will not be taken. this insures enthusiasm, weeding out the misfits, the formation of a body of men trained to the work; but i am not sure that it is not a mistake. there is a saying among the men of the north that "it takes a wise old dog to catch a wary old wolf;" and "there are more things in the woods than ever taught in l'pe'tee cat--ee--cheesm." i am not sure that the weathered old dogs, whose catechism has been the woods and the world, with lots of hard knocks, are not better fitted to cope with some of the difficulties of the ranger's life than a double-barreled post-graduate from yale or biltmore. so much depends on fist, and the brain behind the fist. i am quite sure that many of the blackguard tricks assailing the forest service would slink back to unlighted lairs if the tricksters had to deal not with the boys of eastern colleges, gentlemen always, but with some wise and weathered old dog of frontier life who wouldn't consult departmental regulations before showing his fangs. he would consult them, you know; but it would be afterwards. just now, while the rangers are consulting the red tape, the trickster gets away with the goods. in the next place, your forest ranger is not clothed with the authority to back up his fight which the n.w.m.p. man possesses. in theory, your ranger is a united states marshal, just as your mounted policeman is a constable and justice of the peace; but when it comes to practice, where the n.w.m.p. has a free hand on the instant, on the spot, to arrest, try, convict and imprison, the forest ranger is ham-strung and hampered by official red tape. for instance, riding out with a ranger one day, we came on an irate mill man who opened out a fusillade in all the profanity his tongue could borrow. the ranger turned toward me aghast. "don't mind me! let him swear himself out! i want to see for myself exactly what you men have to deal with!" now, if that mill man had used such language to a mounted policeman, he would have been arrested, sentenced to thirty days and a fine, all inside of twenty-four hours. what was it all about? an attempt to bulldoze a young government man into believing that the taking of logs without payment was permissible. "what will you do to straighten it all out?" i asked. "lay a statement of the facts before the district supervisor. the supervisor will forward all to denver. denver will communicate with washington. then, soon as the thing has been investigated, word will come back from washington." investigated? if you know anything about government investigations, you will not stop the clock, as joshua played tricks with the sun dial, to prevent speed. "then, it's a matter of six weeks before you can put decency and respect for law in that gentleman's heart?" i asked. "perhaps longer," said the college man without a suspicion of irony, "and he has given us trouble this way ever since he has come to the forests." "and will continue to give you trouble till the law gives you a free hand to put such blackguards to bed till they learn to be good." "yes, that's right. this isn't the first time men have tried to get away with logs that didn't belong to them. once, when i came back to the first forest where i served, there was a whole pile of logs stamped u. s. that we had never scaled. by the time we could get word back from washington, the guilty party had left the state and blame had been shunted round on a poor half-witted fellow who didn't know what he was doing; but we forced pay for those logs." it is a common saying in the northwest that it takes eight years to make a good mounted policeman--eight years to jounce the duffer out and the man in; but in the forest service, men over forty-five are not taken. for men who serve up to forty-five, the inducements of salary beginning at $ a month and seldom exceeding $ are not sufficient to retain tested veterans. the big lumber companies will pay a trained forester more for the same work on privately owned timber limits; so the rangers remain for the most part young. would the same difficulties rise if wise old dogs were on guard? i hardly think so. * * * * * what manner of man is the ranger? as we sat round the little parlor of the cabin that night in the vasquez forest, an army man turned forester struck up on a piano that had been packed on horseback above cloud-line strains of wagner and beethoven. a graduate of ann arbor and post-graduate of yale played with a cigarette as he gazed at his own fancies through the mica glow of the coal stove. a denver boy, whose mother kept house in the cabin, was chief ranger. in the group was his sister, a teacher in the village school; and i fancy most of the ranger homes present pretty much the same types, though one does not ordinarily expect to hear strains of grand opera above cloud-line. picture the men dressed in sage-green norfolk suits; and you have as rare a scene as scott ever painted of the men in lincoln green in england's borderland forests. of course, there are traitors and spies and judas iscariots in the service with lip loyalty to public weal and one hand out behind for thirty pieces of silver to betray self-government; but under the present régime, such men are not kept when found out, nor shielded when caught. for twenty years, the world has been ringing with praise of the northwest mounted police; but the red-coat men have served their day; and the extension of provincial government will practically disband the force in a few years. right now, in the american west, is a similar picturesque body of frontier fighters and wardens, doing battle against ten times greater odds, with little or no authority to back them up, and under constant fire of slanderous mendacity set going by the thieves and grafters whose game of spoliation has been stopped. let spread-eagleism look at the figures and ponder them, and never forget them, especially never forget them, when charges are being hurled against the forest rangers! _in the single fire of more rangers lost their lives than mounted policemen have died in the service since , when the force was organized._ was it nietzsche, or haeckel, or maeterlinck, or all of them together, who declared that nature's constant aim is to perpetuate and surpass herself? the sponge slipping from vegetable to animal kingdom; the animal grading up to man; man stretching his neck to become--what?--is it spirit, the being of a future world? the tadpole striving for legs and wings, till in the course of the centuries it developed both. the flower flaunting its beauty to attract bee and butterfly that it may perfect its union with alien pollen dust and so perpetuate a species that shall surpass itself. the tree trying to encompass and overcome the law of its own being--fixity--by sending its seeds sailing, whirling, aviating the seas of the air, with wind for pilot to far distant clime. you see it all of a sun-washed morning in a ride or walk through the national forests. you thought the tree was an inanimate thing, didn't you? yet you find john muir and dante clasping hands across the centuries in agreement that the tree is a living, sensate thing, sensate almost as you are; with its seven ages like the seven ages of man; with the same ceaseless struggle to survive, to be fit to survive, to battle up to light and stand in serried rank proud among its peers, drawing life and strength straight from the sun. the storm wind ramps through its thrashing branches; and what do you suppose it is doing? precisely what the storm winds of adversity do to you and me: blowing down the dead leaves, snapping off the dead branches, making us take tighter hold on the verities of the eternal rocks, teaching us to anchor on facts, not fictions, destroying our weakness, strengthening our flabbiness, making us prove our right to be fit to survive. woe betide the tree with rotten heart wood or mushy anchorage! you see its fate with upturned roots still sticky with the useless muck. not so different from us humans with mushy creeds that can't stand fast against the shocks of life! you say all this is so much symbolism; but when the first great cause made the tree as well as the man, is it surprising that the same laws of life should govern both? it is the forester, not the symbolist, who divides the life of the tree into seven ages; just as it is the poet, not the philosopher, who divides the life of man in seven ages; and it needs no maeterlinck, or haeckel, to trace the similarity between the seven ages. seedling, sapling, large sapling, pole, large pole, standard and set--marking the ages of the trees--all have their prototypes in the human. the seedling can grow only under the protecting nursery of earth, air, moisture and in some cases the shade of other trees. the young conifers, for instance, grow best under the protecting nursery of poplars and cottonwoods, as one sees where the fire has run, and the quick growers are already shading the shy evergreens. and there is the same infant mortality among the young trees as in human life. too much shade, fire, drought, passing hoof, disease, blight, weeds out the weaklings up to adolescence. then, the real business of living begins--it is a struggle, a race, a constant contention for the top, for the sunlight and air and peace at the top; and many a grand old tree reaches the top only when ripe for death. others live on their three score years and ten, their centuries, and in the case of the sugar pines and sequoias, their decades of centuries. first comes the self-pruning, the branches shaded by their neighbors dying and dropping off. and what a threshing of arms, of strength against strength, there is in the storm wind, every wrench tightening grip, to the rocks, some trees even sending down extra roots like guy ropes for anchorhold. the tree uncrowded by its fellows shoots up straight as a mast pole, whorl on whorl of its branches spelling its years in a century census. it is the crowded trees that show their almost human craft, their instinct of will to live--cork-screwing sidewise for light, forking into two branches where one branch is broken or shaded, twisting and bending, ever seeking the light, and spreading out only when they reach room for shoulder swing at the top, with such a mechanism of pumping machinery to hoist barrels of water up from secret springs in the earth as man has not devised for his own use. and now, when the crown has widened out to sun and air, it stops growing and bears its seeds--seeds shaped like parachutes and canoes and sails and wings, to overcome the law of its own fixity--life striving to surpass itself, as the symbolists and the scientists say, though symbolist and scientist would break each other's heads if you suggested that they both preach the very same thing. and a lost tree is like a lost life; utter loss, bootless waste. you see it in the bleached skeleton spars of the dead forest where the burn has run. you see it where the wasteful lumberman has come cutting half-growns and leaving stumps of full-growns three or four feet high with piles of dry slash to carry the first chance spark. the leaf litter here would have enriched the soil and the waste slash would keep the poor of an eastern city in fuel. once, at a public meeting, i happened to mention the ranger's rule that stumps must be cut no higher than eighteen inches, and the fact that in the big tree region of the rocky mountains many stumps are left three and four feet high. someone took smiling exception to the height of those stumps. yet in the redwood and douglas fir country stumps are cut, not four feet, but nine feet high, leaving waste enough to build a small house. and it will take not a hundred, not two hundred, but a thousand years, to bring up a second growth of such trees. * * * * * sitting down to dinner at a little mountain inn, i noticed only two families besides ourselves; and they were residents of the mountain. i thought of those hotels back in the cities daily turning away health seekers. "how is it you haven't more people here, when the cities can't take care of all the people who come?" i asked the woman of the house. "people don't seem to know about the national forests," she said. "they think the forests are only places for lumber and mills." chapter iii through the pecos national forests of new mexico the ordinary easterner's idea of new mexico is of a cloudless, sun-scorched land where you can cook an egg by laying it on the sand any day in the year, winter or summer. yet when i went into the pecos national forest, i put on the heaviest flannels i have ever worn in northernmost canada and found them inadequate. we were blocked by four feet of snow on the trail; and one morning i had to break the ice in my bedroom pitcher to get washing water. to be sure, it is hot enough in new mexico at all seasons of the year; and you can cook that egg all right if you keep down on the desert sands of the southern lowlands and mesas; but new mexico isn't all scorched lowlands and burnt-up mesas. you'll find your egg in cold storage if you go into the different national forests, for most of them lie above an altitude of , feet; and at the headwaters of the pecos, you are between , and , feet high, according as you camp on baldy pecos, or the truchas, or grass mountain, or in horse-thief cañon. there are several other ways in which the national forests of new mexico discount eastern expectation. first of all, they are cheap; and that is not true of the majority of trips through the west. ordinarily, it costs more to take a trip to the wilds of the west than to go to europe. what with enormous distances to be traversed and extortionate hotel charges, it is much cheaper to go to paris than to san francisco; but this is not true of the forests of new mexico. prices have not yet been jacked up to "all the traffic will stand." the constant half-hour leak of tips at every turn is unknown. if you gave a tip to any of the ranch people who take care of you in the national forests of mexico, the chances are they would hand it back, leaving you a good deal smaller than you feel when you run the gauntlet of forty servitors lined up in a continental hotel for tips. in letters of gold, let it be written across the face of the heavens--_there is still a no-tip land._ as prices rule to-day in new mexico, you can literally take a holiday cheaper in the national forests than you can stay at home. once you have reached the getting off place from the transcontinental railroad, it will cost you to go into the forests $ an hour by motor, and the roads are good enough to make a long trip fast. in fact, you can set down the cost of going in and out at not less than $ , nor more than $ . if you hire a team to go in, it will not cost you more than $ a day, including driver, driver's meals and horse feed. or you may still buy a pony in new mexico at from $ to $ , and so have your own horse for a six weeks' holiday. to rent a horse by the month would probably not cost $ . set your going in charges down at $ --where will you go? all through the national forests of new mexico are ranch houses, usually old mexican establishments taken over and modernized, where you can board at from $ to $ a week. don't picture to yourself an adobe dwelling with a wash basin at the back door and a roller towel that has been too popular; that day has been long passed in the ranches of new mexico. the chances are the adobe has been whitewashed, and your room will look out either on the little courtyard in the center, or from the piazza outside down the valleys; and somewhere along the courtyard or piazza facing the valley will be a modern bathroom with hot and cold water. the dining-room and living-room will be after the style of the old franciscan mission architecture that dominates all the architecture of the southwest--conical arches opening from one room into another, shut off, perhaps, by a wicket gate. many of the ranch houses are flanked by dozens of little portable, one-roomed bungalows, tar-paper roof, shingle wainscot, and either white tenting or mosquito wire halfway up; and this is by all odds the best type of room for the health seeker who goes to new mexico. he endangers neither himself nor others by housing close to neighbors. in fact, the number of health seekers living in such little portable boxes has become so great in new mexico that they are locally known as "tent-dwellers." it need scarcely be said that there are dozens and dozens of ranch houses that will not take tuberculous patients; so there is no danger to ordinary comers seeking a holiday in the national forests. on the other hand, there is no hardship worked on the invalid. for a sum varying from $ to $ , he can buy his own ready-made, portable house; and arrangements can easily be made for sending in meals. [illustration: chili peppers drying outside pueblo dwelling. the structure of sticks on the roof is a cage where an eagle is kept for its feathers, which are used in religious rites] the next surprise about the national forests of new mexico is the excellence of roads and trails. you can go into the very heart of _most_ of the forests by motor, of _all_ of the forests by team (be sure to hire a strong wagon); and you can ride almost to the last lap of the highest peaks along bridle trails that are easy to the veriest beginner. in the pecos forest are five or six hundred miles of such trails cut by the rangers as their patrol route; and new mexico has for some seasons been cutting a graded wagon road clear across the ridges of two mountain ranges, a great scenic highway from santa fe to las vegas, from eight to ten thousand feet above sea level. one of the most marvelous roads in the world it will be when it is finished, skirting inaccessible cañons, shy alpine lakes and the eternal snows all through such a forest of huge mast pole yellow pine as might be the park domain of some old baronial lord on the rhine. this road is now built halfway from each end. it is not clear of snow at the highest points till well on to the end of may; but you can enter the pecos at any season at right angles to this road, going up the cañon from south to north. the great surprise in the national forests of new mexico is the great plenitude of game; and i suppose the pecos of new mexico and the white mountains of arizona are the only sections of america of which this can still be said. in two hours, you can pull out of the pecos more trout than your entire camp can eat in two days. wild turkey and quail still abound. mountain lion and wildcat are still so frequent that they constitute a peril to the deer, and the forest service actually needs hunters to clear them out for preservation of the turkey and deer. as for bear, as many as eight have been trapped in three weeks on the sangre de christo range. in one of the cañons forking off the pecos at right angles, twenty-six were trapped and shot in three months. lastly, the mountain cañons of new mexico are second in grandeur to none in the world. people here have not caught the climbing mania yet; that will come. but there are snow peaks of , feet yet awaiting the conqueror, and the scenery of the upper pecos might be a section of the alps or canadian rockies set bodily down in new mexico. and please to remember--with all these advantages, cheapness, good accommodation, excellent trails and abundance of game--these national forests of new mexico are only one day from kansas city, only two days from chicago, only sixty hours from new york or washington, which seems to prove that the national forests are as much a possession to the east as to the west. you can strike into the pecos in one of three ways: by santa fe, by las vegas, or by glorieta, all on the main line of the railroad. i entered by way of glorieta because snow still packed the upper portions of the scenic highway from santa fe and las vegas. as the train pants up over the arid hills, , , , , , feet, you would never guess that just behind these knolls of scrub pine and juniper, the foothills rolling back to the mountains, whose snow peaks you can see on the blue horizon, present a heavy growth of park-like yellow pine forests--trees eighty to feet high, straight as a mast, clear of under-branching and underbrush, interspersed with cedar and juniper and engelmann spruce. ten years ago, before the pecos was taken in the national forests, goats and sheep ate these young pine seedlings down to the ground; but of late, herds have been permitted only where the seedlings have made headway enough to resist trampling, and thousands of acres are growing up to seedling yellow pines as regular and thrifty as if set out by nurserymen. in all, the pecos forest includes some , acres; and in addition to natural seeding, the forest men are yearly harrowing in five or six hundred acres of yellow pine; so that in twenty-five years this forest is likely to be more densely wooded than in its primeval state. the train dumps you off at glorieta, a little adobe mexican town hedged in by the arid foothills, with ten-acre farm patches along the valley stream, of wonderfully rich soil, every acre under the ditch, a homemade system of irrigation which dates back to indian days when the spanish first came in the fifteen hundreds and found the same little checkerboard farm patches under the same primitive ditch system. a glance tells you that nearly all these peon farms are goat ranches. the goats scrabble up over the hills; and on the valley fields the farmer raises corn and oats enough to support his family and his stock. we, in the east, who pay from $ to $ for a horse, and twenty to thirty cents a pound for our meat, open our eyes wide with wonder when we learn that horses can still be bought here for from $ to $ and meat at $ a sheep. to be sure, this means that the peon mexican farmer does not wax opulent, but he does not want to wax opulent; $ or $ a year keeps him better than $ or $ , would keep you; and a happier looking lot of people you never saw than these swarthy descendants of old spain still plowing with single horse wooden plows, with nothing better for a barn than a few sticks stuck up with a wattle roof. then suddenly, it dawns on you--this is not america at all. it is a bit of old spain picked up three centuries ago and set down here in the wilderness of new mexico, with a sprinkling of outsiders seeking health, and a sprinkling of nondescripts seeking doors in and out of mischief. the children in bright red and blue prints playing out squat in the fresh-plowed furrows, the women with red shawls over heads, brighter skirts tucked up, sprawling round the adobe house doorways, the goats bleating on the red sand hills--all complete the illusion that you have waked up in some picturesque nook of old spain. what quebec is to canada, new mexico is to the united states--a mosaic in color; a bit of the old world set down in the new; a relic of the historic and the picturesque not yet sandpapered into the commonplace by the friction of progress and democracy. i confess i am glad of it. i am glad there are still two nooks in america where simple folk are happy just to be alive, undisturbed by the "over-weaning ambition that over-vaulteth itself" and falls back in social envy and class hate. "our people, no, they are not ambish!" said an old mexican to me. "dey do not wish wealfth--no--we have dis," pointing to all his own earthly belongings in the little whitewashed adobe room, "and now i will read you a little poem i make on de snow mountains. hah! iss not dis good?" "mighty good," though i was not thinking of the poem. i was thinking of the spirit that is contented enough to _see_ poetry in the great white mountains through the door of a little whitewashed adobe room; and in this case, it was a sick room. presently, he got up out of his bed, and donned an old military cape, and came out in the sunlight to have me photograph him, so that his friends would have it _after_. * * * * * having reached glorieta, you have decided which of the many ranch houses in the pecos forest you will stay at; or if you have not decided, a few words of inquiry with the station agent or a forest service man will put you wise; and you telephone in for rig or motor to come out for you. any normal traveler does not need to be told that these ranch houses are not regular boarding houses as you understand that term; but as a great many travelers are not normal, perhaps i should explain. the custom of taking strangers has arisen from those old days when there were no inns and all passers-by were given beds and meals as a matter of course. those days are past, but luckily for outsiders, the custom survives; only remember while you pay, you go as a _guest_, and must not expect a valet to clean your boots and to quake at any discord of nerves untuned by the jar of town. in half an hour after leaving the transcontinental train, we were spinning out by motor to the well-known harrison ranch, the rolling, earth-baked hills gradually rising, the forest growth thickening, the little checkerboard farms taking on more and more the appearance of settlement than on the desert which the railroads traverse. presently, at an elevation of , feet; we pulled up in pecos town before the long, low, whitewashed ranch house, the two ends coming back in an l round the court, the main entrance on the other side of it. you expected to find wilderness. well, there is an upright piano, and there is a gramophone with latest musical records, and close by the davenport where hangs a grizzly bear pelt, stands a banjo. you have scarcely got travel togs off before dinner is sounded by the big copper ranch bell hung on the piazza after the fashion of the missions. after dinner, you go over to the supervisor's office for advice on going up the cañon. technically, this is not necessary; but it is wise for a great many reasons. he will tell you where to get, and what to pay for, your camp outfit; where to go and how to go. he will show you a map with the leading trails and advise you as to the next stopping place. to hunt predatory animals--bear and wolf and cat and mountain lion--you need no permit; but if you are an outsider, you need one to get trout and turkey and deer. another point: are you aware that you are going into a country as large as two or three of the eastern states put together; and that the forests in the upper cañons are very dense; and that you might get lost; and that it is a good thing to leave somebody on the outside edge who knows where you have gone? on my way back from the supervisor's office, the sick man called me in and told me his life story and showed me his poem. as he is a mexican, has been a delegate to the constitutional convention and is somewhat of a politician, it may be worth while setting down his views. "what is going to happen in old mexico?" "ah, only one t'ing possible--los americanos must go in." "why?" "well," with a shrug, "diaz cannot--cannot control. madero, he cannot control better dan diaz. los americanos must go in." it is a bit of a surprise to find in this little pecos town of adobe huts set down higgledy-piggledy a tiny stone church with stained glass windows, a little gem in a wilderness. i slipped through the doors and sat watching the sunset through the colored windows and dreaming of the devotees whose ideals had been built into the stones of these quiet walls. three miles lower down the valley is a still older church built in--well, they tell you all the way from and to . i dare say the middle date is the nearest right. at all events, the bronze bell of this old ruin dated before ; and when preparations were under way for the chicago world's fair, these old mission bells were so much in demand that the prices went up to $ ; and the mexicans of pecos were so fearful of the desecrating thief that they carried this ancient bell away and buried it in the mountains--where, no man knows: it has never since been found. you have been told so often that the mountains of america lack human and historic interest that you have almost come to believe it. does all this sound like lack of human interest? yet it is most of it , feet above sea level, and much of it on the top of the snow peaks between ten and thirteen thousand feet up. * * * * * at eight o'clock tuesday, april , i set out up the cañon with a span of stout, heavy horses, an exceptionally strong democrat wagon, and a very careful mexican driver. to those who know mountain travel, i do not need to describe the trails up pecos cañon. i consider it a safer road than broadway, new york, or piccadilly, london; but people from broadway or piccadilly might not consider it so. it isn't a trail for a motor car, though the scenic highway cutting this at right angles will be when it is finished; and it isn't a trail for a fool. the pedestrian who jumps forward and then back in dodging motors on broadway, might turn several somersaults down this trail if trying experiments in the way of jumping. the trail is just the width of the wagon, and it clings to the mountain side above the brawling waters in pecos cañon, now down on a level with the torrent, now high up edging round ramparts of rock sheer as a wall. you load your wagon the heavier on the inner side both going and coming; and you sit with your weight on the inner side; and the driver keeps the brakes pretty well jammed down on sharp in-curves and the horses headed close in to the wall. with care, there is no danger whatever. lumber teams traverse the road every day. with carelessness--well, last summer a rig and span and four occupants went over the edge head first: nobody hurt, as the steep slope is heavily wooded and you can't slide far. ranch after ranch you pass with the little portable houses for "the tent dwellers;" and let it be emphasized that well folk must be careful how they go into quarters which tuberculous patients have had. carry your own collapsible drinking cup. cabins and camps of city people from texas, from the pacific coast, from europe, dot the level knolls where the big pines stand like sentinels, and the rocks shade from wind and heat, and the eddying brook encircles natural lawn in trout pools and miniature waterfalls. wherever the cañon widens to little fields, the mexican farmer's adobe hut stands by the roadside with an intake ditch to irrigate the farm. the road corkscrews up and up, in and out, round rock flank and rampart and battlement, where the cañon forks to right and left up other forested cañons, many of which, save for the hunter, have never known human tread. straight ahead north there, as you dodge round the rocky abutments crisscrossing the stream at a dozen fords, loom walls and domes of snow, baldy pecos, a great ridge of white, the two truchas peaks going up in sharp summits. the road is called twenty miles as the crow flies; but this is not a trail as the crow flies. you are zigzagging back on your own track a dozen places; and there is no lie as big as the length of a mile in the mountains, especially when the wheels go over stones half their own size. where the snow peaks rear their summits is the head of pecos cañon--a sort of snow top to the sides of a triangle, the santa fe range shutting off the left on the west, the las vegas or sangre de christo mountains walling in the right on the east. i know of nothing like it for grandeur in america except the rockies round laggan in canada. [illustration: the pueblo of taos, where the houses are practically communal dwellings five stories in height] i had put on heaviest flannels in the morning; and now donned in addition a cowboy slicker and was cold--this in a land where the easterner thinks you can sizzle eggs by laying them on the sand. an old mexican jumps into the front seat with the driver near a deserted mining camp, and the two sing snatches of spanish songs as we ascend the cañon. promptly at twelve, tomaso turns back and asks me the time. when i say it is dinner, he digs out of his box a paper of soda biscuits and asks me to "have a crack." to reciprocate that kindness, i loan him my collapsible drinking cup to go down to the cañon for some water. tomaso's courtesy is not to be outdone. after using, he dries that cup off with an ancient bandana, which i am quite sure has been used for ten years; but fortunately he does not offer me a drink. winsor's ranch marks the end of the wagon road up the cañon. from this point, travel must be on foot or horseback; and though the snow peaks seem to wall in the north, they are really fifteen miles away with a dozen cañons heavily forested like fields of wheat between you and them. in fact, if you followed up any of these side cañons, you would find them, too, dotted with ranch houses; but beyond them, upper reaches yet untrod. up to the right, above a grove of white aspens straight and slender as a bamboo forest, is a rounded, almost bare lookout peak , feet high known as grass mountain. we zigzag up the lazy switchback trail, past the ranger's log cabin, past a hunting lodge of some texas club, through the fenced ranch fields of some new york health seekers come to this , feet altitude horse ranching; and that brings up another important feature of the "tent dwellers" in new mexico. there is nothing worse for the consumptive than idle time to brood over his own depression. if he can combine outdoor sleeping and outdoor living and twelve hours of sunshine in a climate of pure ozone with an easy occupation, conditions are almost ideal for recovery; and that is what thousands are doing--combining light farming, ranching, or fruit growing with the search for health. we passed the invalid's camp chair on this ranch where "broncho breaking" had been in progress. grass mountain is used as a lookout station for fires on the upper pecos. the world literally lies at your feet. you have all the exaltation of the mountain climber without the travail and labor; for the rangers have cut an easy trail up the ridge; and you stand with the snow wall of the peaks on your north, the crumpled, purpling masses of the santa fe range across the pecos cañon, and the whole pecos valley below you. not a fire can start up for a hundred miles but the mushroom cone of smoke is visible from grass mountain and the rangers spur to the work of putting the fire out. though thousands of outsiders camp and hunt in pecos cañon every year, not $ loss has occurred through fire; and the fire patrol costs less than $ a year. the "why" of this compared to the fire-swept regions of idaho is simply a matter of trails. the rangers have cut five or six hundred miles of trails all through the pecos, along which they can spur at breakneck speed to put out fires. in idaho and washington, thanks to the petty spites of local congressmen and senators, the service has been so crippled by lack of funds that fewer trails have been cut through that heavy northwest timber; and men cannot get out on the ground soon enough to stop the fire while it is small. so harshly has the small-minded policy of penuriousness reacted on the service in the northwest that last year the rangers had to take up a subscription among themselves to bury the men who perished fighting fire. pecos service, too, had its struggle against spite and incendiarism in the old days; but that is a story long past; and to-day, pecos stands as an example of what good trail making will do to prevent fires. we walked across the almost flat table of grass mountain and looked down the east side into the las vegas cañon. four feet of snow still clung to the east side of grass mountain, almost a straight precipice; and across the forested valley lay another ten or twelve feet of snow on the upper peaks of the sangre de christo range. a pretty legend clings to that sangre de christo range; and because people repeat the foolish statement that america's mountains lack legend and lore, i shall repeat it, though it is so very old. the holy _padre_ was jogging along on his mule one night leading his little pack burro behind, but so deeply lost in his vesper thoughts that he forgot time and place. suddenly, the mule stopped midway in the trail. the holy father looked up suddenly from his book of devotions. the rose-tinted afterglow of an alpine sunset lay on the glistening snows of the great silent range. he muttered an _ave maria_; "praise be god," he said; "for the blood of christ;" and as sangre de christo the great white ridge has been known ever since. chapter iv the city of the dead in frijoles caÑon i am sitting in one of the caves of the stone age. this is not fiction but fact. i am not speculating as to _how_ those folk of neolithic times lived. i am writing in one of the cliff houses _where_ they lived, sitting on the floor with my feet resting on the steps of an entrance stone stairway worn hip-deep through the volcanic rock by the moccasined tread of æons of ages. through the cave door, looking for all the world from the outside like a pigeon box, i can see on the floor of the valley a community house of hundreds of rooms, and a sacred _kiva_ or ceremonial chamber where gods of fire and water were invoked, and a circular stone floor where men and women danced the may-pole before julius cæsar was born, before--if egyptian archæologists be correct--the dynasties of the nile erected pyramid and sphinx to commemorate their own oblivion. to my right and left for miles--for twelve miles, to be correct--are thousands of such cave houses against the face of the cliff, as the one in which i now write. boxed up by the snow-covered jemez (hamez) mountains at one end, with a black basalt gash in the rock at the other end through which roars a mountain torrent and waterfalls too narrow for two men to walk abreast, with vertical walls of yellow pumice straight up and down as if leveled by a giant trowel, in this valley of the frijoles waters once dwelt a nation, dead and gone before the spaniards came to america, vanished leaving not the shadow of a record behind long before william the conqueror crossed to england, contemporaneous, perhaps--for all science knows to the contrary--with that , b.c. egyptian desert runner lying in the british museum. lying in my tent camp last night listening to coyote and fox barking and to owls hooting from the dead silent city of the yellow cliff wall, i fell to wondering on this puzzle of archæologist and historian--what desolated these bygone nations? the theory of desiccation, or drought, so plausible elsewhere, doesn't hold for one minute when you are here on the spot; for there is the mountain brook brawling through the valley not five minutes' scramble from any one of these caves; and there on the far western sky-line are the snows of the jemez mountains, which must have fed this brook since this part of the earth began. was it war, or pestilence, or captivity, that made of the populous city a den of wolves, a resort for hoot owl and bittern and fox? if pestilence, then why are the skeletons not found in the great ossuaries and masses that mark the pestilential destruction of other indian races? there remain only the alternatives of war, or captivity; and of either, not the vestige of a shadow of a tradition remains. one man's guess is as good as another's; and the scientist's guesses vary all the way from , b. c. to a. d. so there you are! you have as good a right to a guess as the highest scientist of them all; and while i refrain from speculation, i want to put on record the definite, provable fact that these people of the stone age were not the gibbering, monkey-tailed maniacs of claw finger nails and simian jaw which the half-baked pseudo-evolutionist loves to picture of stone age denizens. as jack donovan, a character working at judge abbott's in the valley said--"sure, monkey men wud a' had a haard time scratchin' thro' thim cliffs and makin' thim holes in the rocks." remnants of shard and pottery, structure of houses, decorations and woven cloths and skins found wrapped as cerements round the dead all prove that these men were a sedentary and for that age civilized people. when our celt and saxon ancestors were still chasing wild boars through the forests, these people were cultivating corn on the upper and lower mesas. when imperial rome's common populace boasted few garments but the ones in which they had been born, these people were wearing a cloth woven of fiber and rushes. when european courts trod the stately over floors of filthy rushes, these cliff dwellers had flooring of plaster and cement, and rugs of beaver and wolf and bear. all this you can see with your own eyes by examining the caves and skeletons of the jemez forests; and the fine glaze of the beautiful pottery work is as lost an art as the pigments of old italy. * * * * * as you go into the pecos forests to play, so you go into the jemez to dream. you go to pecos to hunt and fish. so you do to the jemez; but it is historic fact you are hunting and a reconstruction of the record of man you are fishing for. as the pecos forests appeal to the strenuous holiday hunter--the man who considers he has not had his fun till he has broken a leg killing a bear, or stood mid-waist in snow-water stringing fish on a line like beads on a string--so the jemez appeals to the dreamer, the scholar, the scientist, the artist; and i can imagine no more ideal (nor cheaper) holiday than to join the american school of archæology, about which i have already spoken, that comes in here with scientists from every quarter of the world every midsummer to camp, and dig, and delve, and revel in the past of moonlight nights round campfires before retiring to sleeping quarters in the caves along the face of the cliff. the school has been a going concern for only a few years. yet last year over scientists came in from every quarter of the globe. spite of warnings to the contrary given to me both east and west, the trip to the jemez is one of the easiest and cheapest you can make in america. you strike in from santa fe; and right here, let me set down as emphatically as possible, two or three things pleasant and unpleasant about santa fe. first, it is the most picturesque and antique spot in america, not excepting quebec. color, age, leisure; a medley of races; sand-hills engirt by snow sky-line for eighty miles; the honking of a motor blending with the braying of a mexican burro trotting to market loaded out of sight under a wood pile; old spain and new america; streets with less system and order about them than an ant hill, with a modern woman's board of trade that will make you mind your p's and q's and toe the sanitary scratch if you are apt to be slack; the chimes, and chimes and chimes yet again of old catholic churches right across from a wild west show where a throaty band is screeching yankee-doodle; little adobe houses where i never quite know whether i am entering by the front door or the back; the palace where lew wallace wrote ben hur, and eighty governors of three different nationalities preceded him, and where the archæological society has its rooms with lotave's beautiful mural paintings of the cliff dwellers, and where the historical society has neither room nor money enough to do what it ought in a region that is such a mine of history. such is santa fe; the only bit of europe set down in america; i venture to say the only picturesque spot in america, yet undiscovered by the jaded globe-trotter. [illustration: above this entrance to a cliff dwelling in the jemez forest are drawings by the prehistoric inhabitants] second, i want to put on record that santa fe should be black ashamed of itself for hiding its light under a bushel. ask a santa fe man why in the world, with all its attraction of the picturesque, the antique, the snowy mountains, and the weak-lunged one's ideal climate, it has so few tourists; and he answers you with a depreciatory shrug that "it's off the main line." "off the main line?" so is quebec off the main line; yet , americans a year see it. so is yosemite off the main line; and , people go out to it every year. i have never heard that the nile and the pyramids and the sphinx were on the main line; yet foreigners yearly reap a fortune catering to visiting americans. personally, it is a delight to me to visit a place untrodden by the jaded globe-trotter, for i am one myself; but whether it is laziness that prevents santa fe blowing its own horn, or the old exclusive air bequeathed to it by the grand dons of spain that is averse to sounding the brass band, i love the appealing, picturesque, inert laziness of it all; but i love better to ask: "why go to egypt, when you have the wonders of an egypt unexplored in your own land? why scour the crowded alps when the snowy domes of the santa fe and jemez and sangre de christo lie unexplored only an easy motor ride from your hotel?" if santa fe, as it is, were known to the big general public, , tourists a year would find delight within its purlieus; and while i like the places untrodden by travelers, still--being an outsider, myself,--i should like the outsiders to know the same delight santa fe has given me. to finish with the things of the mundane, you strike in to santa fe from a desolate little junction called lamy, where the railroad has built a picturesque little doll's house of a hotel after the fashion of an old spanish mansion. to reach the jemez forests where the ruins of the cave dwellers exist, you can drive or motor (to certain sections only) or ride. as the distance is forty miles plus, you will find it safer and more comfortable to drive. if you take a driver and a team, and keep both over two days, it will cost you from $ to $ for the round trip. if you go in on a burro, you can buy the burro outright for $ or $ . (don't mind if your feet do drag on the ground. it will save being pitched.) if you go out with the american school of archæology (address santa fe for particulars) your transportation will cost you still less, perhaps not $ . once out, in the cañons of the cave dwellers, you can either camp out with your own tenting and food; or put up at judge abbott's hospitable ranch house; or quarter yourself free of charge in one of the thousands of cliff caves and cook your own food; or sleep in the caves and pay for your meals at the ranch. at most, your living expenses will not exceed $ a day. if you do your own cooking, they need not be $ a day. one of the stock excuses for americans not seeing their own country is that the cost is so extortionate. does this sound extortionate? * * * * * i drove out by livery because i was not sure how else to find the way. we left santa fe at six a. m., the clouds still tingeing the sand-hills. i have heard eastern art critics say that artists of the southwest laid on their colors too strongly contrasted, too glaring, too much brick red and yellow ocher and purple. i wish such critics had driven out with me that morning from santa fe. gregoire pedilla, the mexican driver, grew quite concerned at my silence and ran off a string of good-natured nonsense to entertain me; and all the while, i wanted nothing but quiet to revel in the intoxication of shifting color. twenty miles more or less, we rattled over the sand-hills before we began to climb in earnest; and in that time we had crossed the muddy, swirling rio grande and left the railroad behind and passed a deserted lumber camp and met only two mexican teams on the way. from below, the trail up looks appalling. it seems to be an ash shelf in pumice-stone doubling back and back on itself, up and up, till it drops over the top of the sky-line; but the seeming riskiness is entirely deceptive. travel wears the soft volcanic _tufa_ hub deep in ash dust, so that the wheels could not slide off if they tried; and once you are really on the climb, the ascent is much more gradual than it looks. in fact, our horses took it at a trot without urging. a certain scriptural dame came to permanent grief from a habit of looking back; but you will miss half the joy of going up to the pajarito plateau if you do not look back towards santa fe. the town is hidden in the sand-hills. the wreaths have gone off the mountain, and the great white domes stand out from the sky for a distance of eighty miles plain as if at your feet, with the gashes of purple and lilac where the passes cut into the range. then your horses take their last turn and you are on top of a foothill mesa and see quite plainly why you have to drive miles in order to go . here, white rock cañon lines both sides of the rio grande--precipices steep and sheer as walls, cut sharp off at the top as a huge square block; and coming into this cañon at right angles are the cañons where lived the ancient cliff dwellers--some of them hundreds of feet above the rio grande, with opening barely wide enough to let the mountain streams fall through. to reach these inaccessible cañons, you must drive up over the mesa, though the driver takes you from eight to ten thousand feet up and down again over cliffs like a stair. we lunched in a little water cañon, which gashed the mesa side where a mountain stream came down. such a camping place in a dry land is not to be passed within two hours of lunching time, for in some parts of the southwest many of the streams are alkali; and a stream from the snows is better than wine. beyond our lunching place came the real reason for this particular cañon being inaccessible to motors--a climb steep as a stair over a road of rough bowlders with sharp climbing turns, which only a western horse can take. then, we emerged on the high upper mesa--acres and acres of it, thousands of acres of it, open like a park but shaded by the stately yellow pine, and all of it above ordinary cloud-line, still girt by that snowy range of opal peaks beyond. we followed the trail at a rattling pace--the archæological school had placed signs on the trees to frijoles cañon--and presently, by great mounds of building stone covered feet deep by the dust and débris of ages, became aware that we were on historic ground. nor can the theory of drought explain the abandonment of this mesa. while it rains heavily only two months in the year--july and august--the mesa is so high that it is subject to sprinkling rains all months of the year; to be sure not enough for springs, but ample to provide forage and grow corn; and for water, these sky-top dwellers had access to the water cañons both before and behind. what hunting ground it must have been in those old days! even yet you are likely to meet a flock of wild turkey face to face; or see a mountain lion slink away, or hear the bark of coyote and fox. "is this it, gregoire?" i asked. the mound seemed irregularly to cover several acres--pretty extensive remains, i thought. "ah, no--no señorita--wait," warned gregoire expectantly. i had not to wait long. the wagon road suddenly broke off short and plumb as if you tossed a biscuit over the edge of the flatiron roof. i got out and looked down and then--went dumb! afterwards, mrs. judge abbott told me they thought i was afraid to come down. it wasn't that! the thing so far surpassed anything i had ever dreamed or seen; and the color--well--those artists accused of over-coloration could not have over-colored if they had tried. pigments have not been invented that could do it! picture to yourself two precipices three times the height of niagara, three times the height of the metropolitan tower, sheer as a wall of blocked yellow and red masonry, no wider apart than you can shout across, ending in the snows of the jemez to the right, shut in black basalt walls to the left, forested with the heavy pines to the very edge and down the blocky tiers of rocks and escarpments running into blind angles where rain and sun have dyed the terra cotta pumice blood-red. and picture the face of the cliff under your feet, the sides of the massive rocks eroded to the shapes of tents and tepees and beehives, pigeon-holed by literally thousands of windows and doors and arched caves and winding recess and portholes--a city of the dead, silent as the dead, old almost as time! the wind came soughing up the cañon with the sound of the sea. the note of a lonely song sparrow broke the silence in a stab. somewhere, down among the tender green, lining the cañon stream, a mourning dove uttered her sad threnody--then, silence and the soughing wind; then, more silence; then, if i had done what i wanted to, i would have sat down on the edge of the cañon wall and let the palpable past come touching me out of the silence. a community house of some hundreds of rooms lay directly under me in the floor of the valley. this was once a populous city twelve miles long, a city of one long street, with the houses tier on tier above each other, reached by ladders, and steps worn hip-deep in the stone. where had the people gone; and why? what swept their civilization away? when did the age-old silence fall? seven thousand people do not leave the city of their building and choice, of their loves and their hates, and their wooing and their weddings, of their birth and their deaths--do not leave without good reason. what was the reason? what gave this place of beauty and security and thrift over to the habitation of bat and wolf? why did the dead race go? did they flee panic-stricken, pursued like deer by the apache and the ute and the navajo? or were they marched out captives, weeping? or did they fall by the pestilence? answer who can! your guess is as good as mine! but there is the sacred ceremonial underground chamber where they worshiped the sacred fire and the plumed serpent, guardian of the springs; where the young boys were taken at time of manhood and instructed in virtue and courage and endurance and cleanliness and reticence. "if thou art stricken, die like the deer with a silent throat," says the adage of the modern pueblo indian. "when the foolish speak, keep thou silent." "when thou goest on the trail, carry only a light blanket." good talk, all of it, for young boys coming to realize themselves and life! and there farther down the valley is the stone circle or dancing floor where the people came down from their cliff to make merry and express in rhythm the emotions which other nations express in poetry and music. the whole city must have been the grandstand when the dancing took place down there. it was gregoire who called me to myself. "we cannot take the wagon down there," he said. "no wagon has ever gone down here. you walk down slow and i come with the horses, one by one." it sounded a good deal easier than it looked. i haven't seen a steeper stair; and if you imagine five ladders trucked up zigzag against the flatiron building and the flatiron building three times higher than it is, you'll have an idea of the appearance of the situation; but it looked a great deal harder than it really was, and the trail has since been improved. the little steps cut in the volcanic _tufa_ or white pumice are soft and offer a grip to foothold. they grit to your footstep and do not slide like granite and basalt, though if new mexico wants to make this wonderful frijoles cañon accessible to the public, or if the archæological school can raise the means and coöperate with the forestry service trail makers, a broad graded wagon road should be cut down the face of this cañon, graded gradually enough for a motor. the day that is done, visitors will number not a year but , ; for nothing more exquisitely beautiful and wonderful exists in america. it seems almost incredible that judge and mrs. abbott have brought down this narrow, steep tier of steps all the building material, all the furniture, and all the farm implements for their charming ranch place; but there the materials are and there is no other trail in but one still less accessible. that afternoon, mrs. abbott and i wandered up the valley two or three miles and visited the high arched ceremonial cave hundreds of feet up the face of the precipice. the cave was first discovered by judge and mrs. abbott on one of their sunday afternoon walks. the archæological school under dr. hewitt cleared out the débris and accumulated erosion of centuries and put the ceremonial chamber in its original condition. "restoring the ruins" does not mean "manufacturing ruins." it means digging out the erosion that has washed and washed for thousands of years down the hillsides during the annual rains. all the caves have been originally plastered in a sort of terra cotta or ocher stucco. when that is reached and the charred wooden beams of the smoked, arched ceilings, restoration stops. the aim is to put the caves as they were when the people abandoned them. on the floors is a sort of rock bottom of plaster or rude cement. when this is reached, digging stops. it is in the process of digging down to these floors that the beautiful specimens of prehistoric pottery have been rescued. some of these specimens may be seen in harvard and yale and the smithsonian and the natural history museum in new york, and in the santa fe palace, and the field museum of chicago. sometimes as many as four feet of erosion have overlaid the original flooring. when digging down to the flooring of the ceremonial cave, an _estufa_ or sacred secret underground council chamber was found; and this, too, was restored. the pueblo of roofless chambers seen from the hilltop on the floor of the valley was dug from a mound of débris. in fact, too great praise cannot be given dr. hewitt and his co-workers for their labors of restoration; and the fact that dr. hewitt was a local man has added to the effectiveness of the work, for he has been in a position to learn from new mexican indians of any discoveries and rumors of discoveries in any of the numerous caves up the rio grande. for instance, when about halfway down the trail that first day, at the frijoles cañon or rito de los frijoles, as it is called, i met on an abrupt bend in the trail a pueblo indian from santa clara--blue jean suit, red handkerchief around neck, felt hat, huge silver earrings and teeth white as pearls--juan gonzales, one of the workers in the cañon, who knows every foot of the rio grande. standing against the white pumice background, it was for an instant as if one of the cave people had stepped from the past. well, it was wan, as we outsiders call him, who one day brought word to the archæological workers that he had found in the pumice dust in one of the caves the body of a woman. the cave was cleaned out or restored, and proved to be a back apartment or burial chamber behind other chambers, which had been worn away by the centuries' wash. the cerements of the body proved to be a woven cloth like burlap, and beaver skin. there you may see the body lying to-day, proving that these people understood the art of weaving long before the flemings had learned the craft from oriental trade. you could stay in the rito cañon for a year and find a cave of fresh interest each day. for instance, there is the one where the form of a huge plumed serpent has been etched like a molding round under the arched roof. the serpent, it was, that guarded the pools and the springs; and when one considers where snakes are oftenest found, it is not surprising that the serpent should have been taken as a totem emblem. many of the chambers show six or seven holes in the floor--places to connect with the great earth magician below. little alcoves were carved in the arched walls for the urns of meal and water; and a sacred fireplace was regarded with somewhat the same veneration as ancient orientals preserved their altar fires. in one cave, some old spanish _padre_ has come and carved a huge cross, in rebuke to pagan symbols. other large arched caves have housed the wandering flocks of goats and sheep in the days of the spanish régime; and there are other caves where horse thieves and outlaws, who infested the west after the civil war, hid secure from detection. in fact, if these caves could speak they "would a tale unfold." [illustration: looking down on the ruins of a prehistoric dwelling from one of the upper caves in the rito de las frijoles, new mexico] the aim of the archæological society is year by year to restore portions till the whole rito is restored; but at the present rate of financial aid, complete restoration can hardly take place inside a century. when you consider that the rito is only one of many prehistoric areas of new mexico, of utah, of colorado, awaiting restoration, you are constrained to wish that some philanthropist would place a million or two at the disposal of the archæological society. if this were done, no place on earth could rival the rito; for the funds would make possible not only the restoration of the thousands of mounds buried under tons of débris, but it would make the cañon accessible to the general public by easier, nearer roads. the inaccessibility of the rito may be in harmony with its ancient character; but that same inaccessibility drives thousands of tourists to egypt instead of the jemez forests. there are other things to do in the cañon besides explore the city of the dead. wander down the bed of the stream. you are passing through parks of stately yellow pine, and flowers which no botanist has yet classified. there is the globe cactus high up on the black basalt rocks, blood-red and fiery as if dyed in the very essence of the sun. there is the mountain pink, compared to which our garden and greenhouse beauties are pale as white woman compared to a hopi. there is the short-stemmed english field daisy, white above, rosy red below, of which tennyson sings in "maud." presently, you notice the stream banks crushing together, the waters tumbling, the pumice changing to granite and basalt; and you are looking over a fall sheer as a plummet, fine as mist. follow farther down! the cañon is no longer a valley. it is a corridor between rocks so close they show only a slit of sky overhead; and to follow the stream bed, you must wade. beware how you do that on a warm day when a thaw of snow on the peaks might cause a sudden freshet; for if the waters rose here, there would be no escape! the day we went down a thaw was not the danger. it was cold; the clouds were looming rain, and there was a high wind. we crept along the rock wall. narrower and darker grew the passageway. the wind came funneling up with a mist of spray from below; and the mossed rocks on which we waded were slippery as only wet moss can be. we looked over! down--down--down--tumbled the waters of the rito, to one black basin in a waterfall, then over a ledge to another in spray, then down--down--down to the rio grande, many feet below. you come back from the brink with a little shiver, but it was a shiver of sheer delight. no wonder dear old bandelier, the first of the great archæologists to study this region, opens his quaint myth with the simple words--"the rito is a beautiful place." chapter v the enchanted mesa of acoma they call it "the enchanted mesa," this island of ocher rock set in a sea of light, higher than niagara, beveled and faced straight up and down as if smoothed by some giant trowel. one great explorer has said that its flat top is covered by ruins; and another great scientist has said that it isn't. why quarrel whether or not this is the enchanted mesa? the whole region is an enchanted mesa, a painted desert, a dream land where mingle past and present, romance and fact, chivalry and deviltry, the stately grandeur of the old spanish don and the smart business tricks of modern yankeedom. shut your mind to the childish quarrel whether there is a heap of old pottery shards on top of that mesa, or whether the man who said there was carried it up with him; whether the hopi hurled the spaniards off that particular cliff, or off another! shut your mind to the childish, present-day bickering, and the past comes trooping before you in painted pageantry more gorgeous and stirring than fiction can create. first march the enranked old spanish dons encased in armor-plate from visor to leg greaves, in this hot land where the very touch of metal is a burn. back at santa fe, in governor prince's fine collection, you can see one of the old breastplates dug up from these hopi mesas with the bullet hole square above the heart. of course, your old spanish dons are followed by cavalry on the finest of mounts, and near the leader rides the priest. sword and cross rode grandly in together; and up to , sword and cross went down ignominiously before the fierce onslaught of the enraged hopi. i confess it does not make much difference to me whether the spaniards were hurled to death from this mesa--called enchanted--or that other ahead there, with the village on the tip-top of the cliff like an old castle, or eagle's nest. the point is--pagan hurled christian down; and for two centuries the cross went down with the sword before savage onslaught. martyr as well as soldier blood dyed these ocher-walled cliffs deeper red than their crimson sands. then out of the romantic past comes another era. the navajo warriors have obtained horses from the spaniards; and henceforth, the navajo is a winged foe to the hopi people across arizona and new mexico. you can imagine him with his silver trappings and harnessings and belts and necklaces and turquoise-set buttons down trouser leg, scouring below these mesas to raid the flocks and steal the wives of the hopi; and the hopi wives take revenge by conquering their conqueror, bringing the arts and crafts of the hopi people--silver work, weaving, basketry--into the navajo tribe. i confess it does not make much difference to me whether the raid took place a minute before midday, or a second after nightfall. i can't see the point to this breaking of historical heads over trifles. the point is that after the incoming of spanish horses and spanish firearms, the navajos became a terror to the hopi, who took refuge on the uppermost tip-top of the highest mesas they could find. there you can see their cities and towns to this day. and if you let your mind slip back to still remoter eras, you are lost in a maze of antiquities older than the traditions of egypt. draw a line from the manzano forests east of albuquerque west through isleta and laguna and acoma and zuñi and the three mesas of arizona to oraibi and hotoville for miles to the far west, and along that line you will find ruins of churches, temples, council halls, call them what you will, which antedate the coming of the spaniards by so many centuries that not even a tradition of their object remained when the conquerors came. some of these ruins--in the manzanos and in western arizona--would house a modern cathedral and seat an audience of ten thousand. what were they: council halls, temples, what? and what reduced the nation that once peopled them to a remnant of nine or ten thousand hopi all told? do you not see how the past of this whole enchanted mesa, this painted desert, this dream land, is more romantic than fiction could create, or than picayune historic disputes as to dates and broken crockery? [illustration: a hopi wooing, which has an added interest in that among the hopi indians, women are the rulers of the household] there are prehistoric cliff dwellings in this region of as great marvel as up north of santa fe; north of ganado at chin lee, for instance. but if you wish to see the modern descendants of these prehistoric cliff dwellers, you can see them along the line of the national forests from the manzanos east of albuquerque to the coconino and kaibab at grand cañon in arizona. let me explain here also that the hopi are variously known as moki, zuñi, pueblos; but that hopi, meaning peaceful and life-giving, is their generic name; and as such, i shall refer to them, though the western part of their reserve is known as moki land. you can visit a pueblo at isleta, a short run by railroad from albuquerque; but isleta has been so frequently "toured" by sightseers, i preferred to go to the less frequented pueblos at laguna and acoma, just south of the western manzano national forests, and on up to the three mesas of the moki reserve in arizona. also, when you drive across moki land, you can cross the navajo reserve, and so kill two birds with one stone. up to the present, the inconvenience of reaching acoma will effectually prevent it ever being "toured." when you have to take a local train that lands you in an indian town where there is no hotel at two o'clock in the morning, or else take a freight, which you reach by driving a mile out of town, fording an irrigation ditch and crawling under a barb wire fence--there is no immediate danger of the objective point being rushed by tourist traffic. this is a mistake both for the tourist and for the traffic. if anything as unique and wonderful as acoma existed in egypt or japan, it would be featured and visited by thousands of americans yearly. as it is, i venture to say, not a hundred travelers see acoma's enchanted mesa in a year, and half the number going out fail to see it properly owing to inexperience in western ways of meeting and managing indians. for instance, the day before i went out, a traveler all the way from germany had dropped off the transcontinental and taken a local freight for the hopi towns. when a tourist wants to see things in germany, he finds a hundred willing palms out to collect and point the way; but when a tourist leaves the beaten trail in america, if he asks too many questions, he is promptly told to "go to--" i'll not say where. that german wasn't in a good mood when he dropped off the freight train at laguna. good rooms you can always get at the marmons, but there is no regular meal place except the section house. if you are a good westerner, you will carry your own luncheon, or take cheerful pot luck as it comes; but the german wasn't a good westerner; and it didn't improve his temper to have butter served up mixed with flies to the tune of the landlady's complaint that "it didn't pay nohow to take tourists" and she "didn't see what she did it for anyway." they tell you outside that it is a hard drive, all the way from twenty-five to thirty miles to acoma. don't you believe it! for once, western miles are too short. the drive is barely eighteen miles and as easy as on a paved city street; but the german had left most of his temper at laguna. when he reached the foot of the steep acclivity leading up to the town of acoma on the very cloud-crest of a rampart rock and found no guide, he started up without one and, of course, missed the way. how he ever reached the top without breaking his neck is a wonder. the indians showed me the way he had come and said they could not have done it themselves. anyway, what temper he had not left at laguna he scattered sulphurously on the rocks before he reached the crest of acoma; and when he had climbed the perilous way, he was too fatigued to go on through the town. the whole episode is typically characteristic of our stupid short-sightedness as a continent to our own advantage. a $ miner's tent at laguna for meals, another at acoma, a good woman in charge at the laguna end to put up the lunches, a $ a month indian boy to show tourists the way up the cliff--and thousands of travelers would go in and come out with satisfaction. yet here is acoma, literally the enchanted, unlike anything else in the whole wide world; and it is shut off from the sightseer because enterprise is lacking to put in $ worth of equipment and set the thing going. is it any wonder people say that europeans live on the opportunities americans throw away? if acoma were in germany, they would be diverting the rhine round that way so you could see it by moonlight. * * * * * being a westerner, it didn't inconvenience me _very_ seriously to rise at four, and take a cab at five, and drive out from albuquerque a mile to the freight yards, where it was necessary to wet one's feet in an _acequia_ ditch and crawl under a barb wire fence to reach the caboose. the desert sunrise atoned for all--air pure wine, the red-winged blackbirds, thousands of them, whistling sheer joy of life along the overflow swamps of the irrigation canals. the train passes close enough to the pueblo of isleta for you to toss a stone into the back yards of the little adobe dwellings; but isleta at best is now a white-man edition of hopi type. few of the houses run up tier on tier as in the true pueblo; and the gorgeous skirts and shirts seen on the figures moving round the doors are nothing more nor less than store calico in diamond dyes. in the true hopi pueblo, these garments would be sun-dyed brown skin on the younger children, and home-woven, vegetable-dyed fabric on the grown-ups. the true hopi skirt is nothing more nor less than an oblong of home-woven cloth, preferably white, or vegetable blue, brought round to overlap in front under a belt, with, perhaps, shoulder straps like a man's braces. a shawl over nature's undergarments completes the native costume; and the little monkey-shaped bare feet cramped from long scrambling over the rocks get better grip on steep stone stairs than civilized boots, though many of the pueblo women are now affecting the latter. the freight train climbs and climbs into the gypsum country of terrible drought, where nothing grows except under the ditch, and the cattle lie dead of thirst, and the wind blows a hurricane of dust that almost knocks you off your feet. the railroad passes almost through the lower streets of laguna; so that when you look up, you see tier upon tier of streets and three-story houses up and up to the spanish church that crowns the hill. you get off at laguna, but do not waste much time there; for the glories of laguna are past. long ago--in the fifties or thereabouts--the dam to the lagoon which gives the community its name broke, letting go a waste of flood waters; and since that time, the men of laguna have had to go away for work, the women only remaining constantly at the village engaged herding their flocks and making pottery. perhaps it should be stated here in utter contradiction to the herbert spencer school of sociology that among the hopi the women not only rule but own the house and all that therein is. the man may claim the corn patch outside the town limits, where you see rags stuck on sticks marking each owner's bounds; or if he attends the flocks he may own them; but the woman is as supreme a ruler in the house as in the navajo tribe, where the supreme deity is female. if the man loses affection for his spouse, he may gather up his saddle and bridle, and leave. "i marry, yes," said marie iteye, my acoma guide, to me, "and i have one girl--her," pointing to a pretty child, "but my man, i guess he--a bad boy--he leave me." if the wife tires of her lord, all she has to do is hang the saddle and bridle outside. my gentleman takes the hint and must be off. i set this fact down because a whole school of modern sex sociologists, taking their cue from herbert spencer, who never in his life knew an indian first hand, write nonsensical deductions about the evolution of woman from slave status. her position has been one of absolute equality among the hopi from the earliest traditions of the race. at laguna, you can obtain rooms with mr. marmon, or mr. pratt; but you must bring your luncheon with you; or, as i said before, take chance luck outside at the section house. a word as to mr. marmon and mr. pratt, two of the best known white men in the indian communities of the southwest. where white men have foregathered with indians, it has usually been for the higher race to come down to the level of the lower people. not so with marmon and pratt! if you ask how it is that the pueblos of laguna and acoma are so superior to all other hopi communities of the southwest, the answer invariably is "the influence of the two marmons and pratt." coming west as surveyors in the early seventies the two marmons and pratt opened a trading store, married indian women and set themselves to civilize the whole pueblo. after almost four years' pow-wow and argument and coaxing, they in succeeded in getting three children, two boys and a girl, to go to school in the east at carlisle. to-day, those three children are leading citizens of the southwest. later on, the trouble was not to induce children to go, but to handle the hundreds eager to be sent. to-day, there is a government school here, and the two pueblos of laguna and acoma are among the cleanest and most advanced of the southwest. fifteen hundred souls there are, living in the hillside tiered-town, where you may see the transition from indian to white in the substitution of downstairs doors for the ladders that formerly led to entrance through the roof. [illustration: _copyright by h. s. poley_ a hopi indian weaving a rug on a hand loom in a deserted cave] out at acoma, with its sky dwellers perched sheer hundreds of feet straight as arrow-flight above the plain, you can count the number of doors on one hand. acoma is still pure hopi. only one inhabitant--marie iteye--speaks a word of english; but it is hopi under the far-reaching and civilizing influence of "marmon and pratt." the streets-- st, nd and rd, they call them--of the cloud-cliff town are swept clean as a white housewife's floor. inside, the three story houses are all whitewashed. to be sure, a hen and her flock occupy the roof of the first story. perhaps a burro may stand sleepily on the next roof; but then, the living quarters are in the third story, with a window like the porthole of a ship looking out over the precipice across the rolling, purpling, shimmering mesas for hundreds and hundreds of miles, till the sky-line loses itself in heat haze and snow peaks. the inside of these third story rooms is spotlessly clean, big ewers of washing water on the floor, fireplaces in the corners with sticks burning upright, doorways opening to upper sleeping rooms and meal bins and corn caves. fancy being spotlessly clean where water must be carried on the women's heads and backs any distance up from to , feet. yet i found some of the missionaries and government teachers and nuns among the indians curiously discouraged about results. "it takes almost three generations to have any permanent results," one teacher bewailed. "we doubt if it ever does much good." "doubt if it ever does much good?" i should like to take that teacher and every other discouraged worker among the indians first to acoma and then, say, to the second mesa of the moki reserve. in acoma, i would not be afraid to rent a third story room and spread my blanket, and camp and sleep and eat for a week. at the second mesa, where mission work has barely begun--well, though the crest of the peak is swept by the four winds of heaven and disinfected by a blazing, cloudless sun, i could barely stay out two hours; and the next time i go, i'll take a large pocket handkerchief heavily charged with a deodorizer. at acoma, you feel you are among human beings like yourself; of different lineage and traditions and belief, but human. at the second mesa, you fall to raking your memory of whitechapel and the bowery for types as sodden and putrid and degenerate. * * * * * mr. marmon furnishes team and indian driver to take you out to acoma; and please remember, the distance is not twenty-five or fifty miles as you have been told, but an easy eighteen with a good enough road for a motor if you have one. set out early in the day, and you escape the heat. sun up; the yellow-throated meadowlarks lilting and tossing their liquid gold notes straight to heaven; the desert flowers such a mass of gorgeous, voluptuous bloom as dazzle the eye--cactus, blood-red and gold and carmine, wild pink, scarlet poppy, desert geranium, little shy, dwarf, miniature english daisies over which tennyson's "maud" trod--gorgeous desert flowers voluptuous as oriental women--who said our southwest was an arid waste? it is our sahara, our morocco, our algeria; and we have not yet had sense enough to discover it in its beauty. red-shawled women pattered down the trail from the hillside pueblo of laguna, or marched back up from the yellow pools of the san josé river, jars of water on their heads; figures in bronze, they might have been, or women of the ganges. then, the morning light strikes the steeples of the twin-towered spanish mission on the crest of the hill; and the dull steeples of the adobe church glow pure mercury. and the light broods over the stagnant pools of the yellow san jose; and the turgid, muddy river flows pure gold. and the light bathes the sandy, parched mesas and the purple mountains girding the plains around in yellow walls flat topped as if leveled by a trowel, with here and there in the distant sky-line the opal gleam as of a snow peak immeasurably far away. it dawns on you suddenly--this is a realm of pure light. how j. w. m. turner would have gone wild with joy over it--light, pure light, split by the shimmering prism of the dusty air into rainbow colors, transforming the sand-charged atmosphere into an unearthly morning gleam shot with gold dust. you know now that the big globe cactus shines with the glow of a burma ruby here when it is dull in the eastern conservatory, because here is of the very essence of the sun. the wild poppies shine on the desert sands like stars because, like the stars, they draw their life from the sun. and the blue forget-me-nots are like bits of heaven, because their faces shine with the light of an unclouded sky from dawn to dark. you see the countless herds of sheep and goats and cattle and horses belonging to the indian pueblos, herded, perhaps, by a little girl on horseback, or a couple of boys lying among the sage brush; but the figures come to your eye unreal and out of all perspective, the horses and cattle, exaggerated by heat mirage, long and leggy like camels in egypt, the boys and girls lifted by the refraction of light clear off earth altogether, unreal ghost figures, the bleating lambs and kids enveloped in a purple, hazy heat veil--an unreal dream world, an enchanted mesa all of it, a painted desert made of lavender mist and lilac light and heat haze shimmering and unreal as a poet's vision. it adds to the glamour of the unreal as the sun mounts higher, and the planed rampart mountain walls encircling the mesa begin to shimmer and shift and lift from earth in mirage altogether. you hear the bleat-bleat of the lambs, and come full in the midst of herds of thousands going down to a water pool. these indians are not poor; not poor by any means. their pottery and baskets bring them ready money. their sheep give them meat and wool; and the little corn patches suffice for meal. then the blank wall of the purple mountains opens; and you pass into a large saucer-shaped valley engirt as before by the troweled yellow _tufa_ walls; a lake of light, where the flocks lift in mirage, lanky and unreal. almost the spell and lure of a sahara are upon you, when you lift your eyes, and there--straight ahead--lies an enchanted island in this lake of light, shimmering and lifting in mirage; sides vertical yellow walls without so much as a handhold visible. high as three niagaras, twice as high it might be, you so completely lose sense of perspective; with top flat as a billiard table, detached from rock or sand or foothill, isolated as a slab of towering granite in a purple sea. it is the enchanted mesa. hill ki, my indian driver, grunts and points at it with his whip. "the enchanted mesa," he says. i stop to photograph it; but who can photograph pure light? only one man has ever existed who could paint pure light; and turner is dead. did a race once live on this high, flat, isolated, inaccessible slab of huge rock? lummis says "yes;" hodge says "no." are there pottery remnants of a dead city? lummis says "yes;" hodge says "no." both men climbed the rock, though hill ki tells me confidentially they "were very scare," when it came to throwing a rope up over the end of the rock, to pull the climber up as if by pulley. marmon and pratt have both been up; and hill ki tells me so have two venturesome white women climbers, whose names he does not know, but "they weren't scare." as we pass from the end to the side of the enchanted mesa, it is seen to be an oblong slab utterly cut off from all contact but so indented halfway up at one end as to be ascended by a good climber to within distance of throwing a rope over the top. the quarrel between lummis and hodge has waxed hotter and hotter as to the enchanted mesa without any finale to the dispute; and far be it from an outsider like myself to umpire warfare amid the gods of the antiquarian; but isn't it possible that a custom among the acoma indians may explain the whole matter; and that both men may be partly right? miss mclain, who was in the indian service at laguna, reports that once an indian family told her of this acoma ceremony. before a youth reaches manhood, while he is still being instructed in the mysteries of hopi faith in the underground council room or _kiva_, it is customary for the acomas to blindfold him and send him to the top of the enchanted mesa for a night's lonely vigil with a jar of water as oblation to the spirits. these jars explain the presence of pottery, which lummis describes. they would also give credence to at least periodic inhabiting of the mesa. the absence of house ruins, on the other hand, would explain why hodge scouted lummis' theory. the indians explained to miss mclain that a boy could climb blindfolded where he could not go open-eyed, a fact that all mountain engineers will substantiate. [illustration: a shy little indian maid in a hopi village of arizona] but what matters the quarrel? is not the whole region an enchanted mesa, one of the weirdest bits of the new world? you have barely rounded the enchanted mesa, when another oblong colossus looms to the fore, sheer precipice, but accessible by tiers of sand and stone at the far end; that is, accessible by handhold and foothold. look again! along the top of the walled precipice, a crest to the towering slab, is a human wall, the walls of an adobe streetful of houses, little windows looking out flush with the precipice line like the portholes of a ship. then you see something red flutter and move at the very edge of the rock top--hopi urchins, who have spied us like young eagles in their eyrie, and shout and wave down at us, though we can barely hear their voices. it looks for all the world like the top story of a castle above a moat. at the foot of the sand-hill, i ask hill ki, why, now that there is no danger from spaniard and navajo, the hopi continue to live so high up where they must carry all their supplies sheer, vertical hundreds of feet, at least , if you count all the wiggling in and out and around the stone steps and stone ladders, and niched handholds. hill ki grins as he unhitches his horses, and answers: "you understan' when you go up an' see!" but he does not offer to escort me up. as i am looking round for the beginning of a visible trail up, a little hopi girl comes out from the sheep kraal at the foot of the acoma mesa. though she cannot speak one word of english and i cannot speak one word of hopi we keep up a most voluble conversation by gesture. don't ask how we did it! it is wonderful what you can do when you have to. she is dressed in white, home-woven skirt with a white rag for a head shawl--badge of the good girl; and her stockings come only to the ankles, leaving the feet bare. the feet of all the hopi are abnormally small, almost monkey-shaped; and when you think of it, it is purely cause and effect. the foot is not flat and broad, because it is constantly clutching foothold up and down these rocks. i saw all the hopi women look at my broad-soled, box-toed outing boots in amazement. at hard spots in the climb, they would turn and point to my boots and offer me help till i showed them that the sole, though thick, was pliable as a moccasin. the little girl signaled; did i want to go up? i nodded. she signaled; would i go up the hard, steep, quick way; or the long, easy path by the sand? as the stone steps seemed to give handhold well as foothold, and the sand promised to roll you back fast as you climbed up, i signaled the hard way; and off we set. i asked her how old she was; and she seemed puzzled how to answer by signs till she thought of her fingers--then up went eight with a tap to her chest signifying self. i asked her what had caused such sore inflammation in her eyes. she thought a minute; then pointed to the sand, and winnowed one hand as of wind--the sand storm; and so we kept an active conversation up for three hours without a word being spoken; but by this, a little hand sought mine in various affectionate squeezes, and a pair of very sore eyes looked up with confidence, and what was lacking in words, she made up in shy smiles. poor little hopi kiddie! will your man "be bad boy," too, by and by? will you acquire the best, or the worst, of the white civilization that is encroaching on your tenacious, conservative race? after all, you are better off, little kiddie, a thousand fold, than if you were a street gamin in the vicious gutters of new york. by this, what with wind, and sand, and the weight of a kodak and a purse, and the hard ascent, one of the two climbers has to pause for breath; and what do you think that eight-year-old bit of small humanity does? turns to give me a helping hand. that is too much for gravity. i laugh and she laughs and after that, i think she would have given me both hands and both feet and her soul to boot. she offers to carry my kodak and films and purse; and for three hours, i let her. can you imagine yourself letting a new york, or paris, or london street gamin carry your purse for three hours? yet the laguna people had told me to look out for myself. i'd find the acomas uncommonly sharp. that climb is as easy to the acomas as your home stairs to you; but it's a good deal more arduous to the outsider than a climb up the whole length of the washington monument, or up the metropolitan tower in new york; but it is all easily possible. where the sand merges to stone, are handhold niches as well as stone steps; and where the rock steps are too steep, are wooden ladders. at last, we swing under a great overhanging stone--splendid weapon if the navajos had come this way in old days, and splendid place for slaughter of the spanish soldiers, who scaled acoma two centuries ago--up a tier of stone steps, and we are on top of the white limestone mesa, in the town of acoma, with its st, nd, and rd streets, and its st, nd, and rd story houses, the first roof reached by a movable ladder, the next two roofs by stone steps. i shall not attempt to describe the view from above. take washington's shaft; multiply by two, set it down in sahara desert, climb to the top and look abroad! that is the view from acoma. is the trip worth while? is mountain climbing worth while? do you suppose half a hundred people would yearly break their necks in switzerland if climbing were not worth while? as hill ki said when i asked him why they did not move their city down now that all danger of raid had passed, "you go up an' see!" now i understood. the water pools were but glints of silver on the yellow sands. the flocks of sheep and goats looked like ants. the rampart rocks that engirt the valley were yellow rims below; and across the tops of the far mesas could be seen scrub forests and snowy peaks. have generations--generations on generations--of life amid such color had anything to do with the handicrafts of these people--pottery, basketry, weaving, becoming almost an art? certainly, their work is the most artistic handicraft done by indians in america to-day. boys and girls, babies and dogs, rush to salute us as we come up; but my little guide only takes tighter hold of my hand and "shoos" them off. we pass a deep pool of waste water from the houses, lying in the rocks, and on across the square to the twin-towered church in front of which is a rudely fenced graveyard. the whole mesa is solid, hard rock; and to make this graveyard for their people, the women have carried up on their backs sand and soil enough to fill in a depression for a burying place. the bones lie thick on the surface soil. the graveyard is now literally a bank of human limestone. [illustration: at the water hole on the outskirts of laguna, one of the pueblos in new mexico] i have asked my little guide to take me to marie iteye, the only acoma who speaks english; and i meet her now stepping smartly across the square, feet encased in boots at least four sizes smaller than mine, red skirt to knee, fine stockings, red shawl and a profusion of turquoise ornaments. we shake hands, and when i ask her where she learned to speak such good english, she tells me of her seven years' life at carlisle. it is the one wish of her heart that she may some day go back: another shattered delusion that indians hate white schools. she takes me across to the far edge of the mesa, where her sisters, the finest pottery makers of acoma, are burning their fine gray jars above sheep manure. for fifty cents i can buy here a huge fern jar with finest gray-black decorations, which would cost me $ to $ down at the railroad or $ in the east; but there is the question of taking it out in my camp kit; and i content myself with a little black-brown basin at the same price, which marie has used in her own house as meal jar for ten years. as a memento to me, she writes her name in the bottom. her house we ascended by ladder to a first roof, where clucked a hen and chickens, and lay a litter of new puppies. from this roof goes up a tier of stone steps to a second roof. off this roof is the door to a third story room; and a cleaner room i have never seen in a white woman's house. the fireplace is in one corner, the broom in the other, a window between looking out of the precipice wall over such a view as an eagle might scan. baskets with corn and bowls of food and jars of drinking water stand in niches in the wall. the adobe floor is hard as cement, and clean. all walls and the ceiling are whitewashed. the place is spotless. "where do you sleep, marie?" i ask. "downstairs! you come out and stay a week with me, mebbee, sometime." and as she speaks, come up the stone stairs from the room below, her father and brother, amazed to know why a woman should be traveling alone through hopi and moki and navajo land. and all the other houses visited are clean as marie's. is the fact testimony to carlisle, or the twin-towered church over there, or marmon and pratt? i cannot answer; but this i do know, that acoma is as different from the other hopi or moki mesas as fifth avenue is from the bowery. all the time i was in the houses, my little guide had been waiting wistfully at the bottom of the ladder; and the children uttered shouts of glee to see me come down the ladder face out instead of backwards as the acomas descend. we descended from the mesa by the sand-hills instead of the rock steps, preceded by an escort of romping children; but not a discourteous act took place during all my visit. could i say the same of a three hours' visit amid the gamins of new york, or london? at the foot of the cliff, we shook hands all round and said good-by; and when i looked back up the valley, the children were still waving and waving. if this be humble indian life in its simon pure state, with all freedom from our rules of conduct, all i have to say is it is infinitely superior to the hoodlum life of our cities and towns. one point more: i asked marie as i had asked mr. marmon, "do you think your people are indians, or aztecs?" and the answer came without a moment's hesitation--"aztecs; we are not indian like navajo and apaches." opposite the enchanted mesa, i looked back. my little guide was still gazing wistfully after us, waving her shawl and holding tight to a coin which i trust no old grimalkin pried out of her hand. chapter vi across the painted desert through navajo land when you leave the enchanted mesa at acoma, to follow the unbeaten trail on through the national forests, you may take one of three courses; or all three courses if you have time. you may strike up into zuñi land from gallup. or you may go down in the white mountains of arizona from holbrook; and here it should be stated that the white mountains are one of the great un-hunted game resorts of the southwest. some of the best trout brooks of the west are to be found under the snows of the continental divide. deer and bear and mountain cat are as plentiful as before the coming of the white man--and likely to remain so many a day, for the region is one of the most rugged and forbidding in the western states. add to the danger of sheer rock declivity, an almost desert-forest growth--dwarf juniper and cedar and giant cactus interwoven in a snarl, armed with spikes to keep off intruders--and you can understand why some of the most magnificent specimens of black-tail in the world roam the peaks and mesas here undisturbed by the hunter. also, on your way into the white mountains, you may visit almost as wonderful prehistoric dwellings as in the frijoles of new mexico, or the mesa verde of colorado. it is here you find montezuma's castle and montezuma's well, the former, a colossal community house built on a precipice-face and reached only by ladders; the latter, a huge prehistoric reservoir of unknown soundings; both in almost as perfect repair as if abandoned yesterday, though both antedate all records and traditions so completely that even when white men came in the spaniards had no remotest gleaning of their prehistoric occupants. also on your way into the white mountains, you may visit the second largest natural bridge in the world, a bridge so huge that quarter-section farms can be cultivated above the central span. or you may skip the short trip out to zuñi off the main traveled highway, and the long trip south through the white mountains--two weeks at the very shortest, and you should make it six--and leave gallup, just at the state line of arizona, drive north-west across the navajo reserve and moki land to the coconino forests and the tusayan and the kaibab, round the grand cañon up towards the state lines of california and utah. if you can afford time only for one of these three trips, take the last one; for it leads you across the painted desert with all its wonder and mystery and lure of color and light and remoteness, with the tang of high, cool, lavender blooming mesas set like islands of rock in shifting seas of gaudy-colored sand, with the romance and the adventure and the movement of the most picturesque horsemen and herdsmen in america. it isn't america at all! you know that as soon as you go up over the first high mesa from the beaten highway and drop down over into another world, a world of shifting, shimmering distances and ocher-walled rampart rocks and sand ridges as red as any setting sun you ever saw. it isn't america at all! it's arabia; and the bedouins of our painted desert are these navajo boys--a red scarf binding back the hair, the hair in a hard-knotted coil (not a braid), a red plush, or brilliant scarlet, or bright green shirt, with silver work belt, and khaki trousers or white cotton pantaloons slit to the knee, and moccasins, with more silver-work, and such silver bridles and harnessings as would put an arab's damascus tinsel to the blush. go up to the top of one of the red sand knobs--you see these navajo riders everywhere, coming out of their _hogan_ houses among the juniper groves, crossing the yellow plain, scouring down the dry arroyo beds, infinitesimal specks of color moving at swift pace across these seas of sand. or else you see where at night and morning the water comes up through the arroyo bed in pools of silver, receding only during the heat of the day; and moving through the juniper groves, out from the ocher rocks that screen the desert like the wings of a theater, down the panting sand bed of the dead river, trot vast herds of sheep and goats, the young bleat--bleating till the air quivers--driven by little navajo girls on horseback, born to the saddle, as the canadian cree is born to the canoe. if you can't go to zuñi land and the white mountain forest and the painted desert, then choose the painted desert. it will give you all the sensations of a trip to the orient without the expense or discomfort. besides, you will learn that america has her own egypt and her own arabia and her own persia in racial type and in handicraft and in antiquity; and that fact is worth taking home with you. also, the end of the trip will drop you near your next jumping-off place--in the coconino and tusayan forests of the grand cañon. and if the lure of the antique still draws you, if you are still haunted by that blatant and impudent lie (ignorance, like the big drum, always speaks loudest when it is emptiest), "that america lacks the picturesque and historic," believe me there are antiquities in the painted desert of arizona that antedate the antiquities of egypt by , years. "the more we study the prehistoric ruins of america," declared one of the leading ethnological scholars of the world in the school of archæology at rome, "the more undecided we become whether the civilization of the orient preceded that of america, or that of america preceded the orient." for instance, on your way across the painted desert, you can strike into cañon de shay (spelled chelly), and in one of the rock walls high above the stream you will find a white house carved in high arches and groined chambers from the solid stone, a prehistoric dwelling where you could hide and lose a dozen of our national white house. who built the aerial, hidden and secluded palace? what royal barbaric race dwelt in it? what drove them out? neither history nor geology have scintilla of answer to those questions. your guess is as good as the next; and you haven't to go all the way to persia, or the red sea, or tibet, to do your guessing, but only a day's drive from a continental route--cost for team and driver $ . in fact, you can go into the painted desert with a well-planned trip of six months; and at the end of your trip you will know, as you could not at the beginning, that you have barely entered the margin of the wonders in this navajo land. to strike into the painted desert, you can leave the beaten highway at gallup, or holbrook, or flagstaff, or the grand cañon; but to cross it, you should enter at the extreme east and drive west, or enter west and drive east. local liverymen have drivers who know the way from point to point; and the charge, including driver, horses and hay, is from $ to $ a day. better still, if you are used to horseback, go in with pack animals, which can be bought outright at a very nominal price--$ to $ for ponies, $ to $ for burros; but in any case, take along a white, or indian, who knows the trails of the vast reserve, for water is as rare as radium and only a local man knows the location of those pools where you will be spending your nooning and camp for the night. camp in the southwest at any other season than the two rainy months--july and august--does not necessitate a tent. you can spread your blankets and night will stretch a sky as soft as the velvet blue of a pansy for roof, and the stars will swing down so close in the rare, clear desert air that you will think you can reach up a hand and pluck the lights like jack-o'-lanterns. because you are in the desert, don't delude yourself into thinking you'll not need warm night covering. it may be as hot at midday as a blast out of a furnace, though the heat is never stifling; but the altitude of the various mesas you will cross varies from , to , feet, and the night will be as chilly as if you were camped in the canadian northwest. up to the present, the mission of st. michael's, day's ranch, and mr. hubbell's almost regal hospitality, have been open to all comers crossing the desert--open without cost or price. in fact, if you offered money for the kindness you receive, it would be regarded as an insult. it is a type of the old-time baronial spanish hospitality, when no door was locked and every comer was welcomed to the festive board, and if you expressed admiration for jewel, or silver-work, or old mantilla, it was presented to you by the lord of the manor with the simple and absolutely sincere words, "it is yours," which scrubs and bubs and dubs and scum and cockney were apt to take greedily and literally, with no sense of the _noblesse oblige_ which binds recipient as it binds donor to a code of honor not put in words. it is a type of hospitality that has all but vanished from this sordid earth; and it is a type, i am sorry to write, ill-suited to an age when the quantity travel quite as much as the quality. for instance, everyone who has crossed the painted desert knows that lorenzo hubbell, who is commonly called the king of northern arizona, has yearly spent thousands, tens of thousands, entertaining passing strangers, whom he has never seen before and will never see again, who come unannounced and stay unurged and depart reluctantly. in the old days, when your spanish grandee entertained only his peers, this was well; but to-day--well, it may work out in goldsmith's comedy, where the two travelers mistake a mansion for an inn. but where the arrivals come in relays of from one to a dozen a month, and issue orders as to hot water and breakfast and dinner and supper and depart tardily as a dead-beat from a city lodging house and break out in complaints and sometimes afterwards break out in patronizing print, it is time for the mission and day's ranch and mr. hubbell's trading posts to have kitchen quarters for such as they. in the old days, quality sat above the salt; quantity sat below it and slept in rushes spread on the floor. i would respectfully offer a suggestion as to salting down much of the freshness that weekly pesters the fine old baronial hospitality of the painted desert. for instance, there was the berlin professor, who arrived unwanted and unannounced after midnight, and quietly informed his host that he didn't care to rise for the family breakfast but would take his at such an hour. there was the drummer who ordered the daughter of the house "to hustle the fodder." there was the lady who stayed unasked for three weeks, then departed to write ridiculous caricatures of the very roof that had sheltered her. there was the government man who calmly ordered his host to have breakfast ready at three in the morning. his host would not ask his colored help to rise at such an hour and with his own hands prepared the breakfast, when the guest looked lazily through the window and seeing a storm brewing "thought he'd not mind going after all." [illustration: a navajo boy who is exceptionally handsome and picturesque] "what?" demanded his entertainer. "you will not go after you have roused me at three? you will go; and you will go quick; and you will go this instant." the painted desert is bound to become as well known to american travelers as algiers and the northern rim of the sahara to the thousands of european tourists, who yearly flock south of the mediterranean. when that time comes, a different system must prevail, so i would advise all visitors going into the navajo country to take their own food and camp kit and horses, either rented from an outfitter at the starting point, or bought outright. at st. michael's mission, and ganado, and the three mesas, and oraibi, you can pick up the necessary local guide. we entered the painted desert by way of gallup, hiring driver and team locally. motors are available for the first thirty miles of the trip, though out of the question for the main miles, owing to the heavy sand, fine as flour; but they happened to be out of commission the day we wanted them. the trail rises and rises from the sandy levels of the railroad town till you are presently on the high northern mesa among scrub juniper and cedar, in a cool-scented, ozone atmosphere, as life-giving as any frost air of the north. the yellow ocher rocks close on each side in walled ramparts, and nestling in an angle of rock you see a little fenced ranch house, where they charge ten cents a glass for the privilege of their spring. there is the same profusion of gorgeous desert flowers, dyed in the very essence of the sun, as you saw round the enchanted mesa--globe cactus and yellow poppies and wild geraniums and little blue forget-me-nots and a rattlesnake flower with a bloated bladder seed pod mottled as its prototype's skin. and the trail still climbs till you drop sheer over the edge of the sky-line and see a new world swimming below you in lakes of lilac light and blue shadows--blue shadows, sure sign of desert land as northern lights are of hyperborean realm. it is the painted desert; and it isn't a flat sand plain as you expected, but a world of rolling green and purple and red hills receding from you in the waves of a sea to the belted, misty mountains rising up sheer in a sky wall. and it isn't a desolate, uninhabited waste, as you expected. you round a ridge of yellow rock, and three zuñi boys are loping along the trail in front of you--red headband, hair in a braid, red sash, velvet trousers--the most famous runners of all indian tribes in spite of their short, squat stature. the navajo trusts to his pony, and so is a slack runner. also, he is not so well nourished as the zuñi or hopi, and so has not as firm muscles and strong lungs. these zuñi lads will set out from oraibi at daybreak, and run down to holbrook, eighty miles in a day. or you hear the tinkle of a bell, and see some little navajo girl on horseback driving her herd of sheep down to a drinking pool. it all has a curiously egyptian or oriental effect. so rachel was watering her flocks when the midianitish herders drove her from the spring; and you see the same rivalry for possession of the waterhole in our own desert country as ancient record tells of that other storied land. the hay stacks, huge, tent-shaped _tufa_ rocks to the right of the road, mark the approach to st. michael's mission. where one great rock has splintered from the main wall is a curious phenomenon noted by all travelers--a cow, head and horns, etched in perfect outline against the face of the rock. the driver tells you it is a trick of rain and stain, but a knowledge of the tricks of lightning stamping pictures on objects struck in an atmosphere heavily charged with electricity suggests another explanation. then you have crossed the bridge and the red-tiled roofs of st. michael's loom above the hill, and you drive up to an oblong, white, green-shuttered building as silent as the grave--st. michael's mission, where the franciscans for seventeen years have been holding the gateway to the navajo reserve. below the hill is a little square log shack, the mission printing press. behind, another shack, the post-office; and off beyond the hill, the ranch house of mr. and mrs. day, two of the best known characters on the arizona frontier. a mile down the arroyo is the convent school, miss drexel's mission for the indians; a fine, massive structure of brick and stone, equal to any of the famous jesuit and ursuline schools so famous in the history of quebec. and at this little mission, with its half-dozen buildings, is being lived over again the same heroic drama that father vimont and mother mary of the incarnation opened in new france three centuries ago; only we are a little too close to this modern drama to realize its fine quality of joyous self-abnegation and practical religion. also, the work of miss drexel's missionaries promises to be more permanent than that to the hurons and algonquins of quebec. they are not trying to turn indians into white men and women at this mission. they are leaving them indians with the leaven of a new grace working in their hearts. the navajos are to-day , strong, and on the increase. the hurons and algonquins alive to-day, you can almost count on your hands. driven from pillar to post, they were destroyed by the civilization they had embraced; but the navajos have a realm perfectly adapted to sustain their herds and broad enough for them to expand-- , , acres, including moki land--and against any white man's greedy encroachment on that reserve, father webber, of the franciscans, has set his face like adamant. in two or three generations, we shall be putting up monuments to these workers among the navajos. meanwhile, we neither know nor care what they are doing. you enter the silent hallway and ring a gong. a navajo interpreter appears and tells you father webber has gone to rome, but father berrard will be down; and when you meet the cowled franciscan in his rough, brown cassock, with sandal shoes, you might shut your eyes and imagine yourself back in the quebec consistories of three centuries ago. there is the same poverty, the same quiet devotion, the same consecrated scholarship, the same study of race and legend, as made the jesuit missions famous all through europe of the seventeenth century. why, do you know, this franciscan mission, with its three priests and two lay helpers, is sustained on the small sum of $ , a year; and out of his share of that, father berrard has managed to buy a printing press and issue a scholarly work on the navajos, costing him $ , ! next morning, when mother josephine, of miss drexel's mission school, drove us back to the franciscan's house, we saw proofs of a second volume on the navajos, which father berrard is issuing; a combined glossary and dictionary of information on tribal customs and arts and crafts and legends and religion; a work of which a french academician would be more than proud. then he shows us what will easily prove the masterpiece of his life--hundreds of drawings, which, for the last ten years, he has been having the medicine men of the navajos make for their legends, of all the authentic, known patterns of their blankets and the meanings, of their baskets and what they mean, and of the heavenly constellations, which are much the same as ours except that the names are those of the coyote and eagle and other desert creatures instead of the latin appellations. lungren and burbank and curtis and other artists, who have passed this way, suggested the idea. someone sent father berrard folios of blank drawing boards. sepia made of coal dust and white chalk made of gypsum suffice for pigments. with these he has had the indian medicine men make a series of drawings that excels anything in the smithsonian institute of washington or the field museum of chicago. for instance, there is the map of the sky and of the milky way with the four cardinal points marked in the navajo colors, white, blue, black and yellow, with the legend drawn of the "great medicine man" putting the stars in their places in the sky, when along comes coyote, steals the mystery bag of stars--and puff, with one breath he has mischievously sent the divine sparks scattering helter-skelter all over the face of heaven. there is the legend of "the spider maid" teaching the navajos to weave their wonderful blankets, though the hopi deny this and assert that their women captured in war were the ones who taught the navajos the art of weaving. there is the picture of the navajo transmigration of souls up the twelve degrees of a huge corn stalk, for all the world like the hindoo legend of a soul's travail up to life. you must not forget how similar many of the indian drawings are to oriental work. then, there is the picture of the supreme woman deity of the navajos. does that recall any mother of life in hindoo lore? if all ethnologists and archæologists had founded their studies on the indian's own account of himself, rather than their own scrappy version of what the indian told them, we should have got somewhere in our knowledge of the relationships of the human race. father berrard's drawings in color of all known patterns of navajo blankets are a gold mine in themselves, and would save the squandering by eastern buyers of thousands a year in faked navajo blankets. wherever father berrard hears of a new blanket pattern, thither he hies to get a drawing of it; and on many a fool's errand his quest has taken him. for instance, he once heard of a wonderful blanket being displayed by a flagstaff dealer, with vegetable dyes of "green" in it. dressing in disguise, with overcoat collar turned up, the priest went to examine the alleged wonder. it was a palpable cheat manufactured in the east for the benefit of gullible tourists. "where did your indians get that vegetable green?" father berrard asked the unsuspecting dealer. "from frog ponds," answered the store man of a region where water is scarce as hens' teeth. father berrard has not yet finished his collection of drawings, for the medicine men will reveal certain secrets only when the moon and stars are in a certain position; but he vows that when the book is finished and when he has saved money enough to issue it, his _nom de plume_ shall be "frog pond green." if we had been a party of men, we should probably have been put up at either the franciscan mission, or day's ranch; but being women we were conducted a mile farther down the arroyo to miss drexel's mission school for indian boys and girls. here little navajos come every year, not to be transformed into white boys and girls, but to be trained inside and out in cleanliness and uprightness and grace. there are in all fourteen members of the sisterhood here, much the same type of women in birth and station and training as the polished nobility that founded the first religious institutions of new france. perhaps, because the jesuit relations record such a terrible tale of martyrdom, one somehow or other associates those early indian missions with religions of a dolorous cast. not so here! a happier-faced lot of women and children you never saw than these delicately nurtured sisters and their swarthy-faced, black-eyed little wards. these sisters evidently believe that goodness should be a thing more beautiful, more joyous, more robust than evil; that the temptation to be good should be greater than the compulsion to be evil. sisters are playing tag with the little indian girls in one yard; laymen helpers teaching navajo boys baseball on the open common; and from one of the upper halls comes the sound of a brass band tuning up for future festivities. we were presently ensconced in the quarters set aside for guests; room, parlor and refectory, where two gentle-faced sisters placed all sorts of temptations on our plates and gathered news of the big, outside world. then mother josephine came in, a southern face with youth in every feature and youth in her heart, and merry, twinkling, tender, understanding eyes. presently, you hear a bugle-call signal the boys from play; and the bell sounds to prayers; and a great stillness falls; and you would not know this was navajo land at all but for the bright blanketed folk camped on the hill to the right--eerie figures seen against the pink glow of the fading light. next morning we attended mass in the little chapel upstairs. priest in vestment, altar aglow with lights and flowers, little black-eyed faces bending over their prayers, the chanting of gently nurtured voices from the stalls--is it the desert we are in, or an oasis watered by that age-old, never-failing spring of service? chapter vii across the painted desert through navajo land (_continued_) there are two ways to travel even off the beaten trail. one is to take a map, stake out pins on the points you are going to visit, then pace up to them lightning-flier fashion. if you want to, and are prepared to kill your horses, you can cross navajo land in from three to four days. even going at that pace, you can get a sense of the wonderful coloring of the painted desert, of the light lying in shimmering heat layers split by the refraction of the dusty air in prismatic hues, of an atmosphere with the tang of northern ozone and the resinous scent of incense and frankincense and myrrh. you can see the desert flowers that vie with the sun in brilliant coloring; and feel the desert night sky come down so close to you that you want to reach up a hand and pluck the jack-o'-lantern stars swinging so low through the pansy-velvet mist. you can even catch a flying glimpse of the most picturesque indian race in america, the navajos. their _hogans_ or circular, mud-wattled houses, are always somewhere near the watering pools and rock springs; and just when you think you are most alone, driving through the sagebrush and dwarf juniper, the bleat of a lamb is apt to call your attention to a flock of sheep and goats scattered almost invisibly up a blue-green hillside. blue-green, did you say? yes: that's another thing you can unlearn on a flying trip--the geography definition of a desert is about as wrong as a definition could be made. a desert isn't necessarily a vast sandy plain, stretching out in flat and arid waste. it's as variegated in its growth and landscape as your new england or old england hills and vales, only your eastern rivers flow all the time, and your desert rivers are apt to disappear through evaporation and sink below the surface during the heat of the day, coming up again in floods during the rainy months, and in pools during the cool of morning and evening. but on a flying trip, you can't learn the secret moods of the painted desert. you can't draw so much of its atmosphere into your soul that you can never think of it again without such dream-visions floating you away in its blue-gray-lilac mists as wrapped the seers of old in clairvoyant prophetic ecstasy. on a flying trip, you can learn little or nothing of the arab life of our own desert nomads. you have to depend on blue book reports of "the navajos being a dangerous, warlike race" blasted into submission by the effulgent glory of this, that, and the other military martinet writing himself down a hero. whereas, if you go out leisurely among the traders and missionaries and indians themselves, who--more's the pity--have no hand in preparing official reports, you will learn another story of a quiet, pastoral race who have for three hundred years been the victims of white man greed and white man lust, of blundering incompetency and hysterical cowardice. these are strong words. let me give some instances. we were having luncheon in the priests' refectory of the franciscan mission; and for the benefit of those who imagine that missionaries to the indians are fat and bloated on three hundred a year, i should like to set down the fact that the refectory was in a sort of back kitchen, that we ate off a red table-cloth with soup served in a basin and bath towels extemporized into serviettes. i had asked about a navajo, who not long ago went locoed right in cincinnati station and began stabbing murderously right and left. "in the first place," answered the franciscan, "that indian ought not to have been in cincinnati at all. in the second place, he ought not to have been there alone. in the third place, he had great provocation." here is the story, as i gathered it from traders and missionaries and indians. the navajo was having trouble over title to his land. that was wrong the first on the part of the white man. it was necessary for him to go to washington to lay his grievance before the government. now for an indian to go to washington is as great an undertaking as it was for stanley to go to darkest africa. the trip ought not to have been necessary if our indian office had more integrity and less red-tape; but the local agency provided him with an interpreter. the next great worry to the navajo was that he could not get access to "the great white father." there were interminable red-tape and delay. finally, when he got access to the indian office, he could get no definite, prompt settlement. with this accumulation of small worries, insignificant enough to a well-to-do white man but mighty harassing to a poor indian, he set out for home; and at the station in washington, the interpreter left him. the navajo could not speak one word of english. changing cars in cincinnati, hustled and jostled by the crowds, he suddenly felt for his purse--he had been robbed. now, the navajo code is if another tribe injures his tribe, it is his duty to go forth instantly and strike that offender. our own saxon and highland scotch ancestors once had a code very similar. the indian at once went locoed--lost his head, and began stabbing right and left. the white man newspaper told the story of the murderous assault in flare head lines; but it didn't tell the story of wrongs and procrastination. the indian office righted the land matter; but that didn't undo the damage. through the efforts of the missionaries and the traders, the indian was permitted to plead insanity. he was sent to an asylum, where he must have had some queer thoughts of white man justice. just recently, he has been released under bonds. the most notorious case of wrong and outrage and cowardice and murder known in navajo land was that of a few years ago, when the indian agent peremptorily ordered a navajo to bring his child in to the agency school. not so did marmon and pratt sway the indians at laguna, when the pueblos there were persuaded to send their children to carlisle; and miss drexel's mission has never yet issued peremptory orders for children to come to school; but the martinet mandate went forth. now, the indian treaty, that provides the child shall be sent to school, also stipulates that the school shall be placed within reach of the child; and the navajo knew that he was within his right in refusing to let the child leave home when the government had failed to place the school within such distance of his _hogan_. he was then warned by the agent that unless the child were sent within a certain time, troops would be summoned from ft. wingate and ft. defiance. the indians met, pow-wowed with one another, and decided they were still within their right in refusing. there can be no doubt but that if captain willard, himself, had been in direct command of the detachment, the cowardly murder would not have occurred; but the navajos were only indians; and the troops arrived on the scene in charge of a hopelessly incompetent subordinate, who proved himself not only a bully but a most arrant coward. according to the traders and the missionaries and the indians themselves, the navajos were not even armed. fourteen of them were in one of the mud _hogans_. they offered no resistance. they say they were not even summoned to surrender. traders, who have talked with the navajos present, say the troopers surrounded the _hogan_ in the dark, a soldier's gun went off by mistake and the command was given in hysterical fright to "fire." the indians were so terrified that they dashed out to hide in the sagebrush. "bravery! indian bravery--pah," one officer of the detachment was afterwards heard to exclaim. two navajos were killed, one wounded, eleven captured in as cold-blooded a murder as was ever perpetrated by thugs in a city street. without lawyers, without any defense whatsoever, without the hearing of witnesses, without any fair trial whatsoever, the captives were sentenced to the penitentiary. it needed only a finishing touch to make this piece of dreyfusism complete; and that came when a little missionary voiced the general sense of outrage by writing a letter to a denver paper. president roosevelt at once dispatched someone from washington to investigate; and it was an easy matter to scare the wits out of the little preacher and declare the investigation closed. in fact, it was one of the things that would not bear investigation; but the evidence still exists in navajo land, with more, which space forbids here but which comes under the sixty-fifth article of war. the officer guilty of this outrage has since been examined as to his sanity and brought himself under possibilities of a penitentiary term on another count. he is still at middle age a subordinate officer. these are other secrets of the painted desert you will daily con if you go leisurely across the great lone reserve and do not take with you the lightning-express habits of urban life. for instance, in the account of the cave dwellers of the frijoles reference was made to the indian legend of "the heavens raining fire" (volcanic action) and driving the prehistoric pueblo peoples from their ancient dwelling. mrs. day of st. michael's, who has forgotten more lore than the scientists will ever pick up, told me of a great chunk of lava found by mr. day in which were embedded some perfect specimens of corn--which seems to sustain the indian legend of volcanic outburst having destroyed the ancient nations here. the slab was sent east to a museum in brooklyn. some scientists explain these black slabs as a fusion of adobe. * * * * * as we had not yet learned how to do the painted desert, we went forward by the mail wagon from st. michael's to mr. hubbell's famous trading post at ganado. mail bags were stacked up behind us, and a one-eyed navajo driver sat in front. we were in the desert, but our way led through the park-like vistas of the mast-high yellow pine, a region of such high, rare, dry air that not a blade of grass grows below the conifers. the soil is as dry as dust and fine as flour; and there is an all-pervasive odor, not of burning, but of steaming resin, or pine sap heated to evaporation; but it is not hot. the mesa runs up to an altitude of almost , feet, with air so light that you feel a buoyant lift to your heart-beats and a clearing of the cobwebs from your brain. you can lose lots of sleep here and not feel it. all heaviness has gone out of body and soul. in fact, when you come back to lower levels, the air feels thick and hard to breathe. and you can go hard here and not tire, and stand on the crest of mesas that anywhere else would be considered mountains, and wave your arms above the top of the world. so high you are--you did not realize it--that the rim of encircling mountains is only a tiny wave of purplish green sky-line like the edge of an inverted blue bowl. [illustration: the moki indian pueblo of walpi, in northeastern arizona, stands on a mesa high above the plain] the mesas rise and rise, and presently you are out and above forest line altogether among the sagebrush shimmering in pure light; and you become aware of a great quiet, a great silence, such as you feel on mountain peaks; and you suddenly realize how rare and scarce life is--life of bird or beast--at these high levels. the reason is, of course, the scarcity of water, though on our way out just below this mesa at the side of a dry arroyo we found one of the wayside springs that make life of any kind possible in the desert. then the trail began dropping down, down in loops and twists; and just at sunset we turned up a dry arroyo bed to a cluster of adobe ranch houses and store and mission. thousands of plaintively bleating goats and sheep seemed to be coming out of the juniper hills to the watering pool, herded as usual by little girls; for the custom is to dower each child at birth with sheep or ponies, the increase of which becomes that child's wealth for life. navajo men rode up and down the arroyo bed as graceful and gayly caparisoned as arabs, or lounged around the store building smoking. huge wool wagons loaded three layers deep with the season's fleece stood in front of the rancho. women with children squatted on the ground, but the thing that struck you first as always in the painted desert was color: color in the bright headbands; color in the close-fitting plush shirts; color in the germantown blankets--for the navajo blanket is too heavy for desert use; color in the lemon and lilac belts across the sunset sky; color, more color, in the blood-red sand hills and bright ochre rocks and whirling orange dust clouds where riders or herds of sheep were scouring up the sandy arroyo. no wonder burbank and lungren and curtis go mad over the color of this subtle land of mystery and half-tones and shadows and suggestions. if you haven't seen curtis' figures and burbank's heads and lungren's marvelously beautiful desert scenes of this land, you have missed some of the best work being done in the art world to-day. if this work were done in europe it would command its tens of thousands, where with us it commands only its hundreds. nothing that the pre-raphaelites ever did in the holy lands equals in expressiveness and power lungren's studies of the desert; though the pre-raphaelites commanded prices of $ , and $ , , where we as a nation grumble about paying our artists one thousand and two thousand. the navajo driver nodded back to us that this was ganado; and in a few moments mr. hubbell had come from the trading post to welcome us under a roof that in thirty years has never permitted a stranger to pass its doors unwelcomed. as mr. lorenzo hubbell has already entered history in the makings of arizona and as he shuns the limelight quite as "mollycoddles" (his favorite term) seek the spotlights, a slight account of him may not be out of place. first, as to his house: from the outside you see the typical squat adobe oblong so suited to a climate where hot winds are the enemies to comfort. you notice as you enter the front door that the walls are two feet or more thick. then you take a breath. you had expected a bare ranch interior with benches and stiff chairs backed up against the wall. instead, you see a huge living-room forty or fifty feet long, every square foot of the walls covered by paintings and drawings of western life. every artist of note (with the exception of one) who has done a picture on the southwest in the last thirty years is represented by a canvas here. you could spend a good week studying the paintings of the hubbell ranch. including sepias, oils and watercolors, there must be almost pictures. by chance, you look up to the raftered ceiling; a specimen of every kind of rare basketry made by the indians hangs from the beams. on the floor lie navajo rugs of priceless value and rarest weave. when you go over to mr. hubbell's office, you find that he, like father berrard, has colored drawings of every type of moki and navajo blankets. on the walls of the office are more pictures; on the floors, more rugs; in the safes and cases, specimens of rare silver-work that somehow again remind you of the affinity between hindoo and navajo. mr. hubbell yearly does a quarter-of-a-million-dollar business in wool, and yearly extends to the navajos credit for amounts running from twenty-five dollars to fifty thousand dollars--a trust which they have never yet betrayed. along the walls of the living-room are doors opening to the sleeping apartments; and in each of the many guest rooms are more pictures, more rugs. behind the living-room is a _placito_ flanked by the kitchen and cook's quarters. now what manner of man is this so-called "king of northern arizona"? a lover of art and a patron of it; also the shrewdest politician and trader that ever dwelt in navajo land; a man with friends, who would like the privilege of dying for him; also with enemies who would keenly like the privilege of helping him to die. what the chief factors of the hudson's bay company used to be to the indians of the north, lorenzo hubbell has been to the indians of the desert--friend, guard, counselor, with a strong hand to punish when they required it, but a stronger hand to befriend when help was needed; always and to the hilt an enemy to the cheap-jack politician who came to exploit the indian, though he might have to beat the rascal at his own game of putting up a bigger bluff. in appearance, a fine type of the courtly spanish-american gentleman with castilian blue eyes and black, beetling brows and gray hair; with a courtliness that keeps you guessing as to how much more gracious the next courtesy can be than the last, and a funny anecdote to cap every climax. you would not think to look at mr. hubbell that time was when he as nonchalantly cut the cards for $ , and as gracefully lost it all, as other men match dimes for cigars. and you can't make him talk about himself. it is from others you must learn that in the great cattle and sheep war, in which men lost their lives, it was he who led the native mexican sheep owners against the aggressive cattle crowd. they are all friends now, the old-time enemies, and have buried their feud; and dynamite will not force mr. hubbell to open his mouth on the subject. in fact, it was a pair of the "rustlers" themselves who told me of the time that the cowboys took a swoop into the navajo reserve and stampeded off of the indians' best horses; but they had reckoned without lorenzo hubbell. in twenty-four hours he had got together the swiftest riders of the navajos; and in another twenty-four hours, he had pursued the thieves miles into the wildest cañons of arizona and had rescued every horse. one of the men, whom he had pursued, wiped the sweat from his brow in memory of it. he is more than a type of the spanish-american gentleman. he is a type of the man that the desert produces: quiet, soft spoken--powerfully soft spoken--alert, keen, relentless and versatile; but also a dreamer of dreams, a seer of visions, a passionate patriot, and a lover of art who proves his love by buying. the navajos are to-day by long odds the most prosperous indians in america. their vast reserve offers ample pasturage for their sheep and ponies; and though their flocks are a scrub lot, yielding little more than fifty to seventy cents a head in wool on the average, still it costs nothing to keep sheep and goats. both furnish a supply of meat. the hides fetch ready money. so does the wool, so do the blankets; and the navajos are the finest silversmiths in america. formerly, they obtained their supply of raw silver bullion from the spaniards; but to-day, they melt and hammer down united states currency into butterfly brooches and snake bracelets and leather belts with the fifty-cent coins changed into flower blossoms with a turquoise center. ten-cent pieces and quarters are transformed into necklaces of silver beads, or buttons for shirt and moccasins. if you buy these things in the big western cities, they are costly as chinese or hindoo silver; but on the reserve, there is a very simple way of computing the value. first, take the value of the coin from which the silver ornament is made. add a dollar for the silversmith's labor; and also add whatever value the turquoise happens to be; and you have the price for which true navajo silver-work can be bought out on the reserve. among the navajos, the women weave the blankets and baskets; among the moki, the men, while the women are the great pottery makers. the value of these out on the reserve is exactly in proportion to the intricacy of the work, the plain native wool colors--black, gray, white and brown--varying in price from seventy cents to $ . a pound; the fine bayetta or red weave, which is finer than any machine can produce and everlasting in its durability, fetching pretty nearly any price the owner asks. other colors than the bayetta red and native wool shades, i need scarcely say here, are in bought mineral dyes. true bayettas, which are almost a lost art, bring as high as $ , each from a connoisseur. other native wools vary in price according to size and color from $ to $ . off the reserve, these prices are simply doubled. from all of which, it should be evident that no thrifty navajo need be poor. his house costs nothing. it is made of cedar shakes stuck up in the ground crutchwise and wattled with mud. strangely enough, the navajo no longer uses his own blankets. they are too valuable; also, too heavy for the climate. he uses the cheap and gaudy germantown patterns. * * * * * at seven one morning in may, equipped with one of mr. hubbell's fastest teams and a good mexican driver who knew the trail, we set out from ganado for keam's cañon. it need scarcely be stated here that in desert travel you must carry your water keg, "grub" box and horse feed with you. all these, up to the present, mr. hubbell has freely supplied passers-by; but as travel increases through the painted desert, it is a system that must surely be changed, not because the public love mr. hubbell "less, but more." the morning air was pure wine. the hills were veiled in a lilac light--tones, half-tones, shades and subtle suggestions of subdued glory--with an almost alpine glow where the red sunrise came through notches of the painted peaks. _hogan_ after _hogan_, with sheep corrals in cedar shakes, we passed, where little boys and girls were driving the sheep and goats up and down from the watering places. presently, as you drive northwestward, there swim through the opaline haze peculiar to the desert, purplish-green forested peaks splashed with snow on the summit--the francisco mountains of flagstaff far to the south; and you are on a high sagebrush mesa, like a gray sea, with miles, miles upon miles (for three hours you drive through it) of delicate, lilac-scented bloom, the sagebrush in blossom. i can liken it to nothing but the appearance of the sea at sunrise or sunset when a sort of misty lavender light follows the red glow. this mesa leads you into the cedar woods, an incense-scented forest far as you can see for hours and hours. you begin to understand how a desert has not only mountains and hills but forests. in fact, the northern belt of the painted desert comprises the kaibab forest, and the southern belt the tusayan and coconino forests, the mesas of the moki and navajo land lying like a wedge between these two belts. then, towards midday, your trail has been dropping so gradually that you hardly realize it till you slither down a sand bank and find yourself between the yellow pumice walls of a blind _cul-de-sac_ in the rock--nooning place--where a tiny trickle of pure spring water pours out of the upper angle of rock, forming a pool in a natural basin of stone. here cowboys of the long-ago days, when this was a no-man's-land, have fenced the waters in from pollution and painted hands of blood on the walls of the cave roof above the spring. wherever you find pools in the desert, there the desert silence is broken by life; unbroken range ponies trotting back and forward for a drink, blue jays and bluebirds flashing phantoms in the sunlight, the wild doves fluttering in flocks and sounding their mournful "hoo-hoo-hoo." this spring is about half of the fifty-five miles between ganado and keam's cañon; and the last half of the trail is but a continuance of the first: more lilac-colored mesas high above the top of the world, with the encircling peaks like the edge of an inverted bowl, a sky above blue as the bluest turquoise; then the cedared lower hills redolent of evergreens; a drop amid the pumice rocks of the lower world, and you are in keam's cañon, driving along the bank of an arroyo trenched by floods, steep as a carved wall. you pass the ruins of the old government school, where the floods drove the scholars out, and see the big rock commemorating kit carson's famous fight long ago, and come on the new indian schools where little navajos and mokis are being taught by federal appointees--schools as fine in every respect as the best educational institutions of the east. at the agency office here you must obtain a permit to go on into moki land; for the three mesas and oraibi and hotoville are the _ultima thule_ of the trail across the painted desert. here you find tribes completely untouched by civilization and as hostile to it (as the name hotoville signifies) as when the spaniard first came among them. in fact, the only remnants of spanish influence left at some of these mesas are the dwarfed peach orchards growing in the arid sands. these were planted centuries ago by the spanish _padres_. the trading post managed by mr. lorenzo hubbell, jr., at keam's cañon is but a replica of his father's establishment at ganado. here is the same fine old spanish hospitality. here, too, is a rare though smaller collection of western paintings. there are rugs from every part of the navajo land, and specimens of pottery from the three mesas--especially from nampaii, the wonderful woman pottery maker of the first mesa--and fine silver-work gathered from the navajo silversmiths. and with it all is the gracious perfection of the art that conceals art, the air that you are conferring a favor on the host to accept rest in a little rose-covered bower of two rooms and a parlor placed at the command of guests. the last lap of the drive across the painted desert is by all odds the hardest stretch of the road, as well as the most interesting. it is here the mokis, or hopi, have their reservation in the very heart of navajo land; and there will be no quarrel over possession of this land. it lies a sea of yellow sand with high rampant islands-- , , , , feet above the plains--of yellow _tufa_ and white gypsum rock, sides as sheer as a wall, the top a flat plateau but for the crest where perch the moki villages. up the narrow acclivities leading to these mesa crests the mokis must bring all provisions, all water, their ponies and donkeys. if they could live on atmosphere, on views of a painted world at their feet receding to the very drop over the sky-line, with tones and half-tones and subtle suggestions of opaline snow peaks swimming in the lilac haze hundreds of miles away, you would not wonder at their choosing these eerie eagle nests for their cities; for the coloring below is as gorgeous and brilliant as in the grand cañon. but you see their little farm patches among the sand billows below, the peach trees almost uprooted by the violence of the wind, literally and truly, a stone placed where the corn has been planted to prevent seed and plantlet from being blown away. or if the navajo still raided the moki, you could understand them toiling like beasts of burden carrying water up to these hilltops; but the day of raid and foray is forever past. it was on our way back over this trail that we learned one good reason why the dwellers of this land must keep to the high rock crests. crossing the high mesa, we had felt the wind begin to blow, when like drummond's habitant skipper, "it blew and then it blew some more." by the time we reached the sandy plain below, such a hurricane had broken as i have seen only once before, and that was off the coast of labrador, when for six hours we could not see the sea for the foam. the billows of sand literally lifted. you could not see the sandy plain for a dust fine as flour that wiped out every landmark three feet ahead of your horses' noses. the wheels sank hub deep in sand. of trail, not a sign was left; and you heard the same angry roar as in a hurricane at sea. but like the eternal rocks, dim and serene and high above the turmoil, stood the first mesa village of moki land. perhaps after all, these little squat pueblo indians knew what they were doing when they built so high above the dust storms. twice the rear wheels lifted for a glorious upset; but we veered and tacked and whipped the fagged horses on. for three hours the hurricane lasted, and when finally it sank with an angry growl and we came out of the fifteen miles of sand into sagebrush and looked back, the rosy tinge of an afterglow lay on the gray pile of stone where the moki town crests the top of the lofty mesa. in justice to travelers and desert dwellers, two or three facts should be added. such dust storms occur only in certain spring months. so much in fairness to the painted desert. next, i have cursorily given slight details of the desert storm, because i don't want any pleasure seekers to think the painted desert can be crossed with the comfort of a pullman car. you have to pay for your fun. we paid in that blinding, stinging, smothering blast as from a furnace, from three to half past five. women are supposed to be irrepressible talkers. well--we came to the point where not a soul in the carriage could utter a word for the dust. lastly, when we saw that the storm was to be such a genuine old-timer, we ought to have tied wet handkerchiefs across our mouths. glasses we had to keep the dust out of our eyes; but that dust is alkali, and it took a good two weeks' sneezing and a very sore throat to get rid of it. of the three mesas and oraibi and hotoville, space forbids details except that they are higher than the village at acoma. overlooking the painted desert in every direction, they command a view that beggars all description and almost staggers thought. you seem to be overlooking almighty god's own amphitheater of dazzlingly-colored infinity; and naturally you go dumb with joy of the beauty of it and lose your own personality and perspective utterly. we lunched on the brink of a white precipice , feet above anywhere, and saw moki women toiling up that declivity with urns of water on their heads, and photographed naked urchins sunning themselves on the baking bare rock, and stood above _estufas_, or sacred underground council chambers, where the pueblos held their religious rites before the coming of the spaniards. of the moki towns, oraibi is, perhaps, cleaner and better than the three mesas. the mesas are indescribably, unspeakably filthy. at oraibi, you can wander through adobe houses clean as your own home quarters, the adobe hard as cement, the rooms divided into sleeping apartments, cooking room, meal bin, etc. also, being nearer the formation of the grand cañon, the coloring surrounding the mesa is almost as gorgeous as the cañon. if it had not been that the season was verging on the summer rains, which flood the little colorado, we should have gone on from oraibi to the grand cañon. but the little colorado is full of quicksands, dangerous to a span of a generous host's horses; so we came back the way we had entered. as we drove down the winding trail that corkscrews from oraibi to the sand plain, a group of moki women came running down the footpath and met us just as we were turning our backs on the mesa. "we love you," exclaimed an old woman extending her hand (the government doctor interpreted for us), "we love you with all our hearts and have come down to wish you a good-by." chapter viii the grand caÑon and petrified forests the belt of national forests west of the painted desert and navajo land comprises that strange area of onyx and agate known as the petrified forests, the upland pine parks of the francisco mountains round flagstaff, the vast territory of the grand cañon, and the western slope between the continental divide and the pacific. needless to say, it takes a great deal longer to see these forests than to write about them. you could spend a good two weeks in each area, and then come away conscious that you had seen only the beginnings of the wonders in each. for instance, the petrified forests cover an area of , acres that could keep you busy for a week. then, when you think you have seen everything, you learn of some hieroglyphic inscriptions on a nearby rock, with lettering which no scientist has yet deciphered, but with pictographs resembling the ancient phoenician signs from which our own alphabet is supposed to be derived. also, after you have viewed the cañons and upland pine parks and snowy peaks and cliff dwellings round flagstaff and have recovered from the surprise of learning there are upland pine parks and snowy peaks twelve to fourteen thousand feet high in the desert, you may strike south and see the aztec ruins of montezuma's castle and montezuma's well, or go yet farther afield to the great natural bridge of southern arizona, or explore near winslow a great crater-like cavity supposed to mark the sinking of some huge meteorite. of the grand cañon little need be said here; not because there is nothing to say, but because all the superlatives you can pile on, all the scientific explanations you can give, are so utterly inadequate. you can count on one hand the number of men who have explored the whole length of the grand cañon-- miles--and hundreds of the lesser cañons that strike off sidewise from grand cañon are still unexplored and unexploited. then, when you cross the continental divide and come on down to the angeles forests in from los angeles, and the cleveland in from san diego, you are in a poor-man's paradise so far as a camp holiday is concerned. for $ a week you are supplied with tent, camp kit and all. if there are two of you, $ a week will cover your holiday; and forty cents by electric car takes you out to your stamping ground. an average of people a month go out to one or other of the petrified forests. from flagstaff, people a month go in to see the cliff dwellings. not less than , people a year visit the grand cañon and , people yearly camp and holiday in the angeles and cleveland forests. and we are but at the beginning of the discovery of our own western wonderland. who shall say that the national forests are not the people's playground of _all_ america; that they do not belong to the east as much as to the west; that east and west are not alike concerned in maintaining and protecting them? you strike into the petrified forests from adamana or holbrook. adamana admits you to one section of the petrified area, holbrook to another--both equally marvelous and easily accessible. if you go out in a big tally-ho with several others in the rig, the charge will be from $ . to $ . . if you hire a driver and fast team for yourself, the charge will be from $ to $ . both places have hotels, their charges varying from $ and $ . in holbrook, to $ and $ . at adamana. the hotel puts up your luncheon and water keg, and the trips can be made, with the greatest ease in a day. don't go to the petrified forests expecting thrills of the big knock-you-down variety! to go from the spacious glories of the boundless painted desert to the little , -acre area of the petrified forests is like passing from a big turner or watts canvas in the tate gallery, london, to a tiny study in blue mist and stars by whistler. if you go looking for "big" things you'll come away disappointed; but if like tennyson and bobby burns and wordsworth, "the flower in the crannied wall" has as much beauty for you as the ocean or a mountain, you'll come away touched with the mystery of that southwestern wonderland quite as much as if you had come out of all the riotous intoxication of color in the painted desert. in fact, you drive across the southern rim of the painted desert to reach the petrified forests. you are crossing the aromatic, sagey-smelling dry plain pink with a sort of morning primrose light, when you come abruptly into broken country. a sandy arroyo trenches and cuts the plain here. a gravelly hillock hunches up there; and just when you are having an eye to the rear wheel brake, or glancing back to see whether the fat man is on the up or down side, your eye is caught by spangles of rainbow light on the ground, by huge blood-colored rocks the shape of a fallen tree with encrusted stone bark on the outside and wedges and slabs and pillars of pure onyx and agate in the middle. somehow you think of that navajo legend of the coyote spilling the stars on the face of the sky, and you wonder what marvel-maker among the gods of medicine-men spilled his huge bag of precious stone all over the gravel in this fashion. then someone cries out, "why, look, that's a tree!" and the tally-ho spills its occupants out helter-skelter; and someone steps off a long blood-red, bark-incrusted column hidden at both ends in the sand, and shouts out that the visible part of the recumbent trunk is feet long. there was a scientist along with us the day we went out, a man from belgium in charge of the rare forests of java; and he declared without hesitation that many of these prone, pillared giants must be sequoias of the same ancient family as california's groves of big trees. think what that means! these petrified trees lie so deeply buried in the sand that only treetops and sections of the trunks and broken bits of small upper branches are visible. practically no excavation has taken place beneath these hillocks of gravel and sand. the depth and extent of the forest below this ancient ocean bed are unknown. only water--oceans and æons of water--could have rolled and swept and piled up these sand hills. before the desert was an ancient sea; and before the sea was an ancient sequoia forest; and it takes a sequoia from six to ten thousand years to come to its full growth; and that about gets you back to the ancient of days busy in his workshop making man out of mud, and earth out of chaos. [illustration: there is nothing else remotely resembling the grand cañon in the known world, and no one has yet been heard of who has seen it and been disappointed] but there is another side to the petrified forests besides a prehistoric, geologic one. split one of the big or little pieces of petrified wood open, and you find pure onyx, pure agate, the colors of the rainbow, which every youngster has tried to catch in its hands, caught by a master hand and transfixed forever in the eternal rocks. crosswise, the split shows the concentric circles of the wood grain in blues and purples and reds and carmines and golds and lilacs and primrose pinks. split the stone longitudinally and you have the same colors in water-waves brilliant as a diamond, hard as a diamond, so hard you can only break it along the grain of the ancient wood, so hard, fortunately, that it almost defies man-machinery for a polish. this hardness has been a blessing in disguise; for before the petrified forests were made by act of congress a national park, or monument, the petrified wood was exploited commercially and shipped away in carloads to be polished. you can see some shafts of the polished specimens in any of the big eastern museums; but it was found that the petrified wood required machinery as expensive and fine as for diamonds to effect a hard polish, and the thing was not commercially possible; so the petrified forests will never be vandalized. you lunch under a natural bridge formed by the huge shaft of a prone giant, and step off more fallen pillars to find lengths greater than feet, and seat yourself on stump ends of a rare enough beauty for an emperor's throne; but always you come back to the first pleasures of a child--picking up the smaller pebbles, each pebble as if there had been a sun shower of rainbow drops and each drop had crystallized into colored diamonds. i said don't go to the petrified forests expecting a big thrill. yet if you have eyes that really see, and go there after a rain when every single bit of rock is ashine with the colors of broken rainbows; or go there at high noon, when every color strikes back in spangles of light--there is something the matter with you if you don't have a big thrill with a capital "b." there is another pleasure on your trip to the petrified forests, which you will get if you know how, but completely miss if you don't. all these drivers to the forests are old-timers of the days when arizona was a no-man's-land. for instance, al stevenson, the custodian at adamana, was one of the men along with commodore owen of san diego and bert potter of the forestry department, washington, who rescued sheriff woods of holbrook from a lynching party in the old sheep and cattle war days. stevenson can tell that story as few men know it; and dozens of others he can tell of the old, wild, pioneer days when a man had to be all man and fearless to his trigger tips, or cash in, and cash in quick. at holbrook you can get the story of the show-low ranch and all the $ , worth of stock won in a cut of cards; or of how they hanged stott and scott and wilson--mere boys, two of them in tonto basin, for horses which they didn't steal. all through this painted desert you are just on the other side of a veil from the land of true romance; but you'll not lift that veil, believe me, with a patronizing eastern question. you'll find your way in, if you know how; and if you don't know how, no man can teach you. and at adamana, don't forget to see the pictograph rocks. then you'll appreciate why the scientists wonder whether the antiquity of the orient is old as the antiquity of our own america. flagstaff, frankly, does not live up to its own opportunities. it is the gateway to many aztec ruins--much more easily accessible to the public than the frijoles cave dwellings of new mexico. only nine miles out by easy trail are cliff dwellings in walnut cañon. these differ from the frijoles in not being caves. the ancient people have simply taken advantage of natural arches high in the face of unscalable precipices and have bricked up the faces of these with adobe. as far as i know, not so much as the turn of a spade has ever been attempted in excavation. the débris of centuries lies on the floors of the houses; and the adobe brick in front is gradually crumbling and rolling down the precipice into walnut cañon. nor is there any doubt but that slight excavation would yield discoveries. you find bits of pottery and shard in the débris piles; and the day we went out, five minutes' scratching over of one cliff floor unearthed bits of wampum shell that from the perforations had evidently been used as a necklace. the forestry service has a man stationed here to guard the old ruins; but the government might easily go a step further and give him authority to attempt some slight restoration. you drive across a cinder plain from flagstaff and suddenly drop down to a footpath that takes you to the brink of circling gray stone cañons many hundreds of feet deep. along the top ledges of these amid such rocks as mountain sheep might frequent are the cliff houses--hundreds and hundreds of them, which no one has yet explored. at the bottom of the lonely, silent, dark cañon was evidently once a stream; but no stream has flowed here in the memory of the white race; and the cliff houses give evidence of even greater age than the caves. only forty-seven miles south of flagstaff are montezuma's castle and well. drivers can be hired in flagstaff to take you out at from $ to $ a day; and there are ranch houses near the castle and the well, where you can stay at very trifling cost, indeed. it comes as a surprise to see here at flagstaff, wedged between the painted desert and the arid plains of the south, the snow-capped peaks of the francisco mountains ranging from , to , feet high, an easy climb to the novice. only twenty miles out at oak creek is one of the best trout brooks of the southwest; and twenty-five miles out is a ranch house in a cool cañon where health and holiday seekers can stay all the year in the verde valley. it is from east verde that you go to the natural bridge. the central span of this bridge is feet from the creek bottom, and the creek itself deposits lime so rapidly that if you drop a stone or a hat down, it at once encrusts and petrifies. also at flagstaff is the famous lowell observatory. in fact, if flagstaff lived up to its opportunities, if there were guides, cheap tally-hos and camp outfitters on the spot, it could as easily have , tourists a month as it now has between and . * * * * * when you reach the grand cañon, you have come to the uttermost wonder of the southwestern wonder world. there is nothing else like it in america. there is nothing else remotely resembling it in the known world; and no one has yet been heard of who has come to the grand cañon and gone away disappointed. if the grand cañon were in egypt or the alps, it is safe to wager it would be visited by every one of the , americans who yearly throng continental resorts. as it is, only , people a year visit it; and a large proportion of them are foreigners. you can do the cañon cheaply, or you can do it extravagantly. you can go to it by driving across the painted desert, miles; or motoring in from flagstaff--a half-day trip; or by train from williams, return ticket something more than $ . or you can take your own pack horses, and ride in yourself; or you can employ one of the well known local trail makers and guides, like john bass, and go off up the cañon on a camping trip of weeks or months. once you reach the rim of the cañon, you can camp under your own tent roof and cater your own meals. or you may go to the big hotel and pay $ to $ a day. or you may get tent quarters at the bright angel camp--$ a day, and whatever you pay for your meals. or you may join one of john bass' camps which will cost from $ up, according to the number of horses and the size of your party. first of all, understand what the grand cañon is, and what it isn't. we ordinarily think of a cañon as a narrow cleft or trench in the rocks, seldom more than a few hundred feet deep and wide, and very seldom more than a few miles long. the grand cañon is nearly as long as from new york to canada, as wide as the city of new york is long, and as deep straight as a plummet as the canadian rockies or lesser alps are high. in other words, it is miles long, from thirteen to twenty wide, and has a straight drop a mile deep, or seven miles as the trail zigzags down. you think of a cañon as a great trench between mountains. this one is a colossal trench with side cañons going off laterally its full length, dozens of them to each mile, like ribs along a backbone. ordinarily, to climb a , foot mountain, you have to go up. at the grand cañon, you come to the brink of the sagebrush plain and jump off--to climb these peaks. peak after peak, you lose count of them in the mist of primrose fire and lilac light and purpling shadows. to climb these peaks, you go down, down , feet a good deal steeper than the ordinary stair and in places quite as steep as the metropolitan tower elevator. in fact, if the metropolitan tower and the singer building and the flatiron and washington's shaft in the capital city were piled one on top of another in a pinnacled pyramid, they would barely reach up one-seventh of the height of these massive peaks swimming in countless numbers in the color of the cañon. so much for dimensions! now as to time. if you have only one day, you can dive in by train in the morning and out by night, and between times go to sunrise point or--if you are a robust walker--down bright angel trail to the bank of the colorado river, seven miles. if you have two days at your disposal, you can drive out to grand view--fourteen miles--and overlook the panorama of the cañon twenty miles in all directions. if you have more days yet at your disposal, there are good trips on wild trails to dripping springs and to gertrude point and to cataract cañon and by aerial tram across the colorado river to the kaibab plateau on the other side. in fact, if you stayed at the grand cañon a year and were not afraid of trailless trips, you could find a new view, a new wonder place, new stamping grounds each day. remember that the cañon itself is miles long; and it has lateral cañons uncounted. when you reach el tovar you are told two of the first things to do are take the drives--three miles each way--to sunrise and to sunset points. don't! save your dollars, and walk them both. by carriage, the way leads through the pine woods back from the rim for three miles to each point. by walking, you can keep on an excellent trail close to the rim and do each in twenty minutes; for the foot trails are barely a mile long. also by walking, you can escape the loud-mouthed, bull-voiced tourist who bawls out his own shallow knowledge of erosion to the whole carriageful just at the moment you want to float away in fancy amid opal lights and upper heights where the olympic and hindoo and norse gods took refuge when unbelief drove them from their old resorts. in fact, if you keep looking long enough through that lilac fire above seas of primrose mists, you can almost fancy those hoary old gods of beauty and power floating round angles of the massive lower mountains, shifting the scenes and beckoning one another from the wings of this huge amphitheater. the space-filling talker is still bawling out about "the mighty powers of erosion"; and a thin-faced curate is putting away a figure of speech about "almighty power" for his next sermon. personally, i prefer the old pagan way of expressing these things in the short cut of a personifying god who did a smashing big business with the hammer of thor, or the sea horses of neptune or the forked lightnings of old loud-thundering jove. you can walk down bright angel trail to the river at the bottom of the cañon; but unless your legs have a pair of very good benders under the knees, you'll not be able to walk up that trail the same day, for the way down is steep as a stair and the distance is seven miles. in that case, better spend the night at the camp known as the indian gardens halfway down in a beautifully watered dell; or else have the regular daily party bring down the mules for you to the river. or you can join the regular tourist party both going down and coming up. mainly because we wanted to see the sunrise, but also because a big party on a narrow trail is always unsafe and a gabbling crowd on a beautiful trail is always agony, two of us rose at four a. m. and walked down the trail during sunrise, leaving orders for a special guide to fetch mules down for us to the river. space forbids details of the tramp, except to say it was worth the effort, twice over worth the effort in spite of knees that sent up pangs and protests for a week. it had rained heavily all night and the path was very slippery; but if rain brings out the colors of the petrified forests, you can imagine what it does to sunrise in a sea of blood-red mountain peaks. much of the trail is at an angle of forty-five degrees; but it is wide and well shored up at the outer edge. the foliage lining the trail was dripping wet; and the sunlight struck back from each leaf in spangles of gold. an incense as of morning worship filled the air with the odor of cedars and cloves and wild nutmeg pinks and yucca bloom. there are many more birds below the cañon rim than above it; and the dawn was filled with snatches of song from bluebirds and yellow finches and water ousels, whose notes were like the tinkle of pure water. what looked like a tiny red hillock from the rim above is now seen to be a mighty mountain, four, five, seven thousand feet from river to peak, with walls smooth as if planed by the artificer of all eternity. in any other place, the gorges between these peaks would be dignified by the names of cañons. here, they are mere wings to the main stage setting of the grand cañon. we reached the indian garden's camp in time for breakfast and rested an hour before going on down to the river. the trail followed a gentle descent over sand-hills and rocky plateaus at first, then suddenly it began to drop sheer in the section known as the devil's corkscrew. the heat became sizzling as you descended; but the grandeur grew more imposing from the stupendous height and sheer sides of the brilliantly colored gorges and masses of shadows above. then the devil's corkscrew fell into a sandy dell where a tiny waterfall trickled with the sound of the voice of many waters in the great silence. a cloudburst would fill this gorge in about a jiffy; but a cloudburst is the last thing on earth you need expect in this land of scant showers and no water. suddenly, you turn a rock angle, and the yellow, muddy, turbulent flood of the colorado swirls past you, tempestuous, noisy, sullen and dark, filling the narrow cañon with the war of rock against water. what seemed to be mere foothills far above, now appear colossal peaks sheer up and down, penning the angry river between black walls. it was no longer hot. we could hear a thunder shower reverberating back in some of the valleys of the cañon; and the rain falling between us and the red rocks was as a curtain to the scene shifting of those old earth and mountain and water gods hiding in the wings of the vast amphitheater. and if you want a wilder, more eery trail than down bright angel, go from dripping springs out to gertrude point. i know a great many wild mountain trails in the rockies, north and south; but i have never known one that will give more thrills from its sheer beauty and sheer daring. you go out round the ledges of precipice after precipice, where nothing holds you back from a fall , feet straight as a stone could drop, nothing but the sure-footedness of your horse; out and out, round and round peak after peak, till you are on the tip top and outer edge of one of the highest mountains in the cañon. this is the trail of old louis boucher, one of the beauty-loving souls who first found his way into the center of the cañon and built his own trail to one of its grandest haunts. louis used to live under the arch formed by the dripping springs; but louis has long since left, and the trail is falling away and is now one for a horse that can walk on air and a head that doesn't feel the sensations of champagne when looking down a straight , feet into darkness. if you like that kind of a trail, take the trip; for it is the best and wildest view of the cañon; but take two days to it, and sleep at louis' deserted camp under the dripping springs. yet if you don't like a trail where you wonder if you remembered to make your will and what would happen if the gravel slipped from your horse's feet one of these places where the next turn seems to jump off into atmosphere, then wait; for the day must surely come when all of the grand cañon's miles will be made as easily and safely accessible to the american public as egypt. chapter ix the governor's palace of santa fe it lies to the left of the city plaza--a long, low, one-story building flanking the whole length of one side of the plaza, with big yellow pine pillars supporting the arcade above the public walk, each pillar surmounted by the fluted architrave peculiar to spanish-moorish architecture. it is yellow adobe in the sunlight--very old, very sleepy, very remote from latter-day life, the most un-american thing in all america, the only governor's palace from athabasca to the gulf of mexico, from sitka to st. lawrence, that exists to-day precisely as it existed one hundred years ago, two hundred years ago, three hundred years ago, four hundred years ago--back, back beyond that to the days when there were no white men in america. uncover the outer plaster in the six-foot thickness of the walls in the governor's palace of santa fe, and what do you find? solid adobe and brick? not much! the walled-up, conical fireplaces and meal bins and corn caves of a pueblo people who lived on the site of modern santa fe hundreds of years before the spanish founded this capital here in . for years it has been a dispute among historians--bandelier, hodge, twitchell, governor prince, mr. reed--whether any prehistoric race dwelt where santa fe now stands. only in the summer of , when it was necessary to replace some old beams and cut some arches through the six-foot walls was it discovered that the huge partitions covered in their centers walls antedating the coming of the spaniards--walls with the little conical fireplaces of indian pueblos, with such meal bins and corn shelves as you find in the prehistoric cave dwellings. we have such a passion for destroying the old and replacing it with the new in america that you can scarcely place your hand on a structure in the new world that stands intact as it was before the revolution. we somehow or other take it for granted that these mute witnesses of ancient heroism have nothing to teach us with their mossed walls and low-beamed ceilings and dumb, majestic dignity. [illustration: the governor's palace at santa fe, new mexico, within the walls of which are found the conical fireplaces of the indians who lived here hundreds of years before the spaniards came] to this, the governor's palace of santa fe is the one and complete exception in america. it flanks the cottonwoods of the plaza, yellow adobe in the sunlight--very old, very sleepy, very remote from latter-day life, but with a quaint, quiet atmosphere that travelers scour europe to find. look up to the _vigas_, or beams of the ceiling, yellowed and browned and mellowed with age. those _vigas_ have witnessed strange figures stalking the spacious halls below. if the ceiling beams could throw their memories on some moving picture screen, there would be such a panorama of varied personages as no other palace in the world has witnessed. leave out the hackneyed tale of general lew wallace writing "ben hur" in a back room of the palace; or the fact that three different flags flung their folds over old santa fe in a single century. he who knows anything at all about santa fe, knows that spanish power gave place to mexican, and the mexican régime to american rule. also, that general lew wallace wrote "ben hur" in a back room of the palace, while he was governor of new mexico. and you only have to use your eyes to know that santa fe, itself, is a bit of old spain set down in the modern united states of america. the donkeys trotting to market under loads of wood, the ragged peon riders bestriding burros no higher than a saw horse, the natives stalking past in bright serape or blanket, moccasined and hatless--all tell you that you are in a region remote from latter-day america. but here is another sort of picture panorama! it is between and . a hatless youth, swarthy from five years of terrible exposure, hair straight as a string, gabbling french but speaking no spanish, a slave white traded from indian tribe to indian tribe, all the way from the gulf of mexico to the interior of new spain, is brought before the viceroy. do you know who he is? he is jean l'archevêque, the french-canadian lad who helped to murder la salle down on trinity bay in texas. what are the french doing down on trinity bay? do they intend to explore and claim this part of america, too? in the abuses of slavery among the indians for five years, the lad has paid the terrible penalty for the crime into which he was betrayed by his youth. he is scarred with wounds and beatings. he is too guilt-stricken ever to return to new france. his information may be useful to new spain; so he is enrolled in the guards of the spanish viceroy of santa fe; and he is sent out to san ildefonso and santa clara, where he founds a family and where his records may be seen to this day. for those copy-book moralists who like to know that divine retribution occasionally works out in daily life, it may be added that jean l'archevêque finally came to as violent a death as he had brought to the great french explorer, la salle. or take a panorama of a later day. it is just before the fall of spanish rule. the governor sits in his palace at santa fe, a mightier autocrat than the pope in rome; for, as the russians say, "god is high in his heavens," and the king is far away, and those who want justice in santa fe, must pay--pay--pay--pay in gold coin that can be put in the iron chest of the viceroy. (you can see specimens of those iron chests all through new mexico yet--chests with a dozen secret springs to guard the family fortune of the hidden gold bullion.) a woman bursts into the presence of the viceroy, and throws herself on her knees. it is a terrible tale--the kind of tale we are too finical to tell in these modern days, though that is not saying there are not many such tales to be told. the woman's young sister has married an officer of the viceroy's ring. he has beaten her as he would a slave. he has treated her to vile indecencies of which only hell keeps record. she had fled to her father; but the father, fearing the power of the viceroy, had sent her back to the man; and the man has killed her with his brutalities. (i have this whole story from a lineal descendant of the family.) the woman throws back her _rebozo_, drops to her knees before the viceroy, and demands justice. the viceroy thinks and thinks. a woman more or less! what does it matter? the woman's father had been afraid to act, evidently. the husband is a member of the government ring. interference might stir up an ugly mess--revelations of extortion and so on! besides, justice is worth so much per; and this woman--what has she to pay? this viceroy will do nothing. the woman rises slowly, incredulous. is this justice? she denounces the viceroy in fiery, impassioned speech. the viceroy smiles and twirls his mustachios. what can a woman do? the woman proclaims her imprecation of a court that fails of justice. (do our courts fail of justice? is there no lesson in that past for us?) do you know what she did? she did what not one woman in a million could do to-day, when conditions are a thousand fold easier. she went back to her home. it was just about where the pretty spanish house of mr. morley of the archæological school stands to-day. she gathered up all the loose gold she could and bound it in a belt around her waist. then she took the most powerful horse she had from the kraal, saddled him and rode out absolutely alone for the city of old mexico-- miles as the trail ran. apaches, comanches, navajos, beset the way. she rode at night and slept by day. the trail was a desert waste of waterless, bare, rocky hills and quicksand rivers and blistering heat. god, or the virgin to whom she constantly prayed, or her own dauntless spirit, must have piloted the way; for she reached the old city of mexico, laid her case before the king's representatives, and won the day. her sister's death was avenged. the husband was tried and executed: and the viceroy was deposed. most of us know of almost similar cases. i think of a man who has repeatedly tried for a federal judgeship in new mexico, who has literally been guilty of every crime on the human calendar. yet we don't at risk of life push these cases to retribution. is that one of the lessons the past has for us? spanish power fell in new mexico because there came a time when there was neither justice nor retribution in any of the courts. other panoramas there were beneath the age-mellowed beams of the palace ceiling, panoramas of comanche and navajo and ute and apache stalking in war feathers before a spanish governor clad in velvets and laces. tradition has it that a ute was once struck dead in the governor's presence. certainly, all four tribes wrought havoc and raid to the very doors of the palace. within only the last century, a comanche chief and his warriors came to santa fe demanding the daughter of a leading trader in marriage for the chief's son. the garrison was weak, in spite of fustian and rusty helmets and battered breastplates and velvet doublets and boots half way to the waist--there were seldom more than soldiers, and the pusillanimous governor counseled deception. he told the comanche that the trader's daughter had died, and ordered the girl to hide. the only peace that an indian respects--or any other man, for that matter--is the peace that is a victory. the indian suspected that the answer was the answer of the coward, a lie, and came back with his comanche warriors. while the soldiers huddled inside the palace walls, the town was raided. the trader was murdered and the daughter carried off to the comanches, where she died of abuse. when these tragedies fell on daughters of the pilgrims in new england, the saxon strain of the warrior women in their blood rose to meet the challenge of fate; and they brained their captors with an ax; but no such warrior strain was in the blood of the daughters of spain. by religion, by nationality, by tradition, the spanish girl was the purely convent product: womanhood protected by a ten-foot wall. when the wall fell away, she was helpless as a hot-house flower set out amid violent winds. diagonally across the plaza from the governor's palace stands the old fonda, or exchange hotel, whence came the long caravans of american traders on the santa fe trail. behind the palace about a quarter of a mile, was the gareta, a sort of combined custom house and prison. the combination was deeply expressive of spanish rule in those early days, for independent of what the american's white-tented wagon might contain--baled hay or priceless silks or chewing tobacco--a duty of $ was levied against each mule-team wagon of the american trader. did a trader protest, or hold back, he was promptly clapped in irons. it was cheaper to pay the duty than buy a release. the walls of both the fonda and the gareta were of tremendous thickness, four to six feet of solid adobe, which was hard as our modern cement. in the walls behind the gareta and on the walls behind the palace, pitted bullet holes have been found. beneath the holes was embedded human hair. nothing more picturesque exists in america's past than the panorama of this old santa fe trail. santa fe was to the trail what cairo was to the caravans coming up out of the desert in egypt. twitchell, the modern historian, and gregg, the old chronicler of last century's trail, give wonderfully vivid pictures of the coming of the caravans to the palace. "as the caravans ascended the ridge which overlooks the city, the clamorings of the men and the rejoicings of the bull whackers could be heard on every side. even the animals seemed to participate in the humor of their riders. i doubt whether the first sight of jerusalem brought the crusaders more tumultuous and soul-enrapturing joy." [illustration: a pool in the painted desert whither came thousands of goats and sheep, driven by navajo girls on horseback] we talk of the picturesque fur trade of the north, when brigades of birch canoes one and two hundred strong penetrated every river and lake of the wilderness of the northwest. let us take a look at these caravan brigades of the traders of the southwest! teams were hitched tandem to the white-tented wagons. drivers did not ride in the wagons. they rode astride mule or horse, with long bull whips thick as a snake skin, which could reach from rear to fore team. i don't know how they do it; but when the drivers lash these whips out full length, they cause a crackling like pistol shots. the owner of the caravan was usually some gentleman adventurer from virginia or kentucky or louisiana or missouri; but each caravan had its captain to command, and its outriders to scout for indians. these scouts were of every station in life with morals of as varied aspect as joseph's coat of many colors. kit carson was once one of these scouts. governor bent was one of the traders. stephen b. elkins first came to new mexico with a bull whacker's caravan. in the morning, every teamster would vie with his fellows to hitch up fastest. teams ready, he would mount and call back--"all's set." an uproar of whinnying and braying, the clank of chains, and then the captain's shout--"stretch out," when the long line of twenty or thirty white-tented wagons would rumble out for the journey of thirty to sixty days across the plains. each wagon had five yoke of oxen, with six or eight extra mule teams behind in case of emergency. about three tons made a load. twenty miles was a good day's travel. camping places near good water and pasturage were chosen ahead by the scouts. wagons kept together in groups of four. in case of attack by comanche or ute, these wagons wheeled into a circle for defense with men and beasts inside the extemporized kraal. campfires were kept away from wagons to avoid giving target to foes. blankets consisted of buffalo robes, and the rations "hard tack," pork and such game as the scouts and sharpshooters could bring down. a favorite trick of indian raiders was to wait till all animals were tethered out for pasturage, and then stampede mules and oxen. in the confusion, wagons would be overturned and looted. as the long white caravans came to their journey's end at santa fe, literally the whole spanish and indian population crowded to the plaza in front of the palace. "los americanos! los carros! la caravana!"--were the shouts ringing through the streets; and santa fe's perpetual siesta would be awakened to a week's fair or barter. wagons were lined up at the custom house; and the trader presented himself before the spanish governor, trader and governor alike dressed in their best regimentals. very fair, very soft spoken, very profuse of compliments was the interview; but divested of profound bows and flowery compliments, it ended in the american paying $ a wagon, or losing his goods. the goods were then bartered at a staggering advance. plain broadcloth sold at $ a yard, linen at $ a yard, and the price on other goods was proportionate. goods taken in exchange were hides, wool, gold and silver bullion, indian blankets and precious stones. travelers from mexico to the outside world went by stage or private omnibus with outriders and guards and sharpshooters. young spanish girls sent east to school were accompanied by such a retinue of defenders, slaves and servants, as might have attended a european monarch; and a whole bookful of stories could be written of adventures among the young spanish nobility going out to see the world. the stage fare varied from $ to $ far as the mississippi. though stephen b. elkins went to new mexico with a bull whacker's team, it was not long before he was sending gold bullion from mining and trading operations out to st. louis and new york. how to get this gold bullion past the highwaymen who infested the stage route, was always a problem. i know of one old spanish lady, who yearly went to st. louis to make family purchases and used to smuggle elkins' gold out for him in belts and petticoats and disreputable looking old hand bags. once, when she was going out in midsummer heat, she had a belt of her husband's drafts and elkins' gold round her waist. the way grew hotter and hotter. the old lady unstrapped the buckskin reticule--looking, for all the world, like a woman's carry-all--and threw it up on top of the stage. an hour later, highwaymen "went through" the passengers. rings, watches, jewels, coin were taken off the travelers; and the mail bags were looted; but the bandits never thought of examining the old bag on top of the stage, in which was gold worth all the rest of the loot. in those days, gambling was the universal passion of high and low in new mexico; and many a spanish don and american trader, who had taken over tens of thousands in the barter of the caravan, wasted it over the gaming table before dawn of the next day. the fonda, or old exchange hotel, was the center of high play; but it may as well be acknowledged, the highest play of all, the wildest stakes were often laid in the governor's palace. luckily, the passion for destroying the old has not invaded santa fe. the people want their palace preserved as it was, is, and ever shall be; and the recent restoration has been, not a reconstruction, but a taking away of all the modern and adventitious. where modern pillars have been placed under the long front portico, they are being replaced by the old _portal_ type of pillar--the fluted capital across the main column supporting the roof beams. this type of _portal_ has come in such favor in new mexico that it is being embodied in modern houses for arcades, porches and gardens. the main entrance of the palace is square in the center. you pass into what must have been the ancient reception room leading to an audience chamber on the left. what amazes you is the enormous thickness of these adobe walls. each window casement is wider than a bench; and an open door laid back is not wider than the thickness of the wall. to-day the reception hall and, indeed, the rooms of the center palace present some of the finest mural paintings in america. these have been placed on the walls by the archæological school of america which with the historical society occupies the main portions of the old building. you see drawings of the coming of the first spanish caravels, of coronado, of don diego de vargas, who was the frontenac of the southwest, reconquering the provinces in - , about the same time that the great frontenac was playing his part in french canada. there are pictures, too, of the caravans crossing the plains, of the coming of american occupation, of the moki and hopi and zuñi pueblos, of the missions of which only ruins to-day mark the sites in the jemez, at sandia, and away out in the desert of abo. to the left of the reception room is an excellent art gallery of southwestern subjects. here, artists of the growing southwestern school send their work for exhibition and sale. it is significant that within the last few years prices have gone up from a few dollars to hundreds and thousands. nausbaum's photographic work of the modern indian is one of the striking features of the palace. of course, there are pictures by curtis and burbank and sharpe and others of the southwestern school; but perhaps the most interesting rooms to the newcomer, to the visitor, who doesn't know that we have an ancient america, are those where the mural drawings are devoted to the cave dwellers and prehistoric races. these were done by carl lotave of paris out on the ground of the ancient races. in conception and execution, they are among the finest murals in america. long ago, the governor's palace had twin towers and a chapel. bells in the old spanish churches were not tolled. they were struck gong fashion by an attendant, who ascended the towers. these bells were cast of a very fine quality of old copper; and the tone was largely determined by the quality of the cast. old mission bells are scarce to-day in new mexico; and collectors offer as high as $ , and $ , for the genuine article. vesper bells played a great part in the life of the old spanish régime. ladies might be promenading the plaza, workmen busy over their tasks, gamblers hard at the wheel and dice. at vesper call, men, women and children dropped to knees; and for a moment silence fell, all but the calling of the vesper bells. then the bells ceased ringing, and life went on in its noisy stream. [illustration: there are streets in santa fe where one may see box-like adobe houses beside dwellings of modern architecture] no account of the governor's palace would be complete without some mention of the marvels of dress among the dons and doñas of the old régime. could we see them promenading the plaza and the palace as they paraded their gayety less than half a century ago, we would imagine ourselves in some play house of the french court in its most luxurious days. indians dressed then as they dress to-day, in bright-colored blankets fastened gracefully round hip and shoulders. peons or peasants wore serapes, blankets with a slit in the center, over the shoulders. women of position wore not hats but the silk _rebozo_ or scarf, thrown over the head with one end back across the left shoulder. on the street, the face was almost covered by this scarf. presumably the purpose was to conceal charms; but when you consider the combination of dark eyes and waving hair and a scarf of the finest color and texture that could be bought in china or the indies, it is a question whether that scarf did not set off what it was designed to conceal. about the shawls used as scarfs there is much misconception. these are not of spanish or mexican make. they come down in the spanish families from the days when the vessels of the traders of mexico trafficked with china and japan. these old shawls to-day bring prices varying all the way from $ to $ , . the don of fashion dressed even more gayly than his spouse. jewelry was a passion with both men and women; and the finest type of old jewelry in america to-day is to be found in new mexico. the hat of the don was the wide-brimmed sombrero. around this was a silver or gold cord, with a gold or silver cockade. the jackets were of colored broadcloth with buttons of silver or gold, not brass; but the trousers were at once the glory and the vanity of the wearer. gold and silver buttons ornamented the seams of the legs from hip to knee. there were gold clasps at the garter and gold clasps at the knee. a silk sash with tasseled cords or fringe hanging down one side took the place of modern suspenders. leather leggings for outdoor wear were carved or embossed. a serape or velvet cape lined with bright-colored silk completed the costume. bridles and horse trappings were gorgeous with silver, the pommel and stirrups being overlaid with it. the bridle was a barbarous silver thing with a bit cruel enough to control tigers; and the rowels of the spurs were two or three inches long. no, these were not people of french and spanish courts. they were people of our own western america less than a century ago; but though they were not people of the playhouse, as they almost seem to us, they are essentially a play-people. the spaniard of the southwest lived, not to work, but to play; and when he worked, it was only that he might play the harder. los americanos came and changed all that. they turned the spanish play-world up side down and put work on top. roam through the governor's palace! call up the old gay life! we undoubtedly handle more money than the spanish dons and doñas of the old days; but frankly--which stand for the more joy out of life; those laughing philosophers, or we modern work-demons? chapter x the governor's palace of santa fe (_continued_) of all the traditions clinging round the old palace at santa fe, those connected with don diego de vargas, the reconqueror of new mexico, are best known and most picturesque. yearly, for two and a quarter centuries, the people of new mexico have commemorated de vargas' victory by a procession to the church which he built in gratitude to heaven for his success. this procession is at once a great public festival and a sacred religious ceremony; for the image of the virgin, which de vargas used when he planted the cross on the plaza in front of the palace and sang the te deum with the assembled franciscan monks, is the same image now used in the theatrical procession of the religious ceremony yearly celebrated by indians, spanish and americans. the de vargas procession is a ceremony unique in america. the very indians whose ancestors de vargas' arms subjugated, now yearly reënact the scenes of the struggles of their forefathers to throw off white rule. young mexicans, descendants of the very officers who marched with de vargas in his campaigns of - - , take the part of the conquering heroes. costumes, march, religious ceremonies of thanks, public festival--all have been kept as close to original historic fact as possible. de vargas, himself, was to the southwest what frontenac was to french canada--a bluff soldier animated by religious motives, who believed only in the peace that is a victory, put the fear of god in the hearts of his enemies, and built on that fear a superstructure of reverence and love. it need not be told that such a character rode rough-shod over official red-tape, and had a host of envious curs barking at his heels. they dragged him down, for a period of short eclipse, these lilliputian enemies, just as frontenac's enemies caused his recall by a charge of misusing public funds; but in neither case could the charges be sustained. bluff warriors, not counting house clerks, were needed; and de vargas, like frontenac, came through all charges unscathed. the two heroes of america's indian wars--frontenac of the north, de vargas of the south--were contemporaries. it will be remembered how up on the st. lawrence and among the mohawk tribes of new york, a wave of revolt against white man rule swept from to . it was not unnatural that the red warrior should view with alarm the growing dominance and assumption of power on the part of the white. in canada, we know the brandy of the white trader hastened the revolt and added horror to the outrages, when the settlements lying round montreal and quebec were ravaged and burnt under the very cannon mouths of the two impotent and terrified forts. the same wave of revolt that scourged french canada in the eighties, went like wild fire over the southwest from to . was there any connection between the two efforts to throw off white man rule? to the historian, seemingly, there was not; but ask the navajo or apache of the south about traders in the north, and you will be astonished how the traditions of the tribes preserve legends of the athabascan stock in the north, from whom they claim descent. ask a modern indian of the interior of british columbia about the navajos, and he will tell you how the wise men of the tribe preserve verbal history of a branch of this people driven far south--"those other denes," he will tell you. traders explain the wonderful way news has of traveling from tribe to tribe by the laconic expression, "moccasin telegram." whether or not the infection of revolt spread by "moccasin telegram" from canada to mexico, the storm broke, and broke with frightful violence over the southwest. the immediate cause was religious interference. all pueblo people have secret lodges held in underground _estufas_ or _kivas_. to these ceremonies no white man however favored is ever admitted. white men know as little of the rites practiced in these lodges by the pueblo people as when coronado came in . to the spanish governors and priests, the thing was anathema--abomination of witchcraft and sorcery and secrecy that risked the eternal damnation of converts' souls. there was a garrison of only men at the palace; yet already the church boasted fifty friars, from eleven to seventeen missions, and converts by the thousands. but the souls of the holy _padres_ were sorely tried by these _estufa_ rites, "_platicas de noche_," "night conversations"--the priests called them. well might all new spain have been disturbed by these "night conversations." the subject bound under fearful oath of secrecy was nothing more nor less than the total extermination of every white man, woman and child north of the rio grande. some unwise governor--trevino, i think it was--had issued an edict in forbidding the pueblos to hold their secret lodges in the _estufas_. by way of enforcing his edict, he had forty-seven of the wise men or indian priests (he called them "sorcerers") imprisoned; hanged three in the jail yard of the palace as a warning, and after severe whipping and enforced fasts, sent the other forty-four home. picture the situation to yourself! the wise men or governors of the pueblos are always old men elected out of respect for their superior wisdom, men used to having their slightest word implicitly obeyed. whipped, shamed, disgraced, they dispersed from the palace, down the rio grande to isleta, west to the city on the impregnable rocks of acoma, north to that whole group of pueblo cities from jemez to santa fe and pecos and taos. what do you think they did? fill up the underground _estufas_ and hang their heads in shame among men? then, you don't know the indian! you may break his neck; but you can't bend it. the very first thing they did was to gather their young warriors in the _estufas_. picture that scene to yourself, too! an old rain priest at san ildefonso, through the kindness of dr. hewitt of the archæological school, took us down the _estufa_ at that pueblo, where some of the bloodiest scenes of the rebellion were enacted. needless to say, he took us down in the day time, when there are no ceremonies. [illustration: an adobe gateway of old-world charm in santa fe] the _estufa_ is large enough to seat three or four hundred men. it is night time. a few oil tapers are burning in stone saucers, the pueblo lamp. the warriors come stealing down the ladder. no woman is admitted. the men are dressed in linen trousers with colored blankets fastened grecian fashion at the waist. they seat themselves silently on the adobe or cement benches around the circular wall. the altar place, whence comes the sacred fire from the gods of the under world, is situated just under the ladder. the priests descend, four or five of them, holding their blankets in a square that acts as a drop curtain concealing the altar. when all have descended, a trap door of brush above is closed. the taper lamps go out. the priests drop their blankets; and behold on the altar the sacred fire; and the outraged wise man in impassioned speech denouncing white man rule, insult to the indian gods, destruction of the spanish ruler! of the punished medicine men, one of the most incensed was an elderly indian called popé, said to be originally from san juan, but at that time living in taos. i don't know what ground there is for it, but tradition has it that when popé effected the curtain drop round the sacred fire of the _estufa_ in taos, he produced, or induced the warriors looking on breathlessly to believe that he produced, three infernal spirits from the under world, who came from the great war-god montezuma to command the pueblo race to unite with the navajo and apache in driving the white man from the southwest. if there be any truth in the tradition, it is not hard to account for the trick. tradition or trick, it worked like magic. the warriors believed. couriers went scurrying by night from town to town, with the knotted cord--some say it was of deer thong, others of palm leaf. the knots represented the number of days to the time of uprising. the man, for instance, who ran from taos to pecos, would pull out a knot for each day he ran. a new courier would carry the cord on to the next town. there was some confusion about the untying of those knots. some say the rebellion was to take place on the th of august, ; others, on the th. anyway, the first blow was struck on the th. not a pueblo town failed to rally to the call, as the highlanders of old responded to the signal of the bloody cross. new mexico at this time numbered some , spanish colonists, the majority living on ranches up and down the rio grande and surrounding santa fe. the captain-general, who had had nothing to do with the foolish decrees that produced the revolt, happened to be don antonio de otermin, with alonzo garcia as his lieutenant. in spite of no women being admitted to the secret, the secret leaked out. popé's son-in-law, the governor of san juan, was setting out to betray the whole plot to the spaniards, when he was killed by popé's own hand. such widespread preparations could not proceed without the mission converts getting some inkling; and on august , governor otermin heard that two indians of tesuque out from santa fe had been ordered to join a rebellion. he had the indians brought before him in the audience chamber on the th. they told him all they knew; and they warned him that any warrior refusing to take part would be slain. here, as always in times of great confusion, the main thread of the story is lost in a multiplicity of detail. warning had also come down from the alcalde at taos. otermin scarcely seems to have grasped the import of the news; for all he did was to send his own secret scouts out, warning the settlers and friars to seek refuge in isleta, or santa fe; but it was too late. the indians got word they had been betrayed and broke loose in a mad lust of revenge and blood that very saturday when the governor was sending out his spies. it would take a book to tell the story of all the heroism and martyrdom of the different missions. parkman has told the story of the martyrdom of the jesuits in french canada; and many other books have been written on the subject. no parkman has yet risen to tell the story of the martyrdom of the franciscans in new mexico. in one fell day, before the captain-general knew anything about it, colonists and twenty-one missionaries had been slain--butchered, shot, thrown over the rocks, suffocated in their burning chapels. popé was in the midst of it all, riding like an incarnate fury on horseback wearing a bull's horn in the middle of his forehead. apaches and navajos, of course, joined in the loot. at taos, out of seventy whites, two only escaped; and they left their wives and children dead on the field and reached isleta only after ten days' wandering in the mountains at night, having hidden by day. at little tesuque, north of santa fe, only the alcalde escaped by spurring his horse to wilder pace than the indians could follow. the alcalde had seen the friar flee to a ravine. then an indian came out wearing the priest's shield; and it was blood-spattered. at santa clara, soldiers, herders and colonists were slain on the field as they worked. the women and children were carried off to captivity from which they never returned. at galisteo, the men were slain, the women carried off. rosaries were burned in bonfires. churches were plundered and profaned. at santo domingo, the bodies of the three priests were piled in a heap in front of the church, as an insult to the white man faith that would have destroyed the indian _estufas_. down at isleta, garcia, the lieutenant, happened to be in command, and during saturday night and sunday morning, he rounded inside the walls of isleta seven missionaries and , settlers, of whom only had firearms. what of captain-general otermin, cooped up in the governor's palace of santa fe, awaiting the return of his scouts? the reports of his scouts, one may guess. reports came dribbling in till tuesday, and by that time there were no spanish left alive outside santa fe and isleta. then otermin bestirred himself mightily. citizens were called to take refuge in the palace. the armory was opened and arquebuses handed out to all who could bear arms. the holy sacrament was administered. then the sacred vessels were brought to the governor's palace and hidden. there were now , persons cooped up in the governor's palace, less than capable of bearing arms. trenches were dug, windows barricaded, walls fortified. armed soldiers mounted the roofs of houses guarding the plaza and in the streets approaching it were stationed cannon. having wiped out the settlements, the pueblos and their allies swooped down on santa fe, led by juan of galisteo riding with a convent flag round his waist as sash. to parley with an enemy is folly. otermin sent for juan to come to the palace; and in the audience chamber upbraided him. juan, one may well believe, laughed. he produced two crosses--a red one and a white one. if the spaniards would accept the white one and withdraw, the indians would desist from attack; if not--then--red stood for blood. otermin talked about "pardon for treason," when he should have struck the impudent fellow to earth, as de vargas, or old frontenac, would have done in like case. when juan went back across the plaza, the indians howled with joy, danced dervish time all night, rang the bells of san miguel, set fire to the church and houses, and cut the water supply off from the yard of the palace. the valor of the spaniards could not have been very great from august th to th, for only five of the bearing arms were killed. at a council of war on the night of august th, it was decided to attempt to rush the foe, trampling them with horses, and to beat a way open for retreat. otermin says indians were killed in this rally; but it is a question. the governor himself came back with an arrow wound in his forehead and a flesh wound near his heart. within twenty-four hours, he decided--whichever way you like to put it--"to go to the relief of isleta," where he thought his lieutenant was; or "to retreat" south of the rio grande. the indians watched the retreat in grim silence. the spanish considered their escape "a miracle." it was a pitiful wresting of comfort from desperation. but at isleta, the governor found that his lieutenant had already retreated taking , refugees in safety with him. it was the end of september when otermin himself crossed the rio grande, at a point not far from modern el paso. at isleta, the people will tell you to this day legends of the friar's martyrdom. every mexican believes that the holy _padre_ buried in a log hollowed out for coffin beneath the chapel rises every ten years and walks through the streets of isleta to see how his people are doing. once every ten years or so, the rio grande floods badly; and the year of the flood, the ghost of the friar rises to warn his people. be that as it may, a few years ago, a deputation of investigators took up the body to examine the truth of the legend. it lies in a state of perfect preservation in its log coffin. the pueblos had driven the spanish south of the rio grande and practically kept them south of the rio grande for ten years. churches were burned. images were profaned. priestly vestments decked wild indian lads. converts were washed in santa fe river to cleanse them of baptism. all the records in the governor's palace were destroyed, and the palace itself given over to wild orgies among the victorious indians; but the victory brought little good to the tribes. they fell back to their former state of tribal raid and feud. drought spoiled the crops; and perhaps, after all, the consolation and the guidance of the spanish priests were missed. when the utes heard that the spanish had retreated, these wild marauders of the northern desert fell on the pueblo towns like wolves. there is a legend, also, that at this time there were great earthquakes and many heavenly signs of displeasure. curiously enough, the same legends exist about montreal and quebec. otermin hung timidly on the frontier, crossing and recrossing the rio grande; but he could make no progress in resettling the colonists. comes on the scene now-- - --don diego de vargas. it isn't so much what he did; for when you are brave enough, you don't need to do. the doors of fate open before the golden key. he resubjugated the southwest for spain; and he resubjugated it as much by force of clemency as force of cruelty. but mark the point--it was _force that did it, not pow-wowing and parleying and straddling cowardice with conscience_. de vargas could muster only men at el paso, including loyal indians. on august , , he set out for the north. it has taken many volumes to tell of the victories of frontenac. it would take as many again to relate the victories of de vargas. he was accompanied, of course, by the fearless and quenchless friars. all the pueblos passed on the way north he found abandoned; but when he reached santa fe on the th of september, he found it held and fortified by the indians. the indians were furiously defiant; they would perish, but surrender--never! de vargas surrounded them and cut off the water supply. the friars approached under flag of truce. before night, santa fe had surrendered without striking a blow. one after another, the pueblos were visited and pacified; but it was not all easy victory. the indians did not relish an order a year later to give up occupation of the palace and retire to their own villages. in december they closed all entrances to the plaza and refused to surrender. de vargas had prayers read, raised the picture of the virgin on the battle flag, and advanced. javelins, boiling water, arrows, assailed the advancing spaniards; but the gate of the plaza stockade was attacked and burned. reinforcements came to the indians, and both sides rested for the night. during the night, the indian governor hanged himself. next morning, seventy of the indians were seized and court-martialed on the spot. de vargas planted his flag on the plaza, erected a cross and thanked god. [illustration: a view of part of san ildefonso, new mexico, showing the famous black mesa in the background] one of the hardest fights of ' was out on the black mesa, a huge precipitous square of basalt, frowning above san ildefonso. this mesa was a famous prayer shrine to the indians and is venerated as sacred to this day. all sides are sheer but that towards the river. down this is a narrow trail like a goat path between rocks that could be hurled on climbers' heads. de vargas stormed the black mesa, on top of which great numbers of rebels had taken refuge. four days the attack lasted, his soldiers repeatedly reaching the edge of the summit only to be hurled down. after ten days the siege had to be abandoned, but famine had done its work among the indians. for five years, the old general slept in his boots and scarcely left the warpath. it was at the siege of the black mesa that he is said to have made the vow to build a chapel to the virgin; and it is his siege of santa fe that the yearly de vargas celebration commemorates to this day. and in the end, he died in his boots on the march at bernalillo, leaving in his will explicit directions that he should be buried in the church of santa fe "under the high altar beneath the place where the priest puts his feet when he says mass." the body was carried to the parish church in his bed of state and interred beneath the altar; and the de vargas celebration remains to this day one of the quaintest ceremonies of the old governor's palace. chapter xi taos, the promised land and ancient capital of the southwest as quebec is the shrine of historical pilgrims in the north, and salem in new england; so taos is the mecca of students of history and lovers of art in the southwest. here came the spanish knights mounted and in armor plate half a century before the landing of the pilgrims on plymouth rock. they had not only crossed the sea but had traversed the desert from old mexico for miles over burning sands, amid wild, bare mountains, across rivers where horses and riders swamped in the quicksands. to taos came franciscan _padres_ long before champlain had built stockades at port royal or quebec. just as the jesuits won the wilderness of the up-country by martyr blood, so the franciscans attacked the strongholds of paganism amid the pueblos of the south. spanish _conquistadores_ have been represented as wading through blood to victory, with the sword in one hand, the cross in the other; but that picture is only half the truth. let it be remembered that the spanish were the only conquerors in america who gave the indians perpetual title, intact and forever, to the land occupied when the spanish came--which titles the indians hold to this day. also, while rude soldiers, or even officers, might be guilty of such unprovoked attacks as occurred at bernalillo in coronado's expedition of , the crown stood sponsor for the well-being and salvation of the indian's soul. wherever the conqueror marched, the sandaled and penniless franciscan remained and too often paid the penalty of the soldier's crimes. in the tusayan desert, at taos, at zuñi, at acoma, you will find missions that date back to the expedition of coronado; and at every single mission the _padres_ paid for their courage and their faith with their lives. but taos traditions date back farther than the coming of the white man. christians have their christ, northern indians their hiawatha, and the pueblo people their bah-tah-ko, or grand cacique, who led their people from the ravages of apache and navajo in the far west to the promised land of verdant plains and watered valleys below the mighty mountains of taos. montezuma was to the southwest, not the christ, but the adam, the moses, the joseph. casa grande in southern arizona was the garden of eden, "the place of the morning glow;" but when war and pestilence and ravaging foe and drouth drove the pueblos from their garden of eden, the bah-tah-ko was the moses to lead them to the promised land at taos. when did he live? the oldest man does not know. the pueblos had been at taos thousands of years, when the spanish came in ; and, it may be added, they live very much the same to-day at taos as they did when the white man first came. the men wear store trousers instead of woven linen ones; some wear hats instead of a red head band; and there are wagons instead of drags attached to a dog in shafts. but apart from these innovations, there is little difference at taos between and . the whitewashed mission church stands in the center of the pueblo; but the old _estufas_, or _kivas_, are still used for religious ceremony, and election of rulers, and maintenance of indian law. you can still see the indians threshing their grain by the trampling of goats on a threshing floor, or the run of burros round and round a kraal chased by a boy, while a man scrapes away the grain and forks aside the chaff. there are white man's courts and white man's laws, down at the white man's town of taos; but the indian has little faith in, and less respect for, these white man courts and laws, and out at taos has his own court, his own laws, his own absolute and undisputed governor, his own police, his own prison and his own penalties. the wealth of midas would not tempt a taos indian to exchange his life in the tiered adobe villages for all that civilization could offer him. occasionally a colonel cody, or showman jones, lures him off for a year or two to the great cities of the east; but the call of the wilds lures him back to his own beehive houses. he has plenty to eat and plenty to wear, the love of his family, the open fields and the friendship of his gods--what more can life offer? don't leave the southwest without seeing taos. it might be part of turkey, or persia, or india. it is the most un-american thing in america; and yet, it is the most typical of those ancient days in america, when there was no white man. just here, before the ethnologist arises to correct me, let it be put on record that the taos people do not consider themselves indians. they claim descent rather from the aztecs, or toltecs of the south. while the navajo and apache and ute legends are of a great migration from athabasca of the north, the pueblo legend is of a coming from the great underworld of the south. * * * * * the easiest way to reach taos is by the ancient city of santa fe. you go by rail to servilleta, or barrancas, then stage it out to the indian pueblos. better wire for your stage accommodation from the railroad. we did not wire, and when we left the railroad, we found seven people and a stage with space for only four. the railroad leads almost straight north from santa fe over high, clear mesas of yellow ocher covered with scrub juniper. there is little sign of water after you leave the rio grande, for water does not flow uphill; and you are at an altitude of , feet when you cross the divide. you pass through fruit orchards along the river, low headed and heavy with apples. then come the indian villages, san ildefonso, and española, and santa clara, where the strings of red chile bake in the sunlight against the glare adobe. women go up from the pools with jars of water on their heads. children come selling the famous santa clara black pottery at the train windows; and on the trail across the river, you see mexican drovers with long lines of burros and pack horses winding away into the mountains. women and girls in bright blankets and with eyes like black beads and skin like wrinkled parchment stand round the doors of the little square adobe houses; and sitting in the shade are the old people--people of a great age, one old woman numbered her years. as you ascend the upper mesas of the rio grande, you are in a region where nothing grows but piñon and juniper. there is not a sign of life but the browsing sheep and goats. just where the train shoots in north of san ildefonso, if you know where to look on the right, you can see the famous black mesa, a huge square of black basaltic rock almost feet high, which was the sacred shrine of all indians hereabouts for a hundred miles. on its crest, you can still see its prayer shrines, and the footworn path where refugees from war ran down to the river for water from encampment on the crest. away to the left, the mountains seem to crumple up in purple folds with flat tops and white gypsum gashed precipices. one of these gashes--white rock cañon--marks pajarito plateau, the habitat of the ancient cave dwellers. on the north side of the black mesa, you can see the opening to a huge cave. this was a prayer shrine and refuge in time of war for the santa clara indians. then, when you have reached almost the top of the world and see no more sheep herds, the trains pull up at an isolated, forsaken little station; and late in the afternoon you get off at servilleta. a school teacher, his wife and his two children, also left the train at this point. our group consisted of three. the driver of the stage--a famous frontiersman, jo. dunn--made eight; and we packed into a two-seated vehicle. it added piquancy, if not sport, to the twilight drive to know that one of the two bronchos in harness had never been driven before. he was, in fact, one of the bands of wild horses that rove these high juniper mountains. mexicans, or indians, watch for the wild bands to come out to water at nightfall and morning, and stampede them into a pound, or rope them. the captive is then sold for amounts varying from $ to $ to anyone who can master him. it need not be told here, not every driver can master an unbroken wild horse. it is a combination of confidence and dexterity, rather than strength. there is a rigging to the bridle that throws a horse if he kicks; and our wild one not only kept his traces for a rough drive of nearly twenty miles but suffered himself to be handled by a young girl of the party. [illustration: the pueblo of taos, new mexico, whose inhabitants trace their lineage back centuries before the advent of the spanish conquistadores] twilight on the upper mesas is a thing not to be told in words and only dimly told on canvas. there is the primrose afterglow, so famous in the alps. the purple mountains drape themselves in lavender veils. winds scented with oil of sagebrush and aroma of pines come soughing through the juniper hills. the moon comes out sickle-shaped. you see a shooting star drop. then a dim white group of moving forms emerges from the pines of the mountains--wild horses with leader scenting the air for foe, coming out for the night run to the drinking pools. or your horses give a little sidewise jump from the trail, and you see a coyote loping along abreast not a gun-shot away. this is a sure-enough-always-no-man's-land, a jumping-off place for all the earth--too high for irrigation farming, too arid for any other kind of farming, and so an unclaimed land. in the twenty-mile drive, you will see, perhaps, three homesteaders' shanties, where settlers have fenced off a square and tried ranching; but water is too deep for boring. horses turned outside the square join the wild bands and are lost; and two out of every three are abandoned homesteads. the dunn brothers have cut a road in eighteen miles to the arroyo hondo, where their house is, halfway to taos; and they have also run a telephone line in. except for the telephone wires and the rough trail, you might be in an utterly uninhabited land on top of the world. the trail rises and falls amid endless scented juniper groves. the pale moon deepens through a pink and saffron twilight. the stillness becomes almost palpable--then, suddenly, you jump right off the edge of the earth. the flat mesa has come to an edge. you look down, sheer down, , feet straight as a plummet--two cañons narrow as a stone's toss have gashed deep trenches through the living rocks and with a whir of swift waters come together at the famous place known as the bridge. you have come on your old friend the rio grande again, narrow and deep and blue from the mountain snows, an altogether different stream from the muddy rio of the lower levels. here it is joined by the arroyo hondo, another cañon slashed through the rocks in a deep trench--both rivers silver in the moonlight, with a rush of rapids coming up the great height like wind in trees, or the waves of the sea. what a host of old frontier worthies must have pulled themselves up with a jerk of amaze and dumb wonder, when they first came to this sheer jump off the earth! first the mailed warriors under coronado; then the cowled franciscans; then fremont and kit carson and beaubien and governor bent and manuel lisa, the fur trader, and a host of other knights of modern adventure. i suppose a proper picture of the bridge, or arroyo hondo, cannot be taken; for a good one never has been taken, though travelers and artists have been coming this way for a hundred years. the two cañons are so close together and so walled that it is impossible to get both in one picture except from an airship. it is as if the earth were suddenly rent, and you looked down on that underworld of which indian legend tells so many wonder yarns. don't mind wondering how you will go down! the bronchos will manage that, where an eastern horse would break his neck and yours, too. the driver jams on brakes; and you drop down a terribly steep grade in a series of switchbacks, or zigzags, to the bridge. it is the most spectacularly steep road i know in america. it could not be any steeper and not drop straight; and there isn't anything between you and the drop but your horses' good sense. it is one of the places where you don't want to hit your horse; for if he jumps, the wagon will not keep to the trail. it will go over taking you and the horse, too. but, before you know it, you have switched round the last turn and are rattling across the bridge. some mexican teamsters are in camp below the rock wall of the river. the reflection of the figures and firelight and precipices in the deep waters calls up all sorts of tales of arabian nights and road robbers and old lawless days. then, you pull up sharp at the toll house for supper, as quaint an inn as anything in switzerland or the himalayas. the back of the house is the rock wall of the cañon. the front is adobe. the halls are long and low and narrow, with low-roofed rooms off the front side only. from the bridge you can go on to taos by motor in moonlight; but the whole way by stage and motor in one day makes a hard trip, and there is as much of interest at the bridge as at taos. you don't expect to find settlers in this dim silver underworld, do you? well, drive a few miles up the arroyo hondo, where the stream widens out into garden patch farms, and you will find as odd specimens of isolated humans as exist anywhere in the world--relics of the religious fanaticism of the secret lodges, of the middle ages--penitentes, or flagellantes, or crucifixion people, who yearly at lent re-enact all the sorrows of the procession to the cross, and until very recent years even re-enacted the crucifixion. after supper we strolled out down the cañon. it is impossible to exaggerate its beauty. each gash is only the width of the river with sides straight as walls. the walls are yellow and black basalt, all spotted with red where the burning bush has been touched by the frosts. the rivers are clear, cold blue, because they are but a little way from the springs in the snows. snows and clear water and frost in the desert? yes: that is as the desert is in reality, not in geography books. below the bridge, you can follow the rio grande down to some famous hot springs; and in this section, the air is literally spicy with the oil of sagebrush. at daybreak, you see the water ousels singing above the rapids, and you may catch the lilt of a mocking-bird, or see a bluebird examining some frost-touched berries. it is october; but the goldfinches, which have long since left us in the north, are in myriads here. the second day at the bridge, we drove up the arroyo hondo to see the penitentes. it is the only way i know that you can personally visit a people who in every characteristic belong to the twelfth century. the houses of the arroyo hondo are very small and very poor; for the penitente is thinking not of this world but of the world to come. the orchards are amazingly old. these people and their ancestors must have been here for centuries and as isolated from the rest of the world as if living back five centuries. the penitente is not an indian; he is a peon. pueblo indians repudiate penitente practices. neither is the penitente a catholic. he is really a relic of the secret lodge orders that overran europe with religious disorders and fanatic practices in the twelfth century. except for the lenten processions, rites are practiced at night. there are the brothers of the light--la luz--and the brothers of the darkness--las tinieblas. the meeting halls are known as morados; and those seen by us were without windows and with only one narrow door. women meet in one lodge, men in another. the sign manual of membership is a cross tattooed on forehead, chin or back. when a death occurs, the body is taken to the morado, and a wake held. after penitente rites have been performed, a priest is called in for final services; and up to the present, the priests have been unable to break the strength of these secret lodges. members are bound by secret oath to help each other and stand by each other; and it is commonly charged that politicians join the penitentes to get votes and doctors to get patients. easter and lent mark the grand rally of the year. on one hill above the arroyo hondo, you can see a succession of crosses where penitentes have whipped themselves senseless with cactus belts, or dropped from exhaustion carrying a cross; and only last spring-- --a woman marched carrying a great cross to which the naked body of her baby was bound. we passed one cross erected to commemorate a woman who died from self-inflicted injuries suffered during the procession of . the procession emerges from the morado chanting in low, doleful tune the miserere. first come the flagellantes, or marchers, scourging their naked backs with cactus belts and whips. next march the cross carriers with a rattling of iron chains fastened to the feet; then, the general congregation. the march terminates at a great cross erected on a hilltop to simulate golgotha. why do the people do it? "to appease divine wrath," they say; but they might ask us--why have we dipsomaniacs and kleptomaniacs and monstrosities in our civilized life? because "julia o'grady and the captain's lady are the same as two pins under their skins." because human nature dammed up from wholesome outlet of emotions, will find unwholesome vent; and these dolorous processions are only a reflex of the dark emotions hidden in a narrow cañon shut off from the rest of the world. they were not dolorous emotions that found vent as we drove back down arroyo hondo to the bridge. our driver got out a mouth organ. then he played and sang snatches of dance tunes of the old, old days in the true west. "allamahoo, right hand to your partner and grand hodoo." "watch your partner and watch her close; and when you catch her, a double doze." "the cock flies out and the hen flies in-- all hands round and go it agen." in fact, if you want to find the old true west, you'll find it undiluted and pristine on the trip to taos. chapter xii taos, the most ancient city in america taos, santa fe and el paso--these were to the southwest what port royal, quebec and montreal were to french canada, or boston, salem and jamestown to the colonists of the pre-revolutionary days on the atlantic. el paso was the gateway city from the old spanish dominions of the south. santa fe was the central military post, and taos was the watch tower on the very outskirts of the back-of-beyond of spanish territory in the wilderness land of the new world. before santa fe became the terminus of the trail for american traders from missouri and kansas, taos was the terminus of the old fur trader trail, in the days when louisiana extended from new orleans to oregon. here, such famous frontiersmen as jim bridgar and manuel lisa and jedediah smith and colonel ashley and kit carson came to barter beads and calico and tobacco and firewater for hides and fur and native-woven blankets and turquoise and rude silver ornaments hammered out of spanish bullion into necklace and bracelet. what green's hole and the three tetons were to the middle west, taos was to the southwest. mountains round taos rise , feet from sea level. snow glimmers from the peaks more than half the year; and mountain torrents water the valley with a system of irrigation that never fails. coming out of the mountains from the north, taos was the natural halfway house on the trail south to old mexico. coming out of the desert from the south, taos was the last walled city seen before the plunge into the wilderness of forests and mountains in the no-man's-land of the north. "walled city," you say, "before the coming of white men to the west?" yes, you can see those very walls to-day, walls antedating the coming of coronado in by hundreds of years. no motor can climb up and down the steep switchback to the arroyo hondo of the bridge. cars taken over that trail must be towed; but from the bridge, you can go on to taos by motor. as you ascend the mesa above the river bed, you see the mountains ahead rise in black basalt like castellated walls, with tower and battlement jagged into the very clouds. patches of yellow and red splotch the bronzing forests, where frost has touched the foliage; and you haven't gone very many miles into the lilac mist of the morning light--shimmering as it always shimmers above the sagebrush blue and sandy gold of the upper mesas--before you hear the laughter of living waters coming down from the mountain snows. one understands why the indians chose the uplands; while the white man, who came after, had to choose the shadowy bottoms of the walled-in cañons. someone, back in the good old days when we were not afraid to be poetic, said something about "traveling on the wings of the morning." i can't put in words what he meant; but you do it here--going up and up so gradually that you don't realize that you are in the lap, not of mountains, but of mountain peaks; breathing, not air, but ozone; uplifted by a great weight being taken off spirit and body; looking at life through rose-colored tints, not metaphorically, but really; for there is something in this high rare air--not dust, not moisture--that splits white light into its seven prismatic hues. you look through an atmosphere wonderfully rare, but it is never clear, white light. it is lavender, or lilac, or primrose, or gold, or red as blood according to the hours and the mood of hours; and if you want to carry the metaphor still farther, you may truthfully add that the hours on these high uplands are dancing hours. you never feel time to be a heavy, slow thing that oppresses the soul. [illustration: climbing home over your neighbor's roof and bolting your door by pulling up the ladder is customary in taos] as the streams laugh down from the mountains, ranches grow more and more frequent. it is characteristic of the west that you don't cross the _acequias_ on bridges. you cross them on two planks, with risk to your car if the driver swerve at the steering wheel. all the houses are red earth adobe, thick of wall to shut out both heat and cold, with a smell of juniper wood in the fireplaces of each room. much of this land--nearly all of it, in fact--is owned by the taos indians and held in common for pasturage and cultivation. title was given by spain four centuries ago, and the same title holds to-day in spite of white squatters' attempt to break down the law by cutting the wire of the pasture fences and taking the case to the courts. it was in this way that squatters broke down the title of old spanish families to thousands and hundreds of thousands of acres granted before american occupation. to be sure, an american land commission took evidence on these titles, in the quarrel between yankee squatter and spanish don; but the squatter had "friends in court." the old spanish don hadn't. he saw titles that had held good from slipping from his neighbor's hands; and he either contested the case to lose out before he had begun, or sold and sold at a song to save the wreckage of his fortunes. of all the spanish land grants originally partitioning off what is now new mexico, i know of only one held by the family of the original grantee; and it is now in process of partition. it is an untold page of southwestern history, this "stampeding" of spanish titles. some day, when we are a little farther away from it, the story will be told. it will not make pleasant reading, nor afford a bill of health to some family fortunes of the southwest. perjuries, assassinations, purchase in open markets of judges drawing such small pittances that they were in the auction mart for highest bid, forged documents, incendiary fires to destroy true titles--these were the least and most decent of the crimes of this era. "ramona" tells what happened to indian titles in california. paint helen hunt jackson's colors red instead of gray; multiply the crimes by ten instead of two; and you have a faint picture of the land-jockey period of new mexican history. something of this sort is going on at taos to-day among the pueblos for their land, and down at sacaton among the pimas for water. treaty guaranteed the indian his rights, but at taos the squatter cut the pueblo fences and carried the case to court. at sacaton, the big squatter, the irrigation company, took the pimas' water; so that the indian can no longer raise crops. if you want to know what the courts do in these cases, ask the pueblo governor at taos; or the pima chief at sacaton. * * * * * it is late september. a parrot calls out in spanish from the center of the patio where our rooms look out on an arcade running round the court in a perfect square. a mocking-bird trills saucily from his cage amid the cosmos bloom. donkeys and burros amble past the rear gate with loads of wood strapped to their backs. your back window looks out on the courtyard. your front window faces the street across from a plaza, or city square. stalwart, thick-set, muscular figures, hair banded back by red and white scarfs, trousers of a loose, white pantaloon sort, tunic a gray or white blanket, wrapped arab fashion from shoulders to waist, stalk with quick, nervous tread along the plaza; for it is the feast of saint geronimo presently. the whole town is in festal attire. there will be dancing all night and all day, and rude theatricals, and horse and foot races; and the plaza is agog with sightseers. no, it is not persia; and it is not palestine; and it is not spain. it is just plain, commonplace america out at taos--white man's taos, at the old columbia hotel, which is the last of the old-time spanish inns. as you motor into the town, the long rows of great cottonwoods and poplars attest the great age of the place. through windows deep set in adobe casement and flush with the street, you catch glimpses of inner patios where oleanders and roses are still in bloom. then you see the roof windows of artists' studios, and find yourself not only in an old spanish town but in the midst of a modern art colony, which has been called into being by the unique coloring, form and antiquity of life in the southwest. a few years ago, when lungren and philips and sharpe and a dozen others began portraying the marvelous coloring of the southwestern desert with its almost arab life, the public refused to accept such spectacular, un-american work as true. such pictures were diligently "skied" by hanging committees, and a few hundred dollars was deemed a good price. to-day, southwestern art forms a school by itself; and where commissions used to go begging at hundreds of dollars, they to-day command prices of thousands and tens of thousands. when i was in taos, one artist was filling commissions for an eastern collector that would mount up to prices paid for the best work of watts and whistler. it is a brutal way to put art in terms of the dollar bill; but it is sometimes the only way to make a people realize there are prophets in our own country. columbia hotel is really one of the famous old spanish mansions occupying almost the entire side of a plaza square. from its street entrance, you can see down the little alleyed street where dwelt kit carson in the old days. his old home is almost a wreck to-day, and there does not seem to be the slightest movement to convert it into a shrine where the hundreds of sightseers who come to the indian dances could brush up memories of old frontier heroes. there are really only four streets in taos, all facing the plaza or town square. other streets are alleys running off these, and when you see a notary's sign out as "alcalde," it does not seem so very far back to the days when spanish dons lounged round the plaza wearing silk capes and velvet trousers and buckled shoes, and spanish _conquistadores_ rode past armed cap-à-pie, and spanish grand dames stole glances at the outside world through the lattices of the mansion houses. in some of these old spanish houses, you will find the deep casement windows very high in the wall. i asked a descendant of one of the old spanish families why that was. "for protection," she said. "indians?" i asked. "no--spanish women were not supposed to see, or be seen by, the outside world." the pueblo proper lies about four miles out from the white man's town. laguna, acoma, zuñi, the three mesas of the tusayan desert--all lie on hillsides, or on the very crest of high acclivities. taos is the exception among purely indian pueblos. it lies in the lap of the valley among the mountains, two castellated, five story adobe structures, one on each side of a mountain stream. in other pueblo villages, while the houses may adjoin one another like stone fronts in our big cities, they are not like huge beehive apartment houses. in taos, the houses are practically two great communal dwellings, with each apartment assigned to a special clan or family. in all, some people dwell in these two huge houses. how many rooms are there? not less than an average of three to each family. remnants of an ancient adobe wall surround the entire pueblo. a new whitewashed mission church stands in the center of the village, but you can still see the old one pitted with cannon-ball and bullet, where general price shelled it in the uprising of the pueblos after american occupation. men wear store trousers and store hats. you see some modern wagons. except for these, you are back in the days of coronado. all the houses can be entered only by ladders that ascend to the roofs and can be drawn up--the pueblo way of bolting the door. the houses run up three, four and five stories. they are adobe color outside, that is to say, a pinkish gray; and whitewashed spotlessly inside. watch a woman draped in white linen blanket ascending these ladders, and you have to convince yourself that you are not in the orient. down by the stream, women with red and blue and white shawls over their heads, and feet encased in white puttees, are washing blankets by beating them in the flowing water. go up the succession of ladders to the very top of a five storied house, and look out. you can see the pasture fields, where the herds graze in common. on the outskirts of the village, men and boys are threshing, that is--they are chasing ponies round and round inside a kraal, with a flag stuck up to show which way the wind blows, one man forking chaff with the wind, another scraping the grain outside the circle. glance inside the houses. the upstairs is evidently the living-room; for the fireplace is here, and the pot is on. off the living-room are corn and meal bins, and you can see the _metate_ or stone on which the corn is ground by the women as in the days of old testament record. though there is a new mission church dating from the uprising in the forties, and an old mission church dating almost from , you can see from the roof dozens of _estufas_, where the men are practicing for their dances and masked theatricals. tony, the assistant governor, an educated man of about forty who has traveled with wild west shows, acts as our guide, and tells us about the squatters trying to get the indian land. how would you like an intruder to sit down in the middle of your farm and fence off acres? the indians didn't like it, and cut the fences. then the troops were sent out. that was in --a typical "uprising," when the white man has both troops and courts on his side. the case has gone to the courts, and tony doesn't expect it to be settled very soon. in fact, tony likes their own form of government better than the white man's. all this he tells you in the softest, coolest voice, for tony is not only assistant governor: he is constable to keep white men from bringing in liquor during the festal week. they yearly elect their own governor. that governor's word is absolutely supreme for his tenure of office. is there a dispute over crops, or cattle? the governor's word settles it without any rigmarole of talk by lawyers. "supposing the guilty man doesn't obey the governor?" we ask. "then we send our own police, and take him, and put him in the stocks in the lock-up," and he takes us around and shows us both the stocks and the lock-up. these stocks clamp down a man's head as well as his hands and feet. a man with his neck and hands anchored down between his feet in a black room naturally wouldn't remain disobedient long. the method of voting is older than the white man's ballot. the indians enter the _estufa_. a mark is drawn across the sand. two men are nominated. (no--women do not vote; the women rule the house absolutely. the men rule fields and crops and village courtyard.) the voters then signify their choice by marks on the sand. houses are built and occupied communally, and ground is held in common; but the product of each man's and each woman's labor is his or her own and not in common--the nearest approach to socialistic life that america has yet known. the people here speak a language different from the other pueblos, and this places their origin almost as far back as the origin of anglo-saxon races. another feature sets pueblo races apart from all other native races of america. though these people have been in contact with whites nearly years, intermarriage with whites is almost unknown. purity of blood is almost as sacredly guarded among pueblos as among the ancient jews. the population remains almost stationary; but the bad admixtures of a mongrel race are unknown. we call the head man of the pueblo the governor, but the spanish know him as a _cacique_. associated with him are the old men--_mayores_, or council; and this council of wise old men enters so intimately into the lives of the people that it advises the young men as to marriage. we have preachers in our religious ranks. the pueblos have proclaimers who harangue from the housetops, or _estufas_. as women stoop over the _metates_ grinding the meal, men sing good cheer from the door. the chile, or red pepper, is pulverized between stones the same as the grain. though openly catholic and in attendance on the mission church, the pueblo people still practice all the secret rites of montezuma; and in all the course of four centuries of contact, white men have never been able to learn the ceremonies of the _estufas_. women never enter the _estufas_. who were the first white men to see taos? it is not certainly known, but it is vaguely supposed they were cabeza de vaca and his three companions, shipwrecked on the coast of florida in the narvaez expedition, who wandered westward across the continent from taos to laguna and acoma. as the legend runs, they were made slaves by the indians and traded from tribe to tribe from to , when they reached old mexico. anyway, their report of golden cities and vast, undiscovered land pricked new spain into launching coronado's expedition of . preceding the formal military advance of coronado, the franciscan fray marcos de niza and two lay brothers guided by cabeza de vaca's negro estevan, set out with the cross in their hands to prepare the way. fray marcos advanced from the gulf of california eastward. one can guess the weary hardship of that footsore journeying. it was made between march and september of . go into the yuma valley in september! the heat is of a denseness you can cut with a knife. imagine the heat of that tramp over desert sands in june, july and august! when fray marcos sent his indian guides forward to zuñi, near the modern gallup, he was met with the warning "go back; or you will be put to death." his messengers refusing to be daunted, the zuñi people promptly killed them and threw them over the rocks. fray marcos went on with the lay brothers. zuñi was called "_cibola_" owing to the great number of buffalo skins (_cibolas_) in camp. fray marcos' report encouraged the emperor of spain to go on with coronado's expedition. that trip need not be told here. it has been told and retold in half the languages of the world. the spaniards set out from old mexico strong, with indian escorts and four priests including marcos and a lay brother. what did they expect? probably a second peru, temples with walls of gold and images draped in jewels of priceless worth. what did they find? in zuñi and the three mesas and taos, small, sun-baked clay houses built tier on tier on top of each other like a child's block house, with neither precious stones, nor metals of any sort, but only an abundance of hides and woven cloth. when the soldiers saw zuñi, they broke out in jeers and curses at the priest. poor fray marcos was thinking more of souls saved from perdition than of loot, and returned in shamed embarrassment to new spain. across the desert to the three mesas and the cañon of the colorado, east again to acoma and the enchanted mesa, up to the pueblo town now known as the city of santa fe, into the pecos, and north, yet north of taos, coronado's expedition practically made a circuit of all the southwest from the colorado river to east kansas. the knightly adventurers did not find gold, and we may guess, as winter came on with heavy snows in the upper desert, they were in no very good mood; for now began that contest between white adventurers and pueblos which lasted down to the middle of the nineteenth century. at the pueblo now known as bernalillo, the soldiers demanded blankets to protect them from the cold. the indians stripped their houses to help their visitors, but in the mêlée and no doubt in the ill humor of both sides there were attacks and insults by the white aggressors, and a state of siege lasted for two months. practically from that date to , the pueblo towns were a unit against the white man. [illustration: a fashionable metal-worker of taos, new mexico, who has not adhered to the native costume] the last great uprising was just after the american occupation. bent, the great trader of bent's fort on the arkansas, was governor. kit carson, who had run away from the saddler's trade at sixteen and for whom a reward of one cent was offered, had joined the santa fe caravans and was now living at taos, an influential man among the indians. according to col. twitchell, whose work is the most complete on new mexico and who received the account direct from the governor's daughter, governor bent knew that danger was brewing. the pueblos had witnessed spanish power overthrown; then, the expulsion of mexican rule. why should they, themselves, not expel american domination? it was january , . governor bent had come up from santa fe to visit taos. he was warned to go back, or to get a military escort; but a trader all his life among the indians, he flouted danger. traders' rum had inflamed the indians. they had crowded in from their pueblo town to the plaza of taos. insurrectionary mexicans, who had cause enough to complain of the american policy regarding spanish land titles, had harangued the indians into a flare of resentful passion. governor bent and his family were in bed in the house you can see over to the left of the plaza. in the kraal were plenty of horses for escape, but the family were awakened at daybreak by a rabble crowding into the central courtyard. kit carson's wife, mrs. bent, mrs. boggs and her children hurried into the shelter of an inner room. young alfredo bent, only ten years old, pulled his gun from the rack with the words--"papa, let us fight;" but bent had gone to the door to parley with the leaders. taking advantage of the check, the women and an indian slave dug a hole with a poker and spoon under the adobe wall of the room into the next house. through this the family crawled away from the besieged room to the next house, mrs. bent last, calling for her husband to come; but it was too late. governor bent was shot in the face as he expostulated; clubbed down and literally scalped alive. he dragged himself across the floor, to follow his wife; but indians came up through the hole and down over the roof and in through the windows; and bent fell dead at the feet of his family. the family were left prisoners in the room without food, or clothing except night dresses, all that day and the next night. at daybreak friendly mexicans brought food, and the women were taken away disguised as squaws. once, when searching indians came to the house of the old mexican who had sheltered the family, the rescuer threw the searchers off by setting his "squaws" to grinding meal on the kitchen floor. kit carson, at this time, unfortunately happened to be in california. he was the one man who could have restrained the indians. the indians then proceeded down to the arroyo hondo to catch some mule loads of whiskey and provisions, which were expected through the narrow cañon. the mill where the mules had been unharnessed was surrounded that night. the teamsters plugged up windows and loaded for the fray that must come with daylight. seven times the indians attempted to rush an assault. each time, a rifle shot puffed from the mill and an indian leaped into the air to fall back dead. then the whole body of indians poured a simultaneous volley into the mill. two of the americans inside fell dead. a third was severely wounded. by the afternoon of the second day, the americans were without balls or powder. the indians then crept up and set fire to the mill. the americans hid themselves among the stampeding stock of the kraal. night was coming on. the pueblos were crowding round in a circle. the surviving americans opened the gates and made a dash in the dark for the mountains. two only escaped. the rest were lanced and scalped as they ran; and in the loot of the teams, the indians are supposed to have secured some well-filled chests of gold specie. by january rd, general price had marched out at the head of five companies, from old fort marcy at santa fe for taos. he had men and four cannon. you can see the marks yet on the old mission at taos, where the cannon-balls battered down the adobe walls. the indians did not wait his coming. they met him , strong on the heights of a mesa at santa cruz. the indians made wild efforts to capture the wagons to the rear of the artillery; but when an indian rabble meets artillery, there is only one possible issue. the indians fled, leaving thirty-six killed and forty-five wounded. no railway led up the rio grande at that early date; and it was a more notable feat for the troops to advance up the narrowing cañons than to defeat the foe. at embudo, six or seven hundred pueblos lined the rock walls under hiding of cedar and piñon. the soldiers had to climb to shoot; and again the indians could not withstand trained fire. they left twenty killed and sixty wounded here. two feet of snow lay on the trail as the troops ascended the uplands; and it was february rd before they reached taos. every ladder had been drawn up, every window barricaded, and the high walls of the tiered great houses were bristling with rifle barrels; but rifle defense could not withstand the big shells of the assailants. the two pueblos were completely surrounded. a six pounder was brought within ten yards of the walls. a shell was fired--the church wall battered down, and the dragoons rushed through the breach. by the night of feb. th, old men, women and children bearing the cross came suing for peace. the ringleader, tomas, was delivered to general price; and the troops drew off with a loss of seven killed and forty-five wounded. the pueblos loss was not less than . thus ended the last attempt of the pueblos to overthrow alien domination; and this attempt would not have been made if the indians had not been spurred on by mexican revolutionaries, with counter plots of their own. * * * * * we motored away from taos by sunset. an old indian woman swathed all in white came creeping down one of the upper ladders. they could not throw off white rule--these pueblos--but for four centuries they have withstood white influences as completely as in the days when they sent the couriers spurring with the knotted cord to rally the tribes to open revolt. chapter xiii san antonio, the cairo of america if you want to plunge into america's egypt, there are as many ways to go as you have moods. you explain that the ocean voyage is half the attraction to european travel. there may be a difference of opinion on that, as i know people who would like to believe that the atlantic could be bridged; but if you are keen on an ocean voyage, you can reach the egypt of america by boat to florida, then west by rail; or by boat straight to any of the texas harbors. by way of florida, you can take your fill of the historic and antique and the picturesque in st. augustine and pensacola and new orleans; and if there are any yarns of rarer flavor in all the resorts of europe than in the old quarters of these three places, i have never heard of them. you can drink of the spring of the elixir of life in st. augustine, and lose yourself in the trenches of old fort barrancas at pensacola, and wander at will in the old french town of new orleans. each place was once a pawn in the gambles of european statesmen. each has heard the clang of armed knights, the sword in one hand, the cross in the other. each has seen the pirate fleet with death's head on the flag at the masthead come tacking up the bays, sometimes to be shattered and sunk by cannon shot from the fort bastions. sometimes the fort itself was scuttled by the buccaneers; once, at least, at fort barrancas, it suffered loot at terrible, riotous, drunken hands, when a spanish officer's daughter who was captured for ransom succeeded in plunging into the sea within sight of her watching father. but whether you enter the egypt of america by rail overland, or by sea, san antonio is the gateway city from the south to the land of play and mystery. it is to the middle west what quebec is to canada, what cairo is to egypt--the gateway, the meeting place of old and new, of latin and saxon, of east and west, of north and south. atmosphere? physically, the atmosphere is champagne: spiritually, you have not gone ten paces from the station before you feel a flavor as of old wine. there are the open spanish plazas riotous with bloom flanked by spanish-moorish ruins flush on the pavement, with skyscraper hotels that are the last word in modernity. live oaks heavy with spanish moss hang over sleepy streams that come from everywhere and meander nowhere. you see a squad of soldiers from fort sam houston wheeling in measured tread around a square (only there isn't anything absolutely square in all san antonio) and they have hardly gone striding out of sight before you see a mexican burro trotting to market with a load of hay tied on its back. a motor comes bumping over the roads--such roads as only the antique can boast--and if it is fiesta time, or cowboy celebration, you are apt to see cowboys cutting such figure eights in the air as a motor cannot execute on antique pavement. you enter a hotel and imagine you are in the plaza, new york, or the ritz, london; but stay! the frieze above the marble walls isn't gilt; and it isn't tapestry. the frieze is a long panel in bronze _alto-relievo_. i think it is a testimonial to san antonio's sense of the fitness of things that that frieze is not of roman gladiators, or french gardens with beringed ladies and tame fawns. it is a frieze of the cowboys taking a stampeding herd up the long trail--drifting and driving but held together by a rough fellow in top boots and sombrero; and the rotunda has a frieze of cowboys because that three million-dollar hotel was built out of "cow" money. old and new, past and present, saxon and latin, north and south, east and west--that is san antonio. you can never forget it for a minute. it is such a shifting panorama as you could only get from traveling thousands of miles elsewhere, or comparing a hundred remington drawings. san antonio is a curious combination of remington and alma tadema in real life; and i don't know anywhere else in the world you can get it. there are three such huge hotels in san antonio besides a score of lesser ones, to take care of the , tourists who come from the middle west to winter in san antonio; but remember that while , seems a large number of tourists for one place, that is only one-tenth the number of americans who yearly see europe. and never for a moment can you forget that as cairo is the gateway to eastern travel, so san antonio is on the road to old mexico and all the former spanish possessions of the south. it was here that madero's band of revolutionists lived and laid the plans that overthrew diaz. long ago, before the days of railway, it was here that the long caravans of mule trains used to come with, silver and gold from the mines of old mexico. it was here the highwaymen and roughs and toughs and scum of the earth used to lie in wait for the passing bullion; and it was here the texas rangers came with short, quick, sharp shrift for rustlers and robbers. there is one corner in san antonio where you can see a mission dating back to the early seventeen hundreds, and not a stone's throw away, one of the most famous gambling joints of the wildest days of the wild southwest--the site of the old silver king, where cowboys and miners from the south used to come in "to clean out" their earnings of a year, sometimes to ride horses over faro tables, or pot-shot rows of champagne. a man had "to smile" when he called his "pardner" pet names in the silver king; or there would be crackle of more than champagne corks. men would duck for hiding. a body would be dragged out, sand spread on the floor, and the games went on morning, noon and night. the missions are crumbling ruins. so is the silver king. frontiersmen will tell you regretfully of the good old days forever gone, when the night passed but dully if the cowboys did not shoot up all the saloons and "hurdle" the gaming tables. * * * * * yesterday, it was cowboy and mines in san antonio. to-day, it is polo and tourist; and the transition is a natural growth. one would hate to think of the risks of the long trail, for miners from old mexico to fort leavenworth, for cowboys from fort worth to wyoming and st. louis, and not see the risks rewarded in fortunes to these trail makers. the cowboy and miner of the olden days--the cowboy and miner who survived, that is--are the capitalists taking their pleasure in san antonio to-day. it was natural that the cow pony bred to keeping its feet in mid-air, or on earth, should develop into the finest type of polo pony ever known. for years, the polo clubs of the north, lenox, long island, milbrook, have made a regular business of scouring texas for polo ponies. horses giving promise of good points would be picked up at $ , $ , $ . they would then be rounded on a ranch and trained. san antonio is situated almost feet up on a high, clear plateau rimmed by blue ridges in the distance. recently, a polo ground of , acres has been laid out; and the polo clubs of the north are to be invited to san antonio for the winter fiestas. as fort sam houston boasts one of the best polo clubs of the south, competition is likely to attract the sportsmen from far and near. you know how it is in all these new western cities. they are feverish with a mania of progress. they have grown so fast they cannot keep track of their own hobble-de-hoy, sprawling limbs. they are drunk with prosperity. in real estate alone, fortunes have come, as it were, overnight. all this san antonio has not escaped. they will tell you with pardonable pride how this little cow town, where land wasn't worth two cents an acre outside the mission walls, has jumped to be a metropolitan city of over , ; how it is the center of the great truck and irrigation farm district. fort sam houston always has or soldiers in garrison, and sometimes has as many as , ; and when army maneuvers take place, there is an immense reservation outside the city where as many as , men can practice mimic war. the day of two cents or even $ an acre land round san antonio is forever past. land under the ditch is too valuable for the rating of twenty acres to one steer. all this and more you will see of modern san antonio; but still if at sundown you set out on a vagrant and solitary tour of the old missions, i think you will feel as i felt that it was the dauntless spirit of the old régime that fired the blood of the moderns for the new day that is dawning. i don't know why it is, but anything in life that is worth having seems to demand service and sacrifice and, oftener than not, the martyrdom of heroic and terrible defeat. then, when you think that the flag of the cause is trampled in a mire of bloodshed, phoenix-like the cause rises on eagles' wings to new height, new daring, new victory. it was so in texas. when you visit the missions of san antonio, go alone; or go with a kindred spirit. don't talk! let the mysticism and wonder of it sink in your soul! soak yourself in the traditions of the past. let the dead hand of the past reach out and touch you. you will live over again the heroism of the alamo, the heroism that preceded the alamo--that of the franciscans who tramped leagues across the desert of old mexico to establish these missions; the heroism that preceded the franciscans--that of la salle traveling thrice leagues to establish the cross on the gulf of mexico, and perishing by assassin's hand as he turned on the backward march. you will see the iron cross to his memory at levaca. it was because la salle, the frenchman, found his way to the gulf, that spain stirred up the viceroys of new mexico to send sword and cross over the desert to establish forts in the country of the tejas (texans). do you realize what that means? when i cross the arid hills of the rio grande, i travel in a car cooled by electric fans, with two or three iced drinks between meals. these men marched--most of them on foot, the cowled priests in sandals, the knights in armor plate from head to heel--over cactus sands. do you wonder that they died on the way? do you wonder that the marchers coming into the well-watered plains of the san antonio with festooned live oaks overhanging the green waters, paused here and built their string of missions of which the chief was the one now known as "the alamo"--the mission of the cottonwood trees? [illustration: an excellent example of the entrance to an adobe house of the southwest, embodying the best traditions of this kind of architecture] six different flags have flown over the land of the tejas: the french, the spanish, the mexican, the republic of texas, the confederate, the union. in such a struggle for ascendancy, needless to tell, much blood was shed righteously and unrighteously; but of the battle fought at the alamo, no justification need be given. it is part of american history, but it is the kind of history that in other nations goes to make battle hymns. details are in every school book. santa ana, the newly risen mexican dictator, had ordered the , americans who lived in texas, to disarm. sam houston, crockett, bowie, travis, had sprung to arms with a call that rings down to history yet: "fellow citizens and compatriots," wrote travis from the doomed alamo mission, to houston and the other leaders outside, "i am besieged by a thousand or more mexicans under santa ana. i have sustained a continued bombardment for twenty-four hours and have not lost a man.... the garrison is to be put to the sword if the place is taken. i have answered the summons with a cannon shot and our flag still waves proudly from the walls. i shall never surrender, nor retreat. i call on you in the name of liberty, and of everything dear to the american character, to come to our aid with all despatch. the enemy is receiving reinforcements daily, and will no doubt increase to , or , in four or five days. though this call may be neglected, i am determined to sustain myself as long as possible and die like a soldier who forgets not what is due to his own honor and that of his country--victory or death! w. barrett travis lieut.-col. commanding." in the fort with travis were men under bowie and crockett. the siege began on feb. , , and ended on march th. besides the frontiersmen in the fort were two women, two children and two slaves. the mission was arranged in a great quadrangle fifty-four by yards with _acequias_ or irrigation ditches both to front and rear. the garrison had succeeded in getting inside the walls about thirty bushels of corn and eighty beef cattle; so there was no danger of famine. the big courtyard was in the rear. the convent projected out in front of the courtyard. to the left angle of the convent was the chapel or mission of the alamo. santa ana had come across the desert with , men. to the demand for surrender, travis answered with a cannon shot. the mexican leader then hung the red flag above his camp and ordered the band to play "no quarter." for eight days, shells came hurtling inside the walls incessantly, dawn to dark, dark to dawn. just at sunset on march rd, there was a bell. travis collected his men and gave them their choice of surrendering and being shot, or cutting their way out through the besieging line. the besiegers at this time consisted of , infantrymen bunched close to the walls of the alamo--too close to be shot from above, and , cavalry and infantry back on the plaza and encircling the mission to cut off all avenue of escape. travis drew a line on the ground with his sword. "every man who will die with me, come across that line! who will be first? march!" every man leaped over the line but bowie, who was ill on a cot bed. "boys, move my cot over the line," he said. at four o'clock next morning, the siege was resumed. the bugle blew a single blast. with picks, crowbars and ladders, the mexicans closed in. the besieged waited breathlessly. the mexicans placed the ladders and began scaling. the sharpshooters inside the walls waited till the heads appeared above the walls--then fired. as the top man fell back, the one beneath on the ladder stepped in the dead man's place. then the americans clubbed their guns and fought hand to hand. by that, the mexicans knew that ammunition was exhausted and the defenders few. the walls were scaled and battered down first in a far corner of the convent yard. behind the chapel door, piles of sand had been stacked. from the yard, the texans were driven to the convent, from the convent to the chapel. travis fell shot at the breach in the yard wall. bowie was bayoneted on the cot where he lay. crockett was clubbed to death just outside the chapel door to the left. by nine o'clock, no answering shot came from the alamo. the doors were rammed and rushed. not a texan survived. two women, two children and a couple of slaves were pulled out of hiding from chancel and stalls. these were sent across to the main camp. the bodies of the heroes were piled in a pyramid with fagots; and fired. so ended the battle of the alamo, one of the most terrible defeats and heroic defenses in american history. it is unnecessary to relate that sam houston exacted from the mexicans on the battlefield of san jacinto a terrible punishment for this defeat. captured and killed, his toll of defeated mexicans down at houston came to almost , . such is the story of one of san antonio's missions. one other has a tale equally tragic; but all but two are falling to utter ruin. i don't know whether it would be greater desecration to lay hand on them and save them, or let them fall to dust. it was nightfall when i went to the three on the outskirts of the city. two have little left but the walls and the towers. a third is still used as place of worship by a little settlement of mexicans. the slant light of sunset came through the darkened, vacant windows, the tiers of weathered stalls, the empty, twin-towered belfries. you could see where the well stood, the bake house, the school. shrubbery planted by the monks has grown wild in the courtyards; but you can still call up the picture of the cowled priests chanting prayers. the missions are ruins; but the hope that animated them, the fire, the heroism, the dauntless faith, still burn in texas blood as the sunset flame shines through the dismantled windows. chapter xiv casa grande and the gila if someone should tell you of a second grand cañon gashed through wine-colored rocks in the purple light peculiar to the uplands of very high mountains--a second grand cañon, where lived a race of little men not three feet tall, where wild turkeys were domesticated as household birds and every man's door was in the roof and his doorstep a ladder that he carried up after him--you would think it pure imagination, wouldn't you? the lilliputians away out in "gulliver's travels," or something like that? and if your narrator went on about magicians who danced with live rattlesnakes hanging from their teeth and belted about their waists, and played with live fire without being burned, and walked up the faces of precipices as a fly walks up a wall--you would think him rehearsing some robinson crusoe tale about two generations too late to be believed. yet there is a second grand cañon not a stone's throw from everyday tourist travel, wilder in game life and rock formation if not so large, with prehistoric caves on its precipice walls where sleeps a race of little mummied men behind doors and windows barely large enough to admit a half-grown white child. who were they? no one knows. when did they live? so long ago that they were cave men, stone age men; so long ago that neither history nor tradition has the faintest echo of their existence. where did they live? no, it was not europe, asia, africa or australia. if it were, we would know about them. as it happens, this second grand cañon is only in plain, nearby, home-staying america; so when boys of the forest service pulled little zeke out of his gypsum and pumice stone dust and measured him up and found him only twenty-three inches long, though the hair sticking to the skull was gray and the teeth were those of an adult--as it happened in only matter-of-fact, commonplace america, poor little zeke couldn't get shelter. they trounced his little dry bones round silver city, new mexico, for a few months. then they boxed him up and shipped him away to be stored out of sight in the cellars of the smithsonian, at washington. as zeke has been asleep since the ice age, or about ten to eight thousand years b. c., it doesn't make very much difference to him; but one wonders what in the world new mexico was doing allowing one of the most wonderful specimens of a prehistoric dwarf race ever found to be shipped out of the country. it was in the gila cañon that the forestry service boys found him. by some chance, they at once dubbed the little mummy "zeke." the gila is a typical box-cañon, walled as a tunnel, colored in fire tints like the grand cañon, literally terraced and honeycombed with the cave dwellings of a prehistoric race. it lies some fifty miles as the crow flies from silver city; but the way the crow flies and the way man travels are an altogether different story in the wild lands of the gila mountains. you'll have to make the most of the way on horseback with tents for hotels, or better still the stars for a roof. besides, what does it matter when or how the little scrub of a twenty-three-inch man lived anyway? we moderns of evolutionary smattering have our own ideas of how cave men dwelt; and we don't want those ideas disturbed. the cave men--ask jack london if you don't believe it--were hairy monsters, not quite tailless, just cotton-tail-rabbity in their caudal appendage--hairy monsters, who munched raw beef and dragged women by the hair of the head to pitch-black, dark as night, smoke-begrimed caves. that is the way they got their wives. (perhaps, if little zeke could speak, he would think he ought to sue moderns for libel. he might think that our "blond-beast" theories are a reflex of our own civilization. he might smile through his grinning jaws.) anyway, there lies little zeke, a long time asleep, wrapped in cerements of fine woven cloth with fluffy-ruffles and fol-de-rols of woven blue jay and bluebird and hummingbird feathers round his neck. zeke's people understood weaving. also zeke wears on his feet sandals of yucca fiber and matting. i don't know what our ancestors wore--according to evolutionists, it may have been hair and monkey pads. so if you understood as much about zeke's history as you do about the pyramids, you'd settle some of the biggest disputes in theology and ethnology and anthropology and a lot of other "ologies," which have something more or less to do with the salvation and damnation of the soul. how is it known that zeke is a type of a race, and not a freak specimen of a dwarf? because other like specimens have been found in the same area in the last ten years; and because the windows and the doors of the cave dwellings of the gila would not admit anything but a dwarf race. they may not all have been twenty-four and thirty-six and forty inches; but no specimens the size of the mummies in other prehistoric dwellings have been found in the gila. for instance, down at casa grande, they found skeletons buried in the gypsum dust of back chambers; but these skeletons were six-footers, and the roofs of the casa grande chambers were for tall men. up in the frijoles cave dwellings, they have dug out of the _tufa_ dust of ten centuries bodies swathed in woven cloth; but these bodies are of a modern race five or six feet tall. you have only to look at zeke to know that he is not, as we understand the word, an indian. was he an ancestor of the aztecs or the toltecs? though you cannot go out to the gila by motor to a luxurious hotel, there are compensations. you will see a type of life unique and picturesque as in the old world--countless flocks of sheep herded by soft-voiced peons. it is the only section yet left in the west where freighters with double teams and riders with bull whips wind in and out of the narrow cañons with their long lines of tented wagons. it is still a land where game is plentiful as in the old days, trout and turkey and grouse and deer and bear and mountain lion, and even bighorn, though the last named are under protection of closed season just now. i'm always afraid to tell an easterner or town dweller of the hunt of these old trappers of the box cañons; but as many as thirteen bear have been killed on the gila in three weeks. the altitude of the trail from silver city to the gila runs from , to , feet. when you have told that to a westerner, you don't need to tell anything else. it means burros for pack animals. in the southwest it means forests of huge yellow pines, open upland like a park, warm, clear days, cool nights, and though in the desert, none of the heat nor the dust of the desert. it is the ideal land for tuberculosis, though all invalids should be examined as to heart action before attempting any altitude over , feet. and the southwest has worked out an ideal system of treatment for tuberculosis patients. they are no longer housed in stuffy hotels and air tight, super-heated sanitariums. each sanitarium is now a tent city--portable houses or tents floored and boarded halfway up, with the upper half of the wall a curtain window, and a little stove in each tent. each patient has, if he wants it, a little hospital all to himself. there is a central dining-room. there is also a dispensary. in some cases, there are church and amusement hall. where means permit it, a family may have a little tent city all to itself; and they don't call the tent city a sanitarium. they call it "sun mount," or "happy cañon," or some other such name. the percentage of recoveries is wonderful; but the point is, the invalids must come in time. wherever you go along the borders of old and new mexico searching for prehistoric ruins, you come on these tent cities. [illustration: the enchanted mesa of acoma, as high as three niagaras, and its top as flat as a billiard table] where can one see these cliff and cave dwellings of a prehistoric dwarf? please note the points. cliff and cave dwellings are not the same. cliff dwellings are houses made by building up the front of a natural arch. this front wall was either in stone or sun-baked adobe. cave dwellings are houses hollowed out of the solid rock, a feat not so difficult as it sounds when you consider the rock is only soft pumice or tufa, that yields to scraping more readily than bath brick or soft lime. the cliff dwellings are usually only one story. the cave dwellings may run five stories up inside the rock, natural stone steps leading from tier to tier of the rooms, and tiny porthole windows looking down precipices to , feet. the cliff dwellings are mostly entered by narrow trails leading along the ledge of a precipice sheer as a wall. the first story of the cave dwellings was entered by a light ladder, which the owner could draw up after him. remember it was the stone age: no metals, no firearms, no battering rams, nor devices for throwing projectiles. a man with a rock in his hand in the doorway of either type of dwelling could swiftly and deftly and politely speed the parting guest with a brickbat on his head. similar types of pottery and shell ornament are found in both sorts of dwellings; but i have never seen any cliff dwellings with evidences of such religious ceremony as in the cave houses. perhaps the difference between cliff folk and cave folk would be best expressed by saying that the cliff people were to ancient life what the east side is to us: the cave people what upper fifth avenue represents. one the riff-raff, the weak, the poor, driven to the wall; the other, the strong, the secure and defended. you go to one section of ruins, and you come to certain definite conclusions. then you go on to another group of ruins; and every one of your conclusions is reversed. for instance, what drove these races out? what utterly extinguished their civilization so that not a vestige, not an echo of a tradition exists of their history? scientists go up to the rio grande in new mexico, see evidence of ancient irrigation ditches, of receding springs and decreasing waters; and they at once pronounce--desiccation. the earth is burning up at the rate of an inch or two of water in a century; moisture is receding toward the poles as it has in mars, till mars is mostly arid, sun-parched desert round its middle and ice round the poles. good! when you look down from the cliff dwellings of walnut cañon, near flagstaff, that explanation seems to hold good. there certainly must have been water once at the bottom of this rocky box-cañon. when the water sank below the level of the springs, the people had to move out. very well! you come on down to the cave dwellings of the gila. the bottom falls out of your explanation, for there is a perpetual gush of water down these rock walls from unfailing mountain springs. why, then, did the race of little people move out? what wiped them out? why they moved in one can easily understand. the box cañons are so narrow that half a dozen pigmy boys deft with a sling and stones could keep out an army of enemies. the houses were so built that a child could defend the doorway with a club; and where the houses have long hallways and stairs as in casa grande, the passages are so narrow as to compel an enemy to wiggle sideways; and one can guess the inmates would not be idle while the venturesome intruder was wedging himself along. also, the bottoms of these box-cañons afforded ideal corn fields. the central stream permitted easy irrigation on each side by tapping the waterfall higher up; and the wash of the silt of centuries ensured fertility to men, whose plowing must have been accomplished by the shoulder blade of a deer used as a hoe. modern pueblo indians claim to be descendants of these prehistoric dwarf races. so are we descendants of adam; but we don't call him our uncle; and if he had a say, he might disown us. anyway, how have modern descendants of the dwarf types developed into six-foot modern pimas and papagoes? it is said the navajo and apache came originally from athabasca stock. maybe; but the pimas and papagoes claim their garden of eden right in the southwest. they call their garden of eden by the picturesque name of "morning glow." how reach the caves of the dwarf race? to the gila group, you must go by way of silver city; and better go in with forest service men, for this is the gila national forest and the men know the trails. you will find ranch houses near, where you can secure board and room for from $ . to $ a day. the "room" may be a boarded up tent; but that is all the better. or you may take your own blanket and sleep in the caves. perfectly safe--believe me, i have fared all these ways--when you have nearly broken your neck climbing up a precipice to a sheltered cave room, you need not fear being followed. the caves are clean as if kalsomined from centuries and centuries of wash and wind. you may hear the wolves bark--bark--bark under your pillowed doorway all night; but wolves don't climb up -foot precipice walls. also if it is cold in the caves, you will find in the corner of nearly all, a small, high fireplace, where the glow of a few burning juniper sticks will drive out the chill. what did they eat and how did they live, these ancient people, who wore fine woven cloth at an era when aryan races wore skins? like all desert races, they were not great meat eaters; and the probabilities are that fish were tabooed. you find remains of game in the caves, but these are chiefly feather decorations, prayer plumes to waft petitions to the gods, or bones used as tools. on the other hand, there is abundance of dried corn in the caves, of gourds and squash seeds; and every cave has a _metate_, or grinding stone. in many of the caves, there are alcoves in the solid wall, where meal was stored; and of water jars, urns, ollas, there are remnants and whole pieces galore. it is thought these people used not only yucca fiber for weaving, but some species of hemp and cotton; for there are tatters and strips of what might have been cotton or linen. you see it wrapped round the bodies of the mummies and come on it in the accumulation of volcanic ash. near many of the ruins is a huge empty basin or pit, which must have been used as a reservoir in which waters were impounded during siege of war. like conies of the rocks, or beehives of modern skyscrapers, these denizens lived. the most of the mummies have been found in sealed up chambers at the backs of the main houses; but these could hardly have been general burying places, for comparatively few mummies have yet been found. who, then, were these dwarf mummies, placed in sealed vaults to the rear of the gila caves? perhaps a favorite father, brother, or sister; perhaps a governor of the tribe, who perished during siege and could not be taken out to the common burial ground. picture to yourself a precipice face from to feet high, literally punctured with tiny porthole windows and doll house open cave doors. it is sunset. the rocks of these box-cañons in the southwest are of a peculiar wine-colored red and golden ocher, or else dead gray and gypsum white. owing to the great altitude--some of the ruins are , feet above sea level, , above valley bottom--the atmosphere has that curious quality of splitting white light into its seven prismatic hues. artists of the southwestern school account for this by the fact of desert dust being a silt fine as flour, which acts like crystal or glass in splitting the rays of white light into its prismatic colors; but this hardly explains these high box-cañons, for there is no dust here. my own theory (please note, it is only a theory and may be quite wrong) is that the air is so rare at altitudes above , feet, so rare and pure that it splits light up, if not in seven prismatic colors, then in elementary colors that give the reds and purples and fire tints predominance. anyway, at sunset and sunrise, these box-cañons literally swim in a glory of lavender and purple and fiery reds. you almost fancy it is a fire where you can dip your hand and not be burned; a sea in which spirits, not bodies, swim and move and have their being; a sea of fiery rainbow colors. the sunset fades. the shadows come down like invisible wings. the twilight deepens. the stars prick through the indigo blue of a desert sky like lighted candles; and there flames up in the doorway of cavern window and door the deep red of juniper and cedar log glow in the fireplaces at the corner of each room. the mourning dove utters his plaintive wail. you hear the yap-yap of fox and coyote far up among the big timbers between you and the snows. then a gong rings. (gong? in a metal-less age? yes, the gong is a flint bar struck by the priest with a bone clapper.) the dancers come down out of the caves to the dancing floors in the middle of the narrow cañon. you can see the dancing rings yet, where the feet of a thousand years have beaten the raw earth hard. men only dance. these are not sex dances. they are dances of thanks to the gods for the harvest home of corn; or for victory. the gong ceases clapping. the campfires that scent the cañon with juniper smells, flicker and fade and die. the rhythmic beat of the feet that dance ceases and fades in the darkness. that was ten thousand years agone. where are the races that danced to the beat of the priest's clapper gong? i wakened one morning in one of the frijoles caves to the mournful wail of the turtle dove; and there came back that old prophecy--it used to give me cold shivers down my spine as a child--that the habitat of the races who fear not god shall be the haunt of bittern and hoot owl and bat and fox. * * * * * i don't know what reason there is for it, neither do the indians of the southwest know; but casa grande, the great house, or the place of the morning glow, is to them the garden of eden of their race traditions; the scene of their mythical "golden age," when there were no apaches raiding the crops, nor white men stealing land away; when life was a perpetual happy hunting ground, only the hunters didn't kill, and all animals could talk, and the desert was an antelope plain knee-deep in pasturage and flowers, and the springs were all full of running water. casa grande is undoubtedly the oldest of all the prehistoric ruins in the united states. it lies some eighteen to twenty-five miles, according to the road you follow, south of the station called by that name on the southern pacific railroad. it isn't supposed to rain in the desert after the two summer months, nor to blow dust storms after march; but it was blowing a dust storm to knock you off your feet when i reached casa grande early in october; and a day later the rain was falling in floods. the drive can be made with ease in an afternoon; but better give yourself two days, and stay out for a night at the tents of mr. pinkey, the government custodian of the ruins. the ruin itself has been set aside as a perpetual monument. you drive out over a low mesa of rolling mesquite and greasewood and cactus, where the giant suaharo stands like a columned ghost of centuries of bygone ages. "how old are they?" i asked my driver, as we passed a huge cactus high as a house and twisted in contortions as if in pain. from tip to root, the great trunk was literally pitted with the holes pecked through by little desert birds for water. "oh, centuries and centuries old," he said; "and the queer part is that in this section of the mesa water is sixty feet below the surface. their roots don't go down sixty feet. where do they get the water? i guess the bark acts as cement or rubber preventing evaporation. the spines keep the desert animals off, and during the rainy season the cactus drinks up all the water he's going to need for the year, and stores it up in that big tank reservoir of his. but his time is up round these parts; settlers have homesteaded all round here for twenty-five miles, and next time you come back we'll have orange groves and pecan orchards." far as you could look were the little adobe houses and white tents of the pioneers, stretching barb wire lines round -acre patches of mesquite with a faith to put moses to shame when he struck the rock for a spring. these settlers have to bore down the sixty feet to water level with very inadequate tools; and you see little burros chasing homemade windlasses round and round, to pump up water. it looks like "the faith that lays it down and dies." slow, hard sledding is this kind of farming, but it is this kind of dauntless faith that made phoenix and made yuma and made imperial valley. twenty years ago, you could squat on imperial valley land. to-day it costs $ , an acre and yields high percentage on that investment. to-day you can buy casa grande lands from $ to $ an acre. wait till the water is turned in the ditch, and it will not seem such tedious work. if you want to know just how hard and lonely it is, drive past the homesteads just at nightfall as i did. the white tent stands in the middle of a barb wire fence strung along juniper poles and cedar shakes; no house, no stable, no buildings of any sort. the horses are staked out. a woman is cooking a meal above the chip fire. a lantern hangs on a bush in front of the tent flap. miles ahead you see another lantern gleam and swing, and dimly discern the outlines of another tent--the homesteader's nearest neighbor. just now casa grande town boasts people housed chiefly in one story adobe dwellings. come in five years, and casa grande will be boasting her ten and twenty thousand people. like mushrooms overnight, the little towns spring up on irrigation lands. you catch the first glimpse of the ruins about eighteen miles out--a red roof put on by the government, then a huge, square, four story mass of ruins surrounded by broken walls, with remnants of big elevated courtyards, and four or five other compounds the size of this central house, like the bastions at the four corners of a large, old-fashioned walled fort. the walls are adobe of tremendous thickness--six feet in the house or temple part, from one to three in the stockade--a thickness that in an age of only stone weapons must have been impenetrable. the doors are so very low as to compel a person of ordinary height to bend almost double to enter; and the supposition is this was to prevent the entrance of an enemy and give the doorkeeper a chance to eject unwelcome visitors. once inside, the ceilings are high, timbered with _vigas_ of cedar strengthened by heavier logs that must have been carried in a horseless age a hundred miles from the mountains. the house is laid out on rectangular lines, and the halls straight enough but so narrow as to compel passage sidewise. in every room is a feature that has puzzled scientists both here and in the cave dwellings. doors were, of course, open squares off the halls or other rooms; but in addition to these openings, you will find close to the floor of each room, little round "cat holes," one or two or three of them, big enough for a beam but without a beam. in the cave dwellings these little round holes through walls four or five feet thick are frequently on the side of the room opposite the fireplace. fewkes and others think they may have been ventilator shafts to keep the smoke from blowing back in the room, but in casa grande they are in rooms where there is no fireplace. others think they were whispering tubes, for use in time of war or religious ceremony; but in a house of open doors, would it not have been as simple to call through the opening? yet another explanation is that they were for drainage purpose, the cave man's first rude attempt at modern plumbing; but that explanation falls down, too; for these openings don't drain in any regular direction. such a structure as casa grande must have housed a whole tribe in time of religious festival or war; so you come back to the explanation of ventilator shafts. the ceilings of casa grande are extraordinarily high; and bodies found buried in sealed up chambers behind the ruins of the other compounds are five or six feet long, showing this was no dwarf race. the rooms do not run off rectangular halls as our rooms do. you tumble down stone steps through a passage so narrow as to catch your shoulders into a room deep and narrow as a grave. then you crack your head going up other steps off this room to another compartment. bodies found at casa grande lie flat, headed to the east. bodies found in the caves are trussed up knees to chin, but as usual the bodies found at casa grande have been shipped away east to be stored in cellars instead of being left carefully glassed over, where they were found. lower altitude, or the great age, or the quality of the clays, may account for the peculiarly rich shades of the pottery found at casa grande. the purples and reds and browns are tinged an almost iridescent green. running back from the great house is a heavy wall as of a former courtyard. backing and flanking the walls appear to have been other houses, smaller but built in the same fashion as casa grande. stand on these ruined walls, or in the doorway of the great house, and you can see that five such big houses have once existed in this compound. two or three curious features mark casa grande. inside what must have been the main court of the compound are elevated earthen stages or platforms three to six feet high, solid mounds. were these the foundations of other great houses, or platforms for the religious theatricals and ceremonials which enter so largely into the lives of southwestern indians? at one place is the dry bed of a very ancient reservoir; but how was water conveyed to this big community well? the river is two miles away, and no spring is visible here. though you can see the footpath of sandaled feet worn in the very rocks of eternity, an irrigation ditch has not yet been located. this, however, proves nothing; for the sand storms of a single year would bury the springs four feet deep. a truer indication of the great age of the reservoir is the old tree growing up out of the center; and that brings up the question how we know the age of these ancient ruins--that is, the age within a hundred years or so. ask settlers round how old casa grande is; and they will tell you five or six hundred years. yet on the very face of things, casa grande must be thousands of years older than the other ruins of the southwest. why? first as to historic records: did coronado see casa grande in , when he marched north across the country? he records seeing an ancient great house, where indians dwelt. bandelier, fewkes and a dozen others who have identified his itinerary, say this was not casa grande. even by , casa grande was an abandoned ruin. kino, the great jesuit, was the first white man known to have visited the great house; and he gathered the pimas and papagoes about and said mass there about . what a weird scene it must have been--the sacaton mountains glimmering in the clear morning light; the shy indians in gaudy tunics and yucca fiber pantaloons crowding sideways through the halls to watch what to them must have been the gorgeous vestments of the priest. then followed the elevation of the host, the bowing of the heads, the raising of the standard of the cross; and a new era, that has not boded well for the pimas and papagoes, was ushered in. then the indians scattered to their antelope plains and to the mountains; and the priest went on to the mission of san xavier del bac. the jesuits suffered expulsion, and garcez, the franciscan, came in , and also held mass in casa grande. garcez says that it was a tradition among the moki of the northern desert that they had originally come from the south, from the morning glow of casa grande, and that they had inhabited the box-cañons of the gila in the days when they were "a little people." this establishes casa grande as prior to the cave dwellings of the gila or frijoles; and the cave dwellings were practically contemporaneous with the stone age and the last centuries of the ice age. now, the cave dwellings had been abandoned for centuries before the spaniards came. this puts the cave age contemporaneous with or prior to the christian era. in the very center of the casa grande reservoir, across the doorways of caves in frijoles cañon, grew trees that have taken centuries to come to maturity. the indian tradition is that soon after a very great flood of turbulent waters, in the days when the desert was knee-deep in grass, the indian gods came from the underworld to dwell in casa grande. (not so very different from theories of evolution and transmigration, is it?) the people waxed so numerous that they split off in two great families. one migrated to the south--the pimas, the papagoes, the maricopas; the others crossed the mountains to the north--the zuñis, the mokis, the hopis. yet another proof of the great antiquity is in the language. between papago and moki tongue is not the faintest resemblance. now if you trace the english language back to the days of chaucer, you know that it is still english. if you trace it back to b. c. when the roman and saxon conquerors came, there are still words you recognize--thane, serf, thor, woden, moors, borough, etc. that is, you can trace resemblances in language back , years. you find no similarity in dialects between pima and moki, and very few similarities in physical conformation. the only likenesses are in types of structure in ancient houses, and in arts and crafts. both people build tiered houses. both people make wonderful pottery and are fine weavers, moki of blankets and pima of baskets; and both people ascribe the art of weaving to lessons learned from their goddess, the spider maid. there are few fireplaces among the ancient dwellings of the pimas and papagoes, but lots of fire pits--_sipapus_--where the spirits of the gods came through from the underworld. dancing floors, may pole rings, abound among the cave dwellings: mounds and platforms and courts among the casa grande ruins. the sun and the serpent were favored symbols to both people, a fact which is easily understood in a cloudless land, where serpents signified nearness of water springs, the greatest need of the people. you can see among the cave dwellings where earthquakes have tumbled down whole masses of front rooms; and both moki and papago have traditions of "the heavens raining fire." it has been suggested by scientists that the cliffs were cities of refuge in times of war, the caves and great houses were permanent dwellings. this is inferred because there were no _kivas_ or temples among the cliff ruins, and many exist among the caves and great houses. cushing and hough and i think two or three others regard casa grande as a temple or great community house, where the tribes of the southwest repaired semi-annually for their religious ceremonies and theatricals. we moderns express our emotions through the rhythm of song, of dance, of orchestra, of play, of opera, of art. the indian had his pictographs on the rocks for art, and his pottery and weaving to express his craftsmanship; but the rest of his artistic nature was expressed chiefly by religious ceremonial or theatrical dance, similar to the old miracle plays of the middle ages. for instance, the indians have not only a tradition of a great flood, but of a maiden who was drawn from the underworld by her lover playing a flute; and the flute clans celebrate this by their flute dance. the yearly cleansing of the springs was as great a religious ceremony as the israelites' cleansing of personal impurity. each family belonged to a clan, and each clan had a religious lodge, secret as any modern fraternal order. [illustration: it isn't america at all! it's arabia, and the bedouins of the painted desert are navajo boys] the mask dances of the southwest are much misunderstood by white people. we see in them only what is grotesque or perhaps obscene. yet the spirits of evil and the spirits of goodness are represented under the indian's masked dances, just as the old miracle plays represented faith, hope, charity, lust, greed, etc. there is the bird dance representing the gyrations of hummingbird, mocking-bird, quail, eagle, vulture. there is the dance of the "mud-heads." have we no "mud-heads" befuddling life at every turn of the way? there is the dance of the gluttons and the monsters. have we no unaccountable monsters in modern life? read the record of a single day's crime; and ask yourself what mad motive tempted humans to such certain disaster. we explain a whole rigmarole of motives and inheritance and environment. the indian shows it up by his dance of the monsters. perhaps one of the most beautiful ceremonials is the corn dance. picture to yourself the _kivas_ crowded with spectators. the priests come down bearing blankets in a circle. the blanket circle surrounds the altar fire. the audience sits breathless in the dark. musicians strike up a beating on the stone gong. a flute player trills his air. the blankets drop. in the flare of the altar fire is seen a field of corn, round which the actors dance. the priests rise. the blankets hide the fire. it is the indian curtain drop. when you look again, there is neither pageant of dancers, nor field of corn. so the play goes on--a dozen acts typifying a dozen scenes in a single night. good counsel, too, they gave in those miracle plays and ceremonial dances. "if wounded in battle, don't cry out like a child. pull out the arrow. slip off and die with silence in the throat." "when you go to the hunt, travel with a light blanket." we talk of getting back to mother earth. the indian chants endless songs to the wonder of the great earth magician, creator of life and crops. fire, too, plays a mysterious part in all theories of life creation; and this, too, is the subject of a dance. then came dark days. tribes from the far athabasca came down like the vandals of europe--navajo and apache, relentless warriors. from great houses the people of the southwest retired to cliffs and caves. when the spaniards came with firearms and horses, the situation was almost one of extermination for the sedentary indians; and they retired to such heights as the high mesas of the tusayan desert. whether when white man stopped raid by the warlike tribes, it was better or worse for the peaceful pima and papago and moki, it is hard to say; for the white man began to take the indian's water and the indian's land. it's a story of slow tragedy here. in the days of the overland rush to california, when every foot of the trail was beset by apache and navajo, it was the pima and papago offered shelter and protection to the white overlander. what does the indian know of "prior rights" in filing for water? have not these waters been his since the days of his forefathers, when men came with their families from the morning glow to the box-cañons of the gila and frijoles? if prior rights mean anything, has not the pima prior rights by ten thousand years? but the pima has not a little slip of government paper called a deed. the big irrigation companies have tapped the streams above the indian reserve; and the waters have been diverted. they don't come to the indians any more. all the indian gets is the overflow of the torrential rains--that only brings the alkali wash to the surface of the land and does not flush it off. the pima can no longer raise crops. slowly and very surely, he is being reduced to starvation in a country overflowing with plenty, in a country which has taken his land and his waters, in a country whose people he loyally protected as they crossed the continent to california. what are the american people going to do about it? nothing, of course. when the wrong has been done and the tribe reduced to extermination by inches of starvation, some muckraker will rise and write an article about it, or some ethnologist a brochure about an exterminated people. meantime, the children of the pimas and papagoes have not enough to eat owing to the white man taking all their water. they are the people of "the golden age," "the morning glow." we drove back from casa grande by starlight over the antelope plains. i looked back to the crumbling ruins of the great house, and its five compounds, where the men and women and children of the morning glow came to dance and worship according to all the light they had. its falling walls and dim traditions and fading outlines seemed typical of the passing of the race. why does one people pass and another come? christians say that those who fear not god, shall pass away from the memory of men, forever. evolutionists say that those who are not fit, shall not survive. the spaniard of the southwest shrugs his gay shoulders under a tilted sombrero hat, and says _quien sabe?_ "who knows?" chapter xv san xavier del bac mission, tucson, arizona it is the desert. incense and frankincense, fragrance of roses and resin of pines, cedar smells smoking in the sunlight, scent the air. sunrise comes over the mountain rim in shafts of a chariot wheel; and the mountains, engirting the desert round and round, are themselves veiled in a mist, intangible and shimmering as dreams--a mist shot with the gold of sunlight; and the air is champagne, ozone, nectar. except in the dead heat of midsummer, snow shines opal from the mountain peaks; and in the outline of yon tucson range, the figure of a giant can be seen lying prone, face to sunlight, face to stars, face to the dews of heaven, as the faces of god-like races ever are. you wind round a juniper grove--"cedars of lebanon," the old testament would call it. there is the silver tinkle of a bell; and the flocks come down to the watering pools, flocks led by maidens, as in the days of rachael and jacob; and the shepherds--only they call them "herders," fight for first place round the water pool, as they did in the days of rachael and jacob. then, you come to a walled spring where date palms shade the ground. and the maidens are there, "drawing water from the well," carrying water in ollas on their heads, bronzed statues of perfect poise and perfect grace, daughters of the desert, hard lovers, hard haters, veiled as all mysteries are veiled. you turn but a spur in the mountains: you dip into a valley smoking with the dews of the morning; or come up a mesa,--and a winged horseman spurs past, hair tied back by red scarf, pantaloons of white linen, sash of rainbow colors; and you are amid the dwellings of men. strings of red chile like garlands of huge red corals hang against the sun-baked brick or clay. curs come out and bark at the heels of your horse--that is why the oriental always called an enemy "a dog." pottery makers look up from their kiln fires of sheep manure, at you, the remote passerby. the basket workers weave and weave like the three fates of life. one old woman is so aged and wizened and infirm that she must sit inside her basket to carry out the pattern of what life is to her; and the sunlight strikes back from the heat-baked walls in a glare that stabs the eye; and you hear the tinkle of the bells from the watering pools. then, suddenly, for the first time, you see it. you have turned a spur of the mountains, dipped into a valley, come up on the mesa into the sunlight, and there it is--the eternal mountains with their eternal lavender veil round the valley like the tiered seats of a coliseum, the mist like a theater drop curtain where you may paint your own pictures of fancy, and in the midst of the great amphitheater rises an island rock; and on the island rock is a grotto; and in the grotto is the figure of the mother of christ--in purplish blue, of course, as betokens eternal purity--and below the island of rock in the midst of the amphitheater something swims into your ken that is neither of heaven nor earth. white, glaringly white as the very spotlessness of heaven, twin-towered as befitting the dual nature of man, flesh and spirit; pointed in its towers and minarets and belfries, betokening the reaching of the spirit of man up to god; lions between the arches of the roofed piazzas, as betokening the lion-hearted spirit of man fighting his enemies of flesh and spirit up to god! palms before arched white walls shut out the world--peace and seclusion and purity! you dip into a valley, the scent of the cedars in your nostrils and lungs, the peace of god in your heart. then you come up to a high mesa and you see the vision of the white symbol swimming between earth and sky but always pointing skyward. where are you, anyway: in persia amid floating palaces, on the nile, approaching the palaces of allahabad in india, or coming up to moorish minarets and twin towns of the alhambra in spain? believe me, you are in neither europe, asia, nor africa. you are in a much despised land called "america," whence wealth and culture run off to europe, asia and africa, to find what they call "art" and "antiquity." it is october rd in tucson, arizona; not far from the borders of old mexico as the rest of the world reckon distance. the rain has been falling in torrents. rain is not supposed to fall in the desert, but it has been coming down in slant torrents and the sky is reflected everywhere in the roadside pools. the air is soft as rose petals, for the altitude is only , feet; too high to be languid, too low for the sting of autumn frosts. we motor, first, through the old spanish town--relics of a grandeur that america does not know to-day, a grandeur more of spirit than display. the old spanish grandee never counted his dollars, nor measured up the value of a meal to a guest. but he counted honor dear as the virgin mary, and made a gamble of life, and hated tensely as he loved. the old mansion houses are fallen in disrepute, to-day. they are given over, for the most part to chinese and japanese merchants; but through the open windows you can still see plazas and patios of inner courtyards, where oleanders are in perpetual bloom and roses climb the trellis work, and the parrot calls out "swear words" of spanish pirate and highwayman. st. augustine mission, where heroes shed martyr blood, is now a saloon and dance hall, but where rags and tatters flaunted from the clothes lines of negro and japanese and chinese tenant, i could not but think of the torn flags that mark the most heroic action of regiments. [illustration: the mission of the san xavier at tucson, arizona, one of the most ancient in the new world, has an almost oriental aspect] from the spanish town of tucson, which any other nation would have treasured as a landmark and capitalized in dollars for the tourist, you pass modern mansions that wisely follow the spanish-moorish type of architecture, most suited to desert atmosphere. then you come on the tucson farms company irrigation project, now sagebrush and cactus land put under the ditch from santa cruz river and turned over to settlers from old mexico--who were driven out by the revolution--for $ an acre. you see the lonely eyed woman pioneer sitting at the door of the tent flap. moisture steams up from the river like a morning incense to the sun. the tucson range of mountains shimmers. giant cactus stand ghost-like, centuries old, amid the mesquite bush; and in the columnar hole of the cactus trees you see the holes where the little desert wren has pecked through for water in a waterless season. then, before you know it, you are in the papago indian reserve. the finest basket makers of the world, these papagoes are. they make baskets of such close weave that they will hold water, and you see the papago indian women with jars--ollas--of water on their head going up and down from the water pools. basket makers weave in front of the sun-baked adobe walls where hang the red strings of chile like garlands. on the whole, the indian faces are very happy and good. they do not care for wealth, these children of the desert. give them "this day their daily bread," and they are content, and thank god. then the mountains close in a cup round the shimmering valley. in the center of the valley rises an island of rock, the rock of the grotto of the virgin; and a white dome and twin towers show, glare white, almost unearthly, with arches pointing to heaven, and lions in white all along the roof typifying the strength that is of god. there is a dome in the middle of the roof line--that is the moorish influence brought in by spain. there are twin towers on each side; and in the towers on the right hand side are three brass bells to call to work and matins and vespers. it may be said here that the french mission may always be known by its single spire and cross; the spanish mission by its twin towers and bells. the french mission rings its bell. the spanish mission strikes its bells with a hammer or gong. one utters cheer. the other sounds a rich, low, mellow call to worship. the walls and pillars and arches are all marble white; and you are looking on one of the most ancient missions of the new world--san xavier del bac, of tucson, arizona. the whole effect is so oriental as to be startling. the white dome might be indian or persian, but the pointed arches and minarets are unmistakably moorish--that is, moorish brought across by spain. the entrance is under an arched white wall, and the courtyard looks out behind through arched white gateway to the distant mountains. here four sisters of st. joseph conduct a school for the little papagoes; and what a school it is! it might do honor to the alhambra. palms line the esplanade in front of the arched, walled entrance. collie dogs rise lazily under the deep embrasures of the arched plazas. a parrot calls out some spanish gibberish of bygone days. a snow-white persian kitten frisks its plumy tail across the brick-paved walk of the inner patio; and across the courtyard i catch a glimpse of two shetland ponies nosing for notice over a fence beside an ancient don quixote nag that evidently does duty for dignitaries above shetland ponies. an air of repose, of antiquity, of apartness, rests on the marble white mission, as of oriental dreams and splendor or european antiquity and culture. i ring the bell of the reception room to the right of the church entrance. not a sound but the echo of my own ring! i enter, cross through the parlor and come on the spanish patio or central courtyard. what a place for prayers and meditation and the soul's repose! arched promenades line both sides of the inner court. here jesuit and franciscan monks have walked and prayed and meditated since the sixteenth century. by the hum as of busy bees to the right, i locate the schoolrooms, and come on the office of the mother superior aquinias. what a pity so many of us have an early impress of religion as of vinegar aspect and harsh duty hard as flint and unhuman as a block of wood. this mother superior is merry-faced and red-blooded and human and dear. she evidently believes that goodness should be warmer, dearer, truer, more attractive and kindly than evil; and all the little indian wards of the four schoolrooms look happy and human and red-blooded as the mother superior. a collie pup flounders round us up and down the court walk where the old missionary monks suffered cruel martyrdom. poll, the parrot, utters sententious comment; and the shetland ponies whinny greetings to their mistress. all this does not sound like vinegar goodness, does it? but it is when you enter the church that you get the real surprise. three times, the desertion of this mission was forced by massacre and pillage. twice it was abandoned owing to the expulsion of jesuit and franciscan by temporal power. for seventy years, the only inhabitants of a temple stately as the alhambra were the night bats, the indian herders, the border outlaws of the united states and mexico. yet, when you enter, the walls are covered with wonderful mural painting. saints' statues stand about the altar, and grouped about the dome of the groined ceiling are such paintings as would do honor to a european cathedral. the brick and adobe walls are from two to six feet thick. not a nail has ever been driven in the adobe edifice. the doors are of old wood in huge panels mortised and dovetailed together. the latch is an iron bar carved like a damascus sword. the altar is a mass of gilding and purple. to be sure, the saints' fingers have been hacked off by wandering cowboy and outlaw and indian; but you find that sort of vandalism in the british museum and westminster abbey. the british museum had careful custodians. for over seventy years, this ancient mission stood open to the winds of heaven and the torrential rains and the midnight bats. only the faithfulness of an old indian chief kept the sacred vessels from desecration. when the fathers were expelled for political reasons, old josé, of the papagoes, carried off the sacred chalices and candles till the _padres_ should return, when he brought them from hiding. gothic temples are usually built in one long, clear arch. the roof of san xavier del bac is a series of the most perfect groined domes, with the deep embrasures of the windows on each side colored shell tints in wave-lines. because of the height and depth of the windows, the light is wonderfully clear and soft. the church is used now only by indian children; and did indian children ever have such a magnificent temple in which to worship? to the left of the entrance is a wonderful old baptismal font of pure copper, which has been the envy of all collectors. one wonders looking at the ancient vessel whether it was baptized with the blood of all the martyrs who died for san xavier--francesca garcez, for instance? there is a window in this baptistry, too, that is the envy of critics and collectors. it is set more deeply in the wall than any window in the tower of london, with pointed gothic top that sends shafts of sunlight clear across the earthen floor. from the baptistry i ascended to the upper towers. the stairs are old timber set in adobe and brick, through solid walls of a thickness of six feet. the view from the belfries above is wonderful. you see the mountains shimmering in the haze. you see the little square adobe matchbox houses of papago indians, with the red chile hanging against the wall, and the women coming from the spring, and the men husking the corn. you wonder if when san xavier was besieged and besieged and besieged yet again by apache and navajo and pima, the beleaguered priests took refuge in these towers, and came down to die, only to save their mission. against indian arms, it may be said, san xavier would be an impregnable fortress. yet the priests of san xavier were three times utterly destroyed by indians. when you come to seek the history of san xavier, you will find it as difficult to get, as a guide out to the mission. as a purely tourist resort, leaving out all piety and history, it should be worth hundreds of thousands of dollars a year to tucson. yet it took me the better part of a day to find out that san xavier is only nine miles and not eighteen from tucson. and this is typical of the difficulty of getting the real history of the place. jesuit relations of new france have been published in every kind of edition, cheap and dear. jesuit relations of new spain, who knows? the franciscans succeeded the jesuits; and the franciscans do not read the history of the jesuits. it comes as a shock to know that spanish _padres_ were on the colorado and santa cruz at the time jacques cartier was exploring the st. lawrence. we have always believed that spanish _conquistadores_ slaughtered the indians most ruthlessly. study the mission records and you get another impression, an impression of penniless, friendless, unprotected friars "footing" it , , miles from old mexico to the inmost recesses of the desert cañons. in late days, when a friar set out on his journey, twenty mounted men acted as his escort; and that did not always save him from death; for there were stretches of the journey ninety miles without water, infested every mile of the way by apaches; and these stretches were known as the journeys of death. when you think of the ruthless slaughter of the _conquistadores_, think also of the friars tramping the parched sand plains for miles. while fray juan de la asuncion and pedro nadol are the first missionaries known in arizona about , father kino was the great missionary of to , officiating at the arizona missions of san xavier del bac and tumacacori. there are reports of the jesuits being among the apaches as early as --say early as the days of the jesuits in canada; but who the missionaries were, i am unable to learn. rebellion and massacre devastated the missions in and in ; but by , the missionaries were back at san xavier and had twenty-nine stations commanding seventy-three different pueblos. in , for political reasons, the jesuits suffered expulsion; and the franciscans came in--tramping, as told before, and miles. it was under the franciscans that the present structure of san xavier was built. garcez was the most famous of the franciscans. he spent seven years among the pimas and papagoes and yumas; but one hot midsummer sunday--july , --during early mass, the indians rose and slew four priests, all the spanish soldiers and all the spanish servants. garcez was among the martyrs. san xavier, as it at present stands, is supposed to have been completed in ; but in - , came another political turnover and all foreign missionaries were expelled. tumacacori and san xavier were always the most important of the arizona missions. originally quite as magnificent a structure as san xavier, tumacacori has been allowed to go to ruin. of late, it has been made a united states monument. it is a day's journey from tucson. to describe san xavier is quite impossible, except through canvas and photograph. there is something intangibly spiritual and unearthly in its very architecture; and this is the spirit in which it was originally built. at daybreak, a bell called the builders to prayers of consecration. at nightfall, vesper bells sent the laborer home with the blessing of the church. for the most part, the workers were mexicans and indians; and as far as can be gathered from the annals, voluntary workers. the papagoes and pimas at that time numbered , , of whom lived round the missions, the rest spending the summers hunting in the mountains. [illustration: on top of the world--a moki city on a mesa in the painted desert. at the left are the ends of a ladder leading from an underground council chamber] when the american government took over arizona, san xavier went under the diocese of new mexico. from santa fe, new mexico, to tucson was miles across desert mountains and cañons, every foot of the way infested by apache warriors; and the heroism of that trail was marked by the same courage and constancy as signalized the founding and maintenance of the other early spanish missions. it would be a mistake to say that san xavier has been restored. restoration implies innovation; and san xavier stands to-day as it stood in the sixteen hundreds, when father kino, the famous mathematician and jesuit from bavaria, came wandering up from the missions of lower california, preaching to the yumas and pimas of the hot, smoking hot, gila desert, and held mass in casa grande, the great house or garden of eden of the indian's morning glow. a lucky thing it is that restoration did not imply change in san xavier; for the mission floats in the shimmering desert air, unearthly, eerie, unreal, a thing of beauty and dreams rather than latter day life, white as marble, twin-towered, roof domed and so dazzling in the sunlight to the unaccustomed eye that you somehow know why rows of restful, drowsy palms were planted in line along the front of the wall. perhaps it is that it comes on you as such a complete surprise. perhaps it is the desert atmosphere in this cup of the mountains; but all the other missions of the southwest are adobe gray, or earth color showing through a veneer of drab whitewash. there is the giant, century-old desert cactus twisted and gnarled with age like the trees in dante's inferno, but with bird nests in the pillared trunks, where little wrens peck through the bark for water. you look again. a horseman has just dismounted beneath the shade of a fine old twisted oak; but beyond the oak the vision is there, glare, dazzling, white, twin-towered and arched, floating in mid-air, a vision of beauty and dreams. life seems to sleep at san xavier. the mountains hemming in the valley seem to sleep. the shimmering blue valley sleeps. the sunlight sleeps against the glare white walls. the huge old mortised door to the church stands open, all silent and asleep. the door of the mission parlor stands open--sunlight asleep on a checkered floor. you enter. your footsteps have an echo of startling impudence--modern life jumping back into past centuries! you ring the gong. the sound stabs the sleeping silence, and you almost expect to see ghosts of franciscan friar and jesuit priest come walking along the arcaded pavement of the inner courtyard to ask you what all this modern noise is about; but no ghosts come. in fact, no one comes. san xavier is all asleep. you cross through the parlor to the inner patio or courtyard, arched all around three sides with the fourth side looking through a wonderfully high arched gateway out to the far mountains. polly turns on her perch in her cage, and goes back to sleep. the white persian kitten frisks his white-plumed tail; and also turns over and goes to sleep. two collie dogs don't even emit a "woof." they arch their pointed noses with the fine old aristocratic air of the unspoken question: what are you of the twenty century doing wandering back into the mystery and mysticism and quietude of the religious sixteen hundred? but if you keep on going, you will find the gentle-voiced sisterhood teaching the little pimas and papagoes in the schoolrooms. san xavier, architecturally, is sheer delight to the eye. the style is almost pure moorish. the yard walls are arched in harmony with the arched outline of the roof; and in the inner courtyard you will notice the spanish lion at the intersection of all the roof arches. in front of the mission buildings is a walled space of some sixty by forty feet, where the indians used to assemble for discussion of secular matters before worship. on the front wall in high relief are placed the arms of st. francis of assisi, and in the sacristry to the right of the altar you will find mural drawings and a painting of saint ignatius. thus san xavier claims as her founders and patrons both franciscan and jesuit. this is easily explained. the franciscans came up overland across the desert from the city of mexico. the jesuits came up inland from their mission on the gulf of california. father kino, the jesuit, from a bavarian university, was the first missionary to hold services among the pimas and papagoes, and if he did not lay the foundations of san xavier, then they were laid by his immediate successors. the escutcheon of the franciscans on the wall is a twisted cord and a cross on which are nailed the arms of the christ and the arm of st. francis. the christ arm is bare. the franciscan's arm is covered. unlike other missions built of adobe, san xavier is of stone and brick. it is by thirty feet. the transept on each side of the nave runs out twenty-one feet square. the roof above the nave is supported by groined arches from door to altar. the cupola above the altar is fifty feet to the dome. the other vaults are only thirty feet high. the windows are high in the clearstory and set so deeply in the casement that the light falling on the mural paintings and fresco work is sifted and softened. practically all the walls, cupola, dome, transept, nave, are covered with mural paintings. there is the coming of the spirit to the disciples. there is the last supper. there is the conception. there is the rosary. there is the hidden life of the lord. the main altar has evidently been constructed by the jesuits; for the statue of st. francis xavier stands below the virgin between figures of st. peter and st. paul and god, the creator. on the groined arches of the dome are figures of the wise men, the flight to egypt, the shepherds, the annunciation. gilded arabesques colored in moorish shell tints adorn the main altar. statues of the saints stand in the alcoves and niches of the pillars and vaults. two small doors lead up to the towers from the main door. look well at these doors and stairways. not a nail has been driven. the doors are mortised of solid pieces. the first flight of stairs leads to the choir. around the choir are more mural paintings. two more twists of the winding stair; and you are in the belfry. twenty-two more steps bring you to the summit of the tower--a galleried cupola, seventy-five feet above the ground, where you may look out on the whole world. pause for a moment, and look out. the mountains shimmer in their pink mists. the sunlight sleeps against the adobe walls of the scattered indian house. you can hear the drone of the children from the schoolrooms behind the mission. you can see the mortuary chapel down to the right and the lions supporting the arches of the mission roof. father kino was a famous european scholar and gentleman. he threw aside scholarship. he threw aside comfort. he threw aside fame; and he came to found a mission amid arabs of the american desert. the hands that wrought these paintings on the walls were not the hands of bunglers. they were the hands of artists, who wrought in love and devotion. three times, san xavier was dyed in martyr blood by indian revolt. priests, whose names even have been lost in the chronicles, were murdered on the altars here, thrown down the stairs, cut to pieces in their own mission yard. before a death which they coveted as glory, what a life they must have led. to tucson mission was nine miles; but to tumacacori was eighty; to old mexico, . occasionally, they had escort of twelve soldiers for these long trips; but the soldiers' vices made so much trouble for the holy fathers that the missionaries preferred to travel alone, or with only a lay brother. sandaled missionaries tramped the cactus desert in june, when the heat was at its height; and they traversed the mountains when winter snows filled all the passes. they have not even left annals of their hardships. you know that in such a year, father kino tramped from the gulf of california to the gila, and from the gila to the rio grande. you know in such another year, nineteen priests were slain in one day. on such another date, a missionary was thrown over a precipice; or slain on the high altar of san xavier. and always, the priests opposed the outrages of the soldiery, the injustice of the ruling rings. father kino petitions the royal house of spain in that converts be not forcibly seized and "dragged off to slavery in the mines, where they were buried alive and seldom survived the abuse." he gets a respite from the king for all converts for twenty years. he does not permit converts to be taken as slaves in the mines or slaves in the pearl fisheries; so the ruling rings of old mexico obstruct his enterprises, lie about his missions, slander him to the patrons who supply him with money, and often reduce his missions to desperate straits; but wherever there is a mission, father kino sees to it that there are a few goats. the goats supply milk and meat. the fathers weave their own clothing, grow their own food, and hold the fort against the enemy as against the subtle designs of the devil. these fathers mix their own mortar, make their own bricks, cut their own beams, lay the plaster with their own hands. now, remember that the priests who did all this were men who had been artists, who had been scholars, who had been court favorites of europe. father kino was, himself, of the royal house of bavaria. but jealousy left the missions unprotected by the soldiers. soldier vices roused the indians to fury; and the priests were the first to fall victims. go across the moki desert. you will find peach orchards planted by the friars; but you cannot find the graves of the dead priests. we considered the apaches a dangerous lot as late as . in , in , in , father kino crossed apache land alone. i cannot find any record of the spanish missions at this period ever receiving more than $ , a year for their support. ordinarily, a missionary's salary was about $ a year. out of that, if he employed soldiers, he must pay their wages and keep. well, by and by, the jealousy of the governing ring, kept from abusing the indians by the priests, brought about the expulsion of the jesuits. the franciscans took up the work where the jesuits left off. came another political upheaval. the franciscans were driven out. san xavier's broken windows blew to the rains and winds of the seven heavens. cowboys, outlaws, sheep herders, housed beneath mural paintings and frescoes that would have been the pride of a european palace. came american occupation; and san xavier was--not restored--but redeemed. it was completely cleaned out and taken over by the church as a mission for the indians. to-day, no one worships in san xavier but the little indian scholars. look at the drawings of christ, of the virgin, of the wise men! look at the dreams of faith wrought into the aged and beautiful walls! frankly--let us be brutally frank and truthful, was it all worth while? wouldn't kino have done better to have continued to grace the courts of bavaria? in the old days, pima and papago roped their wives as in a hunt, and if the fancy prompted, abused them to death. on the walls of san xavier is the annunciation to the virgin, another view of birth and womanhood. in the old days, the indians killed a child at birth, if they didn't want it. on the walls of san xavier are pictured the wise men adoring a child. spanish rings and trusts wanted little slaves of industry as american rings and trusts want them to-day. behold a christ upon the walls setting free the slaves! was it all worth while? it depends on your point of view and what you want. though the winds of the seven heavens blew through san xavier for seventy years and bats habited the frescoed arches, it stands to-day as it stood two centuries ago, a thing unearthly, of visions and dreams; pointing the way, not to gain, but to goodness; making for a little space of time on a little space of desert earth what a peaceful heaven life might be. the end generously made available by the internet archive/american libraries.) the land of enchantment [illustration: picturesque bright angel trail, grand caÑon, arizona] the land of enchantment from pike's peak to the pacific by lilian whiting author of "the world beautiful," "the florence of landor," "boston days," etc. "_the fairest enchants me; the mighty commands me._" with illustrations from photographs boston little, brown, and company _copyright, _, by little, brown, and company. _all rights reserved._ printers s. j. parkhill & co., boston, u. s. a. to the unfading memory of major john wesley powell the great explorer whose name is inseparably linked for all time with the "titan of chasms," the entire length of which he penetrated, revealing its weird and mysterious grandeur; whose fidelity to scientific survey has signally advanced the progress of our country; whose wise foresight in advocating water supplies for arid lands, whose heroism amid hardships and whose persistence of energy and noble purpose forever endear his name to every american and to all who revere the loftiest achievements of science, these pages are inscribed by lilian whiting. "_the sun set, but not his hope; stars rose; his faith was earlier up._" "_what's life to me? where'er i look is fire, where'er i listen music; and where i tend bliss evermore._" browning. author's note it is a special pleasure to the author to gratefully present her acknowledgments to mr. w. h. simpson, of the santa fé; mr. s. k. hooper, of the denver and rio grande; mr. david cameron mac watters, of the short line, and mr. croycroft, the artist of santa fé, new mexico, for their kind courtesies in facilitating the choice of subjects for illustration and for their sympathetic encouragement in the effort to interpret something of the sublimity and the loveliness of this land of enchantment between pike's peak and the pacific. the brunswick boston, october, contents chapter page i. with western stars and sunsets ii. denver the beautiful iii. the picturesque region of pike's peak iv. summer wanderings in colorado v. the colorado pioneers vi. the surprises of new mexico vii. the story of santa fÉ viii. magic and mystery of arizona ix. the petrified forest and the meteorite mountain x. los angeles, the spell-binder xi. grand caÑon; the carnival of the gods index illustrations picturesque bright angel trail, grand cañon, arizona _frontispiece_ page acoma, new mexico. two miles distant summit of pike's peak, colorado williams cañon, near manitou, colorado seven falls, cheyenne cañon, near colorado springs, colorado st. peter's dome, on the cripple creek short line approaching duffield portland and independence mines, victor, colorado view from bull hill, richest gulch in the world the devil's slide, cripple creek short line colorado springs and tunnel no. , cripple creek short line gateway of the garden of the gods, colorado springs, colorado cathedral spires, garden of the gods, colorado springs, colorado the walls of the cañon, grand river the "fairy caves," colorado marshall pass and mt. ouray, colorado the wonderful hanging lake, near glenwood springs, colorado cathedral rocks, clyde park, cripple creek short line sultan mountain acoma, new mexico the enchanted mesa, new mexico laguna, new mexico cliff dweller ruins, near santa fé, new mexico stone tent. cliff dwellers, new mexico san miguel church, santa fé, new mexico "watch tower." cliff dwellers, new mexico cliff dwellers. within twenty-five miles of santa fé, new mexico petrified giants, third forest, arizona collection of cacti made by officers at fort mcdowell, arizona, for this picture looking through a part of the river gorge, foot of bad trail, grand cañon suwara (giant cactus), salt river valley, arizona san francisco peak, near flagstaff, arizona grand cañon, from grand view point zigzag, bright angel trail, grand cañon a cliff on bright angel trail, grand cañon the land of enchantment the land of enchantment chapter i with western stars and sunsets "_the sun, the moon, the stars, the seas, the hills, and the plains-- are not these, o soul, the vision of him who reigns?_" tennyson "_it may be that the gulfs will wash us down._" tennyson "_my father's kingdom is so large that people perish with cold at one extremity whilst they are suffocated with heat at the other._" cyrus to xenophon the good american of the twentieth century by no means defers going to paris until he dies, but anticipates the joys of paradise by making a familiarity with the french capital one of the consolations that tend to the alleviation of his enforced terrestrial sojourn. all europe, indeed, has become the pleasure-ground of american tourists, a large proportion of whom fail to realize that in our own country there are enchanted regions in which the traveller feels that he has been caught up in the starry immensities and heard the words not lawful for man to utter. within the limits of colorado, new mexico, arizona, and southern california there are four centres of sublime and unparalleled scenic sublimity which stand alone and unrivalled in the world. neither the alps nor the himalayas can offer any parallel to the phenomena of the mountain and desert systems of the southwest as wrought by the march of ages, presenting unique and incomparable problems of scientific interest that defy solution, and which are inviting the constant study and increasing research of many among the most eminent specialists of the day in geology and metallurgy. the pike's peak region offers to the traveller not only the ascent of the stupendous peak, but also the "short line" trip between colorado springs and cripple creek, which affords forty-five miles of marvellous mountain and cañon effects. the engineering problem of the ascent of st. peter's dome,--a huge mass of granite towering eleven thousand feet into the air, around which the steel track winds in terraces, glory after glory of view repeating itself from the ascending vistas as the train climbs the dizzy height,--the engineering problem that is here at once presented and solved, has attracted scientific attention all over the world as the most extraordinary achievement in mountain transportation. the grand cañon of the colorado in arizona, two days' journey from the pike's peak region, the petrified forests that lie also in arizona, seventy-five miles beyond the border of new mexico, and that buried star near cañon diablo, make up a group that travellers and scientists are beginning ardently to appreciate. colorado, new mexico, arizona, and southern california offer, all in all, a landscape panorama that for grandeur, charm of climate, and rich and varied resources is unrivalled. imagination falters before the resources of this region and the inducements it offers as a locality in which to live surrounded by perpetual beauty. the air is all exhilaration; the deep blue skies are a miracle of color by day, and a miracle of shining firmament by night; the land offers its richly varied returns in agriculture, fruit, mining, or grazing, according to the specific locality; the inhabitants represent the best quality of american life; the opportunities and advantages already offered and constantly increasing are greater than would at first be considered possible. this entire southwest can only be accurately defined as the land of enchantment. "yet all experience is an arch wherethro' gleams that untravell'd world," exclaims tennyson's ulysses, and the wanderer under western stars that hang, like blazing clusters of radiant light, midway in the air, cannot but feel that all these new experiences open to him vistas of untold significance and undreamed-of inspiration. "it may be we shall touch the happy isles," is the haunting refrain of his thoughts when, through the luminous air, he gazes into the golden glory of sunsets whose splendor is forever impressed on his memory. every hour of the journey through the southwest is an hour of enchantment in the intense interest of the scenes. one must not miss the outlook when descending the steep grade down raton mountain; nor must he fail to be on the alert in passing through the strange old pueblos of isleta and acoma; he must not miss cañon diablo when crossing that wonderful chasm on the wonderful bridge, nor the gleam of the lowell observatory at flagstaff on its pine-clad hill-slope, nor fail to gaze on the purple franciscan peaks on which the lingering sunset rays recall to him the poet's line,-- "day in splendid purple dying." like a modern telemachus he sees "the baths of all the western stars." between la junta in colorado and los angeles in california there lies a journey which, in connection with its side trips, is unequalled, because there is only one grand cañon, one pike's peak with its adjacent wonderland, and because, as a rule, elsewhere in the united states--or in the world, for that matter,--forests do not turn into stone nor stars hurl themselves into the earth with a force that buries them too deep for resurrection. through the east and the middle west the mountains do not, on general principles, attempt any competition with the clouds, but content themselves with the gentle altitude of a mile or so; the stars stay decorously in the firmament and are not shooting madly about, trying fantastic jules verne experiments to determine whether or not they can shine better from the centre of the earth than from their natural place in the upper air; the stars of the eastern skies "stand pat," so to speak, and are not flying in the face of the universe; so that, altogether, in these regions it would seem quite evident that "the world is built in order, and the atoms march in tune." these exceptional variations to the established order, however,--these wonderful peaks and cañons and forests and gardens of gods,--all these enchanted things lie, naturally, within the land of enchantment, within this vast territorial expanse replete with many other attractions. from la junta let the traveller journey into colorado with its splendor of resources, and in gazing upon the stately, solemn impressiveness of the snowy range he cannot but feel that nature has predestined colorado for the theatre of noble life and realize the influence as all-pervading. infinite possibilities open before one as an alluring vista, and he hears the refrain,-- "my spirit beats her mortal bars as down dark tides the glory slides and star-like mingles with the stars." with the excursions offered,--grand panoramas of mountain views where the tourist from his lofty perch in the observation-car looks down on clouds and on peaks and pinnacles far below the heights to which his train climbs,--with the cogwheel road ascending pike's peak, the fascinating drives through cheyenne cañon, the garden of the gods, ute pass, and around glen eyrie, and with the luxurious ease of life at "the antlers," the traveller finds fairly a new world, rich in suggestion and wide outlook. this attractive region is, however, only one of the central points of interest in colorado. denver, the brilliant and fascinating capital; pueblo, the metropolis of southern colorado; glenwood springs, the romantic and fashionable watering place and summer resort high up in the mountains on the beautiful "scenic route" of the denver and rio grande; boulder, the picturesque mountain town, with its state university so ably conducted; greeley, the town of the "union colony," whose romantic and tragic story is a part of the great history of the centennial state, and where an admirable normal school draws students from all over the country, even including new england,--these and a wealth of other features offer interest that is coming to engage the attention of the civilized world. new mexico has been more or less considered as one of the impossible and uncivilized localities, or has failed to establish any claim to being considered at all; yet here is a territory whose climate is simply delightful by virtue of its altitude,--cool in summer and mild and sunny in winter,--whose mines of amethysts and other precious stones suggest developments yet undreamed-of; whose ethnological interest, in the marvellous remains of cliff-dwellers and of a people far antedating any authentic records, enchains the scientist; a territory whose future promises almost infinitely varied riches in many directions of its development. arizona is simply a treasure land. if it offered only that enthralling feature, the grand cañon, it would be a central point of pilgrimage for the entire civilized world; but even aside from this,--the sublimest vision ever offered to human eye,--even aside from the grand cañon, which dominates the world as the most sublime spectacle,--arizona offers the fascinations of the painted desert, the tonto basin, the uncanny buttes that loom up in grotesque shapes on the horizon, the dreamy lines of mountain ranges, the strange pueblos, the productive localities where grains and where fruits and flowers grow with tropical luxuriance, the petrified forests, and the exquisite coloring of sky and atmosphere. southern california, with its brilliantly fascinating metropolis, los angeles; the neighboring city of pasadena, the "crown of the valley"; with an extensive electric trolley-car connection with towns within a radius of fifty miles, and other distinctive and delightful features, almost each one of which might well furnish a separate chapter of description; with mountain trips made easy and enjoyable by the swift electric lines,--all this region fascinates the imagination and indicates new and wonderful vistas of life in the immediate future. the vast and varied resources of the great southwest will also, as they are developed, increasingly affect the economic aspects of the country. to the traveller one fact stands out in especial prominence, and that is that the traditional primitive conditions in this region hardly continue to exist. the picturesque aspects of nature form the stage setting to very-much-up-to-date life. the opportunities and advantages already offered and constantly increasing are greater than would at first be considered possible. in isolated homes on the desert the children of the family will be found studying the higher mathematics, taking music lessons, or receiving lessons in languages (classic, or the romance languages) from some one in the neighborhood who is able to give such instruction. if any traveller expects to encounter the traditional "cow-boy" aspects of life, he will be very much disappointed. there is no refinement of life in the east that is not mirrored and duplicated in the west. there are no aspirations, no ideals, no fine culture in the east that have not their corresponding aspects in the great west. in fact, in many ways the west begins where the east leaves off. for instance, the new towns of the west that have sprung up within the past twenty years have never known what it was to have gas or horse-cars. they begin with electric lights and electric transit. their schoolhouses are built with up-to-date methods, and the houses, however modest, are constructed with a taste and a beauty unknown in the rural regions of the east. the square white house with green blinds and a straight stone-paved pathway to the front gate, so common in new england, is not seen in the west. instead, the most modest little structure has its piazza, its projecting bay window thrown out, its balcony--something, at all events, tasteful and beautiful to the eye. the journey from la junta (in colorado) to los angeles offers a series of enthralling pictorial effects that are invested with all the refinements of civilized life delightfully devoid of its commonplaceness. these long transcontinental trains with two engines, one at the front and one at the rear, with their different grades of the pullman, the tourist, and the emigrant car service, are as distinctive a feature of the twentieth century as the "prairie schooners" were of the early half of the nineteenth century. the real journey begins, of course, at chicago, and as these trains leave in the evening the traveller fares forth in the seclusion of his berth in the pullman. the nights on a sleeping-car may be a very trance of ecstasy to one who loves to watch the panorama of the skies. raise the curtain, pile up the pillows to the angle that one can gaze without lifting the head, and what ethereal visions one is wafted through! one has a sense of flying in the air among the starry spaces, especially if he chances to have the happy fortune of a couch on the side where the moon is shining down,--a midsummer moon, with stars, and filmy, flitting clouds,--when the panorama of the air becomes the enchantment of a dream. it is, literally, "such stuff as dreams are made of," and when one drops off into slumber, he utilizes it for his fancies of the night. miss harriet hosmer, the famous sculptor, once related a story of a night journey she took with a party of congenial spirits on horseback between rome and florence. by way of "a lark" they rested by day and rode by night, and the beauty of the effects of light and shade sank into her mind so that she drew on them thirty years or more later for the wonderful designs in her great "gates," which even rival those of ghiberti. "the night hath counsel" and suggestion of artistic beauty as well, and the effects that one may get from a flying train are impossible to obtain under any other condition. after all, is it not a part of the fine art of living to take the enjoyment of the moment as it comes, in whatever guise, without lamenting that it is not something else? these splendidly equipped trains of the santa fé service admit very little dust; the swift motion keeps up a constant breeze, and some necromancy of perpetual vigilance surrounds the traveller with exceptional cleanliness and personal comfort. one experiences a certain sense of detachment from ordinary day and daylight duties that is exhilarating. [illustration: acoma. two miles distant] kansas city, the gateway to the great southwest, might well claim attention as an important manufacturing and distributing centre; kansas itself, once the bed of an inland sea, is not without scientific interest for the deposits of gypsum and salt that have left the soil so fertile, as well as for strange fossils revealing gigantic animals, both land and aquatic, that have lived there,--the mastodon, rhinoceros, elephant, the crocodile and shark,--many of whose skeletons are preserved in the national museum in washington. the prosperous inland cities with their schools and colleges, their beautiful homes and constant traffic,--all these features of kansas, the state of heroic history, are deeply impressive. but it is colorado, new mexico, arizona, with which these pages are chiefly concerned, and the especially picturesque aspects of the journey begin with la junta. entering colorado, the plateau is four thousand feet above sea level, and constantly rising. this altitude renders the climate of new mexico particularly invigorating and delightful. the most romantic and poetically enchanting regions of the united states are entered into on this journey, in which easy detours allow one to visit that mysterious "city in the sky," the pueblo of acoma, near albuquerque in new mexico; to make excursions to montezuma's well; to the mysterious ruin of casa grande; to the twin lakes (which lie on a mountain crest); and to study other marvels of nature in arizona. the splendors of colorado, with the myriad mountain peaks and silver lakes, the mysterious cañons and deep gorges, the rose-flushed valleys lying fair under a sapphire sky in the luminous golden atmosphere, and the profound interest inspired in the general social tone of life in its educational, economic, and religious aspects, invest a summer-day tour through the land of enchantment with all the glory and the freshness of a dream. chapter ii denver the beautiful "_i will make me a city of gliding and wide-wayed silence, with a highway of glass and of gold; with life of a colored peace, and a lucid leisure, of smooth electrical ease, of sweet excursion of noiseless and brilliant travel, with room in your streets for the soul._" stephen phillips denver the beautiful is the dynamo of western civilization, and the keynote to the entire scale of life in colorado. the atmosphere seems charged with high destiny. "i worship with wonder the great fortune," said emerson, using the term in the universal sense, "and find it none too large for use. my receptivity matches its greatness." the receptivity of the dwellers in this splendid environment seems to match its greatness, and expand with the increase of its vast resources. as paris is france, so denver is colorado. hardly any other commonwealth and its capital are in such close relation, unless it be that of massachusetts and boston. colorado is a second italy, rather than switzerland, as it has been called. over it bends the italian sky; its luminous atmosphere is that of dante's country; at night the stars hang low as they hang over the heights of san miniato in fair florence; the mountain coloring, when one has distance enough, has the soft melting purple and amethyst lights of the apennines, and the courtesy of the people is not less marked than in the land of the olive and the myrtle. then, too, the light--the resplendent and luminous effect of the atmosphere--is like that of no other state. the east is dark by comparison with this transparency of golden light. as the metropolis of the great west between chicago and the pacific coast, denver has a continual procession of visitors from all countries, who pause in the overland journey to study the outlook of the most wonderful state in the union,--that of the richest and most varied resources. to find within the limits of one state resources that include gold, silver, copper, lead, zinc, coal, and tin mines; agriculture, horticulture, stock raising, manufactures, and oil wells, sounds like a fiction; yet this is literally true. add to these some of the most beautiful and sublime scenery in the world, the best modern appliances, and the most intelligent and finely aspiring class of people, and one has an outline of the possibilities of the centennial state. denver is, geographically, the central city of the country, equally accessible from both the atlantic and the pacific coasts, from the north and the south. it has the finest climate of the continent; its winters are all sunshine and exhilaration, with few cloudy or stormy days; its summers are those in which oppressive heat is hardly known, and the nights are invariably cool. it is a great railroad centre; it has infinite space in which to extend itself in any direction; it has unsurpassed beauty of location. no city west of chicago concentrates so many desirable features, for all this wealth of resource and loveliness of scenic setting is the theatre of noble energy and high achievement. denver is only twenty-six hours from chicago; it is but forty-five hours from new york. although apparently a city of the plains, it is a mile above sea level, and is surrounded with more than two hundred miles of mountain ranges, whose changeful color, in royal purple, deep rose, amber, pale blue, gleams through the transparent air against the horizon. the business and hotel part of denver lies on a lower level, while the capitol, a superb building of colorado marble, and all the best residential region, is on a higher plateau. the capitol has the novel decoration of an electric flag, so arranged that through colored glass of red, white, and blue the intense light shines. the denver residential region is something unusual within general municipal possibilities, as it has unbounded territory over which to expand, thus permitting each home to have its own grounds, nearly all of which are spacious; and these, with the broad streets lined with trees, give to this part of the city the appearance of an enormous park. for miles these avenues and streets extend, all traversed by swift electric cars that so annihilate time and space that a man may live five, ten, or a dozen miles from his place of business and call it all joy. he insures himself pure air, beautiful views, and an abundance of ground. if the family desires to go into the city for evening lectures, concerts, or the theatre, the transit is swift and enjoyable. they control every convenience. these individual villas are all fire-proof. the municipal law requires the buildings to be of brick or stone, thus making denver a practically fireproof city. both the business blocks and the homes share the benefit of the improved modern taste in architecture. the city of denver covers an area of eighty-nine square miles, and these limits are soon to be extended. the capitol has an enchanting mountain view; it also contains a fine museum of historic relics found in colorado from cliff-dwellings and other points. a million dollars has been offered--and refused--for this state collection. the city park, covering nearly four hundred acres, with its two lakes, its beds of flowers and groups of shrubbery; its casino, where an orchestra plays every afternoon in the summer, while dozens of carriages and motor cars with their tastefully dressed occupants draw up and listen to the music, is a centre of attraction to both residents and visitors. this park is to denver as is the pincian hill to rome, or as hyde park to london,--the fashionable drive and rendezvous. great beds of scarlet geraniums contrast with the emerald green of the grass, while here and there a fountain throws its spray into the air. far away on the horizon are the encircling mountains in view for over two hundred miles, the ranges taking on all the colors of fairyland, while a deep turquoise sky, soft and beautiful, bends over the entire panorama. from this plateau four great peaks are in view: pike's peak, seventy-five miles to the south; long's, gray's, and james's peaks, all distinctly silhouetted against the sky, rising from the serrated range which connects them. during these open-air concerts in the park there is a midsummer holiday air over the scene as if all the city were _en fête_. the architectural scheme of denver's residential region harmonizes with the landscape. the houses are not the palaces of upper fifth avenue and riverside drive, or of massachusetts or connecticut avenues in washington; but there is hardly an individual residence that has not legitimate claim to beauty. the tower, the oriel window, and the broad balcony are much in evidence; and the piazza, with its swinging seat, its easy chairs, and table disposed on a bright rug, suggest a charm of _vie intime_ that appeals to the passer-by. books, papers, and magazines are scattered over the table: the home has the unmistakable air of being lived in and enjoyed; of being the centre of a happy, intelligent life, buoyant with enterprise and energy, and identified with the social progress of the day. on the greenest of lawn a jet of water or, in many cases, a fountain plays, the advantage of an irrigated country being that the householder creates and controls his own climatic conditions. the rain,--it raineth every day when irrigation determines the shower; roses grow in riotous profusion on the lawn, and the crimson "rambler" climbs the portico; lilies nod in the luminous gold of the sunshine, and all kinds of foliage plants lend their rich color to these beautiful grounds that surround every home. to the children growing up in denver the spectacle of dreary streets would be as much of a novelty as the ruins of karnak. the line that divides the past from the present is not only very definite, but also very recent, as is indicated by the question of a five-year-old lad who wonderingly asked: "mamma, did they ever have horses draw the trolley cars?" the mastodon is not more remote in antiquity to the man or woman of to-day than was the idea of horses drawing a car to this child. between the nineteenth and the twentieth centuries the gulf of demarcation is almost as wide as between the fifteenth and the nineteenth. the streets of denver are very broad, usually planted with trees, and the smooth roads offer an earthly paradise to the motor-car transit that abounds in denver. one of the happy excursions is that of motoring to colorado springs, seventy-five miles distant, a constant entertainment. with the splendid electric-transit system, annihilating distance; with the broad streets paved after the best modern methods; with the wide and smooth sidewalks of colorado stone and the almost celestial charm of the view, city life is transformed. telephonic service is practically universal; electric lighting and an admirable water system are among the easy conveniences of this section, which is not yet suburban because of its complete identification with all other parts of the city. the universality of telephonic intercourse in colorado would go far to support the theory of dr. edward everett hale that the time will come when writing will be a lost art, and will be considered, at best, as a clumsy and laborious means of communication in much the same manner that the late centuries regard the production of the manuscript book before the invention of the art of printing. in few cities is the telephone service carried out to such constant colloquial use as in denver. the traveller finds in his room a telephone as a matter of course, and there are very few quarters of an hour when the bell does not summon him to chat with a friend, from one on the same floor of the hotel to one who is miles away in the city, or even fifty or a hundred miles distant, as at greeley, colorado springs, or pueblo. "how are you to-day?" questions the friendly voice. "did you see so-and-so in the morning papers? and what do you think about it? and can you be ready at eleven to go to hear mrs. ---- lecture? and at one will you lunch with mrs. ----? the entire conversation to be in italian? and could you go at about four this afternoon to a tea to meet an oriental princess who will discuss the laws of reincarnation? and will you also dine with us at seven, and go later to the woman's municipal club that holds a conference to-night?" all those lovely things fall upon one with apparently no thought of its being an unusual day--this is denver! this is twentieth-century life. this is an illustration of what can be done when the non-essential is eliminated from the days and that which is essential is felicitously pursued. when the denver woman remarked to the eastern woman sojourner within the gates that she was unable to be away that autumn on any extended absence, as the campaign was to be more than usually important, the wanderer from the atlantic shore irreverently laughed. her hostess endeavored (unsuccessfully) not to seem shocked by this levity regarding serious subjects. she remembered that there were extenuating circumstances, and that the eastern women had really never had a fair chance in life. their part, she reflected, consisted in obeying laws and abiding by whatever was decreed, with no voice allowed to express their own preferences or convictions. she remembered that a proportion of the feminine new england intellect consecrates its powers and its time to extended researches in the boston public library and in the venerable records of the massachusetts historical society, in a perpetual quest of information regarding its ancestors, who are worshipped with the zeal and fervor of the japanese. the boston woman, indeed, may have only the most vague ideas regarding the rate bill, the problem of the philippines, the panama canal, or the next governor of massachusetts; but she is thoroughly conversant with all the details of the mayflower and her own ancestral dignities. recognizing the new england passion for its ancestry, a leading boston journal offers a page, weekly, to open correspondence on the momentous question as to whether winthrop bellingham married priscilla patience mather in or in , and a multitude of similar questions concerning the vanished centuries. the denver woman realized all this and was discreetly charitable in her judgment of her friend's failure to recognize the significant side of the political enfranchisement of women in colorado. for despite some actual disadvantages and defects of woman suffrage in the centennial state, and a vast amount of exaggerated criticism on these defects, it is yet a benefit to the four states that enjoy it,--colorado, utah, idaho, and wyoming. in a majority of the states of the entire nation there is a conviction (and one not without its claims) that women are adequately represented and protected in all their rights, as things are, and that it is superfluous to increase the vote. the anti-suffrage argument suggests many reflections whose truth must be admitted, and this side of the controversy is espoused and led by some proportion of men and women whose names inspire profound respect, if not conviction, with their belief. still, the fact remains that when woman suffrage is subjected to the practical test of experience, the advantages are so obvious, its efficacy for good so momentous, that their realization fairly compels acceptance. in the entire nation there has never been a man or a woman whose clearness and profundity of intellect, moral greatness, and sympathetic insight into the very springs of national and individual life exceeded those of lucy stone, the remarkable pioneer in the political emancipation of women, whose logical eloquence and winning, beautiful personality was the early focus of this movement. mrs. stone surrounded herself with a noble group,--mary a. livermore, julia ward howe, thomas wentworth higginson, and others whose names readily suggest themselves, and with whom, in the complete companionship and sympathy of her husband, dr. henry b. blackwell, she successfully worked, even though the final success has not yet been achieved. other great and noble women--susan b. anthony, elizabeth cady stanton--consecrated their entire lives and remarkable powers to the early championship of woman suffrage. the present ranks of women workers--the younger women--are so numerous, and they include so large a proportion of the most notable women of both the east and the west, that volumes would not afford sufficient room for adequate allusion. in denver the leading people are fully convinced of the responsibility of women in politics. although the ballot has not been generally granted to women, the very movement toward it has resulted in their higher education and their larger freedom in all ways. the situation reminds one of the "subtle ways" of emerson's brahma: "if the red slayer think he slays, or if the slain think he is slain, they know not well the subtle ways i keep, and pass, and turn again. "far or forgot to me is near; shadow and sunlight are the same; the vanished gods to me appear; and one to me are shame and fame. "they reckon ill who leave me out; when me they fly, i am the wings; i am the doubter and the doubt, and i the hymn the brahmin sings." * * * * * apparently, the principle of woman suffrage has "subtle ways" in which "to pass and turn again." it has recently turned in a manner to compel a new and more profound revision of all opinion and argument. colorado presents a most interesting field for the study of woman suffrage, and from any fair and adequate review of its workings and results there could hardly fail to be but one conclusion,--that of its signal value and importance as a factor in human progress. one of its special claims is of a nature not down on the bills,--the fact of the great intellectual enlargement and stimulus,--aside from its results, which the very exercise of political power gives to the women of the state. it is seen in the higher quality of conversational tone and the tendency to eliminate the inconsequential and the inane because great matters of universal interest were thus brought home to women in connection with their power to decide on these matters. this result is perhaps equally seen among the women who rejoice and the women who regret the fact of their political enfranchisement. for in colorado, as well as in other states, there is a proportion of women who do not believe in the desirability of the ballot for themselves. they sincerely regret that it has been "forced," as they say, upon them. this proportion in colorado is not a large one, but it includes some of the most intelligent and cultured women, just as an enthusiastic acceptance of the ballot includes a much larger proportion of this higher order of women. however, welcome or unwelcome, desired or not desired, the ballot is there, and so the women who regret this fact yet realize its responsibility and feel it a moral duty to use it wisely as well. and so they, too, study great questions, and discuss them, and fit themselves to use the power that is conferred upon them. all this reacts on the general tone of society, and the quality of conversation at ladies' lunches, at teas, and at clubs, is of a far higher order than is often found in other states among the more purely feminine gatherings. among the women who have successfully administered public office in colorado was the late mrs. helen grenfell, whose record as state superintendent of public instruction was so remarkable that both political parties supported her. a denver journal said of her: "mrs. grenfell's term has lasted six years, the last two years having been under a republican administration, although mrs. grenfell is a democrat. her most notable achievement has been in her conduct of the school lands of the state, making them valuable sources of revenue. her policy from the first was against the sale of the school lands, which comprise some three million acres. the income from such sales had been limited, as the investments were prescribed, and the interest rate rather low, as western interest goes. the leasing system was inaugurated under mrs. grenfell's direction, and the result was an increase of school revenues of nearly two hundred thousand dollars a year, with no decrease in the capital. the land department of the state shares the credit with the state superintendent of public instruction, as they have administered her policy wisely, but the policy was hers alone." judge lindsay of denver, giving an official opinion as to the desirability of woman suffrage for colorado, said: "woman suffrage in colorado for over ten years has more than demonstrated its justice. no one would dare to propose its repeal; and, if left to the men of the state, any proposition to revoke the right bestowed upon women would be overwhelmingly defeated. "many good laws have been obtained in colorado which would not have been secured but for the power and influence of women. "at some of the elections in denver frauds have been committed. ninety-nine per cent of these frauds were committed by men, without any connivance or assistance, direct or indirect, from women; but because one per cent were committed by women, there are ignorant or careless-minded people in other states who actually argue that this is a reason for denying women the right to vote. if it were a just reason for denying suffrage to women, it would be a ten times greater reason for denying it to men. "in colorado it has never made women any the less womanly or any the less motherly, or interfered with their duties in the home, that they have been given the right to participate in the affairs of state. "many a time i have heard the 'boss' in the political caucus object to the nomination of some candidate because of his bad moral character, with the mere explanation that if the women found him out it might hurt the whole ticket. while many bad men have been nominated and elected to office in spite of woman suffrage, they have not been nominated and elected because of woman suffrage. if the women alone had a right to vote, it would result in a class of men in public office whose character for morality, honesty, and courage would be of a much higher order.... "people have no right to judge woman suffrage in colorado by the election frauds in a few precincts. the election frauds in philadelphia, where women do not vote, were never used as a reason why suffrage should be denied to men.... "with women, as with men, it requires more or less public sentiment to arouse them to their civic duties; but when aroused, as they frequently are, their power for good cannot be overestimated. again, the very fact that the women have such a power is a wonderful reserve force in the cause of righteousness in colorado, and has been a powerful deterrent in anticipating and opposing the forces of evil. "it does not take any mother from her home duties or cares to spend ten minutes in going to the polling place and casting her vote and returning to the bosom of her home; but in that ten minutes she wields a power that is doing more to protect that home now, and will do more to protect it in the future, and to protect all other homes, than any power or influence in colorado. "i know that the great majority of people in colorado favor woman suffrage, after more than a decade of practical experience,--first, because it is fair, just, and decent; and secondly, because its influence has been good rather than evil in our political affairs." judge lindsay's words represent the general attitude of the representative people of the state. the hon. henry m. teller, senior senator of colorado, is one of the most interesting men in the centennial state, and the traveller who may meet and talk with him is impressed with his quiet sincerity, with the sense of reserved power with which he seems endowed, and the refinement and directness of his methods. he is by birth an eastern man, and a graduate of harvard; but his mature life has been passed in colorado. as a lawyer his law office claims much of his time and thought, even with all the great tide of national interests with which he is identified. he is a thorough and, indeed, an astute politician; not in the "machine" sense, but with a very clear and comprehensive grasp of the situation and a large infusion of practical sagacity. senator teller is in no sense an enthusiast. he is responsive to high aims and high ideals; he knows what they are, so to speak; he recognizes them on sight; he never falls into the error of under-valuing them; but he is not a man to be carried away by an ecstatic vision, and he would have no use for wings at all where he had feet. he would regard the solid earth as a better foundation, on the whole, than the air, and one more suited to existing conditions. senator teller has had more than a quarter of a century's experience in political life and in statesmanship. for two years he was a member of the cabinet. for twenty-seven years he has been in the senate, where, with senator hoar of massachusetts, he shared the highest honor, and the most absolute confidence, in both his flawless integrity and conspicuous ability, that the senate, and the nation as well, can give to him. senator patterson, the junior senator from colorado, is a man whom, if he encounters an obstacle does not grant it the dignity of recognition. he instantly discovers the end,--the desired result,--and declares, per saltum, "it is right; it should be done,--it shall be done." senator patterson is a man of very keen perceptions and one with whom it is easy to come into touch instantly; he is responsive, sympathetic, full of faith that the thing that ought to be accomplished can be accomplished, and therefore that it shall be. senator patterson has the typical american experience of successful men lying behind him. he was on familiar terms with the intricacies of a newspaper office in his youth; he studied in an indiana college without an annual expenditure of that twenty thousand dollars which some of the latter-day harvard undergraduates find indispensable to the process of securing their "b. a.," and tradition records, indeed, that the junior colorado senator, in the prehistoric days of his youth, set out for the fountain of learning with a capital of forty dollars; that he frugally walked from crawfordsville to indianapolis that he might not deplete his financial estate which was destined to buy a scholarship, and that in this unrecorded tour in the too, too truly rural region of his early life, he cleaned two clocks on the way in payment for lodging, and that he cleaned them uncommonly well. of all this traditionary history who shall say? senator patterson is a man who would always keep faith with his aims and convictions. he is sunny and full of wit, and full of faith in the ultimate triumph of good things in general, and is, all in all, one of the most genial and delightful of men--and senators. it is related that senator patterson first dawned upon denver in its primeval period of , when its municipal affairs were conducted by two prominent--if not eminent--gentlemen, one of whom was the champion gambler, and the other the champion brewer of the metropolis. there were eleven thousand nine hundred and ninety-eight other citizens in this municipality besides the brewer and the gambler (and the population was said to have been twelve thousand in all), and the eleven thousand nine hundred and ninety-eight, like "the ten" of early florentine history, decided that would "reform the town." their united effort was to elect mr. patterson as mayor. and a good one he proved; and he has gone on and on, in the minds as well as in the hearts of his fellow-citizens, until now he is the colleague of senator teller, and he offers another typical illustration of true american integrity and honorable ambition and success. personally, senator patterson is one of the most winning men in the world, and one delights in his success and the high estimation in which he is held. the development of colorado and other parts of the great southwest during the past half-century has created a new order of employment in that of the government expert,--the specialist in upland or hydraulic irrigation, in engineering and mining problems. the government surveying work has also increased largely, both in extent and in the greater number of specialties now required. the geological survey and the agricultural department, both included under the department of the interior, are rapidly multiplying branches of work that require both the skilled training and ability for original research and accomplishment. these positions, which command government salaries at from some eighteen to twenty-five hundred dollars a year, afford such opportunity for the expert to reveal his value that private corporations and business houses continually draw on the ranks of the government employees. of late years the demand for the expert irrigation engineer has been so great in colorado as to seriously embarrass the government forces by drawing some of the best men for private service. denver is an especial centre for these enterprises, as being the natural metropolis for the vast inter-mountain region and the plains country of the missouri river. this vast territory will support many millions more of population. in fact, the dwellers within this described territory at this day are but pioneers on the frontier to what the future will develop, although they already enjoy all the benefits of the older states, with countless advantages beside which they cannot enjoy. the smelteries in denver, of which the grant is the largest, treat millions of pounds of copper and lead, and great quantities of silver and gold, while there are also extensive ones in pueblo, leadville, durango, and other places. there is also a good proportion of colorado ore which is not treated at all at smelteries, but is of a free-milling order. the revenue from mining has exceeded fifty millions of dollars annually of late years, but the revenue from agriculture exceeds that of the mines, and to these must be added some twenty millions a year from live stock during the past two or three years. in the aggregate, colorado has an internal revenue of hardly less than one hundred millions a year, and this largely passes through denver as the distributing point, constituting the capital one of the most prosperous of young cities. denver stands alone in a rich region. one thousand miles from chicago, six hundred miles from kansas city, and four hundred miles from salt lake city, denver holds its place without any rival. the ideal conditions of living have never been entirely combined in any one locality on this sublunary planet, so far as human history reveals; and with all the scenic charm, the rich and varied resources, and the phenomenal development of colorado, no one could truthfully describe it as utopia. there is no royal road to high achievement in any line. difficulties and obstacles are "a part of the play," and he alone is wise who, by his own determination, faith, and persistence of energy, transforms his very obstacles into stepping-stones and thus gains the strength of that which he overcomes. northern colorado has great resources even beyond the coal fields that will make it the power centre; with its prestige of denver, and such surrounding towns as greeley, boulder, fort collins, golden, and others, all of which fall within a group of social and commercial centres that will soon be interconnected by a network of electric trolley lines. for the electric road between greeley and denver mr. j. d. houseman has secured a right of way one hundred and fifty feet wide, the rails being midway between the union pacific and the burlington lines. mr. houseman is one of the noted financiers of the east who came to denver to incorporate and build this road, and his is only one of three companies that are now in consultation with the power company negotiating for the supplies which will enable them to build the proposed new roads. the seeman tunnel, which is to be constructed near idaho springs, at a distance of fifty miles from denver, and which is to be twelve miles in length, although at an elevation of eighty-five hundred feet, is yet to extend under fall river and the yankee, alice, and the lombard mining districts. it will be one of the marvels of the state, and will penetrate a thousand mining veins. the continental mines, power and reduction company, recently incorporated with a capital of three millions, of which captain seeman is the president, owns many of the mining veins which will be touched by this tunnel. many of the veins to which this tunnel will afford approach have not been accessible heretofore for more than four or five months in the year. for the remaining six or seven months travel is practically impossible in these mountains; the "claims" cannot be reached, as they lie in the region of perpetual snow. when the seeman tunnel is completed the owner of any claim that is tapped by it can, by paying a certain royalty per ton for each ton of ore mined, obtain the right to work it in the tunnel, thus being able to proceed through the entire year and at a far less cost in production than at present. regarding this gigantic enterprise, captain seeman said, in june of , that the work would be pushed as rapidly as men, money, and machinery could advance it, and, he added: "i consider it one of the greatest tunnels ever attempted, and one that will hold the record for mining tunnels. i am confident that we will strike enough ore within the first two or three miles to keep us busy for years." the leviathan is one of the first veins that the tunnel is expected to tap,--a vein three hundred feet wide on the surface,--and while already traced for more than three miles, it holds every promise for as yet uncalculated extension. the lombard is another vein of leading importance which promises to be a bonanza. gold is the principal mineral that appears in these veins, although silver, lead, and copper are found. another ore, tungsten, used for hardening in armor plates, large guns, and the best mechanical implements,--an ore valued at six hundred dollars per ton,--has been discovered in these veins. the seeman tunnel is located directly under james's peak. another of the remarkable engineering marvels that mark the progress of colorado is the moffat road, the new railroad between denver and salt lake city, now open as far as kremling, which initiated its passenger service in the late june of with daily excursions, in solid vestibuled trains, making the round trip between denver and tolland, corona (the region of perpetual snow) and arrow, on the pacific slope of the continental divide, in one day. this vast enterprise is due to the genius and the prophetic vision of president david h. moffat of the first national bank in denver, one of the leaders in all that makes for the best interests and the advancement of the centennial state, and of the future of denver the beautiful. mr. moffat says: "denver's population is growing steadily and naturally. some time ago i made the prediction that denver would have three hundred thousand inhabitants within five years. i see no reason for changing my estimate. rather, i might increase it, but i will be conservative. "the things that build up a city's wealth and population are 'round about denver in prodigal quantities. if denver had only the state of colorado from which to draw, her future would be absolutely assured. but consider the vast territory that is tributary to this city. it stretches away to the east, west, north, and south, an area quite one-third of the whole country, and quite the richest in all natural resources. denver is the geographical hub of this territory." the moffat road will climb the ramparts formed by the main range of the rocky mountains west of denver and run directly westward, passing through one of the most fertile sections of the state. the road ascends to an altitude of eleven thousand six hundred feet, running through a region rich in minerals, and especially in coal. the sublime scenery along the route has already made it most popular for excursions, which draw a vast tourist travel continually. president moffat's road has brought routt county into such prominence that investors from the east are being attracted to this region, a notable one among these being the eastern capitalist, c. b. knox, who proposes to invest in copper, coal, and iron in routt county, which he regards as the richest section in colorado. mr. knox engaged the services of several experts to examine and report to him upon this region. to a press correspondent who inquired of mr. knox his views regarding colorado, he said: "i believe that there is wealth unmeasured in routt county, and i am out here to put some money in there. i am sure that this section of the state is one of the richest territories in the country. how i became interested is a long story,--too long to tell. but it is sufficient to say that i have heard of routt county for so long, and from so many different people in whose judgment i have the utmost faith, that i have come out here to invest some money. i believe thoroughly that money put into routt county will within a few years bring handsome returns. if i did not believe that i should not be here looking for a place in which to invest money. "i have been to steamboat springs myself, and i am thoroughly of the opinion that it is going to be one of the big towns of your state. the fact is, i have never seen a better looking proposition in my life than investing money in routt county. already i have purchased some land, and i am going to get more. it is this iron proposition that i am having investigated the most completely. the iron to be found in routt county looks awfully good to me, and there is no question in my mind that routt county is the place to put capital. "i cannot, of course, at this time say just what properties i have in view,--that would not be good business; but i have under investigation locations of mineral property near steamboat and north and south of there. i have decided on nothing definite; that is, as to just what ores i will endeavor to exploit, for the whole proposition looks so good to me that i am going to purchase probably several different kinds of propositions. as i say, though, i am most interested in the iron ore, as that seems to present the greatest opportunities." these views are significant not only as those of an experienced financier who has unbounded faith in the future of colorado, but also as typical of the wide range of vision which is open to the trained eye of the capitalist and the organizer of great enterprises. the spellbinder may work his will in colorado. it is the land of infinite opportunity. it offers resources totally unsurpassed in the entire world for unlimited development, and these resources await the recognition of those whose vision is sufficiently true to discern the psychological moment. the first railroad reached denver thirty-six years ago, and the city has now sixteen railroad lines. it has a population of over two hundred and twenty-five thousand. it is a geographical centre, which assures its permanent importance as a distributing point. with two hundred and twenty-five miles of street railway, with seventy-five miles of paved streets, and a taxable property estimated at one hundred and two and a third millions, denver holds unquestionable commercial importance. when, on the evening of july fourth, , the splendid electric flag, with the national colors intensified a thousand fold in brilliancy by the electrical lights, floated in the air from the dome of the capitol on its commanding eminence, and the new city arch, a veritable _arc de triomphe_, flashed its "welcome" in electrical light to eager throngs, the moment was one which might well have been fixed on the sensitive plate of the camera of the future as typical of the entire horoscope of denver the beautiful. on that day had been unveiled this triumphal arch, placed at the seventeenth street entrance to the city from the union depot, which, in its sixteen hundred electric lights, flashes its legend upon the vision of every one entering denver. this arch, weighing seventy tons, eighty feet in length, and with a central height of fifty-nine feet, is constructed from a combination of metals so united as to give the best results in strength, durability, and beauty, and thus to stand as a symbol of the composite life of the nation. over the entire surface has been placed a plating of bronze finished with _verde antique_, to thus give it the aspect of ancient bronze. it is built at a cost of twenty-two thousand dollars, and the originator of the idea, mr. william maher of denver, received the entire subscriptions for it within one day. the design is that of a denver girl, miss marie woodson, whose name must always be immortalized in connection with this beautiful achievement which typifies the spirit of the city. constructed by one of the city manufactories, the design and the execution are thus exclusively of denver. in his address at the unveiling of the arch, chancellor buchtel said: "to all men who stand for honesty, for industry, for justice, for reverence for law, for reverence for life, for education, for self-reliance, for individual initiative, for independence, and for sound character, the city of denver speaks only one word, and the state of colorado speaks only one word, and that word we have emblazoned on this glorious arch,--the word 'welcome.'" dean hart, offering the invocation, referred to the scriptural fact that god had instructed his leaders to build monuments that they might bear witness to some act or covenant, and it was right that the people of denver should raise this similar monument to their ideals of peace and happiness and truth and justice. mayor speer, accepting the gift on behalf of the city, emphasized the fact that the arch was to stand in its place for ages as the expression of the attitude of the citizens to the strangers who enter their gates. "it is intended to reflect our hospitality," said mayor speer, "on a traveller's arrival and on his departure. it is more than a thing of beauty; it is the type of the new spirit in denver, an awakening of civic pride that is sure to be followed by much that is artistic and beautiful in our beloved city." the spirit of denver the beautiful is finely interpreted in these words by representative citizens. it is the spirit of generous and cordial hospitality to all who are prepared to enter into and to contribute to its high standards of life. it is the spirit of continually forging ahead to accomplish things; of that irresistible energy, combined with the eternal vigilance, which is not only the price of liberty, but the price of almost everything worth having. with this zeal for the great achievements,--carrying railroads through the mountains, opening the inexhaustible treasures of mines, bringing the snow of mountain peaks to irrigate the arid plains, establishing electric transit for fifty miles about, and telephonic connection that brings an area of hundreds of miles into instant speaking range with denver,--with all the zeal for these executive accomplishments, the spirit of denver is focussed on that social progress which is aided and fostered by all modern mechanical facilities. education, culture, and religion are nowhere more held as the essentials of social progress than in denver. something of the nature of the problems of civilization that confronted the early pathfinders in colorado may be inferred from the words of major long,--whose name is now perpetuated by the mountain peak that bears it,--when, in , he stated, in an official report to the government: "this region, according to the best intelligence that can be had, is thoroughly uninhabitable by a people depending on agriculture for their subsistence, but, viewed as a frontier, may prove of infinite importance to the united states, inasmuch as it is calculated to serve as a barrier to prevent too great an extension of our population westward and secure us against the machinations or incursions of an enemy that might otherwise be disposed to annoy us in that quarter." less than sixty-five years have passed since the region of which denver is the great centre was thus pronounced useless except as a frontier to serve as protection from an enemy, and this judgment reminds one of a keen insight into the evolutionary progress of life expressed by mrs. julia ward howe when she remarked that "every generation makes a fool of the one that went before it." colorado, pronounced "thoroughly uninhabitable" in , was organized as a territory in and in admitted as a state. darwin, who regarded "climate and the affections" as the only absolute necessities of terrestrial existence, should have lived in denver, for of all the beautiful climates is that in which revels the capital of colorado. the air is all liquid gold from sunrise till sunset; the mountains swim in a sea of azure blue; the ground is bare and dry in winter, affording the best of walking, and there are few cities where the general municipal management exceeds or is, perhaps, even as good as that of denver. the electric street-car service is on schedule time, and the two hundred and twenty-five miles of its extent already, with increase in the near future, is certainly an achievement for a young city. nature is a potent factor in this excellent service, as there is no blocking by heavy snowstorms and blizzards, as in the middle west and the east. the gazer in the magic mirror of the future requires little aid from the imagination to see, in the growth and development of denver, an impressive illustration of the significance of the name of the state of which it is the capital and the keynote. with what felicitous destiny is the name invested in the old castilian phrase, "_a dios con le colorado_" (go thou merrily with god),--a parting salutation and benediction. denver is, indeed, more than a state capital; it is the epitome of the great onward march of civilization, and it must always be considered in its wide relations to all the great southwest as well as in respect to its own municipal individuality. no citizen of denver has contributed more to the moral and intellectual quality of the city as one of the conductors of great enterprises held amenable to the higher ideals of citizenship, than has mr. s. k. hooper of the denver and rio grande, which is one of the marvels of the west in scenic glory. from may till october pleasure tourists throng this marvellous route through the royal gorge, through mysterious cañons and across the divide. for it must always be remembered that denver is a great city for tourists and season visitors, and the floating population exceeds a hundred thousand annually. beautiful as it is in the winter, denver is also essentially a summer city. there is not a night in the summer when the wind, cool, refreshing, exhilarating, does not blow from the great rampart of the snow-clad, encircling mountains. there is not a morning when the wind does not come again, sending the blood leaping through the veins, while the sun rides across the heavens in a glory of brilliancy, and the great range rears its white head to the cloudless blue sky. the denver art league is a flourishing association that has under its auspices classes in drawing, water colors, and sculpture. already many artists of colorado are winning a name. a new public library is now in process of erection, and the chamber of commerce also maintains a free library of some twenty-five thousand volumes, the reading-room open every day in the year. the city appropriates six thousand dollars a year for the expenses of this institution. the educational standards of denver are high. drawing, music, and german are included among the studies of the grammar schools, and physical culture is introduced in each grade. the high school building cost a quarter of a million dollars, and stands second in the entire country in point of architectural beauty and admirable arrangements. besides the splendid public-school system there is the university of denver, a few miles from the city; st. mary's (catholic) academy, and two large (episcopal) schools for girls and boys, respectively,--"wolfe hall" and st. john's college. the woman's college and westminster university complete this large group of educational institutions which centre in denver. there is also the university of colorado at boulder, which has established a record for success under the able administration of dr. james h. baker, who, in january of , was called to the presidency after having served as principal of the denver high school for seventeen years. president baker is well known in educational circles in the united states as a scholarly man and a capable college president. he has been offered the presidency of other state universities from time to time, but has preferred to remain in boulder and to concentrate his efforts toward making this institution one of the largest and best of the state universities. he has always been active in the state teachers' association and the national council of education. for three years past the university of colorado has held a summer school with a large attendance of teachers and college students. in this past season of , professor paul hanus of harvard university gave a valuable course of lectures on education, and professor hart, also of harvard, conducted a course in history. over a hundred and fifteen thousand pupils are enrolled in the public schools of denver, including all grades, from the primary to the high school. the latter offers the full equivalent of a college education freely to all. the churches of denver are numerous, and include many fine edifices besides the large granite methodist church that cost over a quarter of a million dollars. it is not, however, only the church structures that are noble and impressive, but the preaching in them is of an unusually high order of both intellectual power and spiritual aspiration. the keen, critical life of colorado's capital demands the best thought of the day. the wonderful exhilaration of the atmosphere seems to exert its influence on all life as a universal inspiration. the new building for the denver public library is under process of construction, an appropriation of a quarter of a million dollars having been made for the edifice, which will stand in a small triangular park, insuring air and light, and giving to its approach a stately and beautiful dignity. the colorado capital is tending to fulfil the poet's ideal of affording "room in the streets for the soul." the life is most delightful. without any undue and commonplace formalities, yet always within that fine etiquette which is the unconscious result of good breeding, the meeting and mingling has a cordial and sincere basis that lends significance to social life. the numerous clubs, and the associations for art and music, for italian, french, and german readings, are all vital and prominent in the city, and the political equality of woman imparts to conversation a tone of wider thought and higher importance than is elsewhere invariably found. denver, which should be the capital city of the united states, is pre-eminently the convention city. even with all the beauty of washington and the vast sums that have been expended within the past fifteen years in the incomparable structure for the library of congress, and in other fine public buildings, and the splendor of the private residence region,--even with all this, and the fact that the capitol itself is one of the notable architectural creations of the world, the nation is great enough and rich enough to found a new capital which should far surpass the present one, however fine that present one may be. however great are the treasures of art and architecture in washington, the change could be, even now, made with the greatest advantage for the future. within a quarter of a century all that invests washington with such charm in architectural beauty and in art could be more than duplicated in denver. the nation has wealth enough, and the most modern ideas and inspirations in these lines surpass those of any previous age or decade. the present is "the heir of all the ages." no one need marvel that denver ranks as the western metropolis of the union, with its delightful climate, its infinite interests, its centre as a point for charming excursions, and its sixteen railroad lines. in this atmosphere of opportunity and privilege there is, indeed, "room for the soul" and all that the poet's phrase suggests. there is room for all noble and generous development; for the expansion of the spirit to express itself in all loveliness of life, all splendid energy of achievement; and in all that makes for the supreme aim of a nation,--that of a christian civilization,--no city can offer greater scope than does denver the beautiful. chapter iii the picturesque region of pike's peak "_and ever the spell of beauty came and turned the drowsy world to flame._" emerson in the picturesque region of pike's peak there is grouped such an array of scenic wonders as are unrivalled, within the limits of any corresponding area, in the entire world. to this region colorado springs is the gateway, and the poetic little city is already famous as one of the world resorts whose charm is not exclusively restricted to the summer. the winter is also alluring, for colorado is the land of perpetual sunshine. one turns off the steam heat and sits with open windows in december. the air is electric, exhilarating. the cogwheel road up pike's peak is stopped; but almost any of the other excursions one can take as enjoyably as in summer. the east is, apparently, under the delusion that the land is covered with snow up to the very summit of pike's peak. on the contrary, the ground is bare and dry; the birds are singing, the sun shines for all, and the everlasting hills silhouette themselves against the blue sky in all their grandeur. one easily slips into all the charm and fascination of colorado days through these resplendent winters, when there are two hours more of light and sunshine in colorado, on account of its altitude, than in any state to the eastward. the climate of colorado springs has a perfection that is remarked even in the centennial state, where, in every part, the climate is unsurpassed in sunshine and exhilaration. especially, however, is colorado springs a summer resort, as is saratoga or newport or bar harbor. its season is increasingly brilliant and crowded. people come to stay a day and prolong it to a week, or come for a week and prolong their stay to a month. the driving is fine, the motor cars are abundant, the excursions are delightful, and the air is as curative and exhilarating as is possible to conceive. the inner glories of the rocky mountains, with their vast cañons and giant peaks; their waterfalls dashing over precipices hundreds of feet in height; the fascinating glens and mesas for camping excursions, or for scientific research and study, are all reached by this gateway of colorado springs. pike's peak, this stupendous continental monument, dominates the entire region. the atmospheric effects around its summit offer a perpetual panorama of kaleidoscopic changes of color and cloud-forms. looking out on the peak from colorado springs, three miles from its base, there are hours when it seems to be actually approaching with such swift though stately measure that one involuntarily shrinks back from the window in irrational alarm lest the grim monster shall bear down upon it, with a force inevitable as fate; disastrous as a colossal iceberg wandering from polar seas and sweeping down with irresistible force against the side of a transatlantic liner. in a lightning flash of instantaneous, unreasoning vision, one beholds in imagination the impending destruction of a city. it becomes a thing endowed with volition; a weird, uncanny monster, the abode of the gods who have reared their monuments and established their pleasure-grounds in their strange, fantastic garden at its foot. again, the peak enfolds itself in clouds and, secure in this drapery, retires altogether from sight, as if weary of being the object of public view. it is as if the inmates of a house, feeling an invasion of public interest, should turn off the lights, draw the curtains, and close the shutters as a forcible intimation of their preference for privacy and their decision to exclude the madding crowd. sometimes the peak will flaunt itself in glorious apparel and gird itself in strength. with light it will deck itself as with a garment. it surprises a sunrise with the reflection of glory transfigured into unspeakable resplendence. it is the royal monarch to which every inhabitant of the pike's peak region, every sojourner in the land, must pay his tribute. the day is fair or foul according as pike's peak shall smile or frown. all the cycles of the eternal ages have left on its summit their records,--the silent and hidden romance of the air. the scientist alone may translate this aërial hieroglyphic. "omens and signs that fill the air to him authentic witness bear." this monumental peak of the continent shrouds in oblivion its mystic past, and still the handwriting on the wall may be read by him who holds the key to all this necromancy. the record of the ages is written on parchment that will never crumble. the mysteries of the very creation itself,--of all this vast and marvellous west,--of infinite expanse of sea and of volcanic fires that swallowed up the waters and crystallized them into granite and porphyry,--this very record of titanic processes is written, in mystic characters, in that far upper air where the lofty peak reigns in unapproachable majesty. for while there are other peaks in the rocky mountains as high,--and long's peak even exceeds it in altitude,--there is no other which rises so distinctly alone and which so supremely dominates an infinite plateau that extends, like the ocean, beyond the limit of vision. [illustration: summit of pike's peak, colorado] there is one glory of the moon and another glory of the stars, as well as the glory of the sun, in this mountain region of colorado springs. the sunsets over the mountains are marked by the most gorgeous phenomena of color before whose intensity all the hues of a painter's palette pale. the gates of the new jerusalem seem to open. great masses of billowy clouds in deepest, burning gold hang in the air; the rainbow hues of all the summers that have shone upon earth since the first rainbow was set in the heavens, reflect themselves in a thousand shimmering cloud-shapes. it is one of the definite things of the tourist's day to watch from the western terrace of "the antlers" these unrivalled sunset effects; and when, later (still in compliance with the unwritten laws that prevail in the empire of transcendent beauty), dinner is served at small tables on the terrace,--where the flowers that form the centrepiece of each table, the gleam of exquisite cut glass and silver, and the music from an orchestra hidden behind the palms and tall roses that fling a thousand fragrances on the enchanted air all blend as elements of the faëry scene whose background is a panoramic picture of mountains and sky,--the visitor realizes an atmosphere of enchantment that one might well cross a continent to gain. again, there is the glory of the night. a young moon glances shyly over the mountain summit and swiftly retires to her mysterious realms on the other side. each ensuing night she ventures still further afield, gazing still longer at the world she is visiting before she again wings her flight down the western sky, pausing, for a tremulous moment, on the very crest of the mountains ere she is lost to sight in the vague distance beyond. the stars come and go in impressive troops and processions. they float up from behind the mountains till one questions as to whether the other side is not a vast realm of star-dust in process of crystallizing into planets and stars. has one, then, at last arrived at the land that is the forge of the gods who create it? may one here surprise the very secrets of the universe? perhaps some dim, mysterious under-world lies over that colossal range in which celestial mechanism is at work sending forth and withdrawing the shining planetary visitants, so continuous is the procession of stars through all the hours of the night. each star, as it rises over the mountains or sets behind them, pauses for an instant on the crest for a preliminary survey, or a parting glance, of the world it is entering or leaving. it is still in the realms of doubt as to whether there may be discovered a royal road to learning; but a royal road to the summit of pike's peak, more than fourteen thousand feet above sea level, has been, since , an accomplished fact in the manitou and pike's peak cogwheel road, starting from engleman's glen, one of the famous resorts of manitou. this lovely town, that dreams away its summer at the base of pike's peak guarded by precipitous mountain walls, is connected with colorado springs by electric trolley, and the little journey of four miles is one of the pleasure excursions of the region. the route lies past the "garden of the gods," where the curious shapes of red sandstone loom up like spectral forms in some inferno. like naples, colorado springs is the paradise of the tourist, offering a new excursion for every day in the season; and there are few of these whose route does not include lovely manitou, which is also the objective point from which to fare forth on this journey above the clouds, into those mysterious realms where he who listens aright may hear spoken the words which it is not lawful for man to utter. the journey into aërial spaces opens in a defile of one of the deep cañons, the train on the one hand clinging to the wall, while on the other one looks down a vast precipice, at the foot of which dashes a river over gigantic boulders. the route is diversified by the little stations on the way,--minnehaha, whose waterfall indeed laughs in the air, and is given back in a thousand ghostly echoes; the half-way house, nestling under the pinnacled rocks of hell gate--must one always pass through the portals of hades on his way to paradise? strange and grotesque scenery companions the way. on the mountain-side one finds--of all things--a newspaper office, where a souvenir daily paper is issued with all the news of that new world above the clouds, pike's peak. the ascent is very steep in places. the verdure of the foothills vanishes, the trees cease to invade this upper air, and only the dwarfed aspen shivers in the breeze as it clings to some barren rock. new vistas open. the world of day and daylight duties is left behind. gaunt, spectral rocks in uncanny shapes haunt the way. the air grows chill; car windows are closed, and warm wraps are at a premium. but the scene below! the sensation of looking down on the clouds, the view of lake moraine, an inland sea high in the mountains; the new sensations of the rarefied air,--all these seem to initiate one into a new world. from the summit, reached in a journey of ninety minutes, the view can only be described as that of unspeakable awe and sublimity. an expanse of sixty thousand miles is open to the gaze. to the west rise a thousand towering peaks, snow clad, in a majesty of effect beyond power of portrayal. to the east the vast plateaus stretch into infinite space. below, the sun shines on floating clouds in all gleams of color. in the steel tower of the new summit hotel is a powerful telescope that brings denver, eighty miles distant, into near and distinct view. in colorado springs, fourteen miles "as the crow flies," the telescopic view even reveals the signs on the streets so they may be plainly read. in close range of vision appear pueblo, cripple creek, victor, goldfield, independence, and manitou. the surface of the top of pike's peak comprises several acres of level land thickly strewn with large blocks of rough granite of varying size,--blocks that are almost wholly in a regular rectangular shape, as if prepared for some titanic scheme of architecture. the highest telegraph office in the world is located here, and the usual souvenir shop of every summer resort offers its tempting remembrances, all of which are closely associated with the _genus loci_, and are all a very part of the colorado productions. a powerful searchlight was placed on pike's peak during the summer of , adding the most picturesque feature of night to all the surrounding country. denver, colorado springs, pueblo, the cripple creek district, the deep cañons of the cheyenne range, the silvery expanse of broadmoor, whose attractive casino is a centre of evening gatherings,--all these points in the great landscape are swept with the illumination from the highest searchlight in the world to-day. a century has passed since major zebulon montgomery pike first discovered the shadowy crest of the mountain peak that immortalizes his name. it was on november , , that the attention of major pike and his party was arrested by what at first looked to them as a light blue cloud in the sky, toward which they marched for ten days before arriving at the base of the mountain. the story of this journey is one of the dramatic records in the national archives. major pike and his men left st. louis on july , , on his trip to the rocky mountains, or mexican mountains as he called them at the time. he pronounced the country through which he travelled to be so devoid of sustenance for human beings that it would serve as a barrier, for all time, in the expansion of the united states. in vivid contrast are the conditions to-day. major pike could now make his journey from st. louis to pike's peak over either of several grand trunk railways equipped with all the modern luxuries of travel. where he passed great herds of buffalo, he would now see cattle grazing in equal numbers on the prairies. the vast plains that paralyzed his imagination by their desolate aspects are now dotted with prosperous farms or ranches. the mountains that appealed to him only for their scenic grandeur have been found to be the treasure vaults of nature that were only waiting to be conquered by the hardy frontiersmen who followed him nearly half a century later. the great white mountain that he declared could not be ascended by a human being is now the objective point of a hundred thousand tourists annually, who gayly climb the height in a swift trip made in a luxurious pullman observation car. the first attempt of the pike party to ascend the peak was a failure, and major pike expressed his opinion that "no human being could ascend to its pinnacle." in hon. john c. calhoun, then secretary of war, sent major long and a party on an expedition to the rocky mountains, then almost as unknown as the himalayas. this exploring party camped on the present site of colorado springs, and on july ( ) started to ascend the peak. on the first day they made only two miles, as the ground was covered with loose, crumbling granite. on the second day, however, they succeeded; the first ascent of pike's peak thus having been made on july , . a chronicle of this ascent describes the point above which the timber line disappears as one "of astonishing beauty and of great interest as to its productions." the first woman to stand on the summit of pike's peak was mrs. james h. holmes, in august of . general zebulon montgomery pike achieved distinction both as an explorer and a brave soldier. he was but twenty-seven years of age when he was chosen to lead the most important military expedition of the day, and eight years later, as brigadier-general, he commanded the troops that captured the british stronghold at york (now toronto), canada, and here he met his death, which has been compared to that of nelson. the captured flag of the enemy was placed under the head of the dying general to ease his pain. the cheers of his soldiers aroused the young commander, and on being told that the fort was captured, he closed his eyes with the words, "i die content." in his notebook were found the maxims that had guided him through life, dedicated to his son, among which were "preserve your honor free from blemish," and "be always ready to die for your country." general pike was buried with full military honors in the government plot at madison barracks, new york. a modest shaft marks the resting place of the heroic soldier-explorer, and on cascade avenue in colorado springs, directly in front of "the antlers," there is placed a statue of the heroic discoverer of the mighty peak which forever perpetuates his name. no adequate life of pike has ever been written; but with the monumental majesty of the mid-continental mountain peak that proclaims his name to all future centuries, what room can there be for biographical record or sculptured memorial? the archives of the department of war, in washington, contain his diary, kept from day to day in this march from st. louis to colorado. after his discovery of the peak, major pike returned to the place where now the city of pueblo stands, continuing his journey into the mountains, thence to new mexico, where he was captured by the spaniards. hardships of every description were suffered by the party before being placed in captivity at santa fé; but even the capture of his papers by the spaniards at santa fé did not serve to destroy the records of the astute young soldier, who had carefully concealed duplicates of his papers in the barrel of his big flintlock rifle, and he was afterward able to restore them to original form. major pike was as tender and humane as he was brave. in the capture of the party by the spanish two of the men had to be abandoned and left to their fate in the hills. they were given a small supply of provisions, with the assurance that they would be rescued if the rest of the party found a haven of safety and rest. major pike kept this promise and, more nearly dead than alive, these men were brought into santa fé by the spanish soldiers. well might it have been of zebulon montgomery pike, in his first eager march toward this "blue cloud" that beckoned him on and proved to be a vast mountain peak,--well might it have been this hero that emerson thus pictured in the lines: "the free winds told him what they knew, discoursed of fortune as they blew; omens and signs that filled the air to him authentic witness bear; the birds brought auguries on their wings, and carolled undeceiving things him to beckon, him to warn; well might then the poet scorn to learn of scribe or courier things writ in vaster character; and on his mind at dawn of day soft shadows of the evening lay." in his diary, kept during the march from st. louis, major pike thus pictured his first impressions of colorado: "the scene was one of the most sublime and beautiful inland prospects ever presented to man; the great lofty mountains, covered with eternal snow, seemed to surround the luxuriant vale, crowned with perennial flowers, like a terrestrial paradise." the memory of this hero cannot but invest colorado springs with a certain consecration of heroism that becomes, indeed, part of the "omens and signs" that fill the air. in the early autumn of colorado springs and manitou celebrated the centenary of the discovery of pike's peak with appropriate ceremonies. one of the interesting features was the rendering of an "ode" by a chorus of one thousand voices, of which the words were written by charles j. pike of new york, the well-known sculptor, a great-nephew of general pike, and for which the music was composed by rubin goldmark. one of the noted excursions of the pike's peak region is the "temple drive,"--a carriage road beginning in manitou, traversing williams cañon, and, climbing its west wall. the drive offers near views of the temple of isis, the cathedral of st. peter, the narrows, and of st. peter's gate in the cathedral dome. it is fairly a drive in elfland, and is as distinctive a feature of colorado springs life as is the famous drive from naples to amalfi and sorrento a feature of the enchantment of southern italy. manitou park is easily reached by motor or carriage drive from colorado springs through the picturesque ute pass, and aside from its beauty it has an added interest in having been presented to colorado college by general william j. palmer and dr. william a. bell, to be used as the field laboratory of the new colorado school of forestry. manitou park contains cottages and recreation halls, so that all sorts of hospitalities and entertainments can be there enjoyed. [illustration: williams caÑon, near manitou, colorado] of the "garden of the gods" who can analyze the curious, mystic spell of the place? a large tract of rolling mesas is covered with these uncanny monsters of rocks in all weird and grotesque forms. the deep red sandstone of their formation gives it the aspect, under a midday sun or the slanting rays of a brilliant sunset, of being all on fire--a kind of inferno, foreign to earth, and revealed, momentarily, from some underworld of mystery. cheyenne cañon is one of the most poetically touched places in all the pike's peak region. of cheyenne mountain helen hunt jackson wrote: "by easy slope to west, as if it had no thought, when first its soaring was begun, except to look devoutly to the sun, it rises and has risen, until glad, with light as with a garment it is clad, each dawn before the tardy plains have won one ray, and after day has long been done for us the light doth cling reluctant, sad to leave its brow." poets and artists have embodied it in song and essayed to transfer it to canvas; but the grandeur of south cheyenne cañon eludes every artist while it impresses the imagination of every visitor. it is fitly approached through the "pillars of hercules,"--sheer perpendicular walls of rock looking up over one thousand feet high, with a passage-way of only forty feet. once within the cañon and one might as well have been translated to mars so far as utter isolation can be realized. in the dim green twilight from the lofty wooded cliffs toward the seven falls one enters on "the twilight of the gods," not dark, but a soft light, the sun shut out, the air vibrating with faint hints of color, the colossal granite walls rising into the sky, the faint dash of waterfalls heard splashing over hidden rocks and stones; a rill here and there trickling down the mountain side; the far call of some lonely bird heard far away in the upper air; and the soft, mysterious light, the dim coolness and fragrance, the glimpse of blue sky just seen in the narrow opening above--was anything ever so enchantingly poetic? it is here one might well materialize his castle d'espagne. winding up the cañon, one comes to "seven falls,"--a torrent of water rushing down mighty cliffs on one side of a colossal amphitheatre, and the precipitous cliffs show seven distinct terraces down which the foaming torrent plunges. in north cheyenne and in bear creek cañons the grandeur is repeated, and in those the people find a vast free recreation ground. this privilege is again one of the innumerable ones that are due to the gifts and grace of general palmer, who has had this sublime locality made into a practicable resort, with pavilions where tea, coffee, lemonade, ices, and sandwiches are served; a rustic hostelry, "bruin inn," is also provided as a place of refuge and entertainment, providing against any disasters in the sudden storms that are so frequent in these cañon regions; and the bridle paths, the terraced drives on the mountain walls, and the glades where games may be played, all make south cheyenne the most unique pleasure resort of that of any city in the united states. [illustration: seven falls, cheyenne caÑon, near colorado springs, colorado] in all these cañons the massive, precipitous granite walls, which seem to rise almost to the sky, are also rendered more arresting to the eye by their richly variegated coloring. these ragged cliffs rise, too, in pinnacles and towers and domes that proclaim their warfare with the elements for ages innumerable. visitors familiar with all the alpine gorges and with the yosemite agree that in no one of these are there such majesty of effects as in the cheyenne cañons. manitou, the indian name for the great spirit, is an alluring place in a nook of the mountains at the foot of pike's peak, reminding one of the swiss-alpine villages. ute pass; williams cañon, in which is the noted "cave of the winds"; the famous "temple drive"; cascade, green mountain falls and glen eyrie are all grouped near manitou, and it is here that the cogwheel road ascending pike's peak begins. the mineral springs are approached in a pavilion with two or three large rooms; the auditorium, where an orchestra plays every afternoon, seats some two hundred people, who can listen to the music, sip their glasses of mineral water, and chat with friends, all at one and the same time. there is a foreign air about manitou. the little town consists of one street extending along the cañon, following its curves, with a few cottages perched on terraces above, and the hotels, boarding-houses, and the little shops, with the hawkers of curios at their street stands, make up a picturesque spectacle. the shop windows glisten with jewelry made from the native colorado stones, the amethyst, opal, topaz, emerald, tourmaline, and moonstone being found more or less extensively in this state. the native ores are exposed; indian wares, from the bright navajo rugs and blankets to the pottery, baskets, and beaded work; photographs and picture cards of all kinds, and trinkets galore, of almost every conceivable description, give a gala-day aspect to the little mountain town. the surrounding peaks rise to the height of six and eight thousand feet above the street, which looks like a toy set in a region designed for the habitation of the gods. american life, however, keeps the pace, and in this mountain defile at the foot of pike's peak were the signs out announcing a "psychic palmist," a "scientific palmist," and a "thought healer," by which it will be inferred that an up-to-date civilization has by no means failed to penetrate to manitou. each year the accommodations for travellers multiply themselves. each summer the demand increases. there is a fascination about manitou that throws its spell over every visitor and sojourner. the grand caverns are on the side of one of the picturesque mountains, reached by a drive through the ute pass. beyond rainbow falls, and entering the vestibule of these caverns, the visitor finds himself under a lofty dome from which stalactites hang, and in which is a pile of stones being raised to the memory of general grant, each visitor adding one. no form of memorial to the great military commander, whose character was at once so impressive and so simple, could be more fitting than is this tribute. from the vestibule one wanders to alabaster hall, where there are groups of snow-white columns of pure alabaster. in a vast space sixty feet high, with a dome of nature's chiselling and two galleries that are curiously wrought by natural forces, there is a natural grand organ, formed of stalactites, with wonderful reverberations and with a rich, deep tremulous tone. to reveal its marvels to visitors a skilled musician is employed, who renders on it popular selections, to the amazement of all who are present. another feature of the grand caverns is the "jewel casket," where gems encased in limestone reflect the glow of a lamp. there is also the "card room," with its columns and its pictorial effects; the "lovers' lane" and the "bridal chamber," filled with translucent formations in all curious shapes and hints of color. the marvellous achievements of the engineer in encircling the mountains with steel tracks on which cars climb to the summit are seen, in perhaps their most remarkable degree of development in conquering the problems of mountain engineering in colorado. of all these achievements, one of the most conspicuous triumphs is that known as the "short line" between colorado springs and cripple creek, a distance of only forty-five miles, and the time some two and a half hours; but within these limits is comprised the most unspeakably sublime panorama of mountain scenery. as the train begins to wind up the mountains one looks down on the flaming, rose-red splendor of the garden of the gods,--with its uncanny shapes, its domes and curious formations. climbing up, the vast plain below--a plain, even though it is six thousand feet above sea level--looks like a sea of silver. the railroad crosses bear creek cañon on a narrow iron bridge and threads its way again on the terraced trunk of the opposite mountain up to point sublime,--a gigantic rock towering on a mountain crest. a landscape unfolds that rivals church's wonderful "heart of the andes" in its fascination. entering south cheyenne, the beauty and grandeur of the eastern end of the cañon are seen by following the narrow course between its rugged granite sides hundreds of feet in height, reaching a magnificent and most impressive climax at the wonderful seven falls. no visit to the pike's peak region can be considered complete without this trip through south cheyenne cañon. [illustration: st. peter's dome, on the cripple creek short line] the usual feature of the situation as trains circle around the rim of these cañons is that their beauty is seen from above. a short stroll and one finds himself between walls towering a thousand feet above his head. the beauty is all around and above. the tops of the mountains seem very far away, and lost in clouds. but in the train the situation is reversed; for, seated in a luxurious observation car of the "short line," the tourist is carried above the peaks and cañon walls, which from below seem inaccessible in their height, and from this startling elevation one looks down on an underworld of strange and mysterious forms. st. peter's dome, as it is called, looks down from its towering height with the national colors flying from its summit,--a huge mass of granite that seems to stand alone and to guard the secrets of the depths below. [illustration: approaching duffield] the ascent of st. peter's dome is a triumph of engineering skill. as the train glides along, and glory succeeds to glory, vista to vista, and cañon to cañon, in ever changing but constant charm, the dizzy height is climbed apparently with so much ease that the traveller, absorbed in the entrancing surroundings, reaches the top before he is aware of it. it seems impossible that the track seen on the opposite side of the cañon hundreds of feet above should be the path the train is to follow; but a few turns, almost imperceptible, so smooth is the roadbed, and one looks down on the place just passed with equal wonder, and asks if that can be the track by which he has come. as the train climbs the side or rounds the point of each mountain peak, the matchless view of the plains is unfolded before the enraptured gaze. all description is baffled; any attempt to reproduce in words the glory of that scene is impossible. every tourist in the pike's peak region regards the "short line" trip as the very crown of the summer's excursions, or, in the local phrase, one whose sublimity of beauty "bankrupts the english language." these forty-five miles not only condense within their limits the grandeur one might reasonably anticipate during a transcontinental journey of three thousand miles, but as an achievement of mountain engineering, railway experts in both europe and america have pronounced it the most substantially built and the finest equipped mountain railroad in the world. it was opened in , and, quite irrespective of any interest felt in visiting the gold camps of cripple creek, the "short line" has become the great excursion which all visitors to colorado desire to make for the sublime effects of the scenery. a prominent civil engineer in colorado said, in answer to some question regarding the problem of taking trains over mountain ranges and peaks that, given the point to start from and the point to reach, and sufficient capital, there was no difficulty in carrying a railroad anywhere. the rest is, he said, only a question of time and skill. the construction of the "short line" reveals the achievement of carrying a railroad around the rims of cañons and over the tops of mountains rather than that of following a trail through the bottom of the cañons. as a scenic success this feat is unparalleled. the bewildering magnificence, the incomparable sublimity, as the train winds up st. peter's dome, are beyond the power of painter or poet to picture. leaving colorado springs, the tourist sees the strange towering pinnacles of the garden of the gods, in their deep red contrasting with the green background of trees; manitou gleams from its deep cañon; the towers and spires of colorado springs appear in miniature from the far height, and the great expanse of the plateau looks like the sea. it is difficult to realize that one is still gazing upon land. the ascent is more like the experience in an aero-car than in a railroad train, so swift is the upward journey. the first little station on this route is point sublime, where the clouds and the mountain peaks meet and mingle. north cheyenne cañon is seen far below, and in the distance is fair broadmoor with its crescent lake gleaming like silver. the silver cascade falls sparkle in the air hundreds of feet up the crags. at fair view the north and south cheyenne cañons meet,--those two scenic gorges whose fame is world-wide,--and from one point the traveller gazes down into each, the bottom depths so remote as to be invisible. these precipices are wooded, so that the aspect is that of sheer walls of green. st. peter's dome almost pierces the sky, and as the train finally gains the summit a vista of incomparable magnificence opens,--of cañons and peaks and towering rocks,--and through one cañon is seen pueblo, over fifty miles distant, but swept up in nearer vision with a mirage-like effect in the air. it is a view that might well enchain one. the spanish peaks cut the sky far away on the horizon, and the beautiful range of the sangre de cristo mountains offers a view of wonderful beauty. the road passes duffields, summit, rosemont, and cathedral park, at each of which stations a house or two, or a few tents, may be seen,--the homes of workmen or of summer dwellers who find the most romantic and picturesque corners of the universe none too good in which to set up their household gods for the midsummer days. nothing is more feasible than to live high up in the mountains along the "short line." the two trains a day bring the mails; all marketing and merchandise are easily procured; and the air, the views, the marvellous spectacle of sunrise and sunset, the perpetually changing panorama, simply make life a high festival. the little station of rosemont is a natural park, surrounded by three towering peaks,--mount rosa, big chief, and san luis. clyde is a point much frequented by picnickers. the "cathedral park" is an impressive example of what the forces of nature can accomplish. colossal rocks, chiselled by erosion, twisted by tempests, worn by the storms of innumerable ages, loom up in all conceivable shapes. they are of the same order as some of the wonderful groups of rocks seen in the grand cañon. towers and arches and temples and shafts have been created by nature's irresistable forces, and to the strange fantastic form is added color,--the same rich and varied hues that render the grand cañon so wonderful in its color effects. this "cathedral park" is a great pleasure resort for celebrations and picnics, both from colorado springs, colorado city, broadmoor, and other places from below, and also from cripple creek, victor, and other towns in cripple creek district. [illustration: portland and independence mines, victor, colorado] the district of cripple creek includes a number of towns,--victor, anaconda, eclipse, santa rita, goldfield, independence, and others, each centred about famous and productive mines. the first discovery of gold here was made in by a ranchman, mr. womack, who took the specimens of gold ore that he found to some scientific men in colorado springs, who pronounced it the genuine thing, and capitalists became interested to develop the mines. in , the first year, the total value of the gold produced was $ , ; , the fourteenth year, the value of the production was $ , , . the total value of the gold produced in the fourteen years of the camp's existence, to december , , was $ , , . there are about three hundred properties in the camp which produce with more or less regularity. of this number the greatest proportion are spasmodic shippers, making their production from the efforts of leasers. there are thirty large mines in the district, each producing $ , or more annually. dividends paid by the mining companies in amounted to $ , , . total dividends paid to december , , $ , , . there are employed on an average some six thousand three hundred men in the mines, and the monthly pay-roll runs to about $ , , exclusive of large salaries paid mine superintendents and managers and clerks in offices. the lowest wage paid in the camp is three dollars per day of eight hours, while many of the miners receive more than that. the average wage per day paid for labor amounts to $ . . there are twelve towns in the district, with a population of fifty thousand people. during the period of excitement the population was about seventy thousand. the social life of the people is much the same as in other towns. there is a free school system, with an enrolment of nearly four thousand pupils, with a hundred and eighteen teachers under a superintendent with an assistant. there are thirty-four churches, representing almost every variety of faith. cripple creek, the largest of these, lies in a hollow of the mountains, whose surrounding ranges are a thousand feet above the town. it consists mostly of one long street, with minor cross-streets, and there are little shops with chiffons, "smart" ribbons and laces, and all sorts of articles of dress making gay the show windows, and one sees women and children in all their pretty and stylish summer attire. there are two daily papers and an "opera house." cripple creek is a rather favorite point with dramatic companies, as the entire town, the entire district, turns out, and the audiences do not lack in either enthusiasm or numbers. [illustration: view from bull hill, richest gulch in the world] mr. william caruthers, the district superintendent, estimates that this region has become one of the greatest gold-producing regions in the world; and in rapid development, and in the richness of its ores, nothing like it has ever been known before. in fifteen years the cattle ranges have been transformed into a populous district with fifty thousand people, and with all the modern conveniences of eastern cities. the electric trolley system connects all the towns in cripple creek district and passes near all the large mines. this trolley line is owned and controlled by the "short line," and is greatly sought for pleasure excursions both by visitors and residents. electric cars convey the miners up and down the hills to their respective mines. the class of laborers is said to be greatly improved of late years, and mr. caruthers informs the questioner that no problematic characters are longer tolerated in cripple creek. it has ceased to be the paradise of those who, for various unspecified personal reasons, were unable to keep their residence in other cities, or had left their own particular country for their country's good. when such characters appear, mr. caruthers and his staff guide them with unerring certainty to the railroad track, with the assurance that these intruders are wanted in colorado springs, and that, although there may be no parlor-car train, with all luxuries warranted, leaving at that moment for their migrating convenience, yet the steel track is before them, and it leads directly to pike's peak avenue (the leading business street of colorado springs), and they are advised at once to fare forth on this mountain thoroughfare. the persuasion given by mr. caruthers and his assistants is of such an order that it is usually accepted without remonstrance, and the objectionable specimens of humanity realize that their climb of several thousand feet up to the famous gold camps was by way of being a superfluous expenditure of energy on their part. the special entertainment in cripple creek is to make the electric circle tour, on electric trolley cars, between cripple creek and victor, going on the "low line" one way, and the "high line" the other. the high line is almost even with the summit of pike's peak, that looms up within neighborly distance, and the splendor of the sangre de cristo range adds a bewildering beauty to the matchless panorama. on this round trip--a trolley ride probably not equalled in the entire world--one gets quite near many of the famous mines, whose machinery offers a curious feature in the landscape. taking the trip in the late brilliant afternoon sunshine along this mountain crest, offers the spectacle of an entire landscape all in a deep rose-pink, gleaming, in contrast with the dark green of the cedar forests, like a transformation scene on a stage. the tourist who regards this life as a probationary period, to be employed, as largely as possible, in festas and entertaining experiences, may add a unique one to his repertoire, should he be so favored by the gods; and sojourning in neighborly proximity to the "garden of the gods," why should they not bestir themselves in his favor? at all events, if he has contrived to invoke their interest, and finds himself invited by mr. macwatters (the courteous and vigilant general passenger agent of the "short line") to make the return journey from cripple creek, down below the clouds to colorado springs in a hand car, he will enjoy an experience to be treasured forever. for the hand car runs down of its own accord, by the law of gravitation, and is provided with an air-brake to regulate its momentum. to complete the enchantment of conditions,--and it need not be said that in a land of enchantment conditions conform to the prevailing spirit and of course are enchanting,--to complete these, let it be a _partie carrée_, with mrs. macwatters, and with ellis meredith, the well-known colorado author, to make up the number; for the keenest political writer in colorado is a woman, and this woman is ellis meredith. it is a name partly real, partly a literary _nom-de-plume_, and which is the one and the other need not be chronicled here. the name of ellis meredith has flown widely on the wings of fame as the author of a most interesting story, "the master-knot of human fate," which made an unusual impression on critical readers. "the master-knot" is an imaginative romance, whose scene is laid on one of the peaks of the rocky mountains. it presupposes an extraordinary if not an impossible situation, and on this builds up a story, brilliant, thoughtful, tantalizing in its undercurrent of suggestive interest, and altogether unique. [illustration: the devil's slide, cripple creek short line] in her connection with a leading denver journal miss meredith wields a trenchant pen, and one reading these strong and able articles could hardly realize that the same writer is the author of poems,--delicate, exquisite, tender,--and of prose romance which is increasingly sought by all lovers of the art of fiction. with such a party of friends as these, what words can interpret the necromancy of this sunset journey winding down the heights of majestic mountains, amid a forest of towering peaks, and colossal rocks looming up like giant spectres through the early twilight that gathers when the sun sinks behind some lofty pinnacle! the rose of afterglow burned in the east, reflecting its color over the cheyenne cañons, and even changing the granite precipice of the "devil's slide"--a thousand feet of precipitous rock, through which the steel track is cut--with a reflection of its rose and amber. cathedral park took on a new majesty in the deepening haze. at the foot of one of its tall spires is an ice cavern, which holds its perpetual supply all summer. the solid roadbed, uniformly ballasted with disintegrated granite, built on solid rock for its entire extent, and totally devoid of dust, gives to the hand car the ease and smoothness of a motor on level ground. no one can wonder that this road, built originally to convey coal and other supplies to cripple creek, and to bring the ore from the mines to the mills and smelters (a transportation it serves daily), has also, by its phenomenal fascinations, achieved a great passenger traffic made up of the tourists and visitors to colorado. even travellers going through to the pacific coast make the detour from la junta to colorado springs to enjoy the "short line," just as they go from williams to bright angel trail for the grand cañon. with this aërial journey through a sunset fairyland, where the mysterious cañons and gorges lay in shadow and the colorado sunshine painted pinnacles and towers in liquid gold, what wonder that our poet, discovering her lyre, offered the following "ode" to the "short line": "there's the splendor that was grecian; there's the glory that was rome; but we know a brighter splendor, and we find it here at home. not the alps or himalayas, not old neptune's foaming brine, can surpass the wealth of beauty of this state of yours and mine. "all the fairy-tales and legends of the time that's passed away; all the scientific wonders that amaze the world to-day; all the artist can imagine, all the engineer design, are excelled in magic beauty on the cripple creek short line. "oh, those mountains pierce the heavens till its radiance glistens through, and the clouds in golden glory float across its field of blue; and the soul that may be weary feels the harmony divine of this wonder-tour of nature on the cripple creek short line. "there are minarets and towers; there are stately domes and fair; there are lordly, snow-capped mountains, there are lovely valleys there; and no ancient moated castle, frowning down upon the rhine, looks on scenes of greater beauty than the cripple creek short line. "there's a vision and a grandeur when the plains come into view, and one seems to see the ocean in the misty rim of blue; and the eyes of landlocked sailors with unbidden teardrops shine, as they see the far-off billows from the cripple creek short line. "there's a strength and there's a refuge in the everlasting hills; there's a gleam of joy and gladness in the leaping sparkling rills; there's a benediction sweeter than the murmur of the pine, and it falls on all who travel o'er the cripple creek short line." [illustration: colorado springs and tunnel no. , cripple creek short line] ellis meredith has often pictured in song the charm and romance of colorado with the vividness and power that characterize her poems which are essentially those of insight and imagination; but in the opinion of many of her admirers she has hardly laid at the shrine of the muses any more felicitous votive offering than this little impromptu. a summer in colorado springs is one that is set in the heart of fascinating attractions. nor is the pike's peak region a summer land alone, for the autumn is even more beautiful, and the winters are all crystal and sunshine and full of exquisite exhilaration and delight in mountain regions that take on new forms of interest. colorado springs is not merely--nor even mostly--an excursion city for pleasure-seekers; it is a city of permanent homes, whose residential advantages attract and create its phenomenal growth. to open one's eyes on the purple line of the rocky mountains, with pike's peak towering into the sky, in a luminous crystal air that makes even existence a delight, is an alluring experience. to look over the beautiful city of colorado springs, with its broad streets and boulevards, and lines of trees on either side; its electric lights, electric cars, well-built brick blocks, churches, schools, and free public library; its interesting and enterprising journalism; to come in contact with the intelligence and refinement of the people,--is to realize that this is no provincial western town, but instead, a gay and fashionable city, with the aspect of a summer watering place. manitou, which lies six miles away at the very base of pike's peak, and colorado springs are connected by electric cars running along the mountain line, and there is a great social interchange. it is simply a whirl of social life in the late summer, and the rapidity with which the guest is expected to flit from one garden party, and tea, and reception to another, within a given time, reminds him of a london season. in the morning every fashionable woman drives to prospect lake, and from her bathing in its blue waters to the informal "hop" at night, she is on a perpetual round of gayety if she so desire. the wide range and freedom of life in colorado springs is equally enjoyable. the artist, the thinker, the writer, finds an ideal environment in which to pursue his work. this beautiful residence city, founded by general palmer in , has now a population of some thirty thousand, and although lying at the foot of pike's peak, it is yet on an elevation of six thousand feet above the level of the sea. adjoining colorado springs is colorado city, a manufacturing town of five thousand inhabitants, and manitou, the little town at the immediate base of pike's peak, with some two thousand residents, to which, in the summer, is added an equal number of visitors, who bestow themselves in the attractive hotels and boarding-houses or who occupy cottages or camps in the foothills. colorado springs was founded in a wise and beneficent spirit. every deed in the town contains a clause prohibiting the sale of intoxicating liquors, and by the terms of the contract any violation of this agreement renders the deed null and void and the property reverts to the city. education is made compulsory, and on this basis of temperance, education, and morality the town is founded. it is laid out with generous ideas and with unfailing allegiance to municipal ideals of taste. the avenues are one hundred and forty feet wide and the streets are all one hundred feet wide. lying midway between denver and pueblo, the two largest cities of the state, colorado springs is within two hours of the former and one hour of the latter. colorado college, a co-educational institution, is largely endowed, and it has from eight to nine hundred students. rev. samuel a. eliot, d.d., of boston, the president of the unitarian association, was invited to deliver the commencement address at this college in , and on this occasion dr. eliot said: "nothing can surpass the academic dignity of a commencement at a western state university. the perfection of the discipline would make our elegant, but often distressed, 'master of ceremonies' at harvard green with envy. at our eastern colleges there are still individual idiosyncrasies and perverse prejudices and traditions of simpler days to be considered. there are some old-fashioned members of the faculty who just won't wear the academic gown or the appropriately colored hood, and there are always some reckless seniors who will wear tan shoes or a straw hat. not so in kansas and colorado, in iowa and nebraska. there every professor and every senior wears his uniform as if he were used to it; each one knows his place and his part and performs it impressively. the academic procession, headed by the regents in their gowns and followed by the members of the various faculties with their characteristic hoods and stripes, and by the senior classes of the college and the various professional schools, is perfect in its orderly procedure, and the commencement exercises themselves are carried through with a solemnity which is sometimes awesome. i caught myself almost wishing that some senior would forget to take off his oxford cap at the proper time or trip on his gown as he came up the steps of the platform to get his sheepskin, but no such accident marred the impressiveness of the occasion." dr. eliot playfully touches a fact in the social as well as in the academic life of the west in these remarks. the informalities so frequently experienced in recognized social life in the eastern cities are seldom encountered in the corresponding circles of life in the west, all observance of times and seasons, as calling hours, ceremonial invitations, and driving being quite strictly relegated to their true place in the annals of etiquette. in his commencement address before colorado college in dr. eliot said, regarding the several educational schools of colorado: "thus in colorado the state university is at boulder, the agricultural college at fort collins, the normal school at greeley, the school of mines at golden, and so on. the result is not only an injudicious diffusion of energy, but real waste and sometimes deplorable rivalry. doubtless it is now too late to rectify this mistake. provincial jealousies and a sense of local ownership are too strong to permit of desirable concentration, and these states are probably permanently burdened with the necessity of sustaining half a dozen institutions which must often duplicate equipment and courses of instruction." leading authorities in the centennial state do not wholly agree with this view. the distribution of an educational centre in one city and part of the state and another in a different part, contributes to the building up of different cities and to a certain concentration on the part of the students on the special subjects pursued. president slocum of colorado college, president baker of the state university, president snyder of the state normal college in greeley, with other college presidents and their colleagues and faculties, are devoting their lives to the interests of higher education in its broadest and most complete sense; and with their own splendid equipments in learning, their patience and ability in research, their zeal for teaching, and their intense interest in the problems of university life in a new state, they are making a record of the most impressive quality. they are the great pathfinders of the educational future. colorado has the advantage of a larger percentage of american population than any other of the western inland states, there being only twenty per cent of foreign admixture in the entire six hundred and fifty thousand people,--a fact that is especially to be considered in educational progress. the high school building in colorado springs; the court house, costing a half-million dollars; the new city library of colorado stone; the thirty-five miles of electric railway; a water system costing over a million of dollars; the admirable telephone system,--these and the fine architectural art would render it a desirable residence city even aside from the group of scenic wonders which has made it famous all over the world. general william j. palmer, the founder of colorado springs, is one of the great benefactors of the state of colorado. "general palmer has always been a builder for the future," says a local authority. "his remarkable foresight was best exemplified in the construction of the rio grande railroad,--the road which made colorado famous. colorado springs is another monument to his prophetic vision. with an ample fortune he has retired from business life, but is busier than ever with his many philanthropies, all of which have an eye to the future. "at great expense he has abolished bear creek toll-gate, and has constructed a wonderful carriage road through this beautiful cañon, and will give it to the people as a permanent blessing." this bear creek cañon lies north of cheyenne cañon--about five miles from colorado springs. the road winds back and forth in a zigzag elevation, with new vistas of enchantment at every turn,--towering mountains, the garden of the gods,--that strange, weird spectacle, st. peter's dome, phantom falls, silver cascade, helen hunt falls, and other points of romantic beauty. colorado springs has a great park system at a cost already of three hundred thousand dollars, and with the buildings and other features projected the cost will be hardly less than half a million. there are to be floral gardens, an italian sunken basin with a fountain rising in streams, after the fashion of the fountains of versailles,--and an art gallery is soon to be added to this lovely and enterprising city. already the city has palmer park,--comprising eight hundred acres, donated by the generous and beneficent general palmer,--a park that contains austin's bluffs, from which a magnificent view is obtained. it is to general palmer that all the charming extension of terraced drives and walks in north cheyenne cañon is due,--the road often terraced on the side of the mountain; and here and there little refreshment stands, where a sandwich, a glass of lemonade, a cup of tea may be had, are found in these wild altitudes. in palmer park one portion has been appropriately named statuary park, from the multitude of strange forms and figures that nature has chiselled in the sandstone. gray's peak, like a dim shadow on the far horizon to the north, and the faint, beautiful outline of the spanish peaks to the south, are seen from this park, while the massive portals of the "garden of the gods" in their burning red are near, and at one side the rose pink rocks of blair athol. general palmer's residence in glen eyrie is one of the poetic places of the world. the romantic environment of mountain cañons, towers, and domes of the fantastic sandstone shapes, and overhanging rocks that loom up thousands of feet on a mountain side, impart a wild charm that no words can picture. the architectural effects have been kept in artistic correspondence with the romantic scenery. monument valley park is the latest of general palmer's munificent gifts to colorado springs. it was a tract of low waste land some two miles in length and covering an area of two hundred or more acres, but its transformation into the present beautiful park is the realization of an aladdin's dream. an artistic stone drinking-fountain; a wide vista of trees relieved by a low italian basin with fountains; monument creek, made to be sixty feet wide between its banks; the creation of artificial lakes; and there are included in the scheme conservatories, rustic pavilions, and botanical gardens. this park is one of the most extensive improvements in decorative effect, that is known in any city. monument park is distinctive from monument valley park, the former lying some ten miles from the city, and it is picturesque beyond words. the "garden of the gods" has achieved world-wide fame. the "gateway," the "cathedral spires," "balanced rock," and other singular formations fascinate the visitor and draw him back again and again. a local writer thus describes the majestic "gateway": "two immense slabs of red sandstone, soft and beautiful in their coloring, tower over three hundred feet high on either side and seem to challenge the right of the stranger to enter the sacred portals. napoleon, at the pyramids, sought to impress his soldiers with the thought that from that eminence four thousand years looked down upon them. but from here geological ages of untold length look down upon the beholder. in close proximity may be found limestone, gypsum, white sandstone, and red sandstone, each representing a different geological era, and each, in all probability, representing millions of years in its formation." the "garden of the gods" represents one of those inexplicable epochs of nature's creations as does, only in a more marvellous degree, the grand cañon and the petrified forest. a scientist says of these grotesque shapes that "their strangely garish colors, red and yellow and white, in enormous masses, lofty buttresses, towers and pinnacles, besides formations of lesser size, in fantastic shapes, that readily lend themselves to the imagination, are sedimentary strata, which once lay horizontally upon the mountain's breast, but that some gigantic convulsion of nature threw them into their present perpendicular attitude, with their roots, as it were, extending hundreds of feet underground. the erosion of water, when this was all the gulf of mexico, accounts for the shaping. "the gateway to the garden is really the grandest feature, rising perpendicularly on either side twice the height of niagara, and framing in rich terra cotta a most entrancing picture of the blue and tawny peak, apparently only a little way on the other side." [illustration: gateway of the garden of the gods, colorado springs, colorado] [illustration: cathedral spires, garden of the gods, colorado springs, colorado] any writer on colorado springs is embarrassed by the fact that the great founder and benefactor of the city has requested that his name is not to be recorded in connection with his great and constant gifts to the municipality; and while it is far from the desire of any one to disregard the expressed wish of a man whose modesty is as great as is his munificent generosity, it is yet impossible to tell the story of colorado springs without perpetual references to her distinguished citizen, her great and noble benefactor and founder. it is not too much to say that there is probably not, in the history of the united states, all instance parallel to the story of general palmer and colorado springs. yet beyond this bare mention, in which one even thus records that which general palmer has wished to have had left without reference, one is under bonds not to go. the recording angel may not be so plastic to the expressed preferences of the wise founder and the munificent benefactor of the charming city; and the vast and generous gifts, the noble character of the citizen whose life and example is the most priceless legacy that he could bequeath to colorado springs, however priceless are his long series of gifts,--these are inevitably inscribed in that eternal record not made with hands, on whose pages must ever remain, in shining letters, the honored name of general william j. palmer, whose energy and whose lofty spirit have invested this beautiful centre of the picturesque region of pike's peak with the spell of an enchanted city lying fair in a land of enchantment. chapter iv summer wanderings in colorado "_god only knows how saadi dined; roses he ate and drank the wind._" emerson deep in the heart of the rocky mountains lies glenwood springs, a fashionable watering place, where a great hotel, bearing the name of the centennial state, with every pretty decorative device imaginable, allures the summer idlers, and where various kinds of springs and baths furnish excuse for occupation. all varieties of invalidism, real or fancied, meet their appropriate cure. one lady declared that the especial elixir of life was found in a hot cave that yawns its cavernous and mysterious depths in an adjacent mountain. another continued to thrive on (or in) the sparkling waters of "the pool," which is, for the most part, a dream of fair women, relay after relay, all day and evening, swimming about after the fashion of the rhine sisters; and those who do not take kindly to the pool or the dark and "hot" cave fall upon some particular geyser and appropriate it for their own. woe to the woman who interferes with another woman's geyser! the whole region around glenwood springs is phenomenal. a hot sulphur spring boils up at the rate of twenty thousand gallons a minute. the "pool"--where the rhine maidens are forever floating, morning, noon, and night--covers over an acre, and is from three to six or seven feet deep. two currents of water are constantly pouring into it,--the hot (at one hundred and twenty-seven degrees) at a rate of ten thousand gallons a minute, and the cold from a mountain stream. a stream constantly runs from it, a part of which is utilized as a waterfall in the centre of the large dining-room of the hotel. on one bank of this pool is a colossal stone bathhouse (costing over one hundred thousand dollars), where every conceivable variety of the bath is administered, and from which "the pool" is entered. in warm evenings, when the full midsummer moon peeps over the mountains, the groups of girls, one after another, begin mysteriously to disappear, and in reply to a question as to the destination of this evening pilgrimage one bewitching creature in floating blue organdie, as she flitted past, laughingly answered, "come to the pool and see." there was no time to be lost. the moon in silver splendor was climbing over the mountains, and the girls emerged from their dainty evening gowns to array themselves in bathing suits. a few minutes later they were to be seen at this mysterious trysting place at "the pool," the only difference being that some were outside and some inside. surely those inside had the best of it. how can the scene be pictured? from the broad piazza of the hotel a terraced walk ran down through the greenest of lawns, with shade trees and a fountain resplendent in colored electric lights. the pool lies in an open glade. not far away is one of the ranges of the rocky mountains, over which the august moon was climbing. tall electric lights mingled with the moonlight, giving the most curious effects of chiaroscuro through the glade and the defiles of the mountains. on one side of this immense natatorium rose the vast stone bathhouse,--a beautiful piece of architecture. near by the round sulphur spring boiled and bubbled in a way to suggest the witches' rhyme: "double, double toil and trouble; fire, burn; and, cauldron, bubble." a high toboggan slide in one place descended into the pool, and was much used by the young athletes,--the men, not the girls. in the pool a natural fountain of cold water shot high in the air. the swimmers abounded. those who were unable to swim would cling to a floating ladder. here in the moonlight the girls--clinging two and three together--circle around in the water, needing only the melody of the rhine sisters to complete the illusion of one of the most enchanting scenes in the entire wagner operas. rev. frederick campbell wrote of this unique place: "there is but one word to utter at glenwood springs--'wonderful!' if one enjoys life at the most luxurious of hotels, here it is at hotel colorado. built in the italian style of peach-blow sandstone and light brick, lighted with electricity, a searchlight reaching from one of its towers at night and lighting the train up the valley, a powerful fountain supplied from the mountain stream up the cañon pouring the geyser feet straight in the air, and views, views everywhere." the hot cave is as wonderful as anything around sorrento or amalfi. in fact, all colorado reminds the traveller of italian scenery. it has been called the switzerland of america, but it is far more the italy. it has the italian sky, the italian coloring, and the mysterious and indefinable enchantment of that land of romance and dream. the volcanic phenomena is often startlingly similar to that of italy. this hot cave at glenwood springs is of the same order as those on capri and the adjacent coasts of italy. in this cave at glenwood hot air continually comes up from some unknown region, and it is utilized for curative purposes. the two or three caves have been made into one, a cement floor laid, and marble seats with marble backs put in (the ancient romans would have found this a paradise). here come--not the halt or the blind, but the people who take "the cure." the process is to sit on the marble seat with a linen bag drawn completely over the entire form, with a hole for the head to emerge. around the neck is placed a towel wrung out of cold water. to see a cave filled with these modern mummies, sitting solemnly, done up in their linen cases, like upholstery covering, is a spectacle. the men go in the morning, the women in the afternoon. one lady obligingly gave the data of her "cure." twice a week she migrated in negligée to the hot cave, and sat done up in her linen covering, bathing in the hot air at one hundred and twenty degrees or so. other afternoons were devoted to the hot sulphur water bathing, and what with the various gradations of temperature and the work of the attendants, the cup of turkish coffee and the siesta, the process consumed the entire afternoon. it is bliss to those who delight in being rolled up like a mummy and sitting still. but if it were chasing a star that danced, if it were riding on a moonbeam, if it were dancing with the daffodils,--if it were anything in all the world that was motion,--then it might have some fairer title to charm. the felicity of lying about in a state of inertia is in the nature of a mystery. and one questions, too, whether the spring of life is not, after all, within rather than without. let one take care of his mental life and the physical will, very largely at least, keep in spring and tune without elaborate and expensive processes of propping it up. to disport one's self in the pool,--there is a delight. who wouldn't be a rhine maiden under the midsummer moon in the heart of the rocky mountains? [illustration: the walls of the caÑon, grand river] in nearly all the cañons and caves of this surrounding region are found traces of the prehistoric peoples who inhabited them. fragments of pottery, in artistic design and painted in bright colors, are numerous; relics similar to those found in the cliff houses are not unfrequently chanced upon in walks and excursions and the stone implements abound. the ethnologist finds a great field for research in all this glenwood springs country. there are carriage roads terraced along the base of the mountains where drives from five to twenty miles can be enjoyed in the deep ravines where only a glimpse of blue sky is seen above, and the saunterer finds a new walk every day. the mountains branch off in every direction, and the lofty peaks silhouette themselves against the sky. it is like being whirled up into the air. the sensation is exhilarating beyond words. if people could take "cures" getting up into sublime altitudes like this, where the views are so heavenly that one does not know where earth ends and paradise begins,--that would be a cure worth the name. really, it is vitality and exhilaration that one wants, and it is to be found in the air far more than in any other element. "'tis life whereof our nerves are scant; 'tis life, not death, for which we pant, more life and fuller that i want." the denver and rio grande railway is well called "the scenic line of the world." from denver to pueblo it runs almost due south, across a level valley, with perpetually enchanting views of the mountains and curious rock formations, between denver to the region below colorado springs. from the great smelting city of pueblo, "the pittsburg of the west," the road turns westward, on an upward grade, till it reaches cañon city, and from there to glenwood springs this road is a marvel of civil engineering. up the narrow, deep cañons of grand river, through the towering granite cliffs, it winds, on and up, passing holy cross mountain, offering at every turn new vistas of sublime and wonderful beauty. to take a day's ride through such scenery, with the luxurious comfort of the most modern pullman cars, and a good dining-car constantly with the train, is to enjoy a day that lives in memory. not the least of the attractions of glenwood springs is the enchanting route by means of which one arrives in this picturesque region. as the train climbs up to plateau after plateau in the mountains the scenes are full of changeful enchantment. the formation is interesting,--a deep cañon, with rock cliffs apparently towering into the sky, and then the emerging on a great level plateau. all along this route, too, are those wonderful sandstone formations that have made the "garden of the gods" so marvellous a place. between cañon city and glenwood springs the very dance of the brocken is seen in sandstone sculptures. [illustration: the "fairy caves," colorado] near the summit of iron mountain, which is in the immediate vicinity, the "fairy caves" rival the famous "blue grotto" of capri in attraction. these caves (less than a mile from the hotel colorado) are a most intricate and wonderful series of subterranean caverns, grottos, and labyrinths, with translucent stalactites and stalagmites, and they are all lighted by electricity,--a great improvement on the sibyls' cave, where the sibylline leaves were read. the oracles of that time were sadly lacking in conditions of modern conveniences. the sibyl had not even a telephone. we do things better now, and run electric cars up to the pyramids. nor did the sibyl of old have a tunnel two hundred feet long, by which her votaries could approach the scene of her oracles; but visitors to the fairy caves may pass by means of this tunnel to one of the grandest and most awful precipices in the rocky mountains, where they step out upon a balcony of stone into the open air, with a perpendicular wall of rock one hundred feet high, above, and an almost perpendicular abyss, down, twelve hundred feet below. standing on this balcony, nothing can be seen behind but sheer perpendicular ascent and descent of rock; but in front and far below may be seen the grand river, appearing as a brook, winding in and out among the projecting mountains, visible here like burnished silver, and lost there, only to reappear again at a point far distant. at this high elevation the opening of the cañon of the grand is seen in all of its majesty,--the massive mountains projecting against each other in their outlines, and the lofty peaks reaching to the skies. the denver and rio grande railway is at the foot of the cañon,--a mere winding line, as seen from this titanic height. the colorado midland road also runs through glenwood springs, whose phenomenal hot caves and luxurious and elaborate bathhouse have given it european fame. the twin towers of the hotel remind one of notre dame, and the views from these are beautiful. the design is after the villa medici in rome,--the same motive repeated for the central motive of this superb hotel colorado with its towers and italian loggias and splendid spacious piazzas, and its searchlight from one of the towers, illuminating the evening trains that pass in the deep cañon of grand river. here is a region that might be that of sorrento and capri. in glenwood springs the traveller may meet mrs. emma homan thayer, the author of "wild flowers in colorado," published in both london and new york. mrs. thayer was a new york girl, one of the original founders of the art league, and the daughter of an enterprising and well-known man. she is an artist by nature and grace,--sketches, paints, and writes, and in both painting and literature she has made a name that is recognized, and she has charmingly perpetuated in her book the unique and wonderful procession of colorado wild flowers. [illustration: marshall pass and mt. ouray, colorado] lookout mountain, rising some twenty-five hundred feet above the town, has an easy trail to its summit; the driving is picturesque and safe on terraced mountain roads with perpetual vistas of beauty, and many lakes in the vicinity--mountain, big fish, trappers' lake, and others--offer excellent fishing. the hotel grounds at night are transformed into a veritable fairyland. the fountains shoot their jets of water up hundreds of feet into the air, with a play of color from electric lights thrown over them until they are all a changeful iridescent dream of rose and emerald and gold mingled with blue,--the very rainbows of heaven reproduced in mid-air. the journey up the "scenic route" has one point especially--that at the base of the holy cross mountain where the train climbs from plateau to plateau--that enchants the imagination. the vast mysterious cañons lie far below, steeped in the twilight of the gods. the air shimmers with faint hints of color. above, the towering granite walls seem to cut their way into the sky. the faint plash of a thousand waterfalls echoes from the rocky precipices, and the faint call of some lonely bird hovering over a pinnacle is heard. the mysterious light, the dim coolness and fragrance, the glimpses of blue sky seen through the narrow openings of the cañons above all, combine to produce that enchantment--the "encantada,"--that vasquez de coronado felt when he first beheld this marvellous country. emerson asserts that life is a search after power,-- "merlin's blows are strokes of fate." it is apparently a twentieth-century merlin who has dreamed a dream of wresting electricity from the mountain currents to utilize as power to create a new field for industrial energy. the electrical engineer, who is the magician of contemporary life, demonstrates that not the volume of a stream, but rather its "fall," is the measure of its possibilities of power, and no country is so rich in water that comes tumbling down from the heights as is colorado. the wild streams that precipitate themselves down the mountain-sides are as valuable as are the veins of gold that permeate the mountain. science has now taken them in hand, and will not longer permit these torrents and waterfalls to run to waste or to display themselves exclusively as decorative features of the mountain landscapes. the general electric company is utilizing these falling waters, and is already achieving results with their transformation into power which are beyond the dreams of imagination. the silver cascade, which for ages has had nothing to do but leap and flash under the shimmering gold of the colorado sunshine, suddenly undergoes "a sea change into something new and strange." it becomes an important factor in the world's work. for instance, in lovely manitou,--the little town that dreams at the foot of pike's peak and which seems made only for stars and sunsets and as the stage setting of idyllic experiences,--in lovely manitou an hydro-electric plant has been for more than a year in successful operation; and an opportunity is thereby afforded the interested observer to see the practical working of an enterprise that draws its energy directly from nature's sources. the power is obtained from water that is stored in a reservoir situated far up on the side of the peak. three and one-half miles of pipe were used to carry the water from the reservoir to the plant. the water has a fall of twenty-three hundred feet, which is much more than is needed to turn the giant wheels that furnish the power to be distributed to colorado springs, colorado city, and the surrounding country. the mills at colorado city use this power exclusively, and the cheapness at which it can be furnished is a potent factor in making for the success of their operation. at durango the animas power and water company has installed a plant for hydro-electric energy which will furnish power to the entire san juan county. the plant comprises two three-thousand horse-power current generators and the station appliances that correspond with these; and from this plant extend fifty-thousand volt circuits to all the large mines near ouray, silverton, and telluride. the "camp bird," the "gold king," the "silver lake," the "gold prince," and the "revenue tunnel" mines all draw from this plant for their entire milling and mining work. to harness the cascades, which for ages have known no sterner duty than to sparkle and frolic in the sunshine, to force the water sprites and nixies to perform the work of thousands of horse-power, is the achievement of the modern merlin. the platte river power and irrigation company are about to establish two electrical power enterprises most important to denver, one of which is to supply all the power that is necessary to turn every wheel now in motion in the city, and the second is to secure electric power from the water that is stored in the cheesman dam and transmit it to denver. responsible men are working for the success of the enterprises, and it is anticipated that denver will soon enjoy the advantage of power furnished at a minimum of cost. the denver inter-urban service for transportation will be carried on entirely by electricity within the near future. all the railroads that centre in this city beautiful are preparing estimates and making ready to conduct experiments. the recent tests in the east of electrically driven locomotives indicate that colorado, with denver as a centre, will one day be a network of electric lines traversing productive regions and connecting all the prosperous towns of the state by this most ideal form of transit. in colorado it is one of the unwritten laws--a law from which there is no appeal--that nothing which is desirable is impossible. this is one of the spiritual laws, indeed, and he who holds it as an axiom shall perpetually realize its force and its eternal truth. the entire physical world is plastic to the world of spirit. in that realm alone realities exist. for "the things which are seen are temporal; but the things which are not seen are eternal." the faith that stands--not "in the wisdom of man, but in the power of god"--is that which shall be justified by the most profound actuality. it is that hidden wisdom "which god ordained before the world unto our glory." science has already discerned the connection between organic form and super-space; and speculations already begin to emerge from the dim and vague region of conjecture into hypothesis and theory out of which are developed new working laws of the universe which are as undeniable as is that of the law of gravitation. in harmonious accordance, then, with that unwritten law of colorado that nothing which is desirable is impossible, it was realized that the gunnison river, a powerful stream thirty miles east of the uncompahgre, afforded an abundance of water to reclaim these desert wastes to the traditional blossoming of the rose. the gunnison river, however, flows through a box cañon three thousand feet deep. were it at the bottom of a gorge three thousand miles deep, that fact would hardly daunt the colorado spirit. immediately some invention, incomprehensible to the present mind of man, would be made by which the desirable issue should be achieved. as has been remarked, failure is a word not included in the vocabulary of colorado. that state has a "revised version" of its own for the resources of its language, laws, and literature. its keynote is the invincible. ways and means are mere matters of minor detail. if an achievement is desirable, it is to be accomplished, of course. it is not even a question for discussion. there is no margin of debatable land in the realization of every conceivable opportunity. a stupendous work in development is that of this gunnison tunnel under the vernal mesa to uncompahgre valley,--a desert waste whose area comprises some one hundred thousand acres of sand, sagebrush, and stones. yet even here irrigation worked its spell, and while the uncompahgre river held out a water supply, the land reached proved fertile beyond expectation. but the uncompahgre had its far too definite and restricted limits; no other water supply was available for this region, and there lay the land--a tract of potential wealth, but destined to remain, so far as could be seen, an unproductive and cumbersome desert region unless irrigation could be achieved. to the constructing engineer of the reclamation service there came a telegram from the chief engineer in washington asking if it were feasible to divert the waters of gunnison river to uncompahgre valley by means of a tunnel under vernal mesa? this implied building a tunnel from a point totally unknown. no one had ever succeeded in passing through gunnison cañon. but the past tense does "not count," any more than rip van winkle's last glass, in any estimate of the present in colorado. professor fellows, an engineer of denver, selected his assistant; they prepared their instruments, their provisions, and their inflated rubber mattress, and set forth on this expedition in which their lives were in constant peril; in which hardships beyond description were endured. the topographic map, for instance, was made by mr. fellows in the delightful position of being lowered with ropes into the deep cañon where, should the slightest accident occur, he would never return to the day and daylight world again. the establishment of precise levels for both ends of the tunnel, one of which must, of course, be lower than the other to induce a flow of water, was another matter requiring a delicacy of adjustment beyond description. of their wonderful and even tragic experiences a local report says: "it all ended by fellows and his companion saving two things,--their lives and their notebooks. everything else went down with the flood. when the men emerged at the devil's slide, weary, bruised, and bleeding, friends who had been waiting to pick up their mangled bodies hailed them as if they had returned from the dead." of all this story there was no hint in the cheerfully laconic telegram despatched to washington,--"complete surveys for construction." the tunnel will be five or six miles in length, of which over two miles are already completed. the work proceeds night and day with the drills like mighty giants eating their way through the solid granite of the vernal mesa that lies between the two rivers. this desert region which will thus be reclaimed comprises portions of three counties,--ouray, montrose, and delta,--the region being at an altitude of five thousand feet. it easily produces fruit, alfalfa, and grain, and it is also well adapted to the culture of potatoes, celery, and the sugar beet. the land when irrigated is estimated to be worth five hundred dollars per acre. the tunnel will have a capacity for conveying thirteen thousand cubic feet of water per second, and there will be connected with it an elaborate system of lesser canals and ditches that will carry the water all over this desert tract. it is estimated that this enterprise will add thousands of homes to the valley of the uncompahgre, and that it will increase by at least ten millions the taxable property of colorado. the cost of the gunnison tunnel will be some two and a half millions. uncompahgre valley, lying between the continental divide on the east, and the utah desert on the west, comprises the greatest extent of irrigable land west of pueblo in the entire state; but the need for irrigation and the possibilities of supplying that need were so widely apart that even merlin the enchanter recognized the difficulty, though by no means defining it as an impossibility. the uncompahgre river was soon exhausted, and only this apparently impracticable scheme, now happily realized, offered any solution of the problem. hon. meade hammond of the state legislature of colorado secured the appropriation of twenty-five thousand dollars to meet the expenses of surveying and preliminary work. hon. john c. bell, the representative for that district in congress, gave untiring devotion to the project, and to his efforts was due the zeal with which the reclamation service took up this vast work; and when professor fellows was appointed as the government district engineer its success became the object of his supreme interest and unremitting energy, and its achievement adds another to the remarkable engineering works of colorado. in this land of enchantment almost anything is possible, even to yachting,--a pastime that would not at first present itself as one to be included among the entertainments of an arid state which has to set its own legislative machinery and that of congress in motion in order to contrive a water supply for even its agricultural service; nevertheless, on a lake in the mountains, more than a mile and a half above sea level and some one hundred miles from denver the beautiful, a yacht club disports itself with all the airy grace and assurance of its ground--one means of its water--that distinguishes the delightful yacht club at old marblehead on the atlantic coast. there was, however, no government appropriation made to create this lake, as might at first be supposed, nor any experts sent out commissioned to prepare the way. there are numerous forms of summer-day entertainments that are more or less in evidence in the inland states; but yachting has never been supposed to be among them, as preconceived ideas of this joy have invariably associated it with oceans and seas. still, it must be remembered that colorado is an exceptional region in the universe, and creates, not follows, precedents. it is the state, as has before been remarked, to which nothing conceivable is impossible. grand lake is in middle park, sixty miles from the nearest railroad station. (with the incredible celerity with which life progresses in the centennial state, of course by the time this description is materialized in print grand lake may have become a railroad centre--who shall say? it is not safe to limit prophecy in colorado.) at present, however, a railroad journey of forty miles from denver, supplemented by sixty miles of stage, brings one to the lake, a beautiful sheet of water two miles in length and more than a mile in width, whose water is icy cold. the locality has become something of a summer resort for many denver people, and also, to some extent, to those from chicago and kansas city, and a group of cottages have sprung up. some seven years ago the grand lake yacht club was duly organized, with mr. r. c. campbell, a son-in-law of senator patterson of colorado, mr. w. h. bryant, a prominent citizen of denver the beautiful, major lafayette campbell, and other well-known men, as its officers. the club has now a fleet of yachts; it has its regatta week, and altogether holds its own among nautical associations; it takes itself seriously, in fact with what henry james calls the "deadly earnestness of the bostonians," which is paralleled by this inland and arid-land yachting club. [illustration: the wonderful hanging lake, near glenwood springs, colorado] besides the joys of yachting in an arid state where that nautical pastime is apparently carried on in mid air, is the local diversion of climbing mountain peaks that are pronounced impossible of ascension. this is one of the favorite entertainments of colorado young women, who have conquered long's, gray's, pike's, and torrey's peaks, mount massive, the "devil's causeway," and various lesser heights, which they scale with the characteristically invincible energy of their state. the summit of mount massive is fourteen thousand five hundred feet above sea level, and of one of these expeditions a denver journal says of this party of several ladies and gentlemen: "camp was struck at lamb's ranch, where, in the early morning, the wagon was left with all the outfit not absolutely necessary. the trail sloped steadily to the boulder field, where the party stopped for lunch. they were now at an altitude of twelve thousand feet. a cold wind swept across the range and chilled them, so that the climb was soon renewed. "the boulder field is two miles long and seemed five, for walking over the great stones is a wearisome business. at the end of the boulder field, which is much like the terminal range of an old glacier, is a great snowbank. from a long distance the mountain climbers saw the keyhole,--a deep notch of overjutting rock through which goes the only trail to the summit of long's. it is a gigantic cornice to a ridge that extends north from the main cone. "after passing the keyhole, which had loomed up before them through weary miles of tramping, a great panorama of mountains stretched before them.... there was a precipitous slope of rocks jammed together in a gulch. this rises for about seven hundred feet, every inch stiff climbing. "the danger at this point was that some climbers might dislodge rocks which would come bounding down on the heads of those in the rear. for this reason the orders of the leader were urgent that the party should not get separated. the trail at this point led up the sharply sloping eaves of the mountain roof, from which the climber might drop a dizzy distance to the depths below. clinging to the rocks and hanging on by hands or feet, the party pushed up to a ledge from which they looked over an abyss several thousand feet sheer down." in southern colorado the cliff-dwellers' region offers some of the most remarkable ruins in america, and their preservation in a government reservation, to be known as the mesa verde national park, has been assured by a bill that has been recently passed by congress and which is one of the eminent features of latter-day legislation. it is representative hogg who introduced this bill providing for the permanent protection of those cliff-dweller ruins which, with those in new mexico and arizona, constitute some of the most valuable and interesting prehistoric remains in the united states. already much of this archæological treasure of inestimable scientific value has been carried away by visitors, while, instead of permitting this region to be thus despoiled, it should be made easily accessible to tourists and held as one of the grand show places of the great southwest. like the grand cañon and the petrified forests of arizona, like the pike's peak region in colorado, mesa verde would become an objective point of pilgrimage to thousands of summer tourists. in the winter of - representative lacey, of iowa, the eminent chairman of the house committee on public lands, made in behalf of his committee a favorable report on the colorado cliff-dwellers' bill, presenting, with his characteristic eloquence of argument, the truth that the permanent preservation of these wonderful and almost prehistoric ruins is greatly to be desired by the people of the southwest, as well as by those interested in archæology elsewhere. "the ruins are situated among rocky cliffs, and may be easily preserved if protected," said mr. lacey, and added: "with the exception of two or three small, fallen, and totally uninteresting ones, all the ruins of the mesa verde are in the southern ute indian reservation. it is an extremely arid region, and little or no agriculture is practised by the utes, although they range sheep, goats, cattle, and ponies on the mesa and in the cañons. it is a poor range at best, and the indians appear to need all they can get. moreover, the reclamation service has made some estimates regarding storage reservoirs in the upper mancos, and it may be at some future time a part of this land in the reservation will be irrigable and greatly increased in value. the utes are not going to destroy these ruins or dig in them. they stand in superstitious awe of them, believing them to be inhabited by the spirits of the dead, and cannot be induced to go near them." these dwellings are excavated in cliffs from five to nine hundred feet above the plateaus. of these, two dwellings stand out prominently,--the "spruce tree house" and the "balcony house," the former of which contains a hundred and thirty rooms, of each of which the average measurement is about eight by six feet. much pottery, weapons, armament, and many skeletons and mummies are found in these dwellings. the later conclusions of scientists are that these cliff-houses were designed as places of refuge and defence rather than as ordinary habitations. the parallelogram and circle forms predominate, and they are often forty feet in diameter. there are sometimes double, or even triple walls, solidly built of hewn stone, with a circular depression (council-chamber) in the centre. pueblo is the metropolis of southern colorado. it is the second city in the state, ranking next to denver. it is an important industrial centre, being the location of the great steel works of the colorado fuel and iron company, and two large smelting plants in constant activity. it is a town with unusual possibilities of beauty, rambling, as it does, over the rolling mesas with a series of enchanting vistas and mountain views of great beauty. the spanish peaks are in full sight from the new residence region of pueblo, and here is the home of ex-governor and mrs. alva adams, with its spacious, book-lined rooms; its choice and finely selected souvenirs of foreign travel; its music and pictures; and far above all, the gracious sweetness and charm of mrs. adams, who has that most perfect of gifts--that of transforming a household into a home. governor adams, although in his modesty he would deprecate the distinction, is easily the first citizen of colorado. twice the governor of the state, he has impressed the entire people with his flawless integrity of character, his noble ideals, and his energy of executive power in securing and enforcing the best measures for the people and carrying onward into practical life the highest moral and educational standards. governor adams is always greatly in demand as a speaker, and in september of he was again nominated for governor of the state. colorado, quite irrespective of party, is all aglow with the name of alva adams. good republicans have long been greatly perplexed over the fact that the man they most desire to vote for, the man to whose guidance they would most willingly commit the affairs of state, is a democrat. the ability, the unquestioned integrity, the fidelity to lofty ideals, and the great administrative power of governor adams inspire the almost universal enthusiasm of colorado irrespective of party lines. no son of the centennial state is more in sympathy with its individual problems. born in wisconsin (some fifty-five years ago), governor adams was about to enter the ann arbor law school when the illness of a brother brought him in his earliest youth to colorado. its beauty, its rich possibilities, enchanted him. here he married a very cultivated and beautiful young woman, whose parents came in her early girlhood to colorado, and whose sympathetic and perfect companionship has been the unfailing source of his noblest inspiration. in an address on "pathfinders and pioneers," given before an irrigation congress at colorado springs, we find governor adams saying: "what a sublime moment when the explorer realizes the fruition of his dream! what fateful hours upon the dial of human progress when columbus saw a new world emerge from the sea, when balboa stood 'silent upon a peak in darien,' when lewis and clark upon the continent's crest saw the waters of the rivulet run toward the west! such events compensate great souls, and their spirits defy hardship, ingratitude, chains, dungeons, and the axe. the curtain has been run down upon the careers of those brave men whose praise we sing. their race is run. the explorer, priest, trapper, and pioneer have vanished. "'westward the course of empire takes its way; the four first acts already past, a fifth shall close the drama with the day; time's noblest offspring is the last.' "would it be a daring assumption to consider the irrigated regions of america as the arena in which the fifth act, time's noblest offspring, is to perfect and complete the drama of civilization? "irrigated lands were the cradle of the race. the first canals were run from the four rivers of paradise. may not the fruition of mankind seek the same conditions amid which it was born? providence has kept fallow this new land until man was fitted to enter and possess it. "'hid in the west through centuries, till men, through countless tyrannies, could understand the priceless worth of freedom.'" "i would not decry culture and refinement," said ex-governor adams in this address; "they are the charm and beauty of modern life, the music and art of the social commerce of the age; but in their acquirement i would not give up the robust, vigorous, daring qualities of the pioneer." the governor proceeded: "they had blood and iron in their heart, they had the nerve to dare, the strength to do. i do not believe in battle for battle's sake; but i never want to see our people when they are not willing to fight, and able to fight. the only guarantee of peace and liberty is the ability and willingness to do battle for your rights. refinement alone is not strength, culture alone is not virtue. absalom, alcibiades, and burr stand in history as the most polished, cultured men of three ages, yet they were more a menace than a brace to the liberties of their time. in stress, the world calls upon the calvins, the cromwells, the jacksons, browns, and lincolns. they were stalwart, strenuous, courageous men; not cultured and refined, but rich in royalty and daring. it is the rugged and the strong, and not the gentle and the wise, who gather in their hands the reins of fate and plough deep furrows in the fields of human events. it is they who have driven the car of progress and have woven the deepest colors in the fabric of human happiness. it is true that some of our western torch-bearers were not perfect; none of them were ever anointed with the oil of consecration; around them surged the temptations of a wild and boisterous age; through their hearts and souls there swept the impulses and passions of the strong; if they sinned, it was against themselves, not their country. let their frailties be forgotten, and their good cherished. often rough and defiant of the conventionalities, they were ever true and loyal, and most of these empire builders can stand before the great white throne with open hearts. they were the architects, the hiram abifs of these western empires. they laid the foundations in courage and liberty." let no one fancy that pueblo is a primitive western city devoid of electricity, telephones, motor cars, or even marconigrams. let no one fancy it is too far from paris to have the latest french fashions. it is hardly an exaggeration to say that it demands the best and the most up-to-date ideas of the eastern cities to be at all eligible in these colorado towns. pueblo has a most delightful club-house on the edge of a lake--the lake is artificially created, and being made to order, is, of course, exactly the kind of lake that is desired, the water being conducted from the mountains into a large natural depression--where great open fires in every room greet the daily visitor; where there are large reading-rooms, a dining-room, and a ball-room; no intoxicating beverages of any kind are allowed to be sold, so that youths and maidens may at any time enjoy the club with no insidious dangers to their moral welfare. there are many centres of social life; and if pueblo people have any other conceivable occupation than to give dinner parties at night and go motoring in the morning, with endless receptions of the daughters of the revolution and other clubs, organizations, or purely private card receptions invading the afternoons, the visitor hardly realizes it. the dinners given are often as elaborate as in the large eastern cities, as one, for instance, given by mr. and mrs. mahlon d. thatcher at their stately home "hillcrest," where the decorations were all in rich rose red, a most brilliant effect, and the souvenirs were india ink reproductions of old castles on white satin. the dinner cards held each a quotation from the poets. * * * * * pueblo is always all sunshine and radiance, and has a beauty of location that makes it notable, with its encircling blue mountains and picturesque mesas, and the perpetual benediction of the spanish peaks silhouetted against the western sky. its new library is the pride and delight of every citizen. it is one of the carnegie chain,--a large, two-story and basement structure of white colorado stone, the interior finished with the richly variegated colorado marble which is used for mantels and fireplaces. the book stacks, the spacious and splendid reading-room, the children's room, and the smaller ones for reference and special study, are all planned on the latest and most perfect models. the library is in the royal park, on the crest of one of the mesas, very near the home of governor adams. it is a library to delight the heart of the book-lover. pueblo offers, indeed, great attractions to all who incline to this land of sunshine. the climate is even more mild than that of denver, from which city it is a little over three hours distant by the fast trains, or four hours by slower ones. colorado springs lies between--two hours from denver and a little over one hour from pueblo. the location combines many attractions. with three railroads; its large industries in smelting and steel; its excellent schools, both public and private; its churches, its daily newspapers; its library; and its fine clubhouse, open to families,--women and children as well as men enjoying it freely,--pueblo seems one of the most delightful of places. it has large wealth and a power of initiating many opportunities. it is on the most picturesque and delightful lines of travel to cañon city, salida, leadville, glenwood springs, and through salt lake city to the pacific coast; or on the line to arizona and the grand cañon of the colorado, and on to los angeles and san francisco; or eastward to chicago and the atlantic coast; or southward to mexico, or st. louis, or new orleans. pueblo is really in the heart of things, so to speak. the chicago papers arrive the next day, the new york papers the third morning, and the telephonic communication is simply almost without limit. governor adams will step from his library into another book-lined room where the telephone is placed, and from there talk with people in five different states. once he held a conversation with a man at the bottom of a mine a few hundred miles away,--a man whose subterranean sojourn had the alleviation of a telephone. the greatest industrial organization west of the mississippi river is that of the colorado fuel and iron company, whose largest plant is at pueblo, and is held at a valuation of fifty-eight million dollars. on its pay-roll are fifteen thousand employés. there are twenty thousand tons of steel rail produced each month, and it is said that this number will soon be largely increased, and that the goulds and the rockefellers are arranging to utilize the product of these mills for their vast railroad interests. the company owns such large tracts of land in colorado, new mexico, utah, and wyoming; it owns coal mines, iron mines, lime quarries; it owns parts of two railroads, besides telegraph and telephone lines galore, so that by reason of these extensive holdings it is able to secure at a minimum of cost all the raw materials from which the finished products are turned out. upward of three hundred thousand acres of the richest coal lands in the west, an empire containing one hundred square miles more than the coal area of pennsylvania, constitute the holdings for coal mine purposes of the company. in addition there are iron, manganese mines, and limestone quarries containing the elements which give to the product of the furnaces and mills qualities that secure the markets of the western world. its plant at pueblo has become the centre of a town called minnequa, composed of its own employés and their families. the company has established a model hospital, with a surgeon's department fitted up with the most elaborate and finest scientific and nursing facilities; a fine library and large reading-rooms, and a recreation hall and gymnasium for the workmen. nearly one million dollars has been expended on the tenant houses belonging to the company, which are rented to their employés on fair and advantageous terms. in many respects minnequa, at pueblo, is one of the most remarkable manufacturing centres in the world, presenting aspects that invite study, in its extensive resources, the vast and colossal character of its purposes, and its remarkable achievements. all employés are given the opportunity to acquire homes; and every late ideal in the way of providing opportunities for their care in health, in mental and moral development, and in recreations, is carried out to the fullest possible extent. the company has recently engaged in an irrigation enterprise in the purchase of water-right priorities of the arkansas river for seventy cubic feet of water per second, at an expense of one million dollars. these rights, which date back to - , are among the oldest existing, and they insure to the company the uninterrupted and certain possession of the river flow. a court decree enabled them to change the point of division, and they have constructed a new head-gate at adobe, six miles east of florence. a canal fifty-eight miles in length is being constructed from florence to the mills owned by the company. the cost of this canal will be some three quarters of a million. these mills produce over seventy-five thousand tons of iron and steel each month. the manufacturing plant at minnequa includes blast furnaces, converting works, blooming mills, a merchant iron mill, a hoop and cotton tie mill, a spike factory, a bolt factory, a castings and pipe foundry, with open hearth furnaces, a reversing mill, and many other appliances. "it must not be supposed, because we find it necessary to practise irrigation in colorado, that we therefore never have any rains," observed a coloradoan; "on the contrary, the rains of spring are usually of such abundance as to make the ground in fine condition for ploughing and putting in crops, and we seldom find it necessary to apply water to germinate any kind of seed; only once, in thirteen years' experience at greeley, were we compelled to resort to irrigation before crops of all kinds were well up and considerably advanced in growth. about the last of may, however, as regularly as the natural periods of summer, autumn, winter, and spring occur in the other states, never varying more than a week in time, these copious rains suddenly cease and give place to light and entirely inadequate local thunder-showers. now is the accepted time, and all over cultivated colorado, within a period of not more than two days, every flood-gate is opened and the life-giving current started to flowing on the rapidly parching grain. corn will endure until later in the season, but all sowed crops must get one thorough application of water within two weeks or become severely injured for the want of it. day and night the silent current flows on and on, among the fields of grain; not a drop of water nor a moment of time must run to waste until the first irrigation is completed." in so exceptional a summer of drought and heat as was that of the advantages of irrigation stand out. journeying through kansas, the long day's ride across the state revealed continued devastation from the lack of rain. corn fields looked almost as if a fire had passed over them, so shrivelled and stunted they were; but in colorado on every hand there were greenness and luxuriance of vegetation and of crops. the result is simply that, with irrigation, man controls his climate and all the conditions of prosperity. without it, he is at the mercy of the elements. the union colony of greeley was the first to introduce upland irrigation in colorado. of the method employed, the "greeley tribune" gave this description: "almost the first question asked by many persons on their first arrival in colorado, when they see the irrigating ditches running along the sides of the bluffs high above the river, and back from it five, ten, or twenty miles, is, 'how do you get the water out of the river, and so high above it? it looks as if you made the water run uphill.' the answer is very simple. all the rivers of colorado are mountain streams, and consequently have a fall of from ten to thirty feet to the mile, after they reach the plains. in the mountains, of course, the fall is often much greater. the plains also have a gradual slope eastward from the foothills, where the altitude is generally between six and seven thousand feet above sea level, while at the eastern boundary of the state it is only about three thousand feet. take, for example, the canal generally known as number two, which waters the lands of the greeley colony. this canal is taken out of the cache la poudre river, about seventeen miles west of greeley, and where the bed of the river is probably a hundred and sixty feet higher than it is at greeley. the bed of the canal only has a fall of from three to three and a half feet to the mile; therefore it is easily seen that when that grade is continued for a number of miles, the line of the canal will run in a direction further and further from the river, and on much higher ground, so that the lands lying between the canal and the river are all 'covered by,' or on a lower level than, the water in the canal. in the process of irrigation this same plan must be followed, of bringing the water in on the higher side of the land to be irrigated, then the water will easily flow all over the ground." in weld county, of which greeley is the county seat, irrigation was extended during to cover from fifteen thousand to twenty thousand acres of arid land never before under cultivation, and storage reservoirs increased in capacity. it is proposed to cut a tunnel through the medicine bow mountain range and to bring a large quantity of water through from the western slope to irrigate an additional fifty thousand acres of prairie. within the past year there have been two potato starch factories started in successful operation in greeley which are estimated to pay out annually one hundred thousand dollars for potatoes that have heretofore been practically a total loss to the farmers. the swift packing company of chicago propose investing one and a half millions in further irrigation in this county. the products of the greeley district alone, for , were five and a half millions,--a fact that suggests the wise foresight of hon. nathan cook meeker, the founder of the town, in selecting this location, in , for his colony. of recent years a remarkable feature of agricultural progress in colorado has been developed by the "dry farming" system, the discovery of which is due to prof. h. w. campbell, who has been experimenting, for some twenty years past, in eastern colorado, in the scientific culture of the soil without benefit of irrigation. professor campbell says that he had been assured that corn would not grow at an altitude of three thousand feet, as the nights would be too cool; but that he can refute this, as, during the past five years, he has averaged from thirty to forty-two bushels per acre at an altitude ranging from five thousand to nearly seven thousand feet. successful agriculture is, in professor campbell's belief, based on the fundamental principle of soil culture, and in an interview he said: "while the great work now being done by the government in promoting irrigation enterprises in the more arid portion of the west and the using of millions upon millions of money for the building of mammoth reservoirs have value and virtue, and means the development of many sections that must remain almost worthless without them, and the spending of thousands of dollars in traversing foreign countries to secure what some have pleased to call drought-resisting plants, will undoubtedly play their part in promoting the welfare and prosperity of colorado, ... yet there should also be an understanding of, first, the necessary physical condition of the soil for the most liberal growth and development of roots; secondly, the storing and conserving the entire season rainfall,--not only the portion that falls during the growing season, but from the early spring to late in the fall; thirdly, the fact that air is just as important in the soil as water, and that it is the combination of the elements of air and water in the soil, together with heat and light, that is most essential; and that when these conditions are fulfilled, eastern colorado will come to its rightful own, and little towns and cities will spring up along all the great trunk lines, while the intervening country will be dotted with ideal farm homes and shade trees; orchards and groves will break the monotony of the now bleak prairie, and present a restful, cheerful, homelike, and prosperous condition." while agriculture in colorado is regarded as in its infancy, yet the product of colorado farms alone contributed almost fifty-one millions to the world's wealth, in , exclusive of wool, hides, or live stock. professor olin of the state agricultural college estimates that there are over two hundred thousand acres in colorado which produce crops without irrigation, by the application of professor campbell's "dry-farming" system. the so-called dry land, consisting of millions of acres in eastern colorado, averages now four dollars per acre, where one year ago untold quantities could be bought for an average of two dollars per acre. the speculative value of this land has gone up wonderfully under the impetus of the campbell system of dry farming. if this system comes anywhere near proving the claims of its advocates, it will vastly increase the wealth and population of the state. with a greater understanding of the science of dry culture it is certain that the farmers of the state and the state generally will experience immeasurable advantage. in the eastern plains of colorado are embraced more than fifteen million acres of land which are now lying practically useless, only a small amount being utilized for ranging cattle. the claims of dry-culture enthusiasts and those who have been experimenting with seed imported to meet the dry conditions are, that this empire will be made to yield harvests which will support many thriving communities. in proof of their claims they point to so-called model farms established at various places on the plains where the hitherto unyielding soil has borne substantial crops. one important feature in the agricultural development of colorado is the extinction of the bonanza ranch of thousands of acres. instead, farms are reduced to manageable proportions, and are carried on far more largely by intelligent thought and scientific appliances than by mere manual labor. the present day colorado ranch is an all-the-year-round enterprise. the ranch owner is a careful business man, who watches his acres and the products thereof even as the successful merchant or manufacturer acquires close knowledge of all the details of his business. he sows his land with diversified crops, rotating hay, grain, and root crops scientifically for the double purpose of securing the greatest yields and preserving the nourishing qualities of the soil. keeping in touch with the market conditions of the world, and with the advancing developments of science, he is easily the master of the situation, and in no part of the country is the condition of the farmer better, or perhaps so good, as in colorado. the agriculturist of the centennial state who is the owner of two quarter sections, or even of one, is altogether independent. the returns from his business are absolutely sure, and with the certain knowledge of substantial gains at the end of the season he plans improvements to his home, and comforts and even luxuries for himself and family, which far exceed those usually secured in the middle west or by the small farmers of the east. in colorado it will be found that almost every young man and woman of those who are natives of the state are college graduates. co-education prevails, just as does the political enfranchisement of women, and the results of this larger extension of the opportunities and privileges of life are very much in evidence in the beauty, the high intelligence, and the liberal culture that especially characterize the women of colorado. irrigation enterprises in colorado are far more widely recognized than is the campbell system of dry culture; but in these enterprises appealed with increased force to capitalists outside, as well as within colorado, as a safe and profitable means of investment. land held at ten dollars per acre is, by irrigation, instantly increased in value from twenty to fifty dollars; and it was seen that the most favorable localities within the state in which to raise funds for further extension of irrigation were among the farmers in the older irrigated sections who have won their ranches, improved their places, and made large deposits in the banks through the use of the productive waters trained to make the soil blossom with wealth. irrigation is developed to its highest excellence in northern colorado and in the valley of the arkansas river. these regions have been the longest under irrigated culture, and their value is increasing rapidly. each year sees the agriculturist grow more conservative in his use of water, and the quantity thus saved has been applied to new lands. thus, in an interesting and quite undreamed-of way, a problem that incited discord and dissension, that promised only to increase inevitably as larger territories of land and their correspondingly increased irrigation should be held, was brought to a peaceful solution. continued litigation, and a great pressure to secure legislative restrictions of the use of water supply, and the constant irritation and turmoil involved in these disputes, were all, happily, laid to rest by the discovery of the farmers themselves that extravagance in the use of water was not conducive to their own prosperity. in the matter of flood waters the irrigation experts of the state are quite generally meeting the condition in their own way. storage reservoirs are dotting the irrigation systems at frequent intervals, and in the dry months the supply piled up behind the cement dams is drawn off to furnish the final necessary moisture for the maturing of the crops. another possibility of irrigation that is receiving the attention of engineers is the utilization of the streams for power purposes. in many cases the power thus generated will be made to accomplish marvellous feats in the way of construction, as in the instance at grand river, already described. one of the special journeys in colorado is that called a "trip around the circle," affording more than a thousand miles among the mountains within four days' time; but a permission for ten days is available, thus affording several detours by stage, which penetrate into the most sublime regions. the abysmal depth of five of the great cañons; many of the noted mountain passes; great mining camps, with their complicated machinery; cliff dwellings, vast plateaus, and stupendous peaks; indian reservations; the icy crevasses a thousand feet in depth; the picturesque "continental divide," from which one looks down on a thousand mountain peaks, where the vast cordilleras in their rugged grandeur are seen as a wide plain; the beautiful sangre de cristo ("blood of christ") range; the sharp outlines of the spanish peaks, rising twelve and thirteen thousand feet into the air; beautiful meadow lands where the blue and white columbine, the state flower of colorado, blooms in profusion, and the tiger lily, the primrose, and the "shooting stars" blossom,--all these are enjoyed within the "circle" trip; and it also includes leadville, the "city above the clouds," durango, ouray, gunnison, and other interesting towns. it offers a near view of the mount of the holy cross, which strange spectacle is made by the snow deposits in transverse, gigantic cañons,--the perpendicular one being fifteen hundred feet, while the transverse cross is seven hundred and fifty feet in length; of lost cañon, a novelty even in a land of cañons; and of the rio de las animas perditas, old fort lewis, the valley of dolores river, a region of early spanish discovery; of black cañon and cimarron cañon and grand river cañon, whose walls rise to the height of more than twenty-five hundred feet;--all these are but the merest outline and hint of the scenic wonders compassed within the circle trip. up the cañons the train climbs; through narrow gorges with overhanging rocks, on and on, till a plateau is reached; then more cañons, more climbing, more peaks towering into the skies, and waterfalls chiming their music. as even an enthusiast in scenery cannot entirely subsist on stars, sunsets, and silences, the luxurious comforts of these trains enhance one's enjoyment. a dining-car is always on, and the excellence of the food and the moderate prices for all this perfect comfort and convenience are features the traveller appreciates. that dance of the brocken which one fancies he sees in the fantastic sandstone formations on the mountain's side on the romantic route to glenwood springs is occasionally duplicated in other cañons, where these strange rocks resolve themselves, with the aid of the mysterious lights and shadows, into a dance of witches, and every shape springs to life. the train rushes on, and one leaves them dancing, confident that although these figures may be stationary by day, they dance at night. another mountain slope of the sandstone shows a colossal figure of a prophet,--shrouded, hooded, suggesting that solemn, majestic figure of death in daniel french's great work entitled "death and the sculptor." the precipitous walls of the cañon rise in many places to over a thousand feet in height. in their sides such a variety of designs and figures have been sculptured by erosion that the traveller half imagines himself in the realm of the gods of hellas. these innumerable designs and figures incite not only the play of fancy, but they invite the study of the geologist, who finds here the primary rock formations exhibited in the most varied and striking manner. as the train winds deeper into the heart of the projecting rocks the crested crags loom up beyond the sight; below, the river rushes in foaming torrents and only a faint arch of the sky is seen. there are recesses never penetrated by the sun. [illustration: cathedral rocks, clyde park, cripple creek short line] another group of the sandstone shapes, under the transformation of moonlight, resolved itself into a band of angels, and still another mountain-side seems to be the scene of ballet dancers. the splendid heights of dolores peak and expectation mountain, the lizard head, the cathedral spires, the castle peaks of the sangre de cristo--what points and groups that fairly focus all conceivable sublimity they form! here is a state more than a third larger than all new england; it is the state of sunsets and of stars; of scenery that is impressive and uplifting, rather than merely picturesque; a state whose plains, even, are of the same altitude as the summit of mount washington in the white mountains, and whose mountains and peaks ascend to an altitude of over two miles above this height. of the total extent of colorado, the mountains, inclusive of parks and foothills, occupy two-thirds of the area. so it is easily realized to what extent they dominate the scene. but great and impressive as they are in effect, the mountain features have an undoubted influence, however unconsciously received, on the character of the people. the effect of beauty on character is incalculable. when to beauty is added sublimity, how much greater must this effect be! it was not mere rhetoric when the psalmist exclaimed, "i will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help. my help cometh from the lord, which made heaven and earth.... the lord shall preserve thee from all evil. he shall preserve thy soul." it is this train of thought which is inevitably suggested to the mind in gazing upon the stately, solemn impressiveness of the mountain scenery. nature has predestined colorado for the theatre of noble life, and the influence is all-pervading. great engineering feats are in evidence all over colorado. miles of railway tunnels pass through the mountains. no mountain, not even pike's peak, is regarded in colorado as being in any sense an obstacle to any form of the extension of travel. the railroad either passes through it or climbs it. the matter is apparently simple to the railroad mind, and evidently all the peaks of the himalayas piled on pike's or long's peaks--"ossa piled on pelion"--would not daunt the coloradoan enterprise. in fact, the greater the obstacle, the greater is the enterprise thereby incited to overcome it. in the most literal way obstacles in this land of enchantment are miraculously transformed to stepping-stones. but what would you,--in an enchanted country? colorado has four great systems of parks whose elevation is from seven to nine thousand feet: north park, with an area of some twenty-five hundred square miles; south park, one thousand; middle park, three thousand; and san luis, with nine thousand four hundred square miles,--all sheltered by mountains, watered by perpetual streams, and so rich in grass lands as to afford perpetual grazing and farming resources. colorado has nearly one thousand inland lakes, and over two hundred and fifty rivers fed from mountain snows. its grand features include mountains, cañons, gorges and deep chasms, crags and heights; its mountain systems cover more than five times the area of the alps, and its luminous, electrically exhilarating air, its play of color, and the necromancy of distances that seem near when afar--all linger in the memory as a dream of ecstatic experiences. colorado is all a splendor of color, of vista, and of dream. it is the most poetic of states. now the fact that this country has been importing over two million tons of sugar a year lends importance to the beet sugar factories already largely established. colorado has a future in beet sugar hardly second to her gold-mining interests, if her interests receive the national safe-guarding that is her due. colorado and the philippines were brought into collision of interests by the attempt to reduce the tariff on sugar imported from those islands. this would ruin the beet sugar industry in the centennial state, which is already beginning to transform it into one of the richest agricultural states in the union. this industry is absolutely identified with the irrigation interests of colorado, as it is the arid land irrigated that offers the best facilities for the sugar beets. the beet sugar enterprise means remunerative work for the farmer, good business for the railroads and merchants, and an incalculable degree of prosperity for all colorado. thomas f. walsh, of ouray, colorado, and of washington, made an earnest protest against this movement. mr. walsh is a great capitalist, but while he has not one dollar concerned in the beet sugar enterprise of his state, he is a loyal and devoted son of colorado. in a convincing manner he said: "... it is not a small thing, this robbery of american farmers and home-makers for the benefit of sugar corporations and exploiters of philippine labor. it means the ultimate ruin of an industry that is full of the brightest promise for thousands of americans. it means that the people of the united states shall pay tribute to a trust forever for one of the necessaries of life.... the removal of protection to colorado sugar growers would simply mean that the sugar trust, or cormorants in human form like it, would go to the philippines, employ the peons at starvation wages, and send millions of tons of sugar to the united states. would the consumer here be benefited? not at all. has the consumer benefited by reciprocity with cuba? the sugar trust has received a gift from the treasury of the united states--that is all." and again mr. walsh truly says: "this proposition is merely a design on the part of enormously rich, greedy speculators, who are willing to adopt any means for the accumulation of more money. money, money, money! they have already a thousand times more than they need, and are simply money mad. they propose to exploit the philippines for their own selfish ends. help for the poor filipinos, indeed! imagine the generosity of these get-rich-quick sharks towards the peons in their employ. think of the wages that would be paid, contrasted with the standard of living in the united states! i'd rather have the people of this country exterminated than to be brought to such a level." regarding the arid land mr. walsh said: "with the application of water to this land under the national irrigation act--one of the greatest acts of statesmanship accomplished under our broad-minded and far-sighted president--the people of colorado will furnish an outlet for a great population, and the cultivation of beets for sugar will enable thousands of american citizens to establish homes of their own. that is what is now being done in colorado, and the industry is in its infancy. the people have gone in there at the suggestion of the government, planted beets provided to them by the agricultural department, and started a great industry. there was an implied, if not expressed, promise that they were to be protected in this new industry. yet it is now proposed to place them in competition with the peons of the philippines, at the most critical time in the history of the industry. the people of the east," continued mr. walsh, "do not seem to be able to grasp the great possibilities of the arid west under the operation of the national irrigation law. the west, properly irrigated with water that we know can be developed by drainage, wells, and underground flow, will easily support fifty millions of people. think of what this means! fifty millions of american citizens owning their own homes! it is an incalculable addition to the wealth and strength of the united states." one of the very valuable and exceptional resources of colorado is in its stone, which equals the world's best product in its quality. millions of tons of almost every variety of building stone lie unclaimed on the hills and plateaus. there are quarries in gunnison county that would make their owners multi-millionnaires, could the stone be made easy of access or transportation. the difficulty of the former, and the high freight charges, combine to delay this field of development. in pueblo there is a marbleized sandstone that is very beautiful. its "crushing" strength, as the architectural phrase goes, is between eleven and twelve thousand pounds to the square inch,--a strength which exceeds the most exacting requirements of any architect. this stone is found in unlimited quantities. in the country around fort collins there is a red sandstone which is very popular, and this is also found in large quantities at castle rock, south of denver. near trinidad is a gray sandstone of great beauty, and the amago stone, which is used for the denver postoffice, is a favorite. in stone for decorative purposes also, colorado is plentifully supplied. specimens of marble from the vicinity of redstone show characteristics as beautiful as are seen in the finest italian marble found at carrara. besides the marble for building there are also vast beds of the purest white marble, which will soon be placed on the market for statuary purposes. vast deposits of granite are to be found in many different sections of the state. in clear creek county, about silver plume and georgetown, there are mountains of granite. in the southern part of the state deposits are found which are used extensively for monumental purposes, and great quantities of this granite are shipped out of the state. although only a limited amount of work in the way of development and seeking markets has been done for colorado stone, the value of the sales is already an appreciable source of revenue. statistically, colorado ranks first in the united states as to the yield of gold and silver; first in the area of land under irrigation; first as to the quality of wheat, potatoes, and melons, and as to the percentage of sugar in the sugar beet. the state ranks fifth in coal and iron; sixth in live stock, and eighth in agriculture. it is true, however, that irrigated agriculture is considered to be the most important interest in colorado. the centennial state is not, primarily, as has often been supposed, a mining state; the mines, rich and varied in products as they are, offer yet a value secondary to that of agriculture. a mine is always an uncertainty. a rich pocket may be found that is an isolated one and leads to nothing of a permanently rich deposit. a vast outlay of time and expensive mechanism can be made that will not result in any returns. an apparently rich mine may suddenly come to an end; the miner may have reason to believe that if he could go down some thousands of feet he would again strike the rich vein; he may do this at great cost of machinery and labor only to find that the vein has totally disappeared, or does not exist. all these and many other mischances render mining something very far from an exact science,--something, indeed, totally incalculable, even to the specialists and experts,--while agriculture is an industry whose conditions render it within reasonable probabilities of control and calculation. the great problem which continues to confront colorado, and to a far greater extent arizona, is the more complete understanding of what prof. elwood mead, the government expert in national irrigation problems, calls "the duty of water" and the conditions which influence it as a basis for planning the larger and costlier works which must be built in the future. "one of the leading objects of expert irrigation investigation is to determine the duty of water," says professor mead, and he adds: "in order to do this it is necessary to deal with a large range of climatic conditions, and to study the influence of different methods of application and the requirements of different crops. farmers need an approximate knowledge of the duty of water in order to make intelligent contracts for their supply. it is needed by the engineer and investors in order to plan canals and reservoirs properly. without this knowledge every important transaction in the construction of irrigation works, or in the distribution of water therefrom, is very largely dependent on individual judgment or conjecture.... in constructing reservoirs it is as necessary to know whether they will be filled in a few years by silt as to know that the dam rests on a solid foundation; and it is as desirable to provide some means for the removal of this sedimentary accumulation as it is to provide an adequate waste way for floods." the problems of irrigation are evidently highly complicated ones. there are large tracts of irrigated land selling at three hundred dollars an acre which, fifty years ago, were held as worthless desert regions. the value of water rights has risen from four to thirty-five dollars an acre. the platte river and its tributaries, alone, irrigate one million nine hundred and twenty-four thousand four hundred and sixty-five acres. in the south platte the average flow of water is two thousand seven hundred and sixty-five feet a second. the north platte and its tributaries irrigate about nine hundred thousand acres. there are now over two million acres in colorado under actual irrigation, with an agricultural population of some one hundred and fifty thousand, with a total income of over thirty millions. the agricultural population is increasing so rapidly that the day cannot be distant when it will reach a million, with a total production of more than one hundred and fifty million dollars. it is believed that an expenditure of forty millions in irrigation at the present time would immediately result in an increment of from two hundred to three hundred millions. the irrigation bill that passed congress in proved of the most beneficial nature to colorado; not only for its immediate effects, but for the promise it implied and the confidence inspired in the immediate future. the encouragement of irrigation in colorado is the influence that enlarges and develops the agricultural efforts, promoting the growing industry of beet sugar and extending all resources. beyond the material results there lie, too, the most important social conditions of the greater content and industry of the people and the corresponding decrease of tendencies toward anarchy and disorder. in the quarter of a century--with the sixth year now added--since colorado became a state there has passed over twenty million acres of government lands into the individual ownership of men whose capital, for the most part, consisted solely of the horses and wagon that they brought with them. of this vast area there are some two and a half million acres under agricultural cultivation, which are assessed at a valuation of some twenty-five millions. the boston and colorado smelter, established in , has produced a valuation in gold, silver, and copper of nearly ninety-six millions. in the year of the colorado mines,--gold, silver, lead, copper, and zinc,--all told, produced nearly ninety million dollars. the population of colorado is increasing rapidly, not only by the stream of immigration that pours in of those who come _con intentione_, but to a considerable degree by those who come only as tourists and visitors, and who become so fascinated with colorado's charm, and so impressed with her rich and varied resources, that they remain. the development of this state is one of the most remarkable and thrilling pages in american history. it is the story of personal sacrifice, personal heroism, personal devotion to the nobler purposes and ideals of life that no one can read unmoved. "there can be no backward movement, not even a check in the steady tramp of such a conquering army," said the "denver republican" editorially. "before it, mountains melt into bars of gold, of silver, of copper, lead, zinc, and iron. it passes over virgin soil, and behind it spring up fields of grain and groves of fruit. it brings coal from distant fields, rocks from far-away hills, and its artisans mould and weld and send out tools of trade and articles of merchandise to all the world. "it pushes the railroads it needs to where it needs them, and the world comes to marvel at its audacity. it finds to-day what yesterday it needed and to-morrow it must have. it waits only the world's needs or pleasures to find yet other ways to supply them." the prosperity of colorado is a remarkable fact in our national history. by some untraced law, defects, faults, misfortunes, or crimes are always made more prominent than virtue and good fortune. the crime is telegraphed everywhere, the good deed is passed over in silence--as a rule. and so the strikes, and the outlawry, and the discords and troubles of colorado have been very widely heralded, while there has been less general recognition of the firm and just governmental authority that has held these outbreaks in check, and has almost succeeded in ending them entirely. in general aspects and conveniences the towns and cities are under excellent municipal regulations. leadville, formerly one of the most lawless of great mining camps, is to-day a peaceful and prosperous city on a great trans-continental highway. the western towns begin with wide, clean, beautiful streets. they begin with the most tasteful architecture. it may not be the most expensive or the most colossal, but it is beautiful. northern colorado is in many respects a distinctive region of itself. it offers rich agricultural facilities; the beet sugar factories at greeley are making it a commercial centre; the electric trolley line which will soon connect greeley with denver will multiply the homes and settlements within this distance of fifty miles, and this part of colorado is enriched with great coal fields. the latter promise not merely their own extension of industries in digging the coal and putting it on the market, but they also indicate another and far more important result, which stimulates the scientific imagination,--that of making northern colorado a power centre whose strength can be applied in a variety of ways and transmitted over a large area of country. for more than two years the government has been conducting a series of experiments in a very thorough manner, endeavoring to ascertain the gas values of the great lignite coal fields between boulder and denver. it has been discovered that the converting of the coal into gas gives it double the efficiency for use as a motor power for engine or for fuel than can be gained from the coal in its natural state. a ton of coal converted into gas will, as gas, give twice the power that the coal would have yielded, and give the same power that two tons of coal, that has not been converted into gas, would afford. in order, however, to produce this power economically, it must be done at the point of mining. it is there that the gas producers must be located; and from these points the gas can be transported in pipes, or can be converted into electricity and sent by wires at far less cost than would be that of sending the coal itself by freight. these discoveries not only suggest that this region in colorado is destined in the near future to become a power centre which will be tapped from the surrounding country for a great distance in all directions, and will thus render boulder one of the most important of western cities; but they also suggest the evident tendency of the age toward intensity rather than immensity,--toward the concentration of energy in the most ethereal form rather than its diffusion through large and clumsy masses of material. colorado contains over twenty-five thousand square miles of coal fields, distributed over the state, with an average annual product of over seven million tons. no other corresponding area in the entire world exceeds colorado in its great storage of coal, and the state ranks as one of the first in the production of iron. there are already fifteen beet sugar factories in operation, representing investments amounting to over twelve million dollars, and which are estimated to have produced, in , an aggregate of some two hundred and twenty thousand pounds of sugar, the percentage of saccharine matter being higher than that of the sugar beet of california. [illustration: sultan mountain] statistically, colorado ranks first in irrigation, and there are some eighteen thousand miles of irrigating canals already in operation, with the system being so rapidly extended that it almost outruns the pace of calculation. three million acres are under cultivation in colorado, and two million eight hundred and fifty thousand acres are irrigated; the storage reservoirs already constructed are sufficient to place another million of acres under cultivation. this irrigated land sells from sixty to one hundred dollars per acre. colorado has a reputation for being a great potato state, and in the year the town of greeley alone shipped over three hundred thousand dollars' worth of potatoes, while tomatoes are a feature often yielding ninety dollars to the acre, and celery has been estimated to yield one hundred and fifty dollars an acre. there are tracts of from two to three thousand acres devoted to peas alone, producing forty to fifty thousand cans; and asparagus grows with great success. colorado is a fruit country offering the best of conditions. the peaches of southern colorado lead the world in flavor, beauty, and size; the canteloupe flourishes with such extraordinary vitality that it often yields a revenue of fifty dollars an acre; and the watermelon also grows in unusual perfection. the valley of the arkansas river is the great region for producing melons, and colorado exports these to new york, philadelphia, chicago, and st. louis. apples, plums, and pears grow with equally bounteous success, and there are fruit farms that with their orchards and small fruits sometimes realize fifty thousand dollars a year, when the season is a good one and the market conditions favorable. the seasons of irrigated land are largely under control, and surpass those regions which are at the mercy of excessive rains or of droughts. so the law of compensation still obtains. the resources of horticulture, alone, in colorado are very important, and they form one of the most alluring features of this beautiful and richly bountiful state. in the way of crops, alfalfa takes the lead in colorado, as wheat does in kansas. it requires the very minimum of care; the land being once planted with alfalfa, there is need only of turning on the irrigation, and mowing it, at the right time. alfalfa produces three crops a year, and yields from one to two tons per acre. it sells at from three to ten dollars a ton, and this makes a revenue quite worth considering. the difficulties encountered everywhere in colorado, in every branch of industry, or in domestic work, are those of securing labor. wages are high in every conceivable line of work, but to a large extent the labor and service, even when procured, is of a very poor order. in many of the larger hotels employés are often kept on the pay-roll for two months at a time when not needed, simply because it is impossible to fill their places when the need comes. from requirements of the seamstress, the laundress, the cook, the maid, the farmer's working-men, or the employés in almost any line of work, the same difficulty exists. much is heard regarding strikes and other forms of the eternal conflict between labor and capital; and yet the high rates paid, the concessions constantly made to the demands of employés, the conditions provided for them, would seem, at a superficial glance, to be such as to bridge over every difficulty. domestic service is something that presents the greatest problem on the part of the employer. if there is so large a number of "the unemployed" in the east, why should not the conditions balance themselves and this superfluous element find good conditions for living in colorado? this question involves the problem of economics, with which these pages have nothing to do; but no traveller, no sojourner, can linger in colorado who is not simply lost in wonder that the varied work that is waiting, with the most liberal payments for the worker, and the multitude of workers in the east who need the liberal payment, cannot, by some law of elective affinity, be brought together. when it is realized that the rocky mountains occupy in colorado more than five times the entire space of the alps in europe, their importance in climatic influence as well as in scenic magnificence can be understood. the forests of colorado are found on the mountains and foothills. the heights are covered with a dense growth of pine woods, while in lower ranges abound the silver spruce and the cedar. colorado has a state forestry association which aims to secure as a reservation all forests above the altitude of eight thousand five hundred feet, as this preservation is considered most important to the water supply. in the alps there are nine peaks over fourteen thousand feet in height; in the rocky mountains, within the limits of colorado alone, there are forty-three peaks, each one of which exceeds in height the jungfrau. there are in colorado more than thirty towns, each of which is the theatre of active progress, and each of which lies at an altitude exceeding that of the pass of st. bernard. the sublime cañons and gorges are eloquent of the story of titanic forces which rent the mountains apart. the vast plateaus were once the bed of inland seas. in the cañon of grand river towering walls rise to the height of half a mile, in sheer precipitous rock, for a distance of some sixteen miles. the strata of these rocks are distinctly defined, and the play of color is rich and fantastic. the vast walls are in brilliant hues of red and amber and green and brown,--the blending of color lending its enchantment to the marvellous scene. each cañon has its own individuality. no one repeats the wild charm of another. excursions abound. there is "the loop," an enchanting mountain ride made from denver within one day for the round trip; the "rainbow" tour, and others, besides that of the "circle" already described. in each and all these journeys the route is often on the very verge of the abyss, and the sublimities, the splendor of coloring, exceed any power of language to suggest. in northwestern colorado, along the white river and northward, lies the sportsman's paradise, now reached only by a stage drive of from forty-five to ninety miles from the little town of rifle on the "scenic route" of the denver and rio grande, beyond glenwood springs. trapper's lake and the marvine lakes are well known, and the marvine hunting lodge is a favorite resort of english tourists. estes park, some seventy miles from denver, a favorite summer resort, is a long, narrow plateau of two or three miles in width and fifteen in length, a mile and a half above sea level, and enclosed in mountain walls that tower above the park from two to seven thousand feet. a swift stream, well stocked with trout, runs through the park. the four great systems of parks divide colorado into naturally distinct localities: north park, with an area of twenty-five hundred square miles; middle park, with its three thousand; the smaller south park of one thousand; and san luis, with over ninety-four hundred square miles,--all, in the aggregate, presenting a unique structural plan. every journey in colorado has its vista of surprise. no artist can paint its panoramas. every traveller in this land of enchantment must realize that its exhilaration cannot be decanted in any form. it is a thing that lies in character, moulding life. colorado is the land of achievement. it offers resources totally unsurpassed in the entire world for an unlimited expanse. these resources await only the recognition of him who can discern the psychological moment for their development. that nothing is impossible to him who wills is one of the eternal verities, and even the expert census taker, or the supernatural tax collector whom nothing escapes, might search in vain, within the limits of the splendid centennial state, for any man who fails to will. the resplendence of this state of stars and sunshine is due to this blaze of human energy. the coloradoans are the typical spirits who are among those elect "... who shall arrive prevailing still; spirits with whom the stars connive to work their will." chapter v the colorado pioneers "_around the man who seeks a noble end not angels, but divinities attend._" "_in the deep heart of man a poet dwells who all the day of life his summer story tells; scatters on every eye dust of his spells, scent, form, and color: to the flowers and shells wins the believing child with wondrous tales; touches a cheek with colors of romance, and crowds a history into a glance; gives beauty to the lake and fountain, spies over-sea the fires of the mountain; when thrushes ope their throat, 'tis he that sings, and he that paints the oriole's fiery wings. the little shakespeare in the maiden's heart makes romeo of a plough-boy on his cart; opens the eye to virtue's starlike meed and gives persuasion to a gentle deed._" emerson not even the starry splendor of colorado skies or the untold magic of the atmosphere vibrating with unwritten music, pictorial with such scenes as no artist ever put on canvas; not even the scientific achievements in feats of civil and electrical engineering; not even any advancement of the arts and the development of industries, commerce, or economics that bring the general life into increasing harmony with the physical environment,--none of these things, important and significant as they are, touch the profoundest interest of colorado. for this supreme interest is that of the noble men and women whose lives have left to the state the legacy of their hopes, their efforts, their earnestness, and their faith. "much is made of the pilgrim fathers who landed on plymouth rock," editorially remarked the "denver republican" in an article on "pioneers' day," in june of ; "and if there had been phonographs in those days to preserve the record of the speech of one of those old fugitives from european persecution, with what delight the men and women of this generation would listen to the tones which come from the instrument! but, after all, were the pilgrim fathers, canonized by nearly three hundred years of tradition, any braver, any more venturesome, any more worthy of honor, than the pioneers who fought indians and struggled against adverse fortune of every kind while they laid in fear and hope the foundations of this great state?" among the poems of walt whitman is one entitled "the beginners," which interprets a high quality of life. the lines are as follows: "how they are provided for upon the earth (appearing at intervals): how dear and dreadful they are to the earth: how they inure to themselves as much as to any--what a paradox appears this age: how people respond to them, yet know them not: how there is something relentless in their fate, all times: how all things mischoose the object of their adulation and reward, and how the same inexorable price must still be paid for the same great purchase." the price was paid by the pioneers of colorado. they poured out lavishly all their hope, their indomitable energy, their patience, which was faith, as well. they planted, knowing that not to themselves would come the harvest. they builded that those yet to come might have shelter. they gave to colorado such an endowment of potent but invisible force that its momentum pervades the air to-day. the accelerated ratio of power with which spiritual forces proceed defies even the ablest of the statisticians. in all the chapters of american history there are none more thrilling than the story of the early life in colorado; there are no chapters that more vividly demonstrate the absolutely present and practical aid of the divine guidance of god acting through his messengers,--those who have lived on earth and have gone on into the life more abundant. the lives of the remarkable men and women who have been canonized by the church have left the world the better for their being and humanity the richer for the inheritance of their experience. their history is not to be held merely as tradition or as superstition. let one visit in italy assisi, the home of st. francis; siena, the home of st. catherine, and follow the footsteps of others whose names enrich the church calendar, to their homes and haunts, and their record becomes vivid and vitalized as, to a stranger visiting boston, might become the footsteps of her noble and consecrated lives which are yet almost within universal personal remembrance: the lives of lydia maria child, william lloyd garrison, emerson, whittier, lucy stone, lowell, mary a. livermore, james freeman clarke, and phillips brooks,--men and women whom boston may well hold as her prophets and her saints. they, too, were of the order of "the beginners." they sowed the seeds of the higher life. they were receptive to all high counsels from the ethereal world, from the divine realms; they listened to great truths which the multitude did not hear, and they gave it anew by voice and by pen, till all the world might hear and read and receive it. they were, indeed,-- "god's prophets of the beautiful." such persons were living a twofold life during their entire earthly pilgrimage, and we may well recall their lives and link them with those of the great and the holy men and women of all ages and all climes. the pathfinders of human progress do not live for personal ease,-- "the hero is not fed on sweets." these are royal natures, who come into the world not to enjoy ease and prosperity, but who bring with them the high destiny of sacrifice. their lives are companioned with struggle and conflict. of such experiences as theirs well might be asked the question so impressively conveyed in these noble lines by america's great woman poet,--our poet who sang the song of the nation's "battle-hymn,"--julia ward howe: "what hast thou for thy scattered seed, o sower of the plain? where are the many gathered sheaves thy hope should bring again?" "the only record of my work lies in the buried grain." "o conqueror of a thousand fields! in dinted armor dight, what growths of purple amaranth shall crown thy brow of might?" "only the blossom of my life flung widely in the fight." "what is the harvest of thy saints, o god! who dost abide? where grow the garlands of thy chiefs in blood and sorrow dyed? what have thy servants for their pains?" "this only--to have tried." these shining ones are on earth to serve as co-workers with the divine power; to serve through good fortune or ill fortune; through evil report or good report,--still to serve; still to follow the gleam. these are the men who "... make the world within their reach somewhat the better for their being and gladder for their human speech." the names of many of these heroic pioneers of colorado may be unwritten save in the pages of the recording angel; but they live and are immortal in the influence they have left as a heritage to succeeding generations, in the trains of thought and purposes they initiated, and in all that potent power of generous aims and noble ideals,--for all advancing civilization rests on lofty ideals. "while the basis of civilization must be material," says the rev. dr. charles gordon ames of boston, "its life must be spiritual. its end and object must be the soul, and not the body; and it will provide all best things for the body, that the soul may be worthily housed and served. the higher and chief interests of society will always be intellectual, affectional, aspirational--human and humane. the true, the beautiful, and the good--almost unknown to the barbarian, and often mocked at by the philistines of modern society--will be sought for as men seek for gold and pearls of great price. wealth will bring its offering to the altars of education and art and worship. science, as it searches the worlds of matter and of mind, will find new and sacred parables and gospels of grace. learning will be a priestess of truth. the imagination of man will wander and wander in the wide creation, free, fearless, and glad, knowing that the father's house is everywhere, and that his child may be everywhere at home." in many of the pioneer households of colorado, whether those of plenty or of privation, the children had the inestimable advantage of the refined and beautiful atmosphere of a home in which high ideals and lofty devotion to intellectual progress and spiritual culture prevailed. if schools were insufficient, there were the trained educational methods of both the father and the mother under which they were reared and taught; and poverty of purse cannot greatly matter where there is no poverty of the spirit. well may these pioneers of colorado be held as belonging to that order of humanity which the poet calls "the beginners." some of them were unlettered and untaught save in the great school of life itself; some of them were rich in learning and culture; but they all shared in common a devotion to progress differing only in degree or conception: they shared common sacrifices; they gave their best energies to the development of a great and beautiful state whose increasing rate of progress is to them an immortal monument. these leaders of humanity whom the poet so finely characterizes as "the beginners" are an order of people always appearing on earth. they are of those who hear the song in the air and behold the star in the sky. they are the persons who discern--and follow--the gleam. their lives are rich in service and sacrifice. their kingdom is not of this world. their lives are not unfrequently cheerless and cold, but on their altar fires glows the living coal sent down from heaven. they fast that others may feast. they accept privations that others may revel in possessions. they pay the inexorable price for the same great purchase. they are those who are sent on earth peculiarly set apart to co-operate with god in the larger fulfilment of the divine laws. they pay the inexorable price of toil and labor and sorrow and sacrifice. they rise into the everlasting triumph and the beauty and the joy of spirituality of life. they give all for this; they find all in it. but let no one resign his hopes or his dreams. let no one doubt, for an instant, that all of goodness and beauty and sweetness and joy that he longs for is on its way toward him. it is only a question of time. let him be patient, which is not a mere passive and negative condition, but one full of intense activities and serene poise; let him be patient and believing, and make room in his life for that immortal joy which no man taketh from him. the town of greeley, with its felicitous location midway between the two state capitals, denver and cheyenne, fifty miles from each, and which is already the principal town of northern colorado as pueblo is of the southern part of the state, has a romantic and thrilling story connected with its founding. in the history of colorado, among the many men whose lives stand out in noble pre-eminence, was that of the founder of greeley, hon. nathan cook meeker, whose personal life is inseparably associated with the interesting town which owes to him its origin. the meekers trace their ancestry to men who went to england from antwerp about . in robert and william meeker came to this country and settled in new haven. thirty years later william meeker removed to new jersey, and the town of elizabeth was founded by him and named for his wife. he was a leader in the affairs of the day, held prominent office, and in he died, leaving the old meeker homestead in newark, new jersey, which is still in the possession of his descendants. one of his sons was joseph meeker, also prominent in promoting the conditions of progress, and he was the grandfather of nathan cook meeker, the founder of greeley, who inherited the qualities that have made the family a marked one in america. when he was but seventeen he carried on an extensive correspondence with henry clay, john tyler, george d. prentice, and other noted men of the day, discussing with them subjects of importance, and he was a contributor even in these early years to the "louisville journal," then edited by george d. prentice, and now the "courier-journal," edited by the brilliant colonel henry watterson; to the new orleans "picayune," and other leading papers. even in his early youth mr. meeker seems to have been a man of perpetual aspiration and honorable ambition carried out to achievement, and by means of his own energy and persistence he graduated in from oberlin college, became a teacher, and later (for literary work was his dominant gift) became a regular contributor to the "new york mirror," edited by n. p. willis, the poet, and the most brilliant man of letters of his day. mr. meeker wrote both prose and poetry,--essays, romance, and verse alike flowing from his facile pen. he is the author of three books, one of which he dedicated to president pierce, and which is in the boston public library among the choice and rare works not allowed for general circulation but kept intact for the special use of scholars and researchers. he became one of the leading writers of the day on sociology, advancing many ideas which are to-day maintained by thoughtful students of the questions involved in this subject. founding towns seemed to "run in the family," and even as his great-grandfather founded the town of elizabeth, new jersey, so nathan cook meeker felt the impulse to stamp his own strong and progressive individuality on new communities. he became the secretary and librarian (in ) of the ohio trumbull phalanx, a colony founded to realize in practical form the theories of fourier, and somewhat similar to the famous brook farm experiment. mr. meeker also co-operated in founding the western reserve institute, of which, many years afterward, hon. james a. garfield became president. about this time he married arvilla delight, a daughter of levi smith of connecticut and a descendant of elder brewster; a woman whose singular force, exaltation, and beauty of character may be traced through a notable new england ancestry. the family soon removed to the western reserve in ohio. mrs. meeker had been known in her sweet girlhood as the beauty of the town. she was a woman of exceptional refinement and culture; for many years a teacher, and, more than all, of a spirituality of character that added to her life its dignity and grace. the spell of destiny, the burden always laid upon "the beginners," seemed to be on nathan cook and arvilla delight meeker; for no history of the work of the husband could be written that did not include that of the wife. like nathaniel and sophia hawthorne, their lives were conjoined in that perfect mutual response of spiritual sympathy which alone makes the mystic marriage a divine sacrament. horace greeley became interested in mr. meeker's work and invited him to a place on the editorial staff of "the tribune," a position which he filled with conspicuous ability for several years; but in common with all idealists, mr. meeker was haunted and beset by his visions of a more utopian future for humanity. a colorado journal, recently giving some reminiscences of the life of its great citizen, said: "in the fall of mr. meeker made a trip to the west for the 'tribune,' writing interesting letters by the way. on his return to new york he was full of the idea of establishing a colony in colorado. he mentioned his ambition to john russell young, who talked it over with mr. greeley, and that great man, at the first opportunity, said to the returned correspondent: 'i understand you wish to lead a colony to colorado.' when mr. meeker answered 'yes,' greeley added, 'i think it would be a great success. go ahead; "the tribune" will stand by you.' "with such encouragement mr. meeker spent the following day in writing the article announcing his purpose and outlining the plan which was afterwards adopted as the constitution of the colony. mr. greeley suggested a few minor changes, after which the article was printed and kept in type for a week, in order, as its author said, 'that there might be due reflection and no haste.' it was published in the 'tribune' of december , , with an editorial indorsement of the plan and its originator. nine days later the colony was organized, and yet in that short time more than a thousand letters had been received in answer to the article. on the th of the next april the certificate of organization of 'the union colony of greeley' was filed for record." in less extended detail some outline of the life of the founder of greeley, the "garden city" of colorado, has already been narrated by the writer in a previous book;[ ] but no adequate reference can be made to the state in which mr. meeker's life and work remains as so remarkable a contribution and so fundamental a factor, which does not present in full the story of his relation to its development; and the matter is thus presented even at the risk of some minor repetitions. in the spring of mr. meeker led his colony to colorado. the colonists wished to give the town the name of its founder, but he himself insisted that it should bear the name of greeley, after the great editor of the "tribune," of whose staff he was still a member. into all the sacrifice and the hardships of this pioneer life mrs. meeker, a woman gently born and bred, entered with the utmost heroism. from the very inception the undertaking was a signal success. but mr. meeker conceived of still another extension of his activities in the problem then so prominently before the country,--the civilization of the indians. he was appointed agent of the northern utes, in possession of the great park region of the rocky mountains, on white river. to it he went in the same spirit in which general armstrong entered on his work at hampton. he had matured certain theories regarding the proper treatment of the indians, in bringing them within the pale of the civilized arts,--theories so wise, so just, so humane, that they might be studied with advantage. these theories he put to the test. his youngest daughter, a beautiful and gifted girl, opened a free school for teaching the indians. his wife united with him in every kindly and gracious act by which he strove to win the confidence of the race. this kindness and gentleness was unmeasured. the family lived a life of constant sacrifice and effort for the education and training of the utes. but the indian nature is one that wreaks its revenge,--not necessarily on the aggressor, but on the first comer. other agents had been lax, and a number of causes of discontent to which allusion cannot here be made fanned the smouldering fire. their chief complaints were that they were required to work, and to abandon a bit of pasturage, only a few acres, for the new agency grounds and gardens. events drew on like the fates in a greek tragedy, and on the morning of september , , mr. meeker was cruelly massacred. the little town of meeker marks the site of the meeker massacre. here is a little village of a thousand inhabitants, located on white river, among the most beautiful of the mountain ranges,--the location being very much like that of florence, in italy,--which is the centre of a very rich agricultural and grazing region. meeker is now forty-five miles from a railroad, the nearest station being rifle, on the denver and rio grande, a few miles from glenwood springs; but the moffet road brings to it railroad connection with denver. there is an extensive stage line of over one hundred miles, starting from rifle and going on through meeker up into the mountains, where the hunting attracts a great number of travellers, and especially many englishmen. it is in this region that president roosevelt's happy hunting-grounds lie, and he is a familiar and favorite figure in meeker. there is a little gray-stone episcopal church among other churches that adorn this town, which has laid out a handsome park and which has the perpetual adornment of the beautiful river that flows through it. the mountains about supply streams that make irrigation easy, and the great fields of wheat, potatoes, and alfalfa are fertile and prosperous. irrigation makes it everywhere possible to control the climatic conditions. meeker is the county seat of rio blanco county, in which uranium has been discovered in two different places; and two oil wells, each at a cost of four thousand dollars, a creamery, costing nearly six thousand dollars, and water-works at a cost of sixty thousand dollars, have been established within the past two years. fifteen reservoirs and eighty miles of irrigation ditches were constructed in , and in that year was harvested, in this county, a quarter of a million bushels of wheat, oats, and rye. the basis on which greeley was founded is thus outlined in the official documents drawn up by nathan cook meeker: "i propose to unite with proper persons in the establishment of a union colony in colorado territory. a location which i have seen is well watered with streams and springs; there are beautiful pine groves, the soil is rich, the climate healthful, grass will keep stock the year round, coal and stone are plentiful, and a well-travelled road runs through the property." mr. meeker proceeded to note the cost of the land,--eighteen dollars for every one hundred and sixty acres,--and he especially called attention--for he had the poet's eye--to the grandeur of the rocky mountain scenery, and he added: "the persons with whom i would be willing to associate must be temperance men and ambitious to establish good society, and among as many as fifty, ten should have as much as ten thousand dollars each, or twenty should have five thousand dollars each, while others may have from two hundred dollars to one thousand dollars and upward. for many to go so far without means could only result in disaster." the practical wisdom of this clause will be appreciated. the true idealist is the most practical and wisest of counsellors. it is only false idealism that leads to destruction. mr. meeker's idea was to make the settlement a village, with ample building lots, and then to apportion to each family from forty to one hundred and sixty acres outside for agriculture. on such a basis as this the union colony of greeley was founded. a constitution was adopted that is a model of the condensation of the duties of good citizenship. industry, temperance, education, and religion were the pillars on which the superstructure was raised. it is little wonder that the social quality of greeley to-day--thirty-six years after its inauguration as a community--is of the highest type and exceptional among all the cities of the united states. irrigation was the first necessity. a canal thirty miles long was dug, costing sixty thousand dollars. the cache la poudre was first examined and then tapped to furnish water. the elevation of the surrounding high bluffs secured the needed descent for the flow of water. the life began. greeley is now a town of some seven thousand inhabitants; the seat of the state normal college, which its president, dr. z. x. snyder, has made one of the great educational institutions, not only of colorado, but of the united states; a college that draws students from almost every section, even from new england, so able is president snyder's course of instruction and so admirable are the opportunities it affords for subsequent connection with the fine public school system in colorado. a position in any of these offers a higher salary than can be obtained in the east, to say nothing of many other advantages associated with the work. dr. snyder was one of the eminent educators of the east; and when some sixteen years since he accepted his present responsible office, he brought to it the best traditions of eastern culture and united them with the zeal and freedom and infinite energy of the west. the normal campus of forty acres on high ground, overlooking the town, with president snyder's residence in the grounds and other college buildings near, comprise a beautiful feature of greeley. the western view, both from the college and from the home of president and mrs. snyder, over the mountain range including long's peak, is one of almost incomparable beauty. the faculty of the state normal comprises thirty specialists; there is a library of thirty thousand volumes; the laboratory has the latest scientific equipment of the day; the art department and the music course are admirably conducted; french, german, and italian are taught according to the latest language methods; and athletics, domestic science, nature studies, all receive due recognition. the "training school" of the state normal college has an attendance of nearly five hundred, and the graduates of this institution begin work on salaries ranging from five hundred to twenty-five hundred dollars annually. the tuition is free to all citizens of colorado. the many churches, the excellent public schools, the clubs and societies for social enjoyment and improvement, indicate the high quality of life in greeley. there are three newspapers; and of these the "greeley tribune," founded by mr. meeker and now under the able editorship of mr. c. h. wolfe, has created for itself more than a local reputation. financially, greeley stands well, with its several banks and its solidity of resources. there is hardly a shabby house to be found in all the town, whether of residence or business. every building has a neat and thrifty aspect, and the art of architecture has been especially studied, for almost without exception every house, whether large or small, is tasteful and attractive. a bay window is thrown out here, a little balcony there, a piazza, a loggia, an oriel window, and the eye is gratified. but, besides this dainty and tasteful architecture, the one great feature of greeley is her beautiful streets. these are due directly to the taste and the direction of the founder, mr. meeker. the streets are one hundred feet wide, lined invariably--every street in the town--with a double row of shade trees, giving coolness, beauty, and contributing much to the modification of the temperature. every deed granted in greeley forbids the sale of any intoxicating liquor. there is not a saloon in the place. there is not a loafer or a criminal, nor are there any poor in the unfortunate sense of the large cities. no police are needed. the jail is locally known as a mere ornamental appendage to the fine forty thousand dollar courthouse. for many years it has been felt that some expression should be made in honor of the memory of the founder of greeley, and this has now taken form in the project for the "meeker memorial library," which is in preparation. the beautiful young city is itself, however, the best memorial of its noble founder. it is a living monument of perpetually increasing greatness and beauty; and who to-day can wander under the shade of the beautiful trees which in a double row line every street and boulevard--trees planted in under mr. meeker's personal superintendence--without hearing amid the rustle of their whispering leaves the poet's words, that fall like a benediction: "be of good cheer, brave spirit; steadfastly serve that low whisper thou hast served; for know, god hath a select family of sons now scattered wide thro' earth, and each alone, who are thy spiritual kindred, and each one by constant service to that inward law, is weaving the sublime proportions of a true monarch's soul. beauty and strength, the riches of a spotless memory, the eloquence of truth, the wisdom got by searching of a clear and loving eye that seeth as god seeth. these are their gifts, and time, who keeps god's word, brings on the day to seal the marriage of these minds with thine, thine everlasting lovers. ye shall be the salt of all the elements, world of the world." the glamour of romance can never fade from colorado, whose entire history is one of heroic deeds and splendid energy; but the primitive stage of the state is already left far behind with the nineteenth century. in its intellectual and scientific development the years of the twentieth century have almost exceeded its twenty-four years of life as a state in the nineteenth. the tide of immigration still continues, but from being the objective point of mining activities where fortune hunters rushed to find a royal road to riches, it is now a state of agriculture and of commerce. social conditions are thus altered; and though some of these conditions are those of mining regions, as in the cripple creek district, they have altered from the typical bret harte mining-camp life to those of orderly progress,--to the life dominated by twentieth-century ideals of humanity; the life whose framework is seen in public-school systems, in religious observance, in the liberal reading of periodical and other literature, and in the maintenance of public libraries as a necessity in every community. the dawn of literary and artistic development in colorado is very evident,--a dawn that is already of such radiant promise as to forecast the day when this state shall contribute to our greatest national literature. a large number of individual writers could already be named whose work in books, magazine articles, and excellent journalism might well be held as typical of the best culture of the entire country. the first wild turmoil of a new and richly varied state has given way to a prosperous, progressive commonwealth. material progress must still always precede the higher growth, yet the air is vital with ideas, and the vision of colorado is always toward the stars. the beauty and majesty of the environment cannot but react upon the people. the growth of women's clubs has been one steady factor of progress, with most favorable effect on all the general life of intellectual and moral advancement. the public libraries in every centre establish and develop the reading habit. while a love for beauty is an element in human life, the influence of the transcendent majesty and incomparable sublimity of the colorado scenery will continue to prove a source of inspiration to the mental and moral life of the people. the changing colors of the mountains are a constant delight. colorado offers a perpetual feast of beauty. her resources are infinite. colorado combines all the exaltation of the untried with an abundance of the conveniences and luxuries of the older civilization; and of this centennial state it is difficult to record facts and statistics that do not seem to suggest the tales of a thousand nights. with resources and with scenic loveliness which no language could exaggerate, it is still only to those who themselves know and appreciate the grandeur of this state that any interpretation of it will appear as rather within than as at all beyond the limits of the most statistical and demonstrable facts. the east has already outgrown the tradition that the entire trans-mississippi region is a howling wilderness. colorado is no longer as vague as is calcutta to the average mind. dr. edward everett hale exclaimed that he desired his sons to know that there was something in the world besides beacon street, and this ambition has of late years become too prevalent to leave even the extreme east in any absolute and total ignorance of the wonderful west. still it may be true that the flying visions from pullman-car windows are marvellously extended and intensified by increasing familiarity with the almost incredibly swift progress of this region. a typical illustration of the fallibility of human judgment is seen in the attitude taken in by the great daniel webster on the floor of the united states senate against an appropriation for a post route west of the missouri river. "what do we want," said he, "of this vast worthless area,--this region of savages and wild beasts, of deserts, shifting sands, and whirlwinds of dust, of cactus and prairie dogs? to what use could we ever hope to put these great deserts, or these endless mountain ranges, impregnable and covered to their base with eternal snow? what use have we for such a country? mr. president, i will never vote one cent from the public treasury to place the pacific coast one inch nearer boston than it is to-day." it is a far cry from this "vast worthless area," as mr. webster termed it in , to the grand and richly promising state of to-day, with its splendid young cities where art and science unite with literature and ethics in the rapid development of social progress; with its mountain ranges climbed in palace cars; its electric transit and electric lighting; its vivid and forceful achievements, that even in each decade concentrate the progress of a century, as seen in the past. it is not a mere vagary, but rather a practical and momentous fact, that colorado is peculiarly the realm receptive to invisible potencies and mental impressions. science is now confronted with the question as to whether thought and electricity may be identified as the same force under different degrees of manifestation. "there is an elemental essence--a strange living force--which surrounds us on every side, and which is singularly susceptible to the influence of human thought," says an english scientist, and he continues: "this essence responds with the most wonderful delicacy to the faintest action of our minds or desires; and this being so, it is interesting to note how it is affected when the human mind formulates a definite thought or desire." all the significance of a thousand years may be concentrated in an instant's thought, as all the heat stored up in all the forests of the world is concentrated in a small quantity of radium. emerson embodies this truth in the stanza: "his instant thought a poet spoke, and filled the age his fame; an inch of ground the lightning strook but lit the sky with flame." it is intensity, not duration, that is of consequence, and that determines results. to state that there is something in the colorado air that incites active and lofty thought; that uplifts the soul and enables one to discern the practical processes for identifying the most marvellous scenic grandeur of the civilized world with the most advanced processes of applied industries, is to state a simple fact. phillips brooks once said: "i know no ideal humanity that is not filled and pervaded with the superhuman. god in man is not unnatural, but the absolutely natural. that is what the incarnation makes us know.... the truths of heaven and the truths of earth are in perfect sympathy.... the needs of human nature are supreme, and have a right to the divinest help." the early explorers and pioneers in colorado felt this truth, so finely stated by bishop brooks, even if they did not formulate it in words. the apparently insuperable obstacles of a land where the desert disputed the space with the titanic mountain ranges piled against the sky, incited them to effort rather than paralyzed their energy. it is fitting that this most ideal state, rich in resources of almost undreamed-of variety and importance, should present a significant object lesson in the working out of the problem involved in the higher civilization of the twentieth century. the future of denver, of pueblo, colorado springs, greeley, and other important centres, is a most important part of the future of the nations. the star of high destiny shines on the centennial state. chapter vi the surprises of new mexico "_but my minstrel knows and tells the counsel of the gods, knows of holy book the spells, knows the law of night and day,_ * * * * * _what sea and land discoursing say in sidereal years._" emerson new mexico is the scene of surprises. traditionally supposed to be a country that is as remote as possible from the accepted canons of polite society; that is also an arid waste whose temperature exceeds the limits of any well-regulated thermometer,--it reveals itself instead as a region whose temperature is most delightful, whose coloring of sky and atmosphere is often indescribably beautiful, and whose inhabitants include their fair proportion of those who represent the best culture and intelligence of our country. new mexico has a mixed population. to a hundred and sixty thousand americans there are a hundred and twenty-five thousand of spanish or mexican descent; a few hundred chinese and japanese, and some thirteen thousand indians, who are, however, peaceful and industrious, and a proportion of whom have been educated in the government schools for the indians. [illustration: acoma, new mexico] the altitude of new mexico seldom falls to less than five thousand feet, so that the air is cool and exhilarating. the rock formations partake of the same rich hue that characterizes those in colorado and in arizona, and as the soil is rich there is a continual play of color. the scenery is one changeful, picturesque panorama of mountains, rock, or walled cañons, vast mesas, uncanny buttes, and lava fields left by some vanished volcanic fires. the ancient indian pueblos are still largely inhabited, and strange ruins of unknown civilizations add their atmosphere of mystery. the mouldering remains of the old pecos church and the strange communistic dwellings in the old pueblo de taos; the ruins of the fortress and the seven circular mounds, which were the council-chambers and halls for mystic rites of the prehistoric civilization; and the fabled site of the ancient aztec city where tradition says montezuma was born,--all contribute to a unique interest in this "land of the turquoise sky," as new mexico is called. acoma, the ancient pueblo perched on a perpendicular precipice four hundred feet high, with its terraced dwellings of adobe, its gigantic church, its reservoir cut out of solid rock, and its inhabitants with their strange customs, is fairly accessible to the traveller from albuquerque by a drive of some twenty miles. mr. lummis calls it "the most wonderful pueblo," and "the most remarkable city in the world," as compared, of course, with other pueblos and ruined cities. acoma has a present population of some four hundred indians, and its romantic beauty of location is unparalleled. there are scientists who incline to believe that the original acoma was built on the top of the _mesa encantada_,--the "enchanted mesa,"--a sheer, precipitous rock seven hundred feet high which is now practically unscalable; although mr. f. w. hodge, of the bureau of ethnology, achieved this apparently impossible feat, and found what is, in his convictions, unmistakable evidence of human habitation, supporting the traditions regarding this colossal rock. some mighty cataclasm of nature swept the approach away; but if ever there were human habitations on the "enchanted mesa," the period is lost in prehistoric ages. [illustration: the enchanted mesa, new mexico] the colossal church in acoma is a striking feature. its walls are ten feet in thickness and sixty feet high, and the church and yard in which it stands consumed forty years in their construction. it was only reached by rude stairs cut in the rock. dim traditions, which are perhaps hardly more than speculative theory, suggest that these steps of approach were suddenly swept away by some convulsion of nature at a time when the men of this prehistoric pueblo were away hunting, or otherwise engaged in procuring means of sustenance, and that the women and children were thus cut off from all supplies and aid and left to starve. mr. lummis has a theory that seems to him possible, if not probable, that there was a ledge of neighboring rocks which served as ladders to the _mesa encantada_, and that these rocks were swept away by some frightful storm, or some sudden convulsion of nature, during the absence of the men; and that a new city--the present acoma--was then built on the lesser rock on which it now stands. acoma was old even when coronado, in , made his expedition through the country, from which period the authentic history of new mexico begins with the meagre records of the heroic friars and the memorials of the spanish conquerors. laguna, a pueblo founded in , lies twenty miles from acoma on the santa fé route, of which it is one of the interesting features. all these old spanish missions, which are found in more or less degrees of preservation in all this chain of pueblos in the valley of the rio grande, contain ancient paintings and statues of saints. largely, the paintings are crude and worthless, but there exist those that have legitimate claim to art as the work of spanish artists not unknown to fame. among these is the painting of san josé in the mission at acoma, a painting presented by charles ii of spain. this mission was founded by friar ramirez, who dedicated it "to god, to the roman catholic church, and to st. joseph,"--who was the patron saint of this pueblo. there is an amusing legend that laguna, submerged in all manner of disasters, looked on the prosperity of acoma and ascribed it wholly to the influence of this picture of the saint before which the people made their daily adorations and laid their votive offerings. laguna believed that san josé would invest it with the same felicities enjoyed by the neighboring city, could they only secure the portrait, and their urgent plea to borrow it for a time was granted by acoma. their confidence in the saint was justified; peace and plenty again smiled on laguna, and they made their daily devotions before the great picture. at length, so runs the legend, acoma reminded laguna that a loan was not a gift,--to be held in perpetual fee, and demanded its return. the faithless people of laguna declared it was their own,--and the case actually went into litigation and was tried in court. judge kirby benedict, after hearing all the evidence, decided in favor of acoma, but the picture had mysteriously disappeared. the messengers sent from acoma to bring the sacred treasure at last discovered it under a tree half-way between the two pueblos. they instantly recognized that the saint, rejoiced at the righteous decision, had started on his homeward journey of his own volition. the last one of the franciscan friars to minister in new mexico was padre mariano de jesus lopez, whose work was in acoma, the "city in the sky." of all the cliff-built cities, acoma is the most marvellous. its terraced dwellings seem, as mr. lummis so graphically says, to be "the castles of giants," for "the lapse of ages has carved the rocks into battlements, buttresses, walls, columns, and towers, and the view from this cloud-swept city is one never to be forgotten. on this cliff the sand rises and falls like the billows of the sea." [illustration: laguna, new mexico, on the santa fÉ railroad] no latter-day interest of contemporary life, either in the romantic scenery or the potential development of new mexico, can exceed the richness of its prehistoric past and the marvels of this ancient civilization that yet remain. alluding to these wonderful monumental remains, colonel max frost, of santa fé, who knows his territory in every aspect of its life and its attractions, says: "the pajarito cliff-dwellers' park, the chaco cañon, the gila cañon, western valencia and socorro counties abound in cliff and communal buildings, the age of which has puzzled scientists, but which are older than any other ruins on the american continent, and probably in the world. the most accessible cliff-dwellers' region is the pajarito park, only one day's overland trip from santa fé or española, in which twenty thousand cliff-dwellings and caves are situated within a comparatively small area. the scenery of this natural park is superb; 'wonderful' is the only adjective that will do justice to the caves in the cliffs, high and inaccessible almost as eagles' nests, but showing many other signs of occupation besides the peculiar picture writings in the soft volcanic tufa of which the cliffs are composed. in addition to the cliffs, there are remains of communal buildings of later occupation, some of them containing as high as twelve hundred rooms. there are also burial mounds with remains of ancient pottery. along the eastern foot of this steep plateau flows the rio grande and lie the villages of san ildefonso, santa clara, and san juan, while to the west rise the stupendous mountain masses of the valles, the cochiti and jemez ranges, with their deep forests and cañons, their famous hot springs, their indian villages, and their mines. where else on earth is there so much of the beautiful in scenery, of romance, of historic monuments, of prehistoric remains, of the ancient, the unique, the picturesque, the sublime, to be found as within a radius of fifty miles of santa fé? one day's trip will take the wanderer from the historic old palace and san miguel church in the city of the holy faith, over the foothills of the sangre de cristo range, from which rise in full view mountain peaks almost thirteen thousand feet high, into the picturesque tesuque valley and by the ancient indian pueblo of tesuque. the road winds through sandhills that the air and the rain have cut into grotesque shapes, huge as titans and weird as the rock formations in the garden of the gods. then come once more fertile fields and the village of cuymungue, formerly an indian pueblo, now a native settlement. along the nambe river, with its grand falls, close by the indian pueblo of nambe to the pueblo of san ildefonso on the rio grande; then along that river through the laughing española valley, past the black mesa, a famous indian battleground, into the large indian pueblo of santa clara and its mission church to santa cruz, also with a quaint and ancient church building, threads the wagon road across the river into española. from there the road ascends the wildly beautiful santa clara cañon, along a rippling trout stream up to the steep cliffs of the puye and the shufinne, with their hundreds and thousands of prehistoric caves and communal buildings. and all that in one day's journey overland! if the trip be prolonged another day or two, the remarkable hot springs at ojo caliente and the hot springs in the deep chasm of the rio grande at wamsley's, the indian pueblos of picuris and taos, the finest trout streams and best haunts of wild game, or the jicarilla indian reservation, as well as busy lumber and mining camps, can be visited. and that is only in one direction from santa fé! going south, one day's trip will pass through the quaint settlements of agua fria, cienega, and cieneguilla, by the tiffany turquoise mines, the old mining camp of bonanza, the smelter at cerrillos, the ortiz gold placers, worked a hundred years before gold was discovered in california and still yielding gold dust and nuggets, the coal mines at madrid, where bituminous and anthracite coal have been mined from the same hillside, the placer and gold mines of golden and san pedro, not to speak of sheep and cattle ranches and the beautiful scenery of the cerrillos, ortiz, san pedro, and sandia mountains. "another trip of one day from santa fé will take the traveller by the pueblo ruins of arroyo hondo over apache hill, the battlegrounds of apache springs, the interesting native settlement of cañoncito, over glorieta pass and the battlefield of glorieta, to the upper pecos river, by the ancient and historic pecos church ruins, the village of pecos, and through the most beautiful summer-resort country in the southwest, where trout streams babble in every cañon and where from one summit can be surveyed the hoary heads of eleven of the twelve highest peaks in new mexico. "another day's trip out of santa fé will take the visitor up the rugged santa fé cañon, by the large reservoir and the aztec mineral springs to the scenic highway, which crosses the santa fé range into the upper pecos valley and unfolds at every step new mountain views and panoramas magnificent beyond description. nor do these trips exhaust the interesting points in and about santa fé. almost every other town in the territory offers sights and scenes of equal interest to the tourist and sightseer. "the prehistoric ruin of the chaco cañon and pueblo bonito, in southeastern san juan county, as well as those at aztec, in the same county, are more fully excavated than those of the pajarito park, and in some respects are more palatial and more impressive. they can best be reached from gallup or thoreau on the santa fé railway in mckinley county. "the prehistoric ruins on the gila forest reserve, as well as those in western valencia and socorro counties, have not been thoroughly explored thus far, being distant from the highways of travel; but on this very account they should have a special charm and attraction for the student of archæology. [illustration: cliff dweller ruins, near santa fÉ, new mexico] [illustration: stone tent, cliff dwellers, new mexico] "coming to more recent, although still ancient days, the ruins of the gran quivira and of nearby abandoned pueblo villages, between the jumanes mesa and the mal pais and jornado del muerto, are of great historic interest. they are best reached from the station of willard at the junction of the santa fé central and eastern railway of new mexico. similar ruins are found in western valencia, socorro, and other counties, and divide the interest of the tourist with the many present-day indian pueblos and spanish settlements boasting of considerable antiquity. the zuñi, navaho, jicarilla, and mescalero indian reservations are well worthy a visit, and upon the first two named are many prehistoric ruins. "foremost in interest and value in historic archæology are the old mission churches of the franciscans. in every occupied indian pueblo and at the site of almost every abandoned pueblo, there is one of the monuments of those pioneers of christianity and civilization, the franciscan fathers. many of these are in a good state of preservation, while others are in ruins, but every one is an object of historic interest. "the old mission church of san diego, which is the oldest of the california missions, was founded in . it is almost a total ruin; only the front remains in a good state of preservation. the side walls are still standing, but no portions of the roof or interior remain. this is the most venerable and venerated historic monument in the state of california, and is annually visited by thousands of tourists. it has stood for one hundred and sixty-four years. it marks the beginning of civilization and christianity in california. and yet, in new mexico, on the upper pecos, thirty-five miles west of las vegas, at the site of the abandoned pueblo of cicuye, are the ruins of the old pecos church. the church is three hundred years old. it was nearly one hundred and fifty years old when the san diego mission was founded. it was projected before the spanish armada was destroyed and antedates the coming of the mayflower and the settlement of jamestown. all that is said of the old pecos church may be said of that of jemez. they were built at the same time. the one at gran quivira was founded in , and is a fairly well-preserved ruin. the churches at san ildefonso and santa clara are in a complete state of preservation. they are nine years older than the oldest of the california ruins. the old san miguel mission in santa fé has been rebuilt. its walls date from , the roof from , or possibly a few years later. from the old church at algodones was taken a bell, cast in spain in , and at the cathedral at santa fé and other churches are ancient relics and art treasures of old spanish and italian masters. these are only a few examples selected at random from the large number of ancient churches of equally great interest scattered over new mexico. inscription rock, on the old road to zuñi, and every one of the pueblos from taos on the north to isleta on the south, and from the rio grande pueblos in the central part to zuñi in the west, are worthy of a visit, both for historic and present-day interest. "nor is there any other building in this country to compare in historic interest with the old palace at santa fé, which has been more to new mexico than faneuil hall to massachusetts or liberty hall to pennsylvania, nor is there any other town in the united states which offers so much of interest to the tourist as the city of st. francis d'assisi." it is no exaggeration to say that in many respects the archæological interest of new mexico, its atmosphere, its historic color, is as distinctive as that of egypt or of greece, italy, or spain. when, on december , , the first long-distance telephone in santa fé established communication _viva voce_ with denver, while within a radius of fifty miles, ruins of prehistoric civilization fascinated the tourist,--surely the remote past and the latest developments of the present met and mingled after the fashion of "blue spirits and gray." very curiously mixed is the civilization of new mexico. it can almost be said to lie in strata, like geologic testimony. the ancient peoples whose very name is lost,--shrouded in antiquity that has closed the chapters and refuses to turn the pages for the twentieth-century reader; the indian population; the spanish, whose explorers--alvar nuñez, cabeza de vaca, coronado, juan de oñate, and others--and whose missionaries, from the ranks of the franciscan friars, brought to the savage land the first message of modern civilization; and the american, which within almost the past half-century has established itself since that august day of when general kearny floated the stars and stripes from the "old palace" in santa fé. the american civilization and high enlightenment has poured itself into this "land of the sun king,"--the "land of the turquoise sky." for now, as colonel frost has so ably and comprehensively noted, "new mexico is strictly up to date in its government, in its hotels, its railroad accommodations, in the protection the law affords, in its universities, colleges, public schools, sanitariums, charitable institutions, its progress, and in its prosperity. churches are found in every settlement, newspapers in every town, together with fine stores, banking institutions, and every safety, comfort, and luxury that the centres of civilization of the east afford." if that vivid and inspiring group of the muses,--the muse of history, of science, of philosophy, and others,--painted by puvis de chavannes to adorn the court of the grand stairway of rich siena marble in the public library of boston,--an achievement in modern art that alone would immortalize the great painter of france,--if these muses could visit new mexico, the specialty of each would be found. the richly historic past that has left its various records; the present, that has impressed into its service every power of science, of engineering, of architectural construction, of agriculture, and of social progress, would furnish to each a vast field in its own especial domain. a work published in paris somewhere about the middle of the nineteenth century, entitled "_memoires historiques sur la louisiane_,"--a book that has never been translated,--gives an account of a french expedition in new mexico in search of a mine of emeralds and their encounter with the spanish forces; but although in this engagement the spanish troops suffered disaster, the spanish civilization still continues, while there is little permanent trace of the french in new mexico. it is a curious fact, however, that the present continues this varied and strangely assorted grouping of races which characterized the country in its earliest days. new mexico reminds one of algiers. there is the same oriental suggestion of intense coloring, of dazzling brilliancy of sky, of gleaming pearl, of floating clouds. there is one feature of this trans-continental trip which is of the first importance to the tourist, and this is the line of artistic and beautiful hotels built after the old mission design, the architecture felicitously harmonizing with the landscape,--those harvey hotels built in connection with the santa fé stations at principal points, as at trinidad, las vegas, albuquerque, and others, all christened with spanish names,--the "cardenas," the "castañeda," the "alvarado,"--all of which are conducted with a perfection of cuisine and service that is rarely equalled. the social and the picturesque charm of the long journey is singularly enhanced by the leisurely stops made for refreshment; the leaving the long train--with its two engines, one at either end--for the little exercise in fresh air gained by going into the dining-rooms; being able to procure papers at the news stands, fruit, or other delicacies, and enjoying the scenery and gaining some knowledge of the place. in connection with the alvarado, at albuquerque, are two buildings: one that offers a most interesting museum of indian archæological and ethnological collections, and the other showing native goods from africa and the pacific islands. salesrooms connected with these enable the traveller to purchase any souvenir from a trifle, to the costly baskets, richly colored navajo blankets, the strange symbolic pottery, or the objects of religious rites. a day's delay at albuquerque enables the traveller to visit four interesting pueblos,--santa ana, sandia, zia, and jemez,--in a day's stage ride between jemez and albuquerque. at all these important stations on the route the santa fé has established free reading-rooms for its employés, fitted up with every comfort. new mexico, while partaking in the general fascination that invests all the great southwest, is especially not only a land of enchantment, but a land of opportunities. it is a country of untold latent wealth, of uncalculated resources. there are vast tracts of soil that are ready for the cultivation they will so bountifully repay; there are over three hundred mining districts, few of which are developed. six million sheep are grazing upon its thousand hills, which would furnish raw material for a large number of woollen mills. the land is favorable for the culture of the sugar beet, and manufactories for this product are needed. a local authority states that "the rubber plant is indigenous and mineral products are of such extent and variety that industries that need them for raw material, or incidentally in the process of manufacture, will find in this part of the united states a location much more favorable than most of the eastern manufacturing centres. there exist large deposits of iron ore, fluxing material and fuel for furnaces, steel mills and smelters, and there are but few branches of manufacture which could not be established with profit in this part of the southwest. besides the raw material there are offered the water-power, the fuel, the cheap labor, special inducements, such as exemption from taxation for the first five years and a low assessment thereafter, favorable legislation, cheap building sites, railroad facilities, freedom from excessive competition, the increasing home demand of a growing commonwealth of vast resources, and proximity to the markets of mexico and the orient.... "farmers are urged to come to till the fertile soil under the most favorable conditions, and with home markets that pay better prices than can be obtained anywhere else. only a quarter of a million of acres are under cultivation, and most of these only in forage plants or in products that demand little attention; four times that area is immediately available for agricultural purposes. not one-half of the flowing water is utilized, and not one-fiftieth of the flood water is stored. there are undeveloped possibilities of farming by the campbell or dry-soil method. new mexico raises the finest fruit in the world, and every other crop that can be produced anywhere in the temperate zone. yet it imports annually millions of dollars' worth of flour, alfalfa, hay, potatoes, fruit, garden produce, poultry, eggs, butter, cheese, honey, beef, pork, and other products of the farm and dairy that it can and should raise at home. free lands, the finest climate in the world, irrigation, churches, schools, railroad facilities, home markets, good prices, and extensive range, are all factors which help to make the life of the farmer and stock grower in new mexico pleasant and prosperous." the visitor from the east enters new mexico through a long tunnel; and in raton, a prosperous city of some eight thousand people located in the raton mountains, is found the centre of an enormous coal belt, and also a promising oil field. raton is called the "gate city." it exports ice of a very pure quality, the water being from a reservoir of a capacity of over fifty million gallons. the streets of raton are graded and have electric lighting; there is a fine park, long-distance telephonic connection with colorado and new mexican cities, and its schools and churches are numerous. a new raton tunnel is now in process of construction by the santa fé line that will enter new mexico through the mountains at a lower point. the work is being done by electric drills that offer a most interesting spectacle in their process. the tunnel will cost a million dollars. most beautiful is the landscape and the coloring of air and sky between raton and las vegas. the cimarron range is silhouetted against the western sky; picturesque points on the old santa fé trail are seen; and mora cañon, through which the journey lies, has its romantic attractions. from the lofty plateau of raton's peak the deep, dark valley of rio las animas perdidas is disclosed; the matchless spanish peaks, "las cumbres españolas," lift their heads into the blue sky; pike's peak gleams like a monumental shaft in the clouds, and the snowy range, for more than two hundred miles, is within the luminous landscape. las vegas, the second city in importance in new mexico, is a fascinating place. there are really three towns of las vegas--the old spanish town, still retaining its ancient convent and missions; the new, up-to-date las vegas, with its castañeda hotel--beautiful in the old moorish architecture, with spacious piazzas and balconies; and las vegas hot springs, connected by trolley cars. thus there is the particular paradise of the invalid, or of those who take prevention rather than cure and a sunny winter in order not to be invalids; for at las vegas hot springs, to which a branch railroad of this omnipresent santa fé conveys the traveller--only six miles--the hot springs boil and bubble like the witches' caldron. here the guests may immerse themselves in boiling mineral water, or lie all day in the sunshine, or whatever else they prefer; and the medicinal waters, internally and externally administered, are said to make one over altogether. rheumatic and tubercular affections flee, it is said, before this treatment and the wonderful air; and apparently if ponce de leon had only chanced upon las vegas he would not have searched in vain for his fabled fountain. albuquerque is an exceedingly "smart" town. its residents are almost entirely eastern capitalists, who are living here that they may keep an eye on their possessions, mines, ranches, and the things of this world in general. however largely they have laid up their treasures in heaven, they have a goodly amount also on earth, over which they perhaps keep closer watch and ward than over their more immaterial possessions. at all events, albuquerque is a sort of newport of the west, where people drive and dance and dine from one week to another, and the women are so stylish as to suggest some occult affinities with the rue de la paix. in this brilliant and thoroughly up-to-date young city of albuquerque, the metropolis of new mexico; in las vegas, one of the fascinating towns of the continent; in raton and gallup, and in its capital, santa fé, the territory has a galaxy of exceedingly interesting towns. albuquerque is the trade centre of a region exceeding in area all new england. with a population estimated at some eighteen thousand; the seat of the university of new mexico, whose buildings occupy a plateau two hundred feet above the town, commanding a beautiful view; with a scenic background of the sandia and the jemez mountains; with the most extensive free public library in the territory; two daily journals and a number of weekly papers in both spanish and english, and several monthly publications; with its splendid railway facilities both to the north and the south, as well as on the great trans-continental line from the east to the pacific; with the shops of the santa fé road employing over seven hundred men, as the junction point of three lines of this superb system; and with the beautiful alvarado hotel, in the old spanish mission architecture, from whose wide piazzas the view comprises a host of mountain peaks piercing the turquoise sky, and whose beauty and comfort is a masterpiece of the magician of the land of enchantment; with the musée of indian relics and souvenirs of the moki, the navajo, the zuñi, pima, and apache; the fine mexican filigree work; the model of an indian pueblo, and other curios,--with all these and many other interesting aspects, albuquerque fascinates the tourist. in the "commercial club" it has a unique institution representing the combination of business and social life. the broad streets are well lighted by electricity; there is electric transit and a fine water system. albuquerque has also extensive manufacturing interests, in foundry, lumber, and other directions, which aggregate an investment of over two millions of capital with an annual productive value of more than four millions. returning to las vegas; with its ten thousand inhabitants, its large floating population drawn by the medicinal hot springs, and the seat of the territorial normal school. as a noted wool centre, and with its daily papers, good schools, and many churches, it is another alluring point. one feature of important interest is the new "scenic highway" that is in process of completion between las vegas and santa fé, across the pecos forest reserve, which will offer some of the grandest views in any of the mountain regions of the west. it will be to santa fé and las vegas what the beautiful drive between naples, sorrento, and amalfi is to southern italy. this scenic road will wind up to the dalton divide, nine thousand five hundred feet high, where lake peak, glittering with snow, santa fé cañon, and other peaks and precipices and cañons, are all about, and the pecos river is seen far below as a thread of silver. this drive will be one of the famous features of the entire west when completed. new mexico monopolizes the greatest belt of coal deposits west of the missouri, while arizona has the monopoly in pine forests. the reclamation work in the southern part of the rio grande valley is now in successful process, and near engle a reservoir forty miles in length will be established, having a capacity of two million acre-feet. it is estimated that a hundred and ten thousand acres of land will thus be put under irrigated agriculture which will yield marvellous returns in alfalfa, cereals, vegetables, and fruits. the government has also purchased the system of the pecos irrigation company, which is now transferred to the reclamation service of the united states. this is the largest irrigation scheme in new mexico. it is located on the pecos river, which is fed from springs many of which gush forth from the earth with such force as to indicate that their source must be in high, snow-crowned hills. new mexico's railroad facilities may be estimated from the fact that not a county in the territory is without a railroad, while many have the benefit of three lines. with twenty-five hundred miles of railroads within the territorial limits already in operation, it is confidently expected that this number will be increased to four thousand miles within two years, as much of this anticipated increase is already under construction. of the present railways eleven hundred miles belong to the santa fé system alone. the matchless scenery of the denver and rio grande route between ontonito and santa fé offers the tourist one of the most enjoyable of trips through española, caliente, and other points of beauty with the mountain peaks of san antonio, taos, ute, and others within the horizon, often appearing like islands swimming in a faint blue haze. there is space and to spare in new mexico. there are almost unlimited possibilities, with much to get and as much to give, and the latter is by no means less important in life than the former. out of a total area of over seventy-eight million acres only about a quarter of a million are under irrigation agriculture, and the field for reclamation is as unlimited as it is promising. the land is fertile and the productions are abundant. the sky is a dream of color and of luminous beauty, and the climate is one of the most delightful in the entire world. nor does new mexico suffer from that which is the greatest deprivation of arizona,--the lack of water. there is an abundance of the mountain flood waters that now go to waste which would store vast reservoirs; there is the flow of copious streams and large river systems, and there are artesian belts of water all ready for mechanical appliances. the campbell dry culture, which is increasingly in use in the eastern part of colorado, has been successfully introduced into new mexico. fruit-growing is already becoming an important industry, and the apple orchard, of all other varieties of horticulture, is the most successful. at the paris exposition in new mexico made an exhibit of apples, and also at buffalo in , receiving from the former the award to rank with those of the best apple-growing regions in any part of the united states, and from the latter the first prize. peaches, pears, and apricots grow well; the cherry does not thrive in new mexico, but grapes are grown with conspicuous success. the mineral resources of new mexico are varied, and include gold, silver, copper, lead, and other minerals. in precious stones there is promise of untold development. the tiffanys own large turquoise mines, whose supply, thus far, has proved inexhaustible; and the opal and the moonstone are found in many places. but it is as an agricultural commonwealth, and as the repository of vast coal belts, that new mexico is chiefly distinguished. it was early in february, , that the first train over the santa fé railroad entered the territorial capital and initiated its transformation from the mediæval spanish town to that which is, in part, the theatre of the progressive american life. in santa fé one of the landmarks pointed out to-day to the visitor is the old santa fé trail, whose story was told so vividly, some years ago, by colonel henry inman,[ ] who has described the majestic solitude of this highway and has narrated the mingled experiences of the early pioneers and the soldiers who thus marched through the wilderness. history and romance mingle in the wonderful past of new mexico, and it needs no sibyl of old to proclaim from the _mesa encantada_ the promise of the future to this beautiful land of the turquoise sky. chapter vii the story of santa fÉ "_from scheme and creed the light goes out, the saintly fact survives, the blessed master none can doubt revealed in holy lives._" "_oh, more than sacred relic, more than solemn rite or sacred lore, the holy life of one who trod the footmarks of the christ of god._" in the place once occupied by those whose lives were consecrated to the divine ideal, some influence, as potent as it is unseen, binds the soul to maintain the honor that they left; to hold the same noble standard of life. the spell is felt even while it eludes analysis. few to-day can tread the narrow, primitive little streets of old santa fé without some consciousness of this mystic influence. it was here, in the centuries gone from all save memory, that "there trod the whitest of the saints of god," and "the true city of the holy faith of saint francis" (_la ciudad real de la santa fé de san francisco_) is forever consecrated by the memory of these holy men, and vital with the tragic interest, the heroic and pathetic story of their lives. as early as friar marcos de nizza and other fathers of the church pressed on into this country--then an unknown wilderness--to extend the domain of the holy cross and carry onward "the true faith of st. francis." they encountered every hardship possible to a savage land; sacrifice and martyrdom were their reward. they left a land of learning and refinement to carry the light into regions of barbarism. they gave their lives to teaching and prayer, and they sowed without reaping their harvest. yet who shall dare think of their brilliant, consecrated lives as wasted? for the lesson they taught of absolute faith in god is the most important in life. faith provides the atmosphere through which alone the divine aid can be manifested, and the divine aid is sent through and by means of our friends and helpers and counsellors in the unseen world. it is man's business, his chief business, now and here, to co-operate with god in the carrying out of his plans and purposes. it was this literal and practical faith in divine aid that the franciscan fathers taught in the wilderness through all hardship and disaster. "say not the struggle naught availeth." it must always avail. "yet do thy work; it shall succeed in thine or in another's day, and if denied the victor's meed thou shalt not lack the toiler's pay." this spanish mission work planted itself over the entire vast region which is now known as new mexico, arizona, and southern california. the friars set out on long, lonely journeys, wholly without ways and means to reach a given destination save as they were guided by unseen hands and companioned by unseen guides. the cloud by day and the pillar of fire by night led them on. they went forth to meet desolation and sacrifice and often martyrdom; yet their gentle zeal and cheerful courage never failed. they traversed hundreds of miles of desert wastes; they encountered the cruel treatment of the apaches and the navajos; but these experiences were simply to them the incidents of the hour, and had no relation to the ultimate issue of their work. in the first church was founded, by a band of ten missionaries who accompanied juan de oñate, the colonizer, and was called the chapel of san gabriel de los españoles, but it was deserted when, in , the city of santa fé was founded by oñate, and in the church of san miguel was built. the original wall was partly destroyed in the rebellion of a half-century later, but it was restored in , and the new cathedral was built on the site where the present one now stands. as early as there were eleven spanish mission churches within the limits of what is now new mexico,--at pecos, jemez, and taos; at santa clara, san felipe, and other places, mostly within the valley of the rio grande. in six of the historic "seven cities of cibola," all zuñi towns, these missions were established; and in the ancient pueblo of san antonio de senecú, antonio de arteaga founded a church in ; in picuries, in , friar ascencion de zárate established the mission, and in one also in isleta. in passing glorieta, from the train windows, to-day, can be seen the ruins of the early mission church established there. before the close of the seventeenth century the churches in acoma, alameda, santa cruz, cuaray, and tabirá had been founded, the ruins of all of which are still standing. these franciscan fathers penetrated the desert and made their habitations in solitary wastes so desolate that no colonizers would follow; but to the indians they preached and taught them the elements of civilized life. "not the wildest conceptions of the mission founders could have foreseen the results of their california enterprises," says professor george wharton james in his interesting work on these old missions.[ ] "to see the land they found in the possession of thousands of savages converted in one short century, to the home of tens of thousands of happy, contented people, would have been a wild vision indeed. god surely does work mysteriously, marvellously, his wonders to perform." santa fé is the centre of the archdiocese whose other diocesean cities are denver and tucson. the archbishop, the most reverend j. b. salpointe, d.d., whose presence exalts the city of his residence, is one who follows reverently in the footsteps of him whose kingdom on earth the early franciscans labored to establish. [illustration: san miguel church, santa fÉ] in san miguel was restored by governor josé chacon medina salazar y villaseñor, marqués de peñuela, and two years later these restorations were completed. an inscription that can be traced to-day on the gallery bears this legend: el señor marqués de la peñuela hizo esta fábrica: el alférez real don augustin flores vergara su criado. año de . not only is this "city of the holy faith" consecrated by that sacrificial devotion of the franciscan fathers; the heroic explorers and pioneers, the brave and dauntless soldiers, from the time of cabeza de vaca and coronado to that of the gallant and noble general kearny, have left on santa fé the impress of their brave purpose and high endeavor. the old cathedral of san francisco, the ancient church of san miguel, and the rosario chapel, all interest the stranger. in diego de vargas marched up from the south with two hundred men and looked sadly at the little town of santa fé, from which his countrymen had been driven. it would seem that de vargas was a romantic figure of his time. he was evidently endowed with the characteristic vehemence of temperament, intense energy, and the genius for effective action that marked the spanish pioneers. he was rich in resources and manifested a power of swift decision regarding all the perplexities into which his adventurous life led, ever beckoning him on. the little town he had entered appealed to him in its impressive beauty. surrounded with majestic mountains, with their deep and mysterious cañons, it was then, as now, a region of entrancing sublimity. adjoining san miguel is the old house where coronado is said to have lodged in . the "old palace," always used by the governors of new mexico, is partly given over to a museum of indian and mexican curiosities. there is a little library, open only every other afternoon; there are many mountain peaks around, which are not difficult to climb, and which offer charming views. the new state house is a fine modern building, and governor hagerman, formerly an attaché of the american embassy at st. petersburg, is alert and progressive in his methods. more than half the residents of santa fé speak no english, and these spanish and mexican residents have their papers in their own language, their separate schools, and their worship in the old cathedral. in the early afternoon women in black, with black mantillas over their heads, are seen passing up san francisco street and entering the cathedral, where they fall on their knees and tell their beads in the silent church. often one may see in the streets a funeral procession. the casket is carried in a cart, and the family sit around it, on the bottom of the wagon. a few friends follow on foot, and thus the pathetic and grotesque little procession winds on its way. the history lying in the dim background of this ancient spanish city is one that impresses the imagination. it is a part of all that wonderful early exploration by the spanish pioneers of the vast region of country that is now known as arizona and new mexico. in cabeza de vaca, after following the disastrous expedition of pánfilo de narvaez to florida, set forth with four men to penetrate the vast unknown wastes to the west, and without compass or provisions they made their way, crossing the mississippi two years before its discovery by de soto, reached the moqui country, and finally arrived in sinolao with glowing tales that excited the enterprise of the spanish conquerors and led to the founding of another expedition authorized by the viceroy, mendoza. it fared forth under the leadership of padre marcos de nizza, who (in ) entered the country of the pimas, passed up the valley of the santa ana, and set up the cross, giving the country the name of the new kingdom of san francisco. padre de nizza's men were all massacred by the moquis, but he returned, as if bearing a charmed life, and set all new spain aflame with his tales of gold and of glory, and the great opportunity to extend the work of the holy cross. mendoza then proceeded to organize two other expeditions, one under the intrepid vasquez de coronado and the other under fernando alarçon. coronado visited the ruins of casa grande and at last reached the "seven cities," but their fabled wealth had shrunk to the sordid actualities of insignificant huts, and coronado returned to new spain in , disappointed and dejected. in the meantime the expedition of alarçon had sailed up the gulf of california (then known as the sea of cortez), and he discovered the colorado and the gila rivers, ascending the colorado in boats up to the foot of the grand cañon. then for nearly half a century no further efforts to explore this region were made. but it is interesting to note that some eighty years before the landing of the pilgrims a spanish expedition had penetrated into the country which is now arizona, and have left definite record of their discoveries. in antonio de espejio explored the pueblos of the zuñi and moqui tribes, visiting seventy-four in all, and discovering a mountain rich in silver ore. from this time new mexico was under the rule of the spanish conquerors. juan de oñate, who married isabel, a daughter of cortez and a great-granddaughter of montezuma, assumed the leadership, and about the town of santa fé was founded, and within the succeeding decade the mission fathers had built a dozen churches and their converts composed over fourteen thousand. a prominent padre in this movement was eusebio francisco kino. santa fé has the distinction of being the oldest town in the united states, having been established fifteen years before the landing of the pilgrims. [illustration: "watch tower." cliff dwellers, new mexico] [illustration: cliff dwellers. within twenty-five miles of santa fÉ, new mexico] the mission church of san xavier del bac was established at so early a date that it was in ruins in , and on its site was built the present one, in the valley of santa cruz, some ten miles south of tucson. this mission is a rare mingling of ionic and byzantine architecture, with a dome, two minarets, and castellated exterior. the front bears the coat-of-arms of the franciscan monks--a cross with a coil of rope and two arms below--one of cohant and the other of st. francis d'assisi. there are four fresco paintings, and there are more than fifty pieces of sculpture around the high altar. the missions of guevara, zumacacori, and san xavier were peculiarly fruitful in good results. the ruins of zumacacori still cover a large space. the church is partially unroofed; the form is seen to have been that of a plain greek cross with a basilica, and a roofless chapel is standing. the basilica is still crowned by the cross, and the vital influence of this sign and seal of faith in the christ, this commemoration of the sacrificial zeal that animated the mission fathers is still felt by all who gaze upon this sacred emblem silhouetted against a blue sky. santa fé is, indeed, alive with the most profound and arresting interest. the work of the early spanish missionary priests effected a great work among the indians in creating conditions of peace and industry; for faith in god, taught in any form, is not merely nor even mostly an attitude of spirit: it is the instinctive action of life. it permeates every motive inspiring it with power; it vitalizes every effort with creative energy. faith in god may well be described as the highest possible form of potency. he who is receptive to the divine spirit moves onward like a ship whose sails are set to the favoring winds. he who is unreceptive to the divine spirit is like the ship before the wind with all her sails furled. "the merit of power for moral victory on the earth," said phillips brooks, "is not man and is not god. it is god and man, not two, but one, not meeting accidentally, not running together in emergencies only to separate again when the emergency is over; it is god and man belonging essentially together,--god filling man, man opening his life by faith to be a part of god's, as the gulf opens itself and is part of the great ocean." the unfaltering devotion of the franciscan fathers to the work of bringing civilization and christianity to these indian pueblos and their martyrdom in their efforts to establish "the true faith of st. francis" invests santa fé with an atmosphere of holy tradition. "all souls that struggle and aspire, all hearts of prayer by thee are lit; and, dim or clear, thy tongues of fire on dusky tribes and twilight centuries sit." these early church fathers taught a pure and high order of faith in the most practical way. they acquired the indian language in sufficient measure to speak to the tribes. they taught them the rudiments of arithmetic, history, and geography--in the imperfect way then known; but they gave their best. they inculcated industry and honesty. their faith is largely told in the poet's words,-- "that to be saved is only this: salvation from our selfishness." the missions through all the southwest were peculiarly fruitful in good results. the ruins of many still exist, revealing them to have usually been in the general design of a nave and basilica crowned by the cross--this sign and seal of faith in the christ. "o love divine! whose constant beam shines on the eyes that will not see, and waits to bless us; while we dream thou leavest, because we turn from thee! * * * * * "nor bounds, nor clime, nor creed thou know'st; wide as our need thy favors fall; the white wings of the holy ghost, brood, seen or unseen, o'er the heads of all." three spanish documents still exist in the territorial records of new mexico dated - , which give a full account of the spanish conquest; of the re-conquest by the indians, and the final conquest again by the spaniards. there is ample evidence that a city existed on the present site of santa fé four hundred years before the settlement at st. augustine. the final spanish conquest took place in , but all the records prior to were unfortunately destroyed in the pueblo rebellion. new mexico's historian, hon. l. bradford prince, who has more than once served as governor of the territory and who is one of the most distinguished men of the west, has finely said that the people of his territory, although threefold in origin and language (spanish, mexican, and american), are one in nationality, purpose, and destiny. in governor prince's history of new mexico he notes its three determining epochs,--the pueblo, the spanish, and the american,--and he refers to it as "an isolated, unique civilization in the midst of encircling deserts and nomadic tribes." on august , , general stephen w. kearny took possession of the capital of new mexico in the name of the united states; and on that date, for the first time, the national colors floated from the old palace and the acting spanish governor, don juan baptista vigil y alvarid resigned his authority. on the historic plaza where now a memorial to this brave officer stands, placed there by the "daughters of the revolution," general kearny proclaimed the peaceful annexation of the territory of the united states. "we come as friends to make you a part of the representative government," he said. "in our government all men are equal. every man has a right to serve god according to his conscience and his heart." general kearny assured the people of the protection of every civil and religious right, and this forcible and noble speech--so characteristically representing the generous and noble spirit of one of the ablest among the leaders and the heroes of the nineteenth century--made a profound impression on the minds of all who listened to the words. when on august of new mexico shall celebrate her centenary of union with the united states, this memorable address of general kearny's should be read to the assembled populace. not even lincoln's noble speech at gettysburg exceeds in simple eloquence and magnanimity the lofty words of general kearny. they were worthy to be spoken in "the city of the holy faith." it was thus that new mexico entered the united states, _esto perpetua_. to-day, after a territorial novitiate of more than sixty years, she is ardently urging her claim for statehood. in old santa fé the past and the present meet. governor hagerman receives his guests in the same room in the old palace that was used by the first viceroy; and seventy-six spanish and mexican and eighteen american rulers have preceded him, among whom was general lew. wallace, who, while serving as territorial governor, wrote his immortal "ben hur" in one room of the palace, which is still pointed out to the visitor. during this period mrs. wallace wrote many interesting articles on the history, the life, and the resources of the territory, in which are embalmed valuable information delightfully recorded. mrs. prince, the wife of ex-governor prince, a lady distinguished throughout all the country for her gracious sweetness and refined dignity of manner, is much interested in the new mexico historical association; and the ex-governor and mrs. prince, his honor, mayor cotrell, and mrs. cotrell, colonel and mrs. max frost, and others of the choice society of santa fé, are preserving the history of this territory "that has survived all those strange modulations by which a spanish province has become a territory of the union bordering on statehood." santa fé is the home of some of the ablest lawyers in the united states, and one private law library is said to be the largest legal library west of chicago. the old palace has been identified with the times of the inquisition; with the zealous work of friar marcos de nizza, friar augustino ruiz, and with coronado and his band of warriors. on the plaza, juan de oñate unfurled the banner of spain; here de vargas gave thanks for his victory, and here to-day is a simple monumental memorial of general kearny placed there by the daughters of the revolution. the revered memory of archbishop lamy is closely associated with the place. in the old palace is a musée where a great array of unique curios is gathered; pictures of saints rudely painted on skins; crucifixes rudely carved in wood or moulded in native silver; gods carved in stone, and primitive domestic utensils. there is a very charming and cultivated society in santa fé of the small circle of american residents,--a circle that is of late rapidly increasing. the country around is rich in gems,--the turquoise, opal, onyx, garnet, and bloodstone being found in liberal deposits; and in the town is a manufactory of mexican filigree work that employs the natives only who are very skilful in this delicate art. the plaza is a curiously fascinating place to saunter around, and the visitor finds himself loitering and lingering as he is wont to loiter and linger on the old ponte vecchio in florence. the nomenclature of santa fé is sufficiently foreign to enable one to fancy himself in andalusia, as such names as padilla, quintona, lopez, gutierrez, vaca, and others recur. the rosario chapel, built by señor diego de vargas, stands on a height overlooking santa fé a mile distant from the plaza and the old palace. near it is now located the ramona school for the children of the apaches. the legend of the founding of san rosario is still on the air. when, in , señor de vargas, marching from the south with his band of two hundred men, gazed upon the city from which, in , his compatriots had been so tragically driven, he prostrated himself on the ground and implored in prayer the protection and aid of "our lady of the rosary," and recorded his purpose that, would she but lead him on to victory, he would build, on the very site where he was kneeling, a chapel to her name. arising, he led his band on to assault, and after a tragic struggle of eleven hours' duration he was victorious. did the "lady of the rosary" shield and strengthen him? who shall venture to deny it? "more things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of." de vargas had promised that, in case the victory was granted to him, he would have the statue of the virgin carried from the cathedral to the rosario chapel, as already noted. to this day the custom is fulfilled; and each year, on the sunday following _corpus christi_, this sacred drama is enacted, with sometimes two thousand people, drawn from all the country around, forming the procession. the statue is kept in the chapel a week, with solemn masses celebrated every morning, after which it is returned to the cathedral and the chapel is closed, not to be opened again until the octave of the feast of _corpus christi_ the next year. the "city of the holy faith" is very quiet in these days, and one finds little trace of the turbulent past when it was the storm centre of tragic wars and revolutions. the incessant warfare between the spaniards and the indians, the sublime courage and devotion of bishop lamy and other fathers of the church, constitute a wonderful chapter in the history of our country. santa fé antedates the landing of the pilgrims by more than twenty years. its history is an unbroken record of thrilling and romantic events, from its capture by the pueblos in ; the terrible massacre of the mission fathers, and the flight of the governor to el paso; its conquest again by de vargas in ; the change from spanish to mexican rule; then the splendid entrance of general kearny and his troops (in the summer of ) in the name of the united states, down to the scenes and the incidents of the old santa fé trail and thence to the present day, when three railroads have brought the city into close touch with the modern life of which it still refuses to become a part. still, santa fé has nine mails a day, a free-delivery postal system, electric lights, and local and long-distance telephonic connection. the capitol, where governor hagerman presides over the councils of state, is a fine modern building with a beautiful view from the dome. there is a new federal building of stone in classic design, in front of which is placed a monument to kit carson. st. michael's college, the residence of the archbishop, and the government indian school attract the eye. but it is the old santa fé of haunting historic memories that one dreams of in the narrow streets, or in looking down on the town from a mountain-side. the quaint little plaza dreams in the sunshine, which lingers, as if with a _benedicite_, on the kearny memorial, while through the unshuttered and uncurtained windows of the old palace, forming one side of the plaza, the antique débris may be dimly seen. should the ghost of any of the old spanish warriors peer forth, the apparition would hardly produce a ripple of surprise. the long colonnade may be the favorite promenade of phantoms for aught one knows,--phantoms, that come and go,-- "with feet that make no sound upon the floor." the twentieth-century sunshine lights up the dusky corners wherein are stored the relics of the spanish conquerors and the followers of st. francis. perchance francis d'assisi himself, "revisiting the glimpses of the moon," glides along the shadows, drawn to the spot where, at so fearful a cost of life and treasure, his "holy faith" was guarded; or it may be the warrior in his armor who for an instant is dimly discerned through the dust-covered windows. coronado, too, may haunt this scene. many are those in the historic ranks who have contributed to the making of santa fé. it is the most composite city in american history. the very air is vocal with tradition and legend. the little shops around the plaza bear their signs mostly in spanish. yet mingling with these is the office of mr. lutz of the santa fé transcontinental line, with which the new mexican capital is connected by a branch to lamy, on the main line, where one may stand and converse with denver,--a feat which may surprise the ghost of coronado or of juan de oñate were it looking on; and colonel frost's daily journal, with its news of the world, is just at the corner. not far away, too, is mr. linney, who represents the united states signal service, and regards santa fé as a most opportune town in which to pursue his most up-to-date study of atmospheric phenomena. a remarkable personality in santa fé is colonel max frost, the editor of "the new mexican," the political leader of the republican party and a man who, though blind and paralyzed, is simply a living encyclopædia of historic and contemporary events. at eight o'clock every morning colonel frost is in his office, at his desk, dictating to three expert stenographers, carrying on three different subjects simultaneously. instead of his blindness being a hindrance to his work, he has, by the sheer force of his remarkable energy, transformed the obstacle into a stepping-stone. "i can do more work in ten minutes than most men can in an hour," he said, in reply to a question, "as, being blind, i have nothing to distract my attention. i put my mind on my work and keep it there." colonel frost's experience is the most convincing testimony to the phenomenal power that lies in mental concentration. he cannot move without assistance,--physically he is a wreck; yet he dictates columns of work daily; he is the most influential leader of the political party, and he is one of the makers of new mexico. every line of copy in his daily paper is read to him before it goes to press, and the vigorous and brilliant editorial page is largely his own work. for four hours, every evening, mrs. frost reads to him from the great eastern dailies, the periodicals, and new books. it is said in new mexico that colonel frost has been the power behind the throne in territorial legislation since the time that general lew. wallace served as chief executive in . colonel frost went to santa fé from washington in as a brilliant young officer, commissioned to build a military telegraph line from santa fé to phoenix, arizona,--a distance of five hundred miles. this commission attracted great attention, and colonel frost became at once a power among the spanish-american citizens of the territory. his great ability was widely recognized by leading men all over the southwest. he was urged to remain and become a citizen of santa fé. as if to further prepare him for his remarkable life, he was commissioned by the government to serve at several points in new mexico on a variety of important matters, and he thus became singularly identified with the general progress of the country. with all his extraordinary work in conducting his paper and devoting himself to party political measures, colonel frost is serving his territory as secretary of the bureau of immigration with the most conspicuous ability. under his electric touch and irresistible energy there is constantly prepared and sent out some of the finest transcriptions of the entire status of the country, in climate, resources, and opportunities; in achievements already realized and in the potential developments of the future. thousands of residents have been drawn to new mexico through the data so ably set forth by colonel frost, the matter being, each year, revised to date. he knows, from personal observation and intimate contact, every part of the territory; he is personally acquainted with all the leading people; and no visitor in the territory can feel his trip in any sense complete without meeting colonel max frost. if every state and territory in the far west could command such efficient service in the literature of immigration as is rendered by colonel frost, there would be an appreciable increase of their settlers. there are many eminent men in santa fé,--government officers, political leaders, gifted lawyers,--whom the stranger within the gates must recognize as among the ablest leaders and makers of the nation. a newspaper recently established, "the eagle," ably edited by mr. a. j. loomis, adds another attraction and source of inspiration to the wonderful old city, whose life still continues to illustrate and exalt the "holy faith of st. francis." chapter viii magic and mystery of arizona "_... the stars are glowing wheels, giddy with motion nature reels; sun, moon, man, undulate and stream, the mountains flow, the solids seem, change acts, reacts; back, forward hurled, and pause were palsy to the world.-- the morn is come: the starry crowds are hid behind the thrice-piled clouds; the new day lowers, and equal odds have changed not less the guest of gods._" emerson arizona is the land of magic and of mystery. it is the land of the yet undreamed-of future, and it is also the region of brooding mystery, of strange surprise. besides its stupendous grand cañon, here are the cañons of chiquito, marble, desolation, and limestone; the montezuma well, castle dome, the four peaks--rising to the height of several thousand feet, for hundreds of miles; the thumb buttes, san francisco peak, the tonto basin, and the twin lake--all of these phenomenal marvels of scenery telling their tale of the action of water and of fire thousands of ages ago; convulsions of nature which have rent the mountains asunder, opened chasms thousands of feet deep in the earth, and projected the bottom of a sea into the air as a mountain peak,-- "what time the gods kept carnival." [illustration: petrified giants, third forest, arizona] the gods have, indeed, kept high carnival in arizona. every aspect of nature is on a scale of titanic magnificence. the cañon systems of its mountain ranges; the indescribable grandeur which reaches its supreme majesty in the grand cañon; the wonders of extinct volcanic action; the colossal channels cut by rushing waters; the unearthly splendor of the atmospheric effects, and the coloring of the skies,--all combine to render arizona an expression of magical wonder. all manner of phenomenal conditions are encountered. the land is a red sandy desert, whose leading productions are loose stones (lying so thickly in the sand as to make walking or driving all but impossible) and pine trees, petrified forests, and cacti. the riotous growth of the cactus is, indeed, a terror to the unwary. but it is in sunsets and enchantment of views and richness of mines, and in marvellous curiosities--as the petrified forest, meteorite mountain, and the grand cañon--that arizona distinguishes herself. she cannot irrigate her soil because there is no available water. but the pine forests--some of them--produce lumber; the mines are rich, and the features of nature unequalled in the entire world; while the exhilaration of the electric air and the wonderful beauty of coloring quite make up to arizona resources that are unsurpassed if not unrivalled. arizona is not an agricultural country by nature, nor hardly by grace. the resources are mining and timber. still there are probably some twenty million acres capable of rich productiveness, on which wheat, barley, corn, vegetables of all kinds, and also rice and cotton, could be successfully cultivated if irrigation could be sufficiently effected. the largest area of agricultural land lies in the regions adjacent to prescott and phoenix. this salt river valley is rich in alluvial soil. the gila valley also offers, though in lesser area, the same fertile land, and the valleys of the colorado, chiquito, of pueblo viejo, the santa cruz, the san pedro, the sulphur springs, and the great mesa between florence and phoenix, offer the same possibilities. the great problem of arizona is that of irrigation, as most of the rivers lie at the bottom of inaccessible cañons and present difficulties of access which no engineer can as yet clearly see a way to overcome. the conditions are, however, materially assisted by the rainy seasons, occurring usually in february or march and in july or august, when water can be stored. the rain itself is as peculiar in arizona as are other conditions of this wonderland. it rains in sections; it may rain in torrents in a man's front yard while the sun shines in his back yard; or if this statement has something of the flavor of "travellers'" tales, it is at least typical of actual facts. five minutes' walking is often all that is required to carry one into, or out of, a severe downpour of rain. the clouds follow the mountain spurs as invariably as a needle follows the magnet and a torrent may fall on the mountains above, flashing down in a hundred improvised raging cataracts and waterfalls, while in the valley below the sun shines out of the bluest of skies. no panoramic pictures of the stage ever equalled the pictorial effects of a thunderstorm in the mountains, when the forked lightning leaps from peak to peak in a blaze, through the air; when it dashes like a meteoric shower from rock to crag, and the thunder reverberates with the mighty roar of a thousand oceans beating their surf on the shore. in maricopa county, in the salt river valley, new and important conditions have been initiated by the government system of irrigation which has transformed arid lands into fertile gardens. the government has expended three million dollars in constructing the salt river dam (sixty miles north of phoenix), which is the largest artificial lake in the world. this reservoir will store one and a half million acres-feet of water, drawing it from the mountain cañons miles away. not only does this project mean an abundant water supply for a region heretofore useless, but rich returns as well. there are few regions which so attract and reward the researches of the scientist as does arizona. the geologist, the mineralogist, the ethnologist, the archæologist, finds here the most amazing field for apparently unending investigation and study. nor is the botanist excluded. the flora of arizona offers the same strange and unique developments that characterize the region in so many other directions. the cacti flourish in riotous growth. the saguaro, a giant species, frequently attains a height of forty feet. a strange spectacle it is, with its pale green body, fluted like a corinthian column, and its colossal arms outstretched, covered with immense prickly thorns and bearing purple blossoms. the century plant flourishes in arizona. there is a curious scarlet flower, blooming in clusters, at the top of straight pole-like stumps ten to fifteen feet in height, which terminate in luxuriant masses of scarlet blossoms and green leaves, and grow in groups of from a dozen to fifty together, producing the most fascinating color effects in the landscape. this plant is called the ocotilla. there are plants which produce a fibrous textile leaf which the native mexicans used as paper; there are others whose roots are used as a substitute for soap. the trees are largely pine, cedar, and juniper, though in many parts of the state the rolling foothills bear forests of oak, and the sycamore, ash, elder, walnut, and the swift-growing cottonwood are found along the watercourses. [illustration: collection of cacti made by officers at fort mcdowell, arizona, for this picture] "the echinocactus, or bisnaga, is also called 'the well of the desert,'" says dr. joseph a. munk in some interesting sketches of arizona.[ ] "it has a large barrel-shaped body, which is covered with long spikes that are curved like fishhooks. it is full of sap that is sometimes used to quench thirst. by cutting off the top and scooping out a hollow, the cup-shaped hole soon fills with a sap that is not exactly nectar, but can be drunk in an emergency. men who have been in danger of perishing from thirst on the desert have sometimes been saved by this unique method of well-digging." of the palo verde dr. munk notes that it is "a true child of the desert," and he adds: "no matter how hot and dry the weather, the palo verde is always green and flourishing. at a distance it resembles a weeping willow tree stripped of its leaves. its numerous long, slender, drooping branches gracefully crisscross and interlace in an intricate figure of filigree work. it has no commercial value, but if it could be successfully transplanted and transported it would make a desirable addition to greenhouse collections in the higher latitudes. "the romantic mistletoe, that is world-renowned for its magic influence in love affairs, grows to perfection in southern arizona. there are several varieties of this parasitic plant that are very unlike in appearance. each kind partakes more or less of the characteristics of the tree upon which it grows, but all have the glossy leaf and waxen berry." the grasses of arizona, are, in some places, very beautiful, of a rich velvety green; and the infinite varieties of wild clover, the gramma, the buffalo, the sacatone, and other grasses, are richly nutritive and offer good facilities for grazing. as a wool-producing country arizona has no rival, the climate giving the best of protection to sheep with the minimum of care, and the grazing offering adequate means of support; and stock raising of all kinds, indeed, is destined to become a great industry in southern arizona. the climate of arizona can only be alluded to in the plural, as in the expressive phrase of one of mr. george w. cable's creole characters, "dose climates," for arizona has all the climates of the known world. the range of choice almost exceeds the range of the fahrenheit registration. from the mountain summit, covered with snow for at least ten months out of the year, to the heat in yuma, which has scored up to one hundred and twenty-eight degrees or more, there are all varieties and every conceivable quality of atmosphere. in the main, however, the climate of arizona is inexpressibly delightful. dr. munk, who is one of the distinguished physicians in los angeles, has made a study of arizona as a health resort, and of its conditions he says: "the atmosphere of arizona is not only dry, but also very electrical; so much so, indeed, that at times it becomes almost painful. whenever the experiment is tried, sparks can be produced by friction or the handling of metal, hair, or wool. it affects animals as well as man, and literally causes 'the hair to stand on end.' the writer has on various occasions seen a string of horses standing close together at a watering-trough, drinking, so full of electricity that their manes and tails were spread out and floated in the air, and the long hairs drawn by magnetic attraction from one animal to the other all down the line in a spontaneous effort to complete a circuit. there are times when the free electricity in the air is so abundant that every object becomes charged with the fluid, and it cannot escape fast enough or find 'a way out' by any adequate conductor. the effect of such an excess of electricity is decidedly unpleasant on the nerves, and causes annoying irritability and nervousness. "the hot sun sometimes blisters the skin and burns the complexion to a rich nut-brown color, but the air always feels soft and balmy, and usually blows only in gentle zephyrs. the air has a pungent fragrance which is peculiar to the desert, that is the mingled product of a variety of resinous plants. the weather is uniformly pleasant, and the elements are rarely violently disturbed. "in the older settled sections of our country, whenever there is any sudden or extreme change of either heat or cold, wet or dry, it is always followed by an increase of sickness and death. the aged and invalid, who are sensitive and weak, suffer most, as they feel every change in the weather. there is, perhaps, no place on earth that can boast of a perfect climate, but the country that can show the fewest and mildest extremes approaches nearest to the ideal. the southwest is exceptionally favored in its climatic conditions." there is a legend that the poetic, musical name, arizona, was derived from "ari," a maiden queen who once ruled the destinies of the primas, and "zon," a valley, from the romantic configuration of the state, the two combining into the melodious "arizona." the tradition is sufficiently romantic to be in keeping with the country it designates, and nothing tends more to simplify the too complex processes of life, not to say history, than to apply the rule of believing those things that appeal to one's sense of the "eternal fitness" and rejecting those which do not. the apostles of the simple life might well include this contribution toward simplicity as an axiom of their faith. at all events, as no other origin of arizona's pretty name is on record, one may indulge himself in accepting this one with a clear conscience. the authentic spanish history of arizona dates to the exploration of mendoza in . for nearly three hundred years--until the treaty of guadaloupe-hidalgo in , when all the region north of the gila and mesilla valleys was incorporated into the area of the united states--the spanish explorers and the indian natives were in perpetual conflict, and it was as late as that arizona received its name and individual domain as separate from new mexico, with which it had been incorporated. at the time of the guadaloupe-hidalgo treaty arizona did not contain a single white settlement in the north and west. near tucson and tuba were a few hundred whites, but all the other portions were the domain of the apaches and the moquis. in the hon. james gadsden, then united states minister to mexico, negotiated for the purchase of this territory at a price of ten million dollars, and the mexican colors in tucson were replaced by the stars and stripes. on december , , a memorial was presented to the legislature of new mexico for a separate territorial organization and name of the new acquirement. although the spanish civilization has long since receded into the dim historic past, its spirit is impressed in the very air; its zeal and fervor still, in some mysterious way, permeate the atmosphere. until arizona remained a portion of new mexico, the separate territorial government of each being inaugurated at fort whipple, near prescott,--a thriving town of some six thousand people, named for the historian whose works are the unquestionable authority on matters of the aztec and spanish civilizations. prescott is one of the young western cities that has a great future. its altitude insures it a delightful climate, the railroad facilities are good, and it is in a region of almost fabulous mineral wealth. the "united verde" mine, one of the possessions of senator clark of montana, is some thirty-five miles from prescott and yields vast revenues. within thirty miles of the town there are very large beds of onyx, one of which covers over one hundred acres. this onyx is found in all colors,--the translucent old gold, green, red, black, and white, with much in richly varied combinations of color. prescott has an altitude of a mile above the sea and is a summer resort of itself for phoenix and other southern arizona towns. it is a distance of some three hundred miles from ash fork to winhelman, and prescott and phoenix are one hundred miles apart, prescott being only a hundred miles from ash fork and phoenix about the same distance from winhelman. near prescott there is a curious spot which is not less worthy of world-wide fame than is the "garden of the gods" at colorado springs; although the "point of rocks," as this grotesque system of formation near prescott is called, is little known to travellers. it is of that same unique sandstone formation that is found in the "garden of the gods." ruskin declared that he could not visit america on the ground that it contained no castles; but had his vision included colorado and arizona, with their wonderful sandstone formations, he would have found castles galore so far as scenic effect goes. it is not alone the "garden of the gods" and the "point of rocks" that are marvellous spectacles, but all over the states, here and there, on foothill and mountain and mesa, these strange, fantastic, colossal rock formations arise, that have all the landscape effect of the castles and towers in italy. all the country around prescott is alluring. on the branch road from ash fork of the main transcontinental line to winhelman some three hundred miles south, there is an assortment of scenery which might be described as warranted to please every taste. there are lofty mountains pine-clad and green with verdure; others are seen barren and bleak, whose sides and foothills are only decorated with the débris of mines. there are vast desert solitudes where only the misshapen cacti grow, looming up like giant skeletons in the air; and again there are glades carpeted with a profusion of flowers in brilliant hues. there are river-beds (arroyos) without any water and there are streams that go wandering about, in aimless fashion, devoid of regulation river-beds. some of the arroyos, indeed, have streams running in strong currents, but they hide these streams under the river-bed, as something too valuable perhaps for common view. the clairvoyance of the scientific vision, however, detects this fraud on the part of the arroyo at once, so that of late years it is of little use for any well-regulated river to hide its current under its bed. it may just as well relinquish the attempt and let the stream run in an honest eastern fashion, like the connecticut river, for instance, which is staid and steady, like its state, and never undertakes to play pranks with its current. since the scientist has fixed his glittering eye on colorado and arizona, all the gnomes and nixies have the time of their life to elude this vigilance, and they seldom succeed. the scientist relentlessly harnesses them to his use; and though a river may think to conceal its course by taking refuge under its bed instead of running honestly along above it, the effort is hopeless in an age when the scientist is abroad. it is said that there are no secrets in heaven, and apparently nature is very like paradise in this respect at least, for it is quite useless for her to pretend to keep her operations to herself. the specialist, the expert, surprises every secret she may treasure. of all the rivers in arizona no one has more entirely defied all the accepted traditions of staying in its place and keeping within its own limits than has the colorado, which, not content with the extraordinary part it plays at the bottom of that titanic chasm, the grand cañon, is now creating an inland sea, named the salton sea, in southern california. prof. n. h. newell, the government expert hydrographer of the united states geological survey, has given close attention to the colorado of late, and of it he says: "... the colorado cuts in its course the deepest cañons on the face of the earth. from the solid rocks where it has made them, through hundreds of miles, it has taken material down to the gulf of california, and by slight but regular annual overflows gradually built banks on each side out into that gulf. these, in time, cut off the head of the gulf, leaving dry a depression in southern california, considerably below sea level, known as 'the salton sink.' for miles of its journey the southern pacific runs below sea level. ten thousand people, approximately, in what is known as the imperial valley, live below the sea level. a privately owned irrigation enterprise, on the mexican side of the line, cut a gash into this bank of the colorado which nature had been forming. the high waters came and man lost control of his artificial channel, with the result that the river thought best to pour its waters back into the depression which had once been a part of the gulf of california. to get the river to resume its own course is no small task, and with it the southern pacific railroad evidently purposes to grapple heroically. [illustration: looking through a part of the river gorge, foot of bad trail, grand caÑon] "the river is now pouring down a steep declivity into this basin, which is two hundred feet or more below the sea level. if this were allowed to continue, it would make a great salt lake in southern california. this water has already risen to the point where it has submerged big salt works and fifteen miles of the southern pacific's overland track, forcing that company to build around the rising sea, and, unless its engineers succeed in routing the colorado for its old destination, it will be necessary to rebuild a much longer piece of that road. some people have argued that such a sea would affect favorably the climate of southern california, but they forget that the great gulf of california, jutting into the most barren regions of the united states and mexico, seemingly has had no good effect on the climate of either. the salton sea would add only two per cent of water surface to that part of the country, and so hardly would do what the gulf of california has not accomplished. unless the break is restored, the river will pour into this basin, forming a very shallow lake, which would be almost a frying-pan under that semi-tropical sun. this would continue to rise until evaporation balanced the river flow, and then would fluctuate with the seasons of the year, shrinking in area during the months of the heaviest evaporation and slightest inflow. "the gash in the river bank was cut by a mexican corporation on that side of the international line, but the water is delivered to a number of american corporations, so that to-day several are concerned in the affair. it is understood that the southern pacific, when the river reaches its lowest stage, will put in a great force of men in an endeavor to get the river back to its former course. one great difficulty comes in the sugar-like material which has been eroded, in which it is extremely hard to insert any permanent structure. a pile one hundred feet deep will be driven into it, and almost as soon the water, working in under it, will lift it out." the salton sea, at this writing, covers an area of over four hundred square miles, and is constantly increasing. the southern pacific railway that traversed its border has been driven twice from its line and forced to lay new roadbeds and tracks. it is also creating great confusion as to irrigation facilities, both in the united states and in mexico, within the region where it lies; and as a scientific event it is one of the first magnitude,--an act in the drama of nature made visible to all. the salton sink has long been known to the explorers and visitors of this region. it was a vast basin of some one hundred and forty miles in length and sixty-five or seventy in width; the evident bed of a former sea, which had become a desolate and barren waste. sometimes a mirage--a not unfrequent phenomenon in arizona and southern california,--would transform this long deserted basin into a phantom sea, wonderful in aspect. to what extent this transformation will continue defies prophecy. phoenix, the capital of arizona, is in maricopa county,--a county as large as the entire state of massachusetts. the journey of two hundred miles between ash fork and phoenix is one of the most uncanny and unearthly sort of trips, with mountains resembling a witches' dance,--full of grotesque wonder and romantic charm,--but the experience is almost like visiting another planet and coming under totally different conditions of life. phoenix is both the capital and the metropolis of arizona, and no city west of the mississippi is more popular among tourists or is able to inspire a stronger sentiment of attachment among its residents. to some twelve or thirteen thousand inhabitants are added, every winter, from four to five thousand tourists. the city lies in the centre of the salt river valley,--that marvel of the southwest. the most important and valuable agricultural region in colorado lies in maricopa county, of which phoenix is the pet and pride. in this locality the visitor to arizona returns to the normal day and daylight world again. the forest trees are not stone quarries, nor have meteors, wandering through space, buried themselves in its soil. there is no need of colossal magnetic appliances to seek to discover and extricate some submerged star. nor has the earth opened and disclosed an inferno, "bathed in celestial fires," as that of the grand cañon far away to the northwest. the streams "stay put" within their legitimate borders, and are apparently as firm in "standing pat" as is the republican party over a (new) tariff revision. maricopa county pursues a way of peaceful prosperity, with no lapse into the vaudeville of petrified forests and buried stars. her stars make their appointed rounds in the skies, and shine nightly upon the just and the unjust. in the northern part of maricopa there are mineral districts of rich ores, gold and copper as well as silver, lead, and others, but chiefly the county holds her way as an agricultural region, indulging in no freaks. canals radiate in every direction from the salt and the verde rivers. the salt river valley is so level that a theory prevails that in some prehistoric ages it was smoothed by the toltec civilization, which even preceded that of the aztec. fields of alfalfa, miles in extent, smile in the sunshine, while cattle graze knee-deep in luxurious clover. orange groves alternate with the apple and apricot orchards. the date-palm, the fig, and the olive trees abound. beautiful homes stand in spacious grounds shaded by the dark foliage of the umbrella tree, through which gleams the scarlet of the oleander and the brilliant gold of the pomegranate. phoenix offers to the resident or the visitor a good proportion of the best that life can give: in good society, that which is intelligent, moral, cultured, and sympathetic; in an admirable school system; in churches of many denominations,--catholic, episcopal, methodist, baptist, presbyterian, christian science, and others,--all having their fine houses of worship and earnest congregations. there is an excellent and a constantly growing public library, and there are four daily and several weekly newspapers, business blocks that would do no discredit to any large eastern city, a circuit telephone system completely equipped, gas and water works, free city and rural mail delivery, good hotels, a theatre, and an opera house. there are banks and a board of trade. there are clubs both of men and women. the state normal school of arizona is nine miles distant--in tempe. there are three railroads that centre in phoenix which transport the traveller with the usual accepted ease and luxury of modern railroading; and a new road to form a link in a second santa fé transcontinental line will then place phoenix on a trunk road over which the santa fé traffic will largely pass. the winters in phoenix are most attractive. from october till may there is a climate all balm and sunshine without the enervating quality felt in the tropics. the region all around has good roads, and driving and riding are most enjoyable. seventy-five miles east from phoenix, in the tonto basin, the government is building a vast water storage dam which it is expected will liberally irrigate two hundred thousand acres of land which, under reclamation, will produce in rich abundance both agricultural and horticultural products. the climate and conditions combine those of the temperate and the semi-tropical zones and favor products grown in both. the tonto dam will be, with the possible exception of the assouan dam in egypt, the greatest storage enterprise in the world. it will be constructed of hard sandstone imbedded in cement, making it as permanent as the mountains. it will be two hundred and eighty-five feet above foundations and only two hundred feet wide at the bottom. above will be a lake about twenty-five miles long, with storage capacity for one and a half millions acre-feet, which means enough water to cover that number of acres a foot deep. even to the best of cement, nature has provided on the ground every necessity for construction. along the hillsides above is being dug a power canal, to discharge above the dam, there to generate not less than five thousand horsepower,--more than enough for the demands of construction. when the dam is finished this power will be transmitted electrically to the vicinity of phoenix, here to be used for pumping. the government engineers have made plans for eventually developing eighteen thousand horsepower, by harnessing the falls of the river and the canals. the salt river valley has more than fifty thousand acres devoted to alfalfa, which sometimes yields six crops in a year. wheat, barley, and corn are also grown, and the orange groves produce the finest fruit known in the eastern markets, antedating by a month the california oranges. grapes, apricots, and dates abound; and if maricopa county does not literally as well as figuratively find that her land is flowing in milk and honey, it is certainly not for lack of the most favorable conditions. the arizona strawberries, too, are a feature of importance in the fruit market, as for both size and flavor they absolutely exceed almost any other in the united states. all this sunny prosperity of conditions and loveliness of climate reacts on life. there is a poise, a serene confidence, and a charm of good-will and joyous companionship felt in phoenix that give to this delightful young city an individuality of its own. the great dam now being built in the tonto basin has made it necessary to destroy the town of roosevelt,--a village of two thousand inhabitants, with its churches, schools, water-works, electric lights, and other appliances of modern civilization. "roosevelt must perish," writes a press correspondent, "that a desert may be made to bloom. already the marvellous engineering work is well under way. the walls of the narrow cañon through which salt river rushes on edge are being locked by a massive monolith of solid masonry, the highest arch dam in the world." the writer continues: "this wonderful structure of sandstone and cement will be two hundred and eighty feet in height from foundation to parapet. placed by the side of an eighteen-story skyscraper, this dam would rise ten feet above it, while its length on top would be more than two city blocks. a turbulent stream, with its enormous floods, will beat itself into stillness against the masonry monster, its foam and spume lost in a deep lake twenty-five miles long and two miles wide. "by day and by night the dull roar of dynamite breaks the desert stillness, and the cañon walls go crashing down to furnish material for this structure. on the hill far above, the rock crushers never stop grinding the limestone, and great kilns, white hot, are burning daily hundreds of barrels of cement. "when night comes, myriads of electric lights burst forth, weirdly illuminating a busy army of toilers working gnome-like in a shadowy cañon. a star-gemmed heaven looks down upon a wondrous scene, unreal, awesome, and inspiring. "this great work of the government possesses unusual attractions for the engineer and the layman. it is located in a valley which has been the abode of three races, one of which lived here when cæsar sat upon his throne. in an age forgotten the cliff-dwellers built their eyrie-like homes along the cañons of this stream, and in the narrow valleys the lines of their irrigation canals may yet be traced. centuries later the apaches came, and for many years their tepees dotted the basin. then came the white man, who sought to reconquer the desert, which had resumed its sway after the cliff-dwellers vanished. "the battle with unfriendly nature proved too much for the pioneer, and uncle sam took a hand in the fight. no problems could daunt his engineers. they laughed at floods and mocked at desolation. a dam site was discovered sixty-two miles from a railroad, and they proceeded to connect it with civilization by a marvellous road which winds its way for forty miles through deep cañons, along the face of frowning precipices, over foaming cataracts, and across broad areas of treeless desert. it opens up to the transcontinental traveller a new region of compelling interest and of splendid scenery. better than that, it provides an easy thoroughfare for the transportation of heavy machinery of all kinds and the supplies for the new community which sprang into life almost at a word. "... every stone that is laid in the narrow arch, which is to retain the foaming river now rushing through the cañon, brings nearer and nearer the day when roosevelt shall vanish beneath an inland sea. when the great dam is completed, in , and its massive gates of steel, weighing eight hundred thousand pounds, are shut down, a rising flood will cover the site of the city with two hundred feet of water. "the ingenuity of man has been taxed in this work. its isolated position, the difficult physical conditions, the tremendous and unexpected floods, have tried the mettle of the engineers. the enormous amount of cement required was in itself a problem which forced uncle sam to turn manufacturer in order to solve it. nature, having kindly furnished an ideal site for a dam, was thoughtful enough to provide materials near at hand for making cement. a cement mill was quickly erected at a cost of one hundred thousand dollars. the downward rush of the river was utilized for electric power to operate the mill, and many thousand barrels of first-class cement have already been used in the works. "but while the city of roosevelt, with the homes of its two thousand inhabitants, is doomed, a fair valley is to be redeemed in which the agricultural possibilities are not exceeded anywhere in the world. under almost tropical skies, with a soil of wonderful fertility, the farmer in salt river valley will cultivate his orange groves, his fig trees, his vines, while his broad meadows will yield him heavy harvests of alfalfa six and seven times a year. "the great lake which will be created by the roosevelt dam is to be tapped by canals hundreds of miles long and extending all over the broad valley around phoenix. vast areas now absolutely worthless will be transformed quickly into blossoming orchards and purpling vineyards, and hundreds of happy homes will dot a plain where now the giant saguaro rears its spiny head and the gila monster roams at will." life in the far west is a continual series of the occurrence of such events as these. its problems are largely solved by the civil engineer and the irrigation expert, who transform vast deserts to regions of blossoming beauty, change the course of a river, send railroad trains climbing the mountain peaks or penetrating beneath the range, and who are, in short, the modern magicians who work their will with the forces of nature. the national reclamation act is fairly recreating the entire southwest. the gila river, which is the largest tributary of the colorado, flows through the regions south of florence, arizona, and affords water to many fertile and beautiful valleys; and florence, with the towns of yuma, tucson, glendale, bisbee, winslow, and others, is fully abreast in modern life. large department stores, public libraries, schools and churches, women's clubs, daily newspapers, good railroad facilities, free postal delivery,--all these make up the environment of a splendid and progressive citizenship. as the governor of arizona, hon. joseph h. kirley, has recently said: "nowhere can a man who respects his neighbor's rights, with reasonably strict attention to his own business, go about with more freedom and with greater confidence of personal safety than in arizona. locked and barricaded doors are in most parts of arizona a novelty. the professional thief is almost unknown in the territory." the east--at least the portion of it that has not personally visited the magic land of arizona--can form little idea of its marvellous resources and its potent achievements. the statehood problem looms up on the social and political horizon, and there is a strong feeling that to force arizona and new mexico into union would do violence to the judgment and the feeling of the citizens of arizona. for several years past the incipient possibility of statehood on these terms has aroused widespread opposition. the local press voices almost daily the editorial convictions that such a union would be most disastrous to the interests of arizona--a country which is simply a wonderland of treasure and rich and varied resources. arizona is settled chiefly by people from the great south and from new england, the middle west being hardly represented; its citizens are of the best quality of our national life, and to unite them with those of new mexico--a large proportion of whom can hardly speak or understand the english language even, to say nothing of their divergence in race, requirements, and habits from the population of arizona--would be imposing upon them a century's delay in realizing the grand ideals of education, moral progress, and economic development now prevailing in arizona. phoenix has to-day a better public-school system than boston, and other surprising degrees of progress might be related of many of the towns. hon. n. o. murphy, twice a governor of arizona, has recently made an eloquent plea against forcing these two territories into union as a state. ex-governor murphy was appointed by president harrison (in ) secretary of arizona. under president cleveland he was elected the delegate to congress representing the territorial interests; and on the expiration of this term he was appointed by president mckinley the governor of the territory. his experience has given him the most intimate knowledge and wide grasp of territorial conditions, and in a letter of three columns over his own signature to the "washington post," appearing under date of february , , ex-governor murphy does not hesitate to say that were the bill for united statehood then pending before congress passed, it would be one of the greatest legislative outrages ever perpetrated in this country. "i refer particularly to the proposed merger of the territories of arizona and new mexico into a single state against the protests of the people of those territories," he added. the ex-governor points out these statistical facts: "the area of new england, comprising six states, with twelve senators, is , square miles; the area of the territory of arizona is nearly twice as great, being , square miles. "the area of the territories of new mexico and arizona, now proposed to be merged, is , square miles, or greater than maine, massachusetts, new hampshire, vermont, rhode island, connecticut, michigan, new york, pennsylvania, maryland, and new jersey, represented in the upper house now by twenty-two senators." the fact that the population of new mexico is largely mexican, and that of arizona is mostly american, suggests a potent reason for the strong feeling in arizona against this proposition. their racial instincts and their business interests alike conflict. if they are joined as a single state, there will be continual jealousy and friction, and legislation to promote the interests of one-half the state will necessarily be at the expense of the other. to the traveller sensitive to the spell of a strange, unearthly beauty, arizona prefigures itself as the country god remembered rather than as "the country god forgot." it is at once the oldest and the newest of the states. its authentic and historic past antedates the coming of the mayflower to the rocky and desolate december shores of massachusetts, while its future flashes before one like an electric panorama outspeeding wireless telegraphy. it is the land of magic and mystery. the light is a perpetual radiance, as if proceeding from some alchemy of distilled sunshine. while colorado is the land of perpetual dawn, of an heroic and poetic achievement, arizona is the region of brooding mystery, of strange surprise. there are the music and pictures of arizona in her fertile valleys, her wide rolling mesas; and the very melody of the wind harps meet and mingle with the organ strains of sweeping orchestral effects of the winds in the cañons and in wild, desolate gorges where impenetrable twilight renders them a veritable no man's land. mr. aldrich's "two shapes" might have met in that uncanny region of the petrified forest. the very dance of the brocken may nightly be seen in the midnight fissures and steep precipices of the grand cañon. it is, however, essentially the land of mirage and mystery, this wonderful arizona! as one journeys about he half fancies that he hears on the air those magic lines: "o birds of ether without wings! o heavenly ships without a sail!" every incredible thing is possible in this miracle country, where purple mountain peaks quiver in the shimmering golden light, where ruins of remote ages stand side by side with the primitive mechanism of pioneer living, where snow-capped mountain peaks are watched from valleys that have the temperature and the productions of the tropics. arizona contains unknown and undreamed-of resources of gold, copper, and silver. the state has the richest possibilities in mineral wealth; there are thousands of square miles of range lands; there is wealth of forests, although it is a part of the miracle character of this state of color and dream life that its forests are almost as much concealed from casual view as are its minerals hidden in the depths of the earth, for they are secluded in deep cañons or they are high out of sight on the mountain summits. in fruits and flowers arizona has the luxurious growth and lavish abundance of the tropics, producing grapes, figs, oranges, lemons, pomegranates, pineapples, and peaches,--almost everything, indeed, unless it be the apples of hesperides. although arizona has not the electric exhilaration and infinite energy of colorado, it has a delicious quality, as if the very air were a caress. though warm in the south, the heat has none of the enervating effect of the heat where humidity combines with it. the heat here is so dry, the air so pure, that there is little extreme discomfort even when the mercury soars to legendary altitudes. in winter all southern arizona is a paradise of loveliness. at this season the towns of florence, phoenix, tucson, yuma, and other points invite one to the balmy air, the luminous brilliant skies, and the nights, which are a glory of starry illumination. northern arizona has a perfection of summer climate, and the grand cañon is destined in the near future to become one of the great summer resorts of the world. with the splendid facilities for comfort offered by the arrangements, the traveller finds all his accustomed conveniences, and the cañon has literally all seasons for its own. there is one glory of july and another glory of january; there is a transcendent loveliness of june, and an equally indescribable charm of october. no month is without its special reasons for visiting at that time this most marvellous scenic wonder of the entire earth. in remote ages arizona was evidently an inland sea. montezuma well, on the verde river, some fifty miles from prescott, is one of the strange spectacles of arizona. the well is on an elevated mesa of solid limestone. it has a circular opening some six hundred feet in diameter, as perfect as if carved by a skilled workman. from the surface opening down to the water is a distance of some seventy feet, and the water itself is over one hundred feet deep. it is perfectly clear and pure. near the well are several cave dwellings, and fragments of pottery abound in the vicinity. there are beds of lava, also revealing that the well is the crater of an extinct volcano. there can be no question but that arizona is one of the most marvellous regions of the world. its interest to the tourist is not exceeded by that of the yellowstone, whose mountains and geysers and strange color effects enchant poet and painter. for the cañon system of the arizona mountain ranges, the stupendous majesty of scenic grandeur which reaches its supreme aspect in the grand cañon of the colorado, the wonders of extinct volcanic action, the colossal channels cut by the action of water, the unearthly splendor of the coloring in sky and atmospheric effects, all combine to make this state the very embodiment and visible expression of magic and mystery. in the broken mountain ranges the detached peaks extend, with narrow, fertile valleys lying between; while deep cañons and wild gorges, with rushing mountain torrents, still further diversify the grandeur of the panorama. five great rivers add another impressive feature,--the colorado, the san juan, the salinas, the verde, and the san francisco,--this system of rivers completing the most extraordinary combination of mountain, valley, mesa, and cañon to be found in the entire world. numberless extinct volcanoes and vast lava beds add their fantastic imagery; and the metamorphic rock strata, recording the most violent volcanic upheavals, tell the prehistoric story of the fiery molten flood which swept over all this region when the earth was new. as has perhaps been suggested in the preceding pages, life in arizona is by no means without its features of entertainment. these include various aspects, not to mention one that is by no means to be enjoyed in any of the great eastern centres,--that of the exclusive annual festivity of the "snake dance." chicago and paris, new york and london, may find social entertainment in balls and opera, dancing and dining, but in arizona one goes to this entertainment on the painted desert; and if in some happy summer of life one's horoscope has deflected his course into arizona and colorado, one comes to regard those fascinating localities with the devotion of a native of their sunny climes. after all, it is not length of time in any experience of life that is significant, but intensity of feeling, and one finds himself really living more intensely in a few weeks in the far west, in all its wonder world, than in years or decades of his accustomed rounds in eastern cities. this entertainment of the snake dance is furnished by the moki indians at their camp some seventy miles over the desert from flagstaff. there is no means of conveyance save by wagons. the journey is over sagebrush and sand, enlivened by stones and cacti. the horses can make only slow progress. but the air is simply delightful and full of exhilaration, and the particular desert over which those who fare forth for this æsthetic spectacle must pass is the "painted desert," whose walls of rocks and mountains, brilliant in a dream of color, recede as they are approached, and thus the entire two days consumed in the journey are a perpetual delight to the eye. the wayfarers camp out overnight, and during the five days' journey--two days to go, two to return, and one to stay--their wants are, perforce, reduced to the most primitive. as the festivity lasts only twenty-eight minutes, it is certainly spending a good deal of time and energy in order to behold so brief a spectacle. but one is told it is worth all the fatigue and the time. it is a religious rite of the moki indians, and is a prayer for rain. the description of it is a literal one, for the dancers hold from one to three snakes--and rattlesnakes at that--in the mouth as they perform their strange gyrations. the dancers are the "braves," while the squaws chant a crooning accompaniment. one student of this indian rite has said: "with the first glow in the east the priests hasten to the shrine of the sun god with their offerings, the luminary himself being greeted with a prayer or with songs as he slowly emerges from behind the mesa in the far east. later the priests repair to their homes, and return to the kiva, bearing the ceremonial paraphernalia with which, early in the afternoon, they robe themselves in gorgeous array preparatory to the dance, which is given usually before the sun sets behind the san francisco peaks. "as the priests emerge from the kiva, where they wait in line until all have appeared, there is the hush of expectancy throughout the village; the inhabitants now line the terraces, house-tops and every available spot around the dance plaza, all being attired in their gayest and brightest costumes. in single file and with measured tread comes the line of priests. entering the plaza, they wheel about and begin a slow, short dance, the time of the step being accompanied by the shaking of rattles and by the singing of sacred songs. the dance is over all too soon, when the spectators return to their camps and the priests to the kiva, where great quantities of food have been brought for them. finally, in a great feast, they break the fast, which, on the part of the chief priests, has been maintained for many days." it is quite by way of being love's labor lost to visit arizona during that period of time devoted to the moqui festival. apparently the entire population betake themselves to this entertainment, journeying over the desert in their wagons, carrying with them their beds, their food, and every necessity, for except what they take with them they must do without. but as all the world, alas, cannot or does not dwell in arizona,--a region in which any one sunset alone is worth the journey there,--and is thus deprived of the unique privilege of assisting at the snake dance, the next best thing, as a substitute, is to read the new work of george wharton james (the author of "in and around the grand canyon") called "indians of the painted desert region." it is the very gateway to a wide and deeply interesting knowledge of indian life in arizona and its relation to advancing civilization. it is the presentation of a series of wonderful landscapes in a vivid manner of word-picturing. "wild, weird, and mystic pictures are formed in the mind by the very name--painted desert," writes mr. james. "the sound suggests a fabled rather than a real land. surely it must be akin to atlantis or the island of circe or the place where the cyclops lived. is it not a land of enchantment and dreams, not a place for living men and women, indians though they be?" it seems that the spaniards gave the name "el pintado deserto"--the painted desert. "stand with me," writes mr. james, "on the summit of one of the towering mountains that guard the region, and you will see such a landscape of color as exists nowhere else in the world. it suggests the thought of god's original palette, where he experimented in color ere he decided how to paint the sunset, tint the sun-kissed hills at dawn, give red to the rose, green to the leaves, yellow to the sunflowers.... look! here is a vast field of alkali,--fine, dazzling white. yonder is a mural face half a thousand feet high and two hundred or more miles long. it is over a hundred miles away, but it reveals the rich glowing red of its walls, and between it and us are vast patches of pinks, grays, greens, carmines, blue, yellow, crimson, and brown, blending in every conceivable shade in a strange and grotesque yet fascinating manner. it is a rainbow petrified. it is a sunset painted on desert sands." and here art and archæology may revel. "history--exciting, thrilling, tragic--has been made in the painted desert region; was being made centuries before lief ericson landed on the shores of vinland or john and sebastian cabot sailed from bristol.... in the painted desert region we find peoples strange, peculiar, and interesting, whose mythology is more fascinating than that of ancient greece, and for aught we know to the contrary, may be equally ancient; whose ceremonies of to-day are more elaborate than those of a devout catholic, more complex than those of a hindoo pantheist, more weird than those of a howling dervish of turkistan.... one of the countries comprised in the painted desert region is the theme of an epoch ... reciting deeds as brave and heroic as those of the greeks at marathon or thermopylæ; a poem recently discovered after having been buried in the tomb of oblivion for over two hundred years. here are peoples to whom a written letter is witchcraft and sorcery, and yet who can read the heavens, interpret the writings of the clouds, deserts, and cañons with unerring certainty.... a land it is of witchcraft and sorcery, of horror and dread of ghosts and goblins, of daily propitiations of fates and powers, and princes of darkness and air, at the very thought of whom withering injuries are sure to come." one is tempted to run on and on in quotation from this fascinating book, which depicts the strange life and the marvellous scenery in the country "where atmospheric colorings are so perfect and so divinely artistic that desolate deserts are made dreams of glory." harriet monroe, the chicago poet, playwright, and most charming of essayists, who by no means limits her séances with the muses to those particular hours in which she dons her singing robes, has given this prose-poem picture of a scene on the "painted desert": "the rocks lay in belts as red as flame, yellow as gold, purple as violets, and they seemed to shine of their own light; the city of rocks, flaming red, and high as mountains; one thousand foot walls sheer to the desert, all carved in needles, spires, towers, castles--the most tremendous thing on earth--there it lay!" of the sudden climatic changes of the desert professor james says: "i have been almost frozen in its piercing snowstorms; choked with sand in its whirling sandstorms; wet through ere i could dismount from my horse in its fierce rainstorms; terrified and temporarily blinded by the brilliancy of its lightning storms, and almost sunstruck by the scorching power of the sun in its desolate confines.... with my horses i have camped, again and again, waterless, on its arid and inhospitable rocks and sands, and prayed for morning, only to resume our exhausting journey in the fiercely beating rays of the burning sun; longing for some pool of water, no matter how dirty, how stagnant, that our parched tongues and throats might feel the delight of swallowing something fluid. and last year ( ), in a journey to the home of the hopi, my friends and i saw a part of this desert covered with the waters of a fierce rainstorm as if it were an ocean, and the 'dry-wash' of the oraibi the scene of a flood that for hours equalled the rapids of the colorado river. desert though it is in the main,--barren, wild, and desolate,--here and there within its boundaries are fertile valleys, wooded slopes, and garden spots as rich as any on earth; and the people who make their dwelling-place in this inhospitable land present characteristics as strongly contrasted as those of nature. here are peoples of uncertain and mysterious origin whose history is preserved only in fantastic legends and traditional songs; whose government is as pure and perfect as that of the patriarchs, and possibly as ancient, and yet more republican than the most modern of existing governments; peoples whose women build and own the houses, and whose men weave the garments of the women, knit the stockings of their own wear, and are as expert with needle and thread as their ancestors were with bow and arrow, obsidian-tipped spear, or stone battle-axe.... here are peoples of stupendous religious beliefs. peoples who can truthfully be designated as the most religious of the world, yet peoples as agnostic and sceptic, if not as learned as hume, voltaire, spencer, and ingersoll. peoples to whom a written letter is witchcraft and sorcery, and yet who can read the heavens, interpret the writings of the woods, deserts, and cañons with a certainty never failing.... here are intelligent farmers who for centuries have scientifically irrigated their lands and yet who cut off the ears of their burros to keep them from stealing corn.... peoples who pray by machinery as the burmese use their prayer wheels, and who 'plant' supplications as a gardener plants trees and shrubs.... peoples who are pantheists, sun worshippers, and snake dancers, yet who have churches and convents built with incredible labor and as extensive as any modern cathedral. peoples whose conservatism in manners and religion surpasses that of the veriest english tories; who for hundreds of years have steadily and successfully resisted all efforts to 'convert' and change them, and who to-day are as firm in their faiths as ever.... peoples to whom fraternal organizations and secret societies, for men and women alike, are as ancient as the mountains they inhabit, whose lodgerooms are more wonderful, and whose signs and passwords more complex, than those of any organization of civilized lands and modern times." one of the most weird and fascinating experiences in arizona is a visit to "assamanuda," the "country of the departed spirits." this is the poetic name the iroquois indians give to the painted desert. this vast plain stretches away with gigantic horizontal columns, the remains of vast layers of sedimentary rock, from which the rains of prehistoric ages have washed away the connecting earth, and the columns are streaked and mottled with scarlet, due, it is said, to the oxidization of particles of feldspar in the granite of which these rocks are composed. here may be witnessed in its perfection the fata morgana. in the air appear palaces, hanging gardens, and temples; fountains and wonderful parks adorned with sculpture; towers and turreted castles; beautiful villas with terraced lawns and cascades of water thrown high in the air; rose gardens and hills, where the deer and the antelope are seen; all these and other visions of loveliness are pictured on the air in a perfection of light and shading. it is not difficult to fancy that one is really gazing into the ethereal world, beyond the pearly gates, and gazing indeed into "the country of departed spirits." [illustration: suwara (giant cactus), salt river valley, arizona] all northern and northeastern arizona are comprised in the region,--nature's picture gallery. dr. newberry, the geologist, who explored all the regions east of the upper colorado as far as the junction of the green and the grand rivers, thus pictures one view of the plateau: "directly south the view was bounded by the high and distant mesas of the navajo country, succeeded in the southwest by the still more lofty battlements of the great white mesa formerly seen from the moqui pueblos. on these high tablelands the outlines were not only distinctly visible, but grand and impressive at the distance of a hundred miles. nearly west a great gap opened in the high tablelands through which the san juan flows to its junction with the colorado. the distance between the mesa walls is perhaps ten miles, and scattered over it are castle-like buttes and slender towers, none of which can be less than a thousand feet in height, their sides absolutely perpendicular and their forms wonderful imitations of architectural art. illuminated by the setting sun the outlines of these singular objects come out sharp and distinct with such exact similitude to art that we could hardly resist conviction that we beheld the walls and towers of some ancient cyclopean city, hitherto undiscovered." every journey in arizona seems to lead on into an enchanted world. the gray valley road, the curious mesa formations that stretch into infinite distances; the mystic apparition in the estrella range of the montezuma faces; the ruins of casa grande, which tell their tale of a massive city that once existed here; the ruins on the rio verde; the mounds and shafts discovered belonging to some prehistoric civilization; the ancient watch tower; the painted rocks, with their extensive hieroglyphics,--all speak to the archæologist in a language that fascinates the imagination. its three greatest features--the grand cañon, regarding which there is neither speech nor language; the petrified forest, and that submerged star known as "meteorite mountain"--would alone make it the world mecca of scientists; to say nothing of the strange ruins of prehistoric peoples, of an unearthly beauty of atmospheric coloring, and of the contemporary scientific interest of the great lowell observatory at flagstaff, or the splendid progress and development of the people. it might well have been of this marvellous country that emerson wrote: "and many a thousand summers my gardens ripened well, and light from meliorating stars with firmer glory fell. "i wrote the past in characters of rock and fire the scroll, the building in the coral sea, the planting of the coal. "and thefts from satellites and rings and broken stars i drew, and out of spent and aged things i formed the world anew." what is the world that shall be in this mystic arizona? what, indeed, was the world that has been there? imagination falters alike before the stupendous marvels of its past, the picturesque splendors of its future. its scenic grandeur will make arizona a world centre; the nations from afar will make their pilgrimage to the sublimest marvels of all nature's revelations to this planet. here will be sought the counsel of the gods. the message of the prehistoric past and of the undiscovered future will "give the law of night and day" in wonderful arizona, the land of magic and mystery. chapter ix the petrified forest and the meteorite mountain "_a spell is laid on sod and stone, night and day are tampered with. every quality and pith surcharged and sultry with a power that works its will on age and hour._" emerson a june day in the petrified forests of arizona is an experience that can never fade from memory. every excursion into this strange, uncanny realm of arizona, which is an empire in its area; every journey one takes, every trail he follows, leads into strange and fascinating locality; and adamana, the gateway to the petrified forests, has its own spellbinding power for the tourist. adamana consists of a water tank, the station, and two bungalows, in one of which very comfortable entertainment is offered, and in the other of which dwells a character whom all travellers meet,--adam hanna, a distant relative of the late mark hanna, the original settler of this region. for a long time the place was known as adam hanna's, and when with advancing civilization this designation became too colloquial for an up-to-date twentieth-century world, the elision of two or three letters gave the present attractive name,--adamana. to leave the comfortable ease of a pullman sleeper at the witching hour of five in the morning to stop over at adamana and visit the petrified forest requires a degree of fortitude beyond that usually calculated. left to one's self, one would emulate the example of the man who journeyed to the north pole to see a sunrise that occurred only three days in the year. on the first two mornings he refused to rise on the plea of the further extension of his opportunities; on the third, when his servant reminded him that it was the "last call," he turned over and philosophically remarked that he would come again next year. but the dusky porter allows the tourist no such margin for reflection, and one finds himself standing in some wonderful place spellbound by the witchery of the desert, and the long train vanishing in the distance, almost before he knows whether he has exchanged the land of dreams for the land of day and daylight realities,--for this weird and mystic panorama of the infinite desert, with the bluest of turquoise skies already lighted by the blazing splendor of the june sunrise, and the grotesque, uncanny buttes scattered at intervals all over that vast plain. the intense silence was unbroken save by the voice and footstep of the man representing the little bungalow termed the forest hotel. contrary to one's preconceived ideas of an arizona desert, the morning was cold, and the blazing fire and hot coffee were most grateful. but where was the "petrified forest"? one marvelled. away on the horizon gleamed an evanescent, palpitating region of shimmering color. yet this was not the "quarry of jewels," but the "bad lands," which have at least one redeeming virtue, whatever their vices,--that of producing the most aërial and fairy-like color effects imaginable. it is astonishing how swiftly one relinquishes preconceived ideas of living and learns to get on without electric bells, long-distance telephones, and elaborate conveniences in general, even to the "prepared air," strained through thin layers of cloth, as the latest superfine condition added to a great new york hotel, and adapts one's self to a mode of life in which a simple but very clean room, primitive food, wonderful air, good, kind people, and a petrified forest to amuse him, take the place of the complex and elaborate life of the great eastern cities. at adamana one finds himself seventy-five miles from gallup, new mexico, the nearest town of any importance, from which all household supplies must be ordered. when the coffee gives out, for instance, seventy-five miles from a lemon; and when a sunday and a holiday have almost followed each other, thus delaying all orders, one has then the most delightful and spacious opportunities for experimenting on the simple life. the desert offers other things; and while these do not include the menu of sherry's, for instance, they do include certain allurements for which the country might be searched in vain, as they only exist on the colorado desert. the quality of the air, the color of the sky, the marvel of color vistas,--all make up a new world in which one finds himself fairly questioning regarding his own identity. nor has he any apparent test by which to determine-- "if i am i, as i do hope i be." perhaps, indeed, he does not so tenaciously cling to that which he remembers of himself yesterday, and is rather interested, on the whole, in accepting some possibly new transformation of his being. the locality seems to him sufficiently well indicated as being, according to his first impression, simply somewhere in the magic and witchery of space. this address might not be accepted by the government postal service, but even that heretofore indispensable matter in some way fades into comparative insignificance. what does one who has an arizona sky, and a bewildering shimmer of color afar on the horizon that might be "a painted ship upon a painted ocean" or almost anything else,--what does he want of the sublunary detail of eight postal deliveries a day, beginning at half-past seven in the morning, with his first dawn of returning consciousness, and ending with midnight, when he is, very likely, summoned out of his sleep by the rap of a bellboy delivering more mail,--more,--as if he had not been under an avalanche of it all day and had sought refuge in dreamland for the very purpose of escaping the vigilance of his national postal service. but one may as well accept the fact as one from which there is no appeal, that in the heart of civilization he cannot escape its burdens and its penalties. he can only evade them by going to--adamana, for instance; adamana, the metropolis of the railroad water-tank, the station, and two bungalows. even these are too many. one bungalow is enough. he cannot repose in two at the same time; and as for neighbors and news,--has he not the stars and the sunsets? what does emily dickinson say?-- "the only news i know is bulletins all day from immortality." there are no birds to "... carol undeceiving things," as in colorado; but there is, instead, intense silence,--a silence so absolutely intense as to be, by a paradox, fairly vocal; and if one does but catch the music of the spheres for which he finds himself listening, it must be that his powers of hearing are defective. one recalls the lines: "who loves the music of the spheres and lives on earth, must close his ears to many voices that he hears." the "many voices" are stilled; one has left them at least seventy-five miles away,--in gallup, for instance! gallup, that for the time prefigures itself to him as his new york, his paris, his london. it is the source of all his possible supplies; and that it does not assume an overwhelming importance is simply because he does not want any supplies of the particular nature that gallup--or paris--can furnish. he has achieved something more than the power to satisfy all his (former) multitudinous wants; he has eliminated them. to be sure, the chinese have a proverb that it is not worth while to cut off one's feet to save buying shoes. yet, if instead of depriving himself of feet he has achieved wings, why, manifestly, there is no need of shoes. there are, when one comes to think of it, a vast number of things in our late civilization for which there is no special need. "for a cap and bells our lives we pay; bubbles we earn with a whole soul's tasking: 'tis heaven alone that is given away; 'tis only god may be had for the asking." in fact, when one comes to reflect upon the aspects of his former life (as he sees them in mental panorama from adamana), he can only arrive at the conclusion that life is unnecessarily choked and submerged under an ever-increasing burden of _things_. emerson, of course, whose insight saw the universe as a crystal sphere which revealed to his vision its entire working mechanism,--emerson long since announced that "things are in the saddle and ride mankind." why should one be ridden by things? why should he enslave himself,--mortgage his entire powers of achievement, such as they are, to pay his bills to the butcher, the baker, and the candlestick maker? is not the life more than meat, and the spirit than fine raiment? so he may dream for the moment, gazing meditatively at the water-tank, the station, and the two bungalows that comprise adamana. good for that day only, at least, is its contrast to the bewildering din of _entrepôts_, of ports, of custom-houses, of the general din and warfare of the world he has left behind. holbrook, the other station for the petrified forests, is twenty miles away. flagstaff, a very thriving and interesting arizona town, famous as the site of the observatory of prof. percival lowell of boston, is one hundred and fifty miles to the west; and one hour of railroad journey beyond flagstaff is williams, the town from which runs the branch railroad to the grand cañon over the rolling mesas crowned with the beautiful peaks of the san francisco mountains, a distance of sixty-three miles, the journey occupying three hours. the nearest town to adamana station, in which a daily paper is published, is albuquerque, in new mexico, which is nine hundred and thirty-five miles to the east, almost as far as from new york to chicago. the metropolis to which this region looks as its nearest large city is los angeles, twenty-six hours distant. so here one is out of the world, so to speak,-- "the world forgetting, by the world forgot,"-- with the vast rolling mesas, with sandstone cliffs offering an uncanny landscape before the eye, with the eternal blue of arizona skies bending above, with a silence so deep brooding over the desert that one might well feel himself on the moon rather than on earth,--a silence only broken by the semi-daily rush of the long overland trains and occasional freight lines that pass. [illustration: san francisco peak, near flagstaff, arizona] john muir, the famous california naturalist, explorer, and author of valuable books on the western parks, passed the winter of - at adamana with his two daughters, the misses wanda and helen muir, and it is he who has discovered the new petrified forest which he calls the "blue forest"--all the specimens having a deep blue tone, while the other three are simply quarries of red moss, agate, amethyst, topaz, pale rose crystals gleaming against a smoky green ground. the landscape effect of the "bad lands" from the little bungalow known as the forest hotel is of fairy-like enchantment. a shimmer of rose and gray and gold and emerald, it gleams on the horizon. lighted by a blazing sunset, it might well be the gates of a new jerusalem. anything more exquisite, and more ineffably ethereal in coloring, one might journey far to seek. "moreover, something is, or seems, that touches us like mystic gleams, like glimpses of forgotten dreams." these lines may, perchance, come echoing around one in the air as he loiters at night on the low, long piazza, while the myriad meteors of arizona skies blaze their way through the transparent air and a sky full of stars contends with the moon for brilliancy; the unearthly, delicate, ethereal coloring of the "bad lands" gleaming resplendent on the distant horizon. if the wanderer has fallen upon particularly fortunate days in his horoscope and found miss wanda muir--her quaint name coming from her mother, the daughter of a polish nobleman--to drive him out to this marvellous "forest" of stone, he will have a pleasure enhanced by interesting conversation. a graduate of berkeley college in california, and the constant companion of her father in his wanderings, miss muir is indeed an ideal guide, and under her hand one june morning the two horses sped along over the rough, stony ground at a pace to set every fibre tingling. one of the features of the arizona desert is the arroyo, a dry stream, a ready-made river, so to speak, minus the water. some of these even have a stream of flowing water, only it is under the bed of the river rather than on top of it, for arizona is the land of magic and wonder and of a general reversal of accepted conditions. "sometimes in driving out here," said miss muir, "a cloudburst comes up while we are in the petrified forests, and on returning the horses have to swim this dry stream. once the water was so high it came into the wagon. not infrequently, when we go out to the forest, some one comes dashing after us on horseback to warn us to get back as quickly as possible, or the torrents of water from a sudden cloudburst will cut us off altogether, perhaps for a day and a night." the pleasing uncertainty of life in arizona may be realized from this danger of being suddenly drowned in the arid sands of a desert, and being confronted with a sudden lodore that descends from the heavens on a midsummer noon. but, as one is constantly saying to himself, arizona is the land of surprises. no known laws of meteorology, or of any other form of science, hold good here. the mountain peak transforms itself into the bottom of a sea, and the sea suddenly upheaves itself in air and figures as a mountain. arizona is nature's kaleidoscope; it is the land of transformation. of the three petrified forests, each separated by a mile or two, the first is reached by a drive of some six miles, while the third is more than twice as far. the second is the largest and most elaborate, and in the aggregate they cover an area of over two thousand acres. the ground is the high rolling mesas, and over it are scattered, "thick as leaves in vallombrosa," the jewel-like fragments of mighty trees in deposits that are the wonder of the scientist. from the huge fallen tree trunks, many of these being over two hundred feet in length and of similar proportions in diameter, to the mere chips and twigs, the forests are transmuted into agate and onyx and chalcedony. numbers of these specimens contain perfect crystals. they are vivid and striking in color,--in rich byzantine red, deep greens and purples and yellow, white and translucent, or dark in all color blendings. great blocks of agate cover many parts of the forest. hundreds of entire trees are seen. when cut transversely these logs show the bark, the inner fibre, and veining as perfectly as would a living tree. and over all these fallen monarchs of a prehistoric forest bends the wonderful turquoise sky of arizona, and the air is all the liquid gold of the intense sunshine. at tiffany's in new york may be seen huge slabs and sections of this petrified wood under high polish. a fine exhibit of it was made at the paris exposition in , and a specimen of it was presented to rodin, the great sculptor, who was incredulous of the possibility that this block, apparently of onyx, could have been wood. through all the forests are these strange rock formations called buttes, rising in the most weird shapes from the sand and stones and sagebrush of the vast desert. what a treasure-ground of antiquity! this region, which seems a plain, is yet higher than the top of mount washington, and the altitude insures almost perpetual coolness. scientists seem to agree in the theory that the petrified forests are a debatable phenomenon whose origin eludes any final conclusion. it is possible that some mighty sea suddenly arose--perhaps as the present salton sea in southern california--and engulfed them. the land is partly the "bad lands" and partly a sandy plain covered with petrifactions. the third forest contains hundreds of unbroken tree trunks, of which some are over two hundred feet in length. many of these are partly imbedded in the earth. all around this high plateau rise on the horizon surrounding cliffs to the height of one hundred and fifty and more feet, serrated into ravines and gorges, variegated with the sandstone formations in all their shimmer of colors, and indicating that this basin was once the bottom of a sea. it is the paradise of the ethnologist as well as of the geologist. besides cliff ruins and hieroglyphics, almost anywhere, by chance, one may find traces of submerged walls, and following these, a man with an ordinary spade may dig up prehistoric pottery, skeletons, beads, rings, and occasionally necklaces. the pottery, both in design and in scheme of decoration, shows a high degree of civilization. who were these prehistoric peoples who had built their pueblos and created their implements and pottery and were already old when plymouth rock was new? much of the symbolic creation here still awaits its interpreter. from these millions of tons of glistening, shining blocks and segments and tree trunks the tourist is not allowed to carry away specimens _carte blanche_, as formerly. the petrified forests are now a government reservation, although not yet one of the government parks. small specimens, within a reasonable amount, are permitted the tourist as souvenirs. the petrified forests are quarries rather than forests; the great fallen logs, branches, and chips, lying prostrate on the ground, are seen glowing and gleaming like jewels. so far as the eye can reach there is not a human habitation. over the infinite stretch of sand and rocks bends the bluest of skies, and here and there are prehistoric indian mines, and one ledge of cliffs on which are strange and as yet undeciphered hieroglyphics. the graves of the prehistoric inhabitants of this region are numerous, each containing rare and choice specimens of pottery which are dug out intact. this region seems to have been once thickly populated. the remains of pueblos are numerous. skeletons are constantly being found. although the visitor is not allowed to carry away with him a trainload or so of specimens, he may still be permitted a beautiful cross-section of an entire tree trunk, showing all the veins of the wood and the bark, a specimen thin enough to be portable, and worthy a place in any cabinet of curiosities, besides many chips showing all the range of beautiful colors which abound in chalcedony park. in this park lies a vast fallen tree trunk that forms a natural bridge over a chasm,--a bridge that seems to be of solid agate. these forests are among the great scenic wonders of the world, and if they were in the heart of the himalayas or some other especially inaccessible spot, all good americans would hasten to visit them. but our own wonderful and incomparable scenic grandeur is neglected. these "petrified forests" are the marvel of the geologist. what has happened, in all the phenomena of nature, to produce this incredible spectacle? many scientific men believe that these forests did not grow on the spot where they now would lie prostrate, but were swept down by floods when this region was a vast inland sea, and that they became imbedded in the sand; that then the sea vanished and volcanic eruptions poured over, and the wood was hardened to rock. again, a flood of water passed over and washed away the sand and silt, and the erosion left these thousands of acres of petrifactions exposed on the surface as now; and thus, after millenniums have passed, we have these quarries of chalcedony and agate, onyx, cornelian, topaz, and amethyst. every evening at adamana disclosed a sky panorama of kaleidoscopic wonder. afar to the horizon the bad lands shimmered in a faint dream of colors under the full moon. the stars seemed to hang midway in the air, and frequent meteors blazed through the vast, mysterious space. adamana is nine hours from albuquerque, the metropolis of new mexico, and five hours distant from flagstaff, to the west. all the thousands of acres of desert lands about require only water to render them richly productive. but water is unattainable. there are no mountain ranges near enough to produce water storage, and unless the twentieth-century scientists discover some way of creating rain, these arid regions must remain as they are. yet even here american life and energy and progress are seen. the scattered settlers unite in maintaining public schools six months in the year, and with only from twelve to twenty pupils the teacher is paid from seventy-five to eighty dollars a month,--more than twice the salary paid in the country schools in new england. in the little bungalow here at adamana, where mr. stevenson, the government guardian of the petrified forests, makes tourists strangely comfortable during their desert sojourn, one finds a piano, a well-selected little library, and young people whose command of the violin and piano offer music that is by no means unacceptable. the children get music lessons--no one knows how; they are eager for any instruction in language, and acquire french and spanish in some measure, and in all ways the national ambition is sustained. from albuquerque comes a daily paper, and only one day behind date the los angeles papers arrive. one is not out of the world (alas!) even on the arizona desert. it is a new world in itself,--the desert of arizona. no region on the earth is more diversified, more intensely interesting. this desert comprises mountains and plains; it contains that one supreme scenic wonder of the world, the grand cañon; in it are cañon diablo and the meteorite mountain. within its area also is the "tonto basin,"--an incalculable chaos of isolated and unrelated cliffs, and crags of mountains peaks that have lost their mountains, and general wreck and ruin. one might fancy that at the end of creation, when the universe itself was completed, all the chips and fragments and débris in general were hurled into the tonto basin,--only that, of course, the universe was never "made," but is always in the making; only that the physical configuration of the entire earth is always in process of transformation into new aspects, and nowhere is this progress of the ages more extraordinarily in evidence than in arizona. leaving the petrified forest for the grand cañon, one has a wonderful journey of six hours to williams, and thence three hours over the branch road to bright angel, where the new and magnificent hotel, "el tovar," captivates the travellers, and from which a stage runs to grand view, thirteen miles away, where vishnu temple, the coliseum, solomon's temple, and other wonders of the marvellous sandstone architecture, in the depths of the grand cañon are viewed. in waiting for the train on the branch road running from williams to the grand cañon over the beautiful san franciscan mountains, the hour of waiting at williams is made a delight by a most unique and interesting curiosity shop under the splendid harvey management, where all kinds of natural curiosities and indian and mexican things are shown. the walls are hung with bright-hued blankets and rugs, the ceiling is decorated and draped, easy-chairs and sofas abound, and these tend to make the journey a kind of royal progress. in pedro de tovar, one of the officers who accompanied coronado through his great expedition, passed through arizona. even then an extinct civilization was already old. the ruins of the dwellings of those prehistoric people abound near flagstaff. in the recesses of walnut cañon there are found cliff-dwellings in great numbers. "some of these are in ruins, and have but a narrow shelf of the once broad floor of solid rock left to evidence their extreme antiquity. others are almost wholly intact, having stubbornly resisted the weathering of time." nothing but fragments of pottery now remain of the many quaint implements and trinkets that characterized these dwellings at the time of their discovery. "fixed like swallows' nests upon the face of a precipice, approachable from above or below only by deliberate and cautious climbing, these dwellings have the appearance of fortified retreats rather than habitual abodes. that there was a time in the remotest past when warlike peoples of mysterious origin passed southward over this plateau is generally credited. and the existence of the cliff-dwellings is ascribed to the exigencies of that dark period when the inhabitants of the plateau, unable to cope with the superior energy, intelligence, and numbers of the descending hordes, devised these unassailable retreats. all their quaintness and antiquity cannot conceal the deep pathos of their being, for tragedy is written all over these poor hovels hung between earth and sky. their builders hold no smallest niche in recorded history. their aspirations, their struggles, and their fate are all unwritten, save on these crumbling stones, which are their sole monument and meagre epitaph. here once they dwelt. they left no other print on time." flagstaff is a pleasant mountain town some seven thousand feet above sea level, and is particularly fortunate in being the site of the lowell observatory, founded by professor percival lowell of boston, which brings eminent astronomers and scientists to the place. in the lowell observatory some of the best work in modern science is being accomplished, and professor lowell and his staff have for some years been devoting themselves to the special study of mars. flagstaff was selected for the site of the observatory on account of the singularly clear and still air of arizona. it is an atmosphere almost without vibration. never were distances more curiously deceiving to the eye than in arizona. a point that is apparently only a few yards away may be, in reality, at a distance of two miles. professor lowell and his staff have, therefore, exceptional facilities for their work, and mr. carl otto lampland, the stellar photographer of the staff, has taken impressions of mars that seem to leave little doubt in the minds of experts that canals on that planet reflect themselves by the camera. this achievement is recognized by astronomers everywhere as marking an epoch in the study of mars and as fairly closing the argument regarding the possibility of canals on that body by bringing their construction there as an unquestionable fact. it was schiaparelli, the italian astronomer, who first observed what he believed were canals on mars. his report was received with incredulity; but his theory has been so reinforced and supported by actual results of observations since then that it is now generally accepted. early in the decade of - professor lowell began a special study at flagstaff with his fine twenty-four-inch telescope, but it was in may, , that the first results of real significance were obtained. the light about mars is said to be faint, and the vibrations in the air, though less in arizona than is usual elsewhere, still produced disturbing effects on the plate. it is said that mr. lampland overcame this difficulty after a long series of experiments, "by using a diaphragm on the telescope, cutting down the aperture from twenty-four inches to twelve inches, as a rule. though this diaphragming of a photographic lens is not new, this was the first time it was applied to a glass as large as twenty-four inches in diameter and for such faint objects. hitherto astronomers have been more concerned with availing themselves of the light-gathering power of the large lenses. it was a distinct advance, and is the one step to which the largest share of the credit is due of successfully photographing the canals." in the vestibule of the institute of technology in boston were shown in the spring of a number of these photographs. to the uninitiated they merely presented a black ground with white lines faintly defined. professor lowell says that the special significance of the photographs lies in the fact that they corroborate the results shown by other photographers of mars, and that they also corroborate the methods. that the sensitive plate of the camera will record a star never visible through even the strongest glass, and thus prove its existence, is a wonderful fact in stellar photography. cañon diablo is one of the volcanic phenomena of arizona,--a narrow chasm some two hundred and fifty feet deep, several miles long, and five or six hundred feet wide, which the santa fé road crosses on a wonderful steel spider-web bridge a few miles before reaching flagstaff. it is one of the curious things for which the tourist is watching. for so intensely interesting is the entire journey westward after leaving la junta in colorado, that the traveller who realizes the wonderland through which he is passing is very much on the alert for the landscape. between adamana and flagstaff is a strangely interesting country. here is meteorite mountain, where evidently a huge meteor fell into the earth with terrific force, upheaving all the surrounding crust and thus producing a mountain with an enormous cavity in its centre. for five years men have been digging here to find the meteor. they have excavated huge fragments of it. the vast hollow crater where the meteorite is supposed to have fallen into the ground is a mile wide. in some fragments of the meteor which were submitted to sir william crookes for examination that great scientist found diamonds in small but unmistakable quantities. the meteorite mountain is situated not more than ten miles south of cañon diablo, from which station the traveller may drive to this phenomenal cavity. within recent months shafts are being projected into the earth to discover, if possible, whether the meteoric theory is the true one. more and more, with every year, is science undertaking to "pluck out the heart of the mystery" in this problematic arizona. prof. g. k. gilbert, of the united states geological survey, has made a special study of this phenomenon, and it is he who experimented with a magnetic test, assuming that if an enormous meteorite had hurled itself into the earth until it was buried past excavation, the great mass of metallic iron would still respond to the test, and furnish unmistakable proof of its presence if subjected to magnetic attraction. a scientific writer who has recently made a study of meteorite mountain thus reports the conditions: "the mountain is about two hundred feet high, and there are a few stunted pines about its forbidding looking slopes. going to the top of this mountain, over huge masses of strange-looking rock, one will find a great depression, generally called the crater, though there are no evidences of its volcanic formation. this crater is a huge bowl one mile across and six hundred feet deep. the winds of the desert have blown much sand into the crater, evidently covering the bottom of the depression to a depth of many feet. there is a level space of about forty acres in the bottom of the crater. "when the gigantic meteor fell hissing into the earth, if it ever did so, the concussion must have been terrific. and in this connection it is interesting to note that the indians near by have a legend about a huge star falling out of the heavens and dazzling the tribe with its brightness. then there was a great shock and sudden darkness, and ever since then the indians have regarded meteorite mountain with awe. some idea of the action of the meteorite can be obtained by throwing a stone into the mud. when the meteorite buried itself far into the earth the sides were heaved up, leaving a rim-like circle about the depression. as the meteorite sank into the earth it must have crushed layers of red sandstone and limestone. it is believed that the white sand found in the crater and on the sides of the mountain is from the sandstone pulverized by the meteor in its descent. this sand was blown skyward and afterward settled down on the mountain, covering it thickly. no sand like it is to be found near the mountain. "men searching the ground surrounding the mountain for a distance of several miles find small meteorites. several of these weigh as much as one thousand pounds, and others weigh only a fraction of an ounce. the largest pieces were found furthest from the mountain. these meteorites have been proved to be practically non-magnetic. this may explain why the immense body of iron in the buried meteor has not shown any magnetic properties. needles taken to the mountain have not shown the presence of any great magnetic attraction, and this fact puzzled scientists until it was found that the fragments found near the mountain did not possess magnetism. "another interesting discovery is the presence of what is called 'iron shale' near the mountain. these are fragments of burned or 'dead' iron. they might have been broken from the meteorite at the time of the terrific impact, or they might have been snapped from the larger body owing to a sudden cooling process. inasmuch as the cañon diablo country was at one time an immense inland sea, another interesting theory has been brought forth,--that the meteor fell into this sea, and that the great number of splinters of iron in the neighborhood were caused by the sudden cooling of the molten mass. it has been discovered that these small meteorites contain diamonds." in the immediate vicinity of meteorite mountain several tons of meteoric fragments have been found of which prof. george wharton james has one, weighing about a ton, on his lawn at his charming residence in pasadena. there are also found in this vicinity large amounts of shale which scientists pronounce analogous to the meteorite, but "dead"; yet this shale is highly magnetic and possesses polarity,--one of the most mysterious and incomprehensible properties of electricity. professor gilbert did not meet success when he tried the magnetic test, and in discussing this matter in an address on "the origin of hypotheses," delivered before the geological society in washington last year, he said: "still another contribution to the subject, while it does not increase the number of hypotheses, is nevertheless important in that it tends to diminish the weight of the magnetic evidence and thus to reopen the question which mr. baker and i supposed we had settled. our fellow-member, mr. edwin e. howell, through whose hands much of the meteoric iron had passed, points out that each of the iron masses, great and small, is in itself a complete individual. they have none of the characters that would be found if they had been broken one from another, and yet, as they are all of one type and all reached the earth within a small district, it must be supposed that they were originally connected in some way. "reasoning by analogy from the characters of other meteoric bodies, he infers that the irons were all included in a large mass of some different material, either crystalline rock, such as constitutes the class of meteorites called 'stony,' or else a compound of iron and sulphur, similar to certain nodules discovered inside the iron masses when sawn in two. neither of these materials is so enduring as iron, and the fact that they are not now found on the plain does not prove their original absence. moreover, the plain is strewn in the vicinity of the crater with bits of limonite, a mineral frequently produced by the action of air and water on iron sulphides, and this material is much more abundant than the iron. if it be true that the iron masses were thus embedded, like plums in an astral pudding, the hypothetic buried star might have great size and yet only small power to attract the magnetic needle. mr. howell also proposes a qualification of the test by volumes, suggesting that some of the rocks beneath the buried star might have been condensed by the shock so as to occupy less space. "these considerations are eminently pertinent to the study of the crater and will find appropriate place in any comprehensive discussion of its origin; but the fact which is peculiarly worthy of note at the present time is their ability to unsettle a conclusion that was beginning to feel itself secure. this illustrates the tentative nature not only of the hypotheses of science, but of what science calls its results. "the method of hypotheses, and that method is the method of science, founds its explanations of nature wholly on observed facts, and its results are ever subject to the limitations imposed by imperfect observation. however grand, however widely accepted, however useful its conclusions, none is so sure that it cannot be called into question by a newly discovered fact. in the domain of the world's knowledge there is no infallibility." sir william crookes has been deeply interested in the phenomenon of meteorite mountain, which must take rank with the petrified forests and even with the grand cañon as one of the marvels of arizona. the meteoric shower which seems to have accompanied the falling of the huge meteorite--if the theory of its existence is true--has recorded its traces over a radius of more than five miles from the crater-like cavity. the experiment of dr. foote is thus described: "an ardent mineralogist, the late dr. foote, in cutting a section of this meteorite, found the tools were injured by something vastly harder than metallic iron, and an emery wheel used in grinding the iron had been ruined. he examined the specimen chemically, and soon after announced to the scientific world that the cañon diablo meteorite contained black and transparent diamonds. this startling discovery was afterwards verified by professors friedel and moissan, who found that the cañon diablo meteorite contained the three varieties of carbon,--diamond (transparent and black), graphite, and amorphous carbon. since this revelation the search for diamonds in meteorites has occupied the attention of chemists all over the world. "here, then, we have absolute proof of the truth of the meteoric theory. under atmospheric influences the iron would rapidly oxidize and rust away, coloring the adjacent soil with red oxide of iron. the meteoric diamonds would be unaffected and left on the surface to be found by explorers when oxidation had removed the last proof of their celestial origin. that there are still lumps of iron left in arizona is merely due to the extreme dryness of the climate and the comparatively short time that the iron has been on our planet. we are here witnesses to the course of an event which may have happened in geologic times anywhere on the earth's surface." in this desert plateau of dull red sandstone worn by the erosion and the storms of untold ages, does there indeed lie a submerged star? and if there does, buried so deep in the earth as to elude as yet all the research of science, what force projected it, "shot madly from its sphere," into the desert lands of arizona? to visit these extraordinary things--the petrified forests, the meteorite mountain, the grand cañon--is to feel, in the words of the poet,-- "these are but seeds of days, not yet a steadfast morn, an intermittent blaze, an embryo god unborn. * * * * * i snuff the breath of my morning afar, i see the pale lustres condense to a star: the fading colors fix, the vanishing are seen, and the world that shall be twins the world that has been." not the least among the phenomena of arizona is that emerson, who never saw the great west, should have left on record in his poems the lines and stanzas that seem as if written from personal familiarity with its unspeakable marvels of scenic and scientific interest. chapter x los angeles, the spell-binder "_this is the land the sunset washes, these are the banks of the yellow sea; where it rose, or whither it rushes, these are the western mystery!_ "_night after night her purple traffic strews the landing with opal bales; merchantmen poise upon horizons, dip, and vanish with fairy sails._" emily dickinson "_in what ethereal dances! by what eternal streams!_" los angeles, "the city of the angels," is invested with the same poetic suggestion in its name as that which surrounds santa fé,--"the city of the holy faith." a terraced street is known as "angel flight." any retrospective contemplation of los angeles gives one the sensation of having been whirled through the starry immensities of space. during even a brief stay one afterward discovers by the unerring logic of mathematics that within a few days he has perhaps travelled some four hundred miles by the electric trolley cars, besides his motor-car journeys when shot through space from old san gabriel to the pacific coast, or from elysium park to hollywood, and far and away on the opposite side of the city. were one caught up in an aëro-car, journeying far above the clouds for ten days, it could hardly seem more unreal. one can only think of los angeles as the city of vast spaces. the town has laid out all the surrounding country, one would fancy, in beautiful tracts (there are over four thousand), each tract containing several acres,--laid out under alluring names, with streets, sidewalks, and lamp-posts. the "boom" is something tremendous. companies and corporations run free electric cars to points forty miles out of town, as redondo beach and other localities, for people to inspect the lots offered,--lots at prices from "four dollars down, and four dollars a month," with the entire cost from ninety dollars up to that of several hundred. if all the world is not supplied with homes it is not the fault of enterprising los angeles. the incomparable electric trolley system renders the entire region within fifty miles around eligible for city privileges. people think nothing of going thirty, forty, even seventy-five miles by the "express electrics." over an area of a thousand miles in length and perhaps one hundred and fifty in width there is scattered a population less than that centred within city limits in chicago. the world is wide--in southern california. there is nothing of the dreamy, languorous old spanish atmosphere in los angeles. it is the most electrically up-to-date city imaginable. the city limits comprise over twenty-eight thousand acres. the streets are paved and oiled; the lighting is wonderful, most of it being done from tall towers rather than ordinary lamp-posts. not even new york has any street or avenue so illuminated by night as is broadway in los angeles, where, as in the boulevards in paris, one can easily read by the street lights. los angeles has twenty-one great parks and innumerable hills and valleys in the residence regions. this diversity affords natural facilities for landscape gardening which are utilized with fine effect. spacious boulevards, artificial lakes, and series of terraces everywhere enchant the eye, seen amidst the bewildering luxuriance of creamy magnolia blossoms and the graceful pepper tree. the enterprise of los angeles is equalled by the refinement and culture of the people, and the schools, churches, libraries--the social life--all reveal the best spirit of american institutions. that this is one of the spellbinding cities goes without saying. everything is in gleam and glitter and glow. the electric car and the telephone system are here developed to a higher degree than perhaps in any other western city except denver. the growth of los angeles is something fairly incredible. a leading park commissioner, dr. lamb, has described the beauty of the four thousand tracts of land (each tract comprising many acres), all laid out, ready for buyers and builders. of the twenty-one parks, one comprises more than three thousand acres, and another, elysium park, over eight hundred acres of hills and valleys already decoratively laid out with terraced drives and beautiful shrubs, flowers, and artificial lakes. the trend of the city is rapidly toward the ocean, some fifteen to twenty miles away, and it can hardly be five years before from venice and santa monica, on the coast, to pasadena, ten miles to the east of los angeles, there will be one solid city, one vast metropolis of the southwest. the public library is ably administered, and it is one of considerable breadth of resources, with the advantage of having for its librarian mr. charles f. lummis, the well-known writer on the southwest. madam severance, who in founded the woman's club, a large and influential association of which for many years she was the president, and mrs. rebecca spring, the friend of margaret fuller, are two boston women who have transferred their homes to los angeles and whose lives emphasize emerson's assertion that it is the fine souls who serve us and not what we call fine society. the rush and the brilliancy of life in all this los angeles region transcend description. broadway has more than two miles of fine business blocks, the architecture being restricted to some eight or nine stories. the beautiful parks, with their artificial lakes, their date-palm trees, their profusion of brilliant flowers, attract the eye. there are residence sections of exceeding beauty,--the lawns bordered by hedges of rosebushes in full bloom and perhaps another rose hedge separating the sidewalk from the street. from the high plateaus of northern arizona to the blossoming plains of california is a contrast indeed. in arizona these thousands of acres need only irrigation to become richly productive. the climate is delightful, for the elevation--over seven thousand feet--insures coolness and exhilaration almost every day through the summer. but at present there seems no conceivable way to procure water with which to irrigate. in california precisely the same land is irrigated and has also the advantage of a rainy season, and the vegetation and fruits abound luxuriously. orange groves, with the golden fruit shimmering on the trees; lemon groves, olive orchards, and the avenues and groves of the eucalyptus tree make fair the landscape. an important industry here is that of lima beans. tracts of fifteen hundred acres sown with these are not unusual, and the crops are contracted for by russia and germany almost as soon as sown. on one of these it is said that the owner had made a princely fortune within two years. the creation of the city in imagination is in great favor. vast tracts of country from one to ten miles outside the city limits are staked out, as before noted; avenues and streets defined and named, lamp-posts erected, an attractive name given the locality, and lots are offered for sale from perhaps four or five hundred dollars up, on the terms of "fifty dollars down and ten dollars a month." the trolley-car service in and around los angeles is said to be the best in the world. to venice and santa monica, on the beach,--at a distance of some seventeen miles,--there are electric "flyers" that make the trip within thirty minutes. venice is a french Étretat. the little rows of streets at right angles with the coast line, running down to the water, are named "rose avenue," "ozone avenue," "sunset street," and other alluring names. this venice is a veritable (refined and artistic) "midway," with its colonnades of shops offering every conceivable phase of trinkets and _bijouterie_; its concert halls, casino, gay little restaurants, and every conceivable variety of amusement. it is the most unique little toy town of a creation conceivable, and the electrical display and decorations at night are fascinating in their scenic effect. santa monica, some two miles farther up the coast, is still, stately, and poetic. here the blue pacific rolls in in the most bewildering sea greens and deep blues, and over it bends a sky rivalling that of arizona in depth and richness of color. the entire pacific coast is an idyl of landscape loveliness. but of life. what are the people of this lovely young city of two hundred thousand inhabitants doing and thinking? it is not a question to be answered in a paragraph. life here is intense, interesting, full of color and movement, and its many-faceted aspects invite consideration. as one sits, for instance, on a pasadena piazza, with the golden glory of the sunset seen over the sierra madre, and the rose hedges, the orange groves, the great bushes of heliotrope that are almost like young trees pouring out their mingled fragrance on the evening air, one falls under its spell. as the twilight deepens into darkness the great searchlight from mount lowe, directly in the foreground, a picturesque panorama, may swing out with its weird, sweeping, dazzling illumination over the scene. when this searchlight is out, people at the far-away beaches can see to read by it at distances of from twenty-five to fifty miles. quite near mount lowe--one of the adjacent peaks--is mount wilson, on which the new carnegie observatory is to be located. this will be fitted with the largest telescope in the world and will have the advantage of every latest scientific appliance. pasadena, like all the california towns and cities, covers very large tracts of country. there is a thriving business centre, not very far from which are the great raymond hotel and other winter resorts for the throngs of tourists who are almost as important to the revenues of california as they are to italy. there are both north and south pasadena,--each almost a separate city in itself,--and the most beautiful street is orange grove avenue, with large estates on either side and spacious lawns. on fair oaks avenue, in a pretty cottage, lives prof. george wharton james, the famous explorer, scientist, and notable writer on the grand cañon in arizona,--and the greatest interpreter, indeed, of the entire southwest. the books of professor james, "in and out of the old missions of california," "the indians of the painted desert," and "indian basketry" (besides his book on the "grand canyon," which is the accepted authority), interpret the many phases of life in the southwest in a vivid and accurate manner, rendering them invaluable to contemporary literature. professor james makes his original explorations, taking with him an assistant and his own camera, and going through varied hardships, almost greater than could be realized. in the vast desert spaces, remote from any human habitation, he has had to swim large, muddy, inland lakes, where vermin were swarming; to go without food and water, and to endure the intense fatigue of long tramps. in perusing his books the reader little dreams at what fearful cost of energy all this original material was obtained. in his home professor james has a most interesting collection of the _objets d'art_ of the southwest. one must travel over this part of the country in order to appreciate them. they are as distinctive of new mexico, arizona, and southern california as the old masters and other phases of italian art are of italy. there are brilliant navajo blankets and rugs--soft, rich, and vivid in color, with curiously decorated designs; the most interesting array of indian pottery--the many specimens from the old tombs being far finer than any pottery done by the modern indians; and at the entrance to his lawn professor james has a huge meteorite from meteorite mountain in arizona, which weighs over a ton. he has a large section of a tree of the petrified forest, and the finer specimens that show the bark and the fibre, and also the crystallization. his library is large and fine, and comprises many autograph gift copies from other authors. one feature of the life of professor james is especially helpful. in his spacious library upstairs, on every thursday evening, he gives an informal talk on his travels and explorations to his friends and neighbors. his personal experiences in studying the phenomenon of the salton sea and the vagaries of the colorado river, which is a law unto itself, are most interesting. the call of the wild is not more irresistible than the call of the desert to professor james. he has lived on it and with it, and learned to read its hieroglyphics. the desert spirits have companioned him. he has explored vast spaces of the grand cañon; he has encamped, day after day, even week after week, on the painted desert; he has wandered in the grim strange tonto basin, and sailed (of late) the salton sea,--this sheet of four hundred square miles of water, this impromptu lake where but a little while before was a deserted hollow of a long extinct volcanic sea. nature leads man a pretty dance out in this land of enchantment. no one would venture to prophesy at night just what stage transformation might take place before morning. this very uncertainty of any particular tenure of mountain, sea, or desert perhaps tends, unconsciously, to so react upon the population that their more real life is thrown forward into the future. for instance, los angeles lays no particular stress upon her present population, but announces that by the figures will undoubtedly reach the half-million mark. nor, indeed, can the observer doubt this in any contemplation of the present incredible rapidity of progress in every direction. the city seems half made up of millionnaires, and the latest municipal bank clearings amounted to almost four hundred millions of dollars. los angeles is really an exotic, for the latest census reveals the astonishing fact that ninety per cent of its inhabitants are from the east, leaving only ten per cent as native californians. never was the advertising of a city carried out to the degree of being fairly a fine art so wonderfully as in los angeles. in the chamber of commerce there is a perpetual exhibition of fruits and flowers in season, and of the products and manufactures of the country. los angeles, like most of the other more important western cities, is deeply concerned with irrigation schemes. this region of california supplements its rainfall with irrigation, and between the two the whole country is in bloom and blossom. los angeles is now arranging a gigantic scheme to bring water from the owen's river, two hundred miles away, by means of tunnels through mountains and a huge canal. this fall of water will not only entirely supply the city with water power of immense force and volume, but it is estimated that it will also irrigate a hundred thousand acres. the scheme will employ five thousand men for some four years, and it is estimated that the cost will be twenty-five millions. no undertaking daunts the western city. if an enterprise is desirable, it is to be achieved. that is the law and the prophets in the land of enchantment. los angeles, like colorado springs, is the paradise of excursions. the trip up mount lowe to the observatory offers a magnificent panorama of landscape, including pasadena valley and catalina and santa barbara islands. old san gabriel mission and the san gabriel valley are infinitely interesting, and the famous bells of san gabriel still ring in their quaint, rude stone framework even though they are jangled and out of tune with the lapse of years. the sierra nevada mountains rise from the san gabriel valley. one of the excursions has a feature that is new to every visitor,--that of glass-bottom power boats which give a view of the marvels of the ocean. these boats run from avalon on the coast--an hour's express trolley ride from los angeles--to the submarine gardens adjoining catalina island, and they have a capacity to seat over a hundred passengers around the glass. in sailing over these submarine gardens the boats move very slowly, that the passengers may enjoy the view of the strange seaweed, the marine flowers, the varied aquatic vegetation. catalina island is a favorite sea resort, lying in such convenient proximity to the city. los angeles seems to be the paradise of every one who has a new idea--or ideal--for the betterment of humanity. there is an atmosphere of idealism. among the recent institutions is the pacific school of osteopathy, with a faculty of thirty physicians, men and women, who base their therapeutics on the scientific fact that the body is subject to chemical, electrical, thermal, mental, and mechanical treatment. in the line of ethics rev. b. fay mills has established a comprehensive movement of "fellowship," including religious services and social intercourse, with a large and enthusiastic membership drawn by this eloquent orator and preacher who for many years before in his pastorate in boston preached to large congregations who gave him profound appreciation. a most important centre that radiates sweetness and light in infinite measure is that of christ church (episcopal), whose rector, rev. baker p. lee, is not only eminent as a preacher, but as a leader and inspirer of a network of organizations connected with the church for the betterment of human life. christ church parish is a large one, numbering over two thousand in direct connection with the church, with a list of communicants of over twelve hundred. within the past three years the parish has built a magnificent new church and a rectory, and the holy earnestness of the young and gifted rector makes the work one of vital spirituality. no city can offer more beautiful homes than those of los angeles; more attractive parks, more enchanting scenery, or more delightful excursions over a network of electric lines which aggregate above five hundred miles of single track and reach one hundred towns and villages from monrovia of the foothills to redondo by the sea. the world has but one southern california, with its cool, soft, gray sea-fogs in the early mornings, followed by its cloudless days of blue sky over golden sunshine; where the sea-breeze gladly brings its health-giving ozone in exchange for the odors of orange blossoms and roses; where the mountains stand glorying in the ruggedness of their rocky cliffs until, touched by sunset's wand, they glow with pink lights and purple shadows; and over all comes a golden radiance that changes the forbidding outlines of their jagged peaks into radiant beauty,--fitting features of the vast panorama of nature to hold their eternal place in the land of enchantment. chapter xi grand caÑon; the carnival of the gods "_what time the gods kept carnival!_" emerson "_the earth grew bold with longing and called the high gods down; yea, though ye dwell in heaven and hell, i challenge their renown. abodes as fair i build ye as heaven's rich courts of pearl, and chasms dire where flood like fire ravage and roar and whirl._ "_come, for my soul is weary of time and death and change; eternity doth summon me-- with mightier worlds i range. come, for my vision's glory awaits your songs and wings; here on my breast i bid ye rest from starry wanderings._" harriet monroe one takes the wings of the morning and arrives at the uttermost parts of the earth to find--the grand cañon, the scenic marvel of the entire world. only to the poet's vision is the grand cañon revealed; only to the poet's touch do its mighty harmonies respond. for this sublime spectacle is as vital as a drama enacted on the stage, only its acts require the centuries and the ages in which to represent themselves. whatever one sees of the grand cañon,--it matters not from what commanding view of vision or vista, one sees only an infinitesimal point. it is the carnival of the gods. "prophets and poets had wandered here," writes harriet monroe, "before they were born to tell their mighty tales,--isaiah and Æschylus and dante, the giants who dared the utmost. here at last the souls of great architects must find their dreams fulfilled; must recognize the primal inspiration which, after long ages, had achieved assyrian palaces, the temples and pyramids of egypt, the fortresses and towered cathedrals of mediæval europe. for the inscrutable prince of builders had reared these imperishable monuments, evenly terraced upward from the remote abyss; had so cunningly planned them that mortal foot could never climb and enter to disturb the everlasting hush. of all richest elements they were fashioned,--jasper and chalcedony, topaz, beryl, and amethyst, fire-hearted opal, and pearl; for they caught and held the most delicate colors of a dream and flashed full recognition to the sun. never on earth could such glory be unveiled,--not on level spaces of sea, not on the cold bare peaks of mountains. this was not earth; for was not heaven itself across there, rising above yonder alabaster marge in opalescent ranks for the principalities and powers?... in a moment we stood at the end of the world, at the brink of the kingdoms of peace and pain. the gorgeous purples of sunset fell into darkness and rose into light over mansions colossal beyond the needs of our puny unwinged race. terrific abysses yawned and darkened; magical heights glowed with iridescent fire." if one pauses for a moment with any sense of obligation to himself to gain some _rationale_ of this cañon; if for a moment he turn from rhapsody and ecstasy and the dream of poet and painter to grope after statistical estimates, what does he find? one comparison is that,-- "if the eiffel tower, which with a height of almost a thousand feet is the tallest structure in the world, were placed at the bottom of the cañon in its deepest part, five more towers just like the first would have to be piled on top of one another to reach the rim of the plateau." and again: "could the cañon be filled in for a building site, it would furnish room enough for fifty new york cities. indeed, it would have an area of sixteen thousand square miles, equal to the whole of switzerland, or the states of massachusetts, connecticut, delaware, and rhode island combined." statistical comparisons are, at best, a necessary evil which, once confronted, need not companion one further. it is beauty, it is sublimity, not mathematical assurances, that really lays hold on life. the inexplicable impressions made by this spectacle are mirrored in the following words:-- "as i grew familiar with the vision i could not quite explain its stupendous quality. from mountain tops one looks across greater distances and sees range after range lifting snowy peaks into the blue. the ocean reaches out into boundless space, and the ebb and flow of its waters have the beauty of rhythmic motion and exquisitely varied color. and in the rush of mighty cataracts are power and splendor and majestic peace. yet for grandeur appalling and unearthly; for ineffable, impossible beauty, the cañon transcends all these. it is as though to the glory of nature were added the glory of art; as though, to achieve her utmost, the proud young world had commanded architecture to build for her and color to grace the building. the irregular masses of mountains, cast up out of the molten earth in some primeval war of elements, bear no relation to these prodigious symmetrical edifices mounted on abysmal terraces and grouped into spacious harmonies which give form to one's dreams of heaven. the sweetness of green does not last forever, but these mightily varied purples are eternal. all that grows and moves must perish, while these silent immensities endure." the majestic panorama dominates every detail of daily life. as when in bayreuth for the wagner music-dramas alone, every other consideration is subordinated to these, so in life in el tovar, on bright angel trail, one's hours for sleep and for any daily occupations are held strictly amenable to "effects" in the mysterious splendor of the titanic underworld. to see the cañon under the full moon; to see it when all the pinnacles of rock are leaping in rose-red flame under a sunrise; to see it in a dream of twilight as the purple canopy falls,--all these hours,--all hours are made for the magical transformations. with every breath of change of the atmosphere this celestial beauty changes. one is hardly conscious as to the special ways and means by which he finds himself in an enchanted world,-- "from the shore of souls arrived?" it is very possible. nor does he know how--or when--he shall depart. the past is effaced, and the future recedes into some unformulated atmosphere. life, a thousand lifetimes, concentrate themselves in the present. a supreme experience has always this peculiarity,--that it bars out all the past and all the future. when one is on the mount of transfiguration, he is not scrutinizing the pathway by which he came nor that by which he may descend. even if one has seen the grand cañon before, he is surprised to find how absolutely newly created it is to him when its haunting magic draws him back. no enshrined memory can compare with the reality. in seeing the petrified forest one checks it off as a thing accomplished for life. it is definite. the great logs of agate and jasper and chalcedony lie on the ground as they have lain for perhaps thousands of ages. it is a wonder--the seventh wonder of the world, if one pleases and--the paradise of geologists, but it is unchanging. not so the grand cañon. the cañon is a perpetual transformation scene. its color effects rival those of an electric fountain under the full play of the spectroscope. it is rose, purple, amber, emerald, pearl gray, pale blue, scarlet--according to atmospheric states. one leaves it in the late afternoon with the rocky towers and pinnacles and battlements all in glowing scarlet, seen through a transparent air. he steps out upon the broad hotel piazzas an hour later and, behold, the uncalculated spaces of the cañon are filled with a half-transparent blue mist which envelops all the curious sandstone formations that gleam in pale rose and opal tints through this thin blue mist, and assume wraith-like shapes. major powell well said, that really to see the grand cañon, a year is necessary. yet just as truly may it be said that even for two days it is worth crossing the continent to enjoy this most marvellous of spectacles. only the scientist and the specialist dream of seeing it in anything like completeness. for the tourist and traveller a range of twenty miles is quite sufficient to disclose its representative beauty. a day's drive by the stage to grandview point, hance's trail, and moran's point is easily made between nine and five o'clock. a drive of two or three miles in the opposite direction will include rowe's and o'neil's points. one day will allow the adventurous tourist to "go down the trail." still, after doing all these things, the best of all, it may be, is to live into the atmosphere. to draw one's chair out on the broad balcony of the new and beautiful hotel, el tovar, and sit and dream and gaze and wonder, and wonder and gaze and dream, is, perhaps, the greatest joy one can have in all the time passed here, especially if the solitude can be the solitude _à deux_. no joy, no interest, is of much consequence until or unless it is sympathetically shared. as a _décor de scène_ the grand cañon is unrivalled. the magic and mystery of all the universe broods over its titanic spaces. [illustration: grand caÑon, from grand view point] the air is the most bracing, exhilarating, and exquisite imaginable. the great rolling mesas covered with pine forests are more than seven thousand feet above the sea, and their exhilarating and tonic properties are beyond description. the entire atmosphere is fragrant with the pines. throat and chest are bathed in balm and healing. there can hardly be any difficulty with the bronchial and breathing mechanism that cannot find its cure here. and the charm, the utter enchantment of living on this rainbow-tinted cañon, a mile and a half deep, thirteen miles across at this "bright angel" point (and this is its narrowest place), the joy of life is to steep one's self in the atmosphere of enchanting loveliness; and this perpetual play of color is an experience that finds no interpretation in language. on first alighting from the branch of the santa fé that runs from williams, arizona, to bright angel, at the head of bright angel trail on the grand cañon,--a three hour's ride of transcendent beauty among the purple peaks of the san francisco mountains,--on first stepping from the train up the terrace to the beautiful "el tovar" built on the very rim of the cañon, one objects strenuously to entering the hotel. his eye has caught the vision,--a "celestial inferno bathed in soft fires?" or the "promised land?" or the mystical vision that john saw on the island of patmos? the hotel would, presumably, remain; but this spectacle,--what can it be save a mirage, one never seen before on earth and perhaps not to be too confidently anticipated in paradise? would such a picture remain? can one safely leave a sunset which is all a miracle of splendor while he goes in to dine? can he safely turn away from the heavens when a young moon at night is winging her way down the sky and expect to find her midway in the heavens? and could one safely leave this most marvellous scene of all while he should bestow himself in his rooms? "would the vision there remain? would the vision come again?" could it be, in the very nature of things, any more permanent than any other momentary revelation of an enchanted hour that would fade into the darkness as night came on, like the splendor of a sunset, the color-scheme of a rainbow, or the glory and the freshness of a dream? [illustration: zigzag, bright angel trail, grand caÑon, arizona] instead, the grand cañon prefigures itself to one as an apparition, and while he may gaze upon it under all changing lights of dawn, of noonday, of sunset--and of moonlight--he cannot come to any realization that it is there all the time. his room in the hotel may look out into it and over it; and, waking in the night, he rises and leans out of his window to see if it is still there. one does not expect a vision of the new jerusalem, a palpitating, changing, flaming, throbbing sea of color--in its rose-reds, its greens, its amber, gold, and purple--to remain like a field or a forest. it seems a thing of conditions, visible at one moment, vanished, perchance, the next. think of a chasm a mile and a half deep, from thirteen to eighteen miles wide, and as long as from boston to new york--two hundred miles! think of it again as not merely a deep, dark chasm, but as filled with the most wonderful architectural effects in the sandstone formations which simulate chinese pagodas, temples, altars, cathedrals, domes, and towers so perfectly that one is incredulous of the fact that their shaping is nature's work alone. add to this the color scheme, now an intense royal purple, again flashes of rose and green and ivory and a rare blue; or again a "nocturne" in silvery gray, with hints of lingering rose and amber shimmering in the air. until within a few years the grand cañon was so inaccessible as to quite account for the general ignorance of this most wonderful scenic phenomenon in our country, and, indeed, with no exaggeration be it said, the most wonderful in the entire world. twenty yosemites might be thrown into it and make no impression; and as for niagara, it would be a mere tiny waterfall in comparison. in the trail leading downward into the cañon the first level is just five times the height of st. peter's in rome, or the pyramids of cheops. [illustration: a cliff on bright angel trail, grand caÑon] from the brink one looks down a mile and a half into towers and pinnacles; one looks across eighteen miles in the widest place; and one looks up and down its tortuous length, as its complicated system of cañons revealed themselves as far as the eye could see either way. one gazes, not into a deep, dark cleft, a titanic royal gorge, but on and into a sea of color and a wealth of architectural wonders,--cathedrals, towers, mosques, pinnacles, minarets, temples, and balconies exceeding in variety of design, in extraordinary beauty of grouping and splendor of color, anything of which one could dream, even in his most enchanted moments. the red sandstone, the brilliant white of the limestone luminous under the setting sun, the green of pine trees or of copper rocks, the gray and ochre tints of gravel and fallen rocks and débris, the soft, deep purple mist enveloping all as an atmosphere in which all these architectural marvels seemed to swim--the strange, unearthly splendor of it all--holds one under a fascination that can neither be analyzed nor described. this, then, is "el grande cañon de la colorado." one stands speechless, breathless, as if transported to some other planet. suddenly all life--everything that floated in memory--seemed confused, unreal. was the past (whose running series of incident and event and circumstance already seemed vague) a dream, and was this the reality? or had there never been any reality in life before? was this a dream, wrought under some untold spell of enchantment? would one hear the water nixies chanting their refrain if he listened? or was this scene of titanic grandeur the abode of wagner's gods and heroes? one watched for the sacred fires to flame on brunhilde's rock and for siegfried to appear. one saw the ship which had borne tristan on his ill-starred voyage, and the garden where the lovers confessed their intense and instant love, and the fatal potion scene rises before him; and again he is lost in rapt ecstasy as the air seems filled with the passionate drama of lilli lehmann and alvarez. for let ternina and other younger women come and go in the wagner music-drama, and yet where will that absolute perfection of dramatic action, that passionate exaltation of emotion, ever again attend and invest any singer as they invest and are identified with lilli lehmann? "the fairest enchants me, the mighty commands me." in this most sublime of all earthly spectacles there are aërial landscape effects as delicate and evanescent as a cloud-wreath, or as a fog that advances, wraith-like, to melt away into dissolving views. "the region is full of wonders and beauties and sublimities that shelley's imaginings do not match in the 'prometheous unbound,'" wrote charles dudley warner. if the world realized the marvellous effects of this very carnival of the gods, the infinite spaces of the grand cañon itself could not contain all who would eagerly throng to behold it. the statistical record of the increase of visitors is rather interesting. in there were eight hundred and thirteen; the succeeding year, six thousand eight hundred and eighty-three; while in the number increased to nearly one hundred and twenty-eight thousand. since that date the number of visitors has multiplied itself after the fashion of compound interest. the establishment of all the conveniences and comforts, not to say luxuries, of modern travel may be one of the most potent factors in this increase of visitors. until within five years the grand cañon could only be reached by a stage ride of seventy miles through the coconino forest,--whose dim gray twilight reminds one of the forests of fontainebleau,--and which drive, however romantically beautiful, was attended with too great terrestrial discomfort to commend it to general public service. until the hotel accommodations, also, while offering a modest comfort, were essentially primitive; while now the superb new harvey hostelry, "el tovar," built at a cost of a quarter of a million dollars (and the harvey name is a synonym in the west for everything admirable in dining cars, refreshment stands, and hotels), insures to every traveller any degree of luxurious comfort he requires. even the man who, after visiting all the enchanted points in the land of enchantment, in its prehistoric period of twenty years ago before pullman cars climbed the mountain peaks and the waldorf-astoria type of hotels sprang up, the man who, after a trip through these wonders of the world, returned to new york and declared that he would rather see an electric bell and a bath than all the grandeur between pike's peak and the pacific, would now be fully reconciled to western sojourns. he would find his electric bell and his bath to be as much a matter of course as in fifth avenue, besides also finding that there were spectacles,--as that of the garden of the gods, cheyenne cañon, the petrified forests, the grand cañon, and the los angeles electric trolley system (which quite deserves to rank with the modern "seven wonders" of the world), and which fifth avenue by no means provided for her votaries. in fact, "el tovar" is so inclusive of comfort as to be fairly a feature of the cañon, commanding, on one side, a magnificence of prospect without parallel in the world in the mighty chasm on whose brink it stands, on the other side the fragrant coconino pine forest,--the largest belt of pine timber in the united states, and which has been made a government forest reservation. there is now a project to erect a memorial to major john w. powell, the pioneer explorer of the grand cañon, to be placed on the rim at the head of bright angel trail at el tovar. this most fitting plan to honor the name of the great scientist and explorer whose research contributed the first authoritative knowledge of the cañon is the thought of the american scenic association, which will petition congress to grant the requisite appropriation. no monument to human greatness could be more ideally placed than this to perpetually repeat to every visitor and sojourner the name of the explorer who successfully achieved the most startling and heroic journey in all history,--that made through the complete extent of the grand cañon. it was in that major powell, with four boats and nine men, inaugurated this expedition, starting from green river city in utah. he was dissuaded and importuned in the most urgent way by those most familiar with the region not to attempt the feat. the indians especially insisted that no boat could live in any one of the score of rapids to be passed. there was also a tradition that for some hundreds of miles the river lost itself in the earth, and major powell and his men would thus be imprisoned within a titantic fortress from which escape would be impossible. but men of destiny do not hesitate when they are led to great achievements. major powell set out on may , , with his nine men and four boats, and landed on august , with four men and two boats, at the mouth of the virgin river, after having sailed the boiling torrent of the colorado river, at the bottom of the cañon, for more than a thousand miles. mr. c. a. higgins characterizes this feat as "the most wonderful geological and spectacular phenomenon known to mankind." the first authentic knowledge of the existence of the grand cañon dates back to august of , when the spanish friar, alvar nuñez, after years of romantic wanderings among the pueblos of the southwest, returned to mexico with tales of this mighty chasm. coronado, who had discovered the seven cities of cibola (of which now only zuñi remains), ordered garcia lopez to take a band of men and indian guides and search for this chasm, which he succeeded in discovering; with the more difficulty, surely, in that one has to gain its very rim before he has hardly an intimation of its proximity. the spectacle of the cañon always presents itself as a sudden surprise. it was not, however, until that, by the building of the great transcontinental line, the santa fé, the grand cañon became accessible. then for some twenty years it was reached, as has already been noted, by stage from flagstaff. now one can travel in his sleeper without change from chicago to el tovar, and thousands of tourists annually visit the extraordinary scene. not the least of the interesting data regarding the cañon is this gulf of more than three hundred years that divides its discovery from its taking rank as the most phenomenal scenic resort of the world. the mills of the gods grind slowly. the visitors to the grand cañon present singularly cosmopolitan groups, there being hardly a country in the world that is not represented at some time during the year. for the cañon has all seasons for its own. it is almost as much of an object of winter as of summer pilgrimage. one season is found, on the whole, to be almost as enjoyable here as another. it is cool in summer, and it is warm and sunny in winter. sometimes there is a fairy snowfall, but hardly more lasting than a spring frost, and when it comes it only adds another flitting variety to the stupendous scene. with untold tons of the water of the colorado river pouring itself in torrents through the bottom of the cañon, all the water used for the table, for toilet, and for laundry purposes has to be brought from a distance of a hundred and twenty miles, and twenty thousand gallons are in daily use. an electric-light plant furnishes brilliant illumination. the hopi house, built in imitation of an indian pueblo, with a group of quaintly garbed hopi indians within in attendance, is a curiosity; and besides the hopis there are navajos and supais coming to sell their handiwork,--that of pottery, silver ornaments, blankets, and baskets. cataract cañon, forty miles from el tovar, is the home of the supais, and it is a place that well repays visiting for an entirely new point of view of the vast cañon that it affords. there are peaceful indians to be seen daily riding their horses through the pine woods, journeying from el tovar to grand view, to "hance's trail," to "moran's point," and other localities, to sell or barter their wares. one old indian who seems to roam about alone has developed an ingenious manner of procuring food when he is hungry. he enters the hotel office and seeks the proprietor himself, recognizing with unerring instinct that this gentleman's liberal endowment of sympathy and unfailing generosity never permits him to "turn down" a request for aid. the wily old savage seeks him out and makes conspicuous overtures of his affection. "you is heap my son; pale face heap my son!" the dusky visitor declares, and when this assurance is emphasized to the proprietor he realizes that it means he is "heap my son" because his visitor is hungry. these outbursts of devotion occur only when the old indian is at his wits' end to know where to procure something to eat. once fed he is off, and thinks no more of the man whom he assured that he was "heap my son" until hunger again assails him and stimulates his parental affection. so the little trifles and pleasantries of the _comédie humaine_ assert their place in the general life even on the rim of the sublime spectacle of the carnival of the gods. for more than two hundred miles the cañon offers its innumerable panoramas, no one ever duplicating that of another. there are thousands of cañons in it--it is a complicated system of colossal cañons. every wall is an aggregation of hundreds of walls. every pinnacle is formed of hundreds of pinnacles. when the sun shines in splendor on the vermilion walls, the glory is almost beyond what man can bear. when from the trail below a star seems to float in the air and rest on the verge of the cliff, what words can convey any image of this ineffable beauty? the cloud-effects are another of the phases of faëry. a rain creates a panorama of clouds creeping out of one cañon and flying into another, all "as if they had souls and wills of their own," says major powell; and he adds, "in the imagination the clouds belong to the sky, and when they are in the cañon the skies come down into the gorges and cling to the cliffs and lift them up to immeasurable heights, for the sky must still be far away; thus they lend infinity to the walls." the cañon mirrors the color and the state of the sky as water does. this is one of the most curious facts connected with it. "yet form and color do not exhaust all the divine qualities of the grand cañon," continues major powell; "it is the land of music. the river thunders in perpetual roar, swelling in floods of music when the storm-gods play upon the rocks, and fading away in soft and low murmurs when the infinite blue of heaven is unveiled.... the adamant foundations of the earth have been wrought into a sublime harp upon which the clouds of heaven play with mighty tempests or with gentle showers." major powell, the explorer and practically the modern discoverer of the cañon, remains its most complete interpreter. his journal narrating that remarkable voyage through the colorado river in a region "more difficult to traverse than the alps or the himalayas," is fairly an epic in american literature. he had the vision of the painter and the heart of the poet. he felt that infinitely complex variety of the cañon, and he read its sublime inscriptions on a scroll not made with hands. he pictures one feature especially that has hardly been touched by other writers,--that of the perpetually changing aspects. "one moment as we looked out over the landscape," he writes, "the atmosphere seemed to be trembling and moving about, giving the impression of an unstable land: plains and hills and cliffs and distant mountains seemed vaguely to be floating about in a trembling, wave-rocked sea; and patches of landscape would seem to float away and be lost, and then reappear.... the craggy buttes seem dancing about.... the sun shone in splendor on the vermilion walls. shaded into green and gray when the rocks were lichened over, the river filled the channel from wall to wall, and the cañon opened like a beautiful doorway to a region of glory. but at evening, when the sun was going down and the shadows were settling in the cañon, the scarlet gleams and roseate hues, blended with tints of green and gray, slowly changed to sombre brown above and black shadows crept over them from below.... lying down, one looked up through the cañon and saw that only a little of the blue heavens appeared overhead,--a crescent of blue sky with but two or three constellations peering down upon us. soon i saw a bright star that appeared to rest on the verge of the cliffs overhead, and, as it moved up from the rock, i almost wondered that it did not fall, and indeed it appeared as if swayed down by its own weight. the star appeared to be _in_ the cañon, so high were the walls." so the wonderful story of major powell's runs on of these atmospheric phenomena of the cañon, effects that "... give to seas and sunset skies their unspent beauty of surprise." it is from bright angel trail that the grand cañon is the most accessible. parties of men and women, mounted on sure-footed burros, go down this trail with their guides--apparently under the special protection of the bright angels of the celestial host, as no accident has ever, thus far, occurred. prof. george wharton james notes, in his invaluable work on the grand cañon,[ ] that this trail was originally used by the havasupai indians and that the rude irrigating canals that conveyed water from an adjacent spring to a so-called indian garden in the near vicinity are still to be seen. the view from the head of bright angel trail is one of vast extent and a peculiar sublimity. buddha temple is a colossal pile that rises in isolated grandeur, and near it is buddha cloister. an impressive tower of rock rising in the cañon bears the honored name of agassiz. isis temple and the temple of brahma are within the range of the eye from this point. the perfectly transparent air, and that absence of aërial vibration that characterizes the atmosphere of arizona, conspire to invest all distance with magic illusion. looking across the thirteen miles of the cañon's abyss from bright angel trail, the opposite rim hardly seems farther away than the distance of three or four city blocks. isis temple is said to be as great in mass as the mountainous part of mt. washington, and the summit of isis looks down six thousand feet into the depths of a chasm, the ledges on the side being "as impracticable as the face of bunker hill monument." it is a noticeable fact, and one which the general reader may regard with quiet amusement, that all the writers who even attempt to allude to the grand cañon quote copiously from each other; and this is the almost inevitable instinct of each, in order to reinforce himself with authority for statements which, to those who have not themselves gazed upon this carnival of the gods, would sound incredible even to the verge of the wildest extravaganza. major powell's vivid transcription of his thrilling journey through the cañon, sailing through the boiling, rushing river whose torrents constantly threatened to engulf his boats,--major powell's transcription stands for itself alone; it was not only the pictured scenes of a writer, but the scientific report of an official government explorer; but since this,--and from major powell's narrative every writer invariably quotes,--since this, the writers quote from each other; they use each other's statements as evidence which they cite in order to support their own statements regarding a marvel so unspeakably phenomenal that the most literal and statistical description reads like an arabian nights romance. then, too, the array of pen-pictures is interesting. a writer who coined wonderful descriptive phrases is mr. c. a. higgins. of the silent transformations of the cañon when it "sinks into mysterious purple shadow" he said: "the far shinumo altar is tipped with a golden ray, and against a leaden horizon the long line of the echo cliffs reflects a soft brilliance of indescribable beauty, a light that, elsewhere, surely never was on sea or land. then darkness falls," he continues, "and should there be a moon, the scene in part revives in silver light a thousand spectral forms projected from inscrutable gloom; dreams of mountains, as in their sleep they brood on things eternal." others who have written of the grand cañon are: harriet monroe, whose poet's pen is dipped in the colors of an artist's palette; george wharton james; and mr. charles s. gleed, a distinguished lawyer of topeka, who thus described the cañon's wonders: "surrendering our minds to the magic spell of that mighty chasm, what pictures troop before us! yonder see gibraltar, giant sentinel of the mediterranean. there on long ledges are st. peter's and st. paul's, niagara, the pyramids, and the tower of pisa. bracketed beyond are the great parliament houses of the world. down below behold in life size the lesser mountains of our own land,--washington, monadnock, mansfield, lookout, and a thousand others. see in the distance a million colored pictures of the alps, the adirondacks, and the sierras. on endless shelves, this way and that, behold the temples and cathedrals, the castles and fortresses of all time. see vast armies, the armies of the ages, winding up the slopes, and great navies manoeuvring in the mirage-like distance. here, indeed, the giant mind of dante would have found new worlds to conquer; and homer would have dreamed new dreams of gods and men, love and war, life and death, heaven and hell." hamlin garland, in one of his prose-poems, has said: "the clouds and the sunset, the moonrise and the storm, will transform it into a splendor no mountain range can surpass. peaks will shift and glow, walls darken, crags take fire, and gray-green mesas, dimly seen, take on the gleam of opalescent lakes of mountain water. the traveller who goes out to the edge and peers into the great abyss sees but one phase out of hundreds. if he is fortunate, it may be one of its most beautiful combinations of color and shadow. but to know it, to feel its majesty, one should camp in the bottom and watch the sunset and the moonrise while the river marches from its lair like an angry lion." robert brewster stanton, a civil engineer whose original work has brought him prominently before the scientific world, followed major powell's explorations, twenty years later, with a surveying company of his own organization,--and mr. stanton is, indeed, the only explorer who has made the continuous journey the entire length of the colorado river which major powell navigated for a thousand miles. it was in may of that mr. stanton and his men initiated this daring feat, and of one phase of the appearance of the cañon mr. stanton's glowing, eloquent pen recorded: "those terrifying, frowning walls _are moving, are changing_! a new light is not only creeping over them, but is coming out from their very shadows. see those flattened slopes above the dark sandstone on top the granite; even at this very moment they are _being colored_ in gorgeous stripes of horizontal layers of yellow, brown, white, green, and purple. "what means this wondrous change? wherein lies this secret of the great cañon? "after living in it and with it for so many weeks and months, i lost all thought of the great chasm as being only a huge rock mass, carved into its many intricate forms by ages of erosion. it became to me what it has ever since remained, and what it really is,--a living, moving, sentient being! "the grand cañon is not a solitude. it is a living, moving, pulsating being, ever changing in form and color, pinnacles and towers springing into being out of unseen depths. from dark shades of brown and black, scarlet flames suddenly flash out and then die away into stretches of orange and purple. how can such a shifting, animated glory be called 'a thing'? it is a being, and among its upper battlements, its temples, its amphitheatres, its cathedral spires, its monuments and its domes, and in the deeper recesses of its inner gorge its spirit, its soul, the very spirit of the living god himself, lives and moves and has its being." mr. c. m. skinner, of the "brooklyn eagle," impressively wrote: "... after the sky colors, too, have faded, you are about to turn away, lingering, regretting, when--again, a wonder; for new colors, deep, tender, solemn, flow up along the painted walls, as night brims out of the deep. the bottom grows vague and misty, but each walhalla is steeped in purple as soft as the bloom of grapes. when day is wholly gone and the cañon has become to the eye a mere feeling or impression of depth and space, walk out on some lonely point. the slopes, thirteen miles away, are visible as gray walls, distinct from the black cliffs, and on the hither side the trees are clear against the snow. no night is absolute in blackness, but as we look it seems as though the cañon was lighted from within. it is an abyss of shadow and mystery. there is a sadness in the cañon, as in all great things of nature, that removes it from human experience. we have seen the utmost of the world's sublimity, and life is fuller from that hour." all these and many other transcriptions of its glory form a picture gallery which each lover of the grand cañon prizes as among his choicest possessions. thomas moran, the artist, has painted many scenes from the cañon, one of these paintings having been placed in the capitol in washington, where it is the object of the admiration and the wonder of the endless procession of visitors who throng the nation's centre. painter and poet and prophet make their pilgrimages to this one stupendous marvel of nature. to the prophets and the poets of every century and every age it flashes its responsive message; and the worshipper at the shrine of this infinite beauty, this sublimest majesty, can but feel, with mr. higgins,--that poetic lover of the vast southwest, the lover of music and literature and art and nature, whose beautiful life on earth closed in , but whose charm of presence still pervades the scenes he loved and memorialized,--with this lofty and poetic recorder of nature one can but say of the grand cañon: "never was picture more harmonious, never flower more exquisitely beautiful. it flashes instant communication of all that architecture and painting and music for a thousand years have gropingly striven to express. it is the soul of michael angelo and of beethoven." * * * * * in retrospective glance over a very midsummer night's dream of the ineffable glory and beauty of wanderings from pike's peak to the pacific there stands out to the mental vision one treasured possession whose loveliness exceeds that of all scenic landscape; which is more luminous and crystal clear than the luminous atmosphere of beautiful colorado or glowing arizona; which is more enduring in its changelessness than even the petrified forests or the mighty precipices of the grand cañon; which is invested with all the etherial splendor of that brilliant young city which the spanish conquerors knew as _pueblo de la reine de los angeles_: which is as sacred in its nature as are the sacred legends of the holy faith of st. francis. this treasured possession is that of the friendships formed during this enchanted journey; of the generous kindness, the bountiful hospitality; the exquisite courtesy and grace constantly received from each and all with an unfailing uniformity, including those in widely varying relations and pursuits; those who, according to outer standards, are the more, or the less, fortunate in power, resources, or development,--the treasured possession of all this sweet and gracious friendliness is imperishable; and in this priceless and precious gift, which is not only a treasure for the life that now is, but also for the life which is to come, is there crystallized all the charm of summer wanderings in the land of enchantment. index index acoma, new mexico, ; theory of its origin, ; its antiquity, ; rivalry between it and laguna, , ; charles f. lummis on, , . adamana, the gateway to the petrified forests of arizona, ; origin of its name, ; the simple life at, , . adams, the hon. alva, , ; quoted, , , . agriculture in colorado, , ; in new mexico, , . albuquerque, new mexico, ; excursions from, ; a "smart" town, ; characteristics of, . ames, rev. dr. charles gordon, on civilization, . arizona, sights of, , , , , , , , ; a treasure land, ; visited by the spaniards, ; a land of magic and mystery, , , ; its resources, , ; irrigation in, , , ; rainfall in, , ; its attractions for men of science, , ; flora of, ; cacti of, ; grasses of, ; climate of, , , ; as a health resort, , ; meaning of the name, ; history of, ; separation from new mexico, , , ; rivers of, , ; capital of, ; towns of, ; safety of property in, ; citizens of, , ; festivity of the "snake dance," , , , ; the "painted desert" of, , , , ; petrified forests of, ; desert of, , . bear creek cañon, . bell, the hon. john c., and the gunnison tunnel, . "ben hur," where written, . boston woman characterized, . brooks, bishop phillips, on the superhuman, ; quoted, . california, southern, features of, . campbell, rev. frederick, on glenwood springs, , . campbell, prof. h. w., on "dry farming," , . cañon diablo, arizona, , . caruthers, william, on resources of cripple creek, . "cathedral rock," , , . cheyenne cañon, , , ; helen hunt jackson on, . cliff-dwellings of southern colorado, , , ; bill in congress for preservation of, , ; opinions concerning, ; at flagstaff, arizona, . colorado, splendors of, , ; a second italy, , ; people of, ; woman suffrage in, , , , , ; developed a demand for specialists, ; employment in, ; revenue of, ; railways of, , , ; c. b. knox on the future of, ; major pike's description of, ; has larger percentage of american population than any other western state, ; waterfalls of, ; irrigation of, , , , , , , , , , , ; yachting in, , , ; mountain climbing in, , ; agriculture in, , ; ranching in, ; "trip round the circle" journey described, , , , , ; engineering feats in, ; park systems of, ; industries of, , , ; stone-quarrying in, , ; mineral resources of, , , ; population of, ; progress of, ; towns of, ; northern, ; coal-fields of, ; fruit cultivation in, ; labor in, , ; forests of, , ; sport in, ; public school system in, ; literature and art in, ; its future, , , . ----, pioneers of, - ; contrasted with the pilgrim fathers, ; "denver republican" on, ; their unselfishness, , , ; environment of, , ; nathan cook meeker, - . colorado college, , , . colorado fuel and iron company, , , . colorado river, arizona, ; prof. n. h. newell on, , , . colorado springs, gateway to pike's peak district, ; climate of, ; excursions from, ; as a tourist centre, ; summer and autumn in, ; the town described, ; life at, , ; founded by general palmer, ; buildings of, ; park system of, , . commencement ceremonies in east and west contrasted, . cripple creek, towns of, , ; gold resources of, , , ; mines of, ; character of miners in, , ; favorite excursion from, , . denver, ; metropolis of the west, ; climate of, , ; its buildings, , , ; residential district of, ; the capitol, ; city park, , ; homes of, ; telephone service of, ; women of, and politics, , , ; election frauds in, ; smelteries of, ; growth of population, ; future of, ; city arch, , , ; spirit of the city, ; enterprise of, ; an early opinion of, ; a convention city, ; art league of, ; institutions of, ; education in, , ; churches of, ; life in, ; should replace washington as capital of the union, , ; electrical supply in, . denver and rio grande railway, ; scenery on, . "denver republican, the," quoted, ; on the pioneers of colorado, . "dry farming" system, discovered by prof. h. w. campbell, ; professor olin on benefits of, ; extent of, in eastern colorado, ; success of, in new mexico, . eliot, rev. dr. samuel a., quoted, , . emerson, ralph waldo, quoted, , , , , , , , , , , , , . estes park, colorado, . "fairy caves" of colorado, , , . fellows, professor, surveys for the gunnison tunnel, , . flagstaff, arizona, ; its antiquities, ; the lowell observatory at, , . franciscans, mission churches of, , , ; their labors, , , . frost, colonel max, on old new mexico, - ; his influence in new mexico, ; his career, ; secretary of the bureau of immigration, . "garden of the gods," colorado, , ; gateway to, , . garland, hamlin, on the grand cañon, , . gilbert, prof. g. k., studies meteorite mountain of arizona, , , . gleed, charles s., on the grand cañon, . glenwood springs, colorado, ; its mineral springs, , ; bathing at, , , ; rev. frederick campbell on, ; hot cave of, ; "fairy caves" of, , , , ; scenery at, . grand cañon, ; scenic marvels of, , , , , , , ; harriet monroe on, , ; compared with the eiffel tower, ; area of, , , ; always revealing new beauties, ; atmospheric effects of, , , ; approach to, , , , ; architectural effects of, , , ; charles dudley warner on, ; visitors to, ; hotels of, ; proposed memorial to major john w. powell, ; earliest discovery of, ; the hopi house at, ; indians of, ; major powell's journal of his exploration of, , , ; prof. george wharton james on, ; eulogies of, by c. a. higgins, , , by charles s. gleed, , by hamlin garland, , by robert brewster stanton, , and by c. m. skinner, ; paintings of, by thomas moran, . grand caverns of pike's peak, , ; memorial to general grant in, . grand lake, colorado, ; its yacht club, . grand river, the, . grant, general, memorial to, in grand caverns, . greeley, founding of, , , , ; constitution of, ; population of, ; educational establishments of, ; churches of, ; buildings of, ; life in, ; the meeker memorial library, . greeley, horace, and colorado, . "greeley tribune, the," on irrigation, , ; foundation of, . grenfell, helen, record of, . gunnison river, colorado, , ; plan to divert, . gunnison tunnel, , , . hammond, the hon. meade, and the gunnison tunnel, . higgins, c. a., on the grand cañon, , . hosmer, harriet, on travelling by night, . howe, julia ward, quoted, . irrigation in colorado, , , , , , , , , , , , , , ; in new mexico, , ; in arizona, , , ; in california, , , . jackson, helen hunt, quoted, . james, prof. george wharton, on californian missions, ; on indian life in arizona, , , ; on the "painted desert," , ; home of, at pasadena, , ; his love of the desert of the southwest, , ; on the grand cañon, . kansas city, . kearny, general stephen w., occupies santa fé, , ; memorial to, ; quoted, . kirley, the hon. joseph h., on arizona, . knox, c. b., on colorado, , . lacey, representative, on the mesa verde cliff-dwellings, , . laguna, new mexico, , . las vegas, new mexico, ; hot springs of, , ; its attractions, . lindsay, judge, on woman suffrage, , , . lookout mountain, colorado, , ; scenery on the ascent of, . los angeles, the "boom" of, , , ; trolley system of, , ; lighting of, ; its parks, ; public library of, ; climate, ; irrigation in, , ; life of, , , ; population of, ; as a centre for excursions, ; idealism of, ; pacific school osteopathy at, ; churches of, , . lowell observatory, , , , , . lowell, professor percival, . manitou, , , ; mineral springs of, . manitou park, , . maricopa county, , . mars, photographs of, taken at lowell observatory, , , . mead, prof. elwood, on irrigation, , . meeker family, , . meeker, the hon. nathan cook, ; his career, , ; his visit to the west, ; horace greeley encourages him to establish a colony in colorado, ; founds the town of greeley, ; his work among the indians, , ; massacred, . meeker, town of, , . mendoza, expeditions organized by, , . meredith, ellis, ; her literary work, ; her ode to the "short line," . "mesa, the enchanted," ascent of, ; described, . mesa verde, cliff-dwellings of, , ; representative lacey on, , . meteorite mountain, arizona, ; theory of origin, , , , ; discovery of diamonds in, ; description of, , ; experiments of dr. foote relating to, . monroe, harriet, on the "painted desert," ; quoted, ; on the grand cañon, , . montezuma well, arizona, . monument park, . monument valley, . moran, thomas, paintings by, of the grand cañon, . mount massive, ascent of, , . mountain climbing in colorado, , . muir, john, discovers a new petrified forest of arizona, . munk, dr. joseph a., on the cacti of arizona, , ; on arizona as a health resort, , . murphy, the hon. n. o., opinions on the union of arizona and new mexico, , . new mexico, features of, ; climate of, ; a land of surprises, ; its mixed population, ; scenery of, ; ruins of, ; its ancient civilization, - ; franciscan mission churches of, ; archæology of, ; its progress in modern ideas, ; french expedition to, ; compared with algiers, ; hotels in, ; resources of, , , ; irrigation in, , ; railroads of, ; opportunities in, ; fruit growing in, ; mineral wealth of, ; under spanish rule, ; records of, ; historical association of, . newberry, dr., on arizona, . newell, prof. n. h., on the colorado river, , , . newspapers of the southwest, ; "greeley tribune" quoted, ; "denver republican" quoted, , ; "the new mexican," ; "the eagle" of santa fé, . night, charm of travelling by, , ; at pike's peak, , . nizza, friar marcos de, missionary labors of, ; expedition of, . oñate, juan de, founds santa fé, . "painted desert," the, of arizona, - ; prof. george wharton james on, , ; harriet monroe on, . pajarito park, new mexico, . palmer, general william j., founds colorado springs, ; benefactor of the state, , , ; residence of, . pasadena, california, ; home of prof. george wharton james at, , . "pathfinders and pioneers," governor alva adams on, , , . patterson, senator, career of, , . petrified forests, the, of arizona, ; a visit to, , , ; atmospheric effects in, , , ; towns in neighborhood of, ; metropolis of, ; discovery by john muir, ; difficulties of visiting, ; three in number, ; area of, ; antiquities of, , ; preservation of, insured by the government, ; the marvel of the geologist, ; an arid region, . phillips, stephen, quoted, . phoenix, capital of arizona, ; a tourist centre, ; attractions of, ; winter in, ; school system of, . pike, major (afterwards general) zebulon montgomery, discovery by, ; his ascent of pike's peak, ; his career, , ; diary of, , . pike's peak, region of, ; gateway of, ; winter at, ; the mountain described, , , ; sunsets at, , ; at night, , ; cogwheel railway of, ; ascent of, , ; its souvenir daily paper, ; summit of, ; discovery of, ; centenary of discovery celebrated, ; favorite excursion in vicinity of, . pilgrim fathers, contrasted with the colorado pioneers, . "point of rocks," arizona, . powell, major john w., explores the grand cañon, , ; journal of his expedition, , . prescott, in arizona, ; mines of, ; the "point of rocks" near, ; surrounding country, . prince, the hon. l. bradford, on new mexico, . pueblo, , ; home of governor alva adams in, ; its amenities, , ; club-house of, ; climate of, ; library of, ; plant of the colorado fuel and iron company at, , , . ranching in colorado, . raton, new mexico, . routt county, mineral wealth of, . salpointe, most rev. dr. j. b., archbishop of new mexico, . salt river valley, arizona, , , ; its mammoth dam, ; fruit-rearing in, . salton sea, the, . salton sink, the, , . san xavier, mission church of, , . santa fé, consecrated by holy memories, ; founded by oñate, , ; centre of archdiocese, ; church of san miguel, , ; visit of diego de vargas to, ; buildings of, ; inhabitants of, ; oldest town in the united states, ; occupied by general stephen w. kearney, ; governed by general lew. wallace, ; "ben hur" written at, ; old palace of, ; society in, , ; precious stones in vicinity of, ; chapel of san rosario, , ; history of, ; buildings of, . santa monica, california, . seeman tunnel, the, ; claims reached by, . "short line" trip, colorado, , , , , ; homes along the railway, ; hand-car journey on, , , ; ellis meredith's ode to, . skinner, c. m., on the grand cañon, , . "snake dance, the," in arizona, , , , . southwest, scenic attractions of, - ; characteristics of life in, ; travelling facilities of, , ; gateway of, . stanton, robert brewster, on the grand cañon, , . stone, lucy, and the emancipation of women, . st. peter's dome, railway up, ; excursion to, ; ascent of, , ; view from, , . sugar, cultivation of, in colorado, , , , . teller, the hon. henry m., career of, . "temple drive," a favorite excursion in pike's peak region, . tennyson, lord, quoted, . thayer, mrs. emma homan, ; her "wild flowers in colorado," . tonto basin, mammoth dam at, , , , ; entailed the destruction of the town of roosevelt, , . vaca, cabeza de, expedition of, . vargas, diego de, visits santa fé, , ; his vow to the virgin mary, . wallace, general lew., governor of new mexico, ; writes "ben hur" at santa fé, . walsh, thomas f., on colorado and philippine interests, , , . warner, charles dudley, on the grand cañon, . washington, may give place to denver as the capital of the union, . water-power, in colorado, and electricity, , , , . webster, daniel, on the worthlessness of the west, . whitman, walt, quotation from, . woman suffrage, , , ; in colorado, , , , , ; judge lindsay on, , , . yachting in colorado, , , . zumacacori, mission church of, . footnotes: [ ] the life radiant: little, brown, & company, . [ ] the old santa fé trail: the story of a great highway, . the macmillan company. [ ] in and out of the old missions of california, by george wharton james. little, brown, & co., boston, . [ ] arizona sketches, by joseph a. munk, m.d. the grafton press, new york. [ ] in and around the grand canyon, by george wharton james. little, brown, and co. . transcriber's notes: text in italics is surrounded with underscores: _italics_. obvious typographical errors have been corrected. archaic and variable spelling as well as inconsistencies in hyphenation have been preserved.