THE OLD PUEBLO HEAD-GATE
It was about two in the afternoon that we parted with our friend, and
wishing him the best of success, we watched him ride away until the
shimmering haze drawn by the heat of the sun from the surface of the
valley, finally obscured him from our view altogether. Then, turning our
ponies, we rode back up the mountain and once more descended to our
camp, where we found Pedro waiting for us.
As it was then too late to begin any fresh enterprise, especially one so
difficult as the attempt to climb the cañon-wall was likely to be, we
determined to postpone the expedition until next morning. In order, too,
that we might be in good fettle for the adventure, we went to bed that
night as soon as it got dark; no more late hours for us; late hours at
night not being conducive to clear heads in the morning--and it was more
than likely that clear heads might be very essential to the success of
the task in hand.
About an hour after sunrise we set off on foot down the left bank of
the stream, making our way along the steep slope of stone scraps, big
and little, which bordered its edge, and after a pretty rough scramble
we reached a spot about a mile below camp where Pedro had told us he
thought there was a possible way up--a narrow cleft in the rocky wall,
none too wide to admit the passage of the Mexican's big body--and
following the sturdy hunter, who acted as guide, we began the ascent.
There was no great difficulty about it at first, for the crevice, though
still very narrow, was not particularly steep. After climbing up about
three hundred feet, however, the ascent became much more abrupt, and
presently we came to a place where the bed of the dry watercourse was
blocked entirely by a smooth, water-worn mass of rock, twenty feet high,
filling the whole width of the crevice, and overhanging in such a manner
that even a lizard would have had difficulty in climbing up it.
We were looking about for some means of surmounting this obstacle, when
Pedro, who had stepped back a little to survey it, called our attention
to what appeared to be a number of steps, or, rather, foot-holes in the
rock about ten feet up, just above the bulge.
"Hallo!" cried Dick. "This looks promising. Those holes were made with
a purpose. I believe we've struck the original Pueblo highway after
all."
"It does look like it," I agreed. "But how are we going to get up
there?"
"Señor," said Pedro to Dick, "if you will stand on my shoulders, I think
you can reach those holes."
"All right," replied Dick. "Let's try."
It was simple enough. Dick easily reached the lower steps, which, it was
hardly to be doubted, had been cut for the purpose, and scrambled up to
the top. Then, letting down the rope we had brought for such an
emergency, he called to me to come up. With a boost from Pedro, and with
the rope to hold on by, I was quickly standing beside my partner, when
up came Pedro himself, hand over hand.
If this was really the road by which the Pueblos originally came up--and
from those nicks in the rock we felt pretty sure it was--it was the
roughest and by long odds the most upended road we had ever traveled
over. It was, in fact, a climb rather than a walk: we had to use our
hands nearly all the time.
We had come within a hundred feet of the top, when, looking upward, I
was startled to see on an overhanging ledge a large, tawny, cat-like
animal calmly sitting there looking down at us.
"Look there, Dick!" I cried. "What's that?"
"A mountain-lion!" exclaimed my partner. "My! What a shot!"
It happened, however, that we were at a point where it was necessary to
hold on with our hands to prevent ourselves from slipping back; it was
impossible to shoot. The "lion" therefore continued to stare at us and
we at him, until Dick shouted at him, when the beast leisurely walked
off and disappeared round a corner.
"Well!" remarked my companion. "I never saw a mountain-lion so calm and
unconcerned before. As a rule they are the shyest of animals."
"All the animals up here are like that," remarked Pedro. "Many times
since I have lived on the mountain I have seen them come down to the
edge of the cañon to look at me--deer and even mountain-sheep and
wolves; yes, many times wolves. They have no fear of man."
"That's queer," said I. "I wonder why not."
"Señor," replied Pedro, looking rather surprised at my lack of
intelligence, "it is simple: since the days of the Pueblos there has
been no man up here."
"Why, I suppose there hasn't!" cried Dick. "That didn't occur to me
before, either. It will be interesting to see how the wild animals
behave, Frank. It will be like Robinson Crusoe on his island."
He spoke in Spanish, as we always did when Pedro was in company, not
wishing him to feel that he was left out. It was Pedro who replied.
"I know not," said he, "the honorable gentleman, Señor Don Crusoe, of
whom you speak, but for ourselves we must have care."
"Why, Pedro. What do you mean?"
"The wolves up here are many, and they will surely smell us out."
"Well, suppose they do, Pedro. What then?" asked Dick, jokingly. "You
are not afraid of wolves, are you?"
This seemed a reasonable question, remembering how boldly he had faced
them that time at the head of the Mescalero valley.
"Most times I have no fear," replied Pedro, simply, "but up here it is
different. These wolves know not what a man is; they will smell us out,
and they will think only, 'Here is something to eat;' they do not know
enough to be afraid."
"I suppose that is likely," Dick assented. "You are quite right, Pedro:
we must take care. I don't suppose there will be anything to fear from
them during daylight, but we'll keep a sharp lookout, all the same. Come
on, let us get forward."
In another ten minutes we had reached the top, when, turning up-stream,
we presently came to the dry gully which led down to where the old flume
once stood. Thence, turning "inland," as one might say, we followed up
the bed of this gully, finding that it had its head in a little grassy
basin which looked as though it had once been a small lake. In crossing
this basin we stirred up from among the bushes a band of blacktail deer,
which ran off about fifty yards and then stood still to look at us;
these usually shy animals being evidently consumed with curiosity at the
sight of three strange beasts walking on their hind legs. Undoubtedly,
we were the first human beings they had ever encountered.
We did not molest them, but pursuing our course across the little
basin, we were about to proceed up a narrow, stony draw at its further
end, when a sudden scurry of feet behind us caused us to look back. The
band of deer had vanished, and in their stead were four wolves, which,
when we turned round, drew up in line and stood staring at us!
As Dick had said, the wild animals up here were making themselves
decidedly "interesting."
Pedro had an arrow fitted to his bow in an instant, while Dick and I
simultaneously cocked our rifles and stood ready. The wolves, however,
remained stationary; it was evidently curiosity and not hunger that
inspired them. Seeing this, I picked up a pebble and threw it at them,
just to see what they would think of it. The stone struck the ground
close under their noses, making them all start, passed between two of
them and went hopping along the ground, when, to our great amusement,
the whole row of them turned, ran after the stone, sniffed at it, one
after the other, and then came back to the old position. It looked so
comical that Dick and I burst out laughing; whereupon the wolves, who
had doubtless never heard such a sound before, retreated a few paces,
where they once more turned round to stare at us.
"Well, Pedro!" cried Dick. "They don't seem to be very dangerous. If all
the wolves up here are like that we needn't be afraid of them."
"They are not hungry just now," replied Pedro, so significantly that our
merriment was checked; "and you see for yourselves," he added, "that a
man is a new animal to them. They know not what to make of us. It is
that which makes me uneasy. A big pack of hungry wolves would be very
dangerous, for the reason that they have never learned that we are
dangerous, too. For me, I am afraid of them."
Such an admission, coming from such a man, one who, we knew, was not
lacking in courage, was impressive; so, in order that he should not
regard us as merely a pair of careless, light-headed boys, Dick assured
him in all earnestness that we had no intention of treating the matter
lightly; that we fully understood and agreed with his view of the
matter.
"You are quite right, Pedro," said he. "We can't afford to be careless.
A pack of wolves is dangerous enough when you know what to expect of
them, but when you don't----! It will pay us to be careful, all right;
there's no doubt about that. Come on, now. Let us get ahead. Those
beasts back there have gone off--to tell the others, perhaps."
Proceeding up the stony draw for about half a mile, we presently came
upon a most unexpected sight:--a little lake, covering perhaps a space
of twenty acres, its surface, smooth as a mirror, reflecting the trees
and rocks surrounding it, and dotted all over with hundreds of wild
ducks and geese.
"Here's the head of the ditch!" cried Dick, exultingly. "Here's where
the Pueblos got their water! They drew from this lake down the gully we
have just come up. The mouth of the draw has been blocked by the caving
of the sides, you see, but it will be an easy job to dig a narrow trench
through the dam, and then the pitch is so great that the water will soon
scour a channel for itself. Don't you think so, Pedro? The water must
have run down here, filled the grassy basin where the deer were, flowed
out at its lower end down the gully to the flume, and then by the ditch
over the foothills to the valley. Wasn't that the way of it, Pedro?"
It was natural that Dick should address his question to the Mexican
rather than to me, for Pedro, one of a race that had followed
irrigation for centuries, knew far more of its practical possibilities
than I did, and his opinion was infinitely more valuable than mine was
likely to be. In reply, he nodded his big head and said, gravely:
"That is it. It is not possible to doubt. The Pueblos drew their water
from the lake at this point. That is very sure. But----"
"But what?" asked Dick.
"This lake is small, and I see nowhere any stream coming into it,"
replied Pedro.
"That's a fact," Dick assented. "Perhaps it is fed by underground
springs. Let us walk round the lake and see where the water runs out and
how much of a stream there is. That is what concerns us. Where it comes
from doesn't matter particularly--it's how much of it there is."
Our walk round the little lake, however, resulted in a disappointment
which staggered us for the moment. There was no outlet. The lake was
land-locked; the one insignificant rivulet we found running into it
being evidently no more than enough to counterbalance the daily
evaporation.
"Well," remarked Dick, after a long pause, "there is one thing sure:
the Pueblos never built a flume and dug that big, long ditch to carry
this trifling amount of water. This lake, after all, was not the source
of supply, as we were supposing. It was a reservoir, perhaps, but
nothing more. The real source was somewhere higher up."
If Dick was right--and there could be hardly a doubt that he was--the
most promising direction in which to continue our search would be on the
west side of the lake, whence the little rivulet came down. An
examination of the ravine in which the stream ran showed evidence that
it had at one time carried much more water than at present, so, with
hopes renewed, we set off at once along its steep, stony bed.
The country on that side was very rough and precipitous, and the ravine
itself, reasonably wide at first, became narrower and narrower, and its
sides more and more lofty, until presently it became so contracted that
we might have imagined ourselves to be walking up a very narrow lane
with rows of ten-story houses on either side. The sky above us was a
mere ribbon of blue.
After climbing upward for about half a mile, we began to catch
occasional glimpses ahead of us of a frowning cliff which bade fair to
bar our further progress altogether, and we were beginning to wonder
whether we had not chosen the wrong ravine after all, when suddenly,
with one accord, we all stopped short and cocked our ears. There was a
sound of running water somewhere close by!
There was a bend in the gorge just here, and we could not see ahead, but
the instant we detected the sound of water, Dick, with a shout, sprang
forward, and with me close on his heels and the short-legged Pedro some
distance in the rear, dashed up the bed of the ravine and round the
corner.
What a wonderful sight met our gaze! Out of the great cliff I mentioned
just now there came roaring down a magnificent stream, which, falling
into a deep pool it had worn for itself in the rocks, went boiling and
foaming off through a second ravine to the right--a fine thing to see!
But what was finer, and infinitely more interesting, was the original
Pueblo head-gate, so set in the narrow gorge in which we stood that the
water, which, if left to itself, would have flowed down our ravine, was
forced to run off through the other channel.
It was a remarkable piece of work for such a primitive people to have
performed, considering especially the very inferior tools they had to do
it with. The walls of the gorge came together at this point in such a
manner that they were not more than five feet apart and were so
straight-up-and-down that they looked as though they had been trimmed by
hand--as possibly they had been to some extent. Taking advantage of this
narrow gap, the Pueblos had cut a deep groove in the rocks on either
side of the ravine, and in these grooves they had set up on end a great
flat stone about five feet high and three inches thick--it must have
weighed a thousand pounds or more.
Against this stone head-gate, on its inner side, the water stood four
feet deep, and it was obvious that when the gate was raised the flood
would go raging down the gorge we had just ascended into the little lake
below, leaving the bed in which it now ran high and dry.
Undoubtedly, it was this stone door with which the Pueblos used to
regulate their water-supply, prying it up and holding it in position,
perhaps, with blocks of wood, which, after the Indians deserted the
valley, had in time rotted away, allowing the gate to fall, thus
shutting off the water entirely.
However that may have been, one thing at any rate was
certain:--Whenever our flume and our ditch were ready, here was water
enough for thousands of acres only waiting to be let loose.
For a long time Dick and I stood with our hands resting on the top of
the head-gate and our chins resting on our hands, watching the water as
it went foaming and splashing down the other ravine, and as we stood
there, there came over us by degrees a sense of the real importance to
us of this discovery. We were only boys, after all, and we had gone into
this enterprise more or less in the spirit of adventure, but now it
gradually dawned upon us that we had in reality arrived at a point where
the roads forked:--Here, ready to our hands, was work for a lifetime,
and we had to decide whether we were going into it heart and soul or
whether we were not. Every boy arrives at this fork in the roads sooner
or later, and when he does, he is apt to feel pretty serious. I know we
did.
With us, however, the question seemed to settle itself, for Dick,
presently straightening up and turning to me, said:
"Frank! What will your Uncle Tom say? Will he be willing that you should
stay out in this country and take to wheat-raising and ditch-building
and so forth?"
"If I know Uncle Tom," I replied, "he'll be not only willing but
delighted. If we make a success of this thing--as we will if hard work
will do it--just imagine how proudly he will point to us as proofs of
his theory that a fellow may sometimes learn more out of school than in
it. In fact, if I'm not much mistaken, he will be eager to help; and if
we need money for the work, as we certainly shall, I shan't hesitate to
ask him for it. I shall inherit a little when I come of age, and I'm
pretty sure Uncle Tom will advance me some if I need it. But how about
the professor, Dick? How will he fancy the idea of your settling down in
this valley? For if we _do_ go into this thing in earnest, that is what
it means."
"I know it does," replied my companion, seriously. "And I'm glad of it.
I'll let you into a little secret, Frank. For some time past the
professor has been worrying himself as to what was to become of me: what
business or occupation I was fit for with my peculiar bringing-up--for
there is no getting over the fact that it has been peculiar--and the
professor, considering himself responsible for it, has been pretty
anxious about the result. Now, here is an occupation all laid out for
me, and nobody will be so pleased to hear of it as the professor. It
will take a burden off his mind; and I'm mighty glad to think it will."
"I see," said I. "I should think you would be: such a fine old fellow as
he is. So, then, Dick, it is settled, is it, that we go ahead? What's
the first move, then?"
"Why, the first move of all, I think, is to get back to the lake and eat
our lunch, and while we are doing so we can consult as to what work to
start upon and how to set about it. What time is it, Pedro?"
"Midday and ten minutes," promptly replied the Mexican, casting an eye
at the sun; while I, pulling out my watch, saw that he had hit it
exactly, as he always did, I found later.
"Then let us get back to the lake," said Dick. "Hark! What was that? The
water makes so much noise that I can't be sure, but it sounded to me
like wolves howling."
Pedro nodded his big head. "It will be well to go down to where there
are some trees," said he. "This arroyo, with its high walls, is not a
good place."
As we walked down the ravine and got further away from the water, we
could hear more distinctly the cry of the wolves. Pedro stopped short
and listened intently.
"There is a good many of them," said he. "I think they come hunting us.
Let us get up on this rock here and wait a little."
In the middle of the ravine lay a great flat-topped stone, about six
feet high, and to the top of this we soon scrambled--there was plenty of
room--and there for a minute or two we waited. The cry of the hunting
wolves grew louder and louder, and presently, around a bend a short
distance below, loping along with their noses to the ground, there came
a band of sixteen of them. At sight of us they stopped short, and
then--showing plainly that they knew of no danger to themselves--with a
yell of delight at having run down their prey, as they supposed, they
came charging up the ravine!