TUCSON TO PRESCOTT (_continued_).
Wickenburg, much longed for and at last reached, we found to be an
adobe hamlet, of perhaps one or two hundred inhabitants, depending
chiefly on the Vulture Mine. We were all so thoroughly jaded and worn
out, by our rough ride through the country, from Maricopa Wells,
that we decided to halt there for a day or two to rest and recruit.
This afforded us an opportunity to visit the Mine, which we gladly
embraced, as we had heard so much about it. It is really a fine mine
of gold-bearing quartz, off in the mountains, some fifteen miles west
of Wickenburg, whence the ore was then wagoned to the mill, on the
Hassayampa at Wickenburg. It consists of a fine vein of free quartz,
from five to fifteen feet wide, and mostly devoid of sulphurets, or
other refractory substances. Seventy or eighty men--half of them or
more Mexicans--were hard at work, sinking shafts and getting out
ore; and already a large amount of work had been done there. One
shaft was already down a hundred feet, and another half as far--it
being intended to connect the two by a lateral gallery, to insure
ventilation, etc. Unfortunately, no water could be found near the
mine, and all used there then was transported from Wickenburg, at
a cost of ten cents per gallon. So, all the ore taken out had to
be wagoned, from the mine to the mill at Wickenburg, at a cost of
ten dollars per ton. The cost of everything else was about in the
same proportion. Nevertheless, we were told the mine paid, and that
handsomely, and I sincerely trust it did.
The mill at Wickenburg, belonging to the same company, was a fine adobe
structure, roofed with shingles, and had just gone into operation.
They had previously had a small five-stamp mill, which paid very well;
but this new mill ran twenty stamps, and would crush forty tons of
quartz per day, when worked to its full capacity. Their ore was reputed
to average from fifty to seventy dollars per ton, though of course
"assaying" much more, and we were assured would pay for working, if it
yielded only from twenty to thirty dollars per ton. If so, we thought,
stock in the Vulture Company must be a "gilt-edged" investment; and
their noble mine certainly was the best-looking enterprise, we had yet
seen in Arizona. It appeared, however, to be a sort of "pocket" vein,
as prospecting on either side of it, as yet, had failed to discover
other points worth working. Fine as it was, the mine was embarrassed
by financial difficulties, and was then in the hands of creditors,
authorized to work it until their claims were met, though these
troubles it was thought would soon end.
Thence on to Prescott, _via_ Skull Valley, some eighty-four miles,
we passed without further mishap. We made the distance in two and
a-half days, and rolled into the capital, just as the last rays of
the setting sun were purpling the triple peaks of the distant San
Francisco Mountains. The road generally was naturally a good one, but
here and there developed a peculiarity seldom seen elsewhere. For
example, on a perfectly good road, apparently, even dry and dusty,
suddenly a mule would go in to his girth or a wheel to the hub, and
there seemed no bottom to the execrable quicksands. In other places,
there had been surface-water or mud, that served as a warning. But
between Skull Valley and Prescott, when trotting along as usual,
we often struck spots, where the dust was blowing, and yet when we
ventured on, our vehicles seemed bound for China or Japan, rather
than Prescott. Skull Valley itself proved to be a narrow little
vale, of perhaps a thousand or two acres, but devoid of timber, and
inaccessible in all directions, except over bad mountains. A few
ranches had been started here, and a petty Military Post was there
to protect them; but this last had already been ordered away, the
location was so faulty, and with its departure, Skull Valley, as a
settlement, seemed likely to collapse.
Here and at Wickenburg were the only settlements, and, indeed, the
only population, we found between Maricopa Wells and Prescott--a
distance of nearly three hundred miles, by the way we came. The
whole intervening country, as a rule, was barren and desolate, and
absolutely without population, except at the points indicated, until
you neared Prescott. There were not even such scattered ranches, or
occasional stations, as we found in crossing the Colorado Desert,
and ascending the Gila; but the whole district seemed given over,
substantially, to the cayote and the Indian. The Apaches and
Yavapais are the two main tribes there, and were said to infest the
whole region, though we saw nothing of them. In the valley of the
Hassayampa, and across the Aztec Mountains, they certainly had an
abundance of ugly-looking places, that seem as if specially made for
ambuscades and surprises. If they had attacked us in the cañon of
the Hassayampa, while floundering through the quicksands there, they
would have had things pretty much their own way--at least, at first,
vigilant as we were. They had killed a wandering Mexican there,
only a few days before; but we did not know it, until we reached
Wickenburg, and came through ourselves unscathed.
Perhaps the worst place was Bell's Cañon, a long, tortuous, rocky
defile--diabolical in every respect--a few miles south of Skull
Valley. Here a Mr. Bell and others had been killed by Apaches,
some two years before; and here also the Indian Agent, Mr. Levy,
and his clerk, had lost their lives, but a few weeks previously.
For miles there, the rocks have been tossed about in the wildest
possible confusion, and their grouping in many instances is very
extraordinary. A small band of Indians there, ensconced among the
rocks, would be able to make a sharp fight, and nothing but cool
heads and steady courage would be likely to dislodge them. From the
peaks on either side, they can descry travellers a long way off,
through the clear atmosphere of that rainless region; and should they
decide to attack, nothing would be easier than to conceal themselves
behind the massive boulders, that bristle along the cañon. We
expected trouble here, if anywhere in Arizona, and, as we approached
it, "governed ourselves accordingly." But the "noble Red men" allowed
their "Pale-face brothers" to pass in peace. Arizonians spoke of
this villanous-looking place, as rather dangerous, and didn't care
to venture through it alone; but parties of two and three travelled
it frequently, and it seemed safe enough, if they went well armed,
and kept a sharp look out. The trouble is, travellers in Arizona, and
in all Indian districts, as a rule, _see_ no Indians, and so after a
few days believe there are none--become careless, wander on ahead, or
straggle along behind, _without their arms_--when presto! suddenly
arrows whiz from behind gigantic rocks or down shadowy cañons, and
men are found dead in the road, with their scalps gone. In all such
regions, the only safe rule is the rule of our western Borderers, to
wit: "Never unbuckle your six-shooter, and never venture from your
camp or train without your Spencer or Henry!"
As I have already said, we found the intervening country substantially
unsettled, and much of it will never amount to anything for
agricultural purposes. Its mineral resources may be great; but, as a
rule, it lacks both wood and water, and much of it is a barren desert,
given over forever to chemisal and grease-wood. On the Agua Frio and
Hassayampa, however, there are considerable bottoms, that might be
successfully irrigated; and between the Gila and the Salado there is a
wide district, that deserves some further notice. As you come up out
of the Gila bottoms, you pass through scattered mesquite trees, and
at length enter on a broad _mèsa_ (Spanish for "table-land"), ten or
fifteen miles wide by thirty or forty long, which bears every evidence
of having once been well cultivated, and densely populated. Instead of
mesquite, you here find clumps of chemisal two or three feet high, and
bits of broken pottery nearly everywhere. Farther on, some eight or ten
miles from the Salado, you find immense ruins in various places, and
soon strike a huge _acequia_ winding up from the Salado, in comparison
with which all the _acequias_ we had yet seen in Utah or California
were the veriest ditches. It must be, I should think, thirty feet wide
by ten or twelve deep, and seems like a great canal of modern times.
Just where the road to Fort McDowell crosses this, it subdivides into
three or four lesser _acequias_, and these branch off over the _mèsa_
indefinitely. This great _acequia_ heads just above where we crossed
the Salado. The river has a considerable descent or "rapids" there, and
the ancient constructors of this gigantic water-course, apparently,
knew well how to take advantage of this. They have tapped the river
there by three immense mouths, all leading into one common channel; and
this they have coaxed along down the bottoms, and gently up the bluff,
until at a distance of miles away it at last gained the level of the
_mèsa_, and there distributed abroad its fertilizing waters. So, there
are other ancient _acequias_, furrowing the bottoms of the Salado on
either side, though we observed none so large as this.
The ruins of ancient buildings, thoroughly disintegrated, are
scattered widely along these bottoms, and in some places there must
certainly have been large cities. The rectilinear courses of the
walls, and the dividing lines of the rooms, are all plainly visible
still, though nothing remains but the cobble-stones and pebbles, out
of which they seem to have been mainly constructed, and here and
there a bit of cement or mortar. The ancient builders and occupiers
of these could not have been our present Indians there, because they
use different forms and materials. They could not have been Mexicans
or Spaniards, because they invariably use brick or adobe. Who they
were, where they came from, when they disappeared and _why_--these
are knotty problems for the antiquarian, which it is to be hoped time
will soon solve. One thing is certain, these ancient builders--Aztecs
(as popularly believed) or whoever they were--were at least good
architects and engineers, and they must have peopled much of Arizona
with an industrious and dense population, such as it will not see
again--I was going to say--for centuries to come. But the Salado,
in those days, must have been a larger river than it is now, or
probably ever will be again; because two or three of these old
_acequias_ would carry off all its present waters, and leave none for
the others, whose remains yet furrow the country there everywhere.
However, the larger _acequias_ may have been used only as receiving
reservoirs, to husband the spring freshets, and for this purpose
they might soon be utilized again. However this may be, there are
fine lands all along the bottoms of the Salado, and enough water
flowing there yet to irrigate many thousands of acres. Indeed, the
best lands we saw in Arizona are here in the heart of it, on the
Gila and Salado, and in time no doubt there will be flourishing
settlements there. What the region needs, is a railroad to connect it
with "inside," or civilization; and this the "Texas and Pacific," it
seems, will eventually furnish. Now, like so much of Arizona, it is
inaccessible, or practically five hundred miles across a desert--from
about everywhere. A railroad will remedy all this, and stimulate
Arizona wonderfully in many ways. The whistle of the locomotive
will end her Indian troubles, and many others, and may she hear it
echoing and re-echoing among her mountains and cañons very soon! A
railroad, indeed, is a great blessing everywhere; but in our western
territories it means civilization as well, and without one Arizona
will evidently continue to slumber on, as she has for so many years.