THE CAPTAIN DEPARTS
We traveled on for a week through the mountains with only the ordinary
incidents of hard riding and quiet camps. We met with no extraordinary
adventures, nor did we meet any wandering bands of Indians.
Although we saw the distant smoke of some large camps we did not seek
any close acquaintance with the Apaches.
"You will find many of the tribes in the southwest rather friendly,"
said the captain, "not like the Apaches, or Cheyennes. Of course you
always have to be on your guard. But if you do not arouse their
suspicions or deal with them unfairly, there is no danger of that, I
know, and you will find them safe."
"What are the names of these Indian tribes in the southwest?" inquired
Jim.
"Well, there are the Navajos, a fine tribe in many ways, with rather
good features, not like the fierce Apaches, much more human. They, too,
are skilled in making blankets, stained natural colors of gray and
brown and red and woven from sheep's wool. They roam above the San Juan.
"On the north below the San Juan are the tribes of Paiutes, while on the
south are the Suppais and Wallapais; in Arizona and lower down come the
Mojaves, Cocopas and Yumas, more worthless and degraded than the
northern tribes.
"The most interesting of all the tribes are the Pueblos who have
villages built in the cliffs or on the great Mesas. These people have a
civilization of their own."
"It certainly will be interesting to see this country," I said.
"To me it is the most marvelous region on this continent," resumed the
captain, "and has a fascination of its own. As you will soon find for
yourselves."
Late one afternoon, we had been riding through a deep canyon and we came
suddenly out upon the strange country with its sunlit vastness.
"Well!" said Jim, "it beats me!"
Upon the plain below us were several great mesas, with high
perpendicular walls, some of grey stone and others of vermilion
sandstone, and in the west were pinnacles and towers in varied hues.
Far away to the southwest were various chains of mountains, rising
above an elevated but broken region. The mountains were sharp and clear
cut. Over all was an atmosphere of wonderful clarity.
"The great Colorado River flows zigzag through that region," said the
captain, indicating the distant mountains.
We gazed at it feeling the spell of its fascinating mystery creep over
us. There was so much to take in that we sat on our ponies gazing out
over this weird land for a long time. Later, we watched the faint
crimson of evening die away and the azure that precedes the darkness,
robe the distant horizon line of mountains.
This was our last camp in these mountains and also the last night that
the captain was to camp with us. We were talking it over after supper as
we sat around the fire.
"I don't consider this as good-bye," said the captain, "for I expect to
see you at my cabin on the plateau after you return from Mexico."
"If it is possible, you may count on us," asserted Jim.
"You will have much of interest to tell me, I know that. I shall like to
hear of the old trails that I have travelled years ago."
"We shall be just one trail ahead of you and that is down the Colorado
River," said Jim.
"You're welcome to it," replied the captain, "from what I have heard of
its style of action. As a preliminary I should like to begin with the
rapids below Niagara."
"One thing is in our favor, we are all good swimmers," suggested Tom.
"Yes, that makes me feel some easier," continued the captain. "You must
be careful of those maps I made for you, Jim, because you will need them
from now on, until you reach the river. After that there is just one
direction and you can't miss it."
"That's down the river, with the current," said Tom.
"That's it," assented the captain.
"If you see Juarez, send him along," suggested Jim. "We want him."
"I reckon he would enjoy it much more than pitching hay on the Kansas
farm," said the captain. "It's time to turn in now, for you will want to
get an early start to-morrow."
So we rolled into our blankets for a dreamless sleep on the edge of the
Land of Enchantment that lay stretched out below us under the brilliant
stars.
We were astir early the next morning and before the sun was up we were
all ready to start out on the second division of our journey. Our
ponies were saddled and the pack horses ready. The only thing that
saddened us, was the fact that we had to part with our friend and
comrade, the captain.
But in the light of a new day and refreshed by a good night's rest it
did not seem such a gloomy prospect as on the evening before. We had
found that in the hazardous life we had lived so long that when we
turned in at night that it was the best way to forget, banish from our
minds all worry about the next day. No matter what desperate matters
faced us on the morrow.
We discovered that things never seemed so bad on the next day when we
were on our feet to meet them as when we lay on our backs thinking them
over.
We were now ready to say good-bye and no ado was made about it either by
the captain or ourselves. What was the use? We all instinctively
disliked any display of emotion.
"How long will it take you, captain?" asked Jim, "to get back to the
plateau?"
"I shall make quick time and use the cutoffs," answered the captain. "It
won't be much over a week before I am sitting in the armchair, with my
feet on the table reading a book, or looking down the canyon from my
open door."
"And we will be gliding down the placid Colorado about that time,"
laughed Jim, "with Tom and Jo serenading the Indian maidens on the banks
as we go drifting by."
"It's a beautiful picture," the captain smiled gravely, "but in reality
I see you bailing out your boat and dodging rocks and Indian missiles."
"That's about it," I assented. "By the way, you won't forget to mail our
letters home, at the settlement, captain."
"Not I," replied the captain. "It will be good news for them to hear
that you have arrived so far in safety."
"We never make much of our little adventures," remarked Jim, "when we
write home. We want to keep them feeling cheerful."
"That's right," returned the captain. "Now it is time for you to start,
the sun will soon be up. Good-bye and the best of luck to you."
He shook hands with each of us and there was the strength of friendship
in his grip.
"Good bye," we called.
And the captain swung his horse around and headed up the canyon.
"Don't be surprised if we drop in on you in a year or two," cried Jim,
after him.
"The sooner the better," shouted the captain, and with a salute, which
we returned, he disappeared in the depths of the canyon headed north.
We rode south down the slope and reaching the plain turned our horses'
heads directly west.
"It seems fine to be on level stretch," remarked Tom, "after going up
and down hills, over mountains and through canyons."
It did give us a curious sense of freedom and exhilaration, very much as
when you are out of sight of land on the ocean and see the blue surges
rolling freely to the horizon.
"Let's have a race," I proposed. "Here is a good stretch."
"Hold on," cried Jim, "we aren't kids any longer. We have got to settle
down and cut out our foolishness. There is no use in tiring our ponies
out at the start, they will need all the go that is in them before we
reach the river."
Jim was right as I recognized in an instant, though my first impulse was
one of anger at being called down, but I thought better of it.
"All right, old hoss," I replied, "the jog trot for me. How far do you
expect to go to-day?"
"Well, you see the ponies are fine and fit. I calculate to make between
sixty and seventy miles."
"Whew!" I whistled, "you'll wear them out."
"Don't you believe it," replied Jim, "that's nothing awful. Why, don't
you know that those buck Indians will cover seventy-five miles in a day
and over mountains too? We'd do forty ourselves and not feel it."
"I reckon you are right," came from Tom, "this is certainly fine
traveling. We ought to make time."
It was good going. The plain was covered with short, crisp grass. The
sun was just coming up and the blue depths of dawn were broken by the
shining arrows of the sun. The shadows were stript slowly from the great
mesas and the weird buttes and strange desert sculptures stood out in
absolute distinctness.
I tell you what, it was fine to be young and fit and free in such a
country as lay around us. Hardships and sufferings were ahead of us, we
knew that, and many dangers; we had experienced them in the past.
I wish you could have a picture of us as we jogged along, sitting
securely, easily on our ponies, our rifles hung on our back, slouch hats
flapping about our ears and hiding the sunburned radiance of our
countenances as grey clouds do the sun.
Moccasins on our feet; our worn but serviceable clothes that did not
altogether conceal our muscular figures. We were hard and fit and we
ought to have been. Our hands were black as any Indians and what they
gripped they could hold onto. In the rear of the procession trotted the
two pack animals.
We may have seemed too young to undertake the responsibilities we had.
But Jim was almost seventeen, the age that the famous scout, Kit Carson,
started on his career in the West. Tom and I, the twins, were two years
younger. Jim was the kingpin and we were auxiliaries.