A NIGHT ON THE MESA
"Do you suppose they saw us?" I asked.
"Hardly," replied Jim. "It's all we can do to make them out and they are
mounted."
"It's lucky we stopped off here," remarked Tom, "because we would have
run into them or at least they would have cut our trail."
"If they go east of the mesa they will do it anyway," I said, "then what
will we do?"
"They would have a sweet time getting up here after us," said Jim.
"But they would starve us out," I said.
"Don't worry, Jo," Jim replied. "If they insist on hanging around we
will have to turn farmers and till the soil. You and Tom would make a
nice team to pull that plow, being twins; you are well matched, light
bays, warranted kind and gentle."
"Any lady could drive, especially Tom," I said.
"I don't believe those fellows will bother us," said Jim, who was
watching the Indians closely. Jim never allowed repartee to interfere
with business. "You see they are keeping well to the west and in that
case they won't see our trail."
"We will have to camp up here to-night," I said.
"Sure," replied Jim, "there is nothing else to do. It won't be long till
sunset now and we want daylight for that trail."
"Do you suppose those fellows will try and come up here?" I asked.
"What for?" replied Jim, "they know that there is nothing here and they
are not looking for useless exercise."
"Are we going to camp in one of those houses?" I inquired.
"Why not?" said Jim, "you are not afraid of the old lady stealing you,
are you?"
"I don't see any use of our going indoors," I replied. "We always sleep
in the open and it don't look like rain. At least not this century."
This last observation certainly seemed accurate. Though there were a few
rolls of white clouds, floating around over the vast extent of blue sky,
they were oases in the desert of its extent. Though along the eastern
horizon were delicate veils of purple or grey showers skirting along.
But there seemed no promise of dampness in them.
We lay at ease stretched out in perfect safety watching the Indians as
they came into nearer view. It seemed like something more than a hunting
party because they had their squaws and papooses with them.
The earth was warm and dry and the sun made us feel comfortable as we
basked in it like so many grey lizards. Just then a curious little thing
darted right in front of my face. I drew back in alarm. But Jim reached
out quickly and clutched it in his hand.
"What is it?" I asked.
"It's nothing but a horned toad," he replied.
"Aren't you afraid that it will poison you?" I inquired.
"No," he replied, "the captain told me that they were perfectly
harmless."
"Ugly as sin though," I commented.
It was flat in shape, with its rough skin covered with regular coloring
of grey and dark brown. Above the eyes were two little horns and the
center edge of its skin had saw-like indentations. Its belly was flat
and of a whitish color.
"Now watch him catch this fly," said Jim.
The unsuspecting fly was crawling on Jim's hand. The horned toad was as
quiet as immobile stone. Mr. Fly came along within a few inches of the
toad. Then out flashed a little narrow wisp of red tongue and the fly
disappeared.
"One strike and in," said Jim, proud of his new pet. "You see he is just
about the color of the earth so that he can't be seen; all he has to do
is to keep still and his game comes to him."
Then Jim slipped the horned toad into his pocket. The sun had now sunk
down behind the distant Sierra. Above it glowed a few gold bars of
clouds. In the east was a broad band of blue with a crimson veiling
above it.
This pomp always accompanies a desert sunrise or sunset.
"The Indians are going to make camp," Jim announced.
It was true, they had stopped near two hills a couple of miles west of
the mesa, where there was a growth of a few stunted trees. The braves
slid from their ponies and turned them loose to graze, while the squaws
busied themselves gathering wood. The children scampered around free as
wild colts and playing as children will whether they are Indian or
white.
"There must be a hundred of them anyway," said Tom.
"About the number that had us corraled back in those mountains," I
said.
This was the first time that we had seen a family party of Indians and
it was an interesting sight.
"It is time we made our own camp," said Jim.
So we backed slowly from the edge of the mesa, keeping under shelter of
the brush, until we were far enough away not to be seen, then we stood
up and made our way to the deserted village.
"I'm not going to sleep in that house," I declared, "and have a
tarantula crawl out and grab me."
"Gee, but you are particular," said Jim, "anyway we can cook our food in
one of these houses, so that the Indians down there won't see the
smoke."
So we prepared a meal inside of a house for the first time since we had
left the captain's cabin on the plateau. If anyone had told us that we
were going to have supper in a house on top of a mesa in New Mexico we
would have thought they were crazy. But strange things happen in a
strange country.
After supper we prepared to turn in or turn out rather, because we were
not going to sleep in the house.
"Let's go over to the other side first," said Jim, "and have a look at
the Indian camp."
This we did. And it gave us a strange sensation, standing near the edge
of the mesa with nothing but the void darkness below us for hundreds of
feet.
It was a picturesque sight, to see the Indian fires making little spots
of flame out on the plain. Sometimes faint sounds come from their
direction borne on the evening wind. Overhead the innumerable stars were
shining with sparkling clearness. The night seemed to be filled with the
vague whispering of the wind.
As we turned back to the dead village the wind rose; at first it came in
gusts and then it blew in steady and ever increasing volume, until it
rose to the fierceness of a gale.
Not a cloud was visible, it came from perfect clearness and it seemed to
have more power than if it had been accompanied with rolling clouds. The
gravel blew across the mesa, cutting our faces.
"Are we going to have a cyclone?" inquired Tom, anxiously, yelling into
Jim's ear.
"No!" he yelled back. "This country is too broken. It couldn't get
started before it's busted."
"We can't sleep here to-night," declared Tom, "we will be blown away."
By this time we had reached the shelter of the village. It seemed
uncannily quiet and dead within its walls.
"We can sleep here in the court yard," I said, "and we will be protected
from the wind."
"All right," replied Jim, "it's funny to have the horses inside the
houses and we out."
We made a comfortable bed on the ground of the courtyard with brush that
we had cut on the outer mesa. Jim made use of his Indian blanket and
said that it was all right.
In a short time Jim and Tom were sound asleep and their snoring rivaled
the wind, but I could not sleep. I was very restless and I turned and
tossed.
Overhead the stars were shining and the wind whistled and roared over
the silent roofs around us. I kept listening for every sound. But after
awhile I dropped off into a troubled doze. Then I heard a rustling near
my ear. It was crawling towards me in the darkness. A tarantula coming
straight for my face. I flung out one desperate hand and struck a horny
object. It was Jim's horned toad.
Thoroughly awake I threw off the blankets and stood up looking around.
The wind was still keeping up its furious gait and the sky was clear. I
judged it was about midnight.
It was a weird situation with those silent deserted houses all around
and the gaping blackness of the doors and windows. I moved cautiously
towards the center of the court. Then I stopped short. A long, pale
face was in the upper part of a dark door. I saw it with perfect
distinctness. Then it moved or rather moved slowly from side to side.
"Coyote, you rascal! What are you looking at!" I exclaimed, in decided
relief.
I could not sleep so I sat down on a rude box in the court yard
listening to the wind, my rifle across my knees. If ever a place seemed
haunted this Pueblo village did at that hour.