Morning dawns upon the Lost Mountain, to disclose a scene such as had
never before been witnessed in that solitary spot. For never before had
wagon, or other wheeled vehicle, approached it. Remote from town or
civilised settlement, leagues away from any of the customary routes of
travel, the only white men having occasion to visit it had been hunters
or gold-seekers, and their visits, like those of angels, few and far
between. Red men, however, have sought it more frequently, for it is
not far from one of their great war-trails--that leading from the Apache
country to the settlements on the Horcasitas, so serving these savages
as a convenient halting-place when on raid thither. The reconnoitring
party, sent in advance of the caravan, had discovered traces of their
presence by the lake's edge; but none recent, and nothing to signify.
There were no fresh tracks upon the meadow-grass, nor the belt of naked
sand around the water, save those of wild animals that had come thither
to quench their thirst.
In confidence, therefore, the miners made camp, though not negligently
or carelessly. The old _militario_ had seen too much campaigning for
that, and directed the wagons to be drawn up in a _corral_ of oval
shape, tongues and tails united as the links of a chain. Lone-bodied
vehicles, the six enclose a considerable space--enough to accommodate
all who have need to stay inside. In case of attack it could be still
further strengthened by the bales, boxes, and _alparejas_ of the
pack-mules. Outside the animals were staked, and are still upon their
tethers, though without much concern about their running away. After
the long traverse over the dry _llanos_, and the suffering they have
endured, now on such good grass, and beside such sweet water, they will
contentedly stay till it please their masters to remove them.
Fires had been kindled the night before, but only for cooking supper; it
is summer, and there is no discomfort from cold--heat rather. And now
at dawn the fires are being re-lighted with a view to _desayuna_, and
later on breakfast; for, though the caravan had unexpectedly run short
of water, its stock of provisions is still unexhausted.
Among the earliest up--nay, the very first--is Pedro Vicente. Not with
any intention to take part in culinary operations. _Gambusino_ and
guide, he would scorn such menial occupations. His reasons for being so
early astir are altogether different and twofold; though but one of them
has he made known, and that only to Henry Tresillian. Overnight, ere
retiring to rest, he had signified his intention to ascend the Cerro in
the morning--soon as there was enough of daylight to make the ascent
practicable--in hopes of finding game both of the furred and feathered
sorts, he said. For in addition to his _metier_ as guide to the
caravan--being a skilled hunter as well as gold-seeker--he holds
engagement to supply it with venison, or such other meat commodity as
may fall to his gun. For days he has had but little opportunity of
showing his hunter skill. On the sterile tract through which they have
been passing birds and quadrupeds are scarce, even such as usually
inhabit it having gone elsewhere in consequence of the long-continued
drought. All the more is he desirous to make up for late deficit, and
at least furnish the table of the quality with something fresh. He
knows there are game animals on the mountain--a _mesa_, as already said,
level-topped, with trees growing over it, besides water; for there is
the fountain's head, source of the stream and lake below. On the night
before, he had spoken of wild sheep as likely to be found above, with
antelopes, and possibly a bear or two, also turkeys. Now, in the
morning, he is sure about these last, having heard them, as is their
wont before sunrise, saluting one another with that sonorous call from
which they derive their Mexican name, _guajalote_.
These confidences he has imparted to Henry Tresillian, who is to
accompany him in the chase, though not from any view of inspiring the
latter with its ardour. There is no need; the young Englishman being a
hunter by instinct, with a love for natural history as well, and the
Lost Mountain promises rich reward for the climbing, in discovery as in
sport. Besides, the two have been _compagnons de chasse_ all along the
route; habitually together, the fellow-feeling of huntership making such
association congenial. So, early as is the Mexican afoot, he beats the
English youth by barely a minute of time; the latter seen issuing forth
from one of the tents that form part of the encampment, just as the
former has crawled out from between the wheels of a wagon, under which,
rolled-up in his _frezada_, he had passed the night.
With just enough light to identify him, Henry Tresillian is seen to be
habited in shooting coat, breeches, and gaiters, laced buskins, and a
tweed cloth cap; in short, the costume of an English sportsman--
shot-belt over the shoulders, and double-barrel in hand--about to attack
a pheasant preserve, or go tramping through stubble and swedes. The
_gambusino_ himself wears the picturesque dress of his class and
country; the gun he carries being a rifle, while the sword-like weapon
hanging along his hip is the ever-present _machete_--in Sonora sometimes
called _cortante_.
As, overnight, the programme had been all arranged, their interchange of
speech at present has only reference to something in the way of
_desayuna_ before setting out. This they find ready and near; at the
central camp fire now blazing up, where several of the women, "whisks"
in hand, are bending over pots of chocolate, stirring the substantial
liquid to a creamy froth.
A _taza_ of it is handed to each of the "_cazadores_," with a "_tortilla
enchilada_," accompanied by a graceful word of welcome. Then, emptying
the cups, and chewing up the tough, leatherlike maize cakes, the hunters
slip quietly out of camp, and set their faces for the Cerro.
The ascent, commenced almost immediately, is by a ravine--a sort of
gorge or chine worn out by the water from the spring-head above and
disintegrating rains throughout the long ages. They find it steep as a
staircase, though not winding as one; instead, trending straight up from
its debouchment on the plain to the summit level, between slopes, these
with grim, rocky _facade_, still more precipitous. Down its bottom
cascades the stream--a tiny rivulet now, but in rain-storms a torrent--
and along this lies the path, the only one by which the Cerro can be
ascended, as the _gambusino_ already knows.
"There's no other," he says, as they are clambering upward, "where a man
could make the ascent, unless with a Jacob's ladder let down to him.
All around, the cliff is as steep as the shaft of a mine. Even the wild
sheep can't scale it, and if we find any on the summit--and it's to be
hoped we shall--they must either have been bred there, or gone up this
way. _Guarda_!" he adds, in exclamation, as he sees the impulsive
English youth bounding on rather recklessly. "Have a care! Don't
disturb the stones; they may go rattling down and smash somebody below."
"By Jove! I didn't think of that," returns he thus cautioned, turning
pale at thought of how he might have endangered the lives of those dear
to him; then ascending more slowly, and with the care enjoined upon him.
In due time they arrive at the head of the gorge, there stopping to take
breath. Only for an instant, when they proceed on, now no longer in a
climb, the path thence leading over ground level as the plain itself;
but still by the rivulet's edge, through a tangle of trees and bushes.
At some two hundred yards from the head of the gorge they come into an
opening, the Mexican as he enters it exclaiming:
"_El ojo de agua_!"