_Across the Line into New Mexico--Barren Sand Hills--Jack
Rabbits--Prairie Dogs--A Glorious Sunset, etc._
The train had now entered a country that is simply indescribable for its
bleak barrenness.
On every hand, as far as I could see, was nothing but barren sand hills,
broken here and there by high mountain ridges.
In some places we would go forty or fifty miles without seeing a sign of
human habitation, then suddenly we would come upon a small collection of
adobe huts, that is, huts built of sun-dried, mud bricks.
These little houses have a flat roof, and some of them are no taller
than a man's head. They are occupied by Mexicans and Indians.
A big rain would destroy all these dwellings; but rain is almost as
scarce in this desolate, sun-baked region as snow is in the Torrid Zone.
When it does rain there and a man's clothes are wet, it takes but ten
minutes for the air to dry him off again.
From where I was sitting in the door of the coke car thousands upon
thousands of jack rabbits, cotton tails and prairie dogs could be seen
dodging in and out among the rocks and cactus trees.
Once, just before dark came on, a solitary cowboy, wearing high boots
and a big sombrero, mounted on a spirited young pony, dashed across the
tracks ahead of the train and disappeared behind the low mountain ridges
toward the sunset--and such a grand, beautiful sunset that was!--the sun
slowly sinking behind the distant mountain peaks, and the whole heavens
lit up with a perfect flood of golden beauty, was a scene, though I live
to be a hundred years old, I shall never forget.
Nowhere else in all the world, I believe, are the sunsets so gloriously
beautiful as in Arizona or New Mexico.
Lost in spell-bound admiration and silent reflection, I sat in the car
door until long after dark.
The night air at home had always given me the asthma, but there was no
asthma feeling about me now; instead I felt that it would be an
impossibility to wheeze.
I inhaled great draughts of the dry, pure air, which seemed to penetrate
to my very toes, and open every air cell in my body.
Surely for those whose lungs are affected this is God's country, I
thought.
Then and there I registered a solemn vow that when my parents were no
more, I should return to this country and pass the remainder of my days.
All of this part of New Mexico is devoted to sheep raising. White men
are in demand as sheep herders, and are usually paid $30.00 per month
and board.
That night I slept in the coke car, and at sunup next morning we reached
the first large town in all the 200-mile stretch from Dalhart--Santa
Rosa--a town of 700 population.
No one discovered the poor, thirsty hobo in the coke car. (In this
country three hours is a long time for a man to do without water.)
Inside of an hour the train had changed crews, another engine had been
coupled on, and the long 175-mile ride across the dreary waste to
Alamogordo (the next division point) was begun.
During this long ride there was no change of scenery. I never went to
the door without seeing thousands of jack rabbits and an occasional
coyote. Once in a while a large tarantula (spider) as large as a man's
hand could be seen scampering among the rocks for shelter.
Extreme thirst is caused by the alkali dust which floats in the air.
Before the day was over my lips had become a fiery red and cracked open,
and my tongue had swollen nearly twice its normal size.
Many a poor hobo has been put down in this country by a heartless
brakeman, and left to die on the desert, of thirst, but, as yet no one
on the train had seen me.
Once, as darkness was closing down, I heard a brakeman coming, and
quickly crawled into the back end of the car, where it was very dark.
Slabs had been nailed across the open door within two feet of the top to
prevent the coke from rolling out.
The brakeman climbed upon these slabs, and taking up a piece of coke,
threw it into the dark end of the car, where I was hiding, with
considerable force.
Though he could not see me, his aim was true, and the coke struck me a
glancing blow upon the cheek, cutting a long gash, and starting the
blood.
The pain was intense, and it was all I could do to keep from crying out,
but the brakeman, unconscious of my hurt, hurled a piece of coke into
the other end of the car, and upon hearing no one, sprang from the car
door, and soon his footsteps could be heard going to some other part of
the train.
Late that night we reached Alamogordo.
While here I wrote home to my folks.
Alamogordo is 4,000 feet above the sea level, and has one of the finest
natural parks in the United States.
The town is also noted for the luscious fruit raised by the Mexican
ranchers nearby.
My night's lodging was on a large pile of telegraph poles piled near the
railroad.
No dew falls in that country and a good many of the people who live
there would rather sleep on the ground during the summer months than on
a good feather bed. A man can sleep on the ground there nine months in
the year without taking a cold.
I left Alamogordo the next day on a passenger train as a "coal
passenger," that is, I had to help the fireman shovel coal for my fare
to El Paso.
About half of this trip lay in the foothills of the mountains, and then
we reached the mountains proper.
Gradually the train rose foot by foot (the train was going very slowly
now) until we had attained a height of over 5,000 feet above the level
of the track.
The journey was now through the clouds, and in some places the fog was
so thick I could not see the cars that were following behind us, but in
a few moments the spiral winding tracks would carry us on the other side
of the mountains, where the sun was shining brightly, and I could see
far down the beautiful valleys to some distant mountain peak over
seventy-five miles away.
It was the first time I had ever seen the mountains, and enraptured with
their beauty, I forgot to throw coal down for the fireman.
The engineer, noticing my abstraction, called:
"Hey, come down here a minute."
I crawled into the cab.
"Where are you from?" he asked, good naturedly.
"I'm from North Carolina working my way to Tucson."
"I thought you were from the East," he said. "How far do you think it is
to that mountain peak over there?"
"It looks to be about five miles," I answered.
"That's where this clear air fools you. Why that peak is over forty
miles away," he laughed.
The rest of this trip I was treated exceptionally good. Both the fireman
and engineer seemed to take a delight in pointing out to me things of
interest.
Presently a very high mountain caught my eye.
"That's Mt. Shasta," said the fireman. "It's over two miles high, and
snow lies up there about nine months in the year. There's a railroad
built up there now," he continued, "and its an ideal summer resort."
About 8 or 9 p. m. we reached El Paso, Tex.
At one time, years ago, El Paso was one of the roughest border towns in
the West, but the modern El Paso is altogether a different town.
The population now numbers over 50,000, of which 15 or 20 per cent are
Mexicans.
Just across the Rio Grande River is the Mexican city, Ciudad Juarez. I
spent nearly a day in this quaint looking city. In the center of the
town is a large park. Seated on one of the beautiful rustic benches,
placed close together along the shaded avenues of the park, you are
quite free from the hot, scorching sun beating down overhead. Just
above your head a large frame work, extending over the entire park, has
been constructed, and upon it a thick growth of vines and beautiful
flowers are entwined in endless profusion.
Wherever I spent a small American coin, I was sure to receive nearly a
handful of Mexican coins in change.
A toll bridge spans the river and connects the two cities.
An American collects the toll on the El Paso side and a Mexican on the
Juarez side. It cost me two cents to cross each way.
While in El Paso I heard a great deal of talk about the high wages paid
laborers in Bisbee, Ariz., and as it was only a few miles out of my way
going to Tucson, I decided to stop over there a few days.
I shoveled coal on an El Paso and Southwestern freight train from El
Paso to Douglas, a distance of 200 miles.
Douglas, Ariz., is a small place of about two thousand population, and
is twenty-seven miles from Bisbee.
When we reached Douglas the engineer and the fireman invited me to take
dinner with them.
The engineer offered to get me a place in the large railroad shops
located there as apprentice boy at $2.50 per day, but I told him I would
go on to Bisbee and try that town for a job first.
In this country a man willing to work can always find dozens of jobs
waiting for him. Nearly everything is white labor, and its very seldom
you are offered less than $3.50 to $4.50 per day for eight hours work.
The largest smelter plant in the world is located at Douglas. (Its the
old plant removed from Bisbee.)
The ore train (heaviest tonnage train in the world) hauls the crude ore
from the mines in Bisbee to the Douglas smelters.
I stayed over one night in Douglas, and the next morning at daylight
caught the ore train with its long line of empty, iron-bound cars, bound
for Bisbee.
At Osborne Junction a miner got into the car I was in. He was also going
to Bisbee.
We left the cars on a side-track at Don Luis and started out to walk the
remaining two miles to Bisbee, "The Greatest Mining Camp on Earth."
My first impression of Bisbee was certainly not a very favorable one.
The town is surrounded by high mountain ranges, making a sewerage system
next to impossible. The waste matter of Bisbee is hauled away in wooden
boxes with teams.
On account of this poor sewerage Bisbee suffers every summer with an
epidemic of typhoid fever and smallpox. There is always the presence of
a fearful stench upon the streets. All of the streets are very narrow,
winding and short.
Most of the dwelling houses are built one above the other up the
mountain sides, and are reached by narrow, winding paths.
Main street and Brewery Gulch are the two principal business streets.
On either of these streets, day or night, one always finds a large crowd
of miners and gamblers--speaking of gambling, Bisbee is a typical
Western town in this respect. There are over twenty public gambling
halls there. Every saloon has its gambling hall, and in the rear a band
of musicians. The doors are thrown wide open and the window shades are
never drawn.
Strolling into one of these brilliantly lighted dens of iniquity, you'll
find every known gambling device under the sun. "Dice throwing," "21,"
"Faro," "Roulette," "Poker"--they are all there, and many others.
The Indian, Chinaman, Mexican and American all play at the same table,
and unless you are a good poker player you had better stay out of the
game.
In these games the ante is seldom less than $1.00.
The people in the Far West talk but little while the game is going on.
There is no wrangling or misunderstanding. The cards are dealt quickly
and deftly, and without a word the betting begins. Sometimes the pot
swells to a thousand dollars or more, but even then the same quiet among
the players prevails.
The winner hardly smiles as he pockets his money, and the loser, if he
goes broke, quietly gives up his seat and some other gentleman takes a
hand.
On the 10th and 12th of every month the mines around Bisbee pay out to
the employees the sum of $70,000, so it is no wonder the gambling halls
do a good business.
There are no one cent pieces used in Bisbee, (not even in the
post-office); nothing less than five cents.
Bartenders in Bisbee receive $6.00 for an eight-hour shift serving
drinks.
There are no colored people in Bisbee.
Board and room can be obtained for $30.00 per month and up. Clothing
cost but little more than in the East.