lake and reached camp, where Tally started to brew the coffee, while
Sanderson led the animals over to corral them with the others.
While enjoying the coffee, the two men whispered of the joys of mountain
trailing: Tally, of his unexpected good fortune in finding such a
splendid company to guide that summer; and Sanderson in having found
such a splendid company with which he could travel. Finally the embers
of the fire were covered, and both men then stretched out upon the grass
to sleep.
Because of Sanderson’s night ride, and because of Tally’s interrupted
sleep, both men slept heavily and never awoke when the scouts began to
move around. Mrs. Vernon and the girls, without a glance in the
direction of the camp fire, ran to the lake and, donning bathing suits,
took an early morning swim. The water was cold as ice, and a plunge was
more than enough to satisfy every one in the party. Consequently,
shivering and with teeth chattering, they rushed back to the small
dressing-tent to have a brisk rub-down in order to start circulation
again.
In a short time they were dressed. Mrs. Vernon, who was buckling her
ridingboots, called after the girls to advise them.
“Betty, you rouse Gilly and Uncle, will you? And Hester, you help Tally
with breakfast, while Julie and Jo go catch a mess of fish.”
The girls ran away to do as their Captain had instructed. But Tally had
anticipated the call, and was already up when Hester came to arouse him.
He turned to her as he was fumbling with the campstove, which was
belching smoke from its little pipe, and said: “Somebuddy go ketch trout
for brekfas’?”
“Yes, Tally, the girls are going, I think,” answered Hester.
[Illustration: The girls helped Tally with the breakfast.]
“Tally, did you try the temperature of the stream just below camp?”
called Mr. Vernon, curling up under his blanket in the chill of the
early morning air.
“Shore! he’em fine an’ warm, Boss,” laughed the Guide.
“All right, then! turn on the faucet and I’ll use my luxurious tiled
bath very shortly,” replied Mr. Vernon.
“He’s right, Tally,” retorted Mr. Gilroy, poking his head out from under
his blankets; “his bath _will_ be short—on this frosty morn.”
“Both you lazy men ought to be ashamed to have five scouts up and
dressed before you even dream of ordering your daily bath,” called Mrs.
Vernon from the tent which had been turned into a ladies’ dressing-room.
“How can we get up, when we have no valet or dressing-room?” replied Mr.
Vernon.
“We are going to fish now, so you men can have the use of our tent while
we are landing the trout,” said Julie, going over to the place where the
fishing tackle had been left by Mr. Vernon and Mr. Gilroy the night
before.
As a clump of trees and bushes intervened between the sleeping quarters
for the scouts and the camp fire, Julie was unaware of a visitor until
she, calling to the Guide, rushed around the screen foliage.
“Tally! I want to borrow your fish-pole! Where is it?”
Sanderson sat bolt upright at the girlish voice. He was accustomed to
sudden and unexpected calls during his sleep, hence he was trained to
rouse quickly.
“Oh!” gasped Julie, surprised at finding the young Ranger there. “Oh,
where did _you_ come from?”
“Good-morning. Miss Julie,” returned he, scrambling to his feet, and
hastily trying to smooth his disheveled hair.
“Me fin’ Mees’r San’son losted las’ night,” said Tally, explaining the
presence of the disconcerted visitor. “He come alla way down, to fin’ us
an’ hees hoss call for help. Poor Ranger! He ride alla night to ketch us
up.”
Then Sanderson added his explanations to those of the Indian and by the
time he had concluded he had regained his composure.
“Well, this isn’t catching fish for breakfast,” returned Julie,
laughingly. “I came for Tally’s rod, and now I find I have another mouth
to fill.”
Tally went over to fetch his rod, but he smiled to himself as he
muttered a contradiction to Julie’s words: “Ye’es, this _iss_ catching
fish! You hook one great beeg fish, Mees Jule, what you not eat for
brekfas’.”
“What did you say, Tally?” demanded Julie. “I heard you say something
about not eating fish for breakfast, but you shall, if I know it!”
Tally chuckled as he handed her the pole and tackle. And the girl sped
away to join Joan, who was on her way to the water.
Mr. Gilroy had heard a stranger’s voice in conversation with Julie and
now he appeared at the camp fire. “Well, for goodness’ sake!” exclaimed
he, when he saw who the stranger was.
Sanderson laughed and flushed, as if all the world must know the true
reason for his being there. He explained about the wrong trail and then
described the attractions of the Red River trail.
“Why, that’s great! We’ll all go this way if you have the time to trail
with us,” was Mr. Gilroy’s hearty endorsement.
Joan and Julie seemed to have bad luck with the fish that morning, but
the truth of the matter was that Julie could not keep quiet. She was too
full of merry gossip about the good-looking Ranger who had appeared so
unexpectedly in camp.
“You know, Jo, he kept looking at me all the time he explained, till
even Tally could see what was doing!” giggled Julie, casting for a trout
in a spot that looked promising.
“He is so tall and handsome, Julie, that I am almost jealous of you,”
declared Joan, her interest entirely engaged by the hope of an imminent
romance instead of the duty of fishing for the present need.
“He certainly seems to be all eyes for me, doesn’t he?” was Julie’s
laughing reply. “I am not quite at ease when he is around, Jo. Now,
Phil Morton, the associate editor on our home paper—you know, the one
who thought I was just cut out for a journalist—showed very plainly how
much he liked me, but he wasn’t forever staring at me and afraid to
speak.”
Joan tittered. “Give Sandy time, Jule; we only met him yesterday,
remember. Most of our afternoon up on Raton passed while the Ranger was
away hunting for food. He only had a few short opportunities in which to
take note of your charms.”
“Oh, stop your nonsense!” retorted Julie, whipping the trout-line back
and forth in the water.
“Look out! Oh, Julie—see there, now!” cried Joan, impatiently, as both
lines and hooks became entangled.
Julie laughed as she hauled in the lines and started to undo the snarl.
“Isn’t this just like love? One minute you’re all right and never
dreaming of a tangle; along comes a fine young Ranger and, pronto! the
tackle jumps around and there you are!”
The two lines were separated as she ended her sermonette; then Joan
said: “Come on back. We can’t fish this morning, while we know Hesty and
Betty have Sanderson all to themselves. Here we are missing all the fun
and they’re right in it”
Without demur, Julie followed after her chum, and soon they appeared in
camp. “No fish this morning,” declared Julie, as she placed Tally’s
rod against a tree.
“Oh, girls! did you really try?” asked Mrs. Vernon.
“I should say we did! Why, I almost wore out the line while working it,”
declared Julie, positively.
The men stood and gazed at the lake in amazement. Mr. Vernon then said:
“I could swear the lake was full of fish, Gilly.”
“Come on, Sanderson, let’s you and I go try our luck,” responded Mr.
Gilroy. “It will only delay breakfast for a short time.”
So, without another word the two men took the discarded rods and walked
away, while Julie and Joan stood and watched them go, disapproval
plainly expressed on their faces. Tally gave them a look, comprehending
the situation, and smiled to himself as he bent over the fire to turn
the bread-twist.
“Come, girls, let’s pack the duffle-bags and take down the tent while
we’re waiting for breakfast,” suggested Mrs. Vernon, seeing the two
returned fishers had nothing to do.
It was not long before the fishermen were seen coming back, displaying
several fat trophies of trout which had been caught in that short length
of time.
“It doesn’t seem like fishing, Verny, where so many trout are simply
waiting for the hook. If one had a net, they could _scoop_ them
up—they’re that thick,” declared Mr. Gilroy.
“That’s the kind of fishing I like,” laughed the Captain. “Where the
fish swim up to you and quarrel with each other as to which shall be the
first to hook itself.”
Young Sanderson helped serve the breakfast, but most of his attention
was given to Julie’s words and actions. In fact, so apparent was the
good-looking young Ranger’s attraction to the vivacious girl that Mr.
Vernon chuckled as he nudged Mr. Gilroy in the ribs.
“Julie’s made a conquest, all right. I fear we’ll have to take the
Ranger along as an extra guide, because he’ll refuse to be left behind,”
whispered Mr. Gilroy.
Breakfast over, the Captain said: “Gilly, are we going down the Cimarron
trail, or are you thinking of changing our plans?”
“Why, we’ll go on just as Sandy directs, when you’re ready and say the
word,” replied Mr. Gilroy.
Thus they were trailing again by nine o’clock, Ranger Sanderson all
smiles and gayety, riding beside Julie. She, the little minx, enjoyed
his attentions and tantalized him with her mischievous eyes. Now and
then Mr. Gilroy would rein in his horse in order to ride abreast with
these laggards. At such times he tried valiantly to signal Julie that
she must not flirt so heartlessly with the poor chap, but the laughing
girl would give him a whimsical look in return.
The trail was excellent and no adverse conditions arose to impede or
delay the progress of the scouts along the way. The Ranger proved to be
a valuable addition to the party, as he knew most of the ranches near
the trail, and was well versed with legends and stories of every point
of interest to be seen as they rode through this mecca in adventurous
times of the past.
It was Sanderson who made the Old Trail seem to pulse once more with the
life of other days, in which the stage-coach and the great caravans
coming from Kansas City and Denver to Santa Fé had to travel by this
great Sky-line. The girls saw the Indians and the outlaws of those
pioneer days, as they attacked the whites, or raided a traders’ caravan.
But it was through the Ranger’s eyes of the imagination that they saw
these vivid pictures.
He pointed out the El Capulin volcano, which was a short ride from Raton
City, but not to be included in the sight-seeing now. He tried to induce
the tourists to ride to Taos by the ancient trail that ran direct from
Raton, but the scouts preferred to go to the Pecos ruins and cañon
first, then up to the pueblo of Taos later. It was Sanderson who, from
the crest of Raton, pointed out the wonderful view of the Spanish Peaks,
the Taos Range and the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. He directed their
gaze to Fisher’s Peak and told how it had been named for the officer in
the Army of the West; how Simpson’s Rest was a monument of nature’s
work in honor of the old pioneer who was buried on its summit. He
pointed to the great bluffs across the Las Animas River where, in 1866,
the Ute Indians fought the settlers. Then he told them how the river
came to have its name. Sanderson spoke Spanish fluently and he
interpreted the meaning of the old name into English for the girls:
“River of Lost Souls”—in memory of the Spaniards who in the eighteenth
century lost their lives in the crossing of the river.
It was not to be wondered at, therefore, that the scouts were intensely
thankful that they had met such a delightful young man to trail with
them, and they each and every one hoped that no untoward act from any
source whatever could ruin this splendid opportunity to enjoy his
company.
Not one of the girls felt jealous of Julie and the “lion’s share” of
attention which Sanderson paid her, but every girl in the group tried to
show the Ranger that she, too, was alive and eager to have his smiles
and expressive glances, when he found it possible to take them from
Julie and share them meagerly with others.
While Sandy enjoyed Julie’s companionship, he remembered the Government
had first claim on his time. His duty was to interpret for and to guide
the man he was to meet at Springer or Las Vegas, and secure such
statistics as would be valuable for the righting of the wrong done the
Pueblo Indians; consequently, he felt that he had no right to pay
attention to a pretty girl, while his work remained unfinished.
Thus the entire scout-party rode into Springer, as the newspapers would
say, “without any casualties,” either to soul or body; but there lurked
a germ of love in Sanderson’s heart, for which no vaccine has yet been
discovered.
CHAPTER FIVE
SANDY HAS HIS SAY
Having arrived in Springer the scout-party were amazed to find it such a
small place. They had pictured it to be as important a city as Raton,
with buildings as fine and good hotel accommodations. Now they learned
that it was limited to little more than a thousand in population, and
that it paid more attention to its export of flour and fruits to
consumers in all parts of the country than to consumers of the cooked
products who were at their “doors” needing food and shelter. At least,
so Julie described the hungry condition of their party and the reception
awarded them at the hotel.
“Good gracious! Jule, one would think you had never been on a camping
trip before,” was Betty’s rebuke, when her sister complained of minor
matters in connection with the hotel.
Another disappointing incident was that Mr. Burt, the man Sanderson
expected to meet in Springer, failed to appear there, but a wire was
handed the Ranger instead.
“Well! he says that he’s waiting for me at the Castañeda Hotel in Las
Vegas, where he has been detained because of business,” explained the
Ranger to the men in the scout party. “But I’m inclined to think that
Burt had little desire to stop over at a small place with so little to
interest a visitor. Las Vegas will amuse him to his heart’s content.”
“What will you do now?” asked Mr. Vernon.
“Go on with you to-morrow, just as we had planned. I came here as
directed, and Burt is not here. Now he must wait for me.”
The girls exchanged approving looks with each other, because they
admired a man who had enough respect for himself to demand that others
respect him also, by deeds as well as by words.
“I have a plan to propose which you may think a wise one, but you may
think I am too forward for suggesting it,” said the Ranger at supper
that night.
“Out with it, Sandy!” exclaimed Mr. Gilroy. “We’ll not consider you
forward in anything, but being guilty of making all the scouts fall in
love with you. I know that is so, because not one of them has deigned to
send me a smile—they are all saved for you, you rascal.”
The scouts laughed merrily, but Sanderson, in confusion, blushed like a
girl accused of her first love-affair. To cover his embarrassment, the
young man said: “If you send Tally with the burros by freight in the
morning, we can ride to Las Vegas in half the time. Then we can meet
him there and plan later.”
“That’s a fine idea, Sandy! How far is it from Springer?” returned Mr.
Vernon.
“It’s a jaunt of about seventy miles, but we can stop at Wagon Mound,
which is almost half-way to Las Vegas, you know.”
“And should we feel tired of riding we can go on to Las Vegas by train,
can’t we?” added Mrs. Vernon, thinking of her girls, and this unusually
long ride in the saddle.
Thus it was decided, and Tally was so informed after the tourists left
the dining-room. He agreed without demur, but he showed his
disappointment at being shipped on a train when he had looked forward to
trailing all the way to the Grand Cañon without an up-to-date train
doing its part in the trip.
In the morning, therefore, Tally had gone, but not to the train, when
the scouts came downstairs. It was learned that he could not leave
Springer till after eleven that morning, so he had decided to do a
little sight-seeing without escorting his party.
“That’s the way he has of telling us he disapproves of our decision of
sending him with the burros,” said the Captain, a note of sympathy in
her tone.
“We’re sorry as he is, Verny, but what can we do? Ship the slow little
pests on the train without a guard?” said Mr. Gilroy.
“Tally must see that we cannot do otherwise,” added Sandy.
“Thar’s none so blind as them that won’t see,” quoth Julie, nodding her
head sagely.
Of course Sandy turned his head quickly and smiled fatuously, but she
tossed her curly head and grinned back.
The trail that day led the scouts past the State Reformatory which is at
Springer, then on southward to Colmor. They had an excellent view of the
peaks of the Cimarron Mountains, of which Old Baldy is the highest. At
Colmor they saw the Lake Charetts irrigation reservoir from a distance,
but had no inclination to ride nearer to inspect the huge project.
They stopped at a wayside ranch and had the midday meal, then rode on
until Wagon Mound was reached in the late afternoon. Here they stopped
for the night and resumed the trail in the morning.
From Wagon Mound the trail ran through beautiful hills and valleys,
passing through Optimo, a small farming settlement, and then to Valmora,
where a large Sanatorium for tuberculosis is located. At Watrous the
junction of the Mora and Sapello rivers supply water for many industries
and also give the country around ample moisture to grow such verdure as
other sections lack. The Ranger considered the pueblo ruins near the
town worthy of a visit, and also the ruins of Fort Barkley near by.
After visiting the Shoemaker (Mora) Canyon the scouts continued on to
Las Vegas.
It had been a long ride that day, and they were thankful to find a hotel
where every convenience as well as luxury was to be had. They lost no
time in going to their rooms at the Castañeda and enjoying the delight
of warm baths. It was rather late for dinner when they all met again in
the dining-room, hence the usual crowds had dined, and that left the
place more private.
Sandy, as he had come to be called by the scouts, was not to be seen
when Mr. Gilroy led his friends to dinner, but later he hurried in and
excused himself for being tardy.
“I saw Tally and learned that he has stabled his burros in a good place,
so I let him take our mounts there as well. Then I sent word to Mr.
Burt, who was in the billiard-room, and made an appointment to meet him
in the lounge after dinner. I should like to know if you wish to meet
him?” Sandy gazed at Julie, but he had meant his words for every one in
the party.
“Later will be just as well, Sandy. You ought to say your say with him
on the business matter for which he came west. That off the slate, you
can mention us. We will be the ‘refreshments after the meat course,’”
laughed Mr. Gilroy.
But it happened later, that Sandy and Burt were discovered in the
reading-room of the hotel. It had been vacated by the guests who sought
outdoor diversions, and the two men considered they would find the place
quiet enough for them.
Sandy was cracking his closed hand upon the solid table beside him as
Mr. Gilroy came to the door to peep within the room. This conversation
sounded very good to him, so Mr. Gilroy tip-toed across to an armchair
and listened silently. An illustrated newspaper, open upon a table back
of Sanderson, caught his eye, and he leaned over to take it. He saw the
date—November 29, 1922—and he wondered that such an old paper should be
found upon such a modern hotel’s reading-table. He soon understood how
it came there. Mr. Burt had had it in his script case and had shown it
to the Ranger. It was a full-page article on the Pueblo Indians, and the
illustrations were excellent.
Sanderson seemed to know his subject from A to Z, and the newspaper
correspondent soon realized that fact. Both men were so interested in
the debate that neither one had noticed the entrance of Mr. Gilroy. Mr.
Burt took up the discussion and asked his companion many questions
bearing upon the work before them, and Mr. Gilroy, glancing down at the
paper upon his knees, saw a line that seemed to answer a question that
Burt had just asked. Thereupon he became so intent upon reading the
article that he never heard the girls come in quietly and take chairs
near the door.
The Ranger was declaring vehemently at the time in defense of the
Indians. “I tell you, Mr. Burt, that these United States owe the red
Indians more than we citizens can estimate. If that Bursum Bill goes
into effect it will be a lasting disgrace to this nation. How is it
possible that our Senate can be so misinformed as to pass a bill which
will take from the Pueblo Indians in New Mexico thousands of acres of
land upon which they depend for a living—land which was bestowed upon
them by patented land grants and subsequently confirmed by the Republic
of Mexico, and later by the American Government in 1858.
“Should this bill pass the House, the Indians will be deprived not only
of their land rights, but also of legal redress. Why, these guileless
Pueblos will become the target of so many unscrupulous lawyers who will
induce them to sue to recover their land, that the courts of New Mexico
will be congested with their claims.
“The award of these Indian lands to non-Indian claimants leaves no
possibility for defense to the Indians. The Bursum Bill dooms the
agricultural future of the Pueblo Indians; it would also appropriate a
section which strikes at the center of their tribal life. These Indians
have been self-governing, and the judgment of well-informed
investigators who know the form of these tribal governments declare that
this system is the best safeguard of the morale of the race. Destroy
their traditions alike with their tribal government, and you destroy the
moral fiber of the individual Indian.”
“So far you’re right, Mr. Sanderson, but you forget that one white man
is surely worth more than a poor ignorant Indian,” argued Mr. Burt.
“Surely ‘a man’s a man’ no matter what may be his color,” declared the
Ranger. “Eight thousand industrious farmers out there are more valuable
to the United States than eight thousand promoters of graft, be they
white or red. Another unfair thing is the breaking up of the Indians’
form of government, which means, actually, that you affect the vital
community centers of these quiet, peaceable farmers; at the same time it
means that such a step is calculated to so disturb the poor Indian that
he will give up his land the quicker.”
“Oh, Mr. Sanderson, I think you have the wrong slant on this matter,”
objected the newspaper man.
“I think, Mr. Burt, that I have every slant that is possible to get—all
but one slant which I refuse to entertain, and that is the grafters’
slant.”
“Now you _are_ unjust. As far as I have looked into this entire matter I
find a singular absence of anything that would seem like personal reward
for this measure being adopted,” said Mr. Burt.
Sanderson smiled tolerantly. “How about the Mescalers Bill, also
introduced by the Senator of New Mexico, to establish an
All-Year-National-Park, _but_ the bill would include the establishment
of private leaseholds to commercial enterprises. A fine ideal for our
National Parks!”
Mr. Burt seemed ill at ease, but the young Ranger gave him small chance
to offer further opinions on the subject.
“Every fair-minded Westerner recognizes the necessity of clearing up the
conflicting Spanish and American land grants in New Mexico, but we want
this done without illegal treatment of the honest, faithful natives of
the land.
“Many disputants maintain that the Pueblo Indians are so lazy that they
won’t farm what little land they have, so why should they not give up
tracts which they do not live upon. Simple enough to one who will study
the situation fairly: most of the good, irrigable land has been
encroached upon by non-Indian claimants, leaving the arid, unirrigated
portions to the unprotesting Indian farmer who strives pitifully to make
a living for himself and his dependents.”
“Why don’t the fellows protest in a way which will get some one after
the land grabbers?” demanded Mr. Burt. “I am out here to write up the
situation for my paper, not to show partiality to either side.”