observation of one who has studied the problem for some years, and
visited the Pueblos during all of several summer vacations—the passing
of this Bursum Bill means that the water rights for irrigation belongs
to those who have seized and held such water rights for the past four
years. Can you imagine anything more intolerable, and so open-handed in
its grab as this law? And this in defiance of an existing law of the
United States Supreme Court in 1913 which ruled that no statute of
limitation can operate against the Indians because they are Government
proteges.”
“Gee! I didn’t know this!” exclaimed the newspaper man, apparently
stirred.
“Maybe you didn’t, but this you know: that in New Mexico and Arizona
where water means everything—and any land that cannot get water is
absolutely valueless—any private ownership, or a syndicate’s claim on
water rights, means added taxation, or no water—get me?” fumed
Sanderson.
“Yes, I do. But tell me, Ranger, is there any solution, in your mind,
for this problem?” demanded Burt.
“The solution is _water_! the draining of the waterlogged sections and
the storage of it for irrigation purposes. The mountains of New Mexico,
as well as the Rio Grande and other rivers, supply ample water sources
for all the irrigation needed to make this land more fertile than you
can imagine. Such work will not only redeem the deserts but redeem our
honor, as well, because it will place the Indian above want and deprive
the grafter of one secret way of wringing money from the defenseless.”
“Say, Sanderson, this must be my lucky day. I swore under my breath when
I got word from the boss of our paper to stop off at Springer to wait
for a messenger who would meet me. But I’d rather have met you and heard
more on this subject than have spent the time in Las Vegas, in a
luxurious hotel,” remarked Mr. Burt.
Sanderson smiled. “You didn’t think so when you first began to argue
with me, did you? I have been given leave of absence from duty in order
to accompany you and help you get ‘the right slant’ on this problem.”
“Well,” said Mr. Burt, “had I been given a choice of companions on this
jaunt, I could not have selected one more to my liking.”
During the discussion between Sanderson and the newspaper man, Mr.
Gilroy and the scouts sat perfectly quiet and listened. Julie was not a
little chagrined to learn that she would not be the only attraction now;
and Mr. Gilroy was amazed to learn how much the young man knew of the
subject under debate. At this time Mr. Vernon entered the room and spoke
loud enough to include every one in the party.
“Well! I’ve been going around in search of you people, but I never
expected to find that you-all had turned literary so suddenly. Why all
this mouselike quiet in the reading-room, and not one of you besides
Gilly with a paper in your hands?”
Sanderson turned around and smiled to find his friends seated behind
him. The Ranger now introduced his companion to his friends and
explained his mission in the southwest. The scouts listened eagerly, for
here was a political and also an ethical problem before the people of
the United States, and these girls were about to visit the Indians about
whom the debate had just taken place.
“Lucky no guests came in here to read quietly while you were arguing,”
remarked Mrs. Vernon, laughingly.
Later, while the others were planning for the morrow’s trip, Julie got
the newspaper correspondent in a corner and talked most confidentially
to him. He took several sheets of closely written paper which she showed
him and then he nodded with interest. Sandy, as he pretended to be
listening to Mr. Vernon, watched jealously.
Joan could not hear what was said, nor would she ask her chum to confide
whatever it was she seemed so interested in. After Mr. Burt left the
room, Julie sat at the desk and wrote as if for dear life. Joan watched,
thinking she must be sending a letter to a sweetheart in Elmertown. But
which one? Joan knew Julie had no preference, though she had many
admirers because of her attractive personality.
The bulky letter finished, Julie sealed it carefully and hurried to the
mail-box, without a glance at her chum. Joan would not wait to meet her
but ran upstairs and pretended to be sleeping when Julie came in the
room.
CHAPTER SIX
WHAT HAPPENED IN THE PECOS FORESTS
The addition of young Sanderson and the hustling young newspaper
reporter to the scout group was hailed by the four misses, as well as
approved by Mr. Gilroy and Mr. Vernon, but the Captain felt dubious over
the daily association of such a handsome young Ranger in the becoming
green uniform of the official forester, and the fascinating entertainer,
Mr. Burt. She noted with trepidation that Julie often seemed to get the
newspaper correspondent by himself and talk confidentially with him.
This was unusual for Julie, and Mrs. Vernon wondered at her, but decided
to withhold any comment for the present.
The atmosphere of Las Vegas is one of its most remarkable attractions.
Looking off toward the Cimarron range, or the Spanish Peaks, the clarity
of the air tints everything with pastel shades. One can see Pike’s Peak
in central Colorado seemingly quite close at hand; and the snow-capped
Northern Rockies, more than two hundred miles away, seem quite near.
At Las Vegas the scouts found three cities in one: first, the ancient
Spanish, then the up-to-date town with its fine hotel called the
Castañeda, and, thirdly, the health resort town with its famous Las
Vegas Hot Springs. At these Springs, which are a paradise for the sick
or for those who believe in prevention of illness, you may sport about
in boiling mineral waters, if you choose, or merely bask in the sunshine
and enjoy the exhilarating air.
The following morning the Ranger led the party along the trail to Hot
Springs, thence on to the Gallinas Cañon where 60,000 tons of ice are
cut and shipped annually to points for 600 miles area. This ice forms at
night, but the walls of the Cañon prevent the rays of the sun from ever
penetrating to the bottom; thus the temperature during the day remains
at the point which keeps the ice from melting.
From Las Vegas a great scenic highway of over eight thousand feet above
sea level was followed by the scouts. This trail skirted forbidden
cañons, sequestered lakes, ran at the base of snow-capped peaks, and
through densest forests of yellow pine.
“Perhaps you do not know that the Rangers have made most of the splendid
trails throughout the mountains,” said Sanderson, when Mr. Burt
commented on the excellence of the road.
“I don’t see how you ever find time with all the other duties you are
supposed to do,” remarked Mrs. Vernon.
“Why, Captain, right in the Pecos Forest alone you will find about six
hundred miles of the finest trails which have been cut by us as our
patrol rounds demanded,” explained Sanderson.
“No wonder you have such muscle and not an ounce of flesh!” laughed Mr.
Vernon, admiring the erect, slender form in front of him.
“Another thing you’ll find in the Pecos—all the game we will need for
food whenever we camp. If you prefer trout, all you have to do is to
camp on the banks of a stream. The trout jump into the frying pan and
cook themselves. Should you prefer wild turkey or quail, even venison,
just wish and there it is!”
“Gee! what wouldn’t I give to have time to go with you on a hunting
trip,” exclaimed Burt.
“You would never enjoy a hunting trip with me,” declared the Ranger,
“for the best of reasons: I never hunt or kill for sport. If I need
food, I take it, but I have yet to kill for the satisfaction of seeing a
wild creature give up its life just because I can use a gun.”
The scouts felt like applauding this polite rebuke to the Tenderfoot’s
zest for hunting, but they knew enough to hide their sentiments.
“How about mountain lions and wildcats? I heard that the Service hailed
those who would help to clean them out of these forests in order to
preserve the deer and harmless wild creatures. I read last winter that
as many as a dozen bears were caught in a few weeks on one ranch alone
out here. That doesn’t look much like protection,” returned Burt.
“Oh, the destructive beasts, you meant! That is all right, but killing
of deer, or wild game birds, for the sake of hunting is quite another
thing,” said the Ranger.
Conversation during the trip from Las Vegas to the next camp that day
was like a game of tennis—the ball was batted back and forth between the
players: the men on the one side and the scouts on the other. But this
conversational ball was made of such stuff as would educate and inform
the girls so that they would the better understand and appreciate the
country and conditions they visited.
At noon, the first day out from Las Vegas, they camped on Bernal Creek
and the scouts listened to Sanderson talk, thus they learned that in the
750,000 acres of land in the Pecos Forest the pine trees stand from
eighty to a hundred and fifty feet in height; that the Rangers have to
protect the young saplings; and harrow the ground where quantities of
pine are cut and removed—this to keep a new growth coming on to replace
the trees taken out.
That night they camped on the Pecos River, near Blanchard. The next day,
having followed the remarkable trail along the Pecos River and passing
many farms which dotted the land, the scout party climbed to an
elevation of 8,000 feet, where they found the little adobe town of
Pecos. It looks more like an ancient village in Spain than an American
settlement in the twentieth century; the people living in the simplest
manner and dressing in picturesque ways: women in full, short skirts,
with gay shawls over their heads or upon their shoulders; children in
red or blue calicos; men with sombreros, loose shirts and bandannas
around their swarthy necks; goats grazing everywhere; old houses, bright
flowers, red sand—all served to paint a picture for the girls.
Here, quite unexpectedly, Sanderson met a Ranger from the Government
Lookout at Panchuelo. He had been at Glorieta to restock the larder from
the meager supply to be had from the grocer. To the surprise of the
Easterners they heard from him that fresh meat could be had there at
prices which were current thirty and forty years ago—before the great
meat trusts choked the individual butcher out of business.
“Mr. Gilroy,” said Sanderson, “I advised Mr. Burt that we go forward to
Santa Fé to get important papers he will need. My friend here says he
will escort you up the forest trail; he knows the country better than I,
and he is a good camp-cook.”
As this was a practical suggestion, it was agreed that the scouts were
to go with Ranger Johnson, while Sanderson and Burt, after attending to
some publicity work in Santa Fé for the Pueblo Indians, would join the
scouts at Taos Pueblo. Thus the two young men said good-by and departed.
Ranger Johnson suggested the Apache Inn, at Valley Ranch, where he knew
the tourists could be entertained for that night. “But,” said the
Ranger, “before we leave for Valley Ranch, Mr. Gilroy, you may wish to
escort the scouts about the town.”
“We might get lost in such a great city,” giggled Joan.
“Lost in wonderment, maybe,” retorted the Ranger. “There’s a little
mission church said to have been built way back in 1600; and the ruins
of a prehistoric Indian Pueblo named Cicuye—it is worth photographing.
Then there’s the Pecos Ruins halfway to Valley Ranch. A view of this
real Mexican town is well worth the trouble of going to see it. The
house where you will stay to-night, with its whitewashed walls
glistening in the sunshine, will make a good picture, too.”
That night the scouts stayed at Apache Inn as planned, and early the
next morning they started off, with Ranger Johnson leading up the Pecos
Cañon. The trail ran close to the edge of the cliffs, but the walls of
the Cañon were heavily wooded to the bottom where ran the Pecos River,
hence the danger, if one went over the edge, was not so great.
Camps and cabins with visitors from everywhere dotted the groves or
parks wherever a good camp-site was to be found along the trail of the
Pecos River. There were many Cañons which forked off from the main one,
and upon the wooden level knolls one could see the tents or the portable
bungalows of the summering visitors.
The trail zig-zagged up through the forest of aspens and sentinel pines,
close by sparkling waterfalls and glistening cascades, past many a cool
trout pool, till the top of Baldy Pecos loomed up far ahead.
“How far is this from Pecos Town, Mr. Johnson?” asked Mr. Gilroy.
“Folks will tell you it is _only_ twenty miles—straight up. But who ever
came up here _straight_! An aëroplane might do it, but not a Mexican
pony! Just think of the way we zig-zag and go round the bluffs.”
“What is our objective for to-day’s trip, Ranger?” asked Julie, gazing
at the peaks which seemed so near but were actually miles farther north.
“Why, I plan to take you to Grass Mountain, where my friend and I have
charge of the branch station. To-morrow I will take you to Panchuelo,
where you will be able to see a view that will never be forgotten. From
the U. S. Forest Rangers’ observatory you can see the entire Pecos
Valley, as well as get closely acquainted with the Santa Fé Range on the
other side of the Pecos Cañon. We’ll spend the night with my friends at
the lookout and start you on the trail early in the morning.”
The air was most exhilarating, but it got to be so cool that the Captain
called a halt in order to make the girls don their heavy sweaters. Even
the men took advantage of the stop to get out their cardigan vests and
slip them on under their coats.
Finally, they reached the top of Grass Mountain and were introduced by
Ranger Johnson to his friend in the service.
The view from this plateau was all that had been said of it, but even
that leaves much to be said, because mere words are so inadequate to
describe such a glory. The scouts stood looking down the Las Vegas
Valley, then they crossed the plateau and looked down the Pecos Valley.
To the north the Santa Fé Range, and in still another direction
stretched the Sangre de Cristo Range.
“Yes, this certainly is worth the effort of coming up,” remarked Mr.
Gilroy, nodding approvingly.
“I don’t see that you made an effort,” retorted Julie; “it was the poor
horse that had to carry you.” The others laughed, and Joan added: “A
hundred and eighty pounds good weight, too!”
As there was ample bedding to be had for the plucking, the scouts
decided to weave their beds and get supper preparations under way before
they accepted the invitation of Ranger Johnson to go up into the
observatory and gaze through the powerful telescopes. By the time the
beds were finished, however, it was too late to see very much, though
the senior Ranger of this station, Mr. Oliver, tried to direct their
gaze to certain points.
Ranger Johnson was told to invite his associates to dine with the
scout-party, and a merry group sat down as the last rays of the setting
sun shot up over the distant peaks and touched the tin dishes,
transforming them suddenly to golden platters.
That evening around the cheerful camp-fire the Rangers told their
adventures; then Mrs. Vernon requested Tally to tell of his winter
experiences. The Guide, eager to oblige, described his escapes from the
blizzards, his fights with the grizzlies, and other thrills of a
trapper’s life. Finally he was persuaded to relate one of his Indian
legends.
“We haven’t heard any of your new stock, you know,” added Joan.
“Oh! wait just a moment, please, before you begin, Tally,” called Julie,
jumping up and running to her bag for a pad and pencil. Returning with
the desired articles she squatted again on the ground in front of the
camp-fire and said: “Now, then—all set!”
The others laughed at the movie term, then Tally said: “Dis gon’a be a
leetle injun tale, ’bout so beeg,” and he held his hands apart for a
length of about six inches to show the size of the story he proposed
telling.
As Tally told the story, Julie wrote quickly, and this is her copy of
it which she sent to the _Elmertown Record_.
“Once upon a time the Beaver and Porcupine were very good friends. They
traveled everywhere together and kept each other informed of all that
happened; and, because of the Porcupine’s sharp quills, other
inhabitants of the woods shunned them both.
“The Bear was in constant fear of the Porcupine; he had experienced the
sharpness of those quills, but he preferred the Beaver for a dinner and
he endeavored to break up a beaver-dam just to catch and eat one of the
family. The Porcupine stayed in the Beaver’s home which is very dry
inside and comfortable to live in; so, when the Bear would try to tear
down the dam to let the water run away and expose the Beavers, the
Porcupine generally came out to object. When the Bear saw his enemy he,
with an apology, would hurry away. Then the Porcupine would jeer and the
Beavers usually came out to hoot at their clumsy adversary.
“But the dam had to be repaired, hence the Porcupine sat and kept guard
during that time. When the dam was almost completed, the Porcupine said:
‘My, but I am hungry! Will you come with me while I get some bark and
sap from yonder tree?’
“Now the Beaver cannot climb trees, so he replied: ‘Friend, I will
remain here at the bottom and wait while you eat your fill.’
“The Porcupine was soon up in the tree enjoying his supper, then the
stealthy old Bear crept back to catch the Beaver. But the wise Beaver
saw him coming and called to his partner:
“‘Brother, the Bear is coming! What shall I do?’
“The Porcupine slid down the tree quickly and said: ‘Lay your head close
to my back and I will help you up the tree.’
“So the Beaver was helped into the crotch of the lower limbs of the
tree, and the Porcupine waited near the ground to drive off the Bear.
After a time, the Bear being gone, the Porcupine jumped down from the
tree, but the Beaver was huddled where the boughs branched from the
trunk.
“‘Oh, come and help me down!’ cried he to the Porcupine, but the little
animal pretended not to hear him.
“‘I will do anything for you, if you will only take me down,’ begged the
Beaver, in great distress.
“The Porcupine, paying no attention to his friend, hurried away. Then a
Squirrel, another friend of the Beaver, brought a number of his colony
and helped the frightened Beaver down safely to the ground.
“‘Where is my partner, the Porcupine?’ asked Beaver of the Squirrels,
after he had thanked them for their aid.
“‘We saw him scurry away to a hole in the rocks where lives a family of
Porcupines. He was telling them of the trick he had played on you and
when they laughed so loudly I heard about the trouble you were in,’ said
the friendly Squirrel.
“The Beaver said nothing, but went his way and resumed work on the dam.
He swam up and down the stream, and cut or carried the alders as he
needed them for the repairs. Then one day the Porcupine came back.
“Beaver saw him coming and called out: ‘Come down to the house and enjoy
yourself.’
“But Porcupine was afraid of getting wet.
“‘Oh, just climb upon my back and I will swim with you,’ suggested
Beaver.
“Then Porcupine climbed upon his host’s back and held on firmly. The
Beaver flapped his broad tail on the water and made a dive, then came to
the surface again. The Porcupine shivered and shook in fear for he did
not like being submerged that way. The Beaver laughed and said, ‘Oh,
that’s nothing! I consider it great fun to dive.’
“Again he went under the water and when he arose to the surface he
flapped his tail energetically so that the water flew over everything.
Finally he swam to an island in the lake and put the Porcupine ashore,
then went flapping away.
“The little Porcupine wandered about the small island, but could not
get away. He climbed a tree and called for the Beaver to come and take
him off, but the Beaver seemed not to hear as he continued building the
dam.
“Then the Porcupine climbed the tree again and cried and cried for help
until a Wolverine heard his call.
“‘What is the matter with you?’ screamed the Wolverine.
“I want the North Wind to blow and freeze the lake, so I can crawl back
to shore and go home.’
“The Wolverine then called all the wild-wood creatures together on the
shore of the lake and began calling to the North Wind.
“The North Wind, cross and sulky, because he was disturbed before his
season for blowing, came out of the cave and whistled furiously for a
time, then blew gustily over the face of the lake. The ice formed and
soon the Porcupine crawled carefully back to land and scampered home.
“But the Beaver and Porcupine were friends no longer, so the Porcupine
made overtures to the Ground-hog and they lived together up on the
mountainside where they could spy upon the men that came hunting.
“One day a man climbed the mountainside to hunt, and the Porcupine sang
out: ‘Up to the home of the Ground-hog! Up to the home of the
Ground-hog!’
“The man heard and followed the sound till he found the spot where the
Ground-hogs lived. He trapped and killed a small Ground-hog and then sat
down to skin it. This done, he made a hot fire between some stones and
was about to roast the hog, when the head plainly sang to him:
“‘My poor little head! my poor little head, you will never fill his
stomach!’
“The hunter was so frightened at hearing the head speak that he jumped
up and started home without tasting the meat. He told his friends about
the queer experience and they marveled.
“The next day the hunter went to look after his beartraps. The
Porcupine, from sheer curiosity, crept over to see if the Bear had been
caught. The man tightened the release of one of the traps, but the
dead-fall came down and struck the Porcupine on the back of the neck.
His head fell off and, as it rolled away under the leaves, a Ground-hog
came from its hole.
“The hunter went his way, but the Ground-hogs said: ‘Oh, the Porcupine’s
head! the Porcupine’s head! It will never trick the Ground-hogs again!’
“The Beavers heard the echo of the cry and hurried to the spot where the
Porcupine’s head lay, and they took up the refrain: ‘Oh, the Porcupine’s
head! the Porcupine’s head! It will never trick the Beavers again!’
“But the old Bear, who was glad, also, that the Porcupine was dead, kept
away from the spot, for he knew the trap was as dangerous as the
quills.”
As Tally concluded his camp-fire tale the scouts looked disappointed,
and Joan said: “Oh, is that all?”
“It was quite long enough,” said Mrs. Vernon. “It is time for bed,
because we wish to get up at dawn and resume the climb to the peak.”
Thus, with the next day’s adventures in mind the girls agreed to go to
bed without offering any protests.
It was so cold up on Grass Mountain that night that the scouts shivered
in their sleep, and all were glad to jump up early in the morning to
bestir themselves and get the blood circulating freely.
CHAPTER SEVEN
WHERE ARE THE BURROS?
After Tally had the horses ready and waiting for a start in the morning,
Ranger Johnson announced: “Sorry I’m not to be in on this picnic to-day,
friends, but my pal Oliver and I take turn and turn about. And this is
his day off. He says he’ll be delighted to ride over to Lake Park with
you-all and back-trail to Grass Mountain after leaving you in camp up at
Mountain View.”
“Is Lake Park near the trail we plan to follow?” asked Mrs. Vernon.
“Yes; in fact it forms the eastern boundary line of the Park,” explained
Johnson. “By riding to Lake Park you get a wholesale group of sights in
one day. There is Santa Lake, Aspen Mountain, Stewart’s Lake, Santa Fé
Baldy, and Spirit Lake. You ought to be able to get along the up-trail
before sundown and pitch camp at the first good spring or camp-site you
come to. Oliver says he can see you comfortably settled for this night
and then ride back here, as he knows these trails by heart.”
“That’s awfully good of him, Johnson, but we have no right to take his
day like that,” said Mr. Gilroy.
“Why, he’ll enjoy the outing more than any of you. It’s so seldom we get
a chance to picnic with the sort of people who make things pleasant,”
said Johnson.
So it was settled that Oliver should go with them that day, and in less
than ten minutes’ time Johnson was left standing on a bowlder envying
the good times his chum was about to have with the scout-party.