While these reflections were passing through my mind, I was standing, or
rather leaning, with my back against the boulder, and my face towards
the wall of the mesa. Directly in front of me was a recess or
indentation in the cliff, carried groove-like upward, and deepening as
it approached the summit. It was a slight gorge or furrow, evidently
formed by the attrition of water, and probably the conduit of the rain
that fell upon the table surface of the mound.
Though the cliffs on each side were perfectly vertical, the gorge had a
considerable inclination; and the instant my eyes rested upon it, it
occurred to me that the precipice at this point could be scaled!
Up to this moment, I had not thought of such a thing; for I had been
under the impression--from what my companions had told me--that the
summit of the mesa was inaccessible.
Housing myself to more energetic observation, I scrutinised the cliff
from base to summit; and the more I regarded it, the stronger grew my
conviction that, without great difficulty, an active climber might reach
the top. There were knob-like protuberances on the rock that would
serve as foot-holds, and here and there small bushes of the trailing
cedar hung out from the seams, that would materially assist any one
making the ascent.
While scanning these peculiarities, I was startled by observing several
abrasions on the face of the rock. These marks appeared quite fresh,
and evidently made by some other agency than that of the elements.
After a short examination, I became convinced that they were marks made
by a human foot--the scratches of a strong-soled shoe. Beyond a doubt,
_the cliff had been scaled_!
My first impulse was to communicate the discovery to my companions; but
I forbore for a while--in order to satisfy myself that the person who
had made this daring attempt had actually succeeded in reaching the
summit.
Twilight was on, and I could get only an indistinct view of the gorge at
its upper part; but I saw enough to convince me that the attempt had
been successful.
What bold fellow had ventured this? and with what object? were the
questions I naturally asked myself.
Vague recollections were stirring within me; presently they grew more
distinct, and all at once I was able to answer both the interrogatories
I had put. I knew the man who had climbed that cliff. I only wondered
I had not thought of him before!
Among the many odd characters in the piebald band, of which I had the
honour to be chief, not the least odd was one who answered to the
euphonious name of "Elijah Quackenboss." He was a mixture of Yankee and
German, originating somewhere in the mountains of Pennsylvania. He had
been a schoolmaster among his native hills--had picked up some little
book-learning; but what rendered him more interesting to me was the fact
that he was a botanist. Not a very scientific one, it is true; but in
whatever way obtained, he possessed a respectable knowledge of _flora_
and _sylva_, and evinced an aptitude for the study not inferior to
Linneus himself. The more surprising was this, that such inclinations
are somewhat rare among Americans--but Quackenboss no doubt drew his
instinct from his Teutonic ancestry.
If his intellectual disposition was odd, not less so was his physical.
His person was tall, crooked, and lanky; and none of those members that
should have been counterparts of each other seemed exactly to match.
His arms were odd ones--his limbs were unlike; and all four looked as if
they had met by accident, and could not agree upon anything. His eyes
were no better mated, and never consented to look in the same direction;
but with the right one, Elijah Quackenboss could "sight" a rifle, and
drive in a nail at a hundred yards' distance.
From his odd habits, his companions--the rangers--regarded him as hardly
"square;" but this idea was partially derived from seeing him engaged in
his botanical researches--an occupation that to them appeared simply
absurd. They knew, however, that "Dutch Lige"--such was his sobriquet--
could shoot "plum centre;" and notwithstanding his quiet demeanour, had
proved himself "good stuff at the bottom;" and this shielded him from
the ridicule he would otherwise have experienced at their hands.
Than Quackenboss, a more ardent student of botany I never saw. No
labour retarded him in the pursuit. No matter how wearied with drill or
other duties, the moment the hours became his own, he would be off in
search of rare plants, wandering far from camp, and at times placing
himself in situations of extreme danger. Since his arrival on Texan
ground, he had devoted much attention to the study of the _cactaceae_;
and now having reached Mexico, the home of these singular endogens, he
might be said to have gone cactus-mad. Every day his researches
disclosed to him new forms of cactus or cereus, and it was in connexion
with one of these that he was now recalled to my memory. I remembered
his having told me--for a similarity of tastes frequently brought us
into conversation--of his having discovered, but a few days before, a
new and singular species of _mamillaria_. He had found it growing upon
a _prairie mound_--which he had climbed for the purpose of exploring his
botany--adding at the same time that he had observed the species only
upon the top of this mound, and nowhere else in the surrounding country.
This mound was our mesa. It had been climbed by Elijah Quackenboss!
If he, awkward animal that he was, had been able to scale the height,
why could not _we_?
This was my reflection; and without staying to consider what advantage
we should derive from such a proceeding. I communicated the discovery
to my companions.
Both appeared delighted; and after a short scrutiny declared the path
practicable. Garey believed he could easily go up; and Rube in his
terse way said, that his "jeints wa'nt so stiff yit;" only a month ago
he had "clomd a wuss-lukin bluff than it."
But now the reflection occurred, to what purpose should we make the
ascent? We could not escape in that way! There was no chance of our
being able to descend upon the other side, for there the cliff was
impracticable. The behaviour of the guerrilleros had given proof of
this. Some time before, Ijurra, with another, had gone to the rear of
the mound, evidently to reconnoitre it, in hopes of being able to assail
us from behind. But they had returned and their gestures betokened
their disappointment.
Why, then, should we ascend, if we could not also descend on the
opposite side?
True, upon the summit we should be perfectly safe from an attack of the
guerrilla, but not from _thirst_, and this was the enemy we now dreaded.
Water would not be found on the top of the mesa. It could not better
our situation to go there; on the contrary, we should be in a worse
"fix" than ever.
So said Garey. Where we were, we had our horses--a spare one to eat
when that became necessary, and the others to aid us in our attempt to
escape. Should we climb the cliff, these must be left behind. From the
top was less than fifty yards, and our rifles would still cover them
from the clutch of our enemies, but to what advantage? Like ourselves,
they must in time fall before thirst and hunger.
The gleam of hope died within us, as suddenly as it had sprung up.
It could in no wise serve us to scale the cliff: we were better in our
present position; we could hold that so long as thirst would allow us.
We could not do more within the granite walls of an impregnable
fortress.
This was the conclusion at which Garey and I had simultaneously arrived.
Rube had not yet expressed himself. The old man was standing with both
hands clutching his long rifle, the butt of which rested upon the
ground. He held the piece near the muzzle, partially leaning upon it,
while he appeared gazing intently into the barrel. This was one of his
"ways" when endeavouring to unravel a knotty question; and Garey and I
knowing this peculiarity on the part of the old trapper, remained
silent--leaving him to the free development of his "instincts."