I
The beauty of midsummer lay upon the land--the mountains and plains of
Chihuahua. It was August, the month of melons and ripening corn. High
aloft in the pale blue vault of heaven, a solitary eagle soared in ever
widening circles in its flight toward the sun. Far out upon the plains
the lone wolf skulked among the sage and cactus in search of the rabbit
and antelope, or lay panting in the scanty shade of the yucca.
By most persons this little known land of the great Southwest is
regarded as the one which God forgot. But to those who are familiar with
its vast expanse of plain and horizon, its rugged sierras, its wild
desolate _mesas_ and solitary peaks of half-decayed mountains--its tawny
stretches of desert marked with the occasional skeletons of animal and
human remains--its golden wealth of sunshine and opalescent skies, and
have felt the brooding death-like silence which seems to hold as in a
spell all things living as well as dead, this land becomes one of
mystery and enchantment--a mute witness of some unknown or forgotten
past when the children of men were young, whose secrets it still
withholds, and with whose dust is mingled not only that of unnumbered
and unknown generations of men, but that of Montezuma and the hardy
daring _Conquistadores_ of old Spain.
But whatever may be the general consensus of opinion concerning this
land, such at least was the light in which it was viewed by Captain
Forest, as he and his Indian attendant, José, drew rein on the rim of a
broken, wind-swept _mesa_ in the heart of the Chihuahuan desert, a full
day's ride from Santa Fé whither they were bound, to witness the
_Fiesta_, the Feast of the Corn, which was celebrated annually at this
season.
The point where they halted commanded a sweeping view of the surrounding
country. Just opposite, some five leagues distant, on the farther side
of the valley which lay below them, towered the sharp ragged crest of
the Mexican Sierras; their sides and foothills clothed in a thin growth
of chaparral, pine and juniper and other low-growing bushes. Deep,
rugged _arroyos_, the work of the rain and mountain torrents, cut and
scarred the foothills which descended in precipitous slopes to the
valley and plains below. Solitary giant cactus dotted the landscape,
adding to the general desolation of the scene, relieved only by the
glitter of the silvery sage, white poppy and yucca, and yellow and
scarlet cactus bloom which glistened in the slanting rays of the
afternoon sun and the intense radiation of heat in which was mirrored
the distant mirage; transforming the desert into wonderful lakes of
limpid waters that faded in turn on the ever receding horizon.
Below them numerous Indian encampments of some half-wild hill tribe
straggled along the banks of the almost dry stream which wound through
the valley until lost in the thirsty sands of the desert beyond.
"'Tis the very spot, _Capitan_--the place of the skull!" ejaculated
José, the first to break the silence. "See--yonder it lies just as we
left it!" and he pointed toward the foot of the _mesa_ where a spring
trickled from the rock, a short distance from which lay a human skull
bleached white by long exposure to the sun.
Instinctively the Captain's thoughts reverted to the incidents of the
previous year when he lay in the desert sick unto death with fever and
his horse, Starlight, had stood over his prostrate body and fought the
wolves and vultures for a whole day and night until José returned with
help from the Indian _pueblo_, La Guna. Involuntarily his hand slipped
caressingly to the animal's neck, a chestnut with four white feet and a
white mane and tail that swept the ground and a forelock that hung to
his nostrils, concealing the star on his forehead; a magnificent animal,
lithe and graceful as a lady's silken scarf, untiring and enduring as a
Damascus blade. A horse that comes but once during twenty generations of
Spanish-Arabian stock, and then is rare, and which, through some trick
of nature or reversion, blossoms forth in all the beauty of an original
type, taking upon himself the color and markings of some shy, wild-eyed
dam, the pride of the Bedouin tribe and is known as the "Pearl of the
Desert." The type of horse that bore Alexander and Jenghis Khan and the
Prophet's War Chieftains to victory. As a colt he had escaped the
_rodeo_. No mark of the branding-irons scarred his shoulder or thin
transparent flanks. Again the Captain's thoughts traveled backward and
he beheld a band of wild horses driven past him in review by a troup of
Mexican _vaqueros_, and the beautiful chestnut stallion emerge from the
cloud of dust on their rim and tossing his great white mane in the
breeze, neigh loudly and defiantly as he swept by lithe and supple of
limb.
"Bring me that horse!" he had cried.
"That horse? _José y Maria, Capitan!_ He cannot be broken. Besides, it
will take ten men to tie him."
"Then let ten men tie him!" he had replied, flinging a handful of golden
eagles among them.
Many attempts had been made to steal the Arab since he had come into the
Captain's possession. It was a dangerous undertaking, for the horse had
the naïve habit of relegating man to his proper place, either by
ignoring his presence, or by quietly kicking him into eternity with the
same indifference that he would switch a fly with his tail. José might
feed and groom and saddle him, but not mount him. To one only would he
submit; to him to whom a common destiny had linked him--his master.
"_Sangre de Dios, Capitan!_" began José again, breaking in upon the
latter's musings. "Is it not better that we rest yonder by the spring
than sit here in this infernal sun, gazing at nothing? 'Tis hot as the
breath of hell where the Padres tell us all heretics will go after
death!" The grim expression of the Captain's face relaxed for a moment
and he turned toward him with a laugh.
"Aye, who knows," he replied, "we too, may go there some day," and
dismounting, he began to loosen his saddle girths.
"The gods forbid!" answered José, making the sign of the cross, as if to
ward off the influence of some evil spell. "I do not understand you
_Americanos_," he continued, also dismounting and untying a small pack
at the back of his saddle. "You are strange--you are ever gay when you
should be sober. You laugh at the gods and the saints and frown at the
_corridos_, and yet toss alms to the most worthless beggar."
The foregoing conversation was carried on in Spanish. Although José had
acquired a liberal smattering of English during his service with the
Captain, he nevertheless detested it; obstinately adhering to Spanish
which, though only his mother-tongue by adoption, was in his estimation
at least a language for _Caballeros_.
The two men were superb specimens of their respective races. Their
rugged appearance, height and breadth of shoulder would have attracted
attention anywhere. The Captain wore a gray felt hat and a rough gray
suit of tweed--his trousers tucked in his long riding boots. José was
clad in the typical _vaquero's_ costume--buff leggins and jacket of
goat-skin, slashed and ornamented with silver threads and buttons, and a
red worsted sash about his middle in which he carried a knife and
pistol. From beneath the broad brim of his _sombrero_ peeped the knot of
the yellow silken kerchief which he wore bound about his head and under
which lay coiled his long black hair.
Captain Forest was unusually tall and stalwart, deep chested and robust
in appearance, with not a superfluous ounce of flesh on his body,
hardened by the rigors of long months of camp-life. His head was large
and shapely, well poised and carried high on a full neck that sprang
from the great breadth of his shoulders. His face, smooth and sensitive,
and large and regular in feature with high cheek-bones and slightly
hollowed cheeks, was bronzed by long exposure to the sun and weather,
adding to the ruggedness of his appearance. The high arching forehead,
acquiline nose and firm set mouth and chin denoted alertness, action and
decision, while from his eyes, large and dark and piercing, shone that
strange light so characteristic of the dreamer and genius. And yet, in
spite of this alertness of mind and body and general appearance of
strength and power which his presence inspired, there lurked about him
an air of repose indicative of confidence in self and the full knowledge
of his powers. Sensitive to a degree, keen and alive at all times, the
strength of his personality, suggestive of his mastery over men,
impressed the most unobservant. Yet owing to his poise and self-control
those about him did not realize wholly his power until such moments when
justice was violated. Then the latent force within him asserted itself
and he became as inexorable as a law of nature in his demands. An
intense spirit of democracy oddly combined with fastidiousness made an
unusual and attractive personality in which the mundane and the
spiritual were strangely blended. Outwardly he was a man of the world,
yet inwardly he had advanced so far into the domain of sheer
spirituality he scarcely realized that others groped their way among the
most obvious material modes of expression.
Having removed their saddles and turned their horses loose to find what
scant cropping the desert afforded, the two sought the shelter of the
narrow strip of shade beside the spring at the foot of the _mesa_. Here
they would rest until the heat of the day had passed, resuming their
journey that evening. José unwound his _zerape_ from his shoulders and
spreading it on the ground between them, deposited two tin cups and a
package of sandwiches upon it which, with the addition of a flask of
_aguardiente_ which the Captain drew from his pocket, formed their meal.
Two years previous the Captain had rescued his companion from a street
mob in Hermosillo, the result of a feud that had broken out between her
citizens and the Yaqui Indians; José having been mistaken for one of the
latter. With his back against a wall and the blood streaming from his
wounds, he was making a desperate stand. Three citizens who had run upon
his knife, lay squirming at his feet; but the odds were too great. In
another moment all would have been over with him had it not been for the
Captain who chanced upon him in the nick of time. Snatching a club from
one of his assailants and accompanying each blow with a volley of
Spanish oaths, he rushed through the mob, scattering it in all
directions. Whether it was the oaths or the Captain's exhibition of his
fighting qualities that impressed José most it is difficult to say. Be
that as it may, from that hour he belonged to Captain Forest body and
soul. He was the grand señor, the _Hidalgo_, in comparison to whom
other men were as nothing.
The meal over, José with head and shoulders on one end of the _zerape_,
stretched himself at full length upon the ground and, as was his wont,
fell asleep almost immediately. Captain Forest swallowed a last draught
of liquor. Then leisurely rolling a cigarette he lit it, and with back
against the cliff and gaze fixed abstractedly on the mountains opposite,
smoked in silence.