ANIMAS VALLEY.--I.
"Well, there's Animas Valley, the 'rustlers' home,' where Curly Bill and
all those boys used to lie up, when they had been sousing it to the
'enlightened citizen' a little too freely. There's the boss ranch in New
Mexico! There's where the cattle graze, and graze, and graze upon a
thousand hills, and go around laughing to think how much better off they
are than other cattle, and saying to one another: 'Cows!' or 'bull, old
pard!' or 'steers,' as the case may be, 'ain't we struck it big, eh?
ain't we just eternally heeled?' There 're all kinds of grasses for them
to eat, and if they don't like one they can take another. And there are
big waters, and little waters, and all sorts, and they please
themselves. And there are cable roads, and elevators, always running, to
save them climbing up the steep places, and in warm weather every cow
is provided with a canteen and a parasol. And Sundays you can see them
taking their Bibles and campstools under their arms, and going off to
sit down in the shade, and read to their calves; and when they want to
know anything, why, they just come and ask old Murray or me. And ... and
... and if you think that I'm trying to boost the place up because it
belongs to us, or if you think that it isn't all true what I'm telling
you now, why, go ahead and call me an old mud-turtle, and say so at
once. You don't mind how disrespectfully you speak to me, I know that."
Don Cabeza, the speaker, had checked the horses, and the light spring
waggon we were sitting in was poised on the summit of a down grade, at
the mouth of a mountain pass we had just emerged from. A great valley
lay below us, varying in breadth from twelve to twenty miles. Afar off
to the right a mirage lake stretched its silver sheen across one end of
it; the other was thirty-five miles away on the Mexican border, and,
since the valley curved, was out of sight. To the left lay Animas Peak
and the conjoining mountains; before us the rugged hills that separated
us from the San Simon valley; and behind these loomed up the favourite
highway, betwixt Mexico and the States, of the hostile Apaches--the wild
Chiricaua range, whose naked crests glittered in the sunlight, above a
confusion of scarped cliffs and jagged pinnacles, and lakes of purple
shadow. Below, the broad valley bottom--flat here,
"Gleamed like a praying carpet at the foot
Of those divinest altars,"
and was dotted by the small adobe buildings that marked Horse Springs,
Granite Tanks, Russian Bill's Place, the Cunningham Place, and a few
other such spots, towards which (for it was midday), small squads of
cattle marched stolidly down to water from the foot-hills and the
"draws," in single file, save where a calf trotted by its mother's side.
Four years have elapsed since the reader and I left Don Cabeza waving
adieu to us in the streets of Magdalena. Then he was mining. Now he is a
cattle king, with ranges, and ranges, and ranches, and ranches, and
managers under him, and cow-boys under them, and under them again,
cattle on a thousand hills, more or less. For the old style and title of
Don Cabeza (by which he was known in Sonora) the cow-punchers of New
Mexico have substituted that of "The Colonel." But nothing else about
him is changed. He is the same old Cabeza, the soul of good nature and
geniality, the most delightful of companions. Animas Valley, which we
were now visiting, was one of the ranges under his control.
"Get up!--get up, or I'll beat the stuffing out of you!" he says mildly,
stirring the reins at the same time, and once more the horses resume
their gait, and their driver a tale that he had begun a moment before we
stopped. "Well, it was during one of these Indian scares. Is that an
Indian over there, or is it only a soap-weed?"
"Indian," I answered, noticing the distant soap-weed that he indicated
with the point of his whip.
The "Colonel" glanced at me sideways. "There's a hell's mint of
soap-weed killed these Indian times, though--grease-bush too--and
cactus--cactus gets fits! The boys are death on cactus when they get
scared. Some of them would just as soon shoot a cactus as not--some of
these Indian fighters, I mean. They don't care what they kill. Well, it
was in one of these Indian times--old Hoo was out, and Victorio was out,
and Geronimo was out, and--I don't know--they were all out--the Apaches
were out to beat hell--at least that was the tune we were all talking
to, about that time. And they _were_ ginning her[5] up, and making
things a bit lively, that's a fact! Whenever anything of that kind is
going on, I make a point of driving down from Deming into this valley,
and the Plyas Valley, back here, just to encourage the boys and keep
them in their places. Jim Tracy was with me that time, and as we drew
near Sherlock's (where we slept last night), we saw a whole crowd of
fellows come streaming out of the house. I knew at once that they had
got scared, and had bunched up like a bevy of quail; so I said to Jim:
'Now, you let me do the talking when they begin to sing "Indians;" don't
you chip!'
"Jim caught on, and we drove up, and unhitched the horses, and came
indoors. Every cow-puncher in the valley was there, sure enough--and
polite!----! they were all as sweet as maple syrup. But I didn't say a
word. Pretty soon they began:
"'Well, what d'ye know, anyhow?--what's the Indian news?'
"'Indian news! I guess the Indians are quiet enough,' I said, a little
surprised.
"'But who have they got away with lately?--where are they now?'
"'On the reservation, I suppose.'
"'Oh, pshaw!'
"'Why not?' I said. 'Have you boys seen any Indians round?'
"'No, they hadn't seen any.'
"'Nobody been joshing[6] you, I suppose?'
"'Oh, no! Joshing _them_?--not much!'
"'Well,' said I, 'I don't know! It's the first talk that we've heard of
Indians, and we've driven all through the country. But if you boys are
frightened that there 're any about, why, you bunch up, and keep
together until you feel safe. I don't suppose the Indians will hurt the
cows any.'
"So, we got to talking about other things, and pretty soon Mat Campbell
slid out on his ear and got his horse, and went off without saying a
word; then Reid and Dan Patch pulled out--as quiet as sick monkeys. In
about ten minutes there were only ourselves and Lou Sherlock left;
they'd all skinned out, every man Jack of them. And you bet, grease-bush
and cactus caught it for a day or two; the boys had to take it out of
something."
A shimmering bar of yellow, faintly tinged with red here and there,
marked a distant line of autumnal foliage, in the direction of Animas
Peak.
"Yonder lies the Double Adobes--near those cotton-woods," said the
Colonel, pointing towards it. "To the left--there--is Pigpen's place,
and to the right--in that second deep canon under the shoulder of the
Peak--is what they call Indian Springs, where there are some curious
Indian drawings on the rocks. There is permanent water at all those
places; and in spring and summer there is any quantity of water away
back in those hills, and oceans of feed for the cattle too. They drift
back there then, and give the valley a rest."
On we drove past the tumble-down adobe huts, that had once been
inhabited by Curly Bill, Russian Bill, Black Jack, Cunningham, and other
celebrities of their type, whose stronghold and cache for stolen cattle
Animas Valley had been a few years ago. Then the "rustlers" had
congregated there in force, the locality affording exceptional
advantages for their chief occupation, namely, "running off" cattle and
horses from either side of the border. Many a spot is pointed out as the
scene of a sanguinary skirmish between these modern moss-troopers, and
the owners and their followers (Mexican or American), whom they had
despoiled and were endeavouring to escape from. And many a local legend
relates how the "rustlers" were overtaken and surrounded or besieged in
this or that adobe or pass, lost their booty, obtained reinforcements
and recaptured it, were similarly outnumbered and again stripped by
their pursuers, and so on, with glowing details of the feats performed
in these encounters. But more prudent and artistic methods of spoliation
have spread with civilisation and the law from the East. And now,
although some ambitious youngster, or knot of youngsters, burning to
emulate the thefts and assassinations that are the eternal theme of
frontier history under the red line of "Bills" (Why should
nineteen-twentieths of these butchers have been named "Bill," by the
way?), occasionally sneak off with an old man's _burro_ or a steer or
two, or blow the top off some unoffending Mexican's head, the halcyon
days of such knight-errantry are gone. It is no longer customary, when
you hire or borrow a horse, to ask its nominal owner before setting out,
"which way it is _good_?" The sheriff and his posse are quickly on the
trail of any young aspirants to fame, and as a rule they are soon
brought into town, handcuffed, red-eyed, and penitent.
A jury of fat store-keepers, saloon proprietors, and rancheros, without
romance or remorse in them, but all more or less interested in
preserving unimpeded the rolling of the dollar, sits in judgment over
them, and if the case admits of it, and the offenders are too poor to
buy themselves off, glibly sentences them to be hung by the neck until
dead; whilst the populace, instead of rising _en masse_ to rescue the
heroes, as might have been the case formerly, rush _en masse_ to buy
copies of that journal which gives the most intimate and repulsive
details of their execution. These are not healthy times for vulgar
crimes. Education has refined our minds, and broadened our views. It is
as hard as ever, perhaps, to offend our morals, but our taste in crime,
as in other matters, has become fastidious.
The prairie dogs had colonised in a part of this, the upper end of the
valley, and we traversed a "dog town" some acres in extent, each
underground habitation of which was marked by a little heap of excavated
earth. Queer little squirrel-like beggars are these burrowers; the
resemblance would be even more complete were it not for the short
spigot-shaped tails they jerk so comically when, lodged in the entrances
of their abodes, head and tail alone visible, they chirp and chipper so
desperately at the intruder. One is tempted at first to laugh at, and
consider them harmless, but a glance at the extent of grass-land which
they have desolated, checks the impulse. As for the Colonel, he does not
experience it apparently, but apostrophises them in language grotesquely
solemn and ingeniously opprobrious, as long as we are in the
neighbourhood of their city.
Following the level strip that wound through the centre of the valley,
we passed the Red Rock, and sighted Juniper Point.
We had left the flats behind, and were now in a rolling country,
intersected by grassy "draws," or miniature valleys which afforded the
"finest kind" of shelter for cattle. A cavalcade hove in sight,
consisting of three horsemen and a four-mule team and waggon, the
latter full of soldiers and loafers (from the supply camp[7] at the Lang
ranch), _en route_ for the railroad. Amongst them was a camp trader with
whom the Colonel was acquainted, and who stopped to exchange news with
him.
"By the way, Colonel," he said, as he was leaving, "your boys want to
ride that San Luis Pass carefully, and read the 'sign'[8] there; that's
the weak point in the valley, and being so near the border, them
Mexicans can run a few head of stock over from time to time, without
taking any chances.[9] I met a couple of greasers there the other day,
driving off three cows and a couple of calves. If I'd had any show, I'd
have drawn on 'em right away--I wanted to ter'ble bad; but I hadn't got
no Winchester along, and only two cartridges in my six-shooter, whilst
they was both well heeled."
"You got the stock, though?"
"Oh, ----, yes! I run a bluff on 'em.[10] They said they wasn't
_driving_ 'em anyhow, but they got started in the trail ahead of 'em,
and it wasn't their business to turn 'em. That's a point, though, that
you want to watch--all the time. Well, so long." And ramming his great
jingling Mexican spurs into the belly of his little mustang, he scurried
away to overtake his party.
"Three cows and two calves! Three cows and two calves!" ejaculated the
Colonel wrathfully from time to time, as we proceeded. "I'll fix them,
though! I'll fix them--and fix them good while I'm about it. I'll put
Long-necked Abner and Indian George over there, and then those
greasers'll have a good time. They'll round 'em up! Just let them catch
one of them with any of our cattle! They'll pump him so full of lead
that if a prospector happens to find the corpse he'll 'denounce' it for
a mining claim. Three cows and two calves, eh! Three----" Then assuming
a painfully querulous tone to the horses, awaking suddenly to the fact
that they had slackened their pace into a walk: "Now, why can't you get
up? What's the matter with you anyhow? Get up! Get up, or I'll knock the
filling out of you! Get up, I say, or I'll haul off and beat
the--the--the eternal wadding right out of you--once for all! Now I've
said it, so look out!" And in pursuance of these dire threats, the
Colonel gently stroked the quarters of each horse in turn with the point
of the whip. "Three cows and two calves, eh? Well, that's pretty good
for those greasers, isn't it?" he resumed more cheerfully--"and the
cattle business lying on its back burst wide open, too! I'll fix those
noble descendants of Cortez and his crew, though--those blanketed,
horse-thieving hidalgoes!--and while I am about it I'll fix 'em good--so
they'll know it. You never shot any Mexicans, did you?"
"Never."
"Well, we'll put you over there too for a bit, along with Long-neck and
Indian George. If you have any sort of luck you'll get a fight on once a
day, and you can make out the rest of the time killing Apaches."
I thanked him in language befitting the occasion.
We passed the Clanton Cienega,[11] and near it some large cattle corrals
built for branding and marking cattle in; we drove along the edge of the
Gray Cienega (the best water in the valley), and passing the end of a
large "draw," in which two troops of U. S. cavalry, under Major Tupper,
were encamped, finally reached the Gray Place, the headquarters ranch of
the valley.
As we pulled up before the long, low, rambling adobe house, two or
three dogs ran forward and barked. But they did so only half-heartedly,
and prudently, to be on the safe side as it were, and soon, confirmed in
their partial recognition of my host, desisted altogether. Meanwhile a
young girl had arisen from a bench in the shadow of an angle made by the
walls, and in that leisurely and somewhat forced style of Western
indifference--a manner more often the result of shyness than of anything
else--was strolling down the slope towards us.
She was very small and slight--a girl of twelve years old might well
have been bigger; she, however, was more than fifteen. Clad in a rough
woollen frock, that showed considerable signs of wear and tear, and was
gathered in at the waist by a dilapidated old cartridge-belt, she
certainly owed nothing to dress. But she wore her rags as surely no one
born to them could have worn them; and a curious contrast existed
between the pretty preciseness of her slightly foreign pronunciation,
the infantine clearness of her voice, and the Western slang that she
talked.
Save for a few crisp curls, her black hair (which was cut short) was
thrown back from her forehead, and with her sunburnt, glowing
complexion, betrayed her Southern origin. Her head and features were
small. She had a superficially old manner, the healthy look and
self-reliance of a boy, but the eyes of a woman--of an angel sometimes.
Eyes that recalled legends of the "star-eyed Egyptian"--dusky hazel
orbs, grand and pure in tone, with a world of deep lights and sorrowful
shadows in them--divinely innocent now, and now far-reaching, full of
haunting mystery and meaning--eyes that in their more serious moments
looked immortal, and seemed to have lived in ages past, to have seen
all, to know all, and to be striving passionately to break the mute
spell that now overpowered them. But this was only in their serious
moods. For the most part they mocked the world with restless mischief
and malice. And this temper it was that had gained for her the
sobriquet, "Mosquito," usually contracted into the more easily available
"Squito."
Murray had picked up Squito on one of his trips into Mexico to buy
cattle. The old man liked to have a youngster dependent on
him--something to pet and to spoil--something to "swap affection with."
And Rafaeleta and he were devoted to one another.
FOOTNOTES:
[5] Working things up. "Her" is often used in an impersonal and general
sense out West, instead of "it." On the frontier the "Colonel" used (as
does every one else who stays there for any length of time) all the
frontier slang. It has always been a marvel to me to see the ease with
which such men shed, like an old coat, all such frontierisms when they
return to more cultured society.
[6] Chaffing.
[7] At the time alluded to, the Apaches were "out," and there were two
military camps in Animas Valley.
[8] Tracks, etc.
[9] Risks.
[10] "Bounced" them.
[11] A swamp formed by springs in low ground.