On the morning of the fourth day our spies came in, and reported that
the Navajoes had taken the southern trail.
They had returned to the spring on the second day after our leaving it,
and thence had followed the guiding of the arrows. It was Dacoma's
band, in all about three hundred warriors.
Nothing remained for us now but to pack up as quickly as possible, and
pursue our march to the north.
In an hour we were in our saddles, and following the rocky banks of the
San Pedro.
A long day's journey brought us to the desolate valley of the Gila, upon
whose waters we encamped for the night. We slept near the celebrated
ruins, the second resting-place of the migrating Aztecs.
With the exception of the botanist, the Coco chief, myself, and perhaps
Seguin, no one in the band seemed to trouble himself about these
interesting antiquities. The sign of grizzly bears, that was discovered
upon the mud bottom, gave the hunters far more concern than the broken
pottery and its painted hieroglyphics. Two of these animals were
discovered near the camp, and a fierce battle ensued, in which one of
the Mexicans nearly lost his life, escaping only after most of the skin
had been clawed from his head and neck. The bears themselves were
killed, and made part of our suppers.
Our next day's march lay up the Gila, to the mouth of the San Carlos
river, where we again halted for the night. The San Carlos runs in from
the north; and Seguin had resolved to travel up this stream for a
hundred miles or so, and afterwards strike eastward to the country of
the Navajoes.
When this determination was made known, a spirit of discontent showed
itself among the men, and mutinous whisperings were heard on all sides.
Shortly after we halted, however, several of them strayed up the banks
of the stream, and gathered some grains of gold out of its bed.
Indications of the precious metal, the quixa, known among the Mexicans
as the "gold mother," were also found among the rocks. There were
miners in the band, who knew it well, and this served to satisfy them.
There was no more talk of keeping on to the Prieto. Perhaps the San
Carlos might prove equally rich. Rumour had also given it the title of
a "golden river"; at all events, the expedition must cross the head
waters of the Prieto in its journey eastward; and this prospect had the
effect of quieting the mutineers, at least for the time.
There was another influence: the character of Seguin. There was no
single individual in the band who cared to cross him on slight grounds.
They knew him too well for that; and though few of these men set high
value on their lives, when they believe themselves, according to
"mountain law," in the right, yet they knew that to delay the expedition
for the purpose of gathering gold was neither according to their compact
with him nor agreeable to his wishes. Not a few of the band, moreover,
were actuated by motives similar to those felt by Seguin himself, and
these were equally desirous of pushing on to the Navajo towns.
Still another consideration had its influence upon the majority. The
party of Dacoma would be on our track as soon as they had returned from
the Apache trail. We had, therefore, no time to waste in gold-hunting,
and the simplest of the scalp-hunters knew this.
By daybreak we were again on the march, and riding up the banks of the
San Carlos.
We had now entered the great desert which stretches northward from the
Gila away to the head waters of the Colorado. We entered it without a
guide, for not one of the band had ever traversed these unknown regions.
Even Rube knew nothing about this part of the country. We were without
compass, too, but this we heeded not. There were few in the band who
could not point to the north or the south within the variation of a
degree: few of them but could, night or day, tell by the heavens within
ten minutes of the true time. Give them but a clear sky, with the signs
of the trees and rocks, and they needed neither compass nor chronometer.
A life spent beneath the blue heavens of the prairie uplands and the
mountain parks, where a roof rarely obstructed their view of the azure
vaults, had made astronomers of these reckless rovers.
Of such accomplishments was their education, drawn from many a perilous
experience. To me their knowledge of such things seemed instinct.
But we had a guide as to our direction, unerring as the magnetic needle:
we were traversing the region of the "polar plant," the planes of whose
leaves, at almost every step, pointed out our meridian. It grew upon
our track, and was crushed under the hoofs of our horses as we rode
onward.
We travelled northward through a country of strange-looking mountains,
whose tops shot heavenward in fantastic forms and groupings. At one
time we saw semi-globular shapes like the domes of churches; at another,
Gothic turrets rose before us; and the next opening brought in view
sharp needle-pointed peaks, shooting upward into the blue sky. We saw
columnar forms supporting others that lay horizontally: vast boulders of
trap-rock, suggesting the idea of some antediluvian ruin, some temple of
gigantic Druids!
Along with singularity of formation was the most brilliant colouring.
There were stratified rocks, red, white, green, and yellow, as vivid in
their hues as if freshly touched from the palette of the painter.
No smoke had tarnished them since they had been flung up from their
subterranean beds. No cloud draped their naked outlines. It was not a
land of clouds, for as we journeyed amongst them we saw not a speck in
the heavens; nothing above us but the blue and limitless ether.