SEARCHING FOR THE MAN WITH A SCARRED HEEL
A drove of thirty or more horses and half as many pack mules were
quartered in the large corral behind the barracks for the use of the
rurales stationed at Necaxa. From among them a rather docile mustang was
selected for Jack. While a native was saddling the horse, a _mozo_, or
Indian servant, arrived with the engineer’s steed, a beautiful creature
that had cost Mr. Ryder nearly three hundred Mexican dollars, which is a
very high price indeed to pay for horse flesh in that country. Three of
the rurales were detailed to accompany them as a special guard and before
leaving the enclosure the entire party made a careful inspection of their
firearms.
For the first two miles the trail skirted the high bank of the river
and was wide enough to permit the men to ride two abreast. The three
soldier-policemen took the lead while Jack and the engineer brought up
the rear, and as their horses jogged along Mr. Ryder explained briefly
the life of the Mexican Indians since the conquest of the country by
adventurers from across the sea.
“These natives,” he said, “have been veritable slaves since their
ancestors yielded to Spain’s warriors. The peons, who are all Indians or
half-breeds, are the lowest type of Mexicans. They are uneducated and
uncivilized and for that reason they rarely advance above the class of
servants and laborers. Since the day they were conquered they have been
without opportunity, however, so we cannot blame them altogether for
their condition. There is every reason to believe, from the relics that
are left to-day, that the Mexican Indians were semi-civilized at least.
They erected magnificent temples, they laid out large cities, and they
even built aqueducts and sewer systems. Indeed, they were much farther
advanced than the North American Indian of the plains, but with the
advent of the Spaniards they began to deteriorate for the simple reason
that they were not allowed to progress. As you already know, a man or
a nation cannot stand still. It must either develop or retrogress. The
Spaniards made slaves of the Indians and while they are not slaves in
name to-day they might just as well be, for they have not as much freedom
as the negro had in the United States before the Civil War.
“The peons live as tenants on _haciendas_, or large farms, where they
till the soil and raise crops. For this work they are paid a few
_centavos_ a day which in American money does not amount to five cents;
with this pittance they are supposed to buy food and clothes. But the
hacienda owners sell them food and clothes at a figure far above their
daily earnings and as a result the Indian is always in debt to his
master. And since it is a capital offense in Mexico for an employee to
leave an employer while still in debt to him, the peon is bound to the
hacienda on which he is born for the rest of his life. He can never leave
and he can never cease working for the same man. Whole communities of
natives are often controlled in this way by Mexican farmers.”
“It seems ridiculous that such conditions can exist to-day,” said Jack,
very much surprised at this revelation. He had always considered the
Mexican Indian as a shiftless being who did not work and lived from hand
to mouth simply because of his own laziness.
“Do not get the idea that these natives are blind to their present
condition or that they do not care to elevate their general plane of
existence,” continued Mr. Ryder. “They are just as eager for a chance to
advance as is the Jew or other foreigner who immigrates to America. That
is the reason why the present revolution is being waged in the north by
Carranza and Villa, and that is why our bloodthirsty friend Zapata has so
many peon followers.
“The only trouble is the moment one of these revolutions is successful
and the new leader is in power all pledges to the peon are forgotten
and the native goes back to exactly the same condition that he has been
fighting to clear himself from. It is a very unhappy situation, but some
day, perhaps, a leader will keep his promise to his people. Then the huge
_haciendas_, which often embrace hundreds of thousands of acres, will be
confiscated and this land with the millions of acres of government land
will be cut up into small farms and sold to the natives at reasonable
terms exactly as our country opened up the great West. When this happens
Mexico will develop into a wonderful nation. Give these people public
schools and the other advantages of civilization and you will soon see
what kind of stuff they are made of. The old Indian blood is strong in
them and Indians, properly trained, often make excellent men.”
Mr. Ryder’s talk had changed Jack’s opinion of the peons a great deal.
Indeed, he soon found that instead of despising them he was sympathizing
with them. He could not understand, however, how the engineer could
feel kindly disposed to the natives when they were causing him so much
trouble. He was on the point of mentioning this thought when Mr. Ryder
spoke again.
“I feel very sorry for the peons even though I am an agent of Huerta.
But as I have weighed it out, my duty to my employer comes first no
matter whether the employer is a scoundrel or not. It is not for me to
judge. I am asked to keep Mexico City illuminated and I will keep the
lights burning no matter who is in the National Palace, and, moreover,
I’ll do it in spite of this man with the scarred foot, whoever he is.”
Thus recalled to their mission, Jack instantly became attentive to their
surroundings. He found that the trail had narrowed and that the rurales
ahead had formed in single file. His little mustang was patiently picking
its way through rough places and underbrush to keep beside the animal
ridden by the engineer.
“I guess we have been talking too much and paying too little attention to
our horses, Jack,” said Mr. Ryder. “Push ahead and get in single file.
This is a section of the trail that carries us over the shoulder of a
mountain and it is rather narrow.”
Soon the shoulder was topped, however, and the horses began to descend
in single file toward the Indian village. The community was somewhat
larger than the villages Jack had seen from the train window on his way
to Mexico City, otherwise it was the same collection of dilapidated
huts that looked as if they had been literally thrown together by their
builders.
As they drove down through the single street a regiment of barking dogs
and screaming naked Indian children greeted them. Robust, dark-skinned
men lounged about before the huts (most of them clad in pajama like
cotton garments), while their women folk worked hard at grinding corn
between stones or carried water from the river in tall earthen jugs which
they balanced deftly on their heads. Down at the river bank Jack could
see other women busy washing clothes. This laundry work was accomplished
by pounding the garments between stones much to the detriment of the
garments, for the hard stones rubbed innumerable holes in the cloth as
Jack found later when he gave his linen to a native washerwoman.
In the village Mr. Ryder took the lead and Jack followed, leaving
the rurales to their own diversions. The engineer drove toward a more
pretentious hut than the rest, where a very much wrinkled old Indian sat
sunning himself before the door and idly watching a half dozen scrawny
razorback pigs rooting in the dirt almost at his very feet.
The two Americans reined up before the house and viewed the picture that
the old fellow made as he sat there staring absently at the animals.
“That,” said Mr. Ryder, “is Señor Yuai and his pigs. Pigs and vultures,
as you know, are the scavengers of Mexico. But for their able services
the country would be unfit to live in because of its filth and carrion.
And Señor Yuai, though he is neither pig nor vulture, is also a very
useful inhabitant. He is the Indian doctor who attends to all the natives
in this vicinity. The old fellow is very much looked up to and every one
comes to him for advice. He is aged and very nearsighted but his mind is
as keen as ever. He knows every peon for miles around and I’ve an idea
that he can identify our trouble maker with the scarred foot if he wants
to. Come, we’ll hear what he has to say on the question.”
The Americans dismounted and after kicking their way through the drove
of grunting pigs confronted the austere old Indian. Señor Yuai peered up
at them with eyes bleared by age and demanded in Spanish to know whose
shadow fell across his doorway. (The following conversation then took
place which Mr. Ryder translated for Jack’s benefit.)
“It is I, Señor Ryder, from the electrical plant,” said the engineer.
“Gringo friend come over mountain to see me?” asked the old Indian.
“Yes, I’ve come to see you, Señor Yuai, but not because I am sick of
_calentura_. It is another reason. Tell me, in all your years do you
remember a peon ailing of a cut heel. Did you ever cure a very deep
wound that would leave a scar across a peon’s heel, thus?” Mr. Ryder
illustrated his question by drawing his finger diagonally across the old
man’s heel. The Indian was silent a long time and while his memory went
slowly back over the many years he had been doctoring the natives, Mr.
Ryder slipped a cigarette between his lean old fingers, saying, “Here,
Señor Yuai, perhaps a little smoke will make you remember better.”
The Indian accepted the roll of brown paper and tobacco with a grunt of
satisfaction and lit it on the glowing end of Mr. Ryder’s own cigarette
which the engineer held for his convenience.
For five minutes the old native puffed in silence, exhaling great clouds
of blue smoke from time to time. Finally he spoke.
“As many years ago as I have fingers came a young man to see me. He had
stepped on a _machette_ and the flesh of his foot was laid open to the
bone. My medicine cured him. Soon he could walk, he could run, he could
swim. He was a fine big fellow. He could shoot well, he could ride well
and he was a good boy except he liked _pulque_ too much. One day he went
away. Two summers later he came back in clothes as green as the banana
palm. He was then a rurale. He went away again and never came again. His
name—ah—his name went with him.” Here the Indian touched his forehead
with his finger as he spoke and this action told the American plainer
than his words that he had forgotten the young man’s name.
Jack and the engineer looked at each other significantly when Señor Yuai
finished speaking.
“Can it be that we have traitors among our rurales!” demanded Mr. Ryder
incredulously.