The "ranchos" and "haciendas" of the valley extended nearly ten miles
along the stream below San Ildefonso. Near the town they were studded
more thickly; but, as you descended the stream, fewer were met with, and
those of a poorer class. The fear of the "Indios bravos" prevented
those who were well off from building their establishments at any great
distance from the Presidio. Poverty, however, induced others to risk
themselves nearer the frontier; and, as for several years the settlement
had not been disturbed, a number of small farmers and graziers had
established themselves as far as eight or ten miles distance below the
town.
Half-a-mile beyond all these stood an isolated dwelling--the last to be
seen in going down the valley. It seemed beyond the pale of
protection--so far as the garrison was concerned--for no patrol ever
extended its rounds to so distant a point. Its owner evidently trusted
to fate, or to the clemency of the Apaches--the Indians who usually
troubled the settlement,--for the house in question was in no other way
fortified against them. Perhaps its obscure and retired situation
contributed to its security.
It stood somewhat off the road, not near the stream, but back under the
shadow of the bluff; in fact, almost built against the cliff.
It was but a poor rancho, like all the others in the valley, and,
indeed, throughout most parts of Mexico, built of large blocks of mud,
squared in a mould and sun-dried. Many of the better class of such
buildings showed white fronts, because near at hand gypsum was to be had
for the digging. Some of greater pretension had windows that looked as
though they were glazed. So they were, but not with glass. The shining
plates that resembled it were but _laminae_ of the aforesaid gypsum,
which is used for that purpose in several districts of New Mexico.
The rancho in question was ornamented neither with wash nor windows. It
stood under the cliff, its brown mud walls scarce contrasting with the
colour of the rock; and, instead of windows, a pair of dark holes, with
a few wooden bars across them, gave light to the interior.
This light, however, was only a supplement to that which entered by the
door, habitually kept open.
The front of the house was hardly visible from the valley road. A
traveller would never have noticed it, and even the keen eye of an
Indian might have failed to discover it. The singular fence that
surrounded it hid it from view,--singular to the eye of one unaccustomed
to the vegetation of this far land, it was a fence of columnar cacti.
The plants that formed it were regular fluted columns, six inches thick
and from six to ten feet high. They stood side by side like pickets in
a stockade, so close together that the eye could scarce see through the
interstices, still further closed by the thick beard of thorns. Near
their tops in the season these vegetable columns became loaded with
beautiful wax-like flowers, which disappeared only to give way to bright
and luscious fruits. It was only after passing through the opening in
this fence that the little rancho could be seen; and although its walls
were rude, the sweet little flower-garden that bloomed within the
enclosure told that the hand of care was not absent.
Beyond the cactus-fence, and built against the cliff, was another
enclosure--a mere wall of _adobe_ of no great height. This was a
"corral" where cattle were kept, and at one corner was a sort of shed or
stable of small dimensions. Sometimes half-a-dozen mules and double the
number of oxen might be seen in that corral, and in the stable as fine a
horse as ever carried saddle. Both were empty now, for the animals that
usually occupied them were out. Horse, mules, and oxen, as well as
their owner, were far away upon the prairies.
Their owner was Carlos the cibolero. Such was the home of the
buffalo-hunter, the home of his aged mother and fair sister. Such had
been their home since Carlos was a child.
And yet they were not of the people of the valley nor the town. Neither
race--Spanish nor Indian--claimed them. They differed from both as
widely as either did from the other. It was true what the padre had
said. True that they were Americans; that their father and mother had
settled in the valley a long time ago; that no one knew whence they had
come, except that they had crossed the great plains from the eastward;
that they were _hereticos_, and that the padres could never succeed in
bringing them into the fold of the Church; that these would have
expelled, or otherwise punished them, but for the interference of the
military Comandante; and furthermore, that both were always regarded by
the common people of the settlement with a feeling of superstitious
dread. Latterly this feeling, concentrated on the mother of Carlos, had
taken a new shape, and they looked upon her as a _hechicera_--a witch--
and crossed themselves devoutly whenever she met them. This was not
often, for it was rare that she made her appearance among the
inhabitants of the valley. Her presence at the fiesta of San Juan was
the act of Carlos, who had been desirous of giving a day's amusement to
the mother and sister he so much loved.
Their American origin had much to do with the isolation in which they
live. Since a period long preceding that time, bitter jealousy existed
between the Spano-Mexican and Anglo-American races. This feeling had
been planted by national animosity, and nursed and fomented by
priestcraft. Events that have since taken place had already cast their
shadows over the Mexican frontier; and Florida and Louisiana were
regarded as but steps in the ladder of American aggrandisement; but the
understanding of these matters was of course confined to the more
intelligent; but all were imbued with the bad passions of international
hate.
The family of the cibolero suffered under the common prejudice, and on
that account lived almost wholly apart from the inhabitants of the
valley. What intercourse they had was mostly with the native Indian
population--the poor Tagnos, who felt but little of this anti-American
feeling.
If we enter the rancho of Carlos we shall see the fair-haired Rosita
seated upon a _petate_, and engaged in weaving rebosos. The piece of
mechanism which serves her for a loom consists of only a few pieces of
wood rudely carved. So simple is it that it is hardly just to call it a
machine. Yet those long bluish threads stretched in parallel lines, and
vibrating to the touch of her nimble fingers, will soon be woven into a
beautiful scarf to cover the head of some coquettish poblana of the
town. None in the valley can produce such rebosos as the cibolero's
sister. So much as he can beat all the youth in feats of horsemanship,
so much does she excel in the useful art which is her source of
subsistence.
There are but two rooms in the rancho, and that is one more than will be
found in most of its fellows. But the delicate sentiment still exists
in the Saxon mind. The family of the cibolero are not yet Indianised.
The kitchen is the larger apartment and the more cheerful, because
lighted by the open door. In it you will see a small "brazero," or
altar-like fireplace--half-a-dozen earthen "ollas," shaped like urns--
some gourd-shell cups and bowls--a tortilla-stone, with its short legs
and inclined surface--some _petates_ to sit upon--some buffalo-robes for
a similar purpose--a bag of maize--some bunches of dried herbs, and
strings of red and green chile--but no pictures of saints; and perhaps
it is the only house in the whole valley where your eye will _not_ be
gratified by a sight of these. Truly the family of the cibolero are
"hereticos."
Not last you will see an old woman seated near the fire, and smoking
_punche_ in a pipe! A strange old woman is she, and strange no doubt
her history but that is revealed to no one. Her sharp, lank features;
her blanched, yet still luxuriant hair; the wild gleam of her eyes; all
render her appearance singular. Others than the ignorant could not fail
to fancy her a being different from the common order. No wonder, then,
that these regard her as "una hechicera!"