CHAPTER TEN.
THE DEL NORTE.
For days we journey down the Del Norte. We pass through numerousvillages, many of them types of Santa Fe. We cross the zequias andirrigating canals, and pass along fields of bright green maize plants.We see vineyards and grand haciendas. These appear richer and moreprosperous as we approach the southern part of the province, the RioAbajo.
In the distance, both east and west, we descry dark mountains rolled upagainst the sky. These are the twin ranges of the Rocky Mountains.Long spurs trend towards the river, and in places appear to close up thevalley. They add to the expression of many a beautiful landscape thatopens before us as we move onward.
We see picturesque costumes in the villages and along the highways: mendressed in the chequered serape or the striped blankets of the Navajoes;conical sombreros with broad brims; calzoneros of velveteen, with theirrows of shining "castletops" and fastened at the waist by the jauntysash. We see mangas and tilmas, and men wearing the sandal, as inEastern lands. On the women we observe the graceful rebozo, the shortnagua, and the embroidered chemisette.
We see rude implements of husbandry: the creaking carreta, with itsblock wheels; the primitive plough of the forking tree-branch, scarcelyscoring the soil; the horn-yoked oxen; the goad; the clumsy hoe in thehands of the peon serf: these are all objects that are new and curiousto our eyes, and that indicate the lowest order of agriculturalknowledge.
Along the roads we meet numerous atajos, in charge of their arrieros.We observe the mules, small, smooth, light-limbed, and vicious. Weglance at the heavy alparejas and bright worsted apishamores. We noticethe tight wiry mustangs, ridden by the arrieros; the high-peaked saddlesand hair bridles; the swarth faces and pointed beards of the riders; thehuge spurs that tinkle at every step; the exclamations, "Hola, mula!malraya! vaya!" We notice all these, and they tell us we are journeyingin the land of the Hispano-American.
Under other circumstances these objects would have interested me. Atthat time, they appeared to me like the pictures of a panorama, or thechanging scenes of a continuous dream. As such have they left theirimpressions on my memory. I was under the incipient delirium of fever.
It was as yet only incipient; nevertheless, it distorted the imagesaround me, and rendered their impressions unnatural and wearisome. Mywound began to pain me afresh, and the hot sun, and the dust, and thethirst, with the miserable accommodations of New Mexican posadas, vexedme to an excess of endurance.
On the fifth day after leaving Santa Fe, we entered the wretched littlepueblo of Parida. It was my intention to have remained there all night,but it proved a ruffian sort of place, with meagre chances of comfort,and I moved on to Socorro. This is the last inhabited spot in NewMexico, as you approach the terrible desert, the Jornada del Muerte.
Gode had never made the journey, and at Parida I had obtained one thingthat we stood in need of, a guide. He had volunteered; and as I learntthat it would be no easy task to procure one at Socorro, I was fain totake him along. He was a coarse, shaggy-looking customer, and I did notat all like his appearance; but I found, on reaching Socorro, that whatI had heard was correct. No guide could be hired on any terms, so greatwas their dread of the Jornada and its occasional denizens, the Apaches.
Socorro was alive with Indian rumours, "novedades." The Indians hadfallen upon an atajo near the crossing of Fra Cristobal, and murderedthe arrieros to a man. The village was full of consternation at thenews. The people dreaded an attack, and thought me mad, when I madeknown my intention of crossing the Jornada.
I began to fear they would frighten my guide from his engagement, butthe fellow stood out staunchly, still expressing his willingness toaccompany us.
Without the prospect of meeting the Apache savages, I was but illprepared for the Jornada. The pain of my wound had increased, and I wasfatigued and burning with fever.
But the caravan had passed through Socorro only three days before, and Iwas in hopes of overtaking my old companions before they could leave ElPaso. This determined me to proceed in the morning, and I madearrangements for an early start.
Gode and I were awake before dawn. My attendant went out to summon theguide and saddle our animals. I remained in the house, makingpreparations for a cup of coffee before starting. I was assisted by thelandlord of the posada, who had risen, and was stalking about in hisserape.
While thus engaged I was startled by the voice of Gode calling fromwithout, "Von maitre! von maitre! the rascal have him run vay!"
"What do you mean? Who has run away?"
"Oh, monsieur! la Mexicaine, with von mule, has robb, and run vay.Allons, monsieur, allons!"
I followed the Canadian to the stable with a feeling of anxiety. Myhorse--but no--thank Heaven, he was there! One of the mules, the macho,was gone. It was the one which the guide had ridden from Parida.
"Perhaps he is not off yet," I suggested. "He may still be in thetown."
We sent and went in all directions to find him, but to no purpose. Wewere relieved at length from all doubts by the arrival of some earlymarket men, who had met such a man as our guide far up the river, andriding a mule at full gallop.
What should we do? Follow him to Parida? No; that would be a journeyfor nothing. I knew that he would not be fool enough to go that way.Even if he did, it would have been a fool's errand to seek for justicethere, so I determined on leaving it over until the return of thetraders would enable me to find the thief, and demand his punishmentfrom the authorities.
My regrets at the loss of my macho were not unmixed with a sort ofgratitude to the fellow when I laid my hand upon the nose of mywhimpering charger. What hindered him from taking the horse instead ofthe mule? It is a question I have never been able to answer to thisday. I can only account for the fellow's preference for the mule on thescore of downright honesty, or the most perverse stupidity.
I made overtures for another guide. I applied to the Boniface ofSocorro, but without success. He knew no mozo who would undertake thejourney.
"Los Apaches! los Apaches!"
I appealed to the peons and loiterers of the plaza.
"Los Apaches!"
Wherever I went, I was answered with "Los Apaches," and a shake of theforefinger in front of the nose--a negative sign over all Mexico.
"It is plain, Gode, we can get no guide. We must try this Jornadawithout one. What say you, voyageur?"
"I am agree, mon maitre; allons!"
And, followed by my faithful compagnon, with our remaining pack-mule, Itook the road that leads to the desert. That night we slept among theruins of Valverde; and the next morning, after an early start, embarkedupon the "Journey of Death."