Throughout the whole proceedings with a running fire of "Carambas!

carajos!" etc., the air was filled with the warning shouts, "Cuidado!

cuidado! El Prieto! El Pinto! or El Colorado!" as now a black, now a piebald, now a red steer, that "meant business," left the herd and charged some one, amidst the laughter and applause of the onlookers.

Some really fast times were made over short distances; Britton Davis and I distinguishing ourselves in this particular occasionally. As for the Colonel and Joe, they sat upon the wall and chaffed us, the former keeping tally of the ages and number of the cattle branded, in conjunction with a representative of the Corralitos Company.

The foregoing proceedings are not mentioned as in any way typical of what would take place on a well-ordered ranch in the States, where things were worked systematically and carefully. No attempt had been made until quite recently to train the Mexican hands employed on the Corralitos ranch, and they were consequently extremely rough in their style of handling cattle. La.s.soing steers by the fore-legs when they are running, in order to have the satisfaction of seeing them turn a complete somersault, may commend itself to the mind of the untutored Mexican cow-puncher, but it is dangerous, and as a rule forbidden where broken legs, broken horns, etc., are taken into consideration. The Mexicans in California are amongst the finest cow-hands in the United States, and although they are a better type of men as a rule than those in Sonora, Chihuahua, and Cohuila, there is no reason why in course of time the latter should not become good workmen also.

During this week work commenced in the corral at day-break, and about a hundred steers were branded before the triangle rang for breakfast.

Recommencing shortly after nine, branding was continued until dinner at 12.30. In the afternoons, Lieut. Britton Davis, the manager, and I, generally forsook the corrals and went duck-shooting.

The duck-shooting at Corralitos was very good and extremely easy. Any day--at any rate during winter--a fair shot with two guns could have killed fifty or sixty couple. We never went out until the afternoon, and then, in the course of two or three hours, killed about twenty or twenty-five couple--that, too, in the constantly-disturbed home reaches of the river. The variety of ducks here was scarcely less remarkable than their number.

Accompanied by a retriever in the form of a boy mounted on an old pony, we either walked along the banks under cover of the cotton-woods or willow-trees, or sitting down, directed our attendant to make circuits of a few hundred yards and drive the birds to us. In either case we saw far more than we required.

I was sitting smoking one afternoon on one of the brick seats outside the offices, in the Calle de los Alamos, when a company of Mexican soldiers marched in from Casas Grandes. They looked so perfectly "fit"

after their dusty tramp of twenty-six miles in a hot sun, that I was remarking on it, when half-a-dozen women, some of whom carried infants, and all of whom had children trotting beside them, came literally "sailing" in after them. They were the wives of some of the men, and they and their children had travelled the same distance in the same manner. It would seem that the walking powers of the Mexican are second only to those of the Apache, and if what I heard of them was correct, Mexican soldiers are immeasurably superior in this respect to any other regular soldiers that I know of. It was no unusual thing, I was told, for troops to march in a day from Casas Grandes to a mining camp near the north-east corner of the Corralitos property (the name of which I have forgotten), the distance being forty-five miles over a rough trail.

I have heard it a.s.serted two or three times in open company, without question, that during the war between Mexico and the States, 22,000 men under General Santa Ana marched twenty leagues in twenty-four hours, and then fought all day at Buena Vista, doing this extraordinary work on a little parched corn, ground and soaked in water with a little sugar.

Averse though he may be, therefore, to continuous labour, the Mexican is able to exert himself to some purpose "upon a compelling occasion."

Whether it was that the bare discussion of these feats made some of us thirsty, I know not, but an amicable rivalry in the manufacture of milk punches sprang up in the store that afternoon, with the result that one of the manufacturers had to be a.s.sisted to bed before supper-time. He vowed of course on the following day, that it was "the milk that did it." It always is the "milk," or the "lemon," or the "sugar," or something of that kind.

_a propos_ of the store, by the way, one of the a.s.sistants there, a very handsome and gentlemanly boy, was named Ponce de Leon. It seemed odd to find a namesake of the celebrated Marquess of Cadiz--the light of Andalusian chivalry and pride of Ferdinand and Isabella's court, the captor of Alhama and leading figure in the reconquest of Granada--serving out coffee or sugar for a few cents to peasants. But many a name that rings in Spanish history is borne in Mexico by men quite as insignificantly placed as this.

I had drifted out of the noisy store into the cool, quiet Calle de los Alamos, and was standing talking to Joe when an ambulance containing three Americans drove up. As they descended it appeared that one of them was handcuffed and manacled. The prisoner was Sam Rider, who had been captured by Mexican soldiers in a small village further south, after a desperate struggle in a little wine-shop, and was now returning in charge of the Marshal of Georgetown to be tried for killing the Deputy there. It is not easy to swagger under the embarra.s.sment of handcuffs and irons, but Sam made a desperate effort to appear unconcerned. Before he left next morning I took the opportunity of giving him Squito's message.

"'He knows!' I know? What do I know?" and the man's bold, dark, prominent, and rather gla.s.sy eyes looked perplexedly in mine. Suddenly a light of intelligence grew in them, and I could see that he had caught the girl's meaning. He shrugged his shoulders irritably, and was silent for a moment. "Oh, ----! D--n Squito! It seems like she'd coppered[40]

me. Ever since she----since I seen that gal, luck's gone dead against me. If you see Squito, tell her I don't 'know' nothing--and don't want.

Blast Squito!"

Poor little Squito! It was hardly worth while that her first love should have been wasted thus. What wonder that

"----our frothed out life's commotion Settles down to Ennui's ocean"

as often as it does!

Full of regret at leaving so delightful a place, and of grat.i.tude for the exceeding kindness and hospitality that we received at the hands of Lieut. Britton Davis and his a.s.sociates, we took our departure from Corralitos as soon as we had seen the herd of steers started. We almost had to leave Joe behind. As usual, he wore us out waiting whilst he looked about for some more old women and children to tip. On the return journey, we made a detour by a couple of extremely pretty ranches belonging to Mr. Scobell, and Lord Deleval Beresford and Mr. Corbet, but finally arrived again at Ascension, where we were received effusively by Don Juan Carrion.

FOOTNOTE:

[40] To "copper" a stake at faro, is to cover it with a small check, which signifies that the card selected is backed to lose, not win.

CHAPTER XVIII.

A CRUISE IN NORTHERN MEXICO.--VI.

On this occasion we encountered in his shop a character well known in this part of the world, one "Apache Bill" by name, who was at present residing in Ascension, but had been absent when we previously pa.s.sed through the town. "Apache" was a ragged, six-foot, dark-eyed, dark-haired, bottle-nosed, bibulous-looking, able-bodied "loafer," who wore moca.s.sins _in town_, and whose hands were never out of his pockets save for the purpose of lifting a gla.s.s, rolling a cigarette, or making an elaborate bow. He had a glib tongue, and spoke Spanish admirably, with the language having picked up something of the flowery politeness, though not the dignity, of the better cla.s.s of native. It is odd how often good linguists lack common sense and stability. I have noticed this frequently all the world over. A trim tongue and a ragged coat is always a suspicious combination anyhow, and this instance was no exception to the rule. Bill was a fine, candid, unaffected liar. I have encountered many men celebrated for their address in the ways of untruthfulness, who, to keep him in sight, would have been forced to take a long pull at the bottle, and launch out very recklessly indeed.

His artless style reminded me a good deal of a Levantine servant that I once had, who had a great gift in this way, and who, upon my remonstrating energetically with him one day for so constantly abusing it, said plaintively: "Mais, Monsieur, c'est mon habitude."

Apache had worked once on a ranch of the Colonel's, but finding that cattle were not to be handled by the simple exercise of eloquence, nor posts set and pastures fenced in by the profession of virtuous convictions, had not remained long in his service. When I say "worked,"

I believe I do him an injustice. It is not on record that he ever did that, save on one occasion, and this was when the authorities at Ascension condemned him to provide a dollar a day to keep and cure a Mexican whom he had wounded in a drunken brawl. Dollars were not easily earned there, for labour was cheap, and a dollar a day for lying in bed was the best billet that that Mexican had ever had. As may be supposed, he was in no hurry to get well, and the matter (over which Bill waxed positively tearful when he alluded to it) was long the subject of amus.e.m.e.nt and laughter in the neighbourhood.

At one time he had been chief of scouts in an Apache war, his knowledge of the country in Northern Mexico being really considerable. In this capacity he had been brought into contact with Navajo Bill. The patronising style in which he talked of this personage was delicious.

"Navajo w.i.l.l.y?" he said; "oh, yes, I know w.i.l.l.y--a good boy, sir, a good boy!--ignorant, of course--no education, you know, sir; but he means well--he does what he can. He served under me once, but I found him quite useless. If I sent him out anywhere, he only got lost. However, I wasn't hard on him. We were down at Lake Palomas once, and General Bewel wanted a messenger to take a note over to a detachment of troops camped about ten miles off. So I started w.i.l.l.y off. I showed him the way myself. But it was no good--not a bit. In two hours he came back; _he_ couldn't find it. I sent a Mexican then, and when he brought the answer, I gave it to w.i.l.l.y. 'Here, w.i.l.l.y,' said I, 'take it to Bewel and say that you fetched it.'"

In point of age there was but little to choose between the two Bills, both being men of about five-and-forty. In conversational talents there was also some resemblance between them, although, in all other particulars, Navajo was an immeasurably better man than his former chief.

Apache's anxiety in behalf of his children was very touching. Paternal solicitude was a fine theme for him, and he often enlarged upon it.

"There's the boys," he would say, "they're growing up, sir, and down here I can't give them the education they ought to have. I want to take 'em back to do their schooling in the States. If I could only get some regular work there--I shouldn't care how hard it was, or how poor the pay was--I would slave like a n.i.g.g.e.r to get my children well educated.

And there's the girls; this ain't any place to raise girls; they don't get any virtue into 'em here. It ain't right. I do what I can, of course; I try to teach 'em what's right, and I set 'em a good example.

'Be good to your mother, boys,' I always say; 'think of your mother, and be kind to her. If you get any money, give her half. And be honest! No matter how poor a man is, let him be honest.' My honour--my honour is what I look at! And I try to bring the boys up the same way. Am I right, gentlemen?--I leave it to you." We naturally applauded these n.o.ble sentiments. "Well, then, let's take a drink on it--let's. .h.i.t her a lick;" and reaching for the bottle, he would proceed to fill all our gla.s.ses, and his own too.

He formally introduced us to every other man who entered the shop, usually concluding the introduction with some such remark as: "This is a good man, gentlemen; he used to be _presidente_ of the town. Treat him, gentlemen; he may be useful to you some day." Treating the new acquaintance necessitated treating Bill as well. I merely note this as a coincidence, and do not in the least degree wish to insinuate that any base thought of self influenced his interest in our welfare.

To pa.s.s the time in the evening we had him into our room to talk to us; and, as he had never seen Joe before, represented the latter as being a "tender-foot," or new-comer on the frontier. Since Joe was much better dressed than the rest of us, and, talking but little, did not betray his familiarity with frontier life, Apache believed us, and anxious to astonish "a gentleman from New York," surpa.s.sed himself. We had provided a bottle of _mascal_ to prime him with, but maliciously delayed producing it. By degrees, as he talked, his throat got drier and drier; he coughed and expectorated, and expectorated and coughed, and crossed first one leg and then the other, shifting in his seat, and fidgeting to such an extent that finally Don Cabeza could bear the exhibition of so much torture no longer, and told Navajo to hand him the bottle. With a look of grat.i.tude that would have softened the heart of a Thug, Bill raised it to his lips. When he set it down again he had almost exchanged conditions with it. Now he was another man, and for the benefit of the "tender-foot," he "spread himself."

"Tracks! Well, when it came to tracking, he believed that he 'took the cake.' Tracks! ----! Why, he could tell whether they were made by a horse or a mare, and there was a slight difference, too, in geldings'

tracks, which he would be only too glad to show the gentleman any day.

He could tell whether the horse that he was tracking ran loose, or was ridden, packed, or led, and whether it belonged to a white man or an Indian. He could tell from the 'sign,' what part of the country, even what particular ranch it had fed on. It was a fact, that when he had handled cattle in Colorado, and in a part, too, where half-a-dozen herds ran together, and ranged over the same country, he had never wasted time in following up strays belonging to his neighbours, because he knew the track of every hoof in his own herd!"

But enough of Bill! He was fairly started now, and he did himself credit. _In vino veritas_, they say. But in Apache there was no _veritas_, and so the _mascal_ could not affect him in this way. I have often thought that this proverb would have made an excellent text for one of Charles Lamb's "Popular Fallacies."

One of the horses fell sick during the night, and it became necessary to purchase a subst.i.tute before we set out next morning. This delayed us for some time. When finally we started with the invalid in tow, the Colonel discovered an ambition to invent a short cut, which took us three or four miles astray. Returning, we had proceeded a mile or more along the road that we did know, when it was found that the grain-sack had been left behind, and consequently we were forced to go back to Ascension. We had started a little "on edge" that morning, and we reappeared at Don Juan's in the severest silence. Unconscious of his danger, that worthy taunted us with our oversight and made merry at our expense.

"He's taking big chances if he only knew it, ain't he?" said Navajo grimly, jerking his thumb towards Juan.

"Don't you feel, Joe, like getting down and beating him up a little, eh?" drawled the Colonel. "Couldn't you swing him around by the heels some--dust the side-walk, and knock a few flies off the wall with him?"

"No," replied Joe st.u.r.dily; "I haven't got any kick against Don Juan. He has treated us like a gentleman. _He_ didn't leave the grain behind, and _he_ didn't take us any short cut. Quite right, Don Juan, 'No valle nada,' these chaps, eh?--They can't remember anything."

But long before we pitched camp in the evening, we had had a hearty laugh over the morning clouds.

The Boca Grande was an "Indian place," and strategically speaking there was no point in it that was fit to camp in, no point where, aided by cotton-woods, willow-bushes, cane-brake, long gra.s.s, broken ground, or the river bed, a band of Indians might not have approached un.o.bserved within a few yards of a traveller. We trusted to luck, therefore, and chose a site without reference to the Apaches. The odds, of course, were always long against their showing at any given place, but there was never any certainty about it; and this was one of their haunts.

"Indians!" said the Colonel when some one alluded to them. "Well, if I kill four I shall be satisfied. If they come we can't help it; but they'd better not!--they won't. They know more in a day than we could tell them in a week. What a battle it would be, though, if they did come! Gettysburg and those kind would be just flirtations to it. There'd be you charging 'em; and Navajo, he'd get around behind them, and take them in rear, and scare the quill feathers out of them. And there'd be Joe raking them fore and aft, and enfilading them, and out-manoeuvring them, and reconnoitring and changing his front, and just a-sousing it to them red-hot all the time. And as for me, I'd sit right here on this stone, under the bank, and sing to them, just to lure them on, like the Lorelei, and let you boys have all the glory of killing them. Or, maybe, I'd get on one of the six-shooter horses--a six-shooter horse is a heap better than a six-shooting gun in these cases--I'd get on one of them and go right back to Ascension to fetch up some help for you. I'm not wanting to put myself forward, anyhow; there isn't anything mean about me."

"That'd be all right, Colonel," said Navajo; "we should know where to find you when there was any fighting to be done. The boys do say that you're on hand _then_--sure!"

"How do you want these potatoes cut up?" irrelevantly inquired Joe, who was phlegmatically attending to business, and peeling some potatoes for supper.

"Cut them up just as you'd cut up the Apaches, Joe," said the Colonel.

"Well, how are they going to be cooked?"