by Anonymous
CHAPTER IX
ANTONIO MARTINEZ
As we wished to give the animals a good rest, we decided to stay wherewe were for the remainder of that day and on the morrow move to the footof the mountain and look out for a good camping-place from which to makeour preliminary explorations.
The spot where we were then encamped would not serve, for we were yet atleast three miles from the lowest spurs of the twin mountains. Thestream beside which we were seated issued from the northernmost of thetwo peaks, and after running out into the plain for some distance made agreat bend and went back almost to the point of departure, when, turningto the northward, it poured its waters into the deep canon cut by thestreams which came down from Mescalero and the Ridge. It was just at thebend that we had struck it.
"What we want, Frank," said my companion, "is a good place in thefoothills, and when we have found one, I propose that we take ourponies, skirt along the base of the mountains from north to south, andsee if we can't cut across that old trail we were talking about thismorning. It is extremely important that we should do so; it might saveus weeks of useless searching."
"Yes," I assented, "it would be a great help, of course; though all wecan hope to find is some mark in the soil which will point us generallyin one direction or another."
"Yes; and that's just it. If we can find any indication of the directionthe trains used to take when they started from the King's House, it willlighten our task tremendously. Look here," taking a pointed stick anddrawing a rough plat of the country in the sand. "Here are the twopeaks, lying north and south of each other; here, between them, thecreek comes down which runs two or three miles out on to the plain tothe village here. Now, when the trains used to start out from the _Casadel Rey_ they took to the right of that stream or they took to the leftof it, one or the other, and if we can do no more than find out which itwas it will be a great help."
"Of course," I responded. "I see that. It would show us whether it wasthe north mountain or the south mountain that we had to explore."
"That's it, exactly. And if you stop for a moment to consider, you willsee that that would be a pretty big item all by itself. The twomountains cover a space about fifteen miles long by, perhaps, ten mileswide--a hundred and fifty square miles--a pretty big piece of country,old man, for you and me to scramble over; but if we can find a trailwhich will show us which of the two mountains is the right one, thathundred and fifty miles will be chopped in half at one blow--and if thatisn't a pretty big item all by itself, I should like to know what is."
With that, Dick, who was sitting cross-legged on the ground, stuck hisstick point downward into the middle of his map, planted his hands oneither knee, and with a defiant jerk of his head, challenged me to denyhis conclusion.
I could not help laughing at his emphatic manner, but I could not help,either, admitting that his point was a good one.
"It certainly would make an immense difference," said I, "and it willpay us to find that old trail if it takes us a week to do it. So, let usdig out first thing to-morrow, Dick, and find a good camping-place as abase."
Accordingly we broke camp again early next morning, and following alongthe rim of the canon we presently drew near the foothills. As weapproached the mountain we were able to distinguish with more clearnessthe details of its form, and the more clearly we could distinguish themthe more were we impressed with the difficulty and the magnitude of thetask we had undertaken. It was not going to be the simple,straightforward matter I had at first imagined.
Seen from a distance the north peak looked smooth and symmetrical, butwhen you came close to it you found that it was broken up into cliffsand canons, some of them of great height and depth. On its northernface, a thousand feet or so below the summit, our attention was drawn toa great semicircular precipice which looked very like the upper half ofan old volcanic crater, the lower half, presumably, having broken awayand fallen down the mountain.
"A pretty tough piece of country, Frank," said my companion, "and apretty large stretch of it, too, for us to tramp over; for, by the lookof it from here, our horses won't be much use to us--at least, when weget up above the lower spurs. Let us try this gully to the left:there's probably water up there; I see the tops of two or threecottonwoods."
Turning in that direction, therefore, we presently came upon adiminutive stream which ran down and fell into the canon, and passingbetween two high rocks, which looked as though they had been split apartwith a wedge to let the water out, we found ourselves in a littlepark-like valley, flanked on either side by high ridges.
"This ought to do, Dick," said I, "at any rate for the present; plentyof grass, plenty of wood and plenty of water. Just the place."
"Yes, this is all right; couldn't be better. Let's unsaddle at once,make our camp, and after dinner we'll ride down in the direction ofHermanos and do a little prospecting."
Having chosen a good spot, we arranged a comfortable camp, and after ahasty dinner we started out; first picketing Uncle Fritz to keep himfrom coming trailing after us.
Immediately to the south of our camping-place, forming one of theboundaries of the little ravine, in fact, there stretched down from themountain a great, bare rib of granite, almost devoid of vegetation,which projected a long way out into the valley, and as it lay squareacross our course we decided, instead of going round the end of it, toride up to the top in order to get a good lookout over the country weproposed to examine. From the summit of this ridge, at a point aboutfour hundred feet above the plain, we were able to get a very good viewof all the wide stretch of comparatively level ground below us,including the village of Hermanos and the green irrigated fields aroundit, which from this elevation were distinctly visible. Except for thistiny oasis, the whole plain, bounded on the east by the Mosby Ridge, andon the south by the Santa Clara mountains, appeared to be one uniform,level stretch of sage-brush desert--dull, gray and uninviting.
"What a pity," remarked Dick, "that there is no water here. If only onecould get water upon it, this sage-brush plain could be turned into awheat-field big enough to supply the whole State with bread, besidesfurnishing labor and subsistence for a good-sized population offarmers."
"It would be fine, wouldn't it?" I assented. "And I don't see why it hasnever been done: there must be many streams coming down from thesemountains."
"Yes, no doubt; but the difficulty is that all the streams of anyconsequence have cut canons for themselves and are too far below thegeneral level to be of any use. To get water out upon the surface ofthis valley one would have to go high up on the mountain, find somegood-sized stream, head it off--building a dam for the purpose,perhaps--and then conduct the water down here by a ditch several mileslong possibly. Far too big an undertaking, you see, for these penniless,unenterprising Mexicans."
"I see. It would take a great deal of work and a great deal of money,probably, but it would be a fine thing to do, all the same."
"Yes, it would; and some day it will be done. It won't be so very manyyears before all the 'easy water' in the State will have beenappropriated, and then people will begin to look out for a supply in themore out-of-the-way places, building reservoirs to catch the rainfallwhich now runs to waste after every thunder-storm, and carrying thewater long distances to sell it to the ranchman. The professor says thatsome day the business of catching and distributing irrigation water willbe the most important industry in the State, and that a goodever-flowing stream will be more valuable than any silver mine."
"I can understand that," I replied. "The best mine will some day cometo an end, for when the silver is once dug out it is gone--you can'tplant more; whereas, a good stream of water applied on the soil will goon producing forever and ever."
"That's it, exactly. And some day that is what will happen here. Thisfine stretch of level land, which now grows only grass enough to supportabout three cows and a burro, won't always lie idle. Some enterprisingfellow will come along, climb up into this mountain, catch one of thosestreams which now go running off thro
ugh the canons, turn it down here,and a couple of years later this worthless desert will be converted intofarms and orchards."
"A fine undertaking, too!" I exclaimed. "I should like to have a try atit myself."
"So should I. But our object in life just now is 'copper,' so come on,old chap, and let us ride down to the point of this ridge. What is thatblack speck down there toward the village? Man on horseback? Ah! He hasdisappeared again. Well, come on now, Frank. Let's get started."
Getting down upon the plain again, we turned southward, skirting thebase of the mountain, winding our way through the sage-brush, which waslarge and very thick, when, after riding barely a quarter of a mile inthat direction, Dick suddenly pulled up.
"Frank!" he exclaimed. "Look here! Doesn't it seem to you that there isa depression in the soil going off to the right and the left? Look awaya hundred yards and you will see what I mean. It seems to lead straightup into the mountain one way, and straight out upon the plain the otherway."
At first I could not detect anything of the sort, but on Dick's pointingit out more particularly it did appear to me that there was a depressiongoing off in both directions.
"Let us turn to the left, Dick," said I, "and follow it--if we can--outinto the valley and see what becomes of it."
"All right," responded my companion. "Let's do so."
The mark on the ground was by no means easy to follow, it was soovergrown with sage-brush, and in many places altogether obliterated bydrifting sand, but, though we frequently lost it, by looking far aheadwe always caught the line again. Presently we found that it wentcurving off to the right in the direction of Hermanos, and our hopesrose.
"Dick!" I cried. "This is no accidental mark in the soil! It is a trail,as sure as you live!"
"It does begin to look like it," replied my more cautious friend. "Ibelieve it---- Hallo! Who's this coming?"
As he spoke, I saw about half a mile away a horseman coming toward us atan easy lope from the direction of the village. He was riding a handsomegray horse, very superior to the little bronchos we ourselves bestrode.
"He rides well," said I. "I wonder how he got so close to us on thisflat country without our seeing him."
"The country is probably not quite so flat as it looks," replied mycompanion. "I expect the man has been keeping in the hollows so that hemight slip up on us unobserved. It is probably old Galvez coming to findout what we are doing prowling around his domain. He must be thehorseman I saw just now, and I've no doubt he saw us, too, cocked up onthat bare ridge--for all these Mexicans have eyes like hawks."
Meanwhile the rider continued to approach, and as he came nearer weobserved, rather to our relief, that it could not be the padron, for thestranger was a well-dressed young Mexican, only three or four yearsolder than ourselves, a handsome, intelligent-looking young fellow, too,with a trim little black moustache and bright black eyes--evidently oneof a class superior to the ordinary cow-man or farm-hand.
Watching him closely as he came up, wondering what sort of a receptionwe should get from him, it appeared to me that he, too, looked bothsurprised and relieved when he perceived that instead of the two roughand sturdy prospectors he had probably expected to meet, it was only acouple of boys, younger than himself, with whom he had to deal.
And it is likely that he did feel relieved, for at that time the whitemen--or, at least, very many of them--dwelling on what was then theouter edge of civilization, were apt to look down upon all Mexicans aspeople of an inferior race, frequently treating them in consequence in arough, overbearing manner by no means calculated to promote friendlyfeeling.
The young Mexican doubtless "sized us up" favorably; at any rate, nosooner had he come near enough to see what we were like than he rodestraight up to us, and addressing us politely in Spanish, said:
"Good-day, sirs. Are you going down to Hermanos? I shall be glad to ridewith you if you are."
It happened that I was the one to whom he addressed this salutation,Dick being a little further back. Now, though I had acquired enough ofthe language to understand and speak it fairly well, the Spanish I hadlearned was good Castilian, whereas the young Mexican spoke a kind of_patois_, such as is commonly used among all the natives of theseoutlying settlements. The unexpected difference of pronunciation, thoughslight, caused me to hesitate an instant in making reply--I have nodoubt, too, my face looked rather blank--whereupon the young fellowinstantly jumped to the conclusion that we did not speak Spanish at all,and he therefore repeated his remark in English.
It was without any thought of misleading him that I replied, verynaturally, in the tongue which came easiest to me, and as the strangerspoke English quite as well as I did, it was very natural again that theconversation should be continued in that tongue. Thus it happened thatwe accidentally deceived him--or, rather, he deceived himself--into thebelief that we did not understand any language but our own, and as noopportunity cropped up during our talk for setting him right, hecontinued in this mistaken idea; a fact which, a little later, caused usconsiderable satisfaction--not on our own account, but on his.
Replying to his question therefore in English, I said:
"No, we were not bound for Hermanos in particular. We have come downhere to do a little prospecting, and were just riding around a bit totake a look at the country. Do you live here?"
"No," he replied, "I live in Santa Fe. My name is Antonio Martinez. I amon a visit here to my uncle, Senor Galvez, the padron of Hermanos. He ismy mother's brother, and as she had not seen him for many years, and ashe has always declined to come to us, she sent me here to make hisacquaintance. For myself, I had never even seen him until I arrived heretwo weeks ago, and----"
He checked himself suddenly, looking a little confused; I had an ideathat what he was going to say was that he did not much care if he neversaw him again.
"And are you expecting to stay here?" asked Dick.
"No, I go back in a day or two. Where do you, yourselves hail from, if Imay ask? From Mosby?"
"Yes, from Mosby," replied Dick. "We came down, as my friend said, to dosome prospecting up in one or other of these two peaks--we don't knowwhich one yet. How is the country up there? Pretty accessible? You'vebeen up, I suppose."
"No, I haven't," replied the young Mexican. "You think that ratherstrange, don't you? And naturally enough. Here have I been for two weekshanging around this village with absolutely nothing to do; I should havebeen glad enough to make an expedition up into the mountains--in fact, Ihad a very particular reason for wishing to do so--but when I suggestedthe idea to the padron, explaining to him why I was so anxious to go, henot only refused emphatically for himself, but declined to let me goeither."
"Why, that seems queer!" cried Dick.
"It does, doesn't it? And his reason for refusing will appear to youqueerer still--he's afraid!"
"Afraid!" we both exclaimed. "Afraid of what?"
"Afraid of The Badger," replied the young fellow, breaking into a laughas he noted the mystified look which came over both our faces.
"What do you mean?" I asked. "Why should he--or anybody--be afraid of abadger?"
"I said _The_ Badger," replied our friend. "You have never heard of him,evidently--El Tejon, The Badger."
We both shook our heads.
"What is he?" I asked. "A man?"
"Yes--or a wild beast. It is hard to say which. He is a Mexican who oncelived in the village here, I believe. For some reason which I cannotunderstand--for my uncle won't talk about it, though I have asked himseveral times--for some reason The Badger conceived a violent hatred forthe padron; whether he went crazy or not, I don't know, but anyhow hecommitted a murderous assault upon him, hurting him badly--knocked outall his front teeth with a stone, for one thing--and then escaped intothe mountains. That was twelve years ago, and as far as any one knows heis there yet, if he is still alive."
"And wasn't any attempt ever made to capture him?" asked Dick.
"Once," replied Antonio. "According to the padron's story, he
went outwith six of his cow-men to try to run The Badger to earth; but theattempt was a failure, as was only to be expected, for the cow-men werevery unwilling to go. They trembled at the very name of El Tejon, whowas a man of immense strength and a great hunter, and they feared thatinstead of catching him, he would catch one of them. And the eventshowed that they had reason. They had been out several days, had riddenall over the lower part of the north mountain without seeing a sign oftheir man, and were coming back, single file, down a narrow gully, whenthe padron's horse suddenly, and seemingly without cause, fell down,stone dead. The rider, of course, fell too, and striking his headagainst a stone he lay for a moment stunned. No one could think what hadhappened to the horse, until presently one of the men noticed blood uponthe rocks, and turning the animal over they were all scared out of theirwits by seeing the head of an arrow sticking out between his ribs."
"An arrow!" we both cried.
"Yes, an arrow," continued the narrator, not noticing the glance Dickand I exchanged. "They knew well enough where it came from, for TheBadger had always hunted with a bow and arrow, with which he wasextraordinarily expert. The instant the cow-men saw what had happenedthey stuck spurs into their horses and away they all went,helter-skelter, leaving their leader lying on the ground."
"That was a pretty shabby desertion," said I. "How did the padronescape?"
"That is one of the things I can't understand," replied Antonio. "Whythe man, having him so entirely in his power, didn't kill him at once isa puzzle to me. As it was, when the padron recovered his senses, hefound El Tejon calmly seated on the carcase of the horse, waiting forhim to wake up. He quite expected, he says, to be murdered forthwith,but instead, the man merely held up the arrow, which he had drawn out ofthe horse's body, and said: 'For you--next time'; and with that he aroseand walked off. The padron is no coward, but he knows when to let wellenough alone: he has never been up on the mountain since."
"That's a curious story," said Dick. "What sort of a looking man is thisEl Tejon?"
"I've never seen him myself, of course," replied our friend, "but thepadron describes him as a very remarkable man to look at: less than fivefeet high, with an immense body, very short legs and very long arms."
Dick and I exchanged glances again.
"Whether the man is yet alive," continued the young fellow, "nobodyknows. It is nearly twelve years ago that this happened, and since thenhe has never been seen nor heard of. The chances are, I expect, that hehas been long dead."
"On that point," remarked Dick, "we can give _you_ a little information.He is not dead--at least he wasn't last fall."