“After the sun went down, allowing the air to cool, he returned to his morning camp where he spent the night, followed by another breakfast of catfish, supplied by his trot line. He gathered up his stuff and slowly hiked back up the talus piles and back into what was now his own private little world where he would spend the next few days. A dreary climb but once on top he was king of his own domain where he could see for vast distances down into the canyon. His gaze was drawn upward over the giant labyrinth of rocks to the top of the next hillside. Cataclysmic events had occurred there long ago; probably an earthquake had collapsed the entire side of the canyon wall, removing and covering the ancient and natural route up and out of the canyon.”
“Several days later, he returned to the creek, searching for more traces of gold. Out of curiosity he climbed over every accessible route into the jagged talus pile hoping to find the source of the water. He discovered, in a small slit between two giant slabs of rock, a dark crevasse with cold air flowing out of it into his face.”
“Long ago, large timbers had been wedged in this one opening. They were so old that they looked natural, but after closer examination, they appeared worked as if with a human hand, but now they had been there so long that they were easily dug out like so much loose dirt. Digging away what loose rocks and rotten timber he could, and after carefully calculating the chance of encountering a rattlesnake, by poking ahead with a stick. He slid between the slabs of rock, into what appeared to be the floor of a cave.”
Armijo’s Discovery
Corey continued his story, “The cave split here with the tiny stream coming from one direction and a dry floor going into another. The wet cave was too small for him to explore and the other disappeared into inky blackness. He explored it only a short distance when he found himself balancing on the brink of a deep crevasse wondering if he really wanted to go on down. Alone as he was, if he was to become hurt he would undoubtedly die. But after slowly transferring his weight to the rock, Armijo looked into the dark around him. As his eyes became adjusted to the tiny amount of light streaming though the crack in the rock, Armijo was astonished to discover that he was dangling above a deep pit with a large pile of rocks under him that trailed down into a dark and mysterious place.”
“Armijo could not go any farther, and began to climb back out. He returned to Espanola where he purchased a few items that he absolutely needed. But his tiny sack he always carried beneath his chin was considerably larger, a fact not unnoticed by some of the locals. But he returned to his old shack and stayed there for several days where he received more company than he had received in years. It would be sometime before he would venture anywhere during the day. Soon, as the summer grew hotter the curiosity of others subsided.”
“Returning weeks later armed with kerosene lamps and more matches, Armijo again descended into the cavern. By using a knotted rope he carefully climbed down the pile of rocks and was able to see just far enough ahead to see a dry floor completely covered with rocks, and an inky black cavern disappearing before him into the dust he was creating. He guessed it to be a lava tube; those underground conduits where red-hot molten magma once flowed in a race to obliterate everything it touches, forming lava flows and filling in worlds from other ages. The resulting lava tube could extend into the mountain for miles or end abruptly. He did discover something there that was very interesting, on the wall across the room and just discernible though the dusty air was a petroglyph.”
“Armijo explored the large room and discovered many places where cold air came through the cracks between the jumbled rocks but could never find a route further into the cave. Returning to the wet part of the cave, he was delighted to discover several pockets in the floor of the tiny steam filled in with a large quantity of gold nuggets. These he carefully collected until he absolutely couldn’t go any farther by squeezing himself past the slabs of rock.”
“And that was it,” Corey said. “The story ended. But apparently it took very little gold to satisfy him. Or perhaps he feared being killed for his gold. He kept his secret. Uncle Bo was the only person he bragged to and even Uncle Bo didn’t believe him. The old man’s shack was finally found burned down one frosty January morning, and it was never determined if Armijo was in the shack when it burned but Armijo was never seen again.”
“The family notified the next of kin concerning the disappearance. It took months for someone to show up, a brother and a nephew. Where the old shack had burned only a grey pile of ash and trash remained. There, sticking up out of the ash was several pea sized pieces of gold that a recent and rare rain shower had exposed.”
“After bringing a bucket and shovel up from the wagon and digging out the dirt, the relatives of the old man were amazed to discover a small fortune in gold dust. After further washing the gold at the homestead, they had several sacks of gold. When Armijo died, he died a rich man. He had collected enough gold to be living a very comfortable life in Albuquerque. Unfortunately when he died the route to the source of the gold was lost with him.”
The Cholos
With that said we all stood up and started to leave but we looked over and noticed three young men staring at us with smiles on their faces. One was a burly, unwashed fellow with gold colored ear rings in his ears. One was a very small and literally greasy looking fellow, covered in tattoos, and a third looked clean and business-like. Cholos, I guessed almost saying the word out loud. Had they overheard the conversation? As they walked over to the casher the eyes of the three desperados followed them and shortly after they left the café so did the three men, following behind them in a blue pickup several car lengths back.
They followed route 285 at Chimayo north until they came to a rutted road near Ojo Caliente that lead off the main highway, that only a four wheel drive vehicle could navigate. They turned up this side road. The blue truck stopped for a few moments along the edge of the main road then turned back on to the highway continuing north. All four of us let out slow breaths then contemplated the road that was tilted at a breathtaking angle.
Once on top the driving was easy. Before us was a vast panorama of desolation. Nothing but scrub cedars and some local grass with intermittent sand drifts appeared before us for miles. “How could anyone live here?” Dr. Douglas said then answered his own question with, “Well, desperate people will try anything to survive.”
“Uncle Bo’s family had moved here without a clue as to what it would be like once they got here.” said Corey. We traveled for a couple of more miles until we came to some old buildings that had all fallen in on themselves.
“Watch for rattlesnakes” said Hidalgo, and Corey and I immediately exited the one building we had stopped to explore. Corey said, “I’ve had my fill of rattlesnakes in Serpiente.”
We returned to the Jeep and decided it was best to head out to the edge of the mesa overlooking the chasm formed by the Rio Grande River. Following a jeep trail we eventually found a nice camping spot near the rim under a large solitary cedar tree that offered some shade from the mid-day sun and set up camp. That evening, Dr. Douglas took out some topographic maps which here spread out on a portable table.
“The problem is we are looking at a vast canyon with only a couple of trails marked on the topographic map.” He pointed to the dashed marks on the maps at the trails now used only by occasional fishermen who would carry a pack containing all their gear along with fishing poles and camp out at the river’s edge while escaping the rest of humanity for a couple of days.
It was a lonely place, dropping off precipitately two thousand feet straight down to the river that roared over great rapids. We could hear the tumultuous river all the way to the top. We wondered what it would sound like at the bottom.
Along the river small trees grew everywhere a tiny bit of dirt allowed them to. There were but a few small riparian beaches that afforded space to set up camps for the few fishermen that would make the descent. The climb out would have been a killer, a two to three hour hike going up switchbacks that
in many places were extremely dangerous. It was not a climb for the out of shape or faint of heart.
We had dinner that evening of fresh steaks cooked over a small grill we had brought along, then sat down to do some serious planning for the next day’s activities. Hidalgo suggested climbing down the trails that the fishermen used to see if they could spot any likely spots where the old mine could have been.
Dr. Douglas answered him with, “The trouble with that is thousands of people have climbed down those trails and they would have certainly spotted the mine by now. We need to try something different. Corey, what did you say about Armijo finding a place that had recently caved off?”
“Yeah,” Corey answered, “Uncle Bo said that Armijo said the mine had been covered up by a rockslide with the rocks settling in a very small flat spot, and that it was very difficult to get to.”
“Then that’s what we are looking for,” replied Dr. Douglas, “Tomorrow we hike up and down this edge of the mesa looking for just such a spot.”
While they gazed down into the canyon, Corey turned around and started back to the camp, when he noticed, far away in the distance and back toward the old house, a blue pickup truck parked. Turning to the others he said, “We better watch ourselves, I see trouble parked over there and I’ll bet they are watching us.”
Upon looking at the truck I said, “Yeah, I understand this country is famous for thieves. We better not leave our camp unguarded.”
At that, Dr. Douglas walked over to a duffel bag that was propped up against the table and pulled out a .357 magnum that was holstered. Hidalgo walked over to the Jeep and pulled out a small hunting rifle and with that they settled into an uneasy sleep, stirring every time they heard a sound outside.
Deadly Visitors
The following morning the blue truck was gone but the fact that it had been there the previous evening made them all uneasy. We spent the next three days hiking up and down the canyon rim looking for possible sites and access trials to those sites. Each time they took off exploring we left someone in camp to protect our things. Obviously they didn’t want to return from one of their treks only to find everything gone and the jeep sitting on cinder blocks with everything of value stripped away.
Being a very isolated place it had happened to others before them. River runners who had enjoyed the tumultuous rapids of the canyon often returned to their camps to discover everything of value gone. On some occasions it was even worse. Single women were sometimes attacked. When the crimes were reported nothing ever happened. The crimes were basically covered up without anyone ever being arrested. In many ways it truly was a modern wild west. There were very good reasons we kept an eye open for visitors.
Hidalgo was the most vigilant as he had personally dealt with the arrogance and greed of unscrupulous characters during his wanderings around New Mexico and particularly during his tenure in Durango with the La Plata County Sheriffs’ Department over in southwestern Colorado. He understood that once thievery started in an area it usually occurred like a plague, a pandemic of hurt that was almost impossible to cure.
Each day we packed a lunch and spent the day on long hikes along the rim using the clues Armijo had left us. Looking for evidence of ancient trails, where clumps of scrub trees grew out of the small pockets of soil that occasionally accumulate in depressions. We investigated several possible leads, but each time we found ourselves unable to get to the sites or found nothing after we got there.
We had spotted several pickups and cars on the horizon, most of them simply delivering fishermen to the rim where fishermen then hiked down one of the established trails used to get to the bottom of the Rio Grande Box. Every once in a while one would simply just park and stay near the old settlement where the homesteaders lived. These caused some concern but sooner or later they all left. We were beginning to feel that it was a hopeless search and by the evening of the third day we were sitting around camp, tired and desperate, when well to the west of them, they spotted the unmistakable blue pickup truck we had encountered in Espanola.
“Trouble” announced Hidalgo, and again they all scurried around to get the revolver and rifle kept for protection against two legged snakes.
I asked, “What do you suppose they want? We don’t really have anything of real value here!”
Hidalgo answered with, “Sure we do. They know we are carrying money as well as equipment that can be hocked or traded for drugs. Besides, it wouldn’t really matter, they probably would steal everything just to cause us trouble, its’ all a game to them.”
Everyone hid behind something, just in case there was a gunfight, as the old blue pickup slowly crept its’ way down the road toward us. Finally it pulled up to maybe fifty or sixty feet from us and then it came to a stop. The door opened and a very elderly Spanish gentleman poked his head out of the door and yelled “You’re not going to shoot me are you?”
Juan Mateo Valencia Armijo
Putting a battered old hat on his grey hair and stepping out of the blue pickup he walked over to the camp where everyone had slid out from behind cover. “Let me introduce myself, my name is Juan Mateo Valencia Armijo, and all I want to do is talk to you.” Hidalgo signaled him to come into the camp and everyone introduced themselves. “By the look on your faces, I think you thought I was someone else,” said Juan Armijo. “Have you had trouble out here?”
“Well yes,” said Corey, we were followed by three young and not so friendly looking boys all the way from Espanola, in a truck that is exactly like the one you are driving. We have been worried about them.”
“Yes”, says Juan Armijo. “One of those boys is my nephew, Enrique. He overheard your conversation about the Armijo mine and naturally it caught his attention when he heard his own name being gossiped about.”
I gasped in astonishment, “You mean he thought we were talking about him?”
“Yes,” said Juan Armijo, “until you got to the part about the mine, then he was all ears. He tried to catch up to you when you left the restaurant to talk with you but his friends were slowing him down, and there was no way he could follow you in old Lupe here when you turned off 285.” He causally glanced over to the old two wheel drive blue truck. “You know there are easier ways to get here. If you come in from the north there is a good dirt road most of the way here. It is used by fishermen, but of course, the way you came is much shorter from Chimayo.”
Hidalgo said, “Well, what you want with us?”
Then Corey interrupted the answer with another comment, “According to my Uncle Bo you were supposed to have died in a fire, years ago.”
They provided Juan Armijo with a camp chair and a cup of coffee from the stove and he continued his explanation. “You see, the Armijo you are all thinking about was my uncle who did die in that fire. I was just a little boy visiting with my father when we came out and found the old shack and to our amazement some gold in the ashes. There was much gold there, enough to know that my uncle had known where there was more. Unfortunately the secret to the location of the mine has been lost to everyone. Many have tried to find it to no avail. But I have a clue.”
I said, “Let me guess, it is located about a third of the way up the canyon walls where there is a tiny steam that is invisible unless you are standing on top of it.”
“Oh yes,” replied Juan Armijo.
I continued, “And there’s the clue about the tiny flat place that grows some small brush.”
“Yes,” said Juan Armijo, those clues are all true, everyone knows them. Senoir Bo remembered well, however I have another clue.”
With that information they all just sat and stared at each other. Finally Hidalgo broke the ice by saying, “What do you want from us?”
“Well, it’s not like you think,” replied Juan Armijo, “actually the story has been in my family for years and I would just like to get to the bottom of it.”
I was still a little worried and interjected, “Like Hidalgo said, what do you, want from us?”
Juan Arm
ijo took a long drink from the lukewarm coffee and replied. “You see, the mine has been a mystery in our family for years and with all the people who have attempted to find it everyone has given up, except, I guess, for you all.”
Again Hidalgo said with a note of impatience in his voice. “But what do you want from us?”
Juan Armijo again took a long drink from the coffee cup and said, “Satisfaction, that’s all. If they found gold those young kids you saw in the cafe would just blow it away, they are all perazosos, too lazy to work for anything. But to me, it is important to know about my uncle, my family. Did he really find a gold mine? Yes I think he did but actually I think he really found something far more important.”
“Something more important,” I asked with a question in my voice?
Juan Armijo shifted his weight in his chair taking a long breath and said, “I’ll make you a deal, if you find gold, keep it. But, if we find something more interesting, and I think we will, I want the Armijo name to be attached to it.”
The Family at Serpiente Page 24