The White Chief: A Legend of Northern Mexico
Page 20
CHAPTER TWENTY.
The "ranchos" and "haciendas" of the valley extended nearly ten milesalong the stream below San Ildefonso. Near the town they were studdedmore thickly; but, as you descended the stream, fewer were met with, andthose of a poorer class. The fear of the "Indios bravos" preventedthose who were well off from building their establishments at any greatdistance from the Presidio. Poverty, however, induced others to riskthemselves nearer the frontier; and, as for several years the settlementhad not been disturbed, a number of small farmers and graziers hadestablished themselves as far as eight or ten miles distance below thetown.
Half-a-mile beyond all these stood an isolated dwelling--the last to beseen in going down the valley. It seemed beyond the pale ofprotection--so far as the garrison was concerned--for no patrol everextended its rounds to so distant a point. Its owner evidently trustedto fate, or to the clemency of the Apaches--the Indians who usuallytroubled the settlement,--for the house in question was in no other wayfortified against them. Perhaps its obscure and retired situationcontributed to its security.
It stood somewhat off the road, not near the stream, but back under theshadow 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 suchbuildings showed white fronts, because near at hand gypsum was to be hadfor the digging. Some of greater pretension had windows that looked asthough they were glazed. So they were, but not with glass. The shiningplates 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. Itstood under the cliff, its brown mud walls scarce contrasting with thecolour of the rock; and, instead of windows, a pair of dark holes, witha few wooden bars across them, gave light to the interior.
This light, however, was only a supplement to that which entered by thedoor, habitually kept open.
The front of the house was hardly visible from the valley road. Atraveller would never have noticed it, and even the keen eye of anIndian might have failed to discover it. The singular fence thatsurrounded it hid it from view,--singular to the eye of one unaccustomedto the vegetation of this far land, it was a fence of columnar cacti.The plants that formed it were regular fluted columns, six inches thickand from six to ten feet high. They stood side by side like pickets ina stockade, so close together that the eye could scarce see through theinterstices, still further closed by the thick beard of thorns. Neartheir tops in the season these vegetable columns became loaded withbeautiful wax-like flowers, which disappeared only to give way to brightand luscious fruits. It was only after passing through the opening inthis fence that the little rancho could be seen; and although its wallswere rude, the sweet little flower-garden that bloomed within theenclosure told that the hand of care was not absent.
Beyond the cactus-fence, and built against the cliff, was anotherenclosure--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 orstable of small dimensions. Sometimes half-a-dozen mules and double thenumber of oxen might be seen in that corral, and in the stable as fine ahorse as ever carried saddle. Both were empty now, for the animals thatusually occupied them were out. Horse, mules, and oxen, as well astheir owner, were far away upon the prairies.
Their owner was Carlos the cibolero. Such was the home of thebuffalo-hunter, the home of his aged mother and fair sister. Such hadbeen their home since Carlos was a child.
And yet they were not of the people of the valley nor the town. Neitherrace--Spanish nor Indian--claimed them. They differed from both aswidely as either did from the other. It was true what the padre hadsaid. True that they were Americans; that their father and mother hadsettled in the valley a long time ago; that no one knew whence they hadcome, except that they had crossed the great plains from the eastward;that they were _hereticos_, and that the padres could never succeed inbringing them into the fold of the Church; that these would haveexpelled, or otherwise punished them, but for the interference of themilitary Comandante; and furthermore, that both were always regarded bythe common people of the settlement with a feeling of superstitiousdread. Latterly this feeling, concentrated on the mother of Carlos, hadtaken a new shape, and they looked upon her as a _hechicera_--a witch--and crossed themselves devoutly whenever she met them. This was notoften, for it was rare that she made her appearance among theinhabitants of the valley. Her presence at the fiesta of San Juan wasthe act of Carlos, who had been desirous of giving a day's amusement tothe mother and sister he so much loved.
Their American origin had much to do with the isolation in which theylive. Since a period long preceding that time, bitter jealousy existedbetween the Spano-Mexican and Anglo-American races. This feeling hadbeen planted by national animosity, and nursed and fomented bypriestcraft. Events that have since taken place had already cast theirshadows over the Mexican frontier; and Florida and Louisiana wereregarded as but steps in the ladder of American aggrandisement; but theunderstanding of these matters was of course confined to the moreintelligent; but all were imbued with the bad passions of internationalhate.
The family of the cibolero suffered under the common prejudice, and onthat account lived almost wholly apart from the inhabitants of thevalley. What intercourse they had was mostly with the native Indianpopulation--the poor Tagnos, who felt but little of this anti-Americanfeeling.
If we enter the rancho of Carlos we shall see the fair-haired Rositaseated upon a _petate_, and engaged in weaving rebosos. The piece ofmechanism which serves her for a loom consists of only a few pieces ofwood rudely carved. So simple is it that it is hardly just to call it amachine. Yet those long bluish threads stretched in parallel lines, andvibrating to the touch of her nimble fingers, will soon be woven into abeautiful scarf to cover the head of some coquettish poblana of thetown. None in the valley can produce such rebosos as the cibolero'ssister. 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 ofsubsistence.
There are but two rooms in the rancho, and that is one more than will befound in most of its fellows. But the delicate sentiment still existsin the Saxon mind. The family of the cibolero are not yet Indianised.
The kitchen is the larger apartment and the more cheerful, becauselighted by the open door. In it you will see a small "brazero," oraltar-like fireplace--half-a-dozen earthen "ollas," shaped like urns--some gourd-shell cups and bowls--a tortilla-stone, with its short legsand inclined surface--some _petates_ to sit upon--some buffalo-robes fora similar purpose--a bag of maize--some bunches of dried herbs, andstrings of red and green chile--but no pictures of saints; and perhapsit is the only house in the whole valley where your eye will _not_ begratified 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 doubther history but that is revealed to no one. Her sharp, lank features;her blanched, yet still luxuriant hair; the wild gleam of her eyes; allrender her appearance singular. Others than the ignorant could not failto fancy her a being different from the common order. No wonder, then,that these regard her as "una hechicera!"