by Various
Jack and cotton-tail rabbits fled by hundreds before us. They are everywhere, and afford good shooting between coveys, it being quick work to get a cotton-tail as he flashes between the net-work of protecting cactus. Coyotes lope away in our front, but they are too wild for a shot-gun. It must ever be in a man's mind to keep his direction, because it is such a vastly simple thing to get lost in the chaparral, where you cannot see a hundred yards. Mexico has such a considerable territory that a man on foot may find it inconvenient to beat up a town in the desolation of thorn-bush.
There is an action about blue-quail shooting which is next to buffalo shooting--it's run, shoot, pick up your bird, scramble on in your endeavor to keep the skirmish-line of your two comrades; and at last, when you have concluded to stop, you can mop your forehead--the Mexican sun shines hot even in midwinter.
Later in the afternoon we get among bob-white in a grassy tract, and while they are clean work--good dog-play, and altogether more satisfactory shooting than any other I know of--I am yet much inclined to the excitement of chasing after game which you can see at intervals. Let it not be supposed that it is less difficult to hit a running blue quail as he shoots through the brush than a flying bob-white, for the experience of our party has settled that, and one gets ten shots at the blue to one at the bob-white, because of their number. As to eating, we could not tell the difference; but I will not insist that this is final. A man who comes in from an all day's run in the brush does not care whether the cook gives him boiled beans, watermelon, or crackers and jam; so how is he to know what a bird's taste is when served to a tame appetite?
At intervals we ran into the wild cattle which threaded their way to water, and it makes one nervous. It is of no use to say "Soo-bossy," or to give him a charge of No. 6; neither is it well to run. If the matadores had any of the sensations which I have experienced, the gate receipts at the bull-rings would have to go up. When a big long-horn fastens a quail-shooter with his great open brown eye in a chaparral thicket, you are not inclined to "call his hand." If he will call it a misdeal, you are with him.
We were banging away, the Quartermaster and I, when a human voice began yelling like mad from the brush ahead. We advanced, to find a Mexican--rather well gotten up--who proceeded to wave his arms like a parson who had reached "sixthly" in his sermon, and who proceeded thereat to overwhelm us with his eloquence. The Quartermaster and I "buenos dias-ed" and "si, senor-ed" him in our helpless Spanish, and asked each other, nervously, "What de'll." After a long time he seemed to be getting through with his subject, his sentences became separated, he finally emitted monosyllables only along with his scowls, and we tramped off into the brush. It was a pity he spent so much energy, since it could only arouse our curiosity without satisfying it.
In camp that night we told the Captain of our excited Mexican friend out in the brush, and our cook had seen sinister men on ponies passing near our camp. The Captain became solicitous, and stationed a night-guard over his precious government mules. It would never do to have a bandit get away with a U. S. brand. It never does matter about private property, but anything with U. S. on it has got to be looked after, like a croupy child.
We had some good days' sport, and no more formidable enterprise against the night-guard was attempted than the noisy approach of a white jackass. The tents were struck and loaded when it began to rain. We stood in the shelter of the escort-wagon, and the storm rose to a hurricane. Our corral became a tank; but shortly the black clouds passed north, and we pulled out. The twig ran into a branch, and the branch struck the trunk near the bluffs over the Rio Grande, and in town there stood the Mexican soldiers leaning against the wall as we had left them. We wondered if they had moved meanwhile.
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THE SOLEDAD GIRLS
By Frederic Remington
"TO-NIGHT I am going down to my ranch--the Soledad--in my private car," said the manager of the Mexican International Railroad, "and I would like the Captain and you to accompany me."
The Captain and I were only too glad; so in process of time we awoke to find our car sidetracked on the Soledad, which is in the state of Coahuila, Mexico. The chaparral spread around, rising and falling in the swell of the land, until it beat against the blue ridge of the Sierra Santa Rosa, miles to the north. Here and there the bright sun spotted on a cow as she threaded the gray stretches; a little coyote-wolf sat on his haunches on a near-by hill-side, and howled protests at his new-found companions; while dimly through the gray meshes of the leaf-denuded chaparral we could see the main ranch-house of the Soledad. We were informed at breakfast by the railroad manager that there was to be that day a "round-up," which is to say, a regular Buffalo Bill Show, with real cowboys, ponies, and cattle, all three of them wild, full of thorns, and just out of the brush.
The negro porters got out the saddles of the young women, thus disclosing their intention to ride ponies instead of in traps. We already knew that they were fearless horseback-riders, but when the string of ponies which were to be our mounts was led up by a few Mexicans, the Captain and I had our well-concealed doubts about their being proper sort of ponies for young girls to ride. We confided in an imperturbable cowboy--one of those dry Texans. He said: "Them are what we would call broke ponies, and you fellers needn't get to worryin' 'bout them little girls--you're jest a-foolin' away good time." Nevertheless, the broncos had the lurking devil in the tails of their eyes as they stood there tied to the wire fencing; they were humble and dejected as only a bronco or a mule can simulate. When that ilk look most cast down, be not deceived, gay brother; they are not like this. Their humility is only humorous, and intended to lure you on to their backs, where, unless you have a perfect understanding of the game, the joke will be on you. Instantly one is mounted, the humility departs; he plunges and starts about, or sets off like the wind, regardless of thorny bushes, tricky ground underfoot, or the seat of the rider.
The manager's wife came out of the car with her little brood of three, and then two visiting friends. These Soledad girls, as I call them, each had a sunburst of yellow hair, were well bronzed by the Mexican sun, and were sturdy little bodies. They were dressed in short skirts, with leggings, topped with Tam o' Shanters, while about their waists were cartridge-belts, with delicate knives and revolvers attached, and with spurs and quirts as accessories. They took up their men's saddles, for they rode astride, except the two visitors, who were older and more lately from Chicago. They swung their saddles on to the ponies, showing familiarity with the ladigo straps of the Texas saddles, and proudly escaping the humiliation which alights on the head of one who in the cow-camps cannot saddle his own "bronc." Being ready, we mounted, and followed a cowboy off down the road to the rodeo-ground. The manager and Madam Mamma rode in a buckboard, proudly following with their gaze the galloping ponies which bore their jewels. I thought they should be fearful for their safety, but after more intimate inspection, I could see how groundless was such solicitude.
I must have it understood that these little vaquero girls were not the ordinary Texas product, fed on corn-meal and bred in the chaparral, but the much looked after darlings of a fond mother. They are taken South every winter, that their bodies may be made lithe and healthy, but at the same time two or more governesses crowd their minds with French, German, and other things with which proper young girls should be acquainted. But their infant minds did not carry back to the days when they had not felt a horse under them. To be sure, in the beginning it was only a humble donkey, but even before they knew they had graduated to ponies, and while yet ten years old, it was only by a constant watch that they were kept off unbroken broncos--horses that made the toughest vaqueros throw down their hats, tighten their belts, and grin with fear.
From over the hills came the half-wild cattle, stringing along at a trot, all bearing for the open space in the waste of the chaparral where the rodeo occurred, while behind them followed the cowboys--gay desert figures with brown, pinched faces, long hair, and shouting wild cries. The exhilara
tion of the fine morning, the tramp of the thousands, got into the curls of the three little Misses Golden-hairs, and they scurried away, while I followed to feast on this fresh vision, where absolutely ideal little maids shouted Spanish at murderous-looking Mexican cow-punchers done up in bright scrapes and costumed out of all reason. As the vaqueros dashed about hither and thither to keep their herds moving in the appointed direction, the infants screamed in their childish treble and spurred madly too. A bull stands at bay, but a child dashes at him, while he turns and flees. It is not their first rodeo, one can see, but I should wish they were with mamma and the buckboard, instead of out here in the brush, charging wild bulls, though in truth this never were written. These bulls frequently charge men, and a cow-pony turns like a ball off a bat, and a slippery seat in the saddle may put you under the feet of the outraged monarch of the range.
Driving down to the rodeo-ground, we all stood about on our ponies and held the herd, as it is called, the young girls doing vaquero duty, as imperturbable of mien as Mr. Flannagan, the foreman. So many women in the world are afraid of a dairy cow, even gathering up their skirts and preparing to shriek at the sight of one eating daisies. But these young women will grow up and they will be afraid of no cow. So much for a Soledad education.
The top-ropers rode slowly into the dust of the milling herd, scampered madly, cast their ropes, and came jumping to us with a blatting calf trailing at their ropes' end. Two men seized the little victim, threw him on his back, cut a piece out of his ear with a knife, and still held him in relentless grip while another pressed a red-hot branding-iron on his side, which sizzled and sent up blue smoke, together with an odor of burned flesh. The calves bawled piteously. There was no more emotion on the faces of the Soledad girls than was shown by the brown cowboys. They had often, very often, seen this before, and their nerves were strong. Some day I can picture in my mind's eye these young girl vaqueros grown to womanhood, and being such good-looking creatures, very naturally some young man will want very badly to marry one of them--for it cannot be otherwise. I only hope he will not be a thin-chested, cigarette-smoking dude, because it will be a sacrilege of nature. He must undoubtedly have played forward at Princeton or Yale, or be unworthy.
As we stood, a massive bull emerged from the body of the herd, his head thrown high, tail stiff with anger, eye rolling, and breath coming quick. He trotted quickly forward, and, lowering his head, charged through the "punchers." Instantly a small Soledad girl was after him, the vaqueros reining back to enjoy the strange ride with their eyes. Her hat flew off, and the long curls flapped in the rushing air as her pony fairly sailed over the difficult ground. The bull tore furiously, but behind him swept the pony and the child. As we watched, the chase had gone a mile away, but little Miss Yellowcurls drew gradually to the far side of the bull, quartering him on the far side, and whirling on, headed her quarry back to her audience and the herd. The rough-and-ready American range boss sat sidewise in his saddle and thought--for he never talked unnecessarily, though appreciation was chalked all over his pose. The manager and madam felt as though they were responsible for this wonderful thing. The Mexican cowboys snapped their fingers and eyes at one another, shouting quick Spanish, while the American part of the beholders agreed that it was the "limit"; "that as a picture," etc.; "that the American girl, properly environed "; "that this girl in particular," etc., was a dream. Then the bull and the girl came home; the bull to his fellows, and the girl to us. But she didn't have an idea of our admiration, because we didn't tell her; that would have been wrong, as you can imagine. Ten years will complicate little Miss Yellowcurls. Then she could be vain about such a thing; but, alas! she will not be--she will have forgotten.
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THE SPIRIT OF MAHONGUI
By Frederic Remington
IT is so I have called this old document, which is an extract from the memoirs of le Chevalier Bailloquet, a Frenchman living in Canada, where he was engaged in the Indian fur trade, about the middle of the seventeenth century, and as yet they are unpublished.
It is written in English, since the author lived his latter life in England, having left Canada as the result of troubles with the authorities.
He was captured by the Iroquois, and after living with them some time, made his escape to the Dutch.
My Chevalier rambles somewhat, although I have been at pains to cut out extraneous matter. It is also true that many will not believe him in these days, for out of their puny volition they will analyze, and out of their discontent they will scoff. But to those I say, Go to your microbes, your statistics, your volts, and your bicycles, and leave me the truth of other days.
The Chevalier was on a voyage from Quebec to Montreal; let him begin:
The next day we embarqued, though not without confusion, because many weare not content, nor satisfied. What a pleasure ye two fathers to see them trott up and downe ye rocks to gett their manage into ye boat. The boats weare so loaded that many could not proceed if foul weather should happen. I could not persuade myself to stay with this concourse as ye weather was faire for my journie. Without adoe, I gott my six wild men to paddle on ye way.
This was a fatal embarquation, butt I did not mistrust that ye Iriquoits weare abroad in ye forest, for I had been at ye Peace. Nevertheless I find that these wild men doe naught butt what they resolve out of their bloodie mindedness. We passed the Point going out of ye Lake St. Peter, when ye Barbars appeared on ye watter-side discharging their muskets at us, and embarquing for our pursuit.
"Kohe--kohe!"--came nearer ye fearsome warre cry of ye Iriquoit, making ye hearts of ye poore Hurron & ffrench alike to turn to water in their breasts. 2 of my savages weare strook downe at ye first discharge & another had his paddle cutt in twain, besides shott holes through with the watter poured apace. Thus weare we diminished and could not draw off.
The Barbars weare daubed with paint, which is ye signe of warre. They coming against our boat struck downe our Hurrons with hattchetts, such as did not jump into the watter, where also they weare in no wise saved.
But in my boat was a Hurron Captayne, who all his life-time had killed many Iriquoits & by his name for vallor had come to be a great Captayne att home and abroad. We weare resolved some execution & with our gunns dealt a discharge & drew our cutlasses to strike ye foe. They environed us as we weare sinking, and one spake saying--"Brothers, cheere up and assure yourselfe you shall not be killed; thou art both men and Cap-taynes, as I myself am, and I will die in thy defense." And ye afforesaid crew shewed such a horrid noise, of a sudden ye Iriquoit Captayne took hold about me--"Thou shalt not die by another hand than mine."
Ye savages layd bye our armes & tyed us fast in a boat, one in one boat and one in another. We proceeded up ye river, rather sleeping than awake, for I thought never to escape.
Att near sunsett we weare taken on ye shore, where ye wild men encamped bye making cottages of rind from off ye trees. They tyed ye Hurron Captayne to a trunk, he resolving most bravely but dessparred to me, and I too dessparred. Nevertheless he sang his fatal song though ye fire made him as one with the ague. They tooke out his heart and cut off some of ye flesh of ye miserable, boyled it and eat it. This they wished not to doe att this time, but that ye Hurron had been shott with a ball under his girdle where it was not seen, though he would have died of his desperate wound. That was the miserable end of that wretch.
Whilst they weare busy with ye Hurron, they having stripped me naked, tyed me above ye elbows, and wrought a rope about my middle. They afked me several questions, I not being able to answer, they gave me great blows with their fists, then pulled out one of my nails. Having lost all hopes, I resolved altogether to die, itt being folly to think otherwise.
I could not flee, butt was flung into a boat att daylight. Ye boats went all abreaft, ye wild men singing some of their fatal songs, others their howls of victory, ye wild "Kohes," beating giens & parchments, blowing whistles, and all manner of tumult.
Thus did we proceed with thes
e ravening wolves, God having delivered a Chriftian into ye power of Satan.
I was nott ye only one in ye claws of these wolves, for we fell in with 150 more of these cruels, who had Hurron captyves to ye number of 33 victimes, with heads alsoe stuck on poles, of those who in God's mercie weare gone from their miseries. As for me, I was put in a boat with one who had his fingers cutt & bourned. I asked him why ye Iriquoits had broak ye Peace, and he said they had told him ye ffrench had broak ye Peace; that ye ffrench had set their pack of doggs on an olde Iriquoit woman who was eat up alive & that ye Iriquoits had told ye Hurron wild men that they had killed ye doggs, alsoe Hurrons and ffrench, saying that as to ye captyves, they would boyl doggs, Hurrons, and ffrench in ye same kettle.
A great rain arose, ye Iriquoits going to ye watter-side did cover themselvs with their boats, holding ye captyves ye meanwhile bye ropes bound about our ancles, while we stood out in ye storm, which was near to causing me death from my nakedness. When ye rain had abated, we pursued our way killing staggs, & I was given some entrails, which before I had only a little parched corne to ye extent of my handfull.
At a point we mett a gang of ye head hunters all on ye shore, dancing about a tree to which was tyed a fine ffrench mastiff dogg, which was standing on its hinder leggs, being lashed up against a tree by its middle. Ye dogg was in a great terror, and frantic in its bonds. I knew him for a dogg from ye fort att Mont-royal, kept for to give warnings of ye Enemy's approach. It was a strange sight for to see ye Heathen rage about ye noble dogg, but he itt was nevertheless which brought ye Barbars against us. He was only gott with great difficulty, having killed one Barbar, and near to serving others like-wise.
