_MY FIRST EXPERIENCE IN NEW MEXICO._
On a warm, pleasant afternoon in the latter part of August, 1866, ourcommand reached the post to which it had been assigned--Fort Bayard, NewMexico. Our ambulance was driven to the top of a little hill, where Ihad leisure to admire the singular beauty of the surrounding country,while my husband was superintending the pitching of the tent.
The command to which we belonged was the first body of Regulars that hadbeen sent across the Plains since the close of the war. Fort Bayard hadbeen garrisoned by a company of colored troops, who were now undermarching orders, and our soldiers were to build the fort, which, as yet,existed only in the general's active brain. The Pinos Altos gold mineswere only twelve miles distant from here, and all the othermines--copper and gold--lying within a range of fifteen miles, had beenprosperously and profitably worked, by Mexicans and Americans; but afterthe breaking out of the war, when the troops had been withdrawn from theTerritory, bands of roving, hostile Indians had visited one mine afteranother, leaving in their wake mutilated corpses and blackened ruins.The news of the soldiery coming to this rich mining country was drawingminers and adventurers from far and near, and Pinos Altos promised tobecome a mining district once more.
Looking around me, I saw a number of officers approaching from where theOne Hundred and Twenty-fifth Infantry was camped. They came to welcomeus to the camp, and I should have liked to receive them "in style;" butall I could do was to smooth my hair with my hand. The tent was not yetpitched, and I certainly should not leave the ambulance, for I hadobserved hosts of centipedes crawling out from under the rocks that hadbeen removed to make room for the tent-poles. The officers groupedthemselves around the ambulance, and after congratulating us on our safearrival, wondered how I had ever found courage to come to this place."Did it not seem an age since I had parted with the last lady, at FortSelden?" and "How would I like living here--the only lady in thiswilderness--without quarters, without comforts of any kind?"
"Oh, I shall do nicely," I said. "I have not slept under a roof sinceleaving Fort Leavenworth, five months ago, and all the comforts we arein want of are commissaries; which of you, gentlemen, is quarter-master,by the way? I should like to send to the commissary to-day, though it isafter issuing hours."
"Yes, certainly," said the quarter-master; "but our supply is limitedjust now. What do you wish for?"
"Sugar, coffee, tea," I enumerated; "canned fruit, rice--"
"Stop! stop!" hurriedly exclaimed the quarter-master; "all in the worldwe have in the commissary is soap, salt, and beans. We have taken ourcoffee without sugar since the Apaches captured the last train, and werather hoped to get commissaries from your train."
Accustomed as I had become to live on "hard tack" and baconoccasionally, when it was dangerous to light fires, on account of"drawing" the Indians, this piece of information did not dampen myspirits in the least; but at night, while the cook was preparing oursupper of coffee, bacon, and soda-biscuits, the orderly sergeant of thecompany made his appearance at the entrance of our tent, and, after theusual military salute, presented a large tin-pan filled with sugar, anda bag with coffee. "The men," he said, "had requested that theirrations of coffee and sugar be delivered to the lieutenant's wife, tillthe next train should bring fresh supplies." The men had styled me "themother of the company;" and this was only one of the many proofs ofgood-will and devotion I was constantly receiving, in return for somelittle trifling kindnesses I had shown one or the other, while crossingthe plains and deserts of Kansas and New Mexico. A little piece oflinen, to tie up a bruised finger; a cup of vinegar, a lump of whitesugar, to change the taste of the wretched drinking-water, to some poorinvalid, were held in sacred remembrance by these men; and some of themhad risked their lives, in turn, to procure for me a drink of freshwater, when sick and faint, crossing Jornada del Muerto, that terribleJourney of Death.
Our tent looked cozy enough, when finished and furnished. A piece ofbrilliant red carpeting was spread on the ground; the bedding was laidon planks, resting on trestles; the coverlet was a red blanket; thecamp-chairs were covered with bright cloth, and the supper--served onthe lid of the mess-chest--looked clean and inviting. The kitchen, justback of the tent, was rather a primitive institution: a hole dug intothe ground, two feet long, a foot wide, with two flat, iron bars laidover it, was all there was to be seen. Two or three mess-pans, a spider,and a Dutch-oven constituted our kitchen furniture; and with theselimited means, an old soldier will accomplish wonders in the way ofcooking. Before enlisting, one of our servants had been a baker; theother, a waiter at a hotel; and, between them, they managed the task ofwaiting on us very creditably. To be sure, my husband's rank entitledhim to but one servant from the company; but then I was the only ladywith the command, and our company commander was considerate of mycomfort.
Reveille always comes early; but that first morning in Fort Bayard itcame _very_ early. The knowledge that we had reached "our haven ofrest," after a five months' journey, made me want to sleep. I wished tofeel sure that our tent was not to be struck directly afterbreakfast--that the bed would not be rolled up and tumbled into thearmy-wagon--that I should not have to creep into the ambulance, andride, ride, ride, all that day again. But we had agreed to visit thegreat Santa Rita copper mines that day, in company with all theofficers; and Charley was rapping at the tent, to say that breakfast wasalmost ready. We started directly after guard-mount: five officers, sixmen--who had been detailed as escort--and myself. We were all wellmounted. My own horse, Toby--the swiftest and strongest of them all--wassnow-white, with delicate, slender limbs, and tall, even for a cavalryhorse. The camp was located in a valley, some four miles square; gentlyrising hills inclosed it on every side; beyond these, on one side, rosethe San Jose Mountains, and, in an almost opposite direction, the PinosAltos Range. All these hills and mountains were said to contain metal;copper and gold, and even cinnabar, could be found. And we were nowmaking our way to the foot-hills, where the officers had promised toshow us some rich leads they had discovered. We dismounted when we hadreached the place; and some of the escort acting as guard against Indian"surprises," the rest were set to work, with picks and hatchets, to digup specimens. They had not long to dig, for every rock they struckcontained copper; and frequently the little specks of gold in it couldbe seen with the naked eye.
But it must not be supposed that these hills were barren, or destituteof verdure. On the contrary, as far as the eye could reach, even thehighest mountains were covered with grass, scrub-oaks, and cedars; whilein the valley, and on the hills, there was one bright carpet of grassand wild flowers. The white tents in the valley, with the flag-staff inthe centre, and the flag just moving in the morning breeze, thedark-green trees shading the tents, the stream of water (called by thecaptain Minne-ha-ha) running around the camp--all this looked sorefreshing, so beautiful, after those long day's marches among thesand-hills of the Rio Grande, and the weary tramps over the burningdeserts we had lately left behind us, that my enthusiasm rose to thehighest pitch.
"Why don't somebody claim this delightful country?--why don't people inthe army resign, and own mines, and settle down here to live?" Iasked--very irrationally, I am afraid.
"My dear madam," said the captain, leading me to the edge of the hill,and pointing downward, where, amid the long, waving grass and bright,laughing flowers, I discovered the charred logs of what had once been aminer's cabin, "neither the beauty of the country, nor the wealth of itsminerals, has been overlooked; and hundreds of men have lost theirlives, in trying to wrest from the Indian's grasp what would be abenefit and blessing to civilization."
I wanted to go near enough to touch with my hand two graves that wereclose by the burnt logs, but the captain refused to let me go. It wasabout fifty yards from where the guard was placed; and that, he said,was almost certain death. He promised, that as soon as the Mexican guideshould return from Fort Craig, he would place him, with a sufficientlylarge escort, at my command, to visit the whole of the surroundingcountry. Th
e guide--old Cecilio--had lived in this country before it hadcome into Uncle Sam's possession; had had many a narrow escape from theIndians, and knew the history of every mine and shaft in all thatregion. Pointing to the San Jose Mountain Range, the captain said therewas a wagon-road leading along its foot to the Santa Rita mines, butthat he knew of an Indian trail, which would take us there much quicker.Remounting, we resumed our journey.
New beauty surprised us every little while: sometimes it was a littlesilver rivulet, running over the most beautiful ferns; then a group oftrees and red-berried shrubs; and again, a clump of rare flowers. Butone thing weighed down the spirit like lead, in these wild regions: itwas the death-like, uninterrupted silence that reigned over all. Therewas nothing of life to be seen or heard--no bird, no butterfly. Thelizard slipped noiselessly over the rocks at your feet, and thetarantula gaped at you with wide-open eyes, before retreating to theshelter of her nest in the ground. But even the carrion-crow, followingwherever human beings lead the way, never left the limits of the camp.
We had now reached a deep ravine. A shallow creek was running at ourfeet; dark, frowning mountains seemed to hem us in on every side; ourhorses looked tired, and the captain very unexpectedly announced that hehad lost his way! He said he felt sure that this creek was to be crossed_somewhere_, but not here where our horses were drinking now. OldCecilio had always accompanied him before this, and--and--in short, wewere lost! Just then one of the men rode up to the lieutenant's side,and said something to him in a low tone. "Where?" asked he. The manpointed down the creek. The officers dismounted to examine the ground,and found the fresh tracks of eight or nine Apache Indians. To be sure,there were eleven men and officers on our side; but our horses werepretty well worn, and the camp twenty miles away, for aught we knew. Themen looked to their fire-arms, while the officers consulted. If we wereattacked here, the Indians, even if they could not take us, could starveus out before any party sent out from the fort could find us. Therefore,to proceed was our only chance. Perhaps, if we could succeed in reachingthe top of the next mountain, we might discover some landmark showing usour way back to camp. Some one proposed to search again for the trailto the copper-mine; but the captain told us it was one of the favoritehaunts of the Indians when in this part of the country, and this partyhad probably gone there now. At last we moved on, the escort so disposedthat I was covered on every side. The mountain was steep, and coveredwith sharp rocks, cactus, and _chaparral_, which appeared to me movingand peopled with hideous forms. Every moment I expected to hear a savageyell, and see a shower of arrows flying around our devoted heads. Many atime a finger was raised and pointed silently, so as not to frighten me,to some suspicious-looking object; but all remained quiet, and wereached the summit at last, only to see that we were surrounded bymountains still higher and steeper than the one we had climbed. Givingour horses but short breathing-time, we made the next ascent, hopingthen to see our way clear; but again we were disappointed. Never before,perhaps, had the foot of the white man left its impress on thesesolitary heights. There was untold wealth hidden under these sharprocks, and in the crevices and clefts that looked so dark andtreacherous in the afternoon sun; but even the mines of Golconda wouldhave had but little interest for us just then.
We had now come to a mountain that we must descend some five hundredfeet before we could make the ascent of the next. With trembling legs,the horses began the steep descent; the first horse stumbled and fell,and then the men were ordered to dismount and lead their horses. Iwanted to do the same, but was told to remain in the saddle, as I couldnot mount quick enough, should the Indians attack us. When the horsesfound foothold at last, it was almost impossible to urge them on; sosome of the men volunteered to reconnoitre in different directions,while the officers remained with me. At last, one of the men, havingreached the summit, telegraphed to us that he had discovered somefriendly post, and made signs how we were to travel round the mountain.Sundown saw us in camp again, worn out and hungry, but by no meansdaunted or discouraged. Santa Rita was to be abandoned until the oldguide returned; but Pinos Altos was to be visited without him, in a dayor two.
Poor Toby was tired and jaded after this exploit, so he was allowed toroam through camp, at his "own sweet will," without lariat orpicket-rope; he could always pick out our tent from the rest, and hecame to look into it, one morning, just as the cook had laid afreshly-baked loaf of bread on the mess-chest to cool. I had been in thehabit of giving Toby a bite of our lunch whenever the command halted,and I could reach the lunch-basket; he was satisfied with anything Igave him--a bit of bacon, a piece of "hard-tack," a lump of sugar--andthinking now, I suppose, that he was being neglected, when I did notlook up from my sewing, he quietly withdrew. The next moment I heard themen outside shouting, "Thief! you thief!" Stepping to the entrance ofthe tent, I saw Toby, the loaf of bread firmly between his teeth, makinghis way, at a two-forty gait, across the parade-ground. This made ourbill of fare rather meagre for that day--"slap-jacks" taking the placeof the bread. But, then, we would soon have eggs, the cook said; and hecould do so many things with eggs. Now, these eggs were some that weexpected certain chickens, then _en route_ from Fort Cummings, to layfor us. An officer there had had some chickens brought up from El Paso,at great expense and greater trouble; of these, he had promised us threedozen, and they were now coming to Fort Bayard under escort of tencavalrymen. I had made Charley promise, on honor, never to ask to killone of these for the table, but to content himself with using the eggsthey would, should, and ought to lay. Toward evening the escort with thewagon came in sight; all the men rushed down the road to meet it; andwhen the box containing the chickens was opened and the flock let loose,the whole company gave three cheers, and, for days afterward, the mencould be heard, all over camp, crowing like roosters. They never seemedto get tired of feeding the chickens extra handfuls of corn, religiouslybringing to our kitchen any stray egg a gadding hen had laid in thecompany hay.
The morning was cool and bright, when Copp and Toby, capering anddancing, as though we had never been lost in the mountains, were led upto the tent. The escort was already mounted, and every man of the twelvelooked upon this as a holiday. They all had their curiosity to see PinosAltos; but the clean gauntlets and white shirts had been donned in honorof this--to them--great event: escorting the first white lady, anofficer's wife, into Pinos Altos. I can never tire of speaking of themagnificent scenery in this part of New Mexico. It was not NewMexico--it was a small piece of the Garden of Eden, thrown in byProvidence, from above, in sheer pity for the Americans, when Uncle Sammade that Ten Million Purchase, known as the Gadsden. We galloped alonga smooth road, made by the men for hauling fire-wood over, for a mile ortwo, till we crossed the Minne-ha-ha, and shortly after struck the PinosAltos road. It had been a well travelled road at one time, though theIndian only had crossed it, in his wanderings, these three or four yearspast. Scrub-oak, and shrubs for which I knew no name, by the wayside;the aloe plant and cactus, _grama_ grass and wild flowers, peeping outfrom under fragments of moss-covered rock; here and there a cedar, orpine, made the impression that we were inspecting extensivepleasure-grounds; the little stream--Whiskey Creek--that found itswinding way down from Pinos Altos, was bordered by willows, and, thoughshallow, afforded us all a cool drink. The road rises almost from thetime of leaving the fort, but so gently at first as to be hardlynoticed. Part of the escort rode before us, for those romantic-lookinghills, springing up here and there on our way, had many a time servedas ambush for the savage hordes that infest all this country; and morethan one grave by the road-side spoke of sudden attack, of sharpcontest, and final defeat.
An officer alone would have thought it unnecessary to take so large anescort as ours, but the commanding officer had stipulated that thelieutenant must not undertake these rides with me unless he took twelvemen. The Indians would risk any number of their braves, he said, to getan officer's wife into their possession; and then he would have to turnout his whole command to rescue me. So, to save him this trouble,
wepromised to obey orders.
There was one curious hill, that I never passed without counting fromsix to twelve rattlesnakes wriggling up the side of it. This rattlesnakehill was about half-way between camp and Pinos Altos; and a mile or twobeyond, I saw the first tall pines, from which this region takes itsname. They were giants, in fact; it made me dizzy to look up to thetallest point I could see, as the tree swayed gently to and fro againstthe deep-blue sky.
Our horses were walking now; the hills grew into mountains, and camecloser around us; the road was hardly a road any more--I doubt thatanything but Indian ponies or pack-trains had ever gone over it, tillthe "boys in blue" came here--and the inconsiderate thorns caught andtore my "best" riding-habit at every step. We could now see the redearth the miners in this section liked so well to find; they had beenprospecting all along Whiskey Creek, but had gone higher and higher,till settling in Pinos Altos proper, at last. Up, up, we went, till Ithought we must be nearing the clouds. The air felt sharp and cool, evenin the midday sun, but we had not yet reached the summit.
At last the advance-guard halted, and one of the men, turning, utteredan exclamation of wonder and surprise. The Pinos Altos people had cutdown the tall pines as much as possible on this side, because theIndians had always approached under cover of them when they had madetheir attacks on the place; and now, without hindrance or obstruction,we had a view, such as I have never enjoyed since. All the mountains Ihad thought so immensely high lay at our feet, and away beyond them Icould see far into the country--for hundreds of miles, it seemed to me.To the right of us, we could peer into Old Mexico; the ThreeBrothers--three peaks very similar in appearance and closetogether--were pointed out to me; and over that way was Janos, theysaid--the first town after crossing the border--the place our desertersand fugitives from justice always tried to reach. Five minutes' ride nowbrought us in sight of Pinos Altos--a few straggling shanties, built oflogs, brush, or _adobe_, just as it happened to suit the builder. BeyondPinos Altos the world seemed literally shut in, or shut out, bymountains; there was snow on the highest peaks nine months of the year;no one had felt inclined to explore them as yet--indeed, it was allpeople could do to draw their breath comfortably here, I thought. Thestreets in this city had not yet been thoroughly regulated, as some ofthe inhabitants had found it convenient to commence mining operationsin, or immediately outside, their houses; and, following a good leadthey had struck, had sometimes continued these operations till someother miner, with six-shooter in hand, had declared no man had a rightto dig "round his shanty." Some other miner had coaxed the waters ofWhiskey Creek on to his "claim," situated on the other side of town,having dug for this purpose a ditch some five or six feet deep. Stillanother had sunk a shaft twenty feet deep, at his front door, so as to"hold that mine" for two years. But mining was not confined to thestreets of the city, by any means; companies of five, six, or twenty menhad ventured out as far as their number would permit. It would not havebeen a very safe occupation at the best; for even our men, when sent tocut hay within sight of the fort, had to work with their revolversbuckled on, and their carbines within reach. How much more, then, didthese men risk, in lonely, out-of-the-way places, where no succor couldreach them--where only the serene sky overhead, and the red demoninflicting the torture, could hear the last agonized cry that escapedthe blanched lips of his writhing, helpless victim.
As we approached, the miners laid down their picks, and stared at us.Here and there a Mexican woman, who had followed the fortunes of herlord and master into the wilderness, appeared at the door of someshanty, her head covered with the inevitable _rebozo_; and, taking aquick survey of our party, would vanish the next moment to communicatethe news of our arrival to her _amigos_ and _compadres_. "Taking" theditches, but carefully avoiding the shafts, we came to a house ratherlarger and better-appearing than the rest, and were invited by amannerly Spaniard to alight and rest in his "house." His wife waited onus in the pleasantest manner; but the building we had entered consistedof only one room, which was store, sitting-room, kitchen, and all. Thenews of our arrival spread like wild-fire; miners from far and nearhurried to Rodriguez' store; and the place being small, the circlearound us was soon as close as good manners would allow of--and goodmanners they all had, Mexicans and Americans. Those who could not findroom inside, were out by the door, patting Toby, examining myside-saddle, and asking questions of the escort. Senor Rodriguez was inthe habit of weighing the gold the miners found in the course of theday, and buying it for greenbacks, or exchanging for it such provisionsas he had on hand. A huge, bearded Mexican stepped up to the littlecounter now, and emptying his leather bag of its shining contents,selected the largest piece--the size of a hazel-nut--and presented itto me, with an air of such genuine honesty, such chivalric grace, that Ifelt I could not refuse the gift without wounding the man's feelings. Icould only say, "Thank you," in English; but having accepted this firstoffering, I could not refuse to accept from the rest the largest pieceof gold each miner had found that day. The first piece had been thelargest found.
Taking our departure when the sun was almost hidden behind themountains, we could not shake off a nervous feeling as we picked our waythrough the labyrinth of rocks, trees, and shrubs, for this was thefavorite hour for Indian attacks. They hardly ever attack a train orcamp after night; their chosen time is just before dark, or early in themorning, before sunrise; of course, they are not particular as to whathour of the day they can appropriate your scalp, but they have seldom ornever been known to attack the whites at night.
We could already see the camp-fires in the distance, when a number ofstealthily moving objects in the road attracted my attention. Tobysnorted as though an Indian were already clutching at the bridle; but amost discordant yelping, barking, and howling struck my ear just thenlike the sweetest of music: a pack of _coyotes_ only had gathered aroundus. They followed us all the way to camp, and, surrounding our quarters,kept up their serenade till broad daylight. A band of equally musicalwild-cats had chosen the infantry camp as the theatre for theirperformances; and an occasional roar from one of those long-built,panther-like animals called California lions taught me that there waslife and animation in Nature here at night, if not in the daytime.
Old Cecilio having returned during our absence, we started out, the nextmorning, after guard-mount, on another exploring expedition. When thehills, shutting in the valley with the fort, had closed behind us, wehalted for a moment to look down the road by which we had firstapproached Fort Bayard. There, before us to the left, lay the San JoseMountain Range, grand and stately, partly covered with cedars, pines,and firs. Winding along the foot of the range, the eye could follow thecourse of the beautiful, silver-clear White Water, bordered by willows,ash, and poplars. The most fantastic rocks rose abruptly out of thewater, here and there, covered with moss and vines; an aloe plant orcactus generally adorning the highest point--growing where not a handfulof earth could be seen, from which they might draw life and sustenance.To the right of us--ah! there was New Mexico, its barren hills, itsmonotonous plains, "the trail of the serpent" lying over all; for theIndians had only lately set fire to the grass, and it had consumed thescant vegetation.
An hour's ride brought us in sight of the ruins of the San Jose coppermines, on the side of the mountain. It was rather steep climbing toreach it; but the plateau, on which the works lay, must have been aquarter of a mile across. Placing sentinels, we inspected the old mill.Everything was rude and primitive, but huge in dimensions; and thedifferent _jacals_ that surrounded the _adobe_ building corroborated theguide's statement that some fifty men had been employed here, "and theyhad fought bravely and sold their lives dearly," he said, "the day theywere attacked by the Indians, three or four years ago."
"A white man," Cecilio continued, "a rebel, had led this band ofIndians, and, adding his knowledge of the habits of the white man to thecunning of the savages, but few Americans or Mexicans could escape thesefiends. This wretch never erred in the aim he took--a ball through theneck always
sending his victim to his last account--but here, on thisspot, he had found his match. Some American, whose name the guide hadforgotten, had sent a bullet through his traitor's heart, at last; andthe Indians, never resting until the brave man had been laid in thedust, then left this region, because, possibly, there was nothing moreto destroy." Clearing away the brush and rubbish at our feet, the guideheld up his hand--"And here, _senora_," he said,--pointing to two sunkengraves marked by pieces of smoothed plank,--"here they are buried sideby side: the rebel who led the Indians, and the white man who killedhim." It was nothing uncommon to meet with nameless graves in thiscountry; but a thrill passed through my heart, as I looked at these twomounds, where friend and foe slumbered so peacefully, "side by side."
It was dangerous to tarry long in one spot, the guide reminded us. Theorderly brought Copp and Toby, and we pursued our way through thelaughing, blooming valley. Nuts, grapes, and hops grew wild here; andpeaches, Cecilio said, grew near the Santa Rita mines, but they had beenplanted there by the former inhabitants and employes of the mines. Themines originally belonged to a Spanish lady, to whose ancestors sevenleagues of the country surrounding them had been granted by the SpanishGovernment, long before the territory belonged to Uncle Sam. Herrepresentatives had worked the mines with a force of some two hundredmen, till the Indians had overpowered them, and destroyed the works. Theimmense piles of copper-ore, on either side of the road, told us that wewere nearing Santa Rita, at last; and there, just at the point of theSan Jose Range, lay a large, strongly-built _adobe_ fort. Buildings ofdifferent sizes and kinds lay clustered around this, which appeared tobe furnace and fastness at once. Placing sentinels, we commencedexploring above ground; under-ground I refused to venture, in mycowardice. We found works of considerable magnitude; I counted twelvebellows, in a kind of hall, that must have been sixty feet high, but therafters and beams overhead had rotted, and the weight of the mud, withwhich all roofs are covered in this country, had borne down the roof,and half covered an enormous wheel, some forty feet in diameter.Everything about this wheel that was not wood, was copper; not a vestigeof iron, steel, or stone, was to be seen around here: it was copper,wood, and _adobe_. But copper was everywhere--copper-ore, so rich thatthe veins running through it could be scraped out with a penknife;copper just smelted; copper beaten into fantastic shapes, as though theworkmen, in their despair, had meant to use these as weapons against theIndians, when attacked here, years ago. For the same band, with thewhite leader, had attacked these works; and Cecilio showed us the dentsthe Indian arrows had made in the little wooden door the men hadsucceeded in closing, when first attacked. But the families of these menhad lived in the buildings outside the fort; and to rescue wife andchildren from death, and worse than death, they had abandoned theirplace of safety in the fort, and, with the superintendent leading them,they had fought the savages bravely, but had been defeated andslaughtered, at last. Leaving nine men with me, the lieutenant, guide,and three men descended into the shaft, went some five hundred yards,and, on their return, reported that everything looked as though desertedonly yesterday.
Having confidence in old Cecilio, we now took the trail we had missedthe other day, as this would enable us to visit the San Jose gold mineon our way back to camp. We could ride only "Indian file," but soon cameto a mountain composed entirely of white flint. Sand and earth, carriedhere by the wind, and bearing grass and flowers, could be scraped asideanywhere, discovering underneath the same semi-transparent rock. Againwe took the narrow trail, which brought us to what appeared to be theentrance to a cave, in the side of a hill; a wooden cross was fastenedover it, and a road, built entirely by hand, led to the half-consumedremains of a number of buildings, on the banks of a creek. The guideand lieutenant entered the mine alone, leaving the men for myprotection, but soon returned, as fallen earth blocked up the passagenear the entrance.
"But oh, _senora_, the gold taken from this mine was somethingwonderful," the guide said, enthusiastically; "and there is still awhole 'cow-skin' full of it, buried in one of these holes"--pointing todifferent shafts we were passing on our way to the burnt cottages. "Whenthe Indians came here the white men tried to take it with them, but wereso closely pursued that they threw it into one of these places,intending to come back for it; but all they could do, later, was to burytheir people decently, and the gold is still there--left for somestranger to find."
The eyes of the soldiers--gathered around the graves we had dismountedto see--glittered at the old guide's tale; but the sight of theselonely, forgotten graves could awaken but one thought in my breast: Howlong would it be before another group might bend over our graves andsay, "I wonder who lies buried here!"
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