Arizona Nights
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Stewart Edward White >> Arizona Nights
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15 ARIZONA NIGHTS
by
STEWART EDWARD WHITE
CHAPTER ONE
THE OLE VIRGINIA
The ring around the sun had thickened all day long, and the
turquoise blue of the Arizona sky had filmed. Storms in the dry
countries are infrequent, but heavy; and this surely meant storm.
We had ridden since sun-up over broad mesas, down and out of
deep canons, along the base of the mountain in the wildest
parts of the territory. The cattle were winding leisurely toward
the high country; the jack rabbits had disappeared; the quail
lacked; we did not see a single antelope in the open.
"It's a case of hole up," the Cattleman ventured his opinion. "I
have a ranch over in the Double R. Charley and Windy Bill hold
it down. We'll tackle it. What do you think?"
The four cowboys agreed. We dropped into a low, broad
watercourse, ascended its bed to big cottonwoods and flowing
water, followed it into box canons between rim-rock carved
fantastically and painted like a Moorish facade, until at last in
a widening below a rounded hill, we came upon an adobe house, a
fruit tree, and a round corral. This was the Double R.
Charley and Windy Bill welcomed us with soda biscuits. We turned
our horses out, spread our beds on the floor, filled our pipes,
and squatted on our heels. Various dogs of various breeds
investigated us. It was very pleasant, and we did not mind the
ring around the sun.
"Somebody else coming," announced the Cattleman finally.
"Uncle Jim," said Charley, after a glance.
A hawk-faced old man with a long white beard and long white hair
rode out from the cottonwoods. He had on a battered broad hat
abnormally high of crown, carried across his saddle a heavy
"eight square" rifle, and was followed by a half-dozen lolloping
hounds.
The largest and fiercest of the latter, catching sight of our
group, launched himself with lightning rapidity at the biggest of
the ranch dogs, promptly nailed that canine by the back of the
neck, shook him violently a score of times, flung him aside, and
pounced on the next. During the ensuing few moments that hound
was the busiest thing in the West. He satisfactorily whipped
four dogs, pursued two cats up a tree, upset the Dutch oven and
the rest of the soda biscuits, stampeded the horses, and raised a
cloud of dust adequate to represent the smoke of battle. We
others were too paralysed to move. Uncle Jim sat placidly on his
white horse, his thin knees bent to the ox-bow stirrups, smoking.
In ten seconds the trouble was over, principally because there
was no more trouble to make. The hound returned leisurely,
licking from his chops the hair of his victims. Uncle Jim shook
his head.
"Trailer," said he sadly, "is a little severe."
We greed heartily, and turned in to welcome Uncle Jim with a
fresh batch of soda biscuits.
The old man was ne of the typical"long hairs." He had come to
the Galiuro Mountains in '69, and since '69 he had remained in
the Galiuro Mountains, spite of man or the devil. At present he
possessed some hundreds of cattle, which he was reputed to water,
in a dry season, from an ordinary dishpan. In times past he had
prospected.
That evening, the severe Trailer having dropped to slumber, he
held forth on big-game hunting and dogs, quartz claims and
Apaches.
"Did you ever have any very close calls?" I asked.
He ruminated a few moments, refilled his pipe with some awful
tobacco, and told the following experience:
In the time of Geronimo I was living just about where I do now;
and that was just about in line with the raiding. You see,
Geronimo, and Ju [1], and old Loco used to pile out of the
reservation at Camp Apache, raid south to the line, slip over
into Mexico when the soldiers got too promiscuous, and raid there
until they got ready to come back. Then there was always a big
medicine talk. Says Geronimo:
[1] Pronounced "Hoo."
"I am tired of the warpath. I will come back from Mexico with
all my warriors, if you will escort me with soldiers and protect
my people."
"All right," says the General, being only too glad to get him
back at all.
So, then, in ten minutes there wouldn't be a buck in camp, but
next morning they shows up again, each with about fifty head of
hosses.
"Where'd you get those hosses?" asks the General, suspicious.
"Had 'em pastured in the hills," answers Geronimo.
"I can't take all those hosses with me; I believe they're
stolen!" says the General.
"My people cannot go without their hosses," says Geronimo.
So, across the line they goes, and back to the reservation. In
about a week there's fifty-two frantic Greasers wanting to know
where's their hosses. The army is nothing but an importer of
stolen stock, and knows it, and can't help it.
Well, as I says, I'm between Camp Apache and the Mexican line, so
that every raiding party goes right on past me. The point is
that I'm a thousand feet or so above the valley, and the
renegades is in such a devil of a hurry about that time that they
never stop to climb up and collect me. Often I've watched them
trailing down the valley in a cloud of dust. Then, in a day or
two, a squad of soldiers would come up, and camp at my spring for
a while. They used to send soldiers to guard every water hole in
the country so the renegades couldn't get water. After a while,
from not being bothered none, I got thinking I wasn't worth while
with them.
Me and Johnny Hooper were pecking away at the old Virginia mine
then. We'd got down about sixty feet, all timbered, and was
thinking of cross-cutting. One day Johnny went to town, and that
same day I got in a hurry and left my gun at camp.
I worked all the morning down at the bottom of the shaft, and
when I see by the sun it was getting along towards noon, I put in
three good shots, tamped 'em down, lit the fusees, and started to
climb out.
It ain't noways pleasant to light a fuse in a shaft, and then
have to climb out a fifty-foot ladder, with it burning behind
you. I never did get used to it. You keep thinking, "Now
suppose there's a flaw in that fuse, or something, and she goes
off in six seconds instead of two minutes? where'll you be
then?" It would give you a good boost towards your home on high,
anyway.
So I climbed fast, and stuck my head out the top without
looking--and then I froze solid enough. There, about
fifty feet away, climbing up the hill on mighty tired hosses, was
a dozen of the ugliest Chiricahuas you ever don't want to meet,
and in addition a Mexican renegade named Maria, who was worse
than any of 'em. I see at once their bosses was tired out, and
they had a notion of camping at my water hole, not knowing
nothing about the Ole Virginia mine.
For two bits I'd have let go all holts and dropped backwards,
trusting to my thick head for easy lighting. Then I heard a
little fizz and sputter from below. At that my hair riz right up
so I could feel the breeze blow under my bat. For about six
seconds I stood there like an imbecile, grinning amiably. Then
one of the Chiricahuas made a sort of grunt, and I sabed that
they'd seen the original exhibit your Uncle Jim was making of
himself.
Then that fuse gave another sputter and one of the Apaches said
"Un dah." That means "white man." It was harder to turn my head
than if I'd had a stiff neck; but I managed to do it, and I see
that my ore dump wasn't more than ten foot away. I mighty near
overjumped it; and the next I knew I was on one side of it and
those Apaches on the other. Probably I flew; leastways I don't
seem to remember jumping.
That didn't seem to do me much good. The renegades were grinning
and laughing to think how easy a thing they had; and I couldn't
rightly think up any arguments against that notion--at least from
their standpoint. They were chattering away to each other in
Mexican for the benefit of Maria. Oh, they had me all
distributed, down to my suspender buttons! And me squatting
behind that ore dump about as formidable as a brush rabbit!
Then, all at once, one of my shots went off down in the shaft.
"Boom!" says she, plenty big; and a slather of rock, and stones
come out of the mouth, and began to dump down promiscuous on the
scenery. I got one little one in the shoulder-blade, and found
time to wish my ore dump had a roof. But those renegades
caught it square in the thick of trouble. One got knocked out
entirely for a minute, by a nice piece of country rock in the
head.
"Otra vez!" yells I, which means "again."
"Boom!" goes the Ole Virginia prompt as an answer.
I put in my time dodging, but when I gets a chance to look, the
Apaches has all got to cover, and is looking scared.
"Otra vez!" yells I again.
"Boom!" says the Ole Virginia.
This was the biggest shot of the lot, and she surely cut loose.
I ought to have been half-way up the bill watching things from a
safe distance, but I wasn't. Lucky for me the shaft was a little
on the drift, so she didn't quite shoot my way. But she
distributed about a ton over those renegades. They sort of half
got to their feet uncertain.
"Otra vez!" yells I once more, as bold as if I could keep her
shooting all day.
It was just a cold, raw blazer; and if it didn't go through I
could see me as an Apache parlour ornament. But it did. Those
Chiricahuas give one yell and skipped. It was surely a funny
sight, after they got aboard their war ponies, to see them trying
to dig out on horses too tired to trot.
I didn't stop to get all the laughs, though. In fact, I give one
jump off that ledge, and I lit a-running. A quarter-hoss
couldn't have beat me to that shack. There I grabbed old
Meat-in-the-pot and made a climb for the tall country, aiming to
wait around until dark, and then to pull out for Benson. Johnny
Hooper wasn't expected till next day, which was lucky. From
where I lay I could see the Apaches camped out beyond my
draw, and I didn't doubt they'd visited the place. Along about
sunset they all left their camp, and went into the draw, so
there, I thinks, I sees a good chance to make a start before
dark. I dropped down from the mesa, skirted the butte, and
angled down across the country. After I'd gone a half mile from
the cliffs, I ran across Johnny Hooper's fresh trail headed
towards camp!
My heart jumped right up into my mouth at that. Here was poor old
Johnny, a day too early, with a pack-mule of grub, walking
innocent as a yearling, right into the bands of those hostiles.
The trail looked pretty fresh, and Benson's a good long day with
a pack animal, so I thought perhaps I might catch him before he
runs into trouble. So I ran back on the trail as fast as I could
make it. The sun was down by now, and it was getting dusk.
I didn't overtake him, and when I got to the top of the canon I
crawled along very cautious and took a look. Of course, I
expected to see everything up in smoke, but I nearly got up and
yelled when I see everything all right, and old Sukey, the
pack-mule, and Johnny's hoss hitched up as peaceful as
babies to the corral.
"THAT'S all right!" thinks I, "they're back in their camp, and
haven't discovered Johnny yet. I'll snail him out of there."
So I ran down the hill and into the shack. Johnny sat in his
chair--what there was of him. He must have got in about two
hours before sundown, for they'd had lots of time to put in on
him. That's the reason they'd stayed so long up the draw. Poor
old Johnny! I was glad it was night, and he was dead. Apaches
are the worst Injuns there is for tortures. They cut off the
bottoms of old man Wilkins's feet, and stood him on an
ant-hill--.
In a minute or so, though, my wits gets to work.
"Why ain't the shack burned?" I asks myself, "and why is the hoss
and the mule tied all so peaceful to the corral?"
It didn't take long for a man who knows Injins to answer THOSE
conundrums. The whole thing was a trap--for me--and I'd walked
into it, chuckle-headed as a prairie-dog!
With that I makes a run outside--by now it was dark--and listens.
Sure enough, I hears hosses. So I makes a rapid sneak back over
the trail.
Everything seemed all right till I got up to the rim-rock. Then
I heard more hosses--ahead of me. And when I looked back I could
see some Injuns already at the shack, and starting to build a
fire outside.
In a tight fix, a man is pretty apt to get scared till all hope
is gone. Then he is pretty apt to get cool and calm. That was
my case. I couldn't go ahead--there was those hosses coming
along the trail. I couldn't go back--there was those Injins
building the fire. So I skirmished around till I got a bright
star right over the trail head, and I trained old Meat-in-the-
pot to bear on that star, and I made up my mind that when the
star was darkened I'd turn loose. So I lay there a while
listening. By and by the star was blotted out, and I cut loose,
and old Meat-in-the-pot missed fire--she never did it before nor
since; I think that cartridge--
Well, I don't know where the Injins came from, but it seemed as
if the hammer had hardly clicked before three or four of them
bad piled on me. I put up the best fight I could, for I wasn't
figuring to be caught alive, and this miss-fire deal had fooled
me all along the line. They surely had a lively time. I
expected every minute to feel a knife in my back, but when I
didn't get it then I knew they wanted to bring me in alive, and
that made me fight harder. First and last, we rolled and plunged
all the way from the rim-rock down to the canon-bed. Then one
of the Injins sung out:
"Maria!"
And I thought of that renegade Mexican, and what I'd heard bout
him, and that made me fight harder yet.
But after we'd fought down to the canon-bed, and had lost most of
our skin, a half-dozen more fell on me, and in less than no time
they had me tied. Then they picked me up and carried me over to
where they'd built a big fire by the corral."
Uncle Jim stopped with an air of finality, and began lazily to
refill his pipe. From the open mud fireplace he picked a coal.
Outside, the rain, faithful to the prophecy of the wide-ringed
sun, beat fitfully against the roof.
"That was the closest call I ever had," said he at last.
"But, Uncle Jim," we cried in a confused chorus, "how did you get
away? What did the Indians do to you? Who rescued you?"
Uncle Jim chuckled.
"The first man I saw sitting at that fire," said he, "was
Lieutenant Price of the United States Army, and by
him was Tom Horn."
"'What's this?' he asks, and Horn talks to the Injins in Apache.
"'They say they've caught Maria,' translates Horn back again.
"'Maria-nothing!' says Lieutenant Price. 'This is Jim Fox. I know
him.'"
"So they turned me loose. It seems the troops had driven off
the renegades an hour before."
"And the Indians who caught you, Uncle Jim? You said they were
Indians."
"Were Tonto Basin Apaches," explained the old man--"government
scouts under Tom Horn."
CHAPTER TWO
THE EMIGRANTS
After the rain that had held us holed up at the Double R over one
day, we discussed what we should do next.
"The flats will be too boggy for riding, and anyway the cattle
will be in the high country," the Cattleman summed up the
situation. "We'd bog down the chuck-wagon if we tried to get
back to the J. H. But now after the rain the weather ought to be
beautiful. What shall we do?"
"Was you ever in the Jackson country?" asked Uncle Jim. "It's
the wildest part of Arizona. It's a big country and rough, and
no one lives there, and there's lots of deer and mountain lions
and bear. Here's my dogs. We might have a hunt."
"Good!" said we.
We skirmished around and found a condemned army pack saddle with
aparejos, and a sawbuck saddle with kyacks. On these, we managed
to condense our grub and utensils. There were plenty of horses,
so our bedding we bound flat about their naked barrels by means
of the squaw-hitch. Then we started.
That day furnished us with a demonstration of what Arizona horses
can do. Our way led first through a canon-bed filled with
rounded boulders and rocks, slippery and unstable. Big
cottonwoods and oaks grew so thick as partially to conceal
the cliffs on either side of us. The rim-rock was mysterious
with caves; beautiful with hanging gardens of tree ferns and
grasses growing thick in long transverse crevices; wonderful in
colour and shape. We passed the little canons fenced off by the
rustlers as corrals into which to shunt from the herds their
choice of beeves.
The Cattleman shook his head at them. "Many a man has come from
Texas and established a herd with no other asset than a couple of
horses and a branding-iron," said he.
Then we worked up gradually to a divide, whence we could see a
range of wild and rugged mountains on our right. They rose by
slopes and ledges, steep and rough, and at last ended in the
thousand-foot cliffs of the buttes, running sheer and unbroken
for many miles. During all the rest of our trip they were to be
our companions, the only constant factors in the tumult of lesser
peaks, precipitous canons, and twisted systems in which we were
constantly involved.
The sky was sun-and-shadow after the rain. Each and every
Arizonan predicted clearing.
"Why, it almost never rains in Arizona," said Jed Parker. "And
when it does it quits before it begins."
Nevertheless, about noon a thick cloud gathered about the tops of
the Galiuros above us. Almost immediately it was dissipated by
the wind, but when the peaks again showed, we stared with
astonishment to see that they were white with snow. It was as
though a magician had passed a sheet before them the brief
instant necessary to work his great transformation. Shortly the
sky thickened again, and it began to rain.
Travel had been precarious before; but now its difficulties were
infinitely increased. The clay sub-soil to the rubble turned
slippery and adhesive. On the sides of the mountains it was
almost impossible to keep a footing. We speedily became wet, our
hands puffed and purple, our boots sodden with the water that had
trickled from our clothing into them.
"Over the next ridge," Uncle Jim promised us, "is an old shack
that I fixed up seven years ago. We can all make out to get in
it."
Over the next ridge, therefore, we slipped and slid, thanking the
god of luck for each ten feet gained. It was growing cold. The
cliffs and palisades near at hand showed dimly behind the falling
rain; beyond them waved and eddied the storm mists through which
the mountains revealed and concealed proportions exaggerated into
unearthly grandeur. Deep in the clefts of the box canons the
streams were filling. The roar of their rapids echoed from
innumerable precipices. A soft swish of water usurped the world
of sound.
Nothing more uncomfortable or more magnificent could be imagined.
We rode shivering. Each said to himself, "I can stand
this--right now--at the present moment. Very well; I will do so,
and I will refuse to look forward even five minutes to what I may
have to stand," which is the true philosophy of tough times and
the only effective way to endure discomfort.
By luck we reached the bottom of that canon without a fall. It
was wide, well grown with oak trees, and belly deep in rich horse
feed--an ideal place to camp were it not for the fact that a thin
sheet of water a quarter of an inch deep was flowing over the
entire surface of the ground. We spurred on desperately,
thinking of a warm fire and a chance to steam.
The roof of the shack had fallen in, and the floor was six inches
deep in adobe mud.
We did not dismount--that would have wet our saddles--but sat on
our horses taking in the details. Finally Uncle Jim came to the
front with a suggestion.
"I know of a cave," said he, "close under a butte. It's a big
cave, but it has such a steep floor that I'm not sure as we could
stay in it; and it's back the other side of that ridge."
"I don't know how the ridge is to get back over--it was slippery
enough coming this way--and the cave may shoot us out into space,
but I'd like to LOOK at a dry place anyway," replied the
Cattleman.
We all felt the same about it, so back over the ridge we went.
About half way down the other side Uncle Jim turned sharp to the
right, and as the "hog back" dropped behind us, we found
ourselves out on the steep side of a mountain, the perpendicular
cliff over us to the right, the river roaring savagely far down
below our left, and sheets of water glazing the footing we could
find among the boulders and debris. Hardly could the ponies keep
from slipping sideways on the slope, as we proceeded farther and
farther from the solidity of the ridge behind us, we experienced
the illusion of venturing out on a tight rope over abysses of
space. Even the feeling of danger was only an illusion, however,
composite of the falling rain, the deepening twilight, and the
night that had already enveloped the plunge of the canon below.
Finally Uncle Jim stopped just within the drip from the cliffs.
"Here she is," said he.
We descended eagerly. A deer bounded away from the base of the
buttes. The cave ran steep, in the manner of an inclined tunnel,
far up into the dimness. We had to dig our toes in and scramble
to make way up it at all, but we found it dry, and after a little
search discovered a foot-ledge of earth sufficiently broad for a
seat.
"That's all right," quoth Jed Parker. "Now, for sleeping places."
We scattered. Uncle Jim and Charley promptly annexed the slight
overhang of the cliff whence the deer had jumped. It was dry at
the moment, but we uttered pessimistic predictions if the wind
should change. Tom Rich and Jim Lester had a little tent, and
insisted on descending to the canon-bed.
"Got to cook there, anyways," said they, and departed with the
two pack mules and their bed horse.
That left the Cattleman, Windy Bill, Jed Parker, and me. In a
moment Windy Bill came up to us whispering and mysterious.
"Get your cavallos and follow me," said he.
We did so. He led us two hundred yards to another cave, twenty
feet high, fifteen feet in diameter, level as a floor.
"How's that?" he cried in triumph. "Found her just now while I
was rustling nigger-heads for a fire."
We unpacked our beds with chuckles of joy, and spread them
carefully within the shelter of the cave. Except for the very
edges, which did not much matter, our blankets and "so-guns,"
protected by the canvas "tarp," were reasonably dry. Every once
in a while a spasm of conscience would seize one or the other of
us.
"It seems sort of mean on the other fellows," ruminated Jed
Parker.
"They had their first choice," cried we all.
"Uncle Jim's an old man," the Cattleman pointed out.
But Windy Bill had thought of that. "I told him of this yere
cave first. But he allowed he was plumb satisfied."
We finished laying out our blankets. The result looked good to
us. We all burst out laughing.
"Well, I'm sorry for those fellows," cried the Cattleman. We
hobbled our horses and descended to the gleam of the fire, like
guilty conspirators. There we ate hastily of meat, bread and
coffee, merely for the sake of sustenance. It certainly amounted
to little in the way of pleasure. The water from the direct
rain, the shivering trees, and our hat brims accumulated in our
plates faster than we could bail it out. The dishes were thrust
under a canvas. Rich and Lester decided to remain with their
tent, and so we saw them no more until morning.
We broke off back-loads of mesquite and toiled up the hill,
tasting thickly the high altitude in the severe labour. At the
big cave we dumped down our burdens, transported our fuel
piecemeal to the vicinity of the narrow ledge, built a good fire,
sat in a row, and lit our pipes. In a few moments, the blaze was
burning high, and our bodies had ceased shivering. Fantastically
the firelight revealed the knobs and crevices, the ledges and the
arching walls. Their shadows leaped, following the flames,
receding and advancing like playful beasts. Far above us was a
single tiny opening through which the smoke was sucked as through
a chimney. The glow ruddied the men's features. Outside was
thick darkness, and the swish and rush and roar of rising
waters. Listening, Windy Bill was reminded of a story. We
leaned back comfortably against the sloping walls of the cave,
thrust our feet toward the blaze, smoked, and hearkened to the
tale of Windy Bill.
There's a tur'ble lot of water running loose here, but I've seen
the time and place where even what is in that drip would be
worth a gold mine. That was in the emigrant days. They used
to come over south of here, through what they called Emigrant
Pass, on their way to Californy. I was a kid then, about eighteen
year old, and what I didn't know about Injins and Agency cattle
wasn't a patch of alkali. I had a kid outfit of h'ar bridle,
lots of silver and such, and I used to ride over and be the
handsome boy before such outfits as happened along.
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