MARY IN NEW MEXICO 



THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

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MACMILLAN & CO., Limited 

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THE MACMILLAN CO. OP CANADA, Ltd. 

TORONTO 






Mary and Dave discover the bandit. 







MARY IN NEW 
MEXICO 


BY 

CONSTANCE JOHNSON 

A uthor of “When Mother Lets Us Cook,” “When Mother 
Lets Us Help,” “Travel In France,” “Parodies for 
Housekeepers” (with Burges Johnson), etc. 


/ 


FRONTISPIECE BY MEAD SCHAEFFER AND 
PHOTOGRAPHS TAKEN BY THE AUTHOR 



j£eto gorfe 

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 


1921 


All rights restrved 


PRINTED IN UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 



Copyright, 1921 

By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 


/ 


Set up and electrotyped. Published November, 1921 


g)ClA627673 tx 

V 


FERRIS PRINTING COMPANY 
NEW YORK 

NOV 10 1921 ' 


-wO "V 


To Miriam Jarvis Johnson 
who may be able to find 
herself in the story 










FOREWORD 


There are so many adventures to be told about 
New Mexico and the wonderful country there that 
one is puzzled how to begin and where to end. 

This story is the result of one summer’s experi- 
ences but now in this second summer I find many 
more tales that might be told, of visiting cow- 
punchers, of sheep herders driven off private graz- 
ing grounds, of hedgehogs, and mountain climbs, of 
travelers caught in sudden freshets. 

It is needless to say that many of the incidents in 
this story are not strictly in accordance with fact! 
A second summer in the same beautiful mountains 
has proven almost any adventures possible and the 
author hopes that according to the old proverb, “If 
it is not true at least it is well imagined (Si non e vero 
e ben trovato ).” 

Thanks are due to Messrs. Scribner’s & Sons for 
the use of material taken from The Land of Poco 
Tiempo by Charles F. Lummis. 

Also to Messrs. Macmillan & Co. for some yarns 
from the Old Santa Fe Trail by Colonel Harry 
Inman. Both of these books are well worth reading, 
as they give an excellent account of the great South 
West both past and present. 

I wish to thank also the Denver & Rio Grande 
Railroad for the use of two photographs. 

Taos County, New Mexico, 

August, 1921. 


I 


CONTENTS 


I. 

A Momentous Decision . 

I 

II. 

A Cabin in the Rockies . 

IO 

III. 

Rattlesnakes Past and Present . 

18 

IV. 

The Indian Mound and Its Treasure 

29 

V. 

The Indian Cave 

43 

VI. 

The Ring Is Sent Away. 

52 

VII. 

The Killing of the Steer. 

58 

VIII. 

Waiting for News 

65 

IX. 

The Mail Robbery 

70 

X. 

Mateo Seeks the Ring . 

80 

XI. 

The Taos Pueblo 

92 

XII. 

A Long Day on the Mountains . 

102 

XIII. 

Captured by the Indians 

114 

XIV. 

How It All Happened . 

121 

XV. 

An Amateur Fisherman 

131 

XVI. 

On the Road to Santa Fe 

141 

XVII. 

Where the Old and the New World Meet 

157 

XVIII. 

An Old-fashioned Bandit 

169 

XIX. 

Adventures in a Cliff Dwelling . 

180 

XX. 

The Mystery of the Empty Box 

194 

XXL 

The Shot that Missed — and Other Good 
Fortune .... 

202 




























LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

I. Mary and Dave discover the bandit . Frontispiece 

II. “Get ap,” she shouted lustily . . . .16 

III. The cave was full of echoes and lights . . 47 

IV. Pueblo de Taos, showing an underground 

ceremonial chamber 92 

V. Be sure to hold the horses tight . . . .135 



MARY IN NEW MEXICO 




















MARY IN NEW MEXICO 

CHAPTER I 

A MOMENTOUS DECISION 

“jLTOW did you folks ever hear there was such 
a place as Jarosa?” asked the genial con- 
ductor-brakeman of the little western train. 

“O, it’s on the map and also on the time-table,” 
we answered laughing. 

But after all it was strange for the family of a 
New England country doctor to be traveling on that 
“mixed train,” half passenger, half freight, from 
Blanca to Jarosa very early one July morning. 

On either side of the track stretched miles of 
gray-green sage-brush plain, with here and there a 
clump of tall cottonwood trees, and an irrigation 
ditch to indicate some isolated ranch. Far, far away 
the mountains. 

In the seats behind were a flourishing group of 
swarthy “Americans,” who talked a steady stream 
of soft Spanish. The little dark children were as 
much interested as we in watching out of the win- 
dows for prairie dogs and jackrabbits. Each little 
mound between the sage bushes was a house whose 
owner might be seen sitting erect, its front legs hug- 
ging its fat stomach. 


l 


2 


Mary in New Mexico 

How had we heard of Jarosa? It had been only 
a name on a time-table — a connecting link between 
New England and New Mexico, and right on the 
border of Colorado, the last railroad station before 
we should be driven away into the mountains for a 
long glorious summer on a ranch. The whole trip 
had been one adventure from the time we had writ- 
ten an answer to an advertisement in a western 
paper. 

The letter in reply had come, brought in by the 
Doctor while we sat on the porch — we four, Mary, 
Dave, Trixy and I. It told of a little five-room log 
cabin, surrounded by fruit trees and pines, and look- 
ing toward the continental divide, somewhere in 
the Rockies, 7500 feet above sea-level. The owner 
lived near in his adobe ranch house and raised cows 
and alfalfa. He had beside, a wife and two 
children. I felt from the first that it was what we 
wanted; and Mary, Dave and Trixy were unanimous 
in favor of going. It would mean riding, real 
horses — cow-ponies. Of course we must go! 

There was a certain amount of surprised horror 
on the part of our relatives. 

“Your landlord and his family may be terrible,” 
said one. 

“The high climate may affect your hearts,” said 
another. 

“The cabin may be filthy, disgusting,” said a 
third. 

“Think of the long trip,” said Aunt Susan. 

“Yes,” I said, “but think of such names as Valdez, 


A Momentous Decision 


3 


Taos, Hondo, San Joachim, Arroyo Seco. We 
can’t find those in the Catskills.” 

Then after we had made the decision we had to 
decide what to take with us, what orders to send on 
for groceries and supplies. Mary and I spent many 
moments before the mirror in our new riding 
breeches. But it was generally agreed to take few 
new things. Old shoes, old fishing trousers, old 
hunting shirts, old gymnasium bloomers, overalls, 
bungalow aprons — these we collected. We felt that 
the hammock should go but we decided against bath- 
ing suits. We took fishing tackle and rods and quan- 
tities of blankets and comfortables, although we 
economized on towels and bed linen. We tried to 
think of all the possible medicines we would need, so 
far away from the corner drug store. A few toys 
for Trix seemed best to take and plenty of mosquito 
netting. If we had only known that ants, not mos- 
quitoes were likely to prove annoying! Of course 
our friends gave us good advice. Like Jerome K. 
Jerome’s famous traveler we could have filled sev- 
eral rooms with the things we were advised to take. 
But our future landlord had urged us to bring no 
trunks, so we had a suspicion that the less we took 
the better. 

One day in June the Doctor started out to the 
unknown land, and three weeks later, when school 
was over, we four locked our peaceful door on the 
quiet town street and embarked on the great ad- 
venture. Mary, aged thirteen, in middy and blue 
skirt, a jaunty sailor hat on her light brown, bobbed 


4 


Mary in New Mexico 


hair, insisted on carrying the largest bag. Dave and 
Trix, red haired and blue eyed and somewhat un- 
reliable, carried odds and ends, a doll, a fishing pole, 
and packages. Dave had a knapsack which was 
always bumping about on the shoulders of his cordu- 
roy coat and generally getting in his way. 

Dave objects to being classed with Trix. “It’s 
not fair. I am nearly twelve, mother. I am lots 
older than she is,” he would complain. But I cannot 
get over thinking of those two together. 

For the first time Beatrix, aged six, was to be on 
a sleeper. It was an exciting moment. We had 
boxes and bundles and roll-ups and every other 
creature and those had to be carefully stowed away 
by a grinning porter. Then there was a certain 
amount of friction caused by the momentous ques- 
tions of who should sit next the window and who 
should sit by mother and whose feet were soiling 
whose shoes. But finally we settled down tem- 
porarily and ate the lunch which an unsympathetic 
providence had brought from home. The children 
would have preferred the dining car. I confess that 
misgivings were in my heart at keeping three healthy 
quarrelsome youngsters contented for three days on 
a sleeping car. But the porters helped and the pas- 
sengers helped. For the three are only quarrelsome 
with each other and are most friendly to strangers. 
Indeed Trixy’s shrill little voice could be heard fre- 
quently from the observation car in intimate con- 
versation with a portly Chicago gentleman. Then, 
too, the dining car with its little tables, its smiling, 


A Momentous Decision 


5 


willing waiters, its mysterious menu cards that had 
to be carefully studied, was a thing to look forward 
to for hours, a thing of joy to look back upon. 

Trixy was filled with excitement at the porter as 
he made up the berth. She watched him as he 
opened the side of the car and apparently took from 
it all that was necessary to make her a comfortable 
bed, with a fascinating little light within easy reach 
of small hands. So the first two days passed, with 
glimpses of Chicago and Kansas City, and then the 
country began to be so new to us all that we kept 
our eyes fixed on the windows. The tiresome plains 
were done with. The distant beautiful mountains 
were well worth a long look, and near by in little 
mounds were whole villages of interesting prairie 
dogs. 

We hunted for Pike’s Peak for hours before it 
finally appeared in the distance, suddenly looming 
up by itself. We read how Pike had searched for 
it and ridden toward it but had finally given up the 
complete ascent, owing to the fact that the nearer 
he got, the farther off seemed the mountain. It 
always appeared to be within reach but never quite 
attainable. 

All the time our train was climbing. At Denver 
we changed trains, and at Denver we enjoyed a last 
dish of ice-cream. It was a farewell to the life we 
knew so well, to drug stores of easy access, to formal 
Sunday dinners at grandfather’s! 

The next morning we were awakened before five 
by the faithful white-coated porter. In the dimness 


6 


Mary in New Mexico 

of early morning we dressed and packed and at live- 
thirty got out of the through train and watched it 
steam away, leaving us standing with all our bags 
and baggage on the lonely platform at Blanca. 

We were surrounded by space. Flat plains, dis- 
tant purple crests, and a dozen or so of wooden 
houses which made up the village. Then we saw, 
apparently close to us, the rugged mountain rising 
without foothills, straight out of the plains, white- 
capped “Blanca” indeed. It fairly took our breath 
away, so beautiful it was in the early morning. 

And now the interesting proprietor of the Blanca 
“Hotel” took charge of us — carried our luggage to 
his place and told us that breakfast would soon be 
ready. 

There were a few people about even at that early 
hour. Trixy and Dave begged a ride of a country- 
man who was carting groceries from the station to a 
nearby store. Mary and I sat on the freight house 
platform while I knitted and she watched a couple 
of real Mexican cowboys, swarthy, with gay colored 
kerchiefs around their necks and broad-brimmed 
sombreros. Way off was a little toy train, at least so 
it appeared, which we were told would take us from 
Blanca to Jarosa. 

And now we have gotten back to our starting 
point, the train to Jarosa. The engine switched 
about and Trix decided that she wanted a ride on it. 
“Go ask the engineer,” was the reply to her teasing. 
So she went, hesitating slightly. But in a moment 
she had obtained permission from the friendly, smil- 


A Momentous Decision 


7 


ing man in overalls. He at least was an American. 
Up Trix climbed and went switching about with the 
engine, ringing the bell to warn off cows or prairie 
dogs. 

Finally the cars were attached and we started. 
The two gay Mexican lads, black haired and hand- 
some, stood on the rear platform, and first Dave, 
then Mary, then Trixy were attracted to them. Last 
of all I joined them. The conversation was friendly 
and courteous — the Mexicans spoke careful English 
and were naturally as interested in us as we were 
in them. There were two or three stations and at 
each we all got off the train and wandered around. 
No one was in a hurry, every one was friendly and 
happy. 

So peacefully we reached Jarosa; the town we 
had looked forward to ! A border town, with cheap 
wooden houses, many “restaurants” and eating 
places. There may have been churches. There cer- 
tainly was a freight house which contained our 
trunks, we gratefully discovered. 

Here we found an auto awaiting us. But as there 
were many who decided to ride in it beside ourselves, 
we could not take the trunks. However, the driver 
obligingly waited while a number of necessary things 
were taken out and piled into the car, which was 
now literally filled to overflowing. I shall always 
wonder, as I wondered at the time, why all the other 
passengers did not take the waiting stage instead of 
the private conveyance that we had hired for our- 
selves. Perhaps they were friends of the chauffeur. 


8 


Mary in New Mexico 


The two Mexicans were still with us. They good- 
naturedly teased Dave and told him wild tales of 
Indians and beasts which he would find in the moun- 
tains. It seemed they had been to our ranch but 
had found it too lonely. “You ought to have seen 
the rattler they killed up there last year,” said one. 
“It had fifteen rattles,” replied the other gravely. 

“Mr. Ransome has seen many bear tracks 
around,” spoke the first. “Last winter they saw 
a number of mountain lions.” 

“Ho, you’re just trying to stuff me,” said Dave — 
but I could see that he wriggled a little uneasily. 

“How far away is the big Indian pueblo?” asked 
one of the men. 

“Not far, an Indian could easily ride over if he 
wished,” said the second Mexican. 

The mountains were close to us now, at least on 
one side. But still there were plains to be covered 
before we began to climb to the ranch. Now like 
prairie dog mounds appeared the little adobe houses 
of the Mexicans; the air was filled with the smell 
of the sage-brush. Far off were other mountains 
which seemed never to come nearer. 

So we rode for miles till we reached Quanta, an 
adobe village in the foothills. The one-story houses, 
sometimes cream colored, sometimes pink or blue, 
with flat, grass-covered roofs, fascinated us. Here 
our driver suggested that food would be advisable ; 
he reckoned it was quite a bit farther to the ranch 
and he guessed we’d get better food in the grocery 
store than at the hotel. So we followed his advice. 


A Momentous Decision 


9 


We bought crackers, cheese, potted meat, fruit and 
bread and butter and retired into the dark back 
room to eat. The proprietor brought a basin and 
towels so that we could wash. 

“Do you think it’s all right to eat here?” asked 
Dave. “My physiology book at school says it’s bad 
to eat dirty food — that it poisons you!” 

“I think it’s perfectly safe,” I replied. “There 
is a difference between dirty food and an untidy 
place to eat it in.” 

Mary was very much amused. She was also a 
little shocked. It was informal! — and not over 
clean. 

We were not half through buttering sandwiches 
when our driver turned up and wanted to start. 
However, he was prevailed upon to wait ten minutes 
longer. 

Then feeling somewhat inadequately fed we got 
into the automobile once more and started over the 
last part of our trip. 


CHAPTER II 

A CABIN IN THE ROCKIES 
HE rough road wound around the mountain as 



best it could, now taking a dip of death into 
the valley, now struggling up a stony ascent that 
seemed impossible to anything but a burro. Our 
driver asked us if we were afraid of hills. “The last 
ladies I took up screamed and cried,” he remarked. 

Up and up we went. It was a long time since 
we had arisen that morning at five o’clock. We 
met a small band of wandering horses whose leader 
had a cow-bell about its neck. They had been 
turned loose to find good pasture. This also was 
informal. Finally we reached a wire gate. 

“This is the beginning of Ransome’s property,” 
said the driver. At the same moment the engine 
stalled and the car refused to move. I had been 
expecting it all along. It was almost a relief to 
have it occur. While our chauffeur examined into 
the possible causes, Mary espied a solitary horseman 
riding among the pine trees a little way off. He 
wore a sombrero and apparently all the rest of the 
costume that appertained to the cow puncher. 


“It’s Daddy!” cried Mary. 


10 


A Cabin in the Rockies 


11 


It is sure enough,” we all echoed. Our driver 
gave a shrill cowboy call which immediately attracted 
the rider’s attention. 

The next moment the Doctor had joined us and 
the children were clambering up his horse to get the 
first kiss. 

“Well, I surely did not expect you so soon,” he 
said. “I was just riding over to finish a small job. 
Isn’t this great country? Just wait till you see our 
cabin.” 

“Is that our horse?” cried Dave and Trixy. 

“Yes, that is Jim Snort. Jim Snort, Dave.” 

“Why Jim Snort?” asked Dave. 

“Well, his master, who is a real Indian, said he 
ought to have a last name, and as he snorts a lot, 
that seemed a good one.” 

“I want him,” called Trixy. 

“Let me ride him up,” said Dave. 

“All right, jump on,” his father answered. So 
Dave was hoisted up into the big Mexican saddle. 
The car was now repaired and started up the final 
hill, with the Doctor standing on the running board. 

“Why Daddy, you’ve grown a moustache! And 
your nose is peeling. You’re as brown as an Indian.” 

“Maybe I’m turning into one,” he laughed. “But 
look, look around. Isn’t this wonderful?” 

We turned. Far, far off were the blue mountains. 
Then queer mound-shaped hills that rose straight 
out of the gray-green plateaus. Then, seemingly 
quite near, the canon of the Rio Grande. This was 
what we were to feast our eyes upon all summer. 


12 


Mary in New Mexico 


We were passing an adobe house in the clearing. 

“That is Mr. Ransome’s house. Ours is above.” 

A short, sharp climb and we stopped at last, under 
two towering Douglas firs that looked like redwoods. 
A little log cabin was nestled among the trees, with 
an orchard in front and a pasture stretching up in 
back. 

“It’s just perfect,” said Mary. 

The Doctor took us exploring, — showed us where 
the bees lived, where the horses were to be tethered 
or left to roam at will. The clear brook, rushing 
back of the cabin, was our reservoir straight from 
the mountain peaks which rose high above us. In 
the distance we could hear cow bells, cow bells and 
the rush of the stream and all the rest a friendly 
silence. 

In the cabin we went to decide in solemn family 
conclave who was to sleep where and with whom. 
It was agreed that Dave should be provider of wood 
and builder of fires, also bringer of water. Mary 
was to help with the dishes, and the table. Also 
some housework fell’ to her lot. Trix was to be 
general helper and mother’s assistant. Her special 
duty as ordered by the Doctor was to keep mother 
from working too hard, as ordered by the rest of 
the family, to keep Daddy from working at all. 
Dave was to go for the mail, Mary for the 
milk. 

The first evening seemed a portentous time. Dave 
went with the good-natured Mexican farm helper 
to drive up the cows into the corral to be milked. 


A Cabin in the Rockies 


13 


Trix followed, as she had a natural weakness 'for 
cows. Indeed these beasts were almost irresistible, 
they were so friendly; and the calves running beside 
them, so pretty. It was dark before Mary brought 
in the great can of warm, rich milk and Trixy had 
to go to bed. Suddenly we seemed very far away 
and she extremely small. When Dave’s turn came, 
a certain reluctance was evident. Finally when he 
was undressed there was a call for mother. 

“Do you suppose the Indians could really get here 
from the pueblo?” he whispered. 

“But they are all peaceful, farming Indians.” 

“But there are lots of them. And, Mother, listen, 
what was that? What does a mountain lion sound 
like?” 

Evidently the teasing remarks of the two Mex- 
icans had taken effect. It was some time before 
Dave was sufficiently reassured to go to sleep. 
Finally Mary had to be persuaded to retire. It was 
not fear that caused her reluctance. 

“I just can’t go to bed when there is so much 
to see that’s new,” she said. “I’m thirteen, Mother. 
Can’t I stay up a little later?” 

At last all was quiet and the Doctor and I stood 
in front of the cabin door and looked up at the 
friendly, sparkling stars, so many more and so much 
nearer than at home. Only the rushing brook and 
the far-off cow bells to keep us company. 

Dave had obtained permission to get up as early 
as he wished the next morning. The Doctor felt 
that in a few days his enthusiasm for early rising 


14 


Mary in New Mexico 


would die down. But the first day the boy slipped 
out at five o’clock to help drive up the cows. 

Trixy, too, was awake and stirring, much to 
Mary’s disgust, whose room she shared. 

In fact, the whole family arose almost with the 
sun. Soon a brisk fire was burning in the stove. 
Cereal, pan-cakes, bacon and cocoa were produced 
smoking hot, which the family were told must be 
eaten on one plate apiece to save dish-washing. 

After breakfast the call came from Mary, “Dave, 
you have to carry out the milk and butter.” 

“Where to? I’d like to know. I thought I was 
to light fires and get firewood.” 

“Well, you have to put the things down in the 
brook to keep cool. You bring the water and so 
this fits in.” 

“I don’t see it,” said Dave. “Mother, do I 
have to?” 

“I’ll carry things to the cellar and help mother 
with the dishes. So it’s only fair for you to carry 
out the things to the brook. Isn’t it, mother?” 

“That seems a right division,” I replied. 

“I’ll help you, Dave; I’ll carry the butter,” said 
Trixy. 

So Dave departed grumbling, with the big can 
of milk, to the icy brook which was reservoir and 
refrigerator at the same time. 

When he came back he asked if I thought the 
butter was wrapped up enough. “You know, 
mother,” he added, “butter collects germs very 
easily; my physiology book says so.” 


A Cabin in the Rockies 


15 


I told him I thought it was all perfectly hygienic. 

Just after the dishes had been cleared away, Mr. 
Ransome and his two children, Edward and Wini- 
fred, arrived, Ted bearing a pail of foaming but- 
termilk and Mr. Ransome a pound of fresh butter. 
The Doctor introduced them and soon all were 
chatting together. Ted was about Mary’s age, so 
the two immediately set to planning rides and good 
times together. Winifred, twenty-two and at Mills 
College, in California, asked if there were anything 
that she or her mother could do for the family com- 
fort. She was assured that everything was just 
right; that every one had slept well, and that all 
were longing for the first horseback ride. 

“Can’t Mary come down to San Joachim with 
us this afternoon?” asked Winifred. “Ted and I 
are going for eggs.” 

“O, mother, may I?” 

“Surely,” was the reply. “It sounds fine.” 

“Dave was a great help driving the cows this 
morning,” remarked Mr. Ransome. “I hope he’ll 
help us at night, too.” 

“I know he’d like nothing better,” I answered. 

Presently our landlord and his children departed 
and the Doctor showed us the various landmarks 
of our domain, the currant bushes, the work-shed 
with its suggestive axe, the nails where the saddles 
were to hang, the cherry trees and the place where 
he was planning to build a shower bath with the aid 
of a piece of gutter piping. 

Jim Snort and Nellie, the other horse, now ap- 


16 


Mary in New Mexico 


peared and coming up to the back step knocked 
loudly with their hoofs. 

“They want salt,” said the Doctor. “Trixy, go 
get some.” 

Trixy, overjoyed, ran into the house and brought 
the salt bag. “Where shall I put it, Daddy?” she 
asked. 

“Right in this box,” said her father. “Then they 
can’t scatter it.” So Trixy did as she was bid and 
delightedly watched the two cow-ponies licking up 
the salt. 

“O, Daddy, can’t I ride?” she begged. So the 
Doctor put a bridle on Nellie and lifted Trixy up 
on her back. 

The child was absolutely fearless. Holding the 
reins tight, she dug her heels into Nellie’s side. 
“Get ap !” she shouted lustily, and trotted off 
through the orchard while the family watched. 

“I want to ride, too,” said Dave. 

“Where do I come in?” said Mary in an injured 
tone. 

“You are going this afternoon,” replied the Doc- 
tor. “Dave, if you want to ride, try to bridle Jim 
Snort and help me with the saddle.” 

The boy was a bit awkward at first and Jim Snort 
pretended to object to the bridle. He had to be 
coaxed a little. He puffed himself out where the 
saddle was put on so that the girths would not be 
too tight. 

“That’s a trick you’ll have to guard against,” 
advised the Doctor. “Horses don’t like to be 



GET AP” SHE SHOUTED LUSTILY 


































Cabin in the Rockies 


17 


squeezed at the waist.” But presently Jim Snort 
was ready and Dave climbed up on to his back. 
By this time Trixy had returned and the two solemnly 
rode off together around the house. We could hear 
them quarreling as to which had the better horse. 

“It’s a perfect place for them, isn’t it?” remarked 
the Doctor. 

“I think it’s perfect for all of us,” I replied. 


CHAPTER III 

RATTLESNAKES PAST AND PRESENT 

JT was a glorious morning. Far above the blue 
hills little fleecy clouds chased each other to be 
lost finally in the deep blue of the sky. The air 
was so clear that the deep canon of the Rio Grande 
miles away, seemed only as far across as the next 
meadow. A table-shaped mountain known as a 
mesa, seventy miles away, could be seen distinctly. 

The children had been left to do a little house- 
work before the family started on an all-day picnic, 
while the Doctor and his wife had gone for the 
horses. 

It may be said that Mary was the only one who 
was expected to accomplish much. Dave brought 
in some wood, however, while Trix pretended to 
pick up the things that lay scattered about the cabin. 
Mary, having decided that she could do much more 
than the other two, began busily sweeping. All at 
once, in the dim light of the curtained closet which 
she had started to clean, she saw something moving. 
Then she heard a curious sound, something like the 
big grasshoppers that fly through the air on hot 
summer days. She peered down and then sprang 
18 


Rattlesnakes Past and Present 19 

back. “Dave, Trixy,” she called in surprise and 
fear, “there’s a rattlesnake in Mother’s closet.” 

Instantly Dave dropped the stick of wood he had 
been carrying, while Trix let fall her pajamas and 
doll, and the two rushed into the room where Mary 
was. The curtain had been pulled back from the 
closet and there was a coiled snake whose little red 
tongue ran in and out venomously. The ominous 
warning rattle could be plainly heard. 

“Run, Dave, run and tell Dad!” cried Mary. 

Off sped Dave to the pasture where the horses 
were, calling loudly every other minute: “Dad, 
there’s a rattler in the closet.” Meanwhile the 
snake still remained coiled, and Mary, with Trix 
at her heels, watched it from a discreet distance. 

“What if I had stepped on it in the closet?” the 
girl thought. “How long has it been there ? Where 
did it come from?” 

The time seemed endless before she heard the 
hurrying footsteps outside and her father’s laughing 
voice calling, “Well, Mary, what yarn are you spin- 
ning? Where’s the snake? Are you sure it’s not 
a mouse or a boa constrictor ?” 

“You come and see,” Mary answered indignantly. 

No sooner had the doctor entered and seen than 
his face went a little white. He caught up a stout 
club that was standing in the corner and in an instant 
had smashed the snake’s head. “You’ve had an ad- 
venture and a narrow escape, Mary,” he said quietly. 

“Why, I wasn’t much scared,” said Mary. “But 
can I have the skin and the rattles?” 


20 


Mary in New Mexico 


“Indeed you can,” answered her father, who sat 
down immediately and skinned the reptile, finding 
a newly-eaten mouse whole in its stomach. 

“That was what brought him,” remarked the 
Doctor, “and that’s why he didn’t act more quickly. 
It must have made him sluggish. But how he ever 
got the creature down whole passes my knowledge.” 

The children stood round watching curiously. 
“It’s not a big snake, only two rattles and that means 
two years.” 

“How big have you seen them, Dad?” asked 
Dave. 

“Well, I think the biggest I’ve seen would have 
been as long as I am, stretched out. He was an 
old chap with twelve rattles. That was down in old 
Mexico, when I was there as a boy. Maybe I’m 
exaggerating. This fellow is about as long as your 
forearm, Mary, and how he managed to get that 
mouse through his mouth is a miracle to me.” 

“How do you think he got in?” I asked. 

“Why, there are holes through the floor here. I 
imagine we’ll find many holes just outside the wooden 
walls. We’ll fill them up — or rather I’ll ask Mr. 
Ransome, our landlord, to fill them up in the surest 
way. Maybe he’ll think we will want to leave.” 

“You wouldn’t go for a little thing like that,” 
said Mary scornfully. 

“I wonder what a tenant in a Boston apartment 
would say if he found a snake in his closet?” I re- 
marked. 

The Doctor laughed. “I wonder. I think the 


Rattlesnakes Past and Present 21 

landlord would have to work hard to persuade him 
to stay. You may feel differently tonight, Mary, 
when you hear the wind between the wall paper and 
the house wall, or when a couple of chipmunks run 
across the air space above the room.” 

“Ugh!” said Trixy and ran out of the room. 

“I wish I had my physiology book here. It tells 
all about cures for snake bites,” remarked Dave. “I 
think I’ll go down and tell the Ransomes.” 

So he went down to the ranch house and presently 
brought back Mr. Ransome and one of the Mexican 
helpers. 

The rattlesnake was duly examined and wondered 
at. Pedro, the Mexican, told of killing a rattler 
in the lower pasture with eight rattles. 

“But they seldom come up as far as this,” said 
our landlord. “It has been very dry and perhaps 
that is the reason. I think it is eight years since 
we have seen one up here and then not in the house.” 

He and Pedro went around outside the cabin and 
found two or three holes where the snake might 
have entered. These, it is needless to say, were 
quickly filled in with adobe, or clay mud, by Pedro 
under Mr. Ransome’s direction. 

It was nearly lunch time now, so the picnic was 
put off to another day. The rattlesnake was con- 
sidered enough excitement for the time being. 

That afternoon, however, Dave and the Doctor 
went off on an exploring expedition to the small set- 
tlement called San Joachim, about two miles distant. 
Here lived the blacksmith, a white-haired, healthy 


22 


Mary in New Mexico 


looking American, with his children and grandchil- 
dren, whose wooden house was a little apart from 
the adobe cabins of the Mexicans. He told the 
Doctor how he had come there long ago for his 
health and then had just stayed on. “I don’t reckon 
we do much good, but then we never do any harm,” 
he observed. 

“You do lots of good making really honest shoes 
for the horses,” said the Doctor. 

“That’s right; I don’t know how the poor critters 
could get along without us.” 

There was one little winding road with the smooth- 
walled adobe houses on each side, almost like the 
walls of a French village. Horses and pigs and 
cows were penned in fenced yards called corrals, 
from which the smaller animals frequently escaped 
into the road. Of course every house owner had a 
rough, long-haired dog, who barked and yapped at 
the horses’ hoofs, as the Doctor and Dave rode 
along. There was just one store which was opened 
by a young Mexican woman whenever anyone came 
by who seemed to want to purchase anything. The 
Doctor asked in his best Spanish for “dulce” but 
was told volubly something that seemed to mean 
that nothing sweet was to be purchased there. This 
was disappointing, but finally some crackers were 
bought for Dave, who was always hungry between 
meals. Then the Mexican carefully locked the shop 
and went about her business while the Doctor and 
Dave started for home again. 

It was a long steep climb to the ranch and most 


Rattlesnakes Past and Present 


23 


of the way had to be taken at a walk. Presently 
they were overtaken by two riders, one of whom 
was unmistakably an Indian boy. He had the dark 
eyes and straight black hair of his race. His shirt 
was worn with the tail over his trousers and a white 
cloth was fastened about his loins. The other, a 
bright-eyed, freckled-faced boy of fifteen, was just as 
unmistakably American. Fair haired, and a little 
inclined to be fat, he looked as though he might be 
a merry companion. This was Anthony Rogers, a 
cousin of the Ransomes, who lived with his parents 
and sisters in Taos. 

“Well, Doc, how goes it?” he called out in greet- 
ing. “Is this a part of your family? You see, I 
have brought part of mine. Mateo, this is the doc- 
tor who sometimes cures us and sometimes kills us.” 

“You’re a saucy boy,” said the Doctor. “But I 
am glad to meet you,” he added to the Indian lad, 
who acknowledged the greeting without a smile or 
change of feature. 

“O, Dad, is he a real live Indian?” whispered 
Dave. 

“Yes, he was brought up with Anthony.” 

Then the Doctor turned to the newcomers. “How 
long do you stay now, Anthony?” he asked. 

“Mateo and I are up for the haying. We are 
going to help. That is, I am. I don’t know whether 
Mateo will or not. But he can shoot a rabbit for 
you sometime, can’t you, Mateo?” The Indian 
nodded, then the two rode on ahead, Anthony whoop- 
ing loudly. 


24 Mary in New Mexico 

“He doesn’t seem to talk much, Dad,” remarked 
Dave. 

“Haven’t you read enough Indian stories to know 
that the valiant red man is always silent and self- 
contained?” asked his father. 

“He might at least have said ‘Ugh!’ They al- 
ways do.” 

“Perhaps he will tell you some Indian legends, if 
you get acquainted with him, Dave.” 

When they reached home Mary was told of the 
meeting with the Indian boy. 

“O, I’d like to talk to him,” she said. “Maybe 
he’d tell me all sorts of stories.” 

“It would be easier for you to tell him the stories 
yourself,” said the Doctor. “But did you know that 
right near us, up in the pasture, there are a number 
of Indian mounds? Some have been dug into. In 
one they found pottery and a real skeleton. Per- 
haps we can dig up some interesting things in one 
of the others.” 

“O, Daddy, can’t we today?” exclaimed Mary. 
“Manana, tomorrow,” answered her father. “Kill- 
ing a rattler is enough excitement for one day.” 

“But please tell us something about the Indians 
around here,” Mary asked. 

“Well, wait till we’ve unsaddled the horses and 
put them to rights. Then come out under the trees 
and we’ll have a lecture on Indians, by your honored 
father.” 

“I’ll help,” said Mary. 

In a few minutes we had all gathered under the 


Rattlesnakes Past and Present 


25 


great Douglas pine, tall, red-trunked, with gray- 
green spreading foliage. 

“Now hearken, O my children,” began the Doctor, 
“and I will tell you tales of my people — stories which 
my fathers’ fathers have told as they sat at evening 
by the council fires.” 

“Now, Daddy,” said Dave, “tell us nicely.” 

“He is. Do keep still, Dave,” Mary spoke 
sharply. 

“Keep still every one, or there won’t be any more 
story,” I said. 

“Dave, how long ago did Columbus discover 
America?” asked the Doctor suddenly. 

“I don’t know, 1400 and something.” 

“I know; 1492,” called Mary. 

“Right. How long is that?” 

“Well, about 500 years,” said Dave slowly. 

“Four hundred years before Columbus discovered 
America the Pueblo Indians built houses here in New 
Mexico. That’s a long time ago. They made pot- 
tery, beautiful dishes and bowls, they hunted with 
bows and arrows. Their houses had four and five 
stories and were made of adobe, that is, mud, Trixy, 
just like your mud pies.” 

“Really, Dad, could I make houses out of mud 
pies?” 

“Well, the mud has to be mixed with straw. But 
for all that it is mud. It acts like thermos bottles, 
keeping you cool in summer and warm in winter. 

“Their big houses or pueblos are like apartment 
houses. There is one in Taos that takes care of 


26 


Mary in New Mexico 


five hundred Indians, who in summer farm around 
in little patches of irrigated land on the Taos plain. 
There is an old legend that they came from China 
originally; they speak of their ancestors crossing the 
great sea in the far days of the past. 

u The Pueblo Indians are a peaceful race and 
farmers — tillers of the soil, builders and makers of 
pottery. A good many hundreds of years ago the 
Apaches came down, it is said, and destroyed the old 
pueblo, killed many of the men and settled down 
as conquerors, so that the present Taos Indians are 
part Apache. This they will not acknowledge. But 
they certainly have many traditions in common. 
And a number of dishes and odds and ends have been 
discovered to be the same here as among the Apaches. 

“When the Spaniards came over and settled they 
had many struggles with the wild tribes but usually 
the Pueblo Indians were friendly. Indeed the 
Pueblos gave the white newcomers grants of land 
in return for protection from the Apaches and Co- 
manches that used to come down like a wolf on the 
fold. Back of our cabin, up in the old pasture, are 
a number of Indian mounds which may have been 
isolated adobe cabins or may have been burying 
mounds. A number of pieces of pottery have been 
dug up here and the skeleton of a man. 

“There are two or three mounds which haven’t 
been dug into yet. I think it would be fine to dig 
there ourselves. Over back of Taos in the moun- 
tains is a cave of some sort which no white person 
is allowed to approach. There the Indians have 


Rattlesnakes Past and Present 


27 


their most sacred ceremonies. For though the In- 
dians are supposed to be Catholics, they have their 
own strange sun-worship also. Sentinels are posted 
on the mountains and no one has ever successfully 
passed them except one man who never came 
back.” 

“Did they shoot him, Dad?” asked Dave. 

“Quien sake? as our Spanish friends would say. 
He never came back to tell.” 

“There is another cave near the canon we rode 
through when I came here. In front of it is a small 
waterfall and at a certain time of day the sun shin- 
ing through the water casts a prismatic light on the 
back of the cave. There once stood an altar, it is 
said. Certainly there are strange pictures rudely 
scratched on the walls even now. The Indians will 
not go near it and they say it is haunted by evil 
spirits. Trixy, what is it?” For Trixy had been 
trying for some moments to attract the Doctor’s 
attention. 

“Dad, there’s a chicken in the cherry tree. And 
what’s ‘primsatics’ ?” 

“What’s what?” 

But Trixy refused to repeat the strange word 
and buried her face in her father’s sleeve. 

“I think she means prismatics,” I suggested, long 
familiarity with Trixy having given me powers of 
divination. 

“What’s prismatics?” asked Dave. “I didn’t 
know either.” 

“Different colors, like a rainbow. Don’t you know 


28 Mary in New Mexico 

the prism with the primary colors, stupid?” asked 
Mary. 

“Is that true, Dad?” said Dave. 

“Yes, though I don’t know why Mary shouldn’t 
be more polite about it. Well, I think this is enough 
for today. Look, Trixy, there goes your chicken.” 
With a carefully aimed stone the Doctor dislodged 
the offending fowl. 


CHAPTER IV 

THE INDIAN MOUND AND ITS TREASURE 

r I V HE next morning was cloudy. 

“Come, Trixy,” called the Doctor. “Come, 
Chicken Little. Come see; the sky is falling down.” 

Trixy ran out of the cabin; the tops of the moun- 
tains on either side were covered with clouds. 

“O, I want to go nearer and see,” cried Trixy. 

“Well, suppose we all go up a little way and dig 
in the Indian mounds. This is a nice cool morning 
to dig, although a bit threatening for our picnic.” 

“Who wants to dig?” called Trixy. There was 
small response. 

“I thought you wanted to go to the Indian mounds, 
Mary,” called her father. 

“All right, Dad, we’ll come.” 

The next moment Mary and Dave appeared, 
slowly but surely. The pick-axe and shovel were 
next sent for and presently the four started off up 
the hill. 

“Aren’t you coming, Mother?” asked Dave. 

“A little later,” I answered. “Ell join you when 
the chores here are all done.” 

The Indian mounds were not far away and soon 
29 


30 


Mary in New Mexico 


the Doctor’s pick was at work while Mary and Dave 
helped with shovel and sticks and hands. Trixy 
rushed from one to the other, showing them strange 
treasures which she was sure were arrow heads or 
pieces of pottery. Fragments of pottery they found 
in plenty. Dave discovered a broken arrow-head, 
Mary a larger bit of bowl, with markings on it. 

Then the Doctor took the shovel and began dig- 
ging. He was afraid the pick-axe might break some 
precious piece. 

“I always think of Curdie, in ‘The Princess and 
the Goblin,’ when I see a pick-axe,” said Mary. “Do 
you remember how he went after the Goblin’s toes, 
singing his rhymes?” 

The Doctor stopped for a moment to rest, and 
it was at that moment that I joined them with An- 
thony and Mateo who had come to the cabin a few 
minutes before. 

“Have you seen how the valley looks in the misty 
noon light?” I asked. 

The Doctor and I turned to look. Far across 
the gray-green plains, streaked with soft yellow, rose 
the buttes, like huge ant hills, and more distant yet 
the faint blue ranges. 

“Dad, Dad, see what I’ve found,” cried Mary. 

She had been digging while we had been gazing 
and now showed us, in the palm of her hand, a 
ring roughly fashioned of silver, and containing a 
single green jewel. 

“I wonder if it’s Indian? It certainly is a treasure, 
Mary,” said the Doctor joyfully. 


The Indian Mound and Its Treasure 31 


“Let’s ask Mateo,” cried Mary. Mateo and An- 
thony came to her and she handed the ring to the 
Indian boy. 

The lad almost dropped it in his haste to get 
rid of it. One look was enough. “It is bad magic. 
You should bury it,” he said. “It will bring you 
evil.” 

“Won’t you tell us about it, Mateo,” said Mary. 

But Mateo was obstinately silent as to his reasons. 
“Bury it deep, it is evil. It will bring great trouble,” 
he said. “The evil spirits of the cave dwell in it.” 

“O, Mateo, what cave?” 

But Mateo refused to speak again. Already he 
had been betrayed into saying more than he meant 
to. He turned and started down the hill, pursued by 
Mary and Dave, who plied him with questions. - 

“It’s no use,” said Anthony. “He won’t talk 
unless he wants to.” 

The Doctor was examining the ring. “I wish 
I knew if it were Indian or Spanish. It must be 
quite old.” 

“It is, Doc,” said Anthony. “I wish my father 
could see it. He knows a lot more about Indian 
things than I do. He has been down into their 
sacred kiva at the pueblo. But this is not Spanish. 
Apache, I should say. It looks strange to me. The 
stone is a pretty one. I don’t know it. It does not 
come from this part of the country.” 

“If I had seen this in an antiquary’s collection 
I should say that the stone was jade, and the ring 
Chinese,” I remarked. 


32 


Mary in New Mexico 


“You’re right, it surely looks like it,” said the 
Doctor in excitement. “Who knows what Mary may 
have landed upon? I am going to dig some 
more.” 

But the only other things discovered were more 
pieces of broken pottery. 

Presently Mary and Dave returned in disgust. 
Mateo had refused to tell them anything. 

“ ‘I go to shoot rabbit,’ was all he would say,” 
said Dave. 

“That’s good news. Then we will have fresh 
meat,” said the Doctor. 

Mary slipped the ring on her finger. “It’s too 
big,” she said. 

“I wouldn’t wear it, Mary,” said Anthony. “It 
may have some Indian hoodoo about it. The In- 
dians wouldn’t like it if you do anyway. There 
might be an uprising. Would you let me take it to 
Taos to show it to my father? I am leaving this 
afternoon.” 

“Why, surely,” answered the girl. “I’d love to 
know about it.” 

“Well, I can’t promise. But he’s been here so 
long and has studied the legends so thoroughly that 
he might throw some light on it.” 

“Do you really think there would be an uprising 
because of the ring?” asked Dave. 

“Can’t you take a joke, silly?” was Mary’s answer. 
“You be careful of the ring, now, Anthony.” 

Anthony put it in his pocket in an envelope. “I’ll 
sure look out for it,” he said. 


The Indian Mound and Its Treasure 33 

As we started down to the cabin together we 
heard shots. 

“That must be Mateo after rabbits. I’m going 
down to see,” cried Dave, who left on a run. 

“I’ll take good care of your ring,” Anthony was 
saying, when there came a call for help from Dave. 

“What are those boys up to?” said the Doctor. 
Then he and Anthony hurried along in answer to 
renewed shouts. 

When we got down to the cabin the Doctor was 
carrying Mateo into the house. 

“The boy has shot himself in a bad place,” he 
said. “It’s lucky I’m a doctor. Anthony has gone 
for old linen. Will you get some boiled water ready 
right away. Have you any sterilized bandages?” 

I put some water on the stove to boil and then 
ran for the bandages. In a few minutes Anthony 
returned with Mrs. Ransome. We undressed the 
unconscious boy, while the Doctor brought out his 
instruments. 

“I haven’t anything but a local anaesthetic,” he 
said. “But I can’t wait to send to Taos. This bullet 
has got to come out right away. It’s the only thing 
to do.” 

He turned to me. “Can you stand it? You will 
have to help.” 

“Of course,” I answered, with some inward mis- 
givings. 

The water was boiling now and there was so much 
to do that I didn’t have time to think. Mateo had 
regained consciousness by this time. The Doctor 


34 Mary in New Mexico 

took his hand and looked him straight in the 
eye. 

“I’ve got to hurt you, my boy,” he said. “But 
it’s a question of life or death, I think, and I must get 
the bullet out. You will have to keep perfectly still.” 

Mateo nodded in his usual calm fashion, and the 
Doctor at once proceeded to the operation. Mateo 
was wonderful, and lived up to the finest tradition 
of the Indian race. I suppose it was five minutes, 
but it seemed to me an age before the bullet was 
extracted and the Doctor gave a sigh of relief. I 
had never seen him at work before. It was won- 
derful to watch his strong, quick fingers. I felt no 
faintness, only a tremendous interest. 

When it was over, and Mateo properly bandaged 
and put to bed, we all sat down on the porch. Then 
the Doctor called Dave to the witness stand. 

“How did this happen?” he asked sternly. “How 
could a boy shoot himself who was as familiar with 
a gun as this Indian boy?” Anthony was standing 
in the door listening, and ready to go back to his 
friend as soon as possible, while Mrs. Ransome, 
Mary and I sat waiting to hear the story. 

“Well,” began Dave. “I ran down to find Mateo 
and watch him shoot rabbits. He was after one 
fellow. I called to him not to shoot me. I guess 
it surprised him. Anyhow, he stumbled over some- 
thing and the rabbit jumped out of a bush almost 
under his feet and he fell on the gun and it went off.” 

“Had he laid the gun down while he was chasing 
the rabbit?” 


The Indian Mound and Its Treasure 35 

“I think he must have. Yes, I guess so. That’s 
how he stumbled on it, I guess.” 

“I’m sure it wasn’t Dave’s fault,” said Mrs. Ran- 
some. 

“I don’t believe it was. But just the same, I want 
to find out and be sure there was no foolish business 
with guns.” 

“Indeed there wasn’t, Dad. Is Mateo going to 
be all right?” 

“I think so. But he has had a narrow escape.” 

Anthony went in the cabin, while Dave ran off, 
followed by Trixy. 

“It’s lucky you were here,” observed Mrs. Ran- 
some to the Doctor. 

“It certainly is. I doubt if a doctor from out- 
side could have reached here in time.” 

“When do you think he can be moved?” 

“I am not sure. I never had an Indian patient. 
He may be running around day after tomorrow. 
How devoted Anthony is to him.” 

“Yes, they were brought up together. Anthony 
never had any brothers and always wanted one. 
His sisters weren’t masculine enough for him. 
Mateo’s father had worked for the Rogers and 
when the mother died, leaving Mateo a baby of 
three years, the Rogers took him home to play with 
Anthony. He has half lived there ever since, al- 
though he never ceases to love his own people and 
spend some time with them.” 

Anthony did not go home that day. Indeed, it 
was four days before Mateo was able to be up and 


36 


Mary in New Mexico 


about. Evidently Anthony told his foster brother 
how narrow his escape had been, for the Indian boy 
was intensely grateful. 

“I never forget,” he said. “Whenever you want 
anything, you ask Mateo.” 

He had been a perfect invalid, so patient, and 
helping all he could. He never winced when his 
wound had to be dressed, and we all hated to part 
with him. But finally he declared himself well and 
drove off in the car that Anthony had insisted on 
getting for him at Taos. 

In the haste of departure Mary almost forgot 
to speak of the ring. But Anthony whispered to 
her that he had it safe just before the auto started. 

It was a gray day, with threatening clouds and 
occasional rain drops. So we all went into the cabin 
and lighted a fire. Then while some of us popped 
corn, the Doctor told the children some stories of 
New Mexican history. 

“I don’t want you to think of New Mexico as if 
it were all like the country around here,” he began. 
“This is Rocky Mountain country, with a few 
‘mesas’ or table mountains and a few lower 
buttes in the distance. On our way home by Santa 
Fe you will see something quite different. Barren 
lands, mighty canons without vegetation, great plains 
of cactus and sage brush. You get some idea of it 
on the drive from here to Taos, but only a glimpse. 
That southern part was what the Spaniards dis- 
covered in the sixteenth century, after they had 
settled South America, — when old Mexico had be- 


The Indian Mound and Its Treasure 37 


come a province of Spain. The wonderful, heroic 
Spanish missionaries penetrated into the Indian 
pueblos, lived sometimes alone with their savage 
flock and were frequently murdered by them. Santa 
Fe was settled by the Spaniards about 1605. 

“But it was in the middle of the sixteenth century 
that Mendoza, first viceroy of New Spain, heard of 
a wonderful land of gold, the grand Quivira, and 
he sent out Coronado, the brave adventurer, with 
an expedition of daredevils to find the place. ‘Find 
it and settle down and don’t come back,’ were the 
orders. Coronado marched into New Mexico, but 
the fabled seven cities of gold turned out to be pueblo 
towns — wonderful enough but without the gold and 
most disappointing to the Spaniards. But they pene- 
trated as far as Kansas. They were a recklessly 
brave band of explorers. 

“After Santa Fe was founded the Spaniards oc- 
cupied New Mexico in peace with only two serious 
Indian uprisings until the nineteenth century, when 
America took possession after the Mexican War. 

“It was early in the nineteenth century that traders 
started to carry their wares across the mountains. 
The first trail led through Taos but after a while 
this was found too difficult and the trails east of 
the Rockies, coming up south of Santa Fe, were 
used more and more. There was always great ex- 
citement when the prairie schooners arrived with 
their loads of silks and furs and salt and ornaments. 

“These adventurous traders certainly deserved all 
the fuss that was made over them when you think 


38 


Mary in New Mexico 


of the dangers and exposures and fatigues of their 
long, long journey across country. The Spanish 
government made them pay well for their trading, 
too, and many of the first ones were imprisoned as 
supposed spies. I fancy a goodly ransom was what 
the Spaniards were after. 

“The Indians who attacked the traders were never 
our friends, the Pueblos, but the wandering tribes 
of Apaches, or Comanches, or some other of those 
old brigands. 

“It seems impossible that human beings could 
survive some of these adventures; and of course 
many a trader left his bones in the wilderness. I 
remember reading about two men who held at bay 
a whole band of savages who tried to burn them 
out by setting the prairie on fire. The men were 
rescued just in time by a caravan of traders. Even 
their mules were saved. I often wonder what these 
hardy old scouts thought of the Pueblo Indians; 
whether they classed them with their old enemies of 
the plains, or whether they just thought them part 
of the strange Spanish folk who bought their wares. 

“The Indians have always been great weavers 
and makers of pottery. They had these industries 
long before the Spaniards came.” 

“Are they just the same now as they were then? 
Haven’t they changed?” asked Mary. 

“Who, the Pueblos? Well, I fancy they have 
changed a little, especially since our government has 
insisted on schools, which seems almost a pity. They 
knew a few things well in the old days and now 


The Indian Mound and Its Treasure 39 

they half know a lot of things. It does seem strange 
though, to think of a Catholic priest starting these 
Indian feast days with the Mass and staying on to 
see the Indians finish off with their own strange cere- 
monies. Apparently they can worship in a great 
many ways. They pray to the sun and the rain and 
the harvest, very much as the old Greeks used to.” 

“You mean they still do it? Indians like Mateo 
who have grown up with Christians?” asked Mary. 

“Surely. Mateo sees nothing strange in going to 
the Catholic church on Sunday, and bearing the 
name of a Catholic saint, and in the next breath 
attending a ceremonial dance dedicated to the sun 
god. I am glad that we are going to see more of 
these strange Indian towns and their legends. It 
is hard to remember that it is all part of ‘Our 
United States’.” 

“It does seem so big, out here, Daddy,” said 
Mary. “Somehow it makes me feel like waving the 
flag, just as I did during the war. It is so wonderful 
to think of all this beautiful country belonging with 
New England and the people back home.” 

“Did you ever think,” said the Doctor, “how many 
of these little adobe houses, whose owners hardly 
speak English, had a star flag in their windows show- 
ing that a son or a husband had gone across the seas 
with the lads from New England? That surely 
should make our country united. Every family who 
sent a man ‘over there’ must feel a great kinship 
with all the others. ‘No North, no East, no South, 
no West; one flag, one country for us all’.” 


40 


Mary in New Mexico 


“But when they talk Spanish, they don’t seem like 
Americans,” said Dave. 

“You’ve hit the bull’s eye, Dave,” answered his 
father. “Teach every child to talk American 
and talk it correctly and pretty soon he’ll think 
American.” 

“But why should we want to make them talk 
American?” asked Mary. “I like them better as 
they are. Isn’t it kind of conceited in us to try 
to make them all like us?” 

“Let me answer your question in the good old 
Yankee fashion, by asking another. Why do you 
think that thousands of men and women come over 
here every year from Asia and Europe?” 

“Well, I don’t know. Perhaps because there 
wasn’t room for them at home.” 

“That’s one reason. Do you know another, 
Dave?” Dave, who had been frantically waving his 
right hand, burst out with, “Because they think they 
can get lots more money here and maybe get to be 
President.” 

“Don’t be an idiot, Dave,” exclaimed Mary. 

“Don’t call names, Mary. Besides, Dave is more 
than three-quarters right. He says that every boy 
hopes some day to become President. And there’s 
no reason why he shouldn’t if he talks American 
and thinks American. I’ll ask you another question, 
Mary. What does O-P-P-O-R-T-U-N-I-T-Y spell?” 

“Say it slow, Dad.” 

“Opportunity. What does it mean? Somebody 
speak up! Don’t be alarmed. Well, I think I re- 


The Indian Mound and Its Treasure 41 

member that the dictionary called it a ‘favorable 
chance.’ The United States is the land of equal 
opportunity, where everyone has an equally favor- 
able chance to make something of himself. That 
is what our fathers died for — that is what America 
means if it means anything. Can you imagine a 
little Italian boy or a Greek boy thinking he might 
be King of his country some time?” 

“Well, I suppose not. But .1 can’t imagine the 
policeman or motorman at home being President.” 

“Stranger things have happened. Think of Lin- 
coln. Perhaps, too, our country is not keeping up 
to its ideals. It is for us who are of the old stock 
to live up to them. We want to teach these Mexi- 
cans and Germans and Italians and Czechs and all 
the rest the American language of the Constitution, 
the American speech of Abraham Lincoln. Before 
we teach them we’ve got to be sure that we know 
it ourselves. Is there any other great country, Mary, 
that can say it has never fought except for Liberty 
for itself or others?” 

“But, Daddy, we haven’t treated the Indians or 
negroes very well,” said Mary, “and you said your- 
self that it would be a pity to change the Pueblos.” 

“I am afraid we cannot change these people. 
They have lived so long in one way, that they can- 
not live through a change. But we are realizing 
our duty to them more and more intelligently, I hope. 
Let us remember, Mary, that an American has two 
big watchwords. Equal Opportunity and Equal Obli- 
gation, which means duty. It is because so many 


42 


Mary in New Mexico 


of us have forgotten the second watchword that we 
have failed toward the Indians and negroes.” 

There was a pause and Dave murmured softly, 
“Let us close by singing Hymn No. 9999.” 

“I think we will close by boxing your ears,” re- 
marked the Doctor. Dave jumped up and there 
was a race for the house and sanctuary. 


CHAPTER V 

THE INDIAN CAVE 


T WANT my ring back — I don’t see why An- 
thony doesn’t bring it,” said Mary, just as we 
were starting out on our long-deferred picnic. 
About a week had passed and no word had come 
from Anthony. 

“I fancy he’ll write, or his father will, soon,” 
replied the Doctor. 

Mary and Dave were on horseback, while the 
Doctor, Trixy and I were in the buckboard. It 
was to be ride and drive and change about. So 
we started while the valley lay in sunshine and only 
one of the distant mountains was topped with 
clouds. 

The Indian cave was our destination. We hoped 
and we expected to buy our provisions at a small 
store in a little Mexican village on the way. 

I do not like to drive down these precipices that 
are called “down hill,” for working the brake is no 
easy matter. So the Doctor took the reins while 
Trixy snuggled between us. She watched us tilting 
with fascinated eyes and would remark every once 
in a while, “That would be a bad place to fall down,” 
or “I wouldn’t like to tip over here, Mother.” 

43 


44 


Mary in New Mexico 


Dave and Mary, taking short cuts over hills that 
seemed only suitable for mountain goats or burros, 
soon outdistanced us, but we caught glimpses of 
them, and at last they joined us, coming at a slide 
down a gravelly mountain. Presently we were at 
the bottom of the canon, where rushed the beautiful 
Hondo, which we forded. The water came almost 
up to the bottom of the wagon and the horses found 
some difficulty in keeping their foothold on the slip- 
pery, sliding stones. Trix did not like it and decided 
that she would ride home on horseback over that 
stream. 

“Which would be better, Dad?” she asked. “To 
ride in water or drive?” It was a difficult question 
to solve. 

“I think both would be easy here,” said the Doc- 
tor. “This isn’t bad, Trix.” 

The Doctor had halted the horses. “Look up 
the river,” he said. A short distance away loomed 
a great wild gateway of rocky hills through which 
the water rushed. Just above were some ruins. “I 
wonder what happened there,” remarked the Doctor. 

“It’s the proper place for a bloody deed,” I said. 

Looking down the river, the canon seemed almost 
like the Grand Canon of the Colorado, so covered 
with erosion and beautiful colors were the rocks. 
Up the steep bank ahead of us lay the Taos 
plains. 

We drove along through pastures of irrigated 
lands, through waste lands, given over to prairie 
dogs, past Mexican and Indian adobe houses, and 


The Indian Cave 


45 


corrals inhabited by dogs and very little children, 
until we reached the village where we were to buy 
our food. 

While the Doctor and I were negotiating in the 
wooden shop which looked surprisingly like a New 
England country store, Trix and Mary went explor- 
ing among the smooth-walled adobe houses. Soon 
they had found seven little lambs, a family of rabbits, 
and a yard full of hens with one fierce turkey who 
gobbled at them, to their great delight. It was 
certainly a pretty sight to see Trixy and the lambs, 
who bleated and liked to have her scratch their 
heads. 

Dave stood by as we bought the provisions. “Are 
you buying salt butter?” he asked. 

“Yes, why?” asked the Doctor. 

“Because my physiology book says salt butter 
keeps better,” he answered. 

The clouds were gathering over the mountains 
and in the canons ahead of us when we finally started 
for the cave, armed with hope and equipped with 
more varieties of information than seemed possible. 

Straight up the hill from the little village we went, 
the Doctor driving now, for the trail threatened to 
be a bad one, turning from time to time to look 
across the hazy plains to the far mountains, dimly 
blue in the distance. Just ahead was a great, bold, 
rocky-faced mountain that stood out against the 
forest-covered slopes at either side. Between this 
mountain and the next was the canon into which the 
trail led. We passed two or three isolated adobe 


46 


Mary in New Mexico 


houses, some sheep bleated from a corral, a small 
boy driving cattle met us and a dog ran out of a 
thicket to bark. Then the village was gone and the 
brush which almost swallowed the wagon tracks was 
about us. Mary and Dave scouted ahead on their 
horses and assured us that the trail was possible. 
The wagon tilted from side to side, and finally the 
horses came to a standstill at the foot of a narrow 
path that seemed to crawl up a perpendicular slope. 

“Ride ahead, Mary,” said the Doctor. “See what 
the path does farther up.” 

So Mary pushed Jim Snort up the hill and disap- 
peared among the trees and underbrush. 

“Here is the stream at our right. We can’t be 
far out of the way,”I remarked. The rushing little 
brook must be coming from the waterfall, I thought. 
Then we heard a call from Mary and she reap- 
peared. 

“You can’t drive up, I don’t believe, but it’s here,” 
she said. “O, it’s wonderful!” 

“I’ll tie the horses, then,” said the Doctor. “They 
can live on scrub-oak for a few hours. If the clouds 
don’t belie themselves, there’ll be plenty of water 
before long,” he added. Up the canon and over 
the mountains hung heavy gray clouds and an omi- 
nous mutter of thunder came from somewhere. But 
thunderstorms are rapid and every-day occurrences 
in this part of the country and no one heeds them. 

So the horses were pastured and we proceeded 
up the steep incline, hearing louder and louder the 
sound of the stream. Then suddenly we came upon 










> .V, t «H • l**.«*i 

















































































THE CAVE WAS FULL OF ECHOES AND LIGHTS, 





The Indian Cave 


47 


the falls — a thin stream, fifty feet or more in height, 
glistening in the sunlight and shining like silver, with 
the black mouth of the cave for a background. 
Round the falls led the path, and we followed Mary 
and Dave, who had gone on ahead of us. 

The cave itself was large, how large we could not 
see at once, for it was dark except for the light that 
shone and flickered through the falls in iridescent 
color on a single area at the back. It was enormously 
high, and damp. I could feel the chill of the tomb 
about me. 

“I don’t wonder the Indians regard it with fear 
and trembling,” remarked the Doctor. “Half an 
hour’s stay here would give any one the worst attack 
of rheumatism imaginable.” 

There were markings on the wall, but nothing that 
seemed to mean anything. Mary and Dave were 
examining every stone and crevice with the pains- 
taking thoroughness of a detective. 

“I think I’ll go out in the sun,” I said, and Trixy 
followed me. She was silent for once. The Doctor 
came too. There came a call from Mary. 

“Dad, Mother, I’ve found something. A stone 
that will move. Right here where the light shines.” 
Then a cry of surprise and delight. “There’s a 
long hole here, and, Dad, I’ve found another 
ring!” 

At that moment the light seemed to be extin- 
guished and a deeper, nearer rumble of thunder 
made us jump. Mary and Dave came tumbling out 
half frightened, for the sound echoed and rever- 


48 


Mary in New Mexico 


berated through the cave. Some drops of rain 
were beginning to fall. 

The Doctor examined Mary’s new treasure. “If 
it wasn’t for the fact that Anthony has your ring 
in Taos, I should say that you had found this be- 
fore. It certainly looks just like it, only cleaned 
up a bit.” 

For the ring which the Doctor held was of pol- 
ished silver with the jade showing plainly. Also 
we could now see certain odd characters worked into 
the silver, unmistakably Chinese. 

“This is most mysterious, Mary. You seem to 
find rings like a divining rod. But we’ve got to get 
under cover. This storm is a big one.” The rain 
was turning into hail which rattled around us, and 
the lightning flashes broke the dark gloom of the 
clouds which enveloped us. We hardly dared to 
stay in the damp cold cave, but after all it was not 
so wet as outside. 

Mary and Dave collected what sticks they could 
find and presently the Doctor had a fire glowing in 
friendly fashion. The provision basket was pro- 
duced. The smoking bacon and fried eggs imme- 
diately removed some of the eeriness of the place. 
Outside the wind blew and the rain and hail fell. 
The cave was full of echoes and lights that quivered 
amid the shadows. 

We were all glad when the storm ended and the 
sun suddenly brightened everything. Back we 
started. Mary, with her ring tied about her neck, 
drove in the buckboard with Trixy and myself, while 


The Indian Cave 


49 


Dave and his father rode ahead. I wrapped my 
sweater around Trixy, who was cold. Indeed, the 
sun could have been much warmer and still not have 
been too warm. 

It seemed a long road home. Over the plains the 
winds blew, and the sun was unexpectedly low in 
the heavens. Trixy begged to be allowed to ride 
but we told her that she must wait till nearer home. 
Down in the Hondo Canon it was full of shadows, 
and the strange ruins stood out more sinister than 
ever against the rocks. Then came the long, uphill 
climb. 

“Can’t I ride now?” begged Trixy. So finally the 
Doctor took pity and got off Nellie. He lifted Trixy 
up on the horse and sat down in the back of the 
wagon. 

Dave was far ahead and we could not see him 
in the dusk. As for Trixy, her straight little figure 
trotted behind us, a dark bobbing shadow against 
the sky. 

“Are you tired?” called the Doctor presently. 

“Why do you ask?” she called in answer. 

“Because if you are, you can get off the horse and 
ride in the wagon.” 

“I don’t want to get off,” was the prompt 
reply. 

So we finally came to the ranch house as the dark- 
ness shut down in earnest. Dave had already ar- 
rived and the Ransomes were out on the porch to 
welcome us. Anthony was with them, and a tall, 
fine looking man who was his father. 


50 Mary in New Mexico 

“Have you got my ring, Anthony?” called Mary 
eagerly. 

“It was the ring that brought us up here,” Mr. 
Rogers answered. “It is a great treasure, and it 
is lost. I don’t know that we are to blame. But 
I felt that I must come to tell you. I had examined 
it carefully and then had put it in my strong box for 
safe-keeping. The next morning it was gone. 
We have looked everywhere and questioned every 
one.” 

The Doctor suddenly said: “Would you surely 
know it again? and did you polish it before you 
examined it?” 

“Yes to both questions,” answered Mr. Rogers, 
unhesitatingly. 

At once I thought of the shiny silver ring Mary 
had found that day. 

“Show Mr. Rogers your ring, Mary,” said her 
father in a curious voice. 

Mary instantly unfastened the string and pro- 
duced the ring. 

Some one struck a match. 

There was. a moment’s silence, then: “It’s the 
same ring,” said Mr. Rogers simply; “Where did 
you get it?” 

“In the Indian cave back of Seco,” answered 
Mary, her voice trembling with excitement. 

“It’s too long and complicated to discuss now,” 
I said. “We must go home with the children. Can’t 
you come up to the cabin after supper and tell us 
about it?” 


The Indian Cave 


51 


“I certainly will come, for I want to hear as well 
as tell,” was the answer. 

So we drove away in the darkness and I felt as 
though all the mysteries of the East and West had 
descended upon us in a heavy cloud. I was glad 
when the lamps were lighted in the cabin and the 
fire was burning in the stove and the smell of modern 
prosaic kerosene filled the air. 


CHAPTER VI 


THE RING IS SENT AWAY 
HEN Trix was in bed and the supper dishes 



" * cleared away, the Doctor lighted a roaring 
wood fire on the hearth. 

Then Anthony, Mr. Rogers, Winifred and Ted 
Ransome came in. We gathered around the fire, 
while Mr. Rogers, full of eagerness, questioned us 
as to the finding of the ring. 

Mary answered; told how she had found it in 
the mound in the first place, how she had entrusted 
it to Anthony after Mateo’s departure, and then how 
she had discovered the secret place in the cave. 

“It sounds like magic,” said the older man 
slowly. “But I fancy Mateo had something to do 
with it. The ring is undoubtedly very ancient. The 
stone is jade, which of course, is not found here. 
I think we must say that it is Chinese, although some 
of the markings are quite Indian. I would give a 
good deal to know the history of it. Many people 
claim that these Indians here were originally 
Chinese. This ring may be an added proof of it. 
It may mean some form of ancestor worship, which 
took place in the cave. I think Mateo unquestionably 


52 


The Ring is Sent Away 53 

associates the two together — I mean, the ring and 
the cave.” 

The ring was passed from hand to hand care- 
fully. It was simple in workmanship but the jade 
was handsome, very light in color. It seemed to be 
roughly of the shape of a grotesque animal. 

“Are you going to wear it?” asked Ted. 

“I wouldn’t advise it. Not in these parts, any- 
way,” said Mr. Rogers. “Mateo, and perhaps the 
other Indians, do not relish seeing it in your pos- 
session, Mary.” 

“Safes don’t seem strong enough to hold it, so 
maybe Mary wouldn’t be,” laughed Dave. 

“Do you think your father would keep it in his 
safe for us, Winifred?” asked the Doctor. 

“I guess so. I wonder if they will know it is 
here, the Indians I mean.” 

“If I were you, I’d send it by registered mail to 
my bank in Boston,” remarked Mr. Rogers, thought- 
fully. “It’s valuable at home as an antique and 
apparently it’s wanted here also, by others beside 
ourselves.” 

“We’ll think about it. At any rate, Mary will 
not wear it while we are in this part of the country,” 
replied the Doctor. “You have lived here in New 
Mexico for a long time, Mr. Rogers. What do 
you think of this cave?” 

“Well, till now I should have said that it was 
a cave that the Indians regarded with superstition 
but which I considered to hold nothing worse nowa- 
days than rheumatism. But if the Indians consider 


54 


Mary in New Mexico 


that this ring belongs to them and it, apparently it 
means more. I shall have to stir up some of the 
old fellows and perhaps I can find out something. 
A Chinese witch ring in an Indian cave is sufficiently 
interesting in itself. I wish I knew more about it. 
You must consult Bixby; he is the great Indian au- 
thority. And really, let me warn you. Don’t let 
that little girl of yours carry it around.” With this 
parting word, Mr. Rogers and Anthony got up and 
said good-night. 

The next morning they returned to Taos and 
Mary and her father went down to the Ransomes’ 
with the ring. Mr. Ransome appeared a little doubt- 
ful as to the safe-keeping of the mysterious treasure. 
He considered Mr. Rogers’ advice good, namely, 
to send the ring by registered mail back to the 
East. 

“But I can’t register it here,” said the Doctor. 
“I would have to take it to Seco at least, or Quanta.” 

“I would advise it,” observed Mr. Ransome. 

“Well, I’ll go over tomorrow with it,” remarked 
the Doctor finally. “I ought not to ask you to keep 
it for me, if it’s likely to make trouble.” 

“I’ll keep it in the safe till tomorrow,” said Mr. 
Ransome. 

Late that afternoon Mary and Dave went down 
for the mail as was their custom. As they came 
near the house they saw a cavalcade of riders ap- 
proaching along the old trail that led from Taos to 
the north. This crossed the road from the cabin 
not far away from the ranch house. 


55 


The Ring is Sent Away 

“Mary, it’s Indians,” cried Dave. Sure enough 
there were at least a score of Indians dressed roughly 
and blanketed, but not in war paint, as Dave re- 
marked. They waved their hands to the children, 
who waved back. 

The Ransomes were out watching the little party. 
“Where are they going?” asked Dave. 

“Hunting — they go north to hunt deer and some- 
times a yearling falls to their guns. That’s why I 
don’t care to see them go by. They are so carefully 
protected by Uncle Sam that they are as irrespon- 
sible as children and almost impossible to bring to 
justice.” 

“I am glad I saw them,” said Dave. “Is the 
mail here, Mr. Ransome?” 

“There is nothing for you but bread from 
Quanta.” 

“Hurrah, bread! We were all out of it,” cried 
Mary. “Is my ring all safe?” 

“I am sure of it; but I shall be glad to have your 
father take it tomorrow.” 

Ted and Winifred walked back with the children. 
The Doctor, Trixy and I went down to the big 
swinging gate to meet them some time before they 
were in sight. It was a glorious afternoon. The 
mountains back of us stood out against the cloud- 
flecked blue sky — there were always clouds some- 
where. These were of the piled-up silver variety. 
As we came to the gate a fine looking, gray haired 
man rode up on a white horse. He was in the uni- 
form of a ranger. “That’s Jim Esty, the forest 


56 


Mary in New Mexico 


ranger, that Mr. Ransome thinks so much of,” re- 
marked the Doctor. “I met him at Taos before you 
came.” 

“He looks nice,” I answered. Then the Doctor 
introduced him. At that moment Ted and Wini- 
fred and our two children appeared. They all 
greeted the ranger with enthusiasm. 

“What brings you here, Mr. Esty?” asked Ted. 

“O, a number of things. I’m looking for a bite 
to eat for one thing.” 

“Surely, you’ll spend the night with us,” said Ted. 

“If I am invited, I think I’ll have to.” 

The three went off together down the hill. Dave 
looked after them enviously. 

“Isn’t that horse a beaut?” he said. “I’d like 
to be him.” 

“The horse?” asked the Doctor. 

“No, the man.” 

“He is a very good friend of the Ransomes,” 
said Mary eagerly. “He always calls Winifred his 
baby, to tease her. He tells the most wonderful 
stories. You see he was here in the old days of 
Indian fights and things.” 

“What things?” asked Dave. 

“O, don’t be silly. You know what I mean.” 

“No, I don’t. What things?” persisted Dave. 

“Shoes and ships and sealing wax,” quoted his 
father. 

“Dave, will you ride with me to Quanta to mail 
Mary’s ring?” 

“Why can’t I go?” asked Mary, while Dave 


The Ring is Sent Away 57 

answered enthusiastically: “You’ve said some- 
thing.” 

“Have I?” remarked the Doctor mildly. “That’s 
more than I can say for some folks. Will you go?” 

“You bet,” was the reply, while Mary asked 
again: “Why can’t I go? It’s my ring.” 

“That’s enough glory, I think,” said her father 
quietly. 

The next morning early the Doctor, Mary and 
Dave went down to the Ransomes for the ring. Dave 
and his father rode on horseback and Mary ran 
along to say goodbye to her treasure. The doctor 
wrapped it up carefully in a little box and tied it 
as professionally as he would a broken arm. Pres- 
ently they were off, with a wave from the Doctor’s 
hand and a cowboy call from Dave. 

“I am glad the ring is gone,” remarked Mr. 
Ransome. 


CHAPTER VII 


THE KILLING OF THE STEER 

lyr EANWHILE Mary and Winifred had gone 
1 -*■ into the house. The older girl was dressed 
in a picturesque riding costume, a fringed Indian 
hunting shirt lending charm to her slight figure. 

“Will you ride up the canon with me today, 
Mary?” asked Winifred. 

“Surely, if mother’ll let me. I know she will. O, 
but both the horses are in use.” 

“You can borrow one of ours. I’ll bring him up. 
I want to start early, at eleven. We can take some 
sandwiches.” 

“All right. That would be wonderful.” 

Without waiting for any more conversation Mary 
ran up to the cabin. She speedily obtained the de- 
sired permission, after assuring me that the invita- 
tion had come from Winifred. At the stroke of 
eleven, Winifred appeared, looking more charming 
than ever, with her dark eyes and white skin shaded 
by a military hat. She was leading a brown horse 
that I knew to be gentle. Mary was ready with her 
lunch in a small knapsack. 

So they rode off and I watched them go with pride, 
for they both sat as straight as arrows. 

58 


The Killing of the Steer 


59 


It was a wild rough trail up the canon after the 
first pasture and pine woodland was passed. The 
stream rushed down a rocky bed and the path crossed 
and recrossed at every possible angle. In places the 
rolling stones seemed to make horse travel impos- 
sible and at other times the wet soil almost forced 
a stumble or a fall. But they rode slowly and 
steadily upward, past the great precipitous rocks 
known as the fireplace, through the wire gate which 
divided the lower and upper canon, and presently 
came to the beautiful stretch of young aspens. The 
tall, slim, olive-green trunks and the fresh delicate 
foliage were like woodland nymphs holding a 
sprightly carnival upon the hillside. Mary had 
never been so far up the canon before. 

“Where are we going?” she asked. “When shall 
we eat our sandwiches?” 

“We might do that now,” said Winifred. “We’ll 
be out of the woods presently and it’s pleasanter to 
eat here in the shade.” 

So they got off their horses and rested beside the 
rushing stream and ate their lunch. 

Winifred seemed a little nervous. She appeared 
to be on the watch for something or somebody. At 
last Mary noticed it and became uneasy. “Did you 
see anything?” she asked. “Is there any danger 
of rattlers or mountain lions?” 

“What do you mean? — of course not,” said Wini- 
fred laughing. “Let’s go on.” 

They mounted their horses and in a few minutes 
left the aspens and came out on the mountain pas- 


60 


Mary in New Mexico 


ture land where the Ransomes’ cattle roamed and 
grew fat. Mary felt a little relief at the wider 
outlook. She also liked the late wild strawberries 
which grew on the steep mountain side among the 
wild flowers. Still they went up. 

Presently a grove of pines sprang up on their 
right and they caught glimpses of a cow or two. 
Then from somewhere in the pines a horse whinnied. 
Winifred’s horse answered. Then a man walked 
out from the shade of the trees. It was Jim Esty. 
He waved to them to join him. 

“Let’s not go any farther,” said Winifred. Mary 
instantly jumped off her horse. Jim Esty came up 
to them. “What on earth are you doing way up 
here?” he asked. 

“O, we thought we’d take a ride and look at the 
stock,” said Winifred easily. 

“They’re all in there but those two yearlings 
your father spoke of last night,” said Esty. “I’ve 
been hunting around for them but they seem 
to have strayed. It’s hot here. Come into the 
shade.” 

The three strolled slowly over to the pines and 
sat down, after tethering the horses. Presently 
Mary began to hunt for strawberries. She stood 
for a moment at the edge of the wood looking 
across the pasture-land to the trees beyond. As 
she looked she saw away off a red moving object 
which she thought might be one of the yearlings. 
She called out to the ranger, who immediately 
jumped and joined her. Suddenly as she looked 


The Killing of the Steer 61 

the creature seemed to fall. It half rose and fell 
again. 

“Come here, Winifred,” called Mary. “I think 
there’s something queer the matter.” 

Esty had field glasses and with them he looked 
over to where Mary pointed. “It’s a steer, sure 
enough, and it’s down as though hurt. By thunder, 
what’s that?” 

Mary strained her eyes and seemed to see a 
crouching figure approach the fallen animal. 

“What is it, Mr. Esty?” asked Winifred, who 
had joined them. 

“Indian!” was the brief response. “Keep still!” 

“He can’t hear us,” said Winifred. 

“There may be others. 1 had an idea they might 
be after those yearlings.” He spoke in a whisper. 

“What will you do?” asked Winifred. 

“Go after him — you girls ought not to be here. 
I bet you thought there’d be trouble and that brought 
you, Winifred. You always are up to some mischief. 
But I don’t dare start you home. Here, 'take my 
pistol — you know how to shoot, and stay by the 
horses. I don’t believe he’ll show any fight. In- 
deed, I’m afraid I won’t get a sight of him. But 
I may.” 

“Is there any danger, Mr. Esty?” asked Winifred 
sharply. 

“Now, don’t be scared, kid.” He laughed lightly. 
Mary was waiting impatiently for him to go. He 
went quickly, leaving his glasses with Winifred. He 
did not cross the open but vanished among the trees. 


62 


Mary in New Mexico 

“There’s another Indian there. They are skinning 
the steer,” said Winifred suddenly. “The brutes! 
I hope Jim Esty catches them good and plenty.” 

“May I look?” asked Mary finally. 

“Why, of course. Excuse me,” said the older 
girl, as she handed the glasses to her. 

Mary looked eagerly and made out the steer on 
the ground and the two Indians busily at work. It 
was very still. The only sound was made by the 
horses as they moved about occasionally to the end 
of the rope. Then a mountain jay screeched some* 
where, startling the two girls as they took turns at 
looking through the glasses. 

Over on the hillside there was no change. The 
two men continued to work on the fallen steer. Then 
suddenly as Mary looked she saw the Indians turn, 
half rise, and throw up their hands. 

“Winifred, he’s got them,” she cried in excitement. 
“Here, take the glasses.” There was a distant re- 
port of a gun fired. “Is it Mr. Esty or the Indians?” 
asked Mary, quivering with excitement. 

“It must be Esty — the Indians are still holding 
up their hands,” answered Winifred. 

“But what will he do with them?” 

“I don’t know as he can do anything. I wish he’d 
shot ’em for the rascals they are. But the Govern- 
ment protects them and they know they are safe. 
He’ll warn them probably. See, they are rising to 
their feet.” 

“Won’t they try to do something to him in re- 
venge?” asked Mary. 


63 


The Killing of the Steer 

“Don’t be silly. Of course not. They’ll be glad 
enough to get away. Look, they’ve left the steer 
and are going. He’ll be back soon. O, Mary, I’m 
so glad!” 

“They might have shot him. I think he’s aw- 
fully brave,” said Mary. 

“Well, if that isn’t the coolest! Just like Jim 
Esty,” remarked Winifred suddenly. 

“What is?” 

“I believe he’ll bring back a fine steak from that 
steer for father. He’s working over it. Now he’s 
stopped. He’s coming back.” She sat down with 
a sort of gasp of relief, handing the glasses to Mary. 
But there was nothing more to be seen and after 
some time Jim Esty joined them, carrying a good 
sized piece of beef. 

“Well, they didn’t show fight nor fear, the nervy 
rascals. How I did itch to put a shot in them, in- 
stead of just scaring them. Did you hear my shot?” 
he asked. “There’s a fine roast for you all, Wini- 
fred.” 

“I knew you were getting one. Why didn’t you 
bring back the whole thing while you were about 
it?” she enquired laughing. 

“I guess you’d better send some one else for the 
rest,” he grinned. “It’s time we started down if 
we want to get home before dark. I’d rather fancy 
it, myself.” 

The two girls quickly mounted and Jim followed. 
“You ride first, Winifred,” he said. “Mary, you 
next, and I’ll bring up the rear.” 


64 


Mary in New Mexico 


So they started and in a few minutes entered the 
aspens. It seemed sombre and dusky in the grove. 
Mary found it difficult to keep her eyes on the path 
and on her horse’s feet. She kept looking into the 
depths of the woods. She tried to talk to Jim Esty 
or Winifred. But no one seemed conversationally 
inclined and presently they rode in silence. 

The horses’ hoofs on the stony places and the 
creaking of the leather saddles were the only sounds 
to be heard. The wood nymphs of noon had turned 
into sinister spirits in Mary’s eyes. Every green 
tree-trunk might conceal a dusky, hostile form. The 
fact that Esty turned occasionally to scan the forest 
and the back trail and that Winifred seemed uneasy 
did not add to her peace of mind. 

At last the aspens were left behind and they came 
to the high pines and rocks. It was getting dark, but 
Esty was plainly relieved when they passed the wire 
gate and were down in the lower canon. He called 
out: “What’s the trouble, Winifred? You’re as 
silent as the grave.” 

“You weren’t especially talkative yourself,” 
answered the girl. 

“It’s a long, long trail,” he laughed. Then he 
broke into song. Mary joined in half under her 
breath. She loved to hear him and her heart thrilled 
as she pictured the ranger riding along through the 
forests, braving danger of all sorts in the course 
of duty. 


CHAPTER VIII 

WAITING FOR NEWS 


RIXY and I had been alone all day, as far as 



A human companionship was concerned. But we 
had four-footed and two-footed friends a-plenty. 
The chickens persistently stalked about the back 
porch or flew into the low cherry trees, whence they 
had to be dislodged by sticks and stones. There 
was one dignified rooster in particular who seemed 
to rise straight up in the air and attain one cherry 
at a time with apparently no effort, while the hens 
pressed about like fat old ladies with hooked noses. 
One hen was followed by two young turkeys who 
were motherless and announced the fact to the world 
by shrill peepings of despair and grief. I almost 
hated those young turkeys. 

There were some new families of pigs, Trixy told 
me, so we wandered down through the orchard late 
in the morning and found a whole regiment of pigs, 
big and little, in the lower pasture. They seemed 
wonderfully happy and full of well-being. Trixy 
called “Pig, pig, pig.” Immediately mothers and 
babies, brothers and sisters, uncles and aunts rushed 
up, grunting in joyful anticipation. I was able to 


65 


66 


Mary in New Mexico 


put my hands over the wires and grasp a young, very 
young piglet. He immediately set up a series of 
unearthly squeaks. I felt like the Duchess in “Alice 
in Wonderland” and expected some one to sneeze 
or cry: “Speak kindly to your little boy and beat 
him when he sneezes.” 

The other pigs took to their heels and never was 
seen a more amusing sight than those scores of pink 
and black creatures darting about like puppies while 
the homely older generation grunted disgustedly. 
Trixy held the baby in her arms. Pink it was, with 
a broad band of black, and never have I seen a more 
active child! We were glad to let it go presently 
and watch it run frantically to join its mother and 
family. 

After lunch we rested. I lay in the hammock and 
lazily watched dozens of tiny chipmunks, their rat 
tails standing straight up in the air, chase each other 
up and down the rail fence or timidly and curiously 
approach the tree under which I lay. I finally called 
Trixy to see two run up a cherry tree and nibble at 
the bright red fruit. Those poor cherries! They 
would certainly be gone before their rightful owners 
could get them ripe enough for human food. Two 
brilliant mountain jays and several robins were rival- 
ling the hens in the pine trees nearby. Suddenly our 
pleasant, friendly scene was interrupted. Down 
swept a beautiful fierce brown creature, swooping 
like a war plane on a peaceful town. It was a great 
chicken hawk. 

In a moment the birds had disappeared and the 


67 


Waiting for News 

hens fled to their house. The disappointed marauder 
floated away, after circling around a few moments 
to make sure that his prey had really escaped him. 

Having finished our naps, so-called, we visited 
our borrowed dog, whom we had for safety’s sake, 
and all loved for her friendly ways and great brown 
trustful eyes. She, too, had babies. Five little, 
dark brown bundles of soft fur squirmed in the back 
of the dog house, their eyes not yet open but their 
mouths never shut! 

As a last diversion we went on our daily route 
to the mail box, half a mile down the hill. I was 
beginning to wonder when our two sets of travelers 
would return. Surely, Mary should be down from 
the canon! Surely, the Doctor and Dave had had 
ample time to get back from Quanta! 

We sat down on the porch of the big ranch house 
on our way. Mrs. Ransome did not seem disquieted. 
She assured me that Quanta was a long trip — that 
the trail up the canon was hard going. “If they are 
all home at dark they will do well,” she said. 

It was beautiful and peaceful looking across the 
great plains below us. Here and there were dis- 
tant pyramid-shaped mountains, isolated from each 
other, rising out of the sand and grass like huge 
ant-hills. Far off, as far off as the heavenly regions 
I sometimes felt, lay the blue mountains — complete 
repose, complete peace. 

Presently we continued down to the post box. 

“Why, there are no letters, mother,” said Trixy, 
“except the ones we put in this morning.” 


68 Mary in New Mexico 

“Everyone is late,” I sighed, and sat down to 
wait. 

Suddenly quick-eared Trixy called: “They are 
coming, mother. I hear horses.” 

In a moment I too heard them. But it was a rider- 
less horse that passed us on a run. “Trixy, that 
wasn’t one of our horses?” I asked with a sharp 
stab of fear in my heart. 

“No, mother. I’m sure it wasn’t. He was dif- 
ferent. He didn’t look like one of ours.” 

“Here they come, mother,” called Trixy again. 
At that moment again came the sound of hurrying 
hoofs, and once more it was not the Doctor and 
Dave, nor the mail man. This time four Indians, 
their white sheet-like garments wrapped about them, 
passed at a gallop. I mentally pictured them wav- 
ing their clubs and tomahawks and my ears rang 
with imaginary war whoops. I was glad we lived 
in peaceful times. 

“Why do they wear sheets, mother?” asked 
Trixy. 

“I don’t know. It’s a custom among the Pueblo 
Indians around here and I never heard of it else- 
where,” I answered. I was beginning to feel im- 
patient. The shadows were long and lay blue upon 
the hills — the sun was nearing the horizon in a glory 
of clear gold sky. 

At last we dared wait no longer and I slowly and 
disappointedly climbed the hill toward the cabin. 
I stopped to tell the Ransomes that the mail had 
not come. Trixy interrupted to describe the rider- 


Waiting for News 


69 


less grey horse and the galloping Indians. I felt 
anxious, somehow, and they asked us to sit down 
and wait. But I knew that the child must have her 
supper, so we went on. Trixy chattered on about 
horses and Indians, asking me questions which I 
hardly heeded. I was really anxious and dreaded 
I knew not what. 

A shrill whoopee from up beyond the corral 
brought me to the door, and glad I was to see Wini- 
fred and Mary and Mr. Esty appear down the 
trail. I went out to meet them at the gate and 
Trixy ran ahead to tell them of the Indians and the 
riderless horse. 

“It may be the bunch who were after the year- 
ling,” said the ranger. “I wonder who fell off 
the horse.” 

“I am concerned about Dave and the Doctor,” 
I said. 

“Would you like me to ride a bit on the way and 
meet them?” asked the old ranger. 

“I don’t like to trouble you,” I replied. “But it 
would be a satisfaction.” 

“I will then, with pleasure.” So he rode off while 
Winifred stopped a moment to join Mary in an 
excited account of the afternoon’s adventure. 


CHAPTER IX 

THE MAIL ROBBERY 


TT was black night with a myriad stars blazing 
in the sky, and Trixy slept the sleep of the young 
and weary. Then the shrill signal “Whoopee” 
finally came up the trail. We heard the dogs bark- 
ing at the ranch below and knew that the travelers 
were returning. Mary and I ran down to the gate. 
At last the Doctor and Dave came up, riding slowly, 
Dave’s cry announcing their arrival. 

I knew the minute I saw the Doctor’s face that 
something had gone wrong. But he and Dave were 
both there, and apparently safe and sound, and so 
there should be no questions until supper had been 
eaten. Dave was full of something. Finally, as 
he filled his bowl for the third time with milk and 
cereal he burst out : “Mother, did you think it queer 
that there wasn’t any mail this afternoon?” 

“The mail man was certainly late. I don’t know 
when he came,” I answered. 

“He didn’t come at all,” Dave fairly spluttered in 
his excitement. “He was attacked by Indians — and 
O, mother; O, Mary! they got the ring.” 

“What do you mean?” cried Mary. “Father, you 
tell me.” 


70 


71 


The Mail Robbery 

“Dave, you tell the story,” said the Doctor. 

“No, I can’t. You tell it. You’ll do it better.” 

“Well,” began the Doctor, “we started bright and 
early, as you know, and got to Quanta without any 
trouble. When we registered our precious package 
we found that it would get off by an earlier train 
if it went from the other postoffice. So we decided 
to find the mail man and get him to take it back with 
him. He was just about to start, so we gave him 
the package. Then we ate our picnic lunch — ” 

“You’ve forgotten the Indians, Dad,” broke in 
Dave. “There were several standing around, only 
we didn’t think of it till afterwards.” 

“You’re right. There were some men wrapped in 
blankets loafing round the store. But we did not 
pay any attention to them. I wish we had. We ate 
our picnic lunch and then started home. Presently 
we overtook the postman, who seemed rather glad 
of our company. So we trotted along with him, 
and Dave asked a great many questions — whether 
he had ever been held up — whether he always rode 
alone — whether he ever carried money and so forth. 
About this time Jim Snort picked up a stone, so Dave 
and I stopped to repair damages. The post boy 
rode ahead. It took a few minutes to fix Jim Snort. 
Then I discovered that my girth was loose and my 
stirrup had come unbuckled. Dave begged to ride 
on after the postman. I consented, thinking I would 
overtake them in a moment. But the straps were in 
such bad shape that it looked as though someone had 
tampered with them. It was quite a while before 


72 


Alary in New Mexico 


everything was put to rights and I was blaming my- 
self for not examining the saddle before leaving 
Quanta, when I heard the sound of shots fired on the 
road ahead. I was on Nellie in a moment and the 
poor old thing must have thought she had a Mexican 
on her from the way she was treated. I made the 
better speed as I heard another exchange of shots. 

“I rode up just in time to see four Indians gallop- 
ing off in the distance and to find the postman on 
the ground, while Dave and Jim Snort were some- 
where in the bushes, having temporarily parted com- 
pany. The mail man was hurt — shot through the 
side. The mail bags were on the ground, split open, 
the mail spread about and scattered. Having seen 
that Dave was unhurt, though a bit bruised, I turned 
to the wounded man. I worked over him for some 
time and got him into shape to talk and continue 
his journey for a while at least. He told me that 
the Indians had attacked him and had made off with 
one of the packages of registered mail. From his 
description I felt sure that it was Mary’s ring. We 
had to proceed very slowly after this, for I walked 
beside Nellie, holding the wounded man on. That 
is all the story. But I am through with the ring, 
I tell you that.” 

“O, Dad, we must get it back,” cried Mary. 

“The man said that Dave behaved very well.” 
The Doctor turned to me : “He didn’t scream nor 
run away. Of course he couldn’t do anything, but 
I was quite proud of the account of him.” 

“Where’s the man now?” I asked, after I had 


The Mail Robbery 


73 


gone around the table and had duly squeezed Dave, 
who merely remarked gruffly: “O, mother!” 

“He’s down at the Ransomes, I think. I ought 
to go down to see him in the morning. I fixed him 
up for the night before we rode up. I wish to good- 
ness I had been with him and had gotten a shot at 
those fellows!” 

“I’m glad you weren’t,” I thought to myself. 

At that moment we heard the click of the gate and 
Mary ran to the door to see who was coming. She 
came back and announced the ranger, with Ted and 
Winifred. Esty had come to get the Doctor’s ac- 
count of the mail robbery and shooting of the mes- 
senger. Had we seen the Indians? Would Dave 
know them again if he saw them? How I wished 
that I had had a better look at them as they galloped 
past. The Doctor had seen nothing but a cloud of 
dust, like sister Anne, while Dave and I could only 
give a description of white sheets and dusky faces, 
three brown ponies and one piebald. I am afraid as 
witnesses we were most unsatisfactory. 

“You think they were after the ring?” asked Esty 
finally. 

“I think they must have been,” answered the Doc- 
tor. “They left all the rest of the registered mail. 
There were six packages — one with gold in it. The 
ring was the only thing taken. It’s astonishing to 
me, the way those red rascals go after it. I thought 
a few minutes ago I was through with it — but I 
declare, I think I’ll not rest till I get it back.” 

“They are queer people,” remarked the ranger. 


74 


Mary in New Mexico 


“I heard a story once from a dealer in Indian curios 
that might interest you. He was an elderly man, 
who spoke English partly with his hands and partly 
with a Mexican accent, but so that a fellow could 
understand it. I went into his shop to inquire if 
they had Indian dolls — for I was a tenderfoot in 
those days and didn’t know the customs of the coun- 
try. I was after a doll to send to a friend with 
a baby.” 

“ ‘Dolls made by Indians? No, no, Senor. The 
Indians make dolls, but they never sell them. Never 
will you see a doll made by an Indian. Only once 
in the years that I have been selling have I been able 
to get an Indian doll. I was looking through the 
pueblo with a young boy to see what we could find 
that would be good to get — pick up, as you would 
say. Thees boy he see in a blanket all wrapped up, 
a doll. The Indian man he was away in the fields. 
The squaw she sell him. I had gone on. The boy 
he join me, carrying the doll so that all might see. 
“Are you mad?” I ask heem. “The last dealer who 
found a doll was nearly killed. Hide it.” So we 
hide it till we come to our cabin. There, I put it in 
the corner with some harness and saddle-blankets 
thrown over it. That night when the men came from 
the fields, three visited us. But they found nothing. 
The next morning, I harness the horses to the wagon 
and I put the doll under the blankets. While I 
harness, four Indians come up quiet and one begins 
looking in the wagon. “What you want?” I ask him. 
“You know,” he answer. He look some more. 


75 


The Mail Robbery 

“Why cannot I have the doll?” I ask, for I see it 
was no use to try to hide it. He answered, “White 
man have a doll, a squaw in his church — he worship 
that doll. Indian, he worship his doll.” And that, 
Senor, is the only Indian doll I ever see.’ ” 

The ranger paused and lighted his pipe. 

“That’s a remarkable story,” said the Doctor. 
“Just the opposite from the Chinese ancestor wor- 
ship but I suppose it’s akin to it.” 

“O, Mr. Esty, won’t you tell us another story,” 
spoke up Dave. “Tell us about the old ruin on 
the Hondo.” 

“You mean the remains of the distillery by the 
ford? Sure, I’ll tell you, unless you folks want to 
turn in.” 

“Not yet,” cried the children. 

So the ranger started: 

The Story of Turley’s Mill 

“When New Mexico first came into our hands the 
natives weren’t any too friendly. The Indians and 
Mexicans decided that they didn’t like ‘los Ameri- 
canos’ and set out to get rid of us. There was to 
be a general massacre, but that sort of petered out. 
Only at Santa Fe and Taos there was big trouble. 

“Now you know where the road to Taos crosses 
the Hondo. Well, right near the ford you can still 
see the ruins of what was then the mill and dis- 
tillery belonging to an American named Turley. 
Turley was a good sort, with a Mexican wife. He 


76 


Mary in New Mexico 


calculated that as long aS he’d always kept open 
house for the natives, they would let him alone. He 
had been warned of the trouble but didn’t take much 
notice till one morning when one of his men who 
had been to Taos to sell some whiskey came dashing 
up with the news that the Indians were on the way. 
Then the man galloped off as fast as his horse would 
carry him. Turley even then wasn’t as scared as 
he ought to have been. But his men made him 
close the gates and make some preparation for 
defence. 

“Not long after, the rabble appeared and de- 
manded that the house and all in it should surrender. 
They promised to save Turley but it was death to 
all the others. Naturally Turley, who was one hun- 
dred percent. American man, refused. He said if 
they wanted the house or the men, they could come 
and take ’em. Then the Indians and Mexicans got 
under cover of bushes and rocks and kept up a mur- 
derous fire on the building. The Americans were 
all good shots, however, and they had a supply of 
ammunition. At every crack of a rifle, an enemy 
fell. Night came, but the Indians and Mexicans kept 
up the attack. When the sun rose, it was discovered 
that they had broken into the stable, which was 
separated from the main house. They couldn’t 
break through the adobe walls, so even then it wasn’t 
serious for the white men. When they found this 
out the Indians decided to get back to the outside. 
This gave the Americans a fine chance and every 
time an Indian showed his face in the court, or so 


The Mail Robbery 77 

much as a hand, pop went a gun and down went 
Mr. Indian. 

“A number were thus accounted for. But instead 
of discouraging the attacking party, this only served 
to make them angry. They poured in such a volley 
that some of the Americans were killed. And they 
could ill be spared. During the afternoon the Mexi- 
cans set fire to the out-buildings and while the 
Americans were busy putting out the fire, the Indians 
charged the corral, and speared all the hogs and 
sheep. 

“It began to look bad for the defenders. Their 
ammunition was failing and the number of the enemy 
increased. So the survivors held a council of war 
and it was decided that when night came on, it would 
be every man for himself and save himself where 
and when he could. A fellow named John Albert 
and another man made up their minds to try it at 
dusk. They rushed through the gate, firing off their 
rifles at the crowd of armed Mexicans, and hoped to 
escape in the confusion. Albert threw himself under 
a fence and from there saw his companion cut to 
pieces with knives by the Mexicans. Albert could 
hear his shrieks for mercy. He lay still under that 
fence till it fell black night and then climbed over 
the logs and escaped to the mountains. Turley him- 
self climbed out of a back window after dark. He 
felt pretty bad leaving everything behind, including 
the bodies of his wife and two children who had 
perished during the day. He got into the brush 
back of the house, found he was among a bunch of 


78 


Mary in New Mexico 

Mexicans, but somehow managed to pass himself 
off as one of them and finally got off into the 
mountains. 

“As he went up the Hondo Canon, he met a 
Mexican friend on horseback. He offered the man 
a king’s ransom for his horse, but was refused. The 
Mexican had need of his own horse, it seemed. He 
told Turley to take refuge in the hills by Seco, where 
he would send him assistance. So Turley went up. 
But the Mexican used his horse to bad purpose. He 
rode to the mill, which was all aflame, and told the 
fiends there where Turley was hiding. So a bunch 
of them rode over and overtook Turley on the trail 
and knifed him in cold blood. 

“Only two men escaped besides Albert, who car- 
ried the news to Santa Fe. Later Turley was 
avenged by soldiers at the Taos Pueblo. Those were 
bad times. You wouldn’t think it, seeing these gentle 
Mexicans around here, and hearing them talk so 
pleasant. The Indians, as you know, were fiends 
incarnate then. I tell you, when I ride round these 
woods and mountains now, and hear some strange 
noise in the twilight, I often think of those early 
settlers and travelers and what a noise in the dusk 
must have meant to them. You people have heard 
of Cody, Buffalo Bill they called him. And of course 
you’ve heard of Kit Carson. But there are others 
who made this part of the country and the old Santa 
Fe trail famous. At first, as you know, the traders 
came a-horseback with pack mules. Then with stage 
coaches. But it was always at peril of their lives. 


79 


The Mail Robbery 

Take the Red River Canon up above here. The 
Indians attacked a stage there and killed all the pas- 
sengers and left them lying by the trail. But they 
were discovered and Kit Carson guided troops four 
hundred miles in pursuit, till the band was discovered 
and the massacre avenged. 

“When the Indians and Mexicans quieted down a 
bit there were always hold-up men. Right up in 
the mountains here was a fellow named Espanosa. 
He was a Mexican who had murdered his American 
guest and had then taken to the hills. He gathered 
about him a big crowd of cut-throats and made raids 
on farm and stage and kidnapped rich folks from 
neighboring ranches. At last an Irish trapper, Tom 
Tobin, went after him. Tom scouted round and 
one day found the bandit and one of his friends eat- 
ing by a little fire in a cottonwood grove. There’s 
a cottonwood tree just below Mr. Ransome’s house 
— maybe that’s the very one. Tobin wasn’t running 
any risks, so he just took aim and shot his two men 
one after the other. He wanted the reward offered, 
so he cut off their heads and toted them up to old 
Fort Garland.” 

The ranger paused and relit his pipe. “I think 
I’d best be going,” he said. “You have had a tiring 
day and I guess it’s time to turn in. I’ve yarned 
enough for one night anyway.” 

We all demurred and he was not allowed to leave 
until he had promised to return another day and 
tell more stories. 


CHAPTER X 

MATEO SEEKS THE RING 


FEW days after, the Doctor decided to ride to 



^ ^ Taos to consult with Mr. Rogers about the 
ring. Mary accompanied her father. They started 
early in the morning with a long list of commissions 
to fill in the town. “Think of us when you eat your 
‘nut sundae,’ ” were our parting words, as they can- 
tered gaily off. 

They followed the mail road which wound along 
the tableland and then for a second time down into 
the picturesque Hondo canon. Here, close to the 
ford, where the stream runs between great cliffs, 
they studied curiously the ruins of Turley’s mill 
of which the forest ranger had told us, with its 
history of massacre and betrayed trust. The Doctor 
yearned to pause awhile and fish for the speckled 
trout that make a ready response to the angler in 
the clear Hondo. Then up the steep sides of the 
canon they rode, and along the edge until the road 
turned abruptly south over the Taos plains. To 
the left stretched the beautiful Sangre de Cristo 
range with the great bold Pueblo Mountain stand- 
ing like a king among his warriors. Westward were 


80 


Mateo Seeks the Ring 81 

distant blue ranges and buttes, rising out of the 
plains. 

From time to time small flurries of sand storms, 
miniature columns of white dust, could be seen aris- 
ing out of the grass, plainly visible in the dun and 
yellow and red of the flower covered plains. They 
saw a number of Indians tilling their bits of fertile 
land, the same Indians who in the winter live in the 
oldest “apartment house” of the new world. Even 
while ploughing the Indians wore the customary 
sheet-like garment which sets them apart from all 
other tribes of American Indians. 

So hour after hour they rode, while the Doctor 
told Mary of the Fourth of July celebration at which 
he had been present before our arrival. The little 
town of Taos had been thronged with quaintly 
dressed “Americans” who could only speak Spanish 
and who had come to witness the great “eagle dance” 
of the Indians. The braves were dressed in their 
feathers and loin-cloths and danced to the sound of 
the booming war drum played by solemn sheet-clad 
stoics, while in the background were the polyglot 
crowd and many automobile parties of tourists who 
happened to be passing through. The last of the 
day’s entertainment was a baseball game in which 
the Indians played. 

As they approached Taos the Doctor pointed out 
a tall cross in a field. “That is the cross of the 
Penitentes,” he said. “It is a powerful organization, 
half political and half religious, like the old Tem- 
plars whom you read of in Scott’s novels. All the 


82 


Mary in New Mexico 


Mexicans, probably, belong to it and yet no one will 
acknowledge that he belongs. Every Good Friday 
they have a crucifixion of one of their members, 
chosen by lot, which sometimes results in death. The 
others beat themselves or stand on sharp cactus 
thorns or lie on cactus beds or torture themselves in 
some other way, supposedly to do penance for their 
sins and to commemorate the death of Christ. They 
are cruel to themselves on these days and it is said 
are equally hard on other people the rest of the 
year. They are so powerful that no one dares touch 
them. They seem to own the courts and everything 
else.” 

“I wonder if nice Sehor Guzman belongs,” asked 
Mary. Guzman was one of the Mexicans of San 
Joachim from whom we bought eggs, a gentle, kindly 
appearing peasant. 

“I suppose he does,” answered her father. 

Then they rode into Taos — old, old Taos, with 
its artists’ colony, and its adobe houses and its two 
or three “department stores” to represent modern 
civilization. The main streets were full of strange 
people, Indians, Mexicans, horseback riders and.au- 
tomobilists and donkey drivers, ail rubbing elbows. 
The little side streets, with adobe houses and quaint 
courts, seemed left to stray dogs. Mr. and Mrs. 
Rogers, with their three children, lived in a charm- 
ing, one-story house, modeled in the old Spanish 
style, with barred windows projecting into the street 
and a beautiful inner court arranged as a garden. 

On a sunny street that led from the park-like 


83 


Mateo Seeks the Ring 

square stood the house of Kit Carson, the famous 
old scout and pioneer. Here he had lived when not 
in the saddle and in Taos he had been buried. 

They found Mr. and Mrs. Rogers at home, and 
received .a cordial welcome. 

“So the ring has gone again,” said Mr. Rogers 
when the Doctor had told their story. “I have tried 
to get some information from Mateo, but he is like 
the Sphinx. I have tried over at the pueblo, but 
no one knows anything there. I am afraid that this 
time you will not find it again. Perhaps you are 
well rid of it, though! They would stop at noth- 
ing to get it, you see.” While he was speaking, 
Anthony came in. He and Mary went off together 
in search of Mateo, hoping that he might take 
pity on the daughter of the man who had saved 
his life. 

“I think we ought to look again in the cave,” said 
Mary. 

“That might be possible, but it’s not likely they’d 
put it back in the old place from which it had been 
taken. It’s more likely to be in the big cave back 
of the pueblo that I told your father about.” 

They walked along quietly for a few minutes look- 
ing for Mateo and thinking pretty hopelessly of their 
quest. They found Mateo working over an arrow 
in the garden and immediately began to persuade him 
to help them. Finally Mary said, “You told my 
father that if you could ever help him, you would, 
because he saved you. I think you ought to help 
now. You ought not to forget so soon.” 


84 


Mary in New Mexico 


“I have not forgotten. But your father, he has 
not ask me,” replied Mateo. 

“Whatever you do to help me find the ring will 
be doing something for him,” said Mary. 

“Now, Mateo, be a sport,” pleaded Anthony. 
“You ought not to refuse anything to your foster 
brother, or to the daughter of the man who saved 
your life. They were all so good to you when you 
were hurt there.” 

The three stood silent for a moment. 

“Your father, he want me to find it?” said Mateo. 
“Why he not come to ask me? Why he not send 
for me to tell me to go find it?” 

“Because my father wouldn’t ask anybody to do 
anything for him like that. But O, Mateo, please. 
We do want the ring so, and father did save your 
life.” 

“Very well; my life belong to him. I will give 
it for his daughter.” 

Without another word and without giving An- 
thony or Mary an opportunity to speak, he turned 
and swiftly left the garden. “Mateo, Mateo!” called 
Anthony. “It’s no use. You can’t turn an Indian 
a hair’s breadth. Let’s go back and tell them.” 

The two young people ran into the house and 
found Mr. and Mrs. Rogers and the Doctor. Mary 
was suddenly frightened at what she had done. It 
was Anthony who told of Mateo’s departure. 

“An Indian is usually grateful. I am afraid you 
have sent Mateo on a dangerous errand,” said Mr. 
Rogers gravely. 


85 


Mateo Seeks the Ring 

“O, Mr. Rogers, we didn’t send him. We just 
wanted him to tell us,” said Mary, on the verge of 
tears. 

“Mary, how could you,” said her father sternly. 
“How could you use my name that way? Do you 
think a doctor would ever make use of a patient’s 
gratitude?” 

“Well, nothing can be done now,” broke in Mr. 
Rogers. “But I certainly hope no harm will come 
to the boy. If he brings back the ring, Mary, you 
must send it off from here and never speak of its 
return while you are in New Mexico. You leave 
me your banker’s address, Doctor, and if it comes 
after you have left today, I will send it East by 
registered mail.” 

“We wanted to ride back by the pueblo. Do you 
think it would be possible to find the boy?” 

“No — not an Indian boy. But if you haven’t 
been to the pueblo, it is well worth seeing. You 
must start early. Take a bit of lunch with us first 
and then start.” 

“We certainly have looked forward to a visit 
there, but I hardly want to see anything now.” 

“I suppose you know something of its history. 
The original one was built long ago, before the 
Spaniards came. It has been inhabited by the In- 
dians ever since. It has been captured twice, once 
by those curses of the plains, the Apaches, and once 
by our own troops in the fifties. 

“The latter affair was a great fight. It was at 
the time of the last big uprising, in which the Mexi- 


86 


Mary in New Mexico 


cans joined with the Indians and massacred our 
governor — the time of the tragedy at Turley’s Mill 
of which you have doubtless heard. 

“News was brought to Santa Fe that the Indians 
were up in arms, and Colonel Price, in command at 
the capital, started for Taos in mid-winter with 
three hundred and ten men. You know the road, 
Doctor. I think you came in that way. Imagine 
pushing up the Rio Grande valley with a hostile 
population of Mexicans and Indians on all sides. 
There were at least three battles, which the Ameri- 
cans won by great bravery and fine marksmanship. 
They had been reinforced by about one hundred and 
twenty-five men and a howitzer that had been 
dragged up from Albuquerque. 

“It was bitterly cold going over the mountain 
trails. Of course there were few roads in those 
days. Finally the company reached Taos, to find 
that the Indians and Mexicans had intrenched them- 
selves in the pueblo. Before the invention of heavy 
artillery every pueblo was as good as a fort. But 
the Americans had come to fight the rebellion to a 
finish, so they attacked at once. But after a day 
of firing they gave it up and retired to Taos to rest. 

“The next morning, refreshed by the night spent 
in comparative comfort and safety, they returned to 
the combat. There was an old church by the pueblo, 
and behind this the Mexicans were intrenched. 
Colonel Price ordered a cross fire on the building 
from two adjacent points by the howitzer and a six- 
pounder. They failed to make a breach, so the 


87 


Mateo Seeks the Ring 

command to storm the place was given. The little 
body of Americans rushed up and made some holes 
in the walls with axes, and through these they hurled 
bombs. No one had dreamed then of such hand 
grenade fighting as our boys did in the great war! 
Of course all this time the Indians and Mexicans had 
been keeping up a murderous fire. Many Americans 
were killed, but the others pressed on and finally 
made a real breach and entered the church. There 
was not much opposition from the enemy within, 
who promptly fled into the pueblo. But they had 
been so much disheartened by their losses that they 
sued for peace next morning. Colonel Price stipu- 
lated that all those concerned in the murder of the 
governor or the massacre at Turley’s Mill must be 
surrendered. So we got our revenge for the crime 
at the mill and the massacre at Santa Fe by executing 
some of the actual criminals.” 

“They were splendid fellows, those early Indian 
fighting soldiers of ours,” said the Doctor. U I am 
sure we ought to go to the pueblo.” 

As they went in to lunch, Mr. Rogers drew his 
arm through the Doctor’s. “Now, don’t take it so 
to heart,” he said. “The children didn’t mean any- 
thing bad. They just didn’t think. Anthony was 
as much to blame as Mary.” 

“I suppose there is no use worrying, but it’s the 
last thing in the world I would want to have happen.” 

After lunch, as they sat in the court yard, Mateo’s 
father, a tall, fine looking man, joined them. He 
sat down and for a few minutes the men smoked 


88 


Mary in New Mexico 


in silence. Then the Doctor asked of the Indian: 
“You don’t smoke the red pipe of your fathers. Is 
it too heavy?” 

“That is the pipe of ceremonies,” was the answer. 

“I have heard somewhere that all the red stone 
for these pipes comes from a quarry in the middle 
west. Is that true, Mr. Rogers?” asked the Doctor. 

Mr. Rogers turned to the Indian. “Will you 
not tell these friends the legend?” he asked. “You 
know it so much better than I.” 

The Indian sat for a while smoking silently. Then 
finally he said, “I will tell the story of the red quarry 
for my white brother. Long years ago, before the 
white men came, there was a place sanctified by the 
Great Spirit, where my people obtained the red clay 
for their pipes. It was many days’ journey from 
here, in the land of the Minnesotas. But before the 
Minnesotas there was in that land a tribe, Winne- 
bagook, the men from over the water. Among this 
tribe was a maiden, Kwolana K’uyu’i, more beautiful 
than the year when it is in the spring, more pure 
than the white rain that falls on the summit of Pueblo 
when the sun stays its shortest in the heavens. 

“This maiden wore upon her finger a ring, which 
her fathers had brought from over the great salt 
lake. As long as she wore it her tribe would be 
powerful and no man could lay his hand upon her. 
Then one day when the sun had just risen above the 
prairie, there came a stranger to the quarry to get 
stone for his pipe bowl. Kwolana K’uyu’i saw him 
as she stood by her father’s wigwam and he seemed 


89 


Mateo Seeks the Ring 

to her like the Great Spirit, so full of beauty and 
strength and wisdom. She desired to find favor 
in his eyes, but the magic of the ring was upon her 
so that he might not love her. Then the maiden, 
taking the ring from her hand, threw it into the 
great waters of the Missouri and then, fearful of 
what she had done, fled to ask counsel of the two old 
women whom the Great Spirit has hidden in two 
caves on either side of the quarry. 

“But the river could not flow in peace while the 
ring lay within it but rose and overflowed its banks 
and flooded the plain. And still it rose. Then all 
the tribes of the red men fled to the hill of the 
quarry, for that was the highest place, to escape the 
waters. Higher and higher the waters rose, and 
the dead bodies of the red men floated upon it. 
Kwolana K’uyu’i sat upon the hill and wept for her 
people and for the ring that she had thrown from 
her. All about her floated the corpses of animals 
and men. She alone was left. Still the waters crept 
nearer till they touched her feet with their cold 
fingers. As she clung there, the powerful war-eagle 
swooped down upon the hill and she caught his claw 
and clung to him. The mighty bird flew away, car- 
rying the maiden to a distant mountain. Here for 
her pride and sin in casting away the ring, the fierce 
Hla-Tsiwana wed her. From her sprang the tribes 
of the red men that now wander over the land. 

“So she dwelt upon the mountain and labored for 
the fierce war-lord. And she wept for the chief 
whom she had so desired and she mourned for her 


90 Mary in New Mexico 

people who had perished because she had cast aside 
the ring. 

“Finally the waters subsided. But the plains were 
red with the flesh of the red men, so that no man 
could stand thereon without placing his feet 
upon a brother. It was accursed. Nevertheless, 
one day when Hla-Tsiwana had flown away 
Kwolana K’uyu’i crept down the mountain to see if 
she might find the ring. Whether she perished of 
hunger, or whether she wandered away and was lost, 
none know. But Hla-Tsiwana, as he flew to find her, 
saw the ring as it lay in the bed of the waters. It 
shone as the sunlight fell upon it. He swooped down 
and plucked it from the water. But as he flew away, 
a hunter shot him and his heart was pierced by the 
arrow, so that he fell to the ground. Then the 
hunter took the ring from his talons and departed. 

“But evil comes to any who wears that ring, so 
has said the Great Spirit. For the sake of the dead 
that lay about the quarry, the Great Spirit decreed 
it should be a land of peace and that no arms might 
be brought there. But wherever the ring is taken, 
there will follow sorrow and misfortune for the red 
man. Some say, the waters will rise again. Some 
say there will be bloodshed. I know not. Twice 
it has caused the war drum to sound among my 
people. Therefore the medicine men took it and hid 
it where none could find it, buried it among the moun- 
tains. May the Great Spirit of the red man and 
the white man’s God cause that it shall not again 
be found to cause war and weeping to my people.” 


91 


Mateo Seeks the Ring 

The Indian gravely lighted his pipe and sat look- 
ing at nothing for a time. 

No one spoke. Finally he began again. “Once 
it was found — once by a maiden as she worked in 
the corn. Many chiefs sought her in marriage. 
They fought for her and half of the tribe were 
slain. She herself was carried away by the Great 
Spirit and perished in the mountains. Her bones 
were found whitening in the hollows of the moun- 
tains, near where the Hondo flows.” Again the 
Indian paused. “No one shall wear the ring for 
the evil magic brought across the Great Salt Lake 
clings to it. The red chief fears it. Only the medi- 
cine man may touch it.” 

There was a long silence. Then the Indian rose, 
bowed with dignity and went into the house. 

“O, Mr. Rogers, do you think he was telling about 
my ring?” asked Mary. 

Mr. Rogers looked grave. “I do not like his 
story, Mary,” he said. “It is a warning. I am 
glad the ring is gone. Let us hope we do not see 
it again and that no harm comes to Mateo on account 
of his promise to you and Anthony.” 

“I suppose we ought to start now,” said the Doc- 
tor. “We have had a wonderful experience, Mr. 
Rogers. And I think perhaps we are well rid of 
the ring. You certainly have been most kind to us, 
Mrs. Rogers.” 

They shook hands and then Mary and her father 
rode off towards the pueblo. 


CHAPTER XI 


THE TAOS PUEBLO 

r I V IIE pueblo consisted of two buildings between 
which a small stream flowed. Each was about 
five stories in height and built like an irregular 
pyramid, every story being smaller than the one 
below it. Thus the first story made not only a foun- 
dation for the house above, but a porch all around 
it as well. There were ladders from roof to roof, 
making outside stairways to the upper stories. For- 
merly there had been no doors to the bottom story, 
just an entrance through the roof. But now that 
danger from enemy tribes was past, there were 
several doors cut, and a number of very small 
windows. 

“I wonder if we will see Mateo,” said Mary. 

“I wonder if we’ll ever see Mateo,” remarked 
her father. “The less you say about that the better.” 

There were a number of fat little children and 
scrawny dogs about and two fine looking young In- 
dian women sat before the door. An old man was 
making a pair of beautifully beaded moccasins. But 
the young men were absent. “They have probably 
gone to the fields,” said the Doctor. The ruins of 
the nearby church seemed to bring back quite clearly 
92 



Pueblo de Taos, New Mexico. Showing an estufa, or underground ceremonial chamber, in the foreground. 
There are seven of these estufas at Taos, each belonging to a separate secret society of the Taos Indians. 
The two poles are the upper portion of a ladder descending into the interior. The village is composed prin- 
cipally of two five-story-pyramidal structures, one on each side of Pueblo Creek. The northern building is 
here shown. A portion of the ancient wall is also included. (Courtesy of Denver and Rio Grande Railroad) 







































The Taos Pueblo 


93 


the old days of Indian warfare. Mary was glad that 
the sun was shining brightly and that she need fear 
no lurking savages in the woods beyond. Indeed 
the old man and his beads were peaceful enough. 

“How would you like a pair of moccasins like 
that?” asked her father. 

“O, Daddy, they are beautiful. I would love 
them.” 

The Doctor found that the old man understood 
English and probably could talk it if he had a mind 
to. As it was he confined his replies to yes and no 
and “three dollars fifty cent.” 

“Do you know Mr. Rogers?” asked the Doctor. 

The Indian nodded. 

“You take the moccasins to him. He will send 
them to us and pay you.” 

The Indian nodded again. 

“Ask him if he knows where Mateo is — or if he 
knows him,” whispered Mary. 

The old man glanced up from his work and a 
look of intelligence flashed into his black eyes. 

“Hush, Mary,” answered her father. He walked 
away and Mary followed to the edge of the court 
where their horses were tied. 

“Why couldn’t I ask about Mateo?” she asked. 

“I think the less you speak of Mateo and the 
ring, the better for all of us,” said her father gravely. 

As she mounted her horse, Mary looked back and 
saw that the old Indian was talking to one of the 
women. Mary felt as though each little window 
was a watchful eye fixed upon them. 


94 


Mary in New Mexico 

“How do they all live in such a stuffy place?” 
she asked. “Didn’t you say as many as five hundred 
got in there in winter?” 

“Yes indeed, and seem to be very comfortable. 
They don’t insist on having a room apiece. But 
Dave’s physiology book would say they didn’t have 
fresh air enough, I fancy.” 

“Where do they cook?” 

“They bake in the big adobe ovens you have 
noticed outside the houses. But they do their other 
cooking in fireplaces. Each floor has one at least 
and the smoke goes up through a hole in the roof. 
Of course it is simple and primitive. But much more 
comfortable than a wigwam. The northern Indians 
and the wandering tribes of the plains are worse off 
to my mind. But come, Mary, we’ll have to canter 
a bit if we want to reach home at a reasonable hour.” 

The hot sun in their faces was blinding and the 
heat waves still rose from the meadows. But it was 
dusk when they reached the Hondo and the shadows 
lay blue in the canons. They stopped while the 
horses drank. It was so still, except for the rushing 
brook — no sound from animal or man. In the dim 
light the ruins of Turley’s Mill were almost lost 
against the cliffs back of them. 

“I am glad I wasn’t here then,” thought Mary. 

They trotted through the canon and it was dark 
when they started the steep ascent toward the ranch. 

“There ought to be a moon presently,” said the 
Doctor. “It’s so strange to have so few noises, and 
yet it isn’t silent like the north woods or the snow 


The Taos Pueblo 95 

fields. It seems as though the quiet were full of 
friendliness.” 

They rode slowly, resting their horses from time 
to time. 

“Dad, you don’t suppose anything will really 
happen to Mateo,” asked Mary, as they reached the 
top of the first hill. There was still some light in 
the west. The stars were very bright overhead. 

“I hope not, my dear. But you know that the 
Indians want the ring. They will not relish its dis- 
appearance through the work of one of their own 
tribe.” 

“O dear ! I wish I’d never found it. Poor Mateo 
— I surely hope he’ll give it up.” 

“Well, we can’t do anything about it now. You 
have done only too much already.” 

Just as the full moon rose over the mountains 
they climbed the last ascent. “O, Daddy, I’ve never 
seen anything so beautiful. The shadows aren’t so 
black as at home. It all seems soft and dusky, like 
fairyland.” 

“It is too bad that we only have three weeks 
more,” said the Doctor. 

“Only three weeks ! How dreadful.” 

“But you’ll enjoy Santa Fe and the strange country 
to the south that we have to go through. Maybe 
we can take in a cliff dwelling on the way home.” 

“That would be fun. O, Daddy, I want to go 
everywhere and see everything. It’s such fun. I 
wish the Indian ring was a wishing ring and could 
take me all over. But I’d hate to go without Jim 


96 


Mary in New Mexico 


Snort. Daddy, won’t it be horrid to leave him? 
He’s such a dear pony.” She patted the horse lov- 
ingly on his glossy black neck. “Couldn’t we take 
him East?” 

“I’m afraid not, Mary. You see his master is 
probably fond of him, too, and I don’t believe he’d 
like the trip a bit or the autos on the state road 
at home. You will have tp depend on the railroad 
trains or the wishing ring. I suppose if the Indian 
ring could speak it could take you into all sorts of 
strange places and countries — China perhaps.” 

“Do you really think so? O, Daddy, I wish I had 
it back. Maybe Mateo will find it after all. I don’t 
believe anything will happen to him. Don’t you 
think the story his father told about that Indian girl 
and the ring was about my ring — and do you suppose 
it was true? No, of course it couldn’t have been — ” 

“Well, it was true in one respect, I fancy. It 
was a warning to my white daughter not to meddle 
with red man’s magic, unless she wants to bring on 
a flood or be kidnapped and hidden away in a cave 
for a thousand years.” 

The lights of the ranch house appeared through 
the darkness and the dogs’ noisy greetings announced 
that they were nearing home. 

“I really am tired,” said Mary with a sigh. “I’m 
glad we’re back.” 

The next day was Sunday and seemed a good one 
for a late breakfast picnic up on the rocks by the 
brook. The Ransomes joined us with plenty of 
provisions and saucepans. The place was well back 


The Taos Pueblo 


97 


of the Indian mounds and Mary looked wistfully 
at the spot where she had found her ring. Way 
up at the head of the canon old Joso gazed down 
upon the jolly party. 

“I do wish we could go up that mountain before 
we go,” said the Doctor. 

“I wish you were going to be here when the trees 
turn in the fall,” said Mr. Ransome. “It is won- 
derfully beautiful. But I’m afraid you can’t wait 
for that. Why don’t we go up Joso this week? I 
can arrange to go next Friday if it’s a good day, like 
today.” 

“It doesn’t look any too good today,” said Mrs. 
Ransome. “I think those clouds over towards the 
south look like rain.” 

“Well, this day looks good to me,” answered Mr. 
Ransome and we all joined with him. 

“If we wait for a day without thunderstorms, we’ll 
never go anywhere,” remarked Dave. 

“My proposal is, that we four old folks go,” con- 
tinued Mr. Ransome. “Your three youngsters can 
lunch with Ted and Winifred and I’m sure they’ll 
be all right.” 

“Of course we will,” said Mary. “I can look 
after Dave and Trixy perfectly.” 

“But you mustn’t any of you use the horses,” I 
suggested. “Not while we’re all gone.” 

“You haven’t gone yet,” observed Dave. 

Trixy came up at this moment with a large flat 
stone which she assured us was an Indian bowl. “I 
wish I could find a ring like Mary’s,” she remarked. 


98 Mary in New Mexico 

“By the way, where is your ring, Mary?” asked 
Ted. 

“I don’t know. We haven’t heard from the 
Rogers and we don’t know anything.” 

“You’re well rid of it,” Mr. Ransome replied. 

“O no, father. I want Mateo to bring it back,” 
said Winifred. “I want to see it again.” 

“What became of the postman who was shot by 
the Indians?” asked Dave. 

“And we haven’t seen Mr. Esty around in some 
time,” observed the Doctor. 

“O, the Mexican got well quick. He’s all right 
and still on the route. Esty hasn’t been here since. 
He has a big field to cover and he often doesn’t 
get round here for months at a time. I think if 
anything would bring him, Winifred would. He 
saved her life once and looks on her as his child.” 

“Tell us about it,” begged Dave. 

“He can tell it better than I can. It was a long 
time ago and she was about Trixy’s age, when we 
were new to this country. Winifred was an ad- 
venturous little kid, like Trix, ready to be friends 
with everyone. She had learned to ride and was 
wanting to be on her pony all day long. Well, one 
day she got her wish. In spite of the fact that she 
had been forbidden to go outside the gates, off she 
trotted into the wilderness. I fancy a gate had been 
left open — for she could not have opened it herself. 
Anyway, dinner time came and no Winifred, though 
she was usually on time and a little more so, for 
meals. We called and we shouted and we asked 


The Taos Pueblo 


99 


the farm men but no one had seen her and nothing 
could be heard of or from her. One of the Mexicans 
then contributed the information that he had seen 
Winifred ride off on her pony that morning. We 
found that the pony too was gone. So there was 
only one thing to do. We all got on our horses and 
scoured the country. Finally we found a Mexican 
who said he had met a little girl trotting along the 
road down towards the canon of the Rio Grande, a 
most lonely path and by no means well marked. 

“To make a long story short, after dark when 
we were all of us nearly crazy, who should meet us 
at the foot of the hill but Esty, leading a tired pony 
and carrying in his arms an even tireder little girl. 
It seems he had found her sitting on the top of a 
great cliff, overlooking the canon, where the path had 
abruptly stopped. The pony was cropping the short 
grass but his bridle was securely held by small Wini- 
fred. He asked her who she was and where she 
lived. She told him her name and remarked that 
it was a long time since she had had her breakfast. 
He asked her how she had gotten there. She 
answered that the pony had brought her but he didn’t 
seem to know how to get home. Esty got off his 
horse and shared the remains of his lunch with 
her. 

“ ‘Weren’t you afraid?’ he asked her. 

“She answered, ‘A little.’ She had heard queer 
noises in the canon and had seen something yellow 
in the bushes down below that looked like a big 
dog or a very big cat. It was at this moment that 


100 


Mary in New Mexico 


Esty himself heard a queer noise, a great sharp cry. 
Instantly the ranger had his gun ready. 

“You remember the skin of a mountain lion that 
Winifred has up in her room? That was the beast 
that Esty shot that day in the canon and brought 
home a day later and presented to a plucky little kid, 
as he called her. She’s been his pet ever since. He 
said he never saw anything quieter than that child 
when he was going for the lion. They are fierce 
beasts.” 

“Aren’t you proud of yourself, Winifred?” asked 
Mary. “Do you remember about it?” 

“I’ve heard it so many times that I don’t know 
what’s true and what isn’t,” laughed Winifred. 

“Mr. Esty and father are both awfully silly about 
it.” 

“I’d like to go down and sit on that lion skin,” 
said Dave. “Are there mountain lions around 
here?” 

“Not often, Dave. I don’t think you need to 
worry about them. There used to be plenty in the 
old days. But they don’t like people any better than 
people like them. So they go further and further 
into the wilds.” 

“Poor things, you make me feel quite sorry for 
them,” said Mary. “It’s hard to be a wild animal, 
isn’t it? You get chased all over and shot at.” 

“They are just as hard on each other, Mary,” 
observed the Doctor. “Wild animals are cruel and 
you can’t get away from that. I don’t believe in 
treating them cruelly though. Sometimes they have 


The Taos Pueblo 


101 


to be killed but there’s never any excuse for giving 
them unnecessary pain. If you knew how they suffer 
when they are trapped for their furs, you would 
never want to see another muff or fur coat again.” 

“Really, Daddy?” 

“Yes, they sometimes stay for days together 
caught in traps that torture them until they starve 
to death — just because people want furs to wear and 
are willing to pay a lot of money for them. Of 
course this suffering is not necessary. But it is easier 
for the trappers to kill them this way, so they do it.” 

“Aren’t there any laws to protect them?” I asked. 

“Yes, but not sufficient, and it is hard to enforce 
any law in the wilderness. But I hope to see the 
day when no dumb animal must undergo pain and 
suffering just to give us humans ornaments that we 
fancy.” 

We sat silent for a moment and then with a sigh 
I started to help gather up the picnic dishes. 


CHAPTER XII 


A LONG DAY ON THE MOUNTAINS 
T seven o’clock on Friday morning we were 



^ ^ ready to start. The horses were saddled and 
bridled, and the lunch packed in one saddle bag, 
while the camera was in another. Presently Mr. 
and Mrs. Ransome appeared on their horses. 

We bade farewell to our family who were to stay 
behind. I confess to feeling sundry misgivings at 
the idea of leaving them all day with just the two 
young Ransomes to look after them. But I mentally 
called myself the wife of a pioneer and thought how 
many children had probably been left with people 
who were far less able to look after them than Wini- 
fred and Ted. After we had once started I had 
very little time to think of anything but keeping 
myself right side up on the horse, and keeping him 
on his feet. It has been many years since my youthful 
riding days. However, the ponies were surefooted 
and though there was an occasional slip and stumble 
on a rolling stone, nobody fell and presently enough 
confidence returned to enable me to trot on the few 
level places. 

After we passed the timber line we had to stop 


102 


103 


A Long Day on the Mountains 

frequently to rest our horses, for the ascent was 
very steep and we had made fairly good time. The 
trail was little more than a cow path now and it was 
a marvel that even a cow could stay on it. Finally 
I felt impelled to dismount and lead my horse. It 
was hard work, but I preferred it. If we were to 
fall I wanted to have us fall apart rather than to- 
gether. Mrs. Ransome was the last to leave her 
steed. Indeed when she dismounted we tethered the 
horses on a level spur of the summit and sat down 
to rest, to look at the superb view stretched all about 
us, and finally eat our lunch. 

It seemed to me that the distant mountains must 
be a part of heaven, they were so far away and so 
beautiful. The range of the Rockies on which we 
were perched stretched endlessly north and south, 
rugged, and grand — with here and there a snow- 
crowned peak. To the southwest the flatlands. 

On the top of Joso was good pasturage and here 
we found three or four horses cropping the short 
grass and the endless varieties of tiny wild flowers. 
They may have been wild horses. They certainly 
did not linger in our neighborhood. 

As I was gazing out over the hills, suddenly some- 
thing hit me in the back. Turning, I saw the Doctor 
armed with some snowballs. On the north slope 
there was a patch of snow. In a moment all four 
of us were in the snow, and for a while a lively 
snow fight went on. Then our attention was dis- 
tracted by a queer noise. Mr. Ransome assured us 
it was made by marmots who live on the tops of the 


104 


Mary in New Mexico 

mountains. The two men went down among the 
rocks and finally dislodged three of these strange 
creatures, yellow in color, that looked something like 
small and very woolly cats. They were shy and 
would not let us come near them. 

It was cold, but the clouds to the south, which Mrs. 
Ransome had noted earlier in the day, came no 
nearer, although we could plainly see violent storms 
on different mountain peaks. 

We lingered for a while, hating to leave these 
great high places. But finally Mr. Ransome gave 
the signal, the men saddled the horses and we 
started to lead them down the steep part of the 
mountain. 

It sounds quite simple. But the ponies did not 
want to go down. They enjoyed the luscious grass. 
When I pulled and pulled, I finally succeeded in 
moving my beast, but she started rapidly and I es- 
caped to one side lest she fall upon me. I was sure 
that either the pony or I would roll down the moun- 
tain. It was steep going, with only grass to hold 
on to in case of a slip. I was glad then that I was 
clad in riding breeches for I am sure a skirt would 
have finished me. Finally the Doctor came to my 
rescue and somehow, by dint of traveling rapidly, 
managed to get both of our horses safely to the 
place where we could mount. We sat down to rest 
at the brookside. Near us was a large cake of salt, 
put there for the cattle. We saw a number of Mr. 
Ransome’s yearlings about, and two older cows came 
out of the woods to gaze at us solemnly. The water 


105 


A Long Day on the Mountains 

was beautifully clear and cold. Mr. Ransome sug- 
gested that Dave might get the drinking water here. 
“There is lots of wood, too. It would be a won- 
derful place for the boy to find his supplies.’’ 

“I am afraid he wouldn’t get back to breakfast,” 
remarked the Doctor, “especially if he found any 
of these nice wild strawberries.” As he spoke, the 
Doctor bent over and picked a spray full of 
sweet berries. Somehow they tasted much more de- 
licious than those of the valley. 

“I hope the youngsters are all right,” I murmured, 
half to myself. “It seems like risking a good deal 
to leave them for all day this way.” 

“You are as bad as Dave,” said the Doctor. 
“You will be asking how far off the Indians are and 
how many mountain lions there may be.” 

“You aren’t really troubled?” asked Mrs. Ran- 
some. “Ted and Winifred are there and the two 
Mexicans are very reliable.” 

“Suppose we start down,” suggested Mr. Ran- 
some. 

“All right.” I tried to jump up with enthusiasm 
but found I had to be assisted by both the Doctor 
and Mr. Ransome. 

“Do you remember the sentence in Robin Hood 
about the poor sheriff?” said the Doctor. 

“For weeks the poor sheriff could sit upon nought 
but the softest cushions,” I groaned, amid laughter 
from the others. 

“I think it would be well to ride more, or less! )} 
someone said. 


106 


Mary in New Mexico 


Mr. Ransome suggested that we ride down a dif- 
ferent branch of the canon. “It would be jolly to 
stop and see old Jenkins,” he added. 

“Who is old Jenkins?” asked the Doctor. 

“Why, he’s the oldest inhabitant — one of the very 
early settlers. There are ledges of ore around 
here and Jenkins was one of the first prospectors. 
He has a little log cabin and lives alone, surrounded 
by cigar boxes full of ore and fossils.” 

“It would be fun to talk to him,” said the Doctor. 
“Let’s go.” 

So we started down the dry branch of the canon, 
Whose overhanging shrubbery threatened to sweep 
me off my horse. 

“It’s a good thing we none of us wear wigs,” ob- 
served Mr. Ransome. 

In a very wild spot, with a magnificent view of 
the valley below, lived Jenkins. His cabin seemed 
perched on a volcanic rock. He appeared glad to 
see us and showed us specimen after specimen of 
rich ore. Each piece had a history, the rock bed 
of each was a familiar spot to him. “That piece? 
I picked that up on the old Y ledge over by Black 
River. It was a wild sort of place, but wonderful 
scenery. I recollect an Injun nearly got my scalp, 
when I was trying to get that piece o’ metal. He 
thought I was makin’ some bad magic against my 
red brothers. Those Injuns sure did think every- 
body was out for their hides. Maybe it ain’t strange 
considering how the white brother has taken most 
everything else but his skin. Would have taken that, 


107 


A Long Day on the Mountains 

too, if it had been of any salable use. That shell? 
It is pretty. I found it up in the rocks back of Joso 
Creek. I suppose some wise doc maybe could tell 
you where the little fellow in it lived and had his 
being. I’ve got a lot of them shell creatures. That 
piece of ore? That’s molybdenum — least I think 
that’s what they call it. There’s a big streak of it 
up near the Red River canon. They use it for hard- 
ening steel. Some ’un ’ll make a fortune there some 
day. I showed it to an American engineer fellow 
who nearly jumped out of his skin. 

“ ‘My fortune’s made,’ he cackled, like an old hen. 
‘I’ll be the richest man this side Denver.’ 

“ ‘Sure,’ I answered, kind of soothing, for 1 
thought the fellow had gone crazy. But I hear he 
really has struck it rich.” Jenkins ran his fingers 
through his gray hair. 

“It’s a strange world. I found it and he wanted 
it. We’re both satisfied. Can’t you stay a-while 
and rest a bit?” 

“I think we ought to be getting on,” said Mrs. 
Ransome. “We’ve left our children at home 
alone.” 

“They’ll be safe,” observed Jenkins. “I’ve lived 
alone on and off fifty years, ever since I came here 
as a young man, and barring a few fights with lions 
and Injuns and a Mexican bad-man, I’ve never had 
no ructions.” 

“I hope there are no ‘ructions’ at the ranch,” I 
murmured, as we started down the canon. 

The descent was accomplished with no difficulty. 


108 


Mary in New Mexico 


It seemed as though the horses must stand on their 
heads at times but it never really happened. Neither 
did the saddles ever really slip down over the ani- 
mals’ ears though I thought mine would. 

There was a shower as we were passing through 
some pines and heavy thunder and bright lightning 
below us. I wondered if the children were in the 
midst of it and frightened. I wondered if Mary 
had boiled the potatoes properly and had heated up 
the things left from the day before. Perhaps they 
had had lunch with the Ransomes. Mary had ap- 
peared a bit forlorn when we left. 

Finally we came out from the woods and looked 
down on the upper clearing. Everything was quiet 
and peaceful. I would have liked to trot then but 
it was quite impossible. I could only stay in the 
saddle at all by shifting my weight first to one leg 
and then to the other. 

When we reached the cabin we found only the 
dog and the chickens. We called, but no one 
answered. 

“They must be down at the ranch,” said Mr. Ran- 
some. “It is only half past five.” 

“You had better stay here and I’ll ride down and 
bring them back,” said the Doctor. So the two 
men rode off and Mrs. Ransome and I helped each 
other to dismount. She wanted to take some eggs 
down from the chicken house. In the cabin all looked 
orderly, but no lunch had been eaten. There had 
evidently been a heavy storm, for there was a steady 
drip of water from the roof and the ground was 


A Long Day on the Mountains 109 

covered with broken branches both small and 
great. 

I threw myself into a big chair to wait and rest. 
Mrs. Ransome called out that she had found her 
eggs and was going along. So I called good-bye and 
waited alone. I think I must have dozed for I came 
to myself suddenly at the click of the gate latch and 
the sound of a horse trotting rapidly. I ran to the 
door. The Doctor was there on one of the Ran- 
somes’ extra horses. He told me that Mary had 
wandered off, that they were worried and that he 
and Mr. Ransome were going after her. 

“Do you know where to go?” I asked. 

He then said they thought she had gone down 
the hill on the Hondo road. He advised me to go 
down to the ranch house and wait there. 

He cantered off and presently Winifred met me 
and we walked down to the ranch together. 

She explained to me what had happened. 

“They came down to lunch with us,” she said. 
“While we were clearing up the dishes and things 
some one knocked. It was a young Indian boy. He 
said he wanted to see Mary, the white girl who 
had found the ring. He said he had a message for 
her. Mary answered that she was the girl and 
wanted to hear the message. He asked her if she 
knew Mateo and of course we all said yes. Then 
the boy said Mateo was hurt. He had tried to get 
to her but couldn’t. He wanted her to come to him. 
Mary asked us what to do and we advised her not 
to go. Then the boy said that Mateo had sent some- 


110 


Mary in New Mexico 


thing to her as a token that he really needed her 
help. We asked what it was and the boy drew 
a pouch out of his pocket. In the pouch was Mary’s 
ring. The boy’s words were : 

“ ‘Mateo he say he get you ring, you come help 
him.’ Mary thought she ought to go but we tried 
to persuade her not to. Finally the boy said it 
wasn’t far, so she started off with him.” 

“What time was it?” I asked. 

“Oh, about three o’clock, I guess. When she 
didn’t come back by five we got awfully scared and 
got hold of the Mexicans. They rode off but I 
don’t know just how far. They haven’t come back 
yet. O dear, if anything happens to Mary I’ll never 
forgive myself.” 

By this time we had reached the ranch house. 
Mrs. Ransome and Ted were questioning one of 
the' Mexicans, who had just returned. He had 
ridden beyond San Joachim but had found no trace 
of Mary. No one had seen her. 

We set about getting supper, for I could not sit 
still and just wait. 

After supper the other Mexican came back. He 
had met the Doctor and Mr. Ransome, who had 
sent him home to milk the cows. So far nothing 
had been heard of Mary. After the dishes had 
been washed we put Trix to bed. It was a great 
treat for her and she laughed and sang so that it 
seemed as though sleep would never come to her. 
Then Dave wanted to play cards. 

It was nearly nine o’clock when the barking of 


Ill 


A Long Day on the Mountains 

the dogs outside gave notice that some one was 
coming. Dave and Ted ran to the door. Mr. Ran- 
some was there. 

“Have you heard anything?” asked Ted. “Where 
are they?” 

Mr. Ransome answered: “We got nearly to Seco 
and met Esty. He said he had run across a dozen 
or so of Indians around the Hondo ford earlier in 
the afternoon. They seemed to be waiting for some- 
thing. He had been a little uneasy about it and had 
ridden back to Seco and had remained there till 
after dark. Just before we met him he had heard 
from a Mexican that a number of Indians had 
tethered their ponies down in the Hondo canon in 
a lonely place. He had seen the ponies when out 
hunting for a strayed yearling. They were gone, he 
said, now. When we told Esty our story, he said 
that he and the Doctor would push on with all the 
men they could raise to the pueblo and see what 
could be done. He advised me to come back and 
give you the news — though it isn’t much, heaven 
knows. We can’t tell you how badly we feel,” he 
added, turning to me. “Tomorrow I’ll go off again. 
I’m all in tonight.” His face looked quite gray in 
the lamplight. 

“There is no one to blame,” I answered gravely. 

“You will spend the night here, of course. Or 
would you rather have Winifred or Mrs. Ransome 
go up to the cabin with you?” 

“Of course you must stay here,” said Mrs. Ran- 
some. “The first news of any sort will be brought 


112 


Mary in New Mexico 


here. You must not think of taking the children 
up to the cabin tonight.” 

And so it was agreed. 

All the time my mind was galloping through the 
darkness with the Doctor and Esty. I sat up trying 
to read after every one else had gone to bed. Finally 
about eleven I shut my book and started upstairs. 
As I did so there came a sound of hoof beats on 
the road. I ran to the door and opened it just as 
a man came up the path to the house. He was a 
stranger. “Is this Mrs. Ransome?” he called, as 
he saw me standing in the doorway. I told him 
who I was. 

“Then I have a letter for you from your hus- 
band,” he said. “I lost my way in the dark or I 
would have been here before.” He took a folded 
paper from his pocket and handed it to me. 

“Come in,” I said. “Is there an answer?” 

“I don’t believe so. No, I must get back. I 
can’t come in.” 

“But it is so late,” I objected. “You must be dead 
tired. Will you go up to my cabin and camp out — 
or will you come in here and lie on a sofa?” Then 
I opened the letter, while he stood in seeming hesi- 
tation. 

The note told me that they had ’phoned from 
Seco to Mr. Rogers. Mr. Rogers said he had news 
for them. Mary was in the hands of the Indians, 
but he was sure they would not hurt her. He thought 
he could get her release the next morning. He ad- 
vised them to spend the night at Seco and proceed 


A Long Day on the Mountains 113 

to Taos early the next morning. Mateo had come 
in that afternoon and had promised to watch and 
make reports. The boy who brought the note was 
to spend the night and return next morning. He 
himself might not be back for another day but would 
send word by ’phone to Seco' and would arrange for 
someone to bring the message. 

The familiar handwriting brought me some com- 
fort, but there was little of comfort in the news. 

“The Doctor says you are to stay here and go 
home tomorrow,” I said. “If you wait I will go 
up and speak to Mrs. Ransome.” 


CHAPTER XIII 

CAPTURED BY THE INDIANS 

; I \HE messenger was gone when I woke in the 
morning. Indeed, everyone had breakfasted 
when I appeared downstairs. 

Nothing more had been heard and we prepared 
to settle down to our usual tasks. There was noth- 
ing we could do. Mr. Ransome had not started yet. 

“I know that Rogers will see to everything better 
than I could. And Esty has the machinery of the 
law at his disposal,” he explained. “I sent word 
by the messenger that I would be down at Seco about 
two o’clock and could bring back any word that 
might be ’phoned in.” 

That seemed a good arrangement. So Dave, 
Trixy and I went back to the cabin, where we all 
had our “chores” to do. It was a long day of 
waiting. 

About supper time Mr. Ransome rode up to the 
cabin. He had just come back from Seco. Dave, 
Trixy and I all ran out to hear what news he brought. 

He dismounted and sat down on the porch with 
us. He began his story. “When I got to Seco, I 
’phoned over to Mr. Rogers’s house in Taos. He 

114 


115 


Captured by the Indians 

was not at home but was expected soon. The Doc- 
tor and Esty had been there and they three had 
ridden off together early in the morning. I waited 
until nearly four and then ’phoned again. Mr. 
Rogers answered the ’phone. He said he could not 
go into all the details but they hoped to get Mary 
that afternoon. As soon as they found her, he 
would bring her up in his auto. He was confident 
that she was unhurt. I think that you can trust abso- 
lutely to what Mr. Rogers says. He knows his 
Indians.” So Mr. Ransome ended. We thanked 
him for his news and his journey and he urged us 
to take supper at the ranch. But I thought we had 
better stay at home. 

“The children had so much excitement last night. 
They must get to bed early,” I said. 

Mr. Ransome stayed for a while, chatting. Then 
he mounted and rode off. 

“You be ready to help with the cows tonight, Dave 
and Trix,” he called as he went. 

The children helped get supper. Trixy set the 
table and Dave brought in the milk and butter from 
the stream, while I did the cooking. 

“Mother,” he remarked, as I was making some 
milk toast, “my physiology book says that toast 
ought never to be made over kerosene.” 

“Then make me a wood fire,” I answered, a little 
impatiently. 

Dave made no more remarks. Presently Trix 
heard the heralding bell of the cow leader and she 
and Dave rushed out to assist at the milking. They 


116 


Mary in New Mexico 


loved to drive up the cows and then hold the calves, 
while the mothers produced milk for human babies 
as well as their own children. 

Finally Trix was put to bed. She seemed to have 
caught the nervous feeling in the air, for she called 
to me repeatedly. She knew she had heard a rattle- 
snake ! She knew she had heard a mountain lion! 
Then she knew she heard a queer sound like an 
Indian makes. So I sat beside her till Dave called 
to me that he had heard something on the porch 
and would I please come. So I left the drowsy Trix 
and went to Dave in the living room. 

“Come out on the porch, I will show you that 
there is nothing there,” I said. He evidently hated 
to go but was about to yield when a most unearthly 
cry broke the stillness of the night. For a moment 
I was startled. Then I laughed, “It’s only a 
coyote. There, Dave, you’ve always wanted to hear 
one.” 

“I’d rather hear it when Daddy is here,” re- 
marked Dave in a low voice. We stepped out onto 
the dark porch. The stars were very bright but 
looked uncommonly far away. 

“Keep still, maybe we’ll hear the coyote again,” 
I whispered. But instead of the strange cry we 
heard a much more welcome sound; the dogs bark- 
ing down at the ranch and the distant honk of a 
machine. 

“It must be Mr. Rogers’ machine, bringing 
Mary,” whooped Dave. 

I felt myself growing suddenly faint and sat 


117 


Captured by the Indians 

down on the porch. But in a moment I was myself 
again. “We mustn’t be too sure,” I said. “They 
may not have brought her. It may be some other 
machine.” 

“Well,” remarked Dave, “there haven’t been 
many auto parades since I’ve been here.” He took 
my hand and together we went down to the gate. 

There came a whoopee from down the lane and 
five minutes after Anthony and Mary were both 
hugging me. 

“Father’ll be up in a minute,” gasped Anthony, 
who was the first to recover his equilibrium. We 
went up to the cabin. 

“Where are the Doctor and Mr. Esty?” I asked 
as I clung to Mary. 

“Esty stayed at Seco, but the Doc will be up in 
a minute with Dad. He just stopped to speak to 
the Ransomes. I guess they’ll all be up to hear the 
details,” he added laughing. 

Mary did not speak till we got to the house. 

“Mary’s awfully tired,” said Anthony quietly. 

“I’m not, either,” she answered indignantly, and 
bursting into tears, ran into the cabin. I made some 
hot cocoa for her and gave her food which she ate 
with a reassuring appetite. But she certainly looked 
weary, although she had stopped crying. 

Then we heard voices, the gate clicked, and the 
rest arrived, Ted, Winifred, Mr. Rogers and the 
Doctor. 

“Well, we’ve brought her back safe to you,” said 
Mr. Rogers, “ring and all. But for heaven’s sake, 


118 


Mary in New Mexico 


send that ring off and let everybody know it’s gone, 
or there won’t be any peace hereabouts.” 

“You can take it back to Taos tomorrow and keep 
it if you want,” said the Doctor grimly. “I’ve had 
enough of it.” 

“I think my little friend Mary would rather have 
it sent back home to show off to her schoolmates, 
wouldn’t you, Mary? Why, bless me, where is the 
child?” exclaimed Mr. Rogers. 

“I think she has probably slipped off to bed,” I 
answered. “She is overwrought tonight. She must 
not talk any more.” 

“She certainly must not!” said the Doctor. “She 
must turn in right away in the room next to ours 
and I may give her a pill or two to keep her from 
dreaming.” The Doctor left the room as he spoke, 
and I knew he had gone to be with Mary. 

“I’m not going back till tomorrow afternoon. 
We can tell you all the details of our part of the 
adventure in the morning. You must all be tired. 
It has been a hard two days for you. It has been 
a narrow escape for your daughter,” he ended 
gravely. 

Just then the Doctor came in and handed an en- 
velope to Mr. Rogers. 

“Here is the ring,” he said. “My address is on 
it. Will you send it by registered mail from Taos 
tomorrow and mention it publicly? May heaven 
preserve the train it goes on! Are you sure you 
don’t mind adding one more cause for gratitude to 
the long list we owe you?” 


119 


Captured by the Indians 

Mr. Rogers took the ring. “I will send it by- 
tomorrow’s mail and I trust never to see it again. 
Come Ted, come Winifred and Anthony, let’s go 
back to the ranch.” 

We shook hands and they left us. I looked 
through the door to Mary’s bedroom, and saw the 
Doctor dimly in the darkness seated by her. There 
was no sound. So I thought I would not disturb 
her, but went back and cleared off the dishes from 
the table. 

Presently the Doctor came softly into the room. 

“She is asleep,” he said. “I have given her some 
dope so that she will not wake up. She has had a 
bad experience but it might have been much worse. 
Don’t you think you had better wait till tomorrow 
to hear it all? You look about as tired as Mary.” 

“Nonsense,” I said, “I’m not a child; I want to 
hear it all now.” 

And then to my surprise I followed Mary’s ex- 
ample and burst into tears. 

“That settles it,” observed the Doctor. “You are 
not tired, and you are not a child, but as your 
physician, I recommend bed, and stories tomorrow.” 

He spoke with the authority of the whole medical 
profession, and I very meekly obeyed. But I 
thought I could not wait till the next day to hear 
of their adventures. 

Trixy was the first up the following morning. I 
heard her dimly, trying not to make any noise, but 
every once in a while dropping shoes and nameless 
articles with a thump. Then Dave joined her and 


120 


Mary in New Mexico 


I heard them, still as in a dream, telling each other 
to be quiet in noisy whispers. Finally I got up and 
putting on my dressing gown and slippers, gave 
them their breakfast and turned them out. 

It was after ten when Mary and the Doctor were 
up for the day and nearly eleven when the Ran- 
somes and Mr. Rogers and Anthony appeared. We 
all sat around the big Douglas fir and settled down 
to hear the story of Mary’s adventure. 


CHAPTER XIV 

HOW IT ALL HAPPENED 

O UPPOSE I begin,” said Mr. Rogers. “Then 
Mary can tell her tale and finally we’ll end 
up with the Doctor.” To this we all agreed, so he 
began. 

“Late Friday afternoon Mateo came into the 
living room. He was unusually stirred up for one 
of his race and habits but I waited for him to speak 
first. We hadn’t seen him since he had gone for 
the ring, so I naturally supposed that it was some- 
thing connected with that. Finally I asked him if 
he had found the ring. He answered ‘No,’ that he 
had found out something more important. The In- 
dians from the pueblo were going to get some white 
girl and take her to the cave, there to abide forever 
as guardian of the ring. I knew Mary was fond 
of her ring but I didn’t think she would want to 
stay there forever! I asked Mateo how he knew. 
It seems in his hunt for the ring he had run into a 
secret council down in the Kiva where they hold 
their meetings. No one had seen him and he had 
been able to hear all of the plan. Of course he 
came to me as soon as possible. I asked Mateo 
when they were to go and he told me that afternoon. 

121 


122 


Mary in New Mexico 


“ ‘Will they return to the pueblo tonight?’ I 
asked. He thought so, but wasn’t sure. He thought 
that we should watch the pueblo. I felt that it was 
our only chance, for once they were up in the cave, 

I thought it would take a regiment and a big gun 
battery to dislodge them. I sent Anthony and 
Mateo with a couple of trusty men to keep watch 
and I notified the police and had a sort of still alarm 
sounded. 

“About nine o’clock the ’phone rang, and the 
Doctor was at the other end. I told him what I 
knew and he told me what he knew and we found 
it wasn’t very much put together. But it seemed 
encouraging on the whole. I felt sure the Indians 
would return after dark and do nothing more until 
early next morning. So I advised the Doctor to 
that effect. I did not begin to be troubled till about 
midnight. Then as Mateo and Anthony had not 
returned, I feared that the Indians had gone straight 
to the cave and that it meant arousing the country. 
I called up the sheriff, who finally came to and 
promised me a posse in the morning. 

“About seven o’clock Esty and the Doctor rode 
in and we held a council of war. The boys had not 
returned and I was troubled about them also. We 
decided we’d scout up the mountain a bit, so we 
started out and met the sheriff’s posse. Now Mary, 
it’s time for you to continue.” 

“Well,” said Mary, “Winifred told you how it 
began. I was scared to go along with the Indian 
but I thought Mateo had been hurt trying to find 


123 


How It All Happened 

me, that I ought to help him if he wanted me. I 
fastened the ring onto the ribbon that holds my 
pen; you know what I mean. Well, we went 
on and on, down a trail that led down into the 
canon. I was sort of troubled, and said I thought 
it was pretty far. He said that in a minute we’d 
find horses. 

“Well, we soon found two ponies. I said I didn’t 
want to go on horseback so far. He told me Mateo 
was very sick and that I must. I don’t know why but 
I was scared by his voice. I thought though that 
maybe if I was on a horse I could ride back if any- 
thing happened. So I got on. The Indian took 
my bridle and led my horse. I tried to stop him 
but he began to gallop and I had to hold on. I 
tell you, I wished I hadn’t come. Well, we rode 
for a long time it seemed to me, and we got down 
into a deep gully and then I saw a lot of Indians. 
I was scared. Something made me stick the ribbon 
with the ring on it inside my dress where it couldn’t 
be seen. 

“I turned to the Indian boy and called him a liar. 
Of course there was no sign of Mateo. ‘Where 
are you going to take me ?’ I asked. And I begged 
so hard for them to let me go. I told them I’d 
give up the ring and go away. They said I must 
go with them. 

“ ‘Our little white sister will guard the ring by 
the holy fire of our fathers. She will always have 
the ring and we will be blessed with peace and pros- 
perity. So the medicine man has decreed!’ I fdt 


124 


Mary in New Mexico 


as if I was in a fairy story and had made the wrong 
wish and had been forced by a bad fairy to take 
the consequences. 

“I did not know where I was but I thought that 
maybe if I screamed, some one would hear me, so 
I yelled as loud as I could. Instantly one of the 
men came over and put his big dirty hand on my 
mouth. He told me that if I screamed he would 
have to hurt me to keep me quiet, but if I promised 
to make no noise, they wouldn’t hurt me. Of course 
I was dreadfully scared. So I promised to be quiet. 
We stayed there the rest of the afternoon. I cried 
a lot. No one paid any attention to me, but every 
time I moved even the least little bit some one 
would be at my side. 

“Finally it got dark. I was hungry and thirsty 
but they wouldn’t give me anything to eat. One 
of the men offered me his water bottle to drink out 
of. But he was so dirty I couldn’t. When it was 
dark they put me on the horse again, and warned 
me again to be silent. A young man got up behind 
me so that I couldn’t escape in the dark. He was 
awfully smelly and I hated it. I tried to make him 
let me go, but he wouldn’t even answer. Finally 
we crossed over a bridge. I begged again for some 
water and one of the Indians got me a drink. I 
would have drunk out of anything by that time. 

“I got so tired and sleepy I couldn’t keep awake 
and finally I guess the Indian must have held me 
on. I just went to sleep, I guess. Every time the 
horse changed his pace much, I’d half wake up and 


125 


How It All Happened 

feel that we were still going. The next thing I 
remember was coming wide awake. It was light 
and we were in the woods. We were going up, 
instead of down. My Indian was still holding onto 
me. I was dreadfully lame and stiff and begged to 
be allowed to get off. We sat down and rested for 
a little while. There were only about six or seven 
Indians left. One of them gave me some bread 
and bacon and a drink. My, I was glad to get 
them. 

“After maybe half an hour they started off again. 
We all walked now. It was awfully steep and I 
had to climb on my hands and knees some of the 
time. I thought I’d try to run away. Of course 
I didn’t know Where we were. We met an 
Indian in the woods who had a gun. He talked to 
my Indians but of course I couldn’t tell what they 
said. I thought that this would be a good chance 
to try to get away. I got a little way and fell down. 
It was so steep and rough and I was so tired. The 
Indians seemed to think it was funny. I stayed 
where I had fallen for a few minutes. Then one 
of the men fired a shot close to me and told me to 
get up. I got up but I had fallen down an awfully 
steep place and I was discouraged, it was so hard. 
I know now how horses feel on slippery hills. The 
youngest Indian seemed to think it was funny. I 
got to a muddy place and every time I climbed up 
it, he’d push me down. Finally I got mad and threw 
some mud at him. It hit him in the face. That 
amused the others and one of them helped me over 


126 Mary in New Mexico 

the worst place. He warned me not to try to escape 
again. 

“Well, we went on. I’d have given anything to 
slap that Indian’s face. The mud had made him 
angry and I felt sure he’d try to pay me back. The 
woods got thicker and thicker. He’d walk in front 
of me and let the bushes jump back so that they’d 
hit me. Finally the path sort of stopped, at a big 
pine. We turned then and made our way through 
a thick lot of bushes. There was a man behind and 
the horrid one in front and I just had to go on. 
Once my hair caught in some low twigs and the 
horrid one pulled it loose and hurt me like fun. O, 
I did want to kick him. Then we came out on an 
open space. It was a clearing in front of a cave, 
much, much bigger than the one we went to before. 
We all sat down. I just gave up and began to cry. 
After a while two Indians with sheets over them 
came out of the cave. One of the men who had 
brought me told me to get up and go into the cave 
with the others. I begged hard to be let go but they 
made me go inside. There were three or four others 
there. I sat down again on the floor of the cave. 

“Then one of the sheeted ones came over to me 
and squatting down, pulled the string with the ring 
on it. They all squatted down and began to mutter 
queer things. Then the first one went back and 
another came along, and so on. I think it was the 
third one who muttered something I thought I could 
understand. I listened hard and was sure I heard 
English. 


127 


How It All Happened 

“ ‘Don’t show any surprise but get up and follow 
me when I go out of here. I will stand back of the 
circle and raise my arm.’ 

“I felt sort of sick when I heard those English 
words. It seemed as though I knew the voice, too. 
But I didn’t dare to do anything different. The 
sheeted one went back then and some one else took 
his place. I thought I had better get up so as to 
be ready to follow the mysterious one. When I got 
up, they all sort of wandered around and finally I 
saw one in the back raise his hand. So I walked 
boldly forward, though I was scared to death. They 
seemed surprised but I went straight on and fol- 
lowed my guide down a dark passage. He went 
faster and faster and so did I. It was dark as 
night but finally I saw a tiny light ahead. Then 
we went down and down and finally I heard water 
and a brook seemed to spring out of the ground 
right under our feet. It was not quite so dark 
and I could see the water as well as feel and hear 
it. Next it got so light I could see that the sheet 
was gone from my guide. Then the top of the 
passage got so low we had to stoop and finally 
to crawl along the brook. We were going down 
all the time. Then my guide whispered to me to 
wait. He went on ahead and suddenly disappeared. 
Then I heard a whistle that was unmistakably 
Marching Through Georgia . 

“I guessed whoever was whistling was white, so 
I crawled on as fast as I could and got out into a 
small canon, where the brook rushed down into a 


128 


Mary in New Mexico 


waterfall. Two people kept me from tumbling down 
it. They were Mateo and Anthony. My, I was glad 
to see them ! I was glad to see them. 

“They told me not to lose any time, so we started 
along down by the brook. It was awfully hard 
going but they helped me a lot, and I knew I was 
getting away. I guess it was getting on towards 
afternoon when we finally rested in a thick clump 
of bushes. Then Anthony gave me some food. O, 
but it was good! Of course I was dead tired but 
I wanted to know all about everything. — Now, An- 
thony, you’ve got to talk. I’m dead.” 

“I should think you would be,” said Mrs. Ran- 
some. 

Mary came over and cuddled beside me, while 
Anthony continued. 

“When Mateo and I went out Friday night, he 
was pretty worried. He didn’t think they’d dare 
to take Mary to the pueblo. So after we’d hung 
around in the bushes till about ten that night, we 
sat down to talk it over. He said he thought they 
would take her straight to the cave. ‘Do you know 
where it is?’ I asked him. He said he did; that 
his mother’s father was one of the high muck-a- 
mucks and he knew a secret way, too, that he’d dis- 
covered once when they had started to train him 
to be a medicine man. He hadn’t wanted to stay 
as a medicine man, as he liked his white brother 
better. So he got away through this secret passage. 

“We got some food and proceeded up the moun- 
tain with the first crack of dawn. We went Indian 


129 


How It All Happened 

fashion, and didn’t see anyone. Just once I remem- 
bered the white man who had gone cave hunting 
and had never come back. But most of the time 
I was too busy planning. I waited for hours at the 
mouth of that secret passage and finally about noon 
Mateo came out. He had somehow managed to get 
into that sheet party and had brought Mary back 
with him. We got back to father’s just after he 
did. 

“I never saw anyone eat more than Mary did. 
But believe me, we did some fast driving to get 
up to the ranch from Taos last night.” 

“You certainly are the hero,” I said. “We can 
never thank you all enough.” 

“Me? Why it was all Mateo. We never could 
have gotten her without him. But he’ll never tell 
how he did it. He will never tell any more than he 
has now.” 

“I’ll get Mateo the best rifle he ever saw when 
I get to Santa Fe,” remarked the Doctor. 

“I think we must get back to the ranch now and 
off to Taos early this afternoon,” Mr. Rogers said. 
He got up. “It’s been a pretty exciting adventure. 
I hope it’s the last that comes to this quiet neigh- 
borhood. Good-bye all. I trust we may meet again. 
I believe you people are going soon.” 

“Alas, yes,” I answered. 

“Our reservations have been taken for some 
time, but I think we may go down to Santa Fe a 
little earlier than we had planned,” remarked the 
Doctor. 


130 


Mary in New Mexico 


So we bade good-bye to those two good friends, 
Anthony and his father. 

“You’ll be coming east one of these days to col- 
lege, Anthony,” I said. “If you do, remember that 
our home is yours.” 

Then they all went off down the road and the 
last thing we heard was Anthony’s whoopee. 


CHAPTER XV 

AN AMATEUR FISHERMAN 

T THINK Dave and I ought to have one last 
trip before we go home,” said the Doctor that 
evening. “Where shall it be, Dave?” 

“I’d like to go down to the Rio Grande, fishing,” 
answered Dave promptly. 

“That sounds all right. We’ll go tomorrow un- 
less I ought first to go to Taos for Mr. Ransome’s 
horse.” 

“Mr. Ransome said they were going to a dance 
at Taos Wednesday. He said he’d bring back the 
horse.” 

“That is certainly nice of him. Well, Dave, to- 
morrow then. We haven’t any time to waste, for 
I think we’ll leave here Saturday for Santa Fe. 
There are lots of interesting things to see there, 
and it is only a little earlier than we had planned 
to go. I must see Mr. Ransome tonight, and ask 
him about the auto.” 

“O, Dad, can I come too?” called Trix. 

“If it’s not too late and Mother agrees.” 

So Trix and the Doctor started off together. But 
they met the cows with Mr. Ransome and Pedro 

131 


132 


Mary in New Mexico 


and turned back. We all walked over to the corral 
to be present at the daily ceremony of milking. 

The Doctor inquired about another trail to the 
Rio Grande canon and also asked Mr. Ransome 
to engage the auto for Friday to take us to the 
railroad, forty miles away. He thanked him for 
offering to bring back the horse. 

“You had best look out for Dave tomorrow,” 
said Mr. Ransome, “if you are to make a trip to- 
gether. He is sort of put out because Mary had 
such an exciting adventure. I am sure he will seize 
every chance to get into trouble.” 

Dave indignantly denied this. 

“I shouldn’t wonder,” said the Doctor. “Per- 
haps we shall meet up with something. We ought 
to start early. Let us begin our adventure by try- 
ing to catch the ponies before it gets any darker.” 

So the two went off in the twilight, down to the 
lower pasture where the horses were enjoying good 
food and a chance to gallop. They were evidently 
feeling well for they refused to be coaxed and 
presently started off at a run, the Doctor and Dave 
after them. 

“You go down to the lower end and drive them 
towards me,” said the Doctor. “I will be near this 
corner of the fence and try to drive them in, so 
that we can corner them.” 

“Don’t you think I’d better wait here and you go 
down to the farther pasture?”- asked Dave. 

The Doctor laughed. “No, Dave, you could 
not catch them so well.” 


An Amateur Fisherman 


133 


The boy reluctantly started off. It seemed very 
dim and the bushes and trees loomed mysteriously. 
Suddenly he heard the sound of thudding hoofs, and 
two great shapes galloped straight at him. Dave 
fled behind a tree, and the ponies rushed past. After 
them went Dave, whooping in true cow-puncher 
style. But it is easier to say “drive them into a 
corner” than to do it. The boy felt that he had 
been all over the field a dozen times and had nar- 
rowly escaped death five times at least before the 
horses got within reach of the Doctor’s hand. 

At last they were caught and taken into the small 
enclosure for the night. 

It was absolutely dark by this time, for it had 
turned cloudy and Dave walked close to his father. 

“What are you thinking of?” asked the Doctor, 
after a few minutes’ silence. 

“Well, I was wondering if I could kill a moun- 
tain lion without a gun. Can’t I have a gun, Dad?” 

“Maybe, some day. Not yet. Do you remember 
the rhyme, 

“ ‘Boy, Gun, 

Great fun ! 

Gun bust, 

Boy dust!’ ” 

“Now, Dad.” 

“Are you afraid in the dark, Dave?” 

“No, of course not. But I think the dark is more 
full of things to see. And one hears so many more 
things at night.” 

They started early the next day, with the fishing 


134 


Mary in New Mexico 


tackle and the camera and plenty of bread and bacon 
and sweet chocolate. 

Mary, Trix and I decided we would commence 
packing. 

“I hate to think of going so soon, Mother,” said 
Mary. “But it will be fun to see Santa Fe and we 
surely can stop off and see the cousins in Chicago, 
can’t we?” 

“We surely can,” I replied. 

Meanwhile the Doctor and Dave trotted gaily 
down the mountain to San Joachim. After pass- 
ing the little village the road became a trail and 
then it was hard to find. However, they knew the 
general direction, and as Mr. Ransome said, “The 
Doctor always gets there though usually not by any 
trail any one else has ever used.” 

They made several false starts; one trail ended 
in a precipice, another in a field of wheat, but at 
least they could look down into the wild canon and 
see the turbulent river flowing swiftly eight hundred 
feet below. 

They got into a rocky brookbed. 

“This must go down to the river, let’s try it,” 
said the Doctor. 

“Why must it, Dad?” 

“It isn’t likely that as big a brook as this would 
stop and if it continues it must flow into the river. 
Haven’t you read that in your geography?” 

“I guess so. How did the river ever get down 
so far, with such high banks?” 

“It used to be on top centuries ago. But the 






























































. 








































































































BE SURE TO HOLD THE HORSES TIGHT? 



An Amateur Fisherman 


135 


stone and soil were fairly soft and so gradually the 
river wore it away and wore it away. Maybe some 
day it will be deeper still and the present level where 
the river flows be up in the air somewhere.” 

They had to proceed very slowly. Finally the 
Doctor bade Dave dismount and lead his pony. Jim 
Snort was pretty good about jumping down precipi- 
tous rocks but Nellie had to be coaxed, and at last 
planted her four feet and refused to move. 

“I’ll go ahead a bit and try to find how near the 
river is. We can’t be far above it,” said the Doctor. 
“Be sure to hold the horses tight.” 

After a few minutes he returned. “We had 
better tether the horses here,” he said. “There is 
a little grass and a trickle of water. They will be 
all right. Are you ready for some rough climbing?” 

“Sure, Dad.” 

The ponies were soon fastened to bushes by long 
halter ropes, and Dave and his father proceeded 
down the canon by leaps and bounds and painful 
efforts. 

“Dad, I hear the water rushing, and O! I can 
see it. Why is it so yellow?” 

“It is pretty shallow and very swift and brings 
down lots of dirt and mud with it.” 

“My, but it’s hot,” said Dave, as he threw him- 
self down on the dry sand that bordered the river. 

The sun beat down upon them and even the 
breeze that blew down the river failed to cool them. 

“How about a swim, Dave? You’ll have to be 
careful, as the current is so strong.” 


136 


Mary in New Mexico 


“I’d love it. Come on. But, Dad, my physiology 
book at school says you mustn’t get into cold water 
when you are very hot.” 

“If you mention that book again, Dave, I’ll drown 
you. Cool off if you want to. It probably would 
be better.” But Dave did not wait long. Presently 
they both stripped and gingerly stepped into the 
swift flowing stream. 

“Gee, but it’s cold,” shivered Dave. 

“Hurry up, get your dip and come out.” 

Dave got on a rock that jutted out and jumped 
in. Instantly he was carried down, fighting for 
breath in the icy water. 

His father ran down the bank and then swam out 
and caught him. The Doctor did not waste much 
time in conversation as they struggled to shore. But 
when they got to land, “What on earth did you 
do that for?” he asked. 

“You t-t-told m-m-me to g-g-get my d-d-dip,” 
chattered Dave. 

“I didn’t mean to jump off in the middle of the 
river. If I had not been right on hand it 
would have been a case of drowned boy. Come, 
run up and down for a minute to get warm again. 
Now put on your clothes.” 

“But I’m wet, and O Dad, there goes my shirt!” 

A sudden puff of wind arising, picked up the small 
garment and in a moment it was fluttering half out 
of the water in mid-stream. 

“Just watch yourself go, Dave,” said his father. 
“That might have been you.” 


An Amateur Fisherman 137 

Dave ruefully saw his shirt disappear under the 
waves. 

“Shall we fish first or eat first?” asked Dave, 
when they were both dressed. 

“I think I’ll fish a bit, but it doesn’t look hopeful 
right here. Let’s walk up to the shade of those 
trees. Maybe that will be a better place.” 

Evidently it was Dave’s unlucky day. When he first 
cast, he caught his father’s hat. Then he got a hook 
caught in his hand. But finally they both started. 

“If you have one more mishap, you’ll have to 
quit, Dave,” remarked his father. They fished for 
a while and then Dave got a bite. He started ex- 
citedly to reel in and then suddenly let go. 

“What’s the matter?” asked his father. 

“A mosquito bit me,” said Dave crossly. He 
cast again and tangled his line in his father’s. 

“For goodness’ sake, go farther away,” exclaimed 
his father, and Dave moved off. 

There seemed to be plenty of fish, but for a while, 
as Dave said, mosquitoes were the only ones that 
bit. But at last the Doctor landed three good ones 
in rapid succession. 

Then Dave caught one and the Doctor had to 
stop and take it off. They got about a dozen in all 
and then the boy suggested that it ought to be nearly 
lunch time. So a fire was made and some of the 
fish fried with the bacon on hot rocks. 

“My, but it’s good,” murmured Dave. “But is 
it all right to use the dirty stones? My physiology 
book says — ” 


138 


Mary in New Mexico 

“Dave, I’ll throw you in the river if you mention 
that hook again. Eat your lunch and be thankful. 
You’ve seldom eaten a cleaner or better one.” 

After lunch the Doctor stretched out for a while 
and Dave went exploring. He found some inter- 
esting tracks in the wet sand by the river which the 
Doctor proclaimed cow tracks. He walked down 
the bank and finally discovered distinct marks of a 
clawed foot on the sand. 

“It might be a bear or it might be a mountain 
lion,” the Doctor decreed. 

They tried fishing again but only caught one little 
one. Then, as it was half past three, they started 
the hard climb up the canon to find the horses. 

“I hope they’ll be there,” remarked Dave. 

Nellie and Jim Snort expressed themselves as glad 
to see their masters. As Dave was putting the bit 
into Jim’s mouth he asked his father why bits didn’t 
hurt. 

“They do hurt if you jerk your horse’s mouth,” 
replied the Doctor. “There is a sort of callous in 
a horse’s mouth where the bit lies, but if you saw 
on it, there must be pain. Bits ought to be warmed 
in winter. The metal hurts a horse if it is put in 
when very cold. I am afraid a good many drivers 
don’t do this. I expect animals have to suffer a 
lot from the ignorance and carelessness of us 
humans.” 

“I think people who own horses ought to be 
licensed like chauffeurs,” said Dave. 

“That would be a good plan. Perhaps when you 


An Amateur Fisherman 


139 


are a man they will. Animals are treated much 
more humanely now than when I was a boy.” 

“We’re taught a lot about animals in school. 
Dad, have you ever seen a bull fight?” 

“I went to one, once. But I couldn’t stay through. 
It was bad enough to see a bull tortured but I 
couldn’t stand seeing the poor old horses. Some of 
the bull fighters, the picadors as they are called, 
ride on the oldest, most miserable creatures. These 
are blindfolded. They cannot see and are gored 
and hurt and ripped open by the angry bull. They 
haven’t even a fighting chance. It is too cruel.” 

“Why do they do it, Dad?” 

“Because some humans are still cruel, like wild 
animals — only not as noble as wild animals, for 
they run no danger themselves but enjoy seeing 
other men and dumb animals in danger and pain. It 
is exciting and sportsmanlike to take your life in 
your hands and go hunting big game. But I would 
about as soon spend a day in a slaughter house as 
at a bull fight.” 

“Isn’t there a good deal of danger for the man 
who kills the bull, and doesn’t he have to be pretty 
skillful?” asked Dave. 

“The man who kills animals in the stock yards 
has to be skillful. As to danger, the toreador, as 
he is called in Spanish, is seldom hurt — certainly not 
if he knows his business. They usually live to a 
green old age and retire wealthy.” 

“But they do have to know their business, as you 
say,” persisted Dave. 


140 


Mary in New Mexico 


“Yes, they have to be skillful. But I grudge any 
praise to such a cruel sport.” 

“They have bull fights in Mexico. Are the Mexi- 
cans cruder than we?” 

“They haven’t been taught to be so kind to ani- 
mals. Do you remember Mr. Ransome’s telling us 
about the Mexican who rode his horse nearly to 
death just because he, the rider, got cooler when he 
rode fast?” 

They had led their ponies up out of the canon 
and now trotted along through the scrub pines on 
the comparatively level ground. The river and its 
banks had vanished. 

“I am sorry this is our last ride,” sighed Dave. 
“It certainly has been a great summer.” 


CHAPTER XVI 

ON THE ROAD TO SANTA FE 

Tj' VERYTHING was packed. The last breakfast 
had been hurriedly eaten at six o’clock. The 
last snapshots had been taken. At six-Jthirty we piled 
into the auto that was to take us back to railroad 
trains and other stupid things. Trunks, bags, roll- 
ups were roped about us. We were in layers. But 
everyone felt so miserable at leaving that there were 
no complaints. The Ransomes waved good-bye and 
we were off, amid promises to return and cordial 
invitations. 

Mr. Ransome had brought word from Mr. Rogers 
that the ring had gone and the post office receipt 
was in the Doctor’s pocket. 

“I hope you find the ring safe when you get 
home,” called Ted as we drove away. 

It was like coasting down a toboggan slide and 
we hoped that our chauffeur was a skillful one. He 
kept up a pleasant stream of talk but showed that 
he was equally efficient in deed by getting us down 
safely to Hondo, where we crossed the river. Here 
the way ran between two pastures. Suddenly a 
herd of cattle seemed to sweep down towards the 
141 


142 


Mary in New Mexico 


road. Two great creatures broke through the fence 
and began a lively fight. 

“Here’s your bull fight, Dave,” remarked the 
Doctor. “Only it’s bull to bull, not bull to man.” 

The two bulls had evidently been struggling to- 
gether in the pasture and had decided to finish it out 
on the road. They were large animals, and as they 
strained, head against head, it was a terrible sight. 

“It’s lucky their horns are off,” remarked the 
driver. 

“Why?” asked Dave. 

“One of ’em would be dead by this time, son. As 
it is, see the blood on the white fellow’s head.” 

“Can’t we get by?” asked Mary. “Why are we 
stopping?” 

“If them two critters took it into their heads to 
come this way, they’d go clean through this old ma- 
chine. They’re big fellows. I think I’ll get out and 
see what can be done.” 

“I want to go too,” cried Dave, and “I want to 
go too,” echoed Trix. 

“You’ll stay right here,” answered the chauffeur, 
as he went, followed by the Doctor. 

“Do take the camera,” I urged, “and don’t get 
too near.” 

The Doctor grinned. “Hang your clothes on a 
hickory limb but don’t go near the water.” He 
didn’t take the camera. The two men approached 
discreetly, but they might have brought a fife and 
drum corps with them for all the attention they 
attracted. Our chauffeur picked up some big stones 


On the Road to Santa Fe 


143 


and threw them at the maddened animals, but even 
that made no impression. 

I think it was at that moment that Dave stepped 
out with the camera, and before I knew it had run 
up close to the fighting beasts. They were almost 
motionless, each exerting his utmost force to dis- 
lodge the other, each powerless to stir his enemy. 

“Dave, go right back,” called his father. 

But Dave snapped the camera twice and as he did 
so, I saw that the black bull was slowly pushing the 
other one towards the ditch. 

Dave and the two men raced back to the auto. 

Twice we thought the road would be clear; and 
twice the white bull came back. But the third time 
as we watched breathlessly, the black one succeeded 
in bringing the other to his knees in the ditch. In- 
stantly our driver started up and much to the chil- 
dren’s regret we hurried on our way. 

But as we looked back, we saw that the white bull 
had risen to his feet again. The two great creatures 
were again pushing, straining every nerve, each un- 
able to dislodge the other. 

The Doctor was angry at Dave’s escapade and 
the chauffeur made sundry remarks about what hap- 
pened to little boys in his day who disobeyed their 
Pas. 

“Did you get a picture?” whispered Mary. And 
Dave nodded a delighted yes. 

“Do you suppose they’ll be there next year, when 
we come back,” asked Trix. 

“I don’t think so,” I replied. 


144 


Mary in New Mexico 


“How long will they be there?” she asked again. 

“Until one of them falls dead,” answered our 
chauffeur cheerfully. 

“Why will they drop dead?” asked the persistent 
seeker after knowledge. 

“My physiology book says that bulls ought to be 
shut up,” remarked Dave. 

“Why are bulls like little boys?” said Mary 
promptly. 

“I wish we could shut up that physiology book,” 
added some one else. 

“Well, at least it’s made an impression. Does it 
tell you to brush your teeth and obey your father?” 
asked the Doctor. 

“Now, Dad, I think you’re mean,” exclaimed 
Dave. 

We went along rapidly for some time, through 
Taos, through Ranches de Taos, even more ancient, 
with nothing but picturesque adobe houses and an 
old adobe church. It was like a bit of old Syria. 
Then over miles of rolling grazing grounds where 
cattle wandered and chewed the cud of peace. 

Our chauffeur turned in his seat. “I suppose you 
folks saw Kit Carson’s house back yonder in Taos,” 
he asked. 

“I did,” answered Mary. 

“I didn’t,” said Dave. 

“Why, Dave, I took you there,” said the Doctor. 
“You probably were dreaming of your physiology 
book.” 

“Anyways,” remarked the chauffeur, “those bulls 


On the Road to Santa Fe 


145 


made me think of a story about Kit. He was hunt- 
ing buffalo when he was scouting with Fremont, and 
not satisfied with the critters he’d killed, started 
chasing a big buffalo bull. Well, Kit finally hit him 
under the shoulder — couldn’t get a good aim ’cause 
his horse was tired. Just as he fired, the horse 
stepped into a prairie dog hole and bang, down he 
went, throwing Kit fifteen or twenty feet over his 
head. Well, it surprised him some. But he had wits 
enough left to see that Mr. Bull was coming to 
find the fellow w'ho’d plugged him. Up jumps Kit 
and runs for his life with that bull bellowing after 
him. 

“Kit run as he never had before and that was 
going some. He knew that a bend of the Arkansas 
River was ahead and if he could get there first he’d 
have some chance. I wished I could have seen it.” 

“Did he get there?” gasped Dave. 

“Sure he did. No buffalo could kill Kit. It was 
a big, swift stream but he liked its looks better than 
the fellow behind. Down he went, head first, and 
came up puffin’. There stood Mr. Bull on the bank 
and there seemed to be nothing for Kit to do but 
stay in the water. Whenever he struck out towards 
the shore, the bull was there ahead watching for 
him. Well, the noise of the shot had attracted some 
other hunter and by and by a shot put an end to 
the bull and Kit skinned him. 

“Kit was a great shot. It’s told of him that he 
once killed five animals with four balls.” 

“How could he?” asked Mary as the chauffeur 


146 Mary in New Mexico 

paused for a moment to adjust something in the 
machine. 

“Well, he cut the bullet out of the fourth buffalo 
and used it over again.” 

“Do you believe that?” whispered Mary. 

“I’d like to,” I replied. 

“Kit used to like to tell stories. All of the big 
scouts do, I guess,” continued the chauffeur. “There 
was a green fellow named O’Neil out with Kit 
once. The rule in that camp was that everyone 
had to bring in meat if he went out for it. So 
O’Neil agreed, and went off one evening alone on 
his first hunt. He was crazy to get a buffalo. All 
the trappers watched him go and wondered what 
would happen. By and by they heard a shot and 
then they saw O’Neil, headed for camp, hatless, and 
gunless, with a big bull after him. They were both 
going full speed and O’Neil was yelling, ‘Here we 
come, by jabers, stop us! For the love of Heaven, 
stop us.’ They got among the tents and O’Neil 
tripped over a rope and upset himself into the camp 
supper. All the rest was laughing so that maybe 
the old bull would have got off. But Kit jumped 
for his rifle and shot it. ‘Sure,’ says O’Neil, ‘it’s 
the mate I’ve brought into camp. No one said if 
it should be alive or dead.’ ” 

“I shouldn’t have thought a man could run faster 
than a buffalo,” commented the Doctor. 

“They are heavy beasts, and the bulls are great 
fighters when they are wounded or maddened, but 
they aren’t so swift,” replied our chauffeur. 


On the Road to Santa Fe 


147 


“Tell us some more/’ begged Dave. 

“There was a fellow named Williams had an 
adventure with a grizzly once. He was coming down 
the Arkansas alone, his party having been destroyed 
by Indians. He used to sleep in his canoe so as 
to be ready to get away quick without any noise. 
One night he was dozing off after his first good 
supper for many days, for he had killed a beaver. 
Some of the meat was still in the canoe. Suddenly 
he heard a lot of noise. Injuns was his first thought 
but he was experienced enough to know that they 
don’t announce themselves. Then he saw a huge 
grizzly bear sniffing around on the bank and finally 
get into the water and start to swim toward the 
canoe which was floating about twenty feet from 
shore attached by a rope. Williams grabbed his 
axe and waited. Presently the grizzly came up close, 
evidently after the beaver, and put his paws on the 
gunnel of the canoe, almost tipping it over. Down 
came the axe on his paws, first on one, then on t’other 
and finally on the bear’s head. Then he grunted 
and let go. But he left his claws behind him and 
Williams kept ’em as a souvenir. 

“And now I guess I’d better attend to busi- 
ness for we’re coming near the canon of the Rio 
Grande.” 

The road had been growing wilder, with deep 
fissures in the ground worn by spring freshets. Then 
all of a sudden, as it seemed, we were looking down 
into a great hole in the ground, with the Rio Grande 
far below. The high rocky banks were wild and 


148 


Mary in New Mexico 


steep and it seemed impossible that any living crea- 
ture could get down in an automobile. 

“Do we go down there !” exclaimed Mary, as 
Trix clung to me without speaking. 

“If you want to catch your train, we do,” com- 
mented the chauffeur, “for we haven’t time to go 
around it.” 

The road was good, but narrow and wound along 
the face of the rock without any protecting wall on 
the steep side. 

Suddenly Trix called out, “There’s a wagon 
coming!” 

Sure enough, we could see below us four toiling 
horses dragging a heavy cart and accompanied by 
several men. Our chauffeur honked vigorously and 
finally attracted their attention. 

“How can we ever pass?” asked Mary. 

“Don’t be troubling your head. There’s places 
to pass. You don’t suppose we’d have to brush ’em 
off, do you?” 

Sure enough, another turn brought in sight a 
rounded out place in the bank and there the ap- 
proaching team was waiting for us. 

“I’d hate to go over this road in the dark,” I re- 
marked. “But I suppose no one ever does.” 

We waved to the Mexican drivers as we slowly 
passed them and departed on our way. We looked 
back and watched them going upward, apparently 
clinging to the wild rocky precipice. 

“It is like the stone age before there was any 
vegetation,” said the Doctor. 


On the Road to Santa Fe 


149 


“It ought to be inhabited by the last man, after 
the earth is dead and growing cold,” I answered. 
“Think of this with the addition of Indians. I sup- 
pose this road was made over an old trail.” 

“Maybe so,” said the Doctor, “but I guess there 
wasn’t much traffic before the engineers came and 
cut into the rocks.” 

There was a bridge at the bottom over the swift 
flowing river, and then we began what seemed like 
an impossible climb. The road disappeared at the 
edge of precipices and made sudden turns in the most 
unexpected places. It was wonderful, but dreary and 
wild. Mary and Dave discovered a great stone 
face in the rocks. It was not so perfect as the one 
in the White Mountains, but really fine in feature, 
watching there in the wilderness. 

This too was soon passed and we turned to take 
a last look at the canon we had left. When we 
reached the top, the river and the deep gorge had 
all vanished as though they had not been. 

“Just what and who was Kit Carson, Mother?” 
whispered Mary as we drove along. The Doctor 
heard her. 

“He lived in the early part of the nineteenth cen- 
tury and spent his time in Taos when he wasn’t in 
the saddle, which wasn’t very often. He started 
being scout and trapper at the early age of seven- 
teen. He went west with Fremont and guided num- 
berless parties of soldiers and traders on the plains 
or on the old Santa Fe Trail. He was absolutely 
fearless and apparently untiring. He knew the 


150 


Mary in New Mexico 


Indian language and was a great friend of some of 
the tribes, especially in his young days. He was 
always having hair-breadth escapes and carrying 
messages from army post to army post. He was 
a wonderful shot, as Mr. Fenton has just told you. 
There were other famous scouts, but I think Carson 
was about the finest of them. Do you remember 
hearing me tell you how I went to see Cody, in New 
York once, in his famous Buffalo Bill’s Wild West 
Show? Cody was another of the early scouts but 
of course of a later date than Carson. He used to 
have an old stage coach in his show that had really 
been used in the West. He had a running fight be- 
tween Indians and the coach in the arena. 

“I must tell you one funny thing that happened 
in that connection. There was a man who lived 
in New York and manufactured boxes. He was a 
great joker and advertised his business in lots of 
funny ways. Cody asked him to ride in the ‘Dead- 
wood coach,’ as he called his stage, and take part 
in the show. The man agreed, and one fine night 
acted as passenger. But Cody had told his Indians 
and cowboys he was a famous hold-up man himself. 
‘Go as far as you like’ was his last word to them as 
they went into action. That was enough for them. 
When it came to the hold-up part, they did it in real 
earnest, cleaned out- Mr. Joker’s pockets, which hap- 
pened to be full, and wouldn’t give it back after- 
ward.” 

“Cody was a great hand to josh,” observed Fen- 
ton, our chauffeur. “Did you ever hear how he 


On the Road to Santa Fe 


151 


fooled the army officer?” Without waiting for a 
reply he continued: “He had rode out of camp one 
day on his famous horse Brigham. He didn’t have 
no saddle or bridle, just a halter. He looked kind 
of cheap. Well, he saw some buffalo at the same 
time that a group of army officers from the fort 
came after them. 

“They told him he’d better give up as he would 
never catch buffalo with that outfit. ‘We only want 
the tenderloin and tongue,’ said they. ‘You follow 
us and we’ll give you what’s left.’ Cody grinned 
and said all right. But he had noticed that the 
buffalo were headed towards the right for the stream 
to drink, so he rode off to one side to catch ’em be- 
fore they got there. Then he gave his horse the 
rein. Now Brigham knew as much as his old Mor- 
mon namesake and more too about buffalo hunting. 
He carried his master right up close to each buffalo 
in turn so that Cody bagged the whole eleven buf- 
faloes with twelve shots. Then he jumped off his 
horse which stood at attention and presented his bag 
to the army officers, who acknowledged they’d never 
seen the like before. Cody told them that Brigham 
would always give his master two shots at a buffalo, 
but if the second shot didn’t kill, he would go on as 
if disgusted. Cody killed nearly five thousand buf- 
falo in less than eighteen months, all of which were 
ate by twelve hundred men engaged in track laying. 

“Well, here’s your station and it’s half an hour 
to train time. You can write Mr. Ransome that I 
got you here safe and sound and on time.” 


152 


Mary in New Mexico 


We parted with our friendly and efficient chauf* 
feur with great regret. It had been a marvelous 
drive and the little station that represented civiliza- 
tion lured us not at all. 

We had brought sandwiches with us and sat on 
the station platform to eat them while we watched 
a gang of swarthy Mexicans at work on the tracks. 
There were some funny shops with all sorts of things 
to buy in them and a small restaurant where our 
chauffeur had told us we would get good coffee. As 
the Doctor was the only one in our party who took 
coffee, that did not tempt us, but we entered to see 
what else the place might hold. It was absolutely 
clean and a nice motherly looking woman waited on 
us. We found an endless variety of crackers, bottled 
stuff, and also some dreadful looking candy which 
Dave wanted to buy. But there was good milk also 
to be had, and this with crackers and sweet chocolate 
finished our meal, begun on the platform. 

Presently the narrow-gauge train came puffing in 
and we got aboard. It was very hot, now that we 
had descended from the heights, and even the won- 
derful views of the canon as we went along failed 
to comfort us. 

The train stopped for an hour at another station 
while the passengers and train crew had lunch. We, 
having eaten, wandered about and discovered some 
beautiful varieties of cactus. These had long spiny 
stems with lovely, waxen flowers. We gathered some 
but found that even the flowers had “prickers,” as 
Trixy bewailed, when she got her hand full of them. 


On the Road to Santa Fe 


153 


As we went south the country grew more and more 
barren, with great table-like hills rising straight out 
of the plains. 

“Why do they call them mesas, Dad ?” asked Dave. 

“Mesa is the Spanish for table,” answered the 
Doctor. “Just think what a wonderful fort it makes. 
If a tribe lived on top, it would be almost impossible 
for an enemy to reach them except through treachery. 
Of course they had concealed paths, but these could 
easily be guarded.” 

“Did the Indians really live on top?” asked Mary. 

“Certainly they did, in some places. In others 
they lived in caves in the rocks; cliff dwellers, they 
are called. The poor fellows had to have strange 
places to live in order to protect themselves from all 
sorts of enemies.” 

There were so many of the great mesas on either 
side of us now, that it seemed as if we were 
going through a land of forts, built by hand. It 
was almost impossible to believe that like Topsy, 
“they had just grow’d.” 

We tried to get some fresh air on the back plat- 
form of the car, the Doctor and I sitting on the 
steps. There were strange colors in the sands and 
the cactus and sage. It was beginning to look like 
the south in earnest. At one station we saw a 
Mexican dandy in his fancy costume — the tight 
trousers with shiny buttons, the great broad-brimmed 
sombrero with its sugar loaf crown. At the same 
place we bought some of the black Indian pottery 
from an old squaw dressed chiefly in a blanket. 


154 


Mary in New Mexico 


“She doesn’t look nearly so nice as the Taos In- 
dians,” whispered Mary, as she made her purchases. 

“She may be just as nice but she isn’t as good 
looking,” murmured the Doctor. “The Taos 
Pueblo Indians are famous for their fine features 
and good carriage. They are aware of it, too. 
Don’t you remember how Mateo would not eat with 
the Mexicans?” 

“Yes — that seemed funny. I wonder why it is 
that people are willing to do almost anything with 
another person, but won’t eat with them?” 

“The sentence is a bit involved and I don’t believe 
you could parse it, but I think I get your meaning, 
Mary,” remarked her father. “Didn’t you study 
the Merchant of Venice at school last winter? Do 
you happen to remember that Shylock says : 

“ 7 will buy with you, sell with you, talk 
with you, walk with you; but I will not eat with 
you, drink with you, nor pray with you 
“Does that give you any answer to your question, 
the linking together of eating, drinking and pray- 
ing?” 

“Well, the Jews had laws about their food and 
had to eat separate,” said Mary slowly. 

“That’s true, too. But ever since the beginning 
of things there has been a sort of feeling that to 
eat with a person, to break bread with him, was a 
sort of ceremony of friendship, almost a religious 
ceremony. This is brought out clearly by Christ in 
his last supper with the disciples. But the custom 
is much older than that, particularly among eastern 


On the Road to Santa Fe 


155 


peoples. I think that we all inherit a little of this 
feeling, so that we hesitate to eat with people whom 
we dislike or look down on. I am sorry to say that 
the food poisoner of the Middle Ages appeared 
to forget this ancient custom of holding ‘him as one 
without a fault who breaks my bread and tastes my 
salt.’ Just as the modern woman does who goes to 
a friend‘s house to dinner and makes fun of the food 
and the hostess after she’s gone home. 

“Well, here we are at Santa Fe, the end of the 
trail for the brave scouts and traders of the olden 
days” 

The train puffed into the pleasant little station 
and everyone was glad to get out of the stuffy hot 
car. 

Trix was greatly excited at going to her first real 
hotel, although the quaint building, with its broad 
piazzas and high ceilings and lack of elevators, made 
it seem more like a home than a hotel. 

We put our heads out of the auto to see the old 
Spanish governor’s palace as we passed on the way. 
It was not great and impressive as a building, at 
least on the outside. But the long row of columns 
looked interesting and we caught a glimpse of a 
garden in the court which we could just see over 
the side walls. 

Food and baths seemed to be the things we wanted 
most, when we took a vote as to what we would 
do first. So we decided to put off any sight seeing 
till tomorrow. It was rather pleasant on the whole 
to get back to some of the luxuries of civilization. 


156 


Mary in New Mexico 


And late in the evening, when the three children 
were safely tucked in bed, the Doctor and I wan- 
dered out into the square and ate a very modern 
dish of ice-cream as we gazed on the centuries old 
palace of the ancient Spanish governors, and bought 
some picture postcards to send back to our friends 
of the summer. 


CHAPTER XVII 

WHERE THE OLD AND THE NEW WORLD MEET 


S we wandered out into the square the next 



** x morning, armed with cameras and eager for 
souvenirs, we met some friends from the east who 
were spending a year in Santa Fe. Mr. and Mrs. 
Gorton welcomed us with enthusiasm and imme- 
diately told us that we must see the museum, and 
the palace, and the cathedral, and the shops, and 
drive out to the cliff dwellers and spend a night or 
two at Puye or Rito. 

“You are planning a month of hard labor for us,” 
objected the Doctor. “We are only to be here a 


week.” 


“Why, you can see a lot in a week. But you must 
be sure to visit some of the cliff dwellings,” said Mr. 
Gorton. “I expect to start out with a friend to- 
morrow for a couple of days and we could easily 
take you and the two older children. Mrs. Gorton 
and Philip would be glad to look after the little 


one 


“I want to go too,” said Trixy. 

‘What is your name?” asked Mrs. Gorton, in a 
friendly way, of Trix. “I think my little boy is 


157 


158 


Mary in New Mexico 


about your age. He has the funniest little burro — 
gray donkey, that you ever saw. I know he would 
love to take you for a drive with his burro.” 

“When, now?” asked Trix. “Will Mother go 
too?” 

“No, your mother and father are going for a long 
drive in an automobile with Mr. Gorton and you 
are coming with me to see Philip and the burro, 
tomorrow.” 

“Can’t I come now?” 

“Don’t you want to see the palace, Trix?” I asked. 
“You come with us today. Perhaps we can find the 
Indian doll I promised you in one of the shops.” 

“Is Trix your name?” asked Mrs. Gorton. “You 
go with your mother to see the shops this morning 
and this afternoon when they go to the stupid old 
palace, you come with me to see Phil and get ac- 
quainted.” 

“May I, Mother?” asked Trix. 

“Well,” I said, “this may be the land of Manana 
— of putting off what you can, but surely never were 
innocent travelers taken possession of more promptly 
and speedily. We really can’t let you do all this 
for us. Give us time to think it over.” 

“We’d love to have her,” answered Mrs. Gorton. 
“Phil is crazy about children and we have a most 
dependable Indian nurse.” 

“You may never have another such chance for 
a personally conducted tour by a prominent citizen 
and an English archaeologist,” added Mr. Gorton. 
“I’ll come in after lunch and we’ll talk it over.” 


Where the Old and the New World Meet 159 

Trix was trying to attract my attention and finally 
whispered. “Ask them where we can find an Indian 
doll.” 

“I don’t think there are any, Trixy,” I said, “but 
I’ll ask the Gortons.” 

“No, not a real one. You can get a small papoose 
doll made by Montgomery, Roebuck and Company 
— very nice — but the Indians keep their dolls to 
themselves.” 

Dave burst in with, “Don’t you remember how 
Mr. Esty told us how the man tried to buy a doll 
from the Indians and nearly got killed?” 

“Why of course, I remember now,” said his 
father. “But what is the best store for souvenirs 
— where you can get something worth while, but 
don’t have to leave all your worldly goods behind?” 

“There are several good stores. There is one 
down on the main street from the railroad, the 
biggest one and kept by a famous old fellow. He 
has the greatest variety; good stuff and a lot of 
cheap little things that youngsters like. Then there’s 
an excellent but expensive place, kept by a wonderful 
gray-haired Mexican gentleman of the old-fashioned 
cavalier type. Oh, there are lots of stores. But 
they are all close together; you can’t miss them. You 
must be sure to give plenty of time to the palace and 
the museum.” We assured him that we intended to. 

“We will come to the hotel for Trix this after- 
noon, so you can really get some good sight seeing. 
Remember you’ll have to start bright and early to- 
morrow to get to our cliff dwellers. Adios — ” 


160 


Mary in New Mexico 


With a wave of his hat Mr. Gorton departed, ac- 
companied by his wife, and we strolled along to 
make our purchases, and to talk over Mr. Gorton’s 
plan. 

“How can we leave Trix for two days with 
strangers?” I asked. “And we couldn’t take her 
with us on such a trip.” 

“We’ll see how she gets on this afternoon,” re- 
sponded the Doctor. “I believe she’ll be perfectly 
happy once we are gone. And suppose she misses 
you a little ? It won’t hurt her permanently. This 
is really a wonderful opportunity.” 

“We must, Mother,” said Mary. “We just 
must go.” 

“Well, we will think it over,” I answered. “Why 
shouldn’t I stay behind with Trix?” 

“If you don’t go, we won’t go,” said the Doctor 
in his firmest professional manner. 

The large store described by Mr. Gorton was 
easily found. It certainly contained everything that 
anyone could want — -long priestly robes of great 
beauty and value; more or less modern “chaps” or 
cowboy trousers; some handsome rings and jewelry 
and some cheap trinkets; but Trix discovered a veri- 
table treasure. On a huge flat table were innumer- 
able images of clay, both small and great beasts, 
human and from the animal kingdom — they were 
of all sorts and kinds. And wonder of wonders, 
they were cheap, quite within the allowance of the 
children. So the Doctor and I prepared to settle 
down for the morning to the business of selection. 


Where the Old and the New World Meet 161 

Mary, however, soon found what she wanted and 
went back to the rings. There were some pretty 
silver things made by the Indians which she wanted 
to take home to friends. 

“Haven’t you had enough rings, Mary?” asked 
the Doctor. “I don’t want to see any more for 
the present.” 

“Now, Dad, you know you will be the first to 
look at it when we get home. I wonder if it’s there 
now?” 

“I haven’t heard yet. There may be a letter while 
we are here. I asked the bank to write of its re- 
ceipt.” 

After a while when the allowances were spent, 
and even the sums which the Doctor added had 
gone, we left the great barn-like store with its fas- 
cinating objects and its delightful Mexican pro- 
prietor, and wandered about the streets of old Santa 
Fe. It was hard to believe in the history as we 
walked past shops and moving picture theatres and 
ice-cream parlors. But when at last we reached the 
square, or plaza, and sat down in the park, our backs 
resolutely turned away from the shopping district, 
it was possible to dream of the past as we looked 
at the old, old palace of the Spanish governors. 

“Think of all the beautiful ladies with mantillas 
thrown over their heads, and all the handsome 
caballeros with clanking swords,” said the Doctor. 
“I can just picture them walking along back of those 
columns in the arcade of the palace.” 

“You wouldn’t have seen many beautiful ladies 


162 


Mary in New Mexico 


walking there,” I objected. “They might have 
peeked out of the windows at you. But they cer- 
tainly did not walk on the streets.” 

“O yes they did, my dear, if they were anything 
like the ladies in old Mexico. Of course they could 
not walk with the Caballeros, but they used to walk 
in opposing columns, so to speak; the ladies in one 
direction and the men in another, and did their 
wooing by glances and smiles and possibly surrep- 
titious notes as they passed each other. Then after- 
wards the ladies sat behind the bars while the 
gentlemen who wished to woo came around every 
day and ‘played bear,’ as they call it, walking back 
and forth solemnly but hoping to catch a favoring 
glance from the eyes of the lady who sat like a 
caged animal at the zoo.” 

“I am hungry,” observed Trixy. “Can’t we have 
something to eat?” 

“Isn’t it nearly lunch time? Can’t we go back 
to the hotel?” asked Dave. 

“Can’t we go over and get a sundae? You and 
Mother went out last night and got one!” sug- 
gested Mary. 

The Doctor looked at his watch. “There is over 
an hour before lunch. Yes, you can go over to that 
ice-cream place that you can see by turning your back 
on the palace and looking in the opposite direction. 
Here is a dollar. Bring me back the change.” 

“Take Trixy, and be sure she only has plain 
vanilla,” I added. 

So the three departed and we sat and dreamed 


Where the Old and the New World Meet 1 63 

in front of the palace. I am not sure that one of 
us didn t actually doze. For suddenly the Doctor 
got up with a start. 

“Haven’t those children been gone a long time?” 
he said. He stood looking around but could see no 
children that resembled ours. The Doctor consulted 
his watch. “They have been gone nearly three- 
quarters of an hour,” he remarked. “I think I’ll 
walk over to the store. You had better stay here 
in case they turn up.” 

Presently he returned without them. He found 
the ice-cream parlor that they had been in, for the 
clerk remembered them. They had been gone for 
some time, he told the Doctor. 

“Where can they be?” I said. “Could they have 
gone back to the hotel?” 

The Doctor thought not. 

“Most likely they’ve gone into some store hunting 
souvenirs. But I think I’d better see if I can find 
them. I don’t know whether they know the name 
of the hotel. You had better wait. If they do come 
back here, some one should be here to scold them.” 
He went off rapidly while I walked around my side 
of the square, watching eagerly for the late ones. 
I tried to figure out where they could be. 

What, I thought, could have happened to three 
healthy, normal children on an open square in broad 
daylight? Mary is too big to be picked up and 
carried off. If they wandered away onto a side 
street, they could not fail to find the Plaza in a short 
time. An earthquake could not have swallowed 


164 


Mary in New Mexico 


them. What could they have gotten into? What 
mischief? Like a flash it came to me. Mischief! 
Somewhere, those three young imps were hiding, 
waiting to be found. Perhaps they had come back 
softly and had discovered us day-dreaming. What 
an opportunity! 

Where could they be? What matter? I knew 
Trix and Dave well enough to be sure that if I 
waited quietly they would come. The strain of long 
hiding would be too great. 

Then another idea flashed into my head. I walked 
quickly across the street as though tired of waiting 
and then halted behind one of the many swinging 
glass doors that led into the palace. Here I could 
command a view of the park and the bench where 
we had been sitting. I hoped that the Doctor would 
not return first, to find us all gone. I waited. Pres- 
ently I poked my head out of the door so as to look 
up and down the arcade in front of the palace. At 
precisely that moment a small curly red-haired per- 
son poked her head out of a neighboring door and 
our eyes met. There was a squeal. I walked quietly 
down to the next door just as the three children 
emerged. 

“We have been looking for you all over,” began 
Dave. “We thought you might be in here.” 

“Where’s Dad?” asked Trix, gurgling with de- 
light. 

“He has gone to get a policeman,” I answered 
solemnly. 

“Why a policeman?” said Dave. 


Where the Old and the New World Meet 165 

“Because children who run away in Santa Fe are 
always arrested,’’ I replied. 

“You are just fooling, Mother,” said Dave. 

, “You wait and see.” 

“I guess we’ll have to wait a long time,” scoffed 
Mary. At that moment, much to my amazement and 
secret joy, I beheld the Doctor approaching with a 
man in uniform. 

“Didn’t I tell you?” I asked. 

Dave looked startled. Trix flew across the street 
to meet her father. Evidently the policeman meant 
nothing to her. 

Mary said in an indignant tone, “Mother, what 
is Dad going to do?” 

“O, I don’t know,” I answered quietly. “You 
will hear in a moment. Probably he will thank the 
policeman kindly and send him back where he be- 
longs, now that you children have appeared.” 

“Were you really scared, Mother?” Mary asked, 
a little troubled. 

I did not answer and we crossed the street to join 
the little group on the opposite side. For the Doctor 
and his uniformed companion had stopped when 
Trix ran up to them. The policeman moved away 
just as we approached. 

“Where did you find them?” asked the Doctor 
sharply. “Where have they been?” 

“I fancy they have been playing hide and seek 
with their parents,” I replied. 

“I am sorry I sent away the policeman,” said the 
Doctor. “Whose bright idea was it?” 


166 


Mary in New Mexico 


“Do you mean the hide or the seek?” I asked. 
“I imagine Mary thought it would be fun to hide 
and surprise us. How long were you going to «*ay 
in that doorway, anyway?” I asked. 

“Well,” began Mary, “we came back and found 
you both dozing and we thought it would be fun to 
hide. When Dad went off, I wanted to come out. 
Then Mother went off somewhere. First we thought 
she’d seen us. Then it wasn’t any more fun because 
you both were gone. Then Trix looked out and 
there was Mother close beside us. We’re sorry if 
you were really worried.” 

“Humph,” remarked her father. “I thought you 
were old enough to be trusted to go across a square 
and back again. We know now you’re not.” 

“You were asleep and we thought it would be 
fun to hide,” said Trix. 

“I was not asleep,” said the Doctor, “and I 
thought bringing a policeman would scare you out 
of your hiding place.” 

“Did you know we were hiding?” asked Dave, in 
some disappointment. 

“It’s a funny kind of a hide and seek game when 
everybody hides and nobody is It,” observed Trixy. 

“I am not sure who was It,” remarked Mary. 

“Neither am I; let’s go home to lunch,” said the 
Doctor. But there was a certain coolness in the 
air and no one spoke for a few minutes. Then sud- 
denly I heard the Doctor chuckle and before we 
knew it we were all laughing loudly. 

Trixy was the noisiest of all, only interrupting 


Where the Old and the New World Meet 167 

herself once to whisper, “What are you laughing at, 
Mother?” 

It was nearly three o’clock when word was sent up 
that Mr. Gorton wished to see us. Wb all went 
down and found him on the porch. On the street 
in front of the hotel was a small wagon attached 
to the prettiest toy of a gray burro that one could 
imagine. Trix stood spellbound for a moment and 
then ran down to embrace her new four-footed 
friend. In the wagonet sat Philip, the seven-year- 
old son of Mr. Gorton. The boy invited Trix to 
sit beside him and then called for his father. 

“Coming in a moment, son,” was the reply. Then 
he turned to us. “Will you folks be ready to start 
at eight o’clock sharp tomorrow? We’ll be here for 
you with the car.” 

“Would you mind telling us just what is involved, 
Gorton?” asked the Doctor. 

“O, you scientific people! Well, this is what is 
involved. You four put on old clothes and find some 
blankets, etc. We will take the food and cooking 
utensils. We start at eight in the car and go to 
Puye, where there are some interesting cliff dwelling 
towns; also excavated villages on top of the mesa. 
We spend the night in a cave dwelling and proceed 
to the Rito de los Frijoles, where there are more 
cliff dwellings. There we spend a night in a hostelry 
and return the next day to Santa Fe. In the mean- 
while Trix will sleep with the burro and the rabbits 
and have a wonderful time even if she does not get 
to Puye, the land of many cotton tails.” 


168 


Mary in New Mexico 


“But why doesn’t Mrs. Gorton go?” I asked. 

“Because, dear lady, she has been before, and at 
present thinks she cannot leave our teething two- 
year-old. Yes, Phil, I’m coming. Now please don’t 
say any more. This is the chance of a lifetime, to go 
with some one like me and some one like Mr. Ark- 
right, the eminent English archaeologist. Will you 
go?” 

“O, Mother, yes, say yes!” whispered Mary. I 
looked at the Doctor. There was a moment’s silence, 
then Mary exclaimed, “Of course, we’re going, Mr. 
Gorton. We couldn’t not go !” 

“All right then, tomorrow at eight sharp. Trix 
will be safe and happy with us. Phil will be over 
with the burro just before us in the morning, so 
she’ll leave you, not you her. By the way, don’t 
forget to go into the gardens of the palace and visit 
the Indian pottery maker there with his family. 
Hasta Manana!” 

He called this as he ran down the steps and joined 
the two in the wagonet. 

“I wish I could have gone with them. I never 
saw anything so cunning as that donkey,” said Dave. 

“He certainly is pretty. Wouldn’t it be fun to 
take one home with us,” suggested the Doctor. 

“O, Dad, could we?” asked Mary. 

“I am afraid they wouldn’t transplant very easily. 
Well, let’s forget about modern things and try to 
think ourselves back into old Spanish Santa Fe, when 
the conquistadores were here.” 


CHAPTER XVIII 

AN OLD-FASHIONED BANDIT 


E wandered through the palace rooms. Many 



of them were devoted to models of the ex- 
cavations among the pueblos and cliff villages. The 
walls of these rooms were decorated with pictures 
of the Indian towns as they had been in their ancient 


glory. 


“Why, Mother, they had rooms built out in front 
with porches,” said Mary. “I thought the cliff 
dwellers just lived in caves like prehistoric wild 


men. 


“No indeed,” said the Doctor. “These house- 
building Indians had an interesting and highly civi- 
lized village life before the Spaniards got here. 
They had great villages, built either like the pueblos 
in Taos, or in the cliffs, whichever was most 
convenient and protected them best against their 
enemies. They were in general peace loving and 
industrious, and the Spaniards, popular legend to 
the contrary, were sensible enough to leave them in 
possession of the ancestral homes and customs. They 
sent missionaries of course. The Pueblos are sup- 
posed to be good Catholics. But they manage to 


169 


170 


Mary in New Mexico 


combine it with the tribal worship. They had one 
serious outburst in the seventeenth century and for 
ten years were in possession of this old palace. They 
massacred the poor, kindly mission priests and gen- 
erally raised Cain. But this did not last long. I 
think they gave in after about ten years. The 
Spaniards were in possession until Uncle Sam walked 
in. But these Indians still own their land by the 
old Spanish grants and do not live on government 
reservations, as so many of the western tribes do; 
the Apaches, for instance, and the Navajos.” 

“See, Dad, there’s a list of all the men from New 
Mexico who were in the war,” said Dave, whose 
interest had wandered. We had gone from the In- 
dians’ rooms, past the cabinets of Spanish curios, 
and were now standing before the list of modern 
heroes. 

“Such curious names,” said Mary. “Indian and 
Mexican and all sorts.” 

“I can never get over the wonder of it,” I mur- 
mured. “To think of their all going, just because 
it was the law. It is wonderful.” 

“Isn’t there a dungeon in the palace ?” asked Dave. 

“There used to be horrible places,” answered his 
father. “When the Americans took over the town 
they found prisons with locks of hair sticking to 
the walls and all sorts of ghastly writings, done in 
blood.” 

“O Dad, what fun! Can’t we see them?” 

“I think they have all been done over, or white- 
washed or something. Let’s go out into the garden. 


An Old-Fashioned Bandit 171 

I am sure I can imagine pleasanter scenes out 
there.” 

The grassy court with its shrubs and flowers was 
most attractive. We wandered about and presently 
saw through a window an Indian at work on some 
pottery. 

“This must be the man we were told to find,” I 
said. 

“Can we go in?” asked Dave. 

“Do you think it will be all right, Mother?” said 
Mary. 

The Doctor opened the door nearest the window 
and we found ourselves looking into a small room 
in which were an Indian and his wife. From the 
ceiling hung a basket cradle containing a baby. 

There were some fine specimens of pottery and 
Mary and her father soon found several pieces to 
buy. The Indian was calmly friendly, but his wife 
was moved to smile when Dave and I admired the 
swinging baby. We watched the man coloring some 
of the pieces. He was certainly an artist. It was 
a pleasant glimpse of family life, where the hearth 
and the work shop lived together in one room. 

We visited the museum and admired the pictures 
and the great chapel restored to represent the 
Spanish mission churches. Over it hung the ancient 
mission bell which we wished could have rung out 
the story of its life. 

“After all, it’s not old like Egypt,” observed 
Mary, who had been studying ancient history. 

“No. Even the cliff dwellings are probably not 


172 


Mary in New Mexico 


more than two thousand years old. But that is fur- 
ther back than most people think American history 
goes.” 

We came out into the square as the sun was get- 
ting low. The sky was of the clear robin’s-egg blue 
that is so common in the southwest and so much 
clearer than anywhere else. The white walls of the 
old church tower fairly shone against it. 

“I wish I had my bicycle,” observed Dave. “These 
flat streets would be great to ride on.” 

“I wish I had Jim Snort here. O Daddy, look 
at that adorable cow pony ! And look at that beau- 
tiful creature on his back!” — this from Mary. It 
was indeed a most impressive sight to see the Mexi- 
can dandy, dressed for shine and show, spurred and 
jingling, his broad sombrero on his head, a cigarette 
in his mouth. 

“Do you suppose he is a bandit?” asked Dave. 

“Probably not,” answered his father. 

We noticed, however, that the Mexican attracted 
considerable attention from others beside ourselves. 

We heard that evening that a celebrated bandit, 
half Mexican, half Chinese, called El Lobo, had 
indeed ridden boldly through the streets of Santa 
Fe, quite unmolested. 

I did not sleep well that night. My dreams were 
disturbed by snatches of adventures in which Trix 
was beset by dangers of all descriptions. Fire, 
snakes, bandits, even burros and fierce rabbits at- 
tacked her. It was with many inward qualms that 
I got her ready for her visit next morning. I ex- 


An Old-Fashioned Bandit 


173 


plained all her possible wants and troubles to Mrs. 
Gorton, who did not seem at all appalled at the 
responsibility. 

“My dear, she has a full set of teeth, so why 
worry about her,” were the parting words, as they 
drove off. It was a pretty sight. Mrs. Gorton, 
small and dark haired, with a gay frilly gown; Phil 
as dark as his mother, with brown eyes and close 
cut black hair; and Trix, her red curls and blue eyes 
shining in the sunlight. She had given me a hasty 
kiss and then had run to embrace the burro. The 
Doctor linked his arm in mine. 

“You will miss her a great deal more than she 
will you,” he observed. 

Shortly after Mr. Gorton arrived in a big, com- 
fortable touring car. At his side sat the kind of 
Englishman I had always wanted to meet. He was 
tall and fair and pink-cheeked, with a single glass in 
his eye — a real monocle — and was dressed in a regu- 
lation gray sport suit of knickerbockers, golf stock- 
ings and a Norfolk jacket. He sprang out and 
opened the door for us while Mr. Gorton, who wore 
khaki, introduced us informally. We four piled our- 
selves and our things into the back of the car, and 
then we were off. 

It was a brilliant morning with the special kind 
of sunlight that is made only in New Mexico. On 
the road we met several loads of wood traveling into 
the town, accompanied by picturesque Mexicans. 
We could hardly believe that a burro was hidden 
under the wood and actually moving it. But when 


174 


Mary in New Mexico 


our attention was called, we did see a small head 
and four small feet apparently growing out of the 
brush. 

“I am going to call those donkeys the Brush Wood 
Boys,” said Mary. We all laughed except Mr. 
Gorton’s archaeologist, who asked us “to tell him 
the joke.” 

“Did you see El Lobo yesterday afternoon, Mr. 
Gorton?” asked Dave, leaning over to the front 
seat. 

“No, where? Did you?” 

“He rode right through the streets of Santa Fe,” 
broke in Mary, “with all his beautiful clothes and 
pistols and things.” 

“And such a bully pony,” added Dave. 

“Did anyone arrest him?” asked the Englishman, 
whose name was Arkright. 

“O no, we are very proud of El Lobo. He is 
the pet Bad Man of New Mexico,” said Mr. Gorton. 

“But isn’t he dangerous?” asked Mr. Arkright. 

“Not to natives. He gets his haul down in Old 
Mexico and then comes up here to spend it and 
generally show off. Why, he is our ‘Favorite Son’.” 

“He is awfully handsome,” remarked Mary. “I 
love his pony and the way he rides.” 

“Well, I’d just as soon his pony would carry him 
away from us,” I said. 

It was a strange, desolate sort of country we were 
passing through. In spite of the picturesque beauty 
of it, I missed the little intimate scenes we were 
used to in New England. 


An Old-Fashioned Bandit 


175 


“If you think this is desolate, I wish you could 
see Aeoma and the Enchanted Mesa,” observed Mr. 
Gorton. “Or Tabira, and the lost cities.” 

“That sounds good! What are they?” asked 
Dave. 

“Wait till we sit around the camp fire tonight, 
in the cliff city. Then I will tell you all about them.” 

There were quantities of little pines and scrub 
oaks but few big trees, and the sand was every- 
where about us. We met an occasional Mexican 
with his big sombrero, and some Indians, wrapped 
in blankets on their calico ponies. Once or twice 
an auto passed us. But we had the road chiefly to 
ourselves. 

Suddenly, however, there was a cloud of dust and 
in it a car going at mad speed. It stopped just be- 
fore we met, and the driver called to us. 

“There’s been a hold-up of the limited train.” 

“If we see any bandits we’ll bring ’em along,” 
answered Mr. Gorton, laughing. 

“It’s true, you fool,” said the other driver. “El 
Lobo stopped the ‘Overland’ just west of Santa Fe 
and got a pile of loot. A car full of money was com- 
ing down to the railroad agent here at Santa Fe.” 

The auto drove off at breakneck speed, while Mr. 
Gorton observed that he’d be “jiggered.” 

“The man had been drinking, had he not?” asked 
Mr. Arkright solemnly. 

“I guess it’s true all right,” answered Mr. Gorton. 

“O, let’s go back and hear all about it.” ^ried 
Dave. 


176 


Mary in New Mexico 


“It will keep for two days,” observed the Doc- 
tor. “We will probably never hear the last of it. 
But it does seem as though our friend El Lobo was 
pretty bold.” 

“He’s just like Arsene Lupin,” exclaimed Mary, 
delightedly. “Think of holding up a train in broad 
daylight. Do you suppose he did it alone?” 

“Well, no,” answered Mr. Gorton, “I rather ex- 
pect he had a gang with him to pull off as big a job 
as that. He probably had some pious Penitentes. 
We haven’t had a train hold-up for a long time in 
this neighborhood. The last time was at night and 
they derailed the engine. I am quite anxious to 
know how El Lobo managed this.” 

“Maybe he is the Lone Wolf come to life,” sug- 
gested Dave. 

“Doesn’t Lobo mean wolf?” 

“Sure enough.” 

“But surely the authorities will arrest him,” said 
Mr. Arkright. “Such a man cannot be allowed at 
liberty.” 

“The railroad officials will be after him, too. 
They can’t afford to lose all that money.” 

“I wonder how he did it,” said Mary, while from 
Dave’s silence we judged he was figuring out in his 
own mind all the thrilling details. 

It was a thirty mile drive from Santa Fe to 
Puye. We were hot and dusty and hungry when 
Mr. Gorton finally pointed out to us the great rocky 
mesa with its ruins on top and its cliff dwellings at. 
the side. It was an impressive sight, and almost 


An Old-Fashioned Bandit 111 

impossible to believe that such a natural fortress 
could be built without the help of men. 

“It is like an old-fashioned fort,” said the Doctor. 
“Wonderful !” 

“O, but you should see Acoma and the Enchanted 
Mesa. It is much bigger and the desert about it 
gives an even more impressive appearance.” 

“This is big enough for me,” observed the Doctor. 

“And quite wild enough,” I added. 

We settled down for lunch under the shadows of 
the great cliff. Our host had brought a bountiful 
supply and we cooked over an open lire. Mr. Ark- 
right had a folding knife and fork of his own which 
he assured us he always carried with him, also a 
spoon and cup. After we had eaten and removed the 
traces of our feast, a “siesta,” as Mr. Gorton ob- 
served “was enjoyed by all.” Indeed, the heat and 
the long ride and our early morning start made us 
all sleepy and disinclined to move. 

But Dave and Mary could not long be kept quiet 
and presently they went off exploring. They came 
back in a short time to announce that they had found 
a path that led to a ladder that led to a cliff room, 
and could they go up? 

“I think we’ll all go up,” replied Mr. Gorton. 
“We will select our night’s lodging now, and then 
can go on to the top and eat our supper there with- 
out the necessity of hurrying down to pick out a 
camping place at dusk.” 

We followed the children to the path, made by 
centuries of passing and repassing feet. 


178 


Mary in New Mexico 


“I have never seen a trail worn down as deep as 
this,” said the Doctor. Mr. Arkright was delighted 
and felt of the rocky sides as we went along. In- 
deed we were all much impressed and I was glad 
that a summer of riding and climbing had given 
me the ability to get up the steep cliff. Finally we 
hoisted ourselves up the rude ladders that led into 
the cliff dwellings. The rooms themselves were not 
large and apparently were hollowed out of the soft 
rock We could go from some of them to others 
through low doorways. There were several stories. 
Some of the rooms had been built out against the 
face of the cliff. We could see the holes in the the 
walls where the beams for the upper stories had 
rested. The hollowed out rooms were at the back 
of the houses. 

Mary and Dave went in as far as possible through 
the back rooms, and suddenly a cry of “Dad, come 
here,” arose. We all marched after the children, 
who were much excited over finding the remains of 
a recent camp fire. 

Then Mary discovered some rudely scratched 
drawings on the wall. “Do you suppose anyone saw 
this before?” she asked. 

“I fancy so. The ruins have been searched pretty 
thoroughly,” answered Mr. Gorton. “These ashes 
would indicate that someone has been here recently.” 

“Look, Mother, here is a beast something like 
the one on Mary’s Indian ring,” called Dave sud- 
denly. 

Over a small hole in the wall, was cut a tiny 


An Old-Fashioned Bandit 


179 


image which might with some imagination be said 
to resemble the jade animal that we had all studied 
so carefully. 

“I wonder where the hole goes to!” 

No one could answer this, as the hole was not 
even large enough to admit of a hand. 

We wandered back and soon found a suitable 
suite of rooms to spend the night. The three men 
decided to sleep on the first story, while the two 
children and I selected three rooms above that 
opened out of each other. We had blankets and 
a couple of camp cots. These we made ready for 
the night. The men selected the place where we 
were to make our fire and we packed in a knapsack 
enough food for supper. Then we started to climb 
to the top of the mesa. 

“I wish we could have used the big back room 
where my animal was carved,” said Mary. 

“I think it’s better to be nearer the trail that 
leads down to the men’s rooms,” I answered. “That 
seemed much lonelier and could only be reached by 
a ladder.” 

“I liked the looks of it. I don’t care if it is 
lonelier.” 

“You may care tonight,” I answered drily. 


CHAPTER XIX 

ADVENTURES IN A CLIFF DWELLING 

N top of the mesa were the ruins of a whole 
village. Of course there were no traces of 
roofs to the houses, but the separate dwellings and 
one large central house were plainly to be seen. 

We wandered about under Mr. Gorton’s direc- 
tion, picturing the old life of the Indians, which must 
have been very like what we could see today in the 
pueblos. There was no excavating being done at 
that moment and the place was utterly deserted. 

“The Indians had their fireplaces near the door,” 
said Mr. Gorton. “They cooked on a stone table 
over the fire. In the corner would stand the cook- 
ing pot with the stone water jar and dipper close 
by. In another corner of the room would be the 
boxes containing the raw meal and the necessary 
things for grinding corn. In another room they 
would have a large storage vessel for the prepared 
foods. Above, near the ceiling, would be stretched 
strings of rawhide on which they hung strips of 
drying meat or skins. In another room they kept 
the materials for making their pottery. There are 
all sorts of different houses — dwellings and a big 
community house.” 


180 


181 


Adventures in a Cliff Dwelling 

“There are two kivas, or ceremonial caves, are 
there not?” asked Mr. Arkright. 

“Yes, cut out of the solid rock. But these are not 
so large as the ones at the Rito.” 

We wandered over to the western side of the 
mesa and sat down to rest and admire the view. 
The beautiful wooded range of Jemez stretched 
along the horizon and in the foreground were many 
small mesas, rising like islands. Dave begged Mr. 
Gorton for the story of the Enchanted Mesa. Mr. 
Arkright and the Doctor moved away to examine 
the old ruins more closely. 

“The Mesa ‘Encantada’ is at Acoma,” began 
Mr. Gorton. 

“Where’s that?” interrupted Dave. 

“Southwest of Albuquerque. It is larger than 
the one we are on, and stands out from the desert 
like some huge crouching animal. The legend is 
that hundreds of years ago there was a village at 
the top like the other pueblos. But only one path, 
cut in the side of the cliff, led up from the plains 
below. Among the Indians who lived there was one 
who, in the old biblical language, ‘did evil in the 
sight of the Lord.’ The medicine man demanded 
that he should be given up by his people and cast 
off from the Mesa. But his family did not think that 
he was bad enough to merit such a punishment, and 
refused to surrender him, whereupon the medicine 
men made magic and a great storm arose. Light- 
ning and thunder and hail came down from Heaven. 
The people were much alarmed, and decided to 


182 


Mary in New Mexico 


send word to the medicine men that the offending 
Indian would be given up. By and by the storm 
went down and when the morning came, apparently 
everything was as it had been before. But alas ! 
the first man who tried to go down to the plains 
discovered the terrible truth. The storm had split 
away part of the solid rock, the part with the path 
on it. There was no way to reach the plains, no 
way to get food.” Mr. Gorton paused. 

“What happened?” asked Dave, in great ex- 
citement. 

“The story goes that they all died. The cliff was 
inaccessible even to Indians, and there were no aero- 
planes in those days.” 

“But how dreadful to have a whole village starve 
to death. Is it true?” demanded Mary. 

“There was once a village and now there is none. 
There was once a path and now there is none. That 
is all we know. But people tell of weird sounds 
and groanings that are heard in the neighborhood 
at night.” 

“It’s like the Alhambra stories in Irving’s Tales,” 
said Mary. 

“The Legend of the Grand Quivira is more like 
Irving.” 

“Tell us that! You said you would,” said 
Dave. 

“You certainly Wve insatiable curiosity. I shall 
call you the elephant child,” remarked Mr. Gorton. 
“Perhaps you have heard that Coronado was sent 
by his Spanish ‘Commandante’ to hunt for a mys- 


183 


Adventures in a Cliff Dwelling 

terious New Jerusalem whose streets were paved 
with gold, called Quivira. Well, he found it in 
northeastern Kansas after a journey the like of 
which was never known. He found it. But it was 
only a wandering tribe of poor Indians who had 
never even heard of gold. 

“Latter day treasure seekerswho remembered that 
Coronado had hunted for a mysterious Eldorado 
called Quivira, decided that they would hunt for it 
also. They were not troubled by the fact that Coro- 
nado had found it and found it worthless. These 
new victims of an old legend discovered a great 
mysterious pueblo, and rechristened it ‘the Grand 
Quivira.’ No wonder they thought it a thing of 
magic, for its bleak unearthly site, its ghostly ap- 
pearance, its distance from all water, was enough 
to make it a proper home for legends. 

“South of Albuquerque, the narrow valley of the 
Rio Grande is rimmed on the east by an arid plateau, 
twenty miles wide; and this in turn is walled by a 
long range of ten thousand foot mountains. Climb- 
ing that rugged barrier, or threading one of its 
passes, the traveler descends through park-like 
pineries to the edge of the infinite eastward plains. 
In the centre of this bare, brown vista gleams a chain 
of ghastly white salt beds, the Accursed Lakes of 
Tigua folk-lore. Far southeast and south are 
spectral peaks and to the farther north the dim blue 
shadows of the range of Santa Fe. 

“Along the smooth, timbered lower slope of the 
Manzano is a line of ancient pueblo ruins. A little 


184 


Mary in New Mexico 


farther south, are the bones of the three chief cities 
of the salt plains — Abo, Cuaray, and Tabira. They 
were cities like Montezuma’s ‘capital’ in old Mexico, 
though smaller. There was no hint of a metropolis 
— no palaces, no temples, no splendor. These towns 
were mere piles of earth and stone — pueblo com- 
munities, exactly such as are seen today in Taos, 
Acoma, Zuni. 

“The country here is high, 6,047 feet above sea- 
level. Access to it is difficult and dreary. The 
nearest water is thirty miles away and the explorer 
must carry not only provisions, but water for him- 
self and animals. Mid-ocean is not more lonesome 
than the plains, nor night so gloomy as that dumb 
sunlight. It is barren of sound. The brown grass 
is knee-deep. The bands of antelope that drift, like 
cloud shadows, across the dun landscape suggest less 
of life than of the supernatural. The spell of the 
plains is a wondrous thing. At first it fascinates. 
Then it bewilders. At last, it crushes. Stronger 
than hope, reason, will. 

“But a mile to the south, where a ridge noses the 
uncanny valley, stands out a strange ashen bulk that 
brings us back to earth. Wan and weird as it is, 
it bespeaks the one-time presence of man, for Na- 
ture has no such squareness. 

“Stand upon the higher ridges to the east, and 
it is all spread before you, a ghost in pallid stone — 
the absolute ghost of a city. Come nearer, and the 
spell dwindles ; but it is never broken. It is a ruined 
village, but such a village ! 


185 


Adventures in a Cliff Dwelling 

“This was the pueblo of Tabira, better known as 
the 4 Gran Quivira.’ It was one of the larger pueblos 
of New Mexico and in its day had perhaps fifteen 
hundred inhabitants. The walls of the houses have 
toppled to high rubbish mounds. Only a few rooms 
of first and second stories, long innocent of roofs, 
remain. But in the western end of the village, just 
on the brow of the slope that falls away to the 
strange valley and looks across to the sombre Mesa 
de los Jumanos, is a gigantic ruin, whose like is not 
in all our North America. Its walls, thirty feet 
high and six feet thick, roofless and ragged at the 
top, two hundred and two feet front and one hundred 
and thirty-one feet in greatest depth, are of the 
spectral bluish-gray limestone, and firmly laid in 
adobe mortar. The northern part of this bewilder- 
ing ruin is one huge cross-shaped room, thirty-eight 
feet wide and one hundred and thirty-one feet long, 
with an eastward gateway fifteen feet wide and 
eleven high, under a mighty timber which upholds 
fifteen feet of massive masonry. South of this enor- 
mous room is a honeycomb of chambers of ordinary 
size, divided by long halls, and with sides still stand- 
ing to a height of twenty feet. Of these rooms there 
are a score. It is plain that they had no upper 
stories, as had the dwellings of the pueblo. There 
is also a rear entrance from the south to the great 
room, through a spacious ante-chamber. In one of 
the apartments of the honeycomb is still a perfect 
fireplace; and here and there over the vacant door- 
ways are carved wood lintels, their arabesques 


186 


Mary in New Mexico 


softened but not lost in the weathering of centuries. 
Some of the rafters must have weighed a ton and 
a half to two tons ; and the trees which gave them 
were at least fifteen miles away. 

“It is not the Indians who seek there for gold and 
treasure, but the Mexicans and the white men. I 
do not know when the last expedition went down 
there to burrow down into the earth or drill through 
the bed rock. There may be some adventurers there 
now. It is quite unsafe to wander about after dark 
there on account of the holes that have been mined 
by many treasure seekers. But the ‘paisano’ will 
tell you that it is not safe for other reasons. Weird 
sounds are heard after dark. Once a shepherd lean- 
ing against a rock was surprised to find the boulder 
slip out from under him and disclose a mysterious 
passage lined with gold ingots. Another Mexican 
saw a huge white snake creep out of the dark, that 
offered to show him the way to a treasure trove. 
White men have discovered old maps that show 
where gold and jewels were once hidden. There 
is only one thing these stories have in common — 
nobody has ever had the nerve to follow the snake 
or the map or the spectre to the spot where the 
treasure was hidden. No one has ever taken it 
away. Therefore if it ever was there, it is there 
now, ready for you, Dave, or you, Mary, to find 
and carry away.” 

“That’s a great yarn,” remarked the Doctor, who 
had joined us. “I wish we had time to go down 
there and look it up. But we will have to put that 


187 


Adventures in a Cliff Dwelling 

trip off. Maybe Mary’s Indian ring would guide 
us to the treasure.” 

“What’s Mary’s Indian ring?” asked Mr. Gorton. 
The Doctor told him briefly. 

“Why, that’s some adventure,” said Mr. Gorton. 

“Maybe you could find a treasure hidden in the 
rocks down below here where you found the animal 
carved, if you went at midnight with your ring to 
help you.” 

“I’d like to try it,” said Dave. 

“The ring isn’t here, and anyway that’s nonsense. 
Mr. Gorton is just fooling,” remarked Mary. 

“Is the famous sun house here?” asked the 
Doctor. 

“No, that’s at Rito, where I hope we’ll go to- 
morrow. There is a very perfectly restored room 
at the Rito, too, and lots of interesting things to 
see. Well, I think it’s about time to think about 
supper.” 

“O, it’s so heavenly here. Let’s wait a while,” 
I pleaded. 

“I certainly do not mind waiting,” answered Mr. 
Gorton. “I am feeling too lazy to move.” 

So we sat for a while longer, till the sun went 
down in a dazzling yellow sky, and Mary and Dave 
groaned with hunger. 

“Why, people will think this is the Enchanted 
Mesa,” observed Mr. Gorton, “and that the starv- 
ing Indians are moaning for their food.” 

“We may not be Indians, but we are starving,” 
cried Mary. 


188 


Mary in New Mexico 


“It is late,” remarked Mr. Arkright, “and we 
did not have any tea this afternoon.” 

“We can have some now,” said Mr. Gorton. 

“Come, children, help us to get wood and we can 
have supper in no time.” 

“Can’t we have one sandwich without waiting?” 
begged Dave. 

“All right, all right,” grumbled Mr. Gorton in 
pretended disgust. “I see we won’t get any work 
out of you till you’re fed.” 

It had grown very cold and we were all glad of 
the fire. 

“It seems so strange to be here on a picnic,” said 
Mary reflectively, as she munched a bread and bacon 
sandwich. “I can’t quite believe it.” 

“It will be even harder to believe when the moon 
comes up shortly and everything is filled with mys- 
tery and enchantment,” said Mr. Arkright. 

“Don’t forget to look at midnight for the treasure 
in the inner room where you found the curious hole 
and animal picture,” remarked Mr. Gorton. 

When we had cleared the supper things away, we 
crossed over to the eastern edge of the cliff and 
watched the moon rise. The ruins looked huge and 
weird by the brilliant light. Mr. Gorton sang some 
strange, soft Mexican and Indian songs till we felt 
that this was indeed a mesa of enchantment, even 
though it was called “Puye,” the place of many cot- 
ton tails, instead of Acoma. At last, when the chil- 
dren had almost fallen asleep, and even the Doctor 
was drowsy, we fastened our things together and 


189 


Adventures in a Cliff Dwelling 

started down. Mr. Gorton went ahead, for the steps 
and ladders seemed more perilous by night. 

It really was good to get to our blankets and 
roll up in them for a well earned night’s rest. It 
must have been about midnight, for the moon was 
well on its way to the west, when I heard something 
stirring. I called out, but as no one answered, I 
took it for granted that a bat had paid me a visit. 
The cold outer air did not tempt me to look further 
and I turned over and went to sleep again. If I 
had arisen and gone to see if the children were all 
right, as any right-minded mother should, I would 
have discovered that the birds had flown. 

The stories of treasure and rings of mystery had 
been too much for Dave and Mary. They had 
arisen softly in the middle of the night, when all the 
grown folks slept, and had gone quietly down the 
path till they came to the tufa, or terrace that led 
to the cave room where we had been that afternoon. 
There was still enough moonlight left to show them 
their way, and they went carefully. It was at some 
little distance from our camping place. 

As they approached the ladder up which they 
must go, they were surprised to see a slight glow 
coming from the interior room above. 

“Someone has lighted a fire there again,” whis- 
pered Mary, remembering the ashes found there 
earlier. 

“Maybe it’s Brigands,” whispered Dave. “Let’s 
go back.” 

They hesitated for a few moments, and then as 


190 


Mary in New Mexico 


they heard nothing and the light appeared to have 
vanished, they took heart again to proceed. 

“I guess it was just moonlight I don’t hear a 
sound,” whispered Mary. 

“Let’s go up very softly and see,” said Dave. 

Their bare feet made no sound on the ladder and 
presently they were up. It was then that they first 
heard low, murmuring voices coming from the inner 
room and saw a flickering yellow light from a torch 
or a fire. 

There was an outer room opening on the terrace, 
and two inner rooms with doors between. The third 
room was at the right of the other two, and had no 
outer opening. It was in this inner chamber that 
Mary had found the hole in the wall that afternoon. 

“Let’s go back,” said Mary. “I’m scared.” 

“I want to see what it is,” whispered Dave. “We 
could just peep in without making any noise and 
see.” 

“All right — but I’m scared.” 

Dave crept into the outer room, making no sound, 
and Mary followed reluctantly. “She was older and 
had more sense,” observed their father when he 
heard their story. Once inside they could distin- 
guish soft Spanish words, spoken in whispers. 

Finally they went to the doorway of the second 
room, from which they could get a glimpse of part 
of the interior chamber. There sat the Mexican 
bandit they had seen riding through Santa Fe the 
day before, still in his fancy clothes. With him 
were two swarthy ragged rascals. On the floor were 


191 


Adventures in a Cliff Dwelling 

sacks and strong boxes, papers, money and all sorts 
of things, evidently the spoil from the limited train. 
The men were so busy that they didn’t even look up. 

“If we only understood Spanish,” thought Dave. 

They watched the men spellbound. Finally the 
leader got up and went back out of sight, holding in 
his hand a bag of money. He came back a few 
minutes after and the bag was gone. Mary and 
Dave looked at each other and then as with com- 
mon consent, they turned and crept away. 

“We must get help,” whispered Mary, when they 
were safely out of hearing and down the ladder. 
“We can’t do anything alone.” 

They made their way back silently to the men’s 
camp, where Mr. Arkright challenged them, but re- 
leased them with a laugh a moment after when 
he realized who they were. They told their story, 
and there was a quick council of war. 

“Three brigands and three respectable citizens — 
the odds are all with the brigands,” observed the 
Doctor. “Has anyone got a gun?” 

“Not I,” answered Mr. Gorton. 

“Not I,” answered Mr. Arkright. 

“Not I,” said the Doctor. 

“It would be perfectly absurd to go after them 
then. We may be able to get the treasure though, 
after they are gone. In the morning we can get 
back to Santa Fe muy pronto and raise the alarm,” 
said Mr. Gorton. 

It was at this moment of whispered conference 
that two dark forms loomed up and a voice com- 


192 


Mary in New Mexico 


manded something in Spanish. Mr. Gorton and 
Mr. Arkright both put their hands up and bade the 
Doctor do the same. But hardly had they done this 
when a disgusted oath came from one of the new- 
comers, who exclaimed in good American, “Say, 
what in thunder are you fellows doin’ here, and 
where is Lobo?” It was two special officers who 
had been sent out by the railroad officials and who 
had tracked the robbers thus far. Dave and Mary 
were now brought forward and told what they had 
seen. 

“Well, we oughter get them if you gents will 
help,” said one of the officers. 

“You bet we’ll help, if you can lend us a gun,” 
Mr. Gorton answered. 

There were two extra pistols available which 
were handed over to Mr. Arkright and the Doctor, 
both of whom were good shots. Mr. Gorton went 
too, to add numbers, armed with a club. If I had 
been there, Dave and Mary would have remained 
behind. As it was, they followed afar off. 

I slept peacefully until awakened by the sound of 
firing. I sprang up, found the children gone, ran 
down to where the men were supposed to be, found 
them gone, and then heard more shots. For a 
moment my heart stopped beating. Every possible 
danger flashed through my mind. I did not know 
where to go or what to do. The suspense did not 
last long, fortunately, for suddenly Mr. Gorton ap- 
peared. 

“The Doctor sent me back to be sure you weren’t 


193 


Adventures in a Cliff Dwelling 

•alarmed. He is dressing somebody’s wounds. 
There’s been a simply wonderful scrap. Mary and 
Dave found their brigands and the treasure, and 
you couldn’t pry them loose from them with a crow- 
bar. I am sorry to say El Lobo escaped. Don’t 
you want to come? The Doctor said to bring the 
small emergency case. Here it is. Come on.” 

In a moment I had my shoes on and we went to- 
gether while he told me briefly of the events of the 
night, of the children’s discovery, of the coming of 
the officers and of the fight. It seems that El Lobo, 
who was a powerful man, had broken through, prob- 
ably wounded, and had leapt down the cliff, from 
which the ladder had been removed. Mr. Gorton 
put it up again, or I should never have reached that 
inner room above. 

The brigands’ fire was burning brightly, and by 
its light I saw the Doctor bandaging one of the offi- 
cers. A sullen looking Mexican sat at one side of 
the cave, wounded and manacled, guarded by the 
other officer. The children and Mr. Arkright were 
at the back of the cave. 


CHAPTER XX 

THE MYSTERY OF THE EMPTY BOX 


MOTHER, look, look,” cried Dave, as I en- 
tered with Mr. Gorton. “The brigands did 
just what we thought. They have a treasure place 
here — a hiding place in the wall.” 

Sure enough, a deep hollow had been excavated 
in the soft stone and in it was a big part of the 
loot from the train robbery. The strong box stood 
on the floor. A false front had been carefully put 
over the hole which could only be discovered by the 
most painstaking search, when in its proper place. 

“They evidently haven’t had this here long,” said 
Mr. Arkright. “But it’s a very clever piece of 
work, very clever.” 

“O, Mother, one of the Mexicans was shot and 
killed and El Lobo may be wounded, but he got 
away,” cried Dave, running to me. “O, if we had 
only caught him!” 

“Maybe we can put the screws on this fellow and 
make him squeal,” observed the officer who was 
guarding the Mexican. 

“You wouldn’t torture him,” cried Mary. 

“No, just get him scared. But we’ve got the loot 


195 


The Mystery of the Empty Box 

anyway, and we won’t hear from El Lobo for a 
while, I guess.” 

“I bet he won’t show his face around here very 
soon,” laughed Dave. “But you fellows ought to 
track him with bloodhounds.” 

“Huh, where you think you are,” answered the 
officer who had spoken before. “Do you think 
they keep bloodhounds in Santa Fe?” 

“Well, I didn’t know, they ought to,” replied 
Dave, who had been reading about Micah Clark 
and his adventure with the bloodhounds. 

The Doctor next dressed the wound of the cap- 
tive Mexican. One of the officers had been examin- 
ing the ashes of the fire to see if anything in the 
way of unburned papers could be found that would 
identify the registered mail. Dave was beside him 
in an instant, poking about in an earnest way. 
Suddenly he cried out in excitement and rushed 
over to his father. “Look, Dad, isn’t this part of 
the box you packed Mary’s ring in?” he asked 
eagerly. 

“Nonsense,” answered the Doctor. 

“But look, Dad, that was a box from a Boston 
drug store and see, here’s part of the name on the 
box—” 

“Dave, you’ve been to too many movies,” said 
his father disgustedly. “But I suppose this might 
be a box from that drug store without being our box. 
Mary’s ring must be safe in the bank by this time.” 

“I bet El Lobo has it. Do you want to bet on it?” 

“No — an d leave me alone. I can’t dress this 


196 Mary in New Mexico 

wound properly with you prancing about and dis- 
tracting me.” 

Dave returned to the officer and poured out his 
tale to his more sympathetic ears, while Mary, in 
great excitement, kept asking me if I thought it 
really was her box — and wasn’t it silly of Dave — 
and didn’t I think the ring was safe in the 
bank? 

It was getting on toward morning now. The men 
helped the wounded officer down to our camp, where 
he was left to rest on one of the cots. I made them 
all some coffee. Then the prisoner was brought and 
left in charge of the Doctor, while Mr. Arkright, 
Mr. Gorton and the other officer went down into the 
valley to see if any trace could be found of the dead 
Mexican or El Lobo. Mary and Dave, having put 
on their shoes, begged so hard to be allowed to go 
too, that we had not the heart to refuse, especially 
as Mr. Gorton took their side. 

“There’s no more danger, and it is the chance of 
a lifetime,” he pleaded. 

I confess that I could not help wondering whether 
El Lobo might not be lurking about and come back 
for his treasure in the absence of all guards. 

The Doctor tried to speak to his patient, but the 
Mexican understood no English and our Spanish was 
too limited to admit of conversation. So we sat in 
silence till the others returned. 

“We found the body of the other greaser,” said 
the officer, “and buried him. El Lobo has gone, 
curse him.” 


197 


The Mystery of the Empty Box 

We had some breakfast, and then the three men 
with the children went up to the bandits’ cave to 
get the treasure. The Doctor, with loaded pistol, 
still guarded the prisoner, while I collected the dishes 
and blankets. It was agreed that the two officers 
and the Doctor were to go back to Santa Fe at once, 
carrying the money and mail rescued from the ban- 
dits, while Mr. Gorton, Mr. Arkright, the children 
and I would follow with our camping things. It 
took some little time to get the wounded officer to 
the auto. Dave went down with them. He came 
back in great excitement. 

“The tires are cut,” he cried, “and the car’s a 
mess — ” 

“Humph, some of Lobo’s work,” remarked Mr. 
Gorton, for he was guarding the prisoner now, while 
the Doctor assisted in carrying the wounded man. 
“They’ll have to put him in our auto, unless that’s 
tampered with also.” 

But fortunately the second machine, which had 
been left in a different spot, seemed to have escaped 
notice. Another council of war was held. 

“The best thing to do is to leave the camping 
stuff here with Mr. Arkright and me and Dave,” 
spoke up Mr. Gorton. “Let the Doctor drive the 
car back with the ladies on the front seat and the 
two officers, with the prisoner and the treasure in 
back.” 

After some little discussion this was agreed to. 

“We’ll come back for you as soon as possible,” 
said the Doctor. 


198 


Mary in New Mexico 


“Maybe we’ll find someone on the way to send 
back,” said the officer. 

It was nearly eleven before the auto was filled 
with its precious and oddly assorted freight. Dave 
was overcome with excitement at the thought of 
staying behind with the two men, who had kept all 
that was left of the provisions, two guns and a supply 
of ammunition. 

“You had best move your camp,” called the officer, 
as we drove off. 

Our trip was accomplished without mishap. We 
met several motorists, but no one was able or willing 
to go to the rescue of the rest of our party. We 
were so occupied with the care of our wounded man, 
for whom the journey must have been a painful one, 
that I had little leisure for worrying over those left 
behind. 

The first houses of Santa Fe were a welcome sight. 
We drove straight to the hospital and left the 
wounded officer there. A crowd collected at once, 
and somehow, apparently without a word being 
spoken, the news spread among the Mexicans that 
there had been a brush with El Lobo and that some 
of the recovered loot from the train was in our auto- 
mobile. What wonder that at our next stop, the 
gaol, we were at once surrounded. The officer took 
his prisoner in and left him in the hands of the law. 
Then he rejoined us and we pushed out of the crowd 
as well as we could and took the treasure to the 
municipal building. 

“You folks will hear from us,” said the officer 


The Mystery of the Empty Box 199 

in parting, as he shoved aside a gawky young fellow 
in khaki who had crowded against the running board. 
“We’d never have got that stuff here if it hadn’t 
been for you. I’ll send a man out who can take the 
machine back to Puye tonight, if you’ll get some 
more grub. Just come back here as soon as you’re 
ready to go. Don’t forget to load up with gas. By 
the way,” he added, “there was a reward offered. 
Those plucky kids ought to get some of it.” 

As we drove to the Gortons’, Mary drew a sigh 
of relief. “O, but it was crowded. I am glad that 
smelly bandit is out of the way.” 

“And I am glad that wounded officer is off my 
hands. I didn’t like the responsibility,” observed 
the Doctor. 

Our honking horn brought Trix and Phil out of 
the house at once. 

“Where’s Dave?” was Trix’s first question. 

Then Mrs. Gorton appeared to ask why we had 
returned so soon, and what we had done to her 
husband. 

The Doctor told our story amid sundry correc- 
tions from Mary. I was relieved to find that Mrs. 
Gorton did not seem alarmed at her husband’s being 
left behind. She urged us to come in, but we were 
anxious to get back to the hotel. 

“I will get some provisions ready at once,” she 
said. “You will not be able to get back till to- 
morrow. I know everyone will be hungry. But are 
you not too tired to go back there tonight, Doctor?” 

“No, indeed, Mrs. Gorton. Seventy miles isn’t 


200 


Mary in New Mexico 

a long trip for a day, with half of it in the cool of 
the evening. But I want a change of clothes and 
a bite to eat first.” 

So after thanking Mrs. Gorton for her kindness 
to Trix, whom we took with us, we drove back to 
the hotel. 

At half past four, the Doctor, having bathed and 
eaten, started off on his return journey. 

“I will stop at the Gortons’ for the food and at 
the government building for my guide,” he said. 
“And don’t you worry, for we’ll be all right. Don’t 
expect us till you see us — for we may go off on a 
spree.” 

“I hope you’ll find El Lobo and ask him if he took 
my ring,” called Mary. 

“I don’t believe we’ll catch even a glimpse of 
him,” answered her father. 

I hated to see him go. 

“I believe El Lobo will think we can’t get away, 
and will come back for his loot with more of the 
gang,” suggested Mary. 

“That is a cheering thought,” I answered. “We’ll 
hope for the best.” 

Trix was full of her adventures, and now that 
she saw us again and knew us near, was anxious to 
get back to Phil and the burro. I, too, felt that 
Mrs. Gorton should be visited and hear all our story. 
So after an early and satisfying supper, we walked 
over to the Gortons’ to give the details of the ex- 
pedition while Trix visited her four-footed pet. 

“Our men will not try to return till to-morrow,” 


The Mystery of the Empty Box 201 

said Mrs. Gorton. “I am sure they will be all right. 
I have great confidence in Mr. Arkright, whom we 
have known for a long time. He is brave and re- 
sourceful, although you might not think it from 
his manner.” 

“If only El Lobo does not come back tonight to 
get the treasure,” said Mary. 

“Well, there will be four able-bodied men, with 
plenty of guns, to meet him,” replied Mrs. Gorton, 
who did not seem at all alarmed. 

“You certainly take it coolly,” I said. 

“Why not? There is no use in worrying. They 
won’t allow themselves to be surprised. In such a 
place a thousand might well be stopped by three, if 
they are not taken unawares.” 

“I wish I were there with them. Dave is cer- 
tainly lucky,” remarked Mary enviously. 

“Maybe he thinks you’re lucky,” suggested Mrs. 
Gorton. “It’s probably hot and tiresome and they 
are hungry.” 

And so it turned out. The day passed but slowly 
for the three at Puye. 


CHAPTER XXI 

THE SHOT THAT MISSED AND OTHER GOOD FORTUNE 

T T was as they sat about the supperless camp fire 
that Mr. Arkright suggested, “Perhaps El Lobo 
will come back for his treasure tonight. He may 
think that the two officers, one of whom is wounded, 
would be easy to capture, don’t you know.” 

“I guess he’s had enough,” lazily answered Mr. 
Gorton. “Just the same, we don’t take any risks. 
We’ll keep watch turn and turn about and move 
off to a place far away from the treasure chamber.” 

“I wish Lobo would come. I’d love to get him, 
you bet,” said Dave. 

Mr. Arkright was examining his pistol. 

“Let’s see it, will you?” asked Dave. 

“Be very careful. It is loaded,” and Mr. Ark- 
right handed the gun to the boy. “Don’t point it 
at either of us. Never point a gun at anyone, even 
in fun,” said the Englishman. “It is always the 
chap who thinks he knows it all, and is sure the gun 
is not loaded, who kills his friend.” 

“I’ll point it at the cliff,” laughed Dave, stand- 
ing up. The next moment he gave a quick exclama- 
tion, “By Cracky!” 


202 


The Shot That Missed 


203 


The two men looked around, and there, in the 
shadow back of them loomed a tall form. 

“Point the pistol at him and shoot carefully, 
Dave,” said Mr. Arkright, as coolly as if he had 
been standing on an English lawn. 

The cloaked figure had a gun also. “Hands up,” 
he said in perfectly good English. 

“Don’t shoot, Dave,” yelled Mr. Gorton. At 
the same moment, Mr. Arkright took hold of the 
boy’s hand and aimed it up in the air so that there 
should be no chance of an accident. 

“Who on earth are you? No Mexican bandit 
ever talked with an accent like that,” called Mr. 
Gorton. 

The cloak was dropped and a young and rather 
crestfallen boy in khaki appeared. 

“I came on the back of your friends’ auto,” he 
said sulkily. “I thought I’d scare you — ” 

It was at this moment that there came a loud 
call from below and the honking of a machine. 

“My word, there they are,” observed Mr. Ark- 
right, while Dave and Mr. Gorton answered the call. 

“You are a bally fool, young man,” continued the 
Englishman. “You might have caused this little boy 
here to commit murder. You deserve a good 
thrashing.” 

“I thought it would be a good joke,” answered 
the khaki-clad youth, still sulky. 

“Well, if you think a wound from a pistol at close 
range a joke, you very nearly got it,” answered Mr. 
Gorton. “I’ve a great mind to let you walk back 


204 Mary in New Mexico 

to Santa Fe. Maybe that will cure you of this 
funny business.” 

Dave was plainly disappointed. “I may never 
have another chance to shoot a bandit,” he com- 
plained. 

“You may be very thankful that you did not shoot 
this particular one, my boy,” answered Mr. Arkright. 
“Though he isn’t worth very much, my word.” 

A few minutes later they were joined by the 
Doctor and Scott, the officer, who had been delegated 
to act as his guide on the way from Santa Fe. 

“Well, whom have you picked up?” asked the 
Doctor when he saw the make-believe bandit. 

“It was you who brought him, Doctor,” answered 
Mr. Gorton briskly. “He said he came on the back 
of your car; thought he’d scare us and have some 
fun. Dave nearly shot him. I don’t know if that 
was part of the fun he was looking for!” 

Everybody laughed except the stow-away. The 
Doctor looked at him sharply. “Weren’t you the 
fellow who crowded us so in front of the courthouse 
this afternoon?” he asked. But the only answer 
was a sulky silence. 

“I think Gorton’s suggestion that he walk back 
to Santa Fe is a remarkably good one, don’t you 
know,” said Mr. Arkright. “And I say, old chap, 
that boy of yours is a cool one,” he added, turning 
to the Doctor. “The bandit wasn’t a bandit, you 
know, but the boy didn’t know it and neither did we. 
When Dave grows up a bit, he ought to make a good 
tiger hunter.” 


The Shot That Missed 


205 


“I didn’t do anything — didn’t have a chance,” 
growled Dave disgustedly. “Say, Dad, did you 
bring any food?” 

“We surely did.” 

This statement was greeted with joy and excite- 
ment. The camp fire was hastily freshened up and 
Mr. Gorton and Scott soon prepared a savory sup- 
per. Everyone was hungry and no one stood on 
ceremony. For a while the make-believe bandit 
watched them from afar. 

“Aren’t you going to give him anything?” whis- 
pered Dave to Mr. Arkright. 

“Surely. We thought it would not hurt him to 
wait though.” 

“I don’t see that he did anything bad. He just 
played a joke,” said Dave. 

“It is not the right kind of a joke, Dave,” the 
Englishman answered gravely. “We would not be 
a very happy party now, don’t you know, if your 
pistol had gone off and killed the lad.” 

“I guess you’re right,” answered Dave thought- 
fully. 

The next day the party arrived safely at Santa 
Fe. Dave had by this time come to the conclusion 
that he was glad he hadn’t shot a bandit, but had 
been ready to. 

Mary was greatly disappointed. “I did want 
you to get El Lobo and ask him if he took my ring,” 
she said. “But I am sure it’s safe in the bank. I 
have a sort of feeling that something is going to 
happen though. I can’t believe that we will just 


206 


Mary in New Mexico 


quietly slip off home. We’ve had so many excite- 
ments, I am sure something more will happen.” 

“I hope not. I think we have figured in enough 
movie plots,” observed someone. 

That evening, when we had just finished dinner 
and were seated on the hotel porch, a high official 
of the town, accompanied by a high official of the 
railroad, accompanied by Mr. Gorton and the officer 
who had been with us when the bandits were cap- 
tured, arrived at the hotel. They drove up in state 
and we were introduced by Mr. Gorton. 

“With the booty safe in our hands and two ban- 
dits captured, we are indeed fortunate,” remarked 
the railroad manager. “Doctor, you are to be con- 
gratulated on two plucky children. We think they 
ought to have the reward offered for the return of 
the treasure.” 

“I am sure Mary and Dave would want your 
wounded officer and his companion to get some of 
it,” said the Doctor. 

“What do you say, David?” asked the manager. 

“How much will it be?” asked the boy, which 
aroused a laugh from the rest of us. 

“Two hundred and fifty dollars gold would be 
half,” replied the manager. 

“I guess that’ll do for Mary and me, won’t it, 
Mary?” 

“Gracious, that’s a lot of money. Can we do what 
we want with it?” cried Mary. 

“What do you want to do with it?” asked the 
Manager. 


The Shot That Missed 


207 


“I don’t know. But I’d like to feel it was mine.” 

“So would I,” echoed Dave, while the Doctor ob- 
served, “we can discuss that later.” 

“Well,” said the manager, ‘I think our two offi- 
cers can be taken care of without dividing the re- 
ward. I assure you they will be satisfied. So I will 
send a check to you for the full amount in the morn- 
ing. The company feels most grateful to you all, 
and we will see that you have every comfort possible 
on your trip east. And if you would like to come 
to my house tomorrow afternoon, I will show you 
personaly any hospitality that lies in my power.” 

“Five hundred dollars,” murmured Dave. 
“Mother, what can we do with it?” 

We bade goodbye to the friendly officials and 
assured them that we were more than grateful, 
that we had expected no reward. Everyone shook 
hands and presently they departed, leaving us to 
discuss the large sum of money suddenly put into 
the possession of Dave and Mary. 

Trix was much disgusted. She wanted a share 
in it. “I think you ought to buy a burro for me,” 
she said. 

The next morning brought a letter from the bank 
with the news that the ring had not yef been re- 
ceived. 

“They have sent out a tracer, the letter says, but 
still hope it may be simply delayed. Registered 
mail often is,” observed the Doctor. 

“I bet El Lobo has it. Didn’t I tell you that 
was the box?” said Dave. 


208 


Mary in New Mexico 


“Well, it certainly looks queer. I think the 
ring is bewitched and we are well rid of it. It 
seems a little hard on the rest of the people that 
their train should have to be held up in order that 
Mary should lose her ring again.” 

“You can buy a new one with your share of 
the money,” suggested Dave. “My physiology 
book says those old things are covered with 
germs.” 

“Oh, do stop talking about that physiology book. 
Dad, can’t we do anything about the ring?” asked 
Mary. 

“It may be among the stuff recovered,” ans- 
wered her father. “We will inquire thus after- 
noon. And of course it may still be on its normal 
way east. But really, I am getting almost supersti- 
tious. I am half inclined not to do anything more to 
find it.” 

“If El Lobo has it, you’ll never find it,” remarked 
Dave. 

“I am going to find it some day, if it takes years 
and all my reward money. I am going to get back 
that ring,” said Mary. 

Many inquiries were made, and the recovered 
booty was gone over carefully, but no trace of the 
ring could be found. There could only be one 
conclusion — if the ring did not turn up at the bank 
then Dave had been right. The fragment of box 
which he had found and had carefully preserved, 
must indeed have been the one which had been 
shipped from Taos with the ring inside of it. 


The Shot That Missed 


209 


“You’ll never get it again,” said Dave. 

“I will,” answered Mary. 

Two days later we bade goodbye to our good 
friends of Santa Fe, and Trix embraced the Gorton 
burro for the last time. When we reached the 
through train we found that two staterooms had 
been placed at our disposal by the road, and the 
most smiling of white-coated porters greeted us at 
the steps. Another took our baggage, which we 
were almost ashamed to hand to him on account of 
its sad condition and curious shapes and sizes. A 
large bouquet of beautiful flowers awaited us in- 
side the car, and a letter informed us of the admira- 
tion and gratitude of the railroad. Mary and Dave 
and Trix hugged each other in their excitement. 

“I do wish they could see us at home,” cried 
Mary. “Isn’t it fun, Daddy? I always did want 
to ride in a stateroom. If only my ring were not 
lost. But maybe they’ll get it yet. If they don’t — 
well — some day I will find it myself.” 

Then the bell clanged, and the whistle and puff- 
ing of the engine announced that our summer in 
New Mexico was over, and that we were on our 
way to the east and Homeward Bound. 










































































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