THE DESERT AND THE ROSE 35 



And it was well that I had ignored the lunch, for 

 the buggy came squelching and rocking back 

 through water now knee deep, and I was enjoined 

 to throw the lunch basket ahead of me and speed 

 down the bank, as it was only regaining the buggy 

 with the aid of a strong arm and a strong branch. 

 Two or three days after this delightful little adven- 

 ture I had occasion to go to the city, but taking wise 

 advice returned that same night, the train sometimes 

 crawling through water so deep that the crew sound- 

 ed it with long poles. And that was the last through 

 train for many, many days. 



The Indians had one resource when the fickle 

 stream played tricks on them — a resource which has 

 somehow failed us of a later generation. For them 

 no sitting down in resignation, no folding of the 

 hands to sleep, but they uprose as one man, and hav- 

 ing slain a young virgin to propitiate the god of 

 waters confidently awaited results. At this point 

 history provokingly stops short, leaving the rest to 

 our imagination. Yet to this day in some portions 

 of New Mexico and Arizona Mexicans carry the 

 image of San Ysidro, the agricultural saint, to bless 

 their crops, but though the firing of guns, inevitable 

 concomitant of all exciting events, is scrupulously 

 observed, and only water is drunk, except possibly a 

 light corn wine, we hear of no particularly striking 

 reform on the part of our old river. A whole day 

 is (or not long since was) given up in the Mesilla 

 Valley to invoking and blessing the slippery Rio 

 Grande, who is liable to give his reverent worship- 

 pers the go-by just the same. 



