ALONG OUR SIDE OF THE MEXICAN BORDER 



69 



a point 6,600 feet above the sea, marking 

 the continental divide. When that re- 

 doubtable outlaw, "The Apache Kid," led 

 his renegade Chfricahuas, they made this 

 locality their rendezvous ; and through 

 this same San Luis Pass runs the old 

 emigrant trail. 



Slightly west of the 108th meridian, 

 the line turns at right angles and runs 

 south for a few miles, thence west again. 



In the San Bernardino Valley the line 

 strikes the first running water after quit- 

 ting the Rio Grande — 192 miles to the 

 east. Here rises the famous Yaqui River, 

 that long, crooked stream that meanders 

 through the vast Mexican State of So- 

 nora and through the turbulent Yaqui 

 Indian zone, finally emptying into the 

 Gulf of California below Guaymas. 

 Thousands of cattle find pasture around 

 the marshy flats of this San Bernardino 

 Valley, and here an old Spanish trading 

 post lies in ruins. 



In the whole 700-mile stretch from the 

 Rio Grande to the Pacific, this line crosses 

 only five permanent running streams, and 

 the average rainfall throughout its length 

 is only eight inches. 



This border was first fixed by the 

 Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo, and sub- 

 sequently modified by the Gadsden 

 Treaty, or "The Treaty of Mesilla." 



In 1891-1896 a new joint commission 

 erected the present monuments, the origi- 

 nal heaps of stone having in many places 

 been tampered with or carried away by 

 prospectors for use as mine-boundary 

 markers. These modern tombstone-like 

 obelisks are made of rock where rock is 

 available ; in other places cast-iron monu- 

 ments are set up on cement pedestals. 

 They are never more than five miles 

 apart. 



Save the hamlets of Columbus and 

 Hachita, the Xew Mexican section of 

 this border is almost uninhabited. 



WHEN APACHE HUNTING WAS THE 

 GREAT SPORT 



Hurdling this line in pursuit of Geron- 

 imo and his Apaches was for years a 

 favorite outdoor army sport in these 

 parts ; but nowadays most ambitious resi- 

 dents are mining copper, roping and 

 branding cattle, or fussing with irriga- 

 tion ditches. 



Around the camps and corrals, how- 



ever, many grizzled freighters and post 

 traders of earlier days are still loitering ; 

 and, true to form, they would rather talk 

 of outlaws, stage-robbers, and historic 

 killings than listen to a farm adviser tell 

 how to outwit weevils or vaccinate a 

 heifer. 



One of these old-timers told me how 

 he once slew eight broncho Apaches, and 

 then hung them up by their feet to a 

 stout mesquite tree near Lochiel : and 

 that same night a hastening party of Las 

 Cruces peddlers, bound for Hermosillo 

 with a wagon-load of calico, came up and 

 unwittingly camped almost beneath the 

 live oak where the dead Apaches were 

 hanging. Suddenly discovering the ter- 

 rifying display, the peddlers hastily 

 hitched up and did not make camp till 

 they reached Magdalena, miles to the 

 south. 



Today the tamed Apache up around 

 Globe is about the most trustworthy, dili- 

 gent, and industrious farm laborer to be 

 found in the State : and the two-gun man 

 has gone to the movie studios of Califor- 

 nia, where the risk is nil and the stakes 

 more certain. Freight wagons along the 

 border are replaced by big auto-trucks, 

 and the old trails are turned into motor 

 highways covered with "camping-out'' 

 trippers whose cars bear pennant labels 

 of towns from Peoria to Pasadena. 



PUBLIC BATHS WHERE COYOTES RECENTLY 

 ROAMED 



Xot long ago coyotes were chasing 

 horned toads over an empty desert where 

 Douglas now stands, with libraries, coun- 

 try clubs, theaters, a great Y. M. C. A., 

 public baths, street-cars, and a hotel that 

 might have been lifted bodily out of 

 Cleveland or Kansas City. 



The giant smelters at Douglas have 

 run day and night since they were built. 

 a dozen years ago, and have handled 

 thousands of trainloads of ores from Bis- 

 bee and X'acozari (in Sonora). At night 

 white-hot streams of molten slag, pour- 

 ing on the dumps, throw great light 

 flashes against the sky, remindful of 

 Pittsburgh. During a six months' busy 

 period in 1916 the "Copper Queen" and 

 "Calumet and Arizona" smelters handled 

 131,000,000 pounds of copper, which at, 

 say, 25 cents a pound, would give a value 

 of $32,000,000. 



