CHICO. 



B. C. BROOME. 



It was daylight before Car! and I had 

 eaten our simple breakfast of frijoles, tortil- 

 las and coffee, which the inhabitants of the 

 Cuevas had offered us, and, by the time we 

 had caught up and saddled our ponies, the 

 sun rose above the sharp peaks of the Sier- 

 ras, bathing the whole valley in a flood of 

 light and warmth. 



Bidding adios to our hosts we swung into 

 the saddles and set off up the valley at a 



at Las Cruces," said Carl, with an earnest- 

 ness that made one smile, for he was not 

 used to sleeping on the ground, with but 

 one blanket between himself and the stars. 



Hauling up our canteens we took a good 

 drink and a long one, for at the rate the 

 heat was increasing the canteens would 

 soon become miniature boilers, and the ne- 

 cessity of drinking would be added to the 

 list of the day's tortures. 



"A MEXICAN WAS WATERING HIS HORSE THERE ALSO." 



jog-trot, stopping to fill our canteens with 

 fresh water at a water-hole in the bed of 

 the arroyo. A Mexican was watering his 

 horse there also, and after a few minutes' 

 conversation, we tightened the saddle girths 

 and struck back into the trail. 



Carl had been sent by the American Min- 

 ing Company, at Las Cruces, to the town of 

 Tecora, to see about some freight that had 

 not been forwarded to the mines, and as he 

 spoke no Spanish, I was detailed to go 

 along and act as interpreter. We had re- 

 mained in Tecora until we saw the required 

 articles loaded on a lot of burros, and were 

 assured of their start in the right direction 

 at least. 



" To-night, thank heaven, we shall sleep 



Taking up the trail again we jogged on, 

 putting the miles behind us in a way highly 

 gratifying. The ponies were beginning to 

 sweat, and the dust that rose in clouds 

 about us settled down over man and beast 

 like a coat of white-wash. 



We were more than anxious to make Las 

 Cruces that night, and there were still some 

 25 miles of the roughest kind of trail before 

 us. 



The intense heat, the " chug, chug, 

 chug " of the ponies' hoofs, the clouds of 

 stifling dust and the jingle of spurs and 

 bridle-chains, keeping up hour after hour, 

 was mighty monotonous. Now and then 

 Carl or I would say a few words, not alto- 

 gether complimentary to the heat or dust, 



436 



