174 Rambles of a Botanist in New Mexico. [ March, - 
and cedars, all being peculiarly south-western species of rather 
dwarf and stunted habit. There is also a considerable variety of 
shrubs and herbaceous plants, making it altogether very interest- 
ing ground for the herbalist. The zest of botanizing in these 
hills was, however, a little tempered by fear of Indians. At 
the time of my journeying among them the Apaches were giving 
more trouble than usual, “ on the rampage” as the settlers have 
it; sometimes riding up boldly to the lonely stage stations and 
driving off stock before the eyes of the solitary keeper; now and 
then shooting down upon the high road a helpless mail-rider for 
the sake of his pony, or an unprotected buck-board driver for his 
span of mules, and keeping all travelers and the few scattered 
settlers in a state of perpetual fear. 
“Wagons close by >” asked the lone tenant of the one hostelry 
in the Burro Mountains, Carson by name, and nephew of the 
renowed “ Kit,’ as port-folio in hand and haversack over my 
shoulder I came to his door a little before sunset. I answered 
that I knew of no wagons being on the road. “You come 
alone?” I replied in the affirmative, and volunteered at once 
such brief account of myself as would partly satisfy his manifest 
curiosity. “Well,” said he, after a pause, and with an assumed 
air of calmest philosophy, “I reckon a man don't die ‘till his 
time comes.” The fact was the Apaches had made Aim a call 
only the day before, and driven away captive the horses that 
chanced to be grazing on the hillside opposite the door, and the 
man had not quite recovered from his fright. I, the luckier mor- 
tal, had leisurely botanized across a hundred miles of the infested 
region without having seen a savage. Nothing more formidable — a 
than Carson’s pet turkey had I met with on all the road. This — 
bird, a remarkably fine specimen of his species, assailed me furi- 4 | 
ously with beak and wings as soon as I came near the house. 
There are no domestic turkeys in the country, and this wild onè 
had come to the ranch alone, of its own accord, when a mere — 
chick, and that evidently with a mind: to renounce forever the 
society of its kindred. Carson called the bird his dog, and 
assured me that he never failed by his loud cry of alarm to 3 . 
announce the approach of an Indian or any stranger, either by _ 
day or night. Both his antecedents and character seemed to mê 
rather remarkable, and, I record them here for the edification of 4 
the ornithological. At this stage-station I resolved to establish 
