146 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Feb. 18, 1802. 



THE GOLD HUNT. 



I HESITATE when I sit down to write this reminis- 

 cence, for I know it is in a path that leads away 

 from our everyday world, and treads on the verge of that 

 dread mystery which broods and glimmers like the mir- 

 age at the horizon of the vast treeless wastesjof the South- 

 west. I fear that you may doubt that it was or seemed 

 to me as I write it. I cannot explain it; and shall not 

 try to: but you can rest assured that it is exactly as I re- 

 member it, and tbe most important details are burnt 

 into my memory. I don't believe in spirits, and never 

 saw or heard anything before or since that I cannot give 

 a reason for. 



In the year 1874 I lived on a stock ranch on Rita Azul, 

 Colorado. You won't find Rita Azul on any map. It 

 is a little stream that dashes down the Raton Moun- 

 tains, and shortly disappears. A few Mexicans live there, 

 and seldom see a white man. To-day there is no wagon 

 track leading to it, and yet the Mexicans live there, in 

 that out of the way corner, and live and live. I make a 

 pilgrimage there once or twice a year, and always meet 

 the same old faces. They are poor and lazy and happy. 

 I found the place once when I was hunting; moved my 

 cattle up there: built a ranch; and for seven years owned 

 Rita Azul and its inhabitants as much as if I had bought 

 them all and paid for them. 



White men stopped with me always, when they came 

 near me, for I was the only American for miles; and 

 O'Neal came past about every three months on his way 

 from Lenhant's ranch to Trinidad, when ;he "went in," 

 as is the custom with the cowboys, to get clothing, tobac- 

 co, mail. etc. One night as it was getting dark the dogs 

 barked as they did only at a stranger. I went out, rifle in 

 hand, and O'Neal rode up leading a pack horse. I had 

 been expecting him for several days on his return trip 

 from Trinidad to his ranch, SO miles further east in a lonely 

 beautiful canon at the foot of the Mesa de Mayo. "Hello, 

 Dick, I'm back." "I am glad to see you, Mac. Come here, 

 boys, and take care of Mac's horses." Out came two 

 Mexicans and led the horses to water, and then to the 

 stable, after unsaddling and unpacking. We went into 

 the house, and I made a dash at a few newspapers and 

 my letters that he had brought me, while one could hear 

 the clatter of pots and pans, and the monotonous squeak 

 of the coflee-mill as Taofila prepared our supper. 



The house was adobe, and like most of those structures 

 looked on the outside like a mud pile; but inside, with the 

 open fireplaces and the rude but comfortable furniture, 

 the hides of buffalo and wolf on the floor for rugs, the red 

 blankets on the bed, and the walls decorated with guns 

 on hooks of antelope horns, the deer heads and the multi- 

 tude of spurs and trappings a sporting frontiersman accu- 

 mulates—it was as cosy a picture as ever gladdened a 

 weary hunter's heart. We soon had supper; and after 

 swapping news about horses, cattle, game and people, we 

 slept. 



-Before Mac left he made me promise to visit him soon, 

 and about a week afterward I got lonesome and longed 

 for new hunting ground; so I saddled a fast strong horse 

 early one morning, slipped my rifle into the scabbard 

 that hung on the saddle horn, and away we ran over 

 miles and miles of short yellow grass, east as the crow 

 flies straight, without road and not caring for one. Oh. 

 the pleasure of youth, health, a strong horse under one, a 

 boundless prairie and freedom from care as perfect as 

 that of the antelope that danced away as we swept along, 

 with the bay snatching at the bit and trying to go faster 

 the further we went. Across the prairie, skirting the big 

 Mesa de Mayo Mountain, which stands alone like a fortress, 

 and down the West Carisa Valley we swept; and the gal- 

 lant bay stopped with heaving flank and black with sweat 

 at the end of fifty miles in five hours, but with lots of go 

 left. A stable, a blanket and some dry hay to cool off on 

 for the horse; and Mac and I went into his log cabin, and 

 Nigger Jim, his companion, commenced playing the 

 coffee-mill tune, and we soon had dinner. Beef, bread 

 and coffee— that is the cowman's fare; I believe it's so 

 much meat that makes the cowboy savage. Then came 

 a week of wild delights, watching for the timid antelope 

 at the lonely spring as they came to drink in herds, and 

 killing the fat bucks, running our horses like mad after 

 the fine buffolo that drifted in one day from the east, 

 stealing up the lonely dim canons by moonlight with the 

 howl of the mountain wolfs as a chorus, to find the roosts 

 of the big old turkeys whose descendants still gobble at 

 daybreak in those savage wilds. Nigger Jim herded the 

 cattle a little, and Mac and I hunted and festooned the 

 outside of the old log cabin with game. 



One morning I was awakened by Jim just at daybreak. 

 He said in a low tone, "Get up, boss, and kill the big 

 antelope." I slipped on my pantaloons and stepped to 

 the door, gun in hand. The cabin was in a hollow with 

 its back to the spring, and I could not see more than 

 30yds. up the slope, for there was a little knoll in front 

 of the house. I walked almost to the top of the knoll 

 and there were about twenty antelope quietly grazing, 

 part at about 50yds. I thought to myself, "I'll hit this 

 antelope exactly where I aim," and taking careful sight 

 pulled trigger. He dropped to the shot as if struck by 

 lightning. The rest ran off and I let them go. When I 

 got to him I found I had put the ball exactly where I 

 aimed. In fifteen minutes he was disemboweled and 

 hung to the end of one of the logs that formed the roof 

 of the cabin, and we were eating breakfast. 



After breakfast Mac and I sat down behind the cabin a 

 few minutes to take a smoke, and while we were sitting 

 there seven blacktail deer came around the corner of the 

 hill in single file, not more than half a mile away, and 

 walking up on to a little flat almost on top of the mesa 

 lay down among some rocks and scrubby cedars. Sad- 

 dling our horses and making a detour of about two miles, 

 we got within 200yds. of them and picketed the ponies 

 above them on the flat top of the mesa. In a moment a 

 careful crawl placed us at the brink. A peep and there 

 they were, not 80yds. below us. Each killed one the first 

 shot before they saw us, killed another as they ran off 

 down the hill and wounded a fourth that crossed the val- 

 ley and limped slowly up on to the other mesa. We 

 chased her three miles on foot and finally killed her after 

 some twenty shots. I was so worn out, and my heart 

 beat so fast, that I could not hit her at 90yds. in two 

 shots, and I sat down and rested nay elbows on my knees, j 



We were till after dark getting the four deer to camp 

 and Jim had supper ready for us. 



After supper Jim said, "1 was riding round this after- 

 noon and found these, what are they?" He showed us 

 two pear-shaped pieces of yellow metal, one as big as a 

 lima bean, the other a little smaller. Mac laughed and 

 said, "You've found a gold mine, perhaps. Give me 

 this big one." "All right," said Jim, "and you can have 

 the other, Mr. Dick, if you want it." I took the small 

 piece and looking at it a moment slid it into my pocket, 

 and telling Mac that it surely was not gold, for these 

 mountains were too low to have any, I dismissed it from 

 my mind. I remember that Mac asked Jim where he 

 got them, and Jim said, "Oh, while I was riding round 

 after the cattle." I remember also that there was dirt on 

 my piece when I got it. 



Before I left home I had requested Senor Miguel Tre- 

 vinio to follow me down in two weeks with the wagon, 

 and so shortly he came rolling in. The next day we all 

 hunted antelope to give Miguel a taste of sport, for he is 

 an ardent hunter. I crawled a mile after an old buck on 

 almost level prarie, and after I had shot him discovered 

 that I had lost my belt knife. Miguel showed his ability 

 by taking my track from antelope and following it for 

 more than half a mile on hard prairie until he found it. 

 (I want to tell you, boys, Miguel is a real live Mexican, 

 and as good a hunter as ever, right this minute, Jan. 6, 

 1894; there is lots of game right around the place Tarn 

 writing of, and you can go there and hunt, too, if you 

 want to, and have him guide you.) 



The next morning Miguel, Nigger Jim and I, started 

 for my ranch, and arrived there after an uneventful 

 journey. Jim stopped with us the next day. and helped 

 us skin and fix up the game, and the next day I went to 

 town with a wagon load of deer and antelope hams and 

 turkeys, leaving forequarters for home consumption, and 

 the hides for Miguel to tan Indian fashion. The way he 

 tans hides is a splendid one. and I advise you to remember 

 it. He has his mother-in-law do the work (she is a 

 Navajo Indian), and he bosses the job and smokes 

 cigarettes. 



Nigger Jim accompanied me to town and left for the 

 East in a few days. He had quit and been paid off. I 

 never heard of him again. I bathed, shaved, resurrected 

 my town suit of clothes and my hard hat, and staid in 

 town a few days for a change of food and surroundings. 

 I finally went home; my cattle claimed my attention, 

 and I forgot Mac and the West Carisa, until here came 

 Mac one night, big-eyed and bursting with news of 

 solemn import. "Do you know what that yeller stuff 

 Nigger Jim gave us was?'' "No," said I, and looked at 

 him curiously, for it flashed through my mind that it was 

 gold after all. 



"Gold!" said Mac, pure virgin gold. "I wish I had that 

 nigger, I'd soon make him show" me where he got it." 

 Then he quieted down a little and told me his story; He 

 had gone to Trinidad on his usual quarterly journey, and 

 feeling the nugget in his pocket had had it tested by an 

 assayer. It was gold. He told me that he was going 

 right back to the ranch to hunt till he found the mine. 

 He would then come in and tell me, and we would dig 

 out a hundred thousand or so apiece and then cover it up 

 for future reference. He wanted me to come down and 

 hunt, too; but to tell the truth, I didn't believe him. 



Not that I thought he would intentionally deceive me, 

 but 1 didn't believe that if it was gold it came from the 

 Carisa, and then I didn't believe the stuff was gold. Mac 

 left next morning, and I never saw him again. I heard 

 that he quit his job that spring, helped hold up a stage in 

 the Raton Pass, went to Texas, stole a herd of cattle and 

 was pursued and shot in southern New Mexico. Pax 

 vobiftcum. And time rolled on. 



The next fall a young Englishman discovered me 

 through the medium of the Spirit of the Times (I cor- 

 responded with it occasionally); wrote to me and finally 

 came out and settled down with me in October for a 

 winter's hunt. He was a good fellow, a first-class shot 

 with a shotgun, but couldn't hit a wild animal with a 

 rifle to save his soul — got rattled or something. He did 

 not kill anything bigger than a turkey in the first two 

 weeks, and I knew he would leave me soon unless I 

 could make him kill a deer. I ran one almost over him 

 and he missed it; so finally I talked him into buying an 

 8-gauge double-barreled shotgun with cylinder bore, 

 I241bs. iu weight, bored to shoot buckshot well. After 

 we had talked the thing up Al concluded to ride to Trin- 

 idad and telegraph to New York for a Parker gun. 

 While we were hunting during the preceding week I 

 had told a good many stories, among them about the 

 Carisa hunt. He had asked to see the nugget, which I 

 still kept in my trunk and had forgotten to take to Trin- 

 idad whenever I went. He more than half believed that 

 Mac had found a mine, and advanced the idea that the 

 terrible tale I told of him had been invented by Mac him- 

 self to cover his disappearance, and that he was digging 

 away in some lonely canon of the Carisa or the Mesa de 

 Mayo accumulating the $100,000 he told me he wanted. 



Tbe night before Al started for Trinidad I gave him 

 the nugget, and did not see Al nor nugget again for three 

 weeks, when he rode in one afternoon with a broad grin, 

 a new corduroy suit and the. 8-bore. And it was a dandy. 

 Lifter-action, of course, for it was long ago, but as good 

 a big gun as I ever saw. We targeted it at once at a 

 soap box about two feet square and put ten buckshot 

 through it at 100 paces with twenty-four buckshot in the 

 load. Al had bad the nugget tested, and it was sure 

 enough gold. We talked the matter over that night and 

 decided to go out to Carisa shortly and put in a month or 

 so at the deserted cabin hunting gold, antelope, deer, elk 

 and turkeys, but particularly gold. 



Al agreed to hire a cook— Miguel of course— and pay 

 all expenses of the trip. He had two horses, a wagon 

 and harness; and the biggest lot of traps that I ever saw 

 a white man pack around had to accompany us every- 

 where. He had three sole-leather trunks, four big 

 boxes, a tent, a camp stove and an assortment of liquors 

 that would scare some folks into convulsions. When I 

 wanted a tool to mend a Avagon, or a gun, a telescope, or 

 a horse rasp, they were there in those boxes. He always 

 hauled his load separately from mine, but the things 

 were awful handy sometimes. Well, a man with £5,000 

 a year can afford it, and that, I believe, was APs in- 

 come. 



So we settled it that we would go with my wagon and 

 his, Miguel to drive Al's wagon, Al to ride an extra horse, 

 and I with three horses — two hitched up and my pet 

 hunting pony led tied to the girth of one of my work 



horses. We started Miguel to Trinidad in the morning 

 for supplies with a list as long as the moral law directed 

 to my agent in town; and Dearden went up the hill a,t an 

 early hour with the 8-bore across his saddle. I had to 

 make some arrangements for a responsible man to leave 

 at the ranch, as we intended to be gone two months, and 

 went down to a little Mexican plaza, about four miles 

 from my ranch, and found one who proved to be a little 

 worse than nothing; but I thought he was all right all 

 the time I was gone; and it's all the same at the present 

 writing: but he was neglectful — he let all my cattle go 

 away that wanted to; he sold 10,0001bs. of corn and spent 

 the money for whisky and draw-poker; an old horse that 

 I left him to ride stone he killed dead by overheating it, 

 and I still feel somewhat riled when I think of him. 



Al returned home about the same time I did, with a 

 whitetail doe on the saddle and an expression of unutter- 

 able contentment on his face. "I have got a big buck up 

 in a tree on the hill as well as this one; killed 'em both on 

 the run at over 60yds. This is the best gun I ever saw." I 

 congratulated him; and it took till 10 o'clock that night 

 to tell me all the incidents of the day. I wish I could 

 write it as he told it, and that you could see him as he 

 drew his pipe from his mouth with his face shining like 

 the full moon as he exclaimed, "And you ought to have 

 seen the beast come down." It is nice, boys; there is no 

 pleasure greater than the first deer. 



He told me that he wanted me to come out the next 

 day and see him shoot deer on the wing, so at daybreak 

 next morning we were out and up the mountain side. 

 We had ridden but a few miles when we saw a doe sneak 

 into a copse of scrub oak bushes and lie down; the brush 

 was not" more than 4ft. high and perhaps 100yds. in 

 diameter. Al dismounted and walked in with his gun 

 cocked, and as the deer sprung in the air he shot and 

 caught it on the fly. It came down the worst smashed - 

 up deer I ever saw — two legs broken, one hip broken and 

 shot through intestines, heart and lungs. "You've spoilt 

 the hide, Al." "Well, I've got the deer and on the fly, 

 too." We skinned her, cut the meat into quarters and 

 left it till evening, when it was dry enough on the out- 

 side to carry well on the saddle. When we got home 

 Miguel had put in his appearance with the wagon loaded 

 to the gunwales; and New York, an old friend of 

 mine, was standing in the door to welcome us. Al 

 hired him at once to drive my wagon and stay with us 

 for the trip; and we sat down to a good supper (cooked 

 partly in American and partly in Mexican style), at peace 

 with the whole world. York could not start for a few 

 days, as he had to go over to the Rabbit Ear Creek in 

 New Mexico with instructions to a shepherd to send their 

 wethers to Granada for shipment; and it was three days' 

 long ride over and back, barring accidents or delays. 

 Miguel concluded to go over into the Cimarron Canon and 

 get my wagon mended a little, so he and York left at 

 daylight the next morning. 



Al and I had resolved not to tell York or Miguel what 

 we were going to Carisa for, but to let them think it was 

 a hunting expedition. While we were talking it over 

 next day Al proposed to go and get Inez, Miguel's mother- 

 in law, to consult the spirits in regard to our trip. Inez 

 was a Navajo Indian squaw, then about sixty years old, 

 an Indian doctress, doctoring with herbs, and was also 

 somewhat of a witch by reputation. She was as homely 

 an old lady as I ever saw, of the color of an old saddle, 

 straight as an arrow, and spent half her time roaming 

 around alone in the morntains, seeking the roots and 

 herbs which she made medicine of. She does know 

 something about medicine and rude surgery, and is a 

 pretty good woman, though Miguel frowns on her witch- 

 craft, and says that he does not like one of his family to 

 tell fortunes or perform heathenish incantations, The 

 old lady still haunts the lonely Raton Mountains, and 

 seemed as lively as ever last summer when I was out at 

 Miguel's ranch. 



Miguel being gone, it was all plain sailing; so we rode 

 up to the ranch and told Inez that we wanted to have 

 her consult the spirits inTegard to the success of our ex- 

 pedition. She told me that it would take some little 

 time for her to get into a frame of mind for the spirits to 

 communicate with her freely, that she would like to go 

 at once to a claim cabin on the mountain, about a mile 

 from my house, stay there all that day, over night and 

 the next night, till the dark came very black; and that 

 then, if we beard her drum still beating, we might come 

 up and learn our fate. Al offered her money but she re- 

 fused it, saying that he could not pay the price it was 

 worth, for the performance would exhaust her much; but 

 that she was a friend of mine and would do what she 

 could as a friend. I told her that Al had about a quart of 

 whisky and that we would be happy to give her that; and 

 she seemed to think that would be all right. We told her 

 that we would go home and send up the whisky; and if 

 Miguel came home too soon we would fix things up with 

 him, so that he would not be angry with her. The Indian 

 charm or -tombe (pronounced toombay) is a home-made 

 affair made of a circular box, like a fig box, with a raw- 

 hide head; and is beaten on with one stick, the music 

 generally accompanied by song, shrill yells, a noise like 

 a coyote, and other curious sounds. Inside of two hours 

 we could see smoke coming out of the chimney of the 

 jacal far above us up the mountain side; and by listening 

 intently could hear the steady monotonous beat of the 

 drum. Al had sent her the whisky, and the spirits of the 

 air were being summoned. 



That night we got up several times and listened, but 

 the tombe never stopped. "I believe the old woman will 

 be tired by to-morrow night," said Al about 12 o'clock, 

 when he came in for the third or fourth time. 



In the morning the drum was still beating; and my 

 Mexicans, who knew a little about what was going on, 

 looked very wise, and occasionally crossed themselves 

 and muttered a prayer. Mexicans are a queer mixture of 

 Catholicism and superstition. 



Miguel came in with the wagon at about 4 o'clock, and 

 as soon as he got there I took him into the house, gave 

 him a drink, and, with Al's consent, told him the whole 

 gold story and what we had done in regard to Inez. 



He grumbled some and said that he did not believe in 

 such foolishness; but I told him that this English gentle- 

 man had got to be amused, that he was rich; and that I 

 didn't want him to get disgusted and leave me; that he 

 (Miguel) should go with us and drive my wagon and cook 

 at $15 a month; that he should have a share in our dis- 

 coverings if we made any, and finally I pacified him so 

 that he promised not to interfere. 



It was a comical .performance and the drum rolled conr 



