FOREST AND STREAM. 
203 
Mariana. 
An Experience in Mexico. 
A Mexican city is a noisy and a. smelly place. The 
one in which we live (the capital of a southern Estado) 
is perhaps less odorous than others, but certainly is no 
freer from nerve-wearing noises. So it is our custom to 
spend a day now and then in the country. A place we often 
visit is San Felipe Huejotlipam (way-hote-leep-am), a 
little Indian town three miles" away. There is a group 
of cherry trees near a deserted hut. and under these 
toe have passed many a refreshing hour. 
On the fifth of last May we were there again. For 
some reason which I do not now remember we left 
rather sooner than we had expected. I had unbuckled 
my pistol and had hung it by its belt upon a tree limb 
over our heads. In the hurry of getting away I left 
if hanging there. I missed it, however, before getting 
out of the town, and returned to the tree, but the pistol 
was no longer there. I told the friends in the nearest 
hut of my loss, and that I was willing suitably to re- 
ward the finder, for the pistol, besides being valuable in 
itself, had been given me by a friend. The story was 
repeated to others, and soon the news was spread 
throughout the little village. 
We were away from home for the succeeding seven 
days, but on the first opportunity after our return set 
out for San Felipe to rest in our accustomed retreat, but 
having in mind at the same time the probable fate of 
the pistol. Sure enough, our friends greeted us with: 
"Have you found your pistol?" "No," I replied, "I 
have heard nothing of it." "Why," said they, "it was 
found by two little boys and carried to the Palacio Muni- 
cipal." 
I hurried at once to the "palace," a low adobe hut 
which shelters the village government. It was closed, 
and here my troubles began. I sought first el secre- 
tario and then el presidente in their adobe dwellings 
(that of the latter distinguished from its fellows by be- 
ing smoothly plastered and whitewashed). Both officials 
were away at work, but would return "a little later." 
It was now 5 o'clock, and inasmuch as there were 
several cases about the door of the palacio to be tried, I 
judged that I should not have very much longer to 
wait. Alas, I did not know the speed of Mexican jus- 
tice. Those cases were not to be tried that night. 
The last tram car leaves at 6. It was arranged that 
the others of our party should take that tram and that 
I should join them if possible. Returning to the 
palacio, I found the cases still waiting in charge of an 
unsteady gendarme, who grew more and more drunk 
as the evening advanced. They were expecting the 
officials^ "immediately." Six o'clock passed, with its 
tram. Still the cases waited, and I among them trying 
to tone my Anglo-Saxon impatience to something like 
their Southern indifference. Seven o'clock and still no 
officials. 
Eight o'clock had already struck when el presi- 
dente, clad in the invariable white cotton shirt and 
trousers, appeared alone. Because I wore the clothes of 
civilisation my affairs took precedence. I stated my 
quest as briefly and as clearly as I could. The old 
gentleman seated himself upon a brick bench outside 
the house, took his cigarettes from one pocket, offered 
them to me, and selected his own; from another pocket 
brought forth his matches, with that peculiar deftness 
which all Mexicans exhibit at this performance, lighted 
my cigarette and his own, exhaled a blue cloud from 
his nostrils, and asked me "to, have the goodness to 
— repeat." 
By the time my story was finished a second time the 
keys of the adobe palace had arrived. We entered by 
the light of a candle. After some further talk a mes- 
senger was sent for the absent secretary. This messenger 
returned with the word that the secretary (the polite 
ragamuffin) "begged that el presidente have the good- 
ness to excuse him, as he was slightly indisposed." 
"You would better come to-morrow to see what there 
is concerning this," was the judgment of the president. 
Th ere seemed to be nothing else to do, so I moved to 
leave. "But, senor, will you not remain with us; how 
are you going to reach the city?" I was interested to 
make an impression, so gave verbal form to a hope 
which had been floating vaguely through my mind. "My 
servant will probably come with horses," I said. At 
this another messenger was despatched, who reported 
that no servant had arrived. 
"There is nothing for me to do but to walk," I said. 
"What! alone, and on Saturday night? It is impos- 
sible! The road is dangerous to-night, when there are 
many bad people about. I will call the ronda to accom- 
pany you." 
The policeman, who by this time was far gone, was 
sent to find and to call the patrol. He got as far as the 
outer door of the garden and there lapsed into drunken 
oblivion. Meanwhile el presidente had been covertly 
yielding to drowsiness. So while I twisted and squirmed 
upon my chair his gray head nodded nearer and nearer 
the rough board table. But I must be proper; no 
brusqueness on my part must offend his delicate sense 
of "form." 
At last I hit upon an excuse for sending another mes- 
senger, and then a third; but both in vain. Another 
weary hour had passed when el presidente, making up 
his mind that I would not be dissuaded from going to 
the city, and that he would not get to bed until I was 
disposed of (the other cases did not so much matter), 
set out with me himself to find an escort 
O nee fairly started with some dozen villagers, -mv 
Yankee stride quickly covered the intervening miles and 
left far behind all but two of my valiant guard. 
To-morrow being Sunday, I did not accept the presi- 
dent's suggestion. Before breakfast on Monday morning 
I ran out upon my wheel. This time the secretary sent 
word that he had gone out to bathe and so could not 
come. "You would better come to-morrow," said our 
friend, el presidente. 
On the way home the conviction grew upon me that 
the goodly form of my pistol had entered and found 
lodgment in the eye of that Indian scribe, that he had 
made up his mind that such a pistol would be of more 
service & mm than to me. I determined to see what 
aid a higher authority could lend in producing this de- 
linquent. 
So I laid the matter before a young judge, who had 
been studying English, with me, and had shown himself 
very obliging upon another occasion. He holds a high 
position socially and has a great deal of influence in 
legal circles. Lucky for me this, otherwise I should 
never hope to see my pistol again. He grasped the situ- 
ation at once, and with true Mexican courtesy offered to 
help me. "Have no fear, sr. director; to-morrow you 
shall have your pistol back again." 
Since then my presence has been only a matter of 
form My young judge has been interested as if the 
pistol were his own, and though many "to-morrows" 
have passed his courtesy and interest have never flagged. 
His first move was to state the case to the agente del 
mimsterio publico. I do not know that we have such 
an officer in our court system at home. He seems to 
be a sort of distributor general of the court business. 
All cases to be tried go first to him. He hears them 
makes a careful record of all, and then disposes, some- 
times sending them to a judge (whom he selects), some- 
times settling them himself without resort to formal trial. 
This officer kindly consented to summon the secretary, 
and dictated an order bidding him appear in the minis- 
terial presence at 4 in the afternoon. I was instructed 
to appear at the same time. I appeared, but the secretary 
did not. It was not until the following morning that he 
came, bearing a lame excuse for his failure of the day 
before. Such indifference to a summons from so high 
an authority was unaccountable to me, but not so appar- 
ently to those to the manner born. 
He brought with him what purported to be a receipt 
to show that he had already delivered the pistol to a 
claimant. The signer of this alleged receipt was un- 
known except to the secretary himself, and the whole 
performance smacked of deceit. But the agente gave 
him an order calling upon the signer of this document 
to present himself "immediately." The end of the week 
came, but the secretary did not. Another week passed, 
but still neither secretary nor signer. It grew to be June 
6, more than a month after the loss of the pistol, and 
some two weeks since I had been trying to lay legal 
hands upon this evasive official. 
It was June 8 before the next step was taken. My 
friend had advised me to make formal accusation, but 
what was really done was the sending of another note 
from el ministerio, patient man, directing the secretary 
to appear in the afternoon to answer a formal charge. 
This was followed by another next morning at 11 ad- 
dressed to the president, with a clause attached that if 
this were disobeyed el presidente himself would be ar- 
rested. At 4 the secretary appeared. I took my seat at 
the side of the agente, and through my friend made my 
declaracion, repeating the story which has gone before. 
The office of this public functionary occupies what was 
once the choir of an ancient monastery, a long narrow 
hall with vaulted roof, lighted by grated windows high 
up in either end. Around the four walls runs a solid 
row of high-backed chairs, superbly carved from cedar. 
Half way down the right from where the low platform 
of the civil authority has intruded upon this holy place 
stands a chair, higher than the others, inclosed by a pul- 
pit-like structure, and backed by a lofty screen rich with 
armorial bearings, all done with inexpressible patience 
in the same dark native wood. 
I could not help smiling at the incongruity; this state- 
ly hall, with its memory of many an imperious Spanish 
bishop, witnessing the accusation by an irreverent Yankee 
of a degenerate son of the Aztecs for stealing a revolver. 
The declaracion made, the agente called a judge (No. 
4 Correccional), stated the case to him, and sent us all, 
judge, accuser and accused, away. In a little room 
opening upon the patio the declaracion was gone over 
again. But it was now 5 o'clock and high time, the 
judge evidently thought, to be going home. "To-mor- 
row" at 10 he would hear the case. My friend offered 
a mild protest, thinking no doubt that the time to deal 
with this secretary was when you had him; but the 
judge's view of the situation prevailed. Then my friend 
arranged to represent me, so that I need not attend the 
following day, explaining that I was muy occupado. 
Next morning I sent my servant, however, that he 
might be on hand to call me if need be. He returned 
at noon saying that the accused had not yet shown up, 
that the judge would wait until 1, and if still he did not 
appear would arrest him. 
Now all this disregard of legal authority to me was 
appalling. It did not seem so at all to those whose 
authority it set aside; it caused surprise perhaps, but not 
astonishment. 
I have not yet recovered my pistol. At this writing 
a whole month of mahanas has passed since the one 
upon which I was surely to have it again. I am begin- 
ning to think that this Spanish word, so often heard in 
Mexico, which is usually translated "to-morrow," really 
means "some time in the future." 
William Sawyef . 
Highways and Byways.— III. 
Sometimes even the desert changes its appearance, 
not naturally, but artificially, and by force of external 
circumstances. I have just taken a trip southward for a 
couple of hundred miles over the Oregon Short Line. In 
place of the arid wastes of five years ago, there are large 
reservoirs and newly-planted groves, and vast hay and 
grain ranches. The jack rabbit and coyote have noticed 
the change. They have retired into the wilderness. In 
their places have come hundreds of teal and redheads 
that, dotting the little lakes and wide ditches, give 
promise of excellent sport in another six weeks. Doves 
feed about the generous stacks and sage fowl do the 
gleaning. But the antelopes that were omnipresent a 
generation ago have entirely disappeared. 
Back from the railroad and beyond its terminus there 
is but little alteration in the landscape. There are the 
same alkaline and sage brush wastes, the same dreary, 
cedar-covered foothills, and back of these the massive 
grandeur of the Sevier and Mackagunt plateaus, whose 
immense areas of pine and spruce have been diminished 
by only a few acres, whose rugged slopes are traversed 
by only a few log roads, and dotted by only a few saw 
mills. Little use of a forest commissioner in this coun- 
try, save as political pensioner upon a too liberal gov- 
ernment. Under the pines, beside some unnamed 
spring, herders nightly build their fires and prospectors 
put up tents and rude log cabins. On the grassy flats 
the deer feed as complacently as they did before the ad- 
vent of the Mormon, and among the ragged cliffs of 
lime and lava bears and mountain lions reign undis- 
puted in their sway. 
From Milford Station a night ride of thirty-two miles 
brought us to Beaver, and early the next morning my 
companion and I were in the saddle en route for a cer- 
tain prospect hole about the exact location of which 
there was an indefiniteness that was, to say the least, de- 
licious. We knew that the aforesaid hole lay almost 
due east of Beaver, and that the stage road to Orton's 
was long and dusty. Hence our determination to make a 
new trail and hence also blankets, fry pan, coffee pot and 
a pack horse, which would otherwise have been unneces- 
sary. Just outside of the Beaver city limits was Fort 
Cameron, an old Government post that, were it not 
used for school purposes, would make an ideal sum- 
mer resort. It was laid out as a military park, and 
Beaver Creek, that bounds one side of the property, 
boasts a few trout. From this point there was no roa'd, 
and we were as much in the wilderness as though we 
had been in the heart of the Adirondacks. Neither of 
our horses was gun shy, and we opened our trip with a 
couple of cottontails and a dozen doves as a game bag. 
The doves afforded first-rate sport, but when we dressed 
them for dinner we found the females were about ready 
for their second nesting, so we did not shoot any 
more. 
Beaver Creek is more like an Eastern trout stream 
than a Western torrent. For five miles we followed it, 
through grassy glades and beneath dense box elders 
and cottonwoods, with just enough pines to add an 
upland picturesqueness to the scene. The waters were 
clear as crystal, and the banks were overgrown with 
mosses and liverworts. We were enjoying our trip to 
the utmost, when, without any warning, we ran abrupt- 
ly against a cliff hundreds of feet in height. To go up 
its face was impossible. The creek cut a narrow gorge, 
with walls that reached to the sky. But the creek was 
now deep and angry. It was ii o'clock; so we deter- 
mined to camp for dinner, bait our horses and discuss 
plans. Our game was cleaned, and as we expected to 
make a night camp, we left the rabbits for supper. The 
doves were parboiled in the coffee pot, and then rolled 
in flour and fried with breakfast bacon. It was a 
great relief to find that we were not dependent upon 
canned goods. 
Northward fronr our lunch ground, and skirting the 
base of the cliff, was a cattle trail. We rightly surmised 
that it was the path of the cowboy for the mountain's 
summit. Where a steer could be driven our horses 
would have no difficulty. Shortly after 1 o'clock we 
resumed our journey. Soon the trail grew very steep 
and rocky. We had a wall on one side, a precipice on 
the other. In one spot a large rattlesnake claimed 
prior right, and, as my horse refused to step over 
him, we had to kill him in self-defense. Box elders 
and the lowland vegetation disappeared. Red pines took 
its place. In the crevices of the rock grew a diminutive 
vaccinium. We especially noticed the rareness of the 
atmosphere. Our horses had to rest every few mo- 
ments. After two hours of this work we reached the 
brow of the cliff. To the eastward and not far away 
towered the main Baldy range. The level between was 
a grassy park adorned with tall, straight aspens. While 
crossing this park our horses moved so noiselessly over 
the turf that we approached quite close to a beautiful 
buck. Daniel was for pursuit, but I reminded him that 
the law was not yet out, and he reluctantly gave up his 
purpose. The condition of this range showed that there 
has been throughout Utah a great decrease in the num- 
ber of cattle and sheep within the last five years. 
It was our intention to get as far up the mountain as 
possible by nightfall. Where Beaver Creek had gone 
we could not tell, but we expected to find springs. We 
did better than that, for we literally stumbled upon a 
little mountain lake, spring-fed, and filling an ancient 
crater. It was about 200yds. long by 20yds. wide — deep, 
clear and very cold. This we would have passed by 
had we not noticed with surprise that large trout were 
swimming among the fern-like weeds on the bottom. 
No matter how high the sun was, it was time to make 
camp, and we made camp in good shape before we paid 
any attention to the trout. 
If there is anything that I hate in the woods, it is to 
be with a party that grab guns and tackle and scatter 
out the instant the wagon stops. Of course, they come 
back at dark, wet, hungry, tired, cross and generally 
without game, to a tentless and fireless camp. In such 
cases the good-natured man who has had experience, 
and hence remains to make things snug, gets very lone- 
ly and always feels that he has been imposed upon. So 
my plan is to do the necessary work, stake the tent 
securely, get plenty of firewood, have the frying pan 
handy, and then take my sport. If one gets back late 
it is always more pleasant to come back to a camp rather 
than to a heap of disordered, ill-sorted impedimenta. 
We unpacked and hobbled our horses, made a shelter 
tent out of the two canvas sheets that wrapped our 
blankets, made down our bed, and gathered firewood. 
Then we hunted fishpoles. I had my fly-book and reel 
with me, but, with the uncertainty of finding a trout 
stream, I knew that a rod would be a nuisance. Quak- 
ing aspens are not good material for poles, and to use 
a drop line would be too much like fishing for porgies 
off the docks of Hoboken. We encircled the lake for 
something that would answer our purpose. We found 
it, and also on the shore opposite our camp the fresh 
tracks of a large bear and two cubs. Deer sign were too 
common for more than a passing glance. One little 
brook emptied into the pond, and along its banks grew 
underbrush and dwarf willows. From these we obtained 
a couple of 6ft. poles. Dan tied on his line, school-boy 
fashion, but I made guides of fine wire, and was so able 
to make use of the reel. In vain I whipped the waters. 
I could cast only about 30ft, and though I knew that 
coachmen and hackles landed right over the trout, we 
did not get a rise. How to get bait was a serious prob- 
lem. There were no pines, hence no wood grubs. The 
few stones at the bottom of the lake were too deep for 
