a 
July 3, 1909.] 
to the pan. There wasn’t enough fall, though, 
for ground sluicin’ an’ we couldn’t make any 
boxes, ’cause we had no saw. By good, hard 
steady pannin’ the bar would pay three or four 
dollars a day apiece, but we were lookin’ for 
somethin’ bigger than that. If we didn’t find 
anythin’ better, though, we allowed that we’d 
go after a whip saw, even if we had to travel 
to El Paso for it, an’ make some sluice boxes. 
With a good set of ’em the clean-up would be 
wages, anyhow. Maybe twenty-five or thirty 
dollars a day. 
“We got back to camp about an hour before 
sundown. The burros were not in sight; there 
was no sound of their bell. We hunted around 
an’ around, an’ just before dark found ’em, as 
I had suspicioned we would, one here, one there, 
all dead. ‘Now what do you think?’ I asked 
Jim. 
“He had turned white, like he always did 
when he got mad, an’ his left fore finger was a 
twitchin’ as usual when he was 
that way. I didn’t get no an¬ 
swer ’till he had done let out 
the longest kind of a string of 
cuss words, an’ then he bellered: 
‘What do I think? Just this: 
If I can find out who done it I’ll 
shoot up both of his legs and his 
arms an’ leave him to ’suffer a 
while before he dies, or if he 
don’t die he’ll be such a cripple 
that he’ll wish he had been 
killed.’ 
“We went to camp. The grub 
an’ stuff was just as we had left 
it, knots on the sacks, as I al¬ 
ways tied ’em. The old smooth¬ 
bore an’ all the ammunition for 
it an’ our rifles were safe enough 
in the hollow log where we kept 
’em cached. It was sure enough 
puzzlin’. I kind of began to 
think that I was mistaken after 
all; that the burros had just 
naturally poisoned themselves 
with some kind of weed or bush. 
Any amount of ’em were growin’ round about 
that I had never seen before. Anyhow we were 
sure in a terrible bad fix, hundreds of miles from 
anywhere, afoot an’ broke except for seven dol¬ 
lars an’ six bits in silver, an’ maybe four dollars 
in dust. In the night Jim woke me up. ‘The 
first thing in the mornin’ let’s make a big circle 
around this here camp and see if anybody has 
been cornin’ to it,’ he proposed. 
“ ‘I’ll go you,’ said I. ‘What do you really 
think, now? Was they poisoned by somebody 
or did they get their dope in some weed or 
other?’ 
“ ‘Dog-goned if I know,’ he answered, ‘but 
we’ll sure find out.’ 
“We did. Makin’ the circle next mornin’, 
about two miles north of camp, we came to a 
creek an’ followin’ it up a ways found what we 
were lookin’ for in a patch of putty-like mud 
that was covered with watergrass. The tracks 
were goin’ both ways an’ whoever had made ’em 
wore sandals. There were two sizes of the foot¬ 
prints ; one big an’ wide, the other small an’ 
narrow. Injuns, of course, an’ we’d had no 
idea of any bein’ in that part of the country. 
“We went back to camp an’ fooled around, 
smokin’ an’ figurin’ on what we best do. The 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
sight of our aparejos an’ ridin’ saddles all 
neatly piled an’ useless just naturally made us 
sick. The few dollars we had in silver an’ dust 
wouldn t buy one burro even, an’ we’d need at 
least four to get ourselves an’ outfit back across 
the line. We made up our minds to pan the 
bar, cuttin’ down on store grub an’ eatin’ mostly 
meat ’till we got a hundred dollars. Then we’d 
prospect a while longer an’ if we didn’t find 
anythin better, why we would buy some more 
burros down at the Mexican village, go up to 
El Paso for a new outfit of grub, a saw, an’ 
a couple of miners, so if need be, we could stand 
guard over the animals day an’ night. That’s 
how we figured it. Next, should we follow up 
them tracks an’ find where the Injuns was 
camped, who an’ how many of ’em there might 
be? No, we would not. We’d go to work an’ 
keep an eye out for ’em. We kind of felt that 
they didn t want to kill us, but only to scare us 
away from the placer, which they might want 
You are traveling, seeking gold, 
‘ N&Y- 
I '-'A 
. 'w 
AN ANCIENT METHOD OF FISHING. 
From an old print in the Woodward Collection (now owned by Daniel B. Fearing). 
to wash out themselves in the course of the next 
thousand or two } r ears, or whenever a day came 
that they didn’t wake up too tired to go to 
work. But all the same, Jim allowed, before we 
left the country we’d get even with ’em for 
what they had done. 
“We went at it after dinner an’ by supper time 
panned out about three dollars. The next day 
we made seven or eight more, which was en¬ 
couragin’. The next noon, while we were eatin’ 
dinner, there came a couple of Injuns, each 
ridin’ a nice fat burro. One was big an’ tall 
an’ fleshy, mean-faced an’ little-eyed. T’other 
was a young fellow, sixteen or seventeen year 
old, slim an’ short an’ kind of good lookin’. Both 
wore sandals. ‘Buenos dias, amigos,’ said the 
big fellow, gettin’ down an’ walkin’ over to 
where we sat. 
“ ‘Buenos dias,’ I answered. Jim didn’t even 
grunt, though he saveyed Spanish an’ spoke it 
better than I. He had turned a sickly white, 
his finger was a twitchin’, an’ if looks could 
have killed, the Injun would have dropped dead. 
‘Hold your horses,’ I told him. ‘Let’s hear what 
the fellow has got to say.’ 
“The Injun sat down an’ rolled a corn husk 
cigarette, lit it by the fire, an’ said: ‘You are 
Americans? 
perhaps?’ 
“‘Yes,’ I answered, ‘we are that; and you, ; j 
what tribe do you belong to? Where are you 
camped?’ 
“‘I am a Papago,’ he said. ‘Just the same j 
as the Pimas over in your country. This is 
our land all about here. We are camped some 
distance to the north of this place, putting in , 
our little fields of corn an’ squash.’ 
“I didn’t make any more talk, nor did he for * 
some time, an’ then he asked if we wanted to 
buy a burro or two. Jim spoke up: ‘Yes, we 
want a couple,’ said he. ‘How much are you | 
askin’ for ’em?’ 
“‘How much will you give?’ 
“ ‘Twenty pieces for them two. Seven in sil- I 
ver, the rest in gold dust.’ 
“The Injun shook his head. ‘No,’ said he, ‘no 
silver, no gold. I will trade you one burro for j 
one of your rifles an’ two hundred cartridges.’ I 
“Jim turned whiter than ever. I 
__„ ‘Pardner, I’m goin’ to kill him,’ j 
he sort of hissed, an’ reached for 
his rifle. 
“ ‘Don’t you think of it!’ I told 
him, some sharp an’ mad. ‘If 
you do the whole tribe will be a 
after us an’ what show have we 1 
got? None whatever.’ 
“The Injun looked from one to I 
the other of us, but I could see 
he didn’t savey American at all 
and thought we was quarrelin’ ; 
about makin’ the trade. ‘No,’ I I 
told him, ‘we don’t want to trade j 
off a rifle; we need them. And 
you know one costs fifty pieces fl 
north of the line an’ is worth two I 
hundred here on your side. That 
many pieces will pay for ten bur- 1 
ros at the Mexican settlement j 
down in the valley.’ 
“ ‘None are for sale there,’ L 
said he with a mean laugh. ‘The N 
Apaches have raided the place, :j 
taken most of the stock and 
killed many people.’ 
“ ‘Oh, well,’ I bluffed, ‘we don’t need any I 
burros, so there is no use talkin’ about a trade.’* 
“‘I think the senor is mistaken. He must wj 
need some in place of those I see lyin’ dead [11 
around his camp.’ An’ he kind of laughed as 'j, 
he got up an’ climbed on to his animal. They J|J 
rode off a piece an’ then the big fellow came :j|j 
bade ‘I will give two burros for a rifle,’ he fil 
proposed. 
“ ‘No, we will pay no more than ten piecesH 
for one,’ I told him, and at that he and the J 
young one rode away northward. 
“It was all plain enough to us at last. We|B 
were the victims of a regular Papago trick.M 
They never were killers, but they’ll do most any-B 
thing else to get what they want. This fellow I 
wanted one of our rifles an’ the only way toB 
get it was to set us afoot. He might have runB 
off our burros, but if he did we would go hunt-H 
ing for ’em; maybe walk clear out of theB 
country. So he had poisoned ’em an’ was re-B 
lyin’ on our need of more to get the gun. IlB 
made me sore, but Jim, he bein’ of quicker tem-B 
per just naturally worked himself sick over itB 
an’ mooned around white an’ scowlin’ an’ twitch-B 
in’ an’ swearin’ dreadful. ‘I’m goin’ to killB 
7 
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