• PLATES I., II., III., IV. Pottery from San Diego at end of volume
• PLATE V. Pottery from San Diego and Casas Grandes at end of volume
• PLATE VI. A Tarahumare Beauty facing page 266

Heavy floods in the southern part of Arizona and New Mexico, with consequent wash-outs along the railroads, interfered with my plans and somewhat delayed my arrival at Bisbee, Arizona, a small but important mining place from which I had decided to start my expedition. It is only some twenty odd miles from the Mexican border, and the Copper Queen Company maintains there well-supplied stores, where the necessary outfit, provisions, etc., could be procured. The preparations for the start consumed more than two weeks. Animals had to be bought, men selected and hired, provisions purchased and packed. In the meantime I was joined by the various scientific assistants appointed to take part in the expedition.

The horses and mules were bought in the neighbourhood. In purchasing animals much caution is required in that part of the country, as even men who pose as gentlemen will try to take advantage of the situation. One such individual not only raised his prices, but delivered unbroken animals. Much loss of time and endless annoyance were caused, first in the camp and later on the road, by unruly mules, that persistently threw off their packs and had to be subdued and reloaded.

Gradually, I had succeeded in finding the necessary men; This was another hard task to accomplish. There are always plenty of fellows, ready for adventures, greedy to earn money, and eager to join such an expedition. But to select the right ones among the cow-boys and miners of the border lands is most difficult.

By what appears, furthermore, to be the compensating justice of Nature, the treasures of the earth are always hidden in the most unattractive, dismal, and dreary spots. At least all the mining places I ever visited are so located, and Bisbee is no exception. To get away from the cramped little village and its unsavoury restaurant, I established my first camp four miles south of it on a commodious and pleasant opening, where we could do our own cooking. But here a new annoyance, and rather a curious one, was met with. The cattle of the region evinced a peculiar predilection for our wearing apparel. Especially at night, the cows would come wandering in among our tents, like the party who goes about seeking what he may devour, and on getting hold of some such choice morsel as a sock, shirt, or blanket, Mrs. Bossie would chew and chew, “gradually,” to quote Mark Twain, “taking it in, all the while opening and closing her eyes in a kind of religious ecstasy, as if she had never tasted anything quite as good as an overcoat before in her life.” It is no use arguing about tastes, not even with a cow. In spite of this drawback, it was pleasant to be out in the country, which was growing delightfully green after the rains, and gave us a foretaste of what we might expect.

The last thing to do, after all other preparations had been completed, was to get into the camp three small bags containing seven hundred and fifty Mexican dollars, since among the Mexican country population paper money is hardly of any use. There was some talk about a raid on the camp by some toughs in the neighbourhood, but we made our start unmolested, on September 9, 1890.

Thanks to my letters from the Mexican Government, I had no trouble at the custom-house in San Pedro. I stopped a few days there, nevertheless, to buy some Mexican pack-saddles, called aparejos, which, roughly speaking, are leather bags stuffed with straw, to be fastened over the mules’ backs. Through the courtesy of the Mexican custom officials I also secured two excellent and reliable Mexican packers, to take the place of some Americans who had been fighting in the camp and proved themselves unfit for my purpose.

As a mark of regard, one of the custom officers invited me to act as godfather to his child. I had to support the baby’s head during the ceremony, while an elderly woman held the little body. According to custom, I gave twenty-five cents to every member of the party, and to the child a more adequate present. From now on I was called compadre by most of the people in the village, and that sacred relationship was established between myself and the baby’s family, which is deemed of so much importance in the life of the Mexicans. During ten years of travel and ethnological activity I have never met the child again, but I hope that he is getting on well.

How beautifully fresh the country looked as we travelled southward in Northern Sonora! The dreary plains of Arizona gave way to a more varied landscape, with picturesque hills studded with oaks and mountain cedars. Along the rivers cottonwood was especially noticeable. There was also an abundance of wild-grape vines. Everywhere near the shady creeks I saw the evening primrose, brilliantly yellow, while the intense, carmine-red flowers of the lobelia peeped out from under the shrubs. But of all the flowers on the banks of the streams, the most remarkable was the exquisitely beautiful Datura meteloides, with its gorgeous white crown, six inches long and four inches wide. We saw one cluster of this creeper fully fifty feet in circumference. It is well known among the Navajo Indians that the root of this plant, when eaten, acts as a powerful stimulant; but the better class among the tribe look upon it with disfavour, as its use often leads to madness and death. The effect of the poison is cumulative, and the Indians under its influence, like the Malays, run amuck and try to kill everybody they meet.

There is also found a species of cactus, with a root which looks like an enormous carrot. One small plant had a root four feet long. It is used as soap.

Among the birds, doves and flycatchers were most commonly seen, one species of the latter frequently dazzling our eyes with its brilliant vermilion plumage.

The men I had hired before crossing the border did not work at all well with the Mexicans. They generally considered themselves vastly superior to the latter, whom they did not recognise as “white men.” Personally, I preferred the Mexicans, who were obedient, obliging, and less lawless than the rough, mixed-white citizens of the American Southwest. As an illustration of the moral status of the frontier population, I may relate that when about sixty miles south of the border, a custom-house official stationed in the neighbourhood insisted upon examining all my baggage, which, of course, would have involved a lot of trouble. He was neither worse nor better than other custom officers, who seem to exist only to annoy people, and by the exertion of a little patience I succeeded in settling the matter satisfactorily. But one of my foremen, who had noticed my annoyance, came up to me and asked if I desired “to get rid” of him; if I did, said he, he knew how he could serve me so that nothing more would be heard from the Mexican!

I gradually weeded out this unscrupulous element among the men, and replaced most of the American with Mexican muleteers, who are far superior in that particular line of business. In hiring them, only one precaution had always to be observed: never to accept one unless he had a good recommendation from his village authorities or some prominent man in the neighbourhood.

The first village of any importance we passed was Fronteras. It is built on the summit and slopes of an elevated plateau and looks extremely picturesque at a distance. Seen close, however, it turns out to be a wretched little cluster of adobe, or sun-dried brick, houses. Not only the town itself, but also all the ranches in the neighbourhood are erected on elevations, a precaution from former days against the bloodthirsty Apaches.

Not so very long ago Fronteras was quite an important place, numbering, it is said, some 2,000 inhabitants. But the Apaches, by their incessant attacks, made the life of the villagers so miserable that the place became depopulated. Once it was even entirely abandoned. Many stories of the constant fights with these savages are related by the survivors of those struggles. Never was it safe in those days to venture outside of the town limits. Yet the conflicts did not always end in one way, and the Mexicans sometimes got the better of the raiders, although it may be doubted whether the methods by which these results were brought about would come under the rules of modern warfare.

One bright moonlight night an old man, who had himself taken part in many an Apache fight, led me to a deep gorge where seven Apaches once met their doom. The story he told was as follows:

A large band of warriors came threateningly into the town. They had killed two hawks and, decorated with their feathers, were on the warpath. As they were in such numbers the Mexicans realised that it would be useless to attempt resistance, and therefore sued for peace, which was granted. A peace-banquet followed, during which mescal, the Mexican brandy, flowed freely, distributed without stint to the warriors by their wily hosts, who were abiding their time. When the Apaches were intoxicated the villagers fell upon them and captured seven men; most of the band, however, managed to escape. Next day the prisoners were taken to the ravine and speared, charges of powder being deemed too good for them. Only el capitan, pointing to his head, requested, as a special favour, to be shot, which was done. Their bodies were buried in the ravine where they fell, but too long a time had already elapsed since the event to enable me to secure for my collections the specimens for which I had been on the lookout. Yet I was told by the inhabitants that the ground about the town was so full of Apache remains that I should have no difficulty in gaining my object in places close by. A number of Apaches, men and women, I was informed, had once been dumped into a well. I set to work at the place indicated, and our efforts were rewarded by the exhumation of eight skulls in perfect condition, besides many typical bones. The last raid of the Apaches on Fronteras was in 1875.

Passing Cochuta about a hundred miles south of Bisbee, we came upon a deposit of fossils. It was scarcely more than a mile in extent, but many bones were said to have been taken away from it as curiosities. I had already observed isolated fossil bones along the creeks on several occasions during our travels, but we could find nothing here of value.

Signs that the country was in former times occupied by another race than its present inhabitants are seen everywhere throughout the region we traversed following the road to the south. Here they appear frequently as remarkable groupings of stones firmly embedded in the ground. Only the tops of the stones (the total length of which is about one foot) are seen above the surface, much as stones are used in parks and gardens for ornamental purposes. They are arranged in circles or in rectangles. I saw two circles close to each other, each six feet in diameter. One rectangle measured fifty feet in length by half that in width. Low walls divided it into three indistinct partitions. There was never any wall built underneath these surface stones, nor were there any traces of charring. Among the ruins found on top of the hills we collected a lot of broken pottery and some flint arrowheads. In several places in this district we found gold and coal, but not in paying quantities.

Some forty miles south of Cochuta we turned in a southerly direction, ascending a hilly plateau 3,200 feet above sea-level. Here we observed the first orchids, yellow in colour and deliciously fragrant, and in the cañon below we met the first palms. The rocks continued to show volcanic and metamorphic formation.

About 130 miles south of Bisbee we caught the first glimpse of the Sierra Madre rising above the foot-hills, some forty miles off to the east. Its lofty mountain peaks basking in the clear blue ether, beckoned to us inspiringly and raised our expectations of success. This, then, was the region we were to explore! Little did I think then that it would shelter me for several years. It looked so near and was yet so far, and as we travelled on southward the sight of it was soon lost again.

We gradually descended to the Bavispe River, a name here given to the Yaqui River, in accordance with the custom which the Mexicans have in common with people in other parts of the world of giving different names to one river in its course through different districts. It was a treat to catch the first sight of the magnificent sheet of water the river forms near the town of Opoto, as it slowly wends its way through green shrubs. It is the largest river of the west coast of Mexico and is here about 1,400 feet above the level of the sea.

Following the river to the south, we soon passed the towns of Guasavas and Granados. The vegetation along the river banks is in strong contrast to the land in general. Here are fields of sugar-cane, and in the orchards, orange, fig, and lime trees grow in abundance. The country, though fertile, is dry, and the heat is great. Even at the end of October the thermometer sometimes registered 100° F. in the shade. The grass had become dry and scarce, and it was difficult to keep the animals in satisfactory condition.

This territory was once in the possession of the large tribe of Opata Indians, who are now civilised. They have lost their language, religion, and traditions, dress like the Mexicans, and in appearance are in no way distinguishable from the labouring class of Mexico with which they are thoroughly merged through frequent intermarriages.

As we passed the hamlets, our large party and outfit created quite a sensation and aroused the people from the uneventful routine of their daily existence. They used to surround my tent, especially mornings and evenings, as if an auction had been going on inside. Some of them wanted to sell things that would come in handy, such as fowls or panoche (brown sugar). One woman offered me three chickens for one dollar. I told her she charged too high a price, as chickens were not worth more than twenty-five cents apiece; but she insisted that she wanted a dollar, because she had promised that amount to the padre for reading a mass for a man who had died in the time of Hidalgo at the beginning of the century.

But most of the crowd flocked to my tent to consult me about their ailments. It was useless to tell them that I was not a medical man, or that I had not much medicine to spare, carrying only what I expected to use for my own party. If I had given them all they wanted, our little stock would have been exhausted on the first day; but in order to soften my heart they would send me molasses, sugar-cane, and similar delicacies. One poor old woman who was suffering from cancer even offered me her donkey if I would cure her—an offer in a way equivalent to a Wall Street magnate’s millions, for the donkey was her sole possession on earth.

They all were anxious to have me feel their pulse, whether there was anything the matter with them or not. They firmly believed that this mysterious touch enabled me to tell whether they were afflicted with any kind of disease and how long they were going to live. A woman in delicate condition wanted me to feel her pulse and to tell her from that when her child was going to be born. I only hope that my practical advice and the little medicine I could give them relieved some of their backaches and sideaches, their felons, croups, and fevers and agues, and above all, their indigestion, which is the prevailing trouble in that section of the country. But I confess that I was nearly tired out with these consultations. In consequence of frequent intermarriages there are many deaf and dumb persons among them, and epilepsy and insanity are by no means rare.

On the other hand, I was assured that such a character as a thief was here unknown. However this might be, it was certain that the Mexicans of Eastern Sonora were a nice class of people. They were pleasant to deal with, very active and obedient, and I never wish for better men than those I then had in my camp, nearly all of whom were from these parts. The people were poor, but genuinely hospitable. Of course they were ignorant, and might not, for instance, recognise a check unless it was green. In each town, however, I found one or two men comparatively rich, who knew more of the world than the others, and who helped me out in my difficulties by going from house to house, collecting all the available cash in town, or what coffee and sugar could be spared to make up the deficiency. One thing is certain, I should never have gotten on so well had it not been for the friendly and obliging attitude of the Mexicans everywhere. As an instance, when the great scarcity of grass began to tell seriously on the animals, I was efficiently helped out by the courtesy of some influential men. Without any personal letters of introduction I received many services whenever I showed my letters of recommendation from the Governor of the State, and had a hearty welcome.

I was so much impressed with the readiness of the people to accommodate and serve me that my notebook contains the remark: “I find the Mexicans more obliging than any nation I have ever come in contact with.” It has been my lot to travel for years in Mexico, and my experience with her people only tended to deepen the pleasant impression I received at the outset. Anyone who travels through Mexico well recommended and conducts himself in accordance with the standard of a gentleman is sure to be agreeably surprised by the hospitality and helpfulness of the people, high and low, and it is not a meaningless phrase of politeness only by which a Mexican “places his house at your disposal.”

It is of the utmost importance to have as your chief packer a man who thoroughly understands how to take care of the animals. It is not the custom in Mexico, as it is everywhere in Australia, to wash the backs of the animals as soon as the packs or saddles are taken off—a precaution which is very beneficial, as it strengthens the skin and prevents inflammation and sores. In the Southwest they do not wash their beasts of burden until the mischief is done and they have to allay the swelling and heal up the cuts. If not properly cared for from the beginning, the animals will soon be ailing; some grow unfit for service, and much time is lost mornings and evenings curing their sores. Through the carelessness of some packers I lost several valuable mules from such wounds. In summer the blue-bottle fly aggravates the annoyance, as it lays its eggs in the open spaces of the skin, and maggots develop in a very short time. Of course there are many ways of ridding an animal of this pest, but here, as everywhere, the proverbial ounce of prevention is better than the pound of cure.

A curious case of a man whose life was threatened by a blue-bottle fly and its maggots came to nay notice. He was a soldier, and once in a fight he had his nose cut off so that the nostrils became entirely exposed. One night when he was asleep, drunk, a fly laid its eggs in his nose, and when these were hatched it seemed as if the man was to be eaten up alive. I gave him some relief by syringing the parts with a solution of corrosive sublimate. Then an intelligent Mexican, who had an extensive knowledge of the numberless native medicinal plants (many of which, no doubt, are very valuable), treated the patient, and in two days the poor wretch seemed to be in a fair way to be saved.

Near Granados I heard of some petroglyphs, or rock-carvings, and sent Mr. Stephen to examine them. The Mexicans called them “Painted Face.” They were to be found only two miles and a half to the northwest of the town, and were interesting. The designs were rudely pecked on the moderately smooth felsite cliffs on a nearly perpendicular wall in the foot-hills, about forty feet above the bed of the arroyo, or gulch. All the human figures were drawn in the characteristic style that we find farther north, the hands and feet being defined with three radiating lines, like a bird’s track. The size of the figure, carved in something like a frame, is about twenty by twenty-four inches, and each of the three figures in the group close below is about eighteen inches high. Some of the drawings evidently represent the deified dragon-fly found almost everywhere among the ruins of Arizona and Northern Mexico. There are also the concentric circles, the conventionalised spiral, and the meander design, so common among the North American Indians, and still in use among the Moquis.

Our botanist, Mr. Hartman, drew my attention to an interesting cactus, which is beautifully shaped like a candelabra, and attains a height of three to five feet. As it grows old, the top joints of the branches become thick and heavy and are easily broken off by the wind. The joints, like all other parts of the plant, are beset with numerous inch-long spines, and many of them fasten in the loose, moist soil and strike root. In this way many new plants are formed, standing in a circle around the mother plant. On sloping ground the young plants form rows, some forty feet long. There was a fruit to be observed, but very scarce in comparison with that of other species of Cereus growing in the vicinity.

From Granados we took an easterly course, being at last able to cross the Bavispe River, which, owing to heavy rains in the sierra, had for some time been overflowing. Starting from this point, the ground gradually rising, we arrived at Bacadehuachi, a small village remarkable for its church, a massive adobe structure, the grand style of which looked somewhat out of proportion in these mountains. It had been built by the Franciscans more than 100 years ago, on the site of an older Jesuit church, remains of which are still in existence, and which in turn had been erected on the ruins of an ancient temple.

While inspecting the church Professor Libbey discovered that one of the holy water fonts or stoups was a piece of great antiquity, and we were informed that it had been dug up from the débris of the ancient temple when the foundations for the present building were laid. Its aesthetic value appealed even to the unscientific builders of the church, who deemed the vessel worthy of a place in the new cathedral, where it served as a bénitier. Unfortunately, it had been found necessary to engrave on the ancient carving some Roman letters dedicating the vessel to its new purpose. Though this somewhat mars its general character, the vase is a most valuable relic of prehistoric Mexico, not only as a masterpiece of ancient art, but still more as a way-mark or sign-post showing the trend of Aztec migrations.

It was not possible to obtain it right away, but a few days later I sent a messenger to a gentleman in Granados, whose wife had been relieved from illness by some remedy of mine, requesting him to use his influence with the priest, and in due course I had the satisfaction of possessing this valuable relic of history. The vase is made of a soft, unctuous stone resembling steatite (soapstone); it is true agalmatolite, a mineral popularly called pagoda stone. Through the mouth of the human head carved out in front passes a copper tube, which once no doubt pierced the thick wall of the vessel and penetrated into its interior. This tube had been stopped up to make the piece available for its new purpose.

Marching for several days through oaks and mesquites, over hills and rising country, we reached Nacori, a poor village in the foot-hills of the Sierra Madre. It is scarcely forty miles from Granados, and lies at an elevation of 3,700 feet. Our camp, about two miles outside of the village, was permeated with a delicious odour of acacia blossoms, and water in the neighbouring mountains, though strongly impregnated with iron, was quite palatable.

In this region Mr. Hartman found a new form of agave with delicate stripes of white on the lanceolate leaves that constitute the basal rosette of the plant. The flower stalk is only twelve or thirteen inches high, and I should not wonder if this diminutive and beautiful century plant some day became fashionable in greenhouses. It grows in large numbers in the crevices of the rocks, the perpendicular walls of cañons often being studded with the bright little rosettes when the drought has withered all herbaceous vegetation.

From here I made an excursion to an ancient pueblo site. As usual, there were traces of small dwellings, huts of undressed stone, and fragments of pottery. We found three mortars and one pestle, a remarkable number of metates (the stone on which corn is ground), and the corresponding grinding stones, showing that a large population must have once lived here, huddled together in a small space.

But the most striking feature of antiquity met thus far on our journey were curious stone terraces built across the small gullies. They are called trincheras (trenches). Some of them do not appear to be very old, and many present the appearance of tumble-down walls, but the stones of which they are constructed were plainly used in their natural state. Although many of the boulders are huge and irregular in shape, they were used just as they were found. The building material always conformed to the surroundings: in places where conglomerate containing water-worn boulders abounded, this was used; where porphyry was prevalent, blocks of that material were employed. There is no trace of dressing or cutting, but in the mason work considerable skill is evident. The walls are not vertical, but incline somewhat toward the slope on which they are erected. The terrace thus formed is often filled with soil to the height of the wall-top for a space of from fifteen to twenty feet. Earth taken from them does not show any colours. Some of these trincheras measure thirty feet in length by four feet in height, while the smallest ones I saw were only five feet long and three feet high. Naturally enough, the largest ones are in the lower part of the gullies; then, some twenty-five feet back and above, others almost as large may be found. As the arroyo rises and narrows, the walls, each placed a little higher up the slope than the preceding one, are necessarily smaller.

In the mountains near Nacori, especially on their eastern and southeastern sides, trincheras were encountered in every gulch as high up as six thousand feet, though steep crests and the mountain tops bear no traces of them. In one arroyo, which was about a thousand feet in length and of comparatively gentle slope, twenty-nine trincheras were counted from the bed of the main drainage to the summit of the mountain. Some of them were quite close together, three being within eighteen feet of one another.

These trincheras somewhat resemble the small terrace gardens of the Moqui Indians, and have undoubtedly been used for agricultural purposes, just as they are used by the Tarahumares to this day (page 152). It is true that they are built in great numbers, sometimes in localities that would appear unsuitable for farming; but, on the other hand, they are seldom, if ever, found far from the remains of habitations, a fact from which it may also reasonably be inferred that the ruined houses, as well as the trincheras, were originally built by the same race. Some of the terraces were, no doubt, erected as a protection of the crop against enemies and wild animals; but it is impossible to think that they were intended for irrigation dams, though we did see water running through some, coming out of a marsh. Still less likely is it that they had been used as mining dams.

As soon as the plains of Northern Sonora were left behind, and the country became hilly and broken, these peculiar structures were conspicuous. At first they appeared more like walls built simply along the slopes of the hills, and not crossing gulches. They seem to be more numerous in the western and central part of the sierra, its spurs and foot-hills, than in the eastern part of the great range. As regards their southern extent, they are not found further south than the middle part of the state of Chihuahua. Captain Bourke, in his book, “An Apache Campaign,” mentions that “in every sheltered spot could be discerned ruins, buildings, walls, and dams, erected by an extinct race once possessing these regions.” Mr. A. F. Bandelier, on his journey to the Upper Yaqui River, in 1885, which took him as far as Nacori, also refers to them, and Professor W. J. McGee, on his expedition in 1895, found in Northeastern Sonora ruins locally known as Las Trincheras, which he considered the most elaborate prehistoric work known to exist in Northwestern Mexico. They comprise, he says, terraces, stone-walls, and inclosed fortifications, built of loose stones and nearly surrounding two buttes.

I must not omit to mention that in a week’s exploration in the mountains near Nacori, Mr. Stephen and his party did not find any pottery fragments, nor flint flakes, nor grinding stones. They reported that there was in that region no other trace of an early people than the hundreds of trincheras in the lower portions of the arroyos.

Noteworthy, however, was the frequent occurrence of old trails across the hills, some quite plainly traceable for three and four hundred yards. Old oaks stretched their limbs across many of them quite close to the ground.

While at Nacori I learned from the inhabitants that at no great distance from their town there were several deposits containing huesos giganteos (giants’ bones), a name given to fossils in this part of the world, where the people imagine that the large bones were originally those of giants. I had then neither time nor men to make excavations of any importance; but Mr. White, the mineralogist of the expedition, whom I sent to look into the matter, and who devoted a week to the examination of the deposits, reported that one of them, in a valley sixteen miles south of Nacori, was a bed of clay thirty feet thick and about a mile and a half long. On the edge of this field he discovered a tusk six feet eight inches long and twenty-six inches at its widest circumference, and having almost the curve of a circle. It was not petrified and had no bone core, but the hole filled in with clay, and its colour was a rich mahogany. It was undoubtedly the tusk of a mammoth.

From the beginning it had surprised me how very ignorant the people of Sonora were regarding the Sierra Madre. The most prominent man in Opoto, a town hardly forty miles from the sierra, told me that he did not know how far it was to the sierra, nor was he able to say exactly where it was. Not even at Nacori, so close to this tremendous mountain range, was there much information to be gotten about it. What the Mexicans know about that region may be briefly summed up thus: That it is a vast wilderness of mountains most difficult of approach; that it would take eight days to climb some of the high ridges; that it contains immense pine forests alive with deer, bear, and wonderfully large woodpeckers, able to cut down whole trees; and that in its midst there are still existing numerous remains of a people who vanished long ago, but who once tilled the soil, lived in towns and built monuments, and even bridges over some of its cañons.

This general ignorance is mainly due to the fact that until very recently this entire part of the sierra, from the border of the United States south about 250 miles, was under the undisputed control of the wild Apache Indians. From their mountain strongholds these marauders made raiding expeditions into the adjacent states, west and east, sweeping down upon the farms, plundering the villages, driving off horses and herds of cattle, killing men and carrying off women and children into slavery. Mines became unworkable; farms had to be deserted; the churches, built by the Spaniards, mouldered into decay. The raiders had made themselves absolute masters, and so bold were they that at one time a certain month in the year was set apart for their plundering excursions and called “the moon of the Mexicans,” a fact which did not prevent them from robbing at other seasons. Often troops would follow them far into the mountains, but the “braves” fought so skilfully, and hid so well in the natural fortresses of their native domain, that the pursuit never came to anything, and the Mexicans were completely paralysed with fear. The dread of the terrible pillagers was so great that even at the time when I first went into the district, the Mexicans did not consider it a crime to shoot an Apache at sight.

Such a scourge did this tribe become that the Governor of Chihuahua had a law passed through the Legislature, which put a certain price upon the head of every Apache. But this law had soon to be repealed, as the Mexicans, eager to get the reward, took to killing the peaceful Tarahumares, whose scalps, of course, could not be distinguished from those of the Apaches.

It was not even now safe for a small party to cross the Sierra Madre, as dissatisfied Apaches were constantly breaking away from the San Carlos Reservation in Arizona, and no Mexican could have been induced to venture singly into that vast unknown domain of rock and forest, about which lingered such painful memories of bloodshed and terror.1 In the early part of our journey a Mexican officer had called on me to offer, in the name of the Governor of the State of Sonora, his services as escort and protection against the Apaches; but I declined the courtesy, preferring to depend rather upon my own men. I am happy to say that I had no personal encounter with the dreaded “Shis Inday,” or Men of the Woods, as they call themselves, though on one occasion we came upon fresh tracks near one of our camps, and also upon small bunches of yucca leaves tied together in a peculiar way known to the Mexicans as signs intelligible only to the Apaches.

The only precaution I had taken against possible attacks was to augment my force of trustworthy Mexican muleteers. Among the new recruits was an honest-looking Opata Indian, who joined the camp one evening, clad in the national costume of white cotton cloth, and carrying in his hand a small bundle containing his wife’s petticoat (probably intended to do duty as a blanket) and a pair of scissors. This was his whole outfit for a winter campaign in the Sierra Madre. They are hardy people, these Indians! This man told me that he was thirty years old; his “señora,” he said, was twenty-five; when he married her she was fifteen, and now they had eleven children.

Finally I succeeded in securing two guides. One of them was a very intelligent man, who had been several times in the sierra; the other one had been only as far as Chuhuichupa, and, although he did not remember the way very well, still he thought that with the help of the other man he would be able to make out the route. As we could do no better, we had to take him as the best guide available.

After having received some supplementary provisions from Granados, I at last, on December 2, 1890, began the ascent. It was a beautiful day; the air was clear and warm and the sun shone bright, as it always does at this time of the year in this favoured region. The genius of spring seemed to hover about, and snow, frost and scarcity of grass seemed far removed contingencies. Everything looked promising.

As I left the town, following the pack-train after having made the last settlements with the natives, I passed a little hut, the last homestead on this side of the sierra. In front of it stood a young girl, her hand raised to shade her eyes against the rays of the sinking sun. She had watched the expedition go by, and was much excited by the strange sight of so many men, the wonderful array of animals and great quantity of baggage never before seen in those parts of the world. With her fine dark eyes, her loose wavy hair and graceful figure, she made a strikingly beautiful picture, and as she called out in a sweet, melodious voice, “Adios, Señor!” I took this kindly greeting from a pretty girl as a good omen for my journey. On the spur of the moment I dismounted and perpetuated the auspicious scene by means of a kodak which I carried fastened to the pommel of my saddle. I wish it had been possible for me to send her that picture as a token of my gratitude for her cheery greeting. She surely would have appreciated it, as all Mexicans delight in seeing their photographs. Then I turned my face to the east and soon overtook my men.

To reach the Sierra Madre from the Bavispe River by way of Nacori, two—or, as the Mexicans consider it, three—sierras have to be crossed, all running, generally speaking, in a northwesterly to southeasterly direction. The first two ranges are quite easy to climb. The third is the Sierra Madre proper, which the Mexicans here call Sierra de Nacori, as the upper Bavispe River from its source makes a great detour toward the north around it, thereby partly separating it from the main chain. Even this range does not really present any unsurmountable difficulties if the weather is fine; in bad weather, I admit, some parts of the trail we made would be all but impracticable.

Having reached the second range called the Sierra de Huehuerachi, near its northern terminus, and looking backward, we see the Sierra de Bacadehuachi lying farthest to the west. On its eastern flank tower steep-tilted broken masses of conglomerate, and the frowning row of hog-backs just north and east of Nacori are only a continuation of that range. But looking east from where we were we obtained the first close view of the main range of the Sierra Madre (Sierra de Nacori). It rises bold and majestic on the opposite side of the valley, at the bottom of which runs the little river of Huehuerachi.

In this valley we camped for two days, being delayed by rains. It was early in December, but we found Helianthus ten to twelve feet high in bloom everywhere in the cañons. A Salvia with a blue corolla, dotted with red glands, was very striking, a new variety, as it proved. We also observed elders with flowers and leaves at the same time, and the Bambusa formed a thick light-green undergrowth in beautiful contrast to the darker shades of the oaks, elders, and fan palms. The latter were the last of their kind we saw on this side of the sierra.

We then went six miles further to the northeast. At first the trail followed the little river, whose clear and rapid water is about a foot deep and on an average six feet wide. Frequently its bed had to be cleared of palm trees to make it passable for the pack train, and big boulders and heavy undergrowth made travel rough. Then, ascending a cordon which led directly up to the main range, we followed for a while a dim trail on which the Apaches used to drive the herds of cattle they had stolen, and which is said to lead to a place so inaccessible that two Indians could keep a whole company at bay. The surface soil we had lately been travelling over was covered with boulders and fragments of conglomerate.

The Sierra Madre was now so close that the tilted masses of its rocks seemed to overhang our tents threateningly where we had pitched them at its foot. From this camp we had about the same splendid view as from the ridge of Huehuerachi we had just left behind; and between us and the foot-hills of the Sierra de Bacadehuachi stretched out a vast mass of barren-looking rocks and hills. The Mexicans call them agua blanca, a designation also applied to the small water course that runs through them in a northerly and southerly direction, but which from our point of view could not be made out in the chaotic confusion. Away off toward the north, at a distance of from fifteen to twenty miles, could be seen a high chain of sharp peaks.

I may mention here that I found the water of many streamlets and brooks throughout the western mountains of Mexico to have a slightly whitish colour and a dull, opalescent look, like a strong solution of quinine. The Mexicans call it agua blanca, or agua zarca, and consider it the best water they have. Many places, especially ranches, are named after it. In the locality where we now found ourselves the water had a slightly bitter taste, owing to a strong admixture of iron and other minerals, but generally it was very palatable.

Here, only twenty-three miles from Nacori, and at an elevation of 4,000 feet, we were obliged to make camp for three days. Dense fogs and occasional hard showers made travel impossible. Besides, our principal guide, Agustin Rios, became dangerously ill. He was sixty-five years old, and I decided to send him back.