Mary in New Mexico

Front matter

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY

NEW YORK ■ BOSTON • CHICAGO • DALLAS ATLANTA • SAN FRANCISCO

MACMILLAN & CO., Limited

Foreword

There are so many adventures to be told about New Mexico and the wonderful country there that one is puzzled how to begin and where to end.

This story is the result of one summer’s experiences but now in this second summer I find many more tales that might be told, of visiting cowpunchers, of sheep herders driven off private grazing grounds, of hedgehogs, and mountain climbs, of travelers caught in sudden freshets.

It is needless to say that many of the incidents in this story are not strictly in accordance with fact! A second summer in the same beautiful mountains has proven almost any adventures possible and the author hopes that according to the old proverb, “If it is not true at least it is well imagined (Si non e vero e ben trovato ).”

Thanks are due to Messrs. Scribner’s & Sons for the use of material taken from The Land of Poco Tiempo by Charles F. Lummis.

Also to Messrs. Macmillan & Co. for some yarns from the Old Santa Fe Trail by Colonel Harry Inman. Both of these books are well worth reading, as they give an excellent account of the great South West both past and present.

I wish to thank also the Denver & Rio Grande Railroad for the use of two photographs.

Taos County, New Mexico,

August, 1921.

I

Adventures in a Cliff Dwelling .

XX. Xxl

The Shot that Missed — and Other Good Fortune ....

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

PAGE

I. Mary and Dave discover the bandit . Frontispiece

II. “Get ap,” she shouted lustily . . . .16

III. The cave was full of echoes and lights . . 47

IV. Pueblo de Taos, showing an underground

ceremonial chamber 92

V. Be sure to hold the horses tight . . . .135

Chapter I

“jLTOW did you folks ever hear there was such a place as Jarosa?” asked the genial conductor-brakeman of the little western train.

“O, it’s on the map and also on the time-table,” we answered laughing.

But after all it was strange for the family of a New England country doctor to be traveling on that “mixed train,” half passenger, half freight, from Blanca to Jarosa very early one July morning.

On either side of the track stretched miles of gray-green sage-brush plain, with here and there a clump of tall cottonwood trees, and an irrigation ditch to indicate some isolated ranch. Far, far away the mountains.

In the seats behind were a flourishing group of swarthy “Americans,” who talked a steady stream of soft Spanish. The little dark children were as much interested as we in watching out of the windows for prairie dogs and jackrabbits. Each little mound between the sage bushes was a house whose owner might be seen sitting erect, its front legs hugging its fat stomach.

l

How had we heard of Jarosa? It had been only a name on a time-table — a connecting link between New England and New Mexico, and right on the border of Colorado, the last railroad station before we should be driven away into the mountains for a long glorious summer on a ranch. The whole trip had been one adventure from the time we had written an answer to an advertisement in a western paper.

The letter in reply had come, brought in by the Doctor while we sat on the porch — we four, Mary, Dave, Trixy and I. It told of a little five-room log cabin, surrounded by fruit trees and pines, and looking toward the continental divide, somewhere in the Rockies, 7500 feet above sea-level. The owner lived near in his adobe ranch house and raised cows and alfalfa. He had beside, a wife and two children. I felt from the first that it was what we wanted; and Mary, Dave and Trixy were unanimous in favor of going. It would mean riding, real horses — cow-ponies. Of course we must go!

There was a certain amount of surprised horror on the part of our relatives.

“Your landlord and his family may be terrible,” said one.

“The high climate may affect your hearts,” said another.

“The cabin may be filthy, disgusting,” said a third.

“Think of the long trip,” said Aunt Susan.

“Yes,” I said, “but think of such names as Valdez,

Taos, Hondo, San Joachim, Arroyo Seco. We can’t find those in the Catskills.”

Then after we had made the decision we had to decide what to take with us, what orders to send on for groceries and supplies. Mary and I spent many moments before the mirror in our new riding breeches. But it was generally agreed to take few new things. Old shoes, old fishing trousers, old hunting shirts, old gymnasium bloomers, overalls, bungalow aprons — these we collected. We felt that the hammock should go but we decided against bathing suits. We took fishing tackle and rods and quantities of blankets and comfortables, although we economized on towels and bed linen. We tried to think of all the possible medicines we would need, so far away from the corner drug store. A few toys for Trix seemed best to take and plenty of mosquito netting. If we had only known that ants, not mosquitoes were likely to prove annoying! Of course our friends gave us good advice. Like Jerome K. Jerome’s famous traveler we could have filled several rooms with the things we were advised to take. But our future landlord had urged us to bring no trunks, so we had a suspicion that the less we took the better.

One day in June the Doctor started out to the unknown land, and three weeks later, when school was over, we four locked our peaceful door on the quiet town street and embarked on the great adventure. Mary, aged thirteen, in middy and blue skirt, a jaunty sailor hat on her light brown, bobbed hair, insisted on carrying the largest bag. Dave and Trix, red haired and blue eyed and somewhat unreliable, carried odds and ends, a doll, a fishing pole, and packages. Dave had a knapsack which was always bumping about on the shoulders of his corduroy coat and generally getting in his way.

Dave objects to being classed with Trix. “It’s not fair. I am nearly twelve, mother. I am lots older than she is,” he would complain. But I cannot get over thinking of those two together.

For the first time Beatrix, aged six, was to be on a sleeper. It was an exciting moment. We had boxes and bundles and roll-ups and every other creature and those had to be carefully stowed away by a grinning porter. Then there was a certain amount of friction caused by the momentous questions of who should sit next the window and who should sit by mother and whose feet were soiling whose shoes. But finally we settled down temporarily and ate the lunch which an unsympathetic providence had brought from home. The children would have preferred the dining car. I confess that misgivings were in my heart at keeping three healthy quarrelsome youngsters contented for three days on a sleeping car. But the porters helped and the passengers helped. For the three are only quarrelsome with each other and are most friendly to strangers. Indeed Trixy’s shrill little voice could be heard frequently from the observation car in intimate conversation with a portly Chicago gentleman. Then, too, the dining car with its little tables, its smiling, willing waiters, its mysterious menu cards that had to be carefully studied, was a thing to look forward to for hours, a thing of joy to look back upon.

Trixy was filled with excitement at the porter as he made up the berth. She watched him as he opened the side of the car and apparently took from it all that was necessary to make her a comfortable bed, with a fascinating little light within easy reach of small hands. So the first two days passed, with glimpses of Chicago and Kansas City, and then the country began to be so new to us all that we kept our eyes fixed on the windows. The tiresome plains were done with. The distant beautiful mountains were well worth a long look, and near by in little mounds were whole villages of interesting prairie dogs.

We hunted for Pike’s Peak for hours before it finally appeared in the distance, suddenly looming up by itself. We read how Pike had searched for it and ridden toward it but had finally given up the complete ascent, owing to the fact that the nearer he got, the farther off seemed the mountain. It always appeared to be within reach but never quite attainable.

All the time our train was climbing. At Denver we changed trains, and at Denver we enjoyed a last dish of ice-cream. It was a farewell to the life we knew so well, to drug stores of easy access, to formal Sunday dinners at grandfather’s!

The next morning we were awakened before five by the faithful white-coated porter. In the dimness of early morning we dressed and packed and at livethirty got out of the through train and watched it steam away, leaving us standing with all our bags and baggage on the lonely platform at Blanca.

We were surrounded by space. Flat plains, distant purple crests, and a dozen or so of wooden houses which made up the village. Then we saw, apparently close to us, the rugged mountain rising without foothills, straight out of the plains, whitecapped “Blanca” indeed. It fairly took our breath away, so beautiful it was in the early morning.

And now the interesting proprietor of the Blanca “Hotel” took charge of us — carried our luggage to his place and told us that breakfast would soon be ready.

There were a few people about even at that early hour. Trixy and Dave begged a ride of a countryman who was carting groceries from the station to a nearby store. Mary and I sat on the freight house platform while I knitted and she watched a couple of real Mexican cowboys, swarthy, with gay colored kerchiefs around their necks and broad-brimmed sombreros. Way off was a little toy train, at least so it appeared, which we were told would take us from Blanca to Jarosa.

And now we have gotten back to our starting point, the train to Jarosa. The engine switched about and Trix decided that she wanted a ride on it. “Go ask the engineer,” was the reply to her teasing. So she went, hesitating slightly. But in a moment she had obtained permission from the friendly, smiling man in overalls. He at least was an American. Up Trix climbed and went switching about with the engine, ringing the bell to warn off cows or prairie dogs.

Finally the cars were attached and we started. The two gay Mexican lads, black haired and handsome, stood on the rear platform, and first Dave, then Mary, then Trixy were attracted to them. Last of all I joined them. The conversation was friendly and courteous — the Mexicans spoke careful English and were naturally as interested in us as we were in them. There were two or three stations and at each we all got off the train and wandered around. No one was in a hurry, every one was friendly and happy.

So peacefully we reached Jarosa; the town we had looked forward to ! A border town, with cheap wooden houses, many “restaurants” and eating places. There may have been churches. There certainly was a freight house which contained our trunks, we gratefully discovered.

Here we found an auto awaiting us. But as there were many who decided to ride in it beside ourselves, we could not take the trunks. However, the driver obligingly waited while a number of necessary things were taken out and piled into the car, which was now literally filled to overflowing. I shall always wonder, as I wondered at the time, why all the other passengers did not take the waiting stage instead of the private conveyance that we had hired for ourselves. Perhaps they were friends of the chauffeur.

The two Mexicans were still with us. They goodnaturedly teased Dave and told him wild tales of Indians and beasts which he would find in the mountains. It seemed they had been to our ranch but had found it too lonely. “You ought to have seen the rattler they killed up there last year,” said one. “It had fifteen rattles,” replied the other gravely.

“Mr. Ransome has seen many bear tracks around,” spoke the first. “Last winter they saw a number of mountain lions.”

“Ho, you’re just trying to stuff me,” said Dave — but I could see that he wriggled a little uneasily.

“How far away is the big Indian pueblo?” asked one of the men.

“Not far, an Indian could easily ride over if he wished,” said the second Mexican.

The mountains were close to us now, at least on one side. But still there were plains to be covered before we began to climb to the ranch. Now like prairie dog mounds appeared the little adobe houses of the Mexicans; the air was filled with the smell of the sage-brush. Far off were other mountains which seemed never to come nearer.

So we rode for miles till we reached Quanta, an adobe village in the foothills. The one-story houses, sometimes cream colored, sometimes pink or blue, with flat, grass-covered roofs, fascinated us. Here our driver suggested that food would be advisable ; he reckoned it was quite a bit farther to the ranch and he guessed we’d get better food in the grocery store than at the hotel. So we followed his advice.

We bought crackers, cheese, potted meat, fruit and bread and butter and retired into the dark back room to eat. The proprietor brought a basin and towels so that we could wash.

“Do you think it’s all right to eat here?” asked Dave. “My physiology book at school says it’s bad to eat dirty food — that it poisons you!”

“I think it’s perfectly safe,” I replied. “There is a difference between dirty food and an untidy place to eat it in.”

Mary was very much amused. She was also a little shocked. It was informal! — and not over clean.

We were not half through buttering sandwiches when our driver turned up and wanted to start. However, he was prevailed upon to wait ten minutes longer.

Then feeling somewhat inadequately fed we got into the automobile once more and started over the last part of our trip.

Chapter II

A CABIN IN THE ROCKIES HE rough road wound around the mountain as best it could, now taking a dip of death into the valley, now struggling up a stony ascent that seemed impossible to anything but a burro. Our driver asked us if we were afraid of hills. “The last ladies I took up screamed and cried,” he remarked.

Up and up we went. It was a long time since we had arisen that morning at five o’clock. We met a small band of wandering horses whose leader had a cow-bell about its neck. They had been turned loose to find good pasture. This also was informal. Finally we reached a wire gate.

“This is the beginning of Ransome’s property,” said the driver. At the same moment the engine stalled and the car refused to move. I had been expecting it all along. It was almost a relief to have it occur. While our chauffeur examined into the possible causes, Mary espied a solitary horseman riding among the pine trees a little way off. He wore a sombrero and apparently all the rest of the costume that appertained to the cow puncher.

“It’s Daddy!” cried Mary.

A Cabin in the Rockies

It is sure enough,” we all echoed. Our driver gave a shrill cowboy call which immediately attracted the rider’s attention.

The next moment the Doctor had joined us and the children were clambering up his horse to get the first kiss.

“Well, I surely did not expect you so soon,” he said. “I was just riding over to finish a small job. Isn’t this great country? Just wait till you see our cabin.”

“Is that our horse?” cried Dave and Trixy.

“Yes, that is Jim Snort. Jim Snort, Dave.”

“Why Jim Snort?” asked Dave.

“Well, his master, who is a real Indian, said he ought to have a last name, and as he snorts a lot, that seemed a good one.”

“I want him,” called Trixy.

“Let me ride him up,” said Dave.

“All right, jump on,” his father answered. So Dave was hoisted up into the big Mexican saddle. The car was now repaired and started up the final hill, with the Doctor standing on the running board.

“Why Daddy, you’ve grown a moustache! And your nose is peeling. You’re as brown as an Indian.”

“Maybe I’m turning into one,” he laughed. “But look, look around. Isn’t this wonderful?”

We turned. Far, far off were the blue mountains. Then queer mound-shaped hills that rose straight out of the gray-green plateaus. Then, seemingly quite near, the canon of the Rio Grande. This was what we were to feast our eyes upon all summer.

We were passing an adobe house in the clearing.

“That is Mr. Ransome’s house. Ours is above.”

A short, sharp climb and we stopped at last, under two towering Douglas firs that looked like redwoods. A little log cabin was nestled among the trees, with an orchard in front and a pasture stretching up in back.

“It’s just perfect,” said Mary.

The Doctor took us exploring, — showed us where the bees lived, where the horses were to be tethered or left to roam at will. The clear brook, rushing back of the cabin, was our reservoir straight from the mountain peaks which rose high above us. In the distance we could hear cow bells, cow bells and the rush of the stream and all the rest a friendly silence.

In the cabin we went to decide in solemn family conclave who was to sleep where and with whom. It was agreed that Dave should be provider of wood and builder of fires, also bringer of water. Mary was to help with the dishes, and the table. Also some housework fell’ to her lot. Trix was to be general helper and mother’s assistant. Her special duty as ordered by the Doctor was to keep mother from working too hard, as ordered by the rest of the family, to keep Daddy from working at all. Dave was to go for the mail, Mary for the milk.

The first evening seemed a portentous time. Dave went with the good-natured Mexican farm helper to drive up the cows into the corral to be milked.

A Cabin in the Rockies

Trix followed, as she had a natural weakness 'for cows. Indeed these beasts were almost irresistible, they were so friendly; and the calves running beside them, so pretty. It was dark before Mary brought in the great can of warm, rich milk and Trixy had to go to bed. Suddenly we seemed very far away and she extremely small. When Dave’s turn came, a certain reluctance was evident. Finally when he was undressed there was a call for mother.

“Do you suppose the Indians could really get here from the pueblo?” he whispered.

“But they are all peaceful, farming Indians.”

“But there are lots of them. And, Mother, listen, what was that? What does a mountain lion sound like?”

Evidently the teasing remarks of the two Mexicans had taken effect. It was some time before Dave was sufficiently reassured to go to sleep. Finally Mary had to be persuaded to retire. It was not fear that caused her reluctance.

“I just can’t go to bed when there is so much to see that’s new,” she said. “I’m thirteen, Mother. Can’t I stay up a little later?”

At last all was quiet and the Doctor and I stood in front of the cabin door and looked up at the friendly, sparkling stars, so many more and so much nearer than at home. Only the rushing brook and the far-off cow bells to keep us company.

Dave had obtained permission to get up as early as he wished the next morning. The Doctor felt that in a few days his enthusiasm for early rising would die down. But the first day the boy slipped out at five o’clock to help drive up the cows.

Trixy, too, was awake and stirring, much to Mary’s disgust, whose room she shared.

In fact, the whole family arose almost with the sun. Soon a brisk fire was burning in the stove. Cereal, pan-cakes, bacon and cocoa were produced smoking hot, which the family were told must be eaten on one plate apiece to save dish-washing.

After breakfast the call came from Mary, “Dave, you have to carry out the milk and butter.”

“Where to? I’d like to know. I thought I was to light fires and get firewood.”

“Well, you have to put the things down in the brook to keep cool. You bring the water and so this fits in.”

“I don’t see it,” said Dave. “Mother, do I have to?”

“I’ll carry things to the cellar and help mother with the dishes. So it’s only fair for you to carry out the things to the brook. Isn’t it, mother?”

“That seems a right division,” I replied.

“I’ll help you, Dave; I’ll carry the butter,” said Trixy.

So Dave departed grumbling, with the big can of milk, to the icy brook which was reservoir and refrigerator at the same time.

When he came back he asked if I thought the butter was wrapped up enough. “You know, mother,” he added, “butter collects germs very easily; my physiology book says so.”

A Cabin in the Rockies

I told him I thought it was all perfectly hygienic.

Just after the dishes had been cleared away, Mr. Ransome and his two children, Edward and Winifred, arrived, Ted bearing a pail of foaming buttermilk and Mr. Ransome a pound of fresh butter. The Doctor introduced them and soon all were chatting together. Ted was about Mary’s age, so the two immediately set to planning rides and good times together. Winifred, twenty-two and at Mills College, in California, asked if there were anything that she or her mother could do for the family comfort. She was assured that everything was just right; that every one had slept well, and that all were longing for the first horseback ride.

“Can’t Mary come down to San Joachim with us this afternoon?” asked Winifred. “Ted and I are going for eggs.”

“O, mother, may I?”

“Surely,” was the reply. “It sounds fine.”

“Dave was a great help driving the cows this morning,” remarked Mr. Ransome. “I hope he’ll help us at night, too.”

“I know he’d like nothing better,” I answered.

Presently our landlord and his children departed and the Doctor showed us the various landmarks of our domain, the currant bushes, the work-shed with its suggestive axe, the nails where the saddles were to hang, the cherry trees and the place where he was planning to build a shower bath with the aid of a piece of gutter piping.

Jim Snort and Nellie, the other horse, now appeared and coming up to the back step knocked loudly with their hoofs.

“They want salt,” said the Doctor. “Trixy, go get some.”

Trixy, overjoyed, ran into the house and brought the salt bag. “Where shall I put it, Daddy?” she asked.

“Right in this box,” said her father. “Then they can’t scatter it.” So Trixy did as she was bid and delightedly watched the two cow-ponies licking up the salt.

“O, Daddy, can’t I ride?” she begged. So the Doctor put a bridle on Nellie and lifted Trixy up on her back.

The child was absolutely fearless. Holding the reins tight, she dug her heels into Nellie’s side. “Get ap !” she shouted lustily, and trotted off through the orchard while the family watched.

“I want to ride, too,” said Dave.

“Where do I come in?” said Mary in an injured tone.

“You are going this afternoon,” replied the Doctor. “Dave, if you want to ride, try to bridle Jim Snort and help me with the saddle.”

The boy was a bit awkward at first and Jim Snort pretended to object to the bridle. He had to be coaxed a little. He puffed himself out where the saddle was put on so that the girths would not be too tight.

“That’s a trick you’ll have to guard against,” advised the Doctor. “Horses don’t like to be

GET AP” SHE SHOUTED LUSTILY

Cabin in the Rockies squeezed at the waist.” But presently Jim Snort was ready and Dave climbed up on to his back. By this time Trixy had returned and the two solemnly rode off together around the house. We could hear them quarreling as to which had the better horse.

“It’s a perfect place for them, isn’t it?” remarked the Doctor.

“I think it’s perfect for all of us,” I replied.

Chapter III

JT was a glorious morning. Far above the blue hills little fleecy clouds chased each other to be lost finally in the deep blue of the sky. The air was so clear that the deep canon of the Rio Grande miles away, seemed only as far across as the next meadow. A table-shaped mountain known as a mesa, seventy miles away, could be seen distinctly.

The children had been left to do a little housework before the family started on an all-day picnic, while the Doctor and his wife had gone for the horses.

It may be said that Mary was the only one who was expected to accomplish much. Dave brought in some wood, however, while Trix pretended to pick up the things that lay scattered about the cabin. Mary, having decided that she could do much more than the other two, began busily sweeping. All at once, in the dim light of the curtained closet which she had started to clean, she saw something moving. Then she heard a curious sound, something like the big grasshoppers that fly through the air on hot summer days. She peered down and then sprang 18 back. “Dave, Trixy,” she called in surprise and fear, “there’s a rattlesnake in Mother’s closet.”

Instantly Dave dropped the stick of wood he had been carrying, while Trix let fall her pajamas and doll, and the two rushed into the room where Mary was. The curtain had been pulled back from the closet and there was a coiled snake whose little red tongue ran in and out venomously. The ominous warning rattle could be plainly heard.

“Run, Dave, run and tell Dad!” cried Mary.

Off sped Dave to the pasture where the horses were, calling loudly every other minute: “Dad, there’s a rattler in the closet.” Meanwhile the snake still remained coiled, and Mary, with Trix at her heels, watched it from a discreet distance.

“What if I had stepped on it in the closet?” the girl thought. “How long has it been there ? Where did it come from?”

The time seemed endless before she heard the hurrying footsteps outside and her father’s laughing voice calling, “Well, Mary, what yarn are you spinning? Where’s the snake? Are you sure it’s not a mouse or a boa constrictor ?”

“You come and see,” Mary answered indignantly.

No sooner had the doctor entered and seen than his face went a little white. He caught up a stout club that was standing in the corner and in an instant had smashed the snake’s head. “You’ve had an adventure and a narrow escape, Mary,” he said quietly.

“Why, I wasn’t much scared,” said Mary. “But can I have the skin and the rattles?”

“Indeed you can,” answered her father, who sat down immediately and skinned the reptile, finding a newly-eaten mouse whole in its stomach.

“That was what brought him,” remarked the Doctor, “and that’s why he didn’t act more quickly. It must have made him sluggish. But how he ever got the creature down whole passes my knowledge.”

The children stood round watching curiously. “It’s not a big snake, only two rattles and that means two years.”

“How big have you seen them, Dad?” asked Dave.

“Well, I think the biggest I’ve seen would have been as long as I am, stretched out. He was an old chap with twelve rattles. That was down in old Mexico, when I was there as a boy. Maybe I’m exaggerating. This fellow is about as long as your forearm, Mary, and how he managed to get that mouse through his mouth is a miracle to me.”

“How do you think he got in?” I asked.

“Why, there are holes through the floor here. I imagine we’ll find many holes just outside the wooden walls. We’ll fill them up — or rather I’ll ask Mr. Ransome, our landlord, to fill them up in the surest way. Maybe he’ll think we will want to leave.”

“You wouldn’t go for a little thing like that,” said Mary scornfully.

“I wonder what a tenant in a Boston apartment would say if he found a snake in his closet?” I remarked.

The Doctor laughed. “I wonder. I think the landlord would have to work hard to persuade him to stay. You may feel differently tonight, Mary, when you hear the wind between the wall paper and the house wall, or when a couple of chipmunks run across the air space above the room.”

“Ugh!” said Trixy and ran out of the room.

“I wish I had my physiology book here. It tells all about cures for snake bites,” remarked Dave. “I think I’ll go down and tell the Ransomes.”