The Young Trail Hunters Part 26

Patsey groped blindly about for a few minutes, greatly incensed at our roars of laughter; and then, convinced of his inability to get rid of the mask unaided, seated himself upon the ground, and quietly submitted to have it removed by breaking it with rocks.

The instant it was off, he flew at Hal, and would have soundly thrashed him, "for the thrick he had put upon him," had not Jerry interfered to prevent. This adventure, however, completely cured Patsey of boasting; for not once again during the entire trip did he indulge in what had heretofore been a favorite pastime. Nor was Patsey the only one who learned a lesson while at the Pimo villages. Master Hal, who was determined to try his hand at trading with the natives, found it anything but a profitable business; for he disposed of nearly his entire share of the stock of goods, for articles that were utterly useless to us, and which we were obliged to abandon before getting through.

Five days from the Pimo villages, we reached Fort Yuma, at the junction of the Gila and Colorado rivers; but, with the thermometer at 118 in the shade, we remained at this post only long enough to cross our wagons over the Colorado, when we found ourselves upon the borders of the great California desert, which extends in all directions as far as the eye can reach, except towards the south-west, where, fifty miles away, a mountain-range is to be seen, its blue peaks towering high in mid-air.

The entire country, for hundreds of miles, is covered with a loose, s.h.i.+fting, blinding, white sand, and is entirely dest.i.tute of vegetation or water.

We fancied we were well prepared for the journey over this vast plain; but, notwithstanding the care taken, we suffered all the torments that thirst can inflict, while our poor animals almost famished by the way.

Our route was plainly marked, the entire distance, by the bleached bones and dried carca.s.ses of mules, oxen, and sheep, interspersed with abandoned wagons and whitened skeletons of emigrants, who had perished on the way. At one place, we came upon a train of seven abandoned wagons, loaded with household goods. The harnesses remained where they had been thrown, after removing them; provisions were lying exposed upon a box, as though the family had been obliged to leave before finis.h.i.+ng the meal; but not a living creature was in sight and, from the general appearance of the scene, we judged it must have been deserted for weeks. It was a sad sight: such a picture of desolation, as I care never again to witness.

Who the owners were, from whence they came, whither they were bound, or what was their fate,--must stand one of the secrets of the desert, until revealed at the final day.

After three days of terrible suffering, we reached the banks of Carrizo Creek. It would be impossible to describe the eagerness with which all, men and animals, plunged down its steep banks, or how we laughed and shouted as the murmur of its sparkling waters fell upon our ears, or with what pleasure we laved our burning flesh in its coolness.

This oasis in the desert is deserving a more extended description than I can give here; for it probably has not its equal in the world. The stream rises in sand, flows through sand, and disappears in sand; having worn for itself a channel about a mile in length, fifteen or twenty feet deep, and nearly thirty in width. The water is clear, and deliciously cool and sweet.

Here, under the benign influence exerted by this spring, we all for a time forgot our troubles: even Patsey so far forgave Hal for the "thricks he had put upon him," that I saw them sitting together, waist-deep in the water; the Irish boy utterly oblivious of the fact that he had neglected, before taking his bath, to remove the "buckskin suit," which had already become considerably shrunken and curtailed, of its fair proportions, by reason of its previous wettings.

During the night we encamped here, I suddenly awoke from a very sound sleep, and saw the form of old Jerry, standing in bold relief in the moonlight upon the top of the bank, and Apparantly gazing far out into the desert.

He stood so long motionless, that I thought him asleep; but, upon speaking, to my surprise he came and seated himself by my side, and said, "Look here, judge, I want to tell yer a story. Will yer hear it?"

I told him I would, with pleasure; and he began as follows:--

"It was nine year ago this spring, and the first trip I ever made across this desert. We hed been six days from Yuma to this place: the sun all the time like a ball of fire, and the sand so hot it burnt one's naked feet to a blister. Not a drop of water hed we hed for our animals for three days, and only a teaspoonful for ourselves.

"On the mornin' of the sixth day, my thirst became so great, that I determined to start out by myself, and find water. I give my mule the rein, and he brought me to the edge of this gully; and, when I looked down into it and see the clear, cold water sparklin' and s.h.i.+nin' like diamonds, why, I burst right out into a loud laugh.

"After I stopped laughin', and was a-gittin' down towards the water, I heerd a kind of noise from the other side of the creek, and looked up; and, the first thing I see, settin' on the edge on t'other side, was a boy about twelve years old, tryin' ter call to me.

"At first I couldn't believe my own eyes; but I shut 'em up for a minute, and looked again, and there he was, as plain as day, and not another livin' creeter but my old hoss in sight.

"Well, I was beat, an'no mistake. Bless me! I kin see the little feller jest as I seen him that morning,--and a perfect little gentleman he was too. Yes, and I've seen his pale, thin face and great starin' brown eyes a-lookin' into mine, a thousand times since that day.

"I went right over to where he was, and spoke ter him. The little feller smiled when I came up, and shook his head, as much as to say, that he couldn't speak. I asked him where he came from, and where his folks was, and how they come ter leave him alone on the plains, with n.o.body to look out for and take care of him; but he only shook his head, and looked up into my face so piteous and sorrowful like, that I felt my heart go right out to him. I couldn't understand how the little feller got there; for his clothes were all new,--the soles of his little boots warn't even stained.

[Ill.u.s.tration: A Mystery.]

"Well, I talked to him a long time afore I remembered I hadn't had a drink myself; so I asked him if he wanted water, and he nodded his head.

I went down to the creek there, and filled my hat, and warn't away more than three minutes; but, when I got back, he was gone."--"Where did he go to, Jerry?" asked Ned, who, unperceived, had been listening to the story.

"Go to," echoed Jerry, "ther ain't anybody kin tell that. Why, I hunted every foot, for a mile around, and couldn't find a sign of his trail; and I never have seen or heerd of him since. Now, judge, I seen him, felt him, talked to him, and know he was there; and thar hain't never been a doubt in my mind as to what become of him."

"Well, Jerry, how do you account for his disappearance?" inquired I.

"Angels!" was the sententious reply.

"Pooh!" remarked the matter-of-fact Ned; "angels don't wear clothes and boots."

"How do you know?" inquired Jerry.

"Why, I never heard they did," answered Ned.

"Did you ever hear they didn't?" continued the old man. "I never believed in 'em much afore then, and I sartin hain't bed no reason to, on this trip, so far as I know. Now, judge, you're the first one I ever told that story to; and it's true, every word of it. What do yer reckon become of him, if 'twain't angels?"

"I can't say, Jerry," was my reply. "That is one of the secrets of the desert, which I cannot answer."

"Well, I reckon I've talked, about as long as I ought to, at this time of night; but I've never come this way since then, without thinkin' thet perhaps I might see him again. I never shall, though, I reckon; and I s'pose I'd better give up all hopes of it, and may as well go to bed again."

As soon as he had gone, Ned crawled over to my side, and said, "Do you really believe that it was an angel Jerry saw?"

I endeavored to explain to the boy, that Jerry had been the victim of one of those strange illusions defined in Sanskrit, as "The thirst of the gazelle," which is frequently experienced by travellers in the desert, causing them to imagine they see those objects in which their souls most delight, but which exist only, in their imaginations. Nor is it possible, ever after to convince the beholder, that the vision was not real.

The following day's journey carried us out of the arid, desert country, through magnificent groves of oak, over beautiful green prairies, and by ranches, whose cattle were, in truth, "feeding on a thousand hills." The contrast was as surprising, as it was graceful and pleasing; and, when at last we reached the summit of the high land that overlooked the beautiful blue waters of the Pacific, and saw, cozily nestled on the plain below us, facing the sea, the quaint old town of San Diego, with its magnificent date-palms, and rare old architecture, we all fairly shouted for joy.

The dangers and perils we had pa.s.sed through, the privations we had suffered, the petty jealousies that had arisen, the unkind words spoken, --all were alike forgiven and forgotton in the rapture caused by the sight of that "s.h.i.+ning sh.o.r.e" we had travelled so many weary miles to see.

Our arrival at San Diego was most opportune, for there was a great scarcity of goods in the market, which enabled us to dispose of ours, at such prices that we realized a handsome profit, after paying the expenses of our entire trip.

Indeed, we found ourselves in the possession of so much money, that we deemed it advisable to hold a consultation, as to the best manner of investing it.

Hal declared, that he would speculate with it; and thereby take the chance of doubling the capital in a few weeks, perhaps days.

Ned was for purchasing a stock of goods in San Francisco, and going into general merchandise.

Jerry declared for a stock-ranche, and I--why, I decided with Jerry, of course.

"And what do you say, Patsey," called out Ned.

"Well, I'd take the money, an' buy me a new buckskin suit, and sthart back for the ould country, shure. Divil a day would yez kitch me stoppin'

in a counthry like this, iny longer thin it would take to git out of it."

After properly canva.s.sing the matter, we decided to purchase a ranche, stock it well with cattle, and place it in charge of old Jerry, with Hal and Ned as a.s.sistants, and Patsey as "general utility boy."

The ranche, under old Jerry's management, has become a valuable piece of property, branding over a thousand calves the last spring.

Hal, who, since his arrival here, has corresponded regularly with Juanita, is now on a visit to Chihuahua, and the last letter I received from him spoke of his marriage as a settled thing in the coming fall.

After that interesting event is over, he proposes to bring his wife home with him.

Ned is one of the most respected and honored citizens of San-Diego county, and Patsey is growing rich from the profits of a small country store.

Old Jerry is alive, and insists upon having his camp-fire lighted every night, smoking his pipe by the cheerful blaze, and telling a story. Then he spreads his "painter-skin," and "turns in;" for nothing will induce the old man to sleep within the four walls of a house. He says "it chocks him right up, so, he can't; fur the life of him, he don't see how a white man can stan' it."

And now, my dear readers, having crossed the Continent together, and at last found a home upon the sh.o.r.es of the beautiful Pacific, you and I must part; but, if you ever chance to visit San Diego, come and see us at the Buena-Vista stock-ranche, and you shall hear old Jerry tell a "story of the road," beside his camp-fire, and receive from Hal and Ned a genuine Western welcome.