We were seated at dusk on the platform outside the DepÔt or railway hotel at Deming, enjoying what the Colonel called: "A feast of reason, and a flow of souls." "We" consisted of the Colonel himself, Joe,[38] a life-long friend of his and an old friend of my own also, Navajo Bill, and myself. The Colonel had just returned from Silver City, Joe had just broken a journey from New York to San Francisco to visit us, and I had just returned from Chihuahua City vi El Paso. As for Bill, with a vague smile flickering on the end of his nose and muzzle—an unengaged smile, waiting for a job as it were, he was merely "standing around" on the chance of the Colonel saying: "Navajo, here's two-and-a-half for you. Go and get drunk."

Who was Navajo? Ah, "that's where you've got me, young man." Heaven knows! I don't think Navajo aspired to have as much identity as that question would imply. He was a sort of odd-man-out-of-place. He had a little shanty up town, and a kind of costermonger's barrow, in which he used to "take the air" with Mrs. Navajo, a lady who looked as if she had been born and bred to make him a suitable wife. Bill had no particular profession. He "went trips" if any one wanted him to. He could drive a team, cook indifferently, was cheerful, obliging, a fair worker, had good pluck, long hair, a queer amusing smile, a gutta-percha physiognomy, a fund of quaint sayings, and altogether was a good man to "have along" on a trip. At present, as the Colonel was suffering a good deal from rheumatism, he attended him as valet and rubber. Bill, with equal confidence, would have undertaken to manage a bank, or transact a diplomatic mission to the Court of St. James.

The Colonel "had the floor," and was referring to his visit to Silver City. "And whilst they were knocking the sawdust out of the Pirates of Penzance all these amateurs—every man and woman in Silver that could squawk, in fact—Lindauer, and Louis Timmer, and Judge Falby, and I, we played pool."

"It isn't everybody that could play pool, while the Pirates of Penzance were catching it like that," commented Joe severely.

"Eh? what does Joe say? Oh, well, Nero fiddled while Rome was burning, and we didn't see why we shouldn't be just as cruel as Nero if we liked. Anyhow——"

"A letter for you, Colonel!" said the hall porter, approaching.

The Colonel arose, and producing his pince-nez glasses, drew near the light that streamed from the hotel door, to glance through the papers contained in the envelope.

"I guess it's only to say that some of your old ranch houses have been burnt by the Apaches, or that your old cows have got 'black-leg' or something," remarked Joe grimly.

"A judgment, likely, for fiddling when the Pirates was a-catching it so," suggested Bill, with a grin.

"That's it," chuckled Joe; "that's it, no doubt!"

"Navajo, can you make corn bread?" asked the Colonel, returning to his seat.

"Corn bread, Colonel! I can make it so a dog can't eat it."

"You can, eh? Well, that settles it. You shall come, then. Go away up to Holgate's stables, and tell them to have the waggon and team ready to-morrow at midday—you see yourself that it is properly greased—and see that three days' feed of corn are put in for the horses, too. I am going down into Mexico."

"And perhaps you won't mind telling us where we come in, in all this? What is going to happen to us?" inquired Joe, with some asperity.

"You will both come too," replied the Colonel calmly.

"To Mexico?"

"Yes."

"Well, we don't want to know your business, of course—we're not asking who your letter is from, or what it's about—we don't want to know how little you gave, or how much you got, but we should just like to know where we're going to in Mexico, and what we're going for? Are we going to 'make a killing,' or to buy a ranch, or only to steal some cattle? And what's the matter with our stopping here, and living comfortably, until you get back?"

"You won't stop here, you'll come right along with me, both of you; and I don't want you to give me any trouble about it, now! Travel improves the mind, and enlarges the ideas. You shall come and study the sister republic, and Navajo and I will introduce you into society down there. If you're smart, you may catch a seÑorita with a big ranch before we get back."

"Where are we going to?"

"The Corralitos ranch. The agreement has just come back from El Paso, accepting the final offer that I made for between two and three thousand yearling and two-year-old Corralitos steers, and I must go down and receive them."

The restaurant at the DepÔt was the rendezvous, at meal-times, of all the high-toned people in Deming. When we left the hotel after the mid-day dinner, therefore, to mount the light waggon in which Navajo sat, curbing the impetuosity of our corn-inspired plugs, with a magnificent assumption of conscious importance, the habituÉs of this frontier Bignon's, armed with tooth-picks and unlit cigars, assembled on the platform to bid farewell to the Colonel. Many a good-humoured sally ensued at his expense, but in no wise disconcerted, he returned shot for shot, as he walked round the waggon and inspected it, expressed his usual surprise that he should be the only man in New Mexico capable of packing a waggon properly, had the blankets, grain, provisions, cooking utensils, Winchesters, and other baggage taken out, replaced it all with his own hands, and finally mounting the box seat, gathered up the whip and reins.

Joe was taking a light for his cigar from one of the bystanders. "Joe isn't ready yet," observed Don Cabeza in a pleasantly ironic way, glancing at the mammoth shoulders that were rounded over the cigar-light. Joe vouchsafed no response. "But give him time," pursued his tormentor more cheerfully, "give him time and he'll get there. Joe will never die suddenly."

The old "forty-niner" approached the waggon with a withering glance at the repacked cargo.

"Have you shown them all how you can pack?" he asked dryly.

"Yes."

"Then we're where we were before, I guess—ready to start again, eh?"

"Exactly."

"Ugh!" And Joe silently mounted, and amidst a shower of "good-byes," we drove off.

They were types, these two. Though nothing delighted them more than systematically to contradict and pooh-pooh one another, to less intimate acquaintances they were the essence of kindness and chivalrous courtesy; and let any one coincide with them when they spoke slightingly of one another, and he would soon find that he had unconsciously undertaken to whip a dogged-looking giant, over six feet high in his socks, and, without being in the least degree stout, apparently about four feet broad across the shoulders.

The Corralitos ranch lay between seventy and eighty miles over the border, in Chihuahua, in Mexico, and was a hundred and ten miles from Deming. The first day's drive to Smith's Wells was only eighteen miles. Thence to Ascension was an easy two days' drive, over a somewhat heavy road. On the fourth day Corralitos was reached early in the afternoon. Between Smith's Wells and Ascension, it was necessary to camp out on the Boca Grande River.

The gradual settling up of waste lands in the United States had already begun to turn attention towards Northern Mexico, when railway promoters recognised a fresh field in it for their enterprise. But until the lines they projected to connect it with the railway systems of the States were completed, properties purchased there were comparatively worthless. Now the aspect of things is changed; land is rising rapidly in value; and the probability that the magnificent provinces which compose the upper tier of the Mexican provinces will eventually become incorporated with the United States gathers strength each day. American politicians still scout this notion. But it must be remembered that such men are for the most part politicians by profession—theorists unaffected by the interests, and ignorant of the influences that sway the masses, not business men engaged in every walk of life and practically cognisant, therefore, of the questions submitted to them.

To judge fairly on such a subject as the one now broached, look at the map, contrast the characters, condition, strength, and relative rates of advance of the two peoples concerned; above all, gather the views of the American cattle-men, miners, traders, and railway stock-holders, of the large landowners (foreign, American, and Mexican) interested in the consummation of the union referred to, for these are the people who intend to bring it about.

It is idle to talk of justice and the obligations of honour in days when the hereditary right of a people to valuable land is hardly recognised, certainly not respected, unless they make good that right by cultivation. On all sides we see the traditions of law in this respect disregarded. Land would appear to belong in reality to those who most want it—to those who can render the best account of it. The tenure of the sluggard is on sufferance only. Even the strong, conservative, but unprofitable oak yields place to the seeded corn-stalk. And where Yankee enterprise and British tenacity have penetrated, and are busy, the rule of Mexican sloth is doomed. The Eastern politician may say that the annexation referred to is impossible, that the United States has land enough, and does not require any part of Mexico. But a nation is as little able to control its growth as a child. How much of what was once Mexican soil lies now within the borders of the United States? What were once California, Colorado, Arizona, New Mexico, Texas? How many are the sacred contracts that the Washington Government has entered into, to respect the reservations of the Indians? Yet one by one these reservations have been redeemed by the plough, or overrun by the horned hosts of the cattle king. And now, in travelling through the States, one frequently hears indignant protests uttered against the Government for "giving" (!) the Indians the little land which still remains in their possession.

As a matter of fact, there is no unoccupied cattle-range of any importance left in the States. The range there is absolutely diminishing, since in many places it is being, or already has been, eaten out. The ranchero in overcrowded Texas, in full New Mexico, and dry Arizona looks over the border and sees in Northern Mexico a vast cattle country, superior to anything that the States ever possessed, still comparatively unused, in the hands of drones for whom he has an undisguised contempt, and under the dominion of a weak and corrupt Government. What does he care about the political feelings of his rulers, or the diplomatic difficulties of annexation!

Side by side with the temptation afforded by this splendid grazing, lies another, equally powerful, but affecting a different class of men, namely, the evidence of greater mineral wealth than was discovered even in California. The conclusion arrived at many years ago by Humboldt, that in these States would eventually be found the richest mineral deposits in the world, seems likely to be verified. And has the Government at Washington ever shown signs of the qualities that would be necessary to preserve Mexico from absorption by the American people under these circumstances?

The "Government!" The Government will have little voice in the matter. In the United States more than in any other country, is the so-called Government merely an institution for formulating, and shedding a legal glamour over the wishes of the masses. It deals with and rounds off accomplished facts; it does not initiate movements, and dictate them to the people. The duty of Government in this case will be to arrange some scheme of purchase to tickle the national conscience and soften the aspect of the transaction, whilst none the less enabling the United States troops to remain in Northern Mexico when once a revolution has given them an opportunity of "crossing the border to protect their fellow citizens." Talleyrand once said indignantly: "On s'empare des couronnes, mais on ne les escamote pas." Things have changed since he lived; the latter course now fits far better with our temper.

If there is any cause for surprise in this matter, it lies in the fact that Mexico should have remained isolated so long—that so shiftless a race should have retained their independence in so rich a country. This is due not a little to the ill success which attended the earlier speculations there of American capitalists. The causes of this ill success were various. A prejudice originated in Mexico against Americans during the war, and the behaviour of the "rustlers" and malefactors of all kinds, who, flying from justice in the States, have been accustomed to seek refuge in the sister republic since then, has kept this feeling alive. Even the better class of Americans who penetrated into Mexico, have been apt to display there (as, for that matter, they are often apt to display elsewhere) an autocratic, impatient, and pugnacious spirit, which contrasts oddly with their tolerance of abuses, and free admission of the right of "a coon to do as he durned pleases," in the States. The American abroad and the American at home are two totally different beings. In Mexico they have had to deal with an intensely conservative people, whose dilatory and slack way of doing business was the very polar antithesis of the slap-dash, energetic, and decisive style to which they themselves are accustomed. In place of accommodating themselves to these conditions, they appear to have endeavoured to force their own methods on the natives, and failing in this, to have treated them with systematic contempt. Unfortunately their numbers, and the influence of their Government, have not been sufficient until lately to sustain them in this mode of procedure, and consequently, in the face of an already established ill-feeling, it has resulted in uniform business failure. "They could not get on with the Mexicans," they found. It would have been strange had it been otherwise. Add to the unfavourable impression which the above circumstances left in American minds, the unfortunate experience which some investors gained by plunging into land speculations, without previously inquiring into Mexican land laws, and sifting the titles to the ranch property they coveted—titles which are vested sometimes in all the living members of a family—and the once marked indisposition of American capitalists to invest in things Mexican will be fully understood.

I have said that, as a cattle country, Northern Mexico is preferable to any section of the United States. Bold though the assertion may seem, it is undoubtedly correct in so far as the greater part of Sonora, Chihuahua, and Cohuila are concerned. In Northern Mexico, the percentage of increase amongst a hundred cows frequently reaches ninety-five, and is rarely below eighty—an average that is unapproached anywhere in the States, save in Southern New Mexico. There are no winters to kill the young calves, and at intervals sweep off forty or fifty per cent. of the whole herd, as in Montana, Wyoming, etc.; no piercing "northers," or cold sleet storms to cause cattle to drift a hundred miles or more; no droughts, such as entail enormous losses in Colorado, Kansas, Texas, and elsewhere in the West (dry seasons do occur, but they are never sufficiently dry to prevent the growth of new grass); there is no sickness; neither flies nor screw-worms trouble the cattle; no plagues of locusts strip the ranches of herbage in a night, as is the case sometimes in California; the country is far enough south to be within the limits of the semi-tropical rainy season, and yet lies, for the most part, at such an altitude that the summer climate is comparatively cool and bracing. None of the risks and dangers which face the ranchero in other countries have to be encountered here. On the other hand he has the advantage of fine breeding and maturing grounds in close juxtaposition, inasmuch as the plains are unrivalled in the former respect, whilst the gramma-carpeted foot-hills and plateaux of the Sierra Madre compare, upon almost equal terms, with the bunch-grass valleys of Montana and Wyoming as regards the latter.

Another advantage enjoyed by the ranchero in Mexico—one which cow-men will be amongst the first to recognise, and which, as cattle countries fill up, will become of more and more importance—is that he is able to purchase his ranch entirely, and does not simply graze his cattle on Government land which he controls in virtue of the water rights that he holds. His herds, therefore, are isolated, and he alone derives the advantage of any expense that he may choose to go to in improving their breed. No outsider can sink a well or take up a desert claim in the midst of his range, and either run cattle there or impound those of the original tenant for trespass. If he pleases, he can put a ring-fence round his property and remove any intruder from it. And this is no slight privilege.

In Sonora and Cohuila very many of the old grants, besides immense tracts of public land purchased from the Mexican Government, have already passed into the possession of foreigners. In Northern Chihuahua, only one large ranch (the Boca Grande) remains in Mexican hands. Foreigners also own large bodies of land further south in this province. Influenced, no doubt, by the present agitation against them in the States, the Mormons are silently but continuously pouring into Sonora and Chihuahua, and acquiring land in all directions. Polygamy is a little out of date certainly in times when even monogamy is apt to be regarded as too irksome a burden. But the United States have no quieter or more industrious a class of men to send forth than are these much-married individuals. They work systematically and have capital to invest if necessary, and the condition of prosperity that they will initiate wherever they settle will soon enhance the value of adjoining land.

Few people, who have not at intervals passed over waste lands out West, can conceive the rapidity with which a country, once opened up, is appropriated and developed in these days of steam and telegraphy; few people can realise what enormous masses of population year by year roll forth from the crowded hives of Europe and the Eastern States.

And be it remembered that the country to which I have referred lies not in any remote corner of the world, but close to the centres of trade and population in America, and within twelve days' journey of England. The "boom" in land, therefore, will be sharp and swift there. Of course, the possibility of these provinces being annexed to the States is a question of importance for the investor to consider, since the future value of property there hinges to some extent upon it. But this aside, the advance in the value of ranches will be rapid enough. Already it is treble that which it was six or seven years ago. Annexed or not annexed, at the rate that foreigners are now occupying the country, the power of the Mexican Government there will be merely nominal before long. The taxes levied by it are extremely light, and sensible settlers have absolutely no trouble with the officials; judicious investments there can hardly fail to prove profitable, therefore.

Whilst we have been discussing the fate of Northern Mexico, our waggon has made good its way to Smith's Wells, where a little adobe building of three small rooms was to be our shelter for the night.

Smith was an Englishman who had been settled for many years in the States, but had formerly served as steward on board one of the Transatlantic passenger steamers. He was rather amusing, inasmuch as, a great talker, he gave absolutely true, or at any rate matter-of-fact accounts of things, without using any of that pleasant varnish of fiction often adopted even by a whole community as if by mutual consent, in the discussion of open secrets of corruption, or the disgraceful conduct of affairs, public or otherwise. Smith called murderers murderers, thieves thieves, cowards cowards, and so forth; in fact, his ill manners were quite refreshing.

He was well informed on the subject of recent Apache wars (having held the post of packer, teamster, or something of the kind with the troops), and his histories of the battles, skirmishes, etc., that had taken place, compared with those currently accepted, were very laughable. They were particularly amusing in the present instance, for Navajo Bill having been a "long-haired scout" in these campaigns, much of our information was derived from him. The Colonel and Joe took a malicious delight in leading Smith to narrate events, glowing descriptions of which we had already received from Bill. But the latter hero's equanimity was not to be disturbed by any matter so trivial as the direct controversion of his most brilliant yarns. When Smith incidentally remarked that he and Navajo had been twenty miles in the rear on the occasion of "a little skirmish with a few Indians, mostly squaws," which we had been taught to believe was a bloody and decisive battle, indissolubly connected with the glory of Navajo—a battle in which we had pictured him, or rather he had pictured himself, as careering through the awed forces of the enemy with the irresistible majesty of the cyclone—the Colonel's imperturbable valet merely shifted in his chair, smiled one of his own inimitable smiles, and added to the mirth by some quaint remark, without attempting to support his original tale.

We left on the following morning, and camped on the Boca Grande River after a thirty-mile drive. The Boca Grande ranch is a league broad, and follows the course of the river for thirty or forty leagues. The grass on it is mostly coarse, and since the soil is light and sandy, would trample out if heavily stocked. But the close proximity of the Southern Pacific Railway lends the ranch value, and its long stretch of water gives it control of a large extent of outside grazing, some of which is first-rate.

At this distance from its source the river does not flow uninterruptedly throughout the year, but during the dry season (winter and part of spring) shrinks and stands in a series of short canals and water-holes, where an ample supply of water is always to be found at every hundred yards or so. Here and there also a spring occurs, and the river flows permanently for a few hundred yards.

Another characteristic of certain rivers in this part of the world may as well be mentioned here. In places they sink, flow for some distance underground, and then rise again. The explanation given of this is, that the bed rock dips, the water filters through the loose surface soil and follows it, reappearing only when the natural fall of the country in the same direction brings the bed rock near the surface again, and the level of the water above it. Of course, in the wet season there is a sufficient rainfall in most cases to fill these inequalities, and keep the bed bank-full.

I have heard it argued that a dam sunk to the bed rock would have the effect of preserving a full head of water. But since the stream must inevitably pass these sinks sooner or later, and the only way to neutralise the ill effect of them is to fill them, it seems to me that one built where the water reappears would be equally effective and less expensive. But the matter requires study, and I am only justified in offering the most diffident suggestion.