SANDY HAS HIS SAY

Having arrived in Springer the scout-party were amazed to find it such a small place. They had pictured it to be as important a city as Raton, with buildings as fine and good hotel accommodations. Now they learned that it was limited to little more than a thousand in population, and that it paid more attention to its export of flour and fruits to consumers in all parts of the country than to consumers of the cooked products who were at their “doors” needing food and shelter. At least, so Julie described the hungry condition of their party and the reception awarded them at the hotel.

“Good gracious! Jule, one would think you had never been on a camping trip before,” was Betty’s rebuke, when her sister complained of minor matters in connection with the hotel.

Another disappointing incident was that Mr. Burt, the man Sanderson expected to meet in Springer, failed to appear there, but a wire was handed the Ranger instead.

“Well! he says that he’s waiting for me at the CastaÑeda Hotel in Las Vegas, where he has been detained because of business,” explained the Ranger to the men in the scout party. “But I’m inclined to think that Burt had little desire to stop over at a small place with so little to interest a visitor. Las Vegas will amuse him to his heart’s content.”

“What will you do now?” asked Mr. Vernon.

“Go on with you to-morrow, just as we had planned. I came here as directed, and Burt is not here. Now he must wait for me.”

The girls exchanged approving looks with each other, because they admired a man who had enough respect for himself to demand that others respect him also, by deeds as well as by words.

“I have a plan to propose which you may think a wise one, but you may think I am too forward for suggesting it,” said the Ranger at supper that night.

“Out with it, Sandy!” exclaimed Mr. Gilroy. “We’ll not consider you forward in anything, but being guilty of making all the scouts fall in love with you. I know that is so, because not one of them has deigned to send me a smile—they are all saved for you, you rascal.”

The scouts laughed merrily, but Sanderson, in confusion, blushed like a girl accused of her first love-affair. To cover his embarrassment, the young man said: “If you send Tally with the burros by freight in the morning, we can ride to Las Vegas in half the time. Then we can meet him there and plan later.”

“That’s a fine idea, Sandy! How far is it from Springer?” returned Mr. Vernon.

“It’s a jaunt of about seventy miles, but we can stop at Wagon Mound, which is almost half-way to Las Vegas, you know.”

“And should we feel tired of riding we can go on to Las Vegas by train, can’t we?” added Mrs. Vernon, thinking of her girls, and this unusually long ride in the saddle.

Thus it was decided, and Tally was so informed after the tourists left the dining-room. He agreed without demur, but he showed his disappointment at being shipped on a train when he had looked forward to trailing all the way to the Grand CaÑon without an up-to-date train doing its part in the trip.

In the morning, therefore, Tally had gone, but not to the train, when the scouts came downstairs. It was learned that he could not leave Springer till after eleven that morning, so he had decided to do a little sight-seeing without escorting his party.

“That’s the way he has of telling us he disapproves of our decision of sending him with the burros,” said the Captain, a note of sympathy in her tone.

“We’re sorry as he is, Verny, but what can we do? Ship the slow little pests on the train without a guard?” said Mr. Gilroy.

“Tally must see that we cannot do otherwise,” added Sandy.

“Thar’s none so blind as them that won’t see,” quoth Julie, nodding her head sagely.

Of course Sandy turned his head quickly and smiled fatuously, but she tossed her curly head and grinned back.

The trail that day led the scouts past the State Reformatory which is at Springer, then on southward to Colmor. They had an excellent view of the peaks of the Cimarron Mountains, of which Old Baldy is the highest. At Colmor they saw the Lake Charetts irrigation reservoir from a distance, but had no inclination to ride nearer to inspect the huge project.

They stopped at a wayside ranch and had the midday meal, then rode on until Wagon Mound was reached in the late afternoon. Here they stopped for the night and resumed the trail in the morning.

From Wagon Mound the trail ran through beautiful hills and valleys, passing through Optimo, a small farming settlement, and then to Valmora, where a large Sanatorium for tuberculosis is located. At Watrous the junction of the Mora and Sapello rivers supply water for many industries and also give the country around ample moisture to grow such verdure as other sections lack. The Ranger considered the pueblo ruins near the town worthy of a visit, and also the ruins of Fort Barkley near by. After visiting the Shoemaker (Mora) Canyon the scouts continued on to Las Vegas.

It had been a long ride that day, and they were thankful to find a hotel where every convenience as well as luxury was to be had. They lost no time in going to their rooms at the CastaÑeda and enjoying the delight of warm baths. It was rather late for dinner when they all met again in the dining-room, hence the usual crowds had dined, and that left the place more private.

Sandy, as he had come to be called by the scouts, was not to be seen when Mr. Gilroy led his friends to dinner, but later he hurried in and excused himself for being tardy.

“I saw Tally and learned that he has stabled his burros in a good place, so I let him take our mounts there as well. Then I sent word to Mr. Burt, who was in the billiard-room, and made an appointment to meet him in the lounge after dinner. I should like to know if you wish to meet him?” Sandy gazed at Julie, but he had meant his words for every one in the party.

“Later will be just as well, Sandy. You ought to say your say with him on the business matter for which he came west. That off the slate, you can mention us. We will be the ‘refreshments after the meat course,’” laughed Mr. Gilroy.

But it happened later, that Sandy and Burt were discovered in the reading-room of the hotel. It had been vacated by the guests who sought outdoor diversions, and the two men considered they would find the place quiet enough for them.

Sandy was cracking his closed hand upon the solid table beside him as Mr. Gilroy came to the door to peep within the room. This conversation sounded very good to him, so Mr. Gilroy tip-toed across to an armchair and listened silently. An illustrated newspaper, open upon a table back of Sanderson, caught his eye, and he leaned over to take it. He saw the date—November 29, 1922—and he wondered that such an old paper should be found upon such a modern hotel’s reading-table. He soon understood how it came there. Mr. Burt had had it in his script case and had shown it to the Ranger. It was a full-page article on the Pueblo Indians, and the illustrations were excellent.

Sanderson seemed to know his subject from A to Z, and the newspaper correspondent soon realized that fact. Both men were so interested in the debate that neither one had noticed the entrance of Mr. Gilroy. Mr. Burt took up the discussion and asked his companion many questions bearing upon the work before them, and Mr. Gilroy, glancing down at the paper upon his knees, saw a line that seemed to answer a question that Burt had just asked. Thereupon he became so intent upon reading the article that he never heard the girls come in quietly and take chairs near the door.

The Ranger was declaring vehemently at the time in defense of the Indians. “I tell you, Mr. Burt, that these United States owe the red Indians more than we citizens can estimate. If that Bursum Bill goes into effect it will be a lasting disgrace to this nation. How is it possible that our Senate can be so misinformed as to pass a bill which will take from the Pueblo Indians in New Mexico thousands of acres of land upon which they depend for a living—land which was bestowed upon them by patented land grants and subsequently confirmed by the Republic of Mexico, and later by the American Government in 1858.

“Should this bill pass the House, the Indians will be deprived not only of their land rights, but also of legal redress. Why, these guileless Pueblos will become the target of so many unscrupulous lawyers who will induce them to sue to recover their land, that the courts of New Mexico will be congested with their claims.

“The award of these Indian lands to non-Indian claimants leaves no possibility for defense to the Indians. The Bursum Bill dooms the agricultural future of the Pueblo Indians; it would also appropriate a section which strikes at the center of their tribal life. These Indians have been self-governing, and the judgment of well-informed investigators who know the form of these tribal governments declare that this system is the best safeguard of the morale of the race. Destroy their traditions alike with their tribal government, and you destroy the moral fiber of the individual Indian.”

“So far you’re right, Mr. Sanderson, but you forget that one white man is surely worth more than a poor ignorant Indian,” argued Mr. Burt.

“Surely ‘a man’s a man’ no matter what may be his color,” declared the Ranger. “Eight thousand industrious farmers out there are more valuable to the United States than eight thousand promoters of graft, be they white or red. Another unfair thing is the breaking up of the Indians’ form of government, which means, actually, that you affect the vital community centers of these quiet, peaceable farmers; at the same time it means that such a step is calculated to so disturb the poor Indian that he will give up his land the quicker.”

“Oh, Mr. Sanderson, I think you have the wrong slant on this matter,” objected the newspaper man.

“I think, Mr. Burt, that I have every slant that is possible to get—all but one slant which I refuse to entertain, and that is the grafters’ slant.”

“Now you are unjust. As far as I have looked into this entire matter I find a singular absence of anything that would seem like personal reward for this measure being adopted,” said Mr. Burt.

Sanderson smiled tolerantly. “How about the Mescalers Bill, also introduced by the Senator of New Mexico, to establish an All-Year-National-Park, but the bill would include the establishment of private leaseholds to commercial enterprises. A fine ideal for our National Parks!”

Mr. Burt seemed ill at ease, but the young Ranger gave him small chance to offer further opinions on the subject.

“Every fair-minded Westerner recognizes the necessity of clearing up the conflicting Spanish and American land grants in New Mexico, but we want this done without illegal treatment of the honest, faithful natives of the land.

“Many disputants maintain that the Pueblo Indians are so lazy that they won’t farm what little land they have, so why should they not give up tracts which they do not live upon. Simple enough to one who will study the situation fairly: most of the good, irrigable land has been encroached upon by non-Indian claimants, leaving the arid, unirrigated portions to the unprotesting Indian farmer who strives pitifully to make a living for himself and his dependents.”

“Why don’t the fellows protest in a way which will get some one after the land grabbers?” demanded Mr. Burt. “I am out here to write up the situation for my paper, not to show partiality to either side.”

“Well, then, Mr. Burt, let me tell you this much—from an impartial observation of one who has studied the problem for some years, and visited the Pueblos during all of several summer vacations—the passing of this Bursum Bill means that the water rights for irrigation belongs to those who have seized and held such water rights for the past four years. Can you imagine anything more intolerable, and so open-handed in its grab as this law? And this in defiance of an existing law of the United States Supreme Court in 1913 which ruled that no statute of limitation can operate against the Indians because they are Government proteges.”

“Gee! I didn’t know this!” exclaimed the newspaper man, apparently stirred.

“Maybe you didn’t, but this you know: that in New Mexico and Arizona where water means everything—and any land that cannot get water is absolutely valueless—any private ownership, or a syndicate’s claim on water rights, means added taxation, or no water—get me?” fumed Sanderson.

“Yes, I do. But tell me, Ranger, is there any solution, in your mind, for this problem?” demanded Burt.

“The solution is water! the draining of the waterlogged sections and the storage of it for irrigation purposes. The mountains of New Mexico, as well as the Rio Grande and other rivers, supply ample water sources for all the irrigation needed to make this land more fertile than you can imagine. Such work will not only redeem the deserts but redeem our honor, as well, because it will place the Indian above want and deprive the grafter of one secret way of wringing money from the defenseless.”

“Say, Sanderson, this must be my lucky day. I swore under my breath when I got word from the boss of our paper to stop off at Springer to wait for a messenger who would meet me. But I’d rather have met you and heard more on this subject than have spent the time in Las Vegas, in a luxurious hotel,” remarked Mr. Burt.

Sanderson smiled. “You didn’t think so when you first began to argue with me, did you? I have been given leave of absence from duty in order to accompany you and help you get ‘the right slant’ on this problem.”

“Well,” said Mr. Burt, “had I been given a choice of companions on this jaunt, I could not have selected one more to my liking.”

During the discussion between Sanderson and the newspaper man, Mr. Gilroy and the scouts sat perfectly quiet and listened. Julie was not a little chagrined to learn that she would not be the only attraction now; and Mr. Gilroy was amazed to learn how much the young man knew of the subject under debate. At this time Mr. Vernon entered the room and spoke loud enough to include every one in the party.

“Well! I’ve been going around in search of you people, but I never expected to find that you-all had turned literary so suddenly. Why all this mouselike quiet in the reading-room, and not one of you besides Gilly with a paper in your hands?”

Sanderson turned around and smiled to find his friends seated behind him. The Ranger now introduced his companion to his friends and explained his mission in the southwest. The scouts listened eagerly, for here was a political and also an ethical problem before the people of the United States, and these girls were about to visit the Indians about whom the debate had just taken place.

“Lucky no guests came in here to read quietly while you were arguing,” remarked Mrs. Vernon, laughingly.

Later, while the others were planning for the morrow’s trip, Julie got the newspaper correspondent in a corner and talked most confidentially to him. He took several sheets of closely written paper which she showed him and then he nodded with interest. Sandy, as he pretended to be listening to Mr. Vernon, watched jealously.

Joan could not hear what was said, nor would she ask her chum to confide whatever it was she seemed so interested in. After Mr. Burt left the room, Julie sat at the desk and wrote as if for dear life. Joan watched, thinking she must be sending a letter to a sweetheart in Elmertown. But which one? Joan knew Julie had no preference, though she had many admirers because of her attractive personality.

The bulky letter finished, Julie sealed it carefully and hurried to the mail-box, without a glance at her chum. Joan would not wait to meet her but ran upstairs and pretended to be sleeping when Julie came in the room.