The first chapter describing an expedition is liable to be prosaic to the point of dullness. It is full of promises that are expected to be realized, while as yet nothing has been done. Not one-tenth of these may formulate, and yet the expedition may be a success in unexpected results; for in no undertaking is there so much uncertainty as in travel through little known countries. Then, again, the writer is likely to consider himself called upon to give a lengthy description of the party in the preliminary letter, and, as I have often seen, even descend to an enumeration of the qualities of the cook or the color of the mules. The next night the cook may desert and the mules may run away, so that others must be procured, and therefore they are of no more interest to the reader than any other of the millions of cooks or mules that would make any writer wealthy if he could find a publisher who would print his description of them. I intend to break away from that stereotyped formula in this first chapter and briefly state that I was in the field of Northern Mexico, hoping to obtain new and interesting matter beyond the everlasting descriptions that are now pumped up for the public by versatile writers along the beaten lines of tourist travel, as determined by the railroads, and, occasionally, the diligence lines. I had a good outfit of wagons, horses, mules, and last, but not least, men for that purpose. Each and every member of the expedition will be heard from when anything has been done by them, and not before. When the mule Dulce kicks a hectare of daylight through the cook for spilling hot grease on his heels I will give a description of Dulce and an obituary notice of the cook; but until then they will remain out of the account.

We crossed the boundary south of Deming early in March, 1889, and entered Mexican territory, where our travels can be said to have begun. If one will take the pains to look at a map of this portion of Mexico he will see that it projects into the United States some distance beyond the average northern boundary, the Rio Grande being to our east, and an "offset," as we would say in surveying, being to our west, this "offset" running north and south. This flat peninsula projecting into our own country can be better understood by visiting it and comparing it with the surrounding land of the United States, coupled with a history of the country. Roughly speaking, the Mexican-United States boundary, as settled by the Mexican War, followed the line of the Southern Pacific Railway as now constructed, and the so-called Gadsden purchase from Mexico of a few years later fixed the boundary as we now see it, giving us a narrow, sabulous strip of Mexican territory, but a definite boundary, easily established by surveys.

OUTFITTING AT DEMING

The Mexicans were on the ground and knew just what they were doing when they arranged for selling us this narrow strip; while, as usual, we did everything from Washington, and knew just about as little concerning it as we possibly could and be sure we were purchasing a part of Mexico. The Mexicans ran this flat-topped peninsula far to the north, inclosing lakes, rivers, and springs, and waters innumerable; while, as a generous compensation, they gave us more land to the west, but a land where a coyote carries three days' rations of jerked jack rabbit whenever he makes up his mind to cross it. There is no more comparison between the offset of Mexico that projects here into the United States, and the offset from the United States that projects into Mexico west of here, than there is in comparing the fertile plains of Iowa or Illinois with Greenland or the Great Sahara Desert.

Everyone familiar with the exceedingly rich lands of the Southwest, when so much of it is worthless for want of water, knows how valuable that liquid is in this region, especially if it occurs in quantities sufficiently large for the purposes of irrigation. I have stood on land that I could purchase for five cents an acre or less, and that stretched out behind me for limitless leagues, and could jump on other land whose owner had refused a number of hundreds of dollars an acre, although, as far as the eye could see, there was no more difference between them than between any two adjoining acres on an Illinois farm. The real difference was one to be determined by the surveyor's level, which showed that water could be put on the valuable tract and not on the other. This also is the difference between the Mexican "offset" in the North, lying between the Rio Grande and the meridianal boundary to the west, and the American tract that juts into Mexico just west of this again. They both share the same soil as you gaze at them from the deck of your "burro," and you can even see no difference in them on closer inspection, after your mule has assisted you to alight; but there is a real and tangible value difference of from one hundred to two hundred dollars a year per acre between the grapes and other fruits and vegetables you can raise on one, with water trickling round their roots, and the sagebrush and grease wood of the other, not rating at ten cents a township.

The diplomats of our country at Washington may be all Talleyrands in astuteness, but in the Gadsden purchase they got left so far behind that they have never yet been able to see how badly they were handled in the bargain.

As our people travel along the line of the Southern Pacific Railway, through its arid wastes of sand and sunshine, they can little realize the beautiful country of Northern Chihuahua and Sonora that lies so close to them to the southward. And yet some of this seemingly arid land in Southern New Mexico and Arizona is destined to become of far more value than its present appearance would indicate. Anglo-Saxon energy is converting little patches here and there into fertile spots, and these are constantly increasing. A great portion of the land is fine for cattle grazing, and these little oases make centers of crystallizing civilization, which render the country for miles around valuable for this important industry.

The persons who believe that New Mexico will not eventually become one of the finest States in our Union belong to the class of those who put Dakota, Nebraska, and Kansas in the great American desert a decade or two ago.

There is still another physical feature of at least Northern Mexico that I have never seen dwelt upon, even in the numerous physical geographies that are now extant, and it is well worth explaining. Books innumerable have spoken of the tierra caliente, or low, hot lands near the coast, the tierra templada, or temperate lands of the interior plateaus, and the tierra fria, or cold lands of the mountains and higher plateaus; and these subdivisions are really good as explaining Mexican climate, but they give us but little idea of the country's surface itself beyond that of altitude, and even less regarding its resources and adaptability to the wants of man. The tierra caliente, or hot lands of the coast, are out of the question as habitations for white men; but the tierra templada and tierra fria, as everyone familiar with climatology knows, gives us the finest climate in the world, as do all elevated plateaus in sub-tropical countries. But these elevated plateaus, or different portions of them, are not alike in resources, and their variations are simply due to the variations in the water supply.

The backbone ridge of mountains in Mexico is the Sierra Madre, or Mother Mountains, for from them all other ridges and spurs seem to emanate. From their crests, as with all other mountains in the world, spring innumerable rivulets and creeks, which, uniting, form rivers. But nearly everywhere else these streams increase in size by the addition of the waters of other tributaries until they reach the sea.

Not so with the Mexican rivers of this locality. Shortly after leaving the mountains and reaching the foothills, they receive no additions from other sources, and after flowing from fifty to one hundred miles they sink into the ground. These "sinks" are usually large lakes, and a map of the country would make one believe that the rivers were emptying into them, but in reality they only disappear as just stated, to reappear in the hot lands as the heads of rivers. Now all the country between the Sierra Madre and the "sinks," or at least all the valley country, can be readily irrigated by this perennial flow of water. The rivers are fringed with trees, and the grass is in excellent condition, while beyond, the plains are treeless, the soil arid, and the prospect cheerless in comparison. To particularize: if the reader looks at the map of Chihuahua he will see a series of lakes (they are the "sinks" to which I refer): Laguna de Guzman, Laguna (the Spanish for lake) de Santa Maria, Laguna de Patos, etc., extending nearly north and south, and parallel with the crest of the Sierra Madres. Between the lakes and the crest is a beautiful country, capable of sustaining a dense population; while outside of it, to the eastward, so much cannot be said in its favor, although probably the latter is a good grazing district. Now the railway runs outside or eastward of the line of the "sinks," where the country is flat and the engineering difficulties are at a minimum; and as nearly all the descriptions we have of Mexico are based upon observations made from car windows, it is easy to see how erroneous an opinion can be formed of this northern portion of Mexico, which is so constantly, though conscientiously, misrepresented by scores of writers.

The first lake we came to in Mexico was Laguna Las Palomas (the Doves), only a few miles beyond the boundary, and to secure which Mexico was smart enough to get in the offset to which I have referred. It is, I think, the "sink" of the Mimbres River, which, as a river, lies wholly in the southwestern portion of New Mexico. It disappears, however, before it crosses the boundary, to reappear as sixty or seventy huge springs in Mexico (any one of these would be worth $20,000 to $25,000 as water is now sold in the arid districts), which drain into a beautiful lake, backed by a high sierra, the Las Palomas Mountains, altogether forming a very picturesque scene. All the country around is quite level, and thousands of acres can here be irrigated with this enormous water supply; while it can only be done by the quarter section in the Southwest on our side of the line, except, probably, in a few rare instances.

This was a favorite "stamping ground" of the more warlike bands of Apache Indians but a few years ago. The water and grass for their ponies and the game for themselves made it their veritable Garden of Eden; settlement, therefore, was out of the question until these bold marauders could be ejected with powder and lead. Not two leagues to the north the road from Deming, N. M., to Las Palomas passes over two graves of as many Apaches, killed a few years ago; while on a hill hard by can be seen three crescent-shaped heaps of stones where the great Apache chief Victorio, with three or four score warriors, made a stand against the combined forces of the United States and Mexico, which proved entirely too much for him in the resulting combat. More worthless or meaner Indians were never driven out of a country than were the Apaches after they had found this region uninhabitable, or at least unbearable for their murderous methods of life; and for much of the decisive action that led to this desirable end we have to thank the Mexicans.

The way the Las Palomas Mountains have of rising sheer out of a level country is quite common in this region, plainly showing that the mountains once rose from a great sea that washed their bases, and when it receded with the uplifting of this region it left the level plain to show where its flat bottom had been ages before. A fine example of this is seen in the mountains called Tres Hermanas (the Three Sisters), very near the boundary line, and but a few miles from the wagon road leading from Deming south into old Mexico. They form an interesting feature in the landscape as viewed from the railway on approaching Deming, and are the subject of an illustration by our artist.

TRES HERMANAS (THE THREE SISTERS)

Sometimes a single peak just gets its head above the level plain by a few hundred feet, while again, great ranges extend for miles, their tops covered with snow in the winter months. However long that level plain may be, it always extends without break or interruption to the next range. A railway would have but little trouble, so far as grades are concerned, in getting through this country. It might be necessary to wind a great deal to avoid hills and mountains, but if the constructors were lavish with rails and ties, and did not mind mileage, the grade would be almost as simple as building on a floor; in fact it is the floor of an old inland ocean.

A profile view of some of these ranges and isolated peaks gives some very grotesque as well as picturesque views, and imaginative people of the Southwest fancy they see many silhouette designs in the crests of the mountains. Faces seem to predominate, and especially is Montezuma's face quite lavishly distributed over this region. I think I can recall at least a half dozen of them in the Southwest since I first visited there in 1867. This unfortunate Aztec monarch must have had a very rocky looking face, or his descendants must have thought exceeding well of him to sculpture him so often, even in fancy, upon the mountain crests.

I went into a little face-making business of my own, so as to keep along in the custom of the country while I was there. The most southerly peak of the Florida range had quite a well-defined face, upturned to the sky, that, to my imagination, looked more like the well-known face of Benjamin Franklin than any other of nature's sculpturing so often portrayed in mountains when assisted by the fancy of man.

Before leaving Las Palomas our material underwent inspection by the customs officials, and no people could have been more polite and considerate than were these officers toward us, giving us our necessary papers without putting us to the inconvenience of unpacking our many boxes and bundles. There is this peculiarity about Mexican frontier customs: after passing the first one you are by no means through with them, for the next two, three, or even four towns may also have customhouse officers. I was in a Mexican town, La Ascencion, and had a wagon unloaded before I knew they had a customhouse. I expected to be shot at reveille the next morning; but instead they politely passed all my personal baggage without even asking to see it, simply examining the papers received at the first customhouse.

PACHECO PEAK.

After leaving Las Palomas our course lay southward across a high mesa, or table-land, until we reached the Boca Grande River. The scenery along the Boca Grande is picturesque and somewhat peculiar. The river bottom is flat, very wide, and rich in soil; but on the flanks rise the Mexican mountains sheer out of the plains. To the west are the Sierra Madres, covered with snow on the highest peaks, making some of the most beautiful views I have ever seen as presented from different points along the river's course. One of them, Pacheco Peak, in the Boca Grande range (named after the Mexican Minister of the Interior), is shown in the illustration. Slight spurs and mesa lands extend from the sierras in the valleys and often reach the river bank, thereby forcing the road over them, but affording a foundation that any macadamized highway in our own country might emulate. Some of these ridges were ornamented with groupings of cactus (of the oquetilla variety), if their presence can be called an ornament. Imagine a dozen fishing rods, from ten to fifteen feet in length, all radiating from a central point like a bouquet of bayonets, and each rod holding hundreds of spikes throughout its length. You will thus have a faint idea of the appearance of a bunch of oquetilla cactus. These bunches seem to prefer growing along the rocky crests in rows of tolerable regularity that, to a person at a distance, suggest the work of human hands.

OQUETILLA CACTUS.

We traveled some thirty miles along the river without seeing a living thing except a few jack rabbits and coyotes, when suddenly we rounded a bend of the beautiful Boca Grande and came upon a stretch of valley covered with zacaton grass, and which in a few years will be a valuable ranche. Across this we saw two as hard-looking characters approaching us as ever cut a throat. I was preparing to hand over to them all my Mexican money and other valuables when they politely touched their hats and simply said, "Documentos." Here, again, in the far-off woods and hills were more customhouse officials. These men were here to prevent smugglers from crossing the border between the towns and established highways.

We lunched that day on Espia Hill, used formerly as a customhouse post of observation, but the Apache chief Geronimo, raiding through here, collected a poll tax of one scalp apiece, and since then the post has been abandoned. A short distance further the river changes from the Boca Grande to the Casas Grandes.

The Boca Grande and the Casas Grandes are the same river, like the Wind River and the Big Horn in our own country, the two changing names at a certain point. In other words, they have the same river bed, for in the dryest seasons the Casas Grandes sinks and reappears further down as the Boca Grande, the two streams being really identical most of the way, however, and both of them emptying into the great "sink" known as Laguna Guzman. I noticed one peculiarity of the rocky soil on the ridges extending down from the foothills of the mountains that I have never seen elsewhere, and might not have noticed even here had it not been pointed out to me by one of my guides. Great areas of the soil were covered with stones, mostly flat in shape, and so numerous that but little vegetation could exist between them. A decidedly desolate aspect was thus presented; indeed no one would believe that anything except the oquetilla cactus could possibly grow here. One of my Mexican men, however, assured me that the stones were only on the surface, and that by removing them the richest of red soil could be found underneath, not affording a single stone in a cubic yard of earth. The soil had not been washed away when the rains beat down upon it, as this "top-dressing" of flat rock had shielded it from such action, protecting it, let us hope, for the future use of man. They told me this peculiar kind was the richest and most easily cultivated soil in Mexico, but it looked, with its covering of rocks, poor enough to put in some terrestrial almshouse along with the Sahara Desert.

This whole Southwest, or rather Northwest from a Mexican standpoint, is a country of deceptive appearances. Hundreds of my readers have probably traveled over the Santa FÉ Railway as it courses through the Rio Grande valley, and, recalling the grassy, pleasant-looking country in the East, have wondered how this cheerless area of sand and sagebrush could ever be utilized. Yet in this valley is a farm of twenty-two acres for which sixty thousand dollars has been flatly refused, although not one cent of its value is due to its proximity to any important point (as the fact is with the valuable little farms around our Eastern cities), but solely to what it will produce. Verily the desolation of the land is deceptive, and, like beauty, is but skin deep.