As this was to be a most important day our small party on the crest of one of the high sierras was astir earlier than usual. Our camp had been made in a little glen between two peaks, alongside one of the numerous clear, cold streams that wind in and about through all these mountains, and furnish the loveliest and most picturesque spots imaginable for camping. Francisco, my chief packer, a bright, good-natured Mexican, was off long before sunrise, scouring the ridges and the gulches for the mules, as these animals often wander miles away at night, and in the morning all the available people in camp are turned out to look for them. This search sometimes wears well into the day before these frisky beasts are brought in; then some stray human member of the party has to be found, and when all this is accomplished it is nearly time to turn out the mules for another feed. On this particular morning fortune favored us, however, and soon our dejected-looking beasts were tied in line with the lariats, while we sat on the ground a short distance from them, each with a tin plate in our laps and a tin cupful of coffee in our hands. The night before an Indian had arrived at our camp, sent out from Urique by our Mexican friend, with roasted chickens and fresh eggs. The chickens had vanished on the evening of their arrival, but the eggs furnished us a royal breakfast with the usual bill of fare, bacon and coffee. An early morning in the Sierra Madres, even in midsummer, will make the teeth chatter. The only comfort one can get, after piling on heavy coats, is to pass the time in revolving about the camp fire just out of reach of the smoke till breakfast is ready. Any attempt at washing is sure to be a failure, for the water is as cold as ice and the fingers refuse to work in the frosty air; so it is generally about midday before dirt and the traveler cease to be companions. After we had thawed out with the hot coffee, and all the packs had been strapped on the mules, the animals were started ahead, with Francisco's assistant, a muscular Indian, running after them; then the saddles were placed on our worn-out beasts, and off we went with light hearts, for this day's ride was to take us to the large mining village of Urique, buried away in the depths of the Urique Barranca. We had been on the road about an hour, up hill and down dale, crossing innumerable mountain streams, and skirting the edges of precipices from which we caught glimpses of the beautiful valleys thousands of feet below, when we rounded the corner of an immense spur, climbed a high bald point of the mountain, and came suddenly to what appeared to be the end of land. We could now look out for miles into the great mining barranca, broken into innumerable crags and turrets, with ridges and banks of mountains piled high on every side, mountains of purple, red, yellow, and green, magnificent and fantastic, fading away into other barrancas to the right and left. Here we paused, seven thousand feet above the valley, and looked at the wonderful panorama spread before us, celebrated even among these grand old mountains—by the few who have penetrated their fastnesses—as one of the most famous views and formidable descents in the whole range. The guides carefully examined all the packs and saddles, and every strap and rope was tightened and made secure. All were directed to remain in their saddles, as the descent was too steep and the way too dangerous for walking, the path or trail being covered with loose rolling stones. We had been told to give the mules their heads, and trust to their being perfectly sure-footed, for in that respect a Mexican mule is about as certain as a mountain goat.

From "La Cumbra," or the crest of the Sierra Madres, we could look down in the valley of the Urique River, as I have said, something over a vertical mile. As we stood among the pines we could see the plantations of oranges far below, one of which, called "La Naranja"—the Spanish for orange—seemed almost under our feet; in fact it was not farther away in horizontal measure than it was vertical, or about a mile in both. The Barranca of the Urique was much more open at this point than where we had first struck it at Camp Diaz, but it was, nevertheless, fully as grand and sublime in its mighty scenery, although of quite another kind. The enormous buttresses, almost spurs of mountains, that stood out along the caÑon-like sides of the former, with their bristling, perpendicular fronts of thousands of feet in height, were now rounded off along the ridges with their vertical descents, and only their sides were straight up and down. In fact it was down these steep ridges that we must make our descent by zigzag trails that gave us a grade on which a mule could stand. Every time we came to the side of a ridge the trail hung over a precipice with a sickening dizziness to the rider until the mule could make the turn and get back on the descending trail. Occasionally it was necessary to leave one ridge for another far away that gave a better grade, and then we might have to skirt some cumbra, or crest, with walls practically vertical on either side, where, if we ever started to fall, we could guarantee ourselves one thousand five hundred to two thousand feet of plain sailing.

On the trail from Batopilas to Parral is the "La Infinitad" of the Mexican miners (the Infinity), where the trail, not over half a foot wide, looks down a sheer vertical twenty-six hundred feet.

Presently the pines begin to grow less numerous and to be interspersed with the many varieties of oak for which the Sierra Madres will one day be noted, the most conspicuous of which is the encino robles, or everlasting oak, a beautiful tree with enormous leaves of a bright green color. The oaks increase in numbers as we descend, and the pines soon disappear; for we are getting out of the country of cold nights, which the conifers love so much. Presently a thorny mesquite is seen, and in half an hour we have traveled from Montana to Texas, in a climatic way. On the cumbra we jumped off from our mules and ran along by the half hour in the cool, fresh mountain air. Now five minutes brings out our handkerchiefs to wipe our perspiring brows. The northern cactus will soon mingle with the mesquite, and then the great pitahaya tells us we are on the verge of the tropics, while each tree in the orange orchard just below us can be made out, and after a few more turns on the twisting trails, even the yellow oranges on the bright green trees become distinct. Another half hour and we are on the level, while not that length of time has been added before palms are over our head, and the heat is almost unbearable to those who have been for weeks on the high mountain tops of the cool sierras. In a little over four hours we dropped from the land of the pine to the land of the palm, and this too on mule-back, a feat that could be performed in few countries outside of Mexico. We were now out of the land of wild forests and wild men, back again among Mexican civilization, but of a kind almost unknown to the outside world, although one of the richest mining districts and one of the oldest points of colonization on the North American continent.

Our path was now lined with lovely, flowering, thorny shrubs, that stretched out and tried to scratch us, and often succeeded as we passed by. When we reached the little plateau of the first orange grove we rested awhile, and from here could look back to the cool place we had left but four short hours before. The way down from this resting place seemed steeper and longer than the first half of the journey; the heat became intense, the air throbbing and shimmering in the brilliant sunshine. Gayly colored paroquets and strange tropical birds went flitting past us and filled the air with their noisy calls and cries. The trail, however, had a persistent, unaccountable Indian method of keeping away from all shade, and wound among the thickest masses of thorny shrubs, which compelled us constantly to keep an eye on them, or be reminded in a manner more painful than pleasant. These, and the intense heat, made me long for the mountain life again. Although we had dropped from the crest of the range and land of pines to the land of palms, seven thousand feet, still we had many miles to wind up the great tropical barranca before we would reach the village.

FROM ORANGE PLANTATION TO CUMBRA, OR CREST OF MOUNTAIN,
SIX THOUSAND FEET. LOOKING BACKWARD.

One of the most dangerous places on the entire trail, about six hundred feet above the river, was where the mountain had apparently caved in on a sharp curve. This cave-in was directly under the trail, and here it crossed it with an abrupt turn around the point of the mountain. A small torrent had cut its way down at this point, and goats and other animals, when grazing on the steep slope above, had loosened quantities of stones and earth, which had fallen and built out a sort of ledge or shelf at the same point. This shelf projected over the great curve in the hill, and on approaching this place it looked as if a mule must either walk off with his fore feet or let his hind ones drop over the cliff in making the turn. Of course the trail was as narrow as possible for a trail to be and allow an animal to cling to it.

Through the kindness of Don Augustin Becerra there was sent out from Urique to the orange plantation a very large mule for my personal comfort. This animal was of the pinto variety and a fine traveler. After my desperate encounters with "Old Steamboat" it was positive luxury to ride him. He had some faults, however; he was fresh and fast, so kept well in advance of the rest of the train. When we neared this particularly dangerous place my mule took up a gentle trot and went pounding around the curve in a way that almost turned my hair gray, and I know we all breathed more freely after getting away from the perilous spot.

The Mexican town of Urique, numbering some three thousand people, was first established in 1612, years before the first pilgrim landed on Plymouth Rock, and yet it is as unknown as though in the interior of Africa. That living cave and cliff dwellers should be found but a little way off from the rough and even dangerous trail that leads to the secluded town which no one troubled himself to report to the world outside, shows what a wonderful isolation can exist and still be called civilization. The only way out of and into the town was on the back of the melancholy mule, and an old resident told me he believed that three-fourths of the people had never seen a wagon, not even the wooden carts of the Mexicans that so remind one of scriptural times; certainly no wagon or cart was ever hauled through the streets of Urique. In this deep barranca there is just room enough for the Urique River (a beautiful stream), and alongside of it, straggling out for a couple of miles or more, a row of houses hugging the banks of the stream, then a narrow street and a similar row of houses crowded up on the slope of the mountain. Back of this rise abruptly the steep, broken crests of the Sierra Madres. On the opposite side of the river there is only room now and then for a chance house that clings to the steep sides of the hills or burrows into them.

URIQUE FROM THE RIVER.

We rode with a great clatter up the single street lying white and still in the noonday sun, and had we not known that preparations had been made for us—as our arrival was anticipated by Don Augustin Becerra—we might have mistaken the place for a deserted village. After riding a mile through the street we reached a little plaza about twenty-five feet square, where the mountains receded and made room for this level little patch of ground. Here one of the great wooden doors of the apparently deserted houses opened and our host came forth, followed by a number of others. By the time the whole party reached the plaza there were one or two hundred Mexicans congregated to welcome us and see us alight. As there were no accommodations of any sort in the town for travelers, Don Augustin Becerra, with the graceful courtesy of a Mexican gentleman, had moved out of his own home and literally placed his whole house and all it contained at our disposal; and this was done as though it were the most commonplace thing in the world, and without the least sign of ostentatious politeness. I doubt very much whether any American under the same circumstances would have done as much. His father, Don Buenaventura Becerra, lived here also, and both united in showering on us the most acceptable acts of hospitality during our whole stay; and these were doubly welcome, coming as they did in such a spontaneous and wholly unexpected manner.

THE ONLY STREET OF URIQUE.

Urique is most interesting in that vast and substantial mineral wealth of which the little town is practically the center. The discovery of the rich district of Urique is to be attributed, so I am told, to the "adelantados" or "conquistadores," Spanish names equivalent to "adventurers," and then given to the commanders of expeditions organized but a short time after the conquest to explore the country and extend the domains of the Spanish crown. Directly overlooking this beautiful little mountain town is the Rosario mine, one of the principal mines of the district. Its ore runs from two hundred to two thousand dollars to the ton. In fact only the richest ores of any mine can be worked in the Central Sierra Madres, where everything is carried for hundreds of miles on mule-back at rates that would make a freight agent's mouth water. Salt for chlorination works, that we get for five to ten dollars a ton where there are railways, here costs from one hundred to one hundred and twenty-five dollars a ton, and even much more during the rainy season of about three months, when all the streams are swollen and the dizzy mountain trails are dangerous in the extreme. This rainy season in Northern Mexico lasts from about the first or middle of June until the middle of September. It is against such enormous odds that man has to battle with Nature in this secluded part of the earth in order to get at her wealth that is otherwise so lavishly strewn around. After one has passed ten or twelve days on the roughest of mountain trails in order to reach this point, and reflects that the discoverers must have been without even this poor aid to progress, one's respect for the old Spanish explorers of the seventeenth century is sure to be heartily accorded. They were undoubtedly a much hardier, more daring, persistent, and intrepid class of people than those who struck the Atlantic shores of our own country. But, great ghost of Cortes, how things have changed! It seems as if the will and energy of three centuries had been crowded into as many years, and then allowed to stand still, like a watch that loses its balance and spins off the twenty-four hours in nearly as many seconds.

LOOKING DOWN THE URIQUE BARRANCA TOWARD THE RIVER.

And right here I would refer to the frequent discussion of writers on Mexico as to whether Mexicans are opposed to the introduction of foreign labor and capital to develop their country. All around the town of Urique are to be found mines of gold and silver either operated or about to be operated by Americans, English, Germans, and other foreigners; while many other enterprises are starting toward this rich country opened by the Spanish before a white man had crossed the Alleghenies. I was therefore in a fair position to hear what their descendants had to say, and in giving it utterance let me compare them with our own countrymen. Individually the Mexican is never so bitter against foreigners as the American, although the latter nation is much more an aggregation of foreigners than the former, and of much later date from other countries. I often heard quite caustic comparisons from sensible Mexicans as to foreign methods of mining, railroading, etc., which I think were sometimes exaggerative, and they even expressed opposition to their coming in at all, but never in a manner so pronounced as with us.

The whole of the rich Urique district, formerly an old Spanish grant many square miles in extent, was granted the Becerra family of three brothers by the Mexican Government. Their wealth is reputed to be many millions, and this we could readily believe while passing through a portion of their vast possessions. There are now in the Urique district a dozen bonanza mines worked by the old Spanish system, which would yield enormous revenues if there were any method by which the ore could be transported at reasonable rates. From almost any point on the one street of the town you could look up the steep mountain sides and see three or four of these old Spanish mines. The method of working them was wholly on the same plan as that adopted a hundred years before, even the machinery being of the most primitive type.

That night I took a swim in the Urique River and found the water as warm as fresh milk, although the water I had used in the morning from some of its small tributaries on the cumbra was as cold as ice.

The post office in the little town was a most curiously primitive affair, being merely an awning of branches held up against a tree by a post in the ground. Under this an old man was seated on a chair; we saw nothing here to indicate a post office, but were assured this was the spot to deposit our letters. The man regarded me with surprise and distrust, and the sight of the three or four letters I wished to mail drew a large crowd. The old man could not read, and I told him where the letters were to go; then, after a great deal of jabbering among the crowd regarding the amount of postage, which I fortunately knew and told him, the letters were mailed by being deposited in an empty cigar box at his side, to be handed to the Indian mail carrier on his next trip out of Urique.

Our stay was unexpectedly prolonged by the illness of one of the party. It was the warmest season of the year in the deep tropical barranca, and the change from the cool mountain air of the high sierras was extremely trying to all. We found it was necessary to make an effort to bestir ourselves as far as sightseeing was concerned, but we dared to venture out only after sunset from our comfortable quarters in the thick adobe building. There was no twilight in the great caÑon. Almost as soon as the sun disappeared behind the steep mountains darkness came; but the moonlight nights were simply glorious, transforming the tropical valley into a perfect fairyland; even the homely adobe houses were beautiful, and the most commonplace Mexican, in his great sombrero with a serape thrown gracefully over his shoulders, added a picturesque touch to the scene. Every available level spot of land in the valley had been turned by the owners into an orange grove or a ranch on which to raise fruits and vegetables for consumption by their families; and, as all the edible vegetation of nearly every clime grew there, their tables were always abundantly supplied.

INDIAN GIRL WINNOWING BEANS

In wandering along the river bank I noticed one very effective way the natives had to protect their gardens from the intrusions of the small boy or even smaller animals. On the top of a common adobe fence they planted a row of the cholla cactus, the most prickly of all that great family of needles. Even the agile cat could not get over nor around this formidable fence.

We made two ineffectual efforts to get away from Urique before we finally succeeded. In the first instance the packers did not arrive with the mules until noon, thinking by this ruse they would be able to camp in the valley instead of on the mountain, for they much prefer the tropical heat to the chill of the high mountains. The next time they were promptly on hand, but one of the party was too ill to sit up. The third time fortune favored us, and, after bidding adieu to our hospitable friends, we started for the famous Cerro Colorado mine, said to be the richest gold mine in all this part of Mexico. We followed the narrow mule trail that wound along the brawling river, hemmed in on either side by mountains towering three, four, and five thousand feet above us, and were well up the caÑon before the first rays of the sun could reach us over the mountain tops. All along the trail the river was lined with beautiful flowering shrubs of every conceivable shade and color. Flitting around among them were brilliantly colored paroquets and many other birds with gay plumage. That morning's ride of ten or twelve miles up the caÑon, sheltered as we were from the fierce rays of the sun—which emphasized and reflected the many-colored rocks of the mountains that were carved and sculptured into all beautiful and fantastic shapes—was one of such rare beauty and perfection that even the most graphic pen would despair of doing justice to the subject. About noon we crossed a small branch of the Urique River, for we had turned off from the main caÑon into a smaller one, and then started up the steep mountain side. Up the weary mules scrambled and climbed for six long hours, resting now and then while we looked backward and downward at the land of the tropics, all wayside signs of which were fast disappearing. Just before leaving the Urique River we came to a native tannery, which was about as primitive an affair as any we saw in the whole Sierra Madres. For some two hundred yards along the wide river its bottom was white with outstretched hides held there by heavy stones on the upstream corners, and these hides were kept there for weeks to rid them of their hair. Of course we tasted but little of the water below that point. On enormous bent beams at the lower end was found a number of hides stretched, and naked men scraping them with sharpened stones. Despite the style of work, the leather they make is remarkably soft and pliable. An hour or two before our evening camp was made we were once more traveling along underneath the shade of the great somber pines, and the air seemed cold and unpleasant after our late tropical experience. As we had no tent with us, we simply spread our beds upon the soft pine needles and slept with the stars shining in our faces. At the first streak of daylight we were eating our breakfast, and shortly after were off over the velvety trail that led up the peaks and across many small barrancas toward the deep gorge in which was the celebrated Cerro Colorado mine.

INDIAN TANNERY

All this portion of the Sierra Madres is unsurpassed for magnificent and thrilling views over dizzy mountain trails. At many places one could look off into infinity from a ledge not over a foot and a half in width on which the mules must walk. Occasionally a steep wall of rock rises many hundreds of feet on one side and along this the mule will carefully scrape. The descent into Cerro Colorado was the most continuous steep I ever saw. Almost before we knew it we were in the tropics again, and that by an incline where, in a dozen places, the uphill rider on one zigzag could, without taking his foot out of the stirrup, kick off the hat of one below him on the other course as he passed.

Cerro Colorado is reputed to be the largest gold mine in the world, and was discovered as recently as 1888. That it should have remained so long unknown to any prospector in such a rich silver-mining district is one of the morsels of mining history, even a far greater mystery to me than that the existence of living cave and cliff dwellers on the rough mountain trails leading thereto should have been kept so long quiet. Cliff dwellers or angels in the air above them, or cave dwellers or demons in the earth under them would have attracted but little attention from a seeker of precious metals beyond the momentary astonishment at their sight.

VIEW IN MOUNTAINS, WITH CLIFF DWELLINGS, NEAR CERRO COLORADO.

The Cerro Colorado mine is an immense buttress or spur from the flank of the Sierra Madres, the whole spur showing signs of gold, not in any distinct vein, but in great masses distributed here and there through the mountain, a sort of "pocket" system, as miners would say. This great buttress or spur is 1800 meters (something over a mile) in length, 1200 meters in breadth, and 500 meters in height, and runs from $1 to $3300 a ton, as would be expected in the pocket system of deposits. Small deposits have been found of one hundred weight or so, however, that would run enormously—over $100,000 to the ton. The gold is not wholly in pockets, for it is found distributed in all parts of the great red hill, at least in the minimum of one dollar per ton. It requires eight mines to cover the tract properly. Enormous works were being put in to develop the property, and in a few years it will be known whether this is the largest gold mine in the world or not. It is the property of the Becerra brothers, and when I visited it Don JosÉ Maria Becerra was at the mine and spared no pains to make my stay pleasant. He was then engaged in placing the most improved machinery and constructing enormous works for water power, etc. He brought out and laid on a chair four great lumps of gold, of about the value of seventy thousand dollars, that had just been run out by the Mexican arastra, for they were still using the ancient method of mining, awaiting the arrival of the new machinery. Our host was preparing to start for London and Paris on business connected with his mine, and when we again heard of him it was the sad news of his death in London. This was not only a severe loss to his family, but a great blow to that portion of the country where his progressive energy had done so much to further its development.