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In the Land of Cave and Cliff Dwellers

<h2 style="margin-top: 3em;">CHAPTER VII.</h2> <big>SOUTHWESTERN CHIHUAHUA—AMONG THE CAVE AND CLIFF DWELLERS IN THE HEART OF THE SIERRA MADRE RANGE.</big> That night our camp was in an immense pine forest on the crest of one of the high peaks, and here we parted with our Mexican friend Don Augustin Becerra, to whom we had already become deeply indebted, and who found it necessary to hasten on to his father's mines at Urique, which we were to make more leisurely. There is a widely dispersed variety of pitch pine in these mountains, which may be said to be the candles or the lanterns[228] of the natives of the country. The night scenes in the pitch-pine States of the South have long formed themes in prose and poetry, but those States are in the flat-land coasts of our country, with no scenery to give any of the strange, weird effects of a broken land. At one camp I made upon a high potrero, I saw such a scene. It was in a little flat place in the mountain, where the grass was good for the mules, but where the water was far down the precipitous ravine or box cañon that opened out by a gorge to a great barranca as deep and wide as the Grand Cañon of the Colorado. A half-dozen men at a time, all with pitch-pine torches, descended after water, or to drive the mules to and from water. As they cut long slivers of pine, eight to ten feet in length, that blaze for two-thirds to three-fourths[229] their length, the strange effect on the wild scenery, stretching for miles, can be more easily conceived than described. To have put it faithfully on canvas would have made the reputation of any artist, and the equal of which I have never seen. Vereschagin's "My Camp in the Himalayas" seemed almost tame by comparison. The great wide sombreros, glittering with silver—for even the common peons of Mexico have more costly hats than the "Four Hundred" of New York—the bright red foliage of the manzanillas and the madroño trees, rendered doubly lurid by the reflection of the torches, the sharp rocks of the cañon in battlemented and castellated confusion, stretching off to the mighty barranca five thousand to six thousand feet deep, really made up a picture that not one painter in a thousand[230] could have done justice to, and not one could imitate. On our third day out we crossed a most picturesque stream called the Panascos River. Near the crossing were a number of huge irregular bowlders lying at the foot of a sculptured cliff. Under those that formed cave-like recesses were a number of Tarahumari cave dwellers, looking absolutely comical in their wide-brim straw hats of coarse grass and their primitive breechclouts. Their skins were so dark-colored that had it not been for this white clothing at the two termini it would have been hard to make them out in the dark, deep caverns into which most of them fled upon our approach. <hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG style="margin-top: 1em;" src="images/image25.jpg" width-obs="500" height-obs="323" alt="Cave-Dwelling Tarahumaris." /></div> CAVE-DWELLING TARAHUMARIS. <hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> A recently occupied cave of these strange earth-burrowing savages could nearly always be told by the stains of[233] ascending smoke from the highest point of entrance to the cave. If the cave has been abandoned for any length of time the rain soon wipes out this sure sign of habitation. We passed a large number of caves with funnel-shaped smoke stains, leading up from the outside, but the silence of death surrounded them, as if human life had never been within a mile of the place; but I have not the remotest[234] doubt that there were a dozen people inside of each, peeping at us from around the dark corners, having heard our approach and fled in time to keep well out of our sight. Nothing is noisier than a Mexican mule packer, and the mountains are always resounding with his pious shouting to his lazy, plodding animals as he urges them on; so I considered it very lucky indeed that we saw as many of the living cave and cliff dwellers as we actually did, so excessively shy are these poor, timid creatures. <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG style="margin-top: 1em;" src="images/image26.jpg" width-obs="300" height-obs="263" alt="Home of Cave Dwellers." /></div> HOME OF CAVE DWELLERS. One of our Mexican packers tried to buy a sheep of one of the civilized Tarahumaris a little farther on, but he would not part with one for any money, although apparently having plenty to spare. Many of the pueblos of the civilized Tarahumaris are really isolated communities,[235] raising all they need for food from the soil, or wool for clothing, or both from animals of the chase, and consequently seldom buying or selling. That same day we passed La Sierra de los Ojitos. It is a high, shaggy mountain, covered to the very top with a dense forest of pine, and indicates where the waters divide to the east and west. On its slope that we faced, its rivulets poured their contents into the Gulf of Mexico, while from the opposite slope they go into the Pacific Ocean, or rather its great Mexican arm, the Gulf of California. It is the highest point of the Sierra Madres that we encountered on the trail, and I found it to be 12,500 feet above the level of the sea, with La Sierra de los Ojitos towering some 2000 to 3000 feet higher on our left. I[236] camped that night in a picturesque box cañon, which I named Carillo Cajon after the Governor of the State of Chihuahua, who had done a great deal to help the expedition with all the local authorities in the different parts of the State that I might visit. We camped at the first available point we could find, and even here slept at an inclination of some thirty degrees to the level, the mules grazing nearly overhead above us and occasionally rolling a stone down on us during the night. This part of the Sierra Madres has a great deal of game in it, but the most essential things to hunt it with would be a good pair of wings, things that unfortunately travelers never have. There are many white-tailed deer in the well-wooded valleys, but a brass band would[237] find them before a Mexican pack train, as it makes much less noise. In fact this is true of nearly all kinds of game that can be frightened off by the lung power of man. There are also many bears here, but we saw none, nor any fresh signs of them. It is said by those who ought to know that there are two kinds of bears in the Sierra Madre range, lying between Chihuahua and Sonora—the common black species, and a huge brown kind that must be, I think, the cinnamon or the grizzly bear, so common farther north. The Tarahumari natives hunt the deer in a very singular manner, but they leave the bears alone, as their weapons, the bows of mora wood, are not strong enough for such an uncertain encounter. The jaguar, or Mexican spotted panther, is known as far north as this, but[238] seems to keep to the warm lands, or tierra caliente, which restricts it to the low plains of Sonora and Sinaloa, just west of here. The endurance of these savage sons of the sierras in chasing deer is wonderful. They take a small native dog and starve it for three or four days till it has a most ravenous appetite; then they go deer hunting, and put this keen-nosed, hungry animal on the freshest deer trail they can find. It is perfectly needless to add that he follows it with a vim and energy unknown to full stomachs. Fast as a hungry, starved dog is on a trail that promises a good breakfast, he does not keep far ahead of the swift-footed cliff dweller, who is always close enough behind to render any assistance that may be required if the deer is overtaken or a[239] fresher trail is run across. I should say the dog is always liberally rewarded if the hunt is a success. If night overtakes the pursuers they sleep on the trail, and resume the chase as early next morning as the light will allow. Once on the trail, however, the deer is a doomed animal, although the pursuers have been known to sleep for two or three nights on its course before it was overtaken, especially if the fleeing animal knew in some way that it was pursued long before it was overtaken. Once overhauled, a series of tactics is begun so as to divide the labor of the pursuit between the dog and the man, but to give no corresponding advantage to the deer. Wide detours are forced upon the deer by the swift dog, each recurring one being easier to make, and the pursued animal[240] is brought near the man, who, with loud shouts and demonstrations, heads off the exhausted animal every little while and turns it back on the pursuing dog, until finally in one of the retreats it falls a temporary prey to its canine foe, when the man rushes in and with a knife soon dispatches the game. Early one morning we could hear wild turkeys calling from one cliff to the other, but as these were over a thousand feet higher and steeper than the leaning-tower of Pisa, I suddenly lost all the wild turkey zeal I had brought along with me for the trip. Then, again, if a commander leaves his pack train just as they are getting away, he will surely find a delay of an hour or two on his hands, for which it would take a dozen turkeys to make amends. There is a plentiful supply[243] of game in the Mexican sierras, however, for any sportsman who wishes to devote his attention directly to that pastime, as shown by the big scores the natives make when they go on a hunting trip. <hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG style="margin-top: 1em;" src="images/image27.jpg" width-obs="375" height-obs="506" alt="An Occupied Cave Dwelling" /></div> AN OCCUPIED CAVE DWELLING <hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> Early next morning we made a start from our camp on the cañon's side, by the light of the pitch-pine torches, and climbed over and out of the deep gorge into a more open country, where the sunlight could penetrate. Here the trail was of velvety softness, and we surprised a number of cave-dwelling Indians sitting and standing about their homes among the big bowlders. The only garments they had on were ragged breechcloths of cotton, but some had the extra adornment of a strip of red cloth about their shocky black hair. The air was intensely[244] cold, so much so that we were wrapped in our heaviest coats, but these savages apparently did not feel the cold, and if they shivered at all it was probably at the sight of us—for their fear was quite evident—and it was plain they longed to beat a retreat to their huge rocky homes; but they stood it out till we passed, and then in an instant they vanished. <hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG style="margin-top: 1em;" src="images/image28.jpg" width-obs="375" height-obs="541" alt="Home of Cave Dweller." /></div> HOME OF CAVE DWELLER. <hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> Before this day's march was ended we passed through a little Tarahumari mountain town called Churo. It was in a small circular valley, and on all sides were the steep, high peaks of the mountains. Here the Indians had tried to raise a few apples, but the trees were gnarled and twisted, and the apples not much larger than those of wild crab trees, although much sweeter to the taste. Of course there was no store of any kind in the little[247] settlement, and if Mexicans, passing through the place, wished to obtain anything from the Indians, their method was to take it, placing whatever they considered its equivalent in silver before the Indian, and leaving it for the latter to accept. If asked to sell any of their produce or set a price on it, the Indians stolidly refuse, even though the price may be two or three times greater than they could possibly obtain at the nearest Mexican mining town. They know nothing of the value of gold, and paper money they utterly refuse; silver is the only money they will take even in this reluctant fashion. <hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG style="margin-top: 1em;" src="images/image29.jpg" width-obs="500" height-obs="308" alt="Tarahumari Town of Churo." /></div> TARAHUMARI TOWN OF CHURO. <hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> Upon reaching Cusihuiriachic I found that my Winchester rifle had been left in the stage office in Chihuahua. I sent back word to forward it by next[248] stage to Carichic, but as the next stage did not arrive at that place for four or five days we would have just that much start of it in the mountains, and we therefore at that place engaged a Tarahumari Indian boy to bring it whenever it did arrive. The gun reached Carichic at noon of one day, and early the next forenoon the young Indian appeared on our trail with it, having made the distance in one night and a little over half a day. Of course he must have used many short cuts across the country of which we were ignorant; nevertheless it was quite a feat, for the distance traveled by us was about 110 miles. From Carillo Cajon, where our last camp had been, to the westward and southwestward the scenery steadily becomes grander and more mountainous;[251] until the Grand Barranca of the Urique is reached it fully equals the Grand Cañon of the Colorado at any point on its course. Long before, indeed, on our southward march beautiful vistas break to the right and the left, and especially to the east. About five o'clock one afternoon, just as we were emerging from a dense forest of high pines, and little thinking of seeing stupendous scenery, we suddenly came to the very edge of a cliff fully 1000 feet high, and from which we could look down 4000 to 5000 feet on as grand a scene of massive crags, sculptured rock, and broken barrancas as the eye ever rested on. It was already late in the afternoon, so I determined to remain over a day at this point and devote it to camera and cañon. This camp on the picturesque brink of the Grand Barranca[252] I called Camp Diaz, after Mexico's president. The Grand Barranca of the Urique is one of the most massive pieces of nature's architecture that the world affords. It is quite similar in some respects to the Grand Cañon of the Colorado, and this is the nearest to which I can compare it in the United States. The latter, grand as the scenery undoubtedly is, soon tires by its monotonous aspect of perpendicular walls in traveling any distance, while the Grand Barranca could be followed as far as it deserves the name of "grand" and every view and every vista would have some startling and attractive change to please the eye. It is a "cross" between the Grand Cañon of the Colorado and the Yosemite Valley—if we can imagine such scenery after seeing both. Were[255] the Urique River navigable, fortunes could easily be made by transportation lines carrying tourists to and fro, provided even only one terminus connected with some well-established line of travel. But unfortunately it is not navigable, no amount of money could make it so, and all tourists or travelers who are afraid of a little work or roughing it will miss one of the most magnificent panoramas. It is simply impossible to crowd into a pen-and-ink sketch or a photograph any adequate views of this stupendous mountain scenery. It is rather a field for an artist, who will put the product of his palette and brush on heroic-sized canvas, and make one of the masterpieces of the world. The heart of the Andes or the crests of the Himalayas contain no more sublime scenery than the wild, almost unknown[256] fastnesses of the Sierra Madres of Mexico. <hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG style="margin-top: 1em;" src="images/image30.jpg" width-obs="500" height-obs="291" alt="A View through rock opening across the Grand Barranca of the Urique" /></div> A VIEW THROUGH ROCK OPENING ACROSS THE GRAND BARRANCA OF THE URIQUE. <hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> From the cliffs we were on, among the pines and cedars, we could look far down into the valley of the Urique with our field glasses and see the great pitahaya cactus, a product of the tropical climes. In between were the oaks and other products of temperate climates, showing us in a huge panorama nearly all the plant life from the equator to the poles. We sat on the bold, beetling cliffs, and could drink ice water from the clear mountain springs that threw themselves in silvery cascades below, and view the river far down in the valley, a perpendicular mile below us, the waters of which were so warm that we knew we could bathe in them with comfort. Away off across the great cañon were lights, as evening fell,[257] beaming from the caves of the cliff dwellers on the perpendicular side of the mountain. Truly it was a strange, wild sight. One of the lights that was "raised," as the sailors would say, in the evening, was in what seemed to be a perpendicular cliff on the opposite side of the mighty barranca, as near as we could make out in the gloom of the falling night. Its position was located, and, surely enough, on the next day our conjectures were verified, for we could see a few dim dottings showing caves, while to the main one led up a steep talus of débris that tapered to a point just in front of the entrance. Strangest of all, but a little way down the side of this very steep talus, so very steep that one would have had much difficulty in ascending[258] unless there were brush to assist in climbing, we could easily make out, with the help of our glasses, that corn had been planted by these strange people. It seemed as if the tops of the dwarf plants were just up to the roots of the next row of corn above them, if they can really be said to have been planted in rows at all. <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG style="margin-top: 1em;" src="images/image31.jpg" width-obs="375" height-obs="332" alt="Interior of a Cliff Dweller's home, seventy-five feet above the Water." /></div> INTERIOR OF A CLIFF DWELLER'S HOME, SEVENTY-FIVE FEET ABOVE THE WATER. Much as I would have liked to visit the place, the condition of my mules and the state of my provisions made it clearly out of the question; moreover, I was informed that better chances to see cliff dwellers would present themselves before long, which statement, fortunately, was soon verified. Not far from Camp Diaz was a place where we could have tied our braided horsehair lariats together and let a person down one hundred to two hundred feet into the tops of some tall[259] pine trees, and from there gain the first incline, which, though dizzily steep, I think would have led, by a little Alpine engineering, into the bottom of the big barranca four or five thousand feet below, and thence an ascent could be made to the caves of the cliff dwellers. But there[260] were other and more potent considerations, which I have given, that prevented our attempting this acrobatic performance with the cliffs and crags as spectators. We might say that we were now out of the land of the living cave dwellers and in the land of the living cliff dwellers, although the latter live in caves in the cliffs. But I make the distinction between the two, of caves on the level of the ground in the valleys or the sides of mountains, and the caves in cliffs or walls. The latter are reached by notched sticks used as ladders, or, as I saw in a few cases, by natural steps in the strata of alternate hard and soft rock, and up which nothing but a monkey or a Sierra Madre cliff dweller could ascend. Many of these cliff houses in the caves and great indentations are one hundred to[263] two hundred feet above the water of some mountain stream, over which they hang like swallows' nests. Truly they are a most wonderful and interesting people, well worth a large volume or two to describe all that is singular and different in them from other people, savage or civilized. <hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG style="margin-top: 1em;" src="images/image32.jpg" width-obs="500" height-obs="299" alt="In the Land of the Living Cliff Dwellers." /></div> IN THE LAND OF THE LIVING CLIFF DWELLERS. <hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> One of the most distinguishing characteristics of the Sierra Madre range, and one that will attract widespread admiration in the near future when this country is better known, is its wonderful rock sculpture. I do not think I exaggerate in saying that I passed hundreds of isolated sculptured rocks in one day. All sketches fail to give an idea of these beautiful formations. They must be seen to afford a conception of their beauty and grotesqueness. Undoubtedly they outrank all other ranges of North[264] America and, as far as I can learn, of the whole world. Even the Garden of the Gods in Colorado is flat in comparison with some of the many miles of glorious rock formations in these grand old mountains. The trail from Camp Diaz to our fifth camp in the Arroyo de los Angelitos along the western side of the Grand Barranca of the Urique, was as picturesque as the most poetical imagination could conceive. The trail wound up and down the steep arroyos and along the edge of the high cliffs, giving views of unsurpassed beauty and grandeur. That night we slept for the last time under the somber pines and listened to the whip-poor-wills, for the next night we had descended seven thousand feet, and were among the oranges and palms, the paroquets and humming birds. <hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> [265] <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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