FRIDAY, MAY 14th.
Turn out this morning about 7.30 and find the weather clear and warm. We go to a nearby restaurant for breakfast; mutton chops are one of the items on the bill of fare, and we are pleased, for we are partial to chops—nice, juicy, tender mutton chops; but these chops do not quite come up to our idea of what mutton chops should be—not so juicy nor so tender as we would like; but being hungry we quietly and uncomplainingly devour what is set before us. “Where do you people in El Paso get your mutton?” I inquired of the waiter as we arose from the table (for I had no recollection of seeing a sheep since we entered the State of Texas). “Goats,” was the short but suggestive answer. A little private inquiry elicited the information that it is a fact that the greater part of the “mutton” consumed in El Paso is a product of the goatherd. The supply is apparently inexhaustible, for thousands of those ruminating, odoriferous quadrupeds can be seen roaming the adjacent plains and plateaus in great herds, attended by boys and dogs.
Accompanied Manager Wyman to Superintendent Martin’s office, where we learn “that there is no prospect of getting our train across the washout this week. The water has fallen but very little, and while we are working day and night, endeavoring to close the break, our progress is necessarily slow on account of the action of the high water, and the work cannot be completed sufficiently to get our train across until the water recedes. And no one knows,” continued Mr. Martin, “when this will be, for the water is just as likely to rise as to fall. The weather has been very hot these last few days and has melted the snow in the mountains very rapidly, which has caused the high water here. When the snow is gone the water will fall, so you see it depends upon the supply of snow, of which we know nothing about. If you wish to continue on your journey I will send you to Los Angeles by regular train, and when we succeed in getting your train across will send it on after you.”
Brother Wyman rather favors this proposition, as he desires to reach Los Angeles before the Grand Division adjourns, but the majority of our party will not agree to it, preferring to remain with the train and take their chance with it; so the idea of going ahead by regular train is abandoned. A party of us procured a four-horse team and went over to the train to-day, some to remain and others to return. Would have remained had Mrs. S. been along, for it is a dreadful hot trip of two and one-half hours across that burning sand.
We found our train sidetracked at Alfalfa, one mile east of the washout, and had one mile to walk after leaving the wagon. Alfalfa is not a place—it is only a name. There is a sidetrack here and a post with a board on it, and on the board is painted in large black letters the word Alfalfa. That is all. It is a flagstop for accommodation trains, but there is no station, not even a shed, a platform, nor a plank. The nearest civilized communities are El Paso, 7 miles away to the west, and Fort Bliss, the same distance to the north. On the east end of the same sidetrack where our train lies are a number of cabooses of the Texas and Pacific construction train, occupied by Mexican families whose husbands and fathers are working on the repairs at the washout. They are a squalid, uninviting-looking set, but seem happy and contented with their lot.
Here and there in the edge of a sandbank can be seen a “dugout,” or, sheltered in a mesquite thicket, a “shack” occupied by the same nationality, who with their goats and burros are very pictures of meek and lowly contentment. These are the surroundings in the midst of which we are sidetracked. We find our people (those who are with the train) with smiles upon their faces as they tell us they are “all right” and are having a good and pleasant time. There must surely be an element or ingredient in this desert air and atmosphere that breeds contentment and repose.
Several of the boys went over to the train and back on broncos to-day, and experienced a hot but exhilarating ride. The party consisted of Brothers Waddington, Taylor, Matthews, Moore, Mattson, Leary, and Elder, who all claim that the ride, although a very hot one, was rare sport. The novel experience of a ride of 14 miles on a fiery, wiry Texan horse is a feature of their visit to El Paso that will not be forgotten.
Brother Wyman remained at Alfalfa to watch the progress of repairs at the washout, and I returned in the wagon to El Paso. Dining-car Conductor McDonald accompanied us; he was looking for a wagon-load of supplies for his car from El Paso that had not arrived. When about half way across the plateau we met the team. Mr. McDonald interviewed the driver to ascertain if his wagon was loaded with what had been ordered and found everything satisfactory.
As we leave behind us the hot, suffocating desert trail we pass close to the base of Mt. Franklin, in the shadow of which El Paso lies, and crossing the railroad tracks of the Fort Bliss Branch we feel a deep sense of relief as we strike the hard, smooth street that leads us into the city’s welcome shade and rest.
Learning on our arrival back that the El Paso Telegraph, a morning paper, contained an account of our trip and detention, we procured several copies and sent them East to friends.
The majority of our party went over to the train this afternoon; those remaining in town witnessed this evening a grand pyrotechnical exhibition under the auspices and management of the McGinty Club, a powerful social and political organization of El Paso. After the parade, during which there was a fine display of fireworks, the storming of Fort McGinty took place, which was the leading feature of the occasion. The fort, built of some light material, was erected on a neighboring hill, Roman candles and sky rockets were used as weapons by both the storming party and the defenders, which caused the mock battle to assume a very realistic appearance.
After the exhibition of fireworks a party of us visited the famous Astor House, kept by Col. Si Ryan. Si is one of the noted characters of El Paso. Years ago he was sheriff of three counties in Southern California, Mono, Inyo, and San Bernardino, and in dealing with the outlaws and renegades that infested the country at that time he achieved a reputation for nerve and courage that has never been surpassed, and the numerous scars upon his person, made by knife and bullet, bear silent testimony that he never shirked his duty in the face of danger or turned his back upon a foe. We find the colonel a prince of good fellows, and after enjoying his company and partaking of his hospitality, we repaired to the headquarters of the McGinty Club, and with a number of visiting firemen were royally entertained.
Brother McCarty was with us, and for some unexplained reason he received special attention; but Charlie is a good fellow and deserves it, and being a bachelor it is all right. Several of us withdrew from the meeting before it adjourned, as it was drawing near midnight. We had spent a long and busy day and were tired. Soon reached my room at “The Wellington,” and retiring, endeavored to recall the various events of the day, but rushing water, desert dust, galloping broncos, McGinties, sky rockets, and smoke got mixed up in inextricable confusion as I lost consciousness in sleep.