Here, only twenty-three miles from Nacori, and at an elevation of 4,000 feet, we were obliged to make camp for three days. Dense fogs and occasional hard showers made travel impossible. Besides, our principal guide, Agustin Rios, became dangerously ill. He was sixty-five years old, and I decided to send him back.
Our Principal Guide Leaving Us.
When I hired him I had not been aware that he was afflicted with an incurable disease, and that on this account his wife had tried to keep him at home. Now he had to be carried on a sort of palanquin constructed for the occasion, and I regret to state that he died before he reached his home in Nacori. He had been a reliable man, and his loss was very deplorable.
Before he left he gave me directions for finding a rather large ancient pueblo, which he had come across once in the sierra, and of which he frequently spoke to us. However, our search for it proved fruitless, and I am inclined to think that it would probably not have differed much from those we found later on Bavispe River.
A Mule with its Pack of Crates.
From now on I made it a rule to send three or four men about two days ahead of the main body of the expedition, to make a path. Occasionally they were guided by Apache tracks, but for the most part we cut our own way through the wilderness. Instead of adopting the Mexican method of going uphill as straight as practicable, I had the trail cut zigzag, and to this I attribute the fact that I was able to pull through at all, as it saved the animals an immense amount of strain. The steepest inclination we ascended was 40°, while for the most part we climbed at an angle of about 30°. On some of the ridges, in order to help an animal up, one man had to drag it by a line, while two others pushed it from behind. In many places the mules had to be led one by one along the narrow edge of chasms.
To look at these mountains is a soul-inspiring sensation; but to travel over them is exhaustive to muscle and patience. And the possibility of losing at any moment perhaps the most valuable part of your outfit is a constant and severe strain on your mind. Nobody except those who have travelled in the Mexican mountains can understand and appreciate the difficulties and anxieties attending such a journey. Not only the animals themselves, but everything they carry is vital to the success of the expedition, and there is always a danger that, for instance, your camera and photographic outfit, and the priceless collection of negatives already taken, may roll down a precipice.
A mule with its bulky pack is, to a certain extent, helpless on these narrow mountain trails. Old and experienced animals often manoeuvre their packs with a cleverness that is almost human: yet, whenever a mule runs accidentally against some projection, or its foot slips, the poor beast invariably loses its balance, and over it goes, down the hill with ever-increasing velocity.