But in his campaigns against the Indians, in Idaho and Oregon and Northern California, the general had depended entirely upon pack-mule trains, which kept right up with the marches, no matter how rough the country, and were always on hand. According to the say of old Jack Long, “he had got pack-mule wise.” He had persuaded the War Department to buy three full pack-trains from their civilian owners who had hired them out to the Government; and these he had brought to Arizona with him.
“He’s the daddy o’ the army mule, I reckon,” again declared Jack. “Yes, siree! Those thar mules ain’t nary sore-backed Sonora rats, an’ they ain’t bags o’ bones so high up you have to use a ladder to put a pack on with. They’re picked stock; an’ every other mule’s got to measure up to same standard. Gosh durn it, I b’lieve the gin’ral thinks as much of his mules as he does of his men! He looks as close arter glanders as he does arter measles!”
However, the general looked after the men pretty close, too. The packers themselves had to measure up to standard. Those who were drunken, or lazy, or cruel to the mules, were discharged, and better men enlisted. Henceforward the pack-train service was to be known as “Pack Transportation, Q. M. D. (Quartermaster’s Department), U. S. Army,” and to belong to it would be an honor.
Yes, a responsibility, also; for as old Jack explained: “When you get up in the mountings ’mongst the ’Paches, an’ you’re out o’ ammunition an’ the pack-train’s got busted somewhars in the next county, then what’s your scalp wuth? Nothin’!”
Jimmie might think himself lucky in having old Jack Long at Camp Grant, to give him pointers. Joe Felmer was a scout and rancher; he did not claim to be an expert mule packer. But old Jack had been a Forty-niner in California, and had mined and packed all through California and Oregon and Idaho and Nevada and Arizona. So he knew a great deal.
Jack had had two wives, one a Modoc squaw and one a white woman; and once he had “struck it rich,” in California, and had been almost a millionaire until he had spent his money. Lately he had been living in Tucson, freighting and prospecting. There he had “j’ined Gin’ral Crook ag’in the ’Paches.”
Now Chief Packer Tom Moore had appointed him to be a pack-master. The chief packer had charge of all the pack-trains, and each pack-train was in charge of its pack-master.
“Want to j’ine the pack trains, do ye?” queried old Jack, of Jimmie. “Wall, if you’re goin’ to l’arn, you oughter l’arn right, an’ some day mebbe you’ll be in the Fust-class Packer ratin’. Mebbe you’ll get to be as big a man as I am. ’Tain’t all in throwin’ the diamond; anybody can l’arn to throw the diamond hitch. But you got to know the why an’ wharfore o’ things. Come along to the corral an’ I’ll show ye.”
So Jimmie gladly followed Jack to the post mule-corral.
“Hey, thar, amigo (friend)!” summoned old Jack, to Chileno John, who was at work among the mules. “Ven’ aqui (Come here). Fetch out one o’ yore bell sharps. Hyar’s a muchacho (boy) who wants to l’arn to be an arriero (muleteer).”