Herds of sleek cattle grazed on the prairie covered with mesquit and buffalo grass. The former is the best in the world. It grows luxuriantly upon the plains of Texas, renews itself early in the spring, matures early, and throughout the year remains nutritious as naturally cured hay. Innumerable varieties of cacti blazed their gorgeous blossoms of yellow, red, pink and white over the expanse, but no trace of water; for it had now been six months since they had had any rain, and Jack marvelled at the healthy look of vegetation. “How is it,” he asked, “that the trees attain such size and look so thrifty?”
“It is a common saying in these parts that their roots are attached to the bottom of a subterranean lake which is supposed to underlie this county,” laughed Miss Kurtz.
Jack also laughed as he answered, “Then why is not someone enterprising enough to utilize these everlasting winds in bringing some of the water to the surface? Honestly, I wonder that you do not irrigate.”
“One or two have tried it, but the water is very, very deep, and the scheme is an expensive one.”
“This soil is a rich, dark alluvium, very productive without rain. What would it produce with it?” he continued.
“Prickly pears and all the other varieties of cacti,” Elsie replied demurely.
They were now nearing a series of bluffs which gradually arose to an elevation of about one thousand feet forming a wall, or chain of hills, which hemmed in Squaw Creek Valley on the east for its entire length of seventeen miles. Their ascent was gradual, trees grew smaller with elevation and soon they were picking their way through a tangle of shin oak, cacti and mesquit bushes. Exhilarated by the pure air, they halted on the summit and looked down into Squaw Creek Valley. Jack started at its resemblance to his own dear valley in the North, only the walls which hemmed in this one would be called hills there.
At the head, or rather three heads, of the valley, Squaw Creek has its source in a chain of small lakes of pure spring water; thence it winds its way through the entire valley and at the extreme northern end unites its waters with the Onion to form Beaver Creek which empties into Llano River. The valley itself appears perfectly level and its walls have a perpendicular height of nearly five hundred feet. The road into it was at the northern end.
For several miles they travelled along its summit, then, descending abruptly into a pass, struck the stage-road for Fredericksburgh and dismounted to water the horses. As Jack was assisting Elsie to alight, her watch slipped from her belt and fell to the ground. In stooping to pick it up, he was struck with its unique workmanship. “May I examine it?” he asked. “I never saw one like it.”
“Certainly,” she answered, handing it to him. “It belonged to a Spanish woman who died at our house. I nursed her and just before her death she gave me this, saying it was all she had; and this,” opening the back of the watch, “is a miniature of her only child. She called him Hernando.”