We passed the Clanton Cienega,[11] and near it some large cattle corrals built for branding and marking cattle in; we drove along the edge of the Gray Cienega (the best water in the valley), and passing the end of a large "draw," in which two troops of U. S. cavalry, under Major Tupper, were encamped, finally reached the Gray Place, the headquarters ranch of the valley.
As we pulled up before the long, low, rambling adobe house, two or three dogs ran forward and barked. But they did so only half-heartedly, and prudently, to be on the safe side as it were, and soon, confirmed in their partial recognition of my host, desisted altogether. Meanwhile a young girl had arisen from a bench in the shadow of an angle made by the walls, and in that leisurely and somewhat forced style of Western indifference—a manner more often the result of shyness than of anything else—was strolling down the slope towards us.
She was very small and slight—a girl of twelve years old might well have been bigger; she, however, was more than fifteen. Clad in a rough woollen frock, that showed considerable signs of wear and tear, and was gathered in at the waist by a dilapidated old cartridge-belt, she certainly owed nothing to dress. But she wore her rags as surely no one born to them could have worn them; and a curious contrast existed between the pretty preciseness of her slightly foreign pronunciation, the infantine clearness of her voice, and the Western slang that she talked.
Save for a few crisp curls, her black hair (which was cut short) was thrown back from her forehead, and with her sunburnt, glowing complexion, betrayed her Southern origin. Her head and features were small. She had a superficially old manner, the healthy look and self-reliance of a boy, but the eyes of a woman—of an angel sometimes. Eyes that recalled legends of the "star-eyed Egyptian"—dusky hazel orbs, grand and pure in tone, with a world of deep lights and sorrowful shadows in them—divinely innocent now, and now far-reaching, full of haunting mystery and meaning—eyes that in their more serious moments looked immortal, and seemed to have lived in ages past, to have seen all, to know all, and to be striving passionately to break the mute spell that now overpowered them. But this was only in their serious moods. For the most part they mocked the world with restless mischief and malice. And this temper it was that had gained for her the sobriquet, "Mosquito," usually contracted into the more easily available "Squito."
Murray had picked up Squito on one of his trips into Mexico to buy cattle. The old man liked to have a youngster dependent on him—something to pet and to spoil—something to "swap affection with." And Rafaeleta and he were devoted to one another.
FOOTNOTES:
[5] Working things up. "Her" is often used in an impersonal and general sense out West, instead of "it." On the frontier the "Colonel" used (as does every one else who stays there for any length of time) all the frontier slang. It has always been a marvel to me to see the ease with which such men shed, like an old coat, all such frontierisms when they return to more cultured society.
[6] Chaffing.
[7] At the time alluded to, the Apaches were "out," and there were two military camps in Animas Valley.