AARRIVAL OF THE COACH
The Carichic line is quite unfrequented, and only an ordinary wagon is used as a stage for the few Mexicans who go that way; but in honor of my party the large diligence was sent that day to carry us and all our luggage. With the first streak of dawn we were threading our way backward and forward across the little stream that runs through the town, past sleeping pigs, geese, chickens, dogs, burros, and Mexicans—an almost indiscriminate mass strung along the roadside. This road led past the big quartz mill, grinding away day and night, and by it we climbed up and out of the narrow cañon till the mesa and the hills were reached. Afterward the drive was through beautiful park-like places, with groves of oak and pine, the road winding up and down the mountain side, until, early in the afternoon, we reached Carichic. On the road between Cusihuiriachic and Carichic we came to an adobe building, that departed in a very picturesque way from the everlasting mud box style of architecture so common to this country, and for which departure we had to thank the Apaches. Not that they built it, for an Apache never built anything except under compulsion, and at that time compulsion of these Indians was about the scarcest thing in Mexico; but, rather, they compelled the Mexicans to do it, that is, to erect corner towers at the four corners of the mud box, and convert it into a building of defense. In the picturesque mountain scenery it looked at a short distance away like an old castle, and only a nearer inspection dispelled the illusion.
MEXICAN ADOBE HOUSE FORTIFIED AGAINST APACHE RAIDS.
While at Cusihuiriachic we had looked with some contempt on the primitive accommodations of its forlorn and dilapidated hotel, and had rather scouted the idea of its being possible to find a worse place or greater disregard for the common necessities of life in any habitable town. The little cell-like room, with its wooden bench, tin wash basin, and bare brick floor on which to stow one's bedding, seemed to be the extreme of simplicity; therefore we believed that Carichic could hardly do less for us. But as everything is relative in this world, I was soon to look back to the despised hotel as the last taste of civilization, and to appreciate it accordingly. On reaching Carichic, a town of six or seven hundred people, we were told there was no such thing as a lodging house for us, and that it would be necessary for us to camp in the streets or some field, unless our Mexican friend could induce the village priest to allow us the use of a large empty room in one corner of the big building he occupied. The loaning or renting of a large empty room does not seem to be an act of great hospitality, nevertheless it was so regarded. The Mexican gentleman, when passing backward and forward over the trail between his father's mines and Chihuahua, always made his headquarters with the priest or cura, who was a great friend of his family; but everything and everybody from the United States he looked upon with suspicion and distrust. Therefore, considering the circumstances, his readiness to allow us under his roof could only be considered as a marked hospitality, or as evidence of a disposition to oblige our mutual Mexican friend. Perhaps he was animated by a keen sense of duty, and found this a fitting opportunity to mortify the spirit. But, whatever his motive, we were given the use of the room. So the stage left us and our worldly possessions there, for at Carichic all roads ended, and, as soon as I could make my arrangements with a native packer for his pack train of mules, we were to take one of the narrow Indian trails leading back into the heart of the Sierra Madres.
The priest's house was by far the most important in the village, being built around a large interior court, with all the rooms facing on this court, except the one given for our use. At the entrance to this interior court was a large gate, which could be barricaded in case of danger or an Indian uprising. On one of the outside corners of the structure was a sort of storeroom, the door opening on the street, and next to this storeroom—which contained a few old bottles and pieces of leather—was the room assigned to us. At one end of our room was a small fireplace, and along the rude adobe wall was a wooden bench, and near it a table. One window, with wooden bars, and the door, were the only openings. The floor was the common one of earth. As there was not a place in the town where food could be bought, it was necessary to open our boxes before our dinner could be prepared. Wood and water were soon brought, a fire started in the fireplace, and our simple meal could have been ready in fifteen minutes—and would have been anywhere except under the auspices of our Mexican cook. We tried to secure chickens and eggs—staple articles even on the frontier of Mexico—but were told that time would be required to get them, and that the next day would be the earliest moment at which they could be procured. Tortillas, however, were forthcoming, and these, with bacon, hard bread, cheese, and tea, made an excellent meal. Dionisio, or Dionysius in English, my cook, had been highly recommended to me at Chihuahua, and had been brought with me on that account, as I had been influenced by glowing descriptions of his supposed good qualities. Since the morning of our start from Chihuahua he had been the butt and laughingstock of even the slowest of the Mexicans, who had heaped all sorts of derisive epithets on him for his general stupidity. My only hope was that he would blossom out as a good cook when he had an opportunity; but here I was doomed to receive the full shock of his utter incapacity, and to realize that he would only shine resplendently as a complete failure on the whole journey. Finally I was forced to the conclusion that he was palmed off on me simply to get him salaried and off the the hands of somebody else. Although we arrived at Carichic about noon, or shortly after, and preparations were begun at once for our simple meal, we were compelled to eat it by the light of a tallow candle. It was evident that, if more than one meal a day was to be had, Dionisio would require an assistant to do all the work.
As night approached the good padre tendered us the use of his parlor floor on which to spread our bedding. This room occupied one side of the interior court. It was a long, narrow place without windows, and lighted only through the wooden doorways, of which there were two. In one end of the room was a little old narrow iron bedstead; at the other a small, black haircloth sofa, and a couple of chairs. On the walls were a picture of the Virgin and a small crucifix, while in another part, hung up beyond reach of the tallest man, was a small, a very small mirror, evidently regarded as a profane thing and not to be used. In the center of the room was a small strip of faded green Brussels carpet. The whole place had a most depressing air, and the bare earthen room outside was beautiful by comparison, for in the latter we had the sunshine, and could see the lovely blue sky, and all around the horizon, the rolling, tree-covered hills, with the distant peaks of the Sierra Madres in the background. Nature had been very lavish with this place, and at every point of the compass it was picturesque and beautiful in the extreme. About Carichic the soil is wonderfully fertile and the grass luxuriant. A lovely little mountain river winds by on one side of the village. The people are principally the civilized Tarahumari Indians, and this is one of their largest towns. There is, however, as in all Indian towns, a slight sprinkling of Mexicans, and to that portion of the community we looked for mules to carry us back into the mountains.