That same day we passed La Sierra de los Ojitos. It is a high, shaggy mountain, covered to the very top with a dense forest of pine, and indicates where the waters divide to the east and west. On its slope that we faced, its rivulets poured their contents into the Gulf of Mexico, while from the opposite slope they go into the Pacific Ocean, or rather its great Mexican arm, the Gulf of California. It is the highest point of the Sierra Madres that we encountered on the trail, and I found it to be 12,500 feet above the level of the sea, with La Sierra de los Ojitos towering some 2000 to 3000 feet higher on our left. I camped that night in a picturesque box cañon, which I named Carillo Cajon after the Governor of the State of Chihuahua, who had done a great deal to help the expedition with all the local authorities in the different parts of the State that I might visit. We camped at the first available point we could find, and even here slept at an inclination of some thirty degrees to the level, the mules grazing nearly overhead above us and occasionally rolling a stone down on us during the night.
This part of the Sierra Madres has a great deal of game in it, but the most essential things to hunt it with would be a good pair of wings, things that unfortunately travelers never have. There are many white-tailed deer in the well-wooded valleys, but a brass band would find them before a Mexican pack train, as it makes much less noise. In fact this is true of nearly all kinds of game that can be frightened off by the lung power of man. There are also many bears here, but we saw none, nor any fresh signs of them. It is said by those who ought to know that there are two kinds of bears in the Sierra Madre range, lying between Chihuahua and Sonora—the common black species, and a huge brown kind that must be, I think, the cinnamon or the grizzly bear, so common farther north. The Tarahumari natives hunt the deer in a very singular manner, but they leave the bears alone, as their weapons, the bows of mora wood, are not strong enough for such an uncertain encounter. The jaguar, or Mexican spotted panther, is known as far north as this, but seems to keep to the warm lands, or tierra caliente, which restricts it to the low plains of Sonora and Sinaloa, just west of here.
The endurance of these savage sons of the sierras in chasing deer is wonderful. They take a small native dog and starve it for three or four days till it has a most ravenous appetite; then they go deer hunting, and put this keen-nosed, hungry animal on the freshest deer trail they can find. It is perfectly needless to add that he follows it with a vim and energy unknown to full stomachs. Fast as a hungry, starved dog is on a trail that promises a good breakfast, he does not keep far ahead of the swift-footed cliff dweller, who is always close enough behind to render any assistance that may be required if the deer is overtaken or a fresher trail is run across. I should say the dog is always liberally rewarded if the hunt is a success.
If night overtakes the pursuers they sleep on the trail, and resume the chase as early next morning as the light will allow. Once on the trail, however, the deer is a doomed animal, although the pursuers have been known to sleep for two or three nights on its course before it was overtaken, especially if the fleeing animal knew in some way that it was pursued long before it was overtaken. Once overhauled, a series of tactics is begun so as to divide the labor of the pursuit between the dog and the man, but to give no corresponding advantage to the deer. Wide detours are forced upon the deer by the swift dog, each recurring one being easier to make, and the pursued animal is brought near the man, who, with loud shouts and demonstrations, heads off the exhausted animal every little while and turns it back on the pursuing dog, until finally in one of the retreats it falls a temporary prey to its canine foe, when the man rushes in and with a knife soon dispatches the game.
Early one morning we could hear wild turkeys calling from one cliff to the other, but as these were over a thousand feet higher and steeper than the leaning-tower of Pisa, I suddenly lost all the wild turkey zeal I had brought along with me for the trip. Then, again, if a commander leaves his pack train just as they are getting away, he will surely find a delay of an hour or two on his hands, for which it would take a dozen turkeys to make amends. There is a plentiful supply of game in the Mexican sierras, however, for any sportsman who wishes to devote his attention directly to that pastime, as shown by the big scores the natives make when they go on a hunting trip.
AN OCCUPIED CAVE DWELLING
Early next morning we made a start from our camp on the cañon's side, by the light of the pitch-pine torches, and climbed over and out of the deep gorge into a more open country, where the sunlight could penetrate. Here the trail was of velvety softness, and we surprised a number of cave-dwelling Indians sitting and standing about their homes among the big bowlders. The only garments they had on were ragged breechcloths of cotton, but some had the extra adornment of a strip of red cloth about their shocky black hair. The air was intensely cold, so much so that we were wrapped in our heaviest coats, but these savages apparently did not feel the cold, and if they shivered at all it was probably at the sight of us—for their fear was quite evident—and it was plain they longed to beat a retreat to their huge rocky homes; but they stood it out till we passed, and then in an instant they vanished.