Invitations had been extended to all the adult inhabitants to take part in the festivities. For some reason all the ladies sent regrets by the messenger; but of men there was no lack, the packers having taken the precaution to send out a patrol to scour the streets, “collar” and “run in” every male biped found outside his own threshold. These captives were first made to drink a tumbler of mescal to the health of the two great nations, Mexico and the United States,—and then were formed into quadrille sets, moving in unison with the orchestra of five pieces,—two drums, two squeaky fiddles, and an accordion.
None of the performers understood a note of music. When a new piece was demanded, the tune had to be whistled in the ears of the bass-drummer, who thumped it off on his instrument, followed energetically by his enthusiastic assistants.
This orchestra was augmented in a few moments by the addition of a young boy with a sax-horn. He couldn’t play, and the horn had lost its several keys, but he added to the noise and was welcomed with screams of applause. It was essentially a stag party, but a very funny one. The new player was doing some good work when a couple of dancers whirled into him, knocking him clear off his pins and astride of the bass-drum and drummer.
Confusion reigned only a moment; good order was soon restored, and the dance would have been resumed with increased jollity had not the head of the bass-drum been helplessly battered.
Midnight had long since been passed, and there was nothing to be done but break up the party and return to camp.
From Basaraca to Tesorababi—over twenty miles—the line of march followed a country almost exactly like that before described. The little hamlets of Estancia and Huachinera were perhaps a trifle more squalid than Bávispe or Basaraca, and their churches more dilapidated; but in that of Huachinera were two or three unusually good oil-paintings, brought from Spain a long time ago. Age, dust, weather, and candle-grease had almost ruined, but had not fully obliterated, the touch of the master-hand which had made them.
Tesorababi must have been, a couple of generations since, a very noble ranch. It has plenty of water, great groves of oak and mesquite, with sycamore and cotton-wood growing near the water, and very nutritious grass upon the neighboring hills. The buildings have fallen into ruin, nothing being now visible but the stout walls of stone and adobe. Mesquite trees of noble size choke up the corral, and everything proclaims with mute eloquence the supremacy of the Apache.
Alongside of this ranch are the ruins of an ancient pueblo, with quantities of broken pottery, stone mortars, Obsidian flakes and kindred reliquiæ.
To Tesorababi the column was accompanied by a small party of guides sent out by the Alcalde of Basaraca. General Crook ordered them back, as they were not of the slightest use so long as we had such a force of Apache scouts.