Concepcion, about the twentieth town of the name we have passed, is a dirty little place, with a church and nunnery. The inhabitants are like all other Mexicans, and are in eternal dread of the Apaches. So far we have not seen a hostile Indian, and only once a trail, which was that of the "Taromari" [Taraumara][17] tribe, and our guide said were not Bravos. Many of the people take advantage of us as an escort, and run along either before or behind, and at night camp near us.
July 2d. We wound along the meanderings of the river "Verde," sometimes smooth and again a dashing torrent, and reached "El Rancho Arisachi," deserted by its original owners. It is worked by Tarimari Indians and owned now by some one whose name we could not find out. We tried to buy cattle, for we had had no fresh meat for several days; but any we pointed out could not be bought, no owner could be found. I told Van Horn, our best shot, to pick out the fattest yearling he could find, and we would pay the owner if he came forward. The beast was no sooner shot than a man claimed the price. By the time we had dressed the animal, and packed the four quarters on our meat mules, no vestige was seen of the dead animal—entrails, head, etc., being carried off by the Indians.
From this rancho we had to leave our beautiful stream for a mountain pass, and the first precipice we ascended cost Watkinson his horse; the poor brute had no bones broken, but was so lame from his fall, that we had to leave him behind. There was plenty of grass and water in the valley near which he fell and we hoped he would be found and cared for, not eaten, as among these Indians is the rule when horses or mules are broken down or injured. In places our road was almost impassable, but we reached the top of the first hill and had a view of the next, about three times higher. We could see very distinctly the zig-zag line of our road, in the red clay between the rocks and stones, and foresaw hard work for ourselves and our animals. Down we went, and in half an hour after began the new ascent. We were compelled to leave a mule here, and to divide his pack between two or three other animals.
Soon after, we made the last ascent, most abrupt and trying of all, but from the summit had a magnificent view of a broad plain such as I have never seen surpassed. On either hand mountain after mountain covered with oak and pine, and contrasts of sun and shade were before us, and the velvety distance ended in a rainbow. After a heavy descent we encamped on the brink of a little creek, overhung by tall pines.
Here we saw two elks, and Jack Black, mounted on a tired mule thought he could get near enough to have a shot, but after going about two miles, changed his mind.
July 3d. This morning we started early, and our road along this little stream was beautiful and so quiet that I lagged behind to enjoy it as much as possible, but in a short time we began a stony ascent of two miles, after which came an uncomfortable descent into another beautiful valley, but with poor grass; here we took a short rest, and then continued, reaching, at noon, Tomochic, on a little river of the same name. The old Mission had only the original tower; the rest of the building is now adobe.
The river here makes a sudden turn from southeast to northwest, and we took it up-stream; it runs through miles of sandstone worn into cliffs and fissures, presenting the most fantastic shapes imaginable, delighting us at every turn. We looked in vain for fish in the most tempting of eddies and holes, but saw very few; little trout about five inches long were all that rewarded our search. We crossed and re-crossed this stream twenty-two times in about seven miles, and encamped on a sandy bottom covered with fine pines. Here I saw Steller's jays and Clement shot one for me; I also saw a fox squirrel, but I could not get it, and do not know its species. A magnificent hawk flew over us; he had two white bands on his tail—could it be Falco lagopus?
Fourth of July. Paso Chapadaro. Calm, misty, silent. The sun soon threw its red light over all we saw to the west, but was hidden by the range of mountains to the east which we had passed, till mastering at an effort, as it seemed, the highest ridge, it burst forth in all its splendor. In the bottom of my saddle-bags, rolled in a handkerchief, was a flag given me by poor Hamilton Boden, and by the time the haze had gone, it floated in the breeze, from the top of the highest tree near our camp; nature was all in a smile, and we prepared to spend the day according to our various inclinations. Some slept, some basked in indolence, some started off to look for game, some looked to their saddle-bags and blankets; all was rest, at least from travel, and I unpacked my paper and pencils and made a sketch of the "Fourth of July Camp."
Wild cattle were abundant, and noon saw our camp in possession of a fine heifer shot by Rhoades. Steaks were broiled and fried, ribs roasted, brains stewed in the skull; delicacies under such circumstances unequalled by the cuisine of a palace.
When evening came, Mess No. 4, all good singers, gave us some beautiful choruses from operas, as well as simpler songs, and as night brought the solemn quiet, and the moon glided in its ordained course, "Old Hundred" was sung with the most solemn feelings of reverence and adoration.