“To begin, this deed o’ valor, gents an’ fellow mavericks,” pursued Buck Eye Pete, “was committed in the year of our Lord 1880, an’ me an’ Chinook Bill deserted the peaceful path o’ cow-punchin’ an’ chucked the fair dame o’ nameless peril under her purty chin. But be the consequence o’ that deed o’ valor on my own head, fer Chinook Bill was one o’ them trustin’ children es would turn an indignant rattler from a devilish purpose. Chinook Bill had that ca’m eye o’ the poet, the voice o’ the south wind an’ a hankerin’ fer the beauties o’ virgin natur an’ was gifted with a most marvelous arrangement in his inside which would belch information, mediaeval er otherwise, like a heifer’s cud, which he would afterwards masticate with great an’ convincin’ effusion. So this is how it come about. We had been grazin’ a bunch o’ cattle on the Bear Paw Plateaus, an’ was some seven weeks out an’ sure lonesome fer company when in a fit o’ desperation I made a suggestion to allay the fevered angwee o’ our fettered sperits. An’ Chinook Bill fell to with a spontaniety an’ enthusiasm es was plum disgustin’ in a man es had full possession o’ his mental faculties. But that ain’t sayin’ es how I was took with the dreams o’ averice myself. It was one fair day, the name an’ date o’ which has been lost in the remorseless flight o’ time, we come upon a Mexican’s cabin down in the El Raso Pass, which is still an unknown quantity in them beautifully colored railroad posters. This Mex had a helpmate, two ragged urchins in the way o’ off-spring with a mixture o’ mangy sheep an’ a pack o’ dawgs es would back ’emselves agin a convenient angle o’ the hut, scratch their ears an’ growl while me an’ Chinook Bill held forth in intellectual conversation with the Mex. They was ha’f Injuns an’ had lived there since they didn’t know when, but it was some time conjoinin’ that mystic period when the Jesuits evacuated suddent from their mission, the noble ruins o’ said mission still liftin’ majestic columns o’ doby brick in the purple haze o’ a poetic twilight a little ways down the valley. Well, whilst we was enjoyin’ our repast o’ tortillas an’ goat’s milk in the main dinin’ room Chinook Bill’s artistic eye discovered a incongruous dis-sim-oo-larity in the Mex’s selection o’ household furnitcher, which was sure marvelous to look upon to the unconverted eye o’ good taste, which consisted o’ sacred emblems in onyx, a gilded throne chair which was fit for a pope, a carved mahogany altar table an’ a stately array o’ books bound in stained sheep skin. Chinook Bill takes down one o’ them tomes o’ learnin’ an’ grows exultant yet arful perplexed at the contents thereof. An’ on the cover o’ every one o’ them books was a mouth with two fingers placed over it, which Chinook Bill opines was meant to convey their secret import an’ was forbidden knowledge excep’ to them es wore the cassock an’ paced the sacred patio o’ righteous an’ worldly exclusion.
“‘Where you get these?’ says Chinook Bill, polite.
“‘Mission,’ says the Mex.
“‘Buy,’ says Chinook Bill, ‘five dollars’.
“‘Bueno,’ says the Mex, an’ we peel him a fiver. Then we packed our purchases on a burro an’ hikes fer the range.
“It was that night before the camp-fire I was translatin’ the Spanish in one o’ them tomes o’ learnin’ when I ups suddent like with a yell an’ slaps Chinook Bill a ponderous blow o’ enlightment.
“‘Attention!’ says I, ‘here is an unexpurgated account o’ the mysterious city o’ Poaquita which lies in the far interior o’ the Sonora wilderness an’ was once ruled by the descendants o’ Montezuma an’ to which some monks was led captive in that distant time when the mind o’ man runneth not to the contrary! Then I read the glowin’ account, and Chinook Bill waddles his cud an’ looks attentive.
“‘Well’, says he, final, ‘what’s the color in yer pan?’
“‘Gold and hidden treasure’, says I, an’ I read some more from the forbidden book.
“‘Do you believe it?’ says Chinook Bill arter a pause an’ a long breath, like a woman.