It was a
perfect day in April and there never was a brighter sky nor
balmier air than beamed and breathed upon us. The air was soft
and tremulous with a magical light that produced startling
phantasmagoric effects.
It was my first sight of a mirage and it naturally excited my
curiosity. It seemed as if a forest had suddenly sprung up
in the San Simon valley where just before had appeared only bare
ground. With every change in the angle of vision as we journeyed
on, there occurred a corresponding change in the scene before us
that produced a charming kaleidoscopic effect. The rough
mountain was transformed into a symmetrical city and the dry
valley into a lake of sparkling water, - all seeming to be the
work of magic in some fairyland of enchantment.
In a ledge of granite rock by the wayside were cut a number of
round holes which the Indians had made and used as mills for
grinding their corn and seeds into meal. Nearby also, were some
mescal pits used for baking the agave, a native plant that is in
great demand as food by the Indians. The spot was evidently an
old rendezvous where the marauding Apaches were accustomed to
meet in council to plan their bloody raids, and to feast on
mescal and pinole in honor of some successful foray or victory
over an enemy.
We next crossed several well-worn Indian trails which the Apaches
had made by many years of travel to and fro between their
rancherias in the Mogollon mountains and Mexico. The sight of
these trails brought us back to real life and a conscious sense
of danger, for were we not in an enemy's country and in the midst
of hostile Indians? Nearly every mile of road traveled had been
at some time in the past the scene of a bloody tragedy enacted by
a savage foe. Even at that very time the Apaches were out on the
warpath murdering people, but fortunately we did not meet them
and escaped unmolested.
The road now crossed a low hill, which was the signal for more
trouble. The team started bravely up the incline, but soon
stopped and then balked and all urging with whip and voice failed
to make any impression. After several ineffectual attempts to
proceed it was decided not to waste any more time in futile
efforts. The horses were unhitched and the wagon partly
unloaded, when all hands by a united pull and push succeeded in
getting the wagon up the hill. After reloading no difficulty was
experienced in making a fresh start on a down grade, but a little
farther on a second and larger hill was encountered, when the
failure to scale its summit was even greater than the first. No
amount of coaxing or urging budged the horses an inch.
