Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
The Lost MountainA Tale of SonoraBy Captain Mayne ReidPublished by George Routledge and Sons, London.This edition dated 1885.
The Lost Mountain, by Captain Mayne Reid.
________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________THE LOST MOUNTAIN, BY CAPTAIN MAYNE REID.
CHAPTER ONE.
IN WANT OF WATER.
"_Mira! El Cerro Perdido_!" (See! The Lost Mountain!)
The man who thus exclaims is seated in a high-peak saddle, on the backof a small sinewy horse. Not alone, as may be deduced from his words;instead, in company with other men on horseback, quite a score of them.There are several wagons, too; large cumbrous vehicles, each with a teamof eight mules attached. Other mules, pack animals, form an _atajo_ ortrain, which extends in a long line rearward, and back beyond this adrove of cattle in charge of two or three drovers--these mounted, as amatter of course.
The place is in the middle of a vast plain, one of the _llanos_ ofSonora, near the northern frontier of this sparsely inhabited state.And the men themselves, or most of them, are miners, as might be told bycertain peculiarities of costume, further evinced by a paraphernalia ofmining tools and machinery seen under the canvas tilts of the wagons.There are women seen there too, with children of both sexes and everyage; for it is a complete mining establishment on the move from a_veta_, worn out and abandoned, to one late discovered and stillunworked.
Save two of the party all are Mexicans though not of like race. Amongthem may be noted every shade of complexion, from the ruddy white of theBiscayan Spaniard to the copper-brown of the aboriginal, many beingpure-blooded Opata Indians, one of the tribes called _mansos_ (tamed).Distinctive points of dress also, both as to quality and cut, denotedifference in rank and calling. There are miners _pur sang_--these inthe majority; teamsters who drive the wagons; _arrieros_ and _mozos_ ofthe mule train; _vaqueros_ with the cattle; and several others, male andfemale, whose garb and manner proclaim them household servants.
The man who has called out differs from all the rest in costume as incalling, for he is a _gambusino_, or professional gold-seeker. Asuccessful one, too; since he it is who discovered the _veta_ abovespoken of, in the Great Sonora Desert, near the border-line of Arizona."Denounced" it as well--that is, made declaration and registration ofthe discovery, which, by Mexican law, makes the mine his own, withexclusive right of working it. But he is not its owner now. Withoutsufficient means to undertake the _exploitation_, he has transferred hisinterest to those who can--Villanueva and Tresillian, a wealthy miningfirm, long established near the town of Arispe, with all their_employes_ and a complete apparatus for excavating, crushing, andamalgamating--furniture and household gods added--are _en route_ for thenew-found lode, with high hopes it may prove a "bonanza." It is theircaravan that is halted on the plain, for to halt it has come at a hailfrom the _gambusino_ himself, acting as its guide.
He is some distance in advance of the wagons with two other horsemen, towhom his speech is particularly addressed. For they are the chiefs ofthe caravan--the masters and partners of the mining company composingit. One of them, somewhat over middle age, is Don Estevan Villanueva, aborn Mexican, but with features of pure Spanish type, from hisAndalusian ancestry. He is somewhat the senior of the two, and seniorpartner of the firm, the junior being Robert Tresillian, an Englishman,and native of Cornwall.
Up to that moment there had been anxiety on the countenances of both, ason those of their followers, indeed more, a look of gravestapprehension. Its cause is apparent; a glance along the line ofanimals--ridden horses as well as draught and pack-mules--clearlyproclaiming it. All show signs of distress, by sides hollowed in, necksoutstretched and drooping, eyes deep down in their sockets, and tonguesprotruding from lips that look hot and dry. No wonder! For three daysthey have not tasted water; and the scant herbage of the plains, onwhich they have been depasturing, is without a particle of moisture. Ithas been a season of drought all over Sonora, not a drop of rain havingfallen for months, and every stream, spring, and pool along their routedried up. Little strange, then, the animals looking distressed, and nomore that the minds of the men are filled with gloomy fears as to whatmight be before them. Another three days, and it may be death to most,if not all.
Just in like proportion are their spirits uplifted on hearing theexclamation of the _gambusino_. Well know they what it means--goodgrass and abundance of water. All along has he been telling them ofthis, picturing the "Lost Mountain," or, rather, a spot by its base, asa very Paradise of a camping-place. No want of water there, he hassaid, however dry the season or long-continued the drought; no fear ofanimals being famished, since not only is there a spring and runningstream, but a lake, surrounded by a belt of meadow-like land, with grassthick, succulent, and green as emeralds.
"You're sure it's the Cerro Perdido?"
It is Don Estevan who thus doubtingly interrogates, his eyes fixed on asolitary eminence seen afar over the plain.
"_Si_, senor," affirms the guide, "sure as that my name's Pedro Vicente.And I ought to be sure of that, from what my mother told me; the oldlady in her life never getting over her anger at the cost of mychristening. Twenty silver _pesos_, with a pair of church candles--bigones, and of best wax! All that for only handing down to me my father'sname, he being Pedro, and a poor _gambusino_ as myself! _Carramba_!The _padres_ are the veriest extortioners--levy black-mail morerigorously than either footpad or highwayman."
"_Vaya, hombre_!" rejoins Don Estevan. "Don't be so hard upon the poorpriests. And as for the expense your mother was put to in celebratingyour baptismal rites, that's all past and gone. If you were poor once,you're now rich enough to care nothing for such a trifle as twentydollars and a couple of wax candles."
The senior partner speaks truth, as any one who had seen Pedro Vicentethree months before, seeing him now, would say. Then was he sparelyclad, in garments of faded hue, tattered and dust-stained; his mount thescraggiest of mustangs--a very Rosinante. Now bestrides he a horse ofbest blood and shapely proportions, in a deep tree-saddle of stampedleather, with ornamental housings; his own body bedight with all theglittering adornments peculiar to that special Mexican dress known as"_ranchero_," picturesque as any in the world. His lucky find of gold,still in its matrix of quartz--_madre de oro_, as the Mexican minerscall it--with its transference to Villanueva y Tresillian, has given himsufficient of this same metal with the mint stamp on it for all mattersof comfort, costume, and equipment.
"Oh! bother your christening and candles," puts in the Englishman, witha show of impatience; "we've something more serious to think about.You're quite sure, Senor Vicente, that yonder eminence is the CerroPerdido?"
"I've said," laconically and somewhat gruffly answers the guide, showingslightly nettled at the doubt cast on his affirmation, and by one hesupposes a stranger to the country and its ways--in short, a "_gringo_."
"Then," pursues Tresillian, "the sooner we get to it the better. It'sten miles off, I take it."
"Twice ten, _caballero_, and a trifle over."
"What! Twenty miles? I can't believe that."
"If your worship had been roaming about these _llanos_ as long as Ihave, you could and would," rejoins the guide, in quiet confidence.
"Oh! if you say so, it must be. You seem to know, Senor Vicente; andshould, from all I've heard of your skill as a path-finder. That you'regood at finding gold we have the proofs."
"_Mil gracias_, Don Roberto," returns the _gambusino_, with a bow, his_amour propre_ appeased by the complimentary speech; "I've no doubtab
out the distance, for I'm not trusting to guesswork. I've been overthis ground before, and remember that big _palmilla_." He points to atree at some distance, with stout stem, and a bunch of bayonet-likeleaves on its summit--a species of _yucca_, of which there are severalstraggled over the plain, but this one taller than any. Then adds, "Ifyour worship doubts my word, ride up to it, and you'll see a P and Vcarved in the bark, the initials of your humble servant. It was done tocommemorate the occasion of my first setting eyes on the Cerro Perdido."
"But I don't doubt your word," says Tresillian, smiling at the oddmemento in such an out-of-the-way place; "certainly not."
"Then, senor, let me assure you that from it to the mountain is all oftwenty miles, and we'll do well if we get there before sun-down."
"In which case, the sooner we start for it the better."
"Yes, Pedro," adds Don Estevan, speaking to the gold-seeker in afriendly, familiar way. "Ride back and give the order for resumingroute. Tell the teamsters and all to do their best."
"At your worship's command," returns the _gambusino_, with a bow, andwave of his broad-brimmed hat raised high over his head.
Then, pricking his horse with a spur having rowels full five inches indiameter, he canters off towards the caravan.
Before reaching it he again uncovers, respectfully saluting a groupwhich has not yet been introduced to the reader, though possibly theoddest, with the individuals comprising it, the most interesting of allthe travelling party. For two of them are of the fair sex--ladies--onemiddle-aged and of matronly aspect, the other a girl late entered uponher teens. Only their faces and the upper portion of their forms arevisible, for they are inside a sort of palanquin--the _litera_ ofMexico, used by grand dames on long journeys, and roads over whichcarriages cannot be taken. The face of the older lady, with darkcomplexion and features of Andalusian type, is still attractive, butthat of the younger one strikingly beautiful; and between the two is astrong family resemblance, as there should, since they are mother andchild--the Senora Villanueva and her daughter.
The _litera_ is borne between two mules, attached to shafts fore andaft, in charge of a strapping fellow in velveteen jacket, and_calzoneras_, _botas_ of stamped leather, and _sombrero_ of black glaze,with a band of silver bullion round it. But there is a fourth personagecomprising the group, unlike all the others, and bearing no resemblanceto any of the wayfarers save one--the Englishman. To him the youth--foryoung he is--shows the likeness, unmistakable, of son to father; andsuch is the relationship between them.
Henry Tresillian, just turned seventeen, is a handsome fellow,fair-haired, of bright complexion, and features delicately chiselled,still aught but effeminate in their expression; instead, of a cast whichproclaims courage and resolution, while a figure tersely knit tells ofstrength and activity equal to anything. On horseback, he sits bendingover in his saddle with face to the curtains of the _litera_. There maybe eyes inside admiring him; and the expression of his own tells hewould fain have it so. But all their eyes, late full of gloom, sparkledelightedly now. The Lost Mountain has been sighted; their fears areover, and so soon will be their sufferings.
"_Anda! adalante_!" (advance) shouts Pedro Vicente.
His words echoed rearward along the line, followed by other cries, witha creaking of wheels and a cracking of whips, as the wagons once moregot into motion.