Part 25 (1/2)
His little son, Lovey Dimple, was seated beside him during one of Mr.
Armstrong's calls. He was allowed to visit his father, and waited upon him day by day, sometimes telling him of the pleasant times he had had at the seash.o.r.e, and at others watching him quietly. His presence seemed to do his father good; and on this visit Mr. Armstrong was able to obtain much more information from Stephen Trimble than upon any previous occasion.
”You are quite sure,” Mr. Armstrong asked, ”that you never saw this check, which someone has cashed at the bank, and which is indorsed with your name?”
”Never, never!” replied the wounded man.
”I see it, though,” Lovey Dimple spoke up, promptly. ”Jim had come down to the court to see me, and I wanted to show him the machine in the Rooshans' room, and we follered him in there. Mr. Meyer dropped a piece of paper which looked like that, and Jim picked it up. He could tell you what was written on it.”
”I must have Jim as a link in our chain of testimony,” Mr. Armstrong replied. ”Is he at the Home of the Elder Brother?”
”No, sir; Jim used to be there, but he had the luck to be adopted. He went away just for to be a tiger for some swells, and they liked him so much they permoted him. He's Jim Roservelt now.”
So this was the lad of whom Adelaide had spoken to him. Mr. Armstrong wrote to his friend Mr. Roseveldt, requesting that Jim should be sent to the city. His testimony at the trial was so clear and concise, and his entire appearance so manly, that Mr. Armstrong was greatly drawn to him.
”If my own boy had lived,” he said to Mr. Roseveldt, who had come to the city with Jim, ”he would have been about the age of this little fellow.
I am about to make a western trip of six or seven weeks, and would like to take him with me. Should the liking which I have taken to him grow upon acquaintance, I beg of you to relinquish him to me; I need him, for I am a stricken man, and you are a fortunate one, or I would not ask it.”
Mr. Roseveldt replied that, though he was fond of Jim, he would willingly give him up to Mr. Armstrong for adoption after his return from the West, provided the boy's mother would consent to the transfer.
Singularly enough, the name of that mother was not mentioned, and Mr.
Armstrong took Jim with him to Colorado, little dreaming that the boy was his own son.
He had said that he needed Jim; and he needed him in more ways than he knew. He had grown world-soiled, as well as world-weary, and the companions.h.i.+p of a soul white and young was destined to exert upon him a purifying as well as rejuvenating influence. Before the grand mountain scenery Jim's fresh enthusiasm stimulated Mr. Armstrong's sated admiration, and the child's naive ideas of right and wrong were a rebuke to the man's sophistries. They journeyed together through the wild and beautiful canons of the Rocky Mountains, and the boy was deeply impressed by the stupendous cliffs rising on each side--walls that were sometimes two thousand feet in height, and so close together that the narrow river, which had cut its way down from the surface, sometimes filled the entire s.p.a.ce at the bottom of the gorge. But even here the ingenuity of man had surmounted the barriers of nature, and the observation-car on which they rode dashed along upon a shelf cut in the solid rock, with a sheer wall on one hand, and a dizzy precipice on the other. Such a canon was the Royal Gorge of the Arkansas; in one portion an iron bridge hangs suspended from strong supports fixed in the solid walls, and the train glides along it, swaying as in a hammock, over the brawling river.
The climax of their tour was reached in the Black Canon. The scenes here are awful, even in broad daylight, for the sombre crags tower to the height of several thousand feet. Our travelers pa.s.sed through the chasm at night. Far overhead the stars were s.h.i.+ning in the little rift of sky, which was all that they could see between the walls; and in the mysterious half-lights of the illumined portions, and the utter blackness of the shadows, the grotesque shapes of the crags took on strange forms and awful suggestions. At times it seemed as if the train was about to dash itself against a wall of solid masonry, which opened, as though thrown back by genii, as they approached. At one point, catching the moonlight, a silvery cascade swept over the rocks like a bow of crystal; and at another, a mighty monument of rosy stone, the Curricanti Needle, towered far above the cliffs, like the sky-piercing spire of some grand cathedral.
”The people who live here must be very good,” Jim gasped, as they emerged from the valley of enchantment, ”one is so much nearer to G.o.d out here!”
”n.o.body lives in the canon now,” Mr. Armstrong replied; ”Indians lived here not very long ago. They used to hold their councils on that shelf of rock where the pines grow, the last accessible spot on the Curricanti pinnacle, but the settlers in the neighborhood did not have your idea about their being such very good men, and as the canon was the best pathway through the mountains for the railroad, they were driven out.”
”I am sorry for the Indians,” Jim said, simply. ”If I had owned that canon I wouldn't have liked to have given it up, would you?”
Mr. Armstrong evaded the question. ”You will not have so much pity for them when you know them better,” he replied. ”They are a low lot, and if they do not know enough to improve the advantages which they possess, it is only fair that they should be appropriated by those who will make a better use of them.”
Jim did not quite understand what Mr. Armstrong meant by appropriating the Indians' advantages, but he was to learn more in relation to that word before the journey was over. Returning to Denver, Mr. Armstrong took the boy with him on a tour through some of the pueblos of New Mexico. The word ”pueblo” signifies town, and the Pueblo Indians are those who build houses instead of tents and wigwams, and live from generation to generation in towns and cities, instead of wandering about the plains and mountains like the other tribes. There are twenty-six of these communities in New Mexico, and some of the cities were old when the Pilgrims landed at Plymouth.
When New Mexico was ceded to the United States by Mexico, the right of the Pueblo Indians to their towns and to certain tracts of land surrounding them was confirmed by treaty, so that these Indians are better off in many ways than any others. Mr. Armstrong had a special reason for visiting the Pueblos. He had purchased several large herds of cattle, and wished to rent land of the Indians for pasturage. A man by the name of Sanchez, who traded among the Pueblos, could speak the language, and had gained the confidence of the Indians, happened to be on the train, and recognizing Mr. Armstrong as a wealthy capitalist, who had large interests in cattle, as well as in railroads, at once guessed pretty nearly the nature of his errand in the Indian country.
He introduced himself, and, learning that Mr. Armstrong intended to visit the pueblo of Taos, to witness the celebration of the Festival of San Geronimo, offered his services as interpreter and courier. These Mr.
Armstrong was very glad to accept, for he had heard of the man, and knew that he had considerable influence among the Indians. There was something repellent, however, in his insinuating, cringing manner which made one feel that here was a man who was not to be trusted. The party was increased by an army officer and a Catholic priest, who were also going to Taos to witness the festival. The pueblo lies at a distance of twenty miles from the railroad station, but an Indian was found waiting for Mr. Sanchez with a rough wagon, and that gentleman invited the others to ride with him. They crossed the Rio Grande River and drove along beside it in a northeasterly direction, through a not very interesting country. The coloring was all yellowish brown--the sandy earth, the crisp parched gra.s.s, the distant hills, even the water when taken from the turbid river, were all of a like monotonous tint. Now and then they met or pa.s.sed an Indian, wrapped in a striped blanket and mounted on a small s.h.a.ggy pony. Toward evening they came in sight of the pueblo. The first view was very picturesque. The houses of adobe, or sun-dried brick, were built in ranges one above the other, like a great stairway, the roof of the lower house serving as the dooryard for the one above. Ladders were placed against the walls, and up and down these, nearly naked Indian children scrambled like young monkeys. They parted their long elf-locks with their hands, and stared at the strangers with wild, black eyes. Mr. Sanchez conducted them to an unoccupied house, which he said would be at their service during the festival for quite a good sum. There was no hotel, and this seemed the best thing to be done.
It had evidently been suddenly cleared for the unexpected guests, and some of the utensils and furniture remained. The priest pointed out with pleasure a gaudy print of the Virgin. There were strings of red peppers drying on the outer wall, and a great olha, or decorated water-pot, within, but there was no bedding or food. The gentlemen, however, had each brought with them army blankets, and Mr. Sanchez offered to act as their commissary and skirmish for provisions. He presently returned, followed by a woman carrying a bowl of stewed beef and onions, and a boy driving a donkey, whose panniers were filled with melons. This, with some coffee, which the officer made over a spirit-lamp, and some crackers contributed by Mr. Armstrong, const.i.tuted their supper, which hunger made palatable.
After this refreshment they mounted to their roof and watched the preparations for the festivities of the next day. Mr. Sanchez pointed out the entrance to the _estufa_, or underground council-chamber, into which the young men of the tribe were disappearing for the celebration of mysterious pagan rites.
”I thought the Pueblos were Roman Catholics,” Mr. Armstrong remarked.
The Catholic priest shook his head sadly. ”Our converts have always remained half pagan,” he said; ”the early missionaries were content to engraft as much Christianity as they could on the old customs, thinking that the better faith would gradually supplant the old, but the old rites and ceremonies have remained. Still we must hesitate to say that the Fathers did wrong, since it was the only way to win the savages to the holy faith.”
The priest strolled away to visit the church and to find a Mexican brother who was to celebrate Ma.s.s on the next day. The church was a ruinous building which stood apart from the others. The army officer told of the siege which it sustained during the Mexican War, and pointed to the indentations made in its walls by cannon-b.a.l.l.s.
The situation was such a strange one that Jim slept but little. All night long he could hear the dull beat of the tom-toms in the _estufa_, and as soon as the first streak of dawn illumined the sky the pueblo was awake and all excitement. Indians from neighboring towns poured in, some on foot, and others mounted on ponies or donkeys.