Part 26 (1/2)

”Now the Utes possess some of the best mining lands in Colorado, but will never develop them; so it seems to me better that they should be removed to the desert lands, which are worthless for purposes of civilization, and let the whites have their opportunity. I have my eye on a gulch which I discovered while hunting in the San Juan Mountains four years ago, and which I mean to pre-empt just as soon as we get the Utes to give up their present reservation and pack off to Utah. We shall go back that way, and I will show you the spot.”

Jim opened his eyes very wide. He did not quite comprehend what Mr.

Armstrong had said. Surely he could not mean to defraud the Indians in any way! He would doubtless pay them the worth of their mine, and if they liked the ready money better than the trouble of mining the silver for themselves it would be all fair.

At Antonito Mr. Armstrong left the railroad, provided himself with a span of horses, a wagon, camping outfit, and a brace of greyhounds, and struck out through the Ute reservation for the mountains. He told some gentleman whom he met at Antonito that he proposed to enjoy a little coursing for antelope; but there was a set of surveyors' instruments in the wagon, which proved that he intended to locate the mine which he had come across during his previous visit. His acquaintance attempted to discourage his making the trip alone, saying that the Utes had been restless of late, owing to a failure in receiving their supplies from Government, and it was hardly safe to approach their reservation.

”You need not be afraid of the Utes,” another gentleman replied. ”I knew their old chief, Ouray, and was entertained once in his house--a neater farm-house than many a white settler can show, and I was hospitably waited upon by his wife, Chipeta, who gave me peaches from their own orchard, and saleratus biscuit, and when I saw the familiar yellow streaks in them, and tasted the old chief's whisky, I had to confess that the Indian was capable of civilization.”

Mr. Armstrong laughed, but the first speaker bade him be careful, for all the Utes were not like Ouray, who had so well earned his t.i.tle of the White Man's Friend.

”Now,” exclaimed Mr. Armstrong, after he had driven out of sight of the last human habitation--”now at last we can breathe! What do you think of it, Jim?”

”I didn't know the world was so big,” the boy replied; ”these must be the Estates del Paradiso which Miss Prillwitz talks about. Why, there's room for all New York to spread itself out, and every child to have a yard to play in. It seems a little bit lonely,” he added, after a pause.

”I should think you would have liked to have had some of those gentlemen go with you.”

”Why, you see, Jim,” Mr. Armstrong replied, ”I am going to hunt up that silver mine, and I had a little rather not share the secret with any one but you. Besides, I like the loneliness. I grow very tired of people sometimes, Jim, and it seems good to get away from them. Don't you ever feel so?”

”Mother did,” Jim said. ”She likes helping at the Home very much, but she got a little tired just before the young ladies sent for her to go to the seash.o.r.e, and she came across one verse in the Bible which sounded so beautiful. It was, 'Come ye yourselves apart into a desert place and rest awhile, for there were many coming and going, and they had no leisure so much as to eat.'”

”I didn't know they had such hurrying times down in Galilee,” Mr.

Armstrong replied, lightly. He was in good spirits, and they drove a long distance that day, camping at night by a small stream, in which he caught some fine trout. As Jim curled up close to him under the army blanket, Mr. Armstrong felt a slight tremor run through the boy's frame.

”What is the matter?” he asked. ”Are you afraid? We are still miles away from the Indians.”

”It isn't the Indians,” Jim replied, ”but it's all so still! I don't hear horse-cars, nor the Elevated, nor people pa.s.sing, nor nothing. Down at the Pier it was something like this, but there was always the sea; and at the pueblo there were the dogs; while here it seems as if something had stopped.”

”'All the roaring looms of time,'” Mr. Armstrong replied, quoting from Tennyson, ”have stopped for a little while for us, my boy, and that's the beauty of it. But the old machines will have us in their grip again very soon.”

The next day Mr. Armstrong enjoyed a rabbit hunt. Jim, though he took part in the sport, could hardly be said to enjoy it. ”It seems such a pity to kill the pretty things!” he said. But this did not keep him from making a hearty meal of broiled rabbit, or from hoping that they might find antelope before the trip was over. The loneliness which he had felt the night before came on again toward evening, and Jim was not sorry, on their third day out, to see that they were approaching a new frame house.

”An old half-breed guide used to have a tepee here,” said Mr. Armstrong; ”I shall engage his services for our trip. He is a good cook, a good hunter, faithful to his employers, and he knows every rock and clump of sage-brush in all the region. His only fault is that he will get drunk.

He was with me when I found the silver ore, and I need him to guide me to the spot again.”

As they came nearer, Mr. Armstrong seemed greatly surprised to see a large field of waving corn in front of the house, while some cows were being driven toward an out-building by a young Indian in checked s.h.i.+rt and brown overalls.

”What can have come over old Charley!” exclaimed Mr. Armstrong. ”When I was here before, nothing would induce him to degrade himself by farm labor. Some boomer must have established himself here. It's illegal, for the land still belongs to the Indians.”

They drove up to the front door, and were met by the same young man whom they had seen driving the cows, but the overalls were replaced by a faded pair of army trousers, and a paper collar had been hastily added to the checked s.h.i.+rt. He bade them enter, in good English, and the interior of the house was clean and inviting. The walls were papered with newspapers, a bright patchwork quilt was spread upon the bed, and a pleasant-faced girl was frying ham and eggs over the stove; while there was a shelf of books over the table. An Indian woman emerged from a shadowy corner and expressed a welcome by pantomime.

”Is not this Charley's wife?” Mr. Armstrong asked, and the woman smiled and nodded her recognition.

”Where is your husband?” was the next question. ”Charley no good,” was the wife's frank reply; ”gone hunting with white men.”

This was a disappointment that Mr. Armstrong had not antic.i.p.ated; he was not sure that he could find his way to the silver mine without Charley's help, but it was worth trying. The odor of the frying ham was appetizing, and the invitation to supper was promptly accepted.

”Are you Charley's son?” Mr. Armstrong asked of the young man, who presently brought in a foaming pail of milk, and a.s.sisted his mother and sister in waiting on their guests.

”Yes, sir,” was the prompt reply, ”and my name is Charley too--Charles Sumner.”

Mr. Armstrong stared in astonishment. ”Where did you learn to speak English so well?” he asked.