Evening Star Newspaper, June 28, 1931, Page 73

PART .7, | he Swunthuy Star filagafin_z WASHINGTON, D. .C, JUNE.- 28, 1931, Books Features “NOT BY THE WILL OF GOD” The Fate of an Old Indian W hose Ancestors Robbed M. exican Pack Trains o f Their Golden Treasure—Sheep Herder Guided to Cache of Loot—Part of It May Remain, Even Today, Hidden in Its Mountain Cave. BY J. FRANK DOBIE, Author of “Coronado’s Children’” and several special articles for The Sunday Star’s Magazine. ; HERE were three of us—a ranchman named Rocky Reagan, his pastor (goat herder) and myself. Rocky and I had been deer hunting in one of his pastures down in th2 brush country of Texas. An eight-point buck tied behind one of our saddles, we had stopped a little after dark at the pastor's camp for a cup of coffee. The frugal fire was very cheerful as it blazed against a natural wind- break of black chaparral brush,” and the odor of goat ribs rgasting over it made us pause Jonger than for a mere cafecito. A man is like a dog. After he has eaten he is loath to stir from warmth. Anyhow, there was time for a pipe before riding the four or five miles on into the ranch. “Tomas,” said Rocky Reagan, “has been with our family for more than 30 years.” Then in Spanish he added: “I want him to tfell you why he left Mexico for this couniry.” Tomas was pinching the end off a shuck cigarette filled with blackleaf “Lobo Negro” tobacco. He took a goal of fire in his fingers to light it. He adjusted the frazzled serape about his neck and shifted his squatting vc- sition so as to be a little more out of the November norther. ¢ “Ro-kee,” he said—émr~Spanish, for he had never learned English; and, in addressing his junior, he, according to the custom of. the bor- der, left off the title—"“I see ycu are taking a cough. I gathered today some of the roois of the anacahuita. I: will be weil 1o make you a little tea.” HAD not noticed the cough. The old Mexi- can got a tomato can from which the top had been melted, unwrapped a flour sack that swathed the roots, brcke them into the can, filled it with water and spent fully iwo minutes adjusting a heap of coals to set it on. A coyote began howling not far away. “The coyotes,” remarked Tomas, “havz for three mornings now sung cn tcp of the hills after sunup instead of in the valleys before the sun came out. It will rain.” Soon the tea had boiled. “It would be better,” remarked Rocky Reca- gan, “if it had some lemon in it.” “Tomas,” Rocky said again, after expressing his thanks, “I want ycu to tell us why you left Mexico to come to Texas” “A coyote,” remarked Tomas, “has killed a black kid. It has always been known that coyotes will not molest a goat that is black. Something strange is waiting to happen. Per- haps it will snow this Winter.” But at last Tomas gct his tale going. This is what he told: Deep within the Slerra Madre, in the State of Chihuahua, on wbat ™ known as the Arroyo Cvlorado, Tomas as & young man lived and worked for a- merchant named Jcaquin Vilia- \ Fisherman'’s Luck real. The store was the chief feature of the village. Around it were great forests ru..ning down into the canyons and crawling up to the mountain cumbres—a wild, solitary land with fewer people in it_than werc there when the Spaniards came. Scattered back in the mountains lived a few timber cutters, and they all depended upon Don Joaquin Vil- lareal. He furnished them with what scafity supplies they had and periodically went out to check the ties they had cut. Then, maybe once a year, they came in%o the village and settled their accounts. Once, when the time came to make a checking of the ties, Don Joaquin took sick. He decided to send Tomas in his place. Tomas knew all the men and he knew the country in a general way, ) thocugh he had never made one of these trips of inspection. He must, he knew, go prepared with bed and provisions. So, with a cantecen cf water on one side of his flat-horned saddle, a morral (a fiber bag) of frioles and tortilas on the other and a blanket cied on behind, he set forth. “My mule,” ad- monished Don Joaquin, “will show you the way.” She was a good little mule, but Tomas' trouble was that he did not take enough provisions. He had forgotten how large and sparsely settled the ccuntry was. At the end of four days he had checked two tie cutters and had consumed all his food but a half dozen buttons of garlic and that many tortillas. That evening he came to a poor, lonely jacal, or cabin. He reccgnized the dueno as one of his employer's men named Ignagio. He was hospita- bly invited in to eat and spend the night. “Though we have very little,” said Ignacio, “it is yours.” Little enough it proved. For supper there was nothing but parched corn and tea from mulato bark without sugar. Tomas went out to his saddle, took from the morral the garlic and six tcriillas he had left, and added them to the table. It was a feast for the tie cutter and/ his wife. They appeared to have no children. After they were through eating, Tomas said, “Tell me why you live so hard, this way.” Ignacio replied: “We have always lived hard this way. It is the will of God that we saould always live this way.” There was silence for a long time. Then the woman said: “No, it is nct the will of God. We could have plenty, but Ignacio has mo* willed it.” “How is that?” asked Tomas. “I will tell you. It is nearly 10 year ago now. It will be 10 years next Christmas. It was cold. In the late evening an old, old Indian came to our jacal. His blanket was but shreds. His guarachas (sandals) were torn through. We gave him such food ac we had. We had some wild artichokes as well as parched corn. The Indian was grateful. He told us a strange, strange story. “He said that he was absolutely the last of his tribe. I do not remcmber their name, but when I was a child I heard my grandmother tell of their fierceness. From the earliest times this tribe had warred agains: the government of Mexidp. The government had forced them By Laura Parmelee. The wagon was piled With driftwood brown, For firec must burn Thorgh scamen drown. A man stepped out To the horse’s head, Looked in the wagon— Arnd he was dead. The sea was bright With the morning sun, But his eyes were dark, And his day was done. He went to the creek To look at his nets, Which daw by day The old man sets. The ancient Fisher Whose nets are cast Forever and aye Had caught at last. The old white horse Went slowly along; What ails your master? Anything wrong? mountains.” “The Indians got revenge by raiding every pack train that crpssed she “s