The morning call., 1894-09-30

mescalp
That was the cry that came from the
throat of queer, shrunken creature that
half walked, half crawled to the little
group of miners gathered In front of Joe
Blundon's saloon in Alamo. Lower Cali
fOrnia. They were waiting for the mail
and had been looking up tue long red road
to see the dust cloud that should signal the
coming of the stage from Ensenada. This
creature had come toward The camp on the
white trail that stretched eastward to the
Cocopah Desert.
The boys thought he was only CocOp ah
coming from the rancheria until he spoke.
Then they saw that he was a Mexican,
though blacked by the ardent sun until he
| resembled a negro. His eyes were blood
shot and his tongue, swelled by thirst,
| protruded from his mouth. He was hat
less and coatess, and his feet we're bleed
ing through the tattered shoes.
'Prontoi prontO, hermanosw he cried,
and, u terly exhausted, fell down in a
heap.
Joe Blundon hurried in and got a tUnl-
bleriul of mescal, which he poured down
the parched throat. All the boys gath
cred around and the stage was forgotten.
Hes been out on the desert and got
| snakes" said Peewee Moore, the bucket
man at the Horn Of Plenty.
"Tbat's a gone greaser, seguro," said
Blondy Niles.
Wait" said Bob Murta, wait till the
nescal gets 10 lis work"
The hot liquor fairly sizzled down the
Mexican's guilet. One would have
thought that pure cold water would ha We
hn
that the stranger knew what he wanted.
de lay awhile, a perfect picture of the
horrible effect of desert thirst and heat,
and then began to revive
"Gracias. gracias. senor," he said to Joe
BlundOn. Rising with difficulty, he added:
''Dios te 10 paga"-"God repay thee"-and
| drew something from his pocket, which he
dropped in the saloon-keeper's hand.
"a nugget-ro" said Joe, looking at
the lump of dull yellow metal in his hand,
as large as a hens egg. "Great Scott.
boys, look at tbis!"
The boys had already seen it. and their
eyes were glued upon the big chispa as
they gathered closer 1t was the general
| opinion that the nugget must weigh at
least $500. 1t looked like the placer gold
of Juarez and Campo Naclonal, but the
Mexican had come from another direction
| and perhaps he had found another gulch
richer than all. The sudden thirst for
gOll dried every gringO's throat could
feel the quick leau of the blood that comes
| from sudden avarice. l knew that only
| one question was in every mind. Where
did the nugget come from? If this could
be answered, there would be string of
prospectoTs headed for the ''new dig
gings" before morning.
The Mexican stood by, rubbing his fore
| head, mumbling "Santisima Maria" and
talking to himself. Sometimes a wild
light came TO his eyes, and he would sud
denly slap himself en- the chest and say:
Soy Pomposo Cervantes, yo! l fear not
the lions of the desert!'
He seemed to De daft from the effect of
the thirst. He passed through the group
aud sank down upon a bench in the patio.
With the common consent understood by
silence, followed the Mexican to get his
story. j was the only gringo present who
could sling the lingo. l took strong
swig OF mescal with me with which to win
the favor and loosen the tong of the
| stranger.
"Tomaw said l. "What happens ?
Whence come you, friend?"
Then, with wrenching of the frame
not unlike the gesture of the Ancient
Mariner when moved to tell his tale. the
Mexican aroused himself, drank the fiery
dose of teQuila, and spoke:
II. POmposO Ceryantes, come from St.
John of God. senior. That is on the other
side of the sierra of St. Peter the MARTYR.
and far-very far. Many days ago I left
San Juan de Dios. happy. contenio; and
now, what do you sc: All, feliz San
Juan de DioS, where live my peoplel But
L have been in the inferno, the hell. And
all for the lies of the malcriado Cucopah
runner Antonio. DeSgraciado-infeIizI
Shall l cut his windpipe for this f? W ait
and see.
This miserable Antonio comes to San
Juan de Dios and tells of gold, much gold,
in the placers of the Canada of Three
Lions. 1t Is thirty leagues north, In the
foothills of st. Peter the Martyr, saws this
liar. this embusterO. There are poor men
going and rich men returning; there are
chispas larger than the hand: every batea
holds much gold; the dirt is yellow with
gold; the heavy gold has rolled down from
the sierra and fills up the Canada of Three
Lions with kernels and nuggets; there is
plenty for all; come quick! So says this
very brutal liar, Antonio.
''Garamba! thought l. 1 go to Canada
de Tres Leones.
with few cOsos l packed The Wise
One, the hurro-with maize. frijol, jsrky,
and little tobacco for cigarros. Bien I
In five days l am at the Canada de Tres
Leones.
'Hombre! What happens? There was
not soul there. The Wiso One saw
before l did the rockers standing By the
pools in the canyon, and he trotted fast
and brayed. Much l marveled 10 find the
rockers and bateas lying lille and deserted,
and no life here. Well, said |, possibly
they have heard of richer placers and have
gone to see. But this soldier is tired, and
will rest here. 1t is pleasant here.
But first filed a batea with dirt. IN
see if the very brutal Cocopah spoke the
truth. In deep hole. on the bedrock,
coyoted for the rich rotten dirt, and
washed it.
''Damonio! The dirt had hardly run off
the edge of the batsa, before saw coming
in sight chispls, grains, Kernels, specks.
chaff of gold, with plenty of colors, little.
Dut heavy! Quickly l washed more. and
still more goldi forgot ali, and wash ed
here and there, sacking the beautiful
chSpas.
"Pomposn said l. thou art a trne son of