Abbeville progress. (Abbeville, Vermilion Parish, La.) 1913-1944, 1914-08-01
CHAPTER 1.

The slowroIlug winters sun rose
Coldly. far 20 the south. riding up
from behind the saw-toothed Sierras
OF Mexico TO throw a silvery halo on
Gadsdcu, the border city. 4 hundred
miles Of desert lay In its path waste
of broken ridges. dry arroyos. and
sandy plains and then suddenly, as
If by magic, the city rose cleaning in
the sun.
II was a big city, for the West, and
swarming with traffic and men. Its
broad main street, lined with brick
buildings and throbbing with automo-
biles, ran from the railroad straight to
the south until. at line, II stopped
short and was lost in the desert.
That line which marked the sudden
end of growth and progress was the
border of the United States; the desert
was Mexico. And the difference was
not In the land. but in the government.
As the morning air grew warm and
the hoar frost dripped down from the
roofs the idlers of the town crept
forth, leaving chill lodgings and stale
saloons for the street corners and the
sun.
Against the dead wall of a big store
the MeXiCans gathered in shiverinG
groups. their blankets wrapped around
their necks and their brown ankles
bare to the wind. On another corner
a bunch of cowboys stood clannishly
aloof, eying the passing crowd for 9th
ers of their kind.
In this dun stream which flowed
under the morning sun there were min
ing men. with high-laced boots and
bullying pockets; graybeards, with the
gossip Of the town in their cheeks;
hoboes. still wearing their eastern
caps and still rustling for quarter to
eat on; sombereyed refugees and sol
diers of fortune from Mexico-but
idlers all, and each seeking his class
and kind
II any women passed that way they
walked fast. looking neither to the
right nor to the left; for they, too, be
ing so few, missed their class and
kind.
Gadsden had become a city of men.
huge-imbed and powerful and with a
questng look in their eyes; a city of
Adventures gathered from the ends of
the world. A common calamity had
driven them from their mines and
ranches and glutted the town with
men. for the war was on in Mexico
and from the farthermost corners OF
Sonora they still came, hot from some
new scene of murder and pillage. to
add to the general discomfort
AS the day wore on the crowd on
the bank corner, where the refugees
made their stand. changed It's COM
plexion, grew big. and stretched far up
the street Men stood in shifting
groups. talking. arguing. gazing mood
lily at those who passed.
Here were hawk-eyed Texas cattle
men. thinking of their scattered herds
at Mababi or Eel Tigre: mining men,
with idle prospects and deserted mines
as far south as the Rio Yaqui; mill
men. ranchers and men OF trades; all
driven In from below the line and all
chatting at the leash. While hundred
petty chiefs stood out against Madero
and lived by ransom and loot, they
must cool their heels in Gadsden and
wait for the end to come.
Into this seething mass of the dis
possessed, many of whom had lost
fortune by the war, there came two
more, with their faces still drawn and
red from hard riding through the cold.
They stepped forth from the marble
entrance of the big hotel and swung
of down the street to see the town.
They walked slowly. gazing into the
strange faces in the vague hope of
finding some friend; and Gadsden, not
to be outdone. looked them over curl
ously and wondered whence they had
come
The bunch of cowboys, still lettering
on the corner. glanced scornfully at
the smaller man. who sported a pair
of puttees-and then at the big mans
feet. Finding them encased in pros
pector's shoes they stared dumbly at
his wRd-burned face and muttered
among themselves.
He was tall. and broad across the
shoulders. with farseeing blue eyes
and mop of light hair; and he walked
on his toes. stifH-legged. swaying from
his hips like a man on horseback. The
rumble of comment rose up again as
he racked past and then a cowboy
voice observed:
I'll bet We he's a cow-punch!"
The big man looked back at them
mockingly out of the corner of his eye
and went on without word.
IL Is the boast of cowboys that they
can tell another puncher at a glance.
but they are not alone in this-there
are other crafts that leave their mark
and other men as shrewd A group of
mining men took one look at the
smaller man, noting the candle-grease
on his corduroys and the intelligence
IN MS eyes; and TO them the big man
was no more than a laborer-or a
shltt-boss at most-and the little man
was one of their kind Every line in
his mobile face spoke OF intellect and
decision, aaslyas they walked 1t was he
who did the talking while the big man
only nodded and smiled.
They took a turn or two up the