The following is a story which appeared on pages 222-242 of “BLACK RANGE TALES”, by James A. McKenna. Due to its length I will quote only those parts of the story relevant to the subject-matter of this manuscript…
“…In the forepart of the year of 1882, I left Lake Valley where I had been prospecting, and headed for Eureka, a recent discovery in the Hachita Mountains, which lies in the southwestern part of Grand County in the border country of New Mexico. “The Santa Fe and Southern Pacific Railroads were at that time working towards the spot where the town of Deming now stands, expecting to meet there before long. If water could be found near the junction of the two railroads it was planned to build a town there.
“Barney Martin, a foreman on the Southern Pacific Railroad, believing that water was near by, put several Chinese track layers to work sinking a well. A good flow of water resulted at a depth of forty feet, and the spot was called Deming in honor of a vice-president of the Southern Pacific Railroad. I happened along a few days after the discovery of water… “…At Camarillo Springs, now known as Hermanas Station, on the El Paso and Southwestern Railroad, we pitched our next camp. The Camarillo Springs were then owned by a man named Reed, of Las Cruces, the father of a large family, whose wife was a Spanish dona, also from Las Cruces. A large herd of Reed’s cattle watered at the Springs, where the big flow of water almost formed a creek. Geologists claim that these springs are a part of the sunken Mimbres River, which rises again in the lakes of northern Mexico…
“He then tells of a story which he heard, of some caves in a sacred Apache canyon, 3 MILES across the Mexican border, south of CAMARILLO Springs, from which a man had recovered a 40-pound bar of silver bullion. Determined to see this cave (which was called Boca Grande Cave) for himself, he sets out for the sacred canyon from HERMANAS, New Mexico; unaware at the time that he will not get a change to visit the Boca Grande Cave, but instead will find something more startling:
“’…After hearing the herder’s tale and examining the float specimens that had been picked up on Little Mountain; I got leave of the commanding officer of the surveyors. He not only let me go, but gave me the use of a team and wagons to haul my bedding and several barrels of water. He advised me to go first to Little Mountain, so he could keep in touch with me. “‘As Little Mountain near Monument 41 was about the same distance from the cave as Camarillo Springs, I came to the conclusion to visit the cave first and prospect. “‘Afterwards, I made an early start for the sacred canyon, taking a canteen of water, a few iron rations, my rifle, and plenty of ammunition, as I expected to stay overnight in the vicinity of the cave.
“‘I walked fast having made up my mind to be across the alkali flat before the sun got high, as both the glare and the dust were hard on the eyes. Reaching the mouth of the canyon about ten o’clock, I sat down to rest a bit.
“‘People who live in an Indian country became very sensitive to sight, sound, and smell. I had been resting but a few minutes when my ears warned me that some one besides myself was in the canyon. Crossing to the opposite side, I took note of fresh moccasin tracks, the prints having been made, I thought, by squaws, or young bucks. The burros dung I judged to be not over a day old. The tracks led up the main canyon. As I stood there listening, I heard a crackling sound. The hills were covered with ‘sotol’, and I came to the conclusion the Indians were gathering it to make the drink of the same name, a liquor something like mescal. “‘I became wary, keeping on the lookout for burros and squaws. I had gone about two miles up the canyon when I got a whiff of smoke. As I did not want to be discovered by a sentinel, or lookout, I kept in the shade of the canyon. Besides, I was afraid the burros would get my scent and warn their owners. A short distance ahead I saw a grove of sotol, putting me in mind of a squad of soldiers at attention. Beyond the grove was the fire.
“‘Standing before the fire were two Indian maids, the elder about sixteen years of age and the younger about thirteen. As they looked very much alike, I took them to be sisters. Both wore bright blankets and buckskin leggings; their black hair was bound in by beaded bands. They were eating the roasted heart of a sotoi, which tastes a good bit like cabbage when roasted or steamed.
“‘When the younger girl was through eating, she looked up and down the canyon as if to make sure that no one was about. Then she picked up a lariat and a large olla and started across the canyon. All at once two burros came in sight and trotted up to her. She now seemed to be tapping the canyon wall with a rock. The next minute my mouth fell open, for she seemed to walk right through the canyon wall. Then I saw an opening in the wall I had not taken note of before. She soon came back with the large olla full of water and gave it to a burro. She went back several times to refill the olla.
“‘In my excitement I kept on until I was near enough to see that the opening led into a cave. An egg-shaped slab of rock about seven feet high formed the door and fitted, top and bottom, into the hollowed edges of the wall like a ball into a socket. When it had turned in its socket, this egg-shaped door made a narrow opening on both sides of it about a foot above the ground, one edge of the door putting into the cave and the other extending outward about two feet. I had once seen a rock farther north in the Rockies, which stood in a stone basin like a ball in a socket, turning just so far and then turning back again. The Indians mush have made use of some such freak of nature to close the cave. When she had done her chore the Indian girl gave the egg-shaped door a slight push and it swung tightly back into place, sealing up the canyon wall, Stooping, she lifted a cluster of trailing hop and grape vines and arranged them over the door. No one would have taken note of the door, although he might have suspected water on account of the green spot that hid the mouth of the cave.
“‘Fearing the burros would get my scent, I began to make my getaway. The prospector knew that an Indian’s horse or burro would snort and jump if he got the scent of a white man; and that the white man’s animal would act the same way if he scented an Indian.
“‘I had not gone far when one of the girls caught five burros on the hillside and tied them up. The other girl was covering the burro tracks in the canyon. I knew by these signs that they soon would be leaving the canyon.
“‘I believed the spring lay in a sacred cave which might contain a cache of valuables as well as a supply of sotol. I came to the conclusion to come back and look around the first chance I got. I could not make out why Indian maids had been sent to distill sotol unless it was that the cave was known only to a certain family and not to the whole tribe.
“‘On the way back I came upon some mule bones; I also found a part of a Mexican “aparejo”, or packsaddle. Had the mule been killed by Indians, or had he wandered away from his packers with the piece of rope tied to his halter and got caught in the brush to die of starvation? I took note of a pile of waste that looked like ore sacks, but being in a hurry, I did not stop to examine anything.
“‘As I was still a good way from the American side of the boundary, I did not let the grass grow under my feet, for I did not know whether or not my American officer had got me a permit from Mexican authorities. Just on the line I met a company of Mexican rurales and learned from their “capitan” that I had the right to cross the boundary.
“‘”Have you ever been in that canyon?” I asked the “captain”, pointing in the direction of the sacred canyon.
“‘”A short distance only,” said he. “Indians claim it is a sacred canyon and go not often into it. I no think there is mineral in that canyon. Too much volcanic rock and sandstone. See high peak yonder? Indians say he (volcano) been in action in the memory of their oldest people. Me, I sometimes see smoke come from peak. On hazy day he give off sulphuric smell.”
“‘I said nothing of the Indian maids and the burros that I had seen. Having pulled back to my camp in Little Mountain, I decided to wait till the surveyors reached Monument 41 before I went again into the sacred canyon…
“’…The next morning I climbed to a high point from which I could see into the sacred canyon, but though I watched for two days, I saw no sign of the squaws. On the fourth day I went over to the mouth of the canyon, cutting sign, but I found no fresh tracks. Watching me from the hillside were hundreds of antelopes, with a look of wonder on their gentle faces, proving that they had seldom been hunted by man.
“‘When I went back to camp that day I got leave from the company officer to drive a team and wagon into the sacred canyon. I told him about the squaws but said nothing about the hidden well. He gave me a driver, a Cornish miner, saying he might be of aid in locating mineral. The officer also saw to it that we had plenty of food and several barrels of water and promised to post the troops to watch for Indian signs.
“‘About sunup the next morning we left the surveyors’ camp, going first to the spot where I had seen the mule bones. There we unhitched our mules, giving them a taste of water before hobbling them, so they would come back to the wagon when they got thirsty. As the grass was good we did not suppose they would stray very far.
“‘The Cousin Jack, as everyone called the Cornishman, offered to fix up the camp a bit, while I started up the canyon saying, “I expect to be back in four or five hours. If you hear shooting, and I am not back by then, I want you to hitch up and pull back to the surveyors’ camp. Notify the company officer, and ask him to hunt me up and send word to the Mexican rurales to be on the lookout.”
“‘About a mile up the canyon I reached a small grove of sotol, or giant yuccas. Going through it I came face to face with a large cougar. He almost turned head over heels trying to make a getaway up the canyon, so I felt there was no one in that direction. At last I got to the squaws camp and soon learned from the old signs that they had gone south in the direction of the high Sierra Madras.
“‘The Indians must have used this camp for years, although there was no signs of tents. In rainy weather they probably used the hidden cave for shelter. There were no shells, beads, or arrows lying about, but immense roots of sotol were scattered everywhere, from which the Indians had drawn out the juice to make liquor; many pits lay open in the soft rock where the juice of the sotol trunks had been drained through beds of charcoal.
“‘Though I went over the canyon wall where I had seen the mysterious door, I could find no sign of it. Had I been dreaming? No, for cougars had passed by apparently looking for water, the burros’ signs were not above four days old, and that patch of green was still there against the canyon wall. The wall behind the vines when tapped with my prospector’s pick gave forth a hollow sound. Putting my ear to the wall I heard a drip, drip, drip, as of water, and then a long-drawn, mournful sigh.
“‘Bracing my shoulder against the wall, I tugged at the grape vines trying to loosen them. All of a sudden,
with a handful of vines, I fell backward through the very opening I was looking for. The pressure of my shoulder had turned the egg-shaped door in its socket. Getting my balance, I found myself in an immense, dark cave. I could not yet see any water, but its trickle echoed in the cave louder than the tick of a grandfather’s clock in an empty house; a warm dampness seemed to wrap itself about me.
“‘While I stood near the opening trying to get used to the darkness, a low, mournful sigh came to me from the deeper section of the cave, getting louder and louder until it ended all of a sudden in a wild shriek. In a twinkling I was outside the cave. I gave the big stone a slight push and it swung easily about, closing the cave. The socket in which this egg-shaped tufa, or pumice stone turned, had been hollowed out of obsidian, or volcanic glass, the work of either wind or water erosion or of the Indians. It was so easy to turn pumice stone in this socket, that a child could have opened the cave.
“‘Scattered about over the volcanic floor of the canyon were many large pumice stones, so light in weight that I could lift without any trouble a rock as big as a barrel. The mountain was of sandstone formation, but it appeared to have been thrown up from a very active volcanic base.
“‘While going back to the wagon I picked out a trail through the canyon, so we could drive the team almost to the cave…”
“’…I told Cousin Jack about the hidden well where the Indians may have cached some of their stolen treasure.
“‘”We’d better stay here to-night,” said I…”
“’…The cold nose of the mule woke me up the next time. Both animals kept looking up the canyon where Cousin Jack had found them grazing. I saw by the Dipper that it was almost morning. I got up to look in the same direction as the mules. A signal flashed from the
high Sierra Madres, which was instantly answered by one from the Big Hatchets. Had a stray band of Apaches discovered we were in the canyon, or were they signaling to each other on the hunt? In a little while the mules lay down again, and I went back to sleep. Cousin Jack had not stirred.
“‘Cousin Jack had breakfast ready shortly after daybreak. While eating, I told him about the flashes. We had been thinking of driving first to the old battle field he had discovered, but we now decided to go at once to the hidden well, as I knew the Indians would not enter a sacred canyon even when on the warpath. “‘About a mile from the well we unloaded the wagon, packing as much as possible on the mules, including plenty of rope and five lanterns which the surveyors had loaned us. Cousin Jack led the mules, while I went ahead, scouting as far as the alder trees where the Indian skeletons swayed in the wind in their cottonwood wrappings. I told Cousin Jack to wait for me at the sotol thicket where I had seen the Indian girls making sotol.
“‘When I got back I found him there, boiling coffee and frying bacon. He was glad to hear I had found no signs except cougar tracks. After eating, we built a barricade around the door of the hidden cave, stacking up the sotol roots which lay about in hundreds. Inside the barricade we unloaded the mules and made up our beds. Before closing up the barricade we hauled in some brush
for fire, and a good supply of fresh sotol, so the mules would have browse in case we were attacked by Indians or outlaws.
“‘By building our barricade against the canyon wall, we know we could take the mules with us into the hiddencave if we were attacked. When all was ready for the night I showed Cousin Jack the secret door to the hidden well. He agreed with me that it would be safer to go through the cave by night. After it got dark I opened the door. Cousin Jack’s eyes almost popped out
of his head when he saw the big stone turn in its sockets. We carried in the tools and the bucket, and lighted two lanterns.
“‘Then we went down the drift into the cave and soon reached a turn, where we were almost blinded by a sudden flash of light. There followed a sound of water dashing against rocks. The light was gone with the speed of lightning; which it was like, though it was brighter than any lightning I had ever seen. How pale was the light of our lanterns after that brilliant flash! As we went on down the draft the flash was repeated every so often, each time followed by the roar of waters.
“‘As we went deeper into the cave a rushing wind swept about us when the flash came. At each flash we could see the roof, on which were hundreds of hand prints. We could also see plainly the bones and veins in our hands.
“‘A sudden turn to the right brought us to the hidden well. It lay below the floor at least six feet, steps having been cut to reach the water. The pool was about twenty feet across. The flashes showed a few fish and a frog in the pool, the light being so strong we could see every bone in their bodies.
“‘We put on our dust glasses to protect our eyes. At each flash the water in the pool rose, dashing from side to side, throwing a heavy spray over us, but never overflowing. Then would rise from the drift a pitiful moan which put me in mind of a person in agony. It gave us both the creeps. “Oh! Oh! Ohee! Ohee! Mercee! Mercee!” (it seemed…) began the low, sad cry, getting louder and louder and endingall of a sudden in a shriek as a rush of cool air swept about our legs. “’”There must be a volcanic vent near-by,” said I. “It all puts me in mind of geysers I’ve seen in Yellowstone Park.”
“‘”Dame, old son, I’m afraid it’s the bloomin’ Tommy-Knockers! The bloody bounders! I’ve heard them in the tin mines of Cornwall, England, on the ghost shift, knocking warnings to the miners to let them alone. When they make the rat-tat-tat, it’s time for the Cousins to pick up their tools and pull for the top. Come along, come along, old son! Let’s get out of this bloody cave.”
“‘”It’s neither ghosts nor spirits,” said I. “You’re not going to give up, are you, till we’ve looked for that cache of bullion?”
“‘At mention of the bullion he forgot his terror, and we pushed on down the drift. As we went down, the noises grew louder and louder, and the air became heavy with sulphuric and other gaseous odors. When we had gone down about a thousand feet, we came to a side drift, with its mouth almost closed from a fall of rock.
“‘A short distance down this drift we stumbled over a pile of skeletons, at least a dozen lying close together. Had the victims died of bad air or of starvation? Searching about, we found nothing but broken Indian crockery. Pictographs on the wall may have been the story of their death. In this drift we neither saw the flashes nor heard the moans, but the poisonous air soon made us drowsy.
“‘Going-back to the pool, we examined the ollas standing around it. All had lately been filled with sotol. The fresh marks on the wall near-by may have been made for visiting Indians. We tasted the soto, which is a good deal like mescal, though it is much stronger. It was something like Scotch whisky with a strong, smoky flavor added to it.
“‘Outside we found everything as we had left it. Cousin Jack helped me carry some boulders into the cave, which we piled up, so I could examine the hand prints on the roof. The marks seemed to have been burned in with a branding iron, or impressed there at a time when the sandstone in the roof of the cave was still moist. I have spoken with many Indians since, but none ever seemed to know the meaning of the sign.
“‘The flashes kept on. One of my legs had been badly broken some years before, and it still gave me much trouble. I got the idea that since we were able to see through the fish in the pool we might be able to see through our bodies. Stripping off my clothing, I pointed out the weak spot and asked Cousin Jack to watch it during a flash.
“’”Jimmie, old son,” he exclaimed, “at that point your bone looks as if it’s hanging together by a cobweb.”
“‘Cousin Jack now wanted me to look for a bullet in his body that had never been found by the doctors. He said he sometimes got a pain in his shoulder, and he suspected the bullet was there, though it had entered his body near his heart.
“‘Sure enough! When he had pulled off his clothing the flash showed the flattened lead against his shoulder bone as plainly as if it lay in my hand. I marked the spot with an indelible pencil he dug out of his pocket, and later on the bullet was cut out by an army surgeon.
“‘Our bodies seemed to be affected by the light. “Old Sons” said Cousin Jack, “I feel as if I could run like a deer.” But before long we were both in a big sweat. The Cornishman being a great smoker, his body gave off the smell of tobacco.
“‘Fagged out with excitement, we dressed and headed for the opening of the cave. How fresh was the early morning air! Yet we nearly fainted from the change when we first left the cave. Tired as we were, we built a fire and boiled some coffee.
“‘After we had a bite to eat, I said to Cousin Jack, “You turn in now, and I’ll keep an eye on the camp. I’ll cook a mess of beans, so we can have a good feed before striking out for your battlefield.”
“‘He needed no coaxing, and in a few minutes he was dead to the world. After watering the mules and putting the beans on to cook, I decided to time the flashes in the cave, but my watch had stopped, and I soon found out that it would not run in the cave. In order not to drop off to sleep I had to keep walking…
“’…As it was near sundown we made ready to leave, but we first ate a big mess of beans and finished our Army bread. While Cousin Jack tore down the barricade and packed our supplies, I did some more scouting. When we got back we covered all our signs and fixed the vines over the secret door. Then we were off…’”
