General did not come from Fernando?"

fied shriek. Chata, who had started from her seat with dilated eyes and lips parted, gasping for breath, heard her spring to her feet, and rush towards the door, heard also Ramirez follow her and apparently draw her back, remonstrating in low tones. Then she heard no more. Perhaps she fainted, though she did not seem to lose consciousness. Though she did not see the stars come out, she beheld them at last looking down upon her, as if they heard the questions that were repeating themselves in her mind. Whose child was she? who was the man who claimed the right to shape her destiny? That she was not the child of Rafael Gomez and his wife she felt certain. Doña Rita had not denied the insinuation.

The child-all childish thoughts suddenly crushed by the overwhelming revelation she had surprised-remained in the same spot, unconscious of the passage of time, until she heard her sister-no, Carlota-calling her in anxious yet irritated tones. art thou, Chata? Chata, the supper is ready; the papagrande is angry that thou art so long in the garden! Oh, here thou art !"

"Where

The two girls encountered each other in the dusk. Carlota threw her arms around the truant. "How cold thou art!" she said. "Hast thou seen a ghost here alone? Valgame Dios, one would think the General Ramirez had brought the plague with him. My mother has shut herself up, and when I went to her door to beg her to tell me whether she was ill, she answered me, 'The world is all ill. Go dress santitos, my child, it is all that is left to thee!' What could she have meant? Can it be after all that the

She stopped to wipe a tear from the corners of her eyes. Evidently she was more perplexed than dismayed. She was too young to fear the mischances and mishaps of love. Her words recalled to Chata's mind the fate that was decreed to her-to which she had given no second thought, in her discovery that she was not the child of those she called father and mother. Friendless, homeless, nameless-yes, she reflected bitterly, she had never been known by a Christian name-she felt as though the solid earth had opened beneath her, and she was clinging desperately to some tiny twig or bough, to prevent herself from being en gulfed forever. She clung hysterically to Carlota, who had begun to laugh nervously; and so old Don José Maria found them, and querulously bade them go into the house; nothing but ill fortune would befall maidens who wandered alone in the dark. Did they not know that the Devil stood always at the elbow of a woman after the sun set? with which second hand and scurrilous wisdom, the old philosopher ushered them into the dimly lighted dining room. Doña Rita was there, and as the girls entered lifted her eyes, which were heavy with weeping, and for the first time in her life Chata saw in them aversion--yes, actual fear and dislike.

The child sighed deeply-and sat down at a shaded corner. No one noticed that she ate nothing. The old man was sleepy, Doña Rita was occupied with Carlota, who grew more and more depressed. From her mother's very kindness, she foreboded little good from the tidings she could give her. Louise Palmer Heaven.

Situated almost in the center of the Territory of Arizona lies the White Mountain, or San Carlos Indian Reservation. Nearly square in form, measuring about sixty-five miles either way, it manages to cover the garden spots in the Territory. On the south it touches the fertile Gila valley and inIcludes that of the San Carlos River. On the north the two forks of the White River flow westerly until, uniting, they form the Black, which, at its junction with Cedar Creek, a little tributary from the north, forms the Salt River. Flowing into these White and Black Rivers are numerous clear mountain streams, with broad, fertile valleys, which are farmed by the various bands of Apaches who live about them.

In the country lying along the San Carlos and Gila Rivers one finds the typical Arizona climate; hot, sultry summers, with frequent sand storms, and the merest touch of winter. Ice seldom forms, and houseflies are almost as bad in January as in July. The northern portion, being from two to four thousand feet higher and very mountainous, presents an entirely different climate. The summers are not extremely warm, and have cool nights, and the winters are quite rigorous, with considerable snow.

Let us spend a few weeks looking over this land of the Apache, and see what it and he are like. We are at Camp Thomas, a frontier military post, located on the Gila, just off the reservation line. Three troops of cavalry and one company of infantry uphold the honor of the stars and stripes here, and do their share in protecting the settlers along the valley from the raids of the Apaches.

Our "outfit," as everything of the kind is called in this country, consists of two diminutive pack mules and a Mexican packer to look after them. Mules and packer are

hired for the trip. For ourselves, we have each bought a stout little "cow pony," an animal that will travel forty or sixty miles a day, and find his dinner at night on the prairie, and turn up ready for work the next morning as fresh as ever.

We get an early start from the post for San Carlos, the main agency, some thirtyfive miles west of Thomas. Our little packtrain, loaded with our camp outfit and bedding, driven by the swarthy packer, trots behind us. Each of the party carries a Winchester, slung cowboy fashion, under the left leg, and a six-shooter, with belt full of cartridges, around the waist.

The road to San Carlos is sandy, dusty, and dry. Huge freight teams, "prairie schoonars," are met and passed-some carrying ore and supplies to and from the mining camp of Globe, west of San Carlos, and others laden with agency supplies. It is a veritable desert of sagebrush and sand. The only trees are those along the rivercottonwoods, the "plainsman's friends." Occasionally huge jack-rabbits go flying across the road, every few rods squatting and cocking their great ears; then dropping down, away they go, with long, easy jumps that make the fleetest hounds simply green with envy. In the distance, the white tails of a band of antelope attract the eye and tempt the rifle, but they are too far for a shot.

About fifteen miles from Thomas we ford the Gila and enter the reservation. A little farther down the river is the sub-agency, where the Chiricahua' Apaches were kept for some time, and a futile attempt made to get them to farm. But a granger life didn't suit them, and one day they killed all the agency employes they could find handy

1 Che-re-cow-ah.

and "lit out" for their haunts in Sonora, where a few of them yet evade capture.

As we draw near the agency, the Indians begin to appear. We pass them along the road, whole families going in for "ration day." Ahead rides the old buck on his pony, with his long rifle slung across the saddle in front of him. A bright piece of red flannel. around his head serves for a hat; a cheap calico shirt gathered under his cartridge belt at the waist, together with the breech clout and a pair of moccasins, complete his costume. His cheeks are smeared with vermilion, and black wavy lines are drawn over his nose and across his chin. His squaw comes behind with a baby slung in its basket to the horn of her saddle, and a child sitting behind her. From each side of the pony hang enormous wicker baskets fancifully painted and decorated with little tin bangles. The squaw has a bright calico waist and skirt to match, with fancy moccasins. rides astride like her lord, and like him unceasingly belabors the ribs of the long suffering pony with her heels. Following her comes a patient, slow-moving burro, ridden by two boys about ten or eleven years of age, each dressed in a complete suit of nothing, from head to foot, excepting the usual breech-clout about the waist. Besides the boys, the burro carries a pair of long saddle bags hanging nearly to the ground on both sides. These and the baskets on the pony are for the rations to be drawn on the morrow.

She

Such family parties grow more and more frequent as we near San Carlos which is today the general rallying point for all the Indians down on this end of the reservation.

San Carlos Agency lies on the river of the same name. The buildings, fences, corrals, and all are of the usual material-adobeand grouped together in the form of a hollow square for purposes of defence. They consist of quarters for the agent and agency employes, guard house, military telegraph office, store and issue house, and corrals for agency stock. Two trading stores and a

large school-house stand at a little distance from the main buildings.

We are kindly received by the agent who shows us around the place, through huge storehouses, full of flour, sugar, coffee, and all the component portions of the ration that is served out every ten days to the Indians, not forgetting the bales of bright calico, white sheeting for covering their huts or tepees, red flannel shawls, cheap jewelry, hand mirrors, beads, and the thousand and one little fancy things that are distributed among them as annuity goods. Back of the agent's office is a well stocked magazine . whose walls are covered with Winchester and Remington carbines, Colt's revolvers, and belts of ammunition, with which to arm the agency employes in case of trouble.

We are told that in round numbers there are about 5,000 Apaches upon this reservation and that they have actually increased in population during the past ten years.' The agent explains to us that while they are one family of Apaches in name, they are divided into a dozen different tribes, each speaking a different language and generally living apart from each other, every tribe by itself. The principal tribes are the Sierra Blancos or White Mountains, the Tontos, the Coyoteros, the Apache-Mojaves, the Apache-Yumas, the Mescaleros, the Chiricahua Apaches, and the Warm Spring Apaches. The last tribe is but a handful, the best part of them having fallen in the war under old Victorio; over a hundred were killed in a single fight in the fall of '82.

After dark the countless camp fires, scattered everywhere around the agency, make the scene a gay one, indeed. The children, especially, are having a grand frolic. They seem to be everywhere, scores of them, running and jumping, and making a noise and clatter that reminds one of a country school at recess. And the dogs-big dogs, little dogs, lean dogs, fat dogs, dogs of every color, size, shape, and breed; dogs

The writer believes this due more to a better and more thorough census than to an actual increase in population.

with three legs, with only one eye, with ears cut off, and ears split (showing the school in which the youngsters are raised, for most of such work is due to the innate deviltry of the Apache boy)-in fact, a congregation of dogs that will fairly rival the famed dogs of Constantinople.

Later on the fires go out and around the agency things grow quiet. As we spread our blankets for our bed, we hear from down the river the dull boom of a drum-a steadytum tum," which, we are told, comes from some dance the Indians are holding. The Apaches are devoted to such things, for besides their war dances they hold 66 squaw" dances, "corn" dances, and several others of a religious nature, and such gatherings as the present always sees some of them.

Everybody is astir early the next morning. The Indians having previously been furnished with ration tickets, one for each, no matter whether it be a gray haired buck or a two-day old baby, range themselves along the main building and passing from window to window are rapidly supplied with rations. At one window flour, at the next sugar, the next coffee, and so on. Each squaw--for they do such work, their lords merely looking on outside the line-is obliged to furnish something to carry her stuff away in, and generally deer skins are used, although some of them manage to appear with flour sacks.

The flour is poured into the centre of a deer skin, and the hide gathered together; a string is tied around it,and on top of that goes the sugar; and so on. Salt, coffee, and such smaller things are tied up in a corner of her waist or skirt; and on emerging from the line a squaw frequently has the major portion of her clothing used up in such ways. It gives her an odd appearauce, but has one advantage—she can't, like her civilized sister, lay it down on the counter and forget it, or leave it in the street car on her way home.

The beef they draw at another place,

where it is chopped off to them by the butchers in huge chunks. Sometimes they turn the animal over to the Indians and let them butcher it themselves. A scene then follows. One steer is let out at a time, and a dozen Indians ride at it with yells and shouts, and shoot it down. Sometimes a steer will have twenty balls in him before dropping. This seems a rather questionable way to keep up their love of blood and killing to say nothing of improving their marksmanship,

And such a noisy busy scene! Whatever may be the characteristics of other tribes of Indians, the Apaches are lively and talkative. The men, as a rule, have good full voices, and those of the squaws are most musical albeit a trifle high pitched. They love to blarney, as an Irishman would say, and a constant stream of chaff and shrieks of laughter is kept up as they pass along the row of windows. Everything is laughed at. One poor old thing, in tying up the sugar in her dress loses the ends and away it goes to the ground amid perfect torrents of laughter and fun. No one offers to help her as she scrapes it carefully up, but she good-naturedly joins in the general laughter, and hastens to regain her place in the line. To all this din add the dogs, boys, and ponies, and you almost have a pandemonium-burros braying, colts calling to their mothers, lost to them in the crowd, and the ponies themselves fighting and stamping at the flies.

Leaning against wagons and buildings are dozens of little baskets with baby Apaches sucking their fists therein. The baskets are of the regular Indian style, and the poor babies are strapped and laced into them tight and snug, nothing showing but the round chubby face and two tiny fists. Some squaws hang their baskets to the saddle. horn because if they are left standing on the ground, the dogs go round and lick the babies' faces, much to the little ones' discomfort. One rather frisky pony, with a baby on the horn of his saddle, wanders from the bunch,

and is immediately surrounded by a crowd of dogs. Their barking starts him to trot and with a shriek, the mother rushes from her place in the line to catch him. But the pony doesn't want to be caught, and from a trot turns to a run, and away he goes-the basket, flapping on his side, only making him run the harder. No one seems to be sorry for the poor baby whose yells are drowned in the general burst of laughter that goes up. Finally the strap that holds the basket breaks -down comes poor baby, thump, to the ground, face down, and the pony, after running a few more rods is caught by a boy; while the distracted mother picks up her unfortunate infant, and immediately unlacing the deerskin cover, takes it out to assure herself it is sound in body after its rather risky ride and fall.

And thus it goes all day long. It is a curious crowd to study. Such a variety of faces, costumes, and colors. Moving among the crowd are several cavalry officers, their bright yellow facings making their uniforms. conspicuous even in this place. They are here from Camp Thomas to oversee the issues on behalf of the war department, which is now partially responsible for the management of the Apaches.

Leaving San Carlos, we retrace our road as far as the sub-agency where, turning to the north, we take the trail for Camp Apache, some ninety miles from the agency. Every foot of the trail now is a rise. Toiling up Green's hill to the top of the Gila Mountains we pass, along the trail, the graves of two prospectors killed by the Indians in a raid in '82. At the top of the hill we get a grand view. Arizona mountains generally are smooth and destitute of timber, and those to the south are especially The Gila lies below us some three thousand feet, yet only twelve miles away. The green fringe of cottonwoods along its banks mark its course for miles and miles. the southeast, Mountain Grahamn, lone and beautiful, stands guard over the broad San Si

so.

Off to

mon plains. A little to the right of it you can see the Santa Catalinas near Tucson, and distant from us nearly one hundred miles.

Across a broad valley, covered everywhere with a most splendid growth of wild oats-a perfect paradise for a cattle ranch-and we camp at the foot of Rocky Cañon. Well named it is, too, for a rougher, rockier place could hardly be imagined. The military road running for some eight miles through and up its sides is cut for three miles almost entirely out of solid rock.

In the cañons and valleys around here wild potatoes are found in considerable quantities. They are the genuine solanum tuberosum, as scientific men have determined, but how they came to be growing wild here seems to bother them.

Working up the trail the next morning we meet at a little spring a party of Apaches, gathering and putting up mescal. Mescal is the root of the century plant, the American aloe which grows around here very plentifully. The sides of the cañon are fairly bright with its beautiful crimson blossoms, The stalks rise straight and clean for ten feet; then a few branches put out, and in June they blossom. The root is like a large artichoke. The Apaches bake it on bits of red hot stones and put up great quantities of it, for it keeps almost any length of time. Mescal tastes very sweet, not unlike chewing sugar cane; but it is very nutritious, for an Apache will live upon it for days at a time. The mescal whisky, the universal drink in Mexico, is also a product of the century plant root. One branch of the Apache nation, the Mescaleros are so called because mescal is their staple food.

One cannot help noticing the great variety of cacti along these hill sides. The most prominent of course are the inguaræ or great cact. They rise, some of them, as high as fifty feet straight and clean. Some have two or three branches from the main stock like huge arms, but most have only the stiff,