Boquillas Crossing by Rawles Williams

Author:Rawles Williams [Williams, Rawles]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781469739274
Publisher: iUniverse
Published: 2012-03-16T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 16

Peyote Dance

East beyond the foothills of the Sierra Ponce de Leon in Mexico, Daniel bought a few provisions from the only store in the sleepy village of Santa Elena: coffee, tobacco, stick matches, bacon, corn tortillas, and four cans of beans. He continued downstream along the rain-swollen Rio Grande, crossing the river into Texas at Woodson’s Camp.

The day was hot. As he rode beyond the shelter of trees growing near the river, he encountered little shade along the trail that contoured through the rolling desert hills. The geology of the Chisos Mountains fascinated Daniel—igneous peaks and ridges that pierced contorted layers of tortured limestone; an endless ocean of desert crowned by gorgeous, sky-island mountains of yellow pines, douglas-firs, and Pleistocene remnants of quaking aspen trees.

Daniel made camp near an abandoned brick-making camp on the north end of Mariscal Mountain. Restless, he rose before dawn and made a breakfast of beans, bacon fat, and tortillas on a small warming fire. Breaking camp, he rode through a barren landscape of fractured limestone hills, scattered herds of semi-feral cattle, and herds of goats attended only by dogs.

Late in the day, Daniel crossed the Rio Grande into Mexico near the village of San Vicente. He admired the Rio Grande at this location—a ribbon of green flowing toward the Sierra del Carmen, swallowed by the shadowed cleft marking Boquillas Canyon. The patient, powerful river had literally parted the massive limestone cliffs of a most spectacular mountain.

A covey of quail exploded from the thicket of brush inside an adobe ruin, and the idea of fresh quail for supper pleased Daniel. While gathering firewood, he discovered a Spanish silver peso, some square nails, several discarded wooden boxes, and a few pieces of wire—everything he required to construct a proper box trap. Daniel arranged his camp, cared for his horse, and set to hunting quail.

Sitting beneath countless stars, Daniel ate a delicious supper of roasted quail stuffed with fresh green chilies, wild oregano, and stale corn tortillas. As he ate, he recalled the stories he had heard told in Terlingua about the Spanish forts near the Mexican villages of San Vincente and San Carlos. The Spanish had built the forts in the eighteenth century as a defense against the murderous Comanche raids that had essentially depopulated most of northern Mexico.

Mounted Comanche warriors were ferocious soldiers. Had the Spaniards actively challenged the marauding Comanche warriors, or were they merely opportunists seeking undiscovered mineral wealth who hid in the dark? Daniel assumed that these Spaniards had cowered in fear during the season of the Comanche moons.

“History is a nothing but a conglomerate of lies,” mused Daniel, wrapping himself in his bedroll. Lying beneath a blanket of stars, he exhaled a long stale breath and congratulated himself for breaking away from the Chisos Mining Company. “One man’s dream is another man’s misery.” Daniel sighed as he surrendered to sleep, come what may.

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