Mexico -- History -- 1910-1946; Mexico -- History -- Revolution, 1910-1920
It was late night—past eleven—when the coach broke down on a stretch of
rocky road between high mountains. I stopped to get my blankets; and
when I started on again, the _compañeros_ had long vanished down the
winding road. Somewhere near, I knew, was La Cadena. At any minute now
a sentinel might start up out of the chaparral. For about a mile I
descended a steep road that was often the dried bed of a river, winding
down between high mountains. It was a black night, without stars, and
bitter cold. Finally, the mountains opened into a vast plain, and
across that I could faintly see the tremendous range of the Cadena, and
the pass that the Tropa was to guard. Barely three leagues beyond that
pass lay Mapimi, held by twelve hundred Federals. But the hacienda was
still hidden by a roll of the desert.
I was quite upon it, without being challenged, before I saw it, an
indistinct white square of buildings on the other side of a deep arroyo.
And still no sentinel. "That’s funny," I said to myself. "They don’t
keep very good watch here." I plunged down into the arroyo, and climbed
up the other side. In one of the great rooms of the Casa Grande were
lights and music. Peering through, I saw the indefatigable Sabas
whirling in the mazes of the _jota_, and Isidro Amayo, and José
Valiente. A _baile_! Just then a man with a gun lounged out of the
lighted doorway.
"Quien vive?" he shouted, lazily.
"Madero!" I shouted.
"May he live!" returned the sentinel, and went back to the _baile_....
*CHAPTER VII*
*AN OUTPOST OF THE REVOLUTION*
There were a hundred and fifty of us stationed at La Cadena, the advance
guard of all the Maderista army to the West. Our business was to guard
a pass, the Puerta de la Cadena; but the troops were quartered at the
hacienda, ten miles away. It stood upon a little plateau, a deep arroyo
on one side, at the bottom of which a sunken river came to the surface
for perhaps a hundred yards, and vanished again. As far as the eye
could reach up and down the broad valley was the fiercest kind of
desert,—dried creek-beds, and a thicket of chaparral, cactus and sword
plant.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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