Cassidy, Hopalong (Fictitious character) -- Fiction; Western stories
Of the first of the Mexicans to push out over this great desolation
perhaps none returned, except by happy chance, to tell of its tortures
and of the few serviceable water-holes leagues apart, the permanency
of which none could foretell. But return some eventually did, and
perhaps deprecated the miseries suffered, in view of the saving in
miles; but their experience had been such as to impel them to drive a
line of stakes along the happily chosen course to mark in this manner
the way from each more trustworthy water-hole to the next, be they
reservoirs or furtive streams which bubbled up and crept along to die
not far from their hopeful springs, sucked up by palpitant air and
swallowed by greedy sands, their burial places marked by a shroud of
encrusted salts. In the winter and spring an occasional rain filled
hollows, ofttimes coming as a cloudburst and making a brave showing
as it tumultuously deepened some arroyo and roared valiantly down it
toward swift effacement. The trail was staked, if not by the swarthy
traders, then by their red-skinned brothers, and from this line of
stakes the tableland derived its name, and became known to men as the
Lano Estacada, or Staked Plain.
Of this accursed desert no one man had full knowledge, nor thirsted for
it if it were to be had only through his own efforts. There were great
stretches unknown to any man, and there were other regions known to
men who had not brought their knowledge out again; and what knowledge
there was of its south-central portions was not to be found in men with
white skins, but in certain marauding redmen fitted by survival to cope
with problems such as it presented, and to live despite them. One other
class knew something of its mysteries, for among the Mexicans there
were some who had learned by bitter pilgrimages, but mostly from the
mouths of men long dead who had passed the knowledge down successive
generations, each increment a little larger when it left than when it
came, who had a more comprehensive, embracing knowledge of the baking
tableland; and these few, because what they knew could best be used in
furtive, secretive pursuits bearing a swift penalty for those caught
in them, hugged that knowledge closely and kept it to themselves. A
man who has that which another badly needs can drive shrewd bargains.
And of the few Mexicans who were enriched by the possession of this
knowledge, those who knew most about it had mixed blood flowing through
their veins, for the vast grisly plateau had been a short cut and place
of refuge for marauding bands of Apaches, Utes, and Comanches while
civilization crawled wonderingly in swaddling clothes.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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