The backbone ridge of mountains in Mexico is the Sierra Madre, or Mother Mountains, for from them all other ridges and spurs seem to emanate. From their crests, as with all other mountains in the world, spring innumerable rivulets and creeks, which, uniting, form rivers. But nearly everywhere else these streams increase in size by the addition of the waters of other tributaries until they reach the sea.
Not so with the Mexican rivers of this locality. Shortly after leaving the mountains and reaching the foothills, they receive no additions from other sources, and after flowing from fifty to one hundred miles they sink into the ground. These "sinks" are usually large lakes, and a map of the country would make one believe that the rivers were emptying into them, but in reality they only disappear as just stated, to reappear in the hot lands as the heads of rivers. Now all the country between the Sierra Madre and the "sinks," or at least all the valley country, can be readily irrigated by this perennial flow of water. The rivers are fringed with trees, and the grass is in excellent condition, while beyond, the plains are treeless, the soil arid, and the prospect cheerless in comparison. To particularize: if the reader looks at the map of Chihuahua he will see a series of lakes (they are the "sinks" to which I refer): Laguna de Guzman, Laguna (the Spanish for lake) de Santa Maria, Laguna de Patos, etc., extending nearly north and south, and parallel with the crest of the Sierra Madres. Between the lakes and the crest is a beautiful country, capable of sustaining a dense population; while outside of it, to the eastward, so much cannot be said in its favor, although probably the latter is a good grazing district. Now the railway runs outside or eastward of the line of the "sinks," where the country is flat and the engineering difficulties are at a minimum; and as nearly all the descriptions we have of Mexico are based upon observations made from car windows, it is easy to see how erroneous an opinion can be formed of this northern portion of Mexico, which is so constantly, though conscientiously, misrepresented by scores of writers.
The first lake we came to in Mexico was Laguna Las Palomas (the Doves), only a few miles beyond the boundary, and to secure which Mexico was smart enough to get in the offset to which I have referred. It is, I think, the "sink" of the Mimbres River, which, as a river, lies wholly in the southwestern portion of New Mexico. It disappears, however, before it crosses the boundary, to reappear as sixty or seventy huge springs in Mexico (any one of these would be worth $20,000 to $25,000 as water is now sold in the arid districts), which drain into a beautiful lake, backed by a high sierra, the Las Palomas Mountains, altogether forming a very picturesque scene. All the country around is quite level, and thousands of acres can here be irrigated with this enormous water supply; while it can only be done by the quarter section in the Southwest on our side of the line, except, probably, in a few rare instances.
This was a favorite "stamping ground" of the more warlike bands of Apache Indians but a few years ago. The water and grass for their ponies and the game for themselves made it their veritable Garden of Eden; settlement, therefore, was out of the question until these bold marauders could be ejected with powder and lead. Not two leagues to the north the road from Deming, N. M., to Las Palomas passes over two graves of as many Apaches, killed a few years ago; while on a hill hard by can be seen three crescent-shaped heaps of stones where the great Apache chief Victorio, with three or four score warriors, made a stand against the combined forces of the United States and Mexico, which proved entirely too much for him in the resulting combat. More worthless or meaner Indians were never driven out of a country than were the Apaches after they had found this region uninhabitable, or at least unbearable for their murderous methods of life; and for much of the decisive action that led to this desirable end we have to thank the Mexicans.
The way the Las Palomas Mountains have of rising sheer out of a level country is quite common in this region, plainly showing that the mountains once rose from a great sea that washed their bases, and when it receded with the uplifting of this region it left the level plain to show where its flat bottom had been ages before. A fine example of this is seen in the mountains called Tres Hermanas (the Three Sisters), very near the boundary line, and but a few miles from the wagon road leading from Deming south into old Mexico. They form an interesting feature in the landscape as viewed from the railway on approaching Deming, and are the subject of an illustration by our artist.
TRES HERMANAS (THE THREE SISTERS)
Sometimes a single peak just gets its head above the level plain by a few hundred feet, while again, great ranges extend for miles, their tops covered with snow in the winter months. However long that level plain may be, it always extends without break or interruption to the next range. A railway would have but little trouble, so far as grades are concerned, in getting through this country. It might be necessary to wind a great deal to avoid hills and mountains, but if the constructors were lavish with rails and ties, and did not mind mileage, the grade would be almost as simple as building on a floor; in fact it is the floor of an old inland ocean.
A profile view of some of these ranges and isolated peaks gives some very grotesque as well as picturesque views, and imaginative people of the Southwest fancy they see many silhouette designs in the crests of the mountains. Faces seem to predominate, and especially is Montezuma's face quite lavishly distributed over this region. I think I can recall at least a half dozen of them in the Southwest since I first visited there in 1867. This unfortunate Aztec monarch must have had a very rocky looking face, or his descendants must have thought exceeding well of him to sculpture him so often, even in fancy, upon the mountain crests.
I went into a little face-making business of my own, so as to keep along in the custom of the country while I was there. The most southerly peak of the Florida range had quite a well-defined face, upturned to the sky, that, to my imagination, looked more like the well-known face of Benjamin Franklin than any other of nature's sculpturing so often portrayed in mountains when assisted by the fancy of man.
Before leaving Las Palomas our material underwent inspection by the customs officials, and no people could have been more polite and considerate than were these officers toward us, giving us our necessary papers without putting us to the inconvenience of unpacking our many boxes and bundles. There is this peculiarity about Mexican frontier customs: after passing the first one you are by no means through with them, for the next two, three, or even four towns may also have customhouse officers. I was in a Mexican town, La Ascencion, and had a wagon unloaded before I knew they had a customhouse. I expected to be shot at reveille the next morning; but instead they politely passed all my personal baggage without even asking to see it, simply examining the papers received at the first customhouse.
PACHECO PEAK.
After leaving Las Palomas our course lay southward across a high mesa, or table-land, until we reached the Boca Grande River. The scenery along the Boca Grande is picturesque and somewhat peculiar. The river bottom is flat, very wide, and rich in soil; but on the flanks rise the Mexican mountains sheer out of the plains. To the west are the Sierra Madres, covered with snow on the highest peaks, making some of the most beautiful views I have ever seen as presented from different points along the river's course. One of them, Pacheco Peak, in the Boca Grande range (named after the Mexican Minister of the Interior), is shown in the illustration. Slight spurs