The Lost Mountain: A Tale of Sonora

All have a modern look, as well they may. On the ground where they stand, but three years before grew a thick chapparal of mezquite, cactus, yucca, and other plants characteristic of desert vegetation. For Santa Gertrudes is in the very heart of the Sonora desert, remote from any other civilised settlement.

Its prosperity, however, has attracted settlers; for not only does the population of the village itself receive constant increase, but many fertile tracts in the country around have been taken up, and are occupied by a goodly number of graziers and agriculturists, whose chief purpose is to supply the comestibles required by the miners and their dependants.

The growth of Santa Gertrudes has been remarkably rapid, almost unprecedently so. From the first opening of the mine, every vein worked has proved a bonanza, enriching the owners, Don Estevan Villanueva and Robert Tresillian. For it is the vela discovered, denounced, and made over to them by Pedro Vicente.

The gold-seeker himself has also become rich, by the conditions already mentioned as attached to the conveyance of the property. In short, all concerned have benefited thereby – every one of that travelling party delayed, with lives endangered, on the summit of the Cerro Perdido.

In and around Santa Gertrudes – name bestowed in honour of the Señora Villanueva and her daughter, or rather their patroness saint – is every evidence of advancement. The cottages of the miners are trim and clean, the shops that supply them showing an abundance of goods, even to articles of luxe and adornment. A pretty capella, with spire and belfry, stands central by the side of the public square, for, as in all Spanish-American towns, Santa Gertrudes has its plaza.

Two other sides of the same are occupied by houses of superior pretension, with ornamental grounds – the respective residences of Don Estevan and his English partner – while here and there a house larger and better than the common denotes the dwelling of an official of the minera, some head of a department.

On this day Santa Gertrudes is en fête. Its plaza is full of people; the miners in their gala dresses, and, mingling with them, rancheros– the new settlers from the country around – resplendent in their picturesque costume. Soldiers, too, mix with the crowd, in the gay uniform of the Zacatecas Lancers. For Colonel Requeñes and his regiment, on return from an expedition to the northern frontier, have halted at the pueblita, and are encamped on the plain outside. The tall chimneys of the minera send forth no smoke, no sound proceeds from the crushing-sheds or the smelting-houses; all is silent, and work suspended as if it were a Sunday.

Different with the capilla, from whose belfry comes a continual clanging of bells – merry bells – marriage bells. Nor needs any one telling who are to be wedded. All know that the owners are about to enter into relations different from that of a mere commercial partnership; that Gertrudes Villanueva is about to become the wife of Henry Tresillian.

The hour for the happy union has at length arrived, and from the two grand houses on the plaza issue the bride and bridegroom – each with their train of attendants – and take their way to the capella, amidst the enthusiastic plaudits of the assembled people, who cry out:

“Viva la novia linda! Viva el novio valiente—nuestro Salvador!” (Long live the beautiful bride! Long live the gallant bridegroom – our saviour!)

Inside the church the ceremony proceeds, relatives and friends from afar assisting at it; among them Don Juliano Romero, and of course, also, Colonel Requeñes. And there is one present who not only disapproves of the marriage, but would forbid it, were it only in his power. This the young cornet of lancers, Colonel Requeñes’ aide-de-camp, now a captain, who stands among the spectators, with an expression upon his features telling of a heart torn with jealousy.

How different is that on the face of Pedro Vicente, luminous with delight! Joyed and proud is he to see his young protégé of the chase attain the desire of his heart, in its fullest happiness.

The procession returns to the house of the bride’s father, followed by the crowd, again vociferating, “Viva la novia linda! Viva el novio valiente!”

Then the pre-arranged sports of the day commence on a grassy plain outside the pueblita. There is correr el gallo (running the cock), colear el toro (baiting the bull), with other feats of equitation, in which Crusader bears a conspicuous part. Ridden by a famous domidor– his owner for once but a looker-on – the beautiful black wins every prize, in speed outstripping all horses on the ground.

The Lancer band makes music in accompaniment; and over an improvised pavilion, ornamented with evergreens, in which stand the chief spectators, waves the national flag – that same bit of bunting which, three years before, was run up as a signal of distress on the Lost Mountain.

The End