Document text
tD
Marie Carter lifieWerk,
ialthony, New Mexico
2600 words.
Old Timers Dictionary in Detail.
As I approached the Humboldt Oasad home, west of Oanutillo,
I gave the evenly cultivated land an admiring glance, thinking:
If I had a ranche I should want the land to look just like that.
The Oasads were at home and greeted me, as is their custom,
in a friendly dignified manner. When I told them my mission
they both smiled, and promised to give me the information I
sought.
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"Just what do you wish to know?" was Mt. Oasadls polite in,
quiry.
"Something about the Drazito Gunt," I replied. "I have been
told by an old-timer, Mrs. Gardner of Berino, that your father
used to awn it."
"Not all of the Grant," he corrected. "My father owned the
two upper thirds, or about 21 thousand acres. The Brazito Grant
dates back to 1836. It was given to Juan Antonio Garcia by Spain
for protecting travelers from the Apache and other tribes of In-
dians. Garcia provided them with armed escorts as far as Dona
Ana. My informant was one of the Garcia family. Hugh Stevens
married one of the Garcia girls, and we bought our section of the
Brazito property from his brothers, Albert and Horace Stevens.In
1854 the land was surveyed by Steven Archer, and in the same year,
confirmed by Congress.
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"How long did your family keep the Brazito Grant?" I
inquired.
"Oh, for a number of yeara," he replied. "Then we sold
it to Frank Smith and a man by the name of Hadley for 64,000
dollars, with one fourth down. The one fourth down was all
we ever received; so we foreclosed. And the court adjudged
us about S,000 dollars. Then we sold it to Dr. Boyd, the first
man interested in the Elephant Butte Dam. He bought it for an
English syndicate. Finally it came back to us again, and we
sold it for fifty thousand. The last man we Bold it to was a
fellow by the name of Galaher. As far as Brazito is concern,
ed that let us out. But we had to pay back taxes to the amount
of 4,000 dollars.
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"In what year did your family come west?" I asked.
"We arrived in Old Mesilla December 14, 1874, And it was
snowing." Mr. Oasad smiled.
"And almost Christmas," I observed.
"Yes, and it meant a great deal to me, for I was only six.
We had a hard time finding a suitable place to live, but fin,
ally found what we wanted, in the house of Jules Generette, a
Frenchman. Then, when spring arrived, we moved into our awn
home.
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"How long did you live in Old Mesilla?" I queried.
"Thirty-two years. My father, Thomas Oasad, established
the first flour mill," he explained. "It was located at
Chamberino. He also ran a newspaper. Now then, what else?"
Undaunted by his brusk, but good-natured question,
came right back at him with: "Who were the principal merchants?"
"Well, the stores, were owned by Renolds and Griggs--"
"Pardon me," I broke in, "was the last man you mentioned
related to our Historian, George Griggs?"
"His father."
"Thanks, go on."
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Instead of going on, he got up, crossed the room and sat
down again, but in a chair intimately close to Mrs. Cased."
This chair: he apologized, "is more comfortable."
"I believe you were saying," I prompted.
"That the stores were owned by Renolds and Griggs," he
repeated, Lesinsky brothers, Tolly and Ochoa, Thomas Casad,Hay-
ward and McGroty, Frudenthal brothers, Zaniosky and Company,
Thomas Bull, Mariano Barela, Gonzalez brothers and Blass Duran.
All of their merchandise was freighted by wagon train from Colo-
rado ,and other points. The freighters drove ox teams and mules."
"How interestingl" I exclaimed. "Did you have bullfights?"
"yes. Also cock fights, bowling alleys, fiestas and street
fairs. Saloons, of course, gambling houses, billiard hallstand
theaters. Those were exciting days. A regular pageant of non,
descript people, coming and goingsall the time. I have butto
close my eyes to live it all over again. The shouting teamsters
anxious to be off; the snap of lashing whips on the backs of
sleepy animals; the sing -song voices of venders crying, 'tam-
ales, tortillos, dulciestl And whining beggars squatted on
every corner with outstretched hands."
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"How did the Mexicans dress?" I inquired.
"In a very picturesque manner," be answered. "They wore
brilliant sarapes with more stripes then the rainbow. They knew
more about keeping cool in the summer than we did though. At
times I actually envied their thin, unbleached, muslin suits.
They wore sandals but no socks. Mr. Mexican did& mind the sand.
In fact I believe he enjoyed wiggling it between his toes; sort
of an old Spanish custom.
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rTau forgot to mention their sombreros," I observed.
"Oh, yes, they were quite large," he said.
"But how large?" I persisted.
"Well," he retorted, his blue eyes twinkling, "I should
judge their capacity was about five gallon."
Following my interview with Humboldt Oasad I had occasion
to visit Old Mesilla. It was the first day of March, the feast
of St. Albans, or Alvino. Mass was over and the visiting bis-
hop led the procession in which the Santo, or statue of St.
Albans, was carried through the streets. The rest of the day was
spent in feasting, prominading, music and dancing.
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/n the early days the Santa Fe Chihuahua Trail ran through
Old Mesilla, a route which traders began to travel about 1831.
At that dtte the land belonged to Old Mexico. Then the Mexican
Government took a notion to colonize, offering each colonist a
solor for a residence in the village and fifty—four acres for a
ranche. This was known as the "Mesilla Civil Colony Grant."And
the village which sprang up in its wake was known as Mesilla
Chihuahua.
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When I asked George Griggs, Historian, and a resident of
Old Mesilla about the early history of his town, he opened one
of his books and said:
"See here lady --I have it all written out in my 'History of
the Mesilla Valley.' Buy this book and read for yourself lady.
See what it says. You read --no I shall tell you --it says lady
that The Mesilla Civil Colony Grant was made to those Mexicans
citizens who did not want to become citizens of the United States."
"Who was the first governor, or alcalde, of La Meanie" I
asked.
"Don Rafael, lady. His dOecendants still live in this commun,
ity." As was saying,lady. All of those Mexicans who were not
satisfied with the American government flocked from all parts of
New Mexico and Southern Colorado to be on native Mexican soil
again. See what Mrs. Stoes says about it. Read her article right
here in my book. Read lady --no just a minute--/ shall tell you:
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He spoke rapidly and fimezed his peitted beard as he
moved restlessly from place to place; pointing out, explain-
ing (briefly) and leaving my thoughts in a state of confusion.
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George Griggs is the author of several books. His "Billy
the Kid Museum" is an interesting place with oulios from all
over the world. The architecture of the old building is strict-
ly Spanish. Swords from Spain, England, France, Africa, Japan,
China, Germany, Ireland and other countries adorn the walls.
And among his collection is the long slender rapier; the short
broad cutlass; (American) the blunt foil with button; and the
rare Toledo blade. I recall these swords because I am familiar
with them. I shall not attempt to name the foreign swords with
their peculiar designs, for if I spelled them as they sounded
to me, nobody would understand them anyway; so what's the use?
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"See, lady." Mr. Griggs called my attention to a brace of
ugly guns. "These are six-shooters, and belonged to the notor-
ious outlaw, Billy the Kid, or William Bonney. He was a bad
number, lady."
"Was he as bad as he was painted?" I inquired.
"Twenty times worse!" he exclaimed. "Listen lady. It was
his ambition to be bad. Over in the plaza is the jail where
he was imprisoned. You have seen it, lady?"
"Yes," I replied.
"At the age of twelve, lady. This boy was an expert poker
player and a monte dealer."
"How did he become a killer?" I asked.
"I will tell you that in a moment. But first, please
lady, your entrance fee. Thanks lady. Everything you wish
to know is right here in my book. You will buy my book, lady?"
"Yes."
"Thanks, lady. As I was going to tell you lady. Every-
thing is right here. It begins on page 117. Read for yourself
but no --just a minute, lady —I shall tell you. The Kid's real
name was Bonney, William H. Bobney. He went to Georgetown, New
Mexico, with his father, mother, and fifteen year old sister."
"Where was he born?"
"New York, lady. November 23, 1859. And as I was saying.
They went to Georgetown. Shortly after arriving in Georgetown,
the Kid's father wps killed by koaches. Billy swore vengence,
lady. And Mrs. Bonney took in boarders. Then a miner made love
to the Kid's sister, and persuaded her to run away. Billy fol-
lowed them and told the miner to marry his sister. But you see
lady, it couldn't be done. For the miner had a wife and six
children in Texas. That's where the trouble began. Billy bought
a six-shooter, and the miner was his first victim."
"Old Timer", I said, "didn't you used to be a cowpuncher?"
"Yes -um." He spoke slowly, but his cowboy drawl, if he ever
had one, must have gone the way of the Old West.
"I happen to be in the mood for a good cowboy yarn," said.
"An' I'd hate to disappoint you," he flipped back. "Of course
you know them ain't my intentions. As soon as I finish my yarn,
Tim kin tell you one. When Tim finishes his yarn, Sam kin tell
you one. You see, Mrs. us three used to cowpunch for the sane
ranche."
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"Three yarns instead of onel" I exclaimed. "This must be
my lucky day."
"Well, to begin," he said, "me ant Nate Smith WAS on our
way across the Jornada de Muerto, or Journey of Death to help
on a round -up. I rode on while Nate detoured to get some wat-
er from a spring above us. When I saw him again his face was
as white as the wings of an angel.
"Nate," says I, 'what in till world ails you?'
'Gawdl' is all he said, as he mopped his forehead with
the bmek of his hand.
"What till hell is it?' I shouted, shovin' my flask into his
hand.
He took a big gulp of th' whiskey, cleared his throat, an'
said: "Pard I thought my time had come. After I left you an'
struck till trail to till spring, I saw shod tracks. As I started
to dismount to examinelem I heard some hombre whistle between
his teeth. My hand swept to my colts, but I didn't draw. He had
me covered. My eyes streaked the length of his rifle and stop-
ped, where his face was framed, in till lemita bush above. I
couldn't see his eyes --they were shaded with his hat. Part of
his face was hidden, too, by a curtain of black cloth."
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"Turn aroun' an' go back', he said. INothinl up here
you want.'
"As Sate finished his story I looked at him ant said:
"Nate what oaliber gun did that hombre aim at you?"
'I dunno for above,' he drawled. 'At first I thought it
was a 30-30, but before I could get my horse turned aroun' damn
if I didn't think I could crawl through it.'
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As the first cowboy finished his yarn the second cowboys
or Tim, rolled a cud of tobacco out of his mouth into his hand,
dropped it into his coat pocket and began:
"Ah had t' cross th Hornady aunclt me-sef. Hit shore was a
lonesome desert. Ah wasn't goin, tl no round -up nuttier. Ah was
sarchin fer a stolen hose. Ah heerd he wus up at Goldenberg
Springs; so ah headed that way. Hit wus 'bout eleven when ah got
thar, an' ah wus plum' tuckered out. Wall, ah sarobed everywhar
fer thet dim -blistered hose. An' ask several ol th cowpunchers
at the rancho ef they'd saw my hose, but nary one of th' lot bed."
"Then what did you do?" I quizzed.
"Who, me? Wall, ah'll tell yuh. Ah figured th' thief would
fotch th' stolen hose tl th' spring fer a drink; so ah got dawn
on my hands an' knees an' clared till sand till hit wus tolable
smooth."
"What was the big idea?"
"Shod tracks, mam. When summer comes along till rancho pon,
lee are turned out on th' range Ithout shoes. At thet,time'the
country was full o' outlaws ant hoes thieves. Thetis tht way
we trailed 'em. Ez ah wus sayinl ah brushed thl sand arounl thl
spring an' left. When ah got back thl fust thing ah noticed wus
fresh shod tracks. Arter ah hed trailed them thar tracks fer
'bout two hundred foot, ah halted, dead cold, with chills play
in' tag up ant down my spine. Ahld bin watched. Hit whoren't
no hunch, nuther. Ah jes knowed ah'd bin watched. Far that on
grounl wus th' circumstantial evidentials."
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"What was it --what did you find?" I eagerly inquired.
Cigarette stumps, 'bout ten ol 'em. An, a bullet --a bullet
from a six-gun."
"What did you do?" My voice had sunk to a whisper.
"What any sensible cowboy would hey did--ah dropped thl trail."
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"And here's where ole man Sam picks it up; cigarettes, shod
tracks, six-gun bullets and all. Every body bleets about till
Jornada de Muerto, or Journey of Death," said the third cowboy.
So I guess /Ill sell yuh my lament." It sho was a waterless stretch
of territory to cross, and a hell of a trip in tht summer timeaut
if a fellow knowed his onions he could make it in a day. The first
well ever dug in that part of the country was at a place called
'Detroit.' Folks didn' have very good drilling tools in them days;
so they never drilled more then fifty or sixty feet."
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"Shucks, that ain't no yarn. I think you'd better take les-
sons from Tim," was the first cowboy's suggestion.
"He's jes gettinf his second wind," said Tim, with a
chuckle.
Sam paid no attention to their raillery, but rolled a cig-
arette, licked it, placed it between his concaved lips, and
squatted cowboy fashion.
"Now," he said,here goes. One day the boss sent me across
the Jornada with some cattle for another ranohe. They had butch-
ered that day and were just hanginf up their beefs when I arrived.
That same night, from the bunk house where I slept, I heard a big
commotion outside. Oettinf, up, I went to the door and looked
out. It was moonlight and clear as day."
"What did you see," Tim chuckled, "a real live ghost?"
"No, three bad hombres stealinf meat. When I ask 'em what
they were doinf the short fat one retorted;
"Hepinf ourselves to a mess of beef. You'd better go on
back tf bed whar yuh belong.,
"What did you do?" I Inquired.
"I went."
"And damn pronto," came from the chuckling Tim.
"What thf hell do you know about it?" Sam demanded.
"Ah wus jes one of thf three hombres thet took thf beef
thet wus stole from our herds."
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