15. "THE STOCKING-LEG DINNER" February, 1912."
DEAR MRS. CONEY,—
. . . This time I want to tell you about a
"stocking-leg" dinner which I attended not
long ago. It doesn't sound very respectable,
but it was one of the happiest events I ever
remember.
Mrs. Louderer was here visiting us, and
one afternoon we were all in the kitchen
when Gavotte came skimming along on the
first pair of snowshoes I ever saw. We have
had lots of snow this winter, and many of the
hollows and gullies are packed full. Gavotte
had no difficulty in coming, and he had come
for the mail and to invite us to a feast of "ze
hose." I could not think what kind of a
dinner it could be, and I did not believe that
Mr. Stewart would go, but after Gavotte
had explained how much easier it was now
than at any other time because the hard-packed snow made it possible to go with
bobsleds, I knew he would go. I can't say I
really wanted to go, but Mrs. Louderer took
it for granted that it would be delightful, so
she and Mr. Stewart did the planning. Next
morning Gavotte met Mrs. O'Shaughnessy
and invited her. Then, taking the mail, he
went on ahead to blaze a trail we should
follow with the sleds. We were to start two
days later. They planned we could easily
make the trip in a day, as, with the gulches
filled with snow, short cuts were possible,
and we could travel at a good pace, as we
would have a strong team. To me it seemed
dangerous, but dinner-parties have not been
so plenty that I could miss one. So, when the
day came on which we were to start, we were
up betimes and had a mess-box packed and
Mr. Stewart had a big pile of rocks hot. We
all wore our warmest clothes, and the rest
carried out hot rocks and blankets while I
put the kitchen in such order that the men
left to feed the stock would have no trouble
in getting their meals. Mr. Stewart carried
out the mess-box, and presently we were off.
We had a wagon-box on bobsleds, and the
box was filled with hay and hot rocks with
blankets on top and more to cover us. Mr.
Stewart had two big bags of grain in front,
feed for the horses, and he sat on them.
It was a beautiful day and we jogged along
merrily. We had lots of fun, and as we went
a new way, there was much that was new to
Mrs. O'Shaughnessy and myself, and it was
all new to the rest. Gavotte had told us
where we should noon, and we reached the
place shortly after twelve. Mr. Stewart
went to lift out the mess-box,—but he had
forgotten to put it in! Oh, dear! We were
a disappointed lot. I don't think I was ever
so hungry, but there was nothing for it but
to grin and bear it. It did me some good,
though, to remember how a man misses his
dinner. The horses had to be fed, so we
walked about while they were eating. We
went up a canon that had high cliffs on one
side, and came to a place where, high up on
the rock wall, in great black letters, was this
legend: "Dick fell off of this here clift and
died." I should think there would be no
question that any one who fell from that
place on to the boulders below
would die.
Soon we started again, and if not quite so
jolly as we were before, at least we looked
forward to our supper with a keen relish and
the horses were urged faster than they otherwise
would have been. The beautiful snow
is rather depressing, however, when there
is snow everywhere. The afternoon passed
swiftly and the horses were becoming jaded.
At four o'clock it was almost dark. We had
been going up a deep canon and came upon
an appalling sight. There had been a snow-slide and the canon was half-filled with snow,
rock, and broken trees. The whole way was
blocked, and what to do we didn't know, for
the horses could hardly be gotten along and
we could not pass the snow-slide. We were
twenty-five miles from home, night was almost
upon us, and we were almost starved.
But we were afraid to stay in that canon lest
more snow should slide and bury us, so sadly
we turned back to find as comfortable a
place as we could to spend the night. The
prospects were very discouraging, and I am
afraid we were all near tears, when suddenly
there came upon the cold air a clear blast
from a horn. Mrs. Louderer cried, "Ach, der
reveille!" Once I heard a lecturer tell of
climbing the Matterhorn and the calls we
heard brought his story to mind. No music
could have been so beautiful. It soon became
apparent that we were being signaled; so we
drove in the direction of the sound and found
ourselves going up a wide canon. We had
passed the mouth of it shortly before we
had come to the slide. Even the tired horses
took new courage, and every few moments a
sweet, clear call put new heart into us. Soon
we saw a light. We had to drive very slowly
and in places barely crept. The bugler
changed his notes and we knew he was wondering
if we were coming, so Mr. Stewart
helloed. At once we had an answer, and
after that we were steadily guided by the
horn. Many times we could not see the light,
but we drove in the right direction because
we could hear the horn.
At last, when it was quite dark and the
horses could go no farther, we drew up before
the fire that had been our beacon light. It
was a bonfire built out upon a point of rock
at the end of the canon. Back from it among
the pines was a 'dobe house. A dried-up
mummy of a man advanced from the fire
to meet us, explaining that he had seen us
through his field-glasses and, knowing about
the snow-slide, had ventured to attract us
to his poor place. Carlota Juanita was
within, prepared for the senoras, if they
would but walk in. If they would! More
dead than alive, we scrambled out, cold-stiffened and hungry. Carlota Juanita threw
open the low, wide door and we stumbled
into comfort. She hastened to help us off
with our wraps, piled more wood on the
open fire, and busied herself to make us
welcome and comfortable. Poor Carlota
Juanita! Perhaps you think she was some
slender, limpid-eyed, olive-cheeked beauty.
She was fat and forty, but not fair. She had
the biggest wad of hair that I ever saw, and
her face was so fat that her eyes looked
beady. She wore an old heelless pair of
slippers or sandals that would hardly stay
on, and at every step they made the most
exasperating sliding noise, but she was all
kindness and made us feel very welcome.
The floor was of dirt, and they had the largest
fireplace I have ever seen, with the
widest, cleanest hearth, which was where
they did their cooking. All their furniture
was home-made, and on a low bench near the
door were three water-jars which, I am sure,
were handmade. Away back in a corner they
had a small altar, on which was a little statue
of Mary and the Child. Before it, suspended
by a wire from the rafters, was a cow's horn
in which a piece of punk was burning, just as
the incense is kept burning in churches. Supper
was already prepared and was simmering
and smoking on the hearth. As soon as the
men came in, Carlota Juanita put it on the
table, which was bare of cloth. I can't say
that I really like Mexican bread, but they
certainly know how to cook meat. They had
a most wonderful pot-roast with potatoes and
corn dumplings that were delicious. The roast
had been slashed in places and small bits of
garlic, pepper, bacon, and, I think, parsley,
inserted. After it and the potatoes and the
dumplings were done, Carlota had poured
in a can of tomatoes. You may not think
that was good, but I can assure you it was
and that we did ample justice to it. After
we had eaten until we were hardly able to
swallow, Carlota Juanita served a queer
Mexican pie. It was made of dried buffalo-berries, stewed and made very sweet. A
layer of batter had been poured into a deep
baking-dish, then the berries, and then more
batter. Then it was baked and served hot
with plenty of hard sauce; and it was powerful
good, too. She had very peculiar coffee
with goat's milk in it. I took mine without
the milk, but I couldn't make up my mind
that I liked the coffee. We sat around the
fire drinking it, when Manuel Pedro Felipe
told us it was some he had brought from
Mexico. I didn't know they raised it there,
but he told us many interesting things about
it. He and Carlota Juanita both spoke
fairly good English. They had lived for
many years in their present home and had
some sheep, a few goats, a cow or two, a few
pigs, and chickens and turkeys. They had a
small patch of land that Carlota Juanita
tilled and on which was raised the squaw
corn that hung in bunches from the rafters.
Down where we live we can't get sweet corn
to mature, but here, so much higher up, they
have a sheltered little nook where they are
able to raise many things. Upon a long shelf
above the fire was an ugly old stone image,
the bottom broken off and some plaster
applied to make it set level. The ugly thing
they had brought with them from some old
ruined temple in Mexico. We were all so
very tired that soon Carlota Juanita brought
out an armful of the thickest, brightest rugs
and spread them over the floor for us to sleep
upon. The men retired to a lean-to room,
where they slept, but not before Manuel
Pedro Felipe and Carlota had knelt before
their altar for their devotions. Mrs.
O'Shaughnessy and myself and Jerrine,
knowing the rosary, surprised them by
kneeling with them. It is good to meet with
kindred faith away off in the mountains. It
seems there could not possibly be a mistake
when people so far away from creeds and
doctrines hold to the faith of their child-hood and find the practice a pleasure after
so many years. The men bade us goodnight,
and we lost no time in settling ourselves
to rest. Luckily we had plenty of
blankets.
Away in the night I was awakened by a
noise that frightened me. All was still, but
instantly there flashed through my mind
tales of murdered travelers, and I was almost
paralyzed with fear when again I heard
that stealthy, sliding noise, just like Carlota
Juanita's old slippers. The fire had burned
down, but just then the moon came from
behind a cloud and shone through the window
upon Carlota Juanita, who was asleep
with her mouth open. I could also see a pine
bough which was scraping against the wall
outside, which was perhaps making the noise.
I turned over and saw the punk burning,
which cast a dim light over the serene face
of the Blessed Virgin, so all fear vanished
and I slept as long as they would let me in
the morning. After a breakfast of tortillas,
cheese, and rancid butter, and some more of
the coffee, we started again for the stocking-leg dinner. Carlota Juanita stood in the
door, waving to us as long as we could see
her, and Manuel P. F. sat with Mr. Stewart
to guide us around the snow-slide. Under
one arm he carried the horn with which he
had called us to him. It came from some
long-horned cow in Mexico, was beautifully
polished, and had a fancy rim of silver. I
should like to own it, but I could not make
it produce a sound. When we were safe on
our way our guide left us, and our spirits
ran high again. The horses were feeling
good also, so it was a merry, laughing party
that drew up before Zebbie's two hours
later.
Long before I had lent Gavotte a set of
the Leather-Stocking Tales, which he had
read aloud to Zebbie. Together they had
planned a Leather-Stocking dinner, at which
should be served as many of the viands mentioned
in the Tales as possible. We stayed
two days and it was one long feast. We had
venison served in half a dozen different ways.
We had antelope; we had porcupine, or
hedgehog, as Pathfinder called it; and also
we had beaver-tail, which he found toothsome,
but which I did
not. We had grouse
and sage hen. They broke the ice and
snared a lot of trout. In their cellar they
had a barrel of trout prepared exactly like
mackerel, and they were more delicious than
mackerel because they were finer-grained.
I had been a little disappointed in Zebbie
after his return from home. It seemed to me
that Pauline had spoiled him. I guess I was
jealous. This time he was the same little old
Zebbie I had first seen. He seemed to thoroughly
enjoy our visit, and I am sure we
each had the time of our lives. We made
it home without mishap the same day we
started, all of us sure life held something
new and enjoyable after all.
If nothing happens there are some more
good times in store for me this summer.
Gavotte once worked under Professor Marsden
when he was out here getting fossils for
the Smithsonian Institution, and he is very
interesting to listen to. He has invited us to
go with him out to the Bad-Land hills in
the summer to search for fossils. The hills
are only a few miles from here and I look
forward to a splendid time.