



Produced by Dianne Bean









Tales of Aztlan,

The Romance of a Hero of our Late Spanish-American War, Incidents of
Interest from the Life of a western Pioneer and Other Tales.


by

George Hartmann



A note about this book: A Maid of Yavapai, the final entry in this
book, is dedicated to SMH. This refers to Sharlot M. Hall, a famous
Arizona settler. The copy of the book that was used to make this etext
is dedicated: With my compliments and a Happy Easter, Apr 5th 1942, To
Miss Sharlot M. Hall, from The daughter of the Author, Carrie S.
Allison, Presented March 31st, 1942, Prescott, Arizona.


1908 Revised edition

Memorial

That this volume may serve to keep forever fresh the memory of a hero,
Captain William Owen O'Neill, U. S. V., is the fervent wish of The
Author.




CONTENTS

      I.  A FRAIL BARK, TOSSED ON LIFE'S TEMPESTUOUS SEAS
     II.  PERILOUS JOURNEY
    III.  THE MYSTERY OF THE SMOKING RUIN. STALKING A WARRIOR.
          THE AMBUSH
     IV.  A STRANGE LAND AND STRANGER PEOPLE
      V.  ON THE RIO GRANDE. AN ABSTRACT OF THE AUTHOR'S GENEALOGY
          OF MATERNAL LINEAGE
     VI.  INDIAN LORE. THE WILY NAVAJO
    VII.  THE FIGHT IN THE SAND HILLS. THE PHANTOM DOG
   VIII.  WITH THE NAVAJO TRIBE
     IX.  IN ARIZONA
      X.  AT THE SHRINE OF A "SPHINX OF AZTLAN"
          AN UNCANNY STONE.
          L'ENVOY.
          THE BIRTH OF ARIZONA. (AN ALLEGORICAL TALE.)
          A ROYAL FIASCO.
          A MAID OF YAVAPAI.




CHAPTER I.

A FRAIL BARK, TOSSED ON LIFE'S TEMPESTUOUS SEAS


A native of Germany, I came to the United States soon after the Civil
War, a healthy, strong boy of fifteen years. My destination was a
village on the Rio Grande, in New Mexico, where I had relatives. I was
expected to arrive at Junction City, in the State of Kansas, on a day
of June, 1867, and proceed on my journey with a train of freight wagons
over the famous old Santa Fe trail.

Junction City was then the terminal point of a railway system which
extended its track westward across the great American plains, over the
virgin prairie, the native haunt of the buffalo and fleet-footed
antelope, the iron horse trespassing on the hunting ground of the
Arapahoe and Comanche Indian tribes. As a mercantile supply depot for
New Mexico and Colorado, Junction City was the port from whence a
numerous fleet of prairie schooners sailed, laden with the necessities
and luxuries of an advancing civilization. But not every sailor reached
his destined port, for many were they who were sent by the pirates of
the plains over unknown trails, to the shores of the great Beyond,
their scalpless bodies left on the prairie, a prey to vultures and
coyotes.

If the plans of my relatives had developed according to program, this
story would probably not have been told. Indians on the warpath
attacked the wagon train which I was presumed to have joined, a short
distance out from Junction City. They killed and scalped several
teamsters and also a young German traveler; stampeded and drove off a
number of mules and burned up several wagons. This was done while
fording the Arkansas River, near Fort Dodge. I was delayed near Kansas
City under circumstances which preclude the supposition of chance and
indicate a subtle and Inexorably fatal power at work for the
preservation of my life--a force which with the giant tread of the
earthquake devastates countries and lays cities in ruins; that awful
power which on wings of the cyclone slays the innocent babe in its
cradle and harms not the villain, or vice versa; that inscrutable
spirit which creates and lovingly shelters the sparrow over night and
then at dawn hands it to the owl to serve him for his breakfast. Safe I
was under the guidance of the same loving, paternal Providence which in
death delivereth the innocent babe from evil and temptation, shields
the little sparrow from all harm forever, and incidentally provides
thereby for the hungry owl.

I should have changed cars at Kansas City, but being asleep at the
critical time and overlooked by the conductor, I passed on to a station
beyond the Missouri River. There the conductor aroused me and put me
off the train without ceremony. I was forced to return, and reached the
river without any mishap, as it was a beautiful moonlight night. I
crossed the long bridge with anxiety, for it was a primitive-looking
structure, built on piles, and I had to step from tie to tie, looking
continually down at the swirling waters of the great, muddy river. As I
realized the possibility of meeting a train, I crossed over it,
running. At last I reached the opposite shore. It was nearly dawn now,
and I walked to the only house in sight, a long, low building of logs
and, being very tired, I sat down on the veranda and soon fell asleep.
It was not long after sunrise that a sinister, evil-looking person,
smelling vilely of rum, woke me up roughly and asked me what I did
there. When he learned that I was traveling to New Mexico and had lost
my way, he grew very polite and invited me into the house.

We entered a spacious hall, which served as a dining-room, where eight
young ladies were busily engaged arranging tables and furniture. The
man intimated that he