We then went six miles further to the northeast.  At first the trail followed the little river, whose clear and rapid water is about a foot deep and on an average six feet wide.  Frequently its bed had to be cleared of palm trees to make it passable for the pack train, and big boulders and heavy undergrowth made travel rough.  Then, ascending a cordon which led directly up to the main range, we followed for a while a dim trail on which the Apaches used to drive the herds of cattle they had stolen, and which is said to lead to a place so inaccessible that two Indians could keep a whole company at bay.  The surface soil we had lately been travelling over was covered with boulders and fragments of conglomerate.

The Sierra Madre was now so close that the tilted masses of its rocks seemed to overhang our tents threateningly where we had pitched them at its foot.  From this camp we had about the same splendid view as from the ridge of Huehuerachi we had just left behind; and between us and the foot-hills of the Sierra de Bacadehuachi stretched out a vast mass of barren-looking rocks and hills.  The Mexicans call them agua blanca, a designation also applied to the small water course that runs through them in a northerly and southerly direction, but which from our point of view could not be made out in the chaotic confusion.  Away off toward the north, at a distance of from fifteen to twenty miles, could be seen a high chain of sharp peaks.

I may mention here that I found the water of many streamlets and brooks throughout the western mountains of Mexico to have a slightly whitish colour and a dull, opalescent look, like a strong solution of quinine.  The Mexicans call it agua blanca, or agua zarca, and consider it the best water they have.  Many places, especially ranches, are named after it.  In the locality where we now found ourselves the water had a slightly bitter taste, owing to a strong admixture of iron and other minerals, but generally it was very palatable.

Here, only twenty-three miles from Nacori, and at an elevation of 4,000 feet, we were obliged to make camp for three days.  Dense fogs and occasional hard showers made travel impossible.  Besides, our principal guide, Agustin Rios, became dangerously ill.  He was sixty-five years old, and I decided to send him back.

When I hired him I had not been aware that he was afflicted with an incurable disease, and that on this account his wife had tried to keep him at home.  Now he had to be carried on a sort of palanquin constructed for the occasion, and I regret to state that he died before he reached his home in Nacori.  He had been a reliable man, and his loss was very deplorable.

Before he left he gave me directions for finding a rather large ancient pueblo, which he had come across once in the sierra, and of which he frequently spoke to us.  However, our search for it proved fruitless, and I am inclined to think that it would probably not have differed much from those we found later on Bavispe River.