About 130 miles south of Bisbee we caught the first glimpse of the Sierra Madre rising above the foot-hills, some forty miles off to the east.  Its lofty mountain peaks basking in the clear blue ether, beckoned to us inspiringly and raised our expectations of success.  This, then, was the region we were to explore!  Little did I think then that it would shelter me for several years.  It looked so near and was yet so far, and as we travelled on southward the sight of it was soon lost again.

We gradually descended to the Bavispe River, a name here given to the Yaqui River, in accordance with the custom which the Mexicans have in common with people in other parts of the world of giving different names to one river in its course through different districts.  It was a treat to catch the first sight of the magnificent sheet of water the river forms near the town of Opoto, as it slowly wends its way through green shrubs.  It is the largest river of the west coast of Mexico and is here about 1,400 feet above the level of the sea.

Following the river to the south, we soon passed the towns of Guasavas and Granados.  The vegetation along the river banks is in strong contrast to the land in general.  Here are fields of sugar-cane, and in the orchards, orange, fig, and lime trees grow in abundance.  The country, though fertile, is dry, and the heat is great.  Even at the end of October the thermometer sometimes registered 100 deg.  F. in the shade.  The grass had become dry and scarce, and it was difficult to keep the animals in satisfactory condition.

This territory was once in the possession of the large tribe of Opata Indians, who are now civilised.  They have lost their language, religion, and traditions, dress like the Mexicans, and in appearance are in no way distinguishable from the labouring class of Mexico with which they are thoroughly merged through frequent intermarriages.

As we passed the hamlets, our large party and outfit created quite a sensation and aroused the people from the uneventful routine of their daily existence.  They used to surround my tent, especially mornings and evenings, as if an auction had been going on inside.  Some of them wanted to sell things that would come in handy, such as fowls or panoche (brown sugar).  One woman offered me three chickens for one dollar.  I told her she charged too high a price, as chickens were not worth more than twenty-five cents apiece; but she insisted that she wanted a dollar, because she had promised that amount to the padre for reading a mass for a man who had died in the time of Hidalgo at the beginning of the century.

But most of the crowd flocked to my tent to consult me about their ailments.  It was useless to tell them that I was not a medical man, or that I had not much medicine to spare, carrying only what I expected to use for my own party.  If I had given them all they wanted, our little stock would have been exhausted on the first day; but in order to soften my heart they would send me molasses, sugar-cane, and similar delicacies.  One poor old woman who was suffering from cancer even offered me her donkey if I would cure her—­an offer in a way equivalent to a Wall Street magnate’s millions, for the donkey was her sole possession on earth.