Mystery in Arizona (4 page)

Di leaned over the seat to smile at her. “Nothing to it, is there?”

Trixie shook her head. They were flying above the clouds now and she said, surprised at herself, “Why, it’s almost boring!”

The stewardess stopped beside their seats then and introduced herself. “I’m a full-blooded Apache Indian,” she told them. “Barbara Slater is my American name and I was educated in public schools.” She slipped into the empty seat beside Di. “My Indian name is too long to remember. So won’t you please just call me Babs?”

“You look divine in that trim navy-blue uniform,” Di said enviously. “When I’m old enough I’m going to try to get a job as an airline hostess.”

Babs smiled back at her. “This particular airline hires only full-blooded Indian girls for the New York to Tucson run. Some of us are Papagos and Pimas, and a great many of us are Navahos and Apaches. All of us, of course, have to be high-school graduates.”

“That lets me out,” Di said dolefully. “Trixie and I don’t think we’ll ever get through junior high.”

Trixie grinned. “My brother Mart,” she told the
stewardess, “says my brain is so ossified that it rightly belongs in Arizona’s famous Petrified Forest. Mart’s the blond boy across the aisle with the funny-looking crew cut. The one with wavy black hair is Brian, our older brother.”

Honey pointed with her little finger. “That boy over there with red hair is my adopted brother, Jim Frayne. The man with him is Di Lynch’s father. We’re going to spend the holidays at a Tucson dude ranch. We’re going to get material for our English themes, too. Mexican Customs is my topic and Trixie’s is Navaho Indians.”

“Mine,” Di said with a rueful chuckle, “is Arizona in general, about which I know nothing. Can you give us any helpful hints?”

“Well,” Babs began, “did you know that most of our people think that the name Arizona came from the Papago word
aleh-zon
, meaning ‘small spring’? And did you know that the origin of the name Tucson is the Pima Indian word
stjukshon?
It means ‘where the water is dark at the foot of the black mountain,’ or ‘the land of the dark spring.’ ”

“No,” Trixie admitted. “I didn’t discover those facts when I studied up on Arizona for a theme I had to write last year. I thought that Arizona came from the Aztec word
arizuma
, meaning ‘rich in silver’.”

“Many people will agree with you,” Babs said. “And there are still some who think that the name comes from
árida zona
, arid zone, and that it was so named by the great Spanish explorer, Francisco Vásquez Coronado, because he was so disappointed in his search for the mythical Seven Cities of Cibola. But anyone who has studied the Spanish language knows that you would not describe an arid zone as
árida zona
.”

“Those Seven Cities of Cibola really were mythical, weren’t they?” Honey asked. “And the whole myth started because what the Indians thought of as a great city was not at all the same thing that the Spaniards had in mind. They expected to find great cities like their own Madrid and Seville.”

“Oh, more than that,” Trixie put in. “They expected to find streets paved with gold and huge mansions of silver studded with precious stones. And what they found was a small town consisting of pueblos made of mud and twigs. What started out as a sixteenth-century gold rush ended up as the mirage to end all mirages. I can’t imagine,” she finished, “how the whole thing got so frightfully exaggerated.”

“I can,” Babs replied with a smile. “It is because we Indians are simple people. What seems like poverty to other nations is richness to us. One reason why my
people have survived is because we are satisfied with so little.” She added proudly, “Up until the middle of the last century when the Gadsden Purchase became effective, a great many Americans still called all of present Arizona Apacheria.”

Trixie nodded understandingly. “At first Arizona was a part of the Territory of New Mexico. I remember reading that. The Territory of Arizona wasn’t born until 1863, and it didn’t become a state until almost fifty years later. Even then I’m quite sure Tucson still consisted mostly of adobe huts, didn’t it?”

“It was more of a small fortress,” Babs replied. “It was subjected always to raids by my ancestors who, quite naturally, objected to the presence of the interlopers—Spanish, Mexican, and American. At the end of the Mexican War in 1848, Tucson still belonged to Mexico. But to get to California via the southern route, gold-seekers had to pass through that part of Mexico.

“Tucson—they pronounced it Tukjon—was the only important city between Texas and California, if you can call such a small stopover place a city. Many of those who arrived in covered wagons were too weary to continue on westward and they stayed within the walls of the village. Others stayed simply because they were afraid to continue on across vast areas which were then
south of the Mexican border and so they could not count on protection from the Apaches by the United States Army.” She smiled without really smiling. “It is undoubtedly true that many of those who did continue on to California were treated cruelly by my ancestors, but it is equally true that my ancestors were doing nothing more than trying to defend their own land.”

“That’s certainly true!” Di exclaimed. “I don’t know much about the history of Arizona, but Geronimo was always one of my favorite Indian heroes and I think he was treated very unfairly by the Americans.”

The attractive young stewardess shrugged. “There are always two sides to every story. So let’s get back to Tucson, and why I feel it was always more of a fortress than a village. You probably know that for a long time there was no law and order there and a great many of the bad men of the West used it as a hide-out. It was not occupied by American troops until 1856 and those Union soldiers were withdrawn at the outbreak of the Civil War. In February, 1862, it was occupied by Confederate cavalry but they abandoned it soon, and in May of that year the Stars and Stripes again flew over the town.”

“But it really was always a small
city
,” Trixie argued. “I remember reading that it was founded in 1776
and that it was the capital of Arizona for ten years after 1867. And the natives always called it Old Pueblo, meaning ‘ancient village.’ ”

“In Spanish,
Pueblo Viejo
,” Babs agreed. “And the name has stuck to the old part of town to this day. When you go sight-seeing you will find it a most fascinating place. The beautiful Spanish missions will also interest you, and there are several of them which are only a short drive from the center of town.

“Speaking of that,” she added, “as you drive through Tucson on your way out to the ranch you will be surprised at the people you will see on the streets. There will be Indians of all types, some wearing bright-colored blankets, some dressed like cowboys with big black hats pushed down almost to their eyebrows. The women and girls usually wear velveteen bodices with very full skirts. And even those who are quite poor are always weighted down by jewelry.

“You will see many Mexicans, Mexican-Americans, cowboys, and eastern dudes trying hard to look like cowpokes. You will pass by palm trees which were imported from California, and many mission-type public buildings. You will see cars from every state in the Union, and in the residential sections architecture of all types from bungalows to huge, sprawling, modern ranch-type homes. On the outskirts of the city proper are many small ranches, tourist camps, and motels. And then suddenly you will find yourself in the real ranch country which extends for miles and miles on both sides of the highway and is unbelievably vast.” She stood up. “My goodness, it’s time I returned to my little galley and fixed luncheon.”

“Can we help?” Honey asked politely.

“Oh, no, there is nothing to it,” the stewardess replied. “Everything arrives precooked and frozen. I simply pop the individual plates into my little oven.” She hurried off.

“She,” Di said dreamily, “is my very own ideal. I mean it. I’m going to be a stewardess some day.”

Trixie sniffed. “You’ll never be that smart. Why, she’s a walking geography and history combined. And I thought I knew a lot about Arizona!”

“So did I,” Honey admitted. “Right now the only fact I seem to remember is that the G-i-l-a River is pronounced
heela
. That stuck in my mind because I pronounced it wrong in class and Miss Hooper corrected me.”

“The Hassayampa River,” Trixie added, “is a tributary of the Gila. There’s an old saying that anyone who drinks from it will never be able to tell the truth again.
That’s why if you call anyone a Hassayamp in the Southwest you’re saying that he is a liar.”

“I know a little something about the Lost Dutchman Mine,” Di put in. “I mean, there really is one and it’s somewhere in the Superstition Mountains.”

“I’m not very interested in gold mines,” Trixie said flatly. “But I certainly wish I knew more about dude ranches. I just know I’m going to act like a real greenhorn. Tell us what you know about the ranches, Honey.”

“Well,” Honey said, frowning with concentration, “for one thing you don’t spend all of your time riding horseback. There are all sorts of other amusements such as tennis, golf, swimming, badminton, Ping-pong, skeet-shooting, and archery.”

“Movies, radio, and TV for rainy days?” Di asked.

Honey giggled. “Rainy days are almost unheard of in Tucson. It has 3,800 hours of sunshine a year which means an average of—ummm, about eleven hours per day. Is that right, Trixie?”

Trixie shuddered. “Don’t mention figures to me. It reminds me that I have to do some math after lunch.” She brightened. “One figure I do know is that Tucson’s elevation of 2,400 feet is one reason why it has such a wonderful climate. At least that’s what Brian told me. I don’t understand what elevation has to do with climate,
but don’t let him know that I don’t know.”

“Heavens, no,” Di agreed heartily. “Let’s don’t ever let any of the boys know how little we know.”

“We’d never hear the end of it,” Honey agreed. “Jim has been studying up on Arizona ever since he inherited that money from his uncle. You know, he’s thinking seriously of having his boys’ school in that state. Anyway, what he doesn’t know about it isn’t worth mentioning.”

“Ditto for Brian and Mart,” Trixie said with a groan. “At least Brian doesn’t tell you how much he knows all the livelong time the way Mart does. Sometimes Mart and his so-called brains drive me insane.”

Honey laughed. “You and Mart are crazy about each other, Trixie, and you know it. He does tease you a lot—that I will admit. Jim teases me, too, but he’s nowhere as bad as Mart.”

“I wouldn’t care how much they teased me,” said Di, whose twin brothers and sisters were much younger, “if only I had an older brother. You’re lucky to have two of them, Trix.”

“That’s what you think,” Trixie replied with a sniff. “Anyway, let’s get back to dude ranches, Honey. What did you enjoy most when you visited them?”

Honey thought for a minute. “It was fun all of the
time, but I think what I enjoyed most was the rides. Sometimes we’d start out early in the morning and have a picnic lunch or a barbecue on the desert.”

“That must have been fun,” Di cried. “I just love to go on picnics.”

Honey nodded. “Desert picnics are different though,” she said. “You get used to seeing coyotes lurking around, but you’ve always got to keep an eye out for rattlesnakes.”

“Ugh,” said Di. “Maybe I don’t like picnics after all.”

“I was awfully scared of everything at first,” Honey said confidingly. “You might as well face the fact right now: The desert is beautiful from a distance, especially at night or when the sun is setting. But when you get up close to it, it’s really and truly an awfully bristly sort of place.”

“Bristly?” Trixie frowned and looked down her nose. “I know it’s sandy but I didn’t think it was bristly.”

“It is,” Honey insisted. “It bristles with all kinds of burs and cacti that practically leap out at you as you ride by. And instead of worrying about ants at a picnic you have to watch out for all sorts of frightful insects and reptiles.”

“I don’t believe it,” Di moaned. “I won’t. I won’t.”

Trixie giggled, but Honey shivered and said, “I
don’t want to scare you, Di, and honestly, the great hairy tarantula, or the bird spider as it is sometimes called, is really as harmless as a bumblebee, but it does seem to leap right out at you.”

Mart, across the aisle, snorted with derisive laughter, then moved over to the empty seat on the girls’ side of the aisle.

Trixie groaned. “Oh, oh, here comes Mr. Brain. Will somebody please open the door so I can jump?”

“My dear squaws,” Mart began, “I feel it necessary to give you a brief lecture on the Arizona desert fauna. The tarantula appears to leap simply because the poor thing is so nearsighted it cannot stalk its prey. Actually the ugly creature is a boon to mankind because it exists solely upon crop-destroying insects.”

“Well, you can have him,” Honey retorted without bothering to turn around. “I imagine they make wonderful pets.”

She went on talking to the girls, as though Mart had not interrupted. “The dear boys will probably lasso and tame another bloodcurdling desert horror which is the giant centipede. The only one I ever saw ran away immediately on all of his hundred legs, but he didn’t move any faster than I did.”