At Tucson was an impressive testimony to the one-time energies of Spain; the mission church of San Xavier del Bac above.
Few
of the emigrants took the time to philosophize over past greatness.
For, from Tucson to the villages of the Pima and Maricopa Indians on
the Gila River the trail ran seventy-five miles without grass or
water. Many of the gold-seekers came to the breaking point on this part
of the golden adventure; many of them found graves in the shifting
sands. Those who were stronger, or more provident, pushed on and saw at
last the dome-shaped lodges of the Pimas through the heat haze of a
desert summer.
These
broken tribes had been described in the guidebooks as peaceful and
honest. The emigrants found them peaceful enough, but no more honest
than other Indians, or for that matter than white men. They knew the
value of what they had to sell—corn, pumpkins, fodder for the cattle,
melons— and even the simplest Indian could tell from the look of men
and women who had crossed the desert that their needs would outweigh
their inclination to bargain.
On the facing page are three views of the Pimas in their native state as thei emigrants saw them.
