The Mystery of Cerro Ruido

Down on the border, between Arizona and Sonora, Mexico, just where the International Line makes an angle and turns northwesterly towards the Gulf of California, there is a high mountain in the Pajarito range which has been known for two centuries as "Cerro Ruido," or "Noisy Mountain." All of the old Spanish and Mexican maps show this peak as a landmark and the name Cerro Ruido is always attached to it.

The Pajarito mountains are roughly parallel to the boundary, beginning just west of Nogales and running westerly for twenty-five miles. They form a sort of high gabled roof along the border, from which many small streams run through narrow valleys or rocky canyons, with a heavy growth of oak and juniper blanketing the whole. Some of the oak trees are very old and grow to three feet in diameter. There is water, either running or in pools, in all of the canyons, and the Papago Indians gave this region the name "Arizonac", or "place of many springs." Thus the state of Arizona owes its name to the country surrounding old Cerro Ruido.

Cerro Ruido is one of the highest peaks in the Pajarito range, and the craggy rocks of its summit reach an elevation of six thousand feet above the sea. Although it can be seen from a great distance, close-up views of Cerro Ruido are obscured by the high foothills at its base, and, owing to the lack of roads, one must go on foot up one of the canyons leading to it in order to obtain a good view of the peaks.

Cerro Ruido gets its name from the sound which sometimes comes from it a sound that is rather difficult to describe, asit is different each time it is heard. The summer, just before the rainy season sets in, is the best time to hear the noise; but one may wait in vain to hear it. Sometimes it sounds like a lonely old bull roaring to itself far up in one of the oak hidden valleys, near the foot of the mountain; then again it sounds like the rumble of an empty wagon coming down one of the grades on the county road. Again, when the day is still and the bright sun is pouring its heat down over the countryside, it sounds like the lowest notes of the largest pipe organ in the world, strangely vibrant and penetrating-the song of a mountain singing to itself in its solitude.

Whatever civilization approached Cerro Ruido has been forced to go around it, as the rugged character of the Pajarito range has prevented penetration by roads. The first Spanish explorers, padres and soldiers, had to make detours around the mountains in order to travel between the settlements in Sonora and the presidios or missions on the Santa Cruz river in what is now Southern Arizona. The missions of Tumacacori, Guebabi and San Xavier del Bac on the Santa Cruz, as well as the most advanced military outpost, Tubac presidio, were the most northerly civilized places during the times of the Spanish soldiers and padres in this part of the world. In order for the padres or others to travel to these points from the Northern Sonora settlements, they had to go by the easier trails where they would find food or shelter on the way. Thus the paths of the Spanish pioneers led far away from the rocky canyons surrounding old Cerro Ruido, Davie stared as if in a dream-he suddenly realized that he had found a church in the wilderness, most imposing he had ever seen.

and he roared away to himself in the sunshine out of the hearing of human ears.

Father Kino was the first Jesuit padre to explore Northern Sonora and what is now Southern Arizona. Using his home mission at Dolores, near Magdalena, Sonora, for a base, he followed the rich bottom lands of the streams, founding missions, converting the Indians and starting them off on profitable agricultural ventures.

Father Kino's missions numbered about twenty-five in all, three of which were in Southern Arizona and the remainder in Northern Sonora. The missions in what is now Arizona were the Guebabi mission, on the banks of the Santa Cruz river not far from Nogales, the Tumacacori mission on the Santa Cruz, about nineteen miles north of Nogales, and the San Xavier del Bac mission, also on the Santa Cruz, nine miles south of Tucson. The missions in Sonora were strung all along the Altar valley and the Magdalena river, as well as along that part of the Santa Cruz river flowing below the border. These missions all were built within a day's journey of each other.

Just south of the Pajarito mountains were the most northerly of the Altar valley missions-Busanic, Saric and Aquimuri, all close together and about thirty miles southwest of present Nogales. Between these missions and the Tumacacori and San Xavier missions on the Santa Cruz, the Pajarito mountains blocked a straight path for the padres when they visited back and forth; they were forced to detour many miles around them. The records left by Kino and others which have been collected by modern historians do not show any trails through these mountains between the missions, although one trail is noted by Kino himself as having been traveled only once. At all other times he traveled between the missions by trails around the entire Pajarito range. However, among the old people of Mexican ancestry living along the Santa Cruz near the Tumacacori mission, there are many tales of a trail of the padres which led right through the Pajarito mountains not far from old Cerro Ruido.

The records left by Kino and others which have been collected by modern historians do not show any trails through these mountains between the missions, although one trail is noted by Kino himself as having been traveled only once. At all other times he traveled between the missions by trails around the entire Pajarito range. However, among the old people of Mexican ancestry living along the Santa Cruz near the Tumacacori mission, there are many tales of a trail of the padres which led right through the Pajarito mountains not far from old Cerro Ruido.

They also hand down numerous tales of lost Spanish mines and even of a lost mission which, according to legend, is the place where much treasure had been hidden. So many people have listened to these stories and have spent years seeking the treasures and lost mines that fact has become lost in the mass of fiction which has accumulated. The writer has been regaled many times with these tales, told by well meaning persons; but all have been enlarged upon at each telling.

There were some mines discovered, however, around the Santa Rita mountains near Tumacacori, which were worked by the Spanish miners; and in the Altar valley in Sonora there were some rich gold placer mines as well as silver veins. These mines were all discovered after Father Kino died, about 1711. It was in 1736, on the old Arizona ranch not far south of Cerro Ruido, that the rich Planches de Plata, or "slabs of silver", were found. Large masses of pure silver were found on top of the ground, some of which weighed more than one ton, and the resultant excitement reached the throne of the king of Spain, who tried to claim the whole district as his own. The activity spread as far as the Santa Rita mountains and many mines were discovered, most of them silver bearing. Strange to say, there is no record of an old Spanish mine found in the Pajarito mountains, although some mines have been discovered since, about 1880, and worked out.

One of the favorite tales is the one about the lost mission, near which a large amount of bullion was buried to hide it from the soldiers of the Spanish king. Many maps have been made by persons claiming access to old records in Sonora (all in Spanish, of course) and it was represented that by the simple process of translating the Spanish language these mines might be found by any one paying the small amount in advance necessary to purchase the map.

One of the tales concerns a cowboy from a ranch not far from Nogales who, while chasing a cow, fell from his stumbling horse and heard the horse's hoofs strike something with a metallic ring. He picked up a small piece of metal kicked off by the horse and then resumed his chase after the cow. Many weeks later, wishing to obtain some lead, he put the piece of metal in a melting-pot but was unable to melt it. It turned out to be pure silver. Then the tale was revived of the burro train of gold and silver bullion from Sonora approaching the Tumacacori mission, while the Spanish soldiers lay in wait to

A few bats fluttered out of the ruined interior, a chill crept up Davie's spine and he heard a bloodcurdling scream. He remembered no more.

To claim the king's share of the treasure; but the packers hid the bullion in a small wash and came to town loaded with firewood instead. Then, so goes the story, all were killed by the Apaches a few days later and the entire burro train load of silver and gold bullion was forever lost.

The trail of the padres from the Saric mission below the border, according to the old folks along the Santa Cruz, came up by way of Aliso Canyon and Bear Canyon on the present Ruby Road. Then the trail went over the Los Janos pass, where the Ruby road now crosses, and down past Thumb Butte to Pena Blanca canyon and the Santa Cruz river. That trail is used to this day by occasional travelers.

As far as lost missions are concerned, there is no record of any mission founded by the padres whose location has not been checked by modern historians. There are two or three missions mentioned, however, which seem to have been founded and used before the exact dates were recorded. Therefore, taking into account the situation of the Altar string of missions in Sonora and the three missions on the Santa Cruz river in Southern Arizona, with a rugged mountain range separating them, together with the desire of the padres to visit these missions without making the long detour around the mountains, could there have been another mission or small church constructed on a forgotten trail-a trail which must have led not far from Cerro Ruido? Father Kino himself took this trail at least once. It should be remembered that more than a century elapsed from Father's Kino's death to the time when all of the old missions were abandoned. The most logical place, a day's journey from the southern missions towards the Santa Cruz missions, would be right at the foot of old Cerro Ruido, where water is always found and where a small church or building would shelter the traveler for the night.

An intriguing tale the writer heard while doing some prospecting in the Pajarito mountains was told by one of the principles, and is the story of the Mystery of Cerro Ruido, related by Bill Walters and verified by pictures in his possession which were made from a roll of film in a camera carried by his companion, David Davidson, who sought a lost Spanish mine in the vicinity of the big mountain. Five pictures were taken by Davidson and the last one by Bill Walters, himself, as he was on his way to Tucson for supplies and to have the ore assayed which Davidson had found. All of the characters are called by other than their correct names, by request of Bill Walters, and likewise by his request no information of any kind can be furnished as to details not related in his story.

Bill Walters' friend and companion, whom we here call David Davidson, or Davie, was a young Scotch veteran of the first World War. Bill, himself, was a civil engineer working on a West Coast railroad, and the two men spent a month or two each year at the ranch of Don Felipe, a mutual friend who had worked with them on the railroad but had retired to his home on the ranch a few miles from Cerro Ruido in the Pajarito mountains.

Davie, who had survived Vimy Ridge and a shell dump blow-up, sought nothing but peace for his soul, and the tranquil spots of the vicinity of the Cerro Ruido held him in a continuous spell. His romantic nature was a fertile field for the many stories of the lost missions and old Spanish mines which Don Felipe and others related. He had heard of the maps or old documents purporting to locate these mysterious lost places, but Bill Walters had thus far prevailed upon him not to invest any cash in such enterprises, as he (Bill) was skeptical of the old tales and refused to engage upon any tiresome hunts for evanescent treasures and preferred to work on more tangible ideas in places indicated geologically as the locations of ore deposits. However, after much argument, Bill agreed to help Davie establish a small camp not far from the end of the last dim road leading southward from the Don Felipe ranch and toward the ominous cliffs of Cerro Ruido.

The weather being warm, equipment could be scaled down to the amount Davie was able to carry in his old army pack, including enough grub for a week, one blanket, canteen, shovel, and an old kodak camera. Water was plentiful in pools, so Davie had all he needed for the first week, at least. Bill would take him in his pick-up truck to the end of the old road, and in exactly one week would meet him there with more grub for another week. In the meantime, Bill would spend his time close to Don Felipe's ranch, prospecting when he felt like it, or simply resting at the ranch, talking over old times on the railroad in Mexico.

At the end of the old, dim road the two friends parted, after many warnings from Bill about not camping in any of the washes, as the rainy season was at hand and floods could be expected any day. He also warned Davie about the dangers of old tunnels or shafts in the summer, due to the bad air not circulating in cool places, and instructed him to test the air first with a piece of lighted candle. If the candle went out, Davie was also to get out as quickly as he could.

The first week passed quickly and, at the appointed time, the two men met at the rendezvous. Davie thereupon related the events of the days just past. He told Bill that he had found a place where a large amount of dirt and rock had been cast down, or had slid over a rocky bank from the steep hillside above, into a big wash.

Davie's attention had been attracted to the place by a green tree growing out of a crack in the rocky slope near the top of the pile of dirt. Bill told him it might be an old tunnel entrance buried by the rock slide, and that the tree was getting moisture from water seeping out of the tunnel.

Davie immediately became enthusiastic and told Bill he would do some work at the top of the slide and find out just what was there. Bill again cautioned him about old tunnels, but gave him a small carbide lamp and some extra carbide to use in case there was a tunnel and possibly an ore deposit. They parted again and agreed to meet one week later, little knowing what the coming days had in store for Davie.

The week passed slowly and the big summer thunderheads grew more threatening over the mountains along the border.

Old Cerro Ruido grumbled away to himself as if warning the clouds to keep their distance. Bill grew impatient, for some reason he could not explain, to get back to the end of the old road and meet Davie. The last night before the appointed day seemed endless; the moonlight reminded him of one of the nights he, Davie and Don Felipe had seen many times down on the Gulf of California, as they sat on the beach near Guaymas and watched the lazy phosphorescent waves curl over and break in long lines of green fire on the sand. Little did he know that while he and Don Felipe sat under the spell of the moonlight, Davie was having an adventure a few miles away which was to alter their whole existence.

As Bill wound his way in the pick-up truck the next day he was aware of a feeling of apprehension that Davie might not be on time or that he might not show up at all. On arriving at the end of the road he was alarmed, as Davie was not there awaiting him; but soon he saw his companion asleep under a nearby oak. It was apparent at the first look that Davie had been having an adventure of an extraordinary kind, as his clothes were torn and his face and arms scratched and bloody. Gently awakening him, Bill quietly waited for Davie to tell his story.

After the two men had parted the week before, Davie had gone back to his camp, over an hour's walk up one of the canyons leading from the north slope of Cerro Ruido. Early

the next day, he went up the same canyon another fifteen minutes' walk and went to work on the pile of dirt where the small green tree grew out of the rocky bank. After laboring all day with his shovel and pick he uncovered a small opening in the solid rock; but as night was approaching he waited until the next day to continue the exploration.

The following morning, Davie enlarged the hole until he was able to see that it was actually a tunnel of some sort, whereupon he shoveled back enough dirt and rock to enable him to slide down a few feet and find the bottom of the hole. He then lit his piece of candle to test the air, as per instructions from Bill. A bat fluttered around the candle, but the flame burned clear and bright, so he proceeded to get the carbide lamp ready for further examination of the tunnel. When the lamp was burning brightly, he threw its rays around the opening and found that he had uncovered a triangular shaped tunnel in the solid rock with the apex at the roof and the base of the triangle forming the floor of the tunnel.

Beyond the dirt slide blocking the entrance, the tunnel was dry and even dusty. When Davie's eyes had become accustomed to the light of the lamp, he noticed that one side of the tunnel was piled high to the sloping roof with shapeless bundles. Striking one of these bundles, it broke open and pieces of ore, glistening in spots or reflecting a bluish color, tumbled out onto the floor. Upon closer examination Davie saw the bundles were cowhides shaped into sacks, and that they had become dry and brittle with age. Mentally noting the height and length of the pile of sacks, and the weight of the ore, he estimated the total amount piled up to be about thirty tons. Each piece of ore was extremely heavy, some of the weight due to the galena or lead sulphide in it, while the other pieces were bluish or black in color and in the bright light of the carbide lamp showed many glistening specks. The presence of the bats in the tunnel and the freshness of the air indicated to Davie's amateur mining knowledge that somewhere there must be another opening farther along in the tunnel, so he proceeded to explore slowly to a point where it curved out of sight. About fifty feet inside, the tunnel narrowed to a width of about five feet, and as high as his head. Then he saw an opening following upward in the direction of the angle made by one side of the triangular shaped entrance, and found that a vein of whitish talc formed the hanging wall of a thick ore body about two feet wide.

A log of juniper wood with steps cut in it leaned against the side of the tunnel, and another log, similarly cut, reached upward into the opening. A few yards farther inside the tunnel there was another opening and other logs with steps cut in them leading upward beyond the light of his lamp. As he continued inward, he saw more such openings, which occurred at intervals, all the way to the end of the tunnel about four hundred feet inside of the mountain. At the end, the blue and white vein ran obliquely across the tunnel and disappeared under the floor. There were a number of drill holes in the rock which were all stopped with wooden plugs, one of which, being loosened, disclosed the hole filled with a whitish powder. As the bat guano thickly covered the floor, it hid from Davie's sight any tools which might be there; but two long sticks leaning against the wall, evidently made from sotol bush, crumbled to powder at his touch.

Returning to the entrance of the tunnel, Davie filled his pockets with the ore and scrambled out into daylight. Examining the ore again, he was dismayed to see the yellow specks, which he thought were gold, turning black in the sunshine; but the blue ore remained the same color. Even his limited knowledge told him the ore was rich in something.

As there were several days left before Davie was due to meet Bill at the end of the road, he decided to explore farther up the canyon towards its head. The following day he wandered up one of the side canyons leading to the top of the big mountain and crossed a small divide to another canyon. How far he walked he was unable to explain later, due to the exciting events just ahead of him. As he walked along this new canyon he found himself between the vertical walls of a gravel and loam bank through which the wash had recently cut, and was just about to retrace his steps when he saw a small side gulch affording a foothold, up which he scrambled until he reached the top. Pausing for breath, Davie found he had come out into a small parklike glen in the canyon, bare of trees but heavily grown over with dry yellow grass or zacate. The trees surrounding the glen made a beautiful setting for what he saw as he turned to face the opposite direction. In front of him, only a few yards away, was the smallest yet most imposing building he had ever seen. As he stared at what he thought must be a dream, he suddenly realized he had found a church in the wilderness a church so small, yet so complete in its outline, that it could be mistaken for no other building. It stood on the brink of the canyon up which he had traveled, the vertical walls of which were high enough to cut off the view until he had scrambled out of the deep wash. At first, he feared to go closer lest his weight should crumble the bank and undermine the building; but cautiously approaching the front of the little church he stopped long enough to take in the details.

The front of the building was of white stone, the same kind of rock which formed the cliffs. The front doors were wide open and swung back against the inside walls, giving the face of the little church a vacant, staring outlook on the outside world. Above the stonework, the front part was made of adobe bricks, which time had melted to mud, affording foothold for weeds and grass. Time had also cracked the front in many places, causing the entire arrangement of the stone masonry to become askew and threatening to tumble to the ground at any time. At the top of the building there were two belfry portales, without bells, although one had originally held a bell. Clearly indicated by the timber which had supported it but had been sawed into, leaving the stubs sticking out of the sides of the portale. A few bats fluttered out of the interior, and as he walked around the building to the rear he found it was nothing but adobe ruins, with no roof; but the arched window openings were still erect. Mesquite trees grew thickly in the tumbleddown interior.

The sun had slipped behind the ridge to the west before Davie realized how rapidly time was passing and dusk was closing in. He decided to wait for the full moon to give him light back to his camp, and while he waited he sank into a reverie. He could see the padres silently going through the big door up to the small altar, light the candles and kneel there. Silence reigned here two centuries ago as it did tonight while he looked back over the years and saw the worshippers at their evening prayers. The quiet made his ears sing and he relaxed into the most tranquil mood he had ever experienced. Here was the peace he had looked for and here he determined to spend the rest of his life.

The moon rose in a red glow that turned to silver as it came from behind old Cerro Ruido. The little church was still in the shadow as he sat there waiting for the full rays to light his path back to camp. Not a sound to mar his rest or bring him back to reality. As the moonlight flooded the glen it suddenly bathed the little church in its bright light and Davie stood gazing for the last time at the scene. For no reason at all he became aware of a tingling sensation creeping along his spine, down his legs and through his arms. He stood rooted to the spot as the chill crept up his neck and his hair bristled. How long he stood there paralyzed by something he could not see, Davie did not remember. A loud, bloodcurdling scream, unearthly and hideous, broke the silence, and Davie found himself, before the echoes died away, running like the wind down the canyon, through the brush, stumbling over rocks, falling and rising again, until at last he arrived, panting and shaking at his camp, where he dived under his blanket and waited for the unknown to happen.

Davie was next conscious of blinking at a bright sun pouring down on him as he awakened from a sleep of exhaustion. As this was the day on which he was to meet Bill Walters, he grabbed his ore samples taken from the old tunnel, and his camera, and started down the canyon to the appointed meetingplace. Arriving early he again fell asleep, under the oak tree where Bill found him.

As Davie unfolded his story of the happenings of the past week, Bill became intensely interested in the old mine tunnel phase of Davie's adventure, but was unable to fathom the mystery of the church and the horrible scream which had sent Davie headlong down the desolute canyon. He resolved to tackle the entire subject with Davie, and, if possible, to start mining at once at the old tunnel.

A plan of action followed quickly, shaped by Bill's wise and businesslike methods. Davie was to go back to the old tunnel and put up the necessary location notices in order to claim the mine, although he was not sure whether the spot was in Arizona or Mexico, due to his wanderings before he found it, and to the proximity of the international boundary line. Bill was to take the ore samples to Tucson the next day, also the roll of camera film which Davie had snapped during the eventful week. In their eagerness and haste, Davie did not tell Bill what the pictures represented, but informed him there was one more film left in the camera, which Bill could snap at anything he chose on the way to Tucson, where the films were to be left for development.

The reason for performing all of their transactions at Tucson was to prevent too much curiosity on the part of the Nogales people who might see the pictures or learn about the assay value of the ore. Bill would simply say the pictures were taken in Mexico. Bill would also load up with powder, fuse and caps with which to start mining. Then they made an appointment for one week ahead, at which time Davie was to be at the end of the old road, from which point both of them would return to the scene near the old tunnel and make a permanent camp from which to prosecute their work.

As Bill and Davie parted, a few light showers gave warning of the start of the summer rainy season. Bill watched his friend trudging back up the canyon, and had the feeling he should have made him await Bill's return from Tucson; but he reasoned that Davie could take care of himself in case of storms and felt that he would not go back to the mysterious scene of the night before, until Bill was there to go with him.

Returning to Don Felipe's ranch, Bill got ready for his trip. The following day found him well on his way to Tucson before the big clouds gathered around the Pajarito range and blotted out the sky to the southwest. Arriving at the last summit on the county road before it joined the main highway, Bill turned for a last look back towards the mountains into which his friend had vanished. The entire sky in that direction was one black void, the lightning flashes alone breaking the darkness over Cerro Ruido. A cloudburst was in the forming, in all its dramatic fury. Bill thought of the last film in Davie's camera, so he stopped long enough to snap a picture of the storm, then continued on his way in a pattering rain. Misgivings again beset him as he remembered that Davie was somewhere in the very center of the storm behind him.

After attending to the errands in Tucson, Bill strolled about the town, hearing reports of a tremendous storm on the border. It was not until the next day when the newspapers came out that he knew of the torrential floods and damage caused by the rains of the previous day. As soon as he obtained the pictures and assays of the ore, Bill left at once for the ranch in the Pajaritos.

It was long after dark when he arrived there, due to the washed-out roads and muddy pools along the way. Don Felipe anxiously awaited him, and told him the storm had covered all of the Pajarito mountain area and that he feared for Davie's camp. The two men decided not to wait for the appointed time to meet their companion, but to go immediately to see if he was safe.

Early the next day, Bill and Don Felipe rode up the canyon on horseback. Signs of the flood were on every hand. Trees and brush were entangled in masses on all sides as they made their way, mile after mile, towards Cerro Ruido. In some places the rock slides had almost filled the smaller washes and the hillsides were denuded to the bare rock. They came to the head of the canyon where it ended on the steep rocky slope of the big mountain. They were in a wilderness of uprootedtrees, slides and still running washes but not a sign of a camp or their friend.

trees, slides and still running washes but not a sign of a camp or their friend.

Darkness finally forced them to return to the ranch. They took another canyon the next day, leading fresh horses behind them to relieve their tired mounts during the day. Still no sign of Davie or a camp. Day after day for weeks, the two men scoured the hills and valleys along the sides of the old mountain. Their friend must be somewhere in that vast solitude, they felt, but where else to look for him was beyond their knowledge.

Years have passed since Bill and Don Felipe gave up the search for the man who had been so close to them and who had added another mystery to the tales of the country around Cerro Ruido. The old mountain still grumbles his protest to those endeavoring to solve the riddle hidden in the canyons over which he holds dominion. Many have sought the answer since this latest bewildering tale and no doubt will continue their seeking.

Don Felipe still takes a few days off now and then to explore one more hidden canyon in the Pajarito range, but with dwindling hope and flagging expectation. Bill Walters is far away in the South Pacific, feverishly laying out airfields and roads in the tropic jungles. But as he lies under the stars of the idle, sultry nights, he lives again those days in the Pajarito mountains along the Mexican border, when he and Davie thought they had uncovered the secret of Cerro Ruido.