Isabella was as bright as ever, but not quite so
light-hearted. Padre Marini, the missionary, had embarked for Peru, and
the whole city of Monterey was still laughing, dancing, singing, and
love-making, just as I had left them.
The officers easily persuaded me to accompany them to Santa Fe, from
whence I could readily return to Monterey with the next caravan.
A word concerning the Ciboleros may not be uninteresting. Every year,
large parties of Mexicans, some with mules, others with ox-carts, drive
out into these prairies to procure for their families a season's supply
of buffalo beef. They hunt chiefly on horseback, with bow and arrow, or
lance, and sometimes the fusil, whereby they soon load their carts and
mules. They find no difficulty in curing their meat even in midsummer,
by slicing it thin, and spreading or suspending it in the sun; or, if in
haste, it is slightly barbecued. During the curing operation, they often
follow the Indian practice of beating the slices of meat with their
feet, which they say contributes to its preservation.
Here the extraordinary purity of the atmosphere of these regions is
remarkably exemplified. A line is stretched from corner to corner along
the side of the waggon body, and strung with slices of beef, which
remain from day to day till they are sufficiently cured to be packed up.
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