r the land that had been furrowed by the plough was now
covered with tangled and almost impenetrable thickets. A few broken and
decaying logs, or crumbling walls of the adobe were all that remained to
attest where the settlers' rancho had stood.

We passed a ruined church with its old turrets dropping by piecemeal.
Piles of adobe lay around covering the ground for acres. A thriving
village had stood there. Where was it now? Where were the busy
gossips? A wild-cat sprang over the briar-laced walls, and made off
into the forest. An owl flew sluggishly up from the crumbling cupola,
and hovered around our heads, uttering its doleful "woo-hoo-a," that
rendered the desolation of the scene more impressive. As we rode
through the ruin, a dead stillness surrounded us, broken only by the
hooting of the night-bird, and the "cranch-cranch" of our horses' feet
upon the fragments of pottery that covered the deserted streets.

But where were they who had once made these walls echo with their
voices? Who had knelt under the sacred shadow of that once hallowed
pile? They were gone; but where? and when? and why?

I put these questions to Seguin, and was answered thus briefly--

"The Indians."

The savage it was, with his red spear and scalping-knife, his bow and
his battle-axe, his brand and his poisoned arrows.

"The Navajoes?" I inquired. "Navajo and Apache."

"But do they come no more to this place?" A feeling of anxiety had
suddenly entered my mind. I thought of our proximity to the mansion we
had left. I thought of its unguarded walls. I waited with some
impatience for an answer.

"No more," was the brief reply. "And why?" I inquired.

"This is our territory," he answered, significantly. "You are now,
monsieur, in a country where live strange fellows; you shall see. Woe
to the Apache or Navajo who may stray into these woods!"

As we rode forward, the country became more open, and we caught a
glimpse of high bluffs trending north and south on both sides of the
river. These bluffs converged till the river channel appeared to be
completely barred up by a mountain. This was only an appearance. On
riding farther, we found ourselves entering one of those fearful gaps,
canons, as they are called, so often met with in the table-lands of
tropical America.

Through this the river foamed between two vast cliffs, a thousand feet
in height, whose profiles, as you approached them, suggested the idea of
angry gia