s of truce were still waving, their spears stuck into the
ground; but each of the hostile bands held their horses saddled and
bridled, ready to mount at the first movement of the other.

CHAPTER FORTY FIVE.

A VEXED TREATY.

Within the barranca was the mine. The shafts, rude diggings, pierced
the cliffs on both sides, like so many caves. The bottom between the
cliffs was bisected by a rivulet that murmured among loose rocks.

On the banks of this rivulet stood the old smelting-houses and ruined
ranches of the miners. Most of them were roofless and crumbling to
decay. The ground about them was shaggy and choked up. There were
briars, mezcal plants, and cacti--all luxuriant, hirsute, and thorny.

Approaching this point, the road on each side of the barranca suddenly
dips, the trails converging downward, and meeting among the ruins.

When in view of these, both parties halted and signalled each other
across the ravine. After a short parley, it was proposed by the
Navajoes that the captives and horses should remain on the top of the
hill, each train to be guarded by two men. The rest, eighteen on each
side, should descend to the bottom of the barranca, meet among the
houses, and, having smoked the calumet, arrange the terms of the
exchange.

Neither Seguin nor I liked this proposal. We saw that, in the event of
a rupture in the negotiation (a thing we more than half anticipated),
even should our party overpower the other, we could gain nothing.
Before we could reach the Navajo captives, up the steep hill, the two
guards would hurry them off; or (we dreaded to think of it) butcher them
on the ground! It was a fearful thought, but there was nothing
improbable in it.

We knew, moreover, that smoking the peace-pipe would be another waste of
time; and we were on thorns about the approach of Dacoma's party.

But the proposal had come from the enemy, and they were obstinate. We
could urge no objections to it without betraying our designs; and we
were compelled, though loth, to accept it.

We dismounted, leaving our horses in charge of the guard, and descending
into the ravine, stood face to face with the warriors of Navajo.

They were eighteen picked men; tall, broad-shouldered, and muscular.
The expression of their faces was savage, subtle, and grim. There was
not a smile to be seen, and the lip that at that moment had betrayed one
would have lied. There was hate in their hearts and vengeance in their