in this Province of Nuevo Viscaya,
_los haciendados_ pasture herds of thousands and tens of thousands of
cattle. Only in the most favored spots was the dreary landscape broken
by trees, most of them the acacia-like mesquite, which here grows to a
height of thirty or forty feet. There was little cultivation of the soil
in this region, whose inhabitants depend upon cattle and the rich silver
mines for their subsistence. A far from pleasant proof of this fact was
to be seen in the great number of smoking ore furnaces and the enormous
extent of the cinder heaps all about the city.

From the time we swung into our high-pommelled, high-cantled saddles, my
gaze was fixed through the smoke haze of the furnaces upon the lofty
towers of the _Parroquia_--the magnificent parish church of
Chihuahua--and the older and lower structure of the Jesuit Church of the
Campania. Noticing my intentness, even in his distraction, Malgares
courteously told the story of how the _Parroquia_ had been paid for by a
contribution from the silver produced by the great Santa Eulalia mine,
in all something over a million dollars, estimated in our money.

Aside from the _Parroquia_ and a few other imposing stone edifices, such
as the royal treasury, the hospital, the military academy, and the
three or four lesser churches, the city of Chihuahua proved to be
interesting but not magnificent. A few of the private buildings were of
stone and of more than one story, but the greater part of the city was
built of the ubiquitous unbaked mud brick.

Passing within sight of the huge arches of the great aqueduct, or
waterway, which bends around from the south to the east side of the
city, we at last found ourselves in the neat, close outskirts of
Chihuahua. Our course carried us toward the plaza through the better
streets, and it was evident from the number of ladies who crowded out
into their balconies to see us pass that the news of our coming had been
announced.

That Malgares was well and favorably known among these bright-eyed
senoras and senoritas soon became apparent as we swept along at the head
of our clattering, swashbuckling dragoons. Fans were waved, _rebozas_
and mantillas fluttered, and greetings called. Despite the anxiety which
damped his spirit, our companion responded with the most gallant of bows
and compliments.

In the midst, a gay young senorita, more daring than her sisters, cried
out: "_Viva, los Americanos!_"

Our response, I trust,