the
reader, however, without having made in his company a brief excursion
through a portion of New Mexico in the direction of the Rito de los
Frijoles, though not quite so far.

We start from Santa Fe, that "corner in the east" above which the Tano
village stood many centuries ago. We proceed to the Rio Grande valley,
to the little settlement called Pena Blanca, and to the Queres village,
or Pueblo of Cochiti. There you will hear the language that was once
spoken on the Rito; you will see the Indians with characteristic
sidelocks, with collars of turquoises and shell beads, but in modern
coats and trousers, in moccasins and in New England boots and shoes.
Still they are at heart nearly the same Indians we found them in this
story. I could introduce you to Hayoue, to Zashue, to Okoya, and the
rest. If we strike the time well, you may witness the Koshare at their
pranks, and in their full, very unprepossessing ceremonial toggery. At
Cochiti we take a guide, possibly Hayoue, and proceed northward in the
direction of the Rito.

For a number of hours we have to follow the base of the huge potreros,
crossing narrow ravines, ascending steep but not long slopes, until at
about noon we stand on the brink of a gorge so deep that it may be
termed a chasm. We look down to a narrow bottom and groves of cottonwood
trees. To the north, the chasm is walled in by towering rocks; the Rio
Grande flows through one corner; and on its opposite bank arise cliffs
of trap lava and basalt, black and threatening, while the rocks on the
west side are bright red, yellow, and white. The trail to the Rito goes
down into this abyss and climbs up on the other side through clefts and
along steep slopes. But we are not going to follow this trail. We turn
to the left, and with the dizzy chasm of Canon del Alamo to our right,
proceed westward on one of the narrow tongues which, as the reader may
remember, descend toward the Rio Grande from the high western mountains,
and which are called in New Mexico potreros. The one on which we are
travelling, or rather the plateau, or mesa, that constitutes its
surface, is called Potrero de las Vacas.

For about two hours we wander through a thin forest, From time to time
the trail approaches the brink of the rocky chasm of the Canon del
Alamo, near enough to have its echo return to us every word we may shout
down into its depths. Suddenly the timber grows sparse and we behold an
open space on a gentle rise before