oises with which the natives adorned their
persons and their doorways. But nothing was seen of Stephen, though
shelter and provisions were found which he had left at points along the
route. As for the dusky pioneer, Fray Marcos was never to set eyes on him
again.

At length the good monk reached a fertile region, irrigated like a garden,
where the men wore three or four strings of turquoises around their necks;
and the women wore them in their ears and noses. But Cibola lay still
beyond, the tales of the natives magnifying its houses till some of them
were ten stories in height. Ladders, they said, were used in place of
stairways. Reaching at length the Gila River, a stream flowing through
deep and rugged valleys, he heard again of the negro, who was crossing the
wilderness to the northeast, escorted like a prince by some three hundred
natives. Fifteen days journey still lay between Fray Marcos and Cibola,
and he went on into the wilderness, escorted, like his pioneer, by a large
train of natives, who volunteered their services.

For twelve days the journey continued through a rough mountain region,
abundantly supplied with game, consisting of deer, rabbits, and
partridges, which was brought in by the Indian hunters. But now there came
back startling news, for one of the negro's guides appeared, pallid with
fright, telling how Stephen had reached Cibola, where he had been seized,
plundered, and imprisoned. Farther on two more Indians were met, covered
with blood and wounds, who said that they had escaped from the slaughter
of all their comrades by the warlike people of Cibola.

The bold monk had now much trouble in getting his frightened followers to
go on with him, but by means of abundant presents he induced two of the
chiefs to proceed. He was determined to gain at least a sight of the land
of wonders, and with the chiefs and his own followers he cautiously
proceeded. At length, from a hill summit, he looked down on a broad plain
on which he saw the first of the famous seven cities. To his excited fancy
it was greater than the city of Mexico, the houses of stone in many
stories and with flat roofs. This was all he could tell from his distant
view, in which the mountain hazes seem to have greatly magnified his power
of vision.

That was the end of Fray Marcos's journey. He did not dare to approach
nearer to that terrible people, and, as he quaintly says, "returned with
more fear than victuals;" overtaking his escor