through the subterranean
_estufa_ where, for centuries before the invention of the
friction-match, the Indians kept their sacred fire--fire made sacred
through the difficulty of obtaining it or rekindling it when once
extinguished--and so watched day and night by sleepless sentinels.

When we entered the town we left our horses hitched to the willows on
the bank of the irrigating ditch, near the wall of the first house,
and I ordered the dog Vic to remain with them. Three-quarters of an
hour afterwards Vic looked into the _estufa_ from above, gave three
sharp barks, and dashed away.

We were so deeply interested in the examination of a lot of scalps,
quaint pottery, weapons of warfare, etc., that we paid no attention to
her. Presently she appeared a second time, repeated her barking, and
ran off again. A few moments later the dog again showed herself at the
sky-light, and thrusting her head downward continued to bark until I
approached the foot of the ladder. As I did so she uttered a sound of
anxiety, or distress, and disappeared.

"Something must be the matter with our animals, boys," I remarked.
"Frank, go and see what has happened, while Henry and I take leave of
our host."

Corporal Frank climbed the ladder two rungs at a step, while Henry and
I remained to thank the governor for his kindness and bestow some
trifling gifts upon the rabble of children that had followed us
closely throughout our visit. We then ascended the ladder and started
for the place where we had left our animals.

Hurrying down the narrow alley we met Frank, who was nearly
breathless with exertion and excitement. While yet at a considerable
distance from us he shouted:

"Chiquita's gone! Can't see her anywhere!"

Hastening to the willows I found that Henry's pony was indeed missing.
I thought she had simply broken loose, and would be found somewhere in
the neighborhood, so mounted and made a hasty search. I saw our train
several miles away, toiling up a long ascent, but there was no sign of
a riderless pony on the road. On my return to the willows Henry said:

"Chiquita did not break away, sir; her halter-strap was too strong,
and I tied it with a cavalry hitch. She must have been unfastened by
some one. Perhaps these Pueblos have stolen her."

"She may have been stolen, as you suggest," I replied, "but not by the
Pueblos. We were their guests, and our property was sacred."

The Indians, seeing our trouble, gathered about us, and a