vant, mounted on broncos and leading a pack-mule,
rode up to my cabin late in the afternoon. He introduced himself as a
government Indian agent for the Navajos, and handed me a letter from
the department commander. It stated that the bearer was on his way to
the Indian pueblo of Jemez, to prevent the massacre of a number of
Navajo women, children, and old men who had sought asylum there, and
authorized me to furnish him with all the aid in my power.

After dismounting and entering my quarters, the agent stated that, the
Navajo country being over-run by national troops, many of the
principal men had sent their wives and children, with a few old men,
to Jemez for safety; that the party of Dominicans which had been
recently captured by us, being bitterly disappointed at their lack of
success in retaking their missing cattle, had determined to go to
Jemez and wreak vengeance upon the enemy.

The Santo Dominicans had informed the people of Jemez that if they
interfered to prevent the slaughter of the Navajos they would be
considered by the military authorities as allies of that tribe, and
treated accordingly.

Convinced, from what the agent told me, that I should act without
unnecessary delay, I proposed that we should start for Jemez at once,
but he declared himself too much fatigued by a long journey to
undertake a night ride of twenty-six miles. My instructions from the
general were to conform my movements to the wishes of the agent, so I
very reluctantly and much against my convictions concluded to wait
until morning. He strongly insisted there was no reason for haste, as
the Dominicans had not planned to leave their pueblo before noon.

We set out, therefore, at four o'clock next morning. Sergeant
Cunningham asked permission to accompany the expedition, and I allowed
him to do so, leaving Sergeant Mulligan in charge until our return.

We were a party of thirteen, mounted on every available animal in
camp. Henry was left behind, but Frank accompanied us, mounted on the
recently captured Sancho, proud of his horse and proud to be included
in the detachment.

We passed through an interesting country, filled with wind-carven
pillars and minarets, eroded shelves and caverns, and lunched at
noonday beside a dozen boiling sulphur springs. We also passed
Canoncito, the little village which was the home of Jose Cordova.

As we came in sight of the tinned spires of the church at Jemez, we
heard a distinct murmur, and halt