rpendicular rocks, five or six
hundred feet high, while the country all around seems to have been
shaken to its very centre by violent volcanic eruptions.

Winter at length passed away, and with the first weeks of spring were
renovated our hopes of escape. The Arrapahoes, relenting in their
vigilance, went so far as to offer us to accompany them in an expedition
eastward. To this, of course, we agreed, and entered very willingly
upon the beautiful prairies of North Sonora. Fortune favoured us; one
day, the Arrapahoes having followed a trail of Apaches and Mexicans,
with an intent to surprise and destroy them, fell themselves into a
snare, in which they were routed, and many perished.

We made no scruples of deserting our late masters, and, spurring our
gallant steeds, we soon found that our unconscious liberators were a
party of officers bound from Monterey or Santa Fe, escorted by
two-and-twenty Apaches and some twelve or fifteen families of Ciboleros.
I knew the officers, and was very glad to have intelligence from
California. Isabella was as bright as ever, but not quite so
light-hearted. Padre Marini, the missionary, had embarked for Peru, and
the whole city of Monterey was still laughing, dancing, singing, and
love-making, just as I had left them.

The officers easily persuaded me to accompany them to Santa Fe, from
whence I could readily return to Monterey with the next caravan.

A word concerning the Ciboleros may not be uninteresting. Every year,
large parties of Mexicans, some with mules, others with ox-carts, drive
out into these prairies to procure for their families a season's supply
of buffalo beef. They hunt chiefly on horseback, with bow and arrow, or
lance, and sometimes the fusil, whereby they soon load their carts and
mules. They find no difficulty in curing their meat even in mid-summer,
by slicing it thin, and spreading or suspending it in the sun; or, if in
haste, it is slightly barbecued. During the curing operation, they
often follow the Indian practice of beating the slices of meat with
their feet, which they say contributes to its preservation.

Here the extraordinary purity of the atmosphere of these regions is
remarkably exemplified. A line is stretched from corner to corner along
the side of the waggon body, and strung with slices of beef, which
remain from day to day till they are sufficiently cured to be packed up.
This is done without salt, and yet the meat rarely putrefies.