d woven cloths and skins
found wrapped as cerements round the dead all prove that these men were
a sedentary and for that age civilized people. When our Celt and Saxon
ancestors were still chasing wild boars through the forests, these
people were cultivating corn on the Upper and Lower Mesas. When Imperial
Rome's common populace boasted few garments but the ones in which they
had been born, these people were wearing a cloth woven of fiber and
rushes. When European courts trod the stately over floors of filthy
rushes, these cliff dwellers had flooring of plaster and cement, and
rugs of beaver and wolf and bear. All this you can see with your own
eyes by examining the caves and skeletons of the Jemez Forests; and the
fine glaze of the beautiful pottery work is as lost an art as the
pigments of old Italy.

* * * * *

As you go into the Pecos Forests to play, so you go into the Jemez to
dream. You go to Pecos to hunt and fish. So you do to the Jemez; but it
is historic fact you are hunting and a reconstruction of the record of
man you are fishing for. As the Pecos Forests appeal to the strenuous
holiday hunter--the man who considers he has not had his fun till he has
broken a leg killing a bear, or stood mid-waist in snow-water stringing
fish on a line like beads on a string--so the Jemez appeals to the
dreamer, the scholar, the scientist, the artist; and I can imagine no
more ideal (nor cheaper) holiday than to join the American School of
Archaeology, about which I have already spoken, that comes in here with
scientists from every quarter of the world every midsummer to camp, and
dig, and delve, and revel in the past of moonlight nights round
campfires before retiring to sleeping quarters in the caves along the
face of the cliff. The School has been a going concern for only a few
years. Yet last year over 150 scientists came in from every quarter of
the globe.

Spite of warnings to the contrary given to me both East and West, the
trip to the Jemez is one of the easiest and cheapest you can make in
America. You strike in from Santa Fe; and right here, let me set down as
emphatically as possible, two or three things pleasant and unpleasant
about Santa Fe.

First, it is the most picturesque and antique spot in America, not
excepting Quebec. Color, age, leisure; a medley of races; sand-hills
engirt by snow sky-line for eighty miles; the honking of a motor
blending with the braying of a Mexic