t bank
of the Rio Grande, opposite Bernalillo, he learned that his commander
Onate had just marched west, on the perilous trip to Moqui, of which you
have already heard. Villagran at once turned westward, and started alone
to follow and overtake his countrymen. The trail was easily followed,
for the Spaniards had the only horses within what is now the United
States; but the lonely follower of it was beset with continual danger
and hardship. He came in sight of Acoma just too late to witness the
massacre of Juan de Zaldivar and the fearful fall of the five Spaniards.
The survivors had already left the fatal spot; and when the natives saw
a solitary Spaniard approaching, they descended from their rock citadel
to surround and slay him. Villagran had no firearms, nothing but his
sword, dagger, and shield. Although he knew nothing of the dreadful
events which had just occurred, he became suspicious of the manner in
which the savages were hemming him in; and though his horse was gaunt
from its long journey, he spurred it to a gallant effort, and fought his
way through the closing circle of Indians. He kept up his flight until
well into the night, making a long circuit to avoid coming too near the
town, and at last got down exhausted from his exhausted horse, and laid
himself on the bare earth to rest. When he awoke it was snowing hard,
and he was half buried under the cold, white blanket. Remounting, he
pushed on in the darkness, to get as far as possible from Acoma ere
daylight should betray him. Suddenly horse and rider fell into a deep
pit, which the Indians had dug for a trap and covered with brush and
earth. The fall killed the poor horse, and Villagran himself was badly
hurt and stunned. At last, however, he managed to crawl out of the pit,
to the great joy of his faithful dog, who sat whining and shivering upon
the edge. The soldier-poet speaks most touchingly of this dumb companion
of his long and perilous journey, and evidently loved it with the
affection which only a brave man can give and a faithful dog merit.

Starting again on foot, Villagran soon lost his way in that trackless
wilderness. For four days and four nights he wandered without a morsel
of food or a drop of water,--for the snow had already disappeared. Many
a man has fasted longer under equal hardships; but only those who have
tasted the thirst of the arid lands can form the remotest conception of
the meaning of ninety-six hours without water. Two days