"The Spaniards and others before them have destroyed all save ours. Some of our brethren live under the tutelage of Christian priests in the South, but they build their homes upon open rocks. We are the last of the Dwellers in the Cliffs."*
* This amazing statement has been corroborated by scientists of the Smithsonian Institution, who agree it is probable some of the cliff-dwellings were inhabited in recent historic times.—A.D.H.S.
"That is why you hate the Spaniards," I said.
"Yes, Englishman. Wherever they have gone they have slain our people. But for what you said to Kachina and the fight you made to protect her and the sacred turkeys we should have slain you instantly. Even the Awataba had the hardihood to pursue you, in spite of the death you dealt them, because they supposed you were Spaniards, and they knew that if Spaniards escaped from their country, they would come back, bringing others with them, and in the end slay or enslave all not of their color."
"The Spaniards have always been enemies of the English," I replied, anxious to propitiate him. "It was the English who first denied the right of the Spaniards to exploit your country for themselves."
Have I said that Wiki had green eyes that sometimes sparkled and again seemed to flame? They stabbed at me like two daggers as he remarked—
"The English are white; we are red."
I said no more on that score. The man was as intelligent as I had first imagined, and cunning, too, possessed of information you would scarce expect to find in this isolated community in the heart of the great rock desert.
"We are friends," I protested, recurring to my original argument. "We have come amongst you practically without arms."
"You should not have come otherwise," he retorted.