"And then maybe you would be burned up, like the bad brave of long ago," said Mauricio, laughing.
"Well, we've had one experience to-day; that is enough, Walter," said his mother. "I am not afraid anything might happen, but do not think I would allow you to go against all the traditions of the place. The legend is undoubtedly obscure, but something must have happened there. We have had evidence enough to-day that there are some rattlesnakes about and that the valley deserves its name. I do not think I can ever look at a rattlesnake's skin again."
When they left the valley the road wound up a long, moderately steep ascent overlooking another valley similar to the one they had just left, but much smaller.
"One might truly call this a hidden nook," remarked Mr. Page.
"And that is what they call it," said Mauricio, 'El Valle Escondido'—the hidden valley. "Over there at the edge of the brush is a camp."
When they came nearer they met several Indian children with long, slender reeds in their hands.
"They have gathered them by the stream, and they are taking them to be softened," explained Mauricio. "It is of those that they make baskets."
"The famous Indian baskets?" inquired Aunt Mary.