As we approached this singular object, I could not help regarding it with a degree of curiosity. I had seen mesa heights before—in the “mauvaise terre,” upon the Missouri, in the Navajo country west of the Rocky Mountains, and along the edges of the “Llano Estacado,” which of itself is a vast mesa.
The mound before us was peculiar, from its very regular form, and the sparkling sheen of its cliffs. Its complete isolation, moreover, added to the effect—for no other eminence appeared in sight. The low hills that bordered the Rio Grande could barely be distinguished in the distance.
On getting nearer to it, its character became somewhat altered; the square box-like form appeared less regular, and it was then perceived that the parallelopipedon was not perfect. Slight ledges could be traced traversing the face of its cliffs, and here and there the rectangular lines were broken to the eye. Nature, after all, had not been so exact in her architecture.
Yet, with every deduction, it was a singular structure to look upon, not the less so that its summit was inaccessible to human foot. A precipice fifty yards sheer fronted outward on all sides. No one had ever scaled this precipice—so alleged my companions, who were well acquainted with the locality.
We had approached within less than a mile of its base; our conversation had dropped—at least so far as I was concerned; my thoughts were occupied with the mound, and my eyes wandering over its outlines.
I was endeavouring to make out the character of the vegetation which seemed to flourish luxuriantly on its summit. The dark foliage was evidently that of some species of acicular trees, perhaps the common red cedar (Juniperus Virginiana), but there were others of lighter hue—in all likelihood pinons, the pines with edible cones, peculiar to this region. I noticed, also, growing upon the very edge of the cliff, yuccas and aloes, whose radiating blades, stretching out, curved gracefully over the white rock. Forms of cactus, too, were apparent, and several plants of the great pitahaya rose high above the cliff, like gigantic candelabra—strange objects in such a situation.
My companions seemed to have no eyes for these rare vegetable beauties; I could hear them at intervals engaged in conversation; but the subject had no reference to the scene, and I paid little attention to what they were saying.
All at once I was startled by the voice of Garey, giving utterance to the emphatic announcement—
“Injuns, by God!”
“Indians!—where?”