I got off very carefully, not looking down and edged my way past Coyote and Piute, maintaining a firm grip on them as I went along. My back felt cold and creepy with nothing but the dizzy air back of me.
But I got by safely and helped Jim lay his bridge. He made several trips and as the poles were fifteen feet long we made quite a secure structure.
At first Piute absolutely balked. He would not lead at all. Then Jim got in the saddle and went for him with the spurs. The broncho strain showed up in him and he went across that bridge on the fly and went full gallop up the remaining bit of trail.
I led Coyote, who made no trouble as Piute had broken the ice and the rest of the procession followed.
In a minute I was on the deck of the broad mesa and at the threshold of the little town. Jim was waiting for me.
"Welcome to our little city, stranger," he said, "all the Indians are asleep, you must be careful not to disturb them."
"It's deserted," I said. "I guess the Apaches cleared them out."
We left our horses and proceeded to investigate this curiously silent village, isolated on the great mesa.
The houses were in a good state of preservation and would stay that way for years in this dry climate. They were made of adobe bricks with a mud cement over them, flat roofs, and with a second tier of smaller buildings on them. Ladders were used in reaching the roof and we found some that were unbroken lying on the ground. The doors were made of the regulation size and square windows cut through.