This we did. And it gave us a strange sensation, standing near the edge of the mesa with nothing but the void darkness below us for hundreds of feet.
It was a picturesque sight, to see the Indian fires making little spots of flame out on the plain. Sometimes faint sounds come from their direction borne on the evening wind. Overhead the innumerable stars were shining with sparkling clearness. The night seemed to be filled with the vague whispering of the wind.
As we turned back to the dead village the wind rose; at first it came in gusts and then it blew in steady and ever increasing volume, until it rose to the fierceness of a gale.
Not a cloud was visible, it came from perfect clearness and it seemed to have more power than if it had been accompanied with rolling clouds. The gravel blew across the mesa, cutting our faces.
"Are we going to have a cyclone?" inquired Tom, anxiously, yelling into Jim's ear.
"No!" he yelled back. "This country is too broken. It couldn't get started before it's busted."
"We can't sleep here to-night," declared Tom, "we will be blown away."
By this time we had reached the shelter of the village. It seemed uncannily quiet and dead within its walls.
"We can sleep here in the court yard," I said, "and we will be protected from the wind."
"All right," replied Jim, "it's funny to have the horses inside the houses and we out."