In the afternoon we ascended first a steep, very rocky hill; passed after wards by Ojo de Bernal or San Miguel spring, surrounded by a dozen houses, and camped some miles east of San Miguel, (10 miles.) The rocks near our night camp are a coarse conglomerate of decomposed granite, sand stone, and lime.
June 27.–Passed this morning through San Miguel, or the Rio Pecos. The place seems somewhat larger and wealthier than las Vegas. A church, built of adobes, is the prominent building in town. San Miguel is the most southern point on the Santa Fe road, and from here our mountain road takes a northwestern direction. About three miles beyond San Miguel we halted at noon, and started again in the afternoon for the mountains. According to my custom, I rode ahead to examine the country. The day was excessively hot; and with the design to reach the watering place of our to night camp, I rode faster on and passed it unperceived, because it lay aside of the road. Determined, however, to find water ahead, I rode 20 miles, till I reached the Rio Pecos, opposite the old Pecos village. The bed of the creek above was entirely dry, but where the road crosses it two springs come out of the sand, whose clear and cold water my horse enjoyed not less than myself. A little below I selected my solitary night camp. My horse, which I had picketed when he got tired of grazing, laid down close at my side, and the night passed without any disturbance.
June 28.–I awoke rather chilly this morning, as I had no blanket with me, but a good fire soon made me comfortable. To spend my time till the caravan should arrive, I walked along the bed of the creek and examined the rocks; it was granite in a decomposed state. While knocking with my hammer some specimens from the heavy granite blocks, I suddenly perceived an Indian on horseback, galloping over the hill straight towards me. Having kept my horse always saddled and near me, I was mounted in a minute, but the Indian was already at my side, followed by about 20 others. Without saluting or showing any marks of friendship, he at once told me by signs, in a rather commanding way, to dismount. I refused it as positively, giving him to understand that I had to ride far yet, and left before all his followers could come up. The old chief (such he was apparently) looked at me for some minutes, as if irresolute what to do; but having no doubt perceived my rifle gun and pistols ready for emergency, he grumbled something like an oath, and let me pass. I rode on, not very fast, till I was out of their sight, and then turned back into my old road, and waited in the timber for the arrival of the caravan; which reached the place about noon, and halted at the Pecos spring. The Indians, as I understood afterwards, were a party of Camanches.
About one mile north of the Pecos springs lies the old Pecos village. When the caravan started in the afternoon, I rode aside to examine this interesting place. The village is entirely deserted. The most remarkable house in it is an old, spacious building, of adobes, two stories high, with strong doors and columns of cedar, ornamented by carved work. This old building is the temple of Montezuma, in whose subterranean vaults an eternal fire was kept up by the tribe of Pecos Indians, in consequence of an old tradition prevalent amongst them, that Montezuma himself had kindled this sacred fire, and that he would return finally, if the fire was kept burning by his followers. For centuries they have been careful to preserve their sanctuary; but their tribe has dwindled down at last to a trifling
