kroaches.

We were now nearing the top when Jim stopped his horse and the whole
line halted. He gave a low whistle of surprise.

"What's the matter?" I asked, anxiously.

"Washout on the line," he said.

"We're in for it now," I said. "Is it dry?"

Jim dismounted gingerly from his horse and went forward a few steps.
Then I saw a broken place in the trail with a sheer fall. We were
check-mated.

It was impracticable for us to go back with the horses, though we could
easily go back on foot. It was also impossible to go forward.

Then I saw Jim step back a ways, and with a short run, he made the leap
across. It was only five feet, but in such cramped quarters it was very
difficult. My heart stopped as Jim jumped. His foot slipped as he landed
and he saved himself from being killed, by grabbing the outer edge of
the trail, a thin knife of rock, then he scrambled up, his moccasined
feet aiding him to a secure foothold.

"Never say die!" he yelled to me. "I'm going to investigate."

Then he disappeared on top of the mesa. In a few minutes he came back
dragging two round poles with him. "Lend a hand, Jo," he urged.

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