unk, Bub, just some story of the heathen
sheep to hide the barbecuing of their shepherds."

"Maybe so, but I've as much curiosity as a pet coon. What special
process did their gods use to put the friars out of commission?"

"Oh, lightning. The original priests' report had it that the red gold
was at some holy place of the tribes, a shrine of some sort. Well, you
know the usual mission rule--if they can't wean the Indian from his
shrine, they promptly dig foundations and build a church there under
heavenly instructions. That's the story of this shrine of El Alisal
where the priests started to build a little branch chapel or _visita_,
for pious political reasons--and built it at the gold shrine. It went
down in the priests' letter or record as gold of rose, a deep red
gold. Well, under protest, the Indians helped build a shack for a
church altar under a great aliso tree there, but when lightning struck
the priests, killed both and burned the shack, you can see what that
manifestation would do to the Indian mind."

Kit halted, panting from the heart-wearying trail, and looked Pike
over disgustedly.

"Holy mackerel! Pike, haven't you _any_ imagination? You've had this
new side to the story for over a month and never even cheeped about
it! I heard you and Whitely talking out on the porch, but I didn't
hear this!"

"Why, Bub, it's just the same old story, everyone of them have half a
dozen different sides to it."

"But this one explains things, this one has logic, this one blazes a
trail!" declared the enthusiast. "This one explains good and plenty
why no Indian has ever cheeped about it, no money could bribe him to
it. Can't you see? Of course that lightning was sent by their wrathy
gods, of course it was! But do you note that place of the gold, and
place of the shrine where the water rises, is also some point where
there is a dyke of iron ore near, a magnet for the lightning? And that
is not here in those sandy mesas and rocky barrancas--it's to the west
in the hills, Pike. Can't you see that?"

"Too far from the old north and south trail, Bub. There was nothing to
take padres so far west to the hills. The Indians didn't even live
there; only strayed up for nuts and hunting in the season."

"Save your breath!" jeered Kit. "It's me to hike back to Mesa Blanca
and offer service at fifty dollars per, and live like a miser until we
can hit the trail again. I may find a tenderfoot to buy that valley
tract of mine up in