ever forget--then he bring me,
for it is mine to know."

"Sufferin' cats!" muttered Rhodes, eyeing her in wonder. "The next
time I see an Indian kid playing in the sand, I'll linger on the trail
and absorb wisdom!"

"Come," she said, "you not seeing the one enchant look, the--how you
say?--the not believe look."

"Well, take it from me, Cinderella, I'm seeing not believe things this
very now," announced Kit, giving a fond look towards that comforting
gleam of yellow metal bedding flecks of quartz. "I see it, but will
have to sleep, and wake up to find it in the same place before I can
believe what I think I see."

With the food and drink for Miguel in his hands he had followed the
girl through the shadowed gallery of the slanting smoke-stained roof.
His eyes were mainly directed to the rock floor lest he stumble and
spill the precious coffee; thus he gave slight thought to the little
ravine up which she had led him to the cave which was also a mine.

But as he stepped out into the sunlight she stood looking up into his
face with almost a smile, the first he had seen in her wistful tragic
eyes. Then she lifted her hand and pointed straight out, and the
"enchant look," the "not believe" look was there! He stared as at a
mirage for an incredulous moment, and then whispered, "Great God of
the Desert!"

For a little space, a few rods only, the mountain dipped steeply, and
trickling water from above fell in little cascades to lower levels,
where a great jagged wall of impregnable granite arose as a barrier
along the foot of the mountain.

But he was above the sharp outline of the huge saw with the jagged
granite teeth, and between the serrated edges he could look far across
the yellow-gray reaches of sand and desert growths. Far and wide was
the "not believe" look, to the blue phantom-like peaks on the horizon,
but between the two ranges was a white line with curious dots drifting
and whirling like flies along it, and smoke curling up, and----

Then it was he uttered the incredulous cry, for he was indeed viewing
the thing scarce to be believed.

He was looking across the great Rancho Soledad, and the white line
against the sand was the wall of the old mission where the vaqueros
were herding a band of horses into the great quadrangle of the
one-time patio turned into a corral since the buildings on three sides
had melted down again into mother earth.

He remembered riding around these lines of the old arches seek