ever," she said, "that the isthmus route is better. We
know by experience that the journey from here to Bent's Fort is safe and
easy. From there down the Arkansas and Missouri to St. Louis it is mostly
water carriage; and from St. Louis you can sail anywhere."

Coronado was alarmed. He must put a stopper on this project. He called up
all his resources.

"My dear Mrs. Stanley, allow me. Remember that emigrants move westward,
and not eastward. Coming from Bent's Fort you had protection and company;
but going towards it would be different. And then think what you would
lose. The great American desert, as it is absurdly styled, is one of the
most interesting regions on earth. Mrs. Stanley, did you ever hear of the
Casas Grandes, the Casas de Montezuma, the ruined cities of New Mexico? In
this so-called desert there was once an immense population. There was a
civilization which rose, flourished, decayed, and disappeared without a
historian. Nothing remains of it but the walls of its fortresses and
palaces. Those you will see. They are wonderful. They are worth ten times
the labor and danger which we shall encounter. Buildings eight hundred
feet long by two hundred and fifty feet deep, Mrs. Stanley. The
resting-places and wayside strongholds of the Aztecs on their route from
the frozen North to found the Empire of the Montezumas! This whole region
is strewn, and cumbered, and glorified with ruins. If we should go by the
way of the San Juan--"

"The San Juan!" protested Thurstane. "Nobody goes by the way of the San
Juan."

Coronado stopped, bowed, smiled, waited to see if Thurstane had finished,
and then proceeded.

"Along the San Juan every hilltop is crowned with these monuments of
antiquity. It is like the castled Rhine. Ruins looking in the faces of
ruins. It is a tragedy in stone. It is like Niobe and her daughters.
Moreover, if we take this route we shall pass the Moquis. The independent
Moquis are a fragment of the ancient ruling race of New Mexico. They live
in stone-built cities on lofty eminences. They weave blankets of exquisite
patterns and colors, and produce a species of pottery which almost
deserves the name of porcelain."

"Really, you ought to write all this," exclaimed Aunt Maria, her
imagination fired to a white heat.

"I ought," said Coronado, impressively. "I owe it to these people to
celebrate them in history. I owe them that much because of the name I
bear. Did you ever hear of Coronado, the conq