off did not at all trouble us. Even could we have
crossed the canon, and so have retraced our steps, we could have gone no
farther than the valley of the lake; and we could as well die here as
there. And we were stayed by the reasonable conviction that the path
which we were travelling upon certainly would lead us out of the
mountains at last--even if it did not lead us to the hidden city that we
sought.

For five or six miles we doubled on our course of the day before, going
back along the canon and seeing the path that we had followed a little
below us on the other side; then, by a very easy grade, our course began
to ascend, and went on rising until the other path was so far below us
that it ceased to be distinguishable. Thus we came to within a few
hundred feet of the top of the cliffs, when a sudden turn to the left
carried us into a narrow cleft in the rock. Here the path was very
sharply inclined upward for a little way; and for the remainder of the
distance to the top we ascended a long series of rudely cut steps, so
steep that our legs fairly cracked under us as we neared the end of
them.

But we forgot our weariness as we came out upon the summit at last, and
a great view of clouds and mountain peaks burst upon us; the like of
which I never have seen approached save by the view out over the
Gunnison country from the crest of the Marshall Pass. But here we saw
all around us what there is seen only in one direction; for we were on a
vastly high, square crest--very like that called the Gigante, which the
traveller by the Mexican Central Railroad sees to the left as he nears
Silao--and clouds and mountain peaks rose up about us on every side.

But we did not long contemplate this heroic landscape, for a cloud,
which almost enveloped us as we finished our ascent of the stair, was
swept still farther away by the brisk wind then blowing; so that
suddenly a vast building loomed largely through the flying vapor, and in
a moment was clear and distinct before our eyes. To find upon this bare
mountain-top, among cloud solitudes so profound as these, such
overpowering evidence of the labor and strength of man, sent thrilling
through our breasts a wonder that was akin to awe. It seemed unreal,
impossible, that in such a place such work could be accomplished; and
the very tangible reality of it made it seem to me one of those
prodigies of man's creation which old stories tell of as having been
wrought by a league with the