clear and still that
through it the sounds of children's voices, the barking of dogs, the
bleating of sheep, the lowing of cattle, and the cracked tones of the
bell in the quaint old mission church came to the ears of Glen and his
companion with wonderful distinctness. The Indian women were preparing
their evening meals, and the fragrance of burning cedar drifted down
from the village. Never afterwards could Glen smell the odor of cedar
without having the scene of that evening vividly recalled to his mind.

Mingled with this fragrance was another, equally distinct and
suggestive. It was that of crushed grapes; and the two explorers were
watching curiously the process of New Mexican wine-making, going on but
a short distance from them. Clumsy ox-carts, constructed without the use
of iron, and having great wooden wheels that screeched as they turned on
their ungreased wooden axles, brought in loads of purple grapes from the
vineyards. On top of the loads, as though the grapes were so much hay,
rode Indian men or boys, armed with wooden pitchforks. With these they
flung the grapes into a great vat of green ox-hides, supported, about
ten feet from the ground, by four heavy posts. The sides of this vat
were drawn to a point at the bottom, where there was a small outlet
left, through which the grape-juice might flow into a second vat, placed
directly beneath the other. It was similar in all respects to the first,
except that it offered no opening for the escape of its contents.

When a load of grapes had been pitched into the upper vat, two naked
Indians clambered up, and, springing on top of them, began to tread them
with their feet. For hours they continued this performance, while a
steady stream of blood-red juice flowed from the upper vat into the
lower. From there it was dipped into huge earthen jars, and set away to
ferment.

"Well," said 'Billy' Brackett, at length, as he rose and started towards
camp, "I've seen all the native wine-making I want to. If those beggars
had only washed themselves first it wouldn't be so bad, but I honestly
believe they only take a bath once a year, and that is in grape-juice."

"It is pretty bad," laughed Glen, "though I don't know as it is any
worse than their milking." This was a sore point with him, for he was
very fond of fresh milk; but, after once witnessing a New Mexican
milking, and seeing cows, mares, asses, sheep, and goats all milked into
the same vessel, he preferred to go