nks of the stream called La Fontaine qui Bouille, from the boiling
spring whose waters flow into it. When we stopped at noon, we were
within six or eight miles of the Pueblo. Setting out again, we found by
the fresh tracks that a horseman had just been out to reconnoiter us; he
had circled half round the camp, and then galloped back full speed for
the Pueblo. What made him so shy of us we could not conceive. After an
hour's ride we reached the edge of a hill, from which a welcome sight
greeted us. The Arkansas ran along the valley below, among woods and
groves, and closely nestled in the midst of wide cornfields and green
meadows where cattle were grazing rose the low mud walls of the Pueblo.

CHAPTER XXI

THE PUEBLO AND BENT'S FORT

We approached the gate of the Pueblo. It was a wretched species of fort
of most primitive construction, being nothing more than a large
square inclosure, surrounded by a wall of mud, miserably cracked and
dilapidated. The slender pickets that surmounted it were half broken
down, and the gate dangled on its wooden hinges so loosely, that to
open or shut it seemed likely to fling it down altogether. Two or three
squalid Mexicans, with their broad hats, and their vile faces overgrown
with hair, were lounging about the bank of the river in front of it.
They disappeared as they saw us approach; and as we rode up to the gate
a light active little figure came out to meet us. It was our old friend
Richard. He had come from Fort Laramie on a trading expedition to Taos;
but finding, when he reached the Pueblo, that the war would prevent his
going farther, he was quietly waiting till the conquest of the country
should allow him to proceed. He seemed to consider himself bound to do
the honors of the place. Shaking us warmly by the hands, he led the way
into the area.

Here we saw his large Santa Fe wagons standing together. A few squaws
and Spanish women, and a few Mexicans, as mean and miserable as the
place itself, were lazily sauntering about. Richard conducted us to the
state apartment of the Pueblo, a small mud room, very neatly
finished, considering the material, and garnished with a crucifix, a
looking-glass, a picture of the Virgin, and a rusty horse pistol. There
were no chairs, but instead of them a number of chests and boxes
ranged about the room. There was another room beyond, less sumptuously
decorated, and here three or four Spanish girls, one of them very
pretty, were baking ca