brick instead of a bonanza. Landmarks
began to look strangely alike. "The Turk," as he afterward confessed,
was leading them in a circle. Coronado sent the most of his band back
to the Mexican border, retaining about thirty followers. With the help
of heated bayonets and sundry proddings, he then impressed upon "The
Turk" that it was about time for him to find the Quiviras, or prepare
to go to the happy hunting-grounds of his ancestors. After many
hardships, "The Turk" located the tribe they were seeking near the
present site of Kansas City. All that Coronado found in the way of
metal was a bit of copper worn by a war-chief. Not only was the bubble
burst, but the bursting was so feeble that Coronado was disgusted. He
beheaded the guide with his own hands as a small measure of vengeance.
With his followers he retraced his weary road to Tiguex. The lesson
lasted for half a century, when the myth, brighter, more alluring than
ever, arose and led others on to thirsty deaths in the bad lands and
deserts of the Southwest.

It was to the modern version that Lane had succumbed. From the
Sweetwater he roved to the south of Albuquerque, where the narrow
valley of the Rio Grande is rimmed on the east by an arid plateau
twenty miles wide; and this is, in turn, walled in by a long
cordillera. Through the passes, over the summit, Lane climbed,
descending through the pineries, park-like in their grandeur and
immensity, to the bare, brown plains which stretch eastward to the
rising sun. In the midst of the desert lies a chain of salines,
accursed lakes of Tigua folk-lore. Beyond them the plain melts and
rebuilds itself in the shimmering sun.

To the south and southeast spectral peaks tower to the clouds.
Northward the blue shadows of the Sante Fe fall upon the pine-clad
foot-hills.

Along the lower slopes of the Manzano are the ruins of the ancient
pueblos. Abo and Cuarac are mounds of fallen buildings and
desert-blown sand. Solemn in their grandeur, they dominate the lonely
landscape in a land of adobe shacks.

Thirty miles from Cuarac, to the southeast, lies Tabiri, the "Grand
Quivira." Huddled on the projecting slopes of the rounded ridges,
access to it is a weary, dreary march. The nearest water is forty
miles away. Toiling through sand ankle-deep, the traveler plods across
the edge of the plains, through troughlike valleys, and up the wooded
slope of the Mesa de los Jumanos. A mile to the south a whale-back