I got off very carefully, not looking down and edged my way past Coyote and Piute, maintaining a firm grip on them as I went along. My back felt cold and creepy with nothing but the dizzy air back of me.

But I got by safely and helped Jim lay his bridge. He made several trips and as the poles were fifteen feet long we made quite a secure structure.

At first Piute absolutely balked. He would not lead at all. Then Jim got in the saddle and went for him with the spurs. The broncho strain showed up in him and he went across that bridge on the fly and went full gallop up the remaining bit of trail.

I led Coyote, who made no trouble as Piute had broken the ice and the rest of the procession followed.

In a minute I was on the deck of the broad mesa and at the threshold of the little town. Jim was waiting for me.

"Welcome to our little city, stranger," he said, "all the Indians are asleep, you must be careful not to disturb them."

"It's deserted," I said. "I guess the Apaches cleared them out."

We left our horses and proceeded to investigate this curiously silent village, isolated on the great mesa.

The houses were in a good state of preservation and would stay that way for years in this dry climate. They were made of adobe bricks with a mud cement over them, flat roofs, and with a second tier of smaller buildings on them. Ladders were used in reaching the roof and we found some that were unbroken lying on the ground. The doors were made of the regulation size and square windows cut through.

CHAPTER XIII

TWO HONORS

The houses were not separate, but the whole village was like one big rambling house of many rooms. We cautiously entered one of the houses.

As soon as our eyes became accustomed to the dim light we saw that it had been deserted for a long time. There were no marks of recent habitation.

On the hard, worn floor were shards of pottery of red and grey clay that had been baked according to the method of the tribe. In the blackened fireplace was a heap of rags.

"I bet the Apaches have cleared this town out," said Jim, reaffirming my previous statement.

"There's no doubt of it," I replied. "It's too near their territory anyway. It makes me feel sorry for these people. They must have been comfortable here and they were no doubt superior to the other Indian tribes because they have built themselves houses instead of living in tepees."

"Yes," remarked Jim, "and instead of living on wild meat they raised grain. You can see where they have crushed it in this round stone, that's hollowed out."

We were standing near the fireplace as Jim was speaking, when I saw the rubbish moving slightly, and then a great hairy spider rushed out at us.

"Look out, Jim," I cried, in alarm. "There's a big spider coming for you."

And I made for the door. If there's one thing I hate more than another it's spiders. If it had been a roaring mountain lion or a stealthy Apache or even a snake, I would not have cared, but a spider! that was my particular horror.

It's peculiar about folks; each one has some particular aversion that is natural and not unreasonable. I have known people that would have a fit if you threw a cat at them. Actually faint with horror if a cat should jump in their laps. Others have the same feeling towards snakes. My horror was spiders.

I think if that one should crawl up my arm I Would almost expire with horror. That was the reason I took to the door. This fellow was no ordinary customer, I can a.s.sure you.

His hairy, bent legs carried his body in the center and he had poisonous nippers and wicked little eyes. He rattled across the hard floor straight for Jim. My cry caused Jim to look down and he jumped to one side just in time to escape the rush of the reptile.

I expected to see the spider scurry away to a dark corner. Not he, for he came for Jim again. Then Jim picked up a stone and crushed Mr. Spider with a crunching sound.

"Come and have a look at him, Jo," cried Jim. "He's a beaut."

"I'll take your word for it," I replied. "I don't want to see it."

"Did you ever see a spider like that?" asked Tom, when Jim came out.

"That wasn't a spider," Jim said. "That was a tarantula. He must have been five inches across. But the gall of him prancing right up to me."

"Lucky he didn't bite you," I said.

"Well, I guess yes," remarked Jim, "I have heard that their poison will just about lay a man out."

"Judging from the looks of him I should think as much," I said.

"Let's have a look at the roof of this village," proposed Jim.

We searched around until we found a long ladder and we raised it up to the second story of the town.

"I feel like I belong to a hook and ladder company," laughed Jim. "Do you remember what fun we used to have running to the fires at home with the hose carts?"

"Sure I do," I replied, "and I recollect when we paraded with one of the companies on the Fourth of July and you had a belt that was intended for a fat man and it went around you twice and then you had to hold it up and your cap was two sizes too large and the visor was generally over your left ear. You were the feature of the parade."

"Never mind that now," grinned Jim, "you weren't much more of an ornament yourself if I remember rightly. Let's see what we can discover up here."

So he climbed the ladder, with me at his heels, and Tom came tumbling after. We found part of the roofs covered with other houses like those below. The roofs were perfectly flat and with round chimneys of grey adobe standing here and there. There were also square openings to the houses below where a ladder could be used for an inside stair.

"What is this long string of something, Jim?" I asked.

"Why that long string of something is dried peppers. I bet these Indians used a lot of it. It will be fine to cook with our meat," and he wound it gracefully over his shoulders.

We went into one of the houses on the roof and it seemed to be like the others, entirely deserted. This room of the village was larger than any that we had entered so far and it had a wooden door which Jim had shoved open without any difficulty.

I was standing with my back to the door looking around to see if there were any curiosities in view, when I felt something coming behind me swiftly and stealthily. I had no time to turn before it sprang and one dark skinny arm went around my neck.

It was an Indian, who held me with a grip like closing steel. I was almost helpless, from the pressure on my throat when Jim turned, hearing the scuffle and sprang to my help.

It took all his strength to tear the old Indian hag loose, for such it was. She was a terrible object to my startled eyes, with her grey bush of hair, parchment withered skin, the lean lines of her throat and the eyes beaming with the weird light of insanity.

Her strength seemed to leave her suddenly and she sat crouching in a dark corner. Keeping her eyes fastened on us and her lips moving in some strange incantation. Suddenly she sprang up with her claw-like hands stretched toward us, spitting at us; a very picture of demoniacal fury.

Then she subsided again.

It was more like the rage of a wild beast than of a human being. And it gave me a sensation of horror to think that she had had me in her grip.

Next to the tarantula she seemed the most repulsive.

"The old lady seems to have taken a sudden fancy to you," said Jim, as we stood looking at her.

"What is she doing up here all alone?" asked Tom.