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“No need to bother about the Greasers in camp. They won’t make any trouble.” It was the first word spoken by their captive.,

Oh, yes—it was just that that made everything worse. Johnny Blossom sat in his shirt sleeves close by the hearth, staring thoughtfully into the fire.,

“Indeed there was,” was the answer. “The Indians were the first irrigators. The Pueblo or village Indians, as they were called, while it was in a crude way, irrigated all the land on which they raised corn. They were the first settlers of the Rio Grande Valley. We know this is so, for one of the Spanish Conquistadores, Coronado by name, wrote it down in the record of his travels. When he marched from the south into what is now New Mexico in search of the gold which was the aim and hope of all the adventurers of his time, he found the Indians irrigating the land by means of crude ditches dug with their primitive implements. This was the first record we have, but it has been established beyond any reasonable doubt that such irrigation as he found was practiced here by this river that flows below us long before Columbus discovered America. The theory is that in all probability irrigation along the Rio Grande was in vogue even before the Egyptians used the waters of the Nile for the same purpose. When the first Spanish settlers came along, and later the Americans, they adopted the same methods of making the ground productive as had the Indians. All we have done as time went on is to improve the general principles taken from the savages. Of course, as we made better tools, we have been able to build larger ditches and so increase the area of fertile land far beyond the dreams of the Indians.”,

“Yes, indeed; I thank you very much. And I want you to have a half moon today.”

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Just before sundown next day they came to an obstacle which at first sight rather daunted them. As they rounded a bend, the most surprising bit of scenery they had so far encountered flashed before their eyes. The canyon seemed to stop, to have no outlet. It was as if they had come into an amphitheater from which there was no escape. Even the way they had come in was not visible. The point of rocks which had made the bend in the river merged into the sides of the canyon in such a way as to make it seem that there was no opening at all.,

The talk went on mostly about the Canyon. Bob noticed, however, that Jerry King took very little part in the conversation. He didn’t seem exactly unwilling to talk, but his remarks were few and far between. And when they came they were short and matter of fact. Mr. Whitney appeared not to notice this much. It was rather as if he was used to Jerry’s manner. But Bob, however, felt that he was going to have a hard job in thawing out this chap who was to be his companion through the summer. He wanted to make friends but Jerry seemed to repulse every advance he made.,

Blue Beard returned that very evening, and said that he had received letters on the road, telling him that the business on which he was going had been settled to his advantage.,

He now for the first time stopped to listen—the sounds of pursuit were ceased, and all was silent! Continuing to wander on in effectual endeavours to escape, his hands at length touched cold iron, and he quickly perceived it belonged to a door. The door, however, was fastened, and resisted all his efforts to open it. He was giving up the attempt in despair, when a loud scream from within, followed by a dead and heavy noise, roused all his attention. Silence ensued. He listened for a considerable time at the door, his imagination filled with images of horror, and expecting to hear the sound repeated. He then sought for a decayed part of the door, through which he might discover what was beyond; but he could find none; and after waiting some time without hearing any farther noise, he was quitting the spot, when in passing his arm over the door, it struck against something hard. On examination he perceived, to his extreme surprize, that the key was in the lock. For a moment he hesitated what to do; but curiosity overcame other considerations, and with a trembling hand he turned the key. The door opened into a large and desolate apartment, dimly lighted by a lamp that stood on a table, which was almost the only furniture of the place. The Count had advanced several steps before he perceived an object, which fixed all his attention. This was the figure of a young woman lying on the floor apparently dead. Her face was concealed in her robe; and the long auburn tresses which fell in beautiful luxuriance over her bosom, served to veil a part of the glowing beauty which the disorder of her dress would have revealed.