mesa lay between Rio Bonito and Rio Satachi. Farthest to the west
were the big hogbacks near Nacori, standing out ominously, like a
perpetuated flash of lightning. The sun was nearing the horizon; the
air was translucent, and the entire panorama steeped in a dusky blue.

Immediately below us, to our left, lay Guaynopa. The mountainside
looked so steep that it seemed impossible for us to descend from
where we were. But we already heard the voices of our muleteers
singing out to the animals 1,000 feet below, and that reminded us
that we also had better reach camp before darkness should overtake
us. We descended 2,500 feet, and, leaving the pines behind, found
ourselves in a warmer climate. It never snows here, according to our
guide. That the precipitation took the shape of rain we learned when
we were impeded by it for two days.

There were yet eighteen miles between us and the deserted
mines of Guaynopa. It was a laborious journey over the hills,
mostly ascent. Finally we came to a steep slope covered with oaks,
along which there was a continuous descent toward Guaynopa. While
zigzagging our way down, we caught sight of a large cave with houses
and some white cone-shaped structures staring at us across an arroyo
midway up the opposite side, which was at least two thousand feet
deep. Through my field glasses I could make out very distinctly a
group of houses of the usual pattern; and the large, white structures
could without difficulty be recognised as granaries, similar to those
observed in Cave Valley. It was my intention to go back and examine
this cave more closely, as soon as I had found a camping place; but
circumstances interfered. Several years later the cave was visited
by Mr. G. P. Ramsey, to whom I owe the following brief description.