impossible for me ever again to leave the pueblo. I must be an Indian
all the rest of my life. But I shall love him always. Tell him so."

"Come!" called Ambrosio from the _portal_.

Half an hour later the train was carrying them back to Acoma. Colonel
Kate at once sent a note to Barbara's lover, telling him what had
happened. But the messenger, being a small boy, met other small boys on
the way, and by the time the young officer read the news the Indian girl
was well on her way toward home.

Lieutenant Wemple applied for leave of absence, and as soon as possible
he followed old Ambrosio. At Laguna, where he left the railroad, he
hired a horse and inquired the way to Acoma. It was the middle of the
night, but he refused to wait for daylight, and started at once across
the plain, galloping as though life and death depended on his mission.
In the early morning he reached the great rock-island of Acoma, towering
four hundred feet above the plain, and climbed the steep ascent to the
village on its summit. A file of maidens, and among them his lover's eye
quickly sought out Barbara, were coming from the pool far beyond,
carrying water jars upon their heads, graceful as a procession of
Caryatides. Wemple found his way to Ambrosio's door, where the old chief
was sitting in the early sunlight. As he stopped his horse Barbara came
up the street, her _tinaja_ poised on her head. One swift and frightened
flash of her black eyes was all the recognition she gave him as she
hurried into the house.

Briefly the Lieutenant told the old man that he loved Barbara and wished
to marry her. Inside the house the girl stood out of sight, listening
anxiously for her father's reply, although she well knew what it would be.