The boys followed him through the brush, the sweet-scented chaparral on
which the honey-dew still lingered, to another and smaller clearing.
Here were several long rows of earthen huts, three or four feet high,
out of which smoke poured through an aperture in the roof of each. Near
by was a broad creek to which the bank sloped gently from the clearing.
The creek, some three feet deep, murmured over coloured stones and
sprouting trees. The long fine strands of the ice grass trailed far over
the water, motionless. Huge bunches of maidenhair, delicate as green
lace, clung to the steep bluffs on the opposite side. Forests of ferns
grew close to the water's edge. Down through a rift in the cliffs
tumbled a mountain stream over its rocky bed.

"Are they stewing in those things?" asked Roldan.

The Indian nodded. Roldan, followed closely by Adan, approached one of
the temascals and opened the door cautiously. At first they could see
nothing, so dense was the smoke; but when much had rushed out through
the new opening, they saw two prostrate figures, sweating from every
pore. Their eyes were closed, they breathed stertorously. The expression
on their heavy faces was beatific.

"Caramba!" exclaimed Adan, as Roldan closed the door, "I am glad they
like it. What a lot of trouble to get clean."

"As they never take a bath, they couldn't get clean any other way; and
besides it rests them after any great exertion--Mission raiding, for
instance--and they also fancy it drags every humour out through the
pores of the skin. They'll be coming out soon. Let us go down to the
creek and wait."