countless wrinkles, the skin appearing like parchment in its dry,
leathery texture. Only the eyes gave assurance that this was no mummy,
but a living, sentient body - eyes large, full-orbed and black as
midnight, arched by heavy brows that frowned with great purpose, as if
the soul behind and beyond were seeking, powerless, to relieve itself of
some weighty message. These were not the eyes of age, yet they belonged
to a countenance that gave token of having lived through a great many
years; for the woman lying there so deathly still had experienced all
the varied joys and sufferings of near four score years, each one
leaving its indelible mark on the tell-tale face. She was clothed in a
loose dress made from rabbit skins, sewn together coarsely, sleeveless,
and so short as to leave her feet and ankles bare.

To the left of the entrance crouched a young Indian woman. She was an
unusually good-looking specimen of the desert tribes: a tall well-shaped
form; a head and face of much beauty and character, with a pair of eyes
that, at first glance, betrayed a close relation to the woman lying on
the bed. They were of the same size, color and brilliance; but the
tense, powerful expression that was seen in those of the aged woman,
here was softened to a mild, yet piercing glance, which had, at the same
time, a touch of sadness. She appeared to be not more than twenty-five
years old, although her face, in spite of its gentle, youthful
expression, showed the traces of more than her full quota of hardships;
for the life of the desert Indian is never an easy one at the best, and
here had been a greater struggle for existence than is usual among the
aborigines. As she crouched by the doorway, she seemed almost as
lifeless as the old Indian woman on the bed, her gaze fixed absently on
the extended view of plain and mountain stretching out before her, the
only sign of life being the slow, even rise and fall of her bosom with
each succeeding breath. Her dress was similar to that of the other