Down the huge steep slope, springing along rocky, sinuous paths or over the walls of the terraces, came a hundred or a hundred and fifty men, running with a speed which, considering the nature of the footing, was marvellous.  Before many in the train were aware of their approach, they were already among the wagons, rushing up to the travellers with outstretched hands, the most cordial, cheerful, kindly-eyed people that Thurstane had seen in New Mexico.  Good features, too; that is, they were handsomer than the usual Indian type; some even had physiognomies which reminded one of Italians.  Their hair was fine and glossy for men of their race; and, stranger still, it bore an appearance of careful combing.  Nearly all wore loose cotton trousers or drawers reaching to the knee, with a kind of blouse of woollen or cotton, and over the shoulders a gay woollen blanket tied around the waist.  In view of their tidy raiment and their general air of cleanliness, it seemed a mistake to class them as Indians.  These were the Moquis, a remnant of one of the semi-civilizations of America, perhaps a colony left behind by the Aztecs in their migrations, or possibly by the temple-builders of Yucatan.

Impossible to converse with them.  Not a person in the caravan spoke the Moqui tongue, and not a Moqui spoke or understood a word of Spanish or English.  But it was evident from their faces and gestures that they were enthusiastically friendly, and that they had rushed down from their fastness to aid the emigrants against the Apaches.  There was even a little sally into the plain, the Moquis running a quarter of a mile with amazing agility, spreading out into a loose skirmishing line of battle, brandishing their bows and defying the enemy to battle.  But this ended in nothing; the Apaches sullenly cantered away; the others soon checked their pursuit.

Now came the question of encampment.  To get the wagons up the bluff, eight hundred feet or so in height, along a path which had been cut in the rock or built up with stone, was obviously impossible.  Would there be safety where they were, just at the base of the noble slope?  The Moquis assured them by signs that the plundering horse-Indians never came so near the pueblos.  Camp then; the wagons were parked as usual in a hollow square; the half-starved animals were unharnessed and allowed to fly at the abundant grass; the cramped and wearied travellers threw themselves on the ground with delight.

“What a charming people these Monkeys are!” said Aunt Maria, surveying the neat and smiling villagers with approval.

“Moquis,” Coronado corrected her, with a bow.

“Oh, Mo-kies,” repeated Aunt Maria, this time catching the sound exactly.  “Well, I propose to see as much of them as possible.  Why shouldn’t the women and the wounded sleep in the city?”

“It is an excellent idea,” assented Coronado, although he thought with distaste that this would bring Clara and Thurstane together, while he would be at a distance.