At the end of this hall, but in the upper story, was found a house that was distinguished from the others by a peculiar decoration in red, while the space around the door was painted in a delicate shade of lavender.

There seems to have been still another hall of nearly the same length as the one described, but which must have been at least one foot and a half higher.  It is now almost entirely caved in.

No objects of interest were found that could throw any light on the culture of the builders of these dwellings, except the fragment of a stone axe and a piece of matting.

The day after my arrival at Chuhuichupa I continued my journey, now accompanied by Mr. Taylor and Mr. Meeds.  We had as a guide an old Mexican soldier, who had been recommended to us as a man who knew the Sierra Madre better than anyone else.  He had, no doubt, lived a wild life; had taken part in many a “scrap” with the Apaches, as his body showed marks of bullets in several places, and he had prospected for gold and silver, traversing a good deal of ground in the mountains at one time or another.  But topographical knowledge per se does not necessarily make a good guide.  Although “Don Teodoro,” by something like instinct, always knew where he was, it did not take us long to discover that he had not judgment enough to guide a pack-train, and his fatuous recklessness caused us a good deal of annoyance, and even loss.

After leaving the grass-lands of Chuhuichupa, we passed through extensive pine regions, full of arroyos and cordons, and it struck me how silent the forest was here.  No animal life could be seen or heard.  About ten miles south we caught sight of the Sierra de Candelaria, which suddenly loomed up in the southeast, while the Arroyo de Guaynopa yawned on our left.  We slowly ascended a beautiful cordon running toward the southwest.  The track we followed, our guide assured us, was el camino de los antiguos, but it probably was only an Apache trail.  The cordon was rather narrow, and from time to time gave us sweeping views of the stupendous landscape in one direction or another, as the animals slowly made their way up and finally reached the summit.  A grandly beautiful sight awaited us; we went a little out of our way to gain a promontory, which, our guide said, was designated “Punto Magnifico.”  It was at an elevation of 8,200 feet, and gave us certainly the most strikingly magnificent view of the Sierra Madre we yet had enjoyed.

An ocean of mountains spread out before and below us.  In the midst of it, right in front of us, were imposing pine-clad mesas and two weathered pinnacles of reddish conglomerate, while further on there followed range after range, peak after peak; the most distant ones, toward the south, seeming at least as far as eighty miles away.  The course of the rivers, as they flow deep down between the mountains, was pointed out to us.  The principal one is the Arros River, which from the west embraces most of the mesas,