We found the lake so surrounded by marshes that we could not get within an eighth of a mile of the waters.  One of our party attempted to reach it on foot, but could get very little nearer.  We made a circuit of the lake along the slightly elevated ground and could distinctly see it.

On completing the circle a striking picture met our eyes.  Boldly outlined by the setting sun stood the old man, his hair blown by the evening breeze, for he had bared his head of the usual kerchief worn around it, and, with his hand holding the sacred meal extended toward the glorious sunset, he stood repeating a prayer.  We halted, and he continued his prayer, wholly unconscious of our presence; as he turned we surprised him.  I extended my hand and said, “Now I am happy, for you are again brave and strong.”  “Yes,” said he, “my heart is glad.  I have looked into the waters of my departed people.  I am alive, but I may die; if I die it is well; my heart is glad.”  From that moment the gloom was gone and he was bright and happy.  We could not induce the old man to ascend the mountain of the K[=o]k-k[=o] with us, as none go there except certain priests; but the lake is visited by those who are designated by these priests.

Several days were consumed by us in exploring this immediate vicinity.  On breaking camp, our old Indian guide seemed determined to tarry behind.  I remained with him.  As the party rode off he took a large quantity of food which he had carefully stored away behind a tree—­he having observed an almost absolute fast in order to make a large offering to the spirits of the departed—­and heaped this food upon the embers of the camp fire, by the side of which he stood for a long time, supplicating in a most solemn manner the spirits of the departed to receive his offering.

Certain men are selected, who, with bodies nude save the loin skirt and with bare feet, walk from Zuni to the lake, a distance of 45 miles, exposed to the scorching rays of the summer sun, to deposit plume sticks and pray for rain.  If the hearts of those sent be pure and good, the clouds will gather and rain will fall, but if evil be in their hearts no rain will fall during the journey and they return with parched lips and blistered skin.  The K[=o]k-k[=o] repeat the prayers for rain with their intercessions to the Yae-t[=o]-tka, the Sun, and by them the plume sticks are sent to the same great god.  So constantly are the lesser gods employed in offering plumes to the great god that at night the sacred road (the Galaxy) can be seen filled with feathers, though by day they are invisible.  They believe that the soul or essence of the plumes travels over this road, just as the soul from the body travels from Zuni to the spirit lake, and in their offerings of food the food itself is not received by the gods, but the spiritual essence of the food.