“So this beauty of a Queen told you the tale of her people,” I remarked at last, determining to humor his mood.  “It would interest me to hear the story.  Those I have thus far seen differ widely from any other order of savages with whom I have come in contact.”

“Your judgment is right.  As she tells the story, they are not of Indian blood, but belong to a far older race.  She says they are the remnant of a master people—­although regarding their exact lineage she spoke but little—­who once, hundreds of years ago no doubt, held undisputed dominion from the banks of a great red river flowing through the prairies far to the northward, down to the salted sea bounding the land upon the east.  She said their ancestors mined in the rocks, and cultivated the rich land of the valleys.  They were ruled over by five kings; and when one of these died all their wives were burned above the grave, and a hundred slaves sacrificed to the Sun, which they worshipped, and called Elagabalus.  These were all buried around the body of the king, whose tomb was of rock, and a huge mound of earth erected over them by the labor of thousands of slaves taken in battle.  Yet their chief king, in the day of their great power, she called Palenque, placing his capital to north and east of this place, a land journey of thirty days.  Here was built a great city of wood and stone, surrounded by an immense wall of earth, to which all the smaller kings journeyed in state once each year to make account of their kingdoms, and offer up slaves on the altar of the great temple in sacrifice to the Sun.  They would gather thus from noon to noon, and thousands of captives would be slaughtered before the altar by the priests.  She told me they once possessed vast store of yellow metal and flashing stones, with other treasures.  Cities were set apart under guard to have special care over them.  Some of these have descended even unto the present, but are kept hidden away by the priests, though she promised later to let me view them secretly.  And she related a most strange tale of destiny—­of a long, barbarous war, filled with the names of warriors and towns sounding most uncouth to my ears; a war lasting many years, during which the Chichimes—­for so she named the wild hordes sweeping down upon them from the northward—­drove their fathers backward from city to city, beginning far away in the kingdom named Talapa, and pillaging clear to the banks of the great river where Palenque reigned.  Their ancestors erected vast forts of earth, thus managing to hold their own against the invaders, so long as their slaves remained loyal.  But at last these also rose in revolt, and, when all supplies had been cut off, the hopeless remnant of defenders fell back down the broad river, bearing with them much of their most valued treasure, never permitting the sacred flame, which was the gift of the Sun, to die out upon their altars.  Like flies they died in the preservation of this symbol of their religion; for ’tis their