The rooms are about six feet high, and they wuz like me in one thing—­they didn’t care so much for ornament as they did for solid foundation.  The only ornament I see in any of the rooms wuz some kinder wavin’ streaks of red paint.  But, oh! how solid the housen wuz, how firm the underpinnin’.

There wuz some stun towers and some winders, and oh! how I do wish I could seen what them Old Cliffers looked out on when they rested their arms on the stun winder sills and looked down on the deep valley below.

Children a-lookin’ out for pleasure mebby; older ones a-lookin’ for Happiness and Ambition like as not, the aged ones a-leanin’ their tired arms on the hard stun, while the settin’ sun lit up their white locks, and a-lookin’ for rest.

The cliffs are a good many colors, and each a good-lookin’ one.

One thing struck me in all the housen, and made me think that though the Cliff Dwellers wuz older than Abraham or Moses, yet if I could see some of them female Cliffers I could neighbor with ’em like sisters.

They did love closets so well, and that made ’em so congenial to me.  I never had half closets enough, and I don’t believe any woman did if she would tell the truth.

There wuz sights of closets all closed up with good slab doors, some like grave-stuns.

I shouldn’t have liked that so well, to had to heave down that heavy slab every time that I wanted a teacup, but mebby they didn’t drink tea.

I spoze they kep their strange-lookin’ pottery there, and I presoom the wimmen prided themselves on havin’ more of them jars than a neighbor female Cliffer did.  Then there are farmin’ implements, and sandals, and leggins, and weapons, and baby boards—­and didn’t I wish that I could ketch sight of one of them babies!

The bodies of the dead wuz wrapped in four different winders—­first in fine cloth, then a robe of turkey feathers wove with Yucca fibre, then a mattin’, and then a wrap made of reeds.

The mummies found wrapped in these grave-clothes are more perfect than any found in Egypt, the hot, dry air of Colorado a-doin’ its best to keep folks alive, and then after they are dead, a-keepin’ ’em so as long as it can.  There wuz one, a woman with pretty figure, and small hands and feet, and soft, light-colored hair.  What wuz she a-thinkin’ on as she done up that fore-top or braided that back hair?

Did any hand ever lay on that soft, shinin’ hair in caresses?  I presoom more than like as not there had.  Her mother’s, anyway, and mebby a lover’s, sence the fashion of love is older than the pyramids enough sight—­old as Adam, and before that Love wuz.  For Love thought out the World.

By her side wuz a jar with some seeds in it—­probable the hand of Love put it there to sustain her on her long journey.

Wall, the centuries have gone by sence she sot out for the Land of Sperits, but the seeds are there yet.  She didn’t need ’em.