I had a wholesome respect for the opinions of these old soldiers, for they had campaigned against Indians in Texas, Utah, Colorado, and New Mexico long before I had seen a more savage redman than the indolent, basket-making descendants of the Passamaquoddies and Penobscots.  Accordingly, without appearing to notice their remarks, I approached the chief, and said, interrogatively: 

“Apache?”

A shake of the head.

“Ute?”

Another shake.

“Navajo?”

“Si, senor!” he said, with a bow of his head, and I moved triumphantly on, satisfied that my eighty-three prisoners were Navajos.

But presently I heard Clary ask, “Jarge, did ye iver see Navihos with blankets like thim?”

“Niver!” answered Hoey, emphatically.

Evidently the two soldiers did not believe they were Navajos, and were “talking at me.”  But if not Navajos, Apaches, or Utes, who were these warriors?

When we were near camp we were met by Cordova, who had remained behind to recover from the fatigue of his early morning run.  As soon as he came up to the Indians there seemed to be an immediate recognition.  He and the chief met and embraced, and conversed for a few moments in a language that was neither English nor Spanish.  Then the hunter turned to me, looking shamefaced, and said, in Spanish, “Lieutenant, these Indians are Pueblos, of Santo Domingo.”

Whoever knows the character of the Pueblos will appreciate the joke I had perpetrated upon myself.  Many towns in New Mexico are inhabited by these Indians—­towns which stood on their present sites when Coronado entered the country in 1541.  They form an excellent part of the population, being temperate, frugal, and industrious.  They dress in Indian style, and when at war paint and disfigure themselves like any other of the red peoples, so that a green soldier would see no difference between them and the wilder tribes.

The Pueblos explained that they were in pursuit of a band of Navajos who had stolen some of their cattle the previous night.  When they first saw Cordova they attempted to approach him to inquire if he had seen any Navajo “signs.”

My appearance and warlike demonstrations they could not account for, not knowing there was a camp of soldiers in the valley.  When I put the questions, Apache?  Ute?  Navajo? the chief thought I was asking him if he was in pursuit of a party of one of those tribes.  Being in pursuit of Navajos, he answered yes to that name.

A week after my captives had returned to their homes in Santo Domingo, at the close of a long and fruitless search for their lost stock, a gentleman and his servant, mounted on broncos and leading a pack-mule, rode up to my cabin late in the afternoon.  He introduced himself as a government Indian agent for the Navajos, and handed me a letter from the department commander.  It stated that the bearer was on his way to the Indian pueblo of Jemez, to prevent the massacre of a number of Navajo women, children, and old men who had sought asylum there, and authorized me to furnish him with all the aid in my power.