When we entered the town we left our horses hitched to the willows on the bank of the irrigating ditch, near the wall of the first house, and I ordered the dog Vic to remain with them.  Three-quarters of an hour afterwards Vic looked into the estufa from above, gave three sharp barks, and dashed away.

We were so deeply interested in the examination of a lot of scalps, quaint pottery, weapons of warfare, etc., that we paid no attention to her.  Presently she appeared a second time, repeated her barking, and ran off again.  A few moments later the dog again showed herself at the sky-light, and thrusting her head downward continued to bark until I approached the foot of the ladder.  As I did so she uttered a sound of anxiety, or distress, and disappeared.

“Something must be the matter with our animals, boys,” I remarked.  “Frank, go and see what has happened, while Henry and I take leave of our host.”

Corporal Frank climbed the ladder two rungs at a step, while Henry and I remained to thank the governor for his kindness and bestow some trifling gifts upon the rabble of children that had followed us closely throughout our visit.  We then ascended the ladder and started for the place where we had left our animals.

Hurrying down the narrow alley we met Frank, who was nearly breathless with exertion and excitement.  While yet at a considerable distance from us he shouted: 

“Chiquita’s gone!  Can’t see her anywhere!”

Hastening to the willows I found that Henry’s pony was indeed missing.  I thought she had simply broken loose, and would be found somewhere in the neighborhood, so mounted and made a hasty search.  I saw our train several miles away, toiling up a long ascent, but there was no sign of a riderless pony on the road.  On my return to the willows Henry said: 

“Chiquita did not break away, sir; her halter-strap was too strong, and I tied it with a cavalry hitch.  She must have been unfastened by some one.  Perhaps these Pueblos have stolen her.”

“She may have been stolen, as you suggest,” I replied, “but not by the Pueblos.  We were their guests, and our property was sacred.”

The Indians, seeing our trouble, gathered about us, and among them I saw the governor.  Making my way to him, I explained what had happened.  He turned to his people and addressed them in his own tongue.  A young girl approached and said something, at the same time pointing to the southwest.

Looking in the direction indicated, over a long stretch of broken country, bordered on the west by an irregular range of sandstone mesas, I thought I saw a moving object near the foot of a rugged bluff, several miles distant; but before I could adjust my field-glass the object had turned the bluff and disappeared.  One thing, however, I did see—­it was Vic, sitting on a knoll less than a mile from the pueblo.

“I wonder we have not thought of Vic’s absence all this time,” I said; “there she is, on the trail of the thief, wondering why we do not pursue.”