gentleman confided to me, mysteriously, that, since spending some time here, he had reason to believe that there were mines of silver and gold in the vicinity. In fact, he knew of some. "An Indian, some years ago," he said, brought to the padre of one of the churches two papers containing a fine dust. It was poudre d'or—gold dust—nothing less. What do you think of that?"
I thought highly of it—as I always do of treasure stories; nothing is more entertaining.
"There are indications, in reading history," he went on, "that much of the supply of the precious metals in the time of the Conquerors was taken from here. You aware that most of the valuable mines were abandoned by the Spaniards in the terrors of the War of Independence, and have never since been worked. Often their very location has been forgotten. I have a friend here who has certain knowledge of a place where poudre d'or or can be found.
He paused, perhaps to allow an offer to be made for an interest in the attractive enterprise, but none was made.
He continued, alluringly: "It is my intention to enter into thorough explorations, now that I have leisure, as soon as my health is slightly more restored."
I took the seat beside the driver on the ancient conveyance, going back to Santa Ana. We went along sandy lanes, in which the rain of the night before was almost dry, and between hedges of maguey. Maize on the right—tall but slender, and without the large ears we are accustomed to; barley and wheat on the left. All the country fertile. Malinche boldly in sight, and a sky of rolling clouds, as in Holland. Shock-headed Indian children, with a Chinese look, holding babies, and peering at us out of rifts in palisades of organ-cactus. Bright skeins
