We were to follow the stream to the southern lakes of the Buona Ventura,
where we were to leave our Indians, and join some half-bred
Wachinangoes, returning to Monterey, with the mustangs, or wild horses,
which they had captured in the prairies.
It was a beautiful trip, just at the commencement of the spring; both
shores of the river were lined with evergreens; the grass was luxuriant
and immense herds of buffaloes and wild horses were to be seen grazing
in every direction. Sometimes a noble stallion, his long sweeping mane
and tail waving to the wind, would gallop down to the water's edge, and
watch us as if he would know our intentions. When satisfied, he would
walk slowly back, ever and anon turning round to look at us again, as
if not quite so convinced of our peaceful intentions.
On the third night we encamped at the foot of an obelisk, in the centre
of some noble ruins. It was a sacred spot with the Shoshones. Their
traditions told them of another race, who had formerly lived there, and
which had been driven by them to the south. It must have been ages back,
for the hand of time, so lenient in this climate, and the hand of man,
so little given to spoil, had severely visited this fated city.
We remained there the following day, as Padre Marini was anxious to
discover any carvings or hieroglyphics from which he might draw some
conclusions; but our endeavours were not successful, and we could not
tarry longer, as we were afraid that the horse-hunters would break up
their encampments before we arrived.
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