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"’...After hearing the herder's tale and examining the float specimens that had been picked up on Little Mountain; I got leave of the commanding officer of the surveyors. He not only let me go, but gave me the use of a team and wagons to haul my bedding and several barrels of water. He advised me to go first to Little Mountain, so he could keep in touch with me.

     “‘As Little Mountain near Monument 41 was about the same distance from the cave as Cazzarillo Springs, I came to the conclusion to visit the cave first and prospect.    

    “‘Afterwards, I made an early start for the sacred canyon, taking a canteen of water, a few iron rations, my rifle, and plenty of ammunition, as I expected to stay overnight in the vicinity of the cave.

     “‘I walked fast having made up my mind to be across the alkali flat before the sun got high, as both the glare and the dust were hard on the eyes. Reaching the mouth of the canyon about ten o'clock, I sat down to rest a bit.

     “‘People who live in an Indian country became very sensitive to sight, sound, and smell. I had been resting but a few minutes when my ears warned me that some one besides myself was in the canyon. Crossing to the opposite side, I took note of fresh moccasin tracks, the prints having been made, I thought, by squaws, or young bucks. The burros dung I judged to be not over a day old. The tracks led up the main canyon. As I stood there listening, I heard a crackling sound. The hills were covered with ‘sotol’, and I came to the conclusion the Indians were gathering it to make the drink of the same name, a liquor something like mescal.      “‘I became wary, keeping on the lookout for burros and squaws. I had gone about two miles up the canyon when I got a whiff of smoke. As I did not want to be discovered by a sentinel, or lookout, I kept in the shade of the canyon. Besides, I was afraid the burros would get my scent and warn their owners. A short