We found it very difficult to persuade an old Zuni guide,
who had visited the sacred salt lake, the mountain of the war gods,
and other places of interest with us (to these he had gone by special
permission of the High Priest), to accompany us to the spirit lake and
the mountain of the K[=o]k-k[=o]. Our persuasive powers were almost
exhausted ere we could induce him to guide us to them, but having
consented he was willing to go even if he should be punished by death.
He was a man renowned for bravery, but he was so overcome by his
superstitious fears that his voice sank to a whisper and finally
became scarcely audible. The morning of the day on which we reached
this place, the old man, who had been riding by my side, ahead of the
rest of the party, suddenly halted and said in a half-angry voice,
"Why do I go ahead? I am not the chief of this party. Those who belong
at the head must go to the head." And he would not move until Mr.
Stevenson and I went in advance. By this change he sought to transfer
the responsibility to us. Finally he rode up to us and said in a
whisper, "We will camp here." The whole expression of the old man's
face was that of ghastly terror. I was much annoyed, for I thought
that, at the eleventh hour, his fear had overcome his desire to
gratify us. Just then a Mexican lad on horseback approached; we were
all mounted. I asked the lad, "Is there a lake near by?" He replied,
"Yes, a half a mile off." The old Indian said, speaking in a whisper,
"And you have seen it?" "Yes.
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