I never missed the Sunday morning mass, and I fell in easily with the religious observances.
I read and studied about the old explorers, and I seemed to live in the time of Cortez and his brave band.

I became acquainted with Adolf Bandelier, who had lived for years in that country, engaged in research for the American Archaeological Society.

I visited the Indian pueblos, those marvellous structures of adobe, where live entire tribes, and saw natives who have not changed their manner of speech or dress since the days when the Spaniards first penetrated to their curious dwellings, three hundred or more years ago.

I climbed the rickety ladders, by which one enters these strange dwellings, and bought the great bowls which these Indians shape in some manner without the assistance of a potter's wheel, and then bake in their mud ovens.
The pueblo of Tesuque is only nine miles from Santa Fe, and a pleasant drive, at that; it seemed strange to me that the road was not lined with tourists.

But no, they pass all these wonders by, in their disinclination to go off the beaten track.
Visiting the pueblos gets to be a craze.