Directly behind the town was a fine cart-road, worn in red sand pumice; before the town rose a magnificent cliff, which had been a landmark in our journey of the day before.

The road running up the mountain, over gray and red pumice strata, was deeply worn, just like the road back of Cochiti, New Mexico.
Here, too, were the same noble pines for forest.

It was a full hour's climb to the summit, where we found a pretty brook tumbling over ledge after ledge into deep round basins of purest water.

A long and rather gentle slope downward led to a valley filled with neat farm-houses and cleared patches.

Our last ascent brought us to a mass of rounded hills, composed of brilliant clays--yellow, brown, pink, red and white.