Just before retreat, Frank, Henry, and I stood on the bank of the
river watching the trunks and branches of trees rush past, and the
occasional plunge of a mass of earth undermined by the current.
"Well," said Frank, after silently contemplating the scene a few
moments, "what you told us about crossing a stream before camping upon
it has proved true, sir, and very quickly, too."
"Yes; I think even the paymaster and surgeon must be congratulating
themselves they are on this side of that flood," I replied.
Next morning we resumed our march at the usual hour, and passed over
23.28 miles to a deserted Mexican town and Indian pueblo.
On the following day we crossed a chain of hills into the valley of
the Rio Gallo. As we debouched from a deep ravine we caught sight of
the pueblo of Laguna, illuminated by the sun, just rising, behind us.
The town stands upon a rocky eminence overlooking the river, which
waters, by irrigation, its large and well-cultivated valley.
When within four miles of it I proposed to the boys that we should
hasten forward in advance of the wagons and visit the town.
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