From the time we swung into our high-pommelled, high-cantled saddles, my gaze was fixed through the smoke haze of the furnaces upon the lofty towers of the _Parroquia_--the magnificent parish church of Chihuahua--and the older and lower structure of the Jesuit Church of the Campania. Noticing my intentness, even in his distraction, Malgares courteously told the story of how the _Parroquia_ had been paid for by a contribution from the silver produced by the great Santa Eulalia mine, in all something over a million dollars, estimated in our money. Aside from the _Parroquia_ and a few other imposing stone edifices, such as the royal treasury, the hospital, the military academy, and the three or four lesser churches, the city of Chihuahua proved to be interesting but not magnificent. A few of the private buildings were of stone and of more than one story, but the greater part of the city was built of the ubiquitous unbaked mud brick. Passing within sight of the huge arches of the great aqueduct, or waterway, which bends around from the south to the east side of the city, we at last found ourselves in the neat, close outskirts of Chihuahua. Our course carried us toward the plaza through the better streets, and it was evident from the number of ladies who crowded out into their balconies to see us pass that the news of our coming had been announced. That Malgares was well and favorably known among these bright-eyed senoras and senoritas soon became apparent as we swept along at the head of our clattering, swashbuckling dragoons. Fans were waved, _rebozas_ and mantillas fluttered, and greetings called. Despite the anxiety which damped his spirit, our companion responded with the most gallant of bows and compliments. In the midst, a gay young senorita, more daring than her sisters, cried out: "_Viva, los Americanos!_" Our response, I trust, was as gallant in spirit if not in effect as the bows of Malgares. I qualify because Pike had to endure the mortification of riding beneath the gaze of all those sparkling eyes in a costume better fitting a backwoods farmer than a military gentleman. He was still in his scarlet cap and blanket cloak. Yet, encouraged by our acknowledgment of the first greeting, others of the ladies caught up the cry, until we found ourselves being welcomed no less warmly and frequently than Malgares himself. This should have been fair enough augury to reassure the most despondent of travellers. But as we jingled past house after house, I found myself, between bows, scanning the gay groups on the balconies with a sinking heart. We were nearing the plaza. I could see the trees between the blank, bare walls of the dwellings which flanked the narrow street. In a little more we should pass the last of the balconies,--and I had seen no sign of my lady.