Many long years ago the peace of the Indian country was threatened by a great force of Spaniards coming from Mexico. Warning was given by runners from pueblo to pueblo in order that a concerted resistance might be made to stop the “ruin and desolation that marked the Spaniard’s path in this cruel warfare. Soon these warnings ceased.” But because there was plenty of evidence that the invaders were still despoiling the land, the young men of Ácoma agreed among themselves to keep a vigilant watch from the summits of one of these stone pillars. Many days passed and all was quiet. The pillar top was well stocked with provisions for the watcher. And then one night, after rain and wind had made the darkness unwontedly thick, he was startled as the dawn came, to see the Spaniards actually scaling the steep. They were, in fact, so close that he could not leave his post to give the alarm. All he could do was to blow his “loud-sounding horn-note of imminent danger to his friends” and try as best he could to keep the enemy at bay for the few precious moments before help could reach him. He was well equipped “with bow and arrows, shield and spear. Without descending from his post, the narrow path, whose width only admitted of one person passing at a time, was soon blocked with the disabled foe.” Wounded, the sentinel hero fell back on his lofty perch, but not till the village men had hurried to his aid, and these, fresh and strong, were more than a match for those Spaniards who gained the top of the cliff. A short, impetuous fight brought victory to the Ácomas, and the long dread was vanquished, but the hero of the pillar was dead at his post. “And for this,” said the Alcalde, “we every year have our rejoicings near the foot of the pillar and by our joy and praises thank the spirit of the hero who so bravely sacrificed himself to save his people.” This story was confirmed during my second visit to the mesa. Although we saw no such weather-worn pillars on the summit of Ácoma, I hazard the guess that they may have stood at the top of the so-called “Runners,” or “Deadman’s trail,” which our informant told me had been out of use for many years but which once had served to preserve the pueblo from the Spaniards. At that time I thought he was trying to persuade me that the Ácomas won the famous fight of Zaldívar, but he probably knew the tradition of this other invasion by the Spaniards, for he was very positive in his statement that the white men were all killed or driven off in a fierce encounter at that point, and that the second name was given to that particular trail because of this event. Another noteworthy remark of Gwyther’s is that the Ácomas were somewhat surly until they found that the visitors were all Americans; it was only toward Mexicans that they cherished any ill-will, and thereafter the visitors were treated with entire cordiality.