Mr. Back (who, by the way, in 1889 filed as a homesteader on the land about the Well including the Well itself as a water right) informed me that the Apaches regard the place with disfavor. “_Aqua no ’ueno_,” one old man told him, “water no good. Long time ago, you _sabe_, three Indian _mujeres_ all same women, you _sabe_, she swim out in water, and go round and round, you _sabe_, in the middle, and by ’em by, she go down, all three. Never come back. No, no—_no ’ueno_.” The water is warmish, but quite drinkable—if you can forget about those Apache ladies who are still in it. It would seem reasonable that so remarkable a natural phenomenon as is the Well, situated in a region as populous with aborigines as the Verde Valley once was, would have a place in Indian folk lore; and as a matter of fact Dr. J. W. Fewkes[85] has learned that the Hopis know of its existence, and claim it as the home of some of their ancestors. Moreover, the tales of some of their old men indicate that they regard the place as the house of the Plumed Serpent, a divinity peculiarly dear to the desert dwelling Hopis of today, as the guardian of the waters and springs. Indeed, it is, perhaps, as a shrine of the divine that the Well is most truly to be considered; and in view of the extensive pueblo that once flourished on the rim, it may be that the houses of the Well walls were used in connection with religious observances rather than as a habitation of the common people. CHAPTER XIV SAN ANTONIO If you are a Southwesterner, born or naturalized, returning from a visit “back East,” your spirits rise with a jump when the trainmen call out “San Antone!” For this is the frontier of your own dear country, and you feel the thrill that goes with getting home again and being among your own people. Dusty and a bit down at the heel in spots is San Antonio, you think? Yes, son, but it is picturesque; and there are adobes and Mexicans, Stetson hats and cart-wheel dollars once more, and it is where the Southwest begins, if you are westbound on the S. P.