What hands had built this old church, none could tell. It seemed certain that no human being had entered it for over a century. The mountain tribes who had lifted into place the huge chalk stones that composed its massive walls, under the devout leadership of some pious monk, for a place of worship, had long since perished from the earth. The mountain game which rendered possible their habitation in this altitude had vanished. Everything and everybody had evidently given way before some fierce invasion of one of their southern tribes. Marie was busy cleaning off the trash from the massive rock that lay at the entrance to the door-way. "1765," said she; "come, see the date chiseled in the rock! I wonder what has become of the tribe that built it?" A soldier who had made his entrance by one of the window openings, was busily engaged in prying up a huge flat stone just back of the altar. He had it loosened; he called for help to remove it. When the stone had been overturned and had fallen back onto its aged neighbors, some soft damp earth beneath it was slowly scraped away. "Listen!" said the native who on bended knees was doing the sacrilegious work, "Did you hear that grating noise?" He scraped again with his bolo turned edgewise, and gripping the back of it firmly with both hands. "Do you hear it?" said he. "It's here!" In a few minutes a metallic box was pried out of the earth wherein it had lain unmolested for many years. "Can you read the inscription on it?" asked Marie. Carefully the sediment and rust shales were removed. The grooves in the letters and figures of the inscription were carefully cleaned out with a knife. It read FATHER JUADANEZ 1768. "The old father has been dead a long time," said the fellow who was doing the details of the work. "I wonder," said Marie, "if we really ought to disturb his bones." "Do you suppose they put any valuables in the little chest when they sealed it up?" asked another. "It has always been customary to put in the sacred urn," said Marie. "Cut it open!" commanded a corporal. "I can't," said the robber; "we'll have to build a fire and melt it open." This they did; and in it they found the dust of his bones and a number of valuables including the Patricia's gold-lined cup which Marie took and hung on her belt. That night a terrible storm swept over the mountains. Marie and her companions crept into the old church for refuge. The ponies had been given some rice and then set free to forage as best they could. They were stampeded by the violence of the wind and rain.