We thought we had almost earned the freedom of the town by our toilsome climb, first over a young mountain of pure sea sand in which we sank ankle deep, and then hand over hand up a steep ledge of rock, where ancient grooves were worn for fingers and toes to cling to. Centuries of soft shod feet had hollowed these footholds, and centuries of women and men had carried food and water and building materials over this wearisome trail. Yet the Acoman may be right in demanding toll. He has gone to infinite trouble through generations of hard labor to perfect the little stronghold where he preserves his precious individuality. The giant beams in his old church, the mud bricks and stone slabs for his houses, the last dressed sheep and load of groceries, the very dirt that covers his dead were brought to the summit on the backs of his tribe. Acoma to the native is not an insignificant village of savages, but by treaty with the United States an independent nation; proud of its past, serenely confident of its future. It is almost as large as Monte Carlo, or the little republic of Andorra; with the assertive touchiness which so often goes with diminutive size, both in people and nations. Being a nation, why should it not have the same right to say who shall enter its gates, and under what conditions, as the United States; that parvenu republic surrounding it? [Illustration: AT THE FOOT OF THE TRAIL, ACOMA. (Enchanted Mesa in middle distance.) Less dominating than the haunted Mesa, New Acoma reveals its towering proportions only on nearer approach.] [Illustration: THE ENCHANTED MESA, ACOMA, NEW MEXICO. A shimmering tower of blue and gold, seeming too evanescent for solid rock.] Nevertheless the Acoman is not popular, even among Indians of other villages. Though neighboring towns, Laguna and Acoma always have swords drawn. The Acoman has a wide reputation for being surly and inhospitable, and I am willing to admit he does his best to live up to that reputation.