always some obstacle that kept the thing a myth. Lost trail, a missing map or, as in this case, hostile Indians.
As he had told Healy, Stone, in his many wanderings, had lived in New Mexico as a health-seeking tourist, before all his getatable money had flown. He had been interested in the strange rock-dwellings, the pueblos on the summit of the mesas; his active and cultivated mind had taken interest in their customs. He knew from what Lyman had whispered to him with his last breath that the treasure lay somewhere amid such surroundings, close to an Indian reservation, guarded by their savage resentment of interference on their lands and disdainful uncertainty regarding the exact boundaries.
That meant either Arizona or New Mexico. There were Apache reservations in both states, Navajos in New Mexico, and Stone knew that the Apaches were either Hualapais (Apache-Yumas) or Yavapais (Apache-Navajos). Most of them were an offshoot of the Navajos.
Some of the things that Lyman had gasped made him feel certain that this wall of gold, this Madre d'Oro, was in one of the honeycombed interiors of the lava cliffs where the Moquis, the Zunis, or some of the tribes of the Pueblos lived. Between them and the Apaches was everlasting warfare. Stone held an idea that the golden cliff was in some way connected with the mysterious, almost prehistoric religions of these tribes. Such a connection would increase the protection thrown about it, even by the Apaches,
