The Professor's House
and counted the rings under his pocket microscope.
You couldn’t count them with the unassisted eye, for
growing out of a tiny crevice in the rock as that tree
did, the increase of each year was so scant that the
rings were invisible except with a glass. The tree
he cut down registered three hundred and thirty-six years’ growth, and it could have begun to grow
in that well-worn path only after human feet had
ceased to come and go there.
Why had they ceased? That question puzzled him, too. Smallpox, any epidemic, would have left unburied bodies. Father Duchene suggested what Dr. Ripley, in Washington, afterward surmised: that the tribe had been exterminated, not here in their stronghold, but in their summer camp, down among the farms across the river. Father Duchene had been among the Indians nearly twenty years then, he had seventeen Indian pueblos in his parish, and he spoke several Indian dialects. He was able to explain the use of many of the implements we found, especially those used in religious ceremonies. The night before he left us, he summed up the results of his week’s study, something like this:
“The two square towers on the mesa top, to which you have given little attention, were unquestionably granaries. Under the stones and earth fallen from the walls, there is a quantity of dried corn on the ear. Not a great harvest, for life must have come to an end here in the summer, when the
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