Page:Popular Science Monthly Volume 11.djvu/602

584 jury to the cloth. The river-silt is sufficiently siliceous when in contact with a body of lime-cement, in process of time, to become almost as hard as the cement itself 1 have succeeded in separating perfect sections of this thin surface-lamina from the underlying mass; but in no instance have I found this coating on the plain bottoms of the vessels.

And now, reader, if you have patiently and attentively followed me through these ramblings, and still believe this ancient, simple, practical people went the roundabout road you have been led to suppose to accomplish an object, with great waste of time, labor, and material, when a simpler, more natural, and direct way was open to them, and which my researches convince me they adopted, I will ask you to accompany me up the hill, not by the steep ascent, through the cemetery, but up the ravine, past the sulphur-spring. You will find it gradual and easy; in fact, part of the old, well-beaten foot-trail is now a wagon-road; but, before reaching the top, the trail leaves the road and winds among the rocks, one branch sweeping off to the left to the ancient settlement. We will take the one to the right. When you near the top of the hill, though fully a quarter of a mile from the salt-spring, keep a sharp lookout, for you may chance on a good specimen of well-marked pottery. On reaching the crown, you will be some distance west of the old town-site. Here the plough has been working destruction for many years; but you cannot take up a handful of soil without finding in it the débris of the old salt-pans.

You are now in a lane separating a young apple-orchard, thickly grown with clover (so thick as to cover all specimens), from freshly ploughed cornfields, stretching far off to the south, over the grand valley of Eagle Creek.

If you can take your eyes from the charming landscape, climb with me the snake-fence into these ploughed fields, and examine the soil: you will not be likely to find any specimens worth saving, unless it be in an old fence-row, for the ploughshare has ground them and the corn has fed on them. Still, the soil is largely composed of disintegrated pottery. You may walk the furrows, examine the washes, the entire slope, to the east, to the west—you may follow its descent to the south—in every ravine, drain, or wash, you will find these remains, and you may possibly be repaid for your tramp by discovering among the wasted pottery and flakes of chert a spade, a rough and peculiarly-chipped arrow-point, or a flaked axe or chisel. But when your legs have given out, and you can walk no farther, you will have failed to find the boundaries that limit the district over which these remains are strewed. Then you will sit down and ponder in amazement, and ask, "What object would these people have had in carrying their broken pans and strewing them broadcast over so vast an extent of country, and so far from the salt-springs?" As you sit thinking, you feel the warmth of the setting sun. Its rays cast your lengthening shadow on the hill,