An old horse stood there, and I also noticed a small tent.

Going up closer I found a plough standing outside.

This made quite a queer impression in these solitary mountains, but the implement was apparently not out of place, judging from the beautiful black soil near-by.

In the tent I saw a heap of bed-clothes piled up on some tin pails, and there were also some pots with potatoes and corn.

The owner of all this was not at home; but the atmosphere was American, not Mexican.