The village of Córdova, midway between Chimayó and Las Truchas, was originally known as Pueblo Quemado — that is, Burnt Town. When the first post office opened there in 1900, the name was changed to Córdova, in honor of a local family.

In the early 20th century, the wisest and most popular elder of the place was a hard-working man, Higinio Torrez. On cold winter nights, villagers and their children gathered around his corner fireplace while he related tales and sang songs of old Spain.

Señor Torrez's favorite story was one based on his own experience. It involved an occurrence in the old days when he made trips by wagon to the sale lakes (las salinas) in the lower Estancia Valley.

Those lakes were long regarded as public property. Anyone could collect the pure white salt that was caked along the shoreline. Hispanos referred to its easy extraction as la cosecha (the harvest).

On this particular occasion, Torrez was accompanied by his young grandson Remigio. As was his custom, he planned to take three days to reach the salt lakes.

At the end of day one, the pair rolled into Santa Fe, where they spent the night. At dawn the journey was resumed, the wagon and horses moving at a good clip toward Galisteo.

Man and boy passed through that village in the afternoon and near dusk came in sight of the tumbled ruins of San Cristóbal Pueblo, where Torrez was in the habit of spending the second night.

San Cristóbal, one of the extinct Southern Tewa pueblos of the Galisteo Basin, had been abandoned during the Pueblo Revolt in 1680. The site lay along an arroyo and was backed by a rounded hill that latter-day sheepherders called Atalaya, meaning Lookout Hill.

Torrez pulled up at the spot where he usually camped and noticed some men beyond near the roofless ruin of the old mission.

"Grandpa. Who are they?" Remigio asked.

"I don't know. But we'll go over after supper and find out."

Later, the new arrivals approached four workmen, who had just finished the day digging a round hole. Suddenly a large heavyset Americano stepped out from behind the mission wall.

He demanded to know who they were and why were they there? The speaker carried a rifle and his manner was threatening.

Nervously, Torrez explained that he and his grandson from Quemado were on their way to the salt lakes. They were just wondering what the digging was all about and guessed that it looked like a well.

Angrily, the man said, "Yes, a well." And he told them to leave early in the morning and stay clear of the mission and the hole.

At sunup, as Torrez was preparing to harness his team, the Americano showed up. Now oddly, he was all smiles and politeness.

It seemed that three of his workmen had left in the night, fearing that digging in the pueblo might get them bewitched. So the stranger offered Higinio Torrez good pay, and corn for his horses, if he would stay and help the one remaining worker in the excavation. The offer was accepted.

Late the following day, the diggers broke through a layer of ancient juniper poles and found several bundles wrapped in buckskin.

One of the coverings fell off and in telling his listeners the story, Torrez said: "You will not believe me, but it was a golden image of San Cristóbal about 20 inches tall." He supposed it had been buried by the priest at the time of the revolt.

The Americano grabbed up the statute and bundles, then left. Torrez concluded his narrative with the comment: "He gave me $10, more than I expected."

None of this can be verified. Hence, the tale must be classed as an intriguing fragment of New Mexican folklore. Remember, though, that even folklore often contains a kernel of truth!

Historian Marc Simmons is author of numerous books on New Mexico and the Southwest. His column appears Saturdays.