THE HOME OF THE CLIFF DWELLERS
Although Bob had anticipated such a thing, still the knowledge that it
was actually coming to pass gave him a thrill. For some little time he
did not say anything; but Frank could see him look uneasily up at the
walls that now arose sheer above their heads some hundreds of feet.
Frank had studied the situation as well as he could, both from a map of
the canyon which he found in the little guide book, and his own
observations. All the while he kept before him that admission on the
part of the old Moqui whom they had befriended, to the effect that the
Westering sun shone full in Echo Cave. So he expected to find the home
of the hermit-scientist high up in the wall on the Eastern side of the
Grand Canyon.
First he intended heading toward the East, and going just as far as they
could. Days, and perhaps weeks, might be spent in the search for the
strange cave that had once been the home of those mysterious cliff
people, which cavern Professor Oswald was occupying while studying the
lives and customs of the long departed people who had dug these
dwellings out of the rock.
At noon they had made good progress; but when the tremendous size of
that two hundred mile canyon was taken into consideration, with its
myriad of side "washes," and minor canyons, the distance that they had
covered was, as Bob aptly declared, but a "flea-bite" compared with the
whole.
And Frank declared time and again it had been a lucky thought that
caused his chum to suggest that they bring the field glasses along. They
were in almost constant use. Far distant scenes were brought close, and
high walls could be examined in a way that must have been impossible
with the naked eye.
Of course Frank was particularly anxious to scrutinize every colored
wall that faced the West. The rainbow tints so plainly marked, tier
above tier, called out expressions of deep admiration from the two lads;
but all the while they were on the watch for something besides.
When Frank ranged that powerful glass along the ragged face of a
towering cliff he was looking eagerly for signs of openings such as
marked the windows of the homes fashioned by the strange people of a
past age.
During the afternoon they actually discovered such small slits in the
rock--at least they looked like pencil markings to them when the guide
first pointed out the village of the ancient cliff dwellers; though on
closer acquaintance they found that the openings were of generous size.
"Shall we climb up that straggly path along the face of the wall, and
see what the old things look like?" asked Bob, as the guide made motions
upward.
"Yes, we ought to have our first sight of such places," Frank replied,
in a cautious tone. "Not that I expect we're going to find our hermit
there, or in any other village that's known to tourist travel. But we
ought to get an idea of what these places are like, you see. Then we'll
know better what to expect. And perhaps the conditions will teach us how
to discover _his_ hiding place."
Accordingly they started to climb upward, just as many other tourists
had been doing for years. There were even places, "aisles of safety,"
Bob called them, where one who was ascending, upon happening to meet a
descending investigator, could squeeze into a hole in the rock until the
other had slipped by.
Of course it was a risky climb, and no lightheaded person could ever
dream of taking it. But the two saddle boys were possessed of good
nerves and able to look downward toward the bottom of the canyon, even
when several hundred feet up in the air.
Then they entered the first hole. It seemed to be a fair-sized
apartment, and was connected with a string of others, all running along
the face of the cliff; so that those who occupied them in the long ago
might have air and light.
The boys observed everything with the ordinary curiosity expected of
newcomers. Frank even investigated to see if there were any signs to
indicate that those old dwellers in the canyon knew about the use of
fire; and soon decided that it was so.
"Well, what do you think about this?" Bob asked, after they had roamed
from one room to another. "For my part I think I'd fancy living in one
of those three story adobe houses of the Hopi Indians, we saw pictures
of at the hotel; or even a Navajo hogan. But one thing sure, these
people never had to worry about leaking roofs."
"No," added Frank, laughing; "and floods couldn't bother them, because
the Colorado never rose three hundred feet since it began cutting out
this canyon."
"And think of the grand view they had before their doors, with the
canyon in places as much as thirteen miles across, and mountains in
their dooryard, looking like anthills," Bob went on impressively.
"Makes a fellow feel mighty small; doesn't it?" Frank remarked, as he
stepped to a window to look out again.
"Makes me feel that I want to get down again to the trail," admitted
Bob. "I'm wondering whether it's going to be much harder getting back
than it was coming up."
"That's always the case," Frank declared, "as I've found out myself when
climbing up a steep cliff. But the guide is ready for you, Bob, if you
show signs of getting dizzy. You have seen that he carries a rope along,
just like the Swiss guides do."
"Oh! come, Frank! Go easy with me; can't you?" the other exclaimed. "I
hope I'm not quite so bad as that."
"All the same, Bob, don't take any chances; and if you feel the least
bit giddy, let me know. This is a case where an ounce of prevention is
better than a pound of cure. And a stout rope is a mighty good thing to
feel when your foot slips."
It turned out, however, that the Kentucky lad was as sure-footed as a
mountain goat. He descended the trail, with its several ladders, placed
there of course by modern investigators, without the least show of
timidity.
They continued along the bed of the wide canyon. At times they followed
the ordinary trail. Then again Frank would express a desire to have a
closer look at some high granite wall that hovered, for possibly a
thousand feet, above the very river itself; and this meant that they
must negotiate a passage for themselves.
No doubt John Henry, the guide, must have thought them the queerest pair
of tourists he had ever led through the mysteries of the Grand Canyon.
But as yet Frank had not thought fit to enlighten him. He was not
altogether pleased with the appearance of the guide, and wished to wait
until he knew a little more about his ways, before entrusting him with
their secret.
More than a few times during that day Frank believed he had positive
evidence that they were being watched. Of course they met frequent
parties of pilgrims wandering this way and that, as they drank in the
tremendous glories of the canyon; but occasionally the boy believed he
had seen a head thrust out from behind some rock in their rear, and then
hastily withdrawn again as he looked.
Of course he could make a guess as to who was taking such a interest in
the progress of his chum and himself. No one, save Eugene Warringford,
would bother for even a minute about what they were doing, since richer
quarry by far than a couple of boys would catch the eye of any lawless
desperado, like those the two sheriffs were following, bent on making a
haul.
"Frank," said Bob, when the afternoon was drawing to a close, and they
had begun to think of picking out the spot where they would spend the
night; "tell me why you chose to head toward the East instead of the
other way, where Bright Angel trail attracts so many tourists?"
Frank cast one glance toward the guide, as if to make sure that John
Henry was far enough in advance not to be able to catch what was said.
"I had a reason, Bob," he remarked, seriously. "Before we got down into
the canyon, so as to choose which way we would go, I talked with several
men who were coming up. And Bob, I learned that an old Moqui Indian had
been seen heading toward the East late last night!"
"And you think it may have been our friend, Havasupai?" asked Bob.
"I'm pretty sure of it, from the descriptions they gave me," came the
answer.
"But Frank, think how impossible it seems that he could have reached
here almost as soon as we did; unless the old warrior was able to fly I
don't see how it could be done."
"I'm just as much up a tree as you are, Bob," laughed the other; "but,
all the same, I believe the Moqui has arrived, and is on his way right
now to where Echo Cave lies."
"Then he must have an aeroplane to help him out, for I don't see how
else he could make it," Bob insisted.
"Think for a minute, and you'll see it isn't actually impossible," Frank
continued. "He could have made Flagstaff that night, just as we did."
"Yes," admitted Bob, "that's a fact; for while he said he was tired, and
wanted a mount to fly from his people, who were looking for him, still I
understand that these Moquis are wonderful runners, and game to the last
drop of the hat. Oh! I grant you that he could have made Flagstaff that
night sometime."
"Well, Flagstaff is on the railroad, you know," Frank remarked.
"Sure! I see now what you are hitting at," Bob observed; "the old Indian
must have had money, as all his kind have, what with the tips given by
tourists day after day. He could have come to Grand View on the train.
Frank, once more I knuckle down to your superior wisdom. That's what
Havasupai must have done, sure pop!"
"Anyhow," the other continued, "it pleases me to believe so; and that
the Moqui is even now hurrying to make connections with the hermit in
this mysterious Echo Cave. There's still another reason, though, why I
picked out this course up the river, instead of going down. It is
connected with the fact that the Moquis have their homes in this
quarter."
"Oh!" exclaimed Bob, "I catch on now to what you mean. The chances are
that the Moqui would be prowling around within fifty miles of his own
shack when he ran across the man-with-the-shining-spot-in-his-head,
otherwise the bald Professor Oswald."
"That's the point, Bob."
"It sure beats everything how you can get on to these things, Frank.
Here I'm going to be a lawyer some day, so they tell me; and yet I don't
seem to grab the fine points of this game of hide-and-seek as you do."
"Oh! well," Frank remarked, consolingly; "a lawyer isn't supposed to
know much about trails, and all such things. That comes to a fellow who
has spent years outdoors, studying things around him, and keeping his
wits on edge all the while."
"I hope to keep on learning more and more right along," said Bob.
"Here comes John Henry back, to tell us he has found a good place for
camping to-night; so no more at present, Bob."
It proved just as Frank had said. The guide declared that as the sun was
low down, the canyon would soon be darkening; and they ought to make a
halt while the chance was still good to see what lay around them.
Accordingly they made a camp, and not a great distance away from the
border of the swirling river that rolled on to pass through all the
balance of that wonderful gulch, the greatest in the known world.
They had come prepared for this, carrying quite a number of things along
that would prove welcome at supper time. A cheery fire was soon blazing,
and the guide busied himself in preparations for a meal; while the two
boys wandered down to the edge of the river, to throw a few rocks into
the current, and talk undisturbed.
"There are several other camps not far away," remarked Frank. "I could
see the smoke rising in two places further on."
"Yes," added Bob, "and there's one behind us too, for I saw smoke rising
soon after we halted. Perhaps that may be Eugene's stopping place; eh,
Frank?"
"I wouldn't be surprised one little bit. Just look at the river, how
silently it pushes along right here. It's deep too; and yet below a mile
or so it frets and foams among the boulders that have dropped into its
great bed from the high cliffs."
"And they do say some bold explorers have gone all the way through the
canyon in a boat; but I reckon it must be a terrible trip," Bob ventured
to say.
"Excuse us from trying to make it," laughed Frank; "by the time we'd
reach Mohave City, where that bottle was picked up, there wouldn't be
much left of us. But let's go back to camp now. John Henry must have
grub ready."
Three minutes later he suddenly caught Bob's sleeve.
"Wait up!" he whispered. "There's somebody talking to our guide right
now; and say, Bob, don't you recognize the fellow?"
"If I didn't think it was silly I'd say it was old Spanish Joe, the
cowboy we had so much trouble with on Thunder Mountain," Bob declared,
crouching down.
"Well, think again," said Frank; "and you'll remember that Abajo is his
nephew!"
[Illustration: "THERE'S SOMEBODY TALKING TO OUR GUIDE RIGHT NOW."
_Saddle Boys in the Grand Canyon_ _Page 134_]