BETWEEN EARTH AND SKY
Before starting on her perilous venture, Grace had directed that the
rope be paid out slowly, so as not to set up so much friction that the
rope would be in danger of burning.
As she went over, Grace took one look below her and closed her eyes,
but after a few moments she summoned her courage, opened her eyes and
looked down. She could see, directly beneath her, the ledge under which
the Cliff Dwellers’ Community House had been constructed. Out in front
of the ledge were the white stone walls and part of the roof of the
ancient structure, which she was on her way to explore.
“Getting down is easy. It is getting back that is going to be the big
problem,” muttered the plucky girl. “It is worth the risk. Think of
it, Grace Harlowe, you possibly will be the first human being to set
foot on that shelf of rock in ten centuries, perhaps ten times ten
centuries.”
Grace wriggled and twisted herself into position for a suitable
landing, and, as it was, she grazed the wall of the cliff dwelling,
slipping down the side of it, kicking out vigorously to keep from
tearing her clothing on the protruding points of stone, until her feet
touched the ground.
“Down! Harlowe luck is with me thus far.” Grace hastily penciled a
note, reading:
“Arrived safely. Send the string back with a small stone to weight it.
Fine view down here. I start exploring. Don’t worry if you don’t hear
from me for an hour or so.”
One tug on the line, and the Overton girl was rewarded by seeing her
message slowly rising at the end of the twine.
Grace thereupon took account of her surroundings. With her glass she
picked up the Lodge, then the tiny dots that she knew were the Overland
Riders’ tents. It was a clear view to the camp, and, as Grace described
it to herself, a good shooting range.
Now began her explorations. There were heaps of rotted stone and
adobe mortar all about, but taking it all in all, the community house
appeared to be in an excellent state of preservation. Grace took
her time, and moved slowly, using extreme caution, not knowing what
emergency she might have to meet at any moment. Over heaps of stone
and rubbish she climbed to such chambers as she could reach. The
ceilings in the Community House were so low that she was obliged to
stoop; window apertures were no more than six inches across and of
equal height, but the light shed by these was sufficient to enable her
to pick her way about.
The mustiness of centuries hung heavy on the air despite the
ventilation, and birds, disturbed by her entrance, gave Grace a start
as they winged their way toward the light. Not a relic, however, did
the Overton girl find in her search of the chambers.
On coming out of the cliff dwelling, Grace suddenly halted and sniffed
the air.
“That smells like a dead fire,” she muttered. “Perhaps I have company
here.” Picking her way cautiously in under the ledge that formed a
partial roof for the ancient Community House, Grace found herself in
a vast, tunnel-like opening. Black darkness lay ahead of her, but the
odor of a dead fire grew stronger in her nostrils as she proceeded.
Grace now brought her flash lamp from her pocket, passing it to her
left hand, and, holding the automatic in a firm grip in her right, she
advanced, prepared for emergencies.
She examined the walls briefly. From their smoothness, it occurred
to Grace that water had once flowed through the tunnel. How far back
the tunnel led into the mountain she could not even guess, but it
was reasonable to suppose that it was not a waterway when the Cliff
Dwellers lived there.
“I am getting near it! The dead fire odor is growing stronger!” Grace
told herself in a whisper. “I believe my surmises are correct. How
I wish one of the men were with me. However, I’m in it and must go
through with it,” she muttered.
Using her flash lamp to guard against stepping into a pitfall, the
Overton girl picked her way cautiously along. Here and there were huge
crevices in the wall of the tunnel, which, as Grace described it to
herself, was in reality “the rear yard of the ancient Cliff Dwellers.”
The crevices, as she shot rays of light into them, were dark and
forbidding, but, looking back, the white towers of the Community House
stood out reassuringly.
“Ah!”
Grace had stepped into a heap of ashes and they felt warm under her
feet. Stooping over and running her hand into the mass she found that
the ashes, at the bottom, really were warm.
“There has been a recent fire here, but the ashes are several hours
old. I wish Tom were here. He could tell me, within half an hour, just
how long ago this heap was a blazing fire. Let me reason this out.”
Grace leaned against the wall and reflected.
“Some one has been in this place within a dozen hours or so. It is
reasonable to assume, too, that they did not come over the precipice;
hence there must be some other entrance, some other way, and perhaps an
easier one. I am going on.”
Grace started ahead resolutely, now and then flashing a ribbon of light
to the floor directly ahead of her. Her keenness was rewarded a few
moments later, and the Overton girl, dropping to her knees, examined
the rocky floor with great care.
What Grace had discovered was the imprint of a heavy-soled boot, faint
but clearly defined. Her next discovery was a frying pan, some tin
plates and a heap of bones that looked as if they might be beef bones.
“They surely live well up here. I--”
Grace jumped. That is, her nerves did; her body did not move at all,
but she heard her heart beat, and it was pounding fast and hard. What
had disturbed and startled her was a groan, a distinctly human groan,
and then deep silence settled over the tunnel, broken only by the
faint, repressed breathing of Grace herself.
The natural impulse was to turn on her light, but Grace Harlowe was too
prudent to do that just yet. She preferred to wait and listen. This
policy produced results. A second groan, more prolonged than before,
followed.
It was a human groan of distress that she had heard, though whether
real or feigned the girl was unable to decide in her own mind, but she
now realized that she must make the advance herself. Arriving at this
decision, Grace turned on her light, and, with the automatic revolver
thrust ahead of her, ready for instant use, she began a cautious
search for the source of the voice.
“Groan again, so I may know where you are,” she called softly. “If you
are hoping to play a trick on me I shall shoot on sight!”
The response came back almost at once, the voice sounding ahead of her
and to the right side of the tunnel. She moved forward with renewed
caution, and, a few steps further on, as she flashed her ribbon of
light into a niche in the wall of the tunnel, she saw him.
Grace approached cautiously, still holding her weapon at ready, for,
though she was looking down on a man, apparently hound and gagged, she
proposed to take no more than the absolutely necessary chances.
Leaning over, with the revolver pointed down at him, Grace turned the
light of her lamp into the face of the owner of the voice. As she did
so she uttered an exclamation of amazement.