THE MYSTERY OF THE CANYON.
The valley toward which the three boys directed their gaze was quite ten
miles long and a little more than half as wide. It was almost oval in
shape, and was surrounded on all sides by rocky bluffs, which, in some
places, arose to the height of nearly two thousand feet.
The base of these bluffs was lined with an almost unbroken forest of
cottonwood trees, which in addition to supplying the numerous
inhabitants of the valley with fuel, gave secure protection to the
ranchman’s sheep, that sought shelter there when the cold winter winds
swept down the gorges and blocked all the trails with snow.
The valley was watered by a deep stream, which, entering at one end by a
succession of lofty cascades, and running through the verdant fields
with an almost imperceptible current, finally disappeared in a cavern so
dark and gloomy that it made one shudder to look at it.
Near the middle of the valley this stream widened into a lake of
considerable size. It was on the bosom of this lake that Bob Howard had
cast his first fly to tempt the wary trout from his hiding-place; and
among the weeds and rushes that lined the further shore he had killed
his first wild duck.
By the aid of a powerful field-glass which Bob had brought with him,
Arthur and George were enabled to make a close examination of all the
objects he pointed out to them. Something which, at the first glance,
looked like a cobble-stone, turned out to be a roomy rancho; a little
patch of white in the middle of one of the fields the glass showed to be
an immense flock of sheep; small clumps of bushes became extensive
groves of scrub oaks; things that looked no larger than a sprig of
clover changed into horsemen; and the dark lines that ran across the
valley in every direction took the form of rail fences, staked and
ridered, and strongly built to withstand the violence of the winter
winds.
The atmosphere was so pure that the smallest object could be seen and
described. George and Arthur could hardly believe that ten hours would
elapse, and that they would be obliged to spend another night in camp,
before they could take a nearer view of the valley.
“How are we going to get down there?” asked the former. “I hope you
don’t intend to lower us over these cliffs with a rope?”
“Oh, no! There’s a road that leads to the bottom, but it is a long and
winding one. The building of it was equal to all the labors of Hercules,
and I have been told that he had some pretty difficult tasks to
perform.”
Arthur, who had never heard of Hercules before, would have been glad to
know who he was and what he had to do, but he was ashamed to ask for
information.
His companions, who seemed to know a little of everything, had more than
once put him to the blush, and, rather than let them see how ignorant he
was, he maintained a discreet silence.
“My father laid it off,” continued Bob, with some pride in his tones,
“and not one of all the college professors who have been here has been
able to make any improvement in it. Hark!” he added, a moment later,
raising his forefinger in the air and turning his head to one side. “Now
you are going to hear it.”
There was something in Bob’s tone and manner that affected his
companions rather unpleasantly, awed as they were by the grandeur and
sublimity of their surroundings.
They listened intently, and all they could hear was the sighing of the
mountain breeze through the branches of the evergreens that lined the
trail on both sides; but presently there came floating on that same
breeze a sound that cannot be described—a sound that seemed to chill the
blood of the two boys, who now listened to it for the first time.
It was faint, yet it could be distinctly heard. Like the noise that
sometimes accompanies an earthquake, it seemed to come from no
particular direction, but filled the air all around them. It continued
for a few seconds, growing neither louder nor fainter, and then suddenly
ceased.
Arthur and George drew a long breath, and looked at their companion with
eyes that were full of curiosity and alarm.
“What is it?” they asked, almost involuntarily sinking their voices into
a whisper.
“It is the mystery of Lost River Canyon,” replied Bob, solemnly. “Here’s
Mr. Evans. Ask him.”
The boys turned about in their saddles, and saw that the wagon had come
up and stopped close behind. They knew that both of its occupants had
been listening to the strange sound that had just died away. Mr. Evans
looked indifferent, but Uncle Bob was visibly affected.
“What is it, Mr. Evans? and where does it come from?” asked George, as
he rode up beside the wagon.
“It undoubtedly has its origin somewhere in the mountains,” was the
reply; “but just where it comes from, and what causes it, are questions
that no one has yet been able to answer.”
“What is your theory?” asked George.
“I have none.”
“Why doesn’t somebody go into the mountains and solve the mystery?”
“Haven’t I told you over and over again that the attempt has often been
made, and that nothing ever came of it?” said Bob. “I gave you to
understand that there was a mystery connected with these mountains, and
now you know as much about it as I do.”
“Couldn’t one follow up the sound, and so find its source?” inquired
Uncle Bob.
“Which way did it come from?” asked Mr. Evans in reply.
Uncle Bob was obliged to confess that he didn’t know.
“Neither do I know,” said Mr. Evans. “No one knows, or ever will know. I
suppose that there is no better hunting to be found anywhere under the
folds of the Stars and Stripes than right here among these mountains,
and yet you could not hire a professional hunter or an Indian to
penetrate as far into them as a week’s journey would take him.”
“Why not?” asked George.
“Because of his superstition. The Indians about here have a legend to
the effect that this country once belonged to a giant, who, by some
means or other, succeeded in getting into a row with his nearest
neighbor—another giant—who overcame him in single combat, hurled him
into a canyon, and put a mountain on top of him to hold him down. When
we get into the valley, Bob will show you where that mountain is, and,
when you see it, you will say that it really looks as though it had been
thrown in there bottom up. The giant is still a prisoner, and the sound
we have just heard is the heavy breathing he makes during his struggles
to free himself. At the time the fight took place, there was a small
stream running through the canyon; but the mountain blocked it up and
made a lake of it. As the lake grew in size, the pressure became so
great that the water finally broke a hole through the mountain and ran
out, leaving the valley as you see it now.”
“How often have we got to listen to that unearthly noise?” asked George.
“Just as often as the giant tries to throw off the mountain, and he does
that regularly every three hours,” replied Mr. Evans.
“Great Scott!” exclaimed Arthur.
“Oh, that’s nothing!” said Bob. “You will soon become so accustomed to
it that you won’t notice it.”
“I don’t suppose that such a thing was ever heard of before,” observed
Uncle Bob.
“This is by no means an isolated case,” answered Mr. Evans. “Many
strange sounds, real or imaginary, have been heard in the workings of
nature’s processes. Travelers tell us that on a distant island in the
Bay of Bengal there exists a phenomenon known as the ‘Barisal guns,’
which is frequently heard at the beginning of a rain-fall, and is like
the sound of the firing of a cannon. Some have decided that these sounds
are atmospheric, and owe their origin to electricity. A traveler, whose
name I have forgotten, writing about the villages of the Himalayas,
describes exceedingly powerful noises heard in some of the mountain
peaks, to which the natives can ascribe no cause. Near one of these
villages is a pond which the natives carefully shun, because frightful
noises issue from its depths. Well, you have seen your new home at a
distance, and now we will go down and take a nearer view of it.”
Arthur scarcely closed his eyes in slumber that night. He consulted his
watch at short intervals, and heard that strange noise every time it was
repeated.
It sounded indescribably weird and dismal in the stillness of the night,
and Arthur became so worked up over it at last, that, whenever his watch
told him that the imprisoned giant was about to resume his efforts to
free himself, he drew the blankets about his head and held his hands
over his ears, so that he might not hear the captive’s agonized
breathing.
Daylight brought some of his courage back to him; but as often as the
three hours drew to a close, he became visibly nervous and excited.
The travelers resumed their journey at an early hour, and at one o’clock
in the afternoon they entered the valley. The newcomers were not at all
disappointed in it. It proved to be even pleasanter than it looked from
the distance at which they viewed it through their field-glasses.
Arthur thought it would be a nice place to live if that giant would only
give up his useless struggles and die, and the country was settled by
people of his own class, so that he could have somebody to associate
with.
He knew little about books, and cared less. He took no interest whatever
in the hunting and fishing to which Bob and George were looking forward
with so much eagerness. He was too lazy to ride on horseback for
pleasure, and for the life of him he could not see how he was going to
put in the time.
The ranch was much more comfortable and better furnished than the little
house in which he had formerly lived, but Arthur did not at all like the
appearance of those who took care of it.
They were all men, rough in dress and manners, and loud and familiar in
speech, and the greetings which they and a small army of dogs extended
to Bob Howard were boisterous in the extreme.
Bob stood among them, giving one hand to be shaken by the men, stooping
down now and then to caress a favorite hound or setter with the other,
utterly unable to speak, but smiling all the while through the tears
that would come into his eyes in spite of all he could do to keep them
back, while Uncle Bob and Arthur were entirely unnoticed.
When Bob found opportunity to present them, and tell who they were, and
what they had come for, they were very coldly welcomed, but George
Edwards was doubled up more than once by the hearty grasps he received.
These men were neither blind nor deaf. They knew all about that
provision in the will by which Uncle Bob had been brought there, and
they knew, too, how dishonorably he had acted toward his brother, for
Mr. Evans had given them a full history of it. Their late employer had
held a high place in their estimation, and they could not bear to have a
stranger, and a man like this, step into his shoes.
“I am satisfied of one thing,” said Uncle Bob, as he and Arthur took
possession of the room to which they had been conducted. “We have got
into a bed of thorns. Somebody has been slandering me, and these people
have made up their minds to hate me, without giving me time to show them
what manner of man I am. Now, Arthur, let me caution you. You have come
out here intending to carry things with a high hand, but that will never
do. For a while, at least, you must conduct yourself in all respects as
though you had no more rights here than a casual visitor, and I will do
the same. Our first hard work must be to learn something of the way in
which a sheep ranch is conducted, and while we are doing that, we must
make all the friends we can. After we have firmly established ourselves
here, we can take the position to which we are entitled by the terms of
the will.”
Arthur, who had hoped to be recognized at once as one of the “bosses” of
the ranch, did not like to wait; nor was he at all pleased at the idea
of playing visitor when he thought he ought to have some authority, but
he saw the wisdom of the course his father had marked out for him, and
reluctantly promised that he would follow it.