Kitabı oku: «The Boys of Crawford's Basin», sayfa 6
Working away with the bar, while Joe stood ready with the gun, I soon enlarged the hole enough to let me look in, but it was so dark inside, and I got into my own light so much that I could see nothing.
I happened to have a letter in my pocket, and taking the envelope I dropped a little stone into it, screwed up the corner, and lighting the other end, threw the bit of paper into the hole. My little fire-brand flickered for a moment, and then burned up brightly, when I saw the wildcat lying flat upon its side, evidently quite dead.
Thereupon we both set to work and enlarged the hole so that Joe could crawl in, which he immediately did. I expected him to come out again in a moment, but it was a full minute before he reappeared, and when he did so he only poked out his head and said, in an excited tone:
“Come in here, Phil! Here’s the queerest thing – just come in here for a minute!”
Of course I at once crept through the hole, to find myself in a little chamber about ten feet long, six feet wide and four feet high, built up of great flat slabs of stone, which, falling from above, had accidentally so arranged themselves as to form this little room.
At first I thought it was the little room itself to which Joe had referred as “queer,” but Joe, scouting such an idea, exclaimed:
“No, no, bless you! I didn’t mean that. That’s nothing. Look here!”
So saying, he struck a match and showed me, along one side of the chamber, a great crack in the ground, three feet wide, extending to the left an unknown distance – for in that direction it was covered by loose rocks of large size – while to the right it pinched out entirely.
It was evident to me that this crevice had existed ever since the great break had occurred which had separated the First from the Second Mesa, but that, being covered by the fragments which had fallen from the cliff – itself formed by the subsidence of the First Mesa from what had once been the general level – it had hitherto remained concealed.
“Well, that certainly is ‘queer,’” said I. “How deep is it, I wonder?”
“Don’t know. Pitch a stone into it.”
I did so; judging from the sound that the crevice was probably thirty or forty feet deep.
“That’s what I should guess,” said Joe. “But there’s another thing, Phil, a good deal queerer than a mere crack in the ground. Lie down and put your ear over the hole and listen.”
I did as directed, and then at length I understood where the “queerness” came in. I could distinctly hear the rush of water down below!
Rising to my knees, I stared at Joe, who, kneeling also, stared back at me, both keeping silence for a few seconds. At length:
“Where does it come from, Joe?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Joe replied. “Mount Lincoln, perhaps. But I do know where it goes to.”
“You do? Where?”
“Down to ‘the forty rods,’ of course.”
“That’s it!” I cried, thumping my fist into the palm of the other hand. “That’s certainly it! Look here, Joe. I’ll tell you what we’ll do. We’ll quit hauling rock for this morning, go and get a long rope, climb down into this crack, see how much water there is, and find out if we can where it goes to.”
“All right,” said Joe. “Your father won’t object, I’m sure.”
“No, he won’t object. Though he relies on our doing a good day’s work without supervision, he relies, too, on our using our common sense, and I’m sure he’ll agree that this is a matter that ought to be investigated without delay. It may be of the greatest importance.”
“All right!” cried Joe. “Then let us get about it at once!”
CHAPTER IX
The Underground Stream
It was on a Saturday morning that we made this discovery, and as my father and mother had both driven down to San Remo and would not be back till sunset, we could not ask permission to abandon our regular work and go exploring. But, as I had said to Joe, though he trusted us to work faithfully at any task we might undertake, my father also expected us to use our own discretion in any matter which might turn up when he was not at hand to advise with us.
I had, therefore, no hesitation in driving back to the ranch, when, having unloaded our one stone and stabled the mules, Joe and I, taking with us a long, stout rope and the stable-lantern, retraced our steps to the wildcat’s house.
The first thing to be done was to enlarge the entrance so that we might have daylight to work by, and this being accomplished, we lighted the lantern and lowered it by a cord into the hole. We found, however, that a bulge in the rock prevented our seeing to the bottom, and all we gained by this move was to ascertain that the crevice was about forty feet deep, as we had guessed. The next thing, therefore, was for one of us to go down, and the only way to do this was to slide down a rope.
This, doubtless, would be easy enough, but the climbing up again might be another matter. We were not afraid to venture on this score, however, for, as it happened, we had both often amused ourselves by climbing a rope hung from one of the rafters in the hay-barn, and though that was a climb of only twenty feet, we had done it so often and so easily that we did not question our ability to ascend a rope of double the length.
“Who’s to go down, Joe, you or I?” I asked.
“Whichever you like, Phil,” replied my companion. “I suppose you’d like to be the first, wouldn’t you?”
“Oh, yes, that’s a matter of course,” I answered, “but as you are the discoverer you ought to have first chance, so down you go, old chap!”
“Very well, then,” said Joe, “if you say so, I’ll go.”
“Well, I do – so that settles it.”
I knew Joe well enough to be sure he would be eager to be the first, and though I should have liked very much to take the lead myself, it seemed to me only just that Joe, as the original discoverer, should, as I had said, be given the choice.
This question being decided, we tied one end of the rope around a big stone, heavy enough to hold an elephant, and dropped the other end into the hole. The descent at first was very easy, for the walls being only three feet apart, and there being many rough projections on either side, it was not much more difficult than going down a ladder, especially as I, standing a little to one side, lowered the lantern bit by bit, that Joe might have a light all the time to see where to set his feet.
Arrived at the bulge, Joe stopped, and standing with one foot on either wall, looked up and said:
“It opens out below here, Phil; I shall have to slide the rest of the way. You might lower the lantern down to the bottom now, if you please.”
I did so at once, and then asked:
“Can you see the bottom, Joe?”
“Yes,” he replied. “The crevice is much wider down there, and the floor seems to be smooth and dry. I can’t see any sign of water anywhere, but I can hear it plainly enough. Good-bye for the present; I’m going down now.”
With that he disappeared under the bulge in the wall, while I, placing my hand upon the rope, presently felt the strain slacken, whereupon I called out:
“All right, Joe?”
“All right,” came the answer.
“How’s the air down there?”
“Seems to be perfectly fresh.”
“Can you see the water?”
“No, I can’t; but I can hear it. There’s a heap of big rocks in the passage to the south and the splashing comes from the other side of it. I’m going to untie the lantern, Phil, and go and explore a bit. Just wait a minute.”
Very soon I heard his voice again calling up to me.
“It’s all right, Phil. I’ve found the water. You may as well come down.”
“Look here, Joe,” I replied. “Before I come down, it might be as well to make sure that you can come up.”
“There’s something in that,” said Joe, with a laugh. “Well, then, I’ll come up first.”
I felt the rope tauten again, and pretty soon my companion’s head appeared, when, scrambling over the bulge, he once more stood astride of the crevice, and looking up said:
“It’s perfectly safe, Phil. The only troublesome bit is in getting over the bulge, and that doesn’t amount to anything. It’s safe enough for you to come down.”
“Very well, then, I’ll come; so go on down again.”
Taking a candle we had brought with us, I set it on a projection where it would cast a light into the fissure, and seizing the rope, down I went. The descent was perfectly easy, and in a few seconds I found myself standing beside Joe at the bottom.
The crevice down here was much wider than above – ten or twelve feet – the floor, composed of sandstone, having a decided downward tilt towards the south. In this direction Joe, lantern in hand, led the way.
Piled up in the passage was a large heap of lava-blocks which had fallen, presumably, through the opening above, and climbing over these, we saw before us a very curious sight.
On the right hand side of the crevice – that is to say, on the western or Second Mesa side – between the sandstone floor and the lowest ledge of lava, there issued a thin sheet of water, coming out with such force that it swept right across, and striking the opposite wall, turned and ran off southward – away from us, that is. Only for a short distance, however, it ran in that direction, for we could see that the stream presently took another turn, this time to the eastward, presumably finding its way through a crack in the lava of the First Mesa.
“I’m going to see where it goes to,” cried Joe; and pulling off his boots and rolling up his trousers, he waded in. He expected to find the water as cold as the iced water of any other mountain stream, but to his surprise it was quite pleasantly warm.
“I’ll tell you what it is, Phil,” said he, stepping back again for a moment. “This water must run under ground for a long distance to be as warm as it is. And what’s more, there must be a good-sized reservoir somewhere between the lava and the sandstone to furnish pressure enough to make the water squirt out so viciously as it does.”
Entering the stream again, which, though hardly an inch deep, came out of the rock with such “vim” that when it struck his feet it flew up nearly to his knees, Joe waded through, and then turning, shouted to me:
“It goes down this way, Phil, through a big crack in the lava. It just goes flying. Don’t trouble to come” – observing that I was about to pull off my own boots – “you can’t see any distance down the crack.”
But whatever there was to be seen, I wanted to see too, and disregarding his admonition, I pretty soon found myself standing beside my companion.
The great cleft into which we were peering was about six feet wide at the bottom, coming together some twenty feet above our heads, having been apparently widened at the base by the action of the water, which, being here ankle-deep, rushed foaming over and around the many blocks of lava with which the channel was encumbered. As far as we could see, the fissure led straight away without a bend; and Joe was for trying to walk down it at once. I suggested, however, that we leave that for the present and try another plan.
“Look here, Joe,” said I. “If we try to do that we shall probably get pretty wet, and stand a good chance besides of hurting our feet among the rocks. Now, I propose that we go down to the ranch again, get our rubber boots, and at the same time bring back with us my father’s compass and the tape-measure and try to survey this water-course. By doing that, and then by following the same line on the surface, we may be able to decide whether it is really this stream which keeps ‘the forty rods’ so wet.”
“I don’t think there can be any doubt about that,” Joe replied; “but I think your plan is a good one, all the same, so let us do it.”
We did not waste much time in getting down to the ranch and back again, when, pulling on our rubber boots, we proceeded to make our survey. It was not an easy task.
With the ring at the end of the tape-measure hooked over my little finger, I took a candle in that hand and the compass in the other, and having ascertained that the course of the stream was due southeast, I told Joe to go ahead. My partner, therefore, with his arm slipped through the handle of the lantern and with a pole in his hand with which to test the depth of the stream, thereupon started down the passage, stepping from rock to rock when possible, and taking to the water when the rocks were too far apart, until, having reached the limit of the tape-measure, he made a mark upon the wall with a piece of white chalk.
This being done, I noted on a bit of paper the direction and the distance, when Joe advanced once more, I following as far as to the chalk-mark, when the operation was repeated.
In this manner we worked our way, slowly and carefully, down the passage, the direction of which varied only two or three degrees to one side or the other of southeast, until, having advanced a little more than a thousand feet, we found our further progress barred.
For some time it had appeared to us that the sound of splashing water was increasing in distinctness, though the stream itself made so much noise in that hollow passage that we could not be sure whether we were right or not. At length, however, having made his twentieth chalk-mark, indicating one thousand feet, Joe, waving his lantern for me to come on, advanced once more; but before I had come to his last mark, he stopped and shouted back to me that he could go no farther.
Wondering why not, I slowly waded forward, Joe himself winding up the tape-measure as I approached, until I found myself standing beside my companion, when I saw at once “why not.”
The stream here took a sudden dive down hill, falling about three feet into a large pool, the limits of which we could not discern – for we could see neither sides nor end – its surface unbroken, except in a few places where we could detect the ragged points of big lava-blocks projecting above the water, while here and there a rounded boulder showed its smooth and shining head.
Joe, very carefully descending to the edge of the pool, measured the depth with his rod, when, finding it to be about four feet deep, we concluded that we would let well enough alone and end our survey at this point.
“Come on up, Joe,” I called out. “No use trying to go any farther: it’s too dangerous; we might get in over our heads.”
“Just a minute,” Joe replied. “Let’s see if we can’t find out which way the current sets in the pool.”
With that he took from his pocket a newspaper he had brought with him in case for any purpose we should need to make a “flare,” and crumpling this into a loose ball he set it afloat in the pool. Away it sailed, quickly at first, and then more slowly; and taking a sight on it as far as it was distinguishable, I found that the set of the current continued as before – due southeast.
“All right, Joe,” I cried. “Come on, now.” And Joe, giving me the end of his stick to take hold of, quickly rejoined me, when together we made our way carefully up the stream again, and climbing the rope, once more found ourselves out in the daylight.
“Now, Joe,” said I, “let us run our line and find out where it takes us.”
Having previously measured the distance from the point where the underground stream turned southeast to where the rope hung down, we now measured the same distance back again along the foot of the bluff, and thence, ourselves turning southeastward, we measured off a thousand feet. This brought us down to the lowest of the old lake-benches, about a hundred yards back of the house, when, sighting along the same line with the compass, we found that that faithful little servant pointed us straight to the entrance of the lower cañon.
“Then that does settle it!” cried Joe. “We’ve found the stream that keeps ‘the forty rods’ wet; there can be no doubt of it.”
It did, indeed seem certain that we had at last discovered the stream which supplied “the forty rods” with water; but allowing that we had discovered it: – what then? How much better off were we?
Beneath our feet, as we had now every reason to believe, ran the long-sought water-course, but between us and it was a solid bed of lava about forty feet thick; and how to get the water to the surface, and thus prevent it from continuing to render useless the meadow below, was a problem beyond our powers.
“It beats me,” said Joe, taking off his hat and tousling his hair according to custom. “I can see no possible way of doing it. We shall have to leave it to your father. Perhaps he may be able to think of a plan. Do you suppose he’ll venture to go down the rope, Phil?”
“No, I don’t,” I replied. “It is all very well for you and me, with our one hundred and seventy pounds, or thereabouts, but as my father weighs forty pounds more than either of us, and has not been in the habit of climbing ropes for amusement as long as I can remember, I think the chances are that he won’t try it.”
“I suppose not. It’s a pity, though, for I’m sure he would be tremendously interested to see the stream down there in the crevice. Couldn’t we – Look here, Phil: couldn’t we set up a ladder to reach from the bottom up to the bulge?”
I shook my head.
“I don’t think so,” I answered. “It would take a ladder twenty feet long, and the bulge in the wall would prevent its going down.”
“That’s true. Well, then, I’ll tell you what we can do. We’ll make two ladders of ten feet each – a ten-foot pole will go down easily enough – set one on the floor of the crevice and the other on that wide ledge about half way up to the bulge. What do you think of that?”
“Yes, I think we could do that,” I replied. “We’ll try it anyhow. But we must go in and get some dinner now: it’s close to noon.”
We did not take long over our dinner – we were too anxious to get to work again – and as soon as we had finished we selected from our supply of fire-wood four straight poles, each about ten feet long, and with these, a number of short pieces of six-inch plank, a hammer, a saw and a bag of nails, we drove back to the scene of action.
Even a ten-foot pole, we found, was an awkward thing to get down to the bottom of the fissure, but after a good deal of coaxing we succeeded in lowering them all, when we at once set to work building our ladders.
The first one, standing on the floor of the crevice, reached as high as the ledge Joe had mentioned, while the second, planted upon the ledge itself, leaned across the chasm, its upper end resting against the rock just below the bulge, so that, with the rope to hold on by, it ought to be easy enough to get up and down. It is true that the second ladder being almost perpendicular, looked a little precarious, but we had taken great care to set it up solidly and were certain it could not slip. As to the strength of the ladders, there was nothing to fear on that score, for the smallest of the poles was five inches in diameter at the little end.
This work took us so long, for we were very careful to make things strong and firm, that it was within half an hour of sunset ere we had finished, and as it was then too late to begin hauling rocks, we drove down to the ranch again at once.
As we came within sight of the house, we had the pleasure of seeing the buggy with my father and mother in it draw up at the door. Observing us coming, they waited for us, when, the moment we jumped out of the wagon, before we could say a word ourselves, my father exclaimed:
“Hallo, boys! What are you wearing your rubber boots for?”
My mother, however, looking at our faces instead of at our feet, with that quickness of vision most mothers of boys seem to possess, saw at once that something unusual had occurred.
“What’s happened, Phil?” she asked.
“We’ve made a discovery,” I replied, “and we want father to come and see it.”
“Can’t I come, too?” she inquired, smiling at my eagerness.
“I’m afraid not,” I answered. “I wish you could, but I’m afraid your petticoats would get in the way.”
To this, perceiving easily enough that we had some surprise in store for my father, and not wishing to spoil the fun, my mother merely replied:
“Oh, would they? Well, I’m afraid I couldn’t come anyhow: I must go in and prepare supper. So, be off with you at once, and don’t be late. You can tell me all about it this evening.”
“One minute, father!” I cried; and thereupon I ran to the house, reappearing in a few seconds with his rubber boots, which I thrust into the back of the buggy, and then, climbing in on one side while Joe scrambled in on the other, I called out:
“Now, father, go ahead!”
“Where to?” he asked, laughing.
“Oh, I forgot,” said I. “Up to our stone-quarry.”
If we had expected my father to be surprised, we were not disappointed. At first he rather demurred at going down our carefully prepared ladders, not seeing sufficient reason, as he declared, to risk his neck; but the moment we called his attention to the sound of water down below, and he began to understand what the presence of the rubber boots meant, he became as eager as either Joe or I had been.
In short, he went with us over the whole ground, even down to the pool; and so interested was he in the matter that he quite forgot the flight of time, until, having reascended the ladders and followed with us our line on the surface down to the heap of stones with which we had marked the thousand-foot point, he – and we, too – were recalled to our duties by my mother, who, seeing us standing there talking, came to the back-door of the kitchen and called to us to come in at once if we wanted any supper.
Long was the discussion that ensued that evening as we sat around the fire in the big stone fireplace; but long as it was, it ended as it had begun with a remark made by my father.
“Well,” said he, as he leaned back in his chair and crossed his slippered feet before the fire, “it appears to come to this: instead of discovering a way to drain ‘the forty rods,’ you have only provided us with another insoluble problem to puzzle our heads over. There seems to be no way that we can figure out – at present, anyhow – by which the water can be brought to the surface, and consequently our only resource is, apparently, to discover, if possible, where it first runs in under the lava-bed, to come squirting out again down in that fissure – an almost hopeless task, I fear.”
“It does look pretty hopeless,” Joe assented; “though we have found out one thing, at least, which may be of service in our search, and that is that the water runs between the lava and the sandstone. That fact should be of some help to us, for it removes from the list of streams to be examined all those whose beds lie below the sandstone.”
“That’s true enough,” I agreed. “But, then again, the source may not be some mountain stream running off under the lava, as we have been supposing. It is quite possible that it is a spring which comes up through the sandstone, and not being able to get up to daylight because of the lava-cap, goes worming its way through innumerable crevices to the underground reservoir we suppose to exist somewhere beneath the surface of the Second Mesa.”
“That is certainly a possibility,” replied my father. “Nevertheless, it is my opinion that it will be well worth while making an examination of the creeks on Mount Lincoln. The streams to search would be those running on a sandstone bed and coming against the upper face of the lava-flow. It is worth the attempt, at least, and when the snow clears off you boys shall employ any off-days you may have in that way.”
“It would be well, wouldn’t it, to tell Tom Connor about it?” suggested Joe. “He would keep his eyes open for us. I suppose prospectors as a rule don’t take much note of such things, but Tom would do so, I’m sure, if we asked him.”
“Yes,” replied my father. “That is a good idea; and if either of you should come across your friend, the hermit, again, be sure to ask him. He knows Mount Lincoln as nobody else does, and if he had ever noticed anything of the sort he would tell us. Don’t forget that. And now to bed.”
