THE CLIFF VILLAGE
Tom was the first awake the next morning. The reason is evident already to the mind of the acute reader. Tom wanted to get on the trail of the buried treasure. We were not entirely indifferent ourselves.
As soon as breakfast was finished we got on the boat and pulled out, leaving a camping place which we always remembered with pleasure.
The charm of the place was in the Temple, where we had sung the old songs. In the evening, too, we had given a special concert in honor of Juarez.
We dragged some big pine logs into the interior, and soon had a great fire started in the center of the Temple. It was a really beautiful sight as the flames leaped upward toward the dome, and the auditorium, with its red walls, showed clearly in the ruddy light, and there was the drapery of the shadows gathered in the corners that moved as do the curtains in a gentle breeze.
It was weird, too, especially when Juarez gave us some of the old Indian chants and war songs. The sounds seemed to summon all the savagery of the southwest to the Temple.
It was easy to imagine it as a great council chamber in which the chiefs were deliberating on matters of grave importance. So it seemed when Juarez chanted.
Finally we had some rollicking negro songs, and ended up with the Star Spangled Banner, sung with tremendous enthusiasm by the entire congregation, and it was stirring, too, as our voices swelled in that great Temple.
No wonder that we looked back with regret as we shoved off into the turbulent river. We were at our usual positions as our boat took to the current.
Juarez was our guest, and we would not let him row, not the first day, but we promised that he would have all that he wanted later.
So he paced up and down the deck of the liner, watching Jim at the sweep and Tom and me at the oars. The stream was very mild in this canyon and nothing like the foaming fury that we had been accustomed to.
Juarez watched everything with a keen and intelligent eye—saw how we steered and avoided the rocks. His searching instinct was at work.
"Do you think that you can steer the craft down this trail, Juarez?" inquired Jim.
"Yes, I can do so, certainly most. I soon get on to its curves."
This was to prove true, for his strength and skill were exactly what we needed in the boat.
"Here's the last bend," I cried.
We followed the graceful, sweeping water around it and made an easy landing on the west bank.
"Suppose we leave Tom to look after the boat," I said, "while we chase after the golden chest."
Even Juarez had to laugh at the comical look of dismay that came over Tom's face. He saw that I was joking, and a sheepish smile came over his face.
"What shall we take with us?" I asked.
"Something to eat," replied Jim.
"Of course," I said, "but how about the rifles?"
"Leave them," said Jim, "except one. We must travel light and be prepared for stiff climbing."
"Better take the heavy hammer and an adze," said Tom.
This showed that Tom had been doing some valuable thinking and he could, too, if he was really interested in anything.
"You're right, Tom," said Jim. "That's what we will need and we had better take a couple of big spikes."
"What for?" I asked.
"To drill with," Jim said, "if we find a place that looks likely we will have to investigate, that's the only way to find it. You don't suppose that it will be out in the open."
"Then if we are going into the mining business, better take some blasting powder."
"Good," replied Jim.
"Then a rope and pick may be of great benefit," said Juarez.
"Sure, Mike," replied Jim with a grin.
So each one of us contributed to the material we took along. We divided up the tools between ourselves and had them fastened on so that our climbing would not be impeded.
"Do you think it safe to leave the boat; we may be gone a day or two?" I asked.
"Certainly," replied Jim. "It won't need anything to eat in our absence, and it has plenty of water. Besides, I don't imagine that there are many people back of us coming down the river."
I could not help but smile myself at the idea of anyone making the terrible trip down the river.
"That's so," I replied. "You can't find three such fools as we are every year. There are other easier ways of committing suicide than gliding down the Colorado."
"But some Indians might find a trail over the wall and steal the boat," said Tom.
"How many trails do you suppose there are to the Colorado River within nine hundred miles?" asked Jim severely.
"I don't know," replied Tom.
"Just three," said Jim, "and this isn't one of them. At least not on the west bank."
So that was settled and we started out with a great deal of enthusiasm and energy. It was like being let out from the hard school of the river for a holiday.
We needed this breathing spell of pleasure too, for there was something depressing to the spirits in going through the deep and gloomy canyons, exposed to constant danger and shut off from the rays of the sun nearly all the time.
There was an exhilaration likewise in the search for this hidden treasure. Nor were we on a wild goose chase. We had a definite end in view and a definite guide, though there was enough vagueness to give us plenty of trouble.
We went whistling along, singing and joking each other, in high spirits. It was a beautiful, sunny day, with that wonderful quality in the air known only to the highest altitudes.
Our way lay first through glen, with flowering bushes, willow brush and the pleasant cottonwood trees that do so much to enliven the desert places of the West, so that one grows to look on them with a real affection that one would not give to the most beautiful tree of the overburdened tropics.
We came to a low, red wall that blocked our way. It was low, however, only by comparison, with the giant wall of other canyons.
Juarez regarded it carefully and then shook his head.
"Ah, no!" he determined. "This is not it. We must climb up."
This we did, and after a rather easy climb, going up a narrow transverse ravine, then after a steep pull we came out upon the top of the first wall.
We saw the greater outer wall of homogeneous sandstone rising about a half mile distant. Between us and it was a comparatively level stretch of rock, with a layer of thin soil upon it, from from which grew dwarf bushes, and everywhere were scattered boulders, some of them huge, others smaller.
"There is the place," said Juarez, nodding at the walls in front of us. They rose up to a height of over a thousand feet. "There we find it."
We walked with our long gliding stride, something as the Indians do, scarcely raising the foot. (I may as well have a word with you right here about walking, if you don't mind; it will be of use to you in long tramps. There is considerable nonsense in certain popular ideas about walking. Don't strut along with the shoulders thrown back. You will never see an Indian plainsman, nor any natural walker do that. Let the shoulders droop naturally, but keep the chest out. As you start, break the motion at the hips and use the feet as though they were paddles. Leave the backbone out of your walk. Anything that saves a jar to that makes for tireless endurance.
In using this simple method the weight falls on the front part of the foot. Move easily, even loosely, at the joints of ankle and knee. That breaks up stiffness, relieves strain and makes for endurance. Paddle out with the feet, and as you start, break the motion at the hip by a slight bend. By this method you acquire springiness. It is something the same effect you get as you stand on the end of a springing board ready to make a dive into water. If you are persistent in using this method, you will find it worth while.)
"What is that curious formation under the cliff?" asked Tom as we approached the outer wall.
"That," said Juarez, "is what remains of the houses and caches of the cliff dwellers."
It was in a great sheltering cave or open cavern in the beautifully smooth sandstone cliff, several hundred feet from the base of it.
There stood, almost as a natural granite from the rock, the square, symmetrical ruins of a tiny cliff dwellers' village. There was something extraordinarily quaint and curious about it as it nestled close under the protecting breast of the great rock.
At the base of the cliff were the ruins of a lower village. We found several complete specimens of pottery and many broken shards.
We could see that the construction of the thick walls of the close set houses was of flat stones held together by dried clay or with nothing but the rocks themselves pieced together. The windows and doors had sides and slabs of smooth, red stone.