“It’s right,” said Clara. “I was brought down this way.”
“Of course it’s right,” growled Mudd. “If I may be allowed to speak now, I would like to say that these steps constitute a most important archæological discovery and one which should be communicated to the Smithsonian Institute. Yours truly, Martin Mudd, is the discoverer, so please mention his name in your report. You might call them the Mudd stairs, only that would be rather a misnomer, seeing that they are made of stone.”
“Upon my word, you are the windiest beggar I ever came across,” said Dick. “Who built these stairs, anyway?”
“There you go hurting my feelings again, and without the slightest reason,” retorted Mudd. “To the best of my knowledge and belief they were built by some prehistoric tribe of Indians like the cliff dwellers of the Colorado canyon. Don’t forget to mention my name when you make your report.”
“Oh, I’ll mention your name in my report fast enough—don’t you fret,” replied Dick. “Lead on, Clara. If these steps will take us out of this hole we don’t want to lose any time.”
“There’s a big stone to lift at the top of the flight,” said Mudd. “If you will untie my hands I’ll show you how to work it. You needn’t be afraid that I’ll run away.”
But Dick would have none of his assistance, and, as it proved, it was not needed, for he was easily able to lift the stone himself.
It seemed to move on two dowels set in sockets cut in the ledge; a very clever piece of work, which Dick determined to study into later on.
When they came up into the open air our little party found themselves at the very point where the horse had stopped, proving Doctor Dan to have been entirely right in his conclusions.
They were now free, but with the boat gone it seemed rather a discouraging situation, for night would soon be upon them and to take the long walk through the canyon and down the mountain and then up again on the other trail was not to be thought of at all.