During the afternoon they actually discovered such small slits in the rock—at least they looked like pencil markings to them when the guide first pointed out the village of the ancient cliff dwellers; though on closer acquaintance they found that the openings were of generous size.
"Shall we climb up that straggly path along the face of the wall, and see what the old things look like?" asked Bob, as the guide made motions upward.
"Yes, we ought to have our first sight of such places," Frank replied, in a cautious tone. "Not that I expect we're going to find our hermit there, or in any other village that's known to tourist travel. But we ought to get an idea of what these places are like, you see. Then we'll know better what to expect. And perhaps the conditions will teach us how to discover his hiding place."
Accordingly they started to climb upward, just as many other tourists had been doing for years. There were even places, "aisles of safety," Bob called them, where one who was ascending, upon happening to meet a descending investigator, could squeeze into a hole in the rock until the other had slipped by.
Of course it was a risky climb, and no lightheaded person could ever dream of taking it. But the two saddle boys were possessed of good nerves and able to look downward toward the bottom of the canyon, even when several hundred feet up in the air.
Then they entered the first hole. It seemed to be a fair-sized apartment, and was connected with a string of others, all running along the face of the cliff; so that those who occupied them in the long ago might have air and light.
The boys observed everything with the ordinary curiosity expected of newcomers. Frank even investigated to see if there were any signs to indicate that those old dwellers in the canyon knew about the use of fire; and soon decided that it was so.
"Well, what do you think about this?" Bob asked, after they had roamed from one room to another. "For my part I think I'd fancy living in one of those three story adobe houses of the Hopi Indians, we saw pictures of at the hotel; or even a Navajo hogan. But one thing sure, these people never had to worry about leaking roofs."
"No," added Frank, laughing; "and floods couldn't bother them, because the Colorado never rose three hundred feet since it began cutting out this canyon."