"Probably, doctor. It's an uncanny thing to do, but we must stir the coals and see."
A thorough search revealed nothing.
"Does th' liftinint moind that Sargint Hinery mintioned a covered way that led from th' cellar to th' spring?" asked Private Tom Clary, who wielded a rail beside me. "Perhaps th' pretty lassie and her frinds are in that."
"That is so, Clary; thank you for the suggestion," I answered. "Can you make out the opening?"
"Nothin' sure, sor. Behoind thim wagon-tires there sames to be a natural slope of earth."
"Tip the tires over, Clary," I ordered; and presently a number of tires, from which the fire had burned the felloes, spokes, and hubs, fell into the coals, disclosing a recently filled aperture.
"Looks as if the end of a passage had been filled, doesn't it?" asked the surgeon.
"It certainly does," I answered. "Let us go to the spring and examine."
Accompanied by the doctor and several men, I rode to the spring. When we arrived there we broke a way through the thick-set willows into an irregular mass of small bowlders. Climbing over these, we found ourselves at the mouth of a narrow passage about four feet high and two feet wide.
"This must be the entrance to the covered way," I remarked, and placing my head in the crevice, I called: "Oh, Mr. Arnold, we are here—your friends from Fort Whipple!"