"How far does the valley run?" Tom asked.
"Valley last ten miles. Sides get steep and high, then cañon begin."
"That will run right down to the Colorado?"
The chief nodded. "Leaping Horse go no farther. Cañon must go down to the river."
"How far is it before the sides of the valley get too steep to climb?"
"Two miles from here. Men could climb another mile or two, horses not."
"Is there much game down there, chief?"
The Seneca nodded.
"That is a comfort, we sha'n't be likely to run out of fresh meat."
The chief was very careful in choosing the wood for the fire, so that in the daytime no smoke should be seen rising from the trees. When the dead wood in the clump of trees was exhausted he rode down the valley each day, and returned in an hour with a large faggot fastened behind him on the horse. He always started before daybreak, so as to reduce the risk of being seen from the hills. On the sixth day the men began their work at the gravel. The bottle of mercury was emptied into the cradle, the bottom of which had been made with the greatest care, so as to prevent any loss from leakage. Two of the men brought up the gravel in buckets and pans, until the cradle was half full. Then water was let in, and the third man rocked the machine and kept on removing the coarse stuff that worked up to the top, while the others continued bringing up fresh gravel.