“Nay,” cried Griggs, shaking his head. “This don’t go on all fours with our map.”
“But it’s a city,” cried Ned eagerly. “It’s precious old; but look all along there, and up yonder, and down that bit—everywhere, there are houses with doorways and windows. Why, there’s quite one side of a street along at the back of that shelf.”
“Yes, boys; it’s a city, sure enough,” said the doctor almost as excitedly as the lads. “Why, Griggs, this must be one of the old pueblas that the Spaniards talked about.”
“Yes, sir, that’s it, sure enough; a city cut out of the rock-faces of this great shut-in place. Why, it must have been a regular stronghold where thousands of people lived, and we’ve hit upon the way in. I shouldn’t wonder if there’s no way out.”
“Oh, there may be at the end yonder. How far is it to where that great rock-wall closes in?”
“Mile and a quarter, I should say,” replied the American.
“Then at the widest part yonder it must be nearly half-a-mile across,” cried Bourne.
“Hardly, sir; say quarter, and here and there not half that.”
“But the cliffs seem about the same height,” cried Chris, “just as if they had been cut level.”
“Nature cut them then,” cried Griggs, laughing. “Seems to me that it’s just one great fault in a bit of tableland.”