“No, that won’t do,” cried Griggs. “This was the old people’s stronghold, where they could be safe and set all their enemies at defiance. Everything points to that. Don’t it?”
“I think so,” said Chris grudgingly.
“Well, then, it isn’t likely that they would depend on a fall of water from which the first enemies who attacked them could cut them off and leave them to die of thirst.”
“I never thought of that,” said Chris, as, separated now from the rest, they allowed their ponies to pace slowly on, nibbling off such juicy shoots as came in their way.
“It isn’t likely,” said Griggs. “There must be water somewhere—a fine fall that comes down from the plain up above, or they wouldn’t have chosen this spot.”
“Perhaps there used to be one, and it has dried-up.”
“Nay; the place is too green. Water must come on the high ground somewhere and find its way into this great hollow. Anyhow, it’s out of sight, so it’s underneath somewhere.”
“Then we shan’t find it.”
“I don’t know about that, my lad,” replied the American, with a little laugh. “There’s other senses besides seeing.”
“Yes, smelling,” said Chris, with a smile; “but we can’t find it that way.”