“But there must have been a big tribe here.”
“No, sir; not of Indians such as rove the plains. These must have been a different kind of people—miners and builders. Your regular Red Indian thinks of nothing but his horse, his hunting, and a fight with his enemies so as to get plunder. The people who mined for gold were a different kind of folk altogether.”
“Well, we shall see to-morrow,” said the doctor; “there are sure to be some traces of them in their old homes.”
“I don’t care what they were or what they did,” said Chris that night, as they laid down to sleep in the dark bottom of the depression, gazing up at the great lustrous stars; “but I don’t want any more water got like that. Ugh! It almost had a nasty taste when it was made into tea. Didn’t you notice it?” he said, after a pause; but there was no reply. “I say, didn’t you notice that the water seemed to taste nasty?” said Chris, a little louder; but still there was no reply.
“Oh, what a fellow you are!” cried the boy impatiently. “Such a one as you are for eating and noticing everything, I should have thought you’d have had something to say about it. Asleep again! Why, I couldn’t sleep after what we’ve gone through to-day, even if I tried.”
That was Chris’s opinion, but he evidently could sleep without trying, for the next minute he was breathing heavily, and without a single troublous dream born of the perils of the day.