“Which way did it come from?” asked Mr. Evans in reply.
Uncle Bob was obliged to confess that he didn’t know.
“Neither do I know,” said Mr. Evans. “No one knows, or ever will know. I suppose that there is no better hunting to be found anywhere under the folds of the Stars and Stripes than right here among these mountains, and yet you could not hire a professional hunter or an Indian to penetrate as far into them as a week’s journey would take him.”
“Why not?” asked George.
“Because of his superstition. The Indians about here have a legend to the effect that this country once belonged to a giant, who, by some means or other, succeeded in getting into a row with his nearest neighbor—another giant—who overcame him in single combat, hurled him into a canyon, and put a mountain on top of him to hold him down. When we get into the valley, Bob will show you where that mountain is, and, when you see it, you will say that it really looks as though it had been thrown in there bottom up. The giant is still a prisoner, and the sound we have just heard is the heavy breathing he makes during his struggles to free himself. At the time the fight took place, there was a small stream running through the canyon; but the mountain blocked it up and made a lake of it. As the lake grew in size, the pressure became so great that the water finally broke a hole through the mountain and ran out, leaving the valley as you see it now.”
“How often have we got to listen to that unearthly noise?” asked George.
“Just as often as the giant tries to throw off the mountain, and he does that regularly every three hours,” replied Mr. Evans.
“Great Scott!” exclaimed Arthur.
“Oh, that’s nothing!” said Bob. “You will soon become so accustomed to it that you won’t notice it.”
“I don’t suppose that such a thing was ever heard of before,” observed Uncle Bob.