“I’ll tell you what’s a fact,” said George, who had been awed into silence by the terrific grandeur of the scene. “If I had just half a grain more of superstition, I could put full faith in that Indian legend.”
“His story fits the place pretty well,” answered Bob, “and in making it up he did better than any white man can do—he accounted for everything in a way that was perfectly satisfactory to himself. How do you suppose he knew that there was a time when this valley was all under water?”
“He didn’t know it,” replied George. “He only guessed it.”
“And geology bears him out in his guess,” said Bob. “If you are persevering and enduring enough to climb about half-way up some of these cliffs—as a party of Eastern college students did a few years ago—you will find shells that were left there when the water receded.”
“If a fellow got into this current, he wouldn’t have much show for his life, would he?” said Arthur, who marveled greatly at the rapidity with which the sticks he threw into the water disappeared in the black mouth of the canyon.
“He might as well be in the rapids at Niagara Falls,” answered Bob. “Now, while I think of it, I want to give you two a word of caution and advice: The lake and the river above it, as far up as the falls, are perfectly safe for boating and bathing, but this end of the stream will be the death of the first person who ventures upon it, I don’t care how good a boatman he may be. So, when you go out on the river, remember that constant vigilance is the price of your life; and do not, under any circumstances, allow the current to carry your boat below that big cottonwood you see up there on the opposite bank.”
Having taken a good look at the canyon, the boys bent their steps toward the rancho. As they were passing through the grove, they met a roughly-dressed but intelligent-looking man, who greeted Bob cordially, and was introduced to George and Arthur as Mr. Jacobs, the superintendent.
He had had full charge of the ranch ever since it was started, and that he cherished a deep-rooted affection for his late employer, and anything but kindly feelings for those who had come there to take his place, was made very plain by his actions.
He greeted Arthur coolly, and did not offer to shake hands with him, but when he spoke to Bob of his father the tears came into his eyes.
After telling the boy how glad he was to see him again, and how deeply he sympathized with him in the great loss he had sustained, he began talking about the affairs of the ranch. At length he said abruptly: