"I don't know," responded the sub-acid Thurstane.
"I didn't suppose you did," said Aunt Maria pettishly. "Captain Glover, I want you to come with me."
Followed by the subservient skipper, she marched to the other end of the pueblo. There was the mysterious apartment; it was not really a temple, but a sort of public hall and general lounging place; such rooms exist in the Spanish-speaking pueblos of Zuni and Laguna, and are there called estufas. The explorers soon discovered that the only entrance into the estufa was by a trapdoor and a ladder. Now Aunt Maria hated ladders: they were awkward for skirts, and moreover they made her giddy; so she simply got on her knees and peeped through the trap-door. But there was a fire directly below, and there was also a pretty strong smell of pipes of tobacco, so that she saw nothing and was stifled and disgusted. She sent Glover down, as people lower a dog into a mine where gases are suspected. After a brief absence the skipper returned and reported.
"Pooty sizable room. Dark's a pocket 'n' hot's a footstove. Three or four Injuns talkin' 'n' smokin'. Scrap 'f a fire smoulder'in a kind 'f standee fireplace without any top."
"That's the sacred fire," said Aunt Maria. "How many old men were watching it?"
"Didn't see any."
"They must have been there. Did you put the fire out?"
"No water handy," explained the prudent Glover.
"You might have—expectorated on it."
"Reckon I didn't miss it," said the skipper, who was a chewer of tobacco and a dead shot with his juice.