“Arrived safely. Send the string back with a small stone to weight it. Fine view down here. I start exploring. Don’t worry if you don’t hear from me for an hour or so.”
One tug on the line, and the Overton girl was rewarded by seeing her message slowly rising at the end of the twine.
Grace thereupon took account of her surroundings. With her glass she picked up the Lodge, then the tiny dots that she knew were the Overland Riders’ tents. It was a clear view to the camp, and, as Grace described it to herself, a good shooting range.
Now began her explorations. There were heaps of rotted stone and adobe mortar all about, but taking it all in all, the community house appeared to be in an excellent state of preservation. Grace took her time, and moved slowly, using extreme caution, not knowing what emergency she might have to meet at any moment. Over heaps of stone and rubbish she climbed to such chambers as she could reach. The ceilings in the Community House were so low that she was obliged to stoop; window apertures were no more than six inches across and of equal height, but the light shed by these was sufficient to enable her to pick her way about.
The mustiness of centuries hung heavy on the air despite the ventilation, and birds, disturbed by her entrance, gave Grace a start as they winged their way toward the light. Not a relic, however, did the Overton girl find in her search of the chambers.
On coming out of the cliff dwelling, Grace suddenly halted and sniffed the air.
“That smells like a dead fire,” she muttered. “Perhaps I have company here.” Picking her way cautiously in under the ledge that formed a partial roof for the ancient Community House, Grace found herself in a vast, tunnel-like opening. Black darkness lay ahead of her, but the odor of a dead fire grew stronger in her nostrils as she proceeded.
Grace now brought her flash lamp from her pocket, passing it to her left hand, and, holding the automatic in a firm grip in her right, she advanced, prepared for emergencies.
She examined the walls briefly. From their smoothness, it occurred to Grace that water had once flowed through the tunnel. How far back the tunnel led into the mountain she could not even guess, but it was reasonable to suppose that it was not a waterway when the Cliff Dwellers lived there.
“I am getting near it! The dead fire odor is growing stronger!” Grace told herself in a whisper. “I believe my surmises are correct. How I wish one of the men were with me. However, I’m in it and must go through with it,” she muttered.