Using her flash lamp to guard against stepping into a pitfall, the Overton girl picked her way cautiously along. Here and there were huge crevices in the wall of the tunnel, which, as Grace described it to herself, was in reality “the rear yard of the ancient Cliff Dwellers.”
The crevices, as she shot rays of light into them, were dark and forbidding, but, looking back, the white towers of the Community House stood out reassuringly.
“Ah!”
Grace had stepped into a heap of ashes and they felt warm under her feet. Stooping over and running her hand into the mass she found that the ashes, at the bottom, really were warm.
“There has been a recent fire here, but the ashes are several hours old. I wish Tom were here. He could tell me, within half an hour, just how long ago this heap was a blazing fire. Let me reason this out.” Grace leaned against the wall and reflected.
“Some one has been in this place within a dozen hours or so. It is reasonable to assume, too, that they did not come over the precipice; hence there must be some other entrance, some other way, and perhaps an easier one. I am going on.”
Grace started ahead resolutely, now and then flashing a ribbon of light to the floor directly ahead of her. Her keenness was rewarded a few moments later, and the Overton girl, dropping to her knees, examined the rocky floor with great care.
What Grace had discovered was the imprint of a heavy-soled boot, faint but clearly defined. Her next discovery was a frying pan, some tin plates and a heap of bones that looked as if they might be beef bones.
“They surely live well up here. I—”
Grace jumped. That is, her nerves did; her body did not move at all, but she heard her heart beat, and it was pounding fast and hard. What had disturbed and startled her was a groan, a distinctly human groan, and then deep silence settled over the tunnel, broken only by the faint, repressed breathing of Grace herself.