They waded on as quickly as they could. As Robin had thought, they came upon a break in the dense wall of undergrowth. There were signs of old axe-marks on some of the trees, and many felled stumps, now rotten and overgrown with creepers and moss.
“Probably some old prospector lived about here ages ago,” said Robin. “He’d have to clear a way down to the water. This is most likely his old track.”
“Did they ever find gold here?”
“No—at least, only the merest traces. But there are always fossickers about in the hills who believe they will hit on gold some day. Some people think that these hills hold all sorts of things—marble, and limestone, and valuable clays, and even oil. I suppose they’ll be discovered by-and-bye.”
“What a lark if we found an oil-well on your place!” said Barry. “How does one look for oil, Father?”
“Other people do the looking, and then they make you buy shares, my boy,” said his father, gloomily. “I’ve lost more than I care to think of in that way. The last oil-well in which I was interested spouted only hot water instead of oil, and so, much of my hard-earned money went up in steam. I’ve given up buying things I can’t see. Let us try the old prospector’s clearing, and see if it leads us to anything. We won’t go far from the creek, though.”
The clearing was so overgrown that to speak of it as cleared was only to distinguish it from the impenetrable scrub on either hand. Still, it was possible to find a way through it; and presently, to their delight, they came again upon the track, and saw, through a rift in the timber, that they were not far from the head of the gully where the creek came down. They forgot fatigue as they hurried onward, making light of the many difficulties in the way: anything was better than wading over the smooth round stones that hurt the feet so cruelly.
Presently, as they went, a sound came to their ears: a low boom which at first they took for the soughing of a far-off wind coming across the tree-tops. It grew louder as they advanced, almost unnoticed by them: one does not lend a very attentive ear to sounds, when one is fighting every step of an uphill climb. But at length, in a moment when the going was easier, it suddenly brought Dr. Lane to a standstill.
“By Jove!” he said, with a touch of excitement unusual in him. “I believe that is the noise of the Falls!”
They halted, listening. The sound was a dull, steady roar that never varied. Wind and sea have light and shade in their stormy note, but falling water comes with a ceaseless and unalterable boom: a roar that has lasted since time began, and will last down the ages when the little races of men are dust. There was no doubting the sound now.