It was then that I first fully appreciated the value of my partner's habit of carrying matches in a water-tight box—a habit I strongly recommend to anybody camping out in these mountains.
For three hours we waited, by which time as we guessed there remained not more than a foot of water in the pool. I had gone down to measure it with a stick, and was leaning with my hand against the smooth, wet wall on my right, when I heard sounds as of a human voice speaking very faintly and indistinctly. The sounds seemed to come from the rock where my hand rested, and putting my ear against it, I plainly heard a strange voice say, "Hallo, boys!"
"Hallo!" I called out, at the top of my voice, startled into an explosive shout. "Who are you? Where are you?"
"Who's that you're talking to?" cried Dick, springing to his feet and looking all about.
"I don't know," I replied. "Come here and put your ear to the rock."
Dick instantly joined me, when we both very clearly heard the voice say:
"You needn't shout. I can hear you. Do you hear me?"
"Yes," said I; and repeating my question, I asked: "Who are you, and where are you?"
"Before I tell you that," replied the voice, "I want to ask you a question, if you please. Are you Americans?"