"When I come to agin I was lyin' on thet slope down thar, an' my clothes was torn inter rags, an' thar was nothin' near me but sand an' shale, an' no hole at all whar I could have come out of. I had to move careful, for the groun' shifted easy when I turned, and thar was the river a-roarin' at my feet. Thet's all the story," he continued, "an' it's true."
"Where were the other men?" Professor Jensen asked.
"Thet's whar the strange part come in; no one heard tell on 'em again. But I found Bill Comb's body rite over whar I pointed out. He may have fell over the cliff for all I know, an' they all may hev been drowned lookin' for him or me."
"What about the cup?" asked the Professor.
"Oh, I forgot!" said the guide, drawing out a leather wallet attached to a string about his neck. "Thet's all that is left of it."
He put into the Professor's hand some fragment of earthenware. It was glazed on both sides like the finest Chinese pottery. The Professor sighed.
"Don't tell 'em I told you," said the guide. "I 'ain't dare to tell that story for eight years, I reckin."
"What is that red thing over there you pointed out?" said Carter.
"Oh!" said the guide, quickly; "thet's a bandanna handkerchief. I tied it thar when I first went in."