CHAPTER XXI.

THE MYSTERY OF THE CANYON.

The valley toward which the three boys directed their gaze was quite ten miles long and a little more than half as wide. It was almost oval in shape, and was surrounded on all sides by rocky bluffs, which, in some places, arose to the height of nearly two thousand feet.

The base of these bluffs was lined with an almost unbroken forest of cottonwood trees, which in addition to supplying the numerous inhabitants of the valley with fuel, gave secure protection to the ranchman’s sheep, that sought shelter there when the cold winter winds swept down the gorges and blocked all the trails with snow.

The valley was watered by a deep stream, which, entering at one end by a succession of lofty cascades, and running through the verdant fields with an almost imperceptible current, finally disappeared in a cavern so dark and gloomy that it made one shudder to look at it.

Near the middle of the valley this stream widened into a lake of considerable size. It was on the bosom of this lake that Bob Howard had cast his first fly to tempt the wary trout from his hiding-place; and among the weeds and rushes that lined the further shore he had killed his first wild duck.

By the aid of a powerful field-glass which Bob had brought with him, Arthur and George were enabled to make a close examination of all the objects he pointed out to them. Something which, at the first glance, looked like a cobble-stone, turned out to be a roomy rancho; a little patch of white in the middle of one of the fields the glass showed to be an immense flock of sheep; small clumps of bushes became extensive groves of scrub oaks; things that looked no larger than a sprig of clover changed into horsemen; and the dark lines that ran across the valley in every direction took the form of rail fences, staked and ridered, and strongly built to withstand the violence of the winter winds.

The atmosphere was so pure that the smallest object could be seen and described. George and Arthur could hardly believe that ten hours would elapse, and that they would be obliged to spend another night in camp, before they could take a nearer view of the valley.

“How are we going to get down there?” asked the former. “I hope you don’t intend to lower us over these cliffs with a rope?”

“Oh, no! There’s a road that leads to the bottom, but it is a long and winding one. The building of it was equal to all the labors of Hercules, and I have been told that he had some pretty difficult tasks to perform.”

Arthur, who had never heard of Hercules before, would have been glad to know who he was and what he had to do, but he was ashamed to ask for information.

His companions, who seemed to know a little of everything, had more than once put him to the blush, and, rather than let them see how ignorant he was, he maintained a discreet silence.

“My father laid it off,” continued Bob, with some pride in his tones, “and not one of all the college professors who have been here has been able to make any improvement in it. Hark!” he added, a moment later, raising his forefinger in the air and turning his head to one side. “Now you are going to hear it.”

There was something in Bob’s tone and manner that affected his companions rather unpleasantly, awed as they were by the grandeur and sublimity of their surroundings.

They listened intently, and all they could hear was the sighing of the mountain breeze through the branches of the evergreens that lined the trail on both sides; but presently there came floating on that same breeze a sound that cannot be described—a sound that seemed to chill the blood of the two boys, who now listened to it for the first time.

It was faint, yet it could be distinctly heard. Like the noise that sometimes accompanies an earthquake, it seemed to come from no particular direction, but filled the air all around them. It continued for a few seconds, growing neither louder nor fainter, and then suddenly ceased.

Arthur and George drew a long breath, and looked at their companion with eyes that were full of curiosity and alarm.

“What is it?” they asked, almost involuntarily sinking their voices into a whisper.

“It is the mystery of Lost River Canyon,” replied Bob, solemnly. “Here’s Mr. Evans. Ask him.”

The boys turned about in their saddles, and saw that the wagon had come up and stopped close behind. They knew that both of its occupants had been listening to the strange sound that had just died away. Mr. Evans looked indifferent, but Uncle Bob was visibly affected.

“What is it, Mr. Evans? and where does it come from?” asked George, as he rode up beside the wagon.

“It undoubtedly has its origin somewhere in the mountains,” was the reply; “but just where it comes from, and what causes it, are questions that no one has yet been able to answer.”

“What is your theory?” asked George.

“I have none.”

“Why doesn’t somebody go into the mountains and solve the mystery?”

“Haven’t I told you over and over again that the attempt has often been made, and that nothing ever came of it?” said Bob. “I gave you to understand that there was a mystery connected with these mountains, and now you know as much about it as I do.”

“Couldn’t one follow up the sound, and so find its source?” inquired Uncle Bob.

“Which way did it come from?” asked Mr. Evans in reply.

Uncle Bob was obliged to confess that he didn’t know.

“Neither do I know,” said Mr. Evans. “No one knows, or ever will know. I suppose that there is no better hunting to be found anywhere under the folds of the Stars and Stripes than right here among these mountains, and yet you could not hire a professional hunter or an Indian to penetrate as far into them as a week’s journey would take him.”

“Why not?” asked George.

“Because of his superstition. The Indians about here have a legend to the effect that this country once belonged to a giant, who, by some means or other, succeeded in getting into a row with his nearest neighbor—another giant—who overcame him in single combat, hurled him into a canyon, and put a mountain on top of him to hold him down. When we get into the valley, Bob will show you where that mountain is, and, when you see it, you will say that it really looks as though it had been thrown in there bottom up. The giant is still a prisoner, and the sound we have just heard is the heavy breathing he makes during his struggles to free himself. At the time the fight took place, there was a small stream running through the canyon; but the mountain blocked it up and made a lake of it. As the lake grew in size, the pressure became so great that the water finally broke a hole through the mountain and ran out, leaving the valley as you see it now.”

“How often have we got to listen to that unearthly noise?” asked George.

“Just as often as the giant tries to throw off the mountain, and he does that regularly every three hours,” replied Mr. Evans.

“Great Scott!” exclaimed Arthur.

“Oh, that’s nothing!” said Bob. “You will soon become so accustomed to it that you won’t notice it.”

“I don’t suppose that such a thing was ever heard of before,” observed Uncle Bob.

“This is by no means an isolated case,” answered Mr. Evans. “Many strange sounds, real or imaginary, have been heard in the workings of nature’s processes. Travelers tell us that on a distant island in the Bay of Bengal there exists a phenomenon known as the ‘Barisal guns,’ which is frequently heard at the beginning of a rain-fall, and is like the sound of the firing of a cannon. Some have decided that these sounds are atmospheric, and owe their origin to electricity. A traveler, whose name I have forgotten, writing about the villages of the Himalayas, describes exceedingly powerful noises heard in some of the mountain peaks, to which the natives can ascribe no cause. Near one of these villages is a pond which the natives carefully shun, because frightful noises issue from its depths. Well, you have seen your new home at a distance, and now we will go down and take a nearer view of it.”

Arthur scarcely closed his eyes in slumber that night. He consulted his watch at short intervals, and heard that strange noise every time it was repeated.

It sounded indescribably weird and dismal in the stillness of the night, and Arthur became so worked up over it at last, that, whenever his watch told him that the imprisoned giant was about to resume his efforts to free himself, he drew the blankets about his head and held his hands over his ears, so that he might not hear the captive’s agonized breathing.

Daylight brought some of his courage back to him; but as often as the three hours drew to a close, he became visibly nervous and excited.

The travelers resumed their journey at an early hour, and at one o’clock in the afternoon they entered the valley. The newcomers were not at all disappointed in it. It proved to be even pleasanter than it looked from the distance at which they viewed it through their field-glasses.

Arthur thought it would be a nice place to live if that giant would only give up his useless struggles and die, and the country was settled by people of his own class, so that he could have somebody to associate with.

He knew little about books, and cared less. He took no interest whatever in the hunting and fishing to which Bob and George were looking forward with so much eagerness. He was too lazy to ride on horseback for pleasure, and for the life of him he could not see how he was going to put in the time.

The ranch was much more comfortable and better furnished than the little house in which he had formerly lived, but Arthur did not at all like the appearance of those who took care of it.

They were all men, rough in dress and manners, and loud and familiar in speech, and the greetings which they and a small army of dogs extended to Bob Howard were boisterous in the extreme.

Bob stood among them, giving one hand to be shaken by the men, stooping down now and then to caress a favorite hound or setter with the other, utterly unable to speak, but smiling all the while through the tears that would come into his eyes in spite of all he could do to keep them back, while Uncle Bob and Arthur were entirely unnoticed.

When Bob found opportunity to present them, and tell who they were, and what they had come for, they were very coldly welcomed, but George Edwards was doubled up more than once by the hearty grasps he received.

These men were neither blind nor deaf. They knew all about that provision in the will by which Uncle Bob had been brought there, and they knew, too, how dishonorably he had acted toward his brother, for Mr. Evans had given them a full history of it. Their late employer had held a high place in their estimation, and they could not bear to have a stranger, and a man like this, step into his shoes.

“I am satisfied of one thing,” said Uncle Bob, as he and Arthur took possession of the room to which they had been conducted. “We have got into a bed of thorns. Somebody has been slandering me, and these people have made up their minds to hate me, without giving me time to show them what manner of man I am. Now, Arthur, let me caution you. You have come out here intending to carry things with a high hand, but that will never do. For a while, at least, you must conduct yourself in all respects as though you had no more rights here than a casual visitor, and I will do the same. Our first hard work must be to learn something of the way in which a sheep ranch is conducted, and while we are doing that, we must make all the friends we can. After we have firmly established ourselves here, we can take the position to which we are entitled by the terms of the will.”

Arthur, who had hoped to be recognized at once as one of the “bosses” of the ranch, did not like to wait; nor was he at all pleased at the idea of playing visitor when he thought he ought to have some authority, but he saw the wisdom of the course his father had marked out for him, and reluctantly promised that he would follow it.