work and enlarged the hole so that Joe could
crawl in, which he immediately did. I expected him to come out again in
a moment, but it was a full minute before he reappeared, and when he did
so he only poked out his head and said, in an excited tone:

"Come in here, Phil! Here's the queerest thing--just come in here for a
minute!"

Of course I at once crept through the hole, to find myself in a little
chamber about ten feet long, six feet wide and four feet high, built up
of great flat slabs of stone, which, falling from above, had
accidentally so arranged themselves as to form this little room.

At first I thought it was the little room itself to which Joe had
referred as "queer," but Joe, scouting such an idea, exclaimed:

"No, no, bless you! I didn't mean that. That's nothing. Look here!"

So saying, he struck a match and showed me, along one side of the
chamber, a great crack in the ground, three feet wide, extending to the
left an unknown distance--for in that direction it was covered by loose
rocks of large size--while to the right it pinched out entirely.

It was evident to me that this crevice had existed ever since the great
break had occurred which had separated the First from the Second Mesa,
but that, being covered by the fragments which had fallen from the
cliff--itself formed by the subsidence of the First Mesa from what had
once been the general level--it had hitherto remained concealed.

"Well, that certainly is 'queer,'" said I. "How deep is it, I wonder?"

"Don't know. Pitch a stone into it."

I did so; judging from the sound that the crevice was probably thirty or
forty feet deep.

"That's what I should guess," said Joe. "But there's another thing,
Phil, a good deal queerer than a mere crack in the ground. Lie down and
put your ear over the hole and listen."

I did as directed, and then at length I understood where the "queerness"
came in. I could distinctly hear the rush of water down below!

Rising to my knees, I stared at Joe, who, kneeling also, stared back at
me, both keeping silence for a few seconds. At length:

"Where does it come from, Joe?" I asked.

"I don't know," Joe replied. "Mount Lincoln, perhaps. But I do know
where it goes to."

"You do? Where?"

"Down to 'the forty rods,' of course."

"That's it!" I cried, thumping my fist into the palm of the other hand.
"That's certainly it! Look here, Joe. I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll
quit hauling rock for this morning, g