He had
ascertained that the excursionists would not leave the spot for two
hours yet, and he welcomed the chance for exercise. Accordingly he set
himself to follow the creek, the one stream of pure and limpid water
that did not flow bottom-up. At first this was easy enough, but after a
while the canon narrowed, and Bob found himself compelled to clamber
over rocks and boulders, to push his way through thickets of brush and
clinging vines, finally even to scale a precipitous and tangled side
hill over which the stream fell in a series of waterfalls. Once past
this obstruction, however, the country widened again. Bob stood in the
bed of a broad, flat wash flanked by low hills. Before him, and still
some miles distant, rose the mountains in which the stream found its
source.
Bob stood still for a moment, his hat in his hand, enjoying the tepid
odours, the warm sun and the calls of innumerable birds. Then he became
aware of a faint and intermittent throb--_put-put_ (pause) _put_
(pause), _put-put-put!_
"Gasoline engine," said he to himself.
He tramped a few hundred yards up the dry wash, rounded a bend, and came
to a small wooden shack from which emanated the sound of the gas
explosions.
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