pretty clearly where it was _not_.

On the morning of the storm, Joe, at breakfast-time, turning to my
father, said:

"Wouldn't it be a good plan to go and measure the flow of the water down
in the crevice, Mr. Crawford? We might be able to find out, by watching
its rise and fall, whether the melting of the snow on the Second Mesa,
or on the foot-hills beyond, or on the mountain itself affects it most."

"That's a very good idea, Joe," my father replied. "Yes; as soon as we
have fed the stock you can make a measuring-stick and go up there; and
what's more, you had better make a practice of measuring it every day.
The increase or decrease of the flow might be an important guide as to
where it comes from."

This we did, and thereby ascertained pretty conclusively that the source
was nowhere on the Second Mesa, for in the course of a couple of weeks
the heavy fall of new snow covering that wide stretch of country melted
off without making any perceptible difference in the volume of the
stream.

Though there were several other falls of snow up in the mountains later
in the season, this was the last one of any consequence down on the
mesas. The winter was about over as far as we were concerned, and by the
middle of the next month, the surface of "the bottomless forty rods"
beginning to soften again, the freighters, who had been coming our way
ever since the early part of November, deserted us and once more went
back to the hill road--to our mutual regret. For a few days longer the
stage-coach kept to our road, but very soon it, too, abandoned us, after
which, except for an occasional horseback-rider, we had scarcely a
passer-by.

As was natural, we greatly missed this constant coming and going, though
we should have missed it a good deal more but for the fact that with the
softening of the ground our spring work began, when, Marsden's cattle
having been removed by their owner, Joe and I started plowing for oats.
With the prospect of a steady season's work before us, we entered upon
our labors with enthusiasm. We had never felt so "fit" before, for our
long spell of stone-hauling had put us into such good trim that we were
in condition to tackle anything.

At the same time, we did not forget our underground stream, keeping
strict watch upon it as the snow-line retreated up the foot-hills of
Mount Lincoln. But though one of us visited the stream every day, taking
careful measurement of the flow, we could not see that i