ked surface, added to the swaying of one's feet in
soft places, gave rise to the idea that the mighty beast was still
breathing, and that its many-acred flank actually moved."

The task of taking the pitch out of this lake, Stuart found to be as
prosaic as the lake itself. Laborers, with picks, broke off large
pieces--which showed a dull blue cleavage--while other laborers lifted
the pieces on their heads--the material is light--and carried them to
trucks, running on a little railroad on the surface of the lake, and
pulled by a cable line.

The tracks sink into the lake, little by little, and have to be pried
up and moved to a new spot every three days, but as they are specially
constructed for this, the labor is trifling. The laborers work right
beside the railroad trucks. It makes no difference where the ditch is
dug, from which the asphalt is taken, as the hole left the night before
is filled again by the following morning.

It has been estimated that this deposit alone contains over 9,000,000
tons of asphalt. It is 135 feet deep, and though enormous quantities of
the stuff have been taken out, the level has not fallen more than ten
feet.

In the lake are certain small islands, which move around from place to
place, apparently following some little-known currents in the lower
layers of the pitch.

Stuart went on to the factory, hoping to get some further information
about Guy Cecil, but met with a sudden and unexpected rebuff. Not only
did no one about the place seem to know the name, but they refused to
admit that they recognized the description, and seemed to resent the
questions.

Trying to change the subject, Stuart commenced to ask questions about
where the asphalt came from, and the manager, who seemed to be a
Canadian, turned on the boy, sharply.

"See here," he said, "I don't know who you are, nor where you come from.
But I'll give a civil answer to a civil question. As for this Cecil, I
don't know anything about him. As for where this asphalt come from, I
don't know, and nobody knows. Some say it's inorganic, some say is from
vegetable deposits of a long time ago, some say it's fish. The chemists
are still scrapping about it. Nobody knows. Now, is there anything
more?"

The manner of the response was not one to lead Stuart to further
attempts. He shook his head, and with a curt farewell went back to La
Brea, Fernando and Port de Spain.

At the hotel he found a telegram.

"GET--STORY--PRESE