k bulk of the plateau above.

Suddenly he again heard the dull roar of falling water. It seemed to
have cleared itself of muffled vibrations. Yaqui mounted a little
ridge and halted. The next instant Gale stood above a bottomless cleft
into which a white stream leaped. His astounded gaze swept backward
along this narrow swift stream to its end in a dark, round, boiling
pool. It was a huge spring, a bubbling well, the outcropping of an
underground river coming down from the vast plateau above.

Yaqui had brought Gale to the source of Forlorn River.

Flashing thoughts in Gale's mind were no swifter than the thrills that
ran over him. He would stake out a claim here and never be cheated out
of it. Ditches on the benches and troughs on the steep walls would
carry water down to the valley. Ben Chase had build a great dam which
would be useless if Gale chose to turn Forlorn River from its natural
course. The fountain head of that mysterious desert river belonged to
him.

His eagerness, his mounting passion, was checked by Yaqui's unusual
action. The Indian showed wonder, hesitation, even reluctance. His
strange eyes surveyed this boiling well as if they could not believe
the sight they saw. Gale divined instantly that Yaqui had never before
seen the source of Forlorn River. If he had ever ascended to this
plateau, probably it had been to some other part, for the water was new
to him. He stood gazing aloft at peaks, at lower ramparts of the
mountain, and at nearer landmarks of prominence. Yaqui seemed at
fault. He was not sure of his location.

Then he strode past the swirling pool of dark water and began to ascend
a little slope that led up to a shelving cliff. Another object halted
the Indian. It was a pile of stones, weathered, crumbled, fallen into
ruin, but still retaining shape enough to prove it had been built there
by the hands of men. Round and round this the Yaqui stalked, and his
curiosity attested a further uncertainty. It was as if he had come
upon something surprising. Gale wondered about the pile of stones. Had
it once been a prospector's claim?

"Ugh!" grunted the Indian; and, though his exclamation expressed no
satisfaction, it surely put an end to doubt. He pointed up to the roof
of the sloping yellow shelf of stone. Faintly outlined there in red
were the imprints of many human hands with fingers spread wide. Gale
had often seen such paintings on the walls of the desert caverns.