"Their works are gone," he said regretfully. "I'd say there's not a sluice-box nor a conduit left. Maybe even their tools are lost. Poor devils!"
The man's calm words had their effect. Buck at once responded to the practical suggestion.
"They don't leave their tools," he said. Then he pointed up at the lake. "Say, what if that had come down? What if the bowels o' that hill had opened up an' the water been turned loose? What o' the camp? What o' the women an'--the kiddies?"
His imagination had been stirred again. Again the Padre's practice brought him back.
"You don't need to worry that way, boy. It hasn't fallen. Guess the earth don't fancy turning her secrets loose all at once."
Buck sighed.
"Yet I'd say the luck sure seems rotten enough."
There was no answer, and presently the Padre pointed at the face of the hill.
"It was a washout," he said with quiet assurance. "See that face? It's softish soil. Some sort of gravelly stuff that the water got at. Sort of gravel seam in the heart of the rock."
Buck followed the direction indicated and sat staring at it. Then slowly a curious look of hope crept into his eyes. It was the fanciful hope of the imaginative.
"Here," he cried suddenly, "let's get a peek at it. Maybe--maybe the luck ain't as bad as we think." And he laughed.
"What d'you mean?" asked the Padre sharply.
For answer he had to put up with a curt "Come on." And the next moment he was following in Cæsar's wake as he picked his way rapidly amongst the trees skirting the side of the wreckage. Their way lay inland from the creek, for Buck intended to reach the cliff face on the western side of the fall. It was difficult going, but, at the distance, safe enough. Not until they drew in toward the broken face of the hill would the danger really begin. There it was obvious enough to anybody. The cliff was dangerously overhanging at many points. Doubtless the saturation which had caused the fall had left many of those great projections sufficiently loose to dislodge at any moment.
Buck sought out what he considered to be the most available spot and drew his horse up. The rest must be done on foot. No horse could hope to struggle over such a chaotic path. At his suggestion both animals were tethered within the shelter of trees. At least the trees would afford some slight protection should any more of the cliff give way.
In less than a quarter of an hour they stood a hundred feet from the actual base of the cliff, and Buck turned to his friend.