vertical cataract from an opening in the face of the cliff. It was
sweet water. The guide drank eagerly and so did we.

"That's snow water," Terry announced. "Must come from
way back in the hills."

But as to being red and blue--it was greenish in tint. The
guide seemed not at all surprised. He hunted about a little and
showed us a quiet marginal pool where there were smears of red
along the border; yes, and of blue.

Terry got out his magnifying glass and squatted down to
investigate.

"Chemicals of some sort--I can't tell on the spot. Look to me
like dyestuffs. Let's get nearer," he urged, "up there by the fall."

We scrambled along the steep banks and got close to the pool
that foamed and boiled beneath the falling water. Here we
searched the border and found traces of color beyond dispute.
More--Jeff suddenly held up an unlooked-for trophy.

It was only a rag, a long, raveled fragment of cloth. But it was
a well-woven fabric, with a pattern, and of a clear scarlet that the
water had not faded. No savage tribe that we had heard of made
such fabrics.

The guide stood serenely on the bank, well pleased with our
excitement.