"Hum," commented Billy, "if anyone had told me so I'd have stayed in
New York."

At length after what seemed endless hours of paddling and chanting
the river took an abrupt turn and the boys found themselves at the
foot of a steep cliff that towered up, it seemed, for six hundred
feet at least. It was formed of black basalt and was crowned with a
fringe of contrasting vegetation, but the most remarkable thing
about it was that its surface was literally honeycombed with small
holes from which, as the canoe cortege drew up, innumerable heads
were poked.

An astonishing thing, however, about the men who scrutinized the
lads from their lofty watch-towers, was that they were several
degrees lighter in complexion than the boatmen and almost as white
as the boys in fact. Their features, too, were different. As the
boys looked in wonderment at this extraordinary dwelling-place and
its equally strange inhabitants, Billy gave an excited shout:

"Great jumping horn-toads, look at that!"

One of the light-colored men had emerged from his, hole and with as
little concern as if he were taking a walk had suddenly launched
himself into space. But instead of falling to the ground or into
the river, as the boys had fully expected to see him do, he floated
gracefully to the opposite bank of the river with as little effort
as a settling bird.

"Good land of hot-cakes, Lathrop, do you realize where we are?"