With a whole day before them, their next objective was Indian Rock Cave, about twenty miles west of Heber Springs, and further into the mountains-nearer to the scenes and peoples made familiar to all by Harold Bell Wright in “The Shepherd of the Hills.” After riding some little time they arrived at a point where the roads forked, and, seeing a little cabin nestled among the pines, a stop was made to ask directions. An old man and a boy emerged from the doorway and approached with amazement in their eyes at sight of this aggregation of motorcycles and riders. The riders, in their turn, must have borne an expression of bewilderment at sight of this specter of “Ole Matt” and “Pete,” and typical of that old character, in few words, but courteously, he directed that we follow the road to the left, “’till you come to a narr’ place in th’ road gin th’ bluvvs.” That described it exactly and in fact it seemed to all that this must be the end of the ways. But the cave was reached, and a wonderful creation of Nature it is. At first glance one was reminded of the inscription envisioned by the immortal Dante above the entrance to Hell: “All hope abandon, ye who enter here.” The entrance is an immense archway of solid granite, almost as perfectly formed as if it had been carved with chisel and mallet, the interior being rounded out in a gigantic dome. This cave was used by the Indians as a general camping ground, evidently through the ages, and bears indisputable evidence of this in the many crude carvings of birds, animals and flowers on the walls and ceilings. In the extreme back of this cave bubbles forth a spring of water, cold and clear as a crystal. Truly Nature could hardly have contrived a place better suited for protection from the weather andthe convenience of the Indians in their mode of life.