As the men dig deeper and deeper, the paraphernalia of the dead become fewer and fewer, and even where anything at all is present, the object is crude and unfinished. There are no more pipes, no beautiful obsidian blades, and no fine, ivory-like awls or needles. What can it mean? Did the ancestors of early days not possess these things? Some such thoughts are surely passing through the mind of some of the workers, certainly of the War Chief, for he suddenly declares his belief that they are not digging in the right place. But the old men only smile and work on.